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    Rarer Monsters: Unbidden Part Four
    Rarer Monsters: Unbidden Part Four
    Rarer Monsters: Unbidden Part Four
    Ebook95 pages1 hour

    Rarer Monsters: Unbidden Part Four

    By TJ Park

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    About this ebook

    Part 4 of the terrifying supernatural crime thriller

    The Familiar launches an all-out assault against the Clarkson home, shaking the building to its foundations and raining down bizarre and bloody horrors on the survivors trapped inside. Desperate to save themselves, the captives scatter, forgetting all bonds of love and loyalty in a panicked race for survival. The Familiar stalks each in turn, slaughtering them one-by-one, growing ever stronger, ever hungrier, ever more depraved. Only Doug Mulcahy refuses to lie down, fighting to save what little of himself he believes deserves to live.

     

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateMar 1, 2016
    ISBN9781460706336
    Rarer Monsters: Unbidden Part Four
    Author

    TJ Park

    TJ Park is an Australian novelist and screenwriter. He was raised on a steady diet of Stephen King novels, British science-fiction television, and the cinema of John Carpenter and Sergio Leone. Not much else is known about him. That's just the way he likes it.

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      Book preview

      Rarer Monsters - TJ Park

      UNBIDDEN PART IV: RARER MONSTERS

      Chapter Thirteen

      The night ticked past too slowly. Doug canvassed the sombre chambers of the house, skittish at every corner, hesitant before every dark space. The regular sweeps had fallen solely on his shoulders. Mick and Rob were convalescing from their injuries, Janet wouldn’t let the children out of her sight, and Warlock was as useless as tits on a bull. Doug was supposedly making sure the other rooms were still secure, a maddening proposition since all the windows were broken and gaping wide.

      Returning again to the living room he caught Janet’s eye. Doug looked away first. She was keeping watch, too, having no faith in his abilities. Lauren and Scott had fallen into a reluctant sleep, as had their father. Cleaned of his injuries and neatly bandaged, the lightly snoring grazier sat within touching distance of his children. The Winchester lay across his lap. A cold, half-empty coffee mug was still grasped in his hand on the armrest. Janet let it be, not wanting to disturb him.

      Mick looked to be sitting forward in his armchair, brooding. Then Doug saw he was doing it asleep, a fixed frown on his face. Doug had inexpertly patched him up and he was looking somewhat better. Despite that, the stress of the last few days and the batterings he’d had – first from the grazier and then that thing, that familiar – was telling. He looked worse than old . . . he seemed broken.

      Warlock was still up and awake. The reason for his insomnia was obvious. He was doped to his jittering eyeballs. He stood before the only intact window in the living room, his world reduced to the point of his outstretched finger as he traced small pentagrams on the glass. Not a smart thing to do. He seemed unaware he had company, though Doug’s reflection loomed large behind him.

      Doug was just turning away when Warlock said softly: You think I’m a piss-poor excuse for a man, don’t you? His head was raised, watching Doug’s reflection in the glass. But I never killed anyone before. You made me do that.

      Doug’s outrage was strengthened by having to keep his voice down.

      You stinking hypocrite. You’re a drug dealer. You sell death.

      Warlock flinched and focused on his tracings on the glass, yet his voice remained steady. I only give them what they ask for. I don’t think that pilot asked for a bullet, do you?

      That shut Doug down. He stood there a few moments longer, hoping for a comeback to materialise. It didn’t.

      Look, Doug, Warlock said, his drug-stoked face suddenly falling apart. Don’t be mad. It’s okay. I can do it again if you want me to. It just takes getting used to.

      This was worse. Doug had to get away from that pitiful need to appease.

      Just don’t stand so close to the windows, he said, hurrying away.

      Sure, Doug. Sure. Thanks.

      A candle atop the fridge provided the kitchen’s sole source of illumination. As soon as Doug was out of sight to those in the living room, he slumped a few inches. The tirades of his ex-wife and the admonitions of judges, the tacked-on sympathy of prison psychologists and the rabbiting of chaplains – none of these had ever cut quite like his short exchange with the junkie. He stepped over to the sink to wash up. But the tap was dry, the handle spinning loosely in his hand. He leaned heavily over the sink, finding himself at one of those junctures where he could laugh, howl, or just shoot up the place.

      Before he could decide on any one of those things, the shadows around him were banished by a warm light. Janet had entered the kitchen, setting a gas lantern down on the counter. If you want water, I’ve saved some in the plastic jugs over there in the corner. I also filled the tubs in the laundry and bathroom.

      Doug resented her. Here he was, struggling to think one step ahead, while she left him behind in her dust. She busied herself with an antique wood-burning stove, a curio straight out of one of those country-style home magazines, the electric version next to it now a useless lump.

      Doug spoke into the sink. I see it’s trying to cut us off completely.

      What? The water? Maybe it did do that. But I have a hunch that when you and Rob were shooting up the place a stray shot or two hit the water tank. I saved as much as I could before it ran out.

      Doug could imagine the familiar having a good laugh over that. Even though it ran on four legs, he’d stopped thinking of it as a mere creature quite some time ago.

      He drew a chair out from the kitchen table and glanced at his watch. Dismay made him sit heavily, dragging the chair back. He looked at Janet.

      What time have you got?

      She looked. Quarter to one.

      Christ.

      I feel like I’ve been up a whole week, Janet replied, without a jot of empathy.

      Hour of the wolf.

      Pardon?

      It’s three hours away. Feels like it’s happening now.

      She stared at him, impatient.

      Between four and five. It’s the time when most people pass away. Hour of the wolf. He smiled faintly. Probably just another way of saying it’s darkest before the dawn.

      She nodded. Yes, I might have heard of it.

      To Doug, she seemed to dismiss it out of hand. Of course she would. She and her family started their day around that time. It never bothered them.

      Doug felt the urge to explain, nodded toward the next room. The old bloke’s always had the knack of waking up just before four no matter how long or short the day. He smiled gently, thinking of the old man. It didn’t matter if he had passed out drunk earlier the same night, or gone to bed an hour before. He’s always had to see the dawn out before he could shut his eyes again. Doug grunted. He said he had a fear of being carted off in his sleep without ever knowing about it.

      Was it a habit he started in prison?

      He looked at her as she worked at preparing the wood stove for lighting. Her face was neutral. Was she honestly curious, or trying to get a rise out of him? Either way, she’d been short about it and he was inclined to pay her back.

      Probably. What’s with the Vatican gift shop?

      What?

      Those crosses you’ve kept hidden away, even from your hubbie . . . you a closet Christian?

      That’s none of your business, she said.

      Yeah, you’re right. He meant it. The night was miserable enough without him adding to it. He got up to leave.

      If you stop being a smartarse for two minutes, I’ll tell you.

      He sat down again. Fair enough.

      It did not occur to him at first, but eventually he realised she was literally making him wait the whole two minutes, or close to.

      The only sounds in

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