Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  34

  In the nights following the incident at the oak tree near Fruit Tree Corner, Padraig began to change. Colm saw less of him during the day and Padraig only agreed to meet after dusk. His mother said he was running a high temperature and shouldn’t go out, but as usual, he ignored her pleas and went out anyway.

  They went to the cliff edge in the hope of meeting horseman to get advice about how to treat Padraig’s bite. He told Colm of how he was beginning to see and think differently. He looked at the animals in the farm with lessening compassion bordering on contempt and hatred. Colours and objects took new forms, houses melted into fields, trees bore wicked faces that looked hell-bent on revenge. His eyes began to change from blue to a greyish green and several of his teeth chipped away and formed sharpened points. They both knew what was happening but the words remained unspoken.

  Then, one night, when it seemed there was no way back for Padraig, the clouds gathered together and rushed towards their spot on the beach. The boys were lying down, looking up at the red veins forking through the black mass of dense fog. They slowly got to their feet and Colm drew his sword. It had a similar series of red splayed arteries flowing over its surface. The cloud funnelled down in front of them and slowly faded revealing a figure hidden in the mist. Colm fully expected it to be the robed demon and poised himself to strike. But instead, a girl their own age appeared before them.

  She wore a black dress, the type a widow might wear to her spouses’ funeral and had flowing blond hair. Whatever was infecting Padraig looked to be much more advanced in her. She stepped towards them, her lips quivering, tears rolling down her plastic-looking skin.

  “Cloudcrawler, please help me. I know you tried to save me from them in my family home when I lay on death’s bed, but they took me, nonetheless. And now my soul is in deep anguish. They’re using me as their plaything. I don’t know how much more I can take until I give in to their demands and become one of them. Please, come when I still have some time?”

  “I don’t understand. Come where? You’re right here with us. Stay and we’ll protect you.”

  “I’m not really here. This is just a floating form of me, my spirit. They have my body in the cottage near Fruit Tree Corner. Please come quickly.”

  With that, she faded into nothingness. The boys debated whether it was another trap but eventually decided they must go and find out. On the run there, Padraig displayed superhuman speed and had to stop several times to wait for his partner. They got to the corner and found the cottage was well lit up with signs of movement inside, likely from three or four people.

  “What should we do?” said Colm, but before he was finished asking, Padraig was knocking on the door. He looked at Colm and shrugged his shoulders.

  A man, about their father’s age, answered the door. “Ah, boys. We were expecting you. Do come in out of the cold.”

  Colm thought he recognised the man but couldn’t remember from where or when. They went into the house. It was typical of the style and age of the cottage. Whitewashed walls, a dusty wooden floor and a small fire flickering in the undersized fireplace.

  “Follow me, boys,” said the man and opened the white tongue and groove door that led into a bedroom.

  Colm and Padraig went in first and were disgusted by what they found happening. The girl lay naked on the bed on all fours, the horseman entering her from behind. The robed demon and the vampire woman watched on from either side of the bed, ignoring their presence. The door slammed and locked behind them.

  With the flick of a wrist, the robed one summoned incredible power that tossed Colm onto the bed beside the girl and held him there. He and the man who’d let them in began undressing Colm, touching him all over, biting lightly on his trembling flesh. He tried to scream, he tried to implore the horseman, his mentor, but was paralysed.

  He turned to see the vampire woman holding Padraig down, sucking blood from his crotch area. Inside he raged and yelled and panicked but was helpless. He felt a sharp, painful coldness enter his body from behind, then passed out.

  35

  The car rocked back and forth as Philip repeatedly drove his shoulder at the locked passenger door.

  “Let me fucking out,” he cried his face twisted into a knot of rage, eyes beaded and black.

  “Okay, take it easy, man. You’ll take the door off the hinges.”

  “Leave me the fu-”. The central locking thumped open, and in a single rolling movement he pulled the handle, pushed open the door and fell onto the cold hard ground beside the car.

  Struggling to his feet, he staggered forward. The sound that shot into the air was as unfamiliar and frightening to him as the thought of having lived through something similar to what had occurred in his story. He roared again and felt himself merge with the beastly timbre. The cut on his hand spewed when he clenched his fists and punched the sides of his legs. A thousand stems of thoughts he was unable to give life to sprouted and faded again in his mind. He tried to focus on the memory of Rodge, to summon the exact truth of what pushed him over the edge but the full story, beginning, middle and end, still eluded him.

  All he could remember of the last time they were in Mr Richards’ house was telling the second part of his story, being shocked by the presence of a man they’d believed Richards had murdered and drinking some kind of herbal concoction from a brass cup. He said something about Eve and Mrs Richards waiting for them, but what was it?

  Ray got out of the car and came to the low car park wall and sat next to where Philip was standing. He lit another cigarette then offered one to Philip. This time he accepted and after coughing through the first few pulls, soon seemed to find great comfort in it.

  “Does that bring it all back to ya?”

  “I still can’t remember the details.”

  “Maybe you’re better off not knowing. That shit fucks you up, believe me.”

  “Why? Am I a picture of stability not knowing?”

  They both let out a forced gasping laugh that evaporated just as quickly.

  “What do you wanna do?”

  “That depends on what you have in mind for me.”

  “I won’t stop you if you wanna finish this off before I deal with yous.”

  Philip turned to look up at the Richards’ manor. A few drops were beginning to fall now and the brightness that consumed the sky earlier was swallowed up by twisted black foreboding clouds.

  “I have to go there to confront him, if he’s even still living there.”

  “What if he’s not?”

  “Then I might never know. Unless I can find his daughter, Eve.”

  “I assume that’s the girl in the story. Do you really think she stuck around with her old man, scumbag piece of shit that he is?”

  Philip thought about Eve for a moment and was overcome by a feeling of remorse and sadness. “The last I heard she was sent off to live with relatives in England.”

  “So, she got out.”

  “You don’t understand. That fucker had an incredible hold over her… Now that I think of it, he had a hold over all of us. Everyone in the class loved him. They all wanted to be the ones invited to his house.”

  Ray scoffed and spat on the ground. “Jesus Christ. What a sick bastard. But I guess I understand how these paedos work. We looked up to my uncle like he was a superhero. That’s their M.O. They suck you in with their lies and brainwash you… And that’s where Dan learnt it.”

  They caught each other’s eye and Philip thought he detected a softening of Ray’s stony exterior, something he thought he’d never witness. Ray looked to the ground and took a few deep breaths.

  “C’mon. I’ll take you there. If he’s there I’ll back you up, in case he gets into your head again.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Ray.”

  “I know I don’t, so let’s go before I change me fuckin’ mind.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Philip followed him back to the car. Ray opened the boot and Philip wondered if he was going
to take out the package and give him a hit to take the edge off, or to guarantee he had a customer for life.

  He pulled out a green plastic first aid box, opened it and pulled out a roll of bandage.

  “Here. Fix that hand up. I don’t want you getting blood all over me Merc.”

  He quickly but neatly wrapped his hand and sealed the bandage securely. They got into the car and headed towards the grey Georgian Manor.

  36

  Philip reached for the intercom button which had gone green and brittle looking over the years. He pulled his finger back and peered through the iron bars into the overgrown section of the yard, remembering how immaculate it once looked, the flowerbeds and hedges professionally tended, the grass mowed to minute precision. Now it was like the grounds of a ruined castle, windswept and rustic but without the charm of knowing generations of noble people had dwelled within its crumbling walls.

  “What are you waiting for? It’s gonna lash down any second.” Ray nudged him out of the way and pressed on the button repeatedly until the outer brass plate cracked in half and fell from its place on the wall. “Looks like they haven’t been gettin’ a whole load of visitors then,” he said and scoffed.

  Philip barely noticed his comment but stared at the two brass pieces on the ground. Ray messed around with the chain keeping the gate secured and found it was fastened too tightly to push it open enough for someone to slip in.

  “The chain looks fairly new so I don’t think it’s completely abandoned,” he offered.

  He returned to his car which was parked by a clearing around the ditch on the other side of the road. Philip closed his eyes and tried to think back to the last time he’d entered these gates, but clear memories still escaped him. On opening his eyes, he swore to himself he saw a dark figure circle around the massive oak tree back to the left, and vanish around its shadowy trunk.

  Ray returned with a long red and silver bolt cutters. “Ya never know when you’re gonna forget your key… or need to take a couple of digits as payment.”

  After a few failed attempts and a flurry of expletives, he finally cut through one of the links and the chain dropped to the ground like a dead python falling from a tree.

  Philip pushed the gate open and was stunned by the familiar sound of the iron rubbing along the rounded pebbles on the driveway, the agonising crunching sound of footsteps to a forlorn fate. He led the way in and Ray closed the gate behind them and placed the chain back to its resting position, presumably to give the glimpsed appearance that everything was as it should be. Philip assumed he knew what he was doing.

  They proceeded around the ominous bend of the driveway and his heart raced as the giant grey house came into view. A birch tree at the side of the house bent and creaked like a cat’s neck being twisted. A smell of stale soil from neglected flower pots permeated the dampening air. The raindrops cracked off the windows and paving slabs like suicide pilots who wanted out as fast as possible. The windows looked darkened and covered by heavy old stained curtains. Several panes of glass were cracked, some appearing to have shiny cobwebs growing on them. He began to think he wouldn’t be finding any answers tonight.

  “It’s like a haunted house from one of those Goosebumps stories,” Ray said, trying to disguise the nervousness in his voice.

  Philip was energised by a blast of bravery, stepped forward and rapped the heavy knocker hard off the faded red door. A few seconds passed and he struck again.

  Ray goose-stepped over flowerbeds to try to gaze in the windows but couldn’t see anything. The rain and wind were gaining force.

  “Let’s go round the back. It should be easy to break that door open,” said Philip in a harsh tone that surprised both of them.

  They rounded the side of the house. It was even darker there than at the front. Mud and moss stained the wall and what looked like numerous seasons of dead leaves were piled up against the edge of the path. The expanse of the massive back garden appeared before them like a deep void with no end. They stood at the back corner and Philip felt a chill rush through him when he saw a shadow around the far corner.

  “Turn back now, foolish boy.”

  “What did you say?” Phillip asked.

  “I didn’t say a thing. Now let’s get this over with. This place is starting to freak me out. I can feel it in the air; bad things went down here.”

  Philip took two steps along the back path and a deep click followed by a searing flash of light stalled him and made him bury his head in towards the wall. When his vision came around a second later he followed the source of the light to the middle of the building. A spotlight on a sensor.

  “Jesus fucking mother of Christ,” whispered Ray beside him.

  He turned to Ray and saw him entranced, leering down the back garden, his hand holding the bolt cutters trembling. Philip looked back to see the garden full of wooden figurines, some as large as people. Ancient faces carved into wood. Pentagrams fashioned from tree branches. Crosses with life-like cloaked people hanging from them. Sundials and black metal stars. And most frightening of all, a noose hanging from a tree in the distance, it’s shadow stretching far beyond their eye line.

  “What is this black magic shit?”

  Philip looked at Ray. “He’s into some depraved stuff.”

  “How true is that story you wrote?”

  “Are you a superstitious man?”

  The fear vanished from Ray’s face and he cut Philip a look of violent intent. “You need to watch what you say to me. I’ve let you come this far but we can stop whenever I say so.”

  Philip didn’t reply and took another long look down the garden then headed for the back door. He reached out for the handle expecting it to be locked. But surprisingly, it turned and the door pushed open. Ray put the bolt cutters on the ground and took out his knife, pressed the release and six inches of shiny steel sprung out.

  The kitchen smelled of cooked cabbage and rotten fish. A shallow stream of excess light poured in from the rear of the spotlight then it clicked off again, casting the garden and their whole surroundings in darkness. From what he could make out, it looked the exact same as when he and Rodge walked through there over twenty-five years before. It was silent and felt entirely empty of life. But Philip sensed the ghosts and was relieved for Ray’s presence, should another one of his hallucinations occur whilst in this dreadful place. Ray poked around the kitchen seeming more at ease than he was outside.

  “Let’s check the drawing room. That’s where we used to tell the stories.”

  “Lead the way,” he said motioning with the knife.

  Philip felt a sudden pulsation on the cut on his hand. It sped up and slowed down with the rate of his heart and as he reached for the door handle that opened out to the hall, it stuttered to a malign rhythm. He stepped onto the sodden grey carpet and the ancient floorboards creaked under his feet.

  “What was that?” said Ray from behind him.

  “Nothing. Just the floor.”

  Philip rubbed his hand along the wall to find a light switch but found nothing. He cringed at the greasy texture of the wallpaper. There used to be an array of scents and aromas from Mrs Richards’ floral arrangement and cookie baking. There’s no way she could still be here. She’d never allow the place she took so much pride in to fall into such an unkempt state. Staleness and mould invaded every breath of air. He couldn’t see it in the dark but was certain there was a layer of dirt on every surface.

  They found themselves in the foyer. It was empty but for the old coat rack that stood in the same spot as before. Two long coats hung from it and two pairs of man-sized boots sat ominously on the floor underneath.

  “It’s right down here,” Philip said and headed past three closed doors before reaching the drawing room. He stopped and looked at Ray with uncertain awkwardness.

  “Go on in. How bad can it be?”

  The old bulbous door handle felt warm. He twisted it slowly and pushed in the door, a jolt of pain searing through his wound. The fi
rst thing that drew his eye, in a startling fit of certainty, was the old chest at the far side of the room. As his eyes adjusted he scanned the room, aghast to find it just as he remembered, dollhouse in the far corner, the bookshelf thronged with books and the sofa and armchair, inviting them to sit and hear another volume of their twisted ghost stories.

  Ray stayed at the door, whilst Philip walked over to the chest, readying himself to open it, hesitant due to the old memories of people and animals springing out when he wasn’t expecting it.

  “Go ahead. See what’s inside for you,” came an old hoarse voice from out of thin air. He wasn’t going to let his anxiety play tricks on him this time, so he ignored the sinister request.

  “Who said that?” whispered Ray.

  Philip’s whole body seized.

  “You heard that too?”

  “Over there, behind the curtain.”

  Philip looked towards the window on the right and sure enough, thought he could make out a bulging shape behind the ceiling to floor curtain.

  “Who’s there?” he called out.

  The chest rattled with a brutal uninvited thumping and clanging. Philip took a step back from it, the pulsing of his hand now a separate entity invading his body. He glanced back at Ray who stood a couple of steps in from the door, wide-eyed and speechless. Philip turned and reached down in a gesture that suggested he was going to open the chest when, with an involuntary start, he straightened again on hearing the vicious crack that could only be a blunt object against a skull.

  He turned tentatively to Ray and through rapid blinking found him stretched out face down on the floor, a dark hooded cloak figure standing over him with a shotgun. The gun elevated and straightened out and pointed in Philip’s direction.

  “So nice of you to join us after all these years, my boy,” came the voice from behind him again.

  The figure emerged slowly from behind the curtain, also heavily cloaked but he knew who owned this voice.