Neighbourhood Watch

by Lex Sinclair

  Michael could feel blood surging through his veins surfacing on his taut, muscular skin. He clenched and unclenched his hands, struggling to control his temper. What kind of sick, twisted bastard would do such a ghastly thing to someone? This wasn’t just some ordinary snap-judgment murder; this was contrived by a mind so disturbed that it shouldn’t have anything to do with the world. He didn’t care if these shape-shifters were supernatural or not, if he got his hands around their necks he’d squeeze the life right out of them.

  Without having to be asked twice, Michael came forward and aided Joe in getting Naomi to a vertical base, slinging her arm over his shoulder. She was a lot lighter than she looked, but that could also be because he was pumped up with adrenaline and rage.

  ‘Did you see who did his?’ he asked the distraught woman.

  ‘Mike!’ Joe chastised.

  Michael believed that if he and Joe ever did have a fight, that he could beat the middleweight champion, yet he chose to obey Joe’s command, for the sake of the poor woman. Not because he was afraid of Joe.

  Jake followed the two men as they carried Naomi across the back yard down the narrow alley towards the front of the house, when Sherri gasped. He spun around, alerted by the educated woman’s startled noise and saw what had shocked her.

  The lawn around the cross was opening up, widening the hole the cross jutted from, big enough so the horizontal piece of timber (which Brian’s arms and legs were pinned down to) could fit through the ravine.

  ‘Joe!’ he yelled.

  Joe halted, glimpsed Michael, silently asking if he could manage on his own for a minute, then hurried back to where Jake, Sherri and Martha stood transfixed. ‘What is it?’

  Jake pointed. ‘Look!’

  Joe saw the ground collapsing in on itself, breaking up the immaculately trimmed lawn. Then watched as the cross with the charred remains of Naomi’s husband and Corrie’s father being lowered by an unseen force into the hole.

  He was too afraid to move. Fear had paralysed him for his own sake. God only knew what was pulling the cross into the ground with such ease. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. He put a hand over it, actually believing that any more continuous whacks to the ribcage like it was doing and the organ would inevitably escape its confinement.

  Gotta be brave! Gotta be brave! Gotta be brave! He reiterated this about a dozen times, faster and faster as the panic clawed into his throat with the quickening of his electric pulse.

  Finally, he managed to get his cemented feet moving forward, one foot in front of the other, the same as Hugh had to learn to do after his near-fatal accident involving a white transit van when he was about Joe’s age. The lawn appeared to be much larger than when he first arrived, now that it had a great big hole in it. In spite of that, he confronted his trepidation, and neared the gap where Brian’s remains had disappeared, got to the edge, steadied his nerves for another heart-jolting surprise... then peered over the edge.

  The sight of the blazing red eyes piercing the pitch darkness, like two taillights was enough to throw Joe backwards away from the hole with incredible force. He didn’t feel himself falling on his arse, nor did he feel the impact. His breath was coming in short, wheezy exhalations; his chest rising and falling far too quickly for it to be healthy - and yet, he’d been breathing normally when surrounded by the thick black smoke. This shortage of breath was the sight of the eyes that weren’t really eyes, staring back at him, daring him to enter, so he too could be dragged to Hell.

  ‘What did you see?’ Jake asked, his voice echoing down a long tunnel of his mind.

  Joe’s mouth was hanging open, yet it was dry of saliva, and he couldn’t get it working even if he wanted to. After much effort, his mouth did open and close, but no words came out.

  Jake shot an anxious look at Sherri and Martha. ‘Get the hell outta here, now! There’s something in there, and it could get out for one of us if we don’t get our skates on.’ Then he turned back to Joe and spoke into his friend’s ear. ‘Come on, buddy. No time for sitting around out here admiring the view, we’ve got to get going.’ He gripped Joe under the arms and dragged him across the grass, already glistening with dew, then hoisted him up to his feet and carried him away, not without glancing at the hole in the ground closing up, getting narrower so that it was no longer discernible, one last time.

  14.

  Emma was upstairs lifting Corrie up off the landing at the same time Jake was doing the same with the former middleweight champion of the world. She was oblivious to what lurked in the foundations the house was built upon, unbeknownst to them until only recently.

  Prudently, Emma decided against trying to get Corrie to snap out of her unconscious state. It would take too long. And at the moment, time wasn’t her best friend. All she had to do was get the little girl out of the house, across the road and into Joe’s place as quickly and as safely as possible. Once inside the house, they could concentrate on her well-being. Then Joe, or Martha, or someone with an idea would suggest something sensible so that no one would die in similar circumstances as the unfortunate soul who’d been nailed to the cross and burned alive.

  Emma was only grateful that she hadn’t been there when the man was engulfed by the roasting flames, dying in what might be considered the most agonising deaths there ever was. Furthermore, neither Naomi nor Corrie - who had she seen her father screaming away his last few moments of life away - would ever recover from the events of tonight; not even if they lived to be a thousand... or ten thousand for that matter.

  As she made her way downstairs, holding onto Corrie (feeling what it might be like to a mother for the first time) the lights flicked on, momentarily blinding her. She slipped on the riser she’d been descending in the darkness, and very nearly lost her balance, dropping Corrie down the steps the rest of the way. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. She managed to correct herself, gripping the banister fiercely, getting to the ground safely. Then a sudden awareness shot through her system. Icy fear raced over her making goosebumps crawl over her arms.

  There was someone else in the house, besides her and Corrie... Not wanting to find out who, Emma reached for the handle, pushed down, yanked the front door open and leapt over the step onto the path outside, welcoming the fresh breeze, mussing her hair.

  In her peripheral vision, she noticed Jake practically carrying Joe Camber (wonders never cease) to the front of the house, panting with exertion. He gave her a feeble smile, glad to see her in spite of the fact that they were both terrified out of their wits and sweating profusely.

  ‘What happened to Joe?’ she asked.

  ‘Never mind that just now. Get over to his house, pronto.’

  Emma jogged across the deserted road towards Joe’s house where Martha stood waving them to hurry up. Jake took considerably longer, because Joe weighed a lot more than the little girl. Also, he was babbling something incoherent.

  ‘... eyes that went on and on... devil’s eyes. Like narrow slits, brighter than any eclipse... so fuckin’ bright! They would’ve swallowed me... sucked the soul right outta me...’

  Jake did his utmost to ignore what his friend was saying, not that it made much sense. But what he caught was unnerving to say the least.

  ‘Okay. We’re almost there, Joe. Nearly home. You’ll be fine. We’ve all had ourselves a terrible shock, that’s all.’

  Joe started chuckling. But Jake didn’t detect a trace of humour behind it.

  ‘What’s so funny? Huh?’

  Joe shook his head, still chuckling stupidly. ‘We’re all gonna die, man! That thing with the goat’s head and those hooded figures aren’t gonna let us live. No way! NO

  FUCKIN’ WAY!’ With that he burst into fits of crazy, hysterical laughter. ‘Woo hoo hoo hoo!’ Then he began singing. ‘They’re gonna kill us. They’re gonna kill us, doo da, doo da. Heh, heh! Woo!’

  �
��Joe, seriously... shut the fuck up!’

  Joe pressed the palm of his clammy hand against his furrowed brow, shaking his head once again, fighting the urge to go totally insane after what he’d just seen that threatened to contaminate his soul.

  As soon as they stepped inside Joe’s home, Jake pivoted, closed the door, took hold of his friend and helped him into the living room where they flopped down on the sofa. Jake was out of breath. He wasn’t used to heavy lifting like Michael. Helping Joe across the road was like carrying two bags of cement in his skinny arms. Folding his arms, he heard the tendons creak. Oh, that doesn’t sound good, he thought, grimacing in pain.

  At the opposite end of the room from where Jake and Joe were, Corrie was lying on the floor, coming to. Naomi was stooped down by her side, along with Sherri and Emma, crying and snivelling at her unsuccessful attempts of saving her husband. The graphic and disturbing images replayed themselves in her head, and the stench of acrid black smoke still clung to her, filling her nostrils.

  Once consciousness flooded back into Corrie’s system, she wasted no time eyeing everyone in the room from the carpet, wondering how on earth she’d got to where she was, not recognising the unfamiliar interior; then regarding her mum, closely. Although, unlike her hysterical mother, Corrie didn’t shed a tear, which was quite astounding, considering she knew before anyone else the atrocity that befell her recently departed, rehabilitated father.

  ‘Everyone,’ Michael called out, loud enough so everyone could hear him; but no one paid him much attention. They were still coming to terms with the horror that had rudely invaded their homes on this fateful night. ‘Everybody!’ he shouted. This time everyone met his firm gaze. ‘We got to calm down. If we all start panicking then we’re gonna make this situation worse for ourselves. Does everyone agree with that theory?’

  They mumbled something in response; not sounding at all convincing.

  Michael looked at Joe, whose brow was glistening with sweat.

  ‘What did you see?’

  Joe looked at him. Initially he was perplexed by the question, totally unaware that it was directed at him. ‘Huh? Oh...’ he dithered, not sure what else to say, as if he were incoherent. ‘Uh... I don’t really know what to say about that. I’ve never seen such a thing so terrifying in all my life.’

  Sherri turned away from Corrie now that she was awake and being comforted by her weeping mother, faced the rest of the group, and said, ‘When I was a young woman studying for my degree, I accidentally killed a man. Last night the voice in my head made me remember every single detail of that gruesome incident; freezing the marrow in my bones, waking me from my deep sleep in the middle of the night.’

  After a few moments pause, listening to each other’s harsh breaths and weeping, Michael answered. ‘Sherri, I don’t know what you did in the past; nor do I particularly give a toss. I’m sure whatever things you did that were wrong you’re sorry for. All I can say is don’t pay the voice any attention... But for the meantime we need to deal with the problems at hand.’

  ‘I think what she’s saying is that the story she told us all in that library book, is in fact true. There is a force far greater than us haunting us - and it won’t stop until we do what has been asked,’ Martha interjected.

  ‘You mean we should up and leave our homes?’ Jake said, the veins on his neck standing out like electrical cords.

  ‘Better homeless than dead,’ the old lady replied.

  ‘She’s got a point, Jake,’ Emma said. ‘I mean look what happened to Hugh and the rest of us, for God’s sake! Hugh’s lucky to be alive.’

  ‘The midnight hour belongs to the dead,’ Sherri added.

  Michael could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He’d just asked everyone - for their own benefit - to calm themselves (i.e., not talk about frightening entities that they had no defence against). Of course, his sensible notion was a lost cause. After all, what did he expect them to discuss? Evolution? The damage the human race had done to the Ozone layer? Time travel? No! They were going to sit here and make a decision about how they were going to deal with the matter at hand.

  ‘What did you see in the ground that was so awful, Joe?’ Michael snapped.

  Joe told them about the blazing red eyes.

  ‘The goat!’ Corrie exclaimed, and everyone in the room shot her an incredulous look.

  Joe sat bolt-upright, eyes protruding from their sockets. ‘What do you know about that thing with the goat’s head?’ His voice strained his vocal cords, as rough as rubbing sandpaper on your face.

  ‘He’s their true master!’

  ‘Who is?’ Joe challenged. ‘The thing with the goat’s head?’

  Corrie nodded. ‘He gave them their second life.’

  ‘There’s nothing about that in the book?’ Sherri said.

  ‘The man with the goat’s head only came to them after they were buried in the ground. But he’s not actually a man. He’s a nasty thing.’

  ‘A demon,’ Joe said, staring absently at the broken clock and smashed television set.

  Corrie didn’t know what that word meant, nevertheless she nodded.

  ‘That’s why they can move like the wind; vanish at will -’

  ‘Like one of them did last night when I went outside to search for it, seeing it go past my kitchen window?’ Michael added.

  ‘That’s right... It also means they rise up from their graves and enter our homes without having to use the entrances that we use. They are not human, and therefore can change shape: hence the name shape-shifters. One minute they can move like an apparition, slinking through closed doorways - the next they can evolve into physical beings which are as tangible as us, giving them the ability to hurt us in the physical sense, like they’ve done to Hugh.’

  ‘The hole in the ground refilled itself,’ Joe said.

  ‘You know why, don’t you?’ Martha inquired, glancing at everyone in the room. ‘Cause, we can’t prove there was a man nailed to a cross and burned alive before our very own eyes. If we go to the authorities, they’ll think we’ve all gone mad. Or worse still... purposely wasting their time. Either way, we can’t prove Naomi’s husband is dead or not.’

  Naomi had stopped crying now and was rocking Corrie in her arms close to her bosom to and fro. She kept her gaze on her daughter and nothing else; however, she heard every word the others said about Brian. She never thought it was possible for her to shed tears of unsustainable grief, but here she was in Joe’s house in the night cradling Corrie, knowing that she nor her little girl would ever see Brian again.

  She cried mostly, because she remembered him arriving out of the blue on her doorstep, a recovering alcoholic, wanting, needing, to see both of them so he could apologise sincerely for the way he’d treated them both when he was under the influence of insurmountable rage induced by his near-fatal addiction. It was clear that he had changed, after years of doing some in-depth soul-searching, facing a lot of hard truths that he had to come to terms with, before finally being able to forgive himself and to show them how regretful he was.

  No doubt Naomi would have been hurt and upset by Brian’s sudden death, even if he hadn’t apologised and shown them that he’d gone through a transition not many people can endure. But seeing the sorrow in his eyes, looking at her and not through her, when he had sat on the sofa that day, confessing his wrongdoings was what Naomi remembered. He had repented. That’s what mattered most. And as Brian said to her, he couldn’t turn back the hands of time... although he could learn from his mistakes.

  ‘I think we should take a vote on what options we have,’ Michael said, breaking Naomi’s train of thought. ‘Who wants to stay here? And who wants to get in a car and drive to a hotel or a bed sit for a couple of nights?’

  ‘We gotta report everything,’ Naomi said. ‘We can say that we believe that it’s the same people who l
eft Hugh for dead last night.’

  Joe got up and headed across the room, picked the phone up off the receiver on the window sill and punched in numbers he read from a small square piece of paper.

  ‘Who’re you calling?’ Jake wanted to know.

  ‘Inspector Sark. He’s the only one I know who’ll believe any of this.’ Joe raised his hand up, signalling for everyone to stop talking as he listened to the ringing tone at the other end. ‘Come on. Come on! Pick up.’ Finally the incessant ringing cut off abruptly.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Inspector Sark? It’s me, Joe Camber.’

  ‘Oh, how’s it hanging, champ?’

  ‘Uh, not too good, actually. In fact, that’s the reason I’m calling you. You’re kind of the only one I can trust.’

  ‘What’s the matter? You sound unlike your usual self.’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that... Listen -’ The connection broke instantly. Joe pulled the receiver away from his ear, contorted his face, wondering what had disconnected them in the middle of their conversation. He killed the line, and then redialled... waited for the familiar dialling tone - but nothing came.

  The line was dead.

  ‘What did he say?’ Sherri enquired, concerned.

  ‘We were cut off,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘The same as our electricity was cut off last night, even though there was no power cut in the area.’

  ‘It’s them!’ Corrie spoke absently.

  There was no denying that fact. It would do them no good trying to hide behind lies and denial, regardless of the surreal facts staring right at them.

  ‘I think they’ve given us enough warnings to get the hell outta here. Now, they’re out of patience. Now they’ll make us suffer.’

  Joe marched across the room, stooped down in front of Corrie and Naomi, met the little girl’s eyes, taking her small, soft hand in his clammy grip, reminding himself not to squeeze and inadvertently hurt her. God knows she’d suffered enough for one night.