by P W Hillard
A year earlier, Jess had been a beat constable. She was good at her job, and well liked in her station. She had returned home after a long shift, her hair messy underneath her hat, sweating profusely under her stab vest. She had stopped at the end of her garden path. The door was wide open the night air. There was a smash from inside and she had run in without a thought.
Inside the house she had found Hannah crouched in the corner of the living room cradling the then even smaller Lana. In the centre of the room was a large gangly creature. Its skin was an ashen grey, its eyes a piercing red. Its arms and legs were long and thin. Its fingers were spindly ending in long sharp points. It hissed through a set of needle like fangs. It was standing on the coffee table, its face flicking around the room. It let out a wail, faintly at first, but building into a terrible screech. It pounced into the air, its talons angled at Hannah. Jess ran forward shoulder first barging into the monster mid-air. It slammed into a side table back first, bending unnaturally. It sloped to the floor hacking a thick green liquid. Jess grasped her baton and struck the creature, bringing it down in great arcs. It squealed and kicked out at her, knocking her backwards. The creature stood up, its viscous green blood pouring from above its eye. It clambered over Jess on all fours, its claw like fingers digging divots into the floor. It hissed bringing its sharp unnatural face close to hers. Slowly she reached down, grasped the small canister of PAVA spray at her belt. With a click she sprayed it into the creature’s face. It stood up screaming. Its foul blood sprayed everywhere as it clawed at its own eyes. It stumbled about lashing out wildly. One swing of its arm scratched across the ceiling taking a thin slash from the artex. Sensing her moment Jess grabbed a small side table by the leg, the lamp atop it smashing on the ground. She swung the table smashing it against the monster’s head. It broke, the leg she was holding splintering off and the monster tumbled to the ground. She lifted the splinter leg and thrust it downward into the beast’s chest, the wood biting deeply into its flesh. It spluttered and shook, before falling still. Jess pulled the table leg free and stood there, weapon in hand, horrible green blood splashed across her.
After, Jess had been whisked away, taken down beneath New Scotland Yard. There she had been given what was referred to as “the talk”. There all the secrets of special investigations were laid bare. The nightmares that lurked in the night, the unspeakable things that howled at the edge of reality scratching to get in. She had been sat there as they explained what a changeling was, and how it wanted to steal Lana away. Her family had been lucky, Hannah had a bad habit of waiting up for Jess to get home and was awake when the changeling had expected sleeping parents. She had let out a nervous laugh when she explained she had used her spray to blind it. When the detectives had interviewed her, they had eagerly written it down.
“A lot of what we know is old, real old. Never know when something might be useful we never considered. Good to know PAVA works on one of these,” one of the interviewing detectives, a tall dark-skinned man with a well-kept neatly trimmed beard and a black turban, had said.
Then, just like that, Jess had found herself transferred, made a detective faster than she had ever seen. Every member of the department had a similar story. Whisked away from ordinary police work, dragged into the weird and macabre. It made a lot of sense, it wasn’t like they could start a recruitment drive, and it was a lot easier to explain to someone who had seen it first-hand. Jess had been taught the basics, how to stop certain kinds of creature, how to handle occult objects, how to use charms to stop any more changelings from breaking into her home. She had taken to the work, her natural fussiness and habit of writing everything down proving useful detective skills. Hannah had been unhappy with it at first, but Jess always just pointed out the thin gash in their ceiling. They kept it, a reminder of what was lurking in the world.
Whilst Jess was sat at home, stroking her wife’s hair, Mark was also sat on his couch. He held a plastic cup full of substandard noodles in one hand, whilst propping open a book with the other. It had a red leather cover, cracked with age. He lifted his hand, keeping the book open with his elbow and pulled a greasy forkful of noodles into his mouth. He put the plastic pot down onto a stack of books he had been using as a makeshift table and turned the page. Inside was a large diagram of a creature seemingly made entirely of wings and hands. He nodded sagely to himself. Somewhere beneath him the tell-tale rhythmic thud of his phone vibrating thumped. He closed the book and tapped his pockets looking for it. Mark thought for a moment and reached down between the cushions, producing the phone triumphantly.
He opened the notification to an email from Weston. Mark rolled his eyes; the woman was never off the clock it seemed. He opened it, “Ghost case. Further details.” Included were all the details of the original file, plus what seemed to be a recording of the interview with the victim. They had already been given a transcript. Their boss was nothing if not thorough. Mark chuckled, he knew that Jess would already probably be printing it to add to the file. She did love a good file. He clicked the video and watched it silently. He could see a young woman, crying heavily, black mascara running down her face. She was wearing a party dress made from what he thought might be shiny purple plastic. She was shaking as she cried, the woman looked terrified. Mark drummed his fingers along his chin as he watched. Ghosts often appeared before people and were largely harmless. Sometimes one would decide to move a cup, or nudge a painting, but the transcript claimed that one had pushed someone clean out the window. Apparently, someone had decided to host an illegal rave in an old abandoned house nestled in the Welsh valleys famous locally for being haunted. Mark threw his phone onto the sofa and sighed. It was probably a wild goose chase, and even if there was a ghost dealing with one was a nightmare. The only reliably way to get rid of one was to help it complete whatever task bound it to the earth and that always required working the coldest of cold cases.
He stood up, stepping over to the overloaded bookcase that bent under the weight of the tomes held within. He ran his finger across spines as he searched for a specific book. Mark regularly claimed they were kept in a specific order. This was a lie.
“Ah there you are,” he said to no one in particular, grabbing a book from the shelf. “Right, time to brush up on ghosts I guess.”
Chapter 4
Mark heaved the heavy tan case onto the train’s luggage rack, his arms straining as he did. The case, an old leather thing with a brass clasp and worn corners, hit the rack with a rattle. Mark tested the shelf, adjusted the case, and satisfied, walked down the aisle towards his seat. Stuffing his own small black suitcase in the overhead rack, he slipped down into his chair. A tatty thing, its upholstery pink and pale green dots on a dark blue background. Nestling himself in Mark looked at his watch in worry, leaning out into the aisle to try and spot Jess. Through the window he caught her running across the platform, red hair flying behind her. She was clutching her own suitcase to her chest, stumbling as she tried to slow herself stepping onto the train. Jess crashed through door into the carriage panting. She hastily stuffed her suitcase onto the rack and collapsed into her seat next to Mark
“Morning sunshine,” said Mark, reaching into a small carrier bag that had been hanging at his elbow.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jess apologised, unzipping her jacket. “Lana wanted me to take her to school, and we’ve been on the road so much I haven’t been home much recently. I couldn’t say no, you know?”
“Yeah I get it,” Mark answered. “Family is important, or so I’m told.” He pulled a thin object from the bag, wrapped loosely in paper. He handed it to Jess.
“Oh, thank god,” she said, unwrapping it to reveal a sandwich baguette, freshly fried bacon glistened within. “You know me so well.”
“Eat up, it’s going to be a long day. Figure we should deal with the body first, probably more urgent.” Mark pulled his own sandwich from the bag. He produced a can of cola, which he handed to Jess.
“Wait what body?” Jess asked, takin
g the can from Mark’s hand.
“Not read your emails this morning then?” He replied.
Constable Aasif Rhaman had been on his early morning jog. Every day he ran through the park, he found the cold morning air invigorating. That particular morning it had rained briefly, and he had considered not going out, before strapping on his trainers and heading out the door before he could convince himself otherwise. Dawn had just broken, and as usual Aasif had been the first person to the park. He entered through the smaller side entrance near his home and ran along the patch that encircled the perimeter, splashes of water striking his legs as he ran through the shallow puddles that had settled on the concrete. Somewhere deeper in the park a bird was calling out, its tweets forming a haunting melody. Aasif rounded the corner, coming around to the main gate. He nearly tripped as he stopped dead. The main gates were closed, tied shut by a chain that seemed to have been knotted by hand. A set of arms and legs hung from the chain, they had slid down on it until they reached the knot, splaying out like a macabre necklace. The body they belonged to was impaled on one of the decorative spikes that ran across the top of the gate. The head had been slammed onto one, it jutted bent from the corpses mouth. A thick pool of blood had formed, sticky red running across the ornate leaf patterns on the iron gate.
“Aw shit,” said Aasif, unplugging his headphone and taking his phone from the holder on his arm. “Knew I should have stayed in today.”
“Ok so,” started Mark, as the train began to slide out of the station. “Apparently this morning a body was found in the same town our victim of the supposed ghost attack is from. Grisly thing apparently, initial reports indicated the body had been taken apart and strung up across a gate by chain.”
“Graphic, but not necessarily our thing. Could just be a regular mundane psychopath?” Jess shrugged.
“Possibly, but it’s a hell of a coincidence if it is.” Marks thumb slid across his phone, bringing up a recent email to the screen. “Boss wants us to check it out either way, hopefully rule out a connection.”
“Know of anything in our wheelhouse that does something like this?” Jess asked, taking a bite from her sandwich.
“Nothing I know of that does this on the regular. Still doesn’t rule us out, plenty of weird to go around.” Mark chomped into his own baguette, leaking butter across his fingers. He wiped his hand on the paper and continued. “There was that Selkie who was collecting human skin and hanging that up that we had in the Shetlands once. Maybe it’s something similar? That was an ironic vengeance thing right because someone stole her sealskin.”
“I don’t know,” Jess had taken out a notebook, flipped down the shelf from behind the chair in front and was scribbling in it with one hand and trying to hold her sandwich with the other “Most supers try and keep a low profile. Nothing about this is low profile.”
“We’ll find out in about oh,” Mark look at his watch, through the window behind him the countryside flew past, a green blur “two and a half hours? Give or take.”
Mark and Jess dropped the heavy leather case onto the platform. The air was cold and damp, a thin veneer of rain covered the platform. The station was old, brown stone set into the valley side. The platform carried on far past the station itself, a long winding gash into the hillside. A large digital sign announced the train had arrived, modern technology screwed into old Victorian brickwork. The train they had stepped out of was a small single carriage. Pale green paint flaked off the side. The seats within had been hard and uncomfortable, horrid plastic things that flipped down from the wall. Getting here had required they change from the outdated but at least relatively comfortable train they had boarded, swapping for the ancient rattling thing once they had reached Cardiff. Thankfully the local service had been regular, as they had missed the planned connection trying to carry the heavy case down a set of steep stairs and up another to change platforms.
“Used to be the biggest train platform in the world this did,” Mark said, stretching his arms.
“What a useless piece of trivia,” Jess complained, he own arm ached from lugging the heavy case around.
“Trivia is never useless!” Mark declared. “Might come up in a pub quiz or something.”
“If I’m ever on a quiz show you can sit in the audience and cough for me then.” Jess grabbed the handle on one side of the case. “Let’s get a move on, grab your side.”
Slowly they eased the case down a huge flight of stairs that connected the station to the town. The station had been built into the side of the valley, easily two stories above the town itself. The great archway leading into the station looked like a baroque gateway into the heart of the mountain. The station had a small carpark, a portion of which seemed to be permanently in use by the local police, several cars and a van had been parked in the far corner. A particularly annoyed looking uniform officer leant against one of the cars. She was damp from the wet air, her face a scowl. Thin curls of mousey hair leaked from beneath her hat.
“Must be our ride,” said Jess waving at the policewoman. She glared back at her.
“Doesn’t look very happy about having to wait for us,” stated Mark. “Come one, better go say hi.”
The constable hadn’t been very welcoming, and Mark was now sat in the back, squashed up against the case, which hadn’t fitted in the boot. Its corners dug into him uncomfortably as the car bounced down the streets, winding its way toward the park. The constable driving them was muttering something disparaging against Londoners under her breath, whilst Jess stared out the window. Mark wasn’t surprised, it was the common response from other police forces. Special Investigations was based in London, beneath New Scotland Yard even, but officially had country wide jurisdiction. No-one was happy when as far as they were concerned, some people from some fancy unit they had never even heard of until now turned up and started poking around. Mark had felt the same way when he was a newly qualified detective, and someone had turned up at his crime scene to take over. Arrogant he had worked the case anyway, finding himself at the wrong end of a ghula. Afterwards he had been whisked away, given details on Special Investigations, and now he was the one turning up at crime scenes. The transition had suited him well, Mark had always been a bit of a bookworm and able to recall vast amounts of normally useless information. Traits it turned out were useful for dealing with the occult. Some of his colleagues jokingly called him the human grimoire.
Jess stepped out from the car with a splash, its driver seemingly choosing to stop where the puddle was deepest. She leant into the back through the window.
“You check this out, I’ll drop this,” Mark said tapping the case “at the hotel. We’ll meet there once you’re done here.”
“Right, I’ll see you later,” replied Jess, giving a thumbs up. She stepped away, ducking under a line of tape that had been strung across the street. The entire park and the street around the entrance had been closed. Uniformed officers were scattered around keeping watch. Jess flashed her I.D. to one as she walked towards the large white tent that had been set up over the gate. Several people in white paper suits were milling around outside it, scribbling on clipboards. A large bull of a man, thick broad shoulders and arms barely held in by his uniform was talking to one. A series of diamonds on his epaulets marked him as a Chief Inspector. “Detective Constable Jessica Holden, special investigations.”
“Chief Inspector Harold White,” replied the Man, holding out his hand. Jess shook it. “Don’t normally get D. C’s to investigate murders, but the orders come from the top.”
“We have a little more… leeway, with our unit sir. We think this might fall under our specialism,” Jess replied.
“And what exactly is your specialism?” Harold asked.
“Honestly sir, weird things,” said Jess, shrugging her shoulders.
“Yes well,” Harold said, “I think this might qualify.”
Jess stood inside the tent that had been erected around the gate. It was an old wrought iron thing, long thing bar
s with an elaborate decoration in the form of leaves and vines wrapping around the bars. It curved upwards across each of the sides so when the gate was closed it formed a curved hill encrusted with short sharp points. A short length of chain had been wrapped around both sides and tied off into a knot originally, but the crime scene techs had removed it to remove the body. Two silver tables with wheels had been placed inside the tent, the length of chain lay on one whist the body parts sat on the other. Jess crouched down to get a good look. The body had been torn into five parts, each arm and leg separated from the body. Slipping on a pair of white latex gloves Jess picked up one of the arms. It was still clad in tracksuit that was torn and flopped loosely. The arm had not been cut cleanly, instead the wound was jagged and uneven, and though it had been torn clean off. A rough hole, about the size of one of the gates top spikes was punctured through it. Placing the arm down she turned her attention to the chain. It was a few feet long and fairly thin. Parts of the chain were coated in a thick clear rubber, that reminded her of the swing set in the local park she sometimes took Lana too.
“Is there a playground in this park?” Jess asked.
“Yes, on the other side,” replied Harold, who was stood in the entrance to the tent watching her.
“Has anyone checked it? This chain had to come from somewhere, I think it’s from a swing.” Jess examined the chain in her hands. “Yeah look.” She held one end of the chain, it ended in a small bolt encased in thick black plastic. “This is where it attaches to the seat. Looks like it was ripped off.”
“Someone ripped a chain from a swing set and carried it across the park to use in a murder? Seems unlikely?” Harold questioned.