The ultimate horror boxs.., p.133
The Ultimate Horror Boxset (10 Terrifying Novels), page 133
“Then what caused the bleeding, Mr Golding? Because it certainly wasn’t make-believe.”
“I don’t know what caused it, but according to my tests it wasn’t even blood coming out of Sammie. Which leads me to ask myself if I’m the butt of some big joke again. How is Buster?”
Frank bristled. “You think this is a trick? Look, Mr Golding, I would love nothing more than for you to leave, but trust me when I say that the last thing I want is to play games with you.”
“I’m only telling you that something doesn’t add up.”
“Yes, and it’s your job to do the math. I suggest you gather your colleague and get back to work.”
Tim saluted. “Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he departed back down the hallway.
Tim shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Dipshit. I never asked you to bring me here.”
Angela climbed the staircase just as Frank went down them. She joined Tim on the landing and smiled. It appeared she had recovered most of her wits. “Sorry for wigging out on you,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Hunky dory. You good now?
“Yeah. Mike’s gone to get my things, but it looks like I’ll have to put up with being caked in blood and vomit until then.”
“I’m not so sure it is blood.”
Angela looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that all the tests I’ve run on Sammie’s blood have come up inconclusive. I can’t get a blood type, mineral traces, or anything you would normally find. It’s weird.”
“This whole house is weird. Don’t tell me you’re all out of science?”
“Not even close, but I think it might be best if I switched to observation mode for the rest of the day.”
“Good idea. Has anyone told you what Sammie will be doing this evening?”
“No, but whatever he gets up to, we’ll have front row seats.” He patted the lid of his laptop which was nestled amongst his various equipment. The thing weighed a tonne, but it allowed him to use Windows on the move. A technical marvel. “How about we set this up in the lounge and help ourselves to some more overpriced booze?”
Angela glanced at her watch. “Nearly five o’ clock. Why not? My nerves could do with a tipple.”
Tim nodded. “Let’s go get our tipple on then.”
After drinking together for an hour, Tim had discovered that Angela was as much a drifter as he was. In exchange for her story, he told her his. About how he’d been free and single for several years, floating from one town to the next while living out of his van. Most of his work was gained through a gaudy website he maintained through local libraries. His professional ‘notoriety’ had come from a high profile case in ‘94 when he’d debunked a poltergeist claim for someone loosely connected to the Royals. Turned out that one of the staff was having fun by rigging parts of the house with practical jokes and false hauntings. Several national newspapers had picked up the story and Tim’s business skyrocketed. Angela laughed when he showed her the photograph they printed of him. He kept it in his wallet.
Placed on the table between them now was his laptop. It was expensive, like most of his equipment, and he enjoyed how Angela looked at it with awe. On the screen, several windows streamed full-colour footage from Sammie’s room — cutting edge stuff — and one feed was from an infrared heat camera. Dials and readouts cluttered the bottom of the display, highlighting temperature, air pressure, sound frequency, and a bunch of other scientific garble that only he understood.
Angela pointed to Sammie. “How long has he been sitting there at his desk?”
“Since we started the feed, which was more than an hour ago. I wonder what he’s thinking about.”
Angela seemed to consider the answer. “I don’t know.”
“Tomorrow we’ll start trying to make some sense out of everything. Until then, bottoms up.” Tim raised his glass and Angela finished off her whisky. She quickly poured another from the bottle on the table. She poured him another too. Then she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked her. He was getting a little chilly himself.
She rubbed at her shoulders. “Yeah, it’s getting frigid.”
“I imagine it’s difficult to heat a place this size.”
The patter of rain started against the windows and Tim looked across the room to the French doors. Pebble-sized splashes appeared on the panes as the downpour beat harder against the glass. “Well, I wouldn’t bank on it getting any warmer. Looks like we’re in for a dreary evening.”
The lights in the room went out. The moon shone in on their darkness, trying to keep it at bay.
“Oh, great,” said Angela. “If I wasn’t cold before, a power cut will really help.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back on in a minute. Maybe there’s a storm coming.”
“Ha! As if tonight couldn’t get any more ominous. A dark, stormy night at an old English manor and the power just went out. Are you kidding me?”
“All we need now is an axe-wielding maniac.”
The doors to the lounge burst open making them both scream.
It was Mike and Graham.
“Mind if we join you?” Mike asked. “It’s a little nippy to sit around in the car. I brought your things, Angela. I placed them in your room.”
She grinned. “Fantastic. And, yes, you are welcome to join us. More the merrier, I say.”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “Take a load off.” Might be interesting seeing where you stand in all this. Are you just drivers, or are you both involved in something more?
Mike smiled and took a seat at the table. Graham headed behind the shadow-slashed bar without a word.
Angela commented. “I see Graham is as sociable as ever.”
Graham grunted from behind the bar, a glass of gin already in his hand. “What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying it’s delightful to have such charming company.”
“Let me tell you something, priest.” He marched over to the table and thudded his glass down on the table. “You two are just guests here. I’ve been around two years, trying to keep this shitshow together. Show a little respect, or you’ll end up walking home after this is over.”
“I don’t think Jessica would appreciate you speaking to us like that,” said Tim.
Graham tittered. “The gal’s a mess. Don’t have a clue what’s going on half the time.”
“Yet, alas, here I am now listening to you speak, Graham.” Jessica appeared in the doorway, dressed smartly in trousers and an ivory blouse. She looked more in control of her wits than the previous times Tim had seen her. Was she sober?
No, not quite, he decided. But nearly.
Graham leapt up from his seat, gin splashing out of his glass and wetting the table “J-Jessica! I mean, Ms Raymeady. How are you doing this evening?”
“I’m good, Graham. Thank you for asking. I would feel safer, however, if I knew you were outside in the car.”
“But it’s freezing out there.”
“Then I suggest you turn on the engine.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, then.” Graham stomped off in a huff.
Mike got up to go after him.
“No, no,” said Jessica. “Stay, Michael, please.”
Mike sat back down again. “Thank you, Ms Raymeady. Will you be joining us?”
Jessica shook her head. “Perhaps later. I think I should keep a clear head for now. I hear Sammie had an accident today?”
“Yes,” Tim admitted. “We’re not quite sure what happened. I'm sorry it happened.”
“That’s alright,” said Jessica, “but let me assure you, I won’t tolerate Samuel being hurt. Next time, there’ll be consequences. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” said Tim, feeling about five years old — yet with a glass of booze in his hand.
“Good. I shall be with my son if anyone needs me.”
Everyone at the table nodded, but remained stonily silent. Jessica had taken hold of herself in a big way, and Tim could suddenly see her the wealthy and powerful woman she was. But he wondered if it was merely the calm before a storm. The woman’s last chance at holding it together.
Tim snapped the lid shut on his laptop. “So much for my equipment. Not much use with the power off.”
“Frank will look into the power,” said Mike. “Power’s been going off a lot lately.”
“Doesn’t your laptop run off a battery?” Angela asked.
“Yeah, but not the cameras. All the feeds have gone down.”
Mike frowned. “What feeds?”
Angela poured herself another drink and explained. “Tim has video cameras set up in Sammie’s room. We were going to observe him this evening and try to figure out what’s going on with him.”
Mike chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that. Jessica has had half the medical community through here the last few months. No one could figure it out. Most of them ran screaming from the building.”
Tim leant forward, placing his elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”
Mike rubbed his hands together to warm them up, then blew on them. Eventually he started speaking. “Sure you’ve seen it by now, but Sammie has a temper. There was a psychiatrist here a few weeks back. Tried some ‘behavioural adjustments.’ One of which was trying to take away Sammie’s crayons until he promised only to draw nice things. Next thing you know, Sammie attacks the doctor. Bites one of his ears clean off. Poor guy is crawling around on his hands and knees, looking for it for ten whole minutes before he realised Sammie had swallowed the thing whole.”
Tim’s felt his stomach slosh. “Helsinki.”
“Tell me about it. Jessica had to write the quack a big fat cheque to keep him quiet about the whole thing.”
Angela finished her whisky in a single gulp and poured herself another. Tim raised an eyebrow and wondered whether to be impressed or worried by her constitution. “How come you’ve hung around though all this, Mike?” she asked. “Frank told me everybody left.”
“Me and Graham work outside. We have no contact with Sammie. I guess we feel safe enough.”
“So you think Sammie is dangerous?”
“I know he is. Whatever the reason for that, I can’t tell you, but you won’t catch me alone in a room with that kid.”
Angela seemed disappointed. “He’s just a ten-year-old boy.”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Tim was intrigued by that. “Huh?”
“I mean,” said Mike, “that maybe you both being here is exactly what’s needed. Your exorcism kit is in your room, Angela. You might want to think about using it.”
Tim gawped at Angela, and realised he was impressed. “You’re going to do an exorcism? Can you still do that? As an ex-priest?”
“I suppose I’ll find out. Unless anyone has any objections?”
“Not me,” said Mike. “I’m not much of a believer in God, but I’d like to see what happens. Every other option has been exhausted, so there’s nothing to lose.”
Tim sighed. He’d got excited for a moment, but then his skepticism overruled him as it often did. “I still believe there’s a rational explanation for most things, which is why I’d like to dispel any notions of ‘possession’ sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not sure I even remember what to do anymore,” Angela admitted, her cheeks flushed with either the alcohol or embarrassment.
“It’ll come back to you, I’m sure,” said Mike.
Angela huffed. “Yeah, like riding a bike... backwards... over water.”
They shared a laugh and sipped at their drinks. After a few moments, Tim looked at Mike. “Tell me about Jessica.”
“What’s to tell? She’s lived most of her life in the papers and most of what they’ve written is true. She met Joseph Raymeady at University. I’m not sure what she was studying, but she never finished. Joseph asked her to marry him right after he graduated and joined his father’s company. Eventually, both she and Joseph took a place on the Board of Directors.” Mike motioned to the surrounding room. “You’ve already witnessed the fruits of their labour. Jessica is one of the richest women in the world, but I don’t think she knows what to do with it all without her husband. Things have been hard on her.”
“How long has she been drinking?” Tim asked bluntly.
Mike gave a slim-lipped smile, showing he understood the meaning behind the question. “Not long, to be honest. The woman you saw earlier is more the real Jessica Raymeady. She’s a kind soul, but usually very much in control of herself . The drinking and depression is out of character, but who can blame her? In fact, I was pleased to see the way she just dealt with Graham. Perhaps she’s finally on the mend. Let’s hope you can help Sammie so she can move on properly.”
“We’ll do our best,” said Tim. “I don’t plan on leaving until we get to the bottom of—”
The laptop on the table vibrated. The speakers emitted static.
Angela thrust her chin at the computer like it was an alien creature. “What’s it doing?”
“I don’t know.” Tim put his hands on the laptop and pulled it in front of him. Slowly, he raised the lid.
His breath caught in his throat.
“What is it?” Angela’s eyes bulged in the gloom.
He turned the laptop around so that she and Mike could see what was on it. “The feeds are back up, and I don’t know how.”
Angela stared at the screen, squinting.
Mike did the same.
Tim had a bad feeling.
Sammie’s room was dark except for a single candle burning beside his bed. Sammie lay tucked beneath his sheets while Jessica sat beside him. She was reading from a paperback novel. Keeping a vigil, Tim thought.
In addition to the standard video feed, the infrared camera showed several multi-coloured blotches. Heat signatures. Jessica’s body glowed beside the prone form of her son beneath the covers, but Sammie’s heat signature was in constant flux — reds and yellows pulsing and changing constantly like a kaleidoscope.
They all watched the screen, eyes glued to Jessica. The lady of the house had placed down her paperback and was now turning to her son.
Mike licked his lips. “What… What is Jessica doing?”
Tim placed a hand over his fluttering tummy. “I don’t know. I think, I think she’s… Damn it, no!”
They watched in horror as Jessica pulled a pillow from beneath Sammie’s sleeping head and clamped it down over his face.
She was trying to kill her son.
Chapter
Fifteen
Angela galloped through the hallways of the house, trying to navigate her way to Sammie’s room as quickly as she could. She called out Jessica’s name at the top of her lungs.
The woman had lost her sanity and was trying to eliminate the cause of all her stress – her sick ten-year-old child. Angela knew it was a defence mechanism of a shattered mind, that Jessica’s action were a temporary madness brought on by trauma, but if she were to succeed, the act would ruin her forever. Angela had to stop her.
Sammie’s room was up ahead, and Mike and Tim were right behind her. Even in the dark, she could see the posters and signs adorning the boy’s bedroom door. She wasted no time barging inside.
It was like entering a nightmare.
Dark pervaded the bedroom as shadows shifted and swirled. The stench of sweat and faeces lingered. In the depths of the shadows, that single burning candle Jessica had been reading by still flickered.
“Jessica!” Angela called out. “Whatever you are doing, you need to stop.”
No answer.
Angela stepped forward into the darkness. Sammie’s bed lay right in front of her. The boy rested beneath the covers – an unmoving, grey silhouette.
“S-Sammie? Are you okay?” Angela smelt the sweat coming off the bedsheets. “Sammie, answer me!”
Tim and Mike slunk in the shadows behind her, but Angela felt alone. It was just her and the bed and the grisly secrets it held beneath its sheets. She took another step and reached out a hand, dreading what her fingers might find. The soft flesh of a dead child?
She stretched forward, inch by inch, reaching on her tiptoes.
Something wrapped around her wrist.
She tried to leap back, but whatever had her would not let go. She cried out for help and struggled to break free. Tim and Mike rushed up behind her and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back.
The power came on with an audible click! and light flooded the room. Angela blinked as her retinas responded with pain, and then confusion. Sammie lay in bed, staring at her through the narrow black slits of his eyes. It must surely have been his hand wrapped around her wrist. But how could it have been with him laying in bed beneath the covers?
“What are you doing, Angela? I was sleeping.”
Angela found it hard to speak. Her lungs had seized up as if an invisible python had roped itself around her chest. “Sammie, w-where is your mother? Where is Jessica?”
“Oh, I think she went up to her room to get some air. She was feeling rather unwell.”
“Sammie? Has something happened? Did your mother do something to you with a pillow?”
Sammie giggled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As I explained, I was sleeping soundly until you awoke me. Perhaps you should go check on my mother. I would hate for anything to happen to her.”
Angela leant closer to the boy. “What does that mean, Sammie?”
“Erm… Angela?” It was Tim’s voice, coming from behind her. “I think you should take a look at this.”
Angela stepped away from Sammie and turned around. What she saw on the walls was impossible. More of the boy’s crayoned drawings had appeared, attached to the plaster with pushpins in so dense a fashion that they overlapped one another like horrid wallpaper — hundreds of them. They depicted the house, rain outside, and no power, the windows shaded black to show the lack of light. More disturbing were the depictions of Angela, Tim, and Mike. The drawing showed them sitting in the piano lounge, huddled around a table with a laptop between them. Sammie had drawn them watching him. There was no way he could have known how they would be sitting or what they would be doing — it had been mere minutes ago. He could never have drawn it in time. Not a hundred times over like this.
