John Halkin - Slither

Matt decided he’d risk it. Using the walking-stick only to steady himself on the treacherous mud, he suddenly swooped down to grab the camera. No difficulty. And no worms.

‘Makes me feel a bit of an idiot,’ he declared ruefully. ‘I never imagined it’d be that easy.’

‘They’re here somewhere,’ Fran said, convinced. ‘Something tells me…’

He held out the camera at arm’s length to let the water drip from it; the plip-plip-plip as the drops hit the surface of the pond sounded as sharp as a bell. Ripples spread and dissolved. Any minute now he expected the alert head of a worm to appear inquisitively, but…

Nothing.

The trees took on a darker, gnarled shape against the pale sky. Quick shadows jumped about silently as Fran moved the lamp. Elongating. Shortening. Becoming suddenly fat and overwhelming; then shrinking to nothing.

Worms often draw back and merely watch, thinking their own thoughts, perhaps transmitting them for other worms elsewhere to hear. Matt began explaining this to Fran, how he’d frequently felt…

‘ Don’t !’ she snapped at him sharply.

He stopped short.

A little nervous laugh from her. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.’

‘I think we both are.’

The sickly odour of chloroform met his nostrils as he dropped the camera into the ice-box and closed the lid. Then he waded through the pond towards the rag he’d spotted, fishing it out with his walking-stick. He showed it to Fran.

‘You told me they don’t bite through clothing,’ she objected.

‘I’m never certain what they can do. These are much bigger than the others.’ He put the rag in the ice-box with the camera. ‘But you’re right, you know. They are here somewhere, and not just one or two of them either. If we only knew where to look.’

Taking the hand-basher from her, he swept the beam slowly across the overhanging branches. Maybe these larger ones could climb trees — many snakes did — and were gathering above their heads.

Fran seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Matt,’ she pleaded, ‘let’s get away from here. Please .’

‘Okay, but once we’re back in the thick of those trees, keep going and don’t stop whatever the reason. Make straight for the fence and through to the other side. I’ll be directly behind you. And use your stick if you have to.’

He slipped the ice-box strap over his shoulder and checked the knife in his belt. It was already so dark among the trees, it was no longer easy to pick out the right path, but Fran stumbled on ahead of him, forcing her way through the undergrowth with the help of her stick. Twigs sprang back at him after she’d pushed past them, catching him in the face as he ducked under the low branches.

What were they waiting for? Why weren’t they attacking? These thoughts throbbed away in his mind.

‘Urgh!’ Fran squealed suddenly. ‘Something’s…’

‘Go on!’ he ordered roughly, giving her a push. ‘For Chrissake don’t stop!’

‘Something in my hair,’ she retorted, in control of herself again. ‘No need to shove like that.’

‘Just keep moving.’

He switched on the hand-basher again. She was right — something small and dark was clinging to her hair. But it was round, not snake-like; and it wasn’t green.

When they came to the fence she scrambled through first. He pushed the ice-box after her, then dropped to his knees and crawled through himself. Standing up again, he paused to look back. A shimmer of green among the branches? Perhaps…?

He played the light slowly over the dark group of trees from which they’d just emerged. The wire mesh threw giant, diamond-shaped shadows against the thick foliage. Yes, something was shining there like long, thin cat’s eyes…

‘Matt!’ Fran urged him on.

Each carrying whatever they could, they lurched over the rough ground towards the farm track, not stopping till they reached it and could at last see the fierce crimson disc of the setting sun touching the horizon beyond the ploughed field. Then they looked at each other, relieved yet still afraid.

‘Get that thing out of my hair,’ she begged.

It was a bat, and her face broke into smiles when she saw it. ‘Oh, only a bat!’ She took it from him, then tossed it into the air and cried out with pleasure as it spread its wide wings. After worms, even an ordinary bat seemed attractive.

As she relaxed and looked up into his face, her full lips parted invitingly, her eyes tender. They kissed, and her fingers touched the back of his neck, moving slowly around to the scars on his face. ‘I don’t think I fully realized at first…’ she said. ‘Oh, Matt, what you must’ve gone through.’ They kissed again hungrily, her body pressing against him, her tongue urgently seeking his.

After a time she broke away. Her hair was in a mess, her face dirty and scratched. ‘Damn! Oh, damn!’ she repeated, upset. She bit her lip and stared up at him ruefully. ‘I wasn’t going to get involved with another man. Not ever.’

Jimmy was furious. ‘Worms again!’ he exploded, scattering cigarette ash over the papers on his desk. ‘Christ, I might have known it’d be worms! We had a job for you, hunted high and low, no one knew where you’d got to, no address, no phone number, nothing. You really landed us in the shit — and for what? Bloody worms!’

‘A yard long,’ Matt tried to tell him patiently. ‘I filmed them killing a dog, poor brute.’

‘Who authorized you?’

‘I was out looking for that lost girl.’

‘Who bloody authorized you to go filming more worms?’ Jimmy yelled at him, slamming his hefty fist down on the desk. ‘Wasting time, wasting film stock…’

Matt lost his temper. ‘Waste? We’ve got the only film in existence of worms that size, and you call it waste! What’s going on round here? Why are you trying to hush it up? Or are you all too stupid to see what’s happening? These worms are getting bigger month by month !’

‘So you say!’ Jimmy’s face was a flaming crimson. ‘And you’re the expert, aren’t you?’

‘By now — yes !’ In his turn Matt banged the desk top with his mutilated hand and sent the overflowing ashtray spinning across the floor. ‘I’ve never met anyone so blind, so block-headed. Come and see for yourself with your own eyes if you don’t believe me. I’ll show you—’

‘Matt, you’d better not talk to me in that tone,’ Jimmy warned him, suddenly quieter. Matt could almost sense him rumbling like a volcano before an eruption. ‘You’re in trouble, laddie, I can tell you that now.’

‘For what — showing initiative? You don’t like that, do you? Never did. Don’t think I can’t see through you, Jimmy. Anything likely to cause trouble, you avoid it — and to hell with the programmes.’

Even as he spoke Matt knew he’d made a false move. Somewhere beyond the open door sat Jimmy’s clerk, Marilyn, listening to the row, memorizing every juicy detail to repeat at length later in the canteen. Jimmy couldn’t afford to lose face.

‘Matt, this isn’t doing either of us any good.’ He spoke calmly, almost considerably, as he fumbled among the papers on his desk, searching for his cigarettes. ‘I suggest you go and have a cup of coffee, think things over, and then come back here in… maybe half an hour? Then we’ll have another chat about it.’

‘Okay, Jimmy.’ Matt felt tired. The whole argument seemed so petty. ‘We both need a breather.’

Jimmy was going to consult someone; that much was obvious. He was reaching for the phone even before Matt was out of the office. Marilyn smirked and looked away as he passed her; her massive boobs and flabby arms were sprawled across her typewriter like an uncontrolled jellyfish. He paused for a second, lost for words, then contented himself with popping a couple of paper-clips down her cleavage.