Kane's Scary Tales: Volume 1

by Paul Kane

  Then came the illness.

  Small things at first, like forgetting where she’d put her keys. Forgetting to post letters or pay bills. After that came the bigger stuff, the more dangerous stuff, like leaving the gas on or heading off to collect her pension in the middle of the night. And when her neighbour old Mr Henshaw – who liked to pop in every now and again, liked to keep an eye on her – called JB that day, she’d been totally out of it. Hallucinating badly, seeing rivers floating outside the window and trains coming through the wall – like she was in a painting by that Belgian guy they’d studied in art classes… JB couldn’t recall his name.

  When JB had shown up, she’d refused to even accept it was him. “No, you’re not my little John-Boy. You’re too big. You’re a giant!” Thought he was about the age he’d been just after his father had buggered off.

  Mr Henshaw had looked at him then and shaken his head. “I seen this before. You need to call someone, lad. It’s getting out of hand,” he said seriously. So he did, and they’d not only taken it out of his hands, but they took her away from him as well.

  This hadn’t been the first place they’d put her. Believe it or not, this was a step up from that hole where he’d walk in and hear the screaming; the wails of those who were losing their minds at different rates. JB had come away from visits, sobbing every time, simply couldn’t leave her in there no matter what. Which was how she’d ended up being transferred to this facility, where the level of care was better. Where the patients received individual care and attention. But, naturally, that had meant money and plenty of it. Was all about profit these days, all big business. So far he’d been able to manage, sold off a few things to pay for it – like his X- Box, his motorbike and his old stamp collection he’d spent years gathering as a kid. Done some other things he wasn’t particularly proud of as well in his desperation, a few dodgy jobs for dodgy people (but never drugs, he wasn’t going there again). It had been worth it just to know his mum was well looked after.

  He knew, of course, that she would never be cured. The doctors had told him as much at the beginning. Knew that she’d probably at some point forget how to eat and drink, not be able to do even the most rudimentary things we all take for granted as human beings. But they hadn’t been able to put a timescale on it. “Could be months, could be a few years,” they’d informed him.

  JB had also spent so long asking: why? In the end he’d come to the conclusion that life just wasn’t fair. That bad things happened to good people, and good things to bad – there was no rhyme nor reason to any of it. He just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, trying to scrape together enough to live and enough to pay off the debts this place was accumulating. It was one of the reasons he’d started going to Ned’s poker games in the first place. And why he’d stuck it out when there’d been only him and Chaz in the running; fortune favouring the brave and all that. The amount on the table would pay for his mum’s care for a good few months… Would have done, if Chaz had been good for the cash. Though maybe he was being offered something better if this scheme panned out?

  JB shook the thoughts from his mind as he was coming up on his mum’s room. The wooden door was ajar, though whether this was because one of the nurses had been in there, or another patient, was unclear, but he knocked on it anyway. Hoping to be invited in, given a brew and a plate of biscuits like in the old days (“John-Boy, oh my John-Boy!”). He stepped inside tentatively, peering around the corner. It looked a little like a hotel room, but certain things had been added to make it appear more like home: plants; photos in frames; portable TV; a few books… not that his mum had ever been a big reader. More like home – when she hadn’t even been able to tell if she was in her own home; kept remembering back to where she’d lived when she was small.

  JB sighed and made his way further into the room, seeing her now clearly. Seeing how much weight she’d lost. Once she’d got to 50, she’d put on a few stone; figured “fuck it” and just ate what she wanted to eat. It’s how he still thought of her, laughing and shoving a cream bun into her mouth. A stark contrast to the woman in front of him, raised up in bed and staring out of the window – covers tucked up under her arms, wearing one of those hideous flannel nighties that were standard fare here. She was practically skin and bone. She’d had quite a few wrinkles even before this, but the loose skin now made it look worse. Her once vibrant shock of white hair was thinning as well, turning dull and grey in spite of the fact they had a hairdresser who came round on a weekly basis.

  There was a tray beside her, to her left on the bedside table; and on that was a clear plastic cup of water and a jelly pot with the spoon still sticking out of it. Only a couple of scoops had been eaten before the person feeding her had given up. JB skirted round the bed, sitting on the chair next to it and blocking her view of the window – practically forcing her to look at him.

  “Hello Mum,” he said. “How’re you doing today?” It was a fair enough question; she had bad days and good days… and some that were a bit of both.

  The woman just continued to stare, as if he hadn’t just prevented her from gazing at whatever it was outside she found so fascinating (he didn’t dare ask). Looking through him like a few of those patients outside. Seeing through him like he always used to joke she could do, if he’d been up to no good – climbing those tall trees in the park, jumping from one to the other. Or later on, especially with a girl.

  JB nodded over to the tray. “Not much of an appetite today, eh Mum? You know, you’ve got to eat.” Without even waiting for her to answer this time, he reached over and grabbed the jelly, digging out another spoonful and leaning forward to bring it to her lips. He managed to get it through, but she had her teeth clamped shut, so he pulled the spoon out again. He tried then with the water and got more down her front than in her mouth. JB dabbed at the spillage, soaking it up.

  Sighing again, he shook his head – then leaned back in the chair. What was the point? What was the actual point, he thought to himself. This was only going to end one way whatever he did. But the point was until it did, he had to be there for this woman who’d been there for him. Support her like she’d supported him all those years, do his best. Do right by her.

  “I know,” he said suddenly. “I do have some good news, Mum. Something that might actually turn things around for us.”

  His mother seemed to twitch then, taking a sudden interest – which spurred him on. JB dug his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the collection of pills Chaz had given him after the game a couple of nights ago.

  “Here, look. I know a guy who can get me more. Might be the answer to all our prayers, they’d go for quite a bit.”

  His mother looked from him down to the pills resting in his palm, then she said something. Whispered the words so he could barely hear them.

  “What? Mum, I couldn’t tell what you–”

  “Magic beans!” she said suddenly and loudly, sneering as she did so. Then she reached out a hand of her own, slapping them from his grasp. “You’re… You’re just like your father. Useless!” she spat.

  JB gaped at her, the woman’s face contorted with rage – more animated than he’d seen her in days, maybe even weeks (though he wished to God it had been something else that had done it). Then, just as swiftly, her face went back to normal – albeit slightly more confused than when he’d first arrived.

  “Who… who are you?” she asked.

  He swallowed, but almost choked as he did. “I’m John-Boy. Your John-Boy. JB, Mum. I’m your son.”

  She shook her head; had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And he had to wonder whether that outburst had actually been aimed at him at all. Preferred to think that, although it would definitely have fitted. His father had been useless. And JB hadn’t really done that much more with his life, had he? They did say that the filters vanished with this terrible disease, so perhaps that’s what his mother really thought of him… deep down. That he was a waste of space. That he couldn
’t even pay to keep her in here.

  “Is it nearly time for Opportunity Knocks?” she asked.

  It was JB’s turn to shake his head. That show hadn’t been on air since he was a kid – in fact he’d had to look it up the last time she’d asked. “Not yet, Mum. But I’ll see what I can find.”

  JB rose and went over to the TV, turning it on and flicking through the channels. In the end he found a show about people selling antiques and left that on for her. Then he stooped and gathered up the pills that were on the floor; couldn’t risk anyone else finding them, let alone one of the other residents taking them. They had little or no need for diets here.

  As he found the last one and held it up, examining it, he thought again about what she’d said. About how useless he was, having to resort to gambling to try and pay her bills. Not any more, he thought to himself. He was going to answer this knock at the door.

  He said his goodbyes, then got out of there as fast as he could – away from the reminders of the state he might find himself in one day, if the docs were right about this being hereditary. Hurried away from the building after he’d signed out, turning the corner on the street and taking out his mobile. He paused, then headed for the phone box down the road instead. Better for this call not to be traced to him.

  Once inside, JB took out a piece of paper and keyed in a number, making that leap of faith – then he waited for it to ring out. It was answered eventually.

  “Wha… who is this? It’s the middle of the day, I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

  “It’s me,” he said, then remembered that Chaz didn’t really know him that well. But it was best not to name himself either, so her said: “Your poker friend… from the other night.”

  “Oh… oh, right. How’re things?”

  “Things are… Listen, I just wanted to tell you that… that thing we discussed. Well, it seems I might be free after all. If you’re still up for it?”

  “Right, yeah. Sure.”

  “So… maybe we should meet up and have a chat about it all? You know, rather than on the phone?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” JB gave him the address of a different pub where they could talk about “that thing”. Even before he’d hung up, JB had decided he was going to broach the subject of a seventy-thirty split. Chaz would agree to it, he felt certain. What choice did he have at the end of the day?

  “It’s all going to be okay, Mum. You’ll see. It’ll all be fine,” he said to himself, rubbing his chin. Then he borrowed one of Chaz’s sayings without realising it, though he meant it one hundred percent:

  “I promise,” he said, then repeated, “I promise.”

  ***

  When he arrived at the address on the east side of the city that Chaz had given him, at half two in morning – having borrowed a mate’s old banger to get there, parking a few blocks away up a backstreet – JB was amazed at the size of the place.

  He’d been expecting some kind of warehouse deal, but instead it was a massive skyscraper on the river. One of the biggest he’d ever seen as it happened… not that he had seen that many. Towerblocks, yes – but not these kind of office buildings, all fancy metal and glass that reached practically into the clouds. It was set well apart from the other, much smaller buildings nearby – like it was intimidating them and they were backing off from a bully. He’d almost whistled as he craned his neck to see the top of that thing, waiting as he’d been told to do by the service entrance at the rear.

  True to his word, Chaz had let him in at the allotted time – opening when JB gave the door the secret rap they’d agreed on. The man looked very different tonight in his uniform and peaked cap, more… confident. In control. But then he was about to settle their account, wasn’t he – and then some. This would wipe his poker debt clean, ensure that Ned didn’t put the word out about his lack of payment, and net him thirty percent of the profits (he’d agreed, grudgingly). Chaz waved JB in quickly, looking him up and down as he did so, taking in the dark trackies and hoodie he’d donned.

  “Bloody hell, I said wear something inconspicuous, not get dressed up like a cat burglar,” said Chaz. “You’re not breaking into a museum, you know. The lights are on inside all night.”

  JB shrugged, he hadn’t known. Chaz hadn’t exactly said much about what kind of place they… he’d be robbing from.

  “Doesn’t matter. The company owns the whole building, but what you’re after’s on the top few floors. Even if there are people around at this time of night in those other buildings, I doubt they’d spot you – this place is taller than the rest of them anyway.”

  “So I noticed,” said JB.

  “The top levels are the R&D departments, there are all kinds of storerooms up there for the stuff they churn out. Everything’s labelled. You bring a bag?”

  JB took a plastic carrier out of his pocket.

  Chaz laughed. “Doesn’t exactly go with the rest of the outfit.”

  “All I could lay my hands on,” JB told him.

  “Right, well, take this.” He handed his partner in crime what looked like a credit card. “The keys to the castle. Just touch the reader with it, and it’ll open any doors you want up there – you won’t even have to knock. There’s no CCTV in those areas, so you can just fill your boots. Take whatever you think will sell, just be clever about it. Not too many from the same section.”

  “And… and you’re sure none of it will be missed?”

  Chaz shook his head. “I told you already…”

  “I know, I know – change in management, hostile takeover.”

  “They don’t know whether they’re coming or going, trust me. Running about like headless chickens they are. Okay, here… This is the service lift, which doesn’t have any cameras in it either so you’re golden. Off you go!” Chaz pressed to open the doors, virtually shoved him inside the massive lift – at least three times the size of an ordinary one – and then pressed the button for the floor he needed. “Good luck!” he said as he withdrew, the doors closing almost immediately.

  JB looked up as the lift began to ascend. Then he looked at the bag. Just what the hell was he doing? What was he playing at? He’d been all set and ready when he left home, but now he was here – now he was about to do this…

  The lift jerked, almost shuddering to a halt and he started, grabbing the metal bar that ringed the sides. JB began to seriously wonder what he’d do if he got stuck in here. He couldn’t exactly call anyone on his mobile, or use the emergency phone; couldn’t risk alerting someone that he was here. What was he going to say: “Oh, I was just on my way up to nick a load of pills. Chaz the security guy let me in, it was his idea in fact! He can vouch for me…”

  There was a hatch above him, but he didn’t fancy crawling about out there like bloody John McClane or something…

  Then the lift suddenly began moving again. It seemed to take forever, which didn’t help with those thoughts about turning back and just forgetting the whole thing. But then he remembered his mum back in that home, staring out of the window. Thought about what would happen – where they’d transfer her back to if he failed.

  And the next thing he knew he’d arrived, the doors opening and making him jump again. JB tentatively looked out into a white corridor; the kind that reminded him of the place where his mother was. Sterile, clinical. Bleak.

  Tentatively, he left the lift, glancing around him just like Chaz had done back at The White Swan. There were no signs, so he wandered down the hall – looking left and right all the time. Chaz had been right; there were no CCTV cameras up here, same as there hadn’t been in the lift. JB turned right and came to a set of double doors, which had a reader next to them – again like Chaz had said. He held out the card he’d been given, half wincing as it touched the pad – expecting some sort of alarm to go off at any moment. For someone to have discovered their plan.

  Seventy-thirty split, because he was taking all the risks.

  The double doors opened with a hiss and he let out the breath he hadn’t
realised he’d been holding. JB stepped inside. Not only were the lights on, they were practically blinding. He blinked once, twice – and when his eyes had adjusted he saw a room with massive glass windows, rows of desks and computers with chairs up against them, filing cabinets and shelving for books, jars and various cardboard boxes. He also saw rooms separated by glass partitions, which contained microscopes, racks of test-tube holders; either that or great machines which had pipes that ran in and out of them… JB hadn’t seen anything like this since chemistry lessons at school, but his classroom hadn’t been nearly as well equipped as this. He had no idea what any of the stuff did or what it was for, didn’t particularly care. All that interested him was the storage areas, which he found the further in he ventured. These were closed off as well, but the card opened them up and when he looked inside he found a veritable Aladdin’s cave of tablets.

  “Candyland,” whispered JB.

  Chaz had been right again: in the drawers he found all kinds of pills just ripe for the taking. Conveniently, they were in bottles with labels on the side that told him what they were. As Chaz had indeed promised, there were slimming aids, training aids and… other kinds of aids. But there were also pills that promised a good night’s sleep, would get rid of your indigestion, or help with a weak heart. Medication that really should have been prescribed, but people would pay thousands for on the black market.

  As instructed, he took a little from here, a little from there, and moved on. There were still other floors to search, so he didn’t want to fill his carrier just yet – nor did he want it to be too obvious someone had been raiding these stores. Locking the doors again, he made his way back through the lab, towards the doors and the lift that would take him up to the next floor.

  He did this twice more, passing other work stations with animals inside glass cages. Lab rats and white mice that started squeaking and standing on their back legs when he walked past, or fish in tanks, worms in earth, and lizards sitting on rocks; Christ knew what they were doing with them, but he guessed it was all part of the research; test subjects. More like biology lessons than chemistry. He wanted to free them, just let them go – but that really would be noticed the next day. Besides, some of those rodents had been shaved, looked like they had boils or warts covering them. Who knew what they might be pumped full of? Could be carrying all kinds of viruses or diseases.