Dark shadows, p.1
Dark Shadows, page 1
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2014 by Edmund Glasby
All rights reserved.
Published by Wildside Press LLC.
www.wildsidebooks.com
DARK SHADOWS
There were things more dangerous than the men who were after him.
“What the hell!?” Daniel Myers screamed savagely and slammed his foot down hard on the brakes. Tyres screeching, the steering wheel became a living thing in his hands as the car went into a violent spin, the dark blur that had rushed out in front of his headlights leaping into the undergrowth. With a series of bone-jarring bumps, the vehicle careened completely off the road, hit a decline, threatened to upend completely and then crashed down onto all four wheels. Wiry bushes clawed at the windscreen and windows on either side before, with a resounding crunch and the shattering of glass, the car smashed into a tree.
The violent impact threw Myers forward. The seatbelt he was wearing snapped free from its mooring and he was propelled from his seat and flung hard against the windscreen, smashing straight through it as though he had been tugged from the vehicle by invisible ropes. Narrowly missing the tree, he flew, head first for several yards before splashing down into a muddy, weed-choked pool.
Had Myers been unconscious he would undoubtedly have drowned. Bubbling mud from his mouth and nostrils, he painfully raised his head and began gasping for air. Blood trickled from his gashed forehead and yet, miraculously, despite the severity of the crash, he was not that badly injured. Getting to his feet, he winced as he withdrew a nasty-looking shard of glass from his hand.
Suddenly remembering the shadowy thing that had sprung out into the road, he staggered back to the car. It had been little more than a pile of rust when he had stolen it from a side-street in Polski Trambesh, one of Bulgaria’s larger towns, in order to hasten his getaway. Now it was just a crumpled wreck. Streams of black smoke billowed out from under the bonnet. With a fierce tug, he managed to get the driver’s door open. Reaching inside, he opened the glove compartment and took out a small automatic, checked that it was fully loaded, then slipped it into his pocket. He then retrieved from the passenger seat the slim black leather case which contained the secret files.
More than a handful of good men had died for the sake of these documents and he was going to make damn sure that they had not died in vain. There had been terrible moments back in Istanbul when it had appeared that the entire mission was doomed to failure and only he had managed to escape. However, agents from the other side were closing in. Of this he had no doubt. Had he been more cautious in his dealing with the border guards at the Turkish-Bulgarian border he could well have been in Sofia right now, preparing to board a plane bound for London or Paris. Instead, he was embroiled in this fiendish game of cat-and-mouse, trying to pick his way slowly and steadily along the seldom-used back roads. And now look where his plans had got him.
The thought almost broke him in half but he knew it would do him no good to mull over past decisions. He had to get moving. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was just after nine o’clock.
What that thing that had leapt out in front of him had been he had no idea although he was fairly certain that it had not been a human being. Although he had only seen it for a brief, flashing moment there had been something disturbing about its appearance and action. It was almost as if it had intentionally thrown itself into his path in order to cause him to veer off the road, indifferent to its own safety.
An unwelcome chill crept down his spine. Shaking a little, he looked around him, taking in his immediate surroundings, contemplating his next move. It was densely wooded. At the edge of the luminosity provided by the car headlights lay what appeared to be an expanse of marshland, the ground covered by a low lying mist. Dripping trees, covered with net-like growths of trailing weed and glistening, green algae grew on some of the tussocks of firmer ground. From all around could be heard plopping sounds as foul marsh gases belched and bubbled. There was a fetid reek in the air.
Cursing the fact that he was not in possession of a torch, Myers began to claw his way up the slope which had been carved by the car when it had come off the road. There was a jolting pain in his right leg and blood was trickling from his gashed forehead.
Upon reaching the road, he screwed up his eyes, scanning both directions. To his left and right the road disappeared in a black river of midnight, the tall trees that bordered it looming menacingly as though possessed of their own malign spirits. Here, the darkness seemed to lie more thickly, more tangibly, than anywhere else; as if it were a physical thing that pressed down upon him from all sides. He was glad of the automatic in his pocket and closed his fingers tightly around it as he stood there for a moment, deliberating whether to head back or venture on. Unfortunately, his geographical knowledge of this area was virtually non-existent. However, the last settlement he had passed through must have been at least thirty kilometres back and he had seen no other traffic on the road. Something which, initially, he had taken as a blessing but now he was not so sure.
Myers made up his mind quickly. He would set off in the other direction, in the hope that he would soon reach a village or town. If he was lucky, he might be able to flag down a passing motorist, in which case he would not be averse to using whatever violence was necessary in order to commandeer their vehicle.
It was a cloudy night and there was little moonlight and, as Myers set off, he could not dispel the feeling of horror that seeped into his mind. Whether it was due to that strange thing that he had seen earlier or whether it was down to the dark and the overall level of eeriness that seemed to pervade everything, he could not tell. He had to admit that ever since he had fled from Turkey and entered Bulgaria, he had been aware of a certain difference in the general atmosphere of the country. For this was a place that was steeped in the old ways and traditions. The ancient, dark gypsy beliefs and superstitions. To him it was a time-haunted land of mystery and evil in which the Western, modern way of life seemed to hold little sway. Things happened here. Inexplicably terrible things which were mentioned only in hushed whispers by frightened peasants.
With a nervous gulp, Myers plunged on into the darkness. There was nothing else for it.
He had only been going a couple of minutes when it started to rain. At first it was just a few drops but it soon became heavier. A sudden flash of lightning rent the murk asunder, illuminating the great straggling trees on either side. They were of a variety he had never seen before. Thunder boomed ominously in the distance.
Head down, hands thrust deep into his pockets, the leather case clenched tightly under one arm, Myers stubbornly walked on. Grimly, he squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth, his face set in a dripping scowl, his eyes sharp and alert. This had to be the worst assignment he had ever been on and it appeared that things were just going from bad to worse for, without any means of transport, short of his own feet, he was now deep in enemy territory. The more suspicious part of his mind could not help but entertain the idea that this entire mission had been a setup for what should have been a relatively easy task of procuring the secret documents had instead resulted in a bloody shootout necessitating his swift departure from Turkey. It was this belief that gave him the determination to keep going, in the full knowledge that if he were to discover just who was behind this then he would make them pay. Whatever it took.
An inner rage lent him strength and he began to jog, keen now to get out of the rain and find somewhere he could spend the night. He had passed numerous decrepit farmyard barns further back and he hoped that there might be some up ahead.
He stopped briefly in order to tie a shoe-lace. It was then that, back along the road he had travelled, he saw approaching headlights, the dull, yellow beams looking like the eyes of some alien monster. The vehicle was not travelling fast, indeed, as he crouched there watching it, he had the unnerving impression that the occupants were looking for him. Maybe his pursuers had discovered where he had crashed and were now trying to track him down.
Straining his eyes, Myers was sure that whoever was back there had brought the car to a standstill. Then, faintly, he heard the slamming of a door and the revving of an engine. The vehicle began to move towards him once more.
Knowing that there was little time to spare, Myers headed into the undergrowth. His marshy surroundings were hideously dark; a morass of stinking, dank pools on either side. He sank low into a patch of dense ferns, grasping his gun, aware of the heavy thumping of his heart.
The headlights drew closer, accompanied by the spluttering wheeze and the rattling of the approaching vehicle. It sounded as though it were on its last legs. Then it came to stop. A car door was opened, followed shortly after by another one. Two clearly agitated Bulgarian voices could be heard.
Myers knew nothing of the language, however it was fairly obvious that the others were keen to find him and that they would stop at nothing to retrieve the secret files that he had stolen. He didn’t move, well aware that any sound he made would draw their attention. Cold water began to seep into his shoes and he realised with some alarm that he was slowly sinking into the brackish depths. Looking down, he could see that the water was now over his ankles. For some reason this foul dampness seemed to be something other than just a physical thing. It was almost as though the chill was spreading into his very soul.
Accompanied by a stream of harsh words, a beam of torchlight panned over to Myer’s left. Countless seconds passed as he crouched on the damp ground, the horrendous stench of the marsh gases almost causing him to
The voices ceased. With a sense of relief, Myers heard the car doors being slammed shut, the engine started up after several tries, and his pursuers drove off. From the sounds of it, they had decided to go back in the direction from whence they had come. It could be that they had considered it unlikely, given the state of the wrecked vehicle he had escaped from, that he could have got far.
Dragging himself out of the swamp, which was now up to his knees, Myers crawled his way back onto the road. He was soaked and he was stinking, but all that mattered was that he still had the files. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his leg. It was too dark to see things properly, however, reaching down with his hand he felt the slimy wetness of something slug-like adhered to his soaked trouser leg. Whether it was a leech or something else he didn’t know but it had bitten through the thin fabric. Wincing, he squeezed its bloated body between his fingers, pulping it before painfully plucking it free. Running his hands over his lower legs, he brushed off several more which hadn’t as yet latched their puckered mouths onto his flesh.
How much longer would he have to go on before he reached anything that even remotely resembled civilisation? It could be all night. Maybe he would be better off finding shelter somewhere among the trees and resting until dawn. That said, it was highly probable that his pursuers would widen their search for they had no doubt been given explicit orders to find him at all costs. It was just as vital for them to retrieve the classified documents as it was for him to hand them over to his superiors. And he knew from personal experience what failure could mean in this great game of global espionage.
Accompanied by the sound of his squelching shoes, Myers jogged along the road. He was drenched, cold and covered in filth. His sodden clothes clung to him like a sagging, second skin. At least it seemed as though the rain was beginning to slacken.
He stopped. Were those lights up ahead? Rubbing the dampness from his eyes, he peered in that direction. There was no doubt in his mind now. There were lights glowing less than a kilometre away over to his right. They appeared to be static—perhaps house lights. They seemed to be oil lamps as opposed to electric.
It was about time his fortune changed. Surely there would be someone there who could help him—whether willingly or unwillingly. That, of course, was for them to decide, however, removing the automatic from his pocket, he knew just how persuasive he could be if the situation warranted it. If he was lucky there would be a car or truck that he could make use of—some means of escaping from this godforsaken land.
Myers walked purposefully towards the lights. He had only gone several yards when he heard the faint music. He stopped and listened. The almost unearthly quality in the high-pitched whistling and in the wailing screech of violins sawed at his soul. The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard before although he had heard tales of the violently passionate wild gypsy music that the forgotten hillfolk still made. For some reason he could not help but feel that there was an evilness to the frantic playing; something which he couldn’t define but was undeniably there.
Abruptly, the tempo changed and the music became eerily sombre. There was now a haunting, almost unholy edge to it. It was as though a nightmare had been made audible.
Myers was not one to scare easily and yet a ripple of fear threatened to momentarily overcome him. It was widely rumoured that the gypsies of this land; the Roma, the Kardarashi and the Vlach, were a fiercely xenophobic lot and that they held allegiance to none but themselves. They were also rumoured to be highly volatile, as capricious and tempestuous as the wilds from which they originated. If he had plenty of money on him he may have been able to bargain with them, but he knew the price of their assistance would be steep indeed.
Apprehensively, he began to walk forward once more, his nerves tingling. From the sounds of it there was quite a gathering and as he neared he was somewhat dismayed to notice a complete lack of parked vehicles. The building itself was slightly off the road and shrouded in gloom and as it began to emerge, spectrally, from the darkness, he could discern that it was at least three storeys tall with two smaller annexes. There was a general feeling of oddness about its design as though it was the product of some insane architect. He had been threading his way through the backwaters of Bulgaria for nigh on two days now and this was unlike any of the buildings he had seen previously.
Suddenly the hellish music stopped.
After a hasty look over his shoulder, Myers returned the gun to his pocket, ensuring it was within easy reach should things turn nasty. He waited the best part of a minute, still undecided as to whether engaging with these people would be a wise move. Perhaps he was being too paranoid, too cautious, after all it could be that these simple folk would prove to be helpful, providing they could understand anything of what he told them. There was only one way to find out.
The last thing he wanted was for attention to be drawn to the contents of the slim leather case he carried. Looking around, he saw a large tree, at the base of which he cleared away some of the thorny vegetation in order to deposit the secret files. Once satisfied that they were well concealed, he walked up to the main door, turned the handle and went inside.
Twenty or so wary faces turned towards him. They were a miserable and unfriendly-looking lot—their clothes, hands and faces covered in what looked like a month’s amount of grime and dirt from working the fields. Most were short and stunted, long-haired and bearded, their unpleasant faces set in permanent scowls. From the doorway, Myers’ initial reaction was to turn on his heels and make a run for it for there was a blatant animosity levelled at him. He was the outsider and he had dared walk into this social gathering uninvited. Mustering his courage, he defiantly stood his ground and glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The room itself was extremely run-down; the wallpaper peeling away in great flakes, the floor unswept and the black-beamed ceiling sagged noticeably.
It was clear that the building served as a tavern or an inn of some sort for several unsavoury patrons we gathered at a makeshift bar. Others were sat at tables, whilst in one corner a group of bizarre-looking musicians glared at him. There was a fat, drooling imbecile seated at a dust-covered piano and a tall, gangly freak cradling an ancient-looking double bass. Mercifully shadowed, something unsightly with a violin sat huddled in a corner.
There was not a single woman to be seen, which, given the overall level of ugliness of those inside was probably for the best.
A gruff, questioning Bulgarian voice called out from behind the bar.
Myers shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
The man who had spoken stepped forward. “You English, yes?” He smiled in a tight, wintry way, with the smile never reaching his eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick, high-bridged nose and eyes set a little too close to it, giving him a mean, crafty look.
Myers nodded. “Yes. I had an accident on the road.” He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the disturbing scrutiny he was being subjected to.
The stranger stomped over and grinned, revealing a largely toothless mouth. With what was supposed to be a friendly gesture, he patted Myers painfully hard on the shoulder and steered him towards an empty table. “You need a room? Food and a good drink, yes?” He gestured towards a stool. “You sit here.”
Myers sat down, positioning himself so that he had his back to a wall. Gazing around, he found it hard not to stare back at the gathered misfits. With some level of revulsion, he noted a badly scarred hydrocephalic giggling as he shared his supper with a large rat that squatted at the end of his plate.
“You like soup? I make great soup.” Without waiting for an answer, the innkeeper slouched off behind the bar and went through a door into what was presumably the kitchen.
With some level of relief, Myers noted that he was no longer the main focus of attention. What he needed right now was an opportunity to get out of these wet clothes, take a warm shower and have a good night’s sleep. He was considering the wisdom of asking whether or not there was a room available and thus risk spending the night here when, out of the corner of his eye, he detected someone coming towards him.
