Eldren: The Book of the Dark (25 page)

This too was empty, but there was a feeling about the place, as if someone had just left. He took out the torch and swung the beam around, just to make sure, but he already knew he was alone.

But he had to be here somewhere...Jim could sense him.

He studied the room again, more closely, and this time he saw it...the darker patch of gray in the shadows.

As he got closer he saw that it was a door, one that was standing partly open.

His breath was coming faster now, and his heart rate was up, the blood pounding in his ears as he reached out and pushed the door.

It swung open without a sound…not even a creak from the obviously old hinges. On the other side there was only darkness, one that his torch beam struggled to pierce.

He could smell it now...above the scent of his own fear...the unmistakable taint of the bloodsuckers. But he had never felt it this strong before...not even in Wester Ross where he’d found a group of five together.

He double-checked the quiver to make sure the bolts were still in place and tested that the tension was right in the bow before he stepped into the darkness.

His torch beam caught something lighter, a rectangular plaque which told him he was in some kind of Navy bunker, which didn’t make him any the wiser.

The air was thicker here, almost cloying, meaty at the back of his throat and stinging in his nostrils. Even breathing through the mouth didn’t help...it felt like he chewed on a ball of cotton wool.

The light from his torch only penetrated five or six feet ahead of him, and all he could see was a flat floor. But when the corridor widened and the echoes told him that the room beyond was much bigger he knew that he was in the right place.

There were dark shadows on either side of him, stretching away into the blackness, and when he shone the torch over them he saw that they were beds. They reminded him of prison.

But it was more than just beds. On each of the bunks there was the black, amorphous shadow of a sleeping figure.

He approached the nearest one slowly and pulled back the sheet that covered it.

It was a woman...late twenties, early thirties at most. As the torchlight hit her face her eyes screwed up and she hissed like a snake, showing off the white fangs. But she didn’t wake.

Jim peeled the cover back, exposing her upper body. She wore a short nightdress, diaphanous and thin and leaving nothing to the imagination. The nipples that were straining against the material were gray and lifeless, like two pieces of plasticine made to resemble the real thing. Her mouth opened and closed as she breathed, each breath escaping with a soft moan that, in a live woman, would have been almost sexy. But to Jim she was nothing more than a piece of dead meat.

He placed the bow over her chest, pressing the point of the quarrel against her skin until it pierced the flesh leaving only a tiny, bloodless hole. Her chest rose and fell, slowly, but he knew that it was only an imitation of life...these things no more needed air than they needed food.

Her eyes snapped open and stared straight at him. He stared back as he pulled the trigger and the bolt went into her heart.

She jerked, just once, as if hit by an electric shock, but there was no blood and the staring eyes didn’t change expression.

Jim watched her for a long time. There was a hissing whistle that he couldn’t trace at first before he realized that it was internal gases escaping around the wooden shaft of the crossbow bolt. He pressed the bolt to one side with his left index finger. There was a sudden gasp, like a sharp intake of breath, then the room was quiet.

He breathed out and counted through the relaxation tricks he’d taught himself in the long days in prison, feeling tension drain from his muscles.

There was a grim smile on his face as he reloaded the crossbow and moved over to the next bunk, a grin which faded as he pulled the rough cover backward and looked down into the face of a three year old child.

~-o0O0o-~

The gravel crunched under their feet as Tony and Margaret made their way up the drive.

“Tell me about it,” Margaret said. “The last time you were here.”

Tony struggled for the words to start.

What could he say to an adult about the feelings he had on that day...he had even kept them hidden from himself.

“We were looking for Morlocks,” he said, and saw the anticipated amusement on the teacher’s face.

“I know,” he said wearily, “It sounds like a kid’s game. But we were bored, and we needed something to do.”

Margaret nodded gravely, as if she understood, but Tony knew that was an act for his benefit. Girls, even grown up ones, would never understand what went on in the minds of young boys with time on their hands.

“I can’t remember much about what went on in the house,” he said, aware that it was a lie. He could remember it as if it was a film playing in his head...it was just that he refused to run the projector. He knew it was all there...he could even tell the dark part of his mind where it was stored.

“The papers said that Billy ran away from home,” Margaret said, her voice soft, as if probing for a response.

“That was what his father wanted,” Tony said. “He never liked Billy anyway. But he didn’t run away...I left him in the cellar with that thing. And I got out. And I ran and ran, but it never came for me, and I thought that I had dreamed it all and that Billy really had run away, but I always had the book there under my bed to make sure I knew it was true. Then I did that stupid trick in the boiler room and it all came back.”

The sentences came out in one rush without a pause for breath and by the time it was finished Tony was surprised to discover he was crying again.

“Tell me again about the book,” Margaret said. “Where did you find it?”

Tony wasn’t sure...it was somewhere in that part of his mind that he refused to study.

“I don’t know. I think it was in the cellar...in the same place as the vampire. I think it was in the tomb with him.”

“Have you read it?” she asked, and he nodded in return.

“You’ve seen it yourself. It’s a bible. A vampire bible. There’s all sorts of stuff in it...about how God made them first, how they got their commandments before we did. And there’s someone called the Redeemer...she’s the one that stops them drinking blood.”

Margaret was silent for several seconds before speaking.

“I don’t think the one that got Brian was much into religion,” she said. “I think the bible was put there by someone else.”

She seemed to think for a moment.

“There was only the bible there? Nothing else?”

Tony had a mental picture of something flashing silver, a long thin blade of steel, but he pushed that image away again.

“There’s only the papers that were inside the cover. Mr. Reid said that they were an exorcism, but I couldn’t understand all the foreign words.”

The teacher wasn’t really listening...she seemed distracted.

“The serpent. That’s important,” she said almost to herself.

Tony had read about the serpent as well. It was everywhere in the book, always doing bad things.

“Do you still have the papers?” she asked him, and again he nodded.

“Good. Hold on to them. I think I’ve got an idea.”

She didn’t say anything else, and when Tony looked over at her she was staring fixedly at the house ahead of them.

They were much closer now, and the house looked even less inviting close up.

The front door was lying open.

“I’m sure I closed it,” Margaret said, almost a whisper but Tony didn’t notice. He stared into the darkness beyond the door, and the closer they got, the less convinced he was that he would make it inside without his legs giving way

His throat was dry and the inside of his mouth felt like he’d swallowed a spoonful of dust. His hands were shaking and he pushed them hard into the pockets of his trousers where Margaret couldn’t see them.

And then he had another thought, one that should have struck him long ago but only now bubbled to the surface.

“What if Billy is still in there? What if he’s one of them?”

He stopped, five yards from the door, sweat pouring down his forehead. He couldn’t breathe, as if some great beast had him in a bear hug around the chest, and his legs trembled all down their length.

“Miss Brodie,” he said. “Margaret.”

The world began to gray out around him and he had to sit down hard, his teeth clicking shut on his tongue as his buttocks met the gravel.

He heard footsteps on the gravel as the teacher rushed over to him.

“Tony?” she said, and it was muffled as if her voice was coming through a wall. His ears were ringing and when he raised a hand in front of his face he could see far too many fingers.

“Just sit still for a minute,” the teacher said. He put his head low on his chest and tried to calm down the heartbeat that was threatening to push through his ribs.

He still couldn’t breathe and he gasped, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish taken out of its bowl.

“Listen to me Tony,” Margaret said.

He looked up, and the concern in her eyes was the start of him regaining control.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” she said, and repeated it, more forcibly this time.

He managed a breath, one intake of air that seemed to go on for minutes, a breath that he let out all at once in one explosive burst.

“I bid my dongue,” he said, and Margaret’s sudden laughter was enough to release the hold on his chest. He whooped in great gulps of air and his eyes came back into focus.

“Sorry,” he said when he finally felt able to speak again.

“That’s all right,” Margaret said. “I’ve been close to it myself. I meant what I said though...you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

He tried to stand but the teacher pushed him back down again.

“Give me the papers you mentioned earlier,” she said. “I’ll go in and deal with it.”

Tony shook his head.

“No. I’m coming with you. I ran away the last time, and Billy died.”

He was pulled into a soft embrace, one that he had no urge to escape.

“I promise you,” the teacher said. “If things get hairy in there then you’ll have to be fast to beat me out.”

This time it was his turn to laugh, and he still had a smile on his face as they helped each other to their feet. Tony picked up the sports bag and they walked, hand in hand, towards the door.

~-o0O0o-~

Jim stood over the small body, just looking down at it.

It felt like time had warped around him. He stared down at the bunk, but he saw a floor, and the child that was lying there.

He reached down and stroked the fine hair at its brow, making comforting noises as he put down the crossbow and gathered the child to his chest.

The body felt warm to the touch, and he felt its hot breath against his neck as he walked around the room.

He wasn’t seeing the bunk beds. He was in broad daylight, in a room he had decorated himself.

A mobile chimed sweetly above him, a school of ceramic dolphins playing in the breeze. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and thick to the touch and his son felt reassuringly warm and alive against his chest.

He sang as he walked, songs that he had himself heard at his grandmother’s knee, about spiders climbing up spouts, about daddies coming home, nonsense songs whose only purpose was comfort.

He walked over to the window and looked down into the garden, smiling down at Sandra tending the garden. He’d told her not to exert herself, not when she was pregnant, but she pushed the lawnmower around as if it was a shopping trolley in a crowded supermarket.

One thing was for sure; they wouldn’t have a lawn with fine, even stripes...more like crazy paving. But for the moment he was happy not to worry about anything.

His son squirmed in his arms, coming up out of sleep in that gentle way that kids have, arms straining for release, mouth just opening as if getting ready to scream.

He was just beginning to get his first teeth; smooth white knobs of flesh just protruding from pink fleshy gums.

Jim put his little finger into the boy’s mouth, and smiled as the gums clamped down on it.

“No such luck, kiddo,” he said. “You’ll have to wait until you’re grown up before you get a chance to do that again.”

He ran his finger over the new teeth, marveling at the processes necessary for the production of the white knobs that were forcing their way through. The boy sucked hungrily at his finger, and Jim let him take in a bit more of it.

The boy’s eyes were smiling when Jim looked down, just before reality crashed in around him and a pair of razor sharp fangs bit deep into the flesh of his fingertip.

He was disoriented for a second, his mind still back there in the sunny bedroom while his body fought off the pain in his finger, but then the shock hit him fully, enough to focus his attention.