Beast

by Matt Wesolowski

  Martin Flynn … well, everyone knew the Flynns.

  Martin Flynn’s family were the owners of Flynn’s Meats – an abattoir on the edge of Ergarth – and while not exactly criminal, the Flynn family had a reputation for being tough. I’m told that no one wanted to get on the wrong side of the Flynns of Ergarth. There was controversy surrounding Flynn’s Meats as the result of an undercover investigation in 2017. That’s something we may explore in a later episode.

  George Meldby is a very different character. He was best known in Ergarth for burning down a factory when he was fifteen. George Meldby’s issues with fire are well known throughout the town. Like Tankerville Tower, the ruins of the old factory stand like another black tooth on Ergarth’s already sorry gumline.

  —George Meldby was a ‘firebug’.

  —Oh yes. Big time. He had a problem, that lad. A real problem. George wasn’t a thug like the Flynn lad, but he liked to burn things. He was obsessed with fire. His poor mother – at her wits’ end she was. An odd lot, the Meldbys. Old Ergarth family. Lived up at the Primrose Villas Estate. That place makes Helmand Province look like Benidorm.

  You know Fellman’s, the bakers? They used to have the factory here; just outside town. Most people in Ergarth worked or was related to someone who worked at Fellman’s factory. George Meldby and his mam lost a lot of friends after that place burned down. That was back a good few year now, the whole place going up in smoke. George Meldby, he was only fifteen, for Christ’s sake!

  —It wasn’t official though, was it? It was never proved that George Meldby did it.

  —Not officially, no. Lack of evidence. But everyone in Ergarth knew it was him. George was a sly little thing, see? Managed to wriggle out of that one. But, like I say, everyone knew.

  —Was there a particular reason George burned down Fellman’s factory? Like you said, it was an important part of the town.

  —Hmm, there’s a lot of rumour that goes round in a place like this. Thing with Georgie was he wasn’t slow like Martin Flynn, but he was … malleable. If someone told him to do something, he would more than likely do it. Specially if it was a lass.

  —There was no mention of fire in connection with Elizabeth Barton’s death, though, was there?

  —No. None whatsoever. I was surprised when they said Georgie was involved if I’m perfectly honest. But maybe it was escalation. First a factory – he got away with that. Then this. I reckon just the fires wasn’t doing it for him anymore. He needed a bigger kick. Don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t like a lot of them round here; he didn’t go round smashing things up and robbing people. It was just about the fire, for Georgie. Nowt else.

  —Is it true that George tried to burn down his primary school when he was nine?

  —Georgie provided Ergarth Fire Service with plenty of work, I’ll say that. What most people don’t know is that fire never actually started. He was stopped at the last minute. I was one of the fire officers who went to his house afterwards. To ‘have a chat’. It was us, the police, and social services were there too. It seemed a bit excessive, like. I thought the lad must be shitting himself!

  —Wasn’t he?

  —Not really. It was strange. He was strange. You know when a little one seems older than their years; an old man in a kid’s body? That was our Georgie alright. He just sat there on that massive sofa next to his mam, looking up at us. That house was full of dogs; and there were tanks full of lizards and snakes. It felt like there were thousands of them, and there was all of us squeezed into that living room. We were gentle – tried to explain to him about the consequences of his actions, gave Mam a load of leaflets, all that.

  —What was George’s response?

  —Just … nothing. He just nodded. Like he’d heard it all before. Six or so years later and Fellman’s burns down. Fat lot of good we did, eh?

  —What about George when he was older? Was he still the same?

  —He was quiet, a little odd bod. Everyone knew who he was round town, but apart from the fire-setting, he was harmless enough. I didn’t think he had it in him to … No one did.

  —So, from your experience of George, his part in what happened to Elizabeth Barton came as a surprise?

  —Yes. It was a surprise. It’s a small town; everyone knows everyone round here, and I can tell you that all the coppers I know felt the same way about him. We all sort of liked him. OK, ‘liked’ might not be the right word, and now, we certainly don’t like him. But we did. He wasn’t like some of the kids you hear about; torturing puppies and birds and that, robbing old ladies. That wasn’t Georgie. He just liked fire. He didn’t try and kill people with it, he just liked it. He just liked watching things burn.

  —What about the others? Solomon and Martin?

  —I’ll come to them. All in good time.

  George Meldby was never charged with setting fire to Fellman’s factory when he was fifteen, causing hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of damage and the loss of a great many jobs. The company, despite being from Ergarth, decided to relocate their production premises to Redcar in Cleveland, much to the disgust of the Ergarth community.

  Rob Karl’s interview raised several questions – sprouting up like weeds around this case: why was Elizabeth Barton murdered? Why has the guilt of the three who murdered her now been questioned, and why would a boy like George Meldby be involved?

  It’s easy to assume that, because George had a problem with fire, he had the potential to do worse. Yet, if what Rob is saying is correct; George wasn’t that type of a kid. Maybe he was just easily influenced.

  I’m going to dig deeper into the back stories of Elizabeth’s killers in later episodes. For now, though, I want to explore something that’s been troubling me. According to Rob there was no evidence of ‘occult’ activity inside the tower, so I don’t understand quite yet how the idea of a vampire fits into the story. Let’s hear an allusion to the Ergarth Vampire in the case of Elizabeth Barton in a local news report.

  Audio excerpt from Look North (North East and Cumbria) March 5th 2018

  …It has become clear that the three convicted of the killing were part of an online ‘challenge’. Their friendship began at Leighburn Adult Education Unit where the three killers formed a close bond, and Solomon Meer emerged as the trio’s leader. It is thought they were behind a spate of vandalism and cult activity in Ergarth Dene. During the trial at Newcastle Crown Court, none of the accused denied participating in the ‘Dead in Six Days’ challenge, but none of them would explain their part in Barton’s death, save to say it was a ‘prank gone wrong’. However, many people in Ergarth suggest Meer’s fascination with the local legend of the Ergarth Vampire may have had a part to play in the gruesome, ritualistic killing.

  ‘Cult activity’ and ‘ritualistic killing’ are interesting terms. As far as I’m aware, there was no actual evidence that the three convicted men were involved in occult activity. The removal and placement of Elizabeth’s head, however, has to be significant. Was it a grisly coincidence? I’m not so sure.

  …Video evidence from Solomon Meer’s phone shows the three stood near the body of Elizabeth Barton, with Solomon Meer repeating ‘What have we done?’

  Solomon Meer, who was sentenced to a minimum of thirty-three years, was suggested to have instigated Barton’s death; it was his text message to Elizabeth Barton that brought her to Tankerville Tower that night. It was Meer, according to the judge’s summing up, who coerced the others into carrying out his plan to barricade Elizabeth Barton in the ruin and leave her to die of hypothermia. No clear motive has yet been established for why the three committed this act.

  It is believed Elizabeth knew her killers, as all three were her former school-mates. There is also some speculation that Elizabeth Barton’s burgeoning YouTube fame played a part in her murder.

  All three defendants underwent psychological examination and all three were deemed fit to stand trial. The Barton family are calling the sentencing ‘a degree of justice’…

&n
bsp; There’s a lot to think about here, not least the still-unanswered questions about why the three perpetrators did what they did. The story from some quarters is that some sort of esoteric activity played a part. Solomon Meer’s obsession with vampires haunts this case, but the actual role it played in the killing remains only rumour. Depending on who you talk to, he either believed he was a vampire or was attempting to start some sort of vampire ‘cult’. I’m still searching for clarity here.

  All I can find so far is that the murder of Elizabeth Barton mirrors the story of the Ergarth Vampire – the original ‘Beast from the East’. But is this mere coincidence or the result of delusion? What is it that links Elizabeth Barton to the story of the Ergarth Vampire?

  Rob Karl admits he finds it hard to understand this aspect of the case. He tells me that these days everything happens online, and that he and his generation don’t see what the young people of Ergarth are doing until it blows up like this.

  We know that Elizabeth Barton was participating in an online challenge known as ‘Dead in Six Days’ before she met her fate in Tankerville Tower, and that the challenge would apparently culminate in meeting a vampire. And Solomon Meer admitted without question that he’d messaged Elizabeth Barton to meet him at Tankerville Tower on the night she was killed.

  Rob shakes his head when I mention the Dead in Six Days challenge to him.

  —All that’s playground gossip and nonsense. It was just one of those daft crazes the young ’uns dream up.

  —Was the vampire story discussed much around the time Elizabeth Barton was killed?

  —Well, I think it’s one of those that’s been passed down and it got twisted up in her death, it took place in Tankerville Tower, after all.

  —It’s interesting that such an elaborate and frankly unbelievable story is still perpetuated here.

  —Oh aye, talk to anyone round here. Everyone’s got a story. Everyone reckons they’ve seen her.

  That’s where this vampire business moves from a folk tale to actual sightings. And to be fair, a vampire story is a lot more exciting than most local legends.

  —So people in Ergarth have seen the vampire ‘in the flesh’?

  —Well, no one’s had a first-hand sighting. It’s one of them: someone’s mate’s girlfriend’s hairdresser seen her. You know what I mean?

  —Do you know any of these stories?

  —I’ve heard them all, more than once. Since I was a kid in the seventies. Everyone here has a vampire story.

  —The Ergarth vampire was that prevalent? I had no idea.

  —It’s difficult for anyone who’s an outsider to understand … no offence, like.

  —None taken.

  —But up here, you know, there’s not a lot for us to focus on. Westminster doesn’t know we exist; we’ve never been a ship-building place like Sunderland or Newcastle; not a fishing port like down Whitby; we’ve not even got a power station, like Middlesbrough has. There’s no jobs – there never has been, there’s no industry really, save for the abattoir and, well … there was the Fellman’s factory. It’s hard living here. That’s the unfortunate reality. A lot of kids grow up and never escape; the lucky ones work in the supermarkets or down the arcades. The ones what leave school with nowt usually go work at the abattoir, the unlucky ones end up on drugs or dead. That vampire story, it’s ours. When you’ve not got a lot, you hold on to what you have, however weird it is.

  —So what was it about the story of the Ergarth Vampire that motivated Solomon Meer?

  —Come with me.

  We walk further into Ergarth Dene. The path squelches beneath our feet and the trees rise up, tangled and heavy with sodden leaves. It’s another world down here, the slim, winding paths and the stone bridges. Away from the screaming wind and the crash of the sea, nature is allowed to bloom here, pushing away the harsh reality of the town, where chicken bones line the gutters and empty shop windows stare sadly at the deserted high street. I can see why coming down here, for some, might feel like an escape. However, I still don’t feel entirely safe.

  —Back when I was a kid, people used to say they saw her here. See these old iron lampposts? They were the old gas lamps. When I was little, they put electric lights in them. Costs too much now, to light it down here. I tell you what: I wouldn’t come down here at night, and that’s not cos I’m afraid of a vampire. You understand me? Plenty of bad ’uns knock about down here, and I’m not just talking about kids. There’s all sorts come here: the homeless, the druggies, the mental, the mental and homeless druggies, now they can’t get in the Vampire Tower. Sorry, not very PC of me is it, to say that? The mental-health ones anyway. It’s dangerous down here, let’s leave it at that.

  Anyway, the vampire. When I was a kid I had this babysitter, Maureen. I was about eight or nine. Maureen was a young lass, only in her twenties. Anyway, she used to tell me this story. I used to beg her for it, and she would always say no, reckoned she’d get in trouble. But she’d tell me if I nagged her enough.

  She’d been walking through the Dene, late at night, see. God knows why, cos even back then it can’t have been a very safe place to be at night. Anyway. Maureen said she was just walking along, minding her own business, when she hears a noise. At first she thought it was the wind, a sort of high-pitched, screeching noise. She didn’t like it, she said, it got in her head this wailing, screaming wind noise, confused her; she started wandering, staggering about.

  Look, come here, I’ll show you where she says she went.

  Rob leads me along the path, passing a stream that gurgles beside us, its voice carrying above the skeletal shopping trolleys sitting in the water. Then we go uphill slightly where a slim stone bridge passes over our heads and casts a rough shadow on the path.

  —Pretty nice, huh? Picturesque? The bridge was built when things were made to last. It doesn’t really go anywhere in particular, just connects up the paths, but the Victorians liked stuff like this; dinky bridges and stepping stones. When I was a kid, we called this the echo bridge. Nowadays the kids just cover it with graffiti.

  Rob steps into the arched black shadow and shouts out; his voice reflects back at us. Ivy interlaced with old graffiti creeps up the sides of the bridge. There is a strong smell of urine, which, for a second, makes me share Rob’s disappointment with ‘the way things are these days’.

  —So Maureen was right about where we are, not quite under the bridge. That light was on back then, so she could see a figure standing on the top of the bridge. But in silhouette, from the lamp, see? The figure’s a woman, she said, in a dress; but the dress is all ragged and ripped, soaked in mud.

  It’s her what’s making all the noise, but it’s all wrong, it’s high-pitched – like a kid. In fact, she said, it didn’t even sound like screaming at all, it didn’t even sound human.

  Anyways, it’s dark and it’s cold, and this figure is up there, and Maureen swears she can feel that it’s looking down at her. So she decides to get out of there, she’s not having any more, she’s done. So she’s just about to turn round, pretend she’s forgotten something, go back the way she came when that figure starts coming after her.

  —Down the path?

  —Down the bridge. She said it just climbed over the side, hands and knees, climbing down the side of the bridge like a spider. Maureen stood there, frozen; watching as this thing in a dress creeps down the wall. It opens its mouth, she said, and it’s got these teeth. Like knives, she said, a mouthful of daggers. I swear down, that gave me nightmares.

  Poor old Maureen screams, she said, and she turns round and she’s out of there. She doesn’t stop. But she can hear it coming after her, this pattering of feet, this rustling of a dress, but worse than all of that is the screaming noise it’s making. At first, she said, she thought it was all the breath coming from that mouth, the mouth full of daggers, whistling through those fangs. But when you ask other folk what they’ve seen, they say that the Ergarth Vampire – the Beast from the East – can’t speak.

&nbs
p; —What do you mean?

  —They say that those three farm-lads what killed her, in the story, they cut off her head, right? But they didn’t do it properly, so she can only make a whistling, screaming noise through her throat. It’s why she’s still here, is what some people say.

  She’d never ran so fast in her life, Maureen said, and she never went down to Ergarth Dene since, not even in the daytime. When she’s not in the Dene, Maureen told me, she’s up in the tower, in that top room; sleeping … In the form of a giant bat.

  I swear that story kept me up for about a week. I wouldn’t open the curtains, because my bedroom faced east and I could see the tower. I had nightmares every single night. Great, black wings in the sky. No wonder my mam and dad gave poor Maureen the boot. Poor lass.

  I think suddenly of the ragged shape that thrashed at the edge of my vision that afternoon I visited the tower.

  —Did you believe her?

  —Aye, at the time I did. But then, everyone’s got a vampire story round here.

  —Do you know any more of them?

  —I’ve heard them all, man. Everyone has.

  —Can you give me an idea of them; do they cover similar ground?

  —Well all the ones people told when I was a kid had something to do with the Dene. Maybe it was someone dressed up or something, but a lot of people said they saw her down here. People still say they’ve seen that mouth full of daggers, this great cut in her throat; they say that if she catches you, she’ll bleed you dry. All that nonsense. Come with me, I’ll show you something.