Dean R. Koontz - The Psychedelic Children

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The Psychedelic Children

Dean Koontz

Whether or not one believes the scientific "evidence" that LSD-25 causes

damage to the chromosomes, one has to admit that the

\idea of a child mutated by LSD use is an intriguing one. It must be

intriguing. For I received about a dozen letters from

readers about this story, and it has been published in French and will be

included in a book of stories and author interviews to

be published later this year in Spain. What interests readers, I think and

hope, is not so much the plot, hut the style (ah, now

the traditionalists leap down my throat!). I have attempted to write a story

whose style (typography and scene-switching, and

of the psychedelic, of a mild acid trip. The end of the story fits into this

attempt, for it is much like a drug dclurealize

how thin is the fabric of what you thought was reality.. . .

HE woke even before she and lay listening to the rasping of her breath:

seafoam whispering over jagged rocks. It would get worse

before she woke. He reached to the night-stand and took a cigarette from the

nearly empty pack, lighted it, and sat up. He tried

not to think of the energies

roaring there. In the darkness, he tried to turn his mind to other things.

The view from the window was pleasant, for snow had been falling since

suppertime, embracing everything. The clouds parted now and

then to let the moon through. It lighted the night, washing onto the white

blanket and splashing back. Beyond the hoary willow

tree lay the highway, a black slash in the calcimined wonderland. It was

obvious that the heater colls in the roadbed had broken

down again, for (he drifts were edging back onto the hard surface unchecked.

Old-fashioned plows were working on

"Ashen dreams fluttering flaked while lightning men with swords

and draw fingernails over the ice ..."

He was not certain whether that was completely senseless or not. It was a mood

piece, na dnubt. He repeated it softly again. He

would have to remember it, polish it-perhaps-for

Minutes later, he looked back .to Laurie. Her face was

pale, her eyes closed and edped with wrinkles, He ran his hand through the

billows of raven hair that cascaded down her pillow.

She moaned in answer, the air rushing in and out of her chest. Harder, harder

she breathed. Deciding to gel a head start this time,

he stood and pulled on his trousers, slipped into a banian shirt.

"Frank?" she said.

"I know."

She slipped out of bed. naked, and dressed in a slieath-a red and black one

that he liked.

"I'll pull the car out of the garage," he said.

The snow-"

"They seem to have it under control. Don't worry. I'D pick you up at the front

door in five minutes."

"I love you," she said as he went through the doorway into the shadow-filled

living room. That always sent shivers through him:

that face, that voice, those words.

He took a flashlight and the gun that lay beside it from the kitchen catchal!

drawer. Stepping into the glittering night, he

stuffed the gun in a jacket pocket and sniffed the cold air. It hurt all the

way down into his Kings and woke him all the way up.

The path between house and garage was unshoveled: the snow lay a pood twelve

or fourteen inches deep. He plodded through it,

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Dean R. Koontz - The Psychedelic Children

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