The Bug - Episode 1 (4 page)

Marshall stared at the TV. He pressed the channel up button on the remote. Rarely had the phrase 'Two hundred channels and nothing on' been quite so accurate.

The terrestrial stations were mostly showing test cards, with 'Please stand by' and variations thereof assuring him things would be back to normal shortly.

He'd almost let himself believe that, too. Until he flicked over to Channel 4. That was when he knew things were a long fucking way from normal.

Tom Frost, the Channel 4 news anchor, was dead. Marshall knew this because he was right there on the screen, half on a chair and half off, his white hair matted and pink with his own blood.

There was no sound from the studio. Either the place was in silence or the audio had been cut. Marshall turned over to the ITV test card and back again, as if that would somehow force the image to refresh, but Tom Frost was still dead when he flicked back. Still lying there. Still alone. Still. Silent.

Marshall pushed on through the other channels. Channel 5 and Sky 1 had more test cards. He thumbed the channel up button again and almost sobbed with relief when a face – a living one – filled the screen.

The relief quickly faded when he recognized the face as a young David Jason. It was an
Only Fools and Horses
repeat. The one with the chandelier by the looks of things. Marshall watched for a few lingering moments, almost allowing himself to believe things were fine. If Del Boy and Rodney weren't worried, then why should he be?

He shook his head and continued up through the channels. Those that were still broadcasting showed repeats. The others offered apologies for the break in service, and vowed to be back soon.

Marshall returned to Channel 4. The station's logo now filled the screen. Below it were the words “We apologies for the break in programming.”

“Fuck the break in programming,” Marshall mumbled. “What about the break in Tom Frost's napper?”

He switched the TV off and the room went dark. The remote fell to the floor with a
clunk
and Marshall puffed out his cheeks.

What now?

The landline was still dead. The mobile was still doing… whatever it was doing. He'd eventually realized he could just switch it off, but when he'd switched it back on the screeching sound had started all over again, so he'd shut it down again sharpish.

With the phone down the internet was dead. There was his police radio, but he'd left it in the car, and the car right now seemed an awfully long way away.

He should go get it, he knew. More than that, he should go get in the car and head to the station to find out what was going on. Hoon would have his balls in a vice for missing all those calls, but Marshall didn't care. He'd gladly tighten the fucking thing himself if it meant not being sat there all alone in the dark with no idea what he should be—

There was a knock at the door. Marshall froze, suddenly regretting that last thought. He liked being alone. He
loved
being alone.

But the knocking continued, soft at first, but quickly becoming sharper and more insistent.

He peeled himself off the couch. The door was locked and the chain was pulled across, but that didn't make him feel any safer. He picked up the chef's knife he'd taken from the block in the kitchen and held it low by his side, blade pointing forward ready to deliver a sudden upwards stab if required.

The knocking continued.

Softly, quietly, Marshall made for the door. Holding his breath, he slid the little brass cover away from the spy hole. It scratched against the wood and the knocking immediately stopped.

Heart pounding, Marshall leaned closer, putting his eyes to the spy hole. He grimaced when he saw the figure on the other side, and rested his head against the door.

“Hey, I know you're in there,” said the girl. Marshall recognized her as the daughter of the couple two floors up. Leona or Leanne or something. “I can hear you breathing. Open up. Please.”

With trembling hands, Marshall turned the lock, but kept the chain in place. He opened the door until the chain went tight. The girl stood shivering in the hallway, her clothes and face awash with blood.

“You're in the police, right?” she said. Marshall thought about denying it, but slowly nodded. Tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, cutting tracks through the crimson. “Let me in,” she said. “Something's happened.”

Marshall looked back over his shoulder, first at TV then at the broken window with the curtains wafting in and out.

“Aye,” he said, his voice little more than a dry croak. “You're telling me.”

Howls and screams and the damp thudding of flesh against metal echoed out from behind the cell doors as Hoon and the sergeant made their way along the corridor.

“It's this one,” the sergeant said, stopping at one of the gun-grey doors.

Hoon looked the door up and down, as if it'd tell him something about the person inside. “Open it up.”

“I wouldn't, sir,” said the sergeant. “That's not… It's not a… I wouldn't.”

“Another lively one, is he? I think I can handle it. Open it up.”

“It's not even that, sir. He's quieter than some of the others. It's just…”

“It's just what?”

The sergeant reached past him and slid open the metal shutter that covered the door's small window. He backed away without a word, making room for Hoon to approach the glass.

The figure in there was short and skinny and naked as the day he was born. His hair was lank and matted in places, non-existent in others where someone – him, presumably – had torn it out by the handful.

He stood in the corner of the cell, back flat against one wall, right shoulder pressed to the other. His eyes were fixed on the window, staring at Hoon, unblinking. There were scars across his forehead, down his cheek and onto his chest.

No, not scars. Carvings. He had carved words into his own face and body.

“Lacey Crane is a whore,” Hoon read. “That's our confession then, is it?”

“Close as we're going to get, I reckon,” the sergeant said. “You seen it yet?”

Hoon frowned. “Seen what? All I see is a stark bollock naked skinny fucker with a…”

The DCI's voice trailed off into silence. He felt the back of his throat go dry. He stepped back from the window, then leaned in for a closer look.

“What the fuck is that?”

“We don't know yet. We're trying to get someone to come have a look, but they're all tied up until… well, until when they aren't.”

Hoon nodded, but barely heard. He stared in at the man in the cell, horrified yet at the same time transfixed by the lump below his skin. It was about the size of a small orange, and moved quickly, like a mouse running under a rug in an old cartoon.

It squirmed around in the skin of the man's neck for a moment, then wriggled upwards and vanished behind his head.

Hoon shuddered involuntarily. He was just about to declare that as one of the creepiest things he'd ever seen in his life when the lights went out with a
clunk
, plunging the corridor into darkness.

“Oh great. Now what?”

“Don't know, sir,” said the sergeant. “Power cut?”

“Fuck me, how come you're not a detective yet, sergeant?” Hoon snapped. He began to walk, keeping one hand on the wall to keep straight. “Come on. Let's get upstairs and find out what's—?”

Something went
crunch
and turned the floor slippy beneath his foot. “Christ,” he spat, almost losing his footing.

He took out his phone and lit up the screen. The pale light cast a faint blue glow across the floor, picking out the squishy remains of a fat black insect. It twitched fitfully as Hoon gazed down.

“What is it?” asked the sergeant, suddenly close in Hoon's ear.

“Jesus!” Hoon hissed, almost jumping out of his skin. “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

He turned sharply and the glow from his phone illuminated the sergeant's apologetic face. The light licked the wall beside them, before being swallowed up by the dark.

“Sorry, sir,” said the sergeant.

A movement at the very edge of the light caught Hoon's eye. It was up on the wall near ceiling level, little more than a shadow.

The screen timed out, plunging the corridor into absolute blackness once more. Hoon pushed down the button on top of the phone and the light returned.

The first thing Hoon saw was the bug on the wall, right beside the sergeant's head.

The next thing he saw were the rest of them. There were half a dozen or so, dotted irregularly across the meter of corridor he was able to see. They scuttled closer, their pointed legs tapping against the glossy paintwork.

And there, in that moment, Hoon knew what had gotten under the skin of the man in the cell.

“Run,” Hoon said, but the word wouldn't come out at first. It took a second attempt for it to make it through his throat. “Run!”

He turned, holding the phone ahead of him, using its dim glow to light the way. The door that led upstairs was a dozen meters ahead in the gloom somewhere. He hurried towards it, suddenly feeling trapped down there in the dark.

“Shit, shit, get off. What is it? Get it off! Get it off!”

The sergeant's squeals came sharp at first, then suddenly muffled. Hoon stopped, turned, flashed up the phone in time to see the sergeant go down under a writhing mass of oily black bugs.

The floor heaved with them now, a squirming, scuttling living carpet that flowed like a river towards him.

The sergeant jerked sharply on the ground, his back arching, his head snapping back. And then, with a sound like air hissing from a punctured tire, he curled up and fell silent.

One of the insects landed on Hoon's boot. He kicked out, sending the creepy little fucker sailing off into the darkness.

He ran. There was nothing else for it. No time for heroics, for being the man he'd always thought he was.

He ran, faster than he'd run since back in his uniform days. Faster, even, than before then.

He ran, hurtling himself along the corridor until he finally reached the door cutting him off from the stairs and the rest of the station above.

The locked door.

“Fuck!” he cursed, hammering his fists against the metal with a
boom-boom-boom
that echoed all the way along the corridor and back again. “Fuck it, fuckity, fuck!”

The keys. He needed the keys, but there was no way he could get them. They were back along the corridor, back with the sergeant, and there was no way he could…

The light went out on his phone again. Hoon muttered, and jabbed at the button. When the glow returned it picked out the shape of a man standing less than a meter away.

“Ya bastard!” Hoon yelped, drawing back in fright. “Sergeant… You're… How the fuck did…?”

The sergeant stepped closer. Close enough for the light to pick out his dark eyes and lifeless blue lips. Close enough for Hoon to hear his breath rattling in and out, in and out, in and out.

And close enough for him to see a lump the size of a small orange squirm and wriggle beneath the sergeant's skin.

“Oh,” Hoon said. “Fuck.”

And with that, the sergeant lunged.

Grab a Free Prequel to The Bug

Thanks for taking a chance on The Bug. As a ‘thank you’ for reading, I’d like to give you an exclusive ‘Episode Zero’ prequel episode completely free of charge. Meet new and familiar characters. Get clues about upcoming storylines, and immerse yourself even deeper into the world of The Bug free of charge!
Just
head over to my blog
to grab your free story.

I really hope you’re enjoying The Bug so far. If you could take just a minute or two to leave a quick review sharing your thoughts, I’d really appreciate it.

Best wishes,

Barry

The story continues in these new episodes…

The Bug - Episode 2

The Bug - Episode 3