The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(42)
But tonight was supposed to be the night where Damien did something to make himself proud. He was going to disobey his father for the first time and do the right thing for once. But instead he found himself trapped inside a rotten pub with a bunch of losers.
Like Harry. A loser who only cares about his next drink.
Finally it clicked. The reason Damien hated Harry was because the man cared more about getting wasted than anything else. Just like Damien’s father had. Every time he looked at Harry, downing another pint, night in night out, he had thought about his father. He’d pegged Harry as just another, selfish – f*ckface – father that would rather get pissed than look after his family.
But I got it all wrong, didn’t I? Tonight Damien had learned that Harry was a good man and a good father; a bloke that cared so much about his son that, when he’d died – however it’d happened – he’d just given up on life. Harry’s family had obviously been his entire world, and when they died part of him went with them. Damien finally understood the man’s drinking.
And he could forgive it.
“I should apologise,” Damien told himself, “but first I gotta take a piss.”
###
This is it! Nigel’s body teemed with excitement. Harry had gone downstairs, freaking out about something, and Lucas had followed him. The grumpy shrew, Kath, had disappeared somewhere to clean the gore off her ugly face and Damien was at the other end of the pub, along with Jerry and the young girl, Jess. If he played his cards right, she would be next.
But first he had Steph to deal with.
I’m finally going to f*ck her.
Nigel had watched with delight as everyone gradually departed, then Steph had gone into the toilets alone. Now was his chance. He would follow her in, knock her out cold, have his way with her, and then slit her throat with his trusty pen knife (sharpened to perfection). By the time he dumped her body outside in the snow no one would be any the wiser. Nigel would plead ignorance of Steph’s whereabouts and, while everyone would worry, that would be it. What else could they do?
First thing in the morning, he’d hop in his lorry and get the hell out of there, spend a few months in France maybe; ensure that he never returned to the area. Easiest thing in the world. Raping and killing women had become as second nature to Nigel as taking a leak; just another bodily function.
Silently, Nigel pushed open the door to the men’s toilets where he’d seen Steph enter. The door creaked ever so slightly, but the sounds coming from inside, of Steph gathering up supplies, drowned out the noise. He slipped inside.
The toilets smelt of stale piss and the room was lit only by a single candle Steph had placed on the middle of three sinks. She was at the far end of the small space now, gathering up bundles of handtowels from a storage cupboard. Her back was to Nigel.
Perfect! She won’t even see it coming.
With cat-like grace that belied his lumbering appearance, Nigel struck. He punched Steph from behind, hooking his fist round into the side of her jaw and knocking her cold; the thick Dolphin ring on his pinkie figure helped with his purpose. Steph’s limp body flopped limply to the side, falling into one of the cubicles. Her head hit the toilet bowl inside with a resounding thump!
“Good, girl,” Nigel grinned, “helping Daddy like that. You’ve found us a room and got yourself ready.”
He bent over and groped with his hands. He couldn’t see Steph’s body very well in the dark but that only made it all the more exciting. He’d dreamed of having her for so long that each touch of her flesh was enough to send small beads of ejaculate spurting from his swollen cock. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d gotten hard. It was a natural occurrence to Nigel, like breathing.
He rolled Steph onto her back and slid his eager, trembling fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. Despite the perishing cold in the toilets, the flesh of Steph’s belly and upper groin was surprisingly warm, almost hot. Nigel’s swollen penis throbbed furiously, demanding satisfaction.
“Not long now, buddy. Just a little longer while I get this whore naked.”
A soft murmur from Steph caused Nigel to halt. Maybe she needed another whack? He considered it, but then decided that he’d prefer her conscious; her quiet murmuring would only turn him on more. “That’s it, you little slut, cry for Daddy. You love it, don’t you?”
He fumbled excitedly at the buttons on her crotch and had to fight against his frustrations when they refused to pop. Taking a deep breath, Nigel steadied his hands and tried again. The buttons came loose one at a time.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
“That’s it, darling, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Just as Nigel was about to start tugging down Steph’s unbuttoned jeans, he was alerted by a presence behind him. He turned around.
Before he lost consciousness, due to the heavy blows that suddenly rained down upon him, Nigel heard someone ask the question: “What the f*ck is going on!”
What the f*ck indeed, thought Nigel as he unwillingly went to sleep.
CHapter Twenty-Four
Harry had already been on his way to the toilet when he heard the ruckus. After seeing the apparitions in the dance hall, he had hurried downstairs into the cellar to regroup. The vision of Thomas Morris had reached out and struck Harry, but he was almost certain that was the extent of the threat. If it could have done any real harm then it would have done so, he was sure of it. Harry had no clue what was going on, but for now he decided to think on it. There was no need to panic the others with what had happened just yet. They would only think him mad anyway. For now it seemed like something else was happening anyway, a scuffle from inside the men’s toilets.