Terror Strokes

Terror Strokes

by

Allan James Lammiman

  Night was falling and John shivered as he began to feel cold. It had been over an hour since Gary and Frank had left to get the spare tyre from Gary's garage and John, who was nervous of the dark to say the least, was sure an animal was stalking him. A shadow, caused he knew, by the moon's steady glow, was moving closer every minute. But then, to him every tree, every shadow and even the car itself, hid an attacker, waiting to leap out and slash his throat. John was not a happy man.

Feeling in need of company, John tried the radio again. Static echoed inside the big Renault Espace and a faint rendition of a Beatles song could be heard in the background, but overall the reception was the same as before. He yawned. It had been a long journey and he was already tired.

"Bloody transmission lines!" he spat. "Just my luck to get stuck beneath a pylon!"

Gary, the owner, was more concerned about his precious Renault, his pride and joy. The puncture had been caused by a rusty nail, left lying the road and picked up somewhere between the city centre and where the car was now. Gary, annoyed at the needless damage, had cursed loudly, and vowed in future to check the car and road before setting off. Not that Gary's vow helped John now. He was stuck guarding the car until they got back.

Steeling himself, John peered through the windscreen once more, searching the gloom for glimpse of his two friends.

"Where are you?" he said aloud. "You should have been back half an hour ago!"

Gary's house was good four miles down the lane, but only mile away by the footpath which led across the fields. Frank, Gary's brother, had gone with him to help wheel the tyre back. Why Gary did not carry the tyre with him in the car, John did not know. There was plenty of space. John begun to wish he gone with them.

"There's too many crooks about." Gary had said as he had set off. "One of us should stay and guard the car. Have a snooze."

John had not exactly volunteered to stay, it was more that Frank had decided for him. "You stay, John." he had said, "I need to make a phone call anyway. Might as well do from Gary's. We won't be long." Frank was like that. Never giving a thought for another persons feelings.

And off they stroud, over the bank and across the meadow. The last John saw of them was when the two brothers had hopped across the stream at the bottom of the hill and disappeared into the wood on the other side.

John looked at his watch. Five minutes passed nine. One hour and fifteen minutes since they had left.

"What's keeping them?" John muttered. An owl hooted in a tree nearby and John jumped with fright. "I hate the countryside!" he said, checking that the door was locked for the tenth time.

Twenty minutes later, the dusk had fallen completely, leaving John all alone in the dark. Unable to sleep and unwilling to get out and stretch his aching legs, John Looked around the car for something to read. He tried the door pocket and found a paperback book and a road atlas. Switching on the interior light, he read the book's title.

"Oh great!" he exclaimed, "The Beast of Bodmin Moor, the true story! Just what I need!"

Disgusted, he tossed the book aside and huddled deeper into the plush velour seat.

"I hate cats!" he muttered miserably. "Always clawing at you and purring! It's just as well Gary has a dog."

John had hated cats for as long as he could remember. His mother said it started when he was a little boy. A cat had leapt out on him, making John, an already nervous child, loose control of his bladder.

"Eh!" he shuddered, "I hope there's none around here!"

Thinking he heard a sound in the lane behind, and not daring to turn round, John fidgeted with the rear view mirror to get a better look.

"Perhaps they came back the long way." he thought as the sound grew closer. A dark shaped loped into view and he immediately thought of the book title. "That's a cat!" he gulped. "A big one! It's the beast, coming to get me!"

John took a deep breath and slowly turned round. The spectre, whatever it was, had gone. John breathed a sigh of relief.

"Pull yourself together John." he told himself. "There's no beast out there. This is not even Bodmin!"

Even so, John checked all the door locks again, just to be safe.

Half an hour, and dozen more scares later, found John still in the car, waiting for his two friends. He was now very worried.

"Maybe the radio's cleared up." he said, more in an effort to make himself believe he was not alone. He turned it on. Static. Then, just as he was about switch it off, he heard the announcer say something about a hunt.

"What's that he said?" he breathed.

The announcer's voice, although faint and interrupted by bursts of crackling, was once clear enough for John to understand. `A spokesman Local police have sealed off the surrounding area to look for the animal.'

John gulped.

`The villagers have been advised to stay indoors and keep their doors locked.'

John instinctively checked the door locks again.

The announcer continued his report. `Edward Stone, the head keeper at Hot..n..oo...,' The report was interrupted by a burst of static.

"Hotton Zoo?" thought John aloud, "I'm sure he said Hotton Zoo. Isn't there a zoo, or something, over by Gary's way?"

`...where the animal escaped from earlier, has assured the public that the animal, a young black panther, is quite docile and was fed only...,' More static. `...before the escape.'

"Docile?" sobbed John, who was sure now that the black shape he saw earlier was the big cat. "Panthers aren’t docile! They’re killers!"

The report finished and the programme returned to playing music. The first tune was, `Strangers in the night,' which did not make John feel any better. He turned the radio off. Silence.

In the distance, a church clock struck. John counted off the strikes. "One, two, three, four...," he counted slowly, "...seven eight, nine, ten. Ten o'clock. Over two hours since they left! Where are they?"

A bush rustled and John's head shot round. A dark shape moved across a gap in the hedge.

"Oh god!" preyed John. He closed his eyes, hoping it wasn't what feared. The beast. The owl hooted again.

"Ow, sh..shut up!" said John, his teeth chattering with fright.

He opened his eyes, slowly. The dark shape had gone.

"Where are they?" he asked again. The interior light, which he had left on, was beginning fade.

"Damn it!" he cursed. "I bet the batteries getting flat! I knew Gary should have had it changed when he bought it!"

Gary was like that. If it worked. Leave it alone. John, or John the Quaker as his friends called him, for obvious reasons, liked to check and double check everything, in fear he would get stuck somewhere. Like he was now. In the dark. All alone. With a black beast stalking him.

It started to rain. Not hard, but enough to make pitter-patter sounds on the windscreen. John tried the radio again. The mellow strings of an orchestra drifted out of the twin speakers, cutting through the poor reception and easing John into a pleasant mood. Soon he forgot about the news broadcast and started to doze. It had after all, been a long day and he was tired.

He was awaken by a loud thump on the rear door. "Bloody hell!" he cried, "What was that?"

Then he remembered the escaped panther. "It's trying to get in!" he sobbed.

The back door slowly opened. John shook with fear and stayed as still as he could, fearing the worst. The door opened wider. John curled his hand round the road atlas, and quietly began rolling it up. With a final judder, the rear door swung fully open and with his heart beating ten to the dozen, he waited for the beast to strike.

"Sorry we were so long John," said Gary, "But Frank offered to take the dog for a walk and it got off the lead. It should be around here somewhere. You haven't seen him by any chance? You remember Bruce. He's a big black Labrador."

"Oh, hi, Gary." said John, feeling very relieved and a little foolish. "Now that you mention it, I think I did see him." He got out of the car and walked round to the back. It was pitch black and he difficulty in seeing where he was going. A black shape looped out to him, giving him start.

"God, Bruce!" he said, "There you are!"

"Ah there you are." said Gary. "Hold onto him by the collar will you. I don't want him getting away again."

John reached down and felt for the dog's collar. "I think he's lost it." he said. The animal's fur felt like silk and John began stroke it.

"I've found him!" came a shout from the dark. Frank entered the lane, leading a big black Labrador.

John froze and looked down. The animal he was petting began to purr.

It was the first time in years that John had wet himself.

 

The End



©Allan James Lammiman

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