#3 Where Monsters Lay

Chap. 6_hole-filled socks and caressing tarmac?

Frank had turned off Radio 4 for one reason. It was boring him to death. However, whilst tuning in to another station he looked in the left mirror and something caught his eye.

There wasn't any landscape behind where the car was parked, but somehow something moved. The car was parked with its rear to the warehouse's solitary garage, which housed their van, of course embossed with the same 'stereotypical company' spiel. To the right of the garage was the entrance to the Den. Rob walked out, looking a little flustered, but also empty-handed.

Frank wound the window down.

"Have you got the ID, mate?" he shouted from within his cave of deafening radio static. "Also, we need to get a digital radio. This thing is driving me mental."

But Rob, having quickly mouthed some form of curse, had already spun on his heel and was pandering back to the compound's door.

Frank's gaze fell back from the mirror and to try and fix the radio.

The night was very nearly upon them. The regular rates of grave-robbings had all happened at night. It was fair to say that this month's night-times were going to be a prime time to finally understand what was going on.

The dark clouds shrouded out the sun slowly but surely; a prelude to the inevitable dusk. Lights began to pierce more overtly through the darkness, revealing the open windows of many simple people watching Pointless or Grand Designs. They were the people who had their own lives. Lives different completely to Frank's but almost co-dependent. Without the normal, you can't find the crazy.

Without the darkness, you can't find the light, he thought dimly.

But again, his eyes suddenly reverted back to the mirror, transfixed, triggered by the slightest bit of movement.

To the left of the garage was a public footpath, connecting two quiet roads, both filled with terraced housing and office blocks. Black bin bags lay strewn all over the path, some still reeking of day-old Chinese and molten ice-cream.

It wasn't the friendliest of neighbourhoods, to say the least, and as Frank turned off the ignition, cutting out the gently purring engine and fizzing feedback, an eerier silence fell upon the scene.

Frank pulled himself over to the driver's seat, and pulled the key out, taking a peek in the right mirror.

There was now a clearer view of the alleyway and he could even pick out a hole-filled sock poking out of the end of one of the bags.

All of a sudden, one of the bags shook violently, before coming back to a standstill. Frank's attention was now piqued.

He could have sworn he heard a sneeze. A high-pitched sneeze at that. Could it have been a cat? There was that crazy lady who put a cat in a wheelie bin, she could be on the rampage? STOP STALLING FRANK. Go see.

He carefully pulled the lever of the car door and got out.

His life was filled with small noises of cars in the distance, and the Pointless theme tune blaring out from the Higgins' across the road.

He stood, shocked that he could hear that well, before remembering they were both deaf, and had the telly on full blast.

But then.

A cough.

Ahem.

Again.

Ahem, ahem.

And there was no mistaking it this time. The noise and the bin bag's shuddered simply matched.

He tiptoed towards the bag, moving towards the edge of the driveway, in case the creature inside could see him. He needed to move slowly. And out of view.