Dead Village

by Gerry Tate

  “I appreciate that Thomas. Um, there was a woman here the last time we met, uh Si-Sing…”

  “Singing Bird,” Thomas interrupted.

  “Yeah, Singing Bird, that’s it,” Dan replied.

  “Singing Bird has gone to be with my grandfather. Her spirit no longer stays here.”

  “I’m sorry about that Thomas, real sorry, she was a sweet lady.”

  “I miss her cooking,” Thomas laughed, and Dan thought that was a peculiar thing to say.

  “Do you have a woman?” Dan asked.

  Thomas stared at Dan for a moment, and Dan suddenly felt he had overstepped the mark. That was a stupid question, and none of my damn business, he thought.

  Thomas cocked his head in a funny way and stared hard at Dan, and it was as though Thomas could read his mind. When he answered it was with no sign that he had felt an insult.

  “I had, but no more. Now there is no one, and no family.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “White men always pry,” Thomas replied, and laughed loudly. “It is their way.”

  “I guess,” Dan agreed, and laughed with him.

  Dan watched as Thomas neatly folded the spear inside a large piece of velvet cloth and carefully placed it into a long red leather case.

  “Now I am ready,” Thomas scowled.

  * * * * *

  Dan somehow felt confident with Thomas. The knowledge handed down through the years by these strange people was awesome.

  These Native American’s had learnt about respecting the planet hundreds of years ago. Nothing was taken for granted by them, and everything was there for a purpose.

  The land wasn’t something to be called a possession. No one could own the land, as far as the Indian people were concerned.

  Even the animals that Thomas’s ancestors hunted for food, were precious, with nothing of the remains wasted. They even had respectful prayers for the beasts they killed. Yes, Dan thought, these people didn’t have it easy.

  Thomas lit a small lamp as darkness descended.

  Dan was tired, and he lounged in the chair, and Thomas covered him up in a multi coloured blanket that Singing Bird herself had woven many years ago.

  Thomas found all white people a bit strange, and he never really grew to fully trust them. White men were never good medicine for our people, Thomas thought. White men brought only death and destruction to our villages.

  Dan though, he felt, was different. Here was a man he believed he could trust. And here, he knew, was a brave heart.

  Thomas looked out from the window and into the clear sky. He lowly chanted some words, and waved his empty hand as though it contained some invisible magic wand.

  He then gave a salute to his grandfather, and all those other brave Indians he had heard so many stories about over the years.

  He glanced down at Dan. It was a kindly understanding glance to the man he now regarded as a friend.

  “My people were a good people,” He said with a tear in his eye.

  “Yeah, I know,” Dan agreed, “I’ve written about them.”

  “We know our ways may have seemed strange to your people, but it was our way, and we just wanted to be left alone to live our way in peace.”

  “I think time has made us aware of this Thomas. Our fathers didn’t do what was right by your race. We know that now.”

  “So many treaties made, so many promise’s broken,” Thomas groaned.

  Dan felt awkward, but he had already decided not to say any more on a subject that Thomas obviously found upsetting.

  Thomas moved away from the window, and when he spoke it was in a calmer voice. He wondered why there couldn’t have been more good men like Dan all those years ago when his people needed them, or maybe there was, but the evil ones were just too powerful for them to hear their voices.

  “I really hope I can help end this for all of you my friend,” Thomas said.

  “Yeah, so do I Thomas, so do I,” Dan whispered.

  Thomas patted Dan on the arm with a very large hand, then sat in a chair and meditated, while Dan closed his eyes, and fell into a sleep. Then he dreamt.

  It wasn’t a pleasant dream.

  * * * * *

  In this dream, Dan was sitting crossed legged and staring at the expensive marble headstone with the gold lettering.

  ‘In memory of a loving wife, Lynn Winters and unborn baby,’ the words had spelt.

  It was a beautiful day and the sun shone down on the grave through a cloudless sky, sparkling off the grey marble in a thousand golden and silver specs.

  People were mulling about, tending to their loved ones graves with smiles on their faces, but sadness in their hearts.

  He rubbed his fingers through the neatly cut grass with tears in his eyes, and forced a laboured smile.

  ‘I miss you Lynn,’ he was saying.

  Suddenly the silence and tranquillity of the grave site was broken by the blaring of a car horn which echoed across the cemetery, and as he looked around, he could see Beatrice in their car, at the end of the rows, her face a mask of hate. ‘Beep, beep, beep,’ the horn blared as Beatrice leaned heavily into it, causing other bereaved visitors to glare angrily around at her.

  Suddenly the letters on the headstone started to grow bigger and move around. Dan watched in horror as some of the gold letters fell away.

  There were just four letters left now, and they moved slowly into position, like little soldiers on parade, they covered the headstone from side to side. ‘S.L.U.T.’

  Dan jumped up and almost ran to the car without touching the headstone and without saying goodbye, something he had always done when he visited Lynn.

  ‘What the hell have you done Beatrice?’ Dan saw himself ask in an angry tone, as the faces around him stared across. ‘What have you done, and why?’ Dan repeated.

  ‘You spend more time up here with that slut than you do with me,’ Beatrice spat.

  ‘Don’t you damn well call her that; Lynn was my wife, before yo…’ ‘No I’m your fucking wife now,’ she interrupted. ‘The bitch is dead,’ she yelled, her eyes bulging, as she struck him.

  “Dan, wake up,” Thomas’s voice echoed.

  Dan was visibly shaking, and as he opened his eyes, he held his head tightly.

  “You were having a bad dream my friend,” Thomas said.

  “Yeah Thomas, and they’re getting freekin worse.”

  Thomas handed Dan a small glass with some clear liquid in it.

  “Here, drink this, it is good medicine,” Thomas said. “You will feel much better,” he promised.

  Dan swallowed it in one gulp, then coughed loudly as the strong tasting substance burned at his throat.

  “W-what the hell sort of good medicine was that Thomas?” Dan choked.

  “Whiskey!” Thomas laughed, and Dan laughed with him.

  CHAPTER 12

  Back in the village of Cappawhite, Francis had struggled on through the heavy rain, to her home, shaking and sobbing as she went.

  Her thoughts weren’t for herself though. They were for the man she loved. However, no matter what way she looked at it, Tully was a dead man walking. This creature was much bigger than the one at the mine, and much stronger, she reckoned.

  Francis entered the dark empty house in a daze, and fell into a chair, sobbing. She immediately knew Tully hadn’t returned home, and now she feared the worst.

  Her head was swelled and hurting badly, but she ignored the pain. She forced herself to the bathroom and bathed her bleeding head. Her eye was a deep green and almost closed from the fall down the stairs, and her wound throbbed badly from the blow Erin had inflicted on her.

  She whispered softly, “Tully, where are you?”

  She had seen the power of the creature in the forest. And she had seen how Mr Cliff had a sort of control over it. Mr Cliff had threatened to kill Tully first, and she knew he would return. She remembered back to when she had first found Mr Cliff when she was a child.

  She had been sitting
alone in the garden when she heard the quiet little voice. ‘Hello,’ the voice had softly said.

  As she looked across in the direction of the voice she saw the little blue bear for the first time. Her mother did not allow her to have toys under any circumstance, and she stealthily moved across and concealed the little bear under her coat.

  Her mother had just come out back though, and she had nearly seen her lift the bear.

  ‘What are you doing girl?’ Her mother’s voice was loud and unfriendly toward her, just as it had always been.

  ‘Nothing mother,’ she lied. ‘I’m just playing.’

  ‘Well not for long. There’s work to be done in the house,’ her mother spat.

  Her mother then quickly stepped back inside, and slammed the door loudly.

  Suddenly a heavy rap to her own door brought her back to her senses.

  Oh God, its Mr Cliff and the demon, they’re here, she thought.

  “No, demons don’t rap on doors,” she whispered.

  The door rapped again and she pulled it open.

  “Father O’Neill,” she muttered, as the young priest stood before her, his face ashen.

  “It’s Tully,” Francis groaned, “isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but Tully’s all right, he’s up in the church now, waiting. He sent me to fetch you Francis, but what in Gods name has happened to you?”

  “I’m all right Father, but the demon, it’s coming for him. I’ve seen it in the forest.”

  “I know, Tully told me all about it.”

  “H-he told you about it?” she stuttered. “H-how? When?”

  “Just now, in the church.”

  “Th-then, it’s true.”

  “Well, he claims it came to him in the forest and looked upon him tonight, and truth is, I believe him.”

  Francis leaned against the wall, and the priest supported her.

  “Are you okay Francis?”

  When she spoke she unnerved him.

  “The creature dragged Madge and Erin into the forest. I think they’re dead. The screams, I heard their bloody screa…”

  “It will be okay Francis,” Father O’Neill interrupted, as Francis sobbed.

  The priest noticed a trickle of blood run down Francis’s neck, and he was about to speak again, when suddenly Tully’s voice broke in from behind and him beat him to it.

  “What’s wrong with you Francis? Are you all right? Who hurt you?”

  “Tully,” Father O’Neill barked. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe. I told you to stay at the church man.”

  Francis immediately pulled herself together, because she knew the danger awaiting Tully.

  “Yes, you must get back to the church before it returns,” Francis added.

  “It never returns straight away, it could be days or weeks,” Tully claimed. “It must have to prepare itself or something, but it never comes back right away,” he repeated. “Don’t worry about me Fra, but tell me what the hell has happened to you tonight. Who has hurt you like this?”

  Francis explained how Madge and Erin had attacked her at the forest, and how the demon, controlled by Mr Cliff, her little bears head, had taken them away, screaming.

  “Come, we’ll take my car, get her to the hospital,” the priest ordered.

  When they returned to the church, Scraps greeted them enthusiastically, the dead mouse now nowhere to be seen.

  Tully held Francis tightly in the back of the small Peugeot, as Father O’Neill drove off through the heavy downpour.

  Tully thought about Madge. Now he was sure she was already dead. He felt a small tear run down his cheek for the woman he had once loved, but until this minute, almost hated.

  He still had something for Madge, he now knew. Something that grows between two people over time. Something you just can’t erase so easily.

  For now though, he had an even bigger worry.

  * * * * *

  Francis was treated very quickly with a few paper stitches, but she refused to stay the night for observation, to the dismay of the duty doctor and Tully.

  Tully shook his head despairingly as they walked along the corridor, but he knew that she wouldn’t listen. She’s as bloody stubborn as I am, he thought.

  As they left the hospital, a cold easterly wind blew hard at their faces as the black clouds rolled in overhead.

  The drive back to town was a sombre and quiet affair, with no one really knowing what to say.

  Father O’Neill couldn’t help but notice that when he looked into his rear view mirror, Francis was scanning every hedge, while Tully sat staring ahead, seemingly unconcerned about the whole situation.

  “You must return to the church Tully, you know that, don’t you?” Francis again stated with some authority, breaking the awkward silence. “It’s the only place you’ll be safe,” she added.

  “No!”

  Father O’Neill eyed Tully two or three times in the mirror before he spoke.

  “Francis is right Tully. Dear Lord man, you must use some common sense here. Besides, you will get along fine with Scraps and I for a while. What do you think Scraps?” Tim almost shouted to the little dog that was curled up fast asleep on the front passenger seat. Scraps opened its eyes for a brief moment, in recognition of its name, and stared up almost affectionately at the young priest, then fell back to sleep, ignoring him.

  “There, you see, even Scraps agrees with me,” Tim stated.

  “Stay with you in the church for a while you say?” Tully spat. “And just how long is a while? Don’t you mean for the rest of my fucking life?”

  Francis could understand Tully not wanting to be locked up inside the church, especially in Tully’s situation were he was always used to the outdoors, roaming across fields and forest. But this situation was different, and he would have to see reason here. Father O’Neill would be the only hope on that score, she felt.

  “Let’s go to the church and talk this over like grown adults,” the priest suggested. “Then if you still want to leave, I won’t try to talk you out of it, I promise,” he added.

  Tully mumbled something incoherent, which Father Tim took to be an agreement, but as he drove through the church gates he wondered just what he was really going to say to Tully to make him see reason. For now though, their persistence had worked.

  “Who is Stazivore?” Francis asked Tim as they quickly re-entered the church.

  The young priest spun around as though someone had hurled a ladle of freezing water into his face.

  “Where did you hear that name Francis?” Tim asked, as though stunned that someone could actually repeat it.

  “Wh-why Mr Cliff, he said it,” she stuttered. “Th-the little bear claimed that he had summoned a demon. A demon by the name of Stazivore. He claimed no one could kill this Stazivore.”

  The priest placed his hand on his forehead as he almost swooned. He stared at the pair, and stood for a moment without speaking, and both Tully and Francis knew immediately that this dangerous and frightening situation had suddenly taken another downward spiral.

  Father Tim ushered them through a small doorway and Francis was surprised at this very modern living area. “Please sit down and I will tell you everything I know of this,” Tim promised.

  Although the sofa was very large, Francis huddled tightly to Tully and the priest could see immediately how strong their bond for each other was. Scraps spread himself over the rest of the sofa, while Tim sat in a chair, facing them.

  A large imitation eagle perched majestically on a metal peg above the welcoming coal fire, which crackled and flamed above the orange glow, deep inside the heavy stone fireplace, and at once Francis felt at ease in these pleasant and godly surroundings.

  * * * * *

  Tully trusted this forthright man fully, but he was sure Tim was struggling to talk to them about something they were simply not meant to know about.

  “The creature in the forest that took Madge and Lynn was very powerful,” Francis said. “Was this creature the Stazivore
that Mr Cliff summoned?” she asked.

  Tim thought silently for a moment before speaking.

  “No! This creature in the forest was not Stazivore. I believe I have the answer to that question though. There is a woman who lives in the village by the name of Greta Casey. I believe this creature in the forest may have once been her husband, Ben Casey. He went missing many years ago, leaving her and her two young boys.

  Some time ago, Charles, the older boy also went missing after supposedly getting a visit from this creature. Greta has since disassociated herself from the church. In fact Greta has pretty much become a recluse since her other son Brian moved away to Dublin and left her alone.”

  “Although I’m from Tipperary, I know Greta and her children well,” Tully stated. “And I also knew Ben.”

  “How do you know about all of this, Father?” Francis asked.

  “Oh it’s surprising the things I have learnt about this place since I arrived here, and I don’t just mean through the confession box either.”

  “You were going to tell us about this Stazivore,” Tully reminded Tim.

  The young priest produced an old fashioned pipe and quickly packed it with tobacco, only averting his eyes away to light it. As he sucked at the fine tasting smoke, Francis spoke up.

  “You remind me of a young Sherlock Holmes with that funny old pipe,” she said.

  “Well, at a time like this I sometimes wish I was. Why I’m sure Mr Holmes may have had the answers to solve this problem. After all, I’m just a plain old country bumpkin,” Tim laughed.

  He blew a puff of smoke into the air and wondered where he was going to start with all of this. He fully realised that the information he was about to give out was something that he was forbidden to talk about, and that he would be breaking all the rules of the church, including his sacred vows by disclosing it. He had made his mind up though. It was only right and fair that these people knew the extent of the forces that they would soon be up against. He mumbled a quick prayer to ask forgiveness, and then he began.

  * * * * *