Winter Moon. By: Dean R. Koontz

The metronomic throbbing surrounded him, as if he were adrift inside

the beating heart of a leviathan.

Resisting the urge to walk into the light and become part of it

forever, Eduardo struggled to his feet. Shrugged the shotgun off his

shoulder, Blinding light forcing him to squint, serial shock waves

knocking the breath out of him, evergreen boughs churning, a trembling

in the earth, the electronic oscillation like the high-pitched squeal

of a surgeon’s bone saw, and the whole night throbbing, the sky and the

earth throbbing as something pushed repeatedly and relentlessly at the

fabric of reality, throbbing, throbbing-Whoooosh.

The new sound was like–but enormously louder than–the gasp of a

vacuum-packed can of coffee or peanuts being opened, air rushing to

fill a void.

Immediately after that single brief whoooosh, a pall of silence fell

across the night and the unearthly light vanished in an instant.

, Eduardo Fernandez stood in stunned disbelief under the crescent moon,

staring at a perfect sphere of pure blackness that towered over him,

like a gargantuan ball on a cosmic billiards table. It was so

flawlessly black, it stood out against the ordinary darkness of the May

night as prominently as the flare of a nuclear explosion would stand

out against the backdrop of even the sunniest summer day. Huge.

Thirty feet in diameter. It filled the space once occupied by the

radiant pine trees and earth.

A ship.

For a moment he thought that he was gazing up at a ship with a

windowless hull as smooth as pooled oil. He waited in paralytic terror

for a seam of light to appear, a portal to crack open, a ramp to

extrude.

In spite of the fear that clouded his thinking, Eduardo quickly

realized he was not looking at a solid object. The moon-glow wasn’t

reflected on its surface. Light just fell into it as it would fall

into a well. Or tunnel.

Except that it revealed no curving walls within. Instinctively,

without needing to touch that smooth inky surface, he knew the sphere

had no weight, no mass at all, he had no primitive sense whatsoever

that it was looming over him, as he should have had if it had been

solid.

The object wasn’t an object, it was not a sphere but a circle. Not

three dimensional but two.

A doorway.

Open.

The dark beyond the threshold was unrelieved by gleam, glint, or

faintest glimmer. Such perfect blackness was neither natural nor

within human experience, and staring at it made Eduardo’s eyes ache

with the strain of seeking dimension and detail where none existed.

He wanted to run.

He approached the doorway instead.

His heart thudded, and his blood pressure no doubt pushed him toward a

stroke. He clutched the shotgun with what he knew was pathetic faith

in its efficacy, shoving it out in front of him as a primitive

tribesman might brandish a talismanic staff carved with runes, inset

with wild-animal teeth, lacquered with sacrificial blood, and crowned

with a shock of a witch doctor’s hair.

However, his fear of the door–and of the unknown realms and entities

beyond it–was not as debilitating as the fear of senility and the

self-doubt with which he had been living lately. While the chance

existed to gather proof of this experience, he intended to explore as

far and as long as his nerves would hold out. He hoped never to wake

another morning with the suspicion that his brain was addled and his

perceptions were no longer trustworthy.

Moving cautiously across the dead and flattened meadow grass, feet

sinking slightly into the spring-softened soil, he remained alert for

any change within the circle of exceptional darkness: a lesser

blackness, shadows within the gloom, a spark, a hint of movement,

anything that might signal the approach of … a traveler. He stopped

three feet from the brink of that eye-baffling tenebrity, leaning

forward slightly, as wonder-struck as a man in a fairy tale gazing into

a magical mirror, the biggest damned magical mirror the Brothers Grimm

ever imagined, one that offered no reflections–enchanted or

otherwise-but that gave him a hair-raising glimpse of eternity.

Holding the shotgun in one hand, he reached down and picked up a stone

Pages: 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

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *