Box of Terror 2 (another 4 book horror box set)

by Michael Bray

  The smell of frying onions punctuated what was shaping up to be a glorious summer day. Trent’s burger van had already established a good reputation for the quality of its food, but now people were flocking to sample his new product. He looked at the people lined up three deep as he placed two new burger patties on the grill, which sizzled and hissed appreciatively. He had managed to secure a prime location on Anson’s Park, a thoroughfare for both local business people looking to get a bit to eat as well as regular pedestrian traffic who might want a quick snack on their way through the park. As busy as he was, it was frightening to think how close it had all come to an end. A forgotten tax bill had almost wiped out the business which had been in his family for three generations. None of those who come before had seen success anything like that which Trent was currently enjoying. It had been a make or break situation. Either find a way to cut costs, or go under. That, however was easier said than done, and for a while it looked like the business was about to go belly up when a chance encounter with an old friend of his from high school, Richie Orkney led to Trent telling him all about his plight, if only to have someone to share the burden with. Richie had listened then said he might know someone who could help.

  Cheap meat, he’d said. Good quality at a fraction of the price. For Trent, it was the one way out that might, just might pay off. Richie had set up the first meeting and the business arrangement completed. The last three months had been spent slowly but surely climbing out of the red and back into the black. Not only was the meat cheap, it was good quality. He couldn’t help but smile as he put another half dozen patties on the grill, sending more of that delicious smell billowing towards him and, more importantly, his customers. He was happy. Life was certainly on the up.

  TWO

  “How was your day?” Claire said as he walked into the house and shrugged out of his jacket.

  “Busy. Something smells good.” He said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Chicken. It’ll be ready in half an hour.”

  “Sounds good to me. Where’s the Munchkin?”

  Claire smiled as he started up the steps. “She’s in her room. Don’t be too long up there, dinner will be ready soon.”

  Trent went upstairs, walking down the hall towards his daughter’s room. Inside, he paused outside the door, her name, Holly, painted on the wood in pink. He could hear her playing, oblivious to his presence and having imaginary conversations with her toys.

  He poked his head into the bedroom. “Boo.”

  “Daddy,” She squealed, running towards him. He picked her up and she hugged him tightly around the neck.

  “How’s my little munchkin today?” He said, setting her down.

  “I’m good, Mr Tickles isn’t playing nice,” She said, frowning at the toys on the carpet.

  “I heard that from outside. Which one is Mr Tickles?”

  She pointed to a white bear on the floor. “That one.”

  “Who’s the other guy?” Trent asked, nodding to the purple plush toy beside it.

  “Daddy, that one’s not a guy, it’s a girl. She’s Lady Pam.”

  “Oh, Lady Pam is it?” Trent repeated. “Then I apologise to the good lady for calling her a guy.”

  “Do you want to play for a while?” Holly asked.

  “Maybe later. Dinner’s almost ready. You wash up soon, okay? Make sure Mr Tickles and Lady Pam do the same.”

  “I will, Daddy.” He kissed on the head then went into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking his shoes off. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled the number he had stored simply as ‘New Supplier’. It was answered on the third ring.

  “It’s me,” Trent said. “I need more meat. How soon can you get me some?”

  He listened as the voice on the other end of the line answered him. “Alright, Sunday in the usual place.” He hung up the phone and put it in on the dresser. Life for Trent Billingham and his family was good, and if things were to carry on the way they were, it would only get better.

  THREE

  For the next fortnight, business continued to grow to the point where he had Claire had been discussing hiring an extra set of hands to help with the endless intake of customers. It was the middle of the lunchtime rush, and as always he was four deep with customers. Trent flipped a burger onto a bun, loaded it with cheese and salad, then folded it into a paper napkin and handed it to a customer.

  “Thanks, the portly recipient said as he took a bite. “These are delicious my friend, really good.”

  “Thanks,” Trent said as he checked the other half dozen burgers which were cooking.

  “I come here pretty much every other day now. Seems like you have a bit of an admirer too.” The customer said around a mouthful of food.

  Trent looked at him and frowned, unsure what he was getting at. The man swallowed down his food, then jabbed a fat thumb over his shoulder. “Looks like someone can smell what you’re cookin’ over here.”

  Trent looked past the man and the crowd. There was a tan coloured dog on the opposite side of the street. It was sitting on its haunches, watching him, nose twitching. He wasn’t sure of the breed but had suspected it was a retriever of some kind.

  “Looks like even he’s heard about how good the food is here.”

  Trent nodded and was about to ask the man if he’d seen the dog before when another customer asked for ketchup. Trent gave it to him, then checked on the burgers. For the next two hours, he worked until the crowds finally began to thin, more convinced than ever that they would need to hire more help, as there was no way he could go on as a one-man operation any longer. It was only when he found the time to really look around that he saw that the dog was still there, and didn’t look to have moved. It had been joined by two other of its kind. A small, scruffy terrier with overgrown fur, and a black and white border collie. All three were staring at him.

  “They’ve been there for a while.”

  Trent turned his attention to the customer standing by the van, half eaten burger in one hand. “Looks like they’re hungry.” The man added.

  “Yeah,” Trent said. He took a burger patty out of the fridge and broke a piece off, tossing it to the dogs. He expected them to come running, perhaps fight over the morsel they had been waiting all day for, but none of them moved. They simply stayed where they were and watched him. He threw another piece, this one landing close to the terrier. It ducked its head and smelled the offering, then looked back at Trent, the meat left untouched.

  “Eh, maybe not. Animals, eh? Strange things. Take it easy buddy.” the customer said, grinning and going on his way.

  “Yeah, take it easy,” Trent muttered as he looked at the dogs. He watched them for a while, curious as to why they wouldn’t take the food, then shrugged it off. The customer had been right. Animals were strange things, besides which it was getting late, and he wanted to get home. He started to close up, cleaning down the surfaces, stocking the drinks fridges and taking his inventory for the next day to ensure he could meet the demand for his product. Just before he locked up the van, he looked out over the park for the dogs, but they had gone, leaving the fleshy, pink meat behind where he had thrown it. Unsure why it made him so uneasy, he closed up the van and drove to the storage unit. Despite it being another profitable day, he didn’t really feel happy. A subtle uneasiness had started to creep into him which he couldn’t explain. He dropped the van off at the storage unit, then walked the two miles home. When he arrived he was feeling a little bit better and slightly ashamed for letting such a simple thing bug him. He opened the door and went inside, relieved to have another day behind him. Before he could get his coat off, Claire hurried into the hallway, the expression on her face telling him that something was wrong.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.” Claire said, wringing her hands together.

  “You have?” he pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Shit, the battery must have died on me. What is it, what’s wrong?” />
  “It’s Holly. She was playing out back and a dog got through the gate and bit her on the arm.”

  Trent’s breath caught in his throat, but Claire was too preoccupied to notice.

  “Is she alright?” he managed.

  “It’s fine, it’s just a nip really, but she’s scared. I’ve been asking you to fix that gate for weeks, Trent. It’s not safe”

  “I know, I know. I’ll do it this weekend, okay? It’s just been so busy at work lately I haven’t had the time.”

  “I know, I’m not taking it out on you, I just…she was really upset.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s upstairs watching a DVD.”

  “Frozen again?”

  “Not this time. Finding Nemo.”

  “Nemo huh? Alright, I’ll go up and see her. Sorry about the gate. I’ll definitely do it at the weekend. No more delays.”

  “Its fine,” Claire replied, hugging him. “Just go see her. She’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

  He went upstairs, trying to ignore any suggestion that the events at work and at home were linked.

  “Hi daddy,” Holly said as he entered the bedroom.

  “Hey, Munchkin. How’s the arm?”

  “Okay I guess,” she said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Mom made me a bandage.”

  She thrust her arm towards him, showing it to him.

  “She did a great job. What are you watching?” he asked, glancing at the TV.

  “Finding Nemo.”

  “Finally seen enough of Frozen, huh?”

  She sat up and grabbed his hand, catching him by surprise. “Daddy, I’m scared,” She whispered.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of. Some dogs just don’t like people that’s all, even if they do look cute.”

  “It’s outside, Daddy. It’s watching me.”

  “Holly, come on,” he said, laying her back down and pulling the blankets up. “It’s not watching you. That poor animal was probably as scared as you were. Sometimes, when an animal feels threatened, they attack. It’s not personal.”

  “It’s out there daddy, I know it is.” She insisted, glancing towards the window.

  “I promise you, it isn’t.”

  “Will you check for me? Please, Daddy?”

  “Alright, if it will make you feel better,” he said as he walked over to the window and looked out into the street.

  Nope. Nothing there.

  That was what he intended to say, even expected to say, however as he looked down into the sodium lamp bathed street below, the three dogs from the park were sitting in the street and staring at the house. With them were a half dozen others, various breeds and sized, the one thing in common being that they were all watching.

  “Can you see it, Daddy? Is it there?” Holly asked, her voice distant and detached.

  “No, there’s nothing there, Munchkin. Nothing at all.” He mumbled as he struggled to digest what he was looking at. He stepped back and closed the curtains, hoping Holly wouldn’t notice the way his hands were shaking. He walked back across the room and kissed her on the head. “Come on now, you watch your film and forget all about this dog stuff, okay? I’m going to fix the gate at the weekend so this won’t happen again.”

  “Alright,” she mumbled, clearly not convinced.

  “Tell you what, how about I get changed then make you a hot chocolate?”

  “Yay!” she squealed, instantly brought out of her gloom in the way children were by good news.

  “Alright then. You just promise me you’ll stay right there and watch the film, okay? No dog talk. No looking out of the window. Promise?”

  “I promise,” she said, grinning at him and giving the animated fish on the television screen her full attention.

  “Good girl,” Trent said and exited the room, gently closing the door. Safely out of sight, he dropped his calm demeanour and hurried to his bedroom, almost tripping over the foot of the bed as he headed for the window. He swept the curtain aside, glaring out into road below, but the dogs that had been there before had now gone, the streets now empty. He stared anyway, trying to see if they might be hiding between the other houses or in the shadows.

  Did I imagine it? Did I look out there and my brain was somehow tricked into seeing those dogs because they were already in mind?

  He supposed it was possible, but it didn’t feel like something he’d imagined. Even if he had imagined the dogs in the street, the ones at the van that had been watching him were definitely real. Other people had seen them before he had, and even if it was possible that he had somehow mingled the two experiences up in his brain (he had, after all, been working hard recently), there was no reason he would manifest them now outside his own house. It just made no sense. Confused and uncertain what to believe, he changed and decided it was best not to mention it to Claire. Not until he had had some time to think about it. Even so, for the first time in almost ten years he walked around the house and double checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were securely locked.

  Just to be on the safe side.

  FOUR

  There were seven dogs the next day. Trent stood in his van, going through the motions of doing the morning preparation and trying to ignore them. He had barely slept, and had spent the previous night dozing in the dark in his armchair, baseball bat draped across his knees, every single noise from the house starting him awake and making him think there was something inside. Claire had asked him if he was alright, and because he still didn’t have the inclination to tell her what was happening, he had given a vague story about coming down with a bug of some kind. One thing the sleepless night had done was give him a little time to think about what might be happening and why and although he had no proof, he was determined to find out. The day went on, and as Trent worked in the same kind of disjointed state of half-awareness that had been with him since he saw the dogs out of Holly’s bedroom window, an event he had now convinced himself wasn’t something he had imagined. By the time the mid-afternoon rush arrived, there were fifteen dogs watching him. He glared at them as he cooked, that detached nausea still surging through him as he served his customers, barely able to muster up the usual level of banter he had become known for. He wondered why nobody had come to gather them or round them up, or why no warden had come. He considered calling them to inform them, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not until he was sure of what was happening and couldn’t deny any longer that, for whatever reason, the dogs were interested in him.

  He stared at the dogs, and the dogs looked back.

  Slowly, he had started to put the pieces together and was perhaps starting to understand what was happening. He glanced at the dog, the first one that had come and stared at him. It sat at the front of the pack, drool hanging from its jaws, eyes black and emotionless. That was when he first felt it.

  Fear.

  Honest to god real fear which was as far removed from the horror film scare that he associated with the word as it was possible to get. This was real, visceral, a primal emotion which he knew until that point he had never experienced before.

  Even though they were technically domestic animals – many of them were wearing collars and tags – there was a primal aggression that he could sense within the pack of dogs even from the relative safety of the van. He noticed that even though there were a lot of people around, none were approaching the animals to stroke them or to check if they had owners nearby. If anything, people were giving them a wide berth, doing their best to ignore the animals and skirting past them as if they had some kind of contagious disease. Trent suspected that, like him, people could sense the aggression. Either that or they couldn't see them, and they were just a figment of his imagination. That idea scared him, and he was quick to dismiss it. After all, one of them had attacked his daughter and bitten her. That was real, that was very much an actual event that had taken place. Knowing he wasn't crazy didn't help much. He could still see them, out there watching him.
/>   He slammed the burger flipper down on the grill. “We’re closed.” He hissed.

  “Hey, I’m still waiting for my food.” One customer said, frowning at the sudden outburst.

  “I said we’re closed, are you deaf?” Trent fired back, still unable to tear his eyes away from the animals. “You must all be blind. Don’t tell me you can’t see them over there staring.”

  “Hey, take it easy, buddy.” The customer said, holding his palms up.

  “They came to my house, did you know that?” Trent said, narrowing his eyes and staring at his audience. “To my fucking house!”

  People started to back away. He could only imagine how he must look to them, sweating and wild-eyed. The burger flipper who had finally lost it. If there was something the public knew well to avoid it was a crazy person, and almost as one they melted away, deciding that as nice as the food may be, it wasn’t worth it to stick around and see what the man selling them might do next. He didn’t care about that now, though. All he could think about were the dogs.

  “Go on, get out of here. Get the fuck out!” He was screaming at the dogs, but the customers thought he was referring to them, increasing their distance from him and the van. The dogs, however, didn’t move. They continued to sit and stare at him. Trent was almost sure he could sense some kind of arrogance there. He felt nausea sweep over him, and he swayed on his feet, sure he was going to collapse. With a trembling hand, he closed the shutter, convincing himself it was because he was closing up and not because he was afraid. Somehow it was worse not being able to see them. He saw it play out in his mind’s eye like a low budget horror film. The dogs would come now he was alone, perhaps as an ominous soundtrack raised the viewer’s tension in the background. The dogs would then wage some kind of assault on his van as he cowered in the back, defying the laws of science as they did all they could to get to their intended victim. It was ridiculous, of course. They were dogs, not monsters. He stood there in the dark and listened, waiting for it to begin. But there was no attack, no hollow padding of feet on steel as they clambered all over the van. Just the ragged sound of his own breathing. Eventually, Trent opened the rear door and poked his head out. The park was quiet and bathed in the mid-afternoon sun. The dogs had dispersed, gone to wherever they went when they weren’t harassing Trent. He held his breath and listened. Aside from the breeze and the distant sound of children playing elsewhere in the park, there was absolute silence. Even so, he knew they were still out there somewhere. Watching him. Waiting for him. He climbed out of the van and locked the back door, unable to resist glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t behind him.