In the Devil's Name Read online

  As before, I felt no alarm at finding myself suddenly teleported to another location, this time thousands of miles across an entire ocean from my point of origin in Glasgow. Again, I perceived the presence of that benign other that assured me I was safe.

  I leaned forward and ran my fingers through the long grass. Real.

  “We thought this would be a cool place for you to lay low for a while, dude,” a familiar voice said behind me. “There’s a lot of people looking for you back home and we figured it’d be best if you weren’t around.”

  “Cheers, Griff,” I replied without turning. “Nice choice. So, is it over now?”

  “Pretty much. The deal’s broken three times. Game's a bogey.”

  “And you boys?”

  “We’re good. Don’t worry about us. Thanks, Phil. You did fuckin' brilliant."

  "Don't mention it," I said.

  Griff came round the back of the bench and sat down beside me. He looked just the same as he always had. When he smiled, I saw his teeth were again completely normal. We looked over the lake in silence for a few moments, enjoying the peaceful scene.

  “So you’re old man was a bit of a bastard, eh?” I said to him.

  “No shit,” Griff replied. “Never did get on with the guy, but I never thought he was a complete sociopath. Sorry about… well, you know… at the campsite that night, and in the nuthouse…”

  “De nada, amigo,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You weren’t quite yourself. Drugs are bad, m’kay?”

  We laughed, and once again I wondered at how good and normal things were in this dreamland version of the world. Despite the horror of everything I’d gone through and everything I now knew, it felt completely natural to bounce the conversation back and forth between us, making light of horrible, horrible things.

  "One thing I need to tell you though, dude,” Griff said, “Keep an eye out. It’s not just the cops that are looking for you, know what I mean? Ozay can’t go near you now because his deal got fucked up three times. That’s just the way it works. There’s plenty more like him though, and they know about you, because you’re different now. They’ll come looking for you. Nothing personal, it’s just what they do, you know?”

  I just nodded. It made sense in a very messed up way.

  “It’s not all bad though, mate,” Griff said to me. “You know what’s out there now, all the bad things, but you can’t spell slaughter without laughter. Always remember that. You can't have one without the other."

  “Equals and opposites. Yin and Yang. Duality, right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You’re not as dumb as you look, mate. Black and white, cowboys and Indians, salt and pepper. There’s good guys and wanks, and the good guys look out for each other.”

  That was good to know. It did beg a troubling question however.

  “Are you sure I’m one of the good guys, Griff?” I asked, thinking about what I’d said to Tony Cairns on the phone and of how close I’d come to pulverising Grant’s head with that whisky bottle.

  Griff hesitated.

  “Shades of grey. Nothing’s every totally black and white, Phil,” he said, somewhat evasively. “You understand what’s happened to you?”

  I thought I did.

  When Griff used to tell us stories, he’d often say how every legend has a kernel of truth in it somewhere. I thought about what the stories say bites from vampires, zombies and werewolves did to their victims, and I thought about how I’d almost lost my arm due to the infection from the bite Griff had given me when we fought at the campsite that night. They’d told me that my heart had stopped for a few minutes and I’d been revived, brought back from the dead. It seemed clear to me now that I just hadn’t come back all the way.

  I thought about being pinned through the shoulder by that disembodied talon like a bug in a display case, and about sharing my mind with that thing.

  I guess when you have contact with the other side and manage to walk away, you carry some of it inside you like shrapnel.

  “Aye,” I said. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Griff nodded. “You’ll need to try and keep a lid on that side of it, mate,” he said. “It could go either way.”

  I sat there on the bench, digesting all this.

  “So what do I do now, Griff?” I asked after a moment.

  “I don’t know, dude. Go canoeing?” he suggested.

  I laughed.

  He got up from the bench and stretched, as if he had physical muscles that needed stretching. “Time for me to make like a tree, dude,” he said. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

  “Cheers, Griff. Much appreciated.”

  “Remember what I said though, Phil,” he said. “Keep a lid on it. Keep it tight and together as best as you can. You’re going to need to be strong, but there’s some stuff in the cabin in case it gets too much, alright? I’ll see you around.”

  And he was gone.

  I just sat there for a while after that, looking out across the lake, not really thinking about much.

  After a bit, I heard something moving in the forest behind me, rustling through the bushes.

  Instantly, I was on my feet. I turned and looked into the shady depths of the woods, ready for some new abomination to come rushing at me out of the underbrush.

  It was just a dog. A medium sized mongrel that came casually sauntering out of the murk, its haphazardly patterned brown and black coat matted and tangled. It came right over to me and sat on its haunches, looking up at me expectantly with bright eyes and a silly doggy grin, tongue lolling from one side of its jaws, dripping drool.

  I bent down and scratched the mutt behind the ears, finding a worn brown leather collar with a metal name tag attached. I read it, and smiled.

  “Hi, Sam,” I said.

  After everything inexplicable that had happened to me in the past few months, it didn’t seem so outlandish to find that the boys had sorted the place out for me, even if they were dead and had somehow done so from beyond the grave.

  The interior of the cabin was long unused and there was dust and cobwebs aplenty, but the large walk in pantry in the kitchen area was well stocked with tinned food, bottled water and dog food, and there was an iron wood burning stove, fuelled and good to go. In the huge open fireplace, a big pile of thick wedges of pine and kindling had been laid, and a large iron wood holder by the side was full of chopped logs. I could still smell the sap, as if the fireplace had been prepared and stocked only minutes before I walked in.

  In a room just off the main sitting area, there was an old double bed and mattress under a dust sheet and a wardrobe which contained sheets, blankets, pillows and even a few changes of clothes. From this bedroom, another door led to a small en suite bathroom featuring a working toilet and shower. They even left a towel and several bog rolls for me.

  There’s a storage shed built onto the side of the cabin, and in there I discovered a large chest freezer and a beat up but functioning pickup truck, the keys in the ignition.

  Back in the main room under a large dust sheet, I found this writing desk and typewriter. The typewriter looks like an antique; a big old heavy thing made of metal, but it works perfectly and I found that the ribbon was fresh. When I pressed a few keys, the softly distinctive clack-clack-clack noise had a very definite rightness to it, and I knew right away I was meant to put all this down on paper. I remembered Cairnsey once talking about how he had kept a journal since he was seven years old and how it had helped him deal with all the bad shit that was going on in his life. Writing is therapy he used to say as we grew up. I guess he figured I could use some therapy now.

  The desk itself is a plainly constructed grungy bit of furniture, worn and battered, and has seen some years itself going by the look of it, but it’s heavy and solid and looks like it could last for another thousand. Opening the several drawers, the interiors of which I noticed had been lined with metal to make them fireproof, I found several reams of blank paper, spare typewriter ribbons, an old ha
lf used candle and a large box of kitchen matches.

  Griff had said there was also some stuff in case it got too much, and I found these items in the bottom drawer to the right of the desk’s leg space; several bottles of Diazepam, and a loaded .45 calibre handgun. These items gave me a chill, but like the typewriter and desk, they had a certain rightness to them.

  The cabin has plumbing and working lights, and yet there’s no evidence of power lines connecting it to the grid and there’s no generator either.

  Inexplicable, but when compared to recent events, not that weird.

  After I’d finished checking out my new home, I simply stood for a moment in the centre of the main room, watching as Sam wandered around the cabin sniffing, exploring everything with his nose. After a second, I lit a fire and then sat down at the desk, took out a ream of paper from one of the drawers, loaded up the typewriter and just started hammering away at the keys.

  Well, that’s it. It was two days ago I started this account, and now that I’ve finished and we’re up to date, I’m not really sure what to do with myself.

  I know there’s more to come. Griff’s warnings and the fact that there’s a loaded gun and enough jellies to drop a herd of rhinos in one of the desk drawers makes that clear.

  I guess I’m not done writing yet.

  The date is the 19th of September.

  5th October 2011

  Decided to go into town today to see if I could find a few books to read and stock up on some supplies.

  I won’t be going back.

  When I found myself here in mountains, I still had the backpack with the ten grand Sergeant Grace gave me, and on the way into town I thought the fact that it’s in Sterling and not dollars would be a problem. Amesville’s a small place, maybe a little bigger than Ballantrae, but I found a post office which kept a stock of a few foreign currencies and the old guy behind the counter changed some notes over for me. I tried to strike up a conversation as I hadn’t spoken to anyone but Sam in weeks, and thought he’d be intrigued about my accent and ask about where I was from, but he just took the two hundred pounds I gave him, did a quick calculation and handed me back a wad of dollars without so much as saying a word.

  He looked scared, as if he thought I was going to hold the place up.

  It was the same at the general store. The girl at the checkout actually gasped and backed away a few steps when I walked up to her till pushing my trolley. As she passed my items under the barcode reader she kept her eyes downcast, as if afraid to look at me. By the time she’d added up my purchases and mumbled the total, she was almost hyperventilating and I thought she was a second away from abandoning her station and bolting in terror.

  Walking back to the truck, people on the street gave me wide berths or crossed the street altogether to keep a safe distance from me as if I were a plague carrier. In a car that was stopped at a traffic light, there was a young woman behind the wheel and a toddler in the baby seat in the back. As I passed, the kid took one look at me through the window and started screaming hysterically. The woman saw me, visibly flinched, and put her foot down. She ran the red light in her haste to put distance between me and her child, and her car came very close to colliding with a lumber truck that was passing through the intersection.

  I found myself getting angry at the townspeople’s unprovoked reaction to me, and realised I was grinding my teeth and muttering curses under my breath. A strong urge to lash out at someone was building up inside me, and I had to stop there in the middle of the sidewalk, my arms loaded with grocery sacks, and take a series of deep breaths to get myself under control.

  It’s like Grant told me. I’ve got death all over me, and people can see it.

  10th October 2011

  Took a pill for the first time today.

  Since my visit to town, I’d felt my nerves getting more frayed day by day but I’d been resisting reaching for the desk drawer for a Diazepam. Had to do it today though.

  At first I was just waking up in a bad mood. Thought maybe it was just plain boredom and frustration brought on by sitting about with nothing to do, but today I caught myself pacing back and forth in the cabin, grinding the shit out my teeth and seriously pissed off for no reason, then I started kicking at the walls.

  The Valium helped calm me down a little, but I don’t want to get dependant on them. There’s been enough jelly heads in my family.

  19th October 2011

  I’m getting worse.

  Pacing and kicking at the walls again today, also throwing punches at nothing and cursing out loud, almost shouting. My blood feels like it’s heating up somehow, although the air temperature’s started to drop as winter approaches.

  Decided to go outside and chop some wood, thinking I could burn off some of the causeless rage. I grabbed the axe from the storage shed and went out to the woodpile in the yard then started swinging. It helped a little, and I’ve now got more cut logs and wedges of pine than I can fit in the iron holder by the fireplace, but I still had to reach for the desk drawer again. Up to three pills a day now.

  23rd October 2011

  Seven pills today. Hardly make a dent.

  Took a kitchen knife to the cabin wall earlier. Kicking at it just wasn’t doing it anymore.

  Stabbing fuck out of it felt great.

  I wished it was more than wood I was hacking at.

  Been thinking about the gun. Is it for me? Is it for others?

  Sam won’t come near me.

  ?

  The pills are almost gone now. Lost count of hoq many I’ve had today but it doesn’t matter. barely working anymore. The anger just wont quit. Dontknow what the day or the date is. Starting to lose track of time. Losing track of ME.

  Found myself sittting behind the wheel of the truck earlier. the GUN and the AXE weer on the seat next to me.

  Didnt know how I got there.

  Sams gone.

  ?

  Finished the pillz.

  Came too sat in the truckk with the GUN and the AXE agaim. Drivven a few miles doen the road thiss time asif hedding to town.

  I need too ddo something before I KILL SOME CUNT. LOSINGITHELPMEI REALLYREALLYWANTKILLSOMECUNTCUNTCUNTCUNTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTJKKDFKIUGHIDUSFGHKISDTRJGHSERKUGHKSDTGHUHKGHUKGTHJIO;TRHJO;RHIOJ

  Winter 2011

  I’m feeling a lot better.

  I don’t remember leaving the cabin. It was like I abruptly woke up from a broken nightmarish sleep and there I was; flying like the wind through the woods with that supernatural speed, dodging between trees, leaping over small semi frozen rivers, hurdling deadfalls and crashing through snow drifts and bushes, far swifter and more agile than any forest animal, and snarling deep in my throat.

  When I saw the deer, I instantly knew what I needed. It ran from me of course, but I was faster. Much faster.

  I’d torn it up pretty badly by the time the black rage that’d been consuming me abated. I found myself sitting in the blood splattered snow with its red steaming carcass strewn around me. I’d eaten a fair portion of the big antlered buck and I could still taste its hot gamey blood and raw flesh in my mouth. It was very very good.

  For the first time in what must be weeks however, I was clear minded and calm. The obsessive urge to maim and kill something, anything, everything, was gone.

  I was pretty disturbed about what I’d done, but when I thought about what the alternative had almost been, chasing down a deer on foot and ripping it to pieces with my bare hands and teeth was by comparison perfectly acceptable behaviour in the grand scheme of things.

  It occurred to me that even so, I probably should’ve been more freaked out about what I’d done, but I just didn’t feel it. Part of the new me I guess.

  It was close, but I think I’ll be okay for a while now. Sam’s back and he’s not afraid to be around me anymore, and that’s good.

  Keepin’ a lid on it, boys.

  Winter 2011

  I took Sam out for his walk this morning and there was a very deep, unnatural
silence in the woods. I’d noticed that the forest had been getting steadily quieter over the past few weeks, but I put it down to the onset of deep winter. Now though, the only sounds to be heard are the wind blowing through the pines, the creak of slowly swaying trees, the soft crack of contracting bark and the occasional soft flump of snow drifts falling from boughs. Of animal sounds, there’s not so much as a twitter of birdsong.

  I’ve found myself going into the forest a little less regularly these days. I don’t know if it’s the fact that winter continues to tighten its grasp on the mountains and it’s fucking freezing, but walking in the woods isn’t as enjoyable as it was when I first found myself here. The chill in the air seems to be somehow more than just the worsening weather and the shadows between the trees seem threatening.