by Kim Newman
I found myself in a cramped courtyard. Three buildings showed windowless backs. It could have been Whitechapel in the last century.
Standing under a fire escape was my quarry. Moonlight glinted off his thick glasses.
‘I vas vaiting for you, Dr Carmody,’ he said. ‘Ve haff much to talk off, haff we not?’
I recognised the voice of Reuben Hofstedtler.
He showed me his empty hands. No switchblade.
‘I knew you’d understand,’ he said.
The wig, the glasses and the beard came off.
‘I had to do it, Doc,’ said Sheldon Loesser.
This was certainly a breakthrough. Torn by hate and love for his cold father, wracked with pride and guilt about his work, he’d become a classic partitioned personality… a self divided and dangerously at war, literally campaigning against his own best interests, artistically murdering himself over and over again. When that didn’t resolve anything, he set out to prove his point by linking horror and crime comics with real horror and crime. It was interesting and unusual that his secondary self had attained a degree of success independent of the originating personality, but – of course – Sheldon Loesser was a talented writer.
The compartmentalised man should take care his selves can co-exist. When they rub against one another, like sandpaper or flint, fires start. The compartments collapse. The whole man can be destroyed.
‘We’ll have to go to the police, Sheldon,’ I told him. ‘Doctor-patient privilege doesn’t cover… well, murder.’
Then, Loesser’s face changed again. He was Hofstedtler and Loesser at the same time… and also the Morgue Meister.
‘Heh heh heh…’
He actually said ‘heh heh heh’. It scraped the nerves.
‘But we can’t go to the police, John,’ he said. ‘Your goddess wouldn’t permit it. Did you think no one would ever recognise Hecate? That no one else would read the grimoires, would understand your private ritual? “Ghastly – But True”. We research that feature thoroughly. Sometimes, the truth is too ghastly for Annals of Crime. Morgue of Horror should have a “Horrid – But True” feature. We could fit you in there, John. Or should I call you Jack? Nimble Jack, Slippery Jack, Saucy Jack, Cunning Jack, Red Jack… Did you like the way we handled your last ritual? “Comrades, Quake in Fear of the Red Knife: The Abner Polk Story”. We should have given you a co-writing credit. All the other killers you’ve been, John… the Butchers, the Beasts, the Stalkers, the Slashers, the Stranglers. The Voo-Doo Man, the Cleveland Torso Slayer. All the other cities, from Milan to Adelaide. And the first offerings, the sacrifices that took, the gutted girls that keep your face smooth. You are Jack the Ripper.’
I had underestimated my patient. I admit it.
Always, I have had an urge to sign my work. I didn’t write letters, but I would have if I’d thought of it. I’d left enough traces for someone with Loesser’s peculiar interests to catch up.
‘Don’t you see, John… we’re alike. We both murder for a cause.’
‘You’re nothing like me,’ I said. ‘I kill because I must, to keep my part of a bargain. You – well, you kill because…’
He smiled, in anticipation of praise.
‘Because you’re a nut!’
I might have slapped him. His eyes went wide with shock.
‘A nut, Sheldon. A pitiful nut.’
Not as fancy as I usually put it, I admit. But a diagnosis I’d stand by.
Hand in pocket, I flicked the cork off the blade of my scalpel. I stepped towards Loesser. His back was against a wall.
‘You’re wrong,’ he insisted. ‘I see vot you are, vot’s inside you. I zhrink your head, I see ze red stuff churning. Ve should be colleagues, Dr Carmody. I’ve found out zo much about you. I know everyzing!’
‘You think you know me,’ I whispered, producing the scalpel. ‘You don’t know Jack.’
SARAH MINDS THE DOG
THIS IS THE first print publication of a script written for Glenn McQuaid and Larry Fessenden’s ongoing audio horror series Tales From Beyond the Pale. The cast was Leila George, Alison Wright, Richard Mazda and Aidan Redmond. Besides playing two different dogs, Larry Fessenden narrated the story. His introduction ends with, ‘Now let’s meet a nice, well-mannered, well-brought-up young Englishwoman, Sarah. She has got herself, as they say over the pond, into “a bit of a pickle”.’
SARAH
All right, I admit it… if you go by my CV, I look like a flake. Since uni, I’ve had… oh, seven or eight jobs… none for very long… but I’ve not really prioritised career. I do have skills, though. I can turn my hand to most things. I know how this city works. London. If, say, you want to find a trombone mouthpiece or an off-the-books chiropodist at three hours’ notice, I can get that sorted. You can get hold of anything at three hours’ notice. If you know how. It’s not just a question of googling things. It’s about being attuned. Or knowing people who are. Getting things, arranging things, fixing things – this, I can get on top of, easily. It’s just that I haven’t had much luck with the folks I’ve thrown in with. I managed a band which broke up two days after they signed to a major label. They were called The Tossers. At first, I thought that was supposed to be irony. Then, I was the UK rep for a Czech beer imported by two blokes I knew from school, only it didn’t catch on with the trendies.
ROB (slight distortion – he’s linked in over Skype)
You should at least have tried drinking a pint before you signed on. The aftertaste of goat urine probably limited the market potential.
SARAH
Don’t butt in, Rob… Then I sold ads for the Hoxton Fin, this free-sheet which didn’t last in print and became an unmaintained website. I was a Zumba teacher until I broke my ankle. That turned out well. I got a decent settlement out of the gym, which kept me going for a bit. I’ve taken opportunities when they came. If someone says ‘come to Australia with me, all expenses paid, it’ll be fun’, I tend to quit whatever it is I’m doing at the time – supervising three Polish girls in a cocktail bar, as it happens – and run with it.
ROB
…and look how well that turned out.
SARAH
Shut up, Rob… Okay, I admit, in that case, I ended up having to pay my own way back home and wound up broke, looking for somewhere to live and something to do. Still, it was worth a punt.
ROB
The guy was a wrong ’un. I did tell her.
SARAH
Shush. This is Rob, by the way. He’s a shut-in… We were in the pony club together when we were eight…
ROB
Sarah moved away. To London…
SARAH
Rob stayed in… somewhere you’ve never heard of and never will. He does… what do you call it?
ROB
Web-based market research.
SARAH
Googling. He looks things up on the Internet.
ROB
For money.
SARAH
I’ve not been in a room with Rob for twelve years, but we interface on Skype all the time. He’s a resource…
ROB
Hmmph.
SARAH
I admit it, I’m not quite sure how to close the window on the computer without crashing the thing, so I’m stuck with him. I love him, really. He’s the first person I go to for advice…
ROB
…which you then ignore.
SARAH
Not always. Not this time. You see, I really want to keep this job… I can see it going somewhere, you know. The Ursin Organisation is global…
ROB
Like SMERSH.
SARAH
He means SPECTRE. SMERSH was just Russian. Like Yegor Ursin, originally.
ROB
He’s not Russian. He’s a Tatar. That’s different.
SARAH
He has a Russian passport. I know. I renewed it.
ROB
He once fed a man to a bear.
SARAH
Rob got t
hat off the Internet. It’s not true.
ROB
There’s a YouTube clip… look…
Muffled sounds of screaming, pleading in Russian, and a bear attack.
SARAH
That was long ago and far away. The Ursin Organisation is a major corporation…
ROB
Crime syndicate…
SARAH
I’ll mute you. My boss, Yegor Ursin, is not a criminal. Not in this country. What I do is not crime. I am an executive personal assistant…
ROB
Slave.
SARAH
I book flights, restaurants, hotels… I have a budget to expedite favoured outcomes.
ROB
You bribe people.
SARAH
I deliver small packages.
ROB
Severed ears.
SARAH
I don’t look inside the packages. They certainly aren’t ears. Ears wouldn’t rattle. I think they’re mostly keys. Maybe jewellery. Usually, I work in the Ursin Building in the City… the big black glass tower that looks like a missile silo. But when Mr and Mrs Ursin are out of the country…
ROB
…she’s a house-sitter.
SARAH
I run their house. Mansion. In St John’s Wood. Yegor is married to an Englishwoman… She used to be on television…
Another muffed YouTube clip: Comedy music. Splurging of gunge. SPARKY giggles.
ROB
Remember the girl in the bikini who got gunge dumped on her every week in that 1980s late-night alternative satirical comedy with tits? That was her. Sparky.
SARAH
Sophia. Her name’s Sophia. But everyone calls her Sparky. She’s a bit of a fusspot, but a love really… They have a teenage son, Gary… and a dog, a big friendly Rottweiler…
ROB
Friendly!
SARAH
Yes, friendly… a big friendly Rottweiler, Dynamo.
ROB
She’s a house-sitter, a baby-sitter and a dog-sitter. An executive personal dog-sitter.
Fade up. House sounds – clocks, feet on carpets. Dog noises – slobbering, snuffling, slightly whiny, perhaps ailing…
SPARKY
Come on, Dynamo, Mum’s got to go now… you’ll be fine with Sarah… Sorry about this, Sarah… but Dynamo’s getting on in years. It’s more and more of a performance every time we go away.
SARAH
No worries, Mrs Ursin…
SPARKY
Sparky.
SARAH
No worries, Sparky. I’m sure he’ll be no trouble.
SPARKY
Give him his pills with his food. Twice a day. The vet’s number is written on the bottom of his bowl. And make sure he gets his walkies… He’ll resist at first, especially on cold days… but it’s for your own good, Dynamo, you hear me! You make sure you’re respectful to Sarah. Look at that sad face, though…
URSIN
Car is waiting, Sparky.
SPARKY
It can wait longer while I go over things with Sarah.
URSIN
Sarah has been told. She will do what she has been told. It is her job.
SPARKY
Don’t you listen to Mr Growly, Sarah. Gary’s home for the holidays, but he won’t give you any trouble, either. He’ll be working on his computer, mostly. In his room. He needs to catch up on schoolwork.
SARAH
I’ll make sure he eats. I know what teenage boys are like.
SPARKY
Just throw pizza into his den once or twice a day. He’ll be all right. Dynamo’s bowl must be refilled with fresh water… from the bottle, not the tap… Make sure he drinks it before it goes stale.
URSIN
Sparky! Car!
SPARKY
You have all the numbers, Sarah. If there’s a problem…
URSIN
If there is a problem, solve it. Is what you are paid for. Understand?
SARAH
Yes, Mr Ursin. Of course.
URSIN
See, Sparky. Sarah understand. Now, come to car.
SPARKY
Goodbye, Dynamo, you be good to Sarah… and, Sarah [voice almost cracks], take care of our most precious precious, won’t you…
SARAH
I’ll see Gary is fine.
URSIN
She not mean Gary.
SPARKY
Goodbye, Dynamo.
URSIN
See.
Reluctantly, SPARKY leaves DYNAMO. Sounds of kissing, more slobbery dog-whining. Door opens. SPARKY and URSIN leave house. Door shuts behind them. Car drives off. DYNAMO has a wet coughing fit, whines pathetically.
SARAH
There, there, Dynamo. Don’t fret. You want some water? Fresh water?
Tap running.
SARAH
Oh, not tap water… my mistake. I’m sorry, Dynamo.
Tap shuts off. Fridge opening.
SARAH
Still or sparkling? Or…
Delving into fridge…
SARAH
Bollinger or Moët? I think still water is probably best for you…
Bottle opening. Pouring. DYNAMO drinks and slurps, then has a coughing fit.
SARAH
That doesn’t sound healthy. I’d recommend you give up smoking, old thing.
DYNAMO whines. SARAH pets him.
SARAH
There there, who’s a big dog then? Who’s a very big dog then? With many many teeth?
Footsteps. SARAH is leaving the kitchen and touring the house. She goes upstairs.
SARAH
Gary?
Computer game sounds – explosions, beeps, screams, musical stings – from another room.
SARAH
Hard at work? Do you need anything?
Door opening. Game sounds louder.
GAME VOICE
Die, Earthling scum!
SARAH
I asked if you needed anything, Gary.
Joystick sounds. Incoherent teenage mumbling and grunting from GARY.
GAME VOICE
Puny human, you have zapped me fatally… arrgh!
GARY grunts incoherent triumph, and keeps zapping.
SARAH
Fair enough. Just yell if you do. I’ll probably be in the office.
Door shutting. Game sounds continue.
SARAH goes into a room. Computer sound – something to signify the remote presence of ROB.
ROB
Have you found any guns yet? Krugerrands? Heads of old business partners pickled in jars?
SARAH
It’s not like that. It’s just a big house…
ROB
I know, I know… not an evil lair at all. No shark tank… no alligator pit.
SARAH
Just a dog.
ROB
A killer dog?
SARAH
Well, a Rottweiler.
ROB
You’re alone with a Rottweiler?
SARAH
And a teenage boy.
ROB
So, nothing could go wrong with that scenario… Look, here are the stats…
Typing – ROB is running a net search.
ROB
Rottweilers are the second most likely dog to be involved in a fatal attack on a human being. Only Pitbulls score higher. They’re illegal in Poland, Portugal and the Republic of Ireland. Illegal in Poland! That dog in The Omen… that was a Rottweiler… [murmurs the Omen theme]… Ave Satanas…
SARAH
Relax, Rob… Dynamo’s about a hundred years old and sleeps most of the day. He’s more likely to drown me in slobber than bite… He’s huge, but – seriously – I’m more worried about being bitten by Gary…
ROB
Six foot tall, shaved head, tattoos… has to make his bones in the organisation with a first, easy kill? Someone disposable like an executive personal assistant?
SARAH
Actually, he’s more like you �
� too porky to get out of his chair, online all the time… fighting aliens or zombies. Looks like he’d faint if you came near him with a tattoo needle.
ROB
Want me to hack into his Internet cache and tell you which porn sites he visits?
SARAH
I’ll pass, thanks.
ROB
I’ll bet they’re really pervy Russian ones.
SARAH
You need to get out more. Go and play in the sunshine.
ROB
Aieee! No… melting, melting…
SARAH laughs.
SARAH
My big problem is not getting bored silly for the next three weeks.
ROB
Want to see some clips of someone alleged to be your boss securing an oil concession in the Caucasus by setting fire to a provincial mayor?