The Weejee Man: a nerve-shredding slice of Irish horror by NP Cunniffe

Author:NP Cunniffe [Cunniffe, NP]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ScaryBooks
Published: 2023-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

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I headed towards the road, nestled between two thick hedges. This must lead to the other side of Black Lake, I thought. It would make sense that he lived here. That’s where I’d seen him heading after the procession. Is this where he watched me? Timed his scares? It was about time I confronted him and got some answers.

There was no sign of him now on the long, narrow road. If it wasn’t for Bertha, I would have caught up to him by now. I’d been stalled. I took out my phone, wondering if I could phone him. I tapped the phone call icon beneath a deep crack, but nothing happened. I hit it repeatedly, but it would not open. Stupid smart phones. It must be only able to receive calls now. I’d have to try some of the houses instead.

The first house was a bungalow hidden behind trees and numerous bales of hay that occupied the garden. All the curtains were drawn, but there was smoke rising from the chimney. I reached the doorstep and knocked. Something shuffled inside. Shadows moved behind the curtains. But no one came to the door. I knocked on the door again. This time, there were no sounds and no movement.

Disappointed, I returned to the road and tried two more bungalows, with no luck.

This was probably where Mick had lived, or Tom and Adam, I thought.

I was getting restless; Brian could live anywhere. Then, as I was turning to head back up the road, I observed a two-storey house at the end of the road. It couldn’t have been more than a five-minute walk. It was worth a shot.

I broke into a light jog, passing a couple of farms with sheds packed to the brim with bales. The smell of hay, strong and damp after months of sitting in the cold, filled my nostrils. When I reached the end of the road, I stopped and bent over, hands on my knees, my lungs desperate for air. I hadn’t jogged this much in months. Ever since… I couldn’t remember. I had never liked the idea of exercising outdoors in the polluted air of London. At least, that was my excuse.

Once my breathing calmed, I continued to the house. It was quiet here. I could just about hear the cars from the village, but the surrounding fields were populated only with sheep – ewes – too fixated on eating grass to notice me approaching.

A car was parked outside the house. The curtains were open, a TV flickering inside. Might this be Brian’s house? I’d never seen his car, I realised. I suppose he was close enough to the cottage to walk, if this was indeed where he lived.

I rang the bell. It buzzed loudly. I heard no other sound.

I tried ringing it again, before stepping away.

Seriously?

I looked up and saw a hand pulling a curtain across the top-right window. I realised all the other curtains had been drawn already. These people clearly didn’t want any visitors. Perhaps some were mourning their neighbours’ deaths.

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