The Dark Horde

by Brewin

  “Don’t ask me, Martin.” Mrs Farell’s horn-rimmed glasses rose over the wrinkle of her nose. “I only give you the clay. It’s up to you to mould it.”

  Martin threw up his arms and looked to the others. “Ohhh great.”

  Burke loaded another spitball in his lap. “Can you maybe put a few topics up and we can choose?”

  “I think that should be plenty.”

  “Please, Mrs Farell! Just one more. That one’s really hard.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I’ll put up one more theme, but that’s it.”

  She turned again to the blackboard as Brad, Burke and Martin all fired spitballs at Danny. One spitball joined the one already stuck in his hair, one stuck to the back of his chair and the other one hit Jessica in the back of the neck. Jessica looked around at the trio, who gestured that they were aiming at Danny. The teacher continued writing on the board, unaware.

  Danny looked out of the window, at the slender trunks of trees in the morning sunlight...

  As a dark shape moved between them.

  He jolted and became conscious of mingled chatter and laughter behind him. It was probably about him so he ignored it. He focused again on the view outside.

  In the shade of the gums, away from the other buildings, something ape-like lurked. Something he realised was staring back at him with piercing red eyes. His heart thumped in his ears, his face flushed with fear.

  Now he saw that there were many of them, lurking in the trees...

  Watching.

  He shuddered and looked away at the class. Mrs Farell had just finished writing another line on the blackboard. No one seemed to have noticed the scene outside. Incredulous, he turned back to the window...

  They were still there.

  “No more questions?” Mrs Farell scanned the room.

  No one answered. Many quietly cursed.

  “I guess you must all be too eager to rip into that story!” She sat at her desk to begin correcting papers from her last class.

  Brad, Burke and Martin pretended to start writing, then reloaded their peashooters as soon as the teacher wasn’t looking.

  Danny had the instinct to run, but didn’t want to attract attention either. He glanced outside again and at the others in class. He was sure the class should be able to see them outside. There must be twenty or more of those things, crawling in the shadows of the trees!

  He turned to Rebecca sitting next to the window behind him.

  Rebecca looked up from the single line she had written. “What are you looking at?”

  Danny pointed out of the window, unable to form words.

  “Turn around, idiot! You’ll get me in trouble!”

  He returned to face his desk, speechless.

  It was true, no one else could see them. Was he imagining the whole thing? The red eyes regarding him from cover a short distance away, told him otherwise.

  “Soon you will be ours,” resonated a deep voice inside his head.

  Then there was a knock at the door. Heads raised to see that it was the principal, Lucas Prescott.

  Mrs Farell rose from her seat and walked to open the door.

  “Sorry, Wendy. Can I have a quick word with you in private?”

  She nodded and turned to her class. “Listen please everyone. I’m going to be out of the room for a couple of minutes. When I come back, I want to see you all writing. If I catch anyone not working, there’ll be trouble.”

  The class was silent and Mrs Farell smiled. As soon as she left with Mr Prescott and closed the door, there was a volley of spitballs, mostly at Danny.

  Burke decided to go one better and ran down the aisle to whack Danny’s bare legs with a ruler. Danny cried in pain as Burke rushed past him, grabbing Danny’s pencil case on the way. Burke threw Danny’s pencil case to Martin, who stood on a chair to catch it. Brad kept a lookout down the corridor for Mrs Farell’s return. The rest of the class watched.

  “Give it back,” came a weak voice.

  Martin grinned as he emptied a bottle of correction fluid into the pencil case, holding it up for Danny to see. Martin laughed along with Burke and Brad.

  “Oh, don’t do that!”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Martin challenged.

  “She’s coming!” Brad called.

  Burke bolted back to his chair, reaching it just as the classroom door opened. Martin dropped Danny’s pencil case on the floor. Everyone pretended to be writing.

  Mrs Farell walked to the front of the desks, a serious look on her face. Mr Prescott stood in the doorway, watching. “Mr Prescott had just informed me that he has spoken to the police about what happened at the Weston farmhouse last night.”

  Brad was trying hard not to laugh. Burke tickled his ribs. He lost it.

  “Do you think it’s funny, Bradley?”

  Red-faced, Bradley managed to contain his laughter. “No, Mrs Farell.”

  “Perhaps you won’t find it so funny when you have to be up to do a Banner Road tomorrow morning at six.”

  “Shit,” Bradley whispered, not wishing to attract further punishment. Nobody wanted to do a Banner Road. It meant getting up before everyone else to do a five-kilometre run out to Banner Road and back with some of the teachers.

  “I don’t want anyone to panic, but something very serious has happened. Last night, Barney and Frank Weston were killed in a fire at their house nearby and we don’t know how it happened yet.”

  Stunned silence.

  “There’ll be a formal announcement at lunch, but in the meantime, I want you all to be very careful and not go anywhere alone. We are safe and secure here, but this is just a precaution until we know what happened.”

  Danny shivered and cast a furtive glance outside.

  They were no longer there. Moving shapes were now mere branches in the wind. Nothing even suggested that they had ever been there...

  His thoughts were broken by a spitball hitting him in the side of the face.

  Laughter followed.

  SUNDAY 11:29 AM

  “Catch this!” he called.

  As Arthur said the words, he tossed the tennis ball into the air and prepared to bash it with the small cricket bat he held.

  Howard was standing about thirty metres away and trying not to think how unco he was going to look in front of his best friend, Arthur.

  As the ball came down, Arthur swiped at it, teeth clenched. His bat met no resistance and he spun full circle. He planted the bat to stop himself from falling. The tennis ball bounced to a stop at his feet.

  Arthur looked at Howard and smiled. “I was just testing ya. T’see if you were ready.”

  Howard smiled back, but said nothing.

  Arthur threw up the ball again and this time heard a satisfying ‘thock’ as he connected. The ball went soaring over Howard before he reacted to give chase.

  As Howard sprinted, the ball seemed to hang in the air like a comet. His eyes still on it, it began to fall within striking distance, like a meteor hurtling to earth. He put on a final burst of speed before launching himself headlong.

  Howard landed hard in full stretch and slid across the grass. He opened his eyes to see the ball lying in his hands.

  Howard remained lying on the ground, staring at the ball in his palms, as Arthur ran across the oval to him, his face beaming.

  “How’d you catch that? That was unreal!” Arthur said as he pulled Howard to his feet.

  “See if you can beat that,” Howard said, feeling suddenly taller and older than his nine year-old friend.

  “You’re all dirty now,” Arthur said grinning.

  They both laughed.

  Howard and Arthur were walking back home now. They crossed the quiet suburban road to Howard’s house and rang the doorbell. Howard’s mother, Julie, answered the door.

  “Oh Howard, look at your clothes!”

  “Sooorry Muuum.”

  “I’ve told you before not to get dirty! You’ve ruined another good pair of pants!”

 
She began to peel his clothing off. “Go and put some clean clothes on from your room and don’t get dirty again.”

  Howard now stood in the front doorway in only his underwear. “Mum, can we have some Yogo?”

  Julie looked at Arthur for the first time since they returned. Unlike Howard, he was fairly clean. She looked again at Howard.

  Howard clasped his hands together in prayer. “Pleeeaaase!”

  “Okay, once you go dress yourself, I’ll let you have one Yogo each. But no more, as I have to take Arthur home for lunch soon.”

  “Can’t Arthur stay for lunch?”

  “No Howard, he can’t! His mother is expecting him home at twelve thirty. So he can only stay for another half hour.”

  Howard pouted and tried to think of something to say. Arthur scratched his ear and remained silent.

  “Go and get changed, Howard. Now, please!”

  Howard looked at Arthur. “You want to stay, don’t you Arthur?”

  Arthur nodded and opened his mouth before Julie said, “Howard, it’s final! Go change or you won’t be able to have Arthur over at all!”

  It didn’t look like Howard could push things any further. He dashed off to his room to change, whilst his mum poured cordial for Arthur.

  Howard passed his sister Samantha’s room on the way to his own, noticing that his bossy older sister didn’t seem to be home.

  Smiling, he turned to his room...

  His smile vanished as he stopped in the doorway to look up at the poster facing his bed.

  It was an eerie poster of Long John Silver, the cutlass-wielding pirate, in the light of the full moon, a red parrot leering from his shoulder. Long John Silver’s eyes looked straight at Howard, his weathered features portraying a dark and powerful side. In the background was a dark ocean with the murky profile of an island in the distance. Emblazoned above the picture was the title “Treasure Island.”

  Howard didn’t like to look for long at the picture, as it gave him the ‘shivers’. The poster was a birthday present from Arthur, and his mum insisted that he put it up on his wall out of respect. If Howard had his way, he’d pull the thing down and hide it away somewhere. When he first got it, he had nightmares about pirates chasing him. Almost a year later, the poster still unsettled him, although he’d never got around to removing it.

  He forgot about the poster and began looking for clothes to wear.

  A short time later, Howard returned to the lounge where mum sat with Arthur. A cartoon video of Transformers was on in the background. Howard had watched it a million times.

  Arthur held up one of the two mini-tubs of chocolate-flavoured yogurt. “Here’s your Yogo.”

  “Thanks.” Howard turned to his mother as she held up a jug of cola cordial. “Maybe I can go with Arthur and stay at his house?”

  She frowned. “Howard, the answer is NO.”

  The phone rang.

  Julie answered, “Hello?... Amanda! I was just telling the boys that I have to take Arthur home soon.”

  Julie frowned. “Why? What’s happened?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God! Amanda!”

  Howard and Arthur gathered around Julie, who gasped as Amanda relayed the news.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, you just let me know. I’ll mind the kids here until you get back. In fact, I’m sure they won’t mind if Arthur stays here the night, if that helps.”

  Howard smiled broadly as he gave Arthur a big thumbs-up, but Arthur seemed more concerned about what had happened with his mum.

  “Sure, that’ll be fine, Amanda. Ah, perhaps you best tell him when you get here. I don’t know how to tell him.” Julie looked at Arthur.

  “Okay darling, I better let you go. What a terrible thing to happen. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

  Julie hung up the phone looking shaken. Holding back tears, she turned to Arthur. “Arthur, you’re going to be staying here for a bit longer. Your mother has to go down to the police station. Something’s happened to your uncle Barney and his son Frank.”

  “What’s happened?” Arthur said.

  Julie hesitated. “I, I can’t say.”

  SUNDAY 1:45 PM

  “Remember Henry Wilcox?”

  Jason looked at Aaron and then out of the hotel window at the road outside. “Yeah, that loser.”

  Four mates, all in their early twenties, sat around a counter meal at the Royal Hotel in the Main Street of Howqua Hills. They’d been there since soon after twelve and had downed a number of beers already. There were no plans to go anywhere until they’d downed a number more. Conversation currently revolved around recollections of school days at Howqua High.

  Bruce laughed. “Remember that time they found him in the forest?”

  “It wasn’t just one time, it happened a few times,” Aaron said.

  Vincent spoke up. “What happened?”

  Aaron replied, “Oh that’s right, you came to our school in year twelve after he’d left. He was a schizo. He’d be like sitting there in class and then suddenly he’d jump up and shout something like, ‘I banish the demons from my mind!’ And the whole class would just crack up laughing.” Aaron acted out Henry’s movements as he spoke, drawing more laughter.

  Vincent cut from laughing to ask again. “But what happened in the forest?”

  “They found him chanting some ritual with candles. The fuckin’ freak! Apparently he’d sleepwalked in there,” Aaron said with sarcasm as he mimicked Henry again.

  “Chanting a ritual?” said Vincent.

  “Something like that,” said Aaron. “Some satanic masturbation ritual.”

  “And what the fuck is a satanic masturbation ritual?” said Bruce, his voice carrying across to nearby tables where other patrons sat trying to have a quiet meal.

  “I don’t know!” Aaron gave another demonstration. “Like, oh Satan! Oh Satan, my master!”

  Vincent laughed awkwardly and glanced at the patrons on nearby tables. The others seemed oblivious to being in a public place.

  “He wasn’t a Satanist; at least I never heard him talk about that, the few times he did talk,” Bruce said.

  “Yeah probably not, just fucked in the head,” Aaron replied.

  Jason rose from the table. “Oh look, who gives a fuck about that loser! Who’s up for a game of pool?”

  Vincent seemed happy with the diversion. “Yeah, I’m in.”

  Aaron waved them off. “Nah, you guys have a game and then I’ll play the winner. I’m still finishing.”

  “That’s ‘cos you’ve been too busy fuckin’ talkin’,” Jason said as he grabbed a cue. He headed for the pool table with Vincent.

  Bruce had finished his meal, but remained at the table with Aaron and put his feet up on a vacated chair. Aaron was silent whilst he shovelled pasta into his mouth and Bruce’s gaze wandered to the television screen overhead. News Centre Six, the local news bulletin, was on.

  A shot of the smouldering remains of a building amidst gum trees, with uniformed police officers in the foreground. “In breaking news, two people were found dead this morning, at the scene of a burnt farmhouse near Howqua Hills...”

  Bruce sat bolt upright. “Hey Aaron, look!” He pointed at the television screen.

  “The Country Fire Authority responded to a call from Howqua Hills residents who noticed smoke coming from the farmhouse shortly after six-thirty am this morning. There they discovered the bodies of two men, whose identities have yet to be released, at the scene of a house that had been destroyed by fire.”

  Aaron choked on his food. “Fuck, that’s Barney Weston’s farm! Hey guys!” he called to the others playing pool. “Check this out!”

  They began to gather around the screen, as did other patrons.

  A shot through police tape at a black tarpaulin covering what appeared to be a body, next to the house ruins. “One of the victims was found decapitated at the front doorstep.”

  A rear-view shot of an orange HQ Kingswood with
an AC-DC sticker they all recognised as Frank’s. “And the other was found in his car with his throat torn open.”

  They were exclamations of shock and surprise from the other patrons, but from Bruce, Aaron, Vincent and Jason there was only stunned silence, their disbelieving eyes fixed to the screen.

  “Police are treating it as an arson-homicide case and had this to say:”

  A shot of a uniformed police officer surrounded by microphones, cameras and reporters. The officer is tall and gaunt, sporting a bushy moustache. “The actual cause of the fire and the cause of death have yet to be established, but I can say that it does appear to be malicious and particularly savage in nature. We cannot disclose more at this stage, including their identities, but their immediate families have been contacted and are assisting the police with their enquiries.”

  A reporter’s voice came over the clip of the police officer. “Police urge anyone with any information regarding the events of last night to contact them by calling Crime Stoppers 1800 333 000.”

  Bruce was the first of the four friends, all of whom knew Frank, to speak. “I need another drink. Who wants one?”

  Aaron had lost interest in his food. “Think we all do.” He lit a cigarette.

  Vincent went with Bruce to get drinks and returned soon after. Jason sat at the table, his shaven head sliding into his arms.

  Aaron cleared his throat to speak, but Jason spoke first. “That was Frank’s fucking car we just saw, wasn’t it? Tell me I’m not fucking dreaming!”

  Aaron nodded and then sculled his beer. Bruce sipped his beer in contemplation. Vincent looked at his watch and away outside. Jason kicked a chair in frustration and stood up, unsure where to unleash his anger.

  Aaron slammed his empty glass down. “Fuck it! Frank’s our mate. Let’s go down there now and see what happened!”

  “Who’s going to drive?” Bruce said.

  Aaron looked to Vincent. The others followed his gaze. “Well, Vino’s been nursing his drinks since we got here, so–”

  “I have not!” Vincent protested.

  Jason laughed. “How many have you had? Two?”