Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Is it broken?’ the German wondered.

‘Was it the scaffolding?’ Elen asked Kane, staring up at him, pointedly. ‘A huge plank fell down this morning and almost decapitated the postman.’

‘Well something certainly fell on him,’ Kane murmured, noticing how much smaller she was than he’d remembered (five two? Three?), and how large her husband seemed by comparison. He was certainly handsome — in that blond way; that pure, square, aryan way. He was powerfully built. Muscular. Held himself gracefully, like an athlete.

Kane instinctively pushed back his shoulders and contracted the lazy muscles in his stomach.

Elen, meanwhile, was gently applying the bag to one side of Lester’s nose. Lester bleated. ‘Harvey left me a message about an hour ago,’ the German was saying, ‘promising to send someone this afternoon to have a look at it…’

‘He’s not one of Harvey’s people, Dory…’ Elen turned to her husband with a breezy smile, ‘he’s just a client. He’s come about his foot. I’d completely forgotten. He has a…’

‘Verruca,’ Kane butted in ( just a client? Just? ). ‘It’s been driving me crazy, actually.’

‘…an appointment ,’ Elen persisted, ‘he has an appointment. He’s not with Harvey.’

‘Oh…’ The German seemed disappointed. ‘Well that’s a pity…’ He paused for a second, scowling. ‘But didn’t you use his name before…?’ he wondered (almost to himself). ‘Didn’t you say, “ Lester’s banged his nose…”?’

Kane nodded, unflustered. ‘I’ve known Lester for years,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I dated his cousin , in fact…’

‘His cousin?’ Dory repeated. ‘ Lester’s cousin?’

‘Yeah. Uh…’ Kane glanced around him. ‘I actually worked for a scaffolding gang in my teens. I’d happily take a quick look at it for you — perhaps tighten a few of the bolts up…’

Elen smiled. ‘That’s a very kind thought,’ she said, ‘but there’s probably some kind of prohibitive clause in our Builder’s Insurance…’ ‘Well, the offer’s open…’ Kane shrugged.

The German was still gazing at Kane, very intently. ‘I have this strange feeling that we’ve met before…’ he murmured. Kane slowly shook his head.

‘Are you sure? It’s just…’ He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, ‘…there’s something…’

As he was speaking, all the lights came on in the house behind them–

What?!

But how…?

Kane suddenly became aware that it was growing darker–

Out here

By contrast…

— that it was almost…almost…

Dusk

Yes.

‘Would you mind holding the dog for a second?’ Elen briskly pushed a traumatised Michelle into Kane’s arms. He looked down. The spaniel’s sharply domed, white head had been crowned by three bright drops of blood. She was stiff to the touch, and bony, like a factory-farmed hen.

He shuddered.

‘She’s disabled,’ Dory informed him (an edge of revulsion in his voice). ‘Her back legs…’

‘ Oh . I see…’ Kane tried to arrange her more comfortably, but she was shaking, uncontrollably.

‘ I’ll take her.’

Kane started, then turned. The small boy — Fleet — was standing directly behind him, holding out his arms. ‘She’s frighted of strangers.’ ‘Fright ened, ’ his father corrected him.

Kane passed the dog down to the boy, noticing, as he did so, that his hands and his jumper felt curiously warm. Then suddenly cold. Then wet.

‘Oh God ,’ Dory murmured (missing nothing), ‘I’m afraid she must’ve…’

He winced, looking horrified. Kane gingerly prodded at his sweater. It was sodden.

‘She’s got a voluminous bladder for such a tiny scrap,’ he mused. ‘Fleet, put the dog down,’ Dory shouted after his son, ‘she’s still doing pee-pee…’

Fleet was heading back into the house, at speed. He completely ignored his father.

‘ Fleet …’ Dory barked.

The boy disappeared into the kitchen.

Dory glanced over at Kane with a helpless shrug. ‘She isn’t actually our dog,’ he confided. ‘She’s an awful creature. I really have no idea how she ended up here…’

As he spoke, both Lester and Elen glanced over at him. Kane couldn’t quite decipher their expressions (disbelief? Irritation? Incredulity?) but there was definitely a level of concord between them.

‘Hold them more firmly,’ Elen spoke softly, returning swiftly to her patient and readjusting the pack of peas, ‘and keep your head back or you’ll start to gush again…

‘…You’d better remove your jumper,’ she instructed Kane (without even looking at him). ‘I’ll pop it in the wash. It shouldn’t take much more than half an hour.’

‘No, it’s fine — it’s fine , really…’ Kane began fobbing her off.

‘But you must,’ Dory interjected, plainly appalled. ‘You can’t possibly go anywhere like that. The smell , for one thing…’ He waved his hands around, fastidiously.

The smell?

Kane sniffed, deeply. He couldn’t actually detect anything. ‘It doesn’t…’ he began, and then suddenly he was quite overwhelmed — rabbit-punched — demolished— abrogated— by an unholy aroma–

Sweet Lord!

He staggered back a step.

The most…the most terrible stench. A smell so noxious, putrid and malodorous that it assaulted each of his senses, individually, then drew them all together and melded them— soldered them — into a kind of crazy disharmony. It wasn’t just a scent now, so much as…as sound , as colour . He could hear it — it was…

Woah…

— it hissed , and the light cascaded off it — almost liquid, in a gush; glistening and pulsating. It was opalescent. It was iri descent. He felt ambushed by it, saturated in it.

‘Oh God…oh shit …’

He clapped his hands over his nose, leaned forward and gagged, then took another clumsy step back into the sheet. But the feel of the fabric wasn’t quite as it should be, it was like a…like a solid wall of thick, white smoke. He tried to push his hands through it and his hands were suddenly burning. His hands were on fire. He tripped–

Whooo-uuup!

— then he retched again. Violently. He began to cough, to choke. He felt the tender flesh straining in his throat.

‘Take it off…’

The German was speaking. He’d moved over to assist him. He seemed very close— too close.

‘Just pull it off…’

He yanked Kane’s denim jacket from his shoulders, then grabbed at the sweater…

As his hands made contact with him Kane felt a sensation of such…a ferocious tickling. An excruciating tickling. He felt his skin goose-bumping and his nipples tightening.

‘Please…’ he gasped, flinching, his eyes watering, uncontrollably, ‘I’m actually…’ he panted, then he retched again. ‘ Fuck. No . I’m perfectly…’ he grabbed at the sweater himself, ‘just let me…’

He tore the sweater off and threw it away from him, disgusted. It landed in the middle of the paving.

Jesus Christ .

He tried to catch his breath. He was panting and almost…almost laughing . He was high. Flying.

His entire body was still electrified. Vibrating . His heart was banging and hammering like an angry bailiff at the door of his chest.

And the smell? Different now. A sweet smell. A sharp smell. Blood? Filth? Flowers? Pumping through his temples, burning into his sinuses; acrid and savage, like singed plastic.