Fiction Friday – Balancing the Books – Part 2

Welcome back to another exciting Fiction Friday!

This week it’s Part 2 of Balancing the Books. Next week will be the concluding chapter, and if you’ve enjoyed this, there should be an eBook available on Amazon in time for Halloween. Until then, turn down the lights, and enjoy the story. 


The path down beneath the floor was unstable. The wood in most of the room was rotten. It was dark, but with each move he made, more of the floor crumble away and yielded to the moonlight. Eventually, he decided on the staircase.

“Hurry,” said the woman.

A small strip of plaster and exposed metal supports lined the wall to the staircase. He pushed his back to the wall and inched, slowly nearer the stairs. They were as rotten as the floor, but the supports had held their shape as they’d fallen. Now it was almost as if the stairs had always gone down into the black pit. His heart beat loudly in his chest, and he scared himself. Against it all, he was enjoying it. Only the woman spoiled his good mood. If she was here, if she wanted it to, then he would have to do something about that. Maybe she could be reasoned with, oh but if she ever told anyone else. He scared himself again. He didn’t know he had it in him.

He sidestepped slowly along the wall, once or twice he slid his foot a little too quickly, and plaster crumbled out from underneath him, but before long he was gripping the ornate bannister of the staircase. He couldn’t tell how far the flow below was, perhaps he could have jumped, but he wasn’t going to risk in.

The old bannister has separated from the wall, but ornate wooden supports fixed it to the stairs. It trailed down into the darkness like a snake. The rotten wood could not take him, but if he gripped the rail tight and kept his feet between the supports, he could probably go to the bottom safely.

Once again, Walker descended deeper into the house. His footing felt unsure, but now he had something to hold on to, he kept a tighter grip of his sanity too. Even as he dropped beneath the floorboards and the only light was the night sky above, his iron grip on the rail was like a beacon of shining light. Once or twice, a childish urge struck him. That this would all go so much faster if he straddled the rail and slid to the bottom like he had done as a child. He resisted the temptation. One bad decision was enough for now.

“Are you here?” Said a voice.

“Nearly.” Walker shouted. “How far down is the floor?”

“Oh not far,” she said, sounding further away than she had before. “I’m in the next room, follow my voice.”

Walker reached the end of the rail. The woman’s voice was distant now, he didn’t want to lose her. Gently he lowered his feet, but they touched nothing. He stepped around, trying to find some trace of the stairs but there was nothing around him. He was suspended, gripping the remains of a bannister and a trail of plaster and iron struts. The biting urge to retreat came to him again, but he didn’t dare. The climb had been bad enough, and the woman. She got down there somehow, she knew another way out. He was certain of that.

Walker let go of the rail.

The floor could only have been inches from but the drop felt huge. He lost his footing as he landed in the rubble. He braced himself, but felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He could feel a trickle and blood. He ran his hand inside his shirt, the blood was bad but the cut didn’t feel deep. Nothing he had to worry about. Once on his feet, he stared at the darkness around him, ahead was a pale light. The woman had to have gone that way, or else stumble into the dark.

“Hello?” He called out but there was no response. He felt his way with his hands until he came to the edge of the room. There was a clank of bottles. The wine cellar? He was close. She had known the way. The light was coming from a doorway up ahead.

“I’m hear. He hear the woman whisper but he still couldn’t see her. “I thought I heard someone.”

“Yeah,” Walker dusted himself off and entered the next room. It was lighter in here, the was a window that led to the surface, this had to be the cellar under the gardens.

“No, someone outside.”

“Shit.” He followed her voice. “Did you tell anyone you were here?”

“Nobody.” She said. “Let’s hurry, it’s this way.” Footsteps shot off in the darkness, he tried to remember the plans. She was heading exactly where he thought she would.

“Here,” she hissed. “It’ll take two of us, if we find it quickly we can be out before they find us.”

Walker saw the woman for the first time. She was in the corner of the room, a little light came through the window but she only caught the edges. She was tall, young, but she hid her face. He saw a hint of scarring. Another of the family’s victims? He felt a little sorry for her. Not sorry enough. He’d worked too hard to share.

“It’s down here.” She slipped into a gap beneath the bricks.

“What’s back there?” He shouted, but there was no answer.

He braced himself. Fished the lighter from his pocket. It started first time and he got a good look around him for the first time since he pushed open the gate. The gap in the bricks was old, it led to a short passage. He couldn’t see the woman, she must have gone on ahead. He closed the lighter, if she could make it without the light, there was no point wasting the fuel. He slipped off his jacket. The shoulder of his shirt was stained with blood. The colour made his stomach turn. He placed a foot inside the gap in the bricks and pushed through being careful of his shoulder. He thought he heard her footsteps ahead but he couldn’t be sure. Placing his hands on the side of the passage, he went to claim his prize.


That’s all for this week, tune in next Friday when it our tale comes to a close. 

Joshua’s Gift – A Short Story

Manor in WatercolourHey guys, it’s time for another story. I suppose you could call this a horror, but it’s a lot gentler than the last one. This is more of an old fashioned cobwebs and crypts tale. I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while, but I wanted to get away from full moons and thunderstorms so I recast it upon a hot summer’s day. Let me know what you think. 


Beckett pushed open the old oak door. The house was old, and large. Rumour was it had once been larger, the surviving wing of a Tudor manor that had been burned to the ground nearly two hundred years before. What remained had been patched up, but had the feel or a diseased stump, soaking up the life around it and refusing to die. He stood now, facing the open door. The sun was hot and choking, but he was still reluctant to enter the shadows inside. There was a smell, like cobwebs and rotten fruit, but he was here for a reason. He could not go back and face his family until the job was done.

He stepped across the threshold and gave his eyes a moment to adjust. If he was right, there’d be nothing to worry about until sunset. It was hardly modern in there. He was stood in a small hall with an ornate staircase in the centre, three doors led off from each wall. He picked a direction and set off deeper into the building. The first door led him to the dining room. A thick layer of dust coated everything. A place was set on the table, but the plate was filthy. He peered through the grime and saw a cluster of maggot shells as rotten and ancient as everything else. He would not find Joshua in here.

The next room was a long conservatory, and someone had been there recently to clean. The glass sparkled and sunlight warmed a set of comfortable looking chairs. Beckett could see out into the garden, a mess of weeds and vines that he couldn’t get to from the front. Behind him, something smashed.

Beckett swung around to see the old man. He was tall and clearly frail, the remains on a small teacup were shattered at his feet, and he could see the man’s hand shook involuntarily. He stared at him with wet, whitened eyes and his sagging mouth trembled when he spoke.

“I don’t know you.”

“No.” Beckett stepped towards him, but the fright was too much and the old man collapsed into a chair. “I’m here for Joshua.”

The man cradled his skull with shaking hands. “The master is resting.”

“I won’t disturb him.”

The old man didn’t seem to hear him. “The master is resting. Come back later.” He clutched at thin air as if he still held the cup and then lost focus altogether. Beckett turned away. The old man’s mind was gone. Taken. He would not be the last. But he could still mange a lie. Joshua had to be there, he couldn’t be anywhere else.

Beckett opened the warped glass door and stepped out into the garden. He might as well be in the jungle, vines and reeds escaping from the pond clogged the path, but it didn’t take him long to spot it. Another relic from the Tudor days, no doubt. The entrance to the crypt was twice his height, but had long since been consumed by climbing ivy. A statue he guessed had been an angel stood on top, but was covered in green except for the tips of its wings. All the remained free was the gate, which looked as new as the day it was fitted.

It swung open easily. He had expected it to be locked, but it made sense. Nobody from the town outside the walls was going to attempt to make it this far. Too superstitious. After all, they had a good reason to be. Hell, he was terrified himself, but he was here now. The old man had seen him. If he didn’t see it through, he was as good as dead anyway.

The steps down were uneven stone, worn through years of heavy use. It was dark at first but shafts leading up to the surface were placed at regular intervals, until he reached the floor. They were only just below the ground, but here two large grates let light and air through, making it less claustrophobic than he had feared.

Beckett knew he was safe. Until night fell, he had nothing to worry about, but still he noticed he could feel his heartbeat somewhere his own head. His chest pounded so much it started to hurt. If anything, it was even hotter down her, and the filtering light caught every speck of dust and dirt, turning the air into a hot, musty fog that seemed to clog his throat.

There was only one coffin in the crypt. It sat on the far wall, where the light barely reached. He walked to it and placed his hands on the lid. It was varnished wood, cherry if he was not mistaken. It felt cold to the touch, and expensive. A brass plate was screwed in to the top, but the letters had worn away years ago. He dropped his battered old surgical bag down and lifted out the crowbar.

“Stop!”

That single world must have taken the last of the old man’s strength because he dropped to his hands and knees at the foot of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” said Beckett. And he was. “I don’t have a choice.”

He jammed the crowbar into the side of the coffin and with a single application of force, the lid popped off. He laughed when he saw the nails. Barely a centimetre into the wood.

The body inside was not a body at all, but he’d been expecting that. He finally came face to face with Joshua, a man who was, by all accounts, nearly a thousand years old, and yet had the face of a seventeen year old boy. Its hair was plaited and tied and its face was red and flushed. It had fed recently. It had to be tonight.

“You cannot kill him.” The old man coughed through the choking air.

Beckett laughed. “I thought you’d be happy to see him go.”

“No,” the old man shook his head. Then he lowered himself to the ground and lay on his chest. His face was wet with tears.

“He really has broken you.” Beckett felt guilt for the old man then remembered why he was there. “Relax, my friend. I’m not here to kill him.”

He opened the surgical bag again and removed his equipment. A length of surgical tubing and a set of needles. In a few moments he’d set it up, and gently inserted a needle into the creatures arm. Beckett hissed as he inserted a needle into his own arm. He pulled back a syringe connected between the two of them. The vampire’s eyes opened, flickered from side to side and then closed again. When its blood began to flow down the tube it was dark and thick. When it entered his veins it made him feel cold to his shoulder.

He could not be sure when he had taken enough and so he kept the transfusion going until Joshua lost the blush from his cheeks. Too much, he supposed, could be dangerous, but no worse than everything else he had done today. When he was done, he pulled the needle out and left without bothering to clear up the rest. He passed the old man and still lay in the dirt, but whatever pity he had was gone. When he stepped back out into the garden, something felt different. The light felt cold without any of its colour, and it started to sting his skin already. It was time to find shelter.

Hungry – A Horror Story

SmWell, it has been a while since I put some fiction of my blog, but I’ve been trying to get away from Flash Fiction and start writing longer stuff which takes a fair bit more time, so I’m spreading the work out more. This isn’t much longer than an old Fiction Friday post at around 2,500 words, but it’s an idea I’ve been meaning to write for a while and I think it turned out pretty well. 

A word of warning, however. I don’t write much outright horror, I’m usually more of a suspense and thriller guy, but this is a genuine gruesome tale so if that’s not your thing, then you might want to give it a miss. If you feel brave, read on. 


Hungry

Jessie hesitated for a second before launching herself after it. At a hump on the grass, all four paws left the ground as she launched into a mess of weeds and brambles, before emerging triumphantly with the battered old tennis ball. She trotted back with it firmly between her jaws and then dropped it at Sam’s feet. At least he was wearing gloves today, the ball was sodden with dew and drool, and was one good bite away from tennis-ball heaven. A good reward for five years long service. Sam lobbed the ball again and Jessie was gone, over the hill and through a net of thorn bushes. Sam walked on.

It was good to get out early. The new house was big and bright, just the sort of house Claire wanted. He bought more out of spite than anything else, but it was empty, imposing and judgemental. He hated every moment he spent in it, but it was his now and he needed at least ten years of pretending to like it before he could move on. The isolation was nice, at least. He had a good walk to the next house, and a patch of scrubland behind him for walking the dog. One afternoon he’d brought his notes out with him and got a good but of work done between pitching long throws for Jessie. That almost made it worthwhile.

She wasn’t back yet. He walked a long arc round the corner of the bank, before the fence lining the furthest reaches of the old farm started to box him in, until he was pointing in the direction Jessie had gone, and started off in that direction. She’d be distracted by a squirrel or a rat or something. She was only a mongrel but she had the nose of a bloodhound, and the attention span of a sparrow. As he neared the patches of thorns, he whistled, but there was no response.

“Jess!” He yelled, he thought he heard something, but it was faint. He walked on, circling the worst of the bushes and finding the old patch. “Come on, girl.” He heard it again, a whimper. She’d probably run through the thorns and lodged something in her paw. He followed the noise until he found the gap in the soil. It was a small opening, just big enough to climb down. Halfway between a cave and burrow, with a large rock embedded in the soil above the entrance. The whimpering came from inside.

“Come on, Jess.” He whistled again. Either something in the bushes had scared her down or she’d chased something in and become stuck. He slipped off his jacket and crouched down. It would be a tight squeeze, but he could probably make it. He pulled out his phone and pointed the light from the screen down the burrow. Jessie still whimpered somewhere inside, but he couldn’t see her. He would have to go in.

There was just enough room to crawl down, holding the phone in front of him for light. The soil at the entrance was dry, but got a little muddier as he went. He’d crawled about half the length of his body when he saw her. She’d become tangled in a mess of roots. He reached out a hand, and started unwrapping them from her back leg, but she was panicky and pulled about. “Easy, calm down.” It didn’t do much good. “We’ll be out of here soon.” He freed the last of the roots from her leg, he couldn’t make out much from the light of the phone, but he could see her turning. He started to inch back the way he had come.

Jessie was facing him now. He could see she was panicked, but it still caught him off guard when she bolted. Laid down in the burrow like this, she didn’t see, much smaller than he was. They were almost out now, but as she tried to force her way past him, something shifted. He felt soil crumbling over his feet and then pain. Sam could only guess, but the weight that now squeezed his right leg felt a lot like the stone that had been lodged in the soil. The burrow was completely dark now, he tried to move his leg but couldn’t, he couldn’t even feel his foot. He tried to shout for help, but that set something off again. Jessie was still in the burrow with him, and the more she moved, the more she pushed his body away from his leg. It felt like it would wrench his foot off. He tried to lift but it was no good.

Sam was trapped.

His first response was to struggle, but it was a waste of time. He couldn’t shift his leg in such a way as to free it from the stone, he couldn’t push the stone with his other leg without driving it further into his leg. Besides, the more he struggled, the more his fellow prisoner pushed up and down the tunnel. She barked. She was only a small dog, in the tight space it was deafening, and he reached a hand to stroke her. She was still distraught, but calmed at his touch.

The pain in his leg had been bad, but was easing now. His leg bled. He could feel it, but the wound could be treated if he could just get out. At last, he remembered his phone. He’d been using it for light, but hadn’t tried to make a call. His heart sank as he peered at the harsh, bright screen. No signal. It was rough out there at the best of times, now he was beneath a layer of soil. He felt his heartbeat pick up a little faster, his breath got away from him. He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs, and when he breathed deep, he filled his nose with the smell of dirt and rotting leaves. It made him want to gag. Jessie picked up on his fear too, the light from the phone caught her eyes. They were wide and flicked about the place.

Sam told himself to stay calm. The way back was trapped, but the stone had not covered the entrance completely. On his bare ankles, he could still feel a trace of wind and on the air was the smell from the old brewery at the edge of town. He would not suffocate. That was something. Getting help would be a little harder, he thought about digging with his hands, getting enough space to let the dog squeeze through, and then hope for the best. She was hardly Lassie, but his options were limited. He started to pull clumps of soil out, but the weaving roots that had tangled her up in the first place were threaded through the top of the burrow. One hard pull and he’d bring the whole lot down on himself. He would have to wait. If she got desperate enough, she might just tunnel back the way they came and free some room for his leg.

Sam watched time pass on the phone. He turned down the brightness of the screen as far as it would go, and felt a little more nervous every time the battery indicator dropped a percent. He alternated between leaving it off for as long as he dare, and watching it intently hoping to see the phone pick up a signal, but it was no good. Jessie was still nervous, squeezing from one end of the tunnel to the other. Occasionally she would stop and sniff the air, but he couldn’t smell much beyond the damp soil now. His leg itched and tingled now.

He must have fallen asleep, because he was woken by the sound of a motorbike. Only a little engine, some off-road scrambler. Kids from town sometimes brought them on to the hill and bounced over the banking. This was his chance. He screamed at the top of his voice, he saw Jess get nervous by the noise. “Come on.” He shouted at her, his voice was tired and cracking, he needed her to make some noise. He felt a rumble in the earth just as Jessie started barking. The noise was almost deafening, but it was no good. The sound of the bike became more distant. They must have passed right over. Sam shouted for what felt like an hour after, but nobody came.

He was too scared to look at the phone now. The battery indicator had gone red. He didn’t know how long he’d been down there, and he was starting to get thirsty. Night must have fallen outside, because the tunnel seemed darker than ever and he started to get cold. He tried to keep Jessie sat by him, to borrow some of her warmth, but she was twitchy and couldn’t stay still. He heard her attempt to nibble a root and give in quickly. Though the space was tight, he was glad he was not trapped alone. He started to fall asleep again, but some glimmer of hope nibbled at the corners of his brain. It had been Monday when he walked the dog, if it was night now, in the morning it would be Tuesday, and on Tuesday the local Wildlife Spotters were usually out on the hills.

Jessie whimpered, walked in a little circle before sitting again and he placed a hand on her back. If they could just hold on a little longer, if he could just stay conscious until tomorrow morning, they might make it.

Sam’s head shot up. At some point he had fallen asleep. It was dark, his throat was sore and he was in pain. He knew he was not supposed to fall asleep, but he could not remember why. He tried to look around, but it was pitch black, and he remembered where he was. Why he could not sleep. Wait for people. He had to be awake when they passed or he wouldn’t have a hope. He doubted he could last another week down there. And yet he was exhausted. It was still night, he hadn’t slept for long, he could tell.

But why had he woken up. In he dreams, he had felt a sensation in his leg. That old pain from the rock, he worried it was becoming infected, and he hadn’t felt anything in his foot for too long now, but there was something. A sensation; a noise.

“Jess?” The noise stopped. He tried to reach down to his leg, but he could just touch his shin with the tips of his fingers. The skin that had been tacky with blood and grit was wet and smooth. The dog pushed past him and sniffed around his face. He heard her lick her lips. The fear took a while to set in, but when it did, it consumed him. His leg was still trapped, and the sickening smell that now filled the tunnel was clearly coming from him, but it was having a different effect on Jessie. He tried to count up the hours they had been trapped their, and while he counted, he heard her whimper and fuss. Even in the pitch black, he thought he caught a glint of white teeth hiding in her mouth. He was cold, and wet, and hungry, but so was she.

He shifted his weight to the side, tried to block her from getting to his feet. He told himself he had nothing to be scared of, that the two of them had only to wait until morning. She couldn’t be that desperate yet, but the smell of his festering wound seemed to be filling the air and the more he tried to keep her back, the more she struggled.

He lost focus again, the tiredness a constant threat, like the dog and went he came to, he could feel her sniffing at his leg again. The leg was numb to the pain, but he was still aware of her nose and tongue poking at the wound. With his other leg and kicked out at her, hoping to put her off the idea, but he caught he harder than he meant to. She snarled and barked in response before pushed past his ribs again and curling up in front of his head. There his listened to hear breathing, near his fast. The sound was not soothing, but its repetition became like a trance and the heat of her body rocked him closer and closer to sleep. He tried to fight it, but it was no good. Sam slept again.

In Sam’s dream, he was not in the burrow. He told himself to stay awake, to fight until morning, but it was no good. There was no need anyway, he told himself he was at home, in his own bed. Back in his old house and Claire was beside him. No, she was moving now. Sam slept until the pain hit his leg, for a split second he was awake and understood completely, but the old numbness soon returned. The smell of rot and decay still hung around, but there was a new smell. Something fresh, something clean. In the pit of his stomach he felt hunger again, but he was getting dizzy now. He would sleep for a few more hours, and then see what they were having for breakfast.