Thrillobytes: bite-sized horror

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Danny,” he said soothingly. “Let me get you somewhere safe and we can sit down and have a Coke.” Joe started moving again, a sense of urgency seizing his internal organs and pumping them like pistons. Some deep-buried instinct told him he needed to get away from the area as quickly as possible. Up ahead was the zoo’s brand-new visitor’s centre, RAVENCROFT ZOOLOGICAL CENTRE AND CONFERENCE SUITES. The lengthy, glass structure’s recent grand opening was advertised all over the park and it looked like as good a place as any to find some authority.

  Joe picked up speed, his worn trainers wearing even thinner against the harsh grey cement of the pathway. All around him people were panicking, scuttling in all directions like frenzied ants. It was still unclear what was causing all of the chaos, but Joe knew it was more than just a snake attack. Something else was happening.

  Something bad.

  The visitor’s centre seemed to grow in size as Joe got closer and he could now make out the large glass doors of its entrance. Several people had already begun to move inside, but a vast majority were running past the building – likely heading towards the car park beyond. Joe wondered whether that idea was a good one.

  I just want to get indoors. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I know that a load of people panicking in their cars is gonna have a bad ending.

  Joe broke off from the crowd and approached the visitor centre, hopping up a set of brick steps that joined with a landscaped patio at the front of the building. A middle-aged Black man with grey sideburns was standing amongst the potted trees and plants. He quickly moved aside when he saw he was in Joe’s way. Joe nodded ‘thank you’ to the man before moving through the building’s wide-open double-doors.

  The fluorescent lights inside dazzled Joe as he left the bleak greyness of outside. The first thing his eyes finally managed to focus on was a large rectangular sign hanging from the ceiling. It declared the room to be THE EDUCATION HALL. The area was full of life-like exhibits of elephants, alligators, and many other creatures – each of them staring into the centre of the room with their soulless glass eyes. There were several other people inside the hall with Joe. Each of them looked as concerned and freaked out as he was. There was only a single zoo employee amongst them, given away by his bright-green waist-jacket against a khaki-coloured uniform. He wore the tatty, round spectacles of an intellectual man, and his neatly-combed grey hair only added to that impression. He looked as dumfounded as everyone else, but Joe still considered him the best person to speak to.

  Nearby, several plush, cube-shaped chairs of varying colours were arranged in front of a wide plasma screen. Joe eased Danny down onto a purple one. “Just wait here one sec, little dude, okay?”

  Danny nodded obediently and sat still.

  Joe examined the boy for a few moments, saw how frightened he was, and then kissed his forehead. “I’m proud of you, Danny.”

  The zoo employee had moved over to the far wall of the hall and was fiddling with a bright yellow, rubber-cased walkie-talkie. It didn’t seem like the man was having any success in gaining information, and his wrinkled brow gave away his frustrations. Joe approached slowly, trying to seem calm rather than agitated, somehow feeling that rationality would be at a premium right now.

  When he got close enough, the zoo keeper looked up from the radio. “Sir, may I help you?”

  “Hello,” Joe replied. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  The man shook his head and his spectacles jittered on the bridge of his long nose. He readjusted them before speaking. “Not the foggiest, I’m afraid. I can’t reach any of the zoo keepers to find out. A couple of the visitors I’ve spoken to have mentioned animal attacks, but they were too distressed to provide details. Seems unlikely, though.”

  Joe thought about the snake attack. “You don’t think an animal attack is possible?”

  “Possible yes, but extremely unlikely. The enclosures are secure and the staff are dedicated, experienced professionals. There’s never been an incident of such a kind in the seven years I’ve worked here.”

  “Sorry to disagree,” Joe said, “but I just watched a large snake kill one of your staff about ten minutes ago, over by the World of Venom building – a boa constrictor, I think. It squeezed him to death in front of a dozen people.”

  The man’s face dropped. “Terry? I pray that you are mistaken, sir, I truly do. Terry has been with us many years and loved Betsy a great deal.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “Betsy?”

  “Yes, Betsy. She is the zoo’s Pearl Island Boa. She’s always been extremely gentle. I can’t believe she would ever attack anyone – least of all Terry. They had a…bond, for want of a better word.”

  Joe nodded. He didn’t want to upset the man further, but thought he needed to wake up to whatever was happening. “Maybe he’s okay,” Joe supposed. “It did all happen suddenly.”

  The other man thought about things for a moment and his expression seemed to get grimmer with each passing second. Finally, he looked back up at Joe and said, “I believe you. It doesn’t seem like you’re lying, and I see no reason why you would. Something is obviously going on, but I just cannot fathom the idea that any of our animals would attack their handlers. There are too many precautions.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be impatient, but you’re the only representative of the zoo I could find. You need to do something.”

  “And what exactly would you have me do? I am a curator, not a crowd controller.”

  Joe sighed. “Nevertheless, you have a responsibility.”

  The man looked at Joe for several seconds before replying. “I suppose you’re right. I should find out what’s going on.” He pushed Joe aside, headed for the front of the hall, and spoke over his shoulder as he went. “I still don’t believe things are as bad as people are-”

  Joe turned around to see why the curator had stopped mid-sentence. He could hardly believe his eyes as people started to scream. Four lions blocked the far entrance to the visitor’s centre and were snarling at the people inside. Each of their fangs was the size of a tent peg and syrupy-thick blood dripped from their jaws.

  Joe had a feeling that he was about to have a very bad day.

  ASBO

  ----------------------

  Chapter One

  “Those trouble-makers are hanging around again; must be ten of them now. Someone should call the police.”

  Andrew turned to his wife, Penelope. She was peeking out of the living room window through a gap in the curtains. “They’re just harmless kids,” he told her. “We were young too, once upon a time, Pen. Not that I can remember that far back anymore.”

  Pen dragged herself away from the curtain and allowed herself to crack a smile. It was a rarity these days, which made the gesture all the more attractive. “You’re thirty-eight, Andrew,” she told him, inflecting her words with a sarcastic tone. “I don’t think your memory is going just yet.”

  “Exactly, and I can remember being a sixteen year old with nothing to do. Me and my brother used to get up to all kinds of mischief. Didn’t mean we were out to hurt anyone. Just ignore them and they’ll ignore you.”

  “Isn’t that what they say about wasps?” Pen said without turning around. She twitched open the curtain again and resumed her spying. She’d been doing it now, on and off, for the last ten minutes and couldn’t seem to help herself. The streetlamps outside lit up and cast angular shadows over her face as dusk turned to night.

  Andrew couldn’t help but giggle. “Wasps, snakes, rabid-dogs, whatever. I think it makes pretty good sense in most situations. In other words, stop being such a nosey-parker.”

  Pen let go of the curtain and let it sweep back into place. She padded towards him, barefoot, across the beige carpet of the living room and let out a deep sigh. “I know, I know. They just make me uncomfortable, that’s all. Where’ve they come from all a sudden? Why do they have to be right outside my house?”

  Andrew wrapped his arms ar
ound her, enjoying the warm feeling of her hips through her blouse. The flesh there was softer now than it had been ten years ago, but still trim for a woman of forty-five. Pen worked the rowing machine every Wednesday and Friday, and it showed. Andrew was a lucky man. He kissed her forehead.

  “I think you mean our house. Anyway, will you just stop worrying? The kids outside haven’t done anything wrong, have they?”

  Pen shook her head against his chest. “You’re right, I’m just being silly.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Now what’s for dinner, woman?”

  Pen slapped him on the arm with a stinging backhand. “You’ll get put to bed on an empty stomach if you call me woman again, cheeky sod.”

  “Did I hear someone mention dinner?”

  Andrew spotted his daughter coming down the stairs in nothing but a plump, white towel. Her shoulder-length, brown hair was a wet, tangled mess around her glistening shoulders.

  Andrew sighed. “You’re not a little girl anymore, Bex. I really wish you wouldn’t walk around half-naked.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I just got out the shower. Anyway, back to my earlier question: did I hear someone mention dinner?”

  Pen dumped herself down on the room’s large cream sofa and patted the space beside her. “Sit down, Rebecca; let me get those knots out of your hair. You look like something out of a horror movie.”

  Bex walked across the living room with her arms outstretched like a badly acted mummy. Then she collapsed on the sofa like a bullet had hit her, before, finally, sitting still long enough for her mother to run her fingers through the tangled bunches of her hair. She winced each time a knot was yanked.

  Andrew glanced at his fourteen-year old daughter’s naked legs and wished once more that she would cover them up. She doesn’t realise how much of a woman she’s becoming. Time she started to be a little more aware of herself.

  Bex caught her father’s stares and frowned at him, pulling down the hem of the towel so that it was closer to her knees. She knew him well enough to recognise a look of disapproval and for the most part she humoured his desires.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “Can we have chippy?”

  Andrew looked at Pen for approval, not fussed himself about what they all ate tonight. He wasn’t a big eater on any night.

  Pen shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t mind chips.”

  Bex clapped her hands excitedly. “Cod and chips, please, Dad. Salt, no vinegar.”

  Andrew laughed. “Don’t think I know that? Been feeding you for fourteen years.”

  “And if you don’t feed me again soon, I might not make it to fifteen.” Becky sucked in her cheeks so that she looked like a starving ghoul. Add the chaotic mess of her hair and the impression was quite convincing.

  Andrew let out his breath in a whistle. “Alright, Little Miss Drama Queen. I’ll get going right away; don’t want you to starve. I’m gonna walk though – save the petrol – but then the three of us can settle down and watch a movie together. Isn’t there a Stephen King film on tonight, Bex?”

  “Yeah,” she replied eagerly, pulling away from her mother’s hair-straightening fingers and flopping back on the sofa. Her hair was now sufficiently straightened to pass for human. “Don’t think it’s for you, though; has monsters and stuff. You don’t like blood and violence.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make an exception if it means spending some time with my increasingly-absent daughter. You never have time for your old dad anymore.”

  “It’s because you smell so bad.”

  “Charming. I suppose you’re too good for a bit of BO now that you’re a teenager.

  Pen interrupted the exchange. “Can we save the banter for after we’ve all eaten, please? You’re as bad as she is sometimes.”

  Andrew put his hands up in defence. “I’m going.”

  He left the warmth of the living room and stepped into the chillier hallway. His shoes were in the front porch and he went to retrieve them, whistling a made-up tune as he went. When he got there, Andrew could see the group of youths outside through the glass window of the PVC front door. Pen had been right: there was about ten of them in total, mostly boys – but not all. Andrew counted at least two young girls about Rebecca’s age.

  He still stood by what he said earlier: they were just bored kids with nothing better to do. It wasn’t like there was a cinema to go to or a bowling alley. In fact there wasn’t anything for the kids to do in town during the evenings. They needed to venture into Birmingham for anything beyond a scrappy game of football. The teenagers outside were just trying to entertain themselves. No reason to be frightened of them. In fact, it would likely make things worse. If you treated young people like thugs all the time then that’s probably how they’d end up behaving.

  Kick a dog and it’ll bite.

  Andrew pushed aside his shoes and decided on a pair of trainers instead. The Nike running shoes were new and a little uncomfortable, but he wanted to try and wear them in. He tied the laces loosely to reduce the pinching on his toes, then stood up and pulled his brown-leather wallet from his jeans to check he had cash. He did; just over twenty-pounds in notes and change. The final thing Andrew did was pull on his long-black overcoat from the coat stand in the corner. Even from inside the porch, it was clear that the weather outside was nippy. A tough winter was on its way.

  Once Andrew fastened the last button on the jacket, he was ready to leave. He unlocked the front door and stepped out into the bitter, grey dusk of the evening. The frosty air gravitated towards him as though he was a cold-weather magnet. He gave his shoulders a quick, yet vigorous rub and started down the pathway.

  The dozen-or-so teenagers across the road noticed Andrew’s presence as he left his house, but paid hardly any attention. Too consumed with their mobile phones and iPods probably, Andrew suspected. Just like he had told Pen, there was nothing to worry about – just a bunch of bored kids. In fact, he would walk right by them on the way to the local shops and was willing to bet that they wouldn’t make so much as a peep at him.

  “Oi, mate?”

  Andrew stopped in his tracks.

  “Oi, mate, are you fuckin deaf?”

  Andrew turned to the gang of youths a few feet down the road from him. He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “What?”

  One of the youths stepped away from the group; a tightly-muscled teenager in a red, woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad had a facial twitch and a thin scar across his lower lip.

  “Got a cigarette, mate?” the youth asked Andrew.

  “I’m afraid I don’t smoke,” Andrew replied honestly.

  “Okay then, no worries.”

  Andrew nodded and resumed his journey towards the shops.

  See, no problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that.

  “Get us some from the shop then.”

  Andrew stopped again and wondered if he’d just heard the youth correctly. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking what to say in reply to such an audacious request. There was no point getting offended, he decided. “Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way to the shops anyway. You want to give me the money now or when I get back?”

  The whole gang laughed like a pack of hyenas, but the teenager in the red woollen hat did not find anything amusing. Aside from the intermittent facial tic that plagued every nerve on his face, the lad’s expression was completely serious. A look of indifference carved in granite.

  The teenager took another step forward, closing in so that he was almost nose to nose with Andrew. The stench of stale beer permeated the young man’s every breath. “Don’t think you understand, mate. You’re gonna buy me some fags because you like me.”

  Andrew took a step backwards, reclaiming some of his personal space. He attempted a laugh, but it came out as an asphyxiated splutter. “I-I…I don’t think so, buddy. Get your own bloody cigarettes, okay?”

  The teenager took another step forward and this time s
narled right in Andrew’s face. The stench of beer was no nauseating. “Listen, you stupid cunt. If you get back from that shop without my cigarettes, your head is gonna hit this cement. You get me?”

  Andrew tumbled backwards under what he could only describe as utter shock. Such threats and brutish behaviour were behind his comprehension and experience. Yet it was happening to him right now. He was furious. He was livid that this wretched little thug felt he had any right to threaten him this way.

  Yet, for some reason, all Andrew did was walk away, his head down, his mouth closed. He heard the word ‘prick’ muttered by a female voice behind him as he headed down the road, but he did not turn back. A numb kind of disbelief had washed over him and the feeling in his stomach was like a white hot sickness pulsing against his ribs.

  It was a good five minutes before Andrew regained control over his thoughts enough that he could process what had just happened, but, by that time, he was already several hundred yards past the gang, and almost at the small row of shops that marked his destination. The chip shop was just up ahead.

  He shook his head in disbelief. I can’t believe that…that thug…spoke to me like that. How dare he threaten me! Who does he think he is? To think I was sticking up for those bloody kids not thirty minutes ago… Andrew scratched at the stubble on his chin and hissed at the night. Pen was right. They are all a bunch of troublemakers.

  Andrew crossed the road and headed into the chip shop, determined not to let the nasty little exchange affect him a minute more than it already had. Inside was a member of staff he recognised – a young blond girl that’d served him several times before. They’d never spoken in a personal way but she always had a warm smile for him. Tonight was no exception and he felt a little less angry as the girl showed her usual politeness and welcomed him in from the cold.

  Least not all teenagers are bad. A few still have manners. My daughter too; I’d go mad if Bex behaved like those thugs.