Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (18 page)

Catching his breath,
Sam checked up and down the path for signs of other people, but his section of the
park remained eerily empty. With the exception of the dead body hanging in
front of him, he was alone. Still unable to move, he drew his attention back to
the boy, his brain still scrambled from the shock.

And then, just as he
was starting to feel capable of running away, the boy’s head twitched from side
to side and he looked up. His eyes snapped open, revealing dirty yellow-white
sockets but no pupils. Even so, Sam sensed that the boy was staring directly at
him, especially when his lips parted and he grinned at him with a mouth full of
uneven, serrated teeth.

‘Hello, Sam,’ said the
boy, only it wasn’t the voice of Stephen Gilchrist but that of a much older
man. ‘Recognise me, my lad?’ The boy then started laughing: gentle wheezes that
developed into louder, harsher witch-like cackles. His head began rocking back
and forth and from side to side as if he was trying to disentangle himself from
the rope tearing into his neck. His hands went to the rope and gripped it,
pulling at it as he tried to break free. ‘Help me get down from here, will you?
This rope…it’s fuckin’ torture.’ Sam moaned as he recognised his father’s
voice. The boy smiled, only his face had now morphed into that of William
‘Billy’ Railton.

‘You do remember me,
don’t you, boy?’ he croaked, his hands still clawing against the noose around
his neck. ‘Come over here and give your old man a hug…it’s been such a long
time.’

‘Get away from me,’ Sam
whimpered, finding his voice but still lacking the use of his legs. ‘You’re not
my father…my father’s dead.’ He watched impotently as the hanging figure – for
it couldn’t have been human - somehow succeeded in loosening the knot in the
rope, squeezing its head through the noose and dropping to the ground with a
heavy thump. Fortunately for Sam, the figure didn’t move; instead it remained
lying face down in the mud like a discarded corpse.

For what seemed like an
eternity, all Sam could do was remain glued to the bench, staring at the body, waiting
for any sign of movement. He was too shocked to call out for help, too confused
to figure out what to do next. It
was
his father’s voice, he was certain
of that. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in thirty years, but when it spoke to
him there was no mistaking it. No wonder Gracie had sounded so desperate when
she’d called round yesterday to see him. She knew something was wrong because
she’d seen his father too. Worse than that, she had seen him with Max.

Sam rose unsteadily and
stood facing the body, unable to take his eyes away from it. As tempting as it
was, he knew he couldn’t simply walk away and leave some other unsuspecting
passer-by to deal with the problem. He reached into his pocket for his phone,
cursing as he remembered what had happened to it. There was no way of phoning
for help, no way of calling the police to co-’

As if from nowhere, the
figure on the ground snatched out its arm and grabbed Sam’s ankle, pulling him
to the ground in a sudden, violent display of inhuman strength. Sam screamed as
his head hit the path; not in pain, but in blind panic and abject fear. He
struggled to free himself from the figure’s clutches, but its grip was
excruciatingly tight and he was unable to move. Slowly, the figure raised its
head and glowered at him. Once again, it was the face of his father, only this
time there was no humour in his features; only pure evil as he pulled his son
towards him.

‘Let me go!’ Sam
screamed, desperately trying to kick himself free. ‘Please…let me go. Whatever
I’ve done, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!’

‘Too late for that now,
boy,’ the figure hissed, its eyes glowing like two brilliant-white lights. ‘You
should have thought about that before you and your whore of a mother forced me
out of my own fuckin’ house all those years ago. The house I worked my fingers
to the bone to pay for.’

‘I know…I’m sorry…I
didn’t meant to…’

‘Don’t worry,’ the
figure said, its eyes now burning so brightly that Sam was forced to look away,
‘I’m not done with you yet. You and I have a lot more work to do. Old Billy
Railton’s just getting’ started.’

With that, the figure
grasped Sam’s head in its free hand and turned it to face its own. ‘Look at
me,’ it said. ‘Look at me, Sammy-boy.’

Whimpering like a
terrified puppy, Sam opened his eyes. Almost immediately, the figure groaned as
a stream of light poured from its eyes into Sam’s, momentarily connecting the
two of them. Sam opened his mouth to scream, but as he did so, another bolt of
light shot from the figure’s mouth into his own mouth, forcing itself down his
throat and into his stomach where it swirled around inside him like a thick, raging
whirlpool, until eventually it settled uncomfortably in his gut like a lead
weight. Sam retched uncontrollably as his body attempted to purge itself of
whatever it was inside him, but nothing was forthcoming. His head was pounding
as his vision blurred, and all he could do was roll around in the dirt like a
rat that had been bitten by a venomous snake. The last thing he heard as the
agony dragged him towards unconsciousness was the sound of his father laughing.
He tried to force himself up but couldn’t. As he felt himself drift from light
into dark, he thought he heard a voice, but this time it was not his father’s
but Stephen Gilchrist’s: ‘You have to end it, Sam,’ the boy said. ‘He won’t
stop until you end it.’

‘End what?’ Sam
whispered, the last of his energy leaving him.

Before he could hear
the boy’s reply, a final, excruciating stab of pain shot through him and
everything went black.

Later
that day, when Tom Jackson strolled into Chapman's Design Agency after having
enjoyed a prolonged
lunch-break
with a particularly attractive female
client, the last person he expected to find waiting for him in his office was
Charles Holdsworth.

‘Charles? What on earth
are you doing here?’

‘What time do you call
this?’ Holdsworth asked, evidently unamused to have been kept waiting. ‘You’re
secretary said you’d be back by one-thirty at the latest. Where have you been?’

Tom checked his Rolex:
2.15pm. ‘Shit,’ he said, shaking his wrist as if to suggest it was the watch’s
fault. ‘Sorry about that. I was…erm…I was with a client and completely lost
track of time. We didn’t have anything in the diary, did we?’

‘Sit down, Tom,’ Holdsworth
said, nodding to the chair across the desk from him. ‘I’m afraid I have some
bad news.’

‘Bad news? Shit, don’t
tell me we’ve lost the Pilko account. We haven’t, have we?’

Holdsworth sighed. ‘A
wise man once told me that God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘No, I didn’t think you
would. It means we should listen twice as much as we talk. So for once, will
you kindly keep your bloody trap shut and let me speak?’

‘Oh, right. Of course.
Sorry, Charles. You were saying?’

‘Thank you. There’s no
pleasant way of saying this, Tom, so I’m going to come straight to the point. I’m
letting you go.’

‘Go? Where to?’

‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Holdsworth
said, shaking his head, ‘But I’m afraid Chapman’s Design Agency no longer
requires your services.’

Tom’s face blanched as
the message hit home. ‘You’re firing me?’

‘Afraid so. With
immediate effect.’

‘But…but why? Why me?’

Holdsworth shrugged. He’d
never been one to shy away from the more unsavoury demands that came with being
the boss, but neither did he take any joy from other people’s misery. ‘Two
reasons,’ he said, maintaining eye contact. ‘The first is professional, the
second personal. Both reasons are in themselves sufficiently serious to warrant
your dismissal, however, when combined, they leave me with very little choice.’

‘What do you mea-’

‘The professional
reason concerns the company’s recent performance. Not only are we failing to win
any new business, but we’re barely managing to hang on to our existing clients.
Someone has to carry the can for that, and seeing as you’re the sales director,
I’m afraid that someone is you. I don’t know why, Tom, but you’ve taken your
eye off the ball. You’ve become sloppy, and sadly I’m not alone in thinking
that.’

‘Now just a min-’

Holdsworth held up his
hand, cutting him off mid-flow. ‘As for the personal reason, I should think
that’s fairly obvious.’

‘If this is about Sam
Railton,’ Tom said, ‘then I can assure you I’ve spoken to him and have convinced
him to at least think about coming back.’

‘Is that so?’ Holdsworth
said, pleased that Tom had just made his job easier by lying to him. ‘As it
happens, I’ve also spoken to Sam, and that’s not quite how he sees it. He told
me, that according to you it was the Board’s decision to fire him. He said that
we gave you the clear instruction to let him go.’

‘He’s lying.’

‘No, Tom, you’re the
one who’s lying. The Board knew nothing about your decision to fire him until well
after he’d gone, which leads me to ask the question
why
? Why, Tom? Why
on earth would you fire one of our top creative  people without first
consulting me?’

Tom stood up and began
pacing the floor, holding his head in his hands as his brain processed what was
happening to him.
How could Sam do this to me?
he thought.
That
little bastard wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone drop me in the shit
behind my back
.

‘I can’t work with
people I don’t trust,’ Holdsworth continued, ‘especially people who hold senior
positions in my organisation. The fact of the matter is you lied to me and you
lied to Sam. I don’t know why you fired him, but the bottom line is I want you
out of here within the hour. You’ll be paid up until the end of the month, and
I’m prepared to provide you with a basic reference should you need it.’

‘What about Sam?’ asked
Tom. ‘What happens to him?’

‘I’ve offered him his
job back. Furthermore, I’m pleased to say he’s accepted, on the condition that
he doesn’t have to work with you.’

If Tom wasn’t such a
coward, he would have reached over the table and strangled his boss. But he
was
a coward, so instead, all he could manage was a half-hearted sneer that looked more
pathetic than threatening. ‘You’re choosing Sam over me, aren’t you? That
devious fucking bastard!’

‘Yes, I suppose I am. I
would have quite happily kept the pair of you, had you not decided to go behind
my back and show your true colours.’

‘But…but I can’t afford
to be out of a job,’ Tom pleaded. ‘I’ve got bills to pay…credit cards…’

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but
that’s really not my problem. Now,’ he said, standing up to leave, ‘I suggest
you pack your belongings and leave without a fuss. Please don’t embarrass
yourself by making it necessary to call security.’ He held out his arm in an
offer to shake Tom’s hand. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’

Tom stared back at him
as if he were talking another language. ‘Charles,’ he whimpered, accepting his
hand and shaking it feebly. ‘Don’t do this to me. I’m begging you. I’ll do
anything.’

Charles stared back at
him, his eyes hollow and dispassionate. ‘Goodbye, Tom. And good luck.’

‘So
the next thing I know, I wake up to find myself lying face-down  in the mud in
the middle in Friar Park with a thumping headache and serious stomach cramps.’

‘Are you sure you can’t
remember what happened?’

‘Not really, no. I
remember sitting on a bench, and then I guess I must have fallen asleep or
something. I vaguely remember having this awful nightmare.’

‘What about?’

‘You’re not going to
believe this, but I dreamt about Stephen Gilchrist hanging himself. Only it wasn’t
Stephen Gilchrist. It was my dad. I know it sounds ridiculous, but honestly,
Sarah, it felt so real at the time.’

‘Your dad?’

‘Yeah, I know…it’s crazy,
isn’t it? Look, Sarah, I need to tell you something.’

‘Go on.’

‘This isn’t the first weird
thing that’s happened to me lately. When I was staying at mum’s the other day I
couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk. I ended up at Saint Cuthbert’s Church so
decided to see Lucy. The churchyard was dark and I was the only person there,
but I could have sworn I saw someone standing near dad’s grave. And then on the
passenger bridge at York Station. I’m sure I wasn’t alone on that bridge.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Do you think I’d make
something like this up?’

‘Why haven’t you told
me this before now?’

‘Don’t you think we’ve
had enough to worry about? Besides, it’s probably nothing.’

‘It doesn’t
sound
like nothing. I think you should make an appointment to see a doctor. Seeing
things – hearing things – maybe it has something to do with your injuries.’

‘I’m fine, honestly. I
just need to rest. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.’

‘You’re not fine, Sam.
You need to see a doctor. What if there’s a problem with your head that they failed
to spot in hospital? It could be serious.’

‘It’s
not
serious. Besides, I must have had every scan known to man.’

‘How can you be so sure?
I’m not an expert, but blinding headaches and chronic stomach cramps don’t
sound normal to me. Not to mention hallucinations and passing out in public
parks. I mean it, Sam. I want you to go and get checked out as soon as possible.’

‘It’s probably just
stress. I don’t mean to bring it up again, but finding out about you and Tom, and
then getting lynched by someone young enough to be my son. And if that wasn’t
enough, I receive a phone-call telling me that my attacker has only gone and
fucking killed himself. I know I’m not great at handling pressure, but come
on!’

‘Maybe you’re right,’
Sarah said, removing the damp cloth from his forehead, ‘but I want you to book
an appointment to get checked out, okay? Just to be on the safe side.’

‘Fine, but let’s wait
and see if I feel any better in the morning. I need to be fit and fresh for my
first day back.’

‘First day back?’

Sam nodded and did his
best to smile at her through the pain. ‘I’ve got some good news for you. After
I dropped Max off this morning, Charles Holdsworth called me. He asked me to
come back to Chapman’s, and I’ve agreed.’

Sarah leapt up from the
sofa and cried out, clasping her hands together. ‘Oh, Sam,’ she said, bending
down to kiss his forehead. ‘That’s fantastic news. Why on earth didn’t you tell
me?’

‘That’s not all,’ he said,
the feel of Sarah’s soft lips doing little to appease his headache. ‘I told Holdsworth
that I’d only come back if I didn’t have to work for Tom.’

‘He’s moving you to a
different division?’

‘Better than that. He
promised me he’d deal with him.’

‘What’s that supposed
to mean?’

‘Well, let’s put it
this way: it wouldn’t surprise me if Tom Jackson wakes up tomorrow morning
without a job to go to.’

‘Holdsworth’s going to
fire him?’

‘That was the deal.
Probably already has.’

Sarah sat down again,
her earlier exuberance somewhat deflated. Sam eyed her suspiciously.

‘I thought you’d be
happy?’ he said, feeling himself tense up at her muted reaction to the news of
Tom’s dismissal.

‘I am,’ she replied. ‘I
am. It’s just that…it’s just that I didn’t see it coming. Tom always told me
that if it wasn’t for him, Chapman’s Design Agency wouldn’t survive. I thought
he was the driving force there, so to hear…’

‘So to hear that
Charles Holdsworth thinks more of me than Tom Jackson surprises you?’

‘No, well, maybe a
little.’

‘It’s alright,’ Tom
said, placing a hand on her thigh. ‘You’re not alone. There aren’t many people
experienced enough to see through Tom’s bullshit…me included. Luckily for me, I
guess Holdsworth has been in the business long enough to know a chancer when he
sees one.’

‘I suppose. It makes me
feel even more of an idiot for what I did to you. I’m so sorry, Sam. I’ve been
such a bitch.’

‘Enough about that. We
agreed to try and put it behind us, so let’s not dwell on it, okay? The good
news is that I don’t need to worry about finding another job, at least for the
time being, and I don’t think I’ll be seeing Tom anytime soon. I must admit
that I can’t help feeling slightly flattered by Holdsworth choosing me over
him. It certainly sugars the pill a little.’

‘You deserve it,’ Sarah
said, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. ‘Although I’m not convinced
you’ll be well enough to start back tomorrow. Maybe you should leave it until
Monday.’

‘No way. How do you
think it’ll look if I call in sick on my first day back?’

‘But what about your
head?’

‘I’ll be fine. Like I
said, I just need an early night and a few painkillers. Trust me, Sarah; I’ll
make it into work, even if it kills me. I can’t spend another day lying around
feeling sorry for myself. I think one of the reasons for my fragile state of
mind is the amount of time I have on my hands to dwell on stuff that isn’t
doing me an ounce of good. I need to get back in the ring as soon as possible.
If I don’t, then God only knows what else I might start dreaming about.’

‘I thought you didn’t
believe in God,’ Sarah said, winking at him playfully.

‘I don’t,’ he replied,
groaning as yet another wave of unfiltered agony pulsed through him. ‘Although
the way I feel right now, I’d be willing to worship the fucking tooth fairy if
she agreed to cure my blasted headache.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Come
on,’ she said, putting her arm under him and pulling him upright. ‘Let’s get
the injured soldier off to bed, eh? Tomorrow’s a big day. I’m so proud of you,
Sam. I really am. We’ll get through this together, just you wait and see.’

As she helped him out
of the sitting room and towards the stairs, he remembered what Gracie had said
to him yesterday about needing to face up to the ghosts of his past before
something terrible happened. If she hadn’t seemed so self-assured, he would
have had no hesitation in blaming his hallucinations on all the shit he’d
endured over the past few days. Maybe she was crazy after all? Perhaps the
proximity to her own death was making her confused and delusional, blurring the
lines between this world and the next.

Either way, he couldn’t
allow himself to dwell on it. In less than twelve hours he would be walking
through the front doors of Chapman’s Design Agency, and as hard as it was right
now to imagine, he had to give himself every chance of starting his first day
back with a clear head. This was his escape route, his way out. In spite of
everything else that was troubling him, he couldn’t afford to screw this
opportunity up. He had to make it work.