At university she had noticed that guys seemed happiest when they were with other guys, and what they really wanted was a best friend they could shag and love. She had watched blokes change around women, adapt to what they thought women wanted and Vicki had never wanted that, she wanted a man to be genuine with her. At university she had learnt to drink like a man, chow down a kebab in the early hours of the morning, occasionally shag without feeling. Although she didn’t have sex like that anymore. After the first couple of times she had learnt it didn’t lead to anything. She wanted a boyfriend. Instead she had mastered making guys she liked content with the possibility that sex could happen some time. Yet Craig’s eyes wanted something different from her.
She was sure there was mutual attraction between them. She had often thought that it was their sibling-like chemistry and also her idea that he was somehow a kid because he was two years younger, that had stopped anything from happening, but something in Craig’s eyes when they had bantered with each other back at the door made her realise that he was the one that was holding back, waiting. She could see what he wanted from her and it frightened her. He wanted her to be genuine with him, he wanted the real Vicki. Only she wasn’t sure how to be that person.
She could kick herself; she hadn’t wanted guys to change who they were for her, but she had gone and changed for them and lost touch with herself in the process. The Gavin Parker smile she had just experienced was the real her, he had made her stomach flutter, her heart soar. That was love before she got her heart broken a couple of times, before sex would change love into something else, something less simple and innocent. Craig had helped her find it again.
She laughed at herself. All this time she had treated Craig as a kid brother, the sad naïve softy, when she had yet to grow up since university herself. She had been right, blokes loved the way she was, her mix of easy company and unpredictable wildness, but although she had a phone with numbers of guys she could go for a drink and have a laugh with she was still single. Maybe it was Craig’s innocence that drew her to him. She swung the fire door open and stepped onto the landing of the stairwell, letting the techno beat in her head carry her blindly forward in the routine of leaving the building. She wondered how long Craig would wait for her to let her defences down, even though she didn’t understand herself enough to know if that was what she wanted.
She heard the squeal over the electronic tunes in her ears and she stopped dead as she found she wasn’t alone in the stairwell. A ragged stain of a man stood on the landing, a contrast to the stark white and grey of the stairs with his drab clothes smothered in stains of varying shades of evil. His face a mask of grease and drool beyond what was probably a living beard. He stood motionless, startled by her intrusion.
Vicki froze in disgust, not at the foulness of his being, but because of the cat that he held in his hands by its tail. It was limp and motionless and there was a brownish red impact smudge on the wall. She gagged and stepped backwards into a cloud of buzzing fat black flies and clutching hands. She turned sharply, breaking away from their grip.
The dark figure stood tall before her, black crepe hanging over the brim of its top hat, a veil of flies darted in energetic flight around a craggy face of fat and flesh, dried, cooked and raw, fused and knitted to a skeletal face that squirmed with pockets of bloated maggots. Before she could let loose a scream at the grotesque that confronted her, the creature grabbed her arms with sinewy fingers and rammed her backwards.
Vicki yelped with the force and braced herself to be winded against the wall, but instead she was cushioned by a softness that moulded to the shape of her body and pressed against her bare neck with a cold wet touch. The boggy surface, where the wall should have been, matted her hair and crawled across her scalp. The ‘thing’ that scarred her sight pushed against her, its face emotionless.
She kicked her feet furiously at the ground in an attempt to keep her balance and resist the direction she was being forced in. She clenched her eyes against the face that made her want to fold and wretch and managed a scream as the cool viscous sensation crept over her ears onto her cheeks. The substance took hold of her in an unrelenting grip and the creature leaned against her, forcing her further into the seeming depths that consumed her.
The sides of her head became lost in the thickness that engulfed her. The refined crispness of her MP3 played a thrashing Techno beat through her head. Vicki pursed her eyes and mouth shut tight as the lumpy cold concrete oozed over her cheeks and forehead and it smothered her completely. It set solid, fixing her limbs and body in place and pressing snug to her face in a tight gritty mask that bit at her soft flesh with the smallest flex or twitch of her muscles. The heavy oppression of her black surroundings pressed against her psyche with a crushing claustrophobia.
Devoid of the choice between fight or flight Vicki’s terror and panic ached in every muscle and tendon that strained in futile resistance at her incarceration. Rage and frustration erupted from her constricted chest in a scream forced into a muted groan through the gritted teeth of her clamped jaw. She exercised the only movement available to her and wrenched her eyes open. The grit scratched her lids and the displaced dust burnt like white-hot needles against the exposed surface of her eyes. Dust irritated the sensitive lining of her nose and lungs and crunched between her teeth and gritted her tongue, soaking up her saliva. Her music was joined by the only other sounds; the rush of her own blood and the beats of her frantic heart.
The undertaker stood sentinel, its head cocked as it inspected its work.
It watched through the undertakers eyes. What had been a perfect white wall was now an area of grey cement marbled with white paint where the female had been. It had left a small hole, no more than a centimetre to filter air to her nose, curious at how long her mature body could last without sustenance, how long her mind could withstand her ordeal.
Chapter Twenty Five
Craig awoke with a start, flailing from the sofa as if he had physically fought himself free from sleep. He stood wearily in the middle of his lounge, his heart pounding and adrenaline surging redundantly and uncomfortably. He rubbed at his eyes; they ached with the effort of defining his surroundings.
He felt shaken.
In his nightmare there had been an attack; someone was being pushed; smothered. It had all been so vague, just sensations, yet somehow he had been in the thick of the struggle with… With what? In the waking world his nightmares, that had been so vivid, had degraded into shadows and uncertain images and sounds.
He needed a cuppa to wake him up. He stumbled through to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. He leaned against the kitchen cupboards, aware of his groin aching distractingly against the tight crotch of his jeans. That part of himself always woke up before the rest of him. He ignored it, the play would be joyless anyway with the shame that somewhere someone else might have suffered through his nightmares.
The nightmare victim’s fear and terror still lingered, quivering in his chest. He was sure in previous dreams he had even experienced the savageness of their pain – as if he had been there; been the victim. His thoughts stalled with a sudden acuity he had not reached before.
He had not just been the victim.
The ache in his jeans subsided.
He was reluctant to confess it even in thought, but in his nightmares he had felt a fascination, a curiosity and a pleasure from knowledge acquired through the application of terror, pain, amputation, murder and dissection. The feeling of curiosity summoned a memory from childhood. When he was young he had dismantled his first camera, his mum had been furious that he had ruined it and in his defence he had explained that he had done it because he wanted to see how it worked. Back then his curiosity had overcome his consideration of the outcome for something he cherished. Was that disregarding curiosity still within him?
Had his disregard increased? No. He wasn’t capable of any of the things he had dreamt. He felt sick. Just bad dreams. That’s all it was. Except that he had long s
ubscribed to the idea that dreams were the window into the subconscious; the suppressed or unprocessed urges and tastes. No, if he had a fascination with biology and psychology it would have manifested itself in his waking life. He would be hooked on medical procedure programmes, be getting books from the library, not resorting to extreme violence and messing with people’s heads.
Making himself a tea he remembered Vicki and the pictures she needed, he checked his watch for the time and found he had been asleep for two hours. She would be livid. Careful not to spill his tea he headed into his bedroom set his tea down and popped his camera’s memory card into the port on his PC. He was grateful for the mundane routine of work, it anchored him in sanity. The sickening guilt yawned in his gut at the thought of Vicki, it seemed out of proportion, he had only been delayed a couple of hours. She would be pissed at him for making her wait but she would still be pouring her story into her keyboard about now, obsessing about every sentence and word.
He opened his photo software and the file from his camera on his own computer. He jumped as his mobile rang out. He answered it while he flicked through the files. He frowned. “Is that you, Kelly? Why are you whispering?”
“Rachel called in on me. I’m calling you from my room so she can’t hear me.”
“Okay… I think.” The first picture he opened was of him doubled over with motion blurred vomit caught mid-descent. Attractive, he commented to himself before dragging it to the Recycle Bin and dumping it. Vicki wasn’t going to have that one.
“Rachel has an acquaintance that lives at The Heights, but for some reason she is in a coma at hospital and Rachel is concerned about someone who is hanging around watching over her friend. She wants me to encourage him to move on.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Several of the images were of PC Balin in a similar pose to the one Craig had been in. With several clicks and drags of the mouse he prepared several versions of the better pictures by composing them, re-cropping them and increasing their brightness.
“Not really, I said I wouldn’t abuse my power as a police officer, such as it is, but Rachel is really worried for her friend. Only there have been some happenings at the hospital which she thinks are connected to whatever is going on here.”
“Happenings?”
“Rachel will fill you in.”
“She will? When?” Suddenly concerned she might be on her way up to him. He didn’t fancy her company unless Kelly was going to be with her.
“In about ten minutes when you meet us downstairs. Please come with us. I know I have seen things now, but you know I am having a hard time getting my head around all of this. I am scared that if I go with her on my own she will have me believing that Elvis is alive and kicking or believing in leprechauns or something.”
“In the lobby in ten minutes?” He confirmed checking his watch for no reason except habit.
“If you are not busy. Did I wake you?”
“No, I am just finishing up some work.”
“You sound tired. You didn’t have too much wine last night did you?”
He smiled. “No. No. The wine and last night was nice, thanks. Just bad dreams.” The smile faded and he rubbed his face. “I will come with you. It gets me out of this place. I need to clear my head.”
Kelly’s tone became conspiratorial. “Did you hear about the murder? It’s awful. I didn’t know them but I had seen them around. She always seemed so normal.”
Craig decided not to mention he had been to their floor to get pictures. “I didn’t know them either.” Yet he could see glimpses of the butchery. He didn’t know if it was imagination or memory of a nightmare, or something he had seen firsthand. No, that was ridiculous. The officer at the door, Craig’s vomit partner, had described the scene and the crime. Craig’s imagination had done the rest. He opened the photographs of the bloody handprint that Vicki had taken. With a quick bit of editing they were ready. He attached them to an email with a brief note, decided on a kiss after his name, deleted it then punched it back in again and sent it. That would be Vicki happy.
“Ok then, I better go and freshen up and meet you in the lobby.”
“Thanks, Craig.”
“See you in a minute.” Craig put the phone down. Sprayed some deodorant, changed his shirt for a tee-shirt, brushed his teeth, fiddled with his hair, ignored how haggard he looked in the mirror and was ready to go. He suddenly remembered the picture he had taken of Vicki in the hallway and rushed back to his PC to check it.
He couldn’t help but grin, Vicki’s discomfort was almost tangible, but she looked perfect. She looked so natural. Shame she didn’t share that side of her too often. He could love her like that, but that wasn’t going to happen. He suppressed a wave of disappointment. Not meant to be. He moved to close the image window when he saw something in the background. In the small window of the fire escape door at the end of the corridor there was a shadowy figure. He magnified the area but there was no detail, just a silhouette of shoulders and a head – the head was elongated. The hairs on the nape of his neck tingled. It was like the figure was wearing a top hat. The undertaker.
His phone rang. He saw it was Kelly, checked his watch and cursed. He closed the image and headed for the front door. “Sorry, Kelly I am on my way. See you in minute.”
Craig hurried down the corridor to the lift and stabbed the call button several times. He could hear the lift stop above him then the machinery kick in again for it to come down to him. It was followed by some hollow sounding thuds echoing from the shaft as if there was a scuffle in the lift. There was a shout and a piercing shriek that so startled him he leapt back. The cry started above him then rapidly trailed away into a dull crash far below his feet.
The lift door opened and a young boy of about ten or eleven scrambled out, his face white and his eyes rheumy and wet. Craig dropped to his haunches and helped him clear of the doors that were trying to close on his legs. He recognised the boy but couldn’t think where from.
The boy looked up into Craig’s face, his eyes cold and hard. “It – it came for me. I saw it. I saw it.”
After Craig had quietened the hysterical boy down he had found out that his name was Jason and he took him back to his flat and settled him down on the sofa. He called Kelly, who had also heard the cry from the lift shaft and had called for the police and an ambulance. Kelly and Rachel arrived at his flat with a paramedic and a police officer. The paramedic checked Jason over and told them the obvious, that he was in shock and should rest, and the police officer had taken his statement.
“I was in the lift, David and Mikey made me ride it while they were on top. I didn’t see what happened because I was inside the lift, but I heard them shouting at each other, arguing over something then it sounded like it had turned into a fight and that’s when I heard one of them fall.”
They had opened the lift doors in the basement and found Michael Kent’s twisted body at the bottom of the shaft. David Renshaw was missing. The police officer’s conclusion was that David hadn’t hung around to get in trouble. Craig stood by the doorway of his lounge and watched the police officer say a few discrete words to Kelly while Rachel pulled Jason to her side on the sofa. Craig then showed the police officer out and rejoined the others.
Kelly crouched down to Jason’s height. “The officer says they have chatted with the headmaster of your primary school and he has vouched for your character, said how sensible you are and that you have never been in trouble before. Whereas the other two had a record of detentions the length of my arm, mainly for backchat, bunking and bullying, and had received a few cautions from us for the odd bit of truancy and anti-social behaviour.” She rubbed his knee. “They believe you, and you aren’t in any trouble.”
“No news on the missing lad, dear?” Rachel asked.
Kelly shook her head and Rachel tutted.
“They aren’t going to find him either are they Jason?”
Kelly and Rachel turned to Craig but Jason stared into nothing and answer
ed flatly. “No.”
Kelly and Rachel looked puzzled, their attention drifting back to Jason.
“Jason, you gave that police officer a statement that would be easiest for him to accept, didn’t you?”
This time Jason looked up. “I couldn’t tell him what happened. I couldn’t, he wouldn’t have believed me.”
Craig sat on the sofa across from him and Kelly got up from her uncomfortable looking crouch and joined him. “You said ‘it took them’. Tell us about ‘it’, tell us what happened.”
Jason pulled away from Rachel and sat up, looked at each of them in turn and took a deep breath. “It was like I said. They made me use the lift while they were on top, and I was too scared to fight back, but there was no argument. There is something going on here.” He stared into Rachel and his tone became agitated, desperate. “You know there is too. Something took Emily and Amy. It has taken others as well. It’s behind other disappearances, maybe the few deaths that have happened too.”
Rachel rubbed Jason’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We know. We believe you.”
“It has been after me too.”
“You have seen it?” Kelly asked urgently.
“Not at first. Electrical equipment would play up, or I would see flashes of green light. I know that means it’s near, that it’s coming. That’s why I was in the lift. I didn’t want to stay in one place; I thought that if I kept moving it wouldn’t find me. When I was in the lift the lights flickered and there was this noise, like whistling but it got louder like singing or screaming. The lights went out but the lift filled with green light, like someone had opened up the back of the lift and there was a green sun back there, it was so bright. There was something in the light, it was horrible, it’s body and face didn’t have any skin, just bone and muscles. It flew at me with long skinny arms and fingers. It was all ready to grab me. But I had pressed the button for the next floor and the lift went down. The roof passed through it. It went through the roof like some kind of ghost! It couldn’t get me, so instead of grabbing me it must have grabbed David. The green light went and the lights came back on. It took him instead of me.” His eyes were wet and his lip quivered but he didn’t cry. He was one tough kid, Craig decided.
Harvest Page 23
