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Every evening for three weeks in the humid heat
of dusk and early night, Karen would sit by the window of her flat, fearful
and afraid.
She loved to walk along the banks of the river,
or sit in the park, enjoying the freshness of the air, watching the swirling,
flowing water or the people who passed her by. But for three weeks, her
day at her work done, she had locked herself in her flat and cried.
It was a new flat, in a small estate clustered
by the river as the river wound its way through the town. For years, she
had saved to buy it.
Across the road, she could see a man standing
bare-chested by his window and she knew he was looking toward her. He smiled,
waved and disappeared from sight, and she was not surprised when her telephone
rang. She ignored it, as she did every evening.
The humidity irked her and as she stared at the
billowing, dark clouds that rushed toward her sky-scape of town, she sensed
it would rain. Her expectation was soon fulfilled. The sudden thunder was
startling but she cbuld see no lightning. Then the rain, powerful as it
stormed down from the sky.
No reason moved her, only an exhilaration to
be free and she ran down her stairs to taste and feel the freedom of rain.
She walked slowly along the pavement to where a narrow path led down toward
the bank of the river, allowing the heavy rain to mold her thin dress around
her youthful body.
She wanted to remove her dress and feel the rain
on her naked flesh but knew the society in which she lived would never
understand her desire nor the innocent joy its fulfillment would bring
her. She walked only a few yards along the river path before realizing
she was being followed.
She did not run but quickened her pace to take
another path to lead her back to the road where she lived. She saw him
as she reached her door and fumbled with her keys. Then she was safe inside,
with her door locked and bolted. She could hear him whistle tunelessly
as he waited outside. Up the stairs that led to her flat her telephone
waited. But she would not use it to bring help. Her pleas to the police
the week before had brought only kind words - "There's nothing we can do,"
someone had said while she sensed they did not believe her.
Twilight and the end of the storm brought no
relief. She kept away from the window where she liked to sit and watch
as darkness slid slowly over her town. For the man in the flat across the
road was there, smiling while he waited, flexing his well-muscled, tanned
body as he preened himself in the light of his room. Twice she saw him,
as she hid by her curtains, leave, and twice her telephone rang.
The storm seemed to have stolen the humid air,
but sleep did not come with its tender grace and Karen lay on her bed,
increasingly angry at this waste in her life. Shy and gentle by nature,
she was slow to make friends and her six months in her new town had been
lonely months. Only her solitary walks had pleased her.
It was past midnight when her telephone rang
again. A vague terror suffused her briefly before her anger returned. But
her anger was brief, and she sighed, as an old woman full of wisdom might
sigh, before walking across her bedroom to her small bookcase of books.
The leather-bound volume had been a gift from
her mother and she caressed the leather before laying the book down by
her bed. The amber necklace, carefully wrapped in silk, brought a beautiful
radiance to her face and she felt happy to be wearing it again. The elegant
dress she selected seemed appropriate to the occasion and she dressed herself
slowly and carefully, mindful of the impression she would make.
To calm herself, she read a few passages from
the book, allowing her hand to stroke the amber that encircled her neck.
It would be good, she felt, to walk in the moonlight toward the night-life
in the centre of the town.
At first, he did not believe it and rubbed his
eyes. But she really was leaving her flat. Her elegance and beauty surprised
him, and he watched with lascivious delight as she walked along the pavement.
It did not take him long to dress himself in black and from his collection
he selected a sharp knife.
Soon, in the stillness of the hour past midnight,
he was stalking her, his rubber-soled shoes noiseless as he deftly caressed
the pavement with his feet. A car, its headlights bright even in the sodium
light of the street, passed, but he crept down by a fence and the car was
soon ~gone.
She turned to take the road that led along the
river toward the weir and he quickened his step, his heart beating quick
in anticipation. Then she was only a few feet ahead. No one around, only
trees where the houses thinned, a large expanse of grass, the growing sound
from the weir.
His knife ready, he grabbed at her neck. She
did not resist as he held the knife to her throat and pushed her toward
a tree. Then he turned her round. Two large eyes stared back at him. They
were not human eyes, for they lay above a mass of small, swarming tentacles.
In an alien kiss of death, the tentacles suckered themselves to his face.
Desperately, he slashed at them with his knife
while something warm and sticky splashed at his hands and eyes. Then he
was free, stumbling to the ground. Terror forced him to his feet and he
ran away toward the weir. He was being pursued and the horror behind him
seemed to be gaining on him. He stole a look but his eyes were burning
and in agony he ran for several yards, blind, before clawing his own sockets
with his hands.
He could not see the river, heavy with sediment
and swollen by storm rain, but he felt its coldness as he tripped and fell,
grasped by its waiting waves. Several times he raised his head above the
water, gulping desperately, but the currents were too strong and, inexorably,
he was sucked down where water waited to change its place with the warm
air within his lungs.
Half-asleep within her room, Karen sighed before
laying the book aside. A cold chaos of stars formed briefly in a corner
of her room and she smiled at it. Then it was gone.
It was a beautiful dawn and, refreshed from her
sleep, Karen walked down her stairs to unlock her door. The warm wind of
the night had dried the pavement of the rain and she walked deftly toward
the river. The river path was muddy, but she did not care.
The body of a man lay awkward and tangled in
the drenched branches of a leaning tree, the face a bloodied mask. Karen
stood above it and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said in a kindly voice, "but
you made me angry. I don't like being angry."
She smiled at the water. A broken branch from
a tree, swept down by storm, was carried fast toward her but she did not
look as it broke the body free. The dawn light was enchanting and, like
a little girl, she skipped playfully along the path, wondering what she
could do with the power she had found. Her mother had never understood
the Dark Gods like she did.
Anger was her Gate, but gentleness her protection
and as she walked along by the river under the burgeoning warmth of the
sun, she resolved never to get angry again. Vaguely, she knew her resolution
might not last.¶