The Gollancz Book of Horror - [Dark Terrors 05]

by Edited By Stephen Jones

  But the worst was still to come.

  When the guy with the car arrived I told him what was happening, and we drove up in silence.

  He didn’t come into the hospital with me. Just sat in the car outside and I went in alone.

  She was bad. Dying. I took one look at her, and I knew. Then to my eternal shame, I left.

  But eternity is a long time, and I was going to learn that the worst way.

  I went back to her friend in the car and we went. We stopped at the first boozer that was open and I had several large ones.

  She died at half past nine that night, and I wasn’t with her. Just call me bastard. I do it all the time.

  I should have gone to see her before. I should have stayed with her when she was dying. But I didn’t have the bottle.

  So I never had a proper, last conversation with her. And when I think of all the times we’d talked in the past, that’s one of the things I regret most. That we didn’t talk after the operation. And after she died, I’d have given my right arm to talk to her for just a few minutes.

  Stick around.

  * * * *

  That was five years ago, and like I say, it gets worse.

  The day she died, part of me died too, and try as I might, I can’t resurrect that part, and as the fifth anniversary of her death got closer, more and more I found myself at three or four in the morning, sitting dead drunk in my living room, crying my eyes out, playing her favourite records and contemplating doing my wrists with a razor blade.

  I’d moved, of course. I could have stayed at Louise’s place, but couldn’t handle it. So I’d found a place of my own. I was alone by then. Even poor old Percy had died. He’d lasted a year or two, but no cat can live for ever, and in the end the vet said that it would be kinder to have him put down. I cried then too. Like I say, I’ve cried a lot over those five years, but who are the tears for? Me or Louise?

  Shit, but I hated being on my own. And I’d been involved in some disastrous relationships since she died.

  Relationships? That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe them. More like disgusting little detours into my worst nightmares. But after a while, any comfort seemed better than none, even if, as certainly as night follows day, they ended in disaster.

  * * * *

  And then, shortly after the fifth anniversary of Louise’s death, I met Julia.

  Jules, she called herself. Which was fair enough. She could’ve called herself exactly what she wanted as far as I was concerned.

  I met Jules at a publishing party. I was pissed as usual. I usually was in those days.

  She was standing at the drinks table and I wandered over to get a refill.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  “Lo,’ I said back. She was blonde, with long, thick hair, a little black dress and high heels. She looked all right. Better than all right as a matter of fact. But the state I was in, Alsatians looked attractive.

  ‘My name’s Jules,’ she said, and stuck out her mitten.

  I had a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of appalling red wine in the other, so none to spare. ‘Paul,’ I replied, and spilled my drink down her front.

  ‘Clumsy,’ she said, but didn’t appear to take umbrage. That was certainly a point in her favour.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m pissed.’

  ‘So I noticed.’

  ‘I’ll pay to have your dress cleaned.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’ll go through the wash.’

  ‘Good attitude. Fancy a drink?’

  ‘I’ve got one.’

  ‘No. Not here. Somewhere else.’

  ‘Are you trying to pick me up?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘I might be here with someone.’

  Same old same-old. ‘Well if you are,’ I said. ‘Just say so.’

  ‘Well I’m not.’

  ‘Right. That’s got that sorted. Do you want a drink then?’

  ‘Are you always so aggressive?’

  ‘Yes. No. Dunno.’

  ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘There’s a club I know around the corner. Gerry’s. It’s all right.’

  ‘All right then.’

  So that was that. On the way to the club and over a few drinks, until we got slung out at closing time which was about 2 a.m., I told her what I did, and she told me that she worked for an agency which handled film and TV writers. So we were brother and sister under the media skin. What larks!

  When we finally left the place, I was totally gone, and she wasn’t far behind. We stood together in Dean Street and a decision that was to shape the rest of our lives was made.

  ‘Wanna come back to my place?’ I mumbled.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Stockwell.’ She’d already intimated that she lived somewhere west of Shepherd’s Bush.

  She hesitated. She knew what it meant if she came. And so did I.

  A cab turned out of Old Compton Street, heading our way, with its amber ‘For Hire’ light burning.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, and the die was cast.

  I hailed the taxi, gave him my address and we both tumbled in.

  We got back to my place, went in, I made coffee in a sort of embarrassed silence, we drank it, and went to bed.

  Now normally, these sort of late, one-night-stands with strangers end up in total grief. But this one was different. In bed we fitted together well, and we both enjoyed it.

  The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Jules kissing me and saying, ‘That was great. I haven’t had so much fun in years.’

  And truth to tell, nor had I.

  * * * *

  When I woke up it was light. The rising sun slanted through the gaps in the curtains and lay brightly on the duvet. Jules was fast asleep next to me, curled up like a kitten, and Louise was standing at the foot of the bed.

  I mean she was there. Really there. Three dimensional and displacing the air. You see, however much you love someone, and however well you know them, when they’ve gone, sometimes it’s hard to remember what they looked like.

  Thousands of times I’ve tried to place her in my new flat, but I only have four images of her that remain with me always. And none of them are particularly pleasant.

  The first two are from the place we shared, and both are after she got sick.

  The first memory comes from a morning. She was standing, brushing her hair in the mirror, silhouetted against the sun shining through one window. Her hair, that she’d once been so proud of, was coming out in clumps, and I realized how close to death she was.

  The second is from the evening. Late evening in the summer before she died. Once again the sun caught her. This time as we were sitting together and watching TV. And for a brief instant I saw her as she would be if she lived to be very old. But by then, her body was old, and within a few months it would close down completely.

  The third memory is how she was that Sunday morning when I went to see her for the last time in hospital. Her skin was tight over her skull, there was a white crust around her mouth, and when she saw me, and reached out to touch me, her fingers were like claws.

  And finally. The last memory is from when I went back the next day. When I plucked up courage to go. I remember how she was lying in her coffin. She should have looked peaceful then. The battle over. But she didn’t. She looked totally pissed off that she was dead. And I could only bring myself to touch her face for a moment. It was cold, and hard like wax. And I hated it. And hated myself for feeling like that, and not being there when she died.

  As I left the room where she was lying, the old man who dealt with the bodies gave me the ring she was wearing when she died. It was a sapphire and diamonds set in platinum. I went home and put it on a chain around my neck so I wouldn’t forget her.

  I still have it.

  * * * *

  ‘Hello Paul,’ she said from where she was standing. ‘Long time.’

  ‘Louise,’ I said, confused. ‘Is th
at you?’

  “Course it is.’

  ‘But you’re...’

  ‘Dead, is the word,’ she said, and came around and sat on the bed next to me.

  I looked at Jules lying there, beside me, and wondered why, of all the hundreds and hundreds of mornings I’d woken up alone since Louise died, she’d decided to pop round on this one.

  I said as much. I wasn’t frightened or anything. Just curious.

  ‘Because of her,’ replied Louise, poking Jules. ‘You two are going to make a go of it.’ And she poked her again. Harder.

  Jules didn’t wake, just sighed in her sleep and rolled over.

  ‘She won’t wake up,’ said Louise. ‘You did a good job on her last night.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Am I imagining this?’ What else could I say under the circumstances?

  ‘Feel me,’ she said, and held out her hand. The hand I’d touched a million times before.

  I took her hand in mine. It felt like solid flesh. But cool. Not cold. Not warm. Cool.

  ‘So where have you been?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere.’

  ‘Why haven’t you come back before?’

  ‘It’s difficult.’

  ‘Are there other people there?’

  ‘Yes. But we never meet.’

  ‘So you’re alone.’

  ‘Not entirely. Percy’s with me. Look.’

  She pointed towards the door, and there, with a look on his face as supercilious as the one he’d worn when he’d been alive, was her cat.

  ‘He just turned up one day,’ she said.

  ‘So what is this place?’

  ‘It’s like a beach. Hard sand. Red. And sometimes I can hear the sea, but I can never find it. It never gets dark, but the sun never shines. You never sleep or get hungry, or go to the loo. You don’t sweat or get dirty. You salivate a little. Just enough to talk, and your eyes are wet, but you never cry. Sometimes I find footprints, but I’ve never seen another soul except Percy.

  ‘I had to have him put down,’ I explained. ‘It was a kindness.’

  ‘I know. I’m not cross. I like his company.’

  ‘And you can see what’s going on here?’

  ‘I can see what’s going on everywhere.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look up at the stars, Paul. And you’ll know what I mean.’

  ‘You can see what happens on other worlds?’

  ‘Sssh, Paul. I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I shouldn’t be here at all.’

  ‘Who told you that? Who told you everything?’

  ‘No one. I just knew. When I got there I just knew the rules. The same as I knew what would happen if I disobeyed them.’

  ‘And what would happen?’

  ‘Well, if I get found out. Poof!’ she said. ‘I’ll go to another place.’

  ‘What kind of place?’

  ‘I don’t want to think about it. There, there be dragons.’

  ‘And you just look, and you can see what’s going on here?’ I was beginning to repeat myself.

  ‘I’ve never missed an episode of EastEnders.’ That had always been her favourite programme.

  ‘And now you’ve decided to pay me a visit. Just like that.’

  She got my drift. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to suddenly turn into a flesh-eating zombie like in the films. And Percy won’t change into the rabid cat from Hell with six-inch fangs. It doesn’t work like that. I just know that now you’ve met her,’ she looked disgustedly at Jules’ still form, ‘you’re going to forget all about me, and I’ll just fade away.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re wrong. I’d never forget about you in a million years. She’s nothing to me. An easy lay. It’s you I love, and always will.’

  Louise smiled, got up from the bed and stood beside me. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, bent down, picked up Percy, who put his paws on her shoulder like he always did, and she walked out of the room.

  I lay in bed for a minute at least before I followed her. The flat was empty, and I knew it. But even so, I looked in every cupboard and behind every chair.

  I went back to bed, and although I didn’t think I would, I fell asleep again, and when Jules gave me a shake at eight-thirty, I was sure I’d dreamt it all.

  ‘I had a hell of a dream,’ I said.

  ‘Me too. I dreamt that you were going to fuck me again.’

  So I did.

  * * * *

  Dream or not, Louise had been right. Jules and I did make a go of it.

  We saw each other constantly that summer, although I must confess I tried to spend as much time as possible at her place, a pied-à-terre down the Goldhawk Road. It wasn’t bad. Just twenty minutes’ drive away, or a few stops on the Victoria line, then change, and a few more stops heading west.

  But Louise didn’t come back to visit, and eventually I forgot all about it.

  Then, one evening that September, I came in from work to get changed for a publisher’s dinner, and she was sitting at the kitchen table holding Percy on her lap. He was looking longingly at the fridge, and it struck me that whatever Louise had said, some dead creatures still remembered about being hungry.

  ‘Hello,’ she said when I walked in. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

  It was the same thing she’d said to me myriad times before. And I answered like I’d always answered. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Put the kettle on.’

  She dropped the cat on to the floor and did just that. ‘I told you that you two would get on, didn’t I?’

  I nodded and lit a cigarette.

  She made the tea. Just one cup, and said, ‘Party tonight?’

  ‘You obviously know,’ I replied. ‘Been using your crystal ball again?’

  ‘That’s right. Taking Jules?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You could always take me.’

  ‘Can anyone else see you?’ I hadn’t asked that question before.

  She shook her head.

  ‘It’d be a bit weird then, wouldn’t it? Me sitting next to an empty chair having a conversation with an untouched plate of chicken Kiev.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. But I might come anyway. The Savoy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why this visit? Not that you’re not welcome.’

  ‘You’re forgetting me. I can tell. I’m fading away.’

  ‘Does that happen?’

  ‘Only to people that no one cares about.’

  ‘But I do care.’

  ‘Not as much. Not since Jules came along.’

  Of course it was true.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t mention it. Some people only last a few weeks.’

  ‘How do you know that, if you’ve never seen anyone else?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I just do.’

  ‘So what can we do about it?’

  ‘Lots of things,’ said Louise. ‘But I’d better let you get changed. You don’t want to keep Jules waiting.’ And she hauled Percy up, and walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her. I only waited a split second before I followed, but when I searched, the flat was empty again.

  * * * *

  After that, things started getting really weird. Louise and Percy were hanging out a lot at my flat, and I wouldn’t let Jules anywhere near the place. Not that Louise didn’t make the odd appearance at Jules’ place. She did. And often I’d know she’d been there when we weren’t. Things were moved or vanished, and Jules started talking poltergeists. Hey, I knew better. And then she started showing up at work, and in pubs, bars and restaurants. I was losing weight and smoking too much, and people started commenting on it.

  It got so that I dreaded spotting a redhead anywhere. A redhead in a black sweater, black short skirt, black tights, and scuffed black shoes. A redhead who didn’t look a minute older than the day I met her all those years ago.

 
Then, just before Christmas, I made the biggest mistake of my life. On the twenty-first of December I asked Jules to marry me.