Depravity (12 page)

“See, when they pushed me into the young girl, last night. All I could smell were the delicious aroma of fresh cooked food, and I kinda tripped up over my words.” She moved a little closer. “And then you came into the kitchen, Michael. I saw straight into your soul. I know what you did.”

The woman raised the axe over her head. He found enough energy and strength to finally open his mouth and to raise his own arm, but nothing he did was able to stop that blade from crashing down upon his head.

5

The scent of fresh cut grass took away both the stench of rot and the aroma of that large woman's overpowering perfume. Michael opened his eyes and wrapped his arms over his head. He turned over and stared at the bright blue sky, watching a few wisps of grey cloud pass overhead. He sat up, staring in utter confusion at the sight of a neatly trimmed hedge that backed onto a road. A grey range rover slowed down and he watched the side window wind down. Michael watched himself look past him, before turning around to speak to his passenger.

He spun around, stumbling over his own feet. There, just yards from where he stood was the dull grey stone building that caused him to slow down all those weeks ago. Back then, just as he did now, he felt the same oppressive vibe, coming from this place. He'd put that original feeling down to nerves, and promptly forgot about it. Now though, that sensation refused to shift.  It wrapped itself around his body, like a cloak of despair. That terror of not being able to move a muscle was preferable to feeling like this.

Michael switched his gaze back to that car. Watching it speed up, then slow back down once it reached the next junction. The brake lights came on before it turned left, heading towards the town. This was their first visit here. He remembered parking the car by the side of the library before they walked, hand in hand, into the centre, looking for the estate agents.

So how the fuck had he woken up in the grounds of the bloody hotel? Michael didn't understand any of this, was he dreaming? Had he been dreaming and somehow sleepwalked four miles? No, that was too stupid to even contemplate.

What exactly what had happened to him? He sighed, of what was still happening to him continued to torment his mind. It stayed right on the surface, scratching away, burrowing through his fucking brain like a dog trying to dig up a bone. Michael felt like he was slowly losing his mind. He sat on the damp grass and put his hands back over his head. They felt right at home there, covering his hair, stopping that big, fat, horrible woman from slamming his axe into his skull.

He jerked his head up, his eyes catching the sun glinting in one of the top windows. Was that why he felt so vulnerable? After all, if it hadn't been for the feeling that concrete had been pumped into his body, that old bag wouldn't have stood a chance against him. Michael had no qualms about fighting women, especially ones coming at him with a big fucking axe.

Was this real? It certainly felt real enough. Then again, so did the last episode, right up to the point where he died. It came as a bit of a shock to him that right now, it didn't matter whether this was reality or just another product of his fevered imagination, he was going nowhere fast. All sitting here was achieving was a wet arse.

Michael pulled his arms away from his head, took one last look at that road beyond the hedgerow and slowly got to his feet. Both his knees cracked. He had to choke back a hysterical laugh at the sight of his axe lying in the grass. It wasn't there a moment ago. “sure, why not,” he murmured, reaching for the handle.

As soon as his fingers wrapped around the wooden shaft, he felt the world shifting again. Day became night, before becoming day again. He blinked, his eyes watering at the sky flickering like an old fashioned movie reel.

Michael stumbled, finding himself still on the grass, but the hedge was taller, and thick grey clouds hid any sign of the sun. He walked away from the hotel and leaned over the hedge, noticing the road was no longer tarmacked. The surface now reminded him of the car park in the museum. He stepped back when a light green saloon slowed down, before turning into the hotel's car park.

He'd seen that car before. At least one like it in the museum earlier. Michael watched a young couple leave the car and walk towards the open front door. His heart sped up when he saw that big, fat woman, stood on the doorstep, wearing a fake smile as well as another vile flowered dress.

She greeted the pair before stepping aside and ushering them inside. Michael groaned, just like he knew that the green car really was the same one that he'd seen in that museum, he also knew that those two would never breathe outside air ever again.

The world shifted again. The transition wasn't as violent this time, although he no longer had the soft grass to cushion his fall, the rough carpet now beneath his hard body gave him nothing but a few bruises.

“Here,” said a familiar voice. “You still might be needing this.”

He turned his head, frowning at the sight of Pamela Overton gingerly holding his axe by the base of the shaft. “Do I want to know what you are doing here? More to the point, where exactly am I?” Michael paused, he scanned the room and believed that he already knew the answer to the last part of his question. They were both standing in the hotel's reception room. The young couple who'd just climbed out of that green car, stood at the front desk. The young man bent over, signing the reception book as the fat woman looked on. The other woman looked around, her eyes scanned straight past him and Pamela as if they weren't there. The only other person in the room was a young boy sitting on an overturned metal bucket, behind the desk. Michael guessed that he was around eleven and judging from his bored expression, he wanted to be somewhere else.

“This is so weird,” she said. “I mean, I remember the torture. I remember everything that woman and her husband did to me, but I don't recall this moment.” Pamela walked over to the desk and peered up at the man. “God, those eyes. He used to say that he hated his eyes, saying they were too grey.” She looked at Michael. “Have you ever heard anything so silly?”

He didn't think it was silly at all. He didn't think that trilby on the man's head suited him, but he wasn't going to say anything.

“Wait, so you're her? That young girl, I mean, not that elephant looking at the man the way a drunk looks at a pizza?” Michael could see the top of the couple's car through the window by the door. What was to stop him from leaving right now? Taking the man's car keys and driving back to that farmhouse.

She nodded. “This happened over twenty years ago, Michael.”

“Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars,” he whispered.

“I was only twenty-three here.” She choked back a sob” Jesus, I was in the prime of my life. We were going to find a nice place to live, have kids and everything.”

Michael sighed. “What's your name, honey?”

Darleen,” she replied. Darleen Summers. My husband, Richard, is, was. three years older than me. We were on our way to visit his mother, up in Newcastle. It should have been an easy journey. It's only about four hours, as long as you stayed on the motorways. Neither of us took that knackered car of his into consideration. It was his pride and joy, you see. A 1962 Ford Consul Capri. He loved that car, almost as much as he loved me. Yeah well, to cut this short, the bloody thing broke down while passing a town close to this hotel. That should have been the end of it, you know? A quick phone call to the garage, and we could be on our way in a proper car while that heap of nuts and bolts stayed where it broke.”

He could see it now, just behind the girl's eyes. That masked annoyance. Michael also noticed how that fat woman's eyes never left that man's crotch. He felt a little sick, not wanting to know what she could be fantasising about. “Okay, so I'm getting it now. I'm here to stop this woman from murdering that couple?”

“Oh God. You can't go back in time, Michael. You're seeing something from fifteen years ago. That fat witch, and the rest of her family dined on me and Richard. You see that kid over there? He killed the woman. He's the one running this place now.” she stormed over to him. “He's the one who's going to do the same to your Jodie!”

The girl turned around and stepped out of the way when the large woman took the couple's bags and led them through the dining room, heading towards a flight of stairs.

“Right, so I kill him.”

The girl rested her hand on Michael's arm. “Won't stop this from continuing, he's just a pawn. Like me, the girl, you see before you, as well as the rest of the people in the town, they're not responsible for any of this. Look over there, in the corner.”

He could already feel something else had already invaded the room. The temperature had already dropped to below freezing. Michael found himself desperate to keep his gaze locked on the girl, daring not to do as she bid. He'd never felt more scared in his life.

“Oh fuck, no this isn't fair. They're not supposed to see me.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged Michael into the dining room. “Come on. Shit. I knew it wouldn't go as I planned.” The girl left him in the middle of the room and ran back to the door. “We don't have much time left, I wish I...”

She never had a chance to finish her sentence. Before she could close the door, a thickly muscled arm snaked around the edge of the door and grabbed her hair, pulling the girl through the crack before the door slammed shut.

Michael raced up to the door, and wrenched at the door. “Leave her the fuck alone!” he yelled. It didn't matter how hard he pulled on that door, it wouldn't open, it was like it had been nailed shut. He picked up the axe and swung the blade into the top left panel, feeling a bout of triumph at the sound of splintering wood. He worked it out of the door and hit it again. This time the whole panel came off when he pulled out the axe.

“You okay?” he shouted, pressing his face hard against the narrow gap. Michael saw the blood first. A twin trail leading from the just behind the door, all the way over to the wall. “You dirty fuckers,” he moaned. “Oh Jesus, that is just vile.”

The girl's broken body was spread across the entire wall. Who or whatever had grabbed her, pulled everything out from inside the girl and used it to paint the entire face of the wall. Bits of wet gore dripped down the wallpaper like scarlet porridge. They had left what remained of her shattered body hanging over two stag heads.

Michael's mental radar detonated. He pulled his face away from the hole and dropped to the floor. That cloak of terror pulled over his entire body. He pulled himself into a tight ball, feeling as though someone had pushed a clawed hand between his ribs. Those long fingers were right now squeezing around his heart. He wanted to cry out, to beg them to make it stop but he daren't even open his mouth. Those shadows were just inches from his shivering body. Just a couple of inches of wood separating him from death. Even that wouldn't be the end of it.

Their proximity gave Michael a glimpse of the endless torment and agony he would suffer if any of those foul monsters managed to snag him. He would be a prize, a morsel to be savoured over. There weren't many humans who had fallen into their traps over the millennia who had witnessed and committed acts deemed immoral to society. 

The creatures would take their time over him, making his suffering last months before the death blow. His ripped soul would keep them sustained for a long time. Michael felt like a mouse creeping through the house of vile giants, keeping to the shadows, shivering in the corner, hoping that none of them would notice him.

Then, the unbelievable happened. They slivered away from the door, moving back over to the gore spattered wall. It didn't make any sense, why had they not known he was there? Surely those things couldn't have thought the door damaged itself? He rolled away from the door, thinking that perhaps, questions like that were better left unexplored. Michael scrambled over to the nearest table and dived under it.

His hands and knees never made contact with the carpet. Michael cried out when he felt reality shift one more time. A gently breeze blow past his ears and the sensation of damp grass caressed the palms of his hands. He silently groaned, guessing that he was back outside that hotel again.

“Say one for me, while you're down there, please.”

Michael opened one eye and saw the smirking features of Trevor looking down at him. “God, and there's me thinking that this crappy beer was about as potent as water. It's certainly addled your brains!”

He grinned up at his mate. “bugger off, you daft bugger. I just slipped out of it, that's all.”

“Ha! I bet you say that to all the young girls.”

It took a few moments for his equilibrium to balance out. Michael climbed back into his rocker and picked up a fresh unopened can. The sun was still high in the sky so he couldn't have been gone for that long, a couple of minutes at the most. The axe was still embedded in the tree stump making him wonder if he'd even moved from this position. The more he thought about it, the more unlikely it sounded that he did end up in his kitchen. “I hope you flushed after you'd been, Trevor.”

“Flushed? What are you talking about?”

Michael cracked open the can, thankful to see that he still had a decent amount left. “Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“Are you sure you didn't crack your head when you hit the floor or something?”

“Give over. You're beginning to sound like Jodie with your girly fussing. Seriously, I'm cool.” He took a careful sip of the cool liquid. Right now, it tasted like the best beer on the planet. “Speaking of the girls, shouldn't they be back by now?”