Hellspawn (Book 1) (7 page)

“Come Sam, let’s lock the front door.” Mrs Blume was proving a valuable asset. “We will see you both in a moment.” She gave a curt nod and closed the door. Kurt heard the key turn and the latch engage.

Kurt jumped in the van and slammed the door. Starting the engine, he dropped the clutch. The van wheels spun, chewing grass before finding purchase and taking him back into the road. In his side mirror he watched the car begin its manoeuvre, Sarah backed it over the kerb expertly and reversed towards the door. He turned the corner and headed down the rear access road that separated the rows of houses. The individual garbage bins for each house were placed outside the wooden gates that gave access to the rear gardens. Turning the wheel, he aimed the back of the van at the fence. Gunning it, he shot backwards. In a splintering of wood, he hammered straight through the fence and gate, the two tonnes of metal winning the uneven battle. Garden chairs went flying as he drove over the patio, slowing down as he neared the double glass doors. Realising he was slightly off on the approach, he moved forward and repositioned, squashing the final garden chair that had escaped the first run.

He opened the driver’s window, leaned out to get a better view, and blocked the doors with a sudden jolt as the van hit the wall. He looked out of both side mirrors, satisfied that the van covered the whole entrance door of the home. He locked it and walked out to the access road, stepping over broken fencing and chairs, looking for Sarah.

Braiden walked up to his front door and hesitated. He listened intently, hearing the television, his heart sank. Dad obviously hadn’t gone to work today, then again that wasn’t a surprise; he seemed to be going less and less these days. The problem was that when he was home, he drank and smoked cannabis, which made his mood swings so volatile. One minute he would be all jovial and the next smashing the place up, breaking anything he could lay his hands on. Braiden had already lost his Playstation and television to a particularly bad episode. A cup of tea that he had made for his Dad was too hot and burned his mouth when he took a gulp. It didn’t matter that he should have sipped it first to check, the alcohol and drugs he had taken left him no ability to act reasonably. He had thrown the cup of boiling tea at Braiden and missed, which only made him more furious. His father had then chased him upstairs and beat him with his belt as Braiden cowered on the bed. When Lennie had grown tired of this, he took the game console and television and threw it through the bedroom window, smashing it. The council had replaced the window, but had refused to do any more repairs. The constant damage was causing an unacceptable burden on the local rate payers. This had caused another beating.

Braiden stood there, shifting from foot to foot, unsure what to do. He wished his mum hadn’t left two years ago, he was better when she had been around. He didn’t blame her though. She had taken most of the physical stuff from Lennie Sullivan when Braiden was a young child. As he grew older, the knowledge that this was not normal behaviour became more obvious to him. He found himself watching other families, how they laughed and hugged. They talked to each other without screaming and shouting. Confusion grew into jealousy, jealousy into anger, anger into lashing out at people. He wasn’t stupid, despite what his dad told him every day. He understood that he was becoming the one person who he hated above all others, and it scared him. Finally, he plucked up the courage to knock on the door. He carefully tucked the table leg in the high grass and rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

“For fuck sake!” came a yell from indoors. Braiden shrank a little inside, his stomach clenching. He could tell that his dad was in a foul mood by his tone. Through the glass he heard the lounge door slam open, rebounding from the wall, which was already gouged from Dad’s previous tempers. The shadowy figure of his dad stormed down the hallway, visible through the glass. He took a cautious step backwards. The door was pulled open aggressively, the man leaning out ready to chase off any door to door salesman. Blinking in surprise, he looked down as his son stood there.

“What the fuck are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at school!” Lennie bellowed with a can of super strength lager held in one hand, the other holding onto the door for support. The way he swayed, it was clear he had been at it for a while. The fragrance of burnt cannabis wafted from the door. Trying to step past, Braiden had to crouch a little to get under his large, hairy arm.

“Oy, I’m talking to you!” The front door slammed and Braiden turned to speak.

“They sent me home Dad, the school had a… fire,” Braiden explained, knowing the truth would be dangerous.

“You lying little shit! You’re bunking off aren’t you?” Lennie started swaying menacingly down the hallway. His balance was off from the weed and alcohol.

“No, honest Dad! If I was bunking, I wouldn’t have come home would I? I’d be down at the park.” Braiden desperately tried to convince him of the truth, knowing it was probably pointless.

The suddenness of his father’s backhanded slap caused him to fall backwards. If it hadn’t been for the filthy carpet, he could have cracked his head open on the concrete underneath. As it was, his head blazed with pain and he quickly jumped up, clinging onto the newel post of their staircase. Leaping up the stairs, two steps at a time and crying with pain and anger, he heard his dad call after him.

“Get down here you little bastard! You’re an ungrateful little shit. No wonder your mum walked out, that fucking whore!”

Braiden fell onto his bed, and waited for the sound of the footsteps to come thundering as his father came to finish what he had started. None came, only a muffled, “Whore,” as his dad got lost in melancholy thoughts of his ex-wife. This was then followed by the sound of him slumping back into his favourite chair. Braiden sat up on the bed. Feeling his face, he noticed the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and he gingerly felt around with his tongue. Finding a tear on the inside of his cheek, he put his finger to the wound and it came out red. Laying his head on his pillows he cried, turning his face and screaming into the fabric. Only pussies cried, he thought to himself. Anger flared deep inside him, stopping the tears. He looked around at his room. The wallpaper was peeling and torn. Black mould grew on the corners of the ceiling because Dad would never allow the heating to be put on. It smelled bad. The bed sheets hadn’t been cleaned for many months, nor had the curtains. The only piece of furniture in the room was an old chest of drawers; two were missing their fronts, displaying the sparse contents. A couple of t-shirts and a pair of torn jeans were in one, a few pairs of socks and pants in the other. He had to clean them in the bathroom sink as the washing machine had broken months ago. Shame flushed through him as he remembered having to steal soap from the bathrooms at school to wash them with. A feeling of desolation engulfed him, in a way the horror he had seen seemed welcome. It would all be over soon, a bit of pain and then nothing. No more beatings, no more loneliness, no more hatred, he smiled to himself.

Almost in a trance, he stood and left his room and walked down into the kitchen. Opening the drawer under the kitchen sink, he rooted around and drew out a large carving knife. He stared at it, felt the weight and ran his finger down the sharp blade. Touching the point and pressing hard, he took it away but the indent remained. It fascinated Braiden. A loud barking laugh echoed from the lounge where his father sat. Braiden moved without thinking. Clutching the knife to his side, he walked to the lounge door and stood there, staring. The back of his dad’s head bobbed and moved, visible over the back of the chair that faced their only television. Clenching and unclenching the knife in his hand, his fingers turning white with the pressure. Braiden took a step forward.

Braiden’s mind turned to Sam and his family, causing him to pause. He felt sick with guilt at what he had been doing, the way he tormented Sam for being lucky enough to have a mum and dad that cared. All the words, all the small acts of bullying and violence returned to haunt his memory. The feeling of helping Sam had been strange, it had felt… good. The image of Mr Taylor leaning in and telling them they had done well stuck with him. He had never been complimented like that before. It filled him with a warm glow, a small ember of happiness in a heart that had been all but crushed with criticism and undeserved blame. A crazy idea blossomed in his mind.

Braiden turned away, fearful now that he would be discovered.  He made it clear of the lounge, walking through the kitchen and into the hallway. He opened the front door, careful to lift the latch slowly to minimise the noise. He swung the door open and stepped out. Pulling the door closed, he hesitated. He looked at the door for long seconds, torn and conflicted. In the end, he left it ajar with the latch not engaged, forgetting the table leg and walking away. A gust of wind pushed the door open further, the shadowed sliver of hallway an invitation.

Kurt reached the broken fence and looked around the corner for Sarah. He heard noise from behind and turned to see Sam open the back door, looking out with concern.

“Sam, come and start getting the stuff from the shed. Get the ladders first.”

A lot of Kurt’s equipment, as well as other wood and useful materials, were in the shed. Sam rushed over and grabbed the aluminium extension ladder. He hurried back to the house.

“Just put it inside the door for now mate. We will take it upstairs when the doors are locked.”

Sam turned his head and nodded, then carried on with the task. Kurt looked around and was happy to see Sarah turn the corner, relief visible in her face. Kurt waved a greeting and left the corner, taking hold of the other set of stepladders. He started to carry them towards the open door as Sam stepped out, followed by Mrs Blume.

When Sarah reached the first gate, it didn’t even register to her that it stood open. She couldn’t know that it had been closed only a minute before. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to jump. A fat corpse came lumbering out through the gate that he had leaned on and broken. It was in remarkably good condition, only a single, bloodied mark on the arm giving a hint to the true nature of what he was. Looking down, a new wave of horror hit her.  A leash was still tied to the wrist. A bloodied carcass, unrecognisable now but once a dog, dragged behind him leaving a bloody trail. She imagined the scene; the poor animal had been trapped, desperately trying to get away, but was tethered to its killer. A fury blazed through her. She kicked as hard as she could between the man’s legs, feeling bone crunch. Her kick had no visible effect, and the fury abated instantly as he fell on her, terror replacing the rage.

“KURT!” Sarah screamed as she held the face at bay, teeth snapping shut, narrowly missing her face. The eyes were glazed and unmistakably dead, a milky film had already started to form. The mouth dripped saliva onto her face, which caused her to try and turn away from the vile liquid. This distraction only helped the zombie in its desire to consume her.

Kurt had heard the scream. Dropping the ladder in a clatter, he sprinted round the corner. He beat himself up in his mind, why the hell hadn’t he just waited those extra seconds for her? He saw Sarah, mounted by a figure who was trying to bite at her. The newly turned monstrosity’s sheer bulk was causing her to weaken. It would only be one more try before he overwhelmed her slender arms and fastened onto her face. NO, NO, NO! Kurt screamed in his mind. Realising that he could never cover the distance in time, his heart nearly stopped there and then. Life would be empty, pointless without his rock. Madness threatened as he watched his wife in her final moments.

Another scream broke the afternoon air. Braiden had burst from the corner and charged at the zombie. Swinging the knife sideways in an arc, the blade entered the side of its head, penetrated to the hilt, the point breaking through on the other side. The sheer, visceral hatred that powered the blow lifted the zombie clear from Sarah. The monster fell, rolling sideways in a heap with his faithful pet by his side. Braiden stood there panting. His hand was numb from hitting the skull, so he opened and closed the fingers, trying to get the feeling back.

Kurt couldn’t believe it. He fell to his knees mid sprint, skinning them on the concrete as he skidded the last few feet to his wife. Sarah was exhausted. The fight had taken everything from her. Her eyes had a look of shock and distance. It was probably the same expression he had worn when he had zoned out and retreated within himself for a while. He smothered her with kisses, hugged her close, and kissed her some more. Sam and Mrs Blume arrived.

“Mum!?” asked Sam uncertainly, the dead figure to the left unmoving. “Did she… I mean, was she…” Tears welled up in his eyes.

“No, no, she’s fine. He didn’t bite her,” Kurt declared, looking up at Braiden, who was looking at the ground once again. “Braiden saved her.”

They helped Sarah to her feet. She was weak but walked with little aid. Kurt turned to Braiden and embraced him.

“Thank you son, thank you.” Kurt hugged him tight, felt him tense and go rigid. Letting go and giving him space, he continued, “You saved her life. I can never repay you for that.” They just stood there and long seconds passed before Braiden responded.

“Please may I come in with you? None of my family is home,” Braiden asked quietly.

“You are more than welcome to come with us until they get home. They can join us later. We are just getting stuff in from the shed.”

“Yeah, later,” he whispered.

Into the garden they walked. Sarah got to the back door and stepped in, supported by Sam and the old teacher. It was the only door they couldn’t block due to the lack of a vehicle. Kurt would create a barricade inside to keep them safe.

“Look after her, we’ve got this,” Kurt shouted. “In here mate, grab everything and just throw it inside the back door.” Braiden followed obediently.

Keeping their eyes on the fence line, the rest of the unloading went without incident. A few faint shouts and screams carried on the wind. They entered the house, Braiden heading into the kitchen where the rest were seated and tending to Sarah. Kurt looked out into the grey afternoon, feeling a little more secure but still tense and fearful. After locking the door and joining his family, he thought, this nightmare is just beginning.