by Rich Hawkins
He shivered at the memory. He could hear the scuttling of arachnids in the silent recesses of the house.
“Hello?” Frank called out. “We’re sorry to enter uninvited but we’ve got a bit of a problem. We found an abandoned car nearby, wondered if the driver’s come here...”
No answer.
Joel stood at the foot of the stairway, fidgeting with his hands. “Let’s get out of here. No one’s home.”
“Joel’s right,” said Ralph. “They must be out somewhere.”
“No,” said Frank. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He walked into the living room and was swallowed by the darkness. He opened the curtains. Sudden grey light revealed a dirty and stained carpet. Peeling wallpaper. An old television with a layer of dust on it. A cold fireplace below a mantelpiece topped with clay figurines. There were photos of a middle-aged couple. Paintings of the English countryside on the walls, and old furniture that belonged in a museum. No sign of life.
Ralph flicked the light switch. “The power’s out. You think that’s the farmer’s wife in the photo?”
“Could be his sister, but I doubt it,” said Frank.
“Could be both,” Ralph said.
“We’re from Somerset, mate. We’ve got the monopoly on inbreeding.”
“How dare you insult our home county,” Ralph joked.
Frank tried the house phone. No dial tone.
With Ralph’s help, Frank searched the rest of the house while Magnus and Joel stayed in the hallway.
The back door had been left open. It looked out on a small garden with an allotment lined with cabbages and rhubarb. A greenhouse with shelves of tomatoes growing.
A clothesline with a few drying towels on it, and a basket of damp washing on the ground.
There was a loud crashing-like sound from far away, echoing around the fields. Like a thunderclap.
“What was that?” said Ralph.
Frank tried to determine which direction it had come from. “It wasn’t thunder.”
“Can we please leave now?” Joel asked them as they returned inside.
Ralph and Frank exchanged a look.
“Might as well head to the village,” said Frank. “We’ll find a phone that works, call the police, and tell them about the abandoned car.”
“Then we can go home?” Joel said.
“Yeah.”
“Good. At last.”
CHAPTER NINE
Two miles outside Wishford.
Ralph was telling a dirty joke about nuns and an archbishop, when a horse ran onto the road from an adjacent field, tottering on weak legs.
Frank saw the animal too late.
The Corsa clipped the horse. Frank hit the brakes, but the car was already out of control. The tyres shrieked. The horse made a terrible sound. The car swerved off the road, shuddered along the embankment, too fast, and crashed into an oak tree. Hard impact. Scream of metal. The bonnet buckled and flew open. The seat belt cut into Frank’s chest and his neck twinged sharply as he was pitched forward. The airbag deployed and cushioned him.
Frank slumped on his seat.
Steam rose from the engine. The smell of petrol and burnt rubber.
The car jolted to a stop. The engine died.
Frank blinked. The inside of his head danced. Thumping heartbeat.
Joel rubbed his face with one trembling hand. Ralph and Magnus moaned from the backseat. Luckily, they were all wearing seatbelts.
Frank checked himself for injury. He moved his limbs, stretched his tendons and muscles. His chest was tight, so he used his inhaler and then took a deep breath of air.
“Is everyone alright?” he said.
Joel looked at him. Wide eyes and wet lips. He nodded at Frank but said nothing.
“You two in the back okay?”
Magnus gave a lethargic thumbs-up.
“Yeah,” Ralph said. “Fucking hell. What the fuck was that?”
“A horse,” Magnus said. “Did you see it? It was injured.”
“It was all cut up,” said Frank.
* * *
The horse, a white mare, had collapsed on the road. The men stood around her. She was still alive. Her back legs were broken.
Frank was gazing at the horse. “I’m sorry.”
The others looked at him.
“It’s not your fault,” said Magnus.
“Look at her,” said Ralph. “Poor girl.”
The mare was making a pathetic mewling sound. Her eyes were bulbous with pain and fear. She buckled and her front legs kicked. The men, apart from Ralph, stepped back.
Something had torn at the horse’s left flank. Several deep cuts. Bones and flesh. Flaps of ragged skin. Blood on the road. The stench of shit and offal lingered in the air.
“Something attacked it,” said Magnus.
“I broke her legs,” said Frank.
“It wasn’t your fault, Frank,” Magnus said. “Nothing you could have done about it.”
“It’s like a wolf or a lion mauled it,” Joel said.
Ralph gave a terse shake of his head. “Not in this country, mate.”
“Might have escaped from a zoo.”
“Shut up,” Frank said. “Both of you.”
“We should put her out of her misery,” said Ralph. “She’s lost too much blood. She’s suffering.”
“You mean kill it?” asked Magnus.
Ralph looked at him, then Frank, and nodded.
Joel was silent.
“I can’t do that,” Magnus said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“You won’t have to,” said Ralph. He crouched, stroked the mare’s neck. “I’ll do it.”
The mare whined. Splintered bone protruded from one of the wounds.
“He’s right,” said Frank. “You sure you can do it, Ralph?”
“I hate seeing animals suffer.”
“It’ll have to be quick. What can we use?”
“Is that crowbar still in the boot?”
Frank nodded. He fetched the crowbar and handed it over.
Ralph stood over the stricken animal. The others watched him. The mare was silent now. He looked into her eyes, raised the crowbar.
“You’ll have to hit her hard,” said Frank. “Horses have thick skulls.”
“Make it quick,” said Magnus.
Ralph hesitated. His eyes were moist. His mouth was a grey bloodless line. His arms shook.
“Get it over and done with,” said Joel. “Quickly.”
The horse made a pained sound.
The crowbar sagged in Ralph’s hands. “I can’t do it. I can’t kill her.”
“Come on, mate,” said Frank. “It’s better this way.”
Ralph glanced at him, raised the crowbar, but he faltered again, and stepped away, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Can’t do it.”
Frank took the crowbar. He couldn’t look into the mare’s eyes so he closed his own.
He raised the crowbar with both hands and held his breath.
The horse’s breathing was very slow.
Opened his eyes.
“Sorry. I haven’t got it in me.”
Frank offered the crowbar to Magnus and Joel. They shook their heads, looked away. Ralph turned away. His shoulders sagged. He stared at his feet.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Frank said, to himself more than the others. He, Magnus and Joel returned to the car to check the damage.
Ralph stayed with the horse and watched over her until her eyes glazed over and the rise and fall of her chest faltered.
He stroked her mane, whispering softly, until she died.
* * *
They tried to move the mare to the roadside, but she was too heavy, so they were forced to leave her on the road. Ralph got blood on his hands. He wiped them on the grass.
“You okay, Ralph?” asked Frank.
“Yeah, fucking dandy.”
“First the abandoned car,” said Magnus. “Then the farmhouse. Now this.”
“And what do we do ab
out the Corsa?” said Joel. He sat down by the car. “Does anyone know how to fix it?”
“You must be joking,” said Frank. “The radiator’s shot to pieces. The bonnet’s fucked. The grille is broken. We need a mechanic.”
“We need several mechanics,” said Ralph.
Frank patted the Corsa’s roof. “We’ll have to walk to Wishford. Get some help there. We still need to report the abandoned car as well.”
“You want to leave your car here?” asked Joel.
“I don’t see much option. Our phones aren’t working. I’ve tried calling the RAC. Got any other ideas?”
“We could stay here until someone drives past.”
“No chance. I don’t really fancy spending the next few hours in the middle of nowhere waiting for another car to come along.”
Joel shrugged. “We might get lucky.”
“We might get arse-raped,” said Ralph, unhelpfully.
“How many cars have you seen along this stretch of road since we left the farm?” said Frank. “Do you want to wait all day and night?”
Joel fumbled with his mobile. “But it’s a long walk to Wishford.”
Frank began to unload their bags. “If you’re so keen to stay with the car, you’re welcome to look after it on your own.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Good. Carry your own bag. Let’s get going.”
CHAPTER TEN
An hour later they were less than a mile from Wishford.
Church bells were ringing. Smoke was rising from the village.
Joel’s mouth twitched. “Is there a wedding? Is someone’s house on fire?”
“Weird,” Ralph muttered, scratching his face with the end of the crowbar.
“During World War Two,” Frank said, “church bells were to be rung if the Nazis invaded.”
Magnus shot him a puzzled look. “Are you trying to say that the Germans have landed?”
Frank didn’t answer.
Ralph was tired. He was a strong man, but he had no stamina. His fitness routine consisted of having sex with ugly women and walking to the pub, usually on the same night but in a different order. Sweat dripped from his brow. He gulped water from a bottle.
The image of the dead horse was burned into his mind. He hated himself for not putting the horse out of its misery. He looked at the crowbar and wondered if he could ever use it to kill a living thing.
He wished the bells would stop ringing.
They came across another house. Locked, silent and empty. No car in the driveway. Maybe whoever lived there was on holiday.
Ahead of them, a road-sign concreted into the grass verge: WISHFORD.
They entered the village.
“At last,” Joel said. “My feet are killing me. Are there any public telephones around here?”
“What about a mechanic’s workshop?” Magnus asked.
“Where’s the nearest police station?” said Frank.
“Horsham, probably,” said Ralph.
“Typical.”
Rows of houses. Trimmed lawns. Expensive cars parked in gravel driveways. Trees and pruned hedges. Rows of flowers in bloom.
A deserted place. But things had been left behind.
A dropped handbag on a driveway, its contents spilled; a bicycle left by the side of the road, its front wheel spinning slowly; a child’s red baseball cap.
They passed one house with its front door open; Ralph noticed shadowy shapes huddled just out of focus. He didn’t tell the others just in case he had imagined them.
Joel said, “Something is very wrong.”
Ralph grunted. “Nice one, Miss Marple.”
The bells stopped ringing. Throbbing silence. Ralph’s eardrums resonated in the sudden absence of sound. The anticipation of bad things. A feeling of dread. He swallowed hard.
A shriek echoed down the street and around the houses.
Magnus’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ, what was that?”
“I don’t know,” said Frank. “Maybe a dog? We better keep moving.”
They continued to the centre of the village. Ralph and Frank entered the village shop. No staff or customers greeted them. Tins of food had been stacked neatly on shelves. No signs of catastrophe or trouble. As if everyone had winked out of existence.
Frank grabbed some bottles of water and a few chocolate bars; handed them out to the others while they checked their phones for signal. The screen on Ralph’s mobile was blank. He put it back in his pocket and turned to his friends, noting how their faces were too pale, too tight around their skulls. He ate his chocolate bar in two bites.
Frank stared down the street; Joel sipped water and glanced behind them as if expecting an attack; Magnus was absently rubbing his mouth like he was trying to wipe away the crumbs of his last meal. Spit came away with his fingers. A muscle moved just below his right eye.
Ralph slapped the palm of one hand with the crowbar.
“What the fuck is going on?”
* * *
They heard the shriek again. It was louder.
“That ain’t a fucking dog,” said Ralph.
“I don’t feel well,” said Magnus. His eyes were moving quickly, glancing around. He swayed on his feet and Joel took hold of him by the shoulders. His face shined with sweat.
“You okay, mate?”
“Not really.” His eyelids drooped. “Feel dizzy and hot.”
Joel touched Magnus’s forehead. “He’s burning up.”
“We keep walking,” said Frank.
“Where to?” asked Joel.
“Maybe the church, if whoever was ringing the bells is still there.”
“Fair enough.”
Magnus exhaled through his teeth. He held onto Joel.
The four men moved on. They kept to the middle of the road. Ralph held the crowbar like he was craving violence, spoiling for a fight.
The sky was turning darker. Grey becoming charcoal. Low clouds, their undersides painted with shadow. There was a deep, short rumble far away in the sky. Frank thought about thunder and how it should sound. Not like that.
They reached the end of a T-junction. Half a dozen cars were parked along the side of the road. Frank led them onto Carpenter Street. This road would lead them out of the village, eventually.
“What’s that sound?” said Ralph. He raised the crowbar.
They rounded a corner. A young woman was lying on her stomach, trying to raise herself up with her arms. She was wearing a jumper and jeans. White trainers. She made a horrible noise, as if her stomach was trying to climb up her throat. Her eyes bulged and she was crying, her shoulders hitching with each sob.
When the woman sensed them, her neck turned slowly.
“Christ on a fucking bike!” Ralph said.
“Oh shit.” Joel forgot to keep hold of Magnus; he folded at the knees. Joel grabbed him again and held him up.
Frank took a step towards the woman. He held out his hands. “Are you okay?”
The woman looked at him.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Frank said, keeping his voice low and steady.
“What’s that on her neck?” said Ralph, pointing.
Frank saw, about two inches below the woman’s left ear, a puncture mark weeping a clear fluid. The skin around the hole was red and sore.
“Looks like a wasp sting,” said Frank.
“It would have to be a big fucking wasp.”
“There’re no such things as giant wasps,” said Joel. He didn’t sound convinced.
“Help me,” the woman said. She held out one hand to them.
Frank couldn’t take his eyes from the woman. He took a step towards her.
“What’s wrong with her?” said Joel.
“Fuck knows,” Ralph said.
“Help me,” the woman muttered. She turned onto her back, breathing hard. Her face was vaguely child-like in the dirty light.
“Do you think she has something contagious?” Ralph asked.
The men backed away fr
om her.
“What happened to you?” said Frank.
She didn’t answer.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ralph said.
“We can’t just leave her,” said Frank.
Magnus let out a moan.
Ralph looked at Frank. “Can’t we? We’ve got our own problems. I’m not touching her.”
“So compassionate, as always.”
“Ralph’s right,” said Joel. “What if she is contagious?”
“She needs help,” said Frank.
“We all need help.” Ralph let out a humourless laugh.
Frank glared at him.
Ralph shook his head. “If you want to help her, mate, be my guest.”
Frank looked at the woman. The wound on her neck had become redder and swollen. Frank thought that if he touched the mark, it would feel spongy and moist. He shuddered with revulsion.
“Go on then, Frank,” said Ralph. “You want to be a Good Samaritan. Stay here and help her.”
“Let’s go,” said Joel. “We can get help for her and come back.”
Magnus drifted lazily on his feet, dazed. Joel and Ralph were struggling to keep him upright and stable.
“What happened to you?” Frank asked the woman.
She stared at Frank. She tried to speak but her words dissolved into murmurs and sobs.
The terrible shriek echoed towards them again. It didn’t sound human. More like an animal sound, but not one any of them knew.
“What the hell is making that noise?” said Joel. He was looking back the way they had walked. He was saucer-eyed. He chewed on his bottom lip.
Ralph said, “We need to get some help for Magnus first before we help this woman. We’ll find some help and come back for her.”
Frank didn’t believe Ralph, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“Good idea,” said Joel. “Let’s go.”
Frank hesitated. He didn’t want to leave the woman here. For some reason he felt responsible for her. He didn’t know why. If he left the woman here, she would die. She would die alone.
“C’mon, Frank,” Ralph said. “She’s not our problem.”
Magnus was staring at the woman. His nose was bleeding.
Joel pulled a tissue from his pocket. He wiped Magnus’s nose with it, then held it there.
