The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

Frank reached over her, picked up the coffee pot from the table and filled his mug. He raised it to his lips and drank it empty in a few gulps, the pot still in his other hand.

  “You should see the state of the sofa,” he said, refilling, “and the bloody walls! Blood everywhere. It’s going to cost a fortune to clean.”

  “Adam Dean is dead, and all you care about is your upholstery?” snapped Eleanor.

  “Don’t you start,” growled Frank. “I mean, I didn’t ask for any of this, you know. It just happened. Why me, eh? Why my house?”

  “You’re quite welcome to go over to our house,” she replied. “Meet our new guests.”

  “What?”

  “Our house was overrun,” said Joe. “These things…like giant spiders with a giant eye, hundreds of them. We were lucky and managed to get out of the house, but then he turned up…”

  Frank snorted. “Not you two as well! All this talk of monsters… Has everyone gone mad?”

  “You don’t think there’s something terribly wrong here?” asked Eleanor.

  “Oh there’s definitely something wrong. I have wrong splattered all over the inside of my shed. That bastard killed my dog! And he didn’t just kill it, he mutilated the poor girl. So yes, I do think something is wrong.”

  Joe started to rise, but quickly sat back down after a sharp glance from Eleanor.

  “He?” she asked.

  “Him,” Frank shouted. “The weird guy in the suit.”

  “I see. Seems like it’s all of us he’s after.”

  All three looked towards the door as Anne stuck her head inside.

  “Everything okay in here? I thought I heard shouting.”

  “It’s fine,” growled Frank. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs with the kids?”

  “It’s just-”

  He snarled. “Then go!”

  Anne quickly retreated out of the kitchen.

  “You shouldn’t speak to her that way,” said Joe. “This is hard for us all.”

  “You trying to tell me how to speak to my own wife?”

  Joe cleared his throat, avoiding Frank’s glare. “All I’m saying is-”

  “You should mind your own business and be grateful that we took you in!”

  Eleanor stood up, raising her hands. “Frank, please calm down. We don’t mean to interfere. We just can’t afford to argue amongst ourselves in this situation.”

  Frank frowned at both of them for a moment and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Nice bloke,” said Joe, listening to the heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

  “We have to keep everybody calm, everybody together,” said Eleanor, returning to her chair. “The Deans are going to need our support, and arguing won’t help.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “I still think getting everyone together to discuss what’s happened is the best way forward,” she said. “We’d better give everyone more time to settle their nerves, and keep our eyes open for now.”

  Joe grunted in agreement.

  “If he has been to see everyone,” she said, “maybe one of the others might know what this mana is and how to give it to him.”

  “My God, Grandma.” Joe pointed to the wall. “Look at that!”

  Eleanor followed the direction of his finger to the notice board on the wall over the microwave. Amid the outstanding bills, shopping lists and various other notes, a brightly coloured drawing lay pinned in the centre. The untidy crayon strokes indicated the handiwork of a child.

  “Anne’s little girl probably did it,” said Eleanor. “Quickly, bring it over.”

  Joe did as instructed, spreading the picture on the table between them.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the crude image of the black suited man with bright red hair and large blue eyes. “The Collector…”

  “And look,” said Eleanor, tapping one of the creatures that surrounded him. “His Prowlers.”

  “Prowlers?”

  “That’s what he called them. Said you’d end up as Prowler food, remember?”

  “It happened so fast…”

  Eleanor turned the sheet of paper over and on the other side, written in a scrawling blue crayon, was the name Bronwyn.

  “Anne’s girl did do this. Maybe she knows something.”

  “But how? You’ve had a conversation with this man and you don’t know a thing. How can a little girl…?”

  “Children,” she said, tapping a nail on the table in thought, “are more susceptible to paranormal activity. My books mentioned it a lot.”

  Joe sighed. “It’s a start. I mean, we’re in the dark at the moment.”

  Eleanor tilted her head up towards the ceiling, listening. The children’s cries were still there, but had quietened considerably.

  “Again,” she said, “we wait until things have calmed down.”

  Joe sat back in his chair. “You’re taking all of this very well, considering what we’ve just been through. Really well. You sure you’re okay?”

  Eleanor took his hand. “I’ll admit I was terrified when the Prowlers burst in, but now…”

  “What?”

  “I thought the man was a paranormal investigator, at least that’s what he said he was. I believed he wanted the same as me, to see into the next life. Now, I think he’s from that other place.”

  “You think he’s…a ghost?”

  “No, not a ghost, but he’s no normal man either. After all my years of research, I think I’m on the verge of finally getting some answers. And the mana…I think the mana is the key.” She took a sip of coffee. “What about you? You seem composed.”

  Joe looked into her eyes. “Really? Because inside, I’m shitting myself.”

  “Joseph!” She scowled.

  3.

  Jake joined his mother on the sofa after pacing around the room. His throat ached from shouting and felt swollen where Frank’s forearm had pressed into it.

  He was glad to be left alone; the frustration, the feeling of complete uselessness still burned within him. He knew all that would change once he got his hands on the man. But in the meantime, his mother needed him.

  Jenny sat shaking on one side of the sofa, eyes wide and staring at the wall facing her. She mouthed breathless words, her lips trembling and forming her private conversation. Jake thought she might be praying. He put his arm around her relatively clean back and rubbed her skin through the fabric of her nightgown.

  “I’ll get him, Mum,” he whispered. “I’ll make him pay.”

  He shut up as Frank burst in.

  “These people,” he moaned, striding to the fireplace. “They should be thanking me. But oh no, still criticising. Even though we did bail them out the shit!” Huffing, he looked over at Jake. “Good to see you’ve come to your senses and calmed down.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” said Jake, not bothering to glance up.

  “And they’re drinking all my coffee,” Frank continued.

  Jenny peered up. “You should be more grateful,” she said through the tears.

  “Grateful? Grateful for what? That my house is full of strangers? That my living room is a mess? That my kids are upset?”

  “Grateful that you were warned.”

  Frank placed his hands on his hips and gazed down at her. “Warned about what? I already knew that man was trouble. At least I tried to do something about it…”

  “Yeah, I heard,” said Jake. “Head butt him in the nose. Bet that really pissed him off.”

  “No more than you two playing chicken with him on that goddamn bike of yours. Anne saw you through the window.”

  “That…thing…that machine,” said Jenny, ignoring both of them, “broke through the wall…so quick…didn’t know what was happening.”

  “For the love of God,” bellowed Frank. “He murdered your son! I appreciate how upset you must be, but making up stories isn’t going to help anyone!”

  Jenny glared at him out of the dry
blood that coated her face.

  “He was murdered, just like my dog. And when the phone comes back on and we contact the police-”

  “My son is dead,” Jenny cut in. “It’s different than your dog!”

  “And the phones aren’t going to come on,” Jake added, “not while he’s still around. My mobile’s at home, but if you-”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child,” Jenny spat. “Yours are safe upstairs. How dare you accuse me of making up lies about something like this.”

  “I know exactly what it feels like,” Frank said, digging into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a beaten, leather wallet and removed a photograph. “Which is why your actions are so appalling!”

  He thrust the photograph towards Jenny. It showed a girl of around four or five playing on a swing. She was smiling, her long blonde hair flowing out behind her. A younger looking Frank, with more hair, stood in the background.

  “This is Katie, my eldest. This was taken before the cancer really took hold.”

  Jenny stared at the picture. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

  “It was years before the disease eventually took her from us. Years filled with pain and hospitals and treatment, knowing we were only delaying the inevitable. Watching her waste away to nothing, day after day. Don’t you dare say I don’t know what it feels like.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t know.”

  Frank turned the photograph around and studied it for a moment. He sighed. “I’m sorry too. I should know better than anyone what the both of you are going through.” He returned the picture to its place in his wallet. “But please: we’re all holed up in here together, while that murdering scum is out there. You have to tell us what really happened.”

  “We told you,” snapped Jake. “He came with his machine!”

  Frank glowered at them.

  “You really should take a shower,” he said. “It can’t be helping either of you to sit in those clothes. I’ll get Anne to find you some fresh ones after she cleans up in here. I think hers will be too small for you, Jenny, but I’m sure I can find some of my old T-shirts and jeans.”

  “You’re too generous,” said Jake and sneered.

  “And I want you to stay with her,” ordered Frank. “Wait outside the bathroom door while she showers if you have to. Under no circumstances is anyone to go anywhere alone from now on, not until we get this situation under control.”

  “What do you think, Mum?” asked Jake, continuing to stroke her back. “Can you manage a shower?”

  “I…I think so.”

  “Good,” said Frank. “Anne will show you how to work it.”

  Jake helped his mother off the sofa and escorted her towards the door.

  “Someone has to take charge here,” Frank said to himself, watching them go. “We can’t just sit around and wait for him to come knocking.”

  4.

  The street lights cast a yellow glow onto the road and pavements of Penny Crescent. The Dean’s house was dark bar a living room light at the front. He strained to see into the dark places of the street: by the Dean’s gate, among the grass verges, anywhere the red-haired man might lurk.

  Satisfied he wasn’t out on the street, Frank dropped the curtain back into place, but quickly snatched it back up.

  He stared at the bushes that bordered the side of his garden, positive something had moved there.

  The wide leaves showed no sign of disturbance, registering not even the slightest of breezes.

  Pressing his face against the window, he tried to see along the front of the house, to check the entire perimeter of the garden. Everything was as still as the rest of the street.

  Must be the situation, he thought, letting the curtain dangle.

  He walked from the glass and sat in one of the armchairs, wanting to keep a good distance from the stained sofa. The sound of running water from above brought a small smile.

  Good. They’re doing as told.

  He considered going back to the kitchen for another coffee, but couldn’t stomach the idea of talking to the old crone and her interfering son.

  Or is it grandson? Oh, who cares…

  No, he wouldn’t go in the kitchen, at least not yet. Only his blood screaming for caffeine warranted the annoyance of the McGuires. Right now, a quiet few minutes on his own would suit just fine.

  He concentrated clearly without Anne fussing around everyone and Jenny sniffling in the corner.

  He hated the intruders for lying to him. Betsy and Adam were dead because some nutcase had made their street his playground. Terrifying as this was, its simplicity appealed to him. Predator versus prey. Him against us. True, the man in the bowler was extremely disturbed, but that’s all he was, just a man. Frank thought the teenage boy, McGuire and himself could easily overpower him and, if necessary, beat the bastard into an early grave. So why the need for such tall tales? There were no killer machines on the loose, and no giant spiders. If they were running riot on the street, wouldn’t he have seen or heard something by now?

  You know it’s not that straightforward…

  Frank tried to block out his own suggestion.

  You knew there was something more to him this afternoon…

  He had tried to rationalise his earlier encounter with the man. No avail. No one knew about his visits to Sharon, not any of his friends, no one from school and certainly not Anne. He’d been so careful to keep this secret. The only other person who knew was Sharon herself. So she must have told him…

  You know that’s rubbish! This can’t be dismissed with such an obvious explanation!

  Yes it can! he pleaded with himself, but his own mind rebelled with ludicrous theories. He hated himself for it.

  He got inside your head and you know it!

  E=Mc2, Newton proved gravity makes your shit fall and there is NO magic man walking around Penny Crescent!

  5.

  “Look at me,” said Anne. “Both of you.”

  Her children, lying in her bed with the blanket up to their chins, both raised their sparkling eyes.

  “I know this is scary and you don’t understand what’s going on, but winding each other up isn’t helping. Knock it off, please.”

  “But it’s true,” moaned Bronwyn. “The old man wants to come in through the window and get us!”

  “Please. Make her stop!” Charlie cried.

  “This has gone on far enough, Bron. You’re scaring your brother.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing!”

  Anne reached over and pressed a finger over her daughter’s lips, silencing her. Charlie sniffled.

  “There is no one at the window,” Anne said, briefly glancing at the thick, closed curtains, blocking the window from view. “How could anyone get up here anyway?”

  “He can climb,” Bronwyn whispered, her lips moving on either side of her mother’s finger.

  “Right then,” said Anne, climbing off the bed. “There’s only one way to prove no one’s there.”

  “No,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “No. Please don’t…”

  She gripped the edge of the curtain. “If it’s the only way to get your sister to be quiet and go to sleep, then I have to.”

  “No,” cried Charlie again.

  “He’s out there!” warned Bronwyn.

  Anne pulled the curtain, sliding the fabric along its rail, revealing the dark window.

  “See? Nothing there.”

  The children looked over. The window showed only the emptiness of the night sky and their own startled reflections.

  “Now,” said Anne, whipping the curtain closed again, “time for sleep with no more nonsense about old men scaling walls. Understand?”

  Bronwyn nodded and wiped her eyes.

  “Mum, I don’t think I can sleep without Betsy here,” said Charlie.

  Anne sighed. “Shove up,” she said, walking around the bed and lying on top of the blankets next to Bronwyn, who in turn moved closer to her bro
ther. “Like I said earlier, there’s a man out there doing very bad things.”

  The children murmured their understanding.

  “And this man even came to our house. But your father stopped him before he came in. Now Betsy…” She felt the tug of guilt in her insides and swallowed. “Betsy must have known about the bad man and ran away, either to safety or to get help.”

  “Like Lassie would?”

  “Yes, Bron. Just like Lassie.”

  “Do…do you know where she is now?” asked Charlie.

  “No, no I don’t. But wherever she is, I’m sure she’s safe and happy. Maybe she went to the park; you know she loves it there.”

  “She’s not at the park,” said Bronwyn. “He got hungry and ate her all up.”

  “Bronwyn,” cried Anne. The shock made her innards feel twisted, like a balloon modeller had gone to work on her intestines. No way could her daughter have heard Frank tell her the shed was now covered in the remains of their dog.

  “He drank the blood and licked the bones…” said Bronwyn.

  Charlie burst into tears.

  “Bronwyn! How can you say that? Don’t listen to her, Charlie. She’s just trying to upset you again.”

  Anne bit her bottom lip to keep her tears in. Maintaining a brave face was almost second nature after so many years of practise, but she knew the breaking point was looming. It would take her a while to put the façade back together when it crumbled. Bronwyn’s words might have upset her brother, but they cut Anne up on a much deeper level; she knew the truth.

  Anne looked up as a large figure stepped into the doorway, bringing the damp smell of meat.

  “Frank sent me up here,” Jenny said, looking down at the floor, “said you could sort me out a shower and some clothes.”

  “Er…yes…no problem,” Anne replied, rolling off the bed, glad of the distraction. “I’ll get you the clothes now so you’re not disturbed later.”

  Jenny thanked her and remained stood in the doorway.

  Anne quickly searched through a chest of drawers and pulled out a large white T-shirt and a wide pair of tan shorts. She hoped that Jenny wouldn’t feel insulted by her choices, but she was a big woman, no way around that.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the garments over. “It’s not much, I know, but-”