The Midnight Eye Files: Volume 1 (Midnight Eye Collections)

by William Meikle

  I switched off the telly, we lit another cigarette each, and the waiting started again. Images of Karloff as Frankenstein began to merge with Chaney as the wolf-man and at some point I fell asleep, to be chased through forests by an old gypsy with one eye who insisted he had something important to tell me, if I would only stop and listen. But given the fact that the gypsy kept changing into John Mason, I kept running. And it kept chasing. I ran through a misty glade, and chanced one look back. It was at my shoulder! I put on a spurt of speed just as it reached out for me…

  …and I woke, disoriented, unsure as to where I was. I sat up too quickly, and my back made me aware of how it felt after sleeping upright in a chair.

  I groaned, and was shushed by Jim.

  “Quiet, man,” he whispered. “We’re in business.”

  And then I heard it…the scrape and rustle as something came up the wall. Jim sat, perched on the edge of his seat, the camera held out in front of him like a weapon. I grabbed for the pistol, and came up with the remote control, which I then dropped to the floor as I clumsily fumbled for the gun. Although it only produced a dull thud when it hit the carpet, it was enough to bring a halt to the noise from outside.

  For three heartbeats we sat there, fixated on the open window. Then a hand grabbed the rail of the small balcony, and the dark shadowy hump of a body pulled itself in. In the dark it was hard to see more than a silhouette, but then Jim took his shot. And in the instant that the flash lit up the room we saw the almost-human thing that had come up the wall. It was the creature of my nightmares…the fixed grin of the ape-like face, the thick, scaly skin that hung in folds on a thin chest, the yellow talons on the hand that it threw up to cover its face. Jim took another flash, and the beast screamed, so loud that my head rang. I saw its eyes blaze silver in the flashlight, just before the figure fell away out of our sight with a parting shriek.

  Jim seemed rooted to the spot, but I was already out of my chair and halfway to the door.

  “Come on, man. You’re got the picture. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What the fuck was that?” he said. He was as white as a sheet, and shaking.

  I lifted him bodily out of the chair.

  “It’s what you came for. We can find out what it is later when you get it developed.”

  Outside, from ground level, something shrieked in anger. That got Jim moving. Just as we reached the door of the flat there was another scream, but we couldn’t pinpoint its source.

  “Shit,” Jim said. “Where is it?”

  I wished I knew. Then I might have some idea where to go next.

  “Stairs or lift?” I asked.

  Jim was staring back at the darkness of the living room.

  “Lift,” Jim said. “But then what?”

  “One of the old dears in the flats will have called the Police,” I said, more in hope than conviction. “But in the meantime, I think you’re right. Lift it is.”

  The bell pinged behind us as the lift door opened. We got in, and stared at the open door to the flat, half expecting something to launch itself at us out of the darkness. I wasn’t aware that I was holding my breath until the lift door closed. I waited for Jim to hit the button, but he merely stood in the center of the cab, pale and shivering

  “Maybe we should just stay here,” he said. Another shriek came from outside, but from inside the cab it was impossible to tell how far away it was.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “But if the Police do come, I’ll be leaving it to you to come up with a story.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a fucking story, all right,” he said, and patted the camera, as if he was petting an old dog.

  The beast chose that moment to launch an attack on the lift door. In the confines of the cab it sounded like someone was pounding on the cab with a sledgehammer.

  “Shit!” Jim shouted, and we both made a lunge for the down button. Jim got there before me, and we started to move. There was a scream of frustrated rage from outside, and the pounding intensified.

  “Shit, Jim. You hit the wrong one. We’re going up!” I yelled, and we started to ascend.

  Jim chanted to himself. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

  The pounding rang through the lift cab.

  “It’s still below us,” I said. “When the doors open, run.”

  He didn’t ask where? which was just as well, as I had no idea myself.

  The doors opened, and Jim was out and past me like a greyhound out of the traps.

  The floor under me buckled as something hit it, hard, from underneath. The screams and squealing was closer now, and I didn’t have to try too hard to imagine the chimp-like figure hanging under the lift cab, one hand on the cables as it swung back and forward, the other pounding on the floor of the cab.

  The floor bucked again, and I didn’t need reminding twice. I followed Jim out of the lift, having just enough presence of mind to hit the Down button as I left.

  The reporter stood in the center of the hall, his eyes wide in fear.

  “Where the fuck is it?” he whispered, “Oh Christ, where the fuck is it.”

  As if in answer the lift behind us started to descend, and the screaming went up a notch.

  “We’ve got two choices,” I said. “Neither of which I like. Roof or car park?”

  Jim stared at the lift door, as if he expected it to open at any second.

  “I don’t give a fuck as long as we get away from it. I’m pissing myself here.”

  And at that moment, over the top of the screams and the pounding, we heard the insistent nee-naw of police sirens. They seemed to be getting closer, and that made up my mind for me.

  “Stairs,” I said. “And fast. If we’re lucky, it’ll get stuck in the lift shaft.”

  Jim beat me to the stairwell, but it was a close thing. I barreled through the doors just behind him, and was at his shoulder as we started down the stairs. We went down three flights touching barely one step in four, then stopped dead in our tracks.

  Somewhere below us a door opened with a crash, and the now too familiar screams rose up in the stairwell.

  Jim and I looked at each other, and I saw my own fear reflected in his eyes.

  “The gun,” he said. “Maybe a warning shot will scare it?”

  In the rush out of the flat I’d forgotten I was carrying the weapon.

  I called out, feeling slightly foolish.

  “I’ve got a gun.”

  The beast screamed, and rapid footfalls echoed up the stairs. At least now I knew it wasn’t one of the little old occupants of the flats. I fired a shot down the middle of the stairwell, almost deafening myself in the process, the recoil bringing sudden pain to my wrist and my bruised back.

  The screams got louder.

  “Nice shooting, Tex,” Jim said. He turned and headed back up the stairs. I followed him, keeping one eye on the stairs behind me. I thought Jim might head for the roof, but he pushed open the first set of doors we came to. I went through after him, and found that we were once more outside old lady Malcolm’s flat. Jim was pushing the lift button and screaming at it, screams that were mingled with heavy sobs.

  “Hurry the fuck up…hurry the fuck up….”

  Three things happened in quick succession. First, the lift arrived and the doors started to open. Then the creature came at full pelt through the stairwell door. The hallway was suddenly full of the sound of its screaming, and the hairs at the back of my neck rose. I started to lift the pistol, but I knew I was far too slow…it was coming at me, fast as wind.

  Then the third thing happened. The door of the flat beside Jessie Malcolm’s burst open, and the old man, Davie she’d called him, appeared in the doorway. He had a shotgun in his hands, a huge cannon of a thing. The flare as he pulled the trigger blinded me for a second, and the noise of the shot rang like thunder in the hall. When my eyes recovered there was only the old man holding the smoking weapon and the stairwell doors swinging closed.

  “Bloody Germans,” the old man said as he tur
ned back to his flat. “I always knew they’d be back.”

  Once again Jim and I looked at each other, then he pulled me into the lift cab. This time he was careful to hit the Down button. Neither of us spoke on the way down…I think if one of us had started we might have dissolved into hysteria.

  The sound of the police sirens was closer now, but that was all we could hear. The lift doors opened with a ping on the ground floor…just as the roof above us started to shake and buckle and the pounding started again. Once more Jim was faster than I was and he was out into the hallway first. He reached the front door, just as a police car screeched into the car park, siren blaring, and blue lights flashing.

  “The cops!” Jim said. “And for once I’m glad to see them.”

  Before I could stop him, he stepped out of the door and on to the pavement. The driver cut off the siren, and I suddenly realized something…the pounding of the lift cab from above had stopped.

  “Jim,” I said.

  He turned towards me, a query on his face.

  The beast repeated its trick of the night before and fell on him from above.

  The noise of his back breaking was deafening in the sudden quiet.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  And died.

  The beast sat on Jim’s body and began to beat the little man’s head to a bloody pulp. The doors of the police car were only now being opened, far too late for the wee man. It had happened so fast that I had forgotten I was holding the pistol. I stepped forward, intending to put the weapon to the head of the beast.

  I was less than four feet away…but still too far. I raised the gun, but that was as far as I got. The ape-like head turned, and once more I looked into John Mason’s eyes. It threw itself at me and more by luck than judgment I got the gun between us. As yellow-taloned fingers reached for my eyes, I pulled the trigger, and kept pulling even when there was only the dull click of the pin on an empty chamber.

  The bullets had no apparent effect other than forcing the beast several feet away from me. It stood, sticking a finger into the gaping, bloodless, wounds in its chest. Even as I watched the wounds started to close.

  I didn’t wait to see any more…I scrambled away. I’m not sure where I was headed, but the police car seemed like a good start.

  “It’s okay, son. Take it easy.” I heard a voice say. I thought that it was speaking to me, but as I lifted my head Jock McCall pushed past me.

  “Keep away from it!” I shouted, but the big man wasn’t listening. He was approaching the beast, which eyed him warily. I don’t know whether he’d convinced himself he was dealing with a junkie or not, but he didn’t seem to notice that the thing in front of him was something less, or more, than human.

  The creature stood over the body, protecting its kill. Jim’s body was sprawled out, legs akimbo, a pool of blood spreading from the squashed pulp that was once his head. The camera lay a few feet to one side, the long lens partly detached from the camera body, as broken as its owner.

  The big cop crept forward, slowly.

  “Come quietly, son,” he said. “There’s going to be twenty coppers here in thirty seconds. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

  Betty Mulholland came around the other side of the car.

  “Jock. Be careful.”

  The big man dismissed her with a wave of the hand.

  Startled by the movement, the beast changed. A shiver ran through the body, the color and texture changing, thick, bloody fur sprouting in a transformation so fast, so complete, the brain struggled to make sense of what it was seeing.

  The thing, which lowered its head and charged at the cop, was almost all wolf, a snarling, red-eyed, slavering bundle of teeth and claws. McCall got his hands up and caught it round the neck just before the teeth could find his throat, but the creature’s forelegs scrambled frantically against his chest and lower belly.

  Blood sprayed as the policeman howled and they danced around the pavement.

  Before I could do anything, Mulholland, in a frenzy that almost equaled that of the beast, threw herself at its back, trying to tear it away from her partner. Now there were three of them, staggering in a wild dance that was leaving a Jackson Pollock frieze of blood across the pavement.

  The beast howled, an icy cold screech, and changed again, flesh flowing like thick oil, fur becoming scales, teeth becoming fangs, horns sprouting bloodily from a suddenly bald skull. Within a second the wolf had become a blood-red demon…complete with cloven hooves and a tail. McCall screamed in astonishment, and released his hold. The demon threw Mulholland away from it as if she was no more than an irritant. She hit the car bonnet, but rolled away, still conscious.

  I hadn’t been totally idle. When the creature turned its attention back to McCall, I was standing between it and him, wee Jim’s camera in hand. When it looked straight at me I said a silent prayer, and hit the flash button.

  The demon squealed, covering its eyes with huge leathery hands. But it didn’t run. After a second it lowered its hands. It smiled, and a thick black forked tongue slithered from between fleshy lips. It took a step towards me, and in that second I thought I was finished. I hit the flash button again, and it flinched, but kept coming.

  I was saved by the cavalry. Three police cars slammed into the car park, the retaining walls, and each other, sirens blazing and lights flashing. The creature batted at the air, confused. I gave it a couple of more flashes, then I heard a bellow. Like a wounded bull Jock McCall flung himself past me and launched himself at the beast.

  It turned and ran, leaping onto the roof of the nearest police car; then, as if on springs, it was off and away across windshields and bonnets, leaving huge dents to mark its passage. The big policeman stared after it, then looked at me. I saw the pain begin to take hold of him.

  “I owe you one,” he said. “I won’t forget it.” Then his legs buckled. I caught him on the way down, my back suddenly remembering its bruises.

  “Officer down. Get an ambulance,” Mulholland shouted, but I was looking straight at wee Jim. An ambulance would be far too late for him.

  For the next twenty minutes I sat on the car park wall, smoking a succession of cigarettes, while the ranks of the curious built up around me. There were more police cars, too many ambulance crews, and far too many gawking bystanders, even though it was by now the early hours of the morning. Little old ladies from the flats offered cups of tea in exchange for juicy pieces of gossip. A large circling band of kids who should have been in bed were instead loitering on the edge of the car park like a hyena pack, ready to lift anything that wasn’t nailed down. Orange and blue hazard lights competed to see which could give me the biggest headache, and the people of the press and media jumped up and down just outside the police cordon, screaming for attention and flashing their cameras at anything that moved.

  I felt empty. Every time I looked at Jim’s body I replayed in my mind the expression on his face as he turned and looked at me. The poor bastard…I was the last thing he’d seen. My backside was going numb from sitting on the cold stone of the wall, but I couldn’t summon up the energy to move…not while wee Jim still lay there on the pavement. It was like standing vigil. I was the only one present who’d known the cantankerous wee bugger…I couldn’t leave him along with the Police.

  It was Betty Mulholland who finally got me moving. Hiding it from everyone else, she showed me the pistol, and put it away in the folds of her jacket.

  “This’ll be our wee secret,” she said. “Jock and I will say it was the junkie that had the gun, and that he took it with him when he fled the scene. I’ll make sure this one disappears into the Clyde on the way back to the station.”

  I nodded in thanks.

  “The junkie story will not hold for long,” I said.

  “No. But what’s the alternative?”

  I saw her point.

  “Panic or ridicule. Not much of a choice.”

  “And the Chief Constable will see it the same way…if we tell him,” she said. �
�I’ve got the film from the camera. I think that’ll be disappearing down a black hole as well. And I brought you this.”

  She handed me Jim’s hipflask.

  “You might as well get it.” She said. “It would only go missing back at the station.”

  She refused to join me as I took a deep swig, but she did take a cigarette when I offered.

  “How’s the big man?” I asked.

  “They’re prepping him for the ambulance journey,” she said. “His chest looks like a lump of raw meat, and there’s bone showing through, but he’ll live.”

  She shivered.

  “Your pal is still in Emergency, isn’t he?” she said.

  Again I nodded.

  “Well, come on. I’ll give you a lift. You can feed me smokes and tell me what you know about…about…”

  “I call it ‘the beast’,” I said, putting the hip flask in an inside pocket.

  She smiled thinly.

  “Aye. That was going to be my nickname for Jock. Looks like I’ll have to find another one.”

  I decided now was not the time to tell her the ‘bear and spare’ anecdote. I might have a case of shock, but that didn’t make me stupid with it.

  Two ambulances pulled out of the car park in front of us. One of them switched on its siren, and we overtook the silent one to follow it. I mouthed a ‘cheerio’ to Jim as we passed, then we were speeding down the road.

  “Tell me,” was all she said.

  I gave her the heavily edited version.

  Jessie Malcolm had been complaining of an intruder, wasn’t getting anywhere with the police, so she hired me. Last night Doug and I had met it, and Doug came off worse. Tonight, in the Halt bar, wee Jim had offered me money to help him get a picture, and that had led us here. She knew the rest...it didn’t really sound convincing, even to me, but the real thing would have sounded too outlandish.