Slither by John Halkin

just above the surface.’
    Before Angus could reply Matt had lowered himself into the effluent. Immediately the worms began nudging against his legs.
    ‘Are you crazy, man?’ Angus cried.
    ‘Keep the meat on the surface,’ Matt snapped at him, irritated.
    ‘I’d never have come down here if I’d known this was what you had in mind,’ Angus protested, but he did as Matt asked.
    The worms didn’t bite. The rubber of his waders puzzled them. One by one they abandoned him in favour of the meat in the string net. He took a slow step towards them, carefully, then stopped suddenly to catch one in his gloved hand.
    It wriggled as he held it up. Grinning, he tightened his fingers, squeezing till he felt its head collapse under the pressure. Then he slung the body into the ice-box and turned to scoop up the next one. Contemptuously.
    Angus was staring at him, his eyes wide. ‘Are you mad?’ he was whispering. ‘Is it revenge you’re after?’
    Matt was too busy to reply. He squeezed the second worm to death, threw it into the box, and set to work on the third. Vaguely in the back of his mind he imagined he’d take them along to Television Hall, slam them down on someone’s desk and force them to take an interest. Failing that, a newspaper perhaps.
    As he killed the fourth – it had swum willingly into his hand – he became aware the others were still feeding on the meat in the string net. They made no joint attempt to defend themselves, which suggested their telepathy might not be all that strong after all.
    The fifth seemed to accept death indifferently, almost mockingly; perhaps it knew something hidden from him. Matt’s wild mood suddenly sagged; he felt uneasy.
    ‘Get out, man, get out quick!’ The panic in Angus’s voice was warning enough. ‘Take my hand!’
    Matt grabbed his arm and climbed back on to the walkway. Something glimmered at the far end of the tunnel, he couldn’t quite make out what. He swung one of the lamps around.
    The stream of effluent was thick with sewer worms, their heads raised above the surface, watching him as they assembled. More and more joined the rear of the throng and lined up with them.
    ‘Like an army!’ Angus said, his voice oddly hushed. ‘We’ve walked into an ambush.’
    Matt snapped down the lid of the ice-box; that was one thing he wasn’t going to leave behind, whatever happened. He slung the camera around his neck and grabbed the case of lenses. Angus gathered up one of the lamps, but they abandoned the other.
    ‘Now follow me, man, an’ keep close,’ Angus instructed urgently, speaking quietly as though the worms could overhear. ‘Careful how you put your feet. The sewers can be treacherous.’
    Matt followed him as he dodged through the low archway leading into the neighbouring tunnel. The torchlight beam showed sewer worms gathering there too. They were motionless,their heads raised, their eyes alert.
    ‘Ay, you can sit there,’ Angus muttered. ‘Time’s on your side, isn’t it? Or is it you’re not ready yet?’
    ‘Why d’you say that?’ Matt demanded. His words echoed through the tunnels, betraying his fear; once again he felt the walls moving in on him.
    Angus didn’t bother to answer. They went to a third tunnel, doubled back, then into a fourth. Fewer worms watched them now, but still enough to observe their movements. And report back?
    Even in the bubbling effluent at the foot of the steps they found a patrol waiting for them. As if posted there.
    But it wasn’t until they were safely in the Crown with two large scotches in front of them that Angus began to explain what he really thought.
    ‘I sensed ’em coming,’ he said soberly. ‘A change in the sound o’ the tunnels. If you’ve been down there as long as me, practically living down there some weeks, your ears get tuned in to every little noise. But it was you killin’ ’em brought ’em out. Why you had to do it, I don’t understand; everything was fine till then. It was you