Nine Eyes: Terror From The Deep

by C. J. Waller

No one came.

  Still, they waited.

  And still, no one came.

  “What are they playing at?” Yolanda breathed.

  “I don’t know,” Paul said. “Either they think we’ve gone the other way, or they’re confident we can’t escape.”

  “Or maybe there’s nothing to escape?” Yolanda sounded hesitant. “Yes, things seem weird around here, but it is still a possibility.”

  “You can’t be serious. They arrested us, ransacked our rooms. Took our gear. Drugged us. Mags is missing, and God knows what’s going on with Decker… do I need to go on?”

  Yolanda paused and he heard her blow out a long sigh. “No. I suppose not. Look, I don't think anyone is coming. Let’s just… let’s just find the road out of here and find help.”

  Paul rubbed both his hands over his face. He wanted to ask her to wait, to help him find Mags, to make sure she was okay, but something told him she was now as lost a cause as Decker was. He didn't really want to admit to it, but now was the time to forget Mags. She was beyond their help.

  “I know it's hard, Paul... but I figure the best thing we can do now is get out of here. Come on.”

  She took his hand. Together, they peered through the mist, trying to catch sight of any potential pursuers.

  “This is ridiculous,” Yolanda whispered. “Why is it still so dark?”

  Paul shook his head. “I think the clocks were wrong.” He glance up and shivered. No stars were visible against the pitch black sky. “I don't know how, but they all said different things. I don't know if you noticed, but the one in your room was ticking backwards.”

  “Backwards?”

  “Yeah. I don't know what it means, but maybe those legends about this town are correct. Maybe there is something truly evil going on here. But whatever it is, I’m not about to hang around and wait for it to play out.”

  Yolanda gave him a long look, then nodded. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know she agreed with him.

  They spilled out onto the pavement and sprinted to the end of the road. No one stopped them. No one passed by. In fact, if it wasn’t for Mrs Kelly this morning, they’d have said the whole town was deserted. It had that curiously flat feeling a house gets when left empty for too long, devoid of all personality and life.

  Halfway down the next street they found a parked car. They rushed up to it, but slowed when they realised just how old and beaten up it was. Yolanda frowned and traced her fingers over the bonnet. A thin veil of rust coated their tips.

  “This isn’t right,” she said.

  Paul hunkered down next to it. The lock was rusted over, the tyres flat and degraded. Cracks filigreed the windows, and inside, mouldy stuffing spilled from holes in the worn seats.

  In the distance what sounded like a fog-horn sounded, so deep it made the ground vibrate.

  “It looks like it’s been here for years – decades, even,” he said. “So much for nicking it and getting out… of… here...”

  He trailed off as he stood up. For the first time, he saw the town for what it truly was. Grass grew unchecked through the cracked paving stones, and the verges were veritable jungles. The houses, once so neat, were dilapidated jumbles of broken stone and glass. Yolanda straightened up, her mouth agape.

  “What the fuck?” she breathed.

  Above them, the sky split open, filling it with dark, blue-tinged clouds. They boiled out, churning around them despite there being no breeze. Little arcs of electricity crackled between them, and the air tasted of metal and smelled of salt.

  “I told them.”

  Paul whipped his head around. What he had thought was a mound of rubbish uncurled to reveal a man – or what approximated a man. He wore tattered clothes and an old plastic sack was tied around his shoulders like a cloak. His face was lined, his teeth crooked and blackened, but his eyes were two bright pools, gleaming with an unholy intelligence. Paul’s first instinct was to run, but curiosity stayed his flight.

  “You told who?” he said.

  The man chuckled and ambled over to them. Yolanda stood behind Paul, gripping his arm, her fingernails drilling into his flesh. “Let’s get out of here…” she whispered.

  Paul didn’t listen to her. Although he shared her fear, her desire to flee, he had to know what the old man meant.

  “I told them,” he repeated. “Both of them. Your friends. The dead one and the woman. They didn’t listen. They didn’t tell you, did they? I told them about the dark and the sacrifices, and the beast in the loch… but they didn’t listen,” the man shook his head, sadly. “They never do. And then they get trapped.”

  “Trapped? Who? The townspeople?”

  “Oh, no. No, no. Not them. They couldn't leave, even if they wanted to, but you and your friends... you had a chance. A small one, but still a chance. I told them. I said they should leave. But now it's too late. It's the dark. The dark does it. The townspeople try to stop it. They do. But it’s like trying to hold back the sea. You can only do it for so long before it breaks through your defences and continues to consume all. They have one last chance now to hold it back; not stop it, no, never stop it, but maybe buy some more time before the inevitable comes to pass.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why they bother, but humans are such optimists, such fighters. Even when times are bleak, they think they can change the outcome.”

  Despite everything, Paul had to ask. “Well… can they? Change it? The outcome, I mean.”

  “No, they can't.” The man sounded sad now. “But they’ll try. One life for many. That’s how it has always worked. Old Nine Eyes grows hungry. It’s time is nigh, or so it thinks. It called and called… and then the one they lost heard it. And he came back. The Prodigal Son. Back, just in time,”

  “The Prodigal… You mean Decker, right?” Paul suddenly felt very queasy. “What do you mean? What do they want with him?”

  “No. Won’t answer that. Not to outsiders. You shouldn't have come with him. I told your friends to leave. Outsiders complicate things. If it’d been up to me, I’d have slit all your throats the moment I saw you. Easier that way.”

  Paul took an uneasy stop backward. Whilst it was obvious from his mutterings that the man was stark raving mad, it didn't stop him from being dangerous. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  “But no… they kept you alive. Couldn’t send you back once the sacrifice had been accepted, oh no, that wouldn’t work. So they had to keep you safe. Well… safer. Not safe for her. They didn’t factor her into it all.”

  “Her?” Paul drew himself up to his full height in an attempt at seeming more fearless than he felt. “What do you mean, her?”

  “Her. The woman, the one I warned. They had to take her. She must be purged.”

  “P… purged?” Yolanda said.

  “Aye. Purged of the evil growing within her.”

  “Paul,” Yolanda pulled as his arm. “I think he means Mags.”

  “Yeah, I know. When I say so…”

  Yolanda’s grip tightened and Paul knew she understood. The decrepit man cocked his head to one side and flicked his tongue out, running it quickly over his cracked lips.

  “You two don’t matter now. Redundant, both of you. They won’t miss you. Won’t miss you at all.”

  He lurched forward, but Paul and Yolanda were ready for it. They both jumped back and ran. Behind them, they heard the man curse and the lollop of his footsteps as he tried to follow them, but years of neglect meant his body wasn’t up to matching theirs. That didn’t stop them, though. How many more of his ilk were here? They ran on, up the street and past rows of now-derelict buildings until they could see the shadowy form of the sign that had welcomed them to Dùisg a' Pheacaich. Even then, they did not stop; lungs burning, they staggered past it and on to the road outside.

  Paul slowed and dared to glance back. The village leered drunkenly back at him. He heard a retching sound. Yolanda throwing up. He took in huge lungfuls of flat air and willed his heart to slow.

  They were o
ut. Just.

  “We need to keep going,” he said. Yolanda wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded, an exhausted determination haunting her eyes.

  “The further the better,” she said.

  She didn’t need to say any more.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  He awoke to his mother gently shaking him.

  “Brandon… darling… time to get up.”

  He uncurled himself and looked up into her bleary eyes. It didn’t look like she’d had any sleep at all. She smiled weakly at him. “Come have your porridge, then get ready.”

  Outside, it was still dark. Brandon frowned. His mother shook her head, but said nothing. He clambered out of bed and followed her downstairs where his father was already sat at the breakfast table, stirring his bowl.

  “Morning, son,” he said. He tried to be bright, but could not hide the strain in his voice.

  “Morning, Dad.” He sat down and his mother poured a whole dessert spoon of sugar over his porridge. Now he knew something was wrong; his mother never allowed that much sugar, no matter how much he might beg.

  “Why are we up so early?” Brandon said.

  “We aren’t.” His dad shovelled a spoonful of his own breakfast into his mouth so he didn’t have to explain further.

  “But it’s still dark outside.”

  “Aye. It is. It will be, today. Dark, that is.”

  “Why?”

  He heard his mother’s breath catch. His father smiled wanly and reached over to cover Brandon’s hand with his own.

  “It just is.”

  It wasn’t an answer. It was a long way from an answer. But it would have to do.

  They ate in silence. His mother joined them soon after, but she didn’t eat anything. Instead she sat there, as still as stone, letting a cup of tea grow cold in front of her.

  After breakfast, Brandon was sent upstairs to get washed and dressed. His mother had picked out his Sunday best, all freshly laundered and starched to within an inch of its life. She helped him put on his tie, then brushed his hair flat. Newly shined shoes followed. She then put on her best dress, a blue one that complimented the colour of her eyes. She pulled her auburn hair back into a tight bun and she, too, pushed her feet into shiny shoes.

  “Mammy… what’s happening?”

  She paused, a hat pin gripped between her teeth. With a soft sigh, she sat down on the bed she shared with his father and took the pin out.

  “Oh, Brandon, my bonny boy… I don’t know how to tell you. I want to, but I simply don’t know how. Today is important – important for everyone in Dùisg a' Pheacaich. But most of all, it is important for us. For, today, your father has been chosen. He is our saviour – not just yours and mine, but the whole village’s. He will be revered, and his name will be spoken with nothing but pride.”

  “Is that why Grandma Sadie is so happy?”

  Her eyes hardened for a moment and Brandon caught a glimmer of icy hatred in their sky-blue depths.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why aren’t you happy?”

  The hatred shattered as if struck, replaced by a pool of sorrow so deep he thought he might drown in it.

  “Because he is no longer ours,” she whispered. “Oh, Branny, my baby, my life… I wish I could tell you, explain why all this has to happen, but I can’t. Because no matter what happens, no matter how much I’ve tried to deny it, or hope it would never come to pass, today has to happen. It has to. Or…”

  “Or… what?”

  “Or…” she tried to smile, but failed. “It doesn’t matter. It truly doesn’t.” She stood up, placed her hat on her head and jabbed the pin into place. “It doesn't matter because it won't change anything. The best we can do is just face it. Come on. Let’s go and find your father.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  They decided to follow the road so they wouldn't get lost. The moorland stretched seemingly forever either side of them, forcing their fear of being seen to battle with their fear of getting lost. In the end, they struck a compromise and hiked beside it, hoping the overgrown heather would be enough to hide them from prying eyes.

  They hardly spoke, and when they did, they didn't finish their sentences. Neither of them knew the answers to the questions that swarmed their minds, so why bother asking? Paul wrapped an arm around his stomach in an attempt to soothe the constant pangs of sickening guilt at leaving Decker and Mags behind, but it did nothing but make the already difficult terrain impossible to traverse. More than once, pools of stagnant water pushed them closer to the road than they felt comfortable with, forcing them to scuttle out onto the cracked tarmac, their hearts in their mouths. Ducking back, Yolanda tripped, pitching her forwards into the mud.

  “Jesus, are you okay?” Paul helped her up whilst she swore under her breath.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I think so- hey. Look at this.”

  She picked up the rock she had fallen over, wiped it clean with her hand and then immediately dropped it as if it had bitten her.

  Paul could see why.

  It was another one of those little stone heads, identical to the ones that bordered the loch.

  “They're everywhere,” Yolanda whispered. “Look – there's another one up ahead. We've probably walked past loads more.”

  The little head's sightless eyes stared up at them, it's mouth drawn in a perpetual scream. A shudder crawled over Paul's skin. What were they doing here? He thought Decker had said they only protected the loch. At the time, he'd thought it nothing more than a quaint rural superstition. A giggle bubbled up within him. Well, that just went to show what he knew.

  They pressed on for what seemed like hours, carefully dodging round anything that might be another stone head, but no hint of dawn broke through the swirling clouds. The place felt flat; dead, as if everything had fled, leaving them them only living things for miles. More than once, Paul wished they had thought to bring water with them, but it was too late now. Every now and again he eyed one of the pools, but every time he thought about risking a drink from one, some instinct that went beyond mere hygiene made him stop.

  Finally, they spied the dark oblong shape of a road sign. Relief broke over Paul, washing away the blackness of the day. Next to him, Yolanda grinned. Feeling buoyed, they picked up their pace, daring now to leave the relative safety of the wild verges and walk on the road itself, but as they drew nearer, their grins faltered.

  “Fàilte a Dùisg a' Pheacaich,” Yolanda said. “No… that can’t be right…”

  The tentative flower of hope budding within Paul’s chest shrivelled and died. Somehow, they’d managed to circle back to the town. But how? They’d been following the road – the road out of town. How could they have circled back? How? A fierce heat seized his throat and he tilted his face up towards the sky. How had this happened? How? How could they have done this?

  Yolanda placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Shh… it’s okay… don’t shout…”

  Paul lowered his hands – hands he hadn’t realised he’d balled into fists and was using to punch the air. Had he been shouting? He hadn’t realised.

  “We must have turned around in the mist somehow,” she said.

  “We didn’t get turned around,” Paul said. “It’s this place.”

  “Come on; let’s try again,” Yolanda said. “This time we'll stay on the road.”

  Paul went to tell her no, there was no point, but decided it was useless. If she needed to do this to understand, then so be it. So be it.

  They turned back and started walking. Every now and again, Yolanda would turn around and walk backwards, just to make sure the sign was still behind them. The mist crept back and thickened to a blueish fog that flowed around them until everything was invisible. In the distance it stirred as shadowy figures flitted through it, or so Paul thought. Still Yolanda kept looking back, checking until she couldn’t see any trace of the sign at all.

  They continued on.

  With this new influx of fog came the sm
ell of mud, salt and something else, something less definable, like burning metal and fish guts. Yolanda crinkled her nose.

  “Is that the loch?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Probably where the fog is coming from.”

  “Yeah.”

  It was as good an explanation as any.

  The fog closed in further, wrapping them in a coldness unlike anything Paul had ever experienced before. Despite his warm clothes, he shivered as if naked. Every step took him closer to exhaustion, as if it was sapping away his energy, siphoning away any will he had to continue on. Judging by the way Yolanda stumbled, he guessed it was having the same effect on her. She stifled a yawn, but didn’t stop walking,

  The road stretched forever onwards. They followed it blindly, wrapped in silence save for the constant drip, drip, drip of moisture from the stunted trees.

  In the distance, a black shape formed. It was oblong and looked like a sign.

  Yolanda let out a sob.

  Fàilte a Dùisg a' Pheacaich.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  There was nothing left to do. No point in turning back. They'd only end up back here. So they made for the sign, the only landmark in this lost place. As they drew closer, another, less distinct shape formed, no more than a dark splodge on the edge of their vision. Paul stopped. His tired heart juddered as it found its second wind.

  The shape moved. Due to the strange distortions of the fog it took him a little while to work out that it was coming towards them. Yolanda took a step backwards, ready to flee. Paul grabbed her hand, steadying her. What was the point? There was nowhere to run now, nowhere to hide. They’d only end up here again and whoever this was would still be waiting for them.

  The mists parted, revealing a woman. She was tall with a regal bearing, helped by the sombre clothes she wore. Her face was lined, but not unattractive, and her greying hair was scraped back into a plait that was then coiled around her head like a snake. She stopped a few feet in front of them, her arms folded, her lips thin. Paul recognised the gesture. He’d seen it before, so many times. Decker did that when Paul did something stupid or disappointing.