The Kirkfallen Stopwatch Read online

  THE KIRKFALLEN STOPWATCH

  J A Henderson

  Black Hart Entertainment

  Edinburgh

  First published 2000 by Oxford University Press (as Colony)

  Reprinted 2019 by Black Hart Publishers.

  Black Hart Entertainment.

  5 Leven Terrace Edinburgh EH3 9LT.

  The rights of the authors to be identified as the authors of this work has been ascertained in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors’ imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover by Panagiotis Lampridis (BookDesignStars).

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  The Kirkfallen Stopwatch. 2nd ed.

  ISBN 978-1-64570-609-0 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-64570-610-6 (eBook)

  The Doomsday Clock is a fictional timepiece which has been maintained since 1947 by the Board of Directors of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists at the University of Chicago. The clock measures how close the human race is to catastrophic destruction – midnight being the point where the human race will wipe itself out.

  It currently stands at two minutes to Midnight.

  It is estimated that there are approximately 6,600,000,000 humans on earth

  And 100,000,000,000,000,000 ants

  For Harper and Scarlet

  1

  The Mohave Desert: California

  1980

  The teenager woke up in the back of a bouncing jeep. A full moon swung sickeningly in the inky sky as the vehicle pitched and juddered across uneven ground. His jaw was clenched and his muscles ached with cold - all he was wearing was a thin paper gown.

  He rolled over and found himself face to face with a dead soldier. The man’s pupils had rolled upwards and his lower lip quivered in time with the vehicle’s vibration, making it look like he was praying. Jerking back, the boy collided with a limp pair of legs. Another soldier was sprawled over a pile of Jerry cans - blood saturating the back of his jacket. The teenager let out a rasp of terror.

  The jeep slewed to a halt. The boy scuttled back to the tail gate holding out thin white arms to ward off the driver.

  “It’s all right son. I ain’t gonna harm you.” It was too dark to see the stranger’s face, but the voice was female, gruff yet deliberately reassuring. “Dan, isn’t it?”

  “Dan Salty.” The boy replied shakily. “I got dead guys on either side of me.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.” The figure turned off the ignition and climbed awkwardly into the back of the vehicle. “But we’re gonna need these fellas.”

  Now that she was closer Dan could see the woman had a broad, pretty face with thick black eyebrows, bright blue eyes and a gap between her front teeth. Her chin and hair were hidden by a fur rimmed parka hood.

  “Got you some clothes here.” She pulled a bundle from under one of the seats, elbowing a corpse aside to get it clear. “Better put them on ‘fore you get hypothermia.”

  “What happened?” The teenager croaked. “I remember everyone was dying!”

  “We’ve got to reach the foothills before the sun comes up.” The woman thrust the pack onto his knees. “Get dressed. I’ll explain when we’re moving again.”

  Dan Salty looked down at the flimsy gown, barely covering his body.

  “Could you turn away? Please?”

  “Sure, honey.” The woman swivelled round and returned to the driver’s seat. “Just don’t hit me with a lug wrench when my back’s turned. I’m on your side.”

  She crunched gears and the jeep jolted into action again.

  “Why haven’t you got the headlights on?” Dan struggled into oversized combat fatigues and a roll-neck jersey then pulled on a pair of boots. None of it was easy to do in the darkness of a bouncing jeep with two dead bodies knocking him from side to side.

  “Out here a spotter plane can see headlights miles away.” The woman hunched over the wheel, peering into the darkness. “Don’t even dare light a damned cigarette. You get up here with me when you’re dressed and shout if you see any obstacles. Like this boulder.”

  She wrenched at the steering wheel and the jeep leapt into the air, landing with a teeth jarring crunch. One of the soldier’s arms jolted up in what looked like a casual salute.

  Dan gave a moan and clambered quickly into the passenger seat. The woman winked at him.

  “Name’s Louise Martin.” She swerved to avoid a shallow ravine that had materialised out of the gloom. “When we reach the foothills we’re gonna hide this jeep in a gulley. Then we’re gonna walk till we drop. Try and cover as much ground as we can before the sun gets too high. It can get pretty toasty out here in the daytime.”

  She gave a low chuckle.

  “Don’t wanna spend too long in the heat. Not with my condition.”

  “Your condition?”

  “I’m pregnant, son. An I already got a ten year old daughter. I need to whisk that young lady off somewheres, before the army realise I’m still alive.”

  They didn’t speak for a while. The boy heard the howl of an animal somewhere in the darkness.

  “Coyote.” The woman cocked her head. “Means the foothills are close.”

  “I recognise you,” Dan said. “You helped them do tests on the prisoners. And on me.”

  “That I did.”

  “Do you still work for them?”

  Louise glanced back at the lifeless men behind her, then sideways at her apprehensive companion.

  “I reckon I just quit.”

  2

  32 Westmoreland Drive, Aberdeen

  2000

  Mr Gacy sipped a lukewarm mug of tea. A blue clipboard lay across his knees and an old fashioned doctor’s bag squatted on the floor between his legs. The Flintheart family - mother, father and daughter - were perched on their couch opposite, looking sheepish. Mr Gacy placed his mug on the coffee table and took a pen from his coat pocket.

  “So,” he began pleasantly. “What makes you think your house is haunted?”

  “It was my wife’s idea to let you come here.” Mr Flintheart looked distinctly put out by the stranger sitting in his living room. “I dinnae understand how you even knew about the stuff going on in our house.”

  “I’m psychic.” Mr Gacy gave a cheesy grin. “I know that must sound daft...”

  “Aye. And I’m the tooth fairy.”

  “If you’re not comfortable with my being here, I can leave.” Mr Gacy pushed the mug aside. “I realise it must be a bit freaky, having me call you out of the blue.”

  “No.” Mrs Flintheart held up a trembling hand. “I want you to stay. We need to talk to someone.”

  Her husband lapsed into a surly silence.

  “All right.” Mr Gacy clicked the top of his pen. “Just what seems to be troubling you?”

  Mrs Flintheart cleared her throat.

  “Well it sounds stupid but, a while back, we all began to act a bit… strangely.”

  “When exactly did this condition start?”

  “About six months ago.”

  “Haunted is the wrong word,” the daughter broke in.

  “Could you give me a better word… eh?” Mr Gacy consulted his clipboard.

  “Elspeth.”

  “What word would you use, Elspeth?”

  “It was li
ke we had a Guardian Angel. To begin with anyways,” she added ominously.

  “And would you agree with that?” Mr Gacy turned to Mr Flintheart, who was still glowering at him. “A Guardian Angel?”

  Mr Flintheart sighed deeply.

  “I used tae have a drink problem,” he said finally. Behind the man, photographs of the family cluttered the mantelpiece. “A bad one. Six months ago I gave up. Just like that.”

  “Lots of people give up drinking.”

  “I never could.”

  “I stopped smoking at the same time,” Mrs Flintheart added. “Plus… you know… we always used to fight over what was on TV.”

  “Not fighting really. More an animated discussion.”

  “Andrew likes sport. I like my soaps. Elspeth always wanted to watch MTV.”

  “And?” Mr Gacy was finding it hard to hide his impatience

  “Then, suddenly, we always wanted to watch same channel.”

  Mr Gacy’s smile became pained.

  “We’d turn up to breakfast,” Mrs Flintheart continued falteringly. “And find we were wearing the same thing as each other.”

  “Must have been embarrassing for at least one of you.” Mr Gacy gave Mr Flintheart a sympathetic wink.

  “She means the same colours,” Elspeth chided. “Even yellow. And I hate yellow.”

  “But not anymore?” As far as Mr Gacy could see they were all dressed differently.

  “Not anymore.”

  Gacy made a quick notation on his clipboard, more for show than anything. He had no intention of keeping any record of the conversation.

  “I don’t suppose there are any physical signs of this, eh… manifestation.”

  The whole family nodded.

  “Elspeth and I use our mobiles.” Mrs Flintheart got up and went to the dresser at the back of the room. “But Andrew is old fashioned. He still uses a Polaroid Instamatic.”

  She opened a drawer and pulled out a bulky camera. “The kind that makes instant pictures?”

  She handed the camera to Mr Gacy

  “Hence the name Instamatic,” he said, trying to work out where the on switch was.

  “Take our photograph.”

  “Now?”

  The family nodded again.

  “Ok.” Gacy pointed the unwieldy machine at the couch. “Say booger-man.”

  Nobody smiled. Mr Gacy looked through the viewfinder, clicked, and a small square of plastic slid out of the bottom. He pulled it free and waved the photo in the air.

  “Nothing shows up on digital images,” Mrs Flintheart said. “But look at what you’ve just taken.”

  Mr Gacy watched the film develop as air reacted with the chemicals on the photographic paper. Slowly an image began to form. He could see the Flinthearts sharpening into focus on their couch.

  “I don’t take a very good picture,” Elspeth warned.

  “No. It’s a nice shot.” Mr Gacy kept watching. Then his eyes widened.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s our Guardian Angel.”

  In the picture, behind the family, stood a blurred figure. The Flintheart were now in sharp focus but the person behind them was like a creature made from fog. The features were indistinguishable but its shape was definitely female. Her pose was hunched and threatening, as if she was about to strike the family in front of her.

  Mr Gacy looked up. There was nobody standing behind the couch. There had been nobody behind the couch when he took the picture.

  “Can I keep this?” he asked quietly.

  “Certainly. We’ve got dozens.” Mrs Flintheart looked nervously around. “At first… this girl… she just seemed to be watching. We even thought she was smiling. Now it looks like she means us some kind of harm.”

  “Anything else?” Mr Gacy attached the photograph to his clipboard.

  “Insects.”

  “Insects?”

  “We keep finding ants in the house.”

  Mr Gacy gave a visible shudder.

  “I don’t like bugs,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “Ach, I dinnae think that has anything to do with it,” Mr Flintheart interjected, his gruffness returning. “Perhaps if we washed the dishes more often.”

  “I wash the dishes plenty,” Mrs Flintheart shot back, anger roughening her voice.

  “If we can get back to your Guardian Angel?” Mr Gacy said.

  “See? We’ve started fighting again. But now it’s over the smallest things, not just the TV.” Elspeth looked uneasily at her father. “Like whose turn it is to wash and whose to dry.”

  “I can see that would be a dilemma.”

  “I hit my wife last week.” Mr Flintheart made no attempt to hide his shame at this revelation. “I have flaws, like anyone, I suppose. But I never lifted a finger tae anyone in my life before. Especially not the woman I love.”

  “We’re scared.” Mrs Flintheart reached out and took her husband’s hand. “At first the things happening to us were just weird. Now they’re frightening.”

  “What about your neighbours?” Mr Gacy made a few more imaginary notes. “They experience anything?”

  “The people on the left, the Warbecks, only moved in a few months ago.” Elspeth said. “They seemed dead happy to start with - but now I think they’re having the same problems. I’ve heard them fighting through the wall.”

  “Have you talked to them about your… spirit?”

  “Of course not. We don’t want them to think we’re crazy.”

  “All rightee.” Mr Gacy stood and picked up his bag. “Well, I have quite a workload, but your case is certainly an… eh… interesting one.”

  He strode over and shook Mr Flintheart’s hand.

  “I don’t think you’re in any danger and I usually find that manifestations like this vanish of their own accord. I’ll give it another month or so, then check back.”

  “Is that it?” Mrs Flintheart looked somewhat put out.

  “Actually, no.” Mr Gacy clicked his pen and put it back in his jacket. “I would not mention this to the media under any circumstances. The papers tend to make a laughing stock of anyone who believes their house has an entity.”

  He spread his arms disarmingly.

  “I believe you, of course, but most families bitterly regret media exposure.” He looked at Mr Flintheart. “The father often loses his job because employers don’t want a nutcase working for them.”

  “I telt you this was a bad idea.” Mr Flintheart glared at his wife.

  “Oh, shut up Andrew,” the woman snapped back. Mr Flintheart clenched his jaw.

  “If I may continue.” Mr Gacy held up a hand. “Elspeth will get a lot of stick at school and people may accuse you, Mrs Flintheart, of attention seeking. I’d get rid of those photographs too.”

  The women nodded.

  “Like I say. Give it a few weeks and if the condition persists, call me again.” Mr Gacy put away his pen with a flourish.

  “Don’t get up. I’ll show myself out.”

  As the front door slammed, Elspeth turned to her parents.

  “Mum?” She looked warily at the empty space behind the couch.

  “If that man’s really psychic, how come he didn’t know the girl was there?”

  Mr Gacy crossed the neatly kept lawn and climbed into an unmarked white van. On the side was the logo

  G.B. Paranormal.

  Psychic Investigators

  He threw his bag into the back and fished the ignition key from his pocket, but his hands were trembling too much to start the vehicle. He leaned back in his seat and took deep quivering breaths, hands curled round the steering so tightly that his fingernails cut into the palms.

  “Oh Christ,” he said, staring through the windscreen into the starless suburban night.

  “This was not supposed to happen.”

  The Sheridan Disaster

  The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything ab
out it.

  Albert Einstein

  3

  Sheridan Research Facility: Mohave Desert

  1980

  Three Chinook helicopters buzzed out of the haze and settled like pendulums into the open compound, whipping up swirling curtains of sand. A dozen figures in protective suits emerged, some carrying automatic weapons. As soon as the passengers had alighted, the choppers rose into the air and headed further into the desert. The pilots had orders to land twenty miles away and not return to the base until an all-clear had been given.

  The leader of the party strode out of the billowing sand and headed for a low cluster of square buildings. A pall of hazy smoke hung over the compound, drifting out from shattered, wire latticed windows.

  Another figure, smaller in stature, caught up and pointed to the ground. It was mottled and black, moving slowly, as if a layer of soot was drifting across the desert floor. Both knelt and dug gloved hands into the sand, using their fingers like sieves, until only the squirming mass remained, sticking to their palms.

  The smaller figure spoke into her headset mic.

  “Ants,” she said. “There must be thousands of them.”

  “Hundreds of thousands.”

  Her companion moved his head from side to side trying to see the extent of the black carpet, but his visor had fogged up. With a grunt of exasperation the figure struggled to his feet and pulled off the hood.

  “Doctor Kelty!” His assistant glanced up in panic. “With all due respect. Are you insane?”

  Kelty grimaced and wiped perspiration from his forehead. A few stray ants stuck to the sweat, a rash of oily droplets below his hairline.

  “Everyone here is dead, Naish,” he replied, matter of factly. “If what killed them is still hanging around, protective suits won’t do the slightest bit of good.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Nothing happened. He nodded confidently to himself.