IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery, Ray Clark [classic books for 10 year olds .txt] 📗

reflections of himself: normal, short, fat and dumpy with little or no head. Stretched out like the Peperami Man. He’d seen himself wide, thin; little legs, long legs. You name it, every variation possible he had seen.

Where the fucking hell had Roger Hunter found all of these? Some were free-standing, others were in corridors – some of them actually formed corridors instead of the wooden panels. Anthony would be lucky if he ever found his way out of the building.

But he wasn’t meant to. That wasn’t what Roger had in mind. Zoe, James and Michael were all dead. Logic stated that he would be next and it wasn’t because he was the only one left. Anthony had to die whatever the running order.

How to survive was the major problem here. Not only was the hall of mirrors unsettling him, the music was doing little for his state of mind. He had never heard that song on a good day, and doubted he ever would.

He relived the fateful day back in Liverpool when he’d been parted from his mother. On his own it had been unsettling, but he could have coped because he knew she was in there somewhere. He knew she would come to his rescue.

She wouldn’t today, though. There was no fucker coming to save him today.

But the awful music had spelled doom and gloom from the first time he’d heard it, and had done ever since.

All he needed now was a clown.

Anthony suddenly slunk to his knees, whimpering. Why had that thought entered his head? A clown was the last thing he needed now. He never, ever wanted to see a clown again for as long as he lived.

“No, no, no…”

Anthony dropped the pepper spray and syringe, covering his face with his hands.

“No, no… please don’t do this to me.”

Anthony snorted, almost choking with the size of the sobs. Why was it happening? Why did it keep happening?

But deep down, he knew the answer to that one.

In short, Anthony was a bastard. He had never cared about anyone but himself. And if the truth be known, neither had any of the DPA team, which was why they made such a good quartet. They were hard and brutal and were able to make split second decisions without emotion when it counted.

Which had done them absolutely no favours in the long run. It certainly hadn’t helped three of them. And it was unlikely to benefit him, either.

The music suddenly stopped, spreading the whole place with a deathly silence.

Oh, God, no. Anthony glanced upwards: left, right, his head spinning like a top. He reached down to the floor, grabbing the syringe and the mace.

He wasn’t sure which he actually preferred – the silence or the music.

Suddenly, on the other side of the mirror, he heard a movement. It was slight and, if pressed, he would have said it was a footstep.

Anthony stopped breathing, trying desperately to rise to his full height without making a sound. One of his knees clicked, which sounded like a whip cracking. Anthony froze.

He glanced left and right, and up again, hoping to Christ whoever it was had not chosen to come around the other side of the mirror. Maybe they were doing exactly the same as him.

They? Who the hell were they? It could only be Roger Hunter. There was no one else in here. It was him and Roger. So that’s who had to be on the other side.

The music started again.

Somewhere in the night

Turning to the right

Something clicks inside of your head

A taste of mystery

Creeping all in

Shadows of the unknown dread

 

Superstitious feeling

Superstitious feeling

Anthony crouched back down, too terrified to move. He wanted to stay there forever, no matter how bad the situation, no matter how many mirrors, and no matter how many times he had to put up with that dreadful song. If he could stay here without moving, nothing bad would happen.

Not a chance. Whoever was on the other side of the mirror, moved; and the mirror moved slightly.

It was enough for Anthony. He knew he couldn’t stay there all night, or even the next five minutes. Because whoever was there, sounded like he was coming round.

Anthony made up his mind. It was now or never. No turning back. Time to grow a pair of bollocks.

He stood up straight, nearly dropping the mace.

“Oh, fuck…”

Regaining a little composure he eased off the top, raising the syringe in his right hand as high as it would go.

The flashing of a light

Slashes through the night

Changing colours in the face

You meet a stranger’s eyes

Gripping like a vice

Noises shouting out a face

 

Superstitious feeling

Running all around my head

Superstitious feeling

I don’t know why but I think that I’d be better off dead

Oh yeah

The words were haunting him. There were plenty of flashes of light and changes of colours.

Anthony took a deep breath, preparing himself.

In a split second he ran around the mirror; the lights suddenly dimmed, momentarily obscuring his view.

He raised his left hand and sprayed the mace into his opponent’s eyes.

A scream followed, hands gripping a face.

Anthony drove the syringe into Roger’s shoulder and pressed the plunger all the way home. He hoped that whatever was in there was enough to kill a dinosaur.

There’s trouble up ahead

My mind is flashing red

And evil’s just around the bend

You’re in a cold embrace

Lost without a trace

It’s getting very near the end

 

Superstitious feeling

Running all around my head

Superstitious feeling

I don’t know why I think I’m goin’ outta

My head

Anthony was back around the mirror within seconds. That’s all it had taken. Seconds. Evil was no longer around the bend. He had seen to that.

As