“Somebody has carved words into his chest.”
Jess looked like she was going to throw up. “It’s sick. W-what does it say?”
“Hold on.” Harry pulled a couple of alcohol wipes from the first aid kit and ripped them from their packets. He gently rubbed at Peter’s wounds, clearing away as much of the blood as he could, fighting away fresh tides that sought to replace it. Slowly, the words became clearer.
SEnD…
Out…
ThE…
S…i…N…N…e…R.
“Send out the sinner?” Harry said the words out loud, hoping his brain would come up with some interpretation that made sense.
“What does it mean?” Jess asked.
“I have no idea,” Harry replied. In fact, Harry had no understanding whatsoever about the kind of monster it would take to carve words into someone’s chest. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe we should go get the others.”
Jess agreed.
They dressed as many of Peter’s wounds as they could and left him sleeping on the sofa. The rest of the group were still stacking furniture up against the broken window and pulling the pub’s long curtains around the whole thing, trying to keep out the freezing gusts from outside.
“Good job,” said Harry.
Those at the window turned around. Each of them looked shaken and out of breath, even Damien. Kath was the only one who didn’t appear to be bothered. Harry watched the woman as she sat down on a nearby chair and began to pick at her nails as though she had not a care in the world.
“Harry Boy. How’s the nipper?” asked Lucas.
Harry rubbed at his eyes and let out a sigh. “Not good. Someone’s made a real mess of him, blinded him, and cut words into his chest.”
Damien overheard this and stepped away from the window. “Someone carved words into him? That’s harsh, man. What’s it say?”
Harry shrugged. “Something about sin.”
Steph slid another chair up against the barricade, reinforcing it further. She turned to face Harry. “Sin? I don’t understand. What exactly did it say?”
“God knows,” Harry said. “Just the words of a psychopath.”
Jess spoke up. “It said: send out the sinner.”
“The fuck does that mean?” Damien demanded. “Does someone in here know what’s going on out there?”
Harry pointed his finger at Damien. “Calm down. It probably doesn’t mean anything. We just need to stick together and everything will be fine. No one needs to panic.”
Damien snarled. “I ain’t panicking, I’m pissed off. It’s obvious that this is personal. Whoever’s running around out there like Freddie-Krueger-on-acid has a grudge against someone in here.”
“Nonsense,” said Harry.
“Maybe not,” Lucas chimed in. “You don’t use a human being as a memo-pad and hurl them through a window unless you’re trying to send a wee message. Maybe what’s happening tonight is all down to one person. Wouldn’t that be an interesting twist?”
A silence fell over the group as they scanned one another suspiciously, trying to work out who was the sinner.
Harry wondered if it was him.
Chapter Seventeen
Nigel Sutcliffe had sat and watched the unfolding situation with quiet interest. Things started out strangely enough that evening, if only for the dire weather conditions, but once the lights had blinked out, things became truly bizarre. What concerned Nigel most was all this talk about a ‘sinner’.
He sat, shivering, on a stool by the bar, listening and watching as the others all argued incessantly about the injured boy with the chest carvings. Who was the sinner, they demanded, and who was outside in the snow? Nigel decided it was a conversation he was better off avoiding. Because he was very much a sinner. Sometimes, he felt as though he’d been born to sin.
But was he the sinner? The one the person outside was looking for?
Maybe he was worrying over nothing. Nigel didn’t care what happened to his immortal soul. All that mattered to him was how much pleasure he could find in life. The skinny bitch he’d fucked and killed in Amsterdam last week had been a particular highlight. God how she’d screamed. He smiled at the thought. But his reminiscing was interrupted by the arrival of Steph at the bar.
She handed him a beer. “It just about defrosted in front of the fire,” she said.
Nigel thanked her. “Just what I needed. Things are a little crazy around here tonight, huh?”
“Tell me about it! I feel like I’m in a horror film. Still haven’t decided on an emotion yet, but I’m stuck somewhere between dazed and terrified.”
Nigel put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. His pinkie ring slid over the fabric of her delicate blouse and stirred something within him. The solid gold ring had a dolphin insignia and was his most prized possession – a memento of his first victim, a twelve-year-old blonde with chubby cheeks like a prepubescent Drew Barrymore. He’d bitten it off her finger as she wailed and squirmed in the back of his lorry. He’d worn the dolphin ring ever since, enjoying the way it rubbed against his penis as he masturbated over his dying victims.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Nigel reassured Steph. “I think whatever’s going on tonight is personal.”
“Personal? You mean ‘the sinner’?”
“Whoever’s out there causing trouble obviously has it in for one of us; but you know what I think?”
Steph shook her head.
Nigel pulled his hand away from her shoulder, already missing the warm throb of her flesh. He picked up his ice cold beer and took a deep gulp before placing the near empty bottle down on the bar. “I think this is a tiff over drugs. The only people I know sick enough to smash a kid to pieces and lob him through a window are smack-heads and dealers, and we just so happen to have our very own aspiring drug lord right here with us.”
Steph looked across the room at the others then looked back at Nigel. “You think this is all about Damien?”
Nigel shrugged. “He’s the biggest sinner I know. Beat some kid into a coma last year, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Steph admitted. “I heard that too, but whether it’s true or not…”
“Well, it’s certainly within his nature from what I’ve seen tonight. He’s been glaring at Harry all night, and he threw a punch at the Irish fella.”
Steph glanced over at Lucas, who was standing by the fireplace. “What do you make of him?”
“Lucas? It’s strange how he turns up for the first time on a night like this. Maybe he’s the eyes and ears for whoever’s outside. Could be some drug lord looking to come into the area and put Damien out of business. Maybe they’re making their move tonight because they’re hoping the snow will keep the police away.”
“You’re really sure it’s about drugs aren’t you?”
Nigel shrugged. “I don’t know anything for sure. One thing I do know is that if whoever’s out there is looking for a sinner, it’s not me. I’m a decent, God-fearing man.”
Steph laughed. “Good for you, but I don’t believe anyone’s one hundred per cent innocent. No one’s perfect. It’s where people’s hearts are that matters.”
“That’s a lovely way of seeing the world and it’s no doubt why you’re such a lovely woman.”
“Nigel, you’ll make me blush, you charmer.” She gave him a quick hug around the waist. “I’d best go check on the others. There are more beers to hand out.”
Nigel nodded slowly, taking in the scent of her. “Vital work. You’d best get started.”
Steph sauntered away, leaving him to enjoy the sight of her lithe figure fading into the darkness as she left the candle-light of the bar. Nigel felt himself get hard.
Was tonight the night?
Steph was the main reason he kept coming to The Trumpet to drink. From the first time he’d seen her behind the bar, squeezing her tits together as she innocently leant over tables to wipe them clean. Nigel knew he was going to have her righ
t then, and the more he watched her sexy little backside wiggling around the pub, the more he knew he needed to have her soon. He’d been waiting for the right opportunity.
It had finally come.
Tonight was the night. The lights were off, the roads were closed, and a group of psychopaths roamed the snowbanks outside. If Nigel did Steph tonight, he could make it look like somebody else’s doing without any trouble at all. And if the others inside the pub were, for some reason, to find out, he would just have to deal with them too. He could be in his lorry come morning, a hundred miles away. Even snow this heavy couldn’t keep his rig from moving.
Nigel put his hand in his trouser pocket and rubbed at the flick knife pushing against his throbbing erection.
Yes, my little prize, tonight is most definitely the night.
Chapter Eighteen
“What the hell do we do?”
Harry heard Jess’s voice, but had no answers for her. Peter had remained unconscious since they’d patched him up and his condition only seemed to be getting worse. He needed immediate medical attention, but there was no way to get any. They were stranded inside the pub, with someone outside meaning to do them harm.
“We just need to do the best we can for him, right now.” Harry said. He could see the anguish on Jess’s face, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He wasn’t a doctor and could do nothing about the snow keeping them inside. Still, he felt like he was letting the poor girl down.
“He’ll be okay,” said Jerry, coming over and placing an arm around Jess’s shoulders. “We just need to keep him warm.”
The only place in the pub left with any warmth at all was by the fireplace, and Peter was now taking up most of the space. Harry decided to move over to the bar to join the others.
Steph was busy handing out fresh beers.
“Got one for me?” he asked her.
Steph smiled. “Sure, Harry, here you go.”
“Is anybody else wondering what we’re going to do for warmth now that Peter is taking up the fire?” said Kath. She had shown very little concern for her injured employee.
“Already on it,” said Steph. “Damien and Old Graham are down in the cellar looking for anything we could start a fire with. I’m pretty sure there’s an old steel dustbin we could stab some holes in and use as a furnace.”
Lucas laughed. “This gal is something else, don’t you reckon?”
Harry looked at Steph for a moment and their eyes met. “Yes, Lucas, she most definitely is.”
“You think the kid’s going to snuff it?”
Harry was taken aback by Nigel’s harsh wording. “What?”
“I overheard you talking to the girl. I could tell by your voice that you don’t hold out much hope.”
The negativity irritated Harry, but it was probably only natural considering the situation. “I can’t say – I’m not a doctor – but I know enough to see that the poor lad’s suffered more than anyone should.”
“You ever seen anyone in such a state before?” Lucas asked.
Harry conjured up images from his memory but quickly stopped himself. “No, I haven’t,” he lied. “I’ve never seen injuries like it before, which is why I’m not sure if he’ll last the night.”
“Well, then,” Lucas replied, “perhaps we should be worrying more about who – or what – did this to the lad. There’s someone out there looking to do us all harm, and we’ve got enough on our plates with the weather alone.”
“I agree,” said Steph from the other side of the bar. “I don’t like any of this. I feel like we’re cut off from civilisation. The phones are dead, the electric’s off, and we can’t go outside because some madman is knifing people up. I don’t even want to think about what the rest of the country is like. I’m starting to get really freaked out. This isn’t normal.”
“We don’t know there’s a madman outside,” said Harry. “Perhaps Peter made an enemy and they’ve got what they wanted just by hurting him.”
Nigel posed a question that made Harry’s logic falter. “Why throw him through the window?”
“Yeah,” said Steph. “If they wanted to kill Peter they would have been better off leaving him outside in the snow. Throwing him through the window makes it pretty obvious they were trying to frighten everyone inside the pub.”
Lucas put his beer down on the bar with a clink! “Maybe it was a message for the sinner,” he said.
“More talk about this bloody sinner,” said Nigel, banging down his own beer on the bar. “Why are we buying into this bullshit? If someone is crazy enough to carve words into someone’s chest then I think it’s fair to say they’ve lost a certain amount of marbles – probably all of them.”
“You’re probably right,” Harry admitted. “How would we even know who’s a sinner and who isn’t, anyway?”
“Exactly,” said Nigel, seemingly satisfied.
Steph pushed another recently-thawed beer over to Lucas, who was about to finish his current one. . “Nigel seems to think that it’s all about drugs, and that Damien is the one they want.”
“Well, well, well. Is that right, now?” Damien emerged from the bar’s staff area and moved through the hatchway. Old Graham was with him and seemed to be cringing. Damien did not look happy. “So you think I caused all this, do you?”
Nigel shifted on his stool. “I didn’t say that. I…I was just talking to Steph about who could be out there and…and…”
“…and you thought you’d blame everything on me? Why’s that then? Is it because you think you’re better than me? That I’m just some fucking mug?”
“No, I just thought…”
“You thought shit!” Damien tensed up like a wild animal.
Lucas leapt up and his seat and stood in Damien’s way. “Do I have to tell you again? Calm down for a spell, fella; it’s no good for the blood pressure.”
Damien turned his anger towards Lucas. “What are you talking about, you thick Mick?”
“I had your word that you’d behave,” said Lucas. “The only reason our Nigel is looking to blame people is because he’s afraid.”
“Hey,” Nigel protested. “No, I’m not.”
“We’re all afraid,” Lucas continued. “And when people are afraid they flap their gums. Tisn’t personal; just what people do to try and make sense o’ things. Stops their minds floating away we’em.”
“Yeah,” said Nigel. “I was just talking shit. Figured that, because you’re a tough guy, you’d have some tough enemies.”
“You’d better keep your accusations to yourself from now on,” said Damien, “because kicking your arse would be a nice way to warm up!”
Nigel nodded. “So, we’re good?”
Damien nodded. “Yeah, we’re good for now.”
Harry was glad Damien had been reigned in yet again. In fact, he started to wonder whether the thug was really the bloodthirsty psychopath people made him out to be.
“Can we get a beer for Damien?” Harry asked, trying to encourage peace.
Damien shook his head. “Not now. I found that old dustbin in the basement, but I need help dragging it up. It’s an old-fashioned wheelie bin but the wheels have rusted off. We should be able to start a decent fire in it and get some goddamn heat in here.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s great. I’ll come and help you.”
Damien shrugged and walked back through the hatch, disappearing through the narrow door behind the bar. Harry followed him into the rear corridor and then down the stairs into the cellar. At the bottom, Old Graham waited next to a rusty old double-wide dustbin. The rest of the cellar was a mess, with mounds of wood and cardboard rotting away in the corners.
“You going to help or not?” Damien asked, tipping the dustbin onto its edge.
Harry hurried over and grabbed the other side, while Old Graham kicked away the debris that covered the route to the stairs. The pensioner turned out to be quite spry for his age.
“After three,” said Harry. “One…two…
three…” He and Damien heaved, heading for the bottom of the stairs with the steel dustbin. The container was empty, yet still substantial in weight and thick with rust. Harry felt his hands chafing under the pressure. “How are we going lift it up the stairs?” he asked as they neared the bottom step.
Damien laughed. “Back giving out on you? We’ll just lift it, step by step. Piece of piss.”
The two of them stopped at the stairway and righted the drum back onto its base, dropping it down with a Wong! “Okay,” said Harry. “You ready?”
“Ready for what? A bit of lifting?”
Harry shook his head, unwilling to get into a pissing contest. He turned to look at Old Graham. “Maybe you could gather up some of this cardboard so we can use it for the fire?”
Old Graham nodded and got to work.
Harry signalled to Damien and the two began to lift. They hoisted the bin onto the first step with little effort, and then again onto the second and third. By the fourth, Harry was starting to lose his breath. “Can we stop a sec,” he said.
Damien grunted. “Maybe if you didn’t drink so much, you’d have more stamina.”
Harry felt his pulse quicken as he fought the urge to lash out, but decided to let his actions argue for him. “Right, come on then! Let’s get this bloody thing up there.” He tried to sound full of vigour, despite the tightness in his chest. “Last thing I want is for your delicate little body to get cold.”
Damien snickered but didn’t rebuke. The two of them continued hoisting the steel dustbin upwards. They scaled the fifth step and then the sixth. The seventh and eight were hard work but they managed to shift the deadweight up using their feet to give it an added shove. With only two more steps left, Harry yearned to release the weight he carried. His shoulders burned with fire and his lungs started to cramp. Damien was right, a year of constant drinking had left Harry in the physical state of a man twice his age. He felt ashamed.
The BIG Horror Pack 1 Page 52