Read Black Cat Tales: Where the Spiders Dwell: And Other Short Stories Page 9

blade. He gurgled a throaty string of syllables as the blood fell in a scarlet waterfall down the front of his t-shirt and jacket mixing with the vital fluids pouring from his wrist and pooling horribly on the white tiled floor.

  Sebastian was still screaming as Sammy stepped over to him and pulled him towards her. He struggled still panicked and she held him tightly to her chest burying his face so he would not have to look at the dying intruder or the blood splattered around the kitchen. After a few moments his muffled screaming grew quieter and Sammy stroked the back of his head, all the while never taking her eyes off the man in front of her. He was on the floor now between the pine table and cupboard doors still twitching and showering her immaculate kitchen units with scarlet raindrops. Sebastian shouldn’t have to witness any of this. She could feel him whimpering still, struggling in her arms. For a moment, no doubt ignited by the sudden violence of a moment ago, Sammy’s dark side rose up again and she wondered what it would be like if she didn’t let Sebastian go; if she continued to hold him like this, slowly suffocating?

  No! What was she thinking? She told herself firmly and the thought vanished.

  Sammy released Sebastian who stared up at her startled. His teary eyes appeared even larger than they were before.

  “Don’t worry” Sammy told him quickly leading the young boy back out into the hallway and away from the horrors of the kitchen. “I’ll soon have all this cleaned up”.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked between racking sobs.

  “I don’t know” Sammy sighed as she picked Sebastian up and carried him back into his room feeling calmer than she thought she should be after what had just happened. “You know what” she said and was surprised by the cheerful tone to her voice. “This reminds me of what my mum used to tell me: She would always say that the forest is not a safe place to go on your own: Anyone could be waiting for you out there”.

  “You could cook him and eat him up?” Sebastian offered, looking up at her with imploring eyes.

  Sammy couldn’t help smiling at the innocence of childhood. “Don’t be silly” she chided. “He’d be all tough and grisly. “No, I prefer the soft tender meat, of little children”.

  Sebastian began crying again and Sammy had to hold him down firmly on the bed as she retied the ropes around his wrists and ankles. She did double knots so this time he wouldn’t get free again. Then she closed the door, shutting out his sobs and went back up to the kitchen to clean up the unsightly mess and finish preparing his older sister for her stew.

  She needed to take notice of her Mum’s advice: There were dangers in the forest and she’d have to be more careful next time or other people may come to her cottage looking for their lost children.

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  Nine: Apocalypse

  Tom wasn’t aware that he’d dozed off, so when his mobile phone abruptly rang he was jolted awake with a start, almost spilling his glass of milk with a clumsy jerk of his arm. He set the milk on the floor and the phone warbled some more with the tinny electronic version of Handle’s Messiah. As he came more fully awake he saw it was Tara who was ringing him and he suddenly felt very uneasy as he tentatively pressed the ‘Answer’ button.

  “Tom? It’s me, they’re outside! They’re all over the town” his fiancé’s voice was frantic, charged with emotion as she gulped down air. “They’ve surrounded the store and they’re trying to get in” Tara continued breathlessly. “We’ve locked the doors but we’re trapped inside. You need to get help”. In the background the incoherent shouting and banging made it sound as if she was phoning from the assembly line of some factory rather than Tesco’s Express. Somewhere amidst the chaos in the backdrop Tom heard the distinctive sound of glass shattering. Tara went quiet as someone nearby screamed loudly. He scooped up his glass of milk again and got up from the sofa, wondering what to do. There had to be something she could do to help herself. Tara said something else which he didn’t catch; he was now deep in thought. As a natural introvert his ability to direct his focus inwards was second nature to him. This was a time for action he realised and he needed to think about what form any potential action would take.

  Tara suggested “Shall I go the toilets and lock myself in there? Send help, Tom. Get someone down here to help us. Tom? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes” he replied scratching his head and trying not to sound as flustered as he now felt. The way she was going on wasn’t helping his concentration at all and made it very hard to think.

  “I’ll find someone. Err, just calm down and hang on, OK”.

  Tara hung up allowing Tom a few minutes to pace the lounge in meaningful contemplation. He needed to consider what to do. If he just ran on in there he could fall victim to the infected masses himself and needlessly risking his own health wouldn’t help anyone. No, this situation required some careful planning because right now he had no ideas about how to help Tara. He looked at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the TV, hoping to find inspiration looking back at him.

  Some people said he was old for his age, but beneath his shirt and tie he was just an ordinary twenty two year old who liked to look smart for all occasions. He started at himself through his large square spectacles. His neat hair was carefully combed over at the side in a way that some people found amusing, for some reason which he didn’t understand.

  Tom wasn’t meant to be in risky situations like this; it wasn’t what he was good at. Throughout his life he had always been careful to avoid risks, never sticking his head up above the parapet. At work he was a low paid clerk for an insurance company. He may only be on a temporary contract and if he kept his head down they would continue to extend his contract. The biggest challenges he faced each day was the risk of the photocopier running out of paper and he was more than capable of managing those situations. This however, was entirely different.

  What did Tara expect him to do? He and Tara went to church every Sunday and always said his prayers so why was this happening to him?

  From outside the flat he could now hear the shouting, cheering and ranting of crowds of people, or what used to be people. Now they were just mindless creatures; the inebriated masses, the walking drunk, the un-sober. These were some of the labels that had been attributed to those who had succumbed to the mysterious virus that was spreading around the world.

  How had the virus reached Bournemouth so quickly? He wondered. How had it been allowed to spread so far? Surely the authorities should have stopped it ages ago. Tom scratched the back of his head again as he struggled to work out the genesis of the apocalypse. The trouble was no one knew where the virus came from, how it spread or even how to stop it. No doubt someone would find a cure soon and then life could go back to normal again.

  The first reports started coming in a couple of weeks ago with news items about people suddenly acting as if they were intoxicated through drinking too much alcohol. Not having any personal experience of being drunk, he didn’t know what that was like. He didn’t even drink the communion wine at church. Tom didn’t like the taste and he couldn’t understand how people could enjoy drinking the foul stuff and then acting like complete morons all night. It was all a little baffling to him.

  In the beginning the initial cases of infection were just a humorous news story but as it quickly spread and whole towns and cities became over-run with the disinhibited and people started to panic. The first reported cases in the UK came through a couple of days ago with unconfirmed outbreaks up in Scotland. The reports were unable to be verified and the government urged people to carry on as normal and to continue to go about their everyday lives. Tom and Tara had been happy to do this. Tom though, had not been into work for the last two days because work was on the far side of town and if something happened while he was at work, he wouldn’t be able to get back home again. Therefore it was safer and sensible for him to stay off. Fortunately, Tara worked at Tesco Express and that was just down the road from their flat. So sh
e could carry on working, get the shopping and come back home again without incident, or so they had thought.

  Yesterday the television stations lost control. Tom had switched on the telly to hear the find out the latest news regarding the plague but he was dismayed by what he saw. ITV News showed a news reader slumped over his desk fast asleep and snoring loudly. Tom’s hopes briefly rose when he turned to Sky News where a breaking story was coming ‘live’ from Westminster. But his optimism was quickly dashed as he saw that even the government had succumbed to the plague. The Home Secretary stood in the House of Commons delivering an impassioned speech about Roger Moore being the best James Bond, ever. Only to be jeered by the rowdy opposition who appeared to favour Sir Sean Connery. Even the ever dependable BBC was over-run with the un-sober. A dishevelled-looking, Nicholas Wittchell was standing at the gates of Buckingham Palace brandishing a mobile phone. Addressing the camera he was struggling to keep a straight face, trying not to laugh as his expression slowly creased in amusement. A few moments later and his self-control failed causing him to double over in a burst of hysterics. The sight of the distinguished, reporter was so incongruous that Tom could not turn away. Somewhere off