"Matt, what—"
The door swung in. Ryan saw Matt's face as he almost reached it, and the stark look in his eyes before it slammed shut.
"Matt!" Ryan scrambled up, pulling at the doorknob in vain.
"Ryan!" Matt shouted from inside. "Ryan, open up!"
"It opens in. Shit. Look, uh, you pull on the door, I'm going to kick it, all right?"
"Okay." Matt's voice hitched in panic. The doorknob rattled, and Ryan could see the wood straining as Matt pulled from the inside. Ryan leaned back on the bannister with his hands, hoping it would take his weight. He raised one foot, aimed it where the wood of the door would be weakest, and kicked hard.
The door stood fast. Pain rippled up his leg. "Fuck," he ground out, hobbling back to the ground.
"Ryan?" The doorknob rattled. "Shit, don't leave me in here. Pete's collapsed in that room, and-and Fizz—"
The words cut off.
"M-Matt?" Ryan pushed against the door but it was useless. That rickety old thing should have swung free with a gentle nudge, but it felt as solid as metal. Something wasn't right.
"Ryyaan." Matt's voice urged him to hurry. "Something really fucking weird is going on here!"
"What?" Ryan asked through the door. "What is it?"
"The bloody floor is moving! Shit, help me!"
"Hang on!" Ryan moved away, jumped over Ginger's body, and ran up the three steps to the next hall. The kitchen was the first room. He stood in the doorway, eyes darting about in panic. There had to be something he could break down a door with? Pots, pans, knives... A rolling pin? Then Ryan remembered Ginger's aborted D.I.Y. attempt in the bathroom. To get at the floorboards and the pipes below, he'd brought up the half-axe from the basement.
Yes!
Ryan ran to the bathroom. The axe was there, leaning against the wall, abandoned, along with the broken floorboards. Ryan stooped and picked it up, testing the weight in his hands. The blade wasn't new, but it was sharp enough.
"Ryan!" Matt yelled. "RYAN!"
Ryan ran back down the hall. He slowed to step carefully over Ginger, sparing him a glance. Nothing had changed; he lay still on the floor, seemingly asleep. Ryan shook his head. He had to focus. He had to get Matt out of the pigeon loft.
"Stand back!" he shouted. "I've got the axe!"
"Bloody hell," Matt's voice wavered. "Well, hurry up! I'm slipping, the floor's tilting, and I can't hold on! I don't want to go in that other room!"
"Okay, I'm going to aim here." Ryan knocked on the top left panel with his hand, then he gripped the axe. "Stand back."
Here goes, he thought. Maybe he could imagine whatever bad thing hounding them was the door. That was bound to make him hit harder. Ryan swung the axe, bringing it down on the door. He expected it to lodge in the wood at least: the door was old, the wood soft. But the axe simply bounced off as if the wood were made of rubber. Ryan gasped as he lost his grip on the axe. It flew out of his hands, and he spun on the spot, trying to grab it back.
Ginger was below him. In one split second, Ryan's mind fretted over the probability of the axe falling on Ginger, blood spurting everywhere.
No!
Ryan wouldn't let that happen. He pushed himself forward, trying to clasp the axe in mid-air. It just missed his fingers, but he managed to push it higher in the air, aiming it toward the stairs, where it wouldn't hurt anyone.
The axe arched safely over Ginger. But in his desperate lunge forward, leaping over Ginger's body, Ryan hadn't thought of the stairs. He tripped down three of them, then managed to grab onto the bannister. His arm twisted as he fell hard against the wood, legs sprawled. Ryan grunted in pain. The axe sailed down the stairs, and Ryan expected it to clatter into the lower stairwell.
Thank God no one was—
A figure appeared. Ryan stared, heart in his throat. Who had he thrown the axe at? He tried to call out, but the axe had already fallen. The man waiting there caught it perfectly by its handle. Ryan blinked in open-mouthed amazement. It was that man again, in the military uniform. Ryan's grip on the bannisters loosened, body aching from his fall. He barely noticed. He watched the man flip the axe in his hand, raise an eyebrow, then pull his arm back. He nodded once at Ryan.
Sensing what to do, Ryan shouted to the pigeon loft, "Matt! Keep away from the—"
The axe whistled over his head. Ryan was too slow to see it hitting the door, but he heard the BANG that blasted through the hall like a gunshot. The door swung open.
"Matt!" Ryan called, crawling up to the landing.
Matt was in the hall of the pigeon loft, which wasn't dark or moving any more. He leant against the windows, gripping onto a windowsill like his life depended on it. Matt blinked, and looked around him as if confused, then he lunged forward, bursting onto the stairwell.
"Holy, bloody, mother-fucking GOD!" he shouted, pulling the door shut behind him. "That place is fucking nuts!"
Ryan sighed in relief. "Matt. You're okay."
"But what about Pete?" Matt looked at him, his eyes wide. "He was on the floor! Lying there. Fizz was... Fizz was, like, standing there, waiting for me. What's he playing at? He's turned psycho!"
"It's... I don't think it's him," Ryan said. He glanced back down the stairs, but the strange man had vanished. "Matt, do you remember when we went in the pigeon loft that night? You, me, and Sammy, with the spray paint? Remember we heard those... weird noises? And we all ran off scared."
"Yeah, but... we were drunk."
Ryan let out a humourless laugh. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sober right now, and I've seen some weird shit."
Matt nodded. "Okay. Yeah, okay. So what the fuck do we do?"
"Sheila and Ash have gone to get a girl called Beth. I don't know what's going on here, but Sheila seemed to know."
"Sheila? The red-head? And Beth, the blonde girl?"
"Yeah."
"But what can they do?"
"I don't know!" Ryan snapped. "I don't know what's going on, okay? We never should have put Fizz in the stupid bloody room."
"Ryan?" Sammy's voice called up the stairs. "Ambulance is here."
Chapter 18
Two paramedics, a man and a woman, hurried up the stairs. Their green uniform was a welcome sight, but Ryan honestly wasn't sure what they could do here. Everything that had just happened whirled around in his head, and all the answers pointed to weird shit, unexplainable apparitions, and things he couldn't see.
What could anyone do against all that?
Sammy was right behind the paramedics, peering through the bannisters to watch. They set their red bags of equipment down, and asked Matt and Ryan to move aside.
"What's his name?" the man asked, indicating Ginger.
"Daniel," Ryan said, swallowing hard. He conceded to move away, but stayed as close as he could, crouched beside Ginger's body. "He is breathing, but he just collapsed, we... I..." He glanced up at Matt, who shared his nervous look.
The woman pressed her fingers to Ginger's neck. "There's a pulse, but it's faint."
"Daniel?" the man said, leaning over Ginger. "Daniel, can you hear me?"
No response.
Ryan swallowed again, trying to keep himself together. He watched the paramedics set to work. "Got the air," the woman said, pulling out a clear, plastic mask and turning on a machine in her bag. "Set up the pads. Checked his airway?"
"Yes, all clear." The man opened his bag, bringing out more equipment. "And there's someone else?" he asked, looking 'round at Ryan.
"Huh?"
"They told us on the radio you had two people unconscious?"
"Oh. Um..."
Should he lie? Ryan wasn't sure. He wanted someone to come in and make everything all right again. He wanted the paramedics to save Ginger, Pete, and Fizz.
Matt took the decision out of his hands when he said, "Actually... there's three."
"Three? We'll have to radio for back-up."
The woman nodded. "There's all those stairs, too. We'll need help getting them down to the
van."
The man pulled at the little radio attached to his shoulder. He pressed a button and said, "Control, this is—" The radio crackled loudly, and the man paused. "What the-?"
"Sorry," Ryan said. "The reception up here doesn't work."
The paramedic tapped his radio impatiently, but it still crackled. "That's weird," he said. "It shouldn't interfere. You'd better show us the others first. We need to make sure they're stable like this one, then I'll radio it in from the van."
"Uh..." Ryan faltered. "Why don't you radio first? The other two aren't... well, they aren't going anywhere."
Before the paramedic could reply, Sammy interrupted. "What happened to Pete, then? Is he in there with that nut Fizz?" He gestured at the pigeon loft's door.
"Sammy, don't—" But Ryan wasn't quick enough. The paramedics wanted to check what was going on. Ryan had to admit, if his face looked half as guilty as he felt, he wouldn't have trusted him, either. He moved aside for the paramedics as they marched to the pigeon loft. They opened the door with ease.
Ryan peered after them warily. Everything looked normal now, but he knew in his gut that it wasn't.
Sammy nudged Matt. "What happened?" he hissed.
"Not now," Matt whispered back, staying put.
Ryan couldn't let the paramedics go alone. He followed them into the pigeon loft, with one last glance at Ginger on the floor. I'll make this right, he promised silently. I will.
The paramedics rushed into Fizz's room. Ryan walked after them, half-expecting what he would see, but he was still shocked when he saw the scene. Pete was motionless on the floor, just as Matt had described. He looked as though he'd collapsed there. Fizz sat next to him, hunched over like he had trouble holding himself up.
"What happened?" the man asked, rushing to Fizz's side.
Fizz looked up, eyes wide and pleading. "Help me?" He held out his arms.
Ryan watched as the man held out his hand. Fizz gripped onto him, and the man crumpled to the floor. "Greg!" The woman, who had stopped to crouch beside Pete, rushed over to her partner. Fizz touched her shoulder as she neared him. She gasped, then fell over in a heap. She lay on the floorboards as lifeless as the two men before her.
Ryan stepped forward. He felt sick, frightened, but he knew this had to stop. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why are you doing this?"
Fizz grinned up at him. "Questions, questions." With a flick of his hand, his body rose jerkily from the floor, like a puppet yanked on its strings. He leant back in what seemed like a seat, except there was nothing there.
This couldn't be real, Ryan thought, yet it was happening right before his eyes. Everything felt so wrong. From every move Fizz made, to the look on his face, it felt wrong. Ryan stared, trying to distinguish between what he was seeing now, and the boy he'd come to know as Fizz.
"Who are you?"
"A bad dream, nothing more." The boy fixed his dark eyes on Ryan; a black mist began to seep out of them.
Ryan started back in alarm. "What—what have you done to Fizz?"
"Mmmm. My dear Ryan." The boy closed his eyes and stretched his body out, reclining in the air. "There's so much space inside him, you see. I'm merely making better use of it."
"B-better use?"
"Why, yes." Those eyes opened, fixed on him, and the black vapour poured out. "As soon as I have enough energy, I'll leave this place, never to return. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"A-and Fizz?"
"Fizz is me, now." The voice grew dark. Ryan felt the room darken with it. Trails of blood trickled down the walls, and the stench of sulphur was in his nose. Ryan tried not to look, tried to hold his breath. He focussed on the boy in front of him and said, "No, you can't have Fizz. Whoever you are, you need to leave now. Leave us alone!"
A low laugh sounded within the room, rolling 'round the walls. The boy only smiled, but Ryan knew it was him laughing. He recognised that laugh. "Whatever you are," he said, speaking over that mocking laughter. "No one cares. You're nothing but a... a shit. You need to leave."
The smile left his face. Fizz's body snapped straight, standing before him. "No one speaks to me like that."
"Ryan!" someone hissed.
Ryan turned, seeing Matt had edged into the hallway, and was peering around the door. "Ryan, get out of there!"
"Matt, stay back," Ryan said. "I-I'm okay."
"Are you?"
Ryan jerked his head back just in time to see Fizz move, but it was so fast, he couldn't react. One moment Fizz was standing there, the next Ryan felt something slam into him, like being smacked by a steel door. He went down, his back hitting the floor. Fizz appeared over him, sitting on his chest. His weight was crushingly heavy for someone of his size.
"Fizz, don't—"
"Ahh, but I'm not Fizz, am I?" The boy smiled: a mean smile. His eyes moved to the side, focussed on Ryan's cheek. Ryan realised what he was looking at a mere moment before the familiar pain lashed across his face. He cried out, closing his eyes. He tried to hit, to defend himself, but his limbs had become sluggish, heavy. His body couldn't move.
A hand turned his face gently. Ryan's eyes flew open when he felt a rough tongue lick the side of his cheek, lapping away the blood. "Stop it!" he pleaded. He didn't want to look at Fizz, but then his eyes saw the blood on the ceiling above. So much red: it bubbled, pulsed. Boiling. Ryan stilled, terrified it was going to rain down on him again. That stench, it was too much.
I'm sorry, he thought miserably, thinking of Ginger out in the hall, and his friends. He'd failed them all. In a last-ditch attempt, Ryan tried to move, but it was hopeless. Like being trapped in a bad dream, unable to make any part of his body obey. Fizz settled back on top of him. He licked his lips, tonguing away the traces of Ryan's blood, and smiled.
"Mmm, you taste good, Ryan. What is it about you? Something clear, like... like water. Yes, that's it. You taste like water."
Ryan stared at him. He couldn't even begin to understand, but Fizz's words gave him his only way out. He had to keep the boy talking.
"W-what do you mean, water?"
"Mm. Calm, placid. But there's a raging torrent beneath, isn't there?" He chuckled darkly. "You hide it well. Still waters run deep, as they say."
Ryan swallowed. "T-that sounds like c-crap to me."
Fizz threw his head back, laughing loudly. Ryan saw his chance and tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. "Please." He resorted to begging. "Please, let me go."
"Oh, my dear, dear Ryan." Fizz lowered down, bring himself nose-to-nose. "Maybe one day, you'll understand. I'm not a bad man, but I am rather... desperate."
"Desperate?"
"Yes. I have to get out, Ryan. I can't stand it any longer. No one here but demented old souls to chat to. If I wasn't dead already, I'd simply have to kill myself. I need more, Ryan. I hadn't even lived my life before they took it from me."
"They?" Ryan squeaked.
"Hmm." Fizz pulled back, studying him. "Should I show you? I showed the boy, and he felt so sorry for me that he let me into his body. That's why I'm here, you know. I didn't take it; he gave it to me. Silly fool was letting it go to waste anyway, so I thought, why not?"
"H-how can you say that?" Ryan breathed. "Fizz is a good kid. Leave him alone!"
"But what about me, Ryan?" The black vapour seeped from his eyes. The blood on the ceiling above them raged and boiled. "It's not fair. It's not fair! I have to show you what happened. Maybe then you'll understand."
"No, please, I—" Ryan gasped. His eyes widened and his vision grew, seeming to be everywhere at once. As if he were the very walls looking in on the room, and yet, still in its centre at the same time. The room was transported back to a simple barrack room, with its single beds in rows, and neatly-folded sheets on top. A framed picture of King George hung on the farthest wall. It was night now; two soft lamps burned. Ryan felt himself stagger into the room, drunk on something stronger than alcohol, some kind of drug. Opium. He was seeing and experiencing everything as if it w
ere a hazy dream. He gazed down at his suit, rumpled in places, but still neatly pressed.
The walls around him shuddered. With that strange knowledge that often came with dreams, Ryan knew that these weren't the same walls. Their bricks and mortar were different now, but their dust and energy had been re-used in the new building. He could feel the pulsing energy within every brick, within the very lining of the room. The walls watched him, and Ryan, in turn, watched through them, as the vision unfolded.
Drunk, drugged, all by his own making, but the effects distorted what he saw. His delirium pulled at the edges of his vision, like an artist's impression. The room was dark and colourful. Ryan felt giddy. He heard brash laughter echo through the room, and realised it was his own. Two men were with him. They had been laughing along before, but now they'd stopped. Their dark, hulking figures closed in on him, dangerous in their intent.
Ryan looked around the room in panic, realising he was alone. Truly more alone than he'd ever felt before. He looked at the man nearest to him, feeling surprised as the man's fist connected with his face. Sound went first; things became muffled, warped. Time itself slowed down. A sharp pain rang in Ryan's head. He blinked, only to see that fist come again, and again, raining down blow after blow, until he was on the floor.
Darkness invaded, his eyelids drooped. Keep them closed, he thought. Don't look. But his eyes kept opening. He saw flashes of the room, of the men's faces with their twisted, distorted expressions. Their voices were garbled, nasty. Ryan felt them pull and tear at his clothes. No! No, please! He tried to scream. Breath wheezed through his lungs, but no voice came out. The men's faces became shadows, sinister and leering. Their taunts echoed in his ears as they groped his body and forced his legs open.
Ryan tried to call out. His lips moved, trying to speak. Enough! I've seen enough, let me go!
The vision didn't stop. Hands clamped around his throat, squeezing tight. Ryan closed his eyes, and his mind drifted, attempting to escape the pain, the humiliation. He knew he wouldn't be able to come back from this, and that hurt more than anything. His last thought was of a face framed by red hair, and a familiar smile he loved so much.
The Haunted Pub Page 21