Black soul rose by John Jones... - HTML preview

Kieran

The taxi pulled up outside his auntie’s place, and when he vacated the vehicle saw that she was standing in the porch.

He walked slowly across to the gate and she opened the door and stepped out with a face like thunder.

“Sorry Kieran, you’re not living here. I’ve had too many people knocking and asking questions and what with your mum and dad and everything and poor little Brett, I can’t have you living under my roof. Once you’ve dealt with everything…what’s that?” she asked, pointing at his ankle, “that’s a tag isn’t it?

No, sorry. Once everything has blown over you can come back, but until then…” she stepped back in and closed the door.

He was about to plead his case, but found nothing came out of his mouth. He would have been speaking to a closed door.

That was it, he thought. All it needed to do now was rain, but it didn’t.

I’m homeless, he thought.

So he walked away from his aunties. Overhead there was a helicopter. The search party was about to get underway.

He thought maybe he should find a policeman and tell them to start looking in the countryside, but found himself with no enthusiasm. Herbie will tell them.

Herbie seems to know.

He was supposed to be meeting with him outside the school gate, but he didn’t feel up to that either.

The shadow of being homeless loomed large and the thought of sleeping in a shop doorway was abhorrent. Maybe Bean-head will have an answer. So he rang him.

It turned out Bean-head lived in a nearby caravan park which had been taken over by students as it was just close enough to the town which contained a university, much to the chagrin of the locals, and even the caravan park owners who couldn’t refuse the money. The place was a student haven, and those who 146

could be deemed drop-outs. A ‘hippy’ colony out in the middle of Wales that didn’t feature too much by way of actual hippies. More students studying and the occasional merriment.

“…come and stay here,” said Bean-head, “we’ll find you a sleeping bag and you can kip down in some corner”.

They arranged to meet, and it was decided that when he met Herbie, Bean-head would be there. They will tell the police where to start looking, then go back to the caravan park, so Kieran rang Herbie.

He was still walking with the others along country lanes, and knew where he was, and that getting back into the village would be about another ten minutes.

So he arranged to meet in twenty.

“…what do you mean Bean-head will be there? Does he need to be?”

“Yes, I’m homeless now my auntie doesn’t want me there, and he’s showing me where he lives”. Herbie nodded. Showing you where he lives, which is where you’re now going to live. Maybe he can show me as well.

“Yes alright, I won’t be too long, I’m nearly back in the village. See you outside the school”. The call ended.

“Well that stops me taking Kieran off to somewhere quiet and murdering him,”

he said with despair.

“Whose Bean-head?” Glenn asked.

“Kieran’s mate. Kieran’s now homeless so he’s going back to where he’s now going to live”.

“That’s good,” Glenn continued, “if we know where he lives now we can work out how we’re going to kill the cunt”.

There was silence for a few minutes, save for gravel crunching beneath their feet. Then they heard the whirling sound of a helicopter, and not too far away, probably hovering over the school, there it was.

“Here comes the search party,” said Dorothy.

The auntie of the teenage boy was rummaging through a cheap handbag she had taken from the car.

“Who am I?” she asked, “I’m not calling myself Ian,”

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“Ionie,” said Glenn, “that’s close to Ian,”

“Ina,” said Sam, “just spelt different,” She took out a mobile phone and threw it over a wall. There were a few cosmetics, and they got thrown out. A thick purse revealed plenty of money which she pocketed.

“That’ll do nicely,” she said, and saw that inside the purse there was inset a picture not of grandchildren, but two cats.

“Oh, fuck,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m a cat lady”. The others laughed.

“Could be cats back at her house now waiting for their food,” Dorothy said.

“Well, cats will find a way to survive. They could well eat each other”. The purse was thrown over the wall.

“So you can be Cat,” Herbie said.

“Alright, I’ll be Kat with a K”.

The teenage boy with headphones around his neck who had been possessed by Boyd slowed down to a stop, and the others looked around and also slowed down and stopped.

“What’s the matter?” said rambler man, possessed by Jordan.

“Do we really need to be going back? I mean, we like to stay hidden don’t we?

So why aren’t we heading the other way and getting out of here to start new lives?”

“Because Kieran needs to die,” said the military man, possessed by Glenn.

“Does he though?”

“Okay,” said rambler woman, possessed by Sam, stepping forward.

“We are hidden,” she said, “we can walk amongst anyone and no-one will know, but remember if it wasn’t for Kieran, we wouldn’t be here. We ‘shouldn’t’ be here. We should still be attending school playing happy families, but he fucked it all up and needs to die, you should know that”.

“Yes I get it, but it’s just we’re really hidden now in these bodies. We can just leave the area”.

“Don’t forget just how powerful a motive revenge can be. We are hidden enough. We can’t just disappear and live in some island cave. We find Kieran, 148

find a place to murder him, or make it look like suicide, and that’s it then, we’ll decide from there”.

“I have a peanut to crack,” said the pensioner spinster, possessed by Dorothy.

“The little girl, Sylvie, trapped in that shitty household needs to be taken from them and put in to care or whatever”. They all just looked at her for a few moments, quiet.

“Since when did you develop a conscience?” asked Sam with a smile.

“See, we have two people to kill before we maybe settle elsewhere”.

“And…” put in Herbie, “how long do you think you can go before you get the urge to murder again? I know we experiment and study bodies and that’s fine, but if we didn’t…killing is addictive once you get the bug, and we all have it.

Including you”. There was silence for a few more moments and ‘Boyd’ nodded.

“True,” he said.

“Remember we’re hidden enough,” said ‘Sam’, and they continued walking into the village.

Kieran approached the school, but saw police and media vans outside the gates, so hung back. He would rather not have any attention for the time being.

With his hands in his pockets, he looked like the most dejected teenager there ever was. Shoulders sagging, hair growing longer, unkempt. He was starting to

‘look’ homeless, older than his years.

He knew his own house would be locked down, and maybe not even he could get in to get his stuff. Or could he? Was that allowed? He did not know, and also whether he could face it though, the scene of his parents murder, still so fresh.

As he leaned back against the wall of a house, waiting for Bean-head, he noticed on a nearby lamppost an A4 piece of paper with two familiar faces on.

He crossed over. It was the photographs of Ian and Jordan he had taken with writing scrawled beneath them:

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Do you know these kids? Are they possessed? If you see them, interrogate them and see if they talk like kids or adults. They don’t talk like children. Prove possession is real.

Good old Herbie, even though he didn’t know him that well, he was good to have onside, and it wasn’t long before Bean-head approached. He didn’t know him too well either, but was pleased to see him.

After a few moments, he too was looking at the flyer with a smile.

“He’s a law unto himself is Herbie,” said Bean-head, and they both just watched what was going on outside the school, the helicopter hovering over-head.

“So how well d’you know Herbie?” Kieran asked.

“Enough to know he’ll never come out from under his mother’s wing. And she won’t let him out either. He’s a dreamer, not a doer. Makes all sorts of plans with good intentions. Believes in them. Then changes his mind and he’s onto the next vision, then onto the next one. So while he’s a master detective, I would take advantage of his superior intelligence”.

“He seems harmless enough”.

Another five minutes they waited before Herbie turned a corner and there he was, approaching with a slight limp. The others had headed to Boyd’s house.

“Nice work,” said Bean-head, nodding towards the flyer on the lamppost.

Herbie approached and looked at it for a few moments, then looked at them and smiled.

“I did that..?” he said as a question. The others said nothing.

“What happened there?” Bean-head asked, pointing to his leg about the limp.

“Bull horn, jabbed me in a field as I was passing through”. Bean-head said nothing, didn’t question it. Herbie was sometimes full of exaggerations about what he’d done, and what he was going to do.

“Hello Kieran,” he said, “nice to see you. Alright, let’s go and tell the little piggies where I saw the kids.” Already Bean-head’s senses were tingling with caution. Herbie just didn’t seem like Herbie.

He looked at all the pandemonium outside the school gates, and decided that instead of the police, he would approach a reporter who was hovering by the school railings, expensive camera strapped around him whilst he was tapping notes into a phone.

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“Come on then,” he said, walking into the road and approaching the man.

The other two followed, but hung back. Even Kieran’s brief meetings with Herbie did not match with this current version. However, neither him nor Beanhead had concluded that he may be possessed.

Herbie decided only bare minimum of information should suffice. He did not want to approach any police because they may drag him into the search and he would end up pointing at the tree where they hung.

So fuck that. Get this reporter to tell them.

“Excuse me mate,” the man turned and looked at the pseudo-detective.

“This is the search party about to go out looking for those missing kids yes?”

The man just nodded.

“Well I saw them,” the man straightened himself up, attention on Herbie.

“What, where?”

“I saw them out in those fields,” he pointed in the exact direction.

“They were just hanging around,” he said, and laughed loudly.

“they were just hanging around,” he repeated loudly back to the others, “d’you get it?” then he realised what he had said and reigned it in.

“Better go and tell the bobbies,” Herbie said with a smile, and the reporter simply stood there, not knowing whether to take him seriously, but Herbie was backing away, and with Bean-head and Kieran wandered further down the road.

The indecisive reporter didn’t know whether to run after Herbie for more information, or go and tell the police to look in the fields.

Herbie looked back, and pointed again in the direction of the countryside. This made up the mind of the man, and he turned and headed for the nearest officer.

“Good,” Herbie muttered.

“So where did the kids go?” Bean-head asked. “You were following them for ages”.

“Was I...? oh yes…well they just went out into the country and disappeared.

They were like, really fast, and I lost them. They all just went out there and fucked off. So I came home”.

“Herbie,” said Bean-head, “I’ve known you for about a year now, and not once have I heard you swear. Why start now?” Herbie was silent for a while. He was 151

quickly reminded to be hidden, having no idea of the personality of this Herbie, but he had to do his best.

“Just, you know. Missing kids. Enough to make anyone swear. I’m just sympathising with the parents,” he said with a grin which he hid.

This Bean-head though would have to be watched. If he caught on.

He was dead.

“What’s that on your face? Tattoos. B H. What does that stand for? Big head or something”.

“I think you’re being silly now Herbie, you know exactly what it stands for”.

“Oh yes, Bean-head, and you have the initials tattooed in case you forget who you are”. Bean-head simply looked with curiosity at him, still not making the possession connection.

Perhaps this was an aspect to Herbie he’d never come across before, as with most people, nobody really knows anybody else to 100per cent, such is the complexity of personality.

‘but he would never hurt a fly’.

‘but he murdered his own family and cut his own throat, but at least he wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly’.

Even if Bean-head did jump to the possession conclusion, he would think it rather premature. More evidence would be needed to be convinced, because he at least did believe the children were not who they were. He believed in science, facts in front of his face, but not quite 100%. There was room for the unexplained. The children must have some neurological defect causing their behavioural changes. Perhaps when they were out in the fields, there was fungi that had released spores and they had breathed in it, causing their minds to alter.

Or getting lost had caused their brains to go into panic overdrive causing cell damage that could change personality.

He didn’t know, but if it was possession. Soul, or mind transferal, then he would be open to accepting it. If he came to that conclusion, and at the moment it seemed likely, then so be it. He would believe.

Yet he knew science couldn’t answer everything. However, when something like mind-reading, teleportation, or possession was proven, then science would claim it. He was however, open-minded to anything, but Herbie not quite being 152

Herbie wasn’t much to go on, because he wasn’t that far away from the real Herbie. Self-centred, eccentric know-it-all odd little cunt, but what the fuck.

Harmless enough.

Herbie gripped the handle of a screw-driver inside his pocket. He was two feet behind the other two, and there in front of him, was the bare skin of both their necks. Here was a good opportunity to kill them both. He gripped it as hard as he could, resisting the urge to rush forward and stab Kieran.

Too risky, he thought. There was already heat on the village because of the missing children, so the police would be here in seconds. In the houses they were passing there was bound to be nosy eyes. Do-gooding busy-bodies keeping watch on the street, and several people just out and about.

Way too risky, plus it may get back to the others.

The others would probably be safe, he thought, if he blatantly killed these two, but he wouldn’t be safe at all. Not for the rest of this existence, unless he could change bodies.

He would probably never see the others again, and would forever be looking over his shoulder. They would disown him, maybe not even give him any seeds to possess others.

No, you’ve brought heat down upon us by coming to our doorstep. Now there may be suspicious eyes watching. You’ve possibly exposed us, so fuck off.

Or they would maybe straight up murder him.

Sometimes ‘Herbie’ had asked himself: ‘Do I really want to live forever?’ and the answer was yes. Life after life after life was not boring, something he was scared would happen, and it may do, but not yet, not for him, or the others.

He had to utilise all his powers of restraint because here was an opportunity to kill Kieran. Him and Bean-head were talking, and he had a screwdriver ready to plunge into their throats.

He was almost red-faced with anger, gripping the weapon even tighter, knowing the window of opportunity would close at any second.

Just kill the fucking bastard! his mind screamed. Just go on the run and the others will be safe.

Bean-head looked back at him and frowned.

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“You alright,” Kieran looked also.

“I’m just, I’m just…worried about those kids you know. Out there in the country”.

He wasn’t going to sacrifice himself for the safety of the others. He wanted to be with them until the end, whenever that was.

The window of opportunity had closed. He released his grip on the weapon.

“Here we are,” said Bean-head. “Home”.

The caravan park was three-quarters occupied. There were students milling around, sitting outside caravans or standing chatting on the gravel pathways.

They wandered through for a few minutes and came to one that looked well worn, used and had been built over thirty years ago.

“Just stay here until you get yourself sorted,” Bean-head said to Kieran who just looked grateful to have some sort of accommodation.

“So this is where you live now Kieran,” said Herbie. Both of them just looked at him, not knowing how to respond, until Bean-head said:

“Just until he sorts himself out, or goes back to his auntie”. Herbie was looking around, as if a caravan park was something he’d never seen before, in any of his lifetimes.

“Ye, my auntie kicked me out ‘cos I was bringing too much attention to her”.

Herbie just nodded as if to say ‘whatever’, then he saw the tag on Kieran’s ankle.

“What the fuck is that?” he said with genuine concern, pointing.

“It’s a tag,” he muttered, “I can’t go out of the village. If I do an alarm goes off or something and they’ll come and arrest me”. Herbie just stared at it like a baby staring at a spider.

“It’s a camera as well, isn’t it,” said Bean-head, “and it can detect the emotions of someone close-by who had bad intentions. A loud alarm will go off”.

“Will it?” said Herbie, wide-eyed, fearful. Then he remembered walking behind them both on the way here. He had serious bad intentions but no alarm sounded.

“That’s fucking shit,” he said to Bean-head, “I don’t believe you”.

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“Herbie,” Bean-head said, as though he was talking to a child, “you’re meant to be some big-shot detective. Always saying the police forensics have got it wrong, saying you could solve unsolved murder cases…you should know a tag when you see one. You should know how it works. You’d probably tell me you could easily make one, and how to easily remove it without the police finding out, but here you are, genuinely not knowing what a tag is. Why is that?” The caravan door opened and a sleepy-eyed student looked out.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Herbie’s inner alarm bells rang. There’ll by no murdering of Kieran today. Too many eyes. Too much heat. Way too risky. He looked around again.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m off home,” then he walked back the way he had came.

Bean-head simply watched him.

“He’s going the wrong way,” he said quietly.

After five minutes, Kieran was sat in the caravan ‘lounge’. Sleepy student was having his breakfast in the afternoon on the kitchen table, and another one was in the bedroom with his feet poking over the small bed.

“Sorry to have to say this,” said Bean-head. Kieran was sat opposite, just glad to be sitting down somewhere.

“I kind of do think Herbie’s possessed. He’s usually a bit odd anyway. Ask half the students here, but that…then. It wasn’t Herbie. He went out to follow the seven children that you say were possessed. Those same children that went missing a while ago, who came back not themselves, talking like adults. Then Herbie comes back, and he’s not himself. Sorry, but I think one of those kids possessed him. I’m not usually a believer in this, but this time, I think it might be possible. I need to stay open-minded about this. Not like some scientists or students who ignore evidence in front of their face if it’s not what they believe.

There could be another explanation for Herbie, but I don’t know what it could be".

“Those children killed my parents, and tried to kill me. Herbie may try and do the same. He knows where I am now”. Bean-head nodded.

“Yes, I think it might be a good idea to change caravans while he doesn’t know.

Then when he comes back, and I think he will, maybe we can secretly film him.

Or follow him back to wherever he goes, because his home was the other way to 155

where he walked today. If we follow him, he may lead us to the others, and then we can set the police onto them”.

Kieran just nodded, weighed down by strain.

“So where can I stay now?”

“There’s a caravan towards the other end with some student mates in. They won’t care if you stay or not. Come on I’ll introduce you”. So they left, past one where there was a lot of noisy chatter and laughing, past another with a student circle on the grass outside, where one had a guitar but was fiddling with the tuning dials. Another caravan had instrumental rock music coming from it. The place was fairly large, with around fifty caravans. It wasn’t all occupied by students, but with it being in walking distance from the university, and cheaper than student accommodation, it worked out.

They eventually came to a more dilapidated caravan that looked like it had been hastily knocked together, but Kieran didn’t care. Herbie didn’t know where he was, and it was a roof within the zone of his tag.

Herbie walked on by the school. People were still milling around. It was clear the search party were gearing up to leave. The helicopter seemed to be hovering over the place where the horse sanctuary was. He told the reporter about half an hour ago, he thought, so why aren’t they all out in the field right now?

Somewhere on their way it seemed, but Herbie knew the police did things very slowly. Some top brass probably needed to give his ‘approval’, or something maybe needed to be signed to go out and find missing children. Probably red tape caught up in the wheels of justice.

Anyway, they were on their way, and nobody looked at Herbie as he passed the school railings. There were a few adults talking at the gates, but he couldn’t see any school children.

Eventually he made his way back to Boyd’s house where he and the others were staying.

He told them where Kieran was, and that killing him would not be easy.

“Still needs to be done,” said Sam, “and this house is too small for us”.

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That night they were all sat around the kitchen table, Jordan standing. The bodies had been dragged to a corner.

“Okay so we know we’re going to have to move from here,” said Kat.

“Remember that horse sanctuary by where we killed Brett?” said Jordan, the rambler man, “well, that should be ideal for us. There’ll be a few staying there, so at night, we go in and kill them, then declare the place closed. We bought the place and took over. The owners just left or whatever, didn’t tell anyone. Plus it’s sufficiently out of the way to not bring too much attention, and we can still come and kill Kieran. It’s a good base for us”. The others simply looked all round at each other and nodded in agreement.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam, rambler woman.

“Hold on,” said Dorothy, spinster, “I think we need to see the place first, just so it will be easier to take over. Where do they keep the tools? How big is the place? How many people stay there? If I go up to check, I can pretend I’m interested in horse riding lessons, and get a feel for the place”. The others knew she was right.

“Yes…” said Sam, “hold fire folks on your murdering tendencies, the place will need to be recced before we take it over”.

Dorothy stood up, “well, I’m a sweet dear old lady. Totally harmless, so I will go and enquire about lessons for my grandson,” she said, and smiled at the teenage boy.

“Thank you grandma,” said Boyd with a grin.

“Right, I’m going,” Dorothy continued, standing up.

She decided not to go straight away to the sanctuary. Instead it wasn’t too far from her ‘old’ house and family, and she walked along a few quiet roads. Well, quiet for what was happening in the village. Two police cars drove by, and there was a press van parked up.

Those kids should be found soon enough, she thought. The sooner the better so they can all go away. The heat was still too hot for any of them, even though they were hidden, and decided to remain at the house until the heat lessens, but even that would provide suspicion, especially from neighbours.

What happened to the lovely family that lived there?

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What? They just upped and left. Didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Not very courteous of them.

Who is this lot? They were very quick moving in. Doesn’t look like a family. I shall be keeping an eye on them, a neighbour may be thinking.

Rounding a corner, the house came into view, and on his own, asleep in a deck-chair in the untidy front garden with his top off, wearing unwashed yellow shorts, there was Peanut, snoring. A cigarette filter tobacco between stained fingers that had long burned out.

She stood at the fence, watching him. Tempting to go over and cut his throat now, or pour petrol over him and set him on fire, or stab his fat belly and rip it across so his innards spilled out.

Too risky. Neighbourhood watch was probably 24/7.

The house seemed quiet. Sylvie may well be in there playing with her toys, and her mother probably sprawled on the bed. Maybe other strange men in there lounging around. Peanuts friends. It didn’t seem like though. Unless Sylvie was at school. Probably.

She entered the garden and walked across to Peanut and stood over him, but he was out for the count, his rising and falling stomach and hissing from his mouth the only indication of life.

In her handbag, the spinster had carried some make-up, and she took out a crimson lipstick and wrote the word ‘CUNT’ across his belly.

She then left the garden, and headed away.