Possessed

by Peter Laws

  The other boat wasn’t that far out, so he got there pretty fast, but he was still panting by the end of it. He let himself slowly drift towards the other boat. He heard his wake send water sloshing under the other hull. He unhooked one of his oars and scanned the water.

  Not wanting to get too close, he pushed the oar towards the other boat. Leaning forward, he gave it a little prod.

  Thud.

  His own boat drifted back with the impact.

  And then … and then …

  Psssssssssssshhhhhhhh!

  When the water erupted, Matt yelped and threw himself back. So hard that he almost tossed himself completely overboard, sending his boat into a violent rocking. And who cares if the cameras and the world heard him shriek. Because it was a perfectly acceptable thing to do in such situations.

  The water between the boats exploded in a whoosh of freezing spray, and somewhere in the white fuzz of it all, he saw an arm shoot up and soon after – for a horribly brief second – he saw a face contorted in shock and terrified pain. It was Ethan, breaking up through the water. His flailing arm reached for the moon, but then it slammed down hard against the rim of Matt’s boat instead. There was a nauseating crack. He knew it was bone, not wood. Ethan suddenly couldn’t grip, and in seconds his face was swallowed in the water again.

  Finally, through the shock of it, Matt flung himself forward to grab Ethan’s hand, but the arm slithered out of his. It was lost under the surface, like an alligator tail sinking into a swamp.

  As quickly as he’d come up, Ethan was gone.

  Wait.

  Another splash of water.

  Shit. This time, it was Ethan’s foot thrusting up, his body moving in a delirious dance of panic and now moving in what seemed like the wrong direction.

  ‘Don’t swim down!’ Matt hissed at the water.

  Matt did what felt right. Though what is truly ‘right’ at such times is too nuanced a concept to pin down. He was a good swimmer. He always had been. Growing up on the Dunwich coast had taught him that. And he’d be careful to make sure his feet didn’t get tangled in any vines. He sucked a deep breath in, and before he knew it, he was up and over.

  He remembered his hand leaving the rocking boat. That feeling of his skin touching wood and then not. The next sensation was an all-out assault on his nerve endings. His head and shoulders plunged under and the sheer bite of cold flooded into his face and body. It took his breath away. Literally.

  God, it was like fire. Like a cold, biting fire.

  He surfaced again, gulping in a ravenous breath, his entire body shuddering. He frantically looked around for bubb—

  There!

  He burst into a front crawl, and he flailed his hands under the water, grasping, grabbing. His fingertips slid through something strange.

  Reeds …

  Hair.

  It was all he could do. His fist closed and he yanked up. Hoping like hell that Ethan’s silvery scalp wouldn’t come out in a clump while his body headed down into the dark. The tug brought something heavy with it, and Matt could finally scoop his arm under the armpits. Ethan’s face broke through the water and Matt instantly slapped it.

  ‘Hey,’ Matt’s limbs ached as he kept them both afloat. He kept swallowing water. ‘Hey. Wake … up. Breathe … Ethan. Breathe.’

  But then it didn’t matter any more, because when Matt lifted him from the water, his head lolled back. And something horrendous opened up under his chin. Matt’s immediate thought was that it looked like an overstuffed cushion, bulging apart and tearing open at the zip. But inside this cushion was pure blackness, which bubbled and turned the rest of his neck black. Horrified, Matt flung himself back in an uncontrollable shudder of disgust, and deep guilt for letting go. The last he saw of Ethan’s dying … no … Ethan’s dead body was the matted wisps of wet silver-grey hair being swallowed by the black.

  Horror and sadness pummelled through Matt, and it only got worse with every blind flail and plunge under the water. The thought of Ethan drifting down, and down, got too much. And so Matt gripped the rim of his own boat, about to pull up. Until a new sight came, when he looked back.

  A slow black mass was rising from the rim of Abby’s boat. It slid slowly up, and for a sickly second he thought it was the black rabbit from the lift again, sharp claws fresh with Ethan.

  It was so dark, and his eyes were so filled with dirty water and maybe even tears, that her silhouette took a while to look distinct. But a wipe of his eyes made it clear.

  It was Abby, hair hanging wet and she was grinning in the moonlight, just like she’d been doing before. Only this time, she looked at The Reed while her shoulders rocked with silent laughter. Or was she crying? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, it flooded him with a much deeper cold and he kept having flashing images of her suddenly leaping from her boat and springing into an impossible, nightmarish, whip through the sky towards him.

  Shivering, in every way that was humanly possible, and with his muscles close to explosion, he started the desperate, squeaking crawl back into his own, now madly rocking boat. When he finally dropped into it, drenched, gasping and freezing, he felt an urge to call Abby’s name. To snap her out of it. But his brain and logic were insistent. Get away. Get back to The Reed and tell them. And get them to lock the door, and call the police if they could. Or at the very least, for them all to bundle into the cars and get the hell away from here.

  He took one last look at her and was surprised to see that she’d now stood up in the boat. She was neither laughing or crying, rather she was lifting the material of that ruffled white shirt of hers, higher and higher so her midriff showed.

  Her voice, smooth and warm, did not sound like an old man. But like the beautiful young woman she was. She said, ‘Don’t leave me, Matt.’

  He looked away. Not for modesty. That wasn’t it. It was the shard of glass in her hand that did it, still glistening with Ethan’s blood. He looked away because, framed in moonlight, she’d already started to splay the skin of her flat stomach, so she might patiently carve the first letter deep into her skin.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  A sure-fire way of knowing that something is very, very wrong, is when there’s blood in the lift. Matt didn’t even see it at first. He flung himself inside it breathless, shaking and soaking wet, and he turned to keep an eye on the slowly closing door. He saw the very dim outline, there on the lake, her black shape still standing and bobbing out there on the water.

  Without properly looking, Matt jabbed his finger against the panel, but his fingertip slipped off with a squeak. When he looked down, the reaction was immediate and primal. He went back in a clumsy stagger, his soaked back pushing into the mirrored wall.

  There was a chest-high arch of blood across the buttons. It was seeping between the gaps in the metal and illuminated plastic. And when he looked at the floor he saw a thick, glistening puddle of it, and a handprint, very low down.

  He felt that instant tingle you get, when you see blood. That evolutionary warning signal that says – There be danger in these parts. Best skidaddle. So when he lifted his hand, and saw his own sticky red fingertips, he started desperately smearing them. Damn those designers for not putting carpet in here. He had to wipe his grotty fingers on his own wet trousers.

  He was so distracted by this blood that he hadn’t even noticed that his initial button press had actually made contact. The lift had already started to rise. So he felt a shudder of fright when it rang its cheerful little digital bell, for the lobby floor.

  Crap. He should be running away from here, not going in.

  The doors started to open, and he thrust out a hand towards the panel to close them. After all, he really had no desire to see a band of shuffling maniacs snap their heads his way, and come scrambling over the lobby sofas to get him. But when the doors slid open, he saw only the lobby, with upturned chairs, and a spray of something against one of the far windows. It could have been red wine he supposed. But then red wine didn’t
really cling to glass, did it?

  At first he thought the room was empty, until he saw her, crouching behind the counter where the coffee machine was. It was Suzy, his camerawoman. She was on her knees, holding a thin camera tripod. A weapon. She’d heard the doors open, so she was looking at him before he saw her. She was shivering, she’d been crying. Her eyes had clearly seen things that he didn’t want to think about.

  He looked both ways, then waved her towards the lift, mouthing the silent words, Come on!

  She pressed her lips together, unable to move anything but her head. Then she mouthed, I can’t.

  The lift doors suddenly started to close, and some selfish little imp deep in his brain said, let them close. Go downstairs and grab a car. Figure out how to hot-wire something and drive off. But the imp was little, and its voice was slight. He put his hands out to stop the doors closing. Cold metal pressed against his wrist and fingers, which were still damp with water and now, he supposed, blood. The door bounced off him and dutifully opened again.

  She was about fifteen feet away. As he drew closer, he started unravelling the kitchen roll in his pocket. He left it strewn in a long line. The sharp little knife gleamed in his hand. When she saw the blade, she went pale with shock and seemed to grip her tripod even tighter, ready to strike. She kept staring at his face, searching his eyes for some sign of humanity. Making sure he wasn’t one of them.

  So when he reached her he spoke calmly and very, very gently indeed. ‘Are you hurt?’

  She shook her head.

  He dropped behind the coffee counter. Took a second to catch his breath. ‘Where is everybody?’

  ‘It … it happened quickly … they … they …’

  ‘Breathe,’ he whispered. ‘Is there anybody else we can grab? We could get to the lift. Find a car.’

  ‘No!’ Her eyes bulged. ‘Do not go outside.’

  He looked to the windows.

  ‘They’re out there. Loads of them. They chased the crew out.’

  ‘I didn’t see anybody come out.’

  ‘No … no, they went through … through the kitchen.’

  He leant out a little from the counter, spying across the lobby. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘It was so fast. I was checking the camera feed for the after-party in the dining hall. They were praying or something until the screaming started in the main hall. We thought it was just …’ she took a shuddery breath, ‘… that it was just the exorcism getting intense, but then a few of our camera guys ran out. They said some of the clients, not all … but some, just went berserk. Started attacking each other, and the crew. They smashed a mirror. One of them grabbed a big chunk of it. And he started … cutting people. Jesus. He was stabbing them.’ Her body shook again, with the trauma of it. ‘Some came running into the dining hall. One of them found us in the tech room. I saw Jonas Fuller, our sound man. He was stabbed right in front of me.’

  Matt looked at her and waited for a moment. ‘By who?’

  ‘That Richie bloke. The big guy. He looked crazy.’ Her cheeks seemed to hollow at the thought of it. ‘So I panicked and ran. We all did, and the only clear way looked like the back door in the kitchen. Some of our guys kicked it down, and they ran out there. But I wasn’t fast enough. Those crazy fuckers … they just chased them, laughing and screaming and grabbing knives from the drawers. So do not go out there. They’re in the car park, I think. And the woods.’

  ‘Suzy,’ Matt whispered, eventually. ‘Who’s left in the building?’

  ‘I think Nupa’s trapped in the main hall, the Ash Suite. Perry and Kissell are there too, I think.’

  ‘And Perry’s wife?’

  ‘Claire? I don’t know. I think most of the possessed are outside, but some of them might still be in the building. I heard footsteps upstairs and singing … God that singing.’ She pushed her fingers into her eyes, and squeezed the bridge of her nose. ‘There’s no reception, the Wi-Fi’s still out. We found the media plate for the whole building smashed to bits. There’s a backup system somewhere, but I have no idea where. So we’re alone … and we’re gonna die here alone.’ She crumbled into sobs.

  ‘Hey. Look at me, you need to find a better place to hide. There’s a toilet right around that corner. Crawl over and lock yourself in. And take this …’ He handed the knife to her. ‘Use it if you have to.’

  ‘But … what about you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll take the tripod if it’s going spare.’

  ‘Hide with me.’

  ‘If Nupa’s trapped, I have to help …’ He shook his head. ‘Just get in that toilet. I’ll get Nupa and come back. I’ll knock like this.’ He tapped a silent but recognisable pattern against the back of her hand. Then he leant out and took one last scan of the lobby. Still empty. ‘Go. Now.’

  She burst into a quick scramble towards the door. He waited to make sure she went inside the toilet. He heard the lock click into place.

  Jittery with the risk of it, he pulled himself up, and gripped the tripod like a baseball bat. Then he made a swift, hunched run towards the glass door that led into the Ash Suite corridor.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Oh, no.

  Matt stopped dead at the glass door and stared through it. One of the security guys was lying motionless on the corridor floor. The man who had told Matt to step away earlier. The other one was missing and Matt saw another body collapsed in a heap against a wall. When he saw this one, Matt’s chest lost its air. It was Deron Johnson, sitting on the carpet, like he was just taking a moment to chill. Only he had a long smear of red running from the back of his head. It shot up the flowered wallpaper in a strangely neat line. He must have slid down the wall like this.

  Was Deron a victim? Or had the security guard done this to him in self-defence?

  Matt pushed the glass gently, knuckles white.

  He lifted the tripod, slowly creeping towards the bodies, to check for signs of life. He saw a huge hunk of mirror wedged into Deron’s shoulder, pinning that velvet scarf of his forever in place. But the guard made a noise as Matt came past. He dropped to his knees, and whispered, ‘Can you move?’

  He groaned and shook his head. He was crying.

  ‘Okay …’ Matt looked around, baffled as to what to do, then he jumped when a voice crackled near him.

  ‘Ash …’ It was Deron, fluttering his eyes open. Wow.

  ‘You’re alive!’

  ‘Still … truckin …’ Deron, said, eyes still closed. He attempted a smile, but it only made him wince in extreme pain. ‘Just get in the Ash Suite … people in there.’

  ‘Anybody dangerous?’

  ‘No. But they’ll be back.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be straight—’

  The words caught in his throat, as he flicked his gaze to the glass that led back to the lobby. The one he’d just come through. His skin prickled, all hair standing. Could almost hear it bristle, too. He was sure he’d just seen a huge shadow pass by, out of the corner of his eye.

  Deron groaned quietly, ‘Hurrrrrrry.’

  Matt pushed himself up. His kneecaps thick with Deron’s blood. Then, once he was standing, he gulped down breath and pushed the door to the hall.

  He stepped inside and—

  Something slammed into him.

  He staggered sideways and crashed noisily into a chair. He twisted back and went to swing the tripod, but he heard a familiar, panicked voice.

  ‘Wait, wait!’ she said. ‘It’s me.’

  He let his arms drop, just on the swing.

  Nupa gulped. ‘Sorry, I thought you were one of them. Are you injured?’

  ‘No. You?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

  ‘Ya think?’

  ‘Have you seen anybody?’

  ‘Suzy’s in the toilets near the lobby … but Ethan …’

  ‘What about him? … wait … hey, don’t look at me like that …’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nupa. He’s dead.’

/>   She pressed her hand against her mouth. He noticed her meticulously manicured nails were all chewed. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘Abby killed him on the lake. Look, let’s focus. Who’s left in here?’

  ‘Jesus …’

  ‘Nupa. Listen to me. Who’s left in here?’

  ‘Just Reverend Perry. He’s right there.’ She pointed at the stage.

  Matt saw nothing on the stage except Tom Riley’s stupid box, still spot-lit on a plinth. ‘I don’t see anybody.’

  ‘Under. He’s hiding under the stage.’

  They shared a glance. Even in the midst of this, it was hard not to roll eyes.

  Matt rushed to the front and dropped, tugging at the little blue curtain that hung from it. He yanked it back and saw Perry lying on his side. A man-sized embryo with a ginger beard. ‘Come on. We need to get moving.’

  ‘Oh, not you.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Perry. This isn’t time for a tiff. We need to stick together.’

  ‘They’ve gone wild, they’ve gone insane.’ Perry’s cheek was pressed into the carpet. ‘Do you see what you’ve done?’

  ‘What I’ve done?’

  ‘You let the darkness in, not me. Your negativity. This was you.’

  ‘Yep, all me. Now, let’s get moving. Where’s Claire?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your wife, dimwit. Where is she?’

  ‘It’s people like you … the atheists, the heretics. You bring the Devil in.’

  ‘Leave him,’ Nupa hissed behind him. ‘He’s lost it.’

  ‘That’s why exorcisms are rising. That’s why Tom did what he did. It was nothing to do with me, it’s people like you …’ Perry mumbled. ‘It’s the atheism.’

  Matt was about to reach in and drag Perry out, but something made him stop. It was Nupa. She made the strangest little yelp sound. He could have sworn it was the sound of a piglet stepping on a pin.