Beast In The Basement Read online

  As I quicken my own pace, feet hammering grass, my arteries and eyeballs expand. I seethe.

  Ahead of me, near the edge of the woods, the kid slips over. He's barely on his arse before he picks himself straight back up and is running again.

  I slice my arms through the air beside me. Gaining ground.

  He darts between the trees and melts into the shadow world. I glance up, see the moon. Some chance of light in these woods, at least.

  Seconds later, I'm dashing between those same trees.

  What if he's waiting inside, ready to strike? I know only too well that he's prone to violence when cornered.

  You know what? I no longer care. He can knock the rest of my teeth out. Whatever. This kid's mine.

  Darkness all around. Dense trees, no clear path. Thorns rip my clothes, my flesh. I'm forced to slow down, holding my hands out to stop myself crashing into boughs and branches.

  All the time, I'm staring ahead through the undergrowth, eyes fixed on the Boy Man. He's only a few feet ahead, but he's faster.

  The fucker's getting away.

  My skin burns with loathing. I want to get my hands on him so badly, my face is actually wet with tears. I feel unhinged: a mad dog off the leash. Something fearsome is working its way up from my boiling guts and it wants out.

  Up ahead, the trees are thinning. I catch moonlight glinting on water. Must be a river.

  The thief loses his footing and tumbles out of view.

  The breath catches in my throat. This must be how a lion feels when it senses victory, out on the sun-baked savannah. I hurry through the remaining trees and find myself standing at the top of a river bank. The thief's rolling down it, towards the water, out of control.

  Charging down the bank towards him, I nearly lose balance and fall myself.

  Just before he hits the water, I seize him, killing his momentum, pinning him down on his back.

  "Fuck," he says, gasping, "sorry man, I'm sorry I did your place. I was just–"

  I pulp his words with my fist. One hand powerfully scrunches up his collar, choking him. The other repeatedly crashes into his face.

  Even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop. There's no way on Earth.

  This Boy Man represents too much. Reality. The Beast. Intruders. The united bubble-bursters of this godforsaken planet.

  My words explode like shotgun blasts. "How'd you like that? How do you fucking like that?"

  He struggles, trying to lash back at me, quite potently at first, but my onslaught is too much for him. Too constant. I'm above, he's below.

  My fist strikes him again and again, until it's blood-wet.

  I hear and feel the crack of bone. The darkness doesn't let me see his face, but the structure of his skull has changed. He's crying, burbling, gurgling.

  One word escapes a mouth brimming with smashed teeth: "Please".

  But it's too late for "please". My fucking life is over and I'm taking him with me.

  I keep punching at the blood and the skull parts, yelling all the obscenities I can think of, until he spasms, then goes limp.

  I tear the rucksack from his shoulders, then give him a shove. He rolls heavily down what remains of the bank, hits the water with a splash, then seems to unfurl. His body splays loose. A lotus flower drifting lifeless.

  Sitting on the bank with the rucksack beside me, I watch him gradually, soundlessly, sail away.

  Only now do I realise exactly what I've done. My flesh pinches and ripples. A crushing weight presses down on me, as if the whole universe is closing in. Oh God, maybe there really are in-built wrongs and rights.

  I burst into tears, wringing my wet hands together. All I can smell is blood and sweat.

  A murderer. This is what I've become.

  A killer in the woods. This is what The Beast has made of me.

  I've never despised that thing more.

  My sobs blend together and form one long, agonised howl, as I rock back and forth on the river bank.

  CHAPTER SIX: A TASTE OF PERFECTION

  You know, I used to be a respectable man with a job, a family and the utmost respect for life. Just one year ago, on a rainswept North London pavement, I told Sylvie and Jamie to stop walking so that I could remove a snail from our path.

  I remember tugging gently yet firmly on its shell as the creature stubbornly, perhaps fearfully, clung to the wet surface. I was worried that the shell might come loose, leaving it exposed and vulnerable, but thankfully it surrendered with a barely audible 'glop' and I was able to give it a new chance at life among the bushes of someone's garden.

  "Isn't Daddy nice?" Sylvie asked.

  Jamie smiled back up at her. "Daddy's the best."

  * * *

  What I can only imagine to be a full hour after the Boy Man drifted away, I have no more tears to give. My throat is so ragged that I can barely make a sound, let alone express all this anguish.

  That kid, that Boy Man, that thief... he's no longer on this planet. I take a moment to consider the enormity of that. There will never be another Boy Man. I've changed the course of history. By erasing him, I've altered the future. This makes me feel horribly powerful. All too powerful.

  Maybe I should have just beaten the hell out of the bastard. But I was primed. So intrinsically primed. I was a hair-trigger, waiting for something to brush against me. He just happened to be the one.

  More moon leaks through the trees' leafy canopy. In this light, the blood on my hands looks jet-black. I hurriedly wash them in the stream, scrubbing hard.

  I remember the rucksack. Numb, I grab the thing with dripping hands and tear it open.

  Inside, there are only clothes. T-shirts, tracksuit trousers. Nothing that Maddy would even wear. Contemptuous, I hurl it into the river.

  My poor brain tries to piece it all together. This guy must have initially thought there was no-one home. I must have spied him just as he realised Maddy was in. He'd had second thoughts – maybe even he didn't want to assault a woman – and headed away.

  He'd had a change of heart. Still, he'd robbed and assaulted me. That much was beyond question.

  I urgently try to remember how that home invasion had felt, in order to cling to the twin comforts of righteousness and justification. In some parts of the world they kill thieves, don't they? I'm not the first – not even here. That's true, isn't it?

  Isn't it?

  This was in proportion.

  * * *

  It's raining as I emerge from between the trees, standing at the edge of the field.

  The lights I left on in the big house seem to form a malevolent face, grinning at me. Those windows glow like the hobs of Hell.

  I stumble back towards the house, feeling wrecked. An animated corpse beneath a full moon.

  "Steve?"

  No, please no. I beg of you: just let me get back to the house and finish what I started.

  "Steve, is that you?"

  Maddy's sitting on an easy-chair, out on her porch, a bottle of wine beside her. I wonder what to say, but nothing springs to mind. I just stand there, wondering if there's any blood left on my hands. Did I get any on my clothes?

  "Are you all right?" She's craning her neck, trying to get a clearer look at me.

  "Fine," I manage. "Just came back from a walk."

  "Nice night for it," she says, with a laugh. "Still up for fitting my alarms? I paid a visit to Jerry's Hardware Haven. Nice name."

  Ever-intuitive, she pounces on my hesitation. "Don't worry, maybe a bit late now."

  "Sorry. I… got so wrapped up in work."

  She sits forward in her seat, full of enthusiasm. "Great! Fancy a quick drink anyway? It would be awful of me to finish this bottle myself."

  I look at the house. Back at Maddy. I need to finish the book. I need to finish everything.

  It's almost over. All of it.

  Before the end, then… why shouldn't I enjoy one final slice of normality? Just the one, with this ever-so-pretty lantern.

  I plaster on
a smile and lumber towards the cottage. As Maddy unfolds a second easy-chair beside hers, the rain splashes on my face, washing away any trace of tears. Hopefully blood too.

  Maddy has expensive tastes. This Rioja is so good.

  We sit here, she and I, on that porch, watching the rain hammer grass, listening to it punish the porch roof. The air is cool, moist, effortlessly breathable. The wine effortlessly drinkable.

  "Any time now," she promises me, "there'll be thunder and lightning. The thunder scares me a little, but I love the lightning, don't you? It's so powerful. So very... out of our control."

  I don't like things that are out of my control, but nevertheless nod into my glass, relishing the wine's bouquet. I wish Maddy and I had a bottle each, drinking from the necks like a couple of teenagers, but this will do. Oh yes, this will do.

  This is my last blast. Without question the final thing I'll ever enjoy.

  I do my damndest to temporarily banish thoughts about anything and everything else. About Jamie. About The Beast. About the bloodied lotus flower drifting along a river, destined to be the focus of a yellow-tape crime scene come morning, if not before.

  About the g-word. Jesus, no, don't even let that thing anywhere near consciousness. Move along, conscious mind, nothing to see here.

  Yes, I just want to savour this moment. Everything I've done has been caused by The Beast. I deserve this brief respite.

  Maddy's looking at me, gently inquisitive. Trying to read my mind.

  "You okay?"

  I nod. "Yes. Yes, actually I am." For perhaps the first time, I give her a real smile.

  And I swear she knows this. Shrewd Maddy's been reading between the lines since we met. There's so much microscopic print that she could never guess everything, but there's no denying that we have a connection. It's like we've known each other for a long time.

  Her hand reaches over and gently rests on mine. It's calming, baby-soft. The rest of the world slips into soft focus.

  The naked pleasure of human touch makes me think crazy thoughts. My perspective begins to shift on its axis. It's alarming and yet beguiling.

  What if I could actually continue my life and be happy? What if that were possible?

  What if?

  I could find the Boy Man's body before anyone else, having traced it downstream. I could bury it. No-one might ever know.

  I could talk to The Beast. Make some kind of deal with it. Some terrible bargain.

  I could abandon the mission and be free. Couldn't I?

  What if?

  "Sorry," says Maddy beside me. "Bit forward for a stranger, aren't I? This just feels like... a nice moment."

  The rain splashes at our feet, but neither of us move an inch. We're too busy tingling with the anticipation of... more.

  I turn my hand over, beneath hers, and our fingers entwine.

  God, it feels incredible. The rain, the wine, her skin. It feels so perfect.

  What if?

  "Not that I'm trying to ruin the moment," she says, "but... you are single, right?"

  And she laughs: an adorable, melodious sound. I manage a chuckle so faint, I'm unsure whether she'll hear it over the rain. "Separated. Irreconcilable... differences and all that. You?"

  "Divorced, with a kid." I hear only the word "divorced": a powerful green light. Because I've eaten next-to-nothing today, the wine is making my head swim and I like it. I lean away from her and place my glass on the porch floor.

  The next thing I know, I'm kissing Maddy.

  Her soft lips against mine. Her breath blending with my own. Her silken tongue in my mouth.

  Hands touching, exploring. The heat of urgent, brand new communion rises with every intoxicating second.

  Her glass somehow tips over on its side, the wine gushing out, but we don't care.

  Somehow we've ended up on the floor of the porch. Quickly, clumsily, more more more. Maddy straddles me, kissing me, ravenous, her breasts hot and soft against my palms.

  She unzips me. I can't wait for this. It's all becoming clear.

  Yes, I really can be free. Maddy is my saviour.

  Then she whips her hand away and removes her lips from mine. I open my eyes and see her, flustered, in the process of standing, lipstick smudged, hair even more tousled than usual.

  "You tease," I say, smiling up at her.

  "I just realised where we are," she says, breathless. "We should go inside."

  I frown. "We're in the middle of nowhere. This is perfect, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but... look, let's just go inside."

  This interruption has broken the spell, like shattering a fake mirror image. Now I'm thinking about the mission again.

  What the hell am I doing? Why did I ever think I could have an ordinary life? I was insulting the memory of my son and forgetting the children.

  I can either do right by the world's children or live normally. I can't have both.

  Back in the house, a novel is waiting to be finished. This must happen tonight and here I am, rolling around on a porch like a horny kid.

  Besides, I'm just using Maddy to replace Sylvie, aren't I? Pretty sure that's the case.

  "What's wrong?" asks Maddy as I flash her an awkward half-smile, then walk off into the rain.

  Shortly, I break into a run. Water lashes my face, the force of it surprising.

  All the sounds ring around me as I go.

  All the sounds. Merciless. Looping.

  The letterbox's metal flap hinges open, to disgorge the heavy padded envelope onto our mat.

  Jamie cries out, jubilant: "Daddy! It's here!"

  Brakes screech. Sylvie screams.

  Myriad hospital sounds as she and I run together. Holding hands so tightly, for the last time.

  On that day, three months ago, The Beast sealed my fate. It doomed me.

  The Boy Man is dead. The Beast must almost certainly die too. There's no going back.

  It all ends tonight. All of it.

  Maddy's questions, with their surprised, concerned tone, fade behind me, melting into the downpour.

  I'm in the hallway, deactivating the burglar alarm with the special code. I'm sodden, clothes clinging to me like a second skin, breath coming in fits and starts.

  The basement door is shut. The traditional handle-twist quickly ascertains that it's locked and yet I'm uneasy.

  I can't remember if I've re-primed the front door's burglar alarm. Did I even lock the door behind me? Such worries feel less urgent now, given that the Boy Man is dead. More importantly, I'm distracted, so distracted…

  There's something wrong about the basement door. I can't put my finger on it, but don't have time to worry about that. My head's in too much of a whirl, thinking of all the things I have to do in order to complete the mission.

  I launch myself headlong up the stairs to the first floor.

  In the study, as the computer boots up, I do my best to stay positive and focus.

  You killed a man, then enjoyed a glass of wine on a porch.

  I run my fingers through my dripping hair, take some deep breaths and wait for the computer screen to flicker back to life.

  You punched a fellow human being until his whole face caved in. And then you drank wine, like nothing had happened.

  A glance at the flat screen TV. At the four cam-feeds. Was that a shadow moving quickly out of frame on the first floor?

  The fear is fleeting and I bat it aside. There's no-one down there. I locked the front door and primed the alarm, didn't I? Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. At least I know the basement door is secure (although there's something wrong with it.) All that matters now is getting out of here and taking my novel with me on that external drive. Perhaps I can take it to a hotel. I can use the credit card to buy a laptop with which to e-mail it to Maurice tomorrow, once I've had one last look over the text. I just need to leave this place, right now. Need to evade arrest until Jade Nexus And The Cathedral Of Screams is in young hands.

  Do I slay The Beast before leaving
? Can I do that? Premeditated murder, as opposed to an uncontrollable frenzy on a river bank?

  Maybe I could just leave it to die, to starve. I'd still be killing it, without having to get hands-on.

  Good God. Seriously, what have I become, to even consider that? To consciously make the decision to kill? I'm tumbling into the abyss.

  The PC monitor's Jade Nexus wallpaper fades into view. As I search through folders to find the novel, that basement door keeps coming back to haunt me.

  Something was wrong with it. But what? What was wrong with the bloody thing? Focus, focus. Find the novel. Sling it on the external drive and get out.

  But no. Brain can't do it. Brain wants, needs to know about that basement door.

  I turn back to the flat screen and peer at Camera One's still, monochrome fuzz. At that basement door.

  Twisting a switch on the wireless hub, I zoom in on the image. Too far at first, until it all becomes a blur. I pull back out a little, until I can see the door close up.

  Something's wrong.

  Remembering what I'm supposed to be doing up here, I press a button on the external drive and it glows red.

  Now. Just need to find and transfer the novel file.

  I locate the document, then open it up to make sure it's the right one. My words fill the screen. A small padlock symbol appears to remind me that I locked the file as 'Read Only'.

  The padlock. A lock.

  Jesus fucking Christ! The key's not in the basement door. The key is missing.

  Skin tingles. Breath freezes. Room spins.

  What if The Beast employed that old trick of sliding a piece of paper – perhaps a sheet of old, yellowed wallpaper – out from under the door, poking the key down onto it, then sliding it back under?

  What if I've underestimated The Beast's cunning and gravely overestimated my own?

  What if?

  I become aware of a smell, tugging at my nostrils. An all-too-familiar reek.

  Please tell me this is another dream.

  A large kitchen knife effortlessly punches down through my left hand, severing bone and continuing for a good few inches into the wood of the desk.