by Lauren Algeo
As soon as the trains are running I’ll be on my way home. Once I’m back at the flat I can make a solid plan of action. I will find a way to kill them. I promise.
8th December 2009
We can rule guns out of the equation. I shot a male hiker at point-blank range early this morning and he survived.
I decided to take a risk last week and track down a gun. We had an ex-informant at the station, Peter Blackstock, who has a lot of dodgy connections. He owed me a favour from a few years ago – I kept his name out of a case that could have gotten him into serious trouble with some nasty people. He was more than happy to help me get a gun when he found out I no longer worked for the police.
It took him three days to get me a handgun, a Glock of some model but I didn’t ask which. It was small and loaded so that was all that mattered. Meeting Peter to pick it up was laughable. I drove into a pub car park at about 10pm and he passed it to me through the window, wrapped in a jumper. I then gave him £500 in cash and drove off. It would have looked like the dodgiest deal you’ve ever seen. Thankfully there was no one around and I didn’t get stopped while carrying an illegal weapon.
I kept the gun hidden in the bookcase, buried under some papers, until I finally used it today. I have to admit, having it in the flat made me feel a little safer. I stupidly thought it might be able to protect me.
News was slow so I had to get out on the streets to find a hiker. I travelled around London for most of yesterday until I heard the tell tale scratching out past Hackney. It was a male hiker and he had a suicide victim in mind. I must have missed the story where he killed his target, or it could have been a non-newsworthy event with no collateral damage.
I followed him into the night. Strangely, he stopped whispering to his victim. I guess they must have fallen asleep or something, and he decided to rest too. I had him in sight by then so I tracked him to an alley near a parking garage. He slipped into the shadows and stopped walking. Just like that female, he slept standing up. I’ve got no idea how they don’t fall over.
This one was pretty tall and his dark hair was more unruly than I’ve seen on other males. He had on a similar light shirt and black trousers though. I’ve come to think of it as their uniform. Perhaps the Grand likes his army to dress that way, creepy and old fashioned.
I waited until I was sure he was asleep, then began to inch my way towards him with the gun raised. My palm was sweaty and the gun felt a lot heavier than it had back at the flat. I’ve never been much of a marksman. I’ve gone to a gun range before, and I was in the army cadets as a teenager, but I’m not a good shot. My aim is always too high. I figured at close range there was no way I could miss though.
I got close enough to see his chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes were closed and his pale skin glowed in the moonlight. With both hands, I aimed the gun at the centre of his forehead from less than five feet away and fired before I had a chance to change my mind. The shot was deafening in the still air. The gun recoiled in my hand and I staggered backwards, with my ears ringing loudly. In hindsight, a silencer would have been a good idea.
The hiker’s eyes flew open as he crumpled to the ground. He curled into a ball at my feet and writhed in pain. I’d seen the ragged hole appear in his forehead and the wall behind was splattered with blood and bone fragments. The bullet itself had gone cleanly through his head. He had to die.
Except I’ve told you already that he didn’t. I don’t know how any living thing could have come back from a wound like that, yet he did.
Instead of lying still, he began to struggle to his knees. He was making this raspy, moaning sound at the back of his throat. He tried to look up at me and I caught a glimpse of the hole in his forehead beginning to close. Just like the stab wound on the female, the skin was pulling back together.
I realised then that I was making a moaning sound too; only mine was one of horror. The hiker was going to heal himself from a fatal gunshot, even though there was surely irreparable damage to his brain and skull? How could he possibly regenerate bone in such a short space of time?
Less than a minute later, the hiker was swaying unsteadily on his feet and I was sprinting like hell away from the alley. I could feel his fingers already trying to probe their way into my mind. He was extremely weak but very much alive.
I haven’t slept at all since. I caught a couple of night buses back to the flat and have been slumped in the armchair ever since. My mind keeps replaying what happened over and over on a taunting loop. I shot him. A bullet passed straight through his head. Why on earth didn’t it kill him?
More and more, the self-healing thing is making me think that hikers are the result of a science project. Some mental geneticist somewhere is breeding the ultimate human – with super brainpower and amazing regenerative abilities.
I just don’t understand how the Grand ties into all that, and why they call him ‘father’. That still makes me believe this is something supernatural. Perhaps it’s a hybrid of the two? Hmm, that gives me an idea.
This is going to sound a little nuts, but what if a bullet alone isn’t enough to kill them because they aren’t completely human? I read about people using silver bullets to kill werewolves and demons in one of my research books, maybe a hybrid bullet would work?
14th December 2009
Ok, I have a silver bullet and I think I know the location of a hiker is to test it on. It took a couple of days of searching on the internet to find somewhere that would deliver a silver bullet. I’m hoping it’s a genuine one, and that it will fire from the Glock. It arrived by express delivery yesterday but it’s taken me until this morning to find a potential hiker.
I think there’s one out in Colchester. I’m going to drive over there with the gun stored in the car boot this time. I didn’t exactly feel confident carrying it around on public transport when I was hunting the male. Besides, it’s absolutely freezing today so I don’t fancy traipsing round for hours in the cold if I can’t find it straightaway.
I just need to pack some supplies then I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Bollocks. Silver is a no go as well. It was a female hiker this time only the same thing happened. I had to park the car and track her on foot for the afternoon. It got dark early today so I waited until she was crossing an empty recreation ground, then I ran up behind her and shot her in the back of the head. I still haven’t got a silencer for the gun and it sounded even louder than before.
The hiker dropped to the ground like a stone. A small, sick part of me thought that because I’d shot her from the back, she might not be able to recover as well from a messy exit wound through her face. I’m not really convinced I expected the silver to work, more that I wanted to cause as much damage as possible.
It felt strange to attack a female again. I’ve got an in-built instinct not to be violent towards women, and stabbing or shooting them very much goes against it. I’ll just have to keep reminding myself that these are monsters.
This one stayed motionless for several long seconds but I didn’t dare to hope. Her foot twitched first then her hands fumbled their way up to her head. She was face down on the grass so I couldn’t see the damage the bullet had inflicted. She started to roll onto her side however her long, dark hair concealed her face. Instead I noticed insignificant things – she didn’t have a coat on, despite the bitter cold, just her pale, thin-looking dress. She was barelegged and I could see dirt smudges from where she’d fallen. My mind registered the black, buckled shoes on her feet that looked like something from another era.
I almost missed the warning scratching of her trying to get inside my mind. She hadn’t even sat up, yet she was already trying to find out who I was. I resigned myself to the fact that this plan definitely hadn’t worked and ran from the park before she could gain access to any of my memories.
I don’t want them to know that I’ve been following them, trying to kill them. After seeing that couple, I know they communicate with each other. I esp
ecially don’t want them to inform the Grand about what I’ve been doing. If he can cause a hiker to die with the power of his mind alone, what would he be able to do to me?
It took me a couple of hours to get back to the car, mainly walking. I’m sitting in the front seat, trying to muster the energy to drive back. I wanted to get this down as soon as I could, in case any of the details faded on the way to the flat. I find myself having to read back through previous entries. I’m not sure now if I really remember the events or can just recall what I’ve written down. Hikers make everything hazy.
I don’t feel as disappointed by this particular failure as I thought I might. I am tired and numb though. On a different note, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get rid of the car – it’s no good for following hikers in, they’re usually on foot. I haven’t seen another one in a car since my original encounter so that must be rare. It’s impossible to track them through side roads and alleyways if I’m in the car, and it’s obvious I’m kerb crawling. One could easily spot me and I can lose it in a second if it cuts down somewhere that I can’t drive.
It was convenient to get over here but it’s just not practical. Public transport makes much more sense. Besides, if I sell the car that’s one less expense I have to worry about. No tax or MOT or insurance. The money I make from selling it can go towards my hiker-hunting fund. It’ll be cheaper to get train tickets as and when I need to. Yes, I think that’s the best thing to do.
I suppose I better drive home now before I fall asleep in the chilly car.
20th December 2009
Today was horrendous. I can’t get the stench of burning flesh out of my nostrils. I was reluctant to tell you beforehand but today I went to the extreme and tried to burn a hiker. It was awful.
I got the idea from a chapter about witches in one of my books. How they used to kill them by burning them at the stake. It was a long shot, but again a combination of normal human and supernatural being. A person would be killed after being roasted alive, and so would a witch.
I took a trip to a local petrol station a couple of days ago and filled one of those small, plastic containers with unleaded petrol. No one asked me what I was using it for but I felt guilty all the same. I bought a disposable lighter and some backup matches from another shop, just in case it aroused suspicion. I’m sure no one would have guessed what I was planning. Maybe just a bonfire, or arson at worst.
That night a male hiker presented himself to me in the form of a news report about a murder in Basingstoke. Well, it was actually reported as a car crash but I knew better. A small van had collided with a car, at speed, on a stretch of the M3, sending them both careering into the central barrier and resulting in a fireball. A witness driving behind said the car was overtaking on the outside lane when the van had swerved over and struck the side of it.
They assumed it was an accident and the van driver simply hadn’t seen the car in its blind spot, although I was instantly sure it was on purpose. Both people travelling in the car had died, as well as the driver of the van. The swift explosion of the van engine meant that no one had time to rescue them.
Sounds similar to the fate that was planned for me, doesn’t it? Thankfully no one else was seriously hurt in this collision. The cars travelling behind had been at a safe distance and been able to emergency stop with just a few knocked bumpers from other cars braking to a halt.
The van driver hadn’t been identified yet, as the vehicle was one that had been stolen earlier in the day. That pretty much affirmed my suspicion. The two people in the car were named as wealthy businessman, Nathan Cole, and his secretary, Theresa Dalton. It could be purely speculation on my part, but I immediately thought of an affair and a jealous spouse scenario. The Coles are extremely rich and could afford the services of a hiker. A tragedy like the crash would never be traced back to the devastated wife at home. Cynical? Or just fact? Either way, it was enough for me and I took the train to Basingstoke early yesterday morning. I packed an overnight rucksack and put the container of petrol in a large, navy holdall to disguise it.
I found the male hiker after an hour of searching. He was in a town nearby, Chineham, and he already had a new vessel under his spell. A teenage girl who was insecure about her life: was she too fat? Too stupid? Did any of her friends really like her? Did her family despise her? All poisonous paranoia fuelled by the hiker’s goading.
He didn’t rest that night. Instead, he taunted the girl for hours on end. I narrowed them down to a house halfway along a nice road. It was lined with semi-detached houses with neat front gardens. I couldn’t pinpoint the hiker himself though – he was watching the house from a safe distance. There were no suspicious cars parked out front and no shifty figures lurking in the shadows. I retreated to the end of the road so the hiker wouldn’t spot me if he were observing from somewhere nearby.
I spent a very long, uncomfortable night huddled on the pavement, next to a fence. It was beyond cold. I couldn’t feel my toes after ten minutes, despite my thick socks and Timberland boots, and my teeth chattered non-stop. I thought of warm fires and hot coffee to try and trick my mind but it failed miserably.
Even on the lengthiest stakeouts at work we’d been in a heated car. It was around 3am that I nearly changed my mind about getting rid of mine; it did have some benefits over public transport and walking. I had an extra jumper on under my thick parka and leather gloves however none of it prevented the chill spreading to my bones.
I didn’t sleep at all, and neither did the poor girl. The hiker was relentless in his abuse. She’d never have a boyfriend; she was far too ugly. She was going to fail her first year of college so why was she even bothering? I put her at about seventeen years of age from that. Young, naïve, and definitely not equipped to cope with a hiker in her mind. How do you even begin to deal with something like that?
As I sat on the hard floor, I practised closing my mind to the hiker’s ranting. It was difficult at first. I was barely able to muffle it by trying to mask it with thoughts of my own. Shouting inside my own mind wasn’t going to be sufficient.
Next I tried focussing on the sound and concentrated on turning it down, like the volume button on a radio. That was a little better. I could reduce the whispering until I was unable to make out the words.
Visualisation was the most successful. I decided to use the technique that had worked for me in the hospital. I found the alien voice in my head and imagined it was sealed on the other side of a heavy door. That worked immediately. The noise faded to barely a faint scratching. If I lapsed in concentration the sound grew to muffled whispering and I had to open and close the door to shut it out again. It was mentally exhausting but it passed the hours and stopped me from hearing a lot of the hiker’s scathing speech.
I whinged to myself more than once about not finding a room for the night, somewhere warm with a soft bed. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to keep track of the hiker if I had, and that was more important than sleep. I had my own mission to fulfil. Staring at the holdall, knowing that the container of petrol was concealed inside, helped me.
By this morning I was tired, stiff and hungry. I had a sandwich in my pack but the cold bread wasn’t exactly appetising. I was daydreaming about a fry up when the hiker finally revealed his plan for the girl’s suicide. She’d been under his spell for nearly twenty-four hours and would be more than responsive to whatever he suggested.
It was a bad one. He wanted her to hang herself, to make a spectacle of her death. She was to do it in her college classroom so everyone would know how they had hurt her. Driven her to it. The hiker’s tone was chilling as he implanted this idea – a hint of excitement bubbling under the mock pity.
The girl seemed to have forgotten that no one at the college had actually done anything to her. It was all in her manipulated mind. She was going to cause whoever had the misfortune of finding her a lot of trauma for no reason. It broke my heart and I was desperate to help her. I had to intervene without drawing attention to myself.
I couldn’t go up to the house and speak to the girl myself in case the hiker was watching. I had a flashback to the rooftop, and the hiker walking me towards the edge. This one would be extremely angry if I interrupted his plans.
Maybe I could kill the hiker before he got the chance to murder the girl? I just didn’t know where he was yet. And I needed to be somewhere secluded to instigate my own plan. Taking out a container of petrol wasn’t exactly subtle. The hiker would need to be asleep so I could quickly douse him and ignite the fluid before he knew what I was doing. He wasn’t likely to do that until after the girl was dead.
I settled for waiting until she left the house and trailed her down the road. She looked younger and more terrified than I imagined. She was short, only about five foot, and fairly thin. She had big, brown eyes that were wide with fear. Her light brown hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and she looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry. She was wearing baggy jeans, black pumps, and a thin jumper with a black coat open over the top. She had a brown bag over her shoulder, which she was clutching onto tightly. Was there something in there that she’d use to hang herself? I hadn’t heard the hiker mention it.
The girl walked briskly along the pavement and I tried to keep as far back as possible. The hiker must have been somewhere close by. The girl marched down another, busier road then stopped at a bus stop. I figured her college was close and she was catching the bus there. I hovered mid-step and debated whether to join her at the stop. The hiker was still whispering frequently to her. Telling her that soon the pain would be gone and she’d be free from everyone around her.