Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (28 page)

The pattern had
continued at Tom’s funeral in Stanfield. No sooner had the vicar said his piece
and ran for the shelter of the church, then who should appear but Tom,
glowering at Sam with insidious intent. Naturally, the headaches and the
stomach cramps followed almost immediately, only he now understood them for
what they were. It had taken Gracie’s letter to snip away any lingering threads
of ambiguity, but there was no longer any use in denying the reality of the
situation. Maybe part of him had suspected the truth all along, but had chosen
to ignore all the warning signs in the interest of self-preservation. Not
anymore. It was obvious what was happening. If Gracie was right – and Sam was
convinced that she was – then there was only one thing he could do. He knew
that the physical torture of having his father alive inside him wouldn’t last much
longer; the spiteful bastard would soon emerge and claim his next victim. While
it was unclear as to whom that victim might be, or when it might occur, it was
evident to Sam that he couldn’t –
mustn’t
- allow it to happen. For once
in his life, here was something he had the power to control. The pain, the needless
deaths; he could put an end to them all right now. All it would take would be a
moment of absolute courage; the end to a single, miserable existence in order
to safeguard the lives of others.

Only his life wasn’t
miserable; not all the time, anyway. How could he kill himself when he had
Sarah and Max? How would they react when a police officer came knocking on the
door to tell them that their husband and father had thrown himself from a cliff,
or ran a hose from his car’s exhaust into his window and died of carbon
monoxide poisoning?
They
didn’t understand what was going on, only
he
did. Himself and Gracie, that was, and seeing that Gracie was no longer around
to back him up…

If he did kill himself,
would it really matter what his family thought? So long as they were kept safe
and protected from his dead father, then surely their grief would be a small
price to pay; the lesser of two evils. Perhaps he could copy Gracie and write
them a letter…try to explain in writing the absurdity of the reasoning behind
his death. Yes, that would work. That would-’

‘Hello?’

‘Jesus!’ Sam shouted,
jolted from his suicidal fantasies.

‘Who’s up there?’ called
a voice from downstairs. ‘Mr Railton?’

‘Erm…yes…that’s me,’
Sam replied. ‘C…c...coming.’

By the time he’d reached
the top of the stairs, the two paramedics had already been back to their
vehicle and returned with a sophisticated-looking trolley.

‘Sam Railton?’ asked
one of them; a tall, gaunt, thirtysomething man who had a weariness about him which
suggested that this wasn’t the first dead pensioner he’d ever seen. ‘You’re the
man who called us, right?’

‘Yes,’ Sam said. ‘I
called you as soon as I found her. Is she…is she dead?’

‘Afraid so. Are you
related to her?’

‘Me? No, she’s no
relation. She’s a friend of the family. She sometimes looks after my son, Max.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the
second paramedic, a short, squat woman in her twenties who was evidently embarrassed
by her colleague’s bluntness. ‘It must have come as a shock to you, finding her
like this.’

‘You could say that.’

‘If you don’t mind me
asking,’ the first paramedic said, ‘why were you upstairs when we arrived?’

‘Not now, John,’ said
his colleague.

‘I’m sorry,’ John said,
although he appeared anything but. ‘Protocol, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s alright,’ Sam
said, nodding his understanding. ‘After calling for an ambulance, I rang my
wife. She told me to pack some of Gracie’s things into an overnight bag. I was
just doing as I was told, not that it appears she’ll be needing them.’

An awkward silence
followed as they each tried to figure out what to say next.

It was Sam who spoke
first. ‘Where will you take her?’

‘To the hospital
mortuary,’ replied John’s more sympathetic colleague. ‘She’ll need to undergo a
basic medical examination before being taken to a funeral parlour. We’ll need
to inform her family, of course.’

‘She doesn’t have any.
At least I don’t think she does.’

‘Okay…so-’

‘She has friends,
though. Lots of them,’ Sam said, thinking of all of the people who came to her
for advice and guidance. ‘She was a medium…a spiritualist. She reads – read -
people’s palms, studied the tarot cards…that kind of thing. Apparently she was
very good at it, although I wouldn’t know anything about that.’

‘I see,’ John said,
evidently unimpressed by Gracie’s career choice. ‘Well, hopefully she’ll be in
a better place, if that’s what she believed in.’

‘I take it you don’t?’
Sam asked, surprised at his forthrightness.

‘No,’ John replied. If
he was embarrassed by the question, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘When you’ve
been doing this job for as long as I have - seen some of the things I’ve seen –
it gets harder and harder to believe that there’s some kind of master plan.
People die, I’m afraid. Young, old, sick, healthy; it doesn’t seem to matter.
The more I think about it, the more I reckon it all comes down to pot luck.
When you’re time’s up, your time’s up. There’s nothing you can do about it. But
that’s only my opinion.’

Sam looked away,
pretending to be suddenly interested in a framed picture on the stairway wall
of a Kingfisher carrying a small fish in its beak. ‘I never used to believe,’
he said, thinking back to Gracie’s letter, and the task that lay ahead of him.
‘But now I’m not so sure. Maybe there is something out there.’

John smiled and
finished assembling the trolley. ‘I guess none of us will know for certain
until our turn comes around.’ Then, turning his attention to his colleague, he
said: ‘Ready, Claire?’

‘Ready,’ she replied.
‘Mr Railton?’

‘Please, call me Sam.’

‘Okay, Sam. We’re going
to take Gracie away now. You might want to go into another room while we lift
her onto the trolley and take her to the ambulance. Actually, it would be helpful
if you could fetch that overnight bag you mentioned. Pack a nice nightie, something
she might have felt comfortable wearing.’

‘Oh, okay. I’ll do
that.’

He turned around and
began walking back to the bedroom, consumed by dark thoughts.
Maybe I don’t
have to kill myself. Maybe there’s another way. What did Gracie say – something
about running away for a while? No, that’s no solution. Okay, so maybe my
family might be spared, but for how long? And what about the others who would
die in the meantime. Running away can’t possibly be the right thing to do.
Besides, I don’t know how much longer I can stand the pain, never mind the
thought of having that fucker living inside me like some bloodsucking leech.
No, I’m going to have to do this, and sooner rather than later. But how? How
the hell am I meant to do it? Hanging? Jumping off a bridge? No fucking way.
Too painful. Too…fuck that! Pills…lots of them. That’s it! I’ll go somewhere
quiet, somewhere peaceful, and I’ll take an overdose. But what if it doesn’t
work? What if I end up waking up in some hospital bed with Sarah staring right
back at me? What then? Don’t worry, it’ll work. I’ll swallow enough pills to
knock out a fucking elephant. I’ll make sure there’s no way back. I’ll make
sure of it. I could take the train to Brighton. I’ve always loved Brighton.
Sarah and I used to love taking Max to the beach when he was a little boy.
There are lots of quiet places there, especially at this time of year. If I
left now, I could be there in a couple of hours. Nobody would need to know. An
overdose can’t be that painful, can it? And alcohol, too! Fifteen years without
so much as a sip, and now I can finally justify getting smashed once again. The
final time. I can drink as much fucking whisky as I fucking-well want to. Who’s
going to stop me? What harm will it do? It might even help. Of course it will
help!

Entering the room, he
took a small bag from the bottom of Gracie’s wardrobe and proceeded to stuff it
with a dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door and a night-gown
that he found folded neatly underneath her pillow. Zipping up the bag, he
hurried out of the room and down the stairs, desperate to get away from London
as soon as possible.
I’ll show you, dad. I’ll show you. You’re not going to
have it your own way this time. I’m not afraid of you anymore.

‘Is that her bag?’
asked Claire, smiling at Sam as he emerged from the house.

‘Huh? Oh, yes. I didn’t
know what to pack. Hopefully this’ll be fine.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ she
said, her smile fading as she went to take the bag from him and noticed how
ashen-faced he looked. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked him. ‘You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.’

Is it that obvious?
he thought. ‘Me? No, I’m fine. Honestly. Just taken aback by finding her lying
there like that. I’ll be okay.’

Claire nodded. ‘If
you’re sure.’

‘I am.’

John climbed down from
the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors shut. ‘We’ll be on our way,’ he
said, coming over to Sam and shaking his hand. ‘The funeral director will be in
touch in due course. In the meantime, if you could perhaps contact Gracie’s
solicitor?’

‘I will,’ Sam said,
knowing full well that he wouldn’t have time. If all went to plan, he would be
dead by the end of the day. The last thing on his mind was sorting out someone
else’s legal affairs. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly. Goodbye.’

The two paramedics took
their seats in the cab. Sam stood and watched as Claire started the engine and
checked her mirrors. There was no siren this time. There was no urgency in
getting back to hospital. There was no life to save.

And then, as Sam
watched the ambulance slowly pull away, he saw her.

Sarah.

She was standing on the
other side of the road, waiting to cross. When the coast was clear, she started
walking towards him, her face as beautiful to him as the first time he saw her
all those years ago.

‘Sarah!’ he screamed,
desperately trying to stop her. ‘No!’

But it was too late. As
he spoke, he felt a stirring inside his head and his gut, and before he could
tell her to run, he dropped to his knees and opened his mouth as if to vomit.
He retched violently as he expelled the source of all his pain and grief and
suffering towards the person whom he loved more than anything else in the
world. He barely had time to look up as he heard Sarah scream as she too doubled
over and fell to the ground. Dragging himself to his feet, he limped from the
pavement and towards the middle of the street where she lay writhing on her
back as if wrestling a giant, invisible snake.

‘What’s happening to
me, Sam?’ she screamed, staring at him with terror in her eyes. ‘What’s
happening to me?’

Sam stared helplessly
back at her, before looking up at the heavens, opening his mouth, and screaming
to a God who he now knew could not exist.

The
black cab rounded the corner and pulled up outside Sam’s house. ‘Nine pounds
fifty, governor,’ said the man behind the wheel, staring at the two passengers
in the back through the rear view mirror.

‘Here,’ Sam said,
sliding a ten pound note through the small hole in the Perspex screen. ‘Keep
the change.’

‘Very kind of you, sir.
Are you sure she’s going to be alright? She looks as white as a sheet. I don’t
mind dropping you off at the doctors if you think it mi-’

‘She’ll be fine. It’s
nothing serious.’

‘You’re the boss,’ said
the driver, setting his meter to zero in readiness for the next customer. ‘But
she doesn’t look fine from where I’m sitting.’

If I wanted your
advice, I’d bloody well ask for it
, Sam thought, trying
hard to maintain his composure. ‘Thanks for the ride,’ he snapped. Then,
turning to Sarah, he said: ‘Come on. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.’

Reaching across her, he
opened the car door and helped her out into the cool air, closing the door
behind them and supporting her weight as they made their way to the front door.
As he searched in his jacket pocket for the key, he noticed his neighbour,
George Gransham, peeking out from behind his net curtains. Sam glowered back at
him, contemplating whether or not to give the nosy fucker the finger. Before he
had the chance to, however, Mr Gransham had stepped away from the window and
disappeared back into his sitting room; perhaps sensing that Sam was not in the
mood to be stared at today.

‘Prying old bastard,’
Sam said, finding the key and opening the door.

The house was freezing
cold, so once inside, Sam went to the boiler that was housed in the cupboard
under the stairs and switched on the heating.

‘I don’t feel well,’
Sarah said, holding a hand up against the hallway wall to steady herself. ‘I
think I’m going to be sick.’

‘You’re not going to be
sick,’ Sam said.
That’s not how it works, is it dad? You don’t want her to
be sick, do you? You want all that pain to stay inside, until it becomes too much
to bare. But not this time. You’re not going to have your way this time. I’m
going to get you out of her…I’m going to get rid of you once and for all. I
don’t know how, but I will. I promise. You’re not going to take her away from
me.
I won’t let you.

‘I want to go to bed,’
Sarah said. ‘I’m so tired. Maybe I’ll feel better after a few hours’ sleep.’

‘I’m sure you will,’
replied Sam, knowing full well that it would take a damn sight more than an
afternoon in bed to cure what she had. He placed her right hand over his
shoulder and scooped her up in his arms; no mean feat considering that she
probably weighed about the same as he did. ‘Just like our wedding day,
remember?’

Sarah coughed as she
tried to laugh. ‘I don’t remember feeling this shit on our wedding day,’ she
said. ‘I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t build your hopes up if that’s what you’re
after. I’m not exactly in the mood for romance, however kind the gesture.’

‘Glad to see you
haven’t lost your sense of humour,’ Sam said, straining under her weight as he
struggled up the stairs. ‘Jesus Christ, woman. Have you been raiding the
biscuit jar?’

‘If I wasn’t so weak
I’d poke your eyes out, you cheeky little shit.’

Having over-exerted
himself, Sam didn’t have the strength to reply. Entering the bedroom, he
struggled across to the bed and carefully set her down. Moving round to the
other side, he pulled back the covers and helped her remove her shoes, leggings
and jersey, before shuffling her across the bed and pulling the covers over
her.

‘Stay here,’ he said,
catching his breath and then walking back across to the hallway. ‘I’m going
downstairs to fetch you some water. I won’t be long.’

‘I’m not going
anywhere,’ Sarah replied, her voice almost a whisper as she drifted towards
unconsciousness. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.’

He was about to ask her
what for, but thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time for meaningful
conversation. That would have to wait until
he
was gone. ‘Get some
sleep,’ he said, before heading quietly downstairs to the kitchen.

When
he returned to the bedroom, she was fast asleep and snoring gently as if nothing
untoward had happened. Sam skirted around the bed and sat down next to her,
watching her, studying her face for any signs that
he
was inside her.

He placed his hand on
her forehead. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll see
this through together, just you and me. He can’t hurt you when I’m around; so
long as I’m by your side, I can protect you from him. He knows that. He knows I
can keep you safe. We’ll beat him, Sarah. We’ll beat him. We have so much to
live fo-’

All of a sudden,
Sarah’s eyes flicked opened and a hand lashed out from beneath the covers and
grabbed him by the wrist. She turned her head and looked at him, only they
weren’t
her
eyes. They were
his
eyes. Sam groaned as she
tightened her grip on him. ‘We’ll see about that, Sammy-boy’ she said, her
voice deep and gravelly as William Railton spoke through her. ‘You don’t
exactly have a strong record of keeping people safe, now do you?’

‘Get off me!’ Sam
cried. ‘Leave my wife alone. Let her go!’

‘It’s too late for
that, my boy. She’s mine. And when I’m finished with her, I’m coming for that
feckless son of yours. And when I’m done with him…and only then…I’ll be coming
for you.’

‘You can’t!’ Sam
pleaded, squirming under the pressure on his wrist. ‘You can’t do this. I’m
your son! Your only son!’

The room filled with a
heinous, cackling laughter. ‘Just you try and stop me, you pathetic little
shit. You’ve had it coming, boy. You’ve had it coming for a long, long time.’

With that, Sarah
released her grip on him and closed her eyes, falling back into a deep slumber
as if nothing had happened. Sam fell to the floor and clutched his wrist,
convinced it was broken or at the very least severely sprained. Several minutes
passed before he felt strong enough to get back up on his feet. Nursing his
arm, he walked across the room to the bedroom door and slammed it shut. The
door had a lock on it, which he snapped into place before returning to his side
of the bed and sitting down next to his wife. Placing the key in the drawer of
his bedside table, he kicked off his shoes and climbed in next to her.

‘I promised you that I
wouldn’t let you out of my sight,’ he said, taking her limp hand in his and
staring up at the ceiling. ‘I’m not going to let him win, no matter how hard he
tries. We’re stronger than him, Sarah. Trust me: as long as we’re together, we’ll
see this through.

‘We’ll send that
bastard back to Hell.’