Fear that man by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online Page A

to sleep. The wine had been drunk, the verses spoken, and the darkness crept over them. For a time, at least…
         A dream. A dream of an empty tomb and rotting bodies. Except for one single body which stood and walked for the doorway. But there were demons that sprang from nowhere, grasping the body and flinging it down among the corpses, and commanded it to stay dead. Always and everywhere there were slavering, keening demons…
        Then Hurkos lost the thread of the alien thoughts and the trio woke as one. They were all perspiring. The dim glow of the lamps seemed suddenly too dim for the circumstances.
        “Not mine again?” Sam asked.
        “Relayed from whatever implanted your hypnotic commands. Very far away.”
        But the odor of spoiled flesh had carried over into reality.
        “Well,” Gnossos said, grumbling and standing, “I can’t sleep now.”
        They agreed.
        “So let’s go sightseeing again. Maybe the next command will be coming along soon now anyway.”
        “Where to?” Hurkos asked. “Is it far? My feet still hurt.”
        “Not far,” Gnossos assured them. But they knew a short step to this giant was two steps to them and a little stroll might turn into an arch-breaking trek. “There are a number of these places we could go. This one’s just around the corner. It’s called the Inferno .”

----

    VIII
        
        The Inferno was a bar. But more than a bar, a total experience. Everything in the place was geared to some sensory stimulation. Ebony and silver clouds drifted through the rooms and half-rooms, sifted in and out of alcoves and cubbyholes, some just for effect, some carrying scantily dressed performers. Floor panels popped open unexpectedly like the tops of jack-in-the-boxes, spewing out clowns in imagi-color costumes that were purple, yellow, red, green, or white, according to one’s mood. The shimmering fabrics manifested themselves in many ways, shifting color to match your feelings, even as they cheered you up. The floor revolved at a different speed than the walls and in a different direction than the ceiling. Strobe lights flashed. Smello-symphonies flushed through the room, twisting the patrons’ senses to moments of synasthesia where music became an olfactory sensation of indescribable delectability. The erotic cygian perfumes seeped through the air in blue mists, enflaming nostrils and tying the mass of total experience into a congealed whole that throbbed with each wave of the odoriferous substance.
        They took a table in the corner, one almost hidden by shadows. The robotender in the center of the table delivered their drinks once Gnossos had compiled an order, punched it out on the silver keys, and deposited the proper amount of coins. They sat sipping the cool liquids and watching the two dozen or so characters in the bar.
        “What’s so special about this place?” Sam asked, almost choking on a heavy breath of the perfume. “It isn’t unlike the Grande Hotel Lounge or a dozen other places we’ve been, for that matter.”
        “Look at the people,” Gnossos said enigmatically.
        Sam did. He could see no way in which they differed from empire norm in dress or habit. He said so.
        “Look more closely,” the poet urged. “Look at their faces.”
        Sam swung his gaze from the ruddy face to the more distant visages. And it was in their faces. The longer he watched, the clearer it became to the eye. But what, exactly, was it? He searched his mind, looking for a comparison, a simile that would make the vision into words. He was just about to give up when the proper words struck him. The look in these faces was much like the look in the faces of the scooterbeasts when they were penned in zoos. In a natural state, the scooterbeast moved as quickly as lightning across a storm sky. They were spinning, careening blurs to the eye. Penned, they pressed their faces to the glass walls and looked mournfully