The Goat's Head

by Lex Sinclair

  ‘There is to be no more harming this child. Is that understood? She is now the single most important part of what we stand for. If any harm were to come of her, I fear she would suffer a miscarriage. We would suffer the consequences, which I can guarantee would be dire. All evidence that she stayed here must be wiped away without any trace whatsoever. Did she bring anything?’

  Charles handed the reverend her bag containing her law books and A4 notepad. Then he waited for further instructions from the wise old man whose gold necklace where a pentagram pendant dangled beneath the religion he practised to his parishioners but which he secretly loathed as it went against all his true, inner beliefs.

  ‘Tonight you were very fortunate that the one who performed the rites of passage came to our rescue when it did or we would have lost everything we have worked for so long. There are no excuses when you have in your possession something so precious. But let us not dwell on our mistakes but put what’s wrong right again. I understand why you inflicted these injuries upon this girl, but you must waive all your vengeance and see that she was merely frightened, not vindictive. Harming her has only harmed yourselves. I shall take her in my care now where she shall receive the treatment she quite rightly deserves.

  ‘Charles, you need also to make sure the house is tidy. No broken pieces of furniture or any signs of a struggle must be visible. My understanding is that something necessary although tragic has occurred and a young life has been lost that will attract unwanted attention. When you return - or better yet do it before you go to the hospital - you must get rid of the statue out front and either dispose of it or put it somewhere no one will ever see. We do not hide the symbols of our belief because we are ashamed. We do so because it is necessary.’

  Having made his speech, Reverend Ward pushed his hand down on his knee and stood upright, bending over and carefully pulling Sofie up off the sofa, breathing heavily with the exertion of her dead weight until Charles came to his assistance. They carried the unconscious girl outside to the reverend’s car and placed her in the back seat. The black Mercedes went well with the reverend’s appearance as he stood next to it and raised a hand to Charles in farewell before driving away from the house and taking a right, heading in the opposite direction of where the horrific accident had occurred less than an hour ago.

  8.

  Reverend Ward’s idyllic cottage was situated at the peak of the hillside amidst an orchard surrounded by vineyards overlooking the small town beneath. Because of the narrow, serpentine roads, it was easier to walk into the town centre where a convenience store, a barber shop, a bakery goods’ store, post office, two pubs, a bank, an ice-cream parlour and a video rental store, along with an antiques and bookstore attracted visitors who were more often than not driving through on their way either towards the rural areas of the country or to the more populated parts where people went for better jobs and opportunities. The reverend had his small church next to the Esso petrol station on the outskirts of town and preferred to live his life in as much obscurity as possible. Nevertheless, he did often visit the Slaughtered Lamb on Friday nights for two beers and to be sociable. Too much obscurity created too much curiosity. Which he couldn’t afford, living a double life and performing satanic rituals that pleased the one he truly believed in until today when all of his worshipping would be rewarded with an imperative task of the highest order.

  The evening was still in its youth as he slowed the vehicle’s speed driving through the town’s business district, cornered the roundabout and slowly began its ascension to his remote residence. A cold wind whispered in the trees and rustled the hedgerows. Specks of snow seesawed their way from the blanketed sky, exploding soundlessly on the windscreen, dissolving the next instant. The car’s interior blew hot air, warming the wise old man who had undone his winter coat during the familiar journey where no one would expect the girl to be.

  The cult had escaped by the skin of their teeth. However, due to their incompetence, they would now be forced to lay low, further into obscurity than previously. The girl was young, intelligent and very attractive with all her life in front of her. When the authorities declared her officially missing, the townsfolk and everyone in the vicinity would be made aware of her disappearance. Her photo would be placed in the local newspapers and on the national TV in relation to the accident her university live-in friend had the misfortune to lose her life. The autopsy report from the coroner would give official evidence that it hadn’t been the impact that had killed Janice but something long and sharp slashing across her oesophagus.

  Reverend Ward did his utmost not to conjure up the attention those fools had attracted to their cult, threatening worldwide exposure. The thing with the goat’s head had lost its mortal life earlier in the century. There was a particular sequence that permitted their leader to return to life, and until it had been born and grown to an age where it could take care of itself, everything needed to be performed studiously, without any errors.

  The cottage came into sight at the end of the narrow country road where two, dilapidated stone walls stood either side, keeping the livestock from wandering out from the nearby farm into the road. In his peripheral vision the reverend could see three white sheep to his left and two cows in the other field as he drove past, slowing again when he steered the Mercedes around a sharp turning that consisted of a small island where a wooden bench and a red telephone box stood.

  He brought the Mercedes to a halt, glanced over his shoulder at the back seat, relieved to see that Sofie had not stirred awake while he’d had his back to her. The last thing he would have wanted was to repeat what had transpired four miles away on another rural road. At six-five, Reverend Ward didn’t fancy his chances winning a battle against a young, terrified woman who was desperate. In his experience it was the ones who were most desperate that were the most trouble. In their subconscious they’d already declared themselves dead. Their consciousness however became frantic at such a thought and was willing to prevent the inevitable from happening by any means necessary.

  He had to grip the driver’s door fiercely so that the wind didn’t tear it out of his grasp and hurl it against the hinges when he stepped out of the car. The contrast of icy cold air fluttering his winter coat, stinging his exposed cheeks was a complete contrast to the warm interior, immediately causing his hands to freeze. He found it arduous to open the back door, lean over and get a proper grip on Sofie. Then realised it would be a lot easier if he unlocked and opened the front door of his humble home first, used the half-brick to keep the iron gate as far back from the short walkway for him to carry his prize indoors without anyone seeing him.

  When he came back to the Mercedes, Reverend Ward cussed at his mistake of leaving the rear door open where it’d yanked on the hinges only to throw itself back the other way and slam shut nearly shattering the glass. By the time he opened the door again and leaned over his heart froze at the sound of Sofie stirring. She still hadn’t come to but was well on her way of lifting the veil of unconsciousness and moving of her own accord. He needed to hasten this process.

  Seizing her roughly by her hooded sweater, Reverend Ward dragged her fro the back seat, hoisted her up onto his shoulder, let the gale force winds slam the back door for him and ambled ungainly into the cottage. His joints screamed in protest from both the heavy lifting and the freezing temperatures settling into his marrow, watering his eyes. In spite of all of that, he had managed to get the girl inside without being seen.

  He bolted the door shut, placed the key into his trouser pocket, drew the curtains then ambled into the kitchen where he poured a cold glass of water and two out two Diazepam pills from the container. Kneeling down beside the girl who now lay on his bed, he used his thumb and index finger of his left hand and closed the nasal passage. Seconds later Sofie opened her mouth and he dropped the two pills down her throat, along with a gulp of water.

  With a bit of luck the girl would sleep t
hrough until sunrise giving Reverend Ward sufficient time to prepare for her unexpected arrival. It would be quite a nice change to finally have some company; someone to converse with. She was not the slightest bit obtuse. In fact she would have a lot of interesting and compelling things to say, no doubt. After all, someone who studied law wasn’t someone you could attempt to fool and get away with it.

  First though, Reverend Ward returned to small kitchen area, drained the glass of water then took a large yellow sponge from beneath the sink, got a bowl, filled it with warm water, dropped the sponge into the bowl and studiously crossed the room to Sofie. He soaked her violent contusion on her forearm with the hot water; gently stroking the sponge over the swelling, making certain it was bathed considerably. He performed this with all her visible bruises and lacerations, silently chastising Margaret and her parents for letting it get to this stage when it ought to have so much easier for everyone, especially Sofie.

  Once he had done as much as he could for her wounds, Reverend Ward dragged the young Swedish woman up the mattress, resting her lifeless head on the pillows then wrapped a woollen blanket over her. Gingerly, he crossed the room, removed his winter coat and collar, unbuttoned his black shirt to reveal the most hideous tattoo depicted from his navel right up to the chest. A tattoo no one who owned a legalised parlour would ever be allowed to desecrate the human body with - a tattoo of the pentacle.

  While the bearer of the one they worshipped slept peacefully, Reverend Ward kneeled in front of the fireplace and prayed to Satan. Prayed for forgiveness for his trespasses and offered thanks to the spirit of the one who would soon be born again for giving him the strength to save the girl from redemption. Then, with his hand that he’d warmed by the fire, Reverend Ward encircled his flaccid cock where a black upside down cross had been tattooed into the flesh and started caressing, stroking and jerking it until it grew magnificently. He rose in front of the fire, masturbating forcefully, feeling the blood rushing through the engorged veins in his wrinkly penis, arching his head back, fantasizing not lustful thoughts but images of a sinister nature until he ejaculated; his semen disappearing into the lashing flames.

  Gratified sexually, Reverend Ward finally let his shrinking cock fall from his grasp and turned away from the fire, gathered his discarded clothes, folded them neatly before heading into the bathroom for a hot shower.

  The next morning frost had settled around the cottage. The road leading to and fro the residence was treacherous with black ice. Inside, Reverend Ward had slept deeply for seven hours and felt invigorated if a little sore from the previous night’s chores.

  He sat on an armchair sipping tea and crunching through his butter on toast, peeking through at the faint sunlight creeping up over the crest of the hill when he heard movement emanating from the en suite bedroom. Deciding to finish his breakfast prior to getting up, Reverend Ward listened attentively to what was going on in the bedroom. He washed his last mouthful of toast down with some tea then crossed the room and peered inside the bedroom area where he laid eyes upon the beautiful young woman stretching out and then groaning when she turned over and applied pressure to her fresh bruise on her forearm.

  ‘Here, allow me,’ he said, crossing the room and helping Sofie to sit upright.

  Groggy from her deep, unnatural slumber, the young Swedish woman blinked her heavy-lidded eyes open, scanning the room (like she’d done before the day earlier), expressing anxiety at the unfamiliarity. She turned to face the old man sitting in the plain timber chair smiling benignly at her. He appeared cordial enough; however, after trusting Margaret and her parents who’d turned out to be devil worshipper’s, sacrificing her to give birth to their leader, Sofie could have been forgiven for sliding over to the other side of the mattress, wiping sleep out of the corners of her eyes. Her head throbbed. Nevertheless, yesterday’s events were still nebulous in her current condition.

  ‘Please, don’t be alarmed, child,’ the reverend said in that tender, fragile rasp of his.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked.

  ‘This is my home,’ he said.

  ‘What am I doing here?’

  ‘I found you last night. You were wandering in the middle of a countryside road when I nearly ran you down. I couldn’t make sense to what you were going on about. Then you passed out. I brought you here so you could rest.’ Reverend Ward could see Sofie was trying to disperse the fog clouding her memory. ‘It’s not worth worrying over now, anyway. I tended your wounds as best I could but you haven’t had anything to eat or drink - you must be famished.’

  Sofie nodded once, groaned at the dull ache. Then she replied verbally. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How ‘bout some cheese or jam on toast with a glass of lemonade?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you remember anything about last night?’

  For two minutes of sitting in absolute silence with this strange man doing her utmost to bring to mind last night’s events her mind was a blank. Yet as soon as Reverend Ward rose and crossed the room, she said, ‘My friend Janice...’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘What about her? Was she with you? I didn’t notice anyone else.’

  ‘We escaped!’ Sofie blurted out.

  ‘Escaped? Escaped from what, might I ask?’

  ‘Them...’

  The single word said with such profoundness resonated in the cottage.

  ‘Was someone chasing you?’ Reverend Ward asked.

  ‘Not exactly. I was sort of kidnapped.’

  When she saw that the ageing man who had kindly taken her into his home didn’t speak she continued. She told him about how she’d seen a flyer at the local gymnasium where she took her aerobics class and that she’d got the job as a home care assistant for one night and the following day until the proprietor returned home with her husband only for it to be one elaborate prank in order for some crazy cult to perform a ritual on her while she lay, bound by her restraints, atop a five-pointed star until they finished their disturbing, unholy ritual on her, explaining that she was now pregnant.

  ‘You’re pregnant?’

  Sofie shrugged. ‘I dunno. I don’t see how that’s possible. No one has raped me since I was in their custody. But they said their ritual of pouring blood from this golden staff with a goat’s head into my mouth which I swallowed made me pregnant. It can’t be true though, can it? I mean it’s not possible.’

  ‘Well, let’s get something in you first, shall we. Now that you’ve had some rest, something to eat would be well advised. Otherwise I’m afraid your stomach will have to start eating itself. You’re looking drained and as white as a sheet.’

  Once Sofie had devoured her three slices of jam on toast and guzzled two glasses of water, she handed the china plate to Reverend Ward, also known as Rodney.

  ‘You may use my bath to soak yourself, if you wish,’ Reverend Ward said. ‘There’s a bottle of muscle soak on the window sill. Use that; it’ll help lessen the pain on your bruises. But please be careful getting in and out. I don’t want you slipping and hurting yourself to a greater extent. You were covered in blood when I first saw you, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight for someone my age to be coping with.’

  Licking her lips that tasted of jam, Sofie recalled the freakish car ride.

  ‘Did you see my friend, Janice?’

  ‘I’m afraid all I saw was you limping in tremendous amount of pain. You didn’t even see me when I stopped the car and stood right in front of you, that’s how much shock you were in.’

  ‘Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?’

  Reverend Ward had no plausible response to that question. ‘I was heading for home. And to be quite honest with you, I didn’t want to go driving all the way to the nearest hospital a good seven miles away and then back here again. They don’t grit the roads up here and at my age my reactions to sliding and skidding aren’t what they u
sed to be. Anyway, apart from the wound in your stomach and the bruises, you seemed all right.’

  Something about the information she’d been given didn’t sit right in Sofie’s conscience. Nevertheless, this old man had saved her from being captured again by that ghastly witch that had leapt out at them from the back seat.

  ‘Did you see a Fiat on the road?’ Sofie asked, desperate to find out what had happened to her best friend.

  Reverend Ward shook his head. ‘No, child. Were you driving and involved in an accident?’

  ‘I wasn’t driving,’ Sofie said in a faraway voice. ‘But I think I was involved in a car crash.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d gone to find help for your friend,’ Reverend Ward suggested. With that said he left the bedroom and placed the china plate in the sink ready for washing.

  When he returned to the bedroom Reverend Ward noticed that the young woman, whose eyes were bloodshot, hair tousled and her clothes creased, stared despondently into space.

  ‘Try not to worry yourself,’ he said, breaking her reverie. ‘I have a pregnancy test that a relative of mine asked me to get but then got her own, if you’d like to find out if what those people told you was in fact true.’

  Sofie looked uncertain.

  ‘At least you’ll know one way or another,’ he said.

  Eventually, Sofie concurred that finding out sooner rather than later would be her best option. Then Reverend Ward aided in lifting her off the bed and into the bathroom. He drew her a hot bath, spilling an ample amount of muscle soak into the water gushing out of the tap, turned the heating on, reminded Sofie to read the instructions carefully on the pregnancy test and to be careful getting in and out of the tub, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  So far so good, he thought to himself as he washed the dishes and dried them with the hand towel before propping them on the dryer. He already knew without having Sofie to inform him that she was in fact pregnant. What he needed to do now was to disconnect the phone and hide it from prying eyes. Furthermore, from now on he had to make certain he always locked the front door and kept the key with him at all times in order to make sure the young woman didn’t take her leave. Because the first thing she would do, besides finding out what had happened to her friend, was get an abortion.