Apocalypse Hill (Apoc Hill Miniseries Book 1)

by Matthew Stott

  He didn’t mind, much. There was nothing any of them could do to him. He was untouchable, from above or below. The Knot Man understood their hate for him; understood their frustration. But all games have rules, and games as big as this have the strictest rules of all.

  ‘Must play by the rules.’

  ‘Must.’

  ‘We must!’

  ‘And then…’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘This time it will work.’

  ‘This time.’

  ‘She will choose the right path.’

  ‘The Yellow Man has whispered to her.’

  ‘And then the game shall truly begin.’

  ‘The Hill will crack.’

  The Knot Man left the creatures behind as he approached the front door of the house. The house was old and looked as though it creaked and swayed in a storm. The Knot Man ran a finger around the brim of his wide hat, then knocked once, twice, three times upon the door. As he knocked, peeling, faded paint crumbled from the door’s surface. He heard the floorboards inside creak as someone moved to answer; the door opened and she stood before him. She seemed surprised only for a second.

  ‘Hello to you, Mary May. I have come to deliver the warning.’

  She looked at him, taking in his strange appearance as though it was nothing so very out of the ordinary after all.

  ‘What do they call you?’ she asked.

  ‘I am the Knot Man. I believe I had another name, a long time ago, before my skin was bark, back when I was a man of flesh and blood.’

  The Knot Man could see the look in her eye; the Hill had whispered to her for such a long time. Her eyes were not those of a twenty-six year old woman, they had something frightening in them. The Knot Man could see himself reflected in their surface, but the image he saw seemed twisted. Broken.

  He already knew what action she would take.

  ‘May I come into your home, Mary?’

  ‘Okay. I’ve got coffee, but be careful, I like it strong.’

  Mary turned from him and wandered into the house. It didn’t matter who he visited, they always let him in. It was almost as if, upon seeing him, they realised they’d been waiting for his visit all along. The Knot Man stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He removed his hat and followed Mary through and into the kitchen, where they sat at the large, wooden table and drank coffee.

  ‘We had cows here once you know; lots and lots. I miss those cows. My Grandfather, he knew how to treat them right so the milk came out whiter than white and so very plentiful.’

  The Knot Man nodded, sipped his coffee, and allowed Mary to talk. He was in no rush.

  ‘My mum was murdered in the other room.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So much blood, for such a little thing. I remember thinking that. She was so…so small. Like a bird. A little bird-person, that was my mum.’

  The Knot Man wondered if he had ever had a mother. He supposed he must have had, once upon a time.

  ‘Are you a demon?’ asked Mary.

  ‘No. I am nothing so low or so high. I am the Knot Man. I am simply me.’

  ‘You’d hear the cows mooing and mooing when you woke up at first light. They’d be impatient for milking, you see. It can get uncomfortable for them, so they’d call and they’d call and out my grandfather and I would go.’

  The Knot Man could feel the Hill’s influence within the house. How could a person live here and not turn mad? Oh, the Hill had learned from its past errors, that much was clear. It had learned to be patient this time, to play a longer game.

  ‘Do you think grief could turn a person strange?’ Mary asked, picking the skin from around her fingernails so that they bled.

  ‘Mary May, I believe it is time for me to deliver my warning. That is my duty. Are you ready to hear it?’

  Mary sipped her coffee, swallowed, and nodded. ‘My little bird-person mum. Trampled under his boot like she was nothing at all.’

  ‘There are two paths now open to you. On one path, you take the knife you have your eye on, and do the things it is demanding. On the second path, you do not.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘If you carry out the deeds every fibre of your being is screaming for you to, you will set in motion an ancient game. Others will come to harm. The result of the game is unknown, shielded from the eyes of all players. Perhaps the light will win. Perhaps not. I am not here to talk you out of your actions, and surely the men of this house deserve nothing but the very worst, I am merely here to deliver the warning so that you move forward with full knowledge.’

  Mary May looked into the black liquid in her mug. ‘Some of my mum they burned, some of her they put through the chipper, and out she sprayed finely over the field.’

  The Knot Man and Mary May finished their coffee.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘Mary? Mary!’

  Daddy was calling for her. She heard him well enough. Let him shout and fuss a little more. Let his throat get all red and raw. She was in no hurry. Today was a special day and she intended to savour it.

  ‘Mary! Don’t you leave me waiting like this! You hear me down there, girl?’

  I hear you. I hear you. I hear you.

  She thought about the strange visitor and his warning. She thought about her little bird-mum, crunching under her daddy’s boot. She knew what she had to do.

  ‘I know you’re down there. I can practically smell the sin. You can’t hide from me. Not a chance. There’s nowhere in this world or the next you can hide from me.’

  Mary wondered what her mum had seen in her daddy. Had he been different once? Better? She couldn’t believe that. No one so dark had ever known the light.

  Mary made her way through to the kitchen and opened a drawer. She pulled out the knife. Its handle was wooden and its blade shone sharp. For a moment she thought she saw the grinning, yellow face of a man reflected back at her in the blade, but when she looked again she saw only herself.

  ‘Mary? I need water, d’you hear me?’

  I hear you.

  This knife hears you.

  She filled a jug from the cold tap and tucked the knife into the back of her belt. She felt its cool blade through the thin cotton of her summer dress.

  Now? Now?

  Soon. Hush a while longer.

  ‘Mary!’

  ‘Coming, Daddy,’ she replied.

  Mary felt almost like skipping as she made her way through the living room and to the staircase; perhaps she would have, if it weren’t for the jug full of water. Each step creaked as she made her way upstairs, the carpet warm against the bare soles of her feet.

  Daddy’s room was at the end of the corridor. A yellow light seemed to frame it, bursting through from inside. Mary stopped and considered what she was about to do. Would she be damned to the fires of Hell? She thought it might be so. Murder was a sin, after all. But then God was full of wrath, what was this if not acting in His image?

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘Here I come, Daddy. Here I come.’

  Here WE come, the knife reminded her.

  Mary reached his door and stepped inside.

  Daddy stared at her from his bed. His eyes were narrowed. A snake’s eyes. He was propped up against several pillows, the Bible on his lap.

  ‘I’ve got your water, Daddy.’

  ‘Well you took your bloody time about it.’ His voice was a drawl these days. Not through alcohol anymore, but the stroke that had spared his life but left him mostly bed-bound. Mary remembered when she found him on the kitchen floor. The hope, the joy, the sudden knife to the stomach when she realised he was still breathing. What now? What now? Should she suffocate him? What could she do to push him that extra step? But all too soon her brother had entered and the moment was gone. For a second she’d had the strength to do what was needed. With that chance gone, the resolve had drained away. That was three years ago. Would she pause too long again? Time enough for fate to rob her once more?

  ‘Here you go, Daddy.�
�� She poured some of the water into his glass and handed it to him. He took it and slurped noisily, some of the water dribbling down onto his T-Shirt from his twisted, drooping mouth.

  ‘Tastes stale.’

  ‘It’s fresh from the tap.’

  ‘Then the pipes need looking at. Tell your brother.’

  ‘I will, Daddy.’

  ‘He’s a good boy, your brother. He’s like me.’

  ‘Just like you. Yes, I believe that’s true.’ She held her wrist behind her back, felt the hidden knife press against her forearm.

  Now, now! It screamed at her.

  Shh, shh, shh. Soon.

  ‘Mary, the Lord has gifted me further insight,’ he said. He raised his arms up and looked towards the ceiling, before closing his eyes and crossing himself.

  ‘What insight, Daddy?’

  He turned to look at her again, eyes narrowed, malevolent. ‘I saw the end. The end of all things. The Lord has gifted me this insight, Mary.’

  Ever since the stroke, Daddy believed he was being shown pictures of the future. Said he was being given special insights by the Lord because of his devout nature. Mary almost couldn’t stop herself from laughing. From screaming. From pulling his hair out at the root.

  ‘What did he show you, Daddy?’

  ‘Judgment. The end of everything. Fire and fury. He will gaze down upon his greatest creation and he will seek out the wicked and the divine. He will scrape this world clean. He will leave the venal in his wake! His worthy people will be called up to stand by His side. The unworthy will be left behind in torment. Hell on Earth. Nothing less than Hell on Earth. It’s coming at last. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt the fires on my skin as real as if you pressed a lit cigarette to my flesh right now. I’ve seen it! It’s coming!’

  Mary looked at the spittle that formed upon his thin lips as he preached, wide-eyed. She wondered how deep his delusion ran. How he reconciled the evil he wrought upon others with the divinity he claimed. Did he really think his actions were divine? His sins to be praised or looked over?

  Please. Now. Let me taste him!

  A little longer. Hush, hush.

  ‘What a special position He must have in mind for you, Daddy.’

  ‘You have shown me your intentions, Lord. Thank you. Oh, thank you. Shown me what you must do! Take the good, torment the bad. Shown me your beautiful, terrible wrath! Show me!’

  ‘Will I be saved?’

  Daddy looked at her, a snarl spreading across his face. ‘You, Mary? Come on now. You know the truth. How many times have I told you now? You’ve got the Devil growing inside of you. I can see it. I can smell it! Can you not see his Devilish horns as you gaze upon yourself in the mirror and brush, brush, brush that hair? Perhaps He hides from you. Perhaps He makes you blind. But He can’t hide from me. No. No, no, no. No Devil or demon can shield itself from these eyes. I see them out on that Hill. I saw it in your mother. Oh, and I see it in you. It shines red and terrible from your very skin. You know I’m talking truth, Mary. You know I am. You know it’s this bad in you that makes me do these things. That drives your poor Daddy crazy with bad thoughts. The Lord forgives because he sees what you are, too. He knows no mortal man has power to control the effects of the unnatural Demon. Oh yes, I see you. Don’t try and turn from me. Don’t try and fog my thoughts, for the Lord gifted upon me the stroke so that my mind would become as clear as fresh water. Oh, Mary. Will you be saved, you ask me? Will the almighty take you up to his heavenly plain? No. No, no, no. I see the horned one and he’s claimed you as his own. No! No, He will not want one like you beside him.’

  ‘I hope that’s not true, Daddy,’ Mary replied.

  ‘Show me your feet.’

  She lifted one leg and placed a bare foot next to him. His hand reached out to stroke it. His fingertips tracing lines from her ankle and down. His hand turning over to brush his knuckles against her toes.

  ‘You’ve got the Devil growing inside of you. I see him. I see. Look how it guides my hand.’

  His touch made her insides recoil, made her thoughts want to retreat to the safe faraway place like usual. This time she wouldn’t let it. This time she would be present.

  ‘Do you know what day it is, Daddy?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, his breath increasing, never taking his eyes off her foot, off the exposed leg, off the hint of underwear her lifted leg exposed from under the short summer dress.

  ‘It’s my mum’s birthday.’

  ‘Dead things don’t have birthdays.’

  ‘I thought I’d celebrate it this year. Celebrate my mum’s birthday. D’you think that a good idea, Daddy?’

  He slapped her leg off the bed. ‘Why d’you say things like that?’

  ‘I just want to celebrate my mum, is that so wrong?’

  ‘You’re just like that whore. She was twisted inside, and I see that same twist in you. You’d better hope I can untwist it, otherwise…’ Daddy trailed off.

  ‘I’ll end up like my mum?’

  ‘The Lord struck down your mum. He saw and he judged and he did what was needed. He guided my hand and I am forever grateful that He did.’

  Now?

  ‘Now.’

  Mary pulled the knife from her belt and held it aloft, swaying it back and forth, cutting through the early morning rays of light that streaked between the curtains.

  ‘This belonged to my mum, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Stop talking about her!’

  ‘I saw her cut so much meat as she prepared us food. She loved to cook, my little bird-mum.’

  ‘She was touched in the head. You know that’s the truth. The Devil walked with her hand in hand! She was a liar and she was a whore. Do you know the list of men she laid down with? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the fruit of such a wicked union. That would explain your ways. Explain the effect you have on this house, on me.’

  Mary stepped forward and jabbed the knife, the point just touching Daddy’s arm and piercing the skin. Daddy yelped and recoiled, slapping a hand over the tiny wound as crimson bloomed.

  ‘I can see you, Devil! I can see you!’ he said, grabbing the Bible and throwing it at her. Mary ducked to the left and it sailed past, striking the wall.

  ‘Do you want to know what I got my mum for her birthday, Daddy?’

  She delighted as his chest rose and fell in gasping spasms. As his forehead broke out in streams. As his eyes grew wider as the understanding of what was to come struck home.

  ‘I got her this moment. I got her your death.’

  Mary lifted the water jug and smashed it over her daddy’s scalp. His head twisted and he collapsed back as water and shards of glass exploded around him.

  She climbed atop the bed, straddling him. Daddy blinked, eyes rolling, a deep gash streaming red across his forehead.

  ‘I see you,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ’I see you, Devil. I see the Yellow Man. I see what you are, Mary. You’re how it starts. The Hill will crack.’

  He tried to struggle, to throw her off, but the stroke had long ago weakened him, the jug to the head even more so.

  ‘It’s not the Devil, Daddy. It’s God’s righteous, terrible hand that guides my own. That pushes this knife into your body, like you pushed your sin into mine and gained your pleasure.’ Daddy’s hands grasped her own as she leaned towards him, the knife held tightly, point towards his stomach. He tried, she felt his pathetic struggle to hold onto his evil life, but it wasn’t enough. His eyes widened, face red, as the point met his skin and began to split the flesh.

  His hands spasmed, slapped at her, beat at her, clawed at her. She smiled as the blade slid into his soft body.

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ he said. ‘Oh Lord forgive, Lord forget, Lord come and hold me in your arms!’

  Mary twisted the knife so he screamed and screamed and she thought that it was good.

  She pulled the blade clear of him, a dark stain rushing upwards to soak his bedclothes.

  ‘Judgment is coming, Mary,’ said Daddy.
‘Judgment. Judgment. Judgment.’

  Mary held the knife high, ‘Happy birthday, Mum.’

  The knife came down and found its target. Twice. Three times. Four.

  Again and again.

  It never missed once.

  After it was all done and the knife was quiet, Mary sat on the floor in one corner of the room until the blood dried on her skin and turned dark.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet, Daddy. Don’t you have anything more for your Mary?’

  Daddy said nothing. His body lay corkscrewed in a bloodied blanket.

  Mary stood and removed her clothing, until all that she wore was her daddy’s dried blood.

  ‘Can you see me now, Daddy?’

  But her daddy’s open eyes saw nothing at all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A few hours passed before Mary’s brother arrived back from his shift at the garage. He called out for Mary, but got no reply.

  ‘Hey, Dad, I’m back. D’you need a drink of anything?’ More silence. He kicked his boots off before heading into the kitchen to find something to eat. Mary’s bowl from that morning was still sat in the sink, unwashed. He felt the urge to pick up her spoon, then wondered idly why they hadn’t already been washed.

  He went to the window and looked out over the Hill. He felt as though he saw shapes, thousands of them. They made him shiver, but in truth his eyes saw nothing. He saw nothing, but still the shapes were there, multiplying in number with each passing second. He turned away; there was nothing there, nothing at all.

  He slumped in front of the TV with a plate full of bread and cheese and rested six bottles of beer on the floor beside him. He turned on the TV and wondered where Mary had gotten to. She wasn’t supposed to leave the house on her own. Dad didn’t like it. Said other men would look at her with lustful intent. He knew that was true. He’d seen it himself when he was out with her. Seen the men draw their eyes slowly across her body. It made him mad. Made him want to pull their eyes from their heads.

  It was a sinful world they lived in. That’s what Dad always said, and he knew it was true. Knew it even more so, because he knew his own thoughts and actions and those were not the thoughts and actions of a pure and worthy man. If even he could fall so low, what must other men be thinking?