Tick Tock Read Free

pirates who would have raped the women and killed everyone if they had been able to get aboard, Tommy had been terrified but had never been so fearful that his teeth had rattled like castanets.
    They were chattering now. He clenched his teeth until his jaw muscles throbbed, and that stopped the chattering. But as soon as he relaxed, it started again.
    The coolness of the November evening hadn't yet leached into the Corvette. The chill that gripped him was curiously internal, but he switched on the heater anyway.
    As another series of icy tremors shook him, he remembered the peculiar moment earlier in the parking lot at the car dealership: the flitting shadow with no cloud or bird that could have cast it, the deep coldness like a wind that stirred nothing else in the day except him.
    He glanced away from the road ahead, up at the deep sky, as if he might glimpse some pale shape passing through the darkness above.
    What pale shape, for God's sake?
    “You're spooking me, Tommy boy,” he said. Then he laughed drily. “And now you're even talking to yourself.”
    Of course, nothing sinister was shadowing him in the night sky above.
    He had always been too imaginative for his own good, which was why writing fiction came so naturally to him. Maybe he'd been born with a strong tendency to fantasize—or maybe his imagination had been encouraged to grow by the seemingly bottomless fund of folktales with which his mother had entertained him and soothed him to sleep when he had been a little boy during the war, back in the days when the communists had fought so fiercely to rule Vietnam, the fabled Land of Seagull and Dragon. When the warm humid nights in Southeast Asia had rattled with gunfire and reverberated with the distant boom of mortars and bombs, he'd seldom been afraid, because her gentle voice enraptured him with stories of spirits and gods and ghosts.
    Now, lowering his gaze from the sky to the highway, Tommy Phan thought of the tale of Le Loi, the fisherman who cast his nets into the sea and came up with a magical sword rather like King Arthur's shining Excalibur. He recalled “The Raven's Magic Gem,” as well, and “The Search for the Land of Bliss,” and “The Supernatural Crossbow,” in which poor Princess My Chau betrayed her worthy father out of love for her sweet husband and paid a terrible price, and the “Da-Trang Crabs,” and “The Child of Death,” and dozens more.
    Usually, when something reminded him of one of the legends that he had learned from his mother, he could not help but smile, and a happy peace settled over him, as though she herself had just then appeared and embraced him. This time, however, those tales had no consoling effect. He remained deeply uneasy, and he was still chilled in spite of the flood of warm air from the car heater.
    Odd.

    He switched on the radio, hoping that some vintage rock-'n'-roll would brighten his mood. He must have nudged the selector off the station to which he had been listening earlier, because now there was nothing to be heard but a soft susurration, not ordinary static, but like distant water tumbling in considerable volume over a sloping palisade of rocks.
    Briefly glancing away from the road, Tommy pressed a selector button. At once, the numbers changed on the digital read-out, but no music came forth, just the sound of water, gushing and tumbling, growling yet whispery.
    He pressed another button. The numbers on the display changed, but the sound did not.
    He tried a third button, without success.
    “Oh, wonderful. Terrific.”
    He had owned the car only a few hours, and already the radio was broken.
    Cursing under his breath, he fiddled with the controls as he drove, hoping to find the Beach Boys, Roy Orbison, Sam Cooke, the Isley Brothers, or even someone contemporary like Julianna Hatfield or maybe Hootie and the Blowfish. Hell, he'd settle for a rousing polka.
    From one end of the radio band to the other, on both AM and FM, the watery noise had washed away all music,