The Deal Maker

By Lou Yardley

*** Finalist in the 2019 Independent Author Network Book of the Year Awards ***

Everyone has a price. What's yours?

"The Deal Maker" is the new demonic tale from the mind that brought you "Hellhound", "When the Sun Sets" and "We All Scream for Ice Cream".

Ted's girlfriend has vanished from the face of the earth and conventional methods of finding her have failed miserably. So when a devilish entity that calls itself Jack appears and offers him a solution, Ted finds himself agreeing to its terms, no matter how bloody and painful they may be. How far will he go to find her? 

Kelly lives for one thing and one thing only: vengeance. The trouble is those who should be feeling her wrath are remarkably good at hiding. Is she prepared to lose everything to find them? 

"The Deal Maker" looks at how far people are willing to go to chase their goals. How much are we prepared to lose until we cease to be human? What are we willing to give up? 

If demons, gore, and hellish creatures are your thing, dive right in! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lou Yardley
• Release date: Jul 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393579700

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

TED

The house felt bigger than it should have, and he rattled around its rooms feeling small and insignificant. The sound that his mug made as he placed it on the coffee table echoed throughout the empty shell he called home, making him wince. It was too loud. Silence owned this place now. Rooms that once housed laughter and life, now seemed too big and too cold. Even his breathing felt like it was deafeningly loud. The noise of it frightened him in a way. It was like the silence was a creature that didn’t want to be disturbed; one that would surely attack if so much as a pin dropped in its new domain. Everything about this house had changed. It was as if the whole place and all its contents had turned against him. The food in the kitchen no longer tasted of anything. The sofa was no longer a place to relax and unwind. A TV screen no longer entertained him, instead its dead screen just reflected his unkempt image right back at him. As he made eye contact with himself he looked away quickly, not wanting to see the mess that he had become.

Ted Morland stared at the now empty mug. Sleep eluded him these days, so he drank copious amounts of coffee to stay awake. While this method did have a certain amount of success, he found that the large amount of caffeine in his system meant that he couldn’t sleep again when night rolled around. He hadn’t slept properly since she’d gone. The bed just seemed empty and unwelcoming without Jessie. That was another thing that had turned against him.

The silence only stepped aside when he heard his name. ‘Ted?’ a phantom voice would call. It sounded familiar, but he knew that it couldn’t be her. It wasn’t his Jessie; she wouldn’t tease him like this. That still didn’t stop him from checking the house from top to bottom every time he’d heard it. It still didn’t stop him from hoping. Hope was a cruel thing.

The empty mug seemed to stare back at him, willing him to refill it. Although the suggestion of coffee was now replaced by something with a bit more of a kick. Something that might have some success in numbing his senses. Something that might just allow him a few hours of precious sleep. Something with the strength to knock him out cold.

‘You’re right,’ he said to the mug, as if talking to the inanimate object was the most natural thing in the world. His voice still felt too loud, like it was being run through a huge PA system. It also didn’t sound like him anymore. It was unrecognisable. Underused and out of place. ‘Whiskey it is.’

His back twinged as he stood, his muscles aching even though he hadn’t done much in the way of physical exercise since this whole thing began. How long had it been now? A month? Two? Three? Had it really been that long since he’d seen her? Outside, the wind blew furiously, howling in an anguish that seemed to match his own. Rain splattered against the large glass patio doors that separated him from the back garden and the things that lurked in the night. Picking up the empty mug, Ted walked to the kitchen. Not bothering to wash the small dregs of coffee from the bottom of the mug, he poured whiskey in, almost filling it to the top.

Ted wasn’t a big drinker and, under normal circumstances, a drink like that could have him heaving just by smelling it. But these days normal was an alien concept. Ted’s days of drinking responsibly were fading fast. They were just a dot in his rear-view mirror now. So, he studied the drink in front of him. And, so what if he did throw up? What did it matter if he redecorated the empty house with acrid vomit? In a way, it seemed like it was the right kind of thing for him to do. Or, if not right, then excusable. He could imagine the neighbours talking:

‘Did you hear that Ted vomited all over that lovely new sofa they had?’

‘No, how disgusting!’

‘Well, it’s to be expected, he has just lost his girlfriend.’

‘Ah, yes. There is that.’

But, that wasn’t quite right was it? In his head, Ted described the situation as having lost his girlfriend, but he didn’t mean it in the same way as his neighbours might mean it. He meant it as in she was lost. Literally. The word lost didn’t seem to carry the right amount of importance, but it was correct. The fact was that Ted just had no idea where his girlfriend was. It was like one morning she’d slipped down the back of that new sofa and vanished into the world of loose change, old receipts, crumbs, folded shopping lists, and paperclips.  It didn’t matter how many times he pulled the cushions out; he still couldn’t find her.

To their credit, the police were still looking, but it had been suggested to him now that the chances of finding her alive were slim. It had been too long. He’d never thought of three months as being a particularly long time, but it was when you were waiting for someone to come home. It was when every sound put you on edge. Was that her footsteps walking up the driveway? Was that the sound of her keys jingling as she pulled them from her bag? The answer was always no, but Ted found those questions rising to the front of his mind regardless. They were some of the reasons why sleep had been so difficult. The smallest of sounds was enough to disturb him. If she was going to come home, he didn’t want to miss it because he was asleep. What if she came home and then left again? He’d never know.

However, the lack of sleep was beginning to get to him. Things that weren’t really there kept creeping into his vision. They hung around the edges, those things that weren’t quite there. Sometimes he tried to look at them, but they moved faster than his eyes could manage. It was like they were taunting him. As if he wasn’t going through enough, things that weren’t really there were torturing him as well.

Yes, he needed to sleep. One good night’s sleep would do him the world of good. 6-8 hours of slumber would make him feel like a new man. It would help him to concentrate. Maybe he would be able to think straight. Maybe he would be able to solve this godforsaken riddle and find her. Maybe sleep was the answer.

He gulped down the whiskey, not tasting it but feeling its fire as it sped down his throat like an alcoholic tidal wave. The heaving started almost immediately. In fact, he hadn’t even finished swallowing.

Ted was sick of waiting. He was sick of worrying about Jessie and waiting for her to walk through the front door. He was sick of wondering when his phone was going to ring and for her to ask him to go and pick her up from wherever she was. He was sick of being alone and sick of being lonely. But, mostly right now, he was just sick.

Just as he had predicted, vomit splattered against the new sofa.

Face first in the hot sick, Ted passed out.

CHAPTER TWO

TED

Three months earlier

Birds sang in that annoyingly cheerful way they did each morning when you had to go to work in a job you hated, and they didn’t. Their song may have been musical, but it was smug. Oh, so very smug. Ted wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the feathery little wankers was sticking its tongue out of its beak at him.

Sunlight barged its way through the gap in the curtains, highlighting dust motes and forcing its way through Ted’s firmly closed eyelids. The bed was uncomfortably warm. His skin was clammy with sweat. That was the trouble with England; in the winter it was cold enough to make your nipples cut through glass, but in the summer it was hot enough to make it feel like your balls were swimming in your boxers. Not pleasant in the slightest.

Despite the obvious discomfort, Ted had no desire to get out of bed and go to the aforementioned job. His ‘get up and go’ had got up and left a long time ago. Perhaps it was time to change his career? Or maybe it was time for him to win the lottery? It had to be his turn by now, didn’t it? He’d spent a small fortune on those worthless lottery tickets over the years.

Sounds of movement drifted upstairs. Mugs being placed on the kitchen worktop. The fridge being opened and shut. All of the usual morning sounds of Jessie making her breakfast were present and correct - just as they should be. The delicious smell of coffee wafted up the stairs, awakening Ted’s caffeine addiction.

‘Make me a cup!’ he called down from the bed, not really knowing if Jessie had heard him, but she usually did so he just took it for granted. Every morning she’d make him a cup and leave it in the kitchen for him to come and get. It made sure that he got his arse out of bed. The faster he got out of the now stinking pit of a bed and plodded downstairs, the hotter the coffee would be. That was the way it was. It was the way it had been for years. Ted was willing to bet that it was the way it would be forever.

Even with the promise of a caffeine hit, Ted’s movements were sluggish. Mornings were not his best time, not by a long shot. Then again, he wasn’t much of a night owl either. He seemed to peak at about 2pm and then that was it for the rest of the day. Sometimes he wondered if it was due to a lack of enthusiasm for his work, but deep-down Ted knew that it wasn’t. He had always been like this; it didn’t matter which job he was in. Ted was just a lazy guy. There were no two ways about it.

Embracing his nature, but knowing that he couldn’t put off the inevitable, he dragged himself out of bed. Awake and standing upright, he knew that the hardest part was over. Now all he needed to do was drink coffee, wash his important parts, get dressed, and go to work. It was simple when he broke it down into a nice, manageable list. Before making his way downstairs he shot a look out of the window, looking for the bird that still insisted on singing. He spotted one in a tree. It didn’t stick its tongue out at him, but it did meet his stare.

‘Shut up, you smug bastard,’ he muttered, running his fingers over his stubble. Continuing its song, the Smug Bastard Bird ignored him entirely. If anything, it got louder. Pretty sure that the bird was taunting him, Ted moved towards the bedroom door. Before he walked through it, he picked up a shirt from the floor - one that he’d been wearing the previous day - and gave it a sniff. ‘Yeah, that’s alright,’ he said, before tossing it onto the unmade bed. He’d make that later. Or Jessie would. Either way, there was no rush.

As he walked through the open bedroom door, he thought he heard something that was at odds with his usual morning soundtrack. For the briefest of moments, he thought he’d heard a man’s voice. It wasn’t necessarily loud, just different enough to make an impact. Rather than sounding tinny, like the voices on the breakfast TV show that Jessie put on for early morning company, this one seemed full and real. It felt silly, but that suggestion of a voice made the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. An odd feeling crept over him and he tried to push it away, burying it deep within the recesses of his mind. The idea that someone was in the house at this time of the morning seemed preposterous, but Ted’s curiosity was piqued. For the first time in years, he rushed down the stairs.

Although he’d deny it until he was blue in the face, Ted’s new-found speed was largely driven by jealousy, with about 10% still given over to that ‘odd’ feeling he’d experienced. There was nothing else to suggest that there was any reason to be jealous. No strange items of clothing had been left in their bedroom. There had been no unusual phone calls. But that didn’t explain why he had heard a man’s voice, did it? Something was going on, and Ted needed to find out what.

Intending to do just that, he stalked into the kitchen, trying to make himself look as imposing as possible. Which is hard to do when you’re just wearing boxer shorts, you’re sporting a particularly wild bedhead, and you’re skinnier than a Twiglet. One of his friends had once described him as a ‘skeleton with nipples’. He was bloody tall though, so that worked in his favour, didn’t it? Either way, he puffed out his chest regardless. Surely the fact that he had just appeared in the doorway would get him some kind of reaction. 

Imagining that he resembled a king surveying his kingdom, Ted stood in the kitchen doorway and looked around, ready to confront whoever was daring to speak to his girlfriend, in his house, at this ungodly hour.

Two mugs stood on the kitchen worktop, one full and one three quarters done. His mug and Jessie’s mug. The scent of coffee hung in the air, reminding him that he hadn’t had any yet. A slice of buttered toast sat on a plate with a bite taken out of it. Everything looked normal. Nothing looked out of place.

But, in spite of the mundane normality of the scene and the warm temperature, Ted shivered.

The kitchen was empty.

And silent.

As the kitchen backed onto the garden, Ted opened the back door and had a look outside. There was no sign of Jessie and definitely no sign of the man who may, or may not, have been real.

‘Jess?’ he called out to the garden; his voice small. ‘Where are you?’ A bird chirped in response. Ted had no way of knowing if it was the same one who had been teasing him earlier.

There was a good chance that Jessie was just in another room, or that she had just popped outside - perhaps to take the bin bag out - but Ted knew it was more than that. The morning now felt weird. As soon as he’d heard that voice it had started to change. Reality had shifted and left him feeling out of sorts. It warped and folded in on itself, making it look a lot like any other morning, but changed enough to let you know that there was something fundamentally wrong with it. It was a mutation.

‘Jessie?’ he called again, directing his voice inside the house this time. ‘Are you here?’

The question remained unanswered, not even the bird chirped in this time. The lack of any kind of response worried Ted, but it didn’t shock him. It was like he had already resigned himself to the idea that he was alone. That she was gone. In fact, had Jessie called back, he probably would have jumped out of his skin and pissed his boxers.

Walking back through the house, he headed to the front door and opened it wide. An empty street greeted him. No-one was around, which struck him as strange. Surely his neighbours should be heading out to work? Or kids should be going to school? Surely someone should be telling him to ‘PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!’. But no-one did. For the briefest of moments, he entertained the thought that he was the last man on earth, but he dismissed it almost instantly. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he told himself.

Jessie’s car sat on the driveway waiting for her. Just as he’d known it would be. After all, he hadn’t heard her drive away.

He hadn’t heard anything.

Except for that voice.

The voice that shouldn’t have been there. 

And, of course, that bloody bird.

Scanning the street outside, Ted closed the front door slowly, hoping that he’d hear Jessie’s voice telling him to wait. Or feel her pushing against the door to get in. Neither of those things happened. He called out her name again, his voice now taking on an odd, distant quality. It was like she’d just vanished into thin air.

No, ‘vanished’ wasn’t the correct word. She’d been taken. By the owner of the mysterious voice. Ted just knew it.

With the front door closed, he walked back to the kitchen. Any desire to hurry had evaporated. As he walked, he wondered how long someone had to be missing before you were allowed to call the police. Was it 24 hours? Or was that just a myth? The thought of calling the police reminded him of his phone. ‘You idiot! Just call her!’ he muttered.

His phone was under his pillow on the bed, where it often ended up. He usually checked it for notifications as soon as he woke up, but he hadn’t today. Maybe his subconscious knew that today would be different.

Ted tossed the pillows off the bed and grabbed the phone. Ignoring the dozens of emails and social media notifications, he called Jessie. The ringing tone seemed too loud. Too bold. Mocking him just like the bird had done.

Jessie didn’t answer.

Ted hung up, but kept the phone in his hand. Fingers wrapped around it, turning white at the joints. He wouldn’t be letting go of this. He began to think that it was his only link to her. Even if she hadn’t answered.

Ignoring the shirt he’d thrown on the bed, Ted dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Work could fuck off, he had better things to do. He had to find Jessie. She needed him. He needed her.

He had to call the police; they’d know what to do. But, was it too soon? Would they think he was panicking over nothing? It had only been about 10 minutes. One could argue that Jessie could turn up at any moment. Nevertheless, Ted knew that wasn’t the case. That odd feeling in his gut told him so. And Jessie wouldn’t have left without giving him a kiss goodbye. That was part of their morning routine. Part of their ritual. At least, it was usually.

As he walked back down the stairs, he thought about what he would say to the police. He was still thinking about it as he reached the kitchen. It was then that he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before.

A piece of paper sat on the kitchen counter, in a spot near the back door. Ted couldn’t be sure if it had been there before or not. Surely he would have noticed it? Or maybe not. It was just a small scrap of paper. Almost insignificant. But, right now, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. That odd feeling in his gut started to intensify. Churning and gurgling, he felt like he was about to explode. His guts had never dealt with stress all that well. He’d be popping anti-diarrhoea pills for the rest of the day.

Trying to ignore the horrendous sensation in his stomach, Ted marched across the kitchen, locking the piece of paper in his sights. With shaking hands, he picked it up and unfolded it. Four words stared back at him, written by hand in small, precise handwriting. Handwriting that he didn’t recognise.

DON’T LOOK FOR HER.

The morning no longer felt like a mutation. It was an abomination.

The bird, of course, took this moment to chirp again.

CHAPTER THREE

TED

Present day

The eye-watering stench of stale vomit was the first thing to register in Ted’s hungover mind. A pounding in his head told him just how bad that hangover was. Even the slightest movement would be enough to turn his stomach. But he had to move, didn’t he? He had things to do.

‘Like what?’ he asked himself.

Like breakfast? Was it morning? Was it night? Should he currently be at work? There was a very good chance that someone was wondering where he was right now. His boss had been sympathetic at first, but there had to come a point where he was supposed to move on. Or, at the very least, adapt to his new, Jessie-free life. While the rest of the world may have believed this - at least on some level - Ted just couldn’t. He refused to accept that this was what his life was like now. Feelings like despair and loneliness should be temporary, fleeting things. Things that were gone before you ever truly thought you had to live in them. But these days, Ted was finding them to be increasingly stubborn. Uninvited guests who wouldn’t leave. An itch he couldn’t scratch. Words on the tip of his tongue that wouldn’t come, no matter what he did.

Forcing his eyes open, he looked around for the bright, red digits of his alarm clock. Feeling like they were being rubbed by sandpaper, Ted’s eyes stung. Aiming his face in the direction of the alarm clock, he squinted.

There was nothing there.

Something resembling a memory nagged at the edges of his senses. He’d passed out again, hadn’t he? It was becoming a habit. He needed to sort himself out. If Jessie was to walk through the door right now she wouldn’t be impressed. Another memory surfaced; the vomit on the sofa. The nice, new sofa. The one that Jessie had barely had a chance to sit on before she was taken. Yes, hungover or not, Ted had things to do. Cleaning the sofa had to be job one. He had to get up. The same sandpaper that was rubbing his eyes was also going to town on his tongue; although that sandpaper tasted like it had been marinated in the juices of some particularly ripe vintage roadkill. Fighting the urge to add fresh vomit to the room’s bouquet, Ted got up.

After he’d ascertained that it was indeed morning and had called in sick to work, he set about cleaning the sofa. A floral