by G D Sheehen
“On other occasions, he was not so fortunate. He tracked an unearthly king by the name of Melchom, to the banks of the River Jordan. A hunch-backed little demon, his sin was to deprive his victims of riches, leaving them destitute and broken. The wealth was then passed on to kings of the underworld to finance their crusades against the good people of surrounding lands. His cunning was too much for Colm, however, and he left him fighting for his freedom, accused of instigating an uprising in the region. A conflict, the details and intricacies he knew nothing about. He mounted a daring escape by the cover of night, assisted by a local farmer’s daughter who knew he was incapable of the crimes he was being accused of. He professed his love for her and promised he’d return once he fulfilled one final mission in his homeland.
“For the thought of his best friend, Padraig, living life as a creature of the night in the Otherworld never rested well with him. He knew one day he’d have to face his responsibility and return to avenge the deeds against him and Padraig. Time had buried the memories deeply. But he never forgot the innocent girl who was taken from her family and turned into horseman and the Vampire King’s plaything. Where was Padraig now, he wondered? Had he turned to the dark side or did he remain true to himself and help vulnerable souls in need, as he’d promised he’d do?
“Colm made the voyage back across the Mediterranean on a merchant ship destined for Montpelier. Whilst travelling on foot through the hostile English countryside he came across a great huntsman by the name of Herne. Herne the hunter rode around on a pale brown stallion the girth of which Colm had never before witnessed. They broke bread over a campfire in Windsor Forest and Herne confided in him a crippling guilt he felt for courting a young lady from way above his lowly station. When the inevitable arrived and he had to part ways with her she descended into insanity. It caused a ripple that was felt at the top of the hierarchical chain and Queen Elizabeth the First put a contract on his head. This baffled Colm. He knew that the Queen had reigned three hundred years ago.”
“Wow. He was three hundred years old, then?”
“He most certainly was. And there was nothing he longed for more than to be done with this world. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t depart. He kept finding himself back in the same place, lying under a withering oak tree that he himself had poisoned. Colm was drawn to Herne’s story and was compelled to help him. He searched high and low for a yew tree and when he finally found one, he fashioned him a sword just like his own. Not only that, but he also trained him in the ways of the Otherworldly hunt.
“They went on one mission together to free a dying old lady’s soul from a faerie soul snatcher, who was notorious in the shadow world for profiting from the sale of spirits he sucked from the dying. They cornered him in a dark laneway near the lady’s terraced house. The measly twerp squirmed and begged and said anything he could to gain his freedom. Colm saw the familiar cloud forming overhead and urged Herne to finish the job. Herne struck down and delivered the decisive blow and the cloud disappeared. Colm knew they would be expecting him home soon so wasted no more time in making the final leg of his journey.
“A solemn reunion was spent with his family. He talked little of the things he had seen on his adventures. How could he? When pressed by his younger sister, who was now an adult in her own right, however, he revealed more to her than he ought to have and she demanded a passage into the ghostly world he now lived between. He spent the nights searching for his old friend, but after months with no sign or word of his whereabouts, he lost hope. He went to the cliff most nights wishing for an encounter with horseman but it wasn’t to be. Had all those things happened at all, he wondered?
“One evening he heard his parents talk of a dying girl in the village. She was Aoife O’Laughlin, daughter of the most prominent family in the area. They lived in an old Georgian manor, east along the coast. The house was surrounded by high trees and couldn’t be seen from anywhere but a section of the cliff they were warned away from as children. He’d heard stories of several people falling to their deaths over the years. It was true that he could see the front of the house from there. The waves crashed off the cliff wall and the spray raining down on him didn’t break his concentration on the mission. He scanned for signs of shadows that looked out of the ordinary and his suspicions were soon confirmed. A lone light that poured from an upstairs window was partially filled by the outline of an unwanted guest. Colm wasted no time and ran to the house only to find the large iron gate locked. He scaled the wall and cut his hand off a shard of glass that was embedded on top. He jumped down the other side making a racket as he did so.
“Colm crept along the winding driveway and made his way to the front of the house from where the light source was coming. When he got there he found the light was out, the house covered in darkness. A chilled breeze struck the back of his neck and he turned quickly finding what he’d expected. ‘It’s you,’ she said, a look of hate and fear in her black eyes. ‘Did you smell the blood?’ he said and held up his dripping hand. She opened her mouth wide, bore her teeth and left out a hiss. He drew his sword and they ran full pelt towards each other.
“The Dearg Due reached out and grabbed both of his wrists, exhibiting immense power pushing back against his forward thrust. They struggled and she went in on him, her teeth at the ready. He knew one bite would destine him to a fate worse than the misery he’d lived in recent years. She cast her fangs in the direction of his left hand which held the glowing red sword. He dropped it to focus his strength on pushing her back. He managed to raise them both to an upright position and faked a swinging motion with his restrained left arm. It was enough to put her slightly off balance. He swept her legs from under her with a right legged kick and while she crab-walked back to make some distance between them, he picked up his sword. It glowed green and blue, red sparks shot from it, vanishing in the night air. She glared at him, her dead eyes sensing what was coming. He lunged at her as horseman had taught him and pierced through her midriff, into her heart. She fell on her back and he followed her down and pressed the sword further in. ‘Tell me what happened Padraig and I’ll let you live, for now,’ he shouted. Lights came on in the house. They were alert to the ruckus outside and would surely investigate, armed with a shotgun or rifle as was a staple of such a household in these times.
‘“He’s under the oak tree, buried in the exact spot you once put me,’ she said gurgling and spurting. ‘Who goes there?’ came a loud voice from the side of the house. He looked up and saw the Sluagh clouds forming above him. I’ll be back for all of you one day, he said and whipped the sword out of her and made his escape over the wall.
“When he reached the cottage at Fruit Tree Corner there was a shine from the moon that made it seem more like dawn than midnight. The house looked abandoned and derelict, torturous memories flushed into his mind. He found an opening in the high hedge and proceeded to the field behind the house. And there it was. The giant oak, imperious and claw-like against the sheer horizon. He ran through the field and soon found himself at the spot where they once buried the Dearg Due. The patch looked the same as the entire surface of the earth around the great tree, covered in lush grass and weeds. He wondered and cursed that she’d lied to him to save her putrid life. He drew his sword and dug down a few feet but found nothing. His heart ached that he may never meet his friend again and make amends for not facing their troubles together.
“He was about to give up when his sword came to a juddering halt. He’d hit a rock. Carefully, he scored the earth around it and rolled it out of its position. He continued digging but with his hands this time. Soil and small stones flew out of the large hole and then he felt movement. ‘Padraig is that you?’ he cried. The moving became more intense and he resumed his digging. The area around his head was eventually cleared. ‘I thought you’d never show up, you daft fool,’ said Padraig.
“They laughed and joked through the whole night at their old spot on the beach. Padraig told him of his efforts to thw
art the Vampire King and Dearg Due by acting as one of their own and how they’d finally figured out his game and sneaked up on him and buried him. That was seven years ago. Colm wowed him with stories of his travels through Europe and parts of Asia. When a silence descended they finally discussed that fateful night in the cottage. They cried and hugged and vowed to stop horseman and his disciples.”
“Is Padraig meant to be my father, Uncle Philip?”
“Yes, he is. And of course, you’re Colm the Cloudcrawler.”
“No,” he said laughing. “That’s you. Mammy read it for me in the magazine. They said you wrote the book from stories in your childhood.”
“You got me. Now it’s time you were getting off to sleep.”
“Will you be here tomorrow, Uncle Philip?”
“I will. And I’ll be down from Dublin often to see you and your mother. And you’re gonna come to visit me again really soon. Okay?”
“Okay.”
38
Sharon hugged him tightly and wished him good luck. A sense of fondness bordering on deep love soared through his veins and he used all the mental energy he had at his disposal to not crumble at her feet and profess to her his unyielding love.
Since returning to Dublin and divulging everything to her, from the events of his childhood to his days on the streets and his journey with Ray in pursuit, their relationship took on a new dimension. One of sponsor and apprentice on the journey back from a suicidal episode. Her own experience had given her insights she was eager to bestow on him, and although he’d hoped they could pick up where they’d left off that fateful Saturday night in Dublin, he would have to bide his time and work his way back into her affections.
With some help from Paul Walsh and a vote of confidence from the gardaí for having brought down a decades long paedophile ring, he was accepted back into the halfway house and given his job back on the building site. In the weeks following the arrest of Mr Richards and Tom Brophy, more than a dozen people came forward with similar stories of satanic ritualistic orgies in the Georgian Manor. Most of those who made statements were former students of Dunmahon primary school.
The world’s media descended on the village in the days following the break of the story, some managing to gain entry to the sealed property and photograph the sculptures and symbols scattered around the back garden. This gave the whole thing a sinister Hollywood appeal for a while. Then the next buzz story broke and the shadow they cast on the village subsided.
Julie brought Brendan up to Dublin to visit Philip on several occasions and the elephant in the room about Rodge’s role in the events in the Richards’ place was not brought up. As much as she wanted to know, she knew she had to wait until he was more stable and ready. She accepted that maybe that time may never come.
They talked about their parents and much of what Julie said was a revelation to him. Their mother’s storytelling and encouragement to Philip to write stories and live in a fantasy world were intentional and measured. She’d seen signs of his father’s condition in him from an early age and wanted to do everything she thought would help to give reason to why he was experiencing visions and sensations that no other children seemed to have. She believed he could find salvation through the art of storytelling and he soon realised she was right. That’s why he buried his stories when he was at a low point. The horrors and abuse he’d witnessed made him give up hope and succumb to the demons inside him and sent his life spiralling into chaos for the next twenty-five years. And that’s why he’d started writing prolifically again after he’d finally confronted his past.
He regretted deeply that he hadn’t understood her attempts to get through to him as he began to slip in his teenage years. If only he’d told her what had happened in Mr Richards; how different his life could have been? He regretted not understanding his father more. His hero as a boy, they barely said a word to each other in the final years of his life, both ashamed of what the other had become when really they were one and the same. A mutual withholding of feelings ensured they could never know what the other was going through. These things he could never get past but hoped in the years to come he could perhaps understand them more philosophically through his writing.
The bus took him on a familiar journey through the city but to a new destination on the other side of the River Liffey. He got off outside St. Patrick’s University Hospital. The Saturday afternoon was cold, the air biting. He watched his breath of white steam escape and dissolve in the air for a moment until he built up the courage to enter the hospital grounds.
Several months had passed since the terrifying discovery in the chest in Mr Richards’ drawing room and now she requested a visit from Philip. He remembered the first day he and Rodge went to their house and were lured in by his masterful storytelling. Now he was ready to face the reality of what that day meant. Now he was ready to look her in the eye and share the anguish of that evil man’s actions.
Now he was ready to tell his story.
Dear reader,
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Acknowledgements
I would like to thank everyone who made the writing of this book possible. I’d especially like to thanks my wife and son for your enduring patience at my moods and mental disappearing acts and for giving me a reason and motivation to not pack it all in and end up on some roadside confused about which direction to take.
Table of Contents
Contents
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Sign up page
Acknowledgements
