“I’ve been to crazy town with you before, Jer. It never ends well,” Simon answered, but at the same time he did not refuse to go along with the scheme.
A short while later, the man emerged from the shop, a large brown bag under his arm. At first the boys thought he had forgotten about them. He turned his back to them and looked as if he was going to walk away, but caught himself; remembering the two lads he had offered to help. Turning around he searched for them, his eyes fixing on the pair for a few moments before accepting they were the right two. Reaching into the bag he pulled out the beer, the cans frosted from the cooling unit. He didn’t say a word to them, and made no attempt to give them their change. Jeremy didn’t argue, and Simon wouldn’t. The bag under the drunk’s arm was still full, and the bottles clanked together as he walked away.
With the beer in their possession, Simon became nervous. “What if the police come and stop us?” he whispered. Simon always whispered when he was nervous. He wasn’t paranoid in the conspiracy theory sense of the word, but there was no other word to describe how he became whenever they strayed from the beaten path.
“Why would the police stop us?” Jeremy pondered, hoping to make Simon think, and see sense.
“Random check. We’re kids, what if they decide to randomly check us for alcohol. We’re underage. They would know that.” Simon jumped as, in a case of terrible timing, a police squad car rounded the corner before them and came to a stop at a red light.
“Holy crap.” Simon froze. Jeremy continued to walk, and after a few moments, Simon ran to catch up.
“Relax, man. We’re almost back at my place. We’ll grab some food to take with us, and then head up to the bunker. We won’t drink it all, we can leave it there. Just to have a bit of fun.” Jeremy was always up for a little bit of fun, as Simon too well knew.
Jeremy’s parents were out when they arrived. Moving quickly, eager to be gone before they returned, the boys grabbed some bread, peanut butter, and a multi-pack bag of crisps and were gone within minutes.
The journey to the bunker was easy. They cut through an alleyway which brought them out onto the road that ran around the town. Everybody called it a ring road, but it wasn’t, or rather, it had not been built for that purpose. It merely happened to be a road that ran the majority of the way around town. It had three different names, including Beach Drive, as it ran along the beach for a large portion of its length. Once there, they could cut into the dunes at any number of points. The bunker was then a semi scramble over the unfrequented sand. They had discovered a number of better routes, that included a semi-paved service road, but it was always more fun to follow their own private trail.
For a while, the boys just ate and chatted. It was their way in the bunker. But before long the conversation began to slow, and the pull of the beer became too much for both of them. Opening the first can, they toasted and drank.
***
“The beer was still cold,” Jeremy added, as an afterthought.
Jeremy had talked, and Trevor McIlroy had listened, jotting down notes here and there. A combination of questions for later and notes for further exploration. He asked nothing while Jeremy spoke, allowing the narrative to flow. He already knew who Jeremy was talking about; the drunk that bought them the alcohol. Not that he would be able to do much about it.
***
The boys drank their first can and chatted about school, and their plans for the summer. Topics that had not actually been covered during their afternoon wander around the town. Both were good students, and had plans to search out universities and prepare their applications. They had flirted with the conversation of where they would apply. Neither was sure if they should be looking for a place together, or apart. They were looking to study different things. Simon favoured History; while he had never said it out loud, he was quite taken by the notion of becoming a teacher. Jeremy, on the other hand, was taken with the idea of the Criminology and Psychology double degree that a lot of places were offering. It was no secret that he was a fan of all things CSI related on television. Criminal Minds was his personal favourite.
With the first can leaving a longing taste on their lips, the second was soon opened, their brains relishing the beginning buzz and eager, in its foolish adolescent stage, to have more.
***
Jeremy admitted that they had drunk several more cans each, and that his memories of that period were vague, hazy at best. He did recall that Simon had fallen. He had cut himself on a piece of old glass that had been lying on the ground, unearthed by their movements.
When pressed - the first time Trevor had interrupted the narrative – for where Simon had cut himself, Jeremy paused. He thought back, through the washed-out memories.
Simon had tripped, and fallen forwards; his large feet proving too much for him. He had cut his hand, the palm of his left hand. Jeremy remembered it, in a sudden moment of clarity, because Simon was left handed, and they had joked about how he would have to write his applications with his other hand.
Not long after that, they opened their third beer, and in the carefree buzz that had consumed them both, they raced each other to empty the can. Jeremy won because Simon coughed and therefore spat most of his out.
“That was when it went crazy.” Jeremy stopped his narrative and looked into Trevor’s eyes. A surge of emotion coursed through him. Grief was the most powerful. His best friend was dead, and nothing would bring him back.
The detective held Jeremy’s gaze. There was something in his eyes that Jeremy found disconcerting. It was a different look than the one Trevor had had before the interview started.
“It’s all ok, Jeremy. You are safe here, and we really need to know what happened.” Trevor comforted Jeremy, but that look remained in his eyes. It was judgement, and it made everything the detective said seem less sincere.
“After Simon spat out his beer, he saw how much he was bleeding. His whole hand was covered in blood. It looked so black in the lights we had set up. It was dripping all over the floor too,” Jeremy stated, his voice filled with nerves which only served to make his words sound even more uncertain. “We had these battery-operated lights, you see. There are, were, four or five of them placed around the bunker. We left them there all the time so we could see. It was dark inside; the bunker is almost completely buried on three sides. Enough that the holes where the soldiers would watch through were covered by sand. I took a light and shone it on his hand. The cut was deep, and ran from one side of his palm to the other. I told him that we needed to leave, get him home, more likely to a hospital. He agreed, but … but then the … the ground started to shake.” Jeremy had not thought until that moment if what he was going to say next would validate his story, or make him sound even crazier. Had the shake been felt outside of the bunker?
“Shake?” Trevor sounded surprised. His eyebrows raised and then furrowed as he made a fresh note on his pad.
“Yes, it was like an earthquake, or how I imagine one would be. The whole bunker shook. Large cracks opened in the walls and sand came pouring in. I was scared. We both were. We turned to run, but Simon was stuck. He had sunk into the sand. He thought it was just from the sand being dislodged. His feet were buried, you see. I told him … I told him to stop being stupid and start moving. Then he started to scream.”
“To scream?” Trevor repeated his eyebrow movements and note jotting routine.
“Yes. He was screaming, saying something was biting his feet. It was horrible. I’ve never heard a sound like it. We both looked down at the ground. I don’t know who saw it first, but blood was everywhere. It was bubbling up through the sand by Simon’s feet; big bubbles of blood. He screamed, and … and I tried to help him, but … my feet started to sink too.” Jeremy paused, waiting for another brow furrow but none came. “I jumped back, away from the soft sand onto the solid ground where we would normally sit. That was when they came. They rose up from the sand. Behind Simon; between us and the door.
“What came out of the gr
ound?” Trevor asked, a hint of piqued interest in his voice.
“I don’t know what they were. There is no name for them, I don’t think. Their arms came first, long and with multiple joints. Their hands were twisted and set into claws, with thick nails that curled around on themselves.” Jeremy had a quiver in his voice and felt his words shake as they formed in his throat. He did not want to cry.
Trevor saw this, but made no attempt to stop Jeremy´s retelling. Jeremy looked around the room, unable to take the detective’s gaze. His eyes headed towards the door. Jeremy’s father stood in the hall, watching with intent as the scene unfolded. There was no way that he could hear their conversation, but Jeremy could read it in his old man’s face that he did not believe a word of what his son was saying.
“Simon had sunk to his knees, and the blood was spurting into the air like a fountain, it was black, but the sand it threw up made it sparkle in the battery light. He was screaming so loud … so loud. I think that was what brought the sand people to the surface.” Jeremy swallowed hard.
“I thought you said they were already there?” Trevor pounced on the first inconsistency he had found in the convincingly told, albeit bizarre, story.
“No, I never said that.” Jeremy had seen enough crime shows to know what Trevor was trying to do. “The arms and claws, they were out of the ground, reaching for Simon; grabbing his trousers and pulling him deeper. It was later, when his screams … when they came. There were two of them, these sand creatures. They were not people. Not really. They stood on two legs, and had a discernible face, but that was it. They were naked, their skin red and raw. They were covered with sand that refused to fall from their bodies as they moved. They had no hair, anywhere. They were monsters. They ignored me, at first. Their focus on Simon. One of them, the smaller of the two, reached out and touched Simon on the shoulder. Its disfigured claw clamping down onto his skin. The limb was damaged, at least it was different to the other creature and to its own other arm. It was mangled and broken. Bone shards jutted from the messy flesh. It was horrid.”
“Did they say anything?” Trevor asked. His face held a look of pure fascination.
“No, not then anyway. They didn’t have mouths, no, wait, that’s a lie. They did, but they were not like yours and mine. They had a hole in the centre of their face, where our nose is. Teeth jutted from it, long ones, short ones, all jumbled up, but all as sharp as needles. The same one that touched Simon on the shoulder also leaned in and bit him, on the back of his head. I could hear the teeth crunch through the bone.” Jeremy paused as a hot flash ran through him. Sweat broke out on his face, he felt dizzy, and the overwhelming urge to vomit struck him. Closing his eyes, Jeremy waited, counting backwards; a trick he had learned somewhere, until the feeling passed. Detective McIlroy said nothing, he just sat, waiting.
“Simon stopped screaming then, and I could hear the creature chewing the mouthful of skull. Crunching it like cereal. Simon was looking at me the whole time, but his expression had changed. He knew it, and I knew it. We were both going to die. In two strong jerks, he was gone. One sunk him to his chest, and the other saw the ground swallow him. It made me think of the way a snake eats its prey. Opening its jaws to swallow it in one bite.”
“So, Simon is gone and now it is just you and these two… sand monsters.” Trevor read back through his most recent page of scribbled notes. He did not even try to hide his disbelief.
“Yes.”
“How did you get away?” It was a logical question, and Jeremy had been expecting it.
“I wanted to run, but they were both still blocking my path. So I backed up, putting as much distance between us as I could. That was when I felt the lamp on the wall. They are heavy things. I threw it at the one that had bitten Simon, catching it right in the face. I ran and squeezed around the two creatures, moving behind the one I had injured. He was growling. I think I hurt him. I managed to jump up through the bunker entrance. If I had missed, they would have taken me too. I felt their hands clawing at my trouser legs as I pulled myself out. Once I was outside, I just ran. I didn’t know where I was going. It was dark, and I could hear them chasing me. After that, I don’t remember much. I don’t know how long I ran. All I remember is falling down. I hurt my ankle.” Jeremy looked down at his feet beneath the table. He had kicked his shoes off and even through his socks, it was clear to see that the ankle was badly swollen. “I hit my head too, and that was when I passed out.” Jeremy reached up and touched at the spot on his head that had been bleeding the night before. The paramedics had checked him out in the dunes and placed a small bandage over the wound. “One of them said something before I lost consciousness, but I cannot remember what it was, I’m sorry. I passed out and when I woke up it was morning and I was still alive. I went back to the bunker ….” Jeremy was spouting the words in a constant stream.
“Why?” Trevor pounced.
“Why? Because Simon was there.” Jeremy offered in a snapped response.
“I thought you just told me he was gone, pulled into the ground.” Trevor flipped through his notes once more. It was for show, not through any requirement to familiarize himself with the story.
“He was, but I hoped I was wrong, that it had all been a dream. That was when my parents arrived, and you were called.” Jeremy stopped talking, his story told. He found he was out of breath, and his eyes stung from the tears he had not truly noticed he was shedding.
“If Simon was gone, why did we find his remains in the bunker? What was left of them anyway,” the detective asked smiling, making no effort to hide his check-mate move he had been sitting on. The entire conversation had been building to this moment.
“I don’t know,” Jeremy answered, his voice coming out as despondent as he felt.
“Well, I think that is enough for now,” the detective said, his smile becoming more of a smirk. An expression of victory.
Detective McIlroy stood up and walked to the tape recorder. He turned it off, took out the tapes and brought them back to the table where each one was sealed with a label. Two were placed into an evidence bag, which was then sealed with another sticker, while the third got taped into the file on the desk. He said nothing the entire time.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Jeremy asked once the silence became too much for him. His father had walked away, or at least had stopped leering through the glass. Jeremy felt alone.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Trevor said. “You were scared. You are young and you were drunk. I believe that you really do think that you saw what you saw.” Trevor saw Jeremy lower his head and sigh.
“I’m telling you the truth,” Jeremy whispered, his head still lowered. His body shook as he tried to keep himself calm.
At that moment, Trevor opened the door and invited William to join them. William entered and sat beside Jeremy, studying him, but not holding any form of prolonged eye contact.
“Can I take my son home now?” His voice had an annoyed slant to it.
“Yes,” Trevor answered, “yes of course, but I will be in touch with some more questions.” William rose and, without looking at his son, walked back to the door.
“Come on, Jeremy. Let’s get you home,” he called.
“William, you know the rules. Keep an eye on him,” Trevor said, offering his hand, which William took and shook with a firm double pump.
***
“Dad, why did the detective call you William and not Mr Clark?” The question had been playing with Jeremy’s mind since it had happened.
“Oh, Trevor and I are old friends. We went to school together,” William offered, glancing over at his son as they drove home. William had already ordered a taxi for his wife and Julia. He didn’t want to have them all in the same car as one another. Not now.
“Ok. What did he mean by, you know the rules?” Jeremy asked again, his mind was awash with questions. Most of which he could not find any answers for, but this, what the detective had said, that surely had meaning, something explaina
ble.
William paused for a second and slowed the car down to a crawl so that he could take a good look at his son. It was only now that Jeremy saw the anger that had built up inside his father’s face; bubbling beneath the surface. “He just meant that you are not allowed to leave the country or even the city. But that doesn’t really matter, because as long as you are living under my roof, you are not even leaving your room until this mess is sorted out.” William’s voice grew lower as he spoke, becoming a snarled whisper by the time he slipped his own punishment into the mix.
“Do you think I killed Simon?” Jeremy looked at his father and saw the man’s face drop. “I know that the police do,” he added.
William’s face softened, it was an unnatural sight. He reached out and placed a hand onto Jeremy’s, which were rubbing furiously against one another, as if trying to wash themselves clean. “I believe you,” William offered.
Jeremy didn’t know if he could believe him.
Chapter 3
Jeremy went straight to his room when they got home. He wasn’t hungry, and the fact that his mother began to cry as soon as he entered the living room made it a rather uncomfortable place to be. Julia was there also, and she stared Jeremy down with a fiery gaze. She held back both her tears and her anger, but he knew it was there.
Collapsing onto his bed, Jeremy soon began to drift away from everything. It was early afternoon. He had not eaten all day, nor had he drunk; he found himself unable to swallow the water that stood beside his bed. Tears streaked his face by the time he finally drifted off.
The sleep was not deep, but it was dreamless. Jeremy was aware that he was sleeping, and was conscious about the passage of time. He drifted through the darkness of slumber like a feather on the wind. He floated through the darkness, a strange and invisible pull on his body. He was caught in the stream and more than happy to let it have him.
In spite of this, Jeremy woke with a start, his body cased in sweat. His was lost in a false world, one that was more than a dream, but less than reality. His mind was shielding him from fully waking.
Evil Beneath Us Page 3