by Gerry Tate
I found myself almost grovelling out a sort of an apology, even though I didn’t know why, or didn’t really feel at fault regarding the matter.
Then they seemed to calm down somewhat, and Father Rice spoke first.
“You see Father O’Neill; country folk have been seeing this child walk these lanes and others at night. She has already attacked a number of people, including you just now. She attacks anyone who approach’s her.”
“That’s why we are here now,” Father McAllister added. “We had wished to give her soul its final rest.”
“Why does she come here?” I asked.
“We don’t know, but it’s not just here. She has been seen all across Ireland, visiting the graveyards. She has been coming to this one for the last three months or so. We think she’s searching for someone.”
“Is this some kind of joke you two are playing on me?” I questioned.
“Does that cut on your bloodied face seem like a joke to you? Do we look like the type of men who would behave or joke in this fashion at this hour of the morning? We came here to save the child’s soul. Now though, thanks to you, it’s unlikely she will return here again for some time, if ever. She’s frightened and confused even more now. She may wander the lanes blindly at night, and may become even more violent to anyone she meets.”
“And you expect me to believe this, this cock-n-bull story?” I found myself saying, in an almost hostile voice.
“Father O’Neill, quite frankly we do not care what you choose to believe,” Father Rice replied earnestly.
“We have been open and honest with you, and now we will return to the church. We have no more business here this night.”
“You must never repeat what you have witnessed here tonight,” Father McAllister warned in an angry tone. “Take heed on that.”
We three men walked back to the church in an embarrassing silence that night.
* * * * *
Next day I made some discreet inquiries in the village. I was astounded that almost everyone knew about the violent little dead girl who walked the country lanes of Ireland at night.
Have all these bloody people gone mad? I remember thinking at the time. How in the name of all that is sacred, and in this day and age, could grown people think this way? Okay, I had seen the little girl and I had been attacked by her. But my opinion then was that this was no more a ghost than I was. I could still feel the sting on my cheek. And I was quite sure that what hit me was firm and solid. Because as far as I was concerned, whatever it was that attacked me, was most definitely alive.
No! I simply did not believe in ghosts and ghouls. Something else was going on here, and by God, I was determined to find out just what it was.
I walked those lanes for weeks, at different times of the night over the next year, but never came across the little girl on the country roads during that time again. However, something was to change regarding this.
It was quite by accident, and it was just as I had given it up on this quest, when I finally did see her.”
“You saw her again?” Tully asked, as he leaned forward, anxious to see where the priest was going with this frightening yet somehow spellbinding story.
“Yes.”
Tim stared at the little dog as though he didn’t wish to talk about it in Scraps presence. It was a full minute before he broke the silence.
“Young Victor Connor had died earlier in the evening, as the result of an accident at his farm, and I had visited Victor’s distraught widow. The young woman was in a terrible state, and nothing I could say or do would console her. I remember at the time seriously questioning my faith, that night. This woman was with child, and already had two young children, and now she was left with no one to provide for her. How the good Lord should let someone like Mrs Connor and the children suffer like this was beyond my comprehension, and as I’ve just said Tully, I found my own faith plummet to the very depth’s of my being that night.
It was just after midnight when I left the house, and as I walked alone along the dark narrow lane, a fierce wind blew up, and the heavens opened. I pulled firmly at my coat collars and increased my stride. Then through the heavy downpour, there, faintly in the distance, I saw her.
The little white figure was about four hundred yards from me and closing fast. Unnaturally fast. Walking for me alone it seemed, with almost a passion.
A sudden panic gripped me. This was so unnerving to see this you see. To see a child walking at such a speed, in this rain, at this time of night, and along these small roads and lanes, was a mystery in itself. And may I add, a very frightening occurrence. I may be a priest Tully, but I’m not God. I just don’t have his wisdom or strength you see. I tell you I have never been as frightened as I was that night.”
Father O’Neill went silent again, and for a moment stared hard at the floor.
“Are you all right Tim?” Tully asked.
Father O’Neill wiped away a tear and carried on.
* * * * *
“I stood watching her; unable to look away, and didn’t even realise I was rubbing at my face, where she had deeply scratched me during her last attack. It was like I was transfixed in some sort of mad hallucination. Why it was almost dreamlike.
Now though, and as she came nearer, I became quite aware that this was no dream, no hallucination either. This was real.
I pulled my small crucifix from my pocket and held it loosely at my side.
By now I had also become very aware of something else. Although it was pouring down, the little girl wasn’t wet. Her curly hair hung loosely around her pale face, and her white dress showed no sign of being even the slightest bit rained on. Yet I stood dripping through with rain.
As she approached me, I tried to be brave, and I spoke first.
‘Who are you my child?’ I asked softly.
The little girl responded by raising her hands, claw like, as she hissed loudly at me, her mouth twisted in a frightening arc. Her squinting eyes were like the blackest coal, as she slowly moved toward me. Now I knew there were ghosts and ghouls, demons and fiends of the night. I knew the truth when I looked into her snarling dead face.
I raised the small crucifix without even thinking about it and held it out, toward her.
‘In the name of Jesus our saviour, come no closer,’ I ordered.
Almost immediately she moved about two paces back. Her head dropped down, onto her chest.
‘Do not be afraid, I mean you no harm,’ I promised.
‘I only want to help you find your parents. Return you to them, to your family. They wait for you in the after life.’
The little girl stood head bowed in a deathly silence for longer than it was possible to bear, before she raised her head, this time smiling. Her black eyes had turned blue, and she looked quite calm and peaceful. She held her hand out toward me, and I sank to my knees in prayer.
Then she moved slowly across and took my hand in her hands. Her hands felt like the coldest ice I have ever touched. I noticed she was staring hard at my little crucifix, which seemed to frighten and upset her, so I sunk it away, deep into my pocket.
It was then that she suddenly, and without warning changed again, and attacked me with a rage I had never witnessed befo…”
“The little girl attacked you?” Tully butted in.
The young priest pulled at his sleeve, revealing four long scars that ran from his elbow to his wrist, and when he tugged at his collar there were three small bite size scars on his throat.
“A small child did that to you?” Tully questioned.
“Yes, but not a normal child, you must understand, Tully. However, she caused these injuries, and more. You see, it also messed me up psychologically for quite a while. This was a child of the damned, and of that I soon had no doubt, because her power was alarming.
I have also no doubt, that had I not managed to almost clumsily tear my crucifix from my pocket and push it into her face, forcing her to run off, that I would not have survived that night.
This child fought me like a caged starving tiger, and with a power of strength that no man could have stood up to.
I made my way back to Mr’s Connors cottage, although I have no recollection of doing this.
Anyway, the already distressed woman seen to my wounds, and helped me that night, thank God.”
“So what happened next?”
“Well, I never saw the little girl again. When news of this leaked out though, some of the villagers shunned me. I never did understand why. Maybe they were simply frightened by it all.
I was so unnerved about the incident though, that afterward I left the village for good, and came halfway across Ireland, here to Cappawhite. I sometimes feel so bad about this decision though, because I believe that the little girl is still out there somewhere, roaming the lanes at night, without any hope.
May the Lord forgive me Tully, but like you, I’m human first.”
The young priest put his head in his hands, and Tully could see he was genuinely annoyed at these events which had surrounded his past. Tully had tasted fear himself though, and he would not condemn this fine man for not doing anymore.
Tully stared anxiously at Tim for a moment before speaking.
“Well, I wouldn’t feel too guilty about it if I were you Tim,” Tully stated. “Until any of us come up against something like this, who knows how we as individual’s will react.”
Tully hadn’t even realised that Scraps was now curled up asleep on his knee, as he and Tim talked on.
“Anyway, let God share some of the blame for that one Tim. I mean you didn’t put the little girl into the position she is now in, and after all, you at least tried to help her.”
“Thank you, but your words don’t help me Tully. I should have done more for the girl, or at least tried harder. Anyway, I intend to go back there, whether I’m frightened or not. You see, I just can’t live with this burning guilt inside of me. I constantly think about the little girl. That it is my duty to free her from the dark side. And I don’t care if I die in the attempt. Why, if the good Lord should will it, then so be it.”
“Well Tim, you may soon get the chance to fight the supernatural forces. But not back in the small town of Wellington. Right here in Cappawhite. I think you have come out from the frying pan and into the fire though, cause’ what we are dealing with here in Cappawhite is not a little dead girl. Not by a long chalk.”
“Why, what is it?”
“Why this thing is at least ten foot tall, and it eats little dead girls for breakfast,” Tully added as an after-thought.
“Well I wouldn’t underestimate the little girl’s power,” the priest said.
“Listen Tim, these creatures have a power you simply can’t imagine. Why I once saw one of these things kill twenty soldiers down in the forest. All of them were fit young bloody men. Young fighting men, with a whole lifetime in front of them, may I add. Each one trained and armed to the bloody teeth, but it despatched these soldiers in about twenty damn seconds. Tore them to pieces it did. And then it left them in bloody meat parcels across the forest floor.
And now Tim, it’s after me.”
Father O’Neill sat upright in his chair.
“Maybe you’re mistaken Tully. Maybe it’s not going to come for you. Mayb…”
“Its coming for me Tim, It’s coming,” Tully interrupted.
“But there was one of these creatures long before the one that killed the soldiers,” Tully added. “A brave coloured man by the name of Otis Tweedy. He took care of it though. He saved his wife, but forfeited his own life in the attempt.”
“He must have been a very brave man,” the priest replied.
“Yes, he was. But he came back as one of them, the one we destroyed.”
“The one you destroyed?”
“Yes, we had it trapped in the mine, but more of these things came and released it. God sent someone though, and this man used his power against them and rid us of them. Now at least one of them has returned, or maybe it’s a different one. But what seems really puzzling to me is that each time these things return they seem to grow more powerful. I know how dangerous they are and what they can do Tim.”
“This is all very disturbing Tully. You see, I’ve been informed about some policemen and a full compliment of soldiers who have been having very real dreams and flashbacks of being killed in the forest of Cappawhite. Sergeant Hutchison, a policeman from the village being just one of them. Why these men all seem to be suffering from mass hallucinations or brainwashing of some sort.”
“No Tim, these men are not hallucinating. These men, including Sergeant Hutchison were all killed, and I witnessed some of the slaughter first hand.”
“So what you’re saying is that these men have somehow been resurrected. C’mon Tully, how could this be? Why it’s impossible.”
“Are you not just finished telling me about the little dead girl in the lane who attacked you? How is that possible then? Why, go try telling that damn frightening story to anyone Tim, and they’ll lock you up and throw away the key. Look, I know this is very hard for anyone to believe, but it’s true none the less. I’m not lying or making this up Tim. Why you yourself have just said you heard things about it, rumours.”
“Yes, in my dealings with the people I heard disturbing things.”
“Well then, what more proof do you need?” Tully asked.
Tim frowned and rubbed at his chin.
“Look Tully, as I said, I have been told things, but rumours, and no more, of a demon in the forest. That’s all they are, only rumours, and nothing that anyone has seen personally. In most cases I simply put this sort of talk down to people’s suspicions and imagination, because mostly this is what these things turn out to be.”
“Yeah, well they are not rumours Tim. I didn’t imagine it, and I can assure you of that. Just as you claim you didn’t imagine that little girl. It’s there, in the forest, right now. Cause I seen it.”
There was silence for a moment as the young priest stared into the welcoming fire.
“So, did you imagine the little girl then? Well, did you, Tim?”
When Tim raised his head he had tears in his eyes, and Tully realised just how strong the love this man had in his heart for his fellow man.
“No Tully, I didn’t imagine this. The little girl is real all right, and of this I have some proof.”
“You have proof?”
“Well, proof, of a sort maybe, yes.”
* * * * *
Father O’Neill excused himself for a moment and stepped through a small side door that led into the main church, followed by Scraps who quickly jumped from Tully’s knee.
The young priest was confused by all these events, but he had no doubt of Tully’s complete honesty.
Tully was the straightest man he had ever met, anywhere, he supposed, and it would be hypocritical of him to tell Tully he disbelieved him, whilst telling the stories of the things he knew himself to be true. He said a quick prayer before returning, and now he felt frightened, because if Tully was right, then something evil was stalking the forest of this little village, and he, he felt, would be duty bound to help them.
As he returned, he held a large brown envelope in his hand, which he gently sat on the small table and tapped at it a few times. Tully sat with his head in his hands and watched him intently.
“This is a letter that may explain some things to you, Tully, and may prove that what I say is true.”
“Before you read it out Tim, would you please let me use your phone to contact Francis?”
“The lines are dead Tully.”
“Can you fetch Francis down here then? I would also like for her to hear what you have to say.”
“I’ll do that straight away Tully. You look after the little fella’ till I return,” the priest said as he threw on his coat, hat and scarf.
“Don’t leave the church Tully,” Tim added.
He glanced around at Tully and the sleeping scraps, who looked as though he
wouldn’t thank you to go outside on a night like this one anyway.
“Don’t worry Tully,” Tim spoke. “Things will work out for you in the end. God will see to that.”
Tully raised his head and Tim could see that he had been crying. But when Tully spoke his voice gave nothing away.
“At this moment in time Tim, I feel that nothing can defeat this thing. Maybe this is the end of time for all of us?”
Tim stared for a moment. Maybe this man is right, he thought, as he made his way from the church and into the darkness.
Tully stared at the phone for a moment. The lightning must have hit the telephone lines if they’re down, he thought.
He wished now that he had a mobile phone of his own, but Tully was the first to admit that he still clung to the past regarding any advancement in society, and he vowed never to have one. He stood up, Scraps held under one arm, and slowly walked to the telephone which sat in the centre of the corner table. Maybe the phone line was only down temporarily. He rubbed his fingers lightly over the dial, almost caressing. Then he quickly lifted the receiver, and the unmistakable dialling tone droned loudly.
“Tim, the phones working again,” he shouted as he spun around, but the priest had gone.
Tully quickly dialled Francis’s mobile number, but it was dead, and now he was really worried. Because if there was one thing about Francis. It was that she always made sure her phone was fully charged up and switched on, and a fear for her came over him. He dialled again, nothing.
What if Francis has gone to look for me, he thought. What if she’s gone into the forest, and…?
He could feel his heart rate increase as he thought about her. He lightly but quickly lowered Scraps to the ground and ran out through the large hallway door.
Scraps barked loudly and sprinted into the other room, after the small shadow of a mouse, then darted quickly as the small shadow moved behind the chair.
The little mouse was quick, but Scraps was quicker still, and as he caught it, he shook his head violently from side to side. He stared out through the open doorway as he held the dead mouse tightly in his jaws, and watched.
CHAPTER 11
