by Davies, Neil
Katrina gripped Tim’s arm tighter, as though she was barely able to hold back a smile that wanted to explode across her face.
Unsettled, Tim said nothing. Katrina’s expression, her body language, made it clear that something had been achieved, some victory gained. She showed none of the shock and concern of other bystanders. She was excited, happy. It made him nervous about who Katrina had become as she grew up, but she was still Katrina and he could not believe she would do anything genuinely bad. And she would never hurt him.
3
“I’ve never seen mutilations like it. What kind of man could do something like that?”
Susan Hall shook her head in disbelief as she followed the stretcher out of the cemetery.
The Professor walked alongside her, his face grim.
“I don’t believe any man did that. I believe it was something far worse.”
“Nothing we’ve ever investigated before came close to this. This is far more serious than some fake haunting or even the pathetic attempts at devil worship we’ve seen,” said Susan, ignoring her father’s remark.
“I agree.” The Professor stopped and turned to face his daughter. “Susan, listen to me please. I know you don’t believe in anything supernatural…”
“I can only believe what I’ve experienced Dad. Every investigation we’ve been on has had a logical, if twisted, explanation.”
The Professor waved her protests away irritably.
“That’s as may be, but I’ve told you before that, before you were born, me and your mother faced many things that were far from logical. I have experienced the supernatural, Susan. Your mother was killed by it.”
“I’m not one of your students, and this isn’t one of your books!” Her voiced trembled with an anger born of thoughts and memories she preferred to suppress. “Mother died at the hands of some twisted fucks who believed they were doing Satan’s work. But they were human. Just like whoever did this was human.”
She made to walk on but her father stopped her, his hands taking hold of her shoulders firmly but kindly.
“Please Susan, for your own safety, you’ve got to believe me on this. Whatever killed this man was not human. I’m certain of it. If you won’t believe that then at least humour me. Whatever happened here is tied up with Father Rex’s disappearance. I need to know you’ll at least be careful.”
Susan’s angry expression softened.
“Of course I’ll be careful. Aren’t I always? And yes, I can believe this is all connected. But I can’t accept that it’s anything but human in origin. I would love to be proved wrong, to finally see evidence that the supernatural is real and genuine, but until then I prefer to believe my monsters are all human.”
She smiled at her father as he dropped his hands from her shoulders.
Her gaze travelled to the crowd outside the cemetery gates and the smile fell from her face.
“I knew it!”
“Knew what?” Puzzled, the Professor turned to look at the crowd with her.
“There, over on the right hand side. That Galton man with the Principal from the college.”
A look of smug satisfaction swept over her face.
“I knew he was involved in all this.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1
Christina Jameson could feel the restless excitement of her spirit lovers in the darkness of the cellar. They swept around her, unable to stay still, whispering that it was almost time, almost complete.
She could feel them over her as she lay on the ground, feel them aroused and eager, swirling around and under her, lifting her into the air. Her legs fell open and she gave herself willingly to the press of invisible bodies.
And that rare thing happened, that rare occurrence in her life among the dead. A memory. The memory, sudden and vivid, of how she had come to be here…
2
Three Years Ago
Nineteen year old Colin Riley stood nervously in the dark overgrown garden of the old house. In the moonlight that occasionally pierced the heavy, overcast sky he could make out the date 1712 engraved in the stone above the arch of the locked front door.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” he asked, turning to where sixteen year old Christina Jameson had forced open a rotted window and was climbing through.
“Of course it’s safe,” she giggled, a leg either side of the window frame. “The only reason they haven’t been able to sell it is because people remember when the Galtons lived here, before the parents died and the son ran off abroad. The people around here are silly, don’t you think?”
“I thought it was because it’s haunted.”
“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts and stuff do you?”
Yes I do.
He shrugged, trying to cover the betrayal of his thoughts.
“I suppose not.”
He tried to sound confident, brave, but a nagging fear still stabbed at his stomach, filling him with a cold nervousness that would not go away. A nervousness that distressed him so much he failed to notice as a gust of wind billowed Christina’s skirt up about her waist.
Christina, unaware of Colin’s unusual lack of interest and uncaring about the wind, dropped inside the old house and leaned back out of the window, her white blouse grubby from the dust and dirt.
“Come on then. Climb in.”
Colin, after a moment’s hesitation, forced a smile and clambered through the window into the room beyond.
Why was he doing this? He must be mad.
He gave a little nervous jump as Christina closed the window behind him and then he smiled, embarrassed.
In the half-light, with the moonlight shining through her thick blonde hair and caressing her breasts as they heaved with barely contained excitement, she looked amazing.
Now he remembered why he was doing this.
They had been going out together for almost three months, and in that time he had never got further than first base. He guessed he should date girls more his own age. From the stories his friends told they did much more and much more quickly. But girls his own age had always frightened him. Too knowing. Too mature. Girls of any age frightened him. Sex, while it was something he longed for, had always been something girls promised but never delivered. Not to him. He would never admit it to his friends, but his virginity was not only intact but apparently unbreakable. Christina, while beautiful and sexy, was young enough that he felt less expectation, less pressure to take things further than he was comfortable with. Until earlier tonight, when Christina has suggested this trip to the old Galton house, and made vague promises about what he could expect there, if he would only accompany her.
“I don’t know what you’re so nervous about,” said Christina impatiently. “There’s no one here. The place is empty. I remember them closing it up. You know as well as I do that it’s deserted.”
Colin shrugged. “I guess so.”
She took hold of his hand and pulled him towards the door of the living room they had climbed into.
“Let’s explore the old place eh?”
Colin nodded and allowed himself to be led, his stomach turning somersaults. He wanted her so much. He only hoped she was as inexperienced as he was. Perhaps if they shared the embarrassment he would feel better about it.
The door opened into a large hallway patterned by moonlight and shadows from the dusty windows. A great staircase, its top lost in darkness, reared up on their left, opposite the front door. Colin looked away from it quickly, afraid of what he might see in the shadows. His nervousness, his sense of foreboding, grew stronger, and this time not through the proximity of Christina and what she had promised. A clammy sweat tickled his forehead. Something in this house frightened him. Something wrong. Evil.
Christina showed no indication of feeling anything other than her own excitement and eagerness as she pulled him towards the staircase.
He struggled free with a hoarse whisper of “no” and she turned and stared at him quizzically.
“No,�
�� he repeated, stronger this time, trying to swallow back the dryness in his throat. “Not upstairs. Stay down here.”
“Ah Colin, but the bedrooms are upstairs.” She giggled, running her tongue mischievously around her lips and moving to the foot of the stairs. “Don’t chicken out on me now.”
With a flick of her skirt she was gone, running up the stairs into the darkness, still giggling.
Colin stared up after her. He could not go up those stairs, all his want, his need for Christina smothered in the oppression of the house. Something was waiting up there. Something dangerous.
He should leave. Just turn and go.
And leave Christina to whatever’s up there?
He couldn’t. How could he face her parents and tell them he left their daughter alone with… something? How could he face himself?
Shit. He didn’t have a choice.
Slowly, his leg muscles trembling with each step, he began to climb the stairs.
Christina ran the length of the great landing and peered into a dark, dusty bedroom. She flicked the light switch but was not surprised when nothing happened. The power lines to the house had probably been cut years ago.
She looked back along the landing, towards the top of the stairs. No sign of Colin. But he would come. Yes. He would come.
She knew he wanted her. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. He would not be able to resist following her up here. Not after the promises she had made earlier.
It was common knowledge among her friends that Colin Riley was a virgin. Most thought it a joke. Some thought it cute. She saw it as a challenge and an opportunity.
She had lost her own virginity almost two years ago at a party. It had been the first time she got drunk, and the first time she had sex. It had been painful, the sensation dulled by the alcohol. She had not been idle since then.
She was hardly the village bike. That notoriety belonged to Barbara Fisher, according to her more bitchy friends, a Sixth Form student at the local high school. But she had had three boyfriends in the past year and had sex with each of them.
Tonight was Colin’s turn, and she was looking forward to ending his virginity. With no previous experience, he would agree to whatever she asked. Perhaps, with his help, she would reach an orgasm for once!
Smiling, she walked into the room, pushing the door closed quietly behind her. Colin would have to search for her. That should increase his eagerness even more.
Giggling softly, she walked towards the four-poster bed that still commanded the eye in the centre of the room. It was bare. No sheets. No mattress. But it still radiated an aura of splendour, of better days. She could almost imagine how the room would have looked all those years ago when the Galtons still lived here. Indeed, when the Galtons still lived.
She felt suddenly cold at the thought, an icy cold that seemed to grip not only her but the whole room. She shivered, old stories about ghosts and haunted houses flooding back to her. She tried to shrug them off. She was sixteen now, too old to be frightened by stories, too old to be frightened of non-existent ghosts.
She gasped as a hand touched her shoulder.
She spun round.
“Colin?”
There was no one there.
She tried to suppress the shudder that threatened to convulse her body, succeeded in reducing it to a tremble that hunched her shoulders and trickled a rivulet of icy sweat down her spine.
“Colin? Is that you?”
She peered into the darkness but could see nothing, only shadows that suddenly seemed deeper, darker than they had when she entered the room.
“This isn’t funny Colin. Okay, so I shouldn’t have run off like that. So, you’ve had your joke, your revenge. That’s it. Over.”
The pitch of her voice was rising, the unmistakable whine of fear creeping in. She hated her voice for sounding like that. Hated it, but could nothing about it.
Silence.
There was no answering laugh, no tell-tale snigger that would reveal Colin hiding in the shadows, enjoying his cruel joke. Nothing. She began to wonder if she had imagined it. Yes, perhaps just her imagination, or maybe a spider’s web, or something.
She gave an involuntary scream and pulled away as another cold hand stroked along her thigh.
Then she heard the whispering. A low susurration, undoubtedly words but impossible to understand.
She turned back and forth, trying to locate the source, trying to decide where the sound was coming from, where Colin might be hiding. If it was Colin… God, let it be Colin!
Her ears began to ache under the onslaught. She thought there were several voices, rolling one over the other, writhing before her in the dark. And yet still she could see no one.
“Who’s there? Please show yourselves. Colin? If this is some sort of fucking joke!”
Her voice had risen into hysteria with her final shout, but she could no more control that than she could control the trembling fear that now shook her whole body.
The whispering grew louder, sibilant, deafening. And then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped.
The icy cold plunged deeper.
She screamed as there was a sudden weight on her shoulders, heavy hands pushing her onto the old four-poster bed. Rusting springs creaked under the strain. She was about to scream again as a cold clammy hand clamped over her mouth.
She struggled, kicking, writhing, her eyes darting fitfully about the darkness, but still she could see no one.
She felt something tug at her blouse and tear it open, buttons ricocheting off walls, spinning to a stop on the floor.
She tried to get away, to push herself up, but the weight on her shoulders simply grew heavier and she could not move. She tried to bite the hand she felt over her mouth, but although her teeth sank into something slimy and foul tasting, there was no blood, no scream of agony and no loosening of the grip.
She bit again, harder, and something burst, exploding putrid, warm, rotten pus into her mouth. She gagged, tasted vomit rise in her throat.
She threw all her strength into one final struggle, arching her back in the effort, as she felt more hands grab her ankles, others slide up her thighs, under her skirt. She kicked to no effect as her legs were pulled apart. Whoever, whatever had hold of her was just too strong.
Still she saw nothing. There was no one in the room but her, with wild eyes staring, unbelieving, terrified.
Something flowed between her legs, not human, solid yet fluid. It caressed her inner thighs, stroking, squeezing She screamed, her voice muffled by the hand still dripping infected fluids into her mouth. She struggled, but the invisible hands held her still.
This couldn’t be happening. Ghosts didn’t exist. Ghosts didn’t rape!
She closed her eyes, tried to scream again, as the ever shifting form entered her, forcibly, violently.
She sobbed, her mind struggling with the impossibility of it all, as the shape grew inside her, filling her, hurting her.
Colin. Where was Colin? She prayed that Colin would hurry.
3
Christina!
Colin had quickened his step at the first scream and now ran along the landing, slamming open the door of each room, desperately hoping in each one that he would find Christina. He had no idea what was happening, but the scream had sounded genuine. He didn’t believe she was playing games anymore. The scream had been one of terror.
Forcing his way into the next bedroom he almost fell, shoes skidding on the dusty floorboards, stopped by the sight before him.
Christina lay on the bed, her arms outstretched, blouse open, breasts bruised. Her skirt was gathered around her waist and her legs wide apart. She writhed, either in agony or pleasure, he could not tell which, her feet kicking in the air, her whole body shuddering with a regular rhythm, the same rhythm that the bed creaked to.
A part of his mind was aware that he had wet himself. Another part of his mind was equally aware of the inanity of the words he now spoke, but nothing else of
any sense would come from his lips.
“Christina, what the….”
He would never utter another word
Something punched into his chest, the heavy thud shuddering through his body. He stared in amazement at the blood that blossomed under his shirt, a growing stain of crimson.
He fell to his knees, a bloody froth bubbling at his lips.
On the bed, Christina no longer struggled or tried to scream, but rather laughed as her invisible lover reached his climax, pulsing warm seed inside her that was as dead as he was.
She no longer thought of Colin, or the impossibility of what was happening, or any rational, sane thought. She had gone beyond that, retreating into an insane acceptance and even twisted enjoyment.
Another shape flowed around her, entering her more gently this time. She gave herself willingly
Colin stared at the bed, but his eyes were glazed, seeing nothing.
A sudden pressure round his neck, agony down his spine and his head was torn from his body, landing with a dull thud in the dust, a trail of gore marking its path, spattering the walls, the bed, Christina.
The headless corpse folded to the floor and lay twitching in its own fluids.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1
“I didn’t recognise that man you were with.”
Mark Bullough stood in the doorway of Katrina’s house, rigid, grim faced.
Katrina, still holding the door she had opened to his insistent knocking, smiled a humourless, cruel smile.
“And hello to you too Mark. You seem a little… tense.”
Mark’s grim countenance was replaced with a contrite and concerned frown.
“I’m sorry. I’m just… I was surprised to see you with a stranger, that’s all.”
Katrina stepped back from the door, allowing him to enter her house. He closed the door behind him as she turned and walked away towards the living room.
“You’re jealous Mark,” she called back over her shoulder. “And while in a way it’s flattering, it’s also an incredibly annoying and tedious trait in a man, or a woman for that matter. You don’t own me.”