THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Six - Part Eight

He wasn’t human.

It wasn’t something that a casual viewer would see – someone passing him in the street – but now that Clare was observing him steadily, consciously absorbing details for later analysis, she could tell. It was still hard to qualify exactly what told her: his otherworldly presence; the intensity of his stare and voice, yes; but there was more to it than that: imperfections; mistakes in the way his face and body and clothes were constructed; nothing she could put her finger on.

Nobody said anything more. They were all shaken. Travis looked like he’d been punched hard in the gut, shoulders dropping down and forward, hands hanging loose, face pinched. Clare didn’t know what to do or what to say. There was nothing she could say.

Something brushed against her leg and at the same moment she heard a plaintive whine as the dog squeezed through the gap between her and Mike. He moved into the ring and the man watched him – they all did – as he pawed the rug, one moment raising and lowering his head in apparent fear or submission, the next emitting a long gargling growl and baring his teeth. Then he let out a gruff bark. And another.

The man raised his arm toward the dog, pointing a finger, and Clare tensed, almost expecting a lightning bolt to jump forth and incinerate the creature, but Ralph cowered and dropped down to the floor, paws in front, muzzle resting on them.

“Wait a minute,” said Mike. “I thought the dog was outside with—”

Rosalie squeezed through the same hole the dog had and suddenly she was in there with them. The man was looking steadily at her as though he found her to be some new and interesting phenomenon; as though he’d never seen a child before. At her feet, Ralph continued to let out brief occasional whines, his seated body like an arrow pointed to the intruder.

Rosalie stepped forward. “Hello.”

“Hello Rosalie,” replied the man.

“What’s your name?” she asked, moving closer.

The man continued to look at her, smiling for the first time, but he said nothing. All of them, even Mike, looked on, transfixed, as she got closer to him. Only two steps away she lifted her hand as though she might touch him. The man lifted his to meet hers.

“No!” Mike darted forward and snatched her off the floor, swinging her back and into his arms. He held her tight against his chest and glared across hatefully. “You stay the fuck away from her!”

The man looked on him levelly. “Do you not believe that I am your God? That she is not safe in my arms?”

“I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t getting near my daughter.”

The man tilted his head. “And yet you gave her away to strangers while you wallowed in your own bodily filth, living like the decadents in Gomorrah.”

Clare watched Mike’s reaction, gauging him as he had gauged her earlier. “Screw you,” he said. “You keep away from her.”

“Do the rest of you not believe?” said the man.

Nobody spoke. What could they say? What did Clare think really? Did she even know? Despite all the weirdness, could she be sure this wasn’t just some crazy person who had broken into her home? Her gut and what she had seen so far were telling her that he was something completely separate from them... but God? The God? It couldn’t be.

 “Give me a break,” said Mike. “This is bullshit. You’re just a man.”

“Mike, be careful,” she whispered.

“Or what?” he snarled. “Let’s kick this guy out. What’s he going to do to stop us?”

“No. Just wait.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are all present,” said the man, casting his gaze around the room. “Each of you who must be here.” He looked between the heads of the people at the front, directly at Joey who stood still, glued to the wall. “And do not think because you remain quiet that I am not here for you as well.”

Joey’s eyes were wide and white. “Is this because... Is this because I broke her back?”

Clare gaped at him. Travis murmured “Holy shit.”

“Yes,” said the man. “That is part of the reason that I am here.”

“Please,” said Joey. “Don’t hurt me.”

Again the man smiled but there was no happiness to it, just a cold tightening of facial muscles. “You do not need to fear me on that account.”

For several more moments there was an impasse, then Clare said, “What do you want with us?”

The man turned his gaze on her. “I would ask something of you,” he said. “Something of great import. Of far reaching significance.”

Clare licked her lips and swallowed. Beside her, Mike said, “What?”

“In order to complete the task you must believe that I am your God,” said the man.

There was another awful pause.

“But you do not believe.”

Clare made eye contact with Mike, then beyond him, Selina. Was there doubt in her eyes too? Clare didn’t know what she thought. It was too big. It was all too big and too sudden. How could she come to terms with it in such a short span as this? But she sensed danger; terrible danger if they went against what this creature was saying, whoever he was. She stepped forward. “I believe you,” she said.

The man smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Do you seek to lie to your God?”

“No,” said Clare quickly. “I want— I want to appease you.”

“You would do well to tread carefully around me.”

“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me.”

“Do you believe then?”

Clare felt totally alone; the house, the others, Boscombe and the world: all gone. There was just her and this terrifying man. “I want to believe. But... You have to understand that it’s hard.”

Another long pause as the man regarded them slowly one by one. Then abruptly he spoke again. “I will return in twenty four hours to tell you your purpose. When I return you will recognise me for what I am for by then you will have witnessed my power.”

 “What power?” asked Clare nervously.

“Before the twenty four hours have passed you will learn of a disaster on such a catastrophic scale that you will know that only your God could have been responsible.”

“What? Wait a minute...”

“Twenty four hours,” he said, looking directly into Clare’s face, “and my identity will be undeniable to you all.”