Pulling the Strings
© 2008 Michael Barlow


This document is licensed under the Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 UK: England & Wales license, available at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/uk/.

Chapter 11
“What the fuck just happened?” Kyle asked as he sat down in the dining room of the hotel, “I mean, who let the nutjob out on the town?”
“We really need to inform the police that a psycho like that is on the loose,” Fiona barely managed to finish the sentence before gasping for air, “but we've got no phones and no transport.” She gasped again, out of breath from the run, “and there is no way in hell I'm going outside again today.”
Kyle checked his phone again, before hurling it across the room, narrowly missing the elderly hotelier as she entered the room.
“Oh shit, sorry! I didn't mean for it to go that far,” he apologised, scrambling to pick up the phone.
“Kyle?” Fiona rolled her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Sit down and put your hands in your pockets.”
He did as she asked, giving her a sheepish glance.
“Can I-” the old woman coughed, “get you anything?”
“Is there anyway we can get in touch with the police?” Fiona asked.
“Police station closed years ago. Have to rely on Lorton these days.”
“How do we get in touch with them?” Fiona shrugged. “hell, how do we contact anybody?”
“Information booth closed?” The old woman carefully lowered herself onto a chair.
“It's a wreck. Looks like it's been closed for years.”
“Haven't been to the town centre for years. Hadn't noticed,” she coughed again, which she followed by a wet hawk. “The train station closed too?”
“No,” Kyle removed his hands from his pockets and placed them on the table, “but there's been a derailment. Not to mention nobody at the ticket booth.”
The hotelier lent back and looked at the ceiling in deep thought. After several moments she snapped back to reality and looked at them both. “If you're desperate, could try the radio tower.”
“This town has a transmitter?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.
“Been long closed. Owner died, aneurysm. Should still function.”
“Where is it?”
“Just past Pennyworth's Farm. Can see the mast from the station. Wouldn't go there now, though. Heavens look ready to open. Should I make you a coffee?”
Fiona smiled, relieved. “Yes, please. If you wouldn't mind. Thanks for the suggestion.”
The hotelier slowly stood up, creaking, and shuffled out of the dining area.
“Radio tower. It should at least reach Lorton, if it still has power.” Kyle rested his chin on his right palm. “God damn I hope it still has power.”
Fiona cocked her head at Kyle, thinking. “Radio towers usually have their own generators, right?”
“Yeah. But it might have seized up.”
“But if it hasn't then all we'll need is fuel.”
“True, and we can siphon it off that bastard mechanic's truck!”
“Or we could do something less illegal and buy it.”
Kyle sighed, “yeah, or we could do it your way.”
“We'll do it my way.”
A few moments later the hotelier returned to the dining room carrying a tray with two cups and a cafetiere and two mugs. She gingerly placed the tray on the table and slowly moved the contents onto the surface before placing the tray on another table.
“Do you want milk?” She paused while she asked the question.
“Oh no thank you. Black no sugar.” Fiona smiled.
“Ah, same here.” Kyle winced at the thought of no sugar, but decided not to burden the old woman further.
She carefully poured the coffee and left, shuffling out of the room in her usual manner, with the odour following close behind.
Fiona frowned at Kyle as he sniffed the coffee. “What are you doing?”
“It smells familiar.”
“That's probably because it's coffee.”
“I know what I mean, even if you don't.” He took a sip, and coughed, “it's a little strong.”
“Do you know how to work professional radio equipment?” Fiona asked.
“Kinda. I used some basic stuff in Columbia. Nothing spectacular, but it should be enough for me to get it working.” He took another sip, and frowned. “It tastes familiar too.”
Fiona stood up and walked to a window. She brushed a curtain aside and peered into the night, watching the poorly lit street for movement. As the hotelier predicted, a torrential downpour began to soak the streets. The rain betrayed the movements of something hidden. She squinted, trying to see past her reflection in the glass, focusing on the movement. This time the movement stayed in front of her eyes, but still it remained hidden, as though invisible. She retracted her head and frowned.
“Kyle, I think our shy friends from the square are back.” She turned back to her colleague when she received no response, “Kyle?”
He remained sat, staring into space, absorbed in something unseen. “Fiona,” he began, “don't drink the coffee.”
“What?” She rushed back over to the table and smelt the vapours rising from the cup. Beneath the caffeinated roast was the mild underlying scent of rotting vegetation. “You're right, that's not just coffee.”
Kyle didn't respond. He stared at the doors in front of him, taking deep breaths as his vision blurred and undulated, making the walls appear as though they were breathing. Humanoid movement appeared in his peripheral vision, moving with the encroaching violet haze that slowly spread across the world. Although he could see Fiona, she made no sense as she spoke.
He could feel a tremor pulsing through his body, as nausea began to take hold. The movement walked past his eyes nonchalantly, gradually taking the form a translucent human figure. The figure was that of a middle-aged female, dressed in a checked blouse and pleated tweed skirt. Her shoulder length, wavy hair was matted by her left temple with blood. She looked panicked, and unsure of her whereabouts. Kyle fixed his gaze on her.
“Hello?” He said, trying to catch the woman's attention.
She turned to look at him, startled. She was pale, and her left eye appeared damaged. She pulled up a chair and sat down.
“I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.” She glanced around the room, sheepishly, “to tell the truth, I'm glad to see someone else here. I've been unable to leave to hotel for sometime now.”
“I'm not sure I understand.” Kyle understood perfectly, but chose to strike up a conversation instead. The woman was dead, just like many others he had spoken to in the past. Unable to stray to far from her body because she was unaware of her own demise. She couldn't see the living because she subconsciously ignored them. It happened with all recently departed, until they accepted their present situation.
“Well, I had this sudden awful headache, and passed out. I think it must've been a migraine. When I came to, the guests had gone, and the doors are locked.” She clenched her hands together, “and there's an awful noise coming from room two four six.”
“The headache, did it occur around your left temple?”
“Yes, why?”
Kyle thought for a second. He had to weigh the benefits of helping her to the costs of leaving her to her own devices. It offered nothing to him, nor the area surrounding him, for him to interfere.  However, if he left her alone, there was the possibility that she may never move on, go crazy through isolation and turn into something malevolent. But then, the town was dead. Who would she hurt?
“No reason. Excuse me for a moment.” Kyle tried to stand up, but the tremors shook him to his knees. His stomach felt as though it were in a vice grip.
He threw up. The feeling of Fiona's, or what assumed were Fiona's, hands on his shoulder arrived just in time for him to pass out.
Fiona rolled his limp body onto his back, and checked his breathing. After ascertaining that her colleague was in no immediate danger of death, she sat down on the floor and cursed under her breath.
“Goddamned bitch, what did you put in the coffee?”
“We couldn't get the vine quickly enough.” The old woman was stood in the doorway, watching the events unfold.
“What?”
“We couldn't get a supply of the vine quickly enough, so we had to settle for the synthetic alternative.” Her voice was no longer raspy and quiet, but instead full bodied and well spoken, “the old reliable- DMT with an enzyme inhibitor.”
Fiona stood up, and growled as she tensed her muscles. “Why?”
The old woman tutted, “I wouldn't attempt to attack. That would be a very silly thing to do.” She glided, elegantly, over to where Kyle was laid. “To answer your question, it was the AyaHuasca tea that awakened his gift previously. We feel that his talents have been wasted. But not with us.”
Fiona stood, aghast at the implications. She composed herself before replying, “care to elaborate?”
“Mr Greenbelt can see past the membrane which separates life and death. A most useful talent,” the old woman moved back to the door, “but he chose to forget that gift. So we must reawaken it.”
“And who is 'we'?”
“You would be welcome also.”
Fiona allowed herself a sarcastic laugh, “go away.”
“We're serious.” The old woman cocked her head to one side, and her gaze transformed into that of a stern teacher.
“So am I. I'm not violent by nature, but God help me I will do something I'll regret if you don't leave us alone right now.”
The old woman paused in thought before responding, “very well, we will allow you to think it over.” She turned and glided out of the room, closing the doors behind her.
Fiona crouched over Kyle and gently shook him. “Kyle? Wake up.”
Kyle groaned, but moved little, barely turning his head. If he was awake, he didn't show it. Fiona sighed and grab him by his armpits and dragged him to a window. Propping him against the wall, she attempted to move the latch, but it wouldn't budge. It had been painted over years ago, virtually gluing the latch down, preventing the window from being opened.
As she struggled to open it, a glowering stare appeared at the window. She just managed to suppress a yelp as she jumped back. The stare, made all the more unsettling by one totally bloodshot and potentially blind eye, was attached to the face of the very large figure which had attacked them earlier. He moved across by one window and opened it.
The figure leaned in and once again fixed his stare upon Fiona, before glancing down at the comatose figure of Kyle. He appeared to think for a moment, and grinned.
“I'm convinced neither you nor he are demons,” he growled in a rather ambiguous tone, “and it would seem the hag has you trapped like she once had me.”
“Well done Sherlock.” Fiona rolled her eyes, before realising what he had said, “she had you trapped?”
“It was she who let me loose onto this godforsaken town. And it would seem that the hag is up to some trick or other.” He squeezed his bulk through the window, and glanced at the door. “The hag is on her way. This way.” He threw Kyle over his shoulder and darted out of the window with inhuman speed.
“Not even a damned apology.” Fiona sighed and climb out after him.