I knew what my house must have looked like—even if I couldn’t remember it. Every house on the block looked more or less the same. They were all mid-1900s stucco boxes. There were rows of flip-up garage doors, blandly painted walls coated in spiderwebs, and yards full of weeds. Some yards had degenerated into pure crabgrass and dried-out trees. Others lawns had taken the final step, reverting to the purity of the desert sands from whence they’d come. Water was expensive in the city, and not everyone could afford to water their patch of land.
My house was on the right, the third from the corner. There wasn’t much house left, however. Looking at the devastation, my first thought was that it must have burned down, although it looked more thoroughly destroyed than a burnt house should. All that stucco and the old brick fireplace—something should have survived. Instead, it reminded me of a bomb crater. Only the farthest corner of the garage stood, a sooty finger of concrete and charcoaled two-by-fours.
Getting over my shock, I walked with quiet care among the silent eddies of ash. Had I left the stove on when I’d gone to talk to Tony? Had I owned a pet that had accidentally tipped over a source of combustion? I didn’t think the answer was so mundane. It was hard to believe fate alone had dealt me such a hard blow. Call me distrustful, but this went beyond an accident or even arson. Someone had demolished my house in hopes of destroying whatever it was I had discovered. Possibly, the same somebody had tried to kill me more than once.
As I looked around the place, I began to think maybe Dr. Meng had done me a favor by keeping me on ice at her institution. What if someone had killed Tony, but meant to kill us both? Or maybe they’d really been targeting me all along. I didn’t like the idea.
I trudged around the ruins in the dark, looking for clues. When I finally found something interesting, I was greatly surprised by the nature of it.
There was a trembling movement in the ashes. I froze, staring. I suspected it was a cat, but what kind of an idiot animal would be caught playing in this mess at midnight? Perhaps a rat, then, I thought. This faint hope propelled me to take a step closer to the shivering pile of ashes, then a second and a third.
I stood over a lump covered in the black ashes that I calculated were the cremated remains of my living room furniture. The lump shivered again as I watched it. All I had to do, I knew, was reach out with a toe and tap the thing at my feet—but I hesitated.
The wind sighed in the trees around me. Distantly, a siren wailed out in the direction of the boulevard. I could hear TV voices floating out of a neighbor’s window from somewhere nearby. I stared at the lump and waited for it to shiver again. It did nothing. I willed the thing at my feet to reveal itself without my having to act upon it.
Then I began to feel something on my face as I stared at the thing. I felt heat. This spot, alone among the fifteen hundred-odd square feet of ash and debris, was still hot. The heat spread to my exposed hands. As I stood there, I felt the burning sensation intensify upon the legs of my pants and sensed it sinking into my shoes as well. Did it come from the shivering thing before me? I wasn’t sure.
Still staring, I reached out my foot and touched the lump with the toe of my shoe. It was hard, heavy, and solid. I felt it tremble. It was as if I had nudged a vibrating bowling ball covered in sodden ashes.
I yanked my foot away and lifted the other, planning to beat a stealthy retreat. It was too late, however. Whatever was crouching in the middle of my home, I’d awakened it.
The thing unfolded itself. Ash dribbled away and it grew taller as I watched. Still, it was barely a foot in height—make that eighteen inches now. I almost bolted, but kept watching. Maybe that was my curse, my weakness. I felt an overwhelming urge to investigate this oddity, rather than to flee from it. I knew in a flash of remembrance I’d faced alien things like this before and failed to run from them when any sane man would have.
The unfolding thing rotated a part of itself to look up at what had nudged it. To me, it now resembled a bulky worm made of lava rock, with a head section that rose up to regard me. The sensation of emanating heat grew ever more intense and its eyes met mine—eyes of blue flame on stalks of blackened, porous stone. It did not run from me, but instead straightened and slid forward very slowly. It stared at me with curiosity—or was that hunger?
I saw it clearly now, despite the fact it was not illuminated by a streetlamp or neighbor’s security light. The thing glowed faintly with the color of dying coals. The creature seemed weak, almost pitiful. I sensed it might have become aggressive in a moment of strength. But for now it only eyed me curiously and approached very slowly.
“You’re a crazy bastard, Draith,” said a voice. “Just like they said.”
My head jerked toward the voice. A man stood on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette and continued to watch me from a safe distance. His cigarette glowed orange, but the rest of him stood in shadow. I could tell from his voice and bearing he was a plainclothes cop.