The Nightmare Man: (Child of the Vodyanoi)

by David Wiltshire

  MacLoud, a big man with black beetling brows and a bald head, was waiting on his twenty-six foot sea-going cruiser, already fired up, the diesels thumping and gurgling over the stillness of the harbour, and echoing off the walls of the stone houses. Several figures could be seen at drearily lit windows and two or three people were on the quayside.

  The police, chequered caps with chin straps down, rifles slung over their shoulders, scrambled aboard.

  Irritably Inskip looked at his watch.

  “Where’s Doctor Mackay? We’re five minutes late already.”

  Dunlop tightened the canvas belt that held his revolver in its holster outside his jacket. It had loosened on the way down to the boat.

  “Have a heart. The man’s getting on in years.”

  Inskip frowned.

  “He’s used to getting up at all hours don’t forget. If there’s anybody left out there—” He nodded in the direction of the sea; Broughty Head couldn’t be seen from the harbour, “—then we’ve got to be away as fast as we can. There’s a risk of exposure if that ‘Thing’ hasn’t already got them.”

  “How do you know it’s involved. It could be a natural accident, couldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  But the lack of conviction in Inskip’s voice was thick.

  Finally, after a two minutes’ cold wait in which Inskip must have looked at his watch ten times, the slightly portly figure of Doctor Mackay, scarf flying out, bag at his side, scurried into the square and on up the quay. Puffing, he reached the waiting men.

  “Sorry I’ve held you up. Had to get Doctor Carstairs to cover for me.”

  Inskip stamped his cold feet on the ground.

  “Right, Doctor, let’s get aboard.”

  They assisted Mackay, holding him by both elbows, and passed him into the care of the police on the deck. Then they stepped across after him.

  MacLoud nodded to the men holding the lines fore and aft, who threw them into the boat. The engine roared and the deck vibrated as he took her out into the middle of the harbour, stern first, the dark water churning up white with millions of tiny bubbles.

  The engine noise died away, leaving only the hiss of the bubbles lifting to the surface. MacLoud pushed the gear handle into forward drive, and slammed on the throttle. With a roar, the bows lifted, the police grabbing for rail support as the deck canted.

  Leaving a white wake, the boat headed out straight between the twin grey stone arms of the jetty and down the sea loch to the open water.

  The journey was quicker than last time, and more comfortable, as they were inside the cabin, out of the cold wind and spray lifting back from the thumping bows.

  Nobody spoke, until Dunlop suddenly remembered.

  “Hey, did you play Doctor Symonds’ tape? Was there anything on it?”

  For a moment he thought the two of them hadn’t heard him, and was on the point of repeating himself when Mackay answered.

  “We did. I tell you I never want to hear anything like that ever again.”

  The sea rained down on the cabin. Mackay, seemingly pleased to be distracted, looked out of the porthole. Mystified, Dunlop turned to Inskip.

  “Well?”

  The Inspector stared fixedly back at him.

  “Apart from the terrible noises of a man being killed, there was a background of grunts and whistling sounds; nothing definite.”

  Mackay wheeled around, indignant.

  “Don’t be daft, man. There’s no doubt about it.”

  “Well I say there is. The whole thing is indistinct and full of bursts of interference or something.”

  Dunlop raised his arms.

  “Hey, hang on a minute. What are you two arguing about? You haven’t told me yet.”

  Frowning, Inskip passed a hand across his brow.

  “Doctor Mackay maintains he can hear something else.”

  Dunlop turned to Mackay.

  “What?”

  The old doctor took a deep breath.

  “I just don’t know for sure. As the Inspector says, the whole thing was confused and horrible, but there is this sound. To me it was laughter—demented bursts of ape-like screeching. Human? I couldn’t swear to it, but I’d say yes

  19

  Dawn came falsely, lightening the sky to the east just as they were off Broughty Head and turning in for the narrow entrance between the towering cliffs.

  By the time they were entering the channel it was dark again, only the dull red glow from the remains of the coastguards’ hut to steer by.

  The tension increased as the dank smelly columns of ancient stone, wetly reflecting the dull red, seemed to swallow them up. With the noise of the sea closed out, and the engine throttled right back, they drifted in uneasy silence. The boat grated against the small jetty.

  The first policeman ashore, a sergeant, leapt on to the stone flight of steps and scrambled up to the top. He was soon joined by a second and a third, and then the craft was securely tied up. The rest of the party filed on to the jetty.

  Dunlop joined Inskip, having helped Mackay on to the steps. The Inspector looked around at his small force.

  “Who’s got the lights? Turn them on.”

  Two great beams cut into the darkness, the light bouncing back off the cliffs and lighting up the faces of the men.

  “Right, let’s move on.”

  In single file, rifles at the ready, they wound their way up the tight little path. As they reached the top, Inskip halted the column and raised a loud-hailer.

  “This is the police. McGrath, can you hear me?”

  They waited, Dunlop noticing the sky beginning to lighten again. There was no reply.

  Inskip said nothing more, he just waved the column forward, indicating for Dunlop to lead a second group alongside him. Dunlop drew his revolver and, crouching, advanced on the other side of the now widening path.

  The real dawn came on swiftly, the sky turning pink behind the black gaunt ribs of the burnt out building.

  The men silently fanned out, warily circling the still glowing wreckage.

  Inskip suddenly raised his hand, freezing the men around him.

  “Listen.”

  Dunlop stopped his men.

  The sound of the tapping reached them in bursts. Inskip moved his head around, trying to find the direction.

  “It’s coming from over there.”

  He moved forward again, very slowly, picking his way cautiously past the misshapen lumps of twisted steel.

  “Maybe somebody’s trapped.”

  Doctor Mackay’s face as he looked around showed, if Inskip could have seen it, that he thought it very unlikely.

  The tapping grew louder as Inskip approached a particularly strange humped area. The sweet sickly smell of burnt flesh reached up into his nostrils. Before him was something that he did not immediately recognize, and then a black . charred torso took shape, hanging over a twisted metal window sill that had sunk into the crumbling incinerated meat. A bony hand, devoid of flesh, tapped against metal in the wind.

  One of the constables turned away, face shocked, as Mackay hesitantly bent down to the body and shone his torch on the hideously disfigured, hairless head. It was swollen to half again its normal size; cracked open and shiny like baked clay—except for the white brain glistening in the bottom of the cracks, the whole thing looking like a well done potato from a bonfire.

  “I can’t be sure, but it looks like Frazer. The poor devil must have been trying to get out.”

  Dunlop joined them, his men beginning to face protectively outwards, rifles at the ready, as it became apparent that nobody, no ‘thing’, was lurking in the ruins.

  Inskip turned towards him wearily, like an old man.

  “Find anything?”

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you one thing though. It was a hell of a fierce blaze. The oil storage tanks have blown up. There’s nothing left except the radio room. It was protected by a special door.”

  Inskip nodded at the remains..

 
; “Dr Mackay thinks this is Frazer. So there’s no sign of McGrath or Campbell?”

  Dunlop shook his head. They both looked around at the mess and the red hot still smouldering centre.

  “If they are in there, it’s going to take a time to find out.” Inskip looked up at the surrounding snow and rocks. “Sergeant, take four men and have a good look around over there. See if you can find any trace of the other two men.”

  Sir.” The sergeant pointed out the nearest men. “You lads come with me.”

  He was moving out when Inskip called after him. “Sergeant.”

  “Sir?”

  “Watch out.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Inskip turned to another man. “Take the rest and search in the opposite direction. Don’t go too far.”

  “Ay, sir.”

  Left alone, Inskip turned to Dunlop.

  “You thinking what I am?”

  Dunlop kicked at a piece of flakey timber.

  “If it’s that this was no ordinary fire—yes.”

  Inskip nodded. “No doubt about it to my mind. Nobody appears to survive, and there’s no sign of any attempt to fight the fire. And all this…” He waved around at the twisted steel. “…looks more like an aircraft crash than a building.”

  Dunlop stiffened.

  “That’s it. It’s the fuel that’s been set on fire in the first place. Deliberately. The place must have been running with it.”

  Looking around. Inskip said: “You’re right. That bloody thing murdered them.”

  Both of them could not help but look down at the victim at their feet. Their agony was cut short by a shout from over the cliffs.

  “They’ve found something,” said Inskip, who wasted no time in running in the direction, leaving Dunlop to catch him up.

  The Inspector was puffing as they reached the group of policemen.

  “What is it?”

  “Down there, sir—”

  They followed the direction of the outstretched pointing hand. There, nestling on the dark beach, reflecting back like metal the light from the sea and sky, lay something that looked like a cross between a bomb and a small aircraft.

  “What the hell is that?” Inskip’s voice was shaky.

  Slipping his gun back into its holster Dunlop took the initiative.

  “No idea. Let’s get down there.”

  One of the policemen stepped forward.

  “The easiest way is back down to the jetty and along, sir.”

  “Right.”

  As they crunched along the shingle beach, getting closer all the time to the strange craft, Dunlop found he couldn’t make up his mind what it was, it was so totally, different from anything he had ever seen before. But of one thing he was sure. He didn’t like it.

  They slowed down, and came to a halt a few feet from it, taking in the details. Now they could see that basically it was dart-shaped, some fifteen feet long, and at the front an opaque, perspex dome, like a closed aircraft cockpit. Four small fins projected from the top, bottom and sides, but not rigidly. They could obviously be extended or contracted, judging by the corrugations in them. The whole thing reminded Dunlop of a bat, or a bomb—he couldn’t decide which.

  “Is it safe? Do you think it’s crashed?” Inskip’s voice was higher than usual.

  Dunlop ran his eye over the undisturbed beach and lack of body damage.

  “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

  He moved slowly up to the craft and very carefully set his hand on to the bodywork. He snatched it back, and then almost immediately ran it ruefully again on the side.

  “That’s strange. It’s not metal at all, it feels more like skin-warm skin.”

  The Inspector gave him a frightened look.

  “It’s not alive, is it?”

  Dunlop shook his head. “No, of course not. But it must have some sort of heating system for the outer layer—why I’ve no idea. I’m not aware of anything in our technology that requires that.”

  He moved to the canopy, and like Sheila Anderson before him, tapped on the dark opaque material, and attempted to look in.

  As he straightened up, Inskip said: “See anything?”

  “No.”

  They faced each other, Dunlop more conscious than ever of the strain in Inskip’s face and voice as the Inspector said: “What do you make of it then?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Looks like something out of a space age fantasy.” He didn’t know why he added, “A cross between a machine and an animal,” since he didn’t really believe it, but the effect on Inskip was chilling.

  The latter kept shaking his head bleakly from side to side as he said, “It’s to do with our murderer, there can be no doubt.”

  He looked around at the cliffs, and the entrance to a couple of caves not less than fifty yards away.

  “We’d better search them I suppose.”

  Their nerves were at a fine pitch as they reached the black holes. Dunlop felt a tingle in his own back, almost as frightened of a gun going off behind him as what might detach itself from the dripping, stinking rocks.

  He was obsessed with a childhood memory of an old Flash Gordon film, in which stone men materialised from the walls.

  The caves were empty.

  Shaken but relieved, they struggled back out on to the shingle beach.

  Dunlop slid his revolver back into the holster and buttoned down the flap. They gathered around the strange machine.

  “I suggest we try and get this thing back to Inverdee. We can’t just leave it here.”

  Inskip started to reach out for it, but seemed to change his mind.

  “Do you think we can manage it?”

  Dunlop moved to one end.

  “There’s only one way to find out. You men take a corner.”

  The other policemen moved in on the machine, Inskip finally joining in. Dunlop saw him start as his hands felt the uncanny warm surface.

  “Right, up”

  The shock almost made them drop it. The craft was so light it rocketed off the ground.

  “Bloody hell!”

  They got it back under control, staggering from side to side as they nearly overbalanced.

  As they marched towards the jetty, Dunlop looked at the almost slimy underside.

  “It’s too light for metal. It must be a form of plastic.”

  With some difficulty they lashed the craft on the top of MacLoud’s cruiser.

  As Dunlop and Mackay watched it being secured, the other search party reported in. They had found nothing.

  Mackay was already in the cabin, hip flask appearing from his pocket, when a thoughtful Inskip turned to Dunlop and said, “Maybe that’s the answer.”

  “What?”

  “This thing is from the sea. All the people murdered have been on or very near to the coast.”

  Dunlop nodded. “Could be.”

  “That means we’ve forced it inland—and perhaps to a more desperate situation.”

  Troubled, Inskip looked back up to the wrecked coastguard installation, scratching thoughtfully at his stubbly chin.

  “Do you think that radio up there is still working? Because I think that the boat that’s going over to the Mainland this morning isn’t going to be quick enough. We’ve got real trouble brewing here.”

  Dunlop agreed.

  “It’s worth a try.”

  They set off back up the path, suddenly conscious of their vulnerability as the others dwindled into specks on the beach.

  The twisted, blackened steel seemed more sinister, a visual reminder of the agony and torment the inhabitants must have gone through as they died.

  They reached the radio room, the door buckled, blackened, but still intact.

  “Did they teach you anything about radios in the Army?” Dunlop rubbed his nose as he answered Inskip.

  “I picked up a bit—but not officially.”

  “Do you think you can work it?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s have a look.”


  Dunlop grabbed the door handle.

  “Sod it.”

  He snatched his hand back and pressed it under his other arm.

  “It’s red bloody hot.”

  Inskip moved forward, showing his heavily gloved hand. “Here—let me.”

  He turned the handle and pushed. The door stuck, warped by the heat. They put their shoulders to it and burst it open. The radio equipment was almost unrecognizable, covered in a coating of thick black soot.

  Desperately Inskip looked around.

  “Doesn’t look too good, does it? And what about the power? The mains are gone.”

  Dunlop ran his finger along the console until he found the main switch.

  “We’ll soon find out. There should be some form of emergency back-up in a place like this. Batteries probably.”

  He flicked it down. A dull red light showed in its button. “We’re in business.”

  Inskip sighed with relief and said, “Thank God,” as Dunlop picked up the microphone.

  “Now then, if we don’t touch anything, she’ll probably be on the right frequency.”

  He wiped the dirt from the dials in front of him, uncovering a short piece of red dyno tape. Printed on it in capitals was C.G.Z5.

  “That’s our call sign. Probably stuck there in case one of the others had to use it instead of the regular operator. Here we go”

  He pressed the transmit button on the mike.

  “This is C.G.Z5 calling, can anyone read me? This is C.G.Z5 calling, can you read me? Over.”

  He released the transmit button and looked expectantly at the twin wall speakers. Inskip followed his line of sight and looked up too.

  Nothing happened.

  After ten seconds Dunlop pressed the transmit button again.

  “This is C.G.Z5 calling. Can anybody hear me? This is an emergency. Over.”

  The seconds ticked by. The speakers looked blankly down at them.

  Inskip shuffled his feet.

  “Maybe it’s damaged.”

  He only just finished speaking when the speakers suddenly gave out an enormous amount of crackling. A faint voice broke through.

  “Coastguard Control to Coastguard Zebra 5. I say again— Coastguard Control to Zebra 5. Am receiving you with difficulty. Signal weak and distorted. Who is that please? Over.”