The Hunter Inside

by David McGowan

  They sat on the tiled floor, side by side, cramped together in a room only designed for one, waiting to see what would happen next.

  ‘Damn it,’ Bill moaned, ‘we left the door open when we came in.’

  ‘Should we try and lock it?’

  ‘No, it’s too late. We’ll just have to trust this thing.’ He raised the barrel of the gun slightly and Sandy knew he was right. What good would a locked door be when this thing could step in and out of their heads at will?

  Both fell silent as they waited and listened to its now very audible footsteps. Beads of perspiration stood out on the forehead of Bill Arnold, and Sandy closed her eyes in the already dark room. The switch for the light was outside the door, but neither made a move to illuminate the room; it was too risky. The footsteps ceased outside the door of the room. Sandy cowered as Bill raised the muzzle of the gun, trying desperately to keep a steady grip, his hands slick and slippery on the barrel and trigger. He released the safety catch as he heard the door creak.

  A tear rolled down the cheek of Sandy Myers. How did I ever think I could fight it? she thought. How did I think I stood a chance?

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. The trembling of Bill Arnold’s hands increased as the footsteps got closer, moving across the room towards the door behind which they tried to hide. One shot, just one shot. Better make it a good one, Bill. He didn’t know what effect; if any, the bullet would have on the creature that had begun to turn the door handle. But he was determined to hit it square in the chest. At the very least he intended to go out with a bang.

  ‘Cover your ears, Sandy,’ he whispered.

  She did as he asked, turning her head to the side so that she looked away from both the door and the muzzle of the gun.

  The bathroom door began to open slowly. Bill felt Sandy quivering against his shoulder, and squeezed the trigger gently. Wait for the right moment. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  Light began to enter the room in an arc that grew wider as the door opened further. Wait. Wait, Bill thought to himself as the light began to hit the prostrate figure of Sandy Myers. Then a flash hit him like the one that had taken away his balance when he had seen the beast’s face moments earlier. It was caused by the light, catching the barrel of the gun as the door swung open fully. He blinked once, twice, but the blue blotches that clouded his vision made it impossible for him to get a clear view of the huge shadow that now loomed over him. He hesitated, the gun wavering about wildly in his hands due to the grip of hysteria in which he found himself. Shoot it. Shoot it Bill, a voice inside his head screamed. It was a scream of pure fear over which he had no control. The gun was something else he’d lost control of in that instant, as Sandy cowered beside him and light stung his eyes What happened next was the thing both of them least expected.

  ‘Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. Put the gun down, Bill. I’m a cop. I’m here to help.’

  Bill blinked again as the blotches began to fade and his eyes adjusted to the light in the room. Sandy turned and blinked rapidly, herself trying to adjust, before they spoke together, in the most relieved voice the big Special Agent had ever heard.

  ‘O’Neill?’

  34

  Bill Arnold placed the sweat-soaked gun on the floor beside the bed. He sat down heavily, dizzy with the events inside the small motel room. From being certain that his life was about to be extinguished, he found himself uncertain on how to feel about Special Agent O’Neill turning up. He’d said he was here to help, but the extent of the help he’d given Paul Wayans had amounted to him signing his death warrant. From the way Wayans had looked the previous day when he had seen him being released from the police station (and had actually spoken to him), O’Neill had given the killer a helping hand in breaking the spirit of the man. He remembered the tension in the reception area of the police station, and the shifty salute he had been given when driving past O’Neill.

  The big cop didn’t look half as confident now as he had then. He wondered why Wayans had been at the police station. Did it have anything to do with his being hunted? If so, what did the police know about their stalker? And what did they intend to do?

  The fierce glare that had been present the previous day had faded into an uncertain and nervous countenance, and Bill Arnold decided that the cop was as frightened as he was.

  From her position next to Bill, Sandy looked up at O’Neill. He stood, looming over them such was his size, and breathing as heavily as either of them were. It was ten years since she had seen him, and she’d hoped the day would never come when she had to call on him for his help again. This was for two reasons. The first was that she knew seeing his face would bring it all back to her – her parents’ death. She was right, but the image of her parents as she had seen them in the dream earlier remained fresh in her mind. She saw it every time she blinked; hanging onto the insides of her eyelids like some kind of visual leech, and the now Special Agent’s presence did not make her feel any worse, or better.

  True, she was thankful that it had been O’Neill, and not the killer, who had opened the bathroom door of Bill Arnold’s motel room. She was thankful to be still alive. But the second reason that she wished never to have to ask for his help again was still the same. When her parents had been murdered, O’Neill had not been able to catch the person responsible for shattering her world. He had promised her; a young woman, that the killer would not be left free to kill again.

  Now, ten years later, here they all were. She now knew that it had killed Paul Wayans, it had killed Bill Arnold’s father (and maybe his mother), and it had killed the man in the photograph she had received at home. O’Neill had broken his promise and, while accepting that this was no ordinary killer, she didn’t think he would be able to do anything to help her now.

  O’Neill stood, panting and looking confusedly at the two people sitting down in front of him. They looked as if they were positively uncomfortable in his presence, and he wondered why this could be. He recognized in Sandy a change. Ten years previously she’d had the vitality of youth in her looks, despite her loss. Now though, she looked worn down by life. There was no hint of youth in her tired features, and no sparkle of hope in her eyes as she looked up at him. Arnold looked away from him, but he was certain it was the same man he had seen arriving in Atlantic Beach the previous day. This did not shock him; he was past being shocked by the case of Shimasou. What did shock him was the silence in the room, and the ease with which he had been able to find it after discovering Sandy’s broken down car at the side of the road.

  They’d decided the best way of finding Sandy and Bill was to check the motels and see if either of them had checked in under their real name. Despite it taking them a hell of a lot of time to persuade the woman on the reception area of the first one they arrived at that they had to see the guest list (she was adamant that data protection laws prevented her from revealing guest’s details), he had been amazed to see the name of Bill Arnold on the list. It had taken them next to no time at all, and he had almost felt as though he were one step ahead of Shimasou for a change.

  A noise outside made both Sandy and Bill get to their feet, their eyes widening as a fresh injection of fear was administered to their bodies.

  ‘It’s okay,’ O’Neill said. ‘That’ll be Todd.’

  ‘Who’s Todd?’ Arnold asked, as cautiously as ever.

  ‘He helped me find you. Plus, he might just have the information that will save your lives.’

  Sandy looked towards the door; her head angled to one side as she waited for what could be her savior to enter the room. When Todd Mayhew pushed open the door, carrying a white file in his hand, she almost laughed out loud. How is this old man going to help me? she wondered, disappointed in herself for allowing any word spoken by O’Neill to give her hope.

  Mayhew handed the file to O’Neill, before shaking both Bill and Sandy’s hand in turn without speaking. His relief at finding them was immense. Now they would have a chance of beating Shimasou. Now they would find out, if they
didn’t already know, that the killer hunting them was no ordinary killer. They would find out that the only way of surviving was to bring the spirit’s nemesis alive. They could not run; it would find them. So Mayhew hoped that they were ready to stop. He hoped that they were ready to call Shimasae, and banish Shimasou once more; this time forever. He believed what he had read on the final page of the file to be true. It was certainly strange, but he already knew that, and he wondered what the spirit of Shimasae would look like when it was summoned to unravel the strength that the incarnation of Shimasou continued to gather.

  For a full minute the four figures stood, almost motionless, the sound of the rain battering down outside the open door of the room the only accompaniment to their thoughts. It was Arnold who spoke first.

  ‘Do you know what this thing is?’ His question was directed at O’Neill, but it was Mayhew who answered. ‘Maybe you’d better both sit down,’ he said with calmness in his voice that belied the stomach-churning quality of fear mixed with nervous tension and, strangely, excitement that he felt.

  They did as he said and sat back down on the bed.

  ‘The thing that has been hunting you is called Shimasou.’ He heeded their mystified expressions and continued, ‘It’s a Chinese spirit that is trying to take over your minds.’ He paused, waiting to see the reaction of the man and woman sat in front of him. Both hardly flinched, and he wondered how they could take such news in such a seemingly calm manner.

  What has happened to them that they believe this without questioning it? he wondered. He looked at O’Neill, standing with one hand forced into the pocket of his dark blue, cotton pants. He looked as if he was reluctant to speak about Shimasou, and Mayhew continued without being questioned.

  ‘You’re not surprised?’ he asked, looking from Bill to Sandy.

  ‘No, we’re not surprised at all. At least, I’m not.’ She turned her head in the direction of Bill Arnold.

  ‘Me neither, from what Sandy’s told me.’

  ‘What’s happened, Sandy?’ Mayhew asked.

  O’Neill intervened before she could answer. ‘Listen, Todd. I need to go and make a telephone call. My cell phone’s battery is almost dead and I need to call my colleague, Special Agent Hoskins.’ Mayhew nodded, understanding the reason for the call, and O’Neill turned to Bill and Sandy.

  ‘Todd will tell you what we know and I’ll go find a telephone. I’ll be as quick as I can. Todd, I’ll leave my cell phone here; that way I can call you if I need to.’ He picked up the phone and scanned the address book before taking a small pen from his pocket and writing Hoskins’s number down. Mayhew stepped out of the door in order to let O’Neill pass.

  O’Neill paused on the wooden threshold. ‘Bill, were any of your close relatives murdered in the last ten years?’ He vitally needed this information, meaning he did not stand on ceremony or ask the question in a subtle manner. Time was against them.

  ‘My father,’ Bill answered, pronouncing each syllable in as flat a tone as the previous one.

  ‘What was his name?’

  Arnold looked inquisitively at the Special Agent.

  ‘Todd will fill you in on the significance, but I need to know his name, Bill.’

  ‘His name was the same as mine, but…’ He trailed off as O’Neill turned and exited the room, fishing in his pocket for loose change as he went.

  Mayhew stepped back inside and closed the door on O’Neill and the storm. Straight away the noise of the wind and rain dropped dramatically, and Mayhew placed O’Neill’s cell phone on the bed between Bill and Sandy. The image of a battery flashed intermittently on its display screen, and Mayhew knew that this was probably not a good thing. The last thing he wanted was to lose contact with the Special Agent; he was their only chance if they were going to be able to invoke the strength of Shimasae. Without the information he had gone to obtain, their attempts at summoning Shimasae might not work. Then they would not stand any chance whatsoever of helping the world to survive the threat of Shimasou.

  Bill and Sandy half-turned to look at him, as he sat down behind them on the bed, moving a pillow to the other edge and sitting side on to them so that he did not have to raise his legs.

  ‘Okay, here’s what I know. My friend, Paul Wayans, was murdered by Shimasou.’

  Bill and Sandy looked at one another. Mayhew wondered why, but continued.

  ‘Before he died, he came to see me, and gave me the file over there.’ He pointed towards the white file that O’Neill had placed half-on, half-off the dresser at the end of the bed. ‘He also told me about Shimasou. He told me that his grandmother had come to America from China, bringing with her few possessions. One thing she brought was an old statue. He told me that she thought it gathered strength from its surroundings, channeling it to the owner and helping them through their struggles.’

  Sandy and Bill studied Mayhew as he spoke. Neither interrupted. Both wondered where the story was going.

  ‘His grandmother was very superstitious. But she was wrong about the statue. Her poverty meant that she had to sell it and when she did her troubles began.’

  ‘What do you mean, her troubles?’ Bill asked.

  ‘She began to hear voices inside her head. It spoke to her; telling her of what was to come now that it had been released. It was hungry to succeed, because it had been banished for so long.’

  Sandy and Bill both knew exactly what Todd meant. Bill had been told Sandy’s name by a voice inside his head. He knew it, and he could not get the memory of the voice out of his head. It had a guttural sound. The image of the face that came with it was also etched onto the foremost template of his conscious mind. ‘Did it kill her?’

  ‘No, well, I don’t really know. You see, she killed herself. It drove her crazy and she killed herself. After that, Paul said he had nightmares. As though it held weak links to his mind. So he dug up some of the information in that file.’ He pointed again. Neither turned their gaze away from him, preferring instead to wait for him to continue.

  ‘Shimasou is a Chinese spirit, like I said. It was released because Paul Wayans’ grandmother took the statue away from China.’

  ‘But how does it choose its victims?’ Sandy asked. It had taken her mother and father, but she was pretty sure they had no link to the statue. She had certainly never seen anything that could have been inhabited by an evil spirit sitting on the fireplace at her parents’ house.

  ‘That’s something we’re not sure of. We know that it forges bonds with generations of families through its murders. You say it took your father, Bill?’

  Arnold nodded.

  ‘And I already know that it took both of your parents, Sandy.’ He attempted a look of apology as he spoke the words. ‘I don’t know how it made the original links to your families, but the links it made, it made to both of you. They were the strongest links.’

  ‘What about the first photograph we received?’ Sandy asked.

  ‘That was John Riley. Shimasou killed his mother too. Here comes the frightening part though.’ He felt he needed to provide a warning before telling them how Shimasou was not just threatening them, but also the whole of mankind. Like the rest of it was not frightening enough for Bill and Sandy. Like they could be any more afraid. Like Sandy could feel worse than when she had stood and looked at herself through its eyes. Like Bill would ever be as panicked as when the light had bounced off the barrel of the gun in the bathroom and blinded him.

  ‘By murdering people, Shimasou becomes stronger. It becomes more complete in its human form and its links are extended. It soaks up all of the bad from its victim’s soul, and it gains insights into the minds of their relatives. Closest relatives come first, and it picks them off one by one. By doing so, it gains further links. It also grows stronger.’

  ‘But where does it stop?’ Bill Arnold asked, again demonstrating his willful ignorance to the two other people in the room. Sandy, with a terrified and horrified look on her face, had already realized what Mayhew was trying gently
to tell them.

  ‘It doesn’t Bill. It doesn’t stop. It just carries on, growing and growing in strength, and takes over everyone and everything.’

  ‘No…’ Bill Arnold’s expression changed. He seemed distant - as though he were picturing something deep in his mind. His attention snapped back when Mayhew continued, ‘Unless we stop it, that is.’

  Sandy looked at him with a mixture of amazement and doubt. ‘How can we stop it?’ She based her question on the fact that she had already glimpsed its strength. Mayhew did not know this, but he understood the question.

  ‘I found something when I checked Shimasou out on the Internet. Shimasou has a nemesis called Shimasae. Where the spirit of Shimasou is present, so too is the spirit of Shimasae. But in the same way as Shimasou had to be released, so too does Shimasae.’

  ‘But how?’ Bill asked.

  ‘You must call Shimasae by repeating the names of Shimasou’s victims in the correct order. This allows Shimasae to be released by degrees to unravel the form of Shimasou. You see, if either were released at once in their full being the world would be engulfed by the force of their coming together. I think this storm has something to do with Shimasae. It’s here, waiting, but you need to release it bit by bit.

  Bill and Sandy sat pondering the issue for a moment. Bill was doubtful about the story. How can it be real? he wondered. How can I save the world? I’m no Superman.

  Sandy had no doubts. She would do it. Not for the world, but because she knew that it was the only way for her to survive Shimasou. If she did not survive, then it would form links with Sean and David. She had been ready to stand and fight for what seemed a very long time.