Weird Cries From The Soul Read online

  At a quarter past five I came off the motorway and took the country road that led to the cottage. About two miles along it I stopped. Pulled up on the side of the road was a small yellow car with its bonnet up. A young girl was leaning against it, wiping engine oil from her hands with a cloth.

  "Having problems?" I said, as I pulled up beside her.

  She was pretty in an off-beat kind of way. Spiky black hair, fair skin, with a few faint freckles across the bridge of a slightly upturned nose.

  The problem with her car was beyond both of us so I gave her a lift. I found out she was nineteen, she knew she looked younger, she was here visiting relatives, and she told me her friends called her Billie. I dropped her off at the nearest town.

  The road through the woods was no better than I remembered it. The late summer rains had turned the road into a mire, but I took it slowly and managed to drive without getting bogged down. Dusk was closing in when I came within sight of the cottage. Lights were burning inside, and Marie's car was parked under the car-port.

  I felt the anger swell up again but, as I went to get out of my car, the cottage door opened. There was a shot, and my windscreen shattered. I threw myself across the passenger seat. Another shot and I felt a tyre burst. I pictured the hunting rifle that hung above the fireplace in the cottage. Pictured it now in the hands of a crazy, jealous young boyfriend, Marie's boyfriend.

  "Marie! It's me, for God's sake...Harry!"

  "Harry, is that you?" Marie called back. For a moment there was silence followed by Marie's voice again. "Are you alone?"

  "Yes, I'm alone."

  "Okay. Get out of the car...but slowly. No sudden movements."

  "Where did you learn to shoot like that?" I asked, as I walked towards her. She lowered the rifle, all the while glancing beyond me. "You shouldn't have come," she said. Her shoulders sagged. "Oh what the hell," she said. "Now you're here you may as well come inside." She turned and walked towards the door. "You never know, you may be able to help."

  Marie's boyfriend was there all right, but he was sitting huddled in a chair with a heavy blanket wrapped around him, so only his head was showing. He looked sick. His face was the colour of sour cream, his nose was running with thick yellow mucus, his eyes were red rimmed and watery, and he was trembling uncontrollably.

  Marie went across to him and crouched down by the side of the chair. She smoothed his damp hair away from his waxy forehead and spoke softly to him. "Ray, this is Harry Spencer, my ex-husband. We can trust him, Ray. He's here to help us."

  The young man stared vaguely in my direction, yet I wouldn't swear that he actually saw me. His lips were dry and cracked, and he flicked a heavily furred tongue across them.

  "Thirsty," he said, in a voice that was barely a croak.

  Marie went into the kitchen and I followed her. "What's wrong with him?" I asked.

  She reached into her pocket and handed me something. "It looks like a piece of black string with knots tied in it," I said.

  "Look again. It's not string."

  She was right, it wasn't string. It was hair, finely braided and tied with knots.

  "It's a witch's ladder," she said steadily. "They use them for cursing people. Ray found it in the pocket of his jacket just before he started to feel ill. They must have slipped it to him without him realising it."

  I stopped her there. "Hold on now," I said. "Are you trying to tell me that the people chasing loverboy are witches, and they're using this hair thing to make him sick?"

  "Yes," she said. She sat down on the couch and buried her face in her hands. I'd seen Marie cry before, too often to be moved much by it, but somehow this was different. Eventually she cried herself to sleep on the couch, and with Ray comatose in his chair I laid fully dressed on the bed and fell asleep. Until I was woken by another shot.

  By the light of the moon I could see Marie standing by the open door of the cottage, the hunting rifle steady at her shoulder. Ray was still in his chair, eyes closed, looking like a corpse.

  I leapt from the bed, ran across to Marie and wrenched the gun away from her. "What the hell do you think you're shooting at?" I demanded.

  She looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to remember who I was. "They've found us, Harry," she said at last. "One of them was out there. I shot her."

  Over by the trees a figure was moving, getting to its feet. For the briefest of instants the moonlight lit the figure and my stomach lurched. There was something familiar about it. I opened my mouth to call out but the figure ran back towards the trees, and in a second was lost in their long, black shadows. I started to run. Marie called after me, but I ignored her and kept on running. Finally the name burst from my lips. "Billie!"

  I waited for a response, but none came. A low growl froze me to the spot before I could take a step. Ten feet in front of me was a tree. High in its branches, with the moonlight playing on its sleek black fur, sat a large cat, like a puma or a panther. It sat watching me with glittering, impassive yellow eyes, and then it moved, readying itself to pounce. I was too tired to run, so I stood there and watched as it sailed majestically over my head, skidded in the dust, gathered itself, glanced back at me, then raced away. I watched until the shadows of the night swallowed its jet black form. Then I ran, frightened, back to the cottage.

  When I woke the next morning it had gone ten. Marie was curled up asleep on the couch. Ray was still in his chair. I went across to him. He was still breathing, but he looked worse than he had the night before. I picked up Marie's handbag, found her car keys, and headed into town.

  Billie had told me she was in town visiting relatives. It was pure intuition that made me look for her at the small hotel, but that was where she was. By lying, and using some charm, I found myself in her room. She was lying under the bed covers, and she looked as sick as Ray. I thought I knew why. It was her that Marie had shot last night.

  I pulled back the covers wondering what I would tell the hospital, but the sight of her body made me catch my breath. Her body was pink and wet, the skin almost transparent. I could see veins and muscles through it, I could watch blood flowing through arteries. The body seemed to pulse, to throb with obscene life. But worse than that were the patches of black fur, moulting from the body, falling off in clumps, only to liquefy on the sheets, leaving black oily pools. It wasn't a girl's body at all, it was the body of a large cat. The only human aspect of it was the head, Billie's head, Billie's pretty upturned nose, Billie's freckles.

  Even as I watched, the body was changing, as if unseen hands were kneading the flesh, moulding it into another shape. The legs grew longer, straighter, small breasts started to form. I pulled the sheet across to cover her, and fought down an almost overwhelming desire to run from the room. It was mid-afternoon when she flicked open her eyes. She yawned, pulled her arms from beneath the sheets and stretched. Her arms were normal arms, hands like normal hands, not paws, fingers not claws. She turned her head, saw me sitting there watching her, and I heard her gasp. Her eyes widened and a hundred questions flashed across them.

  She sat up. The sheet slipped from her body, exposing her breasts, full and firm now, tipped with ruby red nipples, but she made no move to cover them. "So you know."

  "I know what I saw."

  "And what did you see?"

  "What are you?" I took a white cotton shirt from one of the hangers and tossed it across to her. She kicked off the sheet to reveal a silky white leg, smooth and unblemished. There was no sign of the wound.

  "I don't believe this," I said, and got up to stare out of the window.

  I fetched her case and laid it on the bed for her. She opened it and pulled out a pair of jeans.

  "Why were you up at the cabin last night?"

  She answered me straight. "Looking for someone."

  I dug in the pocket of my jeans. I pulled out the witch's ladder and handed it to her. "Do you know what this is?"

  She took it and held it tightly in her hand. "Hair, my hair. It used to be down
to my waist. When I had it cropped last year Raymond was furious. So I braided a piece up for him. A sort of souvenir." Her voice seemed to drift away and her eyes closed. "Yes, I can feel him." She raised the fist holding the hair. "Very near." Suddenly she opened her eyes wide. "I was right. He is up at your cottage. I knew it. I can sense him. Raymond's my brother. My twin brother."

  It was my turn to shut my eyes. "And your brother...is he...is he like you?"

  "Yes, he's the same."

  "I've left Marie alone up there with him." I got to my feet and headed for the door. "Although he was so sick I can't believe he's dangerous."

  "You must take me with you, Harry. He's always sick before a kill, before a change. Raymond's killed before. He's wild now, he has the hunger. It's always worse with the ones who have tasted blood. That's why I was trying to find him. The family sent me as I'm the only one he'll respond to. The only one who's safe with him."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're twins. If he kills me, he kills himself. We're interdependent. One can't survive without the other. When you saw me last night I'd taken the form of a cat, but that was only because it was the first creature I thought of. It was an instinct change. Cats are fast, sure-footed. I was injured, and I needed to escape. Raymond and I are shapechangers. We can assume whatever form we like."

  I stared hard at her. As crazy as it sounded, I knew she was telling me the truth. The story Ray had told Marie about being in trouble was all lies, designed to make her take him to the cottage, a quiet place where he could change. "Okay, you had better come with me."

  "Raymond's always been the wild one," she said. "Mother said something about him once. She said he was born under a bad moon. I remember not understanding it at the time, after all, we were born only minutes apart. Surely if Raymond was born under a bad moon, then I was too. Mother didn't see it like that. Although we were twins she said Raymond and I were different, two sides of the same coin."

  We reached the cottage but it was empty. The rifle was still there and I loaded it.

  "Where do you think they've gone?" Billie said.

  Before I had a chance to answer Marie screamed. The sound echoed off the rocks around me, pounding into my brain. There was a hollow in the trees at the top of a steep rise. The scream had come from there. I started to scramble up the rocks, clutching the rifle under my arm, leaving both hands free to climb. The rocks were sharp, they sliced my hands, and by the time I'd reached the hollow I'd left a trail of blood, smeared on the rocks behind me.

  I stood outside the hollow, rifle ready at my shoulder. I called Marie's name, once, twice. I heard movement and stepped back and to one side, as something emerged from the blackness. Marie crawled out, dragging herself along on her hands and knees. Her clothes were ripped and bloodstained, her arms were scratched and bleeding, her golden hair matted, red. She raised her face to look at me. I flinched. She'd never be pretty again, Raymond had seen to that. No amount of make up would ever hide the damage, but at least she was alive.

  Anger boiled up inside me and I loosed off two shots into the black maw of the hollow. From inside came a roar of sound, the echo of my gunshots, but more than that. The roar continued long after the echo died away. I took one step forward and saw something, something that moved in the far corner. Something blacker than the blackness that surrounded it. It moved with reptilian grace, it's body shimmering in the half-light. Even as I watched, it seemed to be contorting, limbs stretching, lengthening. It came closer and I fired again. In the brilliant second of the muzzle flash I saw it plainly. I cried out and stumbled backwards.

  "Harry, no!" Billie's voice.

  I glanced back to see Billie scrambling over the rocks, trying to reach me. It was Billie, but she was different. Her eyes were wider apart, raging red, her face flatter, broader. Her skin was darkened by rapidly growing fur, and she was moving on all fours, gliding across the rocks with feline grace.

  From behind me, the thing that was once Raymond roared again, closer this time. Billie was almost upon me, yards away. She leapt through the air with a savage snarl, teeth bared, claws catching the last rays of the afternoon sun. I pulled the rifle into my shoulder and fired at her.

  The bullet caught her between the eyes. She landed dead at my feet. From inside the hollow came an anguished cry, and the thing that had once been Raymond staggered, as if to catch one more glimpse of the world, before it too toppled over to die at my feet.

  I dropped the rifle softly to the ground and scooped Marie up into my arms.

  "I'm sorry, Harry," she said faintly.

  MAMA

  "Bill! Have you seen Kirsty?" Susie Anderson yelled from the back porch. She wiped the flour from her hands onto her apron and ran down the porch steps, heading towards the barn, calling Kirsty's name. She stopped by the barn door and looked inside. "Kirsty, are you in here?" She listened carefully. She knew her daughter was in there and she was in no mood to play hide and seek. This was the first time they had entertained since they had bought the old farm.

  Still nothing, then, faintly, the soft rustling of straw, over in the corner, by an old pen. Kirsty was lying there curled into a ball, sound asleep, a doll clutched in her arms. Susie shook her head and smiled, then ran out to fetch Bill.

  Bill dragged the water tank out of the way and yanked the pen door, opening it wide. He stepped inside and scooped his daughter up into his arms, where she yawned and opened her eyes, gazing up at him sleepily. "Hi, daddy," she said.

  Susie noticed the doll. "What have you got there, darling?"

  "Abigail," Kirsty said, and hugged the doll tighter. "She's nice."

  "I'm sure she is. Where did you find her?"

  "Right here in the barn. She's been waiting for me to come and find her."

  Susie reached out to take the doll but pulled back her hand sharply, giving a small yelp of pain. She hugged her hand to her chest.

  "What is it?" Bill said.

  "You'd better take a look at the doll, Bill. There's something sharp there, a pin or something." She held out her hand. Across the back of it was a long, angry looking scratch. Small beads of blood were beginning to seep out along its length.

  "Let's get into the house first and I'll take a look." He carried his daughter out of the barn.

  "I can't find anything," Bill said. He was holding the now naked doll, turning it over and over in his hands. "Shall we let Kirsty keep the doll?"

  "I don't know that we should, after all we don't know where it's been. We don't know who had this place before us." The selling agents had said it had been empty for years. It was a good price, cheap for these parts.

  "Oh, please let me keep her."

  They glanced round to see Kirsty standing in the doorway, only a towel draped around her. While they had been examining the doll Kirsty had been soaking in the bathtub, at her mother's insistence. Susie looked across at Bill and caught the slight nod of his head.

  "She's all yours," Susie said. "But make sure you give her a good scrub."

  Kirsty's mouth widened into a grin and she ran across and took the doll from her mother, aiming a kiss at Susie's cheek but catching her ear. "Thanks."

  "Mama," the doll said.

  "Abigail says thanks too."

  Bill stood over the barbecue trying to get the firelighters to catch. He swore under his breath as one gave a flicker of flame and went out again.

  "Hurry, Bill, they'll be here soon."

  A dark blue Rover swept into the yard and honked its horn.

  "Les and Mary, always early," Bill said.

  "And look at me," Susie said horrified. "I haven't even brushed my hair. Stall them, Bill." She ran back to the house.

  "How the hell can I stall...Mary, Les. Great you could make it."

  "You see, Les, I told you we were too early," Mary Carney said.

  Les Carney was Bill's old boss. There wasn't much of a difference in their ages, but Carney looked fifteen years older than Bill. He also looked every inch the hen-pecked husba
nd.

  "I'm going inside to freshen up," Mary said. "Is Susie around?"

  In the house the two women talked until the men came in from the yard.

  "Les is an expert with barbecues," Bill said. "Had it alight in no time."

  Outside a piece of drifting tree branch blew against the barbecue and wrapped around the legs like an arduous lover for an instant, before moving away to find freedom in the open spaces around the house.

  There was nothing else around for miles. The road reaching the house was mainly track, after it left the motorway. Trees crowded round the east side of the old barn but the other sides of the place were open, inviting. It had been a dairy farm once, years ago. Now it was a brick and timber house, three barns and a lot of grey, barren land. The type of place people go for solitude, for peace and privacy.

  When they all went out to see how the food was coming along Bill held Les back. "Everything all right?"

  Les shrugged. Before he could reply Kirsty came into the kitchen.

  "Mama."

  The two men spun round. Kirsty held out her new doll for Les to see. He took it by the arms and began to talk to it. The awkward stilted talk of a man who had never had children. He pretended to whisper in the doll's ear, then held the doll's face up to his own ear for it to whisper back.

  "Jesus!" He yelled, and threw the doll away from the side of his head. There was blood where his ear was torn. "I swear it bit me."

  "Kirsty, give me that doll."

  Kirsty had anticipated her father's anger. She snatched up Abigail and held her tightly to her chest. There was blood dripping from the doll's painted lips. Kirsty pressed her mouth against the doll's face and kissed. She had blood on her lips as well now. She ran up the stairs.

  Bill went to run after her but Les stopped him. "She'll be all right, Bill, have you got any sticking plaster? My ear really stings."

  "Yeah, sure, I'll get some. Must be a loose pin in the doll but I couldn't find it earlier."

  "You know I'm having an affair," Les suddenly said.