The Skin of the Gods

by Phil Armstrong

  “Turn the Rose, turn it.” The Master continued to try to point to a carved wooden Rose housed within the headboard of the bed.

  Jackson reached out towards the wooden Rose and turned it clockwise. To his surprise the Rose rotated easily and a small drawer slid open at the top of the headboard. It looked like a piece of inlaid wood but it was the front slat of a hidden compartment. Jackson peered inside the drawer. He could see that it was lined with green felt. Suddenly the room smelled sweet like wild flowers or scented soap. Lying centered in the drawer was a folded parchment envelope. The paper looked old and decorated with odd symbols. Jackson reached in and grabbed the envelope. The Master reached upwards with his frail arm and managed to push the hidden drawer back into place. He motioned Jackson to come closer.

  “Listen to me very carefully. You are in grave danger people will try to kill you. Inside the envelope is an address in London. You must take the envelope to the man at that address immediately.” Jackson started to say no. He did not want to leave his Master in such poor health. “Don’t argue with me. The man in London is called the Soul Collector. Inside that envelope is an ancient and powerful Amulet. Many would kill you to get it. You must promise me to keep it safe and go to this man immediately. Promise me, it’s of the upmost importance above all else. Promise me!” The Master was getting excited and this was clearly not good for his recovery. He needed to calm down immediately and Jackson heard the words flow from his mouth in an unconscious stream.

  “I promise you, I’ll go see this Soul Collector.” He said it to calm the Master down and had no intention of leaving until his health had returned. “Now you listen to me, don’t do any more talking, you need to rest.”

  The Master was having nothing to do with Jackson’s instructions. He pointed to a drawer at the side of the bed. “Open it,” he barked. Dusty continued to watch everything transpire from the comfort and warmth of the woolen rug.

  Jackson opened the bedside drawer and stared at a leather pouch with a drawstring. He reached in and lifted the pouch out into the open. It felt heavy and Jackson knew it contained coins. “Take the money and go to London now. It’s too late for me now. I’m too badly damaged. Nothing can save me now. I haven’t got much time. You need to wear my ring so he’ll know that I sent you. Here take it. Be careful and guard the Amulet with your life.”

  Jackson slipped the ring onto his finger and opened the pouch to look at the shiny coins contained within. Lifting his gaze towards his Master he froze in horror. The glazed eyes and motionless body was not that of a man asleep. He had passed away and Jackson felt like someone had stuck a sword deep into his torso. Jackson checked for a breath and closed his Master’s eyelids. Dusty quietly walked over to the side of the bed. Smelling death, he licked the fingers of his Master to try to comfort him. Jackson slumped over his Master and wept uncontrollably. After a while Jackson realized the futility of the situation and realized he might be in danger. Jackson was unfamiliar with the word Amulet. He didn’t really know what an Amulet was. Jackson opened the envelope and removed the letter. The contents smelled sweet, a fragrance that reminded him of his youth. Running through the fields of grass as the wind blew the hardy flowers. He tilted the envelope to reveal a small thin carved object. The Amulet was made from smooth black wood. It was sealed with a thick shiny layer of protective resin. It was clearly the Amulet that smelled good. The carved head was the size of a gentleman’s topcoat button. It was in the shape of a dog’s head. He held it close to his face and inspected the carved details, his nose dwelling on the scent. “So this is what everyone wants? This is worth killing people for?”

  The letter looked different from the envelope it looked more recent, the paper was new. The letter was written in dark black ink and the handwriting looked familiar. It was his Master’s handwriting and Jackson had seen it many times before. He slumped back into the armchair and started to read the letter.

  The letter was brief and addressed to whom it concerns. It contained instructions to deliver the Amulet and his Ring to the Soul Collector. The letter contained an address with strange symbols upon each side. Jackson thought about his Master’s last words. He knew he had been poisoned and whoever did this wanted this Amulet. The Amulet did not look precious or in the slightest way important. It was important enough to kill for and he was warned that he was now in great danger. He needed to find this Soul Collector. Perhaps he could shed some light on why this small little dog’s head is so desirable. Jackson placed the Amulet and letter into the envelope and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. He grabbed the pouch of coins and pushed it deep into the side pocket of his jacket.

  Jackson left his Master’s bedroom with his promise to find the Soul Collector still running through his mind. He went immediately to the kitchen and found Mary. “Mary listen to me I have to go. The Master has passed away but he asked me to do an important errand. It was his dying wish.”

  “He’s dead?” said Mary her eyes welling up with sweet loyal tears. “Where are you going?”

  “He asked me to find a gentleman friend of his in London. He asked me to seek him out and take to him a letter and his ring.” Jackson raised his hand to signal to Mary that he had his Master’s ring.

  “What letter? Why?”

  “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. He said I was in grave danger and that I need to go immediately. Mary I’ve trusted him all my life I’m not going to start to question him now. I have to go and I’m going now. You will need to deal with Doctor Jenkins and don’t mention my assignment. Tell him I was called away to deal with a family situation of my own. Mary I promised him I would do this and I have to go. You know sometimes you have to let him go, because it’s for the best, even though at the time you don’t think so.” Jackson sounded scared. Mary had known Jackson for twenty years this series of events was the first time she had seen him scared. She could not explain why she leaned in and kissed his cheek, she just did.

  “Good luck Jackson. Come back once you have fulfilled your promise.

  “I will. Now I need to go.”

  Jackson grabbed a long heavy coat and slipped it over his jacket. Mary returned from the counter and handed him an apple. “It’s a long way to London. Do you know how you’re going to get there?”

  “I’ll be fine. Tell David to get Doctor Jenkins.” Jackson turned and left the house. He did not leave alone. Dusty’s speed allowed him to just make it through the open gap as the door swung closed.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 5: Floating down the Aisle

  Haworth, West Yorkshire, England, Present day.

  The activity level had dropped in Haworth, it was early evening and the light had faded. The village seemed calmer now, inhabited by locals and the few remaining visitors resigned to spending the evening. The bright mid-day sun had retreated over the hills of the moors casting long shadows as it left. This was Beth’s favorite time in Haworth when the still calm descended and the village fell into its broody dark Victorian state. During the day the streets are filled with sunshine, laughing children and curious visitors. In the early evening the stone seemed darker and the village felt different. The character of the village changed to a melancholy mood described by so many Victorian novels.

  The Main Street glistened from an earlier rain shower and the tour buses had long since vanished. Visitors had completed their tours of the parsonage, sipped high tea in the tearooms and meandered through the curiosity shops. Some may have stopped to enjoy a snack and a pint at the Black Bull. The street was now empty as a yellow and black calico tabby ran for cover from the threatening skies. The wind picked up and with it came a fine wet mist. Beth was not sure why she was walking up Haworth Main Street. She could not stay in her cottage any longer worrying about Matt. The cottage was small and cozy but today it felt as if the walls were moving in on her. She felt trapped and alone. Beth remembered her time at the childcare facilities when she was an orphan. She decided to do what she always did to cope with th
is feeling, run.

  Beth had left the house for a change of scenery and some fresh air. In her haste she had not realized the fine misty rain being carried by the wind. She had not dressed appropriately and her hair was starting to get wet. She walked past the Fleece pub and remembered the night she was struck by lightning. “It was right there near this streetlight,” she said narrating her own recollection of the incident.

  She had not decided where she was going but she knew she was heading in the direction of several pubs and a tearoom serving hot tea and pastries. Beth picked up the pace as water droplets streamed from her brow into her eyes. She brushed the water away from the end of her nose noticing her cheeks felt cold and numb. Beth wore a waterproof jacket made from synthetic nylon that provided a decent barrier to the encroaching rain. Beth’s hair was quickly becoming a wet matted mess. Her familiar jeans felt heavy as they soaked up the rain. She needed to quickly find shelter and a place to warm up. Beth had no idea where she would end up tonight and it made her feel uneasy. She was such an organized, strong willed person; walking aimlessly was not her style. She just knew she had to go somewhere. Remaining trapped in her house was not an appealing option. A thought surged through the confused noise in her head, “If this is coffee, please bring me some tea; but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee. Good old Abraham Lincoln knew how I felt,” she said to herself knowing his quote accurately reflected her current mood.

  She had no idea what she wanted to do and it made her angry, irritated and uneasy. Beth approached the tearoom only to discover she was too late. Glancing through the window into the darkened empty store she could see chairs upturned and perched upon the tabletops. The floors had been swept and the steady stream of visitors satisfied for another day. She pressed onwards trying to find a place that would provide her shelter from the cold wet wind. The wind grew stronger and delivered a lashing blow to Beth’s face sheeting her with wet spray. She walked quickly leaning into the strong wind feeling totally lost within her own village.

  “Millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon, Susan Ertz.” Various thoughts mixed with quotes were racing through her mind like a game to pass the time. She arrived at the top of the hill and seemed to be drawn inevitably to the entrance of the Black Bull pub.

  She glanced at the red phone booth and recalled the last time she was caught in a storm at this location. “This is too much like last time. I can’t handle all of these moving parts it’s causing me too much stress. I’m going for a drink.” Beth walked towards the shelter of the pub’s doorway and for some reason stopped without entering. She could hear the raucous laughter seeping through the door and imagined the warm reception she would receive if she stepped inside. A strong feeling washed over her. She could not explain why but she just knew that going inside was the wrong thing to do. “I don’t need booze or drunken bar-based advice. Free advice is usually worth the price. I need something more than intoxicated rhetoric. I need something considerate, balanced and pure.” It was a strong thought that literally prevented her from entering the pub.

  Standing in the rain Beth was cold, frustrated and feeling helpless. Matt had disappeared and she knew something was wrong. He was not the type to just run away. “If Matt wasn’t found then the police will come for me. I was the last to see him alive. That makes me the chief suspect,” said Beth watching the warm air from her mouth form into fog clouds. She leaned against the wall and pulled a contorted face from sheer frustration. She heard a click and the pub door opened pushing Beth backwards onto the street and back into the rain.

  “Sorry love I didn’t see you I swear. You okay?” said a man in a long back parka holding his hood to provide protection from the rain.

  “I’m fine thanks,” said Beth looking down at her wet jeans.

  “Get inside dear, it’s warm and dry in there.” The man turned and ran hugging the side of the street to find shelter. Beth watched him scurrying away like the cat earlier.

  Beth was about to take the man’s advice and enter the pub when she saw a bright light. She turned her head towards a warm yellow light shining from the Church window. The light looked strong, inviting and pure. It acted like a magnet drawing Beth towards it. “I don’t need booze perhaps I should just pray. Matt where are you my love? I need to get inside where it’s warm and dry.” Beth felt surprised. She would never describe herself as spiritual in a Church sense. She felt self conscious about entering a Church as if she was a fraud.

  Beth ascended the slate steps they were shiny and slick from the rain. She hurried into the sheltered doorway. She hesitated for a moment before entering. She was deciding if she could go through with this when a thought burst forward causing her to smile. “If you talk to God, you are praying; if God talks to you, you have schizophrenia.” Her smile quickly subsided and she pushed her way into the Church.

  This was a quiet somber serious place, a place of prayer and reflection, she did not feel smiling was appropriate. Beth had spent little time in Church; she had never felt the need. Church always made her feel insignificant and not worthy. Tonight she was drawn to the Church to shelter from both the rain and the noise invading her life. She needed a quiet place to pray and reflect. She felt uneasy as she entered the Church; it was exactly how she had imagined. The Church had a long center aisle leading to a large stained glass window at the prayer altar. Richly colored wooden benches were lined across the Church, breaking only for the center aisle. The floor was made from grey stone tiles supporting sweeping arches that bowed majestically. The arches supported more stained glass and a vaulted roof.

  Large beams could be seen crossing the roof. A mural was painted on a background of gold. It decorated the facing wall that separated the pews from the choir seats. Candles illuminated the pulpit and the altar. Along the exterior wall were plaques and beautiful stained glass windows. The darkness outside made it difficult to appreciate their beauty. Thick walls and stone arches loomed large making Beth feel uncomfortable. She did not belong. She felt as if she was intruding but she was the only person in the Church. It was dry, warm and inviting yet she still had this uneasy feeling. The Church was quiet and serene. She walked down the aisle in a respectful way. She looked forward towards the front of the Church and scanned the mural painted high above her head. Beth looked to her left and stopped four rows from the front.

  Beth sat on the wooden bench and leaned forward clasping her hands in prayer. She rested her rain soaked head upon her clasped hands letting out a deep silent sigh. Her mind was still and she tried to soak up the calming atmosphere of the Church. A small noise at the front of the Church immediately drew her attention and she lifted her head. A man could be seen moving candles on a small prayer table at the front. He was dressed in black robes and a dog collar and was clearly a man of the cloth. He had assumed the Church to be empty and went about his chores oblivious to Beth’s presence. Beth remained quiet making no attempt to alert the man and attract attention. He seemed busy but moved with a calm assuredness. As he moved from the head table his face jerked to one side as his eyes registered the lone figure of a woman sat within the congregational pews.

  A dull light surrounded her head and she looked straight through the man like a ghostly specter. He had to look hard to make sure she was human and not a trick of the light deceiving his eyes. The Black Bull pub was only a few feet away and is recognized as one of the most haunted places in the region. The Vicar had heard noises in the Church but had never seen any ghosts before. He stared more intently to determine if she was real.

  It was an abnormally long amount of time before Beth realized she had been seen and the Vicar was staring right at her. She responded with a polite smile. He took this as an invitation and started to walk towards her. He wore plain black undecorated robes that flowed when he walked. It seemed like he was floating instead of the usual gait of a man’s walk. When he approached, Beth managed to get a clearer view of his face. His features were
framed by a crisp white dog collar. Beth examined the man’s face realizing how young the Vicar appeared. He was handsome in a simple way and not what Beth had expected.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m the Vicar here at St. Michaels and all Angels; you can call me Mark if you want. I do hope you don’t mind me intruding upon your thoughts but I didn’t realize anyone was in here and I didn’t want to appear rude,” he said in a genuine way.

  “Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength. You weren’t rude; you were just going about your business. I was the rude one. I should have announced my presence. My name’s Beth I live here in the village and I just needed to be alone with my thoughts.” Beth extended her hand for the Vicar to shake.