HIS OTHER SON

by SIMS, MAYNARD

They walked single file around the edge of the pool. There was something eerie about the moving water in the silence and the half dark.

  Debra watched the shadowed images the water created on the white tile walls. Shapes of men, then not of men. Fluid moving shapes that were there, then gone before she could identify them.

  “Oh god!” Sybella broke the silence.

  “What is it?” Jack turned his flashlight round to see why she had called out.

  She was pointing to the water. “Are they dead?”

  They looked into the pool. To Debra it was just like the fish again. Jack could only think of Redmond and his bunched fists.

  Floating on the surface were two people.

  Both face down, one partially twisted on the steps of the shallow end, their contorted bodies screaming in mute agony at the ceiling. Neither of them wore swimming costumes; it looked like a party about to get wild. Something had stopped it first.

  “Are they dead?” Sybella repeated.

  Jack nodded. “Looks like it.”

  “What happened?” Debra said quietly. None of them felt like speaking loudly in the presence of death so garishly portrayed.

  “At a guess, when the power failed it caused a short circuit and the pool became live. Water and electricity…a fatal combination.”

  “Like lobsters in a pot,” Tony said. For once no-one argued with him.

  Heads bowed in silent homage they stood at the water’s edge while the flotsam moved gently, like twigs caught in a ripple. A dead man and a dead woman bumping into each other, apart again, then together. They may have been laughing when they died. They may have been lovers about to embrace, or they may have been strangers about to become friends. Now they were just like dead fish.

  Jack turned away and pointed his flashlight at the door to a staircase ahead of them. An arrow pointed down. The others turned to follow him.

  80

  Not long before the two people now floating lifeless on the surface of the pool were cradled in each other’s arms.

  Slashes of cool light crackled over the glass-domed roof of the swimming pool, the ochre colours mingling with the dancing reflections of playful dots of colour from the blue water. The inside of the glass roof was a shifting pattern of shapes, white, blue, pale and shadow. Subdued wall lighting was a pale imitation of the glare of the full moon, hanging like a judge in sessions from the dark sky.

  There was something unsettling about the movement of the water in the silence and half dark. Ripples like breathing troubled the surface, lines of age on a flawless face. Soft liquid sounds of gentle movement as water lapped against smooth stone sides. The water seemed to whisper. It almost seemed to rustle, water can’t rustle, but to the woman that was the sound she could most liken it to.

  “I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Grace Toomey said.

  Steve was already half undressed, hopping from foot to foot as his trousers snagged on his ankles. “Of course it is. You’re just nervous in case anyone comes in.” An office filing room, lunchtime, furtive fumbling with clothing and with feelings, excited by the forbidden fruit, fearful of the consequences. It was always he who reassured her then as well.

  Grace watched the shadowed images the water created on the white tiled walls. Then she looked at her husband, frantically disrobing, letting the moon’s rays play like mistresses fingers on the hairs on his chest, on the firm muscles of his back. He was almost naked.

  “Come on, you’re overdressed for a swim.”

  It had been her idea, as the drinks had given her courage, and the inhibitions had loosened. She had whispered in his ear, and he had squeezed her thigh. Propelled along by this gesture of intimate acquiescence, she had taken his hand and led him from the apartment.

  The complex was quiet, still as the night outside, lit with discreet wall-lights, stars in the sky. Everywhere was glass, windows that by day gave light and space, but which at night gave back just their own reflection.

  She heard a splash and saw a pair of feet disappear beneath the surface. As quickly as she could she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. She kicked off her shoes and reached behind her to unhook. A sudden feeling overtook her. She was being watched. She spun round but the door was closed, as they had left it. They would have heard if someone had come in. The walls were mainly glass but she would be able to see if anyone was outside looking in. Surely there was no one out there. She even looked up to the ceiling, but only the lonely eye of the moon gazed back at her.

  Steve burst from the water in a tangle of droplets and spluttering. “Come on, slowcoach!” he called as he got back his breath. “That’s lovely underwear but I’d rather see what’s inside it.”

  “…and don’t wear anything underneath it.” The little notes he used to pass to her inside files, or “…are you wearing what I bought you?” The enquiries about the outrageous things he would buy for her and expect her to wear under her office clothes.

  Grace stripped off the last of her clothing and, abandoning all vestiges of uncertainty, she dived into the pool.

  They played like mermaids in the warm water. Splashing as children, swimming in circles, pulling one another under. Ducking, jumping, playing with an innocence that was as natural as the day’s cycle. He pulled her legs and floated her in circles; she put both her hands on his head and pushed him under. They hugged and caressed, kissed and laughed.

  “Right,” he called. “I’m going to get you now.”

  She swam, half ran, away from him, towards the deep end. He created a shark’s fin with his hand and made menacing noises. She screamed with delight. Then he disappeared.

  One moment he was there, fooling around, the next when she turned to see why it had gone quiet, he was gone. Everything was still. She trod water, pumping her legs slowly, meandering her hands over the surface, getting nervous.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  There was no reply, just the smooth rustling of the water.

  “I’m not joking now, I don’t like it. Where are you?”

  The water lapped teasingly against the steps at the other end of the pool. Footsteps out of the fear, an escape. Still she was treading water, trying to keep afloat and not make any ripples at the same time. Not draw any attention to herself.

  Then he burst from the bottom of the pool where he had been holding his breath and showered her in crystals of blue, white froths of surprise. He coughed and held her, laughing and hugging her. Enjoying her naked breasts pressed against his skin.

  She pushed him away. “You fool. I was terrified.”

  “I’m sorry. I was only playing around.”

  “Well I don’t think it’s funny. I’m going to have a swim. I’ve had enough of your messing about.” With that she struck out with strong confident strokes, swimming away from him, towards the shallow end.

  Deflated, and out of breath from the pressure of waiting a long enough time at the bottom of the pool, Steve pulled out of the water and sat on the edge, feet dangling in, like floats on a fishing line. His body warm from the exertions and the atmosphere.

  Grace swam a lazy crawl, then flipped over and did the backstroke for a while before stopping and letting her body float into the shallows near the steps.

  Steve looked around the pool, admiring the diamonds of light and reflected water playing on the glass ceiling, and on the white walls. Coated with the black of night the pool was a safe haven.

  When he turned back to watch his wife, he saw it immediately. A long grey shape, sleek and deadly, submerged beneath the surface. It was swimming directly for her.

  “Get out!” he yelled. “Grace, get out of the water.”

  Unable to act as fast as his words urged her to she stopped swimming and stood. The water at this depth was just up to her waist. She stood, droplets of silver suspended from her nipples, her hands brushing the hair away from her eyes. Eyes that were half shut from the chlorine stinging them.

  “Get out now!” The grey shape was smooth under th
e surface, moving with economic motions, moving incessantly towards the woman.

  He ran towards the shallow end, waving and gesturing for his wife to get out. Calling her, pleading with her, but not actually diving in to assist her.

  Panicked now by his tone and actions, she was splashing frantically on the top of the water, causing noise and froth to mask the bottom of the pool, to hide whatever it was he had seen.

  Steve moved down two steps into the shallow end, his ankles barely covered by the turbulent waters. His hand reached out and she caught it, first time. They pulled together and she fell into his arms, heart beating with the force of a waterfall. Gradually the water subsided, calmed into a natural stillness.

  There was nothing in the water.

  “I saw it,” he insisted.

  “You frightened me.”

  “It was there, I saw it. A long grey shape. It was…”

  She pulled a little away from him. “There isn’t anything.”

  Their nakedness suddenly seemed inappropriate and they looked for their towels, wanting to cover themselves, Adam and Eve, an unseen serpent causing them to open their eyes for the first time.

  Moving off the steps in silence they failed to see the ripple on the surface of the pool. It was followed by a second, and then others, until quietly but with eager urgency the blue water was alive with white froths of movement.

  Grace was terrified. The water of the pool was frantic with movement now, grey shapes weaving patterns beneath the surface. Misshapen heads breaking through the clear blue frothing water, droplets of white caught in the rough skin.

  The humans never had a chance.

  EXCERPT ENDS

  www.maynard-sims.com

  EXCERPT from STILLWATER a ghost story novel out in 2014 on Amazon from Samhain

  When she opened her eyes the clock was reading 4:10. “What the…” She was disorientated; her mind woolly. She was still fully dressed and lying on the bed, not in it, yet the bedroom was in darkness. Eventually her thoughts cleared.

  “So much for an hour,” she muttered, and lay there watching through the window as the dawn light chased away the night. It was too early really to get up, but she couldn’t settle, lying there wearing yesterday’s clothes, and her body needed a shower; her skin scratchy and prickling. After ten more minutes she bit the bullet, and hauled herself from the bed.

  As she sat in the shower stall, letting the hot needles of water rake her body she was grateful for all the special conveniences the agents had installed. For her the shower was a novelty and a luxury. At her London home, getting herself in and out of the bath with a system of electric pulleys and belts had quickly lost its appeal, but Stillwater’s wet room simplified everything.

  There was a dry area for her wheelchair, and strategically placed rails that she could use to support herself on her way to the shower stall. Once seated in the stall the controls for the shower were just inches away.

  To add to the luxury there were five showerheads; two on each side of her, and one above. Next to the control unit was another smaller one that dispensed shower gel and shampoo. But the best feature was reserved for when Beth finished showering. At the touch of a button warm air blasted out from dozen vents positioned from the floor to just above head height, guaranteeing that, not only was she clean from the shower, but she was also dryer than any towel could manage.

  Relaxing into the seat, she reached out and pressed the button for the hot water. As the fine needles of spray raked her body she cupped her hand under the nozzle for the shower gel. Within seconds her body was smothered in creamy, delicious smelling foam. For a moment she sat there enjoying the feel of water on her skin.

  The moment passed, and she set about the laborious task of washing herself. When she looked up again she saw the room was filling with steam. She frowned. The water wasn’t hot enough to produce that much vapor. It was as if the clouds she was staring at in the sky had entered the bathroom.

  She was suddenly aware of another sensation. Warm water was lapping around her ankles. She could feel it, when there really shouldn’t be any feeling there at all.

  This was impossible.

  The water in the wet room ran down the sloping floor to a large central drain. It was six inches across and she could see nothing to impede the flow, nothing to block it sufficiently to cause a buildup.

  She reached down and splashed the water that had almost reached her shins. She could barely see her hand through the cloud of steam.

  “Ridiculous,” she said aloud. “All wrong,” and reached out to turn off the water.

  She pressed the button but the water continued to flood from the showerheads. If anything, the flow was increasing. She looked to the door, or rather, doors. There was an outer, wood-paneled door that matched the ones to the bedrooms and her office, but in here there was also an inner glass door, fitted with rubber seals to keep the wet room watertight. She could make out the pale reflections on the glass but nothing else.

  She became aware of the smell at the same time as the water lapped at her shins; a dank, fetid aroma that conjured up images in her head of something submerged and rotting.

  The steam was swirling around her, making her eyes sting and making breathing more and more difficult. She couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. If she didn’t suffocate in the cloying steam, she’d drown as the room increasingly filled with water. She reached out for the rail that ran around the side of the room, and her fingers touched something wet and slimy. She snatched her hand away and stared at it, bringing it up to within inches of her face. Her fingers were stained with green and black streaks, with some kind of slime adhered to them. And they stank; the smell of the room amplified tenfold. Gritting her teeth she reached out again, this time grabbing the metal rail, trying to ignore the sponginess that was coating it.

  She pulled herself out of the seat, trying to lock her knees and stand upright. Taking her weight on her arms she inched along the rail towards her wheelchair. The water was getting deeper, halfway up her legs now, and she was sure it should be scalding her but she couldn’t feel any pain.

  As she took another inch along, her hand slipped on the treacherous rail and there was nothing she could do to prevent herself falling. Her shoulder hit the tiled floor with a crack, and, as she cried out, hot water poured into her mouth and down her throat, making her gag and choke. She thrashed under the water trying to break the surface, and reach precious oxygen, but her legs were dead weights sucking her back down.

  Don’t let me die like this, she thought, as water seeped into her lungs, making them burn. Gradually her thrashing arms fell still. She lay on her back beneath the water, staring up at the ceiling, consciousness slowly slipping away from her.

  The last thing she was aware of was a face staring down at her; a woman’s face framed by long dark hair. The expression on the woman’s face was impassive, showing no concern for Beth’s predicament; showing nothing at all, even when Beth raised her arm, and used only the expression in her eyes to plead for help.

  The woman’s face receded, moving further away from her, until it was lost in the swirling water.

  Beth finally let go of the breath she had been holding, letting it out from between her lips in a cascade of bubbles. As the air drained from her lungs, the darkness swooped in, driving her down to a place she had no wish to go. The darkness was absolute and pitiless. She closed her eyes and let it sweep her away.

  EXCERPT ENDS

  www.maynard-sims.com

  And a BONUS NOVELLA – THE BUSINESS OF BARBARIANS was published in INCANTANTIONS, our collection available on AMAZON

  THE BUSINESS OF BARBARIANS

  Maynard Sims

  The spotlight picked out the girl as she stood on the stage. She was naked, swaying slightly, rubbing her eyes with her fists, but the spotlight held steady, spreading a pool of silver light around her feet, bathing her pale skin. It was so bright it blinded her, and she shielded her eyes with her hand.

  ‘
Hello!’ she called into the velvet blackness of the silent theatre. ‘Hello! Is there anyone there?’

  Small sounds, of someone moving in a seat, a rustle of cloth, a choked off cough. She could almost sense them, sitting, watching her. She was frightened. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened to her, trying to peel back the layers of confusion, but it was hopeless. She couldn’t even remember her name, let alone how she came to be standing naked in the centre of an otherwise empty stage.

  She’d long ago stopped trying to conceal her nakedness, and there was certainly nowhere to hide on that huge wooden expanse. She just waited to be told what to do.

  She stared into the darkness, convinced she’d heard another movement. ‘Please let me go. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.’

  ‘Are you frightened?’

  At last, a voice spoke from out of the darkness. She seized upon it hopefully. ‘Yes, yes I am. Terrified.’ She tried to smile, to show that despite her fear she could still be brave, able to laugh in the face of adversity.

  ‘Good,’ said the voice softly.

  It was familiar that voice. She was sure that she’d heard it before, but her muddled mind could not place it, and no matter how much she repeated its cadence over and over in her head, the face associated with the voice remained maddeningly elusive.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called out into the blackness of the auditorium. ‘Why won’t you let me go?’

  ‘Do you really want to know who we are?’

  She rocked slightly on her feet. That drink. It was drugged. She was remembering now – fragments, glimpses of rooms and faces, snatches of speech. ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘Yes, show yourselves.’

  ‘Very well.’

  With a suddenness that startled her, the house lights came up, and she saw with total clarity the audience sitting in the stalls watching her.

  She opened her mouth and screamed… and screamed… and screamed.