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"I preserve the balance," Walker said easily, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his impeccable sleeve. "Because someone has to."
"No-one knows who or what Walker reports to, or where his orders come from," I continued, "Government or Church or Army. But in an emergency he has been known to call for backup from any damned force he wants; and they come running every time. His word is law, and he enforces it with whatever measures it takes. Always immaculately turned out, charming in a ruthless kind of way, and never, ever, to be trusted. No-one ever sees him coming. You can never tell when he's going to come strolling out of the shadows with a smile and a quip, to pour oil on troubled waters, or occasionally vice versa.
"He has a gift for getting answers. There aren't many who can say no to him. They say he once made
a corpse sit up on an autopsy table and talk with him."
"You flatter me," said Walker.
"You'll notice he's not denying it. Walker can call on powers and dominations, and make them answer to him. He has power, but no accountability. And damn all conscience, either. In a place where the Light and the Dark are more than just aphorisms, Walker remains determinedly grey. Like any good civil servant."
"It's all about duty and responsibility, Taylor," said Walker. "You wouldn't understand."
"Walker disapproves of people like me," I said, smiling coldly. "Rogue agents, individuals who insist on being in charge of their own destinies, and their own souls. He thinks we muddy the waters. It's not often you'll see him out in the open, like this. He much prefers to stay in the shadows, so people can't see him pulling strings. Anyone at all could be working for him, knowingly or unknowingly, doing his bidding, so Walker doesn't have to get his own hands dirty. And of course, if one of his unofficial agents should get killed in the process, well, there are always more where they came from. For Walker the end always justifies the means, because the end is keeping the Nightside and its occupants strictly separate from the everyday world that surrounds it."
Walker bowed his head slightly, as though anticipating applause. "I do so love it when you introduce
me, Taylor. You do it so much better than I ever could."
"He's been known to fit up people," I said. The words were coming faster now, as my anger rose. "When he finds it necessary, to throw someone to the wolves. He is much feared, occasionally admired, and practically everyone in the Nightside has tried to kill him, at one time or another. At the end of the day, he goes home to his wife and his family, in the everyday world, and forgets all about the Nightside. We're just a job to him. Personally, I think he sees this whole damned place as nothing more than a hideously dangerous freak show, full of things that bite. He'd nuke the Nightside and wipe us all out, if he thought he could get away with it. Except he can't, because his mysterious masters won't let him. Because they, and those like them, need somewhere to come and play the games they can't play anywhere else, to wallow in the awful pleasures they can't even admit to in the everyday world.
"This is Walker, Joanna. Don't trust him." "How very unkind," Walker murmured. He pulled up another chair and sat down at our table, exactly half-way between Joanna and me. He crossed his legs elegantly and laced his fingers together on the table before him. All around us conversations were starting up again, as it became clear Walker hadn't come for any of them. He leaned forward across the table, and despite myself I leaned forward a little too,
to hear what he had to say. If Walker had taken an interest in me and my case, the situation had to be even more serious than I thought.
"People have been disappearing on Blaiston Street for some time now," Walker said briskly. "It took us a while to realise this, because they were the kind of people no-one misses. The homeless, the beggars, the drunks and drug-users. All the usual street trash. And even after the situation became clear, I saw no reason to become involved. Because, after all, no-one cared. Or at least, no-one who mattered. If anything, the area actually seemed to improve, for a while. By definition, anyone who ends up on Blaiston Street by choice has already opted out of the human race. But just recently ... a number of rather important people have walked into Blaiston Street, and never come out again. So the word has come down from Above for me to investigate."
"Hold everything." I gave Walker my best hard look. "Just what would these rather important peoplehave been doing in a cesspit like Blaiston Street?"
"Quite," said Walker. If my hard look was bothering him, he hid it very well. "None of them had any business being there. Blaiston Street has none of the usual attractions or temptations that might lead a normally sensible person to go slumming. It seems much more likely they were called, or possibly even summoned, there, by forces or individuals unknown. Except... if something that powerful had come into
the Nightside, we should have detected its presence long before now. Unless it's hiding from us. Which, strictly speaking, is supposed to be impossible. So, a mystery. And you know how much I hate mysteries, Taylor. I was considering what to do for the best when I learned you'd reappeared in the Nightside; and then everything just fell into place. I understand you're tracking a runaway."
'This lady's daughter," I said. Walker inclined his head to Joanna again.
"And your gift leads you to believe she's in Blais-ton Street?"
"Yes."
"And you have reason to believe she was called there?"
"Not necessarily against her will."
Walker made a vague dismissive gesture with one elegant hand. "Then you have twelve hours, Taylor, to discover the secrets of Blaiston Street and do whatever is necessary to re-establish the status quo. Should you fail, I will have no choice but to fall back on my original plan, and destroy the whole damned street, and everything in it, now and forever."
"You can't do that!" said Joanna. "Not while my Cathy's still in there!"
"Oh yes he can," I said. "He's done it before. Walker's always been a great admirer of the scorched earth option. And it wouldn't bother him in the least if he had to sacrifice a few innocents along the way.
Walker doesn't believe anyone's innocent. Plus, by involving me he doesn't have to put one of his own people at risk."
"Exactly," said Walker. He rose gracefully to his feet, checking the time on an old-fashioned gold fob watch from his waistcoat pocket. "Twelve hours, Taylor, and not a minute more." He put the watch away and looked at me thoughtfully. "A final warning. Remember... that nothing is ever what it seems, in the Nightside. I'd hate to think you've been away so long that you've forgotten such a basic fact of life here."
He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he might be about to say something more, but then our waitress came trotting back with my freshly laundered trench coat, and the moment passed. Walker smiled tolerantly as the waitress displayed the spotless coat for my approval.
"Very nice, Taylor. Very retro. I must be off now, about my business. So much to do, and so many to be doing it to. Welcome back, Taylor. Don't screw up."
He was already turning away to leave when I stopped him with my voice. "Walker, you were my father's friend."
He looked back at me. "Yes, John, I was."
"Did you ever find out what my mother was?"
"No," he said. "I never did. But if I ever do find her, I'll make her tell me. Before I kill her."
He smiled briefly, touched his fingertips to the
brim of his bowler hat, and left the cafe. No-one actually watched him go, but the general murmur of voices rose significantly once the door was safely shut behind him.
"Just what is it with you and him?" Joanna said finally. "Why did you let him talk to you like that?"
"Walker? Hell, I'd let him shit on my shoes if he wanted to."
"I haven't seen you back down to anyone since we got here," said Joanna. "What makes him so special?"
"Walker's different," I said. "Everyone gives Walker plenty of space. Not for who he is, but for what he represents."
"The Authorities?"
"Got it in one. Some questions are all the scarier for having no answer."
"But who watches the watchmen?" said Joanna. "Who keeps the Authorities honest?"
"We are drifting into decidedly murky philosophical waters," I said. "And we really don't have the time. Finish your nice Coke, and we'll go pay Blais-ton Street a visit."
"About time!" said Joanna. And she gulped down the last of her icy Coke so fast it must have given her a headache.
NINE - A House
on Blaiston Street
TEN -
In theBelly
of the Beast
ELEVEN -
All Masks Thrown Aside
"No-one knows who or what Walker reports to, or where his orders come from," I continued, "Government or Church or Army. But in an emergency he has been known to call for backup from any damned force he wants; and they come running every time. His word is law, and he enforces it with whatever measures it takes. Always immaculately turned out, charming in a ruthless kind of way, and never, ever, to be trusted. No-one ever sees him coming. You can never tell when he's going to come strolling out of the shadows with a smile and a quip, to pour oil on troubled waters, or occasionally vice versa.
"He has a gift for getting answers. There aren't many who can say no to him. They say he once made
a corpse sit up on an autopsy table and talk with him."
"You flatter me," said Walker.
"You'll notice he's not denying it. Walker can call on powers and dominations, and make them answer to him. He has power, but no accountability. And damn all conscience, either. In a place where the Light and the Dark are more than just aphorisms, Walker remains determinedly grey. Like any good civil servant."
"It's all about duty and responsibility, Taylor," said Walker. "You wouldn't understand."
"Walker disapproves of people like me," I said, smiling coldly. "Rogue agents, individuals who insist on being in charge of their own destinies, and their own souls. He thinks we muddy the waters. It's not often you'll see him out in the open, like this. He much prefers to stay in the shadows, so people can't see him pulling strings. Anyone at all could be working for him, knowingly or unknowingly, doing his bidding, so Walker doesn't have to get his own hands dirty. And of course, if one of his unofficial agents should get killed in the process, well, there are always more where they came from. For Walker the end always justifies the means, because the end is keeping the Nightside and its occupants strictly separate from the everyday world that surrounds it."
Walker bowed his head slightly, as though anticipating applause. "I do so love it when you introduce
me, Taylor. You do it so much better than I ever could."
"He's been known to fit up people," I said. The words were coming faster now, as my anger rose. "When he finds it necessary, to throw someone to the wolves. He is much feared, occasionally admired, and practically everyone in the Nightside has tried to kill him, at one time or another. At the end of the day, he goes home to his wife and his family, in the everyday world, and forgets all about the Nightside. We're just a job to him. Personally, I think he sees this whole damned place as nothing more than a hideously dangerous freak show, full of things that bite. He'd nuke the Nightside and wipe us all out, if he thought he could get away with it. Except he can't, because his mysterious masters won't let him. Because they, and those like them, need somewhere to come and play the games they can't play anywhere else, to wallow in the awful pleasures they can't even admit to in the everyday world.
"This is Walker, Joanna. Don't trust him." "How very unkind," Walker murmured. He pulled up another chair and sat down at our table, exactly half-way between Joanna and me. He crossed his legs elegantly and laced his fingers together on the table before him. All around us conversations were starting up again, as it became clear Walker hadn't come for any of them. He leaned forward across the table, and despite myself I leaned forward a little too,
to hear what he had to say. If Walker had taken an interest in me and my case, the situation had to be even more serious than I thought.
"People have been disappearing on Blaiston Street for some time now," Walker said briskly. "It took us a while to realise this, because they were the kind of people no-one misses. The homeless, the beggars, the drunks and drug-users. All the usual street trash. And even after the situation became clear, I saw no reason to become involved. Because, after all, no-one cared. Or at least, no-one who mattered. If anything, the area actually seemed to improve, for a while. By definition, anyone who ends up on Blaiston Street by choice has already opted out of the human race. But just recently ... a number of rather important people have walked into Blaiston Street, and never come out again. So the word has come down from Above for me to investigate."
"Hold everything." I gave Walker my best hard look. "Just what would these rather important peoplehave been doing in a cesspit like Blaiston Street?"
"Quite," said Walker. If my hard look was bothering him, he hid it very well. "None of them had any business being there. Blaiston Street has none of the usual attractions or temptations that might lead a normally sensible person to go slumming. It seems much more likely they were called, or possibly even summoned, there, by forces or individuals unknown. Except... if something that powerful had come into
the Nightside, we should have detected its presence long before now. Unless it's hiding from us. Which, strictly speaking, is supposed to be impossible. So, a mystery. And you know how much I hate mysteries, Taylor. I was considering what to do for the best when I learned you'd reappeared in the Nightside; and then everything just fell into place. I understand you're tracking a runaway."
'This lady's daughter," I said. Walker inclined his head to Joanna again.
"And your gift leads you to believe she's in Blais-ton Street?"
"Yes."
"And you have reason to believe she was called there?"
"Not necessarily against her will."
Walker made a vague dismissive gesture with one elegant hand. "Then you have twelve hours, Taylor, to discover the secrets of Blaiston Street and do whatever is necessary to re-establish the status quo. Should you fail, I will have no choice but to fall back on my original plan, and destroy the whole damned street, and everything in it, now and forever."
"You can't do that!" said Joanna. "Not while my Cathy's still in there!"
"Oh yes he can," I said. "He's done it before. Walker's always been a great admirer of the scorched earth option. And it wouldn't bother him in the least if he had to sacrifice a few innocents along the way.
Walker doesn't believe anyone's innocent. Plus, by involving me he doesn't have to put one of his own people at risk."
"Exactly," said Walker. He rose gracefully to his feet, checking the time on an old-fashioned gold fob watch from his waistcoat pocket. "Twelve hours, Taylor, and not a minute more." He put the watch away and looked at me thoughtfully. "A final warning. Remember... that nothing is ever what it seems, in the Nightside. I'd hate to think you've been away so long that you've forgotten such a basic fact of life here."
He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he might be about to say something more, but then our waitress came trotting back with my freshly laundered trench coat, and the moment passed. Walker smiled tolerantly as the waitress displayed the spotless coat for my approval.
"Very nice, Taylor. Very retro. I must be off now, about my business. So much to do, and so many to be doing it to. Welcome back, Taylor. Don't screw up."
He was already turning away to leave when I stopped him with my voice. "Walker, you were my father's friend."
He looked back at me. "Yes, John, I was."
"Did you ever find out what my mother was?"
"No," he said. "I never did. But if I ever do find her, I'll make her tell me. Before I kill her."
He smiled briefly, touched his fingertips to the
brim of his bowler hat, and left the cafe. No-one actually watched him go, but the general murmur of voices rose significantly once the door was safely shut behind him.
"Just what is it with you and him?" Joanna said finally. "Why did you let him talk to you like that?"
"Walker? Hell, I'd let him shit on my shoes if he wanted to."
"I haven't seen you back down to anyone since we got here," said Joanna. "What makes him so special?"
"Walker's different," I said. "Everyone gives Walker plenty of space. Not for who he is, but for what he represents."
"The Authorities?"
"Got it in one. Some questions are all the scarier for having no answer."
"But who watches the watchmen?" said Joanna. "Who keeps the Authorities honest?"
"We are drifting into decidedly murky philosophical waters," I said. "And we really don't have the time. Finish your nice Coke, and we'll go pay Blais-ton Street a visit."
"About time!" said Joanna. And she gulped down the last of her icy Coke so fast it must have given her a headache.
NINE - A House
on Blaiston Street
Blaiston Street butts onto the back end of nowhere. Shabby houses on a shabby street, where all the street-lights have been smashed, because the inhabitants feel more at home in the dark. Perhaps so they won't have to see how far they've fallen. I could practically feel the rats running for cover as I led Joanna down the street, but otherwise it was almost unnaturally still and quiet. Litter was piled everywhere in great festering heaps, and every inch of the dirty stone walls was covered in obscene graffiti. The whole place stank of decay—material, emotional and spiritual. All down the street, windows were missing, patched up with cardboard or paper or nothing at all.
Filth everywhere, from animals marking their territory, or from people who just didn't care any more. The houses were two rows of ancient tenements, neglected and despised, that would probably have fallen down if they hadn't been propping each other up.
Maybe Walker was right. A good bomb here could do millions of pounds of civic improvements.
And yet... something was wrong here. More than usually wrong. The street was strangely empty deserted, abandoned. There were no homeless hud died in doorways, or under sagging fire-escapes. No beggars or muggers, no desperate souls looking to buy or sell; not even a single pale face peering from a window. Blaiston Street usually seethed with life like maggots in an open wound. I could hear the sounds of traffic and people from adjoining streets, but the sound was muted, strangely far away, as though from another world.
"Where the hell is everybody?" said Joanna quietly.
"Good question," I said. "And I don't think we're going to like the answer, when we find it. I'd like to think everyone just ran away, but... I'm beginning to suspect they weren't that lucky. I don't think anyone here got out alive. Something bad happened here. And it's still happening."
Joanna looked around her, and shuddered. "What in sweet Jesus' name could have summoned Cathy to a place like this?"
"Let's find out," I said, and calling up my gift I opened my private eye again. My gift was getting weaker, and so was I, but I was so close now it was just strong enough to show me Cathy's ghost prancing down the street, lit up from within by her own blazing emotions. I'd never seen anyone look so happy. She came to one particular house, that looked no different from any of the others, and stopped before it, studying it with solemn, child-wide eyes. The door opened slowly before her, and she ran up the stone steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, smiling widely all the time, as though she was going to the best party in all the world. The door closed behind her, and that was that. I'd come to the end of the trail. For whatever reason, she'd never left that house again. I took Joanna by the hand and replayed the ghost so she could see it too.
"We've found her!" said Joanna, her hand clamping down on mine so hard it hurt. "She's here!"
"She was here," I said, pulling my hand free. "Let me check the house out before we go any further, see what my gift can tell us about the house's past and present occupants."
We walked right up to the house, and stopped at the foot of the dirty stone steps that led up to the paint-peeling door. Old bricks and mortar, smeared windows, and no signs of life anywhere. The door looked flimsy enough. I didn't think it could keep me out if I decided I wanted in, but this was the Night-
side, so you never knew ... I raised my gift and concentrated on the house, and despite myself I made a sudden, startled sound. There was no house before me. No history, no emotions, no memories, not even a simple sense of presence. As far as my gift was concerned, I was standing before a vacant lot. There was no house here, and never had been.
I grabbed Joanna's hand again, so she could see what I wasn't seeing, and she jumped too.
"I don't understand. Where did the house go?"
"It didn't go anywhere," I said. "As far as I can tell, there's never been any kind of house here."
I let go her hand and dropped my gift, and there was the house again, right in front of me. Large as life and twice as ugly.
"Is it another ghost?" said Joanna. "Like the cafe?"
"No. I'd recognise that. This is solid. It has a physical presence. We saw Cathy go into it. Something here ... is playing games with us. Disguising its true nature."
"Something inside the house?"
"Presumably. Which means the only way we're going to get any answers is to force our way in, and see for ourselves. A house ... that isn't just a house. I wonder what it is?"
"I don't give a damn what it is," Joanna said hotly. "All that matters is finding my Cathy, and getting her the hell out of here."
I grabbed her by the arm to stop her from charging up the steps. Her face was flushed with emotion at coming so close to the end of the chase, and her arm trembled under my hand. She looked at me angrily as I stopped her, and I made myself speak calmly and soothingly.
"We can't help Cathy by plunging headlong into traps. I don't believe in charging blindly into strange situations."
"Just as well I'm here then, isn't it?" said Suzie Shooter.
I looked round sharply, and there she was in the street behind me; Shotgun Suzie, smiling just a little smugly, the stock of her holstered pump-action shotgun peering at me over her leather-clad shoulder. I gave her my best glare.
"First Walker, and now you. I can remember when people weren't able to sneak up on me all the time."
"Getting old, Taylor," said Suzie. "Getting soft. Found anything for me to shoot yet?"
"Maybe," I said. I gestured at the house before us. "Our runaway is in there. Only my gift says there's something decidedly unnatural about this place."
Suzie sniffed. "Doesn't look like much. Let's do it. I'll lead the way, if you're worried."
"Not this time, Suzie," I said. "I have a really bad feeling about this house."
"You're always having bad feelings."
"And I'm usually right."
"True."
I made my way slowly up the stone steps. There still wasn't anyone around, but I could feel the pressure of watching eyes. Suzie moved in beside me like I'd never been away, like she belonged there, her shotgun already in her hands. Joanna brought up the rear, looking a little upset at being pushed into the background by Suzie's presence. The sound of our feet on the stone steps seemed unusually loud and carrying, but it didn't matter. Whatever was waiting for us inside the house that wasn't just a house, it knew we were there. I stopped before the door. There was no bell. No knocker or letter-box, either. I rapped on the door with my fist, and the wood seemed to give slightly under each blow, as though it was rotten. The sound of my knocking was eerily soft, muffled. There was no response from within.
"Want me to blow the lock out?" said Suzie.
I tried the door-handle, and it turned easily in my grasp. The discoloured metal of the door-knob was unpleasantly warm and moist to the touch. I rubbed my hand roughly on the side of my coat, and pushed the door open with the tip of my shoe. It fell back easily. Inside, there was only an impenetrable darkness, and not a sound anywhere. Joanna pushed in beside me, staring eagerly into the dark. She opened her mouth as though to call out to Cathy, but I stopped her. She glared at me again. There was an urgency in her now. I could feel it. Suzie produced a
flashlight from some hidden pocket, turned it on and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks, and played the bright beam back and forth across the hallway before me. Hardly anything showed outside the beam, but the hall seemed long and wide and empty. I moved slowly forward, and Joanna and Suzie came with me. Once we were safely inside, the door closed behind us if its own volition, and none of us were a bit surprised.
Filth everywhere, from animals marking their territory, or from people who just didn't care any more. The houses were two rows of ancient tenements, neglected and despised, that would probably have fallen down if they hadn't been propping each other up.
Maybe Walker was right. A good bomb here could do millions of pounds of civic improvements.
And yet... something was wrong here. More than usually wrong. The street was strangely empty deserted, abandoned. There were no homeless hud died in doorways, or under sagging fire-escapes. No beggars or muggers, no desperate souls looking to buy or sell; not even a single pale face peering from a window. Blaiston Street usually seethed with life like maggots in an open wound. I could hear the sounds of traffic and people from adjoining streets, but the sound was muted, strangely far away, as though from another world.
"Where the hell is everybody?" said Joanna quietly.
"Good question," I said. "And I don't think we're going to like the answer, when we find it. I'd like to think everyone just ran away, but... I'm beginning to suspect they weren't that lucky. I don't think anyone here got out alive. Something bad happened here. And it's still happening."
Joanna looked around her, and shuddered. "What in sweet Jesus' name could have summoned Cathy to a place like this?"
"Let's find out," I said, and calling up my gift I opened my private eye again. My gift was getting weaker, and so was I, but I was so close now it was just strong enough to show me Cathy's ghost prancing down the street, lit up from within by her own blazing emotions. I'd never seen anyone look so happy. She came to one particular house, that looked no different from any of the others, and stopped before it, studying it with solemn, child-wide eyes. The door opened slowly before her, and she ran up the stone steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, smiling widely all the time, as though she was going to the best party in all the world. The door closed behind her, and that was that. I'd come to the end of the trail. For whatever reason, she'd never left that house again. I took Joanna by the hand and replayed the ghost so she could see it too.
"We've found her!" said Joanna, her hand clamping down on mine so hard it hurt. "She's here!"
"She was here," I said, pulling my hand free. "Let me check the house out before we go any further, see what my gift can tell us about the house's past and present occupants."
We walked right up to the house, and stopped at the foot of the dirty stone steps that led up to the paint-peeling door. Old bricks and mortar, smeared windows, and no signs of life anywhere. The door looked flimsy enough. I didn't think it could keep me out if I decided I wanted in, but this was the Night-
side, so you never knew ... I raised my gift and concentrated on the house, and despite myself I made a sudden, startled sound. There was no house before me. No history, no emotions, no memories, not even a simple sense of presence. As far as my gift was concerned, I was standing before a vacant lot. There was no house here, and never had been.
I grabbed Joanna's hand again, so she could see what I wasn't seeing, and she jumped too.
"I don't understand. Where did the house go?"
"It didn't go anywhere," I said. "As far as I can tell, there's never been any kind of house here."
I let go her hand and dropped my gift, and there was the house again, right in front of me. Large as life and twice as ugly.
"Is it another ghost?" said Joanna. "Like the cafe?"
"No. I'd recognise that. This is solid. It has a physical presence. We saw Cathy go into it. Something here ... is playing games with us. Disguising its true nature."
"Something inside the house?"
"Presumably. Which means the only way we're going to get any answers is to force our way in, and see for ourselves. A house ... that isn't just a house. I wonder what it is?"
"I don't give a damn what it is," Joanna said hotly. "All that matters is finding my Cathy, and getting her the hell out of here."
I grabbed her by the arm to stop her from charging up the steps. Her face was flushed with emotion at coming so close to the end of the chase, and her arm trembled under my hand. She looked at me angrily as I stopped her, and I made myself speak calmly and soothingly.
"We can't help Cathy by plunging headlong into traps. I don't believe in charging blindly into strange situations."
"Just as well I'm here then, isn't it?" said Suzie Shooter.
I looked round sharply, and there she was in the street behind me; Shotgun Suzie, smiling just a little smugly, the stock of her holstered pump-action shotgun peering at me over her leather-clad shoulder. I gave her my best glare.
"First Walker, and now you. I can remember when people weren't able to sneak up on me all the time."
"Getting old, Taylor," said Suzie. "Getting soft. Found anything for me to shoot yet?"
"Maybe," I said. I gestured at the house before us. "Our runaway is in there. Only my gift says there's something decidedly unnatural about this place."
Suzie sniffed. "Doesn't look like much. Let's do it. I'll lead the way, if you're worried."
"Not this time, Suzie," I said. "I have a really bad feeling about this house."
"You're always having bad feelings."
"And I'm usually right."
"True."
I made my way slowly up the stone steps. There still wasn't anyone around, but I could feel the pressure of watching eyes. Suzie moved in beside me like I'd never been away, like she belonged there, her shotgun already in her hands. Joanna brought up the rear, looking a little upset at being pushed into the background by Suzie's presence. The sound of our feet on the stone steps seemed unusually loud and carrying, but it didn't matter. Whatever was waiting for us inside the house that wasn't just a house, it knew we were there. I stopped before the door. There was no bell. No knocker or letter-box, either. I rapped on the door with my fist, and the wood seemed to give slightly under each blow, as though it was rotten. The sound of my knocking was eerily soft, muffled. There was no response from within.
"Want me to blow the lock out?" said Suzie.
I tried the door-handle, and it turned easily in my grasp. The discoloured metal of the door-knob was unpleasantly warm and moist to the touch. I rubbed my hand roughly on the side of my coat, and pushed the door open with the tip of my shoe. It fell back easily. Inside, there was only an impenetrable darkness, and not a sound anywhere. Joanna pushed in beside me, staring eagerly into the dark. She opened her mouth as though to call out to Cathy, but I stopped her. She glared at me again. There was an urgency in her now. I could feel it. Suzie produced a
flashlight from some hidden pocket, turned it on and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks, and played the bright beam back and forth across the hallway before me. Hardly anything showed outside the beam, but the hall seemed long and wide and empty. I moved slowly forward, and Joanna and Suzie came with me. Once we were safely inside, the door closed behind us if its own volition, and none of us were a bit surprised.
TEN -
In theBelly
of the Beast
The house was dark and empty, utterly quiet and almost unnaturally still. It was like walking into a hole in the world. It felt like something was holding its breath, while it waited to see what we would do next. My back and stomach muscles tensed as I walked slowly down the wide hallway, anticipating an attack that somehow never came. There was danger all around me, but I couldn't put a name to it, couldn't even tell what direction it might come from. I hadn't felt this nervous in the future Timeslip. But some traps you just have to walk into to get to where you're going.
Shadows danced jerkily around me as I played the
beam of my flashlight back and forth. For all its brightness, the beam didn't make much of an impression on the dark. I could make out the hall before me, two doors leading off to the right, and a stairway to my left that led up to the next floor. Ordinary, everyday sights made somehow sinister by the atmosphere they were generating. This was not a healthy place. Not for three small humans, wandering blindly in the dark. The air was thick and oppressive, hot and moist, like the artificial heat of a greenhouse, where great fleshy things are forced into life that could not normally survive. Suzie moved silently along beside me, glaring about her. She hefted her shotgun and sniffed heavily.
"Damp in here. Like the tropics. And the smell... I think it's decay ..."
"It's an old place," I said. "No-one's looked after it in years."
"Not that kind of decay. Smells more like ... rotting meat."
We exchanged a look, and then carried on down the hallway. Our slow footsteps echoed hollowly back from the bare plaster walls. No furniture, no fittings; no carpets or comforts of any kind. No decorations, no posters or paintings or even calendars on the walls. Nothing to show that anyone had ever lived here. That thought seemed significant, though I couldn't for the moment see how. We were, after all,
in Blaiston Street. This wasn't a place where people came to live like people ...
"Have you noticed the floor?" Suzie said quietly.
"What in particular?" I said.
"It's sticky."
"Oh, thanks a bunch," said Joanna. "I really didn't need to know that, thank you. The moment I get out of here I'm going to have to burn my shoes. This whole place is diseased."
She was right back at my side again, staring almost twitchily about her. But she seemed more ... impatient, than anything else. She didn't like the house, but it was clear the setting wasn't disturbing her anywhere near as much as it was getting to Suzie and me. Which was ... curious. I assumed being this close to finding Cathy at last had driven all other thoughts aside. We stopped in the middle of the hall and looked around us. Suzie lowered her shotgun a little, having no-one to point it at.
"Looks like the last occupants of this dump did a moonlight flit, and took everything with them that wasn't actually nailed down."
I just nodded. I didn't trust myself to say anything sane and sensible, for the moment. I was feeling increasingly jumpy. There was an overwhelming sense of being watched, by unseen, unfriendly eyes. I kept wanting to look back over my shoulder, convinced I'd find something awful crouching there, waiting to spring; but I didn't. There was no-one there. Suzie
would have known. And you don't last long in the Nightside if you can't learn to control your own instincts.
A mirror on the wall beside me caught my attention. It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong with it. The mirror wasn't showing any reflection. It was just a piece of clear glass in a wooden frame. It wasn't a mirror at all.
There were two doors to my right, leading to rooms beyond. Ordinary, unremarkable doors. I moved slowly over to the nearest, and immediately Suzie was right there with me, shotgun at the ready. Joanna hung back a little. I listened carefully at the first door, but all I could hear was my own breathing. I turned the handle slowly. It was wet in my hand, dripping moisture, like it was sweating from the heat. I wiped my palm on the side of my coat, and then pushed the door open. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.
The door swung easily open. The hinges didn't make a sound. The room beyond was completely dark. I stayed just inside the doorway and flashed my light around the room. The darkness seemed to suck up the light. Still no furnishings or fittings, no personal signs or touches. It looked more like a film set than anything someone might call home. I stepped back into the hall and moved down to the next door. The second room was just like the first.
"Whatever was going on here, I think we missed
it," said Suzie. "Someone must have told them I was coming."
"No," I said. "That's not it. Something's still here. It's just hiding from us."
I walked over to the foot of the staircase. Bare wooden boards, simple banisters. No frills or fancies. No scuff marks or traces of wear, either. It could have been old or new or anything in between. Almost as though untouched by humans hands ... I raised my voice in a carrying call.
"Hello! Anybody home?"
The close air flattened my voice, making it sound small and weak. And then from somewhere up on the next floor came the sound of a single door, slamming shut. Suzie and Joanna moved quickly over to join me at the foot of the stairs. And the door banged shut again, and again, and again. There was a horrid de-liberateness to the sound, almost taunting, an open violence that was both a threat and an invitation. Come up and see, if you dare.I put my foot on the first step, and the banging door stopped immediately. Somehow, it knew. I looked at Suzie, and then at Joanna.
"Someone's home."
Joanna surged forward, and would have gone running blindly up the stairs, if I hadn't grabbed her by the arm and made her stop. She pulled fiercely away, fighting to be free, not even looking back at me, and I had to use all my strength to hang on to her. I said
her name over and over, increasingly loudly, until finally she spun on me, breathing hard. Her face was hot and red and angry, almost furious.
"Let go of me, you bastard! Cathy's up there! I can feel it!"
"Joanna, we don't know what'sup there . .."
"I know! I have to go to her, she needs me! Let go of my arm, you ..."
When she found she couldn't pull or twist her arm out of my grasp, Joanna went for my face with her other hand. Her fingers were like claws. Suzie interrupted the blow easily, catching Joanna's wrist in a grip so hard it had to hurt her. Joanna snarled, and fought against her. Suzie applied pressure, forcing the wrist back against itself, and Joanna gasped, and stopped struggling. She glared at Suzie, who looked coldly back at her.
"No-one gets to hit John but me, Mrs. Barrett. Now behave yourself; or you can listen to the bones in your wrist breaking, one by one."
"Easy, Suzie," I said. "She's new to the Nightside. She doesn't understand the kind of dangers we could be facing."
Except she should have known, by now.
"Then she'd better learn fast," said Suzie. "I won't have her putting us at risk. I'll kill her myself first."
"Dead clients don't pay their bills," I reminded her.
Suzie sniffed and let go of Joanna's wrist, though
she pointedly stayed where she was, ready to intervene again, if necessary. I released Joanna's arm. She scowled at both of us, rubbing sulkily at her throbbing wrist. I tried really hard to sound calm and reasonable.
"You mustn't lose it now, Joanna. Not when we're this close. You've trusted me this far; trust me now to know what I'm doing. There could be anything at all up there, apart from Cathy, just waiting for us to walk into some cleverly set trap. We do this slowly and carefully, or we don't do it at all. Understood?"
Her mourn was a sulky pout, her eyes bright and almost viciously angry. "You don't understand what I'm feeling. You know nothing about a mother's love. She's up there. She needs me. I have to go to* her!"
"Either you control yourself, or I'll have Suzie drag you back to the front door and kick your arse out onto the street," I said steadily. "For your own protection. I mean it, Joanna. The way you're acting now, you're not just a liability, you're a danger to us all. I know this place is ... upsetting, but you can't let it get to you like this. This isn't like you, Joanna. You know it isn't."
"You don't know me at all, John," said Joanna, but her voice was markedly calmer. "I'm sorry. I'll behave. It's just... being this close is driving me crazy. Cathy's in trouble. I can feel it. I have to go to her. Let me stay, John. I'll begood, I promise."
That wasn't like Joanna either, but I nodded reluctantly, putting it all down to the influence the house was having on her. I was born in the Nightside, and this damned house was already playing games with my head. I made Joanna take several deep breaths, and it seemed to help her. I didn't like the effect the house was having on her. This frantic, almost out of control Joanna, wasn't at all the woman I'd come to know, and care for. She hadn't been this freaked out before, even in the Timeslip. It had to be the house.
"You shouldn't have brought her here, John," said Suzie. "She doesn't belong here."
Her voice wasn't especially harsh, or unforgiving. She was speaking the truth as she saw it, just as she always did.
Joanna glared at her, her voice rising angrily again. "You don't give a damn about what might have happened to my daughter! You're only here because I'm paying you to be here!"
"Damn right," said Suzie, entirely unmoved. "And you'd better be good for the money."
They went on snarling at each other for a while, in their own hot and cold way, but I wasn't really paying attention. The house, what there was of it, baffled me. I kept thinking I was missing something. Something had called, or even summoned, Cathy to this place, and all those missing important peopleWalker had mentioned, but now I was here, at the heart of the mystery, there was nothing here.Except for whatever
was playing games up on the next floor. Nothing in the house, nothing at all... I started up the stairs, and Joanna and Suzie immediately stopped arguing and hurried after me, Suzie pushing forward to take her place at my side again, shotgun to the fore.
No more slamming doors. No reaction at all. When we got to the next floor, all we found were more bare walls and more doors leading off. All the doors were safely, securely, closed. Suzie looked slowly about her, checking for targets, the shotgun tracking along with her gaze. Joanna was all but trembling with eagerness, and I took a few seconds to impress on her that Suzie and I were going to take the point. I looked at the closed doors, and they looked smugly back at me. Suzie raised her voice suddenly.
"Is it me, or is it lighter up here?"
I frowned, as I realised I could make out much more on this floor, even outside of the flashlight's beam. "It's not you, Suzie. The gloom seems to be lifting; though I'm damned if I can see where the light's coming from ..." I broke off, as I looked up at the ceiling and realised for the first time that there were no light bulbs, or even any sign of the original light fittings. Which was ... unusual, even for Blais-ton Street.
"I just had another thought," said Suzie. "And a rather unsettling one, at that. If this house isn't really
here, what are we standing on, right now? Are we actually floating in mid air, over some vacant lot?"
"You're right," I said. "That is an unsettling thought. Just what I needed right now. Hang about while I check it out."
But when I went to raise my gift, nothing happened. Something from outside had wrapped itself around my head, unfelt but immovable, forcibly preventing me from opening my private eye, from seeing the world as it really was. I struggled against it, with what strength I had left, but there was nothing there that I could get a grip on. I swore briefly. What was going on here, that Something didn't want me to see, to understand? Suzie scowled about her, desperate for something solid she could attack.
"What do you want to do, John? Kick in all the doors and take it room by room? Shoot anything that moves and isn't the runaway?"
I gestured abruptly for her to be quiet, straining my ears for the sound I thought I'd caught. It was there, faint but definite. Not too far away, behind one of the closed doors; someone was giggling. Like a child with a secret. I padded quickly down the corridor, Joanna and Suzie right on my heels, stopping to listen at each door until I'd found the right one. I tried the handle, and it turned easily in my grasp, like an invitation. I pushed the door in an inch, and then stepped back. I gestured for Joanna to stick close to me, and then nodded to Suzie. She grinned briefly,
kicked the door in, and we all surged forward into the room beyond.
It was bare and empty like the rest of the house, except for Cathy Barrett, found at last, lying flat on her back on a bare wooden floor on the other side of the room, covered from neck to toe by a long grubby raincoat, tucked under her chin like a blanket. She made no move to rise as her would-be rescuers charged in, just smiled happily at us as though she didn't have a care in the world.
"Hello," she said. "Come in. We've been expecting you."
I looked carefully about me, but there was no-one else in the room with her. I didn't discount the we,though. The continuing sense of an unseen watching presence was stronger than ever here. The light was brighter too, though there was still no obvious source for it. The more I studied the room, the more disturbing it felt. The room had no window, no contents, no details. Just walls and a floor and a ceiling. A sketch of a room. It was as though the house felt it didn't have to pretend any more, now that we'd come this far. I put away the flashlight and took a firm hold on Joanna's arm, to make sure she stayed with me. She didn't even seem to notice, all her attention fixed on her daughter, who hadn't even tried to raise up on one elbow to look at us more easily. I began to wonder if she could move.
Her gaunt face smiled equally at all of us, peering
over the collar of the raincoat. I almost didn't recognise her. She'd lost a hell of a lot of weight since the photo Joanna had shown me, back in my office, in another world. The bones of her face pressed out against taut, grey skin, and her once golden hair hung down across her hollowed features in dark greasy strings. She looked half-starved, her great eyes sunk right back into the sockets. In fact, she looked like she hadn't eaten properly in months, not just the few weeks she was supposed to have been missing. I glanced at Joanna, wondering if I should have been quite so ready to believe everything she'd told me. But no; that wasn't it. My gift had shown me Cathy entering this house only a few days ago, and she'd looked nothing like this then.
Suzie glared about her, the pump-action shotgun steady in her hands. "This stinks, John. Something's very wrong here."
"I know," I said. "I can feel it. It's the house." "It's her!" said Joanna. "My Cathy. She's here!" "She's not the only one here," I said. "Suzie, keep an eye on Joanna. Don't let her do anything silly."
I moved slowly forwards and knelt beside Cathy. The wooden floor seemed to give slightly under my weight. Cathy smiled happily at me, as though there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be. Up close, she smelled bad,as though she'd been sick for weeks.
"Hello, Cathy," I said. "Your mother asked me to come and find you."
She considered this for a moment, still smiling her awful smile. "Why?"
"She was worried about you."
"She never was before." Her voice was calm but empty, as though she was remembering something that had happened a long time ago. "She had her business and her money and her boyfriends ... She never needed me. I just got in the way. I'm free now. I'm happy here. I've got everything I ever wanted."
I didn't look around the empty room. "Cathy, we've come to take you out of here. Take you home."
"I am home," said Cathy, smiling her interminable smile. "And you're not taking me anywhere. The house won't let you."
And I fell screaming to the floor as something huge and dark and ravenously hungry smashed its way into my mind, revealing itself at last.
It hit me from all sides at once, tearing through my defences like they weren't even there. It was the house, and it was alive. Once it had looked like something else, and might again, but for now it was a house. And it was feeding.
Inch by inch I forced it out of my mind, my shields re-forming one by one until my thoughts were my own again, the house was gone, and the only one in my head was me. The effort alone would probably have killed anyone else. I came to myself again lying
curled up on the bare floor beside Cathy, shaking and shuddering. A vicious headache beat in my temples, and blood was dripping steadily from my nose. Suzie was kneeling beside me, one hand on my shoulder, shouting something, but I couldn't hear her. Joanna was watching from the doorway, her face completely blank. With my cheek pressed against the bare wood of the floor, I slowly realised how warm it was. Warm and sweaty and curiously smooth. Deep within the pale wood, I could feel a faint pulsing.
I struggled up onto my hands and knees, Suzie helping me as best she could. Blood dripped onto the floor from my nose. I watched almost emotionlessly as the pale wood soaked up the blood, until there was no trace of it left. I knew what was happening now. I knew just what kind of trap I'd walked into. I reached out and pulled Cathy's coat away from her, revealing the truth. Naked and horribly emaciated, Cathy's body was slowly melting into the wooden floor. Already I could no longer tell where her flesh ended, and the floor's began.
Shadows danced jerkily around me as I played the
beam of my flashlight back and forth. For all its brightness, the beam didn't make much of an impression on the dark. I could make out the hall before me, two doors leading off to the right, and a stairway to my left that led up to the next floor. Ordinary, everyday sights made somehow sinister by the atmosphere they were generating. This was not a healthy place. Not for three small humans, wandering blindly in the dark. The air was thick and oppressive, hot and moist, like the artificial heat of a greenhouse, where great fleshy things are forced into life that could not normally survive. Suzie moved silently along beside me, glaring about her. She hefted her shotgun and sniffed heavily.
"Damp in here. Like the tropics. And the smell... I think it's decay ..."
"It's an old place," I said. "No-one's looked after it in years."
"Not that kind of decay. Smells more like ... rotting meat."
We exchanged a look, and then carried on down the hallway. Our slow footsteps echoed hollowly back from the bare plaster walls. No furniture, no fittings; no carpets or comforts of any kind. No decorations, no posters or paintings or even calendars on the walls. Nothing to show that anyone had ever lived here. That thought seemed significant, though I couldn't for the moment see how. We were, after all,
in Blaiston Street. This wasn't a place where people came to live like people ...
"Have you noticed the floor?" Suzie said quietly.
"What in particular?" I said.
"It's sticky."
"Oh, thanks a bunch," said Joanna. "I really didn't need to know that, thank you. The moment I get out of here I'm going to have to burn my shoes. This whole place is diseased."
She was right back at my side again, staring almost twitchily about her. But she seemed more ... impatient, than anything else. She didn't like the house, but it was clear the setting wasn't disturbing her anywhere near as much as it was getting to Suzie and me. Which was ... curious. I assumed being this close to finding Cathy at last had driven all other thoughts aside. We stopped in the middle of the hall and looked around us. Suzie lowered her shotgun a little, having no-one to point it at.
"Looks like the last occupants of this dump did a moonlight flit, and took everything with them that wasn't actually nailed down."
I just nodded. I didn't trust myself to say anything sane and sensible, for the moment. I was feeling increasingly jumpy. There was an overwhelming sense of being watched, by unseen, unfriendly eyes. I kept wanting to look back over my shoulder, convinced I'd find something awful crouching there, waiting to spring; but I didn't. There was no-one there. Suzie
would have known. And you don't last long in the Nightside if you can't learn to control your own instincts.
A mirror on the wall beside me caught my attention. It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong with it. The mirror wasn't showing any reflection. It was just a piece of clear glass in a wooden frame. It wasn't a mirror at all.
There were two doors to my right, leading to rooms beyond. Ordinary, unremarkable doors. I moved slowly over to the nearest, and immediately Suzie was right there with me, shotgun at the ready. Joanna hung back a little. I listened carefully at the first door, but all I could hear was my own breathing. I turned the handle slowly. It was wet in my hand, dripping moisture, like it was sweating from the heat. I wiped my palm on the side of my coat, and then pushed the door open. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.
The door swung easily open. The hinges didn't make a sound. The room beyond was completely dark. I stayed just inside the doorway and flashed my light around the room. The darkness seemed to suck up the light. Still no furnishings or fittings, no personal signs or touches. It looked more like a film set than anything someone might call home. I stepped back into the hall and moved down to the next door. The second room was just like the first.
"Whatever was going on here, I think we missed
it," said Suzie. "Someone must have told them I was coming."
"No," I said. "That's not it. Something's still here. It's just hiding from us."
I walked over to the foot of the staircase. Bare wooden boards, simple banisters. No frills or fancies. No scuff marks or traces of wear, either. It could have been old or new or anything in between. Almost as though untouched by humans hands ... I raised my voice in a carrying call.
"Hello! Anybody home?"
The close air flattened my voice, making it sound small and weak. And then from somewhere up on the next floor came the sound of a single door, slamming shut. Suzie and Joanna moved quickly over to join me at the foot of the stairs. And the door banged shut again, and again, and again. There was a horrid de-liberateness to the sound, almost taunting, an open violence that was both a threat and an invitation. Come up and see, if you dare.I put my foot on the first step, and the banging door stopped immediately. Somehow, it knew. I looked at Suzie, and then at Joanna.
"Someone's home."
Joanna surged forward, and would have gone running blindly up the stairs, if I hadn't grabbed her by the arm and made her stop. She pulled fiercely away, fighting to be free, not even looking back at me, and I had to use all my strength to hang on to her. I said
her name over and over, increasingly loudly, until finally she spun on me, breathing hard. Her face was hot and red and angry, almost furious.
"Let go of me, you bastard! Cathy's up there! I can feel it!"
"Joanna, we don't know what'sup there . .."
"I know! I have to go to her, she needs me! Let go of my arm, you ..."
When she found she couldn't pull or twist her arm out of my grasp, Joanna went for my face with her other hand. Her fingers were like claws. Suzie interrupted the blow easily, catching Joanna's wrist in a grip so hard it had to hurt her. Joanna snarled, and fought against her. Suzie applied pressure, forcing the wrist back against itself, and Joanna gasped, and stopped struggling. She glared at Suzie, who looked coldly back at her.
"No-one gets to hit John but me, Mrs. Barrett. Now behave yourself; or you can listen to the bones in your wrist breaking, one by one."
"Easy, Suzie," I said. "She's new to the Nightside. She doesn't understand the kind of dangers we could be facing."
Except she should have known, by now.
"Then she'd better learn fast," said Suzie. "I won't have her putting us at risk. I'll kill her myself first."
"Dead clients don't pay their bills," I reminded her.
Suzie sniffed and let go of Joanna's wrist, though
she pointedly stayed where she was, ready to intervene again, if necessary. I released Joanna's arm. She scowled at both of us, rubbing sulkily at her throbbing wrist. I tried really hard to sound calm and reasonable.
"You mustn't lose it now, Joanna. Not when we're this close. You've trusted me this far; trust me now to know what I'm doing. There could be anything at all up there, apart from Cathy, just waiting for us to walk into some cleverly set trap. We do this slowly and carefully, or we don't do it at all. Understood?"
Her mourn was a sulky pout, her eyes bright and almost viciously angry. "You don't understand what I'm feeling. You know nothing about a mother's love. She's up there. She needs me. I have to go to* her!"
"Either you control yourself, or I'll have Suzie drag you back to the front door and kick your arse out onto the street," I said steadily. "For your own protection. I mean it, Joanna. The way you're acting now, you're not just a liability, you're a danger to us all. I know this place is ... upsetting, but you can't let it get to you like this. This isn't like you, Joanna. You know it isn't."
"You don't know me at all, John," said Joanna, but her voice was markedly calmer. "I'm sorry. I'll behave. It's just... being this close is driving me crazy. Cathy's in trouble. I can feel it. I have to go to her. Let me stay, John. I'll begood, I promise."
That wasn't like Joanna either, but I nodded reluctantly, putting it all down to the influence the house was having on her. I was born in the Nightside, and this damned house was already playing games with my head. I made Joanna take several deep breaths, and it seemed to help her. I didn't like the effect the house was having on her. This frantic, almost out of control Joanna, wasn't at all the woman I'd come to know, and care for. She hadn't been this freaked out before, even in the Timeslip. It had to be the house.
"You shouldn't have brought her here, John," said Suzie. "She doesn't belong here."
Her voice wasn't especially harsh, or unforgiving. She was speaking the truth as she saw it, just as she always did.
Joanna glared at her, her voice rising angrily again. "You don't give a damn about what might have happened to my daughter! You're only here because I'm paying you to be here!"
"Damn right," said Suzie, entirely unmoved. "And you'd better be good for the money."
They went on snarling at each other for a while, in their own hot and cold way, but I wasn't really paying attention. The house, what there was of it, baffled me. I kept thinking I was missing something. Something had called, or even summoned, Cathy to this place, and all those missing important peopleWalker had mentioned, but now I was here, at the heart of the mystery, there was nothing here.Except for whatever
was playing games up on the next floor. Nothing in the house, nothing at all... I started up the stairs, and Joanna and Suzie immediately stopped arguing and hurried after me, Suzie pushing forward to take her place at my side again, shotgun to the fore.
No more slamming doors. No reaction at all. When we got to the next floor, all we found were more bare walls and more doors leading off. All the doors were safely, securely, closed. Suzie looked slowly about her, checking for targets, the shotgun tracking along with her gaze. Joanna was all but trembling with eagerness, and I took a few seconds to impress on her that Suzie and I were going to take the point. I looked at the closed doors, and they looked smugly back at me. Suzie raised her voice suddenly.
"Is it me, or is it lighter up here?"
I frowned, as I realised I could make out much more on this floor, even outside of the flashlight's beam. "It's not you, Suzie. The gloom seems to be lifting; though I'm damned if I can see where the light's coming from ..." I broke off, as I looked up at the ceiling and realised for the first time that there were no light bulbs, or even any sign of the original light fittings. Which was ... unusual, even for Blais-ton Street.
"I just had another thought," said Suzie. "And a rather unsettling one, at that. If this house isn't really
here, what are we standing on, right now? Are we actually floating in mid air, over some vacant lot?"
"You're right," I said. "That is an unsettling thought. Just what I needed right now. Hang about while I check it out."
But when I went to raise my gift, nothing happened. Something from outside had wrapped itself around my head, unfelt but immovable, forcibly preventing me from opening my private eye, from seeing the world as it really was. I struggled against it, with what strength I had left, but there was nothing there that I could get a grip on. I swore briefly. What was going on here, that Something didn't want me to see, to understand? Suzie scowled about her, desperate for something solid she could attack.
"What do you want to do, John? Kick in all the doors and take it room by room? Shoot anything that moves and isn't the runaway?"
I gestured abruptly for her to be quiet, straining my ears for the sound I thought I'd caught. It was there, faint but definite. Not too far away, behind one of the closed doors; someone was giggling. Like a child with a secret. I padded quickly down the corridor, Joanna and Suzie right on my heels, stopping to listen at each door until I'd found the right one. I tried the handle, and it turned easily in my grasp, like an invitation. I pushed the door in an inch, and then stepped back. I gestured for Joanna to stick close to me, and then nodded to Suzie. She grinned briefly,
kicked the door in, and we all surged forward into the room beyond.
It was bare and empty like the rest of the house, except for Cathy Barrett, found at last, lying flat on her back on a bare wooden floor on the other side of the room, covered from neck to toe by a long grubby raincoat, tucked under her chin like a blanket. She made no move to rise as her would-be rescuers charged in, just smiled happily at us as though she didn't have a care in the world.
"Hello," she said. "Come in. We've been expecting you."
I looked carefully about me, but there was no-one else in the room with her. I didn't discount the we,though. The continuing sense of an unseen watching presence was stronger than ever here. The light was brighter too, though there was still no obvious source for it. The more I studied the room, the more disturbing it felt. The room had no window, no contents, no details. Just walls and a floor and a ceiling. A sketch of a room. It was as though the house felt it didn't have to pretend any more, now that we'd come this far. I put away the flashlight and took a firm hold on Joanna's arm, to make sure she stayed with me. She didn't even seem to notice, all her attention fixed on her daughter, who hadn't even tried to raise up on one elbow to look at us more easily. I began to wonder if she could move.
Her gaunt face smiled equally at all of us, peering
over the collar of the raincoat. I almost didn't recognise her. She'd lost a hell of a lot of weight since the photo Joanna had shown me, back in my office, in another world. The bones of her face pressed out against taut, grey skin, and her once golden hair hung down across her hollowed features in dark greasy strings. She looked half-starved, her great eyes sunk right back into the sockets. In fact, she looked like she hadn't eaten properly in months, not just the few weeks she was supposed to have been missing. I glanced at Joanna, wondering if I should have been quite so ready to believe everything she'd told me. But no; that wasn't it. My gift had shown me Cathy entering this house only a few days ago, and she'd looked nothing like this then.
Suzie glared about her, the pump-action shotgun steady in her hands. "This stinks, John. Something's very wrong here."
"I know," I said. "I can feel it. It's the house." "It's her!" said Joanna. "My Cathy. She's here!" "She's not the only one here," I said. "Suzie, keep an eye on Joanna. Don't let her do anything silly."
I moved slowly forwards and knelt beside Cathy. The wooden floor seemed to give slightly under my weight. Cathy smiled happily at me, as though there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be. Up close, she smelled bad,as though she'd been sick for weeks.
"Hello, Cathy," I said. "Your mother asked me to come and find you."
She considered this for a moment, still smiling her awful smile. "Why?"
"She was worried about you."
"She never was before." Her voice was calm but empty, as though she was remembering something that had happened a long time ago. "She had her business and her money and her boyfriends ... She never needed me. I just got in the way. I'm free now. I'm happy here. I've got everything I ever wanted."
I didn't look around the empty room. "Cathy, we've come to take you out of here. Take you home."
"I am home," said Cathy, smiling her interminable smile. "And you're not taking me anywhere. The house won't let you."
And I fell screaming to the floor as something huge and dark and ravenously hungry smashed its way into my mind, revealing itself at last.
It hit me from all sides at once, tearing through my defences like they weren't even there. It was the house, and it was alive. Once it had looked like something else, and might again, but for now it was a house. And it was feeding.
Inch by inch I forced it out of my mind, my shields re-forming one by one until my thoughts were my own again, the house was gone, and the only one in my head was me. The effort alone would probably have killed anyone else. I came to myself again lying
curled up on the bare floor beside Cathy, shaking and shuddering. A vicious headache beat in my temples, and blood was dripping steadily from my nose. Suzie was kneeling beside me, one hand on my shoulder, shouting something, but I couldn't hear her. Joanna was watching from the doorway, her face completely blank. With my cheek pressed against the bare wood of the floor, I slowly realised how warm it was. Warm and sweaty and curiously smooth. Deep within the pale wood, I could feel a faint pulsing.
I struggled up onto my hands and knees, Suzie helping me as best she could. Blood dripped onto the floor from my nose. I watched almost emotionlessly as the pale wood soaked up the blood, until there was no trace of it left. I knew what was happening now. I knew just what kind of trap I'd walked into. I reached out and pulled Cathy's coat away from her, revealing the truth. Naked and horribly emaciated, Cathy's body was slowly melting into the wooden floor. Already I could no longer tell where her flesh ended, and the floor's began.
ELEVEN -
All Masks Thrown Aside
"It's the house," I said. "It's alive. And it's hungry." I could feel the house all around me now, pulsing with alien life, roaring triumphantly at the edges of my mind. Laughing at me, now it didn't have to hide any more. I looked up and there was Suzie, breathing harshly, her knuckles showing white as she clung to her gun, the only thing that had always made sense to her. Her eyes darted wildly round the room, as she searched desperately for something she could hit or shoot. Joanna was standing very still by the doorway, not looking at Cathy. Her pale face was completely without expression, and when her gaze briefly
crossed mine, I might as well have been a stranger. I looked back at Cathy.
"Tell me," I said. "Tell me why, Cathy. Why did you come here, to this place, of your own free will?"
"The house called me," she said happily. "It opened up a door, and I stepped through, and found myself in a whole new world. So bright and vivid; so alive.Like a movie going from black and white to colour. The house ... needed me. I'd never felt needed before. It felt so good. And so I came here, and gave myself to the house, and now ... I don't have to care about anything any more. The house made me happy, for the first time in my life. It loves me. It'll love you too."
I wiped the blood from my nose on the back of my hand, leaving a long crimson smear. "It's eating you, Cathy. The house is swallowing you up."
"I know," she said blissfully. "Isn't it wonderful? It's going to make me a part of it. Make me part of something greater, something more important than I could ever have been on my own. And I'll never have to feel bad again, never feel lost or alone or unhappy. Never have to worry about anything, ever again."
"That's because you'll be dead! It's lying to you, Cathy. Telling you what you want to hear. When the house attacked my mind, I was able to see it clearly at last, see it for what it really is. It's hungry. That's all it ever is. And you're just food, like all the other victims it's absorbed."
Cathy smiled at me, dying by inches and not caring, because the house wouldn't let her care. Suzie moved in beside me and hauled me bodily to my feet. She held me upright by brute strength until my legs stabilised again, and stuck her face right into mine.
"Talk to me, John! What's happening here? What is this house, really?"
I took a deep breath. It didn't steady me nearly as much as I'd hoped, but at least the shakes were starting to wear off now. Like so many times before in the Nightside, I had found the truth at last, and it didn't please or comfort me one bit.
"The house is a predator," I said. "An alien thing, from some alien place, far outside our own space, where life has taken very different forms. It makes itself into what it needs to be, taking on the colour of its surroundings, hiding in plain sight, calling its prey to it with a voice that cannot be resisted. Its prey is the lost and the lonely, the unloved and the uncared for, the discarded flotsam and jetsam of the city that no-one ever misses when it washes up here, on Blais-ton Street. The house calls, in a voice that no-one ever disbelieves, because it tells them just what they want to hear. It even sucked in a few supposedly important people, people perhaps a little too susceptible for their own good. Being important doesn't necessarily protect you from the secret despairs of the hidden heart."
"Stick to the point, John," said Suzie, shaking me
by the shoulder. "The house lures people into it, and then?"
"And then it feeds on them," I said. "It sucks them dry, absorbing all they are into itself. It grows strong by feeding on their strength, keeping them happy while they last, so they won't try to escape. So they won't even want to."
"Jesus," said Suzie, looking down at Cathy's emaciated body. "From the look of the kid, the house has already taken most of her. Shame. We have to get out of here, John."
"What?" I said, not understanding, or perhaps not wanting to.
"There's nothing we can do," Suzie said flatly. "We got here too late. Even if we could maybe cut the kid free from the floor, odds are she'd bleed to death before we even got her to the street. She's already as good as dead. So we leave her, and get the hell out of here while we still can. Before the house turns on us."
I shook my head slowly. "I can't do that, Suzie. I can't just walk away and leave her here."
"Listen to me, John! I don't do lost causes. This case is over.All that's left to us is to give the kid a quick death, maybe cheat the house out of some of its victory. Then we get out of here, and come back with something heavy in the explosive line. You get Joanna moving. I'll take care of the kid."
"I didn't come all this way, just to abandon her! She's coming back with us!"
"No-one's leaving," said Cathy. "No-one's going anywhere."
Behind us, the door groaned loudly in its frame. Suzie and I looked round sharply, just in time to see the door slam shut and then vanish, its edges absorbed into the surrounding wall. The door's colours faded out, and within moments there was only an unmarked, unbroken expanse of wall, with no sign to show there'd ever been a door there. And all around us, the four walls of the enclosed room rippledsuddenly, expanding and contracting in slow sluggish movements; becoming steadily more organic in appearance, soft and puffy and malleable. Thick purple traceries of veins spread across the walls, pulsing rhythmically. And a great inhuman eye opened in the ceiling above us, cold and alien, staring unblinkingly down at its new victims like some ancient and unsympathetic god. A sickly phosphorescent glow blazed from the walls, and I finally knew where the light had been coming from all along. There was a new smell on the air, thick and heavy, of blood and iron and caustic chemicals.
"No-one's going anywhere," said Cathy. "There's nowhere to go." There was another voice under hers now, harsh and deliberate and utterly inhuman.
Suzie stalked over to where the door had been, reversed her gun and slammed the butt of the shotgun
against the wall. The awful pulsing surface gave a little under the blow, but it didn't break or even crack. Suzie hit it again and again, grunting with the effort she put into it, to no avail. She glared at the wall, breathing hard, and then kicked it in frustration. The leather toe of her boot clung stickily to the wall, and she had to use all her strength to pull it free. Part of the leather toe was missing, already absorbed. Drops of dark liquid fell from the ceiling, and more slid slowly down the walls and oozed up out of the floor. Suzie hissed suddenly, in surprise as much as pain, as a drop fell on her bare hand, and steam rose up from the scorched flesh.
"John, what the hell is this? What's going on?"
"Digestive juices," I said. "We're in a stomach. The house has decided we're too dangerous to absorb slowly, like Cathy. It doesn't want to savour us. We're going to be soup. Suzie, make us an exit. Blast a hole right through that wall."
Suzie grinned fiercely. "I thought you'd never ask. Stand back. This could splatter."
She trained her shotgun on the wall where the door had been, and let fly. The wall absorbed the blast, the point-blank impact producing only ripples spreading slowly outwards, like when you throw a stone into a pond. Suzie swore briefly and tried again, reloading and firing repeatedly till the close air stank of cordite, and the sound was overwhelming. But even as the roar of the gun died away, the
ripples were already disappearing from the unmarked wall. Suzie looked back at me.
"We are in serious trouble, John. And don't look now, but your shoes are steaming."
"Of course," I said. "The house isn't fussy about what it eats."
Suzie looked at me steadily, waiting. Without an enemy she could hit or shoot, she was pretty much lost for another option; but she trusted me to find a way out of this mess. She'd always been too ready to trust me. That was one of the reasons why I'd left the Nightside in the first place. I got tired of letting my friends down. I thought hard. There had to be a way out of this. I hadn't come back after all these years, fought my way through all the madness, just to die in an oversized stomach. I hadn't come back to fail again. I looked at Cathy, and then I looked at Joanna, still standing very still by the living wall. She hadn't said a word or moved an inch since the house revealed itself. Her face was eerily calm, her eyes unfocused. She hadn't even flinched when Suzie opened fire right next to her. Shock, I supposed, then.
"Joanna!" I said loudly. "Come over here and talk to your daughter. See if you can focus her mind on you, separate her from the house. I think I've got an idea on how to break her and us free, but I don't know what effect it might have on her... Joanna! Listen to me!"
She turned her head slowly to look at me, and
there was a slow horror forming in her eyes that made me want to look away.
"Why are you talking to her about me?" said Cathy.
"Because I need your mother's help in this," I said.
"But that's not my mother," said Cathy.
The words seemed to resonate endlessly in the quiet room, their sudden awful significance driving all other thoughts out of my head. It never even occurred to me to doubt Cathy's word. I could hear the truth in her voice, even if I didn't want to. So many little things that hadn't made sense suddenly came together, in one terrible moment of insight. Joanna looked at me, and there was nothing in her eyes but a calm, resigned sadness. All the vitality had gone out of her. As though she didn't have to pretend any more.
crossed mine, I might as well have been a stranger. I looked back at Cathy.
"Tell me," I said. "Tell me why, Cathy. Why did you come here, to this place, of your own free will?"
"The house called me," she said happily. "It opened up a door, and I stepped through, and found myself in a whole new world. So bright and vivid; so alive.Like a movie going from black and white to colour. The house ... needed me. I'd never felt needed before. It felt so good. And so I came here, and gave myself to the house, and now ... I don't have to care about anything any more. The house made me happy, for the first time in my life. It loves me. It'll love you too."
I wiped the blood from my nose on the back of my hand, leaving a long crimson smear. "It's eating you, Cathy. The house is swallowing you up."
"I know," she said blissfully. "Isn't it wonderful? It's going to make me a part of it. Make me part of something greater, something more important than I could ever have been on my own. And I'll never have to feel bad again, never feel lost or alone or unhappy. Never have to worry about anything, ever again."
"That's because you'll be dead! It's lying to you, Cathy. Telling you what you want to hear. When the house attacked my mind, I was able to see it clearly at last, see it for what it really is. It's hungry. That's all it ever is. And you're just food, like all the other victims it's absorbed."
Cathy smiled at me, dying by inches and not caring, because the house wouldn't let her care. Suzie moved in beside me and hauled me bodily to my feet. She held me upright by brute strength until my legs stabilised again, and stuck her face right into mine.
"Talk to me, John! What's happening here? What is this house, really?"
I took a deep breath. It didn't steady me nearly as much as I'd hoped, but at least the shakes were starting to wear off now. Like so many times before in the Nightside, I had found the truth at last, and it didn't please or comfort me one bit.
"The house is a predator," I said. "An alien thing, from some alien place, far outside our own space, where life has taken very different forms. It makes itself into what it needs to be, taking on the colour of its surroundings, hiding in plain sight, calling its prey to it with a voice that cannot be resisted. Its prey is the lost and the lonely, the unloved and the uncared for, the discarded flotsam and jetsam of the city that no-one ever misses when it washes up here, on Blais-ton Street. The house calls, in a voice that no-one ever disbelieves, because it tells them just what they want to hear. It even sucked in a few supposedly important people, people perhaps a little too susceptible for their own good. Being important doesn't necessarily protect you from the secret despairs of the hidden heart."
"Stick to the point, John," said Suzie, shaking me
by the shoulder. "The house lures people into it, and then?"
"And then it feeds on them," I said. "It sucks them dry, absorbing all they are into itself. It grows strong by feeding on their strength, keeping them happy while they last, so they won't try to escape. So they won't even want to."
"Jesus," said Suzie, looking down at Cathy's emaciated body. "From the look of the kid, the house has already taken most of her. Shame. We have to get out of here, John."
"What?" I said, not understanding, or perhaps not wanting to.
"There's nothing we can do," Suzie said flatly. "We got here too late. Even if we could maybe cut the kid free from the floor, odds are she'd bleed to death before we even got her to the street. She's already as good as dead. So we leave her, and get the hell out of here while we still can. Before the house turns on us."
I shook my head slowly. "I can't do that, Suzie. I can't just walk away and leave her here."
"Listen to me, John! I don't do lost causes. This case is over.All that's left to us is to give the kid a quick death, maybe cheat the house out of some of its victory. Then we get out of here, and come back with something heavy in the explosive line. You get Joanna moving. I'll take care of the kid."
"I didn't come all this way, just to abandon her! She's coming back with us!"
"No-one's leaving," said Cathy. "No-one's going anywhere."
Behind us, the door groaned loudly in its frame. Suzie and I looked round sharply, just in time to see the door slam shut and then vanish, its edges absorbed into the surrounding wall. The door's colours faded out, and within moments there was only an unmarked, unbroken expanse of wall, with no sign to show there'd ever been a door there. And all around us, the four walls of the enclosed room rippledsuddenly, expanding and contracting in slow sluggish movements; becoming steadily more organic in appearance, soft and puffy and malleable. Thick purple traceries of veins spread across the walls, pulsing rhythmically. And a great inhuman eye opened in the ceiling above us, cold and alien, staring unblinkingly down at its new victims like some ancient and unsympathetic god. A sickly phosphorescent glow blazed from the walls, and I finally knew where the light had been coming from all along. There was a new smell on the air, thick and heavy, of blood and iron and caustic chemicals.
"No-one's going anywhere," said Cathy. "There's nowhere to go." There was another voice under hers now, harsh and deliberate and utterly inhuman.
Suzie stalked over to where the door had been, reversed her gun and slammed the butt of the shotgun
against the wall. The awful pulsing surface gave a little under the blow, but it didn't break or even crack. Suzie hit it again and again, grunting with the effort she put into it, to no avail. She glared at the wall, breathing hard, and then kicked it in frustration. The leather toe of her boot clung stickily to the wall, and she had to use all her strength to pull it free. Part of the leather toe was missing, already absorbed. Drops of dark liquid fell from the ceiling, and more slid slowly down the walls and oozed up out of the floor. Suzie hissed suddenly, in surprise as much as pain, as a drop fell on her bare hand, and steam rose up from the scorched flesh.
"John, what the hell is this? What's going on?"
"Digestive juices," I said. "We're in a stomach. The house has decided we're too dangerous to absorb slowly, like Cathy. It doesn't want to savour us. We're going to be soup. Suzie, make us an exit. Blast a hole right through that wall."
Suzie grinned fiercely. "I thought you'd never ask. Stand back. This could splatter."
She trained her shotgun on the wall where the door had been, and let fly. The wall absorbed the blast, the point-blank impact producing only ripples spreading slowly outwards, like when you throw a stone into a pond. Suzie swore briefly and tried again, reloading and firing repeatedly till the close air stank of cordite, and the sound was overwhelming. But even as the roar of the gun died away, the
ripples were already disappearing from the unmarked wall. Suzie looked back at me.
"We are in serious trouble, John. And don't look now, but your shoes are steaming."
"Of course," I said. "The house isn't fussy about what it eats."
Suzie looked at me steadily, waiting. Without an enemy she could hit or shoot, she was pretty much lost for another option; but she trusted me to find a way out of this mess. She'd always been too ready to trust me. That was one of the reasons why I'd left the Nightside in the first place. I got tired of letting my friends down. I thought hard. There had to be a way out of this. I hadn't come back after all these years, fought my way through all the madness, just to die in an oversized stomach. I hadn't come back to fail again. I looked at Cathy, and then I looked at Joanna, still standing very still by the living wall. She hadn't said a word or moved an inch since the house revealed itself. Her face was eerily calm, her eyes unfocused. She hadn't even flinched when Suzie opened fire right next to her. Shock, I supposed, then.
"Joanna!" I said loudly. "Come over here and talk to your daughter. See if you can focus her mind on you, separate her from the house. I think I've got an idea on how to break her and us free, but I don't know what effect it might have on her... Joanna! Listen to me!"
She turned her head slowly to look at me, and
there was a slow horror forming in her eyes that made me want to look away.
"Why are you talking to her about me?" said Cathy.
"Because I need your mother's help in this," I said.
"But that's not my mother," said Cathy.
The words seemed to resonate endlessly in the quiet room, their sudden awful significance driving all other thoughts out of my head. It never even occurred to me to doubt Cathy's word. I could hear the truth in her voice, even if I didn't want to. So many little things that hadn't made sense suddenly came together, in one terrible moment of insight. Joanna looked at me, and there was nothing in her eyes but a calm, resigned sadness. All the vitality had gone out of her. As though she didn't have to pretend any more.