frags

The following are incomplete works I hope someday to refine and publish. Sometimes looking at the bare bones of an idea gives a writer other ideas, and the original gets put on the back burner. That's what's happened with these.

THE BEING WITHIN

The house’s red brown rock walls rose imposingly across the street from us, seeming to spring from the asphalt and hold itself poised to pounce on the few cars that passed. The main wall of the house was separated from the road by an elevated porch and stairway that snaked down to our level. The windows on the front wall watched us indifferently through their bars, confident in their inaccessible height. Below them the front door gleamed dully in the morning sun, it's rust streaks reminding me of old blood. Even though Jack was not with us, I could still hear him shouting from the roof the day we had first seen the house. "Solid enough to withstand an atom bomb!" he had said, pounding on the concrete wall of the widow's walk the encircled the entire outer perimeter. It was awesome, this house; like something out of Poe. And, in keeping with that image, it had instilled fear in the people of the village ten miles away.

But the most outstanding feature of the house was what we called its gable. It actually more closely resembled a battlement tower. Nestled half in and out of the roof, its own roof courted eight columns of rock topped by concrete spheres. Four doors fed it; two sealed shut by rusted locks and bolts, two giving in to empty space except for their tiny balconies. It looked like a square crown worked by the hands of a mentally disturbed craftsman. There were no intricate carvings, no gargoyles, as they would've done nothing at strengthening the air of the supernatural that crouched over the house than this, the stark reality of the gable itself.

"Steel doors, solid rock, red tile roof--"

I turned from the house back to Joe. We were leaning against the station wagon, and on its hood were spread the sketches we had made of the layout out of the house. He was lost in thought, shaking his head at the drawings and chewing on a foul smelling cigar.

"What's that?" I asked.

Joe snorted and shifted his two hundred plus pounds against the car. It's shocks moaned as he hefted himself to sit on the hood. "Damn funny way to build a house. Things a frigging fortress. "

I nodded.

Tony had come around the side of the house and crossed the highway.

"Find something interesting?" I asked him.

He shrugged and pushed his medium length dark hair from his eyes. "Place is still clean," he said.

"Damned funny house," Joe muttered again.

We turned when another car pulled up behind the station wagon and stopped. From that stepped the owner of the house, Miguel Rodriguez. He was of stately height for a Latin, over 6 feet tall, with the typical olive complexion and the detached air of the upper classes.

"Gentlemen,” he said, stepping beside me. "Is everyone here?"

"Yes," I replied. Something about the man made me dislike him. He was stiffly formal even in these surroundings. In the few days I'd known him, there'd been only one chink in that armor of formality; a flicker of fear that he seemed unable to control whenever he talked of the house.

"Very well. " He reached into his coat pocket and produced a set of keys. "Here are the keys to the house. "

Again I saw that flash of discomfort in his eyes. "Are there any duplicates?" Tony asked.

"None that I know of," he said.

I nodded. "If there is nothing further, Mr. Rodriguez. We'd like to start soon as possible."

"Of course. " He started to go back to his car, but Tony’s hail stopped him.

"Mr. Rodriguez!"

"Yes?"

"Just as a point of curiosity, do you believe the house is possessed?"

Rodriguez looked at the house, then at us. "Does it matter?"

We watched in silence as he got back into his car and drove away.

The sun was just going down as we pulled up in front of the house later that day. The twilight retreated from our headlights like a frightened animal, but around the house it seemed to thicken, as if the house drew darkness to itself and embraced it. Joe stopped the engine and turned off the lights, the twilight immediately swarming over the car. For a few seconds we sat listening to the night sounds, gazing at the house. It towered over us, looking like an ancient castle, gargantuan in the starlight. Its presence was almost that of a sentient being. Stars glittered and twinkled above it, an illusion created by the heat it expelled.

"You know," Tony said, breaking the silence, "I'll never get used to this. "

I began a check of the case beside me on the back seat for the things I needed.

"What do you mean?" Joe asked.

"Ever since we started this line of work, I had this feeling," he shrugged. “I guess the professor’s death--"

I tightened. The silence from the front seat told me that Tony had just realized what he’d said. After a second I resumed my inventory. "Go on, Tony. "

"Earl, I didn't mean--that is--well, I just get the strangest feeling that the professor’s death wasn't an accident. "

"Tony!" Joe snapped.

"No! No, Joe, let him go. "

Tony's face was turned away from me. I could just barely see the form of the back of his head against stars I saw through the windshield. "Tony," I said, "I was there when the professor fell downstairs. I was the only one there. Are you trying to say I might have had something to do with that?"

Tony whipped around in his seat to face me. "No! No, it's not that all, Earl. I know you and the professor were very close. I wasn't thinking of you at all. "

"Who, then?"

Tony collapsed back into the seat. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe if we had gone ahead and solved that case--"

Joe reached over and laid a hand on Tony's shoulder. "It was an accident, pure and simple," Joe said firmly. "Those things happen, Tony. There's no use in mulling over something that just happened. "

"I suppose you're right," Tony said. "It's just, sitting here looking at that house made me think of the professor for some reason."

For a few seconds the only sound in the car was that of my closing the latches on the case.

"Ready," I said.

"Right," said Joe, turning to me. "You know the procedure. "

"Checks every hour around the house for anything suspicious." I gathered the case and opened the door. "I don't really expect anything happen tonight. Usually it takes while for these things to start." I stepped from the car, closed the door and bent to Tony's side window. "Signal me before you start your checks."

"Okay. "

"Once I’m in, I'll start some coffee. I don't think we should give up the creature comforts because of some ghost. "

I heard Joe chuckle and smelled the cigar he had just lit.

"Earl. "

"Yes, Tony?"

He leaned out of the window and grabbed my forearm. I couldn’t really see his expression in the gloom, but I nodded at him, then circled the front of the wagon and crossed the street. After navigating the steps, I reached the porch and paused at the front door to crane my neck for a look along the roof. The house loomed over me, making me uncomfortable. I looked back at the door’s lock and concentrated on inserting the key. Finally I was rewarded by a click and the door swung open.

Scanning the room with the beam of my flashlight, I groped for the electric switch. My fingers found the rectangular plate, but when I flipped the switch the room remained pitch black. The soft click I had invoked must have startled a small occupant, for heard a scuttling and felt something bump my boot. I kicked out blindly. There was a shrill squeak and more scuttling that soon stopped in what I assumed was another room.

I found a table leaning against an armchair nearby and placed my case there. The table creaked a bit under the weight, but held. I opened the case and pulled several candles and a box of matches from it. As I lit the candles, details of the room became clearer: a rat-eaten sofa, faded paintings, windows nearly opaque with grime. The air was musty and stale. I lifted the small candlesticks and planted a taper in each one. Though the entire room was soon fairly well lit, some corners still stubbornly rejected the light, their shadows fighting against it.

After I had illuminated the room as well as I could, I decided to investigate the chances of making that coffee. If there were any truth in the stories told by the villagers, though I doubted it, I didn't want to be caught asleep. Besides, I was convinced that Rodriguez, no matter what he declared his feelings to be, was behind the stories and "strange happenings" I heard so much about. So, before leaving the front room to explore the kitchen I recovered my .45 pistol from the case and tucked it into my belt.

The kitchen turned out to be a disappointment. The stove was electric and, like the lights, refused to work. However, I found a door that showed itself to lead to a stairway to the roof. I closed the door and threw home the heavy, foot-long bolt. Then I returned to the front room to gather more candles for the kitchen. After placing the candles, I went back to the front room and took a stick of green chalk and a green-bound volume from the case.

Above my head, betraying the site of the gable, the ceiling bulged slightly. Carefully copying from the book I held in the crook of my right elbow, I drew what is commonly known as a "magic circle" on the floor beneath that telltale bulge. Even Tony, the most open minded of our group, had ridiculed me for my habit of doing this each time I entered a "haunted house". But, since we had begun our career as paranormal investigators, I found that I felt safer in the presence of the ancient symbol of protection. Never before had I needed, as Tony always pointed out, but he had never outright objected to my using it.

Thinking of Tony brought back the conversation in the car, and that brought back the professor. I paused in my task.

It was difficult to believe that only six months had gone by since that night in the little Oklahoma town. It had started so routinely. The University got a long-distance call, we packed our equipment and left for Oklahoma. When we reached the little town we were met by a couple who told us the story of the poltergeist attack. We visited the site, examined the building, and began our investigation. We never got as far as a serious attempt to solve the mystery when the accident occurred. Tony, Jack and Joe were outside, checking the walls with metal detectors and our own brand of sensitive galvanometers. The professor and I worked our way upstairs, scrutinizing walls, the furniture, taking endless notes and making diagram after diagram to compare against the building blueprints. What happened as we were coming down the stairs was a blur to me. I had the feeling of a type of vertigo, a dizziness and nausea. When it had cleared, the professor was at the foot of the stairs, his neck broken.

I was brought back to reality by the car horn blaring outside. Shaking myself mentally, I finished the circle and replaced the chalk and the book. Tony was right. Something about this house brought back disturbing memories.

I could hear a heavy tread at the front door. That would be Joe, come to check the doors and windows. I smiled to myself. Joe was the solidity of the group, our concrete base.

"How's it going in there?" I heard him shout through the door.

I walked over and opened it. "All right so far. "

"How about that coffee?"

"Sorry," I said, indicating the candles. "No power. I was just about to check the fuse box. "

He nodded and glanced inside. "Well, if you have any luck, remember us, eh?"

"Yeah," I grinned.

I found the fuse box just as the all clear signal came. One by one I removed the fuses and examined them. They were all apparently in working order. I shook my head in disgust and closed the box.

As I came into the front room I stopped and nearly dropped my flashlight.

There, inside the circle, was the figure of a woman.

Her form glowed faintly, swaying slightly on a breeze I could not feel. I knew she stared directly at me, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make out her features. They flowed into each other, tantalizingly beautiful, yet indefinable. I wiped my sweating palms on my pants legs and tried to control my imagination. This was incredible! We had nearly torn the house apart looking for hidden cameras, projectors, anything that might produce an effect like this. We had found nothing. Could we have missed something?

I approached the circle cautiously.

I could feel her gaze on me. I stretched out my hand to touch hers, but felt no resistance, only a numbing cold. Reaching into my coat pocket, I pulled out one of our special galvanometers and walked to the nearest wall. If there were any electronic equipment producing this effect, the little meter would sniff it out.

A tinkling laughter floating to the room made me look more closely at the meter. Still no movement showed. I looked back at the figure in the circle. Something brushed across my forehead, just under the skin. I stepped back, wiping at it with my forearm. I felt the feather light touch again and then I seemed to hear her voice, a voice without sound.

"So, they finally sent the hounds," the voice lilted. "Come, then. Come. "

I glanced at the meter again. Still no movement. I switched the range to a more sensitive setting. Nothing. I began to think the power supply had gone dead.

"Not so."

I looked back at the woman. The tinkling laughter sounded again. Strange, I thought. As if she could read my thoughts.

"There are those," the voice said, "that do such things. "

I started. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and the hair on the back of my neck danced. I brushed irritably at it. Static electricity, I thought. A new technique?

"No tricks."

I didn't know how, but it was obvious this woman, if that was what she was, could sense my thoughts. The beginnings of fear began to creep into my mind and I instinctively reached for the .45 at my belt.

I stopped. She had disappeared. I glanced down at the Circle. It seemed to luminesce, and even as I watched, the greenish glow died until only the chalk lines were left. Her sudden disappearance startled me as much as her appearance. I swept my arm where she had been, again encountering nothing. Looking around the room, I saw only the candles and the shadows, still warring. Once again I ran the galvanometer over the wall near the circle, widening the area I covered until the whole wall had been tested. Without the image being projected there was little chance I might find anything unless the projector were battery powered or controlled by a timer, but I wanted to check out all the possibilities I could. Besides, it took my mind off the disturbing thought of the apparition’s seeming to read my mind.

After another examination of the entire room and the adjoining walls in the kitchen and bathroom nearby, I returned to the chair in the front room to light a cigarette and ponder this turn of events. As I sat I heard the car horn blare. I glanced at my watch. Eight o'clock. I rose to answer the knock at the door.

"Any luck with the fuse box?" Tony asked.

"None. "

"Well, here," and offered me a container of steaming coffee. I looked quizzically at the cup, then to him. "I never trust the modern conveniences on these trips," he said grinning. "I keep a Coleman stove under the back of the wagon. "

I took the cup and thanked him.

"By the way," he continued after we had made our initial attack at the coffee, "Joe thought he saw someone in the gable about a minute ago. Were you up there?"

"No. "

"Well, he went up on the roof to take a closer look. Probably just a trick of the moonlight, but he insisted on going. "

"If he finds anything, you let me know. "

"Sure. Anything else we can get you?"

"No, nothing I know of. "

Something in my expression when he had mentioned the sighting in the gable must have piqued Tony's interest. He started to turn, then swung back. "Something’s happened, hasn't it?"

I hesitated. For some reason, I felt it was important that I establish exactly what the woman's image had been before worrying Tony with it. I knew that if I told him of it he would insist on staying inside with me.

"Yes and no," I said, studying the coffee cup. "I thought I saw something, but I'm not really that sure yet. "

"What was it?"

"I don't know. The candlelight does strange things to the walls in here. It may have been an illusion. "

"Of what?"

I handed him the cup and started to close the door. "It was nothing to get excited about, Tony. If it were, would I be hiding it?"

He thought about that for awhile, then reluctantly shook his head. "I hope not," he said, looking straight at me.

"See you in an hour," I said, and closed the door.

I listened at the door until I heard his footsteps moving along the porch and down the stairway to the street. I took the last drag on my cigarette and put it out. Something had kept me from telling Tony about the apparition, I don't know what. It was as if I were thinking that the apparition had never left, but there was more to come, and I did not want to let out part of the story until I knew it all.

The all clear signal broke me from my reverie. I settled back on to the chair and started taking out the drawings of the house for study.

Then, I nearly stopped breathing. I'd heard a movement in the gable; footsteps pacing back and forth. I thought, could Joe still be up there? No, one of the strictest rules we held to was that when that all clear signal was given, that meant we were clear of the site, with no exceptions. I sat still, listening. The footsteps stopped abruptly. When they picked up again, they seem to be traveling along the roof. Rising, I followed them out of the living room, across the kitchen, and straight to the stairway door. I had to stop, suppressing an urge to open the door and meet the intruder head on. I could hear the footsteps descending the stairs, reaching the first landing and striding to the door. There was a pause. I saw the doorknob turn, first in one direction, then the other. A pause again.

And the door began rattling loudly, vibrating crazily, until the whole house echoed from the sound. Slowly, the bolt began to slide open from the beating. A sudden panic took me and I slammed it home again and held it there, my arm blurring from the vibration. The shaking stopped. As the last echoes died, I heard a new sound, this one from the living room. Someone was rifling my case and methodically emptying it of its contents. I didn't like the idea of leaving the stairway door unguarded, as I had not heard footsteps go upstairs, but, with one final check on the bolt, I hurried into the living room.

My suitcase lay open on the table, but its contents were strewn all over the room. I sat down in my chair and glared at the empty case. Candles, papers, books, chalk, even my coffee; all in disorder on the floor, on the furniture and I could even see a box of matches inside a hanging lamp. Grimacing, I began to clean up. This certainly fit the pattern Rodriguez had complained of: things flying about the room, furniture moving, all the earmarks of poltergeist. The puzzling aspect of this poltergeist activity was that it was out of its element, so to say. Usually, in the vicinity of such activity, an investigator would find an adolescent child who more often than not seemed to be the source of the disturbance, exercising his unconscious telekinetic powers to produce the poltergeist. There were no adolescents here, indeed there were precious few people at all within a ten mile radius of the house.

I had just snapped the case shut and started toward the kitchen door when I heard the stairway door began rattling again. Quickly, I entered the kitchen and drew the. 45 from my belt. I saw that I'd never make it before the bolt came loose. I stood in the middle of the kitchen as the bolt slipped from its run and the door grew quiet.

For seconds I stood, the .45 pointed waist high at the door, expecting it to open and something to happen. When the seconds passed and nothing did, I opened it myself.

There was no one on the landing.

I entered the staircase and listened for the soft sounds of receding footfalls, but heard nothing.

When people talk of haunted houses they whispered of screams in the night, chains dragging from some skeletal form down dust choked stairways, a clatter of broken pottery, noises of all types that shatter the nerves and startle memories of primordial fears. But they are either fools or liars. The real horror, the real fear, lurks in the absolute silence of an old house such as this one. No noise penetrates from the outside. Only a cold, ghastly silence. A quietness that blankets everything and muffles the noise of one's own breathing. It kills any sound before it is born, any word before it is spoken. It is a dead pall that lies over the house, demanding respectful silence even from nature outside.

And it breathes.

Not in the human sense of breathing, but in its own way, it breathes without the cacaphony lungs produce through their pipes and air sacs. It breathes in dead silence, and its breath stirs quietly against the flames of candles, just barely bending them. It glides along the spine of a human intruder, making him feel its coldness; feel it, not in his brain, but in his soul, deep within his being. It breathes easily, for it need not exert itself. It is a feather touch on the nose, a pinprick at the base of the spine, delicate tendrils squeezing inexorably on the soul.

I stood listening to that silence, the .45 shaking a little in my sweating palm. To hear nothing, absolutely nothing, to be deprived of the sound of even your own heartbeat, is something that defies description. It is the utter realization of being --- alone.

Soon, I became aware of a whimpering sound. For minutes I did not realize I was making that sound. The whimpering in the utter silence was more horrible than any apparition could ever be.

The .45 clattered to the floor. I looked at it as it bounced, noisily attesting to its existence.

I could hear again. Crickets outside, the scurry of the rat in another room, the echoes of the gun’s testimony. My knees threatened to drop me. I bent down and picked up the gun. Its cold metal surface was like an electric shock to my system, instantly making me aware of everything.

Suspicion began growing in the back of my mind and the roots of fear began blossoming. I found myself thinking in the same way I had ridiculed, the thinking of the superstitious. Tony, Joe, and I, sometimes with Jack, had emptied more houses of their ghosts that I could count. Six years of working using scientific methods to combat the supernatural had hardened us to the possibility of an actual haunting. I began going over those earlier cases, when we were still inexperienced, still studying under the professor. I remembered the pride I had felt when I solved my first case in the incredible time of only three hours. The professor had congratulated me both publicly and privately and how well I remembered that private conversation, with no one there but Tony and me. I remembered the saturnine face of the professor smiling, a rare occurrence. His words rang in my mind.

"But remember, Earl: the success of your first case does not mean success always. There will be times when you will find no explanation, times when fear will take over, fear of the supernatural we all have, and for a period you will be blind to all that goes on around you." With this he had leaned forward and the scar on his forehead stood out whitely. "Never let down your guard! You are taking up a profession were no mistakes are tolerated, whether you were actually exposing criminal activity or something beyond you. If you give in to your fears and are confronted by one of the unsolvable cases you will find the consequences very final."

And I wondered why, being less than four hours in the house, I considered it held an unsolvable case.

An hour passed. If the memories of the events of the early evening were not with me, I could have thought the house was nothing more than an abandoned hulk. I sat reading from the references I had brought with me from the professor’s library. I had convinced myself that this house did contain an unsolvable case, not because of the things that had happened since then I’d entered the house, but because of the way the house affected me. For awhile I felt a little foolish thinking there might be reason to granting the existence of a haunting, but the more I thought of the happenings, the inability to attach any mundane reason to them, the more convinced I became.

PROPOSED STORY

This story will be based on the Babylonian creation myth concerning the creation of man. It involves a mining colony, near the river of Habur, in Ereskigal, called Nippur. The lieutenants are Ninurta, and Ennugi, the sheriff. The population of the outpost is 600, in general called the Annunaki. The outpost commander is Enki. The commander of the Annunaki is Enlil. There are two guards who will be part of the story, the first named Kalkal, the second named Nusku who is the one who will bring the word of the riots to Enlil. The leader of the rioters name is EA. He will be the one to suggest the creation of man.

It was night, halfway through the watch.
His house was surrounded-but the god, Enlil, did not know.
Kalkal [then] observed it, was disturbed.
He slid the bolt and watched. .
Kalkal roused Nusku; they listened to the noise of. .
Nusku roused his Lord-he got him out of his bed, [saying]:
"My lord, your house is surrounded,
battle has come right up to your gate."

"When the gods, like men,
bore the work and suffered the toil-
the toil of the gods was great,
the work was heavy,
the distress was much.

The seven Great Annunaki
Were making the lesser gods suffer the work.

"While the Birth Goddess is present,
let her create a primitive worker;
let him bear the yoke.
Let him carry the toil of the gods!

They were complaining, backbiting.

They set fire to their tools;
Fire to their axes they put;
They troubled the god of mining in the tunnels;
They held [him] as they went
To the gates of the hero Enlil.

They summoned and asked the goddess,
the midwife of the gods, the wise Mami,
[and said to her:]
"You are the birth goddess, create workers!
Create a primitive worker,
that he may bear the yoke!
let him bear the yoke assigned by Enlil,
let the worker carry the toil of the gods!”

Summary

Enki orders Ennugi to maintain order while Enlil is in the outpost. Ninurta is ordered to insure the quota is reached, even if double shifts are necessary. EA, in charge of details, sees this as an opportunity to regain his lost position. Enki is assigned after a movement from offshore. EA begins stirring up the miners, until ready to riot on command. Enlil arrives and is quartered in the command station. Rioters set fire to their tools, and surround the post. Kalkal and Nusku bring news to Enlil, who goes to address the group. The miners called for relief and Enlil promises to study their demands on the condition they return to work. EA with a background in bioengineering, suggests DNA manipulation of indigenous humanoids to create slave labor. Lulu is created, and is given skills to work alien tools. Generations pass, the luli learn enough to fly the ships to Marduk. Luli began killing Annunaki by use of their own weapons. They take the supply ship and mount an offensive against Marduk. The offensive leads to a war which the Annunaki do not have the resources to pursue. They sue for peace, and are reduced to slavery. The Annunaki intermarry with the luli until one hybrid species is predominant. Aboriginal luli still can be found in the jungles and on isolated islands. In our day, slavery being recognized for it is, it's finally condemned. The Annunaki and luli now live in peace.

Enlil stood atop the command center building and surveyed the mob. Flanking him were two details of armed guards, a fact that suitably impressed the nearest rioters and prevented their approaching the building too closely. More than half of the six hundred colonists were in the compound yard, angrily muttering amongst themselves and squinting up through the security lights to cast murderous glances at Enlil.

Beyond the compound perimeter, Enlil could see the jungle growth that marched up and threatened to overwhelm the center's fence. About three miles distant, he could see the shem rising above the jungle canopy, marking the location of the colony spaceport. The plain metal surface of the vehicle glinted faintly in the work lights that shone from below. Shuttle copter lights flit back and forth around its form to disappear below the horizon. Enlil knew that the majority of that traffic was transporting ore from the mines near the Habur River.

"I'm opposed to you exposing yourself like this, sir," Ennugi told him, eyeing the crowd warily.

"Relax. These are reasonable people. They’ve simply been misinformed," Enlil purred. Ennugi seemed unmollified. "Have they designated a spokesman?"

"Not yet. "

Enlil nodded. He motioned the guard to move with him as he stepped to the edge of the roof. As the crowd caught sight if his movement, a great roar rose from them. Enlil raised his arms for silence. Slowly the noise subsided.

"It seems rather late at night for a meeting, " Enlil began amiably, "but there seems to be something on your minds. "

There was another growl from the crowd, hundreds of voices clamoring into garbled incoherent noise.

Enlil again raises arms for silence. "I cannot speak to all of you at the same time. I am willing to listen to your grievances each you can designate a spokesman to meet with me first thing tomorrow morning. But until then, must return to work. Or quota must be made. "

There was a low muttering from the crowd. The general milling about. Nusku watched the crowd closely, ready to move at the slightest indication that there might be trouble. But within just a few minutes, the milling took on a more organized movement.

The crowd began to disperse.