Paul’s gut told him to call it a day, to get back in the crappy van and tell his brother there was someone up or the alarms were active or something, anything to get him as far and as quickly away from Sandborn as possible. However, Paul’s greed, salivating at the stash of goodies inside the house, kept his feet firmly in place.
An owl hooted in the distance breaking Medusa’s curse. Paul took a deep breath. It had to have been just a simple trick of moonlight and shadows. The sound was perhaps the far away growl of a neglected car engine carried by the wind.
When nothing appeared from the trees, Paul turned back to the window. He pulled out the blade from his pocketknife and slipped it into the crack between the window frames. With a tiny click, the latch moved. He pushed up on the window, and it slid effortlessly up an inch. Paul allowed himself a slight smile. When would people learn that unless the latch was locked on a sash window it might as well be left open?
It was time to get Tommy. They could be in and out of the house in half-an-hour and, by the looks of things, would have enough pickings to set them up for months. If they were lucky they could even come away with a Land Rover. Paul slid the window shut and turned. The cool moonlight bathing the garden faded away. He looked up and saw the moon vanish behind silver-tipped clouds. His smile grew as nature turned off its spotlight. A lucky break for his trip back to the van.
The garden had returned to varying shades of grey and black. The neatly trimmed lawn was a smooth tarnished silver. He stepped away from the house and froze.
Halfway between Paul and the garage, a dark shape rose out of the shimmering lawn. Paul’s blood turned to ice cold sludge as glowing, amber eyes studied him. He tried to tell himself it was a man. He prayed it was a policeman. Being caught and locked up was far more favourable to dealing with the terrifying figure standing before him.
Through the gloom, brilliant white fangs appeared. A menacing growl brimming with savage intent filled the night air. Warmth spread down the front of Paul’s jeans as his bladder emptied. The creature’s nose lifted as if savouring the stench of Paul’s fear.
It took a step forward. Paul’s insides contracted in a painful jerk. If only he could clench his whole body up into a tiny ball and slip away between the clumps of earth beneath his feet.
Another unearthly growl escaped between the threatening teeth. A warning or a promise? Whatever its meaning, Paul’s instincts told him it was waiting for him to run. He didn’t need to take his eyes off the creature to know the distance between him and the van was perhaps the length of a football pitch, but it might as well have been to the moon. He thought about trying to open the window, but instantly the image of fangs piercing his legs as he tried to scramble through appeared in his head.
He prayed the moon wouldn’t make another appearance. If he saw the creature clearly he was sure his heart would stop from sheer terror. Perhaps that would be the better way to go?
Where’s your nugget of advice for this situation, Dad?
He wondered how many steps it would take to reach safety. Could he outrun the creature? A terrifying thought sprung into his head—how many steps did he have left to live?
The glowing, amber eyes widened. A snarl hissed its way into the night. It was time for Paul to make a decision.
He bolted.
One, two steps across the path, not towards the van; that would only lead him closer to it. He ran towards the back of the house.
Three, four, five steps on the grass, there had been a shed in the back garden. If he could get there, get inside, he could call Tommy...or the police...or any fucker that would listen.
Six, seven, eig—
An ear-splitting scream shot through the night. Tommy who had been engrossed in Thursday Night Football Chat thumped off the stereo. Wide-eyed, he stared through the smeared windscreen. The house loomed menacingly through the darkness, still and watching.
He rolled down the window, releasing a cloud of smoke into the night, and flicked out his half-smoked cigarette.
“What the fuck?” he croaked. “Paul?”
His brother had always taught him to run at the first sign of trouble. They weren’t soldiers. There wasn’t a never-leave-a-man-behind code, better for one man to go down than two. Tommy gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles stood out white against his lightly tanned fingers.
The whole lane seemed to come alive as a strong gust of wind raced past the battered van. Thick hedgerows on either side of the van hissed as their dark leaves rustled. Angular branches swayed beckoning Tommy with their spiny fingers. His right hand hovered over the keys as he scanned the shifting undergrowth. Should he drive away or check out the house?
Tommy tried to concentrate on his options, but the lingering beer fuzz sent his thoughts scattering before they had a chance to settle.
The scream could have been the old woman discovering Paul. The police could already be speeding towards him. In which case, he should get out of there.
What if Paul was lying injured somewhere? He couldn’t just leave him.
Any sign of trouble and you run.
Didn’t foxes scream? He could just picture Paul’s face if he showed up before he’d been summoned all because of a strange noise from the wildlife.
Tommy was certain foxes screamed. He shivered again. So did big brothers.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Tommy thumped the steering wheel.
Damn you and damn Dad’s stupid rules.
He couldn’t just sit there. Rules or not, he had to check. He could just take a quick peek. As terrifying as his brother could be, it was better to suffer his rage than to have legged it because of some screeching woodland creature. Paul wouldn’t even see him. He’d be as stealthy as a fox...one that didn’t scream.
Tommy pulled down gently on the door handle until it clicked open and held onto the frame to stop the usual rusty groan. The door swung open with the faintest of creaks. Tommy grimaced. As he eased himself out into the night, he wished Paul hadn’t insisted on disabling the interior light; just a tiny glimmer to calm his racing heart would have been welcome in the sinister darkness.
Tommy hadn’t taken more than two steps from the van when a strange scraping sound sent waves of icy ripples racing down his back. It sounded like something heavy being dragged along gravel.
Paul couldn’t have looted the house and be dragging his spoils back already. There was no way he’d had time, and there was no way he’d be making that much noise. Maybe the owners were out giving him free run of the house, and he was coming back with load number one to fetch Tommy.
Tommy decided the unusual sound overrode his brother’s rules.
“Paul?” Tommy whispered through cupped hands. “Do you need a hand?”
The noise stopped.
Tommy waited for his brother’s voice to snap at him through the dark. Only the rustling leaves answered. He opened his mouth to call his brother again, then thought better of it. He leaned into the van and grabbed his torch from among the screwed-up receipts and empty cigarette packets in the side pocket.
“If you’re fucking messing with me, I’m gonna fucking murder you,” he muttered under his breath.
The wind dropped. A tense silence filled the night. Suddenly, rapid blasts of crunching gravel broke the quiet. Someone was racing down the drive towards Tommy. With his heart hammering in his chest, Tommy’s shaking fingers fumbled to turn on the torch. The sounds grew louder and faster. A dark shape loomed around the edge of the fence, and a vicious snarl penetrated Tommy’s ears. He hurled the useless torch into the hedge and leaped into the van.