by Ian Woodhead
He bent down and looked into Pete’s eyes; he tried not to cringe back.
“You still look like shit, mate.”
Dave looked both ways then crossed over the road. The chaotic and conflicting thoughts running riot through Pete’s head almost caused him to spin on his heels, run home and hide in a cupboard. Instead he followed Dave across the deserted road. Pete hurried past him and stopped by his shop’s open door. Dave looked at him.
“Should that not be locked?”
Pete was too shocked even to nod. He must be still in the pissing dream. Oh, this was so not fair.
“Fuck off, we’re not open yet!” a voice boomed from inside.
Dave looked down at his friend; his expectant face was awaiting an explanation. Pete felt like a complete tool.
“Shit, I forgot about my new helper.”
“I know that fucking voice.” Dave murmured
Pete had a quick change of plan; there was no way that he was going to allow that thug to stay in the shop by himself. He could sense Dave behind him, breathing down his neck. If these two met, Pete predicted that it would take about eight seconds before they started smacking each other.
“Look Dave, why don’t we meet up at dinner?”
“I thought you wanted to get home?”
Pete tried to look bashful as he shook his head.
“Look, can you believe I totally forgot about him? He’s new, Dave. I can’t leave him in the shop alone.”
He pushed the door open a little and slid through the gap. “I promise mate, I’ll explain at dinner.”
Pete shut the door before his friend could respond.
Chapter Twelve
He peered out of one sleep encrusted eye, his befuddled brain attempting to piece together his jumbled up recollections of last night events. Maybe somewhere in there, there would be an explanation as to why he’d just woken up in a stranger’s bed. Where the bloody hell was he?
Damien sat up and looked around the small room, then spotted some of Jennifer’s crumpled clothes lying in an untidy heap beside the bed. The memory of what she did to him last night hit Damien with the full force of a runaway express train. He fell back and hugged himself unable to stop grinning. No wonder he felt refreshed, invigorated, his batteries recharged. He rolled over onto her side wondering where she could have gone. The sheet was still warm so hadn’t gone long. Maybe she was making him a cup of tea. Or even breakfast in bed, oh god, he hoped so. How cool would that be?
His mum used to make them both breakfast in bed before Alan had his accident. Shit, why the bloody hell did he have to think about him already? Damien buried his face in Jennifer’s pillow, drinking up the aroma of her shampoo in a poor attempt to distract him from thinking about his brother. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, Damien giggled at the sight of her in that dressing gown.
“Good morning, starshine.” She bent down and kissed his head. He made a playful grab for her but she danced out of his way.
“I saw you smirk just then. If you don’t like the packaging then you can’t have the contents…”
Damien sat back up and swung his feet out of the bed, trying to calculate just how much of a struggle she’d put up if he ran over and tried to get her out of that silly dressing gown when he noticed a very odd odour lingering in the air.
He crumpled up his face. Fuck, that was horrible; it was a bit like freshly dug earth mixed with rotten eggs. Bloody hell, it was putting him off the breakfast he was about to ask her to make.
“Oh, so you’ve noticed it as well now? It’s awful, isn’t it? The reek woke me up. I’ve gone round and shut all the windows, but I just can’t seem to shift it. And can you believe there isn’t a single can of air freshener in the flat?”
“Bloody hell, it’s getting worse!” He put her pillow over his mouth.
“The smell comes and goes. Believe me, this is nothing compared to what I woke up to. God, I thought there was a rotting cow in the middle of the floor.”
“What does Tony think? Has he had this before?”
“He isn’t up yet.”
That was weird. Tony was always up with the sparrows. The Star Trek clock hung on the wall opposite him said it was past eleven. He reached for his phone, willing to risk the wrath of the evil stench for the sake of the correct time. How the hell could Jen stand it? She must have no sense of smell.
“Your phone’s in your trouser pocket,” she said. “It fell out of your coat last night.”
“Is that the correct time?”
She nodded.
“Oh crap, I wanted to be up early.”
“What for?”
He’d planned to wake up first so he could molest her but it looked like she’d got there first.
“I was going to take you for a walk in the park.”
She kissed his neck. “You are so sweet, but a shit liar.” She picked up the rest of her clothes and walked to the door.
“Get yourself dressed and come into the living room. It smells a bit better in there. I’ll pop the kettle on.”
“The aroma of cooking bacon might help to mask the smell.” He said, grinning.
“Is that a hint?”
“No. It’s a command.”
Jennifer left the room, laughing. His clothes, unlike hers, had been kicked all over the place. He found his trousers under the bed. God knows how they’d ended up there.
“Jen? How’s that bacon doing?” Silence greeted his request. He would have to teach that dirty wench some manners. He grinned to himself, knowing full well that she’d kick him into next week if he said that to her face.
He gathered up his clothes and hurried out of the room; he’d rather run the risk of Tony seeing him in his birthday suit than stay in there any longer. She was right; it did smell a little better out in the hall. It wasn’t quite the fragrant aroma of a flowering meadow but it was better than the foul stench oozing from the bedroom.
Damien turned around and watched the reflection of the sun dance off the walls while he wrestled with his trousers. There was little chance of Tony catching him with his privates hanging out, it sounded like there was a pig fight going on in there. The man could snore for his country.
He finished dressing then wandered through to the kitchen, noting that Jen hadn’t even put the kettle on never mind got the breakfast going. Damien hesitated before walking into the room. There was something about that bedroom that wasn’t quite right, apart from the horrible smell.
Jennifer had her face pressed against the window. She looked warm, the back of her neck dripped with sweat, it was almost shiny. Just like the walls.
That was it, that bedroom had no business looking so polished. Tony had decorated the entire flat in matt pastel colours when he’d first moved it. Damien left Jen to her street-watching and doubled back. This was doing his head in, he hated mysteries.
Tony still wasn’t up. How the hell he hadn’t managed to wake himself up with the noise that was coming out of his gob was beyond him. He stopped by the door, not brave enough to enter; instead he reached in and placed his hand against the wall.
He jerked his hand back and yelped in fright. What the hell? He felt like he’d just plunged his hand into a bucket of oozing slugs, his fingers now smelt rank.
Damien wiped them on the wallpaper in the hall, leaving behind streaks of slime. He watched in amazement as the slime streaks turned black. Fucking hell, it was like a new strain of super mould. He’d have to wake Tony up; he’d go mental when he saw the mess.
Something outside detonated with the force of a bomb, rattling the windows and almost bursting his eardrums.
“Damien!”
Upon hearing her panic filled bellow, he charged into the living room, hoping she was alright. Jen was still by the window; he breathed a silent sigh of relief when she appeared to be unharmed.
“Oh God! Did you see that?” She pointed at the sheets of flames in the distance. “It just blew up.”
He ran over and wrapped hi
s arms around her waist.
“I’m okay,” she said, gently wriggling out of his embrace. “It’s not me who’s exploded. What’s this all that about? I thought you said you don’t go for random hugs?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Just me being silly.”
He wasn’t being silly, he just decided to drop the subject, and he had no intention of trying to explain what went through his mind just then. He felt like he had just lost her.
Jen brought his hand up to her face and kissed it. “You are a big pudding Damien. You know that?”
He nodded and smiled. How could he tell her that he felt like he had lost her even though she was standing in front of him?
Jen dragged him closer to the window. “Look at that!”
He could hardly miss it; great plumes of greasy smoke rose skyward. Half a dozen derelict warehouses overlooking the canal were alight, turning the sky above the blazing buildings black. He tore his eyes away from the fireball and looked around the rest of the town. From his third floor vantage point, he could see pretty much the whole of Holburn, including the fire station. Damien was waiting for the engines to come screaming out. Jen tapped him on the shoulders and pointed at a row of terraces in the next street.
“What’s he up to?” she said.
A bald man in his fifties stood in the middle of his garden wearing nothing but a dressing gown, holding a mop in both hands and hitting it against the corner of his garden shed. Damien shook his head, he didn’t have a clue. Every time the mop made contact with the shed he glanced back to his open kitchen door.
“Look at his feet.”
Damien saw that he had left a trail of bloody footprints along the path to the shed. The mop head flew off and landed in the man’s pond. He roared in triumph and headed back to the door with his splintered stick held out in front of him. Damien took his eyes off the man when he felt Jennifer trying to get into his trouser pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“We’ve got to ring the police.”
He handed over his phone, noting that it had been turned off and handed it over. He returned his attention back to the scene outside. Oh fuck! The old man’s ear was missing; he hadn’t noticed that until he’d turned around.
The man reached his kitchen, waving his stick around like he was conducting a brass band.
“I can’t get through.” he said. “There’s no signal.”
Damien was about to tell her to get Tony when a huge black paw reached out from the interior of the man’s house, fastened over the man’s head and pulled him through the door struggling and shrieking.
Jen’s head snapped up. “What the hell was that?”
Damien stood in front of the window, snatched back his phone and ushered her out of the room.
“You don’t want to know,” he said. “Go get Tony up.”
He knew what he’d seen but refused to accept that he’s just seen one of the monster from his nightmares. This was bollocks. He made sure that she had gone then rushed back to the window; he had to be seeing things. There was no sign of the man or any monster but that still didn’t explain the mop broken in two or the pool of blood spreading across the patio.
Jen was taking her time.
He’d never seen Holburn look so empty. Damien scanned the empty streets, looking for any sign of life. Even the supermarket still had their shutters down. Holburn had become a ghost town overnight.
Was this what Alan meant about the coming of the monsters? He looked at his phone, forgetting it was still in his hand. He’d had forty one missed calls from him.
Damien willed those fire station doors to open, to see the bald fellow hanging out his washing and women staggering out of the supermarket burdened with too much shopping and shouting at their kids. He didn’t want to buy into Alan’s fantasy.
“Damien?” She stood by the kitchen door, shaking.
“I can’t wake him up.” She paused. “I need you to see this.”
Damien followed her out of the living room, not looking forward to what she had found. His threshold for surprises this morning had changed from low to zero.
The smell hit him first. Not only had it gotten worse, it now overpowered everything else, Christ, his nose was on fire. Jen carried on as if it was nothing worse than the smell of cow shit on a hot summer’s day. Damien pulled his T shirt over his mouth and nose and held it in place with his hand, it wasn’t brilliant but at least he could continue without throwing up. Damien hurried to catch her and wandered into a jungle of bright green.
The walls in the hallway were now carpeted by what looked like moss. Damien stopped and stared, entranced by its splendour. He moved his hand towards it; the overwhelming urge to stroke the stuff washed away every other desire. It looked as soft as puppy fur.
Damien screamed when his arm was yanked down. Jen pushed him into the middle of the hall and held his arms against his sides.
“Jesus, Damien, have you gone deaf? Didn’t you hear me shouting at you?”
She moved his head to face the open window in Tony’s spare room. He gasped as an endless swarm of huge insectile creatures flew through the open window. They smacked into the green fuzz and dissolved like butter dropped into a hot pan.
“That stuff on the wall must be acidic. Can you imagine what would have happened if you had touched it? Now come on, help me get my brother awake.”
Damien followed her into the bedroom. He wasn’t thinking about how close he had been; he wanted to know why it hadn’t affected her.
And since when was she suddenly unafraid of flying insects? Only yesterday, she’d run screaming out of his mother’s bedroom because she’d seen a tiny moth circling the light shade.
Damien’s eyes would not adjust to the gloom. It wasn’t this dark the last time he’d been in here. Jen’s hand found his and squeezed. Damien was so reassured by such a simple gesture.
“Go on then,” she hissed. Jennifer pushed him towards the shapeless bundle under the bed clothes. “Wake him up.”
“Why are you whispering?” Damien slapped the top of the blanket.
“Come on, mate,” he shouted. “Get your carcass out of your pit.”
A deep muffled moan was the response. It sounded like a tractor starting up.
“That’s not Tony!” the silhouette behind him cried.
No it wasn’t. Damien had lived through this scenario in his dreams.
The monsters are coming. He backed away. They needed to get out of here right now. Jen pushed past him and grabbed the edge of the blanket.
“No!”
But it was too late. She peeled back the blanket, lumps of grey and pink matter clung to both Tony and sheet like hot cheese. Jen screamed and dropped the blanket.
Tony’s eyes shot open, fixing Jennifer with a bright crimson stare.
“Are you going to give your big brother a kiss?” he gurgled.
Before Damien could react, Tony’s arm shot out from under the blanket and clamped over her wrist and dragged her closer.
As he climbed off the bed, more flesh fell off, exposing black chitinous armour underneath. Tony’s new body grew and expanded like an over inflated inner tube, forcing the last of the old flesh to fall to the floor in wet splats.
Damien rushed forward, hoping to catch the creature off guard whilst it was still undergoing its transformation. He didn’t get close. It lashed out; he flew across the room and crashed into a dressing table, feeling like he’d just been hit with a tree trunk.
Damien rolled onto his front and tried in vain to stand up, only managing to get onto his hands and knees.
Jennifer’s muffled sobs and the creature’s guttural laughs gave him the hidden strength to push back the crippling pain in his legs and focus. They would both be dead in minutes if he didn’t do something right now.
His hand skated across the surface of the dressing table, frantically searching for anything he could use as a weapon. Had Tony seen him move? He hoped not. Damien couldn’t tell anyway, his
vision was still fucked from the fall. Besides, what if it had? Jen was putting up enough of a fight to stop him from thinking about swatting the insect across the room again.
His hands disregarded the DVDs, CDs and antiperspirant then stopped when they found a handle encased in leather. Damien suppressed the urge to giggle. He couldn’t believe it.
Of all the things he could have found. It must have fallen off the wall when he hit the furniture. His vision cleared a little. He saw the shape of two shapes struggling in front of him. He lifted the Klingon sword off the dresser and swung it into the largest shape.
A muffled grunt told him he’d made contact. It felt like he’d just hit a brick wall. The vibration travelled up the sword into both hands, causing him to drop the weapon. His sleeve was grabbed and he panicked. Thinking it had got him, he tried to pull his arm back.
“Come on you bloody idiot, before he gets back up!”
He allowed her to half carry him out of the bedroom. Damien tried to get his feet under control as she propelled him to the front door.
The bestial scream that erupted behind them as they turned into the kitchen persuaded him to try harder. Jen propped him up against the door.
“Shit!” she said. “Those chuffing keys aren’t in the lock. Don’t move!”
He ditched the sarcastic quip when he sensed that she had already left. From the sound of it, the thing that had burst out of Tony was now trashing the bedroom. Did it believe that it was still in there hiding? Oh God, he hoped so.