“I think you’re right,” Tara said. “All that talk about hunger—it probably remembers the sacrifices, still gloats over them in its way. And those Romans, still burning after all these centuries. It’s kind of making them last, maybe? Same with Helen.”
Mortlake was impressed. Tara had crystallized his own thoughts on the threat. It was ravenous for worship and sacrifice, perhaps even deranged by a kind of long-term starvation.
A mad god, he thought. That’s next level, even for me.
He decided not to talk about insane deities though. Some ideas you really had to keep to yourself.
“There’s a poem, by Robert Graves,” he said, “Something about gods talking in thunder at noon, but then becoming like ghosts or shadows because they lost their followers. Once people forgot the name of this god, it must have faded to almost nothing. Right?”
Tara nodded.
“Well, take it from there,” he urged. “How did we get to this state of affairs?”
“Along comes Helen York, the perfect person to contact it, what with her powers and the Roman connection,” she mused. “Hey, maybe the priests of this god had the same psychic ability as Helen? And she was a genuine medium, so she opened her mind to anything paranormal in this place. Helen unlocked the box, unleashing the… the demon without realizing it.”
Mortlake was glad to have his faith in Tara affirmed again. She got it. She had the brains and the courage to handle this. He was slightly ashamed to have doubted her.
“Precisely,” he said. “And the last major event in the history—the life, if you like—of this nameless deity was the sacrifice of those hapless Roman prisoners. Probably the high point of an unpleasant, and very long, career. Remember, shortly after the Ninth Legion was destroyed, Emperor Hadrian’s forces marched north, retook his area, and built the wall. There’s a good chance the entire tribe was wiped out just after their greatest victory. With overwhelming force ranged against them, their god could do nothing to help.”
The listeners pondered this for a moment, then Tim spoke again.
“All right, you’ve got a fine theory—I’m convinced. Demon worshipped as a god, wants sacrifices. But how does all that help us get rid of the damn thing?”
“You leave it to the experts and clear out now,” Mortlake said, glad to be back on familiar ground. He had made speeches like this many times down the years. “Tara and I will deploy some equipment, gather more data, and try to find a way to dispel the lingering miasma of negative emotions. There are various ways and means we can try. The main thing is, get your family away from here. Pronto.”
Tim looked happier, now he had a task to focus on, and one that involved protecting his loved ones. He thanked Mortlake and set off to fetch Sonia and Ellie. Carl asked if he would be any use because he wanted to stay. Mortlake noticed the workman look at Tara then pointedly not look at her while Tara’s face flushed a little.
Oh, to be young again, he thought. And have that much surplus energy.
“I’m very grateful, Carl,” Mortlake said. “It might be useful to have a fresh perspective. But it is dangerous. You shouldn’t take the risk unless you’re absolutely certain.”
Carl seemed to hesitate for a while then smiled.
“If things get a bit hairy, I can always make a run for it,” he said. “It’s not possessed me yet, and I daresay that’s because I’m just not very susceptible, right? Too dull, I reckon—too simpleminded.”
Tara started to protest, then Carl winked at her. Mortlake almost vetoed the workman’s continuing involvement. But then he reflected that a strong, competent craftsman might be just what they needed. He did intend to explore the cellar. So he said nothing and simply noted that Carl’s insurance would not cover acts of dark gods.
“And now,” the professor added, “perhaps we can help the Garlands move—they’ll have to pack a few things.”
“A few hundred things for Ellie,” Tara corrected.
Mortlake returned her smile but felt a twinge of worry. Since he had explained what had happened to Anita, Tara had been subdued. It had been necessary to explain it to her though. She was his co-worker, an apprentice in a way. He owed it to her to be forthright and not hold crucial information back.
Truth hurts and, sometimes, it hurts a lot, he thought ruefully. I’ve learned that often enough.
Tim, Sonia, and Ellie—with Trixie bounding around them—returned to discuss leaving. Sonia was clearly relieved but seemed reluctant to go back inside. Mortlake, Tara, and Carl offered to collect what was needed rather than risk any of the family again. The next twenty minutes were spent bringing stuff outside and loading up the SUV.
“We’re going to see Nana and Granddad,” Sonia explained patiently to Ellie. “So, we all have to be on our best behavior. Bears included.”
The little girl was philosophical about this as she was more interested in taking a detailed inventory of toys, clothes, shoes, and other items. Eventually, though, the vehicle was loaded. Trixie was easily coaxed into the family car.
“Normally, she won’t get in without treats,” Tim said. “She associates the car with the V-E-T.”
“But now she can’t wait to escape,” Mortlake said. “Animals sometimes sense danger more acutely than people.”
“Yeah,” Carl put in. “But, other times, they’re just a right royal pain in the arse, so it’s not easy to be sure.”
The Garlands got in and drove off, down the driveway. Tim slowed as they approached the gates, the car’s right indicator light blinking. Then the orange light went out along with the brake lights.
“He’s stalled it,” Mortlake said then corrected himself. “No, that wouldn’t knock the electrical system out, would it?”
He looked at Tara, then they started to run down to the SUV, Carl pounding along behind. By the time they got to the car, there were signs of panic. The doors were locked. He could see Sonia struggling with hers. Trixie’s barking was audible, and Ellie’s face was contorted with fear as she pressed her face up to the window in the back.
“Total power failure,” Mortlake said.
“That’s impossible!” Carl said.
“Happening right now!” Mortlake pointed out. “Think fast!”
Instinctively, he grabbed a handle and pulled then cursed himself for wasting time. Carl said he would go for some tools, but Tara asked whether that might take too much time.
“Smash the rear window!” Mortlake said.
There was a moment of hesitation, then he went and picked up one of the ornamental rocks that marked the edges of the driveway. He saw Tim’s eyes widen as he hefted it. Tim was shouting something. Mortlake thought he heard the words “won’t break”.
“I have to try!” he mouthed back. “Put your head down!”
Carl laid a hand on his arm.
“I think Tim means let me have a go,” the workman said gently. “I’ll just crack the back window to weaken it, then Tim can kick it out.”
Mortlake felt his face grow a little hotter as he handed the rock to Carl. Tara was gesturing expressively, giving high kicks to illustrate what was expected. Tim was nodding emphatically while Sonia was trying to calm her daughter and the dog.
Carl’s first blow chipped the rear window, then he shifted his attention to the side and did some more serious damage. Tim, meanwhile, had lowered the seat to get into position and finally managed to kick out the window with both feet. Trixie bounded out and ran for the gates, vanishing around the corner. Ellie was handed out by Carl to Tara, then the adults clambered free.
“I don’t think the insurance covers this,” Tim said sourly, looking at the remains of the window on the gravel. “And we can hardly walk.”
“Call a cab, but make sure it parks well down the lane, a hundred feet at least,” Mortlake said. “Clearly, the damn thing doesn’t want any of us to leave.”
“Thing?” Tim said. “You mean this nameless demon-god? It’s able to interfere with batteries and microchips now?”
“Quite,” Mortlake said ruefully. “For all we know, such an entity might find it easier to meddle with our electronic devices. We might be far more vulnerable, thanks to all our fancy modern toys.”
Sonia was already trying to call a taxi, but her phone was not getting a signal. They all tried and all had the same problem. The cell service at Haslam House had failed again. And this time, nobody blamed the distant mast on the tower of the village church.
“One of us can walk to the village and get help there,” Sonia said simply. Then to a protesting Ellie, she added, “I won’t leave you, and nor will Daddy.”
There was a flurry of volunteering, but it was agreed that Carl should go as he was well-known to the locals. He promised to be quick and reassured a tearful Ellie that he would find her dog. As Carl strode toward the gate, Mortlake noticed that Tara was standing stock-still, apparently staring at the house. He spoke her name but got no response. He had a sudden terrible foreboding and shouted at Carl to stop. The workman hesitated and half turned but was already on the roadway. He looked puzzled, slightly annoyed, and then his expression changed to wide-eyed shock as he started to beat at his smoking clothes.
“Tara,” Mortlake yelled.
He lunged at her, wanting to grab her arm, try and shake her out of her reverie. But even as he acted, he sensed that it was already far too late.
***
Tara thought she heard someone calling her name from back in the direction of the house. She looked but saw no one there.
Nobody could be, she reasoned
And yet, she still had the overwhelming impression of being called.
Then the god spoke to her.
One moment, she had been talking to the others, and then, she heard the voice. It was not a human voice. No one could ever have sounded like that. A glutinous, deep vibration passed right through her like an earth tremor. Unlike a tremor, though, there were articulate sounds. She did not understand the words spoken, but she felt the emotion behind the strange syllables.
Hunger. Anger. An overwhelming desire to be worshipped, to be known, to be famed and feared. To survive.
Then the house was gone along with the summer afternoon. Instead, gray clouds were scudding over a bleak landscape. Tara saw mostly moors but with a scattering of low scrubby woods. A few spots of rain were falling. Black birds wheeled, crows or ravens. But if the carrion birds were cawing, it was impossible to hear them for the great clamor made by the people.
Tara was standing in the midst of a crowd, pale-faced folk wrapped in what looked like woolen robes, some with golden ornaments around their necks and arms. A few men were dancing wildly, naked to the waist, their bodies painted with elaborate patterns of blue dye. The dancing men brandished great stone hammers and swords with blades like elongated leaves. A few older men, grizzled and solemn, chanted and gestured in some kind of ritual.
The tribal celebration was taking place inside a stone circle. It was around thirty yards across, marked out by at least a dozen rough-hewn upright lumps of rock. But it was the thing in the middle of the circle that took most of her attention. It stood on a slight mound of earth, perhaps twenty feet high and flattened at the top.
On the mound stood a burning giant.
It took her a moment to grasp that the towering figure was a great framework like the one Mortlake had shown them. A wicker man, it was called, standing perhaps thirty feet high. It consisted of two great cylindrical legs, a torso, arms close by its side, and a head. And inside the blazing structure were men, screaming. Tara knew they must be the prisoners from the Ninth Legion but they did not look like soldiers now. All she could see were black figures, burning. One by one, they stopped screaming. A gust of wind blew the stench of overcooked meat over the crowd, and she gagged. The wicker man tottered, seemed to reel in another gust, then collapsed sideways in a great shower of sparks.
Tara felt the ancient monster sate its hunger on the dying. It was devoid of any earthly form yet more ravenous than any earthly predator. And it knew her, picked over her mind with cruel precision. It knew the adolescent who had plagued her family with poltergeist phenomena. It knew the woman whose boyfriend had fallen victim to an unnatural beast. Above all, it had perfected its grasp of her power, and could channel it more precisely now, and focus all its greed on a single target.
It bellowed out its triumph as it fed on the captives’ suffering and terror.
She felt a hand on her arm, gripping her painfully. She spun around to be dazzled by the summer sun, its light suddenly obscured by Mortlake’s face. He was shouting something but the impossibly deep voice of the demon-god was still echoing in her head. She felt her knees give way, suddenly dizzy and weak, and collapsed to her knees. Mortlake let her go, turned, and ran toward the gate.
Only then did she see the fire. Something was burning while Tim and Mortlake beat at it with their jackets. The burning object moved, and Tara saw an arm raised, the outstretched fingers of a hand blackening.
She thought of Anita and understood.
Then she screamed.
Chapter 11
“Get him back in, drag him back!” Mortlake shouted, reaching down for the burning man. Then he felt intense pain running over his own skin and saw smoke rising from the sleeve of his shirt. He leaped back, reached out to stop Tim. There was a struggle as the younger man fought him.
“Tim! For God’s sake,” Mortlake yelled, “don’t step over the threshold! You’ll burn! Carl, try to reach out.”
But Carl could not move. It was impossible to get hold of Carl’s burning body—he was just out of reach. Instead, Tim and Mortlake stood just on the edge of the roadway, trying to beat out the flames. It didn’t work. Tim threw his scorched jacket down and staggered to the fence post, collapsed against it, moaning in despair.
Tara’s scream jerked Mortlake out of a miasma of guilt and self-recrimination. She had fallen to her knees, one hand over her mouth, staring at what remained of Carl. He ran over to her, knelt down, took her by the shoulders.
“Tara, Tara, we need to focus! This is not your fault! Please, stay with me, I need you.”
She looked up at him, her face a picture of misery.
“It is my goddamn fault! It is!” she wailed. “I should have gone when you told me about Anita. Why didn’t you send me away? Oh God!”
Mortlake glanced over at Tim, who was staring at them.
“Shh, please, don’t make it worse for them,” he hissed urgently.
“How could it be worse?” she cried. “I killed him! Oh God, I killed him!”
Mortlake hugged her to him, trying to find words that were both true and kind. The sound of Ellie howling, shielded from the sight by Sonia, was almost drowned by the crackle of flames. Nobody stated the obvious. Carl was gone.
“What do we do now?” Tim said quietly.
He turned to Mortlake, tears streaming down his face.
“What do we do now, Professor Bloody Expert? A good man’s dead, and we can’t get out of here! This is madness! We’re—what can we do? And what did she mean, saying she killed him?”
Tim pointed at Tara, who was still on her knees, staring down at the gravel of the driveway.
“She’s in a state of shock…” Mortlake began.
“No, that wasn’t shock, that was guilt!” Tim exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Mortlake’s chest. “What did she mean? What have you been keeping from us? From me and my family?”
The two men were now only a few inches apart. Tim was shouting questions and accusations into Mortlake’s face, spittle flying. Sonia was calling on Tim to back off but had her hands full with Ellie. The sickening odor of burned flesh was hanging in the air. Tim pushed Mortlake viciously, and he reeled backward.
/> “Don’t do this, we need to work together!” urged the professor.
“Nobody was catching fire until she came!” Tim yelled. “What is she? What are you? Is this some kind of sick experiment?”
The anger and pleading in the man’s voice reminded Mortlake of other failures. Every death he had failed to prevent, every tragedy he did not foresee. He had been too sure of himself here, had not grasped how potent the menace was. And now a good man was dead.
“We can fight back,” he insisted. “We can deal with the problem. But first, we need to try and make Ellie as safe as possible. Put Ellie first, Tim, please.”
Tim looked dangerous for another few moments, leaning forward with clenched fists raised. Then he lowered his hands.
“You owe me—you owe all of us an explanation, Professor.”
“You’ll get it,” Mortlake promised. “But first, how much salt do you have?”
Tim and Sonia looked puzzled as Mortlake started to walk quickly back up toward the house.
“Tara, are you coming? Do you want to help? If not, just make yourself scarce. Go to a far corner of the garden and stay there.”
Tara got up and walked away, not looking back. She headed away from the gate, toward a small clump of trees.
“What is happening?” Sonia demanded.
For the first time, Mortlake heard genuine anguish in the woman’s voice. It had taken a lot to fracture Sonia’s composure. He realized how much he had relied on her to be a calm, sensible anchor for Tim and Ellie. He stopped and turned.
“Sonia, please tell me, where do you keep your salt?” he asked. “I intend to use it to make a protective circle for you all. If we can’t go, we can at least defend ourselves while we take stock of the situation. So, your salt? You must have some.”
He saw a hint of understanding in Sonia’s eyes. Tim seemed confused and still angry. Sonia said there was some salt in the kitchen, maybe under the sink. She sounded unsure. Mortlake was about to ask again when Ellie, who had been weeping quietly for a couple of minutes, emitted a great heartrending wail. Tim joined Sonia, and, between them, they tried to comfort the child. But Ellie seemed inconsolable.
House of Whispers: Supernatural Suspense with Scary & Horrifying Monsters (Mortlake Series Book 2) Page 13
