Darkness Demands Part 4

Val slipped effortlessly back into the mother role again after a few hours of being the highly efficient export manager at the kitchen utensil manufacturer where she'd worked these last ten years. A company flippantly referred to within the family as Pots 'n Pans R Us.

As they talked, John b.u.t.tered the bread and watched his wife move around the kitchen with that seductive walk of hers. She'd loosened her shoulder length hair from the clip, teased her blouse from her skirt, so he caught glimpses of her bare waist when she reached up to the top shelves for the gla.s.ses. It may have been the after-effects of a chaotic morning but he found himself craving to stroke her bare back before slipping off to bed to grab a few steamy moments alone with her.

"John? John, you've not been listening, have you? Did she need a booster?"

The image of Val lying naked on the bed, smiling s.e.xily up at him reluctantly sloped away from his mind's eye. "Booster?" he echoed, scrambling to pick up the thread of the conversation.

She shot him a smile. "Booster, yes. Did Elizabeth need a teta.n.u.s booster?"

"Oha" He was back on track. "No. The one she had as a baby is still good for a few years yet. Do you fancy orange juice to go with the sandwich?"

"No, let's go mad and have a beer."

"G.o.d, I could do with it."

"The accident really shook you up this morning, didn't it?"

"You can say that again. I thought she'd cut her throat. I really thought she-"

"Put it behind you." Kissing him, she slipped her hand around the back of his neck. "Mmma muscles are tight. If we get a chance after lunch I'll see what I can do to relax you."

He found a grin working across his face. "Is that a promise?"

"Do you mean are you onto a promise?" Her voice dropped, sounding so husky and warm that it sent a s.h.i.+ver up his back. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we, my little glamour boy?"

He slipped a hand under her blouse and stroked the skin on her back. It was deliciously silky and deliciously cool despite the summer heat.

"Mm, Johna you know I demand gratificationa and I will begin with that cold beer. You get that. I'll bring the sandwiches."

His heart purred inside his chest. Somehow she always made him feel like a teenager again; one just about to experience a naked clinch for the first time. Perhaps it was that erotic flash in her eye; or the way her lips would grow larger, redder and so compelling he could hardly take his eyes off them. h.e.l.l yes, it was all happening at an animal level.

But hallelujah to that. After seventeen years of marriage they still enjoyed moments in bed that were nothing less than electric. And now, with a promise of generating a little more electricity upstairs that afternoon, he went through into the lounge of the Water Mill with a spring in his step and memories of the blood-sopped morning thankfully blunted.

3.

"s.e.xy Paula s.e.xy Paul Newton!" There were four girls of around fifteen sitting on the wall that flanked the cemetery gates. He knew them well enough. They called themselves the 'Paul Newton fan club'. He knew full well that they were just taking the p.i.s.s.

"s.e.xy Paul. s.e.xy Paul Newton," they sang again as he walked by. He gave them a deliberately nonchalant wave. Immediately they whispered amongst themselves and then broke off into giggles.

He hoped to G.o.d that they didn't follow him today. He didn't really mind them, but what they'd see would go round the school like a dose of measles.

Thankfully they didn't follow. So he quickened his pace, following the line of the cemetery railings ("Is that to keep us out or them in," his father was over fond of saying. But it still got a laugh out of Elizabeth). Anyway, today Paul Newton had a secret meeting with someone he would prefer wouldn't become known to the Paul Newton fan club. Or to his family (who thought he was mooching around town with friends). Because today was going to be different.

A sun-drenched path took him further uphill. Open fields lay to his left. While on his right the cemetery clung to the hill. Through the iron fence he could see darkly shadowed places beneath ma.s.ses of trees that erupted from once neatly tended pathways. Tree trunks even burst from the graves themselves. With the imagination he'd inherited from his father he pictured the tree roots worming their way through rotted coffins and right into the bones of long dead men and women. Maybe a big taproot forced its way through the jaws of a man rotted by syphilis. And his skull was encrusted with pouting florets of milk molda while the bodies of a million maggots lay there like dried rice, filling the casket from top to bottoma Cool, he thought, smiling. Maybe he would follow in Dad's footsteps after all. But he'd write horror movie scripts. And in a movie that would take the world by storm the syphilitic corpse would burst from the grave like a missile, showering the neighborhood with maggots. They'd come down rattling on roofs and cars and burrow into dogs' coats.

Exceedingly cool. He grinned in an easy, handsome way enjoying the flow of thoughts through his head. Picturing his fantasy movie, he moved on a scene. A guy and a gal are making out in the back seat of a car; the guy kisses her nipples, they're hard and they're darka the guy and the girl are getting close to that momenta that momenta she's naked nowa But isn't this supposed to be a horror flick? Paul Newton was miles away. He'd even forgotten about his secret rendezvous; well, for the moment anyway. But the great G.o.d s.e.x that rules all heads (from twelve to eighty) had taken control now.

A scene did suggest itself where the guy, hearing that rain of maggots on the roof, exclaims, 'Hey what's that noise?'

'Don't stop now, Jim' (or Joe or Bert or whatever the frig the hero of the movie is called). Then he leaves the car, pulling up his pants as he does so. Sees the maggots writhing on the ground, then hears a noise in the bushes. 'I can hear something,' Jim, Joe, Bert (or whatever the h.e.l.l he's called) says to the naked and still hotly panting girl. 'I'm just going to see what it is. I'll be back in a minute.'

The girl groans with s.e.xual disappointment. Boyfriend disappears into the bushes where he's glimpsed something shuffling along in a post mortem kind of way. There's a screama But Paul Newton realized the s.e.x scene playing in his head was far more interesting than the horror angle now. The girl would be standing naked by the car; nipples hard as cherrystones in the cool night air, her feet placed apart, pulses throbbing asa h.e.l.l. He was here. So soon, too.

A section of fence had collapsed inward, giving easy access to the graveyard. He paused. Here, bushes and trees cl.u.s.tered across the face of the cemetery so densely it was as if they tried to hide some deadly secret. A breath of air stirred them. The sound made him think of something ma.s.sive moving through the trees; an unseen prowling something that watched him from the shadows.

With a s.h.i.+ver he realized that today was that single point in time when his fantasies and reality would collide. Licking his lips, he entered the cemetery; the lush gra.s.s reached his elbows. This was akin to walking through a green ocean with the tops of gravestones breaking the surface like shark fins. They were dark, predatory shapes. Soon they surrounded him as he moved deeper into the cemetery. It was silent, now except for the lone cry of a bird. Soon he'd pa.s.sed from sunlight to shadow beneath the trees. h.e.l.l. It was dark as sin in there.

It took a moment for his eyes to accustom themselves after the transition from brilliance to near darkness, but at last they did. And by the headstone of a family burnt to death in a house fire stood a figure.

"I didn't think you would dare come," said the figure. "Follow me."

He did as he was told. And followed the figure along a path that weaved between graves, deeper and deeper into the heart of the graveyard.

4.

"Is that Harry?"

"No, Dad, it's me." Cynthia Gregory walked into the bedroom. She sounded tired. It had been a horrible day.

"I need to see Harry. It's important."

"You can't, Dad."

"Why not?"

"Don't you remember, Dad," her voice, despite her woes, was considerate. "Harry died five years ago. You were at the funeral. Now, Dad, sit down to the table. Robert's bringing your meal. Do you want to go to the toilet first?"

"Is it supper time?" The afternoon sun streamed in as the old man sat on the bed. "Is it suppertime? I'm hungry."

"Yes, Dad." The old man's daughter sighed. "It's suppertime. Now, do you need the bathroom?"

"I want to speak to Harry. It's important."

"Oh, Dada" She placed a tablecloth on a table that faced the window. Then she set out a knife and fork. "There. You come and have something to eat."

He rose to his feet, then went to the window where he stared out with filmy eyes.

"I'm hungry," he said. "It must be suppertime by now."

"Robert's coming up now. Meat pie all right? And there's a crumble to follow."

"And bread and b.u.t.ter?"

"Yes. Just as you like it."

"I don't like brown bread. Never have."

"No, it's white bread."

He spoke about food as he always did. It was one of his few interests in life. Yet he looked out of the window as if he expected visitors. She shook her head. Despite everything she loved her father. He'd been good to the family. Their mother had died young, but he'd never neglected his children once. Often, he'd work from home so he could be with them. Summers he'd take them swimming to the lake at the water mill. It was a place that drew him back time and time again. He knew the Kelly family that owned the place then, and he'd spend hours talking to Dianne Kelly; so much so, that Cynthia wondered if there was romance blossoming between the widower and the spinster.

Now the old man looked out of the window. His lips moved as he whispered nonsense to himself. Cynthia tried not to ask the question but she found it tumbling from her lips anyway. "Oh, Dad. Why did you run away from the house this morning? You scared me half to death disappearing like that."

He didn't reply. His eyes were on the cemetery in the distance as if he looked for someone there.

"What was it about the letter that frightened you?"

"Letter?" His milky blue eyes were innocent.

"Yes, the letter you saw this morning. It was a wicked thing to do, but it was just some silly prank by children. They should have known you're in no state to go leaving bars of chocolate in the cemetery. If you ask me it was just plain cruel and I've a good mind to-"

"Letter? Letter!" The old man remembered; a light flared in his eyes. One that shone with fear. "It's the letter. The letters have started again." With a shocking suddenness he struck the window with his fist.

"Harry! Harry! It's come back. The letters have started again. Go warn Mr. Kelly. Harrya Harry why won't you answer me?"

"Oh G.o.d," Cynthia murmured in utter defeat. "Dad, I wish you wouldn't say these things."

"Now, now, Dad, what's all this then?" Robert Gregory breezed into the room with the tray. "Don't go upsetting, Cynthia, there's a good lad. Eat your dinner while it's hot."

"Harrya" The force had gone from the old man's voice now. Deflated, he allowed himself to be led by the elbow to the table. "Why won't Harry come round to the house anymore? He hasn't visited me in months."

"Now, Dad," Robert Gregory boomed louder as if sheer volume would have a calming effect. "Tuck in. There's crumble and custard for afters."

"I've told him," Cynthia said in that tired, distracted way of hers. "But he's still worrying about that letter."

"Now don't go fussing about silly letters, Dad." He helped the old man sit to the table. "Eat up, there's a good chap."

Cynthia went to sit on the bed. She crossed her arms, rubbing her elbows with her hands, troubled.

Robert Gregory dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "Cynthia. Go down and have your lunch."

"But I don't think Dad will-"

"Don't you worry. I'll sit with him. You go down and unwind for a while. You've really been through the mill this morning, you know."

With a grateful smile Cynthia went downstairs. Soon Robert Gregory could hear the clink of cutlery as she ate. He waited for a moment, shuddering at the sloppy sounds as Stan ate the mashed potato. Then he went across to the table where he glared down at the man attacking the full plate of food. "I think you've had enough of that, don't you?"

Robert picked up the bread, dropped it onto the mound of steaming potato, and then took it through to the toilet where he silently sc.r.a.ped it into the bowl. It took three flushes but at last the food was gone. After that, he put the empty plate in front of the old man who stared at it in confusion.

A little while later Cynthia returned to the room. "All done?" She sounded brighter.

Her father looked down at the plate. His eyes were puzzled and sad looking.

"Is it supper time yet?" he asked. "I'm hungry."

5.

Paul Newton felt electricity in the air. It crackled down his nerves from his scalp to his fingertips. The figure beneath the trees turned to look at him.

The eyes enchanted him-they were huge, luminous things that locked onto him and wouldn't let him look away.

"I thought you'd have preferred to be with your friends," she said.

He couldn't take his eyes off the slender figure, or her eyes, or her curling hair that cascaded down over her shoulder onto one breast.

"Is there something wrong with my T-s.h.i.+rt?" she asked, looking down.

"Noa no." Good G.o.d. Like some lovesick kid he'd been staring at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "No. I thought you lookeda" He swallowed, then added lamely, "Nice."

"Thank you, Paul Newton. You look nice, too. New s.h.i.+rt?"

"Yes." His mouth stayed dry. There was a real danger now his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth, leaving him making groaning sounds like some zombie wannabe.

"It's lovely," she said, reaching forward to touch it. "Cotton and summer go together like strawberries and cream, the perfect combination."

"Your hair looks different." Oh Christ, why did he sound so lame? He clenched one fist behind his back. This was his first real date for Chrissakesa and with Miranda Bloom, the most gorgeous girl of his year. And here he was babbling nonsense. He tried to look calm, cool and collected. He leaned back against a stone angel, which rocked with a grating sound. Alarmed, he grabbed it around the waist to steady it.

Miranda giggled.

"This place isn't safe." He grinned. "The whole lot's falling down."

"It's full of dead people, too. More than eighty thousand if I remember rightly."

"h.e.l.l, that's a lot of bones."

She smiled. Paul Newton found it was a breathtakingly cute smile. His heart hammered.

"You've never been here before have you?" she said, stroking back a swathe of curls.

He shook his head. "It's always been locked. I meana I mean the main gates have always been locked." h.e.l.l, he was even stammering now.