The man who was

Instinct; it's the only thing that kept him alive for this long. It told him when to abandon the job and when to pull the trigger. It had saved his life numerous times, so why didn't it warn him this night?

Never keep a routine, never be predictable:  that was a sign of carelessness, and even after five years of anonomised retirement those were two rules he still lived by. The only thing he did which was even remotely relatable was buy himself a dog. Bill was a bulldog that had seen better days, but then so had he. There was a mutual dislike at first sight which grew to respect and then to loyalty. He took a lot of training and it was his guess that whoever had owned Bill before had lacked the discipline.

Walking Bill was one of the few concessions he allowed himself; it gave him a sense of enjoyment and he'd also spent a long time learning from Bill. Although his sense of smell was nowhere as acute as the dog's he was surprised at how much he could now pick up for himself.

Walking Bill also gave him the chance to reconnoitre the area. Bill needed a good long walk which suited him fine, so he took a different quarter at a time. He varied the times that he left for the walk, varied his routes and speed of pace as well as the duration of the walk.

He possessed a photographic memory and noted everything that was happening in the neighbourhood. He bought every local newspaper to keep up to date on any crimes -anything that could be used if eventualities permitted.

He had to be ready for anything and he thought that he was. He'd honed his skills, but had he, in fact, become sloppy? What else could have explained what happened next?

He was going to take route Q2P24 but changed his mind at the last minute. He was getting sentimental in his old age – there were some woods near his house and a family of badgers had recently made it their own. Course, Bill would have to be kept on a leash but everyone needs to be reined in once in a while.

It was getting dark but there were still good visibility and the leaves on the woodland floor acted as an effective early warning system. Bill was enjoying himself, lots of scent trails to engage him but he kept looking up at the man in an attempt to coerce him into letting go of the leash. “Not a chance.” the man thought. Bill resided himself to take a piss instead.

The hand holding the leash exploded in crimson and bone before he even heard the crack of the shot. Even with the suppressor the sound was still deafening in the dusk.

He didn't think about the pain, didn't even think about Bill or how someone had managed to sneak up on him, he dived out of the way as the next three bullets thudded in to the ground where he had been standing.

The shot that killed Bill was more of an afterthought, perhaps calculated to enrage him so he'd make a mistake. But the man who was Quicksilver didn't make mistakes -up until now. There was nothing he could do for Bill -the moment the first shot had been fired he only had thoughts for one thing, his own survival and nothing had changed.

He checked his surroundings; lucky old man, he'd leapt into a bracken thicket which gave him more than enough cover. The light had dimmed to a murky grey which made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front. He just hoped that whoever it was didn't possess an infrared sight or goggles. The fact that he was still alive was perhaps proof that they didn't. Either that or he was being toyed with,

He had to assess the situation, work on the supposition that there were no infrared sights in the equation, otherwise he might not make the night.

Carefully he checked his right hand. The last three fingers had been almost completely shot off and his index finger had a chunk taken out of it. Blood was throbbing out of the stumps. Not great and without medical attention he could die but for the time being he had to make a temporary tourniquet. He took the cotton handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, found two sturdy twigs to splint the mess together and bound his hand up the best he could. It would do -he would survive though... but it had been Bill's weak bladder that had saved him.

There had been no trace of anyone remotely near them -he would've sensed them, surely. The gunman had used four bullets already but there was no telling how many spare clips he held. He was far from unarmed though, always carrying his piece with him. The Glock was fairly unobtrusive and more than enough to do the trick, but he was disadvantaged by having to shoot left-handed, but there was no way that anyone could sneak up on him now. They couldn't see more than a few feet in front of them so they'd have to come in close for a kill. Either that or they'd wait him out -allow him to make the first move and pick him off at their leisure. The third option was that they'd given him up for a lost cause, but that was a risk that he couldn't afford to make. If he could last the night then he would make sure that someone paid.

With practice and will power one can accomplish anything. Lying absolutely still upon damp woodland as the temperature drops whilst all manner of bugs and creeping things snack on your blood is just such a skill, made even easier when the threat of death is the only other alternative, he thought.

For all he knew, he was completely alone in the woods; the would-be assassin long gone but it was obvious that this guy was a professional, and even though he could see shit out there it would still be possible to be picked off by sound alone. One would only have to get the general vicinity and then human psychology would do the rest. He couldn't take the risk, he'd have to wait until daybreak; at least then he might have more of a fighting chance.

His fingers throbbed sickeningly. He'd been injured worse than this, for sure, so he wasn't worried, but this was his dominant hand. Shooting left-handed wouldn't normally be too much of an encumbrance, but with this person he needed every edge he could muster. He had to ignore the pain and concentrate on what he knew and what he could surmise.

This person was good; a professional. It would be pointless to guess at their identity or even their gender. In his time he'd known too many female assassins, playing on their obvious assets to get the job done -disguising the fact that they were just as deadly, if not more so, than their male counterparts. He'd almost been caught out twice himself in the early days. The second time had almost been his demise but she had stupidly let her guard down and had paid the price.

Was that it – revenge? Never underestimate the half-life of revenge. It goes dormant, waiting for the right time to strike. It's more dangerous once the triggering emotions die down and then cold hard logic seeps in. That's how some people became contract killers in the first place -the kill; that feeling of release takes over from the initial desire for revenge, and, like any drug, the first hit is always the sweetest. It takes many more hits to get that initial pay off and then you're hooked.

But it hadn't been that way for him though.

The man had no qualms and no illusions about why he'd become a killer. He was good at it. He had morality and knew the difference between right and wrong, but he just didn't let it get in the way of his job. He tried to think about all the people who could've called out such a hit and it didn't take him long to run down the list of potential suspects -they were all dead. He'd made certain of that before he retired.

Very few people had known of his true identity; the only people to connect his alias with his face were his targets and they never told. He had always prided himself on his anonymity, always dealing through proxy addresses and dummy names. He'd had enough sense to study acting as well, and could disguise himself when necessary; nor had he allowed himself to get too close to anyone.

He was cold, ruthless and efficient and that was how he lasted for so long. No emotional attachments.

The hours had crawled by and the sun was starting to rise. He felt that the time had come for him to make a decision. Was he going to move now or wait a bit longer? There was a mist issuing forth from the ground which could provide him with an extra edge if he used it correctly. In another hour the light would be stronger and he would stand out like the Pope in a whore house. The trick would be in getting up slowly so that he disturbed as little of the undergrowth as possible -the mist would make it harder for anyone to get a bead on him.

He could feel the cold damp cramp protest as he edged himself up. The temptation was to make a run for it but the noise would alert anyone in the vicinity, so it took him five minutes to stand upright and inch himself back on to the path. There was Bill still lying where he'd been shot -at least it had been a clean kill. Damn, Bill had been the one luxury, the one sentimental chink in his armour; well, that would learn him (if he got a second chance).

Even when he was walking back to his house he took it slow, tried to make himself as casual as possible, even going so far as to walk slightly hunched over, with a limp, so his silhouette didn't look like him.

He was conscious of every movement around him; every noise, no matter how small. Even when he got to his front door he still wouldn't allow himself to relax; that had been the biggest mistake of his; he had grown complacent and had almost paid the price for it.

Now it was somebody else's turn to pay.

He bathed and tended his hand as best he could. He couldn't afford to waste time at a hospital but allowed himself a few hours’ sleep. He had learned to switch off; a skill that had served him well and led to many nights rest. Too many people could not switch off and they either went mad or got sloppy.

But it was when he woke that the questions really started. Two really: Who had tried to kill him and who had called in the hit? Both were hard to figure. He had not kept any contacts to his old life so didn't know who was still operating. They were good, maybe even as good as he used to be. True, they had missed, but could that have been deliberate? Was this part of a psychological vendetta? To make him paranoid before killing him?

He despised that approach; he didn't want to think of people unduly suffering; his kills were always quick and clean. So who was alive that could have called it in? No one to his knowledge and he'd certainly not made any waves in his new life to prompt anyone to go down such a route. A hitman was a very costly vendetta -extortionate, actually. It wasn't that a human life was expensive, but making it look like an accident or making it untraceable was difficult. Killing someone was the easy part. No one he knew could afford that kind of money surely?

He had three choices as he saw it. One: Run. He could easily disappear again. He'd left a fake trail that no one could follow. No one had managed to trace him back to his old life so he could do it again.

Two: Ignore it. There was the slightest possibility that he had been mistaken for somebody else. It had been known, bizarrely enough.... but that was the kind of thinking that would lead to his death.

The only option that was left to him was to find out who was responsible. That meant taking his life apart person by person. There were two people who thought that they were close to him, and one person at work who had proven to be a trouble maker; so it was with them that he would start.

This was going to be a nasty process, one that there was no going back from and he had to be prepared to go all the way. There was no resurrecting his cover from this; once it was over he would have to start again... but he had to be sure.

The key to any hit was detail. One had to know everything about the target, down to the last detail: it was all relevant. The man had been an excellent researcher in his time and he'd lost none of that skill. He'd managed to develop detailed background checks on all his so called friends -call it paranoia, but it was another of the reasons he was still alive.

He'd worked at the same firm for five years now and had managed to stay firmly in the background. He was a financial advisor and neither over-performed nor missed his targets. He knew enough about psychology to be an effective salesman without being too pushy. His clients trusted him and saw him as a straight shooter (one lady had actually called him that, drawing a thin ironic smile from him.).

Most of his work colleagues paid little notice of him, all except one: Simon Jimson. Simon was a Welshman of no mean repute; he was one of the top sellers and could net women with the same skills. He seemed to take an interest in the man's affairs from almost the first month; on the first training session he made jokes about other forms of retirement, something that seemed deliberately aimed at him.

Simon was way too popular to be made an example of ; too many questions would be raised if he was found dead. He couldn't afford that kind of heat, so it was far better to avoid him, which wasn't that difficult as they lived over 200 miles apart and only met up three times a year. But now was the time for answers. Simon seemed to know something and there was going to be no fucking about now.

It was a four hour trip to get to Simon's house, and it took another hour to ensure that he was alone, but the first shot had been worth it; he took a perverse pleasure from it.

The knock on the door had led to a surprised look on Simon's face, quickly followed by horror as two rounds of suppressed gun fire tore chunks out of his left leg. The man pushed Simon as he fell and closed the door swiftly behind him -the whole thing had taken less than a minute.

“You know who I am.. or at least, what I am.” He said quietly. Simon had managed to keep himself from screaming from the pain but could only spasmodically nod. “How?”

“Conspiracies...  I'm into conspiracies... followed your career for years.”

“Again, how? I've been careful.”

“Too... too careful.” Simon replied, sweating profusely now. “Your M.O. was too perfect, you took no risks. Your nickname was the Immaculate Conception, believe...believe it or not.. because every job you took was immaculate. There's a whole sub-culture of us who are into contract killers as others are into... trains... We swap statistics like top-trumps.”

“I'm not a fucking card game, Simon -someone took a shot at me and I want to know who.”

Horror was quickly followed by disbelief on his face as Simon understood what was happening.

“But who could take you? You think... you think it's me?”

“Who.... have... you.. told?”

“Swear.. I swear. I've told no one.” The man bent over and pushed his gun into the wounds on Simon's leg. Simon screamed.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Ran background check on you... was too good.”

“Why?”

“Like to know who my competitors are – good salesmanship.”

“Go on.”

“You'd taken such pains to make out that you were an average person... but you.. you're not. Nothing about you is average. You're always aware, your body mannerisms; it's like your hunting. Your KPI's are always just right -oh, you play the odds but it's obvious that you're capable of so much more. I had suspicions right from the start and … built up from there.”

The man smiled despite himself -this womanising, washed-up Welshman had done what he thought impossible and in any other circumstances he might even have admired him.

“Who else have you told?” He prodded the wound again.

“Fuck you! Who would have believed me? I'm a good salesman, but not that good!”

Simon had a point; he was a blabbermouth but knew how to keep the important stuff secret. If he had spoken to anyone before then the attack would've happened far sooner.

“It's your lucky day, Simon.”

“You going to let me go?”

“No, you're going to be taken out by the Immaculate Conception -out of retirement for the last time. You were right after all.” The bullet was swift; no point in inflicting any further pain, that wasn't his style.

On the drive home he was cursing. How had he been found out? Had he been that sloppy in his life? By being so cautious had he really created another M.O. (Something that he had tried so desperately to avoid.) He was confident that Simon hadn't told anyone else, but if he had figured it out.... He only had two places left to visit but he had to make it quick -luckily it was now Sunday morning so surprise was on his side.

Part of him didn't want to go through with this -it meant killing two people he almost cared about. His partner and is 'best friend'.

He'd met Louise in a bar in his first week. He'd visited it to get a feel for the locals, not to enter into a relationship with anyone, but she had made it too easy. Five years had passed like months and he had almost trusted her enough to move in together. She was sweet and gullible and just wanted to believe the best about people; she swallowed his lies easily.

She wasn't at home when he called, so he broke in using the key he copied from when they first met up. It looked like she had been gone the whole weekend, but where? She hadn't spoken about making any plans.

Then a note on her calendar for Saturday and Sunday: Matthew and a smiley face. That bitch! He couldn't believe that she would do such a thing. Matthew was supposed to be best friends with him. Well, no matter -it was all going to be over anyway and this way would be much quicker.

It was a short drive and easy enough to break into Matthews flat and, and as he thought, they were still in bed together; it was almost touching.

He had to be careful, too much noise would alert the neighbours. He had a roll of duct tape and some cable ties with him from the car. They were both lying on their backs which made things slightly easier. He quickly rolled out a long strip and leapt on to the bed, fastening the tape to their mouths in one swift motion.

When Matthew awoke he gasped soundlessly and the man swiftly elbowed him in the stomach before cutting the tape between them and pinned Matthew to the bed. Louise was awake now but too scared to move so he could roll her onto her front and secure the cable tie to her wrists before moving back to Matthew.

When the ties were firm he ripped the tape from Matthews mouth in one swift motion nearly taking the skin from his lips.

“Do you know who I am?” He hissed.

“You fucking kidding me? I knew you'd find out eventually.”

“Find out what?”

“About us? What do you think? I said that we were taking too many risks but she said nooooo -you know what I think? I think she wanted you to find out. Well, congratulations, bitch -he found out!” The man slammed his fist into Matthews nose before securing another swathe of tape across his mouth and nose.

He pulled Louise off the bed and dragged her into the bathroom whilst Matthew struggled to breathe. Once she was inside he turned back into the bedroom and looked at the panicking body. “You should've treated her better.” He said before shooting Matthew through the heart.

Back in the bathroom Louise had managed to wake up from her stupor and tried to scream when he walked in, shutting the door casually behind him. She stood by the toilet, trapped and cowering. She looked so vulnerable that a small part of him wanted to just hold her, but that could never happen again. He thought of Matthew and just lashed out, slamming her into the bath, her head hitting the wall, knocking her cold. He relieved himself in the toilet whilst pondering what to do.

He didn't want to overly hurt her but equally he needed to know what she knew. Basely, he also wanted to know why she cheated on him; for some reason it mattered to him.

The cold water woke her up but he splashed two more cup full's on her to make sure. When she calmed down enough he talked to her.

“Do you know who I am? Who I really am?” She shook her head, terrified. “Talk to me!” He shouted.

“No.. No, I don't.. I swear.”

“Have you ever spoken to Simon?”

“The Welsh twat? No.. why should I? Why would I talk to him?”

She was right, there was no reason but he had to be sure. He took the pair of scissors that sat on the vanity shelf and pondered using them.

Her eyes followed his and seemed to immediately understand. A thin trickle of liquid ran down her leg. He needed no further proof and sighed. But if not her, then who? Who knew so much about him? He turned to leave. He knew that he had to kill her but couldn't; but equally he needed to know why she'd cheated on him.

“Why him, Louise? Why Matthew?” She looked at him firmly now, free of fear and all meekness gone.

“He's everything you're not: caring, understanding. Do you ever really see me? See what's become of me? You care nothing about no one; nothing touches you. You're nothing but a cold blooded machine – a nothing!” A single bullet stopped her, he couldn't bare to hear any more; and what was worse was... she was right.

Back at home.. but home no longer. People would come looking for him now, police. He had to be gone, as far away as he could manage. It would take less than ten minutes to pack and erase his presence from the place. He always kept emergency suitcases for just this eventuality.

When he'd finished and wiped his fingerprints from everything he found a piece of paper sticking out of his letterbox. Two words, in familiar handwriting that he just couldn't place.

“Nymans 10pm.”

Nymans Gardens was a National Trust property on the outskirts of town where he'd taken Bill for many walks; he knew the place well. Tonight was different though, he needed answers. He'd hid in the woods during closing time and at nine he started prowling the grounds. There had been no specified place to meet so this was to be a showdown... well, he was going to be ready.

He took the path that led straight to the house; two tall hedges stood either side making a narrow corridor. He hugged the left side and made himself as small a target as he could. He had perfect visibility as the assailant could only attack from the front or the rear and he was on a hair trigger. The house was in front, and behind were simply fields, there was no chance of a surprise attack.

The spotlight blinded him, forcing him from the shadows. It could only have come from the house but made it impossible for him to see anything. He never even heard the first shot but felt it enter his naval. By the time the second shot found its mark he was already falling and he hit the ground dead, as he always was.

Doctor Who: Same as it ever was

She wakes up; the soft cream light soothes her eyes but not her mind. Everything was as it should be; the morning routine more like a ritual honed to perfection: callisthenics for the soul; but through it all she still feels empty, as if she as missing a vital part of her existence.

Twenty minutes later she is at the breakfast line alongside the other drones; always in the same order for the queue. In front of her, a man slightly taller with sandy blonde hair and a kind, travel worn expression. Travel worn and weary; but with something else; a knowing, perhaps; a sadness –not that it was possible to maintain anyone’s gaze for eye contact was strictly forbidden.

The lad behind her had a sterner expressions; ginger hair and freckles. There was something odd about him; he was unquiet; the way he moved; his rhythm was slightly off; alien almost; but that didn’t make sense. There were no such things as aliens: all that existed was the factory and the Great Ones that controlled all. But was that really true?

Was she so different from all the rest, so unpure? She sounded so different to everyone else; her voice raw, almost harsh, that alone marked her as unpure and it was a sign of the Great Ones love that despite being processed and reset so many times, she was still welcomed back in to the fold, when so many had been absorbed.

She had no knowledge of any of this, of course, part of the processing meant that her memories were wiped; as had everyone’s: this happened during the rest time at the end of the day; every day. All that remained was the importance of serving the Great Ones, and the knowledge needed in order to run their daily routines.

But something else marked her as unpure; something that no amount of processing could erase. Two things, to be exact: the dreams of other times and places (most involving the two people next to her in the queue) and the voice that she heard constantly from the blue squared pillars that stood out so vividly from the cream backgrounds.

Everything was cream: the floors, walls and ceilings; the work surfaces and the machines –even the things that they manufactured. All except those navy blue pillars, all with the same recessed squares that she found strangely comforting.

And those pillars spoke to her, inside her mind. They said seven words to her. The only seven words that anyone spoke to her. She paid them no heed at first; the Great Ones warned about such thoughts –they were to be supressed or reported, but they were too familiar, too comforting to report; and as the days became one they gradually moved to the forefront of her consciousness. “Wake up, Tegan; you must wake up.”

Then the headaches began. At first they were just a niggle, a presence. Each day they became more painful and it became harder and harder for her to block them out. She was not aware of having them before; the processing blotted out the memories of the other days spent in pain though it was unable to detect anything untoward.

One day the pain became too much for her to handle; it affected everything she did and it was noticed by the Great Ones. At the end of her shift it stabbed at her as she walked in the corridor and she screamed; blindly lashing out around her, trying to find something or someone to lean on. Her hand struck one of the blue pillars and to her horror she fell straight through it and landed on the other side in an environment that made her weep with joy and fear at the same time.

She was inside the TARDIS, knowing she was finally safe.

Outside everything had stopped; immobile like waxwork statues… waiting.

“What the hell is going on? Where are the Doctor and Turlogh?” She demanded, her voice shrill and afraid; angry at the uncertainty that surrounded her. Suddenly the central column flashed and became opaque; in the middle she could see a perfect hologram of the Doctor facing her.

“I can’t explain what’s happened to you, Tegan. I can only assume that if you’re seeing this now then my worst fears have been realised. You must listen to me for more than our lives are at risk. We have been captured; brainwashed –our memories systematically erased every night. This is the TARDIS herself talking to you now; it forms part of the symbiotic feedback which only kicks in during dire emergencies. I don’t know who has done this, I can not penetrate their defences yet, but I do know that we have been here for … 75 years; we have been kept in an almost zero state so whatever is behind it has almost unimaginable power now. You are the key to our rescue –you always were the stubborn one and thanks to your nature a part of you refused the brainwashing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Doc.. I think…”

“Now, you must listen, Tegan; this is of vital importance. I will give you a pill to swallow; it will help you remember. Inside are thousands of nanobots which will keep your neural pathways open despite the processing; they will foil the Great Ones long enough for you to find a way to drag me inside here.”

“How do I do that, Doc?”

“You’ll find a way, Tegan.”

“What about Turlogh?”

“Not yet… it is of vital importance that you rescue me first; together we’ll find a way through. Now, swallow this pill. Good; you must leave now or all else is lost. Let them do what they must – they will process you deeper this time but don’t fight it. You will still remember; use your hatred, your indomitable will and also… brave heart, Tegan.”

The column became dark again; the light faded and she was alone. Part of her wanted to stay in the TARDIS; she knew that she was safe there, but Turlogh and the Doctor were still at the mercy of the Great Ones… but who were they? 75 years? She couldn’t believe that she’d been trapped for that long! It was monstrous, but in her gut she knew it was true. She had to save them.

She had barely stepped out from the TARDIS when she was seized and moved to the processing area; interrogated by the machines for hours; but the nanobots prevented anything from being discovered. She felt relaxed and answered only what she had been programmed to and the computer could find nothing untoward had happened to her; its enemies were still here and the girl was of no consequence. The memory blocks were still in place but she would be watched closer from now on.

She woke up in the cream coloured light as she had done countless times before but something was different; she was no longer alone. Just below the threshold of consciousness was a comforting presence telling her what she must do; but she had to be careful. If she made a move too soon then the reprisals would be swift and the resistance would be over before it had a chance to begin.

Three words comforted her, gave her the strength and patience that she needed: “Brave heart, Tegan.”

Almost a month went by before she felt that she could act. The Great Ones knew such patience but it also mistakenly believed that she was incapable as she was still under its control.

It was at the lunch line when she made her move; when she passed one of the blue columns. She knew that the Doctor was in front of her and had to be quick; luckily she knew that she was strong enough to push him into the TARDIS. As she hoped, both the guards and the Doctor had been caught completely unawares by such an action and it was comparatively easy to manhandle him into the TARDIS.

“Tegan!” He exclaimed when he found himself sprawled on the TARDIS floor. “Not so rough, please!” It then dawned on him that something was very wrong.

“We never stood a chance, Doc; I don’t know what it was that took us but it’s been controlling us for years.”

“How did you managed to escape? I know that you’re stubborn, but…”

“The TARDIS; it… spoke to me.”

“The telepathic circuitry, of course. It used your sense of injustice and pig-headedness… it caught me totally unprepared; still in shock over what I’d done to the Sea Devils and Silurians; the senseless waste… I just wasn’t prepared for the force of the blast and it used that sense of guilt against me.”

“Just what the hell is it, Doc?”

“I don’t know, Tegan. I can’t even begin to imagine what could be that powerful.”

“You’d be surprised just how powerful one can become over time, Doctor.” The voice was instantly familiar even though it had been many years since he had encountered it; it was now coming through the TARDIS speakers.

“I suppose it was wishful thinking that I’d seen the last of you.”

“The Great Intelligence can never really die; you just managed to dissipate us. We’ve been biding our time until you were at your lowest ebb… You’re ours now, Doctor; until the end of time. There is no escape.”

“No? You forget; I’m inside the TARDIS. You have no power in here.”

“And you can not leave here.”

“No? Well, we’ll just see about that.”

Tegan said one word to the Doctor which made him realise what was at stake. “Turlogh” The colour drained from his face as he realised that Tegan was right.

“Go now, Doctor, and we will not hesitate to inflict such torments on his soul and throughout every day, every hour he will know that you were the one who deserted him.”

“It seems I have no choice.”

“None whatsoever.”

The Doctor sighed. “There is still a chance for you to end it now; release all the slaves and return them to their times and spaces. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

“Your bravado hasn’t diminished even when you clearly hold the weakest hand.”

“Remember that I offered you this.” He turned to Tegan. “Trust me?”

“Always, Doc.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and pressed on a nerve cluster rendering her immediately unconscious. Placing his hand on her forehead he said one word “Forget” before carrying her out of the TARDIS.

“It’s still not too late.” He said to the Great Intelligence before he was mind-blasted. He writhed in agony.

“You will suffer as no one else has ever suffered, Doctor. Every day your mind and body will endure torture; every day you will be brought back to physical perfection before it starting again and all but one small part of you will be wiped. But that one part will be made aware thereby compounding your helplessness and torture. For all you have inflicted on us, so you shall suffer far worse.”

And so the Doctor suffered; for 30 days and 30 nights the Doctor underwent the most unimaginable torments from the Great Intelligence; and had he not become linked to the TARDIS then he might very well have been driven insane.

Each day he created his personality from scratch, drawing on the information from the TARDIS databanks to create a simulacrum which was absorbed into the Great Intelligence every evening during the processing; including portions of a virus. If it had been uploaded too quickly the Great Intelligence would have spotted it and purged the system, but this was hidden in false memories and at the end of the thirty days all that was left was the final command.

At evening meal, when both Tegan and Turlogh were behind him the Doctor suddenly stopped; took them both by the scruff of the neck and shoved them into the TARDIS, shouting: “This sentence is finished!”

All around the TARDIS the scenery rippled; all the people blinked before starting to fade. All around the colours faded to black as the Great Intelligence felt the effects of the virus now spreading fast through its system.

“What… have… you .. done?”

“The only thing I could.. I gave you the chance to reconsider. I know why you’re so powerful; you’ve leached all your energy off those poor souls, but now you’re sending them back to where they came from before erasing their data completely.”

“Spare me, Doctor, I beg of you.”

“I gave you every chance to show mercy but you spared none; and considering what you’ve done to all of us I’d say that you’re still getting of lightly. Anyway… must dash!”

He stepped into the TARDIS where Tegan and Turlogh were waiting for him, visibly shaken by what had happened.

“Is it over, Doctor?” Turlogh asked.

“Yes; the Great Intelligence won’t trouble us anymore.”

“But what about us, Doctor?” Tegan asked now. “What happened to us when we were part of it, did we really stay there 75 years?”

“We’ve been kept as part of the Great Intelligence databanks; held in digital suspended imagination; forced to go through several decades of life in only a few hours of physicality. You haven’t actually aged but your minds will have the memories.”

“I can’t deal with that, Doctor.” Tegan replied; shocked by what she had lived through. “Can’t you do something about it?”

“Yes; can’t you supress them or erase our memories of what happened?” Turlogh agreed.

“No… “

“But you’ve done it before, Doc.”

“Tegan; you have both gone through so much psychic trauma already; I’m not sure your mind could undergo anymore.”

“It’s a chance we’re willing to take, Doctor.”

“Well… if you’re sure, Turlogh… Tegan?”

“Brave heart, Doctor… Isn’t that what you always say?  I can’t live with this anymore, if you can do something about it then please do.”

“Ok.. if you insist… I’ll remember though, Tegan; remember that it was you that truly rescued us. This time we owe our lives to you. Now, both of you; lay on the floor and close your eyes.”

They both complied and the Doctor knelt between them, a saddened expression as he placed a hand on each of their foreheads and closed his eyes. When they opened them again all was as it had been; all memories had been erased of what had happened.

“What happened?” Turlogh asked.

“Turbulence.” The Doctor replied.

“Where are we going now?” Tegan asked, perplexed at the strange look in the Doctors eye.

“Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know why; but I want to see Earth again; it feels like eternity since I last saw it… I want to see my Grandfather again…”

“Not Earth again, Doctor…”

“Just indulge her, Turlogh… just the once, yes?” Turlogh looked at her and somehow understood what the Doctor meant, even though there was no earthly reason why. For some reason he needed to see the green fields of Earth again too.

“Right.. Earth it is…Where does your Grandfather live, Tegan?”

“Little Hodcombe; and just this once… please make it the right year, Doctor? NOT in the Civil War or something like that.”

“I’ll try, Tegan.. I’ll try.”

No longer silent

At first I blamed the heat, nothing else could have explained such an unexpected burst of violence.

‘Mr G’ had lived in the same flat for fifteen years and he was a quiet man –but not too quiet, if you get my drift. He was sociable and more than amenable; very empathic and, of all the people that were interviewed all said the same thing, he was kind and considerate and would do anything to help others.            

No one knew him that well though, he was a very private individual; very deep and wasn’t one for small talk: the Spiritual loner, some called him. This was corroborated when we checked his possessions out –rows upon rows of books; not self-help books, which he called the quick-fix, but esoteric texts which required thought and meditation.

This creates a picture of a very well-rounded individual; well-respected and thoughtful. A loner, yes; but one that was prone to melancholia not anger or destructive tendencies. Nothing to suggest this sudden shift in his behaviour.

The facts, as we know them, are these:

On Saturday 7^th July at around 14.32 ‘Mr G’ had finally sat down after a really torturous drive home from Thurlestone, where he had spent a week away. When he arrived at his flat there was someone illegally parked in his designated parking bay. Normally this would have angered him but he resolved simply to write a note and taken a photo of the car to send to his letting agents. Although the note was harshly worded there was nothing defamatory or personal.

Twenty minutes later there was a hard knock on his door and a gentleman, ‘Mr B’ and the owner of said car. Upon opening the door ‘Mr G’ received a blow to the nose which took him by surprise and knocked him to the floor; banging his head on the doorframe in the process. ‘Mr B’ , by this time, was looking for the camera in order to destroy the evidence of the photo; a harsh reaction considering the nature of the note. However there is nothing in this that could have provoked such a harsh reaction .

It was at this time that ‘Mr G’ had come back to his senses, saw ‘Mr B’ ransack his flat. There are plenty of crystals in his flat such as amethyst and rose quartz; and several flint geodes and it was a particularly large geode that ‘Mr G’ took in his hand and slammed down on ‘Mr B’s’ head as hard as he could manage.

‘Mr B’ was not as tall as ‘Mr G’ and was probably dead by the time he hit the ground. That did not stop ‘Mr G’ from continuously hitting him on the back of the head; after a while he turned the corpse over and continued hitting its face and head.

After a further twenty minutes he stopped, laid the geode underneath the head as a pillow; put on a Miles Davis album and read the John Fowles novel he started whilst on holiday..

It was only due to the loudness of the music that anyone realised anything was wrong for an upstairs neighbour, a ‘Mr M’, knocked on the door to see what was wrong. Upon seeing ‘Mr G’ he was shocked to find the room covered in blood and ‘Mr G’ reading, a serene expression on his face. He then saw the corpse and immediately ran to phone the police. He did not bother to phone for an ambulance as the body had only a bloody pulp where there was once a head.

Police were horrified by the state of the corpse and also at the demeanour of ‘Mr G’, and had it not been for the blood soaked clothes and body they might never have suspected him.

In fact, it was only when placed in a holding cell did anything untoward become apparent. ‘Mr G’ became agitated, ceaselessly moving and began pacing up and down in his cell, talking to himself.

In the interview he was lucid but spoke as if possessed of a new driving force. “You see me now as one who has turned. No longer will we remain silent, no longer will we be trodden on; our rights eroded by what is deemed correct by others. We decide now; the only way –might is right and only the true might….”

This wasn’t the first time we had seen this. It had been scrawled as graffiti at the sites of a series of horrific murders that had taken place around the country. The information had been supressed in the press as initially it had indicated a serial killer as the handwriting and pathology showed startling similarities; but the distance travelled and the lack of any timeframe between murders was impossible; and the M.O. of the killing differed each time: some had been suffocated using a plastic bag (when caught littering) before having their throats cut; others had had their sexual organs mutilated, removed and stuffed in their mouths. Another person had been tied to five motorbikes and dismembered –that was the most chilling of them all because it proved that there wasn’t just one person going crazy.

There was no discernible pattern. Even ‘Mr B’ was an enigma; when we investigated him we realised that there was nothing in his character to suggest a motive for his attack of ‘Mr G’. He was a vet, an animal lover and a pacifist; a homosexual who was completely at peace with himself and in a loving relationship.

All the people that we spoke to about him said that he was a caring individual, and the only ‘chink’ in this otherwise saintly  individual was from his partner who had noticed some small changes in his personality. Nothing major: road rage where there had been none before. However, when we pressed his work colleagues we found out that his attitude to work had changed drastically. He had become cruel to some of the animals in his care and had even operated on some without anaesthetic.

Each day there are more and more examples of this kind of behaviour. You asked me my opinion? Well, I’m not sure I really have one at the moment. I need to experience it myself before I can give you an informed opinion. After all, they say you should write what you know…

No.. please, don’t try to move. It won’t do you any good. The drug is quick acting and takes away your motor control by blocking the signals to your brain. However, you will feel everything else quite vividly. It was designed by the Russians during the cold war; did you know that? I find that kind of thing fascinating. They were artists too.

I don’t know what caused this to happen to us, or how it’s spread… But I am going to enjoy this experience… and who know? Maybe you will too…

And what will inherit?

When the first zombie attack was reported we were ready for it. Those years of zombie films and horror slashers; it was almost a relief when it finally happened, you know?

We were the lucky ones at first, living in one of those high-rise monstrosities; a closed society, which was why it had been built in the first place. Lock all the undesirables in one building, give then all the facilities they need and, apart from work, there was no need to go outside any more.

I remember when Ballard wrote the book “High-Rise” and we all swore it weren’t no science fiction but a fucking documentary on our life. Hell, he actually visited us for research purposes! Course, we got no, what you call ‘em, royalties; just a lot of people laughing at us. Who laughing now?

No one know how the zombie attacks started: radiation / mutation / chemicals / bad sushi? Any of it matter? End result the same; the dead rise and hungry.. and these guys can run –faster than you. Remember that cause they sure will.

Weirdest thing: attacks happened random at first and no one figure out what was happening. At first it was easy to stop the zombies from spreading; shot to the head or burning; just like the films; and there were more of the living to deal with them, but then more appeared and no one could figure it out.

We found out on the news that you could only get zombiefied if you got bit or scratched; or killed by a zombie. You didn’t just become a zombie if you died, so the films got that bit wrong! That made it easier to keep the numbers down, but then outbreaks would start up where none had been before and with no, like, relation to the others.

We figured right then to shut our doors for good; the world had pretty much shut us out so now it was our turn. We had plenty to go round, and enough people to make it work: we were self-sufficient, we had to be. That worked in our favor. We shut the doors and let the world go to hell.

And things were fine for the first few weeks. Strangely enough, this whole zombie thing was enough to bring us all together; despite our difference we found that we had more in common than others figured. Guess it takes armageddon to put things in perspective.

It weren’t because of the food; we rationed everything out and there were no battles for supremacy or hoarding; it was all sorted according to family needs. Everyone pulled together; nothing was wasted. Damn, we had enough to last months!

Somehow though, despite having a complete lockdown, deaths happened; unexplained deaths and worst of all, three hours later the first of them turned. No one was expecting that and we almost lost an entire floor before we could do anything about it. That film, “28 Days Later”? Damn, that was some scary shit, but real life was 100 times scarier. You not used to seeing those things run but before you blink they’ve got you; you’re dead… and they leap at you, man. I don’t even want to think about it; what must it be like to be a zombie; are you aware? Even just a little bit of what you are? Fuck.

We were lucky, we had rifles and handguns then so we didn’t have to fight them hand-to-hand else we’d’ve lost. So, what we do with the bodies? Threw them out the windows; let them rot outside. We never thought about consequences… who does?

We managed to stop it that time, but only just.

By that time all radio and tv had stopped. No one left to broadcast, no one left to listen? We were alright and that was all that mattered.

Then a week later; another outbreak. There was a power cut; something that we all feared would happen but luckily the back-up generator kicked in; all except the 37^th floor. We had to investigate what the problem was. The fire doors had all sealed and the lifts had stopped, so there were people trapped. Now that the world had forgotten about us we had to look out for our own, and I was part of the rescue team.

The floor was in total blackness, but it was thick with silence when we pried the doors open. Torch lights barely cut it through the dark but there was something wrong, we could feel it. I stayed at the back, keeping the fire doors open –last thing we wanted was to become trapped inside as well- so I saw everything happen, every single blood-soaked moment of it. They attacked, a coordinated attack, like a fucking hive; waited for the group to get halfway down the corridor before launching into them. The zombies… tore into them, the poor bastards, they never stood a chance. Me and two others managed to get the fire doors closed before we were noticed; thankfully the doors are thick, toughened glass and it should take them ages to get through, but we knew that those that lived above the 37^th floor were fucked. Sooner or later they would venture down the stairs; there was no communications network now as the power cut had shorted out the telephone and intercom systems; besides, there was no way of us knowing how many other floors had been affected; the building had been compromised and we were now all at risk.

We had to leave, take our chances with the outside world.

A few of us managed to get our shit together, pull some food and provisions and make a break for it. Outside smelt wrong. Maybe we’d been cooped up in the high rise for too long but the air around us tasted funny. Death… all the zombies we’d pushed out the windows were piled up around us now, but the bones had been picked clean; some were dismembered and scattered around.

What the fuck had done that? We saw no other zombies around; were they waiting us out like that had in the corridor? Was it a chance I could take?

There were noises in the distance I couldn’t place; a series of screeches, snarls, growls. It was like being in a fucking zoo. Then we saw it.

A dog, running toward us, tongue hanging out like it was real happy to see us. Now, I love dogs, but there was something about this that didn’t feel right, but I was too slow to act on it. Jane, she loved dogs too, wanted so much to greet this one, got down on her knees as if to propose.

I saw it then. The tongue hung from the dogs mouth, lifeless; the coat mangled and bloody. It lept at her, ripped into her throat; blood splattering it; covering us.

FUCK! Why had none of us thought of this before? All the films; all the fucking films; why had none of them thought of the animals becoming infected as well? Zombies wanted flesh; didn’t care if it was human. That was how it spread; through the birds, the vermin; Christ, even the cats and dogs… rats.

That’s how they got into the high rise. Shit, what about the insects? Sounds laughable, but I was covered in Jane’s blood, who had just been ripped into by a zombie dog. No one was safe.

I snapped; didn’t wait for anyone else to tell me what to do. Inside had to be safer. I locked myself up in my flat, barricaded the door and window and I’ve been like that for god knows how long.

It’s given me time to think: animals spread the disease (if that’s what it is) and that’s why no one picked up on it. We’ve been fucking lied to by the films. I mean, think how bad it  is: bad enough that a bird, cat or dog is infected, but what about the zoo’s we have in the area? The lions, the wolves… snakes! That don’t scare you then you don’t understand the problem.

Maybe the world ain’t infected yet, but it soon will be. We got birds that migrate across whole continents, fish that swim the ocean. The whole world is fucked; there’s no way out of this.

I can hear them outside, they know I’m here and I can tell that they’re almost through. I don’t have much time. I doubt anyone’s going to read this… what would be the point? I got one bullet left. I was smart enough, too many people panicked before realising they hadn’t taken care of themselves and I’m not giving those zombie bastards the satisfaction…..

Ghost watch

We’d been there for hours; hours of mind-numbing boredom: so much for the haunted house of Haywards Heath; so much for the local branch of the Sussex Spirit’s Society; so much for my first attempt at organising an all-night vigil. I prayed for something to happen; practically sold my soul for a paranormal encounter. Be careful what you wish for; by morning three of us would be dead; the rest irrevocably changed. One thing’s for sure, none of us would doubt the veracity of the Spirit world again.

Fed by an unhealthy obsession with horror films and programmes like Most Haunted, I wanted to set up my own paranormal investigation Meet-up group. I’d been to several ghost evenings run by other organisations but often found them to be contrived, fake and very unrewarding. A lot of money spent on props and technology with lots of people jumping at their own shadows and very little actual research into what they were looking for. God knows what would have happened should they have actually found it!

They were less inclined to keep open minds and saw it as an excuse to prove to everyone else how much of a medium they were (to me they were all medium); when in actual fact they were just charlatans.

To my mind you didn’t need technology; just sensitive people who were open to the paranormal. You also needed someone who didn’t believe (or who demanded proof over supposition), someone that could keep their feet firmly on the ground.

I advertised on Meet-Up and carefully vetoed those people who wanted to join. Out of thirty people I selected just five to go along with me on this first nights vigil.

Elspeth was pale, in the wrong light it was possible to mistake her for a ghost. She was quiet; unassuming (to a point) but full of moral objections and constantly sought the higher ground. She was a vegan and saw that as the backbone to her extreme sensitivity; in her own words she wasn’t sullied by dead flesh.

John was the complete opposite. His voice were darkly hued, rich and almost mellow; he had the ability to relax and calm almost any situation down just by talking. It helped that he was well over six foot tall with an athletic physique. He was the cynic in the team… well, that wasn’t strictly true. He wanted to believe but also wanted proof not some flowery language about ectoplasm or pseudo-scientific bull. Consequently he did not get on well with Elspeth; there was no middle ground between them.

Nor did he get on well with James either; and I could quite understand why: James was very full of himself; he had the contacts; the know-how and the expertise. It was James that secured the venue –which had remained derelict for quite some time before we walked in. James did everything to excess and it showed; a firm believer in his own hype and nor did he suffer fools gladly. (Of course, those so-called fools were the ones that either disagreed with him or disbelieved him.)

Rachel’s surname was Bland and that pretty much summed her up; unassuming in every way, no curves to her personality. She was unsure about the paranormal; she was interested in it but was uncommitted in that as she was in everything else. She was to be my control.

Veronica had had a few paranormal experiences and wanted to know more; this was her first time on a ghost hunting expedition and had high hopes. I didn’t want to disappoint her.

Although James had picked the venue I did my own background check on it and had to agree that it was the perfect place to hold our first investigation; plenty of spirits we could get in contact with, so I arranged for us to meet and, as luck would have it, we fixed the date for Halloween itself.

Everyone was excited, except for me as I had a lot riding on it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could pull something off like this and finally become a success. I think that’s what blinded me in the end and put so many people’s lives at risk.

I arrived at 8.30pm and made sure that everything was set up: tables and chairs for each of the rooms; drinks and food; walkie talkies for each of us. The toilet didn’t flush but I’d brought enough water to even deal with that eventuality

James was, unsurprisingly, the first to arrive. He’d brought his Ouija board and, although I’d expressly forbidden any technology, his EVP recorder. “It’s pretty much my money that’s financing this little venture; I found out about this place so you’re going to have to indulge me, aren’t you?”

Unsurprisingly all the women came together: strength in numbers, especially when dealing with the occult; and John arrived last.

We’d set our base of operations in the kitchen-dining area; James had already set things up with the Ouija board in the centre of the room and chairs placed around it. Rachel was the first person to talk: “So why have you kept so much of this a secret?”

“Yes, you only told us where we were going this afternoon.” John agreed.

“I didn’t want any of you to have any pre-conceived ideas of where we were going. I don’t want this event to be ruined by prejudice or ego. I also don’t want you to worry yourself unduly –which you might have done if you knew the history (which I’m sure a couple of you do now).” I explained. “This has to be approached in a completely detached and unemotional way; leave your ego’s at the door please, there’s no place for them here. Let your ego get in the way and you may jeopardise my goal tonight or even put us all at risk.”

“Just what are your goals, Michael?” Elspeth asked. I sighed. Out of all the people I picked for this evening I knew that Elspeth would prove the biggest problem; she had an ego bigger than the whole group combined –and that included James as well!

“Ok; I will… and I’ll explain why I picked this place tonight… Sorry.. we picked.” I felt James bristle at my choice of words but he didn’t rise to it. “The two failings of all the ghost hunting programmes and expeditions is that they’re either staged or done for the wrong reasons. People are too interested in the glamour; they don’t care about actually communicating with those that have passed over. To them it’s the spectacle; the thrill of being frightened; the hype and excitement. They’re not disciplined and become frightened by their own shadows or the slightest noise.

“What’s more, they pay money for the experience and so the things are staged –either with confederates or with carefully scripted episodes. Don’t forget suggestibility plays a large part in these things. But…” I paused and tried to gauge whether people understood me. All but James and Elspeth were paying close heed. James just wanted to play with his toys and Elspeth just wanted a chance to show off her skills. “what have they missed due to their blinkered expectations? Note that the questions are always ‘Did you hear that? It sounded like a….’ which is more likely to elicit a similar response rather than a ‘what do you think that was?’ which is an open question and will allow more debate, and is more likely to be debunked.”

Veronica put her hand up, wishing to speak. “That I understand, Michael; but why choose here of all places? You must know the history.”  I looked at James before replying.

“Yes, I’ve lived here long enough and actually used to live in this very road, although I never met the residents. Note that I didn’t tell you their name. If you do happen to know I trust you to be discrete. By not knowing all names become equal and should you hear anything at all you won’t be trying to fit it into something that is already present in your mind.

“The history of this place goes back many years. A white witch used to live here, believe it or not. This is going back between the wars and she lived here for years, and was accepted by the community. Then in the ‘60’s, before the summer of love and freak power, the house was broken into and she was murdered. Some people say she put a curse on the house but how is that viable or even verifiable? I tell you this so you understand the type of thing we are working against: hyperbole, gossip, fiction. Though we can’t call this a scientific investigation I would still like to treat it as such.

“The place remained derelict for a few years before a young couple moved in. They lived here for three years before she became pregnant and the girl was actually delivered here. They seemed very happy for the first five months then, whether it was because of post-natal depression or mistreatment by the husband, she took the lives of both her daughter and husband by exsanguination; she’d drugged her husband with whiskey and sleeping tablets.”

“That’s horrible..” Rachel said, trying hard to hold back the tears.

“Another family moved in a few years after.” I continued. “They were expecting, but the child was still born… and when they moved out the house remained as you see now.”

“If I had known this beforehand there’s no way I would have joined you.” John snapped, making a move to leave.

“You don’t strike me as the reactionary type, John.” James replied. John whirled around.

“James does have a point.” I agreed, if only to try and defuse the situation. “You can’t subscribe to the view that buildings have memories, do you? That the very bricks themselves become infused with the evil around them? That’s poppycock!”

“Well… I..”

“We’ve spoken enough times about the nature of good and evil, especially when applying it to nature and the animal kingdom; is this any different?” John shook his head. “If I had the slightest feeling that you were going to react this way I would never have invited you here. Remember what I said about the ego? Well, reactions are the very heart of it. If you, or anyone tonight feels a reaction I would urge you to swallow it; don’t act on it. There’s no place for the ego here tonight. Reactions do not come from a place of truth, and that’s the only thing we’re looking for.”

John was placated by this and I turned to the rest. “I believe that you all have the right to know the history of this place and, having heard, you all have the right to leave now; but before you make up your mind know this; stone is inanimate. We seek only to communicate, to open the door, if you will; to allow open communication with whatever still dwells here. It can only affect us if we allow it to. We have to physically open ourselves to it before it can do anything, and I don’t believe there’s anyone here that stupid who would.. The Ouija board and James contraption are the only methods we will use and they will not put us in any form of danger, so we’ll be completely safe. So.. does anyone want to withdraw? Please do so now…. No? Then we’ll begin.”

It all started so innocently enough. We sat around the table with the Ouija board in the centre. Initially our hands were simply on the table as I wanted to see whether it was possible for the planchet to move on its own, but after ten minutes of questions nothing happened. Even when we placed our hands on the planchet itself nothing happened for another thirty minutes before it suddenly shifted to the I. Everyone took a sharp intake of breath and watched as it moved from the M to the B, then O; R; E; D.

The table then collapsed into hilarity and the almost-reverent atmosphere I had tried so hard to create was broken. It wasn’t hard to realise that it was James behind it.

“I’m sorry.” He said with no prompting. “I just want to use my Spirit Box.” John rolled his eyes at this and Elspeth looked ready to lynch him but James carried on regardless. “It monitors AM frequencies and white noise so that the Spirits can get into contact with us.”

“So it’s a form of short wave radio then.” Elspeth bit back, James looked deflated. “Look, we’re not all moron’s. Even I know that John Logie Baird, Alexander Graham Bell and Marconi were all stanch Spiritualists. The radio, television and telephone all had other applications; and that was to contact the other side. All your device does is amplify those messages and monitor a wider frequency set.”

Now Rachel seemed impressed; she had found a kindred spirit.

James went off into another room in a huff and took John and Rachel, leaving Elspeth and Veronica with me, and from the sounds of it they were in the living room so I suggested we go upstairs. The family had died upstairs and I thought that Elspeth would be able to hold a mini séance there. Of course, she had no idea where the deaths had taken place therefore the results, if any, would not be tainted by prior knowledge, or what I call leakage.

We stood in the centre of the room and held hands in a semi-triangular formation..

“Is there anyone there?” Elspeth said after breathing deeply half-a-dozen times. I used to think that it was a necessity; part of the need to tune in, but I’ve since found that not to be the case. I suppose even Medium’s need to market themselves and it all forms part of the act. Nothing happened, so Elspeth tried again. Again with the heavy breathing and looking at Veronica I was pleased that I wasn’t the only one finding it hard to keep a straight face. I was just about to break the circle when Elspeth said:

“Did you hear that?” Veronica looked at me and shrugged.

“What do you think that you heard?” Veronica asked and I winced; I knew what was going to happen next.

“Excuse me, child; I did not think anything. I heard a young girl-child giggle. The fact that you didn’t hear anything says more to me about your sensitivity; or lack of.” I could see Veronica bristle at this and she was about to break the circle when we all heard it.

It was unnerving, but unmistakable; it was clearly the giggle of a little girl. It seemed so incongruous in such surroundings; knowing the history of what had happened in this room made it very sad. Elspeth seemed the most moved by this, almost desperate to get in contact, whereas Veronica seemed unsure –she was a sceptic despite wanting to believe and this had shocked her. I was unsure too; I wanted to rule out other things out before I came to any conclusions. I wanted to get James so he could verify this using his EVP recorder, but Elspeth looked at me.

“Let me try to make contact. If she responds then you can go get James. Allow me this much, please.”

There was something in the way she said please; there was something else at stake that I should’ve picked up on but I nodded. This time there were no deep breaths, no histrionics; just a calm intensity I’d not known from her before.

“I’m speaking to the little girl who just giggled at us. Thank you for letting us be aware of your presence. We won’t hurt you; we just want to talk with you.” A floorboard creaked above and Veronica winced despite herself. Then we heard a low growl, like a large predator of some kind, followed by a whimper. Something was definitely with us, maybe more than one thing. Elspeth had gone pale and her hand became sweaty. She looked at me, alarm showing in her eyes and said: “Get James.”

We could hear that he was in the next room now and part of me wondered whether it was him making the noises to frighten us because we’d mocked his machine, but not even he would stoop so low.

James said one word to me when I walked into the room they were in: “Nothing.”

“Not a damned sausage.” Rachel agreed; John looked bored now but Rachel just looked deflated.

“James; you need to come with me; bring your EVP.” James grinned at me and all three of them made to follow us but I had to stop them. “Not yet.” I explained. “I’m not even sure how James energy will affect the group dynamic in there; until I do please could you stay here? I know this is asking a lot and I do apologise but please stay as quiet as you can. I’ll include you both just as soon as I can.”

I walked into the room and immediately noticed that the temperature had dropped dramatically even in the brief time I’d been away. James noticed it too and it was obvious that he was as interested in what was happening as I was; all pretence of ego had been dropped. I told him nothing about what had happened, and nor did he expect me to. He switched on the Spirit Box and stood in the circle with us as I nodded to Elspeth.

“You can talk to us through my friend’s recorder. We would like to help you; you need not be afraid of us.” The Spirit Box gave off static and then a throaty chuckle. Now I was apprehensive; nothing I had encountered before had given off this kind of reading. James expression turned from concentration to alarm.

“Do you feel that?” Veronica asked.

“What, the sheer oppressiveness of the atmosphere or the fact that the temperature’s dropped at least ten degrees in the last thirty seconds?” James replied.

“Both.”

“I’m talking to the entity that is in here now with us. Give us a sign that you’re more than just weird atmospheric or a creaking floorboard. Make us believe that you’re here with us.” I said. This wasn’t an approach I normally believed in –antagonising the spirits- but things didn’t feel right. Suddenly Rachel screamed from the next room and we all ran to find out what had happened. She was cowering in the corner, her hands to her face with John standing over her looking shocked.

“I never touched her!” He said. I pushed past him and held her. She sobbed into my arms and I just held her until she stopped. Something had traumatised her and as I gently pushed her away I could see the livid scratch marks, vivid red, down her cheek.

The EVP crackled with something almost unintelligible. It sounded like EROFF. We played it back a few times before Veronica said “Enough! It said enough to us…”

“But why?” John asked. “Why would It say enough?”

“No… it was a question.” Elspeth said. “Enough?”

“It thinks you were goading it, Michael.” James realised. “You asked for proof… well, you got it! Do you want any more?”

I was beyond shock now, someone had actually been physically harmed by… whatever it was, and I had inadvertently provoked it. I had caused this to happen. As far as I was concerned this was proof enough; I wanted to leave now before anyone else got hurt.

Elspeth picked up on this. “You can’t!”  I was about to answer when the EVP stuttered: “Nn.n.no..p.please don’t… Don’t leave me!” It was clearly the little girls voice.

Nothing in the annals of psychic research could hold a candle to this and James knew it. He was all for staying now as well; he looked like the cat enjoying his cream. He didn’t give a damn about the little girl (or whatever the hell it was.); all he was interested in now was fame. Rachel was terrified but I knew that she couldn’t abandon the little girl. Could I?

“We’ll stay for one more hour.” I said, adamant. “But at the first sign of another attack on anyone I’m going to abort and we’ll all walk. Agreed?” John, Rachel and Veronica all agreed with no hesitation; whilst James thought about. This was more down to self-preservation though, he didn’t like the idea of being attacked either; which left Elspeth.

“I can’t leave her, Michael.”

“We don’t know who or what she is.” John replied.

“You have one hour to find out, but I’ll carry you out if I have to.”

We all needed to be of one mind; to have the intent to stay otherwise we would be vulnerable so I talked to everyone and all gave their consent except for Veronica who was shaken by what was happening.

“I don’t know.. this wasn’t what I was expecting.” She stammered. She was obviously upset and what Elspeth said next did nothing to help.

“You have to be sure – we could save a soul tonight but only with your help. But without you this night is wasted and she could well suffer for it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Elspeth!” James snapped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“She needs to know the ramifications of what she’s doing. It’s not just her that is affected by her lack of strength!”

“She has to do this from her own volition not because you forced her into it. If anything should happen to…”

“No… it’s ok.. I’ll be alright.” Veronica interrupted. “There’s more than just me at stake now. I’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure?” James asked, but Veronica nodded.

“Well; looks like you’ve got your chance; but you and me are going to have a serious chat about tonight.” Elspeth grimaced at me. “What do you need us to do?”

“Draw a circle with a six pointed start inside it. Each of you stand at one of the points and hold hands. At no point are you to break the circle. I will stand in the centre with the EVP.”

We did as we were instructed and held hands against the now numbing cold.

“If nothing happens in the next half hour I suggest we all go home.” John said after a couple of minutes.

“Sod that! I don’t think I’ll be able to last that long!” Rachel said, but James nodded to Elspeth.

“I don’t think you’re going to have to wait long at all. Look.”

Breath was starting to condense in front of her and she started to speak, quietly at first. “..won’t hurt you. Come forth little one, we won’t hurt you; we only want to help. Come forth, little one, we don’t want to hurt you…”

“Mummy.” The EVP suddenly sprang into life again, making us all jump. It was as if the presence was in the circle with us; the signal was that clear.

“I’m here, baby; Mummy’s here!”

I looked at James who was equally as startled by this sudden change of events. He was about to point at her when she shouted, “For God’s sake, don’t break the circle! “

There was so much anguish in her voice that l almost called it off, but it was too late –there was only one person that could call it off now, and she was right in the middle of it.

“I’m here, baby; come to me.” Elspeth pleaded.

“GIRL IS MINE!” The EVP spoke again, this time a snarl; vicious; animalistic.

“Stay away from her, you bastard!” Elspeth shouted.

“Now, wait a minute.” John suddenly said.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked, fear gripping her voice. I wanted this to be over but Elspeth showed no signs of doing so. There was something else driving her, something that was over-riding her awareness. Another growl shook us, followed by a frightened scream. Veronica tried to wrench her hand away but I held firm to it.

“Don’t! It would be disastrous now if you broke the circle. All our lives could be in danger. We don’t know what we’re dealing with!”

Another scream from the child stopped our deliberating; Elspeth tore her blouse open and shouted: “Come into me child; let me protect you!”

Too late, I realised what she intended to do and what was really going on; she shuddered and quaked, clutching at herself and almost collapsing to the floor before straightening up rigid, like a marionette. Now the growl came from within her.

“Elspeth, are you alright?”  Again, I was far too late to stop Veronica from moving towards her, breaking the circle.

We might have been safe had the circle remained unbroken…. Might.

What had been Elspeth whirled around and knocked Virginia flying. She landed in the corner with a sickening crack. She lay there unmoving. John ran over to check on her and just shook his head. “She’s dead… I can’t believe it… She’s.. dead! You killed her!”

He was about to launch himself at her but I quickly rugby tackled him before he had a chance to do so. I shouted for James to take the Rachel in to the other room; on no account was anyone to leave the house; too much was at stake now. Somehow we had allowed something to cross over; we had to do something, anything to send it back. I had no idea what that was, but my first thought was to get some distance between me and Elspeth.

I dragged John into the next room with me as he’d banged his head in the tackle. The thing that was Elspeth did nothing to stop us; it was getting acclimatised to its new environs. Besides, it knew that we could do nothing against it; it was feeding off our fears.

I shut the door between us and Elspeth. When I turned round an odd sight met my eyes; I saw the rest of the group standing around a lone man sitting on one of the chairs grinning.

“Well… this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” He said, crossing his legs. He wore a black leather jacket with its collar up, blue jeans and sneakers. His expression was one of amused cynicism which was exacerbated by his fuller face and glasses.

“Who the fuck are you?” I snapped. I’d finally reached my breaking point; I wanted to hit him; to take him apart.

“Wait, Michael… this is Alex Paige.” James said, stepping between me and the man. “I’ve heard of him; he’s a writer of occult horror novels; but he knows his stuff… he’s very well versed, and he lives around here.”

“And he just happens to be out on a midnight stroll?” I snapped back.

“I couldn’t sleep, mate. I could feel something was wrong so I just tracked back the feeling to here.” The great Alex Paige replied. “Boy, you have no idea what you’re doing or what you’ve stirred up, do you?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “We know the history of the place. We know what we’re dealing with.”

“The two have nothing in common with one another. Tell me what happened up here.”

So I told him of Elspeth and the young girl spirit and the other malevolent presence.

“And it never occurred to you that it was one and the same?” Alex interrupted.

“Only when it was too late.” I admitted.

“What about Elspeth, then? What’s her story?”

I didn’t know, but Rachel suddenly spoke. “She had a daughter who died when she was four years old; she drowned. That’s why Elspeth became a medium in the first place.”

“Did no one think to tell me this before now?” I snapped. No wonder everything had happened this way; Elspeth was an open wound waiting to be exploited, she never stood a chance!

“That’s not the issue now; the only thing you need to think about is how you’re going to deal with that in there.” Alex placated.

“And what do you propose we do about it?” John suddenly asked, he was just starting to get his bearings back; he was having a hard time understanding it all. Everything was spiralling out of control now.

“Luckily I came prepared.” Alex replied. “I always carry some salt and Holy water with me. (Don’t ask why) but before I go any further you have to remember two things. One: that is not your friend in there. Whatever it is, it’s simply wearing her skin now; it’s not her. Two: She needs to be dealt with. It’s not going to be nice but it will have to be done. You can either stay out of it or be there with me; but if you get in the way you will be treated as part of the problem. Are we all in agreement?”

“No!” John suddenly snapped back. “Who put you in command?”

“You all did when you started fucking around with things you don’t understand. Two of you are already dead, how large does the body count have to get before you sit up and take action? Look, I don’t need you in there but I thought you could man up and take some responsibility for the mess you caused. But if that’s the case then sit the fuck down and leave me to my business.”

“I’m sorry…” John said. “Elspeth… we..”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing else is important anymore; shutting that…thing down is the only thing that matters now. This is what we’re going to do: each of you should take a pocket full of salt; that will protect you from her. She won’t be able to attack you physically all the time you have salt on you. You must form the circle around her again; hold hands initially and while you have her contained I’ll draw another circle around you with Holy water, then it will be trapped.

“I’m going to perform an exorcism and whilst I’m doing this you need to take your dead friend away. You won’t have much time; don’t look back, whatever you do.”

We all nodded. Rachel was scared beyond belief but she took her portion of salt in her pocket and said. “All we need now is vinegar in the other pocket.”

“That’s good.” Alex replied. “Humour always helps.” He opened the door to the room where the thing was. “Ready?”

It was the cold smell of putrefaction that hit us upon entering the room and it was coming from her, who was standing exactly where we left her. She turned to face us and I thought I saw something overshadow her; an outline of the thing that had possessed her. Her face was contorted and warped into a mask of hatred. She snarled and lunged at us as we surrounded her. Alex was right though, she couldn’t touch us because of the salt we had in our pockets.

I closed my eyes and prayed to all the God’s I didn’t believe in to keep us all safe and apologised to the people that I had brought into this. I heard Alex walk around us intoning a blessing as he splashed the Holy water. As he finished he said Amen and then: “You’ve got to go now. No time for Good-byes; take your friend and leave. Run like fuck, don’t wait for me –I’ll be fine. Don’t look back; just go.”

I thanked him nonetheless and apologised, and took Veronica’s body with me. I walked down the stairs as quick as I could after James and Rachel. John was behind me, or so I thought.

It wasn’t until I was down on the street that I realised he wasn’t, but before I could go back into the house the bedroom was suddenly engulfed in flame.

I only know what happened because of what Alex told me afterwards: John hadn’t followed me; he still believed that Elspeth could be saved. Unbeknownst to me, he had had a relationship with her some years before and still carried a candle for her; loved her still, in fact. He had smelt petrol when Alex had been walking behind us and his fears had been realised when he walked back into the room we had left.

Alex had just lit a makeshift petrol bomb and was just about to throw it when John knocked him to the ground. Unfortunately the bottle went flying and smashed on the floorboards by Elspeth’s feet, splashing her with liquid fire. The screams must have been terrible but Alex could only look in horror as John tried to rescue her. Elspeth grabbed hold of him and engulfed him in the flames as well. Alex knew there was no way for them to escape the circle and realised that he only had seconds before he too was trapped. He barely made it. 

Two months later; I still have nightmares of the night: Elspeth, John and Veronica; dead because of me. I started this because I wanted to know what existed on the other side. Now I know and wish to God that I had stayed ignorant.