The Nightmare Man: (Child of the Vodyanoi)

by David Wiltshire

McGrath laughed. “You mean he’s glowing like the boy in the T.V. advert who’s had his porridge oats!”

  “Ay—something like that.”

  The Coastguard was suddenly frowning.

  “Radio activity isn’t hot in that sense is it?”

  Dunlop shook his head. “No. Why?”

  “Well, I was just thinking. It must have been about the time that the poor fellow in there—” He jerked his thumb tt wards Symonds’ room, “—was getting his that I picked up that radio activity. The direction was right.”

  The room lost its struggling warmth. Instead they were aware of the wild cold depths and the resumed swirling snow beyond the windows. The underlying fear was all around them again, their isolation seemed enormous.

  McGrath looked around, oddly embarrassed.

  “I’ll just make sure all the doors are locked.”

  Inskip moved to the window and stared broodingly out at the dark blue of the snowdrifts.

  “What in the hell is it out there?’’

  During the night the snow continued to fall, but the wind which had got up during the evening abated again until it was an ugly soft moan in the aerials.

  About two-thirty Dunlop got out of bed, his throat dry from the heavy bout of whisky drinking that had finished the evening. It also drove him to the lavatory.

  He stood sleepily before the bowl, holding himself steady with a hand on the pebble dash wall before him. When he finished he slouched quietly on his bare feet into the kitchen. He drank a tumbler of cold water straight off, then re-filled it to take back to his bedside.

  As he passed down the short corridor to his room he heard a faint buzzing sound. For a moment he thought it was a faulty fluorescent tube, then he realized the gloomy lighting was an ordinary forty watt bulb.

  He stood listening. The noise was coming from the room where Symonds’ body was resting on its centrally placed table. Uncertainly, he put his ear near to the door. The buzzing seemed even louder.

  Slowly he put his hand on the cold handle, and started to’ open the door. As it gave inwards the noise increased to a roar. Ian Dunlop was a rational, sane man, but his scalp began to prickle with fear.

  The room was pitch black, only the small window was visible as a lighter blue square. His searching hand found the light switch. Instantly all was reversed, the small window a velvet black square in the dimly lit room.

  The body of Symonds, wrapped and tied so tightly that his figure was clearly discernible, lay stiff and straight on the table. The buzzing noise, filling the whole room, was coming from the body.

  Dunlop didn’t want to go near, but he found himself, irresistibly drawn to the hideous, loathsome shape, his legs, moving even though he was screaming in his mind for them to stop.

  The noise was a roar now, and coming from the head, the canvas covered sinister looking head of the Doctor.

  Dunlop came to a halt beside it, sweating with fear, his own head moving slowly from side to side as he tried to prevent what was about to happen.

  But slowly he bent forward, getting nearer and nearer to the awful frightening canvas bag that had a human face-shape. The noise was enormous, and a smell like embalming fluid filled his nose and down into his throat and mouth, making him retch.

  Suddenly, he stopped, his face poised inches above the pointing canvas-covered nose of the cadaver, held there as if by some pulsating force emanating from the skull itself.

  It happened swiftly, silently. The bandaged eye sockets suddenly filled with blood, and the head raised from the bench.

  Dunlop screamed and snatched back, but the body moved, the arms encircling him in a bear hug as it sat up. He fought wildly, mouth and nose pressed into the chemical smelling bandages.

  Lights came on. A hand was shaking his shoulder.

  “Ian, wake up.”

  Dunlop, still shocked, looked around. Inskip and the others, in varying degrees of night attire, were gathered anxiously about his bed.

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  Dunlop ran his pyjama-clad sleeve across his sweating forehead.

  “A nightmare more like it.”

  Robertson chuckled.

  “You certainly woke the rest of us up with a rush.”.

  Dunlop shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, but God, it was so real. There was this buzzing noise and when I went to investigate, Symonds came to life and grabbed me.”

  Inskip gave a shudder.

  “You have my sympathy. A real nightmare.”

  Dunlop got shakily out of bed and buried his face in his hands, massaging away the sleep.

  “My Nightmare Man you mean.”

  They dispersed back to their beds. Dunlop found he had to use the lavatory after all. He shuddered and went down the corridor, finding to his relief it was nothing like his dream.

  He was coming back when he suddenly stopped at the door to the room where they had put Symonds. He didn’t know why, there was no sound, nothing. Dunlop found he wanted to open the door, but was afraid.

  He moved on, and then pulled himself up abruptly, angry at his fear. Turning, he strode back and opened the door.

  It was like the dream, the black room contrasting with the small blue square that was the window. But the square was filled with a strange pointed silhouette.

  Dunlop blinked, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, closing his eyes. He opened them again. It was still there. He flicked on the light switch. Instantly the blue became featureless black.

  Dunlop walked into the room, looking nervously at the canvas shroud containing Symonds’ body. With the nightmare so vivid and fresh in his memory, he found he could not take his eyes off the lumpy canvas as he edged past to the window.

  Hesitantly he turned from it and pressed his face up to the glass to look out. He could see nothing, or...

  Suddenly he realized something was close to his face, separated only by the thickness of the glass. It was a corrugated tubing, like on a gas mask.

  Fundamental fear snatched like a human blow at his chest. Christ, there was a thing with goggles ...

  He screamed and threw himself violently backwards, crashing into the table and hurling the body of Symonds on to the floor, the dead weight falling with a sickening, bonesnapping thud. Dunlop staggered back until he collided with the wall.

  Inskip and Robertson found him still transfixed with shock, eyes riveted to the window. The Inspector took one look at the direction of his stare and ran to the window. He could see nothing. He turned quickly back to the dentist.

  “What did you see?”

  “Something was there; sort of a masked face.”

  Robertson was already on his way out through the door, Inskip close behind.

  Dunlop snapped to.

  “Wait”

  They paused. He looked embarrassed, guilty.

  “For Christ’s sake, Duncan, don’t go out there.”

  The wind gave a sigh, snow flakes suddenly sticking to the window pane.

  A quick glance flickered between the two policemen. It was clear to Dunlop that they weren’t sure about him. Was he still dreaming or hallucinating, breaking up under the strain?

  Dunlop shook his head.

  “Don’t do it. Whatever it is, it’s killed two people; butchered them with phenomenal strength.”

  More snow flakes touched the window.

  Inskip nodded.

  “You don’t need to tell me—but it’s our duty.”

  Dunlop felt the rebuff. Blood rushed to his cheeks.

  “You don’t know what you’re up against.”

  But without another word the two policemen turned and made down the corridor for the main door. McGrath appeared with torches and iron bars.

  “Just in case.”

  He held one out to Dunlop. “Are you coming?”

  Dunlop, conscious of the eyes on him, swallowed.

  “Okay. Let me get my boots and coat.”

  Inskip rammed back the bolts.<
br />
  “We’ll go ahead.”

  The cold air struck them like a physical force. Nervously they played the torches out on to the snow. The way to the right was obscured by a large watertank.

  Inskip gripped his bar and muttered through clenched teeth.

  “It could be lurking behind there.”

  Cautiously they edged up to it, bars raised at the ready. Robertson looked at Inskip, who nodded.

  The big sergeant struck the tank a heavy blow at the side. The enormous clang made them both leap back, terrified at what might be about to spring out at them.

  Nothing happened.

  They pushed past it, into the deepening snow as they neared the corner of the building. As they reached it, Dunlop appeared in the main doorway.

  Inskip and Robertson, backs to the hut wall, looked back at him.

  “Do you think he was dreaming, sir?”

  Inskip, teeth starting to chatter with the cold, shrugged his shoulders.

  “Hard to tell. He’s not generally the nervous, over-imaginative sort, but this ghastly business really seems to be getting through to him more than I’d expect, him being medical and army and all that.”

  Robertson screwed his face up.

  “You can never tell, sir. Are you ready?”

  Inskip nodded. “One, two, three, go”

  Iron bars high, they leapt around the corner.

  A sudden whirl of snow right in the face temporarily blinded them. As quick as it came the flurry was over. There was nothing there. Robertson clearly heard Inskip’s breath coming out in a long sigh.

  The iron bars were heavy. Slowly they lowered their guard. “Which window is the one to the room?”

  McGrath joined them and answered Inskip,

  “Fourth along.”

  “Right. Don’t tread all over the place. I want to see if there are any tracks.”

  The three pools of light merged as they moved cautiously forward.

  Beneath the window there was no mistaking the same strange footprints as on the beach.

  Robertson was the first to speak.

  “Mr Dunlop wasn’t imagining it after all, sir.”

  He said it as the dentist joined them.

  Dunlop looked hard at them all, especially Inskip.

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence. There seems to be some doubt as to my reliability.”

  The Inspector gripped his shoulder.

  “Sorry, I thought for a moment...”

  Roughly, Dunlop pulled his arm away.

  “I know. Let’s forget it.”

  They had their backs to the window when it was suddenly flung open, startling them all.

  “Jesus man!” McGrath exploded, whirling around. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  Campbell ignored the reprimand.

  “The geiger counter—it’s going mad.”

  He held the black square box like a portable tape-recorder out through the window, its audible warning mechanism emitting a steady crackle. With a spine chilling shock, Dunlop recognized the “buzzing sound” of his nightmare.

  As McGrath took hold of the detector head and swung it round, the noise level increased dramatically.

  “The source—it’s coming from over there.”

  They stood huddled together, eyes screwed up against another flurry of snow, staring in the direction of a small snow-covered rise two hundred yards away.

  Inskip’s voice was hushed, as though he didn’t want it to carry, and disturb whatever it was out there.

  “It must be on the other side of the hill.” He continued to stare straight ahead as he added: “Seems you’re lucky to be alive, Ian.”

  Dunlop nodded. His voice matched Inskip’s in lowness.

  “I know. I was less than an inch away from it.”

  The Inspector’s voice was tense, expectant.

  “Can you describe it?”

  “Not much; it was over so quickly. But it was definitely a mask. The eyes flashed like goggles would, and...”

  Dunlop suddenly remembered.

  “Wait a minute!”

  Inskip moved his head this time.

  “What?”

  As realization came at what he had seen, Dunlop’s face reflected his own disbelief.

  “Before I put the light on I saw its head in silhouette. It was like a Ku Klux Klan hood.”

  In the hush the geiger counter noise slowly, almost imperceptibly, faded away until it was silent.

  Robertson’s voice, at normal volume seemed like shouting, startled the little group.

  “It’s gone away—for now”

  13

  They didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. With the door rebolted, and a heavy piece of faulty equipment pulled across and jammed hard up against it, they took off their outer coats and slumped thankfully into the chairs.

  One of the coastguards produced a bottle of whisky and some tumblers. Thankfully, Dunlop enjoyed his drink, not speaking until everybody was well into their own.

  “Duncan, it’s time to face facts. I know it’s not easy coming to grips with the idea we might have something abnormal on our hands, but two people have met very gruesome deaths, and we know now that it’s no ordinary murderer.”

  Inskip nodded.

  “Ay, I agree. I’ll stress that to the regional crime boys from Glasgow. They will be here today. They can make the decision as to what to do.”

  Before Dunlop could reply, McGrath cut in.

  “Were they on the Chieftan?”

  Inskip frowned. “Yes. Why do you say were?”

  “It’s had to put back.”

  The Inspector nodded.

  “I guessed as much when I heard they’d been delayed. But they’ll be here later today surely; the weather’s much improved?”

  McGrath shook his head.

  “More like a week—if you’re lucky. She damaged her bows in the heavy seas.”

  Inskip’s face showed his disappointment and worry.

  “Oh no, that’s all I needed.”

  The coastguard took pity on him.

  “Can’t they get here by some other means? Service helicopter or something? You can use my radio.”

  Inskip’s relief was evident. “Thanks. I will. The telephone lines are still down to the Mainland.”

  McGrath led the way to the door.

  “Come on. I’ll get through to our base at Oban. They’ll relay the message on to wherever you want it to go.”

  Dunlop looked up questioningly at the policeman as he passed.

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  Pausing, Inskip gave the dentist a hard look back.

  “What can I tell them? The truth’s enough surely? With two brutal, unrelated murders on our hands we need all the extra police help we can get as a matter of extreme urgency.”

  “Is that all?”

  Inskip silently nodded.

  While they were away the others drank in relative quiet. After ten minutes, McGrath and Inskip returned. Robertson looked up.

  “How’d you get on, sir?”

  Inskip sat down and held his glass out.

  “I don’t know.”

  McGrath joined him at the table.

  “Our people have taken the message and will pass it on, but they are not hopeful about the availability of helicopters. Seems there’s a hell of a lot of emergency calls out; lost cars, even a train. That sort of thing. They don’t reckon anything will be free for a while. The blizzard caused havoc along the whole west coast’

  He raised his glass to them.

  “So it seems you’re not likely to get your extra police for a while?”

  Dunlop snorted.

  “They’re not what we want. We need the army here, and some help from scientists from the Home Office. I tell you, this isn’t something straight forward. That thing—” He pointed a finger at the outer wall, “—that thing may be more dangerous than we already know.”

  Puzzled, Inskip said: “How do you mean?
I mentioned the radio-activity.”

  Dunlop drew a deep breath.

  “I don’t know how, just call it instinct.”

  Robertson shifted his feet and cleared his throat, plainly embarrassed.

  “Do you think it might not be of this earth?”

  Somebody gave a little laugh, causing Robertson’s face to colour.

  But McGrath was already coming to his rescue.

  “It’s not so daft as it sounds.”

  He got up and walked to his operations desk in the corner. He took the top piece of paper off a pile on his tray, and turned back to them.

  “Just the normal routine procedure. We log all radio calls, whether they are directed to us or not.”

  They looked at him expectantly, as he raised the paper up and slapped it with his other hand.

  “The Chieftan reported she had taken on wreckage. Said it looked like the tail fin of...” He paused and looked around. “A missile.” '

  By morning the snow was several feet deep. McGrath brought steaming mugs of tea to add to the breakfast of piled plates of porridge and bacon and eggs. Perhaps because of the daylight the atmosphere was quiet but not so doom-laden as the night before. They ate heartily.

  “I’m thinking you’ll have to stay with us for a while; the road’s completely impassable.”

  Inskip took a sip of the hot liquid and looked gratefully up at the coastguard.

  “Thanks. Look, we’ve got to get back to Inverdee. The safety of the population is my responsibility. I’ve got things to do, to organize. Can you help?”

  The coastguard scratched his head.

  “Well it’s highly irregular, but you could borrow our boat I suppose. The sea’s not too rough just now.”

  “Fine.”

  McGrath frowned. “We’re supposed to keep it for inshore rescue. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  Dunlop finished the last spoonful of porridge and lifted his plate away to make room for the bacon and eggs.

  “Couldn’t one of your lads come with us and bring it back?”

  McGrath was doubtful.

  “Ay, but then I’d be a man short here, and if he couldn’t get back because of heavy seas—well” He shook his head. “No, I’d rather lend you a boat. Try and get it back to us as soon as you can.”

  It lay at the end of a little jetty set in a rocky cove beneath the station. The sea was grey and choppy, the wind carrying a fin spray that glistened on eyebrows and the hairs of their faces.