The Nightmare Man: (Child of the Vodyanoi)

by David Wiltshire

  Dunlop instantly knew what had happened. A man had been lost in the river. A man was dead. His unease was uncontrollable.

  To Inskip, the men before him, dressed from head to ankle in white, with their white hoods up over their heads, reminded him of wartime shots of the Eastern Front.

  The men turned and looked back at them. For some strange reason, in that split second of confrontation, Inskip’s relief vanished. The implicit menace of the white figures could not be avoided. Then as if by some command, not heard by the three on the rise, the tableau broke up. Men turned and continued to administer to the injured, as two men detached themselves and made their way towards them.

  Dunlop moved first, starting down the bank in a shower of snow.

  They met at the bottom of the slope. Dunlop tensed as he confronted the hooded figures, only the distinctive military moustaches really visible. One of the men removed a gauntlet, reached up to his hood and pulled it off.

  Dunlop’s jaw dropped. The man wore a green beret with a very distinctive cap badge—not the red one he had been expecting.

  The man held out his hand.

  “Major James Howard. Royal Marines.”

  Dunlop took the hard hand and they shook.

  “Ian Dunlop—I’m the dentist here. This is Inspector Inskip and Sergeant Robertson of the Police.”

  Howard shook their hands in turn.

  “We need a doctor urgently—two of my men have suffered injuries.”

  Inskip nodded. “So I see. We have a cottage hospital we can get them into as soon as we can get stretchers out here.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Howard pointed to the rise behind them. Two men from the party who had gone after the containers skied into view, each holding the end of a long canvas bag. They passed in a shower of snow and braked effortlessly to a halt down by the injured men.

  “We’ve got our own stretchers. They’ll be ready to move in three minutes.”

  Dunlop nodded at the river. “You’ve lost a man—drowned—haven’t you?”

  The Major was tight-lipped.

  “Afraid so. He was a good man, but he knew the risks.”.

  Dunlop couldn’t stop himself.

  “That’s what I can’t understand. Why take the incredible risk of dropping in tonight? Wouldn’t the morning have been better—and perhaps with helicopters?”

  The Major’s moustache started to grey with the ice forming on it from his breathing.

  “I must say, I thought you people would be more overjoyed to see us. We were told you were in dire straits here, and all the available helicopters are out on round-the-clock mercy flights.”

  Inskip stepped forward.

  “We are glad to see you—I can tell you. Never mind my friend here, his nose is out of joint that’s all. He’s an ex-paratrooper—Army” he added meaningly.

  The Major looked quickly back at Dunlop.

  “Is that right?”

  Dunlop nodded. “Yes—3rd Paratroop Batallion—Dental Office.”

  The Major stared at him intently. Dunlop sensed that Howard was assessing to what degree he would have guessed that the drop was near suicidal.

  “Well, we must have a good old chin-wag when we’ve got organised.”

  He turned back to Inskip. .

  “We shall need a briefing, but I’d like to get my injured into the town first, naturally.”

  “Of course.”

  With crisp military efficiency the two men were strapped into light-weight stretchers.

  Howard accepted the salute of a Warrant Officer.

  “They’re ready, sir.”

  Howard nodded and turned to Dunlop.

  “Could I ask you to take charge of them for me? We’ll join you in the town shortly, but I want to round up all our equipment before dark.”

  Dunlop and Inskip took one stretcher,' Robertson and Wishart the other. They pushed through the snow back towards the road.

  The young marine, white-faced, spoke little, only gritting his teeth, the muscles on his face standing out as the stretcher jolted when they fell into a pothole.

  At the road a crowd of people had streamed out from Inverdee to watch. Willing hands took over.

  Released from duty, Dunlop wondered what next to do. He turned to Inskip.

  “Do you want me back out there? He jerked his head towards the cow shelter and the patrol line.

  Inskip, hands in his pockets, body hunched into his coat, but face alive with excitement, nodded.

  “I must say I didn’t like the look of some of the older ones. With the coming of night, it’s going to be hard on them. I’ll get relief out to you in an hour—all right? Should be the Royal Marines.”

  “Fine.”

  Dunlop trudged off into the gloom, heading for the pinpoint of light that was the fire inside the shed.

  It was nearly dark when he got there, it would have been complete except for the gloomy deep blue of the surrounding snow.

  It had started to fall again, little fine flakes at first that soon turned into a silent, steady torrent, the size of pennies.

  Head and shoulders bowed, he didn’t hear them until they were almost on him. As he jerked his head up the white cowled ski patrol whisked past. He could neither recognize Howard, the Warrant Officer, nor anybody. In fact they were faceless, just dark pits beneath the hoods.

  It frightened him. Like sinister ghostly monks they glided into the night—and disappeared.

  To his surprise the marines didn’t come to relieve any of them. Instead the shapes that staggered into the flickering light of the fire was another scratch collection of town people and a couple of policemen. One of them drew him aside.

  “Excuse me, sir, the Inspector and the Marine Major want to see you. Inspector Inskip said you should go home first. You’ve to get a good meal inside you and some rest, and then report to MacLoud’s Boat Yard at five o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Dunlop was puzzled.

  “What’s up? Why aren’t the marines coming out here?”

  “No idea, sir.”

  When he got into the town he went straight to Fiona’s. Any lingering doubt about whether it was a good idea at that hour was soon dispelled.

  Sleepy-eyed, she was in his arms in a flash. She led him straight into the bedroom, throwing his coat on to the floor.

  As he undressed, Fiona gave a faint smile, hung her head, and pushed the thin straps of her nightdress off her shoulders. She stood for a moment in the soft pool of silk, one knee slightly bent.

  To him she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Fiona, eyes averted, slipped under the covers.

  For the first time ever she looked shyly back at him, more like a young bride than the liberated, independent woman he had first met.

  He slid into the bed beside her, feeling her satin smooth body arching to meet him. As they lay together, caressing and warming, he made no effort to change position. With his left arm behind her, hand gently but firmly gripping her neck, the other one found the swelling softness of her bottom and then moved on to her lower hip. He lifted her weight as she wrapped her legs under and about him.

  There was no violence in their love making. It ended with short stabbing jabs as he tried to fuse her body with his.

  Almost as soon as he’d finished, he drifted into sleep. Fiona stayed as she was, still feeling him deep inside her, frightened to ease the leg aching with weight in case she awakened him, and he drew out; frightened to lose the strength, the strange unexplainable strength that she now drew from this man.

  He awoke as soon as the alarm on his watch switched on. Bewildered, Fiona sat up as he swung his feet on to the floor.

  “What’s happening?”

  He stopped, bent down over her and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’ve got to join Inskip and the Major. They’re up to something.”She scrambled out of bed.

  “Let me get you breakfast.”

  “Thanks.”

  By the tim
e he was dressed and shaved, there was a smell of frying bacon coming from the kitchen. When he walked in he found Fiona bustling from table to range with a saucepan in her hand.

  “Sit down. There’s porridge to start with.”

  Gratefully Dunlop took his place at the table, keenly aware that she was going out of her way to please him.

  When he’d finished and was getting his jacket on,.she came out from the kitchen and helped him, her face troubled.

  “Take care.”

  “I will.”

  He made towards the front door, stopped and turned, hand on the catch.

  “Fiona.”

  “Yes?” Her voice was small as she joined him at the door..

  “Have things changed? Will you stay with me?”

  She nodded. “I think you already know. I’ll write to James now. I don’t feel like sleeping.”

  He cupped her face and kissed her quickly—frightened in case the wonderful things she was saying might in some way be spoiled if she went on further. He turned and clattered off down the iron stairs without saying another word.

  As he walked briskly down the hill through the dark, ill-lit streets, his elation slowly gave way to a sense of misgiving. There was no real reason for it, but the place seemed dead, almost as though it was empty: that behind the dark windows there was no life, no sleeping bodies. Just empty rooms. That he and Fiona were all alone in the town.

  With a sudden surge of panic he imagined that by some impossible quirk of fate they were all alone, except for that nameless ‘thing’. That it was in a room watching him, or around the next corner, or creeping up the stairs to Fiona, her face stricken with fear as its flowing gown and hood closed over her.

  Dunlop was angry with himself, and made an effort to shake off the neurotic feeling. Perhaps it was because he was still uneasy about the reckless landing. Having done it he then expected the marines to have been deployed immediately out on the perimeter.

  Still, he was pre-judging the situation. Better wait until he’d talked to the Major. Dunlop couldn’t remember his name now. They obviously had some plan of action.

  He arrived at the boat yard, lit by the marginally brighter wharfside lights. Two marines were outside on guard, armed with sub-machine guns. Somehow the sight of them as other human beings should have cheered him up. They didn’t. Maybe it was the guns.

  He walked up and made to enter. A Sergeant, well over six feet tall, suddenly blocked his path. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other guard drop his sub-machine gun to his hip; to the firing position.

  He froze.

  “Hey, steady on.”

  “Nobody is allowed in.”

  The Sergeant’s face was cold, humourless.

  Dunlop stood his ground, finding an unreasonable anger beginning to build. This was his town. He steadied himself, remembering that any military presence finally intrudes on the civilian population. It had just happened to him faster because of his involvement.

  “Would you tell your Major—sorry I’ve forgotten his name—that I’m here.”

  The Sergeant didn’t move.

  Dunlop frowned. “Now look...”

  “Ah—the ex-paratrooper.” Major Howard appeared, dressed in khaki battledress. He only looked at the Sergeant, who moved aside.

  “Come in. A cup of coffee?”

  Dunlop stepped past, still eyeing the Sergeant.

  “No thanks—I’ve just had some. Came to see what you want. Is Inspector Inskip here?”

  Howard walked in front and spoke over his shoulder.

  “No—he’s gone off with Doctor Mackay and his Sergeant. Something to do with the health of his men.”

  “I see”

  Dunlop looked around. The strange craft had been covered over with sacking and canvas. Another two armed marines stood over it.

  Howard poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. He turned around and faced Dunlop.

  “Do sit down.”

  Dunlop did as he was bade.

  “I thought you would be out now—looking for our monster. Inskip has told you all about what’s been going on here?”

  “Oh yes.” Howard sat down. “He’s fully briefed me.”

  Dunlop frowned. “Well then—aren’t you and your lads going after it?”

  Howard stirred his coffee slowly,

  “Yes—with your help.”

  Dunlop stiffened.

  “My help?”

  Howard took a sip and smiled.

  “We would like you to come with us as our liaison officer—you being an ex-para and all that.”

  Dunlop was mystified. “To do what?”

  “We’re going back to where you found the craft. Take it with us and hope to lure it out, after all it must be lost without it. Then we’ll pounce”

  The Major underlined the last word with a chop of his hand on to the desk.

  Dunlop had to admit as he took it in, the plan had a certain logic—always supposing it had stayed in the area.

  “When are you going to do this?”

  “Intend to get cracking right away. ’Course we can find our own way to the coastguard station, but a little local knowledge wouldn’t come amiss.”

  Dunlop was uneasy. Something didn’t feel right. To buy more time he said: “Your Sergeant didn’t seem to be expecting me. Not very communicative is he?”

  Howard grinned, his moustache lifting at the ends mischievously.

  “Not part of his training. His job is to protect these headquarters and that object.” He flicked a thumb at the covered craft. “And that’s what he’ll do. God help anybody who tries to interfere with either. Now, are you coming?” Dunlop heard himself saying yes. But the vague misgiving, an unease that he could not place, was still there, stronger if anything.

  It came as a shock to Dunlop when Howard announced they were going overland—by skis.

  “Why don’t you use the boat, like we did?”

  Howard was brusque. Using the back of his hand to tap a map of the island pinned to the wall he said, “We’ll sweep in from the land side. Might flush him out and sew it up straight away. Anyway, give him a chance to see his precious ship being brought back might get the idea of escape—eh?” Dunlop’s curiosity was aroused.

  “You said ‘him’ and ‘ship’—why?”

  Howard laughed, a great bellowing explosion.

  “You think it’s a female, huh—a lady spider who eats her victims?”

  Dunlop shuddered as Howard picked up his discarded white snow smock.

  “They did teach you to ski in that army outfit I hope?”

  “Yes-”

  “Well, come along then.”

  Outside more of the marines had lined up, skis standing upright, resting on their ends on the ground.

  The Major marched out through the door, nodding to the Sergeant who entered with the other guard.

  “Wilson.”

  A corporal ran up.

  “Sir?” His boots crashed on the stones as he ripped off a smart salute.

  “Get Mr Dunlop here a pair of skis.”

  “Sir.” Wilson saluted and loped off at the double.

  While they waited, Dunlop ran his eye down the line of men. They were good—you could tell it straight away by the quiet matter-of-fact way they checked bits of each other’s equipment: the very way they handled themselves was tough, efficient looking.

  He frowned at a sudden thought.

  They were acting like men knowing what they were up against. Sure of real action, the real danger they were going to be in.

  It hit him then like a bombshell. That's what it was that didn’t ring true, that made him uneasy. He was still attuned to the way a soldier on manoeuvres is a different animal from one going into action. He’d seen the difference in Belfast. These men knew they were going into real danger, you could almost smell the adrenalin. There was no doubt about it.

  And somehow his instinct, a sixth sense from the old days, perhaps compounded by his medical training, and b
y the fear patients had when they came for treatment, had picked it up straight away.

  Of course it might be just that they knew about the grim deaths, but he rejected that immediately. Looking for a dangerous murderer was still only a giggle compared to the real job of war.

  And these men smelt of war.

  22

  He turned to tackle Howard, but Wilson marched up with his skis, passing the craft as it was brought out, still covered in canvas.

  “There you are, sir. I’ll adjust the fit for you.”

  While Dunlop held his feet on the skis in turn, steadying himself on the corporal’s shoulder as the latter knelt down and quickly and efficiently fixed the grip, Howard strode away and organized the roping of the craft to a makeshift sledge.

  When he came back he was brusque, leaving Dunlop no time to question him.

  “Right, let’s get a move on. Lead the way will you?”

  In two columns on either side of the street, with the craft in the middle on the sledge pulled and steadied by four men, they moved almost silently up through the still deserted town.

  Dunlop leant forward, exerting pressure on his sticks and feeling the muscles of his legs straining as he pushed forward rhythmically on his skis.

  As they passed Fiona’s he looked up at the light in her window, the only light that was on.

  He kept looking back as it receded, fighting down an almost overwhelming urge to break out of the column and run to her, frightened in a surge of irrational panic of never seeing her again.

  They turned the corner and the last few houses began to disappear, Fiona’s light still peeping out occasionally until it dwindled in the lightly falling snow.

  The column started to ski, moving easily down the gentle incline, the white-clad men standing nearly upright, legs together and slightly bent.

  Later the going became tougher as they inched sideways up a hill, using the edge of the skis for grip.

  Dunlop’s heart pounded in his rib-cage. He gritted his teeth. Compared with the men behind him he felt almost unfit. They must be in superb condition.