Welcome to the Spookshow: (Book 2) by McGregor Tim

Author:McGregor, Tim [McGregor, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Published: 2014-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

21

THE DEAD MAN hung motionless, a few paces behind the detective, his horrid face looking down at the earth as if transfixed by something in the grass. His clothes were dark and old-fashioned, a strange tie coming loose under a wilted collar. He looked like an undertaker to Billie. She had never met an undertaker before, all she had to go on was a cartoon image of one. But this individual fit the bill.

Flesh so pale it looked blue against the dark clothes. His features were hard to see, muddied by what she thought was dirt or soot but then she saw the soot move. It was a mass of flies. Common bluebottles and everyday houseflies, wriggling out of his mangled ear and crawling over his face. They crawled and swarmed and settled again over his mouth and crawled over his eyes. Like the newshour image of a starving child in a faraway country, too weak to wave off the flies picking over its eyes. It made her cringe, like she could feel those filthy insects on her own flesh.

Mockler didn’t see the dead man. Of course, she reminded herself. Only she could see him but something came over Mockler, as if he could feel its presence. He sunk down, shoulders drooping like a weight was lowering on him. His voice trailed off as if he’d forgotten what he was talking about. It reminded her of her own foggy spells, the way it dampened everything around.

“What was I saying?” Mockler looked up sharply, as if caught falling asleep.

Billie kept her eyes on the undertaker man and spoke quietly to the detective. “We should go.”

“Sure,” Mockler said. He rubbed his eyes. “Jesus, I’m tired.”

The dead man’s head tilted, rotating slowly, almost mechanically, on its thin neck until its gaze locked on the man sitting on the bench. The flies swarmed up at the movement and resettled quickly, determined and single-minded. The only sign of life throbbed from its eyes but it was difficult to discern the emotion. Hatred or anger or hunger. Whatever it was, it blazed hot and steady at the detective sitting on the park bench.

Then it moved, its hand stretching out and Billie could almost hear the click of bone as it moved. It reached out for Mockler.

Billie shot up. “Let’s go now.”

The dead man turned its gaze on her and this time the eyes were crystal in their intent. Pure murder.

Mockler mumbled an answer but remained sluggish on the bench. The undertaker man stretched his thin fingers out to the detective, brushing his hair in a disturbingly intimate way that made Billie feel sick to her stomach.

Mockler flinched, rubbing his temple as if overcome.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” he grumbled. “They come on fast sometimes.”

The dead man clicked his neck a few degrees to leer up at Billie and she could have sworn the fly-bedecked man was grinning.

“Let’s just go, okay?” She took Mockler’s arm and tried to haul him up but he was all dead weight.

“Gimme a second.

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