The Gates (2009) (14 page)

It was the nasty lady, the one who had brought the Darkness.

Boswell began to whine.

There were three people, two men and a woman, sitting in the living room, the walls of which were covered with a strange orange mold that was spreading from the carpet and extending toward the ceiling. The mold covered the chairs on which the three people were sitting, as though they were rotting and their decay was slowly infecting the room. They were not moving, or speaking, but they all had strange, fixed smiles on their faces, like people who had seen something that only someone with a very strange sense of humor would think was funny. Samuel recognized the men as Mr. Abernathy and his friend Mr. Renfield. The woman was Mrs. Renfield.

They had changed since last he had seen them. They appeared fatter; bloated, as if by a great internal swelling. He could see Mr. Abernathy the most clearly. Mr. Abernathy’s skin was a gray-green color, and there were blisters on it. He looked so sick that Samuel wondered if Mr. Abernathy might actually be worse than sick. Despite the time of year, the room was filled with flies, and Samuel knew immediately that the people in the room stank badly. Samuel thought he saw a fly land on one of Mr. Abernathy’s eyeballs and crawl across it, a black speck against the milky white of the eye. Mr. Abernathy didn’t even blink.

It was Tom who voiced what Samuel had been thinking.

“Are they … dead?” he asked.

As he spoke, the fly buzzed away from Mr. Abernathy’s eyeball. At the same instant a long tongue unrolled from Mr. Abernathy’s mouth, like a party favor. It was pink, and covered with little spines that looked sharp and sticky. It plucked the fly from midair, then rolled back into Mr. Abernathy’s mouth. He chewed on the fly for a moment before swallowing it down.

“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” said Maria.

“Was that a tongue?” asked Tom. “That was a tongue! People don’t have tongues that long.
Things
have tongues that long.”

Then they heard the sound of frantic barking from the front of the house, and knew that they were in trouble.

As soon as Boswell saw Mrs. Abernathy, he began trying to wriggle out of his collar. It was never kept very tight, mainly because Boswell’s neck was so thin that no collar fit him right. He tugged hard against the leash, and felt the collar begin to rise up against the back of his head. It hurt his ears, but he didn’t
stop. He knew that if he was still tied to the gate when the bad lady came she would hurt him, and then she would hurt Samuel. Nobody was going to hurt Samuel, not if Boswell had anything to do with it.

The collar was halfway over his ears when the sound of the nasty lady’s footsteps started to come faster.

Mrs. Abernathy spotted the dog as soon as she rounded the corner. It took her only a moment to identify it as Samuel Johnson’s pet.

“Oh, you naughty boy!” she whispered. “You naughty, naughty little boy.”

She began to run.

Boswell risked a glance to his left, and saw the nasty lady drawing nearer. He gave a final hard tug against the collar, and felt it pull free, almost taking his ears with it. He barked, alternating glances between the path leading into the garden of the big house and the bad lady. He kept hoping that Samuel and his friends would come, yet they didn’t.

Run! he barked. Nasty lady! Run!

Still there was no sign of them. He looked to his left, and saw the nasty lady’s shape begin to change. There were things moving beneath her coat. Suddenly, the material began to tear, and long pink feelers burst through the holes, each one ending in sharp pincers that snapped at the cold air. One extended itself toward him, the pincers making a clicking sound and dripping foul-smelling liquid on the ground. Instinctively he snapped back at it, and it withdrew, but only for a moment. It rose up, like a snake about to strike. Boswell sensed the danger.

With no other choice, he put his tail between his legs and ran away as fast as his little legs would carry him. He thought he felt something graze his coat, but he didn’t look back, not until he had reached the corner. He hid under a car and peered out from behind the wheels. The nasty lady stood for a moment at the garden gate, the long pink tentacles waving against the night sky, then turned away and headed into the garden. Seconds later Boswell heard a terrible sound, one so sharp and piercing that it hurt his ears. It was too high pitched for a human to detect, but Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t trying to contact any human.

She was alerting her fellow demons.

T
OM PEERED ROUND THE
corner of the house, and saw Mrs. Abernathy enter the garden and close the gate carefully behind her. The tentacles moved in the still evening air, the moonlight catching the fluid that dripped from their pincers. Tom counted twelve of them. On the ground at Mrs. Abernathy’s feet lay Boswell’s empty collar. Mrs. Abernathy took three steps forward, then stopped. She cocked her head to one side, as though listening for something, but she did not move any closer to the house.

She was waiting, guarding the gate.

Tom ran back to where Samuel and Maria were waiting beneath the window.

“We’re in trouble,” he said. “There’s a woman in the garden with tentacles sticking out of her back.”

“Mrs. Abernathy,” said Samuel. “What about Boswell?”

“There’s no sign of him. His collar is there, but it’s empty.”

Samuel looked worried. “She couldn’t have …?” he began
to say, then trailed off. He didn’t want to utter the words, didn’t want to think about what Mrs. Abernathy might have done to his dog.

Seconds later, he heard Boswell’s bark. It sounded farther away than before, but it was definitely him.

“He’s okay!” said Samuel.

“Yeah, but we’re not,” said Tom. “If she recognized Boswell, she’ll know that you’re here.”

Samuel swallowed hard. “She doesn’t know you and Maria are with me. I could distract her so you two can get away.”

Tom looked at Samuel with something approaching admiration, then hit him hard on the arm.

“Ow!” said Samuel. “What was that for?”

“For being stupid,” said Tom. “We’re not going to leave you here alone.”

Suddenly, Maria’s hand was pushed against his mouth, silencing him. She put a finger to her lips, then withdrew it and pointed at the rectangle of light from the window. The shadow of a man could now be seen against it. They remained very still, hardly daring to breathe. The shadow began to alter. As they watched, eight spiny limbs, like spider legs, emerged from it. Then the shadow turned and began to recede, as whoever, or whatever, it was moved away from the window.

“We have to make a run for it,” said Samuel.

“We can’t go out the way we came in,” said Tom. “That woman’s guarding the gate.”

“And we can’t go over the garden wall,” said Maria. “It’s too high.”

Now noises were coming from inside the house. They
heard a vase break, and then shambling footsteps, as though someone who was having trouble walking was approaching the back door.

To their left, Tom saw two plastic boxes filled with empty wine bottles ready for recycling.

“Do you think you could hit those wine bottles with a stone?” he asked Samuel.

“If I had a stone,” said Samuel.

Tom gestured to Samuel’s right, where there was a small rockery dotted with plants. Samuel immediately reached for a stone that was roughly the size of a cricket ball, took a breath, and threw it overarm at the boxes of bottles. The stone landed slap bang in the middle of them, breaking the necks of the longest and scattering glass on the ground.

“Now!” said Samuel.

They ran to the right, past the rockery and along the side of the house. From behind them came the sound of the back door opening, but by then they were already at the corner house, the front gate before them. Mrs. Abernathy was gone, and when Maria risked a glance, she saw the shape of a woman moving quickly away from them and toward the other end of the house.

They took their chance and sprinted for the gate, leaping over the flowerbeds and the bushes that had been carefully tended by Mr. Abernathy before he was taken over by a thing with no appreciation for the finer points of gardening. Tom was bringing up the rear when his foot caught on a length of trailing ivy and he stumbled, then fell. Samuel and Maria stopped at the gate, Maria preparing to go back and help Tom when
Mrs. Abernathy, alerted by the noise, appeared at the side of the house.

“Bad children!” she said. “You shouldn’t trespass on other people’s property.”

Two of the tentacles grew longer than the rest, then shot at speed toward Tom as he tried to get to his feet. He could see how sharp their pincers were, and could smell the stuff that dripped like spittle from them as they came. He was raising his hand to protect himself when something slashed through the air before him. It was a garden rake, which caught the tentacles a hard blow and drove them to the ground. They remained pinned there beneath the rake’s teeth, writhing feebly and spraying thick black blood on the lawn. Mrs. Abernathy screamed in shock and pain as Maria let go of the rake and pulled Tom to his feet.

“Come on,” said Maria, and the three children, accompanied by a happy, and very relieved, Boswell, disappeared into the dusk.

Mrs. Abernathy walked across the lawn, her face contorted with rage and agony. The tentacles had retreated back into her body, except for the two that the horrid girl had pierced with the rake. Mrs. Abernathy knelt down and pulled the rake free, then tossed it away. Slowly, like wounded animals, the tentacles grew smaller, withdrawing into her flesh where they left a series of small holes that bled black against her ruined coat.

Mr. Renfield shuffled toward her, eight spiny legs now receding into his body, and what looked like mandibles disappearing back into his mouth. The same bland, humorless
smile was still on his face. Behind him, Mrs. Renfield and Mr. Abernathy appeared, followed by a cloud of flies.

Mr. Abernathy stopped beside his wife. He turned to look at her, and she hit him so hard across the face with the back of her hand that his neck broke and his head hung at a strange angle on his shoulders. He raised his hands and tried to put his head back into place, but it wouldn’t stay. Eventually he gave up and left it hanging. It didn’t seem to cause him any great discomfort, and his smile remained unchanged.

“You fool,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Now
three
of them know about us.”

Mrs. Renfield joined her. “What shall we do?” she asked. “Kill them?”

“We can’t wait any longer,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “We have to begin.”

“But all is not ready.”

“Enough will have gathered,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “The gates will open, and the first will pour through. They will prepare the way for the Great Malevolence, and he will finish what they have begun. Go! I will join you in a moment.”

Mr. and Mrs. Renfield moved away, followed by Mr. Abernathy and his wobbling head. Mrs. Abernathy strolled to the garden gate and looked toward the direction in which the three children and the dog had run. She saw the ghosts of them still hanging in the air before they drifted away like fog.

Perhaps the others were right, she thought. It was not yet time. The Great Malevolence had wanted to enter this new world in glory, provoking awe and terror as he came, his demonic army arrayed behind him. Instead, their attack upon
the world of men would commence more slowly. As the demons began to pour through, the portal would grow larger. They would draw the energy that they needed from the collider. It would only be a matter of hours before the gates would melt away, and the Great Malevolence would be unleashed upon the Earth.

A small figure, wearing a devil’s horns and mask, appeared before her.

“Trick or treat,” said a voice from behind the mask.

Mrs. Abernathy regarded him curiously, then began to smile. The smile turned to a fearsome, terrible laughter. She put the back of her hand to her mouth, and said, “How delightful! Oh, this is just perfect!”

Like small boys the world over, the small boy behind the mask, whose name was Michael, didn’t care much for things that were “delightful,” or grown-ups who seemed to find things funny when they weren’t funny at all.

“Look, are you going to give me something or aren’t you?” he asked impatiently.

“Oh, I’ll give you something,” she said. “I’ll give you all something, and it will be the last thing you will ever receive. I’ll give you death.”

“No sweeties, then,” said the small boy.

Mrs. Abernathy’s laughter faded, and she squatted down before him. He saw a faint blue glow to her eyes. It grew brighter and brighter, until there was nothing in the woman’s eye sockets but cold blue light that made him wince with pain. When she opened her mouth, he smelled the foulness of her insides.

“No sweeties,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “No sweeties ever again.”

She watched the small boy run away, and thought:

Flee! Flee while you can, but there will be no escape, not from me.

And not from my master.

M
RS.
J
OHNSON SAT ON
the couch, smiling awkwardly at her visitor, whose name was Dr. Planck. Dr. Planck was small and dark, with a pointed beard, and black-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Johnson had made him tea, and offered him a biscuit. Now she was trying to understand why he was with her in the first place. All she knew was that it had something to do with Samuel. These things always did.

Dr. Planck worked at the local university as part of the experimental particle physics research program, and had been involved with CERN for a number of years. When the message from Switzerland about Samuel’s e-mail had come through to him, he had rushed to Biddlecombe. He wasn’t certain that a small boy could be entirely helpful to them, but there was something about his drawing, and the description of the rotten egg smell, that had caught the attention of the scientists at CERN. Now here he was, drinking tea and eating Bourbon cream biscuits, and trying to establish if Mrs. Johnson’s son might just have given them the help they had been seeking.