by Mark Morris
“Brian.”
That terrible cawing voice again. Just outside.
Brian turned a sweat-drenched moon-face towards me. But he seemed outraged rather than terrified; as if it was just so damn unfair that this thing – this terrible, unknowable thing – was ready to pick on him before anyone else.
Arthritic timber squeaked as new weight arrived on the catwalk.
We each backed into a different corner, listening to the scrabbling of claws on the other side of the door. I sank to my haunches, eyeing the shadow filling the gap at the bottom. Hugged myself as the door began bowing in its frame, the woodwork shuddering.
“You can’t come in here!” Brian bleated. “Go away!”
The weight against the door relaxed. There was a taut, lingering silence. And then a heavy blow. The door shook violently. We screamed. When a second blow followed, Brian screamed even louder. By some miracle the ancient bolt mechanism held.
I felt a brief sense of hope as the shadow disappeared from the gap, only to freeze up again when I heard the scraping and scuffling of some heavy object scaling the side of the signal box. Dust drifted down as it moved across the roof. I peered up through hooked fingers, but it was only when the twisted silhouette appeared in the skylight hatch and halted there, stiff and silent, that I screwed my eyes shut.
I heard it as it clambered in: the rustling of its rancid, ragged clothing; the creaking of its dried, long-dead limbs; the heavy impact as it landed a few yards away. I whimpered and wept and curled into a ball, and imagined it was the same with Brian. I certainly didn’t hear any sound of him trying to get away, but just to ensure this didn’t happen, I pointed and shouted, “There! Over there! That’s him. That’s the one you want!”
You look at me with loathing. But what would you have done?
He’d already been marked. His was the name it had called, not mine. But in any case, I doubt it needed further identification. It was his corner it lumbered over to. He was the one who squealed like a trapped piglet when I presume it laid its hands upon him. After that, I heard him chunnering some verse or other as he was carried up and away, and I realised he was saying the Our Father, though it lost all coherence when he was taken out through the skylight, transforming into a series of hoarse, gibbering shrieks, which gradually faded into the summer afternoon.
All I remember after that is how quiet it was in there. And though suffocatingly warm, how at peace I felt. I certainly had no desire to move from my corner.
I knew that I was safe. I knew it was over. I just wasn’t taking any chances.
* * *
“Why did the prayer not work for him, when it had for the signalman?” Gates mused as he rolled himself another cigarette. “I’ve often wondered if perhaps a degree of genuine belief is required. I mean, Brian professed belief, but, well… raised in a household where Bibles were used as weapons, he must have been confused.”
“You must think we’re confused to believe a story like that,” the younger detective said.
Gates smirked. “What you believe is immaterial to me. My die is cast.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Mr. Gates,” the younger detective replied. “There are only two reasons you weren’t charged back in 1973. Firstly, because you were so young and seemed so messed up by it yourself. And secondly, and more importantly, because there was no physical evidence. But times have moved on, and so have forensics.”
Gates shrugged. “Present them.”
The older detective leaned forward, again offering a light. “You were found sleeping in that derelict signal box. Two whole days after this incident you allege.”
“As I said,” Gates replied, “I had no desire to move.”
“The search parties found no trace of Brian O’Rourke. Only his backpack, which had been dumped in the woods on the Hanbury Hall estate… torn to shreds.”
“I can only assume that happened in the fight.”
They watched him carefully.
“Fight?” the younger one said.
“The fight he presumably put up before it ended for him.”
“Is it possible,” the older detective said, “that this… thing, this person who pursued you, could have been an ordinary man wearing a costume?”
“I’ve considered that over the years,” Gates replied. “But no, I don’t think so. We all know who it was. Why try to hide from the fact?”
“Because it’s not a fact,” the younger detective said heatedly.
Gates regarded them as he smoked. Then smiled wryly. “I really don’t know why I’m playing this game… attempting to persuade you of something you clearly had no intention to believe. Why would you, when all you’re doing here is fishing for a conviction you’ve never earned? But at the very least, you must admit it all adds up?”
“Nothing adds up,” the younger detective said, sounding affronted. “I can’t imagine what it is you think you’re trying to sell us. That this… thing took Brian O’Rourke because he was gay?”
Gates blew out a wad of smoke. “Only a true millennial idiot would think I was trying to sell you that.”
“You were found back in 1973,” the older detective said, “because when your two pictures appeared on the local news, an old lady recognised you as having travelled up there on the bus. When the search was launched, they didn’t just find you and Brian O’Rourke’s backpack, they also found the bag of magazines you mentioned.”
Gates shrugged.
The older cop leaned forward. “So, we’ve no reason to doubt anything you told us up to that point.”
“It’s what you say happened after that that gives us a problem,” the younger one added. “You trying to pretend that Brian O’Rourke being gay had nothing to do with it is a give-away in itself. You see, we believe it had everything to do with it.”
“We think he did lure you up to that old railway line under false pretences,” the older one said. “He’d developed a crush on you because you were one of the few people who’d tolerated him while he was at school. But by your own admission, this tolerance had its limits. And when you found out what he really wanted you flew into an uncontrollable rage. Which we all know you’re more than capable of.”
This time Gates looked at them pityingly. “Brian O’Rourke was not taken because he was gay.”
“You attacked him, didn’t you?” the younger one said. “Maybe you didn’t intend to kill him, but…”
“Did I attack the signalman in the 1950s? Or those other people, who, if you bother to do any research, you’ll notice have also gone missing from the Branch Line? Some as far back as the 1920s?”
“Genuine reports of people who’ve gone missing up there are countable on one hand,” the older detective said. “And we’re talking over a period of many decades. It’s hardly conclusive.”
“Not everyone who walks the Branch Line will be a victim,” Gates agreed. “But think about the signalman. He actually existed. His name was Harold Collier, and he’d just lost his wife. Then think about Brian O’Rourke and what he had lost. Gentlemen, it surely can’t really be that the brightest thing about you is your buttons. Why else do you think I killed Gaynor Grant in 1981? Why did I kill Jenny Hurst in 1995? And why not any of the other women I’ve had relationships with over the years?”
“No doubt those two said the wrong thing to you, Mr. Gates.” The older detective gathered his papers together. “Just like Brian O’Rourke. Look, we’re done here.” He stood up. “We’ve wasted enough time on this.”
“Because I was getting close to them, maybe?” Gates said, answering his own question.
The detectives glanced back at him, perhaps partially interested in that, but mainly because he disgusted them. The interview room’s barred door closed behind them with a clang.
“You probably don’t believe that,” Gates called out. “When you see me, you see a madm
an with a hair-trigger temper. But don’t draw comfort from that.” They walked away down the gunmetal grey passage, his voice echoing after them. “Don’t think that’s all it is. And don’t get close to anyone, detectives. Ever. Because if you do, and you lose them – your fault, someone else’s fault, it doesn’t matter – she will know. You hear me?”
That final shout was a howl, the other inmates shrieking from their cells in response.
“Don’t chance the Branch Line if you’ve lost the love of your life.” He calmed again, the rollup dangling from his fingers. “Because even if no one else hears your tears, she will.”
Biographies
Michael Bailey is a writer, editor, book designer and a resident of forever-burning California. He is the recipient of the Bram Stoker Award, the Benjamin Franklin Award, over two dozen independent accolades, and a Shirley Jackson Award nominee. Publications include the novels Palindrome Hannah and Phoenix Rose, the fiction and poetry collections Scales and Petals, Inkblots and Blood Spots and Oversight, and more than sixty published stories, novelettes and poems. Edited anthologies include The Library of the Dead, You Human, Adam’s Ladder, four volumes of Chiral Mad, and many more. Find him online at nettirw.com.
Simon Bestwick is the author of six horror, dark fantasy and post-apocalyptic novels, the novellas Breakwater and Angels of the Silences and several short story collections. His short fiction has appeared in Black Static, The Devil and the Deep and The London Reader and has been reprinted in Best Horror of the Year. Four times shortlisted for the British Fantasy Award, he is married to long-suffering fellow author Cate Gardner, with whom he lives on the Wirral while striving to avoid reality in general and gainful employment in particular. His latest books are the story collection And Cannot Come Again, newly reissued by Horrific Tales, and the novel Wolf’s Hill (the third in the Black Road series, also due for reissue by Horrific Tales in 2021).
The Oxford Companion to English Literature describes Ramsey Campbell as ‘Britain’s most respected living horror writer’. He has been given more awards than any other writer in the field, including the Grand Master Award of the World Horror Convention, the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Horror Writers Association, the Living Legend Award of the International Horror Guild and the World Fantasy Lifetime Achievement Award. In 2015 he was made an Honorary Fellow of Liverpool John Moores University for outstanding services to literature. Among his novels are The Face That Must Die, Incarnate, Midnight Sun, The Count of Eleven, Silent Children, The Darkest Part of the Woods, The Overnight, Secret Story, The Grin of the Dark, Thieving Fear, Creatures of the Pool, The Seven Days of Cain, Ghosts Know, The Kind Folk, Think Yourself Lucky, Thirteen Days by Sunset Beach and The Wise Friend. He recently brought out his Brichester Mythos trilogy, consisting of The Searching Dead, Born to the Dark and The Way of the Worm. Needing Ghosts, The Last Revelation of Gla’aki, The Pretence and The Booking are novellas. His collections include Waking Nightmares, Alone with the Horrors, Ghosts and Grisly Things, Told by the Dead, Just Behind You, Holes for Faces, By the Light of My Skull and a two-volume retrospective roundup (Phantasmagorical Stories). His non-fiction is collected as Ramsey Campbell, Probably and Ramsey’s Rambles (video reviews). Limericks of the Alarming and Phantasmal is a history of horror fiction in the form of fifty limericks. His novels The Nameless, Pact of the Fathers and The Influence have been filmed in Spain. He is the President of the Society of Fantastic Films. Ramsey Campbell lives on Merseyside with his wife Jenny. His pleasures include classical music, good food and wine, and whatever’s in that pipe. His website is at www.ramseycampbell.com.
Rick Cross is the author of Lethbridge-Stewart: Times Squared, co-author of Lobster Tales and Warp: A Speculative Trio, and a contributor to Lethbridge-Stewart: The HAVOC Files 2. He is a founding member of the Loose Lobsters writing collective and for twenty-one years has been the senior media writer at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, where he lives with his wife Heather, their son Declan and a feisty dog named Lexie who insists she’s a panther. Find him on Facebook: facebook.com/rickcrosswriter.
Paul Finch, a former cop and journalist now turned best-selling crime and thriller writer, is the author of the very popular DS Mark ‘Heck’ Heckenburg and DC Lucy Clayburn novels. Paul first cut his literary teeth penning episodes of the British TV crime drama The Bill, and has written extensively in horror, fantasy and science fiction, including for Doctor Who. However, he is probably best known for his crime/thriller novels, specifically the Heckenburg police-actioners, of which there are seven to date, and the Clayburn procedurals, of which there are three. The first three books in the Heck line achieved official best-seller status, the second being the fastest pre-ordered title in HarperCollins history, while the first Lucy Clayburn novel made the Sunday Times Top 10 list. The Heck series alone has accrued over 2,000 5-star reviews on Amazon. His first crime thriller from Orion Books, One Eye Open, was published in 2019. Paul is a native of Wigan, Lancashire, where he still lives with his wife and business partner, Cathy.
Elana Gomel is an academic and a writer. She has taught and researched English literature and cultural studies at Tel-Aviv University, Princeton, Stanford, Venice International University and the University of Hong Kong. She speaks three languages and has two children. She has published six non-fiction books and numerous articles on posthumanism, science fiction, Victorian literature and serial killers. Her fantasy, horror and science fiction stories have appeared in Apex Magazine, New Horizons, The Fantasist, Timeless Tales, New Realms, Alien Dimensions, and others. Her stories have also featured in several award-winning anthologies, including Zion’s Fiction, Apex Book of World Science Fiction and People of the Book. She is the author of three novels, A Tale of Three Cities (2013), The Hungry Ones (2018) and The Cryptids (2019). When not busy writing or teaching, she can be found on a plane, heading for distant countries in search of new monsters.
Grady Hendrix is the Stoker Award-winning author of Paperbacks From Hell, and he avoids speaking with demons whenever possible. His novels include My Best Friend’s Exorcism, The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires, We Sold Our Souls and Horrorstor. His movies include Mohawk and Satanic Panic. You can hear him blather on and on at www.gradyhendrix.com.
John Langan is the author of two novels and three collections of stories. For his work, he has received the Bram Stoker and This Is Horror Awards. His new book Children of the Fang and Other Genealogies is his fourth collection. He lives in New York’s Mid-Hudson Valley with his wife and younger son.
Tim Lebbon is a New York Times best-selling writer from South Wales. He has had over forty novels published to date, as well as hundreds of novellas and short stories. His latest work is the eco-horror novel Eden. Other recent releases include The Edge, The Silence, The Family Man, The Rage War trilogy, and Blood of the Four with Christopher Golden. He has won four British Fantasy Awards, a Bram Stoker Award, and a Scribe Award, and has been a finalist for World Fantasy, International Horror Guild and Shirley Jackson Awards. His work has appeared in many Year’s Best anthologies, as well as Century’s Best Horror. The movie of The Silence, starring Stanley Tucci and Kiernan Shipka, debuted on Netflix in April 2019, and Pay the Ghost, starring Nicolas Cage, was released for Halloween 2015. Several other projects are in development for TV and the big screen, including original screenplays Playtime (with Stephen Volk) and My Haunted House. Find out more about Tim at his website www.timlebbon.net
Jonathan Robbins Leon describes himself as a queer author of contemporary and speculative fiction. He wrote the screenplay for Signal Lost, which recently debuted at the Central Florida Film Festival, and his work has appeared on A Story Most Queer and Tales to Terrify. He lives in a dusty, historic house with his husband and son only blocks away from the library he haunts in Kissimmee, Florida.
Alison Littlewood’s latest novel Mistletoe is a seasonal ghost story with glimpses into the Victorian era. Her first book A
Cold Season was selected for the Richard and Judy Book Club and described as ‘perfect reading for a dark winter’s night’. Other titles include A Cold Silence, Path of Needles, The Unquiet House, Zombie Apocalypse! Acapulcalypse Now, The Hidden People and The Crow Garden. Alison’s short stories have been picked for a number of year’s best anthologies and published in her collections Quieter Paths and Five Feathered Tales. She has won the Shirley Jackson Award for Short Fiction. Alison lives with her partner Fergus in Yorkshire, in a house of creaking doors and crooked walls. She loves exploring the hills and dales with her two hugely enthusiastic Dalmatians and has a penchant for books on folklore and weird history, Earl Grey tea, fountain pens and semicolons. Visit her at www.alisonlittlewood.co.uk.
Sarah Lotz is a novelist and screenwriter with a fondness for the macabre. Her collaborative and solo novels have been translated into over twenty-five languages. Her most recent work includes the novels The Three, Day Four, The White Road and Missing Person. She currently lives in the UK with her family and other animals.
Mark Morris (Editor) has written and edited almost forty novels, novellas, short story collections and anthologies. His script work includes audio dramas for Doctor Who, Jago & Litefoot and the Hammer Chillers series. Mark’s recent work includes the official movie tie-in novelisations of The Great Wall and (co-written with Christopher Golden) The Predator, the Obsidian Heart trilogy, and the anthologies New Fears (winner of the British Fantasy Award for Best Anthology) and New Fears 2 as editor. He’s also written award-winning audio adaptations of the classic 1971 horror movie Blood on Satan’s Claw and the M.R. James ghost story ‘A View from a Hill’.
Thana Niveau is a horror and science fiction writer. Originally from the States, she now lives in the UK, in a Victorian seaside town between Bristol and Wales. She is the author of the short story collections Octoberland, Unquiet Waters and From Hell to Eternity, as well as the novel House of Frozen Screams. Her work has been reprinted in Best New Horror and Best British Horror. She has been shortlisted three times for the British Fantasy Award – for Octoberland and From Hell to Eternity, and for her story Death Walks En Pointe.
