Depravity

by Woodhead, Ian

  Thing is, Michael was preparing for war, why even try to disguise this as something else? Otherwise he wouldn't be on the way to the bedroom.

  Apart from making the living room and kitchen look halfway decent, the rest of the rooms were full of boxes, still waiting to be unpacked. The pair of them were due to start finding places for the items stored in the bedroom tomorrow afternoon, a few hours after Michael had placed a couple of his items in a more secure location. Finding better hiding places was supposed to happen today. He sighed. So much for organisation.

  Michael had purchased them from a friend of a friend when he decided to 'adjust' the books with Jodie's perverted family. After spending all that money, Michael found he didn't need them after all. He should have gotten rid of them already, not that a German 9mm pistol and an Israeli assault rifle would be that easy to shift. Michael could hardly take them down to the nearest charity shop.

  He did intend to break them apart and bury the pieces as soon as he could, all that changed when he arrived here. Dismantling the weapons and dropping them into a big hole suddenly didn't seem like the best idea in the world.

  Even from where he stood, his friend's disgruntled voice found him. Trevor didn't sound all that impressed about moving from his warm nest and out into that cold and dark countryside. How could his friend not see the potential danger here? Even without all the weird shit happening, Michael's inbuilt radar would be spinning like the three drums in a fruit machine.

  Right now, that delicate mechanism was doing just that and it wasn't because of his missing wife. He stopped a few inches from his bedroom door, sensing that he and Trevor weren't the only ones in the house.

  He tensed up when a shadow inside his bedroom moved on its own volition. There wasn't any time to shout out for assistance, not that Michael needed any. This was his home and as far as he was concerned, anybody sneaking around deserved everything coming to them. Michael clenched both fists. No fucker breaks into his place. He dropped into a crouch, dived through the open door, rolled forward then swung his left leg out in a wide arc, confident that his intruder would find themselves kissing the carpet. Once on the floor, he was going to pin them down and punch the bastard into the middle of next week.

  Michael cried out in total shock when his foot passed through the intruder's legs. He growled and scurried over to the door, only for it to slam in his face. He jumped up, his blood was boiling with rage.

  The first thing he saw were his two guns, neatly arranged on the white bed covers, complete with the spare magazines as well as a box of shells for the pistol. His gaze moved over to the window where a large, well-built man stood in the corner, his arms folded and a smirk on his face.

  Michael didn't move, his fire put out by the fact that he could make out the patterned wallpaper through his semi-opaque torso.

  “So, who the fuck are you then, the ghost of Christmas bollocks? Are you going to try to make me eat a pile of dog-shit tasting cakes as well?

  The stranger chuckled. “I had you down for some week-willed toffee-nosed ex-officer. We had one like that when I was in Afghanistan. He came out with smart arsed crap like that. The ghost bit is right though, Michael. Until a few moments ago, I was alive as you are.; That all changed when that fat fuck, the cunt who runs that hotel put a crossbow through my head, right after making me watch him brutalise then murder my beautiful wife!” The ghost choked back a sob. “Shit, sorry. Look, dude, please, I need you to listen to what I have to say, because, right now. That hotel is where your wife has just entered.”

  “You what?” Michael yelled. “Then why the fuck are we talking? Get that door open, man!” He spun around and banged his fists against the wood. “Trevor! Come on, get your arse in here. Trevor, for crying out loud!”

  “He's not going to hear you, Michael. I put him back to sleep. You can't allow him to become involved in this. Too many innocents have already lost their lives. Trevor would not survive.”

  “Christ, man. Look, I'm really sorry about what's happened to you and your wife. Just let me go so I can stop it from hurting Jodie!”

  The ghost sighed loudly then sat down on the bed. “There are greater forces at work here, and these forces can't wait to get you up to that hotel, only the bastards don't want you to arrive too early, not until they've made their preparations. They've already called for reinforcements. Not trusting the two already up there to put you out of commission. They only got me because the cunt hit me when I was sleeping. Believe me on this one though, not one hair on your wife's petty little head will be touched until you get there.”

  Michael attempted to calm down. It was obvious that brute force wasn't going to get him anywhere. “How do you know that she's not going to be harmed?”

  “Practicality,” he answered. “These monsters feed on our souls. They derive nutrition from them. Think of each soul as some kind of recording device, storing every memory, every experience, your actions, and thoughts. The more traumatic the experience suffered, the richer the nutrition.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  The ghost nodded. “You and your wife will be like giving prime steak to a horde of starving wolves. No, they'll wait until they get both of you first, then they'll make you watch as that fat bastard makes the poor girl suffer. Unlike what that bastard did to Anna, he'll make you last for days. Once she's finally dead, then they'll do the same to you.”

  “Thank you,” he growled. “Yeah well, that's not going to happen.” Michael stormed over to the bed and grabbed the assault rifle. It felt good in his hands. “Okay, we've talked. I know the score now open that fucking door. I'll walk if I have to.”

  “You're not going anywhere until I finish. Don't you think those monsters know about your past now, Michael? They know how dangerous you are. Those reinforcements are not going to be carrying some kitchen knives and a hedge trimmer. They'll have guns, just like you and they've been ordered to disable you. If you're going to go into this, should you not at least plan ahead first?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the pistol and tucked it into his bed before checking to ensure the weapons were ready to fire. He wasn't going to ask how they somehow appeared on the bed, what was the point of that? “Tell me something,” he said quickly. “You told me that they know I'm here now. We've been here for days. More to the point, why should they give a shit about me or Jodie? From what I've learned, those monsters have been running that little murder factory for a long time.” He thought about all the old cars in that museum. The hotel and the freaks in that town must have been at this for generations. “Come on, why am I so important to them?

  “Christ, man. Have you not been paying attention? It's because you have the power to stop this evil. Why do you think you were chosen in the first place? You are a ruthless bastard, and yet you have a sharply defined sense of right and wrong. For the first time in thousands of years, these monsters are actually frightened of a human. As to why they didn't know about you, the other ghost has you in plain sight. This farmhouse belongs to them, it's part of the hotel, a bolt hole, in case anything happened to their primary hunting lair. It's how the dead were able to communicate with you.”

  “So why the fuck didn't any of them say any of this earlier, instead of trying to make me eat cakes?”

  “You have no idea what these poor creatures sacrificed in order to get you here. All that remained of their souls were just strands and tattered wisps, and yet they were still able to get you to this place and hide you. What they achieved is frankly astounding.”

  “What about you then? I mean, if it wasn't for the light shining through your body, I wouldn't even know you were dead.”

  “Yeah well, right now, my soul is still in one piece. They are too concerned with organising your capture than eating.” He shuddered. “Call me selfish, but I don't want that to happen to me.” The ghost stood up and walked through the bed and stood opposite the bedroom wardrobe. It was the only piece of furniture that belonged to his wife. The piece once lived
in the girl's bedroom. He removed it after he'd finished dealing with her family. Jodie had no idea that it was her original wardrobe. Thanks to a friend who sanded it down, re-varnished it and replaced all the fittings. One day he planned to tell Jodie that it was her original wardrobe and not some piece that he'd picked up in a furniture shop.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It's time to go now, my friend. Already, I sense their recruits closing in on the hotel. There's ten of them and they are all armed. Remember, they too will be fighting for their existence. They've been told that if they fail, then their souls will be consumed.”

  “Whatever, just hurry up and open the bedroom door.”

  The ghost nodded but instead of gliding past Michael, he tapped on the edge of the wardrobe that resulted in both the doors swinging open.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “Both locations are linked, Michael. Did I not explain that already? This route will take us straight to the hotel.”

  Michael suppressed a harsh chuckle. “You must be having a laugh here?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Whatever, let's get on with this bullshit.”

  “You listen to me, gobshite!” he shouted. “It isn't fucking Narnia in there. This is a conduit. To get to the hotel, we must pass through the realm of the dead. I have substance in there, just like all the other denizens.” The ghost leaned forward. “That includes a couple of people who you buried, do you understand what I'm saying here?”

  Michael fingered the pistol. “I killed them once, I'll do it again if they try anything.”

  “Don't be too sure about that. Now listen, in real time, the journey will be instantaneous, but time is weird in there. It'll feel longer for you.”

  Michael shrugged, weird is one thing that he was getting used to. He grabbed the side of the door and followed the ghost inside.

  2

  Greg James brushed his fingers over the top of his trilby, while his eyes followed the contours of the service pistol he'd brought along. It hadn't belonged to him, of course. Then again, apart from his teeth and his hair, Greg hadn't truly owned anything.

  “I'm a scavenger,” he murmured. Greg didn't see this in a negative sense, in fact, he was rather proud of his title. What annoyed him more than anything was that he shared this title with the rest of the idiots in town. As far as he was concerned, they should be called parasites, at least a scavenger does a modicum of work to collect their spoils.

  The others had already filed off the minibus. Greg didn't bother looking up to watch the sheep pass him. He just nodded a couple of times when asked if he was coming. Christ, of course he was going to join them, what fucking choice did he have? Unlike the likes of Joyce Belmont and her dumb husband, and Alistair and his big hard gang, he wasn't exactly looking forward to his imminent death.

  If the psycho they were to lie in wait for wouldn't murder them, then the real hotel owners would. Greg finally looked up, and watched Alistair Graves take the lead from Jack Williams. The hotel door stood open and the form of the little boy waited to great the unwary sacrifices. Greg waited until their part time policeman and the cafe owner had reached the door before standing up. He'd dragged his feet long enough, already, the others would be asking questions. “This isn't fucking fair,” he whispered. “I don't want to die tonight.” He placed his favourite hat on his head, stuffed the gun into his overcoat and reluctantly made his way down the aisle.

  Greg stopped by the minibus door, his fingers wrapped around the cold metal rail, seriously wondering what they'd do to him if he leapt into the driver's seat and took off. The notion had so much appeal. Within one hour, he'd be in the next town, and out of the real hotel owner's influence. Hell, would any of them even miss him? From what he'd heard tonight, those clowns would have enough on their plate without having to be concerned with one unimportant local skipping town.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Joyce had reached the door. The boy-form shook her hand then hugged the woman. Even from here, he saw that the woman's emotions had just gone into overdrive. To her, this was akin to meeting the queen. Greg felt a note of jealousy creeping through his bones. He took one last look at that driver's wheel before stepping off the coach.

  No, a big fat no. Greg wasn't going to abandon his town. Not for the real hotel owners, not for anyone. What, like he was the type to sneak away like some guilty stray dog after stealing a sausage? Fuck that. They wouldn't kill him. The others? Well sure, they weren't worth a damn. The real hotel owners needed him though. He was the catalyst, the gel that kept their town together. The man with all the ideas. After all, it was him who suggested using the school minibus. It was him who ordered Alistair to collect the guns from the museum.

  Greg whipped his head back inside the interior when he noticed the luggage compartment under the seats starting to open. The panel slid up and three figures crawled out. He waited, slowing down his breathing, listening to the frantic whispers. Greg silently moved back into the shadows when two of the figures crept past the open door. When the last figure walked past, he jumped out, landing on the figure's back.

  The pair of them crashed onto the hard tarmac. Greg grinned at the sound of a female cry. He looked up and watched the other two disappearing into the night. “Well, who do we have here?” He viciously pulled the long blonde hair back and gazed at the hateful face of Katie Overton. “A fucking Overton. Why am I even surprised? Come on then, let's go meet the others.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” she snapped. You and all the rest of your cunting scum are going to die tonight. He's coming for you. He's going to kill every one of you bastards!”

  He back-handed the girl then rabbit punched her in the guts when she tried to struggle. “We'll have none of that,” he snarled, dragging her away from the minibus. Greg now had a captive audience, which, in his opinion, is how it should be. Yeah, Greg James, the hero of the day. Now he could add snatching possible saboteurs to his previous mental list.

  Okay, so he'd only managed to snag one of them. That was enough though, now that their presence were known, it would be that difficult to track them down. Greg selected his concerned but confident face, dug his nails into the girl's bare arms then dragged her over to his waiting audience.

  Jack reluctantly moved out of the way to allow Greg access to the boy-form. The hate that the cafe owner extruded was almost tangible. Greg could be sure whether if he was sending that intense emotion to him or the girl. It had to be him, the bugger now knew he's just lost his favourite sex-toy. Fuck him. Jack had nobody to blame but himself. If he'd have dished out a few more beatings, this stroppy little tart might have started to behave better. Then again, maybe not. The bitch was an Overton after all.

  The real hotel owner was bound to give the girl to him. That just had to happen. If only so he could watch the big guy's face crumple up. Yes, this was his moment, his swansong. Once again, Greg James had proved his worth to the community.

  “Look at you, Greg. Standing there, holding your prize, waiting for me to pat you on the head. Do you want me to do that? Then call you a good boy and throw you a treat?” The boy-form chuckled. “I know I shouldn't mock, but there are times when I can't help myself. Is it your fault that you're a product of our shaping?” He licked his lips. “And such a tasty one too.” He ran his forefinger down the girl's cheek. “Such a pretty little thing. I can see why you want her, Greg, I really do. Okay, chaps, fulfil your obligations.”

  Greg yelped when the two other men wrestled his arms away from Katie and pulled them apart. The girl just stood there, her head switching from one side to the other. “What are you doing to me?” he shouted. “Get off my arms, you bastards!” he could hear Joyce giggling. The boy-form put his hands around the girl's shaking body and gently moved her to the side, then stepped up to Greg. He hooked his finger into Greg's shirt and pulled his arm down. Buttons scattered, revealing his bare chest.

  “A product of our shaping,” he murmured. “You know, perhaps my other c
olleague could have something here. I look at you, Greg, and I see there's not much difference between you and the despicable individual running our hotel. Why hunt when we can farm?” The boy-form looked at the others in turn. “Oh what joy. My words and their meaning just bounce off.” He glared at Greg. “Not you though, the implication is not lost on you, is it?”

  Greg tried one more time to free his arms. When that failed, he struck out with his legs, just hoping that one of his feet would connect with the little cunt. “Get off me, you fucking clowns, Can't you see what they are going to do to us all?”

  Jack's snarling face suddenly filled his vision. “Shut your fucking hole!” The man stepped back and slammed his fist into Greg's mouth. Before he could even react, both the men forced him down onto his knees then grabbed his lower jaw and forced it open. He wept and cried, feeling one of his broken teeth going down his throat. The man looked up into the boy-form's blazing eyes, silently begging him to stop this.

  The diminutive figure tutted then reached into Greg's mouth, wrapped his little fingers around his tongue and squeezed. “How desperate are you to live, Greg?” The boy-form removed his hand. “There's still a chance for you.”

  Greg felt them move his head to the left, only to find Joyce now had his own gun and was pointing it directly at his forehead.

  “She's a little upset that you gave them all weapons that won't fire. Don't be too upset with me here, Greg. I know how much you hurt, it's not as much hurt as I feel over your betrayal. I can forgive you. Thing is, I don't think the others will be so generous. I bet your gun works, Greg.”

  He tried to focus on the boy-form's words, knowing his life was so close to ending, despite the agony in his mouth, Greg knew exactly what would happen to him if he did roll over and give up on his life.