The Rack & Cue

by Hughes, David Owain

  They walked in silence. Not a sound could be heard inside the old building. “This place spooks the fuck out of me,” he admitted.

  “Ha-ha,” she blurted.

  “Don’t you find it eerie?!”

  “No, not really. I’ve been living in ruined buildings for years,” she admitted.

  “Freaky,” he uttered. “Where’s Venom?”

  “I think he’s been looking for his nephew,” she said.

  “There’s someone else here?!” Diesel blurted.

  “Yes.”

  “These were his family. The one dying on the pool table – The Champ – that was his great nephew you blew away. The man in the Doctor’s attire was another nephew,” she said.

  “Oh, fuck. He’s going to slaughter me, too, isn’t he? I mean, once I’ve served my purpose, that is!”

  “Relax. I think he understands that you had to do it to live. He’s pretty pissed with the men and woman you were outside with this morning.”

  “I bet – after all, they killed the rest.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  “Who were the others to Venom?” he asked.

  “Porky, the barman, was his nephew also. The woman was his great niece.”

  “That’s not possible!”

  “Why?”

  “Because Venom’s roughly the same age as the two men!” he yelled. “What is this bullshit?!”

  “I told you, all will be revealed.”

  “You said that once. I want…”

  “You’ll get your answers,” she reassured him. “Sooner than you think” she concluded.

  “Then who’s Venom’s other nephew?!”

  “It would seem the two men kept Venom’s other nephew locked away somewhere.”

  He steered clear of asking why.

  “I see.”

  “Venom seems to think there may be a hidden room somewhere. A passageway. He used to know the pub well, but more has been added to the building over the years.”

  “This third person, I think Porky mentioned him. He said he had a dead brother. The one who helped him run the pub?”

  “Huh,” she scoffed. “That was a cover story, I bet.”

  “But…”

  “I told you.”

  “Yes, ‘all will be revealed’”, he mocked. He was getting sick of all the cloak-and-dagger shit.

  “Venom’s nephew was struck down tragically. Porky and his brother, Doc, had no choice but to lock the secret away. But now that everyone is dead, it’s going to take a little bit of time to find the ‘secret’,” she said.

  “You’re talking in riddles,” he said, annoyance in his voice.

  When they entered the room with the competition table, they were both surprised to see Venom standing in the room. He was positioned by the pool table, his head bowed.

  “Venom?” she asked.

  “The boy’s dead,” he said, letting out a sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” Diesel said. “If I’d known…”

  “Save it,” Venom barked. “Come here. Now!”

  Reluctantly, Diesel moved closer to Venom.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to witness this,” he told Diesel.

  “W…w…what?” Diesel stuttered, watching as Venom turned his back on him and looked down at the dead boy.

  Diesel’s eyes were instantly drawn to Venom’s hands, which, before his eyes, grew larger. Talons replaced fingernails. This caused blood to seep from his fingers as they forced the huge nails out of the man’s flesh.

  “What. The. Actual. Fuck…?” Diesel said.

  When Venom turned to face Diesel, Diesel’s breath lodged in his throat. His heart started pumping harder and harder, as blood filled his ears. He was incapable of screaming. Of saying a single word. He’d never been so terrified. The colour washed out of him. His bladder emptied, forming a neat puddle under his boots.

  Venom’s face was a mass of furrows. Blood trickled out of his eye sockets and nostrils, as rage consumed him. His pupils were nothing more than reptilian slits. His mouth filled with needle-like teeth.

  He punched his fist into the Champ’s guts and ripped his talons up to the youngster’s throat. Blood spurt.

  Now he was screaming. Screaming like a four-year-old.

  Toni shoved passed Diesel, her appearance exactly like that of Venom’s, and joined in on the ripping and tearing.

  Diesel watched as the two scooped blood and organs into their mouths. Their hungry slurps and noisy chewing sounds caused him to empty what little food he had inside him onto the floor. His spew mixed with his piss.

  After what seemed to be hours, Venom turned on Diesel. Toni behind him. Nothing remained of The Champ apart from his clothes, glasses and scraps of flesh and dried blood.

  “You wanted to know what you’re involved in? Well, now you know!” Venom spat. His face starting to relax back to normal.

  “Jesus fuck!” Diesel yelled, tears flooding down his eyes. “What the fuck are you?!”

  “I would have thought it’s obvious!” Toni said.

  “No, it can’t be. It can’t!”

  “Better start fucking believing,” Venom said, getting closer to Diesel, who held his hands up in front of his face.

  “Tell me!” he cried.

  “Tell you what?” Venom asked.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I’m not sure you can handle it.”

  “Please. I must know.”

  “I thought you said you’d heard the rumours about me – that I’m a ghost. A myth?”

  “Yes,” Diesel said. “But I never believed it. Any of it. I heard of the great biker war, but I never believed.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  “Tell him,” Toni said, “The boy’s clearly eager,” she said, wiping blood and flesh off her chin. She laughed as she did so.

  “Okay,” Venom said, taking a seat. “I’ll fill in some of the blanks you may have about me…”

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  Venom stood on the roof of the tower block, his body drenched in moon glow. It cast an eye-splitting gleam, as he fought the urge to howl.

  The streets below were dead and rundown, he thought, as he looked around. The small Welsh valley town had become a cesspit, much like other places he’d driven through over the past forty-or-so-years – it had been a lonely old time, but time was all he possessed.

  Having trawled the world, he’d watched mankind slowly destroy itself through war, drugs, famine, death and disease, whilst searching for that special something. A woman. Or companion, rather. Someone he could share his immortal hell with.

  He’d been married once.

  A lifetime ago.

  Before he’d become this…this creature born out-of-darkness. Sue had been a loyal and loving wife, but she’d been snatched from him at a premature age.

  The woman who’d meant more to Venom than the air he breathed.

  Once Sue had gone, life had spiralled out-of-control for Venom, taking his revenge on the scum who’d robbed him of his wife.

  Their screams were still vivid. So real.

  An eye-for-an-eye, he thought.

  But he guessed the big man upstairs hadn’t seen it that way, having cursed him for it.

  He was fine with taking the punishment on the chin.

  Turning, he made his way back to the fire exit. His long, salt ‘n’ pepper-coloured hair blew wild in the late night breeze. The wind flapped and whipped his tight leather waistcoat. His face broke into a smile, exposing a mouthful of piranha-like teeth.

  Loving the blustery weather, Venom had left his Chopper parked for the evening, deciding to walk for his feed. At the fire exit, Venom descended, his Harley boots clanked on the steel steps and reverberated off the white, institute-style walls.

  Once down three flights, he decided on a landing where the rooms were marked 305-405. The fire exit signs on the walls buzzed and hummed which sounded eerie in the deserted corridor.

  Now he needed a room. A victim
. He hated having to do it, but survival depended on it.

  Turning left and walking down the poorly lit hallway, he stopped at the first door he came across. 305. Facing it, and slowly placing his forehead to the wood, he prayed. Prayed for forgiveness.

  Twisting the doorknob, he discovered it locked. Not that that would ever stop him. He ripped it clean off, hearing the internal part of the doorknob drop with a soft thud. Carpeted floor, he thought.

  Pushing the door inward, the security chain halted his progress.

  “Damn chains,” he grunted, gripping hold of the exposed golden links of brass and snatching it from the door.

  Stepping into the blackened passageway, he’d forgotten about the doorknob, as it was sent with a muffled glide into the skirting board. It made a slight thumping sound.

  “Fuck,” he uttered, then listened.

  Nothing moved.

  Nobody seemed to be roused or disturbed from sleep. Hell, he’d caught people fucking before now.

  Venom had become quite the expert at breaking into peoples’ homes, although, he’d never been too shabby at it anyway, having run with The Boas from a very young age.

  Sue had tried to change him. To get him to quit the life…

  Sue…

  The name stuck in his throat like a stone from a date.

  He diverted his thoughts, remembering a time he had been caught trespassing.

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  It had happened within the first few weeks of Venom realising what he’d become. The night had very much been like this one: cold with a jagged gust. The dwelling had been set off the road in a quaint little town just outside of Cork, Ireland.

  Venom had gone there whilst coming to terms with his new identity.

  Not wanting to nourish off people, Venom had tried to remain out-of-sight, feeding on normal foods such as cold meats. But that had made him ill, forcing him to try livestock, but this too, was fruitless. He needed human blood.

  Breaking into the house with his newfound strength, he’d skulked through the property, hoping to surprise his prey or ambush them as they slept.

  But it was Venom who had the surprise.

  The blast from the double barrel shotgun was deafening, as it tore the night in two. Both cartridges drilled holes straight through his chest and punched into the wall in front of him. The ball bearings spread: a lamp shattered, a photo frame burst into a shower of glass and a single chair and a two-seater sofa was peppered.

  Venom’s blood splashed up a wall and redecorated a painting of a Schooner at sea, which hung above the fireplace.

  Sucking in air, Venom tried to shake the blur from his vision before collapsing to his knees. A shrill Irish voice came from behind.

  “Holy...What are ya?!”

  Getting unsteadily to his feet, Venom’s torso smoked. Vapour escaped his lips, which were lightly coated with gunpowder. The pain in his ribcage was excruciating, as his face twisted into something beyond ugly.

  “Jesus,” the voice trembled, as Venom turned and took a step closer to the old man. But again he folded to his knees and clutched his chest.

  “Fuck,” Venom howled. “I think my ribs are busted,” he said to himself.

  Slowly staggering back to his feet, he tumbled to one side, but this time the wall braced him. In panic, the old geezer broke the barrel of his shotgun, plucked out the stale rounds, and slammed in two fresh shells.

  The barrels emitted grey smoke as the slugs were feverishly loaded in.

  Snapping the shotgun shut, he yelled “Freeze!”

  “Save the bullets,” Venom said in a flat tone.

  Thumbing the hammers down, he pulled the triggers, one a split-second after the other. The first bullet blew the TV apart, whilst Venom ducked the second. He moved in on the man fast and low, grabbing him by his throat and lifting him off his feet.

  A heavy choking sound filled Venom’s ears, followed by a thunderous cracking of the old Irishman’s neck. After draining the poor bastard of his blood, Venom found his powers even stronger.

  ⃰ ⃰ ⃰

  But now, here in the inky hallway, Venom thought about what his next victim would be like. Would it be a he or a she? Would there be more than one? Would there be a family? He never killed the young. He drew the line there. Even though his guilt had toughened over the years, he still felt remorse for his victims.

  Creeping deeper into the small flat, Venom noticed a door standing ajar to his right. A light poured from beyond, which seemed to be coming from a television set.

  “Shit,” he said sharply, moving closer.

  The TV cracked and hissed dead air. He froze to the spot and listened, waiting until he sensed it was safe to keep moving.

  At the door, he peered around the opening, and spied his target. She was slumped to one side on a beige sofa.

  The door squealed on its hinges as he edged it backwards, and out of his way, making him wince.

  Standing directly behind the sofa, Venom stroked her hair with his huge and scuffed left hand, being careful not to wake her. “So young,” he said, whilst sucking in the aroma of honey, which radiated from her hair. “Mmmm,” he sighed.

  Moving around to the side of the couch he gazed at the young face, and for the first time saw her cat at her side. Venom’s mouth opened, exposing his needle-like teeth, frightening the moggy and causing it to bolt over to the window.

  Bending closer to her exposed neck, Venom felt her hot breath brush his cheek, which stirred him. His drool hit her face, which made her writhe at the feel of it.

  His teeth sank deep and slow, causing her to thrash lightly. Air escaped the puncture wounds like popped tyres. Blood flowed gently like a stream, causing the colour to run from her face. He sat by her side and pulled her close to him, feeling her small, yet perfectly rounded breasts push against his chest from under her nightdress.

  After draining her, her face resembled a dried out peach. Her body, which had been full, was now nothing but skin and bone. Emaciated. Her nightwear hung from her, as though they belonged to someone else.

  Venom looked at her for a brief moment.

  He felt something, but was unsure of what.

  Leaving through the shattered door, Venom headed home.

  Nearing his hideout, an hour before sunup, he stumbled into unwanted hassle.

  “Get your fucking hands up, cunt!” The voice was cold. No charm, Venom thought. He heard the steel hammer of a gun click downward. “Turn around real slow, sweetheart and I won’t blow your face off,” Prince Charming rasped again.

  Venom turned, catching the glint of a .45 being pointed square at his chest. The one holding it was a scruffy sack-of-shit which matched his voice. Stubble graced his chin. His hair was long, lank and greasy. There was a second man with him. He was skinny with broken, bent teeth. A nasty scar ran the length of his face. He toted an eight-inch hunting knife. The type of knife you could skin a deer with, Venom thought.

  “Get his fucking wallet, man,” barked Mr. 45.

  Venom began to laugh, as knife man rifled through his pockets, the tip of the blade pressed to his chin. Venom was tempted to run his tongue across the cool, shiny surface of it. Just to give them an extra scare.

  “He got nothing, Bill.”

  “Shit man, he must have something?”

  Venom looked at them, smiling all the while.

  “What the fuck is so funny, you tramp bastard?”

  “I was just thinking,” Venom said. “What you pair of dickheads will look like after I tear your faces off.”

  Brushing the gun to one side, Venom pinned both men to a wall by their faces and dug his claws in. He squeezed and squeezed as though he was trying to drain juice from an orange. He’d been too slow in blocking both gun and knife, feeling the steel buried in his side. Pencil man had rammed it in to the shaft.

  His talons melted through the faces of the would-be attackers. Their bodies bucked and thrashed in a spasmodic dance of death as he crushed and crushed. All that remained
was bloody, sodden pulp. The pain in his side made his vice-like compression on their faces even more pleasing.

  “Fucks like you never learn,” he spat at them, letting the bodies drop to the concrete. He pulled the knife out of his side, which made a wet sticky slurp, much like a penis retracting after energetic sex.

  He threw the stained steel to one side and continued his walk back to his lair, enraged to the point of boiling.

  The hideaway was nothing special: an abandoned house off a dirt track, which had more rats in it than a desolate train station. The night he’d found it, there had been a couple of drifters inside, jacked-up on coke and whisky.

  He’d fed on their toxic blood and burned their remains in the oil drum they’d been using as a furnace.

  Venom’s regime was to stay in a town five or six days, feed twice, and then move on. His chopper was a fine machine for travel, which was also very easy to conceal. Right now it stood in the basement of the house.

  He slept in the attic which had no windows or vents, just a hatch used as an entrance and exit. Venom covered it in the days with a sheet of wood and slept on it.

  The air in the garret was damp and stuffy. Rats scurried across the beams. Spiders owned the floor. When the sun set, heat penetrated the walls. Some summers were almost unbearable.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he lay in a bed. Planks and concrete had become his best friend. Sometimes he would lie in his hideouts when the sun was up and daydream back to the days of making love to his beautiful wife on fresh sheets.

  Tears would never come, just curled fists. Often Venom would tear a good hideout apart. Many times he had thought of going to see Hun to kill the bastard. To end it. But knowing the man was rotting inside a prison cell made him happy.

  As he tried to get some sleep, memories of Sue flooded his mind. Small memories got to him, such as the way she would tie his hair back into a ponytail for him.

  He wore it down these days.

  Waking up drenched in sweat and breathing hard, Venom felt groggy. The heat from outside had died off – his bones no longer felt as though they were in a melt-like state. He needed to get outside, to feel the chill of night on his skin.