Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror

by Bray, Michael

  “He’s dead,” Elgin said, without looking up from his notes

  “Yeah? I hope it was painful.”

  “He suffered a stroke, and even though he recovered, he couldn’t handle the indignity of having to be cared for by his wife— who was suffering with severe depression of her own.”

  “So what happened?”

  Elgin looked Roberts dead in the eye, but his face bore no expression, not that Roberts could read at any rate.

  “One morning—not long after the stroke—he struggled out of bed, and with his one working hand, managed to load the .38 pistol they kept in the house for protection. His wife hadn’t heard him get up. She was in the kitchen preparing breakfast.”

  “He offed her, right?”

  Elgin nodded.

  “He shot her in the back of the head. My guess is he didn’t want to leave her behind when he took his own life.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t hear him wheezing all the way across the room. So he did her, then put a bullet in his head?”

  “Not exactly. I have no doubt that it was his intention, but the recoil of the gun knocked it out of his hand, and it wedged itself between the oven and refrigerator. He tried his best, but with only one working hand and being as weak as he was, he couldn’t get it out. So he had to resort to other methods.”

  “Tough break for old wheezy. What did he do?”

  “He only lived a mile or so from the train tracks. He waited for the eleven o’clock train and jumped in front of it as it passed.”

  “Not a bad way to go. I wonder if he felt it,” Roberts mused.

  “I know there wasn’t much left to identify him by. Quite a mess by all accounts.”

  “I bet it made the little nose job I gave him seem like a paper cut.”

  “Indeed.” Elgin offered another thin smile and continued.

  “We’re becoming sidetracked… I’m aware of the time constraints, so let us continue.”

  Roberts nodded. And why not? He couldn’t put his finger on the reason why, but he liked this kid. And keeping his mind occupied meant he didn’t have to think about the clock, relentlessly ticking away towards the end of his life.

  “Ok, Kid. You go ahead and ask your questions, and I’ll answer them if I can.”

  Elgin nodded curtly and closed the folder that had been open on his knees. Both men were quiet, and for a moment there was only the dull growl of the air conditioning unit that ran the length of the hallway. Eventually Elgin continued.

  “You said you liked to kill. Has that always been the case?”

  “I think so. I mean, I had thought about it without really knowing I was thinking about it, if you know what I mean. I think it was always there, buried and waiting for me to find it.”

  “And what happened when you found it?”

  Roberts thought for a moment, then looked Elgin in the eye. His gaze was met fearlessly.

  “I think it found me, if that makes any sense. I always suspected there was something different about me, but I didn’t know what it was, not really until it happened.”

  “Are you talking about the first kill?”

  Roberts nodded, surprised just how good it felt to get it off his chest.

  “Yes. Would it surprise you to know I was just a boy when it happened?”

  “Not really. Most serial murderers start off at an early age.”

  “You can probably tell by my appearance that I’m not native to the United States.”

  “No,” replied Elgin with a small smile. “You were raised in southern Italy, if my research here is correct.”

  “I was born in Taranto,” nodded Roberts. “But raised is hardly the word I would use.”

  “You had a troubled childhood?”

  “Actually no—more an ignored one. I was the youngest of six siblings—three brothers and two sisters. You could say I was the runt of the litter. I suppose they loved me in their own way, but if its affection that you are talking about, then no. There wasn’t any that I remember. My father was born into money and we owned a small Vineyard that saw us live comfortably. Not rich, you understand, but we did well enough. My memories of him are few. I remember he was a big man, with large workers hands and a booming voice. He ruled the house with an iron fist, but as he was often away from the house working, it was my mother who would hand out the punishments. She was unpredictable, and her moods would swing from placid calm to fierce rage in an instant. We knew not to push her, but either because I wanted to test the limits, or more likely because I wanted attention, I pushed. I pushed and pushed, and by the time I was nine I had already started to become distant from my family.”

  “Did you have friends?”

  “No. I never understood the reason why people crave companionship from others. Even now, I still find it a strange concept. Not that I was unhappy. I liked being by myself. I used to wander the fields surrounding our vineyard. I would walk for miles just thinking, trying to make sense of the world. I think even then I was searching for something, looking for anything to make me feel alive.”

  “Killing?”

  “No. Not yet. I discovered death. The simplicity of it—the finality. The opinion I formed as a child is still the one I have today, if you can believe that. See, nature has it right. The human species is too concerned with doing what it deems to be the right thing, and as a result, we often die miserable and unfulfilled. I think we have it wrong though. I think we need to look to nature.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well to be blunt, Mr. Elgin, nature doesn’t fuck around. Take any species apart from our own and you will see it. They kill to survive, they kill to protect. And who knows, maybe they even kill because they enjoy it. I like that idea. I think we as a species, humans I mean, have that inherent desire to shrug off the pressures of society and just get back to basics. We are savage creatures, Mr. Elgin. When the mood takes us, and we allow that primal instinct to take over, we can be deadly.”

  Roberts paused for a moment, rubbing his stubble-covered cheeks thoughtfully.

  “I first killed when I was ten years old. The seed had been planted a year before, and the only reason for the delay was that opportunity had not presented itself. That word is the serial killer’s only companion, Mr. Elgin. Opportunity. It happened whilst I was out on one of my long, directionless walks. I was maybe a mile and a half away from the vineyard, by the narrow creek which cut across the boundary of our land. I wasn’t doing anything out there in particular, just wandering around, trying to keep myself occupied. It was a hot day and I was enjoying the heat on my back and the peace of the water as it gurgled past me, when I heard a pained whimpering noise from somewhere ahead. The creek opened up a little farther downstream, and there was a small sandy bank cut away from the dirt. There were two dogs down by the water. They were skeletal and mangy, covered in scars both old and new. One was on its side, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it stared blankly ahead with milky, cataract eyes. The other was beside it, its jaws clamped around the throat of its opponent. I drew breath and watched in fascination from the edge of the water. It was nature at its purest. Life versus death. Strong versus weak. I watched the dog with the cataracts die. I watched the light fade from its eyes, and its breathing slow and then finally stop. You know what the best thing was? When it was all over, the other dog just stood and walked away. It hadn’t killed for food, or for survival. It had killed for fun.”

  “And that set you off on your own journey?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. As I already mentioned, I think it was always within me. But it planted a seed. And over the next year, that seed grew, until I took my first tentative step.”

  “Seed?” enquired Elgin.

  Roberts nodded.

  “I thought a lot about that dog in the following weeks. I think I knew on some level then that I would make a good killer, and like that dog, I would do it for my own enjoyment. Maybe it wouldn’t have come to the forefront so early in my life if my childhood hadn’t be
en so lonely, but when those who are meant to love you neglect you, it gives someone—even a boy—time to think. And I thought about it a lot. I suppose it was just a question of waiting for that golden opportunity.”

  “And that first kill. Tell me about that.”

  Roberts hesitated, watching Elgin, who looked back with a neutral, impossible to read face.

  “As much as I’m enjoying getting this off my chest, Mr. Elgin, you still haven’t told me anything about this company you represent.”

  If Elgin was flustered, he didn’t show it. He simply offered that oily, thin smile, and regarded Roberts with his cool gaze. For some reason, Roberts shuddered. Elgin finally spoke, keeping his tone neutral and conversational.

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Roberts, and I can assure you that I will explain in full when the time is right.”

  “Now seems like a good time to me. Tomorrow definitely wouldn’t work— I can tell you that, Mr. Elgin.”

  Roberts chuckled at his own joke, but Elgin’s face remained impassive. He leaned forward then, his face close to the bars. He gestured to Roberts to come closer, and as he did, he could smell the expensive cologne on Elgin’s skin. Elgin spoke in a whisper—his eyes fierce and serious.

  “What if I told you that you didn’t have to die here today?”

  Roberts chuckled, but wondered why he felt so uncomfortable; even a little afraid.

  “Pardon my French, but I would tell you you’re out of your fucking mind, Mr. Elgin.”

  Elgin continued on, still wearing his lizard-like smile.

  “Perhaps I am. But in the end, what do you really have to lose?”

  Roberts had no answer, and like a great salesman, Elgin kept running with it.

  “I can offer you something, Mr. Roberts. Something you would not only excel at, but also enjoy immensely. And that’s just the job itself…”

  Elgin tilted his head slightly, which only intensified the reptilian mask that was his face.

  “There are benefits. Everyone knows the best jobs have good fringe benefits, and if you will pardon my French, Mr. Roberts, the fringe benefits of this job will blow your fucking mind.”

  He leaned back in his chair, and the spell was broken. Lizard face was gone. He was just plain old Elgin, in his snazzy black suit with a neutral look on his face. Roberts wondered why he was more afraid of Elgin than he was of his impending death. He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, and was determined not to appear as flustered as he actually was.

  “Ok, Elgin. I’ll play along. But if you’re fucking with me, I swear I’ll add you to my tally before they stick that damn needle in me.”

  Elgin nodded but appeared completely unconcerned. It didn’t help Roberts’ feeling of uneasiness. He’s in control, Roberts thought distantly as he composed himself. He’s in control and knows I’ll do as I’m told, because he’s right. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  “I’ll talk a little more, if that’s what it will take. But it goes both ways. I want answers too.”

  “I appreciate that. Please, do continue.”

  “In the Spring of nineteen eighty-three, I killed my brother, Alessio. The two of us had been sent out to the old well on the border of our property to fetch some water. We had running water in the house of course, but my father liked giving us jobs to do so we would be kept busy. Alessio was three years older than myself, but I was already taller than him by a couple of inches. He hated that. Alessio was always the apple of my mother’s eye, and although he wasn’t the oldest, it seemed he could do no wrong. For that reason alone, I had a particular bitter hate for him, which was amplified by my parents indifference towards me. The well was around a mile and a half from the house, nestled in a dip between two hills. Over the brow and across a short field of long grasses, our land ended and became farmland belonging to the Picenzi family. They had initially claimed ownership of the well, but my father was adamant that it belonged to us, and after a long legal battle that cost both families a lot of money, the ruling went in our favor and the Picenzis were furious. They had since erected a large fence around the border of their property, and although they were technically our neighbors, our families would never speak directly again. The strange thing was that we didn’t even need the well. I think it must have been a matter of principal, but either way, it was deemed as ours.

  “Alessio had been on my case for the entire walk to that damn hole in the ground. He was preaching about being responsible and not letting the family down, as if he were a disappointed parent. I reminded him that he was only thirteen and could keep his shitty opinions to himself. His eyes had grown wide at my profanity, and I think we would have come to blows then, had we not arrived at our destination. That well frightened me; I should lay that out straightaway. I’d seen it once before when it had been uncovered (my father had installed an iron grate over it the summer after it was legally made ours). Like any curious child would, I had peered down, and was horrified that I couldn’t see the bottom. It smelled of rot, earth, and moss, and as I dropped a stone down, it echoed back with a deep bloop that I didn’t like. The walls were smooth and cold to the touch, and I always thought it was like an inky eye, peering up into the world from some secret and dark place.

  “Alessio had the bucket, and I carried the two large containers we were to fill and store in the barn until our father needed them. The walk had been tiring, and as I set down the containers, Alessio took off his shirt and started to slide the iron grate aside from the well. I didn’t really want to go near it, but he barked at me to help, and because I didn’t want him to see that I was afraid, I did. The grate grumbled slowly aside, and with about half of the hole uncovered, we stopped, leaving enough room to get the bucket down and do the job. As the sun was directly overhead, I had hoped to see the bottom and dispel my fear of a never ending hole, but the light barely penetrated the darkness.

  “Alessio took the bucket and began to lower it down. I watched from a distance, not wanting to be any nearer to the hole than I had to be. As I watched Alessio work, I was overcome with jealous rage. It came down to that word again. Opportunity. I think I had already decided I was going to do it, and even as I crept towards him, I was already thinking of what I would tell my parents. I would tell them that he slipped as he was leaning over the edge, and although I tried to save him, I couldn’t get to him in time. It was certainly plausible. I knew the well was deep and that Alessio couldn’t swim, and if went ahead the outcome would likely be his death. I was only a few steps away from him now and was psyching myself up to do it. He was concentrating on reeling in the bucket, which was taking considerable effort now that it was full. I was just about to commit and had my hands out ready to push him, when he turned towards me.

  “ ‘Help me with this, it’s heavy,’ he said between gritted teeth. He reminded me of my father, framed there against the golden afternoon sun, and I knew I had come too far to turn back. I bent as if to take some of the strain on the rope, then at the last minute, lunged at him and grabbed for his leg. He must have seen me, because he dropped the bucket and half turned towards me, but I was too quick, and already too strong for him, despite being younger. There was a moment of stalemate and Alessio seemed suspended in midair, his arms pin-wheeling as I tipped him over the edge. He screamed as he fell, the sound reverberating off the stone walls, then coming to a sudden end with a wet, gargled snap. Those next few seconds are as clear to me as any memory I have had since. The utter silence as I peered over the edge, my heart racing inside my chest as I listened and willed my eyes to see through the darkness. I half expected him to call out to me, or to hear him moaning and splashing in pain, but the silence told me all I needed to know. I waited and watched. For how long I couldn’t tell you, but as time went by, I was more and more sure that he was dead. I knew what I had done was wrong. My mother had taught me about the rights and wrongs of life and death by the time I was five, which made the feelings that raced around my head even more confusing. I wa
s euphoric.”

  Elgin watched carefully from his seat across the bars, his face still completely unreadable.

  “Did they believe the story? Your family I mean.”

  “Of course they did. My father made me go with him to the well and rig up a harness to get Alessio out. He thought it was a rescue of course, but I knew the truth. I remember my father lowering himself down, me and a couple of the men who worked on the vineyard taking the strain of the rope. It seemed like he was down there for a very long time, and only then did I consider what might happen to me if Alessio was somehow still alive. I began to panic, and wanted to let go of the rope and leave my father down there with his precious son—but then I heard him scream. It was a raw, anguished, primal sound, and I knew that Alessio’s days of bullying me or saying anything to anyone were over. When they pulled him up, his face was twisted and blue, and his head flopped around loosely on his broken neck. I had to fight back a smile as I looked at my brother, staring up at the sky with his glassy doll’s eyes. I approached my father and laid a hand on his shoulder. Not because I was upset, but because that’s what I would have been expected to do. He whirled on me and shoved me aside, glaring at me with red-ringed eyes, containing more hate than I had ever seen.

  “ ‘You let him die, you little bastard. Why couldn’t it have been you?!’ he raged at me. Then he began to weep, his massive shoulders shaking with his sobs as he stroked my dead brother’s wet hair.”

  Roberts smiled as he looked Elgin in the eye. He thought he might see a glimmer of humanity, but he was met with the same blank expression.

  “And that, Mr. Elgin, is how it began. Hell of a story, huh?”

  “Did they ever suspect you had anything to do with it?”

  “If they did, they never said anything. After that day, my father barely spoke to me again. He died two years after Alessio. He was never the same after that day at the well.”

  Elgin looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Roberts knew what he was thinking. He snorted roughly and offered a wry smile.