Ferine

By Danny Marshall

Rural Yorkshire is at it's darkest in this brutal, unrelenting British horror.

When an isolated house is besieged by mysterious creatures a housewarming party turns into a night of terrifying violence. But what does this have to do with a laboratory accident two hundred miles away?

As the body count rises the dwindling band of survivors are caught between the creatures and a group of sinister individuals determined to cover up the incident - and their mistakes - at any cost

Here the hills don't just just have eyes - they have teeth!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danny Marshall
• Release date: Feb 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311078568

Danny Marshall

Danny Marshall was born and raised in Halifax, West Yorkshire - for those unfamiliar, it's an industrial town in the north of England.Known for the infamous 'Halifax Gibbet' - the vicious medieval execution device built to enforce the town's harsh laws and whose reputation inspired the famous line 'From Hell, Hull, and Halifax, Good Lord deliver us!' - the area is crammed with a history of murderous violence. From the wild windswept moors to the steep dark valleys, the rugged Pennine landscape is marinated in blood and intrigue and it's this landscape that directly inspired his first novel 'Ferine'.Growing up in these surroundings, reading local tales and secretly staying up late to watch old horror films, it's no wonder his head was filled with the macabre. He weaves myths and legends with modern ideas to create contemporary stories with a distinctly British voice.In 2015 he was selected as a winner of the Northern Crime competition, with his short story 'Intruder' being published in the 2016 anthology Northern Crime One. He has just completed his second novel, 'Gruinard' - a locked room mystery which takes place in a scientific research facility on an isolated Scottish island, and is working to finish his third novel, 'Flies, Entwined' - a macabre locked room mystery set once again in his home county of Yorkshire.Star Wars nerd, zombie geek, monster enthusiast, and Hitchcock fan, he lives in a leaky old cottage on a windy hillside with his new son and long suffering partner, two pampered hounds, and hordes of uninvited mice.He works for a bank to fund his writing habit, and can often be found roaming the Calder Valley in search of mythical beasts.

Book preview

Ferine

By Danny Marshall

Copyright 2016 Danny Marshall

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords edition licence 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. Respect and support art; if you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, please return to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For Louby

without whom it wouldn't have started

and Jules

without whom it wouldn't have finished

I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their pest

whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace

at the price, perhaps,

of the whole Human race.

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

1818

Chapter One

Ferine, adj.

Etymology: < Latin ferīnus, < fera wild beast.

a.Of or pertaining to, or of the nature of, a wild animal, or wild animals.

b.Of human beings, their actions and attributes: Bestial, beast-like.

The strobe light above the doors blinked as rapidly as his heartbeat. Dave couldn't hear the chirping alarm over the blood rushing in his ears, but through a blur of tears he watched the entire corridor pulse between sterile white and angry red.

He was out of shape; his entire body shook as he took a much needed rest to catch his breath. He focused on a spot of water on the floor. A drip splattered beside his foot and he realised sweat was rolling down his nose. He lurched back to life, staggering and sliding along the wall a few steps before pausing to look at the car keys in his hand. Are these mine? He stuffed them into his pocket and nearly dragged them out again as he withdrew his hand. Sticky…Why are my hands so sticky?

In his other hand he gripped a broken test tube, clenched so tightly his knuckles glowed. He held it aloft and frowned; something gnawed at him but the memory was just beyond reach. He shuddered as a wave of nausea travelled the length of his body, then doubled over and expelled the remains of his stomach. He stood shaking a moment longer, then dropped the test tube into the vomit.

His ragged gasps had downgraded to panting and the roar in his ears had subsided. Now above the alarm he could hear, and began to feel, feet pounding the corridor behind him. They were approaching, fast. Anywhere but here, go!

He looked again down the corridor towards the exit. No chance; they'll be waiting for me. He slowly crept back the way he'd come, the rubbery floor masking his steps. The sounds were much closer now; they'd turn the corner any second. Dave shouldered through a door into a dim open plan office. The programmers hit the pub early on Fridays, so he was alone in the room. Those bastard IT jobsworths. He gripped the handle and closed the door behind him with a soft click. The office was gloomy in the fading evening light but he left the light off, taking care to avoid the furniture as he tiptoed to the far side of the room.

A shriek heralded the pursuers' arrival in the corridor outside. A woman screamed commands and Dave crouched behind a desk in terror, but the feet stomped on past his door. After the intense pursuit, the wailing alarm, and the thumping footsteps, his world went eerily quiet. He slid out the PC, made himself as small as he could, and squeezed himself into the space under the desk. Glancing at the computer, his heart began to race again. Bloody fingerprints were smeared across the disc drive. They've been in here.

He willed his heart to slow and held his breath. The room had been dark when he came in. Are there more of them? They could be in here now and I wouldn't know. Waiting in the shadows? He shivered and huddled further under the desk. As if to answer his question a creak sounded at the far side of the office. His stomach lurched again; he froze so solidly he'd swear his heart stopped. Is it just my mind playing tricks? He strained his ears. No, there it is again. A creak and a series of soft clicks, this time clearly defined. Over on the other side of the office, near Andy's desk.

Maybe they'd been checking the PCs when I came in? And they're over there right now, waiting for me to make a move. He suddenly wished he hadn't wedged himself under the desk; he felt less hidden and protected, more trapped and claustrophobic. He couldn't see the room but he could already sense them creeping across to his desk.

He didn't know who they were but he knew they wanted him - preferably dead. And he knew they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted. I need to get out of here, quickly. The creaking came again, closer now. And whispering, muffled words but it didn't take his genius to work out what they were going to do when they got him. Dave sat paralysed.

The creaking stopped and in its place came another whisper, directly behind him. Crouching with his chin between his knees, wispy hair brushing the underside of the desk, he was hidden from anyone stood in the room. But to someone crouched, his back was completely exposed and open to attack. They saw me enter the room; they know exactly where I am. Now he could feel them crawling slowly across the floor, to the spot where he sat wedged under the desk, creeping towards his unprotected back. A hiss from somewhere high to his left, answered by a whisper from the floor close to his fingers. He drew his hand in slowly and gripped his legs in terror. A warm, rotten smell drifted under the desk, rancid meat mixed with a tang of rusty iron. Dread dropped like a weight through his intestines as he imagined their claws on him, felt himself being yanked backwards without warning.

Suddenly the office door slammed open so hard that it must have bent the hinges. A wide stripe of red light flared across the floor, bending up the wall opposite Dave's hiding place. The chirping alarm filled the room, and for a moment nothing else happened. Dave focused entirely on the flashing strip of light projected onto the far wall. After a few seconds the shadow of a head rounding the door frame appeared on the wall, slowly followed by the rest of the body. The elongated shadow briefly ballooned to fill the wall then slipped aside as it stepped silently in to the office. The unseen figure didn't make a sound as it took in the room. The woman shrieked again in the distance, probably down near the exit. Dave watched the shadow quickly cross the wall and leave the room. Its footsteps drummed steadily down the corridor, lost to the incessant chirping of the alarm.

Dave breathed again. This is it. This could be my only chance. He eased himself out from under the desk, standing on quivering legs to scan the room. He was alone. He walked to the window and looked out at the darkening industrial estate beyond. A tall galvanised fence surrounded the research facility. To his left a gap led out onto to the main road, to his right the car park stretched along the front of the squat concrete building. A streetlamp at the far end bathed a sleek Audi coupe in a pool of amber light. Gems of rain glinted on the black bodywork. He tapped the pocket of his chinos and felt the reassuring presence of the keys. A means of escape? He turned and walked unsteadily back to the door and stopped dead. The door handle was covered in blood.

A framed picture on the wall beside the door caught his eye - MediNan at the Nanotechnology research annual dinner, the core team huddled awkwardly round a table in a hotel ballroom. Just 6 months previous but it seemed years ago now. He struggled to reconcile the chubby middle aged man in the photograph with the reflection that gazed back at him from the glass. He was beaming in the photo, a smartly dressed woman perched on one side and two obvious IT geeks on the other. He raised a hand and stroked the picture, almost in reverence, then turned to face the window again. Behind him, 5 sticky red smears streaked the picture frame.

The office chair exploded through the window, skittering across the car park like a giant tumbling spider and slamming into the steel fence opposite. Dave followed quickly behind, leaving bloody palm prints on the ledge. He dropped to the ground and launched straight at the far end of the building, towards the coupe. It was parked facing him in the end spot, alongside the tall fence. Shouts sprang up as he passed the main entrance but he couldn't understand the words, knowing only that they desperately wanted him. He kept on sprinting.

He wrenched the door of the Audi A5 open and threw himself into the driver's seat. He jammed a stubby index finger down on the starter button, throwing his other hand out and yanking the door shut. His left foot was already on the clutch and his right on the accelerator as the big diesel V6 rumbled to life and surged to 4000rpm.

He knocked the gear stick across and up, lifting his foot straight off the clutch. The wide tyres chirped in protest and then bit into the tarmac as the all-wheel drive fired the big coupe across the car park. It roared along the front of the building, back in the direction of the front doors and the exit to the main road beyond. Unfortunately, between the nose of the car and the gates Roger, one of MediNan's security guards, had just burst from the doors and into the car park. Dave was thrust back into the seat as he slammed into second gear and buried his right foot further into the carpet.

Roger didn't even have time to look round; Dave watched as his legs snapped up ninety degrees and he slid, almost upright, across the bonnet to bounce off the car's windscreen. The body was discarded, leaving only a few flecks of blood spattered across the glass as it tumbled into a flower bed beside the building.

'Bastards!' Spit flew from Dave's mouth as he pointed the bonnet at the gap in the big steel fence. With a screech of rubber and a judder of protest from the traction control he yanked the car onto the main road. He went straight for fourth gear and then sixth without moving his right foot from the floor.

The A5 powered down the dual carriageway at a furious pace. Somewhere nearby an alarm sounded, loud and inescapable. It wasn't the alarm at the lab; he'd left that far behind. The police already? No. Something else. They know. They know I've taken this car. They're sounding an alarm to let everyone else know, so they can all follow me. The fuckers, it's a trap!

He saw they'd put a bright flashing light on the dashboard too, to distract him. Alarms and trackers and a big red light, the sneaky bastards. He gritted his teeth and willed the car on faster as the alarm engulfed his ears.

He had a sudden epiphany. No! It's the seatbelt warning! Relief flooded his body and his breathing returned to normal. Shaking his head to refocus his eyes on the road, he reached over his shoulder and clicked the seatbelt into place. The alarm stopped and everything was suddenly quiet, except for the high pitched whistling whine of the turbo, pulling him up the slip road and onto the M1 Motorway.

***

The driving rain had died back to a misty drizzle but the gusts remained, racing through a nearby wind turbine. It blew gales all summer up here, and this was late October. There were only a few bent and stunted trees on the hilltop for the wind to whistle through – in fact, not much stood taller than the clumps of scrubby grass, blown flat into the puddles along the dry stone walls flanking the lane. The sun was just setting beyond the wind turbine, casting long tentacles of darkness swooshing from right to left. The tall stone walls plunged the lane into deeper shadow. It was a terrible cliché, but this part of Yorkshire at this time of year validated the adage that the North could indeed be grim.

Matt corrected the steering with each gust as the wind hammered against the side of the Transit van. He swept his hair out of his eyes and glanced at Kate in the passenger seat. He leaned across and gave her a playful punch on the shoulder.

'It's our lane now, eh? Ha! I still can't believe we got it.'

Kate let out a squeal of excitement and punched him back. 'I know, right? So cool. We have our own lane!

'It'll be bad in winter.'

'We won't get up here in the snow.'

Matt shrugged. 'We'll get a Landrover, it'll be worth it. I really didn't think the sale was gonna through. And just in time for your birthday!'

'Shush.' Kate pouted. 'We don't talk about that. Anyway I'm twenty-nine again, remember?' She peered into the dusk and furrowed her brows. 'Is the gate shut?'

'What the fuck?' Matt slowed to a crawl and switched the wipers off. As the rutted track dipped over the hillside a steel gate stretched between two stone uprights. Matt stopped the engine and clicked the full beams on. He jumped down to inspect the gate, and the wind slammed the van door behind him.

'It's locked,' he shouted. 'Someone's chained it with a padlock!'

'It'll be the estate agent; they'll have kept it locked with no one living here. I bet it's on the keys he gave us.'

'Have a look then, they're in the cup holder.'

Kate picked up a bunch of keys and jumped down after Matt. 'I think it's one of these,' she said, throwing them to him. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the gusts whipped her hair viciously across her face.

'These are all deadlock keys, you doofus.'

He knew the two biggest keys unlocked the front and side doors of their new house. Handy stickers on the others stated garage and shed. There were no padlock keys on the ring.

'Did he give us any others?' he asked.

'Nah, deffo just these. It wasn't locked before though, was it?'

'No but the estate agent was with us last time, I bet he put the chain on. Shit, he'll have the key - what a fucking idiot. What time is it?'

'Just after five,' she answered.

'Fuck, on a Friday too. I'll try him anyway.'

Matt took his phone out, scrolling to the number for Harker's before remembering he didn't get a signal here. All the technology and apps in his phone couldn't fix the lack of line-of-sight propagation, and the fact that the nearest mast was a couple of miles away. Ironically here near the top of the hill was a worse place to be than the steep sided valleys below - down there the signal was handily bounced around for the lucky bottom dwellers.

'Bastard, I forgot. Do you have a signal?' he asked.

'Nope. I did coming up the valley though.'

'Ok. Well we can either drive back down and try get the keys tonight, or we can find the toolbox and smash the padlock off.'

'We can't break it!' she exclaimed in horror.

'Why the fuck not? It's ours now! The Estate Agents aren't gonna give a shit and it's too late to get the keys anyway. I think the toolbox is underneath everything though. Look, the rain's stopped, let's unload some stuff and wait for the others.'

'Ok, I guess so. Bagsy I get the teabags.'

Matt unlocked the rear doors and sighed when he saw again the boxes and furniture stacked Tetris-like in the back. Moving house was great, but the logistics really sucked. Still, the novelty of it usually provided the necessary motivation. He almost regretted their decision to move the first load tonight. Almost, but not quite - he couldn't wait to see the place again now that it was officially theirs, especially now that nothing could scupper the purchase. Besides, he knew the quicker it was unloaded, the quicker he could open a beer.

A decent sized path led between one of the gate posts and the wall – it would be a pain but they could leave the van up here and carry most of the boxes and furniture the short distance down to the house. At least until they unearthed his toolbox and found anything hefty enough to cut, smash, or shatter the padlock. Throwing the house keys to Kate, he reached in and slid a box toward him.

***

Kate dropped a box marked kitchen onto the worktop. She could hear Matt stalking room to room upstairs, switching on all the lights and shouting down a wholly inaudible commentary. She gave a few non-committal grunts of reply whilst pulling a weighty Dualit kettle out of a box. She dropped teabags into a couple of chipped mugs and mentally congratulated her foresight in packing the tea making things on top. Matt stomped back into the kitchen and flung open a cupboard under the sink, clattering about and swearing.

Kate bent over the breakfast bar and hummed to herself whilst thumbing through Harker's marketing brochure.

"Hobbdene Barn.

Grade II listed Seventeenth Century Barn. Offering self-sufficient seclusion with spectacular views of the upper Calder Valley. Part renovated, requires modernisation."

Jeez, you're not kidding about that. Although to be fair, it was the only way they had been able to afford a place like this, and it would be great to put their own stamp on it.

Hobbdene Farm house is available by separate negotiation.

I just hope the farmhouse stays empty for a while. Maybe until we finish this place, then we can remortgage the barn and buy the old farmhouse too. Nah, it's a nice dream but that'll never happen. But at least it's empty at the moment. It'll be nice to be on our own with no neighbours for a while.

Set in 5 acres of grazing and woodland.

Yeah, half of it's scrubby fields and the other half is steep hillside and sheer cliffs. Although there was a stream which provided water before cascading down to supply the cottages at the bottom. And the field did offer a wind turbine, so the self-sufficient blurb was true at least.

Matt stole a glance at his girlfriend wiggling over the breakfast bar, her skirt riding up high. They'd worked hard ferrying the boxes down from the van and the backs of her bare thighs had a slight sheen, flushed from exertion. The wind had rearranged her long red hair into a shapeless pile fringed with damp, and slight dark patches were just visible in the shadows under her arms. Her tight t-shirt filled out and then went flat where her breasts pressed into the worktop. Matt lingered on the curve of her hips under the skirt and could almost feel the soft slick skin underneath. She wiggled again and the skirt rode higher still, almost revealing the crease at the top of her legs.

She turned her head and caught him eyeing her. He snapped back to reality.

'Right babe, I'm off to do the lightbulbs,' he said, grabbing a box from the cupboard.

'Really? You're not gonna do me?' she replied with a cheeky wiggle.

'What?'

'You heard, just a quickie. Whaddaya think I'm waiting here for?'

'The others will be here soon!' he stuttered.

'But we need to christen the house….'

Matt placed the box of bulbs on the counter top and slid up behind Kate.

Chapter Two

Dave had kept an eye glued to the rear-view mirror since hitting the road. He was certain they were following him, but he'd eased off the accelerator after joining the motorway. They wouldn't give up - he was sure of that - but he knew they had no idea where he was going. Thankfully traffic was light and he'd kept a fairly constant speed. Besides, he wouldn't be on the motorway for long.

He shifted in his seat and flexed his hands for the hundredth time. The pins and needles eating his arms was almost unbearable and he had a killer migraine on the way, but he knew neither would stop him. He'd taken A-roads most of the way so far to try to throw them off the scent, but a few minutes ago he'd got back onto the motorway, confident in his lead. A bright blue oblong sign flashed past. The North. They'd probably expect him to go home, but not to go home. Dave blinked and flexed his hands again. Since re-joining the M1 a pair of headlights had appeared in his rear view mirror, and now they were closing fast.

He mashed his foot into the carpet and felt the big Audi surge forward. The lights dropped back momentarily, then approached again. Dave felt his pulse quicken. The hunters. The speedometer climbed past 120mph; the lights were still gaining but much slower now. How did they find me, and how do they know where I'm going? Do they have guns? Should I slow down and try to outmanoeuvre them, or just keep accelerating? The road was flat and there wasn't much traffic. If I keep going I'll hit the speed limiter at 155mph and then what? What if they shoot the tyres out at 155? There won't be much left of me to scrape up, that's what.

137mph.

He didn't need to check the mirror anymore; the reflected lights were blazing in his face. Other than the Audi, the only other cars he'd seen in the facility car park were his little Mini and Roger's Golf. What the fuck are they driving and how are they still gaining? No traffic in front now.

145mph.

Once he got to 155 there was a good chance they wouldn't catch up; unless they had something really special, they'd be limited to the same top speed.

150mph.

A distant red glow appeared in front of him and grew steadily. The lights behind were dazzling now. Dave winced and screwed his eyes shut as the mirror reflected the pain burning behind his eyes. The red light in front had morphed into triple red lamps; someone was sat on their brakes waiting for him on the hard shoulder. They're going to cut me off.

Lights seared across his face, a blinding reflection from the mirror as the car behind moved into the central lane. They're going to ram me off the road. The car in front is going to move out to trap me, while the car behind boxes me in. The steering wheel was sticky and slippery at the same time, dried blood mixing with sweat in his palms.

155mph.

The red lights directly in front turned bright blue an instant before he whipped past them. At the same time the pursuing BMW M3 GT inched past his side window. He released his right foot and the M3 flew past with a banshee howl from the straight-six engine. Dave caught a flash of two teenagers, hoods up and faces pressed to the window, wildly gesturing and howling with laughter. The driver was trying to keep the BMW in a straight line whilst lighting what was probably not a roll-up. It was probably not his BMW.

The police car which had pulled out behind them hadn't been sat on his brakes all the time - he must have been getting a head start along the hard shoulder, as the Volvo was now pulling up impressively behind. Dave and the BMW had both backed off, the scally in the M3 deciding it was more fun to toy with him instead. He'd been so occupied rolling up his joint that he hadn't noticed the police car until it was upon them, but now he accelerated away again with another straight-six wail and flourish of hand signals though the back window. The police had evidently got a good look at the contents of both cars and decided the stolen M3 GT was the better target, as the Volvo accelerated to match. The officer in the passenger seat glared as they passed and Dave looked down. 110mph. No doubt they had radioed in that the two powerful coupes had been racing. More police would be rapidly closing on them, but Dave wouldn't be on the motorway for much longer.

As the two pairs of rear lights continued to accelerate away Dave relaxed his hands