Bleeding

By Philip Henry

The North Coast is experiencing its worst winter for thirty years. In the middle of a raging snowstorm, a solitary figure appears at a farmhouse in a remote part of Aghadowey.

The elderly couple that live there let him in, but the man is freezing, incoherent... and bleeding.

As they race against time trying to get his wounds treated before he dies, they learn of the events that led him to their door, and what is chasing him.

Tonight, they will come face to face with something they couldn’t imagine in their darkest dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Henry
• Release date: Jun 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005259235

Philip Henry

Philip Henry is the author of The North Coast Bloodlines series of books. These books are all based around the north coast of Ireland where he lives, and although all the books can be read as standalone stories, if you read them in order you will notice characters from other books popping up and getting mentioned.Philip is also a keen singer/ songwriter. He released his first album, Songs About Girls, in 2018 and as of writing this is halfway through recording the follow-up. He has also written and directed two no-budget feature films and over a dozen shorts. Links to all his creative endeavours can be found on his website: www.philiphenry.com

Book preview

The North Coast Bloodlines Series – Book Six

BLEEDING

PHILIP HENRY

CORAL MOON BOOKS

www.philiphenry.com

The North Coast Bloodlines Book Six: BLEEDING

By

Philip Henry

Published By Coral Moon

www.philiphenry.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.

Bleeding Copyright © 2010 Philip Henry

This edition published 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the Publisher, except for short quotes used for review or promotion. For information address the Publisher.

ISBN: 9798510144499

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The North Coast Bloodlines Series:

1: Vampire Dawn

2: Mind’s Eye

3: Vampire Twilight

4: Freak

5: Vampire Equinox

6: Bleeding

7: My Ivory Summer

8: The Dead Room

9: Dreamwalker

10: Head in the Clouds

11. Method

Tonight: 11.28 p.m.

Dora waddled across the cold, slate floor of the kitchen in her bare feet. She should have put her slippers on before coming downstairs but over the past few years her increasing waistline had been trying to destroy the relationship between her hands and feet, until now they were like distant cousins that only got together for special occasions. Bill helped her on with her footwear these days and even he found it difficult at times. He said trying to get high heels on his wife was like trying to shoe a foal in a thunderstorm. Luckily, shoes like that were a form of torture particular to weddings. Now that all the children were married, she hoped she wouldn’t ever have to squeeze into a pair again.

She checked the table and found the crossword completed in the TV guide. Right, so she definitely had them here. She turned the light on and glanced around the kitchen.

She heard scratching at the door and a soft, pleading whimper. She padded over to the door trying to tread lightly, but with her considerable girth it wasn’t easy. She bent down and pushed at the doggie-door. It wouldn’t budge. She held onto the door handle and kicked it. It still didn’t move. It had frozen shut again. She went to the hook under the latest grandchild’s Christening plate and grabbed the back door key. The door was stiff too. She yanked it hard and it opened just enough to let the shivering sheepdog inside. Dora pushed against the wind and got the door closed. She locked it again.

She turned to the dog. ‘What were you doing out in that weather, Buzz, you silly dog? Why didn’t you go into the barn?’

In answer the dog shook the snow from his coat and trotted over to his basket beside the Rayburn. The stove was still warm. Buzz nestled against it, and then looked at Dora with a quizzical expression.

‘What?’ Dora asked the dog. She looked down at herself and straightened her nightdress. ‘Yes, it’s sexy lingerie and I’m not ashamed, so just get used to it.’ That was a slight lie. She wouldn’t have travelled four towns away in order to buy it if she wasn’t a little ashamed. At the last hen party she had heard her daughters and their friends talking about the sexy lingerie they had bought on the Internet. She wished she had an Internet so she could buy things anonymously and have them delivered right to her door. She had thought of asking one of the girls to do it for her. Maddie, probably. Yes, Maddie, wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. Ever since she was a girl she was into everything much too soon. She had been close to asking her a couple of times but in the end she couldn’t. It just wasn’t proper to talk about such things with your daughter. So instead, she had driven over seventy miles, to a town where no-one knew her, and bought this black silk negligee.

Her feet were starting to go numb. She put out the light and left Buzz to fall asleep by the heat.

She flicked on the living room light and checked her sewing basket. They weren’t there either.

She stood there, her feet enjoying the carpet, and thought for a few moments. The feed for the pigs! She’d had to write the delivery man a cheque. She opened the bureau and there they were. She picked up her glasses and hooked them into the neck of her negligee. She closed the bureau and smiled. There was an excitement in her chest like she was a schoolgirl doing something naughty. She didn’t fight the feeling, she nurtured it. It was a feeling she wanted to have back. One of several feelings she hoped she’d be reliving tonight.

Before turning out the light she checked her make-up in the mirror. She hadn’t worn make-up in years. Maybe she had overdone it a bit. It was hard to tell. After years of seeing her pale grey face reflected back at her, any colour was going to look out-of-place. She’d had her hair done today while Bill was at the doctor’s. She felt glamorous. Like a movie star. Sure, she maybe didn’t have the figure of those girls on TV. This negligee would probably hang straight down on them and not be pinching in so many places, but men liked women in tight things. And frankly, she couldn’t see how any man could get turned-on by those women with no front or back curves.

She turned the light out and hurried up the stairs again.

‘I found my reading glasses,’ she said, entering the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and stood in front of the electric heater for a few seconds before going over to the bed. She knelt down on the floor at Bill’s side of the bed and put her glasses on. ‘OK, let’s see.’

Bill shook his head and reluctantly drew back the bedsheets. He was a skinny man, despite Dora’s best attempts to fatten him up. His body hadn’t changed much in the forty-four years since she’d first seen him naked. His blond hair was now white and he had a few scars, aches and pains he could do without, but apart from that he was still the skinny boy she had given herself to in a summer meadow all those years ago. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was different in one crucial department.

Dora gently poked his penis with her finger.

‘Well, what’s happening?’ Bill asked impatiently.

Dora pushed the spectacles closer to her eyes and leaned in. She gave his member another gentle prod and leaned back quickly, like it was a sleeping python that might awake with a fierce bite. ‘I don’t think anything’s moving yet.’

‘That’s just fuckin’ great. I told you it wouldn’t work.’

‘How long did Doctor Fanshawe say it would take?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Bill, how long did he say it would take?’

‘I don’t know! He said a lot of stuff. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I know he’s a doctor an’ all, but still, there’s some things you just don’t talk about with another man.’

‘So you didn’t listen. Typical.’ She gave it another poke.

‘Will you stop doing that! You’re putting me off. I’m concentrating, here.’

Dora stood up and hung her glasses back on the neck of her negligee. ‘Would it help if I did a sexy dance for you?’

Oh, Christ!

Bill was going to kill that newsagent. It was all his fault. He was the one who got her hooked on these magazines. Bill didn’t mind her doing the crosswords and puzzles, but it was the articles. Written by women with absolutely no shame. He had read a part of one when Dora was hanging out the washing one day. The things these women said. Barefaced about everything. He wondered what the hell the world was coming to. Isn’t there any mystery between the sexes anymore? One article he’d read said it was a sign of a healthy relationship if you could use the toilet with your partner (that was what they called someone living in sin these days) in the room. Using the toilet in front of a woman! Where the hell were they getting this stuff? He didn’t want to see any woman, let alone his wife, taking a dump. And he sure as hell didn’t want her watching him. How can you be romantic after you’ve seen a woman wiping her arse? Some things are better left private. His marriage had survived just fine without seeing his wife nipping one off.

Dora had taken this all in (not the bit about the toilet, thank Christ), and believed all these sluts and spinsters giving advice about how to hold onto a man. This latest humiliation was due to an article she had read last week entitled: Pensioners, rediscover your sex life! Bill felt the exclamation point was crucial in selling the idea to Dora. She was easily convinced by exclamation points. Any store having a sale with exclamation points in the ad, you could guarantee Dora would be there.

The truth was, Bill didn’t think about sex very often anymore. If you had told him as a young man that such a thing would happen, he would have laughed in your face. He and Dora had been enthusiastic lovers for most of their married life. Seven children proved that, if nothing else. He couldn’t remember when exactly it had started to tail off, but he was surprised that he didn’t miss it. After a while he came to the conclusion that a man only has so many bullets in his gun and when you’ve fired them all, that’s it.

And now Dora had discovered a way to reload his gun with little blue, diamond-shaped bullets. He wasn’t averse to the idea completely. It was getting them that was the problem. Seeing his GP today had been the most embarrassing thing since that young cutty of a doctor had tied off his haemorrhoids three years ago. When he had got the prescription, he had gone to four different chemists before he could hand it over. He didn’t want some young dolly-bird behind the counter making jokes about him after he left. The last chemist was an older man. He took the prescription without a look, without a snigger, and handed him the bag with his tablets in it without any winks or off-colour remarks. A respectful pharmacist was hard to find these days.

Dora had started to dance. It was a sight to behold.

He still loved his wife, but the only thing he could think of as she gyrated before him was the time he had tied their old armchair to the roof of the truck to take it to the dump. Trussed up and bouncing in all directions. She finished her little dance and popped her glasses back on. She knelt beside his side of the bed again, this time a little out of breath from her dance.

She gave his penis another prod and shook her head slightly. She lifted it between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a little wiggle. She looked at Bill’s face for a reaction. He shook his head. She lifted it all the way up and looked under it like she was checking his engine.

‘What are you looking for?’

Dora considered this before admitting, ‘I don’t really know.’ She gave him another little wiggle then set it back down gently. ‘Where’s the box?’

Bill leaned over and passed her the box from his bedside locker. She took out the instructions and began to read.

‘Maybe it’s the cold,’ Bill offered. ‘Maybe we should try again in the spring.’

Dora’s face brightened. ‘It says here it takes between thirty minutes and two hours to take effect.’

‘Two hours?’ Bill shouted. ‘We’re going to be up half the night waiting on this thing.’

Dora set the box down. ‘Well, we’ll know for again. You can take it with your nine o’clock tea and then by the time we get to bed you’ll be ready.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘Foreplay?’

‘For two hours? You know I get that clicking thing. ‘Member when the wee’uns made me eat that jumbo ice-cream cone that time? I was licking at it for half an hour and my jaw clicked for a week afterwards.’

‘OK, OK, forget it. We’ll just wait for it. Should I put the wireless on?’

‘I don’t think you’ll get much reception in this storm.’

Crack!

They both heard it. Even with the howling of the wind it was such a foreign sound that it stood out. They looked at each other. Bill swung his legs out of bed and pulled his pyjama bottoms on. He walked to the window.

The glass was frozen on the outside. Bill put his palm to the window and tried to melt a clear spot. The blizzard was blowing snow in all directions. He could just make out a large drift against the pig shed. It was going to be fun digging that out in the morning. If this kept up, he might have to dig himself out of the house first. He looked around and saw nothing but the miles of fields that made up his little corner of Aghadowey, now all blanketed in white. There were no lights. No vehicles in the yard.

‘What do you see, Bill?’

‘Nothin’. That noise was probably a branch blew down. Wind’s really getting up out there. I hope the pigs are warm enough.’

A shiver ran up Dora’s spine. She pulled her dressing gown on and pushed the front of her feet into her slippers. She walked over to him and looked out at the raging blizzard. ‘I’m going to make some cocoa. Do you want a mug?’

‘Aye, sure I might as well.’

She gave a brief tilt of her head and he automatically lowered to her feet and pulled the back of each slipper out from under her heel and round her ankle. He stood up again. It could’ve been the sound of a branch breaking, but somewhere deep inside he doubted it.

Dora slowly descended the stairs and into the kitchen. She flipped on the light and Buzz raised his head. ‘Are you still awake?’

Buzz lowered his head and rested it on his front paws, watching every move Dora made. To the fridge. To the stove. To the saucepan cupboard. Pouring the milk into the saucepan. Getting the cocoa tin from the cupboard.

Woof, woof, woof!

Dora jumped and dropped the tin of cocoa. The light brown powder spilled across the floor. ‘Buzz! Look what you’ve made me do.’ The dog jumped from his basket and faced the door. He growled. ‘Buzz, what is the matter with you? Go back to bed.’

Woof, woof!

‘Buzz, what…’

Bam, bam, bam!

Dora jumped and gripped her dressing gown tightly closed. The three pounds on the door were fast but solid. Someone strong was out there. She stared at the door, transfixed with fear. Maybe she had just imagined it. Maybe the storm had blown something against the door.

Bam, bam!

She ran to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Bill,’ she said in a whispered shout.

A few seconds later he came to the top of the stairs. ‘What?’

‘There’s someone at the back door.’

He looked at her for a few seconds then said, ‘Don’t be stupid. No-one’s out in this weather.’

Bam, bam, bam!

They looked at each other. Bill came down the stairs quickly and opened the cupboard under the stairs. He took out his shotgun and loaded it. He pulled on his old hunting jacket; it just didn’t seem right to face a man down wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms. ‘Stay behind me,’ he said. Bill walked into the kitchen with the shotgun ready to fire.

The dog was barking at the door, taking a couple of steps forward, running away from it, then turning and barking at it again. Bill edged forward. Dora was right behind him, clutching tightly to his hunting jacket. They moved slowly across the tile floor.

‘Maybe they’ve gone away,’ she whispered in his ear.

Bill took another step.

Bam, bam!

They both jumped and Bill almost pulled the trigger. He took a deep breath and shouted, ‘Who’s out there?’

‘My name’s Mitchell. You don’t know me. I… I need your help.’ He wasn’t local. His accent was English.

Bill and Dora looked at each other, unsure of what to do. It was the Christian thing to help someone in trouble, but they had heard enough stories about con-artists preying on people their age to be cautious. Those scumbags would do or say anything to get inside your house. Still, it would take a pretty committed con-man to go out grifting on a night like this.

‘I’ve got a gun,’ Bill shouted.

‘I… I don’t… mean you any… harm.’

‘He sounds hurt,’ Bill said quietly.

‘Hurt or not, if we leave him out there he’s going to freeze to death.’

Bill gave her a quick nod. He lowered his shotgun and went to the door. He took the chain off and Dora brought him the key from under the Christening plate. He turned it as quietly as he could. He spoke in a normal volume now, through the wooden door. ‘OK, son, I’m going to open the door now, but if you try anything fun…’

The man screamed. The door was slammed from outside, cracking the heavy oak. They heard snarling and growling. Fighting. Buzz was backing away from the door barking as loudly as he could. The man outside screamed again.

‘Something’s got him. Help him, Bill!’

Bill pulled on the door but it wouldn’t budge. He set the shotgun down at the door-side and pulled with both hands.

Crack, crack, crack!

Another scream. Not like the others. An animal maybe.

Bill yanked the door and it opened. Snow and wind rushed into the kitchen. The stranger was lying with his back against the door so he fell inside. They both saw the blood. His white shirt was becoming redder by the second. Bill looked down and saw the gun clutched in his right hand. The man was barely conscious. Bill reached down and took the gun from him. It was still hot; recently fired. He set it on the counter and grabbed the man by his shoulders and dragged him inside.

Bill thought he saw something move in the darkness. Running into the woods by the gate. He squinted against the cold but couldn’t make it out. A few seconds later it was gone. Bill put his shoulder against the door and forced it closed.

He turned and looked at the man lying on his kitchen floor. He was in his mid-thirties wearing a black suit, black shoes, black tie, and a shirt that had been white until a couple of minutes ago. And he had been carrying a gun.

He lay on the slate floor, mumbling, shivering.

Dora and Bill looked at each other, at a loss as to what to do next. One thing they knew; they had to do something, and soon. A pool of blood was already forming under the man.

18 Months Ago

The grey-haired man stood by the lingerie shop entrance. The Diamond Centre was busier than he’d seen it in a long time. Maybe this recession was finally coming to an end. Occasionally he looked over his shoulder into the shop, but mostly he kept his eyes on the arcade. Gangs of teenagers hid their expressions and intents under hoodies as they passed. They skulked with their heads down, the way some people do going through customs at the airport. They punched buttons on their phones, desperate to show everyone how popular they were.

One such hooded youth had taken his attention. He wasn’t in a pack. That in itself was suspicious enough, but he suspected the boy was watching him. He couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure because the boy was sitting too far away. The grey-haired man prided himself on being able to read even the subtlest expressions on other peoples’ faces, but from this distance he could only discern the basic features: dark hair, a couple of days worth of stubble, possibly brown eyes. He was wearing a black hoodie with a print on the front that he couldn’t quite make out, possibly the logo for some heavy metal band. Black combat trousers and trainers completed the look. The boy was sitting at one of the tables in the lobby of the shopping centre. He cradled a paper cup from the vending machine. The grey-haired man had watched him buy it and drink it. The cup was now empty but the boy still raised it to his lips every once in a while for show.

A woman walked past the grey-haired man and into the shop. She gave him a smile, which he courteously returned. She left the faint odour of Chanel in her wake and he breathed her in. He glanced after her as she disappeared into the shop. Ms Chanel was well dressed in a business suit, her hair neatly tied back and just enough make-up to accentuate her already striking beauty.

And she was easily less than half his age.

Dream on, old man.

He took another look left and right up the arcade. The hoodie was still nervously turning the paper cup in his hand. He lifted it to his lips when he saw the grey-haired man looking again.

Two teenage girls walked out of the shop behind him. They moved to the opposite side of the entrance. They looked in each other’s bags and giggled at the skimpy underwear they had bought. Then they both brought out their phones and began telling all their friends, individually, what they had bought.

The grey-haired man looked over his shoulder. She was at the checkout now. She’d be outside the shop any minute. He looked down the corridor at the hoodie. He was staring at the shop and lowered his gaze quickly when the grey-haired man looked at him. The boy in the hoodie got to his feet and made a show of stretching his arms. He took his empty cup to the nearest bin and dropped it in. He looked discreetly over his shoulder at the shop. The grey-haired man looked over his shoulder inside the shop. They were just bagging her items – she’d be outside in a matter of seconds. He looked at the hoodie-boy. The boy took a deep breath and started walking quickly towards the shop.

The grey-haired man reached inside his jacket and unclipped the button on his shoulder holster and then started towards the boy. The boy was keeping his head down but still coming. The boy stuck both his hands inside the belly-pouch of his hoodie. The grey-haired man could see straight lines and corners stretching the fabric. The kid had something in there besides his hands.

The grey-haired man pulled out his gun and stopped walking, ‘Stop where you are!’ Everyone in earshot turned and seconds later the whole mall seemed to gasp as he stood facing the boy in the hoodie.

The boy looked terrified.

‘Where are you going?’ he screamed.

The boy’s voice was on the edge of breaking. He answered, ‘I was going to talk to her.’ He nodded to one of the teenage girls standing outside the lingerie shop.

The two girls had been watching this spectacle like everyone else. Then, the blonder of the two took a step forward and said, ‘Craig? Is that you?’

Craig nodded, and then looked at the man with the gun.

‘What have you got in your pouch?’ he asked, still not satisfied.

Slowly the boy brought out a CD case. ‘It’s a mix CD I made for her. It’s got all my favourite songs on it. I just thought…’ The grey-haired man relaxed and put his gun away. Craig stood rooted to the spot.

‘It’s OK, kid, go give her the CD.’ Craig looked around. Everyone was staring at him. His face beamed red. The blonde object of his most heartfelt digitally recorded feelings wouldn’t make eye contact with him. Craig turned and walked away quickly.

The grey-haired man shook his head. Old fool.

Slowly the shoppers started moving again. The grey-haired man looked back at the lingerie shop. Ms Chanel walked quickly out the door and away from him. He was walking back to the shop when the alarm went off. He saw Ms Chanel break into a sprint. He ran to the shop and pulled the door open. The women were all lying on the floor. They were all breathing. He didn’t see any blood. ‘Stay here,’ he shouted and took off after Ms Chanel.

It was like running through an obstacle course. The number of teenagers standing hypnotized by the screens on their phones while their thumb hopped over the buttons was incredible, and they seemed totally unaware of the world around them. Nothing more than fashionably-dressed bollards, the old man thought. He toppled more than a few as he ploughed into the crowd of weekend shoppers.

He saw Ms Chanel’s head bobbing in the distance as she pushed through the crowd. She got to the end of the corridor, slammed through the double doors and ran down the stairs. Only a few seconds behind her now, the grey-haired man followed.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and looked at the fire door – still closed. He walked over to it and took a few deep breaths to slow his heart rate down a little. There were four doors before him: men’s toilets, women’s toilets, disabled toilets and a baby changing room. Ms Chanel was in one of those rooms and pretty soon she’d be coming out again.

The old man waited. The only sound was the urinals periodically flushing themselves. He would wait for her. No matter how long it took. He wasn’t going to go in after her because he had a seventy-five percent chance of going through the wrong door, and while he was searching the wrong room, she could be getting away. She’d come out. He was sure of it.

The door to the disabled toilet opened and Ms Chanel faced him. She didn’t look surprised to see him there. ‘How’d you know I’d come back this way?’ she asked.

‘You plan a robbery, miss, you should know every escape route. You should also know every dead end. There are no windows or doors in any of those rooms.’ He nodded at the fire door behind him. ‘That’s your only way out if you come down here. Why didn’t you take it?’

‘I thought it was too obvious. I thought if I ducked out a window it would take you longer to find me.’

‘Just vents in those toilets, no windows.’

‘I know that now.’ She eyed him up and down. ‘So… is there any deal we can make that lets me walk out of here?’ She licked her lips and played with the button under the most pressure on her blouse.

The old man smiled, genuinely flattered. ‘That’s a hell of an offer, miss.’

‘But you’re not going to take it.’

He shook his head gently.

‘One of the old school.’

He nodded. She walked towards him and took the bulging bag off her shoulder. ‘Too bad.’ The old man only registered seeing the can of pepper spray a second before