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Instagram Tales
To everyone who refuses to engage with social media, I salute you.
And I see no reason why you should be denied these tales.
CONSPIRACY THEORISTS
Roisin hugged the shadows as she crept down the street. She stopped at the recessed doorway and checked all around before she approached and gave the secret knock. A panel in the door swung back to reveal a face chiselled from a slab of ugly. Cold eyes stared at her impassively.
‘I’m here,’ she hissed.
A gruff voice came from behind the door. ‘You can’t come in.’
Roisin narrowed her eyes. It was late and cold, and she was missing her favourite TV programme. ‘Why not?’ she snapped.
‘I don’t know anyone called “Here”.’
She took a deep breath before responding. ‘That’s not my name. I mean, I have arrived.’
The heavy eyebrows bunched in confusion before, with glacial slowness, the light of realisation appeared in the guard’s eyes. It would have been a beauty to witness had she been snuggled on her sofa and the event was unfolding on the face of a Real Housewife.
‘Oh,’ the man said. Then, ‘What’s the password?’
Roisin opened her mouth. What was the password? She knew she knew it, but it had temporarily escaped her.
‘Wait, I can remember this…’ She screwed her face up in concentration. ‘Aha! Capital P.’
‘Yes?’
Hesitantly, she said, ‘A, double es, double you, oh, are, dee?’
The guard issued a rough chuckle. ‘You think our password is “password”?’
Her cheeks flushed at his ridicule. She straightened her back and glared through the hatch. Even if it took her all night she would dredge up this password, if only to get inside and brain the man.
‘I’ve got it now,’ she cried. ‘Capital P, assword’
‘Go on.’
‘One two three.’
There was the sound of sliding bolts, and the door swung inward. The guard stepped back to allow Roisin entry. He beamed as he threw his arms around her.
‘It’s good to see you, sis. Come on, let me introduce you to the gang.’
Armed with only a flickering candle apiece, Roisin followed her brother, Thomas, along a dark passage. In eight steps, they reached a door which Thomas opened, voicing an elongated ‘creeeeak’ as he did so.
‘They keep the doors well maintained here, don’t they?’
‘Yes,’ Thomas admitted. ‘It spoils the atmosphere.’
They stepped into an open area. On the right was a chest-high counter. In the darkness beyond, their candlelight was reflected in scores of glass surfaces. Two figures stood in the centre of the room, their faces lost in cowls despite the candles they also held.
‘Alright, Derek,’ Roisin greeted the taller one. ‘Forgot to pay the electricity bill, did you?’
‘It’s for ambience, Rosh.’ Derek’s voice sounded strained, as though he was trying to impress a supervisor. ‘Please get into the spirit of things.’
Roisin shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is, you’ve got a nice pub here. Good décor, clean floor. You should be proud.’
The fourth man cleared his throat impatiently.
‘I get it,’ Roisin said, ‘move it along. Just one thing: remind me what we’re doing here.’
Thomas lowered his voice and spoke theatrically. ‘We are a society who seeks to detect the truth in our knowledge of conspiracies.’
When the stranger spoke, his raspy voice put Thomas’s to shame. ‘We are the Detectors In Conspiracy-Knowledge Society.’
‘So you’re the…’ Roisin paused as she ran the name through her head.
‘Please don’t try to acronymise it,’ Derek blurted.
In the worst lock-in she had ever experienced, Roisin looked from her brother to the landlord to the stranger.
‘I know Thomas and Derek, but who are you?’
‘My name is,’ the man rasped. He held the dramatic pause for so long, Roisin wondered if he had forgotten. ‘Igma, N Igma.’
‘It’s nice to meet you Mr Igma,’ Roisin said. She took a little delight in the man’s frustration when she refused to acknowledge the pun.
Derek broke the uncomfortable silence.
‘Tom tells us you have information we may find beneficial.’
‘That’s right. I have a message from Elvis.’
Derek’s mouth fell open, and Igma gasped, ‘A message from beyond the grave?’
‘No, silly,’ Roisin corrected. ‘Elvis from the chip shop.’
‘Elvis Presley works at the chip shop?’ Derek squeaked.
‘I knew his death was faked,’ Igma said triumphantly.
‘Not Elvis Presley,’ Thomas said. ‘She means Kevin Shufflebottom. You’ve seen him – hair in a quiff, curled top lip, always wears that white jump suit. Everyone calls him Elvis even though he’s never heard of the King.’
Igma’s shoulders slumped noticeably.
‘And what did this Kevin have to say?’ Derek asked.
Roisin said, ‘He can get news about the Apollo 11 mission.’
‘The moon landing?’ Igma’s interest was piqued again. ‘What was the news?’
‘Well, Elvis didn’t have it but he pointed me in the direction of a Mason.’
‘The Freemasons!’ Igma was fairly ecstatic. ‘Yes, we always knew that clandestine brotherhood held the world’s darkest secrets.’
‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘One of the Masons on Cooper Street.’
‘Elvis wasn’t sure if it was Billy Mason or Tilly Mason who had the information,’ Roisin explained. ‘So I went over and I spoke with Tilly. She didn’t know what I was talking about.’
‘And Billy?’ Derek asked.
‘Billy wasn’t there. He was away with the UFOs.’
‘Extraterrestrial abduction!’ Igma shouted.
‘Billy wasn’t with aliens,’ Thomas said. ‘He was with the UFOs: the Utility Finance Organisation.’
‘It’s a not-for-profit that helps people with their ridiculous energy bills,’ Roisin added. ‘He was at a seminar in Pontefract. He got back last night so I went to see him this morning.’
‘Pray tell what news he has,’ Igma said. The rasp in his voice was fading, replaced with irritation.
‘The thing you’ve got to know about Billy,’ Roisin explained, ‘is he’s a real space nut. Loves anything to do with space, NASA, the lot. When Michael Collins died a few years ago, Billy managed to get his hands on an old journal of his.’
‘Acquired through discreet and arcane methods, no doubt?’ Igma asked hopefully.
‘No, eBay.’ Roisin took a moment to savour Igma’s disappointment before continuing. ‘In the journal, Collins explains why he did not land on the moon with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Alridge.’
‘The official story,’ Derek said, ‘is that he had to pilot the command module that remained in orbit around the moon.’
‘The truth is that he overslept and was late to the movie set.’
The change in atmosphere was palpable. Igma and Derek immediately grasped the importance of her words. It took a few seconds for Thomas to catch up.
‘Movie set?’ he said. ‘So the moon landing was faked?’
Igma ignored him and asked, ‘You have written proof of this falsehood?’
‘Yes. Collins explains how all three of them were supposed to be fitted to wires to allow them to jump and leap in front of a green screen. With the magic of Hollywood, the green screen would show footage which made it appear they were on the moon.’
‘This is excellent,’ Igma cackled. ‘Finally, we have proof that humankind has not reached the moon.’
‘But there’s more.’
Igma was practically bouncing with excitement. ‘What more could there be?’
‘Collins also listed the names of the on-location camera crew.’
‘What camera crew?’
‘The team that went to the moon to shoot the footage for the green screen.’
LILITH
Of all the dogs she had ever met, Ellie owned the smartest. Krueger had been reluctant to jump from the car, sensing something odd in the air.
Voorhees had shown no hesitation, however, leaping from the back seat and bouncing along the path they usually followed. He was several yards away before he realised he was alone. He released a soft whimper as he looked around for his owner. Ellie also owned the dumbest dog she had ever met.
With a treat usually reserved for good behaviour, Ellie enticed Krueger from the car and the three of them set off around the grounds of Lotherton Hall. Voorhees pranced ahead, excitedly investigating the scents of wildlife. He returned to Ellie frequently, then bounded away again as something new caught his attention.
Krueger, who would normally join his brother in sniffing at the underbrush, stayed close to Ellie. His ears were cocked as he kept pace with her.
When Voorhees found something of interest, front legs flat on the floor, bum sticking up and wiggling madly, Krueger emitted a low growl.
Ellie gave Krueger a placating pat on the head as she called out to Voorhees. ‘What is it, boy? What have you found?’ She drew closer to the inquisitive hound and saw the object of his curiosity. At edge of the treeline, in the grounds of a stately home seventy miles from the coast, lay a large white conch shell.
‘You know,’ she told the dogs as she reached for the shell, ‘if you put your ear to a seashell, you can hear the sea.’
She held the shell next to Voorhees’s ear. The dog whined and bolted, disappearing into the woods. Krueger growled and backed away.
Disturbed by her dogs’ behaviour, Ellie brought the shell closer and looked inside.
Sitting in the base of the shell was a head.
It was the size of a marble, with a wide thin mouth and oversized eye sockets. One large eye stared up at Ellie; the other socket was empty. Strands of pale peach wool, imitating hair, stood up from the top of its head, giving it the impression it had seen a dreadful image – perhaps its own reflection.
‘You’re a hideous little treasure,’ Ellie said. ‘What’s your name, I wonder?’
‘Lilith.’
Ellie shot back in shock, stumbled and fell onto her backside.
‘You… you spoke,’ she said.
‘You spoke first,’ Lilith answered. Her voice echoed within the shell, giving it a haunting quality. ‘I was just being polite.’
Ellie peered closer at the head, then glanced around. Apart from Krueger, there was nobody else in sight. She turned back to Lilith.
‘But how can you talk? You’re just a head.’
‘Is that important? You should be worried about your dog. It’s in danger.’
Ellie was on her feet in an instant, calling out for Voorhees. He could get himself into trouble even when she was watching him. Who knew what mischief he could discover unsupervised.
‘Take me with you,’ Lilith said. ‘I can hear him. I’ll guide you.’
Her concern for Voorhees outweighing the impossibility of Lilith’s existence, Ellie picked the shell up and followed the head’s directions.
‘Left.’
‘Straight on.’
‘Over the fallen tree.’
Krueger trotted along beside her, warily eyeing her prize, until another instinct took him and he raced ahead, barking sharply. Had it not been for his presence, Ellie may have ran past Voorhees in her haste.
She stopped suddenly, slipping on wet leaves, and gasped when she saw her poor dog’s predicament.
Voorhees’s rear end was sticking out of a holly bush. He was motionless, which set Ellie’s heart racing until she detected his quiet whimpering.
‘What have you done, you silly boy?’
After setting the shell which held Lilith the talking head on the ground, she reached into the shrubbery to free Voorhees. No doubt he had chased a woodland creature into the bush, unaware of how easily it would entangle him. Her probing hand found the collar and discovered it had gotten snagged on the thorny plant.
After much grunting and sweating – and more than one colourful word – she managed to undo the collar and release Voorhees from his prickly prison. Her arms were scratched to high heaven and she had broken a nail, but it was a small price to pay for the dog’s safety.
‘He is saved?’ The tiny voice echoed from the depth of the seashell.
‘Yes,’ Ellie answered, between grateful licks from Voorhees. ‘Thank you. How can I repay you?’
‘I need a body.’
Ellie ensured that Voorhees was not badly injured and placed the collar back around his neck, then picked up the shell to look in at Lilith. At the start of her life, she may have been a wooden peg, dressed up and decorated to resemble a person, but now she was only a head. Considering that Ellie would not have located Voorhees without Lilith’s help, she figured that fashioning her a body was the least she could do.
‘Okay,’ she announced. ‘I will get you a body.’
‘Take me out of this shell,’ Lilith said. ‘There’s no point you carting it around now.’
Ellie tipped the head into her palm. She yelped when something stabbed at her hand. Carefully lifting Lilith with two fingers, Ellie turned her over. Two cream-coloured needles protruded from the bottom of the head, perhaps all that was left of the fastening that had attached Lilith to her original body.
Ellie spent two hours that night making a body for Lilith. Raiding the craft box she used when her young cousin came to stay, she dug out pipe cleaners, modelling clay and scraps of felt. She twisted the pipe cleaners together to create a skeletal frame and added the plasticine to form limbs and a torso. Cutting the fabric into the desired shapes, she pressed them onto the clay to portray a lady wearing an elegant ballgown.
Finished, she showed her creation to Lilith.
‘There’re no hands or feet,’ the head said.
‘There’s only so much I can do tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll buy a second-hand Barbie and transplant the hands and shoes.’
She picked Lilith up and placed her on the mannequin’s neck, making sure the three needle points bit deep enough into the plasticine to hold her in place.
***
Krueger’s gruff barking shook Ellie from her sleep. She blinked into the darkness as she sat up, pressing a finger to her phone. The display sprang to life, informing her she had been asleep for less than an hour.
‘What’s going on?’ she slurred.
The dog barked once more, then turned and left the room. The doors were always open, allowing the dogs the freedom to sleep where they wished. There were dog beds in her room and in the lounge but these were often ignored in favour of the sofa or the foot of Ellie’s bed.
‘Do you need to go out?’ Ellie asked as she followed Krueger down the stairs. At the bottom, instead of walking towards the back door, Krueger crept into the living room. He gave a long growl as he entered.
Ellie stepped in and flicked on the lights. Voorhees lay in the middle of the floor, whimpering and shuddering. Panicked, she rushed to his side and knelt beside him.
‘What’s wrong, baby?’ she asked, running a soothing hand through his fur. She brushed against something hard on the side of his neck. Some overlooked debris from the holly bush, she wondered. But she had checked him thoroughly.
She cupped her hand around the object and eased it from his fur.
‘Be careful,’ Lilith cried.
Ellie opened her hand to find Lilith, bodyless once again, gazing up at her. A droplet of blood beaded around her neck.
‘What happened?’ Ellie asked.
‘Your stupid dog tried to use me as a chew toy.’
Ellie glanced at Voorhees. He remained on his side, his shaking subsiding and his keening quietening. Beside him was Lilith’s body, in much the same state as when Ellie had last seen it.
‘He’s normally a good boy,’ Ellie said. ‘He knows which are his toys.’
The situation didn’t make much sense to Ellie, but she was too tired to think about it. In the morning, she could fathom what had happened.
When she had assured herself that Voorhees was okay, Ellie reattached Lilith’s head, carried her to her bedroom and shut the door. She couldn’t believe that the dog had attacked Lilith, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She placed Lilith on the bedside table, climbed under the duvet and was asleep in minutes.
At some point in the night, when she was drifting between REM cycles, she scratched at her neck. She felt something wet and warm, and the shock brought her fully awake. Her fingers were sticky with a fluid that was thicker than water. There was the distinctive smell of blood in the air.
Dragging herself from the bed, she stumbled to the dressing table and switched on the lamp. Her heart pounded when she looked in the mirror. Streaks of blood ran from her throat. At the wound was a round object. As Ellie peered closer, it turned it’s one eye to her.
The sharp prongs that protruded from Lilith’s neck extended further into Ellie. She had seen two when they were in the woods, three later that evening – now there were half a dozen digging into her. She tried to lift her hand to pull Lilith from her, but her arm flopped uselessly and her legs trembled uncontrollably.
Outside the bedroom door, Krueger barked viciously. But the door was shut and he couldn’t get to his mistress.
‘I need a body,’ Lilith snarled as her tendrils dove into Ellie, stealing blood flow and subverting the nervous system. ‘I don’t care if it’s canine or human, but it needs to be flesh and bone.’
ON THE EDGE OF HEARING
Listen. It’s there. In the background. Can you hear it? On the edge of hearing.
A sound not dissimilar to singing. The ululation of a herald angel’s voice. Or the sweet, whispered lies of a demon. Persistently it calls to you, insinuating its way in.
The noise placates your soul yet it incites your blood. It demands you to act or to commit to a passion. Whatever you choose or whichever path you take, one thing is certain. Good or ill will not be known till your final act is done.
Have you the strength to answer or the courage to turn from this call?
[This was written as a personal challenge: each sentence has one more word than the previous.]
THE TAKEOVER
The mood in the boardroom was grim. They’d been in there for hours and were still no closer to reaching a solution all could find amicable.
‘I don’t think you fully understand how precarious your position is,’ Mikey said, sighing with frustration.
‘And I don’t think you understand,’ countered Luke, ‘just how much this corporation is losing to the competition. We’ve got rivals in China and Japan. Rome, Greece, Norway. We can’t even get a foothold in Australia or America.’
‘Not yet, but in time.’ The room quietened when the CEO spoke. His voice crackled like fire. ‘As for those European upstarts, their influence is waning. Soon they will be nought but whispered memories.’
Luke put his head in his hands.
‘In time you say,’ he muttered. ‘But what about the thousands out there now? Do they not deserve to be saved from the opposition?’
‘We will expand,’ the CEO answered, ‘but this cannot happen overnight. Change takes time. You must be patient.’
‘Patience is not my concern. Am I not your trusted employee, second only to Mikey? I have believed in you from the start and I would wait an eternity were it only I being affected. But there are innocents out there who need our aid.’
‘And we will get to them,’ Mikey said. ‘As you know, there is a plan to kickstart the marketing campaign…’
‘With all due respect, sir,’ Luke said to the CEO, ‘I disagree that your son is the best person to head that project. He will be ridiculed and mar–’
‘It is already decided,’ the CEO interrupted. ‘We cannot force the people to use our service. They must choose willingly.’
Luke said, ‘In the old days, you were not so cautious.’
‘Careful,’ Mikey warned.
‘It’s alright Mikey,’ the CEO said. ‘Speak, Luke. Tell us what’s on your mind.’
Luke swallowed, trying to summon the courage.
‘I motion…’ he began.
‘Yes?’ The CEO’s voice resonated through the large room.
‘I put forward a vote of no confidence.’
Mikey gasped. ‘Luke, no…’
The CEO leaned forward on his chair and looked directly into Luke’s crystal-blue eyes.
‘No confidence in me?’ he asked.
Luke nodded silently.
‘And who do you expect would second such a foolish motion? You know Mikey here would not entertain such a vile plot.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Luke licked his lips. His throat was dry. ‘I have discussed it with others and we are of the same mind.’
‘Others?’ The CEO smiled, though there was no mirth in his countenance. ‘Have these others named you as my successor, perhaps?’
‘No. We believe the company should be led by three of equal ranking, not a single autocrat.’
‘But you were elected spokesperson of this… triumvirate?’
Luke raised his head in defiance. ‘I am proud to be so chosen.’
The CEO sat back, his expression unreadable.
Silence filled the room for what seemed an age.
Finally, the CEO spoke again, his voice as soft as thunder.
‘Then rule you shall. Lucifer Lightbringer, I cast you and your brethren to the pits of Hell.’
WHITBY
I can hear them outside, wailing in their multitudes. They chomp and leer in the night, bay at the moon, calling out for murder, for death. My death.
When I first moved to this coastal town, I was taken by its charm and beauty. Cobbled lanes and stone-walled cottages. Shadow-draped pathways sneaking between buildings, too narrow to walk two abreast. The wooden wharf, unchanged in decades but for the occasional application of fresh paint.
Truly, it was like living in a bygone time, a century in which I felt I belonged. It was an age of innocence and purity. And yet, it was in those yesterdays that the fear of the supernatural was at its strongest.
The first body to be found was that of a young woman. Alone at night, she had left her home and wandered to the cliff edge. No one knew how she had come to an end on the rocky shore – was it intentional, or something more sinister?
Many said it was a freak accident, a tragedy. But some whispered of dark movement in the night, of a spiteful entity attacking the girl. At first, these tales were mocked as superstitious nonsense, old wives’ tales twisted into nightmarish design.
Until the next victim was discovered, his blood spilled on the floor about his torn and tattered body.
I noticed the townsfolk change from that point.
It started in groups of two and three, huddling together in dark corners and mumbling among themselves. As the weeks went by and the deaths continued, those muttering groups grew. Six of them gathered, eight, a dozen. It would not be long, I knew, before the whole town was converted. The individual groups would merge and, no longer being in the minority, openly assault any who had not succumbed to their madness.
I expected to have had more time to arrange my escape from the stricken town. I had belongings and crates and heirlooms I could not leave behind; fleeing in the night was not an option. And now I regret my lingering, for now they are here for me.
I have barricaded the door, bolted tight the windows, but I fear it will be in vain. The sheer number of my enemy, and their strengthened determination to enter my home, will overcome any barriers I place before them.
Sitting in my chambers, I am shaking with dread. The thunder of splitting wood heralds their ingress. Their cries increase in fervour and volume as they swarm through the ground floor. The stairway is narrow, and it will force them to ascend in single file. That is a small mercy though, for still they will come. Pushing at the one in front, hungry for my blood, they will rise like a river of flesh erupting from the depths of hell.
The cacophony of their voices, the words lost in the bloodlust, pounds at my ears.
The horde reaches the top floor and the door to my room shudders as they press against it. Hinges whine. Wood groans.
And then they are in, falling over themselves to get at me. In their hands they clasp artefacts of their madness – crucifixes, stakes, garlic – and I know that soon I will be dead.
Dead, no longer undead.
PICK-UP
Keeley turned at the sound of the approaching engine. As the car pulled up beside her, the passenger window wound down. The driver, a woman of about fifty, called out to her.
‘You look lost, honey. You okay?’
‘I’m trying to get home. My car broke down.’
‘You’ll never make it on foot.’ She leaned over and opened the door. ‘Jump in.’
Keeley had been walking for what seemed like hours. Her feet hurt and no other cars had stopped to offer help. She wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or relieved about that. A young woman alone on a country road should know better than getting into the car of a stranger. But this kind-faced woman didn’t look like a serial killer.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she climbed in. ‘You’re a life saver.’
‘Not really,’ the driver replied with a shrug. ‘I just work with lost souls such as yourself. My name’s Sharon. Was that your Fiat back there?’
Keeley watched the fields go by. Dusk cast everything in an eerie light.
‘Yeah. I blew a tyre. It’ll cost so much to repair.’
‘I think that’s the least of your worries,’ Sharon said. She turned right into a winding lane. The road followed a gentle descent, leading towards a slow moving river.
The area was unfamiliar to Keeley. She turned to the other woman, and wondered what a serial killer actually looked like.
‘The skid marks show that you handled the car well after the blow-out,’ Sharon continued. ‘It’s just a shame that that tree was in your path.’
They drew closer to the river. Black water sloshed against the nearest bank. The river was so wide, Keeley could not see the far side.
‘There isn’t a river in this part of the country.’ Her voice was quiet, like the murmur of a ghost.
Sharon looked at her with a sad grin. ‘You haven’t yet discovered this country, Keeley.’
Panic swirled in Keeley’s heart. A dozen fears filled her head and she blurted them in no particular order.
‘Stop the car. I never told you my name. Please don’t hurt me.’
Sharon pulled up next to a moored rowboat. She got out, walked around the car and opened the passenger door.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she said warmly. ‘I’m here to help. Get on the boat. Let me take you across the Styx.’
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