Whispers in the Shadows
Vol III
By
Alan James Keogh
This work may not be copied in it’s entirety. Short samples may be used as long as credit is given to the author and a link to the authors website is given.
Smashwords Edition
© Alan James Keogh, 2011. All rights reserved
Table of Contents
The Protector
Camping Trip
Oblivion
The Tower
Living in the Dark
Garage Sale
The Only Solution
Will You Be My Angel?
Reverse
Neverending Housework
The Final Visit
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Housebound
The Chess Masters
Neighbours
From Hell
A
Night to Remember
The Thrill of the Hunt
Shared Passion
Stalked from the Shadows
The Perfect Garden
The Protector
Most of us are lucky. When you think about it, we’ve beaten millions of other sperm in getting to the egg, we survived the gestation period of nine months, we’ve lived without any major or serious accidents. How many children are killed a year from accidents? Falling down the stairs, Falling into a pool, Eating something that shouldn’t be eaten, car accidents. Then, we reach adulthood and there are still any number of things that can happen, but they don’t. We live long and healthy lives, purely because we are lucky.
But I intend to increase my luck. I want to be luckier than some. I want that car, hurtling towards me, to miss and hit some other poor schlub instead. I want to almost fall, but grab the railings and save myself. I don’t want to die, no one does. I’m just willing to do whatever is necessary to prevent my death.
I’ve been experimenting for years now at this point and I think I’m pretty close to achieving it, a protector. When I first started there were a large number of failures, it was off-putting, I came close to giving up a few times but now, now I’m getting closer. I can feel it.
The first one I created was hideous, it could barely move, screaming in pain. I had gotten the basic shape of a human right at least, but the creature could only writhe. It was covered in some kind of viscous mucous, its eyes were milky white, it was blind. It lay screaming in my basement for three whole days. There was nothing I could do to kill it. It lashed out wildly whenever I approached. Why should I risk myself? After it died I had to gather it up to bury it in the back garden. It was quite unpleasant. The smell wouldn’t leave my skin for days. Its body squished and oozed when I tried to carry it. Eventually it was buried, and soon four more joined it. Each one had something wrong, all each one could do was scream in agony. Despite these failures I knew I must press on. I must finish what I started.
I took a break, from trying to create them, and I built a sub basement. The creatures decomposed quickly, something I found out after I had tried to keep the fifth one around for dissection. After three days, its skin became crumbly in texture, its smell turned to that of deep rich soil. I know that the soil is full of nutrients because of my back garden. I didn’t think of it at the time, but it seemed so obvious when I realised it. Where the others were buried were full of blooming flowers, the entire garden was flowering of course, but the plants over their graves seemed to have longer stalks, brighter colours. They were full of life.
I installed a trap door in the floor of the basement, whenever a creature didn’t work out, it could be easily disposed of. Then, when it had decomposed, I could shovel it into buckets and carry it outside, or I could leave it down there. The possibilities were endless. Really, I did consider making faulty creatures just so they would die, then I could sell the soil off to gardeners. It would have been the best soil in the world. I would make millions, but what would I do when production needed to increase? I couldn’t have too many people involved, it would get messy. Besides, it was difficult for me to conjure these things, it takes a lot out of you. I couldn’t make more than three a week without being severely tired.
I had everything set up, I could try to conjure a protector and, if the creature wasn’t up to scratch. I could simply dump them in the subbasement. The noise of them falling wasn’t pleasant, there was a horrible crunching noise. Still it was better than them lying in the basement, screaming. No one could hear them from the sub-basement. Not even me.
There was one time when I thought I had done it, created a protector, but I was wrong. It was able to stand, and walk for a little bit, but something inside it was wrong and soon it was reduced to nothing but a writhing ball of flesh. According to the books, once created, I can assign a protector to almost anyone if I wish. Maybe, when I have my own I can create a few more and sell them off. Once I’ve perfected it, it should be no bother creating more. I have looked up why other people don’t do this, it’s because they can’t stomach what I can. I can get through the screams and writhing, they couldn’t. Most people could only attempt one or two before they gave up. It will be worth it though.
This journal will serve as a way for me to record my experiments, I have included the previous section as a reminder to myself why I am doing this and, should anyone discover this, to explain to them why. The approach will be simple. From now on the creatures will be designated numbers. I will record how I preformed the conjuring process, what items I used, if any stray thoughts pop into my head and the defects, if any, the creatures have. Hopefully by doing this, I can see what I have been doing wrong and correct it.
Harry read over what he had written and, deciding he was happy with it, began his recording. He had been trying for almost three years now with no success. There had been a few close calls where they had been almost right, but so far, none had been perfect. They had quickly collapsed and were sent to join the others in the pit he had created. He did wonder if, maybe, it was the quality of the bones he was using. He had gotten the best, human bones and had dug them up himself. He had almost used three corpses in his creation. He saved a bone from each though, just in case he couldn’t get a body for a while, he could still practise on the bones that were saved.
The basement itself was small, or at least, seemed small, as a large table was pushed against every wall and every available surface was covered in books and bottles. The books he had acquired slowly, so as not to raise suspicion. While creating a protector was not illegal, procuring some of the items needed was. Still, he was careful, he wouldn’t be caught. He had a few contacts for the rarer ingredients he needed, but those he could source himself, he did. This would be his last conjure attempt for the week. He was getting tired now and he knew that the more tired he was, the more likely he would be to make mistakes. Carefully he arranged the items above the trapdoor and, taking a small knife, added a few drops of his own blood. He started to speak, deep, dark words that should never pass the lips of man. When he finally finished he shut his eyes as a flash of light filled the room. The smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils. So far everything was normal, but there were no screams. This was a very good sign. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see what he had created. A creature lay at the centre of the trapdoor, it lay there for a few seconds before it started convulsing. Harry saw that it had no mouth. He sighed and realised that’s why there were no screams. Its eyes were open, staring at him. Two red orbs burned into its skull. Without hesitating, he pulled a lever nearby and smiled as he heard a muffled thump. He would have to clear out the sub-basement soon enough, they had a bit of a soft landing now.
His failure encouraged him to continue. There was no mucousy material coating it this time, something which only occurred twice in his entire time conjuring them, it was a good sign. He was tired, that was all. If he had been able to concentrate better, he probably would have been able to create a proper one. Still, there was always the next time.
It was almost four days later when he finally got a chance to return to his basement. He was setting up to perform the conjuring, when an idea struck him. What if the residual life in the bones was not strong enough? What if they needed more? Taking one of the bones from each of his saving piles, he placed them over the trap door. The life from three different bones, from three different bodies, might be enough to create a protector.
He found it difficult to concentrate due to his excitement, but after the flash, he opened his eyes, and before him, stood a protector. Harry looked at his creation carefully, taking it all in. It was tall, maybe seven feet, its arms were long, hanging down to its knee caps. Its face was slack, almost expressionless, but still it had a mouth, a nose and two of those red eyes. He surveyed his worked slowly, it probably wasn’t very strong. Protectors only had a limited span, it would be able to save him once, though you could make stronger ones. He didn’t know how before, but now he guessed that the more bones you used the stronger the protector.
He was excited by his creation, and, after an hour, it was still alive, still walking around. It was a curious creature, looking around everything, but that did not surprise Harry. It would be searching for any dangers against him. Besides, he was not worried, the protector could not hurt him.
He wanted to test his creation out, but there was only one way and he did not want to risk it. He would not put himself in a life or death situation just yet. After an hour or two the novelty wore off and Harry had an idea. A wonderful idea. He would be safe with a protector, but even safer with two.
He set up the ritual again, he was tired, but exhilarated and he knew that if he could do it once he could do it again. The protector stood by and watched curiously as Harry set up the ingredients.
Another creature stood before him, but there was something not quite right about it, it took Harry a moment to realise what it was, it was covered in a thin sheen of fluid. That meant failure. Signing he reached for the level and pulled. The trap door sprung open, but as it did the creature jumped. The creature turned to Harry and started to move towards him, it raised an arm, showing Harry it’s long, sharp nails.
Harry
backed away from it slowly. He didn’t know if the protector would
be any use if the creature tried to hit him more than once, if the
protector would be able to save him in a fight. The creature swung
its arm at Harrys face, aiming for the eyes and the protector jumped
in its way, pushing Harry backwards, absorbing the blow.
Harrys
arms pin wheeled as he stumbled and tried to keep his balance. He
tripped over something and started to fall, for a few seconds he was
weightless, his body surging with adrenaline. He realised what he had
fallen over, the lip of the trap door.
There was a loud crack when he landed, but there was no pain. Relieved he wasn’t too hurt, he tried to move, his arms were unresponsive. He couldn’t feel pain, he couldn’t feel anything. He looked up at the square of light, leading to his basement. The creatures head looked over the side and smiled. Thin rivulets of drool fell from its mouth, landing on Harry’s head. “We were aware. All that pain. Every time left to die, finally find peace then dragged back here to be in agonising pain again. We were aware.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see red glowing orbs in the darkness, moving towards him.
Camping Trip
When he woke in the woods, in the dark and cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. It was reassuring to know he was still there, fear would wake him during the night, fear that she had found them, that the child had wandered into the woods accidentally and gotten lost.
They went camping every year, so when preparations began for it this year, there was nothing strange or unusual about it. She never suspected that they wouldn’t be returning. That they couldn’t return.
This time they went deep into the woods, deeper than usual. But they would be safe. He had a map, some provisions. He needed some time, to figure out what exactly they were going to do. During the car ride up the mountains he would have momentary flashes of panic that she had figured it out, that she was following them.
It would be much easier if they could just divorce, but she wouldn’t allow it and he was uncertain of this prospect too. She was good at twisting words and events to match her own deranged outlook on life. She might get their son. God only knew what would happen to him then. While he was around, he was able to stop Tommy getting beaten too bad, taking the worst for himself.
Really, what could he do? The thought that plagues him during the days and kept him awake at night. There was nothing. He had tried to go to the police before but the man at the desk pretty much laughed him out of the station. The words of derision driving him away. “So? What do you want us to do about it?” something, anything. There was nothing he could do himself. He couldn’t fight back or she’d take his son. Though his body was a catalogue of scars and abuse, she would manage to warp it into something beneficial for her.
He knew this was the highpoint of Tommy’s year, not because he enjoyed camping, but because they were free, for a few short days, gone from her tyrannical rule. They would have to return, return to the beatings, the abuse. Every year Tommy cried on the way home, asking why they couldn’t stay out here, in the wilderness. Why couldn’t they run?
This year was the last time they would go camping. They would run, he just needed to figure out how. They would take the car, sell it somewhere for some quick cash, then get a bus to somewhere else in the country. They could change their names, their appearances. Hell, Tommy was still growing, soon he would cease to look exactly like his picture if she started a search. He could say it was just similar is all, not that missing child. Tommy would know, he would back him up. They could get away, they could be safe. They could be free.
He hadn’t planned for this, at least not properly. He needed time, time away from her to figure out exactly what he would do. They weren’t expected back for at least a week and they had only left her yesterday. They would spend the day, maybe another night out here before going somewhere else. The woods were deep, they could probably hide out here and never be found if they moved fast enough, they had time. Besides, they would be reported missing by her, but the police would search the woods. She couldn’t know what he had planned. He’d do something to the campsite, maybe cut open the tent, they could take supplies. Abandoning the car would buy them more time, but if he sold it, maybe wore a baseball cap, tried to look different, they might think it was stolen.
He slept uneasily during the night, but despite this he felt better in the morning, they really were free. There was nothing she could do to stop them, nothing at all. This would be like a mini-vacation, before their new lives. One day, just one, then they would be gone, like smoke, never to be found. Tommy would be happy. He loved his mother, every child did, even when the mother is sick, deranged. They still try to love their mothers. He might miss her, but he would not miss the abuse. He could be protected from physical pain, but she excelled at mental torture. If they hadn’t formed such a strong bond, she surely would have tried to pit Tommy against him. Despite her faults, she wanted the perfect family. A close father and son helped her convince herself everything was ok but still, she would shout, shout so loudly. Tommy was stupid, he was slow, how much she had to put up with for him, that she never wanted him, that she hated him. Despite all this, Tommy still loved her. When she was in a good mood, there could be perfect days, days spent going out to the zoo or aquarium or picnics. She would point out animals, fish, plants and explain them all to him as he stared at her, in awe of her seemingly never-ending knowledge.
They spent the day fishing, then, once their dinner was caught, they built a campfire. He carefully gutted and cleaned the fish before cooking them. they had food supplies with them, just in case, but eating fresh fish on the trips was a tradition and though it would probably be their last camping trip, at least for awhile, he wanted to uphold the traditions as much as possible. Before bed, they would eat toasted marshmallows and tell stories. They used to tell ghost stories, but Tommy would have nightmares. He tried to play it off like it was nothing, but that was one tradition that was phased out, though he didn’t think Tommy noticed but he did and was glad.
“C’mon, time for bed.” “Really? It’s not that late” “I know, but we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” “Why what are we going to be doing.” “We’re going to play a game, a pretend game, but we’ll be playing it for awhile though.” Tommy looked sceptical. “What kind of game?” “Well, we’re going to pretend to be other people…and tomorrow, we’re going to get up and pack, and pretend we were never here.” “Why?” “I’ll explain more tomorrow. Don’t worry. It’s a fun game. Just have a good nights sleep.” Tommy thought that maybe, just maybe they were running away and though part of him was loathe to leave his mother, part of him, a part he would never really admit to, not until later, was glad.
He thought it was best to fill Tommy in on the rest tomorrow, while they were driving in the car. He thought Tommy would go along with it, but he wasn’t sure. It was better to be safe.
He was having a strange dream when Tommy shook him. “Dad. Dad, there’s something outside the tent.” “Huh?” “There was a noise.” There was a faint snuffling sound. He smiled. “Don’t worry Tommy, it’s just a wild animal. Probably looking for scraps. It’ll be gone soon enough.” “No, it isn’t. I heard someone talking softly.” “It was just a dream buddy.” “No. I swear.” He looked at Tommy, his eyes were wide with fright, he was pale save for a two red spots high on his cheeks. Another bad dream. Sighing, he turned in the sleeping bag, it was cold outside and he didn’t want to leave the warmth. “Ok, look, I’ll go outside and look and when I go out and see that it’s a wild animal, or see it running off, will you believe me and go to sleep?” Tommy nodded his head. He was out of the sleeping bag and, holding the torch they kept nearby in case of night time bathroom needs, he began to unzip the tent. Tommy’s hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing it, vice like. “Don’t go outside. Stay here, It’s safe.” “Don’t be silly. Just hang on a second.” He unzipped the tenth and stepped out into the clearing. Slowly he shone the beam around, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Something seemed to have been pawing at the ashes of their fire. “There’s nothing out here.” he turned a full circle and was about to return when he heard a noise. Faint. Something was trying to be quiet. He felt a chill. Though it was likely the animal was trying to hide, he had the feeling of being stalked. He suppressed the urge to run wildly and shone the beam towards the noise.
He moved slightly away from the tent, trying to see something, anything. He though the light was reflected in the eyes of something, but he couldn’t be sure. It was probably a fox or something. Shaking his head, he turned back towards the tent and started to scream.
It looked at him, and he at it. Its body nothing but a pulsating mass of darkness, glowing faintly in the moonlight. It seemed to stretch towards him.
Then the memory came back, this was a tradition and traditions are important in the family.
It moved closer, beginning to envelope him. He couldn’t move, frozen solid by it’s gaze. The last thing he heard before his ears were covered was a thin, shrill scream, it was Tommy’s.
The next morning they decided they home early. Tommy seemed to be slightly feverish and it was best to get that checked, it seemed to happen every year they went camping. Probably the fish they ate last night. Maybe it was extra cold this year and he had gotten the flu. They packed up the car and started the journey home.
Oblivion
“Hey baby! Wait up!” clutching her bag tighter, the woman began to walk quickly, almost jogging. The man was still following her, he had been for a good ten minutes. She hadn’t noticed him at first, while she could have ducked into a shop or ran to a house to seek help, only when she entered the business district did she hear the heavy footsteps trying to sync with hers. She heard him making kissing sounds again, she prayed he wouldn’t catch up with her. Ducking her head down she tried to make herself smaller. The sound of her footsteps echoed off the surrounding buildings, each one joining the others creating a cacophony that drowned out the sound of her pursuer. Her heart beat steadily in her ears. “Please, no, don’t come closer, please” she whispered over and over to herself. A hand grabbed her shoulder and forcefully spun her around; he had managed to catch up to her without her hearing. His face was obscured by shadows, but it was bright enough to see the leer he wore, he shoved her against the building and before she had time to react, he was on top of her, his hands invading her body, he moved her arm against her neck as she opened her mouth to scream, in the corner of her eye she could see the knife that hand held. She felt his hand between the fork of her legs, using his hand and foot he forced her legs wider. He removed his hand, she shut her eyes and she heard the sound of his zipper being lowered. His hand, once more between her legs, he pulled at her skirt, pulling it up, searching for her panty line, finding it, his thick, meaty fingers began to tug it lower. Her breathing quickened and she felt light headed “You’re gonna like this, won’t you slut? Yeah, this is what you want isn’t it?” his weight against her was crushing, she couldn’t breathe. The buildings around her began to swirl, thin dots of red and black flashed across her vision as darkness fell across her eyes, in her last seconds of consciousness she prayed someone would find them, stop him before he penetrated her.
When she awoke she was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, she was in a different part of town. She tried to remember what happened as great gasps filled her lungs. Had she run away? Did she manage to wriggle free? Did he rape her? Did she hurt him? She looked down and moaned, her clothes had dark blotches, they were sticky and cold. A metallic tang hung in the air. Turning towards the wall she tried not to vomit, bringing up her hand to block her mouth. As it touched her skin she realised her hand was wet too. Shaking, she took it away from her mouth and, seeing it was dark underneath the glow of the streetlights, she vomited. Seeing the back of her hand was still clean, reflecting pale yellow light, she wiped her mouth with it. It came away with dark streaks. The blood was starting to congeal. She could feel it, gritty and thick beneath her fingernails. It took her a moment to register where she was and, recognising the area, she looked around furtively then started home, trying not to wretch as her nostrils filled with the smell of blood and her clothes began to stick to her skin.
Making it home without being seen she took off her skirt, then, used a scissors to cut away the top, she couldn’t bear to have the congealed blood scrape across her face. She went to the bathroom, stripping out of her underwear as she went. She noted that she still had her panties, as she waited for the shower to warm she looked in the mirror, her face was coated in blood, great patches covered her creamy skin which was startling in contrast, large clumps of her hair were stuck together with blood. One of her eyes had swollen, the surrounding area was puffy and bruised. She had a few shallow cuts on her arms and a bruise, slowly blooming on her neck. Grabbing a face cloth she soaked it in water and started to wash the blood off her face. Her face, cleaned of blood, still looked pale, she wondered if she was in shock. The bruise, dark purple, was a striking contrast. There was no way she would be able to hide it. She hissed as she prodded at the bruise. Then, with a shaky hand, checked to see if she had been violated. She couldn’t feel any soreness, but, if she was in shock, she might not realise she was hurt. She didn’t feel her eye throbbing until she touched at the bruise. She sighed with relief as she found no evidence she had been raped. Stepping from the mirror, she stepped into the shower, not testing the water. It was hotter than usual, but she ignored it and began to wash away the blood.
She
watched as it swirled down the drain, bright pink along with darker
lumps. She tilted her head back, not wanting to close her eyes, and
rinsed her hair, checking for any cuts. Finding none she grabbed the
soap and began to wash herself.
Her skin, already pink from the
hot water, began to go bright, angry red as she scrubbed it
violently, trying to cleanse herself of the event she could not
remember. She wondered if she should go to the police, but tell them
what? She blacked out and woke up far away from where she was
attacked, covered in blood? What if the man was found dead? No one
would believe she couldn’t remember. This wasn’t the first time
she blacked out. It had happened before when she was hurt. There were
long gaps in her childhood. Sometimes weeks would disappear in
seconds. But as far as she knew she had never hurt anyone before.
The water in the shower grew hotter and steam filled the room, finally turning the water off she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. Going into the sitting room she sat on a large, comfy armchair and curled into a ball. Resting her chin on her knees. She could still vaguely taste vomit in her mouth, she wanted to brush her teeth but the adrenaline had worn off, she felt incredibly tired. Moving out of the armchair seemed impossible. Her throat began to throb. I’ll have to get a cold drink to sooth it, the thought flitted through her mind as she dropped into unconsciousness, tears flowed from beneath her eyes, soaking into the towel. She slept in the armchair, her eyes shedding secret tears, had she been awake she might have realised it was the first time she cried since she was five.
When she woke the next morning, for a few sleepy seconds she was surprised to find herself on the armchair, wrapped in a towel. As she tried to move, her calves cried out in protest, she swallowed the saliva in her mouth, feeling her throat tighten and burn, what had happened the night before came rushing forward. Slowly she stood and, moving carefully made her way into her room, it was Saturday, she was free from work. Carefully she dressed in pyjamas, then, grabbing a pair of thick, fluffy socks, she shuffled back into the sitting room. The arm chair had a large, damp patch where her hair had been. Sitting on the couch she put on the socks then moved toward the kitchen. The thought of events the night before filled her with nausea. Unable to eat, she went to the cupboard and grabbed out a packet of aspirin, as she was about to take some, she remembered the medication she had been given for migraines the month before, reaching deeper into the cabinet, she found the pack, and, taking one, she painfully swallowed it with a gulp of ice cold water. She sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around her, the night before running through her mind. Remembering the blood she could feel under her nails, she glanced down and was horrified to see that there were still some small residues left under the nail. She washed her hands three times, scrubbing them with a nail brush, when she was done they were a deep red, the skin painful to touch. She brushed her teeth repeatedly, worried that some blood had gone in her mouth at some point. The mint of the toothpaste replaced the taste of stale vomit and plaque that coated her mouth, beneath which was a faint coppery taste. Moving back into the sitting room she picked up the blanket and sat back down, the couch was still slightly warm. Grabbing the remote she turned on the TV, trying to take her mind off what had happened. The painkiller had begun to kick in as she stared blankly at the moving images, she slipped into another world, far away from the one her body inhabited.