Sker House (11 page)

Then there was the guy that disappeared.

Machen didn't believe a word of it himself. How could someone just fall off the face of the earth like that? But that was what his friends insisted. He went to inspect the sub-cellar, and never came back out.

When they told him, the crew acted like it was his fault. As if! Even if one of their number did go missing, it was nothing to do with Machen. He had an idea they were angling for cash. Hush money or compensation. Good luck with that, he remembered thinking. Even if he had a surplus of cash, which he didn't, he wasn't about to start giving it away.

The final straw came just a day or two later when Machen paid his usual morning visit (unaccompanied by Sandra, thankfully, who had opted for a lie-in that morning) only to find one of the four remaining workmen walking round and round in circles, clutching a hammer and mumbling away to himself in some language Machen didn't understand. The bloke had quite obviously gone around the twist. When his colleagues woke up they promptly packed up their personal belongings and walked off the job en mass, taking the poor crazy sod with them. Pity. He was one of the blokes Machen had built up a relationship with, and the last time he saw him he was sitting in the back of their truck, still clutching the hammer and talking gibberish. In that instant, Machen wasn't too upset to see him leave. He didn't care for the look in the man's eyes. It was an empty, vacant expression, as if something had reached down inside him and yanked everything out.

In the aftermath, Machen must have called Dave a hundred times or more. At first, the absent foreman was apologetic and vowed to get the men back down. Then, evidently giving up on that idea, he said he would hire a new crew. But the new crew never materialized, and after a while Dave stopped taking his calls. Then he changed his phone number. Bloody cowboy. The whole thing was now in the hands of the solicitors, the latest news being that Dave had declared his contracting company bankrupt. The way the legal system worked, it would be a long time before Machen would be able to get back any of the money he paid out, if at all, and without that he was unable to hire anybody else to finish the job. He was stuffed.

Out of desperation, he took it upon himself to finish up whatever he could manage. Plastering, painting, tiling, and so forth. Fortunately, Dave's cowboys did most of the larger jobs before they left. The roof, foundations and shell had all been patched-up and declared sound. But work on the top floor had barely began, cutting the capacity of Sker House by almost half. The place couldn't even pay for its own upkeep until it was functioning at fifty percent occupancy, and that was assuming he could get that many guests. Advertising might help, but he couldn't arrange any until he had funds. Everything cost money.

“What a bloody mess,” said Machen to no one in particular. Champ the lethargic guard dog was in his usual place at Machen's feet. At the sound of his master's voice, an ear twitched and with great effort he raised his head off his paws. “You're not gonna run off and leave me as well, are you?” Machen asked the dog, who whined a response then promptly went back to sleep. Taking that as a sign that he was now even boring dumb animals with his luckless tragi-drama of a life, Machen stood up, tottering unsteadily on his feet as the world around him spun wildly in and out of focus before zooming back to clarity. Satisfied he wasn't going to fall over, not this time anyway, he snapped off the lights, locked the bar door behind him, and made his way up the stairs to his living quarters, a half-empty bottle of JD nestling under his arm. He didn't bother with a mixer.

Chapter 9:

Drowning

Dale knew it couldn't be real. But just knowing that wasn't enough to stop the terror spreading through him like a cancer.

The dream started innocuously enough. He was a sailor on a cargo ship. He knew this the way you just know things in dreams, the knowledge instilled rather than acquired. It was dusk and he was standing on the slippery deck, gripping the guardrail and gazing out over a calm sea as the last of the light faded into black, salt air in his nostrils and sea breeze on his face. Overhead, gulls swooped and dived around the ship's bulging sails, cawing as they went about their business. A tiny speck of land in the distance had been growing steadily larger, and was now so close Dale thought he could almost reach out and touch it. It had been a long, perilous journey, but it was almost at an end.

The men, his comrades, were in good spirits. The excitement was palpable, bordering on euphoria. The sea bonded men as tightly as the battlefield. They were brothers in arms, their massed ranks fighting an eternal battle against nature. Soon the ship would be docking, and then they would see their loved ones for the first time in months. Wives, sweethearts, parents, children, brothers, sisters, all eagerly awaited their return. For Dale, it had been an especially momentous journey. His very first. He hoped he had impressed enough to be given a second chance. The work was fraught with difficulty and danger, but a young man could make a good living on the ships. The wage was attractive, and the adventurous lifestyle far outweighed the risks.

Suddenly, the mood changed. The sky clouded over, at once blocking out the dying sun, the pleasant sea breeze turned into a howling wind, and rain drops the size of pennies began to fall. At first just a few, then more and more. The sense of euphoria shared by the crew dissipated to be replaced by a sense of workman-like urgency. As close to home as they were, there was still much to be done. Orders and instructions rang out, men raising their voices to be heard over the brewing storm as each slipped effortlessly into his assigned role. Dale busied himself lashing loose containers to the deck with metal chains and lengths of frayed rope. Beneath his feet, he felt the ship's body creak and groan.

With the wind came the waves, some so big they were like sheer walls of black water topped with angry white froth, towering over the ship before crashing down on the deck with terrifying force. This was the great lawless beast of the sea at its most vengeful and unforgiving. Dale was exhausted, and had to fight for every breath as the wind tried to suck it from his lungs. His clothes were sodden and stuck to his body, and his hair plastered across his face. He couldn't feel his fingers any more, but he had almost finished his task. Soon he would be able to go below deck to wait out the storm. They were close to their destination. So close. Any minute now they would be able to see the harbour lights.

There they were! Tiny orange orbs twinkling in the middle distance. The inviting sight of boats safely at anchor in the harbour. They must have been closer to port than he'd thought. Either that, or the storm had propelled them along their designated course much quicker than anyone had anticipated. Whatever, it didn't matter. Despite the peril they were in, there were triumphant shouts and whoops of joy as word spread. The ship lurched unsteadily to one side as it endeavoured to change its course, and then followed an eerie moment of tranquillity. The howling wind died, the pounding rain eased off, and the great swells that threatened to engulf the ship subsided. For a few precious seconds, it was like being held in suspended animation.

Amazingly, miraculously, Dale was able to see through the darkness, across the vast expanse of water, straight into the heart of their destination. And what he saw there chilled him to the bone. There was no safe harbour. The lights flickered and winked out to reveal only a desolate, deserted beach, painted grey in the fading light. Worse than that, between the beach and the ship, ranks of jagged black rocks jutted up out of the water like murderous teeth. The ship was heading straight toward them. He felt a surge of panic run through his body. Could nobody else see what he was seeing? Why didn't someone sound the alarm?

He had to warn someone, get them to change course. It would be a hopeless task, but he had to do something. He screamed and hoped somebody would hear, but no sound came out of his mouth. He was struck dumb. That awful feeling of helplessness and vulnerability so prevalent in dreams washed over him as he resigned himself to his fate. They had been deceived, either by God or man, and there would be a heavy price to pay for such naivety.

There was a horrific, splintering crunch as the ship hit something unseen, and Dale knew that it was already too late. The vessel was jolted violently, sending those unfortunates still working top-side slipping and sliding across the deck, striking various immovable objects with sickening force as they went. Dale was thrown against some hand rails so hard he felt his ribs break. What little wind he had left in him leaked out slowly, he guessed through a punctured lung. One man cleared the rails completely, and was thrown head-first over the side into the thankless water below. He screamed as he fell. At that moment, a gigantic wave rose over the ship, lifting it out of the water on its swell and throwing it onto the waiting black rocks, and it was then Dale knew they were doomed. There would be no glorious homecoming. The ominous sounds of wood being shredded mingled with the screams of the dying as the ship was mercilessly battered and smashed against the unyielding rock.

Then, there was water. Only water. As cold and black as the night. He tried to swim, frantically kicking and thrashing his limbs in desperation, but his ribs hurt and the swirling currents were too strong to resist. The water kept sucking him under, almost as if a demonic hand had a grip of his legs. He was twisting and turning in the depths so much that he didn't even know which way was up any more. He tried to find a purchase, something solid that would keep him still, but his flailing arms found nothing. As his lungs filled with freezing, vile liquid, the will to survive ebbed from his body. In the end, he welcomed the silent tranquillity.

Dale opened his eyes. At first his befuddled mind couldn't make sense of what had happened, what was
happening
. He was suffocating! He wanted to scream for help, but he there wasn't enough air in his lungs. Instead he lay on his back gasping and sucking grateful mouthfuls of oxygen into his body.

It was just a dream.

He lay still for a few moments, collecting his thoughts and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The luminous face on his watch told him it was just after three in the morning. Instinctively, he looked across at Lucy's sleeping form in the adjacent bed. He blinked once, twice.

Something was wrong.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the bed was empty, and all he was looking at was a bunched-up duvet.

He sat bolt-upright, heart thumping like a drum in his chest. Where the hell was Lucy? He flicked on the bedside lamp and quickly scanned the room. Nope. No Lucy. Furthermore, there was no light on in the en suite bathroom and no sound of running water, which meant she wasn't in there, either.

“Lucy?” he called tentatively.

No answer.

He called her name again as he fumbled around for his jeans and hoody. Where the hell could she even go? Worst case scenarios ranging from the banal to the extremely unlikely ran through Dale's mind; the landlord and Old Rolly were part of an international syndicate that drugged female guests and sold them into the sex trade, she had been abducted by aliens, or fallen down the unfamiliar staircase and now lay unconscious at the bottom. As unlikely as every explanation seemed, the fact of the matter was that Lucy was missing.

Then something struck him. Lucy wasn't in the room, that much was evident, but maybe she had gone somewhere voluntarily. Yes, that must be it. You never know with creative types, they were liable to do some damned unusual things in the name of art. Sneaking out after dark to take night scape pictures was pretty tame in comparison to some of the stories he heard. He should call her. Yes, that's what he would do. If she'd gone out for a walk or something, surely she would have taken her phone. It would be stupid not to. Dale quickly located his own phone, scrolled through his contacts list until he found Lucy, and pressed CALL.

Something stirred in the room, and a sudden noise fractured the stillness. Dale whirled around, unsure of what to expect. His heart sank a few notches when he realized that the noise he heard was just Lucy's phone, which had been left on her pillow. It vibrated softly, before breaking into the opening chords of a 5 Seconds of Summer hit. He didn't know which one, they all sounded the same to him.

Shit. So she didn't take her phone with her. She must have taken their room key, though. They only had one key between them, so if she had gone somewhere and intended to get back in, she surely would have taken it. A quick scan of the room revealed the key still lying on the desk next to his notebook exactly where they had left it.

This was bad. Very bad.

Swearing under his breath, Dale swept the key up in his hand and thrust it into his pocket whilst simultaneously squeezing a pair of Vans onto sock-less feet. After a last look around the room, he quietly opened the door and slipped into the corridor. The soft yellow lighting couldn't disguise how chilly it was. His breath left his mouth in plumes as Dale looked from left to right and back again. Every visible door was closed, and everything seemed just the way it should be.

He stood and listened for a few seconds. Nothing stirred. Heart thudding in his chest, he tip-toed toward the staircase at the far end. His feet sank into the lush blue carpet as he made his way down the corridor. When he reached the staircase he gripped the bannister, fingers curling around the cold wood. Descending the stairs it felt like every nerve in his body was being pulled taught, every sense heightened. The faint smell of fresh paint hung in the air. At the bottom of the stairs were two doors. Knowing one led to the bar, he tried it. Locked. The other door, he guessed, was the 'after hours' entrance and exit Machen briefed them about.

He double checked that he still had the key to get back in. Yes, it was in his pocket. In his mind's eye he saw Lucy waking up during the night, coming down to get some air, and forgetting to take it with her. Right now she was probably standing outside, shivering. Dale, primed for a knight in shining armour cameo, unlocked the door and flung it open.