Kofi nodded. ‘I can do that.’ He turned and walked out of the room. Simik followed close behind. His torchlight was weak and fading and he was afraid to be left behind in the darkness. He exhaled, relieved, when they returned to the enormous room. The light blinded him for a moment before he saw that his men and the boys were sitting along the walls, alert and waiting. They all looked up at Kofi and him. Simik signalled to his men to be at ease and they relaxed a tiny fraction. He turned to face Kofi.
‘Listen. We will return with some food for you and the boys. I’ll see if there is anything we can do to get you some research equipment too.’
Kofi looked surprised. A smile stretched slowly across his face. ‘That would be very nice,’ he said.
‘We have to search these mountains to catch those people who’ve been killing others. You understand that, right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Would it be okay if my men stayed here while they search? It would be only a matter of days.’
Kofi seemed to mull this over, then inclined his head. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Also, you might want to prepare yourself—it’s likely that people would be interested in seeing the paintings and the book. Researchers. Scientists.’
Kofi frowned, but didn’t respond.
‘Don’t worry,’ Simik said. ‘You might learn something from them. Maybe you can figure out the mysteries together.’
Kofi didn’t look happy, but he didn’t object. ‘Can I ask for one thing in return?’
‘Of course.’
‘You see Femi over there?’ He gestured towards the boy with the impressive hair.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s my brother. Smart fellow. Brighter than me. He needs education, challenges. Could you take him with you?’
Simik considered this for a moment, then composed himself and nodded. ‘Of course.’
Kofi squared his shoulders, tilted his head back slightly and called for his younger brother, once again looking far more mature than his age. While they talked, Simik went over to his men.
‘I’ll explain later. We’re leaving now. We’ll search these mountains later. These boys have nothing to do with it.’ His men looked at each other, surprised.
Simik looked over at the two brothers. Femi stood with hunched shoulders and head bowed, while Kofi talked to him intently, one hand on his shoulder. The soldiers pulled aside the fabric that covered the entrance and stepped outside, letting in a breeze that rippled the skirts of Kofi and Femi’s odd-looking clothes. There was something sacral about the two young boys in their simple attire. Cold shivers ran down Simik’s back. He thought about the drawings deep inside the mountains and the blood on the stone table. It was old blood, right?
‘No. These boys have nothing to do with it,’ he murmured to himself.
The Holy Hour
C. A. Yates
From: Respectable Horror
Elise closed her eyes and waited. Waited for her atoms to catch up and band together, waited for them to do their job so she could be whole again, so this could be over. The feeling did not come. Yet again. Time after time she had let herself believe it would be different but here she was, still stuck with her grief, still alone. All people ever seemed to say was that she should try. Try, try, try, try, try. Well, she had tried so hard and so often, but every time she was left with the same conclusion – it would never happen, things would never be right again. Sighing, she opened her eyes and stared at the mantelpiece, still covered in condolence cards, thick with dusty regret and thankful grief – thankful that it had happened to her, not them. She knew what friends she had left sympathised well enough, empathised even, but it was a long time since she’d seen any of them and, besides, they were old, with troubles of their own. Anyway, none of them could know what was happening to her because none of them had loved him as she had. None of them knew this particular flavour of wound. They knew their own, but not hers. Anyone that said otherwise was a fool.
The room was cold, the house empty. Every movement she made thundered, but dully, an echo of the emptiness inside her. Greying light added to the sombre mood, night falling again, another day done, another day lived without him. Elise knew all the advice about not wallowing, about remembering the good times, but all she could recall at times like this was his pale drawn face as he had lost the battle, as he had finally slipped away from her, gone beyond her reach. The memory played over and over in her head. What she wouldn’t give for one more moment with him, for one more glimpse of those sweet hazel eyes.
The bark snapped her out of her reverie and almost into a heart attack. Elise jumped up from her place on the sofa, one hand to her chest as she cried out. The bark came again.
Wait. Florence?
But it couldn’t be. Could it?
As the sitting room door swung open slowly, Elise’s heart froze in her chest, her entire system ringing with alarm bells, but somehow she waited. For a moment there was nothing, the door swung to a halt, and the whole room seemed to wait on her shaky exhalation.
Dog claws tippy tapped across the wooden floor in the hallway, scuttling their owner’s way to the sitting room. A white nose appeared around the door, then that face, so achingly familiar, so loved.
‘Flo!’ Elise’s breath rushed from her lungs and she couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. Before she knew it, she was across the room and hauling her beloved dog into her arms. Dog smell filled her nose, the warm body in her arms the surest sign of love fulfilled. She buried her face in the white fur, inhaling frantically, deeply, hardly believing she had forgotten about Florence in her grief.
‘Oh, Flo. It’s so good to see you. You have no idea. I wish you knew.’ Not wanting to, but knowing she should, Elise bent to put the odd little white dog back on the floor. As she did, she saw something achingly familiar in her dark brown eyes. Grief. Sorrow. Sadness. That hateful melange. Of course she would know, of course. Had it been so long that she’d forgotten how much Florence had loved him too? Dogs felt loss, didn’t they? Felt it just like she did. If there were anyone who had an inkling of what it was to lose him, it would be her.
Florence trotted away from her and over to the French doors that looked out into their garden. She whimpered softly, pressing her wet nose against the glass and staring into the fields that backed onto the house. It was an old familiar habit, one she had not seen in far too long. Flo wanted to go for a walk. Elise smiled, the muscles in her face aching with the unaccustomed usage; it felt as though it had been forever ago since she’d had anything at all to smile about, it had seemed impossible she ever would again.
‘Hold on a sec, Flo, let’s go find your lead.’ She crossed the room and headed for the kitchen, the sound of Florence’s pursuit echoing through the otherwise empty house. It made her feel warm for the first time in ages and Elise could feel those atoms of hers beginning to swirl into place at last.
Finding the lead was not as easy as she’d thought. Where had she put it last? Rummaging through drawers and boxes, Elise was reminded of the life she had shared with him. They’d had no children, had very little other family who concerned themselves with them, but they’d had each other, not to mention Florence and her predecessors. Unconventional, but happy, they’d grown more in love with every passing year. People wondered at it, had said as much to her, to him, but the only thing that could explain it was that she was her and he was him and together they were them. What else was needed? As she searched for Florence’s lead, Elise found her breath catching at every forgotten photograph, newspaper clipping, and ridiculous memento – there were rocks, feathers, tiny plastic children’s toys - from a thousand different adventures, a million moments encapsulated. The smile on her face did not fade. How lucky she had been. How lucky to have loved and been loved so well in return.
In her grief she had forgotten, had seen only her loss, but now with fate forci
ng her hand, she remembered. Tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. The memories kept coming fast and hard as she sat on the floor sorting through them. It was the sort of thing that should have been a release, that’s what all the bumf she’d been given on grief and grieving had said, but she found it had the opposite effect. The more she saw, the less she could contemplate finally saying goodbye. Catharsis be damned, she thought.
Then, that photo. How she had always loved it, remembered so clearly the day they’d taken it, standing together at the cliff’s edge, daring each other to get closer and laughing like children, and they had been a long way past that by then. She had kept it in her handbag for years. How had she lost it to the wastelands of the kitchen drawers? His face, smiling, happy, carefree, looking at the camera, at her, and every ounce of love he had for her shining through the old forgotten lens into her present day soul.
Catharsis be damned indeed.
Oh, how she wanted him back, wanted him now, in her arms, in her kitchen, in her life. She wanted him where he belonged. His loss was not fair, it wasn’t right. How dare he be taken from her? How dare he leave? Elise felt her old friend anger burn through her, felt it take hold, making her muscles shake with the force of it. This was all too much; she felt the balance shift, felt despair waiting for her. She had lost everything, why should she be reminded of that so brutally? It wasn’t enough to remember and smile. God damn all of it. God. Damn. It. She’d tried grieving, she’d tried it, but it wasn’t working. She didn’t want to say goodbye, she didn’t see why she should. Who was to say what they’d had was enough? She’d said forever and she had meant it.
The balance tipped, finally, and she threw the drawer she’d taken from the dresser hard, the contents spilling from it mid-air, photos, half burned birthday candles, balls of string, and ancient takeaway menus scattering to all four corners of the room and then, finally, the crash of wood smashing against the wall. The sound should have been shocking in the quiet house, but all Elise could hear was the wailing that was coming from her own mouth. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t make it stop. Clapping her hands across her face, she tried to quell it, but the sound kept coming, cranking up to a high pitched keening noise that should have shattered glass.
The bark shocked her out of it.
Florence.
How could she have forgotten?
That damned lead, where was... There. On the table, as though she’d placed it there on purpose, was Florence’s lead. Bright red against the pine, it waited. She felt it waiting, felt Flo behind her waiting too. Walkies, that was it, it was time for a walk.
Elise grabbed the lead and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. She found her wellies, still encrusted with mud from that last walk together a thousand years ago, in the bottom of the cupboard by the sink, and wedged them on her feet. Her old wax jacket, a bottle green cliché, was still hanging by the back door and putting it on after all that time was like coming home; ironic considering she was leaving. The rush of fresh air as she threw open the back door was invigorating, solidifying her resolve. It pinked her skin and made her nose tingle. The scent of spring was in the air – odd because it was December – and it was intoxicating. Suddenly, Elise couldn’t wait to get out there, to stretch her legs and run, run far from this empty place and the memories that taunted her.
‘Come on, Flo,’ she said, patting her leg as she called to her, just like she always had. The dog came running, just as she always had.
They flew down the steps together, Elise laughing, Florence barking. They ran across the grass, away from the festering frustration of memory, and through the gate that led to the fields beyond. Euphoria had taken hold and they were both embracing every moment of it. The grey evening light was much darker now, but somehow she could see her way, only losing sight of the white dog in the gloom every now and then. She always came back though. That’s a dog for you. They always come back and they always bring you home.
They walked and ran for what felt like hours. Elise threw sticks and Flo chased them, almost bringing them back. Almost, just like always. They walked farther than Elise had for a good while, but she felt almost as though she was young again, energy seeming to pour through and out of her, warming her against the chill night air as it came on.
Dark woods bordered the fields about three miles from the house. Elise was surprised to see them. Had they really come that far? It was hard to believe, but then the day just seemed to be that way. For the first time, she felt trepidation. She’d never walked through the woods without him, had always been a little afraid of doing so. Did she dare? Flo barked, as though to remind her she was not alone. She would be okay; Elise smiled to herself, of course she would. Taking a deep breath – she’d always been good at saying the words she wanted to hear, less so at believing them – she followed Florence as the dog charged into the thickets ahead, displaying a typical lack of canine concern. She didn’t want to tear her trousers in the thick undergrowth, but carried on after her anyway. In for a penny and all that.
Soon, she saw there was a path, could thankfully see it as soon as she stepped into the gloom. Small white pebbles had been laid either side to show the way. She’d never noticed them before. Maybe it had been so long ago since she’d seen them, she’d simply forgotten. Or maybe not. As her foot came down on the track, she felt a little better, as though the pebbles somehow formed a barrier against what lurked in the darkness beyond. Lord, she hoped they were something of the sort, because as soon as she could no longer see the fields behind her, when her passage had been all but subsumed by the gloom, Elise began to hear noises. The soft cracking of twigs at first, the rustle of dead leaves half-mulched into the floor. Then came the wind through the winter-stripped branches, creaking and groaning like a woodland banshee. The sound sent a shiver down Elise’s spine, the portent of death ringing in her ears. She remembered the stories her mother had told her when she was a child, stories from the old country, how those women of the barrows keened when someone was about to die. She remembered how, as a teenager, she’d researched the mythology and found that a possible explanation for the phenomena was the screech of the barn owl and how, despite the enlightenment, it hadn’t seemed any less frightening for that. She’d been scared by an owl in these very woods, years ago, a ghostly apparition that had sent her scuttling home. There was no turning back now, however; she could feel it in her bones. Her atoms were settling, fixing fast and at long last on her course, and she was committed. To what she did not yet know, but her feet kept carrying her forward, following the small white dog as she ran ahead of her, weaving in and out of trees away from the path, digging holes and sniffing everything in sight. It was as though she was saying there was nothing to be afraid of and Elise felt better for it.
Despite the forward impetus, every step was hard. Her feet weighed a thousand pounds one step, the next they were feather-light, keeping her equilibrium reeling. She felt lightheaded, like the time she’d given blood and, just after the needle had gone in, she’d passed out, slipping from the chair and hitting the floor as she’d lost consciousness, the moment before impact bright with giddy wonder. Everything had seemed so clear in that moment, so perfectly lit and full of sensation, then nothing. Passing out was not an option now, however. She had a destination, she felt it in the air around her, felt it in the impatient glances Flo shot her way every time she paused to check her mistress’s progress, as though egging her on, ever on.
The wind was stronger now, having gathered pace without her registering it before. Elise pulled the edge of her jacket around her, her fingers suddenly too numb to contemplate tackling the zip. The banshees keened louder, the branches snapping and swaying angrily in the rising breeze. The dark night was making itself felt and the unease that had trickled through her earlier now etched its way down into her flesh, chilling her to the bone. She kept watch around her as best she could, head snapping to and fro in a neck jerki
ng spasm. She felt like she was closer, to what she did not know, but she knew she was nearly there and she wouldn’t, indeed couldn’t, stop walking. There was a place, she knew it, a somewhere to discover. It was a journey worth taking, worth the fear and uncertainty, worth the cold and, now, rain. It fell in sheets, as though the sky had split like overripe fruit and could no longer contain its slick contents.
And still she walked. Still, she followed the white dog.
Then, suddenly, there was an opening in the trees. Elise couldn’t see the clearing properly until she had stepped out into it, a surprise considering there was a faint glow of light emanating from the small building set at its heart. It was barely there, but it should have been enough to pierce the dark night beyond the vague boundaries of the clearing. Perhaps the incessant fat drops of rain had obscured it but, as Elise surveyed the small structure, she instinctively understood that the light was only for those who entered it, not for those who stayed outside. To access its comfort you had to make a choice.
Florence was standing a few feet from her, tail wagging and tongue lolling as she panted happily from her exertions. She seemed content with their progress and was now waiting while her mistress decided on her next move. It was tiny, a church perhaps, old, white and wooden. It didn’t belong to the architecture of the area, she could tell that much even in the gloom. It wasn’t unfriendly but it didn’t seem as though you were being encouraged to enter either, unusual for a church. Frowning, she scanned the building, trying to work out what was making her uncertain. Suddenly, she laughed at herself. She’d walked for miles through the deep dark woods and now a building worried her just because it wasn’t sounding bells and blowing whistles at her coming? The wind had picked up, that was all; there were no banshees heralding death, no oogie boogies or serial killers waiting for her inside. Why not go in and light a candle for him? She wasn’t a devout woman, but she believed in something, that there was another place beyond this one. Maybe she was here to say goodbye... no, she wouldn’t say that yet. She would never say it. She had set her course and she would stick to it.
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