The Darkness Rising

by David Stuart Davies

  Anderson shook his head. ‘It looks like a massive coronary. We must get him to hospital, post haste.’

  ‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said Matron. ‘I rang through for one before I contacted you.’

  ‘Good,’ he nodded grimly.

  ‘He was just sitting, watching television.’ The head's wife was slumped into a chair close to her husband. ‘Just watching television,’ she said again, her eyes focussing on the middle distance.

  ‘It could happen anywhere,’ said Anderson, placing a comforting arm on her shoulder. ‘Even in bed.’ He felt her body stiffen.

  ‘It's this damned school,’ she said bitterly. ‘It’s killed him.’

  ***

  ‘Get in, Kylie. Your side is open.’

  She did so, shivering. She had thrown on a flimsy raincoat and a scarf over her thin dress to go with him to the car.

  ‘I hope it is only five minutes down the road,’ she said, with none of the coy charm of earlier. ‘I've got to be back in an hour or the boss'll give me hell.’

  ‘That’s OK. We've not got far to go.’ He pulled his door shut and leaned over as though he was going to kiss her.

  ‘Here, none of that now. I'm not doing it in a fucking freezing car if...’ That was as much as she was able to say before she felt his cold hands around her neck.

  ‘Didn't mummy warn you about men like me?’ he growled, tightening his grip around her soft young flesh.

  She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged. Her teeth gnashed together and her body erupted violently beneath him but he held firm, tightening his grasp. Soon she began to gurgle as froth collected at the corners of her mouth, her eyes widened, bulging in silent terror.

  This was enjoyable. He felt great pleasure as the flesh became malleable beneath his fingers. He thrilled to feel her body tremble and gyrate against his, in the sheer desperation to escape.

  But there was no escape.

  Gradually, the squirming grew less and then finally the eyes, wide and protruding, ceased to move, glazed over in static, staring horror.

  The girl was dead.

  He pulled back to admire his handiwork, accidentally pressing the car horn with his elbow as he did so. The mournful blare into the darkness, shocked him momentarily; and then to his surprise, he noticed that he was wet with perspiration.

  Time to change, he thought.

  The street was empty. There was no one to see or care what was going on in the solitary vehicle with the steamed up windows.

  What was going on was that Michael Barlow was transferring from an old host to a new one.

  ***

  Kate's moments of consciousness were brief. She had only a vague notion where she was. All the consequences leading up to the why she was in hospital were lost to her. Her memory was like a granite wall; there was no getting through it or over it. Not that it concerned her. She felt relaxed—or to be more precise, overwhelmingly tired.

  Kind faces had spoken comforting words to her and a swirl of activity carried on around her, but she wanted none of it. Slowly the tug of sleep became too strong and she drifted into its embrace.

  ***

  The Michael Barlow thing looked down at its new form. If Rob Moore' body felt strange, this one certainly felt stranger. It peered through its new eyes into the driving mirror. The face that stared back was pale, heavily made up with blonde hair. She pulled her scarf around her neck, arranging it so that it hid the livid red marks on her throat. She smiled at her reflection and then glanced round at the untidy heap in the driving seat. The untidy heap that was Rob Moore.

  Kylie searched through her handbag using the meagre light from the dashboard as illumination. There was little in there. Twenty pounds in cash. A packet of contraceptives, comb, lipstick, cigarette, lighter and a credit card belonging to K. White.

  ‘So that's who I am: Kylie White’ She laughed out loud with pleasure.

  ‘Now let's put a sensible end to dear old Rob. At last you proved yourself useful, Rob old boy, so I'll see to it that you have a respectable death—to tidy things up so to speak.’

  Wiping the windscreen to clear it of condensation, Kylie White checked that the street was clear before leaving the car. She quickly went round to the rear and unlocked the boot. From it she extracted a long coil of hosepipe.

  She moved slowly and awkwardly at first. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to take on a female body with its reduced strength and unfamiliar anatomy. But the eyes twinkled at the thought that it would be most useful in deception.

  She fixed one end of the hosepipe to the exhaust. It was a difficult operation to squeeze the hose over the metal rim of the blackened pipe, especially with these new hands, so long and slender. They were sensitive hands—he could learn to paint again with hands like these.

  Having completed that part of the operation, Kylie White wound down the passenger window just enough for her to slip the other end of the hosepipe through and then jerked the window back up to jam it into position.

  Moving around to the other side of the car, she opened the driver's door and pushed the lifeless shell of Rob Moore over into the passenger seat as she edged herself into the driving position.

  At the second attempt the car started up and within moments the poisonous fumes were pumping into the car. Kylie got out and slammed the door shut.

  Everything was working out very nicely. Rob's death would be seen as suicide. Remorse and despair at having killed his wife had driven him to it. Kylie smiled; 'driven' was rather an apt word. The suicide would be accepted without question—there would be no mystery concerning either his death or his wife's. There would be no loose ends. No complications that could cause problems when he was back with Kate.

  Kate.

  There was only David Cole to deal with now and then he could be finally re-united with her.

  Kate.

  Kylie White shivered as a gust of wind blew down the street. Pulling the raincoat closer to, she turned and moved off quickly into the night.

  She had a very important appointment to keep.

  ELEVEN

  The elegant Victorian Bar of the Grand Hotel in Brighton was not crowded as Rob had suggested it might be. Out of season, the hotel relied on businessmen as weekday clients and only a few of these were seated in the long narrow bar room. One or two were alone studying their mobiles, missing their wives or girlfriends. In the conservatory beyond, overlooking the promenade, were a group of tired-looking executives obviously talking shop. All very normal and mundane. How many times in his life had David sneered at the normal and mundane? Now he would welcome them with open arms.

  He perched on one of the leather stools at the far end of the bar so that he could see everyone who came in. He asked the barman for a large whisky and nibbled a few peanuts subconsciously while he waited for it.

  He glanced at his watch. 9.50. Ten minutes to go. He took a long drink, the whisky burning the back of his throat. It was good. He enjoyed the discomfort of it.

  The alcohol began to relax him and then he thought about Kate.

  He'd been to see her at the hospital again before coming here. There had been some change. The Sister said that she had regained consciousness for a while and then slipped into a more natural sleep. It sounded good, but this information was delivered in such dour, flat tones that he didn't know what to think. He certainly wasn’t uplifted by the news; the Sister's manner only fuelled his anxiety.

  However, the fact that Kate had been moved to a side ward had seemed a hopeful sign, and he tried to cheer himself up with this; but the cold night, the uncertainty of his errand and, fierce gut-pummelling reality had dissipated any easing of the depression he felt.

  He had stayed some fifteen minutes gazing down at Kate's still form. Despite the bruises, she still looked beautiful; that fine delicate nose and that wide sensuous mouth. He longed to see her grey intelligent eyes again bright and sparkling with life. Watching her, he had cried a little. Somehow he felt—knew—deep down th
at she would never come back to him. It could never be as it was before. And at the same time, he sensed something dying within him, too.

  He pulled himself back to the present, cursing each morbid thought that clouded his brain. He took another drink. While she was alive there was hope. Hold on to that thought.

  Ten o'clock came and went. There was no sign of Rob. God, I hope this isn't some kind of hoax and he isn't going to turn up. Why on earth would he drag me here if he had no intention of meeting me? David's scriptwriter brain began to work on this conundrum. Perhaps, he mused, it is not so much that he wants me here, he just doesn't want me at the cottage.

  Out of the way.

  What for? And why had he taken Tim? Was he really telling the truth when he swore that he didn’t kill Fiona? Questions, questions. Who the hell can find the answers with his twisted mentality? It was pointless trying to reason what he would do. Reason did not come into it.

  Ten fifteen and no Rob.

  David's stomach began to churn. If he really did kill his wife, what wild things might he be doing now? At this moment. He should have told the police. In fact, he wasn't really sure why he hadn't. Some vague feelings of loyalty to Rob, maybe. But how can you be loyal to a mad man?

  Sitting quietly in these pleasant surroundings with a drink, which was easing the tension within him, he could see quite clearly now that he had been a fool. He downed the last of his whisky. Time I went, he told himself.

  ‘David.’

  Someone close to him spoke his name, softly but very clearly.

  He turned to face the speaker. To his surprise he saw that it was a young woman in her early twenties. She was thin, blonde-haired and heavily made-up, but fairly attractive in an obvious way.

  ‘David Cole?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied tentatively.

  ‘I'm Kylie White.’ She looked around cautiously. ‘I'm a friend of Rob's.’

  ‘Oh!’ David did not like this at all. He had never seen or heard of the girl before and she certainly didn't look like Rob's type one bit.

  ‘He's asked me to meet you and take you back to him.’ She spoke softly, her brown eyes furtively scanning the bar. ‘He felt he couldn't risk being seen in public.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So if you'll come now, I'll take you to him.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He asked me not to say in case I was overheard.’

  ‘By whom, for Christ's sake?’ David spoke the words softly but they resonated with his frustrated anger. ‘If I'm being followed, they'll follow wherever you're taking me.’

  Kylie's bottom lip began to tremble.

  ‘Don't make me break my promise to Rob, please.’

  David gave a heavy sigh of resignation. ‘OK. Come on.’

  ‘We'll need to take your car.’

  ‘Right.’ he said leaving his stool. ‘Let's get this over with.’

  ‘Thank you, David,’ she said, taking his arm as they left the bar.

  ***

  The Scottish nurse took Kate's pulse. She wasn't pleased with it. In the pale glow of the bedside lamp, Kate's face appeared waxy and unnaturally still. The fact that she hadn't stopped breathing was evident from her slow pulse rate, but other than that she had all the appearance of a corpse.

  The nurse knew peaceful, restful sleep, but this she felt was not it. Mrs Barlow gave all the signs of great surrender.

  It fitted a grim pattern she knew well: the brief encouraging rally before the inevitable.

  She turned on her heel and hurried from the room to find Sister.

  ***

  On Kylie White's instructions, David pulled up outside one of the hotels in the less salubrious end of Brighton. Outside in the misty gloom of the night he could just make out the words on the illuminated sign: Ocean Vis a Hotel.

  ‘Rob's waiting for us in there,’ said Kylie . ‘Shall we go in?’

  Ironically enough, David considered this rather dramatic cloak and dagger scenario typical of Rob Moore. Arranging to meet him and then simply keeping the appointment was too straightforward for Rob. There had to be complications and convolutions: they were his stock in trade. Therefore, it was with no real sense of unease that David complied with Kylie’s suggestion.

  They moved quickly through the foyer to the lift. A small Asian man was at the reception desk and he hardly gave them a glance. The cramped stale-smelling lift shook and rattled its way to the third floor and then Kylie led him along a dimly lit corridor.

  ‘This is it,’ she said when they at last reached the room and unlocking the door she bade David enter. ‘Go on in.’

  David did so. The room was in darkness but broad shafts of light fell through the window on to one of the two beds inside. Lying on the bed, perfectly still but with eyes wide open staring at the ceiling was Timothy Barlow.

  ‘Tim. Thank God!’ cried David, making a move towards the boy. A light snapped on flooding the room with harsh light and he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘He's resting; leave him alone.’

  The resonance and the quality of the voice stopped David in his tracks. It was a voice that was somehow familiar and yet it sounded strangely alien—unearthly. He turned round and there was no one there. No one except for Kylie White leaning against the closed door.

  She smiled.

  ‘Hello, David.’

  The voice, this strange guttural voice, was coming from her.

  ‘What's going on? Where's Rob?’

  ‘Don't concern yourself about Rob. He's never going to bother anyone again.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who are you?’

  ‘Inquisitive, aren't we?’

  The voice was changing, subtly at first, deepening in pitch and growing more familiar.

  Too familiar.

  A fierce chill invaded David’s body. Surely it couldn’t be?

  ‘Yes, my friend, you recognise this voice, don’t you? It’s the one that pierces your nightmares. You are not mistaken. I am Michael. I have returned. As I said I would.’

  The female creature raised her arms. ’Oh, I know this body is unfamiliar to you but don’t let that distract you from the truth. After all it is only a temporary arrangement.’

  David closed his eyes and shook his head violently. Either he was going mad, his brain slipping into dark world of insanity—or it really was happening.

  ‘I have been waiting, longing to return, return to my darling Kate and to settle a few scores. There was you and there was Rob who required punishment. I needed to settle those debts. And it was that little medium fellow Crabtree that provided, the pathway, the portal through which I could return. And here I am.’ The Michael creature opened its mouth wide in a deep guttural laugh.

  ‘You… you killed Fiona Moore. It was you.’

  ‘Indeed. And Rob.’

  ‘Rob.’

  ‘Yes, your old buddy is dead too. I used his body for a while. But I needed to move on. As I do now.’

  This last statement made David shudder; but in doing so he finally accepted the horrifying and insane truth of it all. And with this acceptance came strength. It was as though he had passed through a doorway of understanding into another realm of consciousness. He was facing a new reality and with this he suddenly felt stronger within himself. He had to believe the impossible; accept this fantastic scenario. Only by doing so could he take action and survive. Here then before him in the shape of a frail young woman was Michael Barlow—back from the dead. Strangely, it now all seemed possible, even logical. He had been fighting this nightmare for long enough with reason and rationality and they had failed. Now he had to face the truth, however incredible.

  Yes, Michael Barlow was back from the dead.

  Rob had known. He had been aware of this power that reached out from the grave to touch the lives of the living.

  Now he knew. Now he believed.

  The full implication of this dark truth flooded his body with warmth and strength like a hidden power. Doubt and tiredness were swept
aside and he felt his frame glow with an inner freedom. It was a blessed release.

  He made a move towards the creature masquerading as Kylie White, but her eyes flashed and their piercing gaze held him back.

  ‘Don't do that, Cole. It's useless. I am in total control. Resign yourself to that fact. You are mine to do with as I will.’

  Timothy, who had been quiet and still up to this moment, suddenly gave out a long, agonised moan and stirring feverishly, he raised himself slightly from the bed.

  David turned to the boy with concern, forgetting momentarily his own danger. ‘Tim, Tim,’ he called. ‘Are you all right?’

  The boy's eyes flickered wildly, and he called out softly.

  ‘Mother,’ he said.

  For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though he knew David. His features brightened with the recognition, before the lids closed down and he slumped back in apparent unconsciousness.

  ‘He wants Kate and so do I,’ said the Michael creature.

  ‘Do you?’ David turned to Kylie White. He was vibrating with anger now; his head pounded with his own fury. He no longer felt afraid; just angry—bitterly angry.

  ‘If you want Kate you had better hurry up and do whatever you have to—if you want her before she dies.’

  Kylie White looked shocked. Her face blanched, the features mirroring the turmoil of emotion the creature felt at what David had said. Disbelief and fear fought for mastery of expression.

  ‘You lie.’ The words were spat out.

  ‘Do I? You bastard.’ David replied with matching vehemence. ‘It's because of you... It's because of you that she's dying. She crashed her car after the damned séance.’

  David had the bleak satisfaction of seeing this creature visibly shrink at this revelation. He carried on, twisting the knife in the wound, giving full vent to his anger.

  ‘She's in Intensive Care at St. Luke's. It is only a matter of time before she dies.’ He said the last sentence slowly and coolly placing emphasis on each word.

  The figure of Kylie White staggered backwards and as it crashed into the door an agonised inhuman cry of torment issued from its lips. As the cry vibrated in the stillness of the room, Timothy Barlow roused himself once more, calling out for his mother. David crossed to him.