The Arrival
(An excerpt from “Deadworld”)
Just after the accident, Jack and his little brother found themselves standing on a railway embankment, as still as silence, watching the police officers cover up their cold, bloodied corpses. Little Ross seemed oblivious to it all. He’d noted that the smaller boy, the one wearing the same coat as him, looked like him.
Jack instinctively covered Ross’s eyes with both of his palms. ‘It’s not something for your eyes,’ he said. It was obvious that Ross didn’t yet know he was dead. Then he was always slow to catch on.
‘Is he going to be alright Jack? his voice quivered.
‘Try not to worry about it!’ Jack wondered why it was necessary to be standing in front of their cold bodies. Perhaps somebody was telling them to face the hard reality of the situation before moving on. He didn’t want to look, he’d already seen enough after a few seconds. His body - no, it wasn’t a body anymore; his soul was locked to the spot like frozen air. He’d tried averting his gaze, but less than seven feet away was a man whose head was almost separated from his body. He had seen him before the blanket went on him. There was something thin, white sticking out of a hole in his chest where there was bubbling brown foam, one of the man’s ribs. It was Jack’s assumption that he must have been in the driver’s area when it happened. The poor man had been thrown through the window. Ross hadn’t caught on that his was the soul standing right next to them.
There were others on the embankment, five in all, two to their right and three to their left, each one in front of the body that until recently they had occupied. The sky, which was the oddest shade of purple, stained everything underneath the same hue, underlining the surrealism of the situation.
‘Why aren’t we going home?’ Ross whined. ‘Why are we standing here?’
‘Quiet Ross… I’m thinking.’ Jack didn’t mean to snap, the situation was making him anxious. He turned to the man on his right, a pale, thin man in a dark suit. ‘Excuse me, what are we supposed to do now?’
The man’s head turned very slowly. It took ages for him to speak, when he did manage to emit words, it was something like a nervous whisper. ‘I don’t know mate. This is the first time in heaven.’
‘Perhaps we should move. I don’t think I want to be here for much longer. If anybody was coming for us, they’d have come by now.’ In fact, Jack had a very bad feeling, that something horrible was about to happen, and right on cue, as if to speak his thoughts aloud for him, there came the most disturbing sound from the clouds, like a thousand people screaming all at once, only more animal-like than that, an icy hand stroked his entire body.
All faces turned to the sky, where there were now hundreds of dark shapes, too many to count, enough to turn day into night. Suddenly there was a voice in his head which definitely wasn’t his, yelling ‘Run!’
Jack glanced to his left and then his right. The sound appeared to have escaped the others. ‘Ross,’ he said in his brother’s ear, ‘when I say run, run!’
Ross’s head rubbed against his stomach like a nestling cat. Then he heard it again.
‘Don’t just stand there you idiots; the Screamers are coming for you!’
‘Excuse me,’ he cried to his right and left. ‘I think we’d better get out of here! I don’t know what that is, but it doesn’t look like a welcoming committee.’
The next time he viewed the dots, they appeared more alive, like enormous birds.
‘Run,’ he said to no one in particular and then yelled the words extremely loudly for the whole world to hear. ‘Run!’
Jack grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him up the bank as fast as his feet would move. Ahead of them were woods. About half way, something in his head made him want to stop and turn, some morbid curiosity, to see what these weird hybrids would do.
‘No!’ yelled the voice. ‘Don’t look, just run!’ But by now he didn’t need to see, the screaming and the carnage behind him said it all. In the corner of his eye he could see flashes of light, as if a number of things were exploding at once. Something painful and evil was happening to the other spirits, and now it was too late for them.
‘Keep running to me, and don’t look back!’
‘What’s happening Jack?’ Ross panted. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I don’t know, but everything is going to be alright, don’t worry! Keep moving!’
Soon they were surrounded by tall firs. Just a few feet ahead of them there was another boy. He was waving frantically. Obviously, feeling that they weren’t moving quickly enough, he started running towards them. ‘Whatever you do,’ he cried out as soon as they’d caught up with him, ‘don’t let them catch you!’
The owner of the strange voice was soon apparent, a boy with a round face, a mop of blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was about the same age as Jack, fourteen or fifteen only not as skinny. ‘There isn’t much time,’ he said and stretched out his arms. ‘Hold my hands, both of you and close your eyes. Think of nothing but darkness!’
Jack stared at Ross, who was already staring back. He nodded. ‘Let’s do as he says.’
In the time it had taken for their eyelids to come together, all three of the boys had been transported into a dark place, a musty place that smelt of damp peaty earth. But it was warm, safe and comforting somehow, like parent’s embrace.
‘We’re underground?’ Jack quizzed.
‘Be quiet!’ the boy whispered. ‘If they catch you they will do terrible things to you.’
‘Like what? What can they do to us no we’re...’ Jack paused, thinking about his brother, ‘here?’
‘Believe me, there are far worse things that can happen to you here. Now be quiet!’
Jack did as he was told, and waited for the terrifying noises to pass by before speaking again.
‘How did we get down here so quickly?’
‘It’s something most of us can do. In time, you might be able to do it too, as well as other things. You have to be here for a while first before you know.’
‘I’m scared!’ said Ross, ‘it’s too dark.’
‘I’ll look after you mate,’ said Jack, ‘I always have haven’t I?’
‘It’s safe now!’ said the boy, when the commotion passed over their heads, then added, ‘I’m Finch by the way. Excuse me for not introducing myself earlier, only our souls were in danger of being ripped apart.’
‘I’m Jack and this is Ross. What the hell was that? What were those things?’
While he was talking, Finch did something else magical that made the roof of the hide dissolve into sky. Everything was now clear, although significantly purple-grey again. The clouds resembled pink worms inching along dirty sand.
‘I told you,’ said Finch, ‘They’re Screamers, and if you see them again and you will, run like hell, and don’t stop until your legs drop off, or you can’t hear them anymore, and be careful of sharp things. In Deadworld even objects can destroy you.’ Finch grabbed one each of their hands again. In the blink of an eye, they were back above ground.
Destroy? Ripped apart? Isn’t dying enough? There was so much that Jack wanted to ask now, such as what these Screamers really were, where they were supposed to go now that they were dead? Was there such a thing as being safe in this place? Could he visit the living, and if he did, could they see him? Mostly, he wanted to ask what it was that could possibly happen to them that was worse than death.
The Pests
There is an old family saying, our door is always open. It comes from generations of Christians who have always believed that you should be there for others who might need you. We had been burgled nineteen times as a consequence of this. Only recently have I come to the decision that this was the most stupid thing that anybody could have on a family crest.
The first one to commit the act of trespass those final two evenings, was called Matt. I know this, because I heard him say into some handheld device.
‘Hi, it’s Matt!’ he said. ‘I’m here, where are you??
??
Matt was about seventeen or eighteen, and arrived with a bag full of beer and was wearing one of those hooded pullovers.
Normally, I’d have gone downstairs and introduced myself, in what is the Henning way, which is to ask him if he would like a cup of tea, and have one in his hands before he could say no. But there was something about him that frightened the life out of me. In hindsight, I should have gone down and asked him what the hell he wanted. There was something about his eyes that said, come anywhere near me matey, and I’ll punch your blooming lights out. I thought it better to wait until he left, and then lock the front door. All I could at the time was, to lie on the landing, and observe what he did through the railings of the banister. Somehow, this was the most natural place in the world for me to go, feeling anxious like that.
Matt, was shining his torch over the walls and the floors, as if he was looking for something. Such an odd thing to do, as far as I knew, the house lights functioned perfectly.
There is a common misconception with people, that as nobody sees me that often, that the place is empty. It is not, I am here. I have always been here. I was born here, in the master bedroom.
The others arrived half an hour later, two girls and two more boys, all the same age.
‘Come on, Timothy,’ I told myself. ‘Grow some balls and go and tell them to leave.’ But although I have always been quite good at talking to myself, I’m not a terribly good listener. The sensible thing to do, would have been to call the police, and had them removed by force. I’ve never had a mobile phone, never liked them, and The landline was downstairs. There was an extension in the study, but it hadn’t been working for years.
One of the boys had brought this noisy plastic box which spewed out sounds normally heard in an iron foundry, bang, bang bang, bang bang. This modern music was beyond me.
It was getting late. I’d been on my way to bed when Matt arrived. So I began shuffling on all fours to my room. Then, as I was passing a small table with one of the house numerous potted plants on, my foot caught the leg and the pot wobbled. A voice from below asked, ‘What was that? A girl.
‘Rats!’ replied one of the other boys, and the cheeky things laughed. There has never been a single pest in this house, until they turned up, that was.
I managed to get to my room, where I spent the night on the floor in my duvet, on the furthest side of the bed, where they couldn’t see me.
In the morning, I was delighted to see that they had left. Although horrid signs of their presence remained, in the form of beer cans, crisp wrappers and cigarette stubs.
The following evening, I relaxed by the fireside. It was always the best place to be with a book. The seats are comfortable, and there is a foot rest so that I can extend my legs to catch the warmth of the lashing flames. But my happiness was to last long, as my comfort was disturbed with laughter at my door, and it was then that I remembered I’d forgotten to lock it, and panic jolted my chest.
I went to the door at first, and peered through the spy hole. Just three people chatting by my gate, two men and a woman. They all had equipment and bags, as if they had come from the station. All the same, I thought I would lock the door. However, the key wasn’t in the lock.
‘Damned kids!!’ I whispered to myself. I ran to the kitchen to find something I could use. Then, just like the rowdy children the night before, without my permission, they came in.
Again, I could have confronted them. They seemed an amicable bunch. Something inside me said to keep a discreet distance, so I did. Peeking through the kitchen door, I could see one of the men, he had his back to me. The others had gone out to get the bags. This was my opportunity to sneak back upstairs.
Once they were all assembled again, I watched them from the banister. I kept asking myself questions. Why did people like to come into my home? What was so fascinating about it? True, it was a beautiful place, quite grandiose for its size. It had high ceilings and old paintings on the walls. Although it had been years since any of it, had seen a duster.
These people seemed to have a lot to say. They talked well into the night. Much of the words meant very little to me. Being very old, my ears couldn’t absorb a fair percentage of their conversation., and so my eyelids very slowly quivered to a close.
But they weren’t closed for long. I heard the sound of my name drifting from downstairs.
‘Timothy Hemming!’ it was the woman, quite a seductive voice if I am to be honest. I was pleased at least, that although they didn’t ask for me at the doorway, they acknowledged my presence.
I stood up.
‘Up there on the landing!’ said the man holding an electric box with some sort of metallic cone attached to it by a wire.
The woman looked somewhere in my direction. ‘Timothy, if you are here, please give us a sign.’
So I did. I knocked over the plant with my elbow. This appeared to cause some excitement.
‘I can see him!’ the woman announced, enthusiastically.
‘Speak to him!’ said the one with the microphone.
‘Why are you still here? Is it unfinished business?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I live here!’
‘He says he lives here!’ she told the others, and they giggled nervously. Then to me she said, ‘Why haven’t you passed on to the spirit world?’
‘Because I’m not dead,’ I said, ‘that’s why. What a stupid thing to ask.’
‘Timothy,’ she said, ‘You died in nineteen hundred and one. You fell from that banister. The records say that you were dusting the ceiling, and fell off a ladder.’
This was news to me. The woman related what she’d told me to the others.
‘I can’t be dead,’ I said. ‘I don’t feel dead!’
‘I’ll prove it!’ she said, and opened the front door to its extent. The two men asked her why she was doing that, she shushed them.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked her.
‘When was the last time you were out of this house?’
I was stumped. I couldn’t envisage such a time.
‘If I am dead, how can you converse with me?’
‘I’m Daria Melsh. TV psychic.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
She looked at the others and then back at me. ‘Leave!’
‘Leave?’ the concept was a difficult one.
So, slowly, I descended the staircase.
‘I’m getting a strong reading!’ the man with the cone announced. ‘He must be getting closer.’
As I passed them, they all backed away. One of the men said that the temperature had dropped several degrees.
I stood by the door, willing my body to go out.
‘Go on Timothy!’ Daria smiled.
I smiled back. Now this was the time to be brave. I stepped out of the door, but not a thing changed. The doorstep was where it had always been, The old rusty gate was hanging off its hinges and there was the street, all so different now.
Then something very odd happened to my eyes. For everything I laid my eyes on began dissolving in the air. I turned and saw the woman, Daria, waving and blowing me a kiss.
Suddenly there was nothing.
I have never been to the house since that night.