The Reluctant Guest

Heavy velvet curtains blocked out any external light, be it artificial or natural, from the large bedroom. Internally there was very little illumination to speak of, only a thin crack of yellow electric light from some unknown source, fought its way beneath the rooms studded oak door. Surprisingly however, it illuminated half of the room, albeit very dully. Some pieces of furniture appeared only as dark amorphous blobs in the gloom. Hugo lay in bed, unable to sleep in these strange surroundings. His eyes darted around the room, checking, and rechecking the various large shadows that merged with the darkness. He was trying to remember if the shadows matched the positions the furniture had been in when he had first entered the room or not. One particular shape looked suspiciously like a stone gargoyle, hunched in the darkness, waiting to pounce. However, in hindsight it was probably the ornate mahogany dressing table that he had noticed on arrival. It just seemed to be in a slightly different place to where he remembered it being, a bit closer to the fire perhaps. Come to think of it, had the fireplace been that big? Hugo shifted his position for a better look, cursing the lack of a bedside lamp, or even torch, in the room. The light switch was right the way across the room, about thirty feet, so he could not turn it on and off as he pleased and leaving it on all night was out of the question. He hadn't done that since he was a child, and these days struggled to sleep if it wasn’t dark. Still, he was sorely tempted.

It was a long and convoluted story as to how Hugo came to be staying in this large, remote house, but the short version was that his car had broken down near-by. Also, because his battery had gone flat on his mobile phone, he had been unable to use that to summon help. In retrospect, it was like the beginnings of a bad horror film, car breaks down on a remote country road, driver seeks a phone/refuge from the storm in nearby mansion and ends up spending the night. Well, to be honest it wasn't particularly stormy, a little overcast maybe, and the house where he was staying had been his intended destination. That said it didn't make the place any less spooky and he had, of course, wanted to get back home that same night. Hugo was an ambitious young man and staying here would mean a very early start in the morning if he was to be in the office by eight o'clock as usual, even though he had a valid excuse for being late. Unfortunately, the local garage was not willing to come out until the morning, and he had let his membership with the AA lapse two months ago. It was much too far to get a taxi home, it had taken him just fifteen minutes short of two hours to drive out here, so when Miss Tibbs had offered him a room for the night it had seemed the most logical answer. It was either that or get a cab back to the village where he had stopped for dinner and pay for a room there.

When he had been given the assignment to come and look over the house for the highly selective estate agents he worked for, he had been very pleased. Hugo had been a junior at the firm of Edgerton and Ryecarts for two years and it was the first time they had given him such a prestigious property to evaluate. Maybe at last, they were accepting him, and taking him more seriously. It could have been the fact that the owner of the house had stipulated they would only be in after eight in the evening, and no-one else at the firm had wanted to come out this far at that time of night. These things had to be done however, to climb a rung nearer the top of the estate agency ladder. He wanted to trade his series three BMW in for a series seven before the year was out, a material indication of his success. Promotion couldn't be far away and, if successful, this job could only improve his chances. It shouldn't be hard, all he had to do was sweet talk some lonely old lady into selling her house through Edgerton and Ryecarts rather than anyone else and since she had contacted them, it was virtually in the bag.

The old lady in question was Gladys Tibbs, a sprightly eighty-three-year-old, and locally renowned eccentric. He had asked about the house at the pub in the nearby village, where had stopped for his meal and all the locals appeared to know Miss Tibbs. They also all seemed to have a story to tell about her and her family, and the consensus was that she was selling the hall because her last sister, whom she had lived there with since they were children, had died the year before. According to the locals there had been three sisters originally, and they had lived there with their father until 1944, when he had been injured during the war and died soon after arriving home. The three of them had lived quite happily, none of them marrying, for the next thirty-seven years, using the family fortune to survive. Then, fourteen years ago, the youngest sister Clara, had died unexpectedly. Since then, the remaining two sisters had rattled around in the house and had even less contact with the outside world. They only had a visit every other day from their cleaner, and once a month from social services to check up on them but seemed fairly contented with their lot. By all accounts, social workers were forever trying to talk them into selling the house and moving somewhere more suitable for a couple of octogenarians. This had all changed when Maude Tibbs had died the previous winter, reputedly of the same inherited disease that had killed her younger sister. None of the customers at the Crowing Rooster, despite their apparent in-depth knowledge of the family and its history, seemed to know exactly what this disease was.

'Something to do with the blood' was one suggestion on offer,

'No, no, it was 'er heart, gave out on 'er it did.', was another opinion. None of these layman's diagnoses was of any real interest to Hugo. His only interest was in the property, rather than its occupant.

Now, lying in the unyielding darkness of his temporary sleeping quarters, Hugo wished he had stayed at the inn and downed a few more gin and tonics, instead of heading out here to breakdown. He would never admit it to anyone else, especially a female, but Hugo had never been a brave man, and always avoided confrontation whenever possible. He could talk a good fight, and be pushy to the point of obnoxiousness, but when it came to physical confrontation, that was it, Good-bye Hugo. Even as a child, when you were meant to know no fear, he had to have the wardrobe doors closed and his Mickey Mouse night light on, before he'd even consider getting to bed. Now all those fears came flooding back, the sounds of an old house settling were unfamiliar to Hugo. Each creak and groan sounded like a trap door opening, unleashing some unspeakable nightmare. So, his thoughts raced into spirals of fear, chasing sleep further and further from his mind. He tried to calm himself by thinking of some of the more mundane aspects of the days' events, like his meeting with Miss Tibbs, and valuing the house.

Miss Tibbs had been exactly as he had imagined her, a small woman, with grey hair, untidily tied back in a bun, wearing a long grey dress with a grubby white apron over the top. When she had opened the door to him, she almost looked like a ghost, with her pale complexion and grey clothes. Hugo had introduced himself as

“Hugo Smythe, from Edgerton and Ryecarts, the property dealers.” (The partners preferred this title, as the thought it sounded a little less tacky than estate agents).

Miss Tibbs had replied, “Oh how lovely, come in, come in, you must call me Gladys, and I shall call you Hugo.”

She shepherded him into the kitchen and began plying him with tea and cakes like a long-lost grandson before he knew what had hit him. Desperate to resolve the dilemma of his car, Hugo explained the situation, and his need for a mechanic. Luckily the car had packed up only half a mile down the lane, so he could go and meet a recovery vehicle there very easily. As he was speaking, Gladys Tibbs was shaking her head, and Hugo had an uneasy feeling bad news was on the way.

“The only nearby mechanic is Toby Furlow, and he was bone idle as a lad, when he used to do our gardens, and he's bone idle now. You'll be very lucky if you can drag him from his armchair at this time of night,” was Miss Tibbs' gloomy forecast. “You're welcome to use the telephone and try mind, the numbers under 'G' for garden, the telephone is in the hall and the book is next to it.”

Hugo had rung Mr. Furlow the mechanic, who had been a very surly and discourteous brute, and had abruptly replied to Hugo’s polite query,

“I'm a very busy man, you'll be lucky to see me before noon tomorrow.”

Hugo had been horrified at this, and it was only with the promise of copious remuneration that Mr. Furlow had agreed to make Hugo his first port of call at seven thirty AM. However, no amount of money, it seemed, would drag Furlow out there that evening. It was then that Hugo had asked Gladys about a cab to town, and the number of a local hotel.

'No, no dear boy,” came the reply, “It's because of me you're stuck out here, you must stay in one of the guest rooms, there are plenty spare.”

Hugo had agreed, it would be easier to get to his car than from town, and he would save money on cabs to and fro and hotel rooms. Now resigned to his enforced residence, Hugo suggested they might as well proceed with the evaluation, after all, it was the job he had come here to do in the first place.

Miss Tibbs kept referring to the house as a hall, and although it was large, Hugo did not feel it justified this title at all. There were seven bedrooms, two bathrooms and three toilets. There was a dining room, a large kitchen, a library, study, and games room. There was also a reception room, a large lounge, and a smaller lounge area, that Miss Tibbs referred to as ‘The Parlour’. He also wanted to ask her about the 'hall' title but didn't want to upset her and risk losing the business, but it did seem a little grand. Some of the locals in the pub had also referred to it as a hall, and he had been expecting something much grander when he had first set eyes on the place. He supposed that in such a small community as this, it did seem like a hall compared to the poky little cottages he had seen around the village. He also wanted to ask about the strange appointment time that she had requested, for no apparent reason that he could see, but didn't. Maybe in the morning. They had walked round all the bedrooms, until they got to the last one at the dead end of the landing, it was the only room to which the door was closed. Miss Tibbs stopped short of this last room and begun to turn and head back for the stairs.

“Can we look in this last room so I can take some measurements?” He had enquired.

“No!” Came the abrupt reply. Miss Tibbs, obviously realising the uncharacteristic tone of her voice, added. “I'm sorry Mr Smythe, but that's Maude’s room. I haven't been in there since she died. We were as close as any two people can be, and I'm not ready to see her things yet. And poor Clara, they are still both very dear to me.”

Not waiting for a reply, Gladys Tibbs turned and walked briskly towards the stairs, Hugo had called an apology after her, but this went unanswered, and he hurried to catch her up.

The décor and feel of the house were very gothic. Lots of dark wood panelling, deep red carpets, and thick velvet curtains. The kitchen was quite old fashioned, with a large aga dominating the area. This delighted as Hugo as the yuppie types absolutely loved that sort of thing, very rustic. Many of the windows appeared cracked, and the place was generally in a pretty poor state of disrepair. Gladys had told him that the infamous Toby had done some repairs for them over the years (and no doubt charged them a pretty penny in the progress he thought), and this was quite evident by the badly plastered patches of wall and banging pipes. However, the general structure (survey pending) appeared sound, and Hugo felt the place was very saleable, with a little superficial facelift. Much to his surprise, Miss Tibbs took little, in fact no convincing, that Edgerton and Ryecarts were the property dealers for her. She had agreed to let them take her on and did not even bat an eyelid when he had mentioned their fee, as most people usually did.

By then it was very late, and Hugo was suddenly feeling exhausted. Gladys had noticed this and offered to take him to his room. He readily agreed, almost feeling guilty allowing this eighty-three-year-old wait on him, but it was hard to remember her age she was so sprightly. Ms Tibbs had brought him clean towels, (there was an en suite bathroom) a glass of water, and some old pyjamas. He eyed the pyjamas suspiciously, and quickly decided he would not be using them, but accepted them with thanks all the same. He did wonder where they had come from. Surely, they weren't her fifty-year dead fathers, or maybe she kept them in case a boyfriend stayed over. He'd had a guilty smirk at this last thought but could not bring himself to wear them in case they had belonged to her deceased father.

After stripping to his boxers, Hugo had switched the light off, and made the long journey back across the room to the bed and jumped in. The sheets were crisp and fresh smelling, and the bedclothes had a reassuring heaviness about them as he had pulled them back. He nestled down in the soft feather pillows, sure sleep would be on him soon. Then his mind had switched into hyper imagination overdrive, and here he lay imagining he could hear and see all sorts of weird and wonderful things. Worst of all he was in the room next to Maude's; According to Gladys this was the only guest room with an en suite, which is why he was here. He didn't know what would have been worse, wandering around in the pitch-black corridor looking for a toilet in the middle of the night, or sleeping next to a dead woman’s room. There was no dead woman in there now of course, she was long gone, at least he hoped she was. You heard about these mad people who kept the corpses of their loved ones in the house after they had died, talking to them, and dressing them. It had happened in Psycho, which was based on a true story wasn't it? No of course it wasn't, shut up mind, SHUT UP!

Hugo slowed his breathing, and tried to change his train of thought, but his mind kept drifting back to that closed room and the secrets it might harbour. He pushed the door and it floated open in slow motion, as if on the smoothest, most oiled hinges in the world. He stepped into the room, and looking down at his feet, saw small puffs of dust rising up in clouds around his naked feet. Shifting his gaze forwards, he saw an intricate pattern of footprints around the bed and leading to and from it. Lying on the bed, perfectly still was the figure of a woman, Maude. She was dressed in a white flowing dress, which spilled over the edge of the bed onto the floor. Hugo decided it was possibly a bridal gown and could see a myriad of spiders' webs hidden in the folds. She looked old yet beautiful and very peaceful. Hugo approached the body, leaving a series of mini whirlwinds of dust in his wake. As he got nearer, he could see that the skin had dried and stretched unnaturally tightly across her face. There were scurrying, burrowing creatures which had apparently taken refuge in her now empty skull. He watched in disgust as every now and then, one would scuttle out of her nostril and run down, disappearing into her mouth. A mouth that appeared to be breaking into a smile, or a smirk? Then the door behind him slammed and Maude's eyelids snapped open, revealing empty black sockets, and then... Hugo’s eyes also snapped open.

He lay panting and sheathed with sweat in the darkness, only partially awake from the nightmarish sleep he had slipped into. Carefully, he pulled back the bed sheets to allow the night air to cool his skin. He then raised his arms and pressing the small button on the side of his watch, peered at the now illuminated dial. It was only just after one o'clock in the morning. He had only dosed off for a half an hour or so and was now wide awake. Hugo could remember some of his dream but then tried not to. He began to wonder if it was the nightmare that had caused him to wake, or something else. Then he heard the sound for the first time, or was it the second? Had that been the sound which had roused him from sleep? Trying to reduce his heavy panting so he could hear better, Hugo lay in fearful anticipation waiting for the noise to come again, but it didn't. Very, very slowly, he began to relax, each muscle unclenching in turn, his breathing becoming shallower. It must have been Gladys visiting the bathroom and slamming the door on her way out, yes that’s what it must have been. Now it had a reasonable safety rope to cling to, Hugo’s brain began to slow to a trot, from the sprint it had been racing at. After a few moments listening he had convinced himself all was well, and lay staring at the ceiling, now fairly calm. That was until the noise came again.

It started as a dull slither, which Hugo had not noticed the first time. It sounded like ropes or something wetter being drawn across a wooden floor. Hugo's immediate image was of a giant squid attacking a sailing ship its tentacles squirming across the deck, as in some Jules Verne story. Then the sound intensified, as if several things were now in motion, and then, Crash! It was louder this time and appeared to be the sound of something colliding with the other side of the wall which joined his and Maude's room. Now petrified, Hugo had clenched the bed clothes with both hands, and pulled them right up under his chin, as if they would shield him from the sound. Again, he could hear the slithering sound, fading this time, as if whatever it was had withdrawn from its onslaught.

Hugo braced himself, but nothing further came, he decided a full ten minutes must have passed, and still no sound. There must be some logical explanation. His mind kept repeating this phrase to itself over and over, but he could think of nothing. What could he do, run screaming from the house dressed only in his boxer shorts? Light was the answer, he needed some light, it dispelled all evils, or so he had been led to believe as a child. The downside was that this would mean traversing the room in almost complete darkness, unprotected, to get to the light switch. He was shaking with fear, what on earth could be making such a noise? His mind was racing through an array of causes, from furniture falling over, to a mad axe woman hacking at the wall from the other side. The falling furniture hypothesis may have held for one crash, but three? And that still didn't explain the slithering sound. Don’t think about it, that was the best plan of action. Just get up and go, run across the room, and he could be at the light switch in a couple of seconds. Before he had barely thought the thought, Hugo had thrown back the bed sheets and leaped to the floor.

At least he tried to. In his haste he had not thrown the bed sheets back far enough, and his feet became entangled in them, pitching him face first to the floor with a thud. Slightly dazed Hugo lay there for a while, hardly daring to breathe. He hoped he had not disturbed whatever was next door. With his head still lying on the floor, he began to feel tiny vibrations coming up through the rug. Then he heard that sound again, the squirming slithering noise, and he sprung to his feet and sprinted towards the light. As if he had the very devil at his back, Hugo was at the switch in five giant strides, and threw it on. Glorious light flooded every nook and cranny of the room, and Hugo spun around to check for company, but of course there was none. But he could hear that sound again, building up, getting louder and louder. Hugo quickly sprinted back to the flimsy sanctuary of his bed, and jumped onto it, as if he were a housewife escaping a mouse in her kitchen. As he landed on the bed, a resounding crash came from behind him, and he turned in time to see a plume of dust wafting from a large crack in the wall, which he was sure had not been there before. Watching with mounting terror, a miniature avalanche of plaster cascaded down the wall to the floor. The assault was getting louder and more violent.

Why hadn't his hostess heard the furore that was going on and come to investigate? Maybe, the devil on his shoulder postulated, she did not need to investigate because she already knew what was causing it? Hugo began to feel vulnerable, crouched on the bed in only his boxer shorts, so he reached across and quickly snatched his clothes from the chair next to the bed. As he dressed, the sounds in the next room continued to ebb and flow in intensity. It sounded as if it were (whatever ‘it’ was) searching for something, those tentacles that he had pictured in his mind. Every now and then there would be a slight knock against the wall, which sounded more accidental than deliberate, then the sounds would slide away again. Hugo was fully dressed apart from his shoes, which lay on the floor, tucked under the end of the bed. He had decided by now that he was perfectly safe in this room, and gingerly placed one foot down on the rug beside the bed, and then the other. The sounds from next door were building up again, and he hurriedly gathered his Italian leather shoes from their resting place and slipped them on. Just as he had got the last lace tied, there came an almighty crash from the direction of the wall. This time, large chunks of plaster dislodged themselves and fell away, leaving the wooden slats revealed underneath. Some of the plaster landed three feet away from the wall, near to Hugo’s feet, such was the force of the blow.

Luckily, it was the furthest wall from where he had slept, and for some reason this made Hugo feel a little safer, but he still jumped. Once more he considered his options, which were pretty limited from what he could see. He could run from the house as fast as he was able, go to the village and get help, maybe checking on Miss Tibbs on the way. Problem number one was that Hugo was fairly unfit, and it had been at least ten miles from the village, which made the journey almost impossible on foot. Number two was that there was no lighting in the lanes, so he would probably injure himself in the process, and number three, he did not have a clue in which direction the village was. Another of his options was to go to the phone and call for help, maybe the police, and find a room to lock himself in until they arrived, or even just lock himself in here until the morning. There was always the chance that the wall wouldn't hold out the night, which was a prospect Hugo did not relish. The final option, which he could barely consider, was to go next door and confront whatever was in there. Perhaps he could arm himself with some sort of makeshift weapon. He spotted a large, brass poker hanging from a hook by the fire, which would do at a push. This, however, would be his last option, as he was not inclined to find out what was creating this racket. But he didn't want to think about that line of action unless he had to. He decided the telephone was his only realistic course of action and was just bracing himself for a sprint to the door, when there was a renewed burst of activity from the next room.

First of all, the 'thing' next door crashed against the wall with such an almighty bang, it sent further showers of plaster and dust flying into the room. Then there came a more muffled, splintering crash, that could almost have been from out in the corridor. After a few seconds it dawned on Hugo what that sound must have been, Maude’s bedroom door being smashed open. This put a whole different perspective on things, any plan that involved leaving the room was now forgotten, and reinforcing his present position took priority. He rushed to the hearth and grabbed the poker from its hook, then to the door, and threw the two large bolts at the top and bottom of the door into place. There was no key in the lock, so these would have to suffice. Standing close to the door, Hugo could hear the slithering sounds much more loudly now, as if the oak door was the only thing which separated him from...it. He pressed an ear to the cool wood to try and get a better idea of exactly what was out there, and as he did so something collided with the other side. Hugo shot back from the door as if it was, he who had been struck, and flung himself on to the bed, sobbing with fear and frustration. He looked at his watch through tear blurred eyes, and it was now almost two o'clock, still at least three hours from daylight. Suddenly Hugo remembered another route of escape! The door to the en suite bathroom stood in the corner diagonally opposite the one to the corridor. Hugo vaguely remembered being shown it and was sure it had a second door out into the corridor further along, and freedom. There was a renewed assault on his door, which the thing outside now seemed to be concentrating on, having apparently given up on the wall. It did not sound as if the bolts, or indeed the door itself, would hold out for very long, which prompted Hugo into action.

Grasping the poker as if his life depended on it, (which he was sure it might) Hugo rushed towards the bathroom, just as the bedroom door behind him shattered inwards, throwing shards across the room. Hugo felt a small piece of debris hit his back, which spurred him on even faster. Luckily the door to the bathroom was only pushed too, not closed, so he just gasped the handle, threw the door open and dived through, slamming the door behind him. The room turned out to be much smaller than Hugo had recalled, and he ran straight into the cast iron bathtub, cracking his knee sharply against it. In the white flash of agony which ensued, he lost his grip on the poker which clattered to the floor. He groaned as a sharp pain shot up to his groin, and a sickening feeling swelled in his stomach. Hugo turned and sat heavily on the rim of the bath. His knee throbbed, and the strange predicament he was in was forgotten momentarily. Hugo massaged the area around the pain to try and lessen it, still panting heavily, more from fear than exertion. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage such as broken bones, but it would still be painful to walk.

Once the pain had lessened to a dull ache, Hugo began to look around his new hiding place. He had not paid much attention to the room when he had glanced round the door on his tour with Miss Tibbs. If he had, he might have noticed the bath was only a couple of feet inside the door and avoided his injury. His heart sunk when he realised that there was no second door, and even the window was far too small to escape through. Tentatively, Hugo rose up from the bath edge and tested his knee by putting some weight on it. Little darts of pain flared from his knee up his inner thigh, but it eased the more he tried it. Carefully he hobbled over to the door and listened. He could no longer hear the slithering noise to which he had become accustomed, but another, more worrying noise had replaced it. It was a rolling, squelching sound. It reminded Hugo of the sound molten lava makes as it flows persistently down the side of a volcano, burning everything in its path. After a few moments he began to hear the slithering, searching noise again, on top of the new sound. He had not turned the light on for fear of attracting whatever it was that was out there, and there was just adequate moonlight from the window to see. Pressing his ear harder still to the thick wood of the door, the sounds were still fairly distant, as if coming from just inside the bedroom door.

Relaxing very slightly, Hugo sat back down on the bath and tried to get things straight in his mind. Panic began to set in when it dawned on him that he had no options, and he was now well and truly cornered. His only hope was to fling the door open and go to face whatever was out there. Maybe he could make it out of the room, then out of this madhouse completely. If he was to do this, it would have to be soon. At the moment, the 'thing' sounded as if it were still at the doorway, so Hugo might be able to surprise it by rushing out, overpower it with the help of his poker, and make a run for the stairs. It was the only course of action open to him, other than hiding in this room until it came to find him, which he was sure it would, sooner or later. Still, he did not relish the idea of confronting something which could knock the plaster from a wall, from the other side, and break through a two-inch oak door as if it were balsa wood. With his heart feeling like it was pounding in his throat, Hugo got up and braced himself, one hand on the doorknob, the poker, now recovered from the floor, brandished in his other. He stood like this for a full two minutes, feeling as if he were about to throw himself from a plane without a parachute. Finally, he mustered the courage, twisted the doorknob and taking a deep breath Hugo threw the door open. He ran back into the bedroom, screaming like a lunatic and flailing the poker wildly around his head. He was soon stopped dead in his tracks. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror that was now blocking the bedroom door.

The door had been smashed in two halves; the top half hung from its hinge at forty-five degrees to the frame. The lower half had been knocked into the room and now lay on the floor partially obscured by the creature that had put it there. The thing filled the lower third of the doorway and appeared to be oozing further into the room even as Hugo watched. It already filled an area of about three feet square inside the room. Dark brown in colour, the surface of this amorphous blob appeared to be continuously seething as it gradually rolled further into the room. It was very much like the molten rock he had imagined, except in colour, and every now and then vague shapes surfaced then disappeared in the mire. Small animal bones, even unidentifiable human shapes, and other various pieces of random debris, surfaced and disappeared under the seething mass. Transfixed by this bizarre spectacle he watched, as periodically, tentacles formed from the main body, and squirmed across the floor as if blindly feeling their way around. Sometimes half a dozen would appear at the same time, some growing eight or nine feet out and twelve inches around, others no more than two feet and the thickness of a hose pipe. The majority would grow from the sides of the thing and scurry across the floor searchingly, but occasionally one would sprout from the top up into thin air, flap around almost comically for a few seconds, and then collapse back into the rolling mass beneath to be re-absorbed.

By the time Hugo had regained control of his limbs, the thing had advanced another eighteen inches into the room, and was advancing, albeit relatively slowly. Judging by the way its appendages were constantly probing all the time, Hugo decided it was probably blind, or at the very least had extremely poor vision. With this in mind, Hugo decided his best course of action was to remain as silent as possible and avoid any contact. First, he had to discover if it was sensitive to sound, so he quietly reached across to the dressing table next to him and picked up the plaster figurine which stood there. He then hurled it across the room to smash on the already damaged wall opposite and was shocked by the events that followed. Almost before the pieces had reached the floor, a veritable wave of the brown gunge flew towards the wall with startling speed, some of the bits of the statue actually falling into it, it was so quick. One thing Hugo did notice despite his shock, was that the blob had left itself somewhat vulnerable by its actions. It was quite thinly stretched now and the mass in the door had thinned down to around two or three inches. Only ankle deep, Hugo thought to himself with revulsion. Maybe, if he was able to create enough simultaneous sounds in different directions, it would stretch itself so thin that he would be able to run through it unharmed. By anyone's standards it was a crap plan, but it was the only one Hugo had right now, and he desperately began looking around the room for things to throw.

Then, as he watched, he could see several shapes in the thinner sections of the gunk, some that looked like the bodies of small rodents, others which just looked like household objects, such as vases and bowls. Obviously, the thing just swept away all that fell in its path, like an obscene living glacier.

There was a small lamp on the table that the figurine had been on, which Hugo decided would make a reasonable projectile. There was also a silver hairbrush and mirror set. Slowly, he reached out for the lamp, praying it was not plugged in. Grasping it by the stem Hugo pulled tentatively and the flex came loosely from behind the table. His heart missed a beat when the cord tensed for a moment, but it quickly released, and he was relieved to see that there wasn't even a plug on the end of it. Conscious of the slow, but relentless advance of the slime into the room, Hugo wedged the lamp under his left arm and grabbed the brush and mirror from the table. However, in his haste the mirror slipped through his sweating fingers and smashed noisily on the wooden floor at his feet. Immediately the thing sent a large wave in Hugo's direction. It sped across the carpet, covering the twelve feet in seconds, and stopped as it covered the pieces of broken mirror, just inches from his feet. Scarcely able to breathe, he realised it was now or never, and just as the thing was sending out feelers in the direction of Hugo's feet, using both hands simultaneously, he threw the lamp and hairbrush at opposite walls as hard as he could.

As he had expected, two waves shot out in opposite directions, hunting for the source of the noise, leaving the centre area only an inch thick, and now covering two thirds of the floor area. Gathering all his remaining courage into one final burst, Hugo seized his chance and ran out onto the unknown. The first, rather bizarre, thought that ran through his mind, was the fact that the stuff was a lot less sticky than he'd imagined. As he neared the door it got slightly thicker, and his feet sunk in up to his ankles. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he could swear he felt things brushing against his skin, as one would feel fish sliding past their legs in a river. Then he felt a sharp nick, as if someone had attached a small crocodile clip to the fleshy part of his ankle, which caused him to yelp in surprise and pain. His feet were only under the surface for seconds, but every time he felt the slight nibbling sensation. It took him less than twenty seconds to make it through the mire that had oozed into the room and as he exited, he could see a seemingly endless stream of the brown crud flowing from the room next door. As a parting shot, he risked a glance over his shoulder, and was horrified to see a brown tidal wave racing towards him. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he grabbed the door frame, and using this as a pivot, catapulted himself around the corner and down the corridor. Luckily, the stuff had only spread about two feet passed his door, so he was soon free of it, and sprinting down the passage towards the stairs.

Rushing down the stairs as fast as he dare taking three or four steps at a time, Hugo barely noticed that several small patches of blood were spreading unevenly on his socks, and there were several gouges and scrapes on his patent leather shoes. Something had been nipping at him under the muck. There was a small landing halfway down the stairs, where they turned a ninety-degree corner and then ran down parallel to the outside front wall. Hugo stopped and took one last glance back. The brown tidal wave had thinned to a ripple, which had just enough momentum to reach the stairs and flop over the edge on to the top step, dripping into a puddle there. A minor sense of relief set in, now that he seemed to be in the clear, but it was overcast by the shock at what had happened, and the sheer absurdity of it all. Feeling shell-shocked, Hugo turned and virtually staggered down the rest of the stairs. His legs felt weak, and his knees felt like buckling, but he continued to descend. Now running more on instinct than memory, Hugo wandered dazed across the entrance hall and through into the kitchen.

He was not at all surprised to find Gladys sitting serenely at the kitchen table sipping on a cup of tea. She did not turn round as he entered, and spoke in a quiet, but strong voice.

"Hello dear, I thought I heard you getting up, I've made a pot of tea, sit yourself down." He shuffled mindlessly over to the chair opposite Gladys, which she had indicated, and sat down. He began to speak and was startled at the sound of his own voice. It was feeble and shaky.

"Upstairs...! I saw... it." Hugo was unable to finish his sentences mainly because he wasn't sure exactly what it was he'd seen, but Gladys interrupted him.

"I know dear, you had an unfortunate encounter. I had really hoped it was safe to bring you here after all this time, but alas, not so." She spoke with almost a sigh in her voice, as if the whole thing were a huge inconvenience to her. "You see, there is a problem, no, more of a curse on our family." As she spoke, Hugo's attention was drawn to really look at Gladys for the first time since entering the room. Even though he was in a disturbed state, he realised something was not quite right about her face.

Her skin was very shinny and unstable. It appeared to be moving around like liquid mercury. Fascinated and barely hearing the tale she was reeling out, Hugo watched as small pieces began to drip from the end of her nose, into her teacup. Gladys continued her story, seemingly oblivious to her facial deterioration,

"You see Mr Smythe, my father loved his three daughters more than life itself, and whilst fighting in the far east... look you really don't want to know all this. To cut a long story short, my father was not wounded in the war, but gave his life for the secret to extend ours for all eternity." By now, clumps of her hair had begun sliding down the sides of her head, joining her ears on her shoulders. Her face was barely recognisable as a human one, it looked more like a model of a mud slide. Glancing under the table, he saw a large pool of brown liquid had begun gathering at her feet.

"But we have paid the price for our prize. We can live forever, but not as we were. But then change isn't always a bad thing, don’t you think Hugo? We can change our appearance, you see. Maude’s quite new at it, and just can't keep herself together at the moment and it can be a bit of a shock when you first meet her. Also, her hunger gets the better of her sometimes, and she manages to get out. She will have to go on quite the diet if she ever wants to re-shape and go out in public." Gladys Tibbs turned what was left of her face towards Hugo and tried a smile. It didn’t work. “Sadly Mr. Smythe, our secret must remain just that, and I cannot allow you to leave here.”

"But people will know I'm missing, come and find me," he managed to burble out, slowly backing away from the monstrosity before him.

"Yes, they might. But you left to try and start your car last night and I never saw you again, who would disbelieve a frail old pensioner?"

Her words were becoming almost indiscernible, as the liquid now flowed freely over her lips, bubbling as she spoke. The gunk appeared to be coming from nowhere, multiplying itself and gushing downwards. Something snapped in Hugo's mind, and backed up further, letting out a scream fuelled by sheer madness. Gladys spoke again, and he could just make out the words, "But how rude I haven’t introduced you to Clara,"

The words did not really register as he spun round to run from the room, just in time to see the ten foot high wall of brown slush crash over his head and envelop him completely.