Death in the Black Wood, Oliver Davies [short story to read TXT] 📗

control panel. It might try to get in through the back. It didn’t. The lights kept coming on, in order, and soon, it was back again. It moved a little closer and folded itself to the ground to sit, staring interestedly at the door again.

I stepped out of the doorway. “Can I help you?” I asked in a clear, carrying voice. It frowned, lifting its chin to stare at me blankly. “What do you want? What are you doing here? This is private property, mister.” Was it simple? Didn’t it understand English?

“Just get it inside and downstairs. We can’t stay out here all morning.”

The taser would never get through that jacket. I’d have to hit it in the leg. It didn’t seem to realise what I was holding and just watched curiously as I lifted the taser and moved a little nearer before firing a pair of darts into its thigh. No sound but a grunt as it went over backwards, muscles contracting uncontrollably. I jogged in closer. Oddly, it didn’t look to be in pain either, just surprised. Okay, that was really weird. It was staring at its hand, trying to make it obey it and sort of laughing at the fact that it wouldn’t, as if that was really funny.

“Again, quickly.”

That did seem wise. I gave it another five second burst before crouching down to locate a vein to stick the needle in. I got that out of my pocket and pulled the cover off with my teeth before injecting the sedative. There, give it a couple of minutes, and it would be safe enough to carry it in. Meanwhile, I could go and get the top and bottom cellar doors unlocked and opened. Once I’d laid it on the mattress in the empty cell, I went back up to lock all the doors again.

Now, I had all the time in the world to deal with whatever this was.

I took the jacket off it first and checked all the pockets. There was a folded piece of paper in one and a large, heavy metal ring in the other. It looked to be made of twisted strands of silver and was open ended, not quite forming a full circle. Two knobbly ends faced each other across a gap about two inches wide.

“It’s called a torc. It’s supposed to be worn around the neck.”

“How would you get it on?” Oh, wait, there was a hinge at the back and a little catch to release it. I opened and shut it a few times. “What’s it for?”

“Decoration. To show status. At least the ones primitive humans wore were.”

The paper, when I unfolded it, was covered in strange little markings. It looked like they’d been drawn with the end of a burned twig, and sure enough, when I carefully touched one, my fingertip came away blackened. Those markings looked very like the ones I’d had to memorise to cut into the hostiles I’d killed.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“I can read the script, but the language is strange to me. I cannot say.”

Its trouser pockets were empty, and I left those on it, although I did look to make sure that it was male. It was, or rather he was, I suppose. After all, he wasn’t wearing a stolen body. The lack of one of those alien auras told me that. Everything down there looked normal enough apart from the total absence of hair. The trousers were loose and black, some kind of natural fibre?

I peeled his top off over his head. He’d been wearing an open necked linen shirt but there were no labels on it, which was unusual. Removing the shirt exposed an armband on his upper left arm, a big chunky thing. That looked silver too, and it was elaborately engraved. I lifted his arm, trying to see how to get it off, but there didn’t appear to be any kind of clasp or hinge, and it was too tight to slide down over the muscles. If I wanted to remove it I’d have to saw through the metal or cut his arm off.

Well, that could wait. If we decided to kill him, we could do that afterwards. No hair on the torso either, not even the armpits. He had hair on his scalp and eyebrows and thick, long eyelashes, but apart from that, his skin was as smooth and clean of hair as a young child’s. He had a few impressive scars on that torso though. Old knife wounds, at a guess.

After taking his trainers and socks off too, I just stared at him. I’d never have used the word beautiful to describe a man, or manlike creature, before then, but he really was. It was a shame he wasn’t a female. If he had been, I’d have fucked her right there and then. I wouldn’t have been able to resist the temptation.

“Check those eyes. I want to know if they’re real.”

Yes, so did I. I peeled back one of the eyelids. His eyes had rolled up a little, but I could still see a good part of the iris and I couldn’t see the edges of a contact lens, even when I pulled the lower lid down as far as it would go. Feeling with my finger confirmed it. Those extraordinary golden eyes were real.

Bother, that annoying kid in the other cell was snivelling again. It had been a good idea to take him, but I could do without the noise. Mr Big Shot Area Commander wouldn’t mess with me now, not if he wanted me to be nice to his grandson.

Should I chain this thing up properly? He hadn’t seemed particularly dangerous or given me any sign that he would cause me trouble, but those wiry muscles told a different story. Just one manacle on a wrist would do, for now. That would keep him out of reach of the cell door and allow him to get to the drain in the corner to piss if