Night Terrors_An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy

by Matthew Stott

  ‘It seems I may have grown a conscience,’ replied Carlisle, spitting the last word out as if it was a piece of rancid meat.

  ‘A conscience,’ the Yellow Man frowned and placed a hand to his heart. ‘Perhaps even a sliver of empathy sprouting up from the cracks in the concrete? I’m really sorry to hear that. It’s the sort of thing that leads nowhere good.’

  ‘It is most tiresome, I can assure you.’

  The Yellow Man laughed and clicked his fingers. The hands, grasping their screw-top jars, each containing a soul, began to emerge from the cave walls.

  ‘Would you look at that,’ said the Yellow Man, pointing to one jar amongst hundreds. ‘I’ve got a nice, empty jar all waiting for you.’

  He stepped over and took the empty jar, tossing it up into the air and catching it again. ‘Do you think I’ll be able to squeeze you in there?’

  Carlisle stepped back. ‘Do not get too excited. I may offer you my soul, but I have no intention of actually dying. I intend to outlive the great Beast Itself.’

  The Yellow Man laughed again and the mocking sound echoed throughout the cave. ‘It’s good to have a goal in life, Carlisle. But no, I’m afraid sooner or later, you’ll be part of my collection.’ He tossed the empty jar at the wall, and a fresh hand emerged to catch it before it struck the stone and shattered.

  ‘Oh, I would be the pride of your collection, I’m sure.’

  The Yellow Man lowered himself onto his throne again. It writhed and whimpered beneath him as it took his weight. ‘I have to ask you if you’re sure. Just a formality, you understand.’

  Carlisle thought about Jenner, about the Angel, about Rita Hobbes. He thought about all the pain that had been inflicted upon him. The indignities. ‘I am.’

  ‘And that is what you want in return for your sacrifice?’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  The Yellow Man smiled, ‘It’s already done.’

  Carlisle looked to the empty jar that he would one day be trapped within. Another tight spot to find a way out of. He smiled, he was sure he would think of something.

  He turned, wishing he had a long coat to sweep as he did so, and strutted away from the demon.

  ‘Carlisle?’ said Rita. ‘Carlisle!’

  ‘He’s legged it, the bastard!’ replied Waterson, as the two cowered from the blazing magic that rippled around the floating body of Jenner.

  ‘You think you can put me back in my box?’ asked the Angel. ‘I am not as I was, not as you last faced me. I am more with each heartbeat that passes. With every blink of an eye, more of me escapes my bonds and rushes out into the world.’

  Rita swung the axe and magic erupted from it, bursting towards Jenner. A flick of Jenner’s hand and the spell melted away.

  ‘You are an ant before me. A termite, nothing more. Abase yourself, you grovelling insect.’

  ‘Up yours!’ yelled Rita.

  ‘I’m really starting to think that we should follow Carlisle’s lead and make a run for it,’ said Waterson.

  ‘We can’t,’ replied Rita. ‘We have to stop him, have to stop It.’

  ‘How? What can we do? It’s hopeless!’

  ‘I believe I shall kill you very, very slowly,’ said the Angel. ‘I will tweak every nerve ending so you are in an endless rapture of pain. You will beg me for death. Beg me. And I shall answer, no.’

  Rita knew Waterson was right. They should run. They should run away and hide. She gripped the axe, willed the magic that flooded into it to obey her. To do what she wanted, what she needed. Magic gushed forth, eager to do as she asked, but it was a water pistol against a tank.

  They were going to have to turn their backs and escape, and that meant more deaths. A lot more deaths. She thought again about the two souls trapped within the axe. That had just been the start. She wondered how many more were going to die because she couldn’t bring this thing to justice. Because she’d had let the genie back out of the bottle.

  ‘What on Earth?’ said Waterson. Rita looked to see what had drawn his attention.

  ‘Carlisle?’ said Rita, shocked.

  ‘Just had to pop out and pick something up,’ he replied.

  ‘Your eyes…’ said Rita.

  They were entirely black.

  ‘Carlisle, what is that I see in you?’ asked the Angel.

  ‘A gift for you,’ he replied.

  A sneer bent Jenner’s face and he thrust out a hand, magic rushing from him towards Carlisle, ready to strip the flesh from his bones.

  Carlisle leapt to the side, rolled, and rose up on one knee. He could feel what the Yellow Man had given him. Could feel the dark power boiling inside of him. Time seemed to slow down.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked the darkness, and the darkness howled in anticipation.

  Carlisle gritted his teeth and reached out.

  The darkness flooded out of him. A writhing, screaming, demented thing. Carlisle trembled, opened his mouth to scream in agony as the dark scraped through him.

  The Angel lifted both hands in surprise, in horror, as the convulsing flood of torment swarmed over the body it was using, over Alexander Jenner.

  Rita watched in shock as layer by layer the thing Carlisle had unleashed stripped Jenner away. The clothes went, then any hair, skin, organs, muscles. All the pieces were torn from him, turned to dust, and blown away until there was nothing left but the faint sound of his screams, and then even that was gone.

  Alexander Jenner was dead. The body utterly destroyed. The soul erased. The Angel’s puppet gone.

  ‘Well… holy bloody buggering shit,’ said Rita.

  Carlisle smiled then toppled sideways to the ground. Rita and Waterson rushed to him.

  ‘You are welcome,’ said Carlisle, breathing heavily.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘Ghost, you do not believe I will tell you and the detective all of my secrets, do you? It would ruin my mystique.’

  Rita smiled and hugged him, and Carlisle was too weary to recoil.

  ‘Sorry about your coat.’

  ‘It was a nice coat,’ said Carlisle.

  Trying not to make it obvious how much pain he was in, Carlisle rose slowly to his feet. Feeding that darkness through him had scratched his every nerve, shown him pain like he had never experienced. He put a fist to his chest; it was still in there, the connection. Perhaps he had enough in him for one more big effort.

  ‘So… did we win?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘No,’ said Rita. ‘Well, a bit, but also no.’

  ‘Okay. Not sure if I should be happy or worried.’

  ‘You saw how much magic is escaping from the Angel’s prison,’ replied Rita. ‘We can’t ignore It anymore. Too much of It is free.’

  ‘The detective is correct. With Mr. Cotton and Mr. Spike out of the way, and so many weak spots in Its prison, it is only a matter of time before the Angel is entirely free of Its bonds.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ said Waterson.

  ‘You do nothing, ghost,’ replied Carlisle.

  ‘Liking this plan so far,’ said Waterson.

  ‘I take it I’m not off the hook this time?’ asked Rita.

  Carlisle smiled, the dried blood on his lips cracking, ‘No. You are very much in the hot water.’

  Rita laughed and rested the axe against her shoulder, reaching out a hand. ‘Let’s dance.’

  Carlisle took her hand in his, and then Waterson was alone.

  Rita blinked and she was in the Angel’s prison. The giant marble pillars, wider than ancient trees, stretched high above. The only sound was the whisper of the flames that burned endlessly upon the thousands of candles spread across the floor throughout the chamber.

  ‘Can’t say it’s a thrill to be back here,’ said Rita.

  ‘Look on the bright side, this will hopefully be the last time.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Of course, it may be the last time as we’re about to die an agonising death.’

  ‘You’re
a real ray of sunshine, Carlisle.’

  They rounded a pillar to find the Angel stood waiting at the centre of Its glass box.

  ‘Don’t mind us dropping in for a home visit, do you?’ asked Rita.

  The Angel of Blackpool smiled. ‘You surprised me, Carlisle. I did not expect you to go to such lengths. To give so much of yourself.’

  ‘What does It mean?’ asked Rita. ‘What did you give?’

  Carlisle ignored her.

  ‘In the end, all you have done is destroy a man’s body. A body I would soon have no use for, anyway.’ The Angel pressed a hand against the glass wall of Its prison. The wall glowed and hundreds of dark cracks appeared. ‘Can you see? I tapped, and I tapped, and I tapped. Created imperfection upon imperfection; enough for some of me to emerge. Soon the damage will be too much and the structure will fail. This glass box shall shatter, and I will step out of this place. Where I tread, I will leave nothing but dust and pain and darkness. I find that good.’

  Carlisle pressed a fist to his chest. The dark was waiting. He wondered if he had the strength to survive a final use of the gift the Yellow Man had bequeathed him.

  He looked up to see the Angel smiling.

  ‘Now.’ Carlisle commanded, and the dark tore from him, surging towards the glass box. It wriggled its way inside, forcing itself through the cracks, whirling around the Angel, attacking it. The Angel did not move, did not fight. It closed Its eyes, Its smile never faltering.

  Finally the dark was used up and Carlisle slumped to the marble floor.

  ‘Carlisle,’ said Rita crouching by him. ‘Carlisle, don’t go and bloody die on me again.’

  Carlisle smiled and sat up, leaning back against a pillar.

  ‘It did not work,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Not enough. Not enough.’

  The Angel ran the back of one hand against Its nose and looked at the smear of blood upon it. ‘Is it my turn now?’

  The candle flames flickered violently, throwing violent shadows around the chamber. The glass box trembled, filling with the Angel’s smoky tendrils, which began to snake out of the glass prison’s imperfections and wind towards the prone Carlisle. The magic wrapped around his neck and tightened.

  ‘Do not worry,’ said the Angel, ‘soon it shall all be over.’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ screamed Rita, and swung the axe at the magic tendril throttling Carlisle. The axe was wrenched from her hand thrown across the chamber, the blade embedding in one of the pillars.

  ‘You did well, Rita Hobbes,’ said the Angel. ‘Be happy. Be proud, yes? Be proud.’

  ‘Eat my arse,’ she replied and ran towards the axe. It was useless, she knew that, but she didn’t care. If this was it—if failure was all she had to look forward to—then she was going to go out fighting. Was going to go out like the couldn’t-give-a-shit, pain in the rear end that she’d been her whole life.

  She wrapped her hands around the handle of the axe, ready to pull it free of the pillar.

  And then she stopped.

  ‘Oh…’

  She could see it. Feel it.

  She told the axe to take more.

  To take more, and more, and more. To fill itself up and be ready to do as she asked.

  The axe obeyed.

  ‘Can you feel the end approach, Carlisle?’ asked the Angel.

  Rita pulled the axe from the pillar and turned back to the Angel.

  ‘Oi, fuck face,’ she said.

  The Angel turned to her, and Its smile began to falter. ‘Oh.’

  ‘“Oh” is right,’ said Rita. ‘You’re done, mate.’

  She swung the axe and magic flew from it, surrounding the glass box, and in a matter of less than a second, it sealed every imperfection.

  Carlisle coughed and gagged and fell to the side, gasping for air, as the magic that had been choking him died.

  ‘No. No!’ said the Angel.

  ‘Oh yes, mate.’

  ‘What… what did you do?’ asked Carlisle.

  ‘We’ve been a bit thick. Jesus, we’ve been stupid. Because you know what this place is made of? Do you know what they used to create this prison?’ Rita turned back to the Angel and grinned. ‘Magic. I mean, Celestial Magic, but magic all the same. And what does this axe let me do? Ooh, I’ll answer that as well for those not following: it allows me to take another thing’s magic and use it as my own. So I just fixed that wanker’s glass box.’

  The Angel snarled and beat Its fists against the glass walls. ‘I will escape. Time is nothing to me! You will live and you will die and I will use the sharpened point of my will to destroy this prison once and for all!’

  ‘Well, yeah, you will be able to do that, eventually. Give you another few thousand years and you might be free. Oh… unless…’

  Rita swung the axe and another glass box formed around the first.

  ‘Shit, double the work now, sorry mate.’

  ‘Stop,’ said the Angel, pressing Its back against the glass wall of the first box.

  ‘But I’m just getting in the swing of things,’ she swung the axe and a third glass box appeared around the other two. She turned to Carlisle and grinned. ‘“Swing of things”, do you get it?’

  Carlisle rose to his feet. ‘My body is in agony, but I believe having to hear that pun is the thing paining me the most.’

  ‘Have mercy,’ said the Angel, falling to Its knees.

  Rita’s smile faltered. ‘Mercy? Did you give Jane Bowan mercy?’ She swung the axe and a fourth glass box was created. ‘How about Ellie Mason? Either of them get any of this mercy thing?’ A fifth glass box appeared. ‘Then there’s Dan Waterson; where was his mercy?’ A sixth glass box. As each was created, the others within shrank, and the Angel shrank with them. Rita swung the axe again and again, over and over, swung it until her arms screamed in agony and she finally stumbled to her knees, the axe slipping from her grasp.

  Carlisle rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Well done, Detective.’

  She smiled and looked up at the nesting doll of prisons she had created. Boxes within boxes within boxes. So many, that the Angel of Blackpool was no longer visible, Its voice hidden.

  ‘Consider…’ said Rita, gasping for air. ‘Consider that a life sentence with no chance of parole, you prick.’

  ‘Shall we leave?’ asked Carlisle, reaching out a hand.

  22

  Liam sat up in bed. His parents had been furious with him, of course they had, but their relief soon washed away any anger. Liam thought that was partly down to their own experiences since the nightmares had began to seep into Blackpool.

  He had told them how terrified he had been, and that was why he was trying to escape. Trying to escape the monsters that came to him in the dark. His parents had looked at each other, and he could see in their eyes that they knew something of what he was talking about. He wondered what they had seen. What things had scared them.

  Now, as he sat in bed with the lights out, he no longer felt afraid. Things felt different now. He believed that whatever it was that was behind the smoky fingers, that had been delighting in Blackpool’s fear, was gone. He could sense it in the air, a calmness. A cleanness. A bad taste that had been washed away.

  He also didn’t feel afraid because he knew for sure that monsters existed. That the strange thrived. And he knew, absolutely, that he was part of it. That the weird lived in him and he could see it. Interact with it. Be a part of it. And if he was part of it, then what was there to be afraid of?

  He thought about the man he’d helped. The not ghost whose body he’d helped retrieve.

  Carlisle.

  He wondered what part he’d had to play in burning away the nightmares that had swamped Blackpool. Felt good that he himself had played some small role in others sleeping soundly.

  Liam settled down into bed, closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, had the most marvellous of dreams.

  Rita and Carlisle approached the blind alley that hid Big Pins, exhausted and battered.

&n
bsp; ‘Thank you,’ said Rita.

  ‘For what?’ replied Carlisle.

  ‘For coming back. For helping.’

  Carlisle shifted uncomfortably. ‘It was purely self-serving, I assure you.’

  Rita smiled and shook her head. ‘What was it you gave up for that power you unleashed?’

  Carlisle didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. A promise, that’s all. I do hate to make promises.’

  Rita frowned, knew he was covering, but thought it best not to probe any further. ‘So what now?’

  ‘I imagine you will get very drunk and bitterly regret it tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s a given. But I meant what next for me and you? I’m still hexed. Seems to me that’s not going to change. The Angel is beyond reach, and even if It wasn’t, it seems like that twat’s unkillable. So the hex is gonna stay.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Which means…’

  ‘Which means you will not give up the artefact.’

  Rita rested a hand on the handle of the axe that swung from her belt. ‘If this is it for me, this is my life, then I need it.’

  Carlisle nodded. ‘I believe… I believe it is time… I let it go.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘I do not know, but it appears I have little choice. At least I know that it is in safe hands.’

  Rita and Carlisle met eyes and she smiled, Carlisle smiled back.

  ‘Okay then,’ she said, and stepped into the blind alley. Carlisle did not follow.

  ‘Are you not coming?’ asked Rita. ‘There’s a gallon of beer with your name on it.’

  ‘I think not. I believe I have spent enough time in this stain of a place. London calls me. If nothing else, I need a new coat, and they have the best tailors.’

  Rita dithered, not quite sure what to do, what to say. ‘Will you come back?’

  Carlisle looked up at the night sky, ‘Who can say? Impossible things happen all the time, Detective.’

  Rita stepped forward and hugged him. ‘Thanks. Thank you. For everything.’

  ‘Please let this be the final time you hug me,’ said Carlisle. Rita laughed and released him.