Thunderland (44 page)

“I did not think so,” Mr. Magic said. “Now, what is your decision? Eternal life with me? Or death with your family?”

Jason chewed his lip, thinking of a ploy to stall Mr. Magic. But all he could think of saying was, “I need time to think about it.”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Magic waved his hand dismissively. “The answer is obvious. You’re an intelligent boy; you should know the sensible choice.” He walked toward Jason. “Consider this, Jason: What have your parents ever done for you? For almost all of your life, they’ve ignored you, neglected you, broken promises they’ve made to you, beat you, cursed you, in nearly every imaginable fashion have clearly shown that they don’t care about you and, least of all, love you. Haven’t they? Yes, they have. By their heartless acts, they forced you to withdraw into your bedroom, into books, into music, into yourself, into
me.
Yes, me. I exist because of your parents’ abandonment of you. You created me, and I made your private hell bearable. I gave you laughter, joy, excitement,
acceptance.
Even when you grew older, when you reached the age at which most children cast away imaginary playmates, you stayed with me, didn’t you? You stayed with me because I was your true friend. Because I would make you happy when no one else cared to try. Because I was always there for you. Because I
loved
you. I have said this before, Jason, and I shall say it once more: we are part of each other, inseparable; the link we share is unbreakable. If you turn your back on me, you will, in effect, be turning your back on your own soul.”

When Mr. Magic finished speaking, he was standing only a couple of feet away from Jason. Jason took a step backward.

Mr. Magic smiled. He extended his hand.

‘Will you join me, my friend?”

Jason gazed into Mr. Magic’s eyes. He looked down at his open palm.

 Although Mr. Magic had spoken truthfully about their past relationship, he had no problem making his choice.

He spat in Mr. Magic’s hand. “Go fuck yourself.”

For a seemingly timeless moment, Mr. Magic stared at him.

Then he slowly squeezed his extended hand into a fist.

“Very well, Jason.” His lips tightened. “You’ve made your decision, and you will accept the consequences.”

He snapped his long fingers.

The lights went out.

And Mr. Magic began to change.

Thomas was pacing again.

This time, he did not pace out of a restless urge to hatch a plan that would break them out of their bind. He had accepted that escape was impossible. Instead, he paced out of worry for their son.

“Jesus, I hope he does the right thing,” he said, more to himself than to Linda, who still sat, head buried in her hands. “If I could only talk to him, let him know how I feel about him, how sorry I am for how I’ve treated him, I would be okay. This waiting is killing me.”

“Your worrying is killing me,” Linda said. She rose up. “Please, calm down. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Is it?” he said.

“Yes, it is. I know Jason. Like I told you before, he’s a good kid. He’s just distant, and considering the terrible upbringing we’ve given him, that’s to be expected.”

“I don’t know, Linda. At the cookout, he treated us like we were strangers.”

“That’s only because he had a lot on his mind,” she said. “You’ve seen this Mr. Magic character. Can you blame Jason for being preoccupied?”

“No, of course not. But I wonder if it’s as simple as you make it out to be.”

She sighed. “Look, Thomas. Jason will not—”

The lights went out.

Linda did not finish her sentence. Judging from her abrupt silence, she had probably fallen mute with shock. Thomas walked toward her, moving cautiously in the darkness. He sat next to her. They held each other close. He hoped he was wrong, but the dying lights gave him the terrifying feeling that Jason had made a bad decision—the worst decision, the deadliest decision.

Mr. Magic was changing.

An eerie silver luminescence throbbed in the passenger car—not sufficiently brilliant to sting Jason’s eyes, but bright enough to illuminate clearly the metamorphosing Mr. Magic. Jason had backed up to the window. He knew he should look away, climb the stairs to the upper deck, and run like hell, but he could not. Terror forced him to stand motionless and watch raptly.

The transformation started with Mr. Magic’s eyes. As though his pupils were candlewicks, sapphire blue flames flickered into life in both sockets, blazing like the fiery eyes of a jack-o’-lantern. Then, as if affected by the same mysterious fire that had consumed his eyes, his face began to melt. It grew oily, elastic, as though his skin were mere rubber; and even as it sagged to the extent that Jason feared it would tear loose from the neck and plop into the aisle, it started to bulge, pulsate, and shift, all the while those malevolent blue eyes remaining intact and fixed on Jason. They pinned him under their unearthly gaze and dared him to turn and run.

The weird silver light continued to throb. Jason’s heart seemed to boom in unison with it.

The mutation quickly reshaped Mr. Magic’s familiar features. His nose and jaws stretched and swelled as though inflated with air, transforming into a long, crocodilian snout, replete with row upon row of sharp, shiny teeth. Big, wickedly pointed horns sprouted like obscene plants out of the top of his skull, tearing apart the top hat. His ears extended themselves several inches, the tips narrowing so that they appeared as sharply pointed as the horns. A forked, speckled tongue slithered from between his green-black lips and licked at the air.

Jason realized that he had climbed halfway up the steps leading to the upper deck. He did not remember moving.

The rest of Mr. Magic’s body had joined in the transformation. He shook violently, arms twitching, legs jerking, his tuxedo shuddering as though whipped about by a gale. Then, much as his face had done, his clothes grew wax-like; they dissolved like oil into his trembling flesh, and his body started to writhe, pulse, and grow. His arms grew until they were twice their normal length. His hands stretched and curved into claws. His legs swelled as thick as tree trunks, and his feet increased in size, simultaneously becoming webbed. His expanding torso seemed to
explode
with muscles, and his shoulders broadened much wider than any football linebacker’s.

A long, ropy tail, the needle tip curled like a scorpion’s sting, quested around his ankles.

His skin was no longer brown and smooth. Horny, black-green scales covered his entire monstrous body. With each rhythmic pulse of the strange silver light, the scales shimmered.

Although Jason was morbidly fascinated by Mr. Magic’s change into this new form, he was not surprised that he had recreated himself into such a creature. The day he had left that message in Jason’s bathroom, initiating the campaign of terror that had engulfed Jason and his friends, he ceased being the gentle imaginary playmate of old. He had become a monster, and since he had nothing left to hide, no further need to curry Jason’s favor, it was only appropriate that he finally reveal his true self.

Throughout the last half of Mr. Magic’s metamorphosis, Jason had ascended the remaining stairs and emerged on the top deck. He lowered into a hunch. Stealthily, he crawled down the aisle, heading toward the other end of the coach. He intended to get out of this compartment and slip into the next car, not because there was anything in there that might help him, but because, if he could delay a confrontation by putting as much distance as possible between them, he might be able to think of a way out of this.

The beast’s massive head turned. The glowing eyes found him.

“Jason,” it said in a deep, guttural voice that reflected not kindness but intense, inhuman hate.

 Jason did not answer or look back. He broke into a run.

The creature roared, the noise rattling the thick windows. It came after him.

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack, clackety-clack
. . .

That mind-numbingly repetitive sound was like a drumbeat of doom to Linda. She had not given up on Jason. He was her son, her baby, and she would continue to give him the benefit of the doubt until she was dead ... but the extinguishing of the lights seemed to hint at ominous tidings.

Thomas had left her side. He stood at the window, face pressed against the glass. He had not spoken for several minutes. His silence distressed her more so than the relentless noises of the train.

“Do you see it?” she said, not sure she wanted to know the an
swer, only needing to break the silence.

He did not respond.

“I said, do you see it?”

Again he did not answer.

Fearing what she might see, she got up and went to the window. Thomas edged aside, giving her room. She gazed out into the night.

Far away, visible as little more than a speck in the darkness, a light twinkled. She had no idea how long it would be before that other train reached them, but as she watched, the light grew—ever so slowly—brighter. Closer.

The beast was coming.

Jason sprinted down the aisle of the upper deck. He reached the stairs, jumped, and landed so hard on the bottom that stakes of pain shot through his knees. Not daring to look back, he threw open the door leading to the next coach and staggered through.

The creature shrieked.

Jason glanced behind him in time to see the beast’s needlelike tail whip forward and strike the door’s window. The glass shattered, and he shielded his eyes in order to avoid being blinded by the flying shards. He ran into the second car.

Halfway through the compartment, he stopped running. He realized that if he was going to have any chance of defeating this monster, he would have to fight back. Simply putting distance between them would not resolve anything. It would only postpone his certain death. He had to take a stand.

The beast slowly pushed through the door.

He bent, pulled up the leg of his jeans.

Thank God, the .22 gleamed in the ankle holster.

He withdrew the handgun. He gripped it as Brains had taught him, positioning himself in the shooter’s stance. Although he understood the importance of taking a stand, his hands trembled so badly, he feared every shot he fired would miss the mark.

Hissing, the creature emerged in the car. Its sapphire blue eyes burned like molten jewels, saliva glistening on its rows of crocodilian teeth. The thick tail snaked back and forth between its legs.

He squeezed the trigger one-two-three times, the gun’s report loud in the coach, rounds hitting the monster’s scale-covered chest with heavy thuds. Three tiny wounds appeared, but they neither gushed blood nor seemed to injure the beast. It strode forward without missing a step.

He backed up. Panic tugged at him, and he fought to maintain control of himself.

When his back met the door, he fired three more rounds.

Only two of them made contact. One struck the beast’s shoulder; the other grazed its neck. Neither harmed it at all.

Knowing it was useless, he pulled the trigger again. The gun clicked. No more bullets.

The creature roared triumphantly. It charged forward, teeth bared.

Jason spun and rushed through the door behind him, into the last car. He climbed the stairs to the upper deck.

The creature stalked through the door. Its claws flexed eagerly.

Jason moved backward along the aisle, one hand sliding on the railing. The beast’s head snapped in his direction. It charged forward and grabbed the metal railing in its claws. With a mighty jerk, it tore the barrier out of the wall. Steel shrieked. Screws popped loose. Jason tumbled forward with the railing, and the beast buckled and fell, too. It dropped backward and crashed into the lower-deck seats. The monster broke Jason’s fall; he landed on its scale-armored chest, the rail the only thing separating them.