Harry nodded and Steph left him there in the cold corridor, lost in thought about why Damien had not backed him up. Just when I thought we were finally getting along, he makes me look like a lunatic, right in front of Steph. Stupid, Harry. Real stupid! You should never trust a snake.
But Damien wasn’t worth the time right now, not when Steph had made it clear she needed Harry’s support. She was playing nursemaid, host, and authoritarian all at the same time. It was unfair that she had to put everyone else first when all they did was bicker. Harry wanted to take some of the strain off her, but for now he was being summoned to attend other business. Old Graham wanted to speak to him and Harry wasn’t going to keep the old guy waiting. He owed him too much already. He started walking, but couldn’t help thinking along the way: Why did Damien lie?
Before he exited the corridor something caught Harry’s attention. At the opposite end of the rear corridor was a light; it was coming from the pub’s unused dance floor.
Is somebody in the back room?
Harry stepped forward cautiously. It was probably just one of the others, looking for something to burn; the light probably coming from their candles. He couldn’t be sure though. He needed to check it out. “Hey, who’s there?”
No reply. The light seemed to get brighter, pulsing rapidly.
Harry continued down the corridor, creeping anxiously as he awaited a response. Once he was certain there would be none, he called out again. “I said who’s there?”
Again there was no response. Harry was left with the decision whether to go back or not. Tonight was a night where strange things were happening in abundance; retreat was likely the most sensible option to take, yet for some reason Harry felt compelled to investigate further. His feet carried him forward.
The pulsing light was blinding now. Harry had to shield his eyes with a forearm as he took the final few steps towards the backroom. When he eventually reached the doorway to the dance floor, Harry realised he was hot, sweating.
Inside the cavernous room it felt like a sauna, sticky heat clinging to his skin. After hours of freezing cold, the aura of warmth was wonderful, but Harry knew it was unnatural as well. There was no rational explanation for the backroom of an English pub feeling like a Mexican beach resort, especially when it was snowing outside like the end of the world. Something was wrong.
Rather than run away, Harry stepped onto the stiff wood of the dance floor; it creaked beneath his weight. From the end of the room the bright orange glow continued pulsing. It was coming from behind an elevated DJ’s booth built up against the far wall, but as Harry got closer the light began to weaken. He hurried over to the booth and hoisted himself up the three steps that ran beside it. The light was still diminishing, fading like a setting sun behind a forest. Harry had the feeling that if he didn’t get a look at its source immediately, he would miss something important. He unhooked the latch of the DJ’s chest-level door and pulled it open.
His heart stopped.
It started beating again a second later, but Harry was still unable to catch his breath properly. Looking down at the glowing visage before him, He did not know whether to laugh, scream, or give up and die. It was, at the same time, the most wonderful and most painful thing he could have ever have hoped to have seen. He choked back a sob, tried to find words.
A painful moment without air passed and Harry finally managed to splutter one word. “Son?”
Cowering before him, lit by a rapidly fading glow, was his son, Toby. The boy had not aged in the year-and-a-half since his death and now stared at Harry with deep, soulful eyes.
“Daddy.” Toby’s voice was an echo, seeming to come from the walls rather than him. “Daddy, I’m scared.”
Impossible! An evil trick played by someone even eviler. Yet, somehow, Harry found himself speaking affectionately, “It’s okay now, Toby. Daddy’s here.”
The light around Toby had completely died. He looked like a normal six year old boy now. “You promise you’ll keep me safe?” The question bounced off the walls before it entered Harry’s ears.
Harry nodded. “Yes, son. I won’t let anything hurt you. I’ll keep you safe.” He reached down to Toby, ready to take him up in his arms, but the boy shuffled backwards, out of his grasp.
“No, you won’t,” said Toby. “You can’t keep anyone safe. Daddy was a strong man. He taught me to ride a bike and would buy me chicken nuggets whenever I wanted. You’re not him, you can’t be! He was strong, but you are weak. Weak!”
The final word did not echo; neither did it sound anything like his son. The word had crackled and hissed from Toby’s mouth like hatred personified. Tears fell from Harry’s eyes. His son was dead, but the words of this monster were still true.
I am weak, Harry thought. I failed you, Toby. I let you get hurt, and all I’ve done since is feel sorry for myself.
The apparition of Harry’s dead son was so accurate that it sent a chill through His bones. But it wasn’t perfect. Now, as he looked down at the hateful creature, Harry could see the lack of humanity in its eyes. The dark vortexes swirled with dark knowledge and twisted intentions. It was an abomination.
Harry backed away slowly. “I have to go now, Toby. I think you should go back to wherever you came from.”
The child looked at him with so much malice that Harry realised it was an entity far older than anything he’d ever encountered. It laughed spitefully; the booming sound filled the entire room.