“Now what?” Marie asked.
“There’s only one way left,” Andrew said. “Up the track past the caravan park. Sneak through to Cowforth Road.”
He turned and headed along the road up the hill, the windscreen wipers whipping left to right as the rainfall grew heavier. The road turned into a potholed track at the top of the hill and Andrew was forced to stop when he saw the size of a river of water gushing across the fields, completely swamping the track.
“Great,” Marie said. “Hey look at that.”
She pointed across Andrew’s side and he looked round to see a churchyard beside him, the church inside bearing the brunt of the wind and rain. Through a window they could see a light flickering.
“What is it?” Andrew asked, “what’s so important?”
“I don’t know but something tells me we need to go in there.”
“What? Why?”
He was already back onto the road, heading round to the prom.
“I…I don’t know. Please, just for a minute. It might give the rain a chance to stop.”
Andrew sighed and switched off the engine. He thought for a moment before finally answering. “Right, fine.”
He turned the key but nothing happened. “Fantastic,” he said, trying it again. “Dead.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Every now and then. If you leave it for an hour, it’ll be fine.”
“Perfect, just long enough to visit the church.”
“You’re kidding. We’ll get soaked.”
“Please!”
“Right, whatever. But we better run for it.”
They opened their doors and darted out into the howling winds, running side by side back up the track and into the churchyard, stopping in the porch by the wooden door. They stood in the porch, looking out at the rain that seemed relentless.
“Do you think it’s unlocked?” Marie asked, running a hand through her soaking wet hair.
Andrew tried the door handle and it swung open before them. He looked at Marie and then into the church before walking inside, Marie following him. The door swung closed behind them.
10
Keith was heading for the arcade. He’d had a long conversation with the man last night and now he knew exactly what he was supposed to do, the task that had been set for him. He passed the pier café, his hood pulled over his head to keep out the driving rain. The waves crashed repeatedly against the pillars that supported the pier but so far they weren’t strong enough to splash over the sides. It wouldn’t be long.
He’d been shocked when he saw the church last night. His place of refuge was falling to pieces. The far wall had already gone over the edge of the cliff leaving jagged edges of stone on either side and exposing the interior to the elements. The floor had been cracked and broken in places to reveal hints of the crypt below the remaining floorboards.
As he approached the arcade the flashing lights at the entrance caught his eye, welcoming him in from the rain, the heat soporific, running at full blast. He stood in the doorway and lowered his hood, wiping his dripping forehead with the back of his hand as he looked at the machines that filled the place. He’d never been allowed in here as a child. His mother had called it a sinful place, making him swear never to go in. He felt guilty breaking her promise but he had no choice.
Squeezing between two video poker screens he worked his way towards the back. At first he thought the man might have been wrong, there didn’t appear to be anyone else here but him. As he looked to his left, the door to the single toilet cubicle swung open and a figure stepped out.
Keith slid backwards, turning his gaze to a prize claw game as if debating whether to chance his arm. It had been a long time since he’d seen Ben in the flesh but he’d recognised him straightaway. He felt a sense of relief wash over him. Knowing he was going to correct his mistake and finally add Ben to his collection.
Peering round the side of the change machine, he watched as Ben loaded a coin into Rally Racers and climbed onto the plastic motorbike, throttle in one hand and bright red machine gun in the other, pointing it at the screen as an electronic voice shouted in an American accent. “Ready? Let’s race?”
The noise of a motorbike engine filled the air as Ben began to play. Could he do it here? He hadn’t seen anyone else and there didn’t appear to be any CCTV cameras. He thought better of the idea, it was too much of a risk. Keith didn’t like risks. He preferred to plan things in great detail, anticipate every possible eventuality before acting. But he had to do this the way he’d been ordered, rather than the way he preferred. Or did he? Was this a test?
“All yours mate.”
Keith looked up, realising Ben was looking at him. He nodded, heart pounding, expecting Ben to recognise him. It didn’t happen. Instead he just walked past, limping towards the exit.
Keith couldn’t move for a moment. His throat felt dry and a cold sweat ran down his back. If Ben had realised who he was, he might have worked out why he was there. No, that was stupid. Even if he remembered Keith what would he do? Wedgie him and spit in his face? Only kids did that. Adults had much better ways of settling their differences. He felt the edge of the knife in his pocket with the tip of his finger. He had the perfect way in mind.
He followed Ben out of the arcade, maintaining a discrete distance. The rain helped, ensuring Ben kept his head down, his shoulders hunched against the wind, never stopping or looking behind him. Why would he?
When Ben reached the Settler’s Rest pub, he pulled open the door and disappeared inside. Keith stood on the promenade for a minute, trying to decide whether to follow him in there or wait for him to emerge. You’re just a man getting a drink, that’s all, nothing suspicious about that.
He walked up to the door and went inside. A middle aged woman stood behind the bar, looking bored. She glanced at him when he came in before returning her gaze to the TV. Keith approached slowly, still worried something might go wrong.
“What can I get you?”
“Pint of…bitter?” Keith’s words were more a question than a statement. He didn’t drink, never had, but he didn’t want anything to draw her attention. As she poured, Keith looked around for Ben. Where was he?
He heard a familiar voice behind him and turned as nonchalantly as he could. There he was, sat with an old woman in a pale blue overcoat. Was that his mother? Keith paid for his drink and sat on the barstool next to him, making sure Ben’s table was visible.
He remembered Ben’s mother from the time he’d seen her at the beach. She’d been sunbathing and the amount of skin on show had excited Keith in a way he hadn’t understood. It seemed strange seeing her like this, her skin pale and wrinkled, her eyes watery and sunken.
“You should be at home mum, why are you here?” Ben was asking as Keith sipped at his pint glass.
It was as if she was talking to herself when she replied, hardly aware that Ben was there at all. “They’ll all be here soon and then we’ll need to be off. It’s been far too long since we all had a proper girly night out.”
Keith frowned, deep in thought. She had dementia then. He felt a heat building deep inside him, similar to how he’d often felt at Glen Vale. For temptation to appear like this when he was on a mission from the man was too much of a coincidence. He was being tested, he realised. The question was, could he resist the temptation?
He thought about his own mother, how she was towards the end. “Keith,” she’d shout from upstairs. “Mummy needs you.”
It always started like that and he’d try to ignore her calls but he never lasted long. He hadn’t fully understood exactly what dementia was when she was first diagnosed but he soon learned. It meant walking upstairs to her room and pushing open the door to find a sunken skeleton of a woman that used to be his mother. The gloom and smell accentuated the feeling of decay. He found the smell intoxicating, the same smell he always loved whenever he opened the manhole cover and breathed in the wonderful scent of his collection.
; “Come and make me feel better Keithy,” she’d wheeze as he stood in the doorway, amazed that she still recognised him. Her nostrils flared with each breath, her cheeks puffing in and out. He never bothered to argue, fearing the back of her hand even now she was too weak to even stand up without help. She’d had such total control of most parts of his life that even the idea of rebellion had been drained out of him, leaving him with her warped love and his collection.
Climbing onto sheets damp with sweat, he’d let her envelop him in her arms, drawing him towards her, the smell of her pouring down the back of his throat, filling his lungs. The crushing sensation would combine with near suffocation to send him into a euphoric state despite his sense of shame at losing his self-control.
He’d feel the warmth of her body burn his skin as his arms went round her, the two of them laying together as mother and son. Keith was grateful for the affection. Disease ridden and dying as she was, at least she was willing to hug him now.
He wouldn’t move until her breath took on that gentler quality that meant she was asleep again. Then he’d wriggle out of her arms and slide off the bed, pulling the blankets back over her.
He’d done that for six months before the man came to see him. It had been after almost an entire day laid beside her that the man appeared, standing at the end of the bed and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s time,” the man said and Keith understood. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this but the man knew best. He looked down at the drool forming on his mother’s chin as she gurgled and snorted in her sleep. He picked up one of the cushions that had fallen to the floor and smiled at his mother.
“It’s time mum,” he said, lowering the cushion towards her. He looked up at the man who nodded back at him. Gripping the cushion tighter he pressed it into her face, pushing down hard as she began to writhe underneath, surprising him with her strength. Her arms flailed, her fingers scratching the air as she fought to get free, the mass of blankets covering her body trapping her in place.
Keith almost lost his nerve. If she was fighting this much, perhaps it wasn’t her time. He looked at the man who frowned, admonishing his self-doubt. Suitably ashamed and with renewed vigour he pushed down harder, clamping it over her, holding his breath until she eventually fell still.
As he stepped back, the man leaned towards the bed. Keith found himself looking at the picture on the cushion. Two knitted kittens played with a ball of yarn. They looked happy. Keith stared at them until the man finished eating.
“You did well,” the man said and Keith felt pride well up inside him.
“Did I?”
“Yes you did.”
Ben’s voice broke into his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. “Oh mum, for crying out loud listen to me. I’m going for a piss and then I’ll take you home. Just don’t go anywhere.”
“But the bus will be here soon. I can’t miss it, they’ll all go without me.”
“I know. I’ll be quick okay? Then we’ll get the bus together.”
Ben stood up and walked over to the toilets. As soon as he was out of sight, the old woman stood up. “I’ll wait at the station,” she said to herself. “He can catch up.”
She walked past Keith and he sniffed loudly as she passed, breathing in her scent, feeling the heat inside him building further. What to do? Follow Ben to the toilets, slam his head into the porcelain sink. But someone might come in. No, this wasn’t the right place. He thought about Ben’s mother, the dazed look on her face as she shuffled outside. Putting his pint down, he looked one way and then the other before finally making his mind up.
11
The vicar had been waiting for them to arrive. He looked around at the ruined remains of his church, so different to in its heyday. The far wall looked almost as if it had been sliced off in a giant guillotine. The roof was caving in where the waves had torn away the far wall, taking the ancient stained glass windows with it. Every high tide washed away a little more mortar from between the dressed stones. At least the rest of the church was surviving, he had a little more time yet.
The spire would collapse at some point soon though, it was already leaning at a dangerous angle. Rotten ceiling plaster drooped towards the floor, revealing gaping holes in the roof tiles above. Dried salt coated the few remaining pews, the waves lapping at the cliff outside, sending more spray into the interior every few seconds.
He walked to the porch as the door opened, smiling at Marie and Andrew as they walked inside. Good, they didn’t recognise him. That would help. “Visitors,” he said. “Come in, come in, you’ll soon dry off.”
He let them pass him by before closing the door behind them. He watched as they looked round, taking in the piles of stone on the floor, the twisted and warped floorboards, the huge crucifix held in place on the left hand wall by a length of ivy that had wrapped round it over and over again, looking as if it was trying to choke the figure on the cross.
“I don’t often receive visitors,” he said. “Please, take a seat. How can I help?”
“We just wanted to get out of the rain,” Marie said. “Is it safe in here? It looks like it might go over the cliff any moment.”
The vicar put his hands together, as if praying. “Be not afraid, I go before you always. Come follow Me and I shall give you rest.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just a favourite hymn of mine. But to answer your question, I’m sure it’s safe enough for the time being.”
“Do we know you?” Andrew asked, tensing up in his seat.
The vicar ignored him. “I think you’ve come for more than simple shelter. I think you’ve come to ask for forgiveness. I can see a darkness in you both. Guilt and shame.”
“What are you talking about?” Marie asked.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud.”
“Right,” Andrew said, standing up and backing towards the door. “We need to get going.”
“Of course, of course. I’ve taken up too much of your precious time already.” They couldn’t leave yet. He had to stall them. “You must be getting on your way. I have just one question for you before you leave though.”
Andrew had reached the door. He was gripping the handle but didn’t turn it. “What question?”
The vicar had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the wind howling through the gaping hole in the far wall of the church. “I wondered how Caroline was doing. She’s been very quiet recently.”
Before Andrew could answer the door flew open, knocking him sideways. Keith walked in, holding a heavy canvas bag in his hand. “I did it,” he grinned triumphantly, striding towards the vicar before passing him the bag.
The vicar looked inside, his expression changing. “I told you to bring him here,” he snapped.
“I have,” Keith gulped. “Look!”
The vicar slapped Keith with the back of his hand. “What good is he to me like this? You know I need them alive.”
For a moment nobody said anything. The vicar noticed Andrew and Marie edging towards the door just as a gust of wind blew it shut. He screamed with rage and threw the bag across the church, furious that his plan hadn’t worked. Marie ducked as the bag flew towards her. It slammed into the door and bounced downwards, Ben’s severed head rolling out of it. Ben seemed to stare up at Marie who staggered backwards, falling to the floor in shock.
“Bring them to me,” the vicar said.
Andrew moved for the door but Keith as too quick, closing the gap between them in a second whilst reaching into his pocket, pulling out a serrated knife coated in blood. He lunged for Andrew who moved just in time, the blade whipping through the space where his head had been a moment before.
Andrew turned side on as the vicar watched in alarm. Andrew took a step forwards, grabbing Keith’s arm and bending his wrist backwards. Keith screamed as something snapped, the knife falling useless to the floor. Twisting away, Keith growled at him.
Andrew hopped over the nearest pew. K
eith went to follow but tripped over one of the curling floorboards. He crashed to his knees and with an alarmingly loud scraping sound, the boards gave way. He fell through the gap that formed and landed in the crypt below with his legs bent under him. He looked up at Andrew as the vicar stepped forwards.
“Where’s the knife?” Andrew asked Marie.
“There!” she pointed.
Andrew grabbed it just before the vicar reached him, jumping down into the crypt as Keith limped away from him. He’d only taken a step when Keith pushed open a door and dashed through it, slamming it shut behind him.
The vicar stepped back. Let them go after Keith. It might work after all. He watched in silence as Marie leapt down into the crypt.
“What do we do?” Marie asked, looking up at the vicar, seeing his eyes flaring red.
“We go this way,” Andrew said, ramming the door with his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They ran into the tunnel, the vicar neatly dropping into the crypt after they’d gone. He walked through the doorway, watching them running ahead of him. Did they really think they could get away? He stopped when they did, pressing himself against the wall as they talked.
“Why have you stopped?” Marie asked, glancing behind her.
“Can you smell that?”
“What?”
“Ahead of us. I just hope it’s not…” He trailed off, taking a few more steps before turning a corner. The vicar ran forwards, making sure they didn’t turn back. He peered round after them as they stepped into a scene from hell.
12
Caroline was looking through her online photo albums when the phone rang. She’d spent an hour deleting as many pictures of Andrew as she could, each one hurting her, like a paper cut to her memory.
She hesitated as she picked up the receiver, as if expecting it to be him ringing, calling to beg for forgiveness. He hadn’t rung since he’d left but she couldn’t help thinking he still might.
“Hello, is that Caroline Boyle?”
“Yes, why? Who is this?”
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 16