The Dark Horde (24 page)

“Good, ‘cos you may have to use it if you wanna get out of here alive.”

Jason forced a laugh. “Well yeah, I would like to get out of here alive. But tell me what’s going on first. I need to know!”

“Look, I don’t know either. All I can say is that some major supernatural shit is going on and we’re getting out of here.”

Jason nodded with a look of confusion. “Riiight.”

Brian began to loosen the straps immobilising Jason. “Once we get to safety, we’ll be able to talk. But right now we’re not safe. It’s only a matter of time before someone or
something
comes here looking for us.”

Jason didn’t ask any more questions after that.

WEDNESDAY 10:57
AM

Bernard drove down the highway to Melbourne, passing sodden paddocks dotted with glum cattle and trees. Rain hissed like static on the windscreen, dulling his senses but channelling his thoughts.

The therapy session with Danny Malone was almost precisely this time yesterday. And yet Bernard still struggled to make sense of it...

Either he himself was suffering psychosis, or these demons Danny perceived were real.

He clearly heard that unearthly malicious voice at the end of yesterday’s session, simultaneously issuing from Danny and the phone Bernard held. Yet the recording he made bore no trace of any such voice, an unexplained anomaly considering it detected the background wind.

And as horrifying as it all was, it was also familiar...

Henry Wilcox, a former schizophrenic patient, spoke in that same horrid voice whilst under hypnosis and was of a similar age then to Danny now. He was also the same patient that Danny referred to in yesterday’s session...

Henry’s hallucinations and delusions were compelling in a way that even now, almost ten years later, Bernard loathed to contemplate. At times, notably the last time he saw Henry, he actually shared the hallucinations: an untenable situation. He terminated future appointments with Henry and sought psychiatric help for himself. He lost contact with the Wilcox family and two years passed before Bernard practiced again. In the years since, memories of events faded and were easily dismissed as fictional.

But now, by some cruel machination of fate, the
Dark Horde
as Henry called them, had returned to haunt Bernard: driving him to seek answers.

Bernard made contact with Henry’s mother Mary this morning... And learnt that Henry was reported missing only two days ago and had left what appeared to be a suicide note on tape.

He immediately left for Melbourne to see her.

Shortly before midday, Bernard reached Mary’s house: a modest home on a quiet street in Ivanhoe, ten kilometres north east of Melbourne’s centre.

It was still raining.

Bernard parked his car on the kerb and looked up at the neatly presented brick-veneer house with a patent dread...

What horrors hide within these walls, waiting to be revealed?

Bernard grabbed his briefcase and stepped out into the rain with his umbrella open. Strong winds lashed him, drenching his suit and seeping chill into his bones.

He followed a paved driveway lined with rose bushes to the front door, noting that curtains were drawn across all the windows.

Curious.

He pressed the doorbell and stepped back. He stood awkwardly in the rain a few moments before ringing again with greater insistence.

But only the wind howled in reply.

Bernard chomped his mouth as he considered his options. Nonchalant, he shrugged and tried the doorhandle...

It was unlocked. Bernard stepped back, frowning in thought.

What should I do now? Surely I should enter? That’s why I tested the handle, isn’t it?

His heart racing, Bernard opened the front door, adrenalin honing his senses...

An orderly lounge greeted him, featuring an olive velvet sofa and chairs around a dormant fireplace. A bitter stench stained the air and past the kitchen on the other side of the room, chanting could be heard, interspersed with animalistic grunts.

“We are as one, as many are we...”

Bernard called out,“Hello? Is anybody home?”

“Become one, once more be...”

Too horrified for rational thought, Bernard strode forward towards the sound, leaving his briefcase and umbrella by the door...

I have to know.

“We are as one, as many are we...”

As Bernard crept past the kitchen and into the dining room beyond, an empty mug crashed from the dining table onto the carpet. He jolted in fright but there was no perpetrator to be seen.

Chants and grunts issued from a tape in a stereo against the wall facing him. Half-eaten butter and bread lay on the table next to a box of tissues. A glass side door overlooked a still garden and the door to the rest of the house was closed.

Maybe it was just sheer random chance that I happened to enter at the moment the mug overbalanced... I hope so.

“Hellooo? Hellooo?” he called again.

Only the tape answered,
“Become one, once more be...”

The recording stirred unwelcome memories, releasing hidden terrors of his inner psyche...

Time to turn that blasted tape off.

Bernard moved to the stereo and was shocked to see that the tape had already stopped and yet the sound continued unabated, driven by some unseen force.

In blind panic, he turned off every stereo switch he could find. Silence ensued and relief washed over him...

Then the phone rang.

Bernard spun around to stare suspiciously at the phone ringing on the cluttered kitchen bench behind him.

Surely I should get it? I am here lawfully after all.

With a sigh, he relented.

“Hello, Wilcox residence.”

“Good morning sir, this is Senior Sergeant Brian Derwent of Howqua Hills Police Station.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Bernard wiped sweat from his brow.

“Whom would I be speaking to?”

“Dr Bernard Russell. I’m just visiting here and–”

“Ahhh, you’re Henry Wilcox’s former psychiatrist, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. How did you come to know that so readily?”

“You were on my list of people to contact regarding Henry Wilcox. Are you there with his parents now?”

“Well, I had arranged to meet Mary Wilcox here, however I have just arrived to find the house abandoned–”

“Shit.”

“With some strange recording, I believe Henry’s, playing on the stereo.”

“What do you mean by strange?”

“Um...”

At that moment, the stereo leapt back into unearthly life, this time in that horrible demonic voice he knew only too well...

“Weee are as oneee, as manyyy are weee.”

Bernard shuddered so violently he almost dropped the phone. “Like that! Can you hear it? It’s playing of its own accord!”

“Becomeee oneee, once moreee beee.”

“Actually, I can only hear you.”

The voice intensified,
“WEEE ARE AS ONEEE!”

“It’s getting so loud I can hardly hear you!”

“AS MANYYY ARE WEEE!”

“Look, whatever’s going on, I think you’d better get out of there.”

“Agreed!”

“BECOMEEE ONEEE!”

“Can you meet me at Ivanhoe station
tonight
at 9pm?”

Bernard replied, “Did you say Ivanhoe station 9pm?”

“ONCE MOREEE BEEE!”

“Yes, it’s vitally important that we speak as soon as possible.”

Then the front door slammed. Heavy breathing followed.

“Something’s coming in the front door!”

“Then run!”

And run he did, dropping the phone and bolting out of the glass side door...

As laughter chased his heels.

WEDNESDAY 12:01
PM

He rolled over the bunker and surged in, machine gun blazing, a merciless destroyer, obliterating all in his way.

One of the enemies leapt from a bush nearby. It was Jake with a thick wooden stick – a fearsome bazooka – on his shoulder and preparing to fire.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah!” Tom went, sweeping across Jake in an arc of imaginary bullets.

Jake stood unmoving and fired his deadly weapon back. “Bqwa!”

“I shot you first!” Tom protested, lowering his stick.

“Did not!”

“You’re a cheat, Jake! I shot you first and you know it!”

Running footsteps approached. Tom turned to face them...

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Got ya!” Paul boomed as he shot Tom. “Start counting!”

Jake turned to Tom. “Okay you got me, Tom. But we’re both counting now, hahaha.”

“YOU’RE STILL A CHEAT!” Tom shouted as he ran off counting, trying to put as much distance between him and the other two as possible.

Jake and Paul looked at each other.

“You counted to twenty yet?” Paul said.

“Haha yeah, near enough.” Jake grinned.

“Let’s get him.”

Suddenly, two others joined them from across the oval: Howard and Arthur, carrying half-eaten sandwiches and fruit.

“Can we play?” Howard said.

Paul screwed his face with sudden hate. “Arthur can play, but we aren’t gunna let
you
play! Your dad’s a murderer!”

“HE IS NOT!” shouted Howard.

“What did you say that for, Paul?” Jake said. “His dad’s going after the murderer with your dad!”

Paul spat and leered at the shorter Howard. “My dad, not your dad, is the boss of the police now. And he told me last night that your dad is the killer!”

“I’ll kill you!” Howard said as he hurled his sandwiches at Paul.

By the time Paul said “Missed!” Howard had followed up his attack.

Paul pulled away from a punch glancing his cheek. Another one Howard threw caught only air as Paul stepped clear. For a moment they faced off against each other with clenched fists.

Arthur stood petrified.

Jake grinned and began chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“C’mon, killer!” Paul taunted.

Howard ran at Paul blindly, doing windmills with his arms. Jake laughed as Paul easily stepped clear of Howard’s wild swings and crash-tackled him side-on to the ground. Paul landed on Howard and immediately began throwing punches of his own at Howard’s head.

Arthur finally acted to defend his best friend, rushing in to pull Paul off Howard by the shoulders. Paul landed one more thump into Howard’s face before relenting and allowing Howard up. Howard was covered in dirt but seemingly unhurt save a fat lip.

“Are you okay?” Arthur said, putting a hand on Howard’s shoulder.

Howard didn’t take his eyes off Paul, who returned the stare. “Yeah.”

Tom had wandered back with Jeremy, the only other ones playing. “What’s going on?” he said.

Jake looked over at the new arrivals. “Paul and Howard are having a fight and Howard’s losing haha.”

Paul taunted Howard again, “C’mon wimp, have another go!”

Arthur stepped in front of Howard to block his view. “Howard! Give it a rest, will ya?”

“C’mon, fight!” Jake hollered.

Arthur turned to Jake. “No more fighting!”

Tom spoke up, “Yeah c’mon guys, we’ll get in trouble.”

Jake laughed. “If Howard isn’t already! Just look at him!”

“And Paul,” Arthur reminded him.

“Maybe we should play something else,” Tom suggested.

“Let’s play chasey!” Jeremy said.

“I’m not playing with him!” Howard pointed at Paul.

“No one was asking you!” Paul retorted.

“C’mon guys, shake and make up.” Arthur dragged Howard and Paul’s hands together.

Jake looked disappointed, but Tom and Jeremy encouraged the idea. Eventually the combatants shook hands limply.

“Say sorry to Howard for what you said, Paul,” Arthur said.

Paul smirked. “Sorry.”

“And say that you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

I don’t believe you one bit, Paul, and I hate you more than ever. But I guess I’ll let it drop for now and get on with the game. We’ll settle this later...

“Yeah, okay,” Howard muttered.

“Alright everyone, put your foot in,” Jeremy said.

Arthur, Tom, Jake and Paul put a foot forward into a circle around Jeremy’s foot.

Paul looked at Howard. “You playin’, wimp?”

Jake laughed and Howard shot back, “You’re the wimp!”

“STOP IT GUYS!” Arthur shouted.

Howard sighed and put his foot into the circle opposite Paul. Jeremy crouched down to tap their shoes in a clockwise fashion as he said a rhyme:

“There’s- a- party- on- the- hill- would- you- like- to- come?”

Jake’s finger stopped on Paul’s boot.

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Then- bring- some- friends- and- a- bottle- of- rum.”

Jake stopped on Arthur’s foot now, who recited, “Can’t afford it.”

“Then- get- lost.”

Jake finished on his own shoe, so he was out. With five left now, he started the rhyme again.

“Nah, that one takes ages, do this one,” said Jake, “Ip- dip- dog- shit- stuck- on- your- shoe- and- you’re- it!”

Jake’s finger was pointing at Paul’s foot.

“I’m it,” Paul said smiling.

The boys scattered across the oval away from Paul who stood covering his eyes. Jeremy called over his shoulder, “AND COUNT TO FIFTY THIS TIME!”