Cabal by Clive Barker

Author:Clive Barker
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Unknown, Horror, Fantasy, General, fiction
ISBN: 9788498005677
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 1991-02-14T23:00:00+00:00

• I'm normal. The sun won't kill me the way it'll

kill you. I'm alive. I'm human. I don't belong with you.

She had no opportunity to qualify this hurried response. Contact was broken instantly the view from Babette's eyes disappearing and Lori found herself standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

The sound of flies was loud in her head. Their buzzing was no echo of Midian, but the real thing. They were circling the room ahead of her. She knew all too well what scent had brought them here, egg laden and hungry, and she knew with equal certainty that after all she'd seen in Midian she couldn't bear to take another step towards the corpse on the floor. There was too much death in her world, inside her head and out. If she didn't escape it she'd go mad. She had to get back into the open air, where she could breathe freely. Maybe find some unremarkable shop girl to talk to about the weather, about the price of sanitary towels; anything as long as it was banal, predictable.

But the flies wanted to buzz in her ears. She tried to swat them away. Still they came at her and at her, their wings buttered with death, their feet red with it.

"Let me alone," she sobbed. But her excitement drew them in larger and still larger numbers, rising at the sound of her voice from their dining table out of sight behind the ovens. Her mind struggled to take hold of the reality she'd been thrown back into, her body to turn and leave the kitchen.

Both failed, mind and body. The cloud of flies came at her, their numbers now so large they were a darkness unto themselves. Dimly she realized that such a multiplicity was impossible and that her mind was creating this terror in its confusion. But the thought was too far from her to keep the madness at bay; her reason reached for it, and reached, but the cloud was upon her now. She felt their feet on her arms and face, leaving trails of whatever they'd been dabbling in: SheryFs

blood, Sheryl's bile, Sheryl's sweat and tears. There; were so many of them they could not all find flesh to j occupy, so they began to force their way between her lips, and crawl up her nostrils and across her eyes.

Once, in a dream of Midian, hadn't the dead come as dust, from all four corners of the world? And hadn't she stood in the middle of the storm caressed, eroded and been happy to know that the dead were on the wind? Now came the companion dream: horror to the splendour of the first. A world of flies to match that world of dust,- a world of incomprehension and blindness, of the dead without burial, and without a wind to carry them away. Only flies to feast on them, to lay in them and make more flies.

And matching dust against flies, she knew which she favoured, knew

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