The BIG Horror Pack 1

by Iain Rob Wright

  “I don’t know if we should leave him,” she said. “Maybe we should go get a doctor.”

  Tim continued pulling her towards the door. “He’s fine. Look at him. It’s like nothing ever happened. Anyway, I got what I needed.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I got Sammie’s blood,” said Tim. “It’s all over me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You need to get those con artists out of this house,” Frank informed Jessica as firmly as his position allowed him to. The lady of the house was currently lying in bed, attempting to sleep off her most recent hangover. “They almost killed Sammie just now,” he explained. “There was blood everywhere.”

  Jessica sat bolt upright. Sobriety returned to her at the news of her son being in danger. “What? Sammie? Is he okay? Frank, tell me.”

  Frank ran a hand over his throbbing forehead. No, that boy is definitely not okay. “He’s fine. I don’t understand what happened, but I know it started when that ginger-headed clown stuck a needle in your son’s arm.”

  “Where is everybody now?”

  “Sammie is drawing at his desk. Angela and Tim are somewhere in the house planning their next performance.”

  Jessica patted the bed beside her. Reluctantly, Frank sat down and Jessica began to rub his shoulders. It felt amazing and he couldn’t help but let out an indulgent sigh.

  “Frank, you promised me that you would give this a try. Angela and Tim are the only hope I have left. I know you don’t agree with their methods, but let’s just see what they come up with. I fear for Sammie. I fear for my little boy.”

  “I think he’s in more danger since those two arrived, but…” He sighed again as Jessica caught a knot above his scapula. “If that’s what you want, Jessica.”

  “Thank you, Frank.” She began kissing the nape of his neck and stroking his chest over his shirt. He stood up quickly, not because he was adverse to her touch, but because he knew he couldn’t deal with the distraction right now. She is my weakness.

  “I need to get back downstairs,” he said. “Keep an eye on things.”

  “When was the last time you slept, Frank? You’re not usually this rattled.”

  Frank rolled his eyes and then hoped she hadn’t seen it. Maybe if you were sober a little more often I wouldn’t need to be so alert all the time. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just want the situation dealt with, so we can all go back to normal.”

  “Me too, Frank. I appreciate your loyalty this last year. I couldn’t have coped without you.”

  You aren’t coping. “It’s been my pleasure, Ms Raymeady. I take it you will be joining us this evening?” Or will you still be dealing with your hangover.

  Jessica must have caught the disapproving look in his eyes because her reply was short and clipped. “I will be down shortly.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Frank opened the master bedroom’s door and departed.

  The penthouse floor of the house was the most lavish of all and Frank hated it. It represented the dirty money of Black Remedy and the wealth of its late owner. Joseph may have been a better man than his father, but the opulence he inherited was still stained with blood and corruption. Now that Joseph was dead, the Black Remedy Corporation would no doubt become an even bigger cesspit of immoral greed. Jessica would inherit half of the company, but she was weak. Her late husband’s business partner, Vincent Black, would run rings around her until he was in complete control of the company. By the time little Sammie grew up, his mother would probably be left with nothing. From billionaire housewife to destitute widow in less than a decade; that was how Black Remedy worked. You were either a man-eating lion or a whimpering mouse. Jessica was a wounded pony right now, doomed to visit the abattoir.

  Unfortunately, he loved her.

  Frank would do his best to protect her and Sammie. Whatever happened in the future he would deal with at the time. For now there were more pressing matters to attend to.

  He headed into Joseph’s former office at the east end of the penthouse and unlocked it with his master key. Frank knew what he was looking for and didn’t hesitate going over to the wall-safe behind the broad, walnut desk that took up half the room. After keying in the combination and swinging open the hatch, Frank fumbled between the various papers and wads of cash until he placed his hand around a wooden grip handle. He pulled the police-issue Glock 17 handgun out of the safe and checked that it was loaded. It was. Then he slipped the weapon into his waistband and pulled his suit jacket over the top to keep it hidden. I don’t know what those two clowns are planning, but I’ll make sure they’ll think twice before trying to take advantage of Jessica. Any more of Sammie’s blood hits the floor and I’ll make them sorry.

  Frank closed up the safe and took a seat in Joseph’s high-backed leather chair. He pressed a button on his ex-boss’s computer and waited while the hard drive whizzed to life, loading the operating system. Frank felt small sitting at the grand desk, surrounded by shelves full of books he could never hope to understand. He wasn’t a big enough man to fill his ex boss’ shoes and he wondered what Joseph Raymeady would have made of the feelings Frank had for his wife. Joseph was a fair man, but loyalty was important to him. Frank knew his behaviour would have brought out the darker side of his former employer. Who would blame him? Jessica might be a widow, but Frank still felt like he was betraying her late husband. He felt like Judas.

  You’re not doing anything wrong, he told himself. You’re protecting the man’s family. He would have wanted that.

  The computer screen lit up and Joseph’s desktop appeared on screen. Why the computer wasn’t password protected, Frank would never understand, but it had made it much easier for him to look into his late boss’s activities.

  In the months prior to his death, Joseph had been increasingly unnerved about something. Frank needed to find out what it was in case it presented a danger to Jessica and her son. He’d checked through the company’s financial records and found nothing concerning – profits were down, but that was mostly due to Joseph’s efforts to clean up the company and do things ethically, but overall Black Remedy still had its fingers in hundreds of extremely lucrative pies: from banking and finance to a chain of successful bakeries, there was nary an industry the company didn’t have at least some influence over. The company had even recently begun purchasing cruise liners to add a tourism arm to its already vast shipping fleet. But, as had always been the case, the jewel in the crown of Black Remedy was pharmaceuticals. Whether common cold or full-blown AIDS, every time someone in the western world popped a pill there was a sixty per cent chance it came from one of Black Remedy’s processing plants. The company possessed such power that it could regulate people’s health on a whim.

  Frank reached the conclusion that whatever had been worrying Joseph prior to his death had not been a financial issue. Which meant the threat must have been more personal. Closer to home. Frank clicked on a folder marked ‘Personal Files’ and was met with a list of several hundred documents. Organisation had not been one of Joseph’s strongpoints.

  Frank looked through the randomly named files: Car Insurance, holiday booking confirmation – March 1998, Receipt – Television for lounge, Tax summary – 2001, Letter to Thom Brady (Real Estate) January 2001, Job applicants – Gardeners. Invoice – George Farley, Corporate Researcher. Most of the files Frank saw were things he understood. That last file, though – George Farley, Corporate Researcher ­­– referenced someone Frank had never heard of. He double-clicked the file.

  A document flashed up on screen. It looked like a typical corporate invoice. The letterhead read FARLEY DOSSIER SERVICES: Corporate Fact Finding.

  “What the hell is Corporate Fact Finding?” Frank asked himself out loud. He scanned the document and saw a chargeable item listed as: Asset Investigation - £13,500. The next item read: Personnel Background and Surveillance - £24,000.

  Frank took a slow steady breath. What the hell was Joseph paying almost forty grand for? He looked o
ver the document until he located an email address in the small print of the footer. He opened up the email manager and pasted in the address. Then he began typing:

  Dear George Farley:

  I am an employee of the late Joseph Raymeady, CEO of Black Remedy Corporation. I currently reside at his former home and am charged with the protection of his widow and orphan. I believe that, prior to my employer’s death, he was under a great deal of stress. Something was concerning him and I believe that something could pose a threat to his surviving family. I am hoping you could disregard the typical etiquette of confidentiality and divulge to me the nature of the work you recently undertook for Joseph.

  Yours faithfully,

  Frank Senz

  Household Coordinator, Raymeady Estate.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Who was that?” Graham asked.

  “Frank,” Mike replied, putting down the car phone. “He was just checking in.”

  Graham took a sip from his coffee flask and then dropped it into the dashboard’s drinks holder. “How’s everything inside the house?”

  “Tense, by the sound of things. I don’t think Frank trusts Jessica’s guests. There was an incident with Sammie, apparently, and now he wants them gone.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  Mike sighed. “They’re okay. Angela seemed pretty normal.”

  Graham laughed. “You know she’s a dyke, right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Nothing. Just saying. No point wasting your time on a rug muncher.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll bear that in mind.” In all honesty, he wasn’t interested in Angela in that way, but meeting new people was a rarity in his current line of work and the woman seemed like fun. If she and Tim were asked to leave Mike’s job would get that little bit more boring. I expected more than this when I signed on.

  Graham switched on the radio and flicked through the stations. After finding nothing he liked, he gave up and rested back in his seat. “Did Frank give us anything to do? I’m going crazy stuck in this bloody car.”

  Mike exhaled and shook his head. “Me too, but he wants us to stay put. I think he needs us here as back-up.”

  Graham scoffed. “Back-up? Against a weedy loser and a dyke ex-priest?”

  “Like I said, Frank doesn’t trust them. He’s worried about Sammie.”

  “Why? It ain’t his kid. If I were that guy, I would get a job working for some other rich idiot, instead of babysitting a drunk woman and her freak kid.”

  “Don’t talk about Sammie like that,” Mike admonished. “Sammie will be our boss one day. He’s going to inherit all of his father’s power and influence. Greatness is that kid’s birth right.”

  Graham waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Until then, though, he’s just a weird little brat.”

  “Perhaps, but there’re reasons for that.”

  Graham sipped his coffee and said. “You those two will figure out what’s wrong with the kid?”

  Mike shrugged. “Who knows? I doubt it. I don’t think anyone will be able to figure out what’s wrong with Sammie until it’s too late.” Before Graham managed a reply, Angela wandered out of the house and onto the driveway. “Speak of the devil,” Mike said, getting out of the car, and then: “Are you okay?” when he saw the blood on her shirt.

  Angela looked down at herself and realised what he was referring to. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s Sammie’s blood.”

  “Sammie’s?”

  “He’s fine,” Angela quickly assured him. “He just had a little…accident, I guess you’d call it. I came out for some fresh air. I’m feeling a bit sick.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Angela chuckled glumly. “You know what, I think it’s about time you went and got me a change of clothes.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Graham and I would be glad to have something to do, anyway. We’ll get going right away after I clear it with Frank.”

  Angela reached into her pocket and pulled out some keys. She handed them over. “My house keys. There’s something else I need too.”

  Mike nodded. “Of course, what?”

  “In my bedroom closet there’s an old black duffel bag. I need it.”

  “Sure thing,” said Mike. “What’s in it?”

  Angela shook her head wearily and seemed a little faint as she spoke. Her answer was blunt and humourless. “My exorcism kit.”

  “Oh,” said Mike, stepping to one side as the woman vomited on the driveway.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tim prepared to run the blood test for a third time, unsatisfied with the previous sets of results. After extracting a sample of Sammie’s blood from his shirt, Tim had run it through his portable analyser. The results it gave were bizarre. Impossible really.

  According to the printout, Sammie’s blood had no recognisable type and was neither Rhesus positive nor Rhesus negative. In fact, the analyser spat out nothing but errors. It was as though Tim had loaded the centrifuge with motor oil instead of blood. It made no sense. He was considering running his own blood just to make sure the machine wasn’t faulty.

  “Where’s Angela?” Frank asked him as he came down the corridor.

  “She went out to get some fresh air,” Tim answered. “Not feeling too good after all the blood.”

  “About that,” Frank said sternly. “What the hell happened?”

  “Hell if I know. One minute the kid’s skin is like concrete and the next he’s opening up like a cantaloupe. That’s the green one with the seeds and the red flesh, right?”

  “No,” said Frank. “That is a watermelon.”

  “Oh.”

  “You had no right to take his blood,” Frank snapped. “You’re not qualified.”

  Tim stood in front of the larger man and looked him in the eye. “Hey, you gave me the go ahead. You could have stopped me if you’d wanted to. Besides, I did everything by the book. I didn’t cause that bleeding.”

  “Then what did?”

  “I don’t know, but according to my tests it wasn’t even real blood, which leads me to ask myself if I’m just the butt of some big joke.”

  Frank bristled. “You think it was a trick? Look, Mr Golding. I would love nothing more than for you to leave, so trust me when I say that the last thing I would want to do is play games with you.”

  “Fine. I’m just telling you what I know, and something doesn’t add up.”

  “Then it’s your job to do the math. I suggest you go and gather up your cohort and get back to work.”

  Tim saluted. “Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he departed down the hallway.

  Tim shook his head, muttering under his breath as the man walked away. “Jackass. I never asked for you to bring me here in the first place. I’m just trying to help you with your mess. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Angela came up the staircase and Tim smiled at her as she approached. He was glad to see a friendly face after the frosty hostility of Frank. “Everything okay?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling better now that I puked. Mike’s gone to get my things, but it looks like I’ve got to put up with being caked in blood and vomit until then.”

  “If it even is blood,” he said. “I’m not so sure.”

  Angela looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean all of the tests that I’ve run on Sammie’s blood have come up inconclusive. I can’t get a blood type, mineral traces, or anything you would usually find. It’s weird.”

  “This whole thing is weird.”

  “So what should we do next?”

  Angela pointed at the collection of Tim’s machines. “Don’t tell me you’re all out of science experiments?”

  “Not even close, but I think it may be best if I switched to observation mode for the rest of the day. I think I’d like to know a bit more before I jump back into the fire.”

  “Good idea,” Angela agree
d. “I think I’ll leave getting started myself until tomorrow. Has anyone told you what Sammie will be doing for the rest of the evening?”

  “No, but whatever he gets up to, we’ll have a front row seat.” Tim patted the lid of the laptop sitting amongst his equipment. “How bout we set this up in the lounge and help ourselves to some more overpriced booze?”

  Angela looked at her watch. It was only just after five, a little early to settle down. “Yeah, why not,” she said. “My nerves could do with a tipple.”

  Tim nodded. “Let’s go get out tipple on then.”

  ***

  They’d been drinking for over an hour. It turned out Angela was as much of a drifter as he was. She listened understandingly to his stories about how he’d been free and single for several years now, floating from one town to the next while living out of his van. He told her how most of his work was gained through a website he accessed through various Internet cafes and that his notoriety came from a high profile case in ‘99 when he’d debunked a poltergeist claim for someone loosely connected to the Royals. Turned out that one of the staff was having fun with them by rigging parts of the house with practical jokes and false hauntings. Several national newspapers had picked up the story afterwards. Angela had laughed when he showed her the photograph they had printed of him that he kept in his wallet.

  Placed on the table between them was Tim’s laptop. It was expensive, like most of his equipment was, and he enjoyed how Angela looked at it with awe. On the laptop’s screen were several video-windows streaming footage from Sammie’s room. One feed was from an infrared heat camera, while another was from a standard feed. A selection of dials and readouts cluttered the bottom of the screen, displaying temperature, air pressure, sound frequencies, and a bunch of other scientific garble.