The Scream Page 9

  Something cracking and splintering. Bone, perhaps, being ripped apart.

  Something wet, dripping and splattering against a concrete floor.

  Something wooden bumping slightly. The legs of a chair, perhaps.

  And something purring with pleasure. The sound of a beast.

  Roake's chest feels impossibly tight by the time he reaches the empty doorway. He forces himself to look through into the next room, and sure enough he sees the silhouette of a ravaged woman tied to a wooden chair, her whole body trembling with pain and fear. There's blood on the floor everywhere, along with sloppy masses of torn-away flesh and muscle. Assorted broken bones have been left on a nearby bench, while rusty tools are soaking in a metal bucket. Soiled white sheets have been left crumpled in the corner, along with a small pile of clothes. Jeans, a t-shirt, socks and underwear. The items Jessica Barton was wearing when she was snatched.

  The room stinks of blood.

  The scream continues, louder than ever.

  Again, Roake makes the sign of the cross against his chest.

  Almost immediately, something stirs in the shadows, as if it's offended by the gesture. Not fully visible yet, the shape is more of an absence of light, shimmering and blurred in the gloom. Still, it's definitely there, and Roake recognizes it from that night in Amsterdam when he briefly saw the beast's face. Opening his mouth to start praying, he feels momentarily shocked, too horrified to say a word. The black shape leans forward slightly, its edges blurring, but it makes no move to attack. Roake can't help wondering if the beast recognizes him from their previous encounter.

  “Dear Lord...” he stammers, but his voice is shaking so much, the words are a jumbled mess. He tries again. “Dear Lord, hear -” He has to stop. His voice is so cracked and broken, he feels certain a prayer would only make things worse.

  Instead, he steps forward, keeping as far from the shuddering black shape as he can manage while still heading toward the girl in the chair. She's still screaming, of course, with her head tilted back and her face raised toward the ceiling. As he gets to her side, Roake sees rivers of blood flowing down her bare flesh, and he flinches slightly as he sees the splatters of blood all around her wide open mouth.

  Instinctively, he reaches out and places his right hand on her right shoulder. Her flesh is cold. He doesn't know why he's touching her, but he feels he might be able to offer some solace.

  Over by the far wall, the dark shape twitches and turns, as if determined to hold back its anger for a little while longer. Roake knows from the history books that the beast would attack if it felt threatened.

  “Jessica?” he asks, looking down at the girl's terrified face as she continues to scream. “Jessica Barton?”

  The scream becomes louder, as if the mere mention of her name has caused even more pain.

  “I'm going to...” he continues, before realizing that there's nothing he can say that might bring her any peace. For a moment, all he can do is stare at the strips of flesh hanging from her broken ribs, and then he does the one thing he's been avoiding so far.

  He looks at her eyes.

  They're open. Despite the pained scream that continues to come from her mouth, Jessica's eyes are wide open and staring up at him. One of her pupils is much bigger than the other, but Roake can't deny the feeling that the real girl is in there somewhere, begging for release.

  “I...” he stammers, as he realizes he's in danger of making the same mistake he made back in Amsterdam.

  Finally, he turns and sets his crucifix and bible down. He knows what he has to do, and he takes a moment to prepare himself before picking up a knife from the counter and turning back to Jessica.

  To his shock, he sees that the dark shape has joined them now, shivering and twitching in the low light as its hands rest on Jessica's shoulders.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “I know you've looked there,” Matt says as he and some of the others stand around a map of the town, in one of the bar's back rooms, “but obviously someone somewhere missed something.”

  “Impossible,” Robert Leary replies. “We went building to building, we checked every room in the whole town -”

  “Obviously not every room,” Matt points out. “She's still screaming, isn't she?”

  They all pause for a moment, as the scream continues outside.

  “Alright, genius,” says one of the other men, “how do you think we're going to find her?”

  “We're going to take this town apart,” Matt tells him. “Every building, every room -”

  “We've already done that!”

  “Then how is it still happening? How is she still screaming? Explain the scream we're all still hearing!” He waits for someone to answer.

  “Don says...” Pausing, Robert seems concerned, as if he's not sure whether to say whatever's on his mind. “Well, I mean, Don says it'll all be okay.” He looks around at the others, as if he's hoping they'll agree with him. “He says it can't last much longer, and even if we don't find her right away, we can just...” He pauses again. “Ride it out,” he adds finally.

  “Ride it out?” Matt replies, shocked by the idea. “What does that even mean?”

  “Just that we shouldn't go crazy,” Robert continues. “It's been more than twelve hours since all of this started, right? So even if we find her right now, how much... Well... I mean, how much good could we go? Screaming like that for so long, it's hard to believe that there's gonna be much...” His voice trails off.

  “Much left of her,” adds someone else.

  A faint murmur of agreement rises from a few of the others.

  “So that's a good enough reason to stop searching?” Matt asks. “Are you serious?”

  “Not stop searching,” Robert replies, a little defensively. “More like... Recognize our limitations.”

  “And what does that mean?” Matt asks. “We have to get out there and find this girl while she's still alive. Listen to her, for God's sake! Someone is clearly doing this to her, someone is causing her to scream like that.”

  “Gonna be midnight soon,” Corin Wallace points out from the back of the group. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

  “We keep searching,” Matt says firmly.

  “And what if we still don't find her?” Corin asks. “A few of us have been talking, and we figure this is all just some kind of a trick. Someone's probably piping in a tape recording of this scream, and laughing their ass off while we all go running around like headless chickens.”

  “Like reality TV, maybe,” Howard suggests, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I mean, it almost makes sense.”

  “A recording?” Matt replies. “Do you seriously think that the scream is a recording?”

  “Could be,” suggests one of the other men.

  “It's not a recording,” Matt tells them, turning to each of them in turn. “Kelly Hargreaves has been telling people she saw a stranger in town last night, right outside the diner, on the lawn. Did any of the rest of you see this stranger? I'm not talking about the priest, I'm talking about someone else.” He waits for a reply. “Come on, think! What the hell is a stranger doing coming to town, not being seen by anyone except one girl, and leaving again? It doesn't make any sense.”

  “Maybe it's all part of the trick,” Corin suggests.

  “So you're expecting Jessica Barton to suddenly jump out from behind some bushes somewhere and admit it's all a big joke?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Robert replies, but the hesitation in his voice is enough to reveal his doubts. He knows the idea is crazy.

  Matt stares at them all for a moment, before taking a pen and making some marks on the map. “Anyone who doesn't want to help with the rest of the search, by all means, go and stick your fingers in your ears. The rest, stay here and we'll mark out the best route.”

  “Who put you in charge?” asks a man near the back of the crowd.

  “Me!” Matt shouts, turning to him. “I'm putting myself in charge of this
particular search, because as far as I can see right now, this is the only way we're going to find Jessica! Nothing Don has done so far has had much luck.” He pauses, aware that some of the others are skeptical. “And we are going to find her,” he adds finally, his voice trembling with fear. “I swear. We are!”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Kill her,” Roake says firmly, staring into the eyes of the beast as Jessica screams between them. “Put her out of her misery. Let her suffering end. If you need to torture someone, take me in her place. Torture me, but for God's sake let this girl go!”

  He waits for a reply, but the creature merely tilts its head. Its features are still shimmering in the air, but a smile can be seen slowly spreading across its lips.

  “Take me,” Roake says again, “and let her go! I know your name, demon! Chanciechaunie, in some places, or Attaroth, or Hel, or Elden. Wherever there are people with a word for pain and misery, they also have a name for you, but please... What do you gain from making this girl suffer? What do you gain from torturing this town?”

  The beast tilts its head again, and this time a faint, amused purring sound can just about be heard over the sound of Jessica's scream.

  “Leave this place,” Roake continues. “Please, you have so many other worlds you can torment. Why do you care so much about this one?”

  “Do you mean to drive me out?” the beast asks, leaning closer. “The same way, perhaps, that you drove me from Amsterdam?”

  “The people there didn't even hear the scream,” Roake tells him. “The city was so loud, Anna Hoeks screamed for six months and no-one noticed.”

  “I must admit,” the beast replies, “I was disappointed by that outcome. That's why I chose a nice quiet little town for my next victim. Here, everyone can hear the girl cry out. And you know how they'll respond, don't you? The same way humans have responded to my presence throughout history. First they'll lose their minds, and then -”

  “I'm taking her with me,” Roake says suddenly, reaching down to start untying Jessica's restraints, even as she continues to scream. His trembling hands fumble with the first knot, and he has to focus in order to keep from turning away as the beast moves closer. “This can't continue,” he adds, “you have to -”

  Before he can finish, Jessica's body tenses and lurches forward, and a moment later a set of metal spikes are pushed through her back, emerging just below her collarbone.

  “Stop!” Roake shouts, horrified by the sight of more blood dribbling down the girl's chest.

  “Make me,” the beast replies, pulling the spikes back out so that their small barbs are able to tear slowly through Jessica's flesh. “Stop me. Try. You know you can't stop me, but you also know you can't walk away. I'll stay in this town for as long as it pleases me, but eventually I'll get bored and move on to somewhere else. I won't just kill you, though. For your tenacity, I promise you I will cast your soul across all the realities. Your suffering, priest, will never end.” With that, he drives the spikes into Jessica's neck, pushing them up until they briefly poke out beneath her jaw and then sink once again into her flesh. She jolts forward, as blood bursts from her lips and the spikes drive up into the roof of her mouth and ever onward. Finally, her left eyeball starts filling with blood.

  “Stop!” Roake screams, grabbing the beasts hands and trying to pull him away, even as purring laughter fills the air, drowning the scream out entirely.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “We're going to find her,” Matt whispers as he sits at the bar and stares down into a coffee he hasn't touched yet. “We're going to find her. We're...”

  His voice trails off as he realizes he must have said those words a hundred times in the past few hours, just repeating them over and over even though there was no-one nearby to hear.

  Over in the booths by the window, people are discussing the situation, while outside the scream is still filling the night air. The first hints of morning light are starting to brighten the horizon, but the search is continuing. Exhausted locals have begun working in shifts, while maps have been annotated with detailed notes regarding who has been where and when. The current system is that every possible place in the town has to be checked by three completely separate and independent groups, and that each group must contain at least three people. Yet still the scream continues, and now everyone in Pine Ridge has an air of quiet desperation in their eyes, as if they're worried it'll never stop.

  No-one has mentioned it yet, but in less than half an hour, it will have been twenty four hours since the scream began.

  “Still up, Doc?” Don Ridley asks, slapping Matt on the back as he takes a seat next to him. “You should go home. Get some sleep for a few hours.”

  Still staring at the coffee for a moment, Matt finally turns to him. “Sleep? Are you serious?”

  “You're not doin' anyone any good sittin' around here.”

  “I have to be awake for when they find her,” he points out. “I'm the only person in town with any medical training.”

  “Don't worry about that. We can come and get you if she turns up.”

  “If?”

  “When. Whatever, you know what I mean.” Don pauses for a moment, as the smile he's been wearing all day begins to slip. “It's been a whole day now, Doc. Twenty four godforsaken hours of that scream just fillin' the whole town. People are startin' to wonder if Satan himself has come to Pine Ridge.”

  “I favor the other theory,” Matt replies, finally taking a sip of coffee, although his hands are trembling slightly. “This is the work of a creature far worse than Satan.”

  “What's that?” Don asks, while signaling to Mary for two whiskeys. “What kinda creature are you talkin' about?”

  “Mankind.”

  “Come on,” Don replies with a faint, force chuckle. “Now you're just gettin' morbid.”

  “Twenty four hours,” Matt mutters, as Mary places two whiskeys in front of them. He eyes the drink suspiciously, but he doesn't push it away, not this time. “I honestly don't know whether a human being can keep up a scream like that for twenty four hours. The whole situation is stretching the limits of reason. It's getting to the point where I can't quite believe it's really happening.”

  “Drink this,” Don says, sliding one of the whiskeys toward him.

  He slides it back.

  “Drink,” Don says again, pushing the glass back to him before turning to look at the window. Outside, with the scream still ringing in the air and with people hurrying across the town square as they continue the search, a statue stands. He smiles for a moment, as if he's remembering something from long ago. “You see that thing?” he asks finally, pointing at the statue. “Do you know who that fella is? Or who he was, whatever.”

  “Godford Ridley,” Matt replies wearily. “Your great-grandfather. Everyone knows, but I don't think this is the time for a history lesson.”

  “I remember the old bastard,” Don continues, with a glint in his eyes. “When I was a kid, he was close to a hundred years old, but I remember him. Stank of tobacco and gin. He used to tell me stories about the old days. He was around just after the goddamn war between the states, can you believe that?”

  Matt stares at the whiskey for a moment. “I guess.”

  “He was mayor here too,” Don continues. “He kept the town in line. Now, he never had to deal with anythin' as crazy as this scream, but I feel like he'd have handled it better. Whenever I'm strugglin' to know what to do, I try to work out what Godford Ridley would have done. I don't reckon there's anything under the sun that he wouldn't be able to deal with.”

  “Maybe it's something we can't deal with,” Matt whispers.

  “What's that, Doc?”

  Matt pauses, before downing the whiskey. “I spoke to that priest earlier. He told me something. It sounded crazy at the time, but now I'm starting to wonder...”

  “You don't wanna go listening to some British guy,” Don mutters. “He's probably just some travelin' nut-job.”

  “He tol
d me the craziest thing,” Matt replies, as Mary brings two more whiskeys for them. “I dismissed it at the time, but now I'm starting to wonder. It was about this... thing. He said no-one really knows if it's a demon, or a fallen angel, whatever, there are variations of the story in different cultures. This thing has different names, too. I only remember a few of the ones he told me. Chanciechaunie was one. What kind of a name is that, huh? Chanciechaunie. Another name he had was Attaroth, and another was...” He pauses. “God, I don't remember. Hel, maybe, something like that. There were loads, a list as long as your arm. The point is...” Another pause. “The point is,” he continues, with a hint of darkness in his eyes, “the priest told me that this Chanciechaunie demon likes nothing better than to torture human beings, and that he'll do it for as long as possible, keeping them alive with tricks and spells. It's said their cries ring out, uninterrupted, for all to hear, sometimes for months on end, even years. He finds someone who's desperate, someone who's lost, and he lures them close, and then he starts on them and he never lets go.”

  “Huh.” Smiling, Don looks down at his drink. “I never had you down as the kinda guy who'd believe stuff like that, Doc.”

  “And this Chanciechaunie guy,” Matt continues, “is said to be the cruelest creature that has ever lived, with the darkest eyes. According to the priest, the damn thing doesn't even exist completely in this reality, he straddles several at once, which means he's never fully in any one of them. And all he wants to do in this world is to find and exploit people, and to make them suffer. Not just physically, either. Mentally too. He wants to make them...” He pauses. “The exact way the priest phrased it,” he continues finally, “is that Chanciechaunie lives to make people scream, and to torment others with that scream.” Another pause, and a flicker of realization crosses his face. “And apparently he's being doing it, on and off, throughout human history.”