Read Online Screaming Science Fiction by Brian Lumley - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Lumley
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Meadington.
George was angry now and more than a little puzzled. He’d been watching for that signpost as keenly as his passenger. How the hell could they have missed it? No matter, this time he’d drive dead slow. He knew the road was there, for he’d been down it and back once already tonight.
Sure enough, with the first of Meadington’s roofs glimmering silver in the near distance, a dilapidated signpost suddenly showed up in the beam of the car’s lights. It pointed across the tarmac to where the surface of a second road ribboned away into the milky moonlight; a sign whose legend, though grimy, was nevertheless amply legible: middle hamborough.
And quite as suddenly George Benson’s passenger was sitting bolt upright in his seat, his whole body visibly trembling while his eyes stood out like organ stops, staring madly at the signpost. “Middle Hamborough!” he cried, his voice pitched so high it almost broke. And again: “Middle Hamborough, Middle Hamborough!”
“Sure,” said George, an unnatural chill racing up his spine. “I told you I could find it!” And to himself he added, But I’m damned if I know how we missed it the first time!
He turned on to the new road, noticing the second signpost at his right as he did so. That was the one they’d missed. Perhaps it had been in the shadows; but in any case, what odds? They were on the right road now.
Kent’s trembling had stopped, and his voice was quite steady when he said, “You really don’t know how much I owe you, Mr. Smith. You shall have your check, of course, but if it were for a million pounds it wouldn’t really be enough.” His face was dark in the car’s interior, and his silhouette looked different somehow.
George said, “You realize that fat Harvey’s been having you on all this time, don’t you?” His voice became quite gentle as he added: “You know, you really ought to see someone about it—about all…this, I mean. People can take advantage of you. Harvey could have brought you here any time he wanted.”
Suddenly Kent laughed, a young laugh that had more than a trace of weary hysteria in it. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it, do you, Mr. Smith? Can’t you get it through your head that I’m not mad and no one is trying to make a fool of you? This is all real. My story is the truth. I was lost in an alien dimension, in your world, but now I’m finally back in my own. You may believe me, Mr. Smith, that you have earned your thousand pounds!”
George was almost convinced. Certainly Kent seemed sincere enough. “Well, OK—whatever you say. But I’ll tell you something, Mr. Kent. If that check of yours bounces when I try to cash it tomorrow, I’ll be back, and you better believe I’llfind High House again!”
The silhouette turned in its seat in an attitude of concern. “Do me a favor, will you, Mr. Smith? If—just if ,you understand—if you can’t find the road back to Meadington, don’t hesitate to—”
George cut him off with a short bark of a laugh. “You must be joking! I’ll find it, all right.” His voice went hard again. “And I’ll find you, too, if—”
But he paused as, at the top of the next low hill, the headlights illuminated a house standing above the road at the end of a winding drive. George’s passenger grabbed his elbow in terrific excitement. “High House!” Kent cried, his voice wild and exultant. “High House! You’ve done it!”
George grunted in answer, revving the car down into the valley and up the hill to pull in to a halt outside the wrought-iron gates. He reached across to catch hold of his passenger’s coat as Kent tried to scramble from the car. “Kent!”
“Oh, yes, your check,” answered the young man, turning to smile excitedly at George in the yellow light from the little lamp on the gate….
George’s jaw dropped. Oh, this was Kent, all right. Little doubt about that. Same features, same suit, same trembling hand that reached into a pocket to bring
George was angry now and more than a little puzzled. He’d been watching for that signpost as keenly as his passenger. How the hell could they have missed it? No matter, this time he’d drive dead slow. He knew the road was there, for he’d been down it and back once already tonight.
Sure enough, with the first of Meadington’s roofs glimmering silver in the near distance, a dilapidated signpost suddenly showed up in the beam of the car’s lights. It pointed across the tarmac to where the surface of a second road ribboned away into the milky moonlight; a sign whose legend, though grimy, was nevertheless amply legible: middle hamborough.
And quite as suddenly George Benson’s passenger was sitting bolt upright in his seat, his whole body visibly trembling while his eyes stood out like organ stops, staring madly at the signpost. “Middle Hamborough!” he cried, his voice pitched so high it almost broke. And again: “Middle Hamborough, Middle Hamborough!”
“Sure,” said George, an unnatural chill racing up his spine. “I told you I could find it!” And to himself he added, But I’m damned if I know how we missed it the first time!
He turned on to the new road, noticing the second signpost at his right as he did so. That was the one they’d missed. Perhaps it had been in the shadows; but in any case, what odds? They were on the right road now.
Kent’s trembling had stopped, and his voice was quite steady when he said, “You really don’t know how much I owe you, Mr. Smith. You shall have your check, of course, but if it were for a million pounds it wouldn’t really be enough.” His face was dark in the car’s interior, and his silhouette looked different somehow.
George said, “You realize that fat Harvey’s been having you on all this time, don’t you?” His voice became quite gentle as he added: “You know, you really ought to see someone about it—about all…this, I mean. People can take advantage of you. Harvey could have brought you here any time he wanted.”
Suddenly Kent laughed, a young laugh that had more than a trace of weary hysteria in it. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it, do you, Mr. Smith? Can’t you get it through your head that I’m not mad and no one is trying to make a fool of you? This is all real. My story is the truth. I was lost in an alien dimension, in your world, but now I’m finally back in my own. You may believe me, Mr. Smith, that you have earned your thousand pounds!”
George was almost convinced. Certainly Kent seemed sincere enough. “Well, OK—whatever you say. But I’ll tell you something, Mr. Kent. If that check of yours bounces when I try to cash it tomorrow, I’ll be back, and you better believe I’llfind High House again!”
The silhouette turned in its seat in an attitude of concern. “Do me a favor, will you, Mr. Smith? If—just if ,you understand—if you can’t find the road back to Meadington, don’t hesitate to—”
George cut him off with a short bark of a laugh. “You must be joking! I’ll find it, all right.” His voice went hard again. “And I’ll find you, too, if—”
But he paused as, at the top of the next low hill, the headlights illuminated a house standing above the road at the end of a winding drive. George’s passenger grabbed his elbow in terrific excitement. “High House!” Kent cried, his voice wild and exultant. “High House! You’ve done it!”
George grunted in answer, revving the car down into the valley and up the hill to pull in to a halt outside the wrought-iron gates. He reached across to catch hold of his passenger’s coat as Kent tried to scramble from the car. “Kent!”
“Oh, yes, your check,” answered the young man, turning to smile excitedly at George in the yellow light from the little lamp on the gate….
George’s jaw dropped. Oh, this was Kent, all right. Little doubt about that. Same features, same suit, same trembling hand that reached into a pocket to bring
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