by Anne Lown
Chapter One
Impending doom. That’s what Shane Livings called it. The itch at the back of his mind that started with a tingle behind his right ear and crept down his spine. He shuddered, falling forward where he crouched and having to put his left hand out to catch himself. He glanced over his shoulder, certain beyond any doubt he was being watched.
October thirty-first was a weird day. It brought out the strangest behaviour in people, so it’d been a godsend when his mate, Dan Lown, suggested they go camping. Shane hadn’t wanted to stay in the house he shared with three women—on a normal day they did his head in. Halloween would be even worse.
He took a swig from his whiskey bottle and sat back on his tarp. Pitching his tent wasn’t going to plan. His gear lay on a bed of fallen leaves, brown, curled and dried out from lack of rain. The morning had been crisp, but the day was warming up as the afternoon gathered pace. Dan had long ago managed to set his up and was currently videoing Shane’s struggles for the internet. He had to laugh at moments like these, there was nothing else for it.
“Light us a fag,” he called out.
Dan wasn’t listening. He was too busy cackling at Shane’s efforts and labouring to keep his mobile phone still enough to record him. “You all right, mate?” he countered, each time followed by renewed hysteria.
“Yeah, fine,” Shane replied. What else could he say? Dan wasn’t about to help him, and if he did it’d be for a joke.
Halloween on a Saturday was perfect. It made for a great evening to dress up, kick back and enjoy a drink with his mates. A few smokes of the wacky-baccy were not to be missed either. They’d decided to start early, long before their friend, Maxwell, would arrive to join them. The chances of that were slim, though, like two suns rising in the morning, since the man couldn’t be relied on to show his face.
Slowly, the tent took shape and looked like it might just stay up, although he could always sleep outside if he had to. It was something he’d done before to escape a demented girlfriend and her constant drama. Tonight, though, would be different. It was all about having a laugh.
Next on the list was setting up traps. Maxwell, if he did turn up, liked to surprise them. He found it funny to spring from hiding, spraying them with a super-soaker water gun or throwing bangers into the fire while they sat around unsuspecting. This year they were determined to get him first because they were ready for him. This year they had a plan.
Shane stood and stretched out the kinks in his back from all the bending down. They were dressed in their costumes of choice—Dan in a Warrior from The Baseball Bat Gang outfit, complete with painted face, and Shane in his escaped alien attire. It hadn’t mattered that they were wearing them in the woods. Rolling in the dirt and leaves was the camouflage they needed. They didn’t want to be easily spotted in amongst the trees if they were unlucky enough to be caught out early.
Dan picked up a small backpack. The glint in his eyes matched the broad smile breaking out across his lips. “Are we ready?”
Shane followed his friend into the woods and back towards the road. They hadn’t gone far before they diverted off the thin trail made by a few walkers, the clover underfoot giving away their past presence in the undergrowth. They had to trek to the suitable spot they’d picked out. What Dan had in mind for Maxwell would be a shock for him, so they’d need to hear his scream from the campsite; after all, it’d be bad taste to miss his moment of demise.
Dan opened the backpack and pulled out a long length of rope. Shane was surprised how much he’d managed to stuff in it, and once uncoiled there appeared to be more than enough for their plan. They’d been practicing in the last few weeks. Days off spent in the woods had yielded the ability to lay the trap quickly after finding the spot where they now stood. They set about the task, each knowing what he needed to do. Working in tandem, one made the noose knot and held the branch bent while the other set the hair trigger with the other end of the rope.
Content with their efforts, Shane lit the next roll-up of the day. A few had been smoked already, but with neither wanting to ruin their ability to sort their surprise, they’d kept it light until then. Now they could relax and enjoy their adventure, searching for plants and collecting wood for the fire.
The plan was to see what they could find and to identify it once they’d got home. They were building a collection of edible foods for a survival weekend. Knowing what not to pick was as important as what would keep them alive if they ever ran out of food far from civilisation. It was the next step on the learning curve now that traps had been practiced to perfection. They’d worked well with animals in the past, but this was the first time they were trying to catch a man and they were eager to see how they did.
Shane followed Dan’s lead, rooting around near the camp, bagging foliage and autumn fruits. Every item was kept separate with pictures taken of them in their natural state at each location. Dan was a keen photographer, snapping some decent pictures in amongst the disappointing ones.
Shane played his part, searching for descriptions on his mobile, seeing if he could add anything himself to what they were doing.
Eventually, their progress brought them back to the camp where the whiskey was waiting. A few bottles had made it into their rucksacks, and now the hard part was over, they took to the drink. They’d be inebriated by the time Maxwell arrived, and that was fine by Shane. The smooth, hot liquid passed their lips, and stories of past exploits became the topic of conversation. The weed also helped to loosen their tongues, and they laughed like hyenas at a comedy festival.
The afternoon passed merrily until Shane gripped his hand to his tummy, a sharp pain shooting across his insides. The toilet was beckoning, or rather the bush because they’d no intention of looking for a lavatory each time one of them had the urge. He grabbed the loo roll from his bag to the derision of Dan.
“What? You’re not using leaves, but there’s plenty of them?”
“Shut up,” Shane responded. “You can scratch your butt with them if you want, I prefer some comfort when I go.”
Over his shoulder, he heard Dan laughing at his inability to man up during his call of nature. Shane brushed it off with many an insult he’d learnt to endure over the ten years they’d known each other.
Afterwards, he slowly returned, being careful where he put his feet. The concoction they’d consumed that afternoon had taken over his senses, and firm ground seemed to elude him. He’d forgotten the reason they were there until a sound cracked from behind. Expecting Maxwell to have side-stepped their trap and be in the process of jumping out on him, what happened next took him by surprise.
Dan rushed forward from between the trees, a figure so horrific with his white-painted face, black, curled-back lips and eye patch, that Shane didn’t know what to do in that moment. Suddenly, a pain seared in his upper arm, and he looked down at a slice through his costume. He screamed at the growing patch of red escaping his skin.
I’m going to die!
He glanced up with bulging eyes to see an expression of alarm contorting Dan’s face. A surge of adrenaline finally kicked in, and Shane ran off towards his tent. The rickety structure collapsed beneath his flailing limbs. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled into the woods. All thoughts of being careful or ending up in their own trap were gone from his mind. He needed help or he’d die.
Dan was in hot pursuit, Shane could hear the rustle of foliage and snapping twigs to his rear. He headed for the entrance to the woods and slunk across the lane, avoiding stray cars. He flitted his gaze around him, desperate for somewhere to hide. The nearby gardens were the only shelter, so he ran to the nearest and hid behind the hedge before crawling farther in on all fours.
Dan searched for him from between the branches, but without the kn
ife he’d struck him with. He must’ve dropped it at the camp. Shane stayed hidden a while longer until a neighbour became interested in what he was up to. He forced himself to move, back onto the street where he was exposed. He needed to find a shop, get something to stop the bleeding and clean out the wound. God only knows what residue had transferred from the knife, and the sooner it was off him the better.
Chapter Two
The doorbell sounded to signify the customer leaving with their purchase. Carmie Hubbard glanced up from the counter where she stood to see them go, a smile of satisfaction on her slim, tanned face. Since her boss, Emma Jones, had died last spring, Carmie had been promoted to manager of the charity shop in Chapel End. She’d resisted the appointment at first, feelings of guilt clouding her judgement, but now she couldn’t be happier. She no longer endured cutting remarks from a woman who’d put on the charm if it suited her. These days she only answered to herself.
The afternoon was busy with people hunting for last-minute outfits to wear at Halloween parties. Squeals of delight bubbled out from between the clothing racks upon suitable items being found. Many would be altered into something a lot more daring, showing off legs and cleavage with added adornments. This holiday seemed the most fun for partygoers—dressing up in costumes made it extravagant, and the excitement in the air was catching.
The afternoon light was beginning to dim with the setting sun. Carmie’s thoughts turned to closing the shop. She’d been run off her feet and was looking forward to a cosy night in, watching more of her X-Files. She binged the series in order, and each story line kept her totally engrossed. It gave her a thrill to see what happened next to the two agents, especially the tall handsome one. She’d been shocked by the reveal he’d got his partner pregnant, but now that he had alien blood, it’d blown her mind.
Carmie’s upbringing amongst witchcraft made the fantastical plots seem real. She believed anything could happen. Hadn’t she been right about things after the dead girl’s diary had arrived? Hadn’t she predicted Paul was in danger, and hadn’t it all come true? Another smile played on her lips; her mother always said she had special abilities.
Memories of her last journey home to the Philippines crept into her thoughts, the family she missed and the trials they’d been through together. A tear welled in her eye, threatening to be the first of many. That was the problem of working alone. With no one to talk to she was apt to reminisce too often about the life gone by.
The bell rang when the door opened, and she turned away to hide the emotions gathering pace. She didn’t like to greet anyone with anything other than a cheerful grin, so she told herself, not that it was strictly true. Carmie wiped at her eyes and blew her nose, taking a moment before whirling back to face the new customer. Thinking she’d be met by the last of the bargain hunters, she was perplexed to see no one standing there.
“Hello,” Carmie called out, “can I help you?”
No answer returned. She pressed her lips together, her senses heightening.
If no one came in, then why did the door open?
She was sure she’d seen a shadow from the corner of her vision as she’d looked away. Carmie flinched at scratching sounds coming from the far wall by the large front window. She put her hand to her mouth and bit the tips of her fingers. A gasp escaped at the sight of clothing moving by itself and clinking the hangers of the rack they were on.
“Hello?” she called again, her weak voice cracking. Her free hand instinctively reached for the buzzer just beneath the counter. She was about to press it but then she remembered there was no one in the back office to come to her aid. Carmie was completely alone. Outside, the sky was growing dark, so it was impossible to see if there was anyone in the street who could help her.
More weird noises caught her attention—heavy breathing and a moan in a strange voice. Her eyes bulged. She couldn’t work out if it were male or female.
Her hand slipped to her throat while she flitted her gaze around the room to make sure there wasn’t more of the same coming to get her. The shop telephone was in the back office, along with her mobile in her coat pocket. She’d locked it in there for a precaution to prevent it from being stolen.
The front door was within view, but her feet wouldn’t shift, heavy and rooted to the spot. She was seized by an urge to pee and tried hard not to let it flow. Trembling like a leaf, Carmie called out again. “Hello, who’s there?”
This time she got a response. Slowly, the same clothing rack inched towards her. What could be described as a dirty claw gripped its metal end pole, and a figure too terrifying for words slid out from behind. The crumpled mess on the floor had a red patch growing on its left side that seeped into what it was wearing. It gasped again and muttered something she couldn’t understand.
Carmie stared wide-eyed, her mind filling in the details she couldn’t yet grasp.
It’s an alien!
The creature was covered in mud and leaves. It’d been hurt, and the red was blood.
Alien blood.
Carmie sucked in a lungful of air, opened her mouth, and screamed. Her ears rang from the high pitch, but it didn’t stop her from letting out another.
The creature shuddered in her wake and replied with a yell of surprise. Scrabbling in place on the linoleum, it managed to find purchase and scurried back towards the door, flinging it open and escaping into the dark. The door clanged shut behind it, leaving an unmistakably sweet but earthy aroma.
Carmie sobbed. Her nightmares had come to life. She struggled to breathe, her chest hitching with each effort, and she slumped to the floor behind the counter. She stayed put. There wouldn’t be any closing of the shop today, not unless someone rescued her first.
Chapter Three
The choice in the Chapel End convenience store was reasonable for the size of the village and the number of households it catered to. Jenny Reid browsed among the bottles of wines and spirits, trying to decide what she wanted to drink that evening. She wasn’t really in the party mood—things were dreary of late, and boredom had set in. The excitement of letting her hair down and celebrating with some of her colleagues at the local pub had passed her by. She’d been stuck at home so long it was becoming the norm.
Jenny tried to avoid the glare of the owner behind the counter. In the ten months she’d lived there, he’d never failed to make her feel unwelcome. She selected two bottles and walked over to the cash till under his frosty stare.
“Just these,” she said.
Jenny kept her attention on the card reader and willed the transaction to be over. She’d have to visit a supermarket in Bishop in future, so she wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet of his disapproval. How the man managed to stay in business was beyond her.
She stepped into the street and clasped the collar of her jacket with her free hand. The early evening air was descending into a chill that was just right for the time of year. October had been a warm month until this past week, with the weather appearing to turn Arctic. The nights drawing in made it easier to stay home and harder to force herself from her creature comforts.
Jenny glanced at the shop to her left. The lights were still on, meaning Carmie hadn’t locked up yet. Maybe her friend could help her get in the mood to socialise in time for tonight.
The bell rang as she pushed the door open. Her smile vanished when she surveyed the shop interior and saw the place was deserted. She called out, hoping to hear a reply, but none came. Everything seemed normal, except for a smear of mud and some scattered leaves on the floor.
She listened carefully. A whisper caught her attention. The voice sounded emotional, and it was coming from behind the counter. Gripped with fear from the memories of the past spring, Jenny edged forward and peered around the side. Carmie was sitting on the floor with her mobile pinned to her ear. She was concentrating intently to what was said on the other end of the line but not agreeing with a word of it.
“I need to see George now,” she demanded. “I’m too scared to go home.
There’s alien blood everywhere.”
Jenny did a double-take. If she hadn’t known her friend so well, she’d think it was a scene from a comedy sketch. “Carmie, are you all right?”
The woman on the floor froze. “There’s somebody here,” she whispered, “I think they’re behind me.”
Jenny side-stepped around the counter, trying not to startle her friend with any sudden moves.
“Send George now,” Carmie whispered before ringing off and holding the phone tight to her chest.
“Are you okay?”
Carmie looked up, fear creasing deep into the lines of her face. Her hair was damp at the temples from perspiration, and she watched her with a fearful expression.
Jenny reached out a hand and touched her shoulder, trying to ignore the flinch she got in response. The woman had obviously had a terrible fright and needed comforting.
It didn’t take long before the bell sounded again. A gruff-sounding voice called from over the clothing racks.
“Over here,” she said.
The new arrival walked over to where they were and stopped abruptly when he saw the state of the one he’d come to see. “What the hell happened here?”
“I have no idea,” Jenny said in response to DS George’s question.
Carmie burst into tears and grabbed his trouser leg.
“Now, now,” George said while trying to disengage her clammy hands from his person.
Jenny had noticed he wasn’t keen on physical contact—not the touchy-feely type anyway.
“I just found her like this,” Jenny said.
She helped to remove Carmie from him and led her into the back office to sit on a chair. Then Jenny returned to lock the front door so no customers came in unnoticed. She blew out a breath and rubbed the back of her neck, readying herself for the explanation she knew would be fantastical—it always was with her friend.
“I saw it,” Carmie blurted, then cried again.