Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  “Come this way,” said Richards and rose from his seat and headed across the room to the leather chest. “Philip, I have invited you into my home and into the ancient covenant between generations of my family. Before we look inside, do you promise to keep secret everything you ever see in this house? For if the truth got out, people from far and wide would crowd our gate looking for these ancient stories.”

  “I promise, Mr Richards. I’ll never say a word, no matter what.”

  “That’s a good lad,” said Richards laying his hand on Philip’s shoulder. “Now, don’t be alarmed. And don’t make any sudden movements and scare it.”

  Philip’s heart pounded as Mr Richards reached down to open the chest. He flipped open the leather flap and opened the huge lid slowly. Darkness filled the depths of its interior. The lid was fully opened and rested on the back wall.

  “Move in closer,” said Mr Richards.

  Philip moved in to have a better look. Without warning a giant black beast sprang from the chest and sprawled over his face and body sending him crashing to the floor, flailing and screaming. Richards’ laughter filled the room and once the shock subsided Philip felt the black dog from the gate licking his face and pawing him all over.

  “Oh, the look on your face, Quinlan. That was priceless,” he said in between convulsive laughter. “C’mon boy. Sit. Let’s finish this story.”

  Philip was annoyed with the prank but tried not to show it. They sat down again and Richards continued the story.

  “The creature told the king that there was no way to kill the undead but they could be immobilised and banished forever if things were done according to tradition. The first thing one must do is to fashion a sword out of the wood of a yew tree and strike him down by piercing the heart. A demon such as this one could regrow a heart in time but this would keep him subdued long enough to lay him to rest for good. A grave twenty feet deep should be prepared, dug under the very yew tree the wood was cut from. Bury him upside down and put a boulder on top of the filled-in grave. Make sure the rock is submerged enough so as to not let anyone move it or disturb it from its right position. The final thing to do, and this must be done for as long as you want to keep the demon at bay, is to sprinkle thorns on top of the filled-in grave. This must be checked every day, for given time, the demon’s anger will grow fiercer and fiercer.

  “The warrior chieftain raced back to his people who had dwindled greatly in numbers due to the Banished King’s bloodthirst. He did as the strange creature had instructed and carved a sword out of a yew tree branch and whittled a point on it so sharp it could cut an ant in half. The Banished King returned to the village that evening in search of his blood feast. He had grown into a giant having syphoned the strength and vitality from every individual he struck down.

  “The warrior confronted him and the battle was gruelling and long fought but eventually he had the Banished King on his back pleading for mercy. He brought down the wooden sword with all the anger of a thousand bereaved souls and stabbed him straight through the heart. It took fifteen villagers to carry his body the two miles to the yew tree burial site. When they got there they buried him as suggested and scattered thorns over his grave. They waited three days and three nights by the graveside to see if, indeed, the red-eyed creature was truthful, and so he was.

  “The Banished King was never seen in these parts again, and only his legend travelled through the generations. And, every generation a new young boy was charged with the responsibility of ensuring there were always thorns on that there grave.”

  “Whoa! You mean to say that bloodsucking monster is buried in the field near here?”

  “That’s if you are to believe in the legend, Philip. But we both know there is a rock cropping out of the ground under that yew tree. So, believe what you will.”

  Philip’s mind raced in many directions. He knew he had to replace Cloudcrawler’s crossbow with a wooden sword from a yew tree and now he had a new enemy who had escaped after centuries beneath the ground. Then his thoughts were interrupted.

  “But what about the strange creature? What favour did he ask of the chieftain?”

  “That’s another story for another day. Whatever you believe Philip, one thing is certain. You must never reveal to people the secrets you learn in this house. There are other dark spirits that will cast you down should you divulge our encounters. But great pleasures await if you can keep a secret.”

  “I promise, Mr Richards. I won’t say a thing.”

  “That’s my boy. Now, would you like to come to see Eve? I’m sure she’d be delighted to see her classmate has come to join us.”

  Philip was a little surprised by this offer. He had never thought of Eve on his way here and felt like it was just he and Mr Richards in the house the whole time. He followed Richards out the door and they climbed slowly up the stairs.

  10

  Philip waited outside the Savoy Cinema on O’Connell Street nervous that Sharon would not show up. He incessantly looked up at the clock on the GPO building even though he was half an hour early. Sharon arrived at five to seven and greeted him with a big smile that increased his heart rate for long enough to force a deep inhalation.

  “You look lovely.”

  “In my jeans and jacket? Well thanks very much,” she replied. “Come on, follow me. The restaurant is on Cathedral Street.”

  They turned off O’Connell Street and were at the restaurant within a few minutes. Pink potted flowers hung from the black shop front, a combination Sharon seemed to love. They took a seat by the window and the waiter brought them menus and poured some Chinese tea. Sharon laughed at his befuddled look reading the menu. She suggested the sweet and sour fish and a number of small side dishes. He agreed with everything and in no time the waiter was back taking their order. Philip was impressed that she knew a few Chinese words. The Chinese waiter, who spoke English with a Dublin accent, gave her the time to think of the words and replied with a few simple phrases she could understand.

  “Wow. You Speak Chinese?”

  “Just a few word and phrases, mostly for ordering food and drink. I went there for a year teaching English after finishing university.”

  He was genuinely impressed and felt a little nervous that she was so worldly and educated. Despite his nervousness, he found her very easy to talk to and they chatted and joked casually until their food and drinks arrived. One waiter arrived and laid the fish, a full one with head and tail still attached, in the centre of the table and twisted the plate so that the head faced Philip. The fish looked succulent and crispy, surrounded by a shiny orange sauce with peppers and pineapple chunks pointing out. The fragrance drew a gasp from both of them. Another waiter followed and left three smaller plates on the table; refried pork, barbecued aubergine and a wooden circular tray of dumplings. Finally, the first waiter returned with two Qingdao beers and bid them a good meal.

  “This looks incredible. I don’t know what to try first,” said Philip beaming.

  Sharon expertly took a dumpling from the tray and placed it gently on his plate.

  “Try this one. It has pork, scallion and ginger.”

  He picked up his chopsticks and fumbled them into position. He looked at her slyly and they both laughed. He laid the chopsticks down again and picked up a fork.

  The dumpling was exquisite.

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe how good this is.”

  They tucked into the food barely saying a word for ten minutes, savouring every last bite.

  “I’d like to make a toast,” said Philip raising his glass of beer. “To an expert choice in Sichuan cuisine.”

  They clinked glasses and she said she needed a break before attempting to finish the second half of their giant order. Philip obliged and laid down his fork for a breather.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Philip Quinlan? What did you do before stumbling into my shop looking for work clothes?”

  “Ah, you know. This and that,” he said awkwardly contemplating whether
he should be honest about his recent past.

  He decided, as part of his new turn at a clean and virtuous life, he would be upfront with her and not start their friendship based on a lie he would have to keep up for as long as they were to be acquainted.

  “I lived in Mountjoy for a year and a half, up to last week.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said truly surprised by his answer. “Why were you there?”

  The tone suddenly became very tense and serious.

  “I had a drug problem. I used to black out and find myself in places I wasn’t meant to be. I woke up inside the Dublin’s writer’s museum once. They had no idea how I got in there, and neither did I. I got many cautions, then probation, until I finally ran out of chances.”

  “Just answer me one thing honestly. Did you ever mug anybody to get money for a fix?”

  “Absolutely not. I was a low-life street bum, but I never hurt anyone. I’m not able to. My whole body seizes up in the face of confrontation. That’s another thing. I get panic attacks, sort of, or used to anyway. But, you know, they sorted me out in there. It’s a hellhole, of course, but the treatment was okay.”

  Sharon looked down as if processing what she’d just heard.

  “I hope you don’t think too much less of me. I’m still the same fumbling idiot you met in the shop a few days ago.”

  “I’m just a bit surprised. You don’t seem the type.”

  “There is no type, Sharon. I met all sorts in my street days. People from good families from all over the country. Same with in prison. It’s often not the people you’d suspect.”

  “Have you got any family?”

  “I have a sister in Waterford.”

  “Oh yeah. You mentioned that in the shop.”

  “She’s living with my best friend and they have a child together. At least I think they have one.”

  “Why so unsure?”

  He grimaced uneasily trying to think back.

  “You know how it is. I really messed up with them. They haven’t spoken to me for a long time.”

  “Maybe if they saw you now, how you’re getting your life back on track they’d forgive anything you did.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for. I’m gonna try my best to make it up to them. But I want to get a bit settled first. Get a few paycheques, find my own place.”

  “I thought you had a place. Where are you staying now?”

  “In a halfway house in Drumcondra. Hence why I stumbled into your place. The house manager recommended the shop.”

  “Do you like it there?”

  “Ya, it’s not bad. Declan is a sound fella. He seems to really care about the lads there, and everyone is making a proper go at it. It’s a positive environment to be in if a bit grim at times.”

  “Wow. This is a fascinating story.”

  “What about you? Can your demons beat mine?”

  They laughed.

  “I was brought home by the guards once when I was fifteen, after taking two E’s and slugging back half a bottle of vodka. Luckily the guards and my father thought I only had the vodka.”

  “Jeez, that’s crazy. And they lock me up.”

  They laugh again, Sharon a little uneasily.

  “And I took an overdose twice when I was going through a difficult period in my life.”

  He raised his eyebrows, stunned.

  “I can’t believe I just came out and said that. I’ve never talked about it to anyone outside of counselling before.”

  “I hope it feels good to get it off your chest.”

  “Actually, it kinda does.”

  A long moment passed where neither felt uncomfortable nor did they feel a need to fill the silence. Philip raised his head to make eye contact and they smiled at each other. He topped up their glasses with beer.

  “I’d like to make another toast, to new beginnings and moving on.”

  They clanked glasses and drank, never breaking eye-contact.

  “What did you want to do before things got away on you?”

  “Ah, it’s silly.”

  “Great. I think we need some silliness right now, so you have to tell me.”

  He squirmed and let out a deep sigh. “When I was young I was obsessed with writing stories. I always wanted to be a writer. A horror writer.”

  “That’s fantastic. When did you stop?”

  “I don’t remember. I just know it came to a point where I didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. I’d sit down to write something and feel dizzy and nauseous.”

  “Maybe that’ll be different now that you’re getting your life back in order. During my difficult time, I couldn’t think straight about anything. I had to leave my job. Then, when I got better. I went back to do my Masters and I aced the thing. I was never so focused. We shouldn’t give up our dreams. Sometimes they’re all we have.”

  “I guess you’re right. I’ll try to get back into it one day.”

  They soon changed the subject and started chatting and joking about more mundane things, lightening the mood and growing their connection. When they left the restaurant they took a long walk through the city to Drumcondra. Philip entertained Sharon with some watered down humorous stories about some of the characters he met in prison, leaving out the true vileness of them, of course.

  He soon noticed it was after ten o’clock and was concerned he would get locked out of the halfway house if he didn’t hurry. He flagged down a taxi for Sharon.

  “Thanks for a great evening, Sharon. I really needed that.”

  “Ya, me too. Let’s do it again some time.”

  This comment made him ecstatic but he tried not to show it. He thought his revelations about his past might have scared her off or caused her to say they should be friends, but he felt the chance was still there for something to happen between them. He didn’t want to push it by trying to kiss her so just gave her a hug which she reciprocated warmly.

  “I’ll pop into the shop during the week, get some more books and shirts.”

  “I look forward to it. See you then.”

  She waved through the taxi window as the car pulled away. Philip was tingling all over, a renewed sense of optimism cast over his future.

  11

  The next couple of weeks were blissful for Philip. Work was going well despite the hassle of dealing with the broody Banger. He decided to ignore his taunts to the best of his ability and keep his head down and work hard. He felt his strength and energy increase by the day and was laying down his own bricks soon enough. O’Connell, whilst being a hard-ass during the day, was quite encouraging after each shift and Philip could even see himself becoming friends and hanging out with him in time. Duignan, the owner of the company, showed up one day unannounced and all but ignored Philip, which he was assured was a good thing. If he’d noticed him at all it would have been to give him abuse about sloppy work.

  Counselling sessions with Paul Walsh were also comforting and productive. He was pleased with Philip’s progress but still tried to dig into his memories of the past, things he couldn’t seem to access no matter how hard he tried. Walsh opined that before he could truly make a full recovery he would have to remember certain things about his past and reconcile these memories with how events that followed in his life transpired. Philip was unconcerned about this as he knew his life was quickly getting to a place of peace and stability. He was taking his medication on a daily basis and hoped that one day soon he could go without it.

  He still hadn’t tried to make contact with Julie and Rodge but was thinking of the good times they had in their youth more and more often. One day he picked up the phone and began to dial Julie’s number but reconsidered and put it off to another day. The number was the first one he’d ever memorised, the phone in his family home growing up. After his parents passed away Julie stayed in the family home and refused to sell to builders who were offering enough money that she could live comfortably for many years to come. She was dead set on not having their childhood home bulldozed and replaced w
ith modern holiday homes that would remain unoccupied for most of the year. Philip never argued or tried to make any claim to half the property that was rightfully his. He felt that was the very least he could do after all he’d put his parents and sister through.

  His only dark times in these days were when he thought about the lost time with his family and friends back home. His mother, who he’d always been very close with and tolerated a lot of his strange behaviour as a teenager, died of cancer in her early fifties. His father, who he’d battled with more fervently, died of a heart attack in his sixties. Philip and he hadn’t talked in years, since the last argument they’d had when he was kicked out of the family home and headed for Dublin. He knew he would struggle with this daily for the rest of his life, but had to move on.

  He met Sharon a few more times over these weeks, three times casually for a chat in the shop during which they arranged a date for Saturday night. He hadn’t picked up his medication that Wednesday or Friday believing he was now mentally in a good enough place to get by without it. Walsh had warned him several times that it would be dangerous coming off it but he looked forward to telling him at their session on Monday that he’d almost gone a full week without a dose. Although he felt a little queasy and starry-eyed coming off it, he didn’t fear slight withdrawal symptoms as he’d been through much worse coming off the heroin.

  The date went well and they barely mentioned their pasts but instead joked around a lot and talked about things that could be done around Dublin for fun. The Gate Theatre would stage Macbeth the following month and they agreed to make it a mission to see it together. She surprised him by giving him some printouts of information about creative writing courses and writing groups around Dublin. He promised to look into it further. That night he walked her home through the bustle and revelry of a Saturday night in Dublin. Partygoers stumbled along the streets, dating couples dressed to impress tried to blend in and remain cool and tourists mingled with the fabric of the city in various states of willingness and disbelief. A murder of crows stubbornly blocked their path as they walked along Drumcondra Road. Philip thought he saw shining red eyes in one of them but put it off to a reflection of a nearby light.