Chapter 3: The Knight
Ellis sat back in the car, taking a deep breath as he chewed the gum. He released the breath as a heavy sigh, not once taking his eyes off of the house in front of him. He'd been paid to do a job, and he was bloody well going to do it.
His editor had given him a single task – get the photo, and bring it to him. That was all.
He must've taken thousands of photos over his admittedly short career, around two hundred of which had been published in the paper. This was going to be his first front-cover photo, if all went to plan.
The bulky camera lay in his lap, loaded with the film and fully charged. His car was parked in one of the few places in the region that allowed you to see past the turrets of foliage and into the house – not very much, but enough to gather if something interesting was happening.
An anonymous tip had given his editor the news of a party taking place at the house that evening, which was a recipe for disaster. Things always happened at parties, things that passed into the bitter regret of dawn in a few hours.
All Ellis had to do get photo evidence of one of these things happening. Do that, and he'd be paid a small fortune. Better still, he could go directly to his unwilling model's front door, and ask for a bribe to not publish the image. Then, when the underhand money had been dealt, publish it anyway.
Except he was now sat outside the house, chewing his way through what was now his fourth pack of gum, staring at a few windows in a house he couldn't afford to know about.
For the first hour or thereabouts, it had felt like he was a detective in a 70s show, staking out a building and waiting to catch the suspect before chasing them backalleys when they emerged.
After then, he just felt like a prat in a car.
Sir Edward Fisher had been in and out of his paper over the years; nothing too big or scandalous, but just enough so that the average punter would recognise his face and name.
He inherited a supermarket corporation off of his father in the 70s, making him already quite wealthy to begin with. Then, he made some wise investments, mostly in films and stocks, but his fortune swelled like a balloon. The only was that nobody when the balloon would pop.
There was a feature a couple of years ago about him; three years prior, he'd bought fifty per cent of shares in a small business delivering parcels around Manchester. By the article was put to press, there was an advert two pages back for that very firm – Cairo to Kingston, Munich to Melbourne.
Ellis gave a little laugh. That advert had always stuck in his head. It should do, really – he'd come up with it.
Finally, Ellis could remember the news article, not a few months ago. It detailed the death of Sir Fisher's wife, tragically cut down before her time by Motor Neuron Disease. The doctors had been able to extend her time left on this earth – they'd found it quite early – but her days were numbered nonetheless. Sir Fisher was left a widower, with three children.
Ellis took the photos at the funeral.
He rolled down the window and tosses the silver foil from the wrapper out of the window, before opening the fifth packet. A large part of him was tempted to give it up as a bad job and go home, but an even larger part could hear the beckoning call of avarice.
The light clicked on in the window, and Ellis sat up in his seat. Showtime.
Quietly – though it wouldn't really make a difference at this range – he opened the car door and stepping onto the wet grass, before gently, and more importantly, silently, shutting the car door behind him.
The camera on a strap around his neck, he walked away from the car and towards the gap in the foliage. Standing on his tiptoes, he just about managed to see over it, and look at the house.
Something was definitely happening, but he was too far away to tell what. It was no good. He'd have to get in closer.
Now, he wasn't a very tall man, clocking in at five foot five, but that meant he was light. So light, in fact, that the nimble branches of the tree in front of him should be able to support his weight – should being the operative word.
Grasping onto the lengths of wood, he managed to haul himself into position, before planting his feet into a foothold and starting to climb. It wasn't the best thing he'd done all night, but it was going to be worth it.
After a couple of seconds, he was above the barbed wire fence running around the perimeter of the house. He started to work his way across the gap, stepping from branch to branch. The rain-drenched leaves licked him as he passed, leaving dark trails of liquid on his overcoat.
The grass sloped up to meet the fence at rather a sharp incline, meaning that the further away Ellis went from the barbed wire, the further down he'd have to drop.
Ellis peered down from the branch he was currently stood on, trying to work out the difference. It seemed to be around six feet in total, which he's fallen before and been no worse for wear. In desperation, he glanced up at the window – the door to the room was open, and Sir Fisher himself was walking through it. He didn't have long.
Taking a breath, Ellis decided. He was going to squat down, grab onto the branch and hang from it, before dropping the last few feet onto the grass. Then, he'd run down the slope to a vantage position, and gets the snaps. Perfect.
Except that isn't quite what happened.
He squatted, as he had planned. But the wood was wetter than he anticipated, and he slipped right off, before dropping onto the grass with a squelch and a thud.
Before he could stop himself, he started to roll down the slope, the rainwater splashing onto him from every which way but loose. Without thinking, he struck out his hand, which dug into the dirt within a second.
He jolted as he stopped, but he'd stopped.
Stopped…in one of the rectangles of light cast onto the grass by the open windows. Which made him perfectly visible to anyone inside the house.
Ellis yelped, scrambling out of the light and back into the darkness. Thankfully, nobody glanced out of the window and saw him, but he managed to hide just in time anyway. Underneath the cloak of a large tree, he readied the camera, raising it to his eye.
And he waited. And waited.
The light stayed on the entire time, in the silence of the night air, save for a few thrilling animals hooting and cawing in the blackness. That was strange, Ellis realised.
He must only be a few hundred feet from the house. But it was silent. Even if it was a quiet deal of party, he should be able to hear some form of music, cars coming and going, people taking a stroll or talking. But there was nothing.
Just silence.
Ellis felt a shiver run down him spine for a moment, so he tugged his overcoat a little tighter – not that it did much good, what with the constant rain and already soaked coat.
Finally, someone came to the room. Ellis perked up, sitting up a little straighter and moving the camera up, so it was just a few inches below his face. With keen, piercing eyes, he observed the window, watching every single object for action.
The door opened. Previously, it had been ajar, but now it was all the way, completely wide.
Sir Fisher walked through, dressed immaculately in a black dinner suit and finely combed toupee. He shut the door behind him, and sat down at the desk in the centre of the room.
And that was it.
Ellis sighed in frustration. If he had come all this way out, trudged through the wind, rain and mud, climbed over that bloody tree for a picture of a rich bloke sat a desk, he was going to give his editor hell in the morning.
He even contemplated quitting, right there, on the spot. Sod your photo job, I'll find another paper, so long and thanks for all the fish.
As Ellis sat there, lost in his fantasy of freedom, he failed to notice a glow passing through the wall in the room. It was bright green, shaped roughly like a beachball and the size of one too. As more and more of it passed through the wall, its spindly limbs clicking at the floor became visible, as did the four red dots inside it.
By the time Ellis managed to free himself from his fixation, the green being was completely through the wall. He noticed the figure in the corner of his eye, and managed to shake himself out of it.
Like a shot, he raised the camera to his eye.
'Now you're talking...' he muttered to himself, pressing down on the button. Snap.
He hadn't the slightest idea what it actually was, but it was definitely something, and that was enough for him. Maybe it was a new range for his stores, or a flashy toy he'd bought for one of his children?
Snap. He got another photo, as the toy approached Sir Fisher. It got a few metres closer, almost floating seamlessly through the air – snap.
Ellis felt himself grinning; he could practically feel the money pouring into his bank account.
Then the camera was lowered.
It wasn't out of respect – Ellis cared about that just as much as it seemed to care about him. Rather, it was out of shock.
A green mist seemed to flow out of Sir Fisher, floating through the air, then sucking itself into the green object, like a vacuum cleaner with cigarette smoke. The red orbs grew and fell as the mist poured into the being, like it was swallowing and digesting it.
Ellis stared at the event dumfounded, raising the camera absent-mindedly. However, he failed to notice one very important thing; he'd knocked a little switch on the side of the camera.
He placed his eye to the camera, and focused it – Fisher and the being phased in and out of zoom as he adjusted it, and then it was ready. He pressed the button; snap.
There was a blinding flash of light.
As it reflected around the house, Ellis felt himself recoiling from it, mostly due to the surprise. As he stared at the camera, the horror of what he's just done started to sink in. He'd clicked the flash on.
Fisher noticed the light in the room, and had already stood up to look through the window. His face was contorted with anger already; he was stick to death of people like this!
In reaction, Ellis clambered to his feet, and ran back over to the fence and, much more importantly, the tree. He hooked the camera strap around his neck, then leapt up into the air. Luckily, he managed to snag the lowest branch on his first go, and started to climb up the tree.
Across the grass, the being was shifting itself through the glass window, as if the panes were simply a waterfall. A moment or so later, it was through. It darted across the grass, each of its pincers digging into the ground as it passed. The red orbs started to glow, as it reached the slope.
By this point, Ellis was on the other side of the fence. Bracing himself, he leapt out of the tree and landed in a heap six feet below, amongst the mud.
Without taking a second to even notice his bruises, he started to run across the ground and towards his car. He tugged open the door and slammed it shut, twisting the keys as much as he could, the engine roaring in preparation.
'Come on, come on, come on!' he muttered in annoyance, whacking the dashboard with his palm. He didn't know exactly what the thing was, but he'd still prefer to get away from it.
It had passed through the fence, with its rear just detaching from the tree. It approached steadfast towards the car, its appendages clicking in the air as they got closer and closer towards the car, only an inch or so away from the window…
The engine purred into life, and Ellis slammed the reverse pedal down with all his strength. In a second, the car had carried Ellis a good few metres away from the creature.
Ellis changed his foot to the accelerator, sending the car flying forward. He twisted the wheel around, letting the vehicle skid around the corner, which sent chunks of mud and dirt flipping up and tossing in the air.
As the car rushed down the country path, Ellis glanced in the rearview mirror, he watched the being turn into a tiny green speck in the horizon. He let out a sigh of relief. He'd made it.
Sir Fisher watched as the being returned from the grass and passed through the window.
'Did…did you get them?' he asked, nervously attaching his hands together.
'The human escaped.' gurgled the creature, its appendages clicking more furiously and erratically. 'It has evidence of us. It must be destroyed.'
'The evidence?'
'The human.'
'Isn't that a little, er…'
'Any information regarding us must be taken with utmost sincerity.' it bubbled, passing through Sir Fisher's desk.
'I know, but the photos can easily be dealt with-'
'It has taken place in its memory. The memory must be destroyed.'
'I see.' Sir Fisher murmured, turning away from the creature. 'I suppose, we could…find a way to wipe his memory, or something like that…'
'The memory wipe is compulsory.' the creature warbled. 'The elimination is for pleasure.'
'Well, I think I got a good look at him. I'll phone the police in the morning. When they find him, you can have at him!'
'Morning. That is…eight hours, thirty-two minutes and four seconds away. Enough time to spread information about us.'
'A…alright, I'll call them now…'
'Expected. It interrupted the feed session, a vital component of our species. See that it does not happen again.'
'I, I will…' Sir Fisher murmured, walking towards the phone. He picked it up and dialled 999.
As he raised the speaker to his ear, he watched as the creature passed through the wall and exited the room.
'Police.'
Suddenly, Sir Fisher dropped the phone, clutching his hands to his temple. Searing pain, white hot like a stream of boiling water running through his mind. He began to moan, unable to do anything else under the strain of the agony.
Flashes of an image started to buzz in his mind…no, no, images, several of them. It was a house, semi-detached, the sort of house he used to live in, before he inherited his father's bounty. Most likely on a council estate, but not one he'd ever seen in his life.
The speaker clanged against the table, a crackled voice sounding through it:
'Sir? Sir? Sir Fisher? Are you alright, sir?'
Sir Fisher drew in a great, gasping breath, then stood upright. The pain vanished, as quickly as it had come. Now, the searing heat was fading into non-existence, like waking up from a dream.
Gathering his senses, he picked up the phone.
'Yes, sorry about that. Sir Fisher here, I'd like to report a crime…'
Two and a half miles away, a battered, run down Vauxhall sped down the country lane, easily doing 70 miles per hour, which was probably about double what it was built to do.
Inside, its driver, Ellis, was contemplating slowing down, if only in order to avoid the attention of the police.
Because, if he was honest, he was terrified.
Somehow, that thing had managed to pass through the window, fence and tree, then come close to catching Ellis. Of course, it was a possibility that he was getting worked up over what was essentially a somewhat clever optical illusion.
The window might've been a fake, a projection of some sort, but that tree was definitely solid, that was for certain. He didn't even know what the thing was – it could've just been a toy, or a bizarre, avant-garde security measure.
Ellis sighed. It didn't matter. He had the camera, and was well on his way home now. In around an hour, the photos would be developing, he'd be enjoying a nice cup of tea, then on the phone with his editor.
He wasn't quite sure who would be interested the pictures, per se – perhaps the science crowd, or the conspiracy nuts? Either one, they'd be desperate to work out what it was, what it all meant for society.
Without taking his eyes off of the quickly-passing road, he patted the camera on the passenger seat beside him, letting out a quivering breath of relief. He'd made it.
As he let out a celebratory whoop, the car zoomed down the path, moving on into the night.