by Nikolai Bird
***
24th March 1922
The Friday drive down to West Wittering took most of the day but at long last Jack found himself in the quaint village, the smell of salt and mud in the air, seagulls calling and the sun getting low.
Following a description in the letter he found a small road leading out of the village, running alongside mud banks until at last it turned and crossed a mud flat dotted with grass banks, birds wading, and the occasional rock here and there. The road lead to a house placed on what was essentially an island would it not have been for the raised causeway.
The house was not big as such but it looked relatively modern. Jack could understand the Colonel’s reason for buying it, placed on the water which he had always talked fondly of, and surrounded by birds of all kinds. The Colonel was an avid bird watcher.
Jack’s first encounter with the Reverend Abel Dunberry was as he drove carefully along the causeway. There was rather an odd obstacle in the way in the form of a small to medium sized man, trudging along the middle of the road. All he could see was this man’s back - bent somewhat inside a long black coat and a balding head and no hat.
Jack drove carefully up behind him, but the man did not seem to notice. How could he not hear a Bentley 3 Litre growling at his heels? There was no way round him. Jack revved the engine a little. Still the figure ignored him. Finally, in exasperation, Jack hooted the horn. The man stopped. Jack stopped. Slowly, so slowly, he turned. He looked at Jack with dark sunken eyes set into a gaunt face. The stranger then made his way to the driver door.
“Are you in a hurry, my boy? Are Satan’s hounds at your heels? Perhaps the light of Jesus, our lord calls from yonder house?”
“Pardon? Sorry. I thought perhaps you had not noticed me behind you.” Then Jack saw the white dog collar. “Reverend?”
“Abel Dunberry,” said the man as an introduction. “And you must be Captain Jack Hart.”
“Captain no more.”
“Mr Hart then.”
“Can I give you a lift the rest of the way?” Jack offered. The Reverend Abel Dunberry looked along the road to the house in the distance and finally nodded his head.
The both of them reached the house in silence. The man was unnerving to say the least and kept looking at Jack as though he was appraising him for some reason. As Jack was about to get out of the car, Dunbbery suddenly reached down to the glove compartment and found the Webbley revolver kept there. He looked at it, then to Jack. “You were one of the Colonel’s Odd Job boys weren’t you?”
Does he know? How much does he know? Odd Jobs: so called not because they were varied or petty but because they could only be collectively described as odd; Missions into a world of mysticism, the occult and sometimes even the horrific and nightmarish. A world beyond a war, beyond man and his understanding. A world seen but never believed or one would instantly go insane.
“You fought in the greater war, Mr Hart. I can only hope you were not too seriously wounded.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Reverend.” What else could Jack say? It was, still is, and can only ever be top secret. If Man knew the truth, it would burn his mind from within. Only the instant denial of what is beyond can save the mind and even then the memories never fade. The horror never fades.
“Of course not. Gods army is meek, Mr Hart.” Abel put the pistol back and then to Jack’s surprise retrieved a hip flask from an inside pocket and offered Jack a taste. It was brandy and good stuff too. The man then took a long swig himself before offering Jack a wink.
Colonel James Sinclair was older, but he still had a certain spring in his step and curl in his moustache - a grand thing from a bygone age. He was delighted to see Jack and Able, and so, the weekend began. As the winds rose, the sea churned and the clouds gathered, something stirred under the mud flats of West Wittering.
