Free Revenge of the Manitou by Graham Masterton Page B

stair.
    Susan called,
“Neil!” but he was already out of the house and running across the yard,
running hard for the fence. He could hear his own panting in his ears, and the
sound of his feet on the hard dust. The morning of gray clouds and warm wind
jumbled past his eyes as he ran.
    He half-expected
the man in the long white coat to vanish. But the figure was still there,
tantalizingly close, a strange white specter on a humid and ordinary day. Neil
reached the fence, clambered over it, and jogged across the rough grass to
where the man was standing.
    Even this
close, it was difficult to make out the man’s features. They were shaded so
deeply by his hat that Neil could only just distinguish his dull, dark eyes.
    The two of them
stood ten feet apart, and the grass rustled around them. Crickets jumped and
skirled, and the wind blew toward the ocean, the wind from the valleys of
Sonoma and Napa and Lake counties , and the broad,
harsh plain that led out to Sacramento.
    Neil said, “Who
are you? What do you want? You’ve been around here for days.”
    When he
answered, the man’s voice seemed curiously close, as if he were whispering in
Neil’s ear.
    His lips
scarcely moved, if they moved at all.
    He said,
“Alien?”
    Neil shook his
head. “I’m not Alien . Who’s Alien?”
    “Alien went for
help” breathed the man. “For God’s sake, Alien.”
    “Who is Alien?”
demanded Neil. “Tell me who Alien is and maybe I can
help you.”
    From the house,
he heard Susan call: “Neil? Neil?”
    The man in the
long white duster turned his head slightly. “Alien went for help,” he repeated,
in a flat, desperate whisper. “Alien went down toward the creek for help.”
    “But who is
he?” asked Neil. “Who is he?”
    “They’re all
around us” said the man. “They’re all around us and they won’t take prisoners.
For God’s sake, Alien. Help us, Alien.”
    Susan was running
toward them. Neil turned, and he could see her bright apron in the dull morning
sunlight. He turned back again, and in a curious way the man in the long white
duster was fading. He seemed to be retreating from Neil, shrinking, yet at the
same time vanishing into the air. In a few seconds, he had disappeared.
    Susan reached
the fence, panting for breath. Neil walked back toward her silently, and took
her hands across the split-log fence.
    She asked,
“What are you doing here? What’s happening?”
    Neil looked
down at her. “Didn’t you see him?” “Who?”
    He turned, and
pointed to the place where the man had been standing. “Didn’t you see the man
in the white coat? He was right over there. I was talking to him.”
    “You were
talking to him? Where did he go?”
    “He went-well,
he just kind of went.”
    Susan frowned.
“Neil,” she said, “you’re sure you’re not-”
    He stared at
her. “Not what? Not nuts? Not ready for the funny farm?”
    “Neil, you
mustn’t think that!” “Susan, he was there!” Neil shouted. “He was right there,
right there by that patch of grass! I talked to him!”
    She let go of
his hands. He stood by the fence and watched her as she walked back across the
yard to the house, with her head lowered. She climbed up the steps to the
veranda, went into the kitchen door, and closed it behind her. He banged his
fist against the fence railing in frustration.
    Of all the damned, stupid, ridiculous things. He needed help
and reassurance more than he ever had in his whole life, and everybody,
including his wife, thought he was turning into a raving lunatic. He looked
back at the grass where the man had been standing, and he felt confused,
frightened, and helpless. Almost as helpless as the day that the Jack had slipped, and Jim had reached out his hand toward him and
begged for some miraculous salvation which Neil just didn’t have the power to
give him.
    Neil climbed
over the fence and trudged back to the house. In the kitchen, Susan was sitting
at the table scraping carrots. The tears were