Slugs

by Shaun Hutson

  ‘What is it, darling?’ she asked, running her free hand through the little girl’s hair.

  ‘Ice cream,’ said Amanda, looking up at her with huge brown eyes.

  Kath smiled. Obviously the little girl had heard the distant chimes of the van. It usually came past the house at about three every afternoon and, when she herself heard it, she guessed that it must only be in the next street.

  ‘The man’s not here yet,’ said Kath and Amanda nodded, dejectedly. ‘Mummy go and get you one when the man comes round.’ That suggestion seemed to brighten her up and she smiled broadly, her little face beaming. She returned to her waiting toys. Kermit and the others greeted her arrival with silence. Amanda picked up the torn off arm of her doll and set about fastening it back in position, chewing it angrily when it wouldn’t fit back into the joint. Kath saw her and turned, wagging a reproachful finger at the child.

  ‘Don’t put things in your mouth, darling,’ she said, taking the doll and its disjointed arm from her irate daughter. Kath fiddled about with the recalcitrant plastic limb for a moment and then she too gave it up as a bad job. ‘We’ll see if Daddy can fix it when he comes home,’ she said, putting the doll on the shelf where she kept her plant food.

  ‘When Daddy gets home,’ Kath repeated her own words to herself, sighing wistfully. Ray Green had been working in Stowfield, about twenty miles away, for the past three days and he was due back that night. It couldn’t be too soon for Kath. She missed him terribly, even on such short trips. She had never been very good at making friends and, despite the fact that they had lived on the new estate for the past five years, she still only knew most of its occupants on nodding terms. When Ray was on a job she only had Amanda for company and it was at times like that she was thankful they’d had a child. She’d been through a pretty bad bout of post-natal depression but Ray had helped her through it, showing a tolerance and understanding which she had never dreamed he possessed. They were happy in every respect now. Ray’s business was flourishing and Kath was slowly learning to overcome her shyness. She had found interests of her own, the plants being her consuming passion. Ray had built the conservatory himself, an extension linked to the kitchen, afraid that the house was becoming like ‘Bloody Kew Gardens’.

  She smiled at the recollection and carried on watering. As if sensing something, Amanda got to her feet and wandered across to her once more and, just as Kath was going to ask what was wrong, she heard the familiar tones of the ice cream van outside.

  ‘Mummy,’ said the little girl, tugging at Kath’s skirt. ‘Lolly.’

  ‘All right,’ said Kath and put down her watering can. She walked through into the kitchen, retrieved her purse and headed out towards the waiting van.

  ‘The sun was still blazing away and Kath decided that she would have one herself. Why not? At twenty-six and with a figure that would make any woman envious, one ice cream wasn’t going to hurt was it? She smiled to herself and got in the queue behind a couple of kids, one of whom was busily inspecting the contents of his left nostril on an index finger. Kath shook her head and smiled.

  Amanda jumped up and down delightedly on the tiled floor for a moment before returning to her assembled toys. She sat cross-legged amongst them, telling them that she was going to have an ice cream. She put her hand back to steady herself and it was then that she felt something wet on her fingers. Amanda looked down and saw something glistening in the sunlight. At first she thought it was water but, as she ran her fingers through it, she noticed how thick and sticky it was. Puzzled she raised her hand, the clear liquid clinging to her fingers. Amanda brought her hand closer to her face, sniffing at the fluid, puzzled when it had no smell. She looked down and saw that it led right across the conservatory, like a trail.

  Tentatively, she licked some of it from her fingers.

  It was tasteless too. She swallowed quickly, wiping-the rest on her dungarees. Mummy told her all the time not to put her fingers in her mouth and, if she saw her licking the sticky stuff she would be angry. Amanda ran her tongue round the inside of her mouth. The sticky stuff seemed to put her teeth on edge and she tried to wipe it away on her sleeve but, in a moment or two, she had swallowed the one or two globules and it was gone.

  She heard her mother’s footsteps as she returned with the ice creams and she jumped up to take hers, forgetting the sticky stuff now.

  The single slug which had left the trail slithered, unseen, from the conservatory.

  Kath cut Amanda’s food for her and watched her as she ate. The little girl finished all her tea within about ten minutes and sat back proudly, displaying an empty plate. Kath ate her own meal, smiling as she saw Amanda rubbing her stomach the way Ray did when he had eaten. She glanced up at the wall clock and saw that the hands had crawled round to six p.m. Another three or four hours and Ray would be home. She felt a warm shudder of anticipation run through her.

  She finished her own meal while Amanda scuttled off into the sitting room to watch TV. She’d brought all her toys in from the conservatory and they sat with her before the flickering picture. The multi-coloured hues reflected in their dead, glass eyes. Kath did the washing up, watching the sun slowly wane, spilling its redness into the golden heavens, tinting the clouds crimson. She left the plates to drain and padded into the sitting room. Another hour and she’d have to put Amanda to bed. The child was yawning already. Unusual for her, thought Kath. She was usually full of life and bedtimes were sometimes an impossible struggle. Getting her upstairs was bad enough but keeping her in bed was more often than not impossible. Both Kath and Ray often went through three or four story books before the little imp went off to sleep. But tonight, Amanda was dozing in front of the TV and, when seven o’clock came (traditionally a time of joyful but tiring pandemonium) she was positively insistent on going to bed. In fact, even before Kath had finished slipping on her pyjamas, the little girl had fallen asleep. Kath looked down at her as she lay on the sofa but, she reasoned, the child had been out playing all day. There was good cause for her to be tired. She lifted the sleeping form of her daughter easily and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom which had dancing rabbits on the door.

  Kath laid her in bed, pulling the sheets up around her neck. She knelt beside Amanda listening to the low guttural breathing for a second then she leant over and kissed her on the cheek. The child moved slightly but did not wake.

  ‘Goodnight, darling,’ whispered Kath and crossed to the door. She stood there for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of Amanda’s chest, then she quietly pulled the door shut and made her way downstairs.

  Kath heard the dog barking and looked up from her book. She muttered something to herself and got up, crossing to the big bay window in the sitting room. Outside, just passing the house, Mr Steel from next door was being dragged along the road by his Alsatian. The huge dog was yanking him all over the place and Kath couldn’t resist a smile. However, her smile faded as the dog stood still before the house and began barking with renewed ferocity. The blasted thing would wake Amanda, she thought and she turned back to her seat, one ear cocked expectantly, waiting for her daughter to call or to come scampering down the stairs.

  But, there was no such movement and Kath settled back into her chair, reaching for the discarded paperback. She flipped it open and tried to read but she couldn’t concentrate. The barking of the dog had receded into the distance but the ticking of the sitting room clock seemed to be thunderous. Kath looked across at it and saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. She checked her watch too, as if it were going to hasten Ray on his journey home. She discarded the paperback once more and got up to switch on the TV. Kath punched buttons, trying to find something to hold her attention.

  A documentary about nuclear war on one channel. She hurriedly switched over. A black and white film. She sighed and pressed the last button. It was another documentary, this time about rising street crime. Kath hovered before the set where a youth with a mohican style hair-cut was being interviewed:
<
br />   ‘Well, the fucking law ain’t no bother. Me mate, he done this fucking shop and no coppers showed up so, well, I mean they’re bastards ain’t they? I…’

  Kath winced and switched the set off. She exhaled deeply and returned to her chair where she sat for long moments before deciding to make a cup of tea. At least that would keep her occupied.

  It was as she rose that she heard the commotion coming from upstairs. Kath stood still for long seconds, listening to the shouts and screams coming from above then, the breath catching in her throat, she raced towards the stairs, hurrying towards the landing. It was as she reached it she realized the noises were coming from Amanda’s room.

  Kath pushed open the door, her hand reached frantically for the light switch.

  Amanda lay across the bed, her body thrashing frenziedly about, contorting like an eel on a hot skillet. Her head was rolling back and forth at a terrifying rate and, Kath noted with horror, that there was a dark, evil smelling mucus spilling over her lips. As her head shook madly, the foul sputum flew in all directions.

  Kath took a step towards the bed, the sightless eyes of a teddy bear pinning her in a glassy stare. Its sewn-on smile almost mocking her.

  Amanda was rasping asthmatically, her tongue lolling wolfishly from the side of her mouth, the whites of her eyes gleaming like half-moons as they rolled in their sockets.

  ‘Oh God,’ gasped Kath, and reached for her daughter, struggling to hold the squirming child still in her arms. She lifted her daughter to her shoulders, the little body twisting forcefully in her arms. Tears welled up in Kath’s eyes as she struggled towards the bedroom door. Her vision blurred as the salty droplets cascaded down her cheeks but she staggered on, the wriggling form of her child clasped tightly to her as the convulsions seemed to grow in intensity. Then, suddenly, with lightning speed, Amanda snaked her head forward and bit deeply into Kath’s neck, hanging on like a ferret until her mother pushed her away. Kath was screaming now. She stood motionless for a second, gazing down at the inert body of her daughter, then she staggered as she felt the warm blood jetting from the ragged wound in her neck. She clapped a hand to it and felt the torn flap of skin. The crimson liquid was running down her chest, between the valley of her breasts, staining her blouse and she felt her right arm going numb as the pain seemed to spread through her body. The landing swam before her and she gripped the banister to stop herself falling. She felt her knees buckle but she put out a hand and steadied herself, leaving a bloodied hand-print on the white wallpaper. The mark looked black in the twilight.

  ‘Help me,’ she gurgled, the blood flowing freely from the bite. It poured down her outstretched arm and dripped onto the carpet and she felt the sickness sweeping over her. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she turned towards the top of the stairs, the phone at the bottom beckoning her.

  In her haste, she missed the first step.

  For a second Kath clutched at empty air, then, with a despairing moan, she fell forward. Cartwheeling as she crashed down the stairs. She hurtled to the bottom, leaving a trail of blood behind her, some of which splattered up the walls. She smashed into the phone table at the bottom and the phone itself fell to the ground. Twisted like a broken doll, Kath lay at the foot of the stairs, her tortured mind still clinging to the last shreds of consciousness. The pain which racked her body kept her awake. Even through the agony she felt the blood running from her torn neck and, somewhere in the distance, she heard a car door slam.

  Ray Green made his way up the short path to the front door and paused on the step, fumbling for his key. He cursed when he couldn’t find it, eventually dropping his tool bag and rummaging in the pocket of his jeans. He finally found it and inserted it in the lock smiling wearily. The job in Stowfield had been a sod. He and his partner had worked their nuts off to get it finished on time and it had been bloody hard work, but the size of the pay cheque eased the weariness somewhat and Ray knew how glad Kath would be to see him.

  He pushed open the door and walked in.

  Kath practically fell into his arms.

  For a second, everything seemed frozen, like a stop-frame in a cine film. Ray opened his mouth to say something as he gazed into the tortured face of his wife. She was as white as milk, the blood matted thickly in her hair and stained into her blouse. He saw the vicious bite, the crimson liquid still pumping from it. The blood spattered walls, the wrecked table, the overturned phone.

  And then the film was running again.

  ‘Kath,’ he gasped, looking into her reddened eyes. She tried to hold him but her fingers slipped and she slid to the floor at his feet. He dropped to one knee, his mind trying to comprehend the sight before him. She raised one bloodied hand, as if soliciting help and he tore off his jacket, laying it over her.

  ‘Amanda,’ Kath, rasped, a sudden spasm of coughing racking her body. The movement caused more of the bright red fluid to spill over her lips but she repeated the word, motioning towards the top of the stairs. He hesitated a second then bounded up to the landing taking the steps two at a time. Passing the blood flecked walls until he was looking down at the body of his daughter, now looking so tiny and helpless. Her eyes and mouth were open, a crimson smudge across her chin and lips. He knelt beside the body, shaking his head. Then, with one quivering hand, he reached out and touched her outstretched limb and the tiny hand seemed lost in his own rough one but he clasped it tightly, tears brimming in his eyes. The child’s cheeks were sunken pits, her eyes ringed black. The whites seemed to glow even more brilliantly in the darkness but Ray finally tore his gaze from them and scrambled to his feet. He hurried down the stairs, groping for the phone, dialling three nines. He gripped the receiver tightly in his impatience finally managing to blurt out the word ‘Ambulance’, almost screaming it down the phone. He gave the address and then dropped the receiver, crawling across to Kath who still lay motionless in the hall.

  Ray reached for her hand, large salt tears now spilling down his cheeks.

  ‘Oh God,’ he breathed, quietly.

  Both mother and child were dead before the ambulance arrived.

  Fourteen

  Brady was up early that Sunday morning. He slid noiselessly out of bed, checking to make sure that he hadn’t woken Kim. She rolled onto her back, one hand flailing across the warm area he had just vacated, but she did not wake.

  The Health Inspector hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans. He looked across at Kim once more and then at the clock which told him it was six fifteen. He pushed his feet into his slippers, pulled on his bath robe and padded out of the bedroom. Quickly but quietly he made his way down the stairs, through the house until he finally reached the back door. He unlocked it and slid the bolts back, shivering slightly as an early morning breeze whistled in through the open door.

  Brady peered to his right and left, checking that no one else was around. Although at six fifteen on a Sunday morning that was unlikely. Satisfied that he was alone, he padded out into the back garden, cursing as the early morning dew soaked through his slippers and wet his feet.

  ‘Shit,’ he grunted, trying to walk on tip-toe to minimise the effect of the wet grass on his fraying foot wear. He moved across to the freshly dug area of ground, some of the slug pellets still in view, scattered on the top soil where he’d left them the day before. He swallowed hard and ran a hopeful eye over the dark earth. Many of the pellets had gone, consumed by the slugs he hoped but there were no dead animals in sight either. He stepped closer, running a hand over his bristly cheeks.

  A black slug, the size of his fist, moved slowly towards him and Brady recoiled in shock and disgust. He backed off, seeing that more of the obscene creatures were slithering about on the earth. Brady watched them for a second, the breath catching in his throat, then he turned and headed for the house. He opened the back door and then hurried inside, quickly locking and bolting it again.

  He leant against the closed door and exhaled deeply. On the work top opposite stood the can of slug pellets and the bottle of pois
on.

  Brady shook his head.

  For all the effect they’d had, he might as well have put down sugar.

  Fifteen

  By noon that morning the sun had risen high in the sky and it hung in the cloudless heavens covering everything below it with a blanket of searing heat.

  David Watson heard the familiar Glaswegian tones of his neighbour, Wally Mackay, and straightened up. The tall Scot had a spade over his shoulder and he sauntered over towards the wire fence which separated the two gardens.

  ‘Hell of a bloody way to spend a Sunday morning,’ said the Scot, leaning on the fence. He jumped back hastily rubbing his forearm and looking daggers at the wire which was scorching hot due to the sun. Watson suppressed a grin and tried to look enthusiastic as Mackay leant on the handle of the spade and started chattering away about the weather, his wife and any other thing which passed through his mind. David Watson loved gardening but he invariably got collared by the Scot and ended up doing nothing. It looked like today was going to be one of those days.

  ‘My bloody old lady sent me out here to dig this lot over,’ muttered Mackay, indicating the patch of miniature jungle which constituted his garden. The weeds were knee high in places and were beginning to encroach into Watson’s carefully tended plot of ground.

  ‘It is getting a bit overgrown, Wally,’ he said, trying to sound tactful, but making a melodramatic effort to pull up one of the unwelcome weeds which had found its way in from the Scotsman’s garden.

  ‘Fuck it,’ said the Scot, peering over his shoulder in the direction of his house. He could see no sign of his wife so he retained his position and fumbled in his trouser pocket for his tobacco tin. He swiftly rolled one and then offered it to Watson who, equally swiftly, declined. He returned to his own task of spreading some compost on his latest crop of potatoes. He’d begun growing vegetables as a joke to begin with and because his wife, Maureen, had bet him a fiver he couldn’t do it. The joke turned out to be useful though and he had a fine crop of spuds, onions, carrots and lettuce to show for his efforts. He still didn’t know the first thing about the technicalities of cultivating vegetables but he had been lucky. He’d planted the seeds and the things had grown.