The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (26 page)

Must be the situation
, he thought, letting the curtain dangle.

He walked from the glass and sat in one of the armchairs, wanting to keep a good distance from the stained sofa. The sound of running water from above brought a small smile.

Good. They’re doing as told.

He considered going back to the kitchen for another coffee, but couldn’t stomach the idea of talking to the old crone and her interfering son.

Or is it grandson? Oh, who cares…

No, he wouldn’t go in the kitchen, at least not yet. Only his blood screaming for caffeine warranted the annoyance of the McGuires. Right now, a quiet few minutes on his own would suit just fine.

He concentrated clearly without Anne fussing around everyone and Jenny sniffling in the corner.

He hated the intruders for lying to him. Betsy and Adam were dead because some nutcase had made their street his playground. Terrifying as this was, its simplicity appealed to him. Predator versus prey. Him against us. True, the man in the bowler was extremely disturbed, but that’s all he was, just a man. Frank thought the teenage boy, McGuire and himself could easily overpower him and, if necessary, beat the bastard into an early grave. So why the need for such tall tales? There were no killer machines on the loose, and no giant spiders. If they were running riot on the street, wouldn’t he have seen or heard something by now?

You know it’s not that straightforward…

Frank tried to block out his own suggestion.

You knew there was something more to him this afternoon…

He had tried to rationalise his earlier encounter with the man. No avail. No one knew about his visits to Sharon, not any of his friends, no one from school and certainly not Anne. He’d been so careful to keep this secret. The only other person who knew was Sharon herself. So she must have told him…

You know that’s rubbish! This can’t be dismissed with such an obvious explanation!

Yes it can!
he pleaded with himself, but his own mind rebelled with ludicrous theories. He hated himself for it.

He got inside your head and you know it!

E=Mc2, Newton proved gravity makes your shit fall and there is NO magic man walking around Penny Crescent!

5.

“Look at me,” said Anne. “Both of you.”

Her children, lying in her bed with the blanket up to their chins, both raised their sparkling eyes.

“I know this is scary and you don’t understand what’s going on, but winding each other up isn’t helping. Knock it off, please.”

“But it’s true,” moaned Bronwyn. “The old man wants to come in through the window and get us!”

“Please. Make her stop!” Charlie cried.

“This has gone on far enough, Bron. You’re scaring your brother.”

“But…”

“But nothing!”

Anne reached over and pressed a finger over her daughter’s lips, silencing her. Charlie sniffled.

“There is no one at the window,” Anne said, briefly glancing at the thick, closed curtains, blocking the window from view. “How could anyone get up here anyway?”

“He can climb,” Bronwyn whispered, her lips moving on either side of her mother’s finger.

“Right then,” said Anne, climbing off the bed. “There’s only one way to prove no one’s there.”

“No,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “No. Please don’t…”

She gripped the edge of the curtain. “If it’s the only way to get your sister to be quiet and go to sleep, then I have to.”

“No,” cried Charlie again.

“He’s out there!” warned Bronwyn.

Anne pulled the curtain, sliding the fabric along its rail, revealing the dark window.

“See? Nothing there.”

The children looked over. The window showed only the emptiness of the night sky and their own startled reflections.

“Now,” said Anne, whipping the curtain closed again, “time for sleep with no more nonsense about old men scaling walls. Understand?”

Bronwyn nodded and wiped her eyes.

“Mum, I don’t think I can sleep without Betsy here,” said Charlie.

Anne sighed. “Shove up,” she said, walking around the bed and lying on top of the blankets next to Bronwyn, who in turn moved closer to her brother. “Like I said earlier, there’s a man out there doing very bad things.”

The children murmured their understanding.

“And this man even came to our house. But your father stopped him before he came in. Now Betsy…” She felt the tug of guilt in her insides and swallowed. “Betsy must have known about the bad man and ran away, either to safety or to get help.”

“Like Lassie would?”

“Yes, Bron. Just like Lassie.”

“Do…do you know where she is now?” asked Charlie.

“No, no I don’t. But wherever she is, I’m sure she’s safe and happy. Maybe she went to the park; you know she loves it there.”

“She’s not at the park,” said Bronwyn. “He got hungry and ate her all up.”

“Bronwyn,” cried Anne. The shock made her innards feel twisted, like a balloon modeller had gone to work on her intestines. No way could her daughter have heard Frank tell her the shed was now covered in the remains of their dog.

“He drank the blood and licked the bones…” said Bronwyn.

Charlie burst into tears.

“Bronwyn! How can you say that? Don’t listen to her, Charlie. She’s just trying to upset you again.”

Anne bit her bottom lip to keep her tears in. Maintaining a brave face was almost second nature after so many years of practise, but she knew the breaking point was looming. It would take her a while to put the façade back together when it crumbled. Bronwyn’s words might have upset her brother, but they cut Anne up on a much deeper level; she knew the truth.

Anne looked up as a large figure stepped into the doorway, bringing the damp smell of meat.

“Frank sent me up here,” Jenny said, looking down at the floor, “said you could sort me out a shower and some clothes.”

“Er…yes…no problem,” Anne replied, rolling off the bed, glad of the distraction. “I’ll get you the clothes now so you’re not disturbed later.”

Jenny thanked her and remained stood in the doorway.

Anne quickly searched through a chest of drawers and pulled out a large white T-shirt and a wide pair of tan shorts. She hoped that Jenny wouldn’t feel insulted by her choices, but she was a big woman, no way around that.

“Here you go,” she said, handing the garments over. “It’s not much, I know, but-”

“It’s fine,” said Jenny. “I’m not going anywhere, not with
him
still outside.”

“I’ll show you how to use the shower and get you some shampoo and things.”

“But the kids,” said Jenny, pointing over to the bed. “Frank said not to leave anyone alone. I’ve got Jake with me, so shouldn’t you stay with them?”

“They’re in no danger up here. Besides, I’ll only be in the next room.”

She walked out, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to her children.

“If I hear one more peep out of either of you, there’ll be trouble. Stop trying to scare each other and go to sleep. We might need to be up very early tomorrow morning.”

6.

Charlie and Bronwyn looked at each other.

“There
is
an old man out there,” she whispered. “He ate Betsy and now he’s hungry again.”

“Mum told you to stop it,” Charlie hissed. “Your stories got Dad angry again yesterday. Do you want that to happen again?”

“He’s coming to get you, Charlie.”

“Stop it. I’ll call Mum!”

Both of them lay quiet for a moment, listening to their mother fussing in the bathroom and the eventual splash of water jetting out of the shower.

“I’m glad Mrs Dean is having a wash,” said Charlie.

“She smelt yucky,” agreed Bronwyn.

A small thud sounded near the window.

“Did you hear that?” asked Charlie, eyes wide at the still curtain.

“It’s
him
,” said Bronwyn. “The old man. He’s at the window now.”

“Mum told you to knock it off,” he snapped. “It was probably from the bathroom, someone dropping the soap or something.”

Bronwyn shook her head.

“It’s him,” she repeated. “The old man.”

His hands shaking, Charlie pulled back the blankets and got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

He stood up and turned to his sister. “Like Mum said,” his voice straining to keep steady, “proving it might be the only way to shut you up.”

He walked over to the curtain and gripped its bottom edge.

“You’re not,” said Bronwyn. “You can’t!”

“Watch me.” He gripped the curtain tighter.

“Don’t!”

Charlie let go and the curtain fell back straight, swaying slightly. “Then stop making things up to scare me.”

Bronwyn sat up. “I wasn’t making it up. Get away from the window. Pleeease!”

Charlie shook his head and quickly snatched up the curtain, pulling it wide.

The window shattered. A thin white hand burst through the glass and grabbed the front of Charlie’s pyjama top.

Charlie lifted his hands to protect his face from the falling shards. He cried out as large spikes of glass fell around his bare feet. In an instant, the window was all over the carpet, and the cold night air invaded the warm bedroom.

“Charlie!” Bronwyn screamed.

The sound of heavy and frantic footsteps thundered up the stairs, but they sounded an age away. The noise lay in the back of Charlie’s mind as he looked into the face of his attacker.

The thing hanging from the gutter with a scrawny arm did look like an old man: pale, wrinkled and devoid of all body hair.

It’s an accident victim
, thought Charlie, horrified,
like the people on the hospital programs.

The intruder had no legs; the body was rounded into a smooth stump underneath the stomach. Every inch of its pallid skin was adorned with cuts, and angry deep gashes ran along its chest and shoulders. Smaller wounds dominated the arms, neck and head.

Charlie found his voice and screamed as the creature dragged him towards the jagged edge of the broken window, its strength greater than its stick-thin arms suggested. It stared at him with obsidian eyes, and it seemed to smile, despite the clear lack of a mouth. The cadaverous cheeks rose.

“Charlie!”

His mother hurtled through the door first. Her mouth hung open on seeing the pale, deformed figure tugging at her boy.

Pulling Charlie closer, its skin rippled and convulsed, the hundreds of cuts and grazes fluttering. Charlie’s screams increased in pitch, staring inside the fleshy incisions.

The edges of the wounds opened, displaying rows of tiny incisors within. Enamel gleamed in the light cast by the bedside lamp. The creature smiled with many of its mouths while others licked their lips with small, black tongues.

Anne dashed across the room in seconds and grabbed Charlie by the shoulders, straining to pull him away from the window. She did little to stop him inching closer and closer, the creature’s strength far greater than her own.

Charlie beat at the thing’s wrists with his clenched fists, but they showed no sign of loosening.

“Anne? Charlie?”

Frank stood in the bedroom doorway.

“Help!” Anne cried, stepping sideways to reveal the monstrosity at the window, all the time furiously pulling back on Charlie.

The creature growled, filling the room with a hideous harmonic, like a pack of dogs all howling at once.

Frank ran over, his stocky body barging into Anne.

She grunted from the solid impact. Knocked to the side, her grip slid from Charlie. Broken glass crackled under foot as her momentum carried her into the wall, her head bouncing off it with a loud
thunk!

Frank wrapped his large hands around one of the creature’s wrists, trying to pull it free. It hissed and dragged Charlie further towards the window, the sharp edge of the glass inches from his face.

Frank let go and jumped in front of the thing. With a roar, he thrust a fist forwards, hitting the creature squarely between its black eyes.

Its head rocked back with the blow and immediately bounced back, locking on Frank with an empty gaze. Several mouths snarled and gnashed their teeth.

“Christ!” came a male voice from behind. “Grandma, stay back!”

Frank punched a second time, but the creature still tugged his son closer. Losing control altogether, he rained blow after blow at its face, each one shrugged off by the fiend.

Joe rushed to his side and snatched the creature by the arm that held onto Charlie. The moment he touched the white skin, it parted to form yet another thin mouth full of sharp teeth that sank into his fingers. He let out a scream, jumping back and looking down. His fingers were bloody, but still attached.

Frank’s right arm sagged. He swung a left hook, but it missed by inches, sailing past the creature’s short nose as it leaned back. Avoiding the mass of snapping mouths, he leaned to the side. Losing his balance, he fell against the wardrobe. A stack of boxes, knocked from the top, rained down around him. He dropped to the floor.

The creature let out screeches of victory and turned back to its prey.

The fight had gone from Charlie. The firm hold on his pyjama top kept him aloft as his legs drooped below.

His attacker shuddered.

A large drop of bright blood emerged from the centre of the creature’s chest, as if squeezed out of the skin between the flat, wrinkled breasts. The drop swelled, reflecting the lamp light on its shiny surface. As gravity pulled the drop downwards, the creature’s skin opened in a deep trough, as if an invisible knife had been plunged in and dragged down, opening its chest to the lower belly. This new injury gaped, showing row upon row of white teeth that layered back as far as Charlie could see. He realised he gazed into a giant vertical mouth. The rest of the thing, the thin arms and the bald head, were insubstantial next to this wide cavity.

The creature grinned with its new addition, the corners not rising upwards, but sideways. It pulled Charlie forwards and down in a fierce jerk. He bent before it as if in worship.