No Fear

Ciaran was woken up by the sound of something at the door of his room. ‘Probably the cat,’ he thought. He turned over, and tried to go back to sleep.
But he couldn’t. He looked over at the clock on his bedside table. The red flashing LED display told him that it was 3:27am, he was in London, it was Saturday, the forecast was sunny, his alarm was set for seven, and that the fact of the day was that more people study English in China than speak it in America.
Ciaran decided that he may as well get up. He went over to his window and looked out. All the lights were on in the city. Ciaran saw a young mother and her baby walking down the street. He wondered briefly what her life was like. Who she was, where she was from, what was she doing, all those sort of questions. Ciaran always thought like that, it was automatic. It was part of his job, how he was trained to think. The young mother carried on walking. She continued down the street, and disappeared round a corner.
Ciaran walked over to the wardrobe and took out his dressing gown. He was hungry. He wandered towards the kitchen, thinking about work, or more specifically, about Samantha. His wild fantasies were shattered by a loud hiss and a sharp stabbing pain in his left foot. He looked down to find that he had stepped on his cat, Sméagol. He bent down to stroke him, but Sméagol bolted. Ciaran continued towards the kitchen. When he eventually got there, having walked into various objects on the way down the hall, he made straight for the fridge. He opened the fridge door. The little light came on, guttered, held for about three seconds, and then blinked out, plunging him once more into complete darkness. Ciaran swore loudly. He hated it when that happened. It was never at ten past one in the afternoon, when Burt from the repairs shop was returning from lunch, it was always at some unearthly hour of the morning when there was no way of fixing it.
Having grabbed a sausage roll, Ciaran decided he should probably have another look at those files he’d been putting off for weeks. He had a mountain of backlog paperwork on his desk, which had been sitting for nearly a month, since the computer system crashed. Another thing Ciaran hated was admin. It was his second-most arch nemesis, his first being broken fridge lights. He ambled slowly towards his office. He opened his office door. There on the desk the paperwork was sitting, looking rather forlorn, almost as if it was cross with Ciaran for leaving it for so long.
Ciaran sat down at the desk, and picked up the first file. It was a large black ring binder, with ‘Ciaran Riordan 0034219 D.R.C.E.T.S.E’ inscribed on the spine. Ciaran opened it. He opened the rings and removed the first folder. He snapped back the mechanism, trapping his finger as he did so. He swore again, louder this time.
Ciaran opened the folder and skimmed the first page. It was a standard case; a drunken teenager sees a plane with broken lights and thinks it’s a UFO. Nothing major. Easily contained.
The next case was much the same. As was the next one. And the next one. And the next. Some were old people; some were hauntings caused by infrasound, or stupid practical jokes. Ciaran got on to the next ring binder, but still nothing interesting came up. Ciaran loved his job, but this was the part he hated.
Ciaran worked for D.R.C.E.T.S.E. It was a government organisation mainly for keeping anything alien or supernatural quiet, and conducting research into it. Ciaran called it the Cover-Up Squad. He knew it had some poncy name, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Ciaran was a supernaturalist. He didn’t see why he should be doing all this paperwork. Personally, he blamed the government’s cutbacks. He’d rather have a secretary to do all this paperwork for him, so he could do the really interesting bit, the reason he joined up. Being a supernaturalist, Ciaran’s official title was Head Paranormal Investigator. This meant that he was in charge of his own team, and that he went up and down the country looking into various hauntings, trying to establish the exact cause, and then keeping it quiet. When he wasn’t bogged down by files and reports.
He carried on sifting through the pile, looking for any interesting targets. He was now catching up with himself; he’d nearly got through the entire backlog and was onto the current cases. Not that that made any sort of difference, it was the same mundane rubbish as the backlog, just at a different stage in the process.
Frustrated, Ciaran decided that he’d had enough. He looked at the clock. It was 5:47. Ciaran got up from the desk, too quickly, and he knocked off all the files. He swore again, even louder, if such a thing is possible. As he bowed over to pick up the files, a small blue folder caught his eye. A blue folder meant that the case was important, and needed a senior investigator. He picked it up and thumbed through the papers. It looked like an interesting one. Several accounts of supernatural experience in the same locality, and now a disappearance, which, according to local legend, was connected to some sort of supernatural creature. Ciaran decided to talk to Samantha about it.
Ciaran talked to Samantha about everything. She was his assistant, and they were dating. Ciaran never made her do any paperwork. He often wondered why that was. It was an odd thing, love. It made you do all sorts of crazy things. This made him think back to when he first asked Samantha out. He was so nervous. He’d used up a whole bottle of aftershave, and half a can of hairspray. He’d even worn a suit. This was very strange, because Ciaran never wore anything but jeans and a t-shirt. He hated suits. He’d always found them restrictive, they limited his ability to move, and they practically stopped him from running altogether. Ciaran hated not being able to run. It was his greatest fear.
It was now 9:17. With a shock, Ciaran realised that he’d been pondering for three and a half hours, and that he had to be at work in 20 minutes.

“You’re very late”
“I don’t know how. I got up at half-three.”
“Well, you’ll just have to get up a bit earlier”
“You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?”
Ciaran saw that Samantha was irritable, which usually meant that she hadn’t had her beloved coffee. Sam lived for coffee. When she wasn’t thinking about coffee, she was sleeping. It was because of her Italian father probably. Ciaran had only met him once. He was a typical Italian man, short and crazy. He was a very nice man, happy, and passionate about cheese and wine. And, of course, coffee.
“Is that an offer?”
“No”
“Will you make me some anyway?”
“Ok. Decaf?”
“Duh. I’m on a diet, remember?”
“You don’t need it. You’re a bean pole.”
“I’m a whale.”
“Sam, I can’t see you when you face sideways.”
“Of course you can’t, I block the sun.”
Ciaran gave up. There was no convincing her. She thought she was too fat. Everyone knew she was too thin. Sam was anorexic, but she refused to admit it.
“I’m not anorexic!” she would protest.
“Sam, you barely eat enough to stay alive. If that’s not anorexic, then what is?”
Ciaran seriously worried about her sometimes. Once she had starved herself so much that she collapsed at work. Ciaran had actually thought she was going to die.
He was thinking about this as he went to the office kitchen. He moved the piles of ‘samples’ that the Re-Con teams had picked up from their latest mission. Ciaran had been meaning to get those to the lab for testing. Another thing to add to his list of things that should have been done ages ago. Eventually he found the cafetiere, under a large pot labelled ‘Ectoplasm’. He had to search through the cupboards for about ten minutes to find the Decaf Instant Roast and Ground coffee that Sam liked.
“Ciaran!” Sam shouted from the office.
“Yeah?”
“Your boss is here.”
Ciaran swore mentally. He didn’t like his boss. Her name was Camilla Bush-O-Brian, and she was the strictest person he had ever met. Not even his old geography master, Mr Hollermon shouted as much as she did.
“Mr Riordan!” His boss hollered “What are all these papers doing on the floor? This is the Department for the Research and Concealment of Extra Terrestrial and Supernatural Events, not a gerbil cage!”
“How do you remember that massive long name?” Sam queried.
“I have a good memory” came the reply
“An elephant never forgets” murmured Ciaran under his breath.
Sam heard this and laughed. Camilla stared at her haughtily.
“I suggest that you get this office cleared up Mr Riordan. However, that is not why I am here. If you’ve done your backlog, which I doubt, you will have noticed the blue file case.”
“Firstly, I have done my backlog, and secondly I have studied that case and should quite like to look in to it, if it’s okay with Your Majesty.” Ciaran answered back, perhaps slightly curter than was necessary.
“Normally, I would fire you on the spot for that, but we need someone to take care of this case, and you’re the only person we’ve got with enough expertise.”
“So it’s my case now.”
“Yes. That will be all.”
And she swept out. Ciaran thought that she looked like a particularly nasty bird of prey.
“So what’s this blue case file the elephant was talking about?” Sam asked.
“Do you know the way to Norfolk?”
“Yes.”
“Come on then. Let’s go and find out.”

About three hours later, Ciaran and Sam were driving down a small country road somewhere in Norfolk. It was, of course, raining. Ciaran hadn’t been to Norfolk very often, but he couldn’t remember a time in Norfolk when it wasn’t raining. As Jeremy Clarkson zoomed past in his Ferrari 355, Ciaran was struggling to read the map.
“So, where are we actually going?” Sam was driving, but Ciaran hadn’t told her where to.
“So, if we go that way, then that way, no, that won’t work…what? Oh, we’re going to a place called Cheltenham House. Left here. There’s been several hauntings at this location. Most were put down to the infrasound generated by the various pipes and things that run under the site. But recently, some kids went in for a dare, and one of them didn’t come out.”
“Jeez. Sounds fun.”
“Slow down a minute, let me… yes, we’re here.”
“Where?”
Ciaran pointed.
“There.” They were outside an old, crumbling house. It was still raining.
“Well, let’s go,” Ciaran got out of the car, “Come on then”
“But its wet” complained Sam.
“Here, wear my coat” Ciaran handed her his anorak.
“Thanks”
As they walked up the drive, Ciaran began to wonder if this was such a good idea. They walked slowly towards the house. It was an ugly old thing. It appeared to originally be Tudor, but it had rooms and wings added on in later periods. It seemed to stare down on them as they approached, resenting their presence, warning them away. As Ciaran and Sam walked, a mist gathered on the ground. It got steadily thicker, until it was up to their knees. It wasn’t fog. It was horrible and clingy. It felt to Ciaran as if it was trying to stop them, and pull them down into some deep dark pit, from which they would never escape.
It was only 5pm, but to Ciaran it appeared to be getting darker. It seemed that the closer they got to the house, the darker it became. The darkness wasn’t coming from the house, or at least, it didn’t seem to be. It was more like it was following them, stalking them, watching their every move. As they neared the front of the building, the dark got closer still, blocking the way back. Wherever they moved, the dark followed.
Finally, Ciaran and Sam reached the front of the house. There was no need to struggle with the door; it had already been kicked in. Ciaran pulled apart the door’s remains, and stepped inside. Sam followed, and as she came through the doorway, the veranda that hung over it collapsed, leaving them no escape route. There was no going back.
It was pitch black in the house. Ciaran got out his torch.
“That’s better. Now we can see.”
Ciaran was being optimistic. The torch only lit a very small area, giving them barely enough light to perceive their surroundings, and making the dark seem even darker.
As they moved further down the corridor, Ciaran got gradually more nervous. The darkness was becoming oppressive, weighing down on him, almost as if to crush him to death. Ahead of him, Ciaran could see two identical doors.
“I’ll take the left one, you take the right.” He said to Sam. She nodded, and moved towards her door. Ciaran advanced slowly, took some time to control his breathing, which was getting very shallow, took a large stride forwards, and threw open the door. Ciaran looked into the room he was presented with, and, after making sure it was safe, he entered. At exactly the same time, Sam entered the other room.
Suddenly, Ciaran saw a flash of light in the hallway, and heard Sam scream. He dropped his torch in shock, and it broke. He ran to the other room, and saw that it was empty. He scanned the room and corridor, and, having found nothing, decided that he’d better search the rest of the house.
“Sam!”
His mind was telling him to run, as far away as he could, and never look back.
“But I can’t.” thought Ciaran. “If I run, I’ll never find Sam.”
Ciaran found the skirting board on the wall, which he followed. It led him along the corridor, and up to the next floor. He couldn’t see anything. The darkness was all around him, pressing down on him. It wasn’t just dark. It was evil. It crushed his soul, as well as his body. It entered his mind, rotting him from the inside and shrivelling his spirit. But he kept going. He had to find Sam.
As Ciaran walked, he wondered if this corridor was ever going to end. It seemed to go on forever.
After walking for what felt like hours, but could have been a few minutes, it was impossible to keep track of time here, Ciaran saw, dimly, in the distance, a small pinpoint of light.
“Ciaran.”
“Sam?” It sounded like Sam’s voice.
“Ciaran, help.”
“Sam? What’s going on? Where are you?”
“Ciaran! Help! Help me!” Sam’s voice grew more insistent.
“Sam? Sam!” Ciaran began to run.
“Ciaran! Ciaran! Help! Help me! Help me!” Sam was screaming now.
Then, the scream stopped.
“Sam! Where are you?”
“I’m right here, Ciaran. Just look.” Sam’s voice was coming from behind him
“Where? I can’t see you!”
“I’m here Ciaran. You’re not looking hard enough.” Her voice had moved again.
“Where are you?”
“Find me.”
Then Sam’s voice stopped. It was replaced by laughter. It wasn’t happy laughter. It was dark, evil, malevolent laughter. Ciaran was screaming now. A cold, piercing, deathly scream. His head was spinning, he felt nauseous. He ran, he didn’t know where he was running to, he just knew he had to get away. Still, the laughter continued. Ciaran kept running, until he could run no more. He collapsed.

“Ciaran.”
Slowly, Ciaran opened his eyes. He was greeted by Sam’s face, staring down at him.
“Ciaran. Are you alright?”
“Oh God, Sam! I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you were. I found you lying on the grass outside the house”
“Where am I now? And what happened after you disappeared?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there was this flash of light, and I heard you scream.”
“Ciaran, your mind is playing tricks on you, that never happened. I was investigating that room, and when I came out you’d gone. I looked around the house for you, and then I came outside, which is when I found you.”
“What about that kid who disappeared?”
“Which kid would that be?”
“Well, that was why we came here. To investigate a disappearance.”
“You’re delirious. Get some rest.”
Ciaran let it slide, but he was doubtful. Something had happened, but he didn’t know what. And he wasn’t keen on going back and finding out.