They say that your life flashes before your eyes at the end. Jane Goodritch had no time to contemplate this as she watched a rapid movie of her days so far. Her happy parents playing with her at the beach, her grandmother’s funeral, her history award in secondary school, the death of her first boyfriend by a hit and run driver (an event which had kept her single since), winning the post of museum curator: all raced before her. And then the underside of the creature came back into view to terrify her one last time. So it ended like this.
The gunshot made her jump. And the second one. She heard a clicking sound followed by two more shots. Then she heard scuttling and opened her eyes to an empty corridor with no conglomerated creature in sight. Her body was overcome with relief and she started to cry loudly, the tension of the previous moments catching up with her.
“I wouldn’t sit there, ma’am. If you’ll walk towards my voice, I’ll be able to fend off that thing if it comes back.”
The voice was from the north of England, but the wording was precise and almost masked the accent. Maybe Cumbria, she thought, before shaking her mind and body into action. Jane walked backwards to the voice, keeping her eyes peeled for the spider creature.
“There’s an office behind us. The door is strong and has kept that creature from me since I got here. We’ll go inside and you can tell me what you’ve been shopping for.”
Jane could feel her breathing slow down with the calmness of the voice, and apart from the sick taste in her throat she felt strong again. Turning around, she saw a man standing in an office doorway with a shotgun in his hand. Jane started to ask a question.
“Not at the moment, ma’am,” interrupted the man, “let’s get inside the office first, shall we? There are no guarantees with creatures like that taking their fill of the place.”
Jane obliged and walked past the man into the office. Dressed in black leggings and a black top, he cut quite a figure, but there was something in his demeanour that reminded her of someone. She couldn’t quite place the similarity but she did feel safer with him around.
Once they were both inside with the door locked behind them, the man pulled over a chair and offered it to Jane. She saw that he had several severe cuts and his top was soaked with blood.
“You look in a bad way,” Jane said, waiting for an explanation.
“Yes, I do, don’t I. Sorry about that. Allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Wilson. And whom did I have the pleasure of rescuing?”
“Jane Goodritch, Mr Wilson. That’s right isn’t it? Wilson’s your surname.”
“Yes. My surname. What made you think that?”
“You have a way of speaking. I have a friend who speaks like you. Well, maybe had…” Jane broke into tears and Wilson stepped forward and bent down for her to cry on his shoulder. As she sobbed, she realized that Mr Wilson smelt dreadful. Maybe it was the congealed blood, but she thought there was the smell of mud and dirt there too.
Jane’s curiosity forced her to muffle her cries. Sniffing hard, she found herself able to ask a question. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Nothing much, really. First, let’s see what happened to you. I saw you enter the shop on the cameras over here. Rather a bizarre little shopping trip. The recent turn of events has deterred most from the summer sales.”
His manner was polite but searching. She felt that he was saying: I will have my answers but we can be civilized about it if you wish, or otherwise if there’s trouble. And getting the chair, very chivalrous. Of course. Arthur.
“Do you know Arthur?”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Any particular brand of Arthur or just the common garden variety?” His grin was soft, easing her nerves, like Arthur. The man was also dapper like Arthur, but younger, maybe late twenties at most. His hard edge was concealed so well that Jane had nearly forgotten how he had handled a shotgun. Surely he knew Arthur.
“Arthur Havers. A friend of mine. Very practical man.”
Wilson barely flinched. But he was staring at her now like he had her under a microscope trying to determine some truth about her.
“How do you know Major Havers?” The tone was serious and even. After the previous friendly voice, this indicated a more professional urge.
“I was helping him. We were on our way to my museum when we were attacked by some kind of beetle monster and Arthur, sorry, Major Havers, was bitten by snakes. He was paralysed, his arms, so I took him and Mr Austerley to my museum. While we were there he hid us, and then we think he was taken by these ghosts. Now I’m collecting some items for Mr Austerley so that we can find out what’s happened to Arthur.”
“Mr Austerley’s here?” Wilson was suddenly right in front of Jane’s face. “Where?”
“At the museum. He’s a cripple and…”
“Yes, I know about the foot, Farthington took it from him. Is he alone in the museum?”
“Yes, I left him there to come and get the stuff he asked for.”
“But they’ll get him! You know what Mr Austerley is, don’t you?”
“No. Apart from a grumpy old man with a missing foot and a penchant for the occult.”
“It’s not a hobby, Miss Goodritch, he’s probably the foremost… did you say old?”
“Yes, he must be in his eighties.”
“Damn, they got to him. He won’t last. They were all dying at the care home.”
“The care home. Mr Kirkgordon went there. With the priest’s daughter.”
“Nefol with Mr Kirkgordon? I need to know everything, Miss Goodritch, and I need to know fast, because we have to get to Mr Austerley right away and protect him.”
“He’s safe, Mr Wilson.” Jane explained all that she knew to Wilson, including the secret hiding dimension Havers had set up for Austerley and herself. Kneeling in front of her, Wilson listened attentively, his face utter concentration. Jane was sure there was an engine running on full behind it. When she had finished speaking, he drew away for a short moment before turning back.
“Mr Austerley seems to believe that these ingredients are required, so I think we should pick up the remaining items and get back to him. I don’t like the idea of you all running around in the open, so when we get to the museum it may be best to put you in a sanctuary with Mr Austerley and I will fetch the priest and Mr Kirkgordon. Are you up to walking?”
“Yes, thank you. I feel better now.”
“And I’ll take your machete. Not that it will do much good against the ghosts.”
“Oh, it works on them. The priest has a vault of weapons, apparently. Arthur brought this with him. This one and another. He still has that, I hope.”
“Good,” said Wilson, scanning the cameras. “That spider thing is in the top far corner of the warehouse, so stay quiet and then hopefully we can sneak out with the goods.”
Jane watched Wilson check the shotgun, making sure it was loaded.
“Do you have many more shots?”
“Just what’s loaded, ma’am. Still, stiff upper lip.”
Jane’s renewed vigour took a hit. Then a thought crossed her mind. “Mr Wilson. How did you get here? I have told you everything I know and have got nothing from you. How do I know you aren’t on their side? How do I know I’m not about to lead you straight to Mr Austerley as a hostage?”
“Very good, Miss Goodritch. Major Havers doesn’t choose his allies lightly. You have also handed me your only weapon. Not smart at all, but at least you got there in the end. All you have is my knowledge of your companions, my saving you from that spider and a little bit of trust. It’s very hard in our game, trust. Yet it is what keeps you alive, well, until you trust the wrong person. I work for Major Havers. I was his original man here in Dillingham, sent after the priest contacted him about some strange occurrences. But trust is all I can offer, Miss Goodritch. Let’s hope it’s enough.” Wilson walked to the door and opened it. “Shall we?”
Jane stood up and followed Wilson out into the warehouse. They could see the giant creature in the far corner of the room. It moved up onto its bird legs.
“He’s seen us,” said Wilson in a hushed tone. “Just walk calmly and quickly towards the trolley. I want you to push it. I’ll need to be free to defend us.”
Jane nodded and followed Wilson towards the trolley. The spider began to strut towards the trolley from the other side of the warehouse. On reaching proximity, the spider dropped back to its spider legs and scuttled to within ten metres. Jane had just reached the trolley when the creature started stalking forward, approaching slowly.
“The door behind me, Miss Goodritch. There’s a ramp beyond. Don’t wait for me.”
Jane turned the trolley and walked briskly for the door. She heard two shots and then Wilson cried out and something solid clattered into the racks. Breaking into a run, she was forced to halt abruptly as the spider dropped down from the racks above and blocked her path to the door. Terror struck her, and her protector was nowhere to be seen. The spider crept forward and its fangs moved ever so slightly. Jane retreated, but the spider kept closing in. She was transfixed by its evil-looking mouth and eyes, and as it rose up to reveal once more its puncturing, paralysis-inducing limb, she nearly fainted. Surely, this time she was finished.
A splash of liquid fell onto the spider from above. Several drums, high up on the racking, were on their side with their contents pouring out onto the beast. A human figure, difficult to perceive in the darkness of the roof, was igniting a small firework with some matches. The fuse fizzed and the firework fell. Before the spider could react, the liquid caught fire and the creature began to thrash in pain.
Jane turned on her heel and ran with the trolley towards the nearest door. She turned the handle and opened the door, pushing the trolley through into better light. There was a ramp down to the lorry park behind the building. She made for one of the large refuse containers and hid both herself and her goods behind it. With her heart pounding and at her wits end, she shuddered violently, the shock hitting her body with a vengeance. She felt a tap on the shoulder and tried to scream, but a hand clapped over her mouth before the sound could leave. Her head turned to see this new threat. She found herself looking at a smiling Wilson.
“Hold this,” he said, handing over the machete. “I think I’ve broken a finger.”
Jane took hold of the weapon and watched as Wilson took some tape from his pocket and taped his middle and ring fingers together.
“Are you okay?” asked Jane.
“Yes, but we need to move. I couldn’t stop the fire spreading. I imagine there will soon be investigations from parties we won’t appreciate. Time to go, Miss Goodritch. Time to go.”