Mammoth Book of Best New Horror (51 page)

    Suddenly the bird ceased to call and the crickets went silent, and no more was heard from the frog. Jubil whispered to the deputy.

    "He comes."

    The deputy shivered slightly, took a deep breath. Jubil realized he too was breathing deeply.

    "Be silent, and be alert," Jubil said.

    "All right," said the deputy, and he locked his eyes on the open window at the back of the shack. Jubil faced the door, which stood halfway open and sagging on its rusty hinges.

    For a long time there was nothing. Not a sound. Then Jubil saw a shadow move at the doorway and heard it creak slightly as it moved. He could see a hand on what appeared to be an impossibly long arm, reaching out to grab at the edge of the door. The hand clutched there for a long time, not moving. Then, it was gone, taking its shadow with it.

    Time crawled by.

    "It's at the window," the deputy said, and his voice was so soft it took Jubil a moment to decipher the words. Jubil turned carefully for a look.

    It sat on the windowsill, crouched there like a bird of prey, a halo of bees circling around its head. The hive pulsed and glowed in its chest, and in that glow they could see more bees, so thick they appeared to be a sort of humming smoke. Gimet's head sprouted a few springs of hair, like withering grass fighting its way through stone. A slight turn of its head allowed the moon to flow through the back of its cracked skull and out of its empty eyes. Then the head turned and the face was full of shadows again. The room was silent except for the sound of buzzing bees.

    "Courage," Jubil said, his mouth close to the deputy's ear. "Keep your place."

    The thing climbed into the room quickly, like a spider dropping from a limb, and when it hit the floor, it stayed low, allowing the darkness to lay over it like a cloak.

    Jubil had turned completely on the bench now, facing the window. He heard a scratching sound against the floor. He narrowed his eyes, saw what looked like a shadow, but was in fact the thing coming out from under the table.

    Jubil felt the deputy move, perhaps to bolt. He grabbed his arm and held him.

    "Courage," he said.

    The thing kept crawling. It came within three feet of the circle made by the crumpled Bible pages.

    The way the moonlight spilled through the window and onto the floor near the circle Jubil had made, it gave Gimet a kind of eerie glow, his satellite bees circling his head. In that moment, every aspect of the thing locked itself in Jubil's mind. The empty eyes, the sharp, wet teeth, the long, cracked nails, blackened from grime, clacking against the wooden floor. As it moved to cross between two wads of scripture, the pages burst into flames and a line of crackling blue fulmination moved between the wadded pages and made the circle light up fully, all the way around, like Ezekiel's wheel.

    Gimet gave out with a hoarse cry, scuttled back, clacking nails and knees against the floor. When he moved, he moved so quickly there seemed to be missing spaces between one moment and the next. The buzzing of Gimet's bees was ferocious.

    Jubil grabbed the lantern, struck a match and lit it. Gimet was scuttling along the wall like a cockroach, racing to the edge of the window.

    Jubil leaped forward, tossed the lit lantern, hit the beast full in the back as it fled through the window. The lantern burst into flames and soaked back, causing a wave of fire to climb from the thing's waist to the top of its head, scorching a horde of bees, dropping them from the sky like exhausted meteors.

    Jubil drew his revolver, snapped off a shot. There was a howl of agony, and then the thing was gone.

    Jubil raced out of the protective circle and the deputy followed. They stood at the open window, watched as Gimet, flame-wrapped, streaked through the night in the direction of the graveyard.

    "I panicked a little," Jubil said. "I should have been more resolute. Now he's escaped."

    "I never even got off a shot," the deputy said. "God, but you're fast. What a draw."

    "Look, you stay here if you like. I'm going after him. But I tell you now, the circle of power has played out."

    The deputy glanced back at it. The pages had burned out and there was nothing now but a black ring on the floor.

    "What caused them to catch fire in the first place?"

    "Evil," Jubil said. "When he got close, the pages broke into flames. Gave us the protection of God. Unfortunately, as with most of God's blessings, it doesn't last long."

    "I stay here, you'd have to put down more pages."

    "I'll be taking the Bible with me. I might need it."

    "Then I guess I'll be sticking."

    They climbed out the window and moved up the hill. They could smell the odour of fire and rotted flesh in the air. The night was as cool and silent as the graves on the hill.

    Moments later they moved amongst the stones and wooden crosses, until they came to a long wide hole in the earth. Jubil could see that there was a burrow at one end of the grave that dipped down deeper into the ground.

    Jubil paused there. "He's made this old grave his den. Dug it out and dug deeper."

    "How do you know?" the deputy asked.

    "Experience… And it smells of smoke and burned skin. He crawled down there to hide. I think we surprised him a little."

    Jubil looked up at the sky. There was the faintest streak of pink on the horizon. "He's running out of daylight, and soon he'll be out of moon. For a while."

    "He damn sure surprised me. Why don't we let him hide? You could come back when the moon isn't full, or even half full. Back in the daylight, get him then."

    "I'm here now. And it's my job."

    "That's one hell of a job you got, mister."

    "I'm going to climb down for a better look."

    "Help yourself."

    Jubil struck a match and dropped himself into the grave, moved the match around at the mouth of the burrow, got down on his knees and stuck the match and his head into the opening.

    "Very large," he said, pulling his head out. "I can smell him. I'm going to have to go in."

    "What about me?"

    "You keep guard at the lip of the grave," Jubil said, standing. "He may have another hole somewhere, he could come out behind you for all I know. He could come out of that hole even as we speak."

    "That's wonderful."

    Jubil dropped the now dead match on the ground. "I will tell you this. I can't guarantee success. I lose, he'll come for you, you can bet on that, and you better shoot those silvers as straight as William Tell's arrows."

    "I'm not really that good a shot."

    "I'm sorry," Jubil said, and struck another match along the length of his pants seam, then with his free hand, drew one of his revolvers. He got down on his hands and knees again, stuck the match in the hole and looked around. When the match was near done, he blew it out.

    "Ain't you gonna need some light?" the deputy said. "A match ain't nothin'."

    "I'll have it." Jubil removed the remains of the Bible from his pocket, tore it in half along the spine, pushed one half in his coat, pushed the other half before him, into the darkness of the burrow. The moment it entered the hole, it flamed.

    "Ain't your pocket gonna catch inside that hole?" the deputy asked.

    "As long as I hold it or it's on my person, it won't harm me. But the minute I let go of it, and the aura of evil touches it, it'll blaze. I got to hurry, boy." With that, Jubil wiggled inside the burrow.

    In the burrow, Jubil used the tip of his pistol to push the Bible pages forward. They glowed brightly, but Jubil knew the light would be brief. It would burn longer than writing paper, but still, it would not last long.

    After a goodly distance, Jubil discovered the burrow dropped off. He found himself inside a fairly large cavern. He could hear the sound of bats, and smell bat guano, which in fact, greased his path as he slid along on his elbows until he could stand inside the higher cavern and look about. The last flames of the Bible burned itself out with a puff of blue light and a sound like an old man breathing his last.

    Jubil listened in the dark for a long moment. He could hear the bats squeaking, moving about. The fact that they had given up the night sky, let Jubil know daylight was not far off.

    Jubil's ears caught a sound, rocks shifting against the cave floor. Something was moving in the darkness, and he didn't think it was the bats. It scuttled, and Jubil felt certain it was close to the floor, and by the sound of it, moving his way at a creeping pace. The hair on the back of JubiPs neck bristled like porcupine quills. He felt his flesh bump up and crawl. The air became stiffer with the stench of burnt and rotting flesh. Jubil's knees trembled. He reached cautiously inside his coat pocket, produced a match, struck it on his pants leg, held it up.

    At that very moment, the thing stood up and was brightly lit in the glow of the match, the bees circling its skin-stripped skull. It snarled and darted forward. Jubil felt its rotten claws on his shirtfront as he fired the revolver. The blaze from the bullet gave a brief, bright flare and was gone. At the same time, the match was knocked out of his hand and Jubil was knocked backwards, onto his back, the thing's claws at his throat. The monster's bees stung him. The stings felt like red-hot pokers entering his flesh. He stuck the revolver into the creature's body and fired. Once. Twice. Three times. A fourth.

    Then the hammer clicked empty. He realized he had already fired two other shots. Six dead silver soldiers were in his cylinders, and the thing still had hold of him.

    He tried to draw his other gun, but before he could, the thing released him, and Jubil could hear it crawling away in the dark. The bats fluttered and screeched.

    Confused, Jubil drew the pistol, managed to get to his feet. He waited, listening, his fresh revolver pointing into the darkness.

    Jubil found another match, struck it.

    The thing lay with its back draped over a rise of rock. Jubil eased towards it. The silver loads had torn into the hive. It oozed a dark, odoriferous trail of death and decaying honey. Bees began to drop to the cavern floor. The hive in Gimet's chest sizzled and pulsed like a large, black knot. Gimet opened his mouth, snarled, but otherwise didn't move.

    Couldn't move.

    Jubil, guided by the last wisps of his match, raised the pistol, stuck it against the black knot, and pulled the trigger. The knot exploded. Gimet let out with a shriek so sharp and loud it startled the bats to flight, drove them out of the cave, through the burrow, out into the remains of the night.

    Gimet's claw-like hands dug hard at the stones around him, then he was still and Jubil's match went out.

    Jubil found the remains of the Bible in his pocket, and as he removed it, tossed it on the ground, it burst into flames. Using the two pistol barrels like large tweezers, he lifted the burning pages and dropped them into Gimet's open chest. The body caught on fire immediately, crackled and popped dryly, and was soon nothing more than a blaze. It lit the cavern up bright as day.

    Jubil watched the corpse being consumed by the biblical fire for a moment, then headed towards the burrow, bent down, squirmed through it, came up in the grave.

    He looked for the deputy and didn't see him. He climbed out of the grave and looked around. Jubil smiled. If the deputy had lasted until the bats charged out, that was most likely the last straw, and he had bolted.

    Jubil looked back at the open grave. Smoke wisped out of the hole and out of the grave and climbed up to the sky. The moon was fading and the pink on the horizon was widening.

    Gimet was truly dead now. The road was safe. His job was done.

    At least for one brief moment.

    Jubil walked down the hill, found his horse tied in the brush near the road where he had left it. The deputy's horse was gone, of course, the deputy most likely having already finished out Deadman's road at a high gallop, on his way to Nacogdoches, perhaps to have a long drink of whisky and turn in his badge.

21 - Mark Samuels - A Gentleman from Mexico

Barlow, I imagine, can tell you even more about the Old Ones.

-Clark Ashton Smith to August Derleth, 13 April, 1937

    Victor Armstrong was running late for his appointment and so had hailed a taxi rather than trusting to the metro. Bathed in cruel noon sunlight, the green-liveried Volkswagen beetle taxi cruised down Avenida Reforma. In the back of the vehicle, Armstrong rummaged around in his jacket pocket for the pack of Faros cigarettes he'd bought before setting off on his rendezvous.

    "Јs
okay para mi a fumar en tu taxi?"
Armstrong said, managing to cobble together the request in his iffy Spanish.

    He saw the eyes of the driver reflected in the rear-view mirror, and they displayed total indifference. It was as if he'd made a request to fold his arms.