The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) by Robert Wilde Page B
Authors: Robert Wilde
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the cellar, the light still on, and looked at the
cats arrayed within. It was hard for him, to keep them in here, but it really
had to be done, for their benefit as much as anyone else’s. But he stopped
feeling bad as he thought he saw gratitude on their little faces, as if they
knew what was coming next, and he was sure they really did. Cats had memories, long
memories.
“Well my lovelies, aren’t you in a for a treat this evening,” and Grell turned
back to the stairs and shuffled up. The next time he came down he wasn’t alone,
but wasn’t going very fast either. That was because he and two other men, one at
each end and one in the middle, were carrying a long, plastic wrapped weight
down into the cellar between them. This was dumped on the floor – it couldn’t
be damaged after all – and the men now took their regular positions around the
alter.
Hearing a meow, Stuart turned to see Tompkins peering down from the open door.
“Best close that,” he said to one acolyte, “Dear Tomps won’t be able to resist
joining in.”
Once they were sealed in, the men knelt and began a chant, as Stuart began to
speak. It was a story of history, felines, hunger and worship, and it was clear
who was the chosen animal on this earth and who was the stupid monkey following
in their great wake. Albeit the monkey with the opposable thumbs.
Then it was time for the next phase, so Grell took out a can of catfood from
his suit pocket, opened it, and dumped it on the altar while saying a
supplication. Then the men moved, unwrapped the plastic sheet, and revealed
first a set of jogging bottoms and jumper, with white trainers and no attention
to the watch or rings, then bruised flesh, until the whole corpse was revealed.
It was newly dead, within ninety minutes, and had been put into that state
earlier in the day. Now it was useful for one thing only.
The corpse was laid on the ground, and cat food from the altar was laid on the
body’s face. Then the clothes were stripped off, to be taken and burnt, and the
men retreated, leaving the cellar empty apart from the cats and a corpse. Now
up on the ground floor, the door was closed, locked, and Grell activated a
switch on the wall. Below, the cages all swung open, and the hungry cats surged
out, first sniffing the dead body, then pawing at it, then biting into it and
chewing up their human feast, as they had done eleven times before, but as had
been denied them when Nathan’s situation demanded he be left as a decoy.
The cats dined well that night, leaving bones and gristle for Grell to tidy
away and turn into the next skull.
There was a knocking at the door, and PC Devon hoped no one would answer. While
he wanted to get this shitshow out of the way and investigate some real crimes,
he needed access to this house and he didn’t want to have to get a warrant and
come back with any higher escalation. He was already going to be a laughing stock
when everyone else found out about this, and he didn’t need that. In fact why
the fuck had they picked him to do this? It couldn’t be just happenstance, it
had to be some bastard having a go. I bet they’re all back there having a lau…
“Hello, Mr. Grell?” The door had opened, and the portly Grell was stood there.
“Yes?”
“I’m PC Devon, and I was hoping I could come in and have a little word.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.” Jesus, it was going to be one of those days wasn’t it.
“Well, err, of course you can come in,” and the door was opened widely.
“Nice cat,” Devon said, looked at the ginger moggy at the end of the corridor.
“That’s Tompkins.”
“The one who inherited the money?”
“You have been briefed on me! Come into the lounge and let me get you some
tea.”
“No need for that Mr. Grell. Just a few questions, and then I’d like to look in
your cellar, then I’ll be on my way.”
“Of
cats arrayed within. It was hard for him, to keep them in here, but it really
had to be done, for their benefit as much as anyone else’s. But he stopped
feeling bad as he thought he saw gratitude on their little faces, as if they
knew what was coming next, and he was sure they really did. Cats had memories, long
memories.
“Well my lovelies, aren’t you in a for a treat this evening,” and Grell turned
back to the stairs and shuffled up. The next time he came down he wasn’t alone,
but wasn’t going very fast either. That was because he and two other men, one at
each end and one in the middle, were carrying a long, plastic wrapped weight
down into the cellar between them. This was dumped on the floor – it couldn’t
be damaged after all – and the men now took their regular positions around the
alter.
Hearing a meow, Stuart turned to see Tompkins peering down from the open door.
“Best close that,” he said to one acolyte, “Dear Tomps won’t be able to resist
joining in.”
Once they were sealed in, the men knelt and began a chant, as Stuart began to
speak. It was a story of history, felines, hunger and worship, and it was clear
who was the chosen animal on this earth and who was the stupid monkey following
in their great wake. Albeit the monkey with the opposable thumbs.
Then it was time for the next phase, so Grell took out a can of catfood from
his suit pocket, opened it, and dumped it on the altar while saying a
supplication. Then the men moved, unwrapped the plastic sheet, and revealed
first a set of jogging bottoms and jumper, with white trainers and no attention
to the watch or rings, then bruised flesh, until the whole corpse was revealed.
It was newly dead, within ninety minutes, and had been put into that state
earlier in the day. Now it was useful for one thing only.
The corpse was laid on the ground, and cat food from the altar was laid on the
body’s face. Then the clothes were stripped off, to be taken and burnt, and the
men retreated, leaving the cellar empty apart from the cats and a corpse. Now
up on the ground floor, the door was closed, locked, and Grell activated a
switch on the wall. Below, the cages all swung open, and the hungry cats surged
out, first sniffing the dead body, then pawing at it, then biting into it and
chewing up their human feast, as they had done eleven times before, but as had
been denied them when Nathan’s situation demanded he be left as a decoy.
The cats dined well that night, leaving bones and gristle for Grell to tidy
away and turn into the next skull.
There was a knocking at the door, and PC Devon hoped no one would answer. While
he wanted to get this shitshow out of the way and investigate some real crimes,
he needed access to this house and he didn’t want to have to get a warrant and
come back with any higher escalation. He was already going to be a laughing stock
when everyone else found out about this, and he didn’t need that. In fact why
the fuck had they picked him to do this? It couldn’t be just happenstance, it
had to be some bastard having a go. I bet they’re all back there having a lau…
“Hello, Mr. Grell?” The door had opened, and the portly Grell was stood there.
“Yes?”
“I’m PC Devon, and I was hoping I could come in and have a little word.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.” Jesus, it was going to be one of those days wasn’t it.
“Well, err, of course you can come in,” and the door was opened widely.
“Nice cat,” Devon said, looked at the ginger moggy at the end of the corridor.
“That’s Tompkins.”
“The one who inherited the money?”
“You have been briefed on me! Come into the lounge and let me get you some
tea.”
“No need for that Mr. Grell. Just a few questions, and then I’d like to look in
your cellar, then I’ll be on my way.”
“Of
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