No Rest for the Wicked

by Dane Cobain

  ERIC HENNEY

  “You are a sheep,” they said. “And we are the shepherds.” Joanna was surrounded by light. It would’ve been beautiful if she didn’t look so scared. That was the last I saw of her. Those so-called ‘Angels’ knew I was there. They split like an amoeba and chased me down the corridor.

  Oscar, our dog, howled like a baby and started pawing at the door. The tallest of the Angels raised a glowing hand. Then, they spoke to me.

  “It is not your time,” they told me. “We will return for you later, when you least expect it.” And then they walked straight through the wall, and I didn’t see them again.

  As soon as they left, I shook myself and walked towards the living room. I held my breath as I paused with a hand on the door handle; the only sound was Oscar’s tragic whimpering. Other than that, it was eerily quiet.

  I opened the door to the same old scene, but Joanna wasn’t there. She was on the floor beside the fireplace, a seared patch of carpet, and a pyramid of ash, flesh, and burnt bone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY: REBELLION

  Wednesday October 7th, 2009

  IT HAD BEEN a bad month. The Andrews didn’t understand the change in their daughter – her gentle, loving nature had transformed into near-cruelty, and she was more introverted than ever. Each parent blamed the other as Angelica grew more sadistic by the day.

  What about the time they were dragged out of bed at four in the morning to a horrible cacophony of screams? They found their daughter in the kitchen, twisting the cat’s tail and giggling at the howls of anguish that it bellowed to the night. Then there was the time that they found her crawling through the garden on her hands and knees, burning insects with a magnifying glass. Something was definitely wrong. “I just don’t understand,” said Mrs. Andrews, addressing her husband across the kitchen table. “What’s wrong with Angelica?”

  “Do you want me to have a word with her?”

  “What good will that do? You barely know her. Perhaps if you spent less time working and more time with your family, she wouldn’t be like this.”

  “What are you trying to say? If you have something to get off your chest then say it to my face. I can’t stand these hints and innuendos.”

  “I’m saying…” she began, then stopped, glancing at the floral clock on the kitchen wall – 10:27 PM. “Look, you can’t pick and choose when to spend time with her.”

  “I don’t need parenting lessons from you.”

  “Shh!”

  A floorboard creaked and they froze. They heard an intake of breath as a shadow passed across the wall, an unevolved burglar with a lurch. The mirage passed in a second, and Ellen Andrews flew up the stairs to gather her daughter in her arms.

  “Let me go! You don’t own me!” The screaming child swung her puny arms like a pair of sledgehammers.

  “Angelica! What’s wrong with you?”

  The little girl leered like an evil seraph and her mother dropped her to the floor in anguish. For a second, the girl’s body hung in the air with a curved spine as though her head and feet were breeze blocks. Then it caught up with gravity and she fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she rasped. “Oh mother, if you only knew.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: CONSPIRACY THEORIES FROM NATIONAL NEWSPAPERS

  Wednesday December 9th, 2009

  ANGELS – THE MYSTERY REVEALED

  IT’S THE TERRIFYING phenomenon that’s on the tips of tongues across the world, but what exactly are Angels? We sent Jerry Jarrell to find out…

  I first discovered Angels in Gloucester, when I was researching sources for a story. It was a disappointing interview – my contact was on heavy medication. I was about to leave when he said something that changed my life forever. “Watch out for Angels.”

  He explained it all – Angels began as a tale told by cautious mothers to their wayward children, a biblical warning. But the fireside tale of original sin and the protectors of Christian virtue is dying out – it’s clear that a sinister force is at work.

  Nobody knows who or what the Angels are, whether supernatural or frightfully human. They come at night, when our primal DNA sends signals of fear to our tired brains, and they take our loved ones away. But where do these victims go? Some say to horrifying factories, to be processed and packaged and served on the tables of the rich. Others say they’re a sinister band of vigilantes, not biblical but scarily real, stamping out hidden perversions wherever they see them.

  And they see them everywhere…

  ANGELS MYSTERY GROWS DEEPER

  FRESH ALLEGATIONS against local governments have forced the Metropolitan Police to begin an official investigation into the ‘Angels’ phenomenon.

  The number of unexplained disappearances and violent deaths in the London area has risen sharply over the last three months, and local police forces are struggling to deal with the constant bombardment. Police spokesman, Inspector Peter Constance, had this to say:

  “We are aware of the situation and believe we have the perpetrators of these crimes within our sights. We would like to reassure the public that we will not falter in our steps to apprehend them. In the meantime, it’s of vital importance that we stick together as a community.

  “The police force understands how easy it can be to panic in a time of need, but we stress that you should only dial 999 in a genuine emergency. All reports and enquiries can be made by contacting your local police station, either by landline telephone or in person.”

  It’s clear that the Angels epidemic poses a great threat to our society, our safety, and our way of life, like a virus without a cure. As evidence floods in to show similar phenomena in isolated communities across the world, many are turning away from official explanations and asking each other: “What exactly is happening?”

  LIGHT-THIEVES RAID POWER STATION

  SECURITY AND STAFF at one of the country’s leading power stations were left baffled after a raid by hi-tech burglars.

  Employees at Sellafield power station first knew there was a problem when their equipment registered an unusual surge in electricity usage on-site. Shortly afterwards, they saw the first of the intruders, lurking naked in the foyer with no ID. More were soon discovered, and the security team rushed to head them off.

  The trespassers forced their way past the officers without a fuss – afterwards, the team reported mixed feelings of horror, repulsion, confusion, and obedience.

  “We tried to stop them,” said Kevin Naylor, head of security. “But when they told us to do something, we did it. I wouldn’t have obeyed my own mother, but we let them pass as though they owned the place.”

  Once inside the complex, they created a forced power surge, causing no lasting damage but putting the station out of action for forty-eight hours. The intruders haven’t been seen since.

  If you have any information regarding this incident, don’t hesitate to call Sellafield on 08081 570715. Alternatively, file a report at your local police station.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: CONGREGATION

  Thursday December 10th, 2009

  FATHER MONTGOMERY was sweating; he was facing the most difficult congregation of his adult career, and he was just as scared as they were. His collar choked him, and he longed to cast it to the floor like an evil spirit. All eyes were on him, and sweat leaked through his pores.

  “Good afternoon,” he began, stepping into the pulpit with unnatural foreboding. “I’m glad you all could make it.”

  He surveyed the masses with ambivalence. The priest could tell that they’d been driven to the pews in search of answers, but he had nothing to give them save for empty words and feeble encouragements. They were tired housewives, bachelors with a fear of death, and enthusiastic down-and-outs with nowhere else to be. The stench of desperation was almost overwhelming.

  “As you know,” he said, starting the sermon. “The country is on fire with rumours of Angels – that’s what you’re here to learn about. If you’re left with any question
s, I’ll be delighted to answer them at the end.

  “So, what are Angels? That’s the question it all comes down to, and I suspect that it’s the question that brought you here today. If you’re expecting an answer then you’re wasting your time.”

  Many of the onlookers shifted guiltily in their seats, but the faithful stayed calm and composed.

  “These Angels, from what I understand, are imposters,” Montgomery continued. “A modern invention, which mirrors our modern times. We must learn to deal with the threat as a community.

  “My advice is simple and personal, as a friend and not a priest. Let us band together to fight them. These Angels, whatever they are, are friends with fear. We must fight them with love and understanding, and that begins at home. Keep in touch with your friends and neighbours, and familiarise yourselves with what to do in an emergency.

  “Remember, my friends, that it’s a dangerous world. Let us adopt the spirit of the blitz like we did during the war, though attacked by a different enemy. Our doors will always be open, and I’ll meet anyone that asks for me. God bless us all in this difficult time.”

  He was shaking when he descended the wooden steps and left the pulpit, half-afraid and half-alive in the moment. People that he’d never seen before congratulated him and asked questions that he couldn’t answer.

  “Father?”

  He glanced at the pudgy red face of a middle-aged businessman in old tweed.

  “What do you think they are, honestly?”

  “In a couple of words? Evil incarnate, encouraging darkness and despair. I can’t think of anything less angelic.”

  The businessman looked at him, concern blossoming. “What can we do about it? There must be something.”

  The priest smiled.

  “Of course there is. We can prepare ourselves for the unexpected and go about our lives with love in our hearts.” The old priest forced a smile and shook the man by his dry hands, but behind the veil he felt nothing but doubt and foreboding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: POSSESSION

  Friday December 11th, 2009

  “…AND SO you can see, Father, why we’re so worried about Angelica.”

  Montgomery looked tired, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hands grasped absently at the silver cross around his neck.

  “I understand your concern,” he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow and gratefully accepting the tea that was proffered towards him. “And she hasn’t acted like this before?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what I can do. What you’re asking of me, it’s a lot to think about. I mean, there’s no procedure, and I’d have to work outside of the church. We’ll have to keep this secret and never speak of it again. If word gets out, it could destroy us all.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Andrews said, gripping her husband’s hand so tightly that he winced and the colour drained from his face. “We won’t tell a soul.”

  “I need to see her again,” Montgomery said.

  The telephone rang from the study and the semi-present husband rushed to answer it.

  His wife sighed and gestured towards the stairs. “As you wish, Father.”

  The child was sitting up in her bed, leering at the world. Her eyes had a touch of wolfish hunger, and her lips looked like a snake that was rearing to strike. Her arms lay limply at her wasted sides. The Disney duvet was spattered with bodily fluids – vomit, faeces, urine, sweat, saliva, and blood. It looked fresh, and it smelled even fresher.

  “You’re back, Montgomery.” Her voice rasped and grated at the eardrum, and he tried not to look upon her with revulsion.

  “I’m here, my child.”

  “Good, you can tell us about ‘original sin’. What does your precious church have to say?”

  Her saurian arms crawled across her prepubescent body, and the priest’s eyes filled with sorrowful tears. Where her discoloured fingertips touched her virgin skin, purple welts sprung up and formed burst pustules of dead flesh.

  “What do you expect me to tell you? The story of the apple and the serpent? The death of Jesus Christ, the son of God? The entire Bible is a lesson in sin, how do you expect me to condense it?” He struggled to look at the child with love, to force his mind away from the bias of his senses. His instincts told him that the monster must be destroyed, but his educated brain was pleading for him to see sense.

  “I don’t know,” she said, stretching as much as her chains would allow her. “Tell us how you live with yourself, how you sleep at night with the knowledge that you’re fed on a daily basis. You’re nothing but a filter for sin and depravity, and you see it everywhere. You permit people to share their poisonous secrets so they can leave feeling innocent, then watch as they go out and commit the same acts all over again.”

  “Someone has to do it,” he replied, picking his way through the verbal trap. “Why not me?”

  The apparition in the bed just laughed, and the priest wondered what he was up against.

  “We will say nothing more. Next time we meet, it will be upon the battlefield.” The wasted child lay back in its bed and began to vomit a fresh load of acrid bile on to the dirty silk.

  The Father crossed himself and patted his breast – the old heirloom was still there, the musty Bible that first introduced him to his maker.

  Outside, the fretful mother pulled the priest aside, offering tea and whiskey to steady his nerves. He accepted both and sank into an armchair, heavy with the contagious stench of depression.

  “So what do you think, Father? Can you help us?” The priest said nothing and led the way towards the front door.

  On the doorstep, he pulled a cigarette from a battered packet and raised it to his shaking lips. His old fingers looked like white candles as they cupped the flame of a matchstick.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said, disappearing into the unyielding night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: VISITATION

  Saturday December 12th, 2009

  THE SWEAT WAS DRIPPING from Jones’ brow in a localised rain as he reached the top of the stairs and began to fiddle with his keys. It had been a long, relentless day.

  It started off normally enough – a single slice of lukewarm toast and a glass of off-coloured water. The inner-city traffic was unforgiving and dreary, and the hours in the office were long, cold, and boring. Now he was back at home, and something didn’t feel right.

  The winter chill seeped through the double-glazing and into his bones, so he turned up the heat and wrapped himself in a heavy coat. He could hear the icy wind blowing through the eaves of the old apartment, and for a crazy second he longed to be outside with the harsh teeth of winter gnawing at his naked flesh. He strolled over to the bay windows, threw the curtains open, and looked outside.

  “We have been waiting for you.” The dreadful voice appeared from nowhere and seemed to shake the building.

  Outside, suspended in mid-air like eerie Russian dolls, a trio of Angels radiated light. Jones already knew enough. His first instinct was to draw the curtain and call the police, but he knew it was useless.

  Instead, he stood tall and shouted through the thick glass. “What do you want from me?”

  Their faces remained impassive, but he could sense that they could hear him. Understanding sparked in the air like electricity on overhead wires.

  “We want you to tell us about your nightmares.”

  Jones laughed nervously and patted desperately at his pockets. The Angels seemed unconcerned. His handset flickered into life, and his speed-dial kicked in; a couple of miles away, in the back room of Montgomery’s dilapidated church, an answering machine started rolling.

  “I don’t have nightmares,” he said, carefully. “I have dreams. Why don’t you help me out here?”

  “We are not here to help, we are here to judge.” As one, the Angels floated through the moonlight towards the window. The air shimmered like a mirage; after a second of impossibility, they were through the glass and inside the apart
ment. “Feed us, tell us a story.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Jones said. The terror was beginning to leave him. Enough is enough, he thought. It’s time for someone to take a stand. “Go back to hell.”

  “What makes you think that hell exists?”

  “You exist,” he replied. “And that’s enough proof for me.”

  For almost a minute, they stared at each other like wild animals preparing to fight. Jones was shaking with adrenaline; he blinked and broke the silence.

  “If you leave right now, nobody needs to know that you were here,” he said.

  “If you satisfy our hunger, we will leave.”

  Jones looked at them, thoughtfully.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked. They nodded, but he still felt uneasy. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  Jones turned his back on them for long enough to pour a scotch on the rocks; when he turned around, they were still staring at him with their proud wings folded behind their backs.

  They looked… hungrier.

  “Tell us everything… those dirty little secrets. Tell us about what you did with Pam in the photocopier room, or about the time that you pushed an old woman over in your rush to make it to work on time.”

  Jones frowned at them – he’d never mentioned that to anybody.