Christmas Dinner of Souls

by Ross Montgomery

  There was no sign of the landlord. According to the police report, there was no sign of anything left in the attic either: no tiny bones, no nest, and certainly no Miss Magpie. It seemed like she had disappeared, too – but there was no attempt to investigate where she had gone. No one, it seemed, wanted to pry too hard.

  But there was one detail in the report that stayed with me long after I stopped reading. When one of the policemen had searched the landlord’s bedroom the next day, he had noticed something unusual sticking out of the wooden frame of the shattered windows.

  It was impossible for him to be certain – they were stuck too deep in the wood for that – but in the light, they almost looked like ten polished fingernails. Like someone had been gripping onto the window frame. Like they been clutching on for dear life while something huge and monstrous dragged them out by force. Like they had held on until their fingernails finally ripped free, one by one, and the monster had carried them into the dark winter night.

  The guests shrieked and applauded.

  ‘Gin! Gin! Gin!’

  Lewis charged round the table, emptying another two bottles into the guests’ swaying glasses. By now, they were beginning to look worse for wear – rocking in their seats, the floor beneath them littered with empty bottles. Only the Dean stayed cold and sober, his eyes fixed on Lewis like a hawk.

  He’s up to something, thought Lewis. There must be some reason he’s not drinking – but how will I ever be able to escape if he stays sober?

  The clock struck four, and the Cook emerged with an enormous metal trolley. A tall figure stood on top of it, hidden from view by a long black rag. The Dean smashed another bauble and held up the name within.

  ‘Now is the turn of Bloodrick Gallant – our expert in Disgusting Beasts and How to Cook Them!’

  A man stood up and lit a cigar – the one who had almost crushed Lewis with a motorcycle earlier. Without his helmet you could see he had a shrivelled red head with dusty hair and watery eyes, like something left to bake in the sun.

  ‘Come on, rat!’ he snarled at Lewis. ‘Show ’em my course!’

  Lewis whipped off the covering, and the table gasped. Underneath it was a whole roast pig, with an apple stuffed in its mouth. But this was no ordinary roast pig. It hung by its neck on a creaking gallows, swinging on a noose made of sausages and dressed as Father Christmas. His sack was stuffed with giblets, and his rancid beard dribbled with hot fat. The smell was indescribable.

  ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ said Gallant. ‘Nothing like the taste of an animal you’ve hunted and killed yourself! Of course, there’s one beast I’ve never managed to capture – one that’s haunted me all my life.’

  He cast a desultory glance at Ariadne Biter.

  ‘That’s right – my story happened to me as well. But unlike some people, I faced my monster head on!’

  He turned to the guests and told his gruesome story as the carcass cast its shadow across the table.

  The Beast

  We used to visit my grandfather’s house every Christmas – then he died, and we never went again. I don’t remember much about my childhood, but I remember his dark stone mansion. I remember the windowless rooms and cold gloomy ceilings. I remember the Christmas candles that burned in every room and somehow made the shadows even darker. But more than anything, I remember his animal collection.

  They weren’t living animals, of course – they were dead and stuffed, every one. My grandfather collected them by the thousand. Their heads covered every wall and their bodies were nailed to plinths in every corner. There were dead birds, dead moose, dead bears, dead lions – a whole dead whale hung suspended above the dining-room table. No matter where you walked in the house, a hundred glass eyeballs followed you.

  But there was one room that my brother and I were forbidden to enter – my grandfather’s study. We weren’t even allowed to set foot on the corridor which led to it. I tried to sneak up there once, but I was caught out by the treacherous creaky step at the top of the staircase. It didn’t so much creak as scream blue murder when you stepped on it – within seconds, my grandfather had found me and chased me twice round the garden with a bullwhip. He was a violent man with a foul temper – we all went out of our way to make sure we didn’t encourage it.

  Except, of course, for my brother.

  ‘You mean you’ve never snuck inside his study?’ he teased me one day. ‘Ha! You’re an even bigger baby than I thought you were!’

  I scowled. ‘I’m not a baby.’

  ‘You should see what he keeps in there!’ said my brother. ‘We could sneak in right now and see … or are you too much of a coward?’

  I wasn’t a coward – but I was terrified of my grandfather. Just the thought of being caught in his forbidden room sent shivers up my spine. But curiosity and pride got the better of me, and after only a minute of teasing I caved.

  We waited until the rest of my family had gone outside for lunch, then snuck into the main hall. Hanging from the neck of a marabou stork at the bottom of the staircase was the brass ring of keys that opened every door in the house. I lifted them off with a shaking hand – they felt heavier than I expected.

  ‘Quick!’ said my brother. ‘We don’t have much time – and don’t forget about that creaky step!’

  I followed him up the staircase, leaping expertly over the top step and down the long, dark corridor. The study door lay at the end of it. I made my way to the door on shaking legs, desperate to hide how frightened I was.

  I unlocked the study and stepped inside. It was as I expected. There was a desk made of thick dark wood in the centre: more of a monument than a table. The walls on every side were lined with glass cabinets, and inside were hundreds more stuffed animals.

  But these were no ordinary stuffed animals. These were curiosities – oddities – mistakes. There were spineless fish, baby snakes coiled in jars, a hundred rat skeletons joined at the tail. Some were barely animals at all.

  ‘Those are nothing,’ said my brother. ‘Come look at this.’

  He stood beside another cabinet in the darkest corner of the room. It was covered with a blood-red curtain, which stood tall and steady like a waiting guest. My guts crawled just looking at it.

  ‘What’s under the curtain?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘See for yourself,’ said my brother.

  I couldn’t say no. I walked up to the cabinet, swallowed hard, and pulled away the curtain.

  The sight inside the cabinet almost made me retch. It was a man – at least, it used to be a man. He was long dead. His skin had sucked against his bones and turned his eyes into hollow caves. His lips had shrivelled to a grimace on his teeth. His arms and legs were held up by strings so he dangled inside the cabinet like a marionette.

  ‘Gruesome, eh?’ said my brother. ‘Keeping dead animals in your house is one thing, but dead murderers …’

  I gulped. ‘M–Murderer?’

  My brother tapped the brass plaque on the front of the cabinet. THE BEAST.

  ‘He was a child killer,’ my brother explained. ‘Mothers used to tell their children, “You be good, or else the Beast will crawl through your window and get you!”’

  I shuddered. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It is so!’ said my brother. ‘Everyone knew about the Beast – he was famous! When the police finally killed him, people refused to believe he was really dead. They said his body was still wandering the streets at night, searching for children …’

  I glanced down. I’d stepped away from the cabinet without even realising it.

  ‘So the police came up with an idea,’ said my brother. ‘To prove to everyone that the Beast was dead, they dug up his body and stuffed him full of paraffin wax.’

  I grimaced. ‘Paraffin wax?’

  ‘So the body wouldn’t rot,’ my brother explained. ‘Then they took it on tour round the country – and look! They even cut off his feet to prove he couldn’t walk anywhere! See?’

  My brother pointe
d down to where the man’s feet should be. True enough, the scrawny legs ended just above the ankle. They were thin and brittle as sticks.

  ‘People came from all over the world to see his body,’ said my brother. ‘And some paid extra so they could touch him … Hey! That gives me an idea!’

  He grabbed the keys off me and unlocked the padlock on the cabinet.

  I gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Come on – don’t you want to know what a dead murderer feels like?’ said my brother.

  I didn’t – not one bit. But my brother couldn’t be stopped. He swung open the glass door and stepped back. The first thing that hit me was the haze of the paraffin, emptying into the room like a fug.

  ‘Phew – it’s worse than petrol!’ said my brother, waving the air. ‘No wonder the old man keeps him locked up – one spark and he’d go up like a furnace!’

  ‘Close the door,’ I begged. ‘Please – Grandfather could be up here any moment. If he smells that, we’re done for!’

  ‘Not till you touch him,’ said my brother with an evil grin.

  I was horrified. ‘No!’

  My brother gave a sorry shake of his head. ‘I knew it – you’re a coward. Always were, and always will be.’

  Something inside me boiled up. I knew what would happen if I refused – he’d hold it over me for the rest of my life. I couldn’t let that happen. I turned to the shrivelled corpse in front of me, reached out an unsteady hand … and touched his arm.

  A wave of disgust flooded through me. The skin had a glossy sheen like wax – but underneath it, the Beast was as dry as old canvas. He almost crackled beneath your fingers.

  ‘HELLFIRE! WHERE IN DAMNATION ARE THOSE BOYS?’

  My brother and I swung round in horror. Our grandfather had come back in the house. My brother threw the keys at me, all bravery gone in a flash.

  ‘Quick! Cover him up!’

  He slammed the cabinet door closed and I threw the blood-red curtain back over the top. In seconds we were out of the room, locking the door behind us and charging down the stairs – only just remembering at the last second to leap over the creaking stair. I flung the keys back over the stork’s neck just as grandfather appeared in the hallway.

  ‘THERE YOU ARE!’ he bellowed. ‘OUTSIDE, BEFORE I FLOG YOU BOTH WITH MY BELT!’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. We had gotten away with it – just – and best of all, I had proved I wasn’t a coward. Now my brother would finally leave me alone. I would never need to go back into grandfather’s study and see that gruesome, shrivelled face ever again.

  How wrong I was.

  *

  ‘Wake up!’

  It was midnight. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my brother’s face, staring down at me in the light of a shaking candle. I rubbed my eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  My brother heaved me out of bed. ‘The cabinet, you idiot! I just realised – you didn’t lock it behind you!’

  My stomach plummeted. My brother was right. If my grandfather found the padlock had been taken off his cabinet, then we were both done for.

  ‘What do we do?’ I whispered.

  ‘We?’ said my brother. ‘You had the keys – it was your job to lock it! Go back and do it, now!’

  I tried to point out that my brother was the one who opened it in the first place – but it was no use. He was bigger, meaner, and crueller than me – and he was even more scared than I was. Every protest was met by a barrage of threats and punches. I had no choice – I was going to have to go back to the study and lock the cabinet myself.

  I took the candle and crept through the house. It was completely silent now – not even our grandfather was awake. Walking through the house was like walking through another world of darkness. On every side a host of dead animals gazed down at me, their eyes glimmering and their faces half cast in shadow.

  I crept into the hall and carefully lifted the keys from the stork’s neck. They seemed even heavier in my hand now. I crept up the staircase, avoiding the stares of a thousand dead animals around me. I tried not to think of the face of the Beast in the cabinet, waiting for me to lift the curtain—

  CREEEEEAK.

  I’d forgotten about the top step.

  The sound echoed through the hall and bounced off the walls. I stood frozen to the spot with terror – surely my grandfather must have heard it? Surely he was going to come running out of his bedroom any second like a madman, waving his bullwhip and shrieking?

  But there was nothing – just the steady, still death of the house around me. I released my foot inch by inch, feeling every creak and groan of the wood like a bone snapping in my leg until I could finally lift it from the step and make my way down the corridor.

  My hands were slick with sweat as I unlocked the study door. Inside the room was as dark as you could expect – I felt like I was exploring the sunken hull of a shipwreck. The flickering candle in my hand glanced off the glass in the cabinets and made the monsters inside look like they were moving.

  I turned to the blood-red curtain in the corner. It stood waiting for me, still and silent.

  I steeled myself as much as I could, but the candle shook in my hand, making shadows dance around the cabinet. I tried not to imagine what the Beast’s face would look like when I pulled back the curtain. I tried not to imagine how the candlelight would shimmer off his greasy skin. I tried not to imagine the moment when I would reach out for the padlock, only for his bony arm to snap forward and grab my wrist—

  I shook my head. There was no use frightening myself like this – I had to do the job and get out, fast. I took a deep breath, marched across the room and whipped off the curtain.

  The cabinet was empty.

  My mind reeled. The Beast was gone. How was that possible? Had he been stolen? Had he—

  CREEEEAK.

  The sound had come from the end of the corridor.

  Something had just stepped on the top of the stairs.

  My blood froze. I couldn’t move – I could barely even breathe. The study door lay open in front of me, but there was only darkness beyond it. I knew deep down that there couldn’t – shouldn’t – be anything there. There was no way that the Beast was walking the house while everyone slept. There was no way a dead man could be coming up the stairs to get me. I told myself that it was simply my grandfather out there in the darkness, come to give me the thrashing of a lifetime.

  But no. I could hear another sound now, coming down the corridor towards me, growing louder and louder … and it didn’t sound like my grandfather’s footsteps. It sounded like two dry sticks being dragged across the carpet.

  A figure slowly emerged from the darkness ahead. I could barely see it in the candlelight – it was little more than an outline. But I could see that it was tall and thin. I could see that its head was bowed. I could see that it was clawing along the walls to steady itself. I could see that it had no feet.

  The figure stopped. I watched as it lifted its head to face me, staring at me with its empty, gaping sockets, the dead, dry skin crackling as it moved …

  And there in front of me was the Beast from the cabinet.

  I was paralysed with horror. The Beast stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Then it opened its lipless mouth with another crackle of dry skin, revealing the gleaming teeth behind it …

  ‘Boooooooy,’ he croaked with delight.

  He fell forwards – only he wasn’t falling. He was coming for me, quicker than I could ever have imagined, his arms outstretched and his stumps scuttling across the carpet like a spider.

  I did the only thing I could think of – I screamed with terror and swung the ring of keys at him. They struck him hard on the side of the head, and with a terrible rip his head tore clean from his neck. No, not clean – it hung upside down at his chest, still connected by a fragment of oily skin, rolling and bouncing off his ribcage as the empty sockets glared at me with rage.

  ‘BOOOOOOOOOOY!’
/>   His hand whipped out and grabbed me – he had me by the hair. He pulled me closer to the terrible mouth, covering me with a wave of paraffin …

  One spark and he’d go up like a furnace.

  And suddenly I knew what to do. I raised the burning candle and plunged it deep into his ribcage.

  The skin caved in like paper. The Beast stared at me in shock – then a sound came from inside him like nothing I’d ever heard before. A shriek so high and piercing that I almost felt my brains rattle against my skull. He threw himself back, the fire catching on his parchment skin like a bonfire and spreading through the paraffin wax in his body. In seconds, he was a raging torch. The room lit up … and I realised with horror that we weren’t alone. The things inside the cabinets – the jars of snakes, the conjoined rats, the headless birds – were alive too, writhing and clawing to escape from the glass. I raced out of the study, flying down the dark corridor as fast as I could.

  There was another scream behind me – a scream of furious agony. The Beast was still coming for me – but he wasn’t on his feet any more. He was dragging himself down the corridor on all fours, burning like an inferno with his arms outstretched. Paraffin gushed from his eyes and nose and mouth in floods and poured onto the carpet beneath him.

  ‘BOOOOOOOOOOOY!’

  His body was falling apart, but the fire wasn’t stopping him. The corridor around him was on fire. The flames spread fast across the paraffin-soaked carpet, licking up to the rows of stuffed heads on the wall – and I realised with horror that they were alive, too. They were craning their necks and bellowing, trying to get away from the flames. The ones on plinths were trying to pull their legs from the stands they were nailed to. They weren’t really dead. They were alive – all of them.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’ I cried, charging down the stairs. ‘Everyone out, quick—’

  I stopped dead. My grandfather was standing in the hall ahead of me.

  He wasn’t looking at the flames eating up the house around him. He wasn’t looking at the thousands of screaming animals that had somehow come alive on his walls, shrieking and writhing with fear. He wasn’t even looking at the flaming corpse of the Beast as it crawled down the staircase towards me.