but it was too late to worry about that. he had to get out—away from them. out of pikeville, beyond the crack of darkness, the rent between their world and his.

"ed!" janet loyce backed away nervously. "what is it? what—"

ed loyce slammed the door behind him and came into the living room. "pull down the shades. quick."

janet moved toward the window. "but—"

"do as i say. who else is here besides you?"

"nobody. just the twins. they're upstairs in their room. what's happened? you look so strange. why are you home?"

ed locked the front door. he prowled around the house, into the kitchen. from the drawer under the sink he slid out the big butcher knife and ran his finger along it. sharp. plenty sharp. he returned to the living room.

"listen to me," he said. "i don't have much time. they know i escaped and they'll be looking for me."

"escaped?" janet's face twisted with bewilderment and fear. "who?"

"the town has been taken over. they're in control. i've got it pretty well figured out. they started at the top, at the city hall and police department. what they did with the real humans they—"

"what are you talking about?"

"we've been invaded. from some other universe, some other dimension. they're insects. mimicry. and more. power to control minds. your mind."

"my mind?"

"their entrance is here, in pikeville. they've taken over all of you. the whole town—except me. we're up against an incredibly powerful enemy, but they have their limitations. that's our hope. they're limited! they can make mistakes!"

janet shook her head. "i don't understand, ed. you must be insane."

"insane? no. just lucky. if i hadn't been down in the basement i'd be like all the rest of you." loyce peered out the window. "but i can't stand here talking. get your coat."

"my coat?"

"we're getting out of here. out of pikeville. we've got to get help. fight this thing. they can be beaten. they're not infallible. it's going to be close—but we may make it if we hurry. come on!" he grabbed her arm roughly. "get your coat and call the twins. we're all leaving. don't stop to pack. there's no time for that."

white-faced, his wife moved toward the closet and got down her coat. "where are we going?"

ed pulled open the desk drawer and spilled the contents out onto the floor. he grabbed up a road map and spread it open. "they'll have the highway covered, of course. but there's a back road. to oak grove. i got onto it once. it's practically abandoned. maybe they'll forget about it."

"the old ranch road? good lord—it's completely closed. nobody's supposed to drive over it."

"i know." ed thrust the map grimly into his coat. "that's our best chance. now call down the twins and let's get going. your car is full of gas, isn't it?"

janet was dazed.

"the chevy? i had it filled up yesterday afternoon." janet moved toward the stairs. "ed, i—"

"call the twins!" ed unlocked the front door and peered out. nothing stirred. no sign of life. all right so far.

"come on downstairs," janet called in a wavering voice. "we're—going out for awhile."

"now?" tommy's voice came.

"hurry up," ed barked. "get down here, both of you."

tommy appeared at the top of the stairs. "i was doing my home work. we're starting fractions. miss parker says if we don't get this done—"

"you can forget about fractions." ed grabbed his son as he came down the stairs and propelled him toward the door. "where's jim?"

"he's coming."

jim started slowly down the stairs. "what's up, dad?"

"we're going for a ride."

"a ride? where?"

ed turned to janet. "we'll leave the lights on. and the tv set. go turn it on." he pushed her toward the set. "so they'll think we're still—"

he heard the buzz. and dropped instantly, the long butcher knife out. sickened, he saw it coming down the stairs at him, wings a blur of motion as it aimed itself. it still bore a vague resemblance to jimmy. it was small, a baby one. a brief glimpse—the thing hurtling at him, cold, multi-lensed inhuman eyes. wings, body still clothed in yellow t-shirt and jeans, the mimic outline still stamped on it. a strange half-turn of its body as it reached him. what was it doing?

a stinger.

loyce stabbed wildly at it. it retreated, buzzing frantically. loyce rolled and crawled toward the door. tommy and janet stood still as statues, faces blank. watching without expression. loyce stabbed again. this time the knife connected. the thing shrieked and faltered. it bounced against the wall and fluttered down.

something lapped through his mind. a wall of force, energy, an alien mind probing into him. he was suddenly paralyzed. the mind entered his own, touched against him briefly, shockingly. an utterly alien presence, settling over him—and then it flickered out as the thing collapsed in a broken heap on the rug.

it was dead. he turned it over with his foot. it was an insect, a fly of some kind. yellow t-shirt, jeans. his son jimmy.... he closed his mind tight. it was too late to think about that. savagely he scooped up his knife and headed toward the door. janet and tommy stood stone-still, neither of them moving.

the car was out. he'd never get through. they'd be waiting for him. it was ten miles on foot. ten long miles over rough ground, gulleys and open fields and hills of uncut forest. he'd have to go alone.

loyce opened the door. for a brief second he looked back at his wife and son. then he slammed the door behind him and raced down the porch steps.

a moment later he was on his way, hurrying swiftly through the darkness toward the edge of town.

the early morning sunlight was blinding. loyce halted, gasping for breath, swaying back and forth. sweat ran down in his eyes. his clothing was torn, shredded by the brush and thorns through which he had crawled. ten miles—on his hands and knees. crawling, creeping through the night. his shoes were mud-caked. he was scratched and limping, utterly exhausted.

but ahead of him lay oak grove.

he took a deep breath and started down the hill. twice he stumbled and fell, picking himself up and trudging on. his ears rang. everything receded and wavered. but he was there. he had got out, away from pikeville.

a farmer in a field gaped at him. from a house a young woman watched in wonder. loyce reached the road and turned onto it. ahead of him was a gasoline station and a drive-in. a couple of trucks, some chickens pecking in the dirt, a dog tied with a string.

the white-clad attendant watched suspiciously as he dragged himself up to the station. "thank god." he caught hold of the wall. "i didn't think i was going to make it. they followed me most of the way. i could hear them buzzing. buzzing and flitting around behind me."

"what happened?" the attendant demanded. "you in a wreck? a hold-up?"

loyce shook his head wearily. "they have the whole town. the city hall and the police station. they hung a man from the lamppost. that was the first thing i saw. they've got all the roads blocked. i saw them hovering over the cars coming in. about four this morning i got beyond them. i knew it right away. i could feel them leave. and then the sun came up."

the attendant licked his lip nervously. "you're out of your head. i better get a doctor."

"get me into oak grove," loyce gasped. he sank down on the gravel. "we've got to get started—cleaning them out. got to get started right away."

they kept a tape recorder going all the time he talked. when he had finished the commissioner snapped off the recorder and got to his feet. he stood for a moment, deep in thought. finally he got out his cigarettes and lit up slowly, a frown on his beefy face.

"you don't believe me," loyce said.

the commissioner offered him a cigarette. loyce pushed it impatiently away. "suit yourself." the commissioner moved over to the window and stood for a time looking out at the town of oak grove. "i believe you," he said abruptly.

loyce sagged. "thank god."

"so you got away." the commissioner shook his head. "you were down in your cellar instead of at work. a freak chance. one in a million."

loyce sipped some of the black coffee they had brought him. "i have a theory," he murmured.

"what is it?"

"about them. who they are. they take over one area at a time. starting at the top—the highest level of authority. working down from there in a widening circle. when they're firmly in control they go on to the next town. they spread, slowly, very gradually. i think it's been going on for a long time."

"a long time?"

"thousands of years. i don't think it's new."

"why do you say that?"

"when i was a kid.... a picture they showed us in bible league. a religious picture—an old print. the enemy gods, defeated by jehovah. moloch, beelzebub, moab, baalin, ashtaroth—"

"so?"

"they were all represented by figures." loyce looked up at the commissioner. "beelzebub was represented as—a giant fly."

the commissioner grunted. "an old struggle."

"they've been defeated. the bible is an account of their defeats. they make gains—but finally they're defeated."

"why defeated?"

"they can't get everyone. they didn't get me. and they never got the hebrews. the hebrews carried the message to the whole world. the realization of the danger. the two men on the bus. i think they understood. had escaped, like i did." he clenched his fists. "i killed one of them. i made a mistake. i was afraid to take a chance."

the commissioner nodded. "yes, they undoubtedly had escaped, as you did. freak accidents. but the rest of the town was firmly in control." he turned from the window. "well, mr. loyce. you seem to have figured everything out."

"not everything. the hanging man. the dead man hanging from the lamppost. i don't understand that. why? why did they deliberately hang him there?"

"that would seem simple." the commissioner smiled faintly. "bait."

loyce stiffened. his heart stopped beating. "bait? what do you mean?"

"to draw you out. make you declare yourself. so they'd know who was under control—and who had escaped."

loyce recoiled with horror. "then they expected failures! they anticipated—" he broke off. "they were ready with a trap."

"and you showed yourself. you reacted. you made yourself known." the commissioner abruptly moved toward the door. "come along, loyce. there's a lot to do. we must get moving. there's no time to waste."

loyce started slowly to his feet, numbed. "and the man. who was the man? i never saw him before. he wasn't a local man. he was a stranger. all muddy and dirty, his face cut, slashed—"

there was a strange look on the commissioner's face as he answered. "maybe," he said softly, "you'll understand that, too. come along with me, mr. loyce." he held the door open, his eyes gleaming. loyce caught a glimpse of the street in front of the police station. policemen, a platform of some sort. a telephone pole—and a rope! "right this way," the commissioner said, smiling coldly.

as the sun set, the vice-president of the oak grove merchants' bank came up out of the vault, threw the heavy time locks, put on his hat and coat, and hurried outside onto the sidewalk. only a few people were there, hurrying home to dinner.

"good night," the guard said, locking the door after him.

"good night," clarence mason murmured. he started along the street toward his car. he was tired. he had been working all day down in the vault, examining the lay-out of the safety deposit boxes to see if there was room for another tier. he was glad to be finished.

at the corner he halted. the street lights had not yet come on. the street was dim. everything was vague. he looked around—and froze.

from the telephone pole in front of the police station, something large and shapeless hung. it moved a little with the wind.

what the hell was it?

mason approached it warily. he wanted to get home. he was tired and hungry. he thought of his wife, his kids, a hot meal on the dinner table. but there was something about the dark bundle, something ominous and ugly. the light was bad; he couldn't tell what it was. yet it drew him on, made him move closer for a better look. the shapeless thing made him uneasy. he was frightened by it. frightened—and fascinated.

and the strange part was that nobody else seemed to notice it.

the end