Collected Stories (28 page)

“Are you going to finish cutting off’er head?” Willie enquired.

***

They put the Reverend John Cole in a quiet house surrounded by a beautiful garden. Willie Mitcham they placed in a home, as a juvenile court decided, in its wisdom, that he was in need of care and protection. The remains of George and Carola they buried in the churchyard and said some beautiful words over their graves.

It is a great pity they did not listen to Willie, who after all knew what he was talking about when it came to a certain subject.

One evening, when the moon was full, two gentlemen who were employed in the house surrounded by the beautiful garden, opened the door, behind which resided all that remained of the Reverend John Cole. They both entered the room and prepared to talk. They never did. One dropped dead from pure, cold terror, and the other achieved a state of insanity which had so far not been reached by one of his patients.

The Reverend John Cole had been bitten by a baby werevamp, nipped by a female vampire, and clawed and bitten by a full-blooded buck werewolf.

Only the good Lord above, and the bad one below, knew what he was.

(1976)

Let it be known that there is the earth and all things that do breathe, eat and walk thereon.

Then there is the underearth and all things that do not breathe, eat or walk, but most certainly exist. They have no flesh, but have substance; they neither spin nor toil, but find much to do; they speak not, but communicate. Their natural habitat is the lower regions of that uncharted country men call Hades, and since time began, they have crawled, slithered or flown between the dark, fire-tipped mountains that border mist-filled valleys.

But there are those which over countless ages have evolved and become aware. With knowledge comes desire, and after desire comes determination, and after determination comes action. They wormed their way up through the dark tunnels which spiral around the place where lost souls mourn the passing of life, and came at last to the plane of the air-breathers. To some the light was not good and they either perished, or took to haunting the dwelling places of shadows, or ventured forth only when the sky was masked by night clouds. But some adapted, merged into their surroundings and learned to imitate the appetites of man. Such a one was named by the wise men of old as The Flucht-Daemon, but the common people drew upon their own limited vocabulary and called it: The Fly-by-Night.

The cottage stood on the edge of a great forest and to a person of vivid imagination it appeared to have crawled out from the shelter of giant trees and was now tentatively tasting the sunlight. A small garden was bordered by a white picket fence, and within its confines neat rows of cabbages, feathery carrots and sturdy potato plants presented a green, patchwork carpet that trembled under the caress of the morning breeze.

Long ago the cottage had been the dwelling place of a woodcutter, and before that a charcoal burner, but now it was occupied by Newton C. Hatfield and his daughter Celia. Newton was a novelist of some repute; Celia was a would-be actress, who, when resting, tried to follow in her father’s literary footsteps. The third occupant was a black cat who answered to the name of Tobias; a mighty hunter before the Lord, who brought live field mice home, then watched with an expression of profound surprise when Celia jumped up on to a chair and gave a pretty performance of feminine alarm. On such occasions Newton would corner the mouse, take it out to the edge of the forest and there release it.

“Damn nonsense,” he growled. “Frightened of a creature that will fit into the palm of your hand.”

“But it might run up my legs,” Celia protested.

“What the hell would it want to run up your legs for?” her father enquired. “It hasn’t got the morals of some of those types you go about with.”

“You are a disgusting old man.”

“Disgusting I may be; old never.”

One day Tobias brought home a bird.

It was a fine healthy starling that was in no way hurt, for Tobias treated his victims gently, being content to take joy in the hunt, then sit back and wait for the applause. The bird, once released, flew round the room and made a futile attempt to force its way through the windowpanes. Celia was full of concern and hampered her father’s efforts to capture it by clutching his arm and exhorting him to be careful—don’t hurt it—poor little thing, and other compassionate ejaculations. Newton finally netted it with a looped bath towel, then released it out the front door and watched the black streak as it sped for the nearest tree.

“Women!” he shook his head with deep concern. “I will never understand you. You go up the wall when a tiny mouse stirs a paw in your direction, but go all ga-ga when a bloody great bird goes flapping round the place. Do you realize if that had got entangled in your hair, you would have had something to scream about?”

“But… but it was only a poor little bird.”

“And what about that ferocious tiger we’ve got sitting under the table?”

Celia bent down and tickled Tobias’s ears, an action which earned his full approval.

“He was only acting according to his nature.”

Newton made straight for his typewriter.

“I give up.”

Two days later Tobias brought home something that was not a bird or a mouse.

They found it when they came home one evening after a visit to town. It was crawling over the carpet and made a strange twittering sound when they entered the room. Newton swore and glared at Tobias, who was crouched in one corner and watching his capture with intense interest. Celia ran forward with a cry of concern.

“Oh, poor little thing.”

Newton grabbed his daughter’s arm and pulled her back.

“Hold it. Before you go into raptures, I should first of all find out what it is.”

“It’s some kind of bird.”

“Is it?” Newton bent forward and examined the creature carefully. “Well, I’ve never seen a bird that looked like that. Look for yourself.”

The creature—before it unleashed its tail—was about six inches long and had a pair of black leathery wings that assisted it to crawl over the carpet. But when the tail suddenly uncoiled, and it appeared to have been tucked away between the minute hind legs, another three inches was added to its length. Newton went out into the hall and returned with a thick walking stick.

“You’re not going to hurt it?” Celia exclaimed.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” He brushed her to one side, then inserting the point of the stick under one wing, flipped the creature over on to its back. “Now, have you ever seen anything like that?”

A tiny, black fur-covered body, which terminated in bent hind legs; a narrow little white and completely hairless face that was lit by a pair of exquisite blue eyes and surmounted with a mop of shining black hair. The tiny teeth were white, and pointed, the ears tapered, the red lips full and parted. Newton had the impression it was grinning at him.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Celia said.

“Sweet!” Newton’s bellow of rage made the creature look up, and its lips slowly closed. “Sweet! That is the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, it’s not. I should think it’s some kind of bat.”

“Ah!” Newton nodded grimly. “A mouse. A flying mouse.”

“Yes, I know, but it’s not the same. Oh, look at his eyes!” Celia bent forward and assumed a winsome smile. “He’s not a nasty old mouse, is he then? He’s a little dinkom-diddens. Yes, he is… he’s a little dinkom-diddens…”

“For heaven’s sake, stop it. How the hell you can make noises at a… a monstrosity like that is beyond me. Let me get a shovel and I’ll put it outside somewhere. Preferably as far from the house as possible.”

Celia made a cry of protest and the creature blinked its blue eyes and seemed to look upon her with approval.

“How can you be so heartless? It’s probably hurt; otherwise it would be flying about. We must look after it until it’s well. As it was our cat that injured it, that’s the least we can do.”

“Then let the cat look after it,” Newton suggested.

Celia ignored this trite remark and busied herself in lining a plastic clothes-basket with one of Newton’s woolen vests, an act of vandalism that roused his freely expressed wrath. Then she gingerly picked the creature up and laid it in this homemade nest. A second later and she was wringing her hands.

“Gosh, but it’s cold. It’s like ice. Do you think we ought to put a hot water bottle…?”

“No, I don’t,” Newton roared. “I can’t understand how you were able to touch it. Do you realize, it might have bitten you?”

“Nonsense. It looks so happy and content. I wouldn’t mind betting it was someone’s pet.”

Newton shut himself in the back room he used as a study, and Celia, still consoling the creature with comforting words, carried the basket into the kitchen and deposited it near the fire. But what disturbed her was the fact it refused to accept any form of nourishment. She tried bread and milk, some of Tobias’ cat food, a plate of cold lamb, some rice pudding left over from yesterday, and finally a quarter of a pound of smoked ham that had been purchased for Newton’s tea—all to no avail. The creature ignored all offerings, but continued to stare up at Celia with possibly greater approval than before. Neither did it appear to want to sleep, but lay on Newton’s woolen vest and watched its protector as she moved round the kitchen, and even sometimes peered over the basket when she moved out of sight.

“I’m awfully worried,” she informed Newton at bedtime. “It hasn’t eaten a thing and is wide awake. Do you think I ought to take it to a vet?”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Newton nodded. “A vet could put it to sleep in no time at all.”

“You are a cruel, unfeeling beast.”

“Perhaps I am. But that thing gives me the willies.”

It was three o’clock in the morning when she entered his room. “Dad, wake up. It’s gone.”

He sat up, turned on the bedside light, then blinked.

“What! Who’s gone?”

“It has. 1 went downstairs to see if it was all right, and the back door was open and it’s gone.”

“Good.”

“But, Dad, listen. Don’t go back to sleep. Who unlocked the back door?”

“That’s a point.” He sat up and scratched his head. “You can’t have locked it.”

“But I did, and I remember the little thing sat up and watched me. Honestly, would 1 go to bed and leave the back door wide open?”

Newton yawned. “Well, you’re not suggesting that little horror is capable of manipulating a ruddy great rim lock, then turning the door handle? Though now I come to think of it…”

“I don’t know what to suggest. All I know is, the door is open and the sweet little thing has gone.”

“Well,” Newton pounded his pillow. “Shut the door, lock it, and go back to bed.”

“Suppose it wants to come in again?”

“It will be a very disappointed little horror.”

Celia departed with much shaking of her head and Newton. grinned as he heard her calling from the back door: “Come boy… come… come.” The answer she received was an expectant cry from Tobias, who assumed he was due for an early morning snack. Presently she remounted the stairs and Newton gave a sigh of relief when he heard her door shut.

Next morning she smiled sweetly at her father over the breakfast table and said: “He’s come back.”

Newton reached for the marmalade pot. “Has he! Who?”

“The little thing. There he was, perched on top of my wardrobe when I woke this morning.”

“Indeed! How did he… it get in?”

“Through my window. I left it open.”

There was a silence of some three-minute duration, then Newton began to frown.

“Look, I’ve been half-serious about all this up to now, but I’ve been thinking. There’s something—I don’t know— something unnatural about that damned thing. After all, we don’t know what it is or where it came from. I’m of the opinion it escaped from a zoo or some private menagerie. Perhaps we ought to report…”

“No.” Celia got up, her eyes blazing. “It’s not doing you any harm. If it did escape from some zoo, I’m glad, and I’ll be damned if I’ll see you or anyone else take it back again.”

“Now, see here,” Newton pushed his chair back. “Don’t use that tone to me. I’m not one of your pansy boyfriends. This happens to be my house, and if 1 say that miniature horror goes—it goes.”

“And I’m telling you—it won’t. I’m not a kid for you to order about.”

They were interrupted by the sound of flapping wings; in the gradually increasing rustle of disturbed air, the winged creature flew into the kitchen, glided round the ceiling and finally settled on the table. There it sat with folded wings and looked at the two antagonists with gleaming eyes. Newton’s anger drained away and was replaced by a feeling of utmost dread. There was no disregarding the look of intense pleasure on the minute face. The head was turning from side to side, the eyes raking each face as though to absorb the maximum satisfaction from the flushed features, while the tapered ears were pricked so as not to lose a fragment of angered sound. Newton put his thoughts into words.

“‘The damned thing is getting a kick out of us having a row.”

“Don’t be so silly.”

“For Pete’s sake, look at it. It’s licking its lips. Just as though it had just eaten a good meal.”