Read Online Black Ceremonies by Charles Black, David A. Riley - Free Book Online

her glass of white wine. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” she asked.
    But Brenner’s attention was elsewhere.
    “Dave? Dave?” Shirley shook his arm, but Brenner continued to stare across the barroom. Angry, she suddenly slapped his face.
    “What the ’ell was that for?” Brenner asked, rubbing his cheek.
    “Don’t pretend you don’t know, you sod. I saw you.”
    “Saw me what?” he asked in all innocence.
    “You were stood right in front of me, blatantly eyeing up some tart. Couldn’t keep your eyes off her.”
    “No I wasn’t. I saw it again,” he explained.
    “Saw what again?”
    “The face.”
    Shirley was dismissive. “Oh come off it, Dave; there is no face.”
    “But I’m telling you there is.”
    “There’s only you who’s seen it; why is that Dave?”
    Brenner grabbed Shirley’s arm, spinning her round. “Look over there, see for yourself.”
    The face hovered in the air; its features seemed to be evolving, becoming clearer. The eyes were staring at him, burning with malevolence.
    “There,” he pointed. “Don’t you see it?” he cried in desperation.
    Shirley struggled. “Let go of me! There’s nothing there.”
    Brenner realised that people were starting to stare at them, and he released his hold. No one else appeared to have noticed the face.
    Shirley shook her head. “You’re mad you are, Dave Brenner. And not only that, you can consider yourself dumped!” She picked up her glass and chucked what was left of the wine in Brenner’s face, then stormed out of the pub.
     
    Brenner slumped into a seat, his head in his hands.
    Perhaps he was going mad. Seeing a face that no one else could see was bad enough.  But a face that was incomplete and yet seemed familiar was another matter entirely.  And on top of that, the face wasn’t even attached to a body. And always it seemed to be laughing at him – not in good humour, but in a mocking, malicious way.
    Finishing his pint, Brenner glanced around him. “Nooo!” he moaned. He saw the same half-formed features wherever he looked.
    Avoiding looking at people, he hurried out of the pub and headed homewards; head down, keeping his eyes fixed on where he walked.
    At Patel’s off-licence, he stopped and went in.
    “A bottle of whisky.”
    “Anything in particular?” the shopkeeper asked. “We have a wide selection.”
    “One of them litre ones.” Brenner would not meet Mr Patel’s gaze.
    “ Bells ?” the Asian asked.
    “Yeah that’ll do.”
    “That will be sixteen pounds and ninety-nine pence please.”
    “Don’t bother with a bag.” Brenner handed over two ten-pound notes, but did not wait for his change.
    Back in his flat, he poured a full glass of whiskey, drank it down, then repeated the process.
    “Right, let’s see you.” He steeled himself.
    Unsure whether he would see the face reflected beside his own image, or his own features replaced by it, Brenner stepped in front of the mirror.
    His own face stared back at him – no transformation had taken place, no disembodied face floated next to his.
    Brenner’s mobile rang. He snatched it up.
    “Yes?” he snapped.
    A woman’s voice asked, “Dave, is that you?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “It’s me, Mary … Remember?”
    It must have been eight, maybe nine months, but sure he remembered. Mary Campbell. Surprisingly, considering there were so many of them, he never forgot his conquests. In an instant Brenner had conjured up her image in his mind. Long strawberry blonde hair, pretty, green eyes, cute little nose, and luscious lips. And what a body - very fit. But then they all were, Brenner had his standards - he never slept with mingers.
    Mary was speaking. “You’ve seen it too, haven’t you?” There was a pleading quality to her voice.
    Brenner grunted, “Yes.”
    “What did it look like?” she asked; her voice had dropped almost to a whisper.
    But before Brenner could reply, Mary cried, “The eyes, what were the eyes