Ian struck lucky at the third uncurtained window he investigated. The illuminated screen of the window presented an almost perfect tableau as far as he was concerned. A classic collector’s item!
The woman, young with a full figure, lay on her back on the big sofa. Her dress had been pushed up to the point where it half exposed her breasts; her knickers and tights lay discarded on the floor. Her legs were wide apart to accommodate the man’s face that was buried between them.
Ian wet his lips as he watched the man - her husband, lover or next-door neighbour - knead her breasts while his head moved rhythmically between her thighs. Ian’s heart began to thump with excitement. It was better than he’d hoped for . . .
He unzipped his fly and took out his penis, which was quite hard. He started to rub it vigorously.
The woman, whose eyes were closed, was now arching her back. She reached down with one hand to the man’s head and caressed his hair with her fingers. Ian couldn’t see it but he could imagine the man’s tongue thrusting deeper and deeper into her wet softness as she encouraged him to push harder. He was good at imagining that sort of thing.
His penis was throbbing now as he rubbed it and he was starting to rock back and forth slightly on his feet. So overcome was he by the delirious pleasure of the moment that he failed to even notice the tickling sensation on the calf of his right leg . . .
Gordon Wicks’s mind was beginning to wander. He couldn’t help remembering the joke he’d read once about what he was doing right now - ‘Cunnilingus is like tending sheep, it’s dark, wet and lonely work but someone’s got to do it . . .’ He didn’t object to giving Alison as much pleasure as she wanted but boy she could take a long time to get where she was going. Much more of this and his jaw muscles would get cramp. His tongue was already going numb . . .
At last he felt those familiar muscular spasms begin to jerk through her body. She was reaching climax, thank God. He must have been at it for nearly a quarter of an hour now. No wonder she was always complaining about her husband, Jim, not giving her enough. He was beginning to feel sympathetic towards poor old Jim . . .
But soon it would be his turn - her spasms were getting faster now - and he was sure going to make the most of it. He would fuck her brains out.
Alison moaned loudly as her body shuddered violently, then gave a piercing scream. Gordon felt flattered. She’d never done that before . . .
Then he himself yelped as his hair was savagely pulled. ‘Hey!’ he cried as he jerked his head up and tried to get free of her agonizing grip. Then he saw that she was pointing at the window with her other hand, a look of horror on her face. He turned and looked.
There was a man outside. He was peering in through the window at them. For one terrible moment Gordon thought it was Alison’s husband but he realized he didn’t recognize the round, bespectacled face.
He leapt up with an angry bellow and ran to the front hallway, zipping his trousers as he went. If he got his hands on that dirty little peeping tom he’d break his neck! Of all bloody awful times to stare in through Alison’s window . . . just when he was about to get his end away!
To his amazement, when he flung open the front door and rushed out into the garden, the guy was still standing there in the same spot and still staring in the window. He didn’t even react when Gordon yelled, ‘You fucking bastard! I’m going to kill you!’ and charged him, arms flailing.
Gordon’s right fist, with the full weight of his body behind it, landed on the side of the man’s face. There was a sickeningly liquid crunch and his head shattered, releasing a shower of thick, yellow fluid - some of which spattered onto Gordon’s hand and shirt front.
His mind numb with shock, Gordon watched as the headless body fell backwards onto the lawn. At the same time a part of his mind registered seeing a long, thin, glistening shape go shooting down the grille of a nearby drain beside the wall of the house. It looked like a giant, black earthworm but Gordon had no time to think about it any further because it was then that he noticed his right hand had disappeared.
Mrs Edith Moulton opened her back door and called, ‘Mitzy! Mitzy! Mitzy!’ in a high-pitched voice. Then she banged the knife several times against the food dish. She waited expectantly but Mitzy, her black and white cat, failed to come bounding up the garden as she usually did. And it was especially odd considering that she’d been to bingo tonight and was late feeding her.
Perhaps she was sulking because her dinner was late, thought Mrs Moulton as she walked painfully down the garden, trying to ignore the cruel twinges of arthritis in her knees. Then, halfway down the small garden, she spotted Mitzy. The cat was sitting by the back fence.
‘There you are, Mitzy!’ cried Mrs Moulton. ‘Come on, come here!’
The cat didn’t budge. She called to it again and rapped the knife against the dish. Mitzy remained motionless. Mrs Moulton felt a stab of sudden anxiety. For Mitzy to act this oddly she must be sick. She hobbled over to it, bent down painfully, put the dish and knife on the lawn and reached for Mitzy.
Mrs Moulton screamed as she picked up her cat and realized she was holding nothing but an empty skin.
She let go of it with a shudder of shocked revulsion and staggered back, her eyes filling with tears. Who could have done such a thing to poor Mitzy?! What sort of people could kill my cat, gut it and then leave it for me to find that way . . .? What sort of monsters . . .?
Her stomach heaved and there was the sour taste of bile in the back of her throat. Trembling with emotion she stumbled up the garden, almost blinded by tears.
She was retching as she staggered into her kitchen. She went to the sink and bent over it. As she did so she thought she saw something long and black rise out of the plug-hole towards her face. Her mouth dropped open with astonishment. Through the watery blur in her eyes it resembled some kind of snake ...
And then, before she had time to react, the thing made a sudden dart forwards. The tip embedded itself in her left eye. There was no pain - just a tingling sensation followed by numbness.
She screamed and grabbed the thing, trying to pull it out of her eye. It felt cold, slimy and very soft but no matter how hard she pulled she couldn’t detach its end from her eye. Still screaming, she backed away from the sink but as she moved more and more of the thing slid up out of the plug-hole until it stretched for over six feet across the kitchen.
The numbness was spreading through her body now and she found she could no longer make a sound. Dizzy, she collapsed to her knees, vaguely aware that she couldn’t feel her arthritis. She made one last attempt to pull the thing from her eye before the numbness engulfed her completely and she stopped moving.
Tony Cook looked up irritably as his young daughter, Jenny, came into the living room trailing her teddy bear. You should be alseep,’ he told her with a scowl. ‘Go hack to bed at once.’
‘You heard Daddy, go back to bed,’ said Jane without taking her eyes away from the TV screen.
Jenny regarded them solemnly, her thumb in her mouth is usual. Then she took her thumb out and said, ‘There’s a big snake in my room. I don’t like it. Make it go away . . .’
‘A snake?' asked Tony, frowning.
‘Oh, don't be silly, dear. There isn’t any snake in your room,’ said Jane, glancing briefly at her. ‘You must have been dreaming.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ said Jenny firmly, it woke me up. It knocked over Barbara . . .’ - Barbara was her doll - ‘. . . I lien it crawled towards my bed . . .’
Tony sighed. ‘Where is it now?’
‘Went back down the hole. In the floor. I threw my pillow at it ... so it ran away.’
‘There are no snakes in England, dear,’ said Jane, still looking at the TV. ‘Except for little ones.’
‘This isn’t little. It’s big,’ Jenny told her seriously. She stretched out her arms. ‘Bigger than this. Lots bigger.’ Tony sighed again and got to his feet. ‘Okay, you win, peanut. I’ll come take a look. But if I don’t find a giant nake in yo
ur room you’ve got to promise not to make another peep tonight. Do you promise?’
‘Promise,’ agreed Jenny.
‘She watches too much television,’ said Jane, without looking away from the screen.
Tony went into Jenny’s room and switched on the light. As he expected, there was nothing to see, though her pillow was lying on the floor. She was at least telling the I ruth about throwing it, if nothing else. He turned and looked down at her. 'Right. Where’s this big snake of yours?’
‘Told you. It went back down the hole.’ She pointed. Tony went and looked and found a small knot-hole in the floorboard next to the skirting. It was only about a half inch in diameter. ‘I thought you said it was a big snake,’ he told her accusingly.
it is, Daddy. It’s long. It went all the way from the hole to where my pillow is.’ She was standing hesitantly in the doorway, the teddy bear held in front of her as if for protection. Despite his irritation he couldn't help feeling a wave of affection for her. More kindly he said, ‘That is long. Over three yards, darling. Are you sure it was a snake? Maybe it was just a shadow. When you’re falling asleep your eyes can play funny tricks on you . . .’ ‘Well,’ Jenny said slowly, it might not have been a snake . . .’
He smiled at her. ‘Good. Back to bed then, there’s a good girl.’ it might have been a very long worm.’
The smile vanished from his face. ‘Look, here’s what we’ll do then . . .’ He pushed a chest of drawers a few feet until its base covered the knot hole. ‘How’s that? There’s no way the snake or worm can get out now. Okay?’
Jenny looked doubtfully at the bottom of the chest of drawers then nodded. ‘S’pose so,’ she said, her face sombre.
‘Bed then. Move, peanut.’
Reluctantly she went to her bed and climbed in. Tony picked her pillow up off the floor and put it behind her head, then tucked the covers under her chin. He kissed her on the forehead and said, ‘Goodnight, peanut. Remember your promise and go to sleep.’
She nodded.
At the door he gave her a final look. She was watching
him with wide, serious eyes. He smiled at her and turned off the light.
He walked back to the living room with a slight but persistent prickle of unease growing within him.
‘All taken care of?’ asked Jane as he sat down.
‘Yeah,’ he answered, and frowned. Then, after a long pause, he said, ‘It’s odd . . .’
‘What is?’ she asked distantly, her attention remaining on the screen.
‘Well, you know what she’s like when she’s being mischievous, she gets that look in her eye - you know what I mean . . .’
‘Mmm.’
‘Well, it wasn’t there. She was being perfectly matter-of-fact. She really does think she saw a snake . . . or a worm.’
‘I told you, she watches too much TV. Perhaps we should stop her watching Dr Who for a start . . .'
The worm was back. She could see it moving across the floor. There was enough light coming through her window from the street lamps for her to see it quite clearly as it came towards her bed, its head moving from side to side.
It had come from under her wardrobe this time. She guessed there must be another hole in the floorboards there. Or maybe it wasn't even the same worm-thing. Perhaps there were lots of them under the house . . .
She didn’t like the idea of that at all. She wanted to get up and run to her parents again but she remembered the promise she’d made to her father. So she sat there in her bed and watched the worm get closer . . .
‘You’d think they’d have said something on the news.’
‘Hmmm?’
‘The news,’ repeated Jane, then gave an irritated sigh when she saw he wasn’t listening to her but staring off into space with a worried frown on his face. ‘Tony, I’m talking to you.’
He turned to her. ‘Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I said, you'd think they’d have had some mention of it on the news.’
‘Mention of what?’
She gave another exaggerated sigh. ‘Mention of what-ever’s been going on in Harpenden today. All those police cars that have been patrolling the streets. I’ve never seen so many policemen before.’
He nodded. They’d already had this discussion during dinner.
‘I mean to say,’ she continued, ‘if there’s some kind of emergency going on they should tell us. Perhaps there’s been a major jail-break or something. It’s not right to leave us in the dark this way, is it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It isn’t.’
Suddenly he got to his feet again. ‘I think I’ll look in on Jenny. See if she’s asleep yet . . .’
‘Oh, Tony, don’t spoil her or she’ll play this game every night from now on.’
‘I don’t think she’s playing a game,’ said Tony curtly and left.
A few seconds later his scream cut through Jane like a chain saw.
7
Anne dried her eyes and told herself to stop wallowing in self-pity, even though she knew she deserved a good wallow after the way Clive had behaved . . .
That afternoon she had shaken herself out of her tranquillizer-induced lethargy and had spent hours preparing him his favourite meal, beef casserole. She had everything ready for him when he came in - and there was an open bottle of claret on the dining-room table between the two candles - but instead of complimenting her on her efforts he had simply flung down a newspaper and said coldly, ‘Well?’
She had read the piece carefully then looked up at him. ‘Well, it’s a bit over the top but I suppose it could be worse.’
Slowly he said, ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
She frowned. By then she’d realized he was furious. More angry than she’d seen him in a long time. And he was angry at her. ‘But you must have expected something like this when you sent her round to see me.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘She said you told her it was alright if . . . oh . . .’ Anne’s heart sank. ‘Oh, Clive, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s a bit late for apologies. Renton almost put me on suspension thanks to your stupidity this afternoon.’
‘But she was so convincing, Clive. And a nice girl too. I liked her . . .’
He gestured at the phone on the sideboard. ‘Want to call up Professor Renton and tell him that? I’m sure it would make all the difference.’
‘Clive, what can I say? I’m sorry. I know now I should have checked with you and confirmed she was telling the truth. But I was feeling a bit dopey, what with the tranquillizers and all . . .’
‘Dopey is the word alright,’ he snapped. ‘Christ, Anne, you know what my situation is like at CPHL. And things have got even more sensitive since the Porton Down mob have moved in, and yet here you are blabbing your heart out to the popular press! You’ve put my whole career in jeopardy!’
She was fighting back the tears by then. ‘Clive . .
‘Oh, go to hell!’ he yelled and strode out of the room. Seconds later she heard the door of his study slam shut.
She stood there dazedly for a time, stunned by the intensity of his anger. Then she began to feel angry herself - how dare he speak to her that way? Alright, so she’d made a mistake, and in retrospect she should have been more suspicious of that reporter, but that didn’t give him the right to treat her that way. He knew perfectly well that she still hadn’t recovered from what had happened on Monday - he should have been more understanding . . .
As the tears began to roll down her cheeks she pinched out the two candles and then methodically cleared the dining-room table. In the kitchen she switched off the oven - the casserole could go into the freezer later - and emptied the rice into the dustbin. Then she took the bottle of claret and a single glass into the living room.
The bottle had been empty a long time when, just after 11 p.m., the phone rang. Anne ignored it. Let Clive answer it on his study extension, she decided. It was probably for him anyway.
The ri
nging stopped then, some thirty seconds later, she heard the ding as the receiver was replaced. The door to his study opened and he came into the living room. He was carrying his black bag.
She looked at him, not caring how red her eyes must be. His expression was grim. ‘Emergency call,’ he said brusquely. ‘That trouble at Harpenden - there’s been some more of it.’
She’d forgotten all about Harpenden. Perhaps that was i he cause of his uncharacteristic behaviour - maybe he had a serious problem on his hands. ‘What trouble?’ she asked. ‘What happened?’
He gave her a cold look and said, ‘I’d tell you if I didn’t know you’d immediately pass the information on to your friends at the Daily News.’
‘You bastard,’ she said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again.
He left without another word. She heard the front door shut then the sound of his car as it drove off.
When her tears had dried for the second time that night she had come to a decision. She picked up the phone and dialled a number.
‘Stephen? It’s Anne Thomas. I didn’t get you out of bed, did I? Good. Look, could you come over right away and pick me up? It’s important but I’ll explain it all when you get here. I want you to drive me up to Harpenden . . .’
It took Thomas only a few minutes to drive up the A1081 from St Albans to Harpenden. He wasn’t surprised when he encountered the police road-block on the outskirts of the town. After he identified himself he was guided by a Panda car to a church hall about a quarter of a mile away. On the way he saw a great deal of police activity in the streets. Apart from numerous patrol cars he saw several groups of uniformed officers searching in front gardens. In the distance a helicopter, its powerful spotlight probing the ground, hovered at a low altitude above one of the town’s many new housing estates.
Thomas was escorted into the church hall by the two constables from the Panda. He saw that it had been converted into a temporary morgue. Over ninety bodies lay in three rows in the centre of the hall. They had that unnerving rigidity that was now becoming all too familiar to him. With a pang of sorrow he noticed that several of the bodies were those of small children.
Simon Ian Childer Page 5
