Dark Legion

by John Glasby

  As he swung abruptly to face them Anne found it difficult to suppress a sudden cry of surprise. The sharply-angled features were dominated by the unruly thatch of white hair and the piercing, gimlet eyes which stared from Terence to Anne and then back again. The bushy brows lifted for a moment in an unspoken question.

  Terence said quickly, ‘This is a friend of mine, Mister Park. Anne Cowdrey. She is helping me in my investigations at Tormount.’

  ‘I see.’ For a moment the lips parted in a mirthless smile. ‘I wonder if she will be as anxious to help you when she has heard all I have to say.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The other lifted his right hand. ‘Please sit down, both of you. I will have Mrs. Forsyth bring us some tea and biscuits. You will have had a long journey here.’

  Terence glanced at the girl, then sat down in one of the hard, high-backed chairs. He peered around the gloomy room. The window was very narrow, the gloom accentuated by the thick curtains, drawn so that only the barest slit of daylight filtered in. Almost as if the other was afraid of the daylight. The conviction came to him that his initial supposition had been correct. Mr. Clivedon Park was nothing more than a crank, someone who dabbled in these esoteric mysteries and tried to set himself up as an authority on the subject. He probably did a little card-reading and performed at local amateur séances in his spare time.

  The door behind him opened. Clivedon Park said: ‘Some tea and biscuits for my guests, please.’

  ‘Very good, Mr. Park.’ The door closed as quietly as it had opened.

  Terence held out the letter towards the other. ‘I’m not sure that I understand this. I gather you have some information you want to give me and that you consider it important.’

  ‘Important!’ exclaimed Park harshly. His eves positively gleamed beneath the thick brows. ‘Important! I wonder if you know just what forces you are meddling with, Mr. Amberley?’

  Moving towards them, he sat down at the small table. ‘It is quite evident to me that you don’t. That is why I asked you to come and see me, before something terrible happens — to both of you.’

  ‘Then you know something of what is going on there?’ interrupted Anne.

  ‘Exactly, Miss Cowdrey.’ His gaze switched towards Terence. ‘Your brother was extremely interested in the legends associated with Cranston’s Hill and the surrounding countryside near Tormount.’ He ran a finger down the long, pinched nose. ‘Oh, we never met. You won’t have heard of me from him. But I know more of what he was doing than you realise. I read the coroner’s report of his death. Suicide they said, didn’t they?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Terence said dully.

  ‘Blundering fools!’ exploded the other. ‘Imbeciles! Whenever they come across anything they cannot understand, they have to cover it up with meaningless words, and then proceed to forget about it all. I don’t blame the coroner. He could only find a verdict on the evidence that was presented to him. It’s those bureaucratic fools who provided him with that evidence and withheld the rest simply because it did not fit in neatly with what they believed happened, that I blame. When we are face to face with evil, we cannot escape it by running away and saying that it does not exist.’

  ‘Then how —?’ Terence broke off as the door opened again and the housekeeper came in with the tray.

  She set it down on the table beside Clivedon Park, made to pour it out, but he waved her brusquely away. Waiting until the door had closed behind her, he said sharply, ‘How can we possibly fight it? That depends on a great many things. There are ways, but the danger is extremely great and the price of failure exceedingly terrible.’

  ‘You mean that we might die as Malcolm did?’ asked Anne in a hushed whisper.

  Clivedon Park stared at her intensely for a long moment. ‘I mean that death would be the easiest thing to face. There are things in this world — and out of it — which are more terrible than death.’

  Terence felt the chill begin to gather in his chest once more. He realised at that moment that his original opinion of this man was wrong. Here was no charlatan. Here was a man who knew what he was talking about.

  ‘I see that you get my meaning, Mr. Amberley.’ The other’s voice was calm and even. ‘But I am forgetting myself as host.’ He poured out the tea pushed the plate of biscuits across to them.

  Terence sipped the hot tea slowly, then said: ‘What exactly is your interest in this business, Mr. Park? You evidently know a great deal about what has been happening yet I fail utterly to see why it should worry you what happens to us.’

  ‘But of course, how stupid of me. There is no magic in the fact that I know so much. As you will have guessed my interest in the occult began many years ago. At first, like you, I was a complete sceptic. A crowd of hysterical villagers see something on top of a lonely hill with a very dubious reputation and immediately there is talk of a Satanic Mass being held up there and within a century or so it has grown into a veritable legend. A man draws some of the ancient symbols on a bare floor, mutters a handful of unintelligible phrases found in some handbook of magic and a demon appears. Self-induced hypnotism. Mere superstition. The annals of the Middle Ages are full of such reports.

  ‘More than forty years ago, I decided to devote my life to examining these old legends, to try to find the tiny grain of truth which might lie at the back of them all. I persevered, and as time went on, it was soon evident to me that amid this morass of lies and half-truths, there were cases that could not be satisfactorily explained. Now I know that these things did exist, still do exist. Evil can be a very potent and dangerous force, Mr. Amberley. Just as we believe that miracles have been performed in the past when the force of good became sufficiently strong to overcome the normal natural laws by which we are governed, so the force of evil can also be evoked to carry out deeds of destruction.’

  ‘And this aura of evil which exists around Tormount is just such a force?’

  ‘Undeniably. That is why it is extremely dangerous for anyone who does not understand it to meddle. You know, of course, about the de Grinley family?’

  ‘Yes. They appear to be involved in this legend.’

  ‘More than that,’ insisted the other, leaning forward in his chair. ‘Richard de Grinley is the basis and the truth of it all.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ murmured Anne. ‘In spite of what the records say, or rather what they didn’t say, he must have died more than four hundred years ago.’

  ‘Maybe the creature that called itself Richard de Grinley died all those centuries ago,’ said Clivedon Park softly, ‘but not the devil that was in him.’ Clivedon Park got swiftly to his feet. ‘You are aware, I suppose, that people died in large numbers in Tormount during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.’

  ‘Burned or hanged as witches and warlocks, you mean?’

  ‘Not at all. Oh, that went on, there’s no doubt about it. But there were others found behind locked doors with terrible marks on their bodies, lacerations and bruises that could not be satisfactorily explained. The records will show that they died of fright — but in locked rooms with no entry or exit for anything material?’

  Terence finished his tea, sat back in his chair. ‘All this is very interesting, Mr. Park. And we certainly appreciate your warnings. But they make me only more determined to get to the bottom of this affair.’

  ‘I never thought otherwise,’ answered the other promptly. ‘All I ask is that you allow me to help you. To be quite honest, I’ve waited more than twenty years for a case such as this.’ There was an almost childish eagerness in his tone. ‘In case you are wondering how I came to know all of this, perhaps I should explain that I have a kindred spirit in Tormount who has kept me up to date with these odd occurrences, including certain aspects of your brother’s death which, in all probability, you know nothing about.’

  Terence nodded slowly as the realisation came to him. ‘The vicar.’

  ‘Quite right. The Reverend James Ventnor. He telephoned me early yes
terday, said that he had given you certain documents. I gather you still have them.’

  ‘I have them safely locked away,’ Terence answered. ‘Even to me, it was quite evident that they should not be seen by normal people.’

  ‘In short, you are now beginning to believe that the whole array of facts which we have at our disposal point to some lingering influence still existing over Tormount?’

  ‘Let’s simply say that I intend to keep an open mind on the subject,’ Terence said. ‘But as for your offer to help. I would appreciate it greatly. So far, my knowledge of the supernatural has been confined to what little I’ve read on the subject and —’

  Clivedon Park had been standing before the narrow window. Now he swung round sharply, hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Amberley? You’ve had no contact with these forces on a more material plane?’

  ‘There was that odd experience you had a couple of nights ago, Terry,’ said Anne before he could confirm or deny what the other had said.

  ‘Ah, now we may be getting somewhere.’ Excitement tinged the other’s voice. He lowered himself back into his chair, eyes gleaming ferally. ‘And what was that?’

  For a moment, Terence found himself off balance. ‘I suppose I must have been sleep-walking. It’s a perfectly natural explanation.’

  ‘Perhaps. But let me be the judge of that. Go on.’

  ‘Very well. I had found an old knife on top of Cranston’s Hill, evidently of great age and very similar to that which they found in my brother’s body. I took it back with me and as far as I can recall, I locked it away in the desk before reading through those records that the vicar lent me. That night I had some kind of nightmare. I can only recall a little of it but it seemed as though Malcolm led me to some kind of meeting on top of Cranston’s Hill. I do remember standing over some altar with someone lying on top of it, and Malcolm thrusting that knife, or one like it, into my hand. It was as if I was being ordered to sacrifice that victim on the altar and yes, there was something more . . .’ he could not repress the shudder at the hideous memory. ‘Some horrible creature standing opposite me on the far side of the altar, some thing that did not even look like a man.’

  ‘What then?’ commanded the other sharply, as he paused.

  ‘Nothing very much. I must have woken at that moment. But the odd thing was that when I woke I had that knife clutched in my hand and there was dried mud on my bare feet and on the floor of my room.’

  ‘So.’ The other ran a horny finger down his cheek. ‘There’s little doubt in my mind that this was more than a mere case of sleep walking as you seem to think.’ He took a quick turn about the room, head bowed forward even more than normal.

  Finally, he ceased his restless pacing, drew himself up to his full height.

  ‘I think I shall return to Tormount with you, Mr. Amberley,’ he said forcefully. ‘I know that my good friend, the vicar, will put me up for a few days and I would certainly feel far easier in my mind if I were on the spot so to speak. There are certain aspects of this case which worry me intensely.’

  ‘By all means.’ Terence glanced sideways at Anne. She was smiling faintly. Perhaps she considered Clivedon Park to be merely a strange and eccentric dabbler in the occult, who could not really be of help. Maybe she was right, he reflected, as they waited for the other to give instructions to the housekeeper. But there could surely be no harm in indulging the other’s whims, strange as they might appear.

  *

  Half an hour later, they were driving through the early December sunshine, the bare fields stretching away on either side of them, the crowded city streets left far behind. Out here, in the bright sunlight, all of those dark terrors that he had recently experienced seemed to have faded into relative insignificance. Maybe it was the presence of Clivedon Park in the back seat who had suddenly brought things back into a more normal plane by his oddly cartoon-like manner and appearance.

  They drove through a small village set on the slope of a hill, the gabled houses set back from the road, everything looking peaceful and normal. Yet as they topped the rise, there were glimpses of the dark, primal forest in the distance, dense and mysterious and in spite of the sunlight it was not difficult to imagine how it must have been some five centuries before when this was the witch country of England.

  Clivedon Park suddenly stirred in the back seat. ‘One thing I would like to ask, Mr. Amberley. When I last visited Tormount, about ten months ago, I was introduced to your brother. He was then living in the old house at the end of the lane. Might I inquire whether you are now living there?’

  ‘Yes, I thought it better to move in rather than inflict myself on Treherne. Besides, I had the feeling that I might find some clue as to what really happened in the house.’

  ‘I see.’ Park ruminated for a moment, then: ‘I suppose you’ve seen that room on the top floor, the one at the far end of the passage?’

  Terence’s fingers clenched convulsively around the wheel. Then he nodded. ‘I discovered it last night. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Park sat back in his seat. ‘Just answer me one question. Did you notice anything strange, unusual, when you were in that room?’

  When Terence remained silent, the other went on slowly: ‘I thought so. Something did happen last night that you haven’t told me about. If I’m to help you, you must tell me everything.’ His voice was rising a little in pitch now. ‘What was it? A sensation of heat? Cold? You didn’t —’ He paused significantly. ‘You didn’t see any material manifestation of any kind?’

  Terence half turned to reply, then swung back and concentrated on his driving. His mind was a turmoil of half-formed thoughts and ideas. He knew that Anne was watching him closely a puzzled frown on her face. ‘All right,’ he muttered finally. ‘I did think I saw something in that room. But looking back on it, I’m sure I must have imagined it all.’

  ‘You never told me anything about this, Terry,’ Anne said, her tone sharp.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you with my wild imaginings,’ he said weakly.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me — now!’ said Clivedon Park’s voice from the back seat. There was an odd note of authority in it.

  ‘Very well. Although it sounds so insane I doubt if you’ll believe me.’ Briefly, he related to the other what had occurred.

  Clivedon Park remained silent until he had finished. Then: ‘You had an extremely lucky escape,’ he said gravely. ‘Extremely lucky. I never guessed that your brother had progressed so far. He must somehow have translated some of the old writings.

  ‘Fear has lurked around Tormount for more centuries than anyone can remember. For many years that stone-topped hill has been the centre of wild stories. Monstrously hideous stories of a lurking evil that can sometimes take a kind of human form, but only so long as there has been a recent victim in the village or the surrounding countryside. I’m afraid we shall have to fear the worst now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Anne in a frightened whisper. She turned in her seat to stare at him.

  ‘Simply this, Miss Cowdrey. If the old records are true, then whatever this evil is, it becomes dormant after a certain length of time, becomes half forgotten except in the wild tales the villagers whisper among themselves. But now and again, someone comes along who pries into these things more deeply than the others, goes through with some of the ancient rites — calls up these terrible monstrosities if you like — and inevitably falls victim to them. When that happens, this evil force is released, renewed a thousand-fold to ravage and destroy. Your brother, Mr. Amberley, was just such a person. Now he’s dead and once again, this eldritch fear is loose around Tormount. That thing you saw last night was no figment of your imagination. Would to God that it was!’

  His voice trailed off into an uneasy silence that persisted all the way through Tenterton and into Tormount. In the early afternoon sunlight, the village slumbered peacefully in the valley but as they drove towards it, Amberley
had the uneasy feeling that this was only a surface tranquility.

  He stopped the car outside the rambling vicarage sitting beside the ancient church with its ivy-clad tower lifting towards the blue, unclouded heavens. The Reverend Ventnor was in the garden as they drove up. He straightened from his pruning of one of the bushes glanced round and then came towards the gate, wiping his hands on a piece of rag.

  He showed little surprise at seeing Park. Shaking the other by the hand, he said genially. ‘I expected you to come down sometime. You seem to have a nose for these things.’

  Clivedon Park nodded, but there was little amusement on his thin, cadaverous features. ‘From what our friend has been telling me, I seem to have come just in the nick of time,’ he said gravely.

  Chapter Six – The Satanists

  There was thunder muttering over the surrounding hills two nights later; a storm that had blown up suddenly from the north-east, dark, scurrying clouds blotting out the stars which had been clearly visible only half an hour before. Inside the front room of the rectory there was a pleasant warmth from the fire crackling in the hearth and a similar glow in Terence Amberley’s stomach from the two whiskeys he had drunk.

  In front of the fire, the vicar drew on his heavy overcoat buttoning it with fingers that fumbled a little in his nervousness.

  He said throatily: ‘You’re quite sure that you want to go through with this, Amberley? It isn’t too late, even now, to change your mind. This is something so highly unprecedented that I doubt if I should really be a party to it, certainly not without a court order and a direct command from my bishop.’

  ‘I can understand your feelings, my dear Ventnor.’ It was Clivedon Park who spoke, his long length stretched out in one of the chairs. ‘Believe me, if I thought there was any other way of proving to ourselves the full extent of what we are up against, I would be the first to consider it. Unfortunately, there appears to be no other way.’ He shot Terence a piercing glance. ‘We must exhume your brother’s body. I realise that we are breaking the law, that if you, or the vicar here, should decide to lift that telephone and ‘phone the authorities, then I could be jailed for quite a long term.’ He heaved himself upright. ‘But somehow, I don’t think you would do that. With Ventnor along with us there will be no question of sacrilege.’