Читать книгу Hanky and the Thousandsleeper - Marvin Roth - Страница 8

Below the humus, the soil was warm and moist. Down here, there was no indication that fall was about to move into winter. He could have cared less. He didn’t feel it anyway. He only knew two feelings - “hunger and revenge”-, which in his case translated into a pure, unfettered lust to kill. That tiny amount of blood, which blended with the moisture in the ground, had encroached upon the place where he rested, had been just enough to arouse him. Now he had to wait. He would have to wait for the body, the vehicle that could transport him. That meant he’d have to wait for an animal that was large enough for him to migrate into. Despite his impatience he knew that it would only be a matter of time until he would be freed from his imprisonment. The anger slowly returned. The chagrin of having been caught off guard back then. His host body had been shot before he had had a chance to slip into a different body. The effects had left him numbed and before he knew it, he had been buried in the forest soil. The death of his host body had weakened him so that he had had to take a rest. Finally he had turned so feeble that he had dozed off into a deep sleep. He had slept for a long time, just like many other times before. In fact, he could no longer recall how many times this had happened. Again and again, fate had turned against him. Yet he had always managed to come back. And every single time he had gotten his revenge. His brutal revenge. People had begun to perceive him as a demon. They were telling each other tales of his exploits. Every now and then he had managed to mingle with them without them even being aware of his presence. He had listened to their tales. He felt far superior to humankind and despised them. Yet he was anything but a demon.

Hanky had already made considerable headway into the forest. He sang the occasional song. His songs. Children’s songs. Talking hikes by himself while singing was one of his favorite past times. The others tended to give him such strange looks whenever he sang. But here, he hardly ever ran into anyone else and he could sing to his heart’s content - out loud or under his breath. It was entirely up to him. He frequently talked to himself or any other sentient being he ran into on his hikes. He would have conversations with the trees, the birds and all of those creatures who appeared to be listening intently and take an interest in him while they observed him from the branches of the trees. Every now and then, he would even talk to a hedgehog, even though they appeared to be rather stern fellows who would not even look him in the eye while he chatted them up. The forest treated him well and had never caused him any hurt. The animals liked to stay close to him because he exuded something they perceived maybe as good heartedness and gentleness.. Hanky had just watched a team of ants marching in a long row across the small clearing at the edge of which he now lingered.

“So many antis,” he murmured, “Three, five, thirteen, eight, forty one, six, two.”

Hanky had never actually learned to count. But he had fun just saying numbers out loud. He knew all numbers up to one hundred, but he could not comprehend how to put them into the proper order. Hanky was not worried about it; he did not even give it a single thought. He stood up and as he just wanted to continue his walk, he thought he had heard a voice. Something was calling out to him. What he heard were not actual words, but he heard something in his head and it really confused him a lot. Disconcerted, he looked around, nervously trampling the ground with his feet. He did that whenever he was not sure what he should do. He scratched his neck in a nervous tick, placed his hands over his ears to block out the voices, but he could still hear them calling. Hanky stepped out into the clearance just a bit and the beckoning calls in his head became even louder.

Rita Miller and her group had just reached the edge of the forest and now stood in virtually the same location where Hank had watched the squirrel just a little while ago and waved at Ben Johansson. Ben was almost done plowing and was taking a break to light his pipe. His usually smoked outdoors, because his wife could not stand the odor of pipe tobacco in the house. Ben plugged his pipe with tobacco and observed the small group of students at the fringes of the forest.

The children jumped up and down with excitement and Rita Miller once again checked their coats to make sure they were all in place. Next, she counted the children, who were lined up in pairs one final time before they would head into the forest. As the group began to move and was just about to step into the woods, piercing, ugly screams could suddenly be heard. Ben sat upright and rubber necked to be able to see what was going on. The pupils and their teacher were awestruck and just stood there, listening for more sounds from the forest. The screaming voice became louder and louder. Suddenly Hanky dashed through the brush, continued to run a little further. Breathing heavily, he finally came to a sudden stop right before the freshly ploughed furrows in the field. He shook his heavy head as if he was in a state of stupor, as if he wanted to get rid of something that had gotten caught in his hair. It wasn’t until then that he recognized Rita Miller and her class. The pupils crowded around their teacher and stared at Hanky, who was covered with leaves and soil. Blood was dripping from a superficial wound on his forehead, leaving a dark trail across his sweat drenched face.

“Do not go in there,” Hanky stammered.

“Bad, evil thing in there, do not go in.”

Rita Miller broke loose of the children and instructed them to stay where they were. She walked over to Hanky, whose entire body had begun to shake.

“Hanky my poor Hanky,” she tried to soothe him, “what is frightening you so terribly?”

“Don’t go in there, don’t go in,” he repeated.

By now, Ben Johansson had made it across the field and asked:

“What in the world is going on here? Hanky, what’s wrong with you? You are all dirty... Did you fall?”

“Do not go in there,” Hanky said once again, with a dazed look on his face, ‘“4n evil thing in there”

“He seems really upset,” Ben said to Rita Miller. “It’s probably best if we take him back to the village to see Doctor Ness,” the teacher suggested.

She walked back over to Hanky and took his hand as if he was a small boy. In any other situation, this would have looked funny, because Hanky was almost two heads taller than she was. However, even the children were conscious of the seriousness of the situation and remained calm. They didn’t say word. No one was joking or dancing around. Some stared at the forest in fear, as if they felt that something uncanny was going on in there. Ben accompanied the group a little ways and finally returned to his tractor.

“I’ll take the tractor up to Prisco and let the doctor know you’re coming,” he called out to the teacher. Ben cranked up the engine and drove off.

“Well, I’ll have quite a story to tell the boys in New Bismarck later,” he thought, “and Julie, too.” Moments later, he turned into the dirt road that would take him to Prisco.