Lindsay remembered nothing of the journey to the Police Station. She was numb with fear. Calm down you’re not being arrested! The good thing about small country town’s is that everyone knows everyone else. The bad thing about small country town is….everyone knows everyone else. When she was escorted inside, the desk Sargent was the same man who checked her in three years ago, when she’d experimented with drugs, and of course was caught and arrested. Sargent Lawson raised his eyebrows when she entered. “No I’m not in trouble. All my friends are dead you asshole.” She wanted to yell, but what was the point. What did he care? What did she care? Shock and fear settled into her bones.

She was shown to a seat in a small room at the back of the Station. The same room she’d sat in with her mam and dad when she was only sixteen. She been brave and arrogant then, not at all bothered by the pain and shame her parents suffered. That seemed like a lifetime ago. The interview room felt different this time, it scared her. Did she smell burning? Lindsay sat up and looked around. There was an ashtray in the middle of the table, but it was clean. Where did the smell come from? She jumped as the door opened. It was a young constable, “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“Yes please, white, no sugar. Do you smell burning?”

He sniffed a couple of times. “No love, I don’t. I’ll be back with that coffee in two shakes of a lambs tail.”

When the door opened again it was a detective. An old balding guy with a beer paunch. He looked tired and irritated as he sat down with his notepad and introduced himself.

“Sheila, I’m detective Denham and I have a few questions for you. Tell me about Saturday night! Why did you leave early?”|

Really? Do I have to tell you all what a loser I am? “I left early because my friends all paired off with someone and I was alone. I didn’t see the point in staying. No matter what time I left I’d be alone, so why wait?” My voice sounded foreign to me, bitter.

The detective made notes. “Did you see anything unusual in the club that night. Anyone you didn’t recognize?”

I thought about it, “There were some guys I didn’t recognize, but there’s a new Regiment on camp. The Queens or something. No one to worry about though, just a bunch of drunken squaddies.”

“How about after you left, did you see anything unusual, anything that rang alarm bells for you?”

“No, other than the car with the weird number plate, nothing. I saw the car about the same time the explosions started.”

“We’re still trying to track down the plate, no luck yet though.”

“Well maybe you should camp out in my street, I’ve seen it twice since Saturday.”

“What? Detective Denham closed his note pad. “Okay, tell me when you saw it and what you remember about the passengers.”

I opened my mouth to speak and inhaled the putrid smell of burning flesh. It was strong this time. Behind the Detective two shapes materialized, they danced closely, their burned flesh merging and sloughing from their bodies as they moved. I leapt from my chair and screamed, scaring the Detective half to death. He ran around the table and shook me, but my eyes were fixed on the dancing horror show. Had they come back for me?

Another great story by Sandra Thompson:

Dead of July