I’ve lived and worked
in London for the best part of 30 years, and I thought I had a sound knowledge
of its culture and history. I’ve heard the gruesome stories of its past, who
hasn’t growing up here? But tonight I saw the darkest side of London that I’ve
ever seen.
I’m a fire fighter so you can understand when I say that. We
don’t just put out fires; we also see suicides, car crashes, and other
traumatic situations. Sometimes they can be explained by simple human
behaviour, but sometimes even that falls short. The ones that leave me
shivering in bed are the acts of violence on other people. Sure I know most of
us are friendly, but once in awhile, you find that one person that is beyond
all help. Beyond all saving.
As a lad, I grew up with a few friends that have stayed that
way even with life pulling us in different directions. Throughout school, we
were a close-knit group and even when it was time for some of us to go to
college, we still kept in touch. Naturally, as we’ve grown older and had
families of our own, we try to meet up any time possible.
A few years ago Paul moved to Australia, (the names have
been changed to protect identity). Paul and his wife and kids come back to
visit their family one every year, and a roundup of the guys is always on the
cards. Tonight was one such occasion.
I had finished working a rota of four-night shifts and was
looking forward to 4 days off. My wife already knew that I was meeting up with
the boys, these things were planned months in advance, so I had packed some
nice clothes to get ready at the station. Lucky for me I work at ______road
Station right in the centre of London. After a quick session in the gym and a
spruce up, I walked out the building feeling a million dollars and headed to
the pub where we were all to meet.
David and Phil were already sitting at a table by the window
when I entered All Bar One at The Old Bailey, so I used the universal hand
signal for “want a drink?” and they both raised a Peroni glass in the air.
After being served by a flirtatious waitress with a nose piercing, I was sat at
the table catching up on old time when Dean walked through the door.
I hadn’t seen Dean in some years as he had missed several of
our previous meetups, so you can understand that expectations for the night were
now high. This had just turned into the one night when all five us were back
together, and I planned to make it epic. It must have been an hour, three pints
and six shots later before Paul walked into the bar.
There is a saying: Friends come and go, like the waves of
the ocean, but the real ones stay around like an octopus on your face. I’ve
always like that quote. Essentially, it means friends can go years without
talking and then pick up where they’re left off. That was us right then.
The beer was flowing, and we just fitted back together like
a Mechno set. At some point, a group of girls had joined us and the night
seemed to go from zero to hero. We are all around our 30th, but most of us are
still in pretty good shape. My jobs probably has me in the best condition of my
life, and David has always been able to speak to the girls. While Phil is
packing what most men could only wish they had, so they both do pretty well.
Dean, well Deans was always the quiet one. Now just to set the record straight
I love my wife and children and would never dream of cheating on her for
another woman, it’s nice to flirt but that as far as it goes. For the other
guys, well, I’m not their keeper.
At some point I noticed a black taxi pull up outside our
window, some of the lads at work subdivide their career with driving a cab as
it pays wells and also allows them the freedom to work they own hours. But the
reason I noticed this particular taxi was that it was in exceptional condition.
It could have been in a car show hosted by Jeremy Clarkson or even been a
chauffeur for the wealthy or famous.
As it sat idly by the side of our window, the orange street
light flicked off the blue pearlescent paint and flashed in my face; I watched
to see if the dark tinted window would reveal the occupant that it hid. But as
time went on, no one emerged from the cab, and the black windows hid the driver
from view. I did see quite a few people try and hail the driver, but the driver
didn’t lower the window and the orange taxi light on top of the cab was off. A
while later I had forgotten about the mysterious taxi as a chatty redhead swung
her red wine around wildly, and I tried to dodge the droplets that escaped like
embers spat from a fire.
Before I knew it, the last bell had been rung, and we all
got a last beer before talk turned to where we should go next. I had a day out
planned with the missus and kids, so I for one wasn’t going any further. The
train station was calling my name, and I was beginning to feel the tiredness
setting in. Dean echoed my decision, and the other lads scoffed and tried in
vain to lure us to a club, the girls on their arms wasn’t enough for both Dean
and me, so we turned our attention to securing a ride to London Bridge Station.
Maybe it was luck or pure coincidence, but as we stepped out
the door the taxi I saw earlier fired up his engine and turned on his hire
light. The pub was emptying pretty fast, and a guy with a super drunk friend
tucked under his arm beat us to the cab. I saw him try the handle, but the taxi
pulled off, leaving him cursing and picking his friend off the floor. I thought
it was going to past us, but it didn’t, it stopped with precision next to Dean.
Dean grabbed to handle and the door open, we both jumped into the gloomy
interior, and I told the driver the destination.
I was pretty pissed by this stage, but I do remember finding
it quite weird that the glass partition that separated the driver from us was
blacked out with limo glass. Black taxi in London don’t have this feature, and
I nudged Dean in the ribs and giggled something about being movie stars.
Comfortable that we were in safe hands I closed my eyes for what would be a
ten-minute journey.
As we approached London Bridge Station, the driver sailed
through a green light and under the railway arches. The bump jolted me awake,
and I saw Dean staring head with a face as white as snow. I didn’t think the
ride had been particularly bad but by his hands clamped to the seats I must
have been wrong.
Drunkenly I asked what was wrong and Dean murmured something
I couldn’t hear. I asked again as the driver slowed and pulled over in a dark
patch under the railway arches.
“The voice.”
It was then that my drunken self-awareness triggered and I
sat bolt upright looking around. We still had another 40 meters to the
forecourt and didn’t know why the driver had pulled over early.
“The voice.”
The fog in my brain lessen, and the blood in my veins went
cold. Have you ever heard something on the edge of your hearing, like when you
turn the radio down so low that you can barely hear it but you know it’s
playing a song? Well, that what I thought I was hearing. It wasn’t until the
engine stopped that I could listen to what was making the noise. Something was
speaking at such a low level that I had to strain to hear it but what it was
saying will haunt me for the rest of life.
The voice crackled and sounded hollow like it was being
spoken from a deep well. As I listen, a mist like substance oozed through the
payment window and congealed on the floor by Dean.
“You hurt her, didn’t you? You killed her, didn’t you? We
know you did. She calls to us, they all do. All the little girls and boys that
you hurt. Yes, we know what you have been doing, and we know what you were
thinking tonight. Poor little Sarah, you were going to give her something
tonight wasn’t you? Something no little girls or boy should have. Wasn’t you?”
Dean had succumbed to a blubbering mess as the mist rolled
and boiled. I shrank as far from the thing as possible as the icy chill
emanating from it cause goosebumps to run up my arms. The mist solidified into
a grotesque decrypted old figure with no eyes and gaping wounds that littered
its body. I couldn’t tell if it was man or women, the skin looked like
sandpaper and its breath smelt like rotten flesh. I have seen some horrors as a
firefighter especially mangled corpse from train suicides. It was like this
body had been put back together from pieces that didn’t match.
Dean was nodding a whimpering as the demon asked him again
about what he wanted to do to little Sarah. The beast reached out a hand to
clamp Deans face as its chin dropped and stretched to a horrific proportion.
The demon wailed like a storm. Like a million bees swarming
from a nest. Like a thousand voices screaming at once from one mouth. Dean
screamed too as white vapor poured from his throat into the demon’s mouth. I
started to pull the door handle and banged on the window, but no one was around
to help or even hear us.
Deans face shrank and wrinkled like a deflated balloon until
his bones protruded from his leather skin. I jumped back as his eyes popped and
goo splatted the creatures face, but still, it drank his soul. Deans limp
carcass crumbled in the seat and the demon closed its mouth and turned to me
with gaping fleshy eyes. I begged, pleaded with the thing not eat me and it set
the corners of its papery mouth up at the side, before wafting back to vapor
and pouring again through the payment hole. Terrified I pinned myself to the
seat as the engine fired to life and the taxi moved on.
I didn’t know what Dean had been up to and it mortified me
to know what he had been doing. But he was always secretive and often didn’t
come to the regular meet ups. Seeing his crumpled remains though. I shuddered
again, both for what had happened to him and the justice for his victims.
I have never been so grateful to step out of a taxi then
right then. As I fell onto the forecourt and the door slammed shut, I looked
about as if in a dream. The cold paving felt fresh and solid, and I turned to
see the taxi still at the curb. I somehow could hear a singsong voice from
within as it pulled off and drove into the night.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down.”
Side Note; This is a story from a very good author that I know named Grant Hinton. You can follow him on Twitter @GrantHinton3 where the link to his website will be that contain others stories similar to this one, Thanks again Grant.
