‘Hello, you had me worried there,’ she walked further towards the policeman, then realised who it was, especially with the height. He bent down again, away from her to examine something in the bushes. ‘No band tonight, Keith?’ she asked.
‘No. Come help me with this, I think it’s a hurt animal,' She walked up beside him and looked down at the place he was looking at.
‘Where? It’s too dark. I can’t see anything.’
He looked up at her, smiled, then reached up, grabbed two handfuls of her coat, and with his immense strength pulled her down until she was beneath him. Where was the scream that was in her throat a minute ago? Gone. Just a strange a..a...a……a….a…. noise came out. It wasn’t enough to save her.
When Mr Shufflebotham and Mrs White wound their way down the long drive in their cars, ten minutes later, the hedge was empty. All was peaceful again.
The Thompsons were walking along the lane, in the rain. It ran across the highest peak in Friarmere. To the left, there were just moors, black now and silent. To the right, the village of Friarmere. From the lowest part of the village if you looked up with all the hills and streets, way past them upwards to the farms above it, this lane looked like the hairline to a giant face. A long punctuation, civil from uncivilized.
Michael had parked half a mile away. There were no street lights and very few houses along here. Thus, very few cars. There was no pavement on this lane, and it was lined with dry-stone walls and high trees at either side. This meant that in November, it had thick clumps of rotting leaves at the side.The scent was strong of damp wood, mossy rocks, leaves and soil.
They arrived at their destination, which was a lovely farm with its entrance on this highest point but it went down and lay on the side of the hill. As they stood at the entrance to the track, the natural break in the trees, meant they could see the whole of Friarmere, stretching out beneath them. All the little lights, making straight and curvy patterns, like a toy village. How many parents were telling their children fairy tales where good triumphs over evil, then to tuck them into bed with a drink of hot chocolate, to dream of dragons and trolls and adventures that would never happen in real life. No bogeymen here, of course. What a perfect and lovely village they lived in. What an idyllic setting, a place where children were safe to play in the streets, where so many happy memories were made. Nothing could ever happen here. That was for other places.
One of the bogeymen, Michael read the sign out loud to his brother. ‘Lazy Farm,’ this was the one he had thought of. He had noticed this place on one his walks and thought it was ideal for his purpose.
'Come on Stephen,' he said and they began to walk down the cobbled path towards the farm. Within five minutes they had passed over the cattle grid and were well and truly on farm property. Michael knew there was a public footpath here that led back down through the village. It was definitely less work, better parking and flatter ground. However, it came out right in the middle of a large settlement of detached houses though, so he knew he would have to enter and exit from this way, to risk being discovered. He was just wondering if he had gone too far when he noticed the styal on the path, which gave entrance to the corner of the field on the other side of the wall. He looked over the wall squinting, trying to see through the darkness into the field, but he could see little. He thought he could hear movement though. Before getting his mobile phone out, to use as a light, he quickly glanced towards the farm to check all was safe. He switched on the light and in the distance could see the milky white oval shapes of a few sheep.
‘Go on then, they’re in there.’
‘What are?’ asked Stephen.
‘Sheep, and that’s what you’ll be having from now on.’
‘Norman said that for the moment we should keep a low profile and just eat raw meat. I thought he meant from the shop.’
‘Yes, he did, but we aren’t made of money, and you don’t get fresher than that in that field. I am assured you can cope with any eventuality, from The Master, but as I aren’t turned yet, I won’t be partaking. Norman has told me I am meant for great work with him, so he is keeping me alive for the moment.’
‘I don’t think I am going to like doing this.’
Michael thought for a moment then said, ‘how do you know if you haven’t tried it?'
Stephen nodded. ‘You’re right there. Have you got a penknife or something like that, Michael?”
‘Why are you going to whittle them something first?
‘No, to stab them.’
‘Er…no. You will have to bite through the wool, Stephen.’
‘Oh, I don’t really want to do that.’
‘It is on his orders to eat raw meat and it is on my orders that this is the meat you are eating. Get used to it, because until he tells me otherwise, this is your dining table.’
Stephen took a couple of steps forward towards the styal and seemed to be squaring the notion in his head. Then he put one of his hands on the top of the styal and vaulted quickly over using the one hand. He must have easily jumped six feet into the air. He started to walk forward.
‘By the way, Stephen,’ Stephen stopped and turned towards him, his face white and his eyes dark and hollow in the night. He was changing for the kill and Michael was scared. He was always in danger, whilst he was still alive. He cleared his throat and coughed. ‘Bring the carcass back up with you, it will only get covered in maggots and stuff here. I am partial to a bit of mutton. I’ll see you at the gate, when you are finished. Don’t come up until you are satisfied.’
He quickly walked away and out of the corner of his eye saw Stephen turn back and walk towards the flock. Ten seconds later he heard a dreadful scream of pain and knew Stephen had begun his evening meal. The next time would be easier. He walked quickly up the track, his chest really taking the strain as he gasped to cope with the steep incline to the top. At least it had stopped raining now. He could hear the rest of the sheep running from the carnage, bleating in panic. Run and hide little sheep. You won’t escape your fate. He will get you next time. He chuckled to himself. As long as he could control Stephen, until he was turned too, this was going to turn out great. But he didn’t like the look on Stephen’s face when he was standing in that field. That scared him. He was different, changed, pale, freakish. This wasn’t his brother anymore. For a slight instant, he thought he had made a mistake. What had he done? Was it worth it? There was no going back now. No taking anything back to the shop for a refund and setting things to rights. His brother was a monster. Plain and simple. In fact, he didn’t have a brother anymore. His brother was dead and he was now an only child. He reached the top of the hill and stood with his hand on the gatepost of the farm, looking down towards the track. He couldn’t hear anything and wondered what was going on. Looking up to the sky he felt that nothing would be the same again, which was great as his life had been shit. His mother had left them when they were younger for his father’s best friend and when he was seventeen his father died. Little Stephen was only six. So he had looked after him, hadn’t he? That’s what the rest of the family all expected. His aunties and uncles and cousins and the odd grandparent. They wouldn’t have accepted that he should go into care, and he agreed. But it wasn’t easy. They brought around quite a few cooked meals for a few years, money and looked after Stephen whilst Michael had worked. Somehow he had coped, got him to an adult age, where he could look after himself. Surprisingly now looking back, it seemed a short time. But it had left him changed. It was hard to make and sustain friendships, never mind romantic relationships when you had to look after your younger brother every night. And look at him now forty, no friends, no wife or children of his own. He just had Stephen. And at twenty nine, Stephen just had him too. Well, their luck had just changed, hadn’t it? This was where they started, getting the women and the power and everything they always wanted.
He thought he saw a movement in the field to the right of him and after a few seconds recognised that it was Stephen coming towards him. It w
as hard to see him because he looked so dark, as he got closer, and a cloud moved itself away above him, he noticed in the moonlight that it was not just dark, but a dark red and Stephen was covered in blood. Michael’s breath caught in his chest as he absorbed the macabre sight. His face, the front of his hair, his shirt, shoulders, arms and hands. The top of his jeans were still blue, but his knees were black with a combination of blood and mud. In amongst the strong smells that emanated from him, there was also another whiff – maybe sheep poo. He swallowed, his throat, very dry.
‘What the bloody hell,’ said Michael.
‘I’ve made a mess.’
‘I can see that. How am I getting you home, like that?
‘I don’t know. Have you got some baby wipes in the car?’
‘I think it might take a bit more than that, you can’t see yourself can you. Where’s my fresh mutton as well?’
‘Back down there. I’ve come up for the bin bag you said you would put him in.’
‘You could have brought it up here, you bloody fool! Saved your legs.’
‘No. I must have gone a bit mad and it’s in pieces. Er…you know chunks and bits of lumps and stuff. It’s still good meat though, definitely the legs are still whole.’
Michael stood with his mouth open and thought long and hard. He unrolled the roll of bin bags that were in his pocket.
‘One or two?’ he asked.
‘I’d better take two,' he replied.
Michael rolled off two bags and tore them quickly at the perforations. Then handed them to Stephen who turned around and clumped slowly back down the field. Michael rolled a few more bin bags out and started to open them flat, he would put them on his car seat. The baby wipes would just have to do, until they got home.
9 – The Pub
Maurice was considering an evening walk. It was hard not to run down the street clicking his heels together. He didn’t have to use his stick, he didn’t get tired, he didn’t have to avoid the cold which troubled his joints so much or slippery conditions where he would end up breaking his neck. But oh, how he felt guilty. He knew what he was now, of course he did. But he was determined not to let it control him. He would control it. If Liz could do it, so could he. He knew she was infected, but didn’t know if she knew how, or why, or if he was. But he knew she was carrying on with her life and so would he. Of course it would be more difficult when she was finally turned.
It was Saturday evening and Maurice knew that this meant a gathering of the clan, so to speak, in the local pub.
It was a lovely pub. Unchanged by time, real fires, real ale of course and tasty pub grub. They always sat in the same alcove too. They would take turns in going down early and saving the seats. But, even if they didn’t, most people knew that it was their place for the Saturday evening and left well alone. If a visitor came, well, they talked so loud and laughed so heartily amongst themselves that they soon felt uncomfortable and found another seat.
Maurice wanted to go, but he couldn’t trust himself around them yet. What if he had an uncontrollable urge and bit one of them? He had to know his new self better first. The other matter was, he didn’t know what he would be able to drink. What if he vomited blood all over them after having a pint of mild? He also felt like a spy, in fact he decided, he was a spy, after turning on them by giving them all that wine. Maurice knew what was in that wine, of course. But he was compelled to do what The Master told him to. This was not too bad, he supposed. He could have been ordered to bite or kill one of them. At least this didn’t make him a criminal and he decided he had spent his entire life on the right side of the law, why change things now.
He also missed his best friend Freddie. He really hoped he hadn’t drank any of that wine. But knowing Freddie, he hadn’t. Now if it had been ale, well, he would bet all his savings that Freddie would be infected now.
He decided he would go for that walk and thought about what he should wear. He didn’t feel the cold anymore, so didn’t need the warm coat, scarf or cap. If fact he could go out in his underpants and he wouldn’t have one goosebump. Appearance mattered very much at the moment though, so he gathered together all of his various bits and bobs. He picked up a couple of spare carrier bags and stuffed them into his pocket, deciding to visit the supermarket for some more liver, which would save him a journey. He opened the door and it was a fine clear night. Lovely. Out he stepped, closed the door and walked smartly down the path. As he opened his front gate, it suddenly struck him. Blast it! My stick! That wouldn’t do at all, so he turned back towards the house, went in and picked it up. As he closed his front door again, the next-door neighbour was just coming in with a takeaway pizza box and a six pack of beer.
‘Are you fixing her up?’ he asked Maurice.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Your house?’
‘No. Why do you say that?’
‘The newspaper at the windows. It must be really dark in there. What’s that in aid of?”
‘Oh, yes. I am decorating, you were right the first time. I was miles away Eddie.’
‘Ah right thought so. Do you want a slice of pizza, you are welcome to one. I will be eating the leftovers for breakfast anyway.’ Maurice could smell each and every topping on the pizza.
‘Extra garlic, no thanks. I’ll pass.’
‘Going out on a hot date are you and don’t want to knock her out before you have had a goodnight kiss?’
‘Something like that. See you later Eddie.’
‘Bye’ Eddie said and went happily through his door to enjoy his tea.
Another time, I would have really enjoyed that pizza, Maurice thought. He shook his head and set off towards the village.
Bob was on the phone to his friend Adam. They had been discussing the merits of which gun to use on a zombie game and they both had different but valid opinions on the merits of each.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ Bob asked.
‘Just Xbox. My Mum is meeting her new friend, so I have the house to myself. I have got a massive bag of popcorn and a big bottle of Coke, so I’m set. Are you off to the pub, you alcoholic.’ Adam laughed.
‘Yeah, just going for a few hours, as usual. I will be on the Coke too though. I will be back by nine, if you want a game?’
‘I will still be online at twelve, mate. She will be out for ages, so I will see you later.’
‘Prepare to be well and truly thrashed,’ Bob taunted.
‘You and whose army?’ Adam replied.
The boys both laughed and Bob put down the receiver. He made out to Adam that it was a bit of a chore going down to the pub and sitting with all the ‘oldies’ and drinking Coke but he loved it. He took out his best jeans out of the drawer and pulled on a t-shirt. He hoped it wouldn’t be just them tonight down the pub, that would be boring. The way things were though, everyone was getting ill these days.
Freddie was off to the pub. Saturday, actually, the whole weekend would be very boring without it. The highlight of the week for him. He quite readily would volunteer to go down first and save the seats. Plus on Saturdays, his wife liked to watch reality TV shows about dancing, and he couldn’t abide them.
He enjoyed being band librarian. He had never played an instrument, or wished to. He was best utilised on the periphery, and lets face it, some people had to be the workers whilst others were the queen bees. His wife had no interest in it, so band was like his garden shed. Plus, she was always doing things with her three sisters, so everyone was happy.
When he was about two minutes from the pub, he saw a familiar figure coming in towards from the opposite direction. Short, stocky, with a cap and stick, he knew that person anywhere. His old friend, Maurice.
Maurice saw him and waggled his stick at him in greeting and the both closed the distance between each other.
‘How do? You are going in the wrong direction Mo.’
‘I’m crying off tonight, Freddie. I’m not right yet, just off to the shop to get some essentials, you know.’
‘You need some lubrication down your neck, that’s what you need.’
‘Oooh, I couldn’t face it. Really.’
‘You must be ill then! I hope you have had some medicine.’
‘I’ll get something from the shop. I will be as right as rain soon, Freddie. Don’t worry.’
‘I will be, until you are sorted, Mo. Ring me if you want anything.’
Freddie set off and was soon at the pub. He opened the door to the foyer, walked in and let the swing door shut behind him. The dark was outside and in here it was like a gentle caress of tasty food smells, beer and salt and vinegar crisps. It was always warm, sometimes overly as the fires were quite large and it also had the benefit of central heating. He took off his overcoat and laid it on the chair at one table, hat on another chair and cardigan on another. Freddie went to over the bar and spoke to the barmaid who he had known for thirty years, hell, even his children had gone to school with her. She knew his tipple, so it was already halfway poured when he got there. They spoke about the weather for a moment, then she gave him his pint. He picked up a menu from a pile off the bar and sat down. He always ate the same meal here, but liked to think that he wasn’t stuck in his ways so still had a look. He sat down at another table so in fact he had occupied several tables. He wasn’t worried, as there was only a young couple in the bar who were situated in another alcove so he was in no danger of feeling he should move or make room. He looked at the menu, whilst having a drink of his beer and thought mmm…what shall I have, curry? No. Scampi and chips? No. I know, what about steak and ale pie, with puff pastry and chips? Yes, that’s it. He slowly got up after having another sip of his drink and walked over to the bar.
The barmaid said, ‘Steak and ale pie Freddie?’
‘Yes,' he said, ‘steak and ale pie, for a change,’ he winked at her.
Sticky Valves: Book 1 of the Saddleworth Vampire Series Page 8