Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  Don’t be stupid. This is real life. And real life is mundane and painful, not supernatural.

  “Am I going to be okay?” asked Costa. His throat bulged like he was about to be sick.

  Adam leant closer to peer at his nasty wound. Layers of flesh had parted, exposing pale globules of fat. “I’m not a doctor, Costa, but I… I think you’ll be okay. You’ll need stitches. Probably a few.” But the blood would be squirting and gushing out if you were bleeding to death, right?

  I have no idea.

  Tasha dumped herself on the chair beside Costa and rubbed his back in a sisterly fashion. “Why would someone do this to you? We need to call the police and catch the bastard.”

  “No signal, remember?” said John. “Which means the only way to fetch help is to get in our cars.”

  “Don’t go out there,” said Costa. “Please!”

  Adam put a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “No one is going anywhere until we understand what the hell is going on.”

  “I need some coffee,” said Patrick. “Can I get anybody a hot drink?”

  Adam frowned. “A hot drink? Are you serious?”

  How about some cake and biscuits? Let’s make a night of it.

  “We could all do with something to calm the nerves,” said John. “I’ll help Patrick make some tea while we try to figure this out.”

  Patrick smiled. “Yes, thank you, that would be… yes.”

  Adam watched the two men head to the picnic tables. It worried him that they were stepping out of the light of the phones, but nothing could happen to them, surely?

  Who the hell is outside and why did they stab Costa? Was it to stop him getting help for Kevin?

  Adam asked a question. “Costa, is there anybody who would follow you here tonight to get the jump on you?”

  Costa shook his head. A tear fell down his cheek. “I don’t even know anyone. I joined the army right from school and only left to take care of my mum. I have no friends and no enemies. No one had any reason to do this to me. Shit, it hurts.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “You were in the army? I never knew that.”

  That’s usually something you mention, right? I know Kevin is – was – an accountant, and that Betty used to work at a strip lighting firm, so why didn’t I know Costa was an ex-soldier? Why did he keep it a secret?

  Because he has the right. No one has to share anything they don’t want to.

  Costa shrugged. “Not much to tell about it. I was a communications specialist in the Signals. It was dull and I was glad to leave.”

  “I’m sorry about your mum,” said Tasha. “Sounds like you were a good son. Family’s important. I would jump through fire if it meant my brother would be alive.”

  Costa seemed unsettled for a moment, but then he gave a thin-lipped smile. “Thank you. Bet you wish you’d never joined our group, huh?”

  Tasha shrugged.

  “We need a plan,” said Adam. “I saw someone with a white face in the car park just like Costa described. Someone’s out there that possibly wants to hurt us, and we have no way of calling for help.”

  John shrugged. “So what do we do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Tasha shrugged. Rather than afraid, she seemed pissed off. “If there’s one lonely dude outside looking for a fight, let’s give him one. How many of us are there?”

  “I’m not getting in a fight,” said Betty. “Stupid girl.”

  “Betty, that ruby on your finger could do some real damage, but even without you there’s five of us. We should arm up and go deal with this piece of shit.”

  Adam tittered. Tasha’s spirit was reassuring, but her lack of planning was less so. “Let’s put a pin in that until there’s no other option,” he said. “Whoever’s out there has a knife. If we rush outside, one of us could get hurt.”

  And it could end up being me. As much as I want to get out of here, I don’t fancy getting stabbed. Even though I probably deserve it.

  I deserve worse.

  “We should look out the windows,” said Betty. “There’s nowhere to hide out front, so let’s see what we’re dealing with before running around like lunatics.”

  Adam thought it was a good idea. “The building backs onto woodland, but you’re right about the car park, Betty. There’s nowhere to hide out there.”

  “Tea’s ready,” said Patrick, his voice a high-pitched whistle. “Come get it while it’s hot.”

  Adam found Patrick’s fixation on making hot drinks a tad bizarre, but it was probably just his way of coping. To help facilitate, he took a mug of tea from the table and asked Patrick how he was doing.

  “Oh yes, I’m fine, thank you, Adam. I just don’t like violence. Y-You know I used to beat my first wife, yes? I’ve shared that in the group?”

  Adam winced. “Yeah, Patrick. We all know about that, but that’s not you any more, right? That was the alcoholic you left behind eleven years ago. It’s in the past. The distant past.”

  Nothing’s ever truly in the past. We carry our actions with us wherever we go – a scorecard of our soul.

  Patrick blinked as if he’d just woken up. “Yes, you’re right. I’m not sure why I just brought it up. Samantha and I have been married for four years now, and I’ve never once raised a hand to her. I can barely believe I ever did such vile things. I tried to make amends to my first wife, of course, following the steps and all that, but she told me the only way I could help was by never coming near her ever again. She had every right to say that, I suppose. Still, I tried.”

  “It’s not always possible to make amends,” said Adam, wondering why he was suddenly counselling his counsellor. “Some crimes can’t be forgiven. We just have to live with them.”

  Or die with them.

  “Yes, of course, but after trying so long to find inner peace, violence makes me feel rather ill. I can’t… I can’t deal with it very well at all. I can’t be around it. It brings back too many memories.”

  Adam put a hand on Patrick’s arm. “You’ve been clean and sober for a decade. You haven’t raised your hand in anger once since getting clean. You’re in control, Patrick. Just stay calm and help the rest of us like you have been doing week in week out. You’re a good man and we trust you.”

  Patrick looked Adam in the eye. “I’m not a good man. I’ll never get to be one either, will I? Not after the things I’ve done. Even if it’s in the past.”

  Adam raised his tea and took a tiny sip. The warmth gave him a little tickle along his spine. “Stop wallowing, Patrick. Wallowing is what made us alcoholics in the first place. We’re going to take a look out the windows and see what we’re up against, okay? Then we’ll face our problems head-on.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m with you, Adam. All the way.”

  With a mumbling curse, John turned and looked at them from further along the picnic table. He appeared concerned. “I think you should both check this out.”

  Adam shuffled over. “What is it?”

  John pointed. “The brownies. After what happened to Kevin, I wanted to see if they were really as dry as they appeared. I broke off a piece and… Well, just look.”

  It was hard to see with only the harsh glare of the nearby mobile phones, but with a slight effort Adam’s eyes adjusted and he could make out the plate full of sugar-free snacks. True to what John had said, one of the chocolaty squares had been snapped off at the corner. A filling oozed out, fizzing as it reacted with the air. Adam lifted the brownie to his nose and sniffed. The smell was peculiar but not unpleasant – a mixture of cocoa and… almonds?

  “You think someone poisoned the food?” asked John.

  Adam rubbed his forehead and tried to figure things out. “Did anyone have the doughnuts or muffins?”

  Patrick had been listening and he nodded. “I had one of each before the meeting started. Betty had a muffin too.”

  “And Tasha had a doughnut,” John added.

  “It was just the diabetic brownies then,” Adam deduced. “Th
e thing only Kevin would eat.”

  Did somebody want him dead?

  John folded his arms and glanced back over his shoulder. He spoke in a whisper. “You think this is all about Kevin? But he was harmless.”

  “He was an alcoholic,” said Patrick. “Who knows what misery he’s caused.”

  Adam didn’t like the theory, even though it was valid. All alcoholics had the capacity to cause pain, even lovable ones like Kevin. “He came here because he realised he was killing himself with food and drink. He drank at home with his wife, so what harm could he have caused?”

  Patrick sighed. “One thing I know about alcoholics is that they keep secrets and tell lies, even to themselves. We have no idea who Kevin was outside of this group. Clearly, someone planned to murder him – successfully, I might add.”

  Adam closed his eyes and took a needed breath. Were they really talking about murder? Was it an actual possibility?

  This is all going to click and make sense in a minute.

  It has to.

  John sipped his tea and frowned. “If this was about Kevin, then why stab Costa?”

  “To keep us from getting help,” said Adam, staring into his mug and wishing it was a portal home. “There’s a chance whoever was outside is gone now, which is why we need to look out the windows and make a plan.”

  John nodded. A second later so did Patrick.

  Adam turned back to the others and noticed Betty was wrapping Costa’s arm with a pair of tights. When she saw Adam’s questioning expression, she shrugged. “At my age, it always pays to carry spares.”

  I don’t even want to know why that is.

  Costa was grunting in pain, and he looked away as if he couldn’t face the sight of his own wound. For an ex-squaddie, he was apparently squeamish. “Is that thing still outside?” he asked.

  Thing? Does he really think it’s a thing? We’re getting hysterical.

  I’m getting hysterical.

  “We’re about to go check the windows,” said Adam. “See what’s out there. Tasha, you up for that?”

  Tasha stood and nodded. “I’ll go check out the window over there.”

  Adam watched her head over to the far side of the hall, near the entrance. For a young girl – and an alcoholic, no less – she seemed to have her head screwed on, but she didn’t seem to consider the risk of her actions. She was rash. Angry.

  Like a lot of us when we first join the group.

  Alcohol loves an angry host.

  Patrick and John were checking the windows near the kitchenette, so Adam took the wide double window at the centre of the front wall. Rain cascaded hypnotically down its glass, tracing patterns from top to bottom, silver streams cutting through the black beyond. Its large panes made Adam feel vulnerable as he approached, and his anxious mind conjured the image of a terrible monster smashing through the glass and dragging him out into the night.

  I’m being ridiculous. Let’s just deal with things one step at a time. I’m good at following steps.

  Step one: I am powerless over alcohol.

  No… No, I’ve been clean for one whole year. I’m not powerless any more.

  But I am getting cold. Brrr.

  Even with his jacket on, Adam was shivering. It occurred to him that, with the power off, the heating would’ve probably died too. November wasn’t a great month to be stranded in the dark without warmth.

  He made it to the window, the toes of his trainers touching the wall. Nothing moved outside besides the rain. Their cars were all parked off to one side, impossible to make out beyond a murky block of shadow. An old elm tree grew ten metres from the entrance, enclosed in a circular brick wall. Its thick branches swayed like some eldritch abomination, but it was familiar enough not to frighten Adam, so he looked past it.

  Nothing there. No white face. No dangerous psychopath. Just an empty car park.

  “Hey,” he shouted to the others. “Anybody see anything?”

  “No,” said John. “Looks clear to me.”

  “Same here,” said Tasha.

  Patrick let out a loud sigh. “Do you think it means we can get out of here? Is it safe?”

  Adam pressed his nose against the glass and squinted. “Maybe whoever was out there ran away after they—”

  A stark white face appeared at the window, its nose separated from Adam’s by only half an inch of glass. He leapt back and screamed, mortified by the featureless mask staring back at him.

  What the hell is it? What the hell is it?

  Everyone else started reacting to Adam’s fear, screaming and chattering over one another. “What’s happening?” Patrick wailed. “Please, will somebody tell me?”

  Adam turned to them, hoping his expression conveyed his horror. He pointed at the window behind him. “There’s a… there’s a…” He turned back, but the face had gone. This time there was no doubt in his mind about what he’d seen. “There’s something out there. It was right at the window. A face.”

  Thunder boomed. Close. Loud. It made everyone flinch.

  Adam repeated himself, making sure everyone heard. “There’s something out there.”

  And it’s terrifying.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” Tasha marched over to the double doors and yanked them open, rattling them on their hinges. Rain rushed into the foyer, almost like it was falling sideways, but the girl stepped out and let it soak her. She screamed into the night. “Who the fuck is out there? What the hell do you want? Come on and show yourself, you pussy.”

  “She’s mad,” said Betty. “Mouthy and mad.”

  John folded his arms and shrugged. “She’s got backbone, though, you have to admit.”

  Adam raced across the wooden floor and grabbed Tasha, pulling her back from the foyer. “What are you doing? You want to get yourself killed?”

  “Killed? I ain’t getting killed by some dickhead hiding in the bushes. Enough with this shit. Kevin’s dead and Costa’s hurt. We need to put an end to this shit and leave. Come on, let’s group together and get to our cars.”

  “There’s something out there,” said Adam. “It was… frightening.”

  I sound like an idiot.

  “Some loser in a mask? As long as we’re all cowering in here, he’s winning. We’re only afraid because he’s playing mind games with us.”

  Adam put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps to keep her from running off. She was so angry, and it was making her behave rashly. “Why are you so eager to take a risk?”

  Do you want to be punished for something?

  I get it, but you have to fight it.

  She shook her head at him, annoyed. “Because letting fear control you gets people killed. My brother died in an accident because the people he relied on were running around like headless chickens instead of dealing with the issues in front of them. If we had kept our wits and faced things head-on, maybe my brother would still be alive.”

  She blames herself for his death. Poor kid.

  “I’m sorry. What happened to your brother? How did he die?”

  “Long story, and probably not one you’d believe.”

  “Try me.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Just over a year ago, we went exploring with some friends at an abandoned theme park. The whole place was run-down and in the middle of nowhere, but we thought it would be a laugh. There was this old dark ride we broke into so we could drink and party. It was dangerous and stupid and we paid the price – my brother most of all. He got trapped inside the ride and… he never made it out. Your typical tale of foolish young people trying to get a buzz. It’s so cliched, it’s fucking tragic.”

  All death is cliche because it happens so often. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can see how you might blame yourself for not being able to do anything, but this is different. Someone is targeting us.”

  “Exactly. It’s just a person out there. Our fear is allowing him to fuck with us, but if we man up and head out in a group, what’s he going to do? Stab all of us?”

 
Maybe. I’m not much of a fighter. “I… don’t know.”

  “I say we do it,” said John from a few feet away. “I don’t enjoy being a victim, and my family will worry when I don’t come home.”

  Adam blinked slowly, not understanding why everyone was so eager to take a risk. “When you’re late, they’ll call the police. We should wait here.”

  “I agree,” said Betty. “No point running into trouble.”

  John shook his head. “How long would you wait before you called the police? They’ll worry, sure, but they won’t call the police until they’re absolutely positive something is wrong. It could be past midnight by the time they finally dial nine-nine-nine.”

  “It’s freezing in here,” said Patrick. “I don’t think we can stay much longer.”

  “I’ve survived colder than this,” said Betty. “Mankind survived a long time without central heating, you know?”

  Mankind survived a long time without deodorant. Doesn’t mean we should let ourselves stink.

  “You should all stay,” said Costa. His arm was completely bound in Betty’s tights now, but blood stained his clothing. Luckily his leather jacket had been red to start with.

  “Should we vote?” asked John.

  “No,” said Tasha. “This isn’t an assembly. I’m getting the hell out of here and I think you should all do the same. What if this maniac sets fire to the place with us inside?”

  Adam shivered and had to look away to keep the image of roaring flames out of his mind. He suddenly felt very afraid. Close to panic.

  Don’t think about fire.

  “I’m staying put,” said Betty, folding her arms and looking away. “I’m too old to risk going out there. I can’t fight or run or do anything that would help.”

  “I’m staying here too,” said Costa.

  John rubbed his eyes and then cleared his throat. “Well, I say we confront this head-on. If we arm up and leave together, we’ll be more trouble than we’re worth, surely? Besides, whoever’s out there isn’t here because of me.”

  Patrick pushed his spectacles further up his nose and folded his arms. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I don’t get involved in nonsense like this.”