Time Snatchers by Richard Ungar Read Free Book Online

to Abbie when she says, “Good day, sir. Our mother—”
    “Hurry, the three of you get inside!” Claude orders.
    I only count two of us, but who knows, maybe he’s counting himself.
    The inside doesn’t disappoint. There’s a large sitting room with several comfortable-looking divans and armchairs arranged around a fireplace. Hanging above the fireplace is an oil painting of a man who bears more than a passing resemblance to Claude. I can also see part of the staircase that leads to the second floor.
    “They are coming!” Claude bellows.
    “Who is coming?” Abbie asks.
    “Them,” he answers, staring at the door as if someone is about to come barging through. “The tricolored beings.”
    The
tricolored beings
?
    “Orange, blue and red,” Claude continues. “But they cannot fool me. I have something that can turn them all white,” he says in a hushed voice. With that, he takes one final look at the sky, slams the door and bars it with a stout wooden staff.
    “Under the divan! And you, there,” he shouts at an empty patch of air, “get down before they see you!”
    Then he jumps up onto one of the armchairs and yells, “Let them come! I will thrash the cake eaters!”
    “Cale, we need to take control of this situation,” Abbie says.
    She’s right. Even though we still have plenty of time to complete the snatch—twenty-four minutes by my fingernail—we might never get it done if we keep letting Claude call all the shots.
    “Agreed. Remember Montevideo, 1963?” I say.
    “Perfect,” agrees Abbie. “You choose.”
    “Why don’t you be the tree this time?” I say.
    “Done,” she answers.
    Abbie crawls out from under the divan and stands up straight. She brings her palms together in a prayer position, raises her left foot and places it in the crook of her right knee so that she’s only standing on one leg. She begins in a low voice,
    “By the dismal tarns and pools
,
Where dwell the Ghouls,—

By each spot the most unholy—

In each nook most melancholy,—

There the traveler meets aghast

Sheeted memories of the past—”
    Wow. The Gothic poetry is a totally unexpected and nice touch. I’m pretty sure she picked it up from Uncle. When he was going through his Dark Lord phase, he used to spew out that kind of stuff all the time.
    More important, she has Claude’s attention now. He stares at her for a moment, turns to me and whispers, “There is something seriously wrong with your sister.”
    “This has happened once before,” I say without skipping a beat. “We must get her to higher ground immediately. That is the only way she will snap out of it.”
    Then I step behind Abbie and grab her underneath her arms. “Is there a second floor, monsieur?”
    He nods.
    “Quickly, help me get her up the stairs.” As I say this, I’m mentally crossing my fingers, praying that Claude will play ball.
    He hesitates for a moment, then bends over and bridges his arms underneath her legs. Despite all this, Abbie impressively manages to hold her pine tree pose.
    Together, we drag her to the foot of the stairs.
    “Good work, Cale. Just don’t drop me, okay?” she mindspeaks.
    “Your safety is assured, madame,” I mindspeak back, although I can really only vouch for my end. If Claude spots one of those three-colored beings, all bets are off.
    Slowly, we carry Abbie’s rigid body up the stairs. As soon as we stop on the second floor landing, Claude abruptly lets go of his end.
    “Open Hades’ gates,” Abbie cries out as her legs land with athump. But she recovers quickly, resumes her pine tree pose and starts reciting more Gothic poetry.
    There’s a scent of rotten eggs in the air. Four worktables are covered with strange-looking pieces of equipment. I spot some flasks and beakers filled with green and gold liquids. Maybe the smell is coming from one of them.
    We’re in a large room about the same size as the entire first floor of the house. The light is dim, and all of the windows except for