by S E England
“Really?”
“You know when I was a kid I remember the old lady who lived here, the one who went into a nursing home. She was the asylum doctor’s daughter – Edgar Fox-Whately’s. I suppose she would have been in her nineties by then. I only saw her once or twice, mind, if I was cycling past the garden or something and she’d be tending the roses. They were proper ones, you know, scented-?”
“Oh, yes…I thought I smelled roses–”
“They pulled them all up to build that pebbly bit round the back, but yeah, you will have had that…Olivia, that was her name. Olivia.”
“That Lorna was ever so, ever so, blurry rude–”
“She’s such a jumped-up cow! We’re not all like that, you know? Anyone would think she was royalty the way she carries on. And she’s only from the village same as the rest. Lorna Strickland she was before she married him - went to school with Gwyn and Delyth until they sent her private, then when she came back she started working as his receptionist - still does mind, guards him like a snappy terrier.”
“Whassee like? Sorry slurry words…the cotdor…I mean docra–?”
“Keeps quiet, that bastard. His surgery’s in a back room in one of those little cottages on the square. Only the local’s know it’s there. I’ve heard, and it’s only a rumour mind, but I’ve heard there’s pressure on him to close it down and join a medical centre over in town. Only he won’t. They’re a bit screwed though, because there’s got to be an out-of-hours service for people in rural parts and there aren’t many who want to do it these days. Anyhow, take it from me – you’re better off registering in town because he’s a proper nasty piece of work. Just like his grandfather. I wouldn’t go there if I was dying. And…” here she leaned forwards, “…he does abortions.”
“What? Inish shurgery?”
“Oh yes. Did you think backroom abortions weren’t done anymore? Well, they are here - he does them I’m telling you, and not only that but there’s an unnatural amount of still births in this village…They should come to me but oh no, why not go to Doctor Death over there instead? Ooh, it’s bloody freezing in here, Isobel - like a morgue, I nearly said. You know I can’t get over that! A morgue. No one ever told me that and I’ve been nosy enough.”
“No one knew.” The words flew out of her mouth of their own accord.
“Yes, you’re right. Good, it’s taking effect now, is it?”
“What?”
“You’re channelling messages better. You’ve got to be able to still the mind and focus properly, you see. Sometimes you need a bit of a relaxant, is all. And you must know how to protect yourself or you’ll attract the wrong sort, which is why I’ve done it for you. If you get dark spirits you’ll get liars and tricksters. They’ll pretend to be people you know who passed over, move stuff around in the house - my God they can fuck up your head.”
“Oh, they have, they really have.”
“Oh my God, you were in hospital with this, weren’t you? I can see you running through a park at night…”
“Oh, don’t. Stop. I can’t relive it.”
“I think whatever attached itself to you is still there, Isobel. And that’s why you have to do this – why you have to address it. Honestly though, I had no idea how bad it was in here. Mind you, it would be wouldn’t it, if they were using this place to store the bodies?”
“Bodies? What bodies?”
“All this time I’ve been looking in the wrong direction–”
“Branwen! What bodies? I don’t understand any of this.”
“Sorry, I run away with my thoughts. Listen, there are no asylum patients buried in the churchyard, okay? And the thing is, in this village there’s some who get all uppity if you ask too many questions about Lavinia House - try to shut you up - and then there’s others who hate the Fox-Whatelys for what happened with the mine. But I knew there was–”
“The mine? But I thought they ran the asylum – that the family came here to open that?”
“No, no, they’ve been here forever. They owned the mine first - made a fortune from skipping safety measures and refusing to pay the miners. A lot of those men got sick and just died up there, that’s why they call it the Hill of Loss. They say Annwyn is buried in the forest, the Lord of the Dead, and the whole area is cursed, but if you ask me that’s just to keep folk away because the forest is the most peaceful place on earth. It’s what happened at the mine that’s evil. Anyhow, there’s folk welded to the Fox-Whateleys at the hip and then there’s those who hate them. You can probably tell which camp I’m in? Anyhow, like I say, there are no graves for those patients.”
“There’s a little church in the grounds with graves.”
“A few. But ask yourself how many hundreds of patients they had?”
“Wouldn’t the bodies have been claimed by the families?”
Branwen shook her head. “Rumour has it no one ever left Lavinia House or Pond Hall as it’s fondly known. There was stigma, you see, shame to being an imbecile or lunatic – that’s what they called them.”
“Pond Hall?”
“It’s got a lake out back but I don’t think that’s the reason. They say it stank to high Heaven in the old days, that Edgar and Cecily wouldn’t allow people to come and drain the sewage tank. Some of the families from round here had people work there, see? They’d go to the pub, get drunk and tell stories about it. Still, you’ve got me thinking now…I bet they’re buried underneath this house. Is there a cellar?”
“Not that I know of. There isn’t a door to one anyway.”
“Odd that. Everyone I know’s got a cellar. That’s where the coal used to be delivered.”
“No, I checked. And you mention Olivia, the doctor’s daughter, but no one was officially registered as living here. It was only used to accommodate gatekeepers for the asylum when required - apparently temporary residents – there were no births or deaths recorded - it was one of my, um… pre-requisites.”
“Bloody liars the lot - and you’ve been caught out, my lovely. Mind you, so have they. I bet Olivia was kept here to protect the place, then after she left they had it bricked up.”
As Branwen was chatting Isobel’s sense of surrealism began to sharpen dramatically, and was now at such an intense degree as to affect all the other senses too. The room appeared so bright as to be backlit by a brilliant harvest moon. Every sound was amplified, and the scent of fragrant roses was alternating periodically with that of something rotting and foul.
Her own voice echoed unnaturally around the room. “There should be registers for the asylum, though – for admissions and discharges, but I don’t know how to get hold of them.”
“The only thing the local authorities have is the license for Lavinia House to operate as a private madhouse, as they were called back in the day. They have no patient documents, not even the censor with a list of numbers, which was the basic legal requirement. Apparently it was all destroyed in a fire.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought - plenty of arsonists in a lunatic asylum, eh? Anyhow, I don’t think we’ll ever know names or–”
“Papers. Parchment and pen. In a shabby leather suitcase. I can smell mouldy paper. A dark place, crushed against a wall.”
Branwen narrowed her eyes. “You see that, do you?”
“Just a flash like a camera still. It’s gone now. Could it be inside the church in the estate grounds? Lorna was very uneasy about me being there yesterday.”
“Nah, we’ve ransacked it. I mean…whoever was up to no good ransacked it.”
“What about in the crypt? The vestry? Underneath floorboards?”
“Yup. And the main house.”
“You’re brave, I mean whoever was doing the ransacking was brave - going into the house with Lorna there.”
“Well, a girl gets married and the parents have to go to her wedding, don’t they? Call it a once in a lifetime golden opportunity.”
“Oh, yes I read about Ophelia.” Despit
e her earlier reservations, Isobel started to laugh. “You’re evil.”
“True. Okay look, I’ll come straight to the point – why I’m here and why I said what I said to you this morning. I need to know what happened here, you see. There’s been conflict in this village for as long as I can remember and it’s got everything to do with the doctor. I don’t know why folk protect him either, because there’ve been that many babes he’s let die. Plays God he does. And then there’s Rhys Payne going out of his way to stop people asking questions, and he’s really bloody aggressive with it – threatening. There’s something to hide here – something terrible - and it won’t stop bugging me. But now you’re here the truth’s going to come out. I knew as soon as I saw you…you’re a catalyst.”
“I don’t follow. I really don’t – I mean why did you say something bad was coming? Because Rhys-whoever-he-is thinks I’ll find bodies under the house? But the doctor rented it out. It’s the estate they don’t want anyone going near, and I’m guessing that’s because of all the graffiti and the mess it’s in.”
“It’s funny really. I mean, there they are grabbing your few hundred quid because he might have to close his back parlour down and they won’t leave that house, and all the time they’ve leased it out to a spiritual medium. Who invites me in! Bloody funny, is that. Here, pick up your glass and let’s finish this off. That pair would go ballistic and have you thrown out immediately if they knew. Mind, there’s none so paranoid as the guilty. Here – hold out the glass lovely.”
“Not sure I should.”
“Ach, knock it back. Anyhow, that old guy in the pub the night you arrived?”
Isobel saw the one she meant, instantly recalling his eyes boring into her back while she looked at the paintings. “The one with ferrety teeth - not very pretty?”
“Hywl Ash. Right. Don’t let him trick you into thinking he’s a nice bloke because he isn’t. He’s got a good social act but I’m telling you he’s one to watch. His cousin’s Cath Payne, married to Rhys up at Redmoor farm. I bet he’s the one told him what kind of car you drive.”
“They fired shots at me this morning as well.”
“They really do want to run you out of town then.” She drained her glass. “Do you know I couldn’t have asked for more – I mean, you coming here. The fae – they’ve delivered in spades this time - this is epic.”
“Well I’m glad you’re happy about it but there’s no way I’m staying. I’ve been scared half to death and it’s only been two days. Frankly I’m prepared to say, ‘fuck the money’ and go camp on the streets.”
Branwen’s demeanour darkened. Her pale jade eyes flashed jet. “Spirit wants this out.”
“Well I don’t. I’m terrified here, Branwen. I can’t even do another night. Honestly – I’m going to sleep in the car.”
“No! You’ve got to see this through – please. Here me out – this isn’t just a village dispute or something that happened a long time ago. There’s been a terrible injustice. And if I don’t honour my part in the pact I made with the fae then some nasty shit is going to happen to me. Or my child. They have given me huge insight but in return-”
“Branwen, I can’t possibly-”
“I’ll try to explain something to you. I practice the dark arts. I’m a hedge-rider, a necromancer.”
“I knew you meddled.”
“I don’t meddle, I work with the Dark Lord, Lord of the Dead, and have done since I was thirteen. I envoke the fae, but if I don’t keep my part of the bargain it gets wild, nasty and could potentially be fatal.”
“What do you mean by the fae? Like fairies?”
“I suppose I mean wood spirits - kind of a parallel world to ours but with more vibrancy, energy, colour and poignancy. It isn’t remotely like seeing ghosts or having Spirit send you visions – it’s more of a rushing feeling right where you’re sitting. So you’re not moving but you feel as though you’re running like hell, breathless, the trees speeding by…And then there’s a flash of insight, a revelation that’s often intensely painful. Everything is amped up. Your heart’s pounding so hard you think it’s going to give out, and your deepest emotions are flung in your face – all the terrible things you thought, said, did, had forgotten were there… all slam into you. It stays with you too, leaves you reeling for days after. And I’ll tell you something else – if you cross them or you don’t give them gifts or play by their rules they can be evil. Evil, malicious and cruel. So don’t work with them unless you’re prepared for that because they’re wild and unpredictable. But this morning at their sidhe–”
“Sidhe?”
There’s only one in those woods and it was where you saw me – in a circular grove of pine surrounded by ferns and if you’re lucky you’ll see a few fly agarics too–”
“Ah! So that’s what’s in this bloody mead?”
“It’s just to aid flight, that and a bit of mugwort. Now listen - only my great grandmother knew where that place was. Then me. And now you. And I’ve been told something important that you have to know.”
“I doubt I’ll go there again. I probably couldn’t find it, anyway.”
Branwen nodded but by then the lights were flickering and the door to the hallway was tapping on its hinges. “You should by rights have more preparation for this and that’s what I intended, but we have to start work right away or you’ll be driven out, or worse. And yes since you ask, the threat is real and you are in danger. Now this is what I’m trying to say to you – the revelation I had this morning left its mark. Fear. Fear and insanity. Terrible madness. That is the price you will pay if you don’t right this wrong. And my price is my child.”
“What? So there’s no choice is what you’re saying? I can’t just leave?”
“No, you can’t just leave. And you know how bad it can get. You have seen into the abyss, haven’t you? You know I speak the truth, that the Unseen exist. You know it!” Her voice had risen, her agitation crackling like static. “So far it’s been someone pulling open drawers and cupboards, moving objects around, watching you through the bannisters, yes? Those are human ghosts. But this is far, far worse. And I worry for Immie – really, really worry.”
“Your child?”
Branwen’s eyes were now pools of very human tears. “They’ll take her.”
A cot in front of a range. An older woman rocking it to and fro, singing something softly in Welsh.
“Your mother has her tonight?”
“My mother’s been dead ten years but you’re probably right. No, she’s with her father, dopey twat that he is, but he loves her and won’t take his eyes off her til I’m back.”
“Is that what you paint in the pictures? The fae?”
She nodded. “There’s only me who sees them but everyone in this village and beyond knows they’re here. There’s been that many stories of sightings in the woods and fields over the years.”
Isobel nodded, frowning. Ghosts and spirits, even dark entities she got. But this was bonkers in the extreme.
“I know you don’t believe, but that’s okay – just please help me find out what happened here and then the job’s done, all right? You will feel well again and be free if you do. And I am tasked to do it or the consequences will be unthinkable.”
“I’m sorry, I can see you’re upset - I didn’t mean to deride what you do. And you’re right – I have seen into the abyss. It was a very long time ago and everyone thought it was depression, well depression with psychosis, but truth be told I’ve always seen spirits and just about everything I’ve been told or shown has come to fruition. I’m prepared to help is what I’m saying. I get that something happened here.”
“Thank you. Okay, let’s get to work.”
“What – now?”
A prickle of profound unease jabbed her chest as the room was plunged into darkness and Branwen busied herself lighting candles, undoing packets and phials, and sprinkling powder into an incense burner.
“What’s that?”
“It
’s for the third eye - a nice blend for calling on spirits.”
The aroma filled the room, transforming it from a hollow shell of new paint and old wood to one alive with sound, touch, taste and colour. Isobel lay back against the armchair breathing deeply to try and calm herself.
“Just relax and let your mind go completely blank.”
It wasn’t difficult. Tiredness and intoxication swept her away.
After a while a voice came from far, far away. “Have you done that, lovely? All nice and empty?”
“Mmmm.”
“Hold still now, I’m going to dab a touch of oil on the back of your neck – it’s just a bit of frankincense… breathe normally…in and out, relax, in and out…in and out…Let the fear go, loosen that knot in your stomach...good, visualise it unravelling…and now imagine a series of trapdoors inside, a kind of ladder starting with the lowest point down in the sacrum. Picture opening that up. Now move up to the stomach…now the heart…up and up to the throat…the third eye….and finally the top of your head…See now… an open channel letting the light flow all the way through you.”
“Yes.”
“You are a beacon in the darkness now, Isobel, and they can see you.”
“Okay.”
“But if you feel a tingle or an itch at the back of your neck you have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Entry.”
A tiny stab of alarm. “What? You mean like possession?”
“Don’t worry, if it happens it’s only mild, not like that Roman Catholic shit people get fed, but you don’t want to lose control or be a passenger. Just stop if that happens, okay?”
Fucking hell…
“It’s all right. If you stop they stop. You are stronger.”
“Branwen, I don’t–”
“Shush, just breathe calmly, deeply. It’s too late now anyway, there’s someone here.”
The candles quivered and flared as if a door had opened.
A gossamer light touch brushed her hair.
“Who is with us?” said Branwen.
***
Chapter Twenty-Three
