THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SIX

Joanne Burton did not bother look up when the bell above the door of the shop rang, to announce the arrival of the umpteenth customer of the day.

From the moment she had opened the shop, till about ten minutes ago, she had been rushed off her feet.

The locals demanded news about what had transpired, how long were the German's going to be on the island for, and when were the British Army coming to rescue the islanders.

When Joanne glanced up, she gasped and held her breath. The man was cadaverously thin, almost pale, and stared at her from dark-shadowed eyes set deep under a pale, high-brow amalgamating into a pale, bald scalp. A few strands of greying hair leapt out from under the top-hat and when he talked, he spoke in a throaty whisper, which enhanced his menacing appearance.

Joanne saw the stranger had two fingers missing, or almost missing, on his right hand, the little finger, and the ring finger next to it, as well as a missing middle finger on his left hand.

What grabbed her attention was the fact the fingers had not been cut off at the joint.

This is so often the case in an accident to the hand or subsequent surgery but appeared severed half-way through the bone between the joints, like melting tapers of wax.

"Can I help you?"

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, but she found it too difficult.

"I am looking for the time-traveller."

At least Joanne thought this is what the man said.

"I don't know who you are talking about."

Without another word, the stranger turned away and left the shop, gliding away into the shadows, and in a few seconds the man's black cape blended in with the darkness.

Joanne went to the door and look up and down the street, but there appeared to be no sign of the man. As, if he had been a figment of her imagination.

An inhuman sound filled the air and when Joanne turned, one of the German Alpenkorps came staggering towards her, arms outstretched as if for a welcoming hub.

He no longer wore a helmet and did not carry any weapon. On closer inspection, Joanne saw the top of the man's skull had been torn off rather the way you would crack an eggshell with a spoon in preparation for breakfast.

With absolute clarity the grey-and-pink pulp glistening within the concave bowl of splintered skull, appeared to be visible. The soldier's face covered with blood, his eyes white orbs staring out through crimson rivulets.

Joanne thought of nothing else to do but to offer some sort of solace in the man's dying moments. As he fell into her arms, she lowered him to the snow-covered ground, using a handful of it to clean the man's face.

"Ich gegangen bin."

The man said, before dying. The white eyes continuing to stare up at the sky from their bloody pools.

A shadow passed over her. Joanne whirled, sure it would be the strange visitor to the shop, the apparition's black cape widening like a raven's wings. But it was only a cloud passing between the full moon and the island.

*

The strange craft had been covered over with sacking and canvas.

After inspection, Mũller turned to me.

"I would like you to come with us as our liaison officer to show me where you found the craft. Take it with us and lure it out, after all it must be lost without it and we'll pounce!"

Mũller underlined the last word with a chop of his hand.

I had to admit as I took it in, the plan had a certain logic, always supposing the 'thing' had stayed in the area.

"When are we going to do this?"

"Intend to get cracking right away. 'Course we can find our own way to the coastguard station, but a little local knowledge wouldn't come amiss."

I did not have the heart to tell him I was about as local as he was.

I felt uneasy. Something did not feel right and what followed came as more of a shock to me when Mũller announced we were going overland, by skis.

"Why don't you use the boat, like we did?"

The vague misgiving, an unease I could not place, stayed, stronger if anything.

Mũller remained brusque. Using the back of his hand to tap a map of the island pinned to the wall of Doctor Walton's garage.

"We'll sweep in from the land side. Might flush him out and sew it up straight away. Give him a chance to see his precious ship being brought back might get the idea of escape, eh?"

My curiosity remained aroused.

"You said 'him' and 'ship'. Why?"

Mũller laughed, a great bellowing explosion.

"You think it's a female, huh? A lady spider who eats her victims?"

I shuddered as Mũller picked up his discarded white snow smock.

"You can ski, I hope?"

"Yes."

"Well, come along."

Outside the rest of his men had lined up, skis standing upright, resting on their ends on the ground.

However, one was missing.

"Friel?"

Mũller's eyes searched the line of Alpenkorps.

"Friel ist tot, Hauptsturmführer."

Mũller was shocked.

"Was ist passiert?"

"Die Kreatur riss die Oberseite seines Kopfes aus, Hauptsturmführer."

Mũller gazed at me.

"It would appear our friend has killed one of my men. Took the top of his head off!"

I said nothing.

"Obersturmbannführer August Dänzer!"

One of the soldiers broke rank, and ran up to Mũller, his boots crashed on the ground as he ripped off a smart Nazi salute.

"Hauptsturmführer."

"Holen Sie sich unseren Freund hier ein Paar Ski."

"Ja, Hauptsturmführer."

Dänzer saluted again and loped off at the double.

While we waited, I ran my eye down the line of men. They were good. I could tell it straight away by the quiet matter-of-fact way they checked each other's equipment: they handled themselves in a tough, efficient looking.

I frowned at a sudden thought.

They were acting like men knowing what they were up against. Sure, of real action, the real danger they could be in.

They had no intention of finding the deranged pilot. They wanted the technology back. Pure and simple.

And I could not allow them to succeed.

*

I turned to question Mũller, but Dänzer marched up with his skis, passing the craft as they brought out of the doctor's garage, still covered in canvas.

"Da bist du Sir. Ich werde die Passform für Sie anpassen."

While I held my feet on the ski's in turn, steadying myself on Dänzer’s shoulder as the latter knelt and speed and efficiency fixed the grip, Mũller strode away and organized the roping of the craft to a makeshift sledge.

When he came back, he remained brusque, leaving me no time to question him.

"Right, let us get a move on. Lead the way, will you?"

With the craft, in the centre on the sledge pulled and steadied by the remaining Alpenkorps, we moved through the deserted town.

I leant forwards, exerting the pressure on my sticks, the muscles in my legs straining as I pushed forward on my skis.

As we passed Joanne's I looked up at the light in her window, the only light on in the whole town.

I kept looking back, wondering whether I had glimpsed a pool of blood outside her shop as it receded. I fought down an almost overwhelming urge to break out of the column and run to her, frightened in a surge of irrational panic of never seeing her again.

We turned the corner, and the last few houses began to disappear, Joanne's light still peeping out until it dwindled in the gentle falling snow.

The group started to ski, moving down the gentle incline with ease, the white-clad Alpenkorps standing upright, legs together and bent.

Later the going became tougher as we inched up a hill, using the edge of the skis for grip.

My heart pounded in my ribcage. I gritted my teeth. Compared with the men behind me I felt almost unfit. They were in superb condition.

I caught sight of Mũller's broad grinning face.

"Are you not used to exercise, Tillerever?"

I found my breath.

"I thought I was. God, your men are good with the skis."

Mũller's bellow I now recognized as his characteristic laugh rang out in the darkness as the Hauptsturmführer, pressed on.

"Bloody brilliant, I'd say. Best snow-troops in the world."

Through the woods where I had found the headless body of the first victim, we glided along in the firebreaks, a few stars showing above the dark outline of the trees.

As we emerged, the last of the snow had stopped falling, the sky clearing as we skied around the side of the mountain and force marched, skis straight ahead, up a high valley between rounded mountain peaks. At the summit, the sky was full of stars as I came to a halt.

Mũller raised his hand. In a perfect executed halt, the men behind him came to rest.

The Hauptsturmführer shone his torch on to his map case. In the reflection his broad face looked tense. He brought the light closer on to his map as I pointed to our current position.

"We're about here, less than three miles from the coastguard station."

Mũller inspected the map.

"I see. So anywhere from now on, we should get a possible contact with this...this 'thing' of yours.

I nodded.

"It's a big area, but yes, it's possible."

"Good."

The Hauptsturmführer folded up his case and called the Obersturmbannführer over.

Obersturmbannführer August Dänzer loomed up, his skis biting with a flurry of frozen snow as he came to a halt, white freezing breath visible in the starlight.

"Hauptsturmführer."

"Geben Sie den Männern zehn Minuten, Ich möchte, dass Sie in die Spezialausrüstung einsteigen, dort aus dem?"

"Ja, Hauptsturmführer."

With a push on his sticks, he slid away.

I felt my mouth drying with apprehension and with difficulty I forced myself to ask the obvious question.

"What special equipment?"

The Hauptsturmführer tensed.

"You will see."

He added nothing more.

I waited, straining to see down the line of men. It transpired to be useless. There appeared to be no sign of the Obersturmbannführer. I turned back to Mũller.

"I think it's time you were honest with me, Hauptsturmführer Mũller. You know who this 'thing' is don't you?"

Mũller turned and stared at me. I was not sure if it was my imagination, but the remaining Alpenkorps started to edge nearer to me. My fists bunched harder on to my ski sticks, my heart thumping in my chest again.

Mũller in the end spoke, his voice flat, expressionless.

"Yes."

I pushed it further, blood roaring in my head.

"Who or what is he?"

Mũller continued to stare at me.

"I cannot tell you."

"Cannot or will not?"

Mũller stiffened and looked at his watch.

"Genau, die Handfackeln ausbrechen!"

He turned his attention back to me.

"They're bright, so be ready to shield your eyes."

A sudden hiss and a burst of brilliant magnesium-blue light exploded above us on a rocky outcrop. Blinded, I had to lower my eyes and cover them with my hand.

I stared down at the lit snow at my feet, illuminated almost like day, until my eyes grew accustomed to fierce light. I took my hand away and looked up.

At first the shape holding the flare looked to be obscured and indistinct in the blazing halo of light and thick drifting smoke. The flare moved, and the figure holding it came into view.

From this moment on, as my heart raced with the shock of the adrenalin slamming into my body, I knew I was in the presence of pure unadulterated evil.