Fangtooth Read online

  Not long after, he saw three figures climb onto the harbour and head towards the road. All three were dressed in thick black coats. They crossed the road and out of sight. Moments later, the door to the bar opened and the figures stepped inside, bringing with them a babble of chatter.

  “Back again, I see. What can I get you?” Graham asked.

  “Three pints of beer,” a tall man with blond hair said as he shucked off his coat.

  “That saltwater gives me a raging thirst,” said a shorter man with brown hair. He slipped his circular glasses off and wiped them on his sleeve. He breathed on them, held them up for inspection and then wiped them again.

  “Kev, just listening to you moan gives me a raging thirst,” said the third person, a woman.

  Bruce looked at the newcomers. The woman had her back to him and all he could see was that she had long, wavy red hair. He watched as she removed her coat to reveal a slim physique clothed in a blue jumper and black pants.

  Feeling slightly voyeuristic, Bruce looked away, caught Jack staring at him with his lips pinched tight, and his eyes narrowed.

  “What?” Bruce demanded.

  Jack shook his head, sipped his Coke and turned to look back out the window.

  “I don’t suppose you have a light do you?”

  Bruce looked up into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. The woman smiled down at him with pale pink lips. Around her late twenties, she had a cream complexion and her forehead was speckled with faint freckles. Her face was narrow, her hair damp from the sea spray. She reminded him of John Everett Millais’ painting of Ophelia. His pulse increased and he felt hot and clammy.

  “Sorry, I don’t smoke,” Bruce said. His face felt flushed, and he hoped she thought it was through the heat of the fire and not his embarrassment.

  “Here, I’ve got one.” Jack thrust out a lighter.

  Bruce scowled at his son. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll bring it back in a minute.” She walked out the front door. Bruce watched through the window as she lit a cigarette and then left it smoking in the ashtray as she walked back inside. “Thanks.” She passed the lighter across, her gaze fixed on Bruce.

  Bruce took a long swallow from his pint in the hope it would cool his face.

  Although he knew he should reprimand his son for carrying a lighter, Bruce took one look at Jack’s angry expression and relented. For the first time since Veronica’s death, Bruce had looked at another woman with something more than indifference and it was only when he looked down that he realised that he had purposely covered his wedding ring with his free hand.

  Chapter 5

  Bruce’s mobile phone rang with an insistent shrill. Jack watched his dad rummage in his pocket, holding the phone up like a trophy before answering.

  “You’re here, great. I’ll be there in a minute.” He disconnected the call. “The furniture’s arrived.”

  Jack shrugged. “And you’re telling me because…?”

  “Because I’d like you to help.”

  “What did your last slave die of?”

  “Jack, I’m not asking.”

  “Give me a break. You can’t expect me to help when I didn’t want to move out here.”

  Bruce ground his teeth and sighed through his nose. “Okay, what if you have a look around and get to know the place, then you can show me around later. How’s that sound?”

  Jack pretended to consider the idea, then he eventually nodded. Not that he would be seen dead walking around later with his old man. Way uncool. But if it got him off his back by agreeing, he was game. He could make up an excuse later.

  “Right, come on then. I’ll head back to the house and you can get the lay of the land.”

  Jack stood and followed his dad towards the door. On the way, he noticed his dad surreptitiously stare at the woman who’d asked for a light and he felt a cold ache in his stomach. The woman stared back and smiled. Bruce blushed and fiddled with his wedding ring.

  A lump lodged in Jack’s throat.

  Outside he took a deep breath; could smell the sea.

  “Try not to stay out too long,” Bruce said before turning and jogging away.

  Jack didn’t watch him go. He looked across at the harbour where the small group of teenagers huddled against the wall. He checked if his dad was out of sight, then he pulled the packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his hooded top and lit one up. He inhaled deeply. He had been dying for a cigarette after being stuck in the car for hours.

  Cigarette in hand, he pulled his cap down lower to shield his eyes, and wandered across the road. It was embarrassing being a newcomer in the village, and he was damned if he was going to walk across and start talking to the group.

  Disinterested, he skipped over the harbour wall and sat on the edge of the quay, pretending to look out to sea. He had chosen to sit close to the group of teenagers, but not too close. He dangled his feet over the edge, the water’s surface below marred by a multicoloured pool of petrol. With the tide out, water dripped from some form of outlet pipe further along the wall.

  Despite the usual blue depiction of the sea in postcards, here it was green. Small, choppy waves crested by white foam splashed against the harbour entrance, but within the harbour itself, the surface was virtually flat.

  “Who told you you could sit there?”

  Jack flicked ash into the sea. The speaker sounded like a teenager, but Jack didn’t look up to see. He knew they would goad him, but he wasn’t worried. He could handle himself. He had a green belt in Judo, though if anyone ever asked, it was black.

  He took a drag on his cigarette.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  Jack exhaled and turned to look at the speaker from under the brow of his cap. The boy standing beside him looked about sixteen. He had a spotty face and shoulder length hair that, by the look of it, only helped make his acne worse. He was dressed in green combat trousers and a sweatshirt bearing the Nike logo. On his feet, he wore a battered pair of Converse trainers.

  “It’s a free country,” Jack said.

  The lad spat on the floor. “Not here it isn’t.” He looked back at his companions, two teenage girls, as if for support.

  Jack swung his legs away from the sea and jumped up. The boy took a step back. They were both about equal height at five nine, but the other boy probably outweighed him by about twenty pounds. He had learned never to underestimate an opponent, but he figured if it turned nasty, he could bowl the boy over. He let his body relax so he would be as supple as possible.

  By the looks of them, the two girls weren’t interested in starting any trouble, but he knew that if it came to the crunch, camaraderie would probably spur them to help.

  “Well, I’ve finished sitting down now, so you’re welcome to it.”

  The lad licked his lips. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No, but if you want a laugh then look in the mirror.” One of the girls chuckled.

  The boy scowled. Jack saw him clench his fists and his heart started beating faster. He took a deep breath, tried to calm down.

  “Come on Rocky, he’s got every right to sit there,” the girl that had laughed said as she wandered across. She had an orange and white striped beanie hat pulled down on her head; strands of short blonde hair jutted from underneath. Two dimples accentuated her rosy cheeks and she had pouting lips. She folded her arms across her chest, the sleeves of her blue top pulled down to cover her hands. She smiled at Jack, accentuating the dimples.

  “Stay out of it, Jen. This is between him and me.”

  “Come on Rocky, leave it.”

  Jack couldn’t help grinning. Rocky!

  “You find something funny?” Rocky snarled.

  Jack dropped his cigarette and stubbed it under the heel of his trainer. “Funny enough.”

  “Knock it off,” Jen said as she placed herself between Jack and Rocky.

  Rocky puffed his chest out. “I’ll knock something off. His block.”


  Jen shook her head. “If you want to hit someone, hit me.”

  “Don’t talk stupid.”

  “Well then, cut it out.” She turned to Jack and fixed him with her clear blue eyes. “My name’s Jen. Are you here on holiday?”

  “Jack.” He nodded his head in the direction of the house. “I’ve just moved here. House on Millhouse Lane.”

  Jen visibly blanched. “No way,” she said, drawing out the words.

  Jack pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Something I don’t know?”

  “You mean you’ve never heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “That house. The one you’ve bought. The last people who lived there disappeared. No one ever heard from them again.”

  “Right.”

  “No, really. Tell him, Rocky.”

  Rocky nodded. “She’s right. It’s been up for sale for years. Everyone says it’s haunted. People around here call it the Mulberry Triangle. Rather you than me.”

  Jack chewed his lip. Were they being serious?

  The other girl hurried across. “You’re really living in the Triangle house,” the girl said. She had brown hair tied in a ponytail and a pert little nose that twitched like an inquisitive rabbit’s.

  “Well, we haven’t moved in yet. Only got here today.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never heard the story. It was in all the papers. A man and wife and their two kids.” She fingered one of the many earrings in her ear as she spoke.

  Rocky grinned. “Well it’ll save me the job of kicking your ass when you disappear.”

  Jack shrugged. “Do I look bothered? So I’m moving into a derelict house, so what?” Nevertheless, inside he felt a knot in his stomach. They couldn’t be serious, could they? But so what if they were. There was probably a good explanation.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Rocky said. “Anything you want on your gravestone?”

  Jen. Jack kept the thought to himself as he forced a laugh. “You’re a real joker.”

  Rocky put his arm around Jen and pulled her in close to his side. Then he made a show of kissing her. Jen pushed him away.

  “Quit mauling me,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Rocky narrowed his eyes and glared at Jack, and then he grinned like the cat that had gotten the cream.

  Jack was disappointed Jen was Rocky’s girlfriend. For a moment there, he’d thought living here wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Well, it’s been fun,” Jack said. “But I’m going to have to fly.” He turned and started walking away.

  Rocky shouted after him, “Don’t you mean, die?”

  It wasn’t until Jack turned and gave him the finger that he realised his hands were shaking.

  Chapter 6

  Small pebbles lined the edge of the road. Jack kicked them as hard as he could back towards the sea. He hated this shit village. Sure it would be good to live near a beach, but if that’s all there was here, then he would probably die of boredom. There hadn’t always been that much to do in the city, but at least there had been shops to look around, fast-food restaurants, bowling and cinemas. The least he would have expected here was an amusement arcade.

  God. Why had this happened? If his mum hadn’t died, he wouldn’t be here. Sure, his dad wanted to get away to escape the bad memories, but they could have moved somewhere else in the city. This was just ridiculous.

  He wondered whether his dad knew the story about the house. Obviously he didn’t. Rocky and the girls had to be making it up. Even Jen must have been in on it. But just suppose they were telling the truth …

  Seagulls wheeled in the sky above. Their raucous din was starting to get on his nerves so he inserted his earphones and turned his mp3 player on. The American Idiot album assaulted his ears and he bobbed his head in time to the title track.

  He dragged his feet through the pebbles, dried seaweed, shells, and sand that had accumulated at the edge of the road. When he drew close to the turning to Millhouse Lane, he took the packet of mints from his pocket to hide the smell of cigarettes. About to pop a mint into his mouth, he looked up and noticed a figure standing above the cove. He recognised her as the crazy woman from the house. And she was staring at him.

  Jack flicked the mint into his mouth, trying to appear nonchalant. Then he looked back down at the road and increased his pace. The woman had scared him in the house, so he didn’t want to stare at her now in case it upset her. Sure, he could deal with kids his own age, but an old woman was something else. For a start, it wouldn’t feel right hitting her if she did attack.

  He hurried into the lane and glanced quickly back over his shoulder, but the old woman was gone.

  He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. Damn this place. Further along the lane he could see the removal van. Two men were making their way out of it, carrying the brown leather settee between them. Jack hated that settee. He had tried to convince his dad it was wrong to sit on the carcass of an innocent animal, but his dad was adamant he wasn’t getting rid of it, not when it cost so much and there was nothing wrong with it. He remembered his dad saying, ‘The cow won’t mind’, which was a lame thing to say. Of course the cow wouldn’t mind. The cow was dead.

  The movers stopped walking and dropped the settee. The older of the two raised his flat cap and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He looked about fifty-five and was dressed conservatively in a shirt and trousers that had seen better days. His friend appeared about thirty-five and was as big as a bull. He looked as though he could carry the settee under one of his enormous arms without breaking a sweat.

  Although Jack wasn’t exactly skinny, he always envied people with big muscles. They had an air of confidence about them he imagined came from knowing most people wouldn’t say boo to them.

  As Jack walked up to the van, his dad emerged from the house and waved. Jack took his earphones out and nodded in response.

  “That was quick,” his dad said. “I thought you’d be gone hours.”

  Jack chewed his lip and looked at the house. The windows were dirty. Set back into the brickwork they failed to reflect any light; looked like skeletal eye sockets. He shivered involuntarily.

  “What is it?” his dad asked.

  “Is there anything about the house you haven’t told me?”

  His dad frowned.

  “It’s just … I heard …”

  “Heard what?”

  Jack shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Tell me then.”

  “Where do you want this settee?” the old man wheezed as he and his partner made their way up the path, carrying the settee between them.

  “Just put it in the first room along with everything else. Until I decorate at least one room, everything will have to go in there.”

  The old man nodded and then continued towards the house.

  “Now, you were saying?” his dad said.

  “I met a couple of locals in the village. They told me the previous occupants of this house disappeared without a trace.”

  His dad shook his head. “They’re pulling your leg.”

  Jack stared at his dad for a moment. He believed him when he said he didn’t know the history of the house, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  Chapter 7

  Zander stood at the helm and steered his vessel into the inky black sea. The sound of the engines and the waves slapping against the bow carried easily on the night air.

  Clouds masked most of the sky, and few stars were visible. A fine spray obscured the glass, and he switched the wipers on to clear it away. He preferred to see miles ahead of him, but when the sun went down it was hard to see anything.

  He often thought being on a boat at night on the seas was one of the loneliest places in the world. Other than Brad toiling away in the engine room, he was alone. But he felt as though someone was watching him, which was ridiculous. He was four miles out, and there wasn’t another vessel in sight. In rough weather, th
e radar sometimes showed little blips on the screen from the tops of waves, but today it was calm and yet there were still a couple of blips showing up. He looked outside, but couldn’t see any running lights to indicate the presence of another vessel. Thinking it could be flotsam or there might be a problem with the radar, he altered its sensitivity to tune out the blips. Technology was a wonderful thing, but it wasn’t infallible.

  Once the blips disappeared, he recalled the incident with the shredded net. It had taken days to repair and had cost more than he could afford. That’s why this trip was so important.

  Satisfied no one was around to see, he flicked a switch and spotlights above the helm illuminated the sea, creating a glare that was almost blinding. Less than fifty yards off the starboard bow he spotted a red buoy that marked the lobster pot in the depths below. Easing back on the throttle, he headed towards the pot and dropped anchor.

  The deck was slick with water, and he cautiously made his way to the starboard side. Using a hooked pole, he snared the buoy and dragged it on board. Then he started to haul the pot from the deep. The cold rope felt slimy in his hands, and he braced his feet against the side of the boat and pulled hand over hand. Weighed down with its contents and the pressure of the sea, the basket was heavy and it took all his strength to raise it.

  Water sloshed against the deck and ran back out to the sea as the boat pitched in the waves.

  Something banged against the hull and Zander jumped. The rope slipped through his fingers before he tightened his grip. He tied the rope onto the gunnel and peered over the side into the inky black depths where the spotlights failed to illuminate. There was always the danger at sea of hitting submerged objects, perhaps some of the flotsam he thought the radar detected, but he couldn’t see anything. The hairs prickled at the nape of his neck. Something didn’t feel right, and over the years he’d come to trust his feelings.