Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror (36 page)

“
You
know this is pointless, Victor,” came the soft voice. It
sounded different somehow, yet more natural. Victor knew he was
vulnerable and exposed, and wiping the sweat from his brow he saw
that his hand was covered in fresh blood from where he had hit his
head on the floor. It was then that he saw Wang Li, naked and
crawling on all fours around the bottom of the table. His wrinkled
old body had the leathery appearance of a mummified corpse as he
snaked his way towards Victor, grinning his horrific red dagger
smile.

“
I’ll
give you credit, Victor, you put up a good fight.” He was by
Salvatore now, and rested on his haunches, arms in front of him,
fingers splayed out on the floor.

“
You
know it’s too late, don’t you Victor? For your family, I
mean. They are already dead.”

Victor said nothing. Deep down he knew it to be true. If
their positions had been reversed, it was exactly what he would have
done. Victor struggled up to his elbows, panting and staring at Wang
Li with a defiant look. He spat on the floor, and despite trying his
best to hide his fear, there was a definite tremble in his voice as
he spoke.

“
It
was always going to come down to this, Chinaman. It was always going
to come down to the two of us. One of us was always going to die.”

“
Yes,
a pity it has to be you, Mr. Mallone.”

Victor laughed and flipped Wang Li the middle finger.

“
Fuck
you, Gollum.”

Wang Li grew serious, and in an inhumanly fast motion,
he bit into Salvatore’s throat, tearing it away with a great
wet ripping sound. Wang Li gorged on the flesh, rubbing the blood all
over himself as Salvatore convulsed and gurgled.

Victor struggled to his knees and began to crawl,
desperate to get away from Wang Li and the sight of his dead brother.
He pushed through the door into the main room of his quarters, trying
to ignore the dead bodies of his men; loyal men who had worked for
him for years. He struggled to his feet, gingerly hobbling and trying
not to put too much weight on his ankle, which was already swelling
and terribly painful. The doors swung open behind him and Victor
looked over his shoulder to see Wang Li standing there, naked and
streaked with blood.

“
Leaving
so soon, Victor? I don’t think so. We have business to attend
to.”

Wang Li scrambled forwards, upright yet partially on all
fours as he closed the distance between himself and Victor. A searing
bolt of agony shot through Victor’s ankle as he tumbled to the
ground. He was now crawling backwards, trying to put as much distance
as he could between himself and Wang Li. He felt his bladder let go,
a dark patch spreading out from his crotch as he watched the monster
approach. Wang Li sniffed the air, and then pointed to the spreading
wetness on Victor’s trousers.

“
Such
a wonderful smell that is, Victor!”

Victor felt the back of his head touch the wall and he
knew that he was out of options. Nowhere else to run, nothing left to
fight with. Wang Li came towards him in his half-crouched,
gargoyle-like manner, and now Victor could smell the blood on him.

“
I’ll
make this quick, Victor, out of respect.”

He grinned and Victor tried to push himself into the
wall, anything to get away from that mouth, those teeth that were
still stained with clumps of shorn flesh.

“
And
then,” Wang Li added with a smile, “I’ll fuck your
dead wife and eat your children while I’m at it.”

Victor sobbed as Wang Li came towards him, opening his
mouth wide. Their eyes met and Wang Li had only a split second to
register that Victor was smiling. Victor grabbed the back of Wang
Li's head with one hand and pulled it towards him, at the same time
shoving his free hand into Wang Li’s open mouth. Wang Li tried
to bite down, but Victor’s arm was too big. Gritting his teeth,
he pushed as hard as he could, his arm sliding past Wang Li’s
teeth and down his gullet into his throat. Wang Li’s eyes
bulged out as he began to suffocate, his airway completely blocked.
Victor lurched forward, and now had Wang Li on his back. He tried to
ignore the horrible, leathery feel of the outside skin, and the hot,
slick feel of the innards. Instead, he concentrated on pushing his
arm deeper, ever deeper into the old Chinaman’s mouth.
Eventually Wang Li stopped moving and Victor slumped forwards, now
completely exhausted. His arm was buried almost up to the elbow in
the old monster’s mouth. For some time, he simply lay there and
wept.

Epilogue

Two weeks had passed since that day on the boat. The
death toll for Victor’s organisation had been devastating, with
over thirty lost including his brother Sal, his wife, and two
children. Victor had managed to contain the details of the incident,
and put word out that anyone who mentioned it would be dealt with
severely.

As with most Friday nights Mallone’s was busy, and
as Victor walked into the restaurant, his eyes hidden behind his
Armani sunglasses, he smiled. He always loved the sounds and smells
of the place when it was running at capacity; there was a certain
comfort in it. He strolled towards his table at the back, pausing to
say hello to his regular or to take praise for the excellent service.

“
Hey,
Victor,” came a voice from the table nearest the window.

Victor approached and smiled, shaking hands with the
retired police chief and acknowledging his wife with a courteous nod.
Former Chief Wigelow had been on Victor’s payroll right up
until his retirement, and even though they no longer maintained a
professional relationship, the chief and his wife still dined there
at least once a month.

“
Chief
Wigelow, Mrs. Wigelow. I hope you’re enjoying your evening.”

“
As
always, Victor. Those boys in the kitchen really outdid themselves.”

“
I’ll
be sure to let them know. Did you try the special?”

“
Yes,
it was delicious! What was it?”

Victor smiled and rubbed his left arm, still bandaged up
the elbow, then leaned close in mock whisper.

“
Special
imported steak, from China. You won’t find it anywhere else,”
he said with a wink.

“
I
must say, it was really excellent. Maybe the best I’ve ever
had.”

Victor simply smiled and nodded.

“
Thank
you, Chief. I appreciate the compliment.”

Victor excused himself and headed to his private table
at the back of the room. He liked to sit there. It offered him an
unobstructed view of his customers as they enjoyed their food. He sat
in his usual place and let out a deep sigh, thinking that he might
well take a holiday. Somewhere warm and quiet where he could heal and
unwind. The waiter approached to take his order, and after some
consideration, he thought he would try the special too. The Chinese
steak, extra rare. After all, it would be a shame to waste it. The
waiter scurried away as Victor set his napkin on his knee, took a sip
of water, and waited for his meal to arrive.

“
Magic
is the sole science not accepted by scientists,

because
they do not understand it’

~
Harry Houdini

The
world was empty. He was now certain of that as he walked down the
center of the deserted street. It was the same walk he had made for
the last twelve months and during that time he hadn’t seen a
single living person, animal, or other living thing. He had always
thought it would be a nuclear war or an asteroid impact that would be
responsible for wiping out the population of the planet, but in the
end it had come down to one man. One man and his greed. One man and
his petty desire to one up his rival. That man was him.

Guilt
was too weak a word to describe what he felt. He had never intended
any of this, none of the hurt, none of the death. He was a simple man
at heart, who only wished to entertain by doing what he loved. But as
he walked he could hear them, somewhere in the distance and coming
closer. Coming for him. He wouldn’t let them take him, that
much was certain. He would do things his own way and let God judge
him.

He
shouldered his way into the building, walking down the empty hallway
and bypassing the elevators. There had been no power for weeks now,
but it didn’t matter. The stairs would serve well enough. He
ascended, ignoring the feeling that he was being watched. Seven
floors, eight, nine. Still he climbed, breathing heavily, enjoying
the exertion. He reached his destination, the twentieth floor
penthouse, and opened the door. The magnetic locks were no longer
functional so he simply pushed his way inside. The room was large and
priced way above anything that he would ordinarily be able to
afford—but money was useless now, and luxury was just a word
from a world that didn’t exist anymore. He paused to catch his
breath, looking around the huge apartment. Deep red carpets, marble
walls with gold trim. Someone rich lived here at some point, but for
now, it was his. He went to the bathroom, striding past a huge marble
tub big enough for five people and looked at himself in the mirror.

Gaunt
face, long, unwashed hair, heavy beard, haunted eyes. Always a man to
pride himself on his appearance, at least before the incident, he had
certainly let himself go. Such trivial things didn’t matter—
not anymore. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small
Dictaphone and held it to his lips, pressing the record button.

“
My
name is Rick Jones, and I am the last man on earth.”

He
hesitated for a moment, licking his lips, and then went on.

“
It’s
my fault. Everything that happened is down to me. I interfered with
something that I didn’t understand and couldn’t control
and…”

He
pressed the stop button, overcome with emotion, tears welling. He
often got like this. Some days were better than others, but often the
guilt became too much to bear. Composing himself, he depressed the
record button again.

“
I
tried to put it right, and if anyone should happen to find this, if
anyone is out there, then please know that I’m sorry.”

He
switched off the recorder, and walked to the main room to the huge
glass fronted wall which leads out onto the balcony. He slid it aside
and stepped out, the cold air biting at his body. He looked down at
the streets below and for a second imagined he saw a thriving hive of
activity, of cars honking and jostling for position, people scurrying
to and from their places of work. But the illusion lasted only a
split second; the cars were still and silent, husks of dead steel,
and of course there were no people. The wind died down briefly and he
thought he could hear them again, that horrible high pitched sound—
the sound of his coming death. He hurried back inside, closing the
sound out and sitting on the large white sofa. He set the recorder on
the table and pressed the record button.

“
I
don’t have much time. I want to tell it, to tell it my way, how
it happened. You might wonder what I am— am I a terrorist, or
some kind of crazed world leader with a demented vision? The answer
would be no. But I am a murderer. And the scale of my crime goes far
beyond terrorism or genocide. Before all of that, before the death
and the guilt, I was just like anybody else. A normal man with a gift
to entertain. But I lost sight of it, I lost sight of what was
important; and because of that, we are here now… I was an
illusionist—a magician, an entertainer, and I was good. Really
good. I say it not with arrogance or ego, but with honesty…
You need to understand, you need to know what happened. This is the
story of how the world came to an end.”

II

The
stage was hot and the lights shone into his eyes too brightly for him
to see the audience that waited with bated breath. He flicked his
eyes to his rival, then to the show presenter who stood poised with
his microphone, indulging in the long overused extended pause. The
show was another brainchild of some too wealthy executive who didn’t
think the public had seen enough reality shows. It was much the same
format as others of its kind, only this wasn’t for singers, or
variety acts. This one was for illusionists. For the last twelve
weeks, Rick and fourteen other hopefuls from the thousands who
applied had been whittled down week by week, and now in front of a
global audience of millions it had come to this moment, the
announcement of the winner. He was quietly confident, his trick, a
variation on the great Harry Houdini’s famous Chinese Water
torture cell, had been met with rapturous applause and glowing praise
from the judges. He was sure it should be enough to win, but as he
cast his eyes to his rival, a young, gangly Yorkshire man called Andy
Levine, he felt shiver of uncertainty. Andy’s trick had also
been impressive, his own version of the famous Penn & Teller
bullet catch trick. It was good, but Rick was certain that his was
better. At last the show presenter was ready to put one of them out
of their misery.

Rick
lost.