by Simon Clark
‘It happened so fast. Ross killed Scott and his mother in cold blood.’
‘As they will do to me, Jack. The moment they get the opportunity.’
‘Nobody’s safe from being slaughtered.’
‘All except you, Jack. The truth is, son, Justice Murrain plans to steal your body from you. Then, in the words he used yesterday, he intends to make Pel Minton his “bride”.’ In a quiet voice, which Jacob clearly thought she couldn’t hear, he added, ‘Keep a couple of shotgun cartridges in reserve. Just in case. Whatever happens, don’t let Pel be captured by the madman.’
As Jack accelerated on to the main highway, troubling images flowed through Pel’s mind. She’d been drawn to Jack by his other-worldly beauty. His quiet English manner had enticed her, too. She’d wanted to test his boundaries. Wouldn’t it be downright sexy to provoke him into a fiery outburst of passion? Now, in that trance-like state she saw him as a darkly occult figure. One as deeply embedded in this ancient landscape as the venerable oak tree in the meadow. If Justice Murrain took possession of his descendent, she would be powerless. A sudden flash-forward, and a vision of her wedding night seared her brain. Jack’s body would crush her naked flesh against the bed. His dark hair would brush her skin as he kissed her. But it would be Justice Murrain, the psychopath, the Satanist, the murderer, the mutilator of his own son who would have possession of Jack’s brain. Then, remorselessly, coldly, callously the possessed man would exert a formidable pressure. He’d crave to penetrate her body. Crying would be futile. His eyes would blaze; he’d glory in his conquest of her. She felt the sting of that pressure now. A bitter-sweet sting that once would have inflamed her desires … now a violation.
‘Here!’
Jack’s shout startled Pel so much that she almost screamed. It felt akin to waking from a deep sleep. Dazed, she wondered why she was riding in a truck that careered through the gates of a haulage company. She watched parked vans blur by. Jack appeared to be in no hurry to stop. Then, as she gathered her wits, memories streamed through her head – the trip to hospital with Kerry. Crowdale in flames. The possessed. How they ran amok. How they revelled in carnage. Being incarcerated in the cliff-top building that threatened to carry them to their deaths.
Pel saw a sign on a wall Lowe Bros. Haulage.
Jacob warned, ‘The house will be locked, Jack. It’ll take time to break in.’
Pel’s mind snapped into focus. ‘We can’t be delayed in getting the mosaic back to the cemetery.’
‘No problem,’ Jack sang out. ‘I’m on to it.’
He didn’t slow before the fence that separated car-park from garden. The truck slammed through wooden rails. Jack kept his foot on the gas. Thundering like the god of war, the huge motor propelled the vehicle – across the lawn, through bushes, over flowerbeds, then – crash! – it plunged into the front of the house. Jack reversed the rig back from the debris. Brickwork covered the hood. More masonry tumbled on the lawn. Dust billowed in the morning sunlight.
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘You’ll find it under the stairs in the cellar,’ Jacob told him. ‘For the pity of Mankind be quick! The Battle Men will be here soon!’
Jack raced through that yawning hole in the house created by the collision. Moments passed. Jacob glanced back at the road. Pel willed Jack to move lightning fast. Kerry kept repeating, ‘If we can only get the mosaic back in its setting, we might have a chance. It may draw those devils back.’
At last! Jack loped over the debris. In his hands, a wooden crate. He shoved it into the cab’s foot-well beneath his grandfather’s feet.
Both Pel and Kerry leaned over the front seats to get a better view. For there, in the crate, a familiar face peered out. Justice Murrain. Huge grey eyes. Mane of black hair. A Satan rendered in fragments: shards of pot, chips of stone, glass splinters – all carefully gathered from the ruins of Murrain Hall.
Over 200 years ago the son of Justice Murrain, sans thumbs, had patiently assembled crud from the ancestral home into a likeness of his father. A portrait that had sealed the monster’s troublesome spirit into the ground for centuries.
God willing, Pel told herself, he will soon be back in the earth where he belongs.
‘Hold on tight.’ Jack reversed the truck toward the road. ‘Next stop, Temple Central!’
Pel added, darkly: ‘Next stop is our destiny.’
20
NAT STROSS RUBBED the painful bump above his left eyebrow. ‘Dianne? What came over her,’ he asked his young female colleague. ‘That isn’t what Chelsea does. She’s usually shy as a mouse.’ He gazed down at the leering, foul-mouthed creature that lay in the cemetery grass. Her limbs were bound with the fluorescent orange tape they normally used to mark out excavation grids.
Dianne shrugged. ‘Did you make one of your improper suggestions?’
‘Absolutely not! At least, not for a couple of days.’ Nat rooted for a possible reason for Chelsea’s attack. ‘Time of month?’
‘Don’t even go there.’
‘All right.’
Dianne couldn’t take her eyes from Chelsea’s wild leer. ‘But what can we do with her? They say there’s been a riot in Crowdale. The army have cordoned off the entire town.’
Nat rubbed his jaw. After his insensitive ‘time of month’, suggestion he’d a sudden reluctance to venture any plan other than, ‘We could let her rest here for a while. She might come to her senses.’
The creature yelled, ‘Take me! You know you want to!’
‘I’ll fetch the thermos,’ Nat said quickly. ‘We could do with a coffee.’
Chelsea hissed, ‘Rip off my clothes. Get handfuls of that graveyard dirt; big moist handfuls. Smear it over my body. I want to feel it – all those bits of bone and body and death! Rub it into my breasts good and hard. Ha, turning you on, aren’t I? Admit it, your heart’s beating faster. You want to lick your lips. You’re starting to picture yourself fondling me. Come on … pull away my bra. Cup me with your hands …’ Chelsea convulsed, trying to snap the plastic strips that bound her. ‘Come and take me, lover girl!’
Nat hurried in the direction of the car. ‘I’ll try calling Kerry again.’
He’d not gone far when the sound of a motor swelled on the cold breeze. In the distance a flat-bed truck appeared. It roared toward them along the cemetery lane. At that moment, it seemed it would stop for nothing. Nat foresaw it reach the cliff-edge without even slowing. Then it would sail out … out … through the blue sky before plunging into the sea.
21
PEL MINTON SHARED Nat’s thought. Jack’s not going to stop. He’s going over the cliff-edge. He doesn’t want us to be possessed. This is his solution. To drive us to our deaths. She imagined the truck lumbering off the cliff, then the dizzying fall.
‘Hang on, tight!’ Jack hauled the wheel. The action almost caused the rig to jack-knife. Yet he held its course true. A moment later it smacked through the fence then followed the route the Lowe brothers had carved from the cemetery, when they’d driven their trucks through it, nearly crushing Pel Minton in the process.
Fat tyres bumped over already felled tombstones. The iron behemoth’s vibrations would make the bones of the dead tremble in their tombs. This was a matter of life and death. Jack didn’t intend wasting time by neatly parking in the lane, then hauling the decidedly weighty mosaic block up to the mausoleum by hand.
Kerry shouted, ‘It’s happening here. Nat’s been having problems, too.’
By the mausoleum Nat had rejoined Dianne. Both stood beside a figure lying on the grass, bound in orange tape.
‘That’s Chelsea.’ Pel clung on as the cabin bucked wildly. ‘She must have been taken.’
‘Be on your guard,’ Jacob warned.
Seconds later, Jack braked hard. The truck skidded to a stop in the cemetery, not twenty paces from the mausoleum.
A bewildered Nat met them as they climbed out of the cabin. ‘It’s crazy … everything’s crazy. Contractors have started work on
the beach. The barrier’s going up. But someone stole the mosaic. And Chelsea’s gone nuts … absolutely raving nuts.’
‘Oooh,’ cooed Chelsea on the grass. ‘All of you take pleasure from my body. Come on, everyone. Don’t wait in line. Take me! Rip yourself a handful of flesh; I don’t mind. Nice … tasty … sexy …’
Nat appeared close to tears. ‘What can we do to help her?’
‘Never mind that now.’ Kerry spoke briskly. ‘We’ll take care of Chelsea later. First things first. We’ve found the mosaic.’
Jacob helped his grandson lift it down from the cab. ‘But we’ve got to get it back into the mausoleum.’
Pel collected the shotgun from the truck, then called out, ‘Make it fast. The bad guys are on their way.’
‘What bad guys?’ asked a bewildered Nat.
‘Very bad guys,’ Pel said with feeling.
Jack hefted the crate containing the image of his ancestor. ‘Pel hold the gate open for me, will you?’
Pel ran to grab the ironwork that sealed the mausoleum. She hauled it open. Chelsea rolled over on the ground toward her. The possessed woman strained her head forwards to try and bite Pel’s leg.
Kerry shouted, ‘Dianne. Sit on her.’
Soon, Kerry, Jack, Pel and Jacob had squeezed into the small building. Pel leant the gun against a wall. Meanwhile, Jacob, with Kerry’s help, eased the mosaic out of its box. Justice Murrain’s eyes glared up at them. The expression of hate made Pel shudder.
Jacob told them, ‘We need to make sure it goes back in the same position. The orientation will be important.’
Rough handling of the ancient artefact disturbed Nat. ‘Easy with it. You’re losing some of the blue-glass edging.’
‘Nudge it an inch your way,’ Jack told Kerry.
Car engine sounds grew louder, an ominously throaty note on the chill air.
Anguished, Nat cried out, ‘Kerry, this isn’t accepted archeological practice! First we should discuss our options, while comparing photos of the mosaic when it was in place.’
Outside, Chelsea moaned with pleasure. ‘Justice Murrain is coming. He’s here with his Battle Men. They’ll strip you naked and dance you over the cliff. Ha!’
‘The slab doesn’t fit.’ Jacob had managed to lay the cement block flat over the hole. ‘Why won’t it go back in?’
Kerry pressed it down with both hands. ‘It’s got to. Otherwise those monsters stay free.’
Pel warned, ‘The convoy’s going to be here any minute.’
Nat counselled a more cautious approach. ‘We should discuss a strategy to replace this precious artwork. I’ve got plans at the motel that show how—’
Kerry screamed in exasperation. ‘Just ram the bloody picture back into the hole!’
Everyone that could get close enough in that confined space placed their palms flat on the mosaic. Pel felt as if she pressed cold corpse flesh when she touched the image of Justice Murrain. Nevertheless, she gulped down her fear.
Jacob panted, ‘On the count of three! One, two, three!’
All five pairs of hands depressed the slab. They pushed down as hard as they could. It resisted their force. It was as if malign spirits heaved upward from the grave soil to thwart their efforts. Then: CLICK! The mosaic slid down into the opening from where it came. To Pel, seeing it slip back into place, offered the same kind of satisfaction as the last piece of a jigsaw being clicked into the puzzle.
Panting, they stood up.
‘How long until it starts to work?’ Kerry asked.
Jacob gave a pained shrug. ‘Who can say? There’s damage to both the mosaic and this sacred site.’
‘We know it has the capacity to self-heal.’
‘But the damage might be more severe than we can tell. Besides, it will take time for the power to reassert itself.’
Nat groaned. ‘Am I crazy? Or are we all listening to the old man’s crazy, crazy talk like we believe it?’
‘He’s not crazy,’ Kerry assured. ‘Jacob is intelligent. We should have listened to him from the start. If we had, lives might have been saved.’ Kerry touched Nat’s arm. ‘Don’t struggle to suspend disbelief, Nat. See these people coming across the cemetery. They’re going to convince you that Jacob was right all along.’
Through the cemetery trooped 200 people. They were an odd assortment of characters: men and women from early twenties upwards. Some clothed. Some naked. All carried makeshift weapons – knives, screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches. Leading them, a huge figure in a white coverall.
‘Nat, in a moment,’ Jacob murmured, ‘you’re going to meet Justice Murrain.’
‘You mean the guy in the …’ Dumbfounded, Nat’s eyes rolled down to the mosaic.
Jack took the shotgun from where Pel had leant it against the inner wall.
Nat blinked. ‘You’re going to shoot those guys?’
‘There’s no point in killing them. What’s inside those people cannot die. If the worst comes to the worst, this gun is for us.’
‘Absolutely,’ Kerry agreed. ‘Death rather than possession.’
Justice Murrain, accompanied by the woman in a police uniform, who toted a machine-gun, approached to within fifty paces of the mausoleum.
‘Jacob Murrain.’ The giant beckoned. ‘It’s time to end this now. Step out here. Your death will be painless. Jack Murrain will not be harmed, rest assured.’
‘But you intend to possess him with that sick soul of yours.’
‘He will live, Jacob.’
‘No deal,’ Jack called. ‘You will use me to hurt others.’
Kerry shouted, ‘The mosaic is back in place. It’s you and your thugs who have reached the end.’
Justice Murrain pointed at his Battle Men. ‘See? My warriors are still with me. The magic doesn’t work anymore. We still possess these pieces of flesh. You are defeated. Come now. We’ll end it here. Don’t suffer anymore. You’ll be at peace.’
‘Except for me,’ Pel snarled, ‘You want me for your bride.’
‘And so you will.’ He beamed his monster’s smile – all wickedness and lust. ‘When I have taken Jack’s body I will take you as a wife. Why worry? You will wake beside that handsome young buck every morning.’
Jacob exited through the mausoleum gate to stand beside Chelsea. She lay on the grass, a delighted grin on her face. Still sitting on her was Dianne, who watched the proceedings with utter bemusement.
The gun-toting cop took a threatening step forward. ‘I can kill him now, master.’ She aimed the weapon at Jacob’s heart.
‘Not yet, Anna. I don’t want a stray bullet harming either Jack or lady
Pel.’ Pel Minton immediately noticed Anna’s scowl. Clearly, the woman would be delighted if a stray bullet found Jack or her. Especially her. Jacob, she noticed, suddenly perked up.
‘Anna?’ Jacob asked. ‘Is that Anna de Suisse?’
‘What if it is?’ Anna mixed defiance with a hint that Jacob should elaborate.
‘Anna de Suisse. Family legend has it, my dear, that you were Justice Murrain’s second wife.’
Justice Murrain sniffed in contempt. ‘Anna took her pleasures in my bed. Nothing more. No ceremony took place. No marriage rites.’
‘Yet, the pair of you lived as husband and wife. Isn’t that so, Anna?’ Jacob fixed her with his sharp eye. ‘So you consent to your master being wedded to Pel Minton here?’
His words produced a flash of anger in Anna. ‘I’ll do as my master asks. If he wishes to make the lady his bride. Then my mind is easy.’
‘OK. As you wish. Then he found you, Anna, in a lunatic asylum. Perhaps you don’t understand what is happening regarding yourself and Pel Minton? That her charms are superior to yours.’
A dangerous game you’re playing, Jacob. Yet Pel knew he made such an apparent off-hand slight about Anna’s mental competence for a reason.
Jacob continued, ‘But what of your master here?’ These words he directed at the Battle Men. The man grew in confidence. Even his stature ap
peared to increase as he stood straighter, stronger. ‘Here before you is my ancestor: the robber, the slayer of innocent men and women, the Devil incarnate. He isn’t the potent force that he once was, you know? In truth, my friends, he’s losing his most important battle. The one he fights in there.’ Jacob pointed at the man’s skull. ‘That battleground inside his head.’
‘Anna,’ Justice Murrain spat the words. ‘Kill the old man.’
Anna appeared too wrapped up in her own worries to act.
Justice Murrain, however, didn’t appear fazed by the strange look in the woman’s eye. ‘Battle Men, it’s time to destroy my bothersome descendent. It was he who kept us prisoner.’
‘Or you could listen to what I have to say.’ Jacob took another step toward the giant in the white forensic suit. ‘Your master made a bad choice when he invaded the body of Horace Neville. You see, Horace’s brain was damaged at birth. But it isn’t a weak mind. It is strong. And it has been fighting the spirit of Justice Murrain. Do I need to tell you which one is winning?’ When Jacob was ten paces from his adversary he paused. ‘Tell them that you find it difficult to think clearly, Justice Murrain. Explain to your men that strange ideas intrude.’
‘Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to save his own neck.’
Moments ago, the Battle Men had shown every inclination to hack Jacob apart. Now they appeared uneasy. An air of doubt hung over them.
‘Kill him!’ Justice Murrain thundered.
‘Wait.’ Jacob pointed at a patch of grass to the right of the white-clad man. ‘Justice Murrain, Anna stands on your left. Who stands on your right?’
‘Destroy the fool, or I’ll do it myself.’
Jacob shouted, ‘There! Beside you! Who is it?’
‘The little fellow!’ The words spurting, unbidden, from Justice Murrain’s own lips pained him more than blows. ‘Bobby! My friend! He … he’s been crying. Frightened. Very frightened! Bobby wants—’ The giant clapped his palm to his mouth to prevent any more words escaping.
The Battle Men muttered amongst themselves. They’d witnessed how their master’s voice had changed from that of a full-blooded tyrant to one that tremored with child-like fear.
