The Tide of Terror
Page 23
All of a sudden a strong sense someone was watching gripped her. Opening her eyes, she looked around but couldn't see anyone. Despite this, the feeling remained. Even when the taxi pulled up and she got into the back seat, she scanned the swiftly disappearing street for any signs. But there was no one. No one that she could see anyway. Nothing to give her any proof, only the darkness, staring back at her, mocking her. She shivered, the feeling unsettling her.
Claire welcomed her with a beaming face when she opened the door. Jenny stepped in and handed over a bottle of wine. “Hope that's okay,” she said, taking off her thin jacket.
“Wonderful. Come on in, nearly everyone is here.”
“Everyone?” A tiny tremor of panic rumbled through her stomach. She never felt particularly comfortable meeting new people, especially in such a close space. The words always got stuck in her throat and then she became self-conscious, bashful. So the idea that she would be sharing an evening with strangers unnerved her. She must have looked uncomfortable, because Claire took her by the arm and gently steered her down the hallway, leaning into her.
“Don't worry, no one will bite. Just try and relax, you deserve it. I'm so grateful for what you did for Charley and Lawrence. This is my way of saying 'thank you'.”
Jenny forced a smile, but it must have come out more like a grimace as Claire laughed, then opened the door to the dining room and beckoned Jenny inside.
A group of people stood in the middle of the room, chatting away, glasses in hands, Charley slipping between them, mouth open in his endearing dog-grin, tail swishing like a rotor blade.
“Hey, Jenny, glad you could come.”
Lawrence approached in a rush and threw his arms around her waist, hugging her hard. “Hi, Lawrence,” she said with a laugh as Charley joined them, nuzzling her with his nose, trying to get most of her attention. She gave in, “And you!” She got down and ruffled his neck with both hands, then suddenly became aware of the others, all of whom had stopped talking, looking at her with barely disguised humour, waiting. Straightening up, with her arm around Lawrence's shoulder, she said, quite loudly, “Hi, I'm Jenny.”
Ice broken, everyone broke into a chorus of greetings and good wishes. One of the guests was Lawrence's grandmother. Her name was Ruth. The three others were Claire's brother, Alex, and his wife Trudy, and a solid built, older man with short-cropped hair, who seemed slightly self-conscious, dressed in a suit at least a size too small for him. “Martin,” he said, his voice gentle, and not at all what Jenny expected. Claire squeezed in next to him, taking him by the arm. “We're in good hands tonight,” she said, grinning up at him, “Martin's a police officer.”
“Detective,” he added, somewhat self-consciously, “but try not to let it put you off me.”
Jenny shook her head, “That's all right. I've known a few policemen.” She looked around, avoiding his eyes, realizing too late how that must have sounded. “Not in any serious sort of way.” She giggled, and Martin nodded. It was obvious he wanted her to say more, but she didn't allow herself to be drawn. Memories of the police and the past…not for this evening, she promised herself.
Claire clapped her hands and gestured for everyone to sit around the prepared table. Small name cards were at each setting and Jenny, as she had already guessed, had been placed opposite Martin.
The guests squeezed in and waited, an expectant hush falling over them as Claire busied herself with serving more drinks, buzzing in and out of the kitchen to bring in the first course.
Jenny tried to relax. Martin, who had at last taken off his jacket, seemed in a lighter mood already and Jenny couldn't help but run her eyes over him. In just his shirt, she could see how powerful he was, his arms probably thicker than her thighs. His chest strained against his shirtfront. But everything was in proportion and she wondered how he found the time to keep himself in such good shape, if he were a detective. Whilst the others concentrated on their food, Jenny leant forward and asked him, “How often do you work out?”
He blinked, pausing in the act of taking a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Work out?” He shook his head, looking baffled. “I-er-don't really do all that much. Not now.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged, “You're very…you know…very muscularly – big.”
He laughed, swallowing his soup, then dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “Ah, no, no I did all of that business when I was about sixteen. I used to box. Had dreams of becoming a professional. Never made it though. You know how it is.” She shook her head. “Well…I met someone. Got married. Then, the job…” he shrugged. “The job tends to eclipse everything else.”
“Yes. I know. Like I said, I've met policemen before – a detective to be honest. Over on Alderney, it was. I became quite friendly with him. We got on well. I thought…” A little twinge in her throat, a memory coming back to haunt her, a memory of what could have been. “But, like you say, the job, it gets in the way.”
Claire, breathing hard, but with a permanent grin set on her face, swept around the table, collecting up finished bowls, replacing them with further courses. The perfect hostess. Jenny envied her energy and all of a sudden she began to feel tired. It had been a heavy day and she really didn't want to stay late. But the conversation continued and the time drifted by easily. She continued to relax and found herself enjoying the banter, the laughter, the company. It was soon well past ten o'clock and she had no idea where the time had gone. As the final course ended and people settled back over a few drinks, Jenny caught sight of Lawrence getting to his feet. “I have to go to bed,” he said, looking a little glum. “School in the morning.” He picked up Charley's lead from behind the door. “But first…”
Charley instantly went berserk, tail flapping from side to side as if powered by an electric motor. “Would you like to go for a little stroll, Jen?”
Claire quickly pitched in, “I don't think Jenny really—”
“No, it's fine,” said Jenny quickly, grateful for the excuse to change the scenery a little. Although she'd enjoyed herself, she was feeling the strain. She'd come to end of thinking of new and interesting things to say. She got up and the lead from Lawrence.
“As long as you're sure you don't mind…”
Jenny shook her head and smiled towards Claire. “A bit of fresh air will clear my head.”
“We won't be long,” said Lawrence, and then Jenny was being pulled out of the house by a very eager, and enormously strong Charley.
Charley spread himself out across the grass, exhausted after racing around a nearby field. He was quite a big, heavy dog and needed plenty of exercise. Lawrence and Jenny sat on a bench, both of them staring out into the darkness.
“It's nice here,” Jenny said.
Lawrence smiled. “Well…” He sighed. “I suppose so, but I've never known anything else. Not like you. Living on that island…I listened to what you said to Martin. It sounds a wonderful place. Why did you leave?”
Pausing to think, Jenny had to admit she didn't truly know. She gave a small laugh. “Sometimes – sometimes we do things because we believe them to be the right decision, at the time. Then, the world seems to loom up and give you a good kick, just to let you know what a stupid mistake you've made.”
“Is that what you've done, made a stupid mistake?”
Jenny looked across at him. “How old are you, Lawrence?”
“Fifteen, next month.”
“Fifteen. Got a girlfriend?”
He stopped, looked down at his hands for a moment. “I'm not sure.”
“I see. Friends though, yes?”
“I'm not sure about that either.”
Jenny hadn't seen Lawrence with anyone other than Charley, his dog. “I guess I'm a bit like you.” His head snapped around to look at her. “I tend to keep myself pretty much to myself. I'm not unfriendly, or anything, it's just…Well, being surrounded by animals, they tend to monopolise your time. And I do love them.”
He nodded. “I d
on't mind not having close friends, really. Charley is all I need, to be honest. That's why, when he was so sick, if anything had happened…It's so nice having him back. I was so worried about him.”
“We grow so attached to them, treating them as part of the family.” She leaned forward and gently patted Charley's flank. A rustling from the trees caused her to sit up and Charley stirred, a low rumbling coming from deep inside him. “That might be a fox, or a cat. Anything.” She gave a laugh. “Might even be a pig.”
“A pig? Don't be daft.”
“Don't see why not. Wild boar have been re-introduced into parts of England, so it could happen.”
“Wow…wild boar. They can be dangerous, can't they?”
“Only if they feel threatened. Most of the time they keep themselves to themselves. They're actually quite hard to find. And, they're very clever. All pigs are clever.” She made a face towards Charley, “Cleverer than dogs.”
“No! No, they can't be cleverer than dogs. Charley is really clever – he sits when I tell him.”
“Yes, but you could train Charley to sit by saying 'stand'. It's not the word, it's what the dog associates with the word. Pigs can solve problems, far better than most animals.”
“I never knew any of that…how do you know so much, Jenny?”
“I don't know that much, but I know a little about animals. I want to be a vet.” She closed her eyes a moment, a great wave of sadness washing over her. “At the moment that all seems quite a long way off.”
After a short while of wistful silence, they made their way back to the house, Charley reluctantly traipsing behind them. Jenny ruffled the fur on his head and Lawrence put his key in the latch. It happened just as the door pushed inwards, the warmth from the house meeting them like a woollen blanket. A sudden bang, followed by a flash, then all the lights went off. Someone screamed from the living room and Charley shot forward, growling and barking madly.
The house was plunged into pitch-blackness and Jenny could sense Lawrence shaking next to her. She pulled out her mobile phone and switched it on, the screen giving off a warm glow of comforting light.
“Let's go and see what's happened,” she said.
But Lawrence gripped her arm, squeezing hard. “Don't leave me.”
Shocked by the fear in his voice, Jenny turned to him, lowering her voice, her tone reassuring. “It's all right, Lawrence. It's just a fuse probably. Come on, just stay close.”
They made their way carefully down the hall towards the living room, guided more by the raised voices of the others than Jenny's pathetic mobile phone light.
In the room, people milled about. Claire had a torch and trained it over a plastic box on the far wall whilst Martin fumbled about with the switches inside.
“What happened?” asked Jenny, closing her mobile phone with a snap.
“We don't know,” said Claire. “We were just having a cup of coffee, when something just blew.”
The sound of the front door closing seemed very loud, and Alex came in, moving past a transfixed Lawrence. “I popped outside, to check. All the lights are out in the street. Looks like it's a power-cut.”
Claire groaned and Martin, sighing loudly, stepped back from the fuse-box and closed the little door. “There's not a lot we can do then,” he said. “Have you any candles, Claire?”
“I'll have a look.”
She was about to turn around when suddenly the television flashed into life. Someone cheered.
“Thank goodness,” shouted Claire, switching off her torch.
But then, slowly, uncertainty and confusion rippled through the small gathering. Jenny felt her stomach tighten and, over by the door, Lawrence let out a low whimper. The television was on. But how could that be, if everything else remained silent, no power to bring them to life? Martin tried the light switch a few times. Nothing.
As a harsh chill seemed to emanate from the very walls, everyone stood rigid, barely breathing. The whole room filled with expectation.
They didn't have to wait long.
The screen blinked once or twice before turning light grey, as if shrouded in fog.
Slowly, the screen changed, the grey giving way to a scene. A black and white image of rolling hills, the camera panning down to the silver thread of a river, reflecting bright sunlight, which kissed the water's surface. A tiny ripple as a small, circular-shaped boat came into view, with two figures huddled on board, one at the prow with his back to the camera. The other, swathed in black, steered the boat with a single oar, bringing it closer towards the shore. Jenny moved forward, squatting down in front of the television. The others stood around her. No one spoke, all attention on the screen.
As the boat edged towards the bank, the man with the oar stood and jumped into the water. As he pulled the tiny boat ashore, the other figure strode forward, shaking himself. Jenny peered closer and noted there seemed to be no water on his robes. A wealthy man by the look of him, good boots, broad leather belt. He looked up to the sky and pointed at something. The other man, slightly hunch-shouldered, followed the other's finger.
A knife glinted in the sunshine. It struck home, deep into the oarsman's body. A soundless scream as he fell back into the sand, eyes wide, already dead.
The well-dressed man wiped the blade on the other's coat. Without a pause, he went through the dead man's robes and pulled out a tiny object. He held it between his fingers, lifting it towards the sky to get a better view.
A pendant.
Quickly now, the man put the pendant into his own coat then made good his escape, running out of shot.
No one moved in the room, all eyes glued to the screen. The camera remained on the dead man. For a long time, the shot stayed like that, frozen, nothing stirring. But if he were dead, why then did the man now move? Slowly he sat up, took a moment to look down at his chest and the great dark stain there, darker even than his clothes. The stain of blood – his blood. The camera zoomed in and the man's face gradually turned and looked directly into the lens. Except, there were no eyes in that face. No face at all. No skin, lips, muscle or sinew. A skull, white bone starkly shining. The lipless mouth fell open and it screamed…a single, piercing, blood-curdling scream.
It was the first sound uttered since the film began and it was all the more terrible for it.
Jenny fell backwards, Claire echoed the scream with one of her own, and Charley strained forward, snarling as if to launch an attack at the hideous spectacle within the television.
Except there was nothing now. Only a blank screen.
And then the lights came back on, just as Ruth fainted in a heap in the middle of the room.
Chapter Ten
Disturbed and frightened over what had happened, everyone spent the rest of the evening huddled together in the living room, a hushed group, no one speaking, no one knowing what to say.
It had turned midnight when Jenny left, thanking Claire at the front door. The host seemed subdued, a little apologetic. Only a tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth as a means of 'goodbye'.
Jenny hardly slept at all; every time she closed her eyes the images from the television screen loomed up large and real. She needed Scruffy to be with her, but of course Scruffy was at Mark's.
The next day, blurry eyed and fur-tongued, Jenny went to the rescue centre and her duties. No one had bothered to tell her that on Sundays, the centre opened at ten o'clock. Not until the manageress came in. But Jenny didn't mind, the work kept her mind occupied.
During her break, she reflected on the dinner party. It had been a good night, very friendly, with plenty to talk about. Interests, adventures (none of them hers, she never told anyone anything about what had happened to her on the island) and funny stories. Even the policeman was a pleasant enough person. Sitting in the tiny staffroom, huddled over a cup of coffee, she couldn't remember his name. How stupid of her. She rubbed her eyes, feeling tired, her eyes heavy, her head full of cotton wool. “Martin.” she suddenly cried out.
“
Who is that?” asked one of the kennel maids, a girl named Susan, furiously scrubbing some cups in the sink.
Jenny blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said quickly, swallowed down her coffee and went outside. Thankful for the cool breeze, she went over to the pens and made ready to take some of the dogs out for a walk.
She finished early, and as soon as she got home she fell on top of her bed and slept.
The telephone rang.
She wanted to ignore it, but it wouldn't stop. Rubbing her face, she padded over and lifted the receiver to her ear. It was Lawrence.
“Hi, Jenny, sorry to disturb you, but I've had an idea.”
He sounded as bright as a spring morning, no doubt having had a good night's sleep. Jenny tried to sound enthusiastic, “Hi. Have you? An idea, what sort of idea?”
“I want to make a film. A movie. Down at the Priory. I've been thinking about it ever since we visited the place. It would be part of my media studies, you see. I wondered if you'd help me.”
“Sure…er…” she glanced at her watch. It was just a few minutes past three. She had had about twenty minutes sleep. “When would you like to start? Next weekend?”
A prolonged silence followed before Lawrence's voice returned, a little falteringly, “I…I was hoping that maybe we could…go there now?”
“Now?” She groaned inwardly, putting her face in her hand. Running around in the old Priory was the last thing she wanted to do right then. Sleep, the thought of sleep, the need for sleep, gnawed away at every fibre of her being.
“Please, Jen. I thought we could just make some shots. And bring Scruffy, because she and Charley are the stars.”
“Okay,” she said, gathering herself. She knew that if she allowed herself to sleep now, she'd wake at around nine, then she'd never get back. It would be another restless night, and so the circle would keep turning. “Okay,” she said again, “I'll have a shower and meet you down there in, what? An hour?”