The Midnight Eye Files Collection

by William Meikle

  I didn’t hear any more. I ran along the suburban streets, hoping like hell I would make it on time.

  45 Acacia Avenue wasn’t quite like the other houses on the street. The lawn hadn’t been mown for months, and fast food cartons lay strewn the length of the drive alongside torn rubbish bags spilling their contents to the wind.

  But it was the front door that gave away the fact that I’d left suburbia behind. It was covered in intricate drawings done in black charcoal; swirls and curlices around pentagrams and hexagrams. I’d seen something like it before, during research on another case that had taken a dive into the twilight zone. But this looked less like a formal magic protection ritual and more like a man trying as many symbols as he could, in the hope that at least one might work.

  I knocked hard on the door.

  Somebody moved inside, but they didn’t answer.

  “Mr. Clarke? I know about the diet... and the Binding Agreement. I’m here to help.”

  “Help? I’m afraid the time for that passed a while back.”

  The door opened.

  I expected to see another skeletal, shuffling figure, but this man was portly, almost fat. He was unshaven and smelled ripe, but otherwise seemed healthy.

  “Peter Clarke?”

  He hurried me inside and closed the door quickly. He led me through to a room piled knee deep in food cartons, beer cans and dirty clothing. It smelled worse than I did after a night on the town. The curtains had been pulled closed and the air felt stale and warm. There hadn’t been a window opened in here for a long time.

  “It’s the maid’s day off,” he said, and spilled a waterfall of trash on the floor to make room for me to sit on an armchair. I let myself down gingerly, making sure I was going to be able to get back up before committing myself.

  I lit up a smoke as soon as he sat opposite me. It helped some with the smell, but not quite enough.

  We sat and looked at each other for a while.

  “You’re looking well,” I said when he showed no signs of talking.

  “In the circumstances, I suppose I can’t really complain. I could be dead, like the other three.”

  “Other five,” I said softly.

  He went pale.

  “I’m the last?”

  I nodded.

  “Then it must be huge by now,” he said.

  I didn’t have to ask him what he meant.

  “I’ve seen it,” I said. “But I don’t know exactly what I was looking at. Care to fill me in?”

  He lifted a six pack of beer and threw a can towards me. I was careful to give it a good wipe with the arm of my jacket before opening it. It was warm, but went down well enough.

  “It was Duncan’s fault,” he began. “We were just a few days into the diet and we started talking about targets. Between the six of us we decided to lose around ten stone.

  “‘That’s a full person’s worth’, Duncan said. And that’s what got me thinking that we should make ourselves a promise. So I had the contract written up, that we would go on until enough weight was lost to add up to a person. It was my idea that we sign it in blood, to seal the deal.”

  He laughed bitterly.

  “It was supposed to be a joke... just something to focus our attention. How was I to know that it wasn’t all bullshit?”

  “Well, you know now,” I replied. I lit a second cigarette.

  “I had an inkling when Annie died,” he said. “And then when the other two were taken at the office, I knew something was up. So I did some reading. Two nights later something scratched at my door after I’d had my supper, but I’d taken precautions and put up the protection. And it’s kept working.”

  “You’ve been here ever since?”

  He waved at the detritus around us.

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “And you knew how to stop this thing, but you let it take your friends anyway?”

  He shrugged.

  “I figured if it was pestering them, then it wasn’t pestering me. Besides, if they had any smarts of their own, they could have figured it out the same way I did.”

  I was getting angry now, and had to push it down.

  “They died horrible, piteous deaths you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”

  He shrugged again.

  “Shit happens,” he said.

  I had nothing more to say to this thing. The white beast had more humanity in it that he would ever have.

  I stood and walked to the front door. He followed me and stood in the hallway.

  “So you have no regrets for their deaths?”

  “Survival of the fittest,” he said. “I win.”

  He closed the door on me.

  I turned to leave.

  It stood there in the shadows beside the small porch... a white figure as tall as a man but unformed, featureless save for a gaping maw of a mouth. It swayed from side to side and keened in a high wailing like a child’s sob.

  Survival of the fittest.

  I turned back to the front door and wiped a smudge down the length of the protection spell. Then I walked away. I heard the door crash inwards as I reached the end of the driveway.

  I might only have imagined that I heard the screams.

  But I smiled anyway.

  The End

  One, Two, Go!

  A Midnight Eye Files Story

  By William Meikle

  One, Two, Go!

  The day started so quietly that by one-thirty I was considering giving in and heading for the Twa Dugs for a beer. I’d got as far as clearing my desk in preparation for leaving when there were heavy footsteps on the stairs. The man who entered was small and unkempt with a mop of dark uncombed hair and rumpled clothes that looked like he’d slept in them for a week.

  As he walked over towards me I realized I’d seen him before, in the bars around the Campus, always bent over a notebook, scribbling furiously. I’d never paid him much attention – eccentric academics are ten-a-penny around here.

  I was just about to find out how eccentric this one was.

  “Derek Adams?” he asked.

  I got out of my seat and shook his hand, then motioned him to the other chair.

  He took his time to settle, his gaze flickering around what passed as my office. I lit up a Camel and left it up to him where to start. I knew from long experience that it could go several ways. Some of my clients needed to be coaxed into revealing what brought them here... but this one didn’t waste any time once he decided he was going to talk.

  Over the next ten minutes I discovered more than I needed to know. His name was Dave Laws, Professor of Mathematics and Physics, he lived in a big house on the river, he was married, and he was a very worried man.

  He saved the best for last. And despite my years of experience and the many varieties of weird I’d heard across the desk, I was left almost speechless.

  “At two-thirty-two in the afternoon on Saturday I’m going to kill my wife,” he said.

  I laughed.

  “This is a wind-up, right? What do you want me to do? Stop you?”

  He laughed back at me, harshly, like the bark of a small angry dog.

  “No Mr. Adams. I want you to help me. Both of our futures depend on it.”

  By now I was convinced I had a nut-job on my hands. I should have tossed him out on his arse, but there was something so serious, yet sad, about him that made me probe further.

  “I wouldn’t presume to know my future if I were you,” I said. “I rarely know myself from one day to the next.”

  He laughed again.

  “Then I really do know better than you. I’ve seen it you see. If I don’t kill my wife then both you and I will be dead by Saturday evening.”

  A cold chill ran up my spine. I don’t know why, but suddenly I believed this man, and something told me it was time to start paying serious attention.

  “So, do you have a crystal ball or something?”

  “Something,” he said. “I’ve built a time machine.
”

  I had no answer to that. I covered my confusion by lighting another Camel.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said, looking at his watch. “But in thirty seconds you’ll have your proof.”

  He turned to look at the door. I heard more heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door opened. A small unkempt man opened the door and peered in. I wouldn’t have been too surprised if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t already sitting in the chair opposite me.

  “Bugger. Too late,” the man in the doorway said, and left at a hurry.

  The version of him in the chair turned back to me.

  “That was twenty minutes ago,” he said. “I mistimed my entrance.”

  He went on quickly, seeing my confusion.

  “Look. Just go and see my wife. All will come clear... in time.”

  He smiled at that, and was still smiling when he left, leaving three hundred pounds in new tenners on my desk. He walked out of the door. I was soon to find out that he had more than one way of leaving... but that was for later. For now, I was more than a little confused. I had no idea what I need to do to earn the money. But one thing was for sure... I needed more information before I went to see Mr. Laws’ wife.

  I had a feeling it might be a bad idea, but I headed for the University, and the Professor’s office. His secretary was surprised when I told her I’d seen him that morning, and seemed on the verge of contradicting me, but thought better of it and directed me to his lab – an old Victorian cellar in the bowels of an even older building.

  I felt like I’d been dropped in a Universal horror movie as I walked into a room where Van Der Graaf generators sparked and Tesla Coils hummed. The Professor himself was hunched over a desk, yet again scribbling furiously. He almost jumped out of his skin when I touched his shoulder.

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my lab?”

  “For a man who gave me three hundred quid only half an hour ago, you’ve got a short memory.”

  It was his turn to look at me in confusion.

  “I’ve seen you prop up bars all over town,” he said. “But I’ve got no idea who you are.”

  I was shown out unceremoniously. I went back to the office and looked at the money... money that came from a client that now disowned ever having given it to me. For a PI down on his luck it was like manna from heaven. I spent that night spending as much of it as I could before it disappeared in a puff of smoke. I tried thinking about time travel and paradoxes, but that just made my brain hurt, so I succumbed to the inevitable. Beer, curry and more beer led to a shaky walk home. I fell fully clothed into bed and slept the sleep of the just.

  The next morning my conscience got the better of me. After two black coffees and three cigarettes I walked out to Kelvinbridge, heading for Laws’ house. As I stood on the doorstep I had little idea what I was going to say – especially if Laws himself answered.

  His wife opened the door and looked at me as if I was something she’d just stepped in. I struggled for an opening line and couldn’t find one, so I settled for the truth.

  “Apparently your husband and I will die if we don’t kill you on Saturday afternoon,” I said.

  Now she thought I was the nut-job, but I could live with that if it got her talking. Unfortunately she didn’t talk as much as rant, and I got the impression it came naturally to her. For the next two minutes she turned the air blue. She made it quite clear what she thought of me, her husband, and the world in general. She worked up quite the lather, and swore as impressively as anyone I’d heard. By the time she was done and slammed the door in my face I wanted to kill her.

  Mr. Laws was waiting in the street beyond. I found him staring intently at his watch. It was a nice watch. I’d seen them in the higher-end shops, and hoped to be able to afford one of my own someday.

  “She has to die,” he said to me. “You see that, don’t you? Meet me here on Saturday around two.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to reply. He looked at his watch again, fiddled with the winder, pushed it firmly in... and popped out of existence.

  My headache went up a notch, and even a walk along the riverside wouldn’t shift it. I trudged back to the office and made the strongest pot of coffee I could manage, topping it up with a couple of fingers of Scotch. I’d just got started on it when I heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Mr. Laws walked in. His hair was better combed than before, but he had the same air of intensity.

  “Derek Adams?” he asked. “That’s your name?”

  “You know it is,” I said. “Did you forget about the three hundred again?”

  “What three hundred?”

  I sighed. The headache was drumming full force again. I sent some coffee and whisky to chase it around.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “We need to kill your wife on Saturday?”

  He looked shocked.

  “Why would I want to do that? I just came to thank you. Your visit to the lab told me that the machine would actually work. You’ve no idea what an effect that has on research. All I had to do was...”

  I tuned him out. Two minutes of mathematical babble was ninety seconds too much for me. I stopped him with a question.

  “And where... or rather, when, have you come from this time?”

  He laughed.

  “Tomorrow. I just thought you should know that it works. But what do you mean, this time?”

  I wasn’t about to open that can of worms if I could help it. And he wasn’t in the mood to listen anyway. He looked at his watch.

  “Got to go. I’ve got an appointment with my future.”

  He twiddled the winder, pushed it in, and popped.

  That was it for me. I was done. I intended to drink the rest of the cash and let oblivion take me away for a while. But I wasn’t given the time. I finished the coffee and started making inroads on the whisky when he popped back into existence in the chair opposite me.

  “I’m going to come to you and tell you that we need to kill my wife,” he said without preamble. “Please ignore me. You can keep the cash.”

  “You mean your wife doesn’t need to die?”

  He smiled grimly.

  “Oh, she’ll still die... on Saturday. It’s just that I don’t need your help any more.”

  He turned the winder, pushed it in, and was gone.

  There was only one thing I knew for certain about that case, and that was that I was going to be at the Laws’ house on Saturday, if only to make sure that nobody died.

  There were several twists before then.

  I was sitting at my desk minding my own business on Friday morning. I’d taken on a case involving a bookie, a horse and a newspaper man as a favour for George at the Twa Dugs, but nothing was moving and I was gathering dust, just sitting and smoking, when he popped back into the chair. I nearly swallowed the Camel.

  “Can you please stop doing that.”

  He didn’t listen. He was even more unkempt, his hair standing up in clumps as if he’d been trying to pull it out. His eyes looked red and bloodshot and sunk in dark shadows.

  “It’s not what I’ve done that’s the problem,” he said. “You have no idea what she’s done.”

  I sat back and tried to look nonchalant.

  “How about you tell me?”

  “No time,” he said. “Just stay away on Saturday. Please?”

  And once more, he popped off.

  There was one more surprise appearance before everything went bad. It happened on Saturday morning, at ten o’clock. He arrived with a pop in the chair, screamed, “No, not again.” He reached for the watch, but before he could reach the winder he popped away. In all it took perhaps two seconds. But it was long enough to give me an idea.

  I made a detour to the City Centre on the way to the Laws’ house, and had a short, if slightly confusing, chat with the owner. I got what I needed though, and had it in my pocket as I walked along the river to the house.

  Mr. Laws was waiting for me outside the gate.
r />   “We’re clear. I’ve gone to the lab for the day and she’s alone.”

  I tried to make sense of that sentence and failed.

  “This time travel shit is messing with my brain,” I said. “But I’m ready to go.”

  He showed me a handgun.

  “This should do the trick.”

  I nodded, playing along. Everything now relied on me playing along. That, and one other thing.

  “As you said... she has to die today. Shall we shake on it?”

  He seemed surprised, but put out his hand. I grabbed it with both of mine. At the same time I jerked my head towards the house.

  “What’s that?”

  It distracted him just long enough for me to make the switch. It went smoothly and he didn’t notice.

  “I’ll take the back door,” I said. “See you inside in a minute.”

  I intended to be back before then. I’d left him with a watch from the pawnbroker, and had taken his. My heart pounded and I felt slightly dizzy as I wound the time back two hours and pushed in the winder.

  There was a slight sensation of otherness then I felt solid once more. I walked round the front. Mr. Laws wasn’t there. I peered in the window. The clock had the same time as the watch on my wrist – two hours earlier than it should be.

  I had just enough time to put the whole plan in action. I made another trip to the pawnbroker, arriving at the same time as my earlier self. I tried not to look at myself as we talked. It is one thing looking in a mirror, but quite another finding your double standing shoulder to shoulder with you. Between the two of us we did just enough to convince Old Joe that the case was kosher. He demanded the whole story at a later date after I told him what I needed.

  It only took him ten minutes – nobody knows clocks better than Old Joe does.

  I took the watch, caught a cab back to the riverside house, got off early and crept through to the rear from the next door neighbour’s garden. I looked round the side of the house just in time to see myself go pop!

  From now on, it was all a matter of timing.

  I knew I was far off the map on this one. I was winging it – making it up as I went along. I just hoped I could get Mrs. Laws to do her part. If I had thought longer about it I might have turned up half an hour earlier and explained the situation to her, but it was too late now for any more uses of the watch.