David Billing woke up with a real thumper. A few hours later he woke up again, and this time the ache had receded enough for him to get up. He had lost his T-shirt, and for some unknown reason his jeans were soaking wet. Head-rush hit him, but his eyes gave no sympathy. Look at this! What did you expect? They showed him the mess, the jumble of things and the clutter of stuff, proving their point by urging him to count all the cans of cider, which now lay crumpled and scattered. He spied another bottle of something or other as he stood up. It was old and green, alien amongst the C.D cases and crisp packets. The label was sallow and not in English. No wonder he felt so bad this morning! He must have knocked it with his foot as he rose, because it rolled under the bed. Most of the people from yesterday鈥檚 ugly soir茅e had already left, though some still slept. On David鈥檚 journey from his bedroom, down the hallway to the kitchen, he stepped over: Three people; hundreds of cinema-time leaflets; and a rather dirty road sign, telling everyone to 鈥淲AIT HERE WHEN LIGHT SHOWS RED鈥. David took no notice of the sign and shuffled into the kitchen. Tom Sweets was already there, and he looked surprisingly okay. 鈥淢orning housemate.鈥 He was pouring boiling water into a saucepan on the hob. Chicken noodle aroma wafted out and David鈥檚 stomach turned. 鈥淢orning. Geez my throats killing me.鈥 Tom laughed at this; he was stirring his breakfast with one hand and held a roll-up to his mouth with the other. He blew out a long, contented breath and said: 鈥淵eah you look possessed mate. But hey at least you made it home! We lost you after Extreme Frisbee, where鈥檇 you get to?鈥
鈥淥h, crazy times.鈥 Dave replied. 鈥 I think I ended up somewhere鈥︹ The last word hung in the air a bit too long, and then he trailed off.听 His brow furrowed as a bad feeling wiggled its way into his stomach. He couldn鈥檛 remember where he had ended up - and that was fine - but now he was remembering some pretty weird dreams that he鈥檇 had. Something鈥omething about jumping on the bed? The dreams danced on the fringes of his mind, just out of focus, and he couldn鈥檛 quite pin down any details. 鈥淟isten, I鈥檓 going to take a shower okay, catch you later.鈥 David didn鈥檛 wait for an answer, David suddenly felt very ill. Blurred images kept grinding their way through his head, round and round his brain on a deathly loop. By the time he reached the bathroom, the bad feeling in his stomach had become one of dread. David looked into the mirror, and the mirror told him a ghost story. His rational side made a pitch then, explaining how a loss of memory is a natural and expected backlash to a night of heavy drinking. Reassuring David that having odd, fragmented dreams, and feeling unwell were also common repercussions of hitting the bottle. The ghost in the mirror replied: 鈥淏ut what about my fingernails?鈥 David looked down at the nails on his fingers and at first saw nothing peculiar. Then he steadied them enough to see the blood. Not much, but he counted ten fingernails, dirty with dried black blood.
Two things happened then. Both of which David took to his grave. The first was a kind of flashback, but more like a forbidden memory that once you accidentally recalled, never left you. In it David sat on a dirty bed. Not his. His hands were red and wet, so he wiped them clean. Blood still remained in between his fingers, so he sucked them dry. The second thing was what he felt, what he thought he felt, in his throat; something crawling along at its own will. Whether they were true or not, it didn鈥檛 matter. Dream or memory, paranoia or something else, it didn鈥檛 matter. The coughing fit came on so quickly that David hadn鈥檛 time to prepare. A spray of foamy spittle hit the ghost in the eye. Turning from the mirror, he coughed again and then knelt in front of the toilet. He threw the lid up, and gripped the bowl hard as his body convulsed. He felt the muscles in his stomach tighten and force him to wretch. For a long time this was all he did, until finally his body ejected what it didn鈥檛 want. Trembling, scared, confused, David tried to stand and then blacked out. The minutes that followed haunted David Billing for the rest of his life. Not quite sleeping, not quite daring to wake, he dreamt one more nightmare from the bathroom floor. It started as a loud buzzing sound. Short bursts from within the toilet as if a wasp was trapped and trying to find grip. Then it changed into a metallic drone, constant and ominous. It split David鈥檚 ears and forced him out of his comatose state. His eyes had sympathy this time. Misted with tears, they saw something rise. Blurry wings held up a creature straight from hell, and it flew out the window into the June sun. The following was printed in the final edition of the local newspaper later that day: A retired couple were found dead today at their home in Northamptonshire. Neighbours were attracted to the house by a constant dog barking, and eventually alerted the local authorities. Police arrived at the property around 8am this morning. It has been revealed that Mr. and Mrs. Dalton were killed while they slept; it was evident that their attacker had entered the house via an open window, and blood has also been found in the shower unit. At this early stage the police are revealing no more details about the incident, only warning the local community to stay safe, and that this was an un-professional, but evil attack. There was apparently no motive鈥 |
