by Shaun Hutson
‘I said I’ll keep this simple. I’ll also keep it brief. My father began this work over forty years ago, on the directive of the British government. The project was called "Genesis". That name, I know, will mean nothing to you.’ Curtis smiled. ‘Except perhaps in its Biblical sense. The name was apt. Genesis describes the creation of life, and that was what Project Genesis was designed to do. My father perfected a fertility drug, refined from human pituitary glands. Given in the right doses it would cut the gestation period from nine months to three. In larger measures perhaps even to four weeks. And it worked.’ The doctor’s tone hardened. ‘He did what they told him to do. The government, Churchill in particular, knew that the Germans would invade after Dunkirk. They also knew that there weren’t enough men to combat an invasion. They needed my father and his work. Once the women had given birth the children would be regularly injected with the drug, their growth outside the womb would be as rapid as it had been while they were gestating. A child could grow into a man in less than two months.’
‘You’re mad and by the sound of it, so was your fucking father,’ Hacket said.
The twin twisted his head sharply and Hacket felt excruciating pain in his neck and skull. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound would come.
‘Another inch and I’ll break your neck,’ said the twin, leaning close to his ear, both mouths moving slowly.
Curtis held up a hand for the other to release the pressure and Hacket felt the force diminish somewhat. White stars danced before his eyes, and for a second he thought he was going to black out, but he kept a grip on consciousness, listening as Curtis continued.
‘There was no madness, Hacket. Only supreme intelligence. But they couldn’t see that. The men who had wanted his expertise were frightened by the success of his experiments. Some of the children were born deformed. Like my brother. Mentally they were perfect but their physical appearance was unacceptable.’ He spoke the last word with sarcasm. ‘They told my father to stop his work. He refused, so they had him murdered.’ The knot of muscles at the side of the doctor’s jaw throbbed angrily. ‘My mother was left alone. She was pregnant at the time, carrying myself and my brother. She brought us up alone. Protected my brother, paid for me to go through Medical school. When the time was right she passed on our father’s notes. I continued with his work. And, if people have had to die during the course of that work, then too bad. A few human lives are drops in the ocean. Besides, for every one that’s died there’s been another to take their place. A child where there would never have been one. Hope where there was only misery.’
‘The grave in the back garden,’ Hacket said, quietly. ‘Who is it?’
‘Our mother. Margaret Lawrenson. After we were born she gave us her maiden name. Curtis. Better for her to lie there than with others like those who had my father killed. The hypocrites and the doubters.’
‘And she supported you? She knew what you were doing? Knew you were killing people?’ Curtis asked.
‘She knew that sacrifices had to be made if my father’s work was to see true fruition. She believed, Hacket. Believed in him, believed in me.’
‘And the children that were born by using your ‘treatment’? What happened to them?’
‘All well. All thriving. There is one minor side-effect however. The introduction of so much growth hormone into their systems seems to stimulate other parts of their brains. Without regular treatment they revert to cannibalism.’
‘And their parents know this?’ Hacket gasped.
‘Know it and accept it, Mr Hacket. How does the cliché go, love conquers all? Even the knowledge that your child may kill.’ He smiled again.
‘How come the police haven’t found you by now?’
‘If I told you that the wife of the local Inspector was one of my patients would that explain why?’ Curtis smiled. ‘They really do have the most beautiful young daughter. She’s almost fifteen now.’
Hacket shook his head, his eyes screwed up tight.
‘You are mad,’ he murmured. ‘This whole thing is insane. Weller thought so too, didn’t he? The man who lived at the house before me. He knew didn’t he?’
‘Very astute, Mr Hacket. Unfortunately, Weller wasn’t prepared to live the kind of life necessary to protect his son. He was ungrateful. And he was a fool. He’s better off dead. I gave him what he wanted and he destroyed it.’
‘I won’t let that happen to my wife. I’ll stop her having that child.’
Curtis shook his head and sighed.
‘I’m afraid you have no choice, Mr Hacket,’ he said, his tone darkening. ‘Besides, it’s far too late to stop it now.’
Eighty-eight
The pains were growing worse.
Each fresh contraction caused Sue Hacket to wince. It felt as if someone were pulling her intestines out through her navel with red hot tongs. The burning sensation had spread to her vagina too and she shifted as best she could on the chair in order to try and alleviate the growing pain.
Ronald Mills walked up and down the darkened classroom agitatedly, glancing alternately out of the window then at his watch. He swore under his breath then strode across the room towards Sue.
‘Where is he?’ he hissed. ‘Where’s your fucking husband?’
She gritted her teeth as a fresh wave of pain swept through her.
‘I don’t know,’ she grunted.
‘Lying cunt,’ he snarled and lashed out at her.
The blow with the back of his hand caught her across the left cheek. A blow so powerful it almost knocked her over.
‘Where is he?’ Mills repeated.
‘I don’t know,’ Sue wailed, helplessly, the pain from her lower abdomen eclipsing that from her cheek. She tasted blood in her mouth as she licked her tongue across her bottom lip.
Mills gripped the knife before him, pressing it to her chest, prodding her bare breasts with the tip. He brushed it against her left nipple which stiffened with the cold touch of the steel. Mills grinned, feeling the first stirrings of an erection. How easy it would be to cut that fleshy bud off, he thought. The idea excited him even more. No. He wanted Hacket to see it. Wanted him to see his own wife in agony, bleeding. He wanted to hear her pray for death.
And then it would be Hacket’s turn.
Mills had waited a long time for the moment and he intended savouring it.
He watched as Sue doubled over, a fresh jolt of pain filling her. Mills grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her upright, so that he was staring into her face. Tears were flooding down her cheeks once more.
‘I want to know where your husband is,’ hissed Mills.
‘And I told you I don’t know,’ Sue sobbed. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’
Mills took the knife and carefully slashed the waistband of her skirt, tugging aside the material, leaving her in just her panties. Then he slid the blade under the elastic at the side and pulled them from her.
She continued to cry, now exposed to his leering stare.
‘I don’t think I can wait any longer,’ said Mills, smiling, running approving eyes over her naked body. He could feel the erection pressing almost painfully against the inside of his trousers.
‘I think I’ll have to start without him.’
Eighty-nine
Hacket knew he had to break free but the task seemed impossible.
The pressure on his neck and throat reminded him of that.
Curtis regarded the teacher silently for a moment.
‘What did you hope to gain by coming here tonight?’ he said, finally. ‘If it was the truth you wanted, then at least now you know it.’
Hacket’s arms dropped to his sides, he didn’t struggle against the pressure on his neck, merely stood there, half leaning, half-supported by the immense strength of the twin.
‘And now I know?’ he asked. ‘Are you going to kill me?’
‘What choice do I have?’ Curtis snapped. ‘I offered you something more precious than you could have imagined, you and your
wife, but you couldn’t be content with that.’
‘How many more people will you have to kill, Curtis, to carry on this fucking insanity?’
‘As many as it takes. It’s people like you who are mad, not me,’ Curtis said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the teacher. ‘What I do I do for the good of others. As I said to you, sacrifices have to be made.’
‘Very noble,’ Hacket chided, his hand brushing against the twin’s leg. ‘What about the families of the people you kill, do you ever think about what they must feel? You cause pain, Curtis. It’s all you’re any good for.’
So much pain.
Curtis glanced at the twin and nodded.
Hacket felt the pressure tighten on his neck.
It was then that he reached back and fastened his hands on the twin’s testicles, squeezing as tightly as he could, gripping them in a vice-like hold which made the twin shriek in pain.
Hacket gritted his teeth and squeezed harder, pushing backwards.
The twin screamed again and the two of them fell to the ground.
Hacket felt the pressure on his neck released.
He struggled to his feet, turning swiftly to drive a powerful kick into the groin of his fallen captor. He turned back to face Curtis who had lurched towards him, his hand clasping the stiletto blade.
The doctor lunged at Hacket and the teacher shouted in pain as the blade sliced through his shirt, cutting into his forearm. Blood burst from the wound and Hacket jumped back, avoiding the twin’s large hand as it grabbed for him. The monstrosity was raising itself up, trying to block his path.
Hacket lashed out again, kicking it in the chest this time but the impact had little effect.
Curtis struck at him once more, the blade carving through his shirt at the back this time.
Hacket screamed in pain as he felt the blade scrape his shoulder blade. The wound opened like a mouth, spilling more blood onto the already damp material of his shirt. He fell forward, crashing into a tray of instruments. Scalpels, forceps and syringes were sent skittering across the floor of the cellar and Hacket gripped one of the scalpels, turning to face the twin as it bore down on him.
He struck out wildly but the blow was effective.
The twin shrieked as the razor sharp blade cut through its calf. It staggered for a second, blood pouring from the wound, some of it spattering Hacket, who was now trying to reach the cellar steps.
He dragged himself to his feet and slashed at the twin once more.
Both mouths opened simultaneously to shout their pain as the blade sliced effortlessly through an outstretched hand. The palm was laid open to the bone, the thumb nearly severed.
Hacket edged backwards, Curtis and the twin advancing on him, blood from his own wounds dripping on to the floor. His left arm was beginning to go numb where Curtis had cut him, but he gripped the scalpel in his right hand, glancing from one attacker to the other, waiting for the inevitable rush.
Before it could come he took his chance and turned, running as fast as he could for the stairs.
He had reached the fifth one when the twin caught him.
Hacket felt a huge hand grab his arm, jerking him back but, as he fell he brought the scalpel around, driving it deep into the side of his attacker.
More blood spurted from the wound and onto Hacket, who again struggled free, looking up to see Curtis preparing to strike.
The stiletto blade hurtled down, nicking Hacket’s cheek. He felt warm fluid running down his face and knew that the cut was deep. As he sucked in a breath he could feel the cold air hissing through the wound.
Curtis pressed his advantage but Hacket ducked beneath the next wipe, striking upwards, catching the doctor in the thigh, burying the scalpel so deep he felt it scratch against Curtis’ femur.
The blade remained embedded, quivering there as Curtis dropped his own knife and tried to pull the scalpel free.
From the amount of blood jetting from the wound he thought for one fearful second that his femoral artery had been severed. For fleeting moments he forgot all about Hacket, intent only on ripping the blade from his leg. It finally came free and Curtis screamed in pain.
Hacket, his throat now filling with blood from his slashed cheek, scrambled up the steps and managed to reach the cellar door. He tore it open and crashed through, feeling sick, his head spinning.
The twin, bleeding from the wound in its side, followed.
Curtis remained at the foot of the steps, using his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood from his thigh.
Hacket staggered on through the house, knowing his only hope was to reach his car, to get out of this house, away from this madness.
He blundered through the waiting room and out into the hall.
The twin followed.
Hacket ran for the front door and tugged on it.
It was locked.
He beat frantically against it, as if trying to smash his way free.
The twin reached the hall a second later.
Hacket turned to face it, watching as those two mouths turned upwards simultaneously in a grin of triumph.
‘You should have stayed away,’ the twin told him, clutching its injured side.
Hacket stood close to the door, the scalpel held before him, his breath coming in gasps, hissing through the savage gash in his right cheek.
As the twin advanced slowly, Hacket glanced to his left and saw another door.
He suddenly turned and bolted for it, crashing through into what, he guessed, was the sitting room.
The twin followed, shouting something after him.
There was a large bay window in the room and Hacket knew what he must do. There was no time for thought, no choice.
He ran towards the window and launched himself at it. He screamed as he leapt at it, covering his face with his arms, hitting the glass like some kind of human projectile.
The window exploded outwards, huge shards of glass bursting into the cold night air.
Hacket hit the driveway outside with a sickening thump, dazed both by the impact and by the collision against the glass. He was close to unconsciousness, but the cold wind rapidly revived him and restored his senses. He rolled over in time to see the twin clambering through the remains of the window.
Hacket felt for the scalpel but he’d dropped it.
The twin was practically free of the window, ignoring the jagged pieces of glass which scratched it.
Hacket got to his feet and ran for his car, dragging open the door, jamming the key into the ignition.
The twin was pulling its bulk clear now, about to drop down onto the driveway.
Hacket twisted the key.
Nothing.
He gripped it harder and turned again.
The engine roared once then faded as his foot slipped off the accelerator.
The twin was lumbering towards him now, blood spilling not only from its hand and side but also from both of the mouths.
Hacket turned the ignition key again, the twin now less than twenty yards from him.
The engine roared into life.
Fifteen yards.
Hacket jammed the car into gear.
Ten yards.
The twin roared in defiance and ran at the car.
The Renault shot forward as if fired from a cannon.
It slammed into the twin, the impact so great that the figure was catapulted into the air, slamming down on the roof of the car before flying off. It crashed to the ground behind the Renault.
Hacket saw it in the rear-view mirror and reversed at top speed.
The second impact knocked the twin flat, the rear wheels running over the huge head.
It seemed to burst under the weight and pressure.
A vile flux of blood and brains exploded from the riven skull, some of the seething mixture flying up around the car as the back wheels spun impotently on the gravel drive for a second, then Hacket jammed the car into first and swung it around, heading for the main road.
Had he looked in
the rear-view mirror he would have seen Curtis emerge from the house to see his dead brother then to bellow something after the fleeing car.
As it was, Hacket gripped the wheel as tightly as he could and pressed his foot down on the accelerator.
The car skidded violently as it reached the main road but the teacher kept control of it, guiding it towards Hinkston.
He seemed to forget his pain, even the horror of what he’d just experienced. It was all pushed to the back of his mind.
For now, all he could think of was his wife.
And the monstrosity she might be carrying inside her.
He drove on.
Ninety
12.08 a.m.
Hacket brought the car to a halt outside his house and glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
He swallowed, fighting back the nausea as he tasted blood. As he swung himself out of the car the wound in his back began to throb mightily, an accompaniment to the pain he was feeling from his gashed forearm. But fighting the pain as best he could he hurried to the front door and selected the appropriate key.
The house was silent as he walked in.
No TV.
Not even any lights.
Maybe Sue was in bed, he reasoned.
Hacket made his way up the stairs, his breath coming in gasps.
Half way up he called her name.
No answer.
As he reached the landing he stood against one wall, feeling a wave of pain wash over him, and for a second he thought he was going to faint; but the feeling passed and he moved into the bedroom, calling her name again.
The room was empty.
Hacket didn’t even bother checking the other rooms, he hurried back downstairs, slapping on lights as he went, calling her name once again.
It was in the hallway he saw the blood.
There was more on the kitchen door.
He pushed it open.
The back door was open, banging gently against the frame as each fresh gust of wind blew it. The table and two of the chairs had been overturned. The room was a wreck.
