Spawn (12 page)

“Get out,” she screamed at him, hurling the sauce bottle in his direction. It hit the wall close by him and exploded, splattering the sticky red liquid all over the place. Lumps of glass skittered across the lino.

She sat down at the table, sobbing, her head resting on her arms and she heard the front door close behind him as he left.

Naked, she sat alone in the kitchen her tears falling onto the paper table cloth and spreading out like transparent ink on blotting paper.

She remained like that for at least thirty minutes before wiping her face and shuffling upstairs to dress. She pulled on a pair of drain-pipe jeans and hauled a khaki coloured T-shirt over her head. She went back downstairs and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.

At 10.03 a.m. she phoned her doctor and made an appointment to see about getting an abortion.

“Well, this is better than standing under a fucking tree isn’t it?” said Keith Todd, adjusting the volume control on the Dolomite’s cassette.

Penny Walsh giggled and moved closer to him, gazing out through the windscreen at the rain clouds which were gathering ominously. It was already dark but the impending storm seemed to bring a heaviness to the air, gripping the small car in a black velvet fist. The headlamps were off and the only light came from the sodium lamp about ten yards behind then down the lane. Flanked on both sides by trees and high bushes, it had wide grass verges on either side and it was on one of these that Keith had parked the car.

“And you’re really going to buy this off your dad?” Penny said, patting the passenger seat.

“Once I get a job, yeah,” Keith reassured her. “He doesn’t mind me borrowing it until then.”

Neither of them had jobs, both Keith and Penny had left school at sixteen, just two years earlier. The ritual of signing on had become, as it had to hundreds of thousands more of their generation, a way of life. But Keith was an eternal optimist and, tonight, in particular, he felt lucky. That feeling proved to have foundation as he felt Penny slide one hand onto his thigh. He responded by pulling her towards him, their mouths locking, tongues darting feverishly back and forth, each anxious to taste the other.

Keith felt her hand clawing its way up to the growing bulge in his jeans. He responded by squeezing her left breast feeling the nipple stiffen through the thin material of her blouse.

She turned in her seat, one leg now drawn up beneath her. His rough hand found the buttons on her blouse and undid them, moving more urgently now as he massaged her plump breasts. For her own part she managed to undo the zip of his jeans, coaxing his stiffness free, running one finger along the shaft from tip to base before enveloping it with her warm hand.

Keith grunted and reached beneath her short skirt. As her hand began to move rhythmically up and down, he felt her part her legs slightly and his probing digits pulled the slinky material of her panties aside in an effort to reach the moist warmth beyond. He slid two fingers into her eager cleft and she stiffened in response.

Paul Harvey was less than ten yards from the car.

He crouched in the bushes, the sickle held firmly in his hand, watching the young couple inside the vehicle, his expression a mixture of disgust and bewilderment. The first spots of rain began to fall but Harvey ignored them, his attention riveted to the car. The windows were steaming up and it was becoming difficult to see inside from his present vantage point. The two youngsters inside were merely indistinct blurs before him. He gripped the sickle tighter.

During his own teenage years he had never known the pleasure of a companion, male or female. He had tried to make friends, when his father had allowed it but Harvey’s self-consciousness and naivety had let him down until at last, he resigned himself to being a loner. Not that the people of Exham did anything to help him overcome those shortcomings. Fate, and the townspeople, seemed to be conspiring against him, trying to ensure that he would never know what it was like to be a part of society. And, in truth, perhaps Harvey didn’t want to be a part of it.

He moved slowly towards the car.

Penny bent her head and closed her mouth over the bulging purple head of Keith’s penis, flicking some drops of clear liquid from its tip. He gasped as he felt her warm tongue curling around his erection, the sensations which he felt becoming stronger by the second. He, himself, continued to move his fingers within her, using his thumb to tease the hardened bud of her clitoris. Keith allowed his head to loll back onto the head-rest, closing his eyes as he felt her pushing more urgently against his hand. He could hear her rasping breath, feel its hotness on his slippery shaft.

There was a thunderous roar as the first rumble of thunder broke like a wave on a rock and the sound make Keith open his eyes.

He almost screamed.

Glaring in at him through the side window, his face distorted by the swiftly flowing rain, was Harvey.

Keith, pulling Penny upright, withdrew his fingers and reached frantically for the ignition key. The girl sat back, dazed and confused.

“Keith, what. . .”

The engine roared into life and the young lad looked once more out of the side window.

The face had gone. Of Harvey there was no sign.

Keith slumped back, shaking uncontrollably and, high above them, a powerful fork of lightning tore open the clouds.

The eighth foetus had been buried, its tiny body now lying beneath the slippery mud with the others. Harold dried his hair with a towel and checked on the milk bubbling in the pan on the hot-plate.

Eight of them in that shallow grave. He yawned and glanced across at the alarm clock. It was 1.45 a.m. It hadn’t taken him so long to bury the last one. The constant rain had transformed the earth into a quagmire. Indeed, it had been raining for the past two days on and off and that, at least, made his task easier. The clods came away easily.

He lifted the saucepan just in time to prevent it boiling over, poured the milk into a mug and tossed the pan into the sink.

Outside, there was a particularly loud growl of thunder which seemed to roll across the land like an unfurling blanket. The little hut shook and Harold stood still for a moment, wondering if the entire flimsy structure was going to collapse around his head. The rumbling died away to be replaced by a whiplash crack of lightning which seared across the bloated, mottled sky and, for brief seconds, left a brilliant white afterburn on Harold’s retina as he watched it. Mesmerized by the sight of nature’s fury at its most potent, he crossed to the tiny window and stood looking out as the storm gathered for its furious onslaught on Exham and the countryside round about. Black cloud, buffeted by the wind, came rolling in to empty its load while lightning split the heavens with blazing white forks of pure energy. The thunder grew to a crescendo, like a thousand cannons being fired at once. The little hut shook once more as the storm intensified. Harold watched in awe, recoiling every now and then from the particularly violent flashes of lightning or the seemingly endless volleys of thunder. And, through it all, came the persistent pounding of the rain as it hammered against buildings and turned the ground into sticky slime. On the tarmac around the hospital entrance, the water puddled in pools ankle deep, each droplet exploding on the black, saturated surface. Even inside the hut, Harold could detect the strong smell of ozone as the sky was torn open by the powerful fingers of light which rent the thick black clouds like hands through wet tissue paper. Thunder roared menacingly and, in one or two places in the hospital, windows rattled in their frames. For those patients still awake, the world outside became a blur as they squinted through the rain-drenched windows. There was no steady trickle of tear-like droplets this time but a massive deluge which seemed to strike the windows and cascade down in one liquid flow, as if there were many men standing out there throwing buckets of the stuff at the panes. The few lights that burned outside were diffused into mere blurs through the rain-battered windows.

Harold sipped at his milk and watched the celestial fireworks, drawing back slightly as each blinding burst of forked or sheet lightning exploded across the sky, to be followed by a deafening blast of thunder. It sounded like some gigantic animal roaring in pain, the lowing of a massive steer lashed by a whip of ferociously undiluted force.

In the field behind Harold’s hut, the pylons swayed ominously in the high wind, their normally stable structures looking suddenly vulnerable. They crackled loudly and the thick power lines hummed as they were rocked back and forth by the onslaught. The metal groaned as it was bent and blasted by the wind and, beneath one of the pylons, less than fifty feet from its base, the shallow grave which Harold had dug was saturated to the extent that some of the top soil began to wash away.

There was a crack of lightning which screamed across the black heavens for a full five seconds, a blast of energy so powerful that for long moments even the thunder seemed to cease. The crackling fork hit the pylon nearest to the hospital fence, striking it at the very point where the huge power lines were attached. There was a blinding flash of blue and white sparks and an angry sputtering as the thick cable, twice as thick as a man’s torso was wrenched free of its housing by the fury of the impact. Then, it simply fell to earth, the other end of it still attached to the preceding pylon. But the severed end twisted and writhed on the wet earth like some kind of gigantic snake, showering the sodden mud with sparks and pumping hundreds of thousands of volts into the sticky ooze. The pylon itself shook violently as the cable twisted at its base, contorting madly like an eel on a hot skillet as it poured its immense reservoir of energy into the earth. The grass nearby was immediately blackened by the furious discharge, the mud even bubbling in places as the endless supply of electricity continued to gush into the ground. The cable twisted and whiplashed for what seemed like an eternity as it unleashed its pent-up power in a display which even overshadowed the mighty forks of lightning still flashing across the sky. The power line poured seemingly endless stores of crackling volts into the wet earth which, itself, acted as a conductor, further aiding the explosive exhibition.

The picture on the TV broke up into a maze of static and Judith Myers looked up as she heard Andy Parker curse.

“I knew we should have got a different set,” he grunted, thumping the TV with the flat of his hand.

“It’s the storm,” said Judith, gazing out of the bedroom window at the forks of lightning that rattled across the sky. She lowered her book and ran an appraising eye over Parker who stood naked before the television as if daring it to start playing up again. The picture gradually gained clarity and he nodded appreciatively, but still waited defiantly. Judith giggled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, without turning to look at her.

“You,” she said. “Get back into bed or at least draw the curtains. Someone will be calling the police. They’ll lock you up for indecent exposure.” She chuckled again. Parker remained where he was.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she slid the sheets down a little way to uncover her stomach, stroking a hand over its firm flatness. Gone was the bulge she had hated so much. The abortion had been successful and she had been out of Fairvale for more than a week now and had even been into work for a couple of hours.

A particularly thunderous crack of lightning tore across the sky as the storm reached ever greater heights and Judith winced as she felt sudden, unexpected pain just below her navel. She pressed the area gingerly, as Parker shouted and cursed at the TV which was again hissing at the onslaught of so much static in the air.

Judith sucked in a painful breath, eyes fixed on her abdomen. The flesh seemed to stretch across her pelvic bone, becoming shiny, then, as she watched, a single drop of blood welled inside her navel. It spread outwards until it overflowed and trickled down her side like a solitary crimson tear.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her eyes bulging.

“What’s wrong?” asked Parker, still more concerned with the recalcitrant TV. He had his back to Judith.

She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come. The single drop of blood dripped onto the sheet beside her, blossoming on the material. The pain below her navel grew stronger and it felt as if someone had punched her. The flesh suddenly contracted then rose an inch or two, rising and falling almost rhythmically. She threw back the covers and finally, Parker
did
turn round.

He saw the blood, saw the skin on Judith’s abdomen stretching and contracting, saw her naked body trembling.

She tensed for immeasurable seconds, her entire body stiff then, with a gasp, she crumpled. He dashed for the phone but she stopped him.

“Judith, for Christ’s sake. . .” he said, fear in his voice.

“The pain’s stopped,” she told him, her voice quivering.

She reached for a tissue and wiped away the blood from her belly. “I’m all right.”

He slammed the receiver down.

“All right,” he shouted. “It’s that fucking abortion. I told you not to have it. I’m getting a doctor, now.” He reached for the receiver once more and dialled.

She pressed her abdomen once more but there was no pain. Parker was speaking to someone now, telling them that it was urgent but his words didn’t seem to register with her. The blood in her navel had congealed into a sticky red syrup which she wiped away. Parker slammed the phone down and told her that the doctor was on his way.

Outside, another shaft of lightning ripped across the sky, followed a second later by a clap of thunder which threatened to bring the house down around their heads.

They both sat in stunned silence, waiting.