The Kimota Anthology by Steve Lockley, Stephen Gallagher, Neal Asher, Stephen Laws, Mark Chadbourn, Mark Morris, Paul Finch, William Meikle, Peter Crowther, Graeme Hurry
Authors: Steve Lockley, Stephen Gallagher, Neal Asher, Stephen Laws, Mark Chadbourn, Mark Morris, Paul Finch, William Meikle, Peter Crowther, Graeme Hurry
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was dreamily silent, the only noise the soft thrum of occasional traffic along the dual carriageway half a mile away. John was fast asleep, his face frozen in an expression of worry and irritation. She remembered when he used to look like an angel when he was dreaming.
Something had woken her. There was a vague sense of irritation, like a bad taste in her mind, that had dragged her from her sleep and shocked her awake. A dream; nothing more. She eased out of bed and walked over to the window. The night was clear and bright with stars and a near-full moon, and there was a carpet of glittering frost across the road and lawns. She shivered.
On the way to the toilet, she paused outside Christopher’s room. There, on the floor by the door, was the old dummy they had found when they first moved into the house, the one that had been hanging over Christopher’s cot earlier that day. Why had John left it there? she thought with a brief burst of annoyance. As she bent to pick it up, she decided to look in on Christopher. His breathing had been coming through loud and clear on the baby monitor in the bedroom, but still, she thought. But still...
She pushed open the door.
Her eyes fell first on the cot and then on the figure next to it. Limned against the moonlit window, it resembled a giant spider, black and angular and hunched, boney hands resting on the edge of the cot, the rest of its upper body bent over into the pooling shadows around Christopher’s sleeping form. Gill could not see her son or what was being done to him.
She caught her breath, frozen in fear and horror, and the tiny sound scythed through the silence of the room.
The figure stirred suddenly, then looked up. There was a slight stop-go motion to its movements like bad animation which detached it from reality as the head rose from the cot and turned to look at her. It was a man, an old man, but his great age seemed to have been magnified through some dark glass until it was far, far beyond the normal span of a human life. His face was a mass of wrinkles, not one square centimeter untouched, and the skin flapped loose under his jaw and pulled in hollowly around his cheeks so that the shape of the skull was visible beneath. His eyes ranged huge and white in the sagging folds around his sockets, and when he smiled, briefly and maliciously, he showed a row of chipped, brown teeth.
Before Gill could cry out, he moved, bounding with surprising, animal-like agility towards her. Then she did scream, loud and piercing, as she turned her head to the door to cover her face. A breeze from his passing whipped at her hair, and she heard him vault over the banister and land on the hall floor far below. A split-second later Gill rushed to the banister to look after him, but the hall was empty. All the doors off it were tightly shut. She had heard none of them open.
Gill ran back to Christopher and pulled him out, clutching him tightly to her shoulder. She saw the familiar frosty bloom to his skin. He was rigid, as before, but he was still breathing.
It took several minutes for her to wake John and get his sluggish mind to comprehend what had happened. His first thoughts were for Christopher, but when he saw there was nothing he could do he went downstairs to search the house.
A nightmare, was his first thought. All this trouble with Christopher, it’s starting to get to her. And then he thought sourly, Or maybe she’s just going nuts.
Finding no sign of any break-in, he returned to the bedroom. Gill was back in bed with Christopher under the duvet next to her. She looked as pale as snow.
“Anything?” she asked edgily. He shook his head. “God, John, you should have seen him. There was something about him that wasn’t right...” She shook her head, unable to find the words that could describe what she had seen.
“An old man?” John asked incredulously. “Who jumped the bannister and landed in the hall? I’d like to find out what pills he’s
Something had woken her. There was a vague sense of irritation, like a bad taste in her mind, that had dragged her from her sleep and shocked her awake. A dream; nothing more. She eased out of bed and walked over to the window. The night was clear and bright with stars and a near-full moon, and there was a carpet of glittering frost across the road and lawns. She shivered.
On the way to the toilet, she paused outside Christopher’s room. There, on the floor by the door, was the old dummy they had found when they first moved into the house, the one that had been hanging over Christopher’s cot earlier that day. Why had John left it there? she thought with a brief burst of annoyance. As she bent to pick it up, she decided to look in on Christopher. His breathing had been coming through loud and clear on the baby monitor in the bedroom, but still, she thought. But still...
She pushed open the door.
Her eyes fell first on the cot and then on the figure next to it. Limned against the moonlit window, it resembled a giant spider, black and angular and hunched, boney hands resting on the edge of the cot, the rest of its upper body bent over into the pooling shadows around Christopher’s sleeping form. Gill could not see her son or what was being done to him.
She caught her breath, frozen in fear and horror, and the tiny sound scythed through the silence of the room.
The figure stirred suddenly, then looked up. There was a slight stop-go motion to its movements like bad animation which detached it from reality as the head rose from the cot and turned to look at her. It was a man, an old man, but his great age seemed to have been magnified through some dark glass until it was far, far beyond the normal span of a human life. His face was a mass of wrinkles, not one square centimeter untouched, and the skin flapped loose under his jaw and pulled in hollowly around his cheeks so that the shape of the skull was visible beneath. His eyes ranged huge and white in the sagging folds around his sockets, and when he smiled, briefly and maliciously, he showed a row of chipped, brown teeth.
Before Gill could cry out, he moved, bounding with surprising, animal-like agility towards her. Then she did scream, loud and piercing, as she turned her head to the door to cover her face. A breeze from his passing whipped at her hair, and she heard him vault over the banister and land on the hall floor far below. A split-second later Gill rushed to the banister to look after him, but the hall was empty. All the doors off it were tightly shut. She had heard none of them open.
Gill ran back to Christopher and pulled him out, clutching him tightly to her shoulder. She saw the familiar frosty bloom to his skin. He was rigid, as before, but he was still breathing.
It took several minutes for her to wake John and get his sluggish mind to comprehend what had happened. His first thoughts were for Christopher, but when he saw there was nothing he could do he went downstairs to search the house.
A nightmare, was his first thought. All this trouble with Christopher, it’s starting to get to her. And then he thought sourly, Or maybe she’s just going nuts.
Finding no sign of any break-in, he returned to the bedroom. Gill was back in bed with Christopher under the duvet next to her. She looked as pale as snow.
“Anything?” she asked edgily. He shook his head. “God, John, you should have seen him. There was something about him that wasn’t right...” She shook her head, unable to find the words that could describe what she had seen.
“An old man?” John asked incredulously. “Who jumped the bannister and landed in the hall? I’d like to find out what pills he’s
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