Dark Thoughts and Demons.

Copyright notice

Dark Thoughts and Demons

by

H.K. Hillman

Smashwords edition

Copyright H. K. Hillman, 2011.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover image © H. K. Hillman 2011

http://www.hkhillman.co.uk

Contents page

Contents

Copyright notice

Foreword

The Ship

Arbuthnot’s Eyes

In Another Life

The Gate Race

The Life of Water

Fireman

‘...and to dust we shall return’

One Stop after Marchway

The Ignorant Assassin

Time-slice

The Skeleton Closet

Afterword

The Cleggy and the Cameroid

Foreword

The essence of horror, for me, lies in the credibility of the story. Not necessarily in technical accuracy, although that is always to be preferred, but in whether the reader could be induced to believe that such a thing could happen – and more importantly, whether it could happen to them. Whether it might even be happening now.

Demons and ghosts are all well and good but unless the reader already accepts the reality of such things, they can be dismissed as incredible. The primal terror, the real horror, comes in human form. It comes out of the darkness with knife or axe or razor, it hides in your wardrobe, under your bed, behind your sofa. It comes when you’re asleep, with silent feet and hushed breath, and the first you know of it is when you wake screaming and bleeding.

An entire book of such tales would be too much, I think. One such tale at a time is more than enough to disturb sleep. Therefore, in this collection, I have chosen to intersperse the demonic and ghostly tales with those darker thoughts that only humans can have. Demons are constrained by inviolable rules. Humans are not. The terrible truth of humanity is this: We do not fear Hell. Hell fears us.

Know, before you start, that it is my intention to terrify you, to make you jump at the creak of a floorboard and shake at the tap of rain on your window. To rob you of sleep and to turn your hair white. I might succeed, I might not, that is up to you. Some tales have demons, some are wholly human, and I have made extensive use of the mythical Blackthorn family where the two blend together.

Eleven tales, eleven chances to terrify you. Well, truth be told, ten chances only, because the book begins with what is possibly the gentlest ghost story I have ever told. A calm and entirely predictable tale to lull you into a sense of warmth and comfort.

What comes after might not be quite so comforting. I only hope that some of it is entertaining.

H. K. Hillman

Contents page

The Ship

Andy was sober when the ship arrived. He wasn’t usually. These days he had a pretty good idea when it was coming and he preferred to pass the whole experience in a drunken haze. His years as night-watchman at the little wharf had been quiet. Nothing much happened in the sleepy little town above the bay. No smugglers, no late-night contraband had ever landed here. Although he was well past retirement age, the townspeople felt it was safe enough to let him stay on. After all, it wasn’t as if he was likely to be confronted by gangs of armed robbers on the wharf. There was nothing there to steal, just a few small fishing boats and a couple of dinghies.

He had never told anyone about the ship. He certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone now. They would think him senile, think the drink had finally rotted his old brain. They would replace him – and what else would he do? Sit in his little house, while away the last few years of his life? He had no family, nothing else to occupy his time. The thought made him shiver.

He’d seen the ship come and go, through the years. He knew it was real. Sure, he was plastered when it came these days, and usually hiding in his hut, but it wasn’t a drunken hallucination. He’d been sober the first few times, and he was sober this time. So it was definitely real, and there it was, a solid presence at the end of the dock. A two-masted clipper, its mooring ropes neatly coiled around the piles at the end of the small wharf, creaking gently in the tide. Andy looked at it through sober eyes, for the first time in a long time, and saw the shining timbers, the oiled ropes.

It’s still a beautiful ship, he said to himself, eyeing it appreciatively. Its beauty dwarfed the tattered fishing boats and the mildew-covered dinghies along the wharf, made them appear even older and more distressed than they were. Andy gave a snort. If those lazy buggers saw this ship, maybe they’d move themselves to put a bit of paint on their own tubs, he thought.

But he couldn’t tell them. The ship was his secret, and only his. It would feel like a violation if anyone else saw it, knew about it, knew why it was here. Why was it here tonight, he wondered? There had been nothing to suggest it might come. Why was it sitting there at the end of his wharf? He felt a faint ire rising in him. Andy had always referred to himself as ‘harbourmaster’ and the townspeople humoured him with solemn nods, knowing winks and secret smiles. This was still his little wharf, and this thing, this ship, just came and went as it pleased. He considered going over to the ship, but decided against it. Maybe later.

Andy sat back in his canvas chair, checked his fishing rod in case of a bite, breathed in the warm night air, and thought about the first time he’d seen the ship. Way back when he had been a young man, in a town with nothing for a young man to do. He had taken to sitting on the wharf at night, watching the stars, watching the waves and maybe doing a little fishing. When Eric, the old night-watchman had died, it was only natural that Andy should take the job. No contest really, nobody else wanted to spend every night sitting on the wharf, and Andy was there all the time anyway.

He thought of the stories Eric had told him, dark and terrible tales of the sea, of things that appeared at night, in the fog, talking with a furtive look as if there was more to tell, something he couldn’t say out loud. Andy smiled as he thought of how he’d dismissed Eric’s tales as nonsense, the ramblings of an old man who had spent too long alone. Then he frowned: at least Eric had had someone to talk to, to drop hints, to forewarn as best he could. Andy had nobody. The wharf was empty at night, the town asleep. That’s how Andy liked it, although now his years pressed hard on him and he wished, just for a moment, that there had been someone he could talk to as Eric had talked to him. Who would take over the job when Andy’s time came?

He shrugged the morbid thoughts away. He had years left, plenty of time. Best to enjoy the peace and quiet while he could. He closed his eyes to the warm summer night and let his thoughts drift back.

***

Young Andy couldn’t believe his luck. He had a job – and what a job! He’d hung around the wharf at night for years, and now he was being paid to do it. With no Eric to tell him to go home, he could – indeed had to - stay all night! Wow, he thought, it’s a job I’d have done for free. He was careful never to say that out loud, just in case the town hall took him at his word.

Andy had missed Eric at first, but soon settled into his nightly routine of sitting, fishing, having a few beers and looking at the moonlight on the sea. Tranquility personified. A wonderful life. Then one night, the ship came.

Andy had been half-dozing, mesmerised by the moonlight on the water, the creaking of timbers and the rhythmic clunk of hull against pier, when something struck him as somehow different. He looked around and jumped. There was a ship at the end of the wharf. A two-masted clipper, and an impressive one at that. His mind reeled. How did it get there? He’d been looking out to sea so he couldn’t have missed it. It would have had to cross his line of sight to get here.

Still, there it was, and it was up to him to do something about it. Andy stood and puffed out his chest. He was Harbourmaster here. This was his patch, and no strangers moored here without his permission. He walked along to the end of the short wharf, calling Halloo as he went. No answer came back. Andy had walked right up to the ship, noting the sleek lines and the neat, taut rigging. Halloo he called again. Still no answer. He looked the ship over but there were no occupants to be seen. Odd, he thought. How could anyone have passed me on the wharf? They would have to pass right by me to get to the shore.

Right, he thought, I’ll get to the bottom of this. Returning to his customary seat, he moved the chair back to the far edge of the wharf. Now nobody could pass without crossing right in front of him. He’d catch them, these interlopers. He smiled a tight smile. No strangers dock here without checking with me, he thought, and sat to watch.

Hours passed. Andy looked at the ship occasionally as it rose and fell gently with the waves. There was no sign of activity. Andy’s eyes began to feel heavy, and he jerked himself awake a few times before giving in to the warm allure of sleep. In his dreams, he fancied that people passed him, talking in whispers and laughing with the joy of travellers beginning a new and wonderful voyage.

A cold breeze woke him with a start. The ship was gone. They must have passed him in his sleep. Andy sat back, worried now. Should he report the ship? He would have to admit that it had moored and left again without him seeing anything. He had fallen asleep on duty. He might lose his job over this. Then again, what if the ship’s occupants had done something terrible, maybe robbed somebody in the town? No, it was best to say nothing. He had seen nobody, all he could describe was the ship, and he hadn’t even thought to look at the name. Best keep quiet. He couldn’t help anyone by losing the job he loved.

Next morning, Andy called in at the café as usual for breakfast. The place was unusually animated, patrons