Victoria House - Part 6 of 9

At 4 p.m., sandwiches distributed, I found myself staring out of the windows again. An old-fashioned lamp on the driveway had come on, likely on a timer to light the way on short winter days. Rain fell with impossible ferocity, though the windows remained free of droplets. Bushes were dragged in every direction across the shingle, pulling small stones and dried leaves from the ground which became briefly airborne, giving the uprooted flora the form of a living creature. I couldn’t work out if any of it was even happening.

I saw Mr Column’s car moving up the shingle path, this time accompanied by a fire truck and a police car a short distance behind. Relieved, I waved excitedly at them. I was surprised to see my father get out of the police vehicle along with D.I. Broad. I promptly put my hands by my side. I wanted him to see that I had coped well in this unusual situation and I certainly didn’t want to provide him with additional storytelling material. Once they had all emerged from their vehicles, they briefly huddled as a group before D.I. Broad went to the back of the police car, opened the door, and roughly led Simon—handcuffed—to the attention of the huddle. Mrs Tapscott appeared beside me, gave a tut and said, ‘Simon, you fool.’

Mr Column began walking toward the window. When he got within a few feet, his gaze shifted upward, and he slowly retreated. Suddenly, Gary’s voice pierced the air with a sharp exclamation. ‘Worm!’ Startled, I turned to see him pointing urgently out of the window. I jerked my head around to see Mr Column running toward his car and something large slithering at speed toward him across the shingle.

The creature reached Mr Column in no time, emitting a sound reminiscent of an idling motorcycle as it reared up, its head blooming into a flower—petalled with teeth and with a central hollow to draw flesh into its abyssal innards. For a brief second, the beast paused, pulsing. Then it jerked forward and back. Mr Column had instinctively raised his arms, which were now missing hands. His bloodied stumps swiped at the air where his head used to be.

My father and D.I. Broad reacted immediately, dragging Simon into the back of the police car. The creature turned to one of the firefighters, shoving its head between his legs and launching him into the air. He vanished into the storm-tossed sky for several seconds before crashing down on the hood of the police car. As he made impact, the creature slammed its head onto his chest, flipping the car in a full, brutal 360-degree arc.

The remaining firefighter, armed with a high-pressure hose, fired directly at the worm. The blast staggered it. The creature coiled and then balled up, retreating quickly out of view.

My father, Broad, and Simon—now uncuffed—clambered from the wrecked vehicle and into the cabin of the fire truck. With a blast of acceleration, the truck hurtled down the shingle path, weaved through the trees in the adjacent field, and doubled back—straight for Victoria House.

I knew they were going to smash through the building.

I shouted at the residents to stand up and run to the back of the hall; most did as instructed, though a few remained frozen with their hands on their cheeks, bobbing up and down with slightly bent knees. I shouted again, more forcefully, pushing two of them into motion before making my own way to the back of the hall. I glanced around to check for stragglers.

Mrs Tapscott hadn’t moved from the reading corner.

She turned to Rosie, who was sitting calmly nearby, and said, 'Please let me go.' Her voice was low and tired, more like someone surrendering than pleading. For a second, Rosie blinked—as if registering the words—but said nothing. Then, without warning, Mrs. Tapscott was hurled several feet to the side by something unseen, her toes dragged across the floor before she landed hard and didn’t move.

The fire truck smashed through the windows, its tyres dragging Mrs Tapscott beneath the wheels. Wood, brick, and glass erupted into the hall, spraying in a deadly arc. Collective screams and yelps from the residents drowned out most of the impact.

Dust hung thick in the air, whisked by the cool breeze blowing through the shattered facade. The truck had come to a rest, only halfway inside.

The driver’s door opened, and a body slumped out—one of the firefighters, shards of glass embedded in his face and neck. My father thudded beside him onto the floor, somehow still looking composed, like a man arriving home after a long day’s work. D.I. Broad emerged next, blood gushing from a gash across his forehead. As he dabbed at it with a handkerchief, I noticed his little finger was bent at a right angle. Simon emerged last, mostly unscathed apart from a small cut above his right brow.

My father staggered around the truck and grabbed Simon by the throat with one huge hand.

‘You failed to mention when questioned there was a massive fucking snake that rips people’s heads off!’

He continued to berate Simon while I got down on my hands and knees and crawled toward where Mrs Tapscott had been. I caught a glimpse of her beneath the vehicle—and quickly wished I hadn’t. A single broken shoe lay beside her. A pair of cracked spectacles rested in a pool of her blood.

My father walked away from the truck toward the back of the hall. I sidestepped for a better view and saw him partially silhouetted, swaying left and right. Adjusting my position, I could see that some large glass fragments remained intact around the edges of the wooden frames of the window. Through them, the storm continued to rage outside whilst the last of the setting sun shone through where glass had previously been. I couldn't see any clouds. I couldn't see uprooted bushes.

My father bent down to pick up a shard resting by his foot and held it in his palms. I did the same—and stood transfixed by the unholy mirage playing out on its surface. A comforting pat on the shoulder came from Gary. I turned to look at him.

'Magic,' he said simply.

The illusion was meant to keep us inside the building.

Gary spent some time explaining what he had recently seen. Although disordered, overlapping, and impossible to build a reliable timeline from, his stories were heard intently by my father and D.I. Broad and accepted as truth. While not always used for peaceful effect, Gary had a gift for rallying the other residents. Many came forward to corroborate fragments of his story, some simply calling out, ‘I saw that,’ and others filling in overlooked details. D.I. Broad had been writing at pace in his notebook before his biro pen ran out of ink. It was then that they turned their attention to Simon, who was sitting cross-legged by the bottle green door, alone.

D.I. Broad sat himself down next to Simon, while my father remained standing, looking down. He pulled a Dictaphone from his inside jacket pocket. Broad jerked forward, grabbing the back of Simon’s head and pressing his thumb hard into the fresh wound on Simon’s brow. Simon yelped sharply, loud enough to get the attention of the room.

'Just so you know—we’re not fucking about,' the detective barked, gritting his teeth. 'One word of a lie and we’ll throw you outside to that fucking... thing.'

'Explain the snake. What is the snake? Or worm, or whatever,' my father added. Simon’s eyes showed more fear with my father bearing down on him than when the creature had appeared. Without further prompting, he answered quietly, 'It came from a book.'

'What? What fucking book?' Broad demanded.

Simon took a short breath and explained. 'A small group of staff had been celebrating the charity’s 150th year. As the celebration wound down, Mrs Tapscott—a trustee of the charity and a Latin speaker—began reading from a strange book they found in the reading corner. A cloud appeared in the centre of the room, rolling around the hall before disappearing into the dormitories. A few minutes later, the cloud reappeared—this time speaking through one of the residents.'

'Why didn’t you mention this when you came to see us this afternoon? You told us you thought another resident had killed the missing girl!' Broad said sharply.

'Oh, come on, you would have had me sectioned. I just needed to get you here... to see for yourself,' Simon blurted.

'Okay, so what happened to the missing girl?'

Simon paused, swallowed hard, then said quietly, 'We fed her to the demon.'

'Demon? You mean the snake?'

'No.'

'No? So there’s a demon and a snake?'

'The demon controls the creature. It eats people. It collects consciousness.'

'It collects what? What are you on about?' Broad sneered.

'I'm not sure . . . Tapscott understood it better.'

'How many people has it killed?'

'One a month for the last eighteen months.'

'So what, this thing just emerges and takes someone? Our friend Gary over there seems to think you bring it the food,' my father said.

'We brought it here. It bargained with us. We came up with a system. If the residents act up, they get a purple shirt. The demon selects from those wearing them at 9:23 pm on the 21st of every month—the time and day we summoned it,' Simon responded.

'So why is it attacking us?'

'I imagine you’re a threat to its supply. Can't be sure.'

'What happens if you don’t provide anyone?'

'Six of us were present that evening—only me left now.'

'Ah. So you’ll be in trouble?'

'Four wouldn’t participate or put the experience down to there being too much alcohol that night. They were taken first. There are a handful of other volunteers who weren’t present that night—day staff. They don’t know what’s happening.'

Broad scoffed, incredulous. 'Bollocks. If four people vanished from the same place, the world would know. Not to mention the residents.'

'They were all volunteers from another program run by the charity. All foreign nationals. Orderlies,' Simon corrected.

'How have you hidden the rest? Haven’t relatives been asking questions?' Broad snapped.

'Families don’t bother once the problem is no longer theirs to deal with. Many of the residents have health problems, and we have a crematorium on the grounds.' I saw my father’s anger building. He rubbed his thumbs against his index fingers—a sign he was close to exploding.

'So nobody was going to miss a bunch of spackers, right? Except Gilly’s family cared very much, didn’t they?'

'Gilly was a mistake. The shirt was meant for someone else. Some of the residents—I can’t tell them apart.'

Broad shook his head with disgust, clearly shocked by Simon’s statement. He stood up and made a brazen suggestion that surprised even my father, who looked at him disparagingly. 'I think I’d very much like to talk to this demon. Ask it here, would you?'

'It’s the 21st... she’s already here.' Simon shifted his torso to look past my father’s legs. Everybody listening, including myself, followed his gaze over to the reading corner. Rosie was still there. Watching us.