The Stranger Times

by C. K. McDonnell

  ‘Was it you that made the call?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘He’s upstairs. Broken arm and some cuts. Possible concussion.’

  ‘Right. If it’s the same guy as last time then we’re not taking him.’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Paramedics do not have to put up with that kind of abuse.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s not—’

  ‘Emotional abuse is still abuse. The things he said to poor Keith …’

  ‘I promise it isn’t the same guy.’

  Keith, a ludicrously tall younger man with a rake-thin body and the wariest of wary expressions appeared from the far side of the vehicle. ‘Debbie, it’s not him again, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Hannah quickly. ‘This man is absolutely lovely. Honestly.’

  ‘How did he get injured?’ asked Debbie.

  ‘That is a fantastic question,’ said Hannah, with a very big smile and not the first idea how to answer. ‘Fantastic.’

  Reggie was sitting on the worn leather sofa, gingerly holding his broken arm against his chest while he took deep breaths. Meanwhile, at the far end of the room, Grace had plonked Manny into her chair behind the reception desk and was plying him with tea and a selection box of biscuits that Hannah guessed she kept in reserve for really big emergencies.

  Debbie and Keith bent down to Reggie and examined him. They soon concurred that his arm was indeed broken – the protruding bone was a bit of a giveaway.

  Reggie looked up at Hannah. ‘I’ll be all right, sweet girl – honestly. It’s just a scratch.’ He smiled at the ridiculousness of his own statement.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you to the hospital?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘No need. No need at all. Besides, I think you might be required here.’

  As if to emphasize his point, a crashing noise came from the direction of Banecroft’s office, followed by a bellow of ‘Unbelievable!’

  As soon as they had seen to Manny, Hannah and Grace had checked on Banecroft’s wellbeing. Despite having being hurled across the room, he seemed to be nothing more than bruised – clearly the relaxing effects of whiskey had played their part.

  ‘He’s not coming out, is he?’ asked Keith.

  ‘Relax, he’s just …’ Hannah couldn’t think of what to say next. He’s just a man-sized baby, while entirely truthful, felt somewhat disloyal.

  ‘OK,’ Debbie said to Reggie. ‘We’ll put your arm in a sling to stabilize it, then you get to have a ride in the whoo-whoo bus.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Reggie. ‘Will there be drugs? While I’m being frightfully brave and stoic, I’m in bloody agony here.’

  ‘We can’t give you much, but I happen to know one of the doctors on tonight and the man gives out more drugs than Glastonbury.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘OK,’ said Debbie, nodding to Keith, ‘we need to get you up. One … two … three.’

  With an expulsion of air through gritted teeth, Reggie was on his feet again.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Debbie. ‘That’s the worst of it.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ replied Reggie. ‘Can I have a quick moment with my colleague, please?’

  Hannah moved closer as, with a grumble, Debbie took a step back. Reggie leaned forward to whisper, ‘You need to have a word with Stella.’

  ‘I do?’ Hannah looked across to the corner of the room where the girl sat, staring at her phone, her green hair covering her face.

  ‘You do,’ said Reggie with a nod. ‘I don’t know anything about her past, and frankly I – more than anyone – can respect somebody’s wish to reinvent themselves.’ He gave a brief, pained smile in acknowledgement of the incident with the Fenton brothers. ‘But I have noticed how keen the poor girl is to avoid any and all attention and how, beneath the street-ruffian act, she is terrified most of the time.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hannah, looking in Stella’s direction. ‘Really?’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Reggie. ‘I have a sense for such things. The average teenager’s first move when entering a room isn’t always to check where the nearest exit is. The poor kid always has one foot out the metaphorical door – and that was before a mythical beast was moments from ripping her head off.’

  Hannah nodded, feeling rather stupid. ‘Yes, I take your point.’

  ‘Also, when you find out what on earth just happened with Manny, ring me.’

  ‘I don’t …’ started Hannah, ‘I don’t know where to start with that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Reggie, ‘I guess we now know why he always refers to himself as “we”.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hannah, nodding her head while lost in thought.

  Reggie placed his good hand on her arm. ‘Honestly, for someone in their first week, you’re doing great.’ Then he raised his voice. ‘Right, folks, I’m off for a lie down. Keep the chins up. And now, Deborah dear, show me to the drugs!’

  ‘Hi,’ said Hannah.

  Her greeting was met with an unintelligible grunt.

  Stella was sitting in the corner on one of the fold-out chairs.

  ‘Unbe-bloody-lievable!’ came the roar from Banecroft, which carried down the hall.

  ‘Golly, he is something, isn’t he?’ Hannah tutted, then winced.

  Golly. Had she really just said ‘golly’? She hadn’t used the word since she was maybe ten – and even then … She didn’t know what it was about trying to talk to Stella, but every time she tried, Hannah felt as if she transformed into someone called Trinny who came out with inane nonsense like ‘Such fun!’ and ‘Golly gosh!’

  Her comment was greeted with another grunt.

  She grabbed a chair, folded it out and sat down opposite Stella. ‘So, bit of a mental day, wasn’t it?’

  ‘S’pose.’

  A word. Progress.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘’Bout what?’ As Stella spoke, Hannah caught the slightest flicker under the curtain of green hair that indicated Stella might’ve looked up from the game she was playing on her phone.

  ‘Well, that … thing did sort of go for you, didn’t it? That was scary.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Are you feeling OK?’

  Stella ran her fingers through her hair for the briefest of moments, and her face was revealed. It struck Hannah how young she was – and then the curtain descended again. ‘It’s my fault.’

  Hannah was genuinely taken aback. ‘What is?’

  ‘The thing coming in. It’s my fault.’

  Hannah touched Stella’s phone. ‘Stella, look at me.’

  Reluctantly, the girl looked up.

  ‘It is not your fault. That thing was big and scary and … So you left the door to the roof open? If you hadn’t, it would’ve got in some other way. It’s not your fault. And if Banecroft says otherwise, I’ll put him right. OK?’

  Stella looked at Hannah for a long moment and then nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘OK. Good. You’re an important part of the team here. We’d be lost without you.’

  Stella shrugged, too embarrassed to say anything.

  ‘It’s been a crazy day. Maybe you and Grace should head home soon and get some sleep?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Hannah gave Stella a pat on the shoulder and then got to her feet and walked away. Two down, one to go. She was absolutely nailing this.

  Manny was sipping his tea while Grace fussed over him.

  ‘Hey, Manny. Are you OK?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘We fine. We fine.’

  ‘I think he should go to hospital too,’ said Grace, sounding far from happy.

  Manny patted her hand. ‘Hush y’self now, Grace, we fine. Just dog-tired’s all. Just need a nice long sleep.’

  Hannah looked at Grace. ‘Maybe you could check in with Stella? It’s probably a good idea if everyone starts to head home. It’s been a long night.’

  Grace looked in Stella’s direction and nodded. ‘I will go and get our coats.’

  Hannah smiled and sat down
opposite Manny as Grace headed off into the bullpen.

  ‘Thank you, chile. She a fine woman, but she worry.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘Although, well, not without reason. Are you OK? I mean, really?’

  Manny gave a weak smile. ‘She frighten you, huh?’

  ‘Your friend? Well, I guess you could say that. I mean, she saved us.’

  ‘Don’t be fear of her now. Ya not seen her at her best.’

  Hannah nodded as she tried to think of the right words to say next. ‘What exactly … is … she?’

  Manny chuckled. ‘Well, not like we have big chats about it, but, best I can tell, she dis place.’

  ‘She’s …?’

  ‘This place,’ Manny repeated. ‘Every place got a spirit of a kind. This a very different kinda place – need a different kinda spirit. We job protecting this place. There be all kinds out there, chile. All kinds.’

  ‘Are you telling me that you’re possessed by the spirit of the paper?’

  Manny waved his hand. ‘Don’t be saying that word. She not be liking it.’

  ‘Paper?’

  Manny looked at Hannah.

  ‘Right, sorry – you meant …’

  ‘The other P-word.’ He nodded.

  ‘OK. But how did …?’ Hannah left the sentence hanging, mainly because she had no clue where it could go.

  ‘I been here long time now,’ he said, giving her a smile full of large, crooked teeth. ‘Long time. Back in the day, I stumbled in here. I was … I was bad version of meself. Done bad tings, was in a bad place. Not an evil man, but I had evil in me body. Hurtin’ me. The needle was me mistress and she cruel.’

  Hannah nodded again, at least getting the gist.

  ‘Friends, money, hope – all gone. Nothing but a shell of a man. Hungry. Empty. Hurtin’. She took me in, made me well. Look at me now.’ Manny held out his hands. ‘I’m living good, feeling good. Me and her, we together.’ He drew his hands palm to palm and intertwined his fingers. ‘I in her. She in me. We happy. We protect this place. This place us now. You understand me?’

  Hannah sat back. ‘I guess so. Makes as much sense as anything else that happened tonight. So, did you know that things like that horrible creature existed?’

  Manny shrugged. ‘Not my ting. I know she there, so I guess anything possible, but I’m just the printer man.’

  Hannah patted him on the knee. ‘You’re a lot more than that.’

  He chuckled. ‘Me happy with that. Don’t want for nothin’.’ He leaned forward. ‘I think ya no need worry about that ting comin’ back.’

  ‘I wish I was as sure as you seem to be.’

  ‘No, ya not understanding … She don’t speak to me, but I feel her. That thing – first time was a warning. It come again, she gonna kill it.’

  Hannah leaned back. ‘Right. I see.’

  Manny shrugged. ‘She nice, but she no like people coming in, wrecking up the place.’

  ‘OK, then. Well, I guess we can get back to …’ Then the thought struck. ‘Oh God, in all the commotion – is the paper ready to go?’

  Manny pointed at her and then pulled a small, neatly folded stack of sheets out of his pocket. ‘Yes, chile. Here it is.’

  Hannah unfolded it and felt a thrill rush through her body. It was eight pages of tabloid-sized newspaper. You couldn’t even really describe it as a paper, it was that thin – but still, she had helped produce it and now it was a real thing. She held it in her hands. She looked at the front page.

  Behind her, she could sense Stella and Grace standing there, peering over her shoulder. It was surreal, seeing the picture of the beast that had attacked them not much more than an hour ago there, on the front page.

  ‘I like the headline,’ said Hannah, looking at Manny. He pointed behind her. Hannah turned to see Stella looking bashful.

  ‘We needed one,’ she said. ‘And I wasn’t asking Grumpy.’

  ‘It’s great,’ said Hannah. ‘Well done. “What Stalks the Night?” Really good.’

  Grace beamed a big smile at Stella. ‘Simon would’ve liked it.’

  Stella shrugged. ‘Maybe. I bet someone won’t, though …’

  They all turned at the sound of Banecroft’s office door slamming open.

  Hannah laughed. ‘Speak of the devil.’

  ‘Right!’ came the holler, punctuated by the stomp-thump, stomp-thump of Banecroft hurtling down the hallway as fast as a crutch and his outrage could carry him.

  Hannah looked at her watch. ‘Three a.m.’ She looked at Manny. ‘Do you think you’d be OK to start printing it soon? What time do the trucks get here?’ This question she directed at Grace.

  ‘Six.’

  Manny nodded and closed his eyes.

  Banecroft came crashing through the door. ‘Where the hell is everybody?’

  Hannah waved. ‘We’re over here. Calm down.’

  ‘Where are the other two?’

  ‘The other two?’ repeated Hannah. ‘Do you mean the member of staff who got arrested and the one who broke his arm?’

  ‘Broke his arm? It was just a scratch. The paper doesn’t stop for minor inconveniences. The presses should be …’

  Banecroft stopped as the rumbling noise of the printer firing up reverberated through the building.

  ‘How did …?’ started Banecroft.

  Hannah looked down at Manny, who was wearing the benign smile she was beginning to realize was his default expression. She turned back to Banecroft. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s getting printed – so just relax, would you?’

  Banecroft’s voice took on a mocking lilt. ‘Relax? Relax!’ He flapped his arms. ‘Yes, let’s all relax and take the rest of the night off. What a super job we’ve all done. Never mind that we got attacked by a supernatural beast, and nobody, not one member of staff at this so-called newspaper, had the presence of mind to take a picture of the bloody thing! Seriously, is there anyone in this building with an ounce of journalistic instinct in them?’

  Something snapped inside Hannah. ‘Oh, would you shut up? You irritating windbag of a man! These people have gone through hell for this paper. We lost poor Simon, Ox is under arrest, Reggie is in the hospital, and the rest of us just got attacked by a bloody werewolf! An actual bloody werewolf! Something that isn’t supposed to exist very nearly killed us all – only for Manny and his …’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘Whatever. So, for the sake of everyone’s sanity, for five bloody minutes can you just stop being you?’

  ‘That’s it. You’re all fired.’

  Banecroft ducked as the vase of flowers Hannah had picked up from the desk flew past his head.

  It smashed against the wall beside the stairs and shattered – causing the woman standing there to step back smartly to avoid getting water on her coat. Then she calmly stepped forward and began to remove her leather gloves, a sardonic smile playing across her lips. ‘I’m sorry, is this a bad time?’

  The room stood still.

  ‘Hannah,’ said Grace, ‘this is Mrs Harnforth.’

  Satan Don’t Play That

  Dougie Reed, 28, from Glasgow, and the self-proclaimed emissary of Satan on this plane of existence, has issued a press release clarifying that while numerous heavy metal bands have expressed their love of Satan over the years, Satan himself is actually a big fan of the musical stylings of the Irish songstress Enya. Dougie says, ‘The biggest misunderstanding about the Dark Lord – all hail Satan! – is people think he’s into metal. He’s really a pretty chilled guy who, after a hard day torturing souls, just likes to kick back and relax with a nice Merlot and the Watermark album on repeat.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Mrs Harnforth sat quietly beside Hannah, carefully reading the edition of The Stranger Times that was literally hot off the press. Hannah had been surprised that it had been hot. She’d always assumed that was just an expression. Mind you, after all the other events of this long night of revelations, it wasn’t unreasonable to wonder if their press worked i
n quite the same way as everyone else’s.

  Now that Hannah had time to take a good look at her, Mrs Harnforth was an impressive woman. She had swept in, apologized for the late hour and asked to speak to Banecroft and Hannah privately.

  How did she know they would be here? How did she even know Hannah’s name?

  Hannah guessed the owner of The Stranger Times was in her late sixties but remarkably well preserved. She was of slim build and wore an elegant but understated coat. Her hair was dyed a light shade of pink, which really shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. On her, it looked elegant, with more than a touch of rebellious charm. The woman had a certain poise, and a relaxed yet commanding presence that Hannah guessed was something you were probably born with.

  Grace had insisted on bringing in her chair from reception for Mrs Harnforth to sit on, so that the newspaper owner would not have to make physical contact with anything in Banecroft’s office. (Grace had previously mentioned to Hannah that they’d hired a cleaner once, who had taken one look at the room and then ran out of the building screaming.)

  ‘Can I just …’ started Banecroft, but he was silenced by Mrs Harnforth’s raised finger as she turned a page and continued reading. She’d been doing this for nearly fifteen minutes. Commanding presence indeed.

  She turned to the last page, the one where Stella had found room to throw in a couple of adverts.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Harnforth, ‘I see Mrs Wilkes and her “implements of romance” are still advertising with us. My, my.’

  ‘If you will just let me explain,’ said Banecroft.

  ‘What?’ replied Mrs Harnforth, finally looking up. ‘Mrs Wilkes’s implements? That is unnecessary – I am a woman of the world. Speaking of which …’ She turned towards Hannah and extended her hand. ‘Where are my manners! Alicia Harnforth, pleased to meet you.’