The Black Alchemist: A Terrifying True Story

by Andrew Collins

  I hoped dearly that something would still happen, otherwise the whole journey, along with the many days of preparation, would all have been in vain.

  As the minutes ticked by, I told myself that our purpose here was not necessarily to interfere with the activities of the Black Alchemist, but merely to confirm the words of a psychic. This said, there was no question our presence at the mound was going to affect the outcome of whatever was going on that night.

  Even though Bernard had declined to join us, simply because he saw no good reason to do so, he would be at the end of a telephone. In a first for psychic questing I had brought along a brick-sized cellular ‘Vodaphone’, which could be used outdoors.

  Such an incredible breakthrough in communications technology was going to revolutionise the way we approached quests in the future, with the lead psychic not even needing to be on site any more.

  For the first time that evening the phone rang out. Answering it I heard Bernard’s voice on the other end of the line.

  I asked him what he could see so far.

  ‘Woodland and two cars parked at the entrance,’ he revealed via the remarkably good line, ‘one yours and another I’m not familiar with.’

  This was a little odd. Although there had been two cars present earlier, Johnny Merron had gone off to pick up Caroline and friends. Only my car remained parked at the end of Paradise Drive. Either Bernard was picking up on Johnny’s return, or he was seeing somebody’s else’s vehicle.

  ‘There’s something else as well,’ he continued, a note of seriousness in his voice. ‘I sense an encroachment. A man, a scout perhaps, entering the area, making sure the coast is clear.’

  I sighed with frustration. Yes, we had almost certainly encountered him already. Indeed, it was becoming increasingly obvious that we had blown it, and so were unlikely to see any action tonight.

  ‘Oh, and watch out for a dog, or hound, bounding about,’ he added.

  What sort of dog?

  ‘Not sure. Something, around, somewhere. Just keep an eye out. I don’t think it’s over yet.’

  I still held the heavy phone to my ear as Johnny Merron turned up with Caroline and Richard Davey, the young psychic from London. Accompanying them was Dave Rankine, one of London’s leading occultists, and his girlfriend Helen.

  Unbeknown to me, Dave had recently conducted various magical workings involving the goddess Hekate. Over the past few days he had received a series of pertinent communications from the Mistress of the Underworld, which he had felt compelled to inform Caroline about. Convinced they related in some way to our predicament, she felt Dave and Helen should join us on the mound.

  It was a good call. Dave’s skills in handling the power of Hekate might come in useful should the Dark Goddess herself deem to put in an appearance.

  So in total there were eight of us. Everyone came from different backgrounds in the magical community, and all were now aware of the Black Alchemist’s intentions to manifest his unholy child in this world of ours.

  As twilight gave way to darkness, the Paradise Mound took on a whole different persona. Earlier it had looked like some kind of earthen stage ready to be filled by cowled occultists. Now the Bronze Age round barrow offered us some kind of much needed protection, like a 4,000-year-old magic circle ready for use.

  We waited expectantly, wondering what might happen next. After several minutes, Dave Rankine broke the silence: ‘The atmosphere’s shifting,’ he announced, staring out into the jagged tree line, which appeared closer now than it did in daylight. ‘I sense something untoward in the trees, very slowly moving in our direction.’

  What was it? ‘Not sure, but I don’t think it’s a physical presence,’ he said. ‘I get the feeling there’s more than one as well.’

  ‘I sense it too,’ Richard Davey confirmed, nodding in exactly the same direction. It was clear he was now a little nervous and apprehensive, never having done this sort of thing before.

  I sighed in anticipation of what might now be going on, and hoped Bernard would call.

  ‘There’s certainly something beyond the temperature dropping,’ Caroline confirmed, standing on the edge of the mound. ‘The atmosphere’s changing very quickly indeed.’

  Paul, Mike, Johnny and Dave’s girlfriend Helen listened to these words in hushed silence, as everyone started to group together on the summit of the mound.

  It was time to take action. Bringing out the Indian swordstick, which I had felt compelled to bring, I stabbed it into the ground, without removing the sword blade, and imagined serpent-like spirals of golden light piercing through the top soil into the heart of the mound, before spreading outwards like the spokes of a wheel.

  At the same time Dave got everybody else to link hands around me as he took us through a powerful protection ritual. Its intention was dual—to clear the sacred space of unwanted spirit influences and set up a firewall of electric-blue light as an impenetrable psychic barrier.

  Bernard sat in the stillness of his dining room, with only a candle and a cup of coffee to accompany him on his astral journey. Earlier his mind’s eye had got a fix on the Paradise Mound and this he had used to search the surrounding hills and woods for feverish activity.

  He had sensed the incursion of a lone figure, entering the area on foot, having alighted from a car that stopped only briefly. He was scouting the territory, his territory, in preparation for the night ahead.

  Pity Andy had given their position away, as this, he felt, had now caused a serious dilemma, which would need to be resolved in time for what was to come.

  A fresh sweep of the area using his mind’s eye now revealed fresh incursions coming from deep within the woods. Not human this time, but spectral forms, canine most probably, interested in the energy signatures moving about on the mound. In themselves, these shadowy creatures were not motivated by any human agency, since they were indigenous to the terrain.

  His concern, however, was whether these predatory forms could now be manipulated to do the bidding of others. If this was the case, then Andy and his friends could expect major problems on a psychic level.

  It concerned him, but for the moment he would say nothing. Just let them do whatever they had to do in order to keep the intruders at bay. If the mood changed he would ring Andy and advise him accordingly.

  Each person repeated the words of power offered by Dave Rankine, visualising the ring of electric blue light now surrounding the tumulus.

  Beyond this was a realm of darkness inhabited by supernatural forces encroaching ever nearer.

  Provided no one broke the linked chain of hands, nothing would be able to enter the circle. This said, entities of pure energy can be just as devious as any human being. Of this I was sure.

  Richard Davey was the first to flinch, causing an unnerving moment among the group. ‘There’s something out there, coming through the trees,’ he revealed. ‘It seems to be circling around, waiting for something.’

  All wanted to know what it was he could see out there in the darkness.

  ‘It’s an animal,’ he said, flinching again.

  ‘It’s a wolf, Johnny Merron suddenly announced. ‘I can see it.’

  ‘I see it as white with glowing red eyes,’ Richard added in a clearly agitated state. ‘Its eyes are like glowing embers and it’s staring straight at me.’

  I emphasised that everyone should hold their places whatever happened, even if this supernatural creature attempted to break the circle. If they stayed exactly where they were all would be okay.

  To those who could see it, the canine beast padded around the mound as if intent on finding a weak link in the chain.

  Perhaps it was some kind of thought form created and set up by a visiting shaman or priest magician of the past in order to protect the mound. My mind went back to the wizened old man whom Bernard felt guarded the site. Perhaps this wolf-like form was under his control.

  ‘Yes, I see it too,’ Dave confirmed.

  ‘I’m sensing more wolves, encr
oaching now,’ Caroline broke in, ‘they’re moving along the paths, towards us.’

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ Paul revealed, ‘but I have a weird sense of a presence beyond the mound, which I have to put down to what other people are feeling on this one.’

  The wanderers are on the move.

  The wolves cry to the night.

  Dark forces tear at the threads.

  They were the words Bernard had heard the previous night. Spoken by a melodic female voice, following his contact with the mound’s ancient guardian. Certainly, this was now coming true, with ‘the wanderers’ being the wolves themselves.

  ‘It’s moving around the circle,’ Richard now confirmed, ‘moving closer each time. It’s almost at the base of the mound now.’ The manner in which he gripped the hands of those on either side of him showed how seriously he felt about the situation. Indeed, he was close to panic.

  Once again, I told everyone to just keep calm, stay still, and the danger would pass.

  ‘Quickly, do something,’ Richard exclaimed, ‘it’s right there, in front of us, now.

  ‘I’ll banish it in the name of Hekate,’ Dave responded, sensibly, from the opposite side of the circle.

  As we knew only too well, hounds and wolves were animals sacred to the Mistress of the Night, so could be banished in the name of Hekate.

  Dave started chanting just as the spectral white wolf sprang at the circle and, just inches away from Richard, vanished mid flight.

  ‘It’s gone,’ Richard confirmed, with a huge sigh of relief. ‘That scared the living daylights out of me. I really thought it was going to break the circle and get us.’

  Yet the destruction of the lupine thought form was a hollow victory. Coming into sight now were other much darker spectres in the shape of snarling wolves, flitting about like shadows seen out the corners of our eyes.

  One phantom beast bounded towards the mound. It hit our wall of blue light before evaporating into darkness.

  Another attempted the same trick, disintegrating as its eyes met ours.

  This was not getting any easier. Never before had I experienced anything quite so vicious as what was happening now. These were not simply thought forms without motivation or purpose. They were powerful supernatural forces being controlled by accomplished occultists, and I knew exactly who was behind this attack—it was the Black Alchemist, utilising these powerful energy forms in their role as minions of Hekate. His aim was to break our confidence and force us to move on in order to occupy the site—his site—to bring forth the unholy child.

  However, we weren’t going anywhere. We would see this through to the finish.

  As the psychic prowlers kept up their unremitting attack on the circle, I kept hold of the Indian swordstick, pushing out psychic energy into the surrounding landscape like a wheel of fire. This was my statement of conviction, sending out a subtle message that no matter what was thrown at us we would stand firm and win the day.

  ‘I see more wolves emerging from the darkness. They’re within the trees beyond the paths,’ Caroline revealed, from out of the darkness. ‘It feels like some part of me is trying to get away from this mound, but I know I can’t leave, whether I want to or not.’

  Still the psychic onslaught did not abate, as the assembled group attempted to hold it together on the ancient mound.

  Then doubts started to creep into my mind. Was it all just our imagination—the visions of the wolves triggered simply by statements made earlier that day?

  What if we were actually alone on the mound, with nothing supernatural out there at all? I needed a Marlboro and a drink, so perhaps I should loosen up and hope that others would do the same. We could take a breather and try again later.

  Yes, this is what I would do. Suggest a break.

  I thought about it for a moment.

  Wait! What was I thinking? I realised only then that my mind was weakening. Was I being influenced by external thoughts, aimed at making me want to abandon the site?

  Who was doing this? I imagined the Black Alchemist out there somewhere, on some wooded path, his attentions focused on me personally. All I wanted to do was confront him, unmask him, name him. This was my purpose here.

  Then as my vision faded I became aware once more of the mound, and psychic prowlers throwing themselves at the ring of entranced individuals. We had to keep this up, otherwise we would lose, whatever that might entail.

  For what seemed like an hour we stood our ground. Gradually, the spectral attacks became less and less, until finally they were no more. An uneasy calm replaced the earlier feelings of fear and agitation among the group. Suddenly, we were interrupted by the unfamiliar sound of an outdoor telephone.

  ‘It’s me,’ the voice said on the other end of the line. It was Bernard, reporting in. ‘Been buggering around with the swordstick?’

  We had. Why, what could he see?

  ‘A fiery wheel of light, around the mound. Figures in a circle. And encroachments.’

  There had been plenty of these—Bernard having witnessed the whole thing on a psychic level. What else could he see?

  In a low-lit dining room in Essex, Bernard closed his eyes and attempted to focus again on the mound. Almost instantly he sensed a flurry of movement, accompanied by heated words and feverish activity. It was if Andy and company’s continued presence on the mound was causing consternation among certain individuals, who felt it was their place to be there that night, and not his.

  Having used occult forces in an attempt to make them leave the site, there were now feelings of anger and frustration, as if it was no longer possible to accomplish the birth of the unholy child at the predetermined place and time, in other words 8th August, 1988, a date embodying the all-important magical number 888.

  The Black Alchemist had not anticipated this situation. Bernard was sure of it. Andy and his friends were holding firm, neither weakening nor changing their plan of action.

  In fact, Bernard was now sure his earlier visions of BSA conducting some kind of ritual libation in a pit within a wooded clearing had been a red herring, a deception. The whole thing had been sent out psychically in order to mislead them into believing that something big was going on in Clapham Wood in the hope this would be enough to send them off on a wild goose chase that would have come to nothing. It was a clever trick, but it had not worked.

  Andy had been astute enough to realise that the real site was the Paradise Mound, close to where they had first encountered the man’s disturbing activities in Lullington churchyard back in 1985. This was his true centre of power, not Clapham Wood in West Sussex. That was her domain, not his.

  Their adversary needed to use the Paradise Mound to complete his landscape alchemy in order to bring forth a supernatural entity of unimaginable power. Yet Bernard now realised this child could never have been granted incarnation on the physical plane. Instead it would have existed in some astral dimension, ever ready to intercede in this world when the time was right.

  With these thoughts came fresh imagery and impressions. He could see down into a large room. A small meeting hall perhaps, either out on its own or attached to a country house.

  Present was a woman dressed in a long black cape, its hood resting on her shoulders. She was reading from a rolled parchment in between bouts of chanting what he now knew to be goetic barbarous names.

  Sitting on dark wooden benches, facing towards her, were around six to eight people dressed in normal attire. They were droning in accompaniment to her words and chants. Curiously, the bizarre service was being accompanied by eerie organ music, played on a large tape recorder.

  There seemed little question the woman was her—BSA—yet this time she wore no hood to conceal her identity. Bernard saw her shoulder-length dark hair, her long, chiselled face and piercing brown eyes. She seemed intent on what she was doing, but was now vulnerable, her guard down. He could see her for the first time as a woman, and not just as some misguided sorceress who until now had cloaked her every move.r />
  Bernard then became aware of what was going on. The hall was not far away from the mound. Magical means were being employed by BSA and her cronies to try and get Andy and his friends to leave the tumulus, which was essential to them for some reason. Yet Andy and his group’s almost foolhardy actions were forcing their adversaries to adopt more and more desperate measures as everything was slowly slipping away, out of their grasp forever.

  The ritual was off! That was the feeling now coming from the sheer sense of desperation emanating from the individuals seated inside the small hall. It could no longer take place. Andy and his friends had won the day! Other events were going on all over the country, and even much further away in France, but because the place of birth had been compromised, everything else would quite simply fall apart.

  Yet there was no time for celebration, for at some time in the future their adversaries would once again attempt to bring forth the unholy child to rule the unseen world. But when this happened, he would know what to do. He would make sure of it.

  The intense meditation ended on Paradise Mound as tiredness overtook the group of weary individuals. One by one they withdrew to the comfort offered by some level ground screened from the tumulus by a thick clump of brambles, and very gradually sleep overcame them.

  Yet even in their deepest slumber more than one member of the party became aware that the night was taking shape and moving as a column of dense smoke towards their position.

  Slowly, the ethereal mass came together to form the distinctive shape of a tall, cowled figure, advancing at a steady pace. Its archetypal appearance needed no identification.

  Thoughts of the Black Alchemist had enabled this bilious mass to exist and now it was moving among the exhausted group who were no longer under the protection of the sacred mound.