by Guy Sheppard
‘Come out or I’ll shoot!’
But not long was I in suspense. Next minute I jerked my gun up to my shoulder and let fly.
My shots gave the tinned roof an awful battering. I heard a yell – someone had dived behind a pile of wood in a corner.
Then reason deserted me. I burst out laughing, I who was in the grip of a morbid excitement, I who would so insist on joining the dead to lurk among the detritus of someone’s former existence. Now I skulked here more in cowardly than murderous intent, I who had sneaked away from Coberley Hall to give credit to the incredible, or so I’d hoped. Instead, I was in disbelief at myself.
A second or two later, one shadow detached itself from another. Ignoring my smoking gun, a black and white animal rose up vertically in order to place its front paws on my shoulders. Try as I might, I could not stop him licking my face with his slobbering tongue round my chin. It was Prince.
‘You trying to kill me, Inspector?’
Now it was my turn to stare down the barrel of a gun.
‘Yeah, well, okay. I had it in mind you were someone else.’
Peter dusted his large leather hat where lead pellets had just rained down on him from on high.
‘I left my Land Rover up the lane so as not to announce my arrival.’
‘You hear anyone,’ I asked breathlessly, ‘on top of that great pile of timber?’
He lowered his shotgun and felt inside his padded wax jacket for a cigarette.
‘When I said come prepared I didn’t mean you to blow his head off. You scared him shitless, I’m damned if you didn’t.’
There came an ominous pause while we considered our best options.
Suddenly Peter began to examine the soft earth floor of the barn. He worked his way inch by inch back into daylight. There he crouched on the ground like someone examining the spoor of a wild animal.
‘What d’you say we both search the bungalow?’
*
It was but a few yards from the barn to the side of the creamy Cotswold stone ruin. Now that we were two guns instead of one, I had little hesitation in kicking in a flimsy wooden door that led in through a conservatory. Along with the dereliction, the once domestic character of someone’s home still lingered. However, ivy grew rampant through cracks and a garden rake stood rotting against a wall beneath smashed panes of glass.
When someone burgled a dead man’s house after many years he did more than intrude upon a sickening emptiness, he soon felt sick at himself. If the dead were ever more than mere dust then who was I to say that they did not exist as they had always done, that it was not their books, their music, all their personal things that they still loved? ‘What the devil,’ I thought. ‘How infuriating it would be to return to a place you knew so well only to find it all flung to the winds.’
Peter was too busy to notice.
‘Milk went missing this morning from outside the Shooting School, Inspector.’
I unscrewed the top from a plastic bottle that stood half empty on a window sill and gave it a sniff.
‘I believe you.’
‘You see him, too?’
‘Last night, in Coberley Hall.’
‘You get a good look at him?’
‘He’s a beast of a man, that’s certain.’
Triumph paled into fear as my gun-toting friend tightened his grip on his weapon.
‘Keep searching, Inspector. There could be more clues.’
A distinct urinary odour filled my nostrils. More man than fox or cat, I remembered how awful Jan had declared I looked and smelt. Like someone down on my luck, she’d implied. I spat phlegm on the decayed carpet. Perhaps all men on the run came to smell the same. I could stomach my gut reaction of disgust but not of desolation. Everything else exuded damp like a cave. A hideous brown sofa faced the fireplace on which an unpleasant pile of animal bones resided – rabbit skulls, mostly. In addition, the floor was littered with hundreds of dead wasps. Curled into tight little black and gold balls, they crunched underfoot in drifts like shingle.
‘Whoever visited George last night absolutely terrified him.’ I declared. ‘They knew each other, all right. It’s not all in his head. He wants his dead brother to come back for him. Yet that’s what scares him most! It doesn’t make sense. Did he literally think he saw Philip? Was it even a man?’
‘Man-like, at least,’ replied Peter. ‘In our mind’s eye grief can take the strangest form, I’m damned if it can’t. Abnormal. Huge. Atrocious. Of the nature of an autonomous beast. I guess it comes as a shock to see worlds that are best left an invisible, mirror-image of our own?’
‘You mean our minds will go where we won’t?’
‘I really don’t know any other way to put it.’
‘What can anyone want with George?’
‘Consider fear our worst enemy.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe, but that’s not massively helpful, is it?’
‘That’s only because in general we have stopped believing in the unbelievable, Inspector.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘Some hold that long ago the human imagination simply invented God and the Devil. Compared with our forbears we consider ourselves enlightened, but are we really so very different? Accursed manifestations revisit us in our dreams.’
‘Accursed, no. Day and night terrors, possibly.’
Peter took a peek into a cupboard.
‘You tell me. You met him.’
‘We should agree a strategy.’
‘First let me tell you how Father O’Connell met his end, here, in this room. You up to it, Inspector?’
‘Oh yeah, I am. No, honestly, that’s fine. Totally.’
He was really asking if I still trusted him.
26
‘It was August, 1980. To step back through Coberley Hall’s ancient porch after a year was to re-enter its peculiar hermetic mixture of neglect and sadness. The thing is, Inspector, I didn’t dislike it, all I wanted was to have some fun. I was sixteen.
‘ “Pater’s in his office,” said George, peering at me round the edge of the front door. “Pax vobis and all that. Better come quietly.”
‘A big purple bruise darkened one cheek, I noticed.
‘ “How is your father?”
‘ “Cancer tests came back negative.”
‘ “I’m so pleased.”
‘ “Glad someone is, old chap.”
‘I only saw Joseph Jones at a distance. He was a thin, introverted little man with a vicious face who paced about with his head permanently bowed as if he could think of nothing but his own problems. But I soon forgot all that when I saw how many skeletons had been assembled in the otherwise abandoned nursery. As well as a set of badger’s bones, there was now a fox and a hare, all wired together on special frames. Since my last visit, he and his brother had become remarkably adept at physical anthropology. Lying in an open red box, something marked ‘Exhibit A’ caught my eye straightaway.
‘ “Is that what I think it is?” I exclaimed, going to finger its bony crust.
‘ “Don’t touch that! That’s Philip’s most prized possession.”
‘ “It’s huge.”
‘ “See how the biting surface is worn away. That shows he lives wild and eats gritty foods.”
‘ “He?”
‘ “The tooth-fang has both roots still attached, you’ll note.”
‘ “But where in hell’s name did he find it?”
‘ “You ask him, old chap.”
‘ “Where is Philip?”
‘ “In Chatcombe Wood. The fool didn’t come home last night.”
‘Neither George nor I heard anyone return that evening. We only met Philip at breakfast in the great hall next morning. Remnants of mud caked his face in tiger stripes and fingernails were black with dirt. It was hard to persuade him to eat a single piece of toast, let alone sit long at the table.
‘ “Must we leave so damned early?” I protested. “The sun has hardly come up yet over the hills.”
‘Tucking his knife into his belt, Philip settled a hat pierced with ivy leaves on his head. Then he reached for his spear.
‘ “You want to hunt the enemy dead or alive, don’t you?”
‘ “What enemy?”
‘ “What do you think?”
‘ “I thought we gave up that silly game last year? After all, someone died.”
‘ “Who says it’s a game?”
*
‘Once past Slack’s Cottage, we marched three abreast up the lane. On our left, a dense line of trees and blackthorn topped a steep grassy bank all the way to the brow of the hill.
‘ “Well, in you go, then,” said Philip and peeled back several spiky branches that had been carefully bent, not broken.
‘ “So how do you know this is right?” I asked, licking a bloody scratch on my hand.
‘ “I’ve seen him come and go.”
‘ “Doesn’t mean we should.”
‘A deep litter of dry twigs, the debris of countless violent storms, snapped like glass under our toes.
‘ “See, this is where he shits and pees,” announced Philip proudly and pointed to a freshly scraped hole filled with shiny brown excrement.
‘ “Our enemy have a name?” I asked.
‘Philip gave a laugh. An unkind one.
‘ “And this is where he scratches his back. Look how the moss and lichen have been knocked off the bark of this tree. That’s his clawing post over there by his den.”
‘What was so extraordinary, Inspector, was that we were only a little way from the busy main road. It was a place hidden in plain sight, so to speak. I exchanged glances with George, but he only winked. To please his brother, he wanted me to play along, I suppose. That meant giving in to his wildest whim. So far, this other world, so close to and parallel with our own, had been a bit of a lark but I was right to think that things were about to take an unexpected turn.
‘George placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
‘ “Steady on, old chap, you know what happens when you get too excited.”
‘ “I’m all right George, really I am.”
‘The sun shone through the trees and gently warmed a large black hole among the trees roots. Naturally, Philip was first down. I had no lamp of my own, I had to rely on brief flashes of torchlight far in front of me, I had to claw my way into the entrance like a mole, Inspector. The slope seemed to go down forever as if we were descending into the bowels of the Earth. I had George’s heels in my face and stones up my nose.
‘Then, without warning, I stopped scraping my scalp on rock any longer.
‘ “Look here,” said Philip, shining his light all round. “Spoons and tureens.”
‘We were in a cave of some sort.
‘ “What the devil! Isn’t that our silver cake-stand?” declared George. “Last saw that drying next to the sink in our scullery.”
‘ “There could be a whole network of tunnels down here,” I said with wonder. “I bet they go all the way back to Coberley Hall.”
‘ “Keep exploring,” ordered Philip. “This will be where our bogy man hides his maravedi and silver reals.”
‘ “Our what?” I said, startled.
‘His eyes flashed blue in the torchlight.
‘ “Treasure, of course.”
‘ “Not that, the other thing.”
‘ “You know, a bugbear, boggard or bogle. Every fiend loves to hoard shiny things, like a pirate.”
‘He would have had us search for stolen loot all day, Inspector, but I saw nothing else except a goggle-eyed hare lying stiff on a slab.’
*
Peter stubbed out his cigarette on the leg of his chair. After selecting another he slid me the packet, but his hand was as diffident as my own and he retracted it. Instead he left the offering part way between us on the table. In the end I gave in and helped myself.
‘H’m, well, yeah,’ I said. ‘So how far did the warren extend, to your knowledge?’
‘Never did venture all the way underground, Inspector. Never did go that far, I’m damned if we didn’t. The batteries began to fade on Philip’s torch and we very nearly got lost in all the darkness.’
‘That it? You chickened out?’
‘Not exactly. We decided to…’
But before I heard any more I had to go outside for a pee. A few minutes later I was back in my place at the table, in part because Peter refused to bow to my petulant protest. During my brief absence his look had grown solemn and his cheeks more ashen. One thing was obvious beyond his tiresome desire to unburden himself, in talking to me he somehow hoped the benefit would be mutual.
*
‘In those days everyone knew that Father O’Connell had been quietly removed from the priesthood for indulging in the occult, Inspector. He had become very interested in seventeenth century witches. Already he had lured Philip in for beer and biscuits to discuss the existence of devils and demons. It was in him that we decided to confide our ghostly mission.
‘ “Stick together,” George hissed in my ear when we opened the gate to the bungalow. “Whatever you do, don’t trust his wandering fingers.”
‘The Holy Father was scraping up weeds in his garden, we discovered. His bony face had a very red nose, while his cheeks were horribly sallow. Every now and then he would stop to clasp his chest and sigh for breath. He wore his divine vestments to do his hoeing, but he did not look to me like a maniac. Stooped and hooded in the hot sunlight, he was someone whose arthritis slowed his progress. Only his weariness was more spiritual than physical. I felt sorry for him, Inspector, really I did, but I took an immediate dislike to him.
‘ “Top o’the morning to you, Father,” said Philip and was the only one who walked straight up to him.
‘Father O’Connell greeted him with genuine charity and kindness. Cupping his crabby hands round his smooth neck, he looked him straight in the eye quite fondly.
‘ “You’ve brought help, I see.”
‘ “The others don’t believe me, Father.”
‘ “Ah, history is full of doubting Thomases, but you and I know the truth, don’t we, Philip? For the trumpet shall sound and the dead will be raised/and we shall be changed. Come inside, all of you, and we’ll crack open some beer.”
‘Now the temptation of free beer was too much for me, Inspector, I have to admit and so into the bungalow we all trotted. We sat on the edge of the new brown sofa and Father O’Connell brought us a whole crate of Budweiser until it wasn’t long before we were ever so slightly drunk, to say the least. The old man reeked of incense, perhaps to cover up equally intoxicating odours. An altar cloth lay on a bench in one corner where the waxy scent of smouldering candles made me feel doubly groggy. The crucifix had come loose on its nail and hung upside down. Dressed in his sleeveless chasuble, he treated us like celebrants but really he was more interested in our brawn than our brains.
‘In those days the Coberley Estate bought surplus railway sleepers by the hundred from British Railways. Joseph Jones used the wood to make gateposts and fences. A great cliff of the smelly things stood in the barn by the bungalow, stinking of creosote. Some still do. It was from these that Father O’Connell tasked us to construct a deadfall trap.
‘Philip was enthralled.
‘ “It’s so dark back here he won’t know what hits him.”
‘Father O’Connell, looking wan and exhausted, not well at all, finished tying the trip cord to a bottle of milk to trigger the avalanche of timber.
‘ “With the day so dry the beast will be thirsty.”
*
‘By then it was already seven p.m. Father O’Connell cooked us sausages and bacon and we settled down in the conservatory at the front of the bungalow to watch the yard outside. I’d twice fallen asleep when I heard something creep down the side of the pheasant sheds and hatchery. Like a wave rolling stones up a beach, the noise rose louder and louder. Shadows grew longer and played tricks on my senses. Then the hairs bristled on the bac
k of my neck, I’m damned if they didn’t.
‘Which was when I knew that I had seen something like this before, Inspector. Hundreds of rats were on the move. Their bodies melded together into one long, slithering river as they flowed right by our window. Of course, the grain feeders had just been filled in the woods to help fatten the pheasants, which had sparked the migration.
‘ “Won’t the bogy man howl if we hurt him?” I asked, shivering inside my anorak.
‘Philip gave a snort.
‘ “Who cares? He’s not human.”
‘Without warning, Father O’Connell, his resolve strengthened by the beer, flung open the conservatory door. He held before him the cross that hung by a chain round his neck and sang the canticle deus misereatur from Psalm 67 as he rushed off to the barn.
‘A moment later there came the sound of his voice, loud and clear:
‘ “ And if ye be evil ye are consigned to an awful view of your own guilt and abominations which doth cause ye to shrink from the presence of the Lord into an awful state of misery and endless torment from which you can no more return. Therefore, ye have drunk damnation into your own soul. Oh, that ye would awake! Awake from a deep sleep, yea, even the sleep of hell.”
‘He never returned. Only after a sliver of moon cleared the clouds did we summon up the courage to mount a search. The rats were all gone, but we found our priest kneeling on the barn floor with his hands clasped against his chest in tense supplication.
‘ “Quick, fetch him a drink,” I said. “He looks all in.”
‘Philip ran for a beer but Father O’Connell would have none of it. Instead he again muttered garbled biblical passages, more in question than answer.
‘ “SHE is the resurrection and the life? He who believes in HER, even though he dies, shall live?”
‘Philip curled his arm around the old man’s neck and whispered in his ear.
‘ “So, please, tell us who is ‘she’?”
‘ “I mistook her gold eyes for those of an angel…”
‘ “Has he gone mad?” I asked, confused.
‘But Father O’Connell only renewed his plea.
‘ “For such fascination is commonly used by the Devil and his demons to deceive the innocent.”
