Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror by Michael Talbot Page A
Authors: Michael Talbot
Ads: Link
was still some distance away, and the sound it made was not the sound of footsteps, nor even a faint scraping or rustling. In fact, it was not a sound at all. But somehow he knew that something was in the hall to the right of the room. He could discern the slow and measured pace of its approach. And yet the precise nature of his perception remained a mystery to him.
Was it his imagination?
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than every fiber of his being told him it was not. Desperately he tried to decipher how or why he knew what he knew, and suddenly it occurred to him that he was feeling the presence of the thing, its proximity—just as one might feel the nearness of a heated object, a hot poker. Only it was not heat that he was sensing, but power. Whatever the thing was, it was so powerful that its presence could be felt even through the wall that separated his room from the hall.
And still it drew closer.
His terror growing, he considered yelling for help. But it occurred to him that perhaps the thing did not know he was there. Perhaps it was only making some routine transit of the house and by calling for help he might alert it to his presence.
Suddenly he remembered the flashlight. It was just a few feet away on the night table. If he could reach it without making the bed creak.... Perhaps he could blind the thing with the beam of light long enough to allow him to escape. His senses told him the thing was now only about twenty feet from his room and closing in fast.
He started to pull his hand out from under the covers, but the mattress springs squeaked slightly, and he stopped. He once again inched his hand upward, but he knew he had to move quickly. Now the thing was only about ten feet from his door. Finally, he pulled his hands free of the blanket and felt a rush of exhilaration, but it was too late. The door to his bedroom burst open with such force he expected to hear it bang into the wall. Only it did not. There was only an eerie silence as the thing swept into the room.
For a second he thought he had screamed. At least he felt his mouth had opened wide with terror. But then he realized his larynx, indeed every muscle in his body, was paralyzed. Only his eyes were free of the deadly spell, and in the moonlight he could see quite clearly the open door and the darkness of the hallway beyond. And for the first time he saw the intruder.
Standing in the doorway was something like the figure of a man, only composed solely out of a turbulent and seething darkness. In height the thing towered well over six feet, and occasionally in its murky and vaporous form there appeared the suggestion of massive sinews. But whatever was human ended there, for instead of a face it possessed only an impenetrable darkness. Now that it was no longer shielded by the walls it exuded a staggering raw force and power; it almost seemed to Garrett as if he were in the presence of a hurricane. Only he was not, for there was no sound or movement of air coming from the thing, only a pounding, all-consuming silence.
Despite the figure’s lack of a face, Garrett sensed that the thing was looking at him. Indeed, no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than suddenly the thing started forward once again. For a moment Garrett thought his heart would stop as it moved right up to the very edge of the bed and then circled slowly as if to study him. But for what purpose? Deciding which limb to rend first? Or whether to kill him now or wait until later? He did not know. He was so weak with terror he was afraid he was going to faint.
In the tumult of his thoughts he summoned up the willpower to mutter a silent prayer, for he was certain he was going to die.
But then to his great surprise the thing withdrew, churning like a storm cloud and pulling its awesome power back with it. As gently as if it were his own mother, it pulled the door softly shut and drifted back into the cavernous house.
He was alone in the darkness once again.
The
Was it his imagination?
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than every fiber of his being told him it was not. Desperately he tried to decipher how or why he knew what he knew, and suddenly it occurred to him that he was feeling the presence of the thing, its proximity—just as one might feel the nearness of a heated object, a hot poker. Only it was not heat that he was sensing, but power. Whatever the thing was, it was so powerful that its presence could be felt even through the wall that separated his room from the hall.
And still it drew closer.
His terror growing, he considered yelling for help. But it occurred to him that perhaps the thing did not know he was there. Perhaps it was only making some routine transit of the house and by calling for help he might alert it to his presence.
Suddenly he remembered the flashlight. It was just a few feet away on the night table. If he could reach it without making the bed creak.... Perhaps he could blind the thing with the beam of light long enough to allow him to escape. His senses told him the thing was now only about twenty feet from his room and closing in fast.
He started to pull his hand out from under the covers, but the mattress springs squeaked slightly, and he stopped. He once again inched his hand upward, but he knew he had to move quickly. Now the thing was only about ten feet from his door. Finally, he pulled his hands free of the blanket and felt a rush of exhilaration, but it was too late. The door to his bedroom burst open with such force he expected to hear it bang into the wall. Only it did not. There was only an eerie silence as the thing swept into the room.
For a second he thought he had screamed. At least he felt his mouth had opened wide with terror. But then he realized his larynx, indeed every muscle in his body, was paralyzed. Only his eyes were free of the deadly spell, and in the moonlight he could see quite clearly the open door and the darkness of the hallway beyond. And for the first time he saw the intruder.
Standing in the doorway was something like the figure of a man, only composed solely out of a turbulent and seething darkness. In height the thing towered well over six feet, and occasionally in its murky and vaporous form there appeared the suggestion of massive sinews. But whatever was human ended there, for instead of a face it possessed only an impenetrable darkness. Now that it was no longer shielded by the walls it exuded a staggering raw force and power; it almost seemed to Garrett as if he were in the presence of a hurricane. Only he was not, for there was no sound or movement of air coming from the thing, only a pounding, all-consuming silence.
Despite the figure’s lack of a face, Garrett sensed that the thing was looking at him. Indeed, no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than suddenly the thing started forward once again. For a moment Garrett thought his heart would stop as it moved right up to the very edge of the bed and then circled slowly as if to study him. But for what purpose? Deciding which limb to rend first? Or whether to kill him now or wait until later? He did not know. He was so weak with terror he was afraid he was going to faint.
In the tumult of his thoughts he summoned up the willpower to mutter a silent prayer, for he was certain he was going to die.
But then to his great surprise the thing withdrew, churning like a storm cloud and pulling its awesome power back with it. As gently as if it were his own mother, it pulled the door softly shut and drifted back into the cavernous house.
He was alone in the darkness once again.
The
Similar Books
