THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-TWO

Joanne leapt up and ran, hand pressed frantically over her tight-lipped mouth, kicking over an empty chair in her path.  She reached the door to the small toilet, but the sound of liquid splattering on the floor brought us all to our feet.

            Concerned, I went after her, stopping and tapping on the half open door.

            “Are you all, right?”

            Her voice was muffled, interrupted by a coughing fit.

            “Yes.  Be out in a minute.  Sorry.”

            The door closed.  I turned back slowly to face the three men.  Joanne’s dramatic exit had affected us all.  White face made even whiter in the blinding light from the still running projector, we all looked at each other feeling helpless.

            When she joined us again, a few minutes later she looked much better, almost her old self.

            Almost.

            But I could detect a difference in her, without being able to explain what it was.  In some small undefinable way despite her attempts to be bright and her usual self, I knew I could feel something in her that was alien to the women I knew and had fallen in love with.

            Smiling ruefully, she looked around at them all.

            “The weak woman lets the side down, eh?”

            Relieved, the others were all over her, Walton bringing to bear all his formidable, older man’s charm.

            “Come now, don’t be punishing yourself like that.  Do not forget most of us are all used to this level of violence.  I served in the Boer War.  Roome and Allum at the Somme.”

            Joanne frowned.

            “Violence, I don’t mind.”

            She paused before hurriedly continuing.

            “That sounded awful.  What I mean is, I accept as part od man’s very existence.  But there are some things you accept more easily.  We are in the middle of a world war, and people will be died horrible deaths.  This is far worse.  To die a lonely death at the hands of something so frightening, so loathsome, well to me that is an entirely different issue.  Am I making sense to you?”

            I nodded for them all.

            Joanne pointed to the projector and could not suppress a shudder.

            “This is like a combination of every nightmare I have ever had.  But this is not a nightmare this is real.  Corporal Turner died alone at the hands of something so powerful and so strong, you could almost believe it came from outer space.”

            She dropped her head, frowning at her hands which were working unceasingly again at the handkerchief.  She made a conscious effort to stop it.”

            “It ate part of him.  On this island we are no longer top of the food chain.  That thing is!”

            I silently recalled the savage s****l assault on the woman, but anxiously Doctor Walton had already tried to placate her.

            Roome thoughtfully scratched his jaw.

            “Every worse nightmare, you say.  Like the Bogey Man?  Those blazing eyes…”

            I shook my head. tur

            “That’s light-ruined film of course, but I reckon it’s because of reflection from the goggles it wears.”

            Joanne nodded in agreement.

            “That’s confirmed by the way it waxes and wanes.  Obviously, it flashed as it turned from side to side.”

            With a heavy sigh, Roome started to pull on his jacket, Allum standing up and helping by holding the sleeve.

            “Thank you, Sergeant.  Well, it makes no odds to me whether it is reflection or not.  We have got more on our hands here than we could ever cope with, apart from a German invasion of course.  There’s not much more we can do tonight, but tomorrow I’m going to get the rest of the able-bodied me of Onehouse out organized in patrols around the town perimeter, and others to help reach the isolated farms and bring them in.”

            Joanne looked around the hall as if she had lost something of importance.

            “Did anyone find Corporal Turner’s tape recorder?”

            We all looked at her, sensing the edge in her voice.  With caution Roome shook his head.

            “I don’t remember seeing it, why?”

            Joanne sank slowly back on to her chair.

            “You know what he used that for, don’t you?”

            Allum answered before any of the others.

            “To detect the movements of the U-Boats by sonar.”

            Joanne nodded.

            “That’s right.  The U-Boats signal each other and Corporal Turner, would have been able to listen to their messages.”

            Roome stuffed his hands into his pockets, sighing with impatience.

“Fascinating.  But what’s that got to do with us?”

Joanne looked at him like he was an i***t.

“If Corporal Turner was recording the messages the U-Boats were sending each other and checking their movements through sonar.  He might have picked up the sound of the thing that killed him.”

The dawn of perception was physically on Roome’s face.

“Do you mean, if the camera was firing off, then there’s a good chance that the tape would be recording it as well?”

Joanne nodded.

“Just that.”

I exploded.

“Jesus!”

“There’s a chance our silent movie is a talkie.”

Joanne looked green as she continued.

“If we find that tape, you could probably not only watch the poor man being butchered, but you could also hear it as well.”

But Walton, making his point in the air with the stem of his cold pipe, added the corollary that they were all thinking about.

“It follows therefore, that the voice of our friend, the monster, will also be present.  That would be most helpful.

Walton looked around, face drawn and haggard.

“I will try and find it in the morning.  I must hear that tape!”

Joanne moved her head slowly from side to side.

“Count me out.  I could take it.”

She put her hand on my arm.

“Will you take me home?”

For the first time since Joanne’s bombshell, I felt a marginal return to their normal intimacy.  Or was I just jumping to conclusions?  Clutching at straws?  As much as I wanted to hear the tape, the sudden improvement with Joanne dominated everything.  I closed my hand over hers.

“Of course.”

I turned to Roome.

“Meet here in the morning?”

Roome looked back at me, from hollow sunken eyes.

“Eight o’clock.”

He led the way to the door and turned.

“I’ll be mustering the civilians at nine o’clock, so we’ll meet up an hour earlier.”

“Of course.  Have a good sleep.”

Joanne entwined her arm on mine as we struggled down the path.  The very dependence on me acted like a tonic.

Despite the vicious cold, since Joanne was wrapped in my coat which was miles too big for her, and gave her the attractive look of a waif, I felt a spring in my step.

She looked up at me, face illuminated by the stars reflecting from the white covered earth.

“You didn’t mind, did you?”

“Of course not.”

She squeezed my arm.

“I’ve never been so afraid in all my life, at least not since my childhood days.”

I cursed as I slipped, nearly dragging us both down.

“I’m not surprised.  I’m not exactly jumping for joy over all this either.”

Joanne gave a little snort.

“But it’s more than that with me.”

I muttered something soothing, but anxiously stole a sideways look at her.  She caught me and smiled ruefully in return.

“I can’t believe it yet either.  An hour ago, I was my normal self, reasonably well adjusted, not even timid, and now look at me.  It is as though that…thing has triggered some secret basic fear in me, in that primitive part of my mind that comes from my racial past. Walton hit the nail on the head when he said, bogey man.”

I guided her across the street.

“I can understand.  In my case I thought I was going mad.  And what frightened me more was the realization that the others sought so too.”

We reached the steps to her flat.  The black windows looked even darker against the starry sky.  Down in the pharmacy the ‘prescription’ sign still struggled feebly, its weak light adding to the bleakness rather than helping.

I took her arm from mine.

“Give me the keys.”

Joanne pulled her shoulder bag off and rummaged inside.  It seemed ages before she found them.  My teeth began to chatter.

“Sorry, here they are.”

I climbed the stairs with Joanne right behind me.

Whether it was her fear that transferred to me, the strain of the last few days, I did not know, but as I manoeuvred the key into the lock and felt the door give, the hair on the back of my neck bristled.

I told myself not to be so bloody stupid and stepped into the black void.  The light flooded on, turning the monsters in my mind into the familiar, everyday things of her hallway.  After the enforced absence it looked marvellous.

I turned, dangling the keys.

“Well, there we are then.”

Joanne looked sheepish.

“Could you check the other rooms?”

“Sure.”

I went from room to room, putting on the lights.

When I turned on the last one, I came back to her in the kitchen.

“There, everything tickety-boo.”

She filled the kettle.

“Thank you, ever so much.”

She tried to appear nonchalant.

“Care for a cup of something? Tea-coffee?”

“Tea would be great.”

I tensed as I put out the feeler.

“Save me when I get home.”

She did not say anything to begin with, busying herself with cups and saucers, spoons, the tea caddy, never looking at me.

Feeling despondent, I sat down at the kitchen table and waited.  Finally, Joanne turned around, with a sigh of resignation, defeat.

“Will you stay the night?”

I nodded.

There were several things I wanted to say, had ready to sit, but now at the crunch, I was nearly speechless.

“I haven’t any pyjamas.”

Joanne turned away again and pretended to do something.  There seemed to be a lot of chopping and changing of teaspoons.

“Don’t be daft; that never worried you before.”

But there was something I had to know straight away.  It was better to get it out immediately than let it drag on for ten minutes into an embarrassment for us both.

“I wasn’t going to sleep in the spare room before.”

She did not reply immediately, carefully pouring the hot water into the teapot.  She stirred the contents for a moment before she replaced the china lid, turned, and set it down on the table.  Her face flushed her voice small.

“You don’t have too tonight.”

It took me a second or two for me to reply.

“Are you sure you know what you are saying, knowing the way I feel about you?  Nothing’s changed.”

She pursed her lips.

“I know that.”

“Then to ask me to sleep next to you…”

I faltered, and then found the courage to continue.

“…either cruel or stupidly insensitive, and the latter you are not.”

Her breasts rose and fell she found difficulty breathing.

“Cruel?  Why am I being cruel?”

I finally snorted.

“Bloody hell, Joanne.  I love you.  Lying next to you in bed, you are mine.  When it happened, I wouldn’t want any guilty feelings from either of us.”

Still frowning she digested my words as she poured the tea. She placed the steaming mug before me.

“Would there have to be guilty feelings then?”

“Yes.  You say you are going back to your husband – he needs you.  Then if you are his you cannot be mine.  I’m here tonight as a friend.”

I lapsed into a miserable silence.

After a while, Joanne nodded.

“Yes of course.  You are right.  I thought it could be just the same as usual. I can see now it’s impossible.”

Shattered, I could only manage a disgruntled agreement.

When I took another sip, the old now familiar difficulty in swallowing made a terrible noise.

We said nothing for nearly a minute. 

Joanne held her, hand sheltering her eyes from the overhead light.

“I’ve got a terrible headache.  Do you mind bunking on the sofa?  I’ll get you blankets.”

I shook my head silently.  She got up and went to the airing cupboard.  I followed her into the lounge as she set the blankets down.

“I’ve found a pair of pyjamas after all.”

I grunted, not caring much now.

Silently I help her spread a blanket as an undercover.  When she started on the top one, I stopped her.

“It’s all right, I can manage.  You go and get your head down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

She stopped hesitantly before him.

“Well, goodnight then and bless you.”

I gave a weak smile.

“Any time.  Knights for hire for damsels in distress.”

She still stood.  I was not sure what was required of him.  I carried on tucking in the blanket.

She touched her head again over her right eye and shuffled slowly to the door.

“What time you would like a call in the morning?”

I straightened up.

“Roome wants me down at the police station at eight.  Half-past-seven will do.2

She nodded.

“I’ll give you a good breakfast. It’s the least I can do.”

Her smile was perfunctory.

“Goodnight.”

When she was gone, the door closed, I sagged onto the couch and buried my face in my hands.

*

McQueen was just about to play a queen of diamonds when he heard it.  He stopped; card arrested in mid-air. 

“Did you hear that?”

Pendergrass and Rodwell looked up at the sudden change in the tone of his voice rather than what he said.  Pendergrass stretched his neck to get a view of the card McQueen was still holding.

“What?”

McQueen remained transfixed.

“I thought I heard a noise.”

“There’s plenty of them around here.”

Rodwell muttered under his breath.

“I remember the time they said they’d replace this old building with a new one, and that was back in thirty-six.”

McQueen slowly lowered the card to the table, Pendergrass following its path hungrily all the way down.  His eyes lit up when he saw it and with a whoop of triumph he followed with his king.

Distracted, McQueen failed to sustain his interest in the sound he thought he had heard.  The play continued.  Twenty minutes later, as they finished yet another round, McQueen pulled his winnings towards him and began counting and stacking the counters borrowed from the bingo game they always used for stakes.

Arms crossed, Rodwell rubbed the tops of his shoulders with tremendous vigour.

“Is it my imagination, or is it getting colder in here?”

McQueen looked from his bright coloured discs.

“I was wondering that myself.  Check the thermometer, Mick.”

Pendergrass, who had been watching his chief amass his winnings with envy, got up and left the room.

In the long passage that led down the entire side of the building at the back, he stopped by the round ship’s-type thermometer.

He frowned.  The needle was registering 59°. He put his hand on the pipes as he tapped the glass.  The needle did not move, and the pipe was cold.  The man walked down the corridor and opened a door set in the inner wall.  Inside a recess was an oil-fired boiler.

The temperature gauge registered three-quarters down. Mick Pendergrass dropped to his haunches and looked through the Perspex observation window. No flame. Astounded he checked the valve which happened to be in the 'on' position.

"Bollocks."

He swore out loud to nobody but himself. The No. 1 vessel had run out, and the reserve had failed to cut in. It had happened before, the pipes always seemed to be fouling up.

Grumbling, he grabbed his fur-lined winter-proof from the wall and picked up the toolbox that handily is positioned beside the rack. He had forgotten the door would be locked and bolted. Irritated, he had to stretch up to draw back the top bolt, and then stoop down to do the same on the lower.

The outside air cut like a knife into his lungs. His feet crunched and sank into the frost-hardened snow, his breath steaming around him.

The three big tanks sited away from the building, standing alone on their own specially built concrete raft.

He set his tools down and climbed up a couple of rungs on the side of the nearest vat. Reaching up he felt for the little pulley-wheel that lowered the float inside. If it had stuck, the switch-over mechanism would not cut in.

His hand found the hand wheel and spun it. Some movement came next, but he felt the pulley moving back again. Puzzled, he clambered down to the ground. He tapped it with his knuckle. It gave a dull metallic sound, but not the ringing echo he expected. He did it again higher up. This time the sound was hollower. Baffled, he stepped back. If it was three-quarters full, why had the oil-flow stopped?

His eyes fell upon the horizontal control cogwheel pipe leading towards the building. He squatted down and gave it an experimental twist. Stuck! Tightly in the 'off' position.

"Well, f**k me side-ways."

He grabbed the drive -wheel firmly and began turning it on. It screeched.

He had finished when something made him stop and glance up. He sucked in his breath, and then stopped breathing. On the other side of the tank a huge shadow appeared, cast in the light from the open door.

I felt the hot liquid coursing down his leg as he pissed himself with fear. He turned around, only to discover nothing there.

His breath had just started to release when with sickening realization, he became aware of the stars in the sky being absent above him, to his right, covered by a dreadful pointed shape.

It jerked, the goggles flashing in the reflected light from the building that now seemed a thousand miles away.

"No... no."

Whimpering, Pendergrass fell back as the blackness descended over him.