The BIG Horror Pack 1 Read online

  “I do,” said Tim. “To be honest with you, the last time I used one I promised to never use one ever again, but I think now might be the time to break that promise.”

  “Do they really work?”

  “Yes,” Tim said, but didn’t add anything more.

  Angela thought about it for a little while. Eventually, she said, “Okay, I’m up for it. When do you want to do it?”

  Tim smiled. “No time like the present. I have everything I need in my van. We’ll do it there.”

  “In your van? Seriously?”

  Tim nodded. “Worst thing that could happen is we get interrupted by someone. My van is perfect for it – nice and private. Plus, I can get my ass out of here if things go bad. I feel trapped inside that house.”

  Angela shook her head and sighed. “Doing a Ouija board in the back of some guy’s van. Feels like I’m in college all over again.”

  “You’re not wrong,” said Tim. “Tonight you might just get an education. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”

  ***

  Tim’s van was cramped, but clean. It was obvious he lived there and treated it like his home. Soft cushions scattered the piny-fresh interior and not a thing lay out of place. The rain on the vehicle’s metal roof sounded like a drum roll – perhaps it was in anticipation of what they were about to do. Angela still couldn’t believe it.

  Tim reached up and pulled an antique-looking box from a storage net that lined one side of the van’s interior. He set the box on the floor between them and unhooked a brass catch on the side. The box opened up into a small, flat board. It was finely painted with calligraphic letters and numbers. YES and NO were printed in opposite corners of the board and the word, GOODBYE, was set between them. One side of the board lifted up to reveal a hollow. Inside the space was a finely carved heart-shaped planchette.

  Angela was cynical. She held no stock in things such as voodoo and witchcraft – it was nothing but ill-natured superstition. While she had beliefs of her own, she flat out denied the validity of primitive faiths and so called ‘black arts’.

  “So how does this go, then?” she asked Tim.

  “Pretty much like you’d expect. We light a few candles – sandalwood works well – sprinkle a bit of copal shavings into the flame and then try our best to concentrate.”

  “What on Earth is copal?”

  “It’s a resin imported from Mexico, a bit like amber. The ancient Mayans used it to contact the underworld – that’s pretty much what we’ll be trying to do. Simple sage works just as well, but I’m always tempted to cook with it.”

  Angela waited patiently while Tim rummaged around the van. From various compartments, he procured a candle and a small plastic baggie filled with golden flecks. Finally, he produced a pair of necklaces. They were comprised of a simple loop of string threaded through the centre of an acorn.

  “Wear this,” he said, handing her one of the necklaces.

  Angela took the looped acorn and examined it questioningly. “Why?”

  “Druids used acorns for protection,” Tim told her. “I never perform a spell without an acorn around my neck. Place it under your shirt against your skin.”

  Angela did as he asked her, but felt ridiculous. In fact, she felt more than ridiculous, she felt blasphemous. The Church had taught her to forsake anything that even bordered on witchcraft. But I stopped caring about what the Church said a long time ago.

  Tim lit the candle and sprinkled some of the golden flecks on the flame. He then sat crossed-legged opposite Angela and positioned the Ouija board on the floor between them. He shuffled forward a little so that their knees were touching. Finally, he reached up and switched off the van’s interior light leaving them in darkness, except for the flickering glow of the candle. Shadows shifted against the side panels of the van.

  “You ready?” Tim asked.

  “As ready as I’m gunna be.”

  “Okay then, here we go.” Tim placed his index and middle fingers on the board’s planchette and motioned for her to do the same. Once she did, he closed his eyes and raised his chin to the roof. “Spirits of old, evil and wicked, I forbid you from doing harm. You are permitted to communicate through us and do no more. I command you to remain in your own plane. We are not portals. If you circle the planchette we will withdraw and you may be trapped between worlds.”

  Angela giggled. “Circle the planchette.”

  Tim scowled at her. “It signifies a spirit trying to force itself into our world. This won’t work if you’re against it. You need to be quiet and open your mind.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Angela, wiping the smile from her face. “Please continue.”

  “We wish to speak to the one who claims to be the friend of Samuel Raymeady. We wish to speak with the one who has descended upon this domicile. Come to us, explain yourself. Name yourself.”

  Nothing happened. Tim sat with his eyes closed so tightly that he looked like his lids might bleed. Angela watched him and tried not to laugh. The whole thing was ludicrous. She felt ashamed of herself for even allowing herself to take part in such a cha-

  The planchette twitched.

  A jolt of adrenaline prickled Angela’s nerve endings, making her muscles stiffen at once. Tim opened his eyes and smiled. She knew then that there had never been any doubt in his mind that it would work. Tim had faith in voodoo as much as she did in God.

  The planchette moved an inch. It hovered between C and D, before finally flinching left and resting on the C.

  “It’s trying to spell out a word,” Angela noted.

  “It’s giving us a name. It’s giving us what we asked for.” He spoke out the letters that followed, one after another, as the sliding planchette settled on each one. First had come the C, but afterwards came, “H…A…M…U…E…L…”

  The planchette stopped.

  Angela thought hard about the spelled-out word. “Chamuel?” she said out loud. “Why does that word ring a bell?”

  Tim shrugged, being sure to keep his fingertips on the planchette. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me. Do you think you know what it means?”

  “I don’t know. I…I can’t quite remember, but it’s there.”

  Tim cleared his throat and spoke into the empty air. “Hello, Chamuel. Can you tell me why you’re here, what you want?”

  This time Angela spoke out the letters as they came up. “D…E…A…T…H…”

  Tim let out a breath in a short huff. “That’s jovial.”

  “We want you to leave,” Angela commanded. “Leave Sammie alone.”

  N…O… The planchette moved quicker. N-O…E-S-C-A-P-E…F-R-O-M…D-A-R-K-N-E-S-S…

  Tim frowned. “Is that a threat, Chamuel?”

  The planchette did not move.

  “I said is that a threat? Are we in danger?”

  Y-E-S.

  “Are you going to hurt Sammie?” Angela asked.

  The planchette did not move. Angela made eye contact with Tim who had gone a little pale. There was resolve in her colleague’s eyes, however, and she knew that he would continue on with the séance for at least a while longer.

  The planchette moved again, quicker than before – frantic.

  Y-O-U…W-I-L-L…D-I-E…

  H-E-L-L…W-I-L-L…T-A-K-E…Y-O-U…

  R-U-N…

  O-U-T-S-I-D-E…W-E…C-O-M-E…

  Something struck the back of the van, rocking it on its wheels.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “What is that?” Angela shifted towards the front of the van, away from the rear doors. The thud had been so forceful that the steel had buckled inwards.

  “Felt like we were hit by a bloody rhino.”

  “Should we open the doors?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  They waited in silence. The darkness was cut only by the light of the single lit candle; miraculously it had remained standing in its holder. No more impacts struck the van and whatever had done so the first time was still unknown.
r />   “I’m going to open up the doors,” said Angela, inching towards the back of the van carefully.

  “Be careful,” said Tim. “If you get eaten by something I’m not cleaning up the mess. In fact, I’m out of here at the first sign of anything bitey.”

  Angela placed a hand against the door’s release-trigger. She took a breath, held it, then opened the door.

  Shadows met her.

  There was nothing outside but darkness. The house and its grounds were shrouded in darkness. Thin, infinite streams of moonstruck raindrops cut through the satin backdrop of the night. A gust of wind blew in and filled the van with its cold touch.

  “There’s nothing out here,” Angela said, sliding a leg towards the pebbled driveway. She planted both feet and pushed herself up out of the van. Her skin tightened and she shivered as the temperature outside fought against the warmth in her blood. The feeling of loneliness was suddenly all consuming – the world felt empty and abandoned. It felt like God had suddenly left her.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” came a voice in the shadows. “I thought I’d been abandoned.”

  Angela leapt back up into the van’s cargo bay, pulling her feet up off the ground as if she’d seen a mouse.

  Sammie stood in front of her. He was wearing only underpants, but seemed unaffected by the cold rain glistening against his pale skin. His flesh shone in the darkness like a spectre.

  “S-Sammie, what are you doing out here?”

  Sammie grinned, his teeth more crooked than ever under the colourless glow of the moonlight. “I was wondering where everybody was. I’ve been alone in my room for hours now. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to get a little stir crazy.”

  Angela’s skin crawled; flesh buzzing like it was covered by a thousand ants. “Okay,” she said, scratching at her arms. “Let’s get you back inside, Sammie, before you freeze to death.”

  Sammie grinned wider. “Oh, the cold doesn’t bother me, but your concern is heartening all the same. Is Frank back yet?”

  Tim slid out of the van behind Angela and asked his own question: “How did you know he was even gone?”

  Sammie shrugged. “I heard him leave in the car. Sounded like he was in a hurry. I do hope he doesn’t have an accident. That man has become like a father to me. Perhaps he feels guilty about my father’s death.”

  “Do you feel guilty about it?” Angela asked.

  Sammie wore a look of confusion. “Me? Why would I feel guilty about it? Unless you’re trying to imply I was in some way responsible. I must say, that’s very unkind of you, Ms Murs.”

  “You’re right. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  Tim locked up the van and he and Angela ushered Sammie back towards the house. They kept a distance of a few feet from the boy, who walked barefoot in front of them.

  Angela whispered to Tim. “Where the hell is Graham? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on things.”

  Tim shrugged, headed up the steps to the house. “With that guy, who knows? I get the impression he doesn’t take his responsibilities very seriously.”

  Angela opened the front door and the three of them stepped through into the house. The foyer was bathed in darkness, the power still off and the weather still bad. The grand marble-floored space seemed smaller somehow, almost claustrophobic. Angela wanted to be back outside in the open air, but with the rain, that would make her a mad woman. She needed to be inside the house. She needed to take control of the situation.

  “Are you okay to take yourself back to bed, Sammie? We’ll find out where everyone is and then get someone to stop by with some dinner.” Angela checked her watch. It was almost midnight. Dinner was a long time ago. “Well, perhaps it would be more of a supper.”

  “I’ll go watch television,” said Sammie. “Feel free to join me.”

  Sammie started to head towards the stairs, but Tim asked a question first. “Why do you like that program so much, Sammie?”

  Sammie turned back around and smiled pleasantly as if the question was a delight to him. “South Park? I suppose I like the irony,” he explained and then left.

  “Irony? Wonder what he meant by that?”

  Angela shrugged. “Who knows? We need to find out where Graham got to. I’m not comfortable with Sammie wandering around un-chaperoned.”

  “Think he’ll end up getting hurt?”

  “No,” Angela said. “I’m more worried about him hurting someone else.”

  “So, where should we start looking? This place is huge.”

  “If I know Graham, there’s probably only one place he’d be.”

  Tim nodded. “Drinking in the lounge.”

  They headed behind the stairs and could hear the piano immediately. Someone was playing Mozart’s arrangement for “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” (or ‘Ah! Vous Dirai-je, Maman’ if her Music Theory lessons served her correctly).

  “Who’s playing that?” Tim asked. “They’re even better than you.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Angela pushed open the door.

  The music stopped.

  It looked as though no one was in the lounge. It was hard to see for certain, but Angela would have sensed the presence of somebody else. In fact, her senses were so alert after the last few hours that she’d have sensed a spider on the ceiling.

  “Hello?” Tim shouted.

  “Save it,” Angela said. “There’s no one here.”

  “Then who was Bach-ing it up on the piano?”

  “Mozart.”

  Tim frowned at her. “What?”

  “It was Mozart, not Bach.”

  “Oh. Well, whoever it was, they’re either invisible or fast as greased lightning.”

  Angela shook her head. “No. There was no one here. I’m sure of it.”

  She crossed the room, slinking between the tables and chairs. Her destination was the piano and as she got near the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She spoke a single word: “Blood.”

  Tim was still standing on the other side of the room. “What?”

  “Blood. The piano keys are covered in it.”

  Where there would usually have been several dozen fingers of ivory, there was now only a congealed mess of thick blood covering everything. The plasma filled the gaps between the keys and splashed the wooden frame of the piano. It looked like a pig had been butchered.

  Tim came up beside her. “Helsinki. What on Earth happened here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Angela, “but I think now would be a good time to do a head count.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Mike heard a commotion downstairs. Someone must really have been hollering for him to hear it all the way from Jessica’s penthouse. What is it now?

  Mike got up from his chair at Jessica’s bedside and headed out into the hallway. He looked left and right, but saw only darkness.

  The sound of people screaming and shouting did not scare Mike; he’d been taught to expect it. He knew it would only be the first of many occasions before the evening was through and that, eventually, when the screaming was finally over, things would once and for all be set into motion.

  He headed to the top of the staircase and descended to the floors below. On the second floor, he met Angela and Tim. They were hurtling through the hallways and shouting out at the top of their lungs.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Mike said, holding up a hand to stop them. “What are you bellowing about?”

  Angela seemed relieved by the sight of him. “Mike! Thank God, you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Tim told him why. “There’s a shitload of blood in the piano lounge. Someone’s hurt.”

  Mike frowned. “What? Are you sure?”

  “I know blood when I see it,” Angela said in a voice that suggested an intolerance of being doubted. “Have you seen Graham? He was supposed to be looking after things, but we found Sammie wandering around in the pouring rain.”

  Mike was surprised to hear that. “Sammie left the house?
That’s unlike him.”

  “Never mind that now. We need to find out whose blood is downstairs. Do you know where Graham is? What about Jessica? Is she okay?”

  “Jessica is fine. She’s sleeping.”

  “Then it must be Graham’s blood,” Tim surmised.

  “You don’t know that,” Mike argued. “Nothing is certain right now.”

  “Nothing is certain until we find Graham,” said Angela. “So let’s find him.”

  “I’ll check the ground floor,” Tim said.

  Angela nodded. “I’ll check the first floor.”

  “I’ve just come from the penthouse,” Mike explained. “So I’ll check the second and third floors.”

  The three of them set off to their own separate floors, agreeing to meet back later in the piano lounge. Mike was only going to search half-heartedly, though. He knew, with total confidence, that Graham would turn up somewhere, but in how many pieces would remain to be seen.

  ***

  Angela had taken the first floor for a reason. Sammie’s room was located there and she wanted to keep a close eye on him. The only way she could be sure of him not wandering around the house again was if she remained nearby. If Sammie wanted to leave his room, he would have to get by her first. Why doesn’t that fill me with confidence?

  The first floor also contained a modern-style living room, inconsistent with the antique furnishings of the rest of the house. There was a large LCD television mounted on one wall and a plush green sofa opposite. Other than the furniture, the room was empty. Angela moved onto the next.

  The next door she opened led to a low-beamed ceiling with a full-sized snooker table. Decorated with horse brasses and a dado railing, the billiard room was like something from a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle novel. It was a fitting place for an atmospheric murder mystery, but right now it was empty.

  The next half-dozen rooms Angela checked were vacant too, bedrooms mostly and a family bathroom. There was also a small office, which was little more than a cubbyhole with a computer. Every room she checked was empty, until the only room left was Sammie’s.

  Earlier, Sammie had said he’d been abandoned, so Angela was confident she wouldn’t find Graham in his bedroom, but she couldn’t be sure. Nor was she positive that she would even find Sammie there. She and Tim had watched the boy climb the stairs from the foyer, but they had not physically seen him return to his bedroom. It would be good to be sure.