Just before leaving for work Kath lifted the highlander and placed him on the sofa in a sitting position.
John laughed. “We’ll come home and find him watching the TV and drinking my beer.”
Kath gave him a peck on the cheek. “Maybe we could have a threesome.”
John was still laughing as they left.
“I’ve already got a little wood of my own,” he said. “I’ll show it to you later.”
Work at the pottery turned into a day from hell and Kath struggled to keep up. As supervisor she was the one that had to handle most of the problems that arose. An order from Canada had got lost in transit; another to Seattle had turned up broken, and a customer complaint escalated into legal action. Then she spent two hours in the warehouse trying to get a problem with the kiln fixed. She felt frazzled by lunchtime, unable to relax even over a hastily grabbed sandwich in the Mall. When her cell-phone rang mid-afternoon she grabbed at it hungrily, eager for any distraction.
She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line, but she recognized the accent.
“Do you have any Scottish in you lass?” the voice asked.
“John? I don’t have time for this.”
“John? I dinna ken any John. I hae come forth as a red sodjer, to answer truly of things present, past, and to come. Thirty legions follow at ma back, and the Dukes of Hell itself quail at ma command. So tell me truly, do you hae any Scottish in you, lass?”
Just at that Kath’s supervisor walked past and frowned. That was the only thing he needed to do.
“Enough of this crap. I’ll see you later, John,” she whispered into the phone, and hung up.
The kiln kept playing up all afternoon, and in the end they decided the best thing was to just leave it running rather than risk shutting it down and not being able to get it restarted. When she got back to the office she found that more orders had gone astray. She ended up working late just to keep up. It was after seven before she left the office and nearly eight before she got home.
She opened the front door and shouted.
“I hope you’ve made something to eat. I’ve been standing in front of a hot kiln all afternoon so there’s no way I’m going near the stove.”
There was no reply. But the light was on in the front room, and she distinctly remembered switching it off before leaving in the morning.
The house was quiet.
She walked towards the front room. Just as she approached the door the light went out.
“Come on, John. Stop messing about.”
Something moved in the dark room beyond.
“I’m not in the mood for this shit,” she said. “I need a shower. I expect supper to be ready when I come out.”
As she turned away, the light came on again. She caught a movement at the corner of her sight.
“I told you John. I’ve had a bad day.”
She stepped into the front room…and had to stifle a scream.
John lay on the floor, blood pumping from a wound in his thigh. The pool of red spread out across the carpet. John’s face was pale, almost white, his eyelids fluttering wildly. She ran to his side and knelt.
“Shit, John. What’s happened?”
She reached for her phone.
Slice!
She pulled her hand back. A new red welt ran across the back of it. Somebody laughed. There was a skittering behind the sofa.
I don’t have time for games.
She reached for the phone again. John looked up at her.
“Run,” he whispered. “Get out of here.”
The effort was too much for him. He lay back, eyes rolling up in their sockets.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” she shouted as she dialled the emergency services.
She screamed in frustration as the phone kept ringing, seven rings before it was answered.
“Don’t move him,” they said. “Somebody will be with you in five minutes.”
“Did you hear that?” she said to John. “Five minutes. Just hold on.”
The laughter came from behind the sofa again.
“I seriously doubt he’s got that long, lass,” a Scottish accented voice said.
She reached into her handbag and brought out her can of Mace. She held it on front of her like a gun.
“Who’s there?” she asked. The tremble in her own voice scared her, but she stood over John’s body and did a three hundred and sixty degree search of the room.
There was no sign of anyone.
It was only then that she realized that the puppet wasn’t on the sofa. The controlling crossbars sat on a cushion amid a pile of cut string.
No fucking way.
The laugh came again.
The puppet stepped out from behind the sofa. It had a swashbuckling swagger to its walk. It raised a small sword in the air and saluted her. There was blood on the blade.
I’ve gone mad.
“Do you have any Scottish in you, lass?” The whole of its lower jaw fell and rose as it talked, like a ventriloquist’s dummy. The too-blue eyes stared straight at her.
Kath shook her head from side to side.
This can’t be happening.
Again it laughed.
“Do you have any Scottish in you, lass?” it asked again.
She didn’t reply…couldn’t. To talk would be to acknowledge that this was real.
“Would you like some?” It lifted the kilt up to reveal a perfectly formed set of genitals. An erection, a stub of wood like a pencil pointing straight at her. It laughed loudly - an evil sounding thing.
“Pleased to meet you, lass,” it said. “The name’s Berith, and I’m here to enjoy myself. I haven’t had a lass for many a year. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
It stepped forward.
She Maced it, sending spray all over its face. It smacked the wooden lips.
“Tasty,” it said, and kept coming, swinging the sword. Kath felt a bolt of white pain in her shins and looked down to see fresh blood flow. She kicked out with the other leg, a lucky shot that hit the puppet in the chest and sent it flying right across the room to hit the far wall with a thud. It fell in a tangle and clatter to the ground and lay still.
“Yes!” Kath shouted.
Outside the insistent nee-naw of an ambulance heralded the arrival of the rescue team.
***
The next half-hour passed in a blur. The medics worked on John and got the bleeding stopped. She kept an eye on the puppet the whole time. It didn’t move, and was still lying in a heap on the floor when they got John onto a stretcher and took him out to the ambulance.
She locked the house up and went to sit in the back on the way to the hospital.
John was out cold, but the medics assured her that they’d got to him in time.
She held his hand all the way until they got to the ER and he was taken away. After that she sat in a cold corridor in a too-hard chair and tried to make sense of what she’d seen.
Fucking demonic puppets? No way. I must have had a breakdown, seeing John like that.
She spent a long time trying to tell herself it had all been a hallucination.
But hallucinations don’t leave scars.
The medics had bandaged the wound on her shin, but the red welt on the back of her hand was clearly visible, and she could still hear the accent in her head.
Do you have any Scottish in you lass? Would you like some?
She almost jumped off her seat when a young doctor put a hand on her shoulder.
“You can see him now,” he said.
He led her along the corridor. John was in a room at the far end, hooked up to a series of machines, a saline drip in his right arm. He still looked pale, but he managed a small smile when she walked in.
Suddenly she couldn’t see for tears. She sat down beside him and patted his free arm as if it was a fretting pet.
“I’m OK,” he whispered.
This is where I ask what happened. But I already know…d
on’t I?
John waited until the young doctor had gone before talking again. This time she saw the fear in his eyes.
“It’s all my own fault,” he said quietly. “That stupid fucking film. How was I supposed to know it would actually fucking work?”
She gripped his hand.
“I’m going to be a better Catholic girl from now on. And you just concentrate on getting better. I think I cleaned the little booger’s clock. I punted him into the wall.”
“Score one for the home team,” John said. He tried to laugh, but he didn’t have the strength. He tightened his grip on Kath’s hand. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. You’ll be here when I wake up?”
She nodded.
“For as long as it takes. Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
He fell asleep still holding tightly to her, as if afraid to let go. She sat there for a while, just watching him. She was just starting to fall asleep herself when there was a knock at the door.
She turned. A uniformed policeman stood in the doorway, looking apologetic.
“Sorry to bother you miss, but can I have a word?”
I’ve been dreading this.
She went out into the corridor and gently closed the door behind her.
“He’s sleeping,” she said. “Can’t this wait?”
“Just a few questions miss,” the man said. “We need to know if you can tell us anything about the attack?”
“Only that I came home and found John on the floor. He’d been stabbed.”
The policeman looked at her intently.
“And when you got home, the front door was closed?”
I know where this is leading. But what can I say?
She nodded. The policeman continued.
“You see, we found no sign of a break in, and your boyfriend has no defensive wounds. It’s as if he just let someone walk up and stab him in the leg.”
Go on, say it… someone he knew.
The policeman was waiting for her to say something, but there was nothing she could say that would help.
“Did you see a puppet?” she asked finally. “It was lying against the far wall?”
“A puppet? No, can’t say that I did. But what has that got to do with anything?”
This isn’t getting me anywhere.
“I’ve told you all I know,” she stated. “You’ll have to ask John who stabbed him…when he wakes up.”
The policeman didn’t look happy, but he didn’t arrest her either, which she took as a good sign.
For now.
The policeman walked away and Kath turned back to enter the room.
Something was wrong - she knew that immediately. John’s sheets were red where they should be white, and something crawled beneath them. Even as she entered the room a small head, beret perched on top, poked out from near John’s neck.
“Whoever knew he had so much in him?” the puppet said, and cackled. “It’s good to see you again, lass. And now that the lad is out of the game, maybe you and I could walk out together? Maybe go for a wee drink? Just wait till I finish off here. He’s nearly done.”
That’s when she saw the puppet’s main body come out from under the sheet. The white shirt was now deep red, and blood dripped both from the sword in the right hand and the long knife in the left. The puppet clambered over John’s face and plunged the knife deep into his left eye.
Kath screamed.
The puppet looked round as footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond.
“Now look what you’ve done, lass. Have I not done enough work today?”
It stood on John’s chest. John wasn’t breathing, and Kath couldn’t look away from his cold dead eyes. She was still staring when the door opened behind her.
“What the hell is that…some kind of fucking monkey?” the policeman asked.
Those were his last words. The puppet leapt off the bed, flying through the air. Kath ducked instinctively. It went over her head. She felt spray on her face.
John’s blood. John’s dead blood.
The policeman screamed behind her. She turned just in time to see the puppet swing on the collar of the uniform jacket and slice backhand across the man’s neck. A thin red line rose as if by magic. Blood began to pour in a sheet down the uniform. The policeman fell to his knees and started to gurgle.
The puppet jumped down and turned back to Kath.
“Ready for me yet, lass? I’m ready for you.”
The erection showed clearly under the kilt.
Kath’s only thought was to run, but the puppet stood between her and the door. It stomped and splashed in the puddle of blood, dancing a jig and singing.
Wankin’ doon the bankin’ on the bonnie banks o’ Clyde. Wankin’ doon the bankin’ wi’ a lassie by my side.
If she hadn’t known it already, she did now. The puppet wasn’t just evil – it was totally insane.
“So where does a man take a lassie for a beer or two around here?” It enquired.
Kath backed away. Her hand fell on the bed-sheets and came away red and sticky. She stifled another scream.
“Come on, lass,” it said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Play nice.”
She dragged the sheet from the bed, trying not to look at the ruin the puppet had made of John’s chest. She held it in front of her, like a bullfighter.
The puppet laughed and charged.
She threw the sheet over the top of it and leapt in the same move. She felt something stab at her ankle bringing a searing pain. She almost stumbled over the policeman’s body.
The man was still alive. He reached up for her as she passed.
“Help me,” he mouthed through bubbles of blood.
I can’t even help myself.
She stumbled out into the corridor, slapping bloody handprints on the walls.
Behind her the puppet laughed and shouted.
“I’ll be with you in a second, darling. I’ll just finish up here first.”
The policeman screamed.
Kath ran.
***
She had no idea what to do. Her ankle hurt and, looking down, she saw she had a fresh wound, just above the heel of her shoe. She had left a dripping trail behind her, all the way along the corridor. The door to the room was slightly ajar, and she could hear the puppet singing.
Oh it’s lovely wankin’ doon the bankin’.
She fled, slamming through the swing doors at the end of the corridor and into a maze of passages and rooms. Medical workers stared at her, but no one moved to help.
A tannoy crackled into action.
Security to level six.
She took the first door she came to and went through into a long empty corridor.
At the far end was a small sign: Chapel of Rest.
A memory came to her, from just minutes before, from a time that now seemed too far away to be real.
I’m going to be a better Catholic girl from now on.
She stumbled along the corridor and almost fell into the chapel, a small room, barely big enough for twelve seats. A tall crucifix at the far end of the room loomed high above a small altar. A solitary communion cup sat just off centre. There was no one else around. She closed the door behind her and leaned her weight against it.
The enormity of her situation hit her all at once. Once the sobbing started, she couldn’t stop. Her mind filled with images - John in a pool of blood on the front room floor, John, pale but smiling, holding her hand…but most of all, John’s cold dead eyes.
Christ looked down at her from the crucifix. The blood at his head and side only reminded her all the more of the events of the night.
This was a mistake. There’s no comfort for me here.
Still, she did not move, paralyzed with a fear that prevented any kind of lucid decision-making.
I should go to the cops.
But that conversation would only ever end the same way. She didn’t have to hear it to know what they would say.
“What do you mean a fucking
puppet?”
She crumpled to the floor by the door, keeping her weight on it to make sure it couldn’t be opened. She could barely see through tears. Once again she looked up at the cross.
“Tell me what to do,” she pleaded. “Please tell me what to do.”
There was no answer.
She let her head fall, and allowed the tears to come. She hadn’t noticed anyone approach, but someone touched her on the shoulder.
“Can I help you, miss?”
She looked up. A priest leaned over her, a concerned look on his face.
Kath scrambled away and huddled by the side of the door, hands wrapped around her knees.
“You should leave,” she whispered. “It’s not safe to be around me. He’ll be coming.”
The priest spoke calmly. He had his arms outstretched, palms towards her to show he wasn’t a threat.
“No harm will come to you. Not in here.”
She sobbed. “I wish I could believe that.”
The black-clad priest put out a hand towards her.
“Come. Tell me.”
That was all he said, but it opened a floodgate inside her. She let him lift her up. It was only then he noticed the blood.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She checked her heel. The bleeding had almost stopped.
“The blood’s not mine,” she said. That gave the priest pause. For a second Kath thought he was going to step away, but he started leading her to a chair.
She almost fell against him, all strength gone from her legs. He half-carried her to the seat. All the way, she kept staring at the door, expecting it to open at any second.
The fear bubbled up in her again.
“Lock the door,” she said, almost a scream.
“There’s no need…” he started.
This time she did scream.
“Lock the fucking door!”
For the first time the concern in his eyes changed, to something more like suspicion. But after making sure she wasn’t going to fall off the chair he did what she asked. The loud click as he locked them in sounded strangely reassuring.
The Demonologia Biblica Page 3
