by West, Sam
AT NIGHT
A HORROR NOVEL
BY
SAM WEST
AT NIGHT
A HORROR NOVEL
by
SAM WEST
COPYRIGHT SAM WEST 2017
COVER DESIGN BY VALDAS MISKINIS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
At three a.m. on a Monday morning, the Medieval city of Ashburn was as quiet as it was going to get. But that didn’t mean completely dead; the nightclubs that still opened during the week were winding down and a handful of drunken revellers staggered in the streets. The girls, lots of them bare foot and in too-short skirts, their high-heels dangling from their fingers, were usually accompanied by men.
No, not men. Predators.
Freya’s gaze latched onto one such group outside ‘Fifth Avenue’ nightclub. They were rowdier than the others. Drunker. The girls screamed and giggled, and the boys strutted. It was pathetic to watch; did these silly, gullible women have no self-respect? Did they genuinely think that those arseholes were potential life-partners? Or were they just slags out for a good time?
Unseen, she continued to watch the four males and three females from the other side of the wide, main-road as she planned her next move. She stood in the shadowy mouth of an alleyway, nestled between a pawn-brokers and a beauty salon. When the drunk group slowly ambled up the road, Freya matched their pace, knowing that doing so could well force her to reveal herself. Hopefully, they were too pissed to focus on the other side of the street.
The taxi-rank was just around the corner, and she had a horrible feeling that was where they were headed. If that was the case, then she had to look elsewhere for a suitable man. Or men. Whichever.
No matter, there were plenty of them about in the city of Ashburn at three in the morning, if you knew where to look. Not that Freya had to do much looking; they all found her eventually.
It wasn’t necessarily the drunks that she chose either, although she was no stranger to confrontations with them. There were plenty of other types of people. Freya like to call them the ‘night crawlers’; the weird collection of individuals that were the true, beating heart of any, night-time city. But these types tended to keep themselves hidden. They lurked in the deepest shadows under railway bridges, in alleyways or abandoned buildings and other places only a fool would go at night.
A fool like Freya Flynn.
Just as she suspected, the group of seven twenty-somethings were indeed heading in the direction of the taxi-rank. Two of the guys and two of the girls bundled into the solitary, waiting taxi, and sped off into the night. Next to the taxi-rank was a shut-for-the-night cinema, and Freya leaned against a shadowy spot on the wall next to the wide, brightly lit, glass doors.
So that left two guys and one girl. Taxis this time of the night were few and far between, unless one had the foresight to order one. It was obvious to her that these two douchebags were opportunists, that tonight they thought they had lucked out with the lack of taxis.
Wrong, you fuckers.
Hidden from view, she watched them, their voices drifting her way.
“I only live about a mile or so from here,” the girl was saying.
“You do? So do we. We’ll walk together, if you like,” one of the guys said.
Freya shook her head sadly; was the girl really that stupid?
Apparently yes, because she and the two men began their night-time stroll down Tontine Street, at the mouth of which was the taxi-rank. Tontine Street was a slightly narrower side-street that led away from the main city centre, towards the sprawling, never-ending housing-estates of working to middleclass suburbia.
The girl walked between the two men, her arms linked in theirs. She was a petite girl, and barely came up to their shoulders even if she had put her ridiculous high-heels back on again. She tottered between them, like the drunken slapper she probably even wasn’t. Freya cringed in disgust at the way her short skirt kept riding even higher, revealing her white thong.
They laughed as they walked, the shops slowly giving way to the mainly dark houses.
The three of them came to a halt at the crossroads at the end of Tontine Street. Ahead, the road remained much the same, with a mix of ‘posher’ houses, some made into flats, some not, intercepted by the occasional two or three-star hotel. To the left and right, the road narrowed considerably, branching off at regular points that led to the less salubrious residential areas.
“I live about half a mile or so down here,” the girl said, pointing dead ahead.
Freya’s heart sank. Even though that road was wider with more traffic, it also meant they had to walk past the city park.
“Really? What a coincidence,” one of the lads said. “So do we.”
The other guy laughed and Freya’s hands balled into fists.
Fucking arseholes.
Keeping a good distance behind them and sticking to the shadows wherever possible, she followed them down the street, listening to the way they laughed and chattered.
What was going through the girl’s mind? she wondered. Had she snogged one of them in the club, and was thinking that his friend would bugger off and leave them alone sometime soon? Or was she up for a threesome? Or was she just a stupid, naive little girl thinking that she was merely getting an escort home from her new ‘friends’?
Oh, you’ll be getting a lot more than that, you dumb bitch.
Freya knew what was going to happen before it happened; it was as predictable as the sun rising in a few hours. To the left of the threesome was a high wall, which signalled the beginning of the large, city park. The grand, wrought iron gates would be locked this time of night, but a little further down was an alleyway that ran parallel with the park, whose hedgerow was so thin that it was possible to slip through it, into the woodland area beyond.
They drew level to the alleyway, and Freya watched the inevitable unfold.
“Hey, what are you doing? I don’t live down here…”
The girl’s feeble protests fell on deaf ears as the laughing guys pushed her down the alleyway. Her cries of protests turned muffled, like her mouth had been smothered. Freya drew level to the entrance of the alleyway, and peered down it. Sure enough, one of the men had the girl in a headlock, his hand over her mouth. Every few metres or so, an old-fashioned streetlamp illuminated the tiniest patch of concrete ground and surrounding bushes and trees that ran the length of the narrow walkway. For a moment, the three of them stood in a thin puddle of light, like actors on a stage, before the girl was dragged into the bushes and the park beyond.
Freya hurried after them, squeezing through a gap in the bushes.
Being a city, it never got truly dark, but in this wooded area it was as close as it was ever going to get. The light the city threw off was dimmed somewhat by the thick, summer canopy of leaves high above them.
The lads had the girl pinned to a tree, laughing and whooping like boys in a playground. Freya reached into the inside pocket of her long, leather jacket, her fingers curling around the smooth, outer-casing of the switchblade as she watched them, hidden from view behind the thick trunk of tree.
“Get your tits out, get you tits out, get your tits out for the lads,” they chanted in unison.
One of them ripped the front of her flimsy top clean in half down the middle as the other held her arms high above her head, mashing her wrists in what must have been a painful way against the rough bark of the tree with one hand, the other pressed over her mouth to stifle her screams.
In a moment of spitefulness, Frey
a wondered how long she should let this go on for. She did nothing as they pawed at her, passively watching as the guy who had ripped her strappy top proceeded to tear her bra from her body. Her tits were small, and deathly pale in the moonlight. The man kneaded them roughly together, before yanking up her short skirt so that it bunched around her waist in a thick, white belt.
Her thong went the way of her top and bra – aggressively ripped from her body with so much force that even Freya winced. He dangled her panties in front of her terrified face, and the other guy holding her in place against the tree let go of her mouth to ram his hand between her legs.
The girl let out an almighty scream, which was abruptly cut dead when the guy who had been taunting her with her own knickers slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped violently to the side, her once-neat, blonde bob hanging in front of her face in wild disarray.
The other lad continued his exploration of her cunt, her legs forced wide apart. Despite how dark it was, Freya could quite clearly see the good finger-fucking he was giving her as the other guy undid the fly of his jeans. His hard cock popped out of the gap, obscenely sticking out at a right angle from his body.
“Fucking suck it, bitch,” he said, gripping her shoulders and pushing her to her knees in the leaves and the dirt.
The other guy let go of her, allowing his friend to run the show, probably thinking that he was going to get his afterwards.
He couldn’t be more wrong, Freya thought, stepping out from behind the tree. This had gone on long enough; it was time to end it.
The comforting weight of the switchblade – not yet extended – nestled neatly in the palm of her hand.
“Stop,” she commanded in a soft voice.
She was so good at what she did, at being at one with the shadows, that at first they didn’t notice her.
“Stop,” she said again, louder this time.
Both men turned round to look at her incredulously, and the girl, who had been forced to wrap her mouth around the lad’s cock, was pushed to the ground. She tumbled onto her back in an ungainly sprawl of limbs.
“And who the fuck are you?” the guy asked – the one with his hard cock still sticking out of his jeans.
Freya coolly regarded them, her heartrate not even up the tiniest fraction. “I am your worst nightmare, you sorry cunt.”
The lad just looked at her in stark disbelief for a moment, his gaze locking with hers. Originally, Freya had him pegged as early to mid-twenties, but now, he seemed so much younger. Of course, that was impossible; she knew for a fact the nightclub Fifth Avenue had a strict, ‘challenge 25’ policy, so there was no way he would’ve got in without ID.
Slowly, his look of shock gave way to a nasty little smirk. He reached down for his still-hard cock, and began to stroke it in front of her, during which, not once did he break eye-contact with her.
“Well it looks like we got ourselves here another slag who wants to join the party. It’s shaping up to be a good night, ain’t it Roger?”
“Yeah,” the one called Roger agreed, accompanied by a snort of laughter.
“You want some of this, bitch?” he asked rubbing his cock all the harder. “Come on over here then, and get some.”
Freya remained unruffled, unable to stop the mean little grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “No, you sad fuck, the only person giving around here is me.”
In one fluid motion, born of all the hours she spent down the gym and in various self-defence classes, she lunged for him, blade extended.
It slipped into his flesh exactly where she had intended it to – high up on his inner, right thigh, just below his balls.
He howled in pain and fell to his knees, his mouth twisted open, clutching the wound. His blood flowed over his hands in steady pumps, as shiny as black oil in the moonlight.
“Well, I expect that hurts like a motherfucker,” she said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of the other guy
(Roger, his name is Roger)
come at her in a clumsy, drunken run. With the most basic of Judo moves, she used his own bodyweight against him, flipping him onto his back. She kicked him in his side with her DM boot for good measure. He groaned and curled up in the foetal position in the dirt.
She leaned over his pathetic form, pushing an annoying clump of brown hair out of her eyes that had escaped her ponytail.
“Not such the big man now, are you?” she asked, smirking down at him. She turned her attention to the other guy: “And as for you, you pathetic cunt, I want you to apologize to the lady.”
He only groaned in response, tears pouring down his face.
“Fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, going to him with the bloody blade outstretched. “Then I guess my switchblade will have to teach you some manners instead.”
“No,” the man cried, although it came out as more of a strangled sob. “I’m sorry okay? We didn’t mean it, we were just mucking around. We didn’t mean any harm.”
“No harm, huh? Is this true?” she asked the other guy, who had managed to scramble ungainly back to his feet. “Are you sorry?”
He swayed on the spot for a moment, glancing down at his friend groaning on the ground, then back up at her again.
“Fuck,” he said in response, turning his back to them and running as fast as he could through the trees.
Which wasn’t that fast, considering how much he’d had to drink and the fact he’d just had a fall. Besides, Freya would’ve been faster than him anyway, given how fit she was.
Easily, she jogged up to him without breaking into a sweat and pushed him to the ground in an effective rugby-tackle. Straddling his back, she fisted his short, blonde hair and wrenched back his head.
“Are you going to behave?” she asked him, giving his neck a sharp little twist.
He yelped in pain. “Yes.”
“Good. Now here’s what’s going to happen, Roger. You and me are going to go back to your friend and that nice, young girl. And then you are going to apologize. Have you got that? Are we clear?”
As she spoke, she gave his head another hard yank before letting go so that his head flopped forward, smacking against the ground.
“Ow,” he gasped, his voice wet with tears.
Jumping to her feet, she nudged him in the side with her foot, a little harder than was strictly necessary.
“Come on. On your feet, soldier,” she said.
Groaning, the man got up, looking over his shoulder at her as they walked back to where they had left the others.
She couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt in her mind that he must be wondering how a girl could do this to them; a slim girl who had to be five feet six at the most. They were pumped up lads, both just shy of six feet. This just couldn’t be possible…
Her smile broadened as the man’s imagined thoughts played out in her head. The girl and the guy quickly came into view – both of whom were still on the ground. The girl had managed to pull down her skirt and was clasping her torn top to her bare torso, and the guy was still clutching his bloody thigh.
Freya jabbed Roger in the lower back with her knife. “Roger has something that he wants to say.”
“I’m sorry,” he blubbered. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
A wave of disgust crashed over her. Guys like these two, they were all the same – nothing more than cowardly bullies who could be bought to their knees by anyone brave enough to stand up to them.
“Well, good for you, Roger. Pull down your jeans and underpants and lay on your front on the ground.”
“What?”
“You heard. Do it now, or I’ll fucking end you.”
Her tone was light but he seemed to get that she meant it, for he unbuttoned his jeans. They slid down his legs and pooled around his feet.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he sobbed. “We didn’t mean any harm, we was just having a laugh.”
“You mean you were having a laugh, you dumb cunt. Jesus Ch
rist, because of scumbag cunts like you, I had to cut my education short, but I’m still in a different league to your Neanderthal brain. Underpants too, please.”
“What? No, please don’t do this, I’m so, so sorry, pleeeease…”
His words trailed off into helpless sobs, which did nothing to encourage any warm feelings towards him.
“Just do as she says, for fuck’s sake,” the other lad piped up from the floor.
“Good advice. You should take it,” she added. “Come here,” she said to the girl. “Don’t be scared.”
The girl just stared up at her with huge, pathetic eyes, and Freya wondered why she hadn’t legged it by now. But then, she reasoned, shock did funny things to folk; there was no predicting what any one person would do.
The girl got to her feet, still clutching her ruined top to her body, and went to stand by Freya. Meanwhile, the guy called Roger had done what he was told and was lying face down in the dirt, his jeans around his ankles and his underpants bunched around his knees. His arse was porcelain white in the moonlight, with a smattering of hair and cluster of angry-looking, red spots.
Disgust roiled in her stomach as she crouched down next to the sobbing man. She swivelled her head to look up at the girl.
“What’s your name?”
“Janice.”
“Well, Janice, how would you like to shove this knife up Roger’s bottom? I think he might quite like it, why else would he so readily agree to pull down his pants and lie there with his arse in the air?”
“No!” Roger screamed, going to roll onto his back, “get the fuck away from me.”
Still looking up at Janice, she elbowed Roger hard in the back of his neck and he flopped down again onto his front.
“Janice?” she repeated softy. “Do you want to?”
The girl just stared at her wide-eyed, tiny whimpering sounds escaping her lips. Ever so slightly, she shook her head.
Freya shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Roger, who had been crying like a baby the entire time, howled like a banshee when she jammed the blade of her knife up his rectum. His entire body jerked and went rigid, his arms and legs flying out dead straight like a cartoon character being electrocuted. His screaming was intolerable, so she gave him a hard kick in the side of the head. That shut him up nicely, but now the other guy was going on.
