The Black Stallion's Ghost (14 page)

Alec did not call to him again but started down the tree. He was halfway to the ground when he heard the animal-like whimpering. It came with electrifying suddenness and he froze immediately, his hands clutching the trunk of the tree to keep from falling. He was certain it had come from high in the branches overhead. What animals could climb trees—raccoons, opossums?

The whimpering echoed faintly at first, then grew in intensity until it shook the area with a pathetic sobbing. There was a primitive timbre to the sound, and Alec realized that no animal could make such a human sound.

Was it real? Was it imagined? he asked himself once more. Was his mind playing tricks on him again? He stared into the darkness and knew he was becoming
dreadfully frightened.
He could hear the whimpering whether it was imaginary or not!

Suddenly it stopped and there was a long silence. Alec made up his mind to get to the ground, to run, hoping to reach his horse and find courage in the Black's company.

He slid down the trunk, his feet reaching for a lower limb. Above him in the leafy branches he saw a movement. He clutched the tree, his eyes riveted to a dim figure. Real or not, it stood out in the darkness. It was no animal but an impression of fleeting whiteness … or a beam of light … not strong but misty and with grotesque human features! Then it was gone and the whimpering came again, a new sound, higher than before and more sorrowful, sobbing as if its origin was in the very depths of despair.

The pathetic sobbing and the figure he had seen in the branches above shocked Alec into panic. Instinctively his hands let go of the trunk and he fell, clutching boughs to slow down his momentum but frantically seeking escape from what he believed was following him and blocking out the sky.

He struck the ground hard, rolled over, and clambered to his feet. Then he ran into the brush as fast as he could go, without ever once looking behind. All reasoning, all reality had given way before the grotesque form he had seen in the branches. It was a terror he had never known before.

He plunged through trees and crossed stretches of deep muck and black water, not caring what dangers lay in wait. Nothing could be compared to the horror that was behind him! All else was hidden from his eyes.
He wanted only to melt away in the darkness so he could not be found. He plunged into the swamp, not feeling the saw-grass barbs that ripped open his flesh. He believed there was no escape, for he heard the mournful whimpering in every direction he ran.

The wave of terror that possessed him was never-ending. He did not stop running even though he believed every path led to his destruction. He ran until he thought he could go no farther, but still he kept on going. A frantic dash carried him out of the saw grass into a dry slough. He slipped and fell and didn't get up. He lay there, waiting for his breath to return and wondering if the horrible whimpering would ever stop.

Finally he struggled to his feet and began running again. The faster he ran, the more he was pursued by terror. His headlong flight without thought of what lay ahead took him into quicksand, where only his great momentum saved his life by propelling his sprawling body across the sand and water to solid ground. He clutched at roots and stalks of saw grass, pulling himself forward on his belly, writhing like a snake until he was free of the mire.

He lay still, spent from total exhaustion and fully expecting death to come at any moment. The night was hushed. He struggled to a sitting position and looked back. Nothing had followed him into the swamp. At least, nothing he could see or hear.

Alec did not know how long he lay there before he got to his feet and staggered down the slough, conscious only of the fact that he must reach his horse. He came to a sharp bend and stopped abruptly. He knew
something
was close by. He felt the presence, but he
started walking again. His face twitched and he ground his teeth in his determination not to give way to terror.

A glimmering shape passed like a film of vapor over the saw grass to his left and then was gone. He would have liked to believe it was mist but was convinced it wasn't. His ears were alert for any sound from the Black, but he heard no neigh or thud of hoofs. Then came a soft splash where there was no water, followed by a slight murmur in the saw grass.

He came to a halt, his eyes searching the night. Unfamiliar, floating fancies began to take shape; he shook his head angrily. He was creating images out of brush and saw grass that were absurd and past all reason! Had he gone so far that there was no escape from the captain's dark world of the supernatural?

He heard a single distinct note from a short distance away and a chill ran through him that had nothing to do with temperature or weather. The note was repeated from a dozen different points in the saw grass, as if the night were filled with babbling voices.

The noise became an endless wail, a horrible, toneless, screeching cry of despair. His head was split with the sound of it, and yet he was unable to move, to run in terror as he had before. It seemed to hold him as if it were a solid mass through which movement was not only impossible but inconceivable.

The toneless wail wavered and babbled a few feet away from where he stood.
It could not
be
and yet it
was, he told himself.
This was real and no nightmare. The danger was here and now
! He smelled the sweet, sickening odor that had assailed his nostrils during his dream. It
was not the stench of the swamp but that of human decay and death!

There was no movement in the saw grass, nothing to account for the source of the wail. His brain refused to accept the possibility that it came from anything human; it was too wild and terrifying. Yet he could detect separate and distinct notes forming the syllables “
Ko … ví,
” repeating them over and over again.

An irrational terror communicated itself to his mind. He saw the grotesque faces and limbs and pieces of bodies that had appeared in the drawing.

He recoiled before the image of
Koví
as seen by the captain's ancestors. Yet he could not run.

Suddenly the wailing stopped and the night was still. Peace came with the silence and Alec fought to rid his mind of the confusion and disorder, even the threat of madness, that were there.
There was no monster except what he created in his own mind! There was no horror except that which he was creating for himself!

A glowing mist, smokelike in shape, appeared close by, clinging to the tops of the saw grass. It changed color from gray to luminescent gold.

Alec could not have taken his eyes away from it even if he had wanted to. For a few minutes it remained stationary, then it grew larger and began floating just above the saw grass, coming in his direction. It seemed transparent, for he could see the outline of something through it, perhaps the brush and grass beyond. It continued toward him, weaving an intricate pattern through the darkness.

Strangely he felt no fear of it and, stranger still, he
was not surprised at his acceptance of it. It was as if a door in his mind had flown open and for the first time in a long while he was able to see and think clearly.

He knew the glowing mist was as real as the swamp around him. He had no clear idea of what it could be. He accepted it for whatever it was, whether it could be explained or not. It did not exist in his subconscious but was before him, here and now.

He watched it glide toward him, luminescent and seemingly alive. It had no substance other than the tenuous smokelike veil, no human or animal characteristics. It looked so temporary that it might disappear any moment, and Alec believed that was one of the reasons he felt no fear.

It grew in size but no longer moved toward him. A scant twenty-five yards away, he gazed through its transparency and suddenly felt a renewed stirring of his fear. What he saw could not be. The hair began to rise on the back of his neck.

There was an outline of a figure within the golden sheen. It was no monster but very small, more the shape of a child. As he watched, it became more and more distinct. He knew he had to close his eyes, that he could not look at it any longer.

Was he seeing something that wasn't there? Was his mind creating a figure that didn't exist at all?

He opened his eyes and found that the mist had not moved or grown in size; the figure was still present within its glow. There appeared something like a small human head, a faint outline of features. It resembled a child's face. The body was no more than twelve inches in size but perfect. It moved within the mist and Alec
realized
it was alive
! It was his last rational thought before he lost all control and shouted in panic and terror!

With his scream, the small figure grew rapidly in size. Within seconds it enveloped the mist in its entirety and then, still growing, it burst forth, bright golden and suddenly monstrous to behold!

In his terror Alec saw what the captain had seen, that which he too knew from the drawing and his dream—a monstrosity, a misshapen head, a single green eye, jaws open and seeking. It moved toward him.

Alec found that he could not move or take his eyes away. His stomach turned over in a great wave of terror, so powerful he vomited. He heard the rush of movement all about him; his head pounded wildly, his vision dimmed. He was blindly aware that there was no chance of escape. Nothing was left but a dull resignation to death. The very quality of death was in the air. He felt its dampness and clamminess like the hand of a specter on the back of his neck. It was as if some slimy thing were about to devour him. He wanted death to come quickly.

A golden radiance engulfed him. It came like a rushing, cresting wave in a storm-tossed sea. He was swept forward in what seemed to be a great plume of fire that geysered skyward. Yet he felt no heat, no pain, nothing at all. He was devoid of feeling.

Suddenly the light was gone and he was staring into a black void. His thoughts came clearly despite what he had experienced. It was as if his mind alone
had survived and now was apart from his body. He didn't know where he was but he seemed to know what was happening to him. His mind told him to expect something. He waited, not knowing what it would be, only that it would come. He felt neither fear nor panic any longer.

Suddenly he was aware of a pinpoint of color in the darkness. It weaved an intricate pattern and he believed it was searching for him. He sought to help it find him. Anything, his mind told him, but eternal darkness. He concentrated on the light and watched it grow. Was it the end or the beginning? He wanted to know if he was alive or dead; only that seemed important.

The light changed color as it neared him, becoming a dark flowing redness that cut a deep swath in the void. He waited, unafraid. There was no place to go, nothing to use but his mind.

The redness flowed around him, more like a flooding tide than light. It rose steadily and he abandoned himself to whatever it held. His mind envisioned no monstrous figure of
Koví
, no small figure of a child; he was aware of nothing but the redness of the light. As it wrapped itself about him, there came a simple awareness of being alive. He could actually feel the softness of the crimson light on his body. He raised a hand, groping his way through the light, and felt something that had the texture of
flesh
! He held on to it, knowing that whatever it was, it lived beside him.

His mind could no longer think in terms of what was real and unreal. There was only quick and final acceptance of the fact that, somehow, he had bridged two
worlds, one of dense matter in which he lived and a psychic world which nobody else knew. What he held on to was from that other world, yet it was here and now. When he let go, it would go back
there
. It would remain as long as he accepted it and knew no fear. All this was clear in his mind, and with it came an awareness, too, that his own fate hung precariously between these two worlds that seemed equally real. If he became afraid, he would see the most monstrous of beings and the end would come swiftly, not of his physical self, but of his mind.

Then he heard a sound. The sad and forlorn whimpering came from everywhere, filling the void with a remorseless wail. He tried to shut his ears to it, and his breath came in great rasps with his effort. His fingers closed about the flesh-textured crimson light, as if holding on to the hand of a friend. He would not let go! He believed that which he could not understand but was as real as his own world. He would not be afraid!

Feelings he could not describe came to him from all directions, flowing, descending, penetrating his very being until they became a single physical sensation, that of a fierce dark wind blowing on him, through him, reaching into his very soul. There was no longer any crimson light, just darkness. Yet he was not frightened. Nor did he feel pain or concern, only great peace and contentment.

Time seemed suspended. He was floating in a world that was completely new, but he couldn't describe it, only that he was there and happy. The distant music he heard came as no surprise to him. It was as if he had expected it all along.

The notes were soothing; he knew now there never had been anything to fear from them. How childlike had been his terror because his mind had been closed to what could and could not be! Now he knew there was a
vaster reality
that lay beyond.

He listened to the familiar music, played as no orchestra could have played it. When finally it ended he heard the murmuring of an unseen audience. He wondered who they were and he searched the darkness for them in vain. There were no restrictions to his movements and he moved about as he pleased. He was not worried or concerned. It was a warm and friendly place.

An ethereal grayness attracted his attention, and he moved toward it. He saw the outlines of shapes and figures but no faces. He hurried forward, wanting to know who they were, not what they were doing there.