by G R Jordan
Racing along the corridor, Kirkgordon dived into a room as more ghosts turned the corner ahead. An old man was lying on the bed in his dressing gown. In many ways he was rather dapper except that his right eye was closed over – scarred, in fact – with no hint of eyelashes. There was just a series of stitches where the eyeball should have been located.
“Trouble, old bean?” asked the patient.
“Stay there and don’t move. If they look in I won’t be here,” replied Kirkgordon.
“It’s okay, they’re all perfectly friendly. Splendid company for a G & T.”
The voice sounded familiar to Kirkgordon. Despite the threat from the ghosts in the corridor, Kirkgordon stood just inside the doorway and stared at the man. No, he thought, it can’t be. The height is right and the body shape too. The voice is Havers to a tee, but… the left eye, that stare. Windows to the soul. A soul that looks dark from here. Very dark, and full of vengeance. And it was the right eye that I hit. Could it be…?
A ghost turned into the room and, seeing Kirkgordon, started to draw its cutlass. Given the unpredictable close-range effects of his arrows, Kirkgordon slapped his bow across the ghost’s head, causing the ghost to fall to the ground. Stepping over it and out of the door, Kirkgordon fired an arrow down the corridor into the midst of a group of deckhands. From nowhere, a one-eyed giant with a large wooden club appeared and began beating the deckhands to a pulp. Green bodies flew in all directions, flattening against the walls of the corridor.
Despite the wondrous and brutal sight ahead, Kirkgordon turned his head back to the old man lying on the bed. The man was smiling fiendishly.
“Tell Austerley I’ll be seeing him soon, looking for his other foot,” the man stated calmly. “It’s time he learned to grovel on his knees.”
Kirkgordon froze at the voice, so many memories flooding back. His arm twitched as he remembered drawing his bow with a broken arm, the pain coursing through him.
“And as for you, Kirkgordon, your good book does say ‘an eye for an eye’, does it not?”
Farthington! How did Farthington get into the middle of this?
Kirkgordon did not wait to engage Farthington but fled the room and ran towards his one-eyed giant. The corridor was clear of ghosts and the creature, rippling with enormous muscles and sporting golden locks that reached far down his back, knelt before Kirkgordon’s approach.
“Master,” said the creature, in a voice that was two octaves below the bass scale, “what is your wish?”
Now, thought Kirkgordon, this is more like it! “Ahead! For the front door. And wipe the floor with anything green,” ordered Kirkgordon, waiting for the creature to take the lead. The pair pounded down the corridor, which was clear down to the right-angled corner at the end. Kirkgordon waited and let the creature turn the corner alone. There was a wild roar from the giant, like the worst pealing of thunder, before a silence broke. Kirkgordon juked round to see the giant on his knees, wiping the carpet with a ghost in each hand. Much to the giant’s disgust, the ghosts soon turned into green gas and disappeared. He looked again at his master.
“On,” shouted Kirkgordon.
Just ahead was the front desk. Kirkgordon could see Graham sitting petrified with a number of ghosts before him. His face became a mask of bemusement when he saw the approaching giant. Pulling himself from the sight, Graham dived under his desk. Kirkgordon was a few steps behind the giant and he let the creature engage the ghosts. There was little style to the creature’s bludgeoning actions but his sheer power was unmatched by the deckhands, who quickly capitulated to his maiming club. Within ten seconds there was only a dissipating mass of green gas to indicate that the ghosts had ever been present.
“I see you have your pets too.”
Tania’s voice. Kirkgordon looked for her and was amazed to see her appear, in naked form, from thin air beside the giant. Raising her left arm, she slowly closed her fist while staring at the giant creature, which collapsed in on itself before vanishing altogether. Kirkgordon, despite having only known his ally for a few minutes, was shocked at his disposal.
On hearing Tania’s voice, Graham raised his head above the desk. Kirkgordon watched him drink in her form, drooling slightly despite the wild scenario he found himself in. She extended one hand and with a solitary finger beckoned Graham to come to her. Like a strutting peacock she arched her back, displaying her ample womanly charms, and Graham advanced, caught on her sexual hook. His mind filled with every dream he had ever had about her, and she seemed ready to play them all out.
“Graham! Grahamsey, snap out of it! She’ll kill you!”
Graham continued to advance.
“Whatever depravity you can imagine, you can experience with me. Come to me now, Graham, and feast on me!” Graham broke into a run and fell at her feet. Starting at her thighs, Graham indulged in her flesh, taking less than a minute to reach her mouth, hands exploring with wild abandon. He’s in a trance, thought Kirkgordon. Tania grinned at Kirkgordon between moments of sexual pleasure.
“Spurn me, Churchy? Turn me down, the finest flesh you could ever taste? Then I will indulge in every other male and bring them to their knees.” She took Graham by the back of the neck and engaged his mouth in a brutal kiss before pulling him by the neck to his knees. She raised her other arm and Kirkgordon watched her nails grow until they looked like four little blades. Pulling Graham’s head back, she exposed his neck and Kirkgordon saw that her next action would be to slash Graham’s throat. He drew the bow quickly and uttered one word.
“Stop!”
“You won’t. You don’t even know what those arrows do. Don’t bluff me.”
Kirkgordon let the arrow go. His target was a mere ten feet away and the arrow flew true, only to be caught in Tania’s hand.
“Ha—” Tania was interrupted by a devastating series of blows from Kirkgordon’s bow which battered her to the ground. Stooping over her, Kirkgordon made sure she was out cold. Graham was reeling on the ground.
“Are you okay?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Was she…? Did I just…? Wow. Why did you do that to her? She was letting me loose on her. Four months I have wanted her. God, she’s beautiful. And naked, just for me.”
“Snap out of it. She’s a witch and she was going to cut your throat. Now, get your arse out of here, through the front door. There’s a twelve-year-old girl who’ll help you.” It occurred to Kirkgordon that this was not the most enticing idea of safety, so he grabbed Graham by the collar, pointed him to the door and kicked his backside, yelling at him to move. Before Graham had reached the door, Nefol was already there.
“Get him out of here,” ordered Kirkgordon. “Is there a car anywhere near? We really need to go quickly.”
Nefol nodded. “Red one, far side of the car park. I’ll get it started.”
Damn, she is enterprising for a young one, thought Kirkgordon. He looked at Tania on the ground. Graham was right, she was stunning. How could something so beautiful be so evil? How could he hunger for something so dangerous? And then pity overtook him. A part of it must surely have been internal, but there was a serenity about Tania that made him think of her welfare, her protection. Havers would have a dizzy fit, but damn it. What had the priest said? I’m not one of his cronies. Sorry, Alana, but I’ve got to bring a naked woman back to my digs.
Kirkgordon grabbed Tania and lifted her up. He tried to ignore her figure as it slid over his face and then over his shoulder. This was dangerous. Was she really worth the risk? Surely we all are, he thought. “Are You watching?” he shouted to the heavens. “You taught me this, it’s your fault.” With one hand on her naked bottom for support and her glorious legs bouncing along in front of him, Kirkgordon raced out of the care home and over to the red car.
Nefol was in the driver’s seat with Graham sitting in the rear, shaking. The car was extremely small and would be tight transport for four. Kirkgordon opened the front passenger door and carefully manoeuvred Tania and himself into the front sea
t. He had to turn her somewhat and she ended up sitting on his lap, her head on his shoulder, lolling about. Nefol shook her head.
“Don’t give me that. You’re twelve, and you don’t understand!” shouted Kirkgordon. “Get the car started.”
“It is,” came the sarcastic reply.
It dawned on Kirkgordon that the car was electric. It made little noise as it moved out of the car park. Clever girl, he thought, silent through the town, attracting little attention. Then he thought, she’s twelve, how the hell’s she driving?
As the adrenalin started to ease he thought about Farthington and his threats. There won’t be an easy way out, that swine will have set something up good.
“Nefol, step on it. We need to make sure Austerley’s safe. I just saw Farthington.”
She looked at him like he was daft. “Who’s that?” She had been spared meeting him. Well that’s good, he thought.
“Zmey Gorynych.”
“Oh, the Russian dragon.”
She’s too clever by half, this one, he reckoned. Tania moaned slightly and seemed to stir. Squeezing the pressure point in her neck, he watched her facial expression collapse to a deep peace again.
“Drive, Nefol, drive.” He looked out the window at the sea with its horizon of fire and wondered what to do next. “Just drive. Let’s hope Havers and your father know what to do.”
The Redoubtable Miss Goodritch
We can’t just sit here, Mr Austerley, we need to do something.”
“Miss Goodritch, what exactly would you have us do? I’m a cripple and you’re just a girl guide with a diploma in history.” Austerley felt a hand clip him round the head.
“I’m the girl guide who saved you while you sat trying to wheel yourself out of the mess we were in. When it comes to looking after us, I think you’ll find you are without doubt the weaker subject.”
After opening his mouth to say something, Austerley found himself shutting it again without a sound. She was right and it pissed him off completely.
“Listen,” said Austerley after a few moments of silence, “we are in a precarious position. But there’s also something else going on which I can’t figure out just now. I don’t think this is about Dillingham at all. I think it’s about Kirkgordon and me, possibly Havers too. Somebody has gathered us together. The history and witchcraft don’t add up. There’s a lack of continuity in what’s happening. And these creatures that are a jumbled up mesh of animal parts, why are they here? If we descended to hell there would be no need for them – there would be demons aplenty to contend with. No, this is wrong, Miss Goodritch, plain wrong.”
“Well, what do you need to figure it out, Mr Austerley? Major Havers said you were a genius at this kind of thing. So tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”
“You sound very like him. If they want me, then it’s best for me to stay hidden. There are things in my head that could be used against the world itself. You may look surprised, but it has happened before.” Austerley thought of Dagon rising on that Scottish island and a cold shiver ran through him. He had been one drug-induced moment from dooming the world. And bloody Churchy had shot him in the foot.
“But I don’t need to stay hidden, so what can I do?” Miss Goodritch’s face looked grim and slightly scared. Austerley wondered if Havers was like this underneath with a professional face on top.
“Two things, Miss Goodritch, two things. I need a piece of one of the creatures. There are certain chants I can perform to ascertain who really created them. And if I know that, I can assess their true power. Also, for some reason the hill top, Gibbet Point, is important. I’ll need a piece of ground from there and a selection of herbs and liquids. Do you have a DIY shop and a herbalist in this town?”
“Yes, not far, either. But they may be protected by Father Jonah. If I go in then I won’t be able to get out.”
“No, but someone might be inside. Do they have live-in quarters above them?”
“Herbalist, yes, but not the DIY place, it’s quite large,” said Miss Goodritch.
Austerley thought for a moment. “Then the DIY store shouldn’t be protected. The priest wouldn’t dilute his power unnecessarily. But the herbalist more than likely will be.”
“Well, I know Alan Hamley. If he’s inside I may be able to communicate with him. Can things be passed out? Or are they trapped like people?”
“Father Jonah never said, Miss Goodritch, so that’s going to have to be a chance we take.”
After excusing herself to perform her ablutions, Jane Goodritch returned and picked up the remaining machete. Austerley had heard her throwing up but declined to comment. A strange feeling of sympathy formed inside him but he drove it back down, happy in the knowledge he was going to sit in his interdimensional hideaway.
“Give me two hours, Mr Austerley, and then consider me lost.”
Shaking off the image of a Second World War film, Austerley nodded and watched the plump figure disappear through the doors of the museum. He cursed Havers’ name, wondering at how the government man could have got himself caught. Some bloody professional he is.
Meanwhile, Jane stepped back out to the street, her head constantly on the move, eyeing every doorway. All was quiet as she walked stealthily along the road. After a few steps she broke back into her normal gait, deciding she might as well be comfortable in her walk. It wasn’t as if she would be outrunning anything that appeared on the journey.
She fought hard against the image of Havers under torture. Her protector had been brave, sending her to safety despite his incapacitation. Tears started to form as she thought of him suffering at the hands of these ghosts and these awful creatures. She pulled Austerley’s ingredients list from her pocket and forced herself to read through it to steady her nerves.
Look at the names, she thought. How was she meant to spot these things? Chemical after chemical and even a few formulae to contend with. She was a museum curator, not a chemist. The man was such a clown. Don’t worry, Miss Goodritch, it’s all down there. No point turning back now, though. She had walked halfway there already so she might as well continue and hope for the best.
The walk through the next few streets was quiet. She passed by various windows and saw frightened people looking out from behind the blinds. There were faces she recognized from the museum, customers but not acquaintances. Knowing these people were safe brought her some relief. She tried to focus on this fact and ignore the present danger.
The DIY store looked deserted. It had been night-time when the attack had happened and no one had been shopping then. Approaching the doors, she was surprised when they slid apart. Surely they should still be on the overnight security settings? She swallowed hard and clutched her machete tighter, stepping gingerly into the store.
The moderately sized store had seven aisles packed with various household and DIY items. Tins of paint, chemical treatments, kitchenware, gardening accessories, lighting and other everyday requirements of the Dillingham handyman were catered for in abundance. But somewhere amongst all of the items was an intruder, maybe even more than one. The thought chilled Jane; she had been building up the notion that she could handle a single ghost, but not a horde.
From her vantage point at the entrance she looked around the store but was unable to see anyone. However, the store design was such that most of the building was beyond her range of vision. She took a trolley and, pushing it with her left hand, machete held in the right, she started her strange shopping trip.
Bang! The sound reverberated around the store. In her haste to get started, Jane had clipped a pyramid of tinned varnish with her trolley and it had collapsed, tins tumbling to the ground. She waited for a reaction, not flinching. After a few moments, she realized the stupidity of this tactic and ran with the trolley into the first aisle. At least here she was hidden from some eighty percent of the store. Clutching the machete in front of her, Jane anxiously watched for any sign of movement at either end of her aisle, her head snapping back and forward
like she was sat watching a tennis match. But nothing moved.
After holding her ground for two minutes, Jane decided to proceed and took out the list she had written of the items Austerley had requested. Some of the items were easy to find, like the paint thinners. Austerley also wanted some bowls and tumblers, and the kitchenware aisle provided these. There was one word written out by Austerley himself as Jane couldn’t begin to spell what he had said. Calcium hexadi-something-or-other. There was no tub or box with that label, and Jane began to examine the ingredients lists for the compound. After thirty minutes of fruitless searching for the exact name she began to put in any item with a vague connection to the name. He’ll just have to make do, she thought.
Having collected all the items she could from the shelves, Jane pushed her trolley to the front of the store and noticed something across the door. A spider’s web had formed, completely blocking the entrance. Something had been in here… no, something was still in here. Jane looked around for another exit. Her trolley was full, and she required a flat exit if her shopping trip was not to be in vain.
Surely, she thought, with the size of the items in here there must be a flat way out to the loading bay. Jane grabbed her trolley and pushed it briskly to the rear of the store. In order to keep panic at bay, practicality took charge, and all her thought processes worked on what she had to do. This prevented any thought of what might be waiting. She really didn’t like spiders. Not one bit.
On reaching the rear of the store, she cautiously poked her head through some plastic curtains – the strip type allowing access but cutting out any drafts – and all was quiet so she hauled her trolley through the flexible barrier and looked for an exit. This part of the building was like a warehouse. Great cardboard boxes on pallets filled large sections of racking that had been laid out so that the pallets could be easily moved around.