The Uninvited (7 page)

“Oh, God!” she cried, wrapping her legs around his, as climax shook her in a hot hand.

Then she screamed in pain and terror as something began biting her legs.

Mickey howled in agony as his legs and exposed buttocks were suddenly covered with a crawling, hairy, biting fury.

They screamed as creatures poured in through the open windows, thousands of them, crawling over the boy and girl, completely covering them in a feeding frenzy. The shrieking of the young people ripped through the soft night as they sought vainly to escape. But all avenues were blocked as the mutants fought with each other for the opportunity to feed, to appease their rapacious appetites. The screaming of the kids ceased abruptly as their mouths filled with mutants. The Bronco swayed in the night, a darkness that jerked back and forth, rocking with no set rhythm as the kids convulsed in spasmodic agony on the seat and floorboards. Within moments, all motion stopped, as the mutants ate their fill, then backed away, allowing others to feed.

The very light mist faded as the remnants of the storm moved eastward, blasting its way across the Mississippi. The night cleared the clouds, leaving the sky pocked with silver and moon-hung with an orb of yellow brilliance. Then the bayou country was quiet, with only the trilling and calling of night birds, the occasional grunt of a 'gator, and the gribbeting of frogs. And underlying the familiar music of the night's creatures, a faint clicking could be heard.

 

 

Sheriff Ransonet was shaken when he left the Oldroyd home. Informing members of a family of the death of a loved one was unpleasant, and always left him feeling depressed. Mrs. Oldroyd had a minister by her side, but the scene had, as usual, been painful.

He drove back to his office, where his chief deputy, Danny “Slick” Riggs was waiting.

“What'd we get, Vic?”

“I really don't know for sure,” Vic replied. Then he related some of what Sheriff Grant had told him earlier, mildly amused when Slick's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“Bugs?”
Slick said. “You mean, like in bugs that crawl around on the ground?”

“I guess so. You know what I know. Let's you and me have a cup of coffee and wait for Jimmy to get back. I want to know what happened at the Cole place. If anything happened,” he added.

Slick looked at the sheriff, questions in his eyes. But he remained silent. He knew Vic had been honest, had told him all he knew. Slick fixed a cup of coffee, then sat down, waiting with Vic for Jimmy's return.

But Jimmy did not return.

Vic drummed his fingers on his desk top, shuffled his feet nervously, and twice answered the phone. Both times it was his wife, asking if she should hold supper. Both times, Vic told her, Go on and eat, relax, watch TV. Go to bed! No, he didn't know what time he'd be home. It would probably be late. No, he was not in any danger. Yes, dear, I'll be careful. Yes, dear, I love you too.

Slick had buried his nose in a police magazine, pretending not to hear the conversation, and especially Vic's whispered admissions of affection.

“Damn!” the sheriff said, hanging up.

Slick giggled.

Vic looked at the clock for the hundredth time in half an hour. “It's been too long, Slick. Hour and a half since I sent Jimmy out to the Cole house. Let's see if we can reach him on the horn.”

“Vic?” Slick asked. “Is Al Little still in town?”

Yeah, I think so. His vacation officially starts tomorrow, I believe he told me. You want the FBI in on this bug hunt?”

Slick shrugged.

Vic nodded. “Hell, why not? He's a hometown boy. We'll get in touch with him after we try Jimmy.”

The dispatcher tried, unsuccessfully, to reach the missing deputy. “It's no good, Sheriff,” he said, after the fourth try. “He don't respond. Maybe his radio's on the blink. This equipment is older than God.”

“Get on the phone,” Vic told the dispatcher. “See if you can get in touch with Al Little. He's here visiting Pete Morland. Maybe he can give us a hand.”

“What's goin' on, Sheriff?”

“I'll tell you later. If you do get in touch with Al, ask him to meet us here in an hour, if he will.” He glanced at Slick. “Come on, let's take a ride.”

Pulling away from the station, Slick said, “A man found dead, half-eaten? Housewives disappearing. A dozen missing persons in one day. You sure Sheriff Grant said Billy was half-eaten?”

“That's what he said. Said he saw what was left.”

Slick shuddered.

Vic caught the gesture.
Yeah. Me, too.”

The lawmen rode out to the Parish in silence. Vic wheeled off the hardtop, onto a gravel road. Halfway to the Cole house, they spotted Jimmy's patrol car, parked alongside the road, nose toward town. Jimmy sat behind the wheel, his eyes wide, staring, and wild. His hands gripped the steering wheel with such force his knuckles were white. He would not respond to either Vic or Slick's pleas and commands to open the locked doors, roll down a window-something!

Slick opened the door with a special tool policemen carry, and put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.

“Jimmy?” he said.
Jimmy!” he shouted. “Look at me. Can you hear me? Answer me! What's wrong with you? What's happened?”

Jimmy turned his head as if it were on swivels and stared at the chief deputy, his eyes wide. Spittle oozed from the corners of his mouth. Slick pulled back in alarm.
He's flipped out, Vic!”

The sheriff reached inside the car and slapped Jimmy across the face, hard, back and forth, rocking his head, reddening the young man's face.

“Come on, Jimmy,” Vic shouted.
Snap out of it. Talk to me.”

“I saw 'em,” Jimmy said, some of the madness leaving his eyes. “Oh, God, I saw 'em. Thousands of 'em. Millions! All over the yard and the house.”

“Saw what, Jimmy?” Vic asked. “What did you see?”

“Bugs! I never seen anything like that before in my life. They're awful! That's . . . that's what got Oldroyd, isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Vic replied, his flesh crawling with thoughts of the unknown.
You don't know.” He glanced at Slick. “Drive Jimmy back to town. Calm him down and keep him quiet. We don't want to start a panic.”

“Where are you goin', Vic?”

“To the Cole place.”

 

 

The creatures watched the car pull into the drive of the Cole farm, watched with thousands of tiny compound eyes within each of their two huge eyes, seeing in all directions at once. Their eight hairy feet brushed softly and dryly on the floor as they rushed in a scurrying fashion to the windows, covering the panes with darkness, watching the human in the car. Under the house, in the barn, in the shed, the army-creatures, the soldiers, massed for attack should the human food-source step from his protection of steel and glass.

But Sheriff Vic Ransonet had absolutely no intention of stepping from his patrol car, for he sensed danger all around him. The feeling of high risk was almost overwhelming to the lawman, yet he could see nothing upon which to base his fears. But something, he was sure, was out there in the darkness, something—he searched for a word until it came to him—Evil.

Vic was anything but a coward; he had served in the Army in Korea, from 1950 through '52, most of that time in brutal combat, and he was a decorated war hero. He was a brave man, but his bravery was tempered with caution, prudence bred from almost a quarter of a century wearing a badge.

Now, on this warm night, with the sky filled with objects familiar to him, he sat behind the wheel of his patrol car and waited and watched for the unfamiliar.

Creatures moved and scurried from under the house, antennae moving, long sensors feeling the air, sensing danger, guiding them toward the iron machine in the drive. Their enemy. Their prey. Food.