by C. J. Waller
Decker sank further into his chair, but otherwise did not move.
Sadie Decker picked up an iron-wrought seal made of a complication of symbols that Mags didn't have a hope in hell of translating and held it out in front of her. She spoke a few words, bowed her head and stalked over to the doors. She took in a deep breath and pulled them open. Mist swirled in, its fingers caressing the door frame, and the figure took a step inside. Sadie held the symbol up again, and it stopped. Sadie said something else and it rose its head, giving her a familiar sneer. Mags breath convulsed in her chest.
It was Piers.
But it wasn’t Piers. Piers walked with an easy grace and exuded a charm few could resist. She should know, she’d fallen for it more than once. This thing didn't. It might wear his body, but all she felt was a terrified revulsion at its presence. Sadie continued speaking, and the Piers-creature sniggered. Surprised, Mags went to take a step back and almost fell of her precarious perch.
She might not be able to hear Sadie, but she could hear that thing as clear as day.
“You bring me here?” it said, mangling Piers’ easy going tones into something cracked and gravelled.
Again, Sadie spoke, but it just laughed again. This went on for a while, making it impossible to know the exact purpose of this meeting, but it was clear that Sadie wished to strike some kind of bargain. But what that bargain was…
Finally, the creature spoke again.
“They came. They moved the seals. They offered flesh. They offered blood. They sent a vessel. What else was there to do?”
It sounded smug. Mags' stomach twisted as if something buried there was trying to escape. She hissed and wrapped an arm around her waist, as if squeezing it might still it.
Something from within her pushed back.
She forgot the loch. Sadie Decker no longer featured. All thoughts of Piers fled. Mags moved her arm and pulled up her top. The flesh beneath rippled.
It was inside her.
Her breath came out in erratic bursts as her heart crashed around her ribcage.
It was inside her.
As if in answer, it pushed out, distending her belly. A scream bubbled up within her and her eyes bugled.
It was inside her. Inside her body.
And the thing inside the building knew it. She had no idea how she knew that, but she knew she was right. She heard the creature’s gurgling laugh again. As if attached to strings, Mags looked back into the room.
“Yes… that’s right. There is nothing you can do. I am everywhere. Why, I am even outside now. Look.”
Every head turned.
Mags’ pulse clanged in her throat as she ducked back and plastered herself against the wall. It was dark outside and light in there, so there was every chance she hadn’t been seen. But she knew deep down that this wasn’t the case. A cacophony of chairs being scraped back, followed by the clatter of footsteps confirmed this. In her head, the loch's emissary continued its cackling.
A jolt of adrenaline shot through her, waking her from her terrified stupor. She had to get away. It didn’t matter where.
Or did it?
A hot, black dread pounded at her skull. Paul and Yolanda! What about them? She had to warn them. But how?
The laughter in her head was cut off with a hiss, followed by a litany of babbled curses. The footsteps had stopped, only to be replaced by the weight of expectation. They were waiting for Sadie to banish the demon back to the depths of the loch.
This was her chance.
Not caring about the pain in her leg and stomach, Mags sprinted away from the building, charging through the mist in the general direction of the guesthouse. No matter what happened, she had to get back there and wake Paul and Yolanda. As if sensing her desperation, Dùisg a' Pheacaich threw everything it had at her. As if from nowhere, buildings reared up in front of her, forcing her to change direction, making her dive down smaller and smaller alleyways until she was lost in a maze of grey, slate-roofed houses.
Her breath came in great clouds as the stitch in her side overcame the pain in her belly, which writhed within her like a nest of snakes. Still, she limped onwards, zig-zagging across deserted streets, trying to avoid open spaces as much as she could. In the distance, she heard a bubbling shriek and a crash as the doors of the Town Hall were thrown open. Nothing now stood in between her and the villagers.
She didn’t stop to think why the creature would try to impede their chase. She could puzzle that out later. Now, she had to get away. Get to the guesthouse if she could, but if that proved impossible, then at least get out of town. Get out, find help, crack open this town like a ripe watermelon and scoop out the cancer- oh for fuck’s sake! She stopped, panting. She’d been down this road. She recognised the house on the corner. When had she been turned around?
All around her the shuffle of footsteps haunted her. They must have split up. Mags gritted her teeth and wrapped an arm around her aching belly, but snatched it back when whatever was inside pushed back. Bile scorched the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and hobbled off again before anyone could catch sight of her. Back down the road, turn left, down the alley and then – what? No… that couldn’t be right. She knew it couldn’t be right. She had a good sense of direction and knew she’d put a good distance between herself and the Town Hall...
So why was it here?
She turned back and ran down the alley again, this time taking the second turning. She carried on down that street, breathing hard, a deep, dull throbbing in her calf causing her to skip rather than run. Then down the next alleyway between two dark, silent houses. Down here the mist was thick; it clung to the walls, creating a tunnel of fog, dampening all sounds. She slowed, her eyes bulging, her heart racing, and peered into it. On the edge of her hearing, there was the muffled slop of footsteps on damp earth.
She froze. Someone was at the other end of the alleyway, possibly more than one, waiting for her.
She backed up and crept away. The footsteps did not follow her. Keeping low, she peeked out of the alley and spied a set of twinkling lights at either end of the road. They were there, waiting for her. Panicking, she spied the wooden cover of a coal store snuggled in between two houses. It was no more than a small shed, but it would have to do. She knelt down and grasped the bottom of one of its planks and pulled. The damp wood didn't so much splinter as crumble away, leaving her with a space just big enough to squeeze into. Her skin crawled as whispers of spider webs broke around her face as she pushed her way in. She made herself as small as possible, curling up into a tight ball against the mildewy floorboards in the hope that they’d pass by. Through the warped slats, she saw the lights grow brighter, closer, until she could make out the distinct forms of those holding them. No one spoke. Mags clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from letting out an involuntary squeak. They were close now, so close she could discern individuals, each one looking like they had just stepped out of an issue of ‘Good Housekeeping’, all sensible shoes and Arran knits. Ribbons of mist seeped into her hidey hole and began pooling on the ground. Nothing else moved.
“She must be around here somewhere,” a female voice said. It was followed by a murmuring chorus of agreement. Something small loosened in Mags’ chest and allowed her to breathe again. They didn’t know where she was-
A hand burst through the rotten wood, snatching at her. Unable to help herself, Mags let out a squeal and slithered back, only for another hand to punch in and make a grab for her. More hands followed, filling the store, until there was nowhere left to hide. Mags screamed and tried to struggle free as the hands caught her ankles, her hair, her wrists. Bodies followed the hands, wriggling through holes in the broken wood to try and secure their hold on her. Her screams now echoed throughout the village, and more and more of its inhabitants converged on her location. She thrashed around, not caring that every convulsion brought agony; she had to escape, one way or another.
But it wasn’t to be. The more she kicked, the more she clawed and
bit and spat, the firmer the hands held her. Other people now joined in, tearing off the boards, dismantling the coal store until she felt the kiss of the night air against her brow. The hands then pulled her from the ruins of her hiding place and carried her struggling form to the road. Now revealed, a few people recoiled as Mags’ belly distended and rippled for all to see. She let out an agonised shriek.
“We may be too late,” the female voice said again. “Quickly, now. We must prepare her. If we are in luck, she may yet be saved.”
May yet be saved?
Through the fog of pain and panic, Mags paused.
Saved?
She turned her head. Beside her was the woman who had been holding the meeting. The woman who had spoken to the creature. The woman who looked like Decker.
His grandmother.
“Where’s Decker?” she whispered.
Sadie Decker’s face remained strong. “Where he needs to be.”
All thoughts of any other questions fled as her belly convulsed again and a thousand flaming brands writhed inside her. She screeched and found herself babbling, begging anyone to help her, to make it stop, to end the agony.
But no one helped her. Instead, they hoisted her upon their shoulders and bore her away into the mists, towards the loch.
Chapter Twenty Three
Despite being exhausted, Brandon found it hard to sleep. Instead, he lay back and listened to the drone of voices in the room below. He couldn’t make out who was speaking, but there was no joy there, no laughter. Just a droning buzz, punctuated by long bouts of painful silence.
Eventually, he heard the front door close and it stopped. Two sets of footsteps trudged up the stairs. His parents, or so he guessed. They hovered by his door. Through his half-lidded eyes, he watched as they craned their heads around it. Someone stifled a sob, he guessed his mother by the pitch, and the heads ducked out.
Questions Brandon didn’t have a hope in answering swirled around his head. Why was his mother so upset? Was it to do with him? Had he done something wrong? But if that was the case, why had Daddy made him promise to look after Mammy? That sounded like something was going to happen to him, not Brandon. Was Daddy ill?
Was Daddy dying?
Brandon buried his face into his pillow, unable to face the enormity of the thought. He was seven, just seven, a little boy… why was he having to face all of this? And if Daddy was dying, why did Grandma Sadie look so happy about it all?
Grandma Sadie. Bl- he stopped, then gritted his teeth. No. No, he was going to think it, even though he knew it wasn’t allowed. Bloody Grandma Sadie. It was to do with her. It always was. Vague memories of darkness and salt and fire rose up, but they were too indistinct for him to make any sense of them. A tightness gripped him, crushing his whole body, forcing him to curl up into a little ball. He wanted his Mammy, wanted his Daddy, but couldn’t think of a reason to leave his bed and bother them. An instinct, something that went deeper than mere rules and fears, told him they needed this night, this one night, together. Shivering, Brandon pulled his blankets around him. The shadows in his room twisted as he prodded the memories, trying to puzzle them out, but nothing more than a nameless, bone-deep terror spoke back in a language he didn't understand. The only thing he was certain of was that something was coming, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Twenty Four
Paul yawned and ran his tongue along his fuzzy teeth. God, he felt awful. Like a hangover, only he’d only had one drink last night, and that had been water.
His brain gave him a nudge.
Last night.
Last night?
Oh, shit!
He jumped up and grabbed the clock off the wall. Its hands stubbornly pointed down, indicating it was 6.30.
6.30.
What the... No. No! He'd fallen asleep! How the fuck had that happened? He raked his nails down his face, willing his sleep-induced stupidity to disappear. What was wrong with him? He was usually okay in the morning, unless he’d been drinking-
Drinking?
Oh, God, there must have been something in the drinks. Apart from Mags' one whisky, they’d deliberately chosen non-alcoholic drinks to keep them awake, but he'd still given in and fallen asleep. He looked down at himself and sure enough, he was fully dressed. His backpack was packed and sat on the bottom of his bed. He’d been ready to go.
Now, it was too late.
He glanced at the window. There was no tell-tale smudge of light around the drawn curtains, indicating it was still dark outside. Maybe there was still a chance.
He stuffed his wallet into the pocket of his cargo pants and tore downstairs, not caring that he made a noise. It was early still. Mrs Kelly might be up, but what about the rest of the town? That might still be sleepy. He didn’t bother to knock on Mags and Yolanda’s door, just burst in to find them still in bed.
“Guys, wake up.” Paul strode over to the curtains and flung them open. As he'd suspected, it was still pitch dark outside. He frowned and glanced over at the clock on the wall.
The hands pointed to 3.42.
3.42? Their clock must have stopped. He reached up took it off the wall.
The second hand ticked backwards.
He held the clock to his ear. Inside, he could hear the mechanism working, but sure enough, when he looked again, the hands went the wrong way. He almost dropped it when the big hand shuddered backwards. Now it was 2.36. Then it jumped forwards.
9.12.
A groan beside him shook him out of his shock. They didn't have the time to ponder possible temporal conundrums. They could do that when they were out of this godforsaken town. He put the clock down.
“Yolanda! Mags!”
Yolanda mumbled something and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Oh, no – you’re getting up. Come on.” He grabbed the blanket and tore it off her. Protesting, she curled in to a foetal ball and screwed her eyes up. Then, slowly, she unfurled herself and looked blearily up at him.
“Is it time?” she raised a hand to her forehead. “Jesus… I feel awful. We didn’t drink that much, did we?”
“We were drugged,” Paul said. “No other explanation. It’s morning now.”
“It’s… morning?” she gave the naked window a confused glance. “But it’s still dark -“
“I know. And no, I don’t know how this works. All I know is we slept through both our alarms.” He glanced over to Mags' empty bed. “Where’s Mags?”
“Mags? I don't know. She went to bed same time as me.” Yolanda sat up and leaned over to touch the bed next to hers. “It’s cold.”
“It is?” A cold certainty crept over him. “Why would she leave without us?”
“We don't know that. She might be downstairs. Maybe… maybe she got up and… and…”
“And, what? Made herself a cup of tea? No, she's gone, and the Mags I know wouldn’t do that.” The cold slithered from Paul’s belly and up into his chest. “No. Something has happened. We need to find her. Find her and get out of here.”
Urgency blasted away the last of his lingering sleepiness. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew something was wrong. Everything felt skewed, like he was in one of those crooked houses they sometimes set up at fairgrounds, off kilter and twisted. By the way Yolanda screwed up her face, she felt it too. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t even pack; he grabbed the tiny camera with their only hard-evidence as she stuffed her feet into her walking boots and they both all but ran out of the room.
Regretting his former carelessness, Paul signalled for Yolanda to be quiet as they crept down the stairs. The clatter of cutlery against plates told them someone was up – probably Mrs Kelly at this hour (whatever that hour was) – and they held their breath as they tried to sneak across the lobby. Paul was almost to the entrance before the door leading to the kitchen opened and Mrs Kelly stepped through. Behind her, Paul glimpsed the hulking figure of someone else. Judging by the way they stood, he guessed it was one of th
e police constables.
“Oh!” she said. “It's you. I wasn't expecting you up yet.”
“Um, yeah, hi,” Paul said, desperately trying to marshal his mind to come up with a half-decent reply.
“Just going out for a jog,” Yolanda said. It took all of Paul’s self-control not to stare at her. She really was a little too good at this lying thing sometimes. “We’ll be back in half an hour.”
“A jog? At this hour? In walking boots?”
Damn!
“Uh,” Paul started.
“Didn’t pack a spare pair of trainers. They got wet yesterday and haven’t quite dried yet. Still, no excuse – if you miss a day, you’ll never get back to it.” She offered Mrs Kelly a bright smile and stuck a knuckle in Paul’s back. The message was clear. Get out, now.
Paul flashed Mrs Kelly a grin of his own and opened the front door. Outside, the night continued with not even the faintest trace of dawn, but he didn’t let that stop him. He charged out like a racehorse straight out of the gate and sprinted up the road, Yolanda hot on his heels. He thought he heard a door bang in the direction of the guest house and visions of the burly constable charging after them filled his mind. He knew he couldn’t out run him, not in this town, and so ducked behind a crumbling dry stone wall, dragging Yolanda with him.
“What are you-” she spluttered.
“Shhh.” Paul held a finger to his lips. Even though he could see the question in her eyes, she didn't say anything. Together they crouched, occasionally daring to peek over lichen-stained flint, and waited.
