Despite the bus stop comprising only a pole, topped by a faded rusting sign, there was still the prevailing smell of urine. David had moved back from the sign several seconds after his arrival, attempting to step out of the miasma of bodily waste. Unfortunately, he could not move much, for fear of stepping too far into the shadows of the fading evening light and not being seen by any bus driver that came along. Weighing up his options; being stuck with the rancid smell for a few minutes, or having a bus drive past without him, leaving him stranded for longer, he opted to endure the smell as much as he could.
David looked up and down the street. Hoping to see the illuminated front of a bus coming his way. Nothing in site. He hated having to take public transport, especially at night. He had avoided it as much as he could, but his old Peugeot 308 had decided to give up the ghost this morning. Leaving him with little choice, if he wanted to get to work.
He had driven up and down this road hundreds of times, giving the surroundings little attention. It was just another road along his daily commute. Speeding past the houses that lined the street, only caring about the destination. Often distracted by his own frequent lateness and wanting to avoid another dressing down from his boss.
He had given the street a cursory glance on his arrival at the bus stop, quickly descending into his phone. Scrolling through the wave of nonsense on whatever social media platform his finger found first. In amongst the deluge of celebrity soundbites, adverts, and inane thoughts fired into the virtual ether, was a series of posts mentioning a spate of disappearances. Over the last two months they had reached double digits and been reported across the country. As usual the more conspiracy minded had jumped on it. Government disappearances, Satanic cults, Aliens, all seemed to be fair game. From what David could see, there was little to connect the missing people, next to nothing was known. These people had just disappeared, all while walking residential streets.
Reading the comments about the disappearances, a chill ran up his back. Looking up from the screen to break the creeping fear, his attention was piqued by movement on the other side of the road. Two young teen boys, all baggy jeans, hooddies, and attitude. Their stride was cocky, but they paid him no attention. David decided to do the same. Before he could return to his phone, he noted the two boys had stopped opposite him. His stomach sank and his hands began to tingle as his fight or flight response kicked in. He kept his eyes down.
When no confrontation came David looked up to see what they were doing. They were still there but looking at the houses on the far side of the road. More specifically a particular house. Even more specifically, a boxed parcel sat at the base of the front door of a particular house. Bloody chavs, steal anything no nailed down I’m sure, Thought David. He took in the house with the parcel. It stood out in the line of terrace houses lining the street. Oddly different in style to those either side, and less well maintained. The window frames and front door had peeling paint and were coated with grime. The dimly lit dusty windows had a yellow hue. They looked out like the eyes of those suffering a slow death. The net curtains were tatty and missing from at least one window. The front garden was also poorly maintained, littered with the skeletal remains of plants, that must have thrived at one time.
The signs of neglect tickled memories in the back of David’s mind. Memories of his grandparent’s home towards the end of their lives. The old but vital figures he had known as a small child became frail, unable to keep their home as they wished it to be. The thought of them and the vulnerability they must have felt made David feel a little sick. Work had been busy and he wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with uncomfortable thoughts about things he should have done better for his aging grandparents.
While these memories niggled at David, the baggy jeaned youths had made their way along the short path to the front door. With little care or concern, they were clearly planning on stealing the parcel. Before he could stop it, and with the memories fading, David’s mouth jumped into the situation.
“Oi! You better not steal that parcel.” He shouted, his heart suddenly pounding.
The two youths looked up and at him. “What’re you going to do about bit you prick?” replied the closer of the two.
“Look, I’ve already dialled for the police and taken your picture. Best just leave it and walk on.” His palms were sweating, holding his phone was becoming more difficult. He hoped they couldn’t see his phone screen from there. It would show his bluff.
“What’s stopping me from taking this box, then coming over there and taking your phone?” The same lad shouted, stepping along the path towards David.
“I’ve already sent your picture to several of my friends. You’ll be easy to identify.” He bluffed further. This clearly registered with the shoutier of the two. He paused to consider the situation and possible consequences. Not from law enforcement, but maybe something more physical at home.
“Whatever, you loser. The box looks like shit anyway.” The other teen was stood at his shoulder and seemed to care even less about David and the situation. “If you’re still here when I come back this way, you won’t be so lucky.” A proclamation that was mostly bravado. A way of saving face. With that said, they started their striding up the street again, turning at the first corner.
David thought he was going to vomit. He leant forward, hands on his knees, taking several dep breaths. He was often told the lack of engagement between his brain and mouth would get him in trouble. He wasn’t particularly publicly conscientious. He wouldn’t have usually cared much one way or another if those kids had taken the parcel. It was the thought of them stealing from someone vulnerable, like his grandparents, that aggravated a part of him and triggered his outburst.
Stood alone, his disgust at the smell of urine cleared his thoughts. He looked back along the street. No people. No bus. He looked across the road. The parcel still sat on the doorstep. Having inserted himself into the situation he now felt a sense of responsibility. If the young teen knobheads were going to come back and could just take it, what was the point of stopping them.
He looked at his watch and considered the time, balancing it with his sense of responsibility. It wasn’t too late in the evening. It was possible the homes occupants were still awake. He swayed on the spot for close to a minute. I could just put it out of sight, or knock and let them take it in, He mused. But should I check on them as well? Would that be weird? Could I leave without checking on them?
Finally, he made a decision.
He stepped off the pavement and crossed the road. Quickly he was stood at the front door, the parcel at his feet. Away from the few streetlights he felt isolated and more conscious of the lack of light. Pulling his phone from his pocket he turned on the torch, flashing the light around the small front garden. Garden was too grand a word. Yard suited better. It was unevenly slabbed with irregular stones and littered with the detritus of the many dead and dying potted pants. Flashing the touch along the line of houses either side he noted how this yard stood out. The others were at least maintained, some with a patch of grass, most with a neat, paved area. The neighbours must hate this, David thought.
Moving the light to the parcel, he reached to pick it up with his free hand. As he knelt close, he started looking for a label or a name he could use to address the occupants. As his hand touched the corner, he recoiled. The box felt weird. He had been expecting cardboard, maybe damp cardboard, but still surfaces he would expect when touching a parcel. This felt soft, something covering a structure underneath. Maybe some type of protective rubber, he speculated to himself. Over the initial weirdness he placed his hand on the parcel and started to move it so he could see the other sides. In the stark torch light, it even looked weirder. There were no seams, or folds, and when he found something, that he suspected was a label, the writing was nonsense. It contained letters and symbols, but none of it said anything. The address was a series of lines as usual, but they weren’t words, just random letters forming blocks of different lengths, that, from a distance, looked normal.
As he moved the parcel, the light passed across the front door and David noted that it was open. Only a fraction, but clearly open.
“Damn it.” David uttered. The weirdness of the parcel had made him consider just leaving. Now seeing the door open he felt a new responsibility. If the occupants were, as he suspected, elderly, he couldn’t leave with the door open. Should I just pull it shut?... What if they’re in trouble and the door being open is because something has already happened?... What kind of a shit would I be if he left now. He reasoned.
“Dam it” he uttered again. Standing up he reached and pushed the door open a fraction more. “Hello? I’m sorry to intrude but you left a parcel here, and your door was open. Is everything okay?” No, response.
His hand gripped the edge of the door, and he could see into a dark hallway, but could make out little detail. Leaning forward over the threshold he was stuck by the warmth of the hallway and the musty atmosphere that was wafting out and over him. He reached back and picked up the parcel.
“I’m just going to place this here, out the way.” He dropped the parcel just beyond the arc of the door, not wanting to enter any further. The warm air felt moist against his skin, making him feel a little sick and made his skin crawl. He was increasingly sure he was about to find the mummified corpse of some poor old biddy, entombed in this house. Her knitting sat in her lap and covered by her decaying hands.
David was shaken from his tension by the sound of a rumbling engine in the near distance. He looked back onto the road just in time to see a fully illuminated single decker bus drive past, populated with plenty of welcoming empty seats. “Bollocks.” Was all he could muster. Well, I’m stuck here for a bit longer, might as well get this over with. He reasoned.
Standing to his full height he sighed the sigh of resignation. He stepped over the threshold and shone his torch into the hallway. “Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I want to make sure you’re okay. Do you need me to call any one for you? An ambulance? Family?”
With the light he could see the interior of the house was much like the exterior. It had been neat and tidy, even grand, despite its small size, but time and lack of maintenance had taken its toll. He moved forward with caution not wanting to disturb anything but not wanting to creep either. After several steps David noticed a change in the light, the atmosphere of the house was more oppressive. He spun around to see the front door was closed. He had heard nothing. No creaking of hinges or clicking of locks. It had simply slid into place, filling the gap and letting no external light in at all.
“Good evening.” Croaked a weak voice. David couldn’t tell where it had come from, but he was relieved to hear it.
“Hi, I’m sorry if I woke you. I brought in a parcel when I spotted your door was open. Are you okay?” David, assuming the voice was coming from someone he had woken, moved towards the bottom of the stairs and was looking up into the pitch darkness at the top. An impenetrable darkness that was hiding something from view.
“I’m fine thank you. You can come in if want.” David startled when the voice came again. It was clearer this time but breathy, as if effort was being put into speaking. David could now tell it was coming from behind a door further along the hallway. More than that, he was confused to see a sliver of warm yellow light seeping under a door. He was sure that had not been there before.
His phone torch still lighting the way, he walked towards the door but not taking his eyes off the shadows that filled the staircase. He was sure it was a trick of the light caused by the phone torch, but it looked to David as if the shadows were creeping down the wall that lined the stairs. Not perceptible movements but a creeping encroachment into spaces that should still be lit from his torch. He feared that darkness. Not with logical adult justification, but the fear of a child. The fear that had made him run from the bathroom to his bedroom, when he was eight. He clutched his phone; cold sweat pricked his back. The fight or flight sensation had returned.
His shoulder bumped the door to the room the voice had come from. He nudged it open with his arm, not taking his eyes from the stairs and moved into the soft light. As he passed through the doorway, he turned to take in the new space. It was a room out of time. The walls were panelled in dark wood on the bottom half and papered with an art deco design at the top. Pictures were hung in scatterings on several of the walls. David could not make out what the pictures were off. They were dark and the images were indistinct.
The soft light was coming from an open fire in the far wall. It was surrounded by a grand fireplace of rich carved wood. The flames were low and the room felt even warmer than the hallway. The room was populated by ornate antique furniture. A writing desk in one corner, a large sideboard in another. Just outside the strength of the fire light, either side of the fireplace, were two leather wingback chairs. David froze when he noticed an elderly gentleman sat in one of them. Next to the man’s chair was a small side table, on which rested a Tiffany lamp. The light from the lamp caused anything above it to be in shadow. So, all David could really make out of the gentleman, with any clarity, were his legs and midsection. He wore green silk pyjamas that disappeared into a navy silk smoking jacket, and leather slippers. In the faint light David could just make out the old man’s features. They are angular and aged, made more severe by the tightness of the skin over the skeletal face. He was looking into the fire and made no gesture to acknowledge David’s entrance. Beyond the man’s head and shoulders David could see there was something else taking up space at the top of the chair. David assumed it was a pillow or some cushioned frame, holding up the man’s head.
“Please, take a seat.” The voice came from the direction of the shadowy figure, but David was not certain he had seen the man move in any way. Not sure what was going on, or if there was a way of extracting himself from the house, but glad to be away from the darkness of the staircase, he moved towards the other chair and cautiously sat down. Sitting back, the chair embraced him. Warmth filled his body. As the chair took his weight, he realised how tired he was. He could easily drift into sleep. The warm glow of the fire and the comfort of the chair, he started to forget any fears he had. A jolt of panic quickly reminded him where he was. Rubbing his face, he fought off the sense of fatigue.
“Um, I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. Some kids were going to steal your parcel and then I noticed your door was open. I just wanted to make sure everything we okay before I went home.” David explained. As he talked the tiredness crept in again and it started to feel difficult to form words. Even he noticed the last few words were a little slurred. He rubbed his face again.
“We greatly appreciate your concern and coming in to ensure we are well.” David heard the words. They were spoken, but he was sure they did not come from the man sitting opposite him. At least not his mouth. Nothing of the man had moved as the words had been spoken. David looked to see if there was some form of speech machine set up but could see no wires or machinery. As he fought the tiredness his chair started to get a little uncomfortable. A crawling feeling was tickling his lower back and a spring or something was digging into the back of his thigh.
“Well, now I know you are fine, I’ll get home.” Davd said.
“Not just yet. Sit a little longer. How can I thank you for your kindness?” the voice interjected before David could move.
“No, nothing. I’m just glad everything is fine.” David leaned forward to stand from the chair. As he did so, a searing pain filled his lower back and legs. He fell back into the chair and screamed with shock more than pain. Back in the chair, the pain was gone and the warm calmness returned. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead, and his chest heaved to take in oxygen. He looked around the room and back to the man in the other chair.
“What have you done to me?” David blurted out. “You need to let me go. I’ve let people know where I am. They’ll come looking for me.” His voice was increasingly filled with panic. He knew he was falling back on another bluff.
“If they come, they will be welcomed in as well. Though, we may have moved on by then.” The breathy voice was calm and measured, and still not coming from the unmoving figure in the chair. However, there was movement around the man’s head. The shape that had filled the space at the top of the chair unfurled and moved done the man’s chest in a smooth liquid motion. When the shape came to rest on the man’s lap David could see it was a black, long hair cat. Or at least it was the approximation of a black, long hair cat. It had the parts of a cat David expected: the swishing tail, the four pawed legs, even the way it walked was the slinking movements of a cat, but its face was wrong.
As it sat there watching him, David wanted to look away but could not. His mind scrambled to make sense of this cat creature that was now examining him from the other chair. The creature gave David a small smile and it clicked, the face was human, in cat make-up. The nose was cat-ish rather than human. It was small and pink on a small snout, surrounded by whiskers and seemed to twitch every few seconds. However, the eyes and mouth were more human than cat. It was like being watched by some ill-conceived CGI creation. David was transfixed.
“What the hell are you?” slurred David.
“That does not matter now.” Replied the cat creature, “and it will matter even less to you, very soon.”
Fearing the pain, but wanting to leave even more, David attempted to push himself away from the chair again. He could not. More than that, he released he could not move his arms or legs at all. He looked down at his body and noticed that the legs of his trousers were looking baggier. No, emptier. He looked at his arms and noticed the same. The warmth was still there and was supressing any pain.
As he desperately tried to pull his body away from the chair the cat creature leapt from the old man to David’s lap. He could feel a faint pressure on his legs, but not what he would expect from an animal of this size. the disturbing face moved closer to David’s neck. It started to gently sniff and he was sure he could hear it purring.
“You are an interesting and delightful mix of flavours.” Complimented the cat as it moved back to look David in the face. He screamed. It was a primal release of pure panic and fear. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he desperately willed whatever was left of his body to move. To get away. To fight. To do anything.
“It does not hurt.” The cat creature explained, looking almost confused by David’s scream and continued attempts to struggle. The cat softly nuzzled his chest. David had no way of responding. His tongue was numb and his thoughts were becoming increasingly difficult to form with clarity. He scanned the room looking for anyone or anything that could possibly help. The last thing his brain registered before it started to breakdown was the cat creature leaving his lap and the room, and the fire getting smaller. When the blackness of death came, for the brief second David recognised it for what it was, he blessed it and accepted it as relief.
Tyler and Grant strode back along the street. Tyler, the mouthier of the two was hoping that the dickhead was still at the bus stop but knew he probably wouldn’t be. As it came in view, they both saw the bus stop was empty. Feeling a little disappointed Tyler decided to look for the parcel they had left. They quickly found the house and were disappointed further to find the doorstep empty. Grunting his annoyance and not wanting to waste any more time, Tyler started to move on. Grant was close behind but stopped when he heard what could have been a sigh and he noticed the front door was open. Only a fraction, but enough to be noticed. He reached out to touch it, and as he did so the door opened a couple of inches more. A warm breeze caressed Grant’s face, and he saw there were no lights on in the house.
“Oi, Tyler” he called in a hushed shout. “They’ve left their door open.”
Tyle reappeared at the top of the short footpath. Seeing the open door the young yobo smiled. “Idiots. Let’s see what we can get.” Pushing past Grant, Tyler quietly stepped into the hallway, Grant following close behind. As the boys were enveloped by the darkness, a small paw reached up and started to push the door closed behind them.
