Terror Scribes

by Adam Lowe

  There was a sound, but nothing that made sense. Digs tsssst . . . Duss sssst . . . toes ettt.

  Alison rewound the tape, but it still sounded like gibberish.

  Dug . . . dug . . . toes.

  Frustrated, Alison just scribbled away in her notebook.

  Diggles toes—Duggles toes . . . digs toes et . . . Dugs less . . .

  “Douglas!”

  Kelly nearly jumped out of her seat.

  “Alison!!!”

  “Douglas. The killer’s name was Douglas.”

  She rewound the tape and played it back.

  Yes, they could have been saying Douglas (they could have been telling them to dig less and mind their own blooming business, too, but Alison now had the bit between her teeth). She wrote ‘Douglas???’ in her book and switched the tape back on.

  “Let’s hear this thing to the end,” she said.

  An hour later, Alison had made the following notes in her book.

  ‘Cry Baby Creek—

  7 (?) Victims—

  Killer’s name . . . Douglas --- (Thomas? Thomson? Thoms?)’

  It wasn’t much, but Alison considered it a good night’s work. “We can ask around tomorrow,” she said. “See if some of the older folk remember a Douglas T.”

  Kelly was, to say the least, a little sceptical. “A bit of a long shot after all this time, isn’t it?”

  Alison smiled, and patted her arm. “We live in hope, kiddo. We live in hope”

  That evening, they were alone in the hostel with the proprietor; a large and rather weathered lady called Elaine. Outside, the wind howled, and so they pulled their chairs up close to a roaring log fire. After that night’s events, Kelly could well imagine that they were surrounded by a hoard of screaming banshees. “What a night,” she said.

  “Well, we’re in the right place,” Alison replied, resting her head back against the chair and closing her eyes.

  Kelly looked into the fire.

  If asked to describe this location, she would have said it was sleepy; and yet—sparsely populated as it was—a serial killer had been at large for years. How on earth had his crimes gone undetected for so long? More to the point, was he still alive and in the vicinity? Kelly couldn’t see herself getting a lot of sleep on that night.

  “Who do you think this Douglas was?” she finally asked.

  “Oh, some weird loner; who knows? He probably kept himself to himself. Or lived with his mother, they usually do.”

  “And no one knew what he was doing?”

  Alison just shrugged.

  “This is a place that people pass through. Most of the victims were doing just that, Kell. They could have vanished anywhere; and if those remains hadn’t floated to the surface, those murders might never have been discovered. I suppose there is a chance he’s still alive. Mind you, I hope not.”

  Kelly was thinking the same thing. If he was, and if he caught wind of the fact that two young girls were investigating the murders . . .

  Kelly Barbiero, you should be ashamed of yourself. What would your mother say?

  Her mother, a police officer, would have told her to keep out of it and leave this kind of thing to the professionals; but her mother was on the other side of the world.

  So fine, see this thing through.

  It was, she supposed, as good a way as any to pass her last few days in Australia; and she was as liable as anyone to get caught up in the thrill of a chase.

  Her chores finished, Elaine came over to join them.

  “So what have you two been up to,” she asked, in that unashamedly nosy way that Australian’s have.

  “Well, you know,” Alison replied. “Trying to find out a little local history.”

  “Whizz. You know about the murders?”

  “Sure do.”

  Elaine wiped her hands on a towel and threw another log on the fire.

  “All word of mouth now, of course. Only real old folk actually remember that far back.” And as she had done many times before, Elaine told the story; and was quite engaging, even if she did have a tendency to exaggerate.

  “It all happened years before I was born,” she concluded. “but it gives folks around here something to talk about.”

  “And what about the older folks?” Kelly asked. “The one’s who’d remember?”

  “Ain’t too many of them, now. There’s old Douglas, of course.”

  Alison had to strongly resist the urge to jump out of her seat and shout who?

  Douglas!

  “Don’t think I’ve met him,” she said, in as calm a voice as she could manage.

  “Old guy; lives in a shack about a mile from here. Douglas Toast.”

  “Toast?”

  “That’s not his real name, of course; it’s what they call him.”

  Alison and Kelly exchanged glances.

  “Why would they do that?” Kelly asked.

  Elaine laughed and clapped her hands, making Alison jump. “Why indeed. Something that happened years ago; and folks still talk about it.”

  Alison nodded in encouragement.

  “Douglas was the town lush, always in his cups. They say that’s what caused it to happen. He was in a bar one day, really knocking back the booze, when suddenly he jumps to his feet, knocking over the table and screaming blue murder. Douglas, you stop yer messin’ the barman says; but old Douglas, he keeps hopping around and cussin’. Next thing anyone knows, his strides catch fire—or, rather, his legs did. Spontaneous Human Combustion; that’s what the Doc says, never seen anything like it. Well, old Douglas became quite a celebrity after that. Pretty much keeps himself to himself these days, mind; probably got sick of all the jokes.”

  Douglas Toast. Oh yes, that was so right.

  “And you say that this Douglas lives nearby?” Alison asked.

  “Not far. But I don’t think he’d welcome visitors.”

  Then we’ll just have to keep out of sight, Kelly thought.

  “More coffee?” Elaine asked.

  The two girls were awake early the next morning, and enjoyed a good breakfast as they talked about the previous night’s events. They agreed that old Douglas was ‘quite probably’ innocent . . . that it was old news . . . and that they ‘really should’ leave it at that . . . no point in going out to old Douglas’s place, really . . . even if he was the killer, what could they do?

  Still, it was a nice morning after the night’s deluge, and a good long walk should be quite pleasant.

  Breakfast finished, they set off, happily trudging through the mud. This holiday was turning into quite an adventure.

  “Where to?” Kelly asked.

  “Old Douglas’s place, of course,” Alison replied.

  Topping a ridge, they looked down on a ramshackle lean-to that was, they assumed, home to Douglas Toast. It was quite dilapidated, and had a couple of rickety wicker chairs outside the front door.

  They crouched behind some bushes, as though getting ready to begin a long vigil. Kelly thought that all this creeping around was ridiculous; but at the same time, it was exciting.

  Reaching into her coat pocket, Alison pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked through them. She had certainly come prepared, Kelly thought.

  A look at the hut, and then she scanned the surrounding area.

  The door to the hut suddenly opened and the two girls ducked out of sight as an old man stepped out and emptied a pot of water onto the ground. He was as thin as a scarecrow and just as well dressed; wizened, too, after years of exposure to the sun; to Kelly, he looked about a hundred.

  He walked stiffly, no doubt a result of the burns to his legs. Oh yes; this was their man, alright.

  “Douglas Toast, gotta be,” Kelly said.

  Alison looked at the man again. She couldn’t see his face properly, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Just imagination, she told herself; but it was a feeling she couldn’t shake off.

  “What do we do?” Kelly asked.

  “Wait ‘till he l
eaves, and then take a look inside.”

  “Take a look . . . are you out of your mind? What do you think we’re going to find in there?”

  “I don’t know; evidence?”

  “Evidence?”

  Alison put the binoculars down and turned to face her. “It won’t hurt to take a look. I’ll go in; you can stay here and make sure the coast is clear. I’ll give you my ‘phone number, and you can warn me if he comes back.”

  Kelly shook her head. “This is crazy.”

  “I’ll be in and out in a flash; you’ll see.”

  “Ooh!”

  Kelly glanced around, as though looking for an escape. This was lunacy, to say nothing of illegal; they couldn’t just break into a man’s home, even if it was an old hut that looked on the point of collapse.

  Kelly chewed her lower lip, but Alison had a determined look on her face.

  “This is dangerous,” Kelly finally said.

  “I intend to finish what I started, Kell. You can go back to the hostel if you like, but I’m staying right here. I’ve got to see this through.”

  Kelly looked around, but there was no getting out of this; Alison was committed to seeing this adventure out, and Kelly wasn’t about to let her go it alone.

  “Alright,” she said at last; and hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

  After about an hour, Old Douglas left his hut and set off into the woods with his rifle. Kelly didn’t like the look of that at all.

  “Are you sure about this,” she asked.

  “Sure I am,” Alison replied. “You’ve got my number. Just give me a bell if you see him coming back.”

  They waited for a good five minutes, then Alison got to her feet and set off down the hill. This girl is ‘way’ too reckless, Kelly thought.

  Alison got to the door of the hut, gave it a push, and it opened without resistance. A quick glance around, and then she stepped inside.

  Don’t be too long, Kelly thought, her thumb resting against the redial button on her mobile ‘phone.

  Alison was inside for less than five minutes, although it seemed a lot longer to Kelly. Finally she emerged, her jacket bulging.

  Damn it, Alison, you never said you were going to burgle the place! Kelly had a dark vision of being arrested in Australia.

  Alison scrambled back up the hill as fast as her legs would carry her and then sank down next to Kelly, unzipping her jacket.

  “I knew it, he’s our killer!” she said, as a number of items fell to the ground.

  “You got proof, then.”

  “Oh yes.”

  Alison picked up a bracelet. Inscribed on it was the name Melissa.

  “Melissa Groome, vanished in 1969 while out walking her dog.”

  “And he hung onto that piece of evidence?”

  “Sure; ain’t you ever heard of a killer trophy-taking?”

  The other items had no inscriptions, but they were obviously very old; a Brownie box camera, which looked positively ancient, and a silk scarf. Alison had done quite well, Kelly thought; but under the circumstances, they could hardly go to the police.

  Using her mobile ‘phone, Alison took a picture of the objects, and then scooped them back up.

  “Right then,” she said. “There’s a need for a plan B.” She stood up. “So I’m going to put these things back where I found them. Then we can go back to Cry Baby Creek and try to contact the victims. One way or another, old Douglas is going to get what’s coming to him!” And she set off back down the hill. “Shan’t be long.”

  Kelly felt that Alison might be the death of her!

  Later that day they called into a diner for a meal, and then returned to the hostel to pick up Alison’s equipment. Maybe the spiritual voices would be stronger this time (not that a few ghostly recordings would make for very convincing evidence, but they were making this up as they went along!).Whatever the next few hours had in store, at least they could say they tried.

  When they got to the creek, the sky was an inky black and no stars could penetrate the clouds. Alison felt that a storm was on the way, and hastily set up her equipment.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” she said, and switched on her tape recorder.

  Kelly glanced around, completely unnerved.

  Oh get a grip, Kelly; there’s no ghosts around here.

  There was a light breeze, and nothing beyond that gentle whisper; she could live with that. As a comfort, she told herself that the voices had only ever existed in Alison’s fevered imagination, and that old Douglas ‘really was’ nothing more than a harmless old recluse.

  “Last recording,” Alison said, after a while. “And I am calling out to all the lost souls of Bentley Creek.” She glanced around, a little nervous. “We have been investigating a series of murders that took place around here back in the 1960’s,” she continued. “and I am convinced that we have found a reasonable suspect. He is known, locally, as Douglas Toast . . . and he still lives around here.”

  She paused, giving the spirits time to answer.

  “Does this name mean anything to you, or even the name Douglas?”

  The two girls listened, but there was nothing more than the insistent whisper of the wind.

  A twig snapped and both girls jumped. “Who’s there?” Alison cried, with more than a hint of panic in her voice.

  “Oh for goodness sake, it’s probably just a squirrel,” Kelly said. “Can’t we just go back to the hostel?”

  “If we do that . . . ”

  The wind suddenly picked up, and this time the voices really did call out to them, loud and clear this time.

  Dugss Waaarn us.

  Alison just said, ‘Oh!’

  Just then, a blue light seemed to manifest itself below the surface of the water, a glow that started to intensify and coalesce into something vaguely human.

  Then, as they watched, this spectral figure began to rise to the surface; thin, seemingly naked and smooth as marble.

  Warned us . . . run . . . danger coming . . . run . . .

  It rose out of the water and hovered before them, a shimmering blue entity with tortured eyes.

  Rrrrrrrun!

  Then it vanished, like a popped balloon.

  “What on earth?” Kelly said, and turned to Alison.

  “Did we just . . . ”

  A buzzing sound could then be heard, getting louder and louder, the sound of a large insect; far larger than anything they had ever seen.

  The buzzing continued; and then the sound of breaking foliage told them it was on the move, and heading in their direction.

  “Alison, let’s go.”

  The foliage was suddenly ripped apart; and then a huge, almost human-shaped figure came crashing through the bushes and into the clearing.

  “Oh God!”

  This creature resembled a giant locust with a huge black body, flapping wings and a heart-shaped head. This was The Cry Baby Creek Killer; not a man, but a monster!

  It hovered before them; red eyes blazing like fire, arms raised to display fierce-looking talons that could rip apart human flesh. Nothing like this should ever have been seen outside of the very depths of Hell!

  Alison grabbed Kelly’s arm and they ran; but the creature was swift and set off after them, skimming over the water like a dragonfly, its shadow growing in the periphery of their vision like a descending storm.

  Up into the air it rose, as though getting ready to dive on its prey; but the trees impeded its attack, buying them a few precious seconds.

  Yet it wasn’t enough, for the road back to the hostel was a mile of wide open countryside . . . this was the urban legend that no-one lived to tell about, and now it was chasing its next victims.

  Alison was suddenly wrenched out of Kelly’s grasp and lifted up into the air, but she struggled for all she was worth and in seconds the creature had dropped her. Without even thinking, Kelly grabbed a fallen branch and started batting away at it.

  “Go away, damn you!” she cried.

  The creature made a
grab for her, but Alison threw a rock and struck it on the side of the head. The distraction wasn’t much, but the two girls were up and running again, hoping against hope to evade this woodland sprite.

  “Split up,” Alison cried; but before they could act the bushes in front of them parted and Douglas Toast stepped out in front of them.

  “Down,” he shouted, and the two girls hit the ground as he raised his rifle and fired.

  The loud and shocking report echoed through the clearing, sending a flock of birds into a panicked flight; then came a scream of anguish that they would never forget, followed by a hefty thud as the creature’s lifeless body hit the ground. The mystery had been solved: The Cry Baby Creek Killer was now dead.

  After a time, Kelly dared to look. The creature lay spread-eagled on the ground, but there was only a spreading red stain where its head should have been.

  “Damn sonofabitch!”

  Douglas Toast walked up to the creature and stood over its body. Strangely, he seemed a little regretful.

  The two girls got to their feet . . . and of course, Kelly had to utter a line straight out of a bad horror movie. “What on earth was that?” she said.

  “A creature,” Douglas replied. “And if folks had known about it, I daresay he would have been given some fancy pants Latin name. I called it the bloodsucker. Murderous little critter, weren’t he?”

  The old man cracked open his gun and smiled at them.

  “So you two Sheila’s thought old Douglas was a serial killer, did you? Well you were wrong; I tried to warn people; ‘stay away from here’, I said; but who’d listen to a crazy old buzzard like me? I knew I’d have to kill this here fellah one day. Came close a few times, too, but he was dab hand at dodging bullets.”

  He slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  “Reckon I’ll dump him in the creek. What do you say?”

  And with that, he grabbed one of the creature’s legs and dragged it towards the water.

  And all Kelly and Alison could do, was look at each other; bewildered, shaken.

  “Did that just happen?” Kelly asked.

  Alison smiled.

  “It sure did, you daft Pom,” she replied, and went back to the creek to collect her equipment.

  It was almost five minutes before Kelly thought to say. “Who are you calling a daft Pom?”