The Leaping Part 24

'As the farmer carried his wife inside, he saw that she was breathing, despite the damage that Bearpit had done to her body. She was alive. But she was different. Different in a way that you fully understand, Francis.'

'I don't understand anything.'

'You will. She was like you, you see. And one night, aroused by the animal keenings of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d cats that haunt this place, she became something other than human herself. Wild and free and dangerous. And here we come upon the real tragedy of the piece, Francis. The farmer, transformed by fear from a brave and decent man into a weak-minded fool he killed her. He swung the axe with all his might as she approached him, and found himself in the morning, a husk, prostrate over her all-too-human body, her dead human body, and he was broken with guilt and with grief, and he was alone. And you know the rest.'

I do know the rest. How he took her body out to the lake. How he watched her fade into the depths. And then he hanged himself. I see it now. At some point, somewhere along the way, the young man that had come knocking at the door was mended. And he walked away. Bearpit.

I see it now.

'Where's Erin?'

'Francis,' Balthazar says. 'Look around you.'

I try to sit up again. This time my elbows remain locked as I prop myself up on them. Erin's not here. I start to feel sick again as I see how much of myself I've coughed up and spat out. Balthazar sits on the end of the bed. He slowly turns red as the snow absorbs my vomit from the floor and blood from the bed. From the bed. I look again at the bed. There is something hanging over the edge of it. It's like a thin sheet. But looking closely I see that it's not. It's too wet. Too limp.

I raise myself higher. So that I'm actually sitting up now. And can see on to the bed properly. I see a long, white knotted rope lying down the centre of this pale and b.l.o.o.d.y sheet-thing. It doesn't mean anything to me. It doesn't look like anything I've ever seen.

It's a spine. It's a spine and some skin. I smash a hand into my mouth to stop the rising tide. But it is futile. Blood falls from my mouth again like it's a wound. And there's something else forcing its way up. I am choking. Choking. Coughing up something long and dry. It just doesn't stop. I am aware of something hanging out of my mouth like a tail. So I start to pull on it with my hands. I see that it is a ma.s.s of hair that was once beautiful and curly and red. The hair catches and clogs in the back of my mouth. In my throat. And everything starts to come out of me. Out of my mouth. I can feel it all rising from my stomach. Even more. Inevitable. Unstoppable. Hot fluid courses down my chin. Down the matted cord of Erin's hair. Over my hands. I try to curl up. My body starts to convulse. I close my eyes.

Take me away from this. Help me forget.

The thing inside me wakes up. Whatever it is. The cancer. The darkness. A doctor pointing at an X-ray would call it a shadow. This shadow over your brain. Frontal lobe. Neo-cortex. Whatever. I don't know science. But the shadow responds. Like it is sentient. Like it hears my thoughts. Like it wants to help me. The thing starts to breathe. Starts to help me forget. Come on. Ignorance is bliss. Help me. It widens somewhere in my body. It swells inside me. Help me. Please. And it's coming. It's working. A horrendous shock courses down my spine. My face smashing into the floor. I feel my cheeks tearing as my jaws open and open and open. They just won't stop. The overwhelming fear is reduction. Being reduced to nothing but a bottomless mouth. Ever-hungry. All-devouring. Endless. Indiscriminate. Widening. Widening. Widening. b.l.o.o.d.y. Hot. Wet. Huge. Torn out. And my jaws are widening still. Growing. Opening so widely that they're folding back over me. And my own jaws clap together behind me, having somehow cut me out of s.p.a.ce. Having replaced me. Changed me. Erased me and remade me. I test myself and find myself an absence. Not here, but all too real. Hard. Solid. Strong. Fast. Four feet on the floor. A mouth. The front of me. A mouth. Ravenous. And inside, a growing blankness. It's eclipsing me. Pushing me out. I'm nearly completely gone. Yes. And the echo of words that are fast becoming alien.

Oblivion.

Ignorance.

Bliss.

JACK.

'It should be getting light by now,' Graham said. 'It should be dawn.'

'Well it's not,' I said.

The fellside was steep. We were looking for a way up a particularly difficult series of crags which jutted out into the starry sky above us, silhouettes of hard-edged fingers, sharp and empty.

'We should try and climb them,' I said.

'I don't think I could,' Taylor said. 'Not with these hands.'

'We have to find her,' I said. 'We have to.'

'Don't you think that there's a chance that we're too late?'

I didn't say anything at first, I just looked up at the rock-faces and the rock-faces looked back.

'Taylor,' I said, eventually. 'What do you mean? Too late for what?'

'You know what I mean, Jack,' he said.

'No,' I said. 'No, I don't. What do you mean?'

'We all know there's something going on,' he said. 'Don't you think don't you think that if she was in danger from from something, then that dangerous something will already have presented itself?' you think don't you think that if she was in danger from from something, then that dangerous something will already have presented itself?'

'I have to try and find her,' I said. 'And either you come with me, or you don't. You must understand, Taylor. Just imagine that it was Erin that had been taken, not Jennifer.'

I turned and slowly levered myself up a steep gra.s.sy ladder between two slippery stone walls.

And, G.o.d help them, they followed, Taylor unable to really bend his fingers, just wedging his hands into cracks so they got stuck and held his weight.

'There's somebody down there,' Graham said. 'Look. Back down the way we've come. They're watching us.'

We were at the top of the crags, resting on the spine of the fell, Taylor nursing his ruined hands. I looked down over the edge, and Graham was right there was a figure down there, looking up at us, and it was was a person, but disproportionate in a way that I couldn't make out. They were about fifty feet down. Behind them, the fellside dropped away. The figure raised its long arms and screamed. All the blood in my body suddenly seemed to reverse the direction of its flow, and I turned from the cliff edge and stumbled away, up the ridge. a person, but disproportionate in a way that I couldn't make out. They were about fifty feet down. Behind them, the fellside dropped away. The figure raised its long arms and screamed. All the blood in my body suddenly seemed to reverse the direction of its flow, and I turned from the cliff edge and stumbled away, up the ridge.

'It's one of them,' I heard Graham say, behind me.

'Run,' I said. 'Come on. Just run.'

'Wait,' Taylor said. 'Look. It's gone.'

'We need to carry on,' I said. 'It he might be coming after us.'

'I hope Erin's OK,' Taylor said. 'And Francis. Jesus. How did it come to this?' He laughed. 'Look at us.'

I turned back down to see him gesturing at the fellside and the valley, laughing, and he wouldn't stop laughing. Graham was smiling too.

'Come on,' I said. 'We have to carry on. Stop laughing. Stop laughing, the pair of you! Come on.'

'Jesus,' Taylor said again, and then stopped laughing completely. 'I just hope Erin's OK.'

'She'll be fine,' I said. 'She's inside the house. It's an old farmhouse. They're like castles. Don't worry about Erin,' I said. 'It's Francis and Jennifer that we need to worry about.'

I turned back to the ascending ridge, which fell away sharply on either side and then levelled out, so it was like a fin, or the visible spine of a thin person, bent over. The effect was enhanced by the regularly s.p.a.ced hummocks and lesser summits that protruded along its length, like vertebrae.

And there it was.

The first one I'd seen clearly, standing a little further up the ridge in front of us, on two legs, like a person, but with the knees bent the wrong way, like Mr Tumnus from The Lion The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe the Witch and the Wardrobe. Its arms were long and hung low, and its hands were also long, with stretched-out bony fingers and vicious-looking fingernails, and they hung limply, like they were dead, and above its tiny waist its torso was bulky and strong-looking. Its head was shaped like a human head, but the features were wrong, as if it was mid-flux the eyes were unevenly sized and at different heights, pushed up into the forehead along with the flattened nose by the vast opening that was the thing's mouth, which stretched from where the eyebrows should have been down to the chin and was edged with fraying skin. It seemed to gape open naturally, like the muscles were at rest, and it was bristling with sharp, yellow teeth that were cutting into the b.l.o.o.d.y lips. They were all at different angles, as if the gums were slowly liquefying. The whole of the creature was covered in thin grey hair, and it was naked. was mid-flux the eyes were unevenly sized and at different heights, pushed up into the forehead along with the flattened nose by the vast opening that was the thing's mouth, which stretched from where the eyebrows should have been down to the chin and was edged with fraying skin. It seemed to gape open naturally, like the muscles were at rest, and it was bristling with sharp, yellow teeth that were cutting into the b.l.o.o.d.y lips. They were all at different angles, as if the gums were slowly liquefying. The whole of the creature was covered in thin grey hair, and it was naked.

It took a step towards us.

FRANCIS.

The house is difficult to escape from, but for the weakness of the doors. I leave marks, scratches, spittle. And I can smell her scent. Jennifer's. All over the house. My mouth is open. I am howling the howl. Outside it is cold. There are stars, the sky, white snow, a white moon. Everything is wild and bright and bleak. There is another scent entwined with hers. That of rotten teeth.

I am heading for some distant laughter. And the bright light of real fire. Many of the scents are of things that have died. The endless reaches of bracken. The rot. All of the plants that I sense are dead. The scents are of things that are turning to soil. Birds-eye primrose. b.u.t.terwort. Purple saxifrage. Spring gentian. Yellowmarsh. Carniverous sundew. I remember these names from my mother's books.

Creatures like me, down by the lake. Inside out. Bent over. Half-split. Full wolf. Four-legged, human head. Cracked open. Long tongues. Full human. Humans, covered in hair. Humans, long tongues, licking their own necks. Bald wolves. Dead eyes. Closer. Slowly. I mean, I thought I was ill. I just thought I was ill. But these, here. They are inside-out. Hunched wolves. Foetal people. Naked and newborn ancients. Other things twisted backwards. Stretched open, self-regurgitated. Shattered skulls. Soulless bodies. They are dancing, f.u.c.king, bruising, whooping, bleeding, laughing, singing, howling, swimming, playing, screaming, eating, drinking, burning, stripping, fighting, living. Wild. I know it now. I know I'm one of them. Not human. Not animal. There are fiery pits, burning pigs, gutted sheep. Shrieking lunatics. Spilling whisky. Nakedness. Riotous joy in every movement, every feeding frenzy, every sacred blasphemous f.u.c.k. There are made-up things. Above us all, there are lights in the sky. They are other creatures. Little ghosts, or fairies, or something. I don't f.u.c.king know. Dad would be happy to see these lights in the sky. But they are all just symptoms of something rotten. Something that isn't right. Isn't right at all. Humans, long tongues, licking their own necks. Bald wolves. Dead eyes. Closer. Slowly. I mean, I thought I was ill. I just thought I was ill. But these, here. They are inside-out. Hunched wolves. Foetal people. Naked and newborn ancients. Other things twisted backwards. Stretched open, self-regurgitated. Shattered skulls. Soulless bodies. They are dancing, f.u.c.king, bruising, whooping, bleeding, laughing, singing, howling, swimming, playing, screaming, eating, drinking, burning, stripping, fighting, living. Wild. I know it now. I know I'm one of them. Not human. Not animal. There are fiery pits, burning pigs, gutted sheep. Shrieking lunatics. Spilling whisky. Nakedness. Riotous joy in every movement, every feeding frenzy, every sacred blasphemous f.u.c.k. There are made-up things. Above us all, there are lights in the sky. They are other creatures. Little ghosts, or fairies, or something. I don't f.u.c.king know. Dad would be happy to see these lights in the sky. But they are all just symptoms of something rotten. Something that isn't right. Isn't right at all.

I find myself in the middle of the happy wolves. But I am safe. I am one of them. I know it now. We are all dancing round in circles. Going around and around. The music is led by the fiddle-player. Perched atop a huge worm-eaten log. Eyes like mad stars all sucked together. In human form but His tongue flapping around His chest as He hops. There is power, here. There is power in Him. The music and the howling echoes across the black lake. Jennifer must be here somewhere. But I am slipping under. I am writhing in the press of them all. I am falling for the ease of it. Sometimes the wolves are women like G.o.ddesses. Sometimes I see other wolves appearing at the edge of the firelight. Tall with pride. They join us. the ease of it. Sometimes the wolves are women like G.o.ddesses. Sometimes I see other wolves appearing at the edge of the firelight. Tall with pride. They join us.

JACK.

The thing took another step, unsteadily, as if weak or newborn, and then just stood watching us. We were deathly silent, not breathing, not moving, not speaking. It moved a little closer, shaking, but not with fear more with a kind of suppressed energy, or excitement and it held its arms out before it and as it got closer, we saw that it was changing constantly changing and something was emerging from its mouth, like another head, this one longer and more pointed. More like a wolf's head, and its old head kind of stretched open and fell backwards, a pouch slack at the back of the neck, leaving its new head all slick and wet and grinning at us.

I just stood there.

It leapt it jumped so high and so far, and it landed on Taylor. Its claws were blurred, swooping down and gouging handfuls of black specks out of Taylor and throwing them backwards, scattering them on the snow. It only had time for that one blow before Graham, wailing, threw himself at it, the axe leaping like it had a mind of its own, and the heavy metal head punched a hole in the stomach of the thing, the thin waist. It howled like an injured dog and fell. Graham raised the axe and brought it down on the thing's arm. It whined and keened, writhed and morphed, wriggled and shrank. for that one blow before Graham, wailing, threw himself at it, the axe leaping like it had a mind of its own, and the heavy metal head punched a hole in the stomach of the thing, the thin waist. It howled like an injured dog and fell. Graham raised the axe and brought it down on the thing's arm. It whined and keened, writhed and morphed, wriggled and shrank.

Taylor was lying on his back, breathing quickly. His shirt was ripped open at the front and his breath hung over him, shapeless, visible. A large black patch shone unhealthily on his chest.

The creature squirmed and squealed like it was in tremendous pain and incapable of standing back up. Graham raised the axe again.

'No!' I shouted, and grabbed his arm. 'No. Look it's changing human. It might be her. It might be her.'

'We should kill it,' Graham said, panting.

'No. It's a werewolf. I mean it could be her. Jennifer. Let it change. Just keep it there.'

Graham kept the axe pressed down on its throat and stood by its head so that its flailing legs didn't catch him.

'Werewolf,' he said, and spat. 'As if.'

'Unless you can explain it otherwise,' I said, slightly sickened by the ease of his violence.

'Jack,' I heard Taylor gasp from behind me.

'Taylor,' I said. 'How badly are you hurt?'

'It hurts like h.e.l.l,' he said. 'I don't know. It hurts. It could have been worse though. Just its f.u.c.king fingernails.'

'It didn't bite you?'

'No. I don't think so.'

'You don't think so?'

'It didn't bite me,' he said, and struggled to raise himself on his elbows. 'It's so cold out here. What the h.e.l.l are we doing? What are we playing at? What the f.u.c.k is happening? Where's Erin? Where's Francis? Where's Jennifer? I want to see Erin. Where is she? What's happened to us out here? What's happening, Jack?' He looked over to Graham. 'What's that thing thing? Oh G.o.d. What is it? What's Graham doing? Where's-'

'Shh,' I said. 'Quiet. We can't think about it. We won't get anywhere if we stop to think.'

'Where's-'

'Erin's safe,' I said. 'You know that. She's safe. Back at the house. She's looking after Francis. Don't worry. She's safe. You know that she's safe.'

He shook his head. 'I don't know that at all. We don't know anything.'

'We have to believe it, then,' I said. 'Or we'll all fall apart. We just have to keep on going. The only other options are to go backwards or stand still. And neither will help us now.'

'I don't know what to think.'

'Don't think,' I said. 'Stand up. Come on. Tie your scarf around your chest. Keep your jacket closed. Here.' He took my hand and I pulled him up.

'Werewolves,' I said, as we turned back to Graham and the thing. 'That's what they are.'

Graham's face was grim. We all looked down at the creature, although it was not so much a creature really, not any more, it was actually an old man naked and weak, thin-limbed and brittle, with the same hollowed-out stray-dog look of the younger specimens that gate-crashed the party. Tears ran down his face.

'You lads,' he said. 'You've no idea how lucky you are to be young. Wait until you're my age, and you'll see. You'll pay any price, lads. Any price at all to be able to run again. To live a little. To feel strong. To dance. To f.u.c.k all night.' He paused. 'You might think you are good people. And maybe you are. You just don't know, is what I'm saying.' He paused again. 'Impotence is a terrible thing. And hunger too. Any price, lads. Any price.'

'We should kill him,' Graham said.

'What?' Taylor said. 'Why?'

'He might turn back if we don't.'

'Ha!' The old man laughed a sad, wheezy laugh beneath the axe-head. 'Might?'

'We should keep him with us,' I said. 'We need to know more about this. More about them.'

'Werewolves?' Graham said.

'Yeah.' I shook my head. 'Werewolves.'

I was not proud of what we did. Trying to retain control of something with nothing to lose, something that could regenerate any wound, something that, once healed, could summon incredible strength, was not easy, and I'd like to say that we had some honourable motive. I thought we did. I wanted needed to find Jennifer, but even if that were possible, did it justify what we were doing? And Graham and Taylor what was driving them forward, other than me? Maybe I was all it took, given the fear they felt. Maybe I was solely responsible. we did. I wanted needed to find Jennifer, but even if that were possible, did it justify what we were doing? And Graham and Taylor what was driving them forward, other than me? Maybe I was all it took, given the fear they felt. Maybe I was solely responsible.

We were confused and we didn't know what we were doing, but we knew that we had to do something. The world had turned into something huge and terrifying and strange that we didn't understand, but we wanted to make it better. That is all I can tell you about our motives.

Maybe we should just have stayed inside.

'Here,' Graham said. 'Hold his hand. There. Against the rock.'

'Just don't hit me me,' I said.

'Of course I won't,' he said.

I took the old man's hand and pressed it firmly against the rock. I could feel some sort of resistance in his fingers, but against the whole of my body weight it wasn't quite enough.

The axe powered through the air, the blunt back of the head smashed the old man's wrist, and he screamed.

'Now,' Graham said. 'The other one.'

I took his other hand and pressed it down.