666

by Whateley, Michael

  “Hey!” the man with the handkerchief said, “he attacked me, he should be locked up. He’s a thug, shouldn’t be allowed to be with decent honest folk.”

  “Right, sir, if you want to be stuck talking to the transport police for the next few hours for the sake of a bloody nose, then I’ll call them. But it sounds like this man has had a rough time of it, and we’ve all got places to be. So, do you want to involve the police?”

  The man gave Jeremy a dirty look. “You’ve got off bloody light, mate. No. No, I don’t. Just kick him off the train”

  “But, I’m miles away. You can’t just put me off here,” Jeremy said. He had no idea how long it would take him.

  “I can’t allow you to remain here. You’re off at the next station.”

  ***

  Jeremy watched the train pull out of the station. The man he had hit was looking out of the train window holding up two fingers.

  It was a small rural unmanned station. Jeremy looked at his phone. The business card Nurullah had given him had got lodged in the phone case. As the phone cleared his pocket, it fell to the floor. He opened up a maps app. Five miles, not as far as he thought, he should be there by nightfall. He bent down to pick up the card, momentarily distracted as light reflected of a metallic surface in front of him. It was an axe. It was leaning against a tree in a picnic area next to the station, it had been cleared of trees. One of the stumps had been turned into a picnic table, and some chairs had been made out of rough wood. There was a small path running through the woods. Forgetting about the card, Jeremy set off, head down, determined to arrive before the sun set.

  ***

  Nurullah put the tracker down. Everyone had turned in for the night, but he was convinced Jeremy would turn up soon. He looked at his phone. The tracker was still working. Jeremy had been speeding towards him, then slowing down. Now the tracker had shown Jeremy stationary. He was getting worried. He had managed to convince Adam that Jeremy was strong enough to resist Hibach, but he was not convinced. Jeremy’s closeness to Hibach’s last victim, Mark, and his grief at the loss, could weaken his resistance. Time was short, they needed to work on Jeremy soon, or they would have to sacrifice him to save the innocents.

  There was a noise outside, near the door. At last. Nurullah opened the door and smiled in greeting. An axe flashed in the dark. Nurullah felt a hammer blow against his wrist. He looked. His hand was hanging by a thread, almost severed. His fingers twitched, he saw his own blood pumping out into the night air. Light-headed, he staggered backwards, holding up his good hand to ward off further attack. He looked into the eyes of his attacker. Jeremy. But not Jeremy. His face was contorted into a mask. Smiling unnaturally wide, eyes dilated so much they looked black. Nurullah’s blood had landed on Jeremy’s face. Jeremy’s tongue came out, licking the blood from the axe head. Then he stepped forward.

  Nurullah opened his mouth to scream, to warn the others. The axe came sideways, heading straight for his face.

  ***

  The TV was on loud. Jeremy looked at it, without really seeing it. He was in his living room, in a towel and smelling of soap. How did I get here? The pictures on the TV caught his attention. It looked familiar, somehow, it was an abandoned factory in Wales. He listened. There had been a massacre, fifteen people killed with an axe, Jeremy felt sickened by the slaughter, but, also a little excited. He smiled.

  The End

  The Bower Beast

  The mist was drifting through the grass like a milky stream. It made everything below knee level cool, whilst the sun warmed everything higher. The heat from the sun brought the promise of a warm summer’s day. Nick was running through the grass trying to catch up with his friends. Team building exercises tended to be lame, staying out overnight, camping next to Ladybower, but what else was he going to do?

  "Fellas! Fellas! Slow down, give me a bloody chance, will you?" Nick gasped with the effort of running.

  John, Phil and Dave slowed down and turned around.

  "Hey, look who's decided to join us," Phil shouted back. "You didn't put your name down, we didn't think you was coming."

  Nick caught up with the gang. Leaning over to catch his breath, he said, "Well, I knew you lame asses would get lost without me, so here I am. Besides, I know the best place to camp round here."

  John patted Nick on the shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you're here anyway, mate. Lead on, show us where this place is."

  Nick led them on. They laughed and joked, enjoying the change. They pushed through some bushes and headed closer to the water. There had been little rain in the last few weeks, and the level had dropped. Nick remembered his dad bringing him here when he was a child. Back then, when the water was low, the tower from the Derwent Woodlands Church could be seen above the waterline, but it had been demolished to stop water rats infesting it. Looking at the water, he tried to imagine what it must have been like, living in the villages of Ashopton and Derwent, knowing that your home was going to be submerged below a dam. It must have been heart breaking, seeing the walls of the dam rising.

  "Stop daydreaming and get a move on, I'm getting hungry," Phil said. "Where are you taking us, anyway? Knowing you there’s probably a pub round here somewhere."

  "You wish, mate," Nick replied. "There's a cave down near the waters edge. It's normally submerged, you can only use it when the water level’s low. Not far, just follow me."

  Nick carried on, following a barely visible track. He had walked all around here when he was a child, he knew all the little trails. He glanced back and smiled as the other three stumbled along, trying to keep up. He had only known Phil, John and Dave for a few months. He tended to go from job to job, not staying too long. He was working as a computer programmer for Alcol Logistics. A grand name for a not so grand company. It was a small office complex in Sheffield, only employing about thirty people. Nick was on a short term contract, setting up databases for a warehouse system. He enjoyed the job, but he normally shied away from people. He'd been a loner most of his life. His parents were long gone, he never kept in touch with the rest of his family, and friends were few and far between.

  Arriving at the water's edge, he waited for the others to arrive. They came stumbling along, catching their feet on rocks, and cursing. Nick carried on, around a corner the cave entrance could be seen. It had bushes at both sides, and even some overhanging the top. It made it impossible to see, unless you knew it was there.

  "Would you look at that," Dave said. "I've been here a million times and never knew this place existed." He walked up to the cave and looked inside. "How did you know bout this place?"

  "My dad showed it to me when I was a kid. It doesn't go in too far, about forty feet, but it gives good shelter," Nick said.

  Turning on his torch, Phil went inside. He touched the walls, there was moss growing from the damp. "You say it's normally underwater? Won't that be a bit dodgy, if it starts raining?"

  "No, mate, it would take days of rain to raise the level above the cave. We'll be safe as houses. Lets get settled in to some fishing, or we'll not be eating tonight," Nick said.

  Unslinging their packs onto the floor, they got their sleeping bags out, unpacked their fishing rods, and sat by the bank.

  ***

  Smoke and the smell of cooking fish drifted up into the night sky. The flickering of the fire cast shimmering shadows around the cave’s entrance. The five men sat by the fire,and grilled the two fish they had caught earlier.

  "This reminds me of being in the scouts," Phil said with a chuckle.

  "Dib, dib, dib," Dave said, holding his hand up with the first three fingers extended.

  Ignoring Dave, Phil said, "We used to go out on adventure weekends, then we would try to scare each other, with stories around the fire."

  "Well," Nick said, looking at them with a smirk. "If you want a scary story, I have that covered."

  The rest of them looked at him expectantly while taking small bites from the freshly cooked
fish.

  "Let me tell you the tale of our very own monster. Locals tell of a creature that lurks around Ladybower, called the Bower Beast. Every year, people disappear hiking around these parts. The police reports will tell you they fell down sink holes, or drowned, but did they? The beast is said to take on the form of a man, to blend in with his victims. He lures them to a cave, much like this one, then in the dead of night he pounces, ripping out their throats before devouring them. When the cave floods again, the evidence is washed into the dam to be nibbled at by the fish. His true form is that of a wolfman, but he isn't a mere werewolf. He is in control of his transformation. He has teeth the size of your index finger, perfect for ripping out throats. His hands are massive hairy paws with human-like fingers and razor sharp claws that can disembowel a man with one swipe." As Nick talked he saw Dave's eyes widen. "Dave! What's up, mate?"

  Dave extended one shaking hand. He pointed at Phil. His obvious terror had an effect on everyone. They all felt it, the hairs on the backs of their necks raising. They looked towards Phil. He was sat, pale and shaking. Rising up behind him, was a paw. It was covered in shaggy fur, and had long curling claws. As they watched, it clutched Phil around the neck. Phil screamed, a high pitch of pure terror.

  Nick rolled on the floor laughing, showing his hand with the wolfman glove on. It was a relic from a childhood Halloween party. He was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

  "You absolute wanker," Phil said. "I almost shat myself."

  They laughed, but it was born of relief.

  "I think, on that note, it's time to turn in," Nick said. "Tell you what, since I scared you all, you all sleep in the cave, and I'll sleep near the entrance as your guard."

  Phil, Dave and John walked into the cave, spreading their sleeping bags on the floor. They didn't want to sleep close together, but didn't want to sleep too far apart, either. They looked up at each other, saw that they were all thinking the same, and laughed.

  "Let's not have any Brokeback Mountain moments, ok?" John said, climbing into his sleeping bag.

  "Even if I was that way inclined, I'd still be out of you're league, pal," Phil said.

  "Ooooo, get her," John said, laughing.

  As the fire outside slowly died, the men fell asleep. Tossing and turning, uneasy thoughts going through their minds. They were out of their comfort zones, and they dreamt of beasts and murder.

  ***

  Phil woke up, something had disturbed his sleep. He had been dreaming about the beast, and as he took in his surroundings, he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. At the cave entrance, crouching over a sleeping bag, was a horror from his nightmares. It was covered in long, ox-like hair from head to foot. Its head was like a large wolf, but the ears were lower on the head, much like a man’s. It was holding up the object with powerful arms that ended in paws, with long, blood-covered claws.

  Blood?

  Phil looked closer at the object the beast held. It was a shredded sleeping bag, covered in blood, a red lump hanging out of it. With a feeling of horror, he realised it was the remains of John’s head, flopping unnaturally as the beast tugged at its throat. Most of the neck had gone, so the head had little support.

  Phil tried wriggling further into his sleeping bag, but he was paralysed with fear. The only way out was past this monstrosity. He looked at the cave entrance and saw two more sleeping bags. One was covered with blood, the other looked like it had exploded from the inside.

  That must be Dave and Nick, he thought. That meant there was only him left. Maybe it was full, now. Maybe it would just leave?

  The beast threw the remains of John's sleeping bag to the front of the cave and stood up. It lifted its blood-covered nose in the air and sniffed loudly. It turned to face Phil.

  Phil looked straight into its eyes, frozen with fear, his heart thumping. "No! Please no! just leave, just go," Phil pleaded.

  The beast walked across, and with unnatural strength grabbed Phil’s sleeping bag, and lifted it clear from the floor. Phil felt the tickle of the beast’s whiskers as it sniffed his neck, and the unpleasant stickiness as blood dripped from its snout. Phil closed his eyes and prayed, he didn't want to die like this, he wanted to go home, he wanted to see his wife.

  He opened his mouth to shout his wife’s name, but felt a vice-like grip on his throat. He opened his eyes, some fluid spraying in front of him, and he could see that the creature had something in its mouth. Then everything went dark.

  ***

  "Bloody hell, Nick, you were lucky you didn't go on that trip. Have you heard? They've all gone missing. The police think they've fallen down a sinkhole. Loads of them around there, apparently. They're still looking, but don't think they'll find anyone. I don't think they'll approve another trip like that," Sam said.

  Nick was sat at his desk.

  No more trips, time to move on, he thought.

  The End

  The Zombie’s Tale

  Jud inched open the curtains. He only opened them a tiny bit, so he could peek through the gap. Something thumped against the window, and Jud fell backwards. Before the curtains fell back into place, a zombie’s face pressed against the glass, its hands pawing at the windows. Its face was clearly in a state of decomposition, its nose was hanging on by a thread, and one eye was swinging free on its optic nerve. It left trails of black fluid against the glass. Jud crawled backwards until his shoulders were pressed against the sofa, and he brought his knees to his chest. He just sat there rocking to and fro. The situation was becoming desperate. He had used all his stored water, and had only two tins of cat food left. He was going to die here unless he went outside, but then he would probably die anyway.

  It had started three weeks ago. The world had been dealing with the Ebola outbreak. A few cases had started in Britain. Nothing to worry about, they had been told, but it had spread. Worse than that, stories soon emerged of the recently dead coming back to life. Jud had put it down to scare stories at first, but then he had seen one for himself. It had behaved just like from the old films. Stumbling about, shuffling slowly, and heading towards the first person it had seen, a young woman. Jud had been too scared to react, and had stood there while the zombie grabbed the woman and bit her face near the eye. Jud put his head in his hands. He had always been a coward. He couldn’t help it, he just froze in conflict situations. He could still remember the woman’s scream of agony as her cheek was ripped from her face. A man had ran past Jud staring at him as if he was scum.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” the man had shouted at Jud.

  Good question. Jud had often wondered. The passer-by had knocked the zombie over, and bent over the woman to help. That’s how he had died. His throat ripped out by the woman he had gone to save.

  Jud had gone home. He had ordered food online, and started storing water. He had refused to answer the door and hoped it would all pass. He didn’t have any friends or family. At school he had been a loner. His parents had died in a car crash when he was eighteen. A sympathetic policeman had come to his door to tell him, but in truth he hadn’t been that upset, they were not close. Secretly, Jud had always suspected he had been a disappointment to them.

  The first couple of days after the outbreak had been hectic, but there had been a sense of control. Jud had believed that the authorities were in control. Doctors had appeared on TV to explain it all. Ebola was not the direct cause. It was a fungus. The Ebola weakened the immune system. This allowed the fungus to take control. It had been a new fungi, related to a strain that infected ants, but this one infected higher mammals. The news programs had been upbeat, doctors were confident that it could be contained. No one was to leave their house. The army was on the streets keeping order and supplying food and water. Then the shooting had started.

  The soldiers started shooting the zombies, setting up safe havens. Still, Jud had confidence that order would be restored. Then the shooting stopped, and the screaming started next door. He didn’t
know their names, he had barely spoke to them. A young couple with a baby. There had been a few thuds, a woman’s scream, a husband’s shout. Jud had sat and listened. Even when the baby started crying he had done nothing. He just waited and hoped it would end. It did, with a last high-pitched wail that trailed off with a burbling cry.

  Jud crawled on all fours to the kitchen. He lived in an end terraced house and his kitchen faced the garden, which was surrounded by a six foot fence, and so far that had kept most of the zombies out. He pulled himself up by holding onto the sink. He put his fingers through the gap of the blinds, and opened them. The garden was still empty, not a soul in site. Not that he had seen another soul for about a week now, only zombies. He had seen zombie people, zombie policemen, zombie milkmen, even zombie soldiers.

  Jud reached under the sink and took out a rucksack. He had been mentally preparing for this moment for days. He had no choice, a coward he may be, but he wanted to live. He had to leave. He put his last bottle of water in, and his tins of cat food. There was a sharp kitchen knife on the sink, that went in, too. It was time. No one was coming to help, no one was going to restore order. As far as Jud knew, there was no one left. He had to move. Find somewhere safe. Somewhere with a lot of food, and no zombies. Jud lived in Kiveton Park on the edge of Sheffield. If he could get out and find a car, he could be in the countryside in no time. It stood to reason that there would be less zombies in areas with less people. Maybe even no zombies, maybe small villages had escaped unscathed.

  Jud eased open the door and looked outside. Nothing. He walked through, crouching low. He locked the door. Hard to break the habit of a lifetime. He raced to the fence, keeping low. He felt exposed. Now that he had left the womb-like safety of his house he felt death all around.

  He looked over the fence and could see the road in front. There were about a dozen zombies shuffling along it. He needed to get past them. A vein in his forehead throbbed as his heart thumped. Jud pulled his shirt away from his chest. His sweat was making it stick to him. He looked again, waiting for a gap. If he could cross the road, he could run to the train station, and there he could follow the tracks. There was a gap, not a big one, but the best he was likely to get.