Scraaaaatch.
She lurched in fright as the sound leapt out at her from the tip of a golden sickle being scored along the ground in a wide arc by a figure sitting hunched on crossed legs in a dark hooded robe, seemingly dressed in the shadow that he sat within. The figures face was hidden but the narrow tongue of white beard that hung out from the dark hood told her it was the same phantom that had appeared to her at Craig’s flat the night Amy had been taken. The figure let the sickle rest on the floor and held its hand up to Rachel, offering her something.
She eyed the familiar figure warily, her confidence returning as she fell back on her old belief that the spirit world was benign. She reached out and found a small object deposited into her palm. The old man’s cold rough fingers withdrew leaving a single small stone in her hand. The stone was engraved with the ‘Jera’ rune. She could see that the rune that represented the harvest was symbolic of what was happening. “But why? Why are children – people being taken?” The figure didn’t answer.
The engraving changed before her eyes, the two separate symbols ran smoothly together like beads of mercury joining as one and formed a line with a triangular shape jutting fin-like from one side. She recognised the symbol as ‘Thurisaz’ and its significance branded itself upon her. The rune symbolised destiny through suffering, the endurance of chaos and the confrontation with the monster. The monster. Her hand burned in a wild flash-fire of pain, as if the rune itself was evil and reacted against Rachel’s innocence and purity. She let the hot rune fall and it passed seamlessly into the ground like a ghost. Shaken, she turned sharply to the sage for an answer, but he had followed the rune and she was alone once again but for the dread prophecy of ‘Thurisaz’. That she would face the monster.
Chapter Thirty One
Five doors down from Cat’s flat the fluorescent tube of the corridor flickered, buzzed and died, plunging the section of corridor outside Liz Dancey’s flat into thick darkness.
Moll Dancey tiptoed on her red plastic step bringing her level with the bathroom sink and stared at her cold fluorescent lit reflection in the mirror. She brushed her teeth thoroughly with her Disney toothbrush, Mickey Mouse’s plastic head dug into her small pale coloured palm. She pulled at the flannel of her pyjama bottoms that were riding uncomfortably high after going to the toilet. The fluorescent on the mirror flickered and for uncomfortable seconds the darkness stole all the detail of the bathroom and an alternative room where everything was painted black replaced it. All Molly could see of her dark face were her white eyes and the toothpaste spit around her mouth. She left the brush in her mouth and slapped the mirror mounted light. It buzzed lazily and came back to life leaving Molly staring around her, uncertain if she could trust the light to stay with her. She didn’t like the dark.
Uncomfortably, she began to think her mum should have come to hurry her along into her bed by now. She had left her to dry herself and get herself ready after her bath while her mum had gone to see who had called at the front door. With the brush in her mouth she opened the bathroom door and peeked out. The hallway was dark with only a shaft of light from the lounge giving away any details from the gloom. The front door was open and it was dark in the corridor outside. She frowned. Why was the front door open? Why were the lights outside out? Where was mum? Something was wrong. Mum never left the door open at night. Just lately she never left it unlocked, even in the daytime.
A thick drop of white Colgate saliva fell from her mouth to the carpet. Moll slurped the toothpaste from her lips and stepped back from the mess soaking into the carpet, she wiped at her mouth crudely; mum would be mad.
Except mum was lying on the floor.
She didn’t look mad, she looked asleep, but Moll knew she couldn’t be. Mum would never sleep on the floor, and the way she was laying looked too uncomfortable to sleep, and her eyes were wide open and staring out from her dark face. They weren’t blinking. More toothpaste spit splattered the carpet. “Mum?” Something moved in the dark behind her mum.
Moll saw that they were the black grubby toes of men’s shoes picked out by the dim light from the lounge. The shoes were wrong. Daddy didn’t live there anymore. Even if he did they wouldn’t be dirty like that. Even though they didn’t love each other any more daddy would not be standing there while mum was lying funny on the floor. There was a shape above the shoes that she couldn’t make out. The shadows were too dark. “MUM!”
The shoes suddenly moved. The stepped over her mum towards Moll, the buzz of flies filled the air. She turned back into the bathroom, slammed and locked the door and backed up towards the sink. The fluorescent light on the mirror was flickering again. She found herself whining, she wanted to pee again. She heard her whine grow louder. Then she realised it wasn’t her voice at all; the sound was all around her. She peed hot and freely down her legs as a sound built over her shoulder and she knew there was something else impossibly behind her. Her arms were snatched painfully behind her before she could turn. In one tug Moll was yanked backwards off her feet into a green fire. Mickey Mouse gagged her scream.
Rachel had decided to get the hell out of the building after the warnings she had received on the stairs, but only two steps down she had stopped herself. Cat was really the only source of information they had now. If she gave up on pursuing Cat then Craig was right, all they could do was wait for the next disappearances or attacks and hope that they might offer some kind of answers. Rachel had pressed on with her original direction and intention, but this time her bag was open and her mobile phone was at the ready. If something was going to happen to her she was going to call Kelly and shout out any details she could before she could be taken.
Rachel faced Cat’s door hesitantly. She had been unsure of the reception she might receive on her last visit to Cat’s flat, but after the hospital she had more of an idea. A cool blade of fear ran under every inch of her skin at the thought of how Malik had been defeated at the hospital. Just what had happened to Cat before or during that coma?
Cat had always been a special child but the ability she seemed to demonstrate at the hospital was beyond seeing and talking to those that had passed. Her own talent gave her a unique perspective but Cat’s power was more than any ability Rachel had thought possible or dared to believe in. What else could Cat be capable of? This new ability filled her with an unease she didn’t want to admit to; especially concerning someone she cared for. Malik had come close to killing Cat before she had been able to retaliate, maybe Cat didn’t have much control over her power. Rachel had heard theories that poltergeist activity and paranormal mental abilities sometimes shared a symbiotic relationship with strong emotion. Perhaps the power had been summoned by Cat’s fear?
Cat resented Rachel. Hate was another strong emotion.
The warning Rachel had received on the staircase and the symbolism of the rune grew more ominous. Cat hated Rachel, but she couldn’t accept that Cat could harm her physically, yet the fear remained. Cat couldn’t be the monster.
Rachel rattled the door knocker gently and waited. The end of the corridor was dark. Strange that she couldn’t see the orange glow of city’s night sky. In fact it was so dark it was hard to see where the corridor actually finished. The fluorescent tube nearest that end of the corridor flickered sporadically. It was so quiet on this level that she could hear its ticking and rasping death rattle. Every time it dimmed or winked out the corridor became shorter and the darkness stepped closer. When it came back from nothing it was momentarily brighter and Rachel could see further into the darkness beyond. She could see legs. Someone was standing idly against a wall: waiting. Though she only saw snatches of his profile in the bursts of light she was sure his eyes were on her: watching. Probably someone was having a cigarette outside their home. She couldn’t see the single red-eye of a cigarette burning from the dark. His presence after the warning woman and the symbols of the runes on the stairs fed the sense of dread she carried inside her.
The door tore open and Rachel’s world c
rashed suddenly into focus on Cat. For several long moments they both stood in silence, Rachel’s hands trembled and emotion tightened her throat and lips.
“How did you get in?” Cat demanded.
“Kelly let me in…” Rachel smiled as best as she could with her face feeling like it was carved from stone.
“Shouldn’t you be at her door then and not mine?”
“I came to see you. I got Kelly to buzz me in because after this afternoon I didn’t think you would let me in.”
“You expect it to be different now?”
Rachel dared to exert some attitude. “I just walked up fourteen floors to get this far. I was hoping for a little respite.” If she could get invited in then maybe half the battle would be won.
“I think you will find gravity makes it easier going down,” Cat stated pointing in that direction.
Rachel’s resolve faltered and she slumped. Did Cat hate her so much? “Cat. If it wasn’t for me and my friends being there at the hospital this afternoon we most likely wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.” Her tone held a balance of force and authority. She watched Cat break eye-contact as her resolve seemed to wane and consider Rachel’s point. Rachel wanted to keep her locked in the stand off, hoping she could defeat her, but she took advantage of the break in the stare-down for a brief look for the man that hung at the edge of the shadow.
Cat caught her and followed her look, and when their eyes locked again something had changed in her face; she appeared uncertain. Cat glanced back into the shadows at the end of the corridor and then, still looking distracted and transfixed by the dark she stood close to her door to make room for Rachel to enter her flat. Rachel didn’t bother to confirm if that was indeed what the gesture meant and moved into the hall of Cat’s flat. After a few seconds Cat followed Rachel in and shut the door behind her, although the way her eyes darted between Rachel and the door it was clear that she was still distracted by the watcher. Cat folded her arms and sniffed coolly. “Okay. You have five minutes to explain.”
One door down from Cat’s flat, Maureen Brooke clambered back into her bed. She had just read her nightly ten pages of the good book when she had heard the sound of a neighbour’s door knocker being rattled. She heard the comings and goings in the corridor clearly because she made sure all the doors between her and her front door were open. She liked to listen out for people in the corridor. She had gotten out of bed to see who might be calling on her neighbour Catherine – Catherine was too nice a name to bastardise to Cat as Catherine liked to do). Maureen recognised the visitor as the queer lady who came looking for Catherine the day before. The woman had taken to a funny turn in the lounge. Not only were the two women not close, but judging by the frosty reception the woman received for Catherine they didn’t get on at all.
Maureen would call in on Catherine tomorrow and give her back the key she had taken the night she had been taken ill. She would have to explain about the cat running away. Was the poor lil kitten safe? It would be in her prayers that it finds a loving home. Not with Catherine though. It would be better off with someone who could give it a stable home. Pets needed the same commitment from its owners as children needed from their parents. Catherine was too young to be a responsible owner. The day after Catherine had been admitted to hospital Maureen had let herself into her flat, after all it wasn’t often you had the opportunity to find out what your neighbours were truly like. She had not found the drugs she suspected she would find, not that she needed any evidence of drug taking beyond Catherine’s ‘episode’. She had, however, found a packet of contraceptive sheaths in her bedside drawer.
Flavoured.
Yes. She would pray that the poor kitten would find a new home. One that wouldn’t have men coming and going. A family home or some lone person who was not looking to spend their affections elsewhere. She remembered the sweet smell of the contraceptives and she suddenly wanted a pear-drop. She plucked one from the bag next to her bed and sucked it with relish.
Maureen straightened her nightdress under her and smoothed the blankets out on top of her. Neat bed, neat dreams. She turned her table lamp off and settled into her pillow. She rattled the bulbous sweet around her mouth and checked the time the red digits of her alarm clock displayed. If she heard Catherine’s guest leave she would check the time again, see how long the visit had been. The look on Catherine’s face gave Maureen the impression her guest would not be staying long. She would ask after Catherine’s late-caller when she returned the key and see if she might elaborate.
She had always used the spy hole if she heard voices or movement from beyond the confines of her flat, and after recent events she didn’t like leaving her home and the distorted fish-eye lens on the world had been visited more often. She had enough food for another day but the milk was going sour. It was unlike Phyllis, who normally got her groceries, to not come up from her floor and see if Maureen needed any shopping brought in. She had been disappointed at being forgotten, but now the sudden break of routine worried her, she might have taken to hiding away like herself or… she didn’t want to think about it. Too many bad things had happened in the flats without thinking the worst as well. The prospect of having to go out into the corridors to search out her friend out was daunting. She was now more focussed on the threat within the building than the menace the outside world had once represented.
The door knocker rattled firmly, and this time the noise frightened her because this time it was her door knocker. She tutted to herself around her sweet. There was no way she would open the door at this time of night. The red digits of her clock trembled with her. She slapped the clock gently but the display stopped flickering on its own. The knocker sounded again, but harder this time, rattling the door and her heart in her chest.
Her eyes suddenly stung, and she had to blink and squint against the light from her bedside lamp that had somehow switched on of its own accord. She jolted and swallowed her pear-drop as the alarm clock suddenly unleashed Classic FM much louder than she would ever normally have it. The almost whole sweet made a slow and painful descent down her windpipe with the funerary sweeps of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A cramming itself in her ears. She fumbled with the clocks controls with trembling hands and killed the music, her heart in her throat and the pear-drop still sinking. She couldn’t help thinking the light and the clock were trying to give away her presence to her unwanted and persistent caller. She snapped the light off and pressed herself back into her pillow, clamped her eyes shut, snatched breaths through taut lips, and clasped the sheets up to her chin. She was instantly still.
The door knocker didn’t sound again.
Maureen’s stomach writhed with unease. Something was out of kilter. It wasn’t as dark behind her eyelids as it should have been. She opened her eyes and could make out details of the room much more clearly than she normally could. She turned sharply to the lamp. The bulb was glowing like dull embers. She felt for the switch. It was off. There was a hum. Not of electricity, but the sound of vibration. The lamp was trembling, as was the alarm clock. She could feel it in the bed also.
Maureen sat bolt upright as the lamp suddenly began to rattle and then quake on the bedside cabinet. Her ears began to fill with the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. The lamp became lifeless again. What had caused that… that possession? Ol’ Nick at work? Maureen surveyed the dark shapes within the room looking for phantoms and beasts among the shrouded furniture and corners.
She wrestled with her anxiety; the sound of her blood was growing in her ears, reaching a crescendo. Only it wasn’t her blood. It was a faint howling. The wind, she dismissed. There was a broken window at the end of the corridor outside. That was it. No – no it wasn’t. It was in the room with her, coming from her headboard. A glowing arm lanced up either side of her before she could investigate. She screamed a dry cracked scream as elongated fingers laced firmly together around her mid-section, she quickly pulled at the gristly bones but made little impression on them. The
mattress gave way into nothingness as if a trap door had opened and the arms snatched her down into a swallowing blaze of green light.
The light bathed her, wrapping itself around her in a cloying embrace that soaked through her nightclothes and became close and warm against her skin leaving it tingling and itching. Maureen clenched her eyes as her face became smothered by the pressure all around her body. She pursed her thin lips against the softness that threatened to fill her mouth and lungs. Her eyes flicked open and a cramped green world of shadowy shapes pressed itself against her eyeballs. Maureen thrashed to fight free, but the surrounding translucent liquid that suspended her upright mired her movements while the itching of her skin progressed to a distracting stinging irritation.
Her vision focussed while she struggled against the confines of her new world and some of the shapes became sickeningly recognisable as bones and limbs, then something infinitely more familiar; a child’s face, her neighbours girl Moll Dancey, her eye sockets empty her face slowly drifting away in the liquid like tendrils of slowly melting dark ice. The girl twitched suddenly and Maureen withdrew in terror from the child who seemed to still be alive, only to see the girls head disintegrate abruptly, coming apart completely in a slow moving brown-reddish murk in the wake of her sudden movement.
Maureen gave up the last of her held breath to scream, only to be silenced as she sucked in mouthfuls of the viscous liquid that was burning deep down into her skin. She swam as furiously as she could, but barely moved within the tight claustrophobic embrace of her surroundings. Desperate panic raced through her as she choked on the thick environment that now reached inside her frail body and delicate lungs and she found her nylon night dress breaking down, dissolving around her body in coloured streaks in the liquid around her.
Harvest Page 30
