by Andy Jarvis
“Don’t you ever wonder why I’m still working? I am almost fifteen years beyond the normal retirement age yet they still allow me to carry on, but only just. Each year that passes I’m asked but no one forces me. You see, the church is in crisis, not my church but Christianity in general. What, with the world in turmoil and so much suffering going on, no wonder attendance has fallen. Folk have lost their faith. The church no longer provides the answer. But at St. Mark’s it’s different. They come in droves to hear me. Oh yes, some just come along out of curiosity, having heard about my sermons. Others come because they are looking for true guidance and firm rules. They want structure in their lives full of chaos. Either way it makes little difference, the money comes rolling in and the Bishops turns a blind eye to my age. They like what I do, you see, not just the money but the style. I don’t fool about pandering to mass opinions and fashions, but use traditional preaching. They like that, they like packed churches.
“But all that could change,” Reverend John continued. “I live on the edge, so to speak. If I was to suddenly ask for an exorcism, or even claim that St. Mark’s was haunted, it would be the final straw. They’d be convinced I’d finally lost it. I’d be out,” he said sadly. “Nobody who’s in a career they enjoy wants to retire. I’m not finished yet. My work here’s not done.”
“And it shouldn’t be,” Baz declared. “Not after that sermon me and Ed watched. You were so good, even Isabel came along to watch!”
The room fell silent and all eyes were on Baz, who looked about sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to speak ill of…you know what I mean…sorry.”
“It’s quite alright, son.” Reverend John smiled. “I’m glad you liked it, and no one’s going to make me retire. Only God can tell me when it’s time.”
“So what do you propose, Reverend?” asked Arden.
“Well, I suppose we can take a look at this chap, seeing as he’s invited himself anyway. Then, no doubt we’ll send him packing, once he’s shown himself to be a fake. When did you say he’s coming?”
“Actually, he’s already here,” said Arden.
16.
He was a nerd. He had the straightest of black hair combed back over his ears and thick black glasses which he kept propping up onto his head when he wasn’t scribbling in a note pad. He wore beads, or more like one of those surfer’s necklaces with shells and one of those furry anoraks that you usually only buy in specialist outdoor shops at retail outlets well away from the city centre. Like Tibet.
He wandered in, surveying the church and carrying this rucksack and rolled up sleeping bag, which after a few minutes he just dumped in the middle of the floor. No reverence at all. Not just a nerd, a hippy. Full blown tree hugger.
The rest of us, that’s me, Baz, Arden and Reverend John stood by the stone flag where the body had been found.
Reverend John looked incredulous as the stranger wandered around, occasionally pulling his glasses from his head to his nose and scribbling notes. He walked up and down the altar, bending down onto all fours, listening to the floor, and even sniffing the ground like a tracker dog. He stroked the tapestry of St. Mark still leant against the wall and touched it to his face.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Reverend John.
“I’m admiring your church!” the stranger called.
Reverend John looked at us with raised eyebrows.
The man strolled over to us, still looking around as he approached. “Hi there,” he said.
Arden made the introductions: “Reverend, Baz, Ed, I’d like you to meet Henry Wainwright. Henry, this is Reverend John Cannon, vicar of St. Mark’s, and this is Baz and Ed, the two chaps I was telling you about that made the discovery.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Reverend,” said Henry. “And I’m extremely pleased to meet you at last.” He extended a hand.
“All good I trust,” grumbled Reverend John, shaking the stranger’s hand after a moment’s hesitation.
“All very good. You have quite a name to yourself. Great sermons you have. I’ve heard all about them. Reverend John Cannon! The great orator. And the charity work you do is legendary. A fine, selfless man such as your self is a rare thing in this darkened world. Oh yes, I’ve heard all about you.” Henry nodded and smiled appreciatively at Reverend John, who stared back with a perplexed look on his face.
He turned to me and Baz with this sort of squinting frown, like he was curious, or doubtful about whether we were the real article. His wide, dark pupils felt to penetrate as he looked us both up and down from shoe to hair. “So you two found the body?” he said, before turning away to explore the church again.
“Well, Ed dug it up, strictly speaking,” said Baz. “But I guess you could say we both found it. It was easy really. You see, there was this mist marking the spot, you know, like it was intended for us to find it.”
Henry spun around and stared at us intensely, then scribbled more notes. “What makes you say that?” he called without looking up.
“We just thought it must be the reason for the mist,” I said. “As far as we understand there has been no other occurrence before or after, until we had our run in with…her, a couple of days ago.”
Henry looked up at us, and without saying a word, nodded in agreement as he continued to examine the church as before, looking under pews, feeling the floor and generally sniffing about.
“How’d he do that?” Baz whispered.
“Do what?” I asked.
“He heard us whispering, or he read our thoughts when Reverend John asked us what he was doing.”
“Heard us?” I said. “He didn’t, and he didn’t read anyone’s thoughts either. It’s a trick; these guys are full of them. He probably realised we were wondering what he was doing, then anticipated the next question. I’ve seen it done before. He can’t hear us or read our minds. Look, he’s not saying anything now is he?”
“I suppose not,” Baz whispered very close to my ear.
“I’ve filled Henry in on all the details,” said Arden.
“Well, why didn’t you fill me in on him?” hissed Reverend John. “I mean what is he supposed to be? He looks like some sort of vagrant or bohemian.”
“I would have, if I’d had time, Reverend. He’s only just got here. Let’s give him a chance at least. He does come highly recommended after all.”
There was something not quite right about it all, as me and Baz watched the stranger wander about. Have you ever had that feeling that you’ve seen this film somewhere before? I think they call it déjà vu. The feeling became overwhelmingly heavy as the four of us closely watched him go about his work: bending, crawling, listening, scratching, sniffing. Sneaking. Sneaking.
Oh, it wasn’t déjà vu; I’d definitely seen this one before. “Damn!” I cried. “I know you!” I started to walk slowly towards him. “It’s you isn’t it? I know you!”
“What gives!” exclaimed Baz. “What’s happening, Ed?”
“Don’t you recognise him, Baz?” I said. “It’s the sneak.” I quickened my pace. “The Sneak himself, remember Baz? Oh, I know you!”
“Too bloody right, so do I!” Baz gasped.
Henry straightened up as I approached.
“I know you,” I said. “The sneak, the church breaker or whatever you are. I know you.”
“You most certainly do,” said Henry politely. “We’ve just been introduced, remember?”
“Don’t play funny buggers with me, pal. You jumped me remember? Attacked me from behind.”
“On the contrary, it was you that intended attacking from behind. I merely outwitted you.”
“Right, that’s it!” I said marching right up to him. I was going to grab him, and then what I’m not sure. I’m not a violent sort. I think I just wanted to get even, get him on the ground and make him answer some questions about sneaking.
I put my hand on his arm grasping the sleeve of his coat, started to pull then stopped as I caught his eye. Deep pools. I had
a sudden flash of the dream I had of swimming the dark pool with Isabel as he held out his other hand, removing mine from the sleeve and shaking it again like we’d just been introduced for a second time. It caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe I was being overcautious in case he did some slick trick and got me on the ground again. Or worse, called me what he called me in the allotment that night, only in front of everyone. What he actually did was just as slick. How he did it I’m not sure, but it was just a trick. I’m sure of that.
“No hard feelings, eh?” he said softly. “I had no more idea who you were than you had of me.”
“But what were you doing?” said Baz. “What were you scratching about at, sneaking in the night?”
“I do not discuss my methods. I’m sorry, but some things in this world are sacred. You do not question the movements of Henry Wainwright. It was important that I came as soon as possible, even though you were unaware of my presence. I apologise, but you shall see in time. We shall talk again and I shall explain myself better when the time is right.”
He walked over to Reverend John and Arden, and picking up his gear, took one last look around the church. “Arden will tell you everything you need to know for now.” He shook hands with us all. “Well it’s been very nice meeting you, but I must be off now. See you,” he said heading for the door.
“Is that it? But you just got here,” I said.
“What about my church?” Reverend John called.
“Your church will be fine for now,” called Henry. “I’ll see you in two days time,” as he disappeared out the door.
“Well I never!” protested Reverend John. “Who in blazes is this character, Staniforth, and what on earth is he supposed to be doing?”
“You must be patient Reverend,” said Arden. “I’ve been researching the man and been told he does work in very unorthodox ways, but his success rate is very high. The Paranormal Society has assured me that I’m lucky to have caught his attention. He’s usually very hard to get hold of, let alone hire. I understand he’s very clandestine about his work and techniques. Apparently he comes from a long line of visionaries, some who have a special gift, if you like.”
“What sort of gift?” I said.
“He never says, and the Society won’t elaborate. They just say he’s good and whatever he has works.”
“I don’t know about this, I really don’t,” grumbled Reverend John. “This isn’t going to involve some pagan ritual is it? I really must protest. I can’t possibly allow such a thing in a Christian environment. And why is he doing this? What’s in it for him?”
“Well, there is the small matter of his fee,” Arden muttered.
“Ha, a fee! I should have guessed! How much?”
“Five hundred,” said Arden, grimacing.
“Five hundred pounds!” exclaimed Reverend John. “Well, isn’t that a coincidental figure? Perhaps he’s been talking to that shyster reporter. How else would he know I had that amount to spare?”
“It’s his standard rate; the man does have to make a living.”
“I told you, didn’t I?” I said sarcastically. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s not the first to turn up offering their services, for a fee of course.”
“You’re absolutely right, lad,” said Reverend John. “I see it now, a freelance; a mercenary like that journalist, that’s what he is. Perhaps he’s even been sent by that Harvey to recover his money for all I know.”
“Is this Henry guy an exorcist?” said Baz.
“Something of that sort, I understand,” said Arden.
“Oh that’s it!” cried Reverend John. “It’s outrageous and how’s he going to perform that if he isn’t even here? I mean where the blazes has he gone off to at such a crucial time?”
“I understand Henry doesn’t work the same as others in the field,” said Arden. “It’s part of his beliefs. He has to clear his mind first, and that involves getting away from all social interactions.”
“Explain in English,” I said.
“It means he goes off into the countryside for a while, away from any contact with humanity. He lives outside, sleeps under the stars and listens only to the noises of nature. It’s his way of reconnecting himself with his origins, clearing himself of all material thought. Only then he can do his work. It’s a type of quest for purity of mind and spirit.”
“I’ve never heard of anything as outlandish in my life!” declared Reverend John. “Wandering about in the wilderness? Sleeping rough? What sort of nonsense is that?”
“Hmm, I seem to remember a chap in the Bible doing something very similar, Reverend,” said Arden, smiling.
17.
Service jobs are a piece of cake. You replace a few parts, give the old boiler and ducts a good clean, and before you know it you’re away. Money for old rope, or an old dope in the case of McBright. Anyway, we’ve done them that often that I don’t even think about it. My mind wanders.
My thoughts mulled over the past few days as I scraped soot from a flue at the back of an old church somewhere not far from Norwich the day after our introduction to Henry Wainwright.
Baz has a knack of spotting this mind wandering. Not like a sixth sense or anything, just the fact that I hadn’t noticed that the soot scrapings were falling on his head as he fiddled about on all fours in the back of the boiler a few feet below. He brought me back to the real world with a little two note whistle and a “watch it clumsy twat!”
“Yeah, what? Oh, sorry Baz!” I climbed down the step-ladder as Baz straightened up to kneeling position, looking a bit like one of those old time Vaudeville actors with black makeup. “Sorry mate, I didn’t realise you’d started back there. Lucky I wasn’t carrying a pipe wrench, I could have dropped it on your head.” I grabbed a brush and helped him clean the soot off his head, face and overalls.
“There’s a lot you don’t realise lately,” Baz said, wiping his face with a rag.
“Really? What do you mean?”
“You worry me.”
“Sorry?”
“Well you’re changing,” Baz sighed. “I almost hate to admit it, but we are mates after all. You need to know this.”
“Know what?”
“You seem distant, not as much fun anymore. I mean we usually have a few laughs at work then later a few pints, game of darts, chat a few lasses up. You’re usually full of beans and up for it.”
“We still do most of that,” I said. “Anyway, we haven’t seen any fit lasses lately.”
“No, but if we had, I imagine you’d still be wandering off to this own little place of yours somewhere inside your head. It’s weird bud, but it’s like…like…”
“Like I’d seen a ghost?”
“Well, I wasn’t quite going to put it like that.”
“But that’s just it Baz. I have, and so have you. It took me a while to admit it. I guess that’s what’s been occupying my mind. It’s not an easy thing to forget. Besides, I’m still the same fun loving guy as before. I still like a good football match.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Baz. “Are you? It’s ever since we arrived back in the village, since you gave me all that stuff in the inn car park about wanting to live in Candlewell. You’ve never really been the same since.”
“Baz, it’s nothing new. I’ve thought that way for a while now, long before we ever came to Candlewell. I’ve always wanted to get away from the sort of shit side of town where we came from. Lots of folk have that dream. Candlewell just happens to be the sort of place I’d always had in mind. I just keep it to myself, in case you accuse me of being gay.”
“You got that right.”
We had a good laugh. I made us a both a brew for a change, Baz commenting on the fact that he usually ends up making it, and we carried on working.
Half an hour of scratching, scraping, the odd curse and whistling later, Baz said, “You had any more thoughts on the new guy then, bud?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Amongst other things, he’s one of t
he items I keep mulling over in my mind.”
“Well, what’s the verdict?”
“A complete phoney. I just wish Reverend John and Arden could see that.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“We’ve been through all that before,” I said. “But there’s something else besides, that I remember reading about. Some guy who tried a similar scam years and years ago, back in the thirties it was I believe. He not only reckoned he could talk to the spirits but the birds and animals even, and gave lectures on conservation and stuff. But it turns out he was fake. I believe he took a lot of cash off folk on his tours, before he was finally sussed.”
“Maybe,” said Baz. “I could dig what you’re saying except that this Henry seems different somehow. I would have expected some guy in a suit or even some electronic gear like ghost busters, but he just looks like a student type, like he’s not even trying to impress or anything. He’s got to be on the level I reckon. And if Arden says so, that’s good enough.”
“You think so, eh?”
“Sure I do,” said Baz.
“He’s full of crap.”
“No way. Come on Ed, give the guy a break.”
“I’m telling you he’s full of crap,” I said, and sharply pulled a piece of metal ducting from the wall that clattered to the ground with a bang.
We returned to the village the next day at Arden’s insistence, but Henry was nowhere to be found and Reverend John hadn’t seen him. Arriving early morning, Baz and me decided to stretch our legs after the long drive and take a walk out to the river, not far from the village, along with a couple of rods and tackle, of course.
“I just don’t get it Ed,” said Baz, breaking off from his whistling as we reached the village outskirts.
“Don’t get what?” I said.
“Well, why you’re being such a butthead over this guy Henry.”
“Butthead?” I was taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”
“Well, after all the stuff you and me have seen, you’re suddenly like one of those spectacle types, you know those guys who don’t believe in ghosts and stuff.”
