The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (45 page)

The door still didn’t open.

“Coward!”

“Mum!” screamed Charlie, grabbing and shaking her.

A ghastly white and mouthless face peered around the top of the stairs, black eyes locked on the children.

“No,” said Anne, staggering away from the door and standing in front of Eleanor and the children. “You’re not having them. You hear? You’re not having them!”

The creature clambered onto the landing, its mouths opening like a blooming field of red flowers. Thick saliva dripped from them.

“Stay behind me,” she ordered to the children and Eleanor. “Whatever happens just stay behi-”

Montgomery jumped, pushing off the carpet hard with its large hands.

Montgomery hit Anne in the chest, knocking her back. It held onto her top and brought its tooth-filled body up against her. She pushed against its head. The creature held on relentlessly, the snapping mouths dangerously close. Releasing its left hand, it swept a fist up, smashing it into Anne’s face.

She swayed, the flash of pain instantly numbing and bringing on a wave of dizziness.

The creature punched her again, forcing Anne to her knees, the carpet and walls swimming before her eyes.

Montgomery pounced back, allowing Anne to fall, landing on her side.

“No…” she said, her voice nothing more than a weak whisper. Her eyelids drooped.

Eleanor dashed forwards, but the creature was quick, grabbing her ankle and throwing it upwards. With a cry, Eleanor fell over the top step of the stairway.

“Eleanor…” sighed Anne, listening to the old woman tumble down the stairs.

Montgomery howled in victory.

“Get…away…from them,” Anne managed, her lips barely forming the words. Her eyes closed, but she willed them open again.

Charlie and Bronwyn screamed, clutching each other and cowering against the closed bedroom door.

Montgomery slowly ambled towards them, mouths snapping in anticipation.

“No…” moaned Anne.

Her eyes closed again.

9.

Black liquid frothed around the back wheel of the bike. Jake twisted the throttle hard. The engine whined. He shook the handlebars.

“Come on!”

The current pulled the bike to the side. Jake steered away from it. The bike sank another few inches.

The Collector laughed on the other side of the whirlpool he’d created in the road. The Prowlers gathered closer around him. Waving a hand, he sped up the gently circling waves of black.

Jake panicked as the bike was swept left, travelling sideways through the mire. He frantically pulled the handlebars back and forth, trying to find any grip under the tyres.

The bike slipped further into the road.

Before the bike toppled over, Jake turned the bike to the left, riding it into the current. He picked up speed as the bike drifted around the perimeter of the whirlpool in a wide path.

A hole slowly widened at the centre. Heat radiated from it like an opened oven.

Jake revved again and pushed forwards. The bike was propelled faster still. Gritting his teeth, Jake pulled a hard right towards the edge of the liquid road.

The bike bobbed slightly and the front tyre rose, pointing at the solid surface of Penny Crescent. The momentum Jake had built up carried the bike up and over, the front tyre emerging onto the hard tarmac.

“No,” cried The Collector. His smug grin vanished. “You can’t!”

Jake revved the bike harder, causing the rear wheel to spin and splash up a wave of thick, black liquid. He stood and leaned forwards.

With a wet sucking noise, the back tyre popped free and the bike shot onto the solid road. Jake glanced over his shoulder and he sped to the head of the street.

The Collector no longer waved his hands over the bubbling whirlpool. His fists were clenched by his sides.

Jake grinned, his heart racing. He stopped the bike and pressed his foot on the hard tarmac.

Behind The Collector, Frank and Joe ran from behind the car and into the McGuire house. They no longer had the petrol cans, so Jake assumed it had been dumped in the car.

But what are they doing? Something must have happened…

He looked back to The Collector, who stood glaring at him. The Prowlers fidgeted again, some fighting amongst themselves.

They haven’t seen them,
Jake realised
, not yet at least. I have to lead them away.

With a cocky smile, Jake raised his middle finger at The Collector.

The Collector stood for a moment, his mouth hanging open. It took him a few seconds to find his voice.

“How dare you, boy,” he growled. “We’ll tear you limb from limb!”

The Collector started forwards, quickly pacing around the large whirlpool, which still span and gurgled at the centre of the road. With chirps of excitement, the Prowlers followed.

Jake allowed them to cover half of the distance to him before turning back to face forwards. He lifted his foot and drove the bike at a moderate speed to the head of the road. With The Collector and his small army still following, he cranked the throttle and sped away from Penny Crescent.

10.

Joe and Frank watched Jake leave the street, the flustered Collector in hot pursuit. Joe smiled at Jake giving him the finger. It had worked. The Collector and his Prowlers turned the corner, chasing the bike Joe could now only hear. A moment later, the street had emptied.

“Good lad,” said Joe, “very good lad.”

He entered his grandmother’s house.

The exterior on first sight had seemed untouched, bar a broken window. Inside was a different matter entirely. Wallpaper and carpets were torn to shreds, and, in some places, chunks of plaster had been knocked from the wall. All the furniture was smashed. Chips of wood littered the floor from destroyed tables and bookcases. A thick, musty smell hung in the air, like decomposing leaves at the end of autumn.

“Look at this place,” said Frank, lifting a torn table leg from the floor. “Your grandmother is going to be mortified.”

“And you complained your house had been trashed,” said Joe. Every time his gaze fell on some destroyed keepsake or treasured possession belonging to his grandmother, it felt like a kick in the stomach. “She’s going to be devastated.”

“What’s this?” said Frank, dropping the table leg and picking up a handful of black pellets from the floor. He ran them through his fingers like a cascade of raisins.

“My guess,” said Joe, “would be Prowler shit.”

Frank immediately dropped the small pellets and wiped his hand on the front of his T-shirt.

“I’m going to go upstairs and get the car keys,” said Joe. “They should still be in my jeans pocket on the floor of the bedroom, but then again…” He looked around at the carnage. “…that’s no guarantee.”

“Then hurry,” said Frank. “I’ll stay down here and watch for them coming back.”

“Think the women and kids got away safe?”

“Sure,” said Frank. “
He
was outside the whole time and now he’s gone. Well, as long as Jake can keep him away. They’re probably already at the estate around the back. The authorities might even show up before we get to blow up your car.”

“I hope so,” said Joe. “Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He walked past Frank and started up the stairs, treading cautiously. The steps had not escaped the destructive nature of the Prowlers, and large scratches criss-crossed the wood.

Joe imagined The Collector leading the hordes in here –
make yourselves at home, folks!

He reached the top of the stairs and groaned, placing a hand on his chest.

The landing was inches deep with torn paper, each scrap lined with print. An occasional patch of colour stood out in the black and white mess, a cover ripped in half or a hardback spine poking out of the sea of paper like a lighthouse. The scraps and crumpled pages had accumulated the highest in the doorway to his grandmother’s study. It was knee deep.

Her books
, thought Joe,
the thing that kept her going since Granddad died. He is going to suffer for this.

He raced down the landing to his bedroom, kicking the destroyed contents of numerous volumes from his path. Passing the door to the study, Joe kept his eyes forward, avoiding the destruction of his grandmother’s cherished collection.

His bedroom had also been decimated, particularly the bed. Dull springs poked through gashes in the fluffy top layer of mattress. The ripped paper of the books had found its way into the bedroom like a snowdrift, and Joe fell to his knees among the shreds. He swept large handfuls aside to reveal more and more of the blue carpet beneath.

He paused for a second, recalling the last time he kneeled on the floor in here. It had been the night before, hunting out that first Prowler, lurking under the bed. It felt like weeks ago.

Joe shivered, peering at the dark space underneath the bed. He resumed his search.

Within the piles of paper, his hand brushed something resting on the floor. He grabbed it and, feeling denim between his fingers, pulled the jeans out and held them up for inspection. The garment had also been unlucky during the Prowler occupation of the house, with narrow strips torn down the legs.

Joe shook them and heard a faint jingle from within. His heart leapt. He reached inside one of the pockets and felt cold metal.

“Thank Christ,” he whispered, removing the keys.

Joe climbed to his feet and ran out of the room. He rushed across the landing, kicking up shreds of paper. He bounded down the stairs, expecting to find an eager Frank in the hall.

“Frank?”

Joe stepped off the bottom of the stairs.

“Frank? Where are you? I’ve got the keys.”

Joe looked through the open front doorway and out onto the bright street. Would Frank have done a runner? Gone out for some reason? Maybe The Collector had returned…

No
, he thought.
He would have warned me. Wouldn’t he?

“Frank? Are you still in here?”

Leaving the front door for now, he ventured into the living room.

“Frank? Where-”

Light from the window glinted off the knife as it plunged towards his chest.

11.

Joe sidestepped, the butcher knife flying past him and sticking in the wall. Frank emerged from his hiding place behind the door, prised out the blade and turned towards him.

Joe backed up with his hands out in front, retreating deeper into the living room.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Ending this,” said Frank, lifting the knife higher.

Joe side-stepped around the wrecked coffee table, keeping it between Frank and himself. It provided no cover whatsoever, but held Frank at arm’s length.

“What do you mean, end this? What have I done?”

The teacher sniggered, an emotionless sound that chilled Joe. Frank didn’t blink despite the sweat around his eyes. His body twitched and jerked.

“Talk to me,” shouted Joe. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“You know,” snarled Frank. “You and that bitch! You both know…”

The man’s finally gone mad
, thought Joe.
He’s raving!

Frank growled and swept the knife at Joe.

“Frank, stop this!”

“I am. It’s the only way…”

Frank moved around the ruined table, forcing an opposite step from Joe.

“Listen to me,” ordered Joe. “Whatever you think I’ve done to upset you, we have to put it aside. We need to work together!”

“I’ve listened. I’ve listened all fucking night. Do you think I’m stupid? All the times we did what you said; all the times I was doing what you suggested, just to keep the peace. Do you think I didn’t see what was going on? What you were up to?”

“Up to? I don’t understand!”

“I know you had your eyes on her straight away. I didn’t need him to tell me that. Can’t say I blame you, McGuire, she’s a good-looking woman. But she’s
my
woman, and that was your mistake!”

Joe frowned. “What? You mean Anne? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You should learn to keep your hands to yourself!” continued Frank, sweeping the knife back and forth, catching the sunlight from the window. “She’s just a stupid woman, and women are easily led, McGuire. This is your doing. He showed me what you did in the bathroom with her. Memories don’t lie!”

He swung the knife again. Joe easily avoided it.

“We haven’t done anything,” he pleaded. “Do you honestly believe I was with Anne at any point in this? Our lives were in danger but I still took the time to bed your wife? Listen to yourself-”

“But I have seen with my own eyes…”

“Seen?” Joe spat. “Or were you shown? You can’t trust him!”

Frank laughed.

“And who can I trust, eh? You? Her? Anything anymore? Nothing is right! Nothing!”

He lunged at Joe, who dove to the right. Frank fell over the coffee table. Joe ran to the door.

“Wait,” gasped Frank, Holding out his free hand. “Please!”

Joe hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” said Frank, sitting on the floor and hanging his head. “I’m sorry! It’s just…just that my world’s falling apart around me and…and I can’t deal with it. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He looked up to meet Joe’s eyes. “Help me…”

“Help you?” said Joe. “You just tried to kill me!”

Frank sighed.

“It’s not my fault,” he said. “We…we had a deal…”

“A deal? Who with?” His eyes went wide. “With
him
? You made a deal with
him
? Fuck…”

“I know…but I was weak. Surely you all could see it? I couldn’t see any other way out of this!”

“What deal?”

“He said,” Frank wiped his now streaming eyes, “that if I killed you, it would generate enough mana to replace what was lost. He knows it’s gone.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this
, thought Joe.

“He was in my head, when he was in the house. He talked to you all nice as pie, but the whole time…” He tapped his forehead.

“My God, Frank! Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t going to do it, not even consider what he wanted. I mean, kill you? I’m a physics teacher, not a murderer. But then he showed me what happened in the bathroom, and I thought about getting the children to safety…” Frank cleared his throat. “I just needed to wait for an opportunity.”