Dark Lakes, Volume One: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (A Dark Lakes Collection Book 1)

by Matthew Stott

  The email was sparse. It simply read: Mr Lake, I’d like to hire you. Annie.

  A week ago, I’d have replied right away, but on that day, after everything I’d been through, I found my thumb swiping and deleting the message. No time for anything else right now. I was up to my nose in weird as it was.

  The message did remind me of something I’d been meaning to do though, namely shutting down my other website.

  The other one was really just a cry for help into the digital wilderness. My face, the point of my discovery ten years previously, and a question: ‘Who am I?’ There was a space to leave messages – not that anything ever got left there these days. I used to check it more out of habit than hope, refreshing the page on a thirty-second basis on my worst days, but now I didn’t need it at all. Time to shut that puppy down.

  But as I fired up my laptop and accessed the site, something gave me pause.

  A new message.

  Joe, help me, I don’t know where I am.

  The name next to the message read “Chloe”.

  Well, that was some low down, mean-spirited, nasty, poop-stinking trolling right there. What kind of person pretends to be a missing woman? A missing woman who was actually dead.

  An image of Chloe reaching for me from the hospital’s bathroom mirror flashed through my mind’s eye.

  It was a nasty trick, that’s all. Some local kid with the emotional depth of a cockroach, or Piers Morgan, sending messages, hoping to get a rise out of me. But a little part of me wondered. Maybe even hoped.

  Either way, the laptop closed without the website being decommissioned. Because maybe.

  Just maybe.

  Hey, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to have happened recently.

  ‘You look worse than usual, and you usually look like crap,’ said Big Marge as I stumbled through the automatic doors to the reception desk, trying not to trip over my own feet.

  ‘Thanks for sugarcoating that, Biggie.’

  ‘You still not sleeping?’

  ‘Oh, I slept, unfortunately for a rather stunted length of time. I was out painting the town red. Wine, women, and song; you know how it is.’

  ‘Oh, I do, I get the distinct feeling you don’t, though.’

  After the usual stimulating rounds of floor mopping, toilet tissue replenishment, and lightbulb replacement, I found myself back in the bathroom where I’d recently had my Chloe-vision.

  I approached the mirror, a little nervous, scanning for any signs of her. It had been a trick of the mind, that’s all. Had to have been. But that didn’t stop the hairs on the nape of my neck from standing up and doing a little boogie. Hope is a bastard.

  ‘Hello? Are you there?’ I asked.

  Silence.

  No sign of her.

  I reached out a hand towards the mirror, part of me wondering if it would pass right through the glass, Alice style. What if there was a hidden world beyond it, where Chloe, now magically alive and not evil, was waiting for me with a smile and a hug, and much mouth mushing?

  My fingertips met the cold, very solid surface of the mirror. Of course.

  ‘Chloe, are you there? Did you leave me a message?’

  ‘I knew it, you’re mental.’

  I turned with a yelp of surprise to see Dr Neil stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes set to “rotten bastard”.

  ‘You know, we really must stop meeting like this,’ I said, ‘people will talk.’

  I headed towards the exit, but Dr Neil stood his ground.

  I squared up to him. ‘I’m not currently possessed with the power to walk through people, so if you could shift your pasty body to the left, I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Still no sign of Chloe,’ he growled. ‘Where is she, Lake?’

  I sighed. ‘How many times? I don’t know. I really wish I did.’

  ‘The police are onto you, you know. That detective was very interested in what I had to say about you.’

  Oh, this was new. And perhaps explained Detective Martins’ particular interest in little old me.

  ‘You rotten bastard,’ I said, ‘stop trying to get me in trouble. This isn’t a game. Someone’s missing.’

  ‘Right, and yet for someone who claimed to be oh so close to Chloe, you don’t seem all that upset. Word on reception is that you were out living it up last night, having a rare old time.’

  ‘What? Oh, no, that was just flimflam.’

  ‘Charlotte from the canteen overheard you and Big Marge talking. Bragging about the women you were cavorting with, isn’t that true?’

  ‘You’re wasting your time with me, Dr Neil. I appreciate that you want Chloe back—I do too—but I’m not your man.’

  ‘I’ll catch you out, Lake. Or the police will. Don’t think we won’t.’

  Great. Not only had Dr Neil taken his crazy up a notch, now he was involving a detective in a case that—unbeknownst to him—I was already up to my neck in.

  A sudden thought struck. ‘Did you leave a message on my site?’

  It wasn’t Chloe, obviously, or even some kid with too much time on their hands and a sociopathic streak, it was this piece of work trying to get me to confess, or let something slip.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, nice try, but no go.’

  ‘I haven’t left you any messages. What are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, ha, exactly what the message leaver would say! Checkmate.’

  But Dr Neil’s expression of bewilderment told me I was barking up the wrong tree. I can read him like a book, and this book was titled ‘What In The Flying Fuck Are You On About?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Forget about it.’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘Sorry, I’d love to stay and chat, but I dislike you immensely. Bye-bye.’

  I levered Dr Neil aside and made my exit.

  8

  Two hours later, and I was stood with Eva in a stone circle, peering at a crude pencil drawing that I’d scrawled of the rocks I’d seen in the dead woman’s memories.

  ‘Well?’ said Eva.

  We were high up and the afternoon wind toyed with my magnificent hair.

  ‘No, I don’t think it’s any of these. Plus the tallest stone here comes up to my waist, the ones I saw were at least as tall as me.’

  ‘Lanky stones, got it.’

  This was the third local stone circle we’d paid a visit to that afternoon, and we had so far struck out at all three. All of the circle stones I saw were much too small. Too narrow. Too weathered. And none of them featured the engravings I’d witnessed on the murder stones.

  We made our way back down the hill and clambered inside of the Uncanny Wagon, setting off for circle number four. You’ll find this sort of thing dotted all over Cumbria, the county of England I live in. Evidence of a lively past, they say. Pagans dancing to the setting sun of the Summer Solstice, druids with sickles, blood sacrifices, fun for all the family.

  ‘Is there any truth to the story of, uh, naked women dancing around stone circles?’ I asked, as nonchalantly as I could.

  Eva was settled in her usual position, stretched out across the back seat of my car. ‘Wicker Man?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Oh yes. Tons of that stuff.’

  ‘Blimey.’

  ‘And not just women. I remember you on at least six separate occasions skipping around the circle we were just at, the moonlight bouncing off your man-bits.’

  ‘You’re kidding me!’

  ‘Nope. Or maybe. One of the two. Reality and fiction don’t really get on in my head.’

  The next circle we toured was another bust. All of the stones looked the size of children huddling on the grass.

  ‘This one feels a bit… familiar,’ I said, ‘did I…?’

  ‘Yup. In fact, I think you grazed your penis here,’ she said with a cackle, slapping a particularly pointy-looking rock.

  We piled back into the car and onto stone circle numero cinq.

  The whole time we’d b
een driving around and completely failing to find either of the standing stones I’d witnessed, I’d had one thing rolling over and over in my mind.

  ‘So, uh, about Chloe…’

  ‘Hm?’ replied Eva, eyes closed and arms across her chest on the back seat, like the scruffiest vampire you ever did see.

  ‘I said, I’ve been thinking about Chloe. There’s been some stuff in the last day or two.’

  ‘Who’s this bint Chloe?’

  ‘Are you…? Are you being entirely serious right now?’

  Eva opened her eyes. ‘That’s a very deep question, love, but I like to think the answer is “never”.’

  ‘Chloe! Chloe Palmer! My sort of girlfriend who was about to unleash a load of those octopus-limbed soul suckers!’

  ‘Oh, I got you. I like to file that shit away once we’re done with it. Don’t need a lot of clutter in my conscious mind, know what I mean, idiot?’

  I gripped the wheel and drove on, sulking, for a moment or two.

  ‘Well?’ said Eva. ‘Is there a reason for bringing up that very dead, very crazy tit?’

  ‘Just, an annoyance, that’s all. Someone left me a message on one of my websites claiming to be her.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, guess what.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is gonna blow your mind.’

  ‘What, tell me!’

  ‘It wasn’t her.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘She’s dead. You made her go splat-bye-bye.’

  ‘I know.’

  Well, I sort of knew. I knew that’s what Eva and Maya said I did, but I had no actual memory of Chloe’s final moments, or of any of the monsters’ for that matter. All I recalled was a giant build-up of power in me being unleashed, and then I woke up in my car.

  Maybe they were hiding something from me. It was possible. I mean, it’s not as though Eva had been overly forthcoming with information. She had still yet to tell me everything about myself, for example. Instead, I had to rely on a talking fox and a scary redhead who wanted me to become some sort of almighty doomsday monster.

  Almighty Doomsday Monster will also be the name of the heavy metal band I plan to form one day.

  ‘It’s not just the message,’ I said, ‘I know that’s nothing. Probably. I also, sort of, maybe, possibly not, but perhaps… saw her.’

  Eva sat up. ‘Come again?’

  ‘I saw her. Maybe. Just for a second, less than a second probably, in a bathroom mirror at work.’

  ‘Were you on any sort of hallucinogenic drugs at the time?’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Okay. Do you have any hallucinogenic drugs on you right now? A nice baggie of ‘shrooms, perhaps?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Pity. They would really liven up this tragic afternoon.’

  Yes, Eva was a very frustrating sort of a person.

  ‘I know it’s probably just kids messing around on my site, and my mind playing tricks on me. I mean, I killed her,’ and oh boy oh boy, did I not I enjoy saying that out loud, ‘but there’s a lot of strange stuff that seems to happen these days. What if some part of her, you know, clung on? Somehow. In some fashion. To be determined.’

  ‘It hasn’t. You burnt the bitch to ash.’

  ‘But what if…?’

  Eva sighed and leaned forward. ‘Listen, idiot; she’s dead. She’s gone. I know that stings at your dumb, black heart, but you killed the bitch. She isn’t coming back, and that’s a good thing, because she was off her rocker.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I mean, just a complete fruit loop.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But, and this “but” is larger than the one the receptionist at your hospital sits on all day, if she somehow has clung on, if her soul has managed to duck out of judgement and hang around, then that’s a very bad thing. So if you see or hear from this thing that definitely doesn’t exist, you tell me.’

  ‘And then we help in some way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘We help by shredding that fucker’s soul to make sure she never comes back. Not ever. You don’t give people like that a second chance. Well, not usually.’ Eva seemed to darken as she looked at me, then shook whatever bleak thought had gripped her free, and sat back to begin the ritual of rolling up a fresh cigarette with her carrot-coloured fingers.

  And that was that.

  And it was all daft anyway. Chloe was gone. She was gone and I was seeing things that weren’t there. Guilt, sleep deprivation, hell of a creative mind, that’s all. But still, as I drove and stole glances at Eva in the rear view mirror, I realised two things. One, I hoped that I wasn’t seeing things. I hoped Chloe was still, somehow, alive. Even if she was a ghost and so, I suppose, not technically “alive”. And two, if that was true, and she came to see me again, there was no way in hell I was going to tell Eva about it.

  I’d killed Chloe once, I really didn’t want to be responsible for a second time. Everyone is redeemable, in the end, right?

  ‘How much further to the next circle?’ I asked, trying to snap myself out of a rather worrying, sneaky train of thought.

  ‘Couple of miles.’

  It was at this point that a strange feeling washed over me, as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over my head. Which, no, wasn’t at all pleasant.

  I let out a little cry of pained surprise and stomped on the brakes. Eva threw out her own cry at the force of the sudden stop, and her refusal to wear a seatbelt sent her flying off the seat and onto the floor.

  ‘Oi!’ she said, amongst several swear words, ‘you just destroyed my ciggie!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just… I had a feeling.’

  ‘Tingle in your pants? You dirty bastard.’

  ‘Not that sort of feeling.’

  ‘Can’t get it up, eh? It happens,’ said Eva, before letting loose a flinty cackle and starting the process of rolling a fresh smoke.

  ‘No, my penis is fine thank you very... this isn’t about my penis!’

  ‘Well, thank the Lord for small mercies. Very small.’

  ‘I think I just had a magic thing happen.’

  ‘What sort of magic thing?’ she replied, popping her cigarette between her lips and lighting it with a flame that appeared from the tip of her finger.

  Bloody show-off.

  ‘I don’t know. I was just driving along, and a sudden, overwhelming urge to stop gripped me. Like something inside was saying, We’re here, this is the place, you found it!’

  ‘What place?’

  ‘I think this is where the stone circle is.’

  Eva looked out the window to her left. Then to her right. Then turned around to look out of the rear window, before flopping back down. ‘I don’t see any stones, idiot.’

  Which was, unfortunately, true. All I saw were fields and hills and a distinct lack of large standing stones, in a circle or otherwise.

  ‘Drive on,’ said Eva, ‘we’ve got another six circles to check out yet.’

  I turned the engine over, but my foot stubbornly refused to hit the accelerator as the weird feeling continued insisting that we were already where we were supposed to be.

  I killed the engine.

  ‘We’re here. I’m sure of it.’

  Eva half-grumbled, half-growled, then shoved the door open. ‘Okay, we’ll look, but unless these are invisible stones, you’re just wasting our time.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be a warlock, right? This is my hidden magic self telling me something, I’m sure of it.’

  And I was. Every nerve end was tingling, letting me know that the things I’d seen, the killer stones, were close at hand.

  It didn’t take long before Eva was calling me a variety of colourful names and making her way back to the Uncanny Wagon. We’d walked in an ever-widening circle around the car, but there was nothing to be seen. Barely a rock, never mind a person-sized standing stone or ten.

 
; I gave the area one last curious glance, then got back behind the wheel and drove us to the next stop.

  9

  I dropped a decidedly grumpy Eva back to the coven, then headed to my flat as the sun dropped and a chill began to nip at the air.

  The circle hunt had been a bust. Circle after circle, and not one had a single stone that looked anything like the rocks I’d seen, the ones I had done my best to render in pencil. Which meant we were in the delightful position of having an extraordinarily bizarre set of killers on the loose, and no leads to go on.

  The stones belonged to a circle, Eva was sure of it, but this is a world where creatures with octopus limbs eat souls for supper, so who’s to say these mobile stones stayed in one place when they weren’t busy killing? Or whether the circle they belonged to wasn’t somewhere out of sight and inaccessible, like the middle of a mountain, or the bottom of one of Cumbria’s great lakes.

  Ooh!

  That made sense. Maybe. Perhaps the death stones skulked at the bottom of a lake, out of sight, hidden from view.

  As I parked outside my home, I was so deep in my musings that I didn’t notice the woman sat on my doorstep until I was two feet from my door and preparing to slot my key home.

  ‘Mr Lake?’ asked the woman, rising to her feet.

  Yes, I did yell out in surprise and do three to four bunny hops backwards, hands to my aghast face like an over-emoting actor in a silent film.

  ‘Sorry, did I startle you?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  The woman looked to be around thirty or so, and wore her hair in a blonde bob.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I replied, straightening out the lines of my long coat as I gathered myself, ‘it takes more than an unexpected woman to scare me.’