by Lauren Algeo
I decided he was too focussed on her mind to bother checking the ones around her and I halted a couple of feet away. She was fidgeting constantly, playing with the strap on her bag and shifting her weight. It was obvious to me how much the hiker was affecting her but an unsuspecting member of the public would just think she was restless waiting for the bus. No one considers an alternative.
Have you ever looked at someone and felt something off about them? A niggling sense of evil radiating out from them? No. I hadn’t before either.
We were the only two people at the bus stop. I kept opening my mouth to speak to her but I didn’t know where to start. ‘Excuse me, do you have a man’s voice whispering in your mind?’ or ‘Sorry, miss, are you planning on hanging yourself today?’
The words stuck in my throat and nothing came out. I was about to start with a simple ‘hello’ to initiate a conversation when a Stagecoach bus rumbled up the road and creaked to a stop beside us. The moment was gone.
The girl got on with her head down and I quickly stepped on behind her. I fumbled some change out of my jeans pocket and prayed the hiker wasn’t already on there. I scanned the eyes rapidly as I walked to an empty seat near the middle. No hint of black in any of them. The girl sat at the back and stared out of the window. I began to feel incredibly tense as the bus accelerated away from the stop. The hiker was still in her mind only I had no clue where he was. I couldn’t look out the back to see if any cars were following without being sat next to the girl. If the hiker could somehow see her then I would be dangerously in his sight.
A woman across the aisle gave me a curious glare for repeatedly turning around so I settled for glancing up at the mirror near the driver. From my viewpoint I could only see the seat next to the girl, not her. I kept an eye on it every time the bus stopped to check she wasn’t getting off. More passengers crowded on and they were standing in the aisles and blocking my view of the mirror.
What happened next was my fault. I hadn’t seen the girl stand up before the next stop and move to the doors. I watched the mirror as the bus slowed and I thought she was still back there. It was only as I caught a glimpse of her ponytail walking along the pavement next to the stop that I realised she’d jumped off. I leapt up from my seat but we were already moving. I shoved my way to the doors and asked to be let off although the driver insisted he wouldn’t open them again until the next stop. I pushed my luck, losing my temper spectacularly with a tirade of abuse, and he eventually opened the doors when we stopped at some traffic lights just to get rid of me.
I sprinted back down the road but there was no sign of the girl. The hiker’s whispering was fading rapidly. I dashed along the road I’d last seen her walk down only she was long gone. It had barely been five minutes but I couldn’t pick her up again. I ran in circles yet the hiker was merely a murmur in all directions.
In desperation I began to ask passers by where the nearest college was. I got pointed in the direction of the Basingstoke College of Technology. I lost my way twice trying to hurry there, and my bags weighed me down, but eventually I made it.
As I raced up to the entrance I could already hear the faint sirens in the distance. My heart plummeted as I realised that I was too late. I’d had the opportunity to try and save her but I’d failed. She must have gone straight into a classroom and done it – no hesitations or second thoughts.
A police car arrived first, swiftly followed by an ambulance, only I knew they wouldn’t need it. The hiker had stopped his taunting, which meant the girl was dead.
The feeling of guilt in my gut is just as strong now as it was hours ago. She’d been so young. I’m still furious at the injustice and cruelty of it all. I know I could have done more. I should have stopped it. Phoned the police myself or confronted the girl when I’d had the chance. Instead she’d died and I’d just let it happen. Never mind all my intentions not to intervene until I could kill them, I am that first monster the hiker saw when he chose me as a vessel.
I was standing on the college steps, vowing to get revenge, when I saw him, standing out in the open and watching the paramedics racing towards the building. He was tall and odd looking, with a strange half-smile on his face. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know who he was: the pale shirt, the black trousers, the hair that seemed to be neither light nor dark. Inconspicuous, unremarkable, a ghost. He was just standing there and enjoying the chaos he’d caused.
I had to fight the urge to run over and start throwing petrol over him in view of everyone. He was only fifty feet or so away from one of the police officers, who was talking on her radio. The thought of pointing him out to her crossed my mind. I could say he’d murdered the girl inside the building and get him arrested as a suspect.
I dismissed it just as quickly. Hikers are extremely persuasive and he would sweetly tell the officer that in fact I was the killer, and that would be me in custody instead. Having a full petrol container in my bag wouldn’t exactly work in my favour either. I stuck to my original plan and followed him as he left the college grounds. He was on foot so he had to have been somewhere close all along, waiting for the girl.
He meandered along as if he didn’t have a care in the world. No doubt he was basking in the glow of his kills over the last couple of days. I knew from experience that he would rest and refuel until he received new orders from the Grand. I usually lose them after the suicide as I no longer have the ability to hear them talking to a vessel. I was determined not to lose this one.
I kept him in my sight for the rest of the day, until he finally disappeared down an alleyway between two buildings. It was my chance. I hid in the shadows and quietly removed the petrol container from the holdall. I unscrewed the cap ready and waited until the hiker was asleep.
He was propped against the wall towards the end of the passage and was staring vacantly ahead. I held the petrol can in my right hand and the lighter in my left. My finger cocked on the button as if it were a trigger. If he awoke, I only had a second before he could react to what I was doing. I was confident that he was out of it and wouldn’t instantly wake up.
I reached him in three steps and threw the can upwards, dousing the front of his shirt in petrol. My arm waved manically, trying to cover as much of his body as possible. His hair was soaked in moments and the petrol ran down his face and dripped onto his clothing.
I held out the lighter at the same time his eyes snapped open alertly. The fluid and fumes had jolted him from his sleep. I clicked the button before he had time to attack and thrust the lighter at his chest. The petrol ignited instantly and bright flames streaked across his body.
He was engulfed in a burning shroud so fast I barely had time to stagger backwards to safety. Hot flames licked at my coat sleeve but I patted them out, not registering the pain. I stumbled back to the shadows I’d been hiding in, still feeling the intense heat on my face.
The hiker shrieked and danced, and I could hardly look at the brightness. He dropped to the ground and began to roll repeatedly back and forth. All I could think was, surely he can’t put out the flames like that – he’s a fireball.
Yet the flames that had suffocated his body were extinguished by the action. I could smell the burning flesh. It crept up my nose and stuck at the back of my throat, making me gag with the taste. The hiker laid still on his back, with smoke billowing from him, the charred skin on his face and neck clearly visible. He should have had first-degree burns all over his body – his blackened remains of clothing suggested so.
I wanted to get closer for a better look but didn’t dare. Instead I settled for leaning forward as far as I could to see what was going on. He remained on the floor for several minutes and I held my breath, willing this to have finally worked.
I didn’t register what was happening at first – the smoke had subsided and I thought there were flecks of ash in the air then I realised what they were… flakes of the dead, burnt skin began to peel away from his body. I can’t do the horror of it justice with words. I could see the ski
n falling off in chunks and there was new, pink skin underneath. It fluttered around his body, as though a strong wind was blowing it from him, but there was no breeze in the air.
A couple of the skin clumps landed on my coat and I shuddered in disgust, quickly flicking them away. I kept a protective hand over my mouth in case I accidently inhaled one of the vile things.
The hiker himself was beginning to stir. Half of his face was smooth and pink now, and he tried to open his eyes. He coughed a couple of times – a rattling, dead sound deep in his chest.
It took less than ten minutes for him to go from a blinding torch to good-as-new. He was getting weakly to his feet when I felt his probing fingers trying to access my mind. It was extremely faint and he wouldn’t stay that way for long and I wasn’t concealed particularly well. I took off back to the road before he could fully regain his strength, stupidly leaving the plastic container and holdall there but I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I’m still not with it now.
I saw him regenerate new skin. There must have been several layers burnt beyond repair but he healed himself in less than ten minutes. Recovered from being burned alive. I can physically still taste the smoke.
I ran to the nearest train station and managed to get one of the last ones back to Central London then caught a night bus from there. People avoided me like the plague. I realised when I got back to the flat that my face was dirty, the sleeve of my coat was singed, and I stank of smoke. It’s not exactly a normal time of night for a bonfire so I probably looked like an arsonist.
I had a shower as soon as I got in to rinse away the filth and smell. I just can’t get rid of the taste, no matter how much I brush my teeth. I’ve been trying not to imagine that some of his skin got into my mouth. His burnt, flaky skin… I need a quick gulp of something strong.
Nope, JD can’t shift it either. Hopefully it will fade with the full memory of the night. I feel empty inside. I thought something as devastating as fire would have an impact on those monsters. I can feel the hope slipping away with everything I try. What else can I do?
I’ve started making a list at the back of the journal and have added a big, fat ‘X’ next to stabbing, shooting, shooting with a silver bullet, and now burning. Their strength must be incredible to self heal from these traumas.
I’m wondering if it would be more effective to try several things at once. The combination may mean that they can’t recover as fast. Maybe shooting one then setting it on fire? Could their bodies handle trying to combat both injuries at the same time? It’s an idea I suppose. I’m going to try and get some sleep, but I don’t think it’s going to come easily. Skin… dead skin.
25th December 2009
Merry Christmas. I hope you had a much better one than me. It was my first Christmas without Karen and this morning the grief seemed to strike me all over again. I woke up already on the verge of tears.
Christmas was always a special time for us – I proposed to her on a Christmas morning. It wasn’t particularly spectacular but it was perfect for us, and Karen had loved it. We’d booked to stay at a small cottage near the Bournemouth coast for a couple of days then were planning to see Karen’s mum for dinner on the Boxing day.
It was cold and snowy, and we’d spent a perfect Christmas eve walking, eating and drinking wine by a roaring open fire. I’d bought the ring from Hatton Garden a couple of weeks before and knew it would be the ideal time to do it. I kept the ring box hidden in the bottom of my bag, praying that Karen wouldn’t need to get anything out of there.
Early Christmas morning I suggested we take a walk on the beach. My stomach did nervous little flips the entire time, even though I was sure she would say yes. I’d told her mum, Sue, beforehand. I thought it would be respectful as Karen’s father wasn’t around to ask permission. To be honest, she hadn’t looked best pleased but she smiled anyway and said it would make Karen happy, so that was sort of like her blessing.
The beach was deserted and it was freezing cold, although we were wrapped up well, and Karen had always loved the sea and walking in the open air. Halfway along, I stopped and turned Karen towards me. I can’t tell you how hard my heart was pounding. I think that’s the most nervous I’ve ever been. I could barely speak.
I dropped to my knee and produced the ring box from my pocket. My anxiety evaporated the moment I saw Karen’s reaction to it. Her face lit up with a wide grin and her eyes were shining. I opened the box with a flourish and asked the all-important question. Her shrieked ‘yes’ was exactly what I’d hoped for.
There were a few tears of happiness and lots of hugging and kissing. The ring was fairly simple, just a white-gold band with a small diamond. It was the top end of what I could afford on my salary back then, yet she gushed over it as if it were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
I can still picture her clearly in that moment. Her brown hair sweeping across her face in the breeze. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes so alive with excitement. It’s unbelievably painful to recall that mental image, especially when I compare it to the heartbreak of last Christmas. Karen’s last one. She had known in her heart that it was, we all had. Everyone had tried to make it a special day but everything was tinged with sadness.
We’d had a Champagne breakfast at home and opened a few presents. Sue had come round for a couple of hours then we’d all gone over to Marcus and Trudy’s for a turkey dinner. It had been Ella’s second Christmas and Karen had bought her half a dozen presents to open.
The tumour had taken a strong hold over her by then. She was weak and tired, and didn’t have much of an appetite. If she was in pain throughout the day, she didn’t show it, however I could see that the light in her eyes was fading. It caused me so much shame to see her smiling as Ella unwrapped her gifts, knowing that I should have given her a child before this happened.
Thinking about it in hindsight, would that have been crueller to watch her struggle with the prospect of leaving her child without a mother? Knowing that she would never see them grow up, or get married, or have kids of their own. Maybe that part worked out for the best.
We tried to keep the dinner light-hearted but it was strained in places. The odd glance here, a couple of tears there. I had a permanent stricken look on my face as the enormity of it all began to finally sink in. New Year’s Eve hammered it home – my beautiful wife was going to die and there was nothing I could do to save her.
We toasted midnight with tears of anguish instead of Champagne. Karen had felt too sick to go out and she was becoming more disorientated. As Big Ben chimed on the TV and people celebrated, we clung onto each other as though we were drowning. There were no resolutions we could make or plans for the year ahead to look forward to. We didn’t know how long Karen had left. It could have been days, weeks, months, but she was going to be leaving me.
It was selfish how I thought like that but I couldn’t help it. I just kept thinking about how I would be left alone, how distraught I would be. Does everyone who’s losing a loved one think like that at some point? I had to force myself to be strong for her. It was her who was suffering, her whose life was ending; one that she had nowhere near fulfilled. We should have had the rest of our lives together, been able to grow old by each other’s side.
The lump in my throat is choking me as I remember this. I usually try to keep it locked away and not let it all out at once in case it overwhelms me. As I think back over this year, I am exactly where I feared I would be as those bells tolled. In fact, I’m in an even worse place. There are monsters that roam the earth, and I am alone.
Deep breaths. Ok, I’m not completely alone. Marcus and Trudy managed to persuade me to have dinner round at their place earlier. If they hadn’t, I think I would have been passed out in a drunken stupor by now.
I got to their house at about 2pm, with a hastily wrapped present for Ella that I bought yesterday. It was a pink teddy that she discarded after a brief hug so I’m clearly not good at buying presents for little girls. It was probably far to
o young for her judging by the other toys and gadgets that covered Marcus and Trudy’s living room. Dolls that walked and talked, and a mini computer tablet that played songs.
I tried to play with a few of them with her but the interaction was awkward. I haven’t been around children much lately; my life’s been solitary and dark. Deeply dark. God, if Marcus and Trudy knew what I’ve been up to recently they’d have thrown me out of their house in horror.
Trudy’s parents arrived at 3pm to have dinner with us and I was glad of their presence. I could see that Marcus was struggling with what to say to me. My best friend doesn’t know how to talk to me any more. I’ve purposefully cut myself off from him, and he’s desperate to know what I’ve been doing for the past six months but was too stubborn, or scared, to bring it up today.
I don’t know how I would have answered him anyway: ‘you know, mate, just researching demons and trying to burn people alive. Same old stuff.’ What’s going on is not normal. People aren’t ready to hear about it yet. Their minds are too closed and they couldn’t cope with it. They would dismiss my stories as fake, unless of course they experienced a hiker first hand. Then they would listen to me.
So I plastered a smile on my face and tried to act positive and relaxed. A man who is dealing with his grief as best he can and trying to get his life back on track. I can wear that mask pretty well if I have to.
I stayed for a few hours then made my excuses to leave. They half-heartedly tried to get me to stay only I could tell they were relieved I was going. However close we were before Karen’s death, it’s changed now. I’m different and they can sense it somehow. Maybe just a niggle of unease that they can’t quite put their finger on, but it’s there. We can never go back to the friendship we shared. I can’t carry on with what I’m doing while still being tied to other people.