Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (14 page)

“Jack the Lad,” came the instant reply. “Just like me.”

The girl wondered how often he had rehearsed saying that. It had sprung too readily from his lips. Just as readily she thought of several other types of ‘Jack’ that suited him better.

“S’pose I’m Jack Daniels then,” Alasdair volunteered.

Marcus was bursting to come back with ‘
Jock
Daniels’, but he bit his tongue. He’d save that one for when he knew the Scottish lad a bit better and he could get away with it.

“Well, I’m not any sort of Jack,” Jody declared. “Not yet anyway. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it, to get turned into them? If that ever happens, which doesn’t look likely to me cos so far it’s been hopeless and a total waste of time. Right – I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow for more riveting fun and games – not.”

“Goodnight,” Alasdair called as she returned to her cabin.

“She’s Jack and the Beancurd,” Marcus snickered once she was inside. “Or a stone-cold Jack-et potato.”

“Do ye have to be quite so unpleasant? I like the lass.”

“Oh, she’s not worth defending,” Marcus laughed dismissively. “She’s plenty capable of doing that herself. Fuglies like her – they’re not much to look at so they grow up bitter and have to belittle or humiliate a bloke any chance they get. Seen dozens like it. Avoid – avoid – avoid.”

“Can ye no just go away now? Seriously, I find you totally offensive.”

Marcus appeared surprised. “What’s up with you?” he asked.

“I’m allergic to your company if you must know. You make me boke, to be honest.”

“Boke?”

“Gag, heave – cause the back of my throat to burn with bile.”

“Oh, get over yourself! What are you? Some tartan saint or something? You know what, I’ve had it trying to be mates with you. Shove it up your sporran, Jimmy!”

He stormed off in disgust and slammed the door of his cabin behind him.

“Tosser,” Alasdair muttered. “I’d forgot there were creatures like that in the world.”

Then something Jody said resonated with him and he remembered that only minutes ago they had been slagging Marcus off just as harshly. No, they really weren’t the nicest bunch of people. But here they were and they were stuck with each other. Whatever the weekend threw at them, they’d have to make the best of it.

“S’only two more days,” he consoled himself. “I can hack that.”

He had never been more wrong.

Deciding to turn in as well, he took one final look at the trees at the rear of the camp.

“I dinnae care what that Samuel L Jackson lad said,” he breathed, still ignorant of Lee’s real name. “He did see something in them woods – and it scared the living keech out of him.”

Brooding on that uncomfortable thought, he picked up his guitar and crept into his own cabin where the younger lads were sleeping soundly. As he slid into bed, he wished he’d smuggled some ale out of the feast. He hadn’t told Jody the complete truth earlier. It wasn’t just his guitar that had seen him through the past few months.

The night pressed heavily over the compound.

Each small dorm was thick with the soft, sighing chorus of slumbering breaths. Even Lee had drifted into an uneasy sleep, the unlit cigarette mangled in his fist. In the next bed, remembering the threat about smoke blowing in his face, Marcus had turned to the wall.

In Jody’s cabin Charm lay as still as an Egyptian mummy. She wore a pink baby-doll nightie and her face was greasy with moisturiser. A cuddly Garfield was tucked in beside her. Dreams, colours and memories drifted through the pillow-resting heads of those troubled, rejected children. One of the girls murmured unhappily. The forehead of another creased as recent events replayed in her mind. Christina squirmed under the duvet, kicking her legs as she ran in a jumbled maze of corridors lined with towering clown faces. The distorted figures of her parents retreated before her, always out of reach. One bed along, Jody’s lashes were wet with the tears she denied her waking self and the eyes beneath their lids flicked rapidly from side to side.

Above the beds the air grew oppressive and smothering, like the heaviness of impending thunder. In the bathroom the light above the mirror had been left on for the young ones who were nervous and afraid of
spending the night in a strange place. The door had been kept ajar, but now it closed silently and a tide of darkness engulfed the sleeping girls.

On the mezzanine, one of them cried out and whimpered. No one heard her. An unnatural, impenetrable sleep had settled. Nothing could wake them now. It coiled about them, dragging them, sliding them, down and down.

Then, in that hollow dark, a point of orange light began to glow. High on one wall it glimmered into life, accompanied by a faint but steady buzzing.

There was a crackle of static and the Bakelite device squealed as it searched and probed for signals. The central dial shone dimly and its needle quivered. Finally the infernal invention of Austerly Fellows tuned into the nightmares unfolding in the minds of the children in the beds below.

The gratis copies of
Dancing Jax
that had been cast on the floor, buried under clothes or kicked beneath beds, began to twitch and tremble. With jerky movements, they pulled themselves clear. A bedside cupboard swung open and the paperback that one of the girls had thrust inside fell out. Across the room a drawer pushed outward and the book within flipped itself free.

The buzzing grew louder. Through the device’s brass grill, an old tune from the 1930s came warbling into the cabin. In every chalet it was the same. A wretched, despairing song, born of the Great Depression, went floating out across the slumbering heads of the stupefied children. A tired and downtrodden woman’s voice sang about a taxi dancer in a cheap dance hall:

The spine of every book creased and each
Dancing Jax
fanned open. There was a rustle of paper as the pages turned on their own, flicking swiftly and purposefully through chapters on kings and queens, Jacks and Jills, lords and knights, squires and serfs, until each copy displayed the same page.
The music continued. The desperate, tinny song played over the sleeping heads and drifted out across the camp.

In the end hut Jangler was still awake, sitting in a comfortable armchair, his stubby fingers laced across his stomach, and ankle-deep in a bowl of warm, soapy water. When he heard the bittersweet melody keening outside, he wiggled his toes and reached for a towel.

The nightmares of every young person intensified. Jody found herself shrunk in size and wandering the battlements of the castle model. Lead figures barred her way and the immense face of the Ismus came leering between the towers towards her, his gaunt features obliterating the sky. Across the room, Charm uttered an unhappy cry and turned her shiny face into the pillow. Above them, the dial of the Bakelite device shone more brightly and the grinding tune played on.

In Alasdair’s cabin a blue spark spat from the brass grill, followed by a whisker of electrical fire that leaped and jumped about the surrounding wall. The laces on every pair of trainers and shoes began to lash from side to side until they quivered upright, pointing to the ceiling. Then each copy of the open book lifted into the air and formed a revolving circle.

Clothes and bags followed. Finally the children were plucked from their beds. Legs and arms were hoisted by invisible force. Young backs arched and heads lolled down as their bodies floated higher.

Now there was another voice in the song. A snarling, bestial noise that grew louder with each passing moment.

Suspended in mid-air, the children spun round helplessly. Their nightmares raged and the dial on the Bakelite bridging device shone brighter and brighter. Even the beds began to judder and lift from the floor. Sparks came shooting from the grill and the hideous voice within the song crowed with thin, pinched laughter.

Within each hut, at the centre of the spinning books, the darkness was shaking, becoming denser, taking on a shape.

Pulling on his slippers, Jangler started when a series of deafening cracks resounded over the camp. As he fumbled to tie the belt of his dressing gown, he hurried outside.

Fierce gales were blasting through each cabin and their doors were banging. Jangler rushed to the nearest and peered inside. The boys here were pinned to the walls, their possessions thrashing around in a maelstrom before them. Then his eyes beheld the form solidifying in the air and he clapped his hands together appreciatively.

“Bravo!” he called. “Bravo!”

The ugly voice had left the radio. Now it came grunting from the throat of the creature that had crossed over, snapping a foul greeting in response. There was a flash of blue fire. The Bakelite device squawked one last time that night and the creaky old song from the thirties died. The unnatural storm dwindled inside every cabin. Beds, bags, books, shoes, clothes and Alasdair’s guitar dropped to the ground. The still sleeping children slid down the walls. Their nightmares were waning, but they remained motionless where they fell.

Jangler waved a hand at them. “Put them back in their beds,” he instructed. “And tidy up a bit. It’s a pigsty.”

The steaming creature’s large feet alighted on the carpet and its red-rimmed eyes glared at him.

“At once,” Jangler commanded, turning his attention to the other cabins.

“
Myahmyahmyah
,” the phlegm-gargling voice answered.

Christina winced. Her right arm hurt where she had landed on it. The suffocating sleep was lifting and her head swam. She felt sick and dizzy. Rough hands hoisted her from the floor and cast her on to the bed. The duvet was thrown over her. An unpleasant, nasal muttering echoed through her stirring thoughts and around the cabin.

“Hurry,” she heard someone say.

The girl’s eyelids lifted momentarily and she saw that funny, fat old man looking in at the door. She wondered who he was speaking to.

“There isn’t much time,” he continued tetchily. “They’ll be coming out of it soon. They mustn’t see any of you. Get a move on – stir your stumps.”

Christina thought she saw strange figures passing by behind him. Her eyes closed once more and she rolled her groggy head aside.

“Pretty,” an unnatural, tight voice gloated. “Skin smooth…”

The girl’s eyes opened again. Was she still dreaming? Still locked in a nightmare? It seemed that something was in the room, something horrific and misshapen. It was across the way from her, leaning over Charm’s bed, pawing at the occupant with large, gnarled hands.

“Me want,” the voice gurgled. “She mine. She for Bezuel. Oh, yes.”

“Leave her alone,” Jangler demanded. “Stop the touching. It’s too soon. Besides, you’d only break her.”

Christina tried to lift her head. She was so tired. Her limbs were like stone. It took every scrap of strength she had.

A small, hunchbacked shape was lifting Charm’s baby-doll nightie and peering beneath. A thick finger prodded the pink jewel that pierced her navel.

“Twinkle twinkle,” it chuckled throatily. “Me have.”

Christina opened her mouth to scream. The creature was naked. Its
repulsive, deformed body was mottled with angry blotches, wart clusters and scarlet rashes. She tried to yell, but no sound emerged and her head flopped back against the pillow.

“That one’s waking up!” Jangler remarked. “Quickly! Go join the others.”

Christina heard a rebellious snort. Then she felt a weight clamber on to her own bed. It came prowling closer, creeping up until it pressed down on her chest.

Despite her terror, her eyes snapped open. The creature was crouching on top of her and she looked straight into the most repugnant face she had ever seen.

“Sleeeeeep!” a hot, stinking whisper breathed. “No wakey… no wakey.”

Darkness closed in again and the seven-year-old passed out.

“Obey me!” Jangler barked. “Get off there at once!”

The creature lurched away and the door slammed shut.

When Jody finally awoke, it was still dark outside. Her joints ached as if they had been wrenched at. She gazed, bleary-eyed, around the cabin. In the gloom she could just make out another girl sitting up in bed, rubbing her shoulder and sucking the air through her teeth.

“Someone punched me,” the girl complained. “Which of you cows did that?”

“Ow!” another yelped as she turned over. “My ribs. I’ve been thumped in my ribs.”

Then Christina came to. Her shrill screams woke everyone in that hut and most of the boys next door.

Jody leaped out of bed. Forgetting her cruel words the previous afternoon, she put her arms round the little girl and tried to calm her.

“Just a bad dream,” she said soothingly. “Don’t fret, it’s all OK. Hush, hush.”

Christina shook her head violently and shoved the teenager away.

“A monster!” she shrieked. “A monster was here!”

“Shut her row, can’t you?” Charm moaned. “Some of us is trying to sleep in here – know what I mean?”

But Christina would not be quiet. She pushed herself back along the bed, pressed against the wall and covered herself with the duvet.

“It was here!” she screeched. “It was!”

One of the other girls opened the bathroom door and the light within came flooding out. It was then they saw the state of the cabin. Clothes were strewn everywhere, chairs in the TV area were upturned, pictures were askew and bags had been emptied.

“My make-up!” Charm bawled when she saw her scattered bottles and brushes. She pointed an accusing, painted fingernail at Jody. “You did this! You sour-faced, jealous munter!” she cried.