Read Online The Search by Iain Crichton Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Iain Crichton Smith
Ads: Link
oppressed by a sense of danger he turned away from the living room and made for the main door. He tried to open it but couldnât. He tugged and tugged but couldnât move it. Was his mind playing tricks on him? On the other hand he could remember perfectly well leaving the door unlocked and in any case if it had been locked he wouldnât have been able to get into the house without a key. So there must be someone else with him in that house at that very moment, perhaps his brother, enraged and revengeful, watching him, stalking him. He waited, feeling his heart beat heavily and quickly. And then in the silence he heard the faint, almost inaudible squeak of a floorboard. Heturned towards the window in panic. Perhaps he should smash a pane and get out that way, but his respect for property wouldnât allow him to do so.
He heard the squeak of the floorboard again. There definitely was someone in the house. He looked frantically around him for a weapon for he now knew with complete certainty that whoever was in the house was his enemy. Even if it was his brother, he was his enemy, too. But he could find no weapon anywhere, for the rooms were bare. And all the time he sensed a being stalking him, taking its time, patient and mocking, and yet in a curious way relentless.
âWho are you?â he shouted and his voice emerged as a thin, querulous scream.
âWho are you? I know there is someone there.â
But there was no answer. Was it perhaps Morton who had followed him? Or was it his brother or the owner of the house? Or perhaps Douglas. He felt hostility in the air of the house, a scornful, insouciant ruthlessness as of someone waiting.
Again he shouted and again there was no answer, except for the deliberate squeak of a board. He knew that he was being tantalized, deliberately taunted.
Helplessly he stood in the living room. On the wall in front of him was a big mirror flecked with stains and dust. He stared intently at the reflection of his own face in the fading light. It looked gaunt and very frightened. The creaking had now stopped and there was a definite sense of approaching menace as if whoever it was who had been causing the creaking had tired of the foreplay. Fatefully, with a sort of heavy acceptance, he turned round and there was the man standing in the doorway smiling at him and then drifting towards him slowly as if in a ballet. Then Trevor was hit by a blow which felled him to the ground. Before he lost consciousness he felt hands scurrying about him, searching for his wallet, and knew that his money was gone.
Eight
W HEN HE WOKE up, the sun shining brightly in his eyes, he couldnât at first remember what had happened to him. He was staring up at what appeared to be a piece of statuary, alabaster legs, alabaster wings flowering from an alabaster body, an alabaster bow in the hand. There was grass under him and he could hear from somewhere the noise of water. He stared hopelessly up at the clouds that passed across the sky. He wanted not to get up, feeling that if he did so he would face a disaster so complete that he might not be able to survive it. And yet he must get up, he mustnât lie there. He must stand up and face whatever had happened to him. Nevertheless he closed his eyes briefly against the pain in his head, and still with his eyes closed touched the back of his head with his hand. He felt a crust there as if it were dry blood and when he removed his hand and looked at it there were small red flakes on it. Opening his eyes slowly again against the brightness of the sun, he levered himself from the ground and saw that he was beside a fountain and that the alabaster figure that he had seen earlier was a Cupid with a drawn bow, its hollow eyes staring upward, its body childlike and plump. At the same time he felt such a dreadful thirst that he began to drink greedily from the fountain while at the same time splashing water on his face and head. I must have been here all
He heard the squeak of the floorboard again. There definitely was someone in the house. He looked frantically around him for a weapon for he now knew with complete certainty that whoever was in the house was his enemy. Even if it was his brother, he was his enemy, too. But he could find no weapon anywhere, for the rooms were bare. And all the time he sensed a being stalking him, taking its time, patient and mocking, and yet in a curious way relentless.
âWho are you?â he shouted and his voice emerged as a thin, querulous scream.
âWho are you? I know there is someone there.â
But there was no answer. Was it perhaps Morton who had followed him? Or was it his brother or the owner of the house? Or perhaps Douglas. He felt hostility in the air of the house, a scornful, insouciant ruthlessness as of someone waiting.
Again he shouted and again there was no answer, except for the deliberate squeak of a board. He knew that he was being tantalized, deliberately taunted.
Helplessly he stood in the living room. On the wall in front of him was a big mirror flecked with stains and dust. He stared intently at the reflection of his own face in the fading light. It looked gaunt and very frightened. The creaking had now stopped and there was a definite sense of approaching menace as if whoever it was who had been causing the creaking had tired of the foreplay. Fatefully, with a sort of heavy acceptance, he turned round and there was the man standing in the doorway smiling at him and then drifting towards him slowly as if in a ballet. Then Trevor was hit by a blow which felled him to the ground. Before he lost consciousness he felt hands scurrying about him, searching for his wallet, and knew that his money was gone.
Eight
W HEN HE WOKE up, the sun shining brightly in his eyes, he couldnât at first remember what had happened to him. He was staring up at what appeared to be a piece of statuary, alabaster legs, alabaster wings flowering from an alabaster body, an alabaster bow in the hand. There was grass under him and he could hear from somewhere the noise of water. He stared hopelessly up at the clouds that passed across the sky. He wanted not to get up, feeling that if he did so he would face a disaster so complete that he might not be able to survive it. And yet he must get up, he mustnât lie there. He must stand up and face whatever had happened to him. Nevertheless he closed his eyes briefly against the pain in his head, and still with his eyes closed touched the back of his head with his hand. He felt a crust there as if it were dry blood and when he removed his hand and looked at it there were small red flakes on it. Opening his eyes slowly again against the brightness of the sun, he levered himself from the ground and saw that he was beside a fountain and that the alabaster figure that he had seen earlier was a Cupid with a drawn bow, its hollow eyes staring upward, its body childlike and plump. At the same time he felt such a dreadful thirst that he began to drink greedily from the fountain while at the same time splashing water on his face and head. I must have been here all
Similar Books
