The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  There was an echo on the line, followed by a crackle.

  “Are you sure?”

  “What? Yes, I’m sure. Send me a goddamn ambulance.”

  “Sir, are you making this up?” The voice was terse, almost a shout.

  Blake almost dropped the phone. He stared at it for a moment before putting it back to his ear and shouting. “My wife is in critical need of medical assistance. Send an ambulance right now! My address is—”

  “I know your address, Mr Price. Poe’s Place.”

  Blake didn’t have time to wonder how the woman knew the information; he supposed the network’s computers had brought it up. “Will you send an ambulance?”

  “No, Mr Price. No help is coming.”

  The line went dead.

  Blake immediately redialled, then tried the alternative number, 112, but the line remained silent each time.

  “Is help coming?” asked Stevie, Ricky beside him.

  Blake stared at the mobile phone and shook his head. Scrolling across the display was one word, which he showed to his brother: ELIGOS. “No, Stevie” he said. “I don’t think help is coming.”

  A minute later, Liz woke up coughing. Her nose started to bleed again. Blake held a towel to her face until she fell back into unconsciousness. A man from the nineteen-twenties was killing his wife. Oscar Boruta might have been dead, but his evil was still very much alive.

  20

  Blake left Ricky with Stevie and headed into the family room. He tried the landline on the bar, but it was also dead. He’d have to get Liz in the car and drive her to the hospital in Redlake himself. She needed help and he was going to get it for her, curse be damned.

  He stomped outside and headed over to the Citroen, intending to back it up closer to the house. When he made it over to the car he kicked the bodywork in frustration.

  All four tyres were torn to shreds. The rubber was ringed with what looked like teeth marks. There was no way a fox could bite through four tyres in only a matter of minutes, but it’d happened. He wouldn’t be driving Liz anywhere.

  A light in the distance caught Blake’s attention: a vehicle coming down the B-road. It was still a hundred metres away, but quickly getting close. Blake got moving, hurrying up the driveway as fast he could. In the dark, it was hard to be sure-footed and he almost rolled his ankle twice, but he kept on going. He kept on going until he was only a dozen feet from the side of the road.

  He hadn’t seen the fox leap out from the bushes. The animal lunged at Blake from behind, catching the tender flesh at the back of his thigh. He yelled out in agony and stumbled.

  The incoming car got closer, only fifty metres away.

  Blake kicked out at the snarling fox, catching it under the chin. It tumbled backwards, but leapt at Blake again. It made it as high as Blake’s neck, but he blocked it with his arms, clutching the fox around the haunches. The force knocked Blake backwards and he fell with the snapping beast on top of him.

  The incoming car was about to pass the house. Blake needed to flag it down now, to get help for Liz.

  Blake rolled and twisted. He was six feet from the road, but lying in the gravel he may as well have been invisible. He tried to bring his knees up beneath the fox, to kick it away, but he couldn’t bend that way. One of his fingers slipped into the animal’s mouth and was immediately clamped between its teeth. The pain made Blake snarl. He tightened his grip and rolled sideways, dragging the fox onto its side. As the animal tried to right itself, Blake did something he thought he’d never do: he snapped its neck.

  The fox went limp.

  Huffing and puffing, Blake looked at the dead animal with sadness, but no regret.

  He heard the growl of an engine and leapt to his feet. “Hey,” he shouted, waving his arms. “Hey! I need help. Stop. Please.”

  The car went by without so much as slowing, quickly fading away into the distance.

  Blake yelled in fury and almost lost control of himself, but he forced himself to take a deep, long breath. He managed to calm himself, but the feeling didn’t last as he heard more growling. This time the noise wasn’t from a distant car engine or a single fox.

  Poe’s Place was surrounded by dozens of foxes. Their eyes shone in the darkness like fireflies hovering above a lake. They studied Blake, their bodies hunched and ready to pounce.

  Blake took a slow step towards the B-road. The foxes snarled and came at him.

  He stopped and so did the foxes.

  Blake took a step towards the house and the foxes moved away, making no attempt to attack him. He took three more steps and the foxes retreated further, their stares still fixed on Blake but their snarls coming a little less. Eventually the foxes all but melted into the shadows, allowing Blake to return home.

  One thing was clear: anyone trying to leave Poe’s Place would be ripped apart.

  21

  Blake limped back into the lounge where he found his brother swatting at the few remaining flies with a rolled up newspaper. The window was open and the cold night whistled in. Ricky was wrapped in a blanket on one of the sofas, eating Chinese food and watching a DVD. Liz was still asleep on the opposite sofa.

  “I got most of them out,” said Stevie. “Don’t know where they all came from, though.”

  “They’re not the first,” said Blake, his tone icy. “There was a swarm in the family room night before last, right before Liz got sick.”

  Stevie put down the rolled up newspaper and pulled the window closed. He spoke in a hushed tone, so as not to let Ricky hear. “We need to get her out of here, man. Is the car ready?”

  “The car’s not going anywhere.” Stevie waited for an explanation, so Blake sighed and gave one. “There’s a pack of foxes outside. They tore the tyres to pieces and attacked me when I tried to make a break for the road.”

  Stevie scratched his head. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m goddamn serious. Why would I lie? Liz needs help, but I can’t get any for her. I damn near got ripped apart out there.”

  “I tried my phone while you were gone,” said Stevie. “I couldn’t get any signal.”

  “I already told you the phones aren’t working. Did you think I was lying?”

  “Of course not. I’m just trying to get help for Liz. What’s wrong with you?”

  “She’s my wife. Don’t you think I’m doing all I can?”

  “Sounds to me like you’re giving up.”

  Blake stomped towards his brother with clenched fists. He felt himself losing control.

  Stevie backed away, but didn’t look afraid, so much as he did concerned. “Blake, what are you doing, man?” He motioned towards Ricky, who was watching them both from the corner of his eye.

  Blake stopped himself and shook his head. “Damnit, I’m sorry. I’m losing it. I’m not giving up, I just don’t know what to do. We can’t call out and we can’t leave. There’re two dozen foxes outside, waiting to rip apart anyone who tries to go for help.”

  Stevie was frowning.

  “I’m telling you, Stevie. You don’t believe me, go ahead and try to make it out to the road. Go get help.”

  “Hey, no, I believe you, Blake. I’ve witnessed nearly as much as you have. I know something is very wrong here. So what do you want to do?”

  Blake flapped his arms. “I don’t know, get wasted?”

  Stevie didn’t laugh. His expression was stern and once again he seemed like the older brother. “Big bro, that’s not going to help right now, believe me. Don’t think I wouldn’t join you in a second, but we have Liz and Ricky to think about. We need to keep them safe. You have a beautiful family, man—something I envy. You need to fight for them. You need to protect them.”

  Blake nodded. “You’re right. Damnit, I know you’re right. I need to man up.”

  Stevie raised his fist and shook it encouragingly. “So what do you want to do? What would the hero in one of your books do?”

  “Not stop until he found a solution. We’re going to keep watch an
d figure this out. We can all stay in here, together. Liz is sleeping and Ricky can watch DVD’s until he’s out too. You and I do not leave their sides.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “We still need to figure this thing out. We need to find out more about Boruta and his godforsaken picture frame.”

  Stevie grinned. “Google?”

  Blake nodded. “My laptop’s in the family room, beneath the bar. Get it for me?”

  Stevie obliged. He came back two minutes later with the laptop and plug, as well as the picture frame and sackcloth. “Didn’t want to let it out of our sights,” he explained.

  The two sofas were taken, so they set up over by the doorway, on the floor. Blake checked on Liz, but still couldn’t wake her.

  “Is she going to be okay?” asked Ricky. He was rubbing at his bandages. Blake didn’t like the look of the wound, but there was no way to get his son a doctor any more than there was Liz. The best use of his time was trying to find a way to destroy the picture frame. “She’s going to be fine, buddy. She’s just got real bad flu and needs to sleep it off.”

  “Why are we all staying in here together?”

  “So we can be together. Your mum is better off if we don’t disturb her, and your uncle Stevie wants to spend time with us. When we’ve finished working, we’ll come watch a DVD with you.”

  Ricky narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but went back to watching TV without further questioning. Blake grabbed the remaining cartons of Chinese food and brought them over to his brother.

  “Mind there’s no glass in it,” said Stevie as he booted up the laptop.

  Blake went to laugh, but realised it wasn’t a joke and checked the cartons. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he shovelled in a few mouthfuls of Singapore fried rice, before wiping his hands on his shirt and sitting up against the wall beside his brother.

  Stevie brought up a search page, but before he typed anything, Blake had a suggestion. “Maybe you should send Cindi an email so she doesn’t worry.”

  “She won’t be worried.”

  “Of course she will. She’s your wife.”

  Stevie smoothed his fingers over the keypad but didn’t press anything. “I don’t think marriage vows mean all that much to her, big bro.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  Stevie sighed and seemed to battle with something internally. After a moment’s hesitation, he closed the lid on the laptop and looked at Blake. “She’s been sleeping with her boss—douchebag who owns the bar where she works.”

  Blake groaned. “Jesus, man. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. Guess an alcoholic letting his wife work at a bar is an accident waiting to happen, huh? Her boss doesn’t have to worry about me dropping in unexpectedly because I avoid the place like the plague.”

  “Guess we both have curses on us. That’s why you came here to see me, isn’t it? You should’ve said.”

  “You have enough problems of your own. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but Cindi and I started drifting apart about a year ago. She’s still a party girl, you know? She likes to have a good time, but her good time involves lots of alcohol. All of a sudden we didn’t like the same things anymore. She goes out to party and I stay home. Guess it was just a matter of time.”

  “She could’ve supported you,” said Blake. “Maybe it’s time she grew up, too.”

  A tear spilled from Stevie’s eye and he wiped it away immediately. “I caught her on the phone to him one night. I’d gone to bed, but came down in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk. I had heartburn—years of drinking does that.”

  Blake nodded.

  “Anyway, I overhead their dirty talk and confronted her right then. She didn’t even put the phone down, man. She carried on talking to the douchebag and was actually mad at me, like I’d invaded her privacy or something. Can you believe that? Next day she ordered me out of the house, said I was no fun anymore and that she didn’t love me. I finally get my life in order and I’m still the bad guy. Ain’t irony a bitch?”

  “Certainly is. I always wanted to be a famous writer, then it happened and it made my life a thousand times harder. Sometimes success brings its own set of challenges. You’re a good guy, Stevie. I think Cindi married a different guy, a worse guy. You should be proud of that. You’ve changed for the better, but she hasn’t and if she’s incapable then you should move on to better things and never look back.”

  “But I love her, man. I really bloody love her.”

  Ricky flinched on the sofa, obviously having heard the curse word.

  Stevie looked at Blake and winced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He’s heard worse from his mother.”

  “Huh, I’ll bet. She’s going to okay, man. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Blake smiled. His brother’s focus and strength were contagious. Stevie really had become a new man, a better man. “You sure you’re not just humouring me about all this curse stuff until the men in white coats get here?”

  “Hey, I called ‘em,” said Stevie, “but they said they didn’t deal with crazy as bad as yours.”

  They both chuckled and it felt good, a brief release.

  Stevie opened the laptop again. “Let’s get our research on.”

  “Type in ‘Oscar Boruta.’”

  Stevie typed and hit enter. Immediately, they were met by the same black and white photograph Thatcher had shown them at the museum.

  Blake grunted. “That’s him.”

  Stevie clicked the first link that wasn’t an ad for Insurance. SERVANTS OF ELIGOS was the title at the top of the page.

  Boruta wasn’t the only man featured. There were six others, including two women. Along with Boruta, they were collectively titled: THE 9 SERVANTS OF THE LUNAR KNIGHT. There was a seal at the top of the page, made up of a serpent coiled around a lance. Then came a list of the nine individuals. Each of them looked as stern and humourless as Boruta did—the women even more so. There were no dates or backgrounds for the nine servants, only brief aggrandising statements of their deeds.

  One of the female servants, Edith Culsu, had long grey hair and dark, bulbous eyes. She held a pair of scissors against her breast and beneath her name was a single line: Beholde thy gates shall fall, and with them, thy crooked Lord. So sayeth the 6th, breaker of walls.

  Blake nudged his brother. “What does it say about Boruta?”

  Stevie scrolled down to the passage beneath the photograph of Boruta. It read: Thy craven flesh of man shall boil. So sayeth the 9th, master of wood and beast. Martyred 1928, soon to return.

  Stevie huffed. “Martyred. Put down like the animal he was, more like.”

  “This tells us nothing.” Blake grunted. “Just some weirdo setting up a website for a bunch of historical lunatics.”

  “Nine lunatics,” said Stevie.

  “We need to search something else.”

  “Okay.” Stevie typed something else: ‘how to break a curse.’ He clicked the first link that came up. It seemed like a website dedicated to witchcraft and magic, juvenile in its black pages and purple fonts. At the top was the picture of a chubby teenager named ‘Amy the Maid.’

  “This is just some kid’s site,” said Blake.

  Stevie shushed him. “No, wait. Look here.” He pointed at the first line of text on the page and began reading aloud. “The only way to break a curse is to use its own rules against it. For example, you could—”

  The laptop screen split across the middle, spitting out sparks. The lights in the room flickered and went off, along with the television. Outside, a streak of lightning split the sky and the heavens opened with the rumble of thunder.

  Ricky shot up from the sofa and whimpered.

  Blake got up and went to his son. “It’s okay, Ricky. It’s just a storm arriving. You know how temperamental the electrics are in this place.”

  But Ricky didn’t buy it. “Something bad’s going on, isn’t it? Is it to do with the picture frame? You said y
ou were going to get rid of it, but Uncle Stevie has it.”

  Blake sighed. There was no point lying, not if Ricky was in danger. Better he know the risks. “We think it made your mother sick. We need to look after her until she’s better. In the meantime, it’s getting late, so perhaps you should get comfy on the sofa and go to sleep.”

  “Can I play a game for a while? The batteries in my Nintendo should last a couple hours and I’m not tired yet.”

  “Okay, but you stay here and I’ll go get it for you. Where is it?”

  “In the family room. I left it on the table by the recliners.”

  “Okay, Uncle Stevie and I will go get it, but I don’t want you leaving this room, okay?”

  Ricky nodded and climbed beneath the blanket on the sofa.

  “You think it’s okay leaving them alone?” asked Stevie as they left the room.

  “It’s only going to be for a minute,” said Blake. “I need to get some candles from the hallway and I don’t want to walk around alone. This thing is trying to kill me, too.”

  Stevie nodded. “Good point. Let’s make it quick.”

  They hurried into the family room. It was dark, but the moon was full and coming through the rain-drenched windows. Blake quickly instructed Stevie to find Ricky’s games console, but it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Stevie found it sitting on top of the bar instead and, as he shoved it in his pocket, he paused and stared at line of measuring optics on the wall.

  Blake stepped towards his brother. “Stevie?”

  Stevie seemed to snap out of a daze. He looked at Blake and smiled glumly. “Being sober isn’t so hard day-to-day when you’re on autopilot, you know? Times like these, though, it gets a shitload harder.”

  “I know, but I need you now, Stevie. One of the big things I regret in my life is losing you to alcohol. I finally got you back, so stay with me.”

  “I’m right here, brother.”

  Blake gathered up the candles and they hurried back to the lounge. Ricky was where they’d left him, and he started playing his game as soon as he got hold of it. Blake realised his son was trying to occupy himself. He knew something was going on, but could do nothing about it—the curse of being a child. Escaping was something Blake and Stevie had done often when they were children, blotting out the sound of their parents fighting by engaging themselves in comic books and board games. Blake had eventually turned to anxiety pills while Stevie had turned to booze. If Ricky’s vice was videogames, things were looking up for the future generation of Prices.