by Tony Lewis
They took his directions and as they approached the building, Flug pointed at it.
“Made sweeties here. Long time ago,” he said.
Ollie nodded, now understanding the monster’s obsession with any sweets that he could get his hands on. Ronnie was right; it was another one of his passive memories resurfacing.
“I wonder who’s up this time?” pondered Stitches as they got to the door.
Ethan knocked loudly three times.
“We’ll soon find out,” he said, a hint of trepidation in his voice.
The door was opened straight away by a giant of a being, wearing dirty jeans and a filthy white vest. He had long, black, greasy hair and an untidy, straggly beard that looked capacious enough to house a reasonably sized family of mice. He scratched at it furiously. Obviously the creatures nestling in the dark bristles were a lot smaller than mice and of the jumping variety. He had a rough and ready look about him, the sort of man who would quite happily drive the business end of a hammer through your skull rather than look at you. The type of man who got kicked out of the Hell’s Angels for being too antagonistic.
“Oh, hello. What can I do for you handsome fellahs?” he greeted them in a voice more camp than, well, someone very, very gay. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Weird Bald Guy sent us,” responded Ollie, almost totally unable to accept the sound coming from the doorman. “He said to mention his name.”
“Oh that’s alright then. He must have liked you boys,” he said with a flamboyant flourish of a rather limp wristed hand. “You’ve all still got your eyeballs.”
He opened the door and ushered them inside. Once they were safely in, he slammed it shut and locked it.
“Okay. Straight down the hall, then left, right and left again. Got it, honey?” he said with a suggestive wink to Ethan that was accompanied by a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Ooh, what firm traps. Do you work out?”
“When I get the chance,” said Ethan, smiling uncomfortably.
“I’ll bet. My name’s Denzel.”
“Nice to meet you, Denzel. I think we need to go.”
“Okey dokey. Good luck.”
They left the doorman to his duties.
“I reckon you were in there,” said Stitches, stifling the urge to giggle. “You probably would have hit it off. Do you reckon Denzel likes it doggy…?”
The rest of the less than politically correct verbal insult was cut off, when Ethan’s hand closed around the zombie’s neck and squeezed ever so slightly.
“You were saying?” he asked.
“Nuggghhh.”
“As I thought,” he said and released Stitches.
The last turn on the left had them at the end of yet another long hallway. At the end was a steel door that was covered in rivets and a gooey brown substance, dribbles of which had run down the door before setting.
“I hope that’s toffee,” said Ronnie as they approached it.
Once they were within about ten feet, vague sounds started to become audible. It sounded like chanting and shouts of encouragement that were also punctuated by another sound that they couldn’t identify.
“What’s that?” asked Ronnie from no one in particular.
“I don’t know,” replied Stitches, “but if I were to take a guess, it sounds like an angry ogre smashing a side of beef with a sledgehammer.”
When they got to the door it swung open automatically. Just inside was a set of metal steps that led down onto what would have been the old factory floor. It was dimly lit by bare overhead bulbs that cast their paltry light on old pieces of equipment and empty cardboard boxes. In the middle of the floor was the source of the noise they had heard whilst outside in the hall. It was quiet now though, except for one voice. The owner of that voice was walking around inside a large circle of others, beings of all descriptions, who were listening intently to his every word.
“The first rule of Fright Club is you do not talk about Fright Club. The second rule of Fright Club is, YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FRIGHT CLUB…”
“What on earth have we stumbled into this time?” asked Ollie, looking around the dark space.
“God knows, but I don’t think it’s a reading group,” said Stitches, thanking everything that he could think of that his challenge was done and dusted.
As they made their way down the steps, the speaker was coming to the end of his speech.
“And if this is your first night, you have to fright.”
He stared straight at the boys, which caused the assembled mass to do likewise. At least two dozen pairs of eyes and a smattering of trios gazed at them sternly.
“Welcome, Ethan,” the leader said, a horribly twisted smile on his face. A face that, as he approached and came into the light, was seen to sport a web of scars and damaged knots of thick flesh. “Are you ready for your challenge?”
Ethan visibly tensed, twisting his head from side to side to release the tension in his neck. He stepped forward to meet the leader.
“I am,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “What do I have to do?”
A ripple of understated laughter came from the gathered crowd.
“I think we’ve gate crashed a recruitment fair for Ghouls ‘R’ Us,” said Stitches, casting his eyes over them. There were ghouls, spectres, zombies, vampires, wraiths, ghosts and just about every other thesaurus entry for supernatural entities that there was. There were entities as well.
“The local cemetery must be dead, what with this lot being here,” he added.
“Either that or it’s the final of the world fancy dress championship,” said Ronnie.
The leader continued.
“The challenge is as simple as the name of the club. We bring a poor, unsuspecting soul into the combat arena and tie them to that post.” He pointed to a post. “A simple spell is then cast over them to keep their eyes open. All you have to do is try and scare them. The winner is the one who scares the victim; excuse me, the participant, the most.”
“I understand,” said Ethan. “What happens if I win?”
“You will receive what you came for.”
“And if I lose?”
“Best not to, really.”
“No pressure then,” whispered Ronnie.
“Mmmm,” agreed Ollie nodding his head. “Seems the challenges are going to get tougher and tougher, the further we get into this.”
“This way, Ethan” said the leader. “Your friends can observe from over there.”
Ollie, Stitches, Ronnie and Flug walked over to a small table and made use of the chairs surrounding it.
“Now we begin,” said the leader. “Tom,” he shouted.
A door on the other side of the factory opened with a bang. They could hear high pitched shouts and the odd swear word amidst the sounds of a struggle. Tom, a heavily muscled demon (another thesaurus entry) came into view, dragging something behind him.
“Oh, be quiet,” Tom rumbled, struggling to keep control of his squirming charge despite his size and strength, “it won’t be that bad.”
“Why should I, you dense muscle bound freak. If you hadn’t kidnapped me in the first place I wouldn’t have to be shouting at you, would I?”
She was slim, blonde and pretty, very feisty and had a mouth like a Martin Scorsese script. She was also bound at the wrist by a length of rope and was currently on the floor on her backside, being dragged unceremoniously along towards the post.
“She giving you a few problems, Tom?” the leader said, a grim leer on his face. “Maybe you should have gotten something a bit smaller, something easier for you to handle. A cat, maybe.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
He finally managed to negotiate the last few yards and then lifted the young girl to her feet. He undid the rope and pushed her back to the post before retying her hands behind her around the pillar itself.
“Right, sorted,” he announced, slightly out of breath.
“Tosser,” the girl spat.
&nbs
p; Tom looked her straight in the eye, brought his hand up in front of her face and clicked his fingers.
“There you go, Brad. The spell’s on. She won’t be able to close her eyes or turn her head away now.”
The leader, Brad, spoke to the group once more, but mostly directed his comments at Ethan.
“This is how it works. Those chosen approach the female one by one. You then do your level best to scare the living daylights out of her. Tom will be watching carefully, and it will be down to him to decide who the winner is. Understand?”
Ethan nodded.
“Excellent. Let the Fright Club begin.”
Tom picked up a steel bucket that had been at his feet. He rummaged around inside it for a few seconds before drawing out a piece of paper.
“Teddy,” he called out.
A being stepped forward and walked towards the bound female. He was of average build and height and was dressed in dirty black trousers, a holey stripy jumper and a battered fedora. This wasn’t what drew attention to him, though. His face achieved that. It was a mass of livid purple scars and welts, the skin pulled so tight that his mouth was frozen in a permanent rictus grin. It looked like someone had taken a meat tenderiser to a chunk of out of date corned beef and stuck two eyes on it.
“Alright, loser,” the girl greeted him.
Teddy stopped about three feet away from her. He flicked his right hand and a sound like metal being drawn across a stone floor broke the air. He raised it then, allowing the four gleaming spoons attached to his fingers to glint in the light. He reached forward and swung his arm, striking the post a couple of inches above the girl’s head, sending a shower of glowing sparks down onto her.
She wasn’t even breathing heavy.
“Next,” shouted Brad.
Tom fiddled around in the bucket again.
“Jasper.”
The next figure that emerged from the throng floated towards the girl a couple of inches off the floor. He was a corpulent, amorphous blob of gelatinous ectoplasm. It looked like someone had taken the skin off a rice pudding, tied it up and filled it with hot air.
“I ain’t ever seen an obese ghost before,” the girl said disparagingly. “You should try haunting Slimmer’s World.”
Jasper got up close to her. He opened his mouth and stuck out a tongue that looked like a flaccid sausage skin. Rather than meat though, his tongue was filled with dozens of spiders all scrabbling over each other. The sound of their chitinous legs and carapaces knocking against each other filled the factory. Their undulations eventually forced the tongue to split, and the arachnids cascaded to the floor where they made a dash towards the girl. She cast her eyes down and without a trace of emotion on her face stamped her feet like a river dancer, squashing every last eight legged runner flat.
“Next,” Brad called again.
“Terry,” said Tom.
A creature stepped from the group and shuffled unsteadily towards the girl. He looked like an eclectic mix of the contents of a deli counter and the tool aisle of a DIY store. Whatever had put him together either had a great sense of humour, or was as blind as a very blind bat wearing a mask in a dark room. As he reached her he brought his hands up and grabbed either side of his head. With a violent jerk he pulled it clean off, leaving a gushing, bloody stump. Drops of blood splattered the girls’ cheeks and chin.
“Another time waster,” said the girl. “You guys really need to try harder. I’ve seen scarier Disney films.”
“That’s a fair point,” said Stitches. “Flug can’t get through Dumbo without pooing his pants.”
The creature put its head back on upside down. Two ectoplasmic tendrils came out from its ears. On the end of each appeared a small mouth which opened, revealing a set of rather sharp teeth. Then, both tubes undulated with a peristalsis-like movement, forcing twin gouts of viscous, chunky vomit to issue forth that splattered over the girl’s shins and feet. Whilst this was occurring the atmosphere was punctuated by the most revolting and repugnant retching sounds.
She looked at the creature dispassionately as the cold, soup like liquid congealed at her feet. She spoke nonchalantly.
“Whatever,” she said.
“Next,” said Brad.
Tom rooted around once more.
“Ethan,” he barked.
“At last,” said Ollie. “Maybe now we’ll get somewhere. As soon as he changes and roars in her face, it’ll all be over.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Stitches. “She hasn’t been perturbed so far. I had my eyes shut when those spiders were running around, I can tell you.”
“Really,” said Ronnie. “I didn’t know you were afraid of spiders.”
“Only because they like warm, dry places.”
“Which is pretty much all of you, huh,” said Ollie.
“Exactly.”
“To be fair though, I nearly chucked up my insides when that monster spewed everywhere,” admitted Ronnie, still looking a bit pale. “She’s tougher than she looks, that one.”
Ethan approached the young girl.
“Come on then, handsome,” she said, a bored edge to her voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Here we go,” said Ollie watching intently. “Go on, son.”
The lycan closed in on the young girl.
“As soon as he starts stripping off and changing that’ll be that.”
Ethan stopped about a foot in front of her, a broad smile on his face but, his clothes still on.
“He better get undressed soon,” said Stitches. “He didn’t bring much to change into. He’s not the Incredible Hulk. His trousers won’t miraculously stay intact even though he gets three times bigger.”
Ethan still wasn’t undressing. Instead, he leaned in towards the girl and put his mouth next to her ear. The subsequent scream that came from her could have cracked an iceberg, and at one point got so high that only canines would have been capable of hearing it, so it was a blessing that Ethan was still in human form. Tears coursed down her face and rivulets of snot cascaded from her nose. She tried to shake her head from side to side; the tendons in her neck straining with the effort, but the spell in place wouldn’t allow it.
“No, no, no,” she hollered. “Don’t.”
Ethan had retreated to a distance that took him outside of the arc of the flying spittle that was being blown from the girls’ mouth. He looked over his shoulder and winked at his colleagues mischievously.
The demon, Tom, produced a tissue from a trouser pocket and cleaned the face of the distraught girl. When that was done, he again snapped his fingers in front of her face. She instantly calmed down, as the horror of the last few moments were erased from her memory.
Brad called out ‘next’ and Fright Club continued.
An hour later and it was done. A couple of other members of the club had elicited reactions from the girl, but none had managed to reproduce the devastating effects that Ethan had manufactured.
A zombie had tried his luck but had fallen over half way towards her when his hip joint gave out, prompting Ollie to ask Stitches if it was a relative of his, and a ghoul had opened up one of his own veins and drank from it before tearing open his abdominal flesh to display the workings of his internal organs. He passed out and was carried off.
The girl had laughed at the first and totally dismissed the second, as a ‘pathetic attempt at attention seeking.’
“That’s it, gentlemen,” announced Brad at the conclusion of the activities. “Tom, would you do the honours, please.”
The demon stepped forward, a cardboard box in his hand.
“I don’t think this is going to be a great surprise to anyone. Well done, Ethan.”
The lycan stepped forward to loud applause and even louder shouts and whoops from his travelling fan club. He shook hands with Tom and gratefully accepted his prize, before re-joining his friends in the viewing area where he was congratulated heartily.
He opened the box and revealed what was within. It was the st
em of the Cup. The second piece of their quest was now in their possession. Ethan tucked it away safely into his backpack.
Stitches was about to quiz Ethan about his tactics when Brad called over to them, telling them that they had to leave straight away. So before even getting a chance to handle the prize, they made their way back to the hearse, on the way saying goodbye to the friendly doorman Denzel and Weird Bald Guy who, thankfully, wasn’t eating anything.
Once safely back to the vehicle, which to their relief wasn’t resting on a pile of masonry, Stitches turned to Ethan and asked him the question that was on everybody’s lips. Apart from Flug, obviously, who was still in two minds as to whether he had been here before.
“What on earth did you say to that poor girl? She looked like she’d seen a ghost, well, a scary one anyway, not the useless articles we saw in there. We were expecting gnashing teeth and howling from you.”
Ethan put the key into the ignition and started the engine. As he pulled away he settled back into his seat and allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.
“It was relatively simple. I noticed the particular style of the pair of shoes that she was wearing. I told her that I was going to tell all her friends that she shops at Devil’s Discounts and put it all over the darknet. Be easy to find her on Faceofdeathbook.”
“You sneaky bugger,” said Ronnie, shaking his head.
“I never realised you were such a fashion guru,” said Ollie. “You do dress well, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” added Stitches, “he never goes out looking like a dog’s dinner.”
“I’ll allow that one on account of my good mood over my recent triumph,” said Ethan.
“Very civil.”
“But the next one’s going to cost you.”
Ollie rubbed at his eyes. They had suddenly become itchy and watery.
“You alright, mate?” said Stitches, “no need to get emotional.”
“No. I just got something in my eyes, that’s all. Ethan, just get us out of town and find somewhere to pull over so we can have a look at the next pages, will you please?”