It was a dark and stormy night.
Under the eaves of a small house in Indiana, something was
coming up out of the drain. It flowed through the grating, an uncounted number
of tiny motes of blackness that moved like oil. Slowly the thing grew until it
was a mound about five feet tall. Slowly it began to mold and reform into a
humanoid shape with short, powerful legs, elongated arms and long fingers. A
neck formed, the head atop it completely blank and black, like a ball of soot.
The thing stood under the eaves of the house for a few
minutes, the rain pounding down to the ground just a few inches from its
newly-formed feet. It stood utterly still, but not unnoticed. A low growl
rumbled out of the doghouse under the tree that dominated the centre of the
garden. The thing simply waited, seeming not to hear the Alsatian that could
barely be seen inside the doghouse, hunkered against the back wall. Eventually
the thing turned and tilted its head upwards. Some six feet above it was a
window. The thing took a hesitant step forward and put its hands and chest
against the plaster wall of the house. Tiny black tendrils reached out hungrily
and bonded to the wall like a million tiny arms. The things hands were
spread-eagled against the wall as if it was going to climb up the wall, but
they did not move as, slowly at first, the thing’s feet lifted off the ground
and it was drawn up towards the window. It slid up the wall and stopped next to
the window. One hand moved to the sill and tugged gently. The window, closed
and locked against storm, didn’t budge. The thing’s hand slid down to where the
window and sill met and the finger elongated, flattening out like a ribbon. It
slipped into the gap and lazily wove upwards towards the latch. There was a
soft click and the window slowly slid open.
Inside, Alex Immelman rolled over in his sleep and murmured
something indistinguishable as the sound from the storm outside grew louder.
Outside, the thing waited. After a minute, it slid to the edge of the window
frame and slipped inside, its body curling around the corner in a u-shape. Once
inside, it carefully closed the window behind it. Alex was sleeping on his
back, one hand underneath his head, the other curled around a large alligator
soft toy, hugging it to his small chest. A small night-light that looked like
Jupiter was plugged into the wall socket.
The thing slid up along the blue-and-white-striped
wallpaper, contorting into a right angle as it met the ceiling. Slowly it moved
towards the centre of the room, suspended from the ceiling by the millions of
tiny tentacles. Its body rippled slightly as it moved over plastic stars and
planets that glowed faintly in the darkness. The thing moved across the dim constellation
like a silent eclipse and slipped along the ceiling until it was directly above
Alex. There it stayed as the minutes ticked by, counted out by the hands of
spaceship clock on the side-table next to the bed.
Alex’s breathing deepened and his eyelids fluttered as he
dreamed. The creature shifted imperceptibly as most of the little black hooks
holding it to the ceiling were withdrawn, leaving only the ones on its back
still connected. The thing’s arms and legs hung free, lolling down towards the
ground like those of a sleeping cat picked up around its belly. Alex dreamt,
and still the creature waited.
More minutes passed, until eventually Alex shifted in his
sleep, dropping the arm he held his soft toy with to his side. Immediately,
more tendrils retreated back into the creature’s body. The creature’s body
suddenly jerked as a glowing plastic Saturn, pulled from the wall by the
receding tendrils, tumbled past the black body and down towards the bed. A
long-fingered hand lashed out, but missed their target. The little planet
bounced off Alex’s shoulder and came to a rest next to his head. Alex moaned
and woke up. His eyes squinted blearily up into the darkness and then opened
wide a moment before the creature dropped down from the ceiling. His scream was
muffled as the thing enclosed him, tiny tentacles whipping out and snatching at
his skin. The creature’s blank face pushed up against Alex’s and more tentacles
lashed out, attaching themselves to his cheeks, his nose, his eyeballs and
tongue. There was a short grunt and blood bloomed from a million small holes
all over Alex’s body. His eyeballs did not pop, but tore open, the jelly inside
them bursting out onto the creature’s face. Swathes of taste buds were ripped
from his tongue and clumps of hair yanked from his scalp as the creature fed,
enveloping the boy as it tore him apart.
In the morning, Karen Immelman packed Alex’s lunchbox and
sent him on his way to school. Later, she was dismayed to find that his bed
sheets had disappeared. She decided to ask him about it when he returned later
that day.
The Quest For Jon 