The Undead

by Guy N Smith

  For some time the two just stared at each other. Beguildy made some barely audible inarticulate noises, pointed towards the blazing remains of what had once been his home, grimaced, shrugged his shoulders. Somehow, in his own strange way, he was a fatalist. There would be other places; he had the woods and the mountains at his disposal. One place was as good as another. He could move on this very minute.

  It was Amanda who broke the unease, did something for which her mother and her teachers at school would have scolded her severely - she embarked upon a conversation in sign language, gestures that she made up as she went along because she knew that her companion would understand no other. A mock handshake - friends! That same hand extended limply - lead me. Another smile.

  And Beguildy began to smile, nervously at first but gradually those blackened broken teeth were exposed to the full; lips trembling to begin with then stiffening. His hand was extended, gnarled, dirty, talon-like fingers that hesitated at first then met Amanda's dainty small hand; gripped it, began to pull her towards him.

  She went with him, fell into step alongside his ungainly shambling gait. The crackling flames and falling debris behind them were forgotten. Laughter, a babble of speech that neither really understood except its basic meaning - happiness, two people who were glad to be together.

  Beguildy found the track unerringly in the darkness, not the main well-trodden path but a route known only to foxes and badgers, winding deep into Gabor Wood, so dark that even the trees were invisible. Every so often he stopped, stiffened as though listening but that was silly, Amanda thought, because he was stone deaf. Maybe he relied on other senses like she did sometimes, those that you could not really explain. You just accepted them and took full advantage of them.

  Suddenly she felt Beguildy tense. His whole body stiffened, the grip on her hand tightening until she almost cried out with pain. He made a noise that sounded like a cry of agony, a long drawn out ‘aaaah’, a shriek of anguish that her small hearing aid picked up with painful efficiency.

  Amanda recoiled, then she too heard a far-off sound or maybe it was nearer than she thought, the yapping and barking of dogs. Even as she listened Beguildy was pulling her along, breaking into a fast lope and having to duck to avoid low branches. She tripped along at his side, not being able to see but knowing only too well where they were going … to Gabor Pool.

  At last she saw the water gleaming blackly in the clearing, the outline of the tall quarry cliffs, so dark and sinister against the night sky. Beguildy was muttering to himself, trembling violently with fear. And behind them the dogs were louder now, closing in.

  Amanda smiled in the darkness but there was no humour in her expression, neither was there fear in her eyes. It was as though she knew exactly what was happening, had been through it all before in some long-forgotten rehearsal, learned her lines, her movements to perfection. For this was the finale of that bizarre play, a drama of death and horror in which just the two principal actors remained, herself and a deaf mute who was suddenly losing his command of the situation. She saw his terror, his madness, the way he glanced back as though men and dogs would suddenly burst out of the trees and set upon the fugitives, tear them limb from limb.

  The baying was louder than ever now, a spine-chilling canine symphony that did not belong to the world of mortals, savagery beyond comprehension. Voices, too, in a strange unfamiliar accent. ‘Don't shoot. He's heading for the old quarry; we'll have him cornered there!’

  Lines she had heard before, could not remember where. But Beguildy was not lingering here, dragging her roughly onto the steep and narrow ledge that Nature had hewn out of the cliff face for some purpose known only to herself.

  Amanda should have been terrified but she wasn't. Possibly her captor, for that was what he was, misinterpreted her trembling as fear. Had he glanced down into her face he would have seen her features hardening with an anger that - was beyond her years, mingled with a deep cunning.

  And way ahead up the steep ledge Amanda Halestrom saw shapes that moved, shadows that detached themselves from the mantle of darkness, faces that were white and angry, small hands that beckoned feverishly. Children, a group of them waiting, their burning hate directed at the ragged figure who dragged a young girl roughly up the path towards them.

  Amanda gave no sign that she had seen them, felt a thrill of anticipation; relief, too, that it was now almost over.

  The final outcome would be up to herself.

  Marie Halestrom clung to her husband's arm, wondered how much longer she could keep up the pace which the Alsatians had set once they had got the scent. That blazing cottage in the dingle had almost had her passing out with terror, then came the relief when the tracker dogs picked up Amanda's trail again and headed up towards the wood. Thank God, the child hadn't perished in the blaze.

  It was as though the police were ignoring the Halestroms, a kind of silent displeasure that two civilians had joined the hunt, determined not to allow them to obstruct its course. Marie couldn't see either dogs or men now, just heard the crashing of bodies forcing their way through the undergrowth, the whining of the dogs. Surely soon they must overhaul Amanda. Pray God they were in time.

  Then that awful baying had started up again, louder than before, a fearful sound that vibrated in the atmosphere, had your skin prickling because it was alien to any other noise you'd ever heard before. You felt as though you'd never get it out of your head, that you'd hear it for evermore, waking or sleeping, until it drove you insane. But there was no going back for anybody.

  Once inside the wood Ron Halestrom used his torch, swung the beam round until it picked out a seemingly well-trodden path that led away through those grotesque tree trunks, weird growths that scowled as though even they resented this nocturnal trespass, singled out the author as if he had no right to be there. He tried to ignore everything, the surroundings, that ghastly howling which came and went; Amanda's safety was all that mattered, and Marie was blaming him for everything.

  Marie wanted to ask how far it was to the pool but she could not get the words out. A fleeting feeling of guilt that she might be holding everybody back, delaying them in a chase where seconds might make the difference between life and death. There was no sign of the policemen, they had forged on ahead until she could not even hear them. Oh God, she was going mad!

  An endless nightmare, it couldn't be real. She wanted to wake up, find herself in bed with Amanda safe beside her. She closed her eyes, cried out as a branch whipped her across the face, the pain bringing with it the awful realisation that all this was happening.

  She felt Ron slowing, heard him breathe. ‘My God, what the hell's going on?’

  That was when she opened her eyes and, taking in the scene before her, could not hold back the scream. People, lots of them; and dogs. But it was all so horribly wrong! They should have been police officers with trained Alsatians but they weren't Marie's brain fought to accept what it saw, a group of peasants clad in homespun, ill-fitting clothing, their dogs huge shaggy beasts of unrecognisable pedigree, ferociously on a blood hunt, howling their lust into the night air!

  The whole scene was lit by a soft silvery light, a full moon that had returned to illuminate this bizarre setting when it had already waned. Her frightened eyes followed that awful precipitous track, her heart almost stopping when those shapes that had hitherto been hidden in shadow were revealed to her.

  Children, several of them. Amanda … but there appeared to be two Amandas! That was crazy, Marie's distraught mind was playing tricks on her. Her gaze flicked from one child to the other, tried to determine which was her own daughter. The features, the build, were identical, only the clothing differed, and possibly the complexion of the further child was too pale for Amanda. She wore a long lace dress that was tattered and mud-stained, whilst Amanda was clothed in the same summer dress which she had been wearing when they had set out on foot from Gabor House.

  The children with the exception of Amanda were huddled in a group again
st the cliff face, features contorted with fear and anger, screaming unintelligible insults at the crouching vagrant. Beguildy was snarling, roaring his own brand of defiance, a sound that was drowned by the baying of those macabre hounds.

  Suddenly Amanda had broken free from him, was screeching loudly, tiny fists flaying in wind milled fury. He staggered, almost lost his footing and in that instant the other children were surging forward. A mêlée which it was impossible to follow. Shrill juvenile shrieks of terror; a child lost her footing, slipped from the ledge and seemed to hang suspended in mid-air. A second went over the edge to join her, the two of them trying to clutch at each other as they fell, hit the black water below and were lost to sight. Now Beguildy was grappling with the one who resembled Amanda so closely, clawing at her with his jagged fingernails so that her white face was streaked with crimson scratches, kicking and punching her, driving her backwards. She tottered on the brink, clutched wildly at the air but her balance was gone. Slow-motion aerobatics as she toppled, somersaulted, then hit the pool below. One splash and she did not reappear.

  Now only Amanda and Beguildy were left, facing each other, an expression of unbelievable terror on that grotesque hairy countenance as the vagrant backed away, gave a bellow that echoed with hopelessness.

  One of the watchers, the big man in the foreground who should have been a policeman but wasn't, shouted, ‘See it's the Mainwaring girl!’

  Marie Halestrom tried to scream but no sound came. It's not your Mainwaring girl, that's my baby! Even the dogs were silent as though some strange force prevented them from streaming up the path and pulling down that vile monstrosity. Marie wanted to turn to Ron, to urge him to rush up there before it was too late but she couldn't move. Everybody was transfixed, even the strange pursuers and their hounds who had no right to exist in this modern age.

  Beguildy had retreated to the very edge of the track, he could go no further. A moonbeam spotlighted him, showed that scarecrow of a figure in every filthy detail. The thought crossed Marie's mind that somehow even he did not look the same. The clothing, the extreme poverty that was reflected in every aspect did not belong to the hermit of Gabor whom she had viewed below her bedroom window only a few nights ago. So much older …

  Amanda advanced. That same stream of gibberish abuse that she had uttered in the clearing that day spewed from her frothing lips. Puny fists that suddenly had strength, eyes that glowed luminous and terrible in the ethereal light. An avenging neophyte!

  Beguildy fled in terror, one last bellowed roar of terror as the trod air, flaying wildly so that his filthy garments billowed and seemed to slow his fall like a parachute, head turned and looking back up towards that ledge as though some inexplicable hypnotism held him until the very end.

  A splash, so insignificant in itself yet it was as though it triggered the end of this nightmare; the moon was gone, replaced by faint starlight that showed only outlines and obscured details. Dogs that became Alsatians, and the police - were there after all.

  Just one huge spreading ripple on the surface of Gabor Pool to show that it had really happened and once that reached the sides it could all have been just a nightmare after all.

  And one lone figure standing forlornly up on that ledge of death, staring about her in bewilderment.

  Marie rushed forward but the policemen were already ahead of her, treading carefully, the inspector at the head of the file with arm outstretched to grasp the child's tiny hand. A slow procession down to the safety of lower ground, so efficient and orderly as though nothing untoward had occurred. Just another missing child, one of the lucky ones who had been found alive.

  Marie pushed Ron to one side, grabbed Amanda, drew her to her. ‘My poor baby. How terrible. How …’

  But the child showed no signs of shock, no reaction to the traumatic experience which she had just undergone. So relaxed, just smiling, the fury gone from her as though it had never existed, adjusting her hearing aid nonchalantly.

  ‘I think we can all go home now.’ There was a note of smugness in the inspector's voice. ‘The sooner that little girl of yours is in bed, madam, the better. She seems OK but if you'll take my advice you'll let a doctor check her out in the morning. Just in case there's any delayed reaction.’

  ‘But … but what about …’ Marie faltered. ‘what abou … those others?’

  ‘The old man, you mean.’ The policeman shook his head slowly. ‘Nothing much we can do for him. Maybe it's best for everybody that he went that way. We're going to drain the pool tomorrow, anyway, so we'll recover the body then. Don't you get thinking about it, madam, that's our worry.’

  Marie was trembling, clutching Amanda as though she feared that the child might suddenly be snatched away from her, that that which they had witnessed wasn't really the end of it all. It wasn't until they were clear of the wood, following a wide path that led in a circuitous route back towards Gabor House that she spoke again.

  ‘You saw them … didn't you, Ron?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I saw them. But the police didn't. Maybe it didn't happen, just some kind of astral projection that only we were able to see. Amanda appears to have forgotten it completely. As far as everybody else is concerned there were just police and Alsatians there, nobody else. I reckon it's better it stays that way.’

  ‘You heard that man shout, something about the Mainwaring child?’

  ‘I thought I did. But what does it matter now? Don't you sense anything … a kind of calm in the atmosphere?’

  ‘Even so,’ she snapped. ‘we're leaving. You promised, Ron.’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘I promised and I'll stick to my word. All the same, it's a pity.’

  Marie Halestrom shuddered. All she wanted to do was to get away from there, to try and forget that a place called - Gabor had ever existed. For her the Mainwarings and Bemorra would never really be gone, their evil would live on for evermore.

  By late afternoon the following day Gabor Pool had been reduced to a deep slimy pit, some forty feet in depth, with just a few inches of stagnant water and black slime remaining in the bottom. Three drowned corpses had been taken away in the black mortuary van: Beguildy, Mrs Flaherty and Donna O'Brien. Their bodies had been caught up beneath an overhanging shelf, limbs entwined as though they had sought company in death, huddled together as if they craved one another's protection in those black lifeless depths.

  ‘Christ, what a bloody stink!’ A workman in brown overalls switched off the big pump, the silence rolling back as the diesel engine died. ‘Talk about a dead hole, not even a water beetle down there.’

  His companion, a long-haired youth, shrugged and glanced at his wristwatch. They would be knocking off in twenty minutes; for once he wasn't looking for overtime. This pool, even empty, gave him the creeps, a tingling that ran right the way up his spine and spread out across his scalp. You got the feeling that this quarry was going to fill up again, a basin that would collect the rainwater, turn it black and stagnant and carry on just like before. It was the kind of place you just kept away from; a pit of death.

  And as they began packing up the machinery they thought they heard a dog howling mournfully somewhere in the wood. But this was one of those places where you were likely to hear all kinds of noises. All the same, they hastened to get the heavy plant machinery clear of Gabor Wood and back down past the scattered tinker encampment onto the road. Their task was completed, they would not be coming back.

  The End

  Thank you for purchasing this ebook.

  I hope you enjoyed the read!.

  Guy.

  This ebook is the thirty-second book to be published as part of a project to convert Guy's entire back catalogue to ebook format. Beginning July 2010 it is expected to have all books available by the end of 2012.

  The list of books so far published is :

  1. Werewolf by Moonlight.

  2. The Sucking Pit.

  3. The Slime Beast.

  4. Night of the Crabs.
r />   5. The Truckers 1 - The Black Knights.

  6. The Truckers 2 - Hi-Jack!.

  7. Return of the Werewolf.

  8. Bamboo Guerillas.

  9. Killer Crabs.

  10. Bats Out of Hell.

  11. The Son of the Werewolf.

  12. Locusts.

  13. The Origin of the Crabs.

  14. Caracal.

  15. Thirst.

  16. Deathbell.

  17. Satan's Snowdrop.

  18. Doomflight.

  19. Warhead.

  20. Manitou Doll.

  21. Wolfcurse.

  22. Crabs On The Rampage.

  23. The Pluto Pact.

  24. Entombed.

  25. The Lurkers.

  26. Sabat 1: The Graveyard Vultures.

  27. Sabat 2: The Blood Merchants.

  28. Sabat 3: Cannibal Cult.

  29. Blood Circuit.

  30. Accursed.

  31. Sabat 4: The Druid Connection.

  32. The Undead.

  The next book will be :

  33. Crabs' Moon.

  "They lurched out of the water - moon-driven, coldly mad in their need to destroy, to kill, to eat. In their hundreds, huge and evil, they crawled, waving their claws of death, feeling their way towards their prey..."

  To view all ebooks currently available, including the one above, please follow the link below.

  View Ebook Catalogue

  Best regards,

  Guy and all at Black Hill Books.