The Storm

By Paul Kane

It started off like any other day, but for the tourists, staff and workmen at Willerton Castle it will end in terror. Because a storm is coming, a storm like nothing anyone has ever seen. A storm that will herald an attack by creatures this world has never encountered before. Will any of them survive? This new short novel of monstrous horror by the bestselling and award-winning author of Monsters (a British Fantasy Award finalist), the sellout Hooded Man and the award-winning Sherlock Holmes and the Servants of Hell, Paul Kane, comes with an introduction from Rio Youers (The Forgotten Girl, Halcyon) and cover art by Ben Baldwin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PS Publishing
• Release date: Jul 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781786369642

Book preview

PROLOGUE

THEY MOVED.

Constantly in motion since they’d woken, slipping and sliding over one another in that dark, dank place. Coiling and uncoiling, restless and impatient. Shapes, glistening and slick, back and forth, back and forth.

The stuff of nightmares. That nightmares are made of.

Ready and waiting. For the time when they’d have to spring into action, when they were needed. It was nearly here, they could all feel that—the excitement, the expectation. Almost, almost. Wouldn’t be long and then...

The very thought caused a sudden frenzy, the movements quickening. The things that lived there, that called this their home. Some the same, some very different. Some hard, some ridged, some soft and fleshy. All deadly. All as one, working towards the same goal. With the same purpose.

They had done this many, many times, but not for a long while. For so long they had slept, but now they were awake. Now they were stirring, oh how they were stirring. Full of energy, full of life. Eager to begin.

Soon, soon.

More thrashing, more frantic movement.

But then it stopped.

They were aware their antics were being observed, and not for the first time either. Aware there was a presence here, eyes where there shouldn’t be. Watching them, taking everything in. Might not even have been on purpose, probably accidental, but they didn’t care. They didn’t like it.

In fact they hated it. Detested the very idea, and that made their motions speed up as well; angry rather than agitated. Made them all look for the trespasser. Made them all turn when they found him, as one.

Made them all rush towards him now and—

CHAPTER ONE

THE SCREAM WAS SO LOUD, it almost caused an accident.

Not just the sound, but the fact that Molly Stewart reached out automatically and grabbed her husband Connor’s leg, squeezing tightly. Connor, at the time, was trying to navigate a series of twisty country lanes that were unfamiliar to him, in their equally unfamiliar hire car.

It was bad enough that this country insisted on driving on the wrong side of the road, he’d told them many times since they set off, let alone seemed to love roads that suddenly and quite unexpectedly ended for no reason. But the way they would merge into single-file traffic, where you had to find what was called a passing place—basically a carved out bit of ditch just wide enough for a small vehicle to pull into—or the way a sharp bend would helpfully appear out of nowhere, causing you to slam on the brakes or find yourself in a field, was simply insane according to him.

Now, as if all that wasn’t enough, Molly had a grip on his thigh that any industrial vice would have been proud of, and the Hank Williams that was playing on the radio was being drowned out by their son’s wailing.

Jesus! Connor cried out, tugging on the steering wheel—which was also on the wrong side by the way—and somehow managing not to slam their silver Lexus into a tree; instead mounting a grass verge and churning up mud before grinding to a bumpy halt a few moments later.

Molly had barely noticed, was already yanking off her seatbelt and twisting around to look into the back. There he was, Dillon, their seven-year-old still screaming his head off, mop of curly hair damp and sticking to his forehead, tears tracking down his face. Riley, their older son, in the seat beside him, was removing his enormous earphones and asking what was going on.

Oh, nothin’ much. Just almost getting ourselves killed, that’s all, Connor answered back.

Dillon...Dillon honey, are you okay? Molly was asking, half-climbing through, totally oblivious to anything else. Dillon was still crying, but the screaming was dying off a little, as evidenced by the fact Hank’s singing could be heard once more. Honey, are you okay? she repeated, and—looking about him, confused, before returning his gaze to her—he gave a half-hearted nod.

Then he started, flinching as Riley reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hey, hey—it’s okay, Dee. What’s up?

There was a big sigh from the front, Connor’s temper fading. Hey big man, how you doing? he asked, craning his head round.

Mon...monsters, Dillon finally managed through the tears.

Another nightmare? asked Molly, stroking his leg to calm him down. Her son nodded again. Now it was her turn to let out a breath. A nightmare...just a nightmare. The kind he’d been getting on and off for a while now, which had seen her rushing to his room every time; hardly surprising after everything he’d been through. But nothing serious. A dream, that was all. Not—

Mol, he’s all right. Connor’s hand on her back now, reassuring, calming her down.

All right. He was all right...It was just that the scream had thrown her right back to that night. The night they’d nearly lost him, their precious baby boy. Their miracle boy, a child they never thought they’d have—the doctors telling her it would be impossible to conceive after Riley. And then there he was, a surprise to both of them. They’d stopped using precautions and up he’d popped, as large as life. Molly thought at first she had a bug or something, being sick all the time, but then a home pregnancy test had told her otherwise. In fact, she hadn’t believed the first one—it was only on the third that she began to think it might be true. Only when their own doctor confirmed it that she told Connor the news.

W-What? Are you sure? She couldn’t tell whether he was happy, terrified, shocked, or a combination of all three, but then a big grin broke on his face and he’d hugged her. A miracle, a true gift from God.

Riley, around the age Dillon was now, had been less than thrilled. Used to being an only child, not having to share the limelight with anyone—let alone a cute tiny baby—he’d promised them that he was going to loathe this gatecrasher to their family party. But when Dillon was born it was a different kettle of fish. From the minute they’d locked eyes there had been a bond; not just brothers, but best friends. And woe betide anyone who ever thought of hurting Dillon because they’d have Riley to answer to, protective as he was. Oh, they had their arguments, like all siblings—and even best friends—but no two kids could have been closer than them.

He’d reacted almost as badly as her to what had happened. Both helpless, unable to do a thing to fix it but watch and wait. Thank Heaven Molly had spotted the signs, being a former nurse. The temperature spike that night, turning into a fever, the complaints of a stiff neck. And the altered mental functioning, let’s not forget that. The hallucinations Dillon was having, even as she bundled him up, carried him to the car, with Riley trailing behind her: doing what he’d just been doing now, asking what was going on.

Molly suspected...no, knew what was going on but didn’t want to panic the boy more than necessary. The doctors at the hospital knew as well, that Dillon was presenting with the classic signs of meningitis.

It had been a whirlwind after that: Dillon being wheeled down the corridor, with her and Riley on either side. One doctor flashing a light in his eyes. Snatches of dialogue:

BP’s dangerously high!

Let’s get a line in!

"Prepare a lumbar puncture..."

What’s his temperature now?

Christ! We need to get that down!

And the screaming, the cries so similar to those she’d just heard in the car. As they carried Dillon to the bath filled with ice, attempting to lower him into it; the kicking and thrashing until Molly pushed the medical staff aside and took hold of her boy. She’d gently eased him into the icy-cold liquid, holding on to him as long as she could bear it; arms submerged and going numb, but she didn’t care.

What a night that had been. When they’d finally got him settled, she’d called Connor up—who’d been on one of his political campaign trips. He’d been mad at first, same as in the car: why hadn’t she let him know sooner? But then there was silence, followed by the sound of sobbing. She knew he blamed himself for being so far away when it happened, and he’d cancelled the trip immediately, rushing back to be with them.

By the time he got there, though, Dillon was stable. They’d almost lost him a couple of times, Molly was told, but the infection was now under control. They’d been lucky. As Molly sat in the hospital room and looked over at Riley, sleeping on the chair in the corner, Dillon hooked up to an IV, her boys having gone through hell, she didn’t feel particularly lucky.

But then, she might have lost one of them—or he might have lost his hearing or power of speech, or both; even been one step off a vegetable—and for that she was grateful. So she’d said a silent sorry, and a massive thank you. When Connor had arrived, he’d taken her and Riley into his arms and kissed the tops of their heads. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

That was just over a year ago. It had seemed like simultaneously the longest time and had passed by in an instant, especially when something such as this happened which threw her back to that time. The screaming, the sweating...the talk of monsters.

Dillon been seeing things that night, was convinced of it; would have sworn on the Bible if there had been one handy. Monsters... though as Riley was often quick to assure him, just as he was doing right now: There are no such things, buddy.

But it had left Dillon with the nightmares. Flashes of whatever hallucinations he’d experienced during the fever, so horrible they had stayed with him, creating night terrors—some of which didn’t even have the decency to wait till night-time. Sometimes Molly wondered what effect all this would have on him as he grew older; would he still be in therapy like he was right now? Not that it was doing much good, she had to say. Had even thought about pulling him out of there because she knew how screwed up it could make people, had seen the results first-hand with her own brother. She hoped Dillon would fare better than poor Jimmy.

Wasn’t the only thing that night had left Dillon with, though, was it? Wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. Sometimes, just sometimes, he knew things. Molly hadn’t really noticed it at first, because they were very small—stuff like where her lost keys might be, or a sense that Gramma might call on the phone. Hadn’t she read somewhere that most people had that particular sense, knew when a loved one might ring them up?

But then he’d just casually mention things like how Riley had come off his bike and hurt his leg that one time, even before the kid had arrived home limping. He swore he hadn’t let Dillon know somehow—they hadn’t even let him have a cellphone yet, so he couldn’t have texted...and why would he, anyway, just to tell his brother that? It was something you could put down to them being brothers, she guessed. That bond again, though wasn’t that usually more apparent with twins?

But how on earth he could have known about Olly Bates was anyone’s guess. Olly’s son Mike and Dillon were friends, and he was scheduled to take both boys to the movies, only never showed up.

He’s late because...Mom, what’s a goal bladder?

You mean gall bladder? Why do you ask?

It’s what’s wrong with Mike’s dad. It’s why they never showed up.

And, sure enough, they’d got a call telling them that Olly had been rushed in to have his goal bladder taken out.

Stuff like that. Dillon had just known.

Molly had asked him about it on a few occasions, casually, in the same way he threw it out there, and he’d just shrug.

Dillon, sweetheart. How did you know about Mike’s dad?

Shrug.

How did you know about Riley and his bike?

Shrug.

He just knew, as simple—or as complicated—as that. Riley said it was just good guesswork or deductive reasoning, that he’d make a good cop when he got older. Maybe he overheard Mike talking about his dad’s gall bladder trouble? This, in spite of the fact it was his first, and last, attack. Connor’s way of dealing with it was to just ignore the whole thing, because it didn’t fit with his world view at all. Didn’t gel with the business or political world, where things were more concrete. You’re a nurse, for goodness sake, he’d say to her. Science and medicine and all that.

But it was because she’d been a nurse—a profession she was hoping to return to once Dillon was a bit older—that she had more of an open mind about things. Molly had seen stuff that just couldn’t be explained or dismissed that easily. The power of prayer, for example (and boy had she prayed that night they took Dillon in). The way patients who’d been given less than a few hours to live had miraculously recovered and gone on to lead full lives. The way some reported floating above their bodies in the OR, heading towards a bright light and seeing loved ones who had passed away, only to be turned back.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

A quote from her favourite Shakespeare play. One they’d taken in at the Globe as part of their tour around this country. Connor had treated her, while the kids made use of the games room back at the hotel; it would have bored them rigid.

Part business, part holiday and connecting with distant family they had over here—Connor’s grandparents had come from this island—it was something he’d been promising for a while. Something that, once they knew Dillon was okay, would be a bit of a treat for them all. A month towards the back end of summer, just before school started again for Riley and Dillon.

They’d seen some lovely places, starting with the nation’s capital, obviously. Big Ben, Madame Tussaud’s, Buckingham Palace, they’d lapped it all up. Then, moving around either by train or hire car, they’d visited places like: Coventry where the Cathedral was; Nottingham and Sherwood Forest where the legends of Robin Hood and the Sheriff originated; on to Manchester then across to Liverpool, where the Beatles came from. They’d just made the trek over to York, where they’d spent a pleasant afternoon shopping in the Shambles, then the next morning had set off up towards the coast in the car, aiming for Whitby where Dracula had landed on these shores.

They’d gotten a little lost, however, on those country lanes Connor was so fond of and after a day’s driving had decided to check into the first guest house they came across: The Traveller’s Rest. If only, on those beds! It was there, after yet another Full English breakfast swimming in grease (Molly complaining she was putting so much weight on, not to mention the indigestion she was getting) that the castle had first been mentioned.

While you’re in this neck o’ the woods, said the landlady of the guest house, Betty, wearing a hideous floral dress and proudly patting her blue-rinse every few minutes, you should call in and see the castle. It’s only a stone’s throw away.

The castle. Like it was the only one in this country. They’d visited loads of them, passed by many more. What made this one so special?

When she was asked this, the woman looked confused—as if everyone should have heard of their castle. As if it was common knowledge why it was so special. Wilf, she called back to her husband, who was balding, had a pot belly and walked around everywhere with a tea-towel draped over his shoulder. Wilf, tell these visitors why they should visit the castle.

He looked equally baffled as to why the question was even being asked. Then he said: Site of a pivotal battle. Of course it was. Weren’t they all? But then he went on to explain, It’s where the Nazis tried to land here in the Second World War, but we fended ’em off.

That they didn’t know.

Aye, whole fleet of them tried to land on the beaches there, where we wouldn’t expect them, sneaky bastards. Set out from Denmark, didn’t they. But our lot used the castle, gave ’em a right good seeing to and sent ’em packing. He spoke like they’d single-handedly won the war on that day.

Molly could see Riley’s eyes sparkling at that. Anything war-related, he was fascinated by. Had even mentioned once or