THE
GLISTENING
Jane
Ferman
"Why", little Tim
Trubeth cried, pulling on his mothers skirt. "Why."
She pulled
her dress out of his tiny hands, and leaned down, smiling at him with her
big mother eyes.
"What is
it now? Oh Tim, you're so cute..." she pinched his cheeks and turned back
to the stove, humming. He waddled dejectedly back to the corner by the
fridge and sat down.
The door
to the living room gaped wide, beckoning to him like a big hungry mouth.
He could see his father, dressed in coveralls, painting the room bright
white, his silloughette disappearing into the luminous mist.
He had noticed
it earlier, just before the first coat of paint had been applied. It was
like a dazzling sunny day, a whitish mist that seemed to glisten from the
wall like steam with an inner light. He had hung on mothers skirt all morning,
watching as it seemed to pulsate and grow. Voices joined it at almost regular
intervals, expanding its borders. His father paid no attention to it at
all, listening to classical music and singing the operatic parts out loud.
Now it had advanced almost to the door of the living room.
"Honey,
do you feel like roast or ham tonight?" mother called out. The music dimmed,
and his father appeared from out of the white cloud, rubbing his hands.
"I think
the roast," he said, moving over to wash his hands in the sink.
"Oh honey,
not over the food,"
" Well what
do you want me to do, track paint all over the floor?" he fumed. Seeing
Tim in the corner, he leaned down, smelling of paint.
"How's Timmy
doing, hah? hah hah?" he poked at Tim's stomach, grinning.
"Don't torment
him, Harry..."
"He likes
it! Dontcha, Tim? Huh, dontcha?" Tim started crying. He couldn't understand
why his father was so happy. The white was pushing into the kitchen, and
he could smell a horrible damp odor which crept ahead of it like a jungle
miasma.
"Now look,
you've made him cry," mother stood behind father, her hands on her hips.
She gave him a mean look and bent down, lifting Tim up buoyantly to her
shoulder.
"There there
now, its ok.." she patted him, calming his tears.
"The way
you spoil that kid, Helen, I swear he's going to need therapy."
"Harry,
don't talk like that in front of him..." she said over her shoulder as
she set Tim down in the corner.
Tim stared
at the throbbing mass of shimmering that was creeping slowly across the
floor.
"Why why,
why why why," he cried, standing unsteadily, moving away, backing up against
the wall. "Why why why..." Why couldn't they understand him? Couldn't they
see the approaching cloud? Tim felt tremors from it, tremors of fear.
Mother pushed
the roast into the oven, setting the dials. Father collapsed with a sigh
at the table, leaning back and cracking open a beer.
"It looks
like Tom's going to buy that house next door after all," he said, taking
a long cool sip, licking his lips of the foam.
"Why, that's
wonderful. Everybody seems to be moving out here."
"It'll be
strange, all right. I havent seen Tom since..." he paused, trying to remember.
"Don't they
have a daughter?" Mother said.
"Marjorie,
yeah, two years older than Tim. But he's not sure... its going to be tight.
If the escrow closes... he's calling me tommorrow."
Tim edged
along the wall, watching the white mist. His tiny hand felt the edge of
the door to the T.V. room, holding to it for support. The white continued
to advance. It walked with the legs of a thousand people, had the heads
and the mouths of millions, a singular crowd driven by sunlight. He could
feel the hunger emanating from it like radiation, and he knew it needed
to eat.
Letting
go of his secure hold, he waddled as fast as he could, his speed propelling
him on his stubby legs towards father. He reached him, grasping his big
leg with an iron grip.
"Well, whats
up with Tim? What is it?"
Tim pulled
and pulled as hard as he could, trying to drag his father out of his chair,
away from the tendrils of white that were already creeping up over the
edge of the table.
"Why, why,
why..." he cried, tugging, but father wouldn't budge.
"He's been
doing that all day," mother said, walking to the fridge.
"Tim, go
away. Daddies tired. Let him relax," father said, untwining his fingers
from the pantleg and shooing him away.
Tim turned
to see his mother vanish into the whiteness of the fridge, the hinged door
seemingly reaching out and consuming her, drawing her into the color of
oblivion.
She gasped
out in surprise, the fog swallowing her breath before it even left her
body. The glistening grew, moving faster, pulsating bright white light
as it advanced. A tiny echo of despair and pain escaped from the cloud
like a small burp.
"Wha.. Helen?"
father said, turning in wonder at the noise behind him but it was too late.
The beer-can flew off the table, oozing a venomous alcoholic foam that
quickly disappeared into the mist.
Tims eyes
grew terrified, stepping away from the table. Father tried to stumble back
as licks of white haze leapt out to engulf him, wrapping spindles of emptiness
around him, thrusting itself deep into his throat, stifling his cries,
but could not escape. The cloud attached itself to him like sticky cotton,
filling his mouth and eyes, encompassing his body.
Tim continued
to move back, herded by the encroaching fog which slowly consumed his father,
swallowing up the screams which escaped his lips. He cast frightened looks
about him, backing slowly away, seeking escape, trapped in a lonely world
with the light, by the light.
A contorted
look of anguish spread across his fathers features, and then he too was
gone. Tim shook uncontrollably, his eyes scanning the blankness, until
he saw the door to the T.V. room. His instincts lead him backwards, through
the doorway, one step ahead of the creeping fluidity which Tim could not
completely fathom.
"Why.. Whyt..
Whyte.." he named it, and its front pushed up against him. His mouth opened
to yell but only a whimper came out. Pressure bulged against him, squeezing
the breath out of him, hounding his body as if it had no weight. It pushed
hard and unrelenting, squashing him up against something cold and hard.
He felt its pain sharp in his back.
Looking
behind him, his mouth open, gasping, he could just make out the dark grey
television screen. He struggled hopelessly, spreading against it, flattened
onto its smooth glass by the white which had expanded from room to room,
which he had seen and tried to stop, to warn mommy and daddy.... It had
consumed his parents, and now he knew it was coming for him.
A soft sound
squeezed out of Tim’s chest as he struggled against the growing pressure,
as it became too much to feel. His body slackened, his muscles crushed,
there was nothing more he could do. The Glistening pulsed white with a
sudden surge and a pop, and small Timmy Trubeth disappeared into the staring
blackness of the TV screen.
Eventually
that too faded out into video blur, the static of a million nations...
and the white spread.
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