by Lex Sinclair
‘Blood sprayed from the stump where the goat’s head had been seconds ago washing Christian a scarlet hue that ran down his neck in rivulets. The mysterious green vapour had permeated his exposed nostrils and mouth long enough to sedate him. I don’t think the young man felt the impact as he fell to the ground for the last time or suffered an agonising death. A perpetual darkness that shrouds one as they are about to die brought obliterated the agony and the anxiety evermore. Christian had done God’s work and was rewarded what he’d been seeking his whole life - equilibrium.’
After a long silence, the youngest monk said, ‘But how do you know that’s what happened, though?’
The eldest monk regarded him. ‘Because a strange green mist emanated the hole in the ground for two whole days thereafter the confrontation between Christian and the thing with the goat’s head. Townsfolk started complaining about vivid hallucinations and nightmares. Not long afterwards, a farmer, Teddy Cummings, who lived and worked on Drumma Mountain mentioned to one of his friends how he’d been hearing a voice in his head that wasn’t his own. The friend thought he was suffering the same symptoms as the rest of the townsfolk and told him to contact the local doctor who’d prescribe some medication for him. Teddy concurred that what he’d been told was sound advice and would do just that first thing on Monday morning.
‘He returned home that night from the local pub and enjoyed a couple of hours of normality. He was sitting at the dinner table with his wife and two sons when he abruptly got up from his chair and excused himself. His family didn’t think nothing of it. Probably thought he had to use the bathroom. Teddy Cummings returned five minutes later after going outside to the shed and butchered his family with an axe until the coroner had to work which pieces belonged to which family member.’
‘Christian could’ve turned out to be evil just like that bloke,’ the dark skinned monk said. ‘But instead died either from breathing too much of it directly or because God answered his prayers.’
‘That’s what I choose to believe, too,’ the eldest monk said. ‘There were other stories in the local area like that of Teddy Cummings and his family. And, whether or not it’s true, the coroner said that when he examined the cadavers of Christian and Teddy Cummings, (who collapsed right after he’d chopped up his family into little bits) the bodies although completely lifeless showed no signs of rigor mortis after weeks in the mortuary.’
‘So, how did the goat’s head and the body wind up all the way out here in Vastmanland?’ the youngest monk asked.
‘Christian’s remains - along with Teddy Cummings and all the other townsfolk who’d died due to this inexplicable poisoning - were cremated. But the thing with the goat’s head’s cadaver was placed into the furnace. Only when the tray that goes through the slot was retracted, the body was in exactly the same condition as it’d been when it had gone in.
‘The coroner then decided to make further studies of this extraordinary paranormal condition. Later that night when a porter working at the local hospital brought down another fresh cadaver (or stiff, as they like to call them) he found the coroner and the medical examiner sprawled out on the mortuary, dead.
‘Their deaths to this day and forever will remain an unsolved mystery...’
‘You still haven’t answered my question?’ the youngest monk pointed out.
The eldest monk raised his right hand, palm open in a be-patient gesture.
‘There are two stories - both without any actual evidence to support either one. However, the body and head didn’t pick itself up and carry itself across Europe to where we are right now. One theory is that the monks from Neath Abbey collected the remains after finding Christian’s cadaver. Fearing another catastrophe, they shipped the decapitated body and the goat’s head and buried it under the earth out here in this scenic, rural part of the world where no one would discover its whereabouts. The other theory is the cult members of a devil-worship faction knew of the thing with the goat’s head’s hidden lair and shipped the body and head to where we are now, out of sight out of mind, until the day came for the beast to rise again. And unfortunately, that theory out of the two mentioned is the most plausible.
‘No one part of our brotherhood or belonging to the Vatican or anyone who does God’s work would dig up the remains. But that’s not the most disturbing factor.’
‘What is?’ the dark skinned monk asked.
‘That there is someone out there who will give birth to the one referred to in Revelations as a beast rising from the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and on his horns ten crowns, and on his head a blasphemous name.’
As soon as the eldest monk ceased talking and sighed wearily, a low rumbling emanated from the rock-faced walls surrounding them. It grew louder and closer. The rumbling evolved into the ominous sound of rocks splitting, fissures materialising a dozen at a time, snaking their way up the walls. The monks were showered with the crumbling stone. They ducked, covering their heads as best they could. Nevertheless, the small crumbly pieces of rock soon became the size of bricks crashing down, missing the youngest monk’s head by mere inches and slamming into his big toe on his right foot. He cried out, clutching his broken toe, toppling backwards, knocking himself on the boulder he’d been sitting on. The dark skinned monk rushed for the opening they’d climbed down and started to climb only to have his head split open like a coconut falling from a tall tree when a piece of rock the size of a concrete block struck him. He didn’t even have time to cry out. The blow killed him instantly. His body fell and landed on a jutting boulder, splaying his anatomy in a crab position. The other two monks were knocked unconscious by the fusillade raining down on them.
Making a quick, silent prayer for his fellow brothers, the eldest monk hurried for the hole in the forest floor. He began to climb, not deliberating on the peril he was putting himself in. The dark skinned monk had been lithe and strong physically and he hadn’t made it. Yet the eldest monk had more success (luck) with footholds. He couldn’t believe his fortune when he pulled himself out of the aperture and onto the pine needle terrain just as the hole he’d climbed from caved in on itself.
Panting, the eldest monk lay sprawled on his back. His chest heaved, rising and falling, heart racing like the engine of a Formula car. Little flecks sprinkled in his vision as he stared overhead through the branches of the overhang trees. Hot, stinging tears pooled in his eyes before rolling sideways into his ears. He’d escaped death by the claws of his fingertips, caked in soil. An invisible ice-pick embedded itself into the top of his head and the side where falling rocks had struck him. His right eye was swollen. It hurt when he blinked.
He tried to sit up but his body was paralysed. The forest was silent. No chirpy birdsong played overhead in the near distance as it had done earlier when they’d been searching for the hidden lair. Only his out-of-control breathing and the thudding of his heart filled his ears.
Then he heard a twig snap somewhere in the vicinity. The eldest monk opened his mouth to call out for help, but no sound came out. Instead a strangled cry which sounded more like a sharp whisper was all he could muster. Nevertheless, he was relieved when the sound of discernible footfalls grew closer, crunching autumn leaves underfoot.
Through his blurred vision, the eldest monk thought he saw a robed figure towering over him with a red pentacle symbol embossed on the front. He wasn’t alarmed because he didn’t trust his eyesight in his current condition. But when the robed figure knelt down and covered his mouth and nose with a cloth he knew his imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on him. The chloroform suffocated him until the nothingness blocked everything else out.
18.
Her lungs burned and her throat convulsed painfully as she regurgitated her curry Jasmin had kindly made her. Sparks dotted her vision as she bent over the toilet bowl. Yet what frightened Sofie more than anything else were the flickering images not lasting more than a secon
d in her mind’s eye of her face, drastically altered to something that resembled the girl, Regan in the film The Exorcist. She didn’t have any visible scars. However, her emaciated face had taken on a sallow hue. Her irises were scarlet. Her lips curled upwards into a crooked smile that appeared malevolent, not kind and happy.
‘Oh, why’s this happening?’ she croaked. Then more sick rushed into her throat and spilled into the toilet bowl.
Her cheeks twitched spasmodically. ‘Stick the cross up your arse!’ a deep, guttural voice growled that didn’t belong to the soul of Sofie Lackberg.
Sick ran out of her mouth down her chin, staining her hooded sweater. Sofie rose, raised her head, pivoted and walked towards the locked door of her room. The alarm clock on the bedside table read 3:01a.m. No longer in control of her body’s motions, Sofie removed the safety chain, retracted the bolt and opened the door to the dark corridor of the dormitory. She walked barefooted down the narrow corridor and stopped outside Jasmin’s room, glanced at the doorway. She stood there for ten seconds, no more before moving down to Danielle’s room.
The door was always unlocked because Danielle’s cat Jumpy came in out innumerable times day and night. Atop the linen basket against the wall outside her room was Jumpy, curled up nice and snug, sleepy peacefully. The lips on Sofie’s contorted, sallow withdrawn face curled upwards...
At 8:00a.m. Danielle’s alarm clock burst to life, beeping loudly, cruelly breaking her peaceful slumber. Her consciousness swam to the surface enabling her to reach over blindly and switch the incessant noise off abruptly. She stretched her limbs out, enjoying the sensation. Last night’s deep sleep had done her the world of good. She’d finished her essay. It had taken her four hours to complete. By the time she’d finished washing and brushing her teeth it had gone eleven o’clock. She didn’t even recall resting her head on the pillow.
She swung her legs out from under the warm duvet, rubbed her face then got up. She was surprised not to hear Jumpy outside her door. Last night he’d decided to settle down on a pile of her clothes on the linen basket. She’d let him in before getting ready for bed. However, as he’d slept through most of yesterday, Daniel didn’t think he would be staying in her bed the whole night. She hoped he hadn’t woken one of the other girls before they were due to get up. Jasmin didn’t complain, but sometimes Janice would. Sofie didn’t whine aloud but once when Jumpy cried to go out Danielle could hear her sighing in frustration.
Opening the door, Danielle saw that Jumpy was no longer where she’d last seen him. She closed the door again and got dressed. After making herself a bowl of Cornflakes, she descended the stairs and opened the entrance door. Jumpy was nowhere in sight. She called his name several times but to no avail. Shrugging inwardly, Danielle closed the door, keeping the cold draught out of the warm interior.
When she turned around she noticed droplets of what appeared to be blood on the linoleum outside the white door of the airing cupboard. Alarmed, Danielle hesitantly edged forwards, trembling involuntarily. She got to the closed door and peered closer at the fresh splotches of red liquid. Using her fingertips, Danielle touched one of the splotches and brought her finger to her nose and detected the coppery scent of blood.
She turned the handle and opened the door. Gasping, Danielle slammed the door shut.
Legs as stable as spaghetti, Danielle clutched the handle fiercely to keep herself vertical. What she’d seen had been too graphic to possibly be real. No one would ever do such a thing. What was the point? No one could be so cruel, could they? Her lips had glued themselves shut. It hurt to swallow. The only way this was going to be resolved was if Danielle opened the door of the airing cupboard and faced her worst fears. Of course, she might have imagined it. Danielle seriously doubted that though.
Bracing herself for the worse, she turned the knob in her sweaty grasp and pulled the door open and peered inside. Her knees trembled. She staggered backwards, hitting the wall behind her and sliding down to her buttocks on the cold surface. Tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her quivering cheeks. Because of the acoustics in the foyer her scream threatened to shatter the glass in the entrance door.
Overhead a door opened and rapid footfalls descended the flight of stairs. Danielle closed her eyes, scarred by what she’d seen playing over and over again on an endless loop in her mind.
Jasmin had been combing her hair, preparing for another day of revising for a test next Wednesday. If Sofie was feeling up to it she had intended on inviting her into the town centre to do some food shopping. Danielle always came with her. But the harrowing scream of a girl in great distress scared her witless. Having not the slightest notion what might have induced the scream, Jasmin bolted for her door and hurried down the stairs not seeing anything awry. Then she turned at the sound of quiet sobbing. She blinked at the sight of her fellow university buddy sat in a heap on the linoleum, knees drawn up. Danielle’s shoulders racked from the grief she endured. The airing cupboard door open lay wide open. Jasmin thought Danielle might have burned herself on the hot water tank. But the heating hadn’t come on yet.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jasmin cried, rushing over and embracing Danielle.
Overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, Danielle couldn’t speak. Instead she raised her right hand and pointed with a trembling index finger to the airing cupboard.
Jasmin followed her gaze. Then the horrific sight zoomed in, blocking everything else out. She covered her gaping mouth and turned away, nauseous.
Jumpy had been impaled into the wall next to the water tank with a screw driver. Two long rivulets of dried blood ran down his abdomen from the two gaping wounds where his eyes had been prior to being gouged out.
Danielle went numb and grew heavier. When Jasmin gazed down upon her friend she noticed that she’d lost consciousness. Jasmin envied her for that much, if nothing else.
The police arrived approximately twenty-five minutes later after being admitted access by headmistress, Joyce Laymon. She escorted the two uniformed officers to the girl’s on-campus dormitory and enquired if an ambulance was being sent for Danielle. The two officers assured her it would arrive shortly. Then they entered the building and went to the crime scene.
‘Bloody hell,’ the younger officer blurted, seeing Jumpy’s cadaver in all its grotesque glory.
Jasmin had placed Danielle into the recovery position. She needed assistance from the officers to get up. She’d darted upstairs to her room and phoned the emergency services and Joyce Laymon. Then she banged on Sofie’s door, hardly believing it was possible for her to have slept through the racket downstairs. Eventually, she gave up - although she was perplexed as to her friend’s whereabouts - and returned to be with Danielle in case she regained consciousness.
‘Miss,’ the older officer asked, ‘can you tell us what happened?’
Jasmin steadied herself. Then she said, ‘I heard Danielle scream. I rushed down here and saw what you just saw... I dunno where my other friend Sofie is though.’
The police officer turned to Joyce. ‘Who’s Sofie?’
‘She’s the girl in the first room upstairs. I knocked on her door and so has Jasmin, but she must’ve gone out.’
Jasmin shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She’s pregnant.’
Joyce did a double take.
The young police officer might have laughed had the situation not been so serious.
‘Whatcha mean “she’s pregnant”?’
‘She said she was raped and that Janice’s dead, not missing.’
‘Sofie is Janice’s roommate? The one you talked about to us before and to the investigator?’
Numb at hearing the news of Sofie’s pregnancy, Joyce nodded, absentmindedly.
‘We need to talk with her,’ the officer said.
‘She said she was raped,’ Jasmin said.
‘What?’ Joyce shrieked.
Jasmin went on to explain about the home caring part-time job over the weekend they knew about, and how Sofie said she was kidnapped and raped. She also mentioned how Sofie had been pursued by the crazy woman who had slit Janice’s throat after their car crash. ‘She said how two officers - one in uniform and one detective - came to talk to her when she was in hospital but they’d died in a horrific road accident.’
‘That’s right,’ the experienced police officer said, shocked. ‘But when we sent two an officer to speak to her on the day she was due to leave hospital, she’d left early without telling anyone. We’ve been looking for her ever since. Janice’s body nor her yellow Fiat has been found, though.’
‘Has this got something to do with that crazy woman pursuing Sofie?’ the young officer asked, taking off his cap.
‘It’s startin’ to look that way,’ Joyce said.
‘It’s imperative, either way that we get onto Sofie,’ the older police said. ‘We need to get her door open if she won’t answer. Do you have a spare key?’
Joyce nodded. ‘I’ll go and get it.’
‘Okay,’ the experienced officer said. Then he turned to his partner. ‘You stay here with Jasmin and Danielle and wait for that ambulance to arrive. It can’t be much longer.’
That said he climbed the stairs, looked to his left saw the brass number 1 on the white timber door and strode forward. He rapped as hard as he could half a dozen times. Then he put his ear to the wood and listened carefully for any sounds of movement from within.
Nothing.
Okay. No surprise there.
The paramedics arrived before Joyce and carted Danielle out on a stretcher just as Joyce was jogging out of breath across the forecourt to the dormitory. She said a quick goodbye to Jasmin as she got into the back of the ambulance with the paramedic. The rear doors slammed shut. Joyce entered the dormitory and climbed the stairs. Her short, obese stature wasn’t used to any vigorous exercise. Walking briskly down a corridor was the closest Joyce ever came to burning calories. She reached the officer and wiped the beads of perspiration off her brow. Then she slotted the key into the hole and turned.
