Макс Фрай - The Stranger

I noticed the evidence of Juffin’s presence in the living room (an unwashed glass and an empty kamra jug), and in the bedroom (the pillows and blankets had migrated to the far corner of the gigantic bed, and my library at the head of the bed had undergone thorough censorship, with the consequent scattering of all books deemed improper about the room). Following a strange logic of free association, I started thinking about cats. As soon as this is all over and done with, I’m getting a kitten, I promised myself. I tried to settle in more comfortably.

Hey Max , Juffin’s call jangled in my head, importunate as the sound of an alarm clock. Don’t forget to put on the scarf!

Sinning Magicians! I nearly forgot the talisman! How was it possible? I was so frightened there could have been no question of absent-mindedness. I quickly wrapped the protective cloth around my neck.

Looks like you were right, Max. You’re able to focus your attention on anything but matters of your own safety. Thoughts about the amulet were blocked, and in a very interesting way, I might add. It’s too bad you wouldn’t be able to understand my explanation of the matter yet. It seems we’ve come upon a very curious phenomenon. Perhaps you have some other amulets as well? Just objects that you especially like, or things that calm you down, like a child with his favorite toy. Lie down with things like that arranged from head to toe. They can’t do any harm, and who knows what small talismans are capable of? And don’t huff and puff so much trying to send me a message! I’m near you all the time in a sense. I see everything and I hear everything. Everything is under control. So just relax. What was it that you said recently? Over and out? Well, that’s all. So long!

I tried to think. Amulets. What sorts of amulets could I have? Actually, I do have one thing I could probably use: the balsam box from Sir Makluk’s bedroom, which was my very first trophy. I had removed it from the place it had so clearly not wanted to stay, and I had the feeling that the trinket was especially fond of me. So I placed my little friend carefully at the head of the bed.

But what else? Was that all? Except maybe the Child of the Crimson Pearl, which was, after all, a royal gift. It couldn’t hurt to have it around. And the third volume of Sir Manga Malifaro’s Encyclopedia of the World , too. I really had grown used to falling asleep with it, like a child with its teddy bear.

I built an elegant barricade of amulets and touched my neck to make sure that the magic rag was still there. Then I lay down in bed with a distinct feeling of despair. I flipped through a book for a while. Sleep crept into my eyes stealthily and quickly, although at first I was sure that today’s experiment might fail due to “technical difficulties.” To tell the truth, I usually get insomnia from fear and stress. But not tonight. I felt as though I’d been pumped full of sleeping pills; and I bet that Freddy Kruger next door had seen to it that his patient had no problems with fitful sleep. I must remember to ask Juffin whether that was true, I thought, falling asleep. Then again, why bother. Wasn’t it obvious?

This time the nightmare wasn’t as horrid. I was conscious of the fact that I was sleeping. I remembered who I was, why I was there, what I was waiting for, and so forth. I didn’t feel Juffin’s presence, but at least I knew who he was subconsciously.

I lay on my dining room table again, in the usual ostentatious serving-dish pose. The curtains, of course, had been parted by some invisible jerk, so I couldn’t escape the lovely view of the ancient palace. My heart tightened in terror, as if an invisible hand was giving me painful intramuscular injections, but for the moment I had the strength to resist. To my great surprise, I even started getting angry. Of course, anger didn’t help me in any way; but then again, I didn’t know what would happen next. In any case, I latched onto this rage, as it seemed to me to be one of the better alternatives to fear.

Some wretch won’t let me get a good night’s sleep in my own house, which I pay good money for, for crying out loud! Some foul, loathsome thing is preventing me from getting any rest! And instead of a suspenseful nightmare, I am being subjected to this moronic boredom, I told myself angrily. I did all I could to get myself worked up. And I ended up getting myself worked up with a vengeance.

Good show, Max! Juffin’s voice in my head interrupted my furious inner monologue. Good show, and it’s working! Now try to be scared again. Your fright is excellent bait. If you don’t show any fear at all, this thing might leave you alone. And we have to lure it out of its foxhole somehow. Be a good boy now, act as if you’re giving up.

It’s easy enough to tell someone to “be scared.” By then I was ready to go on a rampage and smash everything in sight. On the crest of my own righteous anger, I think I was nearing victory over the horrible stupor that had turned me into the most helpless creature in the universe.

One good thing about this kind of situation is that if you really want to be frightened, then all the scary stories in the world of nightmares are at your disposal. I needed only to focus on the dark triangular window in the house across the street, and the pathway of sand leading from it, and all my anger turned to a fear that was almost panic. By way of experiment, and for my own emotional well-being, as well, I tried to get angry again. It worked! I enjoyed being able to change my own mood at will. Not having to choose the lesser of two evils, but rather having both at my command—that was variety for you!

At last I managed to find a balance between fear and anger: to be frightened, but not to the point of losing all other feeling; to be angry, but to remain conscious of my own helplessness.

Then the hand inside the darkness again threw a fistful of sand, then another, and another. The ghostly path between our windows grew longer. An eternity went by, and a second eternity followed. As a third eternity drew to a close, my heart again tried to refuse to take part in the drama, but I was able to negotiate with it. I could have woken up, but I didn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow to see the next episode. If Juffin wanted to get a glimpse of the star in this matinée, I would try to give him the pleasure. I would tolerate as much as I could, and then just a bit more. It was sort of like going to the dentist: the kind of satisfaction you don’t want to drag out for too long.

When the edge of the sandy path neared the table with the heap of fear and anger formerly known as Max lying on it, I actually felt relief. The denouement was near.

Sure enough, a dark silhouette appeared in the window and took the first step along the ghostly pathway. Step by step, he drew nearer to me: a middle-aged man with indistinct facial features and empty, shining eyes.

All of a sudden, I realized I was no longer in control of the situation. Not because the whole situation was too ghastly, and not even because the creature was not (and could not be) human. In theory, I was ready for that. But I could already feel some kind of connection between us, and it was a great deal worse than any fear or spiritual turmoil. I not only felt, but saw, how something started pouring out of my body. It wasn’t blood; it was some kind of invisible substance. All I knew was that my further existence in any form would be impossible without it.

Something started squeezing my throat. I can’t say it was violent, but it was unexpected enough to wake me up. So the “rag,” the merits of which Sir Juffin Hully had talked so much about, worked beautifully. And most important of all, it had worked just in the nick of time! One more second, and I’m not sure there would have been any of me left to wake up.