by Tanith Morse
I decided to make my signature dish, Spaghetti Bolognese. I took meat out of the freezer and set it on the sideboard. Then I took out some canned tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and cayenne pepper, my secret weapon to give the sauce its extra spicy flavor.
I’d just started frying the onions when the house phone rang. At first, I tried to ignore it, scared that it might be Neil again. But then it kept on ringing and I decided to answer it, in case it was important.
Turning down the heat on the cooker, I plunged down the hall into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi darling, it’s Mum.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I thought it was Neil. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What are you up to?”
“Just making spaghetti. What time will you be back?”
“Well actually, that’s why I called. There’s been a delay to trains from Sevenoaks, so I’m probably gong to be another hour at least. Sorry, darling.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll put your food in the fridge. Oh, by the way, how was Aunt Jackie?”
“She’s great,” Mum enthused. “You should see their new house. The place is absolutely massive. They’ve got this beautiful conservatory and a brook at the bottom of the garden. I’m so envious.”
“Sounds nice,” I said. “Maybe I’ll come up and see it next time.”
“Definitely. Okay darling, my credit’s running out. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”
I hung up and went back to the kitchen. For the next ten minutes or so, I busied myself adding ingredients to the pasta sauce, relishing the gorgeous aroma as it simmered to a boil on the cooker.
I was just about to add the meat when the doorbell rang.
“What is it this time?” I scowled, annoyed that I was being disturbed again. It was only as I got into the hallway that my footsteps slowed. Who on earth can it be? I wasn’t expecting any visitors and Mum had said she would be at least another hour.
Cautiously, I peeked through the spy hole.
It was Greg.
Without missing a beat, I opened the door.
He flashed an apologetic smile as he lowered the bouquet of roses he was carrying. “Hi Sam, sorry to disturb you. I’m here to pick up your mum.”
“She’s not here,” I said.
“Damn. Any idea when she’ll be back? We had a date for eight o’clock.”
“She’s in Sevenoaks, visiting her sister,” I explained. “She rang a little while ago to say she’s on her way back and will be about an hour.”
“Damn,” he repeated, peering beyond me into the empty hallway.
There was an awkward pause as he tried to decide what to do.
Discreetly, I scanned him from top to toe. He was dressed like he was going to the theatre or something: his black hair was swept back off his face like Valentino and he was wearing a black dinner jacket beneath a smart gray overcoat. Wherever he was taking Mum tonight was obviously very swanky.
“Look Sam, I don’t want to intrude, but would it be all right if I came in and waited for her till she gets back? I’ve come a long way, and traveling home again isn’t really an option.”
I hesitated. I didn’t like the idea of having company—but then again, it would seem rude to send him away.
“Sorry, I should never have asked,” Greg said, turning on his heel. “It was too presumptuous of me. Maybe I can drive around for a bit to kill some time.”
“Don’t be silly, of course you can come in,” I said with a smile, stepping aside for him to enter.
He flashed a crooked grin and followed me inside. “Thanks for this, I’m ever so grateful.”
“No problem. You know, it’s funny Mum never mentioned you were coming.”
“She didn’t?” He scratched the side of his mouth. “I guess it must have slipped her mind.”
I led him into the living room and he took off his coat and draped it over the armchair. “Wow, something smells good,” he commented, rubbing his hands together.
“I’m making spaghetti. Want some?”
He shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I’ve made enough for three.”
“Well, if you really insist–then yes, I’d love some.”
“Great. Hey, do you want me to put those flowers in a vase?” I glanced at the roses he was carrying.
“Oh yes, please do.”
I took them from him and got a whiff of their beautiful scent. “These are so sweet. Mum’s gonna love them.”
“Let’s hope she does.”
I smiled thinly at him and went back to finish cooking. Now that Greg was here, I actually quite liked the idea of playing hostess. He had such an easy-going presence, he always put me at ease.
About ten minutes later, the spaghetti was ready. While Greg set the table, I rummaged in the cupboard for some wine glasses. Mum had left half a bottle in the fridge, and I suddenly felt like having a drink. Now was as good a time as any to finish it.
Then the two of us sat down to eat, facing each other across the dining table.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “You certainly didn’t take after your mum in the cooking department, did you?”
“No,” I laughed. “I guess not.”
“So, where did you learn to cook so well?”
“My dad.” I took a hasty sip of my drink. “We always used to cook meals together when he … when he was living with us. I miss those days. It used to be so much fun.”
“Well, you must thank him from me. Because of your dad, I’m enjoying one of the best Spaghetti Bolognese dinners I’ve ever tasted.”
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” I said, blushing.
“Aren’t I allowed to pay you a compliment?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Oh, all right,” I laughed. “Yes. You can pay me a compliment.”
He stared at me a second, his dark eyes openly appraising me. “I sense that you’re a very self-deprecating person—someone who doesn’t take praise easily. Am I right?”
I tilted my head from side to side, deliberating. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Do you suffer from low self-esteem?”
“I don’t know. Never really thought about it.” I squirmed inside. This conversation was getting way too personal for my liking. Taking another large gulp of wine to calm my nerves, I chewed my thumbnail. “So,” I said, changing the subject, “where are you taking mum tonight? I must say you’re looking very dapper.”
He had his mouth full, but through the food he managed to say: “Why thank you. I do try.”
For a moment he and I sat there and didn’t say a word.
“So where are you taking Mum?” I persisted. “The opera?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Greg chuckled. “I thought maybe we’d drive around town and find a nice bar somewhere. Maybe have a couple of drinks.”
“That sounds nice. I’m sure Mum will like that.” I scraped the last of the spaghetti off my plate. “Finished?”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Yes, thank you. That was superb.”
I got up and carried our dishes to the sink and submerged them in hot water, adding a dash of dish soap to the mix.
“Here, let me do that,” Greg offered, appearing in the doorway. “You’ve already spoiled me enough with that delightful food. Why don’t you go and put your feet up?”
“Okay, if you insist,” I said, drying my hands on a towel.
I stepped aside to allow him access to the sink and marveled at what a gentleman he was. This guy really is a keeper.
Whistling a merry tune, Greg rolled up his sleeves and switched off the running tap. Then, tentatively, he slipped the numerous rings from his fingers and placed them, one by one, in a line on the sideboard.
“Can’t get these wet,” he said, grinning.
I n
odded. Funny. I hadn’t noticed until now just how many rings he wears. And some of those large, chunky gold bands look expensive.
For a second, he stalled by the sink, trying to wrench the last one off his finger. “Damn, this one doesn’t seem to want to budge. Ah! There we go.”
He placed the medallion ring on the side next to the rest of them.
And then I saw it. A star tattoo identical to the one on the middle finger of Elliot’s right hand.
A prickle of unease shimmied down my spine, as if someone had just stepped over my grave. Something wasn’t right, I could feel it. But what? What did it all mean?
Stepping away from him, I tried to remain calm. I didn’t want to show how rattled I was.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked, his voice silky sweet. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “You’re right, I think I’ll go sit and down for a while. The wine must have gone to my head.”
“Do you want some coffee? Maybe that will make you feel better.”
“No, I’m fine. You finish up here. I’ll go sit down.”
In a trance, I roamed into the living room and sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa. My body felt stiff with tension, my arms frozen solid. What the heck is going on?
Five minutes later, Greg sat down next to me. “Feeling any better?” he inquired jovially.
“Um yeah . . .” My voice trailed off.
“You still look a bit peevish. Shall I open the windows to let some air in?”
“No.” I tucked a hair behind my ear, feeling strangely anxious. I wanted him to go, but the words wouldn’t come.
He rubbed his thighs. “Gosh, it’s quiet in here. Shall I put the TV on to liven things up?”
“If you want,” I said.
Until now, I hadn’t noticed his voice at all. He had a slight accent I hadn’t picked up on. Every so often, on certain words, there was a definite twang of something else. An intonation not too different from Elliot’s.
How on earth could I have missed it? Why didn’t I see this before? The two of them are linked in some way. But how?
For several tense moments, the two of us sat staring at the TV, watching some inane cop drama. The temperature in the room was dropping rapidly, and soon my breath became visible in the air. It was sort of like sitting in a giant fridge freezer. This surely isn’t normal.
And then I got a horrible feeling of déjà-vu—the sense that the dark presence that had been following me all these weeks was finally here. With me. In my living room. I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords were paralyzed. I wanted to run, but my legs had turned to jelly.
“I wonder where your mum is,” Greg mused, shooting me a shifty sideways glance. “It’s been longer than an hour. Do you suppose she’s gotten caught in traffic?”
“I don’t know,” I gulped. “Maybe.”
He reached across and gently stroked the side of my cheek, the heat from his fingertips cutting through the cold like a knife. Slowly, slowly, his hand traveled down my cheek to my jaw and rested at the edge of my chin.
I heard him catch his breath.
“That bruise on your cheek has healed very well, hasn’t it?” he purred.
“Uh-huh.” I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. Pursing my lips, I kept my eyes fixed resolutely ahead.
“You’ve been very lucky,” he continued. “That mark could have really ruined your face, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
I shook my head.
He leaned closer, his fingers settling on the skin just beneath my eye. “You really are a pretty girl. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
I shook my head again.
“So, how’s your boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?” I asked, puzzled.
“Come on. We both know who I’m talking about.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Don’t lie to me, Sam. I’ve seen you out with him.”
“Seriously, what are you talking about?”
“Oh come, come,” he whispered. “Lying doesn’t suit you. He’s told you, hasn’t he?”
“Told me what?” I was really exasperated now.
“He’s told you what he is.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”
His voice took on a colder edge. “Let’s cut the crap, shall we?”
Revulsion flooded through me, and I finally mustered the strength to stand. I couldn’t take his pervy mitts on me anymore.
“Look, I think you’d better to go,” I said quietly. “This is getting out of hand.”
Greg rose and started walking swiftly toward me.
“Stay back!” I shouted. But he kept on coming.
I scrambled for the door, tried the handle but found it was jammed, as if by some supernatural force. I tugged desperately on the handle, willing it to open, but it stayed frozen shut. In a blind panic, I turned around—and got the shock of my life.
Greg’s eyes no longer had whites or irises. They were a cold and unnatural yellow with vertical black slits for pupils. Inhuman. His head began to bulge and swell and elongate, his nose protruding into a hideous, upturned snout. Bright green fur sprouted out all over his body, and his ears became long and pointed like a jackal’s. On the crest of his head were two brilliantly white horns, like those of a goat, and loose flaps of skin hung around his hideous jaws. His gnarled fingers stretched and grew longer, with serrated nails pushing through the bloody tips to replace the human ones.
I did not move. I couldn’t even breathe or blink as I watched the unspeakable apparition unfold before me. Greg’s face had vanished in a rapid remolding of features, his eyes bulging in a countenance that was quickly losing all trace of humanity, until he was a feral, demonic-looking creature unlike anything I’d ever seen. His appearance was so horrendous, so foul, that the sight of it made me queasy.
Nothing on earth even comes close to this.
Then, with a wicked cackle, he opened his slavering jaws to reveal a double set of ferociously sharp teeth that were bigger than any creature’s I’d ever seen.
I wanted to pass out. I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot, my stomach churning.
As Greg drew closer, my eyes widened and my breath came out in short, sharp bursts. I’d never been so terrified in my life. The crippling fear seeped through every pore of my soul.
I heard a low, trickling sound.
Glancing down, I realized I’d peed my pants. Greg followed my gaze and leered horribly, watching the urine collect in a steaming hot puddle on the carpet.
He gave a coarse, guttural laugh and reached for me, sweeping me clean off my feet. The strength of his grip was terrifying, his claws so tight I thought he’d snap me in two.
And then he started talking in a deep, throaty voice that seemed to shake the room to its very foundations. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this quick. You won’t suffer for too long, I promise. I think I’m going to enjoy this …”
His fingers tightened around my throat as he shook my body to and fro, choking me slowly, like a rag doll.
And that was when I noticed the mist: a fluorescent purple vapor had begun filtering in under the door, rapidly filling the room in a smog as thick as pea soup. Greg threw me down and took a step backwards, his demonic eyes darting right and left. Within seconds, the mist had cleared and Elliot had materialized with a grim expression on his face.
I gasped for breath, unable to comprehend what was happening.
From my crouching position on the floor, I watched in horror as Greg swung his clawed fist, narrowly missing Elliot’s chin. Elliot staggered back, then caught Greg in a headlock and rammed him into the wall, smashing a hole through the plaster.
I ducked as shards of wood and masonry showered down on me like a hailstorm. Greg quickly recovered and plowed forward; he kicked out at Elliot’s knee, sending him sprawling. Elliot picked himself up and threw a long punch at Greg’s face, which the monstrous creature
dodged. In retaliation, Greg aimed a kick at Elliot’s ribs, but missed. Elliot danced back and lunged forward, knocking his opponent to the ground with a powerful uppercut.
I winced.
Elliot rained blow after blow down on Greg’s head, his fists moving at the speed of lightning. I heard the pounding of flesh against flesh, a muffled, wet sound that made me feel sick. For a second, Greg’s body lay motionless, as if he’d been knocked out. But Elliot knew better. He snatched up one of the dining chairs and smashed it over Greg’s head just as he was attempting to stand. The body lay there motionless, covered with splinters, as Elliot took a second to catch his breath.
Then another astonishing thing happened. Greg vanished into thin air.
I rubbed my eyes and blinked, unable to believe what I’d just seen.
“Don’t be fooled, he’s still here,” Elliot warned, glancing warily around the room. “He’s pulling one of his tricks.”
My heart thudded as I looked about uneasily. Greg could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.
“Look out!” I screamed as one of the dining chairs lifted and whacked Elliot hard over the head, sending him stumbling into the TV. With a cry of pain, he picked up the set and hurled it in the general direction of the dining table. The TV exploded against the door and lay in a tangled heap of wires on the floor.
Staggering, Elliot took a couple of faltering steps toward me. Suddenly, I felt hot breath against my face and a vice-like grip closing around my throat as an invisible force pulled me back against something hard.
“Stay back or the girl gets it,” Greg’s voice hissed. “Make one move and I’ll break her neck, I swear it.”
Elliot hesitated, his blue eyes staring at something beyond me that neither of us could see. He tilted his head and squinted, like he was trying to work out Greg’s line of vision.
“Let her go,” he bellowed. “Let her go now.”
“No, I’m having way too much fun,” Greg chuckled, and I felt his grip tighten on me like the coils of an anaconda.
I sucked in a deep breath, my cheeks puffed out in excruciating pain. I couldn’t see straight. “P-please, he’s c-choking me. Do something!”
Elliot lunged forward and the two of them grappled on the floor with me caught in the middle. Somehow, Elliot wrenched me out and I rolled across the carpet like a skittle. Blinking rapidly, I watched from the ground as he kicked and punched and struggled with an invisible force. Then he released all his coiled-up power and swung a blow that sent the sofa smashing into the far wall, presumably with Greg attached. There was a loud groan and a piercing crack that indicated a snapped bone.
