Binscombe Tales - The Complete Series (25 page)

‘And you die,’ said the distinctive inhuman voice of the ‘child’, now seen as a famous footballer.

‘That may be, but we still wish to talk.’

‘Why?’

‘We need to know want you want.’

‘I want to live!’

‘But you must know that is forbidden; you’re dead.’

‘I’m going to come back. I’m nearly strong enough now.’

‘I said that you are dead, quite dead. Do you understand?’

‘They killed me when I was helpless and put me in the wall.’

‘Who did?’

‘Mummy and daddy.’

The picture on the television changed. He was now a bishop at prayer.

‘What were their names?’

‘Mummy and daddy.’

‘What were their names?’

Angrily: ‘None of your business. They’re dead and gone on anyway. They don’t live in this place anymore.’

The Constantines, now justified, their innocence proven, gave me an ‘I told you so’ look.

‘Then why do you hate these people here?’

‘They’re warm. I’m not.’

‘But—‘

‘They didn’t let me out.’

‘How could they, when—‘

‘They’re in my house.’

‘But is it right to hate them?’

‘There is no right or wrong. They do not exist.’

Mr Disvan shook his head, evidently despairing of his attempts to reason.

‘Would it please you if we took you out of the wall and buried you properly?’

‘Why bury me?  I’m not dead. I’m not dead any more. I like it in the wall. Mummy and daddy put me there. I didn’t see them again. Why bury me?  You want to kill me.’

‘No, we can’t kill you. You’re not alive.’

‘I am alive alive alive, I’m a grown up boy now.’  The creature was now seen as part of a UDR patrol in Belfast.

‘How is that?’

‘Your electricity warmed me, incubated me. I listened to all you had to say, I watched you through this screen and I learned. My mummy and daddy would be proud of me!’

‘But must you come now? Why not wait longer? It’s not a very nice world out here for a little orphan.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Oh no.’

‘But my friends will come too and look after me.’

‘What friends?’

‘There used to be a barrow here before my house and there’s a chieftain buried in it—and a dog once died here too. They’ve both got warm and I’m persuading them to come out with me. They will help me kill you.’

‘What will you do then?’

‘I will live.’

‘And..?’

‘Pull this house down, pull this village down, pull everything down till I find where my mummy and daddy are hiding. I’ll lurk in dark places and jump out and punish all the people who didn’t help me out of the wall.’  The voice giggled and laughed for a spell and then resumed.  ‘In a little while, I’ll have all of me in this machine you’re watching and then I’ll come out and start by dealing with you.’

The television picture returned to showing only what it should: a weatherman announcing that tomorrow would be stormy.

‘How right you are,’ said Disvan.

‘Quick, pull the plug out of the wall,’ I said, ‘before it can...’

Mr Disvan shook his head and, with a wan smile, pointed out that the whole area by the plug was clearly live. Small arcs of blue light were emanating from the socket and singeing the nearby furnishings.

‘I’ll warrant the fuse-box is just the same,’ he said.

‘You’d better go, Mr Oakley,’ said Dorothy Constantine. ‘This isn’t your fight.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that,’ said Disvan, intervening. ‘My efforts have failed. The creature is going to be born again and we’ve got to face the consequences. You needn’t, however, so I suggest you go home and await developments.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you going to do?’

‘There’s very little time left, Mr Oakley, so I’ll say it briefly. The child is going to come out and we’ll be here to meet it halfway. It’ll take us into its world and we’ll continue the fight there—in the walls and cables of this house and wherever else it resides.’

‘But... you’ll be dead.’

‘As we understand it, yes. But, in the kind of pseudo-life the creature exists in, we’ll linger on—in its mind, so to speak.’

‘And what are your chances there?’

‘Slim, I should imagine.’

‘Then why bother?’

‘Because absorbing and fighting three people who are so aware of its nature will drain the creature. We’ll set it back years in its growth, even if we can’t destroy it from within.’

‘Then I’ll stay. Four is better than three.’

‘Why? said Disvan coolly. ‘You’re not a Binscomite and even if you were one...’

Dorothy Constantine interrupted our argument by screaming once again.

‘It’s back!’ she yelled. ‘It’s really close and...’

She was cut short and, as it turned out, silenced forever by a monstrous hairless forearm made of pink electricity which emerged from the television screen. It reached into the room and grabbed her by the throat. She wrestled with it for the briefest of moments and drew blood with her nails, all the while being dragged remorselessly towards the set. With a final tug the arm drew her in and they somehow passed through the screen and out of our sight.

Against my wishes, my eyes were drawn to the television. Horror mounted on horror as I saw that the view of the creature’s prairie had returned and that the broken and twisted body of Dorothy Constantine lay amidst its long waving grass. Overhead the black and scarlet sky raced on like a movie backdrop.

‘Me next,’ said Esther Constantine. ‘Cheerio.’

As if in answer to this ‘request’, the arm flashed forth again and lay hold of Esther’s hair. She too began the journey to the screen and death.

Mr Disvan, up to now lost in silent observation, all at once came to life again and leapt to the side of the room with surprising agility. He scooped up an object and pointed it at the television. Although I was, by now, in no frame of mind to make rational judgements, I assumed he had gone to fetch the Constantines’ gun in a rather forlorn attempt to kill something that had no life. However, instead of small arms fire, I heard only the slightest of clicks.

Turning to see if Esther had left us yet, I saw that the forearm was frozen still in the act of dragging her along and then that, miraculous to relate, a slight effort on her part succeeded in freeing herself. She reeled away to the back of the living-room and the arm hung motionless in mid-air like some vile gallows. A few seconds later, the forearm withdrew, at vast speed, into the set. Normal transmission interference filled the screen.

I started to realise that perhaps my life was not to end here after all, and with that came the recovery of speech—albeit not coherent speech.

‘What did you... I mean, is it...’

Mr Disvan smiled broadly and by way of explanation held aloft the cause of our salvation. It was the television and video remote control device.

‘It occurred to me, Mr Oakley,’ he said, ‘that when the spirit was wholly in the television and on the video channel, it was at its most vulnerable. Don’t you see? I put the video on to play, froze the creature with the pause button and now I’ve rewound it onto a cassette. So long as I hold it on pause we’re safe.’

‘Is that logical?’ I asked.

‘It conforms to the logic of the phenomenon, Mr Oakley, that’s all that’s required.’ For the time being I was happy, pre-orgasmically so, to accept his word.

‘What about Dorothy?’ asked Esther Constantine.

‘Gone, I’m afraid. She’s frozen on the tape with the creature.’

‘Dead, in other words.’

‘As near to it as makes no difference. I’m sorry.’

At the time—forgivably, I think in the circumstances—I was more concerned with staying amongst the living than remembering the dead. I interrupted Disvan’s commiserations.

‘Is it safe to disconnect the television now?’ I asked.

‘Yes, quite safe. Most of the creature’s being is trapped in the video tape for the moment.’

‘For the moment?’

‘Well, yes. It’ll force its way out in time, but we’ve got a while yet—perhaps a day or two before it burns the cassette up with its hatred and sets itself free. That gives us the opportunity to prevent a recurrence.’

After what had happened I had a lot of faith in Mr Disvan’s estimate of our period of ‘safety’ but even so, did not waste any further time in turning the television off and removing the tape from the video machine. I do not think it was my imagination that caused me to detect undue warmth and an angry pulse in the cassette as I held it in my hand.

‘Put it in the middle of the room, Mr Oakley,’ said Disvan, ‘as far away from the walls and any power cables as you can get it.’

‘No,’ said Esther. ‘Give it to me that thing’s got my sister on it. I’ll look after it.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Esther,’ said Mr Disvan very firmly. ‘Dorothy’s not really anywhere anymore. Not the flesh and blood Dorothy we knew, anyway. Best put the idea of her survival, in any shape or form, out of your mind.’

Tears were now freely running down Esther Constantine’s wrinkled face, although she allowed herself no other signs of distress. She seemed unable to take her eyes from the silent television set.

Mr Disvan now put on his comforting tone of voice.

‘I should get to bed and get some rest, Esther,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. Don’t worry, Mr Oakley and I will keep watch.’

She seemed not to have heard this and he was about to repeat it when the old lady suddenly came to. She looked hard at the remote control device which Disvan was still holding.

‘It was a good idea of yours, Mr Disvan,’ said Esther bitterly. ‘Pity you didn’t think of it just a mite sooner.’

He shrugged his shoulders as she went up the stairs.

‘Three out of four survivors isn’t bad. There’s no pleasing some people, is there, Mr Oakley?’

*  *  *

‘So you still won’t allow an exorcism, then’ said Mr Disvan.

‘No,’ replied Esther Constantine, ‘I will not have a priest in the house.’

‘And you won’t move.’

‘Again no. I was born there, I grew up there, and I intend to die there. Besides which, it wouldn’t be fair on the new owners.’

‘True, very true. We’re very glad to hear you say that. We’d be sorry to lose you from Binscombe.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Still, if you reject all the alternatives, you’ve got no room to complain about the way things are. It was done for the best.’