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

like?”
    “Green,” he answered. He groaned. “Like yours.”
    Mary laughed. “Like mine. Yes, I thought so.”
    “I’m glad you see the funny side,” Brenner snapped.
    Mary’s laugh became more hysterical. “Actually, no, Dave, I don’t see. But do you?”
    “What? No I don‘t, Mary. What is this? I don’t know how you’ve done it, but if this is your idea of some sort of revenge …”
    Mary interrupted him, “It’s our child, Dave. What it would look like if it had been born. If it had lived. It has the features of its parents – my eyes. What has it got of yours?”
    At a loss for words, Brenner caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and saw there was something dreadfully wrong. He would have screamed – but he no longer had a mouth.
    Another reflection appeared beside his in the mirror. The face had grown more distinctive – Mary’s green eyes glared at him, and contorted into a leering sneer was Brenner’s own grinning mouth. And for the first time Brenner could hear the laughter that he had always associated with the face.
    Brenner threw his phone at the mirror, shattering the glass. And amongst the turmoil of thoughts that raced through his mind, one question of startling clarity abruptly pushed its way to the fore – whose nose would it have?

THE COUGHING COFFIN
    “Curious business,” muttered Major Guthrie.
    And we waited, unsure whether he was addressing us – or merely talking to himself, which was often the Major’s wont.
    I should say that we were: Dr John Hurst, Edgar Soames, and myself, George Janders. We four – along with the hovering steward, Dawson – were the only chaps who remained at the club that Halloween night. We were comfortably seated in leather armchairs, enjoying some of the finest alcoholic beverages that Dawson could supply us with.
    Major Guthrie said nothing further for what must have been five minutes, by which time we had assumed – somewhat disappointedly – that the old boy had merely been commenting aloud on some private reminiscence, and was not about to relate one of his many unusual anecdotes of which he had such a hoard. For in truth, we three had remained at the club, in hopeful anticipation that the Major would recount a suitable tale for the night in question.
    “Curious business,” he suddenly said again.
    Unable to contain myself any longer, I asked, “What was?”
    “What?” the Major spluttered. My question had apparently startled him.
    “Sorry, Major, but I, well, all three of us actually, were curious about this curious business you keep mentioning, as it were.”
    “Curious business?” the Major said for a third time, although this time as a question rather than a statement.
    Soames opened his mouth, obviously about to prompt the Major.
    But before Edgar could speak, Major Guthrie did. “Oh, so you know about it as well, do you?”
    “Oh, for goodness sake.” Hurst was becoming frustrated. Although he was already in somewhat of a bad mood as I had beaten him in several games of billiards earlier that evening.
    “Actually, no, we don’t,” I said patiently, “but I’m sure we would all like to hear about it.”
    Edgar and John murmured their agreement.
    Major Guthrie consulted his watch. “Well, the tale’s not long in the telling.”
    Hurst breathed a sigh of relief. I, however, was not so convinced by Guthrie’s statement.
    Although the Major’s anecdotes are always interesting to hear, it can be a somewhat trying experience, as the old fellow can be a trifle long-winded. However, I do have my suspicions that the Major isn’t as vague as he sometimes appears to be.
    “You fellows, no doubt would like to hear it?” he said at last.
    Again, we murmured our agreement.
    Major Guthrie signalled to the club steward. “Ah, Dawson. Another scotch and soda. Put it on George’s account, would you? There’s a good fellow.”
    As I had said, I had beaten Hurst at billiards that night, winning a tidy sum in the process,