The Nightling

My first story ever - written in 1992. Included here for sentimental reasons; no critique please.

 

 

  

That night, Alan Hamilton contemplated his life, for it would soon be over.

 He was floating in an inflatable chair in a pool which was softly lit by violet underwater lights. The lights in his neighbor’s houses were all out at this time of night as were his own, the only light was from the pool which looked like a giant neon kidney bean except for the fat man floating in the middle like a lesion. It would have been obvious to a visitor that the man had made a lot of money in his lifetime. A large hot tub rested on a tier slightly higher than the pool and both were surrounded by expensive patio furniture. The rest of the yard was beautifully landscaped with a walk-through rock/flower garden split by a stone footpath. This led to a cozy gazebo overlooking the rest of the yard. Money, though, was a thing of the past. 

            He had remortgaged his home and borrowed on his two used car lots to start a third, then the economy had failed to improve as was predicted and all three businesses went under. Now only a small amount of his once considerable savings remained.

            In the classic nature of self-pity, he began to mentally count his problems. Too young for social security, too old to find another job, too fat to find a wife, and too weak a heart to live another six years.

            As the waves of depression swept through him he realized, not for the first time, how completely alone he felt, and was. He was the dopey, fat guy who was always the butt of jokes instead of one of the guys who made them. He wanted to be one of them, and slap his friends and laugh, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t have any friends. There wasn’t even any family he could turn to for reassurance, his only family was one nephew at a college way out in California. Just one stinking, dope-dealing nephew, too busy knocking up pretty coeds to even write his only uncle a letter.

            He had been alone his whole life, and was quite used to it. He couldn’t say he liked it, but usually he knew now to deal with it, and how to keep it from getting to him. It was only once in a great while, on nights like tonight, when he would float in his pool and overindulge on feeling sorry for himself. He knew, however, that tonight there would be no sudden bursts of hope like there were most other nights. There was no denying that things had finally gotten so overwhelmingly hopeless, that he had no choice but to die.

            Alan let out a deep sigh, a long pitiful sound like a child on the verge of tears. He sat back with his hands behind his head and began picking out constellations in an attempt to get his mind off his heavy problems. It was a magnificent night out, so quiet, and placid. The soft sounds of the warm breeze swishing through the pines at the end of the yard did much to soothe his pain. As he tuned in to the night, he began to feel a sense of belonging. Being alone in the night was the one kind of loneliness that was comforting. Monetary obligations and the chaos of the rest of the human race seemed distant and silly to him now that he was immersed in the total tranquillity and peaceful isolation of the night.

            As the caress of the night air drained away his frustrations, he began to see similarities between himself and the night. If the sun were up, with all it’s rationality, he would probably laugh at himself for thinking such thoughts, but quiet nights like these were perfect for philosophical wanderings, so what the hell?

            People were afraid of the dark because of what it might hide, and because of what could be inside. People judged it solely on appearance when actually, it could be their best friend. It’s advantages and comforts were many once one looked past the stereotype. People in general, though, were frightened by its mask. Why couldn’t they see that this was one of its greatest qualities? Darkness brings with it a mood of freedom; it separates us from our responsibilities by making them seem a million miles away. Yet it’s appearance masks the unknown so people never looked beyond it. It was also this way with Alan. Because of his great berth and lack of beauty, no one wanted to get to know him. They scorned him, they taunted and laughed at him, many were also, quite foolishly, frightened of him. When people did bother to approach him he would respond in a warm and friendly manner. It showed them that he was perfectly capable and quite willing to begin a friendship, or maybe even a romance, with them. But no one ever wanted anything to do with a fat, ugly, toad. Not even his only nephew. Alan, and the night, both so misunderstood.

             It was then that it became clear to Alan Hamilton that the dark was his best and only friend. He could float forever, basking in the scents and sounds of the wonderful nighttime. The rest of the world may not even exist because it was dark, they can’t see him and he can’t see them. And that’s the way he liked it. He had the dark to thank -- the mask.

            He took it all in, the entire night-time world, in all it’s enormity. He contemplated every fresh, alive, scent, every quiet unobtrusive sound, and every concealing shadow. He welcomed them. He thanked them.

            Then he considered suicide for the second time that night. This time the thought of it didn’t frighten or disturb him, it seemed natural. Daytime was what frightened him now, it brought business hours, and business hours brought phone calls from banks and lawyers. It brought letters from collection agencies and appointments with doctors who would tell him he was a fat toad who would die pretty soon. And people thought that monsters came out at night. Alan laughed at the thought. The only monsters in this world came out during the day – that’s why he longed for the grave.

What is the grave but nothing more than an eternal, dark, rest? The night.

 

            Then he noticed the monster sitting on the edge of the pool.

 

The calm was immediately jolted from him. He slid through his chair and began thrashing towards the opposite edge of the pool, choking on thick screams.

            The monster had been sitting with it’s elbows propped on it’s knees and feet dangling in the water, it raised it’s head and watched him frantically trying to climb out of the pool. In his panic it never occurred to Alan that there was a ladder an arms length away.

            “HOLD!”

            Oh my god its gonna kill me its gonna kill me

            “You can see me?” it asked simply.

            Alan stared at the monster, dumb shock on his face.

            Mighty wings unfurled at least half the length of the pool and the monster was airborne. Somewhere deep within Alan’s jumble of thoughts he wondered why not even a breath of air was disturbed as the monster thrust its way over the pool. He got his first good look at the thing as it moved, seemingly in slow motion.

            What first caught his eye were the immense wings which seemed to blot out the entire sky, even in the weird light of the pool, he could see the feathers were coal-black with light colored smears. Next he noticed the head. It closely resembled that of a pterodactyl except it were more bulbous and fleshy, with beady eyes on either side. The torso was a large inverted cone shape, resembling a barrel pinched at the bottom, and covered with feathers that matched the wings. The monster also had bald, dark-skinned arms and legs that could have been human, except the arms were grossly muscled, and the legs were very monkey-ish, ending in dangerous-looking talons. Finally, just before it set down facing him, he noticed the weird rat-like tail that presumably helped control it’s flight.

            Alan, for all his size, began to feel very small and very frightened, while the horrible creature peered cruelly at him out of the side of its head. They were less than five feet apart and Alan was still in the pool with nowhere to run.

            “Why can you see me?”

            Alan’s mind was still a jumble with no coherent thought except self-preservation. He was cowering the best he could in a pool, staring up at the monster, and when his voice came out, it was a meek sound, unbecoming for a man of his size.

            “Are you gonna kill me?”

            “No” the creature said flatly. Then it’s single, visible, cat-like pupil narrowed in an expression with no human counterpart. “But it is important that I talk to you.” The voice seemed sexless, but strong. Alan sensed, somehow, a faint trace of a familiar accent. One thing he knew for sure, this was not the voice of a monster.

            The creature extended an arm, heavily corded with muscle, to him. Although Alan believed it when it said it would not kill him, he was still terribly frightened. He hesitated for a moment while he reconsidered the situation. Some inexplicable, supernatural urge was telling Alan that the creature would not harm him, but still, its very visage warned him of a malicious nature.

            Overcoming his fear with a great, deliberate effort, Alan accepted it’s outstretched hand. He was rewarded by being effortlessly hauled out of the pool, and gently set down on his feet, facing the being. Unable to bring himself to turn his back to it, Alan shuffled a few steps backward and slumped into the nearest patio chair.

            What the hell is happening here? .

 In answer to his own question, Alan could only shake his head.

            After a moment of staring at him with one, weird eye, the creature spoke, “I ask again, why can you see me?”

            Still in a general state of bewilderment, Alan replied, “I don’t know. . . I’m not even sure you’re real.”

            The creature was so foreign to Alan that he was unable to interpret its reaction to his statement. It turned his head to peer at him with the other eye which narrowed even more. It was apparently puzzled by his answer. A moment later, it spoke again. “It has occurred to me, human, that my appearance has been a great shock to you. Know that I, equally, am disturbed. No human has ever been able to detect my presence.”

            Alan got the distinct impression that he was now required to reply, so he opened his mouth to speak. He had barely begun to wonder just what in the hell he could say when the creature cut him off.

            “Are you a friend to the night?”

            The question had definitely caught him off guard, yet he instantly saw the irony of being asked that. Only moments ago, Alan had decided to spend eternity with the night, of course, he’d planned on doing that by committing suicide.

            “Yeah. . . Yes, I do believe I am.“

            “Then you and I are friends, and all this matters not.”

            All at once, Alan let out a breath he had not been aware of holding. He now felt reasonably sure that he could trust this creature, and it was like having a painful splinter removed. Alan’s tensions thawed considerably, and unsurprisingly, many questions began to assault his mind. Nothing remained of his initial terror but the smallest flicker of doubt. Still, Alan had become a purely curious machine.

            “What are you? I mean. . . if you don’t mind my asking.”

            It’s eyes widened in an evaluatory stare. “The full answer to that question has not yet occurred to me, after hundreds of years of thought. But what does it matter?” It looked towards the sky and gestured melodramatically. “Mine is a joyous existence.”

            Alan raised his eyebrows momentarily, then began to ask another question. Once again the creature cut him off.

            “I call myself a Nightling.”

 

            A Nightling.

 

            Alan was suddenly struck with the oddness of the situation. So many nights he had sat this way in his lovely, violet pool. . . so many nights. Yet never in his wildest dreams had he imagined himself sitting here, talking quietly, with some kind of monster. Not even in his nightmares had he imagined something like this could truly exist. There were so many questions. He wanted to ask where it came from, if there were others, or what its purpose was in being here. Were aliens plotting to take over the Earth? The safest question he could think of was a lame one.

            “So, what’s it like being a Nightling?”

            The Nightling looked thoughtfully toward the sky. It seemed to be amused. It did begin to speak, however, and a puzzled Alan made a mental note of the creature’s eagerness to relate its experiences.

 

            “Simply put, the Nightling flies. Know, human, that the power and freedom of soaring through the night sky, over sleeping cities and quiet forests, and endless seas. . . There is nothing in the history of existence that compares. For example. . . It is within my power to leave the atmosphere and witness the splendor of the Earth, in all of its entirety, in a single, awesome, gaze. It is also within my power to pass through a solid mountain. In this way, I have witnessed the fury and fire of the volcanic element at work, trying to burst free from its claustrophobic cage. I’ve watched lovers stroll hand-in-hand through the quiet, midnight sceneries of the countryside. I’ve tested my speed against the swiftest military jets in the world, and defeated them without effort. Oftentimes I would peer through the glass at the unwitting pilot, mere inches from him. The exhilaration they reap from their feeble velocity never fails to humor me. Can you imagine, human, having the ability to reach oceanic depths never before explored by man? Or to pass through a glacier to visit splendid, isolated caverns that no man will ever set eyes upon? Human, I have journeyed, on many occasions, to the very core of the Earth. There is nowhere on this planet that I cannot go. Nor anyone, save you, that can see me.”

            “It’s all thanks to the thick cloak of the night.”

            The Nightling took in a deep, appreciative breath, and looked around the shadowed yard with pleasure.

            Alan Hamilton felt one thing – envy. This creature was miraculous.

            “I must tell you, human, I’ve watched earthquakes from the fault-line, hurricanes from the eye, lightning from the clouds, and tidal waves while flying above the crest. I’ve even watched the spinning horror of a cyclone from the inside. Pieces of trees and houses, and even humans, blasted madly around and were torn to shreds before my very eyes. I must apologize, I have seen so many fascinating phenomena over the past several hundred years that it would not be possible to relate them all to you.”

            The Nightling must have been able to interpret human expressions, for it correctly interpreted Alan’s reaction to this last statement.

            “Ah, well, since you are still curious, it is also within my power to enter any man-made dwelling I choose. In doing this, I have witnessed everything from historical political decisions being made, to small children praying to your god at their bed-time. I even frequently observe human couples in the throes of passion. There is nothing that I cannot witness.”

            The Nightling thought for a moment, it’s eyes still locked on the fantastic night sky. “Allow me to amend that. The one thing that I cannot witness is the daytime. If you are truly a friend of the night, then you will understand that there is no loss, whatsoever, in that. There is nothing mysterious about the daytime. It is then that I sleep. Because I am truly akin to the entity of the night, it is not possible for me to exist in the damnable presence of sunlight. I even avoid the full moon whenever possible. Again, truly, there is no loss. It is the open arms of the dark that I cherish. If I wish, I can travel with the night indefinitely. I only sleep if I choose to, I do not require it.”

            “That made Alan think. He cleared his throat. “So, uh. . . what do you require?. . . If you don’t mind my askin’.”

            “Nothing. I require neither food, nor water, nor air. I do not crave or require any sustenance at all. . . and no, my human friend, I do not crave or require blood. My only need is simply the night. I will never age nor be injured, for I am immortal in the most literal sense of the word. It is not even possible for me to be caused physical pain. As I have already stated, my existence is truly joyous, for I am the only one of my kind, I am the most powerful being on Earth.” The Nightling gestured broadly, “I am the one, true, companion, friend, and lover, to the unending wonderment you and I know as the night.”

 

            Normally, Alan was revolted by melodramatics, but tonight was an exception. This creature was splendid and real, and Alan was captivated by it, and more than a little envious. My god, what it must be like, Alan thought to himself, those beautiful, powerful wings can take it anywhere at the slightest whim, while my fat a*s can barely take me to the end of the driveway.

            Both of them sat silent for a while, staring into the sky. Alan was thinking fondly about what the dark had to offer. Almost as an afterthought, Alan asked, “I don’t suppose you’d care to hear what it’s like to be human.” The Nightling pivoted its head slightly, but did not look at him. “Dumb question I guess, with what you can do, you probably. . .”

            “I was once human.”

            The implications struck him like a brick on the head. A human could become a Nightling! Aspirations began to totter precariously in his chest. He needed to hear its story. He needed to hear if it was possible for someone like Alan to. . .  to what?

            As if on cue, the Nightling began.

            “Nearly eight centuries ago, I was naught but a lame seamstress.” A woman? Unable to help himself, the thought of sexual compatibility flashed through his subconscious. “I lived on the demesne of Sir Harold Rutherton of Britain. I was forced to support myself and my invalid mother on the pittance I received for cutting and sewing the uniforms of Sir Harold’s home guard. It was an especially difficult lifestyle, adding to it my being lame. You see, my mother had taken a broom handle to my legs in an attempt to beat me into virtue. I was a small child then and she had just begun to lose her wits. Later in life, once not a shred of coherency remained in her, I had to feed, clothe, and bathe her. I wanted terribly to drown her on many occasions, because thanks to her, I was unfit to be any man’s wife. So, having no other around, it remained to me, a cripple, to care and provide for the both of us.”

            “The only thing good in my life was the infrequent visits from Frederick, the handsome, young supply clerk who picked up the uniforms and brought me my pay. Unlike the other villagers who scorned and spit upon me, Frederick treated me humanely. It was his way to take extra time out to converse with me, and occasionally, he would even make small household repairs which I was unable to do. I was deeply in love with him, yet I knew that although he had not yet taken a bride, it could never be between us. I was unfit. Many nights I sat, after the work was done and mother was asleep, looking out my window at the stars and dreaming of Frederick.”

            “One thing I shall never forget, was the excitement and energy, glowing in his eyes, each time he told me of the latest exploits of Rowan and Wellis. These were outlaws infamous for their cunning poachery. At the time, they had been making the men-at-arms of Sir Harold look like complete idiots. Their favorite stunt was to take a deer within eyesight of the manor, escape the men-at-arms that came bursting out after them, then double back and take a swine or goat while the men were still searching the forest for them. Most people hated them and were infuriated by their boldness, but Frederick loved them. I could see how much he wanted to be a hero and help capture the renegades, so I encouraged him. After all, my Frederick was far too dashing to be a supply clerk.”

            The Nightling sighed, deeply. “Alas, capture them he did, and single-handedly. He chanced upon their camp one night, and after a daring two-on-one sword fight, both men lay dead at brave Frederick’s feet. I’ll never forget that day. Frederick had brought me a ladder to put against my roof because he’d heard of my interest in heavenly bodies. He put the ladder at a wide enough angle for me to climb using just my arms, so that I could get a much better view of the night sky. It was the last time he ever visited me.” The Nightling shook her head.

            “Sir Harold had been so impressed with Frederick’s victory that he gave his daughter, his only child, to Frederick to wed. This made Frederick heir to the manor, and no more did he come to visit Marie, the seamstress.”

            “Your name is Marie?” Alan asked.

            The Nightling jerked her head around to stare at Alan. There was something chilling in her eyes. “Human, that woman and her pain are no more, do you understand?”

            “Uh, yeah. . . yeah, I’m sorry.”

            “Shall I continue?”

            “Yes. Please.” Alan, feeling foolish, shifted uncomfortably on the cold plastic seat of his patio chair.

            “Anyway, it was then that I began to feel true loneliness. The only thing I had left to look forward to was the death of my mother whom I hated. Everything had been her fault, and I was only too eager to be rid of her. Every night I sat on top of my house, longing for the stars, and thinking of ways I might kill her. This I could never bring myself to do, it was too similar to what she had done to me, and I would not become like her. Even if it meant life-long torment.”

            “So I waited for her to die.”

            “She got older and older and so did I, but still she did not die. I continued to climb onto the roof to be in the night, but even that became difficult. Obviously, it had been difficult from the start, but the burdens of age had started causing me to almost dread the few hours peace I gleaned each night. Older and sicker we both became, but the wench seemed to be immortal. Finally my eyes began to go bad and I knew that I would be blind soon. I would not be able to make any money, so even if my mother chose that day to die, I would not be happy. I would be a lame and blind beggar in the street. More than likely my mother would live, and still I would have to take care of her, to beg for food for her. That was when the thought of it became absolutely unbearable.”

            “That night I sat atop my house and considered taking my own life. I realized how much I belonged in the world of nighttime shadows, with its special flavor of peace and harmony. The only doorway I saw that led to that world, was through the grave. I knew that only then would the Lady Dark wrap her cloak around me and comfort me evermore.”

            “I began to grope my way to the edge of the roof. I knew that all I had to do was to let myself drop, and I would continue to fall through the darkness, straight into the waiting embrace of ‘she who is the night’. I got the edge, steadied myself, and then. . .”

            “That’s it!” Exclaimed Alan as something inside of him clicked into place, “That’s why I can see you!”

            Her eye narrowed to a thin slit as it turned from the stars to focus on his face. She slowly brought her head around to face him, frontally, for the first time. Alan understood that this human-like action was solely for his benefit. It is awkward for a creature with eyes on either side of its head to stare in this manner. If the Nightling had had eyebrows, Alan sensed that they would be drawn and furrowed.

            “Explain yourself.”

            Alan took in a deep breath, and began to speak very deliberately. “I think, I can see you, because you and I, or at least the human part of you, are very much alike.” Still trying to put things in order, he began to count on his fingers. “Our lives were going nowhere, we were utterly alone, our bodies were failing us, and then, as I was realizing how deeply I was affected by the night-time, plus getting ready to kill myself, you appeared out of nowhere. . . I think this is some kind of sign, I mean, I’m really starting to believe that whatever it is that. . . ‘is the night’, it’s telling us that me and you are meant to be together.”

            After he spoke, an iron curtain of silence descended between them. Alan’s gaze nervously returned to the stars while he dared to hope. He sensed that she agreed with most of what he’d said, but something about his explanation didn’t seem quite right.

            When the silence continued, he began to worry that maybe he had been too blunt, or maybe his desire had caused him to jump to conclusions. At last, though, the creature did speak.

            “I see you wish to become Nightling.”

            Another silence. He did not breathe.

            “Very well.”

            His heart leapt! He would become Nightling, he would truly become one with the night, he would fly! The thought of it excited him more than anything in his miserable life ever had before.

            Suddenly some vague doubt tugged at him. It was as though he were not thinking of something important, something he should probably really think about. 

            “There’s no chance for second thoughts now, it has been decided. Now you must be strong, or spend the short remainder of your life as you are now… a pig in squalor.” She looked toward the stars once again, and what she said next, she spoke with a faint tone of relief to her voice. “This was meant to be…I knew the moment I clasped onto your arm. To think, no more human contact… are you ready?”

            He forced the doubt out of his mind violently. He let his heart beat twice. . . two thunderclaps as the night became still, awaiting his answer. Then confidently, “Yes.”

            “So be it. . . Alan Hamilton, close your eyes. Relax now. I want you to fill your skull with thoughts of the night. Feel the placidity, the safety of its blackness. Know it’s wonders and it’s freedom. You’ve got to want it! You’ve got to want it bad enough to do anything for it. If you want it, Alan, let go of your pitiful life and embrace her!”

            A numb tingling began in his hands and feet and he could hear buzzing in his head. He concentrated.

            “Reach out with your mind and grasp hold of her. . . now pull yourself towards her, hard! You are like her and she is like you. The night is the blanket that protects you and hides you. It is the hand that offers you the freedom to chase and explore your desires. The night is your lover whom you will embrace, and whom will embrace you, from now until forever. . . but only if you want her bad enough. Pull yourself toward her, Alan!”

             The buzzing had grown to envelop his whole body. It intensified and began to apply pressure on every inch of his skin. This, too, began to increase. It’s sound rose to a volume that was so sharply painful, the Nightling’s further monologue could not be focused upon.

            The pressure started to become so great that it felt as though a giant hand was squeezing him. He first realized that he was going to die when he felt his bones starting to snap and splinter beneath his very skin.

            Oh friggin’ well, he thought, what does it matter? A Nightling or the grave, they’re both the night, either way I’m getting what I wanted. . . Just let it happen, Alan, the sooner the better. Embrace it!

            He started to writhe as the pain, pressure, and sound increased again. The last thought he was capable of making was “It cannot be possible for pain to be any more excruciating.”

            His vision grew red as the pain sharpened yet again.

            He doubled over.

            Pain was the only thing he was aware of.

            The pressure made it impossible for his heart to beat, so it stilled.

            Was this dying?

 

            No. It was gone. He felt only the fading of pins and needles throughout his body. Then he felt literally nothing, or was it an absence of everything? He felt no minor itches anywhere, his toes no longer registered a dim cold, and he felt not even air around his body. His kinetic sense was completely nil.

            So much for the sense of touch. He decided that since he was surrounded by blackness, he might try opening his eyes. . . if he still had eyes.

            He was relieved when his yard came into view. If he wasn’t dead, then. . .

            He raised his arm into his field of vision. It was still his big arm, but black skin and corded muscle? It must have worked! Then into his field of vision fluttered the tip of his right wing!

            He exploded upward. He plowed through the sky faster than anything imaginable, but still he felt nothing. The air sliced past him -or through him- without any sensation at all.

            This would freeze a human into an instant block of ice!

            Thrilled past the point of belief, he allowed only a small portion of his thoughts to wonder why this fact never occurred to him in all the nights he had dreamed he was flying.

            He looked down for the first time, already he was much too far away to see his home. He was barely able to distinguish the lights from his town. A moment later the ground had faded to gray, then to black, then he was able to pick out the silhouette of Michigan.

            Rushing higher, the air turned silver around him. The crescent moon already seemed much larger than before.

            Faster and higher yet, he could make out the curvature of the Earth. Thinking of how scant moments ago he had been standing on the ground, the new Nightling was overwhelmed with exhilaration. This whole trip had taken him less than a minute!

            Moving further still, the left side of the planet’s circumference began to glow and he knew he should stop. That was the edge of night, and beyond that, it was still daytime. The disgusted Nightling snorted at the thought of the daytime.

            He realized, abruptly, that he had not yet seen his companion.

            Where is she? Would she have gone a different direction or. . . no, she’d either follow or wait for me. She must be waiting then.

            The Nightling knew that he should go to his companion but he could not immediately tear himself away. The view was breath taking.

            He looked at the planet Earth, in all of it’s enormous entirety, and felt a sharp pride at having the ability to do so. It was truly a beautiful sight. The black waters, gray clouds, and brown-coal covered land, all blended together in a way that was so starkly fascinating, it was impossible to look away. Satellite photos never represented Earth from the dark side, and the Nightling really found that a shame. In his opinion it was much prettier than the gaudy greens and blues. He allowed himself to float for just a moment longer, then forced himself away.

            The descent was just as swift as the ascent, but plummeting towards the California coastline confused him momentarily. He laughed as he forgave himself, after all, this was his first flight, how was he to recognize the California coast approaching him at a million miles an hour?

            In the few seconds it took him to cross six states, the Nightling thought to himself, it’s real, I can do anything, forever!

            Moments later he found Michigan. He rocketed along its west coast, picked out the proper shore-joined lake, then found his road and house.

            Feeling invincible, he dropped easily into his lush back yard.

 

            This mood was knocked askew when he noticed the woman lying near the pool. All of his vague fears and doubts came crashing back as he walked tentatively toward her. The nude figure crumpled before him looked to be at least ninety years old.

            “Marie?”

            A stringy, white head of hair turned, and eyes half-clouded by cataracts searched the yard for him.

            “Alan?” She was sobbing.

            “I sense you trying to speak to me, but I cannot hear you. . . no one can, now.” She let out a cry soaked with guilt. “Oh, Alan, I’m so sorry, I would have done anything to be free of that curse! I’m sorry. I misled you!”

            Still sobbing, she used her hand to caress the stone near her shoulder. “Eight-hundred years. . . I have forgotten how wonderful a sensation touch is.”

            With great difficulty, she straightened her gamy legs to lie face down. The body-length of sensory input seemed to soothe her, and again her eyes searched and failed to pick out the Nightling. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you of the draw-backs, I was afraid you would change your mind.”

            Alan felt the trembling of barely controlled panic.

            Did I make a mistake?. . . No! It’s just a little give and take. It’s worth it!. . . I can do anything, forever! This time the words rang hollow against his soul.

            Suddenly the decrepit, white body began flopping towards the pool. “I thought this moment would never come!”

            “No!” Alan sprang after her. He reached toward the old woman’s ankle, but his hand passed completely through.

            “Now I will die!” She began to cackle a dry and hideous sound while flopping closer and closer to the pool. “I WILL DIE!”

            Again the Nightling reached for her, but again his hand passed through. Marie reached the edge and rolled awkwardly into the pool with a great splash. Alan followed immediately, yet the water forgave not a ripple to his plunging mass.

            The old woman had let herself sink to the bottom and was sitting with a contemplative look on her gnarled mug. The violet lamp behind her shone through her floating and twisting locks, while making her skin look gray, and bathing everything else in a weird, purple light.

            The Nightling approached her at a full run, unimpeded by the water. He reached for her with both hands in an effort to pick her up above the water to breathe. Again his hands passed through. If she noticed his efforts, she gave no indication. Instead, a look of puzzlement crossed her expression. . . then panic.

            She had changed her mind.

            Alan could do nothing but watch with horror as the old woman flailed her weak arms and twitched her useless legs. He was just as helpless as she was.

            Her frantic, struggling convulsions brought her very near to the Nightling. Her hands stopped flailing and went to her throat as the last of her breath floated forever away.

            The instant seemed to freeze like a photograph, and Alan involuntarily memorized every minute detail: the smothering, purple universe, the withered mammories in mid-flop, and her decomposing legs dangling limply. Useless, gnarled hands clutched a wrinkled throat, and a halo of silvery-blue hair spread wildly about her head.

            Then there was her face.

            It was the worst part.

            Thrust toward Alan, it seemed to be larger-than-life. Her half-clouded eyes were open wide and witless, while her tongue poked out the side of a mouth full of rotted teeth. The mouth was open wide enough to phrase the scream that would never come.

            It was the perfect mask of terror.

            When time finally began to move on, the withered-gray skin of her face let in some slack. Her mask of terror melted into a mask of bewilderment. Then the hands came uncertainly away from her neck. She was now inhaling and exhaling pure liquid. In a horrified rage, the Nightling thrust himself toward her.

            His body passed completely through hers and he found himself half out of the water. With a desperate sob, he returned and tried again.

            The corpse made no reaction to the Nightling. Instead, it rolled and slowly floated upward as the hysterical creature passed through it again and again. Over and over, the creature tried, in his panic, to stop her from drowning, then to stop her from having drowned. He was desperate to undo what he knew could not be undone, and yet could not stop himself from thrashing around the ancient corpse in violent, hopeless protest. He knew the moment he came to his senses, he would also have to accept the truth, and he wasn’t ready for that – not yet. So he fought against nothing, and time became a blur.

 

            Eventually, his senses returned, and Alan found himself sitting at the edge of the pool with his elbows on his knees and his feet dangling in the water. It was almost a mirror image of the scene from two hours ago.

            The only difference was that, now, instead of a fat-toad, a blind cripple floated in the neon kidney bean.

            The Nightling stayed that way until just before sunrise.

 

            That morning, Alan Hamilton took to the sky for the second of what would become millions of flights, knowing true loneliness for the first time.