Moby Jack & Other Tall Tales (19 page)

Someone cried, ‘
That
still don’t explain why
here
, in Hamelin, Nebraska. Why don’t they go back to the old town, in Germany? It’s them they want, not us. We never saw no Piper—we ain’t done wrong.’

Doc said, ‘Don’t bet on it,’ and puffed hard on his pipe.

The lawyer studied the nearest child. Its skin was like obsidian, yet the child itself, a girl, looked vulnerable.
If you picked her up and dropped her
.
he
thought,
she would smash like porcelain
. He caught her staring back at him, with eyes of lapis lazuli, and he looked away quickly, embarrassed because she was around thirteen years of age, a girl, and nude. He felt as though he had been caught peeking into someone’s bedroom through a crack in the curtains.

When he looked back at her, she had turned away slightly, as if trying to distance herself from him. Once again, looking at the skin over her smooth shoulders, her buttocks, she reminded him of things from the earth: marble, quartz,
malachite
. Her fingernails shone as if polished by wind-blown dust. Even the highlights on her cheeks were the deep red of garnet, not of apples or anything that had once had life. There was no bloom on her, no natural softness anywhere.

‘Doc’s right,’ said David Werner, ‘I’ll tell you what it is. This town. These
children
are taking their revenge on the adults of Hamelin for stealing their childhood from them, for allowing the Piper to take them from their homes and families. Hate has replaced the love that was in their hearts when they were young.’

Dan said, ‘But this
ain’t
Hamelin—not
their
Hamelin.’

‘No, it’s not,’ said the lawyer, ‘but they found their way here to the descendants of their parents. The original Hamelin is a big thriving town now—with a much larger population than it had in the fourteenth century. Hamelin, Nebraska, now that’s about the right size, the right population. And there ’s this stink of guilt in the air—something to do with betrayal—something to do with sending children away to a place from which they can never return. You understand what I’m saying here? The Williamsons?

‘This is not geography, this is
sensing
, this is following an emotion through from some other dimension, somewhere beyond our imaginations. I think these little guys mean to get even with their parents, and since their parents are long gone, they’ll settle for us, the adult inhabitants of Hamelin, Nebraska, the people who couldn’t give a damn whether kids live or die, so long as they’re safe themselves.’

‘What do you think we ought to do, Dan?’ asked another citizen, ignoring the young lawyer.

The deputy replied, ‘Hold ‘em here. They got more friends out there,
that’s
for sure. We’ll get ‘em all in one night, when they come for these gremlins.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dan,’ remarked David Werner. ‘Call in the state police. Let them deal with it. This is getting out of hand.’

Dan Starkly shook his head emphatically.

‘Hamelin settles its own troubles. Anybody tries somethin’
tonight,
they get what’s coming to them. People have been killed here.
The mayor, the sheriff.
When I get all the perpetrators in custody,
then
I might think about callin’ in some help. I want those little guys to myself for a while.’

There was no changing the deputy’s mind, even when Doc got behind the lawyer and supported his advice. While they were arguing one of the creatures made a run for the door, would have made it to the outside, when a nervous farmer let loose with his twelve gauge, deafening everyone in the room. The heavy shot took away the back of a rattan chair and almost cut the child in half.

Doc Skimmer walked over and inspected the body.

‘Hell,’ said Doc. ‘Nothin’ I can do for this little fellah, that’s for sure.’

David Werner crossed the room and stared down on the corpse. It had not shattered into a thousand pieces. It was not china or glass: it was flesh and blood. There was a boy-child on the floor, and it was dead.
He
was dead. Looking back sharply at the other children, David thought he detected smiles on their marble features. Not smiles of satisfaction, knowing smiles that said
you’ll pay for that soon enough
. A chill went through the lawyer during this observation. These strange kids had a secret which they hadn’t divulged, weren’t about to either.

He shook his head, slowly, and then turned to Dan Starkly.

‘I think we’ve dug ourselves a pit here. They’re going to come for us now—the rest of them.’

‘Shit,’ said Dan, ‘they’re only children.’

David Werner nodded, a darkness coming to his eyes.

‘Yeah. Only children.’

They waited out the night, nervously, sitting in natural groups—the farmers here, the businessmen there,
the
professionals in a corner away from everyone else—until the dawn began to creep through the cracks in the shutters. Occasionally one of the lost children would stir and adult heads would turn, stare anxiously, until the rustling ceased.

Along with the crowing of a lonely rooster, came another sound from outside. Distant it seemed. A high-pitched noise that was painful on the ears, though you couldn’t call it loud.

‘What the hell’s
that
?’ said Dan Starkly, as if this were the last straw.

‘I’ll go and look,’ answered David Werner, who made his way to the spiral staircase that led to the top of the clocktower.

He took the wooden steps three at a time.

Once at the top he stared out, into the dim light.

He could see the lost children coming, a long line across the landscape, roughly in the shape of a crescent, but what held his attention more was the ground before them, around them, behind them. It seemed to be moving, the whole surface of the earth, rippling towards the edge of town. David Werner leaned out over the rail of the balcony, trying to penetrate the gloom with his eyes. Then he drew back sharply with a swift intake of breath.

Suddenly, he knew what it was.

‘Shit. Forgot about them.’

The smell of tobacco smoke hit his nostrils. Doc was behind him, puffing away on his weed. David Werner pointed to the waves approaching Hamelin as a grey tide slides over a wide,
gradually-sloping
beach.

‘What is it?’ asked Doc, straining his elderly eyes to see what the young lawyer was trying to show him.

‘
The first shall be last
,’ quoted David Werner. ‘What else did the Piper take with him into his hidden land? Before he took the children?’

Doc’s jaw dropped.

‘The
rats
,’ he finally replied.

‘Right. The rats. And here they come.
Millions of them.
Like the children, I guess they have the gift of longevity—I guess very few of them have died. Unlike the children, though, they’ve been breeding all this time. Rats do that, pretty efficiently I understand. There’s probably close on a billion rats out there, heading towards us.’

‘Can we run?’ asked the doctor.

The lawyer shook his head.

‘We’d never make it.’

There was nothing to say after that.

The two men descended to the hall below.

‘They’re coming,’ said David Werner to the citizens of Hamelin, Nebraska. ‘Anybody brought any explosives with them?’

A farmer coughed.

‘Got a couple of sticks of dynamite,’ he replied.
‘In my truck out back.
Gonna blow out a stump on my way home.’

‘Right, you take the women and kids. Run for the ravine. Run like hell. When you’re over the bridge, blow it behind you. Quick now. You may stand a chance, I don’t know. It depends on how long we can hold them, keep them busy.’

‘What’s this?’ said Dan, but Doc waved him quiet. The farmer left with the women and all the children under fifteen years of age.

‘Now we’d better get to the windows,’ said David Werner. ‘Those with scatterguns take the best positions.’

‘How many of ’em?’ asked Dan, and Doc just gave him a mirthless grin.

‘You got a spare handgun, boy,’ said the elderly practitioner. ‘Give it to me.’

‘Sure,’ replied the deputy, pulling a Colt from his waistband. ‘Didn’t know you was a gun man, Doc?’

‘I’m not. Couldn’t hit a barn door holding the handle. This is for me. When they get inside, I’m taking the easy way out.’

Dan Starkly gaped, his lack of understanding evident in his expression.

He said, ‘Just kids...’

‘Not any more,’ replied David Werner.

The young lawyer crossed to the window and stared outside. He did not speak for a long time, but when he did, it was in a low voice, the tone of a man who has given up hope.

‘I think I’ve been right, in my assessment of the situation,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I have. Those of you who want to see what we’re up against, come over here and look. Scream if you want to. It won’t make any difference.’

Then he took an automatic out of his pocket and simply pointed into the thick mass of scrambling bodies coming through the picket fence, firing rapidly, one random shot after the other, hitting something every time.

A few seconds later the enemy began pouring through the doors and windows, and the carnage began.

This is one of two stories in this volume originally written for kids (the other being ‘The Megowl’). I think it stands well enough besides the tales for grown-ups.

T
here had been a moment when the sky darkened and the snow-covered forest became still. A moment when the shadows merged, the light fled, and there was utter silence. One second the distant church bells had been ringing their Christmas message through the icicles on the trees—and the next, stillness. The hunter had never known such a silence. He imagined it was like being buried deep in snow. Not a single thing, over the whole earth, moved or made a sound. It struck fear in his heart: a
terror which
was like a cold shadow itself.

Then came the terrible pain in his chest, followed by the sound of the shot. He thought it was funny, feeling the bullet hit him first, then hearing the sound of the rifle, but then he remembered that a bullet travelled faster than sound. He had often seen the puff of smoke from a far-off rifle, before the sound of the shot reached his ears.

The pain in his chest was over with quickly. Lying there in the snow, his body numb, he wanted to say to his fellow hunters, ‘I know it was an accident, so don’t blame yourselves.’ But he could not open his mouth, or move his lips.

Then, miraculously, he felt fine again. He got to his feet, brushed the snow from his hunting jacket, and turned to say to his comrades, ‘I’m still alive.’ But he found himself alone. All his companions had gone. Strangely, there were not even any marks in the snow, where they had been standing. Nothing. Though there were noises now, of birds and animals, the distant Christmas bells were still silent. The trees looked the same, yet seemed different. The whole scene had a curious atmosphere.

He began to call out, ‘Hey, where have you all gone? Jan? Albert? Peter? Wait for me!’
Because the fear was back with him again.

There was no answer. So, he began to walk.

As he battled through the deep snow, he saw an incredible number of animal tracks on the forest floor. Among others he recognised hare, deer and fox. There were also prints which looked like those of a wolf, but he told himself that wolves had not been in the region for at least a hundred years, so decided it must be some sort of dog. Then he came across the tracks of a wild boar. He was absolutely certain about the boar, being an expert on such creatures. The hunter became very excited and unslung his rifle from his shoulder. What a terrific thing it would be to shoot the last wild boar!