Black Corridor by Michael Moorcock

Black Corridor by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780583116404
Amazon: 058311640X
Publisher: Mayflower Books
Published: 1969-12-15T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Mrs Ryan began to dream.

She was walking across the field away from the house she had lived in when she was eight. If she turned round she could see her mother framed in the kitchen window, her head bent over the stove.

Behind her she could hear shouts of her brothers playing hide-and-seek.

Mrs Ryan trod over the springy turf, dreamily floated over the bright grass.

She could hear birds singing in the trees at the edges of the field.

Mrs Ryan was floating, floating over the fields, far from the house. How sunny it was. How the birds sang. She was walking again. She turned to look for the house but she was too far away. She could not see it. The sky was darkening.

She could only dimly see the trees on either side of the field. She seemed to hear a noise; a babble of talk. At once, ahead of her, she saw a dark crowd approaching, talking among themselves.

As they came closer she could still not distinguish one person from another. She had the impression that there were men, women and children. But the mass was still a dark blur of heads, bodies, limbs, formless and faceless. The crowd advanced, the cackle of voices growing louder.

She stood transfixed in the field.

She could not move.

And the voices grew clearer.

‘Look. There she is. She’s there. She’s really there.’

She felt the mood of the crowd change.

She felt a terrible fear.

‘She’s there. That’s her. That’s her.

She’s there. She’s there.’

She stood rooted to the spot, her legs too heavy to carry her.

‘She’s there. She’s there. That’s her.

That’s her.’

The dark crowd began to run towards her. It yelled and cried out.

She could hear high, vengeful screams from the women. The

crowd was almost on her.

And Mrs Ryan woke with a start in her bedroom in the light of the shimmering walls. She looked at the clock.

It was 11.31 a.m.

Trembling she lay there on the white bedspread, righting her way out of the dream. She gazed blankly at the walls, blinking her eyes to rid herself of the image of the black, blank faces of that terrible crowd. She rose and walked heavily from the room.

She went into the kitchen and took a pill to clear her head. Sighing, she removed the can of cleaner from the shelf, walked through the living room, out into the lobby and up to the front door. She put her hand on the latch.

Mrs Ryan hesitated, stiffened her back and opened the front door. She crept outside, into the long corridor.

The corridor was bright and white. It stretched away from her on either side.

Set in the walls were the doors, all painted in fresh, dark colours.

Slowly Mrs Ryan began to spray the cleaner on the surface of the door. Once the door was covered with the white film she began to rub it off, faster and faster.

Nearly done, she thought to herself, nearly done. Thank God, thank God.

Soon finished. Thank God.

Very slowly the blue door of the apartment opposite began to open. A woman looked through the crack of the door.



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