Authors: William Meikle
"Okay," I called out. "It's empty."
She came out and stood in the doorway, and I finally noticed she was only wearing a thin set of nightclothes.
"You can't stay here," I said. "Not tonight. Get some clothes on...I'll be in the hall."
We crossed over in the doorway and she went inside and closed the door behind her, but she kept talking throughout as she got dressed.
"You think he's coming here?" she said.
"Something like that."
"He'll not hurt me," she said.
"You don't sound convinced."
She didn't reply, and my senses were suddenly on full alert again, but then her voice came again. It sounded smaller, suddenly frail.
"It can't happen again. Not after so long."
There was a loud rattle, and I jumped six inches, but it was only her opening the door. She stood in front of me, all in black once more. She was putting something heavy and bulky into a large handbag, and struggled with it, but when I moved to help her she pulled away from me.
"My coat's behind the front door," she said, and pushed past me. I had expected stonewalling or tantrums, but not only had she got dressed faster than any woman I have ever met, she was out of the front door before me. I had just turned towards her when I heard a car horn...our Land Rover horn, blaring out...three short, three long, three short. On the last beep there was a crash from the front of the flat and a roar...as if an animal had come through the window.
"Come away," the old lady said to me. "Come away now." She grabbed at my arm and pulled me out of the flat, slamming the door, just seconds before a heavy weight crashed into it from the other side. The door held, but didn't look like it would last long...large cracks already ran up its length, and they widened as the weight once again crashed against the other side, the noise as loud as a gunshot in the confines of the hallway.
The lift bell pinged behind me, and once more the old lady dragged me away and into the lift cab.
She hit the 'down' button, and we stood there for what seemed like hours while whatever John Mason had become tried to pound its way through the flat door. The door of the flat next to the old lady's opened, and an ancient man stared out, wide-eyed and confused.
"Is it the Germans?" he said, "Have the bastards come back to bomb us again?"
"Go back to sleep, Davie," the old lady shouted. "It's just a film."
The old man smiled, waved, and went back inside, while we waited. The lift seemed more interested in playing piped musak to us than actually moving, and I hit the down button, again and again, while the cracks in the flat door grew into ever bigger gaps in the woodwork and the frenzied banging went up a notch.
"Come on!" I shouted...and somebody finally took notice. With a ping the lift doors started to close, just as the flat door finally gave in, large pieces of splintered wood flying halfway across the hall. I caught a glimpse of a hunched, hairy figure coming towards us, then the door shut and we started down. I hoped so, for the image had reminded me of one of the worst things I'd ever seen...of a chimpanzee pack on a hunt, chasing a smaller monkey through the forest canopy, squealing and howling, just before they caught their prey and tore it to bloody shreds. The shriek that came from above us sounded terrifyingly familiar.
It was still howling through the stairwells as we left the lift on the ground floor.
"I hope you have a car," she said to me as I hurried her to the door.
"It's more like a tank," I said, "And I think we'll need it."
An old lady came out of a flat near the main door.
"I'd go back inside," I said to her. "It's not safe."
"I've already called the Police," she said. "I always knew you were trouble, Jessie. This used to be a nice block until you came."
"Oh go fuck yourself," the old lady said, and cackled as the other woman's face fell in shock. We left her to her outrage.
As we left the flats the Land Rover lights came on and Doug drove it over across the car park towards us.
His face was still pale behind the windscreen, but as he got closer I could see that he bore an expression of grim determination. But he wasn't thinking straight...he parked facing us, almost blinding us with the headlights.
"Quick. Get in!" I shouted, but the old lady needed no prompting. She scuttled around the passenger side and got in beside Doug. I saw her fiddling with her handbag, as if trying to get something out of its depths. I had a last look around, back into the darkness of the hall, but there was no movement.
It had gone suddenly quiet. I would have preferred to have the howling...at least then I'd know where the beast was. Doug gestured frantically at me, trying to get me to move faster. I gave him a reassuring wave.
I had just moved to the side of the car when I saw him lean forward and look up, his eyes going wide in shock. I didn't have time to follow his gaze...something that felt like a sack of potatoes fell on me from above. I fell to the ground, my legs buckling beneath me, all the muscles of my back squealing in agony. As my new passenger and I hit the floor all the air left my lungs in one breath, and I felt my nose mash and split as my face met the pavement. I tasted blood in my mouth and the rough concrete rasped against my lips.
Shrieking filled my head, then there was a thump as my shoulder was hit, hard, and my whole left arm went numb. Once more I had the picture of the manic chimpanzee in my head, the shrieking, grinning grimace as it pounded its victim to a pulp.
I tried to push myself off the ground, but the weight on my back was too much, and I had to stifle a squeal as my nose got mashed into the pavement once more. A blow hit me on the side of the head, as heavy as any punch I had ever taken, and blackness started to creep in at the edges of my sight.
Above the shrieking, Doug called my name, twice. I heard the car door open.
"No," I said, but only managed a whisper. I got my arms under me and started to push, but my strength had gone, and whatever was on my back had decided it was going to stay for a while. Even as I had that thought I felt pressure on my neck just under my jaw. Cold slimy fingers grabbed tight at my throat, then my head was pulled back at an alarming angle to my body. This time I did scream as tendons stretched and vertebrae were crushed. Blood from my busted nose ran down the back of my throat, choking back my screams to a bloody gurgle. It went dark, and the screaming came from ever further away. I started to feel warm, sleepy, almost comfortable, as consciousness slipped away.
Suddenly, and in the same instant, the weight lifted off my back and the shrieking stopped.
5
For the space of a heartbeat there was silence. Then a splatter of blood hit the concrete in front of my eyes, followed by more screaming. But this time I knew the source...that noise was ingrained in my soul. It was Doug, and he was back in his dark place, alone and hurting.
I don't know how I managed it, but I got to my feet, my own blood falling in heavy drops to the pavement. Doug stood six feet away, holding his left arm to his chest, seemingly oblivious to the sheet of blood that poured down the front of his shirt, his eyes wide, saucer-like, staring at the creature that was even now moving swiftly towards him. He'd tried to pull the beast off me...and succeeded...at a cost.
Now he had its attention.
I had been right to think of a chimpanzee. The overall body shape was similar...flat face, and long arms hanging from hunched shoulders...but this was a hairless monstrosity, its skin warty, like a toad. The mouth was a forest of tiny, razor teeth, and the beast sniffed the air through nostrils that flared and closed, flared and closed in time with each breath. It raised a hand in front of its face as it came forward, and yellow, splintered nails grew out into bloody talons with a liquid, almost flatulent, slither. The eyes were the worst. I knew those eyes. I'd talked to the person who usually lived behind them. But John Mason was not at home. What was in residence was a thing of power and malevolence. And it was still heading straight for Doug.
Doug stood there, rigid in shock.
"Come here," I shouted at him. "Doug, get over here, now!"
But he was incapable of movement...he couldn't take his eyes off the thing that advanced on him.
The beast sniffed the air again, and I saw its gaze drop to the blood that still poured out of Doug's arm. It raised its head and howled at the sky, and a cold shiver ran the full way down my spine. Lights went on in flats all around us, and I had little doubt that even now at least one person was calling the police. I had no time to think about that...any police arrival was going to be too late to save Doug. My back screamed in pain, and my neck joined in, but I stepped forward, intending to get in its way. That was the only thought I had...I knew I hadn't the strength to fight it, but even battered as I was, I was in better shape for a fight than Doug was.
The beast watched me closely as I stepped between it and Doug. It sniffed at me, like a dog checking a new rival, then it howled again. And as it did so, a ripple ran over the full length of its body, as if a nest of small snakes slithered under the skin. Then it started coming for me. I stood my ground, but the strength had gone from my legs.
"Run, Doug. I'll keep it busy," I said, with more bravado than I felt. But he was still struck immobile. I risked a glance and looked over at him. Tears ran down his cheeks, and all the blood had drained from his face, but he couldn't take his eyes off it.
So I stood there, between the beast and my friend, and watched my death come for me.
As it got within arm's length I tensed myself. I would have time for just one punch. I clenched my fist.
It was so close I could smell its breath. It stank of stale meat.
"Move to the side, son," Jessie Malcolm's voice said behind me. "Move to the side, or I'll have to go through you."
Whether it was instinct or I was just too shocked to disobey, I fell away to my left. At the same time a gunshot nearly deafened me. I saw the bullet hit the creature just beneath the ribs, but there was no explosion of blood and gore...it seemed to absorb the impact, as if its flesh was soft clay. All that showed was a wet hole that gleamed moistly in the streetlights, a hole no larger than a button.
There was pain, though, and the beast threw back its head and howled again, long and loud, a scream of anguish that echoed through the street and brought more lights on in the windows of houses all around.
"I'm sorry, son," old lady Malcolm said, and pumped another shot into it. And this time it staggered, almost falling. All over its body its skin rippled again, toady warts grew fat, sprouting thick bundles of black fur, and a line of porcupine-like spines thrust out in a bloody line down its spine.
It raised its head and looked up, first at Doug, then over at the old lady who stood, rock solid, a smoking gun pointed straight at it, then back at Doug again. Thick ropy drools of saliva fell from its lower lip as it sniffed again at the blood.
Another shot rang out, but this time the creature had already moved. It jumped, from a standing start, onto the roof of the car, then was off and away into the darkness across the car park before any of us had time to move.
My first thought was for Doug, and I told my body to move, but the old lady was faster. She was at Doug's side, just as his legs gave way. I thought he would bring them both down, but she was stronger than she looked.
"You'd better take this..." she said, and handed me the pistol. "My man bought it...years ago. When we thought we were still in trouble. I never thought I'd be using it on my own boy."
She gave me no time to study it. She bent over Doug and managed to prize his good hand away from the wound on his arm. She sucked through her teeth.
"How bad is it?" I asked.
"Bad enough. Your pal needs the hospital...and quick. Are you fit to drive?"
"I'll have to be," I said. In reality my whole upper torso felt like it had been crushed in a vise, and my nose had swollen to twice its normal size. I wasn't that sure I was going be able to even get into the car, never mind drive it to a hospital.
I stuffed the hot pistol deep in the pocket of my jacket.
The old lady tried to stand and lift Doug at the same time. She might be strong, but not that strong...he was a dead weight. His eyes started to roll up in their sockets, and when I took the weight off Ms. Malcolm he fainted in my arms. He had his injured arm wrapped in the folds of his jacket...a jacket that was already soaked in blood, black in the orange streetlight.
"Can you direct me?" I asked as I struggled to get him in the back of the car. I hit his bad arm against the car door, but he didn't even flinch. He was out cold.
"Oh, aye," she said. "When you get to my age you know the quickest way to every clinic and hospital in the area."
She got in the back with Doug.
"Don't be waiting too long at any lights," she said. "Your pal need stitches...lots of stitches."
I got behind the wheel, my back telling me constantly what a bad idea it was, and reversed out of the car park at speed before doing a handbrake turn onto the road. I went through the first junction at fifty and got faster after that. Lucky for us, the traffic was light. At the second junction three police cars passed us, heading back the way we had come, but they didn't have their sirens going and didn't seem in any great hurry. I had a feeling that might change after they saw the blood...and the ruin of the door to the old lady's flat.
The old lady kept up a constant stream of directions, interspersed with singing soft childhood songs while cradling Doug's head in her lap. For one verse in particular she raised her voice, the song echoing high and clear inside the car.
"Ghost nor bogle shalt thou fear,"
"Thou art to love and heaven so dear,"
"Naught of ill may come thee near,"
"My bonnie dearie."
I was afraid to look in the mirror. My own auld granny had sung those self-same words to me, every time I hurt, every night when she sang me to sleep. I hoped they comforted Doug as much as they did me.
When we got to a long straight stretch of road she leaned forward.
"Five miles, straight ahead. If you don't stop you'll hit the A and E department." Then, in a much smaller voice, she said, "I could do with a cigarette, if you've got one."
I didn't like the way my hands shook as I tried to light the cigarette, and in the end I handed the pack and lighter to her to do it for me.
"How's he doing?" I asked, as she handed a lit cigarette back over my shoulder.
"He's alive," she said.
That was all, but I heard the rest in her tone, the two unspoken words
for now
.
* * *