Dark Tales

by Anthology

  "It were nice meeting yer, laddie," the old man said, laughing as he scurried toward the nearest house and disappeared inside; the sound of a bolt locking the door was ominously loud. When Ethan turned back to look at the mountain, the stag had disappeared, too.

  "Silly old bugger," Ethan whispered. Secretly he was beginning to wonder whether he should have taken this new job. He had only been with the company for two weeks, but it felt a lot longer. If it weren't for the promise of rapid promotion, he never would have signed the contract. He was supposed to be trying to obtain permission for a local leisure facility-a getaway from the strain of modern life, a place where you could do as much or as little as you wanted.

  The management stressed that all new employees had to do their bit for the good of the business, and having been divorced for nearly two years, Ethan had nothing else in his life, so he didn't mind coming out to this Godforsaken island if it meant a gold star against his name. He was determined to put his heart and soul into his job. The men at the top were all ancient; people like Ethan were the new blood.

  If the facility was built, it would boast a whole host of activities to keep the punters happy: tennis courts, swimming pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, gymnasium, shooting, fishing, archery, beauty salon, quad bikes, orienteering, rock climbing, paint ball. The main selling point would be its idyllic location; away from the hustle and bustle'paradise is closer than you think' was going to be the slogan in all the brochures.

  Walking along what pretended to be a road, but which was really a rut in the earth that had been compacted by thousands of feet over the millennium, Ethan headed toward what passed as the village pub and guest house. Despite the islands isolated location, the houses all looked neat and tidy with double glazed windows and neatly planted gardens. Ethan knew the neighbouring islands had not fared so well, the islanders having departed for the mainland, but for some reason, the island of Inchcullen seemed to be flourishing.

  A sign swung outside the pub, The Hanging Man, and it depicted a figure with its entrails hanging out suspended by one leg from the branch of a dead tree. Ethan ducked his head to avoid the low doorframe, and entered the building.

  Inside, he was surprised to find the bar richly furnished. Plush purple carpet belied the fact that drink and cigarette ash would soon adorn it, and the tables and chairs all appeared shiny and new. Harsh light above the optics seemed to illuminate the bottles contents with an unnatural hue-the rum looked more like blood.

  A middle aged man sat smoking a cigarette in the corner of the room. He was staring out of the small window at the mountains. As Ethan approached, the man turned and exhaled a grey cloud of smoke that swirled and eddied as if it was alive. He smiled, his thin lips almost as narrow as his eyes, the colour of which were indiscernible below the overhanging buttresses of his eyebrows.

  "Ye made it then," he said, grinning salaciously.

  Ethan nodded and dropped his bag to the floor, rubbing his shoulder to relieve the strain. "Yes. You must be Duncan Stewart."

  Duncan nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. "Yer friends told me ye were comin'." He puffed on his cigarette.

  "You mean Janet and Trevor. Are they here?"

  Duncan shook his head and gestured out of the window. "They're up yonder mountain. I were beginning to worry that yer wanna goin' to make it." He grinned, all teeth and wild red hair.

  Ethan frowned. He felt the man's concern was overly zealous.

  Before he could question Duncan further, the mournful sound of the pipes started up again. The sound sent a chill down Ethan's back and he peered out of the dirty window.

  Duncan shook his head. "Well, Jimmy, yer here now."

  "My name's Ethan, and-"

  "Whatever ye say, Jimmy, whatever ye say."

  Irritated by the proprietor's manner, Ethan said, "Can I have the key to my room." Normally he would have said please, but in this instance, he didn't think his host was genial enough to warrant it. Despite knowing he had to win the locals over, he was damned if he was going to kowtow to everyone.

  Duncan stubbed his cigarette out. "There aren't any keys tae the rooms here. Yer at the top of the stairs, first door on the left." He pointed toward the back of the bar and then struck a match down the wall; the phosphorous glare made his face look skeletal and he lit another cigarette and turned to look back out of the window.

  Picking up his bag, Ethan walked through the door indicated and climbed the steep stairs to his room. Although he wasn't especially tall, he found that he had to duck slightly as the ceiling was low and it made him feel claustrophobic; being in Nocktully felt like being in Toytown. Richly furnished, the room comprised a large four-poster bed, a dressing table and an en-suite bathroom. The island was not at all what Ethan expected.

  The sound of the pipes drifted into the room, haunting and eerie. As he listened, he thought it sounded like someone screaming in pain and he shivered and drew the curtains in an attempt to drown out the noise. The mountains around Nocktully were steep and precarious. Purple heather stretched to the foot of the mountains, there replaced by scree and towering buttresses. Janet Clark and Trevor Smyth sat on a large, flat rock and admired the sweeping vista. Far below, the sea frothed and foamed around the island.

  "I'll say one thing," Trevor said, "it's certainly beautiful up here."

  "A bit too remote though, don't you think?" Janet said, running a hand through her damp, long black hair.

  Trevor shrugged. "After the hustle and bustle of the city, I think our prospective vacationers will love it." He picked something out of his white teeth and flicked it away.

  Fastening her yellow Gortex coat against the elements, Janet hugged herself to keep warm. Personally, she wouldn't pay good money to come to a place like this, not when for the same amount she could relax on a tropical beach.

  But it was her job to sell the place; to make sure that the people intending to come to Nocktully were going to have a good time, so she was going to do her best to find things to write a good report about. Her new job depended on it. Although she didn't know Trevor very well, she knew he had a position of authority within the company, so she had to prove herself to him and show willing.

  Cupping his hands, Trevor blew into them. "Damn, it's cold though," he said.

  "In the brochure the cold will translate into 'a brisk air guaranteed to rid the lungs of the smell of the city'."

  "You'd make a good estate agent."

  "No one's perfect." They both laughed, but the mirth was cut short as a haunting wail drifted down from the summit of the mountain.

  Janet felt as if the sound penetrated her bones and she shivered, her brown eyes wide and alert as she surveyed the rocks.

  Trevor stood up and peered toward the summit. "There it is again. Do you think someone's in trouble?"

  She shook her head. They had heard the haunting cry twice already today, once from the boat on the journey to the island, and then about half and hour ago, and although she didn't voice it, she felt afraid. There was something unnatural about the sound.

  "Do you want to see what's making it then?" Trevor asked, looking toward the summit of the mountain.

  Janet almost choked. She coughed to clear her throat. "I don't think so."

  "Where's your spirit of adventure?"

  "Have you seen how steep that mountainside is? And if you think I'm going to give you a piggyback when you fall and sprain your ankle-"

  "You're not scared, are you?"

  Before Janet could reply, a spattering of stones tumbled from the summit. Janet watched them skitter over the rocks and come to rest near her feet and her heart did a quick summersault. Looking down at them, she suddenly realised they weren't stones at all-they were bones, tiny skulls that might have been mice or voles.

  "Jesus," she squealed, tucking her legs up and wrapping her arms around them protectively.

  Trevor crouched down and picked up one of the skulls. It was about the size of his thumb, and as white as snow. "It's only a bone,
" he said, holding it out for Janet to see.

  Janet shook her head. "Thank you, but I don't want it near me." She looked up at the summit, about a hundred feet away. "Where the hell did they come from?"

  "Perhaps there's an eyrie up there."

  "A what?"

  "You know, an eagles nest. Perhaps the mother was doing a bit of house clearing."

  Although it was a good explanation, Janet wasn't convinced. She thought it was more eerie than eyrie. "Let's get out of here," she said, jumping down from the rock.

  "Not yet," Trevor said, shaking his head. "This is perfect. Just think. If there is an eagle's nest up there, the tourists would love it. Let's climb up and have a look."

  "Climb up! I'm not Spiderman. Have you seen how steep that rock is?"

  "Piece of cake."

  "Well, I'm not going up there."

  Trevor grinned. "Just wait here then, I won't be long."

  As Trevor walked away, Janet exhaled a nervous sigh. She watched him clamber over the scree, his red coat making him easy to spot and then he disappeared into a gap between two large boulders. She hoped he didn't hold her lack of enthusiasm against her. She needed to keep this job. With unemployment at an all time high, she knew there were hundreds of people willing to take her place. As she nervously waited for him to reappear, rain started to fall, splattering the rocks like drops of blood and she had to shield her eyes with the flat of her hand to stop the rain stinging her.

  Where the hell was he?

  As the rain fell, the wind picked up. It tugged at her coat, whipping the lapels across her cheeks.

  Ominous clouds were gathering overhead, and although it was only midday, darkness descended. Left on her own, Janet's heart beat faster. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins. Something moved near the summit and she saw something dark scamper between the rocks. Her breath hitched in her throat. A nervous twitch made her left eyelid flutter. That tropical beach was looking more enticing by the minute. Small rocks skittered down the mountain, but she was too afraid to look at them in case it was more bones cast by a fanciful shaman.

  She kept her eyes trained on the mountain, looking for the telltale red coat that Trevor was wearing.

  Her palms were sweating and she was having palpitations that wasn't helped by the high altitude.

  She considered shouting for him, but fear had glued her mouth-the consequences of not receiving a reply were too terrifying to contemplate. What if something had happened to him? She was being stupid, but she couldn't help it. Fear conjured fervent thoughts.

  Calm down, she thought. Breathe. Nice deep breaths.

  Where was he? As if in response to her thought, she saw a flash of red coming toward her through the darkness and she relaxed slightly. But then she realised that the red glimmer she had seen wasn't scrambling down the rocks-it was flying through the air. She let out a little squeal and stumbled back as the object landed with a splat on the rock where she had been sitting. At first she thought it was Trevor's coat. But it wasn't. Purple steaming entrails slopped over the rocks.

  Janet screamed, but the mournful wail of the pipes drowned out her cries. Ethan cocked his head and listened. He was sure he had heard a scream that was more intense than the pipes that drowned it out.

  He looked at his watch. It was three thirty. Where were Janet and Trevor? They knew he would be here by now. He had sent word that he had missed the train and that they would have to travel to the island without him, and that he would be with them a couple of hours later, so he expected them to be here by now; they had a lot of work to do.

  As he walked down to the bar, the mournful tune died away. Duncan still sat by the window, the scene it framed now blurred by rain.

  "Have my associates come back yet?" Ethan asked.

  Duncan puffed on his cigarette and then turned to face Ethan. "Did ye hear that, Jimmy? That wus the sound of the Flibbertigibbet celebratin'."

  "Look, I asked a reasonable question, and I expect a reasonable reply."

  Duncan snorted loudly. "Ye damn fool Sassenach."

  Ethan could feel himself growing angry and he took a deep breath. He had begun to hate the generic Jimmy title ascribed to him; being called a Sassenach seemed even worse. He found it a bit demeaning. "If you've got something to say, then-"

  The door crashed open with a resounding crack and a playful wind entered the bar and tussled Ethan's hair. Then Janet stumbled through the door, her face ashen.

  Ethan reached her in two strides and caught her before she collapsed. "Good God. Janet, what's happened? Janet, can you hear me?" She looked as if she had aged twenty years in the couple of days since he had last seen her, and he noticed grey streaks in her hair that he was sure weren't there before. How old was she, thirty-three? He remembered thinking how attractive she was when they were introduced a couple of days ago, but now she looked haggard. Sitting her on a chair, he looked across at Duncan who hadn't moved.

  "Get her a drink," he ordered. "Brandy."

  Duncan shook his head and laughed as he walked toward the bar where he poured a small glass of brandy from a bottle.

  Ignoring him, Ethan turned back to Janet. He stroked her cheek. She was freezing and her lips were blue. "Where's Trevor? Janet, can you hear me?"

  "Flibbertigibbet," she mumbled.

  "What, say that again," Ethan said.

  "It got him."

  "What got him?" Ethan frowned.

  "Flibbertigibbet."

  She wasn't making any sense.

  Duncan placed the tumbler of brandy on the table and returned to his seat in the corner, reminding Ethan of a sentry.

  Janet downed the drink in one and then sat shivering.

  Whirling on Duncan, Ethan said, "What the hell's going on here?"

  "The Flibbertigibbet."

  "Bullshit. This Flibber whatever doesn't exist. What have you people done with Trevor?"

  Duncan laughed without humour. "The Flibbertigibbet must be hungry."

  "Listen to him," Janet whispered, her eyes wide with terror. "We've got to get away from here."

  "I'll not be chased away by superstitious nonsense and lies."

  Janet grabbed his arm and squeezed with surprising strength, making Ethan wince. "We've got to go. Now."

  Duncan grinned, revealing a mouth of misshapen teeth "Partial tae a bit of Sassenach it is." He laughed, the sound falling as flat as the joke.

  Ethan felt like punching Duncan, but he had never hit anyone in his life. Whatever was going on here, he was going to leave them to it. He knew the company would want their pound of flesh, but he would inform them that the island of Inchcullen was not appropriate for their plans. He would find somewhere else himself for their leisure facility if he had to, but he was damned if it was going to be here.

  Without even bothering going upstairs to fetch his bag, he helped Janet to her feet and led the way down to the small dock. Despite the cry of the wind, he could hear the mournful tune. It sounded closer than when he had heard it before and he kept nervously glancing around. The atmosphere was depressing, and shackled by the gloomy clouds, the island was in darkness. Without a proper street, there weren't even any streetlights to illuminate the path, and on more than one occasion, he tripped. His heart was racing. He could feel his temples pounding with unease. It was all he could do to stop himself running. He imagined Duncan laughing to himself and he felt a twinge of anger.

  "Where's Trevor?" he asked as they walked.

  "He's dead," Janet wailed.

  Ethan shook his head. "He can't be dead. They're just trying to scare us." He didn't want to leave an important member of the company on the island because that wouldn't go down well with the management at all. "Where did you last see him?"

  Janet pointed at the mountains. "Up there ... somewhere."

  "Great," Ethan said, realising that Trevor could be anywhere.

  The small boat that had transported him to the island was still moored at the dock. It rose and fell in the swell and
he could hear wood creaking. Tyres suspended over the sides of the boat cushioned it from the dock.

  Hurrying to the house Captain Birdseye had entered, he banged on the door.

  "Who is it?" a muffled voice inquired.

  "It's Ethan Silverman-you brought me to the island earlier."

  "What ye want?"

  "I need taking back to the mainland."

  Captain Birdseye laughed. "So ye aint deid yet then."

  "Of course I'm not dead you stupid idiot." He couldn't help but get angry.

  "It wunna be long now," the captain said, his voice growing fainter as he retreated from the door.

  Ethan pounded against the wood until his fists were sore, but he realised it was useless. Captain Birdseye wasn't going to answer.

  Well, sod him, sod them all. He looked at the boat bobbing in the waves. "Come on, Janet. If he won't take us, I will."

  Janet hesitated. "Can you sail?"

  "I can drive a car. It must be similar. Besides, would you rather we stay here with the madmen?"

  Janet emphatically shook her head.

  "Well, come on then."

  Large waves buffeted the quayside, salt spray stinging Ethan's eyes and blurring his vision. The sound of the mournful pipes was closer still. He could hear the tone above the roar of the wind and waves and he looked around, frantic to trace the source when he saw a figure in red hurtling toward them.

  Janet screamed, and Ethan almost followed suit.

  "Hold on," the approaching figure shouted. "Wait."

  "It's Trevor," Janet said, her voice revealing her shock.

  As Trevor approached, he had the hood of his red jacket up against the elements.

  "I thought ... I thought you were dead," Janet said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  "Silly woman," Trevor said, pulling his hood back. "That was just a sheep. The Flibbertigibbet doesn't just feed on company employees you know, and as you wouldn't accompany me it had to eat something."

  Ethan wasn't sure he had heard right. He frowned and a sickly feeling gurgled in his stomach.

  "Hold on a minute-"

  "No, Ethan, it's you that has to hold on." He turned and looked back the way he had come. "Ah, here he comes. Frightful things these pagan Gods. Think they have all the time in the world."