A heavy, metallic creaking made her sit up. The noise was familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. There it was again. And again, a slow steady rhythm now, getting louder, getting closer. And – was that a voice she could hear?
Carla rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to concentrate. Whatever the sound was, it was coming from the direction of the window. It was coming from outside.
She flicked the bedside lamp on, shielding her eyes against the sudden glare. Exec Lodge hotels didn’t provide robes, but her coat was on the back of the bathroom door. As she moved to get up, and put it on over the long t-shirt she habitually slept in, a sudden, loud crunching noise made her jump and then freeze, senses suddenly wide awake and straining to take in as much information as possible.
It came again, from the direction of the window -the sound of splintering wood. Carla stared at the curtains. Above the wind and the rain – and a third grinding impact against the window frame – an unearthly, chanting voice was now unmistakeable. It, too, came from the window. Was it… singing?
Someone was trying to get in! Someone was trying to get in, and the window lay between Carla and the door. With a final groan of straining wood the casement gave way and the windows burst open, the curtains suddenly billowing inwards as a poltergeist of freezing wind blasted into the room.
Carla drew in a long, shuddering breath, her eyes riveted to the flurrying curtains – and when a fat, stubby-fingered hand reached in and clutched at the wall she screamed, a shocked, wailing counterpoint to the baying of the storm.
Another hand appeared, and the invader levered himself clumsily through the window, water cascading from a torn, yellow sou’wester as he fell to one knee. The crowbar he had used to lever the window open was still clasped in his hand. It was Saul Taub.
He raised his head and leered idiotically, vacantly, his pale, round face slick with rain. One malevolent, bulging eye fixed itself on Carla while the other swiveled madly and uselessly in its socket. A thick rope of drool fell from the corner of his mouth as he drew back his lips, exposing sharp, little teeth. He began to chant as he pushed himself to his feet, his speech slow and glottal.
“Goooosey, Goooosey Ganderrrrrrr… where – shall I – wander? Up – stairs, and down – stairs… and in – my la – dy’s cham – ber!”
He shambled forwards, stiff-legged and rolling, reaching for her. Carla shrieked and lunged across the bed, grabbing for the phone. Taub grunted and swung the crowbar downwards, aiming for her skull. Carla flinched instinctively and it missed her, the tip embedding itself in the veneered plywood headboard with a deceptively soft ‘thunk’.
Taub abandoned the weapon and lumbered awkwardly onto the bed, grasping Carla’s ankle and dragging her roughly towards him before she could press the button that would connect her to the reception desk. She kicked out, screeching with terror and adrenaline, catching him hard in the nose, but his grip only tightened. Desperate, Carla leaned towards him and smashed the telephone receiver into the side of his head.
The plastic splintered, and his skin split, blood leaking down his face, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. Straddling her, he grabbed her throat with both hands and abruptly cut off both her cries and her air supply.
Despite the raging storm outside, and Saul Taub’s rasping breaths as he strangled her, the room suddenly seemed deathly quiet as they wrestled for Carla’s life. Her eyes began to bulge until they resembled her would-be murderer’s. Her head was hanging off the edge of the bed, neck fully extended as his stubby thumbs dug into her windpipe. She turned to the side, trying to open her throat, to no avail. Her face began to darken as the deoxygenated blood failed to drain from her head. She was going dizzy, about to pass out.
Her handbag was on the floor next to the bed. She could see her mobile phone in it as her vision began to swim and her fingers became numb and unresponsive. It was a mile away. She reached for it uncertainly. It was ten miles away, down the wrong end of a telescope. The fingers of unconsciousness began to close around her brain.
She registered sudden movement, a muffled thud, a sudden loosening of the fingers around her throat. Startled, she snorted a huge lungful of air and made a grab for her handbag. Taub’s features were contorted in pain and he was sneering over his shoulder at somebody standing behind him. Carla’s fingers found her mobile phone – wait, no, it was something contoured. An aerosol? Of course, the pepper spray that the salesman had given her!
She threw an arm across her eyes to shield them, squeezed the trigger cap and kept it held down. On top of her, Taub grunted as a noxious jet of laychrymatory agent hissed directly into his face. She felt his weight shift. A second later he began to roar.
Carla held her breath as a fine fog of spray drifted down towards her, but for Taub it was too late. He bellowed like a dying bull, clawing at his features, with blood, tears and mucous running over his fingers as the chemicals stung his eyes and skin. Carla started struggling, trying to free herself from the man’s bulk. Behind him she saw the crowbar that he had used to break-in being raised above his head. It wavered there for a moment and then fell with breathtakingly savage force, smiting the top of his skull like a thunderbolt from God, pitching his blubbery torso forwards on top of her.
Carla fought hysterically to free herself and scrambled to her feet. As well as the cut she had inflicted on his face, gore was trickling from two immense gashes on Taub’s head where the crowbar blows had landed. Standing next to the bed, bloodied crowbar in hand, was his son.
Still gasping for breath Carla backed away, massaging her throat.
“Is he dead?” asked Gary, calmly. Carla forced herself to look at the body sprawled on the bed. The torso was still rising and falling gently, he was still breathing. “N-no. He’ll live.” she croaked, wincing at the pain from her bruised vocal chords.
Wordlessly, Gary walked around the bed. Before she could stop him he raised the crowbar and brought it down again with sickening speed. Carla recoiled as fresh blood splattered across the sheets. As Gary raised the weapon again she reeled forwards and caught his arm – but it was too late. Saul Taub had stopped breathing.
His son seemed unaffected. “Come on” he said, crossing to the door. “Get your coat on, before the others come in.”
“You killed him!” cried Carla, unable to tear her eyes away from the dead man’s face. “We have to call somebody. I can’t deal with this. Oh, my God.” She sank tearfully to the floor.
Impatiently, Gary came back and grabbed her wrist, tried to drag her to her feet. “Come on! There are more of them outside. You have to come with me. I’ll show you what you wanted to see, but we have to go now.”
“The police! What about the police?”
“Forget the police, they’re not going to come. Here” – he thrust her coat at her – “put this on. Where’s yer shoes?”
He located her shoes, grabbed an armful of her clothes and tried again to pull her towards the door. Carla snatched her arm away. He was about to grab it again when a soft metallic tapping made them both freeze. It came from the window. Someone else was climbing up Saul Taub’s ladder.
“Quickly!” hissed Gary. Gripped by panic, Carla stumbled to the door. Just as they reached it, another dark shape appeared in the window frame. With a squeal of terror she bundled the teenager into the corridor and slammed the door behind them.