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

Kieran

Kieran was stood on the gravel path beyond the grass in front of the caravan. A reporter had him hold an old-fashioned dictaphone whilst she scribbled down notes. She was from a local circular ‘Powys chronicle,’ which was a thin free paper that only circulated in mid and west Wales.

“And you think another of your friends is possessed?”

“Yes, now with the children gone, I think they have taken over others. Herbie was a good friend but he seems to have changed personality. This was confirmed by a friend who has known him for years, Bean-head”.

“Bean-head?” she scribbled more notes.

“It’s just odd that seven children have been found dead out in the fields, and when Herbie went after them he came back changed. When the kids went missing in the first place, they came back changed, so there might be something strange in those fields, or it’s possession. I reckon that because seven kids were found, and Herbie was possessed, there are probably six other people out there possessed”.

“But you say the children tried to murder you”.

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“They murdered my parents and tried to get me but I escaped. It’s possible they still are but I don’t know. They don’t know where I am”.

“Alright,” she said, scribbling, “what gave it away to Bean-head that Herbie may have changed personality?”

“You can ask him yourself, here he is”. Bean-head was heading their way from the other direction from which they originally came.

“Bean-head,” said Kieran, “she wants to ask you a few questions about Herbie”,

“Well, I was coming to tell you I’ve just been to Herbie’s house where he lives with his mum, and she says she hasn’t seen him in ages. Herbie’s missing”.

Kat was heading back from the convenience store with several loaves of bread and margarine. Boyd’s parents were already quite well stocked in the kitchen, but along the way she decided to make a detour towards the school, into the

‘heat’ because she knew she was well hidden.

There was not as many people milling around, and the helicopters had gone.

So there wasn’t too much by way of heat around the place, more a warmth.

There were several people who looked flustered, animated, some in suits, police uniforms and school staff.

She walked amongst them without anyone giving her a second glance, and there was a police car parked up near the school gates, an officer behind the wheel with the window wound down.

She approached.

“Excuse me sir, do you happen to know if they have found those poor children yet?”.

“Well, I can tell you that they have been found, but I cannot give you anymore information than that”. Kat simply nodded as if saddened at the news.

“Okay,” she muttered, and walked amongst a few more flustered people who took no notice of her, heading back to Boyds.

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When night came, it brought with it no moon or stars, and a heavy blanket of silence.

Except for the noises of footfalls on the long path up to the horse sanctuary.

“How far is this place?” said Jordan, out of breath, and holding onto a low wall.

“Not too far now,” Dorothy said, remembering that it wasn’t an easy walk up there.

Three of them had found torches in Boyds, and they led the way.

After another five minutes, they saw up ahead a small night-light outside the bungalow.

When they came to the gate they found it locked.

“How the fuck do we open this?” said Glenn, but then noticed a padlock.

“Hurry up, someone might see our torches. We’ll all have to climb over,” there were mutterings of dejection, but they all managed it, Herbie crashing to the floor, but they all walked into the small carless car-park and headed for the night-light above the door to the bungalow. Just as Dorothy was about to knock, a youth came from around the corner of the small reception extension.

He had a bright head-lamp, and stopped in his tracks when he saw them all looking at him.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing out at this time of night?” said Jordan, and the youth, fear quickly coursing through his system, answered:

“It’s time for the horses feed, but who…who are..?” He didn’t notice that Glenn had detached himself from the group, and sneaked behind where he stabbed the youth in the neck with the screwdriver. He managed one scream before collapsing to the floor. Glenn knelt down and continued his assault on his neck to stop him yelling. He clamped a hand on his face to steady him and stabbed and stabbed his chest and throat, the youth thrashing around but soon ceasing, almost half his head removed, blood gouting onto the gravel.

The commotion had caused the owners to rouse, and the bungalow door opened.

The sleepy-eyed owner opened up wearing a well-used, food-stained bathrobe.

“What..?” he received a wrench to the mouth cracking his jaw and two teeth, even though he didn’t have many teeth left in his mouth due to barely brushing them. He staggered and fell back, and they all filed in, branding their weapons.

His wife, eight years older than Bill, and seemingly just as unkempt and 164

unhealthy was watching television in their scruffy bedroom. It took her a few moments to understand what was happening as in one ear she had a hearing aid.

Three of them went to work on the man, and three of them came in brandishing their weapons. Before she had a chance to scream, a hand was clamped over her mouth and her throat was stabbed.

It took almost five minutes of stabbing to reduce her body to a ragged pulp. Her thighs, feet, chest, eyes, chest, stomach. They made sure she was dead, and blood soaked into the carpet.

“Good to get the old adrenaline flowing isn’t it?” said Herbie.

In the main lounge, the man was dragged into the living room before the television which was off. He had been struck twice more in the head and was quite lethargic.

“Fuck’s sake Dorothy, you could of told us he was a heavy smelly cunt,” said Kat. Dorothy simply shrugged and smiled.

“He does reek,” said Jordan, rambler man. “Probably hasn’t washed in years”.

The man wasn’t quite unconscious, but was murmuring slightly.

“I don’t think I even want to touch him,” he continued, “but…ah fuck it…” he raised his knitting needle.

“Wait!” said Sam, rambler woman. “It’s been a long time since we did an experiment on someone. If we lock this place down, we can see what we can do with him. Dorothy, you said this place had a garage. If we gag him or cut out his tongue, he won’t be making any noise so we can chain him up there until we decide the kind of experiment to do”. They agreed. Glenn dragged in the dead youth by his jaw, a streak of blood behind. He dropped him and closed the door.

“Glenn, do us a favour,” said Sam, “go out the back into the garage and see if you can find a chain”.

He found one beneath one of the worktops around the walls amongst paraphernalia that had long been used but not thrown away, just in case it could be used again. Old cloths, aerosols, rusted vehicle parts. In the mean-time, Bill had been dragged inside and laid beside the Land-Rover.

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Even though the garage door had not been closed in years, they almost did it, the back of the vehicle prevented it being closed properly by a few inches. A shadeless bulb must have been new because it lit the place up very nicely, glinting from the chains wrapped around the part-sanctuary owner, who was lying on the concrete with an oily rag stuffed in his mouth. His bulbous eyes darted around at the faces looming down on him.

“What’s that?” said Sam, “I can’t hear you”.

“Look at these tools here,” said Glenn, wandering around the garage. A power-drill, a soldering gun, forks and spades, hedge-trimmer, hosepipe amongst others. “Perfect for experiments,”

“Yes but is there an needle and thread?” said Dorothy . “I think his mouth needs sewing up”.

She went back into the bungalow via the door at the side, and it wasn’t long before she was sticking in the needle to sew up his lips. The man tried to scream but couldn’t, tried to roll away but couldn’t, and his mouth was sewn, the oily rag taken out.

“There you go,” Dorothy said, standing up, “I can still do it”.

“So what’s the experiment?” Sam asked, “what are we going to do with him?”

They all looked at each other as if someone else knew exactly what they were going to do.

“Let’s get ourselves settled in first,” said Herbie, “then we can get back to Kieran. In fact, with it being night-time, now is a good time for one of us, well, me I suppose, to go down to the caravan park and kill him somehow”.

“Risky though,” put in Glenn, “but you’ll know what you’re doing”.

“I’m guessing there will be petrol round here somewhere. Glass bottles, and a rag,” he said, picking up the one that had been stuffed in the man’s mouth.

“Don’t forget matches or a lighter,” Glenn said, “and also, we’re going to have to do something with these horses”.

“Yes…yes we are,” said Sam, looking down at the man in chains.

“I think we have our experiment,” he said with a grin.

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The journey from the sanctuary to the caravan park was not straightforward. It was almost three miles, and with it being past midnight, most people were snug in their nests. The trail of light was precarious, and Herbie took a small torch, even though it was fairly useless. There were not many street lights, but some houses still had their lights on helping him slightly.

However, he made it, but the caravan park was in darkness mostly, with some caravans having night-lights. The one he sought did not have any lights, or sound. He could hear music coming from somewhere, and voices in the distance, so he knew he had to act quickly, and took out the Molotov cocktail from his pocket. He had discovered a box of matches and was soon lighting the rag.

The weapon sailed through the air and smashed a window. Herbie knew he could not stop and check that Kieran was dead, so would have to find out later.

He turned and ran back the way he had came. Not hearing the screams form the caravan.

After a while he stopped to regain his breath, and walked the rest of the way.

Kieran was woken by commotion outside, and soon, by a fire engine.

He joined the throng, and stared at the raging fire from the caravan he had previously been housed in for a few minutes. The screams from within had stopped.

Kieran did nothing as those around him were in panic mode, not really knowing what to do, but wanting to do something.

“Herbie,” he said quietly.

“I’ll give him a ring in the morning,” said Herbie, lounging on the bungalow sofa. “If he answers, well, we’ll just have to try again”.

“I’ll have a go,” said Kat.

“Thing is though. He won’t be in that caravan, so I don’t know where he is”.

“I’ll take a wander around. Nobody will take much notice of an old lady like me”.

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“They will if you murder him in cold blood”.

Kat nodded, smiling. “True. I don’t know how I would do it to be honest.

Maybe I’ll just go down and see if I can see him. Follow him until I can gauge where he’s staying”.

“If he does answer, maybe I could arrange a meeting. A meeting somewhere quiet so I can kill him”.

“Maybe you might need several of us there in case. More chances of killing him then”.

“Where though?” Herbie said, “where can we meet that means it would be safe to murder the fucker?”

“Boyds,” said Kat. “Invite him into the house”.

Bean-head handed Kieran a newspaper. Another local circular.

On page seven there was half a page devoted to:

‘Lost children of the suicide village’.

It went on to describe strange goings on, like children committing suicide after becoming lost. How their behaviour seemed rather different according to locals and other children. Even a child psychiatrist shot herself in the head because of the trauma the children went through. They thought it unusual. Was there some evil force within the fields causing this?

That was basically all it was.

Questions. No answers.

What was in those fields that maybe caused this?

Why did the children behave oddly? Interviews with their parents confirmed this.

Why did they make a suicide pact and hang themselves from a tree? Even though the consensus was they couldn’t take the trauma. People took that at face value. If that’s why they killed themselves, then that was that.

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Did they really kill themselves because of the trauma of getting lost? like they said in the note, or was there something deeper going on within those fields?

Were the children possessed?

Questions questions questions…

“This will attract more nutters,” said Bean-head. Kieran simply answered:

“Don’t call them that. We’re believers now aren’t we?” Bean-head looked solemn for a moment.

“Yes, I suppose we are”.

“And we need all the help we can get”. Kieran’s phone rang.

“I think it’s Herbie,” he answered. “Hello,” and he was sure he heard a muted

‘fuck’.

“Hi Kieran, nice to speak to you. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up. I’d like to discuss the children and, well you know, just catch up on things”.

“Catch up on things. What is there to say about the children?” Bean-head stood in front of him, wide-eyed, waving. ‘Meet up’ he mouthed several times. Kieran frowned, and put the phone on loud-speaker.

“Oh just stuff, nothing I want to discuss on the phone. Tell you what, how about we meet on the school playing field. You know where that is, right? and then we’ll take it from there. Talk about old times”.

“Old times? I’ve only known you for…” Bean-head waved frantically again, and pointed at the phone. ‘Meet up’.

“Alright,” Kieran said, “I’ll meet up with you and we can catch up”.

“That’s great, how about an hour?”

“Yes, fine”. The call was ended.

“Bean-head, why have I just agreed to meet up with one of the possessed who is trying to kill me? You’d better have a plan or I’m not meeting him”.

“I’ll come along, and maybe several others who will want to interview him, and I can ask his mother along”.

“So we’re going to ambush him”.

“Yep,”

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The sky was over-cast. Although the clouds were grey and ready to unleash, only slight spots of rain fell.

There was nobody on the field, as though the last child to kick a ball there was years ago. A slight wind blew a few dead leaves and a crisp packet, but nothing more.

Herbie emerged through the gap where the children took a shortcut and looked around. The school was quiet, resting after the pandemonium of the missing children, the worried parents and officialdom. It was taking a break before normalcy returned.

It didn’t seem like there were any eyes on him. So perhaps coming here to persuade Kieran to come back to Boyd’s house where Glenn, the military guy and Boyd the teenage boy were waiting with weapons, might not be necessary.

In his pocket he gripped a small paring knife from the bungalow kitchen, so could just kill Kieran now. Drag his body into the bushes, because not too many people will be asking questions. His auntie didn’t seem to care too much for him. Bean-head. Just a friend who may ask a few questions but not much more.

If he got the opportunity…but, however, the opportunity did not come, because although Kieran stepped through the gap, he wasn’t alone.

What the fuck? thought Herbie, loosening his grip on the weapon.

Bean-head came through, along with two strangers. One a woman who looked to be in her sixties.

“Herbie!” she shouted, “where have you been?” she came hurrying over, but before she got to him he glared at Kieran.

This is a fucking ambush, he thought.

He was hugged.

“Herbie, what happened?” she said, holding both his shoulders. He knew he needed to remain calm. His anger at Kieran was roiling deep within, but if he cracked now, chances are he wouldn’t be able to kill him, then he would be over-powered, the police would take him inside, and he may never get back to the others, who wouldn’t want him for bringing too much heat.

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Killing Kieran was not an option, but acting normal was in order to dissuade any suspicion.

This’ll be my mother, he thought, but he didn’t know Herbie’s personality, so guessed he would have to wing it.

No murdering Kieran. Dissuade the fuckers who want to ask questions, and get back to the others to remain hidden, but don’t let them follow you.

“Mother?” he said, as a question, “I’ve been…I’ve been a bit lost. I got…confused, because I went searching for those missing children, and…and, well I seem to have been affected by their trauma. I got memory loss and forgot where I lived. Been wandering round, but I’m alright now, I found a caravan camp,” he glanced at Kieran. “Found new friends, so I won’t be coming home anymore”.

“What, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said. Thank-you mother but I’ve moved on now”.

“Sorry,” put in Bean-head, “Herbie, no offence, but you’re the biggest mummy’s boy I’ve ever met. You dote on her and play fantasy detective up in your room. There’s no way you would ever move out”.

“Think you fucking know me?” Herbie said. His mother breathed in audibly.

“See,” said Bean-head, “she’s never heard you swear”.

“Well I’m all grown up now. I’ve moved out and that’s that”. His mother looked confused.

As though it wasn’t her son she was looking at.

The anger within him grew, but his mind screamed at him to reign it in..!

The other man, tall, thin with a red cap and T-shirt with knee-length shorts, holding a microphone then came across.

“Herbie, my name is Keith from the Weird Wales podcast, and I’d like to ask a few questions if I may,” he said, proffering the microphone.

“Yes, thanks to Kieran over there spreading his stupid beliefs to everyone who will listen,” said Herbie, “attracting people who believe in this nonsense”.

“You killed my brother and my parents”.

“Now that’s a very serious accusation”.

“Yes, it is,” said Bean-head to Kieran, “you’ll need evidence”.

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“When you get it,” said Herbie, putting both his wrists together as though he was about to be hand-cuffed, “come find me and take me down,” he said with a grin.

“Now, how does he seem different to you?” Keith said to his mother. “Is it a total change in personality? As though he is possessed by another person”.

“I’m standing here you know,” said Herbie, “and I’m not fucking possessed. I’m just moving on. You could say I’m maturing”.

“Why would they think that and not just think that you’re having mental issues?”

“When I went into those fields after the children, I felt a sense of despair because of what they went through”.

Suddenly Kieran couldn’t help himself:

“They were only gone for three fucking hours, that can’t cause what happened!”.

“Says the expert over there,” said Herbie. “Unless you know how the brain works, and lets be honest, no-one really does, then you have no idea. Even one minute of trauma can cause various negative effects in the brain with unknown long-term effects. If a child is walking past a house one day and an angry dog barks at the gate, then potentially that child will grow up into an adult with a fear of dogs. Any trauma in childhood can leave such in impression that the brain will ‘protect’ you for life by causing anxiety, fear, of whatever it is.

Getting lost causes a different type of fear. The belief that you will never find what you’re looking for. Unfamiliarity. The brain is afraid of the unknown, but when lost we are thrown into it, so therefore the brain goes into panic mode and wants to get out. To go back to familiarity. The trauma those kids went through was such that, perhaps somehow it left an impression out in those fields and someone went through this negative energy and it had an effect”.

“Sorry Herbie that’s bollocks,” said Bean-head.

“Prove me wrong. Not one person here, or anywhere else can disprove me.

There are plenty of stories of people being possessed, but has science ever confirmed it? No. You can document all you like and say it’s true, but has anyone really ever been possessed by a demon, or a ghost? Yes it can’t be disproved, but out of somebody being mentally ill, or possessed by a demon, which one of them is more likely? Exorcists just make things worse for the poor 172

fucker who is supposedly possessed. Who would you rather be seen by? A psychiatrist, or a believer who tries to drive out a ‘demon’?”

The podcaster went across to Kieran and put the microphone to him.

“If you could remind us why you believe Herbie and others to be possessed by pensioners”.

Herbie folded his arms and glared at Kieran.

“Seven children got lost when on outdoor pursuits. Three hours later they come back, traumatised by their ordeal, but they should go back to normal fairly quickly, but my brother Brett was one of them, and he told me they were kidnapped by seven pensioners. The kids then start acting older than their years.

Talking like adults. Then seven dead pensioners turn up in the place where the kids got lost. They transferred their souls. Killed Brett because he knew too much. He was adamant the other kids were kidnapped. I didn’t believe him at first but now I do. Then because those kids knew I was onto them, they ran back into the fields, not before trying to kill me and killing my parents. Then the bodies of those kids are discovered in those same fields”.

“Apparently they were all hanging from the tree next to the same clubhouse where the pensioners were found. So I heard anyway from a source of mine,”

Keith said. “There’s got to be something in that place. A suicide note said they were all traumatised by getting lost”.

“Which is bollocks,” said Bean-head. They all looked at him for a second but said nothing.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” said Kieran. “Those pensioners are transferring their souls. Probably they were normal people once, and then got possessed”.

“Yes,” Keith said, “that all cannot be a coincidence, but do you think there may be some negative energy within that clubhouse that may have something to do with it?”.

“Probably best to ask Herbie. He’s the one possessed”.

“Maybe you should just go there, you know. Take your cameras or whatever.

Careful you don’t become suicidal,” Herbie said.

“Where you suicidal in those fields?”

“The trauma of those children…”

“Lies,” put in Kieran, “they killed my brother to protect themselves. To remain hidden”. This cut to the heart of Herbie’s psyche, and he almost attacked and 173

killed Kieran there and then, but instead he held fire. If looks could kill, Kieran would be dead.

“I was so…fucking traumatised by those kids, and the accusations I’m getting.”

His eyes were still on Kieran.

“I wanted to kill myself, so I’m not going back in those fields. Sorry I can’t talk about it anymore, I’m not possessed, just traumatised”.

“Herbie..!” said his mother.

“Sorry mum, thanks for bringing me up and all that,” then he rushed to the exit, and never looked back as he vanished from sight, but his mother went after him, stopping at the entrance when she saw him running away in the distance, and turning a corner. Bean-head thought he would follow, but only got as far as his mother because Herbie had gone. The podcaster stood by them as well, microphone still in hand. Herbie’s mother grabbed it and said:

“That…was not my son”.

Herbie rushed a long way round back to Boyd’s in case he was being followed, and when he reached the road, looked all around him, paranoid, but eventually satisfied he entered the house. Glenn and Boyd were there in the kitchen wielding a sledgehammer and steak knife.

“No Kieran then,” said Glenn.

“Give me that fucking hammer,” Herbie said, and Glenn did.

Then he began to smash the place up.

“Fucking bastard!” he shouted as he laid into the walls, the table, the cupboards, the two bodies in the corner. The others left the room.

After a few minutes, they were sitting in the front room. Herbie had calmed down.

“It was a fucking ambush,” he said. “I arranged to meet Kieran and he shows up with others wanting to interview me to see if I’m possessed, and my fucking mother. So I just had to answer as best I could, make it seem like I was traumatised by the missing kids”.

“Ye,” said Boyd, “we need to kill that fucker. He’s turning up the heat on us, bringing in others. Fuckwits who believe in possession and want to talk to us.

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Once he’s gone, they’ll eventually disperse and forget about us”. The others agreed, and left to walk back up to the sanctuary.

Upon the approach to the gate, they saw a small truck with bales of tied-up hay, and a man thumbing a phone next to the open drivers door.

“Who the fuck is this?” Herbie said, as if the others knew.

“Can I help you?” Glenn asked.

“What’s going on here?” the man asked, wearing an overall that never seemed to have been washed and a stained bucket hat.

“I’m trying to ring Bill and he’s not answering. I need to deliver this hay and give him my invoice”.

“Well Bill’s not here,” Boyd said, “so take your straw and leave,” they made for the gate.

“I’m sorry excuse me. Where’s Bill? He’s a good friend of mine. I need to deliver the hay and give him my invoice”. Glenn stepped across to the man,

“Bill has left. Sold us the place. Not much of a friend if he didn’t tell you. Or maybe he was trying to get out of paying”.

The man pointed an authoritative finger at Glenn as if he was his father.

“Now, look here. I do not appreciate being spoken to like that. Now where’s Bill?” Glenn did not back down however, and removed from his jacket the hammer, although he did not wield it threateningly. He gripped it down at his side, but the man had clearly seen it.

“Bill sold us the place and left. We will not be requiring your service anymore, so kindly take your hay, and your invoice, and fuck off”. The man could see on Glenn’s face that he was serious, and that it would be best to get in his truck and leave, and write off any debt owed. They stared at each other for around five seconds, before the man slowly got back into the truck and reversed down the lane. Boyd, Herbie and Glenn stood and watched as the vehicle backed away, making sure it was leaving. As it turned out of sight, they entered the sanctuary.

When they were all together in the main lounge of the bungalow, Herbie recited again what happened.

“…so guess who turns up..?”

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Kat had been sitting on the sofa and stood up.

“I’m a dear old lady,” she said, “no-one’s going to pay much attention to me so I’ll go down to this caravan park and see what I can find. If I see Kieran, I’ll kill him if I get a chance. If not I’ll try and see where he’s staying”.

“Good,” said Glenn, “okay, so what are we doing with these horses?”

“Jordan,” said Sam, “I do seem to remember you used to be quite handy in the kitchen, so we’ll eat them, yes?” Jordan, rambler man shrugged.

“You kill ‘em I’ll cook ‘em”.

“So we’ve got four horses. One of them is the old white horse in that field.

Don’t eat that one. Let it out, or keep feeding it so it seems normal to the outside world. As for the others, we’ll kill ‘em when it’s time to eat, when we want horse meat, and I also know what the experiment is with that fucker in the garage. We’ll drag him into one of the stables and nail him to the wall. Then use a horse on him”.

“Use a horse on him? What does that mean?” asked Kat.

“You’ll see,” smiled Sam.

The following morning it was quite chilly. A fog had descended in the night, but dispersed by morning, so not many people knew of it.

Kat, previously Ian, was armed with a craft knife. Sharp and deadly. Good for quick throat cuts, which she intended to do to Kieran if she saw him.

On the way, she decided to walk around a longer way to pass by the house she had previously occupied with her depressed ‘mother’. She wasn’t sure why but decided to stop outside. The place was quiet, as though there was nobody in there. Maybe she had killed herself, Kat thought, and was lying dead, surrounded by pills.

Or maybe not. Curiosity caused her to knock on the door. After around twenty seconds, she heard movement, and the door opened. There she was, her

‘mother’.

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Kat was speechless for a few moments. She looked decent, almost happy. Was her complexion better than I remember it? she thought.

“I was just…wondering,” Kat said, thinking fast, annoyed with herself for not having thought of something to say before knocking. She just wanted to see her mother.

“I’m just wondering where the caravan park is. I hear there’s one around here”.

Her mother smiled and said:

“Oh yes, the caravan park. I’m sorry but you’re about 3 miles away. She pointed the way Kat had walked.

“Carry on down there. Turn right. Go all the way down until you reach the school. Turn left, and carry on past the shops, through the housing estate, down a path and you’re there”.

Kat simply nodded. She knew exactly where the place was. Herbie had drawn a map.

There was nothing else she could do or say except:

“Okay, thank-you”.

“You’re welcome,” said Kat’s ‘mother’, and closed the door.

“Bye,” Kat said, although it went unheard, and she followed the directions.

She was happy, Kat thought. She even looked better. Her son has gone.

…and she’s happier.

Fuck…seems I’m not very loveable, she thought with a smile, almost, but not quite disappointed that she wasn’t lying surrounded by pills, and seemed happier without Kat, or Ian.

As if she never wanted him in the first place.

Eventually Kat found herself standing outside the school, where normal service seemed to have resumed. It wasn’t playtime, but could see children through windows, and two teachers were discussing something on a piece of A4 paper one of them was holding at a doorway.

It was just a school day.

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She walked further out, into the small housing estate, no-one batting an eyelid, until she found herself at the entrance to the caravan park. There were a few students milling around, none of them glancing her way.

Okay, so he’s in here somewhere, she thought, walking along the path. She saw the blackened shell of the caravan where two students had burned.

Nothing like the sound of screaming students, Kat thought. It’s like music.

Still though, suppressing her urge to go around slashing at them all simply for her own entertainment, she walked on.

Posh fuckers thinking they’re so clever, she thought, quite jealous really, as a very long time ago, she used to be one.

Vocals and guitar entered her ears as she walked past one circle outside a caravan where a wavy-haired youth was playing, singing a balled. The others were rapt, swaying along.

Sod Kieran, this fucker will do, she thought with a grin. One student gazing into a phone, not looking where they were going was heading her way.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I’m looking for my grandson, his names Kieran, do you happen to know where he is?” the girl looked at her with a frown and gestured around.

“There’s loads of Kieran’s. I don’t know, I’m busy. Ask someone else,” and she went back to her phone, but Kat stood in her way. The girl looked up, slightly angry, but Kat said:

“I’ll allow that, but don’t you ever fucking speak to me like that again you little bint, okay? It won’t be good for your health,” and Kat carried on walking. The girl watched her, her anger converting to fear, and she too walked on, but much quicker.

She asked another student, but he seemed spaced out, looking around for Kieran, even though Kat never knew he’d never met him, and that he’d had magic mushrooms and hashish baked in cookies.

“Don’t…know,” he shrugged. Kat moved on, and after a few more minutes asked another student who was stood on a corner, attention on a phone as his thumb typed.

“Excuse me dear, I’m looking for my grandson Kieran, you don’t happen to know where he is do you?” the student said nothing, just nodded further down the path to the last caravan.

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Kat walked on, and outside the caravan were several students lounging around, and two in deck-chairs.

Bean-head and Kieran.

They were all simply chatting.

Now what? Kat thought. She decided to slow down, not having a phone she could pretend to look at so walked slower, casual, past them, eyeing Kieran as she went.

No chance of killing him now. Too exposed. Even if she ran at him with the blade. Or if she walked up to him to ask him something and quickly slashed his neck, then her exit out of here was unlikely. Half these students were probably athletic, or boxed, or did cage-fighting. A dear old lady trying to escape stood no chance.

Further on down, she came to another gated entrance, then turned and wandered back, eyeing them once more.

Kat knew she could not double back again, because anyway, she knew where he was and could tell the others, so wandered away.

Bean-head though, was watching her.

“Kieran, that woman…”

“Yes,” he said, “she looked totally out of place. I think she was one of the other possessed, and now she knows where I live”.

“I’m going to follow her,” Bean-head continued, “and yes, I know…be careful”.

Kieran was about to warn him, but the words got to the back of his tongue before they were stopped.

“I’m not going to do anything. I just want to know where she goes”.

“I can’t stop you,” said Kieran. “I’d like to come with you, but, you know, they’ll try and kill me”.

“Herbie once tried to tell me a load of espionage tricks. To be honest he just wittered on and I just let him. Maybe something about tailing someone will have sunk in”.

…but the words at the back of Kieran’s mouth were simply paused, and now played:

“Be careful. I just can’t help but say it, because maybe now you’re a target as well. Herbie wasn’t expecting us and I don’t think he was happy about it”.

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“I’ll just follow her. See where she goes, and that’s it. She should lead me to the others”.

“and if they see you?”.

“I’ll be careful”, then he left, and hurried along, spotting the woman as she left the caravan park.

Kieran realised again with a heavy sigh, he would have to move to another caravan.

It was fairly easy to tail her, keeping fifty plus yards away. Kat didn’t walk all that fast, and Bean-head found himself gaining sometimes, but slowed down.

She was unaware, and never looked back once.

After ten minutes, Bean-head doing a sterling job of tailing, even having his mobile phone in his pocket to whip out to stare at should he need to, but so far he hadn’t.

Kat turned into a tar-mac pathway that gradually sloped up, which led to the horse sanctuary and nowhere else.

The horse sanctuary, thought Bean-head. He watched as she walked beyond a curve, out of sight.

He knew he couldn’t just walk up there, but there was a place he could observe from.

The path running along the back of the field behind the sanctuary. It was there he headed, about a two-mile walk, but he did it, and stopped to hold onto the locked gate leading into the field with the white horse.

He clambered over, and stumbled into mud, but stood up properly, saw an empty white bath across to his left, and walked a few feet further. If they looked closely from the sanctuary, they could perhaps spot a blurred figure, but Beanhead felt fairly safe up here, looking down in the open space at the back. The garage, the stables, the white horse standing in the far corner.

Three people in the back-yard, talking. They were small, unfocused, but one of them was the woman he’d been following.

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A minute later, the back door to the sanctuary shop/reception opened and out walked Herbie. He went across to the others and joined them. They walked and talked their way to the stables.

“Herbie,” Bean-head muttered. “There you are”.

Kieran was shrugging on his jacket when a shadow came to the entrance.

A teenage boy entered. Nothing unusual. A teenage boy who could pass for a student. A teenage boy by the name of Boyd.

There was another student sat at the kitchen table, half-asleep.

“Hello Kieran,” Boyd said, approaching, “fucking die cunt,” and slashed him across the cheek with the box-cutter. He was aiming for his throat, but Kieran had flinched away. Boyd then shoved him hard so he fell down and raised the knife, advancing with pure venom and hate in his eyes. He wasn’t just going to kill Kieran. He was going to annihilate him, and threw himself down to try and stab him, but Kieran lifted both his feet and kicked him hard in his chest, making him collapse to the floor. He knew he had precious few seconds to get up and out of there, which he did, stepping over Boyd, who made to slash his leg as he went. He ripped fabric and a ‘paper-cut’ on his calf.

Kieran rushed out of the caravan, clutching his bleeding face. A group of girls were chatting along the path when they saw him approach.

“Help…he’s trying to kill...” They just stared. Boyd left the caravan and approached. He had put the weapon in his pocket, but knew killing him now was impossible, so simply pointed at Kieran.

“Don’t forget, you need to pay back what you owe,” then stormed away.

“Did he slash you for that?” one of the girls said, not really expecting an answer.

Boyd hurried. Other students were glancing at him. He had become suspicious to them, then decided to break into a run to the entrance. He rushed on by Bean-181

head, not looking at him as he didn’t know who he was, and he neared the school before stopping for breath.

Nobody was following him.

Ten minutes later he was entering the sanctuary, walking around the back to the yard where the garage door was open to around four feet. The light was on inside even though it was daytime.

He entered and found Glenn, the military guy at the counter going over tools.

He was holding a hammer and was rummaging through a box of nails.

“Fucking Kieran,” said Boyd, putting the box-cutter on the side. Glenn simply nodded.

“What happened?”

So Boyd told him, still red-faced, exasperated, walking around the garage like a caged animal, kicking the chained man in the ear twice causing a muffled cry.

“Alright, Glenn said, “I suppose it’s down to me”.

Kieran was sat in a deck-chair with three student nurses fussing over him, stitching his cheek which was still bleeding.

Bean-head stood nearby, watching, waiting for them to finish, then just sat on the grass, watching across the way a girl practicing hula-hoop.

“Thanks girls, I really appreciate it,” Kieran said, then his shadow loomed over Bean-head, who stood up.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Kieran said with exasperation, “I’ll put everyone in danger, and they’ll keep coming back”.

“Where will you go?” asked Bean-head.

“I just need to hide. They know I’m here so I need to vanish completely”.

Bean-head casually looked along the path, back towards the village, and saw another person who would not usually look out of place in a caravan park, but to Bean-head, he was.

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“Fuck,” he muttered, “Kieran…” who saw the man also and came to the same conclusion as Bean-head, who looked back at him and hissed:

“Run!”

So Kieran did.

Glenn was walking along the path when he saw in the distance somebody running suspiciously away. Somebody that looked like…

Kieran.

Fuck, he thought, he’s onto me, dropping his ruck-sack full of weapon tools, rummaging quickly to find a claw-hammer and the box-cutter knife.

All thoughts of remaining hidden, killing him discreetly, went out of the window at that moment. Kieran needed to die, and there he was, running away, and here he was, about 80 metres away. 82…85.

So common-sense in exposing the others should he be caught and not kill Kieran did not enter his mind. He simply saw Kieran in the distance and in the heat of the moment screamed: “Kieran..!” and ran after him.

Some students stopped and stared. Bean-head stepped onto the grass, and did nothing as Glenn rushed by, head down, fear coursing through him.

However, fear did not course through one student who read the situation further down and stepped by Glenn to trip him up. He crashed to the gravel path.

“Somebody call the police,” the youth shouted, a reedy individual in a loose T-shirt, not the type who would normally take on the likes of Glenn, but fear was not as present as it was in most people. He was quite a confident individual anyway, but two years ago when he was in a college play, he felt stage fright, and began a course of Xanax tablets to alleviate his anxiety. Since then, he had always taken two a day, and of course deluded himself into thinking he could come off them anytime he liked.

Now he was the have-a-go hero of the caravan park, stopping Kieran from being attacked.

Glenn quickly got to his feet, red-faced with sheer anger and stepped back to the student who pointed at him an accusing finger.

“Now, you can’t just…” Glenn swung the hammer and it cracked into his fore-head, and stuck there. He sent the box-cutter into his throat, ripping it away, and 183

wrenching the hammer out of his broken skull. Then he was shoved hard and collapsed back. Glenn looked back just in time to see Kieran vanish out of sight.

As he began to run again, he did so to the sound of screams.

Kieran pounded the pavement because his life depended on it. Away from the maniac. He was never a fit person anyway, but sometimes the human body stepped up to the plate and delivered when necessary.

Alongside the wall of a golf club he ran, looking back to see Glenn gaining on him. Seventy metres. Across a main road where one car was stopped at a light.

Over a bridge, alongside the railings of a train station.

Fifty metres.

That was when he heard a beeping, but his mind was focused on running, and not being killed, so he didn’t know that it was his ankle tag. He was out of his inclusion zone.

Still he continued, alongside the car-park of a supermarket. His mind did think however, that because he was now entering a more populated area, the man may stop because he may get caught, but a quick glance behind told him that was wrong.

Glenn was gaining. Thirty metres. Kieran was slowing down with exhaustion, and the beeping continued.

Across another main road where two cars screeched to a halt, one sounding the horn. Along a row of shops he jogged, breathing heavily.

Then more car horns as Glenn crossed the road to twenty metres.

…and the beeping of Kieran’s monitoring tag.

…and the sound of police sirens coming closer. So close in fact that a patrol car pulled up to the kerb where Kieran had never been so relieved to see one.

Glenn immediately stopped. He was wearing a jacket, so stowed away the box-cutter, and stuffed as best he could the hammer away out of sight inside. He watched Kieran with pure hatred.

The car window was buzzed down, and a policeman who looked like he had passed retirement age looked at Kieran.

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“Good job I was on patrol in the area. I think you’re out of your jurisdiction young man,” he said, nodding to his ankle which Kieran was now aware of. He smiled with relief down at it.

“I’m going to need to take you in. Get in please”. Kieran didn’t hesitate.

“Thank-you,” he said, looking back at Glenn, who was now walking away, hunched over, nonchalant. Just an ordinary guy.

Kieran got into the back seat, relieved. Tonights bed was settled.

When the car drove by Glenn, they made eye contact. The venom was still there in the man’s eyes, and then contact was broken.

Kieran decided not to make a scene. To not say that that man is trying to kill me, as he still might try and kill him being so close. He just wanted to be away.

Safe. Back to the best place for him. A jail cell.

He texted Bean-head on the way to the same police-station he had been to previously to say he was staying back in the holding cells, as his phone would be taken away once there.

Also, when he did arrive, he thought perhaps more red-tape could possibly let him go.

Well this is your first violation, so we’ll give you a warning. You’re free to go.

So he made sure he would spend at least a few nights here, because when he got out of the car with the policeman at the station, Kieran punched him in the face.