THE MOORLANDS

 Jim adjusted his ladders so that they were even against the wall, loaded the sheepskin up with soapy water and then proceeded to climb. 

Jim Worral had been in this business for the best part of 30 years and his back and feet reminded him of this every single day. Jim also used to tell everyone that it was time to pack it in and do something a lot less strenuous. Like for instance sell hotdogs and burgers from a mobile stand or maybe set up a removal van business, or even start a little painting and decorating enterprise.

Indeed Jim had all kinds of wonderful alternatives to what he was doing now but somehow never got around to it. 

Jim finished this particular row of houses and then strapped the ladders onto his car roof rack, he glanced at his watch and muttered, “11.50,” he might as well get it over with and it was only once a month thank God.

There were two things on this planet that Jim hated more than anything else.

 (1) Dogs, especially the intelligent ones that didn’t actually bark when you opened the backyard gate, they knew you were coming and so they’d just wait, patiently. 

(2) “The Moorlands” The Moorlands was a ruddy great house set back off the main drag between Paxton and Bigglesworth and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jim got paid £50 every time he cleaned the windows of this house then he would have sacked it long ago. 

The main reason Jim didn’t enjoy this particular part of his job was, well, it wasn’t because it was just right out of his way, or once arriving at the front gate you had to wait for the occupants/owners to buzz you in. It wasn’t even because of the huge Victorian windows, which meant Jim had to balance precariously on his ladders to clean. No, the real reason Jim detested cleaning here at the Moorlands was, well, to be absolutely honest, the place just quite simply creeped him out.

The Moorlands, if you hadn’t seen it before really was an impressive sight. The grounds alone must have been at least six acres and when you actually managed to arrive at the main door, there, right in front of you, was this huge old Victorian mansion. 

What made it look even more impressive was that Jim was certain, in all the time it had been here, the outside had never been cleaned, so all the stone work was as black as soot, which of course gave a more ominous feel about it. 

But the thing that used to get to Jim was, as soon as the buzzer sounded and he had entered through the gate, every hair on his body would stand on end and he would immediately break out into some serious Goosebumps, but why? He couldn’t explain it, and the weirdest thing of all and this really did bother Jim, was that in all the time he’d been cleaning windows at this address, he’d never seen the owners/occupants!!

Not once, not even to pay him. Every time Jim would turn up to clean the windows, after he’d finished and as regular as clockwork, there would be an envelope placed just outside a small vestibule and this was the thing, it was never there “before” Jim cleaned the windows, only after.

So there was someone definitely in there, due to the fact he was buzzed in and the money appearing, but again and I repeat, in nearly twenty years of cleaning the Moorlands, Jim Worral had never seen a living soul in that house until “TODAY” and that chance meeting dear reader would inevitably change the course of Jim Worral’s life forever! 

***********

A green Rover carrying a set of ladders pulled up outside a large black steel gate. Jim glanced up into the grey leaden sky and muttered, “bloody rain,” that’s all he needed. As he ran towards the heavy steel gate Jim pressed a button on a small intercom, no voice came back, it never did, but Jim knew someone was there because a little green light lit up on the panel. 

“Windows,” shouted Jim, as soon as he’d got back to his car Jim heard a whirring sound and the large black gate started to slowly swing open. Jim Worral eased his foot off the clutch and gently guided the Rover through the entrance. Instantly Jim felt his skin crawl and he began muttering again, “it’s like the bleeding Adams family” as he accelerated towards the huge Mansion looming in the distance.

Jim stopped the car just outside the small vestibule and he noticed again, as always, no envelope, Jim had often thought about stopping halfway through cleaning the windows and having a quick peek just to see if he could see anyone actually place the envelope on the mat, but to be honest Jim’s priority was to get the job done and scarper simple as that.

A few spots of rain began to fall as Jim started to organize himself, he grabbed a large black bucket full of soapy water out of the boot and placed it on the ground, fastened a utility belt onto his waist, making sure his sheepskin and scrimming cloths were there, along of course with his trusty squeegee. Jim then unfastened his ladders from off the top of the Rover, placing them over his left shoulder he proceeded to walk around the other side of his car. 

All of a sudden there was a terrible shrieking sound and what seemed like a hundred or so birds ascended up into the air out of the many large oak trees that were all around. 

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin, he was already a nervous wreck, so the instant he heard that horrible shrieking sound he quickly glanced up and over at the tree line whilst still walking. 

“Oh crap!!"

Because Jim had his head in the air it meant he wasn’t watching were he was going and subsequently he’d gone and walked into the bucket of soapy water, spilling the entire contents onto the gravely path. 

Jim cursed at least a dozen or so choice expletives, however all to no avail, the simple fact was the water had gone, which meant he couldn’t clean the windows, unless. 

Jim slowly turned around to look at the vestibule door. “Well,” Jim said out loud to no one in particular, “it had to happen one day.” Indeed that was the first time in 30 years he’d kicked the bucket. He grimaced to himself, well at least it hadn’t happened in a bleedin undertakers like his mate Charlie.  

Charlie Kay had never got over that one and swore at the time it wasn’t irony but a sign. Six months later, whilst 35 foot up in the air, a speeding joy rider hotly pursued by the Police ploughed into Charlie’s ladders at 90 miles an hour, swiftly sending poor Charlie into the ever after.

There was no other way, for the first time in twenty years Jim Worral would have to make contact with the mysterious occupants of the Moorlands. 

Jim looked around, there wasn’t any other access to water, no stand tap, not even a fish pond, though that option wouldn’t have been ideal, it still would have been better than knocking on the door of “Castle Bleedin Dracula.”

Jim placed the ladders against the wall of the great house, plucking up courage he gingerly walked towards the small vestibule door. He felt like a naughty schoolboy knocking on the headmasters study and gave just a little, almost tentative knock, no answer. Jim had enough, “to hell with this,” he said to himself and rapped loudly three times. 

He suddenly stepped back in shock as the door creaked open, but with “nobody there. “Hello, anybody home? It’s the window cleaner I just need a drop of water if that’s all right.” 

He wasn’t sure what to do next, it would be rude just to walk in unannounced, however, he needed to get some water or he couldn’t finish the job, so wouldn't get paid. Jim went against all his natural instincts and cautiously, very slowly, entered the Mansion they call the Moorlands! 

The second Jim entered through the vestibule door and in another part of the house there was sudden movement and a voice spoke softly. 

“We have a guest,” said the voice, “been a long time since the last one,” said a second voice,

“and like the last one, he can never leave,” replied the first voice.

“Don’t you think that might arouse suspicion?” Said second voice, first voice spoke again.“Dear cousin the risks are far too high and he’s probably seen too much already, no, there’s no other way and in any case cousin Jeremiah is about to greet our curious young friend.

“Young?” Said second voice, “He must be at least fifty.” At that precise moment first voice stepped out of the darkened shadows and two long bony hands lifted a black hood back off his head and a horrible bony almost skeletal face cracked a thin smile. “He is compared to us my dear cousin and he laughed softly.”

Jim Worral walked slowly down a long corridor. The first thing Jim noticed was the smell, apparently, according to experts, the human sense of smell is at its highest when you enter a building for the very first time and in this case they were absolutely bang on. 

He wrinkled his nose up and muttered again, “what the bleedin hell is that?” The second thing that struck Jim as a bit weird was the fact there didn’t seem to be any electric lights in the place, they were all the old fashioned gas ones, in fact there was nothing modern about the place at all. Indeed if Jim thought the place looked spooky from the outside, well, it certainly didn’t disappoint on the inside either. 

Again Jim plucked up courage and shouted out, “hello, anyone home, I just want some water?” He spotted a partially opened door to his right and figured it might be a kitchen, in which case he could help himself to some water and crack on with cleaning the windows. 

As soon as Jim entered that room he wished to God he hadn’t. 

In 30 years of peering through windows, James Anthony Worral had seen some pretty bizarre stuff, however nothing prepared Jim for the sight that was in front of him right now. He nearly rubbed his eyes in disbelief, just like prying kids do in Disney films when they’ve stumbled across something they shouldn’t have. 

Jim’s first instinct was to skidaddle away from there and back track his way out of the house, but he just couldn’t and as such, after quickly glancing around as well as peeking up and down the long corridor, proceeded to walk slowly towards the six coffins that were laid semi circle fashion on the floor in front of him.

The six caskets were the only items in that room, there wasn’t any other furniture and they were all exactly the same size, unusually though not the normal coffin shape, they were exactly rectangular.

Jim unhurriedly pulled out his long metal squeegee and again very slowly, holding his breath, began to lift one of the wooden lids, using the squeegee as a sort of lever. The lid wasn’t fastened down so it started to lift up easily enough. 

It was up a couple of inches when he suddenly stopped and let it drop back down, this wasn’t right, said Jim to himself, what was he thinking? He wasn’t one of these Goth nutters that got turned on by stuff like this. 

Jim stood up and surveyed the scene in front of him and then it dawned on him, “they must be undertakers.” That thought reminded him of earlier kicking the bucket over outside the house and he shuddered as a result. 

Again Jim’s curiosity got the better of him, one quick peek wouldn’t do any harm surely? 

Once again using the squeegee, Jim slowly lifted the lid off the first coffin, just as the gap got to six inches there was an almighty bang! “Holy Jesus” Jim cried and promptly snatched the squeegee back away from the coffin lid. 

As Jim whipped round to see what the noise was he went rigid with fear.

Stood against the now closed door and dressed all in black was the tallest person Jim had ever seen in his life. The tall black-cloaked figure then began to speak.

“Seen anything interesting?” 

Jim just stared open mouthed.. This geezer must have been at least 7ft tall and what was the deal with the Lord of the rings get up? 

The huge cloaked figure spoke again; “cat got your tongue young man?” 

Jim was beginning to think it had, because in twenty years of cleaning these windows and never seeing a soul, now, as large as life and standing in front of him was a person, probably the owner but why was he dressed in the way he was? Jim finally found the nerve to speak and said, “Er, I, I j, j, just, thought I would see if I could find some water, er, I’ve gone and kicked my bucket over,” stuttered Jim as well as laughing nervously. 

Whilst Jim was talking, the cloaked giant, much to Jim’s alarm, began edging closer and closer and Jim Worral now knew in his heart of hearts, that the whatever it was creeping nearer and nearer to him, didn’t have any good intentions and all his natural instincts warned him that the proverbial poo was about to hit the fan.

Jim spoke again, “listen,” at this point he was pointing his long metal squeegee in one hand and holding the black water bucket in the other, “I don’t want any trouble, if you just tell me where I can get some water I’ll be on my way.” 

The cloaked figure paused roughly only about five feet away from Jim and spoke, in a much harder tone now. “Why were you looking into those caskets, you weren’t expecting to find water in there were you?” 

Jim was stumped, the guy in the cloak did have a point, but Jim tried to make light of it and jokingly answered. “Well you never know,” he waved the squeegee and said, “this isn’t just for cleaning windows you know, it’s a bit like a divining rod as well.” Jim finished that particular sentence off with a sort of mini demonstration, the squeegee bobbing up and down all animated like whilst pointing it down toward the first coffin. 

Jim immediately realised that Gandolf here, didn’t have a sense of humour and indeed that was confirmed when the cloaked giant started to slowly pull back the hood off his head. 

Jim wasn’t laughing now and his whole body seemed to stiffen up, even before the hood came off Jim’s eyes were fixed almost rabbit like on the long bony fingers that were now holding the hood.

The hood came off and Jim immediately took two quick steps back. 

“Not laughing now, I see,” said the cloaked whatever the hell he/it was.

Even with fancy dress and elaborate makeup Jim Worral knew for sure this freaky geezer was dangerous and for the first time Jim genuinely feared for his life. 

The guy’s head was completely hairless and skin that thin you could actually see the skeletal outline. But the thing that was really scaring Jim though, were the eyes!! 

'They' were sunken right in and had a sort of deep red colour. 

“Who are you?” Whispered Jim and there was now no disguising the fear in his voice. The horrible bony face sniffed the air around Jim as if poor old Jim wasn’t scared enough, then began to speak whilst laughing softly, “been a long time,” it said,

“Been a long time for what,” answered Jim. The bald bony face leaned even closer toward Jim this time and said, “since I smelt 'Fear' and let me tell “you,” it’s the most wonderful intoxicating smell of all.”  

Jim had enough, though the second he made a move to get past the scary cloaked bald man with the blood red eyes a long bony hand shot out and grabbed Jim by the throat. Most folk would have just given up there and then, not just because of the situation they were in, but because of the sheer strength and power of that bone crushing grip that Jim was now in. 

However Jim Worral was from Moston and they make em tough in Moston. Just as Jim thought he was going to lose consciousness, he dug deep and using all his strength jabbed the bony creature as hard as he could in the face with the solid brass squeegee.

There was an ear-piercing shriek and just for a few seconds the bony hand slightly released its grip on Jim’s throat. It was enough. Using both hands whilst still holding the squeegee, Jim planted his bucket over the creature’s head thus disorientating it. Jim then did what most human beings would have done, he opened the door and Ran for his life!!!    

 

The last time Jim Worral had ran like this and fuelled with the same amount of fear was over 30 years ago.

When on exiting through a ground floor window carrying a holdall crammed full of stolen goodies, he’d heard a voice shouting, “Stop,” or I’ll let the dog go,” and so began Jim’s newfound hatred of Canis Lupis Familiaris, particularly ones that were employed by the Police. 

But in this case it wasn’t a K9 after Jim it was something a whole lot more dangerous, indeed if Jim had any inkling what was really pursuing him, he would have dove through the nearest window regardless of the consequences. 

Jim slowed to a stop and tried to catch his breath, he quickly looked round, firstly to see if his pursuer was nearby and secondly to gauge where in the house he actually was. 

It was a negative on both of those questions, which was obviously good in one sense and bad in another, the truth of the matter was, Jim hadn’t got a clue were he was. 

In his haste and to his horror, Jim had taken a wrong turn when on exiting the coffin room and had inadvertently headed deeper into the house instead of back out toward the vestibule door. 

Jim gathered himself and tried to take stock of what had happened back there in that room. It’s funny when plunged into a sudden dangerous situation how human beings try to immediately figure out why? No matter what it is, you always seem to ask yourself the question, how did I get from that, to this, in such a short time, incredible.

Whilst Jim was trying to figure out why and how, three giant cloaked figures stood and gazed at the open door in front of them. 

Cousin Jeremiah spoke in a sort of snarling hissing voice, “let me go and find the window cleaner, I’ve got some unfinished business to settle.” 

There was a clucking sound from one of the other figures and he began to speak in a soft measured tone. “There’s no need for haste my dear Jeremiah, on leaving the room our little friend has entered deeper into the house and as such is well away from any exits.”

“But,” cousin Jeremiah interrupted, the other cloaked figure immediately produced a long bony finger in the shush position, cousin Jeremiah shushed. The other cloaked figure, who appeared to be the leader of this curious trio then carried on speaking. “Why should you have all the fun and anyway Jeremiah, its been a long time since 'we' all indulged in a little sport and look on it as a bit of competition between the nine of us.” 

As the leader said those words the hooded trio turned towards the six large wooden caskets in front of them, the leader then slowly lifted his hood back over his head. 

Again he had exactly the same bony characteristics as his hooded cousins and he then, with a bony left arm, in a sort of sweeping semi circle motion uttered some untranslatable words ending in English. 

“Arise from your slumber my brothers, arise and join us, “its “Feeding Time..” 

As soon as those last words were said, six coffin lids moved, ever so slowly at first and then suddenly all six lids came clattering off like a bizarre set of dominos. Simultaneously and quite a sight to behold, six huge black cloaked figures rose up out of the half dozen caskets, indeed it couldn’t have been choreographed any better by Bob Fosse himself. 

Once all nine cloaked figures were together, again as one, all nine figures reached their long bony hands into the air. 

What followed came the most hideous shrieking sound that even as far into the house as Jim was, sent a chill of fear right through his body and he also knew instantly the whatever it was that tried to throttle him in that room wasn’t human and another even more disturbing revelation was, going by what he’d just heard there were more than one of em. 

Jim looked around the room, he had to try and get out of here before the God only knows what, caught up with him. He suddenly felt something vibrate in his left pocket, of course why didn’t he think of it before? “his mobile,” he’d ring the Police and get help!           

 

 

 ***********

 

 “Paxton Police station how can I help?”

“Erm yes, it’s erm, my name’s Jim Worral and I’m in a house called the Moorlands, it’s on the main drag,” Jim was immediately interrupted.

“I know where it is and I also know who “you” are.” Jim paused and looked quizzically at his phone as if it was about to explode.

The voice on the mobile carried on, “James Anthony Worral, DOB, 18-4-62 born Moston near Manchester, also known as Jimmy the cat and not because of his climbing ability but for the fact it took nine attempts to catch you until you made one fatal mistake and the arresting officer was?”

“Sergeant Taylor,” mumbled Jim, who now realised who he was speaking to on the phone. 

“Cat got your tongue Jim?”

“Listen Mr Taylor I really need your help and I’m not kidding I really do, I’m being chased by the owners,” said a now disbelieving Jim; of all the coppers to answer the phone it had to be sniffer Taylor.

The sergeant spoke again. “So lets get this right, you’re in a house, a large private house, a house that would undoubtedly have lots of bright shiny items like jewellery for instance,”

“No please Mr Taylor,” urged Jim, 

“Let me finish,” interjected the sergeant and he continued. 

“So “you” James Worral AKA the Cat, 9 previous counts of breaking and entering plus aggravated burglary are currently situated inside this large private house being pursued by the owners and its “you” that’s actually calling the Police, this has got to be a wind up?”

“No,” please,” pleaded Jim, “you don’t understand, these people, erm,”

“That’s enough,” again interrupted Sergeant Taylor; “I ought to nick you just for wasting Police time.” 

“But,” cried Jim, “these are not normal people,”

“Not normal?” replied the sergeant, “what do you mean not normal, people are people,”

“No.” It was Jim’s turn to interrupt this time.

“I think they’re some kind of bloody vampire or something.” All Jim then heard was a long low tone, he’d been cut off and to add insult to injury the battery had gone dead. 

Jim was desperate and in his frustration he hurled the offending device toward the doorway. 

Jim couldn’t believe his eyes, one of the bony creatures at that precise moment had appeared through the doorway, which incidentally was the only way out and had actually caught the phone in mid flight.

A stricken Jim just gaped, it wasn’t because one of the weird creatures had appeared and it wasn’t because it had effortlessly caught the flying cell phone. The real reason Jim worral’s jaw had dropped so far it was nearly touching the floor was, behind the phone catching figure suddenly appeared more of them, in fact Jim counted nine in total and they had all fanned out semi circle fashion in front of him.

Poor Jim was petrified, it was like he was in some kind of bizarre nightmare and silently prayed to God he’d wake up in bed at home. 

The tall black-cloaked figure that had caught the phone then began to speak. 

“Curious things these,” it held the iphone 6 up high toward it’s face, like you do when you’re inspecting a crooked bank note, it carried on talking. “Never quite seen the need myself,” at that point, the cloaked figure held a long bony hand out toward Jim, iphone in the palm of it’s hand, as if it was offering it back to him.

 

 Instinctively Jim stepped forward, the second he did so, long bony fingers curled round the iphone and crushed it, just as if it were a small packet of crisps.

Jim stared in horror as the long bony fingers slowly opened, hand turning as they did so, spilling the now mangled remains onto the floor. 

Jim started to back away, as he did so all nine black-cloaked giants inched towards him. 

The phone-crushing ghoul began to speak again. “Where are you going little man? There’s nowhere to run to now and I promise, we won't make this quick.”

Jim stood still and the advancing monsters suddenly paused. Brandishing his long brass squeegee he screamed in defiance, “well, if I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go down bloody fighting.”

Instantly all nine clocked figures shrieked and converged on the bravest window cleaner you ever saw.

 “CUT,” THAT’S A RAP PEOPLE.” The lights came on and (Steve Garside) the actor playing Jim Worral gave a big thumbs up to the director.

“Beautiful,” said Steven Spielberg, “absolutely beautiful.”

 

 

 

 

 

THE END