“Oh my God,” Denny breathed.
“I don't get it,” said Matt. “So you went into an empty room and came out again? We're not making art-house movies, guys.”
“I talked to Brie in there,” Denny said, looking at Matt, then Gould, then back at Frankie. “She was curled up on the couch under a rug. I heard her speak!”
But I never saw her face, she thought. Or even the slightest bit of her skin. Just that hunk of hair.
“But nobody else went into the room,” Gould pointed out. “Or left it. Did they?”
“Good point!” Frankie murmured. “Let's just check.”
She reversed the video slowly. It jumped from the point when the camera detected Denny to Brie going upstairs. Frankie slowed things down even more and began to inspect the movie one frame at a time.
“There,” she said, freezing the image and pointing at the screen. “See? Something there.”
Brie was just vanishing upstairs. Behind her, a blurred shape was emerging from one of the many anonymous corridors of Malpas Abbey. It was out of focus, so that Denny could only just make out a form that was vaguely human in shape. The next frame was time-stamped much later, and showed Denny coming from the kitchen into the hall.
“The motion sensor had trouble with it,” Frankie said. “Like your Geiger counter, maybe, Ted? Something about these boogeymen screws up our tech. But it's there. The little gadget that caught something.”
Open-mouthed, Denny looked up from the screen to see Matt giving her a mirthless grin, while Gould looked more thoughtful.
“It seems you actually conversed with some kind of entity,” said Gould.
“And you didn't notice,” added Marvin, stroking his chin. “Not sure what that says about you. Or Brie, for that matter.”
“Close encounter, girlfriend,” said Frankie.
***
“I'm so grateful,” said Brie, as Jim helped load her bags into the SUV. “I just want to get home to my boys, you know? I've never been so far away from Tommy – that's my son. I never thought I could miss someone so much.”
She's yearning for familiar surroundings, Jim thought. Figures. If I was half a world away from home and terrified out of my wits I suppose I'd be the same.
“No problem,” the Englishman replied. He could just make her out in the light spilling from the round window above the front door. Rain was falling, and Jim wished he had put on a thicker coat. But he had assumed he would be spending most of this assignment indoors.
“Okay, Brie,” he said cheerfully, as he slammed the rear door of the Mercedes. “Let's get you back to civilization. Well, Chester at least. Near as; makes no difference!”
They got into the car and buckled up. Jim was about to start the engine when he paused. He had glimpsed movement through the rain-spattered windshield. A pale object, low on the ground.
Furtive, Jim thought. Skulking. Lurking on the edge of visibility.
“Is something wrong?” Brie asked, her voice betraying jangled nerves.
Get a grip, he told himself. This woman is on edge, she doesn't need any more scares.
“No, nothing!” he said. “Thought I saw a deer, that's all. Or maybe it was a badger. Lots of wildlife out here.”
Jim started the engine and began to maneuver the vehicle carefully down the rutted driveway towards the main gate. The wipers and headlights seemed oddly ineffective, and he struggled to make out anything ahead of them. Then the white pillars loomed up and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Not far to the main road,” he said. “Then it's a straight drive into Chester and we can–”
A sudden shock ran through the car, which lurched to one side. Brie screamed as Jim struggled to control the big Mercedes, but it slewed off the road and collided with a granite gatepost. There was a sickening crunch, and the engine died.
“Damn it! We blew a tire!”
“Oh, God,” said Brie. “This damned place! It's not going to let me get away!”
Jim reassured her that it was just an accident, probably down to a piece of broken glass, and he could change the tire easily enough. He tried to speak with more confidence than he felt. He had checked out the driveway himself a couple of days earlier. It had been in poor condition, but there had been no glass or other hazards.
“Okay, you stay here with the heating on,” he said, restarting the engine. “I'll get out and fix the tire. If I can't fix it, we can just walk back up to the house and take Ted's car, see? No problem.”
Brie whimpered a little, but did not protest as Jim got out a flashlight. When he stepped out into the darkness, the chill struck him again. The rain had already turned the dirt underfoot to mud, and for good measure, he had driven them into a patch of waist-high nettles that stung his hands as he worked. Cursing under his breath, Jim got the tools and began to jack up the vehicle. When he removed the front wheel, he gave the blown tire a cursory examination. It was hard to tell in the poor light what had caused it to fail.
Looks like it was slashed, he thought, running a finger along a tear in the rubber. Cut deep, but not right through. Just enough so it would run for a few minutes before blowing. Is someone pranking us?
Jim glanced around, swinging his flashlight. The beam showed raindrops, damp nettles, muddy ground, and gravel. He shone the flashlight up at the gatepost, squinting as it illuminated a grotesque statue squatting on top of the pillar. It was gargoyle-like, a grotesque diminutive figure squatting above him. Lit from below, it seemed doubly uncanny.
Like a gargoyle on an old church. But at least a carving can't hurt you, he thought. Whoever or whatever cut that tire, on the other hand …
Shrugging off the thought, Jim resolved to be practical. He put the flashlight down and began to attach the spare wheel. More stings added to his frustration, and he wished he had some thick gloves. Still, he was making good progress. But as he worked, a nagging doubt began to worry at the back of his mind.
The gateposts, he thought. Details are wrong, somehow.
When he finished, he got the flashlight and shone it up at the gatepost again. There was nothing on top of the pillar. He shone the flashlight over at the other gatepost. It was topped by a granite ball. Jim began to work frantically, kicking the jack away and not bothering to collect the tools. He snatched open the SUV's door. Brie stared into the flashlight beam, her eyes huge with fear.
“Okay,” said Jim, trying not to sound overly concerned. “We're good to go.”
“What's wrong?” Brie asked.
“Nothing,” he said firmly, fumbling with his safety belt. “Got the wheel fixed, no problem.”
He clashed the gears putting the Mercedes into reverse, then spun the wheels in the mud. The SUV backed up a few inches then slid forward, hitting the granite gatepost again. Jim took his foot off the gas, tried to gulp down his nervousness, tried again. This time the big car struggled back onto the furrowed driveway, slewing from side to side as Jim revved the motor.
“Right,” he said, changing gear. “Let's get out of this godforsaken–”
The sound of the rain and wind grew suddenly louder. A chill blew through the interior of the SUV. In the rearview mirror, Jim saw a pale shape moving swiftly in the gloom as he heard one of the rear doors close. He lifted the flashlight as high as he could in the confined space, prepared to bring it down hard.
“What is it?” asked Brie, twisting around in her seat. “Did that thing get inside?”
“Don't worry,” he said. “I'll sort it out. Just get ready to run if–”
“Mommy?”
The voice was that of a child. Jim hesitated, lifted himself in the seat to look into the back of the Mercedes. He could just make out a pale face looking up at him. It was apparently that of a small boy, small features topped by a mop of brown hair. Definitely not the leering gargoyle figure he had seen earlier.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, turning the flashlight to illuminate the newcomer. Small, skinny hands quickly covered the face.
An American accent, Jim thought, brain racing.
“Tommy?” said Brie, unfastening her seat belt. “Is that you?”
“Mommy!”
The small figure flung itself forward between the seats, and wrapped pale, skinny arms around Brie. Jim saw then that the diminutive figure was clad in some kind of grayish-brown, ragged garment, more like some kind of medieval robe than regular clothes.
“Who is this?” Jim demanded. “Brie?”
“It's Tommy! Can't you see?” Brie looked at him over the small head she was clutching to her. “Jim, this is my son!”
“It can't be!” Jim protested. “How did he get here all the way from America?”
“The bad people brought me,” said the boy, speaking in muffled tones. His head turned, and he looked at Jim. In the beam from the flashlight, the being Brie insisted was Tommy did look like a normal child.
There's definitely a family resemblance, Jim thought. The nose, and the eyes.
“Who brought you?” he asked. “Who are the bad people?”
“You are!” yelled 'Tommy', then buried his face in the front of Brie's coat again. Jim hesitated, wondering if he should continue with their journey or turn back.
This is just the sort of thing Gould needs to know about, he thought.
“Does it matter how he got here?” Brie demanded, her voice quavering with emotion. “He's scared! We've got to go! Get him to safety!”
“Okay,” said Jim, shrugging. He put the Mercedes into gear, and nosed it through the gate. But as the road came into view in the headlights, Tommy began to thrash around and whine.
“No, no, don't take me away!” he cried. “Take me back to the big house!”
For the first time since the newcomer had appeared, Brie looked uncertain.
“No, honey,” she said, “that's a bad place.”
“That's not your son!” Jim shouted, his mind suddenly clear of all doubt. “It makes no sense, Brie!”
“Tommy?” breathed Brie. Jim pulled up and again raised the heavy flashlight, but hesitated to bring it down on what still looked very much like a child's head. Tommy had become very still, his arms still wrapped around Brie. Then he emitted a growling noise that sounded more like a vicious dog than a child.
“No!” Brie shouted, trying to push the creature away. In a matter of seconds, Tommy had started to change, limbs growing longer and thinner, head losing its human-like roundness, hair becoming more sparse. The creature suddenly darted its head up and fastened onto Brie's face. Jim heard a sickening sound, part biting, part suction. Brie screamed and thrashed, trying to break free of the monstrous embrace, as Jim brought the flashlight down hard on the back of the elongated head. The being emitted a snarl, twisted its head around a hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a blood-stained muzzle.
Part-wolf, part-baboon, thought Jim, as he aimed another blow. Even as he brought his improvised club down, the creature was lunging toward him and the blow barely connected with the white, bare shoulder. The creature shoved its inhuman face towards Jim's, and he glimpsed an array of needle-like, blood-stained teeth. Impeded by his safety belt, Jim tried to grab his assailant by its long neck, but it was too fast and too strong. He flinched, closing his eyes, trying to protect his face with his free hand. He felt pain and the hot gush of blood.
“Get out Brie!” he shouted. “Run!”
***
“Okay,” said Matt. “So, what have we learned from this?”
“These things are way out of our league,” said Denny. “I vote we quit.”
“Seconded,” said Frankie.
Matt and Gould both began to protest at the same time.
“Seriously?” Denny said, hands on hips. “This is not listening for things that go bump in the night, guys. We've never encountered anything this extreme.”
“No,” said Gould, “but you've come close to them a few times.”
“What?” exclaimed Matt. “You never told me that!”
Denny and the rest of the 'America's Weirdest' team listened while Gould explained why the Romola Foundation had invited them to England. By the time he had finished, Matt was even madder about the information withheld, and other team members were not far behind.
“And you chose now to tell us?” shouted Denny. “Jesus!”
“I'm sorry,” Gould said. “But if we had told you that one of your team has an affinity with these beings it would have tainted the experiment.”
“Well, we wouldn't want that,” said Marvin. “Anyone else feel like a rat in a maze?”
“Rest assured,” Gould went on, “that anyone who wants to join Brie can do so. I'll drive you back to Chester myself.”
“What if we all want to quit?” demanded Denny, angrily. “Because I've had enough of your bullshit, Ted.”
“Hey, let's not be hasty!” Matt began, but hesitated at a sound in the distance. “What was that?”
“The front door?” suggested Frankie. “Jim can't be back already?”
They had just reached the door into the hall when it was yanked open and Brie rushed through, colliding with Denny. Brie was bleeding from a cut on her cheek. Gould and Marvin held the psychic upright while she babbled about 'Tommy' and 'monsters'. Denny wrinkled her nose. Along with Brie came a stench, like rotting meat. Then Denny saw Jim coming through the front door, carrying something in his arms. It was a gray-brown, nondescript object wrapped in Jim's jacket. Denny saw that it was dripping an oily black fluid onto the floor tiles.
“It just died,” said Jim flatly, throwing his burden down.
The stench grew stronger when the rotting creature hit the floor. The impact sounded to Denny like wet laundry being dropped. The group formed a semi-circle around the disparate jumble of organic debris, exclaiming at the foul odor. There was little to see apart from a spreading puddle of putrefaction. A few traces of what might have been bones, organs and tendons were rapidly disintegrating.
“What the hell is that?” asked Marvin, stepping away.
“It's an Interloper,” said Gould, covering his mouth with a scarf. “I've never seen one this close. Not in a long while, anyway.”
“You've even got a name for these things?” Jim said resentfully. “You might have given me a heads up, boss! It scared the crap out of us. It could have killed us both if it hadn't suddenly fallen apart. Brie's wound isn’t too bad but it will need cleaning, can somebody see to that?”
“I'll do it,” said Marvin.
To Denny's surprise, Marvin took Brie gently by the arm and led her to the kitchen, where they'd stowed their First-Aid kit.
“I'm sorry, everyone,” said Gould, “but I never expected them to be so aggressive all at once. Normally they lurk on the margins of perception, observing. When they decide to meddle, though–”
“They kill people, or try to,” said Jim. “Ted, I vote we all get out of here.”
“Same here,” Denny and Frankie said simultaneously.
“What I said earlier stands,” Matt insisted. “We can't just walk away from here with nothing. We can't afford it.”
Matt looked around at his team.
“If we don't get a usable show out of this, it's game over,” he went on. “Ratings have not been great for the last season. If we go back empty handed, the network drops us, and we've got nothing.”
“You kept this quiet!” objected Denny. “What happened to all that stuff about us being one big happy team?”
Chapter 6: The Exchange
After much bickering, it was decided that Jim would remain with Brie while the rest of the team filmed for an hour in the cellar. If nothing happened, they would leave. Matt was grumpy about the last point, arguing that they had nothing of value in the can.
“We've had real paranormal experiences,” Denny pointed out. “And two of us were attacked, could have been killed. What more do you want?”
Gould tried and failed to persuade Marvin to come with them, arguing
that a psychic would be useful.
“I'm happy here,” Marvin said. “I communicate with human spirits, not monsters from some hell dimension. But hey, knock yourselves out!”
As the depleted team walked back along the dim-lit corridors towards Blaisdell's temple, Frankie filmed Denny firing questions at Gould.
“Okay, let's accept your theory of the Interlopers,” she said. “But why do they only turn up sometimes? Like, when a crazy, old lord tried devil worship? Or in 1919, when those guys were killed? Why then, but not the hundreds of other years that people lived here?”
“Some people have an affinity for them,” said Gould. “Quite unintentionally, some people trigger the PD gateways just by their proximity. Perhaps in ancient times such people were shamans, witches. They could call up the Interlopers, bargain with them.”
“Bargain for what?” Denny shot back.
Here, Gould looked uncertain.
“Perhaps persuade them to kill enemies – they would make ideal assassins, able to shape themselves into seductive or terrifying forms. Also, there are numerous legends about good or bad fortune following people who have dealings with supernatural beings. The familiar deal with the Devil is just one variant of a very old idea. These beings may have powers over luck, fate, destiny – there's still so much we don't know. But we're keen on finding out.”
“But what do they want?” she persisted. “Why do they kidnap people, kill people? Or try to replace them?”
“What are we doing here?” Gould riposted. “Research, experiment.”
“You mean they're scientists, too?” asked Matt.
“I think they're trying to understand us better,” replied Gould. “And I don't think they're doing their research out of a love of abstract knowledge. I think they have a higher purpose. A goal in mind.”
“Bet it doesn't end in hugs and puppies,” commented Frankie, sourly.
They arrived at the temple doorway. The interior was pitch black. Gould took a handful of small flares from his backpack. He explained, as they worked by chemical reaction, they should not be affected by any fluctuations in electrical power. He lit the first flare then threw the small metal tube onto the floor at the bottom of the staircase.
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