The Spinetinglers Anthology 2010

by Неизвестный

  Out of the corner of his eye, Graham looked at the king. And for a second, just a split second, he thought that he could see a slight rise and fall of the king’s chest.

  Breathing …

  Graham ran back down the tunnel.

  ***

  Harry Ross hadn’t spoken to Graham since that night. Two weeks had passed and neither of them had tried to contact the other. Harry was glad. After what his “so called” friend had done to him, not telling him about the curse engraved into the tomb’s entrance, he never wanted to see Graham Carver again.

  Sat in a taxi, heading out of town for a much needed break in Devon, he tried to relax and think of something else but couldn’t. He kept thinking back to what Graham had said: Anyone who desecrates this tomb will be destined to face their worst fear, be consumed by it, and rot in Hell forever.

  That was how Graham had worded it. And Harry wanted to believe that there couldn’t be a curse, that the words were just engraved there to deter thieves. But the fact that the king’s body had been so perfectly preserved, along with all the tomb’s contents, was something that he just couldn’t get out of his mind …

  All of a sudden there was a massive bang as something heavy landed on the roof of the taxi. Harry didn’t even get a split second to react, the metal roof above him caving in like it was made of cardboard. The car windows exploded, fine shards of glass flying up in the air, spraying passers-by. The taxi driver screamed out in agony.

  The screech of brakes.

  Screaming.

  Harry felt the breath being sucked out of his body as the roof of the taxi pressed down on him like a giant metal boa. Out of the corner of his eye, even though the blood running into his eyes was obscuring his vision, he could see an arm hanging over the side of the roof, a hand hanging limp and lifeless. He immediately recognised the gold ring on the middle finger… It was Graham’s.

  Unable to move, Harry hoped that his agony would be short-lived. But the gates of Hell were not to be opened for some time yet…

  Santa Claus is Coming to Town

  By Ilan Lerman

  He sees you when you’re sleeping.©

  Benjamin woke with a cold sweat on his neck. He reached for Felix the Bear, but couldn’t find him amongst the twisted covers. The dark of his bedroom was so thick that his eyes hurt as he peered into it.

  There was something out there watching him. He was sure of it.

  He heard scratching in the walls – the skritch, skritch of tiny, sharp claws.

  The pressure of tears welled up in his chest, becoming a tight pain at the back of his throat. Don’t cry. Big cry-baby. There’s nothing there. Dad said so.

  “It’s just mice, Ben,” his Dad had said. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the noises. “They’re nesting for the winter. It’s nice and warm for them inside the walls.”

  I don’t want them in there, Dad. Take them away!

  The noises stopped. Ben’s eyesight had adjusted to the dark and he could make out the shapes of things in his room: the cupboard where his clothes and Lego were kept, his paintbrushes and crayons sticking up like the spines of a hedgehog on top of the chest of drawers, the desk in front of the window with the curtains shifting from the breeze.

  But the window was shut when I went to sleep. It was shut.

  He turned and burrowed into the covers, finding the sleep-warmth and Felix deep in the centre of the bed, in the faraway spot where nothing could get at him. He wanted to get up and close the window, but good little boys don’t get out of bed in the middle of the night. Ben wanted so much to be good.

  Especially this year with Judgement Day being so important.

  “If you’re good he gives you a present, Ben,” his Dad had told him. “But if you’re bad. Well, you just be a good boy and you won’t have to find out. Will you?”

  It could be any town that he chose. Ben knew he would visit hundreds in the space of one night on the twenty-fifth of December. But this year he would come to Ben’s town of Newburgh. All the kids at school had told him.

  This year, Santa Claus was coming to town.

  ***

  He knows when you’re awake

  ***

  “I heard he’s got teeth like knives and skin like a lizard,” said Raymond. He was two years older than Ben, had gelled hair and wore a Manchester United top. He sat on the low school wall kicking his heels against the bricks. He spoke to Ben and his best mate, Arthur. “He wears a green hood and flies through the air on the back of a dog that’s on fire.”

  “Don’t talk bollocks,” said Arthur. “We all know he’s got a green hood, but he doesn’t fly on a dog that’s on fire. That’s just stupid. And he’s got normal skin like us. You don’t half talk a lot of shite.”

  Raymond snapped his leg up and booted Arthur in the arm.

  “Ow! Bastard!”

  “Better not swear,” said Raymond. “He’ll think you’re a bad boy.”

  “No he won’t. He can’t see us.”

  “Of course he can. He’s watching all the time. He watches you when you’re asleep and he’s watching right now.”

  “Why does he have to come here this year?” asked Ben as he glanced at the sky.

  “Cos’ it’s Judgement Day, retard,” said Raymond. “He visits the same town every twenty-five years on the twenty-fifth of December.”

  “He has a list,” said Arthur. “With everyone’s name on it. He checks it twice.”

  “Then he comes, in the middle of the night,” Raymond whispered, “down your chimney and into your bedroom.”

  Ben tried as hard as possible to hide the slowly developing lump in his throat. His stomach rippled like curtains flapping in the wind. “We don’t have a chimney in our house,” he said. “So he can’t get in then.”

  Raymond and Arthur laughed like a pair of cackling crows. “He can still get in your window, idiot!”

  “How could he get down a chimney anyway? No-one can fit in a chimney. That’s just stupid as well. You’re making it all up.”

  “He gets down the chimney because he can change shape,” said Raymond. “He can be an animal, or a tree, or water.”

  “But what if the window’s locked?”

  “It doesn’t matter, cos’ if he’s coming for you then nothing’ll stop him.”

  “I don’t believe in him,” said Ben, although he hadn’t really made his mind up whether he believed in him or not. He just didn’t want to believe in him.

  Raymond stopped kicking his heels against the wall and stared, open-mouthed at Ben. “You can’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that.”

  “He’s right, Ben.” Arthur shuffled away from him, looking at him like he was infectious.

  “It’s just a story,” said Ben. “It’s not real.”

  “It is real. Stop saying that. He’s got eyes like a dead fish and carries a sack full of bad kid’s heads and...”

  “But if you’re good he gives you a present, right?” Asked Arthur. “If you’ve been good then you get somethin’ nice.”

  Raymond slid off the wall onto the ground. His shoes made a hard slapping sound that echoed around the playground as they hit the tarmac. He moved in close, beckoning Ben and Arthur forward to form a tight huddle. “Yeah, sure, you get a present. But that’s just your mum and dad doing it cos’ you’ve been good. Santa Claus is only interested in the bad kids. If you’ve been bad then he comes for you and cuts off your head. He puts it in his sack and takes it back to his cave in the Arctic and sticks it on a pole for the bears to eat.”

  ***

  He knows if you’ve been bad or good.

  ***

  “Time for bed, Benjamin!”

  Ben sat on the floor of his room building a house from Lego bricks. The door opened and his dad walked in. “Come on, Benjamin. I told you half an hour ago to brush your teeth and get into bed.”

  Ben poked at the roof of his Lego house, hearing the bricks squeak together as he put pressure on them.

 
“I don’t want to go to bed, Dad. I’m not tired.”

  His dad sat on the edge of the bed and gave Ben his concerned face – brow furrowed, mouth turned up at the corner.

  “What’s wrong, Benji? You’ve not been yourself lately. Is it school?”

  “Is Santa Claus real, Dad? “

  “Of course not! Is that what this is about?”

  “But you said before that if I’m good he’ll give me a present.”

  “I was just having some fun with you.”

  “So, he won’t come in the window and get me if I’m bad?”

  “It’s just a story, Benji. He’s not real.” Ben couldn’t tell if his dad was telling the truth or not. He knew parents had a way of saying things that sounded like the truth, but his dad’s expression hadn’t changed once.

  “Well... what’s Judgement Day about?”

  His dad shifted to the left on the bed and patted the covers. “Come sit on the bed and I’ll tell you the story.” Ben thought for a second then hopped up onto the bed next to his dad.

  “Thousands of years ago there were some wise men. They saw a shining star in the sky and knew that a king of men had been born – a saviour who would absolve all humanity of sin. So they travelled many hundreds of miles to find him and give him gifts, but the jealous king who reigned at the time didn’t want to lose his throne. He ordered that all children under the age of two years be killed. And although they tried to hide him, the saviour was found and murdered. The wise men discovered him on the twenty-fifth of December, dead on a pile of straw in a barn full of animals. So, on that day every year we are judged for our sins.”

  “What happened to the king?”

  “Well, the jealous king eventually suffered his own form of judgement – they say he died in horrible pain from disease for his sin of murder.”

  Ben couldn’t speak. He had drawn his legs up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

  “It’s just an ancient story, Benji. Judgement is about looking into yourself and admitting your sins. We all do it every year. Santa Claus is just a made-up figure to frighten little children into understanding what sin is. He’s been talked about for as long as books have been written in many different countries all over the world. Nobody really knows exactly where he came from.”

  “Is that why we get a present every year?”

  “Your present is for being a good boy, and to remind you to always be good – to not kill, or steal, or lie.”

  His dad stood up and stretched. He laid a strong hand on Ben’s shoulder. “That’s enough stories. Now... Bed!”

  “Can you check the window’s shut, Dad?”

  “It’s the middle of winter. Of course it’s shut.”

  “Are the mice still in the walls?”

  “Forget about the mice, Benjamin. They can’t hurt you. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

  “Santa Claus can’t get into the house, can he?”

  “Of course not, Benji.”

  “So, he won’t come for me, will he?”

  His dad winked at him. “Well, if you’re good, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  ***

  So be good for goodness sake.

  ***

  It was the night before Judgement Day and the only creatures stirring in the house were Benjamin and the mice.

  All day at school, Raymond and the other older kids had been singing a song – “You better watch out, you better not cry...” It rang out like a bell across the playground and down the school corridors. Every time Ben heard it he ran in the opposite direction.

  School closed early in the afternoon and Ben began walking home. He had heard some teachers talking about Santa Claus when he had passed the staff room and, despite feeling a crawling sensation in his stomach from nerves, he stopped to listen to what they were saying. He was sure that no-one had been straight with him so far. Perhaps he could learn something new. “Little Jack’s had nightmares about Santa Claus every night for the last week.”

  “My two girls are the same. It doesn’t matter how much I tell them that he’s not real, they just get so spooked.”

  “Well you can’t blame them, can you?”

  “I guess not, but they’ve got nothing to worry about. They’ve been so good.”

  “Can you still remember?”

  “Yeah. Sort of, but it’s hazy, I was only four last time he came.”

  “They say that’s what happened to Joe Foster.”

  “Yeah, I remember him.”

  “I suppose the kids can sense him coming, or something.”

  “Best to just keep telling them he doesn’t exist. Hope they keep up the good behaviour.”

  Ben ran from the school, out through the playground and down the street. He beat out a frantic pace along the pavement, his mind whirling. He looked to the skies, thought he saw a fiery streak across the darkening heavens. Just a shooting star. It’s nothing.

  When he arrived home, he watched from his bedroom window as the night consumed the sky and fell over his house like a shroud. He drew the curtains and played with his Lego. His dad was downstairs in the kitchen.

  In the walls he could hear them - the skritch, skritch of tiny, sharp claws.

  He crept up to the wall and pressed his ear to it. There was silence. Ben turned away, annoyed.

  Skritch, skritch, skritch.

  He stared at the wall. Right at the point where he thought they would be and slid forward to listen again. This time he heard them – claws scraping at the plasterboard; pin-sharp teeth gnawing at the wood. They’re making a hole! To come through at night and get me.

  Ben balled his hand into a tight fist and thumped the wall as hard as he could. Once. Twice. Three times.

  The noise stopped. Ben put his ear to the wall again and listened. He couldn’t hear a thing. Not a sound. There was a dent in the plasterboard where he’d pounded the wall. He heard his dad coming up the stairs.

  “Benjamin? What are you doing up there? What was all that banging?”

  “Nothing, Dad. I’m just playing.”

  The door opened and his dad strode into the room. This time he had his angry look on his face – brow furrowed deeply, mouth turned down at the corner.

  “Is it the mice again? What did I tell you?” Ben saw him looking at the dent in the wall and shuffled over to hide it.

  “Out of the way, Benjamin.”

  “No, Dad. It’s nothing. I didn’t do anything.” Ben’s bottom lip started to quiver. A tear rolled down his cheek. You better not cry.

  “Out of the way!”

  Ben rolled to the side, his chest hopping up and down and sobs erupting from his throat.

  “Do you realise what you’ve done, Benjamin?” He had never seen his dad so angry before. “You might have killed them. They’re just tiny creatures. A loud noise like that can frighten them to death!”

  Ben was inconsolable. He flopped on his knees amongst the Lego bricks, crying uncontrollably, snot dripping from his nose.

  “And then you lied about it.” A look of abject terror suddenly came over his dad’s face. His eyes widened and the colour drained from his cheeks. He whispered, “oh, sweet Judgement... do you know what this means?”

  Ben’s crying abated for a few seconds and was replaced by a hammering pulse in his heart as his dad backed away from him like he was on fire.

  “Get into bed, Benjamin. Right now. If you fall asleep then he can’t get you. If you’re soundly asleep then you’ll be okay.”

  “Dad?”

  “Do it, Benjamin. Just cover your ears and eyes and fall asleep.”

  “But...”

  “If I had any sleeping pills I’d give them to you, but he could be here any minute. It’s already dark.”

  “I can’t sleep now!”

  “You’ve no choice.”

  “You said he didn’t exist. You said.”

  “You should’ve just been a good boy. That’s all you had to do. Just one more day.”
<
br />   “But, Dad...”

  “It’s no good, Benjamin. I can’t stop him. Nobody can stop him.”

  “Dad?”

  “I can’t, Benjamin. This is what Judgement is about.”

  “You won’t help me?”

  “I can’t help you, Son. This is the year he comes to our town.”

  “He... he’s real!”

  “Try to sleep. He can’t get you if you’re asleep. It’s the only way.”

  ***

  You better watch out.

  ***

  Ben shivered in the faraway place. He was curled as tight as possible with Felix at the centre of the bed. The covers were wrapped around him creating a cocoon; a protective shield from the outside, but it was still cold.

  He tried to fall asleep, tried counting sheep, reciting the alphabet, doing the nine times table. Nothing worked. It was so cold. Fingers of ice reached under the covers and stroked him. The window was definitely closed. He had checked after his dad had left the room.

  What am I doing? Run. Run and get help. Dad’ll help me.But Ben kept seeing the image of his dad backing out of the bedroom, his face bone-white, his eyes lowered.

  “I can’t help you, Son.”

  I could just run away. Grab some clothes and run from the house.

  In the distance, somewhere outside the house amongst the rushing wind he heard laughter, but it wasn’t friendly laughter. It was a deep, booming laugh that split the night like a thunderclap, “Ho, ho, ho!” it went. Then it was gone. Ben didn’t feel like running anymore. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t dare move from the bed. He pulled the covers even tighter, until his fingers ached from gripping them.

  Have to sleep. Dad said I have to sleep. It’ll be okay. It’ll be all right.