Read Online Norman Invasions by John Norman - Free Book Online

change had taken place in the residents of Hill House. The cat had disappeared on the night of the storm. No one knows where she went. No one has seen her since.
    One other incident may be worth recording, which occurred on the day I left the village, to return to the city. I was wandering on the beach, and, drawn by what morbid curiosity I know not, found my steps taking me to the vicinity of the cliff and the terrible, sea-washed rocks where the tragedy of the stormy night had occurred. There were no hoofprints on the beach, I am pleased to report. It had come to seem likely to me, over the last few days, that Gavin had indeed been perpetrating a hoax, one which, grievously, tragically, had cost him his life. When I came to the place beneath the cliffs, where the morning waters were roiling amongst the rocks, I climbed up a short way, perhaps some ten or twelve feet. There was the fresh, keen odor of salt and kelp. I looked up. The top of the cliff was some one hundred feet or so above me. I could see it edged, dark, against the sky. Then I looked down, and to my right, at the rocks. They were large, abundant and jagged. They were bright with spray in the morning sun. I had been fortunate, indeed, to have passed harmlessly between them in my fall. Then I looked down, between the rocks, into the dark, wicked, churning, violent waters, the lashing foam. I shuddered. It was amazing that anything could have lived in such waters. I had indeed been fortunate. I then made my way, carefully, slipping a bit, back down the rocks to the beach. There, on the pebbled, rocky sand, I stood for a time, looking out to sea.
    The calpa, I thought, is not evil. It bears you no ill will. It is, however, territorial, and will kill to conceal its presence.
    No one knows where lies the house of the calpa.
    Also, it must breed, and seeks shallower spaces, waters where first, perhaps, it was spawned.
    Coming back, one supposes, in each generation, from unimaginable journeys in alien seas.
    It is capable, it is said, of taking many forms.
    I supposed it then might, if it wished, take the form of a human being.
    I then put these thoughts from me, as they seemed alien to me. I turned about, to return to Hill House.
    My attention, as I turned about, was taken by a large, rounded, boulderlike rock. It reminded me, in its form, and location, of the rock in the dream.
    I went to the rock.
    I put out my hand. Caught on the rock was a long strand of golden hair.

Unscheduled Stop
    He ran across the soft earth, sinking not much into it. He did not run toward the hill behind him, that on the far side of the highway, the large hill pointed out by the tour guide.
    â€œStop!” they called after him.
    It was the other hill, the hill of the stand, where it had ended, that he climbed, knowing this, and not knowing it, I would suppose.
    When the sun is right you can see your own reflection in the window of the bus. You can look out and see yourself, and when the sun is right, in that place, it seems you can see the other self, too; a face looked back at him, maybe. We really don’t know. He was far ahead of us now, and we called to him to stop.
    He had cried out “Stop the bus!” and had pounded on the window, leapt up, fled down the aisle.
    â€œHe’s ill,” said someone.
    â€œStop the bus,” said the guide.
    The driver drew the bus to one side of the road.
    â€œDo not demean me,” she said. “Remove your shirt. I will not be demeaned. Spread it here, on the soft grass, and let us lie upon it and sing a little, just a little.”
    He looked back. The bus was far behind. He began to run up the hill.
    â€œIt is base treachery,” she said. “Run, run from here. The guests in your father’s house, they are McCormick.”
    He gasped, climbing the hill.
    Behind him he could see the smoke, rising from the sheds in the hill fort, then the fire.
    â€œI will tell him his name another time,” she