The Monsters of Morley Manor (16 page)

The Flinduvians stood the coffin upright. Dysrok touched a button on its side.

The front swung open.

Inside stood the hulking figure of a dead Flinduvian.

My new home.

Like the other Flinduvians, this guy had muscles on his muscles, tentacles instead of fingers, and feet that looked like long, flexible horse hooves. Even though its eyes were closed, I could tell they were big and bulgy. So was its snout, with its upthrust fangs.

They carried the collecting bottle over and connected it to a pipe on the side of the box.

Then they pumped me inside the Flinduvian.

At first I felt only a horrid clamminess, as if I had been wrapped in a piece of raw liver. Then, slowly, the body began to come back to life. I could feel the alien blood pumping through its alien veins. I would have screamed again, but I couldn't; the body was not mine to control, merely to inhabit.

My eyes blinked open and I could see again.

Seeing the world as a Flinduvian was very different from seeing it as an Earthling. First, colors did not look the same. It wasn't as simple as them looking lighter or darker than usual. They looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It's hard to explain clearly, but I have to tell you, it was pretty freaky.

Second, Flinduvian eyes are much sharper than ours. I could see things I had never seen before: the texture of clothing, the flecks of color in the eyes of someone twenty feet away. I could count the individual hairs on Gaspar's hand.

But along with that sharpness came something that I can only describe as “interpretation.” Every object I saw seemed like either a potential danger or a potential weapon—sometimes both at once. And every non-Flinduvian being, even my sweet old grandmother, looked like a menace and an enemy. If it hadn't been for the lucky fact that I had no control over the body I was in, I might have rushed forward to crush her.

I did not like being a Flinduvian. But at least I could see why they were so nasty—though I wondered if they saw things this way because they were so nasty, or they were so nasty because of the way they saw things.

Dysrok took a black box from his pack. He turned a dial, and I felt a jolt of power tingle through me. It was scary, but not totally unpleasant.

“There,” he said. “He's been activated. Zarax, step forward.”

Must be Zarax was my name, because I had no choice but to step forward.

Dysrok smiled. “See how simple it is? It takes only moments to reactivate the body with one of your ghosts. Once done, that body is completely under our command.”

“What about the ghost itself?” asked Gaspar. “What happens to it?”

Dysroks tongue flicked out. “The ghost is merely a battery—a life force to energize the body. And since the device that prevents more than ten members of a species from passing through a Starry Door on any given day does not apply to corpses, we can bring through a million of these warriors-in-waiting if need be. With a small advance group in place to activate them, we can transport an army large enough to conquer this puny planet in a matter of hours.”

He stretched his chest triumphantly. “Once the planet is ours, the real work begins. We will harvest your ghosts. Then, using them as fuel for our warriors' bodies, we will take our rightful place as rulers of the galaxy.”

I thought about the sorrowful spirits we had met in the Land of the Dead, and imagined them being imprisoned in Flinduvian bodies as I now was. I thought about Grampa being stuck here. I thought about old Mr. Zematoski from across the street, who had died last month, and Edon Farrell's big sister, Gwen, who had been killed in a car accident two years ago. The idea of their spirits being stuffed into these cold Flinduvian corpses was so appalling it made me want to twitch.

To my surprise, one of my new arms
did
twitch.

What made this surprising was that I was not supposed to have any control of the Flinduvian body at all.

I tried to do it again.

Nothing.

I focused my thoughts, putting all my energy into moving the right hand.

Nothing . . . nothing . . . nothing . . .
Twitch!

I stopped immediately. I didn't want the Flinduvians to know what I was up to. I tried to glance around to see if any of them had noticed, but twitch or not, I didn't have control of my eyes. All I could do was look straight ahead at the parlor of Morley Manor, which was fairly crowded, despite the fact that all the furniture was gone.

Gramma and Sarah and all the members of the Family Morleskievich were looking at me. Sarah was crying. I wanted to wave, to signal somehow that I was alive and well, but couldn't manage it. The weirdest thing of all was seeing my own body, from which Grampa was staring at me with horror and fascination.

I had no idea what to do next.

It didn't make any difference; Dysrok decided for me. Twisting the dial on his control panel, he sent me to stand against the wall.

“Close your eyes and wait for future orders,” he said.

I did as I was told.

The darkness was complete. I couldn't move. The Flinduvian body, though animated by my spirit, remained the coldest thing I had ever experienced.

I wanted to shiver, but couldn't. It was, I suppose, a lot like being dead.

No, that's not really true. If I had been dead, I could have moved on to the Land of the Dead, which, strange as it is, would have been better than this living coffin of cold Flinduvian flesh.

Then I realized that this was what they wanted to do to all of Earths dead, or at least as many as they could harvest.

It made me want to scream.

21

M
Y SIGHT WAS GONE
. I had nothing to feel or taste. But I did have two working senses: I could hear, and I could smell. As I began to settle into the body, I realized it was not only Flinduvian eyes that were sharper than ours. My new nose was much sharper as well. It took me longer to get used to that, simply because I wasn't used to smelling things so clearly. And a lot of what I could smell I couldn't figure out, because I didn't know how to interpret it.

Still, by listening carefully and paying attention to the information coming from my snout, I began to associate specific smells with specific people. (Or aliens, or monsters; whatever.) Once I had figured that out, I began to be able to get a sense of where people were standing, and when they moved. After a while I also realized that their odors
changed
when they were talking. I could actually smell fear, anger, and confidence.

As time went on it became clear that the Flinduvians were waiting for some higher officer who was supposed to take charge of the situation.

“Where is Jivaro?” growled Dysrok, two or three times.

The sound of his heavy footsteps told me he was pacing back and forth across the floor. By tracing his smell, I could tell exactly the route he was taking.

“Who cares?” asked one of the other Flinduvians. “Why don't we just destroy these fools and get it over with?”

Dysrok walked over to him. Though the soldier made no cry of pain or protest, from the sound of things I got the impression that he was getting smacked upside the head a couple of times.

“Because, you moron,” roared Dysrok, when he was done whacking the other guy, “the only one really worth killing is the Wentar, and we can't do
that
without a higher officer present.”

“You'd be wiser not to do it at all,” said the Wentar in peaceful tones.

“Hold your tongue, arrogant nitwit!” snarled Dysrok. The anger in his voice was terrifying. Yet he didn't take a step toward the Wentar, or any of the others. Given how much trouble the Wentar had gotten us into, I was glad to know that he was of some use.

“Oy,” said Albert. “Maybe we should have stayed in the box.”

“Silence!” thundered Dysrok.

While all this was going on, I continued struggling with the body I was in, trying to get control of it. It was hard to tell if I was succeeding, since I didn't dare make any big movements. I couldn't even try opening my eyes, since that would alert them to what I was doing.

Mostly I tried clenching my butt muscles.

That may sound stupid, but can you think of anything else you can move when it's a matter of life and death that no one in front of you notice the slightest twitch?

I was also sort of exploring the body, trying to get used to it—to its size and its power, its weird differences from a human body. Some of those differences were obvious—the tentacles I now possessed in place of regular fingers, the weird, hooflike feet. Some were less obvious—like the incredible strength. (The reason that was less obvious was because I had no way of using it.)

As time went on I began to settle more deeply into the body. I figured this was good, because it would make it more likely I could get control of it at some point. But it also made me nervous. What if by settling in I got so connected to the body that I could never get out again?

That was a terrifying thought. It got even more terrifying when I began to find bits and pieces of the previous owner's memories clinging to the brain.

Who knows how the connection of mind and body, spirit and flesh, really works? Not me, so don't ask me to explain this. But it was pretty eerie, let me tell you; as if I wasn't in the body alone. Well, not quite; the previous owner was clearly gone. Yet his memories lingered on, like the furniture, photos, and knickknacks left behind in an old house after its owner has died.

This adventure had started in a haunted house. Now I found myself in a haunted body. And certainly the first of its memories that I experienced scared me as much as a cold hand grabbing you in a dark room—partly because it seemed to come out of nowhere. I would have jumped in terror, except I couldn't, of course, since I had no control of the body. Even so, I did feel it flinch a bit.

The memory was as intense as my best daydreams, and deeply terrifying. The terror came because my immediate reaction was that the alien who had originally owned the body was still in it after all—that I was trapped in this body with its own ghost.

“Get me out of here!” I wanted to cry.

If I had been in a room instead of a body, I would have beat at the door with my fists, flung myself against it, trying to break it down.

But this body had no door.

The memory itself was simple enough: It was of standing on a mountaintop, staring at a city far below. Even though the city was squat and ugly, the view had a kind of stark beauty. The sky—high, wide, and light green—was lit by two suns. The city sat beside a dark lake. Beyond it stretched a scorched desert, open and arid, but vivid red against the pale green sky.

Yet there was no pleasure connected to the memory, only a flash of terrible fear and loneliness. More information bubbled up, and I suddenly understood that the memory was from a childhood day when my body's owner had been abandoned on that mountaintop in order to toughen him up.

Clearly, growing up Flinduvian was not easy.

Other memories began to surface, like bubbles rising in a glass of soda: memories of fear, of being hit, of being trained to be cruel and ferocious. The one that still haunts me most is of being locked in a room with three other kids, and only enough water for two of us to stay alive until the day we were scheduled to be released.

I can't talk about that one in any more detail. It still upsets me too much.

I almost began to feel sorry for these guys—though that sure didn't mean I wanted to let them take over the Earth, much less the entire galaxy.

The problem was, how could we stop them?

I certainly didn't expect an answer to my question. I got one, anyway. It sounded unexpectedly in my head, seeming to come from nowhere:
All we have to do is let the Coalition of Civilized Worlds know what they're up to
.

This sudden communication was even scarier than the alien memories, and I think I actually managed to flinch. That was pretty minor, considering that what I wanted to do was grab the sides of my head and scream “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

I couldn't, of course. But I guess I managed to think it, since the voice answered me.

This is Martin
.

22

M
ARTIN?
I thought in astonishment. As
in Gaspar's brother? As in the kid that the Flinduvians brought back with them?

No, Martin the next-door neighbor's dog. Of course I'm Gaspar's brother
.

But how did you get in here—into this body?

The Flinduvians have put me in and pulled me out of more bodies than I can count. After a while I learned to do it on my own—though I never let them know I could do it. Now, are you going to waste my time with stupid questions, or shall we try to figure out a way to solve this mess?

You got any suggestions?
I thought, hoping that didn't qualify as a stupid question.

Martin sighed.
Unfortunately, no. But now that I've managed to get in contact with you, at least we'll be in better shape if an opportunity does arise
.

That was fine with me. It was the first glimmer of hope I'd had since the Flinduvians showed up. But I was still curious. So despite the crack about stupid questions, I tried another. I
don't get it. Whose side are you on
—
ours, or the Flinduvians?

My own
, he replied sharply.

Care to explain that
? I asked.

Depends on how much time we have
, he answered.
Let me go check
.

I didn't feel him go, but I guess he must have, because suddenly he said,
All right, it looks like everything is quiet out there
.

Don't they notice when you leave your body
? I asked.

Actually, it's possible they could, and that's a danger. But I've just been sitting in the corner looking sullen and no one is paying much attention to me. Even if they do glance my way, it just appears that I'm resting my head on my arms. Now, let me fill you in on some of the details of what's happening.