Ellen Datlow - The Best Horror of the Year. Volume 4

The large table obviously served Murdock for many purposes as its entire area was covered with books, magazine, DVDs, some dirty mugs and dishes, a computer and various other, to Franz, unrecognisable electrical gadgets. Two large scrapbooks of newspaper cuttings contained reviews of Dead Funny Ted, some of them surprisingly ancient, and reports of various disasters, both at home and in distant parts of the world.

Having seen enough of the kitchen Franz set about inspecting the rest of the house for signs of a possibly sick or even dead Murdock, perhaps in the bedroom.

The bungalow was surprisingly spacious, and contained more rooms than Franz had expected. Some of them were completely empty. Murdock hadn’t even bothered to put bulbs in the light sockets, others contained oddments of furniture stacked without thought any which way. Murdock lived a far more desolate life than Franz had imagined. And this from a man who laughed a lot. But not, Franz reminded himself, at particular jokes and incidents. He seemed to find amusement in life itself.

At the rear of the bungalow Franz became confused because someone, Murdock presumably, though he didn’t seem a likely candidate to be a master of DIY, had fitted neat partitions into two rooms to divide them up into a number of smaller spaces. Finding his way round them in the semi-darkness kept Franz fully occupied for some time and he was relieved when he came upon a wooden door which he took to be at the back of the house. He tried the handle, found it wasn’t locked, and hurried through it, only to find himself in a large, windowless room lit only by some slight luminescence originating in what at first he took to be some indoor plants. He stopped to get a better look at them and saw that in fact they were what appeared to be the upper — in fact the topmost — branches of a large tree and, looking down, he realised that they continued down into a space below the bungalow.

Bemused, he ventured forward a couple of steps and peered into what he thought might be a cellar and saw that the space below was too wide and deep to be anything of the kind. He could see a very long way down — so much so that he felt himself reeling. His fear of heights made him almost topple forward and it was with some effort that he managed to scramble back some distance towards the door. He held his right hand up to his brow as his head had for some reason begun to ache and glared again at the branches that protruded through the floor.

He noticed that some of them were beginning to move and sway a little where they were closest together, at the back, and thought he could see a clump of something in amongst them, like a platform, or maybe it was — could it be — a nest? It appeared to be a good four feet across and three or more feet deep.

Yes, he knew then that that was what it had to be, some kind of nest made of branches and the tattered remains of what appeared to be curtains, bed sheets and various scraps of clothing. And the reason that the branches were swaying and bending was because something, some creature, had been aroused by his presence, and was coming out of its nest to investigate the cause of its disturbance.

After a couple of quite violent shudders the nest tipped forwards at the side nearest Franz, far enough for him to get a glimpse of what could have been the top of a large hairless head and perhaps the tips of the fingers of a chubby, grasping hand.

Franz must have fled then, though he had no memory later of going through the wooden door and closing it behind him. He found himself in the partitioned rooms trying frantically to find his way out.

He fumbled and tumbled about in the near darkness for some time then, before he managed to relocate Murdock’s kitchen where he stopped for a moment to listen for any sounds of anything following him. There were no indications of that at all. All around him was perfect silence.

He sat at Murdock’s table just long enough to recover his breath and steady his head, then left the bungalow, slamming the door behind him.

He found the father of the boy who had gone off with Murdock’s dog waiting for him near the front step. The man, still holding his umbrella, looked at him and said. “You’ve cut your hand. It’s bleeding all down your jacket.”

Franz couldn’t think of anything to say to this but he realised it was true. He held the key out to the man who took it and said, “I’ll give it to the boy.”

Franz nodded.

“He’s not in there dead or anything then, Mr. McFee?”

Franz shook his head this time.

“Don’t worry about the dog. My boy will look after him in the meantime.”

This time Franz forced himself to speak.

“Does he go into the house to collect it?”

“My boy? No, never . Mr. McFee wouldn’t want him to.”

“Hum. Does he often go away, Murdock? I mean Mr. McFee.”

“Oh, from time to time, yes. That’s when he tells my boy to look after the dog. Usually he gives him something to buy food for it. We don’t have much money.”

Franz reached into his pocket for his wallet. He had no intention of going back into the kitchen where the tins of dog food were stashed. He held out a note and said, “Is that enough?”

“I should think it will be, yes. Have you no idea when your friend is coming back then?”

Franz shook his head again and went off to his car.

He drove home slowly, cautiously, not really concentrating on what he was doing. His mind was on other things. At one point he drove off the road down a side street and stopped while he sorted through his thoughts. What had he seen back in the bungalow? A hallucination or some kind of tableau devised by Murdock to scare away burglars? It would certainly have that effect but surely it would be better placed in the front of the building instead of hiding away behind a maze of wooden partitions where he, Franz, had only come across it as an afterthought, after searching the whole bungalow.

It then seemed to him that perhaps it had been that his brain had simply misinterpreted the information it was receiving and things were not as they seemed. He had never experienced any kind of hallucination before but that seemed a more reasonable solution to what he now began to think of as his “vision”. He thought that might be the explanation for all such visions, religious and otherwise. If he, a determinedly unbelieving person, could think he saw such sights, then surely it could happen to anyone?

He drew comfort from that thought. He even began to wish he had stayed a little longer in Murdock’s back room and even considered returning to take another look, but decided not to.

And he wouldn’t mention anything about his visit to Barbara, apart from telling her that he had not been able to contact Murdock at all. No point in upsetting her even more.

He went back to the main road and drove home.

The phone rang twice that evening but Franz did not answer it. He felt guilty and slightly irritated about not doing so but his mind was not sufficiently calm to deal with his sister and her worries. He was certain it was her who was calling as hardly anyone else ever did.

Next day, Monday, he worked on his computer at home then, in the afternoon, returned to the library to continue his research on his project. When the library closed he went to a supermarket to buy supplies. He was loaded down with bags of food as he approached his front door behind which he could clearly hear his phone ringing. Flustered by the urgent sound he tried his best to get to it in time but fumbled with his key and almost dropped some of his bags. Meanwhile the phone stopped ringing.