Hellspawn (Book 1)

by Fleet, Ricky

  He opened the driver’s window, leaned out to get a better view, and blocked the doors with a sudden jolt as the van hit the wall. He looked out of both side mirrors, satisfied that the van covered the whole entrance door of the home. He locked it and walked out to the access road, stepping over broken fencing and chairs, looking for Sarah.

  Chapter 9

  Braiden walked up to his front door and hesitated. He listened intently, hearing the television, his heart sank. Dad obviously hadn’t gone to work today, then again that wasn’t a surprise; he seemed to be going less and less these days. The problem was that when he was home, he drank and smoked cannabis, which made his mood swings so volatile. One minute he would be all jovial and the next smashing the place up, breaking anything he could lay his hands on. Braiden had already lost his Playstation and television to a particularly bad episode. A cup of tea that he had made for his Dad was too hot and burned his mouth when he took a gulp. It didn’t matter that he should have sipped it first to check, the alcohol and drugs he had taken left him no ability to act reasonably. He had thrown the cup of boiling tea at Braiden and missed, which only made him more furious. His father had then chased him upstairs and beat him with his belt as Braiden cowered on the bed. When Lennie had grown tired of this, he took the game console and television and threw it through the bedroom window, smashing it. The council had replaced the window, but had refused to do any more repairs. The constant damage was causing an unacceptable burden on the local rate payers. This had caused another beating.

  Braiden stood there, shifting from foot to foot, unsure what to do. He wished his mum hadn’t left two years ago, he was better when she had been around. He didn’t blame her though. She had taken most of the physical stuff from Lennie Sullivan when Braiden was a young child. As he grew older, the knowledge that this was not normal behaviour became more obvious to him. He found himself watching other families, how they laughed and hugged. They talked to each other without screaming and shouting. Confusion grew into jealousy, jealousy into anger, anger into lashing out at people. He wasn’t stupid, despite what his dad told him every day. He understood that he was becoming the one person who he hated above all others, and it scared him. Finally, he plucked up the courage to knock on the door. He carefully tucked the table leg in the high grass and rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

  “For fuck sake!” came a yell from indoors. Braiden shrank a little inside, his stomach clenching. He could tell that his dad was in a foul mood by his tone. Through the glass he heard the lounge door slam open, rebounding from the wall, which was already gouged from Dad’s previous tempers. The shadowy figure of his dad stormed down the hallway, visible through the glass. He took a cautious step backwards. The door was pulled open aggressively, the man leaning out ready to chase off any door to door salesman. Blinking in surprise, he looked down as his son stood there.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at school!” Lennie bellowed with a can of super strength lager held in one hand, the other holding onto the door for support. The way he swayed, it was clear he had been at it for a while. The fragrance of burnt cannabis wafted from the door. Trying to step past, Braiden had to crouch a little to get under his large, hairy arm.

  “Oy, I’m talking to you!” The front door slammed and Braiden turned to speak.

  “They sent me home Dad, the school had a… fire,” Braiden explained, knowing the truth would be dangerous.

  “You lying little shit! You’re bunking off aren’t you?” Lennie started swaying menacingly down the hallway. His balance was off from the weed and alcohol.

  “No, honest Dad! If I was bunking, I wouldn’t have come home would I? I’d be down at the park.” Braiden desperately tried to convince him of the truth, knowing it was probably pointless.

  The suddenness of his father’s backhanded slap caused him to fall backwards. If it hadn’t been for the filthy carpet, he could have cracked his head open on the concrete underneath. As it was, his head blazed with pain and he quickly jumped up, clinging onto the newel post of their staircase. Leaping up the stairs, two steps at a time and crying with pain and anger, he heard his dad call after him.

  “Get down here you little bastard! You’re an ungrateful little shit. No wonder your mum walked out, that fucking whore!”

  Braiden fell onto his bed, and waited for the sound of the footsteps to come thundering as his father came to finish what he had started. None came, only a muffled, “Whore,” as his dad got lost in melancholy thoughts of his ex-wife. This was then followed by the sound of him slumping back into his favourite chair. Braiden sat up on the bed. Feeling his face, he noticed the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and he gingerly felt around with his tongue. Finding a tear on the inside of his cheek, he put his finger to the wound and it came out red. Laying his head on his pillows he cried, turning his face and screaming into the fabric. Only pussies cried, he thought to himself. Anger flared deep inside him, stopping the tears. He looked around at his room. The wallpaper was peeling and torn. Black mould grew on the corners of the ceiling because Dad would never allow the heating to be put on. It smelled bad. The bed sheets hadn’t been cleaned for many months, nor had the curtains. The only piece of furniture in the room was an old chest of drawers; two were missing their fronts, displaying the sparse contents. A couple of t-shirts and a pair of torn jeans were in one, a few pairs of socks and pants in the other. He had to clean them in the bathroom sink as the washing machine had broken months ago. Shame flushed through him as he remembered having to steal soap from the bathrooms at school to wash them with. A feeling of desolation engulfed him, in a way the horror he had seen seemed welcome. It would all be over soon, a bit of pain and then nothing. No more beatings, no more loneliness, no more hatred, he smiled to himself.

  Almost in a trance, he stood and left his room and walked down into the kitchen. Opening the drawer under the kitchen sink, he rooted around and drew out a large carving knife. He stared at it, felt the weight and ran his finger down the sharp blade. Touching the point and pressing hard, he took it away but the indent remained. It fascinated Braiden. A loud barking laugh echoed from the lounge where his father sat. Braiden moved without thinking. Clutching the knife to his side, he walked to the lounge door and stood there, staring. The back of his dad’s head bobbed and moved, visible over the back of the chair that faced their only television. Clenching and unclenching the knife in his hand, his fingers turning white with the pressure. Braiden took a step forward.

  Braiden’s mind turned to Sam and his family, causing him to pause. He felt sick with guilt at what he had been doing, the way he tormented Sam for being lucky enough to have a mum and dad that cared. All the words, all the small acts of bullying and violence returned to haunt his memory. The feeling of helping Sam had been strange, it had felt… good. The image of Mr Taylor leaning in and telling them they had done well stuck with him. He had never been complimented like that before. It filled him with a warm glow, a small ember of happiness in a heart that had been all but crushed with criticism and undeserved blame. A crazy idea blossomed in his mind.

  Braiden turned away, fearful now that he would be discovered. He made it clear of the lounge, walking through the kitchen and into the hallway. He opened the front door, careful to lift the latch slowly to minimise the noise. He swung the door open and stepped out. Pulling the door closed, he hesitated. He looked at the door for long seconds, torn and conflicted. In the end, he left it ajar with the latch not engaged, forgetting the table leg and walking away. A gust of wind pushed the door open further, the shadowed sliver of hallway an invitation.

  Chapter 10

  Kurt reached the broken fence and looked around the corner for Sarah. He heard noise from behind and turned to see Sam open the back door, looking out with concern.

  “Sam, come and start getting the stuff from the shed. Get the ladders first.”

  A lot of Kurt’s equipment, as well as other wood and useful materials, were in the shed
. Sam rushed over and grabbed the aluminium extension ladder. He hurried back to the house.

  “Just put it inside the door for now mate. We will take it upstairs when the doors are locked.”

  Sam turned his head and nodded, then carried on with the task. Kurt looked around and was happy to see Sarah turn the corner, relief visible in her face. Kurt waved a greeting and left the corner, taking hold of the other set of stepladders. He started to carry them towards the open door as Sam stepped out, followed by Mrs Blume.

  When Sarah reached the first gate, it didn’t even register to her that it stood open. She couldn’t know that it had been closed only a minute before. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to jump. A fat corpse came lumbering out through the gate that he had leaned on and broken. It was in remarkably good condition, only a single, bloodied mark on the arm giving a hint to the true nature of what he was. Looking down, a new wave of horror hit her. A leash was still tied to the wrist. A bloodied carcass, unrecognisable now but once a dog, dragged behind him leaving a bloody trail. She imagined the scene; the poor animal had been trapped, desperately trying to get away, but was tethered to its killer. A fury blazed through her. She kicked as hard as she could between the man’s legs, feeling bone crunch. Her kick had no visible effect, and the fury abated instantly as he fell on her, terror replacing the rage.

  “KURT!” Sarah screamed as she held the face at bay, teeth snapping shut, narrowly missing her face. The eyes were glazed and unmistakably dead, a milky film had already started to form. The mouth dripped saliva onto her face, which caused her to try and turn away from the vile liquid. This distraction only helped the zombie in its desire to consume her.

  Kurt had heard the scream. Dropping the ladder in a clatter, he sprinted round the corner. He beat himself up in his mind, why the hell hadn’t he just waited those extra seconds for her? He saw Sarah, mounted by a figure who was trying to bite at her. The newly turned monstrosity’s sheer bulk was causing her to weaken. It would only be one more try before he overwhelmed her slender arms and fastened onto her face. NO, NO, NO! Kurt screamed in his mind. Realising that he could never cover the distance in time, his heart nearly stopped there and then. Life would be empty, pointless without his rock. Madness threatened as he watched his wife in her final moments.

  Another scream broke the afternoon air. Braiden had burst from the corner and charged at the zombie. Swinging the knife sideways in an arc, the blade entered the side of its head, penetrated to the hilt, the point breaking through on the other side. The sheer, visceral hatred that powered the blow lifted the zombie clear from Sarah. The monster fell, rolling sideways in a heap with his faithful pet by his side. Braiden stood there panting. His hand was numb from hitting the skull, so he opened and closed the fingers, trying to get the feeling back.

  Kurt couldn’t believe it. He fell to his knees mid sprint, skinning them on the concrete as he skidded the last few feet to his wife. Sarah was exhausted. The fight had taken everything from her. Her eyes had a look of shock and distance. It was probably the same expression he had worn when he had zoned out and retreated within himself for a while. He smothered her with kisses, hugged her close, and kissed her some more. Sam and Mrs Blume arrived.

  “Mum!?” asked Sam uncertainly, the dead figure to the left unmoving. “Did she… I mean, was she…” Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “No, no, she’s fine. He didn’t bite her,” Kurt declared, looking up at Braiden, who was looking at the ground once again. “Braiden saved her.”

  They helped Sarah to her feet. She was weak but walked with little aid. Kurt turned to Braiden and embraced him.

  “Thank you son, thank you.” Kurt hugged him tight, felt him tense and go rigid. Letting go and giving him space, he continued, “You saved her life. I can never repay you for that.” They just stood there and long seconds passed before Braiden responded.

  “Please may I come in with you? None of my family is home,” Braiden asked quietly.

  “You are more than welcome to come with us until they get home. They can join us later. We are just getting stuff in from the shed.”

  “Yeah, later,” he whispered.

  Into the garden they walked. Sarah got to the back door and stepped in, supported by Sam and the old teacher. It was the only door they couldn’t block due to the lack of a vehicle. Kurt would create a barricade inside to keep them safe.

  “Look after her, we’ve got this,” Kurt shouted. “In here mate, grab everything and just throw it inside the back door.” Braiden followed obediently.

  Keeping their eyes on the fence line, the rest of the unloading went without incident. A few faint shouts and screams carried on the wind. They entered the house, Braiden heading into the kitchen where the rest were seated and tending to Sarah. Kurt looked out into the grey afternoon, feeling a little more secure but still tense and fearful. After locking the door and joining his family, he thought, this nightmare is just beginning.

  Chapter 11

  Lennie sat in his chair, festering with anger. He stared at the TV but wasn’t really watching, he was contemplating going upstairs and punishing Braiden properly. The ungrateful little bastard, he thought to himself, he was the cause of all Lennie’s problems. Ever since he was born, Julia had gotten mouthier and wouldn’t do as she was told. When he hit the brat as a baby, she had actually shouted at him! Talk about a liberty. He had punished her properly for that. The visit to the hospital served as a lesson to her. It had worked for a while, however her sassy mouth had returned.

  Lennie squeezed the empty lager can and threw it at the TV. The remaining dregs splashed onto the screen, running down in bubbling streams.

  “FOR FUCK SAKE!” he yelled. He nearly got up and smashed the television in rage, but the knowledge that he would have nothing to watch, and no way to get another was the only thing staying his hand. Braiden was going to get it, Lennie decided, his mind filling with images of pleasurable brutality. Braiden had caused this bad mood by bunking off school. Aware of how drunk he was, he decided to have a joint before he tried to climb the stairs. It always served to steady him, and he wanted to be steady, he thought to himself while unconsciously fingering the heavy leather belt on his trousers. He took out his makings and laid tobacco into a large cigarette paper. Placing some leaf into his grinder, he crushed it and laid the cannabis over the whole length, before licking and rolling it. Twisting the end into a tip and reaching for the lighter, he ignited it, held the flame to the joint and drew deeply. The fragrant smoke entered his lungs and he blew it out in rings, watching as they ascended towards the ceiling. Lennie recalled the morning that Julia, the fucking bitch, had left.

  He found her packing bags for herself and Braiden. The look of shock and fear when she spun to find him home from work early made him feel powerful once again. The idea that he could lose two pieces of his property was impossible. His twisted mind conjured a plan and Julia could sense something was very wrong. Where normally his face would redden and herald the coming pain, only a snide grin appeared and turned up the edges of his mouth in a sneer. He reached into his shirt for the chain that carried the key to his shotgun cabinet and then turned and walked away. The only reason he still had his gun licence was the fear that the name Sullivan instilled in people. No one ever went to the police and, even if they did, he and his brothers would convince them of the common sense and safety in dropping the charges.

  Julia was now frantic, grabbing what she already had, ignoring the rest. She ran down the stairs and sped for the front door, twisting the latch. Nothing happened! She tried it again and pulled with all her might.

  “I’ve dead bolted it,” Lennie said calmly, inserting the second cartridge and snapping the shotgun closed.

  Julia turned to face him, all hope now gone, she was dead. Lennie would never let her or Braiden go.

  “Lennie put the gun down,” she said as she held her hands out pleadingly. He had the gun levelled at her chest and she knew that a single squeeze would
be her end.

  Unknown to her, Lennie’s mind was working overtime. He didn’t have an issue with killing the bitch. She deserved it for how she had treated him. But on the other hand, he thrived on fear and doling out violence to those closest to him. It gave him a rush. If he was in prison for murder, he would have no power over anyone. Smashing strangers up didn’t feel the same, there was no personal attachment to it. The looks of physical pain were nothing compared to the look of betrayal and confusion in the eyes of loved ones as he attacked them. A thought came to him and he smiled, a wolf’s grin, utterly without pity or emotion.

  “Here,” he said, as he took a key out of his pocket and threw it at her. She flinched, but caught it. Julia looked at it, then at Lennie. Confusion ensued, she knew this was a ruse and braced herself for the blast of the dark barrels.

  “Go on, fuck off, but you are not taking Braiden. If you go and get him from school, I will track you down and kill you both slowly, not humanely with this.” He nodded down at the double barrelled shotgun. “Braiden stays with me.”

  Conflicted and unsure, Julia turned and unlocked the dead bolt, expecting the noise and the sudden agonising pain of lead buckshot in her spine. She held her breath and opened the door, and then she turned and faced him. She was desperate to beg Lennie to allow their son to come with her. However, knowing he carried out his threats, she did not ask. She had been with him for long enough to know his links to the underworld and how far it reached.

  “He’s mine. I may just come and pay you a visit soon anyway, for old time’s sake,” he said, as he smiled at her with dead eyes. It was even more terrifying than the rages.

  Julia stepped back across the threshold, then down the path, and out of his life. He shivered with anticipation of her constant fear for their child and his threat. She wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. He had a lingering doubt, just a little one, and instead of waiting, he left the house and drove to the school. She didn’t show. Collecting Braiden at the end of the day, he fabricated a story about an argument, lying that his mother had blamed them both for leaving. Braiden had cried until the threat of a fist shut him up. They went home in silence. She had not attempted to make any contact. His threat had worked, almost too well, Lennie thought. He hadn’t planned on her not actually trying to secretly get in touch, either through a friend or the school itself. It infuriated him, so Braiden suffered. He made inquiries with some of his contacts, but heard nothing. It was as if she had disappeared from the face of the Earth. In Lennie’s increasingly drug addled mind, she had betrayed them and ran off for a better life. The memory of his threat at gunpoint and her forced exit fading into nothingness. His mood had spiralled down as the false memory took hold. Lennie had become increasingly volatile and cruel over the ensuing years.