The Dark Horde (27 page)

Sasha turned and pointed with her good arm at Brian advancing behind her, pistol in his hand.

“HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME! HE’S FUCKING CRAZY!”

“She’s one of them, Jason! Look at the colour of her blood!”

Across the street, a mother desperately dragged her curious children inside. Other households called the police.

Jason shielded Sasha from Brian’s aim. “What? Her blood’s not purple!”

Brian saw the perplexed looks on their faces and the worried faces of his neighbours peering through windows... He’d made a terrible mistake.

Sasha’s blood wasn’t purple after all. He’d just tried to murder his own girlfriend. Publicly.

Brian dropped his gun and sank to his knees in anguish, sobbing into his hands.

I can’t take this anymore.

Now Jason had his gun, the one Brian had given him, out but lowered. He stood between Sasha and Brian. “Thanks for rescuing me, but I ain’t staying around for this shit. And besides,” Jason looked at Sasha trying to stop the blood flowing from her wound, “I think I better get this lady to hospital.”

Brian didn’t look up. “Yeah, ok.”

Sasha and Jason said something to each other that Brian didn’t hear. Then Brian felt Sasha spit on his face.

“I never want to see or hear from you again unless it’s to put you in jail, you fucking psycho!”

Brian didn’t move. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll be getting all my stuff tonight or tomorrow, and I’d better not have to see your face when I do.”

“I was heading down to Melbourne tonight anyway.”

“Try telling your police buddies that.”

WEDNESDAY 6:13
PM

Then the darkness had eyes: piercing red orbs. Then a sleek wolfish head, lips curled into a macabre grin. Finally a hulking, upright body with arms ending in claws like fistfuls of rusty knifes.

The demonic beast stepped from the deep shadows of the suburban backyard, silent, graceful. As dusk became darkness, it gazed upon the red-brick house before it. Lights were on and through open curtains it saw an elderly couple eating dinner.

It paused to sniff the air and then bounded towards the backdoor.

Herbert and Marilyn Derwent sat at a polished oak dining table in their comfortable house in suburban Watsonia, quietly enjoying a lamb roast. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played in the background, providing a gentle backdrop to the soft clatter of silver cutlery.

“So when did Brian say he was getting here?” Herbert asked.

Marilyn finished her mouthful before answering, “He said it’d be late if at all and for us not to stay up for him. He knows where the keys are, I s’pose.”

Herbert nodded. “Yes, he’ll be fine.”

They continued eating. Outside, wind began to slowly build, drowning the sounds of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata.

Marilyn paused. “I don’t think he’s coping well with the stress of his work though. I’m a bit worried about him actually. He was very terse on the phone when he–”

Suddenly there was a loud knocking, three times, on the backdoor.

Marilyn’s arms dropped. “What is that?”

Herbert peered at the hallway door, from beyond which the sound came. “I better go see.”

Herbert dusted his mouth with a cloth serviette and rose from the table. With Marilyn following, he went into the darkened hallway that led to the bedrooms, bathroom and laundry. He stopped at the door to the laundry and flicked the switch on.

An empty basket rested atop a dormant washing machine next to a water trough, bucket and mop. On the other side of the room were two doors: one for the toilet, the other the backdoor where they had heard the noise. Both doors were closed. The narrow windows either side of the backdoor showed signs of neglect but little of the dark outside. The only noise was the wind, wailing miserably.

Herbert turned to Marilyn and shrugged. “Guess it’s nothing.”

She frowned. “We both heard something.”

He shrugged again. “Probably just the wind.”

Outside, the wind dropped low enough to hear the clang of a metal rubbish bin.

“Maybe it’s something trying to get into bins?” Herbert said.

“Well, maybe you should take a look.”

Herbert picked up the mop next to him and stepped towards the backdoor. Marilyn stood in the hallway as he turned the outside light on...

Light spilled over a concrete back porch strewn with rubbish blowing in the wind from an overturned metal bin. Beyond, the tops of trees could be seen, swaying against the cloudy moonlit sky.

“Ohhh, the bin’s been knocked over!” Herbert said. “There’s rubbish everywhere! I better go clean it up.”

He unlocked the backdoor and stepped out into the night. Marilyn watched him for a moment from the hallway and then called out, “I’ll get you a pan and broom.”

Still holding the mop, Herbert looked around for signs of any intruder. Seeing none, he stepped back inside to replace the mop. He then returned outside to clean the mess, leaving the backdoor open.

He had picked most of it up by hand before Marilyn returned. She handed him the pan and broom. “Here.”

Herbert began sweeping the remaining rubbish into the pan as Marilyn stood watching.

“Any idea what knocked the bin over?” she said.

Herbert finished quickly and looked up at Marilyn. “Nope.”

Marilyn rubbed her exposed forearms and crinkled her nose. “Anyway, it’s cold out here and that rubbish smells, so I’m going back inside.”

Herbert followed her back into the hallway.

Marilyn stopped to ask him, “Did you lock the backdoor?”

“Of course!” He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry love, we’re quite safe.”

Marilyn walked into the dining room. “We really should think about getting an alarm system, y’know,” she said as she sat back down at the table.

Herbert joined her at the table. “Oh, let’s not go through this again. I already told you I’m not going to live in a fortress. This isn’t bloody America!”

“Please don’t swear, Herbert,” Marilyn said before digging into her meal.

“Sorry, Marilyn.” Herbert pointed his fork at her. “But we are
not
getting an alarm system.”

Suddenly, Marilyn’s eyes widened in terror. A shaking hand across her mouth, she could only point at the doorway behind him...

“What’s the matter, love?” Herbert asked as he turned around to where she was pointing.

Behind him loomed a hideous canine abomination. Two-and-a-half metres high, jet-black and hairy, its fanged snout agape, its terrible claws poised to rend. The stench of it smothered them like a pillow.

“Oh my God,” was all Herbert managed to say before it grabbed his head, its palm pressed against his face. Then it lifted him from his seat.

Herbert flailed helplessly at the air, emitting muffled moans of agony, as the beast held his head in a vice grip that threatened to crush his skull.

Marilyn sat paralysed with incomprehension, saliva dribbling from her gibbering mouth. Herbert’s scalp split with the pressure, dripping rivulets of blood down the beast’s hairy arm.

It lingered in the moment, indulging itself in the sweet scent of suffering. It curled its lips to snarl at the drooling female whilst dangling the helpless male before it, slowly flexing its grip on the male’s head, savouring the taste of terror...

Marilyn finally found her voice again, “Please God. Save us.”

“Mooortal praaayers to a mooortal God,”
it answered.

Marilyn screamed as long slimy black tendrils emerged from the claw that held her husband. Prehensile, they snaked their way from its palm down Herbert’s shaking body, reaching his ankles in a few sickening seconds.

Transfixed, she watched as Herbert’s now still body was sucked into an opening that appeared in its palm. It laughed at the horrifying sound of Herbert’s body becoming pulp as it was drawn into the unearthly orifice.

And then before the quivering female could quiver any further, she joined him in endless darkness...

WEDNESDAY 8:11
PM

Around sullen campfires and under steady drizzle, the staff and students of Oberon Grammar huddled, the boys and girls separated by a safe distance of a couple of hundred metres or more. By now, even the stragglers had arrived. Soaked, hungry and tired, efforts were directed towards pitching tents and cooking, then eating and sleep. Across the river, Fry’s hut could be seen, silhouetted against a murky sky, empty save for the rats known to reside there.

Alex, Ben, Bruce, Jeff, Andrew and Adam of H and G Units sat on logs around their fire, staring silently into the flames. Alex lifted his head from a mug of hot Milo and said, “Where’s Bill and them gone?”

Bruce didn’t look up. “Most of them snuck off to go do a séance.”

Alex turned to Bruce sitting opposite him. “A séance? What are they doing that for?”

“Cos they’re fucking idiots.”

Derrick, Price, Sean, Simon and Hamish were gathered nearby around a hissing campfire that struggled in the light rain. Derrick paused from piling on wood.

“Where’s Danny gone?” he asked.

The others only shrugged.

No one cared.

Nightfall.

Figures crept under night’s blanket towards the sanctuary of the wood shed. With only the occasional flicker of torchlight to guide them, they stealthily followed their leader through trees and puddles in darkness...

With such obedience.

They reached the door, covered by shadow and the fine wet mist that swirled around them. Bill turned to the others with him – Mike, Didge, Robbo and Gary – and whispered, “We got everything?”

The others nodded and Mike answered his younger brother, “Yeah.”

Bill grinned and pushed the door into the wood shed open. “Then let the show begin.”

Robbo screwed up his face. “Errr good on you, Bill! As if it’s fuckin’ gunna work, you idiot!”

Bill put a hushing finger to his lips. “Shhh, keep it down, will ya? When we get inside we can make more noise.”

Mike put a hand on Robbo’s small shoulder and looked down on him from a taller height. “It’ll work, dude. You’ll see. Me and Bill have done ‘em before.”

Without further delay, the boys entered the shed and began their preparations.

And they waited.

First they unfurled a blanket and hung it over the window facing the campsite to block the sound, but mostly the light, from their activities. Next they cleared an area in the middle of the leaf-strewn floor to spread out a contact-covered hiking map. In the centre of the smooth surface of the map, they placed an upturned glass. Around the edge of the map they placed small scraps of paper, representing all the letters of the alphabet and the words “YES” and “NO”. Then they planted household candles, six in all, into the dirt around their makeshift ouija board and lit them. Finally they sat cross-legged in a circle around the board.

“Now we all have to hold hands, or else this won’t work,” Bill said.

“That’s a bit gay, isn’t it?” Robbo said.

Bill answered, “Trust me on this, Robbo, you won’t regret it.”

Gary spoke. “But really, Bill, what’s to stop someone pushing the glass?”

Mike smiled at him. “You’ll see it’s real, Gazza. It won’t take long.”

Didge piped up. “D’you wanna make a bet?”

Mike turned to Didge and said sternly, “This stuff is real and something will happen. I know.”

“Fuck off!” said Robbo. “Listen to this shit!”

“Are you scared, Robbo?” Mike said.

“Nah, why should I be? This is all bullshit, so what do I care?”

“C’mon Mike, if you’re so sure something will happen, make a bet then. I bet ya nothing happens,” Didge said.

“How much d’you wanna lose, Didge?” Bill said.

“I’ll bet you and Mike fifty bucks each that nothing happens,” Didge answered.

“And it doesn’t count if someone could just be pushing the glass. Something freaky has to happen,” Gary added.

Bill looked at Mike, who nodded back.

“Done!” Bill said, shaking.

“I just made a hundred bucks!” Didge declared.