Myers nodded. ‘Mr Hunter says he did. Got up for a piss in the night and thought he saw movement outside the barn. Left the house with a cricket bat to investigate. Stepped into the barn to see this horror show.’
‘But no sign of who did it?’ I asked. ‘Maybe a glimpse at a departing flying saucer?’
Myers shook her head. ‘This isn’t the first local farm to see something like this recently, though it is the first on this level. A few others have seen a cow killed, or a couple of pigs, but nothing on this scale.’
‘So whatever’s behind it has taken a step up,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ said Myers, before putting a hand to her head and scrunching her eyes up. ‘Christ, I think I’ve got a bastard of a head coming on.’
‘Oi, long streak of piss, go on then,’ said Eva.
‘Go on then what?’ I replied.
Eva gesticulated at the nearest lumps of dead sheep. ‘Do your thing, get your hands dirty!’
Ah. Yes. One of the few abilities I seem to still have access to is that I can touch the bodies of the recently deceased and see flashes of their experiences close to the point of death. I looked around at all the disgusting, blood-soaked bits strewn around the barn among the straw and dung.
‘But… I don’t want to touch them,’ I said, my voice a toddler’s whine.
‘You’re good for practically fuck all,’ replied Eva. ‘Transportation, and this. So go over there and touch some dead things.’
I looked to Myers for support.
‘She has a point.’
‘Traitor.’
Myers smiled and shrugged.
I sighed and picked my way carefully across the gore-coated floor until I found a mostly intact sheep corpse. This one only had a couple of its legs torn off and its intestines trailing out of it like a grim bridal train.
I forgot to mention the smell.
It really smelled.
A lot.
I grimaced and lowered myself into a crouch, not wanting to dip my knees into the crimson pooled at my feet.
‘Okay, nothing disgusting about what I’m about to do, all perfectly normal and not at all nightmare inducing.’
‘Get on with it, idiot,’ encouraged Eva.
‘Okay!’
I breathed in a couple of times, then closed my eyes and tried to connect with the magic around me. I felt it respond. Felt it begin to flow towards me. And then, without thinking too much about the disgusting mess I was reaching for, I put both hands onto the dead sheep and waited for the magic to happen.
And waited.
And waited a little bit more.
The magic did not happen. Not at all.
I opened my eyes, confused, and looked back to Eva and Myers.
‘Well?’ said the detective. ‘What did you see?’
‘I don’t think it’s working,’ I replied.
‘Great, so now we’re just down to transportation,’ said Eva, swigging whisky.
‘Try again,’ said Myers
I turned back to the dead animal and tried to concentrate. This always worked. This “sight” power. Even before I knew how to control it, it had worked. I’d touch a thing and all of these images would come rushing in. Dreadful little home movies of a living thing’s final moments.
I focused.
I looked around me this time, as the magic in the air flickered into view. Other Uncanny types see the washes of colour all the time. They live in it. But not me. Not anymore. I have to really want to see it. Have to force myself to.
I gritted my teeth and the magic soaked into me, more and more, and I made my demands of it. Told it who I was and what I wanted.
I touched the dead sheep again.
And I saw not a bloody thing.
I grunted and pushed harder, my hands beginning to tingle, as though being swarmed with static, but no pictures, no insight, popped into my mind’s eye.
I stood, confused.
‘Well?’ said Eva.
‘Something’s not right,’ I replied.
‘Well, yeah,’ said Myers. ‘I mean, we are stood in a barn full of dead bodies.’
‘What did you see?’ asked Eva, growing irritable. Well, more irritable. She has levels. Grumpy, all the way to absolutely fucking livid.
‘I didn’t see anything, it felt like I was being blocked. Like there was a wall between me and the animal’s final moments.’
‘Try another one,’ she replied.
And so I did. In the end I must have stuffed my hands into twenty different sheep, but always the same story.
Something had murdered all of these animals in the most brutal of ways.
And whatever it was, it knew how to stop me from seeing it.
6
Sleep.
I’m a big fan of sleep.
And yet I was getting so little of it that I’d found myself literally lusting after the stuff.
After my failure at the barn I excused myself, drove home, and collapsed into bed, still fully-dressed.
I was asleep in seconds.
Sadly, I wasn’t able to glean any enjoyment from it, thanks to the troubling dream I’d been having playing a repeat episode.
There I was again, stark bollock naked, and about to step into Derwentwater for a bit of a swim.
It wasn’t that the dream was a nightmare exactly. Nothing explicitly scary happened, but each time I experienced the dream, I felt a strange uneasiness that stuck with me for hours after waking.
I waded into the chill water, feeling the stones beneath my feet.
‘Swim down.’
‘Swim down, Janto.’
Those distant, familiar voices teased at me again as I waded into the water.
‘Swim down.’
I turned and looked back from where I’d just walked, to see two figures looking at me. Two women.
‘Swim down, Janto,’ said one of them.
And now I knew who the voices belonged to.
I knew who the two women were.
Lyna and Melodia. The two dead witches of the Cumbrian Coven. The two dead witches that I’d murdered after becoming some sort of power-crazed lunatic with murder on his mind.
‘Swim down.’
I turned from them and ducked into the water.
I’d like to say that when I eventually awoke I was refreshed and ready to attack the day a new man. I’d like to say that. Instead, I woke to find I’d slept all the way through to late afternoon, and my head was full of cotton wool. Sleeping for too long always seems to make me feel worse than not having slept at all.
I cursed my stupid body and dragged myself to the shower, hoping the water pummelling me would blast away the fog.
Feeling a little more with it, I made a late-late-late breakfast of eggs and toast and started to think about Annie. I’d no idea why I’d delayed answering her offer of a date. I liked her. She liked me. What was I worried about? My life was full of monsters and fear and the threat of becoming a world-crushing, flame-skinned beast. I could do with a little romance.
‘Hi.’
The unexpected greeting almost caused me to spill my eggs.
The Fox was stood on my couch, almost sheepishly.
‘Getting better,’ I said, decanting my freshly-scrambled eggs onto a plate and reaching into a cupboard to fish out the brown sauce. ‘You can still do some work on the surprise element. It would be nice not to jump out of my skin every time you turned up.’
The Fox looked at me confused, ‘But you are still within your skin.’
‘Right. My mistake.’ I dolloped the sauce on, grabbed a fork, and sat on the couch next to the Fox.
‘If you’re hungry, there’s crisps in the cupboard,’ I said.
‘I am not hungry,’ he replied.
‘Suit yourself.’
The Fox paused, then hopped off the couch and grabbed himself a packet of crisps. Salt & Vinegar. A gourmet’s choice.
‘Thank you, Magic Eater, for sharing your rations.’
‘Jo
seph. It’s Joseph.’
‘Yes. Joseph.’
He hopped up onto the couch again and we watched a Frasier re-run in silence for a few minutes as I finished my eggs and he munched on his crisps.
‘Your dwelling is not tidy,’ said the Fox.
I looked around my snug home; it was true that it resembled more of a student flat than the home of a man in his 30s. Or, in my case, a man possibly in his 930s.
‘Your Red Woman paid me a visit last night,’ I said, placing my plate on the floor.
‘Oh?’
‘In fact, she didn’t come alone. Brought a skeleton. And a very run-down cathedral.’
The Fox nodded, ‘I know of the place. And the skeleton. He will not stop playing no matter how much you threaten.’
‘I thought he was pretty good. For a skeleton. So, are you here to convince me to take up the mantle of Magic Eater? To fulfil my shitty destiny?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Well. Why are you here, then?’
The Fox looked at his feet. ‘I do not like the Dark Lakes anymore. I do not want to stay there.’
I can’t say I was entirely sure where to go from there. Was the Fox attempting to have a heart to heart with me? He looked so glum, the poor little sod, that before I could stop myself, I reached over and gave his belly fur a little ruffle.
‘There there. Chin up.’
The Fox grinned. ‘She is very sure that you will soon take the throne.’
‘Yeah, she said.’
‘Very sure. She does not tell me why. I think perhaps she does not know. But yet she knows.’
‘Well, she’s out of luck. The only throne this arse sits on is in my bathroom.’
‘You have a throne there?’
I looked at the Fox for several seconds.
‘Yes. I have a throne there.’
‘Ah…’ said the Fox, apparently impressed.
I felt my phone vibrate and plucked it from my pocket, expecting it to be either Eva or Detective Myers with more news on the dead sheep, instead, I saw that someone had contacted me through my spooky website.
A little background: before I knew who I was, I used to investigate weird stuff. It was more of a hobby than anything. I’d look into all sorts of spooky goings-on; anything from suspected hauntings, to claims of vampirism. None of it ever added up to anything, but it got me out the house, and kept me distracted from the gnawing mystery of my own identity.
I’d packed all that in though. I barely had enough time as it was, what with the day job and my coven duties, without running around the countryside chasing non-existent ghosts. Still, something about this message caught my interest. If I had to put it down to anything, think I’d say it was the last line, which read: PLEASE HELP, MONEY NO OBJECT. I don’t know why, but something about that part snagged my attention.
Two hours later I was sat in Brewer’s Cafe, just off the main street in the centre of Keswick. Keswick, the small town I lived in, was a market town, huddled within the Lake District, surrounded by mountains. It’s close to Derwentwater, so I’d set up shop here after waking there without my memory.
I’d phoned the man who left me the intriguing message and suggested we met the next day, but he’d seemed very keen to talk as soon as possible, so here I was, nursing a mug of tea and waiting for him to arrive.
I took out my phone and clicked on my contacts. Annie’s name was top of the list.
I took a breath. ‘Okay. Well. Okay.’
I hit ‘Call’.
She answered in three rings. Neither keen, nor unkeen.
‘I was wondering if I was going to hear from you, Joe.’
‘Yes, right, sorry.’
‘So?’
‘Look, first of all, I apologise for whatever that was yesterday.’
‘That was a bit weird, yeah.’
‘A bit weird is a good description of me, so it’s very on brand.’
There was a bit of a pause.
‘And?’
‘And yes. Sorry. I would very much enjoy being in a romantic date type situation with you, Annie.’
‘Would you now?’
‘Yes. Please.’
‘Well I’m sorry, the offer’s off the table.’
I felt as though I’d shrunk about ten inches. ‘Oh. Of course. Of course it is. Sorry to bother you.’
Annie started to laugh.
‘You rotten sod,’ I said, and couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘Enjoy a taste of your own medicine.’
‘I really am sorry, you just caught me a bit off guard.’
‘You can make up for it by taking me out for a meal Friday.’
I felt the excited butterflies begin to bash around in my stomach. ‘Absolutely. A meal. This Friday. That I can do.’
‘Good. I’ll see you then, Joe.’
‘Yes you will, Annie.’
I finished the call and pocketed my phone, my cheeks aching as my grin was so huge.
Well, well, Joe you old womaniser you.
‘Mr Lake?’
I looked up as the voice snapped me out of my warm fuzzy-wuzzies. A jittery-looking man in an ill-fitting suit hovered a few feet away.
‘Mr Lake? Are you Mr Lake?’
‘That’s me, but Joseph will do. You’re Paul Travers, I presume?’
The man looked over his shoulder, then quickly took the seat opposite me, nodding. I took in the strange specimen before me. He didn’t look in the best of ways, in fact he looked bloody petrified. His eyes bulged, his fingers clenched and waggled and interlocked and wouldn’t settle. His hair was stuck damp to his forehead, and he had a good four days growth on his face. Something was clearly causing him distress.
‘Are you okay?’
‘What?’ he replied, looking nervously around the busy cafe, full of rotund old women, with hair dyed shades of purple and pink, chomping down on cream buns.
‘You seem a little on edge. In fact you seem fully on edge. The whole of you is just one big edge.’
‘I need help.’
‘Okay, so what is it I can do for you, Mr Travers?’
‘We all need help. Not just me. It’s all of them. They think I don’t know yet, but I do. I see it. I see them all.’
I was starting to suspect that this man might be a little on the insane side.
‘What is it you know, exactly?’ I asked.
‘They’re all in on it!’ he cried, his voice a high-pitched shriek that drew the disapproving eyes of the rest of the room.
‘It’s okay, you’re safe here, Mr Travers. No need for shouting. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
He stood, kicking his chair back and gripping what was left of his sweat-drenched hair between his fingers. ‘No! No, no, no, no, no! He’s coming! He’s coming!’
I stood slowly, worried that he might be about to hurt himself. Or worse, hurt me. Not a fan of being hurt.
‘Calm down, you’re okay, there’s no need to panic.’
‘This was a mistake. That’s all. A mistake. Simple mistake. Mistakes happen, happen, happen, happen!’
He turned, and in his haste to leave, stumbled over his fallen chair. Careering to one side, he spilled into a neighbouring table, causing a couple of fellow diners’ drinks to tumble and crash to the floor.
‘Sorry, sorry, this was a mistake,’ he said to their noisy complaints.
‘Mr Travers—Paul—tell me what’s wrong!’ I called after him, but he didn’t answer.
Mt Travers rushed out of the cafe and was gone.
7
A couple of days passed uneventfully until Friday arrived, the day of my big date with Annie.
In the meantime I’d tried to get in touch with Paul Travers a couple of times, after his hasty, sweaty, strange exit, but he hadn’t responded. I decided it best to assume he was just on something of the illegal variety, and put the whole business out of my mind.
‘You are dressed finer than usual,’ said the Fox, who was sat eating crisps on my couch (salt & vinega
r, of course).
‘I’m going to have to start charging you rent soon,’ I replied. ‘And for the food,’
The Fox grinned back, his spiky teeth full of mashed potato. He’d popped in a lot over the last few days, which should have bothered me I suppose, considering it had been his job to locate me for the Red Woman and coerce me into being, you know, an evil, murdery bastard. Instead, I found myself enjoying the company. It was like having a pet. A talking, crisp-loving pet.
I sat next to the Fox as he stared, transfixed by another episode of Frasier.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.
‘Anything. You are the oncoming darkness, the eater of magic, the—’
‘Yeah, about that. You knew me. The real me, from before. Janto the warlock.’
‘That is so, yes.’
‘So, what was I like exactly?’
The Fox scratched at his chin with the edge of his battle axe as he considered the question. ‘You looked the same.’
‘Obviously I looked the same, that’s not what I meant. I meant personality wise.’
‘Oh, you were very good.’
‘Good?’
‘Yes.’ The Fox frowned. ‘Well. Not good. Opposite of good. Very bad.’
‘Right.’
‘Very, very bad.’
‘Got it.’
‘Horrible.’
‘I see.’
‘Very nasty.’
‘I said, I see!’
We sat in silence for a few seconds as I huffed. What exactly had I expected him to say? From what little scraps I’d been fed, and the knowledge of how things had ended up, I knew I wasn’t exactly a saint. I was the exact opposite, in fact.
‘Was there anything good about me?’
‘Your hair,’ said the Fox. ‘Always had very good hair.’
It’s true, I do have very nice hair. And I don’t even do anything special to it. That’s not a brag, just a stone cold fact.
‘Most people, when they first find themselves at the Dark Lakes, they are afraid,’ said the Fox. ‘I was the first creature there that you met, and I saw no fear in you. None at all. I saw determination. I saw someone who knew they were where they belonged. I saw a hunger that would chew through worlds.’
Past Sins Page 4
