Ghost Monster

by Simon Clark

  More wounded were brought in by distraught relatives. Soon after that, a mother and father wheeled in the kind of cage you might use to transport a large dog. Behind its shiny steel bars a youth of around sixteen had been crammed in tight. He roared, ‘Give me a cutlass! I’ll take off all your pretty heads!’

  ‘Stop it, Beckham,’ the mother pleaded to her caged son. ‘You’re making such a show of yourself. You don’t want people staring at you, do you?’

  The boy raged. ‘My name is Valdemar! With these bare hands I strangled five men in a single night.’

  Dad slammed his hand down on to the cage. ‘Shut your stinking mouth!’

  Nerves aren’t frayed, Pel decided. They’re well and truly shredded.

  Just then, Jack returned. He led a frazzled looking guy in a green uniform; the man carried a hefty rucksack over his shoulder that was emblazoned with a big red first-aid cross.

  ‘What we got here?’ The man had a strong Eastern European accent.

  ‘This is Kerry Herne,’ Pel told him. ‘She was attacked earlier tonight.’

  ‘Welcome to the party. That makes about three hundred other people.’

  ‘Doctor, can you tell me if she’s still alive?’

  ‘I’m no doctor. I’m a paramedic. Doctors are operating on the most badly injured.’ He began to examine her with swift professionalism. ‘Ah … she’s so cold. How she get so cold?’ His accent became more pronounced as he focused on Kerry’s injuries.

  Jack said, ‘We found her at the archeological site on the cliff-top.’

  ‘Then we can add exposure to head trauma. But her vital signs are not so terrible.’ He raised her eyelid, then shone a penlight to gauge pupil reaction, and for the first time in the maelstrom of activity he noticed Jack carried a gun.

  ‘You won’t add to my workload with the bang-bang, huh?’

  Jack almost seemed embarrassed. ‘I don’t always carry this. But Crowdale’s a battlefield tonight.’

  ‘Tell me about it, sir.’ The paramedic lightly touched the cuts on Kerry’s scalp. ‘Not twenty minutes ago, a dear old white-haired grandma drove her car through the back doors of the hospital. She knocked down two security guards before they could put restraints on her. She’s a demon. A woman possessed.’

  Jack and Pel exchanged glances.

  Pel murmured, ‘You’re closer to the truth than you think.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘There are accounts in the Bible of demonic possession.’ The man checked Kerry’s pulse in her neck. ‘But then who am I to know these things? I’m just a paramedic. My work is with the mortal body, not the eternal soul, huh?’ He checked the unconscious woman’s limbs. ‘No broken bones. And good news about those cuts. They are superficial. The problem is that she is suffering from concussion and hypothermia. How long has she been in a warm place?’

  Jack checked his watch. ‘She’s been in a car with the heater on full for twenty minutes.’

  ‘And in here for almost fifteen,’ Pel added, feeling a surge of relief for Kerry.

  ‘Good. Her body temperature will be rising. Now, let’s see if we can wake sleeping beauty.’ The paramedic dug his thumb into her breastbone then, pushing down hard, made a screwing motion. ‘Not pretty to do this. Pain, however, is a powerful stimulant.’

  At the third attempt, grinding his thumb into Kerry’s chest, she said distinctly, ‘Do that again, and I’ll black your eye.’

  Pel hugged Kerry as she lay there on the trolley. ‘You’re alive. Thank God!’

  Kerry blinked. ‘This isn’t the motel. Where’s Nat?’ She groaned. ‘I didn’t get drunk and misbehave, did I?’ Her dazed eyes found the paramedic. ‘Sir, if I kissed you I do apologize.’

  ‘Kerry,’ Pel said quickly, ‘you haven’t been drinking. We found you at the mausoleum.’

  Kerry jerked bolt upright. ‘Oh hell, the mosaic, I remember. This man had a chisel. He was hacking at it.’ Suddenly panicky, she asked, ‘The mosaic? Is it still there?’

  ‘It’s gone,’ Jack said simply. ‘We need to find it.’

  Pel squeezed Kerry’s hands in hers. ‘Did you see who took it? Was it a man dressed in a white coverall?’

  ‘A white what?’ Confusion clouded Kerry’s face. ‘Oh, my God. If the mosaic’s gone, it’s like opening a prison door. Justice Murrain and his phantom thugs will have escaped.’

  The paramedic angled his head. ‘The lady has suffered hard blows to the cranium. There may be confusion. Hallucinations.’

  Kerry regained her composure. ‘Whatever was trapped under the mosaic is able to invade our heads. They take possession of people – then they cause absolute mischief.’ All at once she seemed to realize where she was. She glanced round at the wounded townsfolk. Those, and the raging men and women – and the boy in the cage, who now regaled everyone with a lusty story about a pair of insatiable milkmaids in a hayrick. Her attention swung back to the shotgun in Jack’s hands. ‘It’s happened.’ Understanding crossed Kerry’s face. ‘The shit’s hit the fan, hasn’t it?’

  Jack nodded, grimly, then: ‘This is important, Kerry, can you describe the person who stole the mosaic?’

  The paramedic flinched in surprise. ‘There really is a mosaic?’

  Nobody answered his question. Instead, Pel asked Kerry, ‘Can you tell us what the thief was like?’

  ‘I’ll do better than that. Jack, here, saved you from him, when he smashed that truck into the graveyard. He goes by the name of Ross Lowe.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. We were standing toe-to-toe when he whacked me.’

  The paramedic began, ‘The attack on you, lady, is a matter for the police. With war breaking out in the street, however, they seem to be in short supply.’

  Pel put her arm round Kerry’s shoulders, ‘When can you get her on to a ward? And won’t she need x-rays?’

  ‘X-rays be damned. Just patch me up.’ Kerry sounded insulted. ‘I’ve got a head like a rock. I’m fine.’

  ‘Kerry, you’ve—’

  ‘I’m coming back with you two. Just grab an arm each. I’ll be able to walk to—’

  Suddenly, yells battered Pel’s eardrums. Those who weren’t possessed were all staring in horror. It soon became obvious what had happened. The old guy, with the Santa Claus beard, had broken the links on the handcuffs. With youthful vigour, he punched a security guard to the floor. Then he rifled through the trolley, where Pel had found the surgical dressings. Leering, he picked up a slender paper envelope.

  ‘Oh, sweet Mary, no,’ uttered the paramedic. Clearly, he’d recognized what the envelope contained.

  Santa-beard ripped open the sterile package to expose a silvery object.

  ‘Keep back from him,’ the paramedic warned. ‘He’s got a scalpel.’

  The old man took savage delight in holding the ultra-sharp blade to the light. ‘It might not be Excalibur … but it will carve your Adam’s apple.’

  The possessed men and women applauded and hooted with vulgar pleasure at the arming of one of their kind. The teen in the cage slapped his palms against the cage. ‘I know you, old friend! You are Griffin! Tom Griffin!’

  ‘And you are Valdemar. I’d know you in any guise, sir.’ Santa-beard laughed. ‘I’ll have you out of there in a twinkling.’

  The elderly wife caught hold of the possessed man’s arm. ‘You’re not yourself, Clarence.’

  ‘Ah! By Jove, you speak the truth!’ boomed the man. Then he slashed the blade across her throat. An ugly wound exposed veins that resembled cream-coloured spaghetti. Then the deluge. Blood drenched her yellow cardigan. Crimson rain fell on the floor. With an expression of absolute horror, distorting her features, the woman toppled forward. After that, the only movement, a rapid twitching of her fingers.

  Santa-beard advanced toward where Pel stood alongside Kerry on the trolley. The light flashed against the blood-streaked steel blade. Those shocked occupants of the waiting area had fallen silent
as they gaped at the menacing figure. Then the silence ended with a huge bang. The old boy with the scalpel jerked backwards. Blood jetted from wounds in his chest. His eyes rolled. Staggering backwards, he reached the wall where he slid down into a sitting position. The eyes no longer rolled but stared fixedly in the direction of his outstretched legs.

  Pel turned to Jack. He remained there with the butt of the shotgun hugged to his shoulder. Smoke oozed from its muzzle.

  ‘You killed him,’ gasped the paramedic. ‘You gunned down an old, old man.’

  Pel spun toward him. ‘It was either him or us.’

  ‘But you—’ The paramedic flinched. His hand went to his forehead. ‘Ah, that bang gave me a headache. I … I …’ Paralysis gripped the man. His eyes went frantic as if he experienced a terrible panic. Quickly it passed and a stark, cold certainty returned to that gaze.

  Kerry gasped. ‘What’s wrong? Sir, talk to us.’

  The paramedic smiled. ‘You don’t get rid of old Tom Griffin, so easily.’ With utter confidence the thing that possessed the paramedic sang out, ‘Don’t fret Valdemar. I’ll have you sprung from that cage in a trice!’ Quickly, he reached into the first-aid bag. He plucked out a familiar envelope. Before anyone could react he’d ripped it open to reveal a new scalpel. ‘Ah, another Excalibur for Tom Griffin. A dwarf Excalibur but it will still carve your Adam’s apple.’

  The possessed went nuts. They applauded with a ferocious passion. The teenager crammed in the cage banged his face against the bars with sheer joy.

  Jack aimed at the creature who had, just a moment ago, been a paramedic. Pel shoved the weapon upward.

  ‘Jack, no!’

  ‘He’s one of those things now.’

  ‘Jack, think it through. Kill him and he might take you. If you’re possessed, you’ll turn the gun on us.’

  ‘She’s right!’ Kerry sprang from the trolley. ‘What we’ve gotta do is run.’ She shouted to everyone there. ‘That goes for you all! Get away from here! Run for your lives!’

  Most fled. Some, however, stayed with their loved ones. But by now the sight of violence in the hospital waiting area had inflamed the possessed with a roaring blood-lust. Two of the monsters snapped their restraints. They wasted no time attacking anyone near them.

  Pel pushed Jack ahead of her. ‘Don’t kill them. You saw what happened. As soon as the host is dead they simply find another.’

  ‘OK! OK! I won’t kill them.’ But before following Kerry, he fired at the feet of the possessed paramedic. Birdshot ripped away the end of one foot. Pain didn’t bother the crazy man, but running with half a foot became a problem. Spilt blood made it worse. Before he could slash at Pel he slipped on the slippery gore. In another part of the room the teenager broke the bolt on his cage. With the speed of a Jack-in-a-box he sprang out on to his bemused parents.

  ‘Beckam! Beck—’

  Pel didn’t wait to hear, or see, what happened in that new battle-zone. Moments later, they were outside, where the cold night air felt so good. The sheer heat generated by the mayhem in the building had been suffocating.

  Jack helped Kerry to the pick-up. In his free hand he still carried the shotgun which had, for obvious reasons, become as dangerous to its shooter as to its victim. Those deranged spirits jump ship fast.

  Pel felt better when they had locked themselves into the truck. Jack started its motor.

  ‘Where now?’ Pel shouted.

  ‘We’ve got to find the mosaic,’ Kerry told them. ‘lf we can return it to the mausoleum, we might have a chance to put a stop to all this.’

  Jack accelerated toward the gates. ‘Ross Lowe. We’ll go to his place. If he doesn’t give up the mosaic I’ll break every bone in his body.’

  A wild-eyed man raced along the road, pushing a wheelchair. In the chair, a woman laughed as gleefully as he did. Both possessed, both crazed.

  Pel saw that Jack would have dearly liked to barrel over them. But he heeded her earlier warning about possessors finding new bodies pronto. Instead of running them down, he swerved round the cavorting pair.

  Fire tore through the whole neighbourhood. The possessed still made merry with the regular townsfolk. Fear and panic pulsated on the night air. Sirens wailed. Cars burned. Dogs howled in fear.

  Pel knew that Jack hated leaving innocent people to the not-so tender mercies of the Battle Men – and to Justice Murrain, wherever he lurked in those streets.

  Gently, she rested her palm on the hard muscle of his forearm. ‘It’s fine, Jack. This is the right thing to do.’ She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Find the mosaic. We can make everything OK again.’

  8

  ‘BATTLE MEN…. MY Bone-jackers!’ Justice Murrain marched along the street. ‘Come on, my boys. You’ve had your pleasures! It’s time to work. The work we were born to do!’ The figure in the white forensic coverall beckoned the possessed as he marched. ‘Join me, boys. Join me, fair maids.’ The possessed had been ripping up the town. They’d enjoyed the fruits of Crowdale’s populace, as well as its stocks of food and wine. Though many of the possessed wore pyjamas, nightgowns, or were in a state of complete undress, they all wore expressions of elation not to mention smears of their victims’ blood mixed with chocolate stains, liquor spills – you name it; they’d indulged themselves royally. As soon as they heard their master’s summons they quit whatever barbarous acts they were committing, then they ran happily to join him.

  Soon, Justice Murrain marched along Main Street, 200 possessed men and women following him. He led them to a suburb, where dozens of cars were parked neatly in driveways. There, in one smart avenue, he turned to his ruthless band of warriors.

  ‘You are accustomed to your hosts’ bodies by now. You will also be learning how to plunder their minds for knowledge. Bit by bit you will be gaining an understanding of this new world.’ The Battle Men nodded vigorously. ‘I’m sure you appreciate this is a world built, not by the sweat of hard toil in the blacksmith’s workshop, the tanner’s yard, or the cornfield, but this is the world of electrical slaves and motorized vehicles.’

  ‘Yet a woman’s lips taste the same today as they did two hundred years ago,’ cried a man in a chauffeur’s uniform.

  ‘Indeed they do,’ Justice Murrain laughed. ‘Now, listen. This body of the idiot giant is tiresome to me. Its limbs are cumbersome. Sometimes the idiot’s thoughts intrude on mine. Therefore, I intend to take possession of my descendent, Jack Murrain. I will do it tonight. But everything must be prepared. This has to work first time. Therefore, it’s essential that I have these two hands on Jack Murrain when I make the transfer.’ He held up two huge paws, fingers splayed. ‘We will take these cars, then drive to my descendant’s house. I wish to rehouse my spirit as soon as possible.’

  ‘Don’t we need ignition keys, master?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll find them in the houses there. If the occupants give you any trouble simply dispose of them. All I ask, make haste, make haste!’

  Gleefully, the Battle Men rushed to break down doors. Soon intruder alarms were yowling. Lights came on in upper windows, heads appeared; there were shouts that residents were calling the police.

  ‘Call away.’ Justice Murrain laughed with such rich pleasure. ‘Call away, fools. The constables are far too busy tonight to bother with you.’

  Anna, in the apparel of a female police officer, hung back in the darkness beyond the streetlights. She would ride with them in the convoy to the Murrain home. But she would accompany Justice Murrain on her own terms. A plan had begun to form in her mind – a mind warped and degraded centuries ago. In her hands, she held a sub-machine-gun that she’d managed to steal away from police headquarters. The place had been in chaos as constables struggled to contend with arson and murder on a glorious scale. Clad as she was in the uniform none of the other officers even challenged her.

  One of the Battle Men reversed a BMW through a pair of gates, neglecting to open them first. Nearby, Justice Murrain had taken a seat in a 4X4. Hugging the machine
-gun to her chest, Anna slipped into the passenger seat behind the driver of a another vehicle. Seconds later, the convoy rumbled out of the avenue. Anna and her master were now on course to meet their rightful destiny.

  9

  ‘KERRY. TRY TO KEEP your head still.’

  ‘Then ask Jack to drive in a straight line.’

  ‘I would,’ he called back from the front, ‘but it would mean driving through fields to avoid going round corners.’

  Pel said, ‘Stick to the road, Jack, bendy though it is. I’m nearly done with my grumpy patient.’

  As Jack drove out of town at three that morning, Pel had scrambled into the back seat with a first-aid kit. During the swaying, tyre-screeching, ride she’d managed to get Kerry’s head bandaged. Blows and exposure to the cold night air had only briefly robbed the woman of her forthright nature. Kerry was back on form.

  Pel tutted, ‘Just let me get this sticky tape on – it should hold the bandages in place.’

  ‘My God.’ Kerry appraised her reflection in the rear-view mirror, the top of her head swathed in white bandage. ‘It’s Hallowe’en in a couple of weeks. Remind me not to turn up at a party dressed as an Egyptian mummy.’

  ‘When this is over,’ Pel told her, ‘you’ll be good as new.’

  Jack killed the lights, then swung the nose of the car through an entrance marked Lowe Bros. Haulage. A yard, filled with a motley bunch of vehicles, stopped someway from the house. Jack braked the pick-up next to a footpath that ran through bushes to the front door.

  ‘This is where the man who attacked you lives.’ Jack checked that the shotgun had a full complement of ammo. ‘And where he’s probably brought the mosaic.’

  ‘Probably?’ Pel asked.

  ‘If you have any religious inclinations, it’s time to say your prayers. We won’t be the only ones after the mosaic. Justice Murrain will want it, too, even if it’s only to smash it into a million pieces.’ He opened the door. ‘Stay here.’

  ‘No way.’ Pel opened her door. ‘We’re with you all the way.’