Chapter 54

EVIL PLACES

Hallam sat on the mattress in the Spencer’s squat. He looked around. The place was worse than his flat. At least he had furniture. And dishes and cutlery. Spencer seemed to eat mostly out of pizza boxes. They were scattered around, bits of food going green in some of them. One thing Spencer had that Hallam coveted was the TV. It was huge. Hallam’s was an old-fashioned one with a tube. It was a big, lumpy thing. Not lean and cool like these flat screens everyone had these days.

His eyes went round the flat, and they rested again on the one thing Hallam was glad he’d never had in his flat.

A policeman crucified on the wall. That was definitely something to avoid.

Hallam stared at the officer. He wondered if he were dead. But then the man spluttered, and blood dribbled from his mouth. He groaned and trembled.

Seeing him nailed to the wall reminded Hallam of Paul Sharpley hanging on the door of the garage as it swung open.

The difference was that Paul Sharpley was dead.

Lucky him, thought Hallam. I’d rather be dead than alive if someone nailed my hands and feet to a wall.

Looking at the dying policeman made Hallam excited. He should’ve been scared. He should’ve run away the moment the door opened and the fog surrounded him and the voice called him inside. He should’ve known that the evil in Spencer’s flat would possess him.

But it was what Hallam wanted.

He wanted to serve. He wanted to belong. He wanted to see things like the crucified cop. He wanted to be part of the culture that fashioned such horrors.

He’d been nothing all his life. An outsider. A joke. Someone to laugh at. But he knew deep in his sick, dark soul that he surely belonged somewhere. Others must have felt what he felt. He wasn’t alone in the grim and cruel world. And when the fog slithered all over him, crawling inside his clothes and chilling his flesh, he knew that finally he was close to home.

Spencer, his face white with fear, his whole body shaking, had said, “If it was anything to do with me, there’s no way you’d be here, Hallam. You’re a pervert, and everybody knows it. But it ain’t got nothing to do with me, so you’re here, and that’s that.”

“W-where is he?” said Hallam, knowing there was another presence here—something cold and sickly and dangerous, something like decay.

Spencer had shaken his head. “He comes and he goes. I got no clue. All I know is I’m shitting myself most of the time, and that’s the truth. I don’t know nothing else ‘cept I’m scared.”

Hallam had asked what happened in the lockup. “Was it him?”

Spencer had explained. He’d told Hallam about the places Jack had taken him. “I thought I knew every inch of Barrowmore, but there’s places I’m glad I didn’t know. Places I can never go again, man. Actually, I don’t think no human can go there. Not unless they’re cursed or something.”

“What kind of places?”

“Places full of bones. You can hear people—or maybe they’re not people—but you can hear screaming. Far off. Way away. Places that smell like death. Makes you sick and weak. Makes you feel like you’re dirty all over and you’ll never wash it off. These places are near here, Hallam. Like, round corners I recognize. Down passageways I’ve pissed in. Behind walls where I’ve smoked dope. They’re there. They’re here. All around us. Dark, dark places. Evil places. Fucking lost places.”

Hallam had said, “You know the police are looking for you?”

Spencer nodded.

Hallam said, “And they’ll be smashing down your door very soon.”

Spencer nodded again.

“What will you do?” Hallam had asked.

“I don’t decide anymore—Jack does. I got to go lie down, Hallam. You wait here. He wants you.”

“He wants me?”

“He wants you.”

And Spencer had gone through a door, shutting it, leaving Hallam in the living room with his heart leaping.

He wants you.

I’m wanted, thought Hallam. I’m wanted.

Now, sitting on the mattress, waiting, he wondered why this Jack wanted him.

Suddenly the room darkened. It grew colder. The sheet draped over the window flapped.

Hallam’s mouth and throat dried out, as if all the moisture had been sucked from his body.

A dark shape swept across the room—a shadow or a cloud.

Hallam curled up into a ball. His bones clattered. His nerves frayed. His excitement grew.

As if out of thin air, the figure stepped forward and stood in front of him.

The man’s cape flapped. Hallam was sure he could see anguished faces in the material, but it was probably his eyes playing tricks. He looked into the man’s face. The skin was deathly pale. The eyes were coal-black. A tuft of hair sprouted from his chin. It looked like a goat’s beard. The man smiled, and his thin, red lips parted.

He spoke, and his voice was like something very cold being injected directly into Hallam’s veins.

“You want to be of service, don’t you?”

Hallam trembled.

“I can tell. There’s something in you, Hallam. Something foul. Something putrid.”

For a second, Hallam thought he was being insulted.

But then the strange man said, “I mean that as a compliment. There are many bad men. Most men are bad in some way. Some are malicious. Wicked. Cruel. But not many have that beautiful, pure evil in them that I sense in you. It’s very sad that you’ve not had the chance to properly share it with the world.”

Hallam tried to speak. Tried to say “thank you” to his savior. But no words came. Only a bubble of spit filling his mouth.

“But don’t fret, Hallam. I’m here, now. Jack’s here. And Jack will help you fulfill your potential. Stick with me, Hallam, and all your dreams will come true.”

Hallam swooned.

“I’ll do anything,” he said.

“Yes, you will,” said Jack.

“Anything at all.”

“That’s right.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

Hallam gawped.

“I want you to kill a child.”