The Edward King Series Books 1-3

by Wood, Rick

  26

  Anna sat alone, half silhouetted by the pale moon outside the window. Martin’s heart ached, watching his mother appearing so solemn. She was all he had in the world, and he knew he had let her down.

  “I got a call from your school today.” She spoke slowly and quietly, which was strange, as he was so used to her getting angry and agitated over such little things. Instead, she just turned her head toward him, her face half-formed by the moonlight, her smudged tears glistening.

  He edged toward her and pulled out a seat. Taking it slowly and particularly, he lifted his sad eyes to hers and forced a wounded smile.

  He tried to take her hand in his, but she withdrew it.

  “Thought you might,” he nodded. He didn’t bother with the light, they didn’t need it. The room felt calm, but it also felt hopeless. Besides, the last thing he wanted was for her to see his injuries and get even more concerned, nor did they want to have to pay the electricity bill.

  “You swore at a teacher. Walked out of school.”

  “I know, Ma.”

  “How do expect us to get by if we get fined?”

  He didn’t turn away. He didn’t run, didn’t flee from the situation. Instead, he sat on the edge of his seat toward her, stroking his hand down her hair.

  “I don’t need school, Ma. I need to take care of you. What if you need the toilet during the day when I’m not here? They won’t give us a full-time carer, you heard what they said.”

  “I don’t give a damn what they said.”

  He paused, resting his arm around her shoulders.

  The sight of his mother upset hurt him, and he struggled to hold in his tears. He told himself he was a man, and men didn’t cry.

  But she cried. Though she clearly did her best not to make any sound, her sobs were clear for him to see.

  “In that case, I’ll have to deal with myself, won’t I?”

  “But, Ma –”

  “No! You listen to me, Martin. I want you to get an education.”

  “I don’t care about no education.”

  She grabbed hold of his collar. He knew it would take everything she had to make such a strong, bold move. It would likely tire her out for the night, but she did it anyway.

  “You will care,” she spat through her choking tears. “Without an education, you’ll end up the same way I did. Same way your father did. And I won’t have that.”

  “Ma –”

  “Because I love you.”

  He couldn’t help it. He leaked tears. Man tears.

  “I love you too, Ma.”

  He buried his head in her shoulder. He couldn’t let her see him cry, nor could he bear to watch her fill with tears. It was too much.

  He always wished for another life. But he never wished for another mum.

  Finally, he pulled away, lifting his top and wiping his eyes. He held eye contact with her, forcing a smile, his heart breaking from the hurt look in her eyes.

  She had never wanted to force this life on him. She knew the burden she placed on him. This accident was never her choice.

  “Let’s take you to bed, Ma.”

  He helped her out of the wheelchair and picked her up in his arms. She might have been able to make it half the way on her crutches, but it would be too much to ask.

  As he tucked her into bed and kissed her on the forehead good night, he thought about what it would be like if she could do that to him.

  If she could be the one lovingly putting him to bed. Like she did when he was little.

  As he returned to the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water into a dirty glass, flinching at the rancid taste. Then something caught his eye. Something glistening across the room. Something on his mum’s wheelchair.

  Pouring away the rest of the foul water, he dropped the glass into the sink and made his way over. He turned the wheelchair into the light and ran his hands over the writing.

  There were some words written across the back of her chair. In gold. There was writing, in gold.

  He did his best to make out what was written, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t English. He wasn’t sure what it was. It looked old, not some language he had heard.

  Finding a receipt for something down the back of his trousers, he reached for a blunt pencil that lay on the kitchen side and wrote down the letters he saw before him. He held the piece of paper up to the light and scrunched his face up to try and make out what it was.

  Surge, diabolum

  He shook his head. Maybe if he had paid attention in school, he could…

  Nah. This ain’t English. No way.

  He had done French at school, but it didn’t seem anything like that either.

  And where did she get the pen from? We barely own a pen, never mind a gold pen.

  He reached around the bottom of the wheelchair, feeling over the wheels, not entirely sure what it was he was expecting to find.

  He scanned the kitchen and the lounge area. He reached under the sofa cushions, under the seats, in the kitchen drawers. Nothing.

  Then he saw it. Reflecting in the light. Up above himself, on top of the kitchen cupboards.

  A gold pen.

  He couldn’t reach it. He had to hold out a chair to climb up and get it. But, sure enough, there it was.

  On top of the kitchen cupboard.

  Somewhere he couldn’t reach without climbing on a chair.

  His eyes fixated on it. A mind full of confusion.

  How did she get a gold pen up here?

  As hard as he tried to sleep that night, he couldn’t. The words and the pen spun round and round his mind until it made even less sense than before.

  27

  23 July 2002

  Kelly enjoyed the first dreamless sleep she’d had in a very long time. She was at peace, blankness in her mind; no flashbacks, no images, no violence. Nothing.

  Until her eyes opened with a start. From a deep sleep to wide awake, in seconds.

  Turning over to see the alarm clock, she gasped. It was 3.00 a.m. Exactly.

  Eddie had told her the significance of this time. He had warned her of the dangers of this house, and the significance in the world of the paranormal.

  She turned to check if he was awake.

  He wasn’t there.

  Leaning up, she switched on a lamp and looked around the room.

  Nothing. No one.

  The door was ajar, a neat pool of moonlight leaking through the curtains. She placed her feet on the floor, feeling the carpet sink beneath her, gazing around herself. She crept forward, toward the door, and looked out into the hallway.

  “Eddie?” she whispered.

  Silence.

  The door softly creaked as she opened it further, looking back and forth across the landing. There was no movement, no sound, just a still full moon boasting through the window.

  “Eddie?” she spoke, this time a little louder.

  No answer.

  She left the room behind her, making her way across the landing and to the top of the stairs. As she took each step slowly and surely, she felt a draft upon her legs. She felt suddenly cold in just her pyjama t-shirt and shorts, a cold that reminded her of winter.

  “Eddie?”

  As she paused on the bottom step, she looked back and forth.

  The backdoor was open. Through the kitchen. That’s where the draught was coming from.

  “Eddie?”

  Still no answer. But she could see something, some black outline, some movement of shadow outside.

  Step by step, she moved slowly but surely toward the backdoor, keeping her gaze fixed, worried as to what might jump out.

  Huddling her arms around herself for warmth, she stepped onto the paving slabs outside the house. They were icy-cold on the soles of her feet.

  There Eddie stood. Swaying ever so slightly from side to side. His eyes were wide open, without blinking. He was transfixed.

  It freaked her out. It was like nothing she had seen; he was, without doubt, asleep
. Yet his eyes were wider than they ever were when he was awake. They looked painful, his pupils bloodshot, his eye-lids peeled open as if being pulled by an invisible hook.

  His piercing eyes were fixed on something in front of him.

  “Eddie, come back to –”

  She was unable to finish that sentence. She gasped, and jumped back, recoiling in horror.

  The shed door flapped open in the breeze, and each time it did, she saw the same familiar sight.

  A cat’s head. Nailed to the back of the shed. Blood dripping from the entrails that hung loosely beneath its chin. A pool of dark red lay on the floor below it.

  It was exactly the same as before.

  She put her hand on Eddie’s arm, squeezing it.

  “Eddie, please.”

  A shuffle came from the leaves across the garden.

  She jumped, flattening herself against the wall of the house. Peering into the shadows across the garden, she moved behind Eddie, as if he would be able to defend her.

  He was still catatonic.

  The silhouette of a man rustled beneath the tree across the small patch of grass. It was hard to make out, but she had no doubt someone was there. Amongst the shadows of the night, the silhouette stood.

  And it looked straight at her.

  “Eddie, please wake up.”

  The door behind her slammed shut. She ran toward it, grabbing onto it, trying to pull it open, rip it open if she had to.

  It wouldn’t move.

  She looked back to the silhouette. It stayed still.

  But it was there.

  She knew it was there.

  “What do you want?” She tried to sound threatening, but her voice was etched with fear.

  She looked to Eddie, who remained motionless, transfixed, then back to the figure, a stationary individual. Just standing. Watching.

  “Eddie, please, please.”

  She shook him. Nothing. No reaction. He swayed, and that was all.

  “Please!” she cried.

  Eddie’s face turned toward her and she yelped against the wall.

  His pupils disappeared, replaced by white, the veins of his face sticking out like red string.

  He turned, walked toward the kitchen door, and opened it seamlessly.

  The damn door opened.

  She jumped inside with him and thumped the door shut, locking it, keeping her eyes on the figure that did not move.

  It still did not move.

  She turned to Eddie, but it was too late. He was walking at a steady pace toward the stairs.

  Her eyes turned back to the figure.

  Her skin prickled, hairs stuck up on end, blood rushing through her veins.

  She realised she was shaking.

  She swept the curtains across in a sudden motion and turned on her heel, running up the stairs, back across the landing and into the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Eddie was in bed. Asleep. Snoring. Motionless.

  “Eddie?” she asked.

  His eyes slowly blinked open and he lifted his head.

  “Kelly?” he asked, full of concern. “What are you doing?”

  Her breathing accelerated, her senses heightened, keeping distance between her and him.

  “Eddie?”

  “Kelly, what are you doing?” He spoke as if nothing happened. “Come back to bed.”

  “I…” She didn’t know what to say. “I will.”

  That was good enough for him. He lay his head back down on the pillow and fell back asleep.

  She didn’t move. She was stuck against the door.

  Watching him.

  Waiting for something. Waiting for nothing.

  She woke up next morning, huddled in the corner of the room.

  Eddie was still fast asleep.

  28

  Jenny was astounded at the sight of Eddie. Bags sat prominently under his eyes, which were creepily bloodshot. Each of his movements seemed sluggish. Even the simple act of lifting his latte to his mouth showed he was exhausted.

  “Jesus, Eddie,” she exclaimed. “I’m really worried about you.”

  He shook his head into the shortbread that sat solitary on his plate.

  “I’m not getting much sleep,” he admitted. “Neither’s Kelly, to be honest.”

  “I hope you’re both getting on okay. She’s perfect for you. I know I said it when you got together, but…”

  She faded off, recognising in her best friend’s eyes that this was not relationship problems. This was something more.

  “I’m scared, Jen.”

  He lifted his face and exposed his solemn eyes. They were full of emotion, riddled with doubt. They looked like they were permanently on the brink of crying and it broke her heart to see him this way.

  After all they had done for each other.

  She couldn’t even remember her life without Eddie. He was too important to let dwell on this.

  “Scared of what, Eddie?”

  “I don’t know…” He recoiled, his head sinking back to his beverage.

  “Whatever it is, Eddie, you have taken on the depths of hell, the devil himself. Whatever it is, you can deal.”

  “That’s the thing, you see.” He shook his head and peered at the corner of the room, gathering his thoughts. He took a sip of his latte, not really tasting it, just biding time he could take to think. “I don’t think it was that simple.”

  “Simple?”

  It had been anything but.

  She’d had to practically kill him, then stress as she helplessly watched Lacy revive him. She’d had to send him to hell so she could pull him back. It had not been simple.

  “I don’t mean what you did, which took so much courage. You were so brave.”

  Jenny blushed.

  “Thing is,” he continued. “I did that fireball thing at the devil and we made it out. It… It was just too easy. It’s the ruler of hell, and it was just too easy.”

  He exhaled a breath of exasperation and leant back in his chair.

  “What is this really about?” Jenny put her hand on his. “This can’t be about what was a tremendous victory.”

  “It’s just… things are happening again. And it’s Kelly. I’m worried about her.”

  “Why?”

  “She keeps having flashbacks. And I know they are terrible and I know she can’t say these things out loud, it’s just…”

  His eyes welled up and he stifled back tears.

  “Just what, Eddie?”

  She smiled at him, gripping his hand in hers, showing him she was there.

  “She can’t talk to me about it. And now things are happening. Dead animals turning up at our house.”

  “Dead animals?”

  “Yes. And there’s this thing called The Devil’s Three.”

  “The Devil’s Three?”

  “And these powers I have, they can’t fight it, because they come from it, and –”

  He stopped, choking on his words. They were in public, and if anyone overheard they would think he was crazy.

  “Eddie, I don’t know about any devil or three or dead animals… But I’ll tell you what I do know.”

  Eddie turned his head away in denial, but she would not let it go. She grabbed his head and forced him to face her, looking dead into those painful eyes.

  “You are the best person I know. The things you can do are incredible. Whatever it is, whatever you are up about, you will face it. And you will win.”

  “But what if I’m not a good person –”

  “You are. You just need to believe it.”

  He nodded, sighing. Maybe she was right.

  But how could she be?

  Someone was putting these carcasses around the house. What if it was Kelly?

  What if it was him?

  What if it was neither of them?

  What if it was –

  Enough.

  “Thanks, Jenny. I love Kelly so much, it’s taken me so long to find her, I…”

  He shoo
k his head. He couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too hard. The whole bloody thing was too hard.

  “I know, Eddie. I know.”

  29

  The wind was harsh and the clouds were grey as Kelly arrived at her front door.

  She glanced over her shoulder. All day, she’d had the strangest feeling she was being watched. When she’d picked up her morning coffee, when she left her lectures, when she walked across the car park, she had felt it. An ominous feeling that rose through the pit of her stomach, filling her with alarm.

  She couldn’t see anyone. The bushes bustled, but that was mainly due to the unwelcome summer breeze. The sound of a loud television came from the house opposite, a car drove past… all fuelling her paranoia, but nothing particularly untoward.

  But still, that feeling, it hung over her like an ensuing rain cloud waiting to pour.

  After she let herself into the house, she locked the front door and placed the chain across, ensuring she was safely secured inside.

  Dropping her bag next to her shoes and trudging through the hallway to the kitchen, she put the kettle on and slumped in a chair.

  She was tired; these sleepless nights were finally getting to her. She had struggled to stay awake in lectures, even finding her eyes closing a few times. Honestly, if you were to ask what the lectures had been about, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d have an answer. As her eyes rested, waiting for the kettle to boil, they felt warm and comfortable as her eye-lids met.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Three resounding, solid knocks banged against the front door and echoed throughout the house.

  Her eyes flung wide open with alarm. She stood. Should she call Eddie? The police? Should she run out the back door?

  Then it dawned on her; why? It was perfectly normal for someone to knock on the door. It may be the postman, or a neighbour. Why was she so quick to plan her defence against a predator that may not even be there?

  “You need to get a grip, Kelly,” she told herself.

  Still, as she edged toward the door, that ominous feeling spread through her gut once more. She’d had it all day, and this was only exacerbating it.

  Knock knock knock.