by Stan Mason
‘I’ll say no more about it,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll say no more.’
‘I’ve got the measure of you, Townsend,’ I snapped as he was leaving. ‘You’ll not get rid of me that easily... so dream on!’
He left the house with his tail between his legs, leaving Bridget and I to discuss the matter further although there was not a lot for us to say. She was furious at his suggestion. Her whole world revolved around the wonderful relationship we had together. The last thing she wanted was to lose me... especially when it was at the whim of another person’s dreams.
* * *
To my horror, the Desk Sergeant was forced to eat his words the following day. Without warning, two police vans, with their sirens blazing, were driven into the village whereby eight well-built police officers in uniforms emerged. They went directly into the police station and their body language and facial expressions indicated how serious they were taking the case.
‘We’ve made enquiries about the television crew from Northern Television,’ stated the police officer who had come to investigate the incident on the first occasion.
‘And what have you discovered?’ asked the Desk Sergeant with an impertinent tone in his voice.
‘It’s been corroborated that a van owned by the television network was practically destroyed in this village and that it was towed to a garage in Sprockton,’ he went on, his face moving no more than six inches away from that of the Desk Sergeant. ‘But they returned in another vehicle which witnesses saw being driven towards this village at night. Now I’ll ask you once again. What happened to that second vehicle and the television crew that was in it... because neither they nor the van were ever seen again!’
‘Search me!’ returned the Desk Sergeant shrugging his shoulders. ‘It’s not our fault if no one saw the van leave. It’s not here.’
‘That’s not the answer I’m looking for,’ chided the police officer with a tinge of anger in his voice. ‘You know full well that the second vehicle and the crew are somewhere in this village. Now I’m asking you again. Where are they?’
There was no doubt in the police officer’s mind that the television crew were still there in the village. He was adamant that they were still alive but being held prisoner for their intrusion.
‘I told you,’ bleated the Desk Sergeant, ‘they left the village and we haven’t seen them since.’
The police officer stepped back before responding. ‘I want to look at the cells,’ he snarled, giving short shrift to the Desk Sergeant who reluctantly handed him a set of keys.
‘Be my guest!’ he muttered, turning his attention to a file on his desk, showing complete disinterest at the posse of policemen gathered there.
There was a lull in the proceedings as the police officer, accompanied by a police sergeant, went to the cells. They returned shortly angry at finding nothing.
‘We’re going to ask the villagers once more about the missing men,’ he said flatly. ‘This time they’d better tell us the truth. You see, we’re going to find them wherever you’ve hidden them.’
The Desk Sergeant shrugged his shoulders aimlessly, indicating that he cared little for the investigation, and the eight policemen left to continue their enquiries. They started to question every villager in sight throughout the day causing mayhem in the village as they intruded into everyone’s daily routine. They knocked on doors and kept asking questions but everyone kept tight lipped about the incident that had taken place. The villagers hoped that the police would soon tire of questioning them and leave them in peace. This would certainly have happened had it not been for one young boy by the name of Paul Brazier. He was the son of a farmer who lived with his wife on the outskirts of the village operating a cattle farm. The boy had been in the company of Robert, Bridget’s son, and, when the police were doing their rounds questioning the village folk, the two boys quickly discussed the matter between them.
‘This is our great chance to establish our own independence,’ declared Robert boldly. ‘We can make our stand now!’
‘But it means that the village will be in deep trouble,’ returned Brazier, concerned at the outcome.
‘It’s what we need to do,’ asserted Bridget’s son adamantly. ‘We make our mark now!’
‘Are you absolutely certain about this?’ asked the other boy. ‘I mean we’ll all get into deep trouble.’
‘We have to strike hard at some point and this is it,’ continued Robert solidly. ‘This is our great opportunity. We must go ahead and use it!’
Ultimately, Brazier went to one of the policemen reluctantly to tell him that he knew where the bodies of the three television crewmen were buried. His motives were not understood at the time but his betrayal had a savage impact on the future of the village.
Within a few minutes, the policemen returned to their vehicles to arm themselves with forks and shovels before following the young boy into one of the fields where he pointed to a vacant spot near to the side of a hedge. The police quickly installed a number of stakes around the site and tied a thick blue cord around them with a large sign which read: ‘POLICE: DO NOT ENTER THIS AREA!’ Most of the villagers stood around idly watching them dig furiously. After a short while, one of the shovels hit an object that sounded like metal. It had struck the top of the buried van. The police continued digging for some time before they exposed the whole vehicle and, when they looked inside, they found the bodies of the three television crewmen laying there. It had been the expectation of the leading police officer to find the men held in the cells of the police station, incarcerated as a punishment for their intrusion. The last thing he expected was to find three dead bodies buried in a field. Now, as a result of the information given to them by young Paul Brazier, they had a murder enquiry on their hands. It was homicide in the first degree. The next stage was to find out who had murdered them. After all, they could not arrest the eleven hundred people in the village. The leading police officer used his mobile telephone to arrange for an ambulance to come to take away the bodies.
They returned to the police station in force. This time, the first police officer attacked the Desk Sergeant ferociously.
‘We’ve found the van and the bodies!’ he snarled in the knowledge that he had the daunting evidence under his control. ‘Before I place you and your constable under arrest for wasting police time as well as being involved in the murder of three men, I’d like to hear your side of the story.’
The Desk Sergeant’s face went white at the accusation and for a moment he failed to speak. When he found his voice, it wavered uncertainly as he realised the import of the police officer’s words. The game was up and someone was going to have to pay the price for the crime.
‘I know nothing about any murders,’ he bleated weakly. ‘If someone did kill those people then it’s your duty to find out who did it... not mine to defend myself.’
‘We’ll find out who did it all right,’ claimed the police officer angrily. ‘But you must have some idea. If not, we have no choice but to arrest Mr. Brazier, for it was on his farm that we discovered the grave. But he couldn’t possibly have dug such a deep hole by himself. There had to be others involved.’
‘I think that now you’ve discovered the bodies, you should face the villagers with the facts to see what they have to say about it,’ forwarded PC7, which did not go down well with the visiting city police.
‘We’ve already done that!’ shouted the police officer even more irately. ‘No one appears to know anything about it. Now who’s not telling the truth? Mr. Brazier seems to have disappeared. We need to question him immediately. I’d advise you to tell me where he is!’
The Desk Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s eleven hundred people in this village,’ he returned sharply, regaining some of his poise. ‘It’s not our duty to find out where they are all the time.’
‘You realise this means
a search of every property here. We now need to question every single person,’ continued the police officer.
‘Do what you will,’ conceded PC7 sombrely, distraught that the issue had come to light.
Before anyone could made further demands, the noise of a crowd of people could be heard outside the police station. The visiting police, the Desk Sergeant and PC7 went outside to find out what was happening. They were faced with over three hundred villagers shouting and yelling at the top of their voices. They had heard that the bodies had been discovered and had turned up to redress the situation. The Desk Sergeant raised his hand to silence them before addressing the mob.
‘Why are you all here?’ he demanded.
‘As the representative of the villagers here at present, we all admit that we killed the three people who intruded into our village at the dead of night,’ declared a man at the front. ‘We thought that they were burglars and when we confronted them, they resisted strongly. In the fight that ensued, they were trampled on. If they hadn’t come to burgle our houses, they would have still been alive today.’
I admired the excuse which I thought was commendable. Death by accident or by the necessity of defending oneself.
‘So you’re saying that all of you killed those men,’ gasped the Desk Sergeant in disbelief.
‘It was at dead of night and we couldn’t see anything, that’s why they were accidentally trampled to death.’
‘I’m going to wait for the autopsy report,’ exclaimed the police officer, ‘only there was evidence of a knife would on one of the bodies.’ He needed to consider the implications in his mind. He had never come across a case of this kind before and realised that he would have to refer the case to his senior officer. ‘It’s quite clear that the men were crushed to death, however, it appears that each one of them was struck with a blunt instrument. We shall investigate further. You can be sure of it!’
He made a signal to the other policemen and they climbed into their vehicles and drove away. Without any doubt, the matter had a long way to go before something serious happened. The police would definitely pin the murders on some members of the village, however they couldn’t arrest three hundred people for the crime. And there were also mitigating circumstances because they did intrude in the middle of the night... to a village with no street lights or electricity. I had seen three men murdered in cold blood but I was unable to tell the police anything about it. If I did, my presence in the village would degenerate into oblivion and I would soon be forced to leave. It wasn’t only me I had to think of... there was Bridget as well. It was a catch twenty-two situation.
* * *
When Paul Brazier returned home that evening, he was accompanied by Robert McBain. The two of them were gleeful in their mischief nourishing a sound motive. However, any kind of misdemeanour in the village resulted in punishment of one kind or another and young Brazier had to face his father to explain his decision to inform the police.
‘Why did you tell them about the bodies and show them the grave?’ he demanded angrily. He had spent a great deal of time and trouble over the past few years teaching his son not to get involved with strangers or to provide anyone with information concerning the village. Yet the boy had actually taken the police to the burial site of his own volition.
‘You’ve got to understand our problem,’ stated young Brazier firmly, determined to make his position clear.
‘Never mind that,’ exclaimed his father irately, ignoring his son’s plea. ‘You need to understand the situation for the village now that you revealed the information to the city police.’
‘Listen to me father,’ continued the boy tearfully, ready to tell him of the problem being faced by the children. ‘I’m forty-one years old now and I still go to school. It’s nonsensical! In addition, I’m not allowed to do anything a normal adult can do. I can’t go out with women. I can’t fend for myself and I have to take orders from my parents. If this was a normal village, I’d be grown up, have a wife, children, and I could do anything I wanted to. My life would be completely different.’
‘Well it isn’t... so you can’t!’ snapped his father curtly. ‘As far as it goes, you’re still a young boy and you ought to behave like one.’ He paused to think about events. ‘Is that the reason why you told the city police about the grave?’
‘Yes it is!’ cut in Robert to come under the scorching eyes of his friend’s father. ‘All the children in the village feel that they’re repressed by the adults. We want to be allowed to grow up and enjoy our own lives, not remain as children with no life at all.’
‘You speak when you’re spoken to, boy!’ chided Brazier senior, fuming at the interruption from his son’s young friend. He turned to Paul with fury showing on his face. ‘I’ll deal with you later!’
Young Brazier tried to reconcile his relationship with his father but the man refused to hear of it. ‘You’re to go to your bedroom and stay there. It’s for your own protection because I don’t know what the villagers intend to do with you when they find out what you did. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll go without food for three days as punishment.’
‘He’s right about protection,’ added Robert solemnly. ’They’ll want to lynch you.’
‘But you told me to do it!’ protested young Brazier lamely.
‘I know... and you did the right thing. We children have to make our mark,’ concluded Robert boldly.
The farmer then turned to the young McBain. ‘Get out of my house!’ he shouted angrily. ‘You’re the one who should have his head on the block, not my son! You influenced him to go to the police. Get out!’
Robert left the farmhouse and returned home immediately. He was unrepentant at having forced his friend to betray the villagers. He still felt he was in the right for striking out for the children of the village. Their quest was to grow up and experience the life enjoyed by the adults.
I was at home when Robert returned. He had a glowing smile on his face as he went directly to his bedroom. I often wondered how he occupied himself while he was there. I didn’t believe that he read books all the time. More likely he was planning to conspire with the other schoolchildren, plotting to do what he thought was right. I was intrigued to know what he intended to do but kept my cool to stay right out of it. Instead I sat in the lounge with Bridget who had just started to read another book. She was well engrossed in it when I disturbed her by slapping my hand aimlessly on the side of the armchair. She looked up puzzled as to why I had done so, and I caught her attention immediately.
‘I’ve been thinking about Townsend’s visit,’ I began, playing the devil’s advocate more out of sheer boredom that anything else.
‘Whatever that man told you, I’d forget if I were you,’ she advanced sharply. ’He spouted nonsense!’
‘I’m not so sure,’ I persisted mischievously. ‘Maybe he did speak sense. Sometimes if you turn a situation upside down you come to the right conclusion.’ I toyed with the idea that if I did leave I’d be free, unencumbered, without a partner or her child.
‘What on earth are you thinking of?’ she asked vaguely.
‘Perhaps it’s my destiny to leave,’ I told her cautiously. ‘When it all boils down, I’m a stranger who knows too much about the secret of the village.’
‘What do you know?’ she enquired as if I was trying to fool her by pretending that I understood the secret.
‘I know that everyone here takes two tablets every day which keeps them looking young and virile. At the same time, it allows them to live for much longer than normal human-beings. Obadiah Keppelberg, who founded the village, was a brilliant chemist who discovered an element which allows people in their eighties to look no more than twenty-seven years of age. The children are suppressed and angry because they remain looking exceedingly young when they’re about the age of forty. Keppelberg discovered the element P13 which is the ingr
edient that keeps everyone look young and helps them to retain their age. He also laid out a set of conventions to retain the village as it was in his day and it still remains different to the rest of Britain, keeping out all strangers... except for myself of course. It has to, by convention, keep it population at the figure of eleven hundred people to retain the balance of the village. How am I doing so far?’
‘Very good,’ she commented, applauding by clapping her hands.
‘There’s just one thing that baffles me,’ I went on, charging like a bull in a china shop. ‘I don’t see a lot of the villagers walking around during the day. They tend to remain in their houses... except for those who tend the fields and look after the cattle. And they don’t enjoy any exercise. I’ve noticed that. No one runs or jogs here. There’s no outdoor activities. Everything’s pretty much static.’
‘Well that’s something you didn’t find out, did you?’ she laughed pleasantly. ‘The reason is that the tablets don’t work the same on everyone. The metabolism of some of the villagers resist the effects of the tablets. The villagers still look young but when they get to a certain age, usually about a hundred years, their joints stiffen and they get a touch of arthritis. Obadiah’s tablets didn’t account for everything. That’s why they don’t do very much outdoors.’
I nodded at the details and pursed my lips together thoughtfully. ‘What would you do if I decided to leave?’ I asked, believing that I knew what she would say but I was astounded by her answer.
‘I’d come with you, of course. Naturally I’d have to take Robert with us... I doubt whether he would mind.’
‘Really!’ I exclaimed with surprise. ‘You’d leave the village?’
‘Our intimate life is so fantastic I’d give up everything just for a few years of it.’
‘You realise you’d run out of tablets in due course,’ I explained. . ‘What would happen to you then?’
