The Black Alchemist: A Terrifying True Story

by Andrew Collins

  Talbot … Talbot. I thought for a moment. The name John Talbot was, I knew, carved into the wood of Runwell church’s north porch. It is thought to be the signature of its fourteenth century carpenter. Was the name, therefore, connected with the building?

  He shook his head. ‘No, all I get is that “Talbot” is dead, and nothing else.’

  For a few minutes more we just sat in silence waiting for something to happen. Then I noticed that Bernard was once more in a state of deep concentration.

  ‘You must go,’ he whispered, breaking the long silence and coming out of his meditative state. ‘Okay, I’m being told by a female spirit we have to go somewhere. She’s on our side—a site guardian I should think, larger than life and blue-white in colour. She’s pointing towards a spot by some trees. High up. There’s a church there. She says the Black Alchemist has been there.’

  A spot high up, with trees and a church. Could I identify it? I thought for a moment.

  ‘I know where this is,’ Bernard exclaimed, smiling. ‘It’s Rettendon church.’

  All Saints, Rettendon, one of the most prominent churches in southeast Essex. Yes, it made sense.

  ‘It appears to be the next point on this ring of darkness.’

  Ring of Darkness?

  ‘Yes, that’s what it is—a huge ring of energies, encircling sites.’ There was a further pause before he spoke again. ‘That’s it,’ he said to himself. ‘That’s why I picked up such bad feelings on the Runwell Road, coming into Wickford. It must have begun as I unknowingly passed through the ring on its path between the two churches –Runwell and Rettendon.’

  They were, it seemed, just two points in a great circle of dark energies set up by the Black Alchemist. If so, then where did it go after Rettendon? And what was its function, or purpose?

  As we sat there in the car, I attempted not to think about the sealed black envelope so ominously addressed to me. That would have to wait until we got a chance to sit down and work out what else was happening here.

  ‘The blue lady says she will be waiting for us at the church. So I suppose we should go there now.’

  14 The Blue Lady

  Bernard switched off the headlights as the car coasted to a halt in front of the church of All Saints, Rettendon, its darkened form dominating the hilltop in front of us. For a few minutes we just sat there wondering what to do.

  ‘Do you get anything?’ he asked, hoping I would be able to either confirm or add to his own feelings on the situation.

  I said no.

  He sighed to show his concern. ‘Well, I’ve got a pain in my stomach and I feel as if I’m being pulled towards the church for some reason.’

  Minutes passed before he finally spoke again in a low decisive voice. ‘I’m being shown an aerial view of the church as if I’ve been lifted off the ground to treetop level,’ he said. ‘I can see a black, swirling cloud of energies—the same as at Runwell— enclosing the church and curving away towards the northwest.’

  He stopped for a minute to gather his thoughts. ‘The strongest emanations appear to be coming from a spot on the opposite side of the church, somewhere beneath the tower.’

  Just like at Runwell, completely out of sight of the approach road, I thought to myself.

  ‘And I can still see the blue lady,’ he confirmed. ‘She’s standing by the west end of the church, pointing towards the ground. She’s weak now, drained of energy for some reason.’

  There was a pause before he continued. ‘She’s still pointing … there’s a stone ... a white stone on the ground, near a door, about a foot across. Something about putting the sword in the stone.’

  As the pauses between the sentences grew longer, I feared Bernard was losing consciousness. I was afraid he was being engulfed within this Ring of Darkness, and that could, I knew, lead to possession or the usual ill effects of attuning to the Black Alchemist’s chaotic activities.

  But he opened his eyes and broke his concentration without any obvious signs of discomfort. ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright,’ he affirmed.

  We left the car and made our way up the gravel path towards the darkened church. The staggering view of the surrounding countryside quite overwhelmed Bernard. I pointed out the glittering lights of the Thames Estuary and the North Downs of Kent—it was a magnificent vantage point.

  Reaching the western end of the church, I stood by the great wooden door below the tower and looked around for a concealment place. So, was something buried here?

  ‘There’s a white stone. That’s all I’m getting.’

  A white stone. I shone the torchlight onto the grass. Almost immediately it picked out a smooth white slab of marble set into the earth next to a wooden seat. It was obviously a chunk off an old grave slab, and yet somehow it appeared to be exactly what we were looking for.

  Seeing the white slab, Bernard cautiously reached out with his hand and attempted to attune to it. Instantly, and without warning, he began to retch as he slowly moved his fingers closer to the offending stone.

  But then he quickly withdrew his hand and stepped backwards. ‘Down the side,’ he choked, despite the obvious ill effects. Forcing himself back to the spot, he touched the grass at the side of the stone. ‘It’s down there. Take it out.’

  I shone the torch into the grass and soon found the source of his discomfort as a slim piece of slate, shaped like a sword tip and inscribed with familiar-looking symbols, came into view.

  It had been jammed between the edge of the stone and the soft grass. As Bernard moved away, I used the Janus wand to conduct a cleansing visualisation, hoping it would destroy the charged energies contained within the stone. Picking it up, I slid it into my jacket pocket before catching up with Bernard who was already making his way back to the car.

  Something bothered me as we sat silently waiting for further psychic clues. We had now found not one but two inscribed stones that evening. It looked very much as if the Black Alchemist was using them as fixing markers to contain, warp and channel the inherent energies present at each of the sites he had selected for his Ring of Darkness. The first of these had been located together with an envelope addressed to me. So, if we were meant to have found the two items at Runwell, then we were almost certainly meant to have found the stone in Rettendon churchyard.

  But there was more. The Ring of Darkness was almost predictable. I quickly sketched a map of the local landscape and drew a great circle incorporating the churches of Runwell and Rettendon. It did not take a rocket scientist to work out that the circle also included the hilltop church of Downham, a few miles northwest of Wickford, particularly as this church, along with those of Runwell and Rettendon, features as part of a rather speculative theory of landscape geometry I outlined in The Running Well Mystery. It postulates that several of the churches, hilltops and ancient sites around Runwell and Wickford conform to a huge circular ground plan, based on a mystical symbol known as the Runwell Cross, which features in local legend.

  22. Bernard and the author were led by the blue lady to Rettendon church, the second site on the Black Alchemist’s Ring of Darkness. The Black Alchemist’s Ring of Darkness did not correspond exactly with my own circular arrangement of sites, yet the concept was the same. More worryingly, the Ring of Darkness’s centre point looked like being the Running Well—the most sacred site in the area and a place very close to my heart. For the moment though, I decided to keep all this to myself. I did not want to unintentionally influence Bernard’s psychic information.

  ‘We’re not finished here,’ Bernard now said, breaking the silence in the car. ‘I’m being pulled back towards the churchyard for some reason, and I’ve got to go.’

  I told him to be careful. It could be a trap. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, opening the car door. ‘I’m going out there anyway.’

  Leaving the safety of the vehicle’s warm interior, he made his way up the gravel path and began cutting across the wet grass towards some unknown destination. I followed close behind, pen and paper in ha
nd.

  The tireless psychic came to a halt in front of an unidentified grave in the middle of the churchyard. He stood there, silent and motionless, in a world of his own. As I looked on, he slowly raised his arms into the air.

  ‘Her name is Cecilia,’ he said, without explanation.

  It was a reference, I realised, to the blue lady. So, who was Cecilia? The spirit of the person buried in the grave he was standing over?

  Ignoring me, he began to mumble something I could not hear properly. Approaching him, I listened carefully. He appeared to be in a light trance.

  Words in a low monotone voice issued from his mouth. They included: ‘Church down lane … very near water … nothing left … linked with mind, but left no mark … church on hill ... we go there ... we find and take ... we will destroy.’

  His words were, I realised, responses to commands being given by Cecilia. I recognised the church on the hill. That was Downham. So I was right. Downham was one of the sites making up the Ring of Darkness. However, I could not identify the other church down a lane, close to water.

  Dropping his arms, Bernard snapped out of the altered state and confirmed that he had just spoken to the blue lady. ‘She called me and I found her standing by the grave,’ he said, pacing about to keep warm.

  ‘I’m not sure who she is. She raised her arms into the air, so I thought I should do the same. She told me her name was Cecilia and that, in addition to Runwell and Rettendon, BA has been to another church down the end of a long unmade track.’

  ‘However, for some reason he only attuned to this church, and did not leave a stone or anything. Just a mental instruction of some kind.’

  So where was this church? Lighting a Marlboro, I waited for his reply.

  He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. ‘As I say, all I get is that it’s down a lane and near a large expanse of water. The Hanningfield reservoir, I suppose.’

  That was my conclusion too—the reservoir at South Hanningfield, a few miles to the northwest of Rettendon.

  ‘She also told me that BA has visited another church—on a hill—where he did leave something.’

  Downham, I told Bernard. Perhaps the other church down the lane was the one at South Hanningfield. However, I had never been there so knew nothing about it. Had he been there in his travels?

  Bernard twisted around, having only caught the last part of my question. ‘Er, no, I haven’t. Anyway, if he’s not left anything, then I don’t see any point in going there. Do you?’

  Okay, so it was straight to Downham church.

  Passing swiftly along the quiet, narrow lanes of South Hanningfield, on our way to Downham, Bernard suddenly became agitated.

  ‘I don’t like this at all,’ he admitted, in a concerned tone for the umpteenth time that evening. ‘I just feel as if something not very nice is looming over the horizon, and we are walking, or more correctly driving, straight into it.’

  What did he mean? ‘I don’t know. The one thing I do get though, is that whoever’s defiling these sites is still in the area, and close by.’

  It was a disconcerting thought.

  ‘I now see a horrible sight,’ he announced, as the car continued on through the dark lanes. ‘I see a body hanging by its neck from a noose strung over a tree. I’m not sure what it means, but I hope it’s not a portent of some sort.’ He forced a little laugh to try and lighten the atmosphere.

  I said nothing, just looked out at the passing hedgerow.

  Minutes passed, and then he spoke again. ‘Now I see the whole landscape engulfed by a mass of enormous flames. Above it is a huge flaming sword.’

  I did not understand and the clairvoyant picture was quickly forgotten.

  ‘Hold on,’ Bernard said, re-opening the conversation and momentarily slowing down the car. ‘D’you know, I reckon that BA came along this same road just a short while ago.’

  We carried on. A minute or so later a small lane emerged out of the darkness on the right-hand side. A sign announced its name—Church Lane. On impulse we decided to take it. It was an unmade track which, after only a few hundred yards, came to an abrupt end in front of a double gate.

  The headlights picked out a painted wooden signpost indicating the gateway was the entrance to a farm called Bifrons.9 Another sign prohibited cars from going beyond this point.

  It all appeared to make some sort of sense. Beyond the gate was quite obviously a church—the one mentioned by Cecilia as being down ‘a long lane’—which could only be reached by walking through the farm. If so, then it was this church that formed the next point in the Black Alchemist’s Ring of Darkness.

  It looked as if he too had gone down this unmade track, expecting to find access to the church. Instead, he had quickly realised the only way to reach it was on foot, which he had apparently decided against doing. In consequence, he had simply carried out a visualisation ritual to fix the church as the third point in his Ring of Darkness, before continuing onto Downham.

  So we continued the journey ourselves.

  23. The entrance to Bifrons, next to the church at South Hanningfield. Minutes later, on the left-hand verge, a piece of red cloth was picked out by the vehicle’s headlights. It had obviously been discarded by some careless motorist or passer-by, but, for some reason, its image instantly registered in both our minds. Bernard jammed on the brakes and brought the car to a halt in the middle of the narrow lane. Yet we did not go back to pick it up. Neither did we feel it was part of the quest—but it did mean something.

  It was an omen.

  ‘Like a red rag to a bull,’ I said out aloud, as I tried to reason our actions. Then I knew. This whole journey was like a red rag to a bull. The Black Alchemist had set up the Ring of Darkness for a specific purpose—to play us at our own game—psychic questing: following psychic clues to discover hidden artefacts and uncover long lost secrets of the past. We were acting like charging bulls, the both of us.

  Now his intentions were clear. The Black Alchemist actually wanted us to find each and every one of his hidden artefacts, knowing that this was exactly what we would do. The sealed black envelope found in Runwell churchyard was addressed to me, so, if he knew we would find this, then he also knew we would continue the quest and find the rest of the artefacts used to form his Ring of Darkness. So what was to happen then? Was he luring us into a trap somewhere? At the Running Well perhaps?

  Bernard looked unsettled. ‘I think you’re right. He’s been up to the well. Let’s just hope he’s not waiting for us there.’

  Ten minutes later the car rolled to a halt in the lay-by next to the hilltop church of St Margaret’s, Downham—the fourth and final point on the Ring of Darkness, and just two miles northwest of Wickford.

  Leaving the car, we made our way to the churchyard and entered the wooden lychgate. Here I took Bernard through a protection visualisation before we stepped into the stillness of the darkened churchyard. Swiftly, we made our way across the dewladen grass to the secluded east end of the Christian edifice.

  ‘Here,’ Bernard nodded, indicating towards an area beneath the east wall. ‘He’s done something down there. I can feel it.’

  Bernard ran his hand across the stonework and, about half way along, dropped it towards the ground. He attempted to attune directly to the concealed artefact by placing the palm of his hand close to the earth, then moving it around before returning to a spot in the grass, close to the base of the wall. ‘There,’ he announced, indicating with his hand.

  Kneeling down, I parted the strands of wet grass and, in a small ready-made hole, found our fourth artefact of the night— another inscribed piece of shale.

  The psychic stepped backwards with the inevitable ill effects of attuning to objects used in such unstable practices, as I quickly carried out a simple ritual to destroy the psychic charge contained within the stone. This completed, I pulled out the artefact and slipped it into a pocket, although not before I noticed one of its crudely inscribed images. It was the outline of a long snak
e, inside which were two matchstick men and the word: ‘SOON’!

  24. Downham church, the fourth and final site of the Ring of Darkness. I was satisfied at our swift recovery of the concealed artefact without any obvious problems. Next stop would be the Running Well itself. It had to be. Yet whatever the real meaning and purpose of this whole affair, no one could say it was not a fantastic story. But who would believe it? Not many, I decided.

  Smiling, I stood up straight and looked around for Bernard. Where was he? I could not see him anywhere. Perhaps he had gone back to the car? Leaving the spot, I walked briskly back into the more open and illuminated part of the churchyard.

  Over by the lychgate, I glanced towards his Orion. It was empty. So where was he? My fears began to increase by the second. This was all I needed—Bernard’s sudden, unaccountable disappearance. He had to be here somewhere.

  Running through the churchyard, I shouted out his name once, twice, three times. There was no response at all. I frowned in annoyance. He could not have gone far, I told myself, as my stomach began to churn wildly.

  Walking back towards the east end of the church, I again called his name.

  A low murmur came in response. I shouted out to pinpoint its direction. Another faint sound emanated from an unseen spot among the dark shadows cast by the overhanging hedgerow on the northern edge of the churchyard.

  Running frantically in the direction of the strange sounds, the torchlight illuminated Bernard in an almost unconscious state, lying curled up on the ground. By the tormented expression on his face I realised he was fighting to rid his mind of an uninvited intruder.

  In desperation I tried to carry out a banishment ritual using the Janus wand. But it had no effect, so I had to think fast. What could I do?

  I knew. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I visualised my own vital energy going into his body. This would hopefully give him enough inner strength to overcome whatever was inside him. But it did not work.