Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller

by Mark White

  ‘Tell us what?’ Sam asked.

  ‘We’ve landed a new account,’ Holdsworth said, struggling to conceal his excitement. ‘I’m not going to say at this stage which one it is, but what I will say is that it’s a biggie.’

  ‘How big?’

  ‘Bigger than our top three accounts put together.’

  Sam’s eyes lit up. ‘National?’

  ‘Try global.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Sam said, ‘When did that happen? I wasn’t aware we were pitching for any new business. Tom certainly kept that quiet.’

  ‘Tom had nothing to do with it,’ Holdsworth said, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I negotiated the deal. Anyway, I don’t want to say any more right now. There’ll be an official announcement tomorrow or the day after; but suffice to say that this couldn’t have come at a better time for Chapman’s. Which is why,’ he said, turning to Gabby, ‘we’ll be needing to recruit one or two talented people to bolster the design team. So, in answer to your question…yes…I am offering you a job. I’ve heard some positive comments about you, and naturally there’ll be the usual probationary period, but subject to agreeing terms and conditions, I would be happy to have you on board.’

  Had Gabby been drunk, she would have probably jumped up and hugged Holdsworth there and then, but seeing as she was only half-way through her first drink, she opted to show her appreciation by hugging Sam instead. As she clung on to him, he looked up at Holdsworth, who smiled and winked at him as if to say it’s good being the boss. When Gabby finally released him from her clutches, she turned to Holdsworth and said: ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. You’ve earned it. Besides, young Sam here could do with the help, especially when he finds out how much work he’s going to have on his plate in the coming months. Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m afraid I need to mingle. It’s a hard life being the boss of-’

  ‘Holdsworth,’ a voice interjected from behind them. ‘HOLDSWORTH!’

  The room fell silent as Charles Holdsworth’s name was called out a third and then a fourth time. Holdsworth looked at Sam and Gabby and raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need to turn around to recognise who was calling him.

  ‘Good evening, Tom,’ he said, turning to find Tom Jackson standing alone in the middle of the room. His clothes were dirty and torn, but Holdsworth paid this no attention. ‘What brings you here? Can’t you see we’re having a party?’

  Tom grinned and reached into his coat pocket. The whites of his eyes were streaked with yellow lines and his hair was wild and unkempt. He had the appearance of a man who hadn’t showered or slept a wink in days, and his stare had an intensity about it that made it clear to everyone in the room that he wasn’t in the mood to be messed with. Unsettled by his presence, several members of the crowd began nervously looking at each other and slowly backing away into the shadows; not wanting to play any part in what was about to happen. And judging by the look on Tom’s face, something was definitely about to happen.

  ‘What do you want, Tom?’ asked Holdsworth, his smile and self-assuredness wavering. ‘What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Maybe I have,’ Tom said, taking a step towards him. His voice was gravelly and raw, and he moved with a severe limp, almost dragging his right leg behind him as he moved across the room. ‘Maybe that’s exactly what I’ve seen.’

  Holdsworth looked over to the barman. ‘Call security,’ he said calmly, bracing himself for the confrontation that was coming his way.

  ‘Security?’ Tom said, wheezing as he tried to laugh. ‘It’s not security you need to be calling...it’s an undertaker.’ He withdrew a gun from his pocket and waved it around in the air so that everyone could see it. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room switched from guarded hostility to primordial fear. Those who didn’t scream gasped with shock as Tom pointed the gun at them and pretended to pull the trigger like a kid playing Cowboys and Indians in the schoolyard. He cackled as he saw the terrified looks in their eyes, relishing the way they cowered before him. And then, as if he had suddenly grown tired of playing that game, he turned to face Holdsworth and Sam, dropping his smile and replacing it with a malevolent sneer.

  ‘You shouldn’t have fired me, Charles,’ he said, limping across the floor until he was standing only two or three yards from him. He raised the gun and proceeded to point it directly at Holdsworth’s chest. ‘You made a big mistake, and now you’re going to pay for it.’

  Holdsworth instinctively held up his hands as if to surrender, his champagne flute smashing against the floor. ‘Tom…please,’ he said, his voice quiet and uneven. ‘Let’s talk about this, eh? I’m sure we can sort it out. Put the gun down and we’ll go somewhere quiet.’

  ‘It’s too late for talking,’ Tom said, thumbing the gun’s safety catch. Holdsworth took a defensive step backwards but was blocked by the bar. There was no way of escaping. Nowhere to run.

  Sam rose from his stool and took a step towards Tom, who immediately swung the gun at him and snarled: ‘Sit back down, Sammy-boy…I want you to see this. After all, it’s your fault for poisoning Charles’s mind against me. Yours and your miserable slut of a wife. It’s a shame that Sarah couldn’t be here to see this.’ Sam froze as he stared at the gun, returning to his stool without saying a word. ‘Good boy,’ Tom said, returning his attention to Holdsworth. ‘Time to die, Charles’ he said. ‘Time to pay the price for fucking me over. Any last words?’

  Holdsworth groaned with terror as he realised that Tom wasn’t joking. Keeping his hands held up, he took a step towards him and pleaded: ‘I’m sorry, Tom. Please don’t shoot me. We can sort this out…you can have your job back. Please…I have a wife and a so-’

  The first bullet struck him directly in the heart, and then, as if to make sure, Tom fired again; only this time the bullet tore through Holdsworth’s neck and exploded into one of the many bottles meticulously lined up on a shelf behind the bar. Blood spurted furiously from both wounds as Holdsworth slumped to the floor; his arms and legs twitching unnaturally as the life drained out of him.

  Gabby screamed as a gush of blood soaked her dress and spilled down her legs. Unfortunately for her, however, a ruined dress would turn out to be the least of her problems. Satisfied that Holdsworth was dead, Tom turned and pointed the gun at her head. ‘You should have fucked me when you had the chance,’ he said, licking the sweat from his upper lip.

  ‘Tom, no!’ shouted Sam, rising from his stool again. ‘Don’t-’

  It was too late. Ignoring Sam’s plea for mercy, Tom pulled the trigger and shot Gabby squarely in the face. There was a hard cracking sound as the bullet entered her skull above the nose and ripped through her brain. Almost immediately, she collapsed in a heap on the floor, her eyes remaining open as they stared lifelessly up at the ceiling; dark blood streaming down her face and forming a thick, crimson puddle around her head.

  The coroner’s report would later conclude that it was highly probable that both Charles Holdsworth and Gabrielle Williams were dead before they hit the floor; a conclusion that would be of precious little comfort to their families when they came to bury them.

  Apart from a handful of bystanders who were either too numb or too frightened to move, by now most of the crowd had fled the room, leaving Tom and Sam alone together at the far end of the bar. Sam gawped open-mouthed at the bodies of his boss and his assistant, then, realising that death was coming his way and that he was powerless to prevent it, he closed his eyes and sat back on his stool; sobbing and shivering uncontrollably but unable to look his killer in the eye. His mind raced to Sarah and Max and to his love for them, and how he’d never see or speak to them again. He only wished he could hold them one more time and tell them how much he loved them and that they shouldn’t worry when he was gone. He waited and waited to feel the agonising pain of the bullet as it tore into him, hoping that it would kill him instantly; hoping that he would not have to suffer for too long.

&
nbsp; But death didn’t come.

  After what felt like minutes, he finally forced his eyelids open to find out what was happening, only to see Tom staring back at him like a horrific corpse dug up from the grave. Sam tried to scream but was unable to. Tom’s eyes were entirely white; there were no pupils or signs of life. A thick, yellowish pus oozed from his nostrils and mouth, giving off a foul, unholy stench that caused Sam to retch and cover his nose with his hand.

  And then, as if the nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Tom’s mouth formed a lecherous grin and said to Sam: ‘Are you ready for this, Sammy-boy? Are you ready to join your friends in hell?’

  ‘Please,’ Sam said, holding out his arms to Tom. ‘Please don’t kill me. I’m your friend, remember?’

  At this, Tom began laughing and shaking uncontrollably, pus dripping onto the floor. He raised his gun again, only this time he didn’t point it at Sam but directed it at himself, nudging it against his temple as if he was a willing participant in a game of Russian Roulette. ‘I’m not going to shoot you,’ Tom said. ‘That would be far too lenient a punishment for what you’ve done to me. No...that would be way too easy.’

  ‘What…what do you mean?’ asked Sam.

  Tom’s grin widened as he wrapped his finger around the trigger. ‘You’ll see, Sammy-boy. You’ll see.’

  The next thing Sam knew, the inside of Tom’s head sprayed across the bar as he pulled the trigger. ‘No!’ Sam screamed and reached out to the man he’d once called his friend. But it was too late. The gun fell from Tom’s hand and struck the floor around half a second before he did, leaving Sam covered in blood and standing in the middle of three dead bodies like some blood-thirsty murderer.

  Moments later, a gang of armed policeman burst through the doors to the Winchester Bar and pointed their guns at Sam, screaming at him to put his hands on his head and drop to his knees or else they’d shoot.

  They had to repeat the threat at least three times before Sam finally understood what they were saying and did as they asked. He barely had time to breathe before his face was forced into the carpet and a set of handcuffs were violently snapped around his wrists.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come down, Sarah? If I leave now I can be there by four o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘Honestly, Janice, I’m not sure it would do any good. The doctor’s prescribed him a course of Diazepam to help him rest. He’s out like a light and probably will be for most of the day.’

  ‘How long did the police hold him for?’

  ‘Only a couple of hours. There were enough witnesses around to clarify what happened. He went straight from the police station to hospital where the doctors checked him over. Physically he’s fine, thank God.’

  ‘How is he mentally?’

  ‘It’s too early to say. They kept him in hospital overnight to keep an eye on him. He’s only been home an hour or two. They’re sending someone around later today to check up on him, but the main advice is that he gets plenty of rest. He’s also been booked in to see a psychologist for a full assessment. Most likely he’ll need a course of therapy. Apparently it’s routine procedure for something like this.’

  ‘When I heard about it on the news this morning, I just couldn’t believe it. They said that the killer shot a young woman. Did you know her?’

  ‘Not really, no,’ said Sarah, thinking back to the conversation she’d had about Gabby with Tom. ‘She was new to Chapman’s. She’d only been there a week or so.’

  ‘The poor thing. Her parents must be distraught.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine they are.’

  ‘There’s one thing I can’t understand,’ Janice said, her voice becoming increasingly emotional. ‘Why did Tom spare Sam? Why didn’t he shoot him too?’

  There was a pause as Sarah struggled to compose herself. It was a question she’d asked herself a hundred times already. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of two people arguing outside the house.

  ‘Hang on a minute, will you Janice?’ asked Sarah, placing the receiver onto the hallway table and walking to the sitting room window. Outside on the street, George Gransham – the world’s nosiest neighbour – was berating a young man who, judging by his camera and document folder, was undoubtedly the latest in a long line of news reporters that had been hanging around the house since the early hours of the morning. At Sarah’s request, old George had willingly agreed to play the role of doorman-in-chief, chasing away anyone who looked suspicious, which to George, was pretty much anyone who passed within a hundred yards of the house. Evidently he was enjoying his role, because he was giving this particular reporter both barrels. As the young man turned to leave, Sarah quickly drew the curtains and returned to the hallway.

  ‘Sorry, Janice,’ she said, picking up the phone. ‘We’ve had a string of journalists turning up this morning wanting to interview Sam. They’re like a pack of hyenas.’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising, given the news coverage. Have you told Max?’

  ‘No, not yet. He’s away in France on a skiing trip. Probably the best place for him. I’ve phoned the school and asked them not to say anything. I really don’t want him finding out yet, especially not after everything else that’s been going on.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I feel awful. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to come down today? Do you really think it’s a good idea to be by yourself right now, what with the press and everything else?’

  Sarah sighed. Having stayed up all night to be with Sam, she was exhausted. Even so, she didn’t want his mother hanging around the house getting in the way. ‘It’s entirely your decision, Janice, but if I were you I’d give it a few days. There’s so much going on at the moment…I could do with n-’

  ‘It’s alright, dear, I understand. I’m not sure how much use I would be anyway. I’d only end up getting under your feet.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t,’ Sarah lied.

  ‘Yes I would. However, if you could use the company, don’t be afraid to ask, okay? I know you and I have had our differences over the years, but Sam’s my only son and he means the world to me. Promise you’ll call if you need me?’

  ‘I promise. I’ll call you anyway, if only to keep you informed about how he’s doing.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

  ‘Goodbye, Janice.’

  ‘Goodbye, dear.’

  Sarah yawned as she hung up the phone, switching it to voicemail mode so as not to be disturbed. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, before returning to the hallway and wearily making her way up the stairs. Careful not to disturb Sam, she retrieved her pyjamas from under her pillow and crept quietly to the spare room, where she proceeded to change out of the clothes she had worn ever since receiving a call from the police the previous evening. Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, she eased herself into her side of the bed and kissed Sam gently on his forehead. Rolling over on to her other side, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind; praying that any sleep she might have would be dream-free.

  She was out like a light within seconds, but sadly her prayers weren’t to be answered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sarah awoke later that day to find herself alone in bed. Checking the clock, she cursed as she realised she’d only been asleep for three hours. She frowned as she heard the muffled sound of the TV coming from the kitchen below, surprised to find Sam up and about. Yawning, she pulled on her dressing-gown and headed downstairs.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ she asked, joining him in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, hi darling,’ Sam replied, placing two slices of bread into the toaster. ‘I’m sorry, did I wake you?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t sleep. Why aren’t you in bed?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep either. Those pills they gave me must be wearing off. Anyway, I’m making some coffee. Would you like some?’

  ‘Please.’ She watched
as he went about preparing coffee and toast as if last night hadn’t happened. At one point, he even started whistling and tapping out a drumbeat on the sugar tin with his fingers. It was as if he was suffering from amnesia; he displayed no signs of shock or sadness. Then she remembered what the doctor had told her about Diazepam and the effect it was likely to have on his mood.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, setting her coffee down on the table and helping himself to a seat. ‘About last night.’

  ‘Sam, maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about that now.’

  He smiled reassuringly and placed his hand over hers. ‘It’s okay, honestly. I want to talk about it. It’s pretty difficult not to, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose. It’s just the doctor said to-’

  ‘Never mind what the doctor said,’ he snapped. ‘Never mind what he said. I know full well that I’m on anti-depressants, and I know how they screw with the way you see things, but I need to talk about last night. Please?’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m going to have to try and face up to what happened sooner or later, so I might as well start when I’m on the happy-pills.’

  ‘Okay. Go on.’

  Sam nodded and looked down at the table as he thought about what he wanted to say. ‘Like I told the sergeant down at the station, it all seemed to happen so quickly. One minute I’m sitting at the bar talking to Gabrielle Williams and Charles Holdsworth about a major new client that Chapman’s has managed to land, and the next thing I know, Tom appears out of nowhere and starts arguing with Holdsworth about being fired from his job. Holdsworth asks the barman to call security, and seconds later, Tom pulls out a gun and shoots him twice before turning it on Gabby and shooting her as well. There’s blood and glass flying everywhere and everyone’s screaming and panicking and running out of the room, but Tom doesn’t move an inch. Instead, he just looks at me like some weird fucking lunatic and shoots himself in the head.’