This Town Hides an Inferno

By Wayne Goodchild
© 2009, All Rights Reserved

May 1940, and New Bedlam festered in the grip of an unseasonable heat-wave. The baking hell outside my window made the air shimmer and blur, turning the town into a dilapidated mirage. I leant back in my chair, trying not to melt through the slats, fedora acting as a makeshift fan for my streaming face. Real cosy.

Name’s Jonathan Cave, and next month marks my second year in town. I didn’t come here looking for redemption, or anything like that. To the contrary; I’ve got an abundance of faith. I’d say that probably explains why I ended up in this ramshackle town; I think it needs me.

Yeah, I’m a preacher, not that most folks realise when they first meet me. For starters, I operate out of a store front; there’s a church in town but it’s in use by someone else. That don’t bother me – wherever I go, that’s where my church is. Having that kinda building’s just a symbol, anyways. Same with a dog collar and all that get-up; my vestment’s a sharp black shirt and thin white tie. I look like a jazz musician. And not by accident – I used to be one, in my old life.

When five o’clock rolled around, I drew blinds across the windows and set up a screen between the door and my desk, in effect creating two separate rooms. And there you have it – a makeshift confessional.

Barely two minutes passed before I got my first customer (as I liked to call them). Already the blinds were trapping an unholy amount of heat inside the store front. “Father?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. I doubted every single person in New Bedlam had made a confession, but out of those who had I could recognise most of the voices. This was a new customer. “I’m here. Want to get anything off your chest?”

“Yes, I do.” the voice was quiet, but forceful. I waited for him to speak, and after an uncomfortable silence, he did. He said, “I have my hands around the throat of this town, and I’m going to choke it until all the life slips from the buildings.”

I wet my lips, trying to think of something appropriate to say. “You must confess your sins if I’m to help you.”

He said, “The gutters will run with blood.”

And then I heard the latch go on the door as the customer left.

I couldn’t pull the blinds up to see who was out on the street, as that’d invalidate the whole ‘privacy’ clause of a confessional. Besides, it coulda just been a crank. I get them on odd occasions, though it’s usually drunks telling me they wanna kill their wives. Don’t need Hail Marys for that, I says to ‘em, just a good night’s sleep. And counselling.

I rested my bricks on my desk, trying to make myself comfy whilst I waited to hear who else paid me a visit. I resumed using my hat to waft cool air across my face, not too successfully. Christ it was hot.

* * *

Closing up the church at just after six, I checked the donation box: today I had a $5 bill waiting for me, which would pay for my meal tonight. I scooped up the money and locked the church door behind me. The temperature simmered at a steady heat, finally relaxing a little. An evening breeze blew dust down the street and I walked after it, in the direction of the New Bedlam Bar.

The place wasn’t too busy at this time of evening, what with most husbands being dutiful and having a meal with the family. A handful of men chatted excitedly around a table at the far end of the bar, a pretty dame in their midst, lapping up attention. A few other folks sat on their own or in smaller groups. I rested my hat on the bar as Bob, the owner, wandered over. “Busy day, Father?”

“Not so much. This heat kept most folks indoors.”

“Yeah, here.” Bob chuckled. “The usual?” I nodded and he brought over a tall glass of cold water. “Can I get a sandwich, maybe some salad, cheese?” I waved my five dollar bill at him and he took it with a smile. “And a slice of your wife’s apple pie with the works, to finish it off.”

“Sure thing, Father.” Bob nodded, sorting out my change and then disappearing to give my order to the cook—his wife, Betty.

I sipped my water, thanking Bob when he returned with my food. I took a large bite of the sandwich, and began chewing appreciatively.

“Hey, Jonny, you heard the news?” the broad who’d been the centre of attention with the young men now slid onto the stool next to me; her name was Lolly, and she was New Bedlam’s self-proclaimed tour guide. She was also my closest friend in town.

When I first met her, she told me her full name was Laura Paris, and then in the very next breath told me that wasn’t her real name. I’ve never found out what it is, but I get the impression that whoever that other name belongs to ain’t her anyway. Not any more. She’s the only person I know who calls me Jonny.

Lolly took a pack of Camels out her handbag, knocked a ciggie between her ruby lips and lit it, all in one fluid motion; the girl could turn smoking into an art form. Even so, I still said, “You shouldn’t smoke those.”

“If they’re good enough for Joe DiMaggio they’re good enough for me,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“So what’s all the fuss? You look fit to burst.”

“Exciting news, Jonny. We have a new resident in town.”

This didn’t surprise me too much, as New Bedlam has a habit of swallowing folk up. It’s a hungry town, and it’s never sated. “I trust you rolled out the welcome mat.”

“I sure did. Met the fella as he walked on in to town, no bags or anything. I introduced myself, and he told me his name was ‘Man’.”

“‘Man’?”

“Yep. I figure he must be a poet, or a writer. He’s got that ‘tortured artiste’ aura about him. Or he could be a musician. Say, aren’t you a musician, Jonny?” Lolly grinned, and blew a smoke ring towards me.

“Was.” I corrected. “Used to make my living travelling round speakeasys, playing drums in the house bands. My talent was wasted in those two-bit dives.”

“I’d love to hear you play something for me one day.”

“Maybe if you find me a decent drum kit, Loll.” I joked. She answered by creasing her forehead in thought. “Get anything else from him?” I prompted.

“When I asked what he was doing in New Bedlam, he just smiled and said something in foreign. I think it mighta been French.”

This comment made me grin. See, Lolly said she gave herself the surname ‘Paris’ because she lived there for a while. When I first met her, I said ‘Surely it’d make more sense to have ‘Frenchie’ as a nickname?’, but she scowled at me and said ‘It’d be inappropriate seeing as I can’t speak a lick of French.’ Completely without irony.

“What did he look like?”

“Handsome. In a scary way.” She puffed at the cigarette, saying, “Picture dark eyes, a grin that shows too many teeth. Strong nose. Five o’clock shadow.”

“And you think he’s another of these arty types?”

“Geez, don’t you listen, Jonny? New Bedlam is a like a flame to those sorts, them being moths.”
A fair point. New Bedlam’s population currently hovered around the 500 mark, and over half that amount were writers, or artists, or poets, or musicians.

“You been having fun with your writer friends over there?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Larry Conner told me a dirty joke. I think he’s sweet on me, but no one ever told him that the way to a woman’s heart isn’t through smutty innuendo.”

“What is the way to her heart, then?” I asked, innocently.

“Give over, Jonny. You’re a man of God.” She playfully slapped my arm.

“So he says,” came a stern voice behind me. I twisted around on my stool to see Paul Gregory, the only other preacher in New Bedlam. He always walked around with a bible under his arm, like he had to prove who he was or something. You could figure him to be my nemesis, if that wasn’t such an unchristian thing to consider.

“Evening, Father.” I offered him the seat on the other side of me. “Come in here to practice your abstinence, or you actually gonna drink?”

“I don’t drink,” he replied, sitting next to me.

“Well that makes one thing we got in common,” I said. Lolly giggled.

“Get many customers in your shop—oh no I’m sorry—I mean in your ‘church’?”

“There’s plenty enough room in New Bedlam for two holy men, Paul.”

“Yes, so you’ve said before,” he grunted. “And I’ll tell you again, I’m still not certain of your methods.”

“I always appreciate your honesty, Paul.” I paused as the barmen reappeared. “Bob, get my fellow preacher here a glass of water, wouldya? I’d treat him to a lemonade but his mood’s sour enough already.” Lolly covered her mouth to stifle a snigger.

“At least I don’t have my own Jezebel, trailing after me like a dog on heat.”

“Father!” Lolly gasped. It wasn’t the first time the other priest’d commented on Lolly in an unfavourable manner, but it was the first time he’d openly insulted her by questioning her morals.

“I think you’d better take that back, before I forget you’re wearing a dog collar and pop you one.” I warned him. “Yes, well.” He picked up his water and slid off the stool. “I might have been a little strong with that comment. I do apologise, Miss Paris.”

“You’re lucky I don’t give you a slap.” She seethed. I rested a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down onto her seat. Paul turned and walked away, sitting himself in a corner as far away from us as possible. “That jerk.” Lolly trembled.

“Ignore him, Loll,” I said, motioning for Bob to come over. “Get the lady here whatever she wants.”

“Gin and tonic, please Bob.” She sniffed, finishing off her cigarette. “Put your money away, Jonny.” I shrugged and did as she asked. “He’s so, so—”

“Sanctimonious?” I suggested, knowing she was referring to Paul again.

“And how!” she nodded, paying Bob and accepting her drink.

“Hey Father, did you know you’ve got an admirer?” Bob asked, giving the bar a wipe.

“Who?”

“The Jane in the corner.” I followed his gaze to the far side of the room, where Paul had found a seat near a guy wearing his coat indoors. The fella sat with his unblinking eyes firmly drilling into me. “That’s him.” Lolly said. “That’s ‘Man’.”

“The new guy?” Bob cleaned a glass as he spoke. “It might pay to keep an eye on him, Father. I served him when he came in, and he gave me the heebie jeebies.”

Unlike Paul Gregory, I’m not afraid of confrontation, so I walked over to the dishevelled man and said quietly, “Can I help you, mister?”

“You’re the priest.” That same quiet, but forceful tone of voice I’d heard telling me the gutters would run with blood. I tried not to shiver. “So’s he.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder at Paul, who sat reading his bible and ignoring everything else. “You’re the preacher I’ve been looking for,” Man replied.

“I don’t owe you money, do I?”

He ignored the joke and said, “I’ve walked through the valleys and canyons of this country, through the yellow heat and red dust, to find you.”

Okay, so the guy was definitely an arty type. “Very poetic, Man – that’s it, right? You call yourself ‘Man’?”

“That’s not my name, but it is what people call me.”

“You’ll find there’s a lot of that sort of thing in this town,” I said.

“You have to stop me,” he said then.

Jesus, this guy radiated intensity like his own mini-heat wave. “Stop you what?”

“From building an army.”

“Sure, an army.” I nodded. “Out of what?”

“This town,” he sighed. “Every town.”

“You ain’t some kind of evangelist yourself, are ya?”

Man smiled, and it turned my blood to ice. “I will kill this town. The only survivors will be soldiers in my army.”

“Listen buddy, if you’re threatening the safety of the people here, I’m going to send somebody to fetch the cops, and you can babble your nonsense to them from behind bars. Got that?”

“Tonight,” he said, standing up. “Only one of us walks away.” Before I got a chance to question him further, he walked past me and out of the building. I re-took my seat at the bar, where Lolly waited eagerly to hear what he’d said to me. She saw the look on my face and said, “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?”

“The guy’s more cracked than antique china.” I shook my head, unable to believe his nerve. “He told me he’s going to kill everybody in this town, and the only people left will join his army.”

“What you going to do about it?”

“Try and follow him.” I decided, putting my hat on and picking my sandwich up. “See if he’s really dangerous or just loopy. Help yourself to my pie.”

“Jonny!” Lolly called, as I opened the door to leave. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, tipping my hat at her. “I’ve got God on my side.”

* * *

Man had disappeared from view by the time I stepped out onto Main Street. Creepy, and fast-moving, just what I needed from a potential psychopath. I wandered around town, asking whoever I saw if they’d seen him, describing Man to anyone who’d not met him. After half an hour of fairly aimless wandering—no dice. By the time I returned to my flat above the shop I used as a church, the heat of the day had eased into the cool of the night. Lolly waited patiently for me by the back steps.

“I asked after him, too,” she explained, following me up the stairs. “But no one knows where he is. Not even any of the writers. And they know everything that happens in this town.”

“I thought that was your job,” I remarked, unlocking my door. She blew a raspberry and followed me inside.

“Yes, a coffee would be fine, thank you Jonny,” she said, shifting a pile of newspapers off the couch and flopping onto it.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, heading into the tiny kitchen and fiddling around with pans and mugs.

“Why don’t you throw these away?” she called through to me, referring to the newspapers. “You’re not going to use them as wallpaper are you, Jonny? You do realise it’s not the thirties any more.” She snorted at her own joke.

“I like to compile stories,” I said, fixing two coffees. “Anything that seems interesting, or strange, I cut it out and keep. Those are last month’s papers… I ain’t had the chance to check ‘em yet.”

“You’re screwy.”

“Says you.” I grinned, leaving the kitchen and handing Lolly her cup. She was reading the front page of one of the newspapers. “Looks like I got outta there at the right time,” she said, showing me the headline, ‘Nazis Throw More Troops At France.’ “They’re saying it’s only a matter of time before Hitler launches a direct attack on the US.”

“Yeah, I read that,” I said, sitting opposite Lolly.

“Hey, maybe they’ve already started putting Nazis in this country?”

“Where? Don’t you think folks’d recognise a Kraut once they got talking to ‘em?”

“Man’s a foreigner.” she pointed out, a little smugly.

“But he don’t sound German,” I said.

“Yeah, but he’s definitely got a European accent, and he said he’s building an army.”

“I don’t…” I faltered. As crazy as it sounded, it did kinda make sense. “Nah, the Nazis wouldn’t send a guy in, talking all kinds of crazy like that. He’d get picked up by the blues asap.”

“Have you ever met a Nazi before?”

“No, but—”

“We don’t know what they’re like, do we? And think about it a minute, Jonny. It’s like in them science-fiction books, the good ones – the threat always comes from within. If you were planning to take over a country, or the world, would you wade in blowing cities up, or sneak in through the back door?”

“You’re too young to be so paranoid,” I said. “I think you’ve been hanging around with the artsy crowd here too long.”

“Well I think that’s what’d happen,” Lolly said defensively.

We drank our coffee without speaking for a few minutes, Lolly sulking and me trying to not give credit to her idea. “So what’s the plan?” she said at last, sipping her coffee and grimacing at the bitterness.

“From the way Man was talking, I think that whatever he’s going to pull will happen tonight.” I said.

“Get the cops on the blower,” Lolly said.

“And tell ‘em what? We think there’s a Nazi in New Bedlam? A Nazi who told me he’s going to kill people?”

“Why not?”

“Cops all over the country must be getting reports of possible Nazis at the moment, the war in Europe’s making everyone as antsy as you, Loll.”

“They can’t ignore the fact he made an actual threat though.”

“You’re right, they can’t. But they can refuse to come out here tonight, seeing as it’s getting late, and we don’t even know where Man’s staying. They’re not going to want to wander randomly round New Bedlam looking for a fruitcake. And you know what they’re like – they’ll just say it’s one of the artists getting high on drugs, or too much of that green liquor they have.”

“Absinthe,” Lolly said. “And I could go, personally, to fetch help.”

“I’m not sending a young lady out into the night on her own.”

“Pfft. I’m 25, Jonny. I know how to take care of myself.”

“You don’t know how to drive a car.” I pointed out. “So what you gonna do? Walk the few miles in the dark?”

“I might be able to find someone in town who’ll give me a lift.”

“I reckon wait ‘til morning,” I said. “In the time it’d take you to find someone willing to take you out of town, to fetch the cops based on the ramblings of some weird arty type, Man might have done something crazy. And I’d like you around as back-up, in case I find the nut and need a hand.”

“You going to point me at him and yell ‘Freeze! or I’ll set the dame on ya’?”

“Maybe,” I said, savouring my coffee. “You know what I mean, Lolly. A guy’s less likely to get violent if a woman’s in the way.”

“Lolly The Human Shield.” She scrunched up her nose. “Can’t see myself taking that particular show on the road.”

The banter continued on in this vein while we finished off our coffee. Pepped up on caffeine, we felt more prepared for a night spent looking for a nutjob, before he maybe did something we had no idea about. Yep, we were real prepared for that.

“Have you thought of an actual plan, in case we find Man?” Lolly asked as we left my apartment. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” I replied, brightly. Lolly rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette.

At the very least, we’d decided to stick together and methodically work our way through the town. It was getting late and, despite the amount of night owls working in the artists’ quarter, hardly anyone wandered the streets after dark. I can’t quite explain it, it’s just always been that way here, at least since I set up sticks. There’s an uneasiness to the air at night in New Bedlam. Kinda like with all the creative energy buzzing around, some of it gets loose and taints the town.

Ah, listen to me, sounding like one of them fiction books Lolly mentioned. I’m not opposed to weird stuff like that but I like to think, to believe, that things can’t get too weird. Well, not weirder than the sorta stuff I’ve already seen, but that’s another story.

“Jonny, look,” Lolly hissed, ducking back around the corner of the nearest house and dragging me with her. “What is it? Did you see Man?” I asked.

“No, look at the street ahead,” she said quietly, peering around the edge of the wall. I poked my head round and scanned the nearby houses. “What am I looking for?”

“Keep watching,” she said, without turning to look at me. I returned my attention to the street. Most of the buildings nearby still had lights on, but as I watched the house furthest away suddenly plunged into darkness. “See!” Lolly whispered harshly.

“So a fuse went. Big deal.”

“Keep watching.” I did as I was told, and a moment later the house next door went dark, all the visible lights going off at once. I also realised that the adjacent homes across the road went dark at exactly the same time. “All right, that’s weird.”

“And how,” Lolly said quietly, slipping back onto the road. “Do you know anyone who lives over there?”

“Harold Dash,” I said. I pointed at his house, which currently lay shrouded in darkness.

“Let’s see if he’s in,” Lolly said, leading the way before I could offer an argument.

Stepping from the street we’d just been on to the one that was descending into night in a gradual, but obvious shift, the difference was astounding. That unease I mentioned? This road had it in spades, plus it felt warmer.

“Phew, it’s humid.” Lolly said, as if hearing my thoughts. She used her hand to give her face a waft. “You go call on Harry, I’m going to nosey around his neighbours.”

As I approached the front door, movement behind one of the windows caught my eye. “Harry?” I asked, not too loudly, peering through the glass. Steady heat flowed from the building itself, making the glass warm to the touch. A shape moved at the back of the room, beside a table. Something with more limbs than Harry Dash ever had.

“Jonny!” Lolly came back over, her voice nervous and her eyes frightened. “I saw something in that house.” She pointed next door. “I don’t know what it was, but it moved and it didn’t look right.”

“Let’s get out of here.” I put my arm around her to gently shepherd her down the street, casting nervous glances over my shoulder as I did so. We reached the end of the street, the house interiors still lit. “C’mon, let’s warn these people,” I said, heading for the nearest door.

“Warn them about what, exactly? Spooky shadows? Unreliable fuses?”

“I don’t know, but you agree something fishy is going on?” I pointed as two more buildings plunged into silence and darkness, ten doors away. Lolly nodded mutely and followed me up to the nearest porch. I knocked loudly, and the curtains twitched in the one front window.

“Hello?” I called. “It’s Jonathan Cave, from the church on Stone Street.”

“What do you want?” A woman I didn’t recognize called through the window, framed on either side by curtains. “Ma’am,” I said, letting Lolly stand next to me. “I think you oughta come with us – we think something bad is going to happen if you stay in your house.”

“Are you threatening me? And who’s the girl?”

“What? I’m not threatening you!” I said, exasperated. “I’m trying to help you! And this is Laura Paris, the tour guide. You do know who we are, right?”

“Father Gregory warned me about you two,” the woman said. “He said you’re not a real priest, and that Miss Paris there’s a slut.”

Fantastic. We were trying to save the head of the Father Gregory Fan Club. “I don’t believe it.” Lolly fumed. “Twice today I’ve been called a tart, and both times thanks to that lousy priest.”

“I can assure you I am a real priest,” I said to the woman, realising the darkness was only five doors away now. “If you just step outside, please, for a minute.”

“That young lady looks like she’s ready to slap me,” moaned the woman, like it wasn’t her fault for calling Lolly a slut.

Four doors away.

“I’m not going to hit you.” Lolly promised. “You really need to get outta your house, right now.”

Three doors away.

“Why?”

“Because you’re in danger!” I said, rattling the door. “Quickly! You have to get out!”

Two doors away.

“Go away!” she shouted. “Or I’ll call the police!”

Next door.

“They won’t get here in time!” I shouted. “Please, ma’am, you have to get out now!”

Suddenly, the light in the room behind the woman died.

“What—” I heard her say, before turning back from the window.

“Jonny…” Lolly said, hands around my arm. “I really think we oughta get moving…”

“Ma’am!” I called, kicking the door. Lolly’s scream stopped me in my tracks. She’d let go of my arm and was backing away from the house, staring at the window and pointing with a shaking hand. I stepped back and looked. Immediately wished I hadn’t.

A face pressed itself to the window, but it wasn’t the woman, not any more. How best to describe it? Imagine if an octopus and a fly had babies. Now imagine the face of one of those babies, swollen and pushing its way out of the woman’s mouth, the force involved causing the woman’s eyes and nose to cover where her forehead used to be, her face hinged back. Stubby proboscis-like tentacles tasted the inside of the window, displaying a circle of jagged teeth gnashing beneath them as the monster pressed against the window, trying to get a good look at us.

“What is it, Jonny?” Lolly sounded like she might throw up.

“It’s Hell.” I said, feeling pale and weak. “And it’s come to New Bedlam.”

We both ran then, the street sinking into a silent nightmare right behind us. After managing to put a block’s distance between us and the darkness, I ground to a halt, my hand on Lolly’s arm. “Hang on,” I panted. “We have to, to stop it, somehow.”

“How?” Lolly cried, her voice cracking. “What was that?”

“Well the good news is, I don’t think it’s the Nazis.”

“Not now, Jonny, no jokes now. Please.” Lolly warned, deadly serious for the first time in her life.

“We need to try and figure out which house it started with, before it consumes the entire town,” I said, acutely aware that as we debated the situation, it grew worse.

“Are you suggesting we head back the way we just came? Back in the direction of that, that monster? Oh God, Jonny! Those shapes in the first houses we looked in…?”

“Yes,” I said, knowing exactly what question she was asking. I began to jog, saying, “Didn’t you notice the warmth, coming with the darkness? I bet we can track Man’s location by the strength of the heat.”

“How’s he doing this?” Lolly shook her head, her make-up dislodged by unwelcome tears of fear. “It’s not possible!”

“We can ask him that when we find him,” I said, urging her on with the tone of my voice. We both jogged back down the street, watching as the buildings sank into a terrifyingly quiet and ungodly night.

* * *

It took about ten minutes of trusting our bodies to lead us in the right direction, the increasing heat turning the night into a furnace, before ending up in what seemed to be the epicentre of the event. We were both panting with the effort of moving through this hellish warmth, sweat dripping from our faces. Lolly bent over, used part of her dress to wipe the last of her make-up off. “Christ, Jonny, this whole situation is completely futzed.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied, distracted. “I wonder why the creatures aren’t leaving their homes?”

“I don’t care why they’re not out here with us,” Lolly said. “Just so long as it stays that way.”

“It’s got to be this house here,” I said, standing in front of a tumbledown two story cabin. Lolly stepped in front of me and tried the doorknob, suddenly yelping and snatching her hand back. “It’s red hot, Jonny.”

I stepped past her, wrapped a shirt tail around the handle, and quickly opened the door. “Man!” I shouted. “We know you’re in here!” I felt like I’d stepped into an oven.

“If a monster jumps out the shadows, I’m going to smack it,” Lolly breathed, appearing beside me with a branch she’d picked off the front lawn. “I don’t give two coins if it ends up being a kid in a Halloween costume.”

A voice drifted down the stairs. “Welcome.” We headed for it, expecting a trap.

I approached a flickering light source emanating from a doorway, and stepped into the heart of the sun. The room was maybe ten feet square, lit by dozens upon dozens of rapidly melting candles. The heat was so powerful, I could hear it roaring, and see the ancient newspapers decorating the walls gradually blackening. Man sat in the middle of the room, a goofy smile on his face. He was completely naked. “You found me,” he said, standing up. “I must admit I could not be sure you’d get to me in time.”

“Lo, that I walk through the shadow of the valley of death,” I began.

“Don’t waste your breath.” Man laughed. “There is nothing wrong with your faith, but it’s the wrong tool for the job. Your God has no power over me.”

“But those demons…”

“You can call them that if you like, if it makes you feel better.” Man grinned, rivers of sweat running down his toned body. I sensed Lolly behind me, eager to smack the creep with her makeshift weapon. “Why did you taunt me?” I asked Man. “I thought it’d prove to be a test of my belief, but if it’s not—”

“It is.” Man nodded. “Just not in a religious sense.”

“Jonny…” Lolly urged. I thought any minute now my blood would start boiling in my veins, but I wanted to get more answers from this freak while he seemed in a talkative mood. “Where did you come from? Why did you pick me? Did you choose this town because I’m here?”

“I’ve been walking all my life,” Man said. “I knew you had an interesting past, Jonathan Cave, and I knew that you’d be the only person in his town who’d have the guts to try and stop me. Although, I must confess that your little sidekick has shown some remarkable tenacity.”

“I’m not his sidekick, you naked nutjob.” Lolly pouted. I think right at that moment I knew for certain I loved her.

“And as for this town,” Man continued. “Well, you must know New Bedlam needs people like you two in it. Especially because after me, there will be plenty of other opportunities to try and save the town. Although, I think you’ll ultimately fail.”

“You’re not making any goddamn sense,” I snarled, taking a step towards him.

“I’m going to rip the heart from the corpse of New Bedlam and feast on it.” Man smiled, his voice still quiet and powerful. “I’m going to burn this town to the ground, and rebuild it. I’m going to use the writers as fuel. I’m going to use the artists, poets, actors and musicians as kindling.”

I didn’t take another step towards Man. I didn’t craftily take Lolly’s weapon off her. Instead, sensing I was close enough already, I delivered a bone-crunching uppercut to Man’s jaw, sending the freak sprawling backwards onto the candles. Hot wax spilled across his naked body, scalding and melting his flesh. A stray candle rolled next to the wall, catching the edge of the ancient wallpaper and setting fire to it.

Lolly tugged at my arm, but I resisted. Checking my knuckles, I noticed they were burnt. Man writhed on the floor, his smile gone but still not making any sound. “You maniac, you’re coming with me so the police can stick you in the loony bin and fry your brain every goddamn night.”

As soon as I grabbed him, red hot pain seared my hands, and I yelled in pain. I might as well have stuck my hands in an open fire. “Get off me,” he said. Not shouted, or screamed—just as calm as you like. “Jonny! The flames!” Lolly shouted. I hadn’t realised just how fast the real fire had taken hold of the room, no doubt helped by the unholy heat spilling from Man. I retreated, and Man kept his even gaze on me, a smile returning to his lips.

“That’s it. Leave me,” he said, the sound of the fire crackling over his words. “I knew you could do it! Like always!”

Neither Lolly nor I offered a retort as we dashed out of the house. We heard a window shatter, and flames lapped at the sky, freed from their wooden prison. We ran to the back of the building, in case Man had thrown himself out the window, but he hadn’t. Lolly hid her face against me as Man appeared in a window, framed by a hell of his own making. I swear he still had a smile on his face as the fire ate him.

Suddenly, he collapsed, and there instantly came a feeling—like an immense pressure lifting—as the real coldness of night tore the unnatural heat away. “My ears just popped.” Lolly said behind me. I didn’t pay too much attention to her though, as I stared at the surrounding houses. All the lights had come back on.

“Was that your plan?” Lolly asked. “To punch him?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” I said, walking away and leaving the flames to cleanse the building. “Come on, let’s check the other houses.”

* * *

We managed to get inside enough houses to find that either the occupants had completely vanished, or lay sprawled on the floor, their bodies hideously mutilated. The fire consumed Man’s house, but didn’t manage to take hold of any other building.

When the police examined it the following afternoon, shifting through the rubble, they couldn’t find any trace of a human body, although we knew he couldn’t have escaped the inferno. All told, New Bedlam’s population had dwindled by 36 in one night. The explanation given for what happened was that Man had been a serial killer—which, I suppose in a way, he was—and that me and Lolly’d cornered him before he had a chance to finish disposing of his victims.

Nobody questioned the logic of this justification, and me and Lolly never mentioned the monster we saw, or the shapes in the other houses. The police even managed to keep all reports of the incident out of the newspapers. Not that it mattered; everyone in New Bedlam knew something hellish had gripped the town. It’d happened before. I just prayed that Man’d been lying when he said New Bedlam would need saving again, even though, ultimately, somebody or something would kill the town.

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Wayne Goodchild is based in the north-east of England, where heatwaves are few and far between. He has several stories due to appear in various anthologies by Library of the Living Dead / Library of Horror Press, and a few more scattered about online. theycallmepotato.blogspot.com has the full skinny on this mildly astounding individual!