Phantoms

Bryce swung around, probing with his flashlight.

Three bright beams found the front windows at the same time, transforming the mullioned squares of glass into mirrors that hid whatever lay beyond them.

“Turn your lights toward the floor or ceiling,” Bryce said.

One beam swung up, two down.

The backsplash of light revealed the windows, but it didn't turn them into reflective silver surfaces.

Thump!

Something struck a window, rattled a loose pane, and rebounded into the night. Bryce had an impression of wings.

“What was it?”

“—bird—”

“—not a bird of any kind I ever—”

“—something—”

“—awful—”

It returned, battering itself against the glass with greater determination than before: Thump- thump-thump-thump-thump!

Lisa screamed.

Frank Autry gasped, and Stu Wargle said, “Holy shit!”

Gordy made a strangled, wordless sound.

Staring at the window, Bryce felt as if he had lurched through the curtain of reality, into a place of nightmare and illusion.

With the streetlamps extinguished, Skyline Road was dark except for the luminous moonfall; however, the thing at the window was vaguely illuminated.

Even vague illumination of that fluttering monstrosity was too much. What Bryce saw on the other side of the glass what he thought he saw in the kaleidoscopic multiplicity of light, shadow, and shimmering moonlight — was something out of a fever dream. It had a three- or four-foot wingspan. An insectoid head. Short, quivering antennae. Small, pointed, and ceaselessly working mandibles. A segmented body. The body was suspended between the pale gray wings and was approximately the size and shape of two footballs placed end to end; it, too, was gray, the same shade as the wings — a moldy, sickly gray — and fuzzy and moist-looking. Bryce glimpsed eyes, as well: huge, ink-black, multifaceted, protuberant lenses that caught the light, refracting and reflecting it, gleaming darkly and hungrily.

If he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, the thing at the window was about as large as an eagle. Which was madness.

It bashed itself against the windows with new fury, in a frenzy now, its pale wings beating so fast that it became a blur. It moved along the dark panes, repeatedly rebounding into the night, then returning, trying feverishly to crash through the window. Thumpthunipthumpthump. But it didn't have the strength to smash its way inside. Furthermore, it didn't have a carapace; its body was entirely soft, and in spite of its incredible size and formidable appearance, it was incapable of cracking the glass.

Thumpthumpthump.

Then it was gone.

The lights came on.

It's like a damned stage play, Bryce thought.

When they realized that the thing at the window wasn't going to return, they all moved, by unspoken consent, to the front of the room. They went through the gate in the railing, into the public area, to the windows, gazing out in stunned silence.

Skyline Road was unchanged.

The night was empty.

Nothing moved.

Bryce sat down in the caging chair at Paul Henderson's desk. The others gathered around.

“So,” Bryce said.

“So,” Tal said.

They looked at one another. They fidgeted.

“Any ideas?” Bryce asked.

No one said anything.

“Any theories about what it might have been?”

“Gross,” Lisa said, and shuddered.

“It was that, all right,” Dr. Paige said, putting a comforting hand on her younger sister's shoulder.

Bryce was impressed with the doctor's emotional strength and resiliency. She seemed to be taking every shock that Snowfield threw at her. Indeed, she seemed to be holding up better than his own men. Hers were the only eyes that didn't slide away when he met them; she returned his stare forthrightly.

This, he thought, is a special woman.

“Impossible,” Frank Autry said, “That's what it was. Just plain impossible.”

“Hell, what's the matter with you people?” Wargle asked. He screwed up his meaty face. “It was only a bird. That's all it was out there. Just a goddamned bird.”

“Like hell it was,” Frank said.

“Just a lousy bird,” Wargle insisted. When the others disagreed, he said, “The bad light and all them shadows out there sort of give you a false impression. You didn't see what you all think you seen.”

“And what do you think we saw?” Tal asked him.

Wargle's face became flushed.

“Did we see the same thing you saw, the thing you don't want to believe?” Tal pressed, “A moth? Did you see one goddamned big, ugly impossible moth?”

Wargle looked down at his shoes, “I seen a bird. Just a bird.”

Bryce realized that Wargle was so utterly lacking in imagination that the man couldn't encompass the possibility of the impossible, not even when he had witnessed it with his own eyes.

“Where did it come from?” Bryce asked.

No one had any ideas.

“What did it want?” he asked.

“It wanted us,” Lisa said.

Everyone seemed to agree with that assessment.

“But the thing at the window wasn't what got Jake,” Frank said, “It was weak, lightweight. It couldn't carry off a grown man.”

“Then what got Jake?” Gordy asked

“Something bigger,” Frank said, “Something a whole lot stronger and meaner.”

Bryce decided that, after all, the time had come to tell them about the things he had heard — and sensed — on the telephone, between his calls to Governor Retlock and General Copperfield: the silent presence; the forlorn cries of sea gulls; the warning sound of a rattlesnake; worst of all, the agonizing and despairing screams of men, women, and children. He hadn't intended to mention any of that until morning, until the arrival of daylight and reinforcements. But they might spot something important that he had missed, some scrap, some clue that would be of help. Besides, now that they had all seen the thing at the window, the phone incident was, by comparison, no longer very shocking.

The others listened to Bryce, and this new information had a negative effect on their demeanor.

“What kind of degenerate would tape-record the screams of his victims?” Gordy asked.

Tal Whitman shook his head. “It could be something else. It could be that… “

“Yes?”

“Well, maybe none of you wants to hear this right now.”

“Since you've started it, finish it,” Bryce insisted.

“Well,” Tal said, “what if it wasn't a recording you heard? I mean, we know people have disappeared from Snowfield. In fact as far as we've seen, more have vanished than died. So… what if the missing are being held somewhere? As hostages? Maybe the screams were coming from people who were still alive, who were being