His keys were dangling from the showerhead, just visible so he reached out and grabbed them. He noticed a hint of movement below him and looked down as something lunged upwards towards him.
He couldn't see what it was in the dark but whatever it was, it was after him. He turned to run as it giggled again but his feet slipped on the tiles and he crashed to his knees, wincing with pain as terror gripped him. Scrambling to his feet he made it back through the changing rooms, tripping over a length of cable that knotted round his ankle, bringing him to his knees again. He screamed as he put his hands out only for them to plunge into a coiled mess of barbed wire, the metal barbs gouging chunks out of his skin.
The thing lurched after him, sniffing the air. He felt an intense pain in his ankle as the thing latched onto it, the bone snapping with a sickening crunch. He lashed out with his foot and sent it flying backwards. He crawled forwards, the barbed wire slicing through his legs as he made it out to the hall. He got his hands on the fridge and used it to pull himself upright.
He limped past the fridge, holding onto the wall and leaving bloody smears on the flaking paint as he tried to force himself on. He made it to the door and was about to step outside when the thing pounced on him. He screamed and lashed out, his fist connecting with it and sinking in past bristling foul smelling fur. He pulled his hand free and got outside, limping across the gravel, his car visible in the distance. He gripped his keys tight in his hand, not daring to look back but hoping with all his heart that the thing didn't like daylight. He couldn't hear it behind him as he limped as fast as he could, ankle in agony, blood trickling down his wrists and shins. The car was just yards away.
He set his foot down wrong, twisting his good ankle and falling to the ground. Not now, not now. You're so close. He pulled himself along by his hands, reaching the car at last, unlocking it, yanking the door open and throwing himself in. He was just pulling his leg in after him when the thing pounced again, pulling him back out of the car, his nails scratching lines into the leather seats as he fought to remain inside.
"No!" he screamed as the thing climbed up onto his back, talons sliding over his head, rough fingers pressing into his eye sockets and blinding him as thick nails dug into his squirming face. He spun round and threw a punch but this time the thing caught his hand and bit hard into it, making him scream all the louder.
Adrenaline gave him strength and he kicked upwards, the thing slamming into the ceiling of the car. He kicked again and felt it loosen its grip. He tried to wipe his eyes to see but his vision wouldn't come. Had it blinded him? It grabbed his shoulders as he felt for a neck, hoping to throttle it before it could do any more damage. He felt claws at his own neck and then the wetness on his skin as his jugular was pierced, arterial blood gushing out and coating the inside of the car. His grip on it faded as he began to weaken. The sound of the thing smacking its lips together was the last thing he heard.
Ten minutes later someone looking a lot like Joe sat in the driver's seat of his car and wiped its mouth. He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror, rictus grin and unblinking eyes the only sign this wasn't Joe, that the few remains of Joe were stored in the fridge next to the remains of the other few unfortunates who had visited the quarry once too often. None of them had come by car though, they’d all been on foot. A car was something new.
The man started the engine and drove slowly, stalling twice as he crunched through the gears. He was a quick learner though and by the time he was a mile down the road, he was trundling along quite happily just like everyone else heading for work, soon lost in the sea of cars heading into the city, licking his lips as he thought about starting a hard day’s work.
Life in the Country
The door flew open and Keith staggered in, covered in blood. "What on earth?" Liz asked, looking up from her knitting. "What's happened? Are you all right"? She jumped up, wrapping her arms round him as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"The birds," he managed to get out as he slumped onto the sofa. "The birds."
Liz ran through to the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel, soaking it under the cold tap before wiping the blood from his face. He stank but she was used to that. Being married to a gamekeeper, you got used to a lot of things. 4am starts, filth coating his boots every time he came home, having to help him carry those enormous sacks of feed. But if she lived a hundred years longer, she'd never get used to the look in his eyes as he stared at her and cried out, "Drink!"
Liz ran back to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of whiskey, lifting it to his mouth as he suddenly sat upright, listening to the noise of the pheasants outside. He gulped at the whiskey before standing up. "We need to ring the police," he said, grabbing the phone and punching the nine button three times. "Police," he said into the phone, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited to be connected. "Hello? Hello?"
He put the phone down and turned to Liz. "They cut the line." He grabbed her shoulders. "What do we do?"
"Calm down Keith," she said, trying to reassure him. "You're frightening me."
"The birds Liz, the bloody birds." His voice was becoming shrill as he pulled the curtains open and stared out into the darkness.
"Honey, you're not making any sense. Come and sit down, please. There, now what are you talking about?"
He sighed, his hands shaking. "I went to the sheds to look for Sid but I couldn't find him. I just saw all the feedbags scattered on the grass."
"Like last time he got drunk. Did he do this to you? Did he hit you again?"
"No, it's nothing like that. Just listen. I was carrying the empty bags and I opened the first shed to dump them in there. The birds were skittish, flapping about more than usual, out of sorts. I thought a dog had maybe spooked them all. It was like they were watching me. There was something in the corner behind them and it was as if they were trying to hide it. I had to kick them out the way, they weren't shying like they should."
He lapsed into silence. "What was it?" Liz asked, an arm round his shoulder to comfort him.
"It was Sid. They'd been eating him. God, Liz, his eyes were gone. It was awful. I went to get him but they attacked me, forced me out. I didn't know what to do so I came home. And now they've cut the phone line."
"Listen to yourself. Pheasants don't do things like that. They don't attack people. This isn't a Hitchcock film. The phone line comes down all the time, you know that. You just stay there and I'll pop round to use the phone next door."
"No!" He grabbed her. "Don't go outside. Promise me. You didn't see what they'd done. I could see the bones in his hands, they were peeling his skin off."
"All right, all right. Look, I'll stay. At least let me make you a cup of tea. You're always calmer after a tea."
He started giggling, on the verge of hysteria as Liz went to switch the kettle on. In the distance she could hear the pheasants in their sheds as she searched through the drawers for his tablets. Only one left. She ground it up on the counter top with the back of a spoon before pouring the powder into his tea. It had been a long time since his last attack but she was glad she'd kept the tablets around just in case.
When she'd first married Keith, his parents had warned her about things like this. They told her about the time he'd thought something was coming through his bedroom wall to kill him, the day he was excluded from school for stabbing a teacher, convinced she wasn't human. The stories got worse and worse until the doctors finally found the medication that worked for him.
He hadn't had any major attacks since they'd been married because his parents had given her the tablets on the day after the wedding, making sure he didn't see the transaction. She'd kept them hidden ever since, always on the look out for any warning signs. Whenever they came, she simply crushed one up and that knocked him out for a few hours. He'd wake up right as rain afterwards as if nothing had happened.
What worried Liz as she carried the tea back through wasn't evil pheasants with a taste for human flesh, it was whether or not Keith had do
ne something to Sid, something that had caused all that blood to splatter across his face.
"Drink this," she smiled warmly, passing him the tea and watching him gulp it down, seemingly oblivious to the scalding heat.
She sat beside him on the sofa as his eyelids began to droop. In less than a minute he was fast asleep and she lowered him onto his side, putting a blanket over him before picking up the van keys, her hand shaking as she opened the door and dashed out into the cold. She wanted to get to the pharmacy and back before he woke up. He'd never been this bad before and she was worried he might need another dose.
Keith woke up an hour later, his head groggy. Blinking away the nausea he sat up, the house in darkness. "Liz?" he croaked, his throat dusty and dry. He heard a noise in the hall and turned round to look.
"Keith?" Liz's voice reached him as if from far away. He tried the light switch but nothing happened. With his hands outstretched he edged into the hall, tripping over something. He used his hands to work out what it was. It was Liz.
"Oh Keith, I'm so sorry. I love you so much."
"What's happening?" he asked, feeling how wet her face was, his fingers sliding into the sockets where her eyes should have been.
"They were waiting for me when I came back," she said, her voice fading. "There were too many of them. I..."
Keith held her in his arms as he heard the sound of hundreds of pairs of clawed feet outside the house, slowly growing louder as they approached the farmhouse door. There was a moment's silence and then a sound very much like knocking. Keith slid backwards as the door flew open, moving until he bumped up against the sofa in the lounge. He tried to get up but he wasn't quick enough. The searing pain of their beaks pierced his eyeballs as he opened his mouth to scream. His tongue was instantly on fire, shreds torn from it as he sank back onto the carpet under the weight of them, arms flailing ineffectually as more and more flew in from outside, each hungrier than the last.
Petrified
John was waiting on the driveway when I arrived. He'd dressed himself up for today, that shirt and tie hadn't seen daylight since he'd retired. He sat in his wheelchair smoking his pipe and looking out at the road like an impatient child waiting for an absent parent to return.
"You do look smart," I said as I climbed out of my car and walked up to him. The sweet smell of cherry tobacco filled the air around him, a smell that still reminded me of my youth, back when John came to visit on holiday, sleeping in the spare room while my parents argued. All that was a long time ago of course, before my mother disappeared.
"Well you told me we were going somewhere special," he replied, his pipe wedged into the corner of his mouth. "Are you going to tell me where yet?"
"It's a surprise," I said, pulling out a cigarette and taking his proffered lighter with a nod of thanks. "You'll have to wait and see."
We were both silent for a moment, him in his chair and me stood beside him, just like old times. He turned and looked up at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. "It's lovely to see you again Mark. You've been quite the stranger."
"I know, I know and I promise I'll come and see you more often in the future. Besides, you might be nearer to me by the end of today."
"What do you mean?" He leaned down to rearrange the blanket across his legs. "You're not putting me in a home are you?" There was an air of suspicion to his voice, mingled with fear.
No, of course not. But I'm saying nothing else for now." I let my cigarette butt fall to the floor and stamped it underfoot. "Right, shall we get going?"
I wheeled him down to the car and lifted him from his chair, manhandling him into the seat as he grunted in my ear in that familiar way of his. Once he was in I got his seatbelt attached and then we set off, me looking in the rear view mirror back at the house, wondering how he'd feel if he knew he was never going to see it again.
We reached the cave in less than an hour. At first John had no idea where we were going but as we grew closer he sat up in his seat, peering out like an expectant dog excited to be going out for a walk. "You're taking me to the cave aren't you?" he asked as I turned left onto Minton Lane. "Go on, you can tell me."
"I might be," I replied, resisting a smile.
"But what about the chair?"
It had been a long time since John had been able to go inside the cave. The site hadn't been set up for wheelchairs in his time, too much clambering over rocks to get inside. I'd changed a few things since he gave it to me, not least of which was to install a long winding ramp just the right size for a wheelchair.
"Things have changed a bit," I said as I pulled up by the entrance.
"I can see that. You've repainted the sign for a start."
I looked up. Old Ma Skipton's Cave, the letters spelled out in red, spread across a wooden board that overhung the entrance kiosk. Behind it you could see through the security fence to the ramp curving away up the hill. In the summer that ramp was packed with people coming to see the cave and the petrifying waterfall inside. They couldn't get enough of it, even when I’d more than doubled the prices that John used to charge.
Somewhere deep underground a spring lay hidden, water squeezed upwards through a series of cracks that gradually trickled into a stream, wearing a hole through the rock over the centuries. The stream grew bigger as more water joined it from other springs, becoming a river by the time it reached the roof of the cave, my cave now, and then it dripped down through more cracks, over a well-worn ridge cascading down in a never-ending waterfall to the cave floor. The mineral rich drops of water slowly hardened as they reacted with the air in the cave, turning to stone over the years and creating unique stalactites and stalagmites.
Tourists came in their thousands every summer to marvel at the sights in the cave, especially the washing line that dangled across the length of the waterfall. From it hung dozens of objects, teddy bears, dolls, toy soldiers, all sorts. The calcifying water dripped slowly over each object and then they would start to harden. As time passed they became more and more like stone, eventually looking like tiny little statues that only vaguely resembled the things they once were.
My first job had been chipping off the items that had finished hardening, sticking price tags on them and selling them in the gift shop, surrounded by all the other tat that John was happy to sell to the gullible public.
"The place looks wonderful," John said, as I helped him back into his wheelchair. "You've done a good job here." He put his hand on my shoulder, leaving it to linger there for just long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I forced myself to concentrate. After today he wouldn't ever be able to touch me again.
"Thanks," I said. "And there's something special I want to show you. Something new."
I opened the gate into the site and pushed his chair up the ramp, past the empty ticket booth and the boarded up shop. I unlocked the barrier that barred entry to the cliff edge path that overhung the valley floor far below, the sound of the roaring river nothing but a faint whisper from this height.
The path wound round the base of the cliff and was long out of sight of the car park before it finally stopped by the cave entrance. "God, it's nice to see the place again," John said, coughing loudly as I lifted the chair up the lip onto the next ramp.
"I hope you like what I've done in here," I said, shivering as the coolness of the cave replaced the warm sunlight we left outside. The wooden slats of the ramp were covered in chicken wire to stop people slipping in the damp air and his wheels seemed to clack over them like a train over loose rails, making him shake in his seat as I pushed him along.
I stopped when we reached the viewing point at the back of the cave and we stood looking at the washing line across the waterfall, the teddy bears, the children's shoes, the top hats, all slowly turning into solid rock. I looked down at John and saw a tear on his cheek as he watched the waterfall.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"Yes, I'm fine," he snapped, wiping the tear away. "I just get the feeling this might be the last time I
see the old gal."
How right he was. "Tell me about my mother," I said, glancing round behind me to make sure we were alone.
"She was an amazing woman," he replied. "I still miss her."
"No, I mean tell me why you killed her."
"What?" John blustered, looking up in shock. "What are you talking about? Nobody killed her."
I laughed, a sound devoid of joy as it echoed round the cave. "Sure, she just vanished into thin air. You killed her and I want to know why."
"You're talking nonsense Mark. Now I'm getting cold, I think we should get going."
I could hear the tension in his voice. "You tell me now John or I swear to God I'll push your chair into the valley and let them bury whatever pieces of you they can find."
"Now listen," he said as I grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and spun him round to face me. "Don't do anything stupid." The exertion of waving his arms about had exhausted him and I had to wait while he suffered another coughing fit.
"Last chance," I said, running with the chair out of the cave to the edge of the external ramp, teetering him forwards on two wheels as he scrambled backwards in the seat, twisting sideways to try and grab my arms. "Tell me now!" I yelled
"All right," he said, coughing again and sounding terrified. "All right. Please, just put me down."
I set the wheelchair on the level and turned it towards me. He glared with undisguised hatred as I smiled and sat on the rock behind me. "Go on then."
"It was an accident," he said after a long pause, looking down at his hands as he spoke in little more than a whisper. I'd waited to hear the truth for such a long time. Was he lying? Well time for his trial first. Punishment could come afterwards.
"Your father hadn't been interested in her in years and she only wanted some attention, some love. We didn't want to tell anyone for you Mark, it would only have upset you if they divorced." He looked up at the cave, his eyes misting over as he seemed to sink back into his memories. "We used to meet up here once a week, after I'd closed up. She said she was going to tell him but I persuaded her not to. We'd found a new tunnel at the back of the cave and we were sat inside it, just the light of the torch between us. I told her I loved her and she said she had to tell him, she couldn't keep lying to him.
Night Terrors: 16 Horror Stories Page 7
