Shaun Jeffrey: Fangtooth

Duncan crept down one step at a time. Once low enough, he ducked to see below the door frame, saw Graham bending over a barrel in the corner and tiptoed across the room as fast as he dared.

Beer shot out of the barrel Graham was messing with, soaking his front. “As if I haven’t got enough problems,” he mumbled.

“And here’s another to add to the list,” Duncan said.

Graham turned at the sound of Duncan’s voice, his one eye going wide as he spied the raised gaff hook.

“What the blazes…” he shouted.

Duncan slammed the hook into Graham’s throat and yanked hard, as though landing a fish. The point ripped through his skin and out the other side of Graham’s neck. The flesh pulled taut, stretched. Blood spurted out. Graham raked Duncan’s face with his hands, opening up a vicious cut down his cheek.

Duncan grimaced and wheezed. Graham was a big man, and Duncan thought he had underestimated his opponent.

Using all his strength, Duncan snatched the gaff hook back and the skin ripped open like a wet paper bag. The lower section lay as a flap of purple and red bunting. As Graham exhaled, the top flap lifted, spraying blood across the ground. Graham gagged. He staggered back, hands at his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. His eye rolled in its socket and he dropped to his knees. Blood bubbled from between his lips as he tried to speak. Duncan couldn’t understand what Graham was trying to say, but it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.

He raised the hook again, swept it down and across, spearing the landlord’s cheek. The tip of the point slid from between his lips where it had impaled his tongue. Without hesitating further, Duncan pulled hard. For a brief moment, Graham’s tongue appeared in the gash in his cheek, then the skin tore open and the tongue split in two like a snake’s.

Graham fell forward, his head striking the ground with a loud crack and Duncan slammed his foot down on Graham’s head until the barman stopped moving.

Duncan felt strangely buoyant, empowered. His cheeks flushed. His hands tingled. To anyone who didn’t know, Graham had been attacked by a Fangtooth.

Blood pooled on the ground in a widening circle. Duncan stepped over the puddle and entered the shadows where the light didn’t reach. When his eyes adjusted, he spied a pale rectangle of illumination overhead that outlined the trapdoor leading to the street. He grinned, traced around the edge to locate the retaining bolts, then slid them across.

Bruce stared through a slim gap in the barricade of tables and barrels they had fashioned over the window. He thought he heard someone scream outside, but couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t see much, but he perceived things moving, the click of sharp claws scurrying across concrete.

Erin came up beside him. Her hand trembled, making the cigarette clenched between her fingers shake.

“I really can’t believe this is happening,” she said.

“Me neither. All I wanted was a home by the coast, you know, a quiet place. But this…” He raised his hands, didn’t know what else to say.

Erin sucked on her cigarette, exhaled a pale cloud of smoke.

Bruce rubbed his hands across his face. His muscles ached. “I can’t believe what Duncan and Lillian were prepared to do. It’s like something from pagan times. I shouldn’t have let him in. Should have left him outside in the first place.”

“Well he’s gone now. And good riddance.”

“Yes, but I should have—”

Erin placed her finger over Bruce’s mouth. She removed it moments later only to replace it with her lips. Bruce didn’t resist. He closed his eyes, the kiss creating a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. She tasted of cigarettes, but he didn’t mind. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulled her towards him, her body warm against his. He felt the crush of her breasts against his chest–it felt good.

When they parted, Bruce opened his eyes, saw Jack looking at him. Although he expected Jack to be furious, he was surprised when his son nodded to offer his approval before turning away to give them a little privacy.

Bruce returned his gaze to the gap in the window, but he didn’t let go of Erin’s hand.

Brad knocked back another whisky. Not wanting to pass up a free bar, he topped off his glass from the bottle on the counter. The golden liquid felt as warm as it looked as it rolled down his throat. He licked his lips and noticed Zander look up from his perusal of the ground long enough to glance at him then turn away.

Graham seemed to be taking his time. He said he was only going to change a barrel, although Brad couldn’t see the point. It was not as if they were suddenly going to be snowed under with customers, but he guessed the man wanted to keep busy as a distraction from what was happening.

The wrecked boat meant he was out of a job, at least for a while–his brother always said there was a place for him at the garage, but Brad had always refused. He didn’t think it was a good idea to mix family and business. Now it looked as though he had no choice, reason enough for another drink. He swallowed most of the contents of the glass and was about to pour himself another, when he thought he heard something from down in the cellar, a sort of muffled groan.

“Did you hear that?” he said to Zander.

Zander shrugged. “Didn’t hear anything.”

Brad set his glass on the counter and stood up. “Jim, did you hear it?” Jim mumbled something through his beard. It sounded like, “Mine’s a double.”

“Graham’s down there,” Zander said, “so you’re bound to hear something.”

“No, this was like a groan, you know.” He turned towards the cellar door, leaned across the counter and peered down the steps. “Graham,” he called, “you okay down there?”

No one replied.

“Graham,” he shouted again.

“This happened before,” Bruce said, “when the lights went out. He said he couldn’t hear through the thick walls. It’s nothing to worry about.” The dog growled, her hackles raised as she stared towards the cellar door.

Brad narrowed his eyes and turned to look back down the steps when he saw a quick blur of movement. Then a sound, the sharp click of claws on stone as a Fangtooth scurried up the steps on all fours, head held high as though sniffing the air.

“They’re here,” Brad shouted. He vaulted the bar, grabbed the axe from the counter, and plunged it into the Fangtooth’s head as it reached the top of the steps. The blade crunched through thick skull, killing it instantly. “Take that, you piece of shit.”

“Graham’s down there,” Zander said.

Another Fangtooth started up the steps, more followed behind. Too many to count. Brad pushed the carcass down the steps and slammed the door shut. “If he is, he’s dead now.” He leaned against the wood. The door had not been designed to keep people out, and it didn’t have a lock. Something clattered on the other side, and the door banged. The bottom of the door moved inward, the flimsy wood bending.

“This ain’t gonna hold ‘em,” he roared.

The dog started barking, tail between its legs.

Panic seemed to flow around the room. Sara sobbed.

Jim stood up and shook his head. “You’re throwing away good meat,” he said. “Let them in, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He brandished the knife in his hand.

Brad shook his head. This was no time for Jim to lose it.

Jim grinned. “Come on, let the fuckers in. It’s gutting time.”

Zander grabbed Jim by the shoulder and spun him around. “Be serious, man. Those things, they’ll kill ya.”

Jim shook Zander off and rolled his sleeve up to reveal a six-inch scar. “If that shark we had tangled in the net couldn’t do it, then no fucking bottom feeding piece of mutated scum sucking fish bladder is going to either.”