The House of Doors - 01 (35 page)
Read The House of Doors - 01 Online
Authors: Brian Lumley
Her fingers bit into Turnbull’s arm. “He’s not real,” she said. “He’s a pseudo-Rod. None of these things are real or natural. They’ve all been caused to appear here—made to threaten us—for the entertainment of whoever is running the show!”
Turnbull put her behind him. “Well let’s see if he’s real enough to feel this,” he said. And he hit the synthesised man with every ounce of muscle and energy in his body. The clone was lifted off its feet and knocked down like a felled tree, and Turnbull winced as he clutched his fist. He wouldn’t be hitting anyone else that hard for a while, for sure.
“Only one left,” said Angela. “Alec Haggie. I’ve worked it out and he’s a three—door number one-eleven.” Again she was right: 111 opened and Haggie came bounding through. But he was no threat.
“Oh, Jesus! Jesus!” he screamed, leaping away from the crystal. And right behind him, scuttling from the door before it slammed shut, came the lobster-scorpion hunter, pursuing him still where he fled screaming through the startled ranks of wolves.
“That has to be the lot,” said Turnbull. “The cast is assembled. The Big Show can start.”
“No,” said Gill, standing up and swaying, leaning a little against his boulder. “There’s still someone missing. The conductor. The one who orchestrates the whole damn thing. The one with the key to
all
the doors! Jack, Angela—get over here.”
all
the doors! Jack, Angela—get over here.”
“Well, did you learn anything?” Turnbull asked as they stumblingly joined him.
“Almost everything,” said Gill. “Once you get into it, it’s like hacking a computer. I know all the whys and wherefores, and all I need now is the who. And he’ll be along shortly—through door number seven-seventy-seven.”
“Bannerman?” Turnbull knew he must be right.
“The same.” Gill nodded. “And if he wants the job done, finished, this time he’ll have to do it himself.”
Angela believed she understood. “It was you who stalled the wolves and these other horrors?”
“I’ve stalled everything,” Gill answered. “I’ve thrown a hell of a spanner in this alien bastard’s works. So now we wait until he comes to clear the obstruction. We wait just as we are, right here, and see if he has the guts to play the game out to its end.”
Nor did they have long to wait … .
C
layborne’s crust of ice melted away and he sat up. His face was a mess and his guts flopped like sausages out of his trunk; he sat there examining them in apparent astonishment as they slithered through his fingers.
layborne’s crust of ice melted away and he sat up. His face was a mess and his guts flopped like sausages out of his trunk; he sat there examining them in apparent astonishment as they slithered through his fingers.
“We can be horrified,” Gill said, turning away, “but no longer menaced. The frighteners are off. I’ve seen to that, at least. The House of Doors had orders to drive us to madness and the very edge of death—and over the edge, if it was in the cards. But we wouldn’t actually die. We were to be tested to see just how much we could take, and how we faced up to it. But somebody reprogrammed things so that we could actually die—except that he waited too long to do it and now I’m onto him. Which is why I say that if he still wants it done, he must do it himself. You’ll see what I mean if we survive that final showdown. But there are still a good many ifs, so we’ll have to take them one at a time.”
“Why don’t you just call him Bannerman?” said Turnbull.
“Because that’s the human name he chose,” said Gill. “What’s underneath isn’t human.”
“You say we can die ‘now,’” said Angela. “But Varre and Clayborne
did
die—they are actually dead.”
did
die—they are actually dead.”
“It wasn’t them.” Gill shook his head.
She didn’t understand and he didn’t enlighten her. On top of everything else, that might be too much of a shock. Later—if there was to be a later—would be soon enough.
“Are you saying it wasn’t Varre who got changed into a werewolf, got himself pulped, and is lying there with that pack of hungry bastards right now?” Turnbull wondered if maybe Gill, too, had finally cracked.
“In a way it was him,” said Gill. “But that thing over there isn’t him, no. You know it isn’t. Human guts don’t reconstitute themselves like that. Human beings don’t change into wolves.”
“And this isn’t Clayborne playing with his entrails like they were oozing out of an overripe gooseberry?” The big man’s voice quavered on the edge of hysterics. “Clayborne, mad as a hatter and amusing himself with his own guts?”
“Same answer,” said Gill. “It is and it isn’t. Save it until later.”
“But my real husband was there in that nightmare world of mine,” said Angela. “I mean the
real
Rod Denholm!”
real
Rod Denholm!”
“Possibly,” said Gill, “if you say so. I don’t know about him.”
“And Haggie?” Turnbull was still trying to find a starting place.
“Haggie’s different—the poor bastard,” said Gill, but with nothing of emotion. “He’s here by mistake. It may have been him that came out of door number. one-eleven with the hunting machine after him, and it may have been something else. It all depends.”
“On what, for God’s sake?”.
“On the controller’s sense of humour,” said Gill.
“What about my sense of humour?” said Anderson, causing all three to start. “Believe me, I don’t find it funny being tied up in a place and at a time like this!” They’d forgotten him where he lay with his hands tied behind him and his feet lashed together.
Gill went to him where he lay in the shadows close by. “Are you okay?”
Jack Turnbull said; “Whatever he says, don’t trust him.”
“I’m fine … now,” said Anderson. “I … I acted crazy because I thought I was crazy. And I probably was, until Jack hit me. But just before I passed out, I realised that I’d been hit by something very solid and very sane. And everything became real again. Even this unthinkable situation, real. So … I’m okay now. I’m sure I’ll be able to face anything else that happens to me here. It was just that I couldn’t face what happened to me … there.”
“There?”
“In my nightmare world, in London.”
Gill took a chance, tugged at Anderson’s bindings until they shredded and came loose. Groaning, Anderson lay where he was, gingerly moving his hands and feet to get the circulation going again. “You see,” he began to explain, “my nightmare was to lose—”
Door 777 banged open, and a moment later slammed shut—and Bannerman stepped out of the great crystal’s darkest shadows.
The Bannerman construct was naked, more than “entire” in its own right, and entirely alien. Sith had given his vehicle extra “arms,” snake-like appendages one to each side of the trunk, midway between hips and shoulders; and these were tipped with bone or chitin scythes. Sexless, his groin was simply smooth, hairless synthetic flesh where the thighs met the body. His “blind” eyes had been removed so that deep-seated scanners glowed premanently red in their otherwise empty sockets. The sound of his breathing, which was not breathing at all but the roar of alien hydraulics geared for maximum exertion, was a whooshing such as bellows make. In his right hand he carried a silver metal cylinder, which had the dull gleam of lead in the light of the moon and stars. It was similar to the one Gill had already snatched from his pocket—but where Gill’s was like a fat fountain pen, Sith’s might be a walking stick!
He advanced upon Gill, Angela and Turnbull, and they found themselves caught in a triangle: between Sith, and Clayborne, and the wolves. Despite Gill’s assurances, instinct made them steer clear of the wolves—even Gill himself—and around the mad, ruptured Clayborne; and in this manner Sith herded them back towards the House of Doors. Gill’s alien instrument whirred, but its sound was almost drowned out by the angry buzz of Sith’s.
“Jesus!” Turnbull breathed. “He grows new limbs like a bloody starfish!”
“No,” said Gill, “he synthesises them. In fact he synthesises everything.”
The Bannerman construct’s mouth opened wide in a soulless laugh. “You are a clever man, Mr. Gill,” he boomed. “Possibly the cleverest of your race. And indeed under different circumstances you might well have been the saviour of your race. But events have determined otherwise.”.
“You came to test us,” Gill answered, slowly backing away. “I’ve confirmed that much. But there were limits which you’ve exceeded. Your synthesizer had a built-in code of conduct, which you’ve seen fit to overrule. Why?”
Again Sith laughed. “Amazing! I am interrogated on ‘equal’ terms by a life-form so low in the scale of things that I find it almost contemptible! But I’ll answer your questions. Why am I intent upon the destruction of you and your entire race? To make way for a superior, more worthy race, the Thone; and also because the needs of my destiny are greater than those of a planetful of primitives, that is why.”
“And am I such a primitive?” said Gill, again backing off as his inhuman adversary stepped a little too close. “I’ve learned how to communicate with your machines. How to control them. Given a little time, I might even do it better than you.”
“Because you are unique of your kind,” said Sith. “A freak or mutant. In my race, when errant strains appear, they are put down. I see no reason to make any exception in your case.”
“So you’ll kill us,” said Gill, aware of the crystal’s facets—and their doors—so close behind. “But why have you prolonged it? Did you enjoy torturing us? Is that the measure of your ‘superiority?’”
The Bannerman construct paused and its weapon buzzed with redoubled energy. Gill and his two companions backed off a further pace. “You yourself are responsible for that,” Sith finally answered. “You and Turnbull—you brought it on yourselves. Because of your … skills, which might prove troublesome, I came to kill you. You damaged my construct and fought me off. I am not one to be thwarted by inferior creatures! And again, in Varre’s tunnel world, where you discovered my real identity, you dared to employ a Thone tool to injure both my construct
and
myself! When you did that, what had been a mere amusement became a duel in earnest—albeit one which you couldn’t win.” He lifted his arms a little, his coiled tentacles, too, and inched forward.
and
myself! When you did that, what had been a mere amusement became a duel in earnest—albeit one which you couldn’t win.” He lifted his arms a little, his coiled tentacles, too, and inched forward.
“You’re a coward—not to mention a black-hearted, slimy jellyfish bastard!” Gill accused, standing his ground. “You sent constructs to do your dirty work. The Clayborne-thing to frighten and weaken us; likewise the Varre changeling; and a likeness of the girl’s husband to menace her. Only when all else failed have you yourself come on the scene.”
Bannerman bared his teeth, said, “Well,
you
most certainly are no coward, Mr. Gill.” His voice was soft now, and very menacing.
you
most certainly are no coward, Mr. Gill.” His voice was soft now, and very menacing.
“Very few human beings are,” said Gill. “Given a fair trial, we’d come through it every time. But you? Even now you make yourself unbeatable by use of a hybrid form and a superior weapon. What a small, wretched thing you really are, if the truth’s to be told!” Gill sneered these last few words, crouched down a little and indicated to the others that they should spread themselves out. “And do you really think we’ll die so easily, even now? Haven’t you learned even
that
much about us?”
that
much about us?”
Bannerman’s appendages uncoiled, fell to the ground and writhed like snakes to his rear, lethal whips ready to be called into action. “Keep talking, Mr. Gill,” he said. “For you’re talking yourself to death. Oh, I admit you’ve exerted a certain influence over this region’s node: the synthesised crystal behind you. But what I do by instinct is to you still something of an effort. And you can’t talk and think
and
exercise your talent at the same time. But I can. And already I’ve untied most of the knots which you so cleverly put in my system.”
and
exercise your talent at the same time. But I can. And already I’ve untied most of the knots which you so cleverly put in my system.”
Gill knew it was so. He could feel his contact with the crystal slipping. The wolves were creeping forward again. Clayborne had stopped examining his innards and had turned his hideous face towards the tableau now in its ultimate stages of enactment. Even the Denholm construct, seriously damaged by Jack Turnbull’s powerhouse of a blow, was stirring and trying to rise to its feet, calling: “
A-a-angel-aaa
!”
A-a-angel-aaa
!”
“The House of Doors is waiting, Mr. Gill,” said Sith-Bannerman, “and I shall have the pleasure of ushering you in across the very last threshold that you shall
ever
cross. Only look behind you and see what I mean.”
ever
cross. Only look behind you and see what I mean.”
The oldest ploy in the world and Gill fell for it. He stole a glance—and even as he knew that he’d been duped, he saw that all the doors now bore the same number: 666!
“
Gill
!” Turnbull yelled his warning. Gill ducked, held up his weapon protectively before his face. One of Bannerman’s tentacles whipped overhead, brushing his hair, and Gill’s Thone weapon sliced through it like a strand of mist. The severed chitin scythe went clattering and Sith-Bannerman howled. He pointed his own weapon and Gill’s turned red-hot in his hand! He dropped it and it spattered and flowed like a blob of mercury where it hit the scree, completely deenergized.
Gill
!” Turnbull yelled his warning. Gill ducked, held up his weapon protectively before his face. One of Bannerman’s tentacles whipped overhead, brushing his hair, and Gill’s Thone weapon sliced through it like a strand of mist. The severed chitin scythe went clattering and Sith-Bannerman howled. He pointed his own weapon and Gill’s turned red-hot in his hand! He dropped it and it spattered and flowed like a blob of mercury where it hit the scree, completely deenergized.
Sith-Bannerman coiled up his wounded, dripping extension and advanced. “You first,” he hissed. “The door is behind you. Knock now, at once, or I finish it right here.”
“Spencer!” Angela cried, but Gill shook his head. He knew it was all over.
“He has control.” He ground the words out. “And he’s lifted the limits right off the top. The sky’s the only limit now. Behind these doors lies death for any—for all—of us!”
“Correct,” said Sith. “No one—no sentient creature—may pass through one of those doors now without experiencing his own worst nightmare all the way to the end. No escape, no mercy, just the inevitable end.” He pointed his buzzing weapon at Gill’s chest and stepped forward—
—And Anderson hit him from behind!
On his own, Sith would have known—his sensors would have alerted him—but encased in the Bannerman construct he was restricted by its limitations. He could only “see” to the front.
In the last split-second Gill had seen the dark blot of Anderson’s figure erupt from even darker shadows, had seen it hurtling forwards. Struck with all Anderson’s weight, the monstrous construct was lifted up and thrown forward; Gill hurled himself sprawling to one side; Bannerman toppled and, turning as he fell, struck Anderson
through
the waist with his weapon. And the Minister’s death scream coincided precisely with the back of Bannerman’s head striking the knocker!
through
the waist with his weapon. And the Minister’s death scream coincided precisely with the back of Bannerman’s head striking the knocker!
There came a
hiss-ss
as the door opened like the sucking snout of some immense vacuum cleaner, following which …
hiss-ss
as the door opened like the sucking snout of some immense vacuum cleaner, following which …
Bundled head over heels like a page of newsprint down a windy, early-morning city street, Gill prayed:
A soft landing, God—that’s all
. And while he’d never been much of a believer, still his prayer was answered. He came down in knee-deep snow in a howling blizzard. The landscape was white as far as the eyes could see (which was maybe twenty-five feet in any direction), the sky grey, and the cold as biting as a razor-edged knife.
A soft landing, God—that’s all
. And while he’d never been much of a believer, still his prayer was answered. He came down in knee-deep snow in a howling blizzard. The landscape was white as far as the eyes could see (which was maybe twenty-five feet in any direction), the sky grey, and the cold as biting as a razor-edged knife.
Still disoriented, Gill got groggily to his knees—and was immediately knocked down again as Angela piled on top of him. In the same moment, Turnbull crashed down in a drift close by. Then everything stopped spinning and Gill stood up. He looked all around through eyes slitted against the blinding snow and let his machine consciousness—his alien machine awareness—reach out. Something was there, quite close but slowly moving away, and Gill knew it for the only thing it could be. Dimly glimpsed, a bulky figure lurched through slanting lances of snow at the very edge of vision.
Other books
The Sky Over Lima by Juan Gómez Bárcena
Glyph by Percival Everett
Missing Magic by Lexi Connor
Lexie by Kimberly Dean
How the Duke Was Won by Lenora Bell
Raw Deal (Beauty for Ashes: Book One) by Dayo Benson
Rigadoon by Louis-ferdinand & Manheim Celine
Seven-Tenths by James Hamilton-Paterson
Out at Night by Susan Arnout Smith
The Serpent by Neil M. Gunn