The White Fox (8 page)

Then the lights went out.

The darkness slithered down the hill. One by one, coming closer and closer, the faint orangey lamps flickered and died. Behind it, an impenetrable wall of pure black. Jack did not pause. He began walking quickly, trying to keep ahead of the slowly growing mass. The sheets of fog parted as he moved forward. He crossed from the pavement into the middle of the road, where it was the lightest. There were no cars around, and he would be completely incapacitated if he walked into a wall or a lamppost.

On the edge of his brain, his nerves started gnashing. He knew there was nothing that could hurt him out here. This was a civilized suburban area, not a medieval forest. And yet … he remembered going on a trip in primary school to look at a forest in autumn. At the end of the day, it was getting dark, and he’d lost the group. He’d only been separated for ten minutes, but, in the deepening gloom, that had been enough to lose his nerve completely.

He stood still, listening for anything that might be coming his way. The faint fluttering of autumnal leaves in the wind. The engine of a solitary car rumbling in the distance. Other than that, complete silence.

Then there was another scream. Jack whipped around. Silhouetted against the deep sky was the hill around which the town was built. At its very peak, the topmost trees bent in gnarled shapes against the horizon. Something howled. It was like a wolf, yet at the same time it had a grinding, shrieking edge that no animal on Earth could have ever produced. It was followed by another and another and a fourth, all entering into the horrific nocturnal chorus. It was the sound of a hunt beginning.

Jack ran. He fumbled in his bag as he went, pulling out a small metal torch he had been given as a mass-produced Christmas present. He turned the end frantically, and it flickered on, shedding a sparse beam of light into the fog below. He sprinted down a side road, between parked cars and lightless houses. His footsteps were covered by the fog, but the juddering of the torch betrayed his movement. Blood pounded in his ears, and he kept glancing over his shoulder to check that nothing was behind him.

At a crossroads, he ground to a halt, breathing heavily and bent over. This was stupid, he told himself. He was running from nothing.

Then another howl rent the air like a knife.

It came from his left, down the shadowy road into the dark. He didn’t dare shine his torch there. Forcing himself on again, he dashed down the right path, not daring to look back. He reached a corner and continued, and the road narrowed. There were no houses here. He could hear growling and the rough grunt and guttural noises of some inhuman pounding after him. He willed himself even faster. The torchlight jerked ahead of him in time with his gasps.

Then, out of the mist, a brick wall loomed. He skidded and fell, the torch dropping out of his hand and shattering on the concrete. He steadied himself and looked around wildly. It was a dead end, and he was trapped.

The creature was nearing him, its slobbering growls becoming ever louder.

An arm grabbed him roughly. He twisted and cried out, but a hand gripped his face and clamped over his mouth. He struggled, but he was being pulled backwards into the dark. Into an alcove in the wall out of direct sight of the road.

Jack tried to kick his captor, but he held firm. The hand around his mouth tightened, and the elbow dug into his ribs. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t cry out, or even turn his head. Meanwhile, the creature was drawing closer.

A shadow passed across the narrow gap that was his window out of the alcove. In the almost absolute darkness and cloaked by the mist, it was virtually invisible. Out of the black chasm, irregular rasps of sucking air were the only sound. Terrified to move, Jack frantically scanned the obsidian wall before him, but it was completely impassable; the thing could have been anywhere. Then a gap in the clouds slid across the moon, and its rays penetrated the fog. The silvery light glinted off the rain-washed gutters and tiles of the surrounding roofs, and the darkness was compressed into the ground. The shadow became visible.

If Jack could have screamed, his vocal cords would have snapped.

The thing that was emerging out of the depths was absolutely hideous. It vaguely resembled a wolf or hyena but was much bigger—the size of a small horse. How it had remained hidden under the fog was inexplicable. Its fur was a ragged, discolored greyish brown, which in places looked as if it had been ripped out to expose rotting, gory flesh underneath. In other places, spikes the size of carving knives tore through the surface, like curved bone, but stained with the innards of its victims. The head was either encased inside something like a pig’s skull—or maybe it
was
a pig’s skull—he couldn’t tell.

The eyes, though, were the most petrifying. It had no eyeballs but instead ghostly will-o’-the-wisp orbs that hovered within the deep black of the sockets, shining crimson and darting all over, mercilessly raking the area. The rasps came from its bare nostrils, sweeping in and out of bone rather than flesh. The stench—a blackened, scorched smell like a meteoric eruption—was enough to make bile rise in Jack’s throat.

“Don’t move a muscle,” a voice hissed in his ear.

Too stricken to do anything else, Jack complied.

The monster slowly turned on the spot, as if following an invisible scent. Jack noticed how all its legs didn’t seem to bend in the right way. It swung like a grotesque scarecrow in the wind, as if it weren’t used to the pull of gravity. The creature turned its back on them, searching the far corner of the wall.

A few moments passed, tautened and lengthened by fear. Jack’s foot, bent into an awkward position, began to ache. Quietly as he could, he slid it backwards along the concrete and stepped straight into a stagnant puddle.

The noise seemed to echo a hundred times longer and louder than usual, as the milliseconds slipped by maliciously.

The monster had moved into the shadow cast by the opposite wall. Its head whipped around to look directly into their hiding place; now all that was visible were those two glimmering crimson lights.

Jack froze, incredibly conscious of the miniscule sounds the ripples of water made under his feet.

The monster turned its haggard form towards them. Jack stared, transfixed, at the will-o’-the-wisps. They stared back, the twin spheres spinning in a hypnotic chthonian whirl, and the taste of bile crept up Jack’s throat another few inches.

He felt a hard push in the small of his back, and he fell forward. His arms constricted, he hit the concrete hard. Simultaneously, there was an earsplitting bang. Jack looked up at the creature that he expected to be looming over him, the twin spheres of light obscuring the silver moon. But it was feet away, weaving drunkenly, staggering on its spiked paws. A dark hole, steaming with silver, had formed between its eye sockets. It lurched away into the fog, and there was the sound of it collapsing somewhere beyond.

Jack looked back at the person behind him. He was standing in the shadow of the alcove, though Jack could tell by his silhouette that he was at least human. That was no guarantee, though. The man’s arm was pointed out, directly at where the creature had been. In his grip, glinting metallically in the moonlight, was a gun.

Jack scrambled to his feet, extremely aware of the gun pointing directly at him. He slowly raised his arms into the air.

The figure did nothing for a moment. Then the gun was lowered into the shadows.

“Who are you?” Jack said, his voice echoing around the enclosed alleyway and alcove.

The figure stepped out of the darkness. Tall, slim, and clothed in worn jeans, a grey hoodie, and a brown jacket was a boy of eighteen or nineteen. He had a pale, knife-shaped face, with dark hair pulled over one side in an angled fringe. His eyes shone emerald green, reflecting the moon.

It was Alex.

Jack stood, frozen on the spot for several seconds.

Alex smirked and waved his hand in front of Jack’s face.

He blinked. “Alex?”

“Right, you’re
not
having a seizure. That’s good.”

“Alex,” he cried at quite a high pitch and then remembered himself. He cleared his throat and offered his arm in a more masculine way.

Alex laughed and pulled him into a hug.

Jack, surprised but relieved, patted him on the back. Then they broke apart.

“Where the
hell
have you been?”

“You sound like Lucy’s mum,” Alex replied half-indignant, half-joking.

Jack couldn’t help smiling.

“It’s a long story. I can’t tell you now. I will, though.”

Jack noticed the gun in his hand again. He turned quickly, just in case the thing was slinking up behind him. He didn’t know where to start. “How did you get a gun?
Why
have you got a gun? What the hell was that?”

Alex brushed his fringe out of his eyes and bit his lip. “I suppose I can tell you a little. It’s complicated. I’ve been away … working … helping …
saving
people. I worked with this organization. They stop bad things happening …” He seemed as at a loss as to where to start as Jack was.

“What kind of bad things? What
was
that?”

Alex breathed out heavily. “This is going to be hard for you to believe—”

“What?”

“That was a demon. They’re … dark creatures. They’re not from this world. This organization I’ve been with, they protect people against demons.”

“Demons?” Jack was about to snort, “They’re not real,” but then he remembered the rotting flesh, the bloodied spikes, the burning, fiery eyes, and the sickening feeling of it just being nearby. Even at the thought of it, the bile began to rise in his throat again. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no movement from the cloaked darkness. Still, he didn’t want to go anywhere near it. “So … demons?” he gasped weakly.

“Yeah. That one was a hellhound. They’re not
that
dangerous on the grand scale of things, but it could easily have killed you.”

Jack gulped and looked down, and something caught the moonlight. Threaded around Alex’s neck was a small angular crystal, seven sided and pointed like Jack’s with a different minute symbol engraved on it. “You’ve got one too.” He reached under his school shirt and pulled the crystal from around his neck, holding it out.

Alex’s eyes widened slightly, and he breathed in to speak but suddenly shifted his eyes to look back up the street. Jack followed his gaze, but through the fog he could still see nothing but the tops of buildings, rising like murky willows in a swamp.

Alex raised the gun again. Both of them listened intently. Footsteps could be heard, echoing louder and louder as they came closer. Alex reloaded the gun and motioned Jack to the wall.

A figure emerged from the darkness. Jack squinted at it slightly, then recoiled in surprise. It was wearing a dark hooded cloak that hid its entire body, including the face, just like the ones had been at the train station and in the orchard. It seemed to hover above the mist, floating like some faceless phantom towards them.

Alex had made no attempt to hide. He was standing full on, aiming the gun’s barrel directly into the figure’s hood.

“Impressive,” it said in a deep, rolling voice. “You seem to have disposed of my scout. I commend you. Not many of your kind could face such a beast.”

“On your knees,” Alex said calmly, his voice completely at odds with what he was doing.

“What possible leverage do you think you possess? That archaic weapon is nothing—”

“I
killed
the hellhound
.
Just do it.”

The man paused, then raised his arms. “Now, is this really wise? If I do not return, the remaining members of my Chapter will inevitably discover what has become of me. And they will find you. Do you really want to take that risk with your friend here?”

Jack flinched, but Alex did not seem perturbed. He pointed the gun more forcibly.

Slowly, the man sunk to his knees.

Cautiously, Alex stepped over to him and pushed his hood back.

Jack ventured closer and got a good look at him. He appeared about fifty, with short dark hair and a full, grey-brushed beard. He was grinning menacingly, showing one or more teeth to be blackened or missing.

“You are unwise, boy.”

“Shut up.” Alex’s voice was poised with detectable venom, his face contorted into a snarl. “Why is the Cult here?”

The man’s grin faltered. “To absorb this pitifully antique world into the Darkness, of course.”

“No more games. I want the real reason. This town—this
planet
—is completely defenseless. You could have killed every living being here by now if you’d wanted to. This is easy pickings for your Darkness. No fires, no alchemy, no demons stronger than a hellhound, not even a Dark Eye. What’s going on?”

The man’s grin returned. “Oh, I assure you there will be an Oculatrum of sorts within the next few minutes. And as for stronger demons … you have no idea.”

“Where?” asked Alex fiercely, shoving the gun into the man’s temple. For the first time, Alex seemed a little shaken.