Arthur Clarke - The Parasite

Connolly gripped the pistol with his right hand and stroked it lovingly with his left, there was a low moan from Maude.

“I only meant to frighten you, Roy! I swear it!”

“That’s all right, my dear,” said Connolly softly. “I believe you. There’s nothing to worry about.” His voice was perfectly natural. He turned towards Pearson, and gave him his old, boyish smile.

“So this is what he was waiting for, Jack,” he said. “I’m not going to disappoint him.”

“No!” gasped Pearson, white with terror. “Don’t. Roy, for God’s sake!”

But Connolly was beyond reach of his friend’s entreaties as he turned the pistol to his head. In that same moment Pearson knew at last, with an awful clarity, that Omega was real and that Omega would now be seeking for a new abode.

He never saw the flash of the gun or heard the feeble but adequate explosion. The world he knew had faded from his sight, and around him now were the fixed yet crawling mists of the blue room. Staring from its center—as they had stared down the ages at how many others?—were two vast and lidless eyes. They were satiated for the moment, but for the moment only.

THE END