‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing. We walked for half an hour in one direction, turned around, came back and walked for half an hour in the other. There’s nothing. Just the road and the horizon. Have you looked out?’ Luke nods. ‘On the other side of the road, it’s not sand, it’s stone. Smooth, hard and the colour of sand but not sand. Real peculiar. But what’s even more peculiar is that despite us walking for what felt like thirty minutes out, it took us more like five to walk back. I don’t think we were ever more than five minutes away from the house. Walking in the other direction, we kept looking back and the house was never as far behind us as it should have been.’
‘Okay, that is weird.’ But weird isn’t unusual and they’ve come up against many things just as bizarre, possibly more so. Possibly. The sound and smell of frying sausages is seriously distracting him from worrying about their less immediate problems.
‘Anything else we've missed?’
Rick lifts his head with a smile that looks slightly forced. ‘Apart from us being better off food and drink-wise than we’ve been since this whole thing started?’ Luke doesn’t bother to remind him that it all started long, long before they got involved. ‘There’s a mad old woman in a rocking chair in the lounge, and we think there might be creatures in the walls.’
‘An old woman, and creatures in the walls?’
Joe confirms, ‘Possibly. Well, not the old lady, she's definitely there although she hasn’t come out of the lounge. She claims she's happy knitting and would welcome a cup of green tea whenever we're making one. She’s also apparently partial to a sherry in the evening.’
‘Sencha Tea?’
Joe nods and Luke meets Matt's glance across the kitchen. ‘Sounds like Grandma.’ Matt gives him the hint of a smile. ‘And the creatures in the walls? They attacked you?’
‘No. But I’m sure when we heard them they were talking.’
He looks up at Joe. ‘Talking?’
‘Communicating.’
‘But you haven't actually seen one?’
‘No. We've just heard the scratching and these sounds... like teeth chattering.’
‘Sounds like Grandpa,’ Matt murmurs with a smirk, and Luke grins.
‘There is something I would like to know,’ Emilie starts and Luke recognises that tone. She's great in a fight and he does like her but now and again her crush on him gets annoying. ‘And that is what you two have been up to.’ She’s looking straight at him, expression bordering on crude, and he knows there’s no point in denying anything but it's definitely not her business.
‘Nothing that concerns any of you,’ Matt assures them in a tone that translates directly to 'end of conversation'. He's never been bothered by her attachment to Luke, he’s always been confident that one day they’d end up doing something about what's been simmering between them for years. Luke hopes they're all paying attention because he doesn't want to have this conversation more than once. They are, apparently. Joe's sizing them up from where he’s sitting and at the other end of the table Gabe's smiling, drinking his coffee like a guy who knows where the next one's coming from and isn't about to do anything to endanger that.
Rick though, Rick just has to open his mouth. ‘I thought you'd been up to nothing that concerns us all along.’
Luke honestly doesn't care what they think but they have to be a broadminded group after what they've been through.
‘We weren’t,’ he clarifies. ‘Now we are and it still doesn’t concern you.’
‘Okay.’ Rick's nodding. ‘Fine. Great. Glad we sorted that out.’
Gabe leans over, mug clutched in his hands. ‘What he’s trying to say is that we’re all very happy for you.’
Matt's obviously ignoring them as he puts breakfast in front of Luke: three sausages, eggs over easy and two doorstop slices of fresh white bread.
‘Thank you.’ It’s heartfelt as Luke picks up the sausages with his fingers and dumps them on a slice of bread, covering them with ketchup and making a sandwich fit for a king. The ketchup leaks from the sides over his fingers and he licks it off before taking a bite of his breakfast. Matt pulls a stool out and brings it around, elbowing Luke until he shifts over and gives him space for himself and his own plate. Then they tuck in and for a few long minutes there’s nothing but the sound of hungry men eating.
When he stops for breath, Luke inquires, ‘Who wants to tell us about the old lady?’
‘Probably best you see for yourselves,’ Joe suggests. ‘When you've finished, obviously.’
Luke nods. It's important to get priorities right at times like this. All too often they don’t know when their next meal is coming or if they'll still be alive to eat it. So when they have food, good food, everything else can usually wait.
~..~
Rick watches them eat, abruptly distracted by the ketchup dripping from bread to plate. It's putting him in mind of blood drops falling from white skin into silver dishes, ruby lips and a forked tongue licking at bleeding wounds in glee. He gets up from the table and goes out into the hall.
‘You okay, Rick?’ Joe calls out and he chokes back,
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
There’s something about the smell of cooked meat that’s turning his stomach and he’s not sure why. They lived in the diner for a week and by the end of it they all stank of cheap beef and fried onions and he didn't mind at all. He rubs his chest to alleviate the stinging sensation that feels like heartburn and opens the front door to step outside into air that tastes just beyond its ‘use by’ date. Nothing’s changed out here, the yard’s still a mess and he feels a sudden urge to find a rake and clear up a bit.
Staring out at the bright horizon he tries again to remember exactly what happened at the end of the last fight because the details keep scattering like the remnants of a dream. As he stands on the top step and closes his eyes it starts to come back to him, slowly at first, then all in a rush so it takes his breath away.
They knew where to go, when to go, somehow. Matt was constantly going on about signs and they were following a kind of map he’d been constructing since long before Rick joined them, a map that eventually led to Five Points. They stopped at the diner because there was nowhere else; the last town they drove through had been looted and pillaged until all that was left were streets filled with shattered glass. The small shops had been gutted, homes ransacked. There was a cafe in the main street but the stench was too bad to even approach it. They never found out what happened to the 254 residents catalogued on the ‘Welcome to Three Rocks’ billboard. They were just gone. There was no sign of anyone anywhere and they didn’t want to stay in a ghost town so they moved on and came across the diner. There was electricity from a still-functioning generator and the cold store was well stocked. It was relatively comfortable and with a couple of modifications they made it easy to defend. Not that they needed to and that was the final sign, Matt said, that they were at the centre of the storm. He knew where they needed to be and when. He didn't make it clear up front whether he was talking about all of them or just himself and Luke, but for a week they all lay low. They rested, caught up on some much needed sleep, even if it was squashed into booths with various limbs hanging off the bright red PVC seats. They didn’t talk much but it didn’t matter. It was nice.
At the end of the week, Matt told them time was up and that if they wanted to follow it had to be voluntarily, of their own free will. It was important for some reason he didn't explain. Of course they all went. Matt and Luke were their saviours, they owed it to them and what choice did they really have? They didn't know what would come next. So they walked in silence to the battleground, a park, a mile or so up the road from their temporary shelter, where families once walked their dogs and children played. Their little band armed to the teeth and led by two young men they'd known for a matter of weeks.
There, they fought.
At first it wasn’t unlike the kind of fights they’d been involved in before. The first wave came at them from the peri
meter; the un-dead, the possessed, the disease-ravaged. They systematically hacked them down, a long hour of carnage that left them bloody and battered but still victorious. As they knew from previous fights, the things most people became when they were bitten or infected weren’t intelligent or fast or particularly strong. They were easily to kill in ways that meant they stayed dead.
Rick remembers Joe tipping his head back and yelling up at the sky, ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ He remembers thinking at the time that Joe was shouting in the wrong direction, and of course the answer was another wave of Hell’s spawn, hounds amongst them. They chopped and slashed their way through, their significant stash of bullets all but used up, sheer determination boosting and bolstering them. They put to use everything Matt and Luke had taught them, staying close, working together as a team. He remembers hearing Emilie shouting Luke's name when the second wave was down to its last few un-dead, some with limbs missing, swaying and staggering, and he looked up to see Matt and Luke break away, heading for a low hill at the north end of the park.
Then something happened to him. He can’t remember what but he knows it hurt because he can recall the flash of pain, sharp and sudden but dulling quickly as everything seemed to go red before it went black, cold following heat a moment before his body flared hot. After that there’s nothing until the flash-bang of the storm and finding himself standing in the yard with the others. Between the two events there's a void that he doesn't want to dig into too deeply.
He hears voices behind him and turns, stepping back into the house as the rest of them come out of the kitchen.
‘Okay, Rick?’ Joe asks again and Rick nods, forcing a smile. He may well be, he just isn’t sure, but the creatures in the walls and the old lady in the previously locked room are enough to take his mind off the other things for now.
‘We heard the scratching again.’
He can hear it too. It’s getting louder and it seems to be coming from under the stairs. Matt and Luke crouch down in front of the bottom step, Emilie and Joe leaning in while Gabe's again goes for a poker.
‘What if it’s critters?’ he hears Luke whisper and watches Matt pull a face.
‘Urgh. But, no. Critters were about a foot tall. These sound shorter.’
Rick’s about to ask but Joe beats him to it. ‘How can something sound short?’
‘The sounds are coming from close to the floor.’
‘Maybe they’re trying to burrow out.’
Which is just great, if Luke’s right, because if whatever those things are do get out he doubts the sight of a man brandishing a poker is going to look like the friendliest of greetings. He hears a cracking sound, breaking wood and the others are scooting back, Gabe stepping forward with the poker raised.
‘What the fuck...?’
Not critters then, judging by their reactions. He peers around Joe and sees that they're staring at a hole in the stair, about five inches across, wooden splinters at its edges and something peering out from inside. As he watches, a short orange arm reaches out of the hole followed by a stubby orange leg and with difficulty something clambers out. It’s nothing more than a square body, about the size of Rick’s palm, with short arms and legs and a face with black circular eyes, an oblong mouth and triangular white teeth, the tip of a pink tongue poking between them. It looks like it’s made of wool. And it’s looking up at them.
‘Ahhhhh!’
One minute it's alive, or some definition of 'alive', and the next it's dead. Or some definition of 'dead'.
‘Jesus, Gabe!’
‘Fucking Hell!’
Gabe’s brought the poker down hard on the thing and practically chopped it in half.
‘Have you just been waiting to use that?’ Emilie sounds more irritated than upset, staring at the orange body that now has a wide trench in the centre of its torso where the poker landed. It’s no longer animated, its teeth no longer real but made from felt like the rest of its features, torn strands of wool spilling out from where its insides should be.
‘I know what it is,’ Gabe tells them as Luke picks it up and turns it over in his hands, saying,
‘It's just a toy.’
Rick catches sight of Matt nudging Luke’s elbow and pointing back at the hole in the step. He looks to see what Matt’s pointing to. There’s a second creature peering out at them. This one’s purple. Amusingly, Luke hides the 'dead' one quickly behind his back.
‘Luke,’ Matt's whisper has a worrying urgency. ‘Grandma Nancy.’
Gabe is still talking, ‘I’ve seen these things before,’ and Rick sees recognition on Luke’s face just as Gabe concludes, ‘Last night. It’s what the old woman was knitting.’
~..~
Luke exchanges glances with Matt. Their individual intuitions tend to be well honed, but if they're both thinking the same thing at the same time, ninety-nine times out of a hundred they're right. The second, purple toy is out of the hole and standing on the wooden floor, possibly looking for the first one that he's keeping out of sight in case they were friends.
‘You want to introduce us to the old woman?’ Matt’s voice is heavy with inevitability.
Gabe looks up at them and there’s caution in his expression. ‘I don’t know. Do I? Do you already know who it is?’ But he’s up and heading for the lounge door with them in tow, opening it with dramatic flair.
Luke knows just by the shape of the old woman's head exactly who it is, and he knows Matt does too. They walk around to stand in front of her and she looks up, a great big toothy smile on her face, false teeth gleaming white thanks to the power of Polident.
‘Luke! Matt! It’s so good to see you boys again! It's been so long. How are you?’
It’s frustrating but totally believable that these things are still happening to them. Neither of them answer her, they just look carefully at what she’s knitting – an orange oval toy with long arms and even longer legs – nod once and smile in unison then return to the hall, pulling the door closed behind them with the others watching, waiting for an explanation. Luke hands the ‘dead’ toy to Joe.
‘It’s Grandma Nancy,’ he states with a slight curl of his lip. ‘She was our Mom’s Mom. Really weird woman. Used to sit and knit toys for homeless and orphaned kids all day. Whenever we stayed at her house, Matt and I used to make up these stories about the toys coming to life, living behind the bookcase in the hall, moving around the house in the walls and eating all the spiders.’
Joe nods. ‘Okay, so we don't need to kill her, right?’ Luke’s about to respond with an emphatic ‘No!’ when Joe’s expression changes almost comically, his forehead creases, his eyes narrow and he manages two more words. ‘Wait…. What?’
‘I know. Highly unlikely as it might be, that’s who she is. She died like… twenty years ago.’
‘No,’ Joe’s shaking his head and now Luke’s getting confused.
‘Yes. She did, we can promise you. Mom made us wear black suits to her funeral. And there was this really creepy vicar who kept checking out Matt’s ass…’
‘No, I mean… what are you saying? Your Mom? Your Mom or Matt’s Mom?’
Luke looks at him and there’s a bad feeling creeping into his gut like he the times he’s had milk that’s gone off.
‘Our Mom.’ Joe looks as if he’s been slapped and that bad feeling morphs into the first stirrings of anger. ‘You know we're brothers! We fucking told you! When we first met, we told you our parents were killed by a werewolf when we were kids.’
‘I thought… I mean, I assumed you were talking about both sets of parents, I assumed they knew each other and they were in the same car. I didn’t know you were brothers! You’re… I mean… you’re….’
‘Having sex?’ Luke’s suddenly furious; everything they've done for these people, everything they've been through and this is what Joe decides to have a problem with?
He feels Matt’s hand tighten around his arm, ‘Luke—’ But he's on a roll and he doesn't want Matt, the voice of reason and
calm, to butt in quite yet.
‘Why do you care, anyway? What gives you the right to judge us? You can’t imagine the life we’ve had. We lost our parents, brought ourselves up. Two kids on our own with nothing and no one but each other. Matt’s the only person I’ve ever loved. We’re both consenting adults and it isn’t anyone’s business but our own.’
‘Luke!’
He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He’s not finished but Matt isn’t going to let him go on. So he rolls his eyes and backs down, letting Matt explain.
‘Luke’s parents were killed in a car crash when he was six months old.’ He reveals it quietly with reverence. They’ve never talked about it, there’s nothing to say. But after Mom and Dad told Luke on his tenth birthday about what happened to his real Mom and Dad, and promised that they would always love him as their own, Matt had wrapped his skinny arms around his big brother and told him that he would always love him too. ‘My parents adopted him before I was born. We're not related by blood.’
For whatever reason, though, Joe isn't about to let it go. ‘Would it make a difference if you were?’
It seems like an odd question to Luke and he’s still trying to process it when Matt gives a calm and level answer.
‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’
Even though it shouldn’t be, it is good to hear that, and to hear the honest admission in his voice. Luke’s asked himself on occasion whether things would be any different between them if they had both been born to the same parents. He can only hope so.
‘It doesn’t matter does it? We’re not. And it’s still none of your damn business.’
Luckily Gabe, the other voice of reason, steps in, still grasping his favourite poker in a not entirely non-threatening way.
‘He’s right. What they are to one another isn’t anything to do with us. But they are.’ He points with the end of the poker at the purple creature still staring at them from next to the hole in the stair. ‘You said you used to make up stories where your Grandma’s toys came to life and if that’s your Grandma in that room then it makes sense that those are her toys coming to life. So—’
The House at the End of the World Page 12