Without warning she began to cry, tears stinging her eyes as she passed the first road sign since leaving the motorway. Seaford - 10 miles.
Would she still be living there if she’d failed her driving test? Maybe if she’d stayed at home she’d have been able to say bye to Mum and Dad before they died. Maybe she’d have spotted the faulty gas heater in their living room before it was too late. Or maybe she’d have sunk into eternal sleep next to them, all three slumped in front of the TV. Would that have been better?
Hitting the brakes, she eased round the next bend, the memories of these roads coming back in flashes in the fog of her mind. Who lived in the house now? Had it been sold or was it just waiting for her and she’d be able to move back in as if she’d never been away. She was still thinking about the house when the next sign flashed up. Cowforth - 2 miles.
An image shot into her mind. Daniel Tierney. He’d lived in Cowforth. At the farm at the top of the village. He was one of the ones that went missing. Missing? What happened with him? She remembered being in the layby that was…yes there it was, just there on the left. He’d fumbled his way up her jumper, getting angry with her when she refused to go any further. He’d stormed out of the car to walk home in the dark. He never made it home. How had she forgotten that?
The road curved to the right as she swung round a bend and as she straightened the car up a shrill beep sounded from the dashboard. Looking down, she noticed a symbol had lit up in bright red. That can’t be good. Red is never good.
The beep sounded again and then there was a thump from inside the engine. It was followed by a thwack, thwack sound as the car died, rolling slowly to a halt. Marie pushed down repeatedly on the accelerator, refusing to accept that this was happening. The car ignored her, bumping up onto the verge, the boot sticking out into the road as Marie punched the steering wheel. She tried turning the key in the ignition but nothing happened.
Marie undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, the wind sending her hair all over the place as she lifted the bonnet and looked underneath. In the darkness it was impossible to even see the engine, let alone what might be wrong with it. She swore as she let the bonnet fall back into place. Why couldn’t you have lasted a few more miles?
She reached into her handbag for her phone and then remembered. No simcard. Well done Marie, you really thought this through. At the time, cutting up the sim and throwing the pieces out of the window had seemed a good idea, a way of making sure she couldn’t be traced. She’d even made two subtle changes to the number plates with black tape before she left turning a 0 into an 8 and an L into an E. It was crude but it helped keep her anonymous as she drove north.
She’d read somewhere that you could call 999 without needing a sim but the last thing she wanted was for a policeman to turn up and start asking questions. When she’d first met Mr TV, he’d impressed her by talking about his links to the Force as if it was something out of Star Wars. There was the time they’d been pulled over with her in the passenger seat, drugged up to her eyeballs, half the bag of powder stuffed in her bra and he’d just talked to the officer leaning in through the window. Two minutes later they were on their way again, the officer holding an autograph and waving them off.
Climbing back into the car, she flicked on the hazard lights and closed her eyes, trying to decide what to do next as her headache grew steadily worse. She’d gone past the Cowforth sign and the layby so there was probably still five or six miles to go. Could she walk it? See if Metcalfe’s garage was still in business and get the car towed in the morning. Six miles in the middle of the night with no footpath though? What about the phone box in Cowforth? Same problem. A long way in the dark and the cold with no jacket and then who would she ring anyway?
She opened her eyes when she heard the sound of a car approaching in the distance. A pair of headlights appeared round the bend behind her, reflected in the car mirrors. She wound down her window to wave them down but they were already gone, swerving round her car before disappearing into the night. They’d be in Seaford in minutes.
Shivering, she wound the window back up and pulled a blanket through from the rear seat, wrapping it round her legs and tucking the ends underneath her. Something moved to her left and she looked that way, peering out through the window at the hedgerow beyond. It was hard to see anything in the dark but there was definitely something moving behind the hedge.
She tried to tell herself it was only a deer but something deep inside her told her it was something else, something she’d forgotten about, something she needed to remember. She leaned over and flicked the door lock, not sure that would make any difference. Sitting huddled in the blanket with her knees by her chin and her feet on the seat, she squinted to try and see what was there beyond the orange glow cast by the flashing hazard lights.
There it was again, a movement in the darkness. It was more than just the branches waving in the wind. It was a deliberate movement. The blackness took on an even darker shade as whatever it was darted from left to right. Just a deer, just a deer. Yeah right. You know who it is and you know why he’s here. Run, run like hell while you still can. Get out of the car and run. Now!
She forced herself to think. Run where? How many horror films start with the big boobed woman in the miniskirt jiggling her way into the night only to be picked off by the psycho redneck with the pickaxe? There’s nothing out there. You’re imagining things.
Then there was a thud on the boot, sounding as if a fist had slammed onto the metal. She whipped her head round ,her breath coming hard and fast as she stared at the back of the car. Nothing. Just a branch falling in the wind. He’s not out there. Who’s not out there? You’ll remember soon enough when he comes to drag you out of here.
There, the movement again. The shadow moved round the side of the car as the headlights flickered and died, leaving just the hazards flashing over and over again. Seconds passed as she clenched her fists, her whole body tensed up in blind terror. “Come back on, please,” she begged the lights.
The orange lights flashed and she saw the outline of a person by the nearside passenger door. The handle was lifted and rattled and she gasped, sliding back in her seat, still unable to see who was out there. The whole car shook as the handle was rattled again. The light died and the shadow moved, reappearing by her window. The orange glow lit up again, his form illuminated at last. She saw his face and the memory of who he was came flooding back to her in an instant. How had she forgotten about him, about what happened in Seaford, the real reason why she left and vowed never to come back? He tapped the glass and smiled in at her, opening his mouth to reveal what was inside. She began to scream.
3
Keith hadn’t planned to cut the hamster’s legs off, it just sort of happened. Out of the entire reception class, he’d been the one picked to look after Jeremy the hamster for the whole half term holiday. He had a pet of his own for an entire week and he was ecstatic. As he carried the cage out into the playground, he wondered if there might be a way he could keep Jeremy at home with him forever and not have to bring him back to school.
“What the hell’s that?” his mother asked when she saw him emerge from the school entrance.
“This is Jeremy,” Keith replied. “He’s mine for the holiday.”
She looked down at Keith, the lines round her mouth growing tighter. “Well you better feed the thing. I’m not going near it. They stink and they bite too.”
“Jeremy doesn’t stink,” Keith said as he hurried to catch up with her as she marched out of the school gate towards the row of parked cars filling the street outside.
“Don’t argue with me Keith. Now get in the car. Not him, he can go in the boot. I’m not having mouse shit on my seats.”
“He’s not a mouse, he’s a hamster.”
“If you say another word, I swear to God I’ll throw him out the window.”
Keith kept his mouth shut. His mother had been a lot angrier since George died. Keith had expected her to be happy.
After all, they didn’t need George and he’d only been a baby when he died so what were they missing out on anyway? The crying?
When they reached the house, Keith carried the cage straight up to his room and gave it pride of place in the centre of his desk. He played with the hamster all evening, listening to the blare of the TV downstairs as his mother watched her endless soaps. “I love you Jeremy,” he whispered, stroking the little furry head.
Out of nowhere the hamster suddenly turned and bit into the webbing between his thumb and index finger. A tiny droplet of blood formed as Keith let go of Jeremy who darted for the edge of the desk.
“No you don’t,” he said, reaching out and grabbing the hamster.
“Hello again Keith.”
Keith looked up to see a man standing by the desk. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”
“He bit me,” Keith replied, wondering why the man was acting as if he knew him and where he’d come from.
“Did he now?” the man said, holding out a pair of wickedly sharp scissors. “Then I suppose he must be punished.”
“Who are you?” Keith asked, surprised to find the scissors were laid flat on the palm of his free hand. When had he taken them?
“Don’t you remember me Keith?”
Keith shook his head, gripping the hamster tighter as it tried to wriggle free.
“Well never mind. Tell me something Keith, is Jeremy a sinner?”
Keith frowned. He’d heard the word before but its meaning eluded him. “What is a sinner?”
“Why a sinner is someone who does bad things.”
“Like swearing?”
“Yes Keith, like swearing or biting perhaps?” The man raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the hamster. “I see teeth marks on your skin. Has Jeremy sinned?”
Keith looked down at the tiny bite on his hand, the blood already hardening into a crust. “He bit me.”
“Then you must punish him.”
“Will God be pleased if I do?”
“I don’t know Keith but I will be. And you did say you wanted to keep him at home forever didn’t you?”
Keith looked down at the hamster, its back legs emerging through the gap between two of his fingers as it tried to wriggle free. Taking a deep breath he lifted the scissors to his face, snipping the air experimentally.
“Good boy,” the man said, smiling at him as he watched closely.
Afterwards he couldn’t help crying a little. The hamster had squealed so loudly. The man had gone downstairs leaving Keith alone with his thoughts. His mother had come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped round her hair. She glanced in at Keith, stopped dead and then stepped back, looking closer as him.
“What the hell have you done now?” she snarled, prising his fingers apart and snatching the hamster from him.
“He sinned,” Keith said, looking up at his mother for approval. “I punished him.” She drew her free hand back and slapped him across the face, the force of it sending him staggering onto his bed.
“You’re an evil little bastard,” she said, pointing a finger at him before walking away, slamming the door shut behind her.
He waited a long time to leave him room, listening for her snoring downstairs even as his stomach rumbled with hunger pangs. He looked down at her through the balustrades on the landing. She was slumped on the sofa in the open plan living room, her head tilted back, her mouth open. An empty bottle of wine was laid on its side on the floor by her feet.
Keith walked downstairs as quietly as he could, hoping not to disturb her. He found the hamster on the counter top in the kitchen, laid on a square of kitchen roll. His heart soared as he realised what that meant. She hadn’t thrown Jeremy away. He could keep him forever, add him to the collection.
After munching through three biscuits and a bag of crisps, he picked up the hamster and carried it back upstairs to his room. He set the hamster down on the desk before moving to the corner of the room. Glancing behind him to make sure his mother hadn’t sneaked up behind him, he reached for the corner of the carpet and peeled it back to reveal the loose floorboard.
Underneath was the shoebox that held Keith’s collection. He pushed the dead flies and insects to either end of the box. The hamster was going to take pride of place in the centre. He laid it down reverently before replacing the floorboard and laying the carpet back down. He went to sleep that night a very happy boy.
He didn’t see the man again until he was about to turn 13. Walking to school through the park, he was trying to think of somewhere new to keep his ever growing collection when the man appeared in the distance and waved him over. Keith walked across the grass towards the copse of trees that filled the north corner of the park, following the man down into the valley bottom until he caught up with him.
“For Derek,” the man said, pointing down at the ground. Keith looked where he’d pointed.
“I’m allowed?” Keith asked.
“Derek has sinned,” the man replied.
The next morning Keith was up earlier than usual, wanting to make sure he got to the newsagents before Derek did. He was in luck, Mr Robertson was the only one there, unlocking the metal shutters. “You’re up early Keith,” Mr Robertson said, yawning loudly. “No bike today?”
“It’s got a puncture,” Keith replied, picking up the first bundle of papers before carrying them into the corrugated steel shed that leaned against the side of the shop. He heaved the pile onto the first of the wooden trestle tables that lined the wall inside. Mr Robertson followed him in with the rest. “I’ll go make myself a tea if you’re all right with these,” he said, yawning again.
Keith used his penknife to slice through the plastic binding and then began sorting the papers into piles. Ten minutes later Derek arrived, looming over Keith and wheezing heavily into his ear. Keith turned and forced a smile onto his face.
Derek licked his lips and smacked them together before speaking. “Morning Keith,” he said, “seen page 3 yet?” He laughed chestily before hacking something up into his mouth.
Derek was well known amongst the other paperboys. Although Mr Robertson didn’t realise it, he was the reason why they all turned up half an hour later than they were meant to, it was the only way to be sure they weren’t alone with Derek and his stinking wax jacket.
Derek scratched his groin as Keith lifted his neatly organised pile of newspapers into his bag. “Derek,” Keith began, trying to sound as innocent as he could. “I’ve found something in the woods and I’m not sure what it is. I wanted a grown up’s opinion.”
Well my boy,” Derek wheezed, rubbing Keith’s shoulder. “I’m a grown up. What do you want to know?”
“I can’t really describe it. Could I show you? If you’ve got time?”
Derek’s cheeks began to colour as his eyes widened. “I’d love to see it,” he said, picking up his own bag. “And I might have something to show you as well if you’re lucky. Lead the way my boy.”
They walked into the park together, the strap of the paper bag digging into Keith’s shoulder. He wasn’t used to carrying the bag this way, normally resting it on the handlebar of his bike. But he hadn’t wanted to bring his bike today, not for this.
The sun was just coming up as they reached the copse at the far end of the park. “It’s just in here,” Keith said, stepping into the treeline.
“Right behind you,” Derek replied, his breathing becoming more laboured as they descended to the valley bottom.
“It’s here,” Keith said, stopping between two oak trees. “Come and see.”
“I can’t see anything,” Derek said. “What is it?”
“Down there. I think you’ll like it.” Keith took his paper bag from his shoulder and placed it on the grass behind him.
“I’ve got something you might like too,” Derek said, standing too close to Keith as he peered down at the dark patch in the long grass. “What is that down there?”
He knelt down for a closer look and Keith silently mov
ed behind him. He looked down at Derek before shoving him as hard as he could. Derek stumbled, caught off balance, falling forwards into the open manhole that had been hidden amongst the weeds. Keith stood watching as his feet vanished from view. He fell down the concrete shaft, his head bumping into each rung on the iron ladder on his way into the depths below. There was an echoing splash as Derek hit the bottom and then silence.
Keith took his torch from his pocket and shone it down the shaft. Derek was floating on the surface of the scummy water down there, his limbs still. Keith climbed down the ladder after him. He’d presumed this was an old air raid shelter when he explored it, a relic from the war. Either that or a fallout shelter of some kind. The air down there stank of mould and damp, the floor hidden under oily thick water a foot deep.
Keith took Derek by the shoulders and pushed his body through the water to the shelves that had been chiselled into the concrete wall at the north end of the chamber. He felt excited by the thought of Derek’s body being the first thing in his new collection. The flies, the hamster, even the cat all seemed unimportant now. Derek was the start of something bigger, something better. He left Derek’s corpse on the lowest shelf and turned to wade back to the ladder. If he didn’t hurry he’d be late for school.
4
Andrew Boyle was laid on the leather sofa with his arm over his eyes, blocking out the light whilst wishing he could block out his therapist’s questions at the same time.
“How’ve you been this week Andrew? How are things at home?”
Andrew sighed, wondering what would happen if he gave an honest answer. It’s funny Doc but I can’t get the kid’s face out of my mind. That surprised look is tattooed forever on the inside of my eyelids, like a watermark on reality itself. He’s there now, not looking shocked, just surprised, as if I’d somehow disappointed him. What else? Someone dropped a bottle of wine in the supermarket yesterday and the noise of it shattering sent me diving for cover amongst the tins of beans before I even knew what was happening. Oh and best of all, I nearly killed my wife after my last session here. Went to bed and woke up with my hands round her throat in the middle of another screaming nightmare. My life is an endless living hell and nobody seems to care. Instead I just come here and watch you yawn behind your hand and glance at the clock to see how long until you can go to lunch. I despise you but not nearly as much as I despise myself.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 11