The Rain that Hammered like Talking Aardvarks
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Katy Sparrow looked at the weathered knife in her hands and felt healthy.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her sunny surroundings. She had always loved chilly Cardiff with its purple, prickly parks. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel healthy. You’d think a warm climate would make you happy but all it ever seemed to do for Katy was get her nose running like an elephant’s ass.
When she was sick or hungry and got caught outside when she really needed help from someone, or just wanted a hot meal, things started to go downhill fast: very quick indeed.
Right now there were two people out of her three best friends who could have taken care of these guys if they had come any earlier—but she didn’t want them involved. And Katy wasn’t going to be around long enough even though they probably would be better off than she would without backup.
This thing inside her head made sure of that. But as soon as she crossed this room, whoever was after her wouldn’t be looking so hard anymore since the guy couldn’t take care of his own junk! Her shoulders slumped slightly, wondering again how much more life was left in her legs; wishing she knew some magic chant to summon up the dead to fight for her cause.
“That’ll work!” she muttered. “Just… need a bit of luck…”
It sounded funny, the way she said luck, although not particularly unfamiliar given where she lived and what she did. Every second word of every conversation with other women tended to include the words ‘luck’ and ‘dear.’ Katy supposed she herself must say it too often.
Anyway. Luck wasn’t actually required for tonight—she already had one foot in the graveyard and it still hurt. There had been no point getting out of bed if this was what lay in store for me; the whole thing was pointless anyway if I just sit here and die—so it was time to end this. Time to take charge. Just do what has to be done and then let nature takes its course. They’re expecting the victim to run away?
So why should it matter which route he chooses? Which is easier when your only available options are death by starvation, dehydration, or being hacked to pieces? No, forget about him. This has nothing to do with my decision any longer; none whatsoever!
He will go his way and I’ll mine, whoever does win simply makes themselves useful once again in return for a decent funeral. If he wins, it means we can finally bury those remains of a brother I lost, if not many years ago, quite recently really—if I lose?
Well then, well then I can die knowing that justice will finally prevail and my mother won’t spend the rest of her days wondering whether the Devil himself doesn’t live amongst us after all…
Well, one of their reasons anyway.
No sense thinking about all that just now. Just try to think about that bright patch ahead in case that little voice in the back of the skull decides to get some more attention. At least nobody’s going to shoot at me again just yet (not until after dark, anyway), but at night I don’t get that warning feeling either. So best do it quickly before these bastards decide it’s safer not to risk daylight hunting in this neighborhood.
Maybe they know something about me I’ve forgotten about or haven’t thought about in ages. Whatever happens, it has nothing to do with me and I am doing the right thing now because this has gone on long enough—and for God’s sake just let them bloody leave…
Her eyes narrowed; her expression fell into one of concentration, all signs of weakness hidden beneath a new mask that betrayed little else besides resolve. A girl could do worse than look strong to the casual observer whilst preparing to face certain danger.
A girl, or someone possessed by a dark power of the dead…
One last look around the house, just in case she missed anything. Still nothing missing. The windows have all been covered securely. Nothing out of place; nothing missing. My clothes are folded neatly on the dressing table behind me. Hmm, most unusual really but perhaps not entirely unheard of.
Some spirits are rather partial to clothing. Having the ability to use mundane items against flesh-bound creatures is useful but there are plenty of cases of incorporeal folk using different methods to achieve the same ends. Besides, you see ghosts with bare feet and walking sticks aplenty but rarely sandals and shoes—at least that have survived intact.
Especially not shoes which are often the first item discarded by the living who find themselves suddenly confronted with the unearthly company. I suppose it would be possible to steal possessions since we seem unable to shed our old selves completely even when we die (or have died) but the probability seems somewhat remote.
Perhaps some objects hold memories and remind the ghost of itself, creating a familiarity that allows it access to simple everyday matters such as food, water, warmth, and sex. Now there’s a mystery to solve!
You never read about ghosts haunting stuff like that, only people and buildings. Or maybe it is one of the former, but then I doubt it; if so the effect would be visible immediately, whereas I’m pretty sure that neither of these men ever felt a chill until they looked in her closet and saw the untouched assortment of footwear and handbags in her wardrobe. There is definitely a connection between death and possession but what form that connection takes varies from case to case.
How lucky for me this lady had expensive tastes when it came to fashion. That gave me an idea I shall regret if my plan backfires horribly. It would also give me some credence as far as the authorities are concerned if, for example, I were charged with theft, making away with the remains of my previous host.
Of course, it could also make things much worse for the police—especially if they decided to consult me about it later! She’d probably insist I wear the damned shoes then. No matter how big I might grow over time they’ll always fit me well enough to strangle me with them, especially as the left foot hasn’t developed properly despite years spent in agony.
But having said all that, once upon a time those boots had cost more money than my mother had in her entire lifetime. They’re not exactly cheap, nor particularly hardy, but she could easily afford to replace them without too many qualms. Well now; I do hope this works and I can walk tall again soon.
The prospect of becoming a vampiric size twelve was less appealing than taking up residence inside a pair of six-inch high heel shoes.
The window upstairs is still open. And the dresser drawers are open as well. Someone’s been poking through his girlfriend’s underwear, but no sign of a real culprit. Not surprising if he’s into that sort of thing though; woman’s clothes don’t count, do they? All nice and legal.
Heh, bet he doesn’t tell the cops that. Of course, if he does happen across a murder victim there’s little point trying to pin that particular crime on anyone who isn’t willing to admit to it willingly. Or indeed any other crimes for that matter. Most of us don’t have the time or inclination for crime—we’ve got better things to occupy ourselves with!
I grabbed the bottom of the window frame and dragged it upwards with a grunt, throwing the latch and wiggling the metal bar loose. Once I’d lowered the sash fully I listened at the gap before forcing myself headfirst through the narrow aperture into the back garden.
A very quick dash along a path led down the side of her house where a thick hedge provided adequate concealment from sight, at least while maintaining a reasonably clear line of sight.
There weren’t many houses close enough for the neighbors to catch my eye either. After crossing the quiet residential road I walked along the row of hedgerows before emerging onto another street and continuing eastwards towards the river bank. In more affluent areas; wealthy and respectable families occupy handsome yet modest homes.
One or two empty spaces here too but few owners of substantial property choose to leave their properties vacant. From the edge of town, my gaze roamed up and down the horizon, watching for reflections moving against the lights of distant ships or flickering lanterns, searching for any hint of a large man carrying a heavy duffle bag over his shoulder.
No one stood out, in fact, the streets were almost entirely deserted save for me and three local youths walking to an all-night rave somewhere in the city center. It wasn’t long before I found what I was looking for, arriving just behind one of those traditional old red brick terraces by the river, its residents having left well before dawn after enjoying a pleasant late summer evening.
I made sure to blend into the background even more than usual once I’d climbed over the low fence at the end of the short lane leading to it, blending in with the rest of the group—but most people dressed like them would be hard pressed not to stand out during daylight hours.
As far as I know, nobody noticed anything unusual about that tall gangly-looking guy hanging back whilst everyone else marched on home together. Well, apart from him being exceptionally attractive he might come under some suspicion, but then you really couldn’t go wrong dating someone beautiful could you? If ever there was something to look past regarding any dodgy behavior. ..
It took a good ten minutes of intense exercise before reaching a small area beside a concrete stairwell heading downwards, with the river beyond. The man didn’t notice me sneaking up from behind until I had a firm grip around his right arm and dug my fingers deep into the meat beneath his thin, expensive shirt.
Before letting him fall he received a swift punch to the stomach and he doubled over clutching his midriff—probably a couple of inches shorter than me so maybe 6’1 or thereabouts at a guess.
From the back, it’s always easier getting a surprise attack in, especially since you can usually lean into it without making your target feel the full impact of every blow. It works best when done silently: simple, effective, and silent—and if necessary absolutely deadly.
Even more importantly, it keeps witnesses away which means no questions asked. His face showed little emotion upon hearing the sound of my feet brushing along the ground as we both raced down the flight of stairs.
At last, coming out into an enclosed concrete yard next to an abandoned building entrance I caught sight of something dangling from the corner of my eye, pointing to the left of our position. Then another.
My victim moved to the right before leaning over the railings leading onto a wooden plank that protruded two yards or so above the water below, searching amongst the litter scattered along the floorboards and roof gutters at the rear of the old industrial site.
Strictly speaking, this was trespassing on private land but given the derelict state of the place, there shouldn’t be much call for official intervention unless one of us fell to his death and his body was discovered within the space of forty-eight hours.
What surprised me, however, was how fast he went in search of a handhold to steady himself as he clambered down onto the lower ledge, entering a dimly lit section of the warehouse complex near the base of the tower.
Did he expect me to let go after delivering such a vigorous blow to his chest? Not only did he appear intent on retrieving whatever he’d lost (I hadn’t been able to see clearly what he held), he seemed determined not to make further contact whatsoever, keeping a fair distance between us as we cautiously approached each other—only now slowly starting to realize how important it is never to underestimate a fight—in my experience!
He moved aside and gestured at me to drop the sack first. What bag was I talking about? Then I understood: those dented cans hidden under my jacket had nothing to do with either whisky or beer. He must have slipped on them when I jumped towards him; hence why they made quite such an impact—what else could explain their irregular shape?
Two of the three had burst open. I decided to pretend ignorance of its contents before moving closer, trying to decipher anything in his eyes that might indicate he recognized who I was or even that I was someone worth talking to. But then I found myself unexpectedly retreating again, taken completely by surprise when a sharp slap across the cheek told me where to stand and what to do.
I knew how to deal with being struck this way: don’t react immediately, wait till the blood flow in your head has reached maximum capacity before retaliating. As he readied another blow my hand drifted upwards while closing my lips like a turtle.
This time it felt like a hammer smashing through a brick wall. And so began round two of my brief encounter against this human meteorite. With all his weight concentrated on his outstretched palm, the strike had most certainly landed somewhere on or just below my right eye—something painful enough to send a powerful electric shock straight to my brain, making my ears ring for several seconds afterward.
Looking down he saw instantly my shirt pocket had deflected the force of the strike and that my opponent remained standing upright unharmed, albeit wincing at the pain. Without warning he hurled the remainder again I found myself standing on the same step, having witnessed him briefly looking over his shoulder before moving to the far side of the narrow landing and climbing onto a rusty metal ladder that led higher inside the tower.
If this guy hit hard, I wondered, what would he be capable of once the adrenaline rush kicked in fully? Would he enjoy testing out a few new moves knowing he could take advantage of his superior height? Achieving some measure of self-discipline I quickly climbed onto the very top rung and stood among the endless web of metallic cables above the water level.
There were still a number of loose, twisted wires lying around on the ledge that crossed beneath the spot I’d occupied a second earlier; others formed part of an array of rectangular panels designed to conceal something under the cover of darkness but leaving gaps that allowed you to peer into dark caverns from different angles.
But there was no doubt about one thing: he wasn’t following me anymore. Only minutes ago it wouldn’t have surprised me to find him close behind, ready to jump off again. Now, however, I realized he probably believed he’d delivered more than sufficient damage already and couldn’t understand what, if any, further use he might now get out of continuing the fight.