The BIG Horror Pack 1

by Iain Rob Wright

  Jessica pushed herself up in the bed and this time managed to swing her legs round onto the floor. Mike reached out to grab her but she was up on her feet too quickly and he missed. She was unsteady on her feet and almost stumbled to the floor. She managed to correct herself after a few unbalanced steps.

  Mike got out his chair and followed after her.

  She headed over to the room’s wardrobes. “I need to get dressed,” she said. “Please leave.”

  “I can’t do that,” Mike explained. “I’m here to keep you safe. You need to remain here in the house.”

  “I’m going downstairs, Michael. I need to see my son. I’m taking him out of here right now before anything else happens.” She began to sort through the clothes racks, looking for something she wanted to wear.

  Mike stepped up behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck. He squeezed hard, imagining he was trying to pop her head right off her shoulders.

  Jessica began to fade quickly, already weak from sickness. The pressure on her carotid artery was sapping her brain of oxygen and unconsciousness was bearing down on her fast.

  Mike felt her go limp in his arms. He dragged her back over to the bed and laid her down gently. With her current state of mind, she’d most likely remember nothing at all of this, but even if she did, he would just deny it, make her think she was going crazy. It would be easy considering recent events.

  Jessica and Sammie were going to stay in this house whether they liked it or not. It was his job to keep them there and that’s what he was going to do. No matter what.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tim sat outside Sammie’s room and calibrated his equipment. He was past the point where he felt any of it would do any good, but it was still important to maintain it. This wasn’t going to be his last job, after all.

  Although it’s starting to feel like it.

  The urge to flee, to just get the hell out of there, was rising in him again. An atmosphere drenched the house. It was…foreboding…for want of a better cliché. It felt as if danger was lurking around every corner. And the epicentre – the reason for it all – is the ten-year old boy in the next room.

  Tim’s primary intention, whenever he was on a job, was to disprove any claims of ghosts and monsters. He was past that motivation now. There was little doubt that an unnatural presence resided in the house. The others might not admit it, but he knew better.

  Tim had met true evil once before. At a hotel in Basingstoke: The Grey Gardens Hotel. Tim and his brother had been called to the hotel to investigate any environmental factors there may have been for a spate of recent deaths at the building. So many accidents had occurred that the hotel was now closed to the public.

  At that point in his life, Tim had possessed zero belief in the paranormal. He and his brother were simple conmen – dazzling people with expensive gadgets and pointless tests. The money was good and the work was easy.

  But things changed the evening they slept at The Grey Gardens.

  Tim lost his brother, for one thing.

  A beeping sound brought him back to the present. He glanced at his equipment and tried to locate the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from his electronic barometer. The air pressure had dropped. There was a chance that it was due to the stormy weather, but even if it was…Tim was confused because he hadn’t switched the machine on. In fact, he could see that it was unplugged.

  Here we go again, Tim said to himself. There was no longer anything inside the house that could surprise him, but he wasn’t about to throw himself onto the fire. He was going to sit right where he was. That way, nothing could happen to him. Other people could take the risks; he was happy just taking the results.

  The next machine to beep was his heart rate monitor. It played the rhythmic tune of a steady pulse, but it, too, was unplugged. Should I call someone, or just get the hell away from here?

  Tim was a coward. He was quite aware of it and even embraced it for the most part. Being a coward was just another part of survival – he chose flight instead of fight, and both instincts were equally valid. He avoided danger and kept himself safe – what was wrong with that? His brother had always been the reckless one. And look where that got him. Although, if I was braver like he had been…. I could have done something.

  Tim made a decision. There was some bad mojo targeting him and he wasn’t about to sit around and see what happened while his equipment went haywire. He needed to find someone else. It’d be safer with company. Safer from what exactly, I don’t know.

  More of Tim’s machines began beeping and he took it as his cue to leave. He stood up from his seat and hurried down the hall towards the grand staircase. The lights flickered back on briefly as thunder rocked the floor beneath him, but the power stayed off. Like walking through a horror movie, Tim thought to himself as he battled to stay calm. It was not yet fully dark outside, but it was grey and fading.

  When he reached the lounge behind the staircase, Tim could hear the mellow tones of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” playing on the piano. Seriously, this house even has a horror movie soundtrack!

  He pushed through the doors to the lounge and stepped inside. He found Angela sitting at the back of the room, playing Beethoven’s tune quite expertly on the ivory keys. “I didn’t know you played,” he said.

  She looked at him and continued playing perfectly. It was all the more impressive now that she wasn’t even looking at the notes she was hitting. “Six years of convent school. You learn a few things.”

  “You play beautifully. Do you know anything a little more upbeat?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I think I can play something.” She broke into a jaunty rendition of ‘When I’m Sixty-Four.’

  Tim slid behind the bar. “That’s better. You fancy a drink?”

  “My liver says no, but my heart says yes.”

  Tim poured her a healthy measure of whisky before pouring himself a much smaller one. Tim liked a drink, but he had the constitution of a poodle. Angela would easily out-drink him.

  He placed her large whiskey on the top of the piano and took a sip of his smaller one. “Just been through some more freaky-deaky shenanigans upstairs,” he told her.

  Angela stopped playing and looked at him. “What do you mean? The power going off again? Or something else?”

  “Oh, you know, usual stuff: my equipment started turning on despite the fact none of it was plugged in. I can’t help thinking that this place is building up to something.”

  “Please, don’t you start wigging out on me. So far you’ve been the only one to keep a clear head.”

  Tim took another sip of whisky. The liquid burned his throat. “I can take strange, I can even take frightening, but what I can’t take is dangerous. It’s just not my thing.”

  “You’ve had my back. I promise to have yours if anything happens.”

  “Thanks, but all the same, I figure I’ll be off in the morning. This whole thing is getting a little too far out of my comfort zone.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t leave,” Angela told him. “I plan on seeing this through, but it’s your decision at the end of the day.”

  “I just think, with what happened to Jessica, it would be better to get a team of doctors in here rather than a guy like me.”

  Angela stood up from the piano and closed the lid. She picked up her drink and walked over to one of the tables. Sitting down, she looked at him seriously. “What do you think happened to Jessica? Spontaneous blindness?”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but again that’s why I think a doctor should be here.”

  “Frank will reach the hospital soon. We’ll know more then. Perhaps you should postpone your decision.”

  “Maybe,” Tim said. “But perhaps the whole thing is just to get Frank out of the way.”

  Angela looked at him like he was mad. “I don’t understand.”

  Tim shrugged. “I’m just saying that the last ‘man of the house’ is dead. Frank seems to be trying to fill J
oseph Raymeady’s shoes. Now, with Frank gone, everyone is left to do their own thing. I think we were safer when he was here, but now he’s gone and Jessica’s passed out in bed. What are we even doing here anymore?”

  “Trying to help,” was Angela’s answer, but she let out a sigh. “Whatever that means. Maybe when Frank gets back, he’ll make things a little clearer on what we should do next.”

  “If he even comes back.”

  “Will you just stop?” said Angela. “You’re such a pessimist.”

  “Hey, after a couple days in this house, I’ve learned that expecting the worst to happen is usually the way to go.”

  Angela finished off her drink and went to get another. “We’ll see,” she said. “Let’s just relax for now. I don’t plan on leaving this room while Graham is in charge. I can’t believe I actually miss Frank.”

  “Yeah,” Tim agreed. “Me either.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Frank kept his foot on the gas pedal despite the wetness on the road. The rain fell in thick sheets. It was impossible to see more than a dozen metres ahead, but Frank couldn’t afford to slow down. Jessica needed him. Whatever virus could send a person blind overnight was serious – it could be meningitis or some other malady affecting the brain. For all he knew, she could be dying right now. Please, no more death. I’ve had my fill.

  Frank had to brake sharply as a bend came out of nowhere. The tyres slipped sideways on the wet surface, but he was able to get the car back under control easily enough. He’d driven in worse condition, Iraq, for one. Once he’d driven a 3-tonne truck through a sandstorm so thick he couldn’t see beyond the windscreen. He’d survived that and he would survive this. I didn’t survive the Gulf War to end up as a glorified butler. When Jessica is well, things are going to change. I’m taking her and Sammie out of the wretched house.

  The A429 was coming up on his right and Frank slowed down and took it. The highway would take him to Warwick Hospital. He had no plan for when he got there, too desperate to form one, but at the very least he could get an ambulance to follow him back.

  The road was lit, but the thick rain obscured the glow of the street lamps. Frank had no choice but to take ten miles off his speed. Acres of farmland would be flying by on either side of him, but in the stormy darkness, he might just have been driving through space. He leant forward in the driver’s seat, trying to get as close to the road as possible.

  “What are you doing, Frank? Why aren’t you at the house looking after my family?”

  Frank’s whole body tensed up as he heard the sound of Joseph Raymeady’s voice. He looked up at the rear view mirror and saw his boss’ face staring back at him. The next thing he knew the car was spinning.

  Frank lost control of the wheel as it fought against his grip. The tyres slid across the wet tarmac and the car spun a full circle.

  Then it flipped.

  Suddenly Frank found himself upside down. The car floated through the air briefly before crashing down and sliding along the road into a ditch. Frank’s vision filled with stars and exploding grenades of light.

  “Now that was careless,” said Joseph. “What am I even paying you for?”

  Rain water pooled around Frank’s head as he blinked away his dizziness. Once again he saw Joseph Raymeady’s face in the now-cracked rear view mirror.

  “What…what do you want?” he managed to ask.

  “I just want to make sure that you’re doing your job, Frank. How is my family?”

  Frank struggled with his seatbelt, trying to get himself free of the wreck.

  Joseph’s voice rose in volume. “I asked you a question, Frank. How is my fucking family?”

  “They’re…they’re okay.”

  “YOU’RE LYING!”

  “No,” said Frank. “I will keep them safe. They will be okay.”

  “Then why aren’t you with them now?”

  “Because Jessica needs a doctor.”

  “A doctor? A DOCTOR! What have you done, Frank? Why does my darling, sweet Jessica need a doctor?”

  Frank made eye-contact with Joseph through the mirror. What he was seeing was impossible. His employer was dead. Frank had been the one to find the body. “You’re not real. I’ve had an accident and you’re just a delusion.”

  “You’re the delusion, Frank. You think you can take my place? I was a great man, a man of principal. You are nothing. A killer of men and children. You deserve to be dead, not me. Your job was to protect me and my family. You let me die.”

  Frank squirmed, wanting more than anything to get out of the upturned Mercedes. “No, no. You let yourself die. You took your own life.”

  The apparition of Joseph began to laugh. The sound was malicious and mocking. “Did I?”

  Frank didn’t know what that meant, but seeing as the whole thing had to be a figment of his imagination, he decided it meant nothing. Joseph wasn’t really in the car with him. It was temporary madness. “Go away, Joseph. You’re dead.”

  “Yes,” Joseph replied. “And very soon, you will be too. We’re all here waiting for you, Frank. Me and all the people you killed; Sierra Leone, the Gulf, Northern Island…so many, Frank. So much death by your hands. And now you want to add my little Sammie and Jessica to your list of murders.”

  “Nooooo!”

  Some part of the car ignited. Frank could not see flames because his neck was jammed up against the car’s roof, but he could smell the burning and hear the distinctive crackling. The car was on fire, and if he didn’t escape he would burn to death.

  But as much as he tried, Frank could not get himself free.

  “We’ll be waiting for you, Frank” said the apparition of Joseph Raymeady, who started cackling so loud that Frank could no longer hear the fire or the rain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The houselights were still out, and now that evening had arrived, total darkness had descended upon every room. Luckily, Graham had broken character and made a helpful gesture of distributing candles throughout the building. Each room was partially lit by at least one.

  Angela sat with Tim in the house’s rear gardens. They were sheltered from the rain beneath a large camisole. A lit candle flickered on a small, round table between them. There was something about being outside that made Angela feel safer. With the heavy rain and the approaching storm, she could feel God’s presence everywhere. Inside the house she felt something….different.

  “You think we should have heard from Frank by now?” Tim asked her.

  “I think the phones are still out.”

  Tim shook his head. “No, I mean, shouldn’t he have gotten back by now? He’s been gone a few hours.”

  “I don’t know how far the hospital is. I’m not from around here. I’ll bet this rain is slowing him down.”

  “Yeah, it’s really going for it tonight, isn’t it? Why exactly are we sat outside again?”

  “Helps me think,” Angela answered. “I like the weather being like this. Makes me feel…connected.”

  “To God?”

  “Yeah, I suppose, but it’s more than that. It makes me feel connected to life. Everything begins and ends with the rain. Without it nothing could live.”

  Tim looked confused. “I just think it makes everything wet. Has it helped you think any clearer?”

  “Yes, it has.” Angela stole a glance at the candle flame and its healthy glow made her think about Hell and the demons that sprawled throughout its infernal hallways. “After all that’s happened, I’m now convinced that there’s something inside Sammie. The drawing he gave me, the things he knows, and what happened to Jessica. There’s Evil at work in this house for sure.”

  “Maybe I agree with you,” Tim admitted. “My unplugged machines wigging out on their own was probably the final proof I needed.”

  Angela ran a hand through her hair and loosed a few knots. “So, my question is: what is inside Sammie? If there’s a demon inside the boy, then why didn’t it respond to my attempts to banish it? Why did the ex
orcism fail?”

  Tim looked at her. “Is it an exact science? Is there no way for a demon to resist attempts to exorcise it?”

  “I don’t know. Demons often try to mess with your mind, to prevent you from even going through with the procedure, but Sammie was happy to let me speak freely. At the end it was pretty obvious that he found the whole thing ridiculous. A demon should quake at the sound of Christ’s name. They should cower at the power of the Lord. They cannot resist God’s command.”

  “Can’t say I saw any cowering,” said Tim.

  “That’s my point. What went wrong? What did I misjudge?”

  “Maybe it’s not a demon. Maybe there could be something else inside of him: a ghost or spirit, perhaps?”

  Angela shook her head. “It would make no difference. They should react the same way as a demon. Anything that does not belong on Earth can be compelled by the power of Christ to return to its proper realm – be it Heaven or Hell.”

  “What about Charles Crippley?”

  Angela shuddered and wondered if it was the cold or the man’s name that sent a chill through her. “What about him?”

  Tim shrugged. “Sorry, just spitballing, but Sammie seemed to know you. Perhaps it’s Charles Crippley inside of him.”

  Angela nodded. “I won’t lie. I’ve worried about the very same thing, but once again, an evil spirit would be as susceptible to exorcism as any demon. There’s something I’m not getting here. I think I need to go back to my books. I just wish I could get the name of Sammie’s ‘friend.’”

  “Why don’t you go straight to the source?”

  Angela frowned at Tim. “What do you mean?” A sudden gust of wind caused the candle to flicker out, but the flame hung on and came back to life a few seconds later. God’s light does not die.

  Tim sniffed and then looked at her seriously. “Sammie won’t tell us the name of his friend, right? So why don’t we ask the friend directly? We could use a Ouija board.”

  Angela huffed. “I have absolutely no experience of those…toys.”