The smell of freshly cut wood had long since been replaced by must and mould, damp and decay. Armoured grey wood lice in their thousands scurried beneath his Hush Puppies, making the floor look alive. Every footstep seemed to crush a hundred of them, their crunching bodies threatening to give away his arrival. The loft above him was supported by a suspended wooden platform, thick curtains of grey cobwebs dangled from every crack in the floorboards. An antiquated giant band-saw dominated the ground floor and he had to skirt around it to reach the front of the building.
Jack heard muffled voices upstairs. All male. Three at least. A rotten wooden staircase was the only access, its handrail splintered into several sections, some of which dangled uselessly in the air. Beneath it, another set of steps led to a cellar. Jack looked into the gloomy stairwell. The darkness at the bottom was inky black. The nerves in his spine tingled and the voice of reason inside his head told him to leave the cellar alone. There was no need to go down there. A dreadful feeling of desolation crept into his mind, hopelessness and misery touched his soul. Despair oozed from the cellar. He felt a tear form in his eye and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Wretchedness dwelled down there in the darkness and he had to confront it.
He took a deep breath and steeled himself against the sense of despondency that threatened to engulf him. The steps creaked beneath his weight and he heard tiny claws scurrying away, searching for dark corners to hide in. As he neared the bottom of the staircase, his feet seemed to disappear from view as if he had stepped into a stream of blackness. A sense of total dereliction overwhelmed him. He reached for his torch, anxious at what horrors its light would reveal and clicked it on with his thumb. The light flickered and the beam struggled to push the darkness back. It seemed to retreat and then creep forward again, threatening to envelop him. The beam hardly illuminated the dank space; the corners of the cellar remained hidden. Jack swung the beam in a wide arc.
Near the far wall was an altar draped with goatskins. Thick church candles encircled it. On top of it the skull of a four-horned ram sat staring at him. The empty eye sockets were black. On the wall behind it was the pentangle with a goat’s head daubed within. ‘The Sigil of Baphomet,’ Jack whispered to himself. He knew that this wasn’t a place of group worship. The symbols and markings were all wrong. This was where the priestess prepared herself. He stepped onto the cellar floor and felt a tingle run through him. Sweeping the beam beneath the stairs, he saw different markings daubed on the grimy plaster. Syrian demonology, he guessed. They were similar but not exactly the same as some he had seen in his research. A thick rope dangled from a block-and-tackle, which was fixed to the rafters above and beneath it stood an iron bath. The feet were shaped as demonic claws grasping human skulls. The enamel was stained with a dark tidemark and the wall was dotted with bloody handprints. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered beneath his breath.
Invisible hands gripped him, cold fingers clawed at his soul. He gasped as the image of Jenny Mclean entered his mind. She was hung upside down, her throat slashed from ear to ear, blood pouring into the bath beneath her. Her eyes were black, piercing and accusing. ‘Help me, Jack,’ she giggled. Her voice was a thick guttural gurgling. She smiled. It was an evil twisted smile; her teeth were smeared with her blood. ‘Aren’t you going to help me, Jack?’ She laughed hysterically and it echoed through his mind reaching an unbearable pitch. Her expression changed. She looked surprised, as if she was going to choke. Her mouth opened wide. Projectile vomit splattered the bath. She screamed and her body began to spasm, her jaw distended and a thousand bloated flies exploded from her throat. The black jet of buzzing insects gushed towards him. He staggered backwards and clasped his hands over his ears to stop the vision. His foot hit the bottom step and he dropped the torch. Blackness swamped him, evil, sickness and decay smothered him. The insects tried to enter his every orifice and suffocate him. Jack bolted up the stairs gasping for his breath and crouched against the wall. He knew that the images were imaginary but he still waited for the vile flies to chase him. Sweat ran down his back in cold rivulets. He shook his head and tried to compose himself. ‘Breathe deeply, Jack,’ he muttered. ‘Get a grip of yourself.’ His breathing slowed as the nauseating effects of the cellar waned. ‘Get a grip? That’s easy for you to say. The bitch has got a blood bath.’ His senses returned slowly.
The urge to push on to find the girls was strong, but his experience in the cellar had drained him. He was a cynic and always would be but there was no doubting the overwhelming sense of evil that he had felt. There was an explanation for it, there always was. Yes, he knew that the devil existed and yes, he knew that there were those who could direct his energy for their own benefit, but what he had felt in the cellar was misery on a cosmic scale. Whoever this woman was, she had a God given talent. Maybe not God given, but it was impressive in a sick way.
Jack felt his strength returning with every breath that he took. The sense of numbness faded. He could hear the men chattering as they ate their lunch. The aroma of pies drifted to him. They were having their dinner, which was a bonus. Jack had hoped that his rescue mission would be simple and straightforward, as after all, they weren’t expecting him. He planned to surprise them so much that they wouldn’t know what had hit them, until it was too late.
Jack shook the disturbing images from his mind, crouched at the bottom of the stairs and pulled his collar up. He took a deep breath and sprinted up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. He heard the conversation stop and a few surprised expletives were exchanged as his footsteps alerted them to his presence. As Jack reached the landing at the top, he shouted as loud as he could and held up his old police warrant card.
‘Armed police,’ he bellowed. He held the sawn-off tightly against his shoulder and knelt down to make himself a smaller target. ‘Get your hands up in the air now!’
The sudden noise, combined with the shotgun startled them. He hoped that they would think that he was part of an armed police unit, long enough for him to disarm them. There were three men sat in a semicircle below the only window; the bald man who he had seen outside, a grey bearded man in his sixties and an old biker looking guy with sideburns and a ponytail. Jack couldn’t see any weapons, which was a bonus. The chairs were arranged around a small screen television, which was perched on an old crate. Ponytail stood up, his pies in one hand, raising the other above his head. His mouth was open, revealing the half chewed contents. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off them to look for Constance and Jenny.
‘Don’t shoot,’ greybeard joined ponytail and stood up. ‘I can explain everything.’
‘Get your hands up, now!’ Jack screamed. They jumped visibly and complied, three bags of pastry spilled in the dust. ‘Where are Jenny and the girl?’
None of them spoke but their eyes involuntarily flickered to a point behind him. ‘Get on the floor face down and do it now!’
Two of them responded quickly but baldy hesitated and eyed Jack suspiciously. He fired a shot above him. The lead shot blew a hole in the roof bringing down a landslide of grit and filthy debris. It was more than enough to discourage him from arguing. He hit the floor like a sack of spuds, giving Jack the opportunity to glance behind him. A young girl was sat on the floor, tied to a roof support. She was gagged and blindfolded. Her long blond hair hung lankly to her shoulders. She was struggling against her restraints which was causing a small avalanche of dust to fall from the pitched ceiling, showering her with powdery grime. ‘Stay calm, Constance,’ Jack shouted. ‘I’ll have you out in a minute.’ He could see the shape of a woman tied on the other side of the post. ‘Jenny!’ Jack shouted.
‘He’s not the Police,’ Baldy hissed to the others
‘What do you mean?’ whispered ponytail.
‘He’s on his own, and since when did they use sawn-offs?’
‘Shut up!’ Jack shouted. He walked over to them.
‘Who are you?’ the Satanist sneered.
‘I’m the man that barbecues Satanist
s,’ Jack looked at their reactions, ‘one wrong word from any of you and I’ll blow your balls off. Get it?’ They nodded that they understood, the colour draining from their faces. ‘Get up baldy,’ he aimed the gun as he spoke. He was the mouthy one and therefore the one most likely to cause him problems. ‘Sit on the chair.’
He sat down as instructed. ‘She’ll find you eventually,’ he sneered. ‘You have no idea what she is, the High Priestess is barely human. She uses their blood to bathe. The blood of the females keeps her young and of course we get to have some fun with them first.’ The look on his face was one of disdain, disgust and an almost perverse superiority. ‘You’re a dead man but you haven’t realised it yet. Do you know what she is? I don’t think you have a clue what she can do to those who cross us!’ His expression of disgust really bothered Jack.
‘She doesn’t scare me,’ he lied.
‘She’ll eat you alive, you fool,’ the Satanist sneered, ‘you and your family and friends.’
‘She hasn’t done so far.’
‘Do you have any idea how many of us there are?’ he scoffed, like a schoolboy bragging about how big his dad is. ‘Taking your friend is just a message. It’s nothing to what we can do to you. You do not understand what we are capable of!’
‘Maybe not, but the mistake that you’re making is not understanding what I’m capable of.’ Jack saw fear in his eyes, as he raised the gun. ‘I need you two to remember this. Tell the other sickos in your little group what happens to people who threaten my friends.’ He pulled the trigger twice and blew the annoying expression off his face along with most of his head. Ponytail whimpered like a wounded dog and greybeard retched as he reloaded. Blood and globules of grey matter splattered their faces. Constance let out a scream, the sound muffled by the gag. ‘Constance,’ Jack called, ‘I need you to stay still and do not panic no matter what you hear. I’ll come and untie you in a couple of minutes. Do you understand me?’
She nodded silently although Jack could see her legs were trembling and a puddle of urine began to spread beneath her. He turned his attention back to the horrified Satanists. ‘I was going to tie you up and leave you here until the police arrived, but I’m beginning to get the impression that you lot think that I’m some kind of cockroach, running and hiding under a rock somewhere.’
‘I don’t think that,’ Ponytail stuttered.
‘I’m not hiding from you,’ Jack explained calmly. ‘I will never hide from you. Understand?’
Ponytail put his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘Please don’t kill me.’ His eyes were closed so that he couldn’t see the ruined body of his friend. ‘I’ll do anything you ask, if you let me live.’
‘Okay. Let’s see, shall we?’ Jack tossed a bundle of cable ties onto the floor in front of him. ‘Tie him up with those, two around the ankles and two around the wrists.’
Ponytail scurried off on his hands and knees. His hands were shaking so much that he fumbled clumsily with the zip ties. He avoided looking at the headless corpse which was still sitting upright on its chair. The cloying smell of excrement mingled with the coppery smell of blood. Baldy’s bowels had relaxed upon death, releasing his waste into his trousers. ‘Your friend is starting to stink already,’ Jack commented on Baldy’s deterioration. Ponytail just stared at him, his lip shaking like an epileptic pink slug beneath his moustache. He obviously didn’t have an opinion to share with Jack. ‘I don’t think he’s gone to hell to be a dark angel, I think he’s just a dead paedophile with the contents of his lower intestines in his pants.’ Tears ran from Ponytail’s eyes.
Jack took out his telephone and dialled. The emergency operator began asking a stream of questions but he placed the phone on the floor next to greybeard’s head. ‘Tell them who you are and why you kidnapped the girl,’ Jack aimed the gun at his head. ‘If you mention Jenny or me, you’re dead. Lie once and your brains will be all over that wall.’
He nodded that he understood. ‘My name is David Wilder and I’m involved in the kidnapping of a girl.’
‘Tell them her name,’ I ordered.
‘Her name is Constance Bonner.’
‘Tell them why.’
‘She was kidnapped because we were going to use her in part of a satanic ceremony.’
Jack ended the call and strapped his hands and feet together leaving the two of them cowering in the dirt. Ponytail was sobbing in the filth as Jack ran to Constance. He cut through her bonds and lifted her to her feet. Jenny looked like she had been drugged. He removed the gag and pulled off her blindfold. Her eyes showed signs of consciousness and terror in them. He reached for a bottle of water and put it to her lips. She gulped thirstily from it. Jack couldn’t see Jenny in her features. Constance was olive skinned and her eyes were green. He kept his body between her and the carnage behind him. ‘Your Auntie Jenny doesn’t look too good, does she?’ Jack joked trying to build a rapport with her. The little girl looked at Jenny with confusion etched into her features. Jack stopped for a moment. ‘Is she your auntie?’
‘No.’
Jack swore beneath his breath. It was one thing falling for a bluff, but when it was such a schoolboy error, he couldn’t forgive himself. ‘Now listen to me carefully. I want you to close your eyes and run down the stairs, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said her voice a whisper.
Jack turned to Jenny and lifted her like a doll and carried her quickly down the creaking steps. The double doors were unlocked and he put his back against them and pushed them open. The fresh air was invigorating, a stark contrast from the reek of death inside. He put her down on the weed strewn tarmac, which led to the road. The sound of the first responding Police car whined in the distance. Jack turned to Constance, ‘Now, I need you to trust me, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she whispered again. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘The Police are coming,’ he cocked his head and smiled. ‘Can you hear them?’
Constance nodded and bit her lip, ‘I thought you were the Police.’
‘No, but I had to tell the bad men that,’ he shook his head. ‘Now listen to me. I need you to run down this road until the Police car reaches you, okay?’
‘I’m scared,’ she tightened the grip on his hand. ‘I want to stay with you until they get here.’
‘I know you are frightened, but I’m going to stay here and make sure that none of the bad men follow you, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Now run.’
Constance took one last teary look at him and then bolted down the road. She moved quickly for one so young. Jack waited until a curve in the road hid her from view, then he grabbed Jenny and sprinted into the rapeseed and headed back the way he’d come. He knew that Constance would be safe now but knew that things could unravel at any time. He was cursed after all. It was a matter of time before they got to his family and friends again. Jack felt the muscles in his legs burning from the exhaustion as he ran for the trees. He knew that he had to track the leaders of the cult that was targeting him. They had to be stopped and only he could do it. He knew that he would be going back to the flat below 9 Otley Road at some point soon. He wanted more time to study the notes and research that the occult librarian had made. Armed with that information, he would be able to find the serpent. To stop a serpent from biting you, you have to chop off its head and that was exactly what he was going to do. The next time he saw them, it would be at his bequest and this High Priestess would get her bloodbath. Jack Nightingale promised her that.
Conrad Jones is a 49-year-old Author, who has 13 novels published by Constable and Robinson and Thames River Press. The Soft Target Series has six books following a Special Forces Unit and the first book, ‘Soft Target’ is permanently free to download. The Hunting Angels Diaries, A Child for the Devil (Always 77p/99c), Black Angels and Nine Angels is a horror series. The Detective Alec Ramsay Series, including the Best Selling ‘The Child Taker’ has five novels to date. You can find more about Conrad’s novels at.
http://www.f
antasticfiction.co.uk/j/conradjones/
https://www.facebook.com/conradjonesauthorpage
Blood Bath
By Lynnette Waterman
This was something new, a female hand stroking his forehead. Jack Nightingale slowly opened his eyes to see a beautiful, young blonde girl looking at him tenderly. ‘This could be a stupid question, but who are you?’ he asked.
She looked hurt, ‘You don’t remember last night? I know you had been drinking, but your performance was good. My name is Mandy, we met in the bar across the road.’
‘Cigarette, I need a cigarette.’ Nightingale pulled himself up in the bed and looked around. Hmm, not a bad room he thought, at least it’s clean. I need my jacket. He managed to reach it and he got a packet of Marlboro and his lighter out of the pocket. He lit up. ‘That’s better, I needed that.’ After he had finished the cigarette he lit another one straight away and he started to feel relaxed.
‘So what do you want Mandy? I’m not paying you. I don’t remember anything.’
‘I don’t want money, I want you to keep your promise’
‘What promise?’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘Would I ask if I did?’
‘You told me that you could help me get rid of my husband, that you would shoot him for me.’
Nightingale closed his eyes. ‘Oh shit, no,’ he muttered to himself. He started to slowly open his eyes and through the slits he saw not a blonde beauty but an evil looking face looking down at him. The face had morphed from beauty to evil.
‘Ok, ok, what and who are you? Where are you from?’
‘Come on, Jack. You know a good friend of mine. Proserpine. You owe her big time, you belong to her and she has told me that she will let me use you for as long as I need you.’
‘Great, I thought Proserpine and I had come to an understanding.’
‘You can never trust a devil worshipper, you should know that by now. You will never be free Jack.’
Blood Bath (Seven Jack Nightingale Short Stories) Page 13
