by Andy Jarvis
“I think I’ll just sit this one out,” he said fretfully.
I walked over, stopping briefly as a draught caught a nearby candle that suddenly seemed to crackle and burn brighter. Distant lightening sparkled in the window panes in a flickering kaleidoscope effect. My heart pounded. I quickened my pace in anticipation to the very spot where she’d vanished on that strange day during Reverend John’s sermon. Nothing. There was nothing. Drab grey stone. Cold glass, cold air. No warmth, no life, no heart…no hearth. Nothing.
I turned sharply, glaring at Henry as a deep rumble seemed to crawl its way along the church roof, buzzing in the rafters like one of Mrs. Cass’ bass notes. “There’s nothing here!” I cried.
“Of course not!” Henry responded with a smug grin. “Don’t you see? She’s on her way. She’s leaving that place between worlds where she’s been trapped. This is the end of Isabel’s Light!”
“No, you lie!” I cried. “You knew! You knew she was gone already, last night here in this church. You said she was resting, mustering her strength for the final conflict. She’s gone, but she’s gone of her own accord, not because of you. She’s gone because Reverend John laid her body to rest in its rightful place, not you! You’re a fake!”
“We shall see,” said Henry. He folded his arms across his chest and stared up at the ceiling.
Reverend John sat up straight. He was no longer panting, but looked pale and drawn. Henry stood motionless and closed his eyes. Reverend John abruptly stood up and stared around the church as though suddenly lost or disoriented.
“The child!” Henry cried. “Tell me about the child, Reverend! Tell me about the darkness in your heart that so saddens you! Release the darkness, Reverend. Release the sadness!”
Reverend John clutched his head in his hands and grimaced. He staggered, slumped into the pew and arched back. Silas grabbed his shoulders, supporting him as Reverend John’s body tensed and writhed.
“The child!” cried Reverend John.
“Yes, Reverend?” called Henry.
“The child was…”
“Yes, Reverend?”
“He was my brother!” Reverend John gasped and slipped from Silas’ hold to the floor in a dead faint.
“I know,” whispered Henry.
Baz and me dashed over to Reverend John. Checking his breathing and pulse, I rolled him into recovery position. He came around quickly, breathing steadily. “I’m fine,” he murmured as Baz propped him up to a sitting position.
“It’s a very clever trick you play,” said Silas. “Making folk say things they don’t mean to. I’ve seen the like before. This is nothing more than some auto-suggestive charade!”
“Oh, so you think I’m some kind of cabaret hypnotist, do you?” said Henry. “I can assure you I’m no such thing. I don’t have such talent, nor do I make the Reverend speak what he doesn’t want to say. That desire comes from elsewhere. Tell me Silas, why do you think the Reverend says what he has? There is nothing in the Records as such.”
“Because it’s true,” said Reverend John, panting.
“John don’t!” pleaded Silas. “It’s too late for this. Don’t say anymore. Don’t let him bully you with his tricks.”
“Why don’t you go and light some more candles Silas?” said Henry. “It’s getting a little dark in here.”
He was right. We’d hardly noticed it descending, but the windows had darkened considerably. It was still mid afternoon. It should have still been light even on the dullest of days. Thunder rolled closer.
“What about switching on the lights?” I said.
“Not a good idea in an electrical storm,” said Henry. “Besides, I think you’ll find they’re not working. Probably a power line down somewhere.”
“Feels like one hell of a weather system brewing,” said Baz.
All was quiet for several minutes as we watched Silas light candles about the church and listened for the approaching storm.
Reverend John broke the silence: “I was weak,” he began quietly. “I should have done something then. Perhaps that poor girl could have been spared.”
“No, you were strong,” said Henry. “But you were young and succumbed by your father’s stature and power. But still you had your own free will and presence of mind. You did do something and Isabel watches over you for that, and now she wishes others to know.”
“And how in blazes do you know?” Reverend John cried, struggling to his feet. “Who or what are you? I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be doing a job for me, cleansing this church of whatever it is.”
“I am merely a guide, Reverend. I can’t make you do or say anything. You are free to call a halt at any time if you choose. But something else keeps you here, doesn’t it? She keeps you here with a hold on your mind, your soul even, until the others know the truth.” Henry pointed to me and Baz. “Then perhaps their role might become clear.”
“What’s going on?” said Baz. “I thought I understood until now. What are me and Ed to do with it?”
“Quiet,” said Henry. “We shall see in good time.”
Silas returned with a single candle. Others illuminated the church warmly, as he sat alongside Reverend John. Saddened eyes surveyed us behind his thick glasses, a far cry from the sprightly, elusive old gentleman in the allotment that day. “It’s all of us together,” he said wistfully. “It’s not just John that the lady has a hold on. I said we were the haunted, and now it seems there is a purpose. But what is it, and how can you of all people do anything?”
Henry smiled and sat down. “I can’t. There is only one way,” he whispered.
“We were mere children,” Reverend John began softly. “Barely ten years old. We were playing, as children do, our favourite game. One of us would count to fifty, while the other would hide amongst the headstones, or under a bush. It was a fine autumn evening, all those years ago. As I was looking for a place to hide I noticed the church door ajar and dashed inside. I hid behind the tapestry. It was in the very place it now stands. In my haste I realised that I’d neglected to shut the door and Silas soon found me, laughing and giggling as he threw back the cloth, jumping in to tag me.
“Suddenly we heard voices, my father’s amongst them. I knew we would be in big trouble for being in the church so late, so we sat still and quiet, hoping the men would soon depart. Minutes passed and all we could hear was the soft mumbling of the party. Silas and I took it in turn to watch from a tear in the cloth. I hadn’t noticed it in my haste as I ran into the church, but things were different. Black candles burned and the crucifix over the altar had gone. A makeshift altar had been placed in the aisle at the front. The party were all hooded in black robes. All except one. Isabel. She looked radiant, all in white, as beautiful as ever. She sat upon the altar clutching a child to her breast. Both seemed asleep, or at least Isabel was entranced.
“Suddenly the mumbling became a hideous chorus, not like the singing of prayers, but men groaning together in a harmony of sexual pleasure. Nausea gripped me and I wanted to vomit. If ever a sound could induce physical sickness, then that was it.
“The singing ended and the chanting began, most of which was lost on me, some language I’d not heard before. But then it broke into English and my father stepped forward to Isabel, removing his hood. Others removed theirs and I recognised the members of the Council. The others, I’d never seen before, they were not villagers that I knew of.”
Reverend John’s voice trembled as he continued: “My father took hold of the child and held it aloft saying the words that will haunt me until my death: ‘Oh master, King of the Shadows,’ he said, ‘we offer you the fruit of your betrothed, born of the seed of your servant, John Cannon. As light of this world shall in all surety diminish, may night become eternal, in the name of you, our true Lord.’
“As the prayer continued, I felt the church pulsate as though some great upheaval was about to occur. It had a life of its own, like some monster lumbering into consciousness. A blackness formed behind the
altar and the others stepped back. I felt their fear and doubt as the void expanded and contracted and swirled, gathering the light around it into its nothingness. It breathed. It had life, but it was death itself gathering into form. Silas grabbed at the tear to look with me and became paralysed with fear. The form expanded into a huge pulsating mass, taking the light with it and enveloping Isabel.
“Suddenly the child began to cry. A candle on the altar burst into life, burning bright in that dark space like a lighthouse beacon in a storm. Isabel opened her eyes and from her bodice pulled out the strangest of things. It was a crucifix, but in the place of Jesus there was pinned to it a plant. A plant, of all things! My mind reeled; I couldn’t fathom it. Father looked at it wild-eyed and laughed maniacally at the gesture. Whether mere gesture or not, the black spirit was angry. I could sense its wrath as it retreated, shaking the church throughout. Light burned all around, sparkling in rainbow colours as the spirit shrank to nothingness. Then the church was normal again, and silence reigned.
“Father stood stunned. Isabel took the chance and grabbed the child, running from the church. The others, who’d been cowering in fear, scrambled from Father as he began to wreck the church in his anger. As he reached the door he suddenly turned and shot a glance straight at my transfixed eye peering terrified at him through the cloth. Then he smiled and began to laugh the most insane and maniacal laugh, before slamming the door behind him.
“After an age, we both crept out from behind the tapestry. Silas looked incredulously at the crucifix and its strange human shaped plant, silently picking it up and clutching it to himself in his fear. We both ran out without a word to each other. Father was still out, thankfully, when I reached home and I slipped into bed to a broken sleep of unspeakable nightmares.
“In the morning I crept downstairs, expecting the beating of my life, but got no such thing. Father was his usual self, good humoured even. ‘So my little sparrow,’ he said, ruffling my hair over breakfast. ‘Did you sleep well? Good! You have a good day at school. There is much in this world for you to learn. Learn it well, for one day it shall be yours, this world.’
“It wasn’t until a few years later that I understood what born of the seed of meant, and the horrible truth dawned upon me. My half brother,” said Reverend John sadly, bowing his head.
“From there you know the rest, as written in the Records, and the terrible fate of Isabel Rankin. Retribution for whatever unspeakable pact my father had tried to seal. She had broken it and paid the ultimate price. Whatever pact or other dealings Father had with that thing from the abyss, it gave him a power, a certain control of over folks minds, if not their souls, which I believe was his ultimate aim. He was prepared to offer his own child in exchange for it. Then he disappeared.”
“No!” Henry suddenly snapped. He jumped up and faced Reverend John. “Still you deny the truth, Reverend. He didn’t go away did he, Reverend? What really happened, Reverend?”
Henry’s dark eyes widened, reflecting the flickering of candles as he stared intensely at Reverend John. Reverend John stared back as though both were locked in mental combat. Slowly Reverend John rose from the pew, grasping Henry by the shoulders. Henry stood firm, unflinching.
“No, but I went away myself,” Reverend John began softly, never removing his eyes fixed on Henry’s. “I went to boarding school the following September. Do you know what they used to teach you in boarding school in those days?”
“No, Reverend. Please tell me.”
“They taught you to fight,” Reverend John hissed. “Boxing, that’s what. They taught you boxing, the gentlemanly art of self defence and settling of scores. Settling of scores! I don’t suppose they teach you that in one of your modern state institutions with its politically correct pussyfooting, do they?
“I built myself up from the pathetic weakling that watched and cowered as a poor wretch and her child were stripped of their humanity. I was nearly seventeen when I finished, but before I left for my third world pilgrimage I came back to Candlewell, and found that the Light of Isabel still availed me, as it did as a youngster. The same Light that kept me sane in the months before I left for school. I stood in the glow from Father’s despicable window and Isabel appeared. Coming forward, she touched my soul…and I knew.
“I went home to Father and told him: ‘Isabel has spoken to me.’ He was livid, and fetched the riding crop he’d used to beat me with as a boy. Coming at me I glanced away his swing with ease and caught him full on in the face with a right, his nose crunching and bursting open in a splatter. He caught sight of himself in a mirror. Stunned and stupefied, he looked at himself like some child who’d had an accident with a ketchup bottle. He charged me again with a roar and I caught him again, sending him reeling, slumped and gasping to the floor. That should have been it, I’d established my dominance. But no, I grabbed him by the collar and pulling him to his knees I hit and hit and hit!” Reverend John cried, shaking Henry violently. “I was enjoying it, you see! I wanted to hear him scream. I wanted him to beg for his wretched life as Isabel had done that day at the house. I wasn’t disappointed. He was a mere mortal, and a cowardly one at that, in the end.
“I ran to tell Silas what I’d done and together we disposed of him. His bones now feed a patch of mandrake in a corner of the allotment. Silas grows the very plant he took from Isabel on his own grave. How’s that for irony! You’ve heard of pushing up daisies!” Reverend John laughed hysterically, releasing Henry.
“So you see,” he said, turning full circle and staring up, his arms outstretched, “not only am I a liar, concocting a tale and coercing a childhood friend into my deceit to hide my own shame, but I’m a murderer! What do you think of that, God? The utmost of mortal sins committed by the most respected – your upstanding Reverend John, who preaches the word of your son, Jesus Christ to his flock. What a hypocrite!” he cried slumping to a pew.
He stared up at Henry, speaking quietly again: “So I did the work of Jesus as he intended, giving everything and taking nothing. When I could no longer work in the poor places of the world, I returned to my church. Isabel had gone, all bar the odd weeping and sighing sounds, or cold touches that ultimately unhinged Mrs. Braithwaite. But some of Isabel’s Light still remained and gave me strength. I would stand in it whenever I felt weakness or doubt, and through her I once more turned my church into a place of light and joy and carried on the work for the underprivileged, the weak…and the starving. Especially the starving.
“Now she has returned…for what? For me?…for them?” Reverend John, pointed to me and Baz. “Oh Lord, please help me to understand!” he cried, clasping his hands together.
“You must understand what’s happened, Reverend,” said Henry. “The mandrake was a potion, a drug used to seduce Isabel; to entwine her into your father’s worship, to create a soul worthy of sacrifice – a symbol of his servitude to the unholy. We all have symbols, Reverend, and belief in what they represent, no matter how strange they appear. Isabel created her own symbol, a crucifix, using the mandrake as a symbol of death to the unholy allegiance she had made with your father’s seduction, and a wish to return herself and child to her former beliefs. Perhaps she even hoped your father would repent, once she had shown that the evil could be driven back. Isabel was willing to risk that, and paid the ultimate price, her own life. Your father did what Ankou asked of him. He asked for revenge.”
The church burst into flashing light, followed closely by a boom that shook the floor, walls and pillars.
“Bloody close one!” cried Baz.
We both ran to the door to watch the spectacle. Outside the blackness was complete. Day had turned to total night. Streetlights flickered into life, cars stopped and folk ran inside houses looking out from curtains and shutting them quickly. The world fell into silence. Henry came up behind us followed by Reverend John and Silas.
“It’s Father’s curse,” whispered Reverend John. “His command has come upon us. As light of this world shall surely diminis
h, may night become eternal.”
“It’s only a storm, Reverend,” said Henry.
“Never seen one like this,” Baz muttered, staring at the sky in awe.
The first stone ricocheted, I couldn’t imagine on what. It hit the roof tiles with a crack, and then bounced off the belfry maybe, before rattling off the edge. Two more hit the roof. Another, from some insane angle, bounced and made its way through the belfry vent, sounding the bell with a single dull note before falling and bouncing at our feet like some grossly misshapen billiard ball settling into a mushy puddle. Others struck, steadily at first, the sound reminding me of the time me and Baz visited the driving range, and the steady swotting sound of golf balls being endlessly teed off.
Then came the sheet. A white veil of ice, cascading and crashing, breaking glass and splitting roof tiles. Gutters collapsed under the weight and drains surged sending a white torrent down the lane, a shallow but lashing and foaming river that brought the loose and broken debris of Candlewell with it.
The torrent ended within minutes, leaving a black sky that sparkled with firecrackers of electricity, finishing with a single long bolt that snaked its way across the velvet surface, grounding in the middle distance in a huge starburst followed by a ground shaking boom.
“Damned if that didn’t hit a tree!” cried Silas.
As the last crackle of electricity disappeared from above, a complete silence descended and the world seemed to stand still for several moments. Then the belfry stirred. We looked up as the bell began to hum, then drone, as the movement gathered pace. It seemed as though some of the black of the sky, blacker than the storm itself, had seeped through the vents, obscuring the bell. It swirled in a circular motion as it descended.
“What is it?” exclaimed Reverend John.
“It looks like a tornado,” I cried. “What is that, a whirlwind? What’s happening?”
“Bats!” shrieked Baz, hitting the floor face down as the first blast of winged air hit. The rest of us ducked, crouched and cowered as the colony whooshed by. All except Henry who stood still, allowing some of the creatures to land on him, even petting and whispering to them before sending them on their way.
