The Dark Horde (10 page)

What was he thinking! He was getting carried away. Here he was trying to diagnose a child who was coherent, articulate, friendly and cooperative. Not only was he assuming that this kid had some sort of mental disorder, but now he was thinking that he was evil as well! He dismissed these thoughts from his mind and returned to the young boyish face, still smiling. Where was he?

“Um, so you don’t, you’re not–” He stopped, swallowed and began again.

Psychiatry had never been this hard.

“What I mean to ask is, have you had any trouble with your thought-processes this morning? Do they seem speeded up or confused?”

“No. Do I seem confused? I don’t think I’m the one who’s confused.”

Little bugger. Don’t react and encourage him. Focus.

“Are you feeling in any way concerned about what happened last night, or any other recent events?”

“No. You seem to be more concerned about them than anyone else. Nothing bad has happened to me and nor am I in fear of anything bad happening.”

“You’re not concerned about seeing or hearing demons?”

Danny laughed. “Should I be concerned about something that I cannot recall and I’m told only occurred for a couple of hours after the incident yesterday? You seem to like these demons, Doctor Russell. Maybe you’re the one who’s seeing them!”

Bernard rose, fists clenched at his side. “DANNY! I AM TRYING TO HELP YOU!” He pointed a shaking finger at Danny. “And you’re not helping! This is a serious matter that you seem to think is some kind of joke! Do you find this funny?”

Still grinning, Danny replied. “Okay, okay, maybe I did see these er, demons, but I certainly don’t recall any of it. It’s nothing to blow your stack over, though. You’re supposed to be helping me, remember? Not shouting. It’s not very professional.”

Bernard sat in his chair again. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

At that moment, a nurse called from the doorway, “Is everything all right, Doctor Russell?”

The doctor turned side-on to his patient to answer, “Yes, everything’s fine.” He turned back to his patient to continue, red-faced.

Danny lay there as placidly as ever, smiling at him.

The sly little bastard.

MONDAY 11:47
AM

Bruce wasn’t sure what
it
was, but it hurt like fuck.

Bruce opened his eyes and saw that he was on the couch in the lounge at Aaron’s place. Closed curtains cast shadows across a room strewn with takeaway food packaging, beer bottles and dirty plates.

His head throbbed and his tongue felt like it was wrapped in plastic. Struggling to swallow and dampen his mouth, he noticed drool over his face and pillow...

It was a dark colour and sticky.

He touched the sides of his face and recoiled with pain. Deep gashes from his own fingernails ran from his eye sockets down his jaw line.

It had been a big night. Bruce, Aaron and Jason were drinking at Aaron’s place until sometime after the sun came up this morning, but he didn’t remember this happening. Yesterday seemed like a dream.

Oh fuck. Frank and his dad Barney died yesterday. That wasn’t a dream.

And the idiots they were, they’d decided to go down to the police scene whilst drunk to see what happened. Vincent, the driver, didn’t even have a full licence. Now he’d lost it for six months and had a huge fine to pay as well. They didn’t even find out what happened at the farm. The exact events that occurred were indistinct this side of the drinking binge, but he did remember Vincent going off at them for the idea and leaving in a huff. Bruce, Aaron and Jason went back to Aaron’s place after that, numb by the day’s events... And kept drinking.

And now he’d woken on his mate’s couch to find half his face clawed off and blood all over himself. Fuck!

Bruce scanned the darkened room and spotted a light switch next to the doorway opposite.

Fuck, he needed a glass of water.

Beyond the doorway lay a short carpeted hall to the rest of the house.

With some effort, he sat up and yawned.

Then he heard a squelching sound from down the hallway. It ended as suddenly as it began.

Bruce felt the hair on his neck bristle from the chill of fear. He felt simultaneous needs to piss and vomit.

The squelching sound came again, this time longer, ending with a slopping thump. It seemed to be coming from Aaron’s room.

What the fuck is that?

Nature’s demands took control of Bruce’s senses and he rushed into the hallway seeking the toilet. Trying to ignore the sound coming from down the hallway, he opened the first door on his right. He closed the door behind him and sighed with relief as he disgorged his bladder. He pondered sticking fingers down his throat to get rid of the alcohol still in his stomach, but decided he didn’t feel as bad as that.

He then went through the sliding side door into the bathroom. Finding a light switch first, he grabbed a glass from the bathroom bench and filled it under the tap. He saw how bloody his hands were and looked up at the mirror.

A pale face presented itself, streaked with blood from his scratches, his eyes swimming in blood-tinged sockets.

What was he going to say to Aaron?

As he turned the tap off, he again heard rhythmic squelching, this time accompanied by a louder slapping.

I don’t remember Aaron picking up last night! Wow, that’s a first!

Bruce sculled his glass of water and poured himself another.

Now the sound was accompanied by strange deep grunts that did not sound human.

Bruce shivered and spilt his water.

Then the phone rang in the lounge and Bruce jumped, spilling more water.

The phone echoed through the house, causing the sounds from Aaron’s room to cease.

I’m fucked if I’m going to answer that.

The phone kept ringing, as the noises down the hallway resumed.

Oh shit, I better go see what the hell that is.

Bruce stepped back into the hallway and noticed a potent stench that didn’t seem to be of alcohol or cigarettes. It smelt like something rotten. The squelching and slapping continued, as did the animalistic groans.

Shit, maybe I should just leave.

The phone stopped ringing as the sound of crashing objects came from the lounge behind him. Mercifully, most of the lounge was out of view.

Fuck! Now what do I do? The front door’s that way!

Bruce hesitated in the hallway. The sounds in the lounge stopped but not the wet sounds from Aaron’s room.

Just stop thinking about it and go see what it is, you bloody pussy!

As Bruce crept to Aaron’s door, he saw it was slightly ajar. His trembling hand pushed it open on squeaky hinges...

The door pushed aside the lurking shadows to reveal a scene of sickening slaughter. Aaron’s eviscerated corpse lay strewn over the bed and surrounding floor, dripping entrails hung out like decorations. Splashes of blood and the stench of decay saturated the room. Before closed and blood-splattered curtains stooped a hairy beast in a pose of the basest horror. In colossal claws it held Aaron’s decapitated head, rhythmically thrusting its erect member into a bloody socket. The horrifying sound it made was now dampened by the sound of its demonic bestial laughter.

It paused to meet Bruce’s dumbstruck gaze with malice. It laughed again and licked its slavering lips before resuming its necrophilic task.

The hallway creaked behind Bruce. He turned to face the huge chest of another of the demons. Its bulk towered over him as its arms swiftly enveloped him.

The last thing he remembered was a crushing grip around his throat...

MONDAY 1:36
PM

The nurse looked up from the reception desk at a portly middle-aged man standing next to a woman of equal years wearing a bonnet and a loud floral skirt. “Sure.”

She typed a few keys on a keyboard and ran her finger along the green screen.

“Dr Russell, the psychiatrist, has asked to speak to you first before seeing Danny. He’s probably in his office now. Do you mind waiting here whilst I get him?”

Harold, the father, frowned. “Tell him we’re here, and that he can come and find us. I didn’t come here to see him, I came here to see my son.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then take us to where he is now, or do we have to find it ourselves?”

“No, no, I’ll show you to where Danny is. And then I’ll fetch Dr Russell for you. This way please.” She sighed.

The nurse led the way down the corridor, past various nurse stations and hospital wards. “He seems to have recovered well since yesterday when he was admitted.”

“Probably because there’s nothing wrong with him.”

The nurse stopped for a moment to turn to Harold. “Well, you’ll have to speak to Dr Russell about that.”

Margaret, arm in arm with her husband, piped up, “Oh we will!”

“Nobody knows our son like we do!” Harold chimed in.

The nurse turned away and walked onwards.

“Danny, some visitors are here whom I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see.” The nurse gestured to the doorway as Danny’s parents entered the room.

Danny looked up from writing in an exercise book to see his father, a rotund balding man in a short-sleeved chequered shirt, with his mother, a tall skinny lady with frizzy hair tied under a faded bonnet in that horrible yellow flower dress she often wore.

They were both silent as they waited for Danny to speak. The nurse sidestepped out of the way between them.

“Hi mum. Hi dad.”

Margaret gushed tears as she rushed to embrace her son. “Oh Danny! Thank God you’re safe!”

Danny returned the hug and then his mother moved aside for his father, wiping her nose and eyes on a tissue.

Harold patted Danny on the shoulder and gave him a firm handshake. “How’s me boy?”

A confident reply, “Quite well!”

“I knew it!” Harold turned to Margaret. “See! He’s fine. I told you there was nothing to worry about!”

Margaret returned Harold’s gaze. “I’m not so sure.” She looked at Danny. “I know you aren’t happy at school, Danny. Mummy shouldn’t have sent you there so far away from home.”

Unflinching, Danny answered, “On the contrary, mum. I agreed to go to Timberhome of my own free will. It’s something that I alone am responsible for, and not the fault of anyone else. And that includes what happened yesterday.”

Harold nodded with a grin.

His boy was alright. No son of his was going to turn out a loony or a failure.

“I’ll let Dr Russell know you’re here,” the nurse called as she left the room. Neither parent took notice.

“What do you mean what happened yesterday?” Margaret said.

“Surely you’ve been told what happened. I don’t need to explain it again, do I?”

Harold put his arm around Margaret. “He doesn’t want to talk about it, Marge. Let it rest, he’ll be okay.”

Margaret pulled free of Harold. “I want you to tell me what happened, Danny. The doctor said you were almost hit by a truck after running away from your dorm. He said you were in a state of shock and seeing things.”

“Yes, well–”

“And you said in your last letter you weren’t happy there, that you felt alone–”

“I miss you sometimes mum, yes. But most of the time I’m fine. That letter was when I was sick with that sore throat and I had a lot of free time to feel sorry for myself.”

“But you ran away!”

“I went for a run, but not to anywhere in particular. I often go for a jog around the Unit, but I went the wrong way this time and accidentally ended up on the road. Fortunately, the truck stopped in time.”

“You’re covered in cuts!”

“Well, not really. But there are a lot of blackberries at the bottom of the hill next to the Unit. I went the wrong way as I said.”

“The doctor said you were delirious! That you imagined you were being taunted by demons!”

“Really? I don’t recall any of that.” Danny shrugged. “Regardless, I’m fine now.”

“Are you hiding something, Danny? You know you can’t hide anything from your mother–”

“That’s funny, Dr Russell said a similar thing.” He smiled. “He was trying to establish that I was crazy and yet he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with me.”

Harold had had enough of this doting on his son. The boy was fine and Marge was refusing to acknowledge it. Bloody women, always trying to make a drama out of nothing.

“Come on, Marge. If there was anything wrong it would have been obvious. And they would have told us before we got here.”

“Well, the psychiatrist did ask to speak to us before we got here–”

“Yes he did,” came a nasal voice from across the room. Dr Bernard Russell stood at the source, a resolute expression on his face. “But in any case, I’m here now.”

Harold and Margaret turned. Harold scowled, Margaret blushed. Brief introductions followed.

“Can we talk in private?” Bernard suggested.

“Isn’t here private enough?” Harold returned.

“I meant somewhere private away from Danny. It’s in his best interests that we’re able to talk freely.”

Harold huffed and Margaret said, “Oh I really don’t think we should exclude Danny. Danny, you want to hear what the man has to say, don’t you?”

Grinning, Danny nodded.

Bernard sighed.

It was having to deal with families like this that made retirement so appealing.

“Well, I guess I can relate the details to you here, as in this case I’ve yet to positively identify any serious symptoms of mental disorder.”