Ghost Monster

by Simon Clark

  ‘You!’ she shouted. ‘I know the pair of you. Both of you were at the graveyard yesterday, driving those trucks like madmen!’

  ‘Oh, one of the diggers, are you? Well, this is none of your business. Clear off.’

  ‘It is my business. You clear off.’

  One of the men advanced menacingly with the screwdriver. In her mind’s eye, she saw him plunging its sharp point into her throat. Already she could envisage blood gushing down her chest.

  ‘You two cowards don’t frighten me.’ Even so, her legs turned gel-like. ‘Get away from here!’

  He took another step closer.

  The other barked, ‘Leave her, Ross. We’ve no argument with her!’

  ‘Interfering little bitch,’ Ross grunted. ‘That devil boning you, huh? Is he going to put a bastard in your belly?’

  ‘Ross.’ The other man sounded edgy now. ‘We’ve done here.’

  ‘Not yet, we haven’t. Remember what Ma said?’

  Pel decided to establish an air of authority. In a clear, forceful tone she said, ‘Leave now. Or I’ll call the police!’

  ‘Do as the young lady says.’

  The voice from behind Pel startled her. She glanced back to see Jacob Murrain emerge from the house. For an elderly man his hair was thick and perfectly black. He went to stand beside her.

  In a strong voice he said, ‘Scott Lowe, your brother, Ross, has always been a thug. I expected better of you.’

  ‘Thirty years ago you as good as killed our mother.’ Ross advanced, with a pitbull growl, ‘Burnt half her face off, you did. Even if the law did nothing, we’re going to make sure you suffer for that.’

  ‘You are trespassing. It’s time to leave.’

  ‘They punctured the tyres,’ Pel said. ‘You should call the police.’

  Ross gestured with the screwdriver. ‘The cops will do nothing to help a Murrain. They’ll be glad to be rid of you all.’

  Pel put herself between Jacob and the thug. ‘The pair of you, just piss off!’

  ‘Get out of the way!’ Ross lurched forwards.

  ‘Before you touch him, you’re going to have to get by me first.’

  Scott grabbed Ross’s arm. ‘We’ve done enough. Remember what Ma said!’

  With an expression of reluctance, Ross allowed his brother to tug him back down the driveway. Even so, he couldn’t resist shouting, ‘Murrain, next time you won’t have that scrap of a woman to save your neck!’ Then both stomped back to a car parked on the lane. After it had roared away it seemed almost unbearably silent.

  Jacob took a deep breath. ‘Well … it’s over for now.’ He turned those large grey eyes to regard her. ‘Won’t you come inside for a drink? I daresay we both could use a piping hot coffee.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here, Mr Murrain?’

  ‘Pel Minton, isn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘Jack’s been talking about you.’

  Now the confrontation had passed she felt weak enough to be blown away by the sea-breeze.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he told her. ‘Come inside. Jack’ll be home in five minutes. He’s just gone to make sure the lamp’s burning over my damned ancestor.’

  Standing there, like some lost waif, would have been pointless. Beside, she was on a mission. She nodded her thanks then entered the Murrain house.

  13

  ‘THANKS FOR KEEPING those apes off my grandfather,’ Jack Murrain told her, as they stepped out of the house. ‘I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.’

  By now, night had fallen. A frostiness in the air gave it teeth to nip her nose.

  ‘You risked your neck to save me yesterday,’ she replied. ‘It was the least I could do. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them puncturing the tyres.’

  ‘No worries. I can patch them so they’re good as new. Let’s say we’re even, then.’ His smile broadened. ‘Regarding the life-saving, that is.’

  ‘You know, you should report those two to the police.’

  ‘We Murrains have a strange relationship with the town. They seem to have an instinctive need for us to be here; only they don’t really like us. When there’s been trouble before the police make sympathetic comments, but nothing concrete gets done.’

  ‘That’s discrimination.’

  ‘I agree. But it’s a fact of life. We deal with it.’

  In the light of the driveway lamp she regarded the man. Although he was in his mid-twenties he had the same wise, if slightly melancholy expression as his grandfather. They both had a head of thick black curls. Their eyes were large and had an uncanny way of gazing deeply at objects, and people. After she’d been invited into the house by Jacob Murrain she’d spent twenty minutes drinking coffee and chatting to him. Pel’s colleagues had insisted he was crazy. A madman with an obsession about the Justice Murrain picture in the mausoleum. He seemed compelled to care for it, and he had that mantra about the lamp, ‘Keep the light burning’. Yet Pel found Jacob Murrain to be perfectly pleasant, inordinately level-headed, and utterly sane. A gentleman with a heartwarmingly gentle manner. Tonight he never mentioned the mosaic, although Pel found herself wanting to comment how much both Mr Murrain and grandson Jack resembled the portrait of their ancestor, Justice Murrain. Also, what was Justice Murrain’s story? She found herself consumed with curiosity. However, Jacob chatted about how sad he was to see coastal erosion eating away the landscape. How he’d witnessed many a home fall into the sea. He’d also pointed out photographs on the wall of himself in his youth (a dead ringer for Jack), his wife, his son – another one who shared the same Murrain features. He’d asked her about her own life as a digger for the archeologists. Pel confessed she adored her work, and although her own parents and sisters lived in the States, and that she missed them, she found herself enjoying herself so much in England it would be a wrench to move on.

  Then Jack had arrived. Over another coffee he’d listened intently as his grandfather explained what had happened. Including how Pel had defended him from the thugs. Jack had been angry about the threats made by the Lowe brothers. Something in his eye told Pel he dearly wanted to visit the brothers, then pound some sense into their thick skulls. However, his grandfather calmly smoothed the incident over. That it was just an isolated outburst. Everything would settle down again soon.

  Now Pel walked side by side with Jack along the driveway to his car. It was a white Mercedes that must have been as old as Jack himself.

  He ran his finger along its elegant wing. ‘My grandfather’s pride and joy. By sheer chance, I’d taken it up to the graveyard instead of my pick-up. Something tells me those thugs would have made a mess of the paintwork. They know he spent years restoring the Mercedes. He found it in a barn up the coast. A farmer had stowed chicken feed in it to stop rats gnawing the sacks.’ His grey eyes alighted on hers. ‘So why did you come up here?’

  She felt the plastic bag in her pocket. ‘What would you think of me, if I told you I came here for your body fluids?’

  His eyes widened.

  Laughter escaped her lips. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist seeing your expression. More specifically, I require, if you consent…’

  ‘Go on.’ That gaze sank into hers.

  ‘A sample of your DNA.’

  ‘You know … and this might surprise you, Pel … I’ve never had a girl ask for my DNA before.’

  ‘Yeah, does sound kind of funny, doesn’t it? Then what do girls usually ask you for?’

  ‘They ask: “Will you please stop peeping in through my bedroom window at me”.’ He was amused by her shocked reaction. ‘That time I couldn’t resist seeing your expression.’

  ‘So, the Murrains have a sense of humour. I like that.’ Pel tugged out the plastic bag. ‘Right. We could do it here.’

  ‘Oh … the DNA thing. Shouldn’t I be lying down when you extract the … uhm, whatever it is you need?’

  ‘Nothing so intrusive. I just need to swab your mouth with a Q-tip.’

  He feigned d
isappointment. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘It seems coldly functional.’

  ‘I’m not always a coldly functional girl, you know.’ She zipped up her jacket against the chill night air. ‘Sometimes I dance, have fun with friends, generally let my hair down. That sort of thing.’

  ‘You could perform the procedure here. But it wouldn’t be right to let you walk home in the dark.’

  ‘Are you planning to let me extract your DNA in the car after you’ve driven me back?’

  ‘Still sounds coldly functional, doesn’t it?’ He scratched his eyebrow. ‘Why don’t we go out for a meal? After all, you still haven’t explained why you want my DNA.’

  ‘It’s part of a secret cloning experiment. We want to fill the world with Murrains.’

  ‘See, you’ve got a sense of humour, too.’ Jack smiled. ‘Good. We can swap jokes. So … what do you say to dinner?’

  14

  AFTER LETTING HIS grandfather know his plans, Jack drove Pel into town. The classic Mercedes was as comfortable as a lounge sofa. Pel found herself in good spirits. She and Jack chatted like they’d known each other for months.

  ‘There’s a Greek restaurant,’ he told her, as he parked in a side street. ‘The Athenaeum, it’s one of my favourites. You do like Greek food, don’t you?’

  ‘After a day’s digging you could spit-roast an entire goat and I’d call it a snack.’

  He grinned. ‘I like a girl with a healthy appetite.’

  They strolled through the town. A few people hurried to the pubs, otherwise the centre seemed fairly deserted. Jack led her toward a street that had been glassed over to create a quirky shopping mall. All the stores were closed, but a couple of bars flashed neon signs to alert people they were serving drinks.

  ‘The power supply is playing up tonight,’ Jack observed, as they approached automatic doors that opened and shut without being triggered by anyone. Lights suddenly dimmed, too, until streetlights bathed them in a blood-red glow. ‘It must be the cold snap. Everyone’s turning their heating up.’

  ‘Just hope the power station hasn’t fallen into the sea. Everything else seems to be tumbling in.’

  ‘Tell me about it, Pel. My grandfather can’t sleep for worrying about that damn mosaic.’

  ‘Do you believe that if it’s destroyed it will bring doom and carnage?’

  Jack’s face hardened. ‘It’s important to my grandfather. I didn’t think you’d be one of those who mocked.’

  ‘No … I didn’t mean …’ Hell, time for damage limitation. ‘I’m not mocking your grandfather, Jack. I know it’s important to him. The archeologists do, too. They’re as keen as him to save it. Because in days from now the sea will have taken that, just as it’s gobbled up the church.’

  His expression softened. ‘I know you’re trying to do the right thing. Only my grandfather is adamant it shouldn’t be moved.’ He shook his head. ‘Adamant? That seems too tame a word. To be honest, Pel, I sometimes think the sheer trauma of trying to protect the mosaic will be the death of him.’

  They walked beneath the glass roof to an escalator that softly purred as its steel steps ascended to an upper walkway. Lights still grew dim before reluctantly brightening again. On the screen of an ATM machine Pel noticed that dark patches skimmed through the bank’s animated logo. Clearly, that wasn’t intentional. The shadows resembled death’s heads. As they rode the escalator it suddenly juddered to a stop, leaving them at a standstill between floors. The few people mooching about the place exchanged glances, then shrugged. Power outages were nothing new. However, there was something odd about this. The way the electricity flow appeared to be restricted as if some force was slowly strangling the very cables that carried it.

  When the escalator didn’t restart the pair climbed to the top.

  Jack crossed the walkway to the taverna door. Above it, Greek-style lettering spelled Athenaeum.

  ‘After you.’ He held open the door.

  Pel smiled her thanks and entered. Scents of roasting meat and spices greeted her. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. Now she really did feel hungry. At that moment, her near death experience in the tomb earlier in the day seemed impossibly remote. The slightly disquieting pleasure of being here with Jack Murrain stimulated a train of thought: Why am I attracted to him? This isn’t what I planned when I arrived here in Crowdale, is it? No more ties … stay a free-spirit. At least, for the time being, anyway.

  A senior waiter greeted them with a pleasingly Greek-accented ‘Good evening. I’m delighted you joined us tonight. We have wonderful specials on the menu. Lamb with mint and yogurt. Or, if you prefer, swordfish steaks baked over charcoal. Very nice.’ He settled them into a cosy booth, then left them to chat.

  ‘So, Pel, are you going to reveal why you crave my DNA?’

  ‘Only if you reveal what’s so special about Justice Murrain and his mosaic.’

  Jack smiled. ‘Ladies first. The DNA?’

  A young waiter appeared with slicked-down hair. He held out three menus.

  Jack nodded a greeting. ‘Evening, George. But there’s only two of us.’

  The waiter frowned. ‘I was sure I saw three of you come through the door together.’

  ‘Just the pair of us, George.’

  ‘I could have sworn your grandfather was with you.’ The frown deepened. ‘At least a gentleman who resembled your grandfather. In a long black coat.’

  Pel noticed how uneasy the man had become. ‘The lights have been playing tricks tonight.’

  ‘Maybe so.’ Repeatedly, the waiter glanced in the direction of the door, as if trying to solve the problem. ‘Can I bring you a drink while you make your choices?’

  ‘Pel, I can recommend the retsina wine,’ Jack said.

  ‘Retsina it is, thanks.’

  As he was driving, Jack ordered himself a large Coke with ice and lime.

  ‘OK,’ he began. ‘Body fluids. Why mine?’

  Pel explained about the finds in the Iron Age tomb and that the sacred elements of the site led them to describe it as Temple Central. For the time being, she avoided mention of the dramatic way she’d rescued the artefacts from the grave, just before it plunged down the cliff-face. When Jack heard that Nat suggested the skull in the grave resembled those of the Murrain family to such an extent he suspected a blood link the man was genuinely impressed.

  ‘I can’t wait until I tell my grandfather. He’s always insisted Murrains have lived in this neck of the woods ever since there was a Britain.’ He smiled. ‘So, he may well be right after all.’

  ‘If the pathologist can extract DNA from the tooth I found in the tomb, then it can be compared with DNA from your sample.’ She poured them both glasses of water from a carafe. ‘If a link can be proved, the archeological site will be awarded a special protected status. With that, there’s a chance the government will rush in temporary coastal-defences, so a full assessment can be completed.’

  ‘Would that mean the mosaic can remain where it is?’

  ‘I’d be lying if I said yes, Jack. That’s a decision for government officials to make.’

  ‘But there is hope?’

  ‘Yes, there’s hope.’

  ‘So my DNA sample is vital?’

  She nodded. ‘As far as I know, there’s only yourself and your grandfather, who are local bloodline Murrains.’

  ‘We are the only Murrains period – as you Americans say. We’re the last of the line. The only two full-blood Murrains in the world. And from what you suspect, after your discovery today, the end of a very, very long line.’ The waiter brought the drinks. Jack raised his glass to Pel. ‘Here’s to body fluids and to all the treasures they contain. And to you, of course, for protecting my grandfather.’

  Pel began conversationally, ‘The last of the line? Your grandfather showed me a photograph of his son, who looked just like …’ She grimaced. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. He didn’t say, but your father must be—’

  ‘Dead. Yes, unfortunatel
y. No, don’t apologize; you weren’t to know. My father went away to work on the rigs. He died when I was three years old. Murrains don’t fare well away from Crowdale. Once we leave these few acres of dirt behind we have a tendency to … well, wither away and die.’

  ‘That’s what your grandfather told you? It sounds as if he’s finding reasons for you to stay.’

  Jack nodded. ‘It would break his heart if I left. He’s told me ever since I was tiny that it would be my duty to safeguard the mosaic.’ He studied the menu. ‘The stuffed vine leaves are good.’

  ‘Jack.’ Her fingers encircled his wrist. ‘You promised me that you’d tell me about your ancestor’s mosaic. You can’t keep me in suspense any longer. I want to know.’

  ‘It’s a rather gruesome tale. I was going to leave it until after dinner. Disturbing things happened. It could ruin your appetite.’

  ‘No, tell me. I’m pushy. Mysteries make me squirm. I want answers.’

  ‘First, we’ll order the food, then I’ll reveal all.’ Once the waiter had written down their choices on his pad Jack took a swallow of Coke. ‘OK, as you know, I’m the last of the Murrains. You’ll also be familiar with the fact that surnames often reveal the occupations of our ancestors – there’s the obvious ones like Carpenter, Taylor, Bowman, Farmer, and so on. Then you get Cooper, which means barrel maker, or Tanner, who cures animal hides. Some surnames reveal an ancestor with a disability, such as Shillito, meaning “silly toe”. Probably that disability recurred so often in a family that the description of the condition stuck as a surname. Murrain comes from an archaic French word for “carcass”. In times gone by, if you said an animal had gone Murrain you would be saying it suffered from a disease.’ He regarded her with those grey eyes that were infused with such wisdom and an underlying sadness. ‘Hardly a pretty name to attach to such a long dynasty. Uh?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to know more about our erstwhile clan?’