Flux

efforts to climb from the hole. He stayed still; listening.
    Faintly at first, from the fog above, came the sound of marching boots; not of one or two wandering soldiers, but a whole legion of orderly warriors on the move. Oddly, it wasn’t the thought of an advancing army that frightened him the most; something inside told him that this was something else, something more deadly and more terrifying than any human could ever be.
    Making himself small, leaving only his head exposed above the water and pressing himself into the mud at the side of the crater, Iain hoped that whatever marauded above would pass him by, fail to see him or think him too insignificant to warrant any attention. He knew this not to be the case; somehow he knew he was the quarry. Trembling, he closed his eyes as the sound of marching feet got nearer, and nearer until they reached the top of the shell hole and stopped.
    Iain held his breath.
    “I can ssee you,” rasped a voice which chilled Iain to the bone, even more so than the slime in which he hid.
    Still he squeezed his eyes tight shut in the hope that he’d be invisible. Not wanting to confront whoever, or whatever stood over him.
    “Loook att meee.” The voice almost a hiss.
    Too afraid to resist the order, Iain opened his eyes and slowly turned his head skywards.
    He found himself too frightened and shocked by what he saw to react in any way; unable to move, speak, even blink; frozen to the core with fear and as rigid as stone.
    It was a skull which spoke; bleached white bone spattered with mud. The skull was attached to the rest of the skeleton, dressed in tattered and torn military uniform.
    “Join ussss: It is your desssstiny.” The skeleton bent to one knee, offering a bony hand for Iain to take, to help him from the hole. As it did, a worm became dislodged from one of the empty, black eye sockets, flopping to the ground and quickly burrowing its way into the dirt.
    Iain recoiled, trying to sink himself further into the mud; he envied the worm for its escape.
    The skeleton drew a revolver from the holster around his waist; pointing it directly at where Iain lay huddled.
    “Join usss or die.”
    He tried to make himself smaller. The skeleton pulled the trigger.

    BANG. BANG. BANG.

    He awoke with a start, startling the magpie which had landed on the windowsill. It flapped away noisily into the city outside.

    BANG. BANG. BANG.

    The smell of decay still lay heavily in the air, the noise of gunfire continued. Although it wasn’t gunfire: still fuzzy headed, Iain took Iain a few moments to realise that someone was knocking the door, hard.
    “OK, hold your horses,” he shouted, struggling to his feet and making his way to welcome his guests.

Chapter Ten
    Static

    “What’s up?” and then, “Jesus, what’s that smell?” It was Dave, speaking before even crossing the threshold into the flat. “You scared the living shit out of us, we thought you were dying or something. I’ve come as fast as I can.”
    “Erm, sorry. And thank you. I had a bit of a problem.” Iain showed Dave the kitchen.
    “Fucking hell mate, you poor bastard.” Dave pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Gary.
    “It’s me… yes, he’s fine… You’ll see when you get here… we’re going to need,” he looked at Iain who recited the cleaning products he required. “Bin bags… erm, bleach, any other cleaning stuff, cloths, and rubber gloves, we deffo need rubber gloves, and beer, plenty of. Oh, and pick us up ten fags and some green Rizla… yeah, cheers dude, see you in a bit…” he looked back towards Iain and then to the kitchen, “Gary’s on his way, we’ll soon have this sorted.”
    “I really am sorry to ask for your help, but I’m knackered and didn’t know how I was going to do all this on my own.”
    “Really, don’t worry about it; it’s what we’re here for.” With that he headed over to the stereo, turned it on, tuned in his favourite radio station and cranked up the volume before helping himself to a seat and fetching a little tin from his pocket. Then, they sat and shared a smoke.
    Just as Iain stubbed the end of the joint out into the heavy glass ashtray, there came a further knock on the door. Dave jumped up to answer. It was Gary, laden down with shopping bags, mainly full of beer, but one had in it all the cleaning products Iain would ever require.
    “Smells nice in here.” He wasn’t referring to the smell of decay, rather the skunk weed smoke which