0913165263(F) by Karl Edward Wagner

Author:Karl Edward Wagner [Wagner, Karl Edward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction.Horror, Short Stories & Novellas, Acclaimed.Bram Stoker Award (Nom), Collection.Single Author, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780913165263
Google: 1fT9GAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0913165263
Publisher: Dark Harvest
Published: 1987-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

The door swung silently open. Silent as a shadow, a figure entered. A man dressed entirely in black. Unhurriedly he crossed the shabby living room, looked down at the grotesquely sprawled corpse.

“Get up,” the figure commanded.

Compton Moore picked himself up, slumped back in the chair—stared at the figure in fear. “Are you death?” he asked in an awestricken whisper.

“I am Dread.”

Shakily Moore raised a hand to his temple. There was no pain, no blood, no wound. In stunned bewilderment he stared at his uncanny visitor.

The stranger stood well over six feet in height and was clad solely in black from boots to turtleneck jersey. Powerful muscles flexed beneath the close-fitting garments, belying the silver-white of his combed-back hair and trim beard. His features were hidden behind a mask of black metal that concealed the upper portion of his face from high forehead to just below the cheekbone. The featureless metal mask reminded Moore suddenly of the robot’s face in that strange movie he had seen in Berlin—Metropolis. The mouth beneath the mask was thin-lipped, the bearded jaw almost pointed. Through slits in the mask, eyes so dark as to seem almost entirely pupil regarded him with unwavering intensity. Moore thought of a cat’s stare across a darkened room.

“I don’t understand,” Moore managed to stammer. “What’s happened? Who are you? I thought...”

The figure extended a black-gloved hand. The long fingers held out a small metallic object, gleaming like gold. It was a copper-jacketed 9 mm. slug, grooved from the rifling of a gun barrel.

Moore reached uncertainly for the bullet. The black fist closed over it, and a cruel laugh stopped his movement.

“That bullet killed you, Compton Moore,” came a mocking whisper. “Have you forgotten?”

“Killed...?”

“You no longer wanted your life, Compton Moore,” the derisive voice continued. “You threw it away. But I have use for your life, Compton Moore—and so I have claimed you.” Moore felt his brain whirling in a vortex of madness. He remembered—vividly remembered—the black despair, the decision, the gun against his temple, the shot exploding his consciousness into dissolving agony, the disembodied vision of his corpse... His fingers clutched the arms of his chair, clinging to reality.

“What are you!”

“But I’ve already told you, Compton Moore. I am Dread. And you are my creature.”

The masked face gazed down at him, lips drawn in a demonic smile. “You thought to die, but I forbade it. What you would cast away, I have claimed. You are mine, Compton Moore. You will obey me without fail—whenever and whatsoever I command. My will is yours and your life is mine, nor shall you again die except by my will.”

The gloved fingers held the grooved bullet before his swimming vision. “Through my power I have altered fate,” the sibilant voice continued. “Fate ordained that this bullet should blow out your pitiful brains. But the hand of Dread has halted fate and plucked the fatal bullet from its course. For so long as it is my will, this bullet shall remain in timeless limbo. For that space, Compton Moore, you shall live to serve me well.

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