Read Online 7 Steps to Midnight by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Matheson
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not the first time it’s happened.”
Chris started.
“I’ve heard this story before.”
“You mean—?” Chris stared at Nelson in bewilderment. “Men having their cars stolen and finding them at home, with another man in their house who claims to be—”
“Not just
men
,” Nelson interrupted. “Men like you. Advanced scientists, mathematicians.”
“How many?” Chris asked.
“That I can’t tell you,” Nelson said. “Except to say… enough to create an ominous pattern.”
“But surely…”
“What?”
“I mean… it’s all so
obvious
. If it’s being done and you know it’s a plot of some kind—”
“That we
don’t
know,” Nelson responded. He gazed at Chris intently, making him nervous. “You haven’t told me everything, have you?” he said.
Chris didn’t know what to say. He
had
told Nelson everything.
“You didn’t mention Veering,” Nelson said. The kindness wasgone from his voice now; his tone was coldly hostile. “You didn’t mention the wager.”
Chris stared at him dumbly, aware of his heartbeat thudding laboredly. His brain felt muddled. How could Veering be a part of all this? He remembered suddenly that his mother had suggested the same thing. He’d decided against it though. Now—
He started, gasping, as Nelson clamped the fingers of his left hand on Chris’s jacket and yanked him close. “
Did
you?” he shouted.
“I didn’t think—”
“That’s right, you didn’t think!” Nelson snarled at him.
Chris saw him reaching underneath his coat with his right hand and a jolt of horror stiffened him. “My God,” he gasped.
“You have to die, of course. You understand that,” Nelson said.
8
In some demented way, Chris
did
understand. In a moment of total clarity, he knew it was the only thing that made it all comprehensible—that he was valuable to the project and someone wanted the project to fail.
Self-preservation made him grab at Nelson’s wrist, pinning it beneath his coat. “Let go,” Nelson ordered. “You have to die.”
They rocked slowly on the seat, muscles straining. Chris saw Nelson’s face getting red as they struggled. He knew that the agent was stronger; soon enough, he’d pull free, snatch out his gun and fire.
“No,” Chris muttered, fighting for his life. They wrestled on the seat in a quiet frenzy, almost motionless except for their heaving chests.
The sound of the shot was so loud it made Chris jump back, gasping, releasing his grip on Nelson’s wrist.
Nelson was staring at him, looking dazed. Then, very slowly, he looked down at his chest, making a faint sound of disbelief. After a while, his eyes moved up at Chris again. “You… bastard,” he said in a feeble voice.
Chris flinched as Nelson twisted to the right and pushed open the door. Groaning, the agent tried to stand but collapsed instead. Chris stared at him in mute shock as the agent struggled to his feet and began to weave around, left palm pressed against his side, right hand reaching out as though to signal someone.
Chris couldn’t move. He kept staring at the blood on Nelson’s coat and shirt, oozing from between the fingers of the agent’s left hand as he stumbled around outside, his eyes like those of a blindman. Chris heard the agent’s shoes scuffling over the gritty sand. Then, suddenly, the man cried out, pitching forward.
And disappeared into the ground.
***
The vise was on his skull again, his heart pounding so violently it felt as though it would beat its way out of his chest. Chris was sure he was about to pass out. Dark waves pulsed across him. He gulped at the warm air, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs.
He didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually he realized that he wasn’t going to lose consciousness. He shook his head and got out of the car, knowing that if it was really true—if Nelson had literally been swallowed by the earth—then Veering would have won the wager and reality, for Chris, would be
Chris started.
“I’ve heard this story before.”
“You mean—?” Chris stared at Nelson in bewilderment. “Men having their cars stolen and finding them at home, with another man in their house who claims to be—”
“Not just
men
,” Nelson interrupted. “Men like you. Advanced scientists, mathematicians.”
“How many?” Chris asked.
“That I can’t tell you,” Nelson said. “Except to say… enough to create an ominous pattern.”
“But surely…”
“What?”
“I mean… it’s all so
obvious
. If it’s being done and you know it’s a plot of some kind—”
“That we
don’t
know,” Nelson responded. He gazed at Chris intently, making him nervous. “You haven’t told me everything, have you?” he said.
Chris didn’t know what to say. He
had
told Nelson everything.
“You didn’t mention Veering,” Nelson said. The kindness wasgone from his voice now; his tone was coldly hostile. “You didn’t mention the wager.”
Chris stared at him dumbly, aware of his heartbeat thudding laboredly. His brain felt muddled. How could Veering be a part of all this? He remembered suddenly that his mother had suggested the same thing. He’d decided against it though. Now—
He started, gasping, as Nelson clamped the fingers of his left hand on Chris’s jacket and yanked him close. “
Did
you?” he shouted.
“I didn’t think—”
“That’s right, you didn’t think!” Nelson snarled at him.
Chris saw him reaching underneath his coat with his right hand and a jolt of horror stiffened him. “My God,” he gasped.
“You have to die, of course. You understand that,” Nelson said.
8
In some demented way, Chris
did
understand. In a moment of total clarity, he knew it was the only thing that made it all comprehensible—that he was valuable to the project and someone wanted the project to fail.
Self-preservation made him grab at Nelson’s wrist, pinning it beneath his coat. “Let go,” Nelson ordered. “You have to die.”
They rocked slowly on the seat, muscles straining. Chris saw Nelson’s face getting red as they struggled. He knew that the agent was stronger; soon enough, he’d pull free, snatch out his gun and fire.
“No,” Chris muttered, fighting for his life. They wrestled on the seat in a quiet frenzy, almost motionless except for their heaving chests.
The sound of the shot was so loud it made Chris jump back, gasping, releasing his grip on Nelson’s wrist.
Nelson was staring at him, looking dazed. Then, very slowly, he looked down at his chest, making a faint sound of disbelief. After a while, his eyes moved up at Chris again. “You… bastard,” he said in a feeble voice.
Chris flinched as Nelson twisted to the right and pushed open the door. Groaning, the agent tried to stand but collapsed instead. Chris stared at him in mute shock as the agent struggled to his feet and began to weave around, left palm pressed against his side, right hand reaching out as though to signal someone.
Chris couldn’t move. He kept staring at the blood on Nelson’s coat and shirt, oozing from between the fingers of the agent’s left hand as he stumbled around outside, his eyes like those of a blindman. Chris heard the agent’s shoes scuffling over the gritty sand. Then, suddenly, the man cried out, pitching forward.
And disappeared into the ground.
***
The vise was on his skull again, his heart pounding so violently it felt as though it would beat its way out of his chest. Chris was sure he was about to pass out. Dark waves pulsed across him. He gulped at the warm air, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs.
He didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually he realized that he wasn’t going to lose consciousness. He shook his head and got out of the car, knowing that if it was really true—if Nelson had literally been swallowed by the earth—then Veering would have won the wager and reality, for Chris, would be
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