Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

Ciara frowned at him, again with the pitying look. Edgar half-smiled. “What have you done, Patrick?”

Patrick stood trembling as the group came into the hallway and Howard closed the front door.

“Where have you all been?” Patrick managed at last.

“Just into town, showing these guys around,” Shirley said.

“We saw the museum,” Ciara said. “Patrick, what is wrong with you?”

Edgar began to chuckle, shaking his head. He turned slightly, looked up the stairs, then back at Patrick. “You fucken killed him?”

Shirley, Howard and Clarke all seemed to still a moment, eyes turning up, then they looked back at Patrick too, all smiling. They were all healthy, all completely unbothered.

“Killed?” Ciara said, looking from Patrick to Edgar and back again. “Killed who?”

“You killed Bram?” Edgar said with a laugh. “Wow, fuck me dead, you mad bastard!”

“Fuck you!” Patrick shouted. “Ciara, we have to go!”

“The fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Edgar said, still laughing. “You murdered an old man!”

Patrick shook his head, felt tears sting his eyes.

“He was so old,” Shirley said. “Too old to even feed any more. Couldn’t hold himself together in the dreams, but he was happy up there.”

“He liked his books,” Clarke said. “You fucking dickhead. What did you think that would achieve?”

“Patrick, did you really?” Ciara asked. Her face showed her dismay, despite her obvious weakness.

How was Patrick the bad guy in all this? He didn’t understand. What should he do? “Ciara, please, leave with me now! Torsten, Simone, you too, yeah?”

“Your friends are feeding us well, every night,” Edgar said. “There’s a bit left in them still. A few more nightmares.”

“You see!” Patrick said, triumph in his tone. But Ciara didn’t react, like she hadn’t even heard what Edgar had said.

“Hey, we can finally convert the attic in to a practice space,” Howard said. “No more rehearsals in the cold garage.”

Edgar laughed. “Good point.”

Patrick snapped. He ran over, grabbed Ciara’s arm and tried to drag her back to the front door. He had the bumbags, all they needed.

She cried out, managed to shake him off, though she staggered with the effort. “Get off me, Pat! What is wrong with you?”

“Ciara, please, I love you. It’s not safe here!”

She shook her head, those pitying eyes again. “You’re so weak. Why did you have to be weak about this?”

“What?”

“What they give us, Patrick. You could have it too.”

He was incredulous. “They’re not giving you anything . They’re taking everything from you. Didn’t you hear him? There’s a bit left in them still, he just said. A few more nightmares. They’re going to kill you soon.”

“Oh, Pat. I really wish you’d been stronger about this.” She stepped back from him, reached out and Howard took her hand. “I’m staying. For the same reason as Simone.”

“What?” He felt numb, and stupid, saying the same word over and over.

“I’m fucking Howard, Patrick. He’s good ! You go to bed early like a child every night and Howard is still here. And Torsten is with Shirley. It’s worked out really well. For us anyway. We’re staying, Pat.”

“Ciara!” His stomach roared, bile rose in his throat. “I want to marry you! I was going to ask you, after… When we got back home.”

She laughed and leaned into Howard. “It’s too late, Pat.”

“Too late for them,” Edgar said. “But remember what I told you? Sometimes The Gulp spits one out, mate.”

“You’re going to die!” Patrick shouted, staring hard at Ciara, trying to make her understand. “And you two are as well!” he said to Torsten and Simone. “Any day now, you’ll be dead and these fucking freaks, these monsters, they’ll probably bring other people home from their next gig. Fuck them and feed on them too.”

Edgar grinned, nodded enthusiastically. Ciara, Torsten and Simone seemed oblivious, just stared blankly back at him like he was speaking a language they couldn’t understand.

Patrick choked back a sob. He took off Ciara’s bag and threw it at her, and then he ran. He pushed out the front door, scrabbling in the bag still at his waist as he went for the campervan keys. He climbed in and it started on the first try. The tyres skidded on the gravel, then he was driving hard down the hill, away from the Manor. He turned left, past the bright white and green Woolworths supermarket, and onto the dark and straight Gulpepper Road.

What the hell would he tell people? That he and Ciara had a fight? They broke up? He last saw her in Monkton with their German friends after a gig? He knew damn well there was no point in trying to tell anything like the truth. No point in trying to send authorities into Gulpepper.

His vision blurred with tears as he drove. He reached the T-junction and turned right towards Enden. He sobbed, gripped the wheel hard, and didn’t dare look in the mirror again, planning to drive all night.

Blind Eye Moonpounded from a JBL Bluetooth speaker as Dace Claringbold guided the small boat through darkness close to shore. He threw a grin at Sasha in the passenger chair beside him, feeling good. She smiled back, long brown hair streaming in the wind, nodding subtly with the music.

“Hey, wanna stop for a spliff?” Dace said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the wind.

“Stop?”

“Sure. It’s relaxing out here, especially at night. No one around. We’re about halfway to Enden, the whole trip takes less than forty minutes. Got plenty of time.”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not? Didn’t know you had any weed.”

“I’ve always got weed.”

He hoped that was cool in Sasha’s eyes, not lame. Her smile stayed put, so he figured she was into it. He throttled off until they were drifting, then killed the engine. The large outboard dropped into silence and Blind Eye Moon was suddenly beltingly loud as they bobbed gently in the night. He grabbed his phone from beside the wheel and tapped it down a few notches. Still loud, but not so much they’d have to shout over it. BEM needed to be loud, after all. He couldn’t wait for the gig later that night. The spring evening was mild and clear, not yet the close heat of summer, but warm enough so they were comfortable in t-shirts.

He swivelled in the driver’s seat to better face her and pulled out the leather pouch he kept his tobacco, papers, and weed in, and began to roll one up.

“I can’t believe you have this sweet boat,” Sasha said.

I can’t believe you finally agreed to go out with me, after I told you this was mine , Dace thought, but didn’t say it. It wasn’t his, after all. But he would get laid before admitting that. He had the use of it whenever he needed, one of the perks of the job, so it amounted to pretty much the same thing.

“Almost brand new Quintrex 530 Cruiseabout,” he said instead. “Got an upgraded 115 horse power Evinrude Etec on the back there. Not too shabby.” He grinned and licked the oversized cigarette paper, stuck it down. He turned the joint and lit it, took a big draw and held it in.

“You have to deliver something before the gig, you said?”

Dace blew out a plume of smoke towards the stars and nodded. He took another draw, then handed Sasha the joint. This was fine weed. He blew out again, then said, “We’ll be met at the wharf in Enden. Once we’ve given over the box we can head into town. Easy as. Get a couple of drinks in before the gig, yeah?”