At The Edge of Night - 28 book horror box set - also contains a link to an additional FREE book

by Bray, Michael

  “Oh come on, not you too,” David said, shaking his head. “This is crazy.”

  “Go look for yourself.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that.”

  “Then please be quiet, unless you have something worthwhile to add.”

  “We can’t turn around now,” Carol said. “Not without causing a panic or having a damn good reason. I don’t know about any of you, but I don’t want to have to try and explain this to the pilot.”

  Sylvia looked towards Cindy, and her friend nodded.

  “I’ll speak to him. I know him outside of here, but for the record, I don’t think he will go for it.” Cindy said.

  “You’re sure you’re willing to do that?” Sylvia asked.

  “I don’t see what choice we have.”

  “Alright, if you’re happy to try to convince him, then we would all appreciate it. Just don’t do this if it’s going to make you feel uncomfortable” Sylvia said, unable to hide the shadow of fear from her eyes.

  “I can’t promise anything. All I can do is try to convince him.”

  ***

  “Absolutely not,” Captain Henshaw said, as he looked Cindy up and down.

  “Please,” she said, trying to keep as composed as she could in front of this despicable man.

  “Sylvia seems to think—”

  “She doesn’t get paid to think, she gets paid to look after the crew, the same as you do. You can leave the thinking to us.”

  “You are prepared to risk the lives of these people just to prove a point?”

  Henshaw turned towards her, as the co-pilot and navigator tried their bests to ignore the confrontation.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about anything outside of this aircraft. Right now I’m doing my job, which is what you should be doing. If every captain turned around every time someone was spooked or had a bad feeling, then nobody would ever get where they were going.”

  “This isn’t about the crew or even the flight,” She shot back. “This is about me rejecting you.”

  “Really,” he said, snorting down his nose. “Don’t flatter yourself. You weren’t as big a deal as you think.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, because as soon as we land in Boston, I’m done. You can consider this my notice.”

  “Your loss,” Henshaw said with an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. “But with or without your resignation, the flight will go on as scheduled. Now you can do whatever you have to in order to keep the crew and passengers safe, but you will do your job and we will continue on to Boston without interruption. Is that understood?”

  There was so much that she wanted to scream at the arrogant, pompous man, but she knew that to do so would only please him and show that he had managed to get under her skin. Instead, she turned and opened the cockpit door. As she was leaving, Henshaw called over his shoulder.

  “Oh, and before you and your crew make more mountains out of molehills, be aware that we’re heading into a storm, so expect some turbulence.”

  Cindy felt sick and knew that was how it would happen. How they would all die at the hands of the black-eyed man.

  Henshaw smiled, mistaking her distress for anger, then turned back to the controls of the aircraft.

  She made her way back to the rest of the crew, flashing the black-eyed man a wary glance as she passed him. He was looking out of the window, and she was grateful for the small mercy that his opaque gaze was turned away from her.

  She told the crew of the outcome of her attempt to talk the captain around, and they stood in the galley, wondering what to do. Sylvia listened, and watched as Cindy told her story, and when she finished speaking, Sylvia took over.

  “I’m not convinced we can stop this creature,” she started, looking at each of them in turn “But I’m willing to try and hold him at bay until we land.”

  “Hold him off how?” David asked, his eyes flicking between Sylvia and the curtain leading towards the passengers.

  “When I went up there to see him for myself, he looked at me, and I grabbed my crucifix and prayed. He didn’t seem to like that, and I think it weakened him.”

  “You think it did?” Carol asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?”

  “No, but it’s all we have, I can’t do it alone, though, I’ll need all of you to help me.”

  “By praying?” Carol said her voice shrill “I don’t see how that will help.”

  “Keep it down,” David said, glaring at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s just that... I don’t believe…”

  “I understand,” Sylvia said, offering the younger woman a warm smile. “But even if you don’t, I need you to do it anyway; I don’t think I will be strong enough on my own.”

  Their discussion was broken by the sound of Captain Henshaw’s voice drifting through the aircraft over the public address system.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please be advised that we will shortly be entering a small patch of bad weather, and you may experience some turbulence.”

  The frightened crew shared worried glances, and it was Cindy who spoke next.

  “We have no choice. We can argue about it later, but right now, it’s worth a try. We’re with you, Sylvia. Whatever it takes.”

  ***

  Ten minutes later, they were in the front galley, the curtain separating them from the passengers, and, more importantly, the man in 6A. Sylvia paced and wrung her hands, as Cindy and the others looked on, wondering what was about to happen.

  Outside the aircraft, the soft white spread of clouds had started to morph into an ugly slate grey, and the smooth ride had started to shudder and jolt, only a little for the time being but with the promise of more to come.

  “What do we do?” Cindy asked, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that surged through her.

  “I need to see him, and he needs to see me,” Sylvia replied. “I need for you to pray with me, even if you don’t believe.” She looked at Carol as she said it, but all the fight had gone out of her, and she looked back blankly and nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Sylvia walked through the curtain, leading the crew to the front of the plane.

  “Okay,” she said to the others as the moved out of sight behind the divider curtain. “You all sit here. Hold hands if you want, but you don’t have to. All I need to you to do is pray.”

  “How? What do I do?” Carol asked.

  “Just ask for his help,” Sylvia replied, rolling her eyes towards the heavens. “And ask that we be led to salvation.”

  Cindy took her friends hands in hers, the two women locking eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “No,” Sylvia said, almost managing a smile. “But I have to try. Stay here and join them. Pray for me, and I’ll do what I can out there.”

  “You seem so unafraid.”

  “I believe my God will save us,” Sylvia replied. “That’s all I need.” Before Cindy could say anything else, Sylvia pushed through the curtain and took up a position near the door of the plane, the crucifix removed from her neck and gripped in her hand. The man in 6A sensed her immediately, and cast his black gaze upon her, grimacing at the sight of the crucifix.

  Sylvia locked eyes with him and moved her lips silently. Only she heard whatever prayers she was saying. The man with the black eyes squirmed and as Cindy watched, a light sweat began to form on his brow.

  The rest of the passengers were oblivious, and may as well not have been on board because all that mattered was Sylvia and the man in seat 6A.

  Cindy wasn’t religious, but she glanced at David and Carol, and they were both sitting in their jump seats, holding hands and concentrating with their eyes closed. The aircraft lurched, and a murmur of concerned comment and laughter drifted from the passengers, who were otherwise silent. Rain now barraged the porthole glass windows, and there was another stomach-churning lurch, which brought the ‘fasten seatbelt
’ lights flashing to life.

  The passengers responded as one, doing as they were told as another shudder rolled through the aircraft.

  Sylvia and the black-eyed man were oblivious, they were locked eye to eye, will to will. Sylvia clutching the crucifix as she continued her silent prayers, the black-eyed man squirming and glaring.

  As Cindy watched, Sylvia’s hair began to change, the rich black colour starting to fade to grey. The plane vaulted, and for a split second, Cindy was sure this was it, and they were about to crash, but somehow the wings reaffirmed their grip on the air, and the aircraft righted itself. Now, the initial isolated comments of concern were a general murmur of worry as passengers glanced out of the windows as they entered the storm.

  The black-eyed man screwed up his features, and as Cindy watched, a single crimson tear rolled down his cheek, and she looked to have aged impossibly as if the last few minutes had taken years from her life.

  The aircraft creaked, and the rain continued to tap and probe for a way in. Cindy could hear Carol sobbing softly, but couldn’t take her eyes away from the battle raging in front of her.

  The black-eyed man groaned, the sound perfectly crisp in the stillness of the air, and then something happened. The atmosphere which had been so heavy and electrically charged, changed and the man glared at Cindy with a look which contained so much rage, so much fury that she drew breath. She knew that sleep would be something that would be a rare luxury from that day on because she would never be able to rid the image of that expression from her mind.

  Sylvia looked like hell, and ready to fall at any second. Cindy wanted to reach out to her but dare not for fear that she would distract her friend and send them all to their deaths. The plane shuddered once more, and then the light outside changed as the rain was replaced by sunlight which streamed through the aircraft windows. Whatever power the man in 6A had, now seemed to have gone. He shook his head and looked out at skies which were once again blue and clear.

  The public address system crackled to life, and the smooth if tense tones of Captain Henshaw filled the cabin.

  “Apologies for the unsteady ride back there, but we are now in free air until we reach Boston. We will be ready to land in around twenty minutes time. Thank you.”

  Cindy touched Sylvia’s arm, which felt cold and leathery. Her friend blinked, and the idea that she had somehow aged was enhanced by the exhausted sigh, which she released.

  “We did it, we’re safe,” she whispered, her eyes dull and ancient since her encounter.

  Words like thank you didn’t seem appropriate, or enough, and so Cindy nodded as Sylvia shuffled to the nearest jump seat behind the curtain and sat down hard. Nobody said anything and could only watch as she sobbed quietly, still rubbing the crucifix between her thumb and finger.

  ***

  The plane landed in Boston. By then, the passengers had almost forgotten about the turbulence, and Cindy thought it was some horrible injustice that they would never know how close to death they came or the sacrifice that one woman went to in order to save them. Sylvia still hadn’t spoken. Instead, she stared at the cross, her waxy features having lost the same life and vigour as her hair had. The man with the black eyes was the first to exit the plane, glaring at Cindy as he walked past her, his face still one of rage and defiance. The rest of the passengers followed, and when they were all off board, Cindy walked Sylvia, holding her frail friend under the arm and led her to the employees lounge in the airport terminal. David and Carol did not follow, and neither would ever set foot on an aircraft again, handing in their respective notices later that week. Cindy watched out of the window at the vast expanse of runway as planes landed and took off and were boarded and emptied. Life went on, but for her, it was changed, as she knew there were evil things in the world that existed alongside humanity.

  She toyed with her glass and looked at Sylvia, who was staring vacantly ahead. “What happened up there?” She asked.

  Sylvia said nothing, and Cindy was about to ask again when she spoke, her voice as old and broken as she was. “What day is it?” she asked.

  “Tuesday, it’s Tuesday.”

  Sylvia nodded and drained the double scotch in one with hands that she could barely stop from shaking.

  “I failed.” She said.

  “No, no you didn’t. You saved everyone on board. You did it, Sylvia.”

  Sylvia looked at Cindy then, her eyes glassy and vacant, and she offered a thin, ghostly smile.

  “No, I didn’t. I made it worse. He told me, told me that he was going to get right back on another plane. He told me he would make sure it was bad, and that whatever happened would be my fault.”

  “What do you mean told you? I don’t understand.”

  “Here,” she said, tapping her temple with her index finger. “I heard him in here, I saw what he is, what he intends.”

  “Maybe we can call security, get someone to find him?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, he will have changed form now anyway. They can do that. We’ll never find him. The first we will know is when we hear about it in the news.”

  Sylvia put the silver crucifix on the table, and slid it towards Cindy.

  “I don’t think I’ll need this now. Not after today. I want you to keep it.”

  “I can’t accept this, please Sylvia, you’re worrying me here.”

  “Don’t think any less of me will you?” Sylvia asked, her bottom lip trembling. Cindy grabbed her friend’s hands, ignoring their dry, ancient feel.

  “You saved the lives of a lot of people today, I... we, owe you more than we could ever repay.”

  Sylvia smiled and stood. “Today will be a day we will never forget, but I know now what I need to do.”

  “Sylvia, what’s going on?”

  Sylvia’s lip trembled, and she lowered her gaze.

  “Goodbye, Cindy.”

  She walked away, and in her shock, Cindy didn’t follow. Her mind was in turmoil, and she couldn’t seem to make sense of anything. She had intended to go home, but with a well-stocked bar on hand, Drinking seemed like a better idea. She was there two hours later when the news reports started to broadcast on TV. Suddenly, Sylvia’s words made sense, and as Cindy ran for the toilet to throw up, she understood the magnitude of what had happened. As she wiped the mucus from her mouth and looked at herself in the mirror through eyes streaked with makeup, Sylvia was in a motel room five miles from the airport. She had used her belt for a noose, and although she hoped it would be quick, she had suffered and kicked as life stubbornly tried to hang on.

  Cindy returned to her table in the employees lounge, and along with the large crowd that had appeared, watched as events unfolded. People put her pale expression down to the terrifying images on the television screens, but she knew different. She held Sylvia’s crucifix and rubbed it as she watched the reports on the news go from bad to worse. She was certain that the black-eyed man was onboard one of the planes. Sylvia’s words raced through her brain, and she had to stifle a horrified giggle.

  “I made it worse. He told me, told me that he was going to get right back on another plane. And this time, he would make sure it was bad, and that whatever happened, was my fault.”

  “What have we done,” Cindy said to herself as she glanced down at the newspaper, knowing that today was a day that nobody would ever forget.

  It was Tuesday, September the 11th, 2001.

  CABIN FEVER

  This is what happened.

  I am an old man now, and although its true that I have forgotten some things, the events of that summer in '89 will stay with me until the day I take my final breath.

  I fear death is close, closer than I would like at any rate, which is why I have decided to commit the events to paper. It will at least serve to dispel some of the speculation and myth that still surrounds the events of that summer.

  It’s funny how your own mortality is something that you never think of until that one day when you realise that you are getting o
ld, and you start worrying about all the things you never did or will never get to do. At my age (a healthy-ish eighty-three if you're curious) you learn to accept that dying can’t be any worse than the list of aches and pains which seems to grow longer every day, never mind the amount of pills that I have to throw down my neck just to keep the old engine ticking over.

  Yellow ones, blue ones, white ones. Even those horrible elongated pink ones that leave a thick, chalky taste in the throat. However, none of that matters. Not for this story anyway. Arthritis in my hands means that I can’t write for too long, and I want to be sure I have time to tell it all before I shuffle off to whatever comes after the lights go out.

  I grew up as a city kid, surrounded by the drone of traffic, the hustle and bustle of the rat race. I was settled and happy, so when my father decided to move us out to the country, as you might imagine I wasn’t too impressed. But I was just a kid, and a kid’s opinion isn’t usually held in too high a regard by parents who think they know best. As dismayed as I was when I first heard about the move, it was nothing compared to how completely devastated that I was when I saw the place.

  To say it was in the middle of nowhere would be an understatement. The house sat on a rolling carpet of green farmland that to my eyes seemed to have no end. No shops, no roads, no familiar city blocks reaching into the heavens — just endless miles of grass and trees.

  As we pulled up in our old pickup, I looked for something — anything that might satisfy the need for excitement that lives within every twelve-year-old boy.

  Grass.

  Wheat.

  More grass.

  Trees.

  The house itself was fine enough - a good-sized traditional farmhouse, the kind of place you could imagine on the side of a soup can or in one of those olde-worlde detective programs that my mother seemed to love so much. It was like a great brown smudge against a sea of green. Two stories, separate barn. The wood looked as tired and unhappy as I felt as I kicked my feet in the gravel and tried to ignore the drifting, country cow shit smell. Intuitive as always, my father was plenty aware of my unhappiness. He approached and stood beside me, and we both stared out at the acres of fields in stony silence.