Past Sins

by Matthew Stott

  I looked down at him, he can only have been in his late forties. A life half lived.

  A noise from outside the room caught my attention. Seemed my luck had held on for long enough. I zipped the man up, slid him back into his drawer, and scampered out of the room.

  I sat on a wall in the car park after my shift, and lit a cigarette. Terrible habit, I know, but I never said I was perfect.

  I wondered some more about the perpetrator of the cattle murders. I knew for sure now that the lack of insight I was getting when I touched the dead animals was related to the crimes somehow. The man in the mortuary had given up his death to me the moment my skin touched his. So that was that. Theory confirmed. The animal killer was blocking me on purpose. But blocking me specifically, or anyone who had my ability? Were there other people with the ability to see the dead’s last moments? Eva couldn’t do it, but others must be able to, surely?

  I hoped so, because if that wasn’t the case, whoever was behind the killings knew me, knew what I could do, and that meant I might very well be in danger.

  Well, come off it Joseph, when aren’t you in danger these days?

  ‘Hey.’

  I almost fell off the wall as Annie stepped suddenly into view.

  ‘Oh, hi, hey, it’s you.’

  ‘It is me, yeah.’

  Well, wasn’t this a coincidence?

  Or was it?

  Maybe.

  Or…?

  ‘So you sort of messed up that first date, hey?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I suppose I did.’

  ‘Want to tell me why? Because I thought we were having a pretty nice time, then you came back from having a wazz like you’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘There’s no point in lying to you,’ I said, as I prepared to keep some of the truth from here, ‘I’m working on a bit of a weird case.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  Oh, did you now?

  ‘Yes, and I got this sudden, strange insight.’

  ‘While you were having a pee?’

  ‘Yes! Well, no, after that. While I was washing my hands.’

  ‘It’s good to hear you wash. Some men don’t, you know.’

  ‘I’m not some men, Annie.’

  ‘No, I worked that one out for myself.’

  She smiled, and Christ alive if I didn’t feel a few butterflies break loose in my stomach.

  ‘You can take me for a drink now, if you like?’ she said. ‘To make up for it.’

  What was this now? Did I trust her? I didn’t not trust her, and really, I had no reason to think she was involved in all this mess. What was my evidence beyond, “The last girl I fancied was insane and friends with monsters”?

  But still, better to be safe than sorry.

  ‘Sounds good,’ I replied. ‘I know a nice little pub in Keswick.’

  Mickey Finn’s was the local Uncanny pub. A place where magical creatures of all stripes came together to drink in peace, away from ‘normal’ people. It was a safe place to knock back a pint too, as it was protected by a magic-dampening bubble that stopped the worst, most damaging and life-threatening magic from being utilised within its walls. As I was currently unreasonably suspicious of the woman I fancied, I thought taking her there was a smart option.

  Of course, she could have offed me on the thirty-minute drive over there, but that only occurred to me as we parked up. I’m not always the sharpest of knives, it’s true.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, as I pointed to what, to her, appeared to be a brick wall.

  ‘Mickey Finn’s is located down a blind alley,’ I explained.

  ‘A what now?’

  ‘A sort of secret passage. The world’s full of them. It keeps certain places hidden from prying eyes. Especially from the prying eyes of non-magical sorts.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Exactly. Muggles.’

  She grinned.

  ‘Take my hand,’ I said, holding mine out and waggling my fingers. I wasn’t sure how to perform the spell that allowed someone to see the entrance to the blind alley, but I assumed I could lead someone through it physically.

  Either that or I was about to walk Annie into a solid wall.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Now, I’m trusting you.’

  I felt a little guilt peck at me as she said that. ‘And in we go.’

  You’ll be pleased to hear that I didn’t walk Annie face-first into a brick wall made of magic.

  A few minutes later I was placing a glass of wine in front of Annie and sipping at my pint as the two of us sat at a corner table. Now we were inside the pub’s magic dampening bubble, I could relax a little. The guilt did not relax though, even though I was sure I was only being paranoid. The chances of Annie being another Chloe were astronomical, completely unreal, and yet the piss-poor way I was treating her was very, very real.

  ‘So, this is where all the wizards hang out, is it?’ asked Annie, peering around the old-fashioned pub.

  ‘Yup, this is the place. Wizards, vampires, ghosts, trolls.’

  ‘Trolls?’

  ‘And not the annoying internet kind. I mean, I assume. I suppose they could be both.’

  As Annie snorted, I decided I was going to risk it. I wasn’t going to let my own stupidity ruin a good thing. I was going to get past this insanity and give myself a shot at romantic happiness, and she would never have to know about my twisted, unwarranted suspicions.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘want to tell me the truth about why you acted like a giant arse at the restaurant?’

  Well, balls.

  ‘It was nothing,’ I said. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I can tell you’re lying to me, Joe.’

  ‘No, you can’t. I mean… no I’m not…?’

  Annie arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Okay. It’s not my fault. Or yours. Okay, it is partly mine.’

  ‘This is about your ex, isn’t it?’

  She was perceptive. And had a hell of a memory on her. I think those were actually two of the things she’d sold her soul for.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not evil, Joe.’

  ‘I never thought you were, honest! Not for a second!’

  Annie said nothing.

  ‘Okay, for a little bit. Tiny, tiny bit. I thought. Possibly. There might be a small chance of it. Sorry.’

  ‘Oi, Janto!’

  I turned to see a wall of a man strolling toward me. He had a head the size of a barrel, fists the size of bowling balls, and he did not look at all happy to see me.

  ‘Janto, you vicious piece of shit.’

  ‘And hello to you…?’

  ‘I heard you were back. Didn’t believe it. Couldn’t. But here you are, after everything you did. Just sitting there.’

  I stood slowly, hands held up in surrender. I sensed that this wasn’t an old friend about to offer me a handshake and a round of beer. I’m quite perceptive in that way.

  ‘I’m not sure what it is I did in the past to annoy you,’ I said, ‘but I’m a very different man now.’

  ‘So, it’s true,’ said the giant man, grimacing, the veins on his temple bulging, fit to burst. ‘You don’t have your memory, don’t have your powers.’

  ‘I have some powers.’

  ‘He can make a little ball of fire appear,’ said Annie, trying to help me out. The giant man laughed long and hard. It was a touch demoralising.

  ‘You ruined my life, Janto. And now, I’m going to ruin yours. Permanently. By killing you dead.’

  ‘Right. Shit.’

  The man pulled a rather large knife from his belt and licked his lips. I tried to make fire appear in my hand. I failed to make fire appear in my hand. Stupid magic-dampening bubble! Oh, I’ll take Annie to Mickey Finn’s, I’ll feel safe there. Great idea, Joe. Another winner.

  ‘Joe, be careful’ said Annie.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘You know how to stop him?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, ‘it just seemed l
ike the thing to say.’

  ‘Here I come, warlock!’ cried the giant.

  ‘Joe, you’ve got to…’ then Annie paused, looking past the giant advancing man, confused. ‘Is that a fox with an axe?’

  And yes, praise be to every god man ever created, it was.

  ‘All hail the saviour!’ said the Fox, axe aloft, and for once, I was very, very happy to hear it.

  10

  The drive home was not an entirely comfortable one.

  The Fox had dispatched the enormous beast of a man before he could swing his knife once. The Fox really is quite a vision to see in action. A beast with a battle-axe. It wasn’t the first time my furry little friend had pulled my arse out of the fire, either. He was like my personal, bushy-tailed, snack-loving, guardian angel.

  ‘So,’ said Annie, having sat beside me in silence for much of the drive. ‘I like your foxy friend.’

  ‘Thanks. Well. He’s not a friend exactly. Or maybe he is now. I suppose he is. Point is, I’m sorry.’

  ‘What is it you’re sorry for?’

  ‘I think everything. I think sorry for everything just about covers it.’

  ‘Why did the huge man want to kill you?’

  ‘I’ve lived a… questionable past. I’ve done bad things. Very bad things.’

  ‘Are you dangerous, Joe?’

  ‘No!’ I replied, then said it again but with less volume. ‘I’ve mentioned that I’m a warlock; I was one of three trusted with looking after Cumbria from bad things. Apparently, somewhere down the line, I became one of those bad things. But I’m not bad now, I don’t even remember the old me. You can trust me. Honest, guv.’

  ‘I can trust you?’

  ‘Yes, one-hundred percent. Absolutely.’

  ‘But you can’t trust me?’

  That slid the knife in a little. I can’t deny it was well deserved, though. ‘I’m sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot.’

  ‘Yeah. You don’t make a great early impression.’

  ‘You know, I’ve heard that from more people than I’d care to admit.’

  Annie smiled, then rubbed my arm, sending my stomach swirly again.

  It was late by the time I got back to my flat.

  ‘Hey, Fox, are you here? Just wanted to say thanks again.’

  I poked my head in each of the limited amount of rooms my flat contained, but it seemed like I was alone. I sloughed off my coat, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and flopped onto the couch.

  I was convinced now that Annie wasn’t the evil animal killer who was clouding my vision. I mean, I was a good eighty-five percent sure. Eighty-seven percent, even. But the blocking of my insight magic still felt as though it may have been a measure designed to stop me specifically, so the spectre of it being someone who knew me, or was at least aware of what I could do, hung over me like a bad smell.

  My wind was whirring, so I flicked on the TV, hoping to quieten it down so I could be tucked up in bed as soon as possible.

  So of course there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Balls.’

  I stood, unhappily, and waited a few seconds, hoping that the mystery knocker would realise they had the wrong door and bugger off.

  There was another, more urgent knock.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ I paused at the door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Paul, Paul Travers,’ came a voice, stumbling over its words.

  Paul Travers. The sweaty-browed man who’d, briefly, wanted to hire me, and then legged it.

  ‘Can this wait, Paul? It’s a bit late.’

  ‘Please, I need to tell you things, need to tell you now, before… before…’

  I heard a pained, muffled grunt as his words trailed off.

  ‘Paul?’

  I threw the door open, worried he was having some sort of attack, or perhaps even being attacked. Paul Travers was on his knees, bent over, hands gripping his stomach.

  ‘Bloody hell, come on.’

  I helped him up and guided him inside. His knees were jelly, so I had to take almost his entire weight.

  Depositing him on the couch, I darted over to the sink and poured him a glass of water. He accepted with trembling hands, getting more of the liquid on his clothes and my couch than down his throat.

  ‘I’m not going to lie, Paul, you don’t look great.’

  It was an understatement. His skin had a yellow hue to it now, his eyes bulged, he trembled, and he was coated in sweat.

  ‘I need to tell someone.’

  It looked to me like the only thing he needed was a hospital. ‘Okay, how about you tell me as we drive on over to Carlisle A&E, eh? That sound good?’

  I tried to lever him up and towards the door, but showing surprising sudden fortitude, he pulled himself out of my grip and staggered back until the wall stopped his journey.

  ‘No! I need to tell you! You need to know before it’s too late!’

  ‘Too late for who? For me?’

  ‘No. Yes. Maybe. Too late, too late.’ He screamed and doubled over, gripping his stomach.

  ‘Paul, what are you on? Have you taken something?’

  He looked up, a strange grin on his face. An insane grin.

  ‘Me? It’s not me. Not me at all. Not just me. It’s Joan Smith. And Fred Collier. And Mary Pekar. And Mike Almond. And on, and on, and on. One by one, it was all of them. An infection spreading all over the village. All over Combe. I think I’m the only one left.’

  Combe Village. I knew of it: a tiny little place, right on the southern edge of the Lake District.

  ‘People are sick?’ I said. ‘Have you not, I don’t know, called in a doctor or two?’

  Paul stood and leaned his head back against the wall, that strange grin that I did not care for at all still stretched across his face.

  ‘Not sick. No one is sick, Mr Lake. Do I look sick?’

  ‘Yes. Obviously. Really, really sick.’

  His eyes snapped wide and his jaw yammered silently, as though he were trying to stop himself from speaking.

  ‘Paul, I really think we should—’

  ‘When…. when Mr Many Mouths…. when….’

  He began to giggle in a way that made my skin crawl.

  ‘When he comes to…. when…’

  ‘Paul, you came to me for my help because something strange was going on in your village, so tell me, what is it, what’s wrong?’

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths, comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  ‘Yeah, that doesn’t really help.’

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Many Mouths, Many Mouths!’

  And then something surprising happened.

  Paul Travers’ face began to change.

  His head twitched back and forth at inhuman speed as he screamed. His head bulged and crunched and shifted until his face was gone, and in its place was a multitude of large, yammering mouths. Toothless, gummy, horrors.

  And they all said the same thing.

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  11

  I’ve seen more than my fair share of terrifying sights over the last few months, but the thing I saw before me now—the thing that the damp-foreheaded Paul Travers had morphed into—that really beat them all. He was like something from a nightmare. Something that gave me that deep fear, that deep dread, way down in the very core of my being. And he was in my home.

  It’s a wonder I didn’t pee my pants on the spot.

  Okay, full disclosure, perhaps a drop or two did squeeze out.

  ‘Paul are you… okay…? Yes, the question may have been a mite redundant.

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Mr Many Mouths Mr Many Mouths,’ Paul babbled from his, well, many mouths.

  The mouths all jabbered and chattered at once, each dripping with saliva.

  At this point, the most obvious move would have been to bolt out of the door, jump behind the wheel of the Uncanny Wagon, and get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, as I reached for the door handle, I found somethi
ng yanking me back. That “something” was a tongue which had shot out of one of Paul Travers’ many icky maws and wrapped itself around my wrist.

  ‘Fox? If you’re around, now would be a really good time for you to start swinging that axe of yours!’

  I tried to pry the horrible, wet thing off of me, only to find a second tongue hurtling towards me and seizing my other wrist.

  ‘Paul! I’m not quite sure what’s going on here, but surely we can talk about it?’

  The answer to that question proved to be a resounding “no”, as a third tongue shot from another mouth and wrapped itself around my throat, tightening its grip and cutting off my ability to breathe.

  All in all, I’d say I was in a bit of a tight spot.

  Trying not to pass out as more tongues hurtled towards me, I focused on seeing the magic that filled my flat. Meanwhile, whatever it was that Paul Travers had changed into made its way slowly towards me.

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Mr Many, Many, Many Mouths.’

  Then I saw it; saw the waves of brilliant bright colours swirling and swooshing about the room. I closed my eyes and willed it into me.

  The tongue around my neck coiled tight, turning my windpipe into a pinhole. I could feel my lungs burning, my vision blurring at the fringes.

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths, comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  He was just a few feet away from me. It was now or never. Either he’d step closer and do something horrible to me, or I’d pass out and die.

  As my lungs screamed for air, I tried to make my hands ignite with flames. A desperate last gasp. The problem was, my brain was going fuzzy and I couldn’t quite concentrate on the command. This resulted in something unexpected and, actually, better. My hands didn’t ignite. My fists didn’t erupt into flames. Nope; instead, my entire body began to blaze.

  I heard every mouth Paul Travers had screech in pain, and then I was launched across the room. Flung away as every tongue that he’d used to hold me caught light.

  I landed heavily over the other side of the breakfast counter, gasping for air. I peered over the edge of the counter to see Paul thrashing around the room, scorched and in pain, his tongues, now partially blackened, retracting back into their mouths.