Stephen Jones - The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror. Volume 23

Ted looked from the pictures of those women alive, to the dead bodies hanging in that basement lair. And, God help him, he was able to match them up. Well, most of them. Some were beyond even his identification.

Ted could imagine the pain Audrey had felt when she’d seen some of those photographs. Pain that might tip you over the edge. Pain he now saw in her look — along with revenge. She’d been on her very own hunting trip and now that she’d punished the women who’d slept with him, Ted was next. What was the betting she’d saved the most brutal tortures for last?

He was about to plead with her, but knew that would do no good. Once Audrey had made her mind up about something, that was it. But as she approached, still wielding the knife, he found himself whimpering, “Please, no .”

When she continued on anyway, he gritted his teeth, the real Ted emerging. “You’ll never get away with this, Audrey. I’m telling you. What the fuck do you think you’re going to do with all these bodies anyway?”

She paused, as if contemplating this — maybe the first time she’d even considered it during this whole spree. But Ted should have known better. Just as she’d been clever enough to hire the snoop, she’d had her endgame figured out well in advance. Audrey leaned in, too quick for him to flinch, and whispered, “He knows what you’ve done, and he’s coming for you.”

What? What the fuck did that mean? Ted braced himself for Audrey to strike, to begin slashing him with the knife. But she didn’t. Instead she pulled back, grinning (it reminded him of his grin, that — the satisfied one he couldn’t help whenever he’d scored). She was stepping away, leaving him alone. Don’t question it , he told himself, it at least buys you some time .

Then he heard the sound. At first it seemed a long way off, that bell. Then the call followed it, equally distant. “ Rag and Bone! ” it went.

Ted cocked an ear. There it came again. The bell, and the cry: “ Rag and Bone! ”

Audrey’s grin widened and she moved over to the side of the room, climbing some steps. At first Ted thought she might be ascending to an upper floor, but then she reached above her and undid a latch. Audrey flung open the doors — cellar doors that led to the outside.

His first thoughts were: I can use that to escape, if only I can get free of these bloody ropes. His next thoughts, when the light from the moon illuminated more of that place, were about those wine bottles at the back of the cellar. Ted knew where he was now, even though he’d never been down here. Had only been to the place itself on a handful of occasions.

It was the wine cellar in the family house: a hobby of Frank’s and perfect for something like this. No one would hear the screams. And they were far enough away from civilisation that nobody would hear the cry drawing closer and closer, louder and louder.

“ Rag and Bone! ”

It was a strange call, like the person shouting it couldn’t quite say the words. It reminded Ted of how newspaper sellers on street corners shout out the names of the tabloids.

“Audrey,” Ted began, but she was taking no notice. She was too busy looking out through the trap door. Ted heard the sound of hooves next, accompanying the bell and the cries.

Jesus, what was going on here? One of her dad’s old mates drafted in to help? It made sense. Like Audrey, they really wouldn’t have been too happy if they knew the truth.

“He knows what you’ve done, and he’s coming for you.”

But what had he done, really? All Ted had suggested was that Audrey invest in a few of his ventures — she had the money now, and it would really help him out (his flashy cars and dinners a front for covering how badly he’d got into debt). Selling the family business wasn’t asking too much, was it? Her father had been the one hanging on to the past; why should she?

And she’d done it, even though she was doing other things behind his back (he could talk), hiring that PI for example. Audrey had sold up because she loved him.

The scrap business scrapped, Ted bailed out.

He saw the horse’s feet now, pulling up outside; the cart behind. And from this angle, Ted could also see the boots when they jumped down — big, hobnailed ones, crunching the gravel round the back of the house. A faint whistle drifted down into the cellar, echoing throughout.

Audrey pulled back, waving a hand and inviting the newcomer in. The larger figure descended. Bulky, wearing some kind of long coat, he also sported a cap that was pulled down low on his head. His frame virtually blocked out any light from above, leaving the figure in silhouette as he glanced at Audrey — awaiting orders, it seemed. She pointed to the bodies and the man nodded, stomping over to the first. He hefted it onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing, whistling happily.

So that was the plan? thought Ted. Get this bastard to dispose of the evidence of Audrey’s sick and twisted exploits? He said nothing as, one by one, the corpses were carried up the steps and — though he couldn’t see properly — he assumed, dumped into whatever cart was up there. Why a cart, he had no idea. Why not a van or truck? Was he some kind of purist or something? Not even Frank had been that bad.

Frank. Ted thought about the old man now, and about what he’d done.

He shook his head; there wasn’t time for that. He was in real trouble. As the last of the women were carried and loaded up, Audrey pointed towards Ted. She obviously couldn’t bring herself to do anything to her lover. Instead, she’d shown him what she’d done to his “whores” and was now leaving Ted to the attentions of this nutter. He didn’t know which was worse. At least he might stand a chance of talking Audrey round. Possibly. Maybe.

But there was no chance of that now, because the collector was next to him, whistling, shouldering Ted and cutting the rope attached to the ceiling. Ted groaned as he was given the fireman’s lift, the rotten stench of the man like garbage. It was only when he was being carried that Ted noticed the shabby clothes the man was wearing, the state of the coat not dissimilar to the dress of Audrey’s victims; the man’s trousers scuffed and tatty.

Then Ted was being hauled up into the night air. He tried to struggle, but again it was either the position he’d been in or the after-effects of the drugs that prevented him — he had hardly any strength at all. So, when he was thrown in the back of that cart, an old-fashioned wooden one just like those Frank had described, he couldn’t fight back.

“Audrey?” he just about managed, as the Rag and Bone man left him, skirting round to the driver’s seat at the front.

But Ted’s fiancée simply stared after them. Then, as the transportation set off, Ted saw her retreat back down into the cellar — no doubt to clean up — leaving him to his fate.

The ride wasn’t a comfortable one. Apart from the stench, some of it from the bodies, most of it from the cart and the man driving it, there were the jolts as it went over rocks or uneven terrain.

On one particular bump, Ted found himself rolling over to face a girl who’d had her eyes plucked out, the black sockets staring back at him (what had been her name? Jackie, Debra, Sandra? Who the Hell knew?). He couldn’t even muster a scream and was thankful when the next jolt came and righted him again.

They seemed to be travelling quite fast though, hardly enough time for Ted to worry about where this guy would be dumping them: burying them in a wood, weighing them down in a lake perhaps? In a deserted quarry?

He was wrong on all counts, because when the cart eventually arrived at its destination, the Rag and Bone Man had returned to his home (one of Audrey’s dad’s old places perhaps? Had this bloke bought it?). Ted took in the yard when they rode through the gates — a typical scrap merchant’s, with bits of old bicycles, worn-out beds, washing machines and every other bit of discarded detritus you could imagine piled on every side. It wouldn’t be hard to lose a few bodies in that lot. The perfect place, in fact.