Clark - Ashen

Ashen

Pete Clark

I have no memory of what woke me, save for the fact I know itwas no sound or motion. A fragment of dream billowed acrossmy fragile mind, and as so often happens on the edge of waking, Iclung to it like a drowning man to a raft. I fought to gainsome sense of the images behind my tired eyes, but I could hold onno longer. I fell awake.

The room was dark, and although the clock by my bedside showedmidnight approaching, I had the strangest sensation of time havingslowed or even stopped. From my bed, I could see out of thewindow and across the rooftops that made up my city, for I neverdrew my curtains during summer months. Clouds hung still inthe air, smoke rising from chimneys seemed frozen, and yet I toldmyself that this was normal. There was no wind, the air wasas still as a frozen river, and I could expect to see no movementfrom where I lay. Bravely, I told myself this. Thefeeling hung about me however, like a shroud, that all was not asit should have been.

The curtains, bunched at the frames of the windows, twitched asif a small bird had flown into them. My throat grew strangelydry as I watched them settle. An odour pervaded the room then(or had it been present all along? Indeed, was itthis that had woken me?), like the sweet summer smell ofan apple orchard, corrupted by time and rot anddespair. I slept with the windows open, but knew of noorchard nearby that could have perfumed the air. I breatheddeep of it, as if to better judge my situation, and immediately myhead swam as if drugged. I became aware of a red cloudiness foggingmy sight, and indeed my hearing, that became so pervasive andcloying that I believed I knew how it was to drown. Istruggled and clutched uselessly at the bedclothes, pooled aroundme in damp twists, and tried to shout. Whether I was shoutingfor help, for courage or from a sense of dread I had no idea. The point became irrelevant, as what escaped my throat was nothingmore than a ragged whine.

That whine dried up and I gasped aloud at the sight of thefigure at the foot of my bed. Where he had come from I had no idea,nor did I recognise the sloping stance, or stick thin limbs. He reminded me nothing so much as a tree in full winterstarkness. That the pervading odour came from him I had nodoubt, for no sooner than I thought of it, I was hit anew by thestench, no longer reminding me of sweet summer apple, but rathernow an abattoir smell filled my lungs, all meat and sweet raw bloodand fear.

He gazed at me with eyes I could not see; such was the gloomthat hung around him. I felt watched however, the way arabbit must feel before the ravening jaws of a wolf, and I admitthat I let out an in voluntary murmur that was more a result ofinstinctive terror than of anything else. As my eyes becameused to the way darkness clung to him, I made out the shape of hishead, the severe but beautiful slope of his forehead, the sharpnessof his nose. His mouth swam into view, more a cursorynod to that feature than an organ of speech, of emotion. Asmall dark tongue flicked out to wet the thin lips, and left therea trail of thick glistening saliva. It looked black in thedarkness.

I pushed with my feet, and felt the headboard of my bed scrapingdown past my neck, then my shoulders, resting under my shoulderblades. The sound was like nails across sandpaper, for mysenses seemed to have exponentially heightened with the figurespresence. My arms hung limp by my sides and I felt nothingbelow my chest. If I could have cared about such things, Iwould have checked beneath the bedclothes for my legs, even feltfor their lumping shapes on the bed. I didnt care about suchthings.

I felt I had kept my silence for long enough, for the figureseemed as a statue. Apart from the searching tongue, hehadnt moved.

Who are you?

It seemed I only mouthed the words, for no sound broke thestillness of the room. I knew I had not spoken, andyet the man (for that is how I had to think of him) cockedhis head and smiled. It was quite the most fearful sight Ihad ever seen. Sparkling white teeth broke the gloom of hisface and his lips peeled back into almost paper thinness. There seemed an abnormal expanse of dark red gum above the teeth,and it seemed alive, as though worms or maggots squirmed andwrithed beneath the surface, the flesh rising and falling inimpossibly small peaks as if something were trying to breakfree. It gave the teeth a false impression of length, becausethe lips rode so high on the gums. They were sharp too,narrowing to needlepoints it seemed, and although he was still thefull length of the bed away, I saw how the very tips of the teethwere translucent, like fine bone china.

The air seemed to reverberate around him, and the blackness thathad at first seemed to pervade the whole room but had then resolvedaround the figure alone, swirled and eddied like ink in abathtub. The smile left his face. There was notransition from one state to the other. There was at once thepained, wretched, writhing grin, and then the face was as serene asa sleeping baby. I must have gasped because the head liftedand his eyes met mine fully for the first time, their bloodshot andsomehow lifeless gaze corrupting me, staining me with redness.

I pushed myself further up the bed, my bare shoulders chilled onthe wall above, my spine knocking painfully against theheadboard.

Abruptly, a wash of calm enveloped me, although I wasnt yetsufficiently under its spell to realise that it was justthat. This creature, this man, was hypnotising me with hisglare. I fought as bravely as I could against the feeling,peripherally aware of brazen, bloody images flitting in my mind, asif I was looking at a series of photographs and forgetting themalmost instantly. I felt chilled by their content, red tornflesh, and ruptured viscera. I felt pain in the images,violation and ultimately loss, and yet I cannot place one singleimage firmly enough in my memory to describe it in anydetail. Was he planting these images in my mind? Was hepreparing me for some as yet unimaginable onslaught ofexperience? In the fraction of a second it took for this topass through my mind, I knew.

These were his memories. This was him.

My life felt, if it hadnt all through this encounter, on theedge of existence. I knew I had minutes left. Thiscreature was not of this world, and nor would I be. Strangely, all worry dropped from my shoulders, and I found myselfspending what I knew would be my last minutes, trying to understandthe images, to make some sense of them so that I might recall theseexperiences in whatever passed for the afterlife.

Perhaps I fell asleep then, for the speed at which he approachedmy bed was like time-lapse photography, like the first and lastpicture in a childs flip-book. I felt the feather-lighttouch of a breeze on my chilled skin, blinked my eyes against themotion of air, and yet he showed no signs of having moved. His hair was still, his clothes the same. His eyes stareddown at me from their roost, like two black ravens set deep intothe white alabaster of a castle wall. He moved his head then,cocked it to one side, and I had the strangest feeling that he wasexhibiting great control over his movement, as if he could, andshould, have moved so much faster. All this lent weight to mynotion of him being inhuman, un-human. He spokesuddenly. I say suddenly because I saw nothing of movement inhis lips. Only his eyes sparkled, and I heard his words deepin my brain, like the hint of memory.