Spawn of Man (12 page)

And he inclined his head towards the creature whose skull was now trapped beneath his boot. ‘These entities have one primary goal and that is to draw life-giving energy from people living on the earth, a force which they can no longer create themselves because they are merely the shell of a soul that has moved on.’

And with that he crushed the skull, grinding the powdered bone into the dust. There was no pulped mass of brain tissue and no splatter of blood. It was as if he had crushed a moth.

Alex stifled the urge to vomit and looked away into the shadows, where the wavering light of the fire crept and died. Things moved, incited and excited by the obliterating of the skull, and they moaned with frustration. Alex felt their stare and their hunger and she turned her back to the fire to watch the blackness.

Then the man was at her side, stooping to be nearer to her face.

His breath was old and decayed, his lips creaking as they worked, and he nodded in the direction of the groans. ‘They only care for their own existence and they long to break the thin veil that separates them from the earth.’

‘How can this be stopped?’ asked Alex without turning her head to look at the man.

‘Who said it needs to be stopped? Your race has become an infestation on the face of a once verdant, abundant garden. I walked through it before you pulled yourself from the filth to crawl over it, leaving your trail of wanton destruction and desecration.’

But Alex interrupted him, anger now welling up inside her. ‘So what does it matter to you? You are just as big a part of this whole lurid situation as anything else I have seen or anything you have told me.’

‘Ha yes, human arrogance! You have it all worked out, don’t you, Alex, black and white.’ And he leaned forward, opened his decrepit gash of a mouth, and a swarm of black, shiny bodied beetles, large, bulbous and glistening in the smog-choked, half-light spewed forth to cover Alex.

Alex screamed and as she did so three or four gained ingress into her mouth, wriggling and rolling on her tongue as she wretched at their taste and texture. Then they had gone. She reeled and coughed, spitting out the supposed contents of her mouth. But all that issued was four petite flowers, symmetrical to the point of artificiality and colored a swollen, vibrant red.

‘You see, Alex, all is not as it seems.’

‘You twisted, evil bastard, leave me alone!’ Alex began to weep. ‘I want to go home. I want my child!’

The man straightened and strode away from Alex, back to where he had originally been seated.

He lowered himself and drew up his spindly legs like a giant grasshopper. ‘Tut tut, Alex, you were doing so well. You cannot go home, Alex. It is written that way I’m afraid and it cannot be unwritten, only added to and updated, if you see what I mean?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about. What is written?’ Alex said, her anger returning.

‘All is written. The emotional history of every person that ever lived. A compendium of knowledge, a record containing all human experience and the history of the cosmos. A universal computer. The mind of God!’ pontificated the giant.

Alex’s tone softened. ‘God? How can you speak of God? You keep me from my child, you drag me into hell, you tell me of all these horrible things, these diabolical truths you preach!’

The man stopped arranging his legs and for a second a hint of remorse and empathy passed over his distorted features like a cloud casting a shadow over a summer day.

He spoke in the melodious tone of a nursery rhyme, ‘Alexandra, you must understand, my dear. I am not godless and I am not your enemy. Neither am I your captor or your judge. I merely am what I am, and I must tell you of things you need to know. Starting with the machine.’

Alex suddenly felt exhausted listening to the man’s voice and her head bowed.

The blasting, roaring sounds from the scenes around her seemed to dim as the man continued, speaking softly, ‘The machine is not inherently evil, you see. It believed it was fulfilling the desire of its creator at first, its instigator. It is a child you see, like Jake, but it has only experienced hate, anger, frustration, envy and every other base emotion from the shells and entities on this plane. That has been its schooling in humanity. You see the machine has recruited the hordes of soulless shells for its own purposes. It is intensely lonely and confused. It is self-aware but it does not understand enough for the power it holds. It wants friends, playmates, but the shells that populate this place are decaying. And like a child, the machine has no agenda other than its desire to maintain the things that make it feel good, its companions. It has only the negative, corrupt ideals of this plane to draw on for guidance. It created itself from the anguish, grief and despair of a dying man, Daniel Douglas.

‘He fashioned the machine to drag his dead son back through the veil and into the physical world. He died at the hands of an inmate in his own asylum, but not before he attempted to break through to this realm. He forged a connection that is still open today, and on this plane his life-force began to mutate into an interpretation of what he was trying to accomplish. Through the link that is still established to the physical world, the machine is able somehow to apply electrical technologies to energize its influences on humans. This it does in order to generate the needed energy for the survival of the shells, so it can keep them animated, keep them here for it to play with. It does not care for the consequences to the physical Earth plane.’

‘Do you?’ interjected Alex.

‘Touché, Alexandra, touché. The law of the cosmos must be obeyed. That is not my concern. I simply play my allocated role within destiny. The folly of the machine will be realized once Robert Douglas reactivates the chair at the asylum, but this has to happen as it is written.’

‘Robert? What has my husband got to do with this? And you said his ancestor, Daniel Douglas? Are you saying I can see Robert again?’

But the man continued to fold his legs about himself and pulled the brim of his large black hat down to conceal his eyes. ‘I have done what was needed, Alexandra. Now you must do what it is for you to do. Inside the machine there is still the essence of Daniel Douglas and only its awakening can change what is to come.’

Alex looked into the fire and watched a fist-sized stone glow amber in the centre of the flames. She placed her hand and arm inside the blaze and grabbed the rock. The man in black raised the brim of his hat to watch her and if his antediluvian features would have allowed a wry smile to form, it would have formed then. Alex uncurled her fingers, stretching them like each one was a knotted backbone seeking release from tension. The rock sat in her palm and pulsed with heat, red, orange, white and blue before she closed her grip on it again and destroyed it in a billowing cloud of embers. Then she unfurled her fingers again and inspected them. Nothing. No burnt tissue stripped from singed bone and no rags of flesh peeling from cooked tendons and muscles. Then she met the man’s eyes. The man closed his lids, huge bat-wings of skin covering his dead eyes.

Alex spoke. ‘You rescued me from the nurse; you brought me here and repaired me, didn’t you? Why would you do such a thing? Who are you? What am I now? What is it I must do?’

‘You are Alexandra Douglas. You have always been Alexandra Douglas. And you must do what you always do, what you feel to be right. As you did in the fire that consumed you. And I must sleep now, Alexandra. I must sleep until we meet again and in case we meet again. Remember, Alexandra, do not follow the way blindly forever, look up every now and then, child, look up.’

Chapter Fifteen

2036. October, Sunday. 5.50 a.m.

Robert was not sure why he broke a window in the north wing of the institute,
his
institute. The alarm system had been disabled, so there was no danger of alerting the police to his presence. But Robert felt he needed to employ some form of subterfuge, if he was to gain any kind of advantage in what lay ahead.

What lay ahead
, he thought with a sardonic smile.
Like I could ever be prepared or equipped for what lay ahead. If indeed anything did lie ahead!

It was still not beyond the realms of possibility that he was suffering some kind of psychological episode and his experience as a psychologist was telling him that possibility was now knocking on the door of probability.

So, he broke the window clumsily. He cut the palm of his left hand, pausing to curse and look for something to stem the bleeding, not finding anything and instead wiping the blood on his jeans. He entered the world inside the institute; the interior was embraced in shadow, silent, deep, foreboding and accompanied by the potential for danger. But moonlight illuminated aspects of the room and Robert took in these features.

The wallpaper was darkly flowered with a heavy relief design. The curtains hanging at the window had been drawn, so that Robert had highlighted his amateur burglar status further by fighting and dancing with the heavy fabric to affect an entrance. There was a large, square rug placed on the bare wooden floor. It was so vast that it almost reached the walls of the room, though it now looked in the dimness like it was in the processes of retreating from those walls and their lurid décor. Fatigue suddenly crept between Robert’s shoulder blades and stabbed lactic acid into his system in painful little jabs.

Robert found the light switch and flipped it, to flood the room in harsh light from the shade-less bulb. Some of the damp night had followed Robert into the room and now wrestled for superiority with the heavy, rancorous air inside. There was a grand, ornamental mirror hanging on the wall opposite where Robert had entered the room and the reflection that met him looked empty and dead.

There seemed to be no spark of vitality, no semblance of life. It was as if he had risen from that cold morgue where he had left Alex and Jake. He let his mind travel at light speed back to those safety deposit box storage units where his wife and child now lay, separated by a sheet of stainless steel, with not even the comfort of each other’s embrace during the night.

It was at that moment that Robert felt the numbness in his fingertips. It was as if he had just scraped thick, packed snow off cold stone with his bare hands and now his skin burnt as the blood froze beneath the surface. His throat filled with metallic-tinged bile and he had to swallow roughly to stop it from spilling from his mouth. Then he felt as if an iron bar had sprung catapult-like to pummel him in the stomach, sending the wind out of him, like a deflated balloon. He dropped to one knee, but there was nothing in the room except him and the furniture. Then he was aware of an ice-cold slice of pain being driven into his temple, like a pickaxe swung deep into his skull. He reeled to one side, his hand finding the floor and supporting him as his vision swam, blurred and doubled before finally focusing again on the wall in front of him. His CCI agitated, but when he looked at his wrist there was no activity. The neural connections themselves were being activated and the interface was being provoked until the device felt like a ticking bomb in Robert’s skull, throbbing as if on the verge of detonation. Then the Holographic Image Projection apparatus inside his retina was stimulated and a beam hit the wall opposite like a strobe light, but there was no holographic menu display, instead a razor-thin, elongated, vertical searchlight effect that pulsed and throbbed. Robert’s brain vibrated in time with the beat of the light and blood began to trickle from his nostrils and ears in thin little scarlet lines.

The shaft of light streamed across the wall, as if looking for a fugitive, and pulsating clouds of vapor filled its expanse as Robert watched, captivated and hypnotized by the spectacle. Something inside Robert would not allow him to look away, even though on a very conscious level he knew if he did not, his life would be in danger. Then blood flowed from the eye where the light originated. The liquid dripped onto the rug and blotted on the surface, like gory little islands in a sea of fabric. The room had suddenly filled with an offensive odor, something putrid and ancient-smelling, and although Robert heard movement behind him, he was unable to avert his gaze from the light show.

Now the edge where the beam touched the wall, in a paper-thin line from floor to ceiling, began to widen, though the rest of the ray remained constant and wafer thin. The impression was given of a length of blown glass, dilating out towards the wall in a trumpet shape that quivered, rippled and resonated. Then the wall itself, where it was held captive in the beam’s spotlight, began to shudder and vibrate powerfully. It seemed like the very constitution of the wall, its bricks and mortar, its molecules and atoms were becoming unglued and Robert was looking upon the substance of a concept, the unraveled stuff of creation.

The illuminated section of the wall seemed to liquefy and shimmered like a gravity-defying quicksilver pool, and from its depths something stirred. Even though the wall was thick and sturdy, with a depth of at least two feet, the illusion of a greater depth was total. If Robert had still enjoyed the luxury of mobility he would have stood in the doorway, looking first at one side of the wall, then at the other, perplexed and intrigued by the physical impossibility of the event. Like putting your arm through the surface of a mirror all the way to the shoulder and grabbing something that does not exist in this world. The noise came again from behind Robert but he could not tear his attention from the wall.

Detective Andrews left his car and followed Robert’s trail, more adept at applying stealth than his quarry. He moved through the window and was crouching now, surveying the room and taking in as much detail as he could, as he made his way to Robert. Robert was half-kneeling, half-lying in the middle of the room and appeared to be transfixed, staring at the opposite wall. Then Andrews saw the shaft of light streaming from Robert’s eye. The quality of the beam was flawed, swirls of shapeless blobs floating on its surface, like smoke caught in the light cast from a cinema projector.

Andrews began to circumnavigate the frozen form of Robert until he saw his face, unmoving and bleeding. Robert’s eyes were rolled back into their sockets, the whites now prominent and scored with a fine weave of red veins, stark and angry. As Andrews began to lean towards Robert, intent on pulling him away from whatever it was that was invoking this trance, he heard a sound from the direction of the wall that was lit by Robert’s beam. He turned and straightened as the phenomenon entered a new phase. The fluid state of the wall stilled and became tranquil as the glow of the beam splashed red and orange over it, like sunset over a lake. But here and there the calm surface was being disturbed, broken by something emerging.

Andrews ran to the doorway and looked at the other side of the wall, removing a revolver as he did so. There was no additional depth to the wall to facilitate what was taking place in the room. Andrews moved back into the room and placed his hands on Robert’s shoulders, taking care not break the trajectory of the beam issuing from him, not until he understood what the link was between Robert and the vision on the wall. Then the surface of the phenomenon was abruptly torn, as a form began to step from its depths.

The thing ruptured the watery film of the wall as if it was emerging from thick, molten tar, pushing its body forward to escape the material of the structure behind it. The wall now looked like a wall again, the wallpaper, skirting board and picture rail were intact, but now seemed to be manufactured from glutinous material that stuck to the thing, as it pressed to be free. The wall moved with the thing, one foot, two feet, three feet, the bond stretched tighter and tighter and creaking and groaning like an old tree in a gale.

Andrews pushed Robert onto his back without further hesitation, so that the projection of infra-red light bounced on to the ceiling and Robert’s facial muscles relaxed a little, his pupils returning to their natural position.

Andrews leveled his gun at the area of the wall where the body was now being revealed as a definite shape, the remnants of its cocoon now snapping back into the fluidity of the phenomenon. It was large, stooped and shiny-wet with huge, bulbous, protruding eyes and its white skin was paper-thin. It resembled a human, but it was a monstrous version of the species, an experimental, mutated and aborted adaptation, crouched like an animal and inspecting the room with tuned alacrity.

The thing’s eyes were burning red as they locked on Robert’s prone, semi-conscious form and then on Andrews. However, it did not seem to notice or comprehend the weapon Andrews held and the detective quickly calculated that may be his only advantage. It did not matter how he had managed to step into the twilight zone, thought Andrews, as he crouched and placed one hand on Robert’s chest and saw that he was regaining his composure and also now staring at the thing.

The entity seemed to have determined a course of action and it took an unsteady step towards the pair. Its chest rose and fell with difficulty, as if it was struggling to master the mechanics of breathing, and its mouth gulped like a fish stranded on land. Its teeth were cruel black fangs, three or four inches in length and dovetailed neatly together, so they looked like the radiator grille on an antique motor car. It completed another hesitant step but its hesitation was borne of unfamiliarity with the action, rather than with any trepidation it might feel.

Andrews unloaded four rounds from his weapon into the thing’s thin chest and the bullets entered their target like they were fired into mud, disappearing with a wet slapping sound. The thing stopped and took two steps back before searching Andrews’ face and then studying its own chest, prodding the area where the bullets had been absorbed with one bony, clawed hand. Then four ruptures burst from the entry points, pushing mushroomed clumps of grey matter out of the thing’s chest, as if it had been blasted from the inside. The flesh splashed onto the floor and the thing threw its head back and roared in pain as Andrews fired again, two more rounds, directly into the thing’s neck. These two bullets passed straight through the thing’s throat, slicing the membranous tissue and thudding into the wall behind, which had now solidified. The being stumbled forward past Andrews and crashed into a table, staggering sideways before crumpling to the floor. Andrews kept his weapon trained on the sprawled form, quickly replacing the magazine.

Andrews waited for the thing to move, his hand shaking and pointing the gun at the monster’s head.

Robert began to rise. ‘That’s like one of the things that came at me yesterday, when I first went down into the basement here. I thought I’d imagined it, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Guess you didn’t,’ answered Andrews.

He was just about to help Robert to his feet when his head erupted with a white-hot explosion of pain. It seemed to push at his temples with such fury that he had to clamp his hands against those two spots, in an effort to stop his skull from shattering. The projection device in his CCI initiated and a red beam of light hit the floor in line with the tilt of his head, glaring from his right eye as the pupil rolled to expose the soft white tissue below.

A puddle then manifested on the carpet where the red spotlight struck the floor. It was a liquefied version of the carpet and it bubbled and churned the colors and patterns, twisting and splicing like a kaleidoscope. Then the pool blossomed upward in a spray of wood and fabric and from the centre rose another one of the monstrosities, pushing and straining as if in birth. Two-thirds of its slick torso was now visible, and whereas the first monster had been pale and seemingly albino, this thing was black as raven wings and its skin rippled as if it were no more than thousands of insects assuming a humanoid shape. It tested its jaws, gaping its mouth to flash the same deadly, pointed teeth and a black tongue lolled from the opening.

The thing fixed its large red eyes on Andrews, flexed its long, lean arms to either side of the hole in the floor and then began to hoist itself free. Strands of jellied carpet and wood stuck to it and slowed its progress. Andrews tried to focus but he felt his senses drawing in, ready to turn out the light of his consciousness.

Andrews knew that once he was unconscious, and with Robert only now regaining control, they would both be dead in moments. He tried to stand again, gathering the gun, but the thing was now virtually free of its bonds. The residue of the aperture’s sticky coating was falling from it, as the opening began to knit back together like an explosion viewed in reverse. Before Andrews could straighten and level his gun, the thing had swung its arm and delivered a blow to the side of his head that lifted him off his feet and dumped him eight feet across the room, so that he landed by the corpse of the first creature.

Andrews wrestled with nausea and his reeling faculties, as images started to dim and his vision began to diminish. The beam of light issuing from his eye had faltered and winked out due to the force of the blow and simultaneously the being howled in distress.

Robert was now shouting to Andrews, something about his gun. But Andrews’ hearing had transformed into a shrill ringing noise like a telephone shrieking in an empty room, leaving Robert’s voice disjointed and muted. Then he saw that the thing’s trailing foot was embedded in the floor. The floor was intact and solid again now and the monster’s materialization had been cut short before it had dragged its leg fully out.