After Darkness Falls 2 - 10 Tales of Terror - Volume Two

by Matt Drabble

  “And what the hell exactly do you envisage us doing?”

  Stacey turned to him with a look that froze his blood cold in his veins. Her pretty face was contorted into a mask of such fury that he suddenly felt like he might never have truly known her at all.

  “We can just follow him,” she replied slowly.

  “Follow him?”

  “Sure; look, the station isn’t far away. We could follow him home and see where he lives.”

  “I don’t know about this,” Jack said, hesitantly.

  “You remember the promise that you made me on that night?”

  He couldn’t meet her gaze through his guilt and shame. “Of course.”

  “Well now I’m asking you to help keep that promise. I don’t think that I can ever be all right again until this guy is caught.”

  Jack took a deep breath and started the car.

  ----------

  The radio station was housed in a small local building and it didn’t take them long to find the place. Jack was sweating as rational logic fought for control with the more primal part of his brain. Of course he wanted the guy punished for what he’d done but it was all fantasy to believe that he could exact personal vengeance. Life wasn’t a movie and he didn’t have a stunt double.

  On the other hand, wasn’t it a sign from above that this opportunity had been placed in their laps? To be listening to the radio at that exact instant and for the guy to be only minutes away. Part of him was worried that Stacey was going to launch herself at the man the second that he stepped out of the radio station, but he couldn’t bring himself to quite believe that his girl had completely disappeared. Maybe they would just follow him home and snag an address for the police, maybe the guy would be caught, and if Stacey played a part in it maybe she could find a way to move forward. He owed her that chance; he owed her to try and keep his promise, no matter how late in the day.

  They parked up outside on the road and pulled up onto a grass verge as the radio station car park had a barrier barring unwelcome visitors. Stacey kept on checking her watch anxiously as the minutes ticked by. They kept the radio on as the man’s voice spewed out through the car’s speakers and Jack’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Stacey wanted him to stay in the car waiting while she crept up through the woodland, which surrounded the radio station building and ran parallel to the road, offering much needed cover. But he wouldn’t hear of letting her out of his sight, not when she might be so close to a monster. His mind flashed full of images of her being taken again by the wily predator who had thus far eluded all detection by the police. Arthur Taylor seemed like such an innocuous name for such a creature and he refused to humanize the thing by even thinking of him by name.

  The wet grass soaked through Jack’s shoes as they crept through the trees but he barely felt it. Stacey was dressed even more inappropriately but she seemed to care little as the hem of her dress turned brown with the mud and sludge on the ground.

  They moved forwards slowly until they were peeking out of the foliage at the large grey building. The station was simply called Causley FM after the town and the words were emblazoned on the front of the building. Jack could see the inner studios lit up as the people went about their business, unaware of the monster that they had let through the doors to talk innocently on an evening art show. He was dimly aware that he was no longer disputing Stacey’s assertion that she had identified her abductor as she was just so damn convinced.

  In a moment of inspiration he took out his phone and used the radio app to tune into the station so that they could listen in and know exactly when the man would be leaving.

  Luckily the presenter was just wrapping up the segment and thanking Arthur Taylor for coming in and sharing; he in turn was polite and courteous and Jack felt nauseous at the man’s façade.

  They waited for what seemed like an eternity and Jack couldn’t imagine what was going through Stacey’s mind as they crouched in the dark and the damp.

  Eventually, the main doors to the building opened and a man stepped out into the cold night air, his breath rising in white clouds around his head as he rubbed his hands together. They were about a hundred yards or so away but Jack felt Stacey grab his arm painfully as the man emerged.

  The man started to move around to the side of the building and they followed his path from the tree line, watching as he headed towards a small visitor car park. The plan had been to simply follow Arthur Taylor home, but now Stacey was taking them further away from their own parked car.

  Jack reached for her but she shook his hand away angrily. He struggled to keep up with her as she pushed on through the woods, ignoring the branches that sought to entrap them. They soon drew ahead of the man and Stacey only stopped when they reached the edge of their cover.

  Jack pulled up alongside her, panting with the effort. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “How are we going to follow him now?”

  She answered by starting to break cover and he only just managed to grab her arm in time. She whipped her head around towards him and an apology rushed to his lips as her face was full of blind fury and her hands turned into balled fists ready to strike. He could instantly see that all reason had left her and whilst he could not find any blame in his heart for her, he saw himself as much to blame as Arthur Taylor for her ordeal.

  “Look, just wait here” he sighed heavily. “Let me make sure that it is actually the artist from the radio and not some technician on his way home. You get the car and pull up out front ready for when he leaves.” For a moment he wasn’t sure that she was going to able to control herself, but reason slowly filled her once soft eyes that were now flint.

  He left her just as she nodded reluctantly and jogged across the open ground to the back of the building. There was no real security to stop his intrusion but then it was just a local radio station after all.

  He reached the back of the building and managed to make it look as though he was just turning the corner casually as the man came into view.

  “Excuse me,” Jack called in a friendly tone, “are you Arthur Taylor?”

  The man looked at him with naked suspicion, “Why?”

  “Oh, I just heard you on the radio and thought that we might do a follow up piece,” Jack beamed. “I work for local TV and we are always on the lookout for interesting local stories. I was wondering if you might be interested?”

  “Sorry, no,” he replied, ducking towards the car park with his head down.

  “Oh come on, Mr. Taylor, it would be great exposure for you; get your face all over the telly. Who doesn’t want that?”

  “Me, for one,” he replied, keeping his head down.

  “I’m sure that we could sort a small appearance fee if that’s what bothering you?”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I’m really not interested,. I don’t want my face plastered all over the television.”

  “Well you did do the radio show?” Jack urged as he kept pace with the man, all the while checking around to see if they were being observed.

  “That was a serious show about art - a subject that I take very seriously, and besides it was just my voice that people heard. I’m really a very private person; now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning away.

  Jack was still trying to formulate a plan to keep the guy talking long enough for Stacey to have brought the car around to front of the studio so that they could follow him, when he heard the scream.

  Both men turned in time to see Stacey charging from behind clutching a large and heavy looking tree branch. Jack could see the wildness in her eyes as she swung the weapon, bringing it down hard across Taylor’s head. The sound was sickening and the man sank to the floor without a sound as his legs collapsed beneath him.

  Jack looked around panicked, expecting rushing hordes to come tearing from the building at the noise, but mercifully no one seemed to have seen or heard the assault. “Holy shit,” he whispered to Stacey as she stood panting over the fallen man. He could
see that she wasn’t done and that she meant to finish the job. On the one hand, the bastard deserved it but on the other they would end up in the cell that should have been occupied by Mr. Arthur Taylor. His brain fought for supremacy and eventually he looked at Stacey, and he crossed the line.

  “Find his keys,” he hissed,. “Quickly!” He kept watch, praying that their luck would hold and that no one would come.

  “Here,” she said, pulling out a set.

  He took the keys and was relieved to find that there was a remote locking button. He started aiming the set around the car park and pressing the button to find Taylor’s car.

  “There isn’t a van or a lorry here!” he said, a touch of nerves coming into his voice.

  “This guy is careful remember. He’s hardly likely to use that particular vehicle on a daily basis. He’s probably got it stashed somewhere safe and under another name,” Stacey answered.

  A small hatchback flashed its indicator lights and Jack heard it unlock. “There,” he pointed.

  They dragged Taylor across the ground and Jack was glad of Stacey’s fitness. Since her ordeal, the only thing that she seemed to do outside of their home was pound away hour after hour at the gym.

  He opened the rear doors and together they shoved Taylor into the car. Jack heard a soft murmur from the artist and didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed that the man was still breathing. His mind was racing with fear and exhilaration in equal dizzying proportions. They were in the middle of committing a violent crime and yet obtaining justice at the same time.

  “You drive,” he blurted, chucking Stacey the keys and climbing into the back with Taylor, not trusting her to be alone with the man.

  As she pulled away, he was grateful that her senses were still intact and that she pulled out of the station’s car park sensibly. He dug around in Taylor’s pockets until he found the man’s wallet. He pulled it out and searched for an address, thankfully finding a driving license.

  “Oak Avenue, over on Rush Hill,” he said to Stacey and she drove in the right direction.

  “What about the police?” she asked quietly.

  “I think that we’re beyond that now, or at least until I can figure out a way of calling them that doesn’t land us in prison.”

  “Good,” she smiled cruelly.

  ----------

  Jack tugged at the rope again, making sure that it was still secure.

  Their luck had held and Taylor’s house had been a large detached property, devoid of overlooking neighbors. They had managed to drag him groggily from the car and into his dark and empty house. He had started to waken and weakly struggle but Jack had taken great delight in punching him hard enough to make the man sag again. It took every ounce of restraint not to continue the beating as the first blow had been so easy. He was moving further and further past the line.

  They’d carried him into the house, using his keys to open the door. Jack had looked around quickly before finding a door that led down to a cellar. Jack had found various cables and ropes arranged in a well maintained workshop. His hands shuddered as he touched some of the tools carefully hung on the walls, wondering which had been used on his victims. The whole area looked sterile and in keeping with the man’s meticulous nature.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” Taylor mumbled, in a low slur that took Jack by surprise.

  “You know what you did!” Stacey snarled from behind Jack, making him jump again.

  Jack watched Taylor’s face as it seemed to crumple under her words and the artist had unmistakable guilt splashed across his features.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Taylor tried again, only Jack wasn’t buying it and apparently neither was Stacey.

  Jack watched on as she crossed the room and removed a claw hammer from its chalk-marked home on the wall. He saw the coldness in her eyes and knew that he should stop her but he had to admit that a large part of him didn’t want to. He waited for her to voice some kind of threat or warning but she issued neither. Instead, she crossed the room quickly and swung the hammer down hard with powerful muscles onto Taylor’s right knee. The sound of cracking bone echoed off the walls along with the man’s screams. Taylor’s trousers immediately began to soak through with blood and his leg hung at an unnatural angle.

  Jack winced and his stomach rolled over at the sight as Stacey stood over the man with a small tight smile of satisfaction. “Don’t you even think about going to sleep,” she barked, slapping Taylor across the face hard.

  “Please, it’s not my fault,” Taylor sobbed through clenched teeth.

  “Liar!” Stacey roared, swinging the claw side of the hammer down and gouging a long trench out of his cheek.

  Taylor screamed again and rocked back and forth on the chair. Jack felt helpless to stop her now that her blood was up and wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Stacey had suffered immeasurably at this monster’s hands, without compassion or pity, in ways that he didn’t want to imagine. It was her right to exact punishment now.

  Jack managed to only puke twice during the next hour or so, which actually seemed like quite the victory given the circumstances.

  Taylor mumbled various pleas for mercy that all went unheard for the short time that his mouth still worked. He repeated that it wasn’t his fault and that he was sorry, that he had no choice and he couldn’t help it, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

  Stacey showed ingenuity with torture that Jack found deeply unsettling. She made full use of Taylor’s range of tools, from bladed ones that sliced and tore, to ones that gripped and pulled. By the time that exhaustion finally sapped her limbs of their strength, Taylor was barely recognizable as a human being anymore. The air was acrid with the coppery taste of blood and the foul stench of soiling. Taylor had stopped making noises some time ago and now his chest barely moved and his breath became short and shallow.

  Jack watched on in fascination as the light faded in Taylor’s eyes and he thought that he could actually pinpoint the exact moment when the man died. He only hoped that there was a hell and that the monster was currently being welcomed.

  He was so engrossed in his conflicting thoughts and emotions that he almost didn’t hear the sound from above. His ears pricked and he just caught the noise of the door being closed.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice called out from above. Jack froze. He looked over to Stacey who was splattered with Taylor’s remains. Her eyes were glazed and her batteries seemed dead.

  Jack eased his way back up the stairs from the cellar carefully, praying that they wouldn’t creak and give him away.

  “Arthur? Are you down there?” the man called out as he approached the cellar door.

  Jack couldn’t understand what was going on. Stacey had sworn blind that Taylor was their man and the certainty with which she had tortured the man to death had only further convinced him of her belief. He knew that he had been careful enough to lock Taylor’s front door behind them after they had dragged him into the house. That could only mean that whoever was roaming around upstairs had a key. He wanted to desperately believe that the man was just a neighbor checking the house or calling around for a visit. Maybe Stacey’s abductor had an accomplice, but his heart was heavy with the realisation that they might have done something terrible.

  The cellar door knob started to turn and Jack leapt forward to grasp it firmly from the inside.

  “Arthur, what are you doing?” the man laughed from the other side. “Stop playing silly buggers.”

  Jack held on firmly, risking a look behind him to see that Stacey was still rooted to the spot, staring blankly ahead. The door pulled hard and he struggled to hold on.

  “Look ,Arthur, this really isn’t funny anymore; open up right now!”

  Jack lost his grip with a sweaty palm and the door was yanked from his grasp.

  A man stared at him from the other side with shock painted all over his face. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “Where’s Arthur? ARTHUR! ARTHUR!” he screamed, ste
pping forward and grabbing Jack hard by the shirt.

  Jack tried desperately to find his voice to try and explain but the man suddenly looked down into the cellar and saw the mess that had once been Arthur Taylor and a gore splattered woman beside the bound body.

  “Oh dear God” the man whispered, a hand flying to cover his mouth.

  Jack tried to stop him as he attempted to barge past and reach Taylor but their limbs tangled and the man assumed that Jack was attacking him. They turned and danced in each other’s arms, spinning awkwardly on the narrow staircase. In the man’s panic, he overstepped and suddenly Jack was clasping at thin air as the man stumbled forwards and was suddenly falling.

  The man hit several stone steps on the way down, each accompanied by a terrible snapping sound culminating in a loud crack as the man’s head hit the floor.

  Jack looked down as the sudden turn of events shook him badly. He had been prepared to sanction the death of a monster but now there were two bodies lying in a cellar and he had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was terribly wrong here.

  He hurried down the steps to check on the man below. A rudimentary examination told him that no neck was supposed to bend at such an angle. He tried to check for a pulse but the man’s head flopped over like it was on ball bearings and he withdrew his hand in disgust. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit” he mumbled.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Stacey staring back at him. Her eyes looked a little clearer and she seemed a little more there. “Jack?” she asked, confusion reigning.

  “It’s okay, babe” he said, with more conviction than he felt. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah, I promise,” he replied, heavily.

  He led her up the stairs and out through the front door. He crossed the driveway quickly and put her in the car where she thankfully sank into the seat and closed her eyes.

  Jack crossed back to the house and found the kitchen. He looked for cleaning supplies, making a careful mental note of everything that he touched. He found rags and a lemony spray. He then set about wiping down every surface that he could remember touching or that he could think that Stacey might have touched.