The Nightmare People

4.

Khalil had lost track of Smith, but although he was worried, he didn’t try to do anything about it. He watched the fire-fighters, the police, the crowds, unsure just what he was doing, and what he should be doing.

He saw some familiar faces here and there in the crowd, but he didn’t seek them out.

Then he noticed two of them together, looking worried – the Newell girls, who had come to the first meeting at Annie McGowan’s house and then walked out. They were standing on the sidewalk, not crossing the police line, but leaning and stretching as they tried to see what was happening.

Then one of them shrieked, “Daddy!,” audible even over the roaring chaos of the fire and the crowds, and ran toward a figure emerging from A Building, and then they were both running toward the figure, and Khalil watched as they embraced it.

He remembered that their parents were divorced, and that their father lived at Bedford Mills.

Their father had lived at Bedford Mills. He was dead now, and the thing they were holding was a nightmare person.

And it was hugging them back, and kissing them, and then it leaned over and squeezed one of the girls and kissed her hard on the mouth, a kiss that lingered far too long.

The girl seemed almost to be choking, rather than kissing back.

Khalil left his position and headed for the happy little threesome.

When the kiss ended, the recipient looked somewhat dazed and unhappy, her mouth twisted as if she had tasted something unpleasant. Her sister eyed her oddly.

Khalil stopped, a pace or two away, unsure how to proceed. He had no doubt of what had just happened, but how could he tell her what had just been done to her? How could he get the girls away from their “father,” and away from this place where the nightmare people lurked in such numbers?

Just then a new outburst of noise swept over him, fresh screams and shouting, and he turned to see that B Building was afire; something had just exploded in one of the ground-floor bedrooms, blowing window-glass out onto the lawn.

And staggering across the lawn between B Building and himself was Ed Smith, his clothes torn and blackened, his head and arms red with blood.

Inspiration struck.

“Miss Newell!” Khalil called, “Miss Newell! Can you help me with my friend? We must get him to a doctor!”

The Newells turned, and saw Khalil, and saw where he was pointing.

They ran to Smith, reaching him before Khalil could, and picked him up, supporting him.

“Where’s an ambulance?” the older girl asked. Khalil didn’t remember their first names.

Khalil shook his head. “We take his car,” he said, pointing. “I can drive.”

He ran ahead and opened the doors, and the Newells loaded the semi-conscious Smith into the back seat, where blood and char and slime from his hands and clothes streaked the upholstery. The stink of smoke and decaying flesh filled the car.

One of the girls got in beside Smith, to support him; the other, at Khalil’s urging, got in the front passenger’s seat.

And the thing that had eaten their father could only watch as the four of them climbed in and drove away; the car only held four, with no room for a fifth. The creature started to protest, but Khalil started the engine and revved it, drowning him out.

And then they were off, away from the fire and out of Diamond Park.