Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

Chapter Twenty-One

“I don’t understand,” said Harry, turning to face Damien.

But Damien had gone.

Where the hell has he gone? Is the horror show outside not interesting enough?

Harry looked back out of the window. The fires were still burning high, whipping back and forth in the growing blizzard while sizzling snowflakes filling the air like locusts in a cornfield. It was bizarre and unsettling to see both unnatural flames and unnatural snow mingling in the same space, like two separate nightmares margining into one.

Harry started to feel like he was in a Salvador Dali painting. He needed to make sense of the situation, but should he tell the others? He wasn’t sure, but was astounded by the fact that he wanted Damien’s advice. Say what you wanted about the lad, he was calm under pressure.

But where has he gone?

Harry looked back out the window one last time before moving away. It seemed like a bad idea to take his eyes off the flames outside, but he couldn’t stay there all night. Next to the exit it was freezing, and an aggressive breeze snuck under the door and rattled the wood on its hinges. Harry left the corridor.

Back in the main pub area, the others were still milling around, seeking out fuel for the furnace they planned to build. Nigel was busy tearing cushions from the chairs and snapping the legs into pieces, gathering them up on the bar in piles of wood and foam. Kath was gathering up beer mats. She obviously didn’t realise that they would burn only for about three seconds apiece.

“Hey, Kath,” Harry said to her. “Maybe we can find something bigger to burn?”

The woman shot Harry a look that for a moment made him feel like she wanted him to die. He shivered, but a second later was sure he’d just imagined it.

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded, smiling at him politely. “I’ll go search for something else.” She threw down the pile of beer mats and they hit the table with a slap! Then she walked off towards the bar in a similar manner to what Harry would expect from a stroppy teenager.

Odd lady!

There was still no sign of Damien. Harry tried to figure out where he had gone, and why so suddenly? Also, why had he chosen only Harry to lead into the exit corridor? It didn’t seem that anybody else knew about the flames outside, which led him back to his previously unanswered question: should I tell them? Will they just panic? Surely they have the right to know either way?

Harry clapped his hands together, making a decision. “Everyone listen!”

Lucas and Nigel were nearby and focused their attention on Harry, whilst Kath reappeared from behind the bar. At the far end of the room, Jess stood up from the sofa, leaving Peter asleep under the watchful eye of Jerry. Harry moved into a spot that was roughly equidistant from them all. He put his hands together again and tried to find appropriate words. “I, um…I think there’s something that we all need to be aware of.”

“And what would that be, Harry Boy?” asked Lucas, lifting himself up onto a bar stool. “Please tell.”

“Well…it’s, um, not easy to explain, but I think we can all agree that tonight is a strange night.”

“No argument there,” Nigel said. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”

Harry pushed himself to continue, his palms sweating. “I think we can agree that there are dangers tonight; I mean, beyond just the cold.”

“You mean what happened to that stupid boy, Peter?” said Kath in the kind of spiteful, bullying tone that Harry would expect only from a playground full of children. “I’m sure whatever trouble he has gotten himself into was something he deserved. That doesn’t mean that we’re in any danger.”

“You bitch!”

Harry turned to see that Jess was storming toward Kath from the other end of the pub. Jerry strayed behind her but seemed unsure whether or not he should be following or staying put.

Lucas moved away from the bar to intercept Jess in the middle of the room. “Calm down there, lassie.”

“I swear to god, Kath!” Jess bunched her hands into fists. “If you say one more thing about Peter – and I mean, one more thing – I’m going to scratch your goddamn eyes out. This happened because of you, because you allowed him to wonder off alone.”

Kath snorted. “I’m not his babysitter. He’s a grown man, and if he can’t look after himself then he should have stayed in Poland. God knows we don’t need his kind here.”

“You racist cow!”

“Call me whatever you like, dear. I’m only saying what most of the country thinks. Peter was probably just a petty criminal like the rest of them. Tonight he got his comeuppance.”

To the obvious surprise of everyone, Jess’s small frame managed to get loose of Lucas’s restraining grasp and she leapt towards a nearby table snatching at the nearest thing she could find, which turned out to be an empty pint glass. Harry watched in awe as Jess flung the object in a sweeping arc through the air, pitching it with all the aggression of a baseball player seeking their target. It hit Kath’s with an almighty thonk!

Immediately, Kath hit the floor, clutching at her face and screaming, not like an injured person but like…

A furious person, Harry thought.

Without delay, Kath rose to her feet, almost like a boxer rising after being knocked down by a fluky sucker punch, ready to start swinging. She was not happy and her blood-streaked face was a testament to it. “I’ll kill you!” she vowed.

“Nobody is going to kill anybody!”

Everyone turned to find Steph coming out from behind the bar. Damien was with her as she confronted them all. “Now, what the hell is going on? And why is Kath covered in blood?”

“The little bitch threw a glass at me. She’s insane.”

Steph turned to Jess with such ferocity that the young girl took a step back. “Is this true? Are you causing trouble in my pub?”

Jess nodded and took another step back.

Steph pointed a finger. “Go look after Peter, now, and if I see you move from there for the rest of the night I’ll throw you out in the snow myself.”

Jess moved so quickly it was almost a sprint.

Steph then turned to Kath. “There’s a first aid kit in the back, sweetheart, and a little kitchenette with a sink. Take a candle from the bar and clean yourself up. Okay?”

Kath still bristled with fury, but her bile-filled hate was beginning to simmer down. Not completely though. “That girl should be locked in a padded cell.”

Steph sighed. “Well, for now we don’t have that luxury, so the best I can do is keep you both separated. Jess will be staying up here so you should come downstairs with the rest of us. Now, go get that blood cleaned up before it freezes on your face.”

Kath nodded unhappily and left the room, while Lucas and Nigel went back to their tasks. Steph and Damien approached Harry.

“What happened?” Steph demanded.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I was trying to get everyone together so I could tell them something and it all kicked off. Those two really don’t like each other!”

Steph shook her head wearily. “Tell me about it. I’d call the police if I could. There’s no excuse for that kind of violence.”

“It wasn’t just Jess’s fault,” Harry told her.

“I don’t doubt it. But violence is violence; and on a night like this everyone is tense enough already.”

“Speaking of tension,” said Harry. “There was something I was trying to tell everyone before it all went haywire. Come with me.”

Steph nodded and followed; Damien too.

Good, he can back me up. He already knows about the fire and the crucifixes outside.

The three of them made it over to the exit door in the rear corridor. Harry pointed to the glass panel. “Look through, but try to stay calm.”

“What do you mean?” Steph said. “You’re worrying me.”

“Just…look, and then we’ll talk.”

Anxiety etched itself across Steph’s face, but she obliged nonetheless, moving up against the door and peering through the glass for several seconds. “Jesus Christ,” she said finally.

“You see! You see what I mean?”

Steph turned around to face him. “Course I do. The snow out there is getting insane. We need to wrap up warm or we’re all going to freeze. I don’t like this at all.”

Harry didn’t understand. He pushed Steph to one side and peered through the glass himself. The fire was gone. In fact it was as though it had never been there. The snow was deeper than ever and there were no shallow areas where the heat of a flame would have caused it to melt. Everywhere Harry looked was cold, bleak, empty, and white.

But there was no sign of fire.

“There were flames!” He shouted it. “Flames everywhere.”

Steph looked confused and Harry didn’t blame her.

“Tell her, Damien.”

Damien shrugged. “What you talking about?”

Harry blinked and shook his head in disbelief. “What am I talking about? You saw it too! In fact it was you that showed me!”

Damien shook his head adamantly. “Think there’s a stripe missing off your Adidas, mate.”

“No,” said Harry, still shaking his head and feeling more and more desperate. “No, no, no. You saw the flames too! Why are you doing this?”

“Sorry dude! I think you got me confused with someone else good looking.”

Damien walked away, leaving Harry alone with a confused-looking Steph. He started to wonder if he’d imagined the entire thing.

No way!

“I swear it!” said Harry forcefully. “Damien’s playing games.”

Out of the blue, Steph hugged Harry and whispered in his ear. “If you say there was a fire out there then I believe you, okay? Just don’t get yourself worked up, because I need you tonight. I would have gone insane if you weren’t here.”

“You really believe me?”

Steph nodded. “Yes! Now go make yourself useful. Old Graham was asking for you, so go see him. I’ll get all the toilet paper and hand towels. We’re going to get the fire going in a minute.”

Harry nodded and Steph left him there in the cold corridor, lost in thought about why Damien had not backed him up. Just when I thought we were finally getting along, he makes me look like a lunatic, right in front of Steph. Stupid, Harry. Real stupid! You should never trust a snake.

But Damien wasn’t worth the time right now, not when Steph had made it clear she needed Harry’s support. She was playing nursemaid, host, and authoritarian all at the same time. It was unfair that she had to put everyone else first when all they did was bicker. Harry wanted to take some of the strain off her, but for now he was being summoned to attend other business. Old Graham wanted to speak to him and Harry wasn’t going to keep the old guy waiting. He owed him too much already. He started walking, but couldn’t help thinking along the way: Why did Damien lie?

Before he exited the corridor something caught Harry’s attention. At the opposite end of the rear corridor was a light; it was coming from the pub’s unused dance floor.

Is somebody in the back room?

Harry stepped forward cautiously. It was probably just one of the others, looking for something to burn; the light probably coming from their candles. He couldn’t be sure though. He needed to check it out. “Hey, who’s there?”

No reply. The light seemed to get brighter, pulsing rapidly.

Harry continued down the corridor, creeping anxiously as he awaited a response. Once he was certain there would be none, he called out again. “I said who’s there?”

Again there was no response. Harry was left with the decision whether to go back or not. Tonight was a night where strange things were happening in abundance; retreat was likely the most sensible option to take, yet for some reason Harry felt compelled to investigate further. His feet carried him forward.

The pulsing light was blinding now. Harry had to shield his eyes with a forearm as he took the final few steps towards the backroom. When he eventually reached the doorway to the dance floor, Harry realised he was hot, sweating.

Inside the cavernous room it felt like a sauna, sticky heat clinging to his skin. After hours of freezing cold, the aura of warmth was wonderful, but Harry knew it was unnatural as well. There was no rational explanation for the backroom of an English pub feeling like a Mexican beach resort, especially when it was snowing outside like the end of the world. Something was wrong.

Rather than run away, Harry stepped onto the stiff wood of the dance floor; it creaked beneath his weight. From the end of the room the bright orange glow continued pulsing. It was coming from behind an elevated DJ’s booth built up against the far wall, but as Harry got closer the light began to weaken. He hurried over to the booth and hoisted himself up the three steps that ran beside it. The light was still diminishing, fading like a setting sun behind a forest. Harry had the feeling that if he didn’t get a look at its source immediately, he would miss something important. He unhooked the latch of the DJ’s chest-level door and pulled it open.

His heart stopped.

It started beating again a second later, but Harry was still unable to catch his breath properly. Looking down at the glowing visage before him, He did not know whether to laugh, scream, or give up and die. It was, at the same time, the most wonderful and most painful thing he could have ever have hoped to have seen. He choked back a sob, tried to find words.

A painful moment without air passed and Harry finally managed to splutter one word. “Son?”

Cowering before him, lit by a rapidly fading glow, was his son, Toby. The boy had not aged in the year-and-a-half since his death and now stared at Harry with deep, soulful eyes.

“Daddy.” Toby’s voice was an echo, seeming to come from the walls rather than him. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

Impossible! An evil trick played by someone even eviler. Yet, somehow, Harry found himself speaking affectionately, “It’s okay now, Toby. Daddy’s here.”

The light around Toby had completely died. He looked like a normal six year old boy now. “You promise you’ll keep me safe?” The question bounced off the walls before it entered Harry’s ears.

Harry nodded. “Yes, son. I won’t let anything hurt you. I’ll keep you safe.” He reached down to Toby, ready to take him up in his arms, but the boy shuffled backwards, out of his grasp.

“No, you won’t,” said Toby. “You can’t keep anyone safe. Daddy was a strong man. He taught me to ride a bike and would buy me chicken nuggets whenever I wanted. You’re not him, you can’t be! He was strong, but you are weak. Weak!”

The final word did not echo; neither did it sound anything like his son. The word had crackled and hissed from Toby’s mouth like hatred personified. Tears fell from Harry’s eyes. His son was dead, but the words of this monster were still true.

I am weak, Harry thought. I failed you, Toby. I let you get hurt, and all I’ve done since is feel sorry for myself.

The apparition of Harry’s dead son was so accurate that it sent a chill through His bones. But it wasn’t perfect. Now, as he looked down at the hateful creature, Harry could see the lack of humanity in its eyes. The dark vortexes swirled with dark knowledge and twisted intentions. It was an abomination.

Harry backed away slowly. “I have to go now, Toby. I think you should go back to wherever you came from.”

The child looked at him with so much malice that Harry realised it was an entity far older than anything he’d ever encountered. It laughed spitefully; the booming sound filled the entire room.

“Running away is all you’re good for, Harry Jobson. You watched your family die and have been running away ever since. You are pathetic, wasting the life that He gave you. Death will be too good for you, but nonetheless it will embrace you soon. Leave this place Harry Jobson and be done with it. Your time is over. Reckoning is upon you.”

Harry didn’t understand any of it, but he knew he had to get away. By taking the form of his son, it was obvious the creature meant to drive Harry insane, plucking at his grief like chords on a guitar. He didn’t take his eyes from the DJ’s booth as he sidled backwards along the dance floor, but it didn’t stop Harry from noticing a new source of light growing behind him.

He spun around.

His heart stopped again.

Thomas Morris stood before Harry, slowly coming into focus as the glow around his image lessened. The man that took everything from Harry was now smiling at him like an old friend.

“Long time no see,” the apparition hissed like a serpent. “You’re looking…older.”

Harry said nothing.

“You really going to ignore me? With the history you and I have, I thought you’d have more to say.”

Harry spat. “I have nothing to say to you!”

The apparition laughed again. “You never were much of a talker. You prefer to let your actions speak for you, am I right?”

Harry shook his head. Whatever this thing was, it was not Thomas, and it could not hurt him. If it could, it would have done so by now, instead of dredging up things from the past. Harry stepped around the image of his enemy and headed for the exit.

Then hit the floor hard.

Thomas loomed over Harry, inhuman eyes filled with the same malignant intent that Toby’s apparition had. “You will pay for your actions, Harry Jobson. Everyone will pay. It is time for…retribution.”

Harry cowered on the floor. The thing had hit him, but how? Ghosts, hallucinations, apparitions: none of these things could manifest physically. Could they? The occult was not one of Harry’s strong points and he decided not to hang around to find out. He leapt to his feet and headed for the door.

Thomas shouted after him, words and tone both wicked with baleful intent. “You will die tonight, Harry Jobson. Death awaits you its cold embrace. Go outside and face it. Do not delay what is already certain.”

“Suck my balls!” Harry shouted back. It was a phrase he had never used before, but it summed up pretty accurately how he felt right now. He reached the door to the rear corridor and glanced back. It was something he knew would slow him down, but something he could not help.

Thomas was gone.

Harry sighed relief, but didn’t relax enough to trust the situation. He needed to get out of there, get to the others and tell them about the things he’d witnessed. He turned back around and faced the corridor.

This time his heart did not stop. He was becoming too used to the horrors of the night. Lying on the floor in front of him was his dead wife, Julie. Her body and face were battered and bruised, bones splintered and askew.

Like a car crash victim.

Harry looked down at the twisted form and listened to his heart scream. The final image of his wife’s dying form had always stayed with him, but never did he have to confront it face-to-face. Not since the night it happened.

Julie turned her head up towards him. Harry heard the broken bones scraping and grating against each other. She was the very personification of agony. “Harry,” she spoke in a condemning whisper. “Why did this happen to me? Why are you not with me?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. This wasn’t his wife. Whatever it was, he owed it no explanations. “Because you’re dead, Julie.” He stepped over the twisted, shattered body and headed into the corridor. “And I’m not.”