There was a shatter of glass—then the irresistible rush of air as the cabin decompressed. Magazines, plastic cups, and table napkins whirled wildly. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, dangling and twisting like suspended serpents.
The force of the implosion sucked Valentine halfway through the window and the fat man grabbed his legs, hanging on for dear life. Icy wind ripped across his face, filling his nostrils with frozen fire and half blinding him with its fury.
In the aisle behind them the senior stewardess staggered and fell; plates and silverware poured forth from the galley shelves. Amidst screams and shouts drowned by the sound of the wind, a thump echoed as the overhead projecter module dropped down from the ceiling and the inflight movie started up on its own accord. As the movie screen swung back and forth in the gusting wind, the studio logo flickered on.
Valentine saw none of this. Still protruding halfway from the window, thrashing about against the horrendous wind-blast as the fat man frantically clutched his legs, he stared out at the creature on the wing.
Now it turned, grinning again.
It’s coming after me!
Summoning his last ounce of strength, Valentine raised the hand gun still clutched between his fingers and fired.
The bullet found its mark in the creature’s stomach. Casually, the thing reached down and plucked the missile off his hide the way one would remove some annoying insect. Raising the bullet to his gaping mouth, he swallowed it.
Then he advanced along the wing toward Valentine.
Valentine squeezed the trigger again . . . and again . . .
The creature’s claws rose with blinding speed, picking the bullets out of the air like flies, gulping them down as he moved nearer.
Ultimately, Valentine’s finger kept pressing the trigger, even after he realized the bullets were spent.
Now, as he looked up, the grinning face loomed before him. One claw darted out and Valentine felt the cruel talons close around his wrist. Then it released its grip and grabbed the gun.
Raising the weapon to its mouth the creature began to chomp on the barrel, chewing it up bit by bit like a child eating a candy bar.
At that moment a bright light burst from somewhere below, flaring up into its face.
The creature glanced down quickly and Valentine followed its gaze.
Below him he saw the landing lights of the airport-runway beacons blazing through the clear air beneath the cloudbank.
The silvery thing turned back again, frowning for a moment, its arms extended. Valentine, wedged in the window, waited his final fate.
Then, as the lights grew stronger, the monstrosity glanced at him once more. For a moment, Valentine could have sworn it winked at him, its outstretched claw waggling in a playful gesture.
Playful? Had it merely been playing all along? Now it turned and Valentine watched as the humplike mass between its shoulder blades suddenly extended and expanded into webbed wings. The creature moved back, its wings spreading wide, then plunged forward and soared off into the night.
That was when Valentine fainted.
He was still unconscious when the wheels of the aircraft touched the glistening tarmac. He didn’t see the passengers or hear their excited interchange as they stumbled down the steps and straggled across to the terminal gates. He wasn’t aware of being pulled back to safety in the cabin as the plane made its descent, nor did he awaken when the ambulance crew arrived to bring him out of the cabin and wheel him into the waiting ambulance below.
He never saw the fully developed Polaroid he’d taken and perhaps that was just as well.
It was the senior stewardess who picked it up eventually from the debris-strewn cabin floor and stared down at the image—the image of Valentine. He had taken a photo of his own reflection.
Nor did Valentine see the mangled, smoking engines as the ground crew clustered around them. One of the mechanics approached with a scowl. “Hey—what gives?”
Then he and the others stepped back hastily. There was a shrill grating sound as the inboard pod gave way, and the engine dropped onto the tarmac with a crash.
The scowling mechanic shook his head, then raised his eyes to ask the final question: “What happened up there?”
There was no answer. The skies above were clear in the gathering twilight.
Or were they . . .?
Table of Contents
Back Cover
Preview
Books
Titlepage
Copyright
TWILIGHT ZONE: THE MOVIE
SEGMENT 1
SEGMENT 2
SEGMENT 3
SEGMENT 4
Robert Bloch, Twilight Zone
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