The Frightful Ones by Richard Maples - HTML preview

The Frightful Ones

Right then he was the scaredest he'd ever been in his life. Yet even as he watched the spaceship turning within the glow of its flaring jets, he kept thinking of his father's warning:

"A boy's duty, son, is to keep his eyes and ears open and to give the alarm. We must be alerted ... or we're doomed."

It had been drummed into him ever since the landing and explosion of the rockets. He'd been very little then and it was hard to understand. But they'd explained it carefully—over and over again.

The rockets were a test. They'd been fired by beings on another planet. Some day the beings themselves would come to invade.

He'd often thought about it—especially at night in bed. And he'd dreamed about it, too. Horrible dreams. And now the dreams had come true!

Trembling, he watched the silver hulk aim its jets at the ground and begin to come down. It slipped past him with a roar. Its fires reddened the hillside. It settled with a jarring thud. Then all was silence.

Edging forward, he peered down into the glen. The dust and smoke was clearing and he could see most of the ship gleaming evilly in the twilight....

Others, he thought, must have seen or heard the landing. Soon they'd come to fight off the invaders. He'd be found, quivering with fear, and branded a coward. He must do something....

A sudden metallic clanging made him jump. A light flicked on. He sucked a deep breath. The beings!

They stood on a platform next to a trap-door. Three of them: squat, fat, and silvery-white ... like the insects he often found under flat rocks.

One held the light. The other two carried strange looking boxes. They made their way down a ladder and began to set up the boxes on the ground. This was his chance, he told himself. While they were busy, he could climb to the top of the hill and escape down the other side.

But he'd only taken three steps when he stubbed his toe on a rock, jarred it loose, and sent it pelting into the glen.

They hurried over to see what it was and he got a better look at them. Their wrinkled skin hung from their bulgy bodies in thick folds. Insect feelers waved over their humped backs. Flat expressionless faces glittered in the light of their lamp.... He shuddered.

After they'd looked at the rock, two of them started climbing in the direction from which it had rolled. The third stayed behind, beaming the light to guide the way.

Cringing against the hill, he moved along the ledge to a point where it curled past a jutting crag. On the other side of that he'd be hidden from view and could make a run for it.

But as soon as he'd made it, he gasped, horror-stricken.... The vague shadow of the ledge pinched inward till it became the gulfing black of a sheer cliff. He was trapped!

His only hope now was the coming of the town people and he listened for noises of their approach. But all he heard was the scuffle of two beings cresting the ledge.

Was it possible that he alone knew of the landing? The town people should have come by now.

As it was, a lot of lives depended on him. His father and mother, the other kids, and all the people, too. He couldn't let them down!

The beam of light, moving along the ledge ahead of the two beings, now touched the crag and spilled over to where he stood. Then, almost as if Fate had taken charge again, his eyes were drawn to the gleam of a sharp-edged rock....

He was gripping it, poised to strike, when the first of the beings came around the bend.

Two things made him hesitate. First, size. The being was tiny—fully a third shorter than himself.

Next, the way the being acted. It had stopped and raised its hand, palm out, as if trying to make friends.

It must be a trick, he told himself. Never had he heard the beings spoken of as friends—only as vicious destroyers. He took a tighter grip on the rock.

Now he noticed something that filled him with a new loathing. He'd been wrong about their appearance. The sagging skin was really a bulky suit. The big head a helmet. And back of the helmet's face he could see the actual being. He felt like vomiting.

He bashed the rock against the faceplate. It webbed with a cluster of tiny cracks. He struck again and again, until the helmet split open and he was pulping the face itself to a reddish smear....

Suddenly a roaring filled his ears. His side was laced with terrible pain. He reeled backward. Saw the second of the beings pointing at him with something long and rodlike. He flipped the rock.

It caught the being in the chest and drove it over the side. He could see it clawing the air all the way down to the glen.

There, the third being, with the light, took one look at the still form, turned and raced madly for the ship.

Watching, he was overcome with a peculiar feeling of excitement. The pain in his side had ebbed and he felt hot and feverish. He wanted to do something—to act. Without thinking, he scurried down the hill and took after the fleeing figure.

He caught it on the ladder, just below the trap-door, grabbed its leg, and jerked. It plunged to the ground and hit with a crash. The light blinked out.

Now he heard a thin grating noise. Above him the trap-door, dimly outlined by a light from a cubbyhole beyond, had begun to move. He swung himself to the platform, dove into the cubbyhole, and heard the trap clang shut behind him.

Straight ahead was a short length of ladder and overhanging it a second trap-door which had already begun to gape open. This, he guessed, was some sort of air-lock—a way of getting in and out of the ship without losing the built up pressure. It would account for the suits worn on the outside.

The trap had swung wider and he could see two beings in suits getting ready to come down. They probably were trying to help their buddies.

He got the first one as it started down the ladder with its back to him. He just threw an arm around its helmet and pulled until he heard a snap.

Then he went up the ladder to get at the second one. He hit it, watched it spin across the chamber, crunch against the bulkhead, and collapse.

Now a third one darted away from a bank of levers and tried to reach the spiral stairs, rising to the next level. It wore no suit and its thin body made him think of some horrible creeping plant. He leapt for it, clutched the skinny neck with one hand, and squeezed.

He rushed to the bank of levers, then, and pushed one after another until he heard the scraping of the lower trap-door and the hiss of escaping air.

When he climbed to the upper levels, all the beings were dead except two. He found a short piece of metal and hit them both on the head.

And now his side had begun to ache and he felt bruised and shaky and very weary. He must get back to town ... tell them what he'd done ... bring them to look....

But he should take something back with him to prove the ship was there. He noticed a bright piece of metal sunk into the bulkhead. It was covered with symbols ... a sort of nameplate.

Grasping it with the thin, flat part of two hands, he braced himself against the bulkhead with his other two hands and ripped it loose.

On the way back, he memorized the shape of the symbols. He might want to draw them sometime to show off:

Taggert Steel Company, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.