The Bad Place by Dean R. Koontz

Disturbed by those queer vibrations, something scurried toward Candy,

started past him. With that special sense of surroundings that did not

rely on sight or sound or smell, reached to his left and snatched at the

unseen darting creature His reflexes were as uncanny as anything else

about him, he seized his prey. A field mouse. For an instant it froze

in horror. Then it squirmed in his grasp, but he held fast to it.

His power had no effect on living things. He could not use it on prey

with the telekinetic energy that radiated from his 0 palms. He could

not draw them forth or call them to him, frighten them out of hiding. He

could have shattered on the melaieucas or sent geysers of dirt and

stones into the air, but no matter how hard he strained, he could not

have stirred one hair on the mouse by using just his mind. He didn’t

know why he was hampered by that limitation. Violet and Verbina, whose

gifts were not half as impressive as his, seemed to have power only over

living things, smaller animals like the cats. Plants bent to Candy’s

will, of course, and sometimes insects, but nothing with a mind, not

even something with a mind as weak as that of a mouse.

Kneeling under the silvery trees, he was swaddled in gloom so deep that

he could see nothing of the mouse except its dimly gleaming eyes. He

brought the fist-wrapped creature to his mouth.

It made a thing, terrified sound, more of a peep than a squeal.

He bit off its head, spat it out, and fastened his lips upon the torn

neck. The blood was sweet, but there was too little of it.

He cast the dead rodent aside and raised his arms again, palms out,

fingers spread. This time the splash of spectral light was an intense,

electric, sapphire blue. Although it was of no longer duration than

before, its effect was startlingly greater. A half dozen waves of

vibrations, each a fraction of a second apart, slammed up the inclined

floor of the canyon. The tall trees shook, and the hundreds of drooping

trailers lashed the air, and the leaves thrashed with a sound like

swarms of bees. Pebbles and smaller stones were flung up from the

ground, and loose rocks rattled against one another. Every blade of

bunchgrass stood up stiff and straight, like hair on a frightened man’s

nape, and a few clumps tore out of the soil and tumbled away into the

night, along with showers of dead leaves, as if a wind had captured

them. But no wind disturbed the night-only the brief burst of sapphire

light and the powerful vibrations that accompanied it.

Wildlife erupted from concealment, and some of the animals streamed

toward him, heading down the canyon. He had learned long ago that they

never recognized his scent as that of a human being. They were as

likely to flee toward him as away from him. Either he had no scent that

they could detect… or they smelled something wild in him, something

more like themselves than like a human being, and in their panic they

did not realize that he was a predator.

They were visible, at best, as shapeless dark forms, streaming past him,

like shadows flung off by a spinning lamp. But also sensed them with

his psychic gift. Coyotes loped by, a panicked raccoon brushed against

his leg; he did not reach out for those, because he wanted to avoid

being badly clawed or bitten. At least a double score of mice streamed

wit reach, as well, but he wanted something more full of life, he

with-blood.

He snatched at what he thought was a squirrel, missed, a moment later

seized a rabbit by its hind legs. It shrieked thrashed with its less

formidable forepaws, but he got hold of those, too, not only

immobilizing the creature but paralyzed it with fear.

He held it up to his face.

Its fur had a dusty, musky smell.

Its red eyes glistened with terror.

He could hear its thunderous heart.

He bit into its throat. The fur, hide, and muscle resisted teeth, but

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