Resurrection by Ray Clark

Author:Ray Clark [Clark, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2019-03-06T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter 45

Jack opened the front door and strolled over to his car. The warmth of the house had deceived him into thinking it wasn’t so cold.

Over at the drive entrance the police activity had died down. The marquee had been cordoned off by scene tape. It would stay erected for some time despite the fact that the body would have been removed. Two officers were deep in conversation, pointing to various things.

As he reached the vehicle he turned back to the house, once again admiring the building. His eyes took in every brick before resting on one in particular.

Mark noticed and followed Jack’s gaze back to the stone. “Different, isn’t it?”

“Certainly is. Where did you get it?” asked Jack.

“Just a friend,” commented Peter.

Jack strolled over. The rest followed like sheep, including old Maurice.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Paula.

Jack reached down and touched the stone, rubbing his hands across the rough surface. It had a quality unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

“What do you do for a living, Peter?”

“I’m an architect.”

“Really!” Jack sounded surprised. “Where did you say you got it?”

“I didn’t, but it was a colleague of mine in the building trade.”

Jack continued to examine the stone without replying.

“Why?” Peter asked.

“No reason. It just felt unusual – different. Never come across a texture like this before. Where did he get it?”

Before Peter replied, the air in front of the stone shimmered, as if Jack was studying from a distance through the ultra-violet rays of the sun, or perhaps petrol vapors.

It happened quickly and normality resumed within seconds. Jack wasn’t sure whether or not anyone else had noticed.

He stepped back, rubbing his eyes.

“Did you see what I think you saw?” asked Mark.

“You saw it as well?” questioned Jack.

“I saw something.”

“Thank fuck for that, I thought it was just me.”

“I saw it,” said Paula.

“Look!” Peter shouted, pointing at the stone.

Wiry strands of fog emerged. They were light green in colour, smelled vaguely of incense and were dancing, like something you would expect to see in Tales of the Arabian Nights.

With little warning, the fog turned into belching smoke, accompanied by a fetid, tangy aroma. The cloying odour immediately coated the insides of Jack’s nostrils.

“Oh shit, I’m not keen on this, move back,” shouted Jack, trying to usher them all with a sweep of his arm.

The bursts of smoke lengthened as if being delivered by a machine; guiding them, until they were all forced back into the middle of the lawn. They ended up almost thirty feet from the house.

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