The Mammoth Book of Modern Ghost Stories

Video Nasty

Philip Pullman

Location: Oxford, England.

Time: November, 1994.

Eyewitness Description: “David looked at the strange boy. His eyes were wide and fixed intently on the screen, and bis lips were moving unconsciously with the words. David felt queer. He knew now very strongly that he didn’t want to watch the film at all . . .”

Author: Philip Pullman (1946–) is the author of His Dark Materials (1995–2000), the biggest-selling and most controversial trilogy of modern times in which he has challenged Christian faith and attacked the constraints of dogmatism. Born in Norwich, but educated at Harlech and Exeter College, Oxford, Pullman says that he started telling stories as soon as he knew what they were and formed a lifelong fascination with the supernatural. He recalled recently, “I used to enjoy frightening myself and my friends with the tales I read and I liked making up stories about the tree in the woods we used to call the Hanging Tree. My friends and I would creep past it in the dark and shiver as we looked at the bare, sinister outline against the sky. I still enjoy ghost stories, even though I don’t think I believe in ghosts any more.” Pullman began writing while he was working as a teacher, but the popularity of his children’s titles such as Count Karlstein (1982), Frankenstein (1990) and the Sally Lockhart series of modern “penny dreadfuls”, followed by the phenomenal acclaim for his trilogy, has enabled him to devote himself entirely to the art of storytelling. “Video Nasty” is one of his few short stories, contemporary, unsettling and, as the title indicates, dealing with something very unpleasant.

It was a cold grey afternoon in November, and the three boys had Ibeen hanging around the shopping precinct since mid-morning. They’d had some chips at midday, and Kevin had nicked a couple of Mars bars from the newsagent’s, so they weren’t hungry. And until they were thrown out of Woolworth’s they weren’t cold either; but by half-past three they were cold and fed up, and almost wished they’d gone to school.

“How much longer we got to wait?” said David, the youngest boy, to Martin, the oldest.

Martin was fourteen, thin and dark and sharper than the other two by a long way. He looked at his watch. “Oh, come on,” he said. “Let’s go and see if it’s ready.”

He hunched himself inside his anorak and led the way out of the precinct and down one of the old streets that led towards the canal. The cold wind blew crisp packets and old newspapers around their ankles. The boys turned around two corners and stopped outside a little newsagent’s, where one of the windows was filled with a display of video cassettes.

“See if there’s anyone in there, Kev,” said Martin.

Kevin opened the door, which jangled loudly. The street was empty, apart from an abandoned Datsun without any wheels that stood in a scatter of broken glass half on and half off the pavement. After a few seconds Kevin came out and said, “’S okay.”

The other two went in. The place smelled like all newsagents – a bit chocolatey, a bit smokey, a bit like old comics. There was nothing unusual about it, but David felt his stomach tightening. He pretended to be unconcerned and picked up a paperback that said AQUARIUS: Your Horoscope For 1994. He didn’t know if he was Aquarius or what, but he had to look cool.

An old man had come out from the back. He was carrying a mug of tea, and sipped at it before he spoke.

“Yes, lads?” he said.

Martin went up to the counter. “You got that video in yet?” he said. “The one you told me about last week?”

The old man took another sip, and narrowed his eyes.

“What one’s that? I don’t remember you.”

“You said it’d be in today. Snuff Park. You told me about it.”

Recognition came into the old man’s eyes, and he smiled carefully.

“Course I remember,” he said. “You got to be careful, that’s all. Wait there.”

He put his mug on a shelf and shuffled out. Kevin’s frowning, short-sighted eyes flickered to the sweets, but Martin put his hand on his arm, and shook his head. No-one spoke.

After a minute the old man came back with a video cassette, which he put in a brown paper bag. Martin passed over the money; David put back his book and opened the jangling door.

“Bye, lads,” said the old man. “Enjoy the film.”

“Let’s have a look,” said Kevin, once they were outside.

Martin took out the cassette, but there was no picture. There was just a plain white label with “SNUFF PARK. 112 mins” typed in the centre.

“What’s mins?” said Kevin.

“Minutes, you berk. That’s how long it lasts,” said Martin, putting it back. “Come on, let’s get a cup of tea. I’m perished.”

“Can’t we go to your place?”

“Not yet. I told you. They ain’t going out till six. We got to hang about till then.”

As they walked past the abandoned Datsun, one of the doors creaked open. David jumped back out of the way. A thin boy of about his age, wearing torn jeans and trainers and a dirty anorak, was sitting in the driver’s seat, with his feet on the pavement. He said something quietly and Martin stopped.

“What?” he said.

“What cassette you got?” said the boy. His voice sounded like the sound your feet make in dry leaves.

“What you want to know for?” said Martin.

The boy shrugged. David thought he could smell him: sharp and dirty and somehow cold. Kevin had his hand on the car door.

“Snuff Park,” said Martin after a moment. “You seen it?”

The boy shrugged again, and said “Yeah”. He wasn’t looking at any of them, but down at the pavement. He scuffed the broken glass with one foot.

No-one else spoke, so Martin turned and walked off. The other two followed. David looked back at the boy in the car, but he hadn’t moved. Just before they turned the corner, he shut the car door.

In the cafeteria, Martin paid for three cups of tea and brought them to the table by the window where Kevin and David had found a place. David didn’t know where Martin got his money from; he assumed Martin’s parents gave it to him. He always seemed to have plenty, but he never boasted about stealing it, as Kevin would have done.

He stirred sugar into his tea and watched his reflection in the glass. It was nearly dark outside already.

“What’s it about, Snuff Park?” said Kevin. “Sounds crummy.”

“Well it ain’t,” said Martin. “It’s a real snuff movie.”

“What’s one of them?”

Martin sighed. “Tell him, Dave,” he said.

David felt a glow of pride at being called Dave.

“It’s where they kill someone,” he said. “Ain’t it, Martin?”

Martin nodded and sipped the hot tea.

“What d’you mean?” said Kevin. “I seen plenty of them.”

“No you ain’t,” said Martin. “They stopped ’em years back. You can’t get ’em no more. ‘Cept if you know how.”

“I seen all sorts,” said Kevin. “I seen Forest of Blood and Sawmill. You seen Sawmill?”

“That ain’t a snuff movie. You’re a berk, you are. This is real. There’s someone really killed on this. You see it being done. You ain’t never seen that.”

David again felt his stomach lift. He hoped desperately that he wouldn’t be sick in front of Martin when the time came. Even thinking about it . . .

“There’s that kid again,” said Kevin.

He pointed to the brightly-lit doorway of an electricity board showroom opposite. Sandwich-makers, microwave ovens, cookers, heaters, freezers, and in the doorway gazing in, the thin huddled figure from the car. As they looked he wandered away from there and stared through the window of the supermarket next door.

Martin looked away.

“If you’re scared, you needn’t watch it,” he said.

“Course I ain’t scared,” said Kevin. “I seen Sawmill and I weren’t scared of that.”

“This is different,” said Martin.

David looked out of the window again, but the other boy had gone.

Martin turned the key and opened the door. The house was full of darkness and the smell of chips and tobacco smoke. David felt the warmth on his cheeks. He’d never been to Martin’s house before, and he looked around curiously as Martin put the hall light on. There was a really smart carpet, and a mirror with all gold round it, and a TV phone. He felt reassured. It was so nice that you couldn’t imagine anything horrible happening there. Snuff Park might not be all that bad. And he could always close his eyes.

“You going to put it on then?” said Kevin. “Where’s the telly?”

“No hurry. I want something to eat first. Ain’t you hungry?”

“What you got to eat?”

“Dunno. Fish and chips’ll do. You better eat it now ’cause you won’t want to after, will he, Dave?”

“No,” said David. “Not after.”

“Here,” said Martin to David, handing him a ten-pound note. “Go round the chippy. Cod and chips three times, all right?”

“Ta, Martin,” said David, and added “Don’t start it without me.”

The chip shop was just around the corner. On his way back, with the soft hot bundles clutched to his chest, David suddenly stopped. The boy from the car was standing outside Martin’s front door.

“What do you want?” said David, before he could stop himself.

“You going to watch the video?” said the boy.

David could hardly hear what he said. He supposed the boy had got a cold, or asthma, like David’s sister.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Can I watch it?”

“I dunno. It ain’t mine, it’s my mate’s.”

The two boys stood still, not looking at each other.

“I’ll ask him,” said David finally, and rang the bell.

When Martin opened the door David said “I got ’em. Three cod and chips. And this kid was there outside the house. He says he wants to watch the video.”

Martin twisted his mouth. Kevin, behind him, said, “He’ll never take it. He’ll never take the pressure.”

“All right, let’s see if he does,” said Martin. “Let him in, then.”

The strange boy came in after David and stood in the living-room while they ate their fish and chips. David offered him some, but he just said, “No, I don’t want none.” After a minute or two he sat down. The others didn’t say anything, but ate quickly, and dropped their papers in the fireplace. David could smell the strange boy again. The room was hot, and he dropped his anorak on the thick red carpet, but the strange boy kept his on, and sat with his hands in his pockets, unmoving.

“All right then?” said Martin. “I’ll put it on.”

He fitted the cassette into the machine and sprawled back in a big leather armchair with the remote control. David and Kevin were sitting on the settee, and the other boy was on a dining chair by the table. Martin turned the TV on.

“Smart telly,” said Kevin.

It was a 48-inch. The big screen lifted itself out of the console and filled with colour.

“You seen a snuff picture before?” said Martin to the strange boy.

“Yeah. I seen this one.” They had to strain to hear him.

“This one?” It was plain that Martin didn’t believe him. “You know what happens?”

“Yeah. I seen it hundreds of times.”

“Hundreds? Get lost.”

“Here,” said Kevin. “Let’s watch it with the light out.”

“Stay there,” said Martin. “Watch this.”

He pressed a button on the remote control, and the big centre light above them faded into darkness. Now the only light came from the screen.

“Smart!” said Kevin.

They found themselves watching a suburban street from the windscreen of a moving car. It was a sunny day. There were lots of trees covered in leaves, and the houses looked nice and big, with lots of space between them.

Then the commentary began.

“Just an ordinary road in an ordinary English town,” said a man’s voice. It was a strong deep voice, warm and concerned. “An ordinary summer’s day. But for one woman nothing will be the same again. There will never be another summer’s day for her.”

David looked at the strange boy. His eyes were wide and fixed intently on the screen, and his lips were moving unconsciously with the words. David felt queer. He knew now very strongly that he didn’t want to watch the film at all. He let his eyes go back to the screen, but tried to make them out of focus so that he couldn’t see clearly.

A few minutes passed. There was no more commentary from the film, but suddenly the strange boy said something.

“What?” said Martin.

“I says it’s a nice house, ain’t it?” said the boy.

Kevin, frowning concentratedly, took no notice. Martin grunted, but David looked at the boy again. Anything to get his eyes off the screen; but nothing had happened yet.

“Must be nice living there,” said the boy, still staring. But his expression was strange; David couldn’t understand it.

“Yeah,” he said to the boy.

There was a woman on the screen. She was doing normal things, like washing up and ironing. She was talking to the camera about housework or something. David felt full of fear, almost ready to be sick, because it was all so ordinary, and you knew she was real, and you knew it had really happened, like this, and you knew you were going to see her murdered.

“This is boring,” said Kevin. “What’s she on about?”

“Shut up,” said Martin. “They got the camera in there to get her confidence.”

“But there ain’t nothing happening,” said Kevin. “She’s just bloody talking.”

“She’s pretty, ain’t she?” said the boy.

The other two fell silent, and turned to him for a moment. Even David sensed it was an odd thing to say.

“Eh?” said Martin.

“I says she’s pretty, ain’t she. She’s really nice.”

“What d’you mean?” said Kevin.

“She’s my mum,” said the boy.

There was another silence then. Everything had suddenly changed, and David felt it, but didn’t know how or why.

“Eh?” said Martin.

“I says she’s my mum. She loves me and I love her.”

The boys shifted in their seats. The pictures on the screen had changed. It was night-time, and the camera was outside the house looking in through the kitchen window. The room was warmly lit; the woman was moving about, alone, watering some big green plants. She bent down and picked up a little baby from what must have been a carry-cot, and cuddled it. But none of the three boys were taking this in: they were paralysed by what the strange boy had said. No-one said that sort of thing.

“He’s mad,” said Kevin uneasily.

“Hey, what’s your name?” said Martin.

There was no reply. Instead the commentary began again:

“Alone. There is no-one to help. Little does she know that an unseen hand has cut the phone wire. And now . . . the fear begins.”

The boy was mouthing the words as if he knew them by heart. Suddenly from the darkness a stone shattered the kitchen window, and the woman gasped and turned wildly, clutching the baby to her. Her wide-eyed face stared out at them, and then they all saw at once that she was his mother.

She was bending now, putting the baby down swiftly. And then another window shattered, and she jumped and cried out.

David’s heart was beating like a captured bird.

“Martin—” he started to say, but Martin himself spoke at the same time, loudly, sitting up tensely in his chair and turning to the strange boy.

“What d’you want?” he cried. “What you come here for?”

Kevin was shifting himself next to David, making himself look small and inconspicuous, like he did in class. Martin’s face was twisted and full of hate.

“Just wanted to see—” began the strange boy, but his dry rustling voice was drowned by a scream from the TV. David flicked a sideways look at the screen: a man with a stocking mask had burst into the kitchen. There was a blur in the sound, as if two pieces of film had been joined carelessly, and then the camera was suddenly inside the kitchen with them.

“Martin!” cried David.

“What’s the matter?” shouted Martin. He was shaking, glaring at the screen, staring wildly, gripping the remote control. “You scared? You seen enough?” He pressed the volume switch, and terrible sounds flooded the room. David put his hands over his ears. Kevin was still watching, but he’d curled up very small, and he was holding his fists in front of his mouth.

And the strange boy was still gazing at the screen. The woman was speaking, gabbling desperately, and the boy’s eyes followed her and his lips moved with her words.

“Shut up!” Martin yelled. “Shut up!”

He jumped up and dropped the remote control. The picture faded at once, and the last thing David saw was Martin’s face, wet with sweat.

They were in darkness.

No one moved.

David heard Martin gulping and breathing heavily. He felt sick with fear and shame.

The strange boy said, “It ain’t finished.”

“Shut up!” said Martin fiercely. “Get out!”

“I can’t till it’s finished. I always see the end.”

“What you want to watch it for?”

“I always watch it. That’s the only time I see her. I like seeing my mum.”

In the darkness his voice sounded more than ever distant, and cold, and strange. David’s skin was crawling. Everything was horrible. It had been horrible all day, but this was worse than anything. He thought of his own mum, and nearly sobbed out loud, but stifled it just in time.

“And the baby.” The strange boy spoke again. “It’s a nice baby, ain’t it? It looks nice. It must be nice being picked up like that, like what she does. I wish I could remember.”

“What d’you mean?” said Martin hoarsely.

The boy’s voice was even quieter now: hardly more than dead leaves falling.

“They killed her and then they set fire to the house. It all burnt up, the baby and all. That was me, that was, that baby. I burnt up all with my mum. But I didn’t stop growing up, getting older, like. It must be the video. Sort of kept me going. I seen it hundreds of times. The best bit is where she picks me up. I reckon she must have loved me a lot. That’s all I do, watch that video. There ain’t nothing else . . .”

He stopped.

Martin stumbled to the door and felt for the light-switch. The room sprang into being around them, all solid and bright, but there was no-one else there. Only a sharp, distant smell remained, and that dwindled after a moment and then vanished completely as if it had never existed. The boy was gone.