dk.coldfire-第45节

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ire　for　the　next。　
　At　first；　looking　up　into　Jim's　beautiful　eyes；　Holly　felt　as　if　she　were　gazing　into　the　pure　fire　of　his　soul。　Then　he　gripped　her　by　the　sides；　half　lifting　her　off　the　mattress　as　he　eased　deep　into　her；　and　she　felt　the　scratches　burning　in　her　flanks　and　remembered　the　claws　of　the　thing　that　had　stepped　magically　out　of　a　dream。　For　an　instant；　with　pain　flashing　in　her　shallow　wounds；　her　perception　shifted；　and　she　had　the　queer　feeling　that　it　was　a　cold　blue　fire　into　which　she　gazed；　burning　without　heat。　But　that　was　only　a　reaction　to　the　stinging　scratches　and　the　pain…engendered　memory　of　the　nightmare。　When　he　slid　his　hands　off　her　sides　and　under　her；　lifting；　she　rose　to　meet　him；　and　he　was　all　warmth　now；　not　the　faintest　chill　about　him。　
　Together　they　generated　enough　heat　to　sear　away　that　brief　image　of　a　soul　on　ice。　
　The　frost…pale　glow　of　the　unseen　moon　backlit　banks　of　coaly　clouds　that　churned　across　the　night　sky。　
　Unlike　in　other　recent　dreams；　Holly　was　standing　outside　on　a　graveled　path　that　led　between　a　pond　and　a　cornfield　toward　the　door　in　the　base　of　the　old　windmill。　The　limestone　structure　rose　above　her　at　a　severe　angle；　recognizably　a　mill　but　nonetheless　an　alien　place；　unearthly。　
　The　huge　sails；　ragged　with　scores　of　broken　or　missing　vanes；　were　silhouetted　against　the　foreboding　sky　and　angled　like　a　tilted　cross。　
　although　a　blustery　wind　sent　moon…silvered　ripples　across　the　ink…dark　pond　and　rattled　the　nearby　cornstalks；　the　sails　were　still。　
　The　mill　obviously　had　been　inoperable　for　many　years；　and　the　mechanisms　were　most　likely　too　rusted　to　allow　the　sails　to　turn。　
　A　spectral　muddy…yellow　light　flickered　at　the　narrow　windows　of　the　upper　room。　Beyond　the　glass；　strange　shadows　moved　across　the　interior　limestone　walls　of　that　high　chamber。　
　She　didn't　want　to　get　any　closer　to　the　building；　had　never　been　more　frightened　of　a　place　in　her　life；　but　she　was　unable　to　halt　herself　She　was　drawn　forward　as　if　she　were　the　spellbound　thrall　of　some　powerful　sorcerer。　
　In　the　pond　to　her　left；　something　was　wrong　with　the　moon…cast　reflection　of　the　windmill；　and　she　turned　to　look　at　it。　The　pattern　of　light　and　shade　on　the　water　was　reversed　from　what　it　should　have　been。　The　mill　shadow　was　not　a　dark　geometric　form　imposed　on　the　water　over　the　filigree　of　moonlight；　instead；　the　image　of　the　mill　was　brighter　than　the　surface　of　the　pond　around　it；　as　if　the　mill　were　luminous；　the　brightest　object　in　the　night；　when　in　fact　its　stones　rose　in　an　ebony　and　forbidding　pile。　Where　the　high　windows　were　filled　with　lambent　light　in　the　real　mill；　black　rectangles　floated　in　the　impossible　reflection；　like　the　empty　eyeholes　in　a　fleshless　skull。　
　Creak。　。　。　creak。　。　。　creak。　。　。　
　She　looked　up。　
　The　massive　sails　were　trembling　in　the　wind　and　beginning　to　move。　
　They　forced　the　corroded　gears　that　drove　the　windshaft　and；　in　turn；　the　grinding　stones　in　the　millroom　at　its　base。　
　Wanting　only　to　wake　up　or；　failing　that；　to　flee　back　along　the　gravel　path　over　which　she　had　e；　Holly　drifted　inexorably　forward。　
　The　giant　sails　began　to　turn　clockwise；　gaining　speed；　producing　less　creaking　as　the　gears　unfroze。　It　seemed　to　her　that　they　were　like　the　fingers　of　a　monstrous　hand；　and　the　jagged　end　of　every　broken　vane　was　a　claw。　
　She　reached　the　door。　
　She　did　not　want　to　go　inside。　She　knew　that　within　lay　a　hell　of　some　kind；　as　bad　as　the　pits　of　torture　described　by　any　fire…and…brimstone　preacher　who　had　ever　thundered　a　sermon　in　old　Salem。　If　she　went　in　there；　she　would　never　e　out　alive。　
　The　sails　swooped　down　at　her；　passing　just　a　couple　of　feet　over　her　head；　the　splintered　wood　reaching　for　her：　Whoosh；　whoosh；　whoosh；　whoosh。　
　In　the　grip　of　a　trance　even　more　manding　than　her　terror；　she　opened　the　door。　She　stepped　across　the　threshold。　With　the　malevolent　animation　that　objects　possessed　only　in　dreams；　the　door　pulled　out　of　her　hand；　slammed　shut　behind　her。　
　Ahead　lay　the　lightless　lower　room　of　the　mill；　in　which　the　worn　stone　wheels　ground　against　each　other。　
　To　her　left；　barely　visible　in　the　gloom；　stairs　led　up。　Ululant　squeals　and　haunting　cries　echoed　from　above；　like　the　night　concert　performed　by　the　wildlife　in　a　jungle；　except　none　of　these　voices　was　quite　that　of　a　panther　or　monkey　or　bird　or　hyena。　Electronic　sounds　were　part　of　the　mix；　and　what　seemed　to　be　the　brittle　shrieks　of　insects　passed　through　a　stereo　amplifier。　Underlying　the　cacophony　was　a　monotonous；　throbbing；　three…note　bass　refrain　that　reverberated　in　the　stone　walls　of　the　stairwell　and；　before　she　had　climbed　halfway　to　the　second　floor；　in　Holly's　bones　as　well。　
　She　passed　a　narrow　window　on　her　left。　An　extended　series　of　lightning　bolts　crackled　across　the　vault　of　the　night；　and　at　the　foot　of　the　mill；　like　a　trick　mirror　in　a　funhouse；　the　dark　pond　turned　transparent。　Its　depths　were　revealed；　as　though　the　lightning　came　from　under　the　water；　and　Holly　saw　an　infinitely　strange　shape　resting　on　the　bottom。　She　squinted；　trying　to　get　a　better　look　at　the　object；　but　the　lightning　sputtered　out。　
　The　merest　glimpse　of　the　thing；　however；　sent　a　cold　wind　through　the　hollows　of　her　bones。　
　She　waited；　hoping　for　more　lightning；　but　the　night　remained　as　opaque　as　tar；　and　black　rain　suddenly　spattered　against　the　window。　
　Because　she　was　halfway　to　the　second　floor　of　the　mill；　more　muddy…orange　and　yellow　light　flickered　around　her　than　had　reached　her　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs。　The　window　glass；　backed　by　utter　darkness　now　and　painted　with　sufficient　luminescence　to　serve　as　a　dim　mirror；　presented　her　reflection。　
　But　the　face　she　possessed　in　this　dream　was　not　her　own。　It　belonged　to　a　woman　twenty　years　older　than　Holly；　to　whom　she　bore　no　resemblance。　
　She'd　never　before　had　a　dream　in　which　she　occupied　the　body　of　another　person。　But　now　she　understood　why　she　had　been　unable　to　turn　back　from　the　mill　when　she'd　been　outside；　and　why　she　was　unable　to　stop　herself　from　climbing　to　the　high　room　even　though；　on　one　level；　she　knew　she　was　dreaming。　Her　lack　of　control　was　not　the　usual　helplessness　that　transformed　dreams　into　nightmares；　but　the　result　of　sharing　the　body　of　a　stranger。　
　The　woman　turned　from　the　window　and　continued　upward　toward　the　unearthly　shrieks；　cries；　and　whispers　that　echoed　down　to　her　with　the　fluctuant　light。　Around　her　the　limestone　walls　pounded　with　the　tripartite　bass　beat；　as　if　the　mill　were　alive　and　had　a　massive　three…chambered　heart。　
　Stop；　turn　back；　you're　going　to　die　up　there　Holly　shouted；　but　the　woman　could　not　hear　her。　Holly　was　only　an　observer　in　her　own　dream；　not　an　active　participant；　unable　to　influence　events。　
　Step　by　step。　Higher。　
　The　iron…bound　timber　door　stood　open。　
　She　crossed　the　threshold。　Into　the　high　room。　
　The　first　thing　she　saw　was　the　boy。　He　was　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　terrified。　His　small　hands；　curled　in　fists；　were　at　his　sides。　A　three…inch…diameter　decorative　candle　stood　in　a　blue　dish　at　his　feet。　A　hardcover　book　lay　beside　the　dish；　and　she　glimpsed　the　word　〃mill〃　on　the　colorful　dustjacket。　
　Turning　to　look　at　her；　his　beautiful　blue　eyes　darkened　by　terror；　the　boy　said；　〃I'm　scared；　help　me；　the　walls；　the　walls！〃　She　realized　that　the　single　candle　was　not　producing　all　of　the　peculiar　glow　suffusing　the　room。　Other　light　glimmered　in　the　walls；　as　if　they　were　not　made　of　solid　limestone　but　of　semitransparent　and　magicallyù　radiant　quartz　in　shades　of　amber。　At　once　she　saw　that　something　was　alive　within　the　stone；　something　luminous　which　could　move　through　solid　matter　as　easily　as　a　swimmer　could　move　through　water。　
　The　wall　swelled　and　throbbed。　
　〃It's　ing；〃　the　boy　said　with　evident　fear　but　also　with　what　might　have　been　a　perverse　excitement；　〃and　nobody　can　stop　it！〃　Suddenly　it　was　born　out　of　the　air。　The　curve　of　mortared　blocks　split　like　the　spongy　membrane　of　an　insect's　egg。　And　taking　shape　from　a　core　of　foul　muck　where　limestone　should　have　been　〃No！〃　Choking　on　a　scream；　Holly　woke。　
　She　sat　up　in　bed；　something　touched　her；　and　she　wrenched　away　from　it。　
　Because　the　room　was　awash　in　morning　light；　she　saw　that　it　was　only　Jim。　
　A　dream。　Just　a　dream。　
　As　had　happened　two　nights　ago　in　the　Laguna　Hills　Motor　Inn；　however；　the　creature　of　the　dream　was　trying　to　force　its　way　into　the　waking　world。　It　was　not　ing　through　a　wall　this　time。　The　ceiling。　
　Directly　over　the　bed。　The　white…painted　drywall　was　no　longer　white　or　dry；　but　mottled　amber　and　brown；　semitransparent　and　luminous　as　the　stone　in　the　dream　had　been；　oozing　a　noxious　mucus；　bulging　as　some　shadowy　entity　struggled　to　be　born　into　the　bedroom。　
　The　dream…thing's　thunderous　three…part　heartbeat…lub…dub　DUB；　lubdub…DUB　shuddered　through　the　house。　
　Jim　rolled　off　the　bed　and　onto　his　feet。　He　had　slipped　into　his　pajama　bottoms　again　during　the　night；　just　as　Holly　had　slipped　into　the　roomy　top　which　hung　halfway　to　her　knees。　She　scrambled　to　his　side。　They　stared　up　in　horror　at　the　pulsing　birth　sac　which