by M. V. Stott
‘Are you taking me to my children? Where have you put them? They have not been punished enough for their wicked ways.’
‘They haven’t done anything wrong! They’re just kids!’
The ground where the creature had been a second before exploded as another volley of magic flew from my knuckles and missed the thing.
‘They haven’t done anything wrong? Oh, that’s not true. They hurt. They shame. They kick and they punch. They make lives a misery, and now I am here to punish them all.’
I tried to run as the creature almost reached me, but jerked back, my shoulder jarring. I turned to see Mark grinning at me, my wrist chained to a radiator. And then I was back in the classroom, with Mark and his gang of savages laughing at me as the heat torched my wrist.
‘Nothing wrong?’ said the creature, stood at the head of the class, its head tilted to one side. ‘This is not me, I did not create this. This all happened. And it happens and it happens again.’
‘But this is just one bad child, why do you have to hurt all of them?’
‘One bad child? None are innocent. All must be punished for the way they made me feel.’
As he spoke, his voice began to morph into that of Alice Travers.
‘They kicked and they punched, Stella Jake. Punish them.’
‘No, Alice. That was just those two children. Punish them, not all of them!’
‘No,’ said the creature, now using another child’s voice. ‘Not just them. All. Every day at school I was mocked, spat on, had my money stolen, my face pushed in the toilet, and all saw. No one helped me, Stella Jake.’
‘I was taken out to the woods behind school,’ said another child, a boy. ‘Four kids from my class. They told me for weeks they were going to get me, so I bunked off, pretended I was sick, but eventually I had to go back. The other kids knew what was coming. They knew what the bullies were going to do and none of them stayed. None of them came to help as the bullies crowded around and ran me to the trees. They made me take my clothes off, Stella Jake. And then… and then…’
‘Punish them all.’
‘All.’
‘They’re all guilty.’
‘Guilty.’
‘Guilty.’
‘No!’ I stood, the handcuffs falling away from my wrist.
‘Oi, bender, where’d you think—’
I turned and swiped a hand across Mark, across his gang. They froze, then blew away like burning paper in the wind.
The creature tilted its head on one side. ‘How did you do that? You should not be able to do that.’
‘My name is Stella Familiar of the London Coven, and I tricked you to get here. This place only has power if you have a real childhood trauma to attack. Every kid has something. Some memory, big or small, that you could hurt them with. Well, guess what? Not me. I never had a childhood.’
‘We shall see,’ said the creature, and suddenly it was in front of me, plunging its hands into my chest.
I screamed, throwing my head back as its fingers wrapped around my heart.
‘There must be something. Something. Something.’
I snarled, gritting my teeth, trying not to pass out from the shock. ‘Afraid not. No childhood fears. I was born this way.’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Empty and empty and empty.’
‘That’s right, bitch.’ I grunted and shoved the creature away, shivering as its hands left my body. The faceless man hopped back, and back again, lowering its featureless head into its hands.
‘What are you?’ it asked in Alice Travers’ voice. ‘You are not a real person. Where is your childhood? Just nothing, and nothing, and terrifying nothing.’
The classroom shook, throwing me to the floor. I looked up to see Mark stood over me.
‘Who are you? You’re not him. You’re not Jake. Where is my Jake?’
I pushed myself backwards then clambered to my feet as the room began to deform and break apart. Mark began twitching and writhing as the arms and faces and legs of a hundred different kids, a hundred different bullies, burst out of him, their faces twisted with anger, with confusion.
‘So empty. Just nothing, and nothing, I am drowning,’ said the creature.
I fell through the door as the room bucked and found myself in the bathroom where Amy had been terrorised. The semi-circle of girls were now one gestalt beast, their flesh fused together, writhing in confused agony.
‘Bitch!’
‘Skank!’
‘Josh mine.’
‘Ours.’
‘Ours.’
The tiles beneath the thing opened up and they fell through. As the floor continued to tear apart I ran from the room and found myself on the abandoned train platform.
The creature was waiting for me.
‘What is happening?’ it begged.
The truth was I didn’t know for sure. My best guess was that as it tried to latch onto my fear, to hold it, to taste it, my absence of a childhood had somehow infected it. I was the common cold, and this alien’s tripod was bucking and tumbling.
It stepped forward. For the first time I actually saw its feet move. Slowly it walked towards me.
‘Stella? Stella. What are you? What have you done? Where are my children?’
‘I saved them. Saved them all. And now it looks like you’re dying.’
‘Dying? I do not die.’
I pointed behind the thing. The platform was crumbling away like sand, leaving nothing behind but emptiness.
‘Tell that to this place. Tell that to your body.’
The thing lifted a hand to see that it too was starting to crumble. It lowered its hand, what was left of it, and turned its blank face back to me.
‘I am afraid.’
I grimaced. ‘Good.’
‘You cannot leave. Your way home is gone. I took it from you and I will not return it. We will die together.’
‘It doesn’t matter. This is what I was created for. To fight things like you. To give up my life in the name of others. So yeah, I’m gonna die, but you know what? This is a fucking good way to go.’
‘Stella…’
The creature collapsed as its legs disintegrated, then its arms, its head, until there was nothing left at all.
Almost nothing left of its realm, either. Just a few metres of platform and me, watching my time run out.
I thought about David, back at the coven, hugging his niece. Hugging Amy. Taking her back to her Mum. Leaving me and this life behind.
I’d done well.
I’d kept my promise.
I thought about David.
‘Stella?’
I realised I’d closed my eyes, waiting for things to be over.
‘Stella, where are you?’
Someone was holding my hand.
‘David?’
I opened my eyes. The platform was gone. Everything was gone.
I should be dead.
David was stood by my side, his hand in mine, holding me tight.
‘I found you, Stella.’
His eyes burned with white hot fire. He was like he had been in the alleyway again, when the creature had attacked the first time.
‘David, how are you doing this?’
‘I heard you. I found you.’
He turned and reached out a hand, pointing. A door with an exit sign above it appeared in the void.
‘Come on. Let’s go home.’
He walked towards the exit, his hand still in mine, and I followed.
36
All the kids that had fallen into comas survived.
One by one, far and wide across the city, they began to open their eyes. When asked what they remembered, all they said was they’d had a nightmare. A nightmare that a woman in a leather jacket saved them from.
David never told his sister what had actually happened. That Amy had been in a coma, like the kids in the news. He and Amy both thought it better to keep it a secret, and I agreed with them.
‘So what’s up with your detective?�
�� asked Jake, nestled inside his meat suit again as we sat in The Beehive, getting steadily drunk.
‘Nothing. He’s just... he’s fine.’
‘He doesn’t remember what he did?’
I shook my head. When I woke up I found him on the floor unconscious with Amy trying to wake him up. When he finally came to he said he’d been having a dream about fishing on a big lake. Like the last time, he didn’t remember changing. Didn’t remember his eyes filling with fire.
What he’d done was impossible. Stepping into the creature’s realm. Creating an exit and saving me.
‘You know, I’ve gotta say, that was all bloody impressive stuff, Stella. I’d written you off as some stuck-up, snooty cow, but what you did? That took a serious set of ovaries.’
‘Well, Jake, it was a pleasure having you inside of me.’
We tapped glasses and got drunk.
***
Someone was knocking at the door.
I opened my eyes, bleary, the thud of that night’s alcohol making my head heavy. It was the middle of the night, who would be knocking on the door in the middle of the night?
Then another thought: who would be knocking on the door to the London Coven at all? No one came knocking here. Not even David, he always called first. He said it was just manners, but I think it had more to do with all the magical protections I’d told him covered the place. He was just worried he’d come knocking, trigger one, and find his head rolling off down the blind alley, which, to be fair, was a distinct possibility.
Another knock.
Every time, three knocks, a beat between each set. They echoed around the room.
I threw the blanket aside and sat up, my bare feet chilled by the cold of the floor.
Three more knocks.
I put on some clothes, my boots, and padded towards the door.
Three more knocks.
A few metres from the door I stopped and reached out with my senses, trying to judge what was waiting for me outside. Was it a friend? An enemy? A monster?
‘Who is it?’
Three more knocks.
‘My right hand is cocked and ready to turn you into a puddle of goo. Got me? So stop playing around and tell me who you are!’
‘You know who it is. You were expecting me.’
I blinked with surprise, because suddenly, upon hearing his voice, I did know, even though I’d never met them before in my long life. It was like I suddenly remembered I’d been expecting him to visit. Which was very strange indeed. Was this some sort of spell? Magical suggestion designed to lower defences? No, I didn’t think so. I could sniff that out if I know I’m looking for it. This was something else.
I passed my left hand in front of the door’s lock. There was a noise of invisible bolts sliding aside, then I reached forward and pulled the door open.
On the other side stood a tall man in a wide-brimmed hat.
Well, he was sort of a man. A man that looked like he’d been whittled out of a tree, his face an immobile circle of wood with rudimentary features carved into it.
‘Stella Familiar, I am the Knot Man, and I have come to deliver the warning. May I come inside?’
We sat at the kitchen table on opposite sides, facing each other.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked.
‘I am the Knot Man. I walk through many worlds. Many possible realities. Every parallel potential. My job is always the same. To deliver warnings. I’ve given warnings to kings and I’ve given them to ordinary men. Men about to become all that stands between the light and the spew of Hell itself.’
‘Well, it sounds like you meet a lot of interesting people.’
The Knot Man smiled, only his mouth didn’t move, couldn’t move, so I don’t know how I knew that.
‘So, you have something to warn me about?’ I asked.
The Knot Man nodded.
‘Are you ready to hear the warning?’
I shrugged. ‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘It is about Detective David Tyler.’
My heart fluttered and I sat up.
‘What about him?’
And then the Knot Man told me.
The End
CLICK HERE TO GET LONDON COVEN BOOK THREE!
***
Get a sneak peek at a new Uncanny Kingdom series, Dark Lakes, in just a few pages time.
Become an Insider…
…and receive FREE BOOKS, including an EXCLUSIVE prequel to the LONDON COVEN series. Also, be the FIRST to hear about NEW RELEASES and SPECIAL OFFERS in the UNCANNY KINGDOM universe.
Just hit the link below:
FREE BOOKS!
Also Available…
London Coven is just one of several urban fantasy series set in the Uncanny Kingdom universe.
You can check out all the Uncanny Kingdom books currently available by going HERE.
Experience the Uncanny.
Magic Eater: Dark Lakes Book One
Sneak Peek
1
I suppose this all started when I woke up without a single clue as to who I was, where I was, or why I was bleeding from so many different and interesting places.
My name’s Joseph Lake, or at the very least that’s what I’ve decided to call myself. Not the most inspiring of choices, I know, but I couldn’t find anything that felt comfortable, so Joseph Lake it was. The fact it stuck had made me wonder if the name meant something; like maybe it was a family member’s name, or a good friend’s, or even a good enemy’s, but I Googled that thing down to a nub and ended up with nothing. Just one of many deader-than-dead ends I’ve chased aimlessly since I woke up next to that lake.
That was ten years ago. Right now I now found myself stalking the streets of Carlisle in the middle of the night, dressed entirely in black. This may have been my first time following a stranger from a discreet distance, but I’d seen enough movies to know the best colour for a stalking outfit. At first I’d even worn a pair of black shades, though it quickly became apparent that this was not my brightest idea. What with it being the whole night time thing. Yeah, I didn’t feel too smart as I pulled those off and pocketed them, I can tell you.
The stranger I was following was a homeless woman who looked like a charity shop puked up over a passing Helena Bonham Carter. Or, in other words, like Helena Bonham Carter. She’d been throwing up red flags in my head for the last two months, so a good follow seemed in order, and not the friendly Twitter kind.
Anyway, back to my origin story: I was found by a fisherman called Joseph (hence the forename), face down and very, completely naked, beside Derwent Water, which is one of several bodies of water that make up an area known as the Lake District in the far north of England. Yup, you got it, from thence derives my surname.
Actually, that’s a lie, I wasn’t completely naked, I had one sock on. I still have that sock. It’s the only physical evidence I have of my past life and who I really am, though it is difficult to extrapolate much from a sock, other than “I wore socks.” Even Sherlock Holmes would want more to go on than that, unless I skipped Sherlock Holmes and the One-Socked Man.
It was chilly out and I pulled my long coat tight around myself as I did my best to keep a discreet distance from the tramp, who seemed to be aimlessly wandering here, there, and nowhere in particular. The tramp had been showing up a lot recently; not just hanging out by the cash machine I always passed, or pushing a trolley around town full of tin cans. I hadn’t just happened across her on my way to work. No, she’d been turning up all over, almost as though there was some design to it. I’d look out of my window, she’d be sat across the street. I’d get to work, she’d be in the car park, going through the bins. It felt a lot like she was following me. So I thought, well, two can play at that game.
So, here I was, following a homeless woman around the streets of Carlisle, Cumbria’s only city, in the middle of the night. No, you have too much time on your hands.
I’m sure most would brush it her appearance off as coincidence, but when you have my kin
d of strange (and stunted) history, you tend to see the weird shining out from the ordinary. No, this wasn’t one of those situations where you buy a pair of red trousers and suddenly start noticing people wearing those self-same red trousers everywhere. This woman was following me. I was sure of it. Keeping tabs. For… for reasons yet to be ascertained.
A little part of me even hoped it was because she recognised me. Maybe I’d been a tramp too, before… well… before whatever happened happened and I wound up unconscious by a lake wearing nothing but a sock and a fully-body bruise. Maybe that’s why it was so difficult to find anything out about my past; perhaps I’d been on the streets for years.
The tramp stopped and turned, and I ducked into the doorway of a betting shop that stank sharply of piss. For a moment or two it looked like she was going to walk back the way she’d come—that she was going to walk right past me in my not too discreet hidey-hole—but then her head twitched to the left and she darted off down an alley. I counted to five then sprinted after her, coat tails flapping, heart pounding, grinning a lot more than I should have been.
I didn’t want to bust out of the alleyway and find myself smacking into the back of my quarry, so I slowed down to a walking pace, one hand trailing along the old, crumbling brickwork that lined either side of the narrow crack between two shops.
And that’s when the first strange thing happened.
As my fingers trailed across the old bricks, a weird mood dropped over me like a heavy blanket. It was… fear. No, not just fear, fear mixed with hunger, mixed with pain, mixed with desire. Oh God! It felt like it was washing over me again and again, like I was pegged to a beach and the sea waves were battering against me over and over and if I didn’t get away I might just drown in all the intoxicating, terrible feelings of dread and—
—A scream.
My hand snapped away from the old bricks of the alleyway and my head dropped back into the here and now.
