The Angry Ghost and Other Stories

by Peter Spokes

  I looked towards the weapons among the bodies and saw something glinting several feet to my right; it was different to the other blades. Dried blood covered its entire length, but there was something in the way that it pulsed silver and grey in an unpleasant and sickly manner such that I had to avert my eyes to avoid the sudden feeling of extreme nausea.

  My memory was gone and amnesia held me in thrall, and with a feeling bordering on panic I looked around the charnel chamber once more desperately looking for some tangible evidence as to the apparent nightmare in which I had found myself. But there was still a profound feeling of loss that I couldn’t shake; such a desperate emotion that I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs with utter sadness, and yet at the same time, raw fury when I tried to focus and recall it.

  I looked again at the small grille up to my left and noticed something written on the wall below it; with so much blood splattered everywhere I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now I saw that there was a message – in blood – written on the flaking plaster.

  ‘I WILL GET YOU VERY SOON’ it said simply and the author’s further arrogance was indicated by the fact that he had ended it with his name, ‘HUNTER’.

  Fuck me! I thought; could this get any worse?

  It was clearly a warning or threat and the name rang some bells in my brain but try as I might I couldn’t picture him, but then I didn’t even know my own name. It seemed clear that the message was for me once I had regained consciousness; but what then?

  Why would anyone want to ‘get me’?

  What had I done? And what the hell kind of a name was ‘Hunter’ anyway? There was certainly a rather macho element to it; perhaps it was meant to scare and intimidate me.

  I attempted to stand but my head was still swimming and so after several dismal and unsuccessful attempts I moved forward onto all fours and crawled towards the iron grille at the other end of the room.

  I only took a moment’s glance beyond the broken wall but what I saw petrified me for several minutes. I saw the people of the village fighting monsters – large wolf-like creatures with long teeth and longer claws. I saw heads crushed in jaws and limbs ripped from their bodies.

  As quietly as possible, I skulked back into the safety of the darkness.

  As I crawled over intestines and fleshless heads, I looked for a weapon. I felt I had an inherent fear of blades and so sought one of the pistols.

  A putrefying hand still grasped the stock and so I grasped the barrel and wrenched it away, though the rotting hand still held it tightly. With serious wincing I broke the fleshless fingers from the gun and – still on all fours – proceeded back to my wall which appeared to be the best place for defence as the broken one opposite was the only ingress to my current abode. My acceptance and lack of emotion in my inability to walk upright made me wonder if perhaps I had never done so.

  I looked around for a stick or crutch or even a wheelchair but then decided I was fine on all fours.

  The gun felt very awkward and clumsy in my grasp, but I felt ready to meet Hunter when he returned.

  My body suddenly trembled again as it had earlier but with far more pain; and I felt once again, muscles seizing and tightening before finally relaxing again.

  Scene 3: Hunter Comes

  Despite the horror of my situation, I was finding the small wolf-creature’s audible breathing having an oddly soporific effect on me and I was starting to doze, when there was the unusually loud sound of stones or pebbles being trodden underfoot by the side grille and I looked up. There was also an unpleasant aroma of stale sweat and after a minute or two I saw a large man, with great care, move slowly into the room.

  I remained silent and simply watched him look furtively this way and that. I was surprised that he hadn’t immediately noticed me. Though it was quite dark, I could see him clearly.

  He was surprisingly close before he stopped suddenly and saw the wolf-creature beside me. There was an intense hatred on his face but then he saw me and the hate changed to… fear?

  Never taking his burning eyes from mine, he stooped and picked up the strangely pulsating blade and slowly approached. I could smell his fear and knew his reason was held by the finest thread.

  There was also a sudden smell of expelled urine.

  So this was ‘Hunter’ and here to ‘get me’.

  But as he approached I was suddenly startled by something monstrous appearing beside the grille behind him. It appeared to be a much larger version of the sleeping thing beside me and one of the creatures I had seen outside earlier.

  I recoiled in horror and pointed, unable to voice a warning.

  Though I feared Hunter, at least he was human.

  Oddly, the man ignored my frantic pointing and continued slowly towards me.

  Behind him, the beast crept silently forward on all fours carefully and slowly moving one muscular limb at a time, its head low and its bright yellow eyes darting between the wolf-thing, Hunter and me; saliva drooled from its canines.

  Awkwardly, I tried to level the pistol deciding I had more of a chance against Hunter than I did against the fierce abomination that was now slowly stalking him from behind, and so pointing it at the head of the wolf-like beast, I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

  The pistol jumped suddenly in my hands and I heard a very high-pitched whistling in my ears; I looked over to see Hunter stop suddenly and slowly topple backwards – a small hole appearing in his forehead.

  Bugger! I thought, throwing the gun down in resignation.

  It was then I noticed the smaller creature still on my lap, awoken by the loud report of the pistol. It stared at me with its bright yellow eyes before reaching forth its claws once again towards my neck. I was so mesmerised by a surreal feeling of misreading the moment that I didn’t see the large beast coming at me until it was snapping at my face.

  As its claws reached out towards me its bloody jaws growled and snapped at me.

  The large creature reached me and its claws dug into my shoulders.

  My head was still ringing from the gunshot when gladly, I lost consciousness.

  Scene 4: Shea

  My first sensation was that of a killer of a headache.

  My second was the smell of blood – and rotting flesh – several hours old – and a lot of it.

  On opening my eyes, the world was red. This was not unexpected as I remembered making it so.

  I gazed over at the scarlet corpses and sensed a familiar scent.

  I looked down at teeth and claws so very close and suddenly pulled my offspring closer to me, holding her so fiercely as tears coursed down my face.

  I rocked her so gently for several minutes before looking around and straight into the bright yellow eyes of my partner. She lay beside me.

  “Hello, Hunter… she’s safe,” I said wiping my eyes.

  I reached out and stroked her large head, and scratched her ears; she smiled baring her teeth pleasantly.

  Then she looked up with a serious expression and with an edge of admonishment she said, “Berek; what were you thinking? That was a surprisingly good shot considering you’ve never held a gun before, let alone fired one; a couple of inches off and it would have got me!”

  My smile disintegrated. “What are you talking about? I don’t think I would know how to hold a gun – even if I wanted to!”

  Hunter narrowed her beautiful yellow eyes. “Do you not remember firing the pistol?”

  “What are you talking about?” I repeated, louder this time. “Why would I use a gun? I have other… weapons; are you feeling okay?”

  I then looked down she didn’t deserve that.

  “Sorry; what happened?” I said with some frustration; “my recent memory is… lacking…”

  Hunter stared at me. “You said you would find our child and those that took her would suffer,” she started hesitantly while loo
king at the ripped bodies, and then at me again, “… and you certainly did that.

  Shea told me that you simply walked in and… well… took them apart… literally,” she said.

  Then Hunter gently stroked my head and whispered, “Oh Berek; you have never been able to control your emotions; your passion has always driven your decisions; you will always be a slave to your heart.

  But today… it served you… us… right; our baby is safe,” she continued.

  “You were gone before the pack had fully planned our actions, though maybe it was as well for you found her before they… hurt her.”

  She paused to look around the bunker again. “When I found you Shea was weak but safe but you had been struck with a bad blade. I know your strength and doubted you were too badly hurt and so I pulled it from you, but you were too weak to fight further. Unfortunately, the screams from your attack woke the rest of the camp and so we needed to protect the entrance. I left a message on the wall so that you knew that we were near and I would return to get you both once we had finished with the rest of the tribe.

  We believed the battle won but then Rorschach saw the tribe leader creep away from the battle and suggested I follow. I could have so easily taken him – until he picked up the bad blade, but you were holding a gun in your claws… and I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Once he was dead I tried to talk to you to explain what had happened… but you… fainted.”

  Scene 5: Let the Rats Feast

  Lowering my head, I gently picked Shea up in my jaws and proceeded towards the bunker’s exit. Once there I looked over at the other werewolves and nodded to Rorschach and several of the others that had kept the human monsters from the bunker.

  My partner, Hunter, stopped, looked over at me and nodded back to the bunker. “The meat is of no use – it is spoilt. Should we burn them?”

  I stopped and lowered my head to the blood-soaked ground to drop Shea; she whimpered as if in a bad dream. “No,” I snarled; “let them rot in the hell they have made – humans deserve no less.

  Let the rats feast.”

  To Fish and Reminisce

  Scene 1: Prologue

  I looked up from the burning embers of the hearth and nodded at my grandchild.

  “Yes, I believe in ghosts – I saw one… once,” I said.

  She looked up at me suddenly. On her face, sitting awkwardly between disbelief and a little ridicule, I noticed a look of fascination – a look that said ‘Though I’m smiling, I want to believe; I want to hear something eerie; something perhaps alarming; something to take me from the safe and bland stories of today. I’m safe and warm, and nothing can harm me here. Speak to me of something… ghostly.’

  She waited for the punchline. I didn’t offer one.

  I smiled inwardly. I knew one of the primary purposes of a granddad was to entertain through gentle stories of the ‘old days’ and jokes but…

  “You’ve never seen a ghost… have you?” she said excitedly.

  “Indeed I have, but it was a long time ago and my memory is not what it once was.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she said. “Did it have a maggoty skull and long bony claw-like fingers?”

  I hid my rather disagreeable expression with a smile and wondered if I should have a quiet word with my daughter and son-in-law of my concern for what she was reading or watching on the television. “No, he didn’t have a maggoty skull or long bony claw-like fingers; in fact, he was… fishing.”

  “Oh,” she said. I saw some disappointment in my grandchild’s countenance and I smiled more so.

  “What happened?” she asked again – there was still a look of hope for something sinister.

  Scene 2: The Lake

  “As I say, it was a long time ago,” I started. “A good fifty years or so. I had heard that the lake was haunted but dismissed such talk as clearly nonsense or talk put about by fishermen wanting to keep the lake and the fish to themselves.

  Anyway, I would have been in my mid-twenties and it was an extremely wet evening when I meandered along the narrow path that allowed access to one of the fishing areas beside the lake. It had been raining heavily for the past hour and I remember having to watch my step very carefully and not just in avoiding the ever-encroaching nettles; but the steep rather slippery bank that one had to step precariously close to in order to evade them. In several places the bank would drop fifteen feet or more to disappear into the confused overgrown foliage at the water’s edge.

  As I walked along the bank I saw many fishermen in the process of packing up for the day. These chaps were daytime fishermen – or didn’t like the rain. I was too impatient for them to leave and so I kept on along the bank until finally I found a large area down by the water and only one fisherman in residence.

  He was sitting in the middle of the bank focussed on his float in the water about fifteen feet from the tip of his rod, perched on its rest.”

  “Was he a ghost?” my granddaughter interjected suddenly.

  I looked up, smiled, and continued.

  “I carefully descended the bank; ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ I asked.

  The man looked around; he was about the same age as me and had a friendly face. He smiled, ‘Sure, but watch for the bank there at the water’s edge; it’s a bit slippery and the water’s deep.’

  I smiled and continued my descent down to his left. I set up my rod and after a few minutes my maggot was on its hook and my float bobbing in the darkening and undisturbed water.

  I took in a deep breath and relaxed. Despite the rapidly dimming light, the full moon was rising and a silvery glow was now pervading the lake and its surrounding trees. Bats were starting to swoop and flutter above the water.

  After several minutes, I lifted a cigarette from my pocket. I liked a smoke while I fished and out of courtesy I called over, ‘I say, do you mind? By the way, I’m Peter.’

  ‘Sure… go ahead; I’m Bryan,” he said, his eyes never leaving the float. I understood his concentration. It was quite dark now and so was the lake despite the moon’s glow. While focussed on the float, it was quite easy to see, but once the eye strayed, it could take a while to find it again.

  It was then that I noticed water dripping from Bryan’s jacket. ‘Are you okay? You’re soaking wet. I guess you got caught in the storm – or been swimming?’ I said jokingly.

  He smiled back. ‘No chance – I can’t swim,’ he said. “But I’ll be fine.’

  I looked back to my fishing box. “I’ve a blanket you can put around your shoulders?”

  ‘No – really – I’ll be fine – but thanks anyway.’

  After a pause; ‘Are they biting?’ I said, looking out across the lake.

  “Not at the moment,’ he said, ‘but I think the perch are interested. I used to catch a lot of perch. My dad used to catch some enormous tench just over there,’ he said pointing to his right. ‘I used to fish where you are but not anymore. The bank ends too abruptly and it’s slippery, especially after it’s just rained.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ve never been here before but heard good reports on the size of the carp…’

  ‘You’re right there; I remember my dad reeling in a mirror carp from over there by the reeds. It was easily fifteen pounds.’

  I looked out across the now dark lake to the reeds indicated. The wind had died and the reeds stood motionless.

  I seated myself on my fishing box and stared at my float. It felt like the world had stopped. I looked around; even the bats had disappeared.

  After several moments, the young man spoke again. ‘You know, my father and I used to fish for hours here and it’s nice to return once in a while to reminisce.’

  I nodded, still staring at my motionless float.

  I paused a moment before asking, ‘Does he still fish?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘No, he’s now… well… no longe
r with us.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said wincing.

  ‘That’s okay, there was an incident just here about twenty years ago. I fell into the water… close to where you’re sitting. My dad jumped in but… sadly… I lost him. I managed to scramble to the bank moments later. You know, I know it sounds crazy but… if he hadn’t tried to save me, he’d be alive now.’

  Bryan looked like he was having trouble finding his words.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked quietly. The darkness was almost absolute now and Bryan was little more than a shadow but it felt as though we were the only two beings on Earth, and our conversation was all the more private and clandestine.

  ‘Well, sometimes I think I see him sitting just over there.’ Bryan pointed to his right. ‘Really, I’m not having you on. I wonder if maybe he doesn’t know he’s dead.’

  This conversation was suddenly becoming quite morose, but though I was fascinated, it was a hell of a conversation stopper.

  Clearly this guy’s rational workings were a bit close to the edge. Sad, as he seemed such a nice guy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I know how you feel. My dad died when I was ten – heart attack.’

  He looked over. ‘Do you ever see him?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you? – I mean about seeing him?’

  I desperately examined the possible options of reply I could offer – but none seemed appropriate. They seemed either offensive or patronising.

  Though my mouth opened, nothing came out.

  He smiled and then laughed. I smiled too. I didn’t have a lot of friends but I could see this guy becoming one.

  ‘Listen to us,’ he said – still smiling – ‘Bringing down an otherwise excellent night’s fishing; okay, maybe not excellent – it’s wet, cold and we’re not catching any fish, but you know what I mean.’