cb.booksofblood-第11部分

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　　A　wave　of　steam　and　blistering　heat　rolled　out　of　the　oven；　smelling　of　succulent　turkey…fat。　But　the　bird　inside　had　apparently　no　intentions　of　being　eaten。　It　was　flinging　itself　from　side　to　side　on　the　roasting　tray；　tossing　gouts　of　gravy　in　all　directions。　Its　crisp　brown　wings　pitifully　flailed　and　flapped；　its　legs　beat　a　tattoo　on　the　roof　of　the　oven。
　　Then　it　seemed　to　sense　the　open　door。　Its　wings　stretched　themselves　out　to　either　side　of　its　stuffed　bulk　and　it　half　hopped；　half　fell　on　to　the　oven　door；　in　a　mockery　of　its　living　self。　Headless；　oozing　stuffing　and　onions；　it　flopped　around　as　though　nobody　had　told　the　damn　thing　it　was　dead；　while　the　fat　still　bubbled　on　its　bacon…strewn　back。
　　Amanda　screamed。
　　Jack　dived　for　the　door　as　the　bird　lurched　into　the　air；　blind　but　vengeful。　What　it　intended　to　do　once　it　reached　its　three　cowering　victims　was　never　discovered。　Gina　dragged　Amanda　into　the　hallway　with　her　father　in　hot　pursuit；　and　the　door　was　slammed　closed　as　the　blind　bird　flung　itself　against　the　panelling；　beating　on　it　with　all　its　strength。　Gravy　seeped　through　the　gap　at　the　bottom　of　the　door；　dark　and　fatty。
　　The　door　had　no　lock；　but　Jack　reasoned　that　the　bird　was　not　capable　of　turning　the　handle。　As　he　backed　away；　breathless；　he　cursed　his　confidence。　The　opposition　had　more　up　its　sleeve　than　he'd　guessed。
　　Amanda　was　leaning　against　the　wall　sobbing；　her　face　stained　with　splotches　of　turkey　grease。　All　she　seemed　able　to　do　was　deny　what　she'd　seen；　shaking　her　head　and　repeating　the　word　〃no〃　like　a　talisman　against　the　ridiculous　horror　that　was　still　throwing　itself　against　the　door。　Jack　escorted　her　through　to　the　lounge。　The　radio　was　still　crooning　carols　which　blotted　out　the　din　of　the　bird；　but　their　promises　of　goodwill　seemed　small　fort。
　　Gina　poured　a　hefty　brandy　for　her　sister　and　sat　beside　her　on　the　sofa；　plying　her　with　spirits　and　reassurance　in　about　equal　measure。　They　made　little　impression　on　Amanda。
　　〃What　was　that？〃　Gina　asked　her　father；　in　a　tone　that　demanded　an　answer。
　　〃I　don't　know　what　it　was；〃　Jack　replied。
　　〃Mass　hysteria？〃　Gina's　displeasure　was　plain。　Her　father　had　a　secret：　he　knew　what　was　going　on　in　the　house；　but　he　was　refusing　to　cough　up　for　some　reason。
　　〃What　do　I　call：　the　police　or　an　exorcist？〃
　　〃Neither。〃
　　〃For　God's　sake…〃
　　〃There's　nothing　going　on；　Gina。　Really。〃　Her　father　turned　from　the　window　and　looked　at　her。　His　eyes　spoke　what　his　mouth　refused　to　say；　that　this　was　war。
　　Jack　was　afraid。
　　The　house　was　suddenly　a　prison。　The　game　was　suddenly　lethal。　The　enemy；　instead　of　playing　foolish　games；　meant　harm；　real　harm　to　them　all。
　　In　the　kitchen　the　turkey　had　at　last　conceded　defeat。　The　carols　on　the　radio　had　withered　into　a　sermon　on　God's　benedictions。
　　What　had　been　sweet　was　sour　and　dangerous。　He　looked　across　the　room　at　Amanda　and　Gina。　Both　for　their　own　reasons；　were　trembling。　Polo　wanted　to　tell　them；　wanted　to　explain　what　was　going　on。　But　the　thing　must　be　there；　he　knew；　gloating。
　　He　was　wrong。　The　Yattering　had　retired　to　the　attic；　well…satisfied　with　its　endeavours。　The　bird；　it　felt；　had　been　a　stroke　of　genius。　Now　it　could　rest　a　while：　recuperate。　Let　the　enemy's　nerves　tatter　themselves　in　anticipation。　Then；　in　its　own　good　time；　it　would　deliver　the　coup　de　grace。
　　Idly；　it　wondered　if　any　of　the　inspectors　had　seen　his　work　with　the　turkey。　Maybe　they　would　be　impressed　enough　by　the　Yattering's　originality　to　improve　its　job　prospects。　Surely　it　hadn't　gone　through　all　those　years　of　training　simply　to　chase　half…witted　imbeciles　like　Polo。　There　must　be　something　more　challenging　available　than　that。　It　felt　victory　in　its　invisible　bones：　and　it　was　a　good　feeling。
　　The　pursuit　of　Polo　would　surely　gain　momentum　now。　His　daughters　would　convince　him　（if　he　wasn't　now　quite　convinced）　that　there　was　something　terrible　afoot。　He　would　crack。　He　would　crumble。　Maybe　he'd　go　classically　mad：　tear　out　his　hair；　rip　off　his　clothes；　smear　himself　with　his　own　excrement。
　　Oh　yes；　victory　was　close。　And　wouldn't　his　masters　be　loving　then？　Wouldn't　it　be　showered　with　praise；　and　power？
　　One　more　manifestation　was　all　that　was　required。　One　final；　inspired　intervention；　and　Polo　would　be　so　much　blubbering　flesh。
　　Tired；　but　confident；　the　Yattering　descended　into　the　lounge。
　　Amanda　was　lying　full…length　on　the　sofa；　asleep。　She　was　obviously　dreaming　about　the　turkey。　Her　eyes　rolled　beneath　her　gossamer　lids；　her　lower　lip　trembled。　Gina　sat　beside　the　radio；　which　was　silenced　now。　She　had　a　book　open　on　her　lap；　but　she　wasn't　reading　it。
　　The　gherkin　importer　wasn't　in　the　room。　Wasn't　that　his　footstep　on　the　stair？　Yes；　he　was　going　upstairs　to　relieve　his　brandy…full　bladder。
　　Ideal　timing。
　　The　Yattering　crossed　the　room。　In　her　sleep　Amanda　dreamt　something　dark　flitting　across　her　vision；　something　malign；　something　that　tasted　bitter　in　her　mouth。
　　Gina　looked　up　from　her　book。
　　The　silver　balls　on　the　tree　were　rocking；　gently。　Not　just　the　balls。　The　tinsel　and　the　branches　too。
　　In　fact；　the　tree。　The　whole　tree　was　rocking　as　though　someone　had　just　seized　hold　of　it。
　　Gina　had　a　very　bad　feeling　about　this。　She　stood　up。　The　book　slid　to　the　floor。
　　The　tree　began　to　spin。
　　〃Christ；〃　she　said。　〃Jesus　Christ。〃　Amanda　slept　on。
　　The　tree　picked　up　momentum。
　　Gina　walked　as　steadily　as　she　could　across　to　the　sofa　and　tried　to　shake　her　sister　awake。　Amanda；　locked　in　her　dreams；　resisted　for　a　moment。
　　〃Father；〃　said　Gina。　Her　voice　was　strong；　and　carried　through　into　the　hall。　It　also　woke　Amanda。
　　Downstairs；　Polo　heard　a　noise　like　a　whining　dog。　No；　like　two　whining　dogs。　As　he　ran　down　the　stairs；　the　duet　became　a　trio。　He　burst　into　the　lounge　half　expecting　all　the　hosts　of　Hell　to　be　in　there；　dog…headed；　dancing　on　his　beauties。
　　But　no。　It　was　the　Christmas　tree　that　was　whining；　whining　like　a　pack　of　dogs；　as　it　spun　and　spun。
　　The　lights　had　long　since　been　pulled　from　their　sockets。　The　air　stank　of　singed　plastic　and　pine…sap。　The　tree　itself　was　spinning　like　a　top；　flinging　decorations　and　presents　off　its　tortured　branches　with　the　largesse　of　a　mad　king。
　　Jack　tore　his　eyes　from　the　spectacle　of　the　tree　and　found　Gina　and　Amanda　crouching；　terrified；　behind　the　sofa。
　　〃Get　out　of　here；〃　he　yelled。
　　Even　as　he　spoke　the　television　sat　up　impertinently　on　one　leg　and　began　to　spin　like　the　tree；　gathering　momentum　quickly。　The　clock　on　the　mantelpiece　joined　the　pirouetting。　The　pokers　beside　the　fire。　The　cushions。　The　ornaments。　Each　object　added　its　own　singular　note　to　the　orchestration　of　whines　which　were　building　up；　second　by　second；　to　a　deafening　pitch。　The　air　began　to　brim　with　the　smell　of　burning　wood；　as　friction　heated　the　spinning　tops　to　flash…point。　Smoke　swirled　across　the　room。
　　Gina　had　Amanda　by　the　arm；　and　was　dragging　her　towards　the　door；　shielding　her　face　against　the　hail　of　pine　needles　that　the　still…accelerating　tree　was　throwing　off。
　　Now　the　lights　were　spinning。
　　The　books；　having　flung　themselves　off　the　shelves；　had　joined　the　tarantella。
　　Jack　could　see　the　enemy；　in　his　mind's　eye；　racing　between　the　objects　like　a　juggler　spinning　plates　on　sticks；　trying　to　keep　them　all　moving　at　once。　It　must　be　exhausting　work；　he　thought。　The　demon　was　probably　close　to　collapse。　It　couldn't　be　thinking　straight。　Overexcited。　Impulsive。　Vulnerable。　This　must　be　the　moment；　if　ever　there　was　a　moment；　to　join　battle　at　last。　To　face　the　thing；　defy　it；　and　trap　it。
　　For　its　part；　the　Yattering　was　enjoying　this　orgy　of　destruction。　It　flung　every　movable　object　into　the　fray；　setting　everything　spinning。
　　It　watched　with　satisfaction　as　the　daughters　twitched　and　scurried；　it　laughed　to　see　the　old　man　stare；　pop…eyed；　at　this　preposterous　ballet。
　　Surely　he　was　nearly　mad；　wasn't　he？
　　The　beauties　had　reached　the　door；　their　hair　and　skin　full　of　needles。　Polo　didn't　see　them　leave。　He　ran　across　the　room；　dodging　a　rain　of　ornaments　to　do　so；　and　picked　up　a　brass　toasting　fork　which　the　enemy　had　overlooked。　Bric…a…brac　filled　the　air　around　his　head；　dancing　around　with　sickening　speed。　His　flesh　was　bruised　and　punctured。　But　the　exhilaration　of　joining　battle　had　overtaken　him；　and　he　set　about　beating　the　books；　and　the　clocks；　and　the　china　to　smithereens。　Like　a　man　in　a　cloud　of　locusts　he　ran　around　the　room；　bringing　down　his　favourite　books　in　a　welter　of　fluttering　pages；　smashing　whirling　Dresden；　shattering　the　lamps。　A　litter　of　broken　possessions　swamped　the　floor；　some　of　it　still　twitching　as　the　life　went　out　of　the　fragments。　But　for　every　object　brought　low；　there　were　a　dozen　still　spinning；　still　whining。
　　He　could　hear　Gina　at　the　door；　yelling　to　him　to　get　out；　to　leave　it　alone。
　　But　it　was　so　enjoyable；　playing　against　the　enemy　more　directly　than　he'd　ever　allowed　himself　before。　He　didn't　want　to　give　up。　He　wanted　the　demon　to　show　itself；　to　be　known；　to　be　recognized。
　　He　wanted　confrontation　with　the　Old　One's　emissary　once　and　for　all。
　　Without　warning　the　tree　gave　way　to　the　dictates　of　centrifugal　force；　and　exploded。　The　noise　was　like　a　howl　of　death。　Branches；　twigs；　needles；　balls；　lights；　wire；　ribbons；　flew　across　the　room。　Jack；　his　back　to　the　explosion；　felt　a　gust　of　energy　hit　him　hard；　and　he　was　flung　to　the　ground。　The　back　of　his　neck　and　his　scalp　were　shot　full　of　pine…needles。　A　branch；　naked　of　greenery；　shot　past　his　head　and　impaled　the　sofa。　Fragments　of　tree　pattered　to　the　carpet　around　him。
　　Now　other　objects　around　the　room；　spun　beyond　the　tolerance　of　their　structures；　were　exploding　like　the　tree。　The　television　blew　up；　sending　a　lethal　wave　of　glass　across　the　room；　much　of　which　buried　itself　in　the　opposite　wall。　Fragments　of　the　television's　innards；　so　hot　they　singed　the　skin；　fell　on　Jack；　as　he　elbowed　himself　towards　the　door　like　a　soldier　under　bombardment。
　　The　room　was　so　thick　with　a　barrage　of　shards　it　was　like　a　fog。　The　cushions　had　lent　their　down　to　the　scene；　snowing　on　the　carpet。　Porcelain　pieces：　a　beautifully…glazed　arm；　a　courtesan's　head；　bounced　on　the　floor　in　front　of　his　nose。
　　Gina　was　crouching　at　the　door；　urging　him　to　hurry；　her　eyes　narrowed　against　the　hail。　As　Jack　reached　the　door；　and　felt　her　arms　around　him；　he　swore　he　could　hear　laughter　from　the　lounge。　Tangible；　audible　laughter；　rich　and　satisfied。
　　Amanda　was　standing　in　the　hall；　her　hair　full　of　pine…needles；　staring　down　at　him。　He　pulled　his　legs　through　the　doorway　and　Gina　slammed　the　door　shut　on　the　demolition。
　　〃What　is　it？〃　she　demanded。　〃Poltergeist？　Ghost？　Mother's　ghost？〃　The　thought　of　his　dead　wife　being　responsible　for　such　wholesale　destruction　struck　Jack　as　funny。
　　Amanda　was　half　smiling。　Good；　he　thought；　she's　ing　out　of　it。　Then　he　met　the　vacant　look　in　her　eyes　and　the　truth　dawned。　She'd　broken；　her　sanity　had　taken　refuge　where　this　fantastique　couldn't　get　at　it。
　　〃What's　in　there？〃　Gina　was　asking；　her　grip