The Spinetinglers Anthology 2009

by Неизвестный

  Stabilised, a drip in his arm and oxygen tubes in his nose, bound in a warm red blanket Lyle lay in the ambulance. He was out of immediate danger and would soon be on his way to a hospital ward and another change of life. He had had his warning sign.

  The paramedic checked Lyle’s blood pressure and then stepped out of the ambulance to talk with his colleague. Stephen sighed slightly and closed his eyes.

  The icy finger caressed Lyle’s cheek and he opened his eyes to see the creature’s shark like eyes staring into his.

  “The die is cast, Mr Lyle, I will be waiting and time is nothing to me..”

  Stephen Lyle, ruthless killer, hardened criminal and now lost soul began to scream.

  Fairy Lights

  by James Brooks

  The Christmas tree was beautiful, thought Nana as she stared up at it from her comfy armchair opposite the fireplace. She liked the colour scheme of red, green and gold, especially the teardrop-shaped baubles, glittering like drops of flame among the needles. It was wrapped round with strings of scarlet beads and draped with clumps of shining lametta. Everything up to the star on top was perfect, a truly festive tree. Well, everything except for the fairy lights, she thought miserably.

  Jim Bassett from next door had come round earlier to help put the decorations up, seeing as how Thomas had taken his family off on some exotic holiday this year without bothering to pop round first. Still, it had been a nice afternoon all the same, no need to worry about that, thought Nana. She had sat in her chair with a cup of tea and some biscuits while Jim sorted the tree out, shouting out instructions when she thought they were needed. Everything went fine until it came time to put the lights up. Jim had decided to test them first to make sure they still worked, and quickly discovered that they didn’t. Changing the fuses didn’t help and the lights were eventually consigned to the bin. Oh well, thought Nana, they were so old they were practically family heirlooms, she’d just have to go out and get some new ones. Tomorrow, perhaps, can’t have a Christmas tree without fairy lights, she thought.

  Icy sleet blew Nana back in through her front door the following day, a pair of soaked plastic bags in tow. She shut out the weather and turned to hang up her Berber jacket and hood on the pegs behind the door. She shook off her wellies, which were dripping with mud-coloured slush that had been called snow the day before.

  “Mister Gibson, I’m home. I’ve got your din-dins with me!” she shouted in a singsong voice. Mister Gibson, who had been regarding her haughtily from the top of the stairs, padded down towards her and wound himself around her legs. “All right, all right. I’ll get to you in a minute, hang on.” The big ginger cat meowed petulantly before following her into the kitchen. Nana lifted her wet bags onto the counter and took out a tin of salmon chunks, which she immediately opened and emptied into a large ceramic bowl with “Prince” written on the side. Mister Gibson pounced on the bowl and began devouring the fish with gluttonous pleasure.

  “There you go, my dear. Now, time for a nice cup of tea, I think.” Nana shuffled to the other side of the room and picked up a battered kettle from the draining board. She filled it from the sink tap and put it on the hob to boil, before pottering around the kitchen gathering the required cup and saucer, with sugar and some milk. As she moved around, waiting for the water to heat, her eyes kept flitting to the other bag on the counter. Something dark and bulky was pressing against the bag’s insides.

  Before long the kettle started rattling on the hob, whistling loudly. Nana poured the tea and put it on a tray along with a plate of biscuits. She hobbled into the front room and placed the tray on the coffee table before returning briefly to fetch the heavy bag from the kitchen. It was warm and quiet in the front room, the sound of cars on the road outside muffled dully by the double-glazing. The Christmas tree stood as it did the day before, tall, shiny and wonderfully festive, except for the absence of fairy lights. Nana’s eyes were drawn to a single red bauble lying among scattered needles on the floor below the branches.

  “You haven’t been at the tree already? You...!” She glared at the portly Mister Gibson, who was squatting in the doorway licking his lips noisily. “Now, are you going to help me get these lights up, mister?” Nana upended the carrier bag and dumped a coiled green string of old fairy lights onto the armchair. She picked up the end of the coil and held the bulbs up to the light from the window. They were multi-coloured, like traditional fairy lights – blue, green, pink and gold. The bulbs were odd though, about an inch long and creased down the middle like the carapace of an insect. They had no bases, and instead seemed to be sprouting directly from the thick plastic cable. “Hmmph. Strange looking things.” Said Nana, holding them out for Mister Gibson to see. “Found them in a charity shop on the high street. The lady at the counter couldn’t say whether they worked or not, but she let me have them for one pound fifty, seeing as how it’s so close to Christmas already.” The cat sauntered over, belly wobbling, to sniff the dangling string of bulbs but skidded to a halt at Nana’s feet. Suddenly, he hissed, low and menacingly, and the pupil’s of his eyes narrowed to dark slits. He reared up and began batting the bulbs with a furious paw, claws outstretched. Nana jerked the lights back into the air in amazement. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? Away with you, if you’re not going to help.” She shooed the cat away with her slippered foot. “Honestly! Now. It’s getting on and I’d better be getting these lights up. Maybe Mister Bassett would like to help again.”

  ***

  Jim Bassett wasn’t in when Nana knocked on his door, however, so she spent the afternoon winding the long string of lights around her tree using the step-stool from the kitchen to reach the higher branches. She nearly twisted her ankle once stepping down, and had to constantly keep Mister Gibson at bay by waving a feather duster at him. The cat seemed intent on ripping the lights down as fast as Nana could put them up. In the end she had to shut him in the hall to keep him away.

  Finally, Nana stood back and admired her work. The tree looked grand draped in lights. They were a little lop-sided, to be sure, and she hadn’t been able to reach the very top branches, but they certainly completed the traditional Christmas image. “Just one last thing to do – switch them on.” Nana stretched down to grab the loose end of the lights and plugged them into a nearby power socket. She flicked the switch. Nothing happened.

  “Drat!” She cursed. “After all that trouble these ones don’t work either. Oh well.” She sighed, unplugging the lights and slumping down into her armchair. She was annoyed but didn’t feel like she could muster up the energy to take the lights down again. She decided they would have to stay up, working or not. At least they made the tree look prettier.

  Nana was sat in her armchair again later that day, eating a reheated dinner off the tray on her lap while she watched the television. There wasn’t anything interesting on but the small house was so quiet in the evenings she found that she got terribly lonely without its comforting noise. Usually at this time of year Thomas would visit her with the little ones and stay for Christmas. Either that or he would take her home with them, to stay at their new home in Somerset. She loved having people to talk to during the winter months, and especially enjoyed watching the children open their presents. She missed the family dearly this year.

  Nana put her fork down and rubbed sadness out of her aging eyes. Mister Gibson was sat by her feet swishing his tail, waiting eagerly for any scraps that might be left on her plate. She placed the tray on the floor for him and ruffled his ears affectionately.

  “Greedy creature, you’ll get fat you know?” She said to the already portly cat. Changing channel on the television she settled back into her armchair and closed her eyes to doze.

  ***

  Nana awoke with a start to find herself alone in the pitch-dark room. The television must have switched itself off she thought. But why were the lights out? Gradually, shaking off the lingering effects of sleep, she realised that the lights were out in the hall as well and that she was cold. Sh
e felt behind the armchair with a leathery hand and discovered that the radiator there was frigid, the heating was off. She looked around the room and saw that there were no amber streetlights glowing outside the window. There must have been a power cut, she realised. With relief she stood and started groping her way along the wall to fetch candles from the kitchen.

  As she moved inch by inch through the darkness she heard the distinctive flip-flop of the cat-flap in the back door. She heard Mister Gibson trot across the linoleum, through the carpeted hall and into the lounge. She sensed him stop in the doorway and was about to call out to him when he started growling loudly. She could just make out his gleaming eyes glowing balefully in the gloom. Suddenly, Nana jumped and twisted around in surprise as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight. What she saw in the corner of the room was nothing short of terrifying.

  The Christmas tree was blinking with colour. The bulbs of the fairy lights were flickering, glowing, unfurling delicate little wings that burned blue, green, pink and gold. They were moving; they were alive! Nana, her eyes goggling with fright, issued a piercing scream and backed away from the tree. She spun round and fled through the hallway door, scattering Mister Gibson ahead of her. In the darkness she caught her shoulder on the doorframe and crashed down heavily onto the carpet.

  She lay there motionless for a while, whimpering in fright. Eventually she was able to roll over and pull herself to her knees. A colourful glow was emanating from the sitting room, from the broken lights on the Christmas tree. She stared at them, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was she dreaming, she wondered? She pinched herself hard on the thigh and flinched from the pain. No, but hallucinating perhaps? Going senile? Maybe, the loneliness had finally driven her out of her mind? The thought was unsettling.

  The sound of stealthy paws behind her brought her back to reality and she turned, just able to make out the silhouette of Mister Gibson. He moved into the sitting room doorway and resumed his menacing growls, eyes fixed on the Christmas tree. Nana, looked from the cat to the gently fluttering lights and realised how foolish they were both being.

  “Come now, you. There’s no need for that I don’t think. They don’t look dangerous,” She told the cat. “They’re just lights, some sort of trick or maybe some kind of glow-bug insect. Let’s go see.” She stood slowly, rubbing her sore shoulder and stepped back into the room. Warily, she shuffled over to the tree and peered down at the nearest string of lights. Sure enough they weren’t bulbs at all, but they weren’t tricks or insects either; they appeared to be tiny human figures with chubby faces and gleaming, lace-thin wings.

  “My god! They’re children!” She exclaimed with a start, before correcting herself. “No, that’s not right, not really. They must be fairy children!” She couldn’t quite believe it, that her second-hand fairy lights had turned out to be fairy lights. It was incredible. And yet there they were in front of her, dangling from her Christmas tree. She watched the nearest fairy shake its gold wings and stretch out its thin arms. Tiny black eyes were staring up at Nana from an eerie, pale grey face and it seemed to be perched on the wire with its legs folded tight against its body. Looking around Nana could see that all the other fairies were sitting in similar positions and that many of them still had their eyes closed like newborn kittens. A wide, delighted smile cracked her face.

  “Look Mister Gibson, our lights are magical fairy babies! They’re not scary at all. Aren’t they pretty, aren’t they wonderful!” All of a sudden the Christmas tree lurched sideways as if it was about to topple over. Nana looked down to see Mister Gibson scrabbling at the branches, frantically trying to grab the lowest string of lights. The fairies on the wire were fluttering their coloured wings madly causing it to rise and float in the air. They seemed to be fixed to the wire, unable to fly away. Nana saw that the poor creatures were absolutely terrified of Mister Gibson, and with good reason it seemed. Death was etched on the cat’s tubby flat face, hunger in his eyes. His claws were out and he was hissing violently. Nana leapt into action, grabbing the cat around his belly and thrusting him bodily through the door into the hallway. She slammed the door in his face and ignored his frenzied scratching on the other side. Instead she turned around and once again slumped into her armchair, tired from the shock and the fall. She sat staring at the fairies, transfixed, as they fluttered and pulsed vibrantly within the cradling branches of her Christmas tree. Their glow filled the room now, warming it, chasing away the pooling darkness of the midnight power cut. It was the most beautiful thing Nana had ever seen, she thought as she closed her eyes.

  ***

  By the time Nana awoke the following morning, still sat in her armchair, the power had come back on and the fairies had grown still and silent. They appeared to have drawn their wings together tightly about their bodies, forming a sort of protective shell. They looked like malformed bulbs again, although slightly longer than they had been the previous day.

  “They sleep during the day...” Nana mused to herself. “I wonder what they eat?” She left the fairies sleeping on the tree and went to do her household chores.

  Throughout the day she came back to check up on the fairies, to make sure they were still sleeping soundly, and she took pains to keep the surly Mister Gibson away from the tree. He was in a foul mood. He seemed to hate the fairies for some reason and spent all his energy trying to sneak into the sitting room to have a go at them.

  Sunset came early and Nana retired to the sitting room with a nice cup of tea and some biscuits. She switched the television on and took up her knitting, keeping an eye out for any lights that might be appearing in the tree.

  The evening dragged on by. There wasn’t much to watch, and Mister Gibson kept thumping against the closed door at regular intervals. With the heating on the room felt stuffy and close. Nana couldn’t stop her eyes from drooping shut...

  ***

  She awoke with a start. A loud noise, something on the television, had startled her. The room swam into focus and Nana remembered that she had been waiting for something to happen all evening. She jerked upright and turned to face the Christmas tree. Several fairies had already begun to glimmer amongst the needles.

  “Just in time.” As she crossed the room Nana glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece; it was nearly midnight. More of the fairies were waking up; she could see their tightly wrapped wings split apart and unfurl gracefully, before snapping out straight. They began to glow as soon as they were open, reminding Nana of the fibre-optic decorations she had seen in the department stores last time she had gone to town. She watched the closest fairy lift its head, eyes blinking sleepily. They seemed larger than the previous night, and darker, like jet black ovals against the pale skin of its face. In fact, as she bent over to get a better look she realised that the face was different too. It was sleeker, sharper and less chubby, less like a child. The fairy’s ears were elongated and pointed, as was its nose. Its chin was narrow and its cheeks were gaunt. It had hair now, black and glossy, still short and messy but clearly destined to grow longer. It looked nothing like it had the night before; it looked like it had grown up. Of course, Nana doubted it was the same baby-faced, child-like fairy she had examined previously, but looking around the tree she saw that all the fairies looked much the same, all with their dark eyes open in sharply contoured faces, all with their wings stretched out wide, glowing brightly, longer than before. They were growing up fast.

  ***

  For the rest of the week Nana found herself sleeping through much of the day so that she could stay up later. She would sit in the darkened sitting room, with the lights and the television off, watching the fairies. They reminded her of the fancy lights that some people wound round their Christmas trees. Thomas probably had some, she thought. They would cycle through a number of light patterns, some simple, some complicated. As it got closer to Christmas their skill gradually increased. They progressed from being able to blink their glowing wings in time, through a Mexican-wave type pattern where eac
h fairy on the string would blink one after the other down the line, to being able to synchronise their blinking by colour. Nana noticed that they used simple light patterns after they woke up, before moving on to the more complicated patterns as the night drew on. The couple of times when Nana had been able to stay awake until morning she saw that the fairies stopped their organised blinking shortly before daybreak and started flashing, glimmering and blinking at random to each other. It looked like talking, thought Nana, how they spoke to each other, with light. It was incredibly beautiful.

  ***

  Finally, on Christmas Eve, something terrible happened.

  It was early in the morning. Nana had been up all night watching the fairies. By now they had grown long and thin, several inches long at least, she thought. They looked adult now, with sharp angular faces and graceful arms. They were standing straight and tall, although they still seemed to be attached to the wire. Their hair had also grown, straight and thick, down their backs. It was their wings, however, that were the most marvellous feature, almost the size of Nana’s hands in some cases, and glowing fiercely.

  Nana got up from the armchair, which she had dragged closer to the tree for better viewing, and hobbled stiffly from the room to visit the bathroom. She was coming back down the stairs several minutes later when she heard an almighty crash coming from the sitting room. She suddenly realised that she had left the door to the sitting room open.

  “Mister Gibson! You get away from them, leave them alone! You hear me cat?” She hurried as fast as she could but it was already too late. The Christmas tree was toppled over across the coffee table. Its branches were dishevelled; pine needles and baubles lay everywhere across the floor. It was shaking violently as the fairies attached to the wires fluttered around manically, some trying to lift up into the air, others seemingly hell-bent on reaching the armchair next to the fallen tree. Nana instantly saw why.