Replied Tyler, sweaty faced from even the mildest exercise. He did not want to tell Chelsea anything about last night and he came across more abrupt than he would have liked. Chelsea pouted and glared back at Tyler annoyed at the rebuke, she was more intelligent than Tyler and it was only circumstance that denied her chance to prove it. Carl jumped in with a brief explanation as Tyler covered up anything that was visible through the rear door windows with a tartan travel blanket.
“All this ‘borrowed’ equipment was used last night in an odd experiment at the uni, the likes of which would not be approved of and it has to be returned as soon as possible. We couldn’t do it last night as there was a security guard on duty that I didn’t know. As I have said before I will explain everything in due course but if we don’t get this back pronto we could all be in serious trouble.”
“You’re a thief!”
Mocked Chelsea, poking Tyler under his ribs with her finger as he leaned into the van. His body reacted with a jerk and Tyler tried to straighten up, banging the back of his head on the door frame in the process.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
He swore, backing out of the van while clutching his head with both hands, grimacing at the secondary wave of pain that always accompanies a blow to the head. Carl’s moody demeanour immediately disappeared as he and Chelsea fell about laughing at Tyler’s pain.
“Don’t worry it’s about three feet from your brain!”
Joked Carl, laughing even louder at Tyler’s two fingered reply.
“Come on, it’s time to go”
Carl ordered as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat, still chuckling at Tyler’s mishap. Tyler sat next to him, still rubbing his sore head. They both looked at Chelsea as she stood outside, arms folded, glaring at the two men.
“And where do I sit?”
She questioned, now looking directly at Tyler sitting in her seat, Carl quickly replied,
“On his lap of course, you don’t mind do you Morgan?”
Tyler quickly forgot his pain and blushed in embarrassment as Carl looked lewdly at Chelsea’s body.
With a huff, Chelsea reluctantly tried to angle her slim frame into the car. She tried to hold down her denim mini skirt but still offered both men an ample view of her pert bottom barely covered by a pair of sheer red lace panties.
“Excuse me!”
She snapped, humiliated that neither Carl nor Tyler offered to look away. More flesh came into view as the skirt hem hooked on Tyler’s belt buckle as she tried to lower herself into place. This was soon rectified by a quick body jerk, which successfully unhooked the snagged material, and she landed heavily on Tyler’s groin giving him pain a second time, rapidly dissipating his partially engorged member.
Carl turned the key and fired the van into life, scattering pigeons skyward that were nestled on a nearby window ledge. He pressed the accelerator down hard, spinning the front wheels, spraying gravel in all directions as the overweight car slewed sideways into the driveway leaving behind palls of blue petrol fumes hanging in the air.
Carl smiled inwardly at Tyler’s voyeuristic reaction to the sight of Chelsea’s flesh. Feeling smug and very satisfied at his own high number of sexual conquests, the latest being Chelsea sitting next to him. He speculated that Tyler would propose to the first woman who let him into her bed and if she did accept he would always have the doubt if it was for love or his money.
The remainder of the journey remained uneventful and they soon arrived on campus. Carl dealt with the security guard who took an early break with three red uppers secreted in his breast pocket while both men scuttled furtively back and forth, unloading the van, replacing all the items exactly where they belonged in the storeroom while Chelsea kept watch. Carl rapidly scanned the shelves, mentally ticking off all the returned items and satisfied with the results locked the door behind them. As they turned the corner in the corridor, Tyler stopped dead in his tracks, holding his arm out to stop Carl also as he spied Chelsea, flirting with a previously unknown security guard that was heading in their direction. She positioned herself so as they talked, the guard had his back to the proceedings. Both men turned around and exited through a side door, walked around the building returning from around the other side. Carl gave Chelsea the thumbs up sign over the guard's shoulder and quick as a flash her coy demeanour changed and she lashed out a hand, slapping the poor guard across the face and then stormed away while accusing the confused man of lewd behaviour. All three jumped back into Carl’s van and sped off leaving the guard gingerly rubbing the side of his face and coughing from the exhaust fumes emitted from the poorly maintained engine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Deep underground in the vaults of Huntingdon University’s extensive library lays an incredible literary accumulation of Ancient Manuscripts, Antique handwritten reference books, scrolls, parchments and illustrations dating back many hundreds of years. The anthology has grown steadily over time as private collected works and rare first editions bequeathed by generous alumni added to this incredible collection. Most interesting of all is a selection of previously banned and illegal literature removed from circulation over time following progressive amendments to the obscene publications act of 1857. The books range from demands for women’s rights, copyright 1891 to Lady Chatterley’s lover by D.H. Lawrence. It was initially prohibited in many countries in the nineteen sixties, due to its obscene material but is now widely available. In today’s society, it would hardly raise an eyebrow amongst the plethora of sexually graphic novels that adorn many bookshops today.
Not bothering with a second glance at the illustrated Chinese manuscripts depicting every conceivable sexual deviancy, Henry Jackson sat rapt, holding a book titled ’Libro Mortuorum’. A large tome bound in black leather and addressed in golden calligraphic letters with a simple representation of a pentagram in blood red covering the front. The numerous hand written pages, brittle with age, documented dates and times of important pagan ceremonies with accompanying chants and incantations that were relevant to each. Henry read aloud using his voice recorder to store all the information he believed was necessary. He was so fascinated by the revelations contained within he almost failed to notice Dean Sutherland and the omnipresent Gillian Taylor-Smith creeping in down the well worn stone staircase. The only thing that gave them away was the overpowering smell of the dean’s aftershave carried on the down draught when the outer door opened. Any faux pas on Henrys part would be cannon fodder to the dean, and as this part of the library was out of bounds to all students, it was all the dean needed to expel him. A huge sum of money had been assigned to install an air purification system to protect the valuable works from decay and this afforded a reasonable excuse for the dean and Gillian to conduct detailed investigations out of sight of prying eyes.
Henry raised his head, sniffing the air like a tracker dog and recognising the dean’s scent, he jumped to his feet, gathered up his things, turned off the desk lamp then dived behind the nearest bookshelf. He was just in time, through a gap in the books he could see two pairs of feet illuminated by torchlight.
“I know he’s in here I can smell him.”
The dean began. This amused Henry greatly and he had to clamp his mouth with his hand to stop the sound of his laughter giving him away. Henry mused that Gillian must have a very poor sense of smell to remain so close to the dean for any length of time. Most students held their breath as he passed them in the corridor and you were never late for the dean’s lectures as the only available desks were always at the front, nearer the smell. Gillian randomly flashed her torch around the vault, its white beam cutting swaths through the dusty air. She did not really care if Henry was in there or not. She was just pleased for the two of them to be alone and hoped to carry on where they left off in his office but the dean began to talk.
“Why don’t you just come out now Mr Jackson? I know you’re in here somewhere and I don’t want to spend all afternoon looking for you. If you come out immediately I won’t
press charges.”
Henry chose to ignore the empty gesture and sank back further into the darkness as the dean aimed his torch in his direction. But it was too late; the beam shone directly in Henrys face revealing his position. He was about to come out of hiding when he noticed the torch now aimed somewhere else, the deans attention was taken by the sight of Gillian as she took off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse revealing her ample naked breasts in the torchlight to the very excited dean who made a mock announcement.
“Gillian Taylor-Smith, you’ve been a very naughty girl. Report to Dean Sutherland’s office for a good spanking.”
Gillian squealed with excitement and ran twice around the table, before allowing herself to be caught and forced to bend over. The dean slapped her backside much harder than she liked, so to avoid any further pain Gillian quickly crouched down and began to undo the flies on the dean’s trousers.
Henry turned his head away in disgust at the thought of what he was about to witness as he was unable to do anything else as the unwelcome lewd performance continued, completely unaware that they were being watched. Henry bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh as he listened to Gillian take a sharp intake of breath then tell the dean in a low husky voice,
“Dean Sutherland, I hope you have a licence for that, big boy!”
The seventies porn film cliché moment was lost as Henrys’ attention focused on a tickling sensation low on his left arm. He looked down horrified to see the largest house spider in his life crawling up his sleeve towards his face. Most people go through life with a phobia or two and Henry’s was spiders. It began as a young boy when his older brother thought it very funny to put a fake rubber spider down the back of Henry’s shirt and now he stared terrified as this live one crawled towards his face. His blood ran cold and he squeaked in terror as it inched closer.
“What was that?”
The dean snapped, who was feeling vulnerable at the thought of being caught.
“Nothing, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Gillian replied as she began to moan loudly as she tried to regain the dean’s attention. Henry’s eyes widened in terror and beads of sweat coupled together on his furrowed forehead as eight angular legs rippled mechanically forwards. The body of the spider was black and huge with a tear shaped abdomen bobbing up and down as it inch ever closer to his face. With his heart pounding wildly in his ears he mentally fought the raging desire to scream and run away. As his torture continued, the impromptu floor show was reaching its climax just as Henry clenched his teeth in terror as two of the spider’s front legs gently touched the skin of his left cheek. The spiny tips felt like drops of acid burning into his flesh as the spider slowly crawled up his face, pausing over Henry’s now clamped shut left eye. In his petrified state Henry did not notice that the dean and Gillian had completed their lustful display and redressed. Totally forgetting Henry, the two of them ascended the stairs to the ground floor leaving him alone to his plight. Only the sound of the outer door clanging shut gave him the strength to jump to his feet, swipe the spider away, and then manically jump about brushing down every inch of his person several times before accepting that he was free of any more creepy crawlies. Still visibly shaking from the experience Henry gathered up his things. Amazed that the dean had not found it, he picked up his pocket voice recorder that still whirred away on the back of the desk. Switching it off, he put it back into his pocket then froze again in shock as the lights went off and a torch beam hit him squarely in the face. Blinded by the light, all he could hear were footsteps walking towards him. Furious with himself for not checking the coast was clear he guessed the dean had doubled back to trap him so Henry began his plea;
“I can explain everything”
He blurted into the darkness behind the torchlight. There was no reply and George wondered what the dean was playing at. Suddenly the torch was turned off leaving the two of them in the inky blackness. Henry panicked and tried to run away. He tripped over a chair and sprawled onto the floor grazing his shin in the process. As he sat up holding onto his damaged leg, the torch was turned back on, this time Henry could see the face of his assailant.
“You Bastard!”
He yelled at George Harding, the holder of the torch who now stood grinning before him.
“Thought that would shake you up a bit, I just saw the dean and Gillian leaving without you so I guessed you’d be somewhere out of sight.”
“Too bloody right, I’ve been sat for ages over there in the corner with spiders an’ things crawling all over me.”
As he talked on the spider, Henry shook like a wet dog, mentally trying to relieve himself from the sensation of the spider’s spindly legs he could still feel on his face.
“You ok Henry?”
“Yeah man somebody just walked over my grave, that’s all.”
Both men sat down at the table to examine the book that Henry had found, unaware of the bizarre happenings that were taking place just yards behind where they were sitting.
A large brown rat, taking a short cut along the top of a six-inch cast iron central heating pipe, jumped down and headed for a crack in the wall that led to the waste disposal trap beneath the kitchens. This was a fine source of unwanted food, thrown away by the overworked kitchen staff nearly every day. The rat stopped abruptly, sat up on his hind legs, and twitching his shiny nose, sniffed at the air. Suddenly sensing danger the creature bolted for cover, but just before reaching the opening and apparent safety, he stopped dead, pinned down by an unseen force that began to drag him back to the centre of the floor. Unable to breathe or make a sound, the rat’s body went into spasm closely followed by a series of violent convulsions as he fought this invisible foe. But it was a very uneven match and starved of air, the rat died quickly. The only remaining sign as his life ebbed away was the occasional twitch of his whiskers and the paw of its front left leg. The dead carcass now slid silently across the floor until it stopped directly over the site of one point of the pentagram that had been drawn in chalk and then hastily erased after the previous night's gathering. Sitting up like a glove puppet with his snout pointing to the sky, the rats’ mouth slowly opened wide in a silent scream exposing razor sharp teeth and a thin inky black tongue. But it did not end there, the mouth continued to open past the limit of its range and with an almost inaudible crack the jaw bone snapped. As the skin on the jaw line of its mouth tore apart from the unnatural stress, the remainder of the upper skull pivoted in the opposite direction until its neck snapped. The resulting grotesque display resembled the recurvate petals of a pink rain washed flower complete with a black central stamen tongue pointing to the sky. Air hissed from the mutilated throat as the fur on the body flattened displaying invisible finger-like indentations squeezing the carcass tightly until something popped inside and its soft innards rose to the surface, spilling out its contents. This poor deceased creature swiftly upended as the invisible hand dragged the wet opening of the carcass along the outline of the pentagram, drawing a fresh design with blood and entrails oozing out of the body like a macabre icing bag. The task ended as the last remaining drops were wrung out and exactly matched the outline used the night before. Suddenly reanimated the empty pouch of skin jumped up onto its crushed hind legs and walked drunkenly like a string puppet to the very centre of the pattern where a feint blue pencil thin light shone upwards from the floor. The beam began to rotate on its axis creating a miniature whirlpool of light and dust, this snatched up the small cadaver, spinning it faster and faster until it descended through the floor and everything disappeared from view.
With their backs to the floor show, Henry and George continued to study, talking animatedly on how any of the information could improve results on their own experiment.
Minutes after the dead rat disappeared, the floor underneath the freshly drawn outline began to glimmer pale blue through the blood and entrails. Over by the far wall in a pile of tools packed away by workmen, a small cardboard drum full of electrical cable, jerked onto
its edge then rolled silently to the midpoint of the illuminated display. Again the centre glowed, not spinning this time but spreading across the floor just wide enough to engulf the drum which disappeared into the unknown.
Out of sight, the cable began to unwind and the loose end reappeared up through the floor and snaked noiselessly towards George sitting at the table. Silently the grey cable rose into the air and in a helical fashion it encircled both Georges’ lower legs and the front legs of his chair.
“Jesus Christ!”
George yelled as the cable snapped tight, binding his legs to the chair which spun violently around to face the now larger brightly glowing portal.
A squeal of protest came from the metal floor studs on the chair legs as the cable strained against the weight, pulling him towards the pentagram. George folded double, frantically clawing at his bindings and screaming at Henry who just stared silent and transfixed.
“HENRY, FOR GODS’ SAKE!”
George shrieked as his chair dragged even closer. Henry, snapping out of his trance, ran around the table and grabbed the top of the chair, tilting it forty-five degrees on the two back legs. The cable pulled tighter under the added pressure and twanged like a guitar string as George’s desperately attempted to unwind the flex but the effort was futile. Slowly, the tightening cable bit deeper into the flesh of Henry’s legs and he groaned in pain, clamping his teeth as his muscles screamed under the pressure.
Henry started to panic as the soles of his trainers lost their purchase and he stamped backwards in a desperate attempt to recover lost ground. The unseen force in this bizarre tug of war matched everything Henry did and George inched ever closer to his fate. A swirling wind arrived from nowhere, picking up papers and small books closest to the portal and they whirled through the air, eventually disappearing through the beam as it rose up spinning from the floor, gaining speed as it grew. Providence intervened as the chair stopped its deadly journey when the rear legs hit a cable protector fixed to the floor allowing Henry to relax his grip and let the blood return to his cramped fingers. George frantically looked around for something to help and spotted his small pack of tools that he had hidden under a bookshelf ready for the next gathering.
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