The Waters of Life
Page 19
Eric was no fool. He had known that there was no escape for him and that he was a dead man the instant that he had thrown the scalpel. But too many people had died horribly and at the very least he had been able to offer Jenny the choice of a quick end. There was nothing he could do for the poor, writhing, infected children, unless the plans he now had for Wulfred would serve to finish them quickly too, hopefully taking the contagion with them. Whatever happened, Eric knew for a fact that there was no way he was getting out of this basement alive. His plan was desperate and would mean a horrible end, but probably still more merciful than the alternative.
He could hear Wulfred's heavy tread following him down the stairs. At least the ancient cleric was arrogant and self-assured enough to take his time. This might just give Eric the chance to prepare before the inevitable confrontation. He hurried in and out of the storerooms, gathering all that he needed, finally closeting himself in a linen storeroom right at the end of the corridor, close by the boiler room.
He sat there in the midst of a large mound of towels and bedsheets, hurrying to get everything ready, He could hear one door after another being thrown open as Wulfred advanced on his hiding place, getting closer and closer.
Minutes seemed like hours until the moment could no longer be forestalled. The door to the storeroom opened and the odoriferous, oozing bulk of Wulfred filled the doorways, fixing his sickly gaze upon Eric.
“I don't even need to touch you, Turner,” the Abbot sighed in hungry anticipation. “Already, my airborne agents have caressed your flesh. The change will soon be upon you.”
Eric knew that this was no lie. Like Jenny before him, he could feel the queasy sickness churning in his gut, a painful tightening of his chest and a dreadful itching all over the surface of his skin.
“Perhaps,” he gasped, “but I won't live long enough to see myself rotting away, demon!”
“Another knife?” scoffed Wulfred. “Taking the coward's way out?”
“No more knives,” admitted Eric, shaking his head. “I only had one and I let Jenny have that. This is something much more fitting.” He produced a lighter from the back pocket of his jeans, his fingers already swelling at the knuckles with ichor and fumbling slightly. “Look at all this flammable cloth around me, and I've drenched it all in spirits from the other storerooms. It ends as it began with poor old Peter the leper, Wulfred: it ends with fire!”
“No!” shouted Wulfred, trying to retreat from the chamber. But there was no escaping this fireball. The instant Eric struck the lighter and touched its flame to the spirit-soaked bed linen, there was a woomph of heat and flame and the entire room was ablaze, fire licking out into the corridor. Wulfred was caught in the full heat of the blast and wailed as his cursed, diseased flesh was incinerated, his centuries-old will unable to hold back the cleansing, purifying fire.
In the centre of the conflagration, Eric was enshrouded in the inferno, his screaming lungs breathing more flames into the very heart of his being with every agonised shriek. His body blistered, blackened and charred rapidly, his eyes melting and rolling down his cheeks as his flesh, blood and bone were consumed in his final, decisive strike. He writhed and kicked in his death agonies, which took piteously longer than he had hoped. But finally, nothingness claimed him and he died with the satisfaction of knowing that at least Wulfred too was burned utterly to ashes.
EPILOGUE:
MOURNFUL TOMORROWS
The huge pillar of smoke could be seen for miles around. When the emergency services arrived, all floors of the hospital were ablaze. Desperate faces, some of them seeming hideously distorted, could be seen pressed against some of the upper windows. Tragically, almost all of the staff and patients perished in the fire.
Some few children were rescued from their position near the ground floor main entrance. The firemen had managed to carry a dozen wailing youngsters to safety. All were treated with oxygen and immediately taken by ambulance to the main county hospital, as all were suffering from severe burns and unknown ailments.
Within the hour, many of the fire fighters, police and ambulance crews were seriously ill, their symptoms horrible, their condition highly contagious. At this time, reports began circulating of rapidly multiplying cases of a new and virulent disease spreading outwards with great rapidity. Sufferers were turning up in towns and cities nationwide. Wherever they went, the contagion spread. A state of emergency was declared. But by this time the first cases had been reported overseas, rippling outwards from the airports. Borders were sealed and British flights turned back, but by this time it was far, far too late.
As the smoke rose above the tree tops from the burning hospital, ash spiralled and danced, carried aloft by the incredible heat of the conflagration.
High above the ground, a twisting scatter of ash fluttered on the breeze, catching the sunlight, reflecting a strange oily sheen which almost for a moment looked like the silhouette of a man.
The breeze carried the ash eastwards, over the hills, toward more populated areas. It finally drifted back downwards into a sheltered valley, coming to drift upon the surface of the reservoir nestled between the hills. For a moment, the black flecks lay upon the surface of the water, then they dissolved into it, leaving a strange, slimy slick upon the surface of the clear, sparkling water, which rippled and shimmered under the warmth of the summer sun.
OTHER HORROR TITLES FROM
MICHAEL H. KELLY
AVAILABLE IN PRINT & KINDLE EDITIONS
EARTH MOTHER
A NOVEL OF ELEMENTAL HORROR
A seemingly idyllic cottage in the country, haunted by a spectre of madness and death.
The legacy of a reclusive occultist from decades gone by: an Elemental force trapped in the soil, unable to return to its home plane. A monstrous child that cannot remember what it is, looking desperately for its mother.
Colin McGrath finds all his plans coming apart at the seams after moving into a new home, as his wife's psychic sensitivity awakens forces that would have been best left to slumber.
DREAD SOULS
In so much of modern fiction, vampires and werewolves have been humanised, turned into anti-heroes or sympathetic characters.
But in the original legends and accounts of the hungry dead and man-beasts, there is no sympathy to be found, only savagery and horror.
Dread Souls seeks to redress the balance and rediscover the essence of the authentic vampire and the genuine werewolf. In this book, nineteen terrifying accounts have been plucked from the pages of history and retold in modern English, so that contemporary readers may appreciate the dark and nightmarish roots of these most persistent of horrors.
This book restores the vampire and the werewolf to their true aspect, as demonic manifestations of bloodlust, cruelty and murder.
THE ELDRITCH ISLE
Ten terrifying tales of horror and all things weird, all set among the apparently peaceful, green surroundings of the Isle of Man.
The discovery of Viking gold unlocks a terrible curse; weird creatures haunt a remote lighthouse; the kitchen of a successful restaurant conceals a vile secret; the vengeance of an ancient witch; cruel accidents befall those who criticise a pompous writer's works; a TT racer's encounter with the uncanny; obsession and depravity in the service of a demonic machine; the Black Goat of the Woods; an ancient evil that inhabits the marshes; the horror that lies buried beneath the surface of this beautiful Island.
A decalog of dread.
FOR FEAR OF LITTLE MEN
Contained in the pages of this book are stories from Celtic folklore, myth and history, respun for the modern world by a modern storyteller.
Here are tales of bugganes and mermaids, of Merlin and dragons, of ghostly hounds and unearthly bulls, tales of tragedy, tales of comedy.
Whatever your preference, there is a tale to match it, born out of the Celtic spirit.
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