Mixing With The Unknown

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

John Spencer shook his head and smiled “Not bad but a bit clichéd at the end though.”

John was referring to an idea that was running through his head about his first horror novel ‘Mixing with the Unknown’, an Urban horror about three schoolboys. Although he was mulling over his first novel he was an old hand at writing horror film scripts stretching right back to the last days of Hammer films that put out British horror classics like Dracula and he’d been highly successful at it.

John was currently heading towards one testament to his success, a big house in the affluent neighbourhood known as Orchard Lane.

The journey was taking longer than usual because of the torrential rain. His windscreen wipers had been working overtime but were now starting to make a sound like the screech of a Banshee. At least he thought it was coming from the windscreen wipers. The sound was driving him crazy so he had turned the cars music ststem up full blast to drown out the noise. He managed a small grin as ‘The Ace of Spades’ by Motorhead blasted out from the car speakers. He shook his head, ‘No sound can compete with Lemmy and the crew’. But how wrong he was because suddenly all the lights of his dashboard kept flashing on and off and another new sound drowned out the previous two as the car spluttered to a halt and all the electrics went off leaving him isolated in a dark road and in total silence. “What the f**k?” was his immediate response.

Another car narrowly missed his and violently sounded their horn, so he quickly jumped out of the car. Worried that other cars wouldn’t see him and rear end his car into oblivion he opened the boot and took out a torch and a fluorescent triangle. Then with great effort pushed the car to the side of the road and placed the triangle behind it.

Next up he opened the hood of the car and shone the torch around the engine. He then started hearing a disturbing murmuring sound emanating from the engine but couldn’t tell quite where it was coming from. He didn’t know why he was looking around, as he knew nothing about cars. Not seeing anything obvious he got his now saturated body back into the car and began rummaging through his pockets.  He got more anxious as he did so “s**t, where is it?”

The ‘IT’ he was referring to was his mobile phone. He was not a lover of mobiles but saw they had some good uses, one being in the situation he now found himself in where he needed to call roadside assistance.

He looked in his briefcase, not there; he looked in the glove compartment, not there. He got back out into the rain and gave every pocket of his suit another thorough search, not there. As the raindrops constantly did ski jumps off his nose he cast his mind back over the day’s events.

He remembered using his mobile at lunch to call some pretty journalist that had been chasing him up for an interview. After that, the afternoon was mostly spent with his agent and publisher ironing out his book deal. He couldn’t remember using it there or receiving any calls. Suddenly it hit him like a slap in the face. He had used the mobile in the publisher’s toilet to research the internet about other author’s royalty rates to make sure he wasn’t being ripped off.

He replayed the scene in his mind and saw himself put the mobile on a table by the sink as he washed his hands rather than put it straight into his pocket. He distinctly remembered looking into the mirror at himself and discovering his first grey hairs and feeling alarmed. They really showed up against his slicked back black hair. He had thought he was someone who had escaped grey hair since all his friends had started getting them in their mid-thirties and he was now well into his forties. So far he’d also managed to stave off the inevitable potbelly that many other industry people seemed desperate to hide. He was in good nick for his age and still had an alluring appeal to many women but he was quite happy with his wife and hadn’t played away in a long time.

“Yep, I bet that’s where I left It,” said John to himself. He was prone to drifting off and forgetting things but put that down to the active imagination of being a writer. He was always being told off back in his schooldays for daydreaming but that was oh so long ago and he had proved, if nothing else daydreaming could actually pay off.

Establishing he didn’t have his mobile John grabbed his torch and tried to look along the road for any sort of phone box through the torrential rain. As he walked past a large clump of trees at the side of the road he spied a pack of over-sized Foxes taking shelter but more unerringly they were also staring directly at him. He stared back and stamped his foot to disperse them but they stood firm and one even made a defiant noise in his direction. A small cold shiver suddenly ran down John’s spine.

Maybe it was Johns imaginative nature as a writer but he had recently thought about the prospect of writing a story about killer Foxes but had been told it would be too far-fetched. Johns argument was that Foxes had been so ingrained into humans life's that finding them sitting in your garden and walking along a normal street was common and whereas they would once run away at the mere sight of a human in the distance they would now more often than not nonchalantly just give you a casual glance and eventually disappear into a hedgerow when you got very close. Some occasionally would also just stand there and stare back at you as some sort of Mexican standoff. They were getting ever more brazen. However, it was the stories in the press of them coming into peoples homes with little fear and attacking children and babies that had fired his imagination for a potential film or book.

As he returned his torch to the blackness of the road ahead he could see some lights far off in the distance so made a beeline for them in double quick time but slipped on the wet surface sending his torch flying off somewhere.

He gradually got up but just as he did so some headlights blinded him as a car suddenly appeared from nowhere clipping him and sending him spinning back onto the wet and muddy grass knocking him unconscious for a short while.

The feel of licking and the sound of loud sniffing quickly awakened him. He opened his eyes to confront his worst fears. He was surrounded by half a dozen Foxes who were taking a big interest in him. He lashed out at the ones nearest to him and they backed off. He attempted to get up and could just make out a broken branch of a tree nearby. He quickly picked it up and brandished it in the direction of the pack and they dispersed and most were quickly on their way. All except one. The biggest one, who looked more the size of a Wolf than a Fox who just stood there staring at him. For some reason John got it into his head to make the sound of a Wolf towards the aggressive looking all you can eat Fox. It did the trick and his adversary scuttled off into the night.

John started to feel his body for signs of broken bones but it seemed he wasn’t badly injured. He looked around and remembered that in the distance he had seen a small building lit up, so he made his way towards it.

John was not a great lover of pubs but this one was a great sight for his sore waterlogged eyes. It was packed as he made his way to the small bar that was dominated by a large stout fellow by the name of Jack.

Jack introduced himself with a quip “Forgot your umbrella sir. What can I get you?” John tried to return the levity “No I swam here. I think a double brandy is the order of the day. Oh, and if you happen to have the number of a minicab I would be grateful. My car’s just broken down. I’ve left my mobile at my last meeting and I don’t have a breakdown service number as it was on my phone.”

“No problem sir, I’ll phone a cab for you. Where is it you are looking to go? John looked relieved “That’s very kind of you. I need to get to Orchard Lane. It’s not that far, I could walk but you’ve seen the weather out there. It’s bucketing down and I’ve only got this flimsy jacket on and I’m already soaked, so better to be sensible than live with a cold or flu for the next few weeks.”

The barman disappeared to phone the cab and returned a few minutes later with John’s double brandy and placed it on the bar. “That’s £6.66 please sir and your cab will be 10 or 15 minutes.” John handed him £10. “Thanks, keep the change and have a drink yourself” The barman’s face lit up as he took the money and wandered off to pour himself a drink. John leaned on the bar and started to survey the pub for somewhere to sit.

The barman returned and tapped John on the shoulder and raised his glass of bonus alcohol to him. “Your good health sir.” He takes a swig and decides to strike up further conversation with John “Are you new around here. I haven’t seen you in here before?” “I’m afraid I don’t get much time to go to pubs. I spend most of my time in London or at home with my wife and to be honest, I’m a bit of a workaholic,” answers John. “What is it that you do?” John replies, “I’m a writer.” “I thought you must have some sort of flash job since you live in Orchard Lane. That is known locally as millionaires row or Celebrity Street.” says the barman. John looked slightly embarrassed “I wouldn’t say I was a millionaire but I do alright.” The barman carries on with his questions “So what sort of thing do you write?”  “I write horror films but I’m just about to write my first horror novel.” “Any films that I might have heard of?”  Before John could answer a bleached blonde from the other end of the bar called out “Jack I could do with some help down here.” “OK Samantha, the cavalry is on the way,” shouted John’s newfound best friend then turns back to John. “It’s been nice speaking to you sir, perhaps you’ll grace us with a visit some other time with your family; we do a great English roast on Sundays.”

John looked around, then went over and sat down at a doubled backed high-benched seat. Two shady looking characters were sitting on the adjoining seat. The stench of ex-prisoner fodder emanated from both of them.

John slowly sipped his brandy but suddenly his ears were attuned to a conversation the two shady characters were having as he heard the words ‘Orchard Lane’.

Fred looked older than he actually was with a weather-beaten face, he had the odour of the scrubs about him and his garb consisted of big white trainers, nondescript blue jeans, a well-worn brown leather jacket and bog standard T-shirt that barely hid his beer belly. Tom was younger and very much a Dickensian looking character although his clothes were very council estate chic with an obligatory hooded top. He had a wiry frame and a wired personality to go with it.

Orchard Lane was very much on the menu as the two spoke in a mock Jamaican white boy south London dialect.

“Yes that’s what I said ‘Orchard Lane’ confirmed Tom.

Fred didn’t look too convinced “Are you sure it’s a cinch those places will be pretty alarmed up?” “Of course I’m sure. I heard the Missus cancel the newspapers at the newsagent and say that the whole family were leaving this Saturday and visiting relatives for a week. As far as the alarm goes I did a crash course in breaking alarm codes last time I was in prison. I met some whiz kid computer hacker who had been locked up for cyber fraud. He was out of his depth with all the roughhouses in there so I offered to protect him and in return he taught me how to bypass alarms and gave me a gadget that makes it dead easy.” replied Tom.

Fred still needed more reassurance “Are you sure there will be big bucks in the house?” “Of course I’m sure. This guy is a well-known writer.  If he hasn’t got money, who the hell has? Stop worrying. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” replied a reassuringly confident Tom.

However, Fred is still sceptical “It's true you never steered me wrong before but that was purely to do with our small time activities. This sounds like a different league to what we are used to. Where did you get your info and how do I know it's good and on the level?”

“Fred old man I know I used to be a bit of a tearaway in the past and some might have also said I was a bit of a Walter Mitty but my stint inside did me the world of good. It was like a university in there. Apart from the currency of fags and drugs inside I soon learned that the other most valuable commodities in there was information. Someone’s life or more accurately someone’s ass could often depend on a mere scrap of information. I joined a gang in there for my own safety and we had this actor who was in for r**e bent over for some double trouble if you get me and he blurted out he had info about where to make a big score of cash.”

Fred's interest suddenly perked up. “Go on.”

“Well this r****t was working on a film with this writer and got in with him finding out what sort of money he earned and that the writer didn’t trust the banks in today’s turbulent financial climate and with next to no interest being paid these days he preferred to keep his stash at home in the safe. He then attended a party at the writer's house which is where he got done for raping some actress and the writer guy was the main witness that got him sent down, so there is no love lost between them and so it’s partly for revenge as well as self-preservation that he spilt his guts”

Fred looked pleased “That sounds more like it. Bet that guy was glad he met you that day otherwise he’d have had an asshole as big as the Blackwall Tunnel.”

“Nah it wasn’t his lucky day. You know how it is in there they hate rapists and paedophiles so the guy's ass got a pummelling anyway. I didn’t partake as I don’t like browning my knob but the others inmates were like animals. I just held him down and revelled in the violent action.” Fred drew in a sharp intake of breath before letting it out with the comment “Nasty.”

John had been taking in all the chatter from his vantage point on the other side of the high pub bench. ‘I can’t believe it. These two lowlifes are definitely talking about me. I’m the only writer living in Orchard Lane as far as I know and I’m going to see relatives at the weekend and I was the main witness at a r**e trial involving an actor. So, these two ass-wipes are going to burgle me? I think I’m going to have to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”

John finished his drink, walked over to the bar and placed his glass on the counter as another man, a cab driver approached the bar and shouted towards the barman. “Minicab” The barman pointed at John and John made himself known to the driver. John then turned to look at the two apprentice burglars so that he’ll recognize them and leaves with the minicab driver.