Fangtooth (3 page)

Chapter 5

Bruce’s mobile phone rang with an
insistent shrill. Jack watched his dad rummage in his pocket, holding the phone
up like a trophy before answering.

“You’re here, great. I’ll be there in a
minute.” He disconnected the call. “The furniture’s arrived.”

Jack shrugged. “And you’re telling me
because…?”

“Because I’d like you to help.”

“What did your last slave die of?”

“Jack, I’m not asking.”

“Give me a break. You can’t expect me to
help when I didn’t want to move out here.”

Bruce ground his teeth and sighed
through his nose. “Okay, what if you have a look around and get to know the
place, then you can show me around later. How’s that sound?”

Jack pretended to consider the idea,
then he eventually nodded. Not that he would be seen dead walking around later
with his old man. Way uncool. But if it got him off his back by agreeing, he
was game. He could make up an excuse later.

“Right, come on then. I’ll head back to
the house and you can get the lay of the land.”

Jack stood and followed his dad towards
the door. On the way, he noticed his dad surreptitiously stare at the woman
who’d asked for a light and he felt a cold ache in his stomach. The woman
stared back and smiled. Bruce blushed and fiddled with his wedding ring.

A lump lodged in Jack’s throat.

Outside he took a deep breath; could
smell the sea.

“Try not to stay out too long,” Bruce
said before turning and jogging away.

Jack didn’t watch him go. He looked
across at the harbour where the small group of teenagers huddled against the
wall. He checked if his dad was out of sight, then he pulled the packet of
cigarettes from the pocket of his hooded top and lit one up. He inhaled deeply.
He had been dying for a cigarette after being stuck in the car for hours.

Cigarette in hand, he pulled his cap
down lower to shield his eyes, and wandered across the road. It was
embarrassing being a newcomer in the village, and he was damned if he was going
to walk across and start talking to the group.

Disinterested, he skipped over the
harbour wall and sat on the edge of the quay, pretending to look out to sea. He
had chosen to sit close to the group of teenagers, but not too close. He
dangled his feet over the edge, the water’s surface below marred by a
multicoloured pool of petrol. With the tide out, water dripped from some form
of outlet pipe further along the wall.

Despite the usual blue depiction of the
sea in postcards, here it was green. Small, choppy waves crested by white foam
splashed against the harbour entrance, but within the harbour itself, the
surface was virtually flat.

“Who told you you could sit there?”

Jack flicked ash into the sea. The
speaker sounded like a teenager, but Jack didn’t look up to see. He knew they
would goad him, but he wasn’t worried. He could handle himself. He had a green
belt in Judo, though if anyone ever asked, it was black.

He took a drag on his cigarette.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jack exhaled and turned to look at the
speaker from under the brow of his cap. The boy standing beside him looked
about sixteen. He had a spotty face and shoulder length hair that, by the look
of it, only helped make his acne worse. He was dressed in green combat trousers
and a sweatshirt bearing the Nike logo. On his feet, he wore a battered pair of
Converse trainers.

“It’s a free country,” Jack said.

The lad spat on the floor. “Not here it
isn’t.” He looked back at his companions, two teenage girls, as if for support.

Jack swung his legs away from the sea
and jumped up. The boy took a step back. They were both about equal height at
five nine, but the other boy probably outweighed him by about twenty pounds. He
had learned never to underestimate an opponent, but he figured if it turned
nasty, he could bowl the boy over. He let his body relax so he would be as
supple as possible.

By the looks of them, the two girls
weren’t interested in starting any trouble, but he knew that if it came to the
crunch, camaraderie would probably spur them to help.

“Well, I’ve finished sitting down now,
so you’re welcome to it.”

The lad licked his lips. “Are you trying
to be funny?”

“No, but if you want a laugh then look
in the mirror.” One of the girls chuckled.

The boy scowled. Jack saw him clench his
fists and his heart started beating faster. He took a deep breath, tried to
calm down.

“Come on Rocky, he’s got every right to
sit there,” the girl that had laughed said as she wandered across. She had an
orange and white striped beanie hat pulled down on her head; strands of short
blonde hair jutted from underneath. Two dimples accentuated her rosy cheeks and
she had pouting lips. She folded her arms across her chest, the sleeves of her
blue top pulled down to cover her hands. She smiled at Jack, accentuating the
dimples.

“Stay out of it, Jen. This is between
him and me.”

“Come on Rocky, leave it.”

Jack couldn’t help grinning.
Rocky
!

“You find something funny?” Rocky
snarled.

Jack dropped his cigarette and stubbed
it under the heel of his trainer. “Funny enough.”

“Knock it off,” Jen said as she placed
herself between Jack and Rocky.

Rocky puffed his chest out. “I’ll knock
something off. His block.”

Jen shook her head. “If you want to hit
someone, hit me.”

“Don’t talk stupid.”

“Well then, cut it out.” She turned to
Jack and fixed him with her clear blue eyes. “My name’s Jen. Are you here on
holiday?”

“Jack.” He nodded his head in the
direction of the house. “I’ve just moved here. House on Millhouse Lane.”

Jen visibly blanched. “No way,” she
said, drawing out the words.

Jack pursed his lips and raised his
eyebrows. “Something I don’t know?”

“You mean you’ve never heard?”

“Heard what?”

“That house. The one you’ve bought. The
last people who lived there disappeared. No one ever heard from them again.”

“Right.”

“No, really. Tell him, Rocky.”

Rocky nodded.
“She’s right. It’s been up for sale for years. Everyone says it’s haunted.
People around here call it the Mulberry Triangle. Rather you than me.”

Jack chewed his lip. Were they being
serious?

The other girl hurried across. “You’re
really living in the Triangle house,” the girl said. She had brown hair tied in
a ponytail and a pert little nose that twitched like an inquisitive rabbit’s.

“Well, we haven’t moved in yet. Only got
here today.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard the
story. It was in all the papers. A man and wife and their two kids.” She
fingered one of the many earrings in her ear as she spoke.

Rocky grinned. “Well it’ll save me the
job of kicking your ass when you disappear.”

Jack shrugged. “Do I look bothered? So
I’m moving into a derelict house, so what?” Nevertheless, inside he felt a knot
in his stomach. They couldn’t be serious, could they? But so what if they were.
There was probably a good explanation.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Rocky
said. “Anything you want on your gravestone?”

Jen.
Jack kept the thought to
himself as he forced a laugh. “You’re a
real joker.”

Rocky put his arm around Jen and pulled
her in close to his side. Then he made a show of kissing her. Jen pushed him
away.

“Quit mauling me,” she said, wiping her
mouth with the back of her hand.

Rocky narrowed his eyes and glared at
Jack, and then he grinned like the cat that had gotten the cream.

Jack was disappointed Jen was Rocky’s
girlfriend. For a moment there, he’d thought living here wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Jack said. “But
I’m going to have to fly.” He turned and started walking away.

Rocky shouted after him, “Don’t you
mean, die?”

It wasn’t until Jack turned and gave him
the finger that he realised his hands were shaking.

Chapter 6

Small pebbles lined the edge of the
road. Jack kicked them as hard as he could back towards the sea. He hated this
shit village. Sure it would be good to live near a beach, but if that’s all
there was here, then he would probably die of boredom. There hadn’t always been
that much to do in the city, but at least there had been shops to look around,
fast-food restaurants, bowling and cinemas. The least he would have expected
here was an amusement arcade.

God. Why had this happened? If his mum
hadn’t died, he wouldn’t be here. Sure, his dad wanted to get away to escape
the bad memories, but they could have moved somewhere else in the city. This
was just ridiculous.

He wondered whether his dad knew the
story about the house. Obviously he didn’t. Rocky and the girls had to be
making it up. Even Jen must have been in on it. But just suppose they were
telling the truth …

Seagulls wheeled in the sky above. Their
raucous din was starting to get on his nerves so he inserted his earphones and
turned his mp3 player on. The
American Idiot
album assaulted his ears
and he bobbed his head in time to the title track.

He dragged his feet through the pebbles,
dried seaweed, shells
,
and sand that had
accumulated at the edge of the road. When he drew close to the turning to
Millhouse Lane, he took the packet of mints from his pocket to hide the smell
of cigarettes. About to pop a mint into his mouth, he looked up and noticed a
figure standing above the cove. He recognised her as the crazy woman from the
house. And she was staring at him.

Jack flicked the mint into his mouth,
trying to appear nonchalant. Then he looked back down at the road and increased
his pace. The woman had scared him in the house, so he didn’t want to stare at
her now in case it upset her. Sure, he could deal with kids his own age, but an
old woman was something else. For a start, it wouldn’t feel right hitting her
if she did attack.

He hurried into the lane and glanced
quickly back over his shoulder, but the old woman was gone.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved
or scared. Damn this place. Further along the lane he could see the removal
van. Two men were making their way out of it, carrying the brown leather settee
between them. Jack hated that settee. He had tried to convince his dad it was
wrong to sit on the carcass of an innocent animal, but his dad was adamant he
wasn’t getting rid of it, not when it cost so much and there was nothing wrong
with it. He remembered his dad saying, ‘The cow won’t mind’, which was a lame
thing to say. Of course the cow wouldn’t mind. The cow was dead.

The movers stopped walking and dropped
the settee. The older of the two raised his flat cap and mopped his brow with a
handkerchief. He looked about fifty-five and was dressed conservatively in a
shirt and trousers that had seen better days. His friend appeared about
thirty-five and was as big as a bull. He looked as though he could carry the
settee under one of his enormous arms without breaking a sweat.

Although Jack wasn’t exactly skinny, he
always envied people with big muscles. They had an air of confidence about them
he imagined came from knowing most people wouldn’t say boo to them.

As Jack walked up to the van, his dad
emerged from the house and waved. Jack took his earphones out and nodded in
response.

“That was quick,” his dad said. “I
thought you’d be gone hours.”

Jack chewed his lip and looked at the
house. The windows were dirty. Set back into the brickwork they failed to
reflect any light; looked like skeletal eye sockets. He shivered involuntarily.

“What is it?” his dad asked.

“Is there anything about the house you
haven’t told me?”

His dad frowned.

“It’s just … I heard …”

“Heard what?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Tell me then.”

“Where do you want this settee?” the old
man wheezed as he and his partner made their way up the path, carrying the
settee between them.

“Just put it in the first room along
with everything else. Until I decorate at least one room, everything will have
to go in there.”

The old man nodded
and then continued towards the house.

“Now, you were saying?” his dad said.

“I met a couple of locals in the
village. They told me the previous occupants of this house disappeared without
a trace.”

His dad shook his head. “They’re pulling
your leg.”

Jack stared at his dad for a moment. He
believed him when he said he didn’t know the history of the house, but that
didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Chapter 7

Zander stood at the helm and steered his
vessel into the inky black sea. The sound of the engines and the waves slapping
against the bow carried easily on the night air.

Clouds masked most of the sky, and few
stars were visible. A fine spray obscured the glass, and he switched the wipers
on to clear it away. He preferred to see miles ahead of him, but when the sun
went down it was hard to see anything.

He often thought being on a boat at
night on the seas was one of the loneliest places in the world. Other than Brad
toiling away in the engine room, he was alone. But he felt as though someone
was watching him, which was ridiculous. He was four miles out, and there wasn’t
another vessel in sight. In rough weather, the radar sometimes showed little
blips on the screen from the tops of waves, but today it was calm and yet there
were still a couple of blips showing up. He looked outside, but couldn’t see
any running lights to indicate the presence of another vessel. Thinking it
could be flotsam or there might be a problem with the radar, he altered its
sensitivity to tune out the blips. Technology was a wonderful thing, but it
wasn’t infallible.

Once the blips disappeared, he recalled
the incident with the shredded net. It had taken days to repair and had cost
more than he could afford. That’s why this trip was so important.

Satisfied no one was around to see, he
flicked a switch and spotlights above the helm illuminated the sea, creating a
glare that was almost blinding. Less than fifty yards off the starboard bow he
spotted a red buoy that marked the lobster pot in the depths below. Easing back
on the throttle, he headed towards the pot and dropped anchor.

The deck was slick with water, and he
cautiously made his way to the starboard side. Using a hooked pole, he snared
the buoy and dragged it on board. Then he started to haul the pot from the
deep. The cold rope felt slimy in his hands, and he braced his feet against the
side of the boat and pulled hand over hand. Weighed down with its contents and
the pressure of the sea, the basket was heavy and it took all his strength to
raise it.

Water sloshed against the deck and ran
back out to the sea as the boat pitched in the waves.

Something banged against the hull and
Zander jumped. The rope slipped through his fingers before he tightened his
grip. He tied the rope onto the gunnel and peered over the side into the inky
black depths where the spotlights failed to illuminate. There was always the
danger at sea of hitting submerged objects, perhaps some of the flotsam he
thought the radar detected, but he couldn’t see anything. The hairs prickled at
the nape of his neck. Something didn’t feel right, and over the years he’d come
to trust his feelings.

The sooner he was done, the sooner he
could head home, so he returned to hauling up the lobster pot.

Eventually the pot broke the surface and
he lifted it aboard. Inside he could see the sealed packets of cannabis, which
had a value anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand pounds. It was a lucrative
sideline now the fishing grounds seemed to be drying up. Eager to finish, he
removed the packets as quickly as he could and dropped them on the deck. When
he was done, he threw the pot overboard and watched as the rope snaked back
into the icy sea. When the pot was on the bottom, he threw the buoy back out
and then picked up the packets and returned to the wheelhouse where he stowed
the cannabis in a secret hatch in the boards beneath his feet.

When that was done, he raised the anchor
and turned the spotlights off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a faint
blip on the radar screen. When he looked, the blip disappeared. He gave the
radar a quick tap, but nothing reappeared.

Then Zander opened
up the throttle and sailed into the night.