by Tim O'Rourke
‘My precious Kayla,’ he whispered, and for the first time in my life I thought I could see tears in his eyes. ‘I‘m so sorry.’ ‘I love you daddy,’ I smiled and drifted back into unconsciousness. “What had the doctor done?” I asked her, alarmed by her story. “He had removed that piece of bone and sewn up the hole that it had left behind,” she said, rubbing her shoulder with her free hand, almost as if it still hurt in someway.
“But it came back, right?” I asked.
“Not straight away. About six months later, I guess,” she explained, again staring out across the cracked and boggy wasteland before us. “When I returned to school, my once good friends had started to keep their distance. They called me ‘Stickleback’ and other stupid names. Although I pretended it didn’t bother me, it did. I was miles away from home and I was scared.”
“What of?” I asked her, my heart aching.
“Those words that I’d heard the doctor whisper into my father’s ear – Terminal Phalanx – I couldn’t get them out of my head. So one afternoon after class, I went to the school library and Googled those two words. And do you know what they meant?” she asked me.
I shook my head and shrugged.
“They are the bones located at the tips of the fingers and toes,” she said and grimaced. “I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I mean, how could I have fingers or toes growing out of my back? What sort of a monster was I turning into? I was so scared, Kiera.”
I thought of the three boney fingers that I had seen at the tip of Luke’s wings and knew exactly what they were. I only had to come to terms with a sprinkling of acne as a teenager – and I thought that had been horrific enough. How I would have coped with fingers growing from between my shoulder blades I did not know.
Knocking her fringe from her eyes, Kayla said, “One morning, I woke up and it felt as if something was sticking out of my mattress into my back. After inspecting the bed, I could see that none of the springs had come through, so with my stomach feeling as if it had been tied into knots, I went to the communal bathroom at the end of the dormitory and took off my nightdress. Peering over my shoulder, I looked at the reflection of my back in the mirror. To my horror, not only had that piece of black bone returned, but there were now six of them poking out of my back, three above each shoulder blade. But that wasn’t the worst of it, Kiera. Those pieces of black bone didn’t look like bone, they looked like fingers and they wiggled back and forth as if clutching at the air.
“I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and puked my guts up and didn’t stop until my stomach felt bruised and raw and my throat felt as if I’d swallowed a pint of battery acid,” she said.
“Did you tell anyone?” I asked her.
“Are you kidding me?” she scoffed. “And put up with more piss-taking from my class mates? No way. I packed up a few of my belongings and fled. I ran away as far as possible.”
“Didn’t you come back here?”
“What? And have that quack operating on me again? No way! I never wanted to see this place again or my mother and father for that matter,” she said, sounding spiteful and angry.
“Why not?”
“Because I knew that they understood more than they were letting on. And I feared that they would just send me back to school again to face my tormentors,” she said.
“So how did you come to be back here?” I asked.
“My father hired these two guys,” she said. “They were some kinda cops or something. One of them was young, in his early twenties, I guess. He was a real arrogant jerk and loved himself. The other one was older- but he was okay.”
I knew straightaway who she was talking about, and the fact the Kayla’s father had known Potter and Murphy made me feel kind of strange. I didn’t know how I should feel – but it gave me a connection to Kayla, her father, and this place. Perhaps I’d done the right thing in coming to Hallowed Manor after all. Maybe they would come here too?
“Can you remember these guy’s names?” I asked her.
“The jerk’s name was Potter – I don’t think he ever told me his Christian name – not that I wanted to know it. The other guy – the older one – his name was Jim Murphy I think.”
“The jerk’s name was Sean,” I said. “You know them?” she said, sounding surprised. “How?” “They were on my shift in The Ragged Cove,” I told her. “Where are they now?” “I wish I knew,” I said, looking out across the moor. “They were real cops then?” she asked. “I guess. Did you ever meet a guy called Luke Bishop?” I asked, wondering what had happened to him and why he wasn’t with his friends. “You couldn’t forget him – he’s a real hottie.”
“Yeah, I’ve met him,” Kayla said and my heart raced. “Where? When?” I blurted out. “The last time I ran away. He came in search of me.” “How long ago was that?” I asked her, keen to know what information she had about Luke. “Two months ago – just before my father went missing,” she said. Only two months ago! I thought to myself. Then that means Luke is out there somewhere and connected to the manor. Maybe he will come here after all?
“He was a really nice guy and very kind to me, but he didn’t look cute like you say he does,” Kayla said.
“What do you mean?” I asked confused.
“He looked as if he had been in some kinda accident or something, because the left side of his face was all scarred,” and she looked sad as she thought of him.
I remembered how Luke had looked the last time that I had seen him, his face blistered and charred from the fire at St. Mary’s Church. I felt sick inside at the thought that by rescuing me, he had been left disfigured.
“Are you okay?” Kayla asked me. “You’ve gone really pale.” “Hmm?” I muttered. “No I’m okay. I was just remembering something.” “What?” “It doesn’t matter now,” I said just above a whisper. Then from nowhere Kayla said, “You’ve got a text on your phone.” “Sorry?” I said, still feeling dazed by what Kayla had told me about Luke. “You’ve got a text on your phone – or you’re gonna get a text any moment now,” she said, her head tilted towards me as if listening to something.
“I haven’t got a text,” I told her, rummaging for my phone in my pocket. Pulling it out, I looked at the screen and it was blank. Holding it up to her, I said, “See, I haven’t got a text come through.” And just as those words left my lips, the phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at the words ‘New Message’ flashing on the front of the screen.
Tapping the screen with my fingernail, the message opened and it was from ‘Sparky’. It read:
Bad news Kiera – your flat has been burgled.
It’s a real mess here. Where are you?
Sparky. x
Looking back at Kayla, I said, “How did you know I was going to receive -” But before I’d the chance to finish what I was about to say, I felt myself falling off the wall and everything went black.
Chapter Ten
The tube train doors closed. It was hot and stuffy – way too many people were in the carriage. It smelt of bodies and sweat. The train rattled out of Euston Road Station and into the tunnel. The lights flickered above me, sending the carriage into a moment’s darkness. The lights came back on and with it, a scream. It was ear-splitting and I covered my ears with my hands. The train lurched over a set of points, and with my hands covering my ears; I stumbled into the male standing next to me. My face came to rest against his sweaty armpit. He didn’t notice, he was too busy, like all the other passengers wedged in beside me, the guy was straining to see who had screamed. Gripping the handrail above me, I regained my balance and looked through the mass of bodies to see what was happening further down the carriage.
There was another scream – this time it was different. It sounded more like a roar.
“What’s happening?” a plump, middle-aged woman asked, fear and confusion brimming in her eyes.
Another scream. This time nearer. Then those passengers lucky enough to have grabbed themselves a seat started to stand, so they too
could see what was going on.
Another scream but this time it sounded like whoever had made it was gurgling on something in the back of their throat. Then there was chaos. Those at the opposite end of the carriage started towards those of us at the far end. Bodies began to enclose tighter around me as people tried desperately to get away from whatever was at the other end of the carriage.
“Let me out!” Someone screamed, their voice bordering on hysteria.
“It ripped her fucking throat out!” Some cried. “Did you see that?”
Passengers rushed towards me in a blur of panic, their eyes bulging from their sockets with terror.
Another scream!
Standing on tiptoe, I frantically tried to get a glimpse of what was happening at the other end of the carriage. Then a jet of crimson liquid sprayed across the walls.
“Jesus!” the man with the sweaty armpits screamed and his voice was shrill like that of a little girl. He turned to look at me and I could see that his face was speckled with little red drops of blood.
More screams and blood, as I was pushed back into the side of the carriage and crushed against the door. Then I saw a familiar face in the crowd – how would I ever forget his piercing blue eyes? Those sunken cheeks and the way he wore that black wide brimmed hat.
“What’s happening?” the plump woman squealed, clutching her handbag to her chest as if were going to offer her some kind of protection.
“A priest just ripped some woman’s throat out with his teeth!” a spotty-looking youth gasped as he started to hoist himself on to the shoulders of those near him in an attempt to get away. I watched as he fought his way over the heads of other passengers, knocking some of them to the ground who then became trampled underfoot by those that stampeded through the carriage. As he came closer, I could see that his face wasn’t covered in spots but in lumps of bloodied flesh.
Taking hold of the handrail, I tried to pull myself up, desperate not to be pulled under with the tide of people that now trampled over the seats and each other. I strained to see back down the carriage at the face that I had recognised. His eyes met mine, and his lips turned up in a smile. No, not a smile, a snarl.
“Taylor,” I whispered.
“Open the door! Open the fucking door!” someone squealed.
“I’m being crushed!” yelled another.
“I can’t breathe!” someone gasped.
Turning, I looked at the knot of bodies pressed against the interconnecting carriage door. But the door opened inwards and with so many bodies pressed against it, it was impossible to open.
“Move back! Move Back!” A guy with glasses was screaming. But then he was gone, drowning beneath the sea of frantic passengers. I tried to reach down for his hand to pull him free, but his fingers slipped from my grasp, and I was suddenly grateful for the deafening screams all around me, as his fingers were snapped beneath somebody’s boot. I didn’t want to hear the sound of those fingers being crushed.
More screams from the opposite end of the carriage – where Taylor stood, blood running from his chin like crimson gravy. A fair-haired woman seemed to suddenly pounce from the floor of the carriage as if being launched from a springboard. Her eyes rolled in their sockets and they burnt orange as if on fire. Her face was as white as soap but her neck was…was open. I could see her windpipe opening and closing like a fist as she gasped for air. Her torn open throat made a sucking and burping noise. Then she opened her mouth and revealed a drooling set of fangs.
Those passengers still unfortunate enough not to have been able to press themselves into the opposite end of the carriage looked at her, their mouths open in shock and terror. Then she was on them, her arms pin wheeling at the speed of motorboat blades as her claws sliced through those around her. Lifting them from where they’d fallen as if they were rag dolls, she buried her face into their necks.
“Please! Please!” I heard somebody sob from close by. I looked down to see a young woman, not much older than myself kneeling on one of the cushioned seats. She had removed one of her stilettos and was smashing the heel against one of the carriage windows.
“Please let me out! Please!” she cried, as she slammed the heel of her shoe into the glass. But the reinforced glass didn’t even chip and the heel of her shoe snapped loose, bouncing back and striking her across the forehead. A gash appeared, seeping blood down into her eyes. The victims of the fair-haired woman must have smelt the blood running from the girl’s forehead, because they sprung-up from the carriage floor, newly awakened, their own throats open and sucking in air.
The girl dropped her broken shoe and frantically rubbed the blood from her eyes, but in her moment of blindness, the vampires took their chance and dragged her to the floor kicking and screaming.
I could feel the tube train begin to slow and I looked up to see that we were pulling into Kings Cross underground station. Before the train had even come to a stop, the passengers that crushed against me were trying to pry the doors open with their fingers. The people on the platform were unaware of what was awaiting them. I opened my mouth to scream at them to run – to get off the platform. But I was unable to form the words – it felt as if something had got lodged in the back of my throat and I was gagging on whatever it was. The train stopped. The doors were forced open and the frantic passengers spilled on top of each other onto the platform. Some of those passengers waiting looked stunned and bewildered as they were trampled under foot.
Those that had been bitten on the train sprang with lightening speed from the carriage and launched themselves at the unsuspecting commuters. Within seconds the platform had become a scene of complete panic and confusion. People fell, collapsed and collided with one another in shear terror. Their screams echoed through the tunnels and maze of passageways beneath ground.
The carriage had emptied and I found myself alone, unable to move, my arm stuck in the air, gripping the safety rail. I looked right and I could see that I wasn’t alone after all. Taylor stood at the opposite end of the carriage. He was now stripped to the waist. His body was white, almost opaque, and his ribs seemed to poke through his skin like rungs on a ladder. His mottled black wings hung from his back like a tattered cape. His eyes were fixed on mine, but he didn’t come forward. He just stood there. I couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes; it was as if they were boring into me – looking inside of me.
Turning away, I looked through the open carriage door and out onto the platform and watched the girl with the bleeding forehead, hobble up the platform in her one remaining stiletto as she sought out her first victim. Looking back at Taylor, he smiled at me and whispered, “Wake…”
Chapter Eleven
“…up!” someone was saying. “Wake-up!”
“She’s bleeding,” I heard a gruff male voice say above me.
“Get her up and into the house,” a female said.
I felt myself being lifted into the air and held by a strong set of arms. My face was resting against some kind of rough material. Opening my eyes, I looked up to see a single eye looking down at me. Why couldn’t I see the other eye? I blinked and looked again. The other was covered with a dirty bandage. My eyes closed again, and I felt sick and disorientated.
“She fell from the wall,” someone said. “She fell like a stone.”
The voice sounded familiar and it took me a moment to realise that it was Kayla who was talking.
“Is she going to be okay?” someone else asked, and it was Mrs. Payne.
I opened my eyes again, and this time they focused to reveal the covered face of Marshal looking down at me.
“Will she be alright?” I heard Mrs. Payne ask again, but I couldn’t see her.
“How should I know?” Marshal grunted from above, his top lip curling upwards. Twisting my head slightly, a bolt of pain sliced through my skull and down into my neck.
“Where am I?” I murmured.
I felt someone touch my hand, the fingers were soft and gentle. “You’re going to be okay,” Kayla said,
and I looked around to see her beside me. I couldn’t help but notice the concern in her eyes.
Rolling my head back, I could feel that rough material against my cheek again. I looked and could see that my face was pressed against Marshal’s chest as he carried me in his arms back towards the manor. That sweet-musty smell lingered on his clothes and it made me feel sick. Screwing up my nose, I looked up into his face again, those filthy-looking bandages concealing most of him. Tuffs of unkempt beard poked through the gaps around his chin and neck. His hat covered his hair, but I could see straggly black lengths sticking out from underneath. He saw me study him and he looked away. I couldn’t help notice that although his arms felt muscular beneath and his chest as hard as rock against my face, he seemed to tilt forward and it was then that I remembered his misshapen back.
“I think I will be okay to walk,” I told him, but without looking down at me, he grunted and continued to carry me back towards the manor.
Despite his back, Marshal carried me up the two flights of stairs and down the corridor to my room, where he gently laid me on my bed. Without looking back at me, he turned and left my room. As he did I looked at his long black coat, the sleeves and his boots. Kayla bounded onto the bed, and crossing her legs she came and sat next to me.
Mrs. Payne appeared in the bedroom doorway with a tray which had a glass, bowl, and jug of water balancing on it.
“Kayla, don’t just sit there gawking at Kiera, go to the bathroom and get me a flannel!” Mrs. Payne snapped.
Without argument, Kayla scuttled from the bed and returned moments later. She handed the housekeeper the flannel, who then poured some of the water from the jug into the bowl. Moistening the flannel with some of the water, Mrs. Payne began to gently dab at the corner of my left eye.
“Your eye has been bleeding, Kiera,’ she explained. “But I don’t seem to be able to find a cut or where the blood is coming from.”