'I felt bloody sick. What the hell do you think?'

'No, not within yourself. I meant what did you feel in the house? Was there anything else there, Mr Bishop?'

Bishop's mouth opened as if he were about to say something more, then it closed and he slumped back in his chair. Jessica rose and went to him; the old man leaned further forward in his seat, puzzlement on his face, not sure what had happened.

'Are you all right?' There was concern in Jessica's eyes as she touched Bishop's shoulder.

He looked at her, his face blank for a few moments, then recognition came filtering through. 'I'm sorry. I was trying to think back to that day, but my mind just seemed to close down. I don't remember what happened, how I got out.'

'You were found in the road outside the house,' Kulek said gently. 'You were lying half-collapsed against your car. Residents reported you to the police and when they arrived, you couldn't speak, you could only stare at Beechwood. That much I found in the official police report. At first they thought you were involved in some way, then your story checked out with the estate agent's. Have you no memory at all of what else happened in that house?'

'I got out, that's all I know.' Bishop pressed his fingers against his eyes as if to squeeze the memory from them. 'I've tried to think back over these past few months, but nothing happens; I see those grotesque corpses, nothing more. I don't even remember leaving the house.' He let out a deep breath, his face becoming more composed. Kulek seemed disappointed.

'Can you tell me now why this is of so much interest to you?' Bishop asked. 'Apart from Pryszlak being involved, I can't see why this business should involve you.'

'I'm not sure that I can be specific.' Kulek rose from his seat and surprised Bishop by walking to the window and gazing out as if he could see into the street beyond. He inclined his head towards the investigator and smiled. 'I'm sorry, my behaviour as a blind man must seem idiosyncratic to you. It's the rectangle of light from the window, you see. It's all my eyes can perceive. I'm afraid it attracts me rather like a moth to a flame.'

'Father, we do owe him an explanation of some kind,' the girl prompted.

'Yes, we do. But what can I really tell our friend? Would he understand my fears? Would he understand, or would he sneer?'

'I'd like the chance to do either,' Bishop said firmly.

'Very well.' Kulek's thin frame swung round to face Bishop. 'I mentioned earlier that Pryszlak wanted me to join his own organization, but that I did not approve of the direction in which his research was leading. I even tried to dissuade him and this man, Kirkhope, from continuing their dubious pursuits. They knew of my own beliefs relating to the psychic linkage between man and the collective unconscious; they thought I would ally myself with their particular cause.'

'But what were they looking for? What were their beliefs?'

'Evil, Mr Bishop. They believed in evil as a power in itself, a power derived from man alone.'

4.

The two policemen began to wonder why they both felt so tense. Their night shift should have been an easy number for them; boring, but easy. The main duty that night was to keep an eye on the road, to report anything suspicious and let their presence be known to the residents by occasionally cruising the road's length in the Panda. Two hours so far, two hours of tedium. Yet their nervousness had grown by the minute.

'This is fucking ridiculous,' the slightly heavier of the two men finally said.

His companion looked across at him. What's that?' he asked.

'Sitting here all night just to keep the bleedin' neighbours happy.'

'S'pect they're a bit worried, Les.'

'Worried? Murder, manslaughter, bloody house burning down all in one night? It'll be another hundred years before anything else happens down this road, mate. They've had their lot all in one night.'

'You can't blame them, though. I mean, it's not Coronation Street, is it?'

Les looked out of his side window in disgust. 'Bleedin' right it isn't'

'We'll have another ride down there in a minute. Let's have a smoke first.'

They lit their cigarettes, hands curled round the match flame to cover the sudden flare. Les wound down his window a little to toss the match out, leaving the gap open so the smoke could escape. 'I dunno, Bob. What do you put it down to, then?' He drew in deeply on the cigarette.

'One of them things. Normal road, normal people on the surface, anyway. Just happens sometimes. Something snaps.'

'Yeah, well it fuckin' snapped last year, didn't it? Thirty-seven people bumpin' themselves off? Nah, there's something wrong with this road, mate.'

Bob grinned at him in the dark. 'What, touch of the old supernatural? Leave it out, Les.'

'You can laugh,' Les said indignantly. 'Stands to reason something's not right down here, though. I mean, did you see the nutter who blasted those two kids and their old man? Right round the twist, he is. I had a look at him down the cells. Sittin' there like a fuckin' zombie. Won't do nothin' unless somebody makes him. He's an old poof, you know.'

'Eh?'

'Yeah, got a record. Been done a couple of times.'

'Well how come he had a gun, then? There's no way he'd have a licence, so where would he get a gun from?'

'Wasn't his gun, was it? It was the old man's, the bleedin' kids' father. That's the joke of it. This nutter, Burton, broke into the house and found the gun. I reckon he knew they had it. He found the cartridges, the lot. Even reloaded it to do the old man in after he'd got the boys. Then, so the sarge was sayin', he tried to turn it on himself. Barrel's too fuckin' long on a shotgun, though. Couldn't even part his hair with it. Bloody funny, tryin' to get it up his nose and he can't even get it past his forehead.'

'Yeah, bloody hilarious.' Bob sometimes wondered if his partner would have been happier as a villain.

There was a silence between them for a few moments and once again the feeling of unease began to build up.

'Come on,' said Bob abruptly, reaching forward to switch on the ignition, 'let's take a ride.'

'Hold it a minute.' Les had raised a hand and was peering intently through the windscreen.

'What's up?' Bob tried to see what his companion was looking at.

'Over there.' The bigger policeman pointed and Bob frowned in irritation.

'Where, Les? You're pointing at the whole bloody road.'

'No, it's nothing. I thought I saw something moving along the pavement, but it's only the street-lights flickering.'

'Must be, I can't see anyone. They should all be tucked up in bed, anyway, this time of night. Come on, we'll have a closer look just to be sure.'

The police car slowly crept away from the kerb and crawled quietly down the road. Bob flicked on his headlights. 'Might as well let anyone who's interested know we're here,' he said. 'They'll sleep more easily.'

They had travelled the length of the road three times before Les pointed again. 'Over there, Bob. There's somethin' movin' around in there.'

Bob brought the Panda to a smooth halt. 'But that's the house that had the fire the other night,' he said.

'Yeah, so why should anyone be in there now? I'm goin' to have a look.'

The burly policeman clambered from the car while his companion radioed in a brief message to their station. He reached back inside and grabbed the torch in the glove compartment. 'Bloody dark in there,' he muttered.

The gate was already open, but Les gave it a brisk kick as he went by; he sometimes liked to warn anyone who might be lurking in the shadows of his approach and give them the chance to get away confrontations with villains wasn't one of his bigger joys in life. He stopped for a moment, giving Bob a chance to catch up, and shone the powerful torch towards the house. Although the damage to the front, apart from the empty, hollow-eyed windows, was not too bad, the building had a shattered, humbled look, no longer a home. He knew the worst of the damage was at the back, for the fire had started in the kitchen. He swung the light to the attached next-door house. They were bloody lucky, he thought. They could have gone up with this one.

'See anything, Les?' He glanced angrily towards Bob who had crept stealthily up the front path.

'Don't creep about like that, will you?' he whispered. 'Frightened the fuckin' life out of me.'

Bob grinned. 'Sorry,' he said in a pleased way.

'I thought I saw someone climbin' through a window when we were in the car. Might just have been a shadow from the headlights.'

'Let's have a look while we're here. Bloody stinks still, don't it? Is there anyone still next door?' Bob was moving towards the house and Les hurried to keep up with him.

'Yeah, I think so. Their place wasn't touched.'

Bob left the path and crossed the tiny front garden to reach the glassless downstairs window. 'Bring the torch over, Les. Shine it in.'

Les complied and they both peered into the shattered room beyond the window-frame. 'Bit of a mess,' Les observed.

Bob did not bother to agree. 'Come on, let's have a look inside.'

They walked back to the open front door and the bigger policeman shone the torch along the length of the hall.

'After you, Les.'

'It might not be safe. Those floorboards might have been burned through.'

'No, the carpet's only been scorched. The firemen got here before there was too much damage done to this part of the house. Go on, get in there.'

Les entered the house, gingerly testing each footstep as though expecting to go crashing through the floorboards at any moment. He was halfway down the corridor when a strange thing happened.

The broad, undefined circle of light at the end of the torch beam began to dim as though it had run into a thick blanket of smoke. Except there were no swirling eddies, no grey reflected light. It was as if the beam had met something solid, something that was devouring its brightness. Something dark.

Bob blinked rapidly. It had to be his imagination. There was a movement coming towards them, but there was no shape, no substance. The end wall seemed to be closing in on them. No, it had to be the torch batteries; they were dying, the light becoming dim. But there was still a bright beam along its length, only fading towards the very end.

Les was backing away into him, forcing him to go backwards too. Almost as one, they retreated down the narrow corridor towards the open front door, the torch beam growing shorter as they went until it reached no more than twelve feet ahead of them. Inexplicably, they were afraid to turn their backs on the approaching darkness, fearing that to do so would leave them vulnerable, unprotected.

They had reached the doorway when the torch beam grew strong again and began to force back the gloom. They felt as if an oppression had left them, a fear had been abruptly removed.

'What was it?' Bob said, his voice as well as his legs trembling.

'I don't know.' Les was leaning against the door-frame holding the torch in both hands to control the shaky beam. 'I couldn't make anything out. It was just like a bloody great black wall coming at us. I'll tell you something I'm not going back in. Let's get some back-up down here.'

'Oh yeah. And tell them what? We got chased out by a shadow?'

The sudden scream made both men jump. Les dropped the torch and it clattered on to the doorstep, its beam dying instantly.

'Oh my Gawd, what was that?' the big policeman said, his legs growing even weaker.

The scream came again and this time both men realized it wasn't human.

'It's coming from next door,' Bob said, a brittleness in his voice. 'Come on!' He ran across the small garden and leapt over the low fence dividing the two properties. Les trundled after him. Bob was pounding on the door by the time the bigger policeman reached him. Inside they could hear a terrible, agonized howling, then another sharp scream sent a coldness running through them.

'Kick it in, Bob! Kick the door in.' Les was already standing back, bringing his foot up high and crashing it against the door lock. The small frosted-glass panel above the letterbox became illuminated and both men stood back in surprise. A faint buzzing noise came to their ears.

Bob thrust his face up to the letterbox and pushed open the flap. His body went rigid and Les could see his eyes widening in shock in the light shining through the letterbox.

'What is it, Bob? What's going on in there?' He had to push his partner aside when he got no reply. He bent down and stared through the rectangular opening. His thumb released the flap as if his own body were rebelling against the sight and refusing to let his eyes see any more. But the sight was already ingrained in his mind. The howling dog pushing its way along the corridor towards him, its back legs slithering frantically in the trail of blood it left behind. Its progress was slow, no more than a panic-stricken shuffle, for it had no front legs, just stumps oozing blood. Behind it, staring down and smiling, stood a man, in his hands a machine of some kind. A machine that whirred, its blades moving faster than the eye could see. He was walking towards the front door as the policeman's thumb had let the letterbox flap drop.

5.

He was beneath the ocean, swimming downwards, deeper and deeper, away from the silvery light of the sea's calm surface, into the depths where it was dark, the blackness waiting for him, welcoming him. His lungs were bursting, the last bubble of air having escaped an eternity before, yet his body glowed in some strange ecstasy, the pain having no meaning as he reached for the sublimity waiting within that dark, cavernous womb. He entered and swiftly it closed around him, clawing at his limbs, clogging his orifices, choking him as he realized the deception. He gasped for air and the darkness filled him. He floated downwards, arms and legs no longer flailing, his body spinning in a tight circle, faster, faster. Deeper. Then the faint glow, the small shape growing larger, rising to meet him, black waters giving way to its progress. He recognized her face and tried to call her name, but the ocean smothered his cry. She smiled, eyes sparkling in her small, child's face, and reached for him, a plump little hand appearing from the gloom. She still smiled when the other face appeared by her side, her mother's face, the eyes wild, angry, the venom in them meant for him. They began to recede, to grow dim, and he called out for them not to leave him, to help him escape the terrible crushing darkness. They grew smaller, the girl still smiling, the woman's face becoming blank, her eyes lifeless; they disappeared, two tiny wavering flames extinguished, only the total blackness remaining. He screamed and the gurgling became a ringing sound which forced its way into the nightmare, drawing him out, dragging his bedraggled senses back to the surface and reality.

Bishop lay staring at the white ceiling, his body damp with perspiration. The telephone in the hall downstairs refused him time to think of the dream, its shrill cry insistent, demanding to be answered. He threw back the bedclothes and scooped up the dressing-gown lying on the floor by the bed. Slipping it on, he padded down the stairs to the hall, his mind still reeling from the nightmare. He had learned to control the memory, its harshness softened by constancy, but every so often it tore into him mercilessly, shattering the protective wall he had built around his emotions.

'Bishop,' he said into the receiver, his voice dull with fatigue.

'It's Jessica Kulek.'

'Hello, Jessica. Sorry I took so long . . .'

'There was another incident last night,' she interrupted.

His fingers curled tightly around the phone. 'Willow Road?'

'Yes. It's in the morning editions. Haven't you seen them yet?'

'What? Oh no. I've only just woken up. I had to drive back from Nottingham last night.'

'Can I come over and see you?'

'Look, I told you last week . . .'

'Please, Mr Bishop, we have to put a stop to this.'

'I don't see what we can do.'

'Just let me talk to you. Ten minutes of your time.'

'With your father?'

'He's at a conference this morning. I can come over right away.'