One shotgun blast took care of the woman. The noise of the shot, and the bloodied mess of the body, were enough of a diversion to allow Ethan the time to reach the back of the sofa. He could tell from the look Macy gave him that her instinctive ‘Shit, not you again’, was tinged with more than a little gratitude. She quickly stood up and moved behind the sofa with him.
Ethan viewed the room. For the moment no one was taking much notice of him or Macy. Radsky was on his knees on the floor, lapping at the blood and fluids of the damaged woman. The others were watching him with envy, waiting their turn, which wouldn’t come until Radsky gave them permission to feast.
‘It can’t be this easy,’ Ethan murmured, and pulled Macy with him towards the open doors to the garden.
Outside the rain was falling hard, black and oily. A moon struggled to be heard above the intensity of the rainfall. In the distance the city seemed suddenly still, as if poised to see the outcome of events behind the secret walls.
Radsky stood. His lips were swollen, like a bad collagen injection, blood dripping from the corners. His body swelled as Ethan stared. The thin legs became thick, the arms grew muscles, the chest filled out like a balloon being pumped. The blood he’d drunk had restored him. He reached behind him, unclipped his hair and a thick mane of black hair cascaded over his shoulders.
‘You have my bride I think, Mr Connolly.’
‘Run,’ Ethan shouted at Macy, and they both ran for the trees.
For a moment Ethan thought no one would chase them but he was wrong. Above their heads, scraping the tops of the trees, the people from the house were flying, swooping and rising to get to them.
At the edge of the copse Ethan stopped. Macy was panting beside him. The grass between them and the wall gradually filled with the people from the house. Seemingly from nowhere Radsky appeared in their midst.
‘I think you’ve forfeited your wedding invitation, Connolly.’
Ethan took Macy’s hand. She gave it to him willingly. Ethan could feel she was trembling. They moved away from the shelter of the trees and out into the open.
Suddenly the wall behind Radsky’s group exploded. Bricks rained down on their heads as a huge vehicle smashed through the wall from the outside. Screams told Ethan that some of them had been hurt.
He pulled at Macy’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s miss the wedding reception.’
‘White was never my colour.’
They ran to the wide hole in the wall. As they passed the bulldozing vehicle they could see the Dull Man grinning in the cockpit.
Retrieving the car took minutes, and as Ethan negotiated the winding side roads out of the city the slick rain smeared his view, which was a good thing. Macy slumped in the seat next to him, eyes closed. He could tell by her breathing that she was awake, but he left her to whatever thoughts were tormenting her.
The airport meant a two-hour wait, when Macy fell asleep against his shoulder. She was so slight he began to realise how young she was. Perhaps Night would seem exciting at that age. He could only hope she had learned enough this time to appreciate what she had at home.
When they reached home the reception from Mr and Mrs Powers was far more passionate than he had expected. They had been truly frightened. Macy was hugged and kissed, and although he suspected she found it a little embarrassing there was genuine relief in her face.
Ethan avoided their direct questions about where he had found her, what she was doing, who with. Ignorance was the best way to heal the damage done. He took his payment and left without looking back.
On the journey to his next assignment Ethan let his mind wander into the darkness of Night. One of several other places; the opposite of good, the antithesis of pleasure, the reverse of peace.
Welcome to Night City.
FACER
Night, in a back street pub. The kind of pub that makes you think of bruises and dirty toilets. The type of pub you don’t go to be seen, you go to drink, or to do a deal that gets done best when the lights are low and there aren’t any prying eyes around.
Keogh was drinking with his friend, Tony.
‘Another?’
They were slumped over the pool table, bored of potting spots and stripes.
‘Go on then.’
Bored of waiting for the two blokes from the Pepys Estate to make an appearance. They’d got the gear in a scuffed rucksack under the table, and they needed the notes they’d agreed as a price.
‘Here you go, lager top. Don’t know how you can drink it like that.’
‘My old man used to drink his lager with lime.’
‘Back in the day.’
‘What?’
‘Back in the day, it means…’
‘I know what it means. When did you start saying it?’
‘Read it in a book.’
‘Read? Didn’t know you could.’
‘Used to read books when I bunked off school. Bit weird that when you think about it. Reading instead of school.’
Keogh drank a substantial portion of his pint. He had hated school. The three years since he’d left had been rootless but far more rewarding than the five years at that dump.
Two men from the other side of the bar came over. ‘Finished, lads?’
Keogh put his beer down in the middle of the table. ‘Does it look as if we’ve finished?’
‘Just asking. You’ve not potted for a while.’
Keogh pushed his chest against the pot belly of the younger of the two men. ‘Been eyeing us up have you. You a perv?’
The older man touched his friend’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Keith.’
Keogh poked a finger into the man’s chest. ‘Yeah, run along, Keith.’
Tony made a sound like a laugh but it was more a strangulated choke. ‘Told them, mate.’
‘You got to face them up. Don’t let them stare you down.’
‘How long these jokers going to be?’
‘Got somewhere better to be?’
‘Might go round Mandy’s.’
‘Dirty sod. Fancy a quick one then do you?’
Tony drank half his pint. ‘This them now?’
Two men with close cropped hair had come into the pub unnoticed and unannounced. Their eyes were everywhere, checking out each entrance and exit, watching for who was genuine and who might be trouble.
‘That’s them. Got any cash?’
‘Yeah, what do…’
‘Get the drinks in.’
As Tony walked to the bar the two new men came over to the pool table.
‘Keogh or the other one?’
‘That’s the other one getting the drinks. Lagers okay?’
‘Maybe for you, son. We’ll have bitter and a whisky. Does your pocket money run to that?’
Keogh faced them up. ‘It will when you pay what we agreed.’
‘Got the stuff?’
Keogh indicated beneath the table with a turn of his head. ‘It’s all there. Good stuff. You got the money?’
‘Listen sunshine. We do this for a living. We’ve got the money and you’ll see it when we check out the gear and make sure you’re not pissing around.’
Tony brought over the revised drinks order and for a quiet couple of minutes they might have been four friends catching up on lost time.
Eventually Keogh dragged the plastic carrier bag out with his foot. ‘Want to do it here?’
The man who hadn’t spoken yet leaned down and picked up the bag. Without a word he took it to a dark corner of the pub, laid it on a table and opened it. Inside were the bundles he was expecting. He pulled out a six inch switchblade and without taking the bundle out of the bag he pierced the cellophane. He wet the tip of the blade with his tongue and dipped the knife into the white powder. Then he brought it to his lips and licked. He swilled his tongue over his teeth and gums.
He pocketed the knife and brought the bag over to the pool table. He nodded at the other man.
‘Don’t he speak?’ Keogh said.
The quiet man looked at
him as if he was a bad smell.
‘Not since they cut out his tongue.’
The mouth opened and the dark pink stump waggled like a worm on a hook. The smile didn’t reach the eyes.
‘Lucky for you Shout’s in a good mood or else he might try and see if your tongue would fit in his mouth. And not the way you French kiss your women.’
‘Listen the stuff’s good.’
‘Good enough. Here.’ He handed over a brown package. Keogh opened the flap and smiled at the dirty, used but substantial bundles of cash inside.’
‘We’ll finish our drinks over by the bar if that doesn’t insult your honour or whatever shit you take as respect round here. Nice doing business with you, boys.’
Tony clinked glasses with Keogh. ‘Nice.’
‘Here,’ Keogh him handed the brown envelope. ‘Hold onto this I need to pay a visit.’
Keogh went to the toilet. Someone was already in there. A young man, loitering, waiting for someone, or just waiting to start trouble.
‘All right, mate?’ The young man.
‘I’m not your mate.’
‘No, right.’
‘You going to watch?’
‘No, right. Listen, want some tabs? Good stuff, get totally off of your face.’
Keogh zipped up. ‘What’s your name, mate?’
‘I’m Saul.’
Keogh hit him hard, twice, on the chin and on the nose. ‘Well, Saul, this is your lucky day. I’m in a good mood so I’m just going to kick the shit out of you.’ He punched him in the stomach, kneed him in the groin. As Saul fell to one knee Keogh smacked him on the back of his head, hit him in the throat and as he lay on the ground he kicked him more than once.
When Saul was still Keogh went through his pockets and took a bag of yellow tablets and a wad of notes.
He stood and was at the toilet door when it opened inwards and Tony walked in. ‘What have you done?’
Keogh washed his fists under the dirty tap. ‘He tried to sell me stuff. Me.’
Tony was looking at the young man’s face. ‘We’d better get out of here.’
‘What’s up with you?’
‘You know who this is?’
‘Some ponce trying to…’
‘He’s from the group of travellers who’ve got that camp underneath the underpass. You don’t want to mess with them.’
‘He didn’t want to mess with me. Does it look as if he won?’
‘You don’t win with them. Let’s split the money. I’m off.’
If Tony had conjured any uncertainty in him Keogh managed to mask it well, even from himself. He bought some chips on the way home and lavished them with salt and vinegar.
It was raining but he didn’t care. He was a bit put out by the way Tony had hurried off but he’d see him tomorrow or the next day. They were business partners was how he saw it and business was starting to get good.
He first noticed the black van as he left the fish shop. It was beaten up and tinted with rust. It was driving slowly as if the driver was checking out a neighbourhood he didn’t know; looking for an address he had been to before.
Keogh was walking along the deserted, rain soaked streets, when he became aware the black van was following him. His confidence was high. It was a good deal with the men from the Pepys and the fight in the toilet had boosted his adrenaline. He soon got tired of the van and turned to confront it.
The van stopped barely yards away and he could see it’s driven by an old woman. Silly cow he’ll soon… Materialising out of the rain and shadows half a dozen travellers surrounded him, and one of them was Saul who still had the marks of the beating on his face.
Keogh was dragged into the van.
The back of the van was dark and damp and smelled of wet dog. He was lying on greasy rags that felt lumpy. He prodded beneath the pile of cloth and although it was difficult to see he thought his hand came back dipped in blood.
The van drove for a few minutes, no more. The engine was surprisingly quiet, well tuned.
Then they stopped. The back door opened and he was dragged out.
They were at the travellers’ camp and now everyone got out. Keogh was held firmly by two of the biggest men. They waited and after a moment the old woman switched off the engine and got out. She walked towards a caravan, then turned back to the men holding Keogh and told them to bring him inside.
Once inside, they sat him down and the old woman poured a cup of tea for herself and Keogh.
‘Nothing like a nice cup of tea. Sugar?’ Her voice was soft like a whisper and yet harsh as if rubbed with sandpaper.
Keogh shook his head. He wanted to face her out, wanted to do her some damage but no matter how much he tried to deny it, he was scared.
‘Biscuit?’
He started to feel funny. The walls of the caravan were rippling. The woman’s face was suddenly concave, the nose pushing out the back of her head. Then the floor opened up and he fell through.
The old woman reached across and felt his muscles. ‘Strong boy,’ she said. ‘But how strong are you up here?’ She tapped the side of his head.
Keogh’s eyes were open. Then her face started swimming in front of him. Like in a dream. He was running through rain swept streets, pursued by something. He kept glancing back terrified. Ahead he can see a policeman. The policeman has no face, just a blank mask of skin. Keogh screamed and pushed away from him. He ran on into a group emerging from a pub. They too have no faces. One of them is Tony. Keogh screams again.
Then his eyes closed and the darkness enveloped him.
The old woman eventually emerged from the caravan and said to one of the men. ‘He’s done.’ Then she went across and ruffled Saul’s hair.
‘Can I have it?’ Saul asked.
‘Later,’ she said.
It was much later when, on a rain soaked street the van pulled up and Keogh was dumped out on the street.
From the wet pavement he picked himself up and staggered along the street. Ahead of him he was sure he could see Tony, he must be on his way home from the pub.
‘Heh, Tony, mate.’
‘Wondered where you’d got to.’
The two men were just a few feet apart when Tony saw his friend’s face properly for the first time in a scattered streetlight.
The greeting died on his lips, his body tensed with horror and he backed away.
‘Tony?’
But Tony was turning and running.
Keogh’s legs were unsteady but he staggered to the side street where a few shops provided some illumination. He hauled himself across to a shop window and stared at his reflection.
As his scream echoed in the rain-soaked night air his reflection mocked him, all the skin had been flayed from his face.
Back in the traveller’s camp, Saul was in his caravan, pinning something to the wall. As he stood back to admire his work the old woman patted him on the back. She knew what he’d put on the wall. Knew it was Keogh’s face, joining a display of other faces, many others, all pinned to the wall.
‘Perfect,’ she said and started to laugh.
STORIES
‘What are you reading?’
‘An anthology.’
‘Stories?’
‘That’s usually what you find in these things.’
‘No need to come over all sarcastic. Be grateful a wife shows an interest.’
He held up his hand in surrender. ‘Sorry. Quite right. Tired that’s all. Haven’t been sleeping well. Too much on my mind. Thought reading would help relax me and didn’t fancy a novel.’
‘So, short stories.’
‘Ghost stories.’
‘Very Christmassy, except it’s the middle of May.’
‘Yes why is that? Why do we associate ghost stories with Christmas? It’s become almost part of the traditions, like mince pie and turkey.’
‘So, why haven’t you been sleeping?’
‘Too much on my mind. I said.’
‘Like what? Come on tell me, is it
something I should worry about?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Helen, I promise on Holly’s life it’s nothing.’
She knew he would never take their daughter’s name in vain. He idolized her. She didn’t want to think who he would choose if it was an either wife or daughter situation. She didn’t want to think about it because she already knew the answer.
‘I’ve over done it at work, been doing the decorating when I get in and I’m just tired that’s all.’
‘So, reading ghost stories to relax.’
Steve smiled. ‘That and a couple of whiskies.’ He held up his glass half empty.
Helen poured another white wine from the bottle already opened on the side table next to the couch they both occupied. ‘Who’s in the anthology?’
‘Actually it’s not an anthology.’
‘You said…’
‘It’s a collection. Never heard of them before. Two authors, L H Maynard and M P N Sims. Bit pretentious with the initials.’
‘Any good?’
‘I’ll tell you after I’ve read the first story. If I ever get a chance to open the book that is.’
‘Just taking an interest darling, you moan if I ignore you. Let’s look at the cover.’
Steve held the hardcover book up so the front cover was visible. It showed a cemetery and part of a church.
‘Bit clichéd?’
‘I like a bit of tradition with my supernatural stories.’
‘Enjoy it then.’ She picked up the latest copy of celebrity weekly magazine Why and began browsing.
Steve flicked through the first few pages of the book and read the contents.
HAUNTING GHOST STORIES OF HORROR
BY
L M N MIYNARD & P H SAMS
AN OFFICE IN THE GRAYS INN ROAD
2. IMAGES
Ghosts and Hauntings Page 8