"Do you miss anything?" Rachel asked, leaning back in her chair, sipping at her coffee.
"Convenience,” she answered honestly. “Having all the shops within walking distance. You take it for granted. It has been a little frustrating at times."
"You’ll get used to it," Rachel promised. "You'll realize how dependant you were on things you didn't really need."
"I know you’re right,” she agreed. “Apart from that, we’re both happy we made the move. It was the right thing to do.”
Rachel smiled.
“What?” she asked curiously.
“Sorry, I was just thinking of Prior. He’s a greedy little bastard, isn’t he? He won’t rest until he’s sold the last house on his books.”
Kara laughed. “Fortunately he didn’t put us off.”
"Do it."
Sounding from the middle of the street, which a moment ago she had believed to be empty, the man’s voice arrested her attention; scarcely audible but distinct in the quiet around them, strained with tension, resonating in her hearing like a vibration in the air. Impulsively, with a vague thought that it had to be the builders, she glanced over in the direction of the voice. No, the street was empty, but another distinct sound crept into her hearing: fast, shallow breaths.
“Do it.”
This time she shivered. There was nothing there in front of her, but her sight was rooted to the empty space in the road, and her heart pounded with the anticipation that something was about to happen – waiting with an overpowering sense of dread. There was nothing there, but her consciousness refused to be persuaded - and she had to stand as the breaths were abruptly cut off.
"Kara?"
In an instant, whatever had been there – if anything had been there - was gone. "I'm sorry," she said hastily, flustered. All she could think about was that she had embarrassed herself in front of someone she had just met. “I thought I heard something. It was just my imagination."
"Are you sure you’re okay?" Rachel said, her brow furrowing. “You were so pale.”
She smiled. "I'm fine," she answered.
Unable to explain what happened, Kara moved the conversation onto another topic. But the incident had left an indelible impression on her mind; and even as she attempted to persuade herself nothing had happened, and chatted and laughed as if everything were back to normal, she couldn’t erase the other persistent emotion that had replaced the inexplicable fear.
Grief.
This time she could see every detail.
A feeble, self-contained light emanated from the creature’s gaunt, elongated countenance – the veins in the lidless eyes throbbed slightly but perceptibly as they twisted in their sockets. Her impression of the creature in her previous dreams had been accurate; an emaciated thing with burnt fragmented skin, flaking in parts to expose a volatile flesh that erupted in spasms – nothing compared to the occasional convulsions that racked its entire frame and distorted its limbs into impossible positions.
The creature was bleeding. There were open gashes on its body which appeared as though they had been inflicted by a weapon; a stumbling, clumsy thing – it was in excruciating pain.
In the pitch black, a regular hollow pounding echoed down to them from the distance. The creature stiffened and bent its head back, as though it were listening; and then, writhing with another convulsion, it stretched its hand out to her, and screamed.
“Kara!”
Thrown from her sleep, she sat bolt upright in the bed. Uncomprehending, she held onto the crumpled sheets and watched as Adrian drew back from the window and swung round to her. His eyes searched her. “Didn’t you hear it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
Shaking her head, she pushed aside the bed sheets, and looked at Adrian again with surprise as she heard the pounding in her dream – an unnatural sound in the silence, vibrating, hollow, metallic, and relentless, thrusting itself impatiently against the front door, demanding to be let in.
“Who is it?” she hissed.
“I don’t know who it is.” There was a catch in his voice as he spoke. “I called out, but they wouldn’t answer.” He snatched up his jeans and pulled them on. “Stay here. I’ll deal with it.”
But her mind was made up. “No, I’m coming with you.”
“Kara – ”
“I’m coming with you,” she repeated firmly.
“Fine,” he snapped.
His face was set as he opened the door. Stepping out onto the landing, his first action was to flip on the light switch – a pale light filled the air but left the corners and walls of the passage with an irremovable gloom. Without a word, they went together to the top of the staircase and stared down, waited for the pounding to stop before they went any further. But their uninvited visitor wasn’t going to stop until they were let in – the front door shook in its frame with each blow. It seemed inevitable they would eventually attempt to force their way into the house.
“Who’s there?” Adrian shouted. “What do you want?”
If the attempt had been to scare the visitor off, it failed. Instead, with an increased strength, the door was pushed against its frame as the pounding continued.
“We’ve called the police!”
“I’m going to call the police,” she said decisively. “What the hell are we waiting for?”
“They haven’t done anything yet.”
“They’ve done enough,” she argued. “I’m not going to wait for them to break the - ”
Her voice was twisted into a cry as the door swung open with a bang, slamming against the wall. Startled, they both staggered backwards, ready to run.
But there was nobody there.
Breathing heavily, Adrian worked his way cautiously down the steps, his eyes glued to the door in case their visitor decided to return. When he shut the door and bolted it, he turned to her, puzzled.
“What is it?” she pushed anxiously.
“The door,” he answered quietly. “There’s no damage to the door.”
She shook her head. “What?”
“If they forced the door,” he explained, “why isn’t there any damage?”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
Standing outside, buttoning her coat, Kara watched as Adrian stood in the doorway and ran his hand down the frame again.
“Did we leave the door open?”
“No,” he breathed out, turning to examine the lock. “Why would they bang on the door if it was already open?”
“Some youths playing a sick joke, maybe.”
“Nice welcoming party,” he muttered. He glanced at her. “Going into town?”
“Rachel’s going to show me the older parts of the village,” she replied. “We might go into town later. Do you want anything?”
“No, it’s okay. I might go myself. I want to get bolts for the door.” He gripped the side of the door, as if testing its strength. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“We’re nearly there.”
Above their heads, sunshine glittered through the leaves as she followed Rachel through the dense cluster of tall, thin trees and thick underbrush of the forest. For most part of the journey there hadn’t been any discernible path or change in their view, or so it seemed to her, because Rachel didn’t hesitate or pause once – somehow, she appeared to know where she was going.
They finally arrived at a narrow path, and she realized they were on the side of a steep hill; as well as being obscured by the trees, it had been masked by bushes and a thick profusion of vegetation. Treading carefully, they followed the path, which ran round the hillside, until they came to a manmade entrance – horizontal, not more than six feet in height - the iron gate that had guarded it hanging loosely inside, the hinges snapped off at the top. On the ground was a rusted sign with a faded “Keep Out” warning.
“I can’t believe it’s there,” Kara said. “Can we go in?”
“It’s not safe,” Rachel replied, pointing to the su
pporting beams at the sides. The right beam leant inwards some inches at the top; the end of the overhead beam sloped down to the corner – a pressure was gradually pushing the beams out.
“This is the coalmine, isn’t it?” Kara said. “How on earth did you find it?”
“Just by exploring.”
Kara touched the beams. “To think this piece of the past has been erased. It’s a shame Prior hasn’t made any effort to bring back the history of the village.”
“I thought it was important to show you this,” Rachel said contemplatively. “The coalmine used to be the lifeblood for generations of families here – it should still be part of the village. We owe the past to remember.”
“Yes,” Kara agreed, peering into the impenetrable dark within. “It’ll be a good piece for a blog. We should tell people about it.”
Rachel smiled and touched her arm. “It’s good to have someone living here who feels the same as me. There’s one more place I want to show you.”
The crumbling church stood against a cluster of trees; part of the roof had collapsed, and over the years the branches had gradually made their way inside. Fragments were missing from the stained glass windows, but they remained intact. As with the coalmine, the unchecked growth of the foliage had crept up around the church, and the graveyard adjacent to it, concealing the inscriptions on some of the headstones; in some cases, swallowing the headstones completely – erasing the past.
“They didn’t move the bodies,” she said quietly, pushing on toward the graveyard and then stopping, not sure whether she wanted explore any further.
“They probably didn’t want to disturb the graves,” Rachel replied. “Anyway, where would they have moved them to? The people who lived and died here have the right to stay in their final resting place.”
“With nobody to grieve for them,” she said. “They’ve been forgotten. I’m not sure I would have been able to leave the ones I loved like this.”
“Let’s look at the church,” Rachel suggested, “The graveyard’s too depressing.”
They made their way to the entrance. The doors were missing. Entering, they surveyed the heavy damage caused by the debris from the collapsed roof - destroying parts of the altar and the pews that had been underneath, exposing the rest of the church to the gradual corrosion of the elements; evident in the discoloured, warped beams above the windows, and the loose and cracked bricks where the cave-in had occurred – a spreading disintegration.
But then she noticed another detail when she looked beyond the damage; the paintings that still hung on the walls; the scattered prayer books; and the soiled coats left on the pews.
“Something happened here,” she said, with a conviction she couldn’t quite understand.
“The roof – ”
“No, I don’t think so,” she interrupted. Immersed in her surroundings, she stepped over the piles of debris and mould-infested books, and stopped in the centre of the church. “Something else. Look at how they left everything. They didn’t take anything with them. There’s coats on the pews. There’s – ”
Another detail drew her attention – long scratch marks on one of the pews. There couldn’t be any doubt that nails had marked the wood, as though someone had struggled to hold onto something as – what could have happened to make them cling onto anything they could find?
“The place is a mess,” Rachel remarked behind her. “I’m sure vandals and vagrants have been in.”
“But where did they come from?” Kara asked. “The village has been empty for years.”
“All these years, there must have been people travelling through who decided to explore the abandoned buildings.”
Her eyes fell on the tattered cloth on the altar. “Even if the church wasn’t being used, they would have left it like this,” she persisted.
“I’m sure there must have been a good reason.”
“I would love to know – ”
“Stop the bleeding.”
The voice penetrated the air with a palpable tremor – a woman’s voice, frantic, pleading for help. Startled, Kara took a step back, and stiffened as she realized the voice was coming from in front of the altar. The altar stood directly under the hole in the roof; there was only rubble - the area was unreachable. But there couldn’t be any confusion.
There was more than a voice this time.
They passed through the rubble as though it didn’t exist – human forms; transparent, faint, colourless impressions of gleaming light – two on their knees crouched over a body – one of them with their hand clamped on its neck; and two more forms standing over them, looking down.
“Do you see them?” she whispered, reaching out to Rachel as she turned – and recoiling as another apparition ran through the entrance toward her, thrusting its shape and substance into her reality as it drew closer, solidifying into flesh – a man with a blood-stained face – as real as he could be as he collided with her and sent her stumbling back, her hands grasping at the air.
“They’re coming,” he shouted, and disappeared into the air.
As she recovered her balance, other restless bodies swarmed in and constrained her - they wouldn’t stop pushing. There were lights on above her head. The roof was intact. There were no doors in the entrance, but she heard them crashing to the ground as they were forced open – and screams erupted throughout the church.
Shuddering, she joined the others in retreating to the back of the church as inhuman figures entered, hulking shadows with misshapen limbs and indistinct, greyish features engrained in their faces. They were half-formed things, but they had enough substance to murder, working their way through the church and systematically killing everyone they came into contact with – seized by invisible hands, people slumped to the ground as they were mutilated or crushed. There were no discernible weapons but flesh was ruptured - the blood was everywhere. They weren’t going to stop. They weren’t going to -
“No!”
She dropped to her knees, and jerked her head back with dread as a hand gripped her arm.
“Kara, it’s okay.”
There was a palpable shift in her surroundings. With an exhalation of breath, she looked up at Rachel. A constant chill gnawed at her skin – she couldn’t stop shaking. The ruined church was back, but there was no relief – the memories of the bloodthirsty slaughter were raw in her mind.
“You’re bleeding.”
Blood dripped from her hand; there was a slash across her palm. And then she remembered the last few seconds before the vision ended; when she had raised her hand to defend herself.
Against what?
“He’s not a happy customer.”
The distraction was a welcome relief from her thoughts. Rachel had to be referring to Prior. From outside the café, they were afforded a good view of his office. Keeping her head down, she took a sidelong glance across the road, where Prior was trying his best to mollify a grey-haired, bearded man, who refused to be mollified and jabbed a finger at the entrepreneur with frustration. Prior didn’t appear to be fazed by the stranger’s hostility. He had a fixed smile on his face and raised his hands as though trying to humour a madman – or sell another house.
“I wonder what he’s done.”
“It’s strange,” Rachel remarked. “I’m sure he hasn’t cheated us with the sale of the house – at least, I hope he hasn’t - but I don’t trust him.”
The thought intrigued her. “Do you think he’s hiding something?”
“There’s nothing wrong with our house,” she said lightly, with a mild smile. “We live in a beautiful location.”
“But you think he’s hiding something?” Kara repeated.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Neither would I,” she admitted, and noticed her hand shaking as she raised her coffee cup. Frowning, she put the cup down and found herself staring at Prior and the stranger again.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,�
� she apologised, returning her gaze to Rachel. “I haven’t been much company.”
“It might help to talk about what happened,” Rachel suggested. “Something did happen?”
“Yes,” she confessed.
“You saw something?”
“I – ” Kara hesitated. She was going to embarrass herself. Nothing had actually happened – and Rachel hadn’t seen anything. It had to be her imagination. But she needed to tell someone – it was too much.
“Kara…?”
“I saw people being killed in the church,” she said, finally, relieved that it was out. “I saw them fighting for their lives. But it’s not the first time. Something else happened – ”
“On the first day we met,” Rachel said knowingly. “Here in the street.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “But it doesn’t make any sense – obviously none of it happened. I haven’t been well lately. I haven’t been sleeping properly. I’ve been having strange dreams. The move must have taken more out of me than I thought, or maybe I wasn’t ready for all of this – it’s a major change in our lives.”
“What if what happened wasn’t your imagination?” Rachel suggested.
Kara stared at her with disbelief. “What do you mean – ghosts?”
“You don’t believe in them?”
“But you didn’t see anything.”
“Maybe you’re more sensitive,” Rachel replied. “I remember reading that traumatic events can leave their impressions in the environment – like records waiting to be played. Some are more sensitive to these impressions than others.”
“Are you saying I witnessed an event in the past? I don’t want to think about that,” she said hastily.
“I think we should do some research on the village.”
“No.”
“Isn’t it better to know?”
Kara suppressed a shiver. “I’m not sure,” she said honestly, remembering the half-formed shadows in the church, and the helpless people they slaughtered before her eyes. “I’m really not sure.”
The Devil's Dead and More Tales Page 2
