by Lee, Frazer
“Tom, listen to me, you’ve been through a lot, we both have…”
Holly’s voice died within her as Tom turned to face her; a face she no longer recognized. She swallowed, hard, and tried to find the words that might stay his hand.
“Let’s walk back to the village, hey, both of us together?”
Tom strolled towards her, still brandishing the hot poker, the cold axe.
“Or you can stay here if you want… Tom?”
Her voice trailed off again. She was terrified.
The glowing red tip of the poker was reflected in Tom’s eyes like blood and fire.
“My name isn’t Tom. It’s Jack. They gave me his name when I died. And through him I was reborn. I scratched my name in the hearth, just as a great painter would sign his masterwork.”
Tom lifted the axe and Holly cried out in terror, wishing she could be free of him and his madhouse. He slammed the axe blade down into her belly, tearing the scream from her throat. His blow had opened her up like a flower. Blood gushed from the gaping hole where her cradle of life had once been. With hunger in his eyes, he discarded the axe then thrust the hot poker into her stomach cavity. He licked his lips, savoring the wet hiss of hot metal against ripe flesh.
Holly felt herself falling, drifting out of the conscious world and into the next. Her belly felt like it was on fire. As her vision blurred, the last thing she saw was Tom; uncoiling her intestines and draping them around the fir tree alongside the other bloody remains that hung there. His eyes reflected red, raw madness.
They were filled with all the uninhibited glee of a child unwrapping his presents on Christmas morning.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jack McCrae crossed to Cosmo’s prone body. The vagrant was unconscious, leg still seeping blood from the puncture wounds inflicted by the teeth of his own trap. Jack tossed the poker back into the fire with another sizzle of hot blood. He bent double and pulled the Jack in the Green costume down and over his head. He held it in his hands for a few moments. The webbing and leaves were slicked with blood and soot. Crouching to the floor, Jack set about pulling the costume over Cosmo’s head and onto his body. If the vagrant wanted so desperately to wear The Green, then so be it. The costume’s fibers, laced with DNA, would tell a damning tale to any who studied them.
Jack would make sure his statement was filled with the grisly details of Cosmo’s crimes against humanity, climaxing with his heroic struggle to overcome the crazed murderer using only his wits and the rusted old poker from the hearth. The likes of Officer Travis would lap his story up, dreaming of a book tie-in and movie-of-the-week adaptation; not a bad pension plan for any long-suffering cop after several years’ faithful service.
Stepping outside, Jack breathed in the cold night air with its myriad scents of fresh pine and old earth. It filled him up like the unconditional love of his true father, who whispered to him now in Mathers’ voice.
“This is what you do, what you’re built for. You’re our secret weapon, Jack. Clear the area for us. I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.”
There was time for one last ritual. One last offering for the Jack.
Epilogue
Dusk was falling over the forest by the time Jack McCrae reached the Jack and Jill Trees. He knelt at the conjoined roots, severed by Cosmo’s axe blow. The parts that were cut oozed with a black fluid, like poison from a wound. It was as though the trees were bleeding.
Perhaps they are, he thought.
He held the roots together and felt them fuse, the dark sap acting like glue. The roots would heal. The knowledge was innate within them.
Just a few feet away lay the opening in the trunk of the Jill Tree. It too was slicked with grue from Cosmo’s murderous rampage. Like an automaton, Jack set about his work, the voice of his true father urging him on as he scooped up severed limbs and handfuls of wet organs before stuffing them into the orifice in the Jill Tree.
Something primal was controlling him now, some hidden place within him that had been unlocked forever. He continued fetching and carrying, scooping and cramming, until the Jill Tree was bursting with death’s totems. Fingers, coils of intestine, and locks of hair joined the rest of the fleshy detritus protruding from the hole in the trunk.
Jack stepped back to survey his handiwork, and remembered his nightmare from the night he made love with Holly, when he was still Tom. All those little corn dollies, raw and screaming in the death hole, tiny faces too innocent to process the pain of their death and rebirth.
His brothers and sisters.
Death and rebirth, the cycle of life, thought Jack. May my offering be made of flesh and blood, of hearth and home.
Jack clutched his collar, bracing himself against the icy wind, and set off on the long walk back into the village. Oh, but he was rather looking forward to spending Christmas with his wife and unborn child.
The only way he knew how.
About the Author
Frazer Lee’s first novel, The Lamplighters, was a Bram Stoker Award Finalist. His short stories have appeared in anthologies including the acclaimed Read By Dawn series.
Also a screenwriter and filmmaker, Frazer’s screen credits include the award-winning short horror movies On Edge, Red Lines, Simone and the horror/thriller feature film (and movie novelization) Panic Button.
Frazer resides with his family in leafy Buckinghamshire, England. When he’s not getting lost in a forest he is working on new fiction and film projects.
Official Website: www.frazerlee.com
Blog: frazerlee.wordpress.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/frazer_lee
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorFrazerLee
Author’s Note
At the time of writing, the beautiful countryside and ancient forests that, in part, inspired this book are under threat from plans to build a high-speed railway. Please visit www.stophs2.org for more information, thank you.
(Frazer Lee, Buckinghamshire, 2013)
Look for these titles by Frazer Lee
Now Available:
The Lamplighters
The Lucifer Glass
Life on Meditrine Island is luxurious…but brief.
The Lamplighters
© 2011 Frazer Lee
Marla Neuborn has found the best post-grad job in the world—as a “Lamplighter” working on Meditrine Island, an exclusive idyllic paradise owned and operated by a consortium of billionaires. All Lamplighters have to do is tend to the mansions, cook and clean, and turn on lights to make it appear the owners are home. But the job comes with conditions. Marla will not know the exact location of the island, and she will have no contact with the outside world for the duration of her stay.
Once on the island, Marla quickly learns the billionaire lifestyle is not all it is made out to be. The chief of security rules Meditrine with an iron fist. His private police force patrols the shores night and day, and CCTV cameras watch the Lamplighters relentlessly. Soon Marla will also discover first-hand that the island hides a terrible secret. She’ll meet the resident known as the Skin Mechanic. And she’ll find out why so few Lamplighters ever leave the island alive.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Lamplighters:
"It's the greatest job in the world."
Vera smiled as she said the words.
"All I have to do is turn on the damn lights, water the plants; a few chores…"
Static crackled in her ear — the phone line was lousy tonight.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes," came the reply, "but I can hardly hear you. There's a weird kind of… echo."
"It's Jessie's uplink," Vera chuckled, "We're not really allowed to call anyone from the island…"
"Sorry… how… calling me?"
Christ, the line was getting choppy. Vera pressed the cordless handset closer to her ear, then checked herself.
"As if that'll make any difference," she said. Probably talking to herself now.
The crackling grew louder. She could still
hear her friend's voice, buried beneath layers of digital cacophony. A faint echo smothered by an avalanche of noise.
There was something else in the mix too; an ominous growling hum like the electricity pylons near her home. Berlin, so far away now. Even as she thought it, the hum grew; drowning out what little was left of her friend’s staccato tones.
And with a click, silence.
"Scheiße," she cursed, stabbing the redial button. The phone was completely dead. Hacking an outside line was a fine art, she appreciated that, but Jessie clearly needed some new software. And she'd be giving that little bag of smoke back too.
First things first. Vera put the handset in its cradle and headed for the kitchen. She walked over to the huge range in the centre of the room and ignited all four of the gas taps. Then, crouching on her haunches, she turned the oven on full blast. The expensive smoked glass oven door afforded her a look at her own reflection. Only a month on Meditrine Island and already she looked five years younger. Amazing. Gone were the dark grey shadows around her eyes - even her signature brittle dry hair had a new luster. Berlin could take care of itself, thanks very much. The island really was like a fountain of youth, she thought as she rose and crossed to the patio door.
Unclipping the latch, Vera had to use two hands to slide the glass behemoth open. Whoever owned this house had a serious heavy glass fetish. Stepping out into the night, her senses were flooded. The island's fresh air was like no other; an intoxicating blend of jasmine and ocean spray. When she went back to the city, she'd have to remember to bottle and sell it.
Click.
Her quiet moment was suddenly blasted with fifteen hundred watts of raw security lighting as she stepped in front of the infrared sensors. She cursed the light for blinding her as she picked up the watering can, blinking away the white-hot glare. The light had brought the mosquitoes a-calling too. They whizzed around her as she dashed back into the kitchen.
Vera filled the watering can with cool, clear water at the bath-sized sink. This was the least tedious of her tasks - the plants were going to drink their fill tonight. Amidst such fabulous wealth, such meticulous order, it felt good that a mere backpacker could decide the fate of items so precious to their millionaire owners.
Millionaires? Billionaires, more likely.
She remembered Jessie's sardonic voice from the first time they'd hung out together, gossiping about who owned these mansions; this island. But Vera didn't really care who the owners were. That they were paying her handsomely to do a few chores was all she cared about. And the most strenuous chore was watering the plants. Easy money. "The job's a doozy," Jessie had giggled. 'Doozy Jessie' been working on the island longer than Vera and seemed to be going a little stir crazy…
As the water rose closer to the brim of the watering can, the security lights clicked off suddenly. Like everything else on the island they ran to a tight schedule, thought Vera. As she did so, milliseconds before the light bulbs faded, Vera saw something outside.
A figure.
She blinked twice, slow and firm. The ghost imprint of the blinding bulbs still there, forming crescent shaped black holes in her mind's eye. Was there someone out there?
Vera blinked again, then swore furiously as liquid spilled onto her feet. Soaked, she closed the faucet and let the watering can rest in the sink unit. Shouldn't have smoked that joint before coming up to the house, she thought, sounding for all the world like her mother. Scatterbrain, she used to call Vera whenever she lost the power to function normally; everyday tasks becoming impossibly hilarious missions. She still wondered if her mother had known her daughter was stoned, or if she simply believed her child was missing a neuron or two million.
The old clumsiness was really kicking in now, as she left little pools of water on the tiled floor on her way to the patio. Putting the can down (yet more spills) she grabbed the door handle and pulled with all her might.
Swoosh.
The glass giant slid open easier this time. Vera bent down to pick up the can — then the smell hit her.
Something had invaded the envelope of jasmine and surf, corrupting the very night air with its presence. A hospital smell, harsh and synthetic, like the way her dentist smelled. She'd hated the dentist since she was a kid. Had he followed her here, to paradise, tracking her down after all these years to do all that work she had chickened out of? To tut and frown disapprovingly through his paper mask, noting her cannabis-stained enamel and ugly overbite?
She leaned out into the night air, her nostrils searching for the source of the stifling smell. It was mixed with something else now, like ripe leather.
Click.
He was standing right next to her, impossibly close. Vera's heart blasted into her mouth, choking her scream. The source of the smell regarded her idly, his black eyes like camera lenses. Cold. Unforgiving.
Before she could react, Vera heard a swooshing sound. The smell of rubber gloves perversely filled her nostrils, pushing all the way back into her throat as if someone really had jammed two fingers up her nose. The intruder's dark form was a monolith, burned into her eyes by the security lights.
Click.
Swoosh.
The bulbs faded once more. Vera's senses imploded as the sliding door crushed her skull against the alloy doorframe.
Crunch.
Swoosh, as the door slid back again.
Crunch.
Vera's body jerked uselessly then fell still; her brains spattered across the cool, thick glass.
The Jack in the Green
Frazer Lee
A nightmare made real.
On Christmas Eve, six-year-old Tom McCrae witnessed an unspeakable atrocity that left him orphaned, his childhood in tatters. Now in his mid-thirties, Tom still has terrifying nightmares of that night. When Tom is sent to the remote Scottish village of Douglass to negotiate a land grab for his employer it seems like a golden opportunity for him to start over. But Tom can’t help feeling he’s been to Douglass before, and the terrible dreams from his childhood have begun to spill over into his waking life. As murderous events unfold and Tom’s feverish nightmares escalate, he will discover the hideous truth behind the villagers’ strange pagan ritual of The Jack in the Green.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
The Jack in the Green
Copyright © 2013 by Frazer Lee
ISBN: 978-1-61921-453-8
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2013
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-
One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Author’s Note
Look for these titles by Frazer Lee
Also Available from Samhain Publishing, Ltd.