Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men

by Tim O'Rourke

  Was this world some kind of compromise? A world where I could know and spend time with the man I loved, but never truly be loved by him. Wasn’t that better than not being with him at all? But wouldn’t I be happier if I’d been pushed to someplace else? To a place where the memories of my friends had been taken away so I would never know the pain of what I had once had but now lost? I needed answers. But who was there to ask? Where was Noah, and would I ever see him again? Something deep inside of me said that I would, but how long would I have to wait?

  The song I had been listening to stopped. Picking up my iPhone, I brushed my thumb over the music icon. But I must have accidently hit the contacts list because Potter’s and Lois Li’s numbers appeared on the screen. Lois Li? I wondered. She owned the temping agency. It was Lois Li who had sent me to work for The Creeping Men. Maybe she would be able to answer some of my questions. Like where did I live in this pushed world? Had it been the agency who had packed my case? Supplied me with a phone, money, credit card? Was the agency picking up the tab for everything like they were for my stay at the Crescent Moon Inn?

  Pressing Lois Li’s number with my thumb, I put the phone to my ear. I heard a clicking sound which was followed by an automated voice, which was female.

  “The Agency is now closed. Please try again later. Sorry for any inconvenience caused,” the voice said.

  I ended the call. The time on the front of my phone read 22:55 hrs. How had it grown so late? I wondered, springing from my chair, aware that I was meeting Potter and Ms. Locke at Bastille Hall in just over an hour. Pulling on my coat and trainers, I snatched up the torch, thrusting it into my coat pocket. I had plenty of time, but I wanted to speak with either Uri or Phebe before I left for my meeting. Placing my iPhone into my pocket, I left my room and made my way down to the bar. Uri was tidying away the tables. He seemed surprised to see me out of my room so late.

  “Going out?” he smiled.

  I nodded.

  “Got a date with the young man who visited earlier today?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. Uri was pleasant enough, but I didn’t have time for idle chitchat.

  “No?” he said, looking surprised. “So you’re not going to meet Mr. Potter then?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s not a date or anything like that,” I said, beginning to wonder what my plans for the night had to do with the young looking landlord. But I didn’t want to be rude, as he and his girlfriend had been nothing but courteous and helpful since my arrival at the inn. I was grateful for that. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

  “Okay,” Uri said, picking up a chair and placing it on the table. There was a broom propped against the bar. He picked it up and began to sweep the floor.

  “I don’t suppose you have a contact address for the temping agency?” I asked him, feeling a little idiotic for not knowing the address of the people who were footing the bill for my stay at the inn.

  “Don’t you have it?” he asked, continuing to sweep.

  “No,” I said. But knowing how dumb that sounded, I quickly added, “What I mean is, I do have the address, but it’s written down in my diary at home…”

  “Have you never been there?” he cut in. “To the temping agency office?”

  “Erm… well… no,” I said, looking for any kind of excuse. “Everything is usually done by email or letter.”

  “I see,” Uri said, standing straight and rubbing his chin.

  “I don’t have their address either, I’m afraid.”

  “Even though they are paying for me to stay here – paying for all my food?” I asked with a frown.

  “Like you said, everything is done by email,” he smiled, returning to his sweeping.

  “Okay,” I sighed, realising that I was getting nowhere fast with Uri. Perhaps his girlfriend might be able to help. But I didn’t have time to speak with her now. It would have to wait until tomorrow. I headed to the door, then stopped and looked back. “How did you know my friend’s name?”

  “What friend?” Uri asked without looking up.

  “Mr. Potter,” I said.

  “I’ve had some dealings with him in the past,” Uri said, busy sweeping the floor.

  “The Creeping Men?” I pushed.

  The phone on the bar suddenly began to ring. Propping the broom against the bar again, Uri picked up the phone. “Room service,” he said in his usual happy and pleasant manner. “How can I help you tonight?”

  Not having the time to wait for him to finish the call, I stepped out of the inn and into the night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I reached the tree-lined grove that led to the gates of Bastille Hall just before midnight. I switched off my headlights, creeping forward until I could conceal my car beneath a large overhanging tree. With torch in hand, I climbed from my car. I couldn’t see Potter, but I was too afraid to switch on the torch, just in case I could be seen from the house.

  Walking the grass verge instead of the gravel drive, I crept forward to the gates. They stood in the distance, black and gothic-looking, barring strangers from the house. I suspected that the gates were now also protecting the outside world from some creature that lived within the walls of Bastille Hall. I drew closer still with each careful step I took.

  A hand fell upon my shoulder, and I spun around, fighting back the scream that was in my throat. Potter looked through the darkness at me.

  “You nearly scared me half to death, Potter,” I hissed.

  “Shhh,” he said, taking me by the arm and leading me into the nearby undergrowth. “Keep down.”

  Crouching in the bushes next to Potter, he pointed into the distance. I could see a window with a light burning in it on the upper floor of the house. The light was weak, so I guessed that someone had lit a candle.

  “Can you see him?” Potter whispered in my ear, so close to me that we were now shoulder to shoulder in the dark.

  “See who?” I asked.

  He pointed in the direction of the window again. From my hiding place I could now see the silhouette of a figure sitting in the window.

  “Looks like Sir Edmund is keeping vigil again tonight,” Potter said.

  “Good,” I whispered.

  “Good?” Potter asked. “We need the old git to be asleep in bed if we’re gonna get inside without being seen.”

  “It’s good because he suspects that whoever broke into Amanda’s room will come back tonight,” I said. “But the only difference will be that tonight we will be waiting in that room to unmask whoever it is. And besides, I’m sure Locke will be able to sneak us inside without being seen.”

  Then, as planned, I saw a shadow fall across the path on the other side of the gate. “She’s coming,” I whispered, creeping out of the darkness.

  Potter followed at my heels. “You better be right about this, Kiera,” he said.

  “Just trust me,” I said, for that’s all I really wanted.

  Within inches of the gate, I crouched low again, hidden by the shrubbery.

  “Ms. Locke,” I whispered, “are you there?”

  “Yes,” she said, peering around the edge of the gate. Her face was so white with dread it almost seemed to swim in a sea of darkness.

  “Edmund is at his window,” Potter hissed. “He will see the gate open.”

  “I’ve come to call it off,” Locke said. “He will be at that window all night. It’s no use, you’ll never get in without being seen.”

  “Another way then,” Potter suggested.

  “We don’t have time,” I said, knowing how far away the outer wall stretched and the walk through the woods back to the house. “I have an idea.”

  “What?” both asked at once.

  Taking my iPhone from my pocket, I said to Locke, “What is the house phone number?”

  “Phone number?” She frowned from around the edge of the gate at me.

  “What is it?” I insisted.

  As she recited the number, I typed it into my phone then pressed the
call button. From the darkness, I looked up, watching Sir Edmund’s silhouette in the window. I listened to the dialling tone ring over and over. Then just as I was about to give up, I saw the silhouette at the window get up and move away.

  “Now!” I hissed at Locke through the gate.

  Looking back at the window and seeing that Sir Edmund had moved away to answer the phone, she slipped a key from her dress pocket and slid it into the lock. With one eye still on the window, she eased open the gate just enough for me and Potter to slip through.

  “Hello? Hello?” I heard Sir Edmund bark down the phone at me. “Who is calling at this hour?”

  Knowing that I needed to bide us just a few more moments to get across the lawns and to the side of the house where we could no longer be seen from Sir Edmund’s window, I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Pizza delivery.”

  I heard Potter snigger as he ran beside me. I slapped his arm, warning him to stay silent as we made our way across the vast lawn toward the house.

  “Pizza what?” Sir Edmund blustered on the other end of the line.

  “I’ve just called to confirm your order,” I said.

  “Order? I haven’t ordered any pizza,” he boomed down the phone at me.

  “You are Mr. Lovecraft, aren’t you?” I queried, now halfway across the lawn, avoiding the drive so as not to make any noise as we ran across the gravel.

  “Sir Edmund Lovecraft,” he corrected me stiffly.

  “You live at Bastille Hall, right?” I said, trying to keep my speech steady as I trotted alongside Potter and Ms. Locke.

  “Correct!” he snapped.

  “Well I’ve been told to dispatch a twelve-inch mellow mushroom and pasta kebab topping…”

  “Is this some sort of a joke?” Sir Edmund bellowed in disbelief.

  “No joke, sir,” I said. “They’re from our gourmet range. Is the order correct? If so I’ll get the pizzas dispatched right away. I just need to confirm your address and…”

  “I don’t want any bloody pizza, gourmet or not. They sound absolutely revolting. Goodbye!” he roared, slamming down the phone just as we reached the side of the house.

  Gasping for breath, the three of us pressed ourselves flat against the wall. I felt Potter’s hand fall over mine and gently squeeze my fingers. I glanced at him in the darkness. “Good job.” He winked.

  “Thanks,” I smiled, letting my hand slide from his as he loosened his grip.

  “This way,” Locke hushed, leading us around the side of the house.

  Stooped low, we followed her, sheltered by darkness. We crept past some large rubbish bins toward a back door. Taking a ring of keys from her pocket, she handled them delicately so as not to let them rattle or jangle together. Selecting one, she slid it into the door lock. Biting her lower lip, she pushed against it. The door opened with a squeak. We froze as if caught in the glare of a spotlight. We waited. When we heard no other noise, Locke crept into the house, followed by Potter and me.

  “Follow me,” she whispered, heading slowly across a large open kitchen. There was another door ahead, but this was open. We slipped through it and into a passageway. It was unlit, like the rest of the house, so I placed one hand in front of me, letting my fingers brush over the back of Potter’s jacket. It was so dark that I could barely see any more than a few inches ahead of me. We moved forward in single file until Ms. Locke led us into a vast circular hall. It was light here, as moonlight streamed through the tall French windows that lined the hallway. There was a wide staircase which disappeared up into the darkness.

  Pressing one finger to her lips, Locke looked at us, then began to climb the stairs. With every creak from the tired boards beneath our feet, we would stop. Each noise seemed so hideously loud in the quiet of the house. And knowing that Sir Edmund was still awake somewhere above us only heightened my sense of anxiety and fear. He had already taken several shots at me with his gun – tonight his aim might not be so off the mark if he found us creeping about his house in the darkness.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Ms. Locke led us down another long corridor. About halfway along it, she stopped. I could hear her breathing and it sounded laboured. “This is Miss Amanda’s room,” she whispered.

  “Step away from the door,” Potter said, sliding the lock pick from his jacket pocket. He felt for the lock with his fingers. “I can’t see a fucking thing.”

  Taking my torch from my pocket, I switched it on. The corridor lit up, stretching our shadows out along the walls and floor. I aimed the light at the door. “Be quick,” I warned Potter. “We can’t afford to have this light on for too long.”

  “I’m working on it,” he said, sliding the lock pick into the keyhole and jiggling it from side to side.

  “Faster,” Ms. Locke said.

  “I’m going as fast as I can, lady,” he said. “Picking a lock takes skill – precision. It can take time.”

  “Time is something we don’t have,” I whispered, glancing back over my shoulder in the direction we had come.

  I heard a few clicks as Potter continued to twist the pick in the lock. “Nearly there,” he breathed.

  “Hurry,” Ms. Locke urged him on, wringing her thin hands together.

  “You’re starting to piss me off, lady,” Potter groaned.

  He yanked his wrist right then left, there was another click. “Done it,” he said with a grin. Taking the pick from the lock, he slid it back into his pocket.

  Stepping forward, I closed my fist around the doorknob. “Ready?” I whispered, looking sideways at Potter.

  “Always,” he whispered back.

  Slowly, I pushed open the door. The three of us sneaked inside Miss Amanda’s bedroom, closing the door behind us.

  Chapter Twenty

  I looked about the room and felt exhilarated. I surveyed the scene before me and found it almost impossible to describe how good it felt to have something new to see. My eyes darted left, right, up, and down as I soaked up everything the room had to offer. And it was during times like this that I often felt at my happiness. My everyday fears and anxieties drifted away as my mind went to work, making sense of what my eyes were seeing.

  “Can you see the strips of clothing…?” Ms. Locke whispered.

  “Shhh. Don’t tell me anything,” I insisted. “Just stand by the door, both of you.”

  “But…” Potter started.

  “Please, just let me work,” I said, spinning around and heading across the room to the window.

  I gently brushed my fingers over the window ledge, bending my legs at the knees so I could inspect it. Working my fingers delicately upwards, I inspected the lock. It had been forced and broken. The curtain ties were still fastened about it. They were secure. Tilting my head to one side, I pressed my face to the window and looked out. I could see the outhouse in the distance on the other side of the lawn, near to the tree line. Then turning, I crossed the room to the bed.

  “Oh, this is perfect,” I said, rubbing my hands together with delight.

  “What is?” Potter whispered from the other side of the room where he watched me, as did Ms. Locke.

  “Shhh!” I said without looking up.

  I let my fingertips delicately dance over the torn pieces of clothes that had been placed across the bed. I picked several pieces up. I glanced back at the window, then put them down again.

  Then dropping to the floor, my nose just an inch from it, I took my torch from my pocket. I shone the beam over the carpet, working my way slowly toward the wardrobe.

  “Is she always like this?” I heard Locke ask Potter.

  “How the fuck should I know?” Potter grumbled. “She only started working for me yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Locke gasped. “But…”

  “Shhh! Please!” I said without looking up.

  They fell silent again. Reaching the wardrobe, I got onto my knees. The wardrobe sat flush to the floor, there was no gap or space beneath it. Like butterfly wings, I le
t my fingers flutter over the large doors. With a smile, I slowly eased one of them open. Reaching deep inside with one arm, I explored blindly with my fingers, until they found what I was looking for.

  Satisfied that I had enough strands of the case to know what had happened and what was very likely to happen next, I switched off my torch. I crept back across the room to where Potter and Locke waited in the shadows for me.

  “Well? What did you see?” Potter whispered.

  Ushering them into the darkest corner of the room, I turned to face Potter and Ms. Locke. With my voice just a whisper, I started to talk.

  “Despite what you thought, Ms. Locke, when you came into this room last night, someone wasn’t trying to break into the house. They were trying to break out.”

  “What? Are you sure? But who?” She rattled off all three questions with a sharp gasp.

  I put one finger to my lips, begging for her to keep her voice down. Potter had his eyes on me. Watching. Listening. I knew I couldn’t afford to mess up – get my facts wrong.

  “A simple inspection of the lock told me that it had been forced from the inside and not from outside,” I started to explain, my voice little more than a whisper. “There are no markings on the outside windowsill, and the creeper vines that cover that part of the house are too far from the window to act as a credible way of climbing up. And you, Ms. Locke, informed us earlier today that you saw no ladder last night. So that suggests to me that it was someone on the inside trying to get out, not someone on the outside trying to get in.”

  “Okay,” Potter whispered, still sounding unconvinced. “But even if you’re right, how was this person going to jump from the window? They would need some kind of ladder getting down as much as someone climbing up.”

  “The torn pieces of clothes,” I said, glancing back toward the bed. “They were going to be used to aid an escape from this room.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Locke asked.

  “Several pieces have already been knotted together to fashion some kind of rope,” I said. “And this person would have made their escape if you hadn’t have come into this room last night and disturbed them.”