The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan
Art sees me and smiles, looking at me through the orange marbles. For a brief second I’m positive that somebody or something is in the room with us. I think I hear a soft growling noise. My head snaps left, then right — nothing. I look back at Art. In the strange orange light, with the marbles covering his eyes, he doesn’t look like my brother. I start to think that it’s not Art, that he’s been replaced by some evil spirit, that the witch has been here. I feel afraid. I back up to the bed.
“Art?” I say, very softly. “Is that you? Are you OK?”
A giggle breaks the spell. Art lowers the marbles. And I see that of course it’s him.
“Idiot!” I laugh weakly at myself. I go pick Art up and take the marbles away. Sally said not to let him have them in case he swallowed one. Art grumbles and tries to grab them back, but I tell him they’re dangerous. He understands that and snuggles into me, nuzzling my shoulder with his teeth, but gently, not like when he bites somebody.
I stand there with Art, feeling cold but happy, smiling at how silly I was. Art falls asleep in my arms. I carry him back to bed, tuck him in, then climb in beside him. Lying on my side, I stare at the orange light, still pulsing. It seems to have grown bigger, but that’s not unusual — the patches often change size.
I don’t like this orange light. There’s something creepy about it. It reminds me of the pink light which Mrs Egin stroked. I turn my back on it and shut my eyes tight, trying to fall asleep again. But I can still sense it there, hanging in the cold night air, lighting up the room with its ominous orange glow. Pulsing.
DING DONG
→ Two days later. The orange light is still pulsing and changing size. Although I can call it closer like the other patches, I can’t send it away more than twenty or twenty-five feet. It’s started to bug me, like an insect which keeps buzzing in front of my face. An uneasiness chews away at me every time I catch sight of it. I know it’s crazy, worrying about a light, but I can’t help myself. I have a bad feeling about this.
→ It’s a lovely sunny day. Our teacher, Logan Rile, decided not to waste the weather, so we’re having lessons outside, in one of the fields around Paskinston. There are thirty-four of us, a variety of classes and ages, sitting in a semi-circle around Logan. He’s telling us about tectonic plates. Logan’s not the best teacher. He sometimes forgets he’s talking to children and gets too technical. Very few of us understand everything he says. But he’s interesting, and the bits that make sense are fascinating. It’s also fun when you do understand him — it makes you feel clever.
Some of the younger children from the crèche have come with us. Their normal minder has gone to the fair and her replacement’s finding it hard to cope with so many little ones. She was delighted when Logan offered to take a few off her hands for the day.
Art’s playing with the orange marbles beside me. I shouldn’t let him have them, but he really likes them. Anyway, he hasn’t put them in his mouth yet. I keep a close eye on him, checking every couple of minutes to make sure both marbles are in sight — not in his stomach.
“So these plates are moving all the time?” Bryan Colbert asks. Bryan’s one of the eldest children, nearly seventeen.
“Yes,” Logan says.
“Then why don’t countries move?”
“They do,” Logan says. “The continents are drifting all the time. It’s very slow, but it’s happening. One day Australia will collide with America or Africa – I can never remember which – and the effects will be catastrophic. New mountains will be thrust upwards. There’ll be tidal waves. Dust will clog the air. Billions of people and animals will die. It might be the end of all life on this planet.”
“All life?” Dave English – a kid a year younger than me – asks.
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t think that could happen. Everybody… everything…can’t just die. Won’t God keep some of us alive?”
“No god can prevent the end of life on this planet,” Logan says in his usual serious way. “Or the end of life in this universe. Everything has an end. That’s the way life is. But maybe there’ll be a new beginning when our world ends. New life, new creatures, new means of existence.”
“That’s scary,” Dave mutters. “I don’t want everything to die.”
“Nor me,” Logan smiles. “But our wants are irrelevant. This is the way things are. We can accept the truth and deal with it, or live in ignorance. Death is nothing to be afraid of. Once you think it through and get it into perspective, it’s not so bad. In fact, many people–”
“Now!” a woman screams, cutting Logan off. All our heads turn at once, as if our necks were connected. I see Mrs Egin lumbering up behind us, fingers twitching, frothing at the mouth. “Now it happens! Up the throat, past the gums, look out world, here it comes!”
The pink light which I saw her stroking a few days ago has grown much bigger and now seems to be touching her just behind her head. It’s pulsing quickly. Other patches of light around it are pulsing too, and moving towards it, as though magnetically drawn to it.
“Mrs Egin?” Logan says, rising, signalling for the rest of us to stay seated. “Are you all right?”
“They said I couldn’t do it! Thought I wasn’t strong enough to summon them!” She laughs her witch’s laugh, then sings, “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Now! Now! Now!”
“Mrs Egin, I think you should–”
“You will see me die!” she shouts and her eyes scan the group, fixing on me. “Find the thief! Who’s the thief? Find him!”
Fear comes shooting back. I’m not as afraid as when I was alone with her, but I’m pretty petrified. The others are too. We huddle close together, shuffling into a tighter group for protection.
Logan steps forward. “Let me take you home, Mrs Egin. We’ll get you to bed, I’ll call for a doctor, and you’ll be right as rain in–”
Mrs Egin roars a word I don’t know. Her lips are moving fast now, in that strange language she was speaking before. Logan stops short and hesitates. That scares me even more — it’s bad news when your teacher is as frightened as you are.
The pulsing patches of light are moving faster, drawn towards the pink light. They merge with it, then flow into Mrs Egin. Now she’s glowing from within, the lights beneath her flesh, spreading through her body.
I stumble to my feet. “The lights!” I gasp.
Logan looks back at me. “Calm down, Kernel.”
“But the lights! Can’t you see them?”
“What lights?”
“Inside her! She’s swallowing the lights!”
Mrs Egin cackles while Logan stares at me dumbly. I glance around. Everyone’s looking at me oddly. They can’t see the lights. There’s nothing any of them can do to stop this happening.
I focus on Mrs Egin. A bulging, pulsing bubble of light has formed behind and above her, patches melting together, colours mixing, flowing into her. Her eyes are bowls of light. I can’t see her lips — multicoloured froth hides them. Her skin appears to be rippling.
“Mrs Egin,” Logan tries again, facing her. “You have to–”
The witch shrieks triumphantly. A piercing note of wickedness and victory. I cover my ears with my hands. Logan covers his too. My eyes scrunch shut, but I quickly force them open a crack. I see Mrs Egin stagger backwards. She goes stiff, arms wide at her sides, head cocked to the left. A gentle, tender smile crosses her lips.
Then the lights explode through her. And she explodes. Scraps fly everywhere — flesh, bone, guts, blood. Logan and the kids at the front are splattered by the spray. They