He heard a noise above his head and turned, climbing over thick branches, the stairs creaking under the weight of the plant’s advances as he made it up to the landing. He heard a muffled scream from the bedroom and had to squeeze through the gap in the door, unable to push it any wider due to the sheer weight of leaves pressing against it from the other side as if trying to keep him out.
“Are you in here?”
There was a squeak from the wardrobe in the far corner and he tore at the leaves with his hands, yanking tendrils away from the stems draped across the bed, causing the plant to shudder as if in pain. A thorn tore his trouser leg as he pushed past it, blood dripping down his thigh by the time he finally made it to the wardrobe.
He kicked a space clear so he could pull the door open enough to peer inside. All he could see was bramble filling the entire space. “Alison?” He caught a glimpse of something gleaming. He squinted and leaned his head forwards, trying to work out what it was. Then it hit him. Just visible through the thick mass of leaves was a pair of eyes blinking back at him.
“Alison,” he gasped, thrusting his arms into the wardrobe, his muscles screaming as he yanked as hard as he could, trying to unravel the knotted mess of branches holding her captive. The skin on his arms was shredded by the thorns but he hardly noticed, his mind fixated on freeing his wife. He felt something grip his ankle and looked down to see a length of dark green living wood wrap itself round him, holding his leg in place. He tried to stamp it away with his other foot but another branch slid round his chest, gripping him tightly, forcing him forwards into the wardrobe, pressing his body into the waiting thorns.
Blood began to trickle from a thousand tiny cuts as the door was pushed closed behind him. In the darkness all he could do was stare at Alison’s eyes as he watched life fading from them. He opened his mouth to scream but before he could make a sound, a long tendril slid inside and began to run its way down his throat. He tried to gag but it was too late. The last thing he saw was two tiny thin green twigs that looked a lot like snakes sliding towards his face. A second later they pierced his eyeballs, fluid burning down his cheeks as the darkness took him.
Enid sat up in bed sipping her tea as Cynthia listened patiently by her side, letting her ramble. “He was such a lovely man. Charles, I think his name was. He made sure we got the best price we could for the house. Eric was so grateful he even gave him a cutting of his favourite plant. Do you know what an honour that was?”
Cynthia nodded and smiled in response
“Potted it up the day we moved out and called in to give it to him, left it on his desk. I hope he’s looking after it. Lovely bramble that was. Berries all year round.” She paused, a smile playing lightly across her lips. “Made ever such a good crumble.”
That’s the Way To Do It
Glen looked at his watch, twenty minutes until the bell was due to ring and another school day would begin. “I’m telling you I saw him.”
“You didn’t!”
Glen looked at his two friends bickering and tried to decide whether or not to intervene. There was a chance they’d turn on him instead “Right,” he said at last. “Why don’t we just go down there tomorrow and watch it together. We’ll sit there all day if we have to if it’ll stop you two going on at each other.”
The next morning they met at the end of the promenade next to the beach huts. The sun was barely up and all three of them were yawning as they walked past the miniature railway towards the Punch and Judy hut. Glen wondered if they were really going to be the ones who identified him. It had started as a simple question. Had anyone seen the guy who put on the Punch and Judy shows? But the more people he asked, the deeper the mystery and the more determined he’d become to identify him. Nobody seemed to have ever seen him.
The hut was a simple wooden construction with a red and white curtain over the hole two thirds of the way up the front. Every day throughout the summer season there’d be a show. The guy was always hidden out of sight as the puppets carried out their timeless pantomime for the tourists. Punch hit Judy, Judy hit Punch, the policeman hit them both. A crocodile and some sausages get involved and a ghost puts in an appearance near the end. Glen used to like watching it when he was little but he’d long grown out of it.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy that ran the thing. He never stuck his head into view, talking only through a microphone hooked up to an oversized speaker that blasted out “That’s the way to do it,” at ear-splitting volume from the roof of the hut.
Carl and Adam both had their own theories. Carl was adamant the guy turned up first thing in the morning and left after dark each day. Glen wasn’t so sure. What would be the point in that? And who’d stay in what was basically a wooden shed for twelve or more hours a day seven days a week?
Adam was convinced the story he’d heard from a mate of his sister’s cousin was the real truth. The man in the hut had died years ago but was still doing what he loved, putting on the show every day without anyone realising he was as much a ghost as the tiny white cloth puppet on his hand. Glen knew this was bull but when asked for his theory he realised he didn’t have one. He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to know, it wasn’t that important after all. It was only that he’d got it in his head to find out and that was enough for him and it seemed for Adam and Carl too, following his lead.
It was a little after eight as they neared the hut. “What’s that?” Adam asked, pointing at Glen’s hand.
“A flask. Why?”
“Nothing. You going trainspotting afterwards?”
“It might be a long day. I’ve brought some tea with me. Problem?”
“No Granddad. It’s fine by me. Did you bring a blanket and slippers too?”
The waves crashed on the beach beside them as the tide slowly ebbed away, leaving a smooth expanse of golden sand ready for the day visitors to trample across. The three boys reached the hut a minute later, Glen stopping as he looked at it. “We should see if he’s in there already. Carl can do the honours.”
“Why me?”
“Because I want to prove you wrong. I don’t think he’s in there yet.”
“Fine.” Carl sighed and walked up to the hut, pulling the curtain away to peer inside. “Nope, nothing” he said, sounding disappointed. “Bang goes that idea then.”
“Let’s sit up there,” Adam said, pointing up the rolling hill past the beach huts. “We’ll be able to see anyone coming from up there. Did you bring your camera Carl?”
“Yep.”
They squatted down behind a hawthorn bush and peered over the top, Glen feeling like a spy for MI5.
Half an hour passed and their initial excitement began to subside, replaced by boredom. “Are we really going to sit here all day?” Carl asked.
“Shut up,” Glen said. “We’re doing this so we know. Don’t back out when we’ve only just got here.”
“Fine, I’ll be back in a minute then.”
“Where are you going?” Adam asked as Carl got up and began walking up the hill towards the housing estate at the top.
“Newsagents, get some supplies. Want anything?”
Adam frowned as Glen maintained his vigil on the hut. “Something fizzy.”
Carl nodded before carrying on, leaving Adam and Glen together. A minute later Glen pointed at the far end of the prom. “Look!” They watched as a white transit van bumped up the curb from the road, hazard lights flashing as it crawled through the thin layer of sand washed up off the beach onto the concrete. The van stopped in front of the hut, blocking their view. “Move,” Glen whispered to the van. “We can’t see. Trust him to have gone off with the camera.” He could only make out a hand on the steering wheel from this angle, the identity of the driver was hidden.
“Let’s go down and have a look,” Adam said.
“No wait. Listen.”
They heard the side door opening on the other side of the van before it slammed shut again a moment later. The engine restarted and the van began to
reverse back up the prom.
They looked at the hut, the curtains were tightly shut but it was rocking slightly. Someone was inside.
“Should we go down?” Adam asked.
“What if he is a ghost?”
“Seriously?”
“Well, he might be. Let’s wait for Carl to get back. We might be the first kids to get a proper genuine ghost photo.”
By the time Carl reappeared, pockets stuffed with sweets, the first show had started. Only three families were gathered on the wall opposite the hut when the speaker came to life in a burst of feedback.
“Good morning kiddywinkles,” the man in the hut said. Glen shuddered at the sound of his heavy breathing, the microphone as ever was too close to his mouth. Every other word was punctuated by the wheezing exhalation of a heavy smoker, not that the families watching seemed to care.
“Thank you all for coming and a big hello from Mr Punch!” The hook nosed puppet appeared as the curtains opened, a tiny wooden hand waving out at the crowd. “Say hello kiddywinkles.”
Two of the braver children called out, “Hello.”
“You can do better than that, can’t you? Hello kiddywinkles.”
This time the parents joined in too. “Hello Mr Punch.”
“That’s the way to do it!”
When the show finished twenty minutes later there was a polite round of applause. “He has to come out some time,” Carl said through a mouthful of toffee.
“Next show in ten minutes kiddywinkles.”
Glen was surprised that his friends lasted all day by his side, neither of them grumbling about this being a waste of a good Saturday. Maybe it was because they took turns to visit the shop for further supplies as the afternoon wore on until at last it reached six o’clock, time for the last show. He had to come out after that.
“Let’s move,” Adam suggested. “Make sure the van doesn’t block our view again.”
“Good idea,” Carl replied. “I’ll go the other side with the camera. You two keep an eye out from here.” He stood up and walked down the hill as the last show was reaching its conclusion. Glen watched him squeeze himself between the end two beach huts, head peering out, camera in hand.
“See you tomorrow kiddywinkles,” Mr Punch waved as the curtains closed for the last time. Glen felt suddenly tense when he saw the van crawling along the promenade again, weaving its way through the dwindling crowds of sunburnt tourists still munching their ice creams and fish and chips.
It parked in the same spot as before, blocking his and Adam’s view. They heard the side door open and then close as it had that morning and then the van began to drive away. They walked down the hill, hoping Carl had done his job. They looked round the side of the beach hut but he was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know do I?” Adam said. “Gone home?”
“Carl!” Glen shouted but there was no answer. He jumped when the speaker on top of the hut squealed into life again. “Hello kiddywinkles, time for a special show just for you two.”
“Look mate,” Glen said, walking over to the curtain. “We’re not in the mood for mucking about. Have you seen our friend?”
“Naughty kiddywinkles for spying.” The curtain opened and the Mr Punch puppet appeared in view. “Mr Punch only wants to entertain kiddywinkles, don’t you Mr Punch?” The puppet nodded vigorously.
Glen had had enough. He leaned past the puppet to look inside the hut. “You’re mental mate,” he began. “Ouch!” The puppet slammed into the side of his head, sending him reeling backwards.
“That’s the way to do it!”
Adam lunged to grab the puppet but it moved too quickly, disappearing back inside the hut. A gloved hand appeared holding a catapult with a smooth round pebble placed inside. Adam had time to blink before the pebble shot forwards, smashing into his nose, sending a spray of blood down his chin.
“That’s the way to do it!”
Glen and Adam ran forwards at the same time, grabbing the sides of the hut, aiming to push it over. The puppet policeman appeared, holding a small metal canister. “Here’s a joke kiddywinkles. What hurts more than sea spray? CS spray! Geddit?”
The top of the canister began to hiss as a mist of liquid squirted out, hitting Glen and Adam square in the face. They both fell back, crying out in pain as their eyes began to water uncontrollably.
A figure emerged from the back of the hut but Glen’s vision was too blurred to be able to see anything more than a dark shadow. “End of the show kiddywinkles,” the figure said, grabbing the two boys by the shoulders and pulling them into the hut. Glen rubbed his eyes as he looked up to see the man’s face for the first time. His mouth was open to reveal yellow needle sharp teeth. As he watched with weeping eyes the man turned and bit into Adam’s head, tearing a chunk from his scalp to reveal the skull underneath. Glen retched as the man leaned back, sucking in Adam’s skin and hair before swallowing loudly.
Adam began to scream as the man leaned down again, his teeth digging into Adam’s tongue. With a tearing sound, the tongue was ripped from his mouth. Adam fell back against the wall of the booth, his mouth spraying blood.
Glen was frozen with fear as the man leaned down towards his friend once more, this time his teeth penetrating the skull as he began to suck out the cranial fluid within.
The man wiped his mouth as he let go of Adam before turning to Glen. Adam’s body fell to the floor, not moving, fluid draining out of the hole in his skull. “Hope you enjoyed the show.” Blood dripped from the man’s teeth as he leaned down towards Glen who lashed out at him, spurred into action at last as adrenaline filled his body. He fought wildly in a final attempt to get away from this…this thing.
The man grabbed Glen’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, licking his lips as he grinned broadly. He bit down into Glen’s wrist, tearing the hand away from his arm. He crunched the bone and gristle as Glen stared in disbelief at the stump of his wrist.
The man swallowed and closed the gap between him and Glen. He grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned down towards his face. “That’s the way to do it,” he said as his teeth tore into Glen’s head. Glen tried to scream, his vision fading but his body wouldn’t react. He felt his legs giving way and then he was laid on the floor of the booth, staring across at the pile of puppets beside the corpse of his friend. He felt a pressure on his back and then a wetness as his spine was ripped out of him and then he felt nothing at all.
The hut was gone the next morning, nothing left to show where it had been save for two dark stains on the concrete. Two hundred miles away in a small seaside town on the west coast a sign had appeared overnight, propped up beside a small hut that had a red and white curtain across the hole in the front. ‘Punch and Judy show starts here today. Free fun for all kiddywinkles.’
Emily Ragdoll
“What’s that Daddy?” she asked, noticing his hands clasped behind his back. “Is it something for me?” She stuck out a pudgy hand.
“What, this?” he replied, bringing out a brightly wrapped package tied with a red bow. “I bought it in India. They said it was magic and will always look after its owner, no matter what. It’s for you Clare”
She jumped for joy. It wasn’t often her father came home from his job overseas. Last time she’d still been in nappies and when one leaked on his lap he’d hit her so hard she’d lost the hearing in her left ear. But this time he’d brought her a real present!
She knelt down on the living room rug and tore open the paper to see what was hiding inside. “It’s a dolly!” she cried, lifting it up and examining her new friend from every possible angle.
“Do you like it?” he asked, picking his pipe up from the ashtray and puffing heartily on the end.
“I love it Daddy.”
He leaned down to pick her up, grinning at her. “Good. Now I want you to do something for me in return.” He held her in his arms and a strange look came over his face. She frowned up at him as he stroked her bare leg. “You will
be a good girl for Daddy won’t you?”
“I’m going to call her Emily,” she said, holding the doll up towards her father. “Ow!” she said as he gripped her too tightly. “Put me down Daddy, please.”
“In a minute,” he replied, his face looking flushed all of a sudden. “I want to…to show you something else first.” Sweat appeared on his forehead as she looked up at him. He blinked once, opened his mouth and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
He was dead before he hit the floor, leaving her trapped in his arms, screaming for help. Her mother found her there when she came home two hours later, Clare’s throat hoarse from crying out for anyone to help her daddy.
That night she was alone in her bedroom with the doll, holding it tightly to her chest and sobbing quietly, wishing her mother had let her come to the hospital as well, instead of leaving her stuck at home with Auntie Mary.
Her bottom hurt from where Auntie Mary had smacked her when she’d asked for something to eat. She went to sleep with her stomach grumbling and had woken up in darkness to the sound of rustling at the end of the bed. She sat up and saw the doll over by the open door.
“Where are you going Emily Ragdoll?” she asked, wondering if she was dreaming. The doll turned to face her and lifted one cloth hand to her face as if shushing her. She watched the doll walk out onto the landing with interest. This was a funny dream. Quietly, she climbed out of bed and reached the landing in time to see Emily hop down the stairs and into the lounge. She could also see Auntie Mary through the banisters, snoring in front of the flickering TV, neck tilted backwards, mouth wide open.
Emily clambered onto the sofa and picked up Auntie Mary’s knitting, sliding out one of her long knitting needles and holding it up to the light.
Emily turned towards Auntie Mary and rammed the knitting needle straight down into her open mouth. The end burst through the front of her throat as Auntie Mary shot to her feet, grasping for the needle. She pulled it out and threw it aside, pressing her hands to the hole in her throat, trying frantically to stop the bleeding.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 5
