“And how do you suggest we do that, eh? We can’t exactly pick it up and carry it out. We don’t even know where it’s gone.”
“There’s another issue,” said Eleanor. “Whatever this thing is, it has to be linked to the spirits of our loved ones. Could we hand
that
over to him?”
She looked around at the others, who hung their heads in thought.
“Then screw it,” decided Jake after a few seconds. “We carry on as before. We did a good job of taking him on, so why don’t we do it again? You said yourself we seriously cut the number of those things. He can’t send them in forever. Eventually, we’d win!”
Joe nodded. “Yes, but we have to think in the long term. We can’t be trapped in here forever and we don’t know what other tricks he’s got up his sleeve.”
“Then we wait till dawn! Someone will come.”
“I don’t think that will do any good,” said Eleanor. “I think we should find out more before we make any decisions to tackle him directly. I think…I think we should talk to him.”
“Are you insane?” shouted Frank. “After all he’s done? You want to talk to him?”
“No way,” said Jake, shaking his head quickly from side to side. “No way, man. Not happening.”
Joe sat on the arm of the sofa.
“I agree with my grandmother,” he said quietly. “I believe that if he really wanted to kill us, he would have done so already. Talking to him might work. Anne…”
She looked up with shimmering eyes.
“Two against two. Looks like you have the deciding vote.”
“Oh God…” She wiped her eyes.
“Do the right thing, for the kids,” ordered Frank.
“Whatever you think is right,” said Eleanor.
Anne stood up. “We stand and fight. To go out there or allow him in here… I have Charlie and Bronwyn to think about.” Her shaking hands clenched. “While this house still stands, I will fight.”
The lights flickered out, plunging the group into complete darkness.
12.
“They have spirit,” said The Collector, stroking Montgomery’s head. “On one hand, I appreciate such a trait, but on the other, it can get quite tiresome.”
Montgomery grunted as one of its mouths coughed up a mangled Prowler leg.
The Collector stood up and marched down the street. The creature loped along behind him.
“Spirited indeed,” he continued. “Yet annoyingly so. I’ve never had so much defiance on a job, never! What a terrible inconvenience. I’ve half a mind to let them starve in there, but that simply won’t do. I am once again reminded that time is an issue…”
He looked up at the sky, which had lightened slightly. Dawn was on the way.
“The Founders will be concerned by now, and the less they interfere the better. It approaches the end game, Montgomery.”
The Collector stopped outside the dark Harper house. He turned his back on it.
“Glad to see our uninvited guest has made itself useful and taken out the power.” He smiled. “Time to lower morale further, I think.”
He crouched and ran a long finger down the crack in the middle of the road, which vibrated and squirmed under his touch. Hooking his fingers inside, The Collector pulled, again spreading the crack out into a large hole, the tarmac folding beneath his touch like dough. The hole reached the size of a manhole cover, and he pulled back his hands and peered over the edge.
The scents of the desert rose to meet him: the salt of the sand, the sun-bleached stone and the baking heat. He heard the machines of the city carried on the hot gust.
“Come on now,” he said. “Up here.”
Within, the shadows moved and rushed up to meet him, all eyes and twitching claws.
13.
“What the hell?” demanded Frank, groping in the sudden darkness.
“Is everyone okay?” asked Joe’s disembodied voice.
There was a murmur from everyone, signalling his or her presence. Following a click and sudden orange glow, everyone looked to the corner.
Still sat in the chair and clutching the hammer, Jake grinned in the glimmering flame of a gas lighter. He’d turned the flame on full, and it reached three inches above the metal top.
“And they say smoking is bad for you,” he said. “Ow!”
The light blinked out.
“You okay, Jake?” asked Joe.
“Yeah, just burned my finger. This thing heats up real quick.”
“Leave it off for now. Anne, where is your fuse box?”
“In the hall,” said the deep voice of Frank. “Same as in your house. They’re all designed the same, you know.”
“Thank you, Frank. Your knowledge is as helpful as always.” Joe waited for a response, but when none came, he addressed Jake. “Put the flame back on so I can see you.”
Another click and Jake appeared again. The other occupants of the room appeared as their own ghosts in a faint golden glow, the dancing flame spreading their flickering shadows across the walls.
“Good,” said Joe, approaching him and grabbing hold of his T-shirt. “I have you now. Turn it off, save it getting hot again.”
Jake quickly obliged, plunging them all into darkness again.
Anne cried out, and everyone talked at once, demanding what was going on.
“Calm down,” shouted Eleanor over the ruckus. “It’s just me! I grabbed her hand.”
“Jesus Christ,” moaned Frank. “As if we aren’t all on edge enough…”
“Jake,” said Joe, once everyone had calmed down, “think we can find our way into the hall?”
“Yeah,” replied Jake. “You want the flame back on?”
“We’ll feel our way, save burning your fingers.”
“But what if…what if that
thing
is around?”
Joe had completely forgotten about the missing Prowler. His mind had taken the easy route and believed it had gone.
“Jeez, you’re right. Use it, but only in bursts.”
“Christ,” said Anne. “The children are in the dark with that thing!”
“They’re okay,” said Joe. “The door’s closed. We’ll get to them as soon as we sort out the fuses. I’m sure it’s just bad luck and one’s blown. It’s the last thing we all need. Come on, Jake.”
He tugged on the teenager’s T-shirt and blinked at the sudden light as Jake used the lighter. They both rushed through the living room to the hall, Joe near enough dragging the boy, who held the bouncing lighter out in front of him.
“Come on,” said Joe. “I think it must be near the front door.”
The wide, shimmering circle of light glided down the wall.
“I think it’s down near the skirting board,” said Jake. “Can you see it?”
“Not yet,” said Joe. “Lower it more.”
He watched the lighter sweep from side to side, showing only more cream wallpaper.
“Go lower. That thing could be close,” said Joe. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder into the total darkness of the hall. He imagined the Prowler sneaking towards them in silence, claws high, ready to strike.
“Oh shit,” said Jake. “I think things have just got a hell of a lot worse.”
Jake looked back to the golden glow cast by the lighter.
At the base of the wall, the plastic fuse box had been ripped to pieces. Frayed wires hung limply from between large, splintered cracks. A small pile of debris, torn plastic, connections and tiny dials, sat on the carpet.
“Ouch!” said Jake, the lighter guttering out in a flash.
The Suffering of Innocence
1.
Morning came slowly to Penny Crescent. The sky lightened from a heavy violet to a deep blue, concealing the stars that had dared to emerge overnight to watch the carnage below. A car occasionally passed the entrance to the street: the early worker, yawning and longing to return to the warmth of his bed, unaware of the near danger, or the plight of those trapped within one of the houses. No birdsong greeted the coming of the new day as the glow of the morning sun swelled on the horizon; they were all being digested in the stomachs of several Prowlers, along with any other animal unlucky enough to stray close.
At one point, the hum of a small motor and the clinking of glass bottles disturbed the silence of the morning. A milk float meandered its almost casual journey down the street, stopping outside the Dean house. The milkman, a pleasant fellow by the name of Albert Timpson, climbed out and lifted his cap. Squinting, he stared up at the sky and decided that this was going to be a mighty fine day. He flopped the cap back on his head and whistled a cheery tune as he removed two pints of semi-skimmed milk from a red crate on the float.
With a slight spring in his step, Albert merrily walked around the back of the float and through the Dean’s gate. He approached the front door.
Two black shapes darted across the grass.
He placed the two full bottles of milk down and reached into his pocket for his notebook. Scratching a quick note, he scanned the area in front of the door to be sure he hadn’t missed the empties. Shrugging his shoulders, Albert returned the notebook to the pocket of his white coat.
Breaking glass sounded from the milk float.
On the back, in amongst the crates, a group of Prowlers was gathered. Some stood motionless, observing him with their large, unblinking eyes. Others feverishly investigated the contents of the plastic crates, knocking them off onto the road where the bottles smashed in a river of creamy milk.
Albert shook his head in disbelief. He’d had his fair share of dog troubles on his rounds before, and had even taken a rather nasty nip from a ginger cat, but this…
Something touched his leg, and Albert yelped. He looked down and saw one of the creatures clinging to the fabric of his trousers with its many thin legs, scuttling up his body and onto his coat. Yelling, he tried to swat it away, despite the repulsion of having to touch the horrid thing.
The Prowler evaded his effort and darted around to his back, climbing up between his shoulder blades in a second.
He struggled to stay on his feet with the extra weight. The creature was easily the size of a large dog.
Albert tried to reach it screaming as he felt the tiny points of its legs digging in and penetrating his coat, reaching the skin beneath. His back grew wet. Blood slowly leaked from these points, causing widening stains on his white coat like bullet wounds.
Albert grunted as the blow came, feeling he’d been punched in the back. He coughed, jetting a red spray from his mouth in a cloud. It speckled the wall.
He gazed down and saw the tip of a black claw protruding from his chest.
Albert gasped, but he inhaled only pain. He staggered and screamed.
The other claw took off his left ear with a snip.
The old milkman fell down hard, struggling for breath.
The Prowler on his back tugged its claw free, using both to dig into the flesh. It picked off tiny, bloody scraps.
Albert gurgled. His blood oozed out in a wide circle around him. He focused on the milk float, and wondered who would deliver the milk now.
The Prowlers from the float leapt off and scurried down the path in an excited group, eager to join the feeding. Albert heard their claws snapping in anticipation.
Who will deliver the milk now? Who will…deliver…the…m-
2.
“Did they get him?” asked Joe.
“Yes,” said Eleanor, closing her eyes. “I’m afraid they did.”
“Dammit!”
“What do we do now?” asked Anne, stood in the doorway holding a large candle. Although morning had arrived, barely any light entered through the boarded up windows, and the house remained in darkness. The flame cast a moving golden sheen across her solemn face.
“Someone else will come,” said Frank, sat in one of the armchairs. He’d been flicking through the latest issue of
Physics World
to try and take his mind off the situation. It didn’t help.
“Yeah, someone else will come, and someone else will die just like the milk man.” Joe looked through one of the peepholes out onto the rapidly brightening street. The body had already gone, moved by the group of Prowlers probably. All that remained was the pool of blood at the Dean’s doorstep. “We can’t go on like this. It’s not right. It’s
our
battle.”
“I told you we should have shouted to get his attention,” Frank grumbled.
“You saw what happened,” said Joe, turning away from the hole. “Shouting would only have attracted them our way. We have to do something before more people come. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t want to be in this situation again.”
“There is always…the other plan,” said Eleanor quietly, “although there has been no activity in the house since the attack. I think the mana might have…gone.”
“Then we wait,” said Frank, getting up and heading for the doorway. “We wait for it to come back.”
3.
Jake stood just inside the bathroom, holding hands with Charlie and Bronwyn, all three facing the landing. A large white candle had been placed in the sink to light the room. Narrow bands of blue shone between the gaps of the boards of the window.
Behind them, Jenny urinated. It splashed into the toilet bowl, unnaturally loud in the quiet house.
Jake started to hum
Oh Baby Baby I Love You
, attempting to drown out the sound.
“Can we go downstairs yet?” asked Charlie, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Sleep had done the boy good, bringing him out of his trance-like state. Jake was amazed at the resilience of someone so young. He himself felt so much worse off, seeing Adam sucked into the walking machine every time he closed his eyes. The children just seemed to be bored, being cooped up in the house.
“I need to get ready for school.”
“I don’t think you’ll be going to school today, pal,” said Jake, glad of the conversation. It would save them from having to listen to his mother pee. As much as it disgusted him and probably the children, he decided it was better than leaving anyone alone, especially with a Prowler still unaccounted for.
“Well, can we watch cartoons?” asked Bronwyn.
“I don’t think so. Your mummy and daddy want you to stay in your bedroom. It’s the only room with a door, so it’s safer in there.”