Ep 1

The new mortician was a pretty young female at thirty. She had always desired fiddling around the dead, and now she did it every day. As she washed the metallic slab, the porter pushed in yet another guest.

“Who do we have here?”

“Some guy who got shot. There is a cop outside.”

The mortician thought for a moment.

“You had better let him in. Make sure he knows the drill.”

A moment later DI Nixon entered wearing a white facemask.

“Welcome to my parlour.”

The grim faced DI simply nodded and moved toward the gurney. He pulled back the blood red sheet and stared into the cold face.

“Where did it happen?”

“At the monastery. What a ruddy week. Talk about carnage.”

The mortician glanced at his face.

“Did you know him?”

The officer nodded slowly. He pulled the sheet back and wandered out in silence. As he reached the panda car, Percy asked, “How are you?”

The DI refused to answer.

“At least he went out bravely,” Sergeant Percy said sadly. “He would have wanted it that way.”

“If nothing else, Charly did not want this. I’m damn sure of that!”

The car drove off as dark clouds scurried overhead. Within the morgue, the mortician pulled the sheet back and smiled.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll soon have that nasty wound sorted out.”

She looked at the clock before drawing the sheet over the dead face.

“I’ll do that tomorrow. Time for the pub.”

She walked to the basin and washed her hands before heading for the door. As she turned the lights out, Charly’s eyes flickered and his arm fell into full view.

Ep 2

The previous Saturday, a dark entity drifted through the town, searching for someone, or perhaps something. As it sighted the hospital, it swept inside the building and headed for the morgue.
The mortician had nearly finished that night. His twelve hour shift drawing to a final close. He was forty and quite a sad individual to boot. He never glanced back at the muscular body he had washed out.
If he had done this, perhaps he would have seen the entity that entered via the left nostril. Perhaps not.

What he did hear, was the sound of breathing and the corpse rising to sit up. The mortician swung around as the body lurched toward him. The strong arms fully outstretched.

“What the hell is going on? Who the hell are you?”

The fingers gripped his head tightly and twisted it violently to the left. The neck snapped with a loud crack and as it fell, the corpse tore it free completely.

Dropping it into the basin, the corpse examined his muscular face and smiled at the cool, blonde hair.

“Quite an improvement.”

He opened the door and peered out before glancing back.

“I nearly forgot. I’m the occultist by the way.”

The dead mortician did not hear of course. He was far too gone for that.

The occultist raced down the cold corridor until he heard someone coming.

“Damn it!”

He dashed into the nearby rest room and waited for the stranger to pass by. He noted the jacket and trousers hanging up and quickly pulled them on. Happy now at least, he dashed into the main hospital building.

Despite his lack of socks and shoes, no one took a blind bit of notice. When he found the exit, he made for the busy car park.
Luckily for him, a taxi stood waiting for a fare and he dashed into the rear.

“Where too sir?”

The occultist smiled.

“Foxley Wood please. I have to pick someone up. After that, the cinema please.”

The driver set the taxi in motion and headed in the requested direction. As they drew up alongside the dark trees, the occultist got out and tapped the driver’s window.

“How much do I owe you?”

The driver unwound the window and said, “Three quid please.”
The occultist struck at once. Fists smashed into his face as fingers found the door lock. As he pulled it open, the dazed driver tried to resist the irresistible. It was hopeless in the end. A series of violent blows reduced his skull to a bloody pulp.

The body was dragged into the woods and dumped without ceremony or sorrow. The killer ignored the blood and climbed into the seat.
“Not a bad model. Now where? Oh, I know. My old haunt will do.
Whoever owns it now is soon going to be sorry.”

He drove carefully across town until he saw his old townhouse. Not so old of course. These had been built in the boom years of the eighties. He remembered the underground garage and found the entrance easily enough. After parking up, the occultist climbed the stone steps to his old rear door.

“I wonder if the new owners took the key?”

He reached up and smiled.

“Obviously not.”

The key was turned and he crept inside. Reaching the hall stair, he climbed quietly until the bedroom stood before him. He opened the door and spotted the sleeping woman.

“Some bird,” he whispered.

He crept forward and gazed down, before pulling the thick cover over her face and pushing down hard. The struggle for life was frantic, though short lived. When it was over, he carried the body into the garage and placed it haphazardly inside the boot.

“Serves the ***** right,” he hissed. “Should have known better.”

He returned to his old home and found the lounge. All his own belongings had gone of course, but he liked what he saw.

“At least she had taste. I’ll give her that.”

He returned to the bedroom and climbed between the sheets. As his eyes closed that night, DI Nixon and Sergeant Percy arrived at the morgue to investigate an unusual case of murder.
 
Ep 3

“What was she working on?” Percy asked the attendant.

“That would be in her notes sir. Though the fallen sheet indicates there was a body here.”

“Probably placed in the cooler,” Nixon suggested.
He found the book and flicked through it. On the last page, he found the recent guest.

“Thomas Harvey, age 42, a boxer by trade. Check the drawers Percy.”

The sergeant began opening each tray in turn and after checking number twelve, he shook his head.

“Not here sir.”

“Would it have been claimed by now?”

The attendant shook his head.

“Far too early for that sir.”

“Perhaps the suspect killed him and took the body?”

Nixon gave Percy a withering look as the doctor and forensic arrived.

“No need to explain cause of death this time,” the doc said.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Nixon replied. “I want this place brushed for prints and sealed off.”

As an afterthought he added, “I would also like the missing body to be found ASAP.”

This last statement stunned the medic.

“We have a body snatcher?”

“So it seems,” the sergeant replied.

“Lengths that some people will go to. You will have the report by two hours.”

Nixon smiled.

“Just what we need. Another all night sit in.”

Back at the station, the puzzling case was tasking them quite severely. Within the hour, the hospital had phoned to say that the corpse had not been found. When the report arrived around two, the puzzle got even worse.

“The doc reckons that the head was removed manually. No sign of cutting.”

“Is such a thing possible sir?”

“It must be. The forensic boys failed to find any prints though.”

“Who would want to kill the mortician and steal the body?”

Nixon shook his weary head.

“Beats me mate. The real puzzle is how he got it out of the building.”

Nixon stood slowly and said, “A good sleep will help us both think a little straighter. I’ll see you at nine.”

“No Sunday church sir?”

“Not this time. Far too much going on as it is.”

Ep 4

At nine that Sunday morning, the desk sergeant stopped the DI as he entered the building.

“There is a woman in the interview room sir. She is pretty distraught.”

“I hope there is someone with her?”

“One of our WPC’s sir. Percy arrived about ten minutes ago.”

When he entered the room, the tall blonde turned around.

“Sorry for the delay madam. How can we help?”

The female officer left as the DI joined his sidekick.

“My husband failed to return last night. His taxi firm say he last visited the hospital.”

The two officers glanced at each other.

“Has he gone missing before?” Percy asked.

“Never sir. He’s a good bloke.”

“Do we have his details?”

“Yes sir. Do you want me to phone them?”

“You do that eh?”

“I’m sure he will be alright madam. We will do our best.”

A moment later, the sergeant poked his head into the room. Recognising the gesture, the DI stepped out.

“According to the firm he took an elderly chap there. He still has not called in and their attempts keep failing.”

“Sounds as though the radio is turned off. Did they give you his registration number?”

“Yes they did. Despatch is circulating it now.”

“Good for you. That is the second incident connected to that place.”

“Coincidence?”

“I doubt that Percy. A taxi would be the perfect cover you see. Only one problem though.”

“The body again?”

“It keeps coming back to that. No one could have carried it out.”

“What about the wife?”

“Send her home. I’ll knock up Charly.”

Back at the flat, Charly was playing with the cat when the call came through.

“How can I help you Nixon? I’ll be there shortly.”

He stood and gazed at the playful pet.

“Have to go darling. The locals are getting restless.”

The drive to the station was rather pleasant. The normally busy roads were rather on the quiet side. He pulled into the station and saw his two ‘friends’ waiting for him.

“You are eager.”

“Nice to see you again,” the DI said smiling. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“At the cafe?”

“We can use your car. Save us petrol!”

Market Street was quiet and Jo Jo even quieter. As the coffee arrived, the DI placed the known facts before him. Charly listened patiently until the discourse had finished.

“What do you think?”

“There is definitely a connection between the mortician, missing corpse, and the missing driver Nixon. Perhaps the killer is in cahoots.”

Percy shook his head.

“We checked the records. He’s clean.”

“I see. Have the hospital authorities made a full search?”

“They checked everywhere,” Nixon replied. “It’s certainly not inside the building.”

“Rather strange don’t you think?” Charly commented. “It’s as if the corpse simply checked itself out.”

“I wish it had,” the DI joked. “A naked cadaver I could find.”

As they chuckled at the well-meant joke, their quarry was deciding what clothes to wear.

“The problem with women,” he said. “Is their damn choice of clothing.”

He looked at the tops and jeans before deciding which ones to wear.
After pulling them on, the occultist felt much better.

“I won’t need food at least,” he muttered. “Though the taxi can’t be used. The cops are probably looking for it now.”

He thought for a moment before smiling to himself.

“I wonder what the sex girls are up to?”

He pondered for a moment before heading for Market Street. When he arrived the cafe was empty, but the girls were still selling their wares.

“You look gorgeous,” a middle-aged woman said. “What I would do for you.”

The corpse smiled and said, “How much?”

“For you love fifty quid. To everyone else a hundred.”

“Fancy coming over to my place?”

The woman looked him up and down before making a decision.

“Why not eh? You a wrestler then?”

“You could say that. It’s quite a distance but the stroll will do us good.”

The other girls logged the pickup and watched with envious eyes as the pair walked briskly away.

By the time that they arrived at the quaint town house, the killer had learned a bit more about her. An only child, who’s father had been in and out of prison more times than could be remembered. Brenda had left at sixteen and moved from one disastrous relationship to another.

At thirty, she had lost her job and threatened with eviction, she had turned to the adult industry.

Now she was popular, as much as with the girls as with the clients.
When she saw his home, she was properly impressed.

“You must be loaded mate.”

The occultist smiled.

“I have a small sum. I don’t drink by the way.”

“Oh never mind. I’ll keep you occupied.”

Once inside the short hall, he led her upstairs to the bedroom and made an excuse to enter the water closet. As Brenda stripped for action, the living corpse wrapped a towel around his arm and walked into the room.

“You look quite lovely,” he commented as she lay upon the comfortable bed.

“Time is money you know. Take those clothes off eh?”

The occultist smiled and sat beside her. She smiled back as the towel was unloosened, before being used as a muffler. Brenda tried to scream, sadly in vain. As the reign of blows smashed her lovely face to pulp, the frantic arms fell dead and useless. The killer smiled and stuffed his fourth victim underneath that bed, before heading downstairs and into the old lounge.

“I wonder what happened to my stuff?”


Ep 5

Monday morning had nearly gone when the frustrated DI and sergeant Percy pulled up on the ‘B’ road that adjoined Foxley Wood. The forensic team were on site and the medic had finished his initial examination.

“Do we know the victim?” Nixon asked.

A forensic officer handed over a small plastic bag.

“Looks like the taxi driver sir.”

“The killer was tall and pretty strong Nixon,” the medic advised. “The face was smashed by a series of heavy blows. By the level of decomposition, I’d say he was dumped on Saturday.”

“We need to find the murder weapon,” Percy commented.

“I don’t think there was one,” the medic explained. “This was done with bare hands. We are looking for the same killer that ripped the head off that mortician.”

The DI’s ears pricked up.

“At least we are getting somewhere. So, he picks the killer up at the hospital, brought here and killed. Then the taxi is stolen.”

Percy glanced at him.

“He must have dumped the car elsewhere sir. Probably miles away.”

“The quicker we find the car sergeant, the faster we’ll catch this misfit.”

A voice suddenly shouted from a clump of weeds and the officers wandered over.

“Find something?”

The forensic officer pointed at a bluish piece of skin.

“You better see this doc,” the DI said.

When the medic examined this piece of evidence, his face looked puzzled.

“What’s up?” Percy asked.

“I need tweezers,” the medic said.

The forensic officer handed a pair over and the doctor picked up the fragment. Gazing at it carefully he said, “This can’t be right.”

“What are we looking at?” the DI asked.

“Slewed flesh Nixon.”

“I don’t understand.”

The doc’s face looked grim.

“When you move a corpse after three to four days, some skin slews off. This particular fragment definitely came from the soul of a foot.”

“Which means the body was moved from there to its current position.

“Not likely,” the medic explained. “This came from another corpse.”

The DI shook his weary head.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

“Right. I’ll need a full DNA test on it. I expect results by twenty-two hours.”

“You’ll have it sir,” the forensic officer replied.

“Where to now?” Percy asked.

“A quiet word with our assistant is in order sergeant.”

Elsewhere, a tall, muscular gent entered ‘Times of Old’ antique shop and gazed around at the articles. The elderly owner stepped from behind the heavy desk and smiled.

“May I be of assistance?”

The gent smiled.

“I noticed your unusual furniture sir. I am really interested in purchasing them.”

The owner knew what he meant. The round table and very strange chairs had arrived a while ago.

“A lady brought them sir. I don’t like chairs with angels carved upon them. Make me feel very uncomfortable.”

The gent smiled.

“I knew someone once who loved that sort of thing. How much do you want for them?”

The owner raised his eyebrows.

“Well sir, I could not let them go for less than a grand.”

The gent smiled and handed over a wad of cash.

“Can you deliver them today?”

The owner nodded as the address was given.

“I’ll be in at two this afternoon. Thanks.”

The gent left the shop and started the long walk home.

“Nice for that woman to leave some cash behind.”
 
Ep 6

The DI’s drive had been interrupted on Market Street by a young woman who had flagged them down.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Percy had demanded.

The woman was unapologetic.

“We need help mate.”

“What do you mean help?” the DI asked. “We are in the middle of a murder enquiry.”

The woman screwed her eyes.

“Brenda’s gone missing. Screw your ruddy enquiry.”

“Just calm down,” Percy advised. “When did you see her last?”

“Sunday mate. She went off with a muscleman.”

“Perhaps she simply went home,” the DI suggested.

“I checked that,” the woman hit back. “I tell you something has happened to her.”

“What does he look like?” Percy asked.

“He’s quite tall and pretty muscular.”

“That’s a great help,” Percy said sarcastically. “What was he wearing?”

“Now that I think of it, he was wearing female jeans.”

“Strange thing that,” the DI commented.

“That’s what I thought,” the woman said.

“We will need a full description my dear,” the sergeant said. “Want a lift to the station?”

The woman’s account turned out to be pretty short, and when she left, the officers read it again.

“Nothing strange in this sir. Apart from the clothes.”

“Perhaps you know that’s a clue, sergeant. Why would a body builder wear female jeans?”

“Cross dressing perhaps.”

“I’m not satisfied with that. Circulate this to the boys will you.
Then we’ll pay Charly that delayed visit.”

When they at last arrived, Charly listened to the details again and rubbed his chin.

“The chances of two corpses going missing are highly unlikely. I think you are missing the obvious conclusion.”

“Which is?” Nixon asked.

“Remember that joke of mine?”

“About the corpse?” Percy asked.

“About the corpse sergeant. I think my new theory fits the facts so far.”

The DI was one step ahead.

“Please don’t suggest ‘Night of the living dead’.”

Charly stared at him hard.

“Dead mortician? Missing corpse? Murdered taxi driver and that piece of flesh? Come on Nixon, it fits like a glove.”

“So you are suggesting that the corpse is doing all this?”

“When the DNA results arrive, don’t be surprised if they match the missing body sir.”

“Another explanation is that our killer had a second body in the car. That is far more believable.”

Charly thought that over.

“That would require the killer to collect a second vehicle. Surely not.”

“I’m sorry Charly,” the DI said sadly. “Despite everything, this is one theory too far.”

“That is up to you sir. Before you go off in the completely wrong direction, consider this. The killings shall continue until that body reaches a natural crash point. Then the occupant will need another.”

The inference was deadly simple. Even for these hardnosed officers.

“Body snatching?” Nixon asked.

“A very rare phenomenon. Some powerful individuals cannot accept the idea of death. So they ally themselves to the dark side, and when their body ceases to function they simply borrow another.”

“Any proof?” Percy demanded.

Charly smiled.

“A 16th century Troubadour was such a man sergeant. He turned up in Paris in the year 1850, as a matter of fact. He boasted of cheating death. Caused quite a sensation at the time. After a year, he simply vanished. You can look it up if you like.”

“Sounds fraud to me mate,” Nixon replied. “Explains why he vanished. Fear of being caught out.”

“I certainly believe it,” Charly said flatly. Far too many witnesses.”

The officers stood for a moment.

“Thanks for the tea and we will stay in touch,” the DI said. “I think I’ll follow my own nose on this occasion.”
 
Ep 7

As they reached the door, Charly asked, “Do you mind if I do some snooping on my own?”

The DI sighed.

“Where would you go?”

Charly smiled.

“That antiques shop. I can explain along the way.”

As they drove through town, Charly did a little confessing.

“Only one man that I know off has enough dark power to accomplish this unnatural act. He called himself the occultist.”

“How does he tie in to all this?” the sergeant asked.

“Remember those grisly deaths and the missing bathtubs?”

The DI smiled.

“So it was you two at the monastery. I’m glad that I did not arrest you.”

“So am I. It ended up with me pushing him inside their tub. An experience he never survived I should add.”

“So you think that he’s behind this?” the DI asked.

“At least his evil spirit is Nixon. I noticed a few of his things were at the shop you see. If he has returned, he’ll want them back.”

“Sounds pretty outrageous to me,” the sergeant said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Charly commented. “We have arrived.”

When they entered the shop that afternoon, Charly noticed the missing items.

“Where are those angelic chairs?”

The owner smiled.

“Sold them sir. Got a grand too.”

“Did you record the buyer’s details?” Nixon asked.

The owner looked at him.

“What is that to you?”

The officer presented his warrant card.

“This is official business sir.”

The owner handed it back and returned to the heavy desk. He checked the book and said, “A Mr Collins bought it sir. The address is....”
When it was read out, Charly breathed in sharply.

“That’s where the occultist lived. I saw a woman come out of their about a fortnight ago.”

“What did he look like?” Percy asked.

“Tall, muscular, and a little brutish in my opinion. I was glad when he left.”

“Same description as the bloke who went off with that woman,” Nixon said.

Charly swung around.

“What more proof do you need Nixon? Now we can get him.”

When the vehicle arrived outside of the town house, Percy spotted the suspect from the third floor window. They raced to the door, kicking it open after four hefty blows. As they dashed upstairs, a chair was thrown toward them.

“Fancy seeing you again Charly? Catch me if you can.” He dashed into the bedroom as the officers followed.

“You’re trapped mate!” Nixon hollered.

“You think so?”

They watched the smiling figure fade from view, which left the officers baffled. Percy checked beneath the bed and reeled back in shock.

“There is another body here sir.”

“Where the hell would he go?” Nixon asked.

Percy noticed the car keys and snatched them up.

“He left the car at least.”

“We better check the garage then,” Nixon suggested.

They found the taxi where he had left it, and saw the bloody front seats. When the boot was opened, the body of the home’s former owner was in an advanced state of decomposition.

“The man’s a sadist,” the DI muttered. “Where the hell is he Charly?”

Their friend looked grim.

“There is only once place he would go really. To the monastery. Scene of his death.”

The DI barked into his radio, “Get an armed response unit to the monastery pronto.”

They dashed for the car and set off at high speed towards the unsuspecting nuns. As they arrived, Charly noticed the open gate.

“The bugger’s inside. Come on!”

They ran toward the imposing building as screams echoed through the air. Terrified nuns were running towards them as the armed squad arrived.

“Where is he?” the DI demanded.

A terrified sister pointed to the front door. The officers dashed inside and stopped.

“This damn place is a rabbit warren,” Percy said.

“You two take the ground floor and I’ll dash upstairs,” Charly ordered.

He dashed up the steps as the armed police reached the front door.

“I know you are here,” Charly called out. “Your time is up!”

“As if such threats worry me Charly. I have immortality and you don’t.”

Charly entered an upstairs study room and saw the occultist standing by the window. A large silver crucifix hung from the nearby wall.

“So the Troubadour returns.”

The figure bowed politely.

“After you murdered me I hunted for a suitable body until this one turned up.”

“It won’t last much longer you know,” Charly told him.

“Then I’ll simply find another. Perhaps yours.”

Charly grinned at the thought.

“My cat would tear your eyes out.”

“Where is Grant by the way? I thought you two were joined at the hip.”

Charly’s face fell.

“We lost him a short time ago.”

“Ah, yet you go on. Indestructible are we?”

“You know better than that.”

The figure nodded.

“I think it is time to depart.”

Charly glanced at the nearby wall and dashed for it. He hauled the crucifix off and hurled it at the grinning corpse. The crossbeam smashed into the chest of the startled corpse and seconds later, it spontaneously combusted.

As it burned, Charly ran forward and pushed it through the closed window. With a hellish scream, it smashed through the glass and plummeted toward the virgin ground below.

The scream had been heard downstairs and Nixon was edgy.

“That sounded like Charly to me. You lot take up position now!”

As they knelt and aimed their high-powered weapons, a figure appeared on the top landing. An eagle-eyed officer noticed that he was holding something. Trained to react to immediate threats, a single shot rang out...

When Nixon reached the still body, he saw the fallen bible. He turned it over and gasped.

“You ruddy well shot the wrong man you fools. He is inside the bedroom!”

The officers dashed inside and quickly discovered where their quarry had gone to. Nixon called for an ambulance as they slowly returned.

“He is dead sir. Being burnt to a crisp.

“He must have stopped him. Don’t you dare die on me you hear?”

...

When the young female mortician heard the sound, she switched the light back on.

“That’s damn strange she muttered.

She walked forward slowly toward the slab and saw the fallen arm.

“The attendant must have forgotten to place it upon his chest.”

She pulled the red sheet back and placed the arm across his body when she noticed something.

“His eyes are flickering.”

A sudden and terrible realisation came upon her. She dashed into the corridor, almost colliding with the startled attendant.

“Get the crash team down here now! That bloke is still alive!”