Whisper
Page 27
“Come! It is time.”
She shuffled to the edge of the branch, made sure the noose was tight around her neck, and the chanting fell silent. All eyes were on the Gogoku Elder, awaiting his command to proceed.
***
Back at the house, Steve glared at Donovan, and was surprised to find that he had reached a place that went beyond fear. He had heard about soldiers who had spoken of the same thing, where in certain situations a person could somehow become detached from emotion and do whatever was necessary to survive. It was anger that came to him, and the sight of Donovan’s reanimated corpse only served to inflate it, and make it boil to the surface. Already the heat of the flames was almost unbearable, and a thick black smoke had begun to drift through the house. Without knowing he was going to do it, he charged at Donovan, grabbing him by his dead throat and driving him back into the sitting room.
They were thrust into the inferno, the heat surrounding them indescribable. Donovan wasn’t fighting back, and seemed content to simply restrain Steve from reaching the front door, which looked out of reach as the flames licked at it hungrily.
He pushed anyway and tried to struggle past, but Donovan’s grip was strong and vice-like, and he flashed his sick, dead grin at Steve even as his hair burst into flames.
You won’t sell many houses looking like that.
The absurd thought came and went as quick as a flash, and Steve wondered absently if he was already mentally damaged beyond repair. It was then, as he was prepared for his coming death, that Isaac’s words came back to him.
Just look, Mistah. Look and see what is real.
Steve stopped struggling and smiled at Donovan; whose skin was beginning to bubble and blister.
“You are dead Donovan. You can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt my family,” he shouted above the raging sound of the fire.
A moment of uncertainty passed over the Donovan thing’s melting face as Steve pulled out the protective cross from where it was embedded in its stomach. It staggered backwards, and fell to one knee.
“This House is no more. The Gogoku can rest, nobody will inhabit these grounds again,” Steve gasped and coughed as the smoke began to fill his lungs, and his own skin began to peel and blister.
“Leave my family alone,” he added weakly, trying to ignore the agony of his burning flesh.
It wasn’t a request, but a command. And Donovan seemed to shudder, then fall to his knees and sideways into the flames, which hissed as the fatty parts of his skin were devoured by the intense fire.
Close to losing consciousness, and barely able to breathe for the thick, black smoke, he turned back towards the kitchen and half ran, half staggered as fast as he could towards the glass-panelled door. He slammed into it at full speed, the door exploding in a shower of wood and glass. He landed face first on the blissfully cool and snow covered grass. The voices on the edge of the wind screamed in fury, and he only hoped that his sacrifice had been enough to save his wife and unborn child.
He lapsed into unconsciousness, and his world became a silent, black void.
EPILOGUE
Eighteen months later.
The city was alive with rush-hour traffic jockeying for position as thousands of commuters made their way home from work. For Steve and Melody though, the sound was one that always brought them great comfort.
Since the night of the fire, their lives had changed almost completely and yet, if anything, it had brought them closer together. Melody sat by the window, looking out over the concrete jungle from their seventeenth floor apartment, and smiled.
She was an older, wiser woman who, since their brief stay at Hope House, had lost a little of her happy-go-lucky exuberance. She was more careful, more considerate of her life choices. She was okay with the change, because at least she was alive.
She wasn’t even really sure what had happened until later. One moment she was a powerless consciousness in a body that she was unable to command, and the next she was back in control.
Only later—after the questions and the hospital visits and the psychological evaluations — did they manage to piece it all together. It seemed that either by fate or prior design, Steve had managed to break the Gogoku curse at the exact second that her body shuffled off the edge of the branch.
If it had happened just a second or two later, she would have fallen and been unable to stop the inevitable, but as her body became hers and the vile thing was banished from her, she managed to twist and grab onto the huge branch. The fury in the wind was intense and frightening, and the white streak that now cut through her hair was testament to it.
Somehow, she had found the strength to pull herself onto the branch and remove the noose. Of the Gogoku, there was no sign. It was as if they’d been erased.
Confused and relieved, she’s seen the orange glow on the horizon as their home burned to the ground, and she suspected what Steve had done. She didn’t know then the magnitude of his actions, or the toll it had taken on his body.
She smiled as she looked out at the city, a place where she felt safe and, more importantly, far away from that horrible sound of trees blowing in the breeze. She was broken from her thoughts by the sound of Steve shuffling into the room.
As it always was, the sight of him filled her with both immense sorrow and gratitude, for he had sacrificed everything to make them safe.
When she’d found him, face down in the snow by the blazing shell of the house, she’d been sure he was dead, but somehow, against the odds, he’d survived; however, it was not without consequences. The skin on over half of his body was now mottled and rough from the numerous skin grafts required to fix his injuries. Almost all of his hair had been burned away, along with most of his left ear. The fingers of his left hand had been fused and melted together, and he was in almost constant pain.
He never complained though, not once, even though he now resembled a broken old man rather than the young, slightly impetuous husband who’d lived with her in Hope House.
Regardless of his appearance, she loved him more than ever because he’d saved her. Saved them all. She had tried several times to talk to him about it, but whenever she approached the subject, his eyes glazed over and he would stare into oblivion.
The doctors and psychologists seemed to think that he was imposing some kind of mental block, and that the events were just too painful to deal with, but she thought that was—to be blunt—bullshit.
She suspected that, as ever, he was trying to protect her, and whatever he’d experienced in the house that night was something that would be his and his alone until his dying day.
He held the baby in his arms.
It was a boy, and had her eyes, and his nose and jaw. It was the glue that had held them together during that awful time after their ordeal. They’d watched their son grow and marvelled at his wondrous, curious joy of life, something which had once lived in them before everything went so badly wrong.
Melody had wanted to call him after his father, but Steve had insisted on the name Isaac. He’d never told her why, only that it was something to do with what had happened that final night at Hope House.
She watched as Steve set baby Isaac down on the floor with some effort grimacing at the agonising pain in his arms and back. In the way that babies do, Isaac went off to explore the second he was released, gurgling and whooping as he examined his surroundings.
Steve went to his chair in the corner and sat slowly, wincing as he settled his ravaged body into some kind of semi-comfortable position.
He slept.
The nightmares hardly came anymore, which she was immensely pleased about. For the first year, they were a fairly regular occurrence, but over time had faded.
A little later, with Steve still sleeping away his pain, Melody watched little Isaac as he explored, crawling on all fours and chewing on one sock, which he had removed for reasons known only to him. He sat on the carpet cross-legged, and stared up at his mother with the unconscious and pure love that only the very
young knew how to provide. She smiled back at him, and realised that even though they’d lost all of their possessions, and almost lost their lives, they had gained so much more, because they now shared a bond, a strength that was unbreakable. No matter what life chose to throw at them from then on, she knew they would be able to cope with it.
Isaac crawled towards her and she scooped him up, holding him close and kissing his cheek.
Even though they’d lived in a house called Hope, she thought that the real hope was in Isaac, and they would do whatever they could to provide a future for him.
Her son gurgled and smiled on her lap, and in spite of everything that had happened, Melody was grateful, because they’d seen death up close, and having survived it, were determined to make sure the years they had left together were spent well.
Outside, the October wind rocked the apartment block and in spite of herself, she held her breath, listening to it, part of her expecting to hear that secret sound, that breathy, half-whispering of her name. But it was just the wind, and she smiled to herself and relaxed.
“Come on then,” she said, kissing her son’s cheek as she stood. “Let’s get you down for your nap.”
She contentedly crossed the room, and put Isaac to bed as Steve slept on dreamlessly.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Bray is a Horror author based in Leeds, England. Influenced from an early age by the suspense horror of authors such as Stephen King, and the trashy pulp TV shows like Tales From The Crypt & The Twilight Zone, he started to work on his own fiction, and spent many years developing his style.
In May 2012, he signed a deal with the highly reputable Dark Hall Press to print and distribute his collection of interlinked short stories titled Dark Corners, which was released in September 2012. His second release was a Novella titled MEAT which was initially self-published before being picked up by J. Ellington Ashton Press. His first full length novel, a supernatural horror titled Whisper was also initially self-published, and following great critical acclaim, was sold to Horrific Tales publishing - his first advance paying sale.
WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/MICHAELBRAYAUTHOR
WWW.TWITTER.COM/DARKCORNERSBOOK
WWW.MICHAELBRAYAUTHOR.COM
Also from Horrific Tales Publishing
When John Simpson hears of a bizarre animal attack in his old home town of High Moor, it stirs memories of a long forgotten horror. John knows the truth. A werewolf stalks the town once more, and on the night of the next full moon, the killing will begin again. He should know. He survived a werewolf attack in 1986, during the worst year of his life.
It’s 1986 and the town is gripped in terror after the mutilated corpse of a young boy is found in the woods. When Sergeant Steven Wilkinson begins an investigation, with the help of a specialist hunter, he soon realises that this is no ordinary animal attack. Werewolves are real, and the trail of bodies is just beginning, with young John and his friends smack in the middle of it.
Twenty years later, John returns to High Moor. The latest attack involved one of his childhood enemies, but there’s more going on than meets the eye. The consequences of his past actions, the reappearance of an old flame and a dying man who will either save or damn him are the least of his problems. The night of the full moon is approaching and time is running out.
But how can he hope to stop a werewolf, when every full moon he transforms into a bloodthirsty monster himself?
"Graeme Reynolds has written a real-deal werewolf story. In these dull days of nice, friendly lycanthropes, it is refreshing to see some brutality and animal instincts in what is a very fine British horror novel. Reynolds draws vivid pictures with words. His descriptions of High Moor the town is excellent, portraying an area in decay, one that suffered during the 1980s, and has yet to recover into the 21st century. The transformation scenes, where humans become wolves, are brilliantly done, and you can feel every crack of bone, every tear of flesh. High Moor is a worthy addition to the werewolf canon. - Thomas Emson, Author of Maneater, Prey, Skarlet, Krimson, Zombie Britannica"
Ripe for a film or TV adaptation and left open for a sequel, High Moor is an excellent example of great British writing that deserves to be read. - Starburst Magazine. 9/10
If you’re craving some good werewolf action with well-developed characters and a fantastic plot, skip the Hollywood films and go straight for this electrifying novel, which is far more entertaining. - Hellnotes.com
Graeme Reynolds has written a captivating, action packed, this-should-be-a-movie werewolf novel in High Moor and if this is going to be a series of some sort, count me in for the ride. It should be a fun one. - Horrortalk.com
This is an action filled horror novel that also has fully realized characters; the fact that Reynolds brings the characters to life so well just adds to the terror you feel as a reader. - The Horrifically Horrifying Horror Blog
It takes a writer of tremendous skill to imbue a an action packed novel with as much depth, as is displayed here. This book was a joy to read, not just for its ability to transport me back to a time gone by, but also because it is so well written. If this is the level of writing Graeme is capable of producing in a début novel, then I for one cannot wait for his next novel. - Gingernuts of Horror
Buy it now at Amazon.com
Buy it now at Amazon.co.uk
The people of High Moor are united in horror at the latest tragedy to befall their small town. As dawn breaks, the town is left to count the cost and mourn its dead, while breathing a collective sigh of relief.
John Simpson, the apparent perpetrator of the horrific murders, is in police custody. The nightmare is over.
Isn’t it?
Detective Inspector Phil Fletcher and his partner, Constable Olivia Garner, have started to uncover some unsettling evidence during their investigations of John Simpson’s past — evidence that supports his impossible claims: that he is a werewolf, and will transform on the next full moon to kill again.
However a new threat is now lurking in the shadows. A mysterious group have arrived in High Moor, determined to keep the existence of werewolves hidden.
And they will do anything to protect their secret. Anything at all…
A reminder of why werewolves are supposed to be scary. - Starburst Magazine. 10/10
A masterclass in modern action horror. - Gingernuts of Horror
The action is explosive and relentless, the violence is gory and ferocious, yet it is far from mindless as it is underpinned by a superb and fascinating story. - The Eloquent Page
An absolute must for werewolf fans. - Hellnotes.com
I don’t think I can recommend this book highly enough but with the caveat that this tale is not for the faint of heart, or indeed those looking for Twilight-type lycanthropy! - Andyerupts.com
Buy it now at Amazon.com
Buy it now at Amazon.co.uk
Table of Contents
WHISPER
Prologue
1. HOPE
2. A FRESH START
3. IN THE BEGINNING
4.THE PURGE
5. HOMECOMING
6. ISAAC
7. MOVING DAY
8. THE RAGE
9. THE WOODCUTTER
10. ACROSS THE RIVER
11. THE DREAM
12. DRINKS AT THE OAK
13. MRS. BRIGGS
14. THE SEARCH FOR ANSWERS
15. MESSAGES
16. SEEKING PROOF
17. WAKING THE DEAD
18. REVELATIONS
19. SECRETS
20. THE VISITOR
21. HOUSE CALL
22. ATTACK
23. CONFESSIONS
24. OUIJA
25. CONFRONTATION
26. FAIR WARNING
27. RECONCILIATION
28. LOOKING FOR ANSWERS
29. A WARNING TOO LATE
30. FAMILY TIES
31. VOYEUR
32. BREAKTHROUGH
33. LETTERS
34. PREPARATION
35. TRUTH
36. NO LOOSE ENDS
37. CONTACT
38. MORE LOOSE ENDS
39. WORDS WITH THE DEAD
40. DONOVAN’S PATIENCE
41. WHAT IS REAL?
42. SURVIVAL
43. ALIVE DEAD, DEAD ALIVE
44. POSSESSION
45. SACRIFICE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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