X

The Bad Place by Dean R. Koontz

The Bad Place by Dean R. Koontz

The Bad Place by Dean R. Koontz

Every eye sees its own special vision; every ear hears a most different

song. In each man’s troubled heart, an incision would reveal a unique,

shameful wrong.

Stranger friends hide here in human guise than reside in the valleys of

Hell. But goodness, kindness and love arise in the heart of the poor

beast, as well.

-The Book of Counted Sorrows

THE NIGHT was becalmed and curiously silent. A faint scent of smoke

hung on the motionless air though no smoke was visible.

Sprawled face down on the cold pavement, Frank Pollard did not move when

he regained consciousness; he waited in the hope that his confusion

would dissipate. He blinked, trying to focus. Veils seemed to flutter

within his eyes. He sucked deep breaths of the cool air, tasting the

invisible smoke, grimacing at the acrid tang of it.

Shadows loomed like a convocation of robed figures, crowding around him.

Gradually his vision cleared, but in the yellowish light that came from

far behind him, little was revealed. A large trash dumpster, six or

eight feet from him, so dimly outlined that for a moment it seemed

strange, as though it were an artifact of an alien civilization. Frank

stared at it for a while before he realized what it was. He did not

know where he was or how he had gotten there. He could not have been

unconscious longer than a few seconds for his heart was pounding as if

he had been running for his life only moments ago.

Fireflies in a windstorm….

That phrase took flight through his mind, but he had no idea what it

meant. When he tried to concentrate on it and make sense of it, a dull

headache developed above his right eye.

Fireflies in a windstorm….

He groaned softly.

Between him and the dumpster, a shadow among shadows moved, quick and

sinuous. Small but radiant green eyes regarded him with icy interest.

Frightened, Frank pushed up onto his knees. A thin, involuntary cry

issued from him, almost less like a human sound than like the muted wail

of a reed instrument.

The green-eyed observer scampered away. A cat. Just an ordinary black

cat.

Frank got to his feet, swayed dizzily, and nearly fell over an object

that had been on the blacktop beside him. Gingerly he bent down and

picked it up: a flight bag made of supple leather, packed full,

surprisingly heavy. He supposed it was his. He could not remember.

Carrying the bag, he tottered to the dumpster and leaned against its

rusted flank.

Looking back, he saw that he was between rows of what seemed to be

two-story stucco apartment buildings. All of the windows were black. On

both sides, the tenants’ cars were pulled nose-first into covered

parking stalls. The queer yellow glow, sour and sulfurous, almost more

like the product of a gas flame than the luminescence of an incandescent

electric bulb, came from a street lamp at the end of the block, too far

away to reveal the details of the alleyway in which he stood.

As his rapid breathing slowed and as his heartbeat decelerated, he

abruptly realized that he did not know who he was. He knew his

name-Frank Pollard-but that was all. He did not know how old he was,

what he did for a living, where he had come from, where he was going, or

why. He was so startled by his predicament that for a moment his breath

caught in his throat; then his heartbeat soared again, and he let his

breath out in a rush.

Fireflies in a windstorm…

What the hell did that mean?

The headache above his right eye corkscrewed across his forehead.

He looked frantically left and right, searching for an object or an

aspect of the scene that he might recognize, anything, an anchor in a

world that was suddenly too strange. When the night offered nothing to

reassure him, he turned his quest inward, desperately seeking something

familiar in himself, but his own memory was even darker than the

passageway around him.

Gradually he became aware that the scent of smoke had faded, replaced by

Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202

Categories: Koontz, Dean
curiosity: