Genie and Other Weird Tales Read Online Free Page B

When Roger organised a paint balling day, he signed up for it.
    Still, he continued to experience odd disturbances. When he was shaving one morning he thought he caught a glimpse of a dark hooded figure in the the mirror. It was actually the reflection of a towel hanging from a hook on the back of the door, but a few days later he was travelling to a meeting in Dorset on a train that went momentarily dark as it went into a tunnel and amid the roar and clatter he heard the deep guttural voice that had assailed him in the pub: “Feeble fool, wasting borrowed time.” And in the morning on the Northern line he twice caught a whiff of the the man's odour. Increasingly, he felt burnt out and on edge. He had the feeling of being stalked. It helped to give the malevolent oppressor a name, and ‘Lachlan’ was a natural choice, the manifestations having started around the time of his encounter in the pub with the vagrant. He looked forward to the paint balling afternoon as something that would help him let off steam and relieve the pressures of work with some normal, harmless fun. He even mentioned it to Alex in the office in an attempt to start a light conversation about something other than work.
    “Paintballing?” Alex said with an emphasis on the first syllable that made clear what he thought of the sport and people who did it.
    “Yeah, an old friend's organised it. I think it will be —”
    Alex cast him a pitying look and Henry’s voice weakened.
    “— fun…”
    Later that evening he told Elaine about the planned day out as they tucked in to a hearty bowl of roasted squash and raw carrot soup. She did not share his enthusiasm.
    “Pretending to be a commando? At your age?”
    “Well, it's catching up with a group of old friends really,” he said hastily.
    The paintballing day arrived, and he got a lift with Roger up to the venue, a sprawling wood in Hertfordshire. Pretending to be a commando with a group of old friends was great. Henry’s fitness was a little below parr, so he found he could be most effective simply lying in a hiding place, sniping at enemy soldiers who strayed too near. He tried not to shoot them in the back, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. He was quite pleased with this strategy and had clocked up a few kills this way when suddenly Lachlan burst out of the woods, dressed in his usual hooded top with combat trousers and holding a very real looking rifle. He lurched to a stop in front of Henry's hiding place and threw back his hood. His head was grotesque, with scaly skin, yellow eyes, and a pair of black holes instead of a nose.
    “Fucking great idea this Henry,” he rasped, slipping a magazine into his automatic rifle with a dextrous scaly claw. “I’m gonna make you famous!” He grinned a lipless grin and licked a passing butterfly into his mouth with his whiplash tongue.
    Henry stayed glued to the ground. “What do you... what do you mean, famous?”
    “Like Brevik, like Ryan, like the Colombine boys. They all had a ‘Lachlan’ you know.” His lizard’s eyes twinkled and twitched. “Tally ho, onwards and downwards!” He fired three live rounds into the air and listened as the detonations echoed through the woods. “See you on the other side Henry. We’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, you and me.”
    Henry buried his face in the ground, his limbs, his lungs, his heart and stomach all clenched and knotted. He ground his teeth and waited for the sound of mayhem and carnage. But it never came. Planes scudded across the sky, birdsong echoed, and breezes caressed the leaves and branches. After about an hour, he rose stiffly, dusted himself down and sought the compound at the entrance to the wood. Crowds of paintballers and organisers milled around, laughing and swearing. A hand clasped his shoulder. He jerked round, to see Roger grinning at him.
    “Ah, the sneaky sniper! – Hey you ok?”
    “Oh, I’m fine… I think… I’m just tired. Great day though!” His