Depravity

by Woodhead, Ian

  The girl turned around and stepped out of the way when the large woman took the couple's bags and led them through the dining room, heading towards a flight of stairs.

  “Right, so I kill him.”

  The girl rested her hand on Michael's arm. “Won't stop this from continuing, he's just a pawn. Like me, the girl, you see before you, as well as the rest of the people in the town, they're not responsible for any of this. Look over there, in the corner.”

  He could already feel something else had already invaded the room. The temperature had already dropped to below freezing. Michael found himself desperate to keep his gaze locked on the girl, daring not to do as she bid. He'd never felt more scared in his life.

  “Oh fuck, no this isn't fair. They're not supposed to see me.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged Michael into the dining room. “Come on. Shit. I knew it wouldn't go as I planned.” The girl left him in the middle of the room and ran back to the door. “We don't have much time left, I wish I...”

  She never had a chance to finish her sentence. Before she could close the door, a thickly muscled arm snaked around the edge of the door and grabbed her hair, pulling the girl through the crack before the door slammed shut.

  Michael raced up to the door, and wrenched at the door. “Leave her the fuck alone!” he yelled. It didn't matter how hard he pulled on that door, it wouldn't open, it was like it had been nailed shut. He picked up the axe and swung the blade into the top left panel, feeling a bout of triumph at the sound of splintering wood. He worked it out of the door and hit it again. This time the whole panel came off when he pulled out the axe.

  “You okay?” he shouted, pressing his face hard against the narrow gap. Michael saw the blood first. A twin trail leading from the just behind the door, all the way over to the wall. “You dirty fuckers,” he moaned. “Oh Jesus, that is just vile.”

  The girl's broken body was spread across the entire wall. Who or whatever had grabbed her, pulled everything out from inside the girl and used it to paint the entire face of the wall. Bits of wet gore dripped down the wallpaper like scarlet porridge. They had left what remained of her shattered body hanging over two stag heads.

  Michael's mental radar detonated. He pulled his face away from the hole and dropped to the floor. That cloak of terror pulled over his entire body. He pulled himself into a tight ball, feeling as though someone had pushed a clawed hand between his ribs. Those long fingers were right now squeezing around his heart. He wanted to cry out, to beg them to make it stop but he daren't even open his mouth. Those shadows were just inches from his shivering body. Just a couple of inches of wood separating him from death. Even that wouldn't be the end of it.

  Their proximity gave Michael a glimpse of the endless torment and agony he would suffer if any of those foul monsters managed to snag him. He would be a prize, a morsel to be savoured over. There weren't many humans who had fallen into their traps over the millennia who had witnessed and committed acts deemed immoral to society.

  The creatures would take their time over him, making his suffering last months before the death blow. His ripped soul would keep them sustained for a long time. Michael felt like a mouse creeping through the house of vile giants, keeping to the shadows, shivering in the corner, hoping that none of them would notice him.

  Then, the unbelievable happened. They slivered away from the door, moving back over to the gore spattered wall. It didn't make any sense, why had they not known he was there? Surely those things couldn't have thought the door damaged itself? He rolled away from the door, thinking that perhaps, questions like that were better left unexplored. Michael scrambled over to the nearest table and dived under it.

  His hands and knees never made contact with the carpet. Michael cried out when he felt reality shift one more time. A gently breeze blow past his ears and the sensation of damp grass caressed the palms of his hands. He silently groaned, guessing that he was back outside that hotel again.

  “Say one for me, while you're down there, please.”

  Michael opened one eye and saw the smirking features of Trevor looking down at him. “God, and there's me thinking that this crappy beer was about as potent as water. It's certainly addled your brains!”

  He grinned up at his mate. “bugger off, you daft bugger. I just slipped out of it, that's all.”

  “Ha! I bet you say that to all the young girls.”

  It took a few moments for his equilibrium to balance out. Michael climbed back into his rocker and picked up a fresh unopened can. The sun was still high in the sky so he couldn't have been gone for that long, a couple of minutes at the most. The axe was still embedded in the tree stump making him wonder if he'd even moved from this position. The more he thought about it, the more unlikely it sounded that he did end up in his kitchen. “I hope you flushed after you'd been, Trevor.”

  “Flushed? What are you talking about?”

  Michael cracked open the can, thankful to see that he still had a decent amount left. “Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

  “Are you sure you didn't crack your head when you hit the floor or something?”

  “Give over. You're beginning to sound like Jodie with your girly fussing. Seriously, I'm cool.” He took a careful sip of the cool liquid. Right now, it tasted like the best beer on the planet. “Speaking of the girls, shouldn't they be back by now?”

  “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Whilst you were snoring away, I got a text from Fern. She said they'd gone into the next town to do a bit of clothes shopping. Apparently, the stuff they sold here looked like the stuff they wore in the 80's.”

  He nodded to himself. Michael now knew where all those clothes had come from. He shivered when he remembered that old weirdo wore a trilby, just like the one balancing on the bonce of Darleen's husband. God, the people in this town were all a bunch of parasites. He dared think just how many people must have entered that hotel of death and never left. How long had it been going on? Hell, why hadn't anybody noticed? It beggared belief. Yeah well, it would soon be time for that hotel to close its gates for good.

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Yeah, your missus is going to take her to some fancy Italian restaurant.”

  “That'll be the Franko Di Lupo then,” he said, smiling. “They do a beef cannelloni to die for. The food is incredible but it is a bit pricey. That's one of Jodie's finds. Looks like Fern is in for a treat tonight.”

  That took a large weight off his shoulders. It would be way past midnight before those two were ready to come back. With any luck, they'd stay over there for the night too. In fact, he should give Jodie a ring and kinda mention that idea to her. Why not? After all, then the pair of them would be able to drink all the wine they wanted.

  “How expensive is a bit pricey, Michael?”

  “Oh, give over. Jodie won't let your Fern pay for anything.” He felt a bit uncomfortable saying your Fern. Christ, He'd just uncovered the largest case of mass murder in the history of this country, and he was still concerned over his friend's marriage.

  “Who's worried,” he said, looking at his watch. “It's not like Fern has any of my money. “Look, man, all this talk of food is making me a bit hungry myself, and I'm guessing that the nearest Chinese is on the other side of the moon?”

  If Jodie hadn't already done her marriage councillor routine of Fern already, He intended to sort the pair of them out once this nasty business was well and truly over. “Who wants sweet and sour when Uncle Michael has a fridge full of best steak?”

  “You're kidding, right? I'm hungry now!”

  “Unless you fancy climbing aboard your fucking rocket-ship, you'll have to wait. Look, it won't take me that long to set up the barbecue. Besides, it's still early.” The look on Trevor's face told him that the guy's stomach didn't care about the time. “Tell you what, you chill out in the rocker, and get another one of those beers down your neck. I'll go grab the gear. Deal?”

  “Sure you don't want a hand?”

  Just like Trevor, a
s soon as he'd gotten his own way, he'd trip up over his own feet to help out. “No. You can stay where you are and do as you're told. You'll be smelling the meaty aroma of sizzling steaks before you know it.”

  The shine on Trevor's face told Michael that he'd just found his sweet spot. He needed to make sure that his mate was out for the count as well. That shouldn't be too difficult, Trevor had one more sweet spot, Michael's single malt.

  6

  This was such a momentous occasion. Greg James even believed he might even be content, an emotion that he hadn't experienced in over two decades. It was happening. Greg wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He shuffled around in the little wooden chair, then turned his head to watch the people pile back into the sports hall. The smell of tobacco followed them in. He sighed, wishing he still smoked. He'd have so loved to go out there once the real hotel owner had left the stage. God, was it too late to have a sneak smoke? One of them would lend him a cigarette, he was sure of it. Then again, maybe not. He was due back on stage pretty soon.

  Greg did admit, he wasn't quite prepared for the real hotel owner to take on the appearance of a young boy. That was a bit of a shock. At first sight, Greg thought the lad was lost, that he was looking for his mum and just gone in the wrong door. That assumption soon altered when the boy calmly walked up to the front of the stage and sent his hard gaze across the waiting audience. Greg thought the new man living in the farmhouse was scary eyes but compared to how that boy at the meeting transfixed the audience, the stranger was just a teddy bear. Greg was so glad when the boy blinked and treated them all to a genial smile. Any longer and he would have voided his bowels.

  The real hotel owner talked of loyalty, of rewards, of how grateful they were to the town for having the patience while they went through a transition at the hotel. He spoke of how humbling it was to see so many faces, of old and new and how together, they would enjoy more prosperity than they could even imagine. His words were vague, but the meanings were perfectly evident. They really were going to go back to how it used to be.

  Greg turned to the woman beside him. Not all that shocked to see her drying her eyes with a tissue. The real hotel owner had effected everyone here. They all felt the old connections forming again. He knew his sense of contentment had stemmed from that bonding. He now had purpose. Greg turned in his seat, surveying the people behind him. He knew every single one of them. A couple of seats back, Greg spotted Alistair Graves, their museum owner as well as what passed for a law keeper in their town. He resisted the urge to give him a wave.

  One seat behind him sat the town's bad boys. For once they weren't acting up. Greg wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He then felt that contentment drain right out of him.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled.

  Right at the back of the hall, hiding behind a group of workers from the old mine were a couple of Overtons. Judging from the grey hair, that had to be Mark and his sister, Jane. He tightening his fingers around the edges of the chair. They shouldn't be in here. Everyone knows that the family was excluded from all meetings.

  “You okay, Greg?” whispered Joyce Belmont.

  He slowly shook his head. “I don't think I am. You won't believe who thinks it's perfectly acceptable to gate-crash our meeting.”

  “Oh, that'll be Mark and Jane Overton then?”

  “You've seen them?”

  “I don't have to see them, Greg. I can smell the dirty fuckers,” she growled.

  “Yeah well, it isn't right. We should do something about it.”

  Joyce rested her hand on his wrist. “You'll do nothing of the kind, Greg James. I'm the one who invited them.”

  He felt as though the woman had just punched him in the guts.

  Joyce dug her long nails into his thin skin. “You listen to me,” she hissed. “You don't know what's it's like beyond the boundary of our town. Most of them in here don't. Believe me, Greg. The world has moved on. They have things like Social Media, Satellite Imaging Technology, and Mobile Phones. I don't think the real hotel owners are aware of the new dangers.”

  Greg stared intently at the woman, wondering just how close she was to committing blasphemy. He wasn't a fucking primitive. He'd seen the rare town visitor trying to talk into their phones. He wasn't that sure about the other things she said, but it didn't really matter. The real hotel owners could protect them from anything.

  “Whether we like to admit it or not, the Overtons are now part of this town. Meaning they need involving in any huge change that's about to happen. If the world beyond is as dangerous as I suspect, then our armour has to have no chinks, no weak links. It's as simple as that, Greg.”

  Yeah well, Greg wasn't willing to accept that. The Overtons were a menace, vermin that should be wiped off the face of the earth. Oh, he too shared the vision that their town would indeed become prosperous again, unlike the poor deluded Joyce, Greg knew that it just meant that the Overtons would only become more greedy and difficult, especially now they were to be involved in the running of his precious town.

  He forced himself to relax. Greg even managed a smile for the woman. Greg would just have to deal with the Overtons' himself. He looked past Joyce, who's now fixed her attention on the stage. Did her soft husband agree with this insane idea?

  Somehow, he doubted that very much. The man probably only went ahead to stop the woman's constant badgering. Hell, if Joyce wanted the full town here, then why not invite the scary-eyed man as well? God, what a fuck up, and to think that when he arrived he was in a good mood.

  He wouldn't put it past one of those Overtons to have already mentally claimed the scary-eyed man's nice car either.

  The lights in the hall dimmed and an expectant hush fell over the assembled audience. Greg put his hand around the rim of his trilby in his lap and allowed a slight smile to play over his lips and, with the rest of them, waited for the return of the real hotel owner.

  Once this meeting had concluded, Greg fully intended to have a quiet word with that little boy. They so needed to know that this town housed a nest of traitorous weasels. If that Katie Overton was quite happy to mouth off to strangers regarding the hotel, what's to stop the others from following her lead?

  The door at the back of the stage swung inward and the boy walked onto the stage. He stopped at the edge. Smiled to himself then sat down. “Okay, my friends. If you have any questions. If you wish to share any grievances, then please stand up.”

  This shouldn't take too long, Greg could only remember a couple of people had been brave enough to risk the wrath of the real hotel owners. That was decades ago. He closed his eyes and wondered how long it would be before the possessions began to flood into the town.

  “Sir? Yes, erm, over here. I have a question, if that's okay?”

  Greg's eyes shot open. He knew that voice. He spun around his seat. Bloody hell! That was the cafe owner, Jack Williams. What was he playing at?

  “Why have you allowed total strangers to buy the old farmhouse?”

  Another man got to his feet. “They've stolen energy from the cleansing house,” shouted the museum owner and the town's part time police officer. “That's not supposed to happen. The museum's properties aren't supposed to work on outsiders.”

  Greg saw his prize of that car get further and further away from him. It worked on the scary-eyed man because the town must have already accepted him as one of them. Oh fuck, could this get any worse? He watched the town's bad boys stand up, they were complaining that the stranger had tried to get all aggressive with them. Judging from the bruises on Terry Bakersfield's face, he'd done more than get aggressive.

  He turned back, eager to hear what the boy was going to do about it. The real hotel owner had gotten to his feet. He leaned on the mic and glared at the cafe owner. Greg didn't need to turn around to know that Jack was now in agony. “You listen to me, you stupid little fuckstain!”

  His acid gaze ran over the entire crowd. Greg howled when thos
e eyes found him. It felt for a second that the blood in every vein was boiling. He moaned softly when he felt his bladder giving out. Warm urine soaked into his trouser and the base of his precious hat.

  “That farmhouse is empty and it shall remain so until we say otherwise. Listen to this. If any of you diseased peasants even contemplate putting one foot over that threshold, you'll all end up in the hotel's death room. Your suffering will last for a fucking millennia.”

  The lights came on and Greg found, to his relief, the boy had gone. He stayed sitting while the room erupted into an explosion of shouting and panic. So much for thinking that it couldn't get any worse. Greg so needed a cigarette.

  Chapter Seven

  Family Values

  1

  It only took the pair of them a couple of minutes to drag the boy's struggling body up the stone steps. The boy didn't really start screaming until his severed tendons bounced off the edge of the first cellar step. Kevin Morris (he'd come to accept his adopted name.) guessed that his former prize to his new wife was too far gone with hunger and dehydration to feel the rough floor scraping away his skin, when he and the girl took an arm each and dragged him towards the light.

  Three of the boy's filthy fingers hooked around Kevin's wrist. He glared into the boy's pleading eyes, silently willing him to let go. When that didn't happen, he smashed them into the corner of the door frame. At this rate, there wasn't going to be much left to torture.

  He straightened his back and took a deep breath. The girl copied his actions. She would need a lot of training before he could pass her off as his wife. Thick blood dripped down her chin.

  “Wipe yourself,” he muttered. “I don't want you staining my carpets.”

  She rewarded him with a bloodied grin before she pressed the back of her filthy hand across her mouth. A small section of the old person, the one who hadn't undergone the agony ritual, popped up his tiny head and raised all sorts of questions before he stamped that silly voice back down. Kevin knew why the tiny head had made another appearance. Watching the girl growl at the boy when his damaged feet hit the first step had sent a little nostalgic shiver up Kevin's spine. That shiver turned into a full blown fucking shake when she grabbed the bottom of his jaw and yanked it down. At first Kevin thought she was going to kiss him, you know, just for old time's sake. That whimsical thought soon evaporated when blood burst out from between their mouth embrace, and she rose up. Her hands kept the boy's jaws wide open as her teeth bit through his tongue.