The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  “It’s fine,” said Jenny. “I’m not going anywhere, not with him still outside.”

  “I’ll show you how to use the shower and get you some shampoo and things.”

  “But the kids,” said Jenny, pointing over to the bed. “Frank said not to leave anyone alone. I’ve got Jake with me, so shouldn’t you stay with them?”

  “They’re in no danger up here. Besides, I’ll only be in the next room.”

  She walked out, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to her children.

  “If I hear one more peep out of either of you, there’ll be trouble. Stop trying to scare each other and go to sleep. We might need to be up very early tomorrow morning.”

  6.

  Charlie and Bronwyn looked at each other.

  “There is an old man out there,” she whispered. “He ate Betsy and now he’s hungry again.”

  “Mum told you to stop it,” Charlie hissed. “Your stories got Dad angry again yesterday. Do you want that to happen again?”

  “He’s coming to get you, Charlie.”

  “Stop it. I’ll call Mum!”

  Both of them lay quiet for a moment, listening to their mother fussing in the bathroom and the eventual splash of water jetting out of the shower.

  “I’m glad Mrs Dean is having a wash,” said Charlie.

  “She smelt yucky,” agreed Bronwyn.

  A small thud sounded near the window.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Charlie, eyes wide at the still curtain.

  “It’s him,” said Bronwyn. “The old man. He’s at the window now.”

  “Mum told you to knock it off,” he snapped. “It was probably from the bathroom, someone dropping the soap or something.”

  Bronwyn shook her head.

  “It’s him,” she repeated. “The old man.”

  His hands shaking, Charlie pulled back the blankets and got out of bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  He stood up and turned to his sister. “Like Mum said,” his voice straining to keep steady, “proving it might be the only way to shut you up.”

  He walked over to the curtain and gripped its bottom edge.

  “You’re not,” said Bronwyn. “You can’t!”

  “Watch me.” He gripped the curtain tighter.

  “Don’t!”

  Charlie let go and the curtain fell back straight, swaying slightly. “Then stop making things up to scare me.”

  Bronwyn sat up. “I wasn’t making it up. Get away from the window. Pleeease!”

  Charlie shook his head and quickly snatched up the curtain, pulling it wide.

  The window shattered. A thin white hand burst through the glass and grabbed the front of Charlie’s pyjama top.

  Charlie lifted his hands to protect his face from the falling shards. He cried out as large spikes of glass fell around his bare feet. In an instant, the window was all over the carpet, and the cold night air invaded the warm bedroom.

  “Charlie!” Bronwyn screamed.

  The sound of heavy and frantic footsteps thundered up the stairs, but they sounded an age away. The noise lay in the back of Charlie’s mind as he looked into the face of his attacker.

  The thing hanging from the gutter with a scrawny arm did look like an old man: pale, wrinkled and devoid of all body hair.

  It’s an accident victim, thought Charlie, horrified, like the people on the hospital programs.

  The intruder had no legs; the body was rounded into a smooth stump underneath the stomach. Every inch of its pallid skin was adorned with cuts, and angry deep gashes ran along its chest and shoulders. Smaller wounds dominated the arms, neck and head.

  Charlie found his voice and screamed as the creature dragged him towards the jagged edge of the broken window, its strength greater than its stick-thin arms suggested. It stared at him with obsidian eyes, and it seemed to smile, despite the clear lack of a mouth. The cadaverous cheeks rose.

  “Charlie!”

  His mother hurtled through the door first. Her mouth hung open on seeing the pale, deformed figure tugging at her boy.

  Pulling Charlie closer, its skin rippled and convulsed, the hundreds of cuts and grazes fluttering. Charlie’s screams increased in pitch, staring inside the fleshy incisions.

  The edges of the wounds opened, displaying rows of tiny incisors within. Enamel gleamed in the light cast by the bedside lamp. The creature smiled with many of its mouths while others licked their lips with small, black tongues.

  Anne dashed across the room in seconds and grabbed Charlie by the shoulders, straining to pull him away from the window. She did little to stop him inching closer and closer, the creature’s strength far greater than her own.

  Charlie beat at the thing’s wrists with his clenched fists, but they showed no sign of loosening.

  “Anne? Charlie?”

  Frank stood in the bedroom doorway.

  “Help!” Anne cried, stepping sideways to reveal the monstrosity at the window, all the time furiously pulling back on Charlie.

  The creature growled, filling the room with a hideous harmonic, like a pack of dogs all howling at once.

  Frank ran over, his stocky body barging into Anne.

  She grunted from the solid impact. Knocked to the side, her grip slid from Charlie. Broken glass crackled under foot as her momentum carried her into the wall, her head bouncing off it with a loud thunk!

  Frank wrapped his large hands around one of the creature’s wrists, trying to pull it free. It hissed and dragged Charlie further towards the window, the sharp edge of the glass inches from his face.

  Frank let go and jumped in front of the thing. With a roar, he thrust a fist forwards, hitting the creature squarely between its black eyes.

  Its head rocked back with the blow and immediately bounced back, locking on Frank with an empty gaze. Several mouths snarled and gnashed their teeth.

  “Christ!” came a male voice from behind. “Grandma, stay back!”

  Frank punched a second time, but the creature still tugged his son closer. Losing control altogether, he rained blow after blow at its face, each one shrugged off by the fiend.

  Joe rushed to his side and snatched the creature by the arm that held onto Charlie. The moment he touched the white skin, it parted to form yet another thin mouth full of sharp teeth that sank into his fingers. He let out a scream, jumping back and looking down. His fingers were bloody, but still attached.

  Frank’s right arm sagged. He swung a left hook, but it missed by inches, sailing past the creature’s short nose as it leaned back. Avoiding the mass of snapping mouths, he leaned to the side. Losing his balance, he fell against the wardrobe. A stack of boxes, knocked from the top, rained down around him. He dropped to the floor.

  The creature let out screeches of victory and turned back to its prey.

  The fight had gone from Charlie. The firm hold on his pyjama top kept him aloft as his legs drooped below.

  His attacker shuddered.

  A large drop of bright blood emerged from the centre of the creature’s chest, as if squeezed out of the skin between the flat, wrinkled breasts. The drop swelled, reflecting the lamp light on its shiny surface. As gravity pulled the drop downwards, the creature’s skin opened in a deep trough, as if an invisible knife had been plunged in and dragged down, opening its chest to the lower belly. This new injury gaped, showing row upon row of white teeth that layered back as far as Charlie could see. He realised he gazed into a giant vertical mouth. The rest of the thing, the thin arms and the bald head, were insubstantial next to this wide cavity.

  The creature grinned with its new addition, the corners not rising upwards, but sideways. It pulled Charlie forwards and down in a fierce jerk. He bent before it as if in worship.

  “Somebody help him,” screamed Eleanor.

  Anne still lay on the floor face down, moaning. Blood poured from the side of her head. Frank slumped against the wardrobe, struggling to get up, like a boxer after receiving a decent knock to the chin. All
the fight had gone from his limbs.

  “Joseph, quickly!” said Eleanor.

  Joe sprang into action at his grandmother’s cry. He ran behind Charlie. Wrapping his arms around the boy in a tight hug, he positioned his foot on the window ledge at the side of the creature. He tensed his leg and pushed backwards.

  “It can’t pull the both of us,” he growled to Charlie. His voice stuttered in breathless gasps.

  The creature’s eyes narrowed on Joe, and a thick trickle of saliva dripped from the mouth.

  “Pull,” shouted Eleanor from behind. “For the love of God, Joseph! Pull!”

  7.

  Joe tried to push back from the window ledge, but it felt like the boy was anchored to the window by a steel cable rather than a mere arm.

  “Montgomery!”

  The creature froze from the shrill call drifting in through the broken window.

  “Get yourself down from there this instant!”

  The grip on Charlie released, and Joe and the boy toppled backwards to the carpet in a tangled heap.

  The creature reached up and grabbed the guttering with both hands. It peered down.

  “This is your last warning, Montgomery!”

  With a grunt, the vertical mouth sealed up with a wet smacking sound, returning to a badly scarred white hide. The creature swung away, moving across the guttering like a child frolicking across monkey bars.

  Joe quickly freed himself from Charlie, who lay panting on the floor, and jumped to his feet. He ran to the window, pressing his face against one of the remaining panes, and looked down onto the street.

  The creature traversed down the front of the house. It moved like an ape, swinging from guttering to drain pipe and shimmying down to the ground. Walking on its hands, it padded across the garden with surprising speed and into the road, clutching the legs of the lone figure that stood waiting.

  It was him; even from the bedroom Joe saw his eyes glow a deep blue from under the rim of his bowler hat. He leaned over and gave the beast a short, sharp pat on the nose. The creature recoiled, holding its hands over its face.

  “Naughty, naughty Montgomery,” he said. “That was a very bad thing to do. You could have fallen and gotten hurt.”

  Montgomery moaned, making the noise of several nails dragging across several chalkboards.

  The Collector ignored it. His gaze met Joe’s, and he tipped his bowler in greeting.

  “I hope Montgomery didn’t cause too much of an inconvenience,” he called. “He can get so excitable when he’s hungry!”

  Joe stared down at him.

  “Anyway,” the man continued, “I’m sure you all have a lot to discuss; a neighbourhood meeting, if you will. You have my word: there will be no interruptions, until it is time for me to call.” He tipped his hat again. “Use wisely what precious time you have left, as I grow impatient with this game.”

  He turned and headed down the street, Montgomery at his heels.

  “See you again soon!” he called back.

  Joe gasped as a group of Prowlers, maybe a dozen, scuttled down the pavement on the other side of the road. Others leapt from the bushes in the Harper’s garden to join them. He watched them go, and the street returned to its sleepy state.

  8.

  “Mmmma…?” moaned Anne, pressing down on the carpet with open palms and raising her head a few inches. Blood poured down her forehead from the hairline. Her eyes lolled back to the whites, and she slumped back down.

  Eleanor rushed over, dropping to her knees. She turned Anne’s head to the side and swept her hair back, studying the injury.

  “I think she’s concussed.”

  “Mummy!” Bronwyn wailed from the bed.

  “It’s okay, dear,” said Eleanor, smiling at the girl. “We’ll look after her.”

  Charlie lay on his back in silence, his eyes so wide it disturbed Joe to look at them. Charlie’s stare remained locked on the broken window, peering into the night. Joe guessed the kid was in shock. Hell, who could blame him?

  Joe’s heart still raced, and the bedroom seemed to tilt. He failed to imagine how Charlie felt. The boy had been the creature’s victim; the one whose head had nearly been devoured. The kid was petrified.

  At least he’s silent, Joe thought, wincing at a particularly high screech from Bronwyn.

  “Mum-my!”

  “Bronwyn, dear,” soothed Eleanor, “your mummy can’t get better with all that noise now, can she?”

  This seemed to do the trick. Her cries became muffled yelps.

  With the distraction gone, Joe returned his attention to Charlie. He quickly unfastened the row of buttons on the boy’s pyjama top, despite the agony in his fingers. This done, he spread the fabric wide, exposing the pale chest beneath.

  Three narrow welts from the creature’s nails ran parallel down Charlie’s sternum. Joe decided the wounds should be disinfected. God only knew what diseases that thing might have been carrying.

  Does God even know the thing exists?

  Leaning over, Joe scooped Charlie up and carried him over to the bed. The boy’s eyes remained on the window throughout the short journey. Joe laid him down beside his sister, who immediately threw her arms around him.

  “Easy there, be careful,” Joe whispered. “The poor lad’s really been through it.”

  He stroked Charlie’s head through his hair, willing him to say something, to blink…to do anything.

  Anne moaned again and tried to get up.

  Eleanor rubbed her back. “You just stay put, dearie. Everything’s okay now. You just had a nasty bump on the head.”

  “Ch-Charlie?” Anne muttered.

  “He’s fine.”

  In the corner, Frank lurched to his feet, kicking aside the boxes brought down by his fall. Once upright, he swayed and shook his head for a moment. He focussed on Joe.

  “Get away from my son.”

  Joe removed his hand from Charlie’s head. “What did you say?”

  “You heard,” said Frank. His intense stare almost equalled that of his son’s. “Move away from him. Now!”

  “Frank!” Eleanor scowled. “There’s no need for this.”

  “There’s every need,” he said, his hard gaze not deviating. “We take you in, all of you! Let you treat my home as you please and what do you do to repay us? You bring him here.”

  “This isn’t our fault—” Joe started, cut off as Frank snapped his hand up.

  “I’m talking,” he shouted.

  “This isn’t one of your classes, Frank,” said Eleanor. “You can’t speak to us this way. Besides, if it wasn’t for Joseph, then Charlie would…would…”

  “He did nothing but get in my way.”

  “Get in your way? Get in your way?” Joe growled, fists clenching at his sides. “Like your wife got in your way?”

  Frank cast a glance at Anne, who still moaned on the carpet.

  “That was an accident,” he said a little more quietly. “It was in the heat of the moment.”

  “I’m sure it was,” said Eleanor. “Joseph, calm down.”

  Joe’s breath billowed through his nostrils. The bully needed knocking off his high horse, and if his grandmother and the kids weren’t here…

  “I’m going to get something to fix the window,” Joe said. “Someone has to do something other than argue.”

  “Joseph?”

  “Yes, Grandma?”

  “You need to do something about your fingers. They’re bleeding.”

  Joe looked down. Trickles of dark blood dripped from his hands. Clenching his fists had forced the wounds open.

  Cursing, he hurried from the room, not bothering to give Frank another look. His footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  9.

  “Is…is Anne okay?” Frank asked, crossing the room to the bed and sitting on its edge next to Charlie. He started his own examination of his son, especially of the injuries to his chest.

  “She was knocked out, but seems to be coming round just fine,”
said Eleanor. “I don’t think she’s seriously hurt, but we should keep an eye on her.”

  “Charlie? Charlie!” He waved his hand in front of his son’s eyes.

  Charlie lay still, unblinking.

  “Give him time,” said Eleanor. “After what the poor tyke’s been through…”

  Frank nodded and pulled the bed sheets up, tucking them under Charlie’s chin.

  “Are you okay, hon?” he asked Bronwyn.

  She jumped out of bed, tears pouring from her eyes. Frank swept her up in his arms and lifted her up, cradling her against his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s gone, and your Dad won’t let it come anywhere near you or your brother again.”

  Anne groaned.

  “Will Mummy be all right?”

  Frank swallowed. “She’s just a bit sleepy, dear. She’ll be up and about in no time. Won’t she?”

  “She might be a bit groggy for a while, but yes,” said Eleanor.

  Hearing the sound of a lock click open and shuffled footsteps on the landing, Frank stopped rocking his daughter.

  Jake peered around the door.

  “Is…is it safe?” he asked, taking in the destruction of the room.

  Frank set Bronwyn down, careful to avoid the broken glass scattered across the carpet.

  “Get back into bed, hon. Look after your brother.”

  Bronwyn quickly obliged.

  “Where the hell where you?”

  Jake entered the bedroom, still coated in his brother’s blood. “In the bathroom. Mum didn’t want to be on her own, so I waited with her while she showered.”

  “Didn’t you hear the noise? The screams?”

  “Yeah, but we thought the machine was back. My mum was scared and-”

  “Don’t you dare blame your mother,” roared Frank. “We could have done with your help!”

  “Frank…” moaned Anne from the floor. “Stop…it…”

  “Listen to her,” said Eleanor. “This won’t help anybody.”

  Frank glanced from face to face. Even Bronwyn, who had kept quiet through the whole exchange, stared at him. Charlie remained entranced.

  “I need a drink,” Frank said, pacing out of the room. He stopped to jab an accusing finger towards Jake’s face. “If you’re more concerned about looking after number one, just remember I could have left you outside. Just remember.”