Ghost Monster

by Simon Clark

  Jacob had two warnings: ‘Easy, Jack, the road ends at the cliff-edge.’ And, second: ‘See your pick-up? The Lowe brothers are here, too.’

  Jack had a warning of his own, ‘We’ve picked up some followers.’ He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. ‘About fifty vehicles, half a mile behind us.’

  ‘Justice Murrain and his Battle Men, no doubt.’

  Jack gave a grim smile. ‘Events are about to become ever so interesting.’

  When the school was some hundred yards away he slowed the bucking vehicle. Straight away, three figures stepped from the pick-up.

  Jacob clicked his tongue. ‘Ross and Scott Lowe, plus deranged mother.’

  After stopping the truck, Jack pulled the shotgun out from behind his seat. Then both decamped from the cab; two eerily similar men, despite the age difference of sixty years.

  Jack approached the three. He grimaced when he saw the ruinous state of the old woman’s face. One half had been burned until it resembled a Hallowe’en mask. The two men aimed their shotguns at Jack.

  ‘This madness has gone far enough,’ Jacob told them.

  His grandson added with some force, ‘Hand the women over, Scott. I know you’re no killer.’ He shot Ross a filthy look, his meaning clear. Ross, however, is beyond redemption.

  ‘Where are they?’ demanded Jacob.

  Gleefully, Rebecca Lowe shrilled, ‘In yonder schoolhouse. They’re going down with all that bricks and mortar – you’ll watch the bitches fall with ’em.’

  ‘Rebecca, there’s no need for this. We’ve been at odds for thirty years. But keep innocent people out of it.’

  ‘I couldn’t hurt you, Jacob Murrain. You thrive on noble self-sacrifice. If I hurt the ones you care about that’s another thing, entirely. See this.’ She pushed her hair away from the medley of oranges, yellows, rifts and puckered flesh. ‘That’s your doing, Murrain. After that night in the cemetery not another man lusted over me again. Boys, tell him how I’ve endured a life of torment.’

  The pair appeared close to tears. Their mother’s outpouring of emotion shook them to the core. Ross tightened his finger around the gun trigger. ‘Just give me the word, Ma. Just give me the word! I’ll blow his head off!’

  From the building came a rending sound. Another ton or so of masonry parted from the structure to crash to the beach.

  Jack said, ‘Scott, do the right thing.’

  ‘My mother isn’t long for this world. Her heart’s failing. We promised her.’ He pointed the gun at Jack.

  Jack aimed at the old woman. ‘Pull that trigger and I’ll fire before I die. I’m promising you.’

  Jacob spoke gravely. ‘Rebecca, it’s time to tell your boys to stop this. We have to bury our differences.’

  ‘Oh? What puts you in a position where you can demand anything?’

  ‘Because of them, Rebecca.’ He pointed at the approaching line of vehicles. ‘You’ve heard of my ancestor, Justice Murrain and his Battle Men. You know about the terrible things they did in Crowdale.’

  ‘That was hundreds of years ago.’ She laughed. ‘Losing our mind are we, Jacob?’

  The Lowe brothers watched the approaching convoy. They exchanged glances of alarm.

  ‘I guarded the mosaic of my ancestor, Rebecca. My grandson was destined to follow me in my duty. You see, the portrait of Justice Murrain kept his restless soul locked in the earth. Now that your sons have removed it they have opened the prison door. Evil spirits are free, Rebecca. You know the legends of the Ghost Monster. They were told often enough by our parents and the townspeople.’

  Scott frowned. The vehicles were only seconds away from reaching them. Something about their occupants unsettled him. ‘Ma, is this true?’

  ‘Pah! Jacob Murrain and his family are crazy. Obsessed they are. The damned picture in the mausoleum means everything to them. I remember Jacob’s grandfather when I was a girl. He trudged through snowstorms to make sure the lamp still burned there. Jacob, here, inherited the madness. The night this happened’ – she touched her disfigured features – ‘I followed Jacob up to the cemetery. I watched him and laughed at him as he oh-so carefully swept the mausoleum floor. Then he got a little rag to oh-so gently wipe the grubby face of his ancestor. And he fiddled with the lamp to make it all rosy and warm. Foolish man.’

  Jacob asked, ‘Do you want to know the truth, Scott? Do you, Ross? We were—’

  ‘Shut up, Jacob,’ she shrieked.

  ‘We were lovers. And sometimes even the best love affairs go wrong.’

  Jack warned, ‘Grandfather, they’re nearly here.’

  ‘Shoot the pair of them,’ howled Rebecca. ‘Kill them!’

  Ross would have obeyed, but Scott pushed the muzzle upwards so it aimed harmlessly skyward. ‘Ma, is he telling the truth?’

  ‘Tell them, Rebecca. We had three happy years together. Then I fell sick with influenza. You never liked to be kept waiting, did you?’

  Ross had locked on to the notion of killing the Murrains. ‘That’s not important. You did that to Ma’s face. That’s why I’m going to blow your heads off.’ Jacob cast glances at the approaching vehicles. Already, he glimpsed

  Justice Murrain in the lead car. Yet he took the remaining moments to explain calmly, ‘Scott, we’d broken up, your mother and I. There were attempts at reconciliation after that, but … well, anyway, I’d gone to the mausoleum one night to check everything was all right. Your mother followed me up there. I know she was simply being playful, but she grabbed the lamp. I begged her not to. When she saw that she’d succeeded in teasing me she ran off with it. I followed her, because she’d gone into the ruin of Murrain Hall, which stood on the cliff. It was dangerous. Like the school here, it was falling into the sea. As I tried to catch up with your mother she tripped. When she fell the lamp broke. The oil ignited and …’ He sighed. ‘I’m so sorry what happened to you, Rebecca. However, it was an accident. Nobody was to blame.’

  ‘Scott, this is your mother telling you the truth. Murrain is responsible for this.’ She seized her son’s hand, pressed it to that withered orange-peel flesh. ‘Kill the pair of them.’ Mad lights danced in the woman’s remaining eye. ‘Tear them apart!’

  Scott, however, couldn’t help but stare at the approaching vehicles. They trundled in line along the narrow lane, flanked by stout brick walls. ‘That bloke there in the car,’ he said. ‘That’s Horace Neville.’

  His mother snarled, ‘The idiot boy. So?’

  ‘Horace Neville killed three cops. They say he murdered his own mother.’

  Jack called out, ‘Now will you believe us? Those men and women have been possessed by the spirits of Justice Murrain’s thugs.’

  ‘Possessed by spirits?’ Rebecca spat in disgust. ‘Jack Murrain, you’re as deranged as your grandfather.’

  Scott wasn’t so sure his mother spoke the truth. ‘Ma, some of those people are in their nightclothes. This doesn’t look right to me.’

  ‘There’ll be a sane explanation. See? In the front car with Neville? That’s a policewoman. They must have arrested the simpleton, then—’

  At that point, the policewoman did something that none of the Lowes expected. As the car turned sideways on, just thirty paces from them, the pretty woman in the police uniform pushed the muzzle of a sub-machine-gun from the open window, then fired a burst in the direction of the Lowe family. One of the rounds smashed into Scott’s thigh.

  ‘Damn!’ he exclaimed before firing back. The pellets shattered a side window. Even from here Jacob saw blood spill from the driver’s head.

  Howling, Rebecca begged her sons to kill Jacob. Ross stood there gawping, too dim to know what to do next. Scott reached a decision.

  ‘Jack!’ Scott tossed the man a key. ‘Get the women out of the school, then run.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ shrieked Rebecca. ‘This isn’t what I wanted!’

  ‘Maybe not, Ma, but if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make up for all the trouble we’ve caused. You’r
e with me, aren’t you, Ross?’

  Ross appeared torn between obedience toward his mother and allegiance to his younger brother. At last: ‘I’m with you, Scott. Sorry, Ma, but we think you need help.’

  ‘No… No!’ She threw the queen of all tantrums. By the handful, she ripped out her hair, as she wept and yelled.

  Jack ran to the school’s main door. As he wrestled with the key, in a no doubt rusty and under-used lock, another chunk of school collapsed over the edge of the cliff.

  Jacob prayed that the two women had managed to find some relatively safe corner of the building.

  Meanwhile, the bulk of the convoy emerged from the narrow section of the lane to fan out into the area that once comprised the village green. From vehicles, there spilled a strange assortment of half-dressed, or even completely undressed citizens of Crowdale. Most wore leers. They anticipated violent entertainments. What’s more, they didn’t appear troubled that Scott, Ross and Jack toted shotguns. Jacob saw that the possessed had armed themselves with hammers, screwdrivers and knives. Most formidable of all, the policewoman with the machine-gun. Behind him, a series of thuds told him that yet more of the school had tumbled into the ocean.

  ‘Talk about being caught between the devil and the deep-blue sea,’ he murmured. Then he called to his grandson, ‘Jack. Hurry!’

  At last Jack managed to unlock the door. Only the door frame had warped from the building’s decided sea-ward slant. After shouldering it three times it slammed inward. Instantly, Pel and Kerry burst free.

  All four charged across to where the big flat-bed truck stood nearby.

  Jack suddenly paused. Then to the Lowe family, who’d bunched together to support a wounded Scott, he shouted, ‘Come with us. I can get you away from them.’

  Scott called back, ‘You know we’ll get gaol for what we’ve done. We’ve reached the end of the line: Ma, Ross and me. This is what we want. To all go together.’

  Dozens of Battle Men advanced across the road toward both the Murrain group and family Lowe.

  Jacob hissed, ‘The Lowe brothers are as crazy as their mother.’ Then he shouted to Scott. ‘Where’s the mosaic?’

  At that moment Ross let fly with the gun. A pair of the possessed, two middle-aged men, were felled by the single blast. Some of the Battle Men threw knives and screwdrivers. One pierced Rebecca Lowe’s shoulder. She gave a piercing scream. Now both men fired their guns into the crowd.

  Jacob searched for the giant form of Justice Murrain. When the shooting started he’d retreated quickly. Eventually, he saw him hanging back at the rear of his mob of thugs. The policewoman guarded him, machine-gun at the ready. Clearly, Jacob’s ancestor wasn’t prepared to risk his own neck during the attack. Then Jacob had begun to suspect that Justice Murrain’s choice of host, the brain-damaged Horace Neville, might have been deeply misguided.

  When the Lowe brothers had finished discharging their weapons Jacob shouted, ‘For God’s sake. The mosaic. Where is it? We can stop all this if you tell us where it is!’

  This time it was Ross who spoke, ‘You’ll find it at our house. Under the cellar stairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Ross. Thank you, Scott. In the end, you were good men.’ With that, Jacob pointed at the truck. ‘Get us out of here, Jack.’

  Soon they climbed into the cab: Jacob and Jack in the front. Pel and Kerry scrambled into the bunk area at the back. Jack fired up the big motor. Just yards away, the school collapsed like a deck of cards. Brick dust billowed. In the bright sunlight it formed a crimson fog that momentarily obscured the confrontation in the road. By the time it cleared, Scott and Ross had reloaded. They fired again. Their mother stood between them, still howling and wringing her hands. Eight of the possessed lay flat on the tarmac, life-blood oozing from gunshot wounds. The 200 or so other Battle Men took their time to savour the fact that they closed in on their prey.

  Pel said, ‘When Jack shot one of the possessed in the hospital the spirit simply transferred to a new host. Why isn’t that happening here?’

  ‘My guess is,’ Jacob replied, ‘that the possessors are becoming deeply embedded in their host’s brains. So when the body is killed it is taking longer for the spirit to disentangle from the flesh.’ He nodded at the figure in the white forensic suit. ‘As for Justice Murrain, I figure he’s got another problem entirely.’

  Jack shot his grandfather a surprised glance. ‘And that is?’

  ‘Just wait and see. And pray that I’m right.’

  From the back of the cab Kerry shouted, ‘Look at Ross. Something’s happening!’

  Jacob peered through the windshield as Jack turned the rig across open grass. Ross appeared as if he’d suddenly become distracted from their fight. His body stiffened. He rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand, afflicted by a headache. Then his usual expression of mulish bad temper was replaced with an expression of cunning. A smile spread across his face. Then without any further ado he raised the shotgun. Bang. His brother’s head vanished in a puff of crimson. Then he jabbed the muzzle into his mother’s stomach. Squeezed the trigger. The womb that had given him life was obliterated in a blast of lead.

  That done, whatever had taken possession of Ross Lowe strolled over the road to join its comrades.

  Jacob noticed an agitated Justice Murrain beckon his Battle Men back to the vehicles. ‘It looks as if we’ll have that lot chasing us.’

  ‘Then let’s make life difficult for them,’ shouted Jack. He drove the truck along the line of vehicles. When he reached the convoy’s tail some cars still remained between the two walls where the lane was narrowest. Jack eased past them, braked, then slammed the truck into reverse. ‘Warn me if any of those devils try to jump on board.’ Then he backed the truck into the tail end of the convoy. Effortlessly, the big rig shoved cars as if they were toys. Soon, a jumble of wrecked vehicles effectively blocked the lane. Jack gave a grim smile. ‘That road’s the only way out of the village. They’ll have to shift a hell of a lot of scrap metal before they even can think of following.’ That said, he slammed the truck into gear. In no time at all, it lumbered forward, carrying them away from the carnage of wrecked vehicles and bloody cadavers.

  18

  AT THE CEMETERY dig-site Nat experienced conflicting emotions. When he’d arrived there that morning, with a pair of dirt-monkeys, he’d looked over the edge of the cliff, then let out a huge whoop of joy. It gladdened his archeologist heart that Temple Central, and all its precious earthworks, would be saved for future generations. For there, on the beach below, a row of wagons armed with mechanical claws lowered steel cages full of rock on to the sands at the base of the cliff. These would run for a mile along the shore. Although they wouldn’t stop the cliff getting wet at high tide, they’d rob the surf of its destructive force.

  Then Nat visited the mausoleum. This time a cry of despair erupted from his lips. The mosaic had vanished. Some vandal had hacked it out during the night. He recalled his impromptu lecture on Temple Central being a supernatural mechanism. At its heart, the mosaic that formed the image of Justice Murrain. Just imagine, he thought, if what Jacob Murrain had said was true then all hell would be let loose.

  One of the dirt-monkeys, an attractive blonde, walked unsteadily toward him. ‘I’m going to sit in the car. Start of a head cold I think. I’m not feeling myself.’ She swayed.

  ‘Chelsea, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m not Chelsea!’ The blonde seized a shovel from a soil mound. Then she raced toward Nat. From the expression on her face he had no doubt she lusted after blood. His blood.

  19

  JACK MURRAIN HAMMERED the truck along the lane. Jacob sat alongside him. On the bunk in the back of the cab, two dazed women. Kerry rubbed her head where the bandage started to itch. Her eyes were empty.

  Pel Minton had seen hell. Touched hell. Felt hell embrace her. Felt its fiery lips on hers. For the first time, since she left Providence one humid day, with the promise of thunder advancing across the heights of Swan Point Cemet
ery, she wondered if she’d not only left the United States, but she’d also left the world behind. England, she’d discovered, could be a strange place. They drive on the wrong side of the road. Elevators are called lifts. Englishmen devour piecrust filled with pig kidneys. They relish sausages made of blood. Now this … is this madness so unexpected? Here I am on a coast being munched away by the ocean. Ghosts have broken out of their occult prison to take possession of Englishmen and women. Have those people resisted the mind invasion? Or did they secretly welcome it? Does the Englishman secretly crave domination? If they are conquered by alien strength, does that absolve them from responsibility? Do they long to shed their buttoned-up lifestyle? Are they aching for one of excess, debauchery, sexual freedom?

  Pel found herself drifting into a state of altered consciousness. The ride became strangely soothing. It seemed she travelled in some phantom machine that rose and fell in a smoothly, rhythmic way. After the tension of being imprisoned in a school that had been falling piecemeal into the ocean, and witnessing a bloody shootout on the village green, this influx of relaxation was a healing balm. Exchanging terror for security, albeit fleeting, eased her aching limbs as absolutely as morphine.

  Even though her body swayed in harmony with the swerves of this drive along a narrow country lane, she was at peace. She thought: Perhaps this is how it feels when you’re preparing to die. Warmth. Comfort. A sense of letting go … In front of her, the two near-identical black manes of hair of the Murrains. Beyond the Murrains, the windscreen. Beyond that, a river of black tar on which their iron ship of the highway glided.

  Grandfather and grandson conversed: ‘Did you see Ross Lowe?’

  ‘The spirit of a dead Battle Man left the corpse, then it entered him.’