Uncanny Kingdom: An Eleven Book Urban Fantasy Collection (Uncanny Kingdom Omnibus 1)

by David Bussell

  My feet crunched over shards of broken bone as we trudged across a field and headed towards a tangle of dilapidated stone buildings. They jutted out at odd angles, squashed together, like teeth in need of a dentist. Decay had long ago set in. No window remained unbroken, no rooftop whole. This was the first evidence of dwellings, of a town or village, that I had seen in this place.

  ‘Who lives in this town?’ I asked.

  ‘Hm? Oh. A few skeletons. A few ghosts.’

  Ghosts. ‘So ghosts are real?’

  ‘Course. You saw them vampires. What is they eating if not ghosts? Ghosts, souls, all the same thing.’

  Chloe appeared in my mind’s eye for a heartbeat, reflected in the bathroom mirror, her hand reaching out to me like she was drowning.

  Distracted, I walked into the back of the fox, who had come to an abrupt stop.

  ‘Shit, sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said, as I booted him in the rear end.

  The fox stood and righted its helmet again.

  ‘No need for sorries with me, saviour. All hail the Magic Eater.’

  ‘Carry on with that, I’ll kick you again.’

  The fox shut up.

  ‘So, why have we stopped?’

  ‘Red Woman. She’s in there,’ replied the fox, using his axe to point at the building we were stood before. It was an old pub. A wooden sign hung from a jib, squeaking back and forth, blown by a wind that wasn’t—as far as I could tell—actually blowing.

  ‘The Old Hen,’ I said, reading the faded sign as I squinted on tippy-toes.

  ‘In you go. Doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know, and you’ve kept her waiting for the longest of long times.

  ‘Right. Right then.’ I yanked at the breast of my coat as I mentally prepared myself, then pushed open the complaining door of The Old Hen and stepped inside.

  Music.

  It hadn’t been at all audible from the other side of the broken door, but as I placed a foot within the pub, there it was. A jaunty piano was being played with gusto as someone sang:

  “That's the way to the zoo, that's the way to the zoo; the monkey house is nearly full, but there's room enough for you!”

  The music stopped as the skeleton sat behind the keys noticed me, its empty eye sockets turning my way.

  ‘So. You’re a skeleton.’

  ‘Who isn’t?’

  I peered closer at the thing and noticed scraps of flesh still clinging to the bones, wisps of hair to the skull.

  ‘Personal question, but how long have you been dead?’

  ‘A long time,’ the skeleton replied. ‘I was murdered in the summer of 1873 by a man jealous of my skills on the piano. He beat me with an iron rod, then strangled me to death.’

  ‘Seems a thin reason for murder.’

  ‘I was also having frequent intercourse with his wife and oldest daughter. Both fell pregnant with my offspring.’

  ‘Well, that makes more sense. Probably should have lead with that.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  I glanced around the rest of the pub. A heavy blanket of dust sat over most of it. The bottles behind the bar had clearly not been touched in years.

  ‘I was told a woman would be waiting for me in here. Tall, pale woman. Lots of very red hair.’

  ‘She’s waiting on the Hill for you.’

  ‘Right, so why am I here?’

  ‘You’re not,’ replied the Red Woman.

  I span around in surprise. I was stood somewhere else now, on top of a hill covered in blood red grass.

  ‘Well, hello,’ I said.

  ‘Hello, Magic Eater,’ she purred in return.

  ‘So… how’ve you been?’

  The Red Woman smiled as she stood up from a macabre throne. A throne made of skulls. A throne that was, apparently, mine to take. It didn’t look in the least bit comfortable. If I ever did take it, I’d be investing in a nice, plump cushion.

  ‘You know some of yourself now,’ she said, ‘isn’t that right?’

  ‘I know a little. Warlock, coven, familiar, two dead witches.’

  The Red Woman stopped before me and traced a single cold finger across my cheek.

  ‘There is so much more.’

  ‘You know,’ I replied, ‘your hand is freezing. A sure sign of poor circulation.’

  ‘Your familiar told you of the other witches, finally. But not before I did. I wonder why that is?’

  ‘What was the pub all about? If I was coming here, why not just bring me here?’

  ‘The Hill doesn’t just stay where you want it. Sometimes it is here. Sometimes it is there. Sometimes it is somewhere else altogether.’

  ‘Right, not at all enigmatic, that.’

  ‘She refuses to tell you all of the truth, your familiar; isn’t that right?’

  I shifted uncomfortably under her green-eyed gaze.

  ‘She’s not exactly overflowing with a desire to tell me the whole story, no.’

  ‘Whereas I tell you things. I told you about your fallen witches. I told you about your destiny. You can ask me anything, and I will tell you the truth.’

  ‘Tell me why I murdered the two witches,’ I said.

  ‘Take your throne,’ she said, gesturing to the uncomfortable skull chair, ‘and I will tell you the whole story. I promise.’

  The way she smiled as she gestured at the skull chair made me very sure that taking up its seat would be a not very nice thing.

  ‘No thanks, need to stretch my legs.’

  ‘Such little trust.’

  ‘To be fair, you are keen on me becoming some sort of fifteen-foot, fire coated monster.’

  The Red Woman sat on the throne herself, and slowly crossed her leather-clad legs.

  ‘Okay. Here is a little truth. The other witches, do you know their names?’

  ‘No. Eva clams up when I ask about them.’

  ‘Lyna and Melodia. Their names were Lyna and Melodia.’

  Was that the truth? It felt like it was. Like, as soon as I heard them, I knew. I knew that those were their names. Of course those were their names. Lyna and Melodia. My fellow witches. My equals.

  And I’d murdered them.

  I almost staggered back onto the grass as the picture exploded in my mind’s eye. Two women, both looking to be in their thirties, but I knew they were much older. And they were laughing. And I was laughing too.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Eva, holding a glass and grimacing from whatever she’d just tasted.

  ‘That’s beer,’ said one of the witches, the one with blonde corkscrew hair.

  ‘Beer? Well, I don’t think I’ll be drinking that again.’

  And then it was gone. A fragment of ice, bobbing up above the ocean surface for a brief moment before its weight carried it under again.

  ‘I remembered them! Just for a second, I remembered them! And, wow, Eva has really changed.’

  ‘I can tell you more,’ said the Red Woman. ‘I can show you more. Just take your throne.’

  She stood and stepped aside, and the throne called to me. Not audibly, but I felt its pull. Like it was a big ol’ magnet made of gross skulls and I was a hunk of metal. I wanted to know more. I’d had a fresh taste and now my stomach grumbled for more.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Look at what you have become, Magic Eater. Look how your own mind deceives you; keeps the real you under lock and key.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the best place for the old me.’

  ‘If only you could remember your true self. Your wants. Your desires. The things you and I did together…’

  And then her ice cold hand was on my temple and—

  I am a giant.

  Flames burn fiercely across my skin.

  All around me I see the magic of this world. Of every world.

  I am striding through an ocean of power, waves of every colour wash around me, and I open myself up to it, swallow it, absorb it through every pore, more and more and more and nothing can stop me.

  The Uncanny rage again
st me, but they are like flies raging at a mountain.

  My army of the dead awaits me. Awaits my command.

  And she waits too.

  The Red Woman.

  We are as one.

  Together.

  Beast and master.

  Lovers two.

  And the world shall fall and scream before us, and we shall show it no pity.

  No pity.

  None.

  —as soon as it started, it was over. I found myself gasping for air, curled in a foetal position on the blood red grass.

  ‘It is what you want,’ said the Red Woman, standing by the throne, ‘what you must become. You have no choice. Not in the end. You’ll see.’

  I pushed myself groggily to my feet.

  ‘I don’t care what the old me was up to. If that’s the sort of thing that tickles his fancy, he sounds like a right bastard. I’ve got no interest in all that, thank you very much. No offence, scary woman, but I’m not the murdering kind.

  ‘What about poor Chloe Palmer?’

  That stung more than a little.

  ‘That was… different.’

  ‘If you think fulfilling your destiny just means murder, you couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘Yeah, but not too far wrong I’m guessing. Just one house over, yes?’

  The Red Woman smiled, then actually chuckled.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d quite like to go home. Where the sky isn’t on fire and I’m not wading through bloodied grass.’

  She approached. ‘Then go.’

  ‘Good. Thank you. You have very nice hair.’

  ‘But know this: you will become the Magic Eater. It is your destiny. You can no more run from it than you can crush a diamond in your fist. You are only delaying the inevitable.’

  I went to answer, but then the world around me turned black.

  5

  It was past midnight by the time I finally reached home and flopped, exhausted, onto my couch.

  As usual, I had no idea how I’d returned from the Dark Lakes; everything had gone black, and then I was in my car, a mile from home. Going to that place was never a picnic, but each time I went there I felt like I was getting more of the puzzle pieces. Each time I spoke with the Red Woman, she gave me more of me than I had. More of me than Eva wanted to share, anyway.

  Lyna and Melodia.

  I knew their names now. I even knew what they looked like. Well, to a degree. My mind had already scrubbed out most of the memory that had bubbled up, but I’d held onto some of it. One of them had a mass of blonde, curly hair, wide, blue eyes and a huge smile. The other had straight, black hair, brown eyes, and dimples in her cheeks.

  Lyna and Melodia. We’d made a trio. Three witches to look after this area of Cumbria. Magic police.

  And I’d killed them.

  I didn’t know what had happened there, not exactly, but I wasn’t stupid. Okay, that might be a stretch, but I’m not completely stupid. It had to have something to do with my so-called “destiny”. The Magic Eater stuff the Red Woman was trying to shove my way.

  It was more than a teensy bit frustrating to only have these scraps and not know, for sure, the whole picture. But compared to what I’d known just a week ago, I’d made a giant leap forward.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I fished it out with a grunt of weary effort. Detective Maya Myers’ name flashed across the screen. I hit answer.

  ‘Detective, if this is one of those booty calls I hear about in movies, just know that I am far too tired.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ replied Maya. ‘A family’s just been murdered.’

  Which rather took the fun out of things.

  It was almost one a.m. by the time I reached the scene of the crime. It was a small cottage in Applethwaite, a tiny village about a mile or so from my front door. Maya was waiting for me outside, and did not return my rather-too-jaunty greeting wave.

  ‘Sorry, probably not appropriate for a murder scene,’ I said.

  ‘Definitely not.’

  There was an ambulance outside, with a couple of bored looking medics sat in the back drinking tea. Several police cars parked up as officers in white boiler suits exited the cottage. When I say “cottage”, picture a real chocolate box of a thing. You’ve got it. Cob walls, thatched roof, the whole shebang.

  ‘Done?’ Maya asked the departing forensic team.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied one of the boilersuit peeps, ‘got a bunch of lovely pics, all thanks to this fab new lens. Fancy a look?’

  ‘Not interested,’ replied Maya.

  The man nodded disappointedly and trudged away.

  ‘You really have a lovely way with people, Maya,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘This is my crime scene. Do we understand one another?’

  ‘Understood,’ I replied, throwing in a little salute.

  ‘People have died within those walls, and it’s my job to find whoever did it and make them pay.’

  Now, if it appears that I’m being flippant here, know two things: One, I can’t help it, I’m an idiot. And two, I was more than a little uncomfortable. I was being asked to tour a crime scene. A place where people had recently been murdered and where, in fact, their corpses still remained. This was not my natural habitat. True, I had stumbled through a few murders recently, but this was different. This was being asked to help out on a professional basis.

  I was, to put it mildly, pooping my pants. Over the idea of looking at more dead people, and over the idea that I was then expected to assist in some way to make sure that whoever—or whatever—was behind those deaths was brought to justice. It sounded like a tall order. I clean toilets for a living. This was a lot of pressure for my slender shoulders.

  So, jokes, and daftness, and distractions.

  ‘I’m guessing there’s something a little off about this murder if you’re dragging my arse over here,’ I said.

  Maya nodded. ‘Oh, this is one for us, alright. Come on.’

  I shivered as I stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Brr, what is that?’

  ‘What is what?’ replied Maya.

  ‘You don’t feel that?’

  ‘The fact I’m asking would suggest I don’t.’

  ‘You make a good point.’

  Maya gestured in a get-the-fuck-on-with-it sort of a way.

  ‘I don’t know, it’s just, sort of… weird.’

  ‘Well, that’s really helpful, I’m so glad I called you.’

  Maya carried on through the cottage and I followed. I’d like to have put what I was experiencing more eloquently, but “weird” just about says it all. It was as though as soon as I stepped into the cottage, I could tell something not exactly normal had happened there. Like whatever had intruded and committed the murders had left something of its weirdness behind. An imprint on the air around us.

  Or something.

  I don’t know, I hadn’t slept properly in a long time.

  ‘He’s right, definitely a weird feeling up in this place,’ came a voice from behind me. I turned to see Eva laid out on the floor, cigarette in her mouth and eyes closed.

  ‘Hey, how did you get here?’

  ‘I called her, like I called you,’ replied Maya. ‘Using a phone. Mystery solved. Wow, I am a good detective.’

  ‘She has your phone number?’ I said to Eva, incredulously. ‘I didn’t even know you had a phone!’

  ‘Of course I have a phone, I’m not Captain fucking Caveman.’

  Eva opened her eyes and pushed herself vertical, briefly staggering to one side before getting to grips with the idea of walking again.

  ‘Why don’t I have your number?’ I asked.

  ‘I only give my number to friends, you don’t want just anyone bothering you, know what I mean?’

  ‘Well, that has to sting,’ said Maya.

  ‘What? Nope. Completely unstung.’

  It definitely stung a teensy bit.

  ‘Is this crime scene catered?’ asked Eva. ‘Only I could murder a bacon buttie. H
aven’t had anything solid pass my lips in hours.’

  ‘No. Because it’s a crime scene,’ Maya replied, ‘not a children’s party.’

  ‘Ah, so no pass the parcel either?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Makes sense. Make a note of that for the future, though.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Eva, rubbing her hands together and striding forward, ‘let’s see the bodies.’

  ‘And you think I’m annoying,’ I said to Maya, with a grin.

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘Right.’

  Maya walked into the next room after Eva, with me at her heels. The room had patio doors that lead to the back garden. The doors were destroyed, like a wrecking ball had smashed into them from outside, smothering the room in shards of wood and glass. Eva was crouched on the floor by something that used to be alive. Used to be a person. Now it resembled a large chunk of cured meat.

  ‘Well, isn’t this something?’ said Eva.

  The body was completely mummified. Lips pulled back in a final grimace, cheeks hollow.

  ‘How long since they were killed?’ I asked.

  ‘A few hours at best,’ replied Maya.

  ‘A few hours? But… well, look at them.’

  Maya nodded. ‘Exactly. That is one Mr. Mark Watterson. He was forty-two years of age, married, and a father. The wife and child are upstairs.’

  ‘Is the mummy a mummy too?’ asked Eva.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Maya, ‘and the kid. Dead and dried out, like they’ve been left out in the desert for months.’

  Eva ran a finger across the dessicated corpse, then stuck it in her mouth.

  ‘That seems inappropriate,’ said Maya.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Eva, ‘tastes like shit, too.’

  ‘How do you know they haven’t been dead for ages?’ I asked.

  ‘Because they were at their neighbours only a few hours ago, and they were very much alive at the time.’

  ‘So, some sort of vampire again?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Eva, ‘this was something else. Show me the others.’

  Upstairs, huddled together in what must have been the parents’ bedroom, were what remained of the wife and daughter. Two strips of people jerky, clinging to each other in one corner of the room. I won’t deny that I felt my stomach churn as I looked at them. Especially at the smaller of the two withered bodies.