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Authors: Christopher Ransom
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creasing with sadness. ‘Then there’s only one other option
for you.’
‘What?’ But he did not really want the answer.
‘Kill them. Kill them in their beds, destroy them, before they come for you.’
‘This isn’t real,’ Mick said. ‘I can’t accept it.’
Roger shook his head slowly. ‘It’s survival, Mick. If you don’t put an end to them, they will infiltrate your lives and break
you down and your family will spend the rest of your days in a living hell. I promise.’
Roger turned and trailed his fingers along the rough stucco. Mick watched him shamble along the length of it and turn the
corner, disappearing on the south side.
‘Roger?’
The dentist did not answer. Mick walked to thecorner and peered around, but the field was empty. Roger was gone.
Mick stood alone in the darkness, a hundred questions in his mind. What was he supposed to do now? He turned in a circle and
saw only deep black rolling land in all directions – except for this white wall. He couldn’t see his own house, which was
supposed to be just a couple of acres behind him. He made his best guess and started walking in that direction, feet cold,
everything cold, shivering.
When he had gone only half a dozen paces, a sound brought him to a halt. Low voices. Urgent mumbling, and then whining. A
girl was whimpering, on the edge of hysteria, and someone older was talking to her, whispering, telling her to stay quiet.
Mick turned and stared at the wall, the large house looming behind it. The noises were coming from the other side of the fence.
The girl was hiccupping with grief, keening softly.
Briela
.
His daughter was over there, on the other side.
‘Daddy?’ she said. ‘I’m scared. I got lost and I can’t find my way back home. Please, I just want to come back. I promise
I will be good—’
Briela gasped and was silenced.
Mick ran toward the wall and jumped, reaching over the top and pulling himself up as his feet paddled against the rough surface.
He was halfway up when his feet slipped and his knees slammed into the stucco grain, scraping skin there and on his elbows
as he dragged himself upward. He got his hips over the flattop, and rolled, twisting as he fell down into the yard. He landed on his feet and staggered to one side, catching himself
with one hand, his skinned knees burning with rash.
‘Briela? Daddy’s here, sweetie—’
But she wasn’t near the fence, not in either direction, and the rest of the yard was one great field of grass that seemed
to be expanding as he surveyed it. He searched the house’s many windows for his daughter, or whoever had her, but they were
all dark. The house grew taller, enlarged, rearing back as if tilting on high stilts. The sight of it sent a spasm of vertigo
through him and he groped for something to hold onto. Beneath him the ground shifted and for a moment he seemed to totter
on the edge of the world.
Where there should have been a yard of grass, a patio, or even a foundation, now there was nothing but a giant gaping hole,
a drop-off that went on for hundreds of feet, a thousand, became bottomless. Mick swayed above it, feeling like a man on a
balance beam. It seemed infinite, containing nothing, but the longer he stared, the more he could see. It wasn’t bottomless.
The bottom was liquid, a mirror disc of silver and black reflecting the night sky.
Laid out on this cold surface as if floating were three white figures, one larger than the other two. From this distance they
looked like piano keys, flat white bars with thinner bars of silver-black in between. But they were shifting, moving, changing
in some way, and soon he realized they were rising, coming up to meet him.
The floor of the well rose like an elevator in a stone shaft and a cold draft blew up into his face, his hair. An awful butterfly
sensation wound through his stomach and he couldn’t breathe. The surface wasn’t rising, he understood at last. He was
for you.’
‘What?’ But he did not really want the answer.
‘Kill them. Kill them in their beds, destroy them, before they come for you.’
‘This isn’t real,’ Mick said. ‘I can’t accept it.’
Roger shook his head slowly. ‘It’s survival, Mick. If you don’t put an end to them, they will infiltrate your lives and break
you down and your family will spend the rest of your days in a living hell. I promise.’
Roger turned and trailed his fingers along the rough stucco. Mick watched him shamble along the length of it and turn the
corner, disappearing on the south side.
‘Roger?’
The dentist did not answer. Mick walked to thecorner and peered around, but the field was empty. Roger was gone.
Mick stood alone in the darkness, a hundred questions in his mind. What was he supposed to do now? He turned in a circle and
saw only deep black rolling land in all directions – except for this white wall. He couldn’t see his own house, which was
supposed to be just a couple of acres behind him. He made his best guess and started walking in that direction, feet cold,
everything cold, shivering.
When he had gone only half a dozen paces, a sound brought him to a halt. Low voices. Urgent mumbling, and then whining. A
girl was whimpering, on the edge of hysteria, and someone older was talking to her, whispering, telling her to stay quiet.
Mick turned and stared at the wall, the large house looming behind it. The noises were coming from the other side of the fence.
The girl was hiccupping with grief, keening softly.
Briela
.
His daughter was over there, on the other side.
‘Daddy?’ she said. ‘I’m scared. I got lost and I can’t find my way back home. Please, I just want to come back. I promise
I will be good—’
Briela gasped and was silenced.
Mick ran toward the wall and jumped, reaching over the top and pulling himself up as his feet paddled against the rough surface.
He was halfway up when his feet slipped and his knees slammed into the stucco grain, scraping skin there and on his elbows
as he dragged himself upward. He got his hips over the flattop, and rolled, twisting as he fell down into the yard. He landed on his feet and staggered to one side, catching himself
with one hand, his skinned knees burning with rash.
‘Briela? Daddy’s here, sweetie—’
But she wasn’t near the fence, not in either direction, and the rest of the yard was one great field of grass that seemed
to be expanding as he surveyed it. He searched the house’s many windows for his daughter, or whoever had her, but they were
all dark. The house grew taller, enlarged, rearing back as if tilting on high stilts. The sight of it sent a spasm of vertigo
through him and he groped for something to hold onto. Beneath him the ground shifted and for a moment he seemed to totter
on the edge of the world.
Where there should have been a yard of grass, a patio, or even a foundation, now there was nothing but a giant gaping hole,
a drop-off that went on for hundreds of feet, a thousand, became bottomless. Mick swayed above it, feeling like a man on a
balance beam. It seemed infinite, containing nothing, but the longer he stared, the more he could see. It wasn’t bottomless.
The bottom was liquid, a mirror disc of silver and black reflecting the night sky.
Laid out on this cold surface as if floating were three white figures, one larger than the other two. From this distance they
looked like piano keys, flat white bars with thinner bars of silver-black in between. But they were shifting, moving, changing
in some way, and soon he realized they were rising, coming up to meet him.
The floor of the well rose like an elevator in a stone shaft and a cold draft blew up into his face, his hair. An awful butterfly
sensation wound through his stomach and he couldn’t breathe. The surface wasn’t rising, he understood at last. He was
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