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    Them
    Them
    Them
    Ebook333 pages7 hours

    Them

    By William W. Johnstone

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Jake Silver was a teenage misfit, a misunderstood genius who'd been cruelly tormented by his own sadistic father and others in his little Louisiana hometown. Jake was the perfect disciple for Them.
    They'd come from another world; disembodied begins who understood Jake's need for revenge.  .  .They would offer Jake the power to finally take it.  .  .All they wanted in return was his help in bringing others of their kind to Jake's world.
    It begins so slowly, so innocently, even Jake didn't see the danger.  .  .until it was too late to realize that he had helped unleash a devastating power in the universe--and opened a gateway for a horrific struggle between mere human beings and.  .  .
    Them
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLyrical Press
    Release dateJun 9, 2015
    ISBN9781616507862
    Them
    Author

    William W. Johnstone

    William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series THE MOUNTAIN MAN; PREACHER, THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN; MACCALLISTER; LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER; FLINTLOCK; THOSE JENSEN BOYS; THE FRONTIERSMAN; THE LEGEND OF PERLEY GATES, THE CHUCKWAGON TRAIL, FIRESTICK, SAWBONES, and WILL TANNER: DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. His thrillers include BLACK FRIDAY, TYRANNY, STAND YOUR GROUND, THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER, and TRIGGER WARNING. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or email him at dogcia2006@aol.com.  

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    • 4/5
      Them. They came from far away, another world. Not pretty to look at. Just an ugly glowing brain thing.They have a plan. A truly horrific agenda.Jake’s father beats him at the drop of a hat. Hates him, actually. His peers torment him. His teachers look on, smirks on their faces.No wonder there’s something dark, demented hidden deep inside Jake. When he stumbles upon one of Them, he finds a friend. Someone he can talk to, well, telepathically he can. Someone who cares.All it asks in return is his help to bring others to Earth. What could be the harm in that?Well, a lot. Jake may be hiding his dark desires for revenge from Them, but they are hiding something too.I felt sorry for Jake. His father hates him, as do his peers. He only has a few friends. They are in the same boat. Perhaps these aliens will be good for them. Or maybe not.An evil alien invasion and psychological horror that takes you hostage.

    Book preview

    Them - William W. Johnstone

    WHAT ARE YOU, CAG?

    What I am. What you see. I am here, with you.

    Are you implying that I am your master?

    Cag huffed and puffed and glowed brightly. No, young man. None of your kind can become my master. I am not a genie in a bottle to grant your wishes willy-nilly.

    Then ... I am confused.

    If I agree to help you, you must agree to help me.

    To do what?

    You seek revenge on those in this hamlet who have tormented you—correct?

    Yes.

    To what extent will you go to achieve that?

    Limitless.

    I thought as much.

    Your move, Cag.

    The mass glowed. You will help me bring others of my kind to this planet . . .

    HAUTALA’S HORROR–HOLD ON TO YOUR HEAD!

    MOONDEATH

     (1844-4, $3.95/$4.95)

    Cooper Falls is a small, quiet New Hampshire town, then kind you’d miss if you blinked an eye. But when darkness falls and the full moon rises, an uneasy feeling filters through the air; an unnerving foreboding that causes the skin to prickle and the body to tense.

    NIGHT STONE

     (3030-4, $4.50/$5.50)

    Their new house was a place of darkness and shadows, but with her secret doll, Beth was no longer afraid. For as she stared into the eyes of the wooden doll, she heard it call to her and felt the force of its evil power. And she knew it would tell her what she had to do.

    MOON WALKER

     (2598-X, $4.50/$5.50)

    No one in Dyer, Maine ever questioned the strange disappearances that plagued their town. And they never discussed the eerie figures seen harvesting the potato fields by day . . . the slow, lumbering hulks with expressionless features and a blood-chilling deadness behind their eyes.

    LITTLE BROTHERS

     (2276-X, $3.95/$4.95)

    It has been five years since Kip saw his mother horribly murdered by a blur of little brown things. But the little brothers are about to emerge once again from their underground lair. Only this time there will be no escape for the young boy who witnessed their last feast!

    Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the Publisher. Send cover price plus 50¢ per copy for mailing and handling to Zebra Books, Dept. 3992, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, N.Y. 10016. Residents of New York and Tennessee must include sales tax. DO NOT SEND CASH. For a free Zebra/ Pinnacle catalog please write to the above address.

    WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

    THEM

    ZEBRA BOOKS

    KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

    All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

    Table of Contents

    WHAT ARE YOU, CAG?

    HAUTALA’S HORROR–HOLD ON TO YOUR HEAD!

    Title Page

    The Beginning

    Earth

    Encounter

    One

    Two

    Three

    Four

    Five

    Six

    Seven

    Eight

    Nine

    Ten

    Eleven

    Twelve

    Thirteen

    Fourteen

    Fifteen

    Sixteen

    Seventeen

    Eighteen

    Nineteen

    Twenty

    Twenty-One

    Copyright Page

    This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons—living, or dead—events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

    The appearance of a single great genius is more than equivalent to the birth of a hundred mediocrities.

    Cesare Lombroso

    I believe our Heavenly Father invented man because He was disappointed in the monkey.

    Mark Twain

    The Beginning

    Have you chosen? the mass was asked.

    Awkwardly, the glowing mass turned on its tentacles to face the questioner. Yes. After much argument, we have chosen. And again, I must voice my objections.

    Voice was not exactly the correct word, for the glowing masses used silent communication: thought transmission.

    Your objections have been noted. Proceed.

    It is in what we know as the forty-seventh order. It is called Earth.

    Ahh! Tell me of the inhabitants.

    The huge brain paused, deep in thought. It glowed and pulsed. They have made strides in some fields of technology, medicine, some social equality. But by and large, the main body of Earth’s inhabitants are mental inferiors. It is a ... well, very strange and odd mix of races.

    You are saying that they are not as one?

    Far from it. Our scouts report many different shades of skin pigmentation. But they do all stand upright, as we did, many centuries ago.

    That is strange. They are most certainly a backward people. You feel they are good for anything other than exploration and possible colonization?

    It is far too early to tell. A few years there will tell me more.

    It is a brave thing you do, Cag. Very brave. We are all grateful.

    The other masses in the room glowed in agreement.

    The mass called Cag offered no thought thrust.

    You are much too modest, Cag, the mass told him. You have always been.

    Perhaps.

    Cag, you must bear in mind that more than half of your party are young—when compared to us—and not entirely loyal. We suspect that many are glory-seekers with no small degree of treachery in them.

    I am aware of that, sir.

    Be careful.

    I shall. Now, with your permission, I should make ready to depart.

    Cag? the projected thought held a strange lilt that the massive brain could not relate to.

    Sir?

    We shall not see each other again. I am being sent far away from our home. I shall miss you. All my good wishes go with you in this journey.

    Thank you, Cag thrust in silent reply. He turned away, not accustomed to this intimacy.

    Cag’s superior-in-title only lurched from the room. Cag slowly pulled himself away. There was much to do, for Earth was millions and millions of miles away. Galaxies separated them.

    Theirs was nearly an emotionless society. But Cag did feel a spark of excitement.

    Earth

    Jake is a sissy! Jake is a queer!

    The thin boy ignored the jeering taunts, just as he always did.

    Hey, Jake—you wanna come with us? We got some real hot magazines. They show everything. Come on. They knew he would not. Come on, Jake. They’ll make your pecker get hard and you can jack us off.

    The group all had a good laugh at that.

    The boy glanced at them and shook his head. No, thank you, he said. He kept walking.

    Jake is a sissy! Jake is a queer-boy! they shouted. They mimicked him, putting their hands on their hips and strutting about, shouting and laughing.

    Jake walked on, his eyes straight ahead, chin held high. His expression was noncommittal. But his eyes held a cold, dark, and evil fury. Two other boys joined him, cutting across the street. The ridicule began anew.

    Look. It’s the three sissies. Fat-Beast, Skinny, and Four-Eyed Jake. Sissies, all. Jake wears goggles, Fatass is stupid, and Skinny probably wears panties.

    The trio of teenagers walked on, out of jeering range. The three boys finally allowed the relief to show on their faces.

    Jake sighed. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but you both wait. Mark my words. Someday, the people in this town will pay for tormenting us. All of them.

    Just let me be there, the boys said, the words spoken so closely together they seemed to come from one mouth, one brain.

    You will be, Jake assured them. I promise you that. Oh, yes, you will be.

    The boys had just turned thirteen.

    Want to come over to my house? Dick Trenton asked. Dick had fought a thyroid condition for years, then an overactive pituitary gland. Dick was fat. Fat. Period.

    Jake shook his head. No, I better not. I want to get in a couple of hours at the piano before father comes home.

    Dick looked at Terry Franklin. Terry was very thin and frail. Both boys knew the answer to the question even before Dick asked it. Then what, Jake?

    The boy looked at his only friends. He’ll beat me, I suppose. He always does. For one reason or another.

    After supper, Jake faced his father in a small house, used as a storage shed by the Silver family. It stood several hundred feet behind the main ranch-style house. Jake looked up at the man, no fear in him. He’d been this route many times and knew what to expect.

    I hear some of the boys been callin’ you names again, Jake. Callin’ you sissy and queer and the like. Is that right, boy?

    Yes, sir. That is correct. Nothing ever changes.

    Did they invite you to . . . ah, play with their peckers?

    I believe something like that was mentioned. But I assure you, Father, I am one-hundred-percent heterosexual. If you doubt that, you should plug into my dreams some night. Jake smiled.

    You think this is funny? his father demanded.

    No sir. The smile was gone.

    Boy, don’t you care that the whole damn town thinks you’re a fag?

    I know I’m not gay. So what does it matter what others might think?

    Goddamnit, it matters to me and your mother and your sisters. Next time something like this happens, I want you to fight them. You hear me?

    I hear you, Father. But I am not physically powerful enough to engage in fistfights.

    If you’d go out for sports instead of diddlin’ around on that damn piano all the time you’d develop some muscle and some balls. It’d make a man out of you.

    Jake looked at his father as if he was gazing at an idiot. Jake stood five feet, seven inches tall and weighed about thirty pounds less than he should for that height. He could not see six feet in front of him without his glasses. "Are you serious, Father? Look at me. I’d get killed out there."

    Paul Silver stared at his son, silently agreeing with the boy. But it galled his balls to have a piano-plucking sissy for a son. And it pissed him off the way the boy smiled at him. Like Jake thought he was better, or something.

    Sudden and unexplained rage built hot in the father. He clenched his hands into fists. You think you’re pretty goddamn smart, don’t you, boy?

    I am intelligent. Yes, sir. But that is not my fault. I cannot help the way I was born.

    Well, I damn sure don’t know where you got all them smarts, the father spat the words. Never could figure it out. Sure as hell didn’t come from my side of the family.

    Jake wisely decided to let that remark die a natural death, without comment.

    Must have been on your mother’s side of the family, Paul said. Had to have been. Probably from her grandfather. Old fart always had his nose stuck in a book or else plinkin’ on a damn piano. Uppity-up old bastard always did think he was better than everybody else.

    No, he didn’t, Father, Jake thought. You just didn’t know how to talk with him, that’s all. How does a near cretin converse with a man who spoke three languages, held a Ph.D., and was a true gentleman? Unlike your side of the family, who scratch themselves and break wind in public and honk snot on the sidewalk.

    Paul Silver stared at his son. All right, boy. Let’s get down to it. What are you going to do the next time some of them boys call you a sissy?

    Jake stood in silence, looking up at the man.

    You’re gonna fight them, aren’t you, boy?

    No sir. I am not. It would be senseless.

    The father’s face darkened with anger. Drop your jeans and bend over that crate, Jake.

    The frail boy stepped out of his jeans and bent over the packing crate. His fingers found the edges and gripped them tightly; so tightly his fingers ached. He steeled himself for the onslaught. He had learned how to direct the pain away from the area being beaten. He had lots of practice at this.

    It’s not too late, Jake, Paul said. Just tell me you’re gonna fight them boys.

    If I did, Father, it would be a lie. For I have no intention of fighting them.

    The leather belt came down hard on his bare buttocks.

    That change your mind, Jake?

    No. I intend to ignore the boys because they are intellectually inferior . . .

    The leather popped against bare skin.

    And more than likely they are only repeating what they heard at home, from parents who are equally mentally deficient . . .

    The belt left another angry mark.

    So therefore it is really not the fault of the child. Although had they even average intelligence they would resist the rantings and ravings of their parents and think for themselves. But oh, Lord, what a price they would have to pay. I know.

    Jake got another whack on the butt. No, boy. You’re going to fight them.

    Sorry. But no.

    The belt ripped at him. You’re going to fight, boy.

    It would have to be against their parents. You want me to do that?

    The leather cut his skin. It’s a matter of honor, boy. I’ll teach you how to fight.

    Do I get to wear a football helmet with a cage in front when I do? I can’t see without my glasses.

    The belt struck once more. Blood started to drip from the lacerations. Don’t sass me, boy! I’m only tryin’ to drive home a point to you. I’m tryin’ to make a man out of you. Lord knows I got a ways to go.

    A rose is a rose is a rose, Father. And there is no sexual connotation therewith, I assure you.

    The belt lashed out, cutting him again, drawing a thin line of blood. Boy, you are a smart-assed little shit.

    Either way, Father, Jake said, his voice pain-filled. I lose. They whip me, or you whip me. How can I win with those odds?

    The belt tore at him. Goddamn your smart mouth!

    Jake gave up trying to reason with his father. He endured the beating.

    The whipping continued for another few minutes, until Paul’s arm grew weary. The beating left scars on Jake. Body and mind. Disgusted, Paul slipped his belt through the loops of his trousers and stalked from the small house. As in the past, Paul Silver had not drawn a whimper from his son.

    And that really pissed the man off.

    Jake straightened up from the crate, feeling the warm stickiness on his back and buttocks and legs. He was nauseous for a moment. He willed his stomach to calm. After a time, he found a torn sheet that had been discarded and he wiped the blood from him, then struggled into his jeans, wincing as the denim rubbed against the abrasions on his flesh. He walked from the house into the yard, his footsteps slow and halting.

    The boy stood in the yard for a long time, standing in the dewy grass, feeling the blood soak into his jeans. He gazed up into the starry heavens, his thoughts savage, his mind wounded more savagely than his slender body. The evil and the madness grew stronger within him. But he was very expert at hiding both. He took several deep breaths, calming himself.

    He looked at the house his parents called home. Their home, but not his. A grand house, costing lots of money. It was his father’s home, his mother’s home, his stupid sisters’ home. But not his.

    I despise you, Father, Jake whispered to the night. I hate and loathe you with a hate only a madman could understand. I will never bow to your will. Never. And I promise I will see you in your grave someday. I’ll kill you. And I’ll spit on your coffin. I swear it to all that’s holy or unholy, and I don’t care which one it is.

    Jake heard his father’s pickup truck roar out of the driveway, his father heading for a local tavern.

    Millions of miles away, in deep space, an unfamiliar twinkle dotted the night sky. The hard glimmer lasted only for a second, then was gone.

    The bloodied boy walked slowly toward the house that he could not call home.

    Encounter

    Early autumn—two years later.

    The strange object seemed to glisten in the warm rays of the sun, casting multicolored beams from its ridged surface. The beams caught the attention of the teenager and mesmerized him. Jake looked around him. No one was paying any attention to him. As usual. He walked to the object and sat down, hesitantly touching the large, ball-like mass. At first it appeared slimy and he jerked his hand from it. Then he realized it was not slimy but only cool to the touch, and he had not touched the object after all, but had touched some sort of invisible shield around it.

    Impossible, Jake said. How did I know it was a shield?

    The object pulsed with a life of its own. It glowed, beckoning Jake to come nearer, closer, closer.

    Jake scooted closer, sitting in the damp earth by the lake and inspecting the glowing, pulsing sphere. He had never seen anything like it. Or had he? He looked closer. Yes, he had seen something like it. It resembled the model of the brain in the science lab at school—or what passed for secondary education in Sandy Run. The object had ridges and valleys and veins.

    And this object was just as ugly.

    But while the model at school was just that, a model, this . . . thing was . . . alive!

    Jake scooted around on the earth, on his knees, and inspected the pulsing mass. It is a brain, he muttered. He shook his head. No, he thought, no. Somebody is playing a trick on me. Has to be. This thing can’t be real.

    Then the mass glowed and pulsed and called silently to him.

    Jake knelt in near shock. It had spoken his name. A silent call, but it was signaling to him.

    How could that be? Jake thought.

    Very easily, the mass projected the words into the boy’s brain.

    Jake jerked as if bee-stung and jumped to his feet, almost losing his glasses. He pushed them back and fought confusion mixed with fear for a moment. Then his analytical mind took control and he stood gazing down at the . . . whatever it was. And Jake intended to find out just what it was.

    I won’t harm you, the message was sent and received. I merely wish to converse with you. I have been waiting, and watching your kind for a long time.

    Jake looked around him. No one was near. The closest person was his mother, and she was several hundred yards away, sitting by the lake on the dock of the Silver camp. Jake’s little sister was by her side. Both were sunbathing. His father never came to the lodge with the family. He came out only to play poker with the boys or to bring women.

    Jake’s older sister, Judy, was doing what she always did: flirting with any male over ten who happened to be close-by. She was dressed in a bikini that would have been indecent on his six-year-old sister.

    Jake pulled his attention back to the object he had found. Or, rather, the thought came to him, it had found him. You can’t speak to me, Jake said. You’re not human. You have no mouth. At least none that I can see.

    I can speak to you, the words sprang into Jake’s brain. Although not in the manner in which you are accustomed. And I am human. But there again, human not in your form. I am able to communicate—obviously. I am speaking to you, am I not?

    I guess so, the fifteen-year-old said. Without audible words. What are you?

    A traveler. A seeker of knowledge.

    All fear had left Jake. A traveler from where?

    A chuckle formed in Jake’s brain. The mass huffed and puffed. It could laugh!

    Amazing, Jake thought.

    You would not be familiar with my homeland. the words formed in Jake’s brain. But I will try to explain sometime. But not here, not now.

    All right. Jake wondered if the mass had somehow done something to his mental processes?

    You are very quick, young man. I like that. Yes, I did enter your mind. But only to calm you, to allay any fears. Not to do harm.

    All right. What do you want from me?

    To understand you and your kind, and for you to understand me. I would also like to be your friend.

    I can see where you might not have many friends, Jake said drily.

    I will not apologize for my appearance. But you are so unfeeling, so arrogant and aloof, that you have no friends who are unsightly in their physical appearance, but who are beautiful and special in other ways? Cag knew he did, but wanted to hear it from the boy.

    Jake thought of his friend, Dick Trenton. The Beast, some kids called him. Terry Franklin, rail-thin and gawky and awkward. Yes. I have friends who are not exactly handsome.

    You are truthful. I like that. Well, then, may I be your friend?

    I . . . suppose so. But I certainly feel like a fool sitting here talking in this one-sided manner.

    That feeling will quickly diminish. I will teach you how to project your thoughts. It’s really very easy for someone of your mental capabilities.

    This will be our secret, won’t it? What I mean is, I somehow know, or sense, that you don’t want me to tell my parents or my sisters about you.

    That is correct. You are really very astute for someone of your young age.

    We will be leaving the lake area soon.

    I know.

    How do you know?

    I know many things that would, and will, amaze and baffle you. I will impart as much of my knowledge as you can absorb.

    Jake grew excited. Unlike most boys his age, Jake craved and sought out knowledge. When will you teach me?

    In time. Be patient.

    All right. How . . . ah? . . .

    You are wondering how to transport me?

    Yes.

    In the bag you have with you. The one in which you carry your lotion against the sun’s rays, your nontinted glasses in the case, the magazines with the pictures of unclothed human females, and your Winston cigarettes.

    That is awesome. I have to ask how you knew all those things.

    I will tell you. In time. But first we must prepare to leave. Pick me up and place me in the bag.

    Jake was at first hesitant about touching the glowing, pulsing mass of life. Then, suddenly, all fear vanished from his brain. He picked up the mass, feeling the tough, snakelike tentacles folded under the brain. But he asked no questions.

    Good, the sphere of life intercepted Jake’s thought waves. The truly intelligent know when to remain silent and when to ask questions.

    Jake knew that. He zipped the bag closed and asked, All right. Now what?

    Now we are ready to go to your home. Ah! But you do not think of it as your home. That is strange. But very well. Your parents’ home then. It is our first step toward knowing one another. I feel that we shall become very good friends . . . companions. We shall talk of many things and each will learn from the other.

    I sure hope so. I sure don’t have many friends. I hope you stay for a long time.

    I shall stay as long as is necessary, Jake Silver.

    Later, on the ride back to town, Jake realized that he had not asked the brain’s name. He wondered if he, it, whatever, had a name? Surely it did. And he wondered if this was all a dream? No, he concluded. It was real. And he grew more excited as the first germ of a monster plan festered in his mind. His smile was savage and evil.

    But the brain had known Jake’s name. He wondered how it had known.

    Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. It knew your name because of its awesome powers.

    Correct, Cag projected.

    We will make quite a team, Jake thought.

    One

    Sandy Run, Louisiana

    Mother! Judy squalled. Oh, my Lord! Jake has something really gross in his room.

    What were you doing in your brother’s room? Crissy Silver asked, stepping into the hall. I thought we all made an agreement about respecting each other’s privacy?

    While Judy was attempting to squirm out of answering her mother’s question, Jake glanced at the glowing mass on the dresser. Calm yourself.

    I shall, young friend, it projected.

    The pulsing, glowing mass shrank in size and became as hard as rock.

    Amazing, Jake said with a smile.

    What does Jake have in his room that is so gross? Crissy asked.

    She stood in the hall entrance looking at her daughter. But her thoughts were of Dr. Charles Massenet, and how and when they could meet again.

    Crissy Silver hated her husband. All her love was for Charles Massenet.

    "Mother, he’s got this big ugly glob that glows and expands and all kinds of other yukky stuff. It’s totally disgusting, and I won’t have it in this

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