by David Scott
Pulcinella observed the men running in different directions. It could not take the risk of the one approaching the house reaching his destination, and warning those within. However, he was too far from its rifle range to guarantee a definite kill.
A quick calculation. Pulcinella raised its right limb. A thick, silver arrow levered up from its forearm. It held it for a moment, aiming. The arrow shot forward with rocket-like propulsion, whistling through the air towards its target. It plunged, with ease, into the back of the man’s skull, which almost exploded from the force. Vaughn hit the concrete path dead; his handsome face now unrecognisable from the devastating assault.
It then charged forward to the house. On entering it saw several people in the kitchen area, and quickly disposed of them, before moving them aside to clear its passage.
In the living area, it saw two people huddled together, resting against the wall. They stared back at it, elven features framed in fear. Pulcinella was not interested in any similarity between the two, did not care for any theological discussion on sexuality. It simply ended their lives with two tiny bullets. Max and Mandy slumped onto one another, conjoined in a pool of blood. The fire crackled nearby with glee.
Pulcinella moved through the rest of the house swiftly, finishing off a young man near the front door, who was trying to get out and failing due to his alcohol-muddled brain; he fell alongside the entrance, and Pulcinella dragged him aside to get up the stairs.
A girl wearing skimpy grey cotton shorts and a yellow vest-top stopped in the middle of the staircase. She turned to run back up the stairs, but her jelly-legs could barely move, and any cry for help was stopped by a fierce blow to her back. Pulcinella pushed past on to the bedrooms, where it quickly dispatched a couple, who were heavy petting on Simon’s bed. The virgin blood spilt on the white duvet, prematurely ending their first sexual experience.
The house was pleased to receive new souls to walk eternally within its walls. Its hunger sated. The temperature dropped even lower.
Pulcinella’s radar revealed that a car was approaching with one person inside. It was about 10 minutes away. Otherwise there were only two people moving in the area, and they were heading for the parlour. They had stopped. It turned, and sped towards them.
“Si, I don’t think I can go on. I need a rest, please. Look, it is nowhere to be seen. We made it.” Carl pleaded for respite.
Exhausted due to his general lack of fitness, Carl reprimanded himself for not having exercised more but, really, who would suspect he would ever have to run for his life from a relentless killer? Nevertheless, Carl thought that he should have looked after himself, if nothing more to delay the inevitable screams of the sirens, who eventually come to take us all away. Every time Carl heard an ambulance’s cry, it sent shivers down his spine.
“Carl, we have to keep moving. We need to get to my dad.”
“How much further is it, Si?”
“Not far.” Simon said, encouragingly, “We have to run through the barn up there, across the courtyard, and he will be in the opposite building.”
“Oh my god! Si, look. Run! Now! I mean it, run!”
Simon looked back towards the farm house, and saw movement, two red searchlights were flashing and moving steadfastly towards them. The killer had seen them.
Simon and Carl were both running to the barn. Inside, it was pitch black, except for a shard of moonlight. Immediately to the right of the entrance was a ladder, leading up to the hay loft. Simon stopped and turned towards it, realising that they could not outrun their pursuer, and their only hope was to hide.
“Carl, quick, up here!”
Carl nodded in agreement, and beckoned for Simon to go up first. They moved quickly up the rickety, old ladder and lay down facing one another, covering themselves in a blanket of hay. Carl held Simon’s hand tightly. He could feel his warm breath on his face. It had the sweet smell of liquor. They breathed quietly, not daring to move.
Simon’s mind was full of furious thoughts, all of which were fighting to be heard. He was going to die. He had never told his dad that he loved him. That he knew everything he had done was for him. His father would never know the real Simon; the loving, over-emotional gay son desperate to be loved unconditionally. He had never had sex or experienced romantic intimacy. His preassigned cosmic lover had not found him.
Simon whispered a prayer, the first in many years, “Please God get us through this.”
Simon wasn’t sure that he believed in the existence of a god, and had never really believed that he would ever die anyway. He thought life was only a dream or perhaps some kind of advanced virtual reality game which would never end. It could all be false, after all he could only remember having lived once, so who could say for certain that one day he would cease to be? And when he closed his eyes and tried to imagine not existing at all, well, it was just beyond his comprehension. No, it was easier to believe that it would never happen.
Heavy steps echoed on the stone floor of the barn. Simon started to shake uncontrollably. He squeezed his eyes close, trying desperately to shut everything out. Little did Simon know that there was no escape from Pulcinella. It heard every word. Could see and track every movement. Could sense their heat signatures, and locate them precisely.
Pulcinella stood under the rotten wood forming the base of the hay loft, directly underneath where Simon and Carl were lying. Its arm transformed into a long, metal spear, almost like a lance. Pulcinella plunged it upwards with force, easily ripping through the wood, and the body above.
Simon felt Carl jut upwards, and then back down.
Pulcinella repeated the motion, forcing its metal rod through Simon’s torso, and heaving it back out.
Penetrated by cold steel, leaving nothing but agonising pain and a flurry of blood, the reality of the situation flooded Simon’s brains. The dam had burst and panic gushed out. His eyes flitted back and forth, desperately. Tears poured out of him. Not now, not yet. It was too soon. He had only just managed to be true to himself.
Simon felt cold fingers intertwine with his. Simon stared forward. The moonlight caught Carl’s face and he could see those familiar deep-brown eyes staring back at him. They looked almost peaceful.
Carl managed a whisper.
“I hope we meet in the next life, Si.”
Carl’s grip loosened but his eyes continued to stare straight at Simon.
“No, Carl. Don’t leave me. Please. I’m so scared.”
Simon suddenly felt freezing cold, and overwhelmingly tired. Everything in his body was shutting down. Time to die, he thought sadly. And, somehow, the certainty and acceptance that this was it, brought some inner peace and calmness. Maybe everything would be ok. He would see if there was more on the other side. The answer to the greatest mystery was about to be revealed. It was his turn to know. He closed his eyes for the last time, and let go.
The yellow hay was soaked by their blood, which was seeping steadily through the cracks and dripping down onto the floor below.
Pulcinella registered the two deaths, and then returned quickly back to the farm house, where someone was about to enter the front door.
Molly had been so excited to be with Vaughn again. She tingled all over every time that she was near to him. At the same time, the past few days had been emotionally exhausting, and she felt that she had no time to catch her breath; Molly just wanted a little time to herself to gather her thoughts, and compose her emotions. The fantasy had turned to reality and she needed to get her head around this.
Their relationship was forged in a different time and place. Having Vaughn here with her now, in her home town amongst people she had known her whole life, was alien to her, surreal. At the same time, her emotions surged positively with genuine feelings of joy and love.
Given the efforts that Vaughn had made to be with her, there was no way that she could have asked him for some space or to slow down. And, selfishly, Molly did not want to do anything that could possibly damage their relationship. She
just needed her brain to process everything more quickly.
Maybe she should say nothing and just go with the flow, but that would be so unlike her. Molly liked to think things through carefully. People who knew her complained that she would agonise over decisions, almost obsessively, and Molly acknowledged this to herself.
If they continued at break-neck speed, without rationalising what they were doing and planning for the future, they could crash and burn, and that could destroy them both. Although, when two worlds collide, they normally reform into something bigger and better; disaster by design, leaving a trail of destruction but leading to the creation of a beautiful new world.
Molly drove on at speed, as all of these thoughts were racing equally as fast through her tired mind.
Vaughn had been an unexpected arrival in her life. Molly had no desire or intention to meet anyone in Ireland. After all, she was still dating her childhood sweetheart. But when she first saw Vaughn, everything changed. It was like something out of a movie. Their eyes had met in a restaurant near their hostel, on her first night in Ireland, and they had then kept each other in their sights the whole evening. An indescribable allure, a gravitational attraction. There was nothing she could do.
The morning after the first time they had slept together, Molly had gone to the bathroom, and wept. How could she do this to her boyfriend? What sort of woman was she? Molly expected more from herself but felt out of control and could not fight her feelings for Vaughn. She imagined her grandma in the clouds looking down on her disappointedly; she cried some more. And then she started laughing, realising how pathetic she must look, and feeling, for the first time in her life, giddy with happiness. This was meant to be. Maybe it was fate or perhaps her meeting Vaughn was part of some grand design. Whatever it was, Molly had never felt this way before, and was not prepared to lose him.
Thinking back to their time in Dublin reminded Molly just how much she loved Vaughn and, suddenly, any doubts she had evaporated. Something in her mind just clicked. This drive was exactly what she had needed. To hell with it all. Molly knew she was ready to give in completely to her feelings, and let their love boil over. Bring it on.
A sense of relief passed over Molly. This calmness told her that she had made the right decision. Molly wanted to be back with Vaughn as soon as possible. To be held in his strong arms, to feel his soft bristle on her cheeks, to look into his soulful eyes and tell him she loved him, now and forever. Molly smiled at the thought and pressed her foot down on the accelerator.
Molly couldn’t help but fantasise about a wedding by the sea, three little children running by her side, a cottage in the country surrounded by fields, and joy and laughter, for ever more; a medley of prescient dreams. Molly laughed to herself. Now who was going too fast. She reminded herself that it was probably best to take one day at a time.
The little red Mini coped admirably with the uneven tread of the private, gravel road that led to the farm. She slowed down a little, worried that the tower of pizza boxes may fall over. The smell of hot cheese and various meaty toppings was suffocating. Molly opened her window, concerned that no amount of air freshener would ever get rid of the heady scents of tuna mixed with pepperoni. First world problems, she thought, as she finally approached the front of the house.
Molly pulled up and got out of the car, empty-handed. The party must be in full swing by now but she would have to get a couple of volunteers to help bring in the pizzas.
Out of habit, Molly locked the door and two beeps sounded to confirm the car’s safety. A hoot from a nearby owl sounded in reply, warning her to stay away.
The rusted hinges of the black, wrought-iron gate, screeched, as she prised it open. Heading towards the front door, a shiver went down her spine. Maybe it was the cooling night air, the eerie look of the old farm house, or something else. Molly rubbed her exposed arms to try to warm them, as goose bumps scattered all over them, screaming out that something was wrong.
Molly could hear music playing loudly in the distance. Everyone must be out back, she thought. One of her favourite tracks from the 1980’s was playing. The upbeat melody called her on. It heightened her emotions further and she did a little dance, as she skipped along the red-pebbled path leading to the house.
On opening the door, the music suddenly stopped. They must be changing the song, she thought. The silence was deafening. There was no noise at all, no talking, laughter or movement. It was almost as though she was attending her own surprise party, and everyone was waiting to jump out. Maybe this was some kind of prank, Molly thought.
The living room lights were turned off but the fire was dancing fiercely in its pit, emitting a hellish glow to brighten its surroundings. Molly moved instinctively towards its warmth. Something was not right. The music had not restarted. There was still no noise. And the lights were all out.
Molly’s breath quickened, as she started to feel scared. She looked in all directions but was unable to see around the corner to the dining area, or through the door to the kitchen.
“This is not funny you guys. Come on. Come out now. Honestly, enough is enough.”
Molly spoke loudly to break the silence and to embolden herself.
“Well, ok, we can play this game if you like but your pizzas are getting cold. Guys?”
Still nothing. Molly tried not to panic but suddenly felt vulnerable and afraid. She tried to re-assure herself that everything was fine. She would go outside and find Vaughn, waiting for her with a drink in-hand. Si and Carl would be fooling around. The music system must be broken.
And then out of the darkness, Molly saw two glowing red eyes moving towards her from the kitchen area. She stood perfectly still. This sight was new to Molly but she had read in the news of a similar experience, and knew what was likely to happen next. It was everyone’s new, worst nightmare. Pulcinella was here.
Molly knew about all of the people brutally executed by Pulcinella but had never thought anything like that would ever befall her. Just like any sad news story, it happens to someone else. The tragedy is seen on a piece of paper or on a screen, comfortably distant, almost unreal. But now it was happening to Molly. It would be her face in the press, her death people would read about.
Molly prayed that Vaughn had escaped but knew somewhere deep-down that he hadn’t. He would not have left her. Molly felt fury course through her veins. How dare Pulcinella take him away from her? How could he cruelly kill so many people? Well, not her. She would not die. Not tonight.
Molly recalled Si’s stories about his father. How he always prepared for the worst; a garage full of tinned foods and bottled water; gallons of oil and numerous batteries in the storehouse; weapons at-hand and loaded in case of any intrusion. Si had complained how he even kept two loaded shot guns above the fireplace in case of a home invasion. The weapons were right next to her.
“Well, it looks like your father was right after all, Si.” Molly said quietly, grabbing one of the guns and holding it out in front of herself, waiting.
The shadowy form of Pulcinella was now standing in front of Molly. Sharp steel limbs extended from its various limbs, gleaming with flashes of orange and yellow from the spectating firelight, and darted forward towards her.
Molly held Pulcinella in her sight and did not hesitate to pull the trigger.
It grabbed her hair, ripping part of it out, as she fell backwards from the force of the powerful weapon, and hit her head on the mantlepiece.
Dazed and confused, with a loud ringing in her ears from the shot, Molly opened her eyes.
Pulcinella was on the ground right by her, in front of the fire.
Molly scrambled up with fright, and immediately took down the second shot gun. She aimed it at point blank range at its back, and fired again.
Pulcinella did not move. It was motionless.
Molly threw down the gun and ran out of the back door into the cold night air.
The reality of it all hit her, and she stumbled to the ground next to Vaughn’s body
.
Rows of mutilated bodies surrounding her, littering the path ahead.
Molly screamed out at the sky, over and over again, like a crazed, wild beast. She dropped on to Vaughn’s back, and let the darkness take her.
TWELVE
Dan and Luke sped up the dirt track leading to the farm. The car tyres sucked up and spat out the gravel from the old, dirt road as they raced past fallow fields and broken fences.
They happened to already be close to the farm when the call came in. Bernie had remembered her lost key; the makeshift weapon which she used to try to fend off Pulcinella near the cable car station. It now acted as a spy for the FBI, silently transmitting a traceable signal to those searching for it but unknown to all others, including Pulcinella. The chip was not sufficiently high-tech to permit discovery but enough to provide its location within a 50 kilometre radius. The team had immediately started a high-surveillance operation in the area, and increased significantly their presence. Naturally, Dan and Luke had set up base within the area, helping in the search, hoping to track and locate Pulcinella, as they awaited further news about the steel analysis from Diana.
Dan and Luke had a lucky break, rolled a six, and were staying coincidentally close to the farm in a small home-stay. However, sometimes a high-roll of a dice might belie good-luck; you find out that you are playing ‘Snakes and Ladders’, and are trapped in the jaws of a viper about to suffer a perilous descent.
The headlights’ main beam blinded the road ahead. They slammed on the breaks, as a girl came running towards them, screaming and waving her hands frantically above her head, for them to stop. They were the first on the scene. The local law enforcement officers had not yet arrived from town.
The girl’s blond hair was modernised by bright red streaks; the coagulating blood had stiffened and spiked certain strands of hair, leaving it looking styled for a rave. A patch of hair was missing, leaving a bloody blotch, which was slowly growing and spreading out in all directions. Her arms and legs looked painfully white, with hues of blue, flailing out of her tiny pink t-shirt and overly short denim skirt. She was out of breath and panting hard, standing with her hands on her slim hips, shivering, and bending over to try to catch her breath.
