Dawn of the Demontide

by William Hussey

  The assistant’s face fell.

  ‘Come to the Hobarron Institute, the job ad said,’ Sharon grumbled, leading Jake across the plaza. ‘Enjoy the challenge of working for a world-leader in scientific research, the ad said. Some challenge, babysitting a snot-nosed brat … No offence, kid.’

  Jake didn’t reply. He glanced back to find both Dr Holmwood and his father watching him. Holmwood looked thoughtful while his dad appeared lost and a little sad.

  Jupiter the elephant occupied a patch of ground just outside the plaza. It was late in the day and most of the kids had already had their ride. An exhausted-looking Jupiter sank her trunk into a bucket of water and took a well-deserved drink. A thick chain had been tied around her neck and secured to an iron peg driven deep into the ground. Jake looked into the beast’s tiny eyes.

  ‘She’s unhappy,’ he observed in a solemn voice.

  ‘Ain’t we all,’ Sharon sighed.

  ‘I need a pee,’ Jake said.

  Sharon nodded towards a block of toilets that stood next to the big circus tent just outside the plaza.

  ‘Knock yourself out.’

  Jake traipsed towards the toilet block, his heart heavy in his chest. Jupiter had given pleasure to dozens of kids that day. Now, her purpose served, she was left all alone. It wasn’t fair. If he were a character in a book, he guessed that he would probably creep back here during the night and free the elephant from her captivity. Then they would travel the byroads of England together, making friends and having wonderful adventures. He shook his head sadly—he knew deep down that such ideas were just childish nonsense.

  Jake’s hand was on the toilet door when he heard the voices.

  ‘And tell me, Olivia, does your father work at this magnificent institute?’

  ‘Yes!’ Olivia Brown cried. ‘Now, please will you let me go?’

  ‘All in good time.’

  The voices came from inside the big top. The large red-and-white striped tent had been put up earlier in the day to host the circus entertainment. An hour or so ago, Jake and his father had sat on the tiered wooden benches and watched the various acts: clowns and tumblers, tightrope walkers and trapeze artists, lion tamers and jugglers, all performing under the careful eye of the ringmaster. Now, pulling aside a section of the canvas drape and peering into the vast empty space of the tent, Jake saw that it was the ringmaster himself speaking to Olivia. They stood alone in the centre of the sandy performance area.

  It was dark in the tent. The only illumination came through a hole in the cone-shaped ceiling. The shaft of light gleamed against the ringmaster’s top hat and black leather boots. His burgundy tailcoat looked like a smear of blood in the gloom. The man held Olivia firmly by the hand while she strained with every muscle to break free. As she turned her head away from her captor, Jake saw that Olivia had visited the face painting booth. She had chosen to be a clown. Her white face and bright red lips were set in an expression that made Jake’s blood run cold.

  He should do something—call out or run for help—but, as the ringmaster pulled Olivia close, Jake felt a paralysing terror root him to the spot. His throat tightened and the cry that passed his lips was little more than a whimper.

  ‘The other children call you names, don’t they?’ The ringmaster’s voice sounded almost sad—very unlike the booming, cheerful tones he had used when announcing the circus acts.

  ‘Please … ’ Olivia pulled away again.

  ‘Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me. That’s probably what your daddy says when you run home from school, bleating like a little baby. They call me horrid names, Daddy. They make me cry! Sticks and stones, Daddy says. But we know, don’t we, Olivia? We know how much it hurts. But don’t be sad, my child, pain does not last for ever.’

  ‘Let me go!’

  Olivia kicked out. Her foot connected with the ringmaster’s shin and he released her. A yelp of victory escaped Olivia’s lips and she started to run. Jake looked past her and saw the smile on the ringmaster’s face. He was not hurt. He had let her go on purpose. This was a game.

  Jake tried to call out, to step forward and wave the girl towards him. He could do neither. The shame of his cowardice burned beneath his skin.

  ‘Sticks and stones, sticks and stones!’ The shriek echoed through the tent.

  Olivia screamed. Grinning, the ringmaster stalked after her. Although Olivia ran at full speed towards the entrance, he started closing the gap between them. Jake watched, amazed. The man in the red tailcoat seemed to stretch out like a piece of chewing gum. Step by step, his legs grew ever longer, the bones crackling as they lengthened. It must really hurt, Jake thought, but the ringmaster showed no sign of pain. His strange shadow leapt across the big top in grasshopper strides. By the time he had reached his prey, the monster appeared to be at least three metres tall.

  Olivia tore the tent flaps apart. Daylight flooded into the big top. Before she could escape, the ringmaster’s hand blocked her mouth and Olivia Brown was pulled back into the tent.

  ‘Your suffering will end soon,’ he promised. As he dragged Olivia into the performance area, his limbs crackled back into their normal dimensions. ‘Then we will show them all, won’t we? Show those spiteful name-callers. Show your ignorant father. Show the great Hobarron Institute itself. Show them that everyone is vulnerable and can feel pain.’

  The ringmaster grabbed the little girl around the throat. Without the slightest effort, he lifted her into the air.

  ‘And to achieve all that, Olivia, all you have to do is die.’

  That was when Jake found his voice. The moment he screamed, the ringmaster’s face snapped in his direction and lips curled over a set of strong white teeth. He turned back to Olivia Brown. The girl was blue, her arms and legs twitching as she tried desperately to breathe. The ringmaster spat out his frustration in two words.

  ‘No time.’

  With a twist of his wrist, Olivia’s neck snapped like a dry twig. Dust billowed into the air as her body hit the ground.

  The ringmaster looked down at the corpse with something like regret in his eyes. It was then that Jake noticed the rat. A large, hairless thing, it sat on the man’s shoulder, its pink eyes shining with an unnatural light.

  ‘Such a waste, is it not, Mr Smythe?’ the ringmaster said, his words addressed to the rodent. His gaze moved back to Jake. ‘But perhaps we shall not be wholly disappointed. Today the Elders will realize that they are not untouchable. Today the Coven will be victorious.’

  Still unable to move, Jake watched the ringmaster step over Olivia’s lifeless corpse and stride towards him. Once again, the monster’s arms and legs stretched out. His spindly shadow danced across the canvas walls of the tent. He came closer … closer …

  Jake’s little-boy heart hammered. Tears spiked into his eyes. Through the clouds of dust kicked up by the ringmaster’s boots, he saw Olivia’s dead face staring back at him. Those unmoving eyes screamed RUN, but there was no chance of escape. Not now.

  An impossibly long arm reached out for Jake.

  Fingers closed around his throat.

  Flexed.

  Tightened …

  And then he heard the sound of running feet. The roar of frightened voices. Hands tore back the tent flap and dozens of men poured into the big top. Barely able to contain their fury, they fell upon the murderer and restrained him. Jake watched as the monster struggled beneath them.

  ‘See now, you fools, how weak you are? You think yourselves safe in your mighty tower? But we are everywhere. We laugh at your science and your protections. We will rule this world long after your Institute is dust upon the wind of history. It is coming, gentlemen, and this time there is nothing you can do to stop it. The Demonti—’

  A hand blocked the murderer’s mouth and he was dragged away. For a few minutes, Jake was left alone with Olivia.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped, tears streaming. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  But the girl was dead and she could
neither forgive nor comfort him.

  Jake used his finger to trace the inscription on the memorial. It was hard to believe that eight years had passed since that awful day. Five months after Olivia’s death, he had learned from his father that ringmaster Sidney Tinsmouth had been tried and convicted for the murder. A jury had decided he was insane and the judge had sentenced him accordingly.

  Insane. Jake guessed that he must have caught a whiff of Tinsmouth’s madness that day. It was the only way he could explain the impossible things he had seen. As for the killer? He must still be locked away in a lunatic asylum somewhere, chained up just like Jupiter the Elephant …

  A sudden instinct seized hold of Jake. He took the scarlet flower from the memorial and crushed it in his hand. He threw the petals into the wind and watched as they tumbled across the plaza and floated over the fence. Red teardrops disappearing into the night. Jake wondered what the Pale Man would think of this destruction.

  He shivered slightly and walked on.

  Chapter 3

  Demon’s Dance

  Jake slumped into one of the chairs outside his mother’s office. He hated this once-a-week visit to the cold, unfriendly Hobarron Institute. The only reason he was here was because his dad had the car on Thursdays, and his mum needed help carrying her files home. Jake had suggested they get a second car, but his mum said the weekly exercise did them both good. Maybe—but tonight, with his body bruised and aching, all Jake wanted was to get into a hot bath as soon as possible.

  He took a horror comic from his bag and tried to lose himself in a story. It was no good. Pictures and speech bubbles swam before his eyes but his thoughts always turned back to Olivia Brown. Poor Olivia, who had died at the hands of a lunatic …

  ‘Good evening, Jacob.’

  Jake looked up into the faintly unpleasant face of Dr Holmwood. The doctor gave one of his awkward smiles, showing a flash of nicotine-stained teeth. He caught sight of Jake’s bruises and the smile changed into a frown.

  ‘Well, my boy, and what has happened to you?’

  Jake’s swollen jaw clicked as he spoke. ‘Sports accident. Footy practice.’

  ‘Indeed? Rather violent football you play at that school.’

  The doctor sat down. This close, Jake could smell a faint odour of tobacco and stale sweat coming off the man. Holmwood’s fingers rapped against the arm of the chair. They looked like a pair of yellow claws.

  ‘Your attacker,’ Holmwood said, ‘tell me about him.’

  ‘I told you, it was an accident. I fell and … ’

  ‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Jacob.’

  Jake was surprised by the steely edge in the old man’s voice.

  ‘It was just a bully,’ he admitted. ‘Some kid who used to go to Masterson. He beat me up a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘This boy, do you know him well?’

  ‘No. I mean, everyone knows Silas Jones. He was expelled last year for hitting a teacher. He’s a bit of a psycho, I guess.’

  ‘Does he pick on you especially?’

  Jake hesitated. ‘Maybe he has singled me out. A bit.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jake did not want to admit the reason, but Holmwood seemed to read it in his face.

  ‘Because you’re a loner? Yes, I suppose that would make you easier prey. But tell me, has Silas been seen around much since he was expelled? You haven’t noticed him getting in with a new crowd or anything?’ Holmwood leaned into Jake. ‘Think carefully: have you picked up on any changes in the boy? His skin, for example.’

  ‘His skin?’

  ‘You may have noticed a certain paleness. Or have you seen any blemishes around his neck? Something like a tattoo, perhaps, or a scorch mark? Think before you answer.’

  Jake could tell that Holmwood was no longer interested in the attack he had suffered. Perhaps he never had been. The Institute director seemed obsessed by Silas Jones’s general state of health. Jake considered the work of the Hobarron Institute. Suddenly Silas’s fears about what went on at this place seemed more reasonable. Perhaps an experiment had got out of hand and some dangerous substance had escaped the labs. Maybe a disease had become airborne. Was this Holmwood’s way of asking Jake if the surrounding area had been infected? Did he think Silas had caught some kind of disease?

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jake said. ‘Silas isn’t ill. He’s just mental.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Holmwood relaxed in his chair. ‘Well, that’s quite clear. Excellent.’

  For the life of him, Jake couldn’t see what was ‘excellent’ about being beaten up.

  ‘Well, I must get back to work.’ Holmwood’s spindly legs crackled as he rose to his feet. ‘If I don’t see you before the holidays, Happy Christmas, Jacob.’

  The old doctor stalked away down the corridor.

  Minutes ticked by. Hobarron Institute employees in white coats went to and fro between their offices and labs. Jake stared at the plaque on the door in front of him—Dr Claire Harker, Senior Mechanical Engineer—and willed his mother to appear. Another half an hour passed before the door flew open.

  Jake’s mum pulled off her lab coat and hooked it behind the door. Then she handed Jake a box stuffed with files and signalled for him to follow. They strode through the Institute, passing along one dull grey corridor after the next until they reached the lifts.

  Squeezed into the lift, Jake caught sight of his mother’s reflection in the mirrored walls. She looked tired, and almost as pale as Mr Quilp. His thoughts flew back to his encounter with the skeletal stranger. With his old-fashioned clothes and sinister style of speech, he would not have been out of place in one of Jake’s horror comics. Coupled with his little companion crawling about behind the tinted windows of the limousine, Mr Quilp really could be the stuff of nightmares.

  What kind of creature had that been? Jake wondered. Quilp had called it his ‘guardian angel’. A pet dog, perhaps? This sinister man with a sinister pet suddenly reminded Jake of Sidney Tinsmouth and his pink-eyed rodent, Mr Smythe. The connection made Jake feel uneasy.

  The lift reached the ground floor and Jake’s mum signed them out.

  ‘Careful with that box,’ she said as they crossed the plaza, ‘I don’t want you dropping my papers all over the road again.’

  ‘Yesss, Massster,’ Jake hissed in his best Igor voice. ‘By the way, Mum, I was wondering, do we have Dr Saxby’s home phone number? I wanted to—’

  Jake halted in front of the memorial. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  A single scarlet flower rested on the stone table.

  ‘Jake? What’s the matter?’

  ‘N-nothing … I guess.’

  ‘Hurry up, then, I want to get home.’

  Brett waved them through the gate. The guard made a gun of his fingers and mimed a shot. Jake returned fire. Another of his and Brett’s little rituals.

  Situated just outside the town, the Harker home was a short walk from the tower. They had gone a little way along the road when Jake turned to his mum. He wanted to talk to her about Quilp and the flower, but he saw by her distant expression that now was not the time. She was thinking about work.

  Jake had heard only vague rumours about his mother’s job at the Institute. His dad had told him that she built top-secret machines for the British government, and had once designed a device for bringing water to people who lived in arid deserts. However brilliant these machines were, Jake couldn’t help resenting them. They kept his mother’s thoughts far away from her family. So far away that it wasn’t until they reached the Closedown Canal that she looked at him properly and noticed his injuries.

  ‘Jake, your face is black and blue!’

  He took a deep breath. There was no point in spinning the footy practice story again. Holmwood knew the truth.

  ‘I got beaten up. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘Who did this? Was it a stranger? What did they look like? Was there anything odd about their appearance?’

  Jake reeled under the barrage of questions. Que
stions similar to those posed by Dr Holmwood. What was going on here?

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Mum, I don’t … ’

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ Claire snapped, ‘you’re too old for all that “Mum” stuff. My name is Claire.’

  ‘It was just a boy who used to go to my school,’ Jake muttered. He was surprised to see that his mother looked relieved. ‘And I’m OK, in case you were wondering. I don’t think anything’s broken.’

  ‘I can see you’re OK, Jake. Well, we’ll get this bullying issue sorted. Soon as your dad gets home, he’ll be on the phone to your headmaster. There’s no reason for you to be afraid.’

  ‘I’m not afraid. And like I said, the kid doesn’t go to school any more. There’s nothing the head can do about it.’

  ‘We’ll contact the police then.’

  ‘There’s no need to go that far … ’

  ‘You know, I’ve told your father time and again—you should never walk from school alone. It’s too dangerous. Not that he ever listens.’

  ‘I don’t need someone to walk with me, I’m fifteen years old!’

  ‘And look what’s happened to you.’ She took Jake’s hand in hers. Such a gesture from his mother was unusual. ‘You’re important, Jake. Important to your father and me. If you’d been seriously hurt … ’

  She released his hand and they walked on in silence.

  The towpath beside the Closedown Canal was deserted. Sometimes they passed Simon Lydgate, a lad of seventeen who slept rough along the waterway. Jake scanned the banks on either side of the canal. He felt a twinge of disappointment. There was no sign of Simon’s campfire.

  Jake remembered that day about a year ago when he had been walking beside the canal, head stuck in a comic book. Cannoning into a wall of muscle, Jake had looked up. With his big frame and the scar splitting his upper lip, the boy standing before him looked like a gangster’s bodyguard. Jake had taken a step back and blurted out an apology.

  ‘No worries, mate,’ Simon had grinned. ‘Hey, is that Tales From The Crypt? Cool!’