sk.dreamcatcher-第34部分

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was　something　else；　too。　That　funny　furry　stuff　was　growing　on　the　blood；　growing　in　the　gutters　of　grout　between　the　tiles；　as　well　…　he　could　see　it　more　clearly　than　ever。　It　was　on　some　of　the　toothpicks；　too　。　。　。　but　not　on　those　which　had　fallen　clear　of　the　blood。　Those　were　clean　and　white；　and　if　he　had　ever　in　his　life　needed　the　fort　of　something　in　his　mouth；　a　little　piece　of　wood　to　gnaw　on；　it　was　now。
　　　　'Fuck　it；'　the　Beav　murmured；　and　leaned　forward；　reaching　out。　His　stretching　fingers　came　up　just　short　of　the　nearest　clean　pick。　He　flexed　the　muscles　of　his　thighs　and　his　butt　came　up　off　the　seat。　His　fingers　closed　on　the　toothpick　…　ah；　got　it　…　and　something　hit　the　closed　lid　of　the　toilet　seat　at　just　that　moment；　hit　it　with　terrifying　force；　driving　it　up　into　his　unprotected　balls　and　knocking　him　forward。　Beaver　grabbed　at　the　shower　curtain　in　a　last…ditch　effort　to　maintain　his　balance；　but　it　pulled　free　of　the　bar　in　a　metallic　clitter…clack　of　rings。　His　boots　slipped　in　the　blood　and　he　went　sprawling　forward　onto　the　floor　like　a　man　blown　out　of　an　ejection　seat。　Behind　him　he　heard　the　toilet　seat　fly　up　hard　enough　to　crack　the　porcelain　tank。
　　　　Something　wet　and　heavy　landed　on　Beaver's　back。　Something　that　felt　like　a　tail　or　a　worm　or　a　muscular　segmented　tentacle　curled　between　his　legs　and　seized　his　already　aching　balls　in　a　contracting　python's　grip。　Beaver　screamed；　chin　lifting　from　the　bloody　tiles　（a　red　crisscross　pattern　tattooed　faintly　on　his　chin）；　eyes　bulging。　The　thing　lay　wet　and　cold　and　heavy　from　the　nape　of　his　neck　to　the　small　of　his　back；　like　a　rolled…up　breathing　rug；　and　now　it　began　to　utter　a　feverish　high…pitched　chattering　noise；　the　sound　of　a　rabid　monkey。
　　　　Beaver　screamed　again；　wriggled　toward　the　door　on　his　belly；　then　lurched　up　onto　all　fours；　trying　to　shake　the　thing　off。　The　muscular　rope　between　his　legs　squeezed　again；　and　there　was　a　low　popping　sound　from　somewhere　in　the　liquid　haze　of　pain　that　was　now　his　groin。
　　　　Oh　Christ；　the　Beav　thought。　Mighty　Christ　bananas；　I　think　that　was　one　of　my　balls。
　　　　Squealing；　sweating；　tongue　dancing　in　and　out　of　his　mouth　like　a　demented　party…favor；　Beaver　did　the　only　thing　he　could　think　of：　rolled　over　onto　his　back；　trying　to　crush　the　whatever…it…was　between　his　spine　and　the　tiles。　It　chittered　in　his　ear；　almost　deafening　him；　and　began　to　wriggle　frantically。　Beaver　seized　the　tail　curled　between　his　legs；　smooth　and　hairless　on　top；　thorny　…　as　if　plated　with　hooks　made　of　clotted　hair　…　underneath。　And　wet。　Water？　Blood？　Both？
　　　　'Ahhh！　A　hhh！　Oh　God　let　go！　Fuckin　thing；　let　go！　Jesus！　My　fuckin　sack！　Jeesus！'
　　　　Before　he　could　get　either　hand　beneath　the　tail；　a　mouthful　of　needles　sank　into　the　side　of　his　neck。　He　reared　up；　bellowing；　and　then　the　thing　was　gone。　Beaver　tried　to　get　to　his　feet。　He　had　to　push　with　his　hands　because　there　was　no　strength　in　his　legs；　and　his　hands　kept　slipping。　In　addition　to　McCarthy's　blood；　the　bathroom　floor　was　now　covered　with　murky　water　from　the　cracked　toilet　tank　and　the　tiled　surface　was　a　skating　rink。
　　　　As　he　finally　got　up；　he　saw　something　clinging　to　the　doorway　about　halfway　up。　It　looked　like　some　kind　of　freak　weasel　…　no　legs　but　with　a　thick　reddish…gold　tail。　There　was　no　real　head；　only　a　kind　of　slippery…looking　node　from　which　two　feverish　black　eyes　stared。
　　　　The　lower　half　of　the　node　split　open；　revealing　a　nest　of　teeth。　The　thing　struck　at　Beaver　like　a　snake；　the　node　lashing　forward；　the　hairless　tail　curled　around　the　doorjamb。　Beaver　screamed　and　raised　a　hand　in　front　of　his　face。　Three　of　the　four　fingers　on　it　…　all　but　the　pinky　…　disappeared。　There　was　no　pain；　either　that　or　the　pain　from　his　ruptured　testicle　swallowed　it　whole。　He　tried　to　step　away；　but　the　backs　of　his　knees　struck　the　bowl　of　the　battered　toilet。　There　was　nowhere　to　go。
　　　　That　thing　was　in　him？　Beaver　thought；　there　was　time　for　that　much。　It　was　in　him？
　　　　Then　it　uncoiled　its　tall　or　its　tentacle　or　whatever　it　was　and　leaped　at　him；　the　top　half　of　its　rudimentary　head　full　of　its　stupidly　furious　black　eyes；　the　lower　half　a　packet　of　bone　needles。　Far　away；　in　some　other　universe　where　there　still　might　be　sane　life；　Jonesy　was　calling　his　name；　but　Jonesy　was　late；　Jonesy　was　way　late。
　　　　The　thing　that　had　been　in　McCarthy　landed　on　the　Beav's　chest　with　a　smack。　It　smelled　like　McCarthy's　wind　…　a　heavy　reek　of　oil　and　ether　and　methane　gas。　The　muscular　whip　that　was　its　lower　body　wrapped　around　Beaver's　waist。　Its　head　darted　forward　and　its　teeth　closed　on　Beaver's　nose。
　　　　Screaming；　beating　at　it　with　his　fists；　Beaver　fell　backward　onto　the　toilet。　The　ring　and　the　lid　had　flown　up　against　the　tank　when　the　thing　came　out。　The　lid　had　stayed　up；　but　the　ring　had　fallen　back　into　place。　Now　the　Beav　landed　on　it；　broke　it；　and　dropped　ass…first　into　the　toilet　with　the　weasel…thing　clutching　him　around　the　waist　and　chewing　his　face。
　　　　'Beaver！　Beav；　what…'
　　　　Beaver　felt　the　thing　stiffen　against　him　…　it　literally　stiffened；　like　a　dick　getting　hard。　The　grip　of　the　tentacle　around　his　waist　tightened；　then　loosened。　Its　black…eyed　idiotic　face　whipped　around　toward　the　sound　of　Jonesy's　voice；　and　Beav　saw　his　old　friend　through　a　haze　of　blood；　and　with　dimming　eyes：　Jonesy　standing　slack…jawed　in　the　doorway；　a　roll　of　friction　tape　（won't　need　that　now；　Beaver　thought；　nah）　in　one　dangling　hand。　Jonesy　standing　there　utterly　defenseless　in　his　shocked　horror。　This　thing's　next　meal。
　　　　'Jonesy；　get　outta　here！'　Beaver　shouted。　His　voice　was　wet；　strained　through　a　mouthful　of　blood。　He　sensed　the　thing　getting　ready　to　leap　and　wrapped　his　arms　around　its　pulsing　body　as　if　it　were　his　lover。　'Get　out！　Shut　the　door！　B…'　Burn　it；　he　wanted　to　say。　Lock　it　in；　lock　both　of　us　in；　burn　it；　burn　it　alive；　I'm　going　to　sit　here　ass…deep　in　this　fucking　toilet　with　my　arms　wrapped　around　it；　and　if　I　can　die　smelling　it　roast；　I　can　die　happy。　But　the　thing　was　struggling　too　hard　and　fucking　Jonesy　was　just　standing　there　with　that　roll　of　friction　tape　in　his　hand　and　his　jaw　dropped；　and　goddam　if　he　didn't　look　like　Duddits；　dumb　as　a　stone　boat　and　never　going　to　improve。　Then　the　thing　turned　back　to　Beaver；　its　earless　noseless　node　of　a　head　drawn　back；　and　before　that　head　darted　forward　and　the　world　detonated　for　the　last　time；　Beaver　had　a　final；　partial　thought：　Those　toothpicks；　damn；　Mamma　always　said…
　　　　Then　the　exploding　red　and　blooming　black　and　somewhere　far　off　the　sound　of　his　own　screams；　the　final　ones。


9

Jonesy　saw　Beaver　sitting　in　the　toilet　with　something　that　looked　like　a　giant　red…gold　worm　clinging　to　him。　He　called　out　and　the　thing　turned　toward　him；　no　real　head；　just　the　black　eyes　of　a　shark　and　a　mouthful　of　teeth。　Something　in　the　teeth；　something　that　couldn't　be　the　mangled　remains　of　Beaver　Clarendon's　nose　but　probably　was。
　　　　Run　away！　he　screamed　at　himself；　and　then：　Save　him！　Save　Beaver！
　　　　Both　imperatives　had　equal　power；　and　the　result　kept　him　frozen　in　the　doorway；　feeling　as　if　he　weighed　a　thousand　pounds。　The　thing　in　Beaver's　arms　was　making　a　noise；　a　crazed　chattering　sound　that　got　into　his　head　and　made　him　think　of　something；　something　from　a　long　time　ago；　he　didn't　know　just　what。
　　　　Then　Beaver　was　screaming　at　him　from　his　awkward　sprawl　in　the　toilet；　telling　him　to　get　out；　to　shut　the　door；　and　the　thing　turned　back　to　the　sound　of　his　voice　as　if　recalled　to　temporarily　forgotten　business；　and　it　was　Beaver's　eyes　it　went　for　this　time；　his　fucking　eyes；　Beaver　writhing　and　screaming　and　trying　to　hold　on　as　the　thing　chattered　and　chattered　and　bit；　its　tail　or　whatever　it　was　flexing　and　tightening　around　Beaver's　waist；　pulling　Beaver's　shirt　out　of　his　overalls　and　then　slithering　inside　against　his　bare　skin；　Beaver's　feet　jerking　on　the　tiles；　the　heels　of　his　boots　spraying　bloody　water　in　thin　sheets；　his　shadow　flailing　on　the　wall；　and　that　mossy　stuff　was　everywhere　now；　it　grew　so　fucking　fast…
　　　　Jonesy　saw　Beaver　thrash　backward　in　a　final　throe；　saw　the　thing　let　go　its　grip　and　leap　clear　just　as　the　Beav　rolled　off　the　toilet；　his　upper　half　falling　into　the　tub　on　top　of　McCarthy；　old　Mr　Behold…I…Stand…at…the…Door…and…Knock。　The　thing　hit　the　floor　and　slithered　around　…　Christ；　it　was　quick　…　and　started　toward　him。　Jonesy　took　a　step　backward　and　swept　the　bathroom　door　shut　just　before　the　thing　hit　it；　making　a　thump　almost　exactly　like　the　one　it　had　made　when　it　hit　the　underside　of　the　toilet　seat。　It　hit　hard　enough　to　shiver　the　door　against　the　jamb。　Light　flickered　in　shutters　from　beneath　the　door　as　it　moved　restlessly　on　the　tiles；　and　then　it　slammed　into　the　door　again。　Jonesy's　first　thought　was　to　run　and　get　a　chair；　put　it　under　the　doorknob；　but　how　dumb　was　that；　as　his　kids　said；　how　fucking　brainless；　the　door　opened　in；　not　out。　The　real　question　was　whether　the　thing　understood　the　function　of　the　doorknob；　and　if　it　could　reach　it。
　　　　As　if　it　had　read　his　mind　…　and　who　could　say　that　was　impossible？　…　there　was　a　slithering　sound　on　the　other　side　of　the　door　and　he　felt　the　doorknob　trying　to　turn；　Whatever　the　thing　was；　it　was　incredibly　strong。　Jonesy　had　been　holding　the　knob　with　his　right　hand；　now　he　added　his　left；　as　well。　There　was　a　bad　moment　when　the　pressure　on　the　knob　continued　to　mount；　when　he　felt　sure　the　thing　in　there　would　be　able　to　turn　the　knob　in　spite　of　his　doubled　grip；　and　Jonesy　almost　panicked；　almost　turned　and　ran。
　　　　What　stopped　him　was　his　memory　of　how　quick　it　was。　It'd　run　me　down　before　I　could　get　halfway　across　the　room；　he　thought；　wondering　in　the　back　of　his　mind　why　the　room　had　to　be　so　goddam　big　in　the　first　place。　It'd　run　me　down；　go　up　my　leg；　and　then　right　up　my…
　　　　Jonesy　redoubled　his　grip　on　the　doorknob；　cords　standing　out　on　his　forearms　and　on　the　sides　of　his　neck；　lips　skinned　back　to　show　his　teeth。　His　hip　hurt；　too。　His　goddam　hip；　if　he　did　try　to　run　his　hip　would　slow　him　down　even　more　thanks　to　the　retired　professor；　fucking　elderly　asshole　shouldn't　have　been　driving　in　the　first　pl