Unbeknownst to the exorcists, the students had joined them at the window and were now staring out at the back garden in awe and terror.
“We don't know” Pete said. It was all he had.
“Aren't you guys supposed to be specialists?” Jim asked. “You must have seen stuff like this before, right? I mean, where did it come from?”
The brothers looked at each other, searching for an appropriate response. When they turned back to the students, each of them nervous and worried, they wanted to give them a clear answer. Unfortunately, there was none. Sister Sarah spoke up, her voice strong and reassuring.
“Incidents like this have been recorded before,” she said.
The Idols spun their heads to her and spoke in unison.
“They have?” they said.
“Yes. I've read reports of similar things happening in the past. Always small towns, away from large cities and populaces. I haven't heard of such things happening for a very long time, though, and certainly never in this country.”
“But the places where this did happen. What happened in those cases?” Benjamin asked.
Chris noticed a look in Sister Sarah's eyes that they didn't like. It was one of concern. Of knowing something awful that she couldn't say. Within moments that look was gone and her eyes brightened again.
“In those cases, the storms were short lived. This one will pass too. If we stay inside, we have nothing to worry about.”
“Is it acid rain?” Petra asked.
“No,” Sarah replied. “Nothing like that, it’s—.”
“Quiet!” Chris said, silencing the room. “Do you hear that?”
Everyone fell silent, listening.
“I don't hear anything but that shitty rain,” Jim said.
“Hmm. I could have sworn I heard something.”
“What, out there in that piss? What could you have possibly heard out there?” Pete replied.
THUD.
Something hit the heavy wooden door leading out onto the back garden.
THUD.
Another heavy sound, this time something hitting the wall of the house at great speed. Then another, and another.
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Before every horrific thud, Pete thought he heard the sound of flapping wings.
“What's going on? What is that?” Claire Marie asked, panicked.
Suddenly there was an almighty screech, as if someone was gargling with glass. Most of the group held their ears and dropped to their knees. All except the Idol brothers. Chris rushed to the kitchen countertop and pulled a large kitchen knife from the block on the side. Pete picked up a fresh chair from the kitchen table, and held it ready. He turned to his brother, who had a look of resigned horror on his face.
“I told you I heard something out there,” Chris said.
And then the rest of the kitchen window exploded inwards.
***
As the shattered glass flew inwards, Chris instinctively threw his hands up to protect his face. He yelped as the force of the blow knocked him off his feet, and he hit the kitchen cupboard with his back. The blow knocked the door off its hinges, and Chris landed on the tiled floor, surrounded by a selection of mini cereal boxes. The blow knocked him senseless, and for a short time everything became a blur. He blinked and, after a tiny box of Ricicles bounced off the top of his head, looked up at the newcomers standing in the kitchen.
There were three of them, and despite each having their own unique mutations and nightmarish traits, they were all still clearly ducks. Or at least they used to be. Dripping in the dark crimson that was pouring from the sky, they had now become abominations.
Chris tried to shake the cobwebs and make sense of what he was seeing, when the feathery monster that hit him fixed him with its glowing red eyes. It screeched once and then rushed at him.
He suddenly realised that the knife was no longer in his hand. He had dropped it when he hit the cupboard. And so when the creature was almost upon him, he threw a foot out. The duck was knocked back, screaming in protest and flailing its wings, sending red in all directions. It skidded back, righted itself, and prepared to rush him again when, from out of nowhere, a broom smashed into it, forcing it against the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink.
Sister Sarah grimaced as she pinned the monster to the wooden cupboard door, using all her weight to keep it from escaping. She shot Chris a look. It said 'get up and help me.'
Pete was holding the other two demon-ducks at bay with the kitchen chair. The foul creatures were screaming at him and the students pressed against the wall.
“What the hell is going on?” Jim shouted over the hellish sound.
As Pete jabbed at one of the evil blood-covered mutant ducks, the other darted to his side and prepared to launch itself at him. It used all its strength to launch its swollen, bloated body off of the linoleum floor tiles towards Pete's back. It hit his leather jacket with a thud and he let out a loud yelp in panic as it flailed at him.
He dropped the chair, swung his elbows back, trying to dislodge the assailant, but to no avail. As he did so, the other duck jumped onto the large kitchen table and confronted the young students. Its black eyes burned into them, the glowing coal at the centre seeming the get brighter, and then it opened its wings. Its feathers were mangled and caked in tar-like blood that dripped onto the hard oak table.
“Oh shit,” Benjamin said as, holding a protective arm in front of Petra.
The duck unleashed a torrent of vicious high-pitched quacks and looked ready to jump at them, when Claire Marie stepped in front of it and placed both of her hands on the underside of the table.
“Yeah, well fuck you too!” she shouted, before using all her strength to tip the table over. The duck screamed in protest, its clawed feet scrabbling at the countertop for purchase. It found none, and tumbled back onto the floor. It hit with a wet thump, and immediately tried to get back up. This effort was cut short as the table top landed on it, squashing it to the tiles.
Jim looked at Claire in impressed shock.
“Bloody hell, Claire,” he said.
The table moved, as the thing beneath it refused to die. Jim, Petra, and Claire decided that this would not do and, began stomping down on the table, using it to compress the duck beast underneath to death. As they did so, hideous black bile spurted out the sides as the creature’s body was pulped.
Benjamin grabbed a pair of oven gloves and rushed across to Pete, who was holding his hands over his head as a crazed duck went at him. It was so focused on the poor Idol brother that it did not see Ben approach at speed. As it spread its wings, prepared for another attack, Ben took his chance. Grabbing a wing with each of his oven-gloved hands, he closed his eyes and spun, pulling the beast off Pete's back and launching it across the room like it was an Olympic hammer. Through the window it went, screeching all the way.
Pete looked at his unlikely saviour and down at the now-bloody oven gloves.
“You okay?” Benjamin asked.
“Yeah,” Pete said, breathlessly. “Thanks, mate.”
A screech came from outside.
“We need to block that window up!” Pete shouted, and rushed over to the others, latched onto the overturned table. As they all pulled it away, the body of the creature beneath was revealed.
“Disgusting,” Petra said as she helped them lift it.
They quickly shuffled over to the hole in the wall.
“Lift!” Pete cried, aware that the screech of the beast was getting louder.
The group lifted, flipped the table, and pushed it up against the empty window frame. It was just big enough to fill the gap, and they got it in place just as the ejected duck returned, smashing itself into the table-top. Jim, Benjamin, and Pete held it in place, gritting their teeth as they did so.
Chris turned, saw Sister Sarah struggling across the room with the duck she had pinned down with a broom.
“Christopher!” Sarah cried out. The creature was almost free of its brist
ly prison and was quacking blue murder.
Chris reached down, picked the kitchen knife, and strode over to where Sarah was. She must have saw from the look on his face that he was in mood for messing around, and guessed what his intent was. Keeping the creature pinned down with the broom, she chose to look away. The duck had its neck outstretched, edging every closer to freedom, when Chris brought his foot down on its head. The blow pinned the creature’s head to the floor but didn't kill it. Keeping his foot on its head he went to work. Thankfully the kitchen knife made short work of the mutation neck. As he sawed back and forth, black liquid spurted from the cut, soaking his hands. The vile quacking noises turned to gargles and then spluttered to a stop, and as its bulbous and now-serrated head dropped to the floor, its body soon went limp.
Chris straightened and looked at Sarah, who was still looking away.
“It's okay, Sister. It's done. You can let go now,” he said.
She let out a sigh of relief before looking back at Chris.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I'm fine. Just got knocked silly a bit, that's all.” He smiled faintly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I mean I think so. Unless I'm asleep and having some kind of weird nightmare, of course.”
“If this is the sort of dream you have when you go to sleep, I'd definitely suggest you seek some kind of psychological help. Or stop eating cheese before bedtime.”
Sarah couldn't help but smile at this, and for a brief moment Chris was taken by how warm and lovely her smile was.
“Oi, arseholes!” a voice piped up. It was Pete's. “Stop pissing about and give us a hand, would ya?”
Pete and Jim were still struggling with the table as the last of the duck intruders clawed and scratched at it from outside.
“I need to get my bag. I have stuff in there that could stop these things getting in,” Sarah said to Chris, placing a hand on his arm. “You think you can handle this one?”
This time it was Chris' turn to give a faint smile, and he nodded at her. As she rushed into the hallway, he wiped the kitchen knife clean on a nearby dishtowel and stepped over to where the three men were struggling.
“When I say, lower the table slightly,” he said.
“You what?!” Jim cried. “Are you mental?”
“What if that thing gets in again?” Petra added, bracing her back against the table.
Chris fixed them all with a stare.
“Just lower it enough so that fuck-o-duck out there can get its bastard head through. Keep your heads down and leave the rest to me.” He tightened his grip on the knife.
Pete noticed the look in his brother’s eyes and looked at Jim.
“Do what he says, guys. My brother might be a nerd, but he knows what he's doing. Plus, I don't know about you, but I really don't want to stand here holding this thing all night, do you?”
Jim nodded, and they all prepared to do what they were told. Chris climbed up onto the chair Pete had been wielding as a weapon, and faced the smashed window. He crouched slightly and held the blade ready.
“NOW!” Chris shouted, and Pete and Jim used all their strength to carefully lower the table enough to allow a small enough gap at the top for something small to climb through.
For a brief moment, everything was quiet, apart from the grunts of the two men holding the table. Sweat dripped off Jim's forehead. Then there was the unmistakable and nightmarish flapping of wings again.
Suddenly, the bulbous head of the duck appeared. It looked like it had swollen even more since the last they had seen it, and it was dripping with fresh, thick red blood. It screeched and attempted the squeeze through the gap. The students and Pete struggled to hold the table steady, trying not to let too much of it through. The duck had its head and neck through, and looked down at the people trying to hold it at bay. Its screeched again. Just when Pete thought that the little monster was going to get in and create a whole new heap of chaos, his brother, who had calmly been crouching on the chair like some kind of stupid gargoyle, decided to strike.
He sprung upwards and swung the kitchen knife at the beast. It sliced through its gristly neck with ease and sent its head tumbling downwards. Its neck pumped out a jet of thick blood, blood that Chris was not quick enough to avoid, and after catching a bunch of it in the face, he slipped back off the chair and tumbled to the ground.
He hit the ground with a thump, dropping the knife as all of the air was pushed out of his lungs. The duck’s body disappeared from view, and when its swollen head hit the kitchen tiles, it exploded with a sickly pop, as if it were a water balloon filled with black ink. The stench was foul and Benjamin immediately threw up, but still the students held the table firm.
Chris winced, wiped his face, and looked over at his brother. Pete waited for a few moments, listening to the sound of the rain outside, before he decided it was safe enough to lower the table. He nodded at the group of students and they all slowly lowered it. Pete looked at his brother, splayed out on the floor all covered in Hell’s blood.
“You okay?” Pete asked
Chris rose up on his elbows and spat out a mouth full of black liquid.
“What do you think?”
Pete smirked, and was about to start laughing when Sister Sarah stepped back into the room. She was holding her large black bag in one hand, and in the other an ornate looking flask of some kind. She looked down at Chris and then at the black mess that spattered the kitchen.
“Told you I could handle it,” Chris said, dropping his head to the floor with a sigh.
Pete stepped back from the window and looked at it. The rain was still pelting down. The sound of it would have been very relaxing, if not for the faint sound of screaming behind it.
“We need to barricade this window,” he said. “Just in case something else tries to get in.”
“We need to barricade everything,” Sister Sarah piped up, and everyone in the room looked to her. She had a very serious look on her face. “Windows, doorways, vents, everything. We need to create a protective holy barrier between us and whatever evils are waiting out there.”
“Wait a second. Evils?” Benjamin coughed. “Are you saying there’s more stuff out there?”
“Yes, and we need to be prepared,” Sarah replied.
“Other monsters?” Petra asked. “More like those bird creatures?”
Sarah took a deep breath.
“Maybe. Or maybe something else. I'm sorry. I wish I could give you answers, but I really don't know. What I do know is that we have to barricade this house so that nothing can get in, and we have to do it as soon as possible.”
The students look dumbfounded as the insane situation they found themselves in started to sink in.
“Shit,” Pete sighed. “All our gear is still in the van.”
“That’s okay,” Sarah replied, shaking the ornate flask in her hands. It sounded like it was full of sand. “I've got something that will help.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
30 BLOODY MINUTES EARLIER
Jillian was hanging her washing out, grumbling about how the weather wasn't very good today, when it happened. The skies began to grow dark, massive rolling black and grey clouds filled the sky. Jillian placed her washing basket on the ground and stared up at the sky, shielding her eyes from a sun that was no longer there.
“I thought they said it would be clear skies and sunshine all week?” her husband said as he came out to stand beside her in their little garden. He had a half-finished lager can in his hand and scratched his half-exposed beer belly. “I’m sure that’s what the weatherman said on TV this morning.”
“Ah you never can trust the weatherman,” Edith said.
She was the old woman that lived next door with her husband, Reginald. He was a keen gardener and she was trying to improve her skills. She stood now in her vegetable patch, staring up at the sky with a scowl on her face.
“Reginald, grab that washing and bring it in,” Edith shouted to her husband.
“It looks like it’s going to be a big storm.”
“Well, would you look at that,” Reginald said, staring at the sky. “I ain’t never seen anything like it. Not here, at least.”
“You’ve seen weather like this before?” Joe asked in disbelief as the clouds rumbled overhead.
“Once,” Reggie said firmly. “Back when I was stationed in Korea. The weather just flip flopped and the skies got all dark like this. Weird things happened, I remember that much. Some little village ended up washed away because of all the rain, if I remember correctly. All those tiny little people, just washed away with it.”
“That’s not—huh?” Jillian began to say.
She stopped speaking, though, when she realised it wasn’t water that was on her hands. It was a deep red liquid, sticky and warm. She squinted up at the dark sky again, blinking at the rain as it fell into her eyes. She hissed and doubled over, blinking desperately and trying to remove the layer of red that now clouded her vision. She yelled in agony, as if someone had thrown bleach into her face.
“What the hell?” Joe cried, ignoring what was happening to his wife. Instead he stared at the once white sheets. They were slowly turning pink as more rain fell. “Bugger this!” He spun on his heels to head inside as quick as he could.
“Good idea, lad!” Reginald raced to his own back door
“Oi!” Edith screamed at her escaping husband. “Where are you going?”
Suddenly, as though hitting a wall, Reginald stopped running. Jillian stopped whimpering in pain. Edith’s and Joe’s hands dropped to their sides. They began trembling, softly and first, before violently shuddering as if in the throes of a massive fit. They were covered head to toe in blood. Suddenly, they all fell still. They groaned softly, in unison. Jillian was the first to move. She blinked, staring at the red-soaked garden before her. She suddenly threw her head back and let out a mighty, guttural roar. Joe, Reginald, and Edith all joined in.
The sound was echoed throughout the village, dozens of people crying out with the voices of the damned.
***
Devil Kickers Page 13
