by Lex Sinclair
‘Corrie, do you know what they want from us, apart from telling us to leave?’
Her eyes were like shiny orbs. Her unblemished features were a ghastly pallor. Yet when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly strong. ‘They want to replace us.’
Joe glanced at a Naomi, who, as you might expect expressed her worry for her daughter’s mental state. ‘What do you mean by that exactly?’
Corrie’s eyes found Martha’s magnified eyes behind her lens, and the clairvoyant froze, as a flash of images flew through her mind’s eye.
Joe glanced over his shoulder at Martha, noticing that the youngest resident and the oldest resident were communicating like identical twins, reading each other’s mind, the way everyone else read a book. He wanted desperately to ask what they were saying and seeing. But he wisely chose to not say a word in case he broke the connection that was somehow imperative to them all.
In that moment, both Corrie and Martha heard nothing, except the high-pitched whistling reaching a crescendo in their ears. Simultaneously, they clapped their hands over their ears, attempting to muffle the sound so that it was at least bearable and didn’t burst their eardrums, deafening them permanently.
Of course, no one else in the room could hear this deafening whistling; otherwise they too would have been trying to block out the awful sound. Instead they watched in utter silence, realising that something way beyond their comprehension was taking place. Then the secret was revealed in a shower of glass, shattering the windows in the living room into tiny shards, raining down on the cowering residents who had instinctively hurled themselves face down on the floor to protect themselves from the sudden onslaught.
Joe shielded his eyes; however, pieces of razor-sharp glass speckled the rest of his face, breaking the skin in several places, oozing blood from the fresh wounds, stinging him, as though a hundred splinters embedded in his cheeks now plucked from their resting place. The background din of shattering glass sounded like the background effects of a main theme tune for a horror film.
When all they could hear was their own ragged breathing, one by one, they slid their hands away from their faces, tentatively opened their eyes now that the storm of broken glass had finally ceased. From outside a gust of wind billowed in the parted curtains.
They shivered from the chilly draught, hugging themselves from the icy cold numbing their bones.
‘Is everyone all right?’ Jake called out.
Apart from the scratches that were unavoidable, and the mind-numbing fear keeping them all pinned to the floor where they’d thrown themselves, they’d all managed to remain reasonably unscathed by the inexplicable attack. No one dare moved, however, afraid of what might happen if they got to a standing position and something not of this world happened again.
Joe crawled on all fours to where Naomi covered Corrie from any stray pieces of glass that would harm her only child; not wanting to lose another loved one on the same night. He rested his hand gently on Naomi’s shoulder. She recoiled, not seeing who it was that had touched her; then calmed herself when she saw that it was Joe.
‘Corrie, are you all right?’
Corrie said that she was fine.
‘How ‘bout you?’ he said looking at Naomi, finding himself feeling something deeper than lust for the attractive, frightened young woman.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She stretched a tremulous hand out to his face, and for a moment Joe thought she was going to caress his cheek with her tender touch. Instead she pulled a piece of bloodied glass protruding from around his mouth... and another large piece a couple of inches beneath his left eye.
Joe grimaced.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But if you close your eye while that thing was there, you’d most likely cause yourself a lot more pain.’
Joe thanked her for her benevolence. Then he turned back to the matter at hand.
‘That was them, wasn’t it Corrie?’
‘Yes. They want us to suffer the same fate they suffered.’
‘You mean death?’
Some must die so others can live, a guttural voice inside her head declared. The young girl’s throat worked convulsively.
Joe didn’t need her to give him a verbal answer. The wide-eyed look and the difficulty swallowing said more than words could. He couldn’t begin to imagine the state of her fragile mind, in seeing and knowing things that a child her age should have no knowledge of whatsoever. And yet, the most remarkable thing about it all was, she appeared to be coping rather well considering the set of circumstances dealt to her by a seemingly unstoppable force.
‘Can we stop them?’
‘I don’t know,’ Corrie replied in a weak voice.
‘What was that place you showed me?’ Martha interjected, getting their undivided attention.
‘That’s where the one you call the “demon” brought them back to life. It’s also where I’ve been in my dreams; and where they took my dad.’
‘It’s their lair,’ Martha said. ‘That’s where their bodies were dragged before the foundations were dug - where they were originally buried. And unlike poltergeists, they’re not haunting us merely because we live on their burial ground, but because the “demon” owns their souls. They are His disciples. The Acolytes of Doom. Resurrected from the keeper of their souls for the “demon’s” purposes.’ Martha stared at Joe, a light going off in her brain. ‘That’s what you saw in the ground. The eyes of the demon. Satan. The devil - whatever you want to call him.’
‘That’s been the voice in our heads. The reason our sleep has been affected by harrowing nightmares,’ Sherri said. ‘The devil knows all our secrets. The Acolytes of Doom simply wanted us to get off their burial ground - but the devil wants blood and vengeance. And they must obey his commands or they lose their eternal life, which he gave them a hundred years ago, when they offered him their spirits.’
Joe could feel his heart pulsing in his throat, listening intently, absorbing everything that was being said with a clarity he never knew he was capable of in stressful situations, until now. Even though to an outsider this would, without a shadow of doubt, sound like the discussion of a deluded cult, it made perfect sense. It answered questions his subconscious had locked up in the storage room where he didn’t always have access to.
The thing with the goat’s head, Joe thought, shuddering involuntarily. Jesus H. Christ! This isn’t something I can defeat with my fists. This is something that will probably destroy us without much effort.
‘I think we should take our chances and get the hell outta here,’ Jake said. ‘If we stay here contemplating our options any longer, we’re not going to have any options left. I mean, they can obviously break into our homes, whether the windows and doors are locked or not. We know that much for sure, right? I say we all get into two cars and drive as far away from here as we can - at least for tonight. We can get in touch with the authorities, tell them what’s happened. They’re bound to believe us because of all the shit that happened on Thorburn Close; not to mention the dead bodies they found in the barn, and the dead detective in Seven Sisters.’
‘But what about Hugh, though?’ Joe asked. ‘We can’t abandon him. In a short while, he’ll be getting discharged from the hospital to come home to a deserted street. Not only that - those shape-shifters don’t care about us. Look what they did to that detective for simply doing his job. They’re not going to show us any sympathy. Would you - if your life and soul depended on it, and you could get away with murder? The police can’t arrest something that’s already dead and doesn’t leave traces at the crime scene. We could jump on a plane and fly all the way to Fiji, but those creatures of the night will find us and kill us in the end... because that’s what the thing with the goat’s head wants.’
Jake stood up, indignant. ‘Why the hell are you being so pessimistic? And how the hell do you know what they can and can’t
do, anyway?’
‘He’s right.’ It was Martha who spoke.
No one spoke. The two words uttered by the clairvoyant still resonated in their heads.
15.
The Intensive Care Unit was quiet, save for the sound of the night-shift nurse’s plimsolls going back and forth across the glossy linoleum. Hugh had slept for three hours without interruption, but now he was awake and the cloak of darkness had lifted from him. He knew he wouldn’t drift back off again for another couple of hours. He didn’t like the unfamiliar surroundings, yet after last night, he felt a lot safer. Especially after hearing Joe’s story, and about what Michael had seen.
As soon as he got better, Hugh was going to phone the police and inform them of all the goings-on. If they thought he was a crazy old fool, then so be it. That wasn’t important any more. What was important was making sure no one else lost their life thanks to those ghastly creatures.
He glanced at the IV drip beside his bed and wondered what would have happened had the hooded creatures not vanished when the midnight hour was up. For sure he would be lying on a gurney in the freezer compartment in the mortuary downstairs if that had been the case.
Nevertheless, the more he thought about how they’d come to him and the others in that short space of time, the more important it was. Evidently the hooded figures had another leader besides the one whom had strangled him and very nearly took his life. The true master of evil. The one who’d offered them eternal life for doing his work. But, according to the gospel, the devil was a master of not only evil but deception and trickery. The thing with the goat’s head had promised them an eternal life in the physical form. They had to kill to grow flesh around their bones, which they’d done.
Blood is all that separates life or death as does death separate light from dark, a strange, malevolent voice had told him. But had the master of evil lied to them? His promise of an eternal existence would not stop at seeking vengeance on the residents of Thorburn and Willet Close, where they’d been buried, after their sacrifice - abandoning God for the keeper of their souls.
Yet, what made Hugh sit upright, wincing at the sudden lance of pain shooting through his spine, was if there was some way they could communicate with the creatures of the night: The Acolytes of Doom. Or whatever other name was suitable for them and the one with the goat’s head. After all, Hugh understood that they could only speak to themselves. It was the thing with those blazing red eyes that spoke to them in their minds. It was he - or it - that was controlling the whole scenario.
***
Meanwhile back at Joe’s house, the residents had grown weary, now that it was apparent that the attacks had ceased for the time being, anyway.
Joe sauntered into the kitchen and got everyone a glass and poured them drinks. Sherri and Emma followed him into the kitchen to give him some assistance. Joe didn’t appear to be as strong as he portrayed initially, and Michael - although had a body good enough to win the Mr. Universe award - wasn’t someone who could get everyone’s undivided attention, unless he was shouting at them.
When they returned to the living room, stepping over the shards of glass glinting in the light, Joe said, ‘I think it would be best if we all went to someone’s house where there are no broken windows and chilly draughts and stayed together for tonight. I doubt there’s going to be any more incidents - but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Everyone agree on that?’
They all said they did.
Once they’d drained their drinks, Joe put the glasses back in the sink ready for washing when he returned tomorrow, grabbed a coat from the hanger in the hallway, made sure everyone exited the house slowly and quietly before locking the front door behind him. (They had decided to go to Martha’s house across the street). He didn’t know why he even bothered locking the front door as he ambled down the path. If anyone living or undead wanted access to his house all they had to do was wander around the back and jump through the gap where, not so long ago, a large double-pane glass had blocked out the blackness of night and the cold.
He was about to step off the kerb when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Stopping in mid-step, Joe pivoted and saw four hooded figures appear from the alleyways between the identical properties.
His heart turned to stone.
What he saw prevented him from moving any further.
Martha and the others turned around all waiting for the old lady to open the front door so they could get inside and get some much-required rest before it was time for the sun to make its appearance. When they saw what Joe was gawking at, they too halted.
Without looking at them, Joe shouted, ‘Get inside! Now!’
‘What about you?’ Jake called out.
‘Keep the front door open. But if I don’t make it, make sure you close and lock it behind you.’
The four hooded figures advanced on the former undisputed middleweight champion of the world, not in haste, but with purpose. They had an objective. The faction walked towards Joe, not as apparitions, but as physical beings. The fact that they were real made what happen to Hugh the night before all the more frightening. With every death or pain inflicted on the residents, the stronger the foursome became. This was the eternal life they’d been promised in exchange for their ungodly sacrifice.
‘Joe!’ Michael yelled. Then seeing Joe, not even blinking, yelled again. ‘JOE!’
The recently divorced legendary boxer snapped out of his hypnotic state and hurried across the street away from the hooded figures, whom were almost within touching distance.
‘Come on!’
Joe, who was the last inside, slammed the door, shaking the house, locked it with the key and then put the safety chain on for good measure, staring through the pane of glass at the wall of darkness beyond it, expecting the creatures of the night to slink through the gap and enter Martha’s home, uninvited.
Martha flicked on every light in the house, slightly reassured now that she could see in front of her. She then motioned for everyone to get into the living room area, lucky not to have bumped into those hooded figures that very nearly seized Joe in their deadly grasp.
Joe was the last into the living room. He was still shaking from seeing those things up close. Too close for comfort. He darted to the picture window, peered through the curtains and wasn’t certain if seeing the street outside deserted was a good thing or not.
Jake came and stood alongside him by the window and looked outside. Then he faced his friend. ‘They’re gone, for now. I think they just wanted to frighten us, that’s all.’
‘They almost got me!’ Joe said, not sounding like himself.
Jake didn’t see the point about denying that comment. He nodded, concurring with his friend. ‘Yeah. They almost did. But they didn’t.’
Martha was staring at Corrie, who was still being cradled close to her mother’s bosom, watching as the little girl’s eyes fell back into the roof of her skull, showing only the glistening whites. Drool escaped her parted lips and ran down the underside of her chin.
‘Corrie has got something to tell me,’ Martha said matter-of-factly, pointing to the young girl.
Naomi shrieked at seeing her daughter suffering a fit of some kind that had nothing to do with epilepsy. The fit Corrie was having had to do with seeing something too terrible to describe in words or gesticulations. Flashing images of a graphic nature had temporarily put the girl into a coma.
‘What’s happening to her?’ Naomi cried.
‘They’re showing her something truly evil,’ Martha replied.
‘You did this!’ Naomi accused the old lady, not making any sense to herself or the others in her hysterical rant. ‘You’re cursing her! Leave my baby alone, you demented bitch!’
Martha wasn’t at all shocked by Naomi’s outburst; she didn’t mean anything she’d said; she was understandably frightened fo
r her daughter’s well-being and was lashing out at anyone in the vicinity to blame for this unexplainable, harrowing incident.
‘Corrie is not hurt,’ Martha said in a clear voice. ‘They’re just using her to terrify all of us. I think they’re using the child, so that she doesn’t remember and understand what they’re showing her thereafter.’
‘You’re not making any sense!’ Naomi protested.
Martha crossed the room to where Naomi held her precious little girl. Naomi flinched, giving the elderly lady a baleful look. Martha held her hands up in a defensive gesture. Then she took Corrie’s lifeless hands in her wrinkly ones, squeezed her eyes shut, blocked out the sounds of Naomi telling her to get away from them, and focused on the images flashing through the little girl’s mind like a TV signal.
***
She found herself walking down a well-lit corridor with white walls, fluorescent fixtures overhead reflecting off the shiny linoleum. The corridor was empty, save for an obese nurse with brown curly hair heading towards her, (not even glancing at her) before pushing a heavy green door open to her left and disappearing into the staff toilet.
Why didn’t she see me? There’s only us two around. Usually they are quite vigilant in enquiring what you wanted and whom you were visiting. Not that nurse, though. She didn’t even see me, unless she saw me in her peripheral vision, but couldn’t care less. Come to think about it, I don’t know where I’m headed. I don’t even know where I am.
It’s a hospital... that much I understand. Which hospital and what the reason is I’m doing here, I haven’t a clue. Yet there has to be a specific reason. I’m sure whatever that reason is will be revealed to me when the time is right. But it’s the not knowing - the curiosity - that’s driving me mad.
A sign above two green doors showed an arrow pointing to the right, reading Intensive Care Unit. For a moment, the fog of mystery still clouded the clairvoyant’s puzzled thoughts, then it suddenly came to her why she was here, and who she was about to see.