Koontz, Dean - The Psychedelic Children Read online

  The Psychedelic Children

  Dean Koontz

  Whether or not one believes the scientific "evidence" that LSD-25 causes damage to the chromosomes, one has to admit that the

  idea of a child mutated by LSD use is an intriguing one. It must be intriguing. For I received about a dozen letters from

  readers about this story, and it has been published in French and will be included in a book of stories and author interviews to

  be published later this year in Spain. What interests readers, I think and hope, is not so much the plot, hut the style (ah, now

  the traditionalists leap down my throat!). I have attempted to write a story whose style (typography and scene-switching, and

  of the psychedelic, of a mild acid trip. The end of the story fits into this attempt, for it is much like a drug dclurealize

  how thin is the fabric of what you thought was reality.. . .

  HE woke even before she and lay listening to the rasping of her breath: seafoam whispering over jagged rocks. It would get worse

  before she woke. He reached to the night-stand and took a cigarette from the nearly empty pack, lighted it, and sat up. He tried

  not to think of the energies

  roaring there. In the darkness, he tried to turn his mind to other things.

  The view from the window was pleasant, for snow had been falling since suppertime, embracing everything. The clouds parted now and

  then to let the moon through. It lighted the night, washing onto the white blanket and splashing back. Beyond the hoary willow

  tree lay the highway, a black slash in the calcimined wonderland. It was obvious that the heater colls in the roadbed had broken

  down again, for (he drifts were edging back onto the hard surface unchecked. Old-fashioned plows were working on

  "Ashen dreams fluttering flaked while lightning men with swords

  and draw fingernails over the ice ..."

  He was not certain whether that was completely senseless or not. It was a mood piece, na dnubt. He repeated it softly again. He

  would have to remember it, polish it-perhaps-for

  Minutes later, he looked back .to Laurie. Her face was

  pale, her eyes closed and edped with wrinkles, He ran his hand through the billows of raven hair that cascaded down her pillow.

  She moaned in answer, the air rushing in and out of her chest. Harder, harder she breathed. Deciding to gel a head start this time,

  he stood and pulled on his trousers, slipped into a banian shirt.

  "Frank?" she said.

  "I know."

  She slipped out of bed. naked, and dressed in a slieath-a red and black one that he liked.

  "I'll pull the car out of the garage," he said.

  The snow-"

  "They seem to have it under control. Don't worry. I'D pick you up at the front door in five minutes."

  "I love you," she said as he went through the doorway into the shadow-filled living room. That always sent shivers through him:

  that face, that voice, those words.

  He took a flashlight and the gun that lay beside it from the kitchen catchal! drawer. Stepping into the glittering night, he

  stuffed the gun in a jacket pocket and sniffed the cold air. It hurt all the way down into his Kings and woke him all the way up.

  The path between house and garage was unshoveled: the snow lay a pood twelve or fourteen inches deep. He plodded through it,

  listening to the caw sweep of the wind, the distant moan of heavy machinery battling Nature. The garage door hummed open when it

  recognized his thumbprint on the lock disc. He crawled into the car, started it, backed out, pushing snow with the rear bumper. He

  flipped on the front and rear heating bars. With Laurie's problem, he had to be ready

  been a costly extra, but a necessary one. When he pulled up to the front door, she was waiting. She climbed in, hud-

  "Vhere tor

  "The country somewhere," she whispered in her tiny voice. "Hurry, please. It's going to be real bad this time."

  Melting snow in advance, be drove across the highway into the lane leading away from the city and suburbs. The roho-prid drove for

  him then while he stroked her forehead and kissed her cheeks, her ears, her neck . . .

  the red eye winked at him as if to say he must now caress the controls. Somewhere in the bowels of the car a buzzer bleeped for

  the same reason. HP turned left along a secondary route that was not nearly so well cleaned as the superhighway. Drifts were

  clawing at the macadam, choking it to half its normal width in many places. He held the accelerator down and kept the Champion

  moving.

  1

  She was moaning . . .

  This looked had. She was rapidly reaching the critical point: the moment when the psychic powers reached mai-mal point of

  tolerance and exploded violently and deadly. Laurie was an Esper, but it did her no good, for she could not control the power. She

  could not siphon it off until it reached the critical point, and once it had reached the critical point, there were only moments

  left to get rid of it.

  He was glad he had had the melting bars installed. Someday all cars, he thought, would have them. Then the snuw plows and heating

  coils would both be obsolete. The bars burned away the crystals, evaporating some, melting some and leaving them behind to freeze

  into Ice as the night wind roared in and covered the road in their wake.

  -A little further yet." he said.

  He risked a glance away from the road, was shocked-as always-by the white fish-belly color of her beautiful face. It always

  reminded him of the dead. It always frightened him, "Hold on."

  The car skidded sideways without warning. He grabbed desperately at the wlieel, then remembered to let the car Follow the

  direction of the slide. They lodged in a drift, and it took the melting bars a few minutes to free them.

  fore-turned abruptly across what appeared to be a wheat field, flat and snow covered. The bars were burning at full capacity. He

  took it slow, melting his way toward the edge of the forest which began where the field sloped Tip-When they reached the forest's

  perimeter, he braked, stopped, shut off the lights. They would not be seen from the highway against the Mark backdrop of trees.

  He sat with her at the side of a tree, sat on the snow with her. She had reached the critical point

  "Okay," he said. "There is no one here."

  She whimpered again . . .

  Her breath rushed out . .,

  there was a four-foot circle of bare earth. Then there was

  "I remember wall papered parlors With a grandfather clock that chimed _ Like a voice saving I'll give you A dollar for a dime.

  "I recall sun-bleached kitchens On a then lute afternoon, A hundred thousand fragrances, My mother's tasting spoon . . ."

  He flipped off the recording machine, rewound the tape, removed and packaged it. That was Saturday's show-Sired on one hundred and

  two FM radio stations. Fifteen minutes of poetry and commentary, recital and rebuttal. He was a little bitter about it. He

  wondered how many really listened and how many only laughed. He suspected that many of the Rentier arts were not designed for the

  mass media. But then, it brought pennies for bread, pennies for lard.

  "Frank-" Laurie came into the den, all sweet-smiling in a dress covered with large red apples on a straw background, a red band

  dipping in and out of her dark hair. "Have you seen t
his morning's paper?"

  He couldn't have missed the headline: HALLUCINO-CHILD BELIEVED TO BE IN AREA. And below that: POLICE BEGIN SEARCH. It told about the field near Crockerton where the snow had been vaporized, the earth boiled and glazed, the trees splintered and charred.

  It told how there was only one thing that could have done all that. And they were searching for the halhicino-child.

  "Don't worry," he said.

  "But they say the police are searching outward on a

  He pulled her down on his lap and kissed her. "And what can they find? I'm a poet who contributes well to the party in power; the

  party in power is very anti-Esper. We live normal lives. We have never once voiced disapproval over punishment of captured

  hallueino-children."

  "Just the same," she said, "I'll worry."

  So would he.

  They stood watching through the porthole in the front door as the police approached the house. "It's just a question party. Only

  routine investigators following routine procedures," he said.

  She was trembling just the same. She retreated to the kitchen.

  He waited for two knocks before he opened the door. He did not want to appear too anxious, and he needed

  "Yes?"

  "Police Inspector Jameson and android assistant T," the dark-eyed detective said, motioning to the parody of a man beside him.

  "Oh, this must he about the hallucine-child in the papers. Come in, inspector."

  He led them into the den. The inspector and he sat, hut T remained standing. The snow-flakes (bat had fallen on his

  cutting wet swaths across the "skin" of his face to the precipice of his chin.

  "Nice place you have here, Mr. Cauvell."

  2

  "Thank you."

  This where yrm write poems?"

  Cauvell looked to the desk, nodded.

  "I'm a fan of yours. Though I must say I don't often like

  He breathed more easily. The man was certainly not a

  in fact. Why, Cauvell thought, fie can't even meet my eyes directly. . . .

  "Is your wife-Mrs. Canvell-at home?"

  His'heart jumped a little, but he did not hesitate- "Yes, she is. Lauriel" he shouted, perhaps a bit too loud. "Lauriel"

  She came in from the kitchen and stood next to his

  Cauvell was'afraid. Would T notice and become suspicious of her suspicion?

  "Please sit down. Mrs. Cmivell," Jameson said. He ndthe

  neighborhood and would like to ask you both a few questions."

  They both nodded.

  T," Jameson said.

  The android's throat seemed to hum For a moment; then a deep, hoarse voice groaned from a plate in the lower portion of his neck.

  THIS INTERVIEW is BEING RECORDED.

  ARE YOU AWARE OF THIS, MR. AND MRS. FRANK CAUVBLL?

  "Yes," they answered ceremoniously'

  ALL INFORMATION RECORDED MAY BE USED IN A COURT OF LAW. AHE YOU AWARE OF Tins, MR. AND MKS. CAUVELL?

  "Yes."

  THIS IS ANDROID T OF CITY DIVISION COOPERATING WITH INSPECTOR HAROLD JAMESON. MR. CAUVELL, A BALLUCINO-PARENTS WHOSE GENES WERE ALTERED HY THEIR USE OF LSD-25. THESE CHILDREN BECOME EITHER PHYSICAL FREAXS UNDERSTAND THE USE OF THE TERM HALLUCTNO-CHILDP

  "Yes."

  AND YOU, MRS. CAUVELL?

  I do.

  THE PHYSICAL FREAKS AHE CARED FOB BY THE GOVERNMENT. THE HALLUCINO-CHTLDREN WHO ARE BORN WITH THE SENSITIVITY ARE A DANGEB TO Tirn STATE AND CANNOT RE AFFORDED FULL CITIZENSHIP. BECAUSE OF THE NATUHE OF ONLY HE STUDIEP AT THE CRITICAL POINT AND WHICH IS TOO DANCEflOL'S AT THE CHITICAL POINT TO STUDY-MANY OF PUT TO SLEEP. HUMANELY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND TICS, MB. ANT) MRS. CAUVELL?

  They said that they did. The formalities were over.

  WE HAVE REASON TO BET.IEVE THEHK IS A HAIXUCINO-CHHJ) IN Tins VICINITY. HAVE EITHER OF YOU KNOWLEDGE OF SAID Thpy said no.

  DID EITHER OF YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE LAST NIGHT?

  "No,"

  The question suddenly became very pointed. THEN

  1IOW DID THE DRIVEWAY AND ENTRANCE TO THE SUPEB-HTCHWAY BECOME CLEARED?

  "We noticed as we came in," Jameson said, "that yoilr driveway seems to have been cleared by melting bars."

  "I went otit ihis morning for a few groceries," CauveU answered a bit too quickly.

  "You do your own shopping?" Jameson asked, raising his eyebrows.

  "Yes." Cauvcll was suddenly glad that he had never gone completely modem. Less than a fifth of the population did their own

  grocery shopping in person anymore. The banks of robot clerks that took the orders by phone had more-or-Icss depersonalized food

  purchasing. Cauvell, however, had always liked to see the steak before he bought it. Perhaps it was his picky appetite.

  MRS. CAUVELL'S FATHER WAS A COLLEGE PROFESSOR, T said gratingly. THE COLLEGE INSTOUCTOKS OF THE SIXTIES

  AND SEVENTIES WKHE OFTEN QUITE LIBERAL AND AS ANXIOUS AS TIIEJR STUDENTS TO EXFEHIMENT. MM. CAl'VELL, DID They had prepared themselves, long ago, for the possibility of questions like these. And they had agreed that a little bit of the

  truth would be better than a complete lie. "I believe he tried it twice with bad experiences both times," Laurie said.

  Cauvell was proud of her firm, unshaken answers.

  HE WAS NOT A RECUl-AJl USER?

  "No."

  "How can you be so certain, my dear?" Jameson asked kindly.

  Cauvell realized that Jameson was anything but stupid, anything but meek. He was T's straight man, but some of his own lines hit

  the mark close to center.

  3

  "My mother told me," Laurie said. "My father died when I was seven, My mother spent the rest of her life telling me about

  everything he did. I heard all the stories a thousand times. I couldn't forget them. He took LSD twice and had bad trips both

  times."

  WHICH PARTY DO YOU BELONG TO? T asked.

  "The party in power for the last thirteen years. The Gin-stitutional Tolerant Party." Cauvelt tried to force pride into his voice

  while he forced his gorge down.

  AND WHY DID YOU JOIN THE PA11TY?

  "Because we feared the Communist countries and realized the subversive trends within our own society must stop."

  AND YOU RAVE SEEN NOR HEARD NOTHING OF THE HAL-LUCINO-CHILD?

  "Nothing."

  WAS THIS INTERVIEW RECORDED WITH YOUR KNOWLEDGE, MR. AND MRS. CAUVELL?

  They said it was.

  The android's voice clicked off, its throat humming for a moment before going tomb silent. Inspector Jameson got to his feet. "

  Sorry to inconvenience you. It has been ^pleas-sure. Thank you for cooperating."

  "Only too happy," Frank said.

  "Hope you find the mutant," Laurie said.

  They watched through the porthole as the inspector and the android stepped into the police car and pulled onto the highway,

  growing smaller, smaller, and disappearing in the distance.

  From the looks of the sky, it was going to snow again,

  Somewhere a mutated boy hid, shivering.

  Some unbearable moment, his nerves split; he ran.

  He ran right into the arms of the android. The eyes of the metal man were jewels, even as the tears on his oion cheeks frosted

  into diamonds. He backed away, bvt there were others behird him. There was no place to go.

  He unleashed the psychic forces at them, watched them go tip in flames, watched their faces melt, watched their insides smoke.

  But there were more of them. And they would not wait. Nozzles opened on their hips. Fire sprayed; flames engulfed him, swallowed,

  digested him.

  All the while the snow fell. . . little white bullets ...

  They got some poor devil," Laurie said, handing him the paper.

  He looked at it, grimaced. HALLUCINO-CHILD FIGHTS IT OUT WITH POLICE. Not "fights it out with robots' for that was too c
rude. That

  would make the entire thing seem promutant. Cauvell wagered a k've cop had not come within a hundred yards of the boy.

  "It's rny fault," Laurie said.

  "That's absurdl How could it possibly be your fault?"

  "We were too open. We left a trail or clues, at least, that rnad-e them search."

  "And it was an emergency," he argued. "You'd have blasted the both of us to kingdom come if you had tried to hold back that force

  any longer."

  "Just the same, they might not have flushed the boy out if we-"

  "Forget it. What's for supper?"

  "Spaghetti."

  The next night it was pork chops. The next night, meat loaf. The night after that, he woke up to her heavy breathing.

  "Laurie?"

  Her eyes were open. "Yes?"

  "Why didn't you wake me?" He got out of bed, began to dress.

  "Frank?"

  "What? Hurry and get your clothes on."

  "Frank, maybe it would be a lot better if I just let It kill me."

  He stopped tucking his shirt in and turned around to face her. He could see only the vague outline of her small but womanly body

  outlined by the sheet, her hair like spun silk ... He crossed to her and lifted her head up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  She was crying.

  "Don't you love me?" he asked.

  She tried to answer, but the words were sobs.

  4

  "Then get the hell dressed," he said gently.

  And he left. In the kitchen, he took the gun from the drawer. Outside, the sky was clear; the wind was stiff, whipping the snow

  into a frenzy. When he brought the car to the front door, she was waiting.

  "Where will we go?" she asked.

  "Farther out than before. And we will cover well."

  Christmas was coming.

  He thought about that as he drove. He thought about parties and eggnog. church services, candles on altars, candles in windows. He

  thought about Christ climbing down from his bare tree and wondered what Ferlinghetti would have written had he lived in the

  present and been married to a hallucino-cliild.

  Far out in the country, be angled the Champion onto a side road, cruised along it for a time, broke off the road inlo a wide

  trench that petered out into woods at a clearing in the center of the forest. They were three miles from a road, sheltered on all

  sides by trees, exposed only directly overhead where the clearing allowed the stars to look down. When they got out. they heard