Demon Sky

By Stephen Aleppo

After spending six weeks in the hospital recovering from a car accident Charlotte Pearce is surprised when an Aunt she barely knows arrives to collect her. Her Father's been taken ill in France and her Mother has flown out to stay with him until he’s fit enough to return home. Meanwhile, Charlotte must go stay with her Aunt in her crumbling ruin of a house deep in the countryside.
Aunt Sarah has enough problems of her own as Charlotte’s young cousin Nick has mysteriously fallen from his bedroom window three days earlier and now lies comatose in a local hospital. On her first night Charlotte discovers that a star shaped object has been removed from a frame Nick had hanging in his room. One of the points is missing. But before she can ponder this for too long a strange vision of the boy appears in the bathroom mirror. Nick is standing on an old circular piece of stone out on the grounds known locally as the Penny Stone. He is clearly begging for her help and terrified of something lurking in the darkness behind him.
Any thoughts about a relaxing convalescence in the old house are short lived as she finds herself forced into a dangerous game where she has to piece together what she has to do to save Nick and many other children from a fate worse than death in less than a week. And with nothing more than a zany young cousin from Ireland for help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Aleppo
• Release date: Dec 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463828694

Stephen Aleppo

Franz Kafka Prize, European Union Prize for Literature, Goethe Prize, The Hans Christian Anderson Award, ...... these are just a few of the awards I'm never likely to win....... But I’m still doing something I love thanks to ebooks and ultimately that’s all that counts.Born Camberwell London UK 1959 (OMG!!)Grew up in Mitcham, Tooting and Clapham in London.Have been writing as a hobby since Primary school. English was about the only thing I ever excelled at and writing for me was always on the cards even if I was generally too lazy to sit down and do it. If the lesson wasn't English I generally gazed out of the nearest window and thought about the universe. I only recently started making a real effort to write in the last five years or so as the mindless grip of the book agent is finally at an end and we all have a second chance.My other serious Hobby is Photography.Enjoy writing for the younger Teen Market as I still tend to think like a fourteen year old. Shame I haven’t got the legs to go with the outlook anymore, but it comes to us all. Also have a strong interest in the paranormal, especially out of body experiences. I have been plagued by them since my childhood and am in the process of putting the finishing touches to my new book, A simple Guide to the Out of Body Experience.If I had the guts I’d like to be a stand up comic.One of the worst sins in life is to take yourself too seriously.

Book preview

Demon Sky

Published by Stephen Aleppo

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Stephen Aleppo

This Edition 2021

This book is dedicated to

Tina, Daniel, Danielle, Logan, Star and Rogue.

Rocky Sparky Codey and Spooky

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 1

Your Aunt Sarah’s here to collect you kid.

Charlotte Pearce stopped brushing the gloom out of her hair and frowned at Maisie’s reflection in the dressing table mirror. Aunt Sarah? She replied. Are you sure?

Says she’s your Aunt Sarah. And boy, she got a face on her as long as an undertaker. I never did see that look on anyone still alive.

What's she doing here?

I dunno kid. Maisie shrugged as she dragged the sheets from the bed with one almighty tug and balled them up. They pay me minimum wage and thinking ain’t included?

Shrugging off her confusion, Charlotte swept up her carrier bag and an envelope full of homemade good luck cards from the children’s ward. As she squeezed past Maisie in the doorway the girl turned and wrapped huge arms around her. Now as much as I’ve loved having you around, She drawled. I never want to see you in here again. You keep them eyes open when you crossing them roads from now on? Put all this down to a painful experience you can forget about. Now Sister told me to give you these, The girl added, passing over a small polythene bag. If it hurts, you take them pills and if it hurts real bad, you ring the number on the card. It says 24-hour service, but don’t you go banking on that. Maybe you got all your suffering out the way early in your life. And now it gonna be roses the whole way.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and grinned as she hurried along the corridor, ignoring the mild burning sensation in the side of her head that had replaced the hammer blows a month earlier. The fading bruises reflected in the wired glass in the swing doors as she left the confines of the Penfield Wing and headed into reception. Aunt Sarah dropped the magazine she’d been thumbing through onto a nearby table and stared over. She looked older than Charlotte remembered her. As if the dampness from her decaying old mansion had soaked into her and caused her skin to bubble like a grand piece of furniture left out in the rain too long. Now, more haggard and greyer than ever, she appeared to have lost weight too. The hard slate grey eyes offered nothing.

Hello Auntie. What’s happened?

Aunt Sarah tugged her coat belt and glared around as if she expected every germ in the hospital to be invading her. Your Mother couldn’t come She replied. Something came up.

Like what?

It’s your Father.

What about him? Charlotte gulped.

He’s had a heart attack. Collapsed during the farewell bash in the hotel in Paris at that sales conference.

Oh God.

It’s all right. Aunt Sarah added, holding up her hands to head off any emotional outburst. It’s minor. That’s what the manager of the hotel told your Mother on the phone last night, but you know what the French are like? They never tell you the truth about anything. He’s at that funny age too.

He's forty-five. Charlotte gasped.

Funny age. Aunt Sarah replied. Once their arteries narrow they’re like ticking time bombs the lot of them. Now you’re not to worry. Cynthia’s gone over to sort everything out and stay with him till he gets better and I’m looking after you.

Charlotte swallowed a lump in her throat as her Aunt peered at the brown and yellow face. Are you all better now? She said eventually. I don’t want to catch anything. You come into these places to visit someone having a baby and you walk out with Cholera.

I had a swelling in the brain Auntie, after the accident, Charlotte replied. You can’t catch that. Cholera’s not much of a problem these days.

You were lucky the fire brigade managed to jack that car up as fast as they did though. Still, at your age, you’ll get it behind you in no time. Six weeks of your life wasted in a horrid place like this and all for the want of being careful crossing a road. Day-dreaming I suppose. Anyway, She added, tugging on her coat belt until the stitching crackled. Let’s get out of here. I can feel germs creeping up my legs right now. I was never right once this lot had my Gall Bladder. I always wonder what other damage they caused while they were blundering about down there. She sniffed at the receptionist before barrelling through the double glass doors with her free gloved hand over her mouth. The girl behind the desk offered a worried smile before mouthing a goodbye. Charlotte Having to run to catch up as the woman powered across the car park, heading for her battered blue hatchback. The sudden strain caused Charlotte’s head to throb and she slowed down until the giddiness passed. Have you come to take me home Auntie? She managed.

Yes, of course. You don’t think I drove all this way to breathe in this foul air do you? You’re coming to the Grange with me.

What. I want to go home."

I told you, your parents are in France. I went round to your place this morning to fetch your things and I’ve no intention of going back again if I can help it. The traffic’s appalling, parking’s a nightmare and I don’t think I’ve seen so many shady characters loitering around since I watched the Sopranos. You’re coming with me. She opened the tailgate and Charlotte stowed her bag beside the big old suitcase she recognised as the old spare no-one ever used. It appeared to be full. It’ll be two weeks at most and that won’t kill you will it? A bit of peace might do you some good. Nothing much ever happens in Patcham.

I’ve had enough peace to last me a lifetime.

I didn’t know what to bring. Aunt Sarah went on as if reading her mind. So I grabbed everything I could fit in there.

She slammed the hatch shut and hurried around to the driver’s door, drumming, drumming impatient fingers on the steering wheel while she waited for Charlotte to climb inside.

I could have done without this too. I’m worried sick about Nick and now this.

What’s wrong with Nick?

Oh, you don’t know about that do you? Aunt Sarah diverted her attention through the side window.

What’s happened to him?

He fell from his bedroom window ....on Tuesday night. Aunt Sarah said at last.

Oh no, Charlotte managed, the woman’s haggard appearance now making more sense. How …..is he?

A long silence followed. I wish I knew. He’s been in a coma at the Royal Free in Town for almost three days now and he hasn’t so much as flickered an eyelid. The doctor’s say there’s nothing wrong with him apart from a broken collar bone. But they can’t wake him up. Charlotte closed her eyes, angry at herself for feeling so hostile to the woman.

How did it happen? Nick's terrified of heights isn’t he?

"Nothing wrong with your memory I see. It’s over seven years since you and your Mother visited us. Nick was…. is still scared of heights. The Police think he may have tried to climb down the ivy creepers outside the window. Not that I can see him doing anything that stupid. But he’d been having strange nightmares, for about a month now and they were stopping him from sleeping.

Did he say what these dreams were about?

Something chasing him, over the old iron bridge in Town. Some hideous creature hiding in a thick swirling fog.

Charlotte frowned. That’s weird.

Aunt Sarah nodded. How he knew it was hideous is beyond me, because I don’t think he ever saw it. He told me he would be running as hard as he could and he only felt safe when he made it across to the other side.

Poor Nick, Charlotte whispered. It must have been hell for him.

He’s one of life’s great worriers at the best of times and these nightmares wore him out. The Doctor thought it was a part of growing up, but he fretted about them no end. Aunt Sarah again diverted her attention to nothing in particular, as if speaking about the tragic event was painful for her. Despite her thirst for more information, Charlotte let it lie. She sat back to let the world race past as the little car headed towards the motorway.

The warmth and the movement soon sent her to sleep and when she woke up again they were about to take the turn off for Patcham.

Feeling better? Aunt Sarah whispered in a tone approaching kindness.

Forcing a grin, Charlotte looked out at the greying sky above a landscape far less cluttered than at the start of the journey. I didn’t realise it was so far.

And I’ve still got to go to the hospital to see Nick. I’m not used to all this driving. The furthest I ever go is to the boot fairs and the supermarket once or twice a week. Since Harry deserted me, my horizons are getting closer and closer. I know it’s a bad trap to fall into, but I’m usually quite content in my own little place. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.

Charlotte let her Aunt Witter away as she took in the darkening sky and stared up at the first stars of the evening. What passed for rush hour in the little town was in full swing as they arrived. The road between a sprawling industrial estate to the right and the river to the left ended at a mini-roundabout. They waited sitting in a line of traffic as it queued to cross the old iron bridge connecting the two halves of the town.

This is it. Aunt Sarah announced as they drove onto the structure. Not much here to dream about is there?

Charlotte sat up and studied the dull tortured ironwork. It seemed to absorb what little remained of the daylight. No. She shuddered. But I remember this now. It gave me the creeps when I was a child. It hasn’t changed at all.

Only people change, Aunt Sarah sighed. And there’s one who’s changed more than most. She nodded towards a tough-looking woman in her seventies, wearing a faded blue raincoat. She stood alone and seemed mesmerised by the tallest of the black supports holding up the sloping overhead beams at the bridge’s centre.

Who is that? Charlotte asked, taking in the crazy long grey hair and excess of heavy makeup, giving the woman the appearance of an aged down at heel clown.

That's Margaret. The daughter of William Sutherland, the man who designed this structure back in the 1950s. He also owned my house and lived there for years... until the men in the white coats dragged him off to the funny farm screaming his head off one night.

Charlotte turned, What happened to him?

No-one knows. But he went quite bonkers within 5 years of building this thing. Poor Margaret was only about seventeen at the time and from the looks of her, she'll be going the same way as the old man. She’s been a recluse for the best part of twenty years, but then, she showed up again recently. Spends hours staring into that middle support with that weird look on her face. When she's not staring, she’s screaming and shouting at the kids as they cross it on their way home from school. Pity to end up like that.

She doesn’t like young people?

I don’t think she minds them. She doesn’t want them on this bridge though. Strange, considering how long it’s been here. I don’t get it. Nick’s nightmares and now her obsessing over it. It’s just an ugly old iron bridge.

Have you tried talking to her?

Of course not. Aunt Sarah scowled. I told you, she’s barmy.

The car crept along while they waited for the traffic lights at the junction ahead to clear, allowing Charlotte an opportunity to study the woman. Despite her advancing years, she looked in good shape.

She wasn’t always like that of course. Aunt Sarah went on. Distinguished military career and did time in the special forces that no one’s allowed to talk about. Tough as any man. Always getting into brawls at weekends when the drink got her. I think both her and her old man were alcoholics.

The woman turned around then, catching Charlotte watching her and fixed her with a cold stare, the faded green eyes bored into her until Charlotte felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She sank lower into the seat to blot out the scary face until the traffic ahead cleared allowing them to move on.

They said at the hospital you had to take pills every day. Aunt Sarah said. You have got them haven’t you?

Yes, they’re in the bag.

I don't want anything happening to you while you’re here.

It won’t. I’m going to take it as easy as I can.

Good. Because I’m worn out with the worry of Nick and I don’t think I could cope if something happened to you too.

Charlotte nodded. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden to her Aunt. Although she had never warmed to the woman, it was easy to understand how she must be feeling.

They drove on through the Town to where the roads became gloomy narrow lanes, with little traffic to mar their sleepy peace, until the trees thinned to expose a wide verge bordered with yellow painted kerb stones and a short driveway leading to a small concrete gatehouse. Charlotte eyed a sign attached to the green chain link fence outside. Patcham Weather Research Facility. She read aloud. Working in conjunction with the MOD. Trespassers are liable to arrest and prosecution. Well, that’s new.

The steely gaze of the security guard on duty in the gatehouse did nothing to invite further interest as they slowed to negotiate a rutted patch of road outside the place. Churned up by the recent passage of heavy vehicles. Aunt Sarah had to wrestle with the steering wheel as the tyres slipped into the deepest of them.

They monitor global weather patterns, She began. You’ll see American Air Force and RAF jets in the sky most days. They take readings from high in the atmosphere and that lot in there analyse the data collected. I daresay it gets filed away and forgotten. Another waste of money. But as long as they haven’t got any nuclear bombs knocking about, I’ll be happy. I’m too old to start protesting and marching again and they do have a terrible effect on property prices.

The gate guard returned his attention to whatever lay on his desk as they moved on and Charlotte passed the time by searching for the fence where it showed through at various points between the trees. On the base side, dense shrubbery grew unchecked against it to prevent closer observation and only the security cameras on top of the fence posts at regular intervals hinted at what lay beyond.

Aunt Sarah made the left turn into Hobbs Lane and a couple of miles further on Foxley Grange came into view, the place still as forbidding as Charlotte remembered it. A grey stone castle of a house set against a bleak backdrop of misty hills. It was as if William Sutherland had instructed the builders to make it as imposing as possible to deter visitors. The heavy iron gates, once ornate and grand, were now as rusty as the town's bridge. They sagged on the ground in a permanent state of half-openness, affording just enough space to allow the car to pass through and on to the gravel drive beyond.

As if sensing the darkening mood, Aunt spoke. "I’m sure you’ll enjoy being here Charlotte. All this space to explore and Holly to keep you company. This little holiday could be what you need to recuperate.

My cousin Holly….the one from Ireland?

Yes.

I’ve never met her.

She’s only two years younger than you. Maybe a little flaky, so I’m sure you’ll be good company for each other.

The house appeared as they rounded the bend. The attic windows she remembered so well still glowered down at her like two evil eyes And again she felt the curious tightness in her stomach she had experienced as a child. A young girl peered down at them from an upstairs window but she backed away as soon as Charlotte looked up at her.

Bit of fresh air will do you good. Aunt Sarah went on. Get your nose out of those books and those silly stories of yours. You might even get some colour in those pasty cheeks.

It's not silly, Charlotte replied, I enjoy it and it keeps me sane.

Well chin up. It won’t be for long. I’m sure your parents will be home soon and you’ll be back to normal life before you know it. She shouldered her door open and it squealed in protest from lack of oil. She trudged around to the back of the car and Charlotte followed.

I could have gone with her. She sighed. It would have been so much simpler.

Aunt Sarah shook her head as she battled with the tailgate. No, the specialist was clear on that point. Complete rest, no stress and no travelling. I suppose it’s something to do with aeroplane pressure. You don’t want blood coming out of your ears now do you?

No not really,

Despite being mid-July the garden had the heavy depressing atmosphere of a cemetery in winter and the house looked even worse. The walls and windows a perfect complement to the crumbling outside staircase. Reluctantly she grabbed the heavy case and followed her Aunt to the front door. Three cats eyed her from the step without risking the chill. The fattest one, white apart for a line of black fur across the top of its eyes like a continuous eyebrow. It hung down menacingly in the middle, giving the animal a sinister look and she looked up at the sky when he made it clear no human girl was going to stare him down.

After the smog of London, the sky looked oddly clear and the only cloud appeared to be a long thin silvery trail leftover from a high flying aeroplane.

Well let's get you inside. Aunt Sarah said. It does tend to get chilly here once the sun sets. Don't mind Colonel Foster, He was always a misery, even as a kitten. She stooped to ruffle the fur on Colonel Foster's neck and he lifted his chin, eager for more.

Would you excuse us Colonel?

The cat stood and about turned, strutting off down the hall followed by his two mangy looking companions. Charlotte ran her eye over the decor. Drab chocolate brown paint appeared to be everywhere. As if someone had bought a job-lot of it back whenever chocolate-brown was popular and determined to get good value from it. The place was warm enough, but the odour of dampness mixed with the smell of paraffin and territorial cats, was intolerable and she resisted the urge to cover her face with her hankie.

Now your room is up the stairs. Turn left until you reach the last door on the left. It’s Nick’s room. We couldn’t get another ready for you as we’re still waiting for that grant from the council to fix the roof. You go on up and I’ll send Brenda along to make sure you’re all right. I’ve got to go to the hospital to see Nick, but I won’t be long. I’ll see you at tea.

Chapter 2

Compared to her bomb-site of a bedroom, Nick’s room was sterile and it was hard to imagine a twelve-year-old living in such a gloomy place, surrounded by ancient floral wallpaper better suited to an old folk’s home. Charlotte sat down on the edge of the bed, struggling to stop herself from bursting into tears. Her accident was fast becoming a memory and her stay at Foxley Grange would become one too, in time. If the dank mausoleum was to be home for the next fortnight she might as well make the best of it and she forced herself to turn away from the familiar dark pit opening up in her mind by concentrating on what was in the room, rather than the awful decor.

A writing desk and a new A4 pad on top of it she guessed Aunt Sarah had left out for her. A TV, a radio, a DVD player and a few boys’ toys spilling out of a box in the corner. Two sets of shelves on each side of the bed dominated the outer wall. One packed with books, mostly aged scientific tomes. The other displayed Nick’s Matchstick creations. She knew all about them, they had two shire horses at home on either side of the fireplace. Trams, aeroplanes, cars. He even had abstract compositions in frames. Hubcaps, engine parts and interesting stones polished up and stuck on to boards, then highlighted with intricate matchstick surrounds, built up around them, to exaggerate their shapes.

Nothing was too mundane to be pressed into service for Nick’s art. She studied each exhibit in turn, marvelling at the complexity of the work until she came to the central board. Whatever it had featured had been pulled roughly from its backing, leaving little lumps of white glue and a few twisted matchsticks to hint at what might have been there. She knew enough about Nick to realise he was not the type of kid to have left such an eyesore occupying the top spot in his display and on a whim she pulled the chest of drawers from the wall to look behind it. Clumps of matchsticks of various shapes and sizes lay close to the skirting board and the trail ran under the bed and with nothing better to do she recovered about twenty pieces.

Removing the board from the wall, she lay it flat intending to reassemble them using the faint glue line left on the board as a guide. The task, although far from easy, was oddly addictive and after fifteen minutes of twisting and turning every piece and trying all possible combinations she finished up with the shape of a five-pointed star about four inches wide with one of its points missing. As she stood wondering about the object, a curious ringing sound from outside caught her attention. It reminded her of a worn-out xylophone back in primary school. The sound got louder until she heard a thump and then scratching from outside.

She crossed to the window, forcing the thought of Nick tumbling through it, from her mind and looked out. Noticing nothing until she hoisted up the bottom half of the sash frame. A big grey squirrel sat on a small simple table, secured a foot below the outer sill with coat-hanger wire nailed through loops to the underside of the ledge. The animal stared up at her through big black eyes. He held one thick front leg bunched up against his chest while the other he used to support his overweight body. Two little holes marked where his ears should have been and he waited, watching her.

Hello. She whispered so as not to frighten him as she knelt down. What happened to your ears then?

The squirrel cocked his head to one side as if uncertain of the new voice. Has Nick been feeding you? She heard herself say. I’ll get you something from the kitchen after tea?

The black unwavering gaze demanded food, not small talk. Slowly she reached out a hand to stroke him, but something spooked him from below and he leapt onto the iron drainpipe to climb back up towards the roof. The odd ringing noise as his tiny claws scraped the steel, the only sound to break up the cloying stillness outside. She poked her head through and craned around trying to follow his progress until she spotted his spectacular leap to a nearby branch, before he disappeared out of sight among the leaves.

The ivy growing up the wall close to the window looked old and dry and Nick would never have trusted his weight to it, unless he was desperate. But what was there to be desperate about at Foxley Grange? The place was as desolate and boring as any place could be. She leant out further to look down at the concrete apron that ran right around the house about twenty-five feet below. Nick was lucky to be alive after hitting that.

What do you think you’re doing? Came a loud shout from behind her.

Charlotte jumped and her hands slipped off the damp ledge, forcing her bodyweight forward and through the open window. Desperately she tried to snatch at the nearest creeper but it came away in her hand. About to plummet to the ground, she felt strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her back inside.

You stupid girl you could have died. A woman shouted. What were you doing out there?

Charlotte stepped from the window and turned.

You must Auntie Brenda. She said, recalling the family photo album featuring the striking Irish girl with her long jet black hair and her pale skin.