Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set (166 page)

“Goddamnit!”  Damien howled, clutching his withered hand against his abdomen.  “Jesus-goddamn-Christ!” 

Lucas – who was clutching his own injured hand – began to laugh in what seemed like genuine amusement.  “Not quite – but I’ll send you to go see him if you try that bollocks again, you little shithead.”

Damien glared.  “You’re dead!”

“Wrong again, Sonny Jim.  Unless you mean
dead bored
, which if I’m honest, I’m starting to get a wee bit.  You’re keeping a man from his drink.”

Damien looked more furious than Harry had ever seen him.  He was about to speak, no doubt to make more threats, but Steph cut him off first – not with her voice, but with the landlord’s bell pulled out from under the bar.  She rang it vigorously in the faces of the two arguing men. 

“Pack it in!” she hollered.  “I’m in no mood for child’s play.  Especially from you!”  She scowled at Damien.  “It’s freezing cold, we’re all stuck here, and we’re in the bloody dark.  Do you two not think we have things bad enough without fisticuffs?  Because you know something?  If one of you gets hurt, I doubt there’s an ambulance in the world that can get here tonight.”

Or even this week,
Harry thought.

Damien allowed his glare to turn into a grimace, before finally settling on a look of irritation.  Lucas got back on his stool and quickly finished off his beer.  He slid the empty toward Steph and said, “Two more, please.  One for me and one for my new friend here with the broken hand.”

Damien hissed.  “It isn’t broken, and I’m not your pissing friend.”

“Well,” said Lucas, offering a bottle of beer to Damien.  “Perhaps you should be.  It would make life easier.”

“Come on, Damien,” said Nigel from the far end of the bar.  “If we’re all stuck here, we may as well have a drink together.  Could even be a laugh.”

Damien turned his animalistic stare to the large, sweaty man at the end of the bar.  “You think I want to waste a minute hanging around with a bunch of losers like you?”

Harry took offence.  Being called a loser by a piece of scum like Damien did not sit well with him at all.  “We don’t want to be stuck with you either,” he said, “but shit happens.” 

Damien turned his glare to Harry, his body coiled and trembling like a pissed off panther. 
A panther ready to attack,
thought Harry, regretting his comment already.

Before further words were exchanged though, Lucas pushed the bottle of beer towards Damien.  “How bouts I buy your beers all night if you sit down and join in?   Be an amicable chappy!”

Damien smirked.  “I don’t need you to buy my drinks.  I have enough money to buy your whole sodding family.”

Lucas smiled his cheeky grin.  “I very much doubt that, lad, but why don’t we say I’m doing it to show my respect.  I’m the new boy here and I obviously don’t know how things work now, do I?  So accept my offer as an apology.”

Harry watched in anticipation as Damien scrutinised the man’s suggestion, but it seemed obvious that it had settled down his need for bravado.  Harry admired Lucas’s savvy.  The man had swallowed his own sense of pride and manipulated Damien into behaving.  The young thug thought he’d won, but it was apparent to everyone else at the bar that Lucas had just used a modicum of intelligence to control the situation.

“Okay,” Damien finally said, snatching the bottle from Lucas.  “Guess I can lower myself for one night and share a few beers with the peasants.”

Everyone was happy to ignore the insult, ready to play along with Lucas’s charade if it meant having peace.  They raised their beers in the air and mumbled agreement. 

Lucas put his hand on the bar; it was swollen and red in the candle light.  “Don’t suppose you could get me some ice, luv?”  

Steph sighed and nodded.  “Sure.”

Damien suddenly slammed down his own fist on the bar and made the rest of them jump.  Like Lucas, his hand was also swollen.  “Yeah, I think I could do with some too.”

There was a brief silence before Damien began laughing.  It was the least hostile Harry had ever seen the lad and, before long, the entire bar was sipping their drinks and laughing right along with him.  The tension seemed to float away. 

But Harry had a feeling it wouldn’t last
.

Chapter Seven

 ”Dude, I’m starting to get totally frost-bitten.  It’s like
The
Day After Tomorrow
in here.”

Ben sighed.  For some reason, Jerry had to speak almost entirely in film references.  The fact that Ben’s father owned a video store didn’t help matters at all.  Yet, despite his annoyance, Ben had to agree.  It was getting uncomfortably cold.

“Can you hear me, B-dog?”  Jerry shouted from the shop floor.  “I said it’s like
The Day aft-”

“Yes, I heard you.  Hopefully the power will come back on soon, but there’s not a lot I can do about it in the meantime.”

“What?  You saw those fuses!  The lights ain’t coming on any time soon.  You should just call your dad so we can get out of here.”

Ben fumbled his way through the dark from the office back to the shop floor, bumping into various shelving units along the way.  “I tried already!  My phone’s playing up.  The display is all screwed.”

“No shit?  My phone is like that too.”

Ben paused.  What were the odds that both their phones would be playing up?  “Really?  You think it’s the weather or something?”

“I dunno,” Jerry said.  “Can the weather do stuff like that?”

“Something’s responsible, not just for the phones but the power blowing out as well.”

Ben crossed the shop floor over to the thick glass door at the front of the shop.  It was still snowing outside; heavy round flakes that seemed to sizzle as they hit the ground – or rather the top layer of snow two feet above the ground.  He and Jerry had been clearing the entranceway throughout the day, keeping the place as accessible as possible.  Of course, in such bad weather there had barely been a single customer all day anyway, especially in the last few hours – but Ben’s father never closed if he had the choice to open (especially on a day where everyone was stuck at home with nothing to do but maybe watch a rented DVD).  Ben hadn’t complained.  He’d known his father long enough not to expect the day off – even on a day where all other businesses had closed – so he’d decided to do a stock count, which had been perfect except for two missing copies of
The Pianist
(and a copy of
Brain Dead
that Ben knew was currently stashed in Jerry’s bedroom courtesy of ‘
a favour’)
.

It was dark outside, only the dim glint of the moonlight providing any chance to see.  The street lights were out and had obviously died when the power failed.  The two of them needed to get home soon, but that wasn’t going to be easy.   Ben turned around to face the gloom of the shop floor and a thought crossed his mind.  “Hey, Jerry, when did you go the supermarket last?”

Jerry’s response came from over by the cash register.  Ben hoped he wasn’t messing around with anything.  “Couple hours ago, why?”

“Did they say what time they were closing?”

“Nah, the bitch-monster was serving me.  I just brought a magazine and left.”

“You mean the manageress?  Yeah, she’s always rude to me too.”

“I hope she gets eaten alive by zombies.  And not the slow kind – the crazy-ass running kind from
Dawn of the Dead 2004
.”

Ben sighed at yet another film reference.  “Maybe we should go across and see how they’re getting home.  Might be safer if we all go together.”

“Dude!”  Jerry cried out triumphantly.  “There’s this girl over there that’s totally hot.  This could be the opening I’ve been waiting for.”

Ben laughed, just happy that his friend was for once being cooperative.  “Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate you getting her home safely.  Just let me lock-”

Before Ben could finish his sentence something hit the door.

Chapter Eight

By 10pm everyone had moved over to the sofa by the fireplace.  The temperature had swan-dived so low that Harry and the others shivered constantly.  Steph’s teeth had also begun to chatter, leading everyone to giggle at her, which she didn’t seem to appreciate.  The atmosphere by the fire was just about comfortable, but Harry was certain it was getting colder still.  

How much colder can it get before we all freeze to death?

“I’m starting to worry,” said Steph, as if she’d read Harry’s mind.  She was sitting on a thread-bare footstool beside the fire and hugging herself tightly.  “The snow really doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon, and it’s damn nippy.”

Harry looked over at the pub’s front window and found himself agreeing.  The snow was falling as heavily as ever and the large sheet of plate glass was starting to frost over, with icy spider webs creeping from the corners.  He nestled into the sofa cushions to seek out their warmth, but found none.

“What’s your drama?” said Damien from his standing place at the left side of the fire’s mantelpiece.  In his thick puffer jacket he looked warmer than the rest of them.  “A bit of a chill won’t kill you, woman.”

“Won’t it?” she asked.

“Course not, you dopey cow.  The power will be on again soon and the heating will kick on with it, so stop menstruating.”

Harry snapped, not quite sure why.  He wasn’t usually quick-tempered at all.  “Let’s have less of the bad language.  Didn’t your father ever teach you to treat women with respect?”

Damien was instantly enraged by the comment.  “You don’t talk about my father, you hear me?  You’re beneath him.  What you going do, anyway?  Teach me some manners?”

“Maybe I will,” Harry replied, still wondering what he was getting himself into and why.

Damien stepped forwards, but was halted by Steph who placed a hand on his chest.  “Behave!” she said.  “Harry’s right, you should treat women with respect – especially when they happen to be in charge of the only place with an open fire for miles.  You’re welcome to go freeze somewhere else, if you’d like, but if not then I don’t expect another peep out of you.”

Damien sniggered.  “Why don’t you two just shag each other and get it over with.”

Harry blushed at the remark, turned the emotion into anger, and then went to get up out of his seat, but Lucas, sat beside him, placed a hand on his arm and stopped him.  The Irishman shook his head and eased Harry back down onto the sofa.  Harry yielded, but couldn’t help but eyeball Damien.  The little prick had a smug grin on his face and obviously thought he had won some small victory.

Probably thinks I’m chicken.  Maybe I am?  Or maybe I’m just frightened of what I’ll do…
 

“Anyway,” said Lucas, changing the subject.  “Besides young Stephanie here – who I know is the world’s finest barmaid – what do the rest of you call an excuse for a living?”

Stephanie laughed.  “You cheeky git!  I’m more than a mere barmaid.  I plan on starting up a pet grooming business when I’ve saved enough money.  Say about another year and I’ll be there.”

Harry had known Steph since she’d started at the pub, but he’d never learned that about her.  It seemed important and he wished he’d shown more interest in her life, instead of always relying upon her to show interest in his.  An air-bubble of guilt rose up from his gullet and stuck in his throat.

Beside the fireplace, Damien was rubbing at his sore hand and laughing to himself, apparently lacking appreciation for Stephanie’s ambitions.  Lucas, however, seemed more interested.  “Pet grooming?” he said, stroking at his chin thoughtfully.  “Now does that mean you’ll spend your time giving rats haircuts and squirrels baths?”

Steph giggled.  “I was thinking more
dogs and cats
, but hey whatever.  I love animals and they all smell better after a bath.”

Damien’s laughter erupted in a mean-spirited snicker that made Harry want to spit at him.  “What you want to spend your time washing crap off Rottweilers for?”  He winked at Stephanie.  “I’ve got ways you can earn some
real
money, darlin’.”

Harry’s ‘thuggish-little-prick-tolerance’ was met once again, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the comment seemed to roll off Stephanie’s back, he may have gotten into another verbal bout of sparring with Damien.  He was beginning to lose patience.

Stay calm,
Harry told himself
.  This kid would knife you so much as look at you.  Don’t let him bring you down to his level.  You made that mistake once before…

“So then,” Lucas addressed Damien.  “What is it that
you
do with yourself then, lad?”

“Don’t ask,” said Nigel from his space on the floor beside the fire.

“Because if he told you; he’d have to kill you,” added Old Graham beside him.

“Is that true?” Lucas enquired, eyeing Damien up curiously.  “Are you a man of mystery?”

Damien smirked.  “Guess I am.  I do a bit of this and a bit of that.  Provide certain services to people that they may not find elsewhere.”

“Interesting; so how did you get into that type of thing?”

“Family business, innit?  Learned from the best – my old man.”

Lucas nodded agreeably.  “Sounds like a generous chap to pass on so much to his boy.  Best thing a man can do is see his young ones right in a profession.”

Damien beamed.  “Straight up.  Dad taught me everything I know.”

“So where is this great man now?” asked Lucas, a knowing smile on his face that made it seem as though he knew the answer already.  “I bet he’s some great success, yeah?  Sat back in Luxury, watching his boy carry on the family trade?  Am I right?”

Damien’s face turned sour – not angry, but defensive and dangerous – like a cornered feline.  “Not exactly,” he said.  “He’s…away at the moment.”

“Vacation?”

Harry watched with a disturbing amount of pleasure as he watched Damien squirm against the wall, trying to merge with the peeling paintwork.  He was rubbing his injured hand rapidly with rhythmic strokes.  “Yeah,” he finally said.  ”He’s on a cruise, innit.  What’s it to do with you?”