Neighbourhood Watch

by Lex Sinclair

  They led her down the footpath past the rippling but calm dirty water of the canal to a ragged burrow, tufts of grass at the edges where hands or claws or both, had dug away at the hole (like the mouse she’d envisioned devouring the block of cheese) with an eagerness that only comes to those with emotions running high, such as anger, panic, and excitement; emotions that belonged to someone - or something - desperately wanting to either get in or get out.

  The leader of the strangers pointed with his index finger at the hole. ‘In there lies the truth that everyone keeps a secret. Buried her... underground... is our past. This...’ he swept his cloaked arm in a wide arc... ‘is our future!’

  Corrie stooped down and edged closer and closer to the abyss. If she decided to go in there, she thought, would she ever get back out? Or would she be lost underground for ever with something she had not yet seen, but knew was too dreadful to be left out in plain view.

  ‘I’ don -’

  ‘- Fear not, child, for this is only a dream. However, if you refuse what we ask of you, then greater horrors will await you - but not in your dreams.’

  Corrie hesitated awhile longer... then, not seeing, but aware that she was being watched, decided it would be in her best interest to get on all fours and squeeze through the hole into the gloom.

  Roots jutted from the rounded tunnel that could easily breathe in and squeeze the life right out of her in seconds, or trap her into the ground away from anyone who might have otherwise spotted her. Every time her head, arm, or leg scraped the tight hole around her, soil cascaded. (This happened when she first entered the burrow and her forehead scraped the roof, blinding her momentarily.) Corrie couldn’t see her hands in front of her, clawing, digging through the soft texture, leaving indented finger marks, but if she could have, she knew she’d see them caked in mud, especially under the fingernails.

  When - in the little girl’s estimation - five minutes had ticked by, she looked behind her and saw nothing but darkness so black it could’ve been space. It was the same up ahead, and in her moment of panic, Corrie thought the evil figures (that were neither dead nor alive) had tricked her, purposefully misleading her into the ground, most likely filling the hole they’d dug the second she could no longer see the remaining daylight behind her, laughing and grinning malevolently from ear to ear all the while.

  There was nothing she could do, though. The tunnel was far too narrow to stretch her limbs. Her elbows were already rubbing against the curved walls as it was. It was so closed in that Corrie’s respiration was now coming in ragged breaths. Her chest felt as though someone had wrapped layer upon layer of bandages as tight as they possibly could around her, literally squeezing the air out of her suffocating lungs, incapable of expanding. Stars floated in her eyesight. Had the walls surrounding her come to life and begun drawing closer? she wondered.

  No!

  Yet, why were they now brushing every side of her anatomy, regardless of her keeping her head tucked into her chin and her limbs close together, rubbing each other when ever she moved another inch forward? It was something she couldn’t answer, partially because what was happening to her wasn’t really happening, partially because she was only an eight-year-old child, who had never been in a situation she found herself in right now previously. She had no option but to continue inching forwards down the endless burrow, further into the gloom that her eyes - in spite of having adjusted to the lack of light - could not penetrate.

  Corrie was too young to reassure herself. Nevertheless, the panic setting in gave her adrenaline that coursed through her veins, pumping blood faster than she thought possible, energising her. She clawed her way through the perpetual gloom, eyes squeezed shut, snarling, fighting the fear, determined to make it out of here... alive.

  When she opened her eyes again (she didn’t how long she’d kept them shut, although it was more than a couple of minutes) a flickering orange-yellow light lit the tunnel ahead of her, injecting her heartstrings with relief so overwhelming she laughed aloud, frightened at the sound she’d made.

  The more progress she made, the more she could see the dirt on her hands, drying and crumbling off her (like the chunk of cheese the mouse was nibbling at). The light at the end of the tunnel evoked her mother’s cliché. This was the light at the end of the tunnel she’d been talking about, Corrie thought, smiling.

  The tunnel dipped as she neared the exit, seeing the hole at long last. The flickering light had to be a candle burning at the entrance to a cave she could not yet see.

  She got to the end, the muscles in her arms and legs numb and heavy with exhaustion (something Michael Gibson and Joe Camber would be able to relate to after a gruelling training session), filled with lactic acid to the extent where Corrie could hardly push herself up off her stomach.

  Before she stood upright, she stumbled, as she stepped upon an assemblage of fallen, rounded stones, flailing her arms wildly, fighting for balance, slid - like she’d done on the bank - to the foot in a cloud of dust and soil.

  She waved the cloud out of her face and only removed her hand from her mouth and nose when it had completely dissipated. Then she opened her eyes (after closing them when the dust clouded her face) and gaped at her surroundings.

  What she saw before her evoked another memory relating to her mother. It was a song she liked to listen to over and over again - Hello darkness my old friend? Corrie didn’t know if that was the title or not, but those were some of the lyrics, anyway; and right now those lyrics resonating in her head were pertinent to her thoughts at the horror that followed her when she pivoted faster and faster, trying to get away from it all, like some out-of-control washing machine, sucking her into a place like that programme the elderly lady next door to her sometimes watched when she was babysitting Corrie, while her mother went to the shops - something Corrie enjoyed but didn’t always understand.

  The Twilight Zone! That was it.

  The little girl had no idea what or where the Twilight Zone was, but the pitch darkness of the tunnel was definitely a much better alternative to what she saw now.

  In front of you, you see Death!

  Corrie didn’t recognise the voice of her own mind; neither did she know what it meant. Although, if the four dead bodies lying on the wide floor space of the cave beneath a makeshift, brightly-lit altar and a pagan symbol marking the white stone in crimson streaks wasn’t a representation of Death, she didn’t know what was. Furthermore, there were two skulls facing her on the long table covered in a purple velvet cloth, flames burning inside them, smoke drifting out of the empty eye sockets towards the high ceiling that Corrie could not see the top of because of the gloom and the sheer height. Nevertheless, she saw what at first looked like to be birds hanging upside down; then quickly realised that the birds she first thought were crows were in fact sleeping bats.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, prudently cutting off her scream before it startled the creatures awake, where they’d most likely attack her.

  When the little girl spun on her heels - not hearing, but sensing a presence in the cave - the four towering figures clothed in black robes stood in front of her, blocking any chance of her fleeing back through the tight tunnel the way she’d come.

  But how had they got in here so fast? she wondered. Every time she glanced over her shoulder when she’d been crawling on all fours, she’d neither heard nor seen them approaching. Corrie didn’t have to be told that these creatures standing in the cave with her were not human. She may have only been a child - but some things didn’t need to be spelled out for her.

  She was also aware that there was a good chance she would not ever leave the cave - at least not alive, anyway. There was nothing she could do to thwart the figures doing whatever they damned well please. If they wanted to strangle her to death and dump her body next to the other four lying in a neat row at the foot of the altar, then so be it.

&nb
sp; ‘You are looking at our tomb,’ the leader said, in his deep, faraway voice.

  Corrie couldn’t quite comprehend what he was telling her precisely.

  Does he mean that this is where he and the others were buried? That can’t be so. Otherwise how could he be standing here right now talking to you.

  But he’s not - this a dream, remember?

  ‘You are a wise young girl, the leader said. ‘You and the old lady are the only ones receptive to us in dreams to fully understand our message. The message that would save your life. Instead your stubborn neighbours will not heed our message. They believe that they are doing good - but they’re not.

  ‘When we were first killed and buried... for many years thereafter we rested in peace, only the dead can appreciate. Then on one fateful day the town council decided to build the houses you currently reside in on our burial ground.

  ‘When our peace was disturbed, my brothers and I thought we would finally be given a proper burial in a cemetery with a headstone. That was not to be the case, though. Rather than respect the human shells we once occupied by placing them in a coffin - unlike the first time - we were dumped here... in a cave right under the town that no one ever knew existed.

  ‘They didn’t desecrate our graves. They desecrated our bodies.’

  The shrilling of the bell announcing the end of break time made Corrie’s heart lurch.

  When she stood up she couldn’t feel her bottom, resting on it for a lot longer than the half hour. She closed the lid on her Scooby-Doo lunchbox, stretched her legs and went inside the classroom, her mind in tattered, incoherent thoughts buzzing around the interior of her head like angry bees trapped in a glass jar.

  Every time she glimpsed a classmate; their faces illuminated by the slanting sun coming through the windows, seeing the shapes of their bone, she recalled the skulls staring at her with no eyes, except for the flickering candle flame giving off the sweet aroma of incense.

  9.

  Joe, Hugh, Jake and Michael were standing in his cosy attic that smelled of air freshener and polish.

  Joe had not only cleaned his attic so that it was in immaculate living conditions (more so than any other room in the house), but had also laid a metallic dinner tray table in front of the chair facing the window. Not only that, but Joe had even gone to trouble to provide a two litre bottle of Pepsi Max, a box of doughnuts and some Ritz biscuits for whoever would be on duty at that time.

  He’d been glad he’d managed to get his other neighbours involved in this stakeout concept, for two reasons. One: it meant he didn’t have to keep it a secret from anyone else and risk being caught watching them. And two: it meant he didn’t have to stakeout here all day and night all by himself. It was a lot better to have three more guys willing to do what he’d been doing for some time now.

  Michael had explained that he couldn’t do the evenings, due to the fact that he worked as a security guard at Wilkinson’s store at that time of day. The same applied with Jake in the mornings. Joe and Hugh could fill out the rest of the time between themselves.

  All the men were impressed with the layout of the attic, and that this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment notion thrown in for the sake of it.

  ‘I’m not too concerned about the daytime; although we can’t be sure about anything. What I’m most concerned about is the nights. That seems to be the time our intruder/intruders tend to make their presence known. It’s also the most popular time for criminals, because almost everyone is fast asleep, vulnerable. And even if they do wake, by the time they realise what’s going on, they’ve either been robbed or had their throats slashed... or both if they’re incredibly unfortunate.’

  Hugh shifted on his feet for the umpteenth time since he’d climbed up the stepladder into the attic. Finally, Joe asked: ‘Are you all right, Hugh, my man?’

  He winced and nodded simultaneously. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just my hip is playing up again. It always gives me a bit of grief, at least once every week.’

  Joe didn’t like the sound of that. ‘You know if you’re not feeling up to this, you don’t have an obligation to stay here. If it’s beneficial for you to go home and lie down, then you ought to.’

  ‘Nah,’ Hugh said, waving at him to stop fretting. ‘I’ll be fine. Anyway, it’s worst sometimes if I’m immobile for any length of period. I probably just slept on it awkwardly last night, that’s all.’

  Joe pointed to the portable TV set on a small round table. ‘The TV doesn’t work yet. I haven’t had chance to tune it in. But if there’s more than one of us up here and there’s no activity on the street, you can watch some DVDs. Just remember, though, this isn’t a gathering of mates, as such. We’re here for a purpose.’

  Each and every one of them felt the atmosphere in the room change drastically.

  ‘Some poor mutt had his belly torn open and was then used as a paintbrush to leave a bone-chilling message in an old lady’s house. Remember that, guys, when you’re up here. I don’t mind you all having a laugh and chat with one another, but if we’re gonna do this, then we have got to do it properly. Cause if someone else goes missing or winds up dead, you’re gonna feel like shit for the rest of your lives. If you don’t wanna do this, that’s fine. But if so, do yourselves a favour and leave now.’

  The three men wore serious, sullen faces - not moving an inch.

  ‘Sorry,’ Joe said at last, breaking the silence. ‘I had to say that. I didn’t want you guys thinking that this was a place to hang out, to enjoy yourselves and not doing what it is we are supposed to be doing.’

  The guys agreed with him one hundred percent.

  ***

  Naomi was bent over the vacuum cleaner in the living room doing her weekly household chore - the one she dreaded most because of the dull ache it gave her in the small of her back when she was finished and stood upright. Nevertheless, like all the jobs around the house, it had to be done. If she left it more than a couple of days the place looked like a pigsty. Yet, today she was more than happy to be doing the vacuuming. Perhaps it would preoccupy her, so that she didn’t have to keep going over the meeting at Hugh’s house yesterday afternoon.

  She didn’t like where it was headed when talk of the dead found its way into the topic of conversation, immediately taking them, Naomi thought, in a whole different direction. It had rapidly turned into a ludicrous argument about who believed in the supernatural and who didn’t. At one point Naomi had pinched herself in order to make sure what she was seeing unfold was not a dream but an insane reality.

  Death is at our doorstep... and will enter whether or not we answer the call.

  Martha had said that. Was she so mentally distressed after seeing her dog brutally murdered that she’d started babbling? Or was the clairvoyant seeing - picking up signals - something else. Something foreboding coming their way?

  Naomi shook her head derisively at her own thoughts. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be the one who wound up in a nuthouse, running back and forth in a sleeveless jacket, bashing herself against the padded walls, muttering incoherently, hearing the unpleasant sounds of the vacuum cleaner sucking away her sanity, leaving her only with insurmountable madness.

  GET OUT!

  The words resonated in her head against her better judgment, forcing her way through her other mundane thoughts, not meaning anything.

  She killed the vacuum cleaner, glad that awful, deafening noise was swallowed up into the machine, and headed into the kitchen, looking through the window at the back yard where Corrie was sitting on the lawn, peculiarly not playing, merely sitting there, pulling blades of grass up and watching the breeze blow it away out of her open hand.

  What’s troubling her? I hope she’s not coming down with something.

  Naomi rapped gently on the pane, getting her daughter’s attention. Then she opened the window ajar and said: ‘What�
�s the matter?’

  Corrie shook her head. ‘Nothin’. Just bored.’

  ‘Bored?’ Naomi gave her an incredulous look. Not once had she known her little girl to be bored. She was always doing something. In fact, there weren’t enough hours in the day to satisfy her daughter’s hobbies, even if it was the weekend.

  ‘You can help me do the cleaning up, if you like?’ Naomi kidded.

  Corrie cocked her head, contemplating seriously. Then said in a chirpy voice: ‘Okay.’

  Naomi was visibly shocked. She’d only said that so her daughter would go and find something to do, anything but a chore, and yet her notion had backfired on her for the first time ever.

  She thought she knew her daughter.

  Naomi explained to her that it was a joke, but Corrie insisted she wanted to do something to help her mother. And although it was a generous offer, Naomi wanted her daughter to enjoy the freedom of childhood before life sunk its razor sharp teeth into her as she grew up and faced responsibilities.

  They washed and dried the dishes together, like a good mother and daughter. Yet, even though they both talked and laughed with one another, both mother and daughter were constantly thinking about what they’d seen and heard in the last couple of days in their neighbourhood... and the macabre that flashed in their minds, penetrating their once peaceful lives.

  ***

  The dream Corrie had had on Thursday night was more real than anyone would’ve ever believed. The burrow in earth alongside the Neath Canal did lead to a cave underground, unknown, out of sight from the residents of the town.

  She’d seen it with her own eyes.

  Corrie had asked her mother if they could go for a walk alongside the canal one day after the school. She’d still been thinking about the dream for four consecutive days, until she decided the only way to put her mind at rest was to see if there was a hole identical to the one she’d crawled through.