by Neil Spring
‘Oh, not really. Historical accounts of exorcisms are common, especially those involving moon children.’
‘Huh?’
‘The idea of the moon child is that a perfect soul can be created – captured – at an early age through a process of demonization. According to legend, blood sacrifices and human sacrifices were required. The moon child, it was thought, would rise to be mightier than all the kings on earth.’
‘And this woman –’ I glanced again at the incantation.
‘– Elizabeth Loyd, she was a moon child?’
Father O’ Riorden gave a wry smile. ‘According to legend, yes. ‘He shook his head emphatically. ‘But this is a myth, Mr Wilding. Just like your UFOs.’
‘Father, I understand your scepticism. Until recently I was exactly the same way. But I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes: something changed those kids, something is in the village, watching people. There are strange men visiting witnesses, asking questions about the children. And I want an explanation.’
‘What sort of explanation would you like?’ he asked. ‘Spacecraft from another solar system?’
‘Maybe,’ I whispered. ‘Father, if those kids saw what they think they saw – intelligent beings sharing our existence – that would change everything we assume or know to be true. There’s no more significant revelation, no single more important truth.’
‘You speak about truth as though it can be dug out of the ground, tested and examined. My truths are protected with faith.’
‘You know, there are people who think flying saucers appeared in the Bible,’ I said, remembering Randall’s whisperings from childhood.
Father O’Riorden folded his arms across his expansive chest and looked at me steadily. ‘I cannot accept that. If the earth were to be visited by extraterrestrials from a galaxy far, far away, such an event would redefine man’s place in the universe. So why doesn’t the Bible and God, in his infinite wisdom, mention such a momentous occasion?’
‘Ezekiel 1: “Out of the sky came a wheel within a wheel.”’
A tense silence opened between us.
‘A wheel within a wheel, Father,’ I said again. ‘What does that sound like to you?’
The priest levelled his gaze at me. ‘I appreciate your concern, young man. But I’m doing all I can to reassure this community, to protect the villagers from sensationalism.’
‘You mean protect them from Randall?’
‘His faith is grossly misplaced.’
O’Riorden seemed not to want to look at me. Was he afraid that the phenomena in the village would call into question his god? Or did the root of his unease lie deeper? Watching his face harden as he looked past me towards the row of symbols on the wall, I began to wonder whether that was the problem – not that he feared losing his faith, but that he had already lost it.
‘You have to remember,’ he said eventually, ‘that this whole area is rich in legend and folklore.’ His eyes, I noticed, were still fixed on the strange symbols.
‘Father, tell me, how often did the headmaster come here to check records of baptisms? What was the nature of his interest?’
Silence
‘Did he ever ask you about these symbols? Make copies of them?’
More silence. But on his face I could see defiance turning to anger and the sudden wildness in his eyes made me step back. ‘You think the people of this community don’t know what lurks beneath the surface here? They are afraid to face it!’
It was not what he said that made me worry but how he said it. His voice had become louder and unmistakably afraid, as if I was on the verge of extracting from him a long suppressed and dangerous secret.
I would have pressed him but I was too shocked to speak.
‘I know you are struggling,’ he said finally. The priest lowered his head, eyes closed. ‘But we are all struggling. Go with God.’
– 31 –
Outside the church I wandered down to the deserted seafront, wondering whether the admiral had received my note mentioning Selina’s research and her reference to someone called Jack Parsons. I might have kept thinking about this if not for a distraction. My gaze swept half a mile out to sea and settled upon Stack Rocks Island and the circular fort that crowned its highest point.
I knew the fort had been abandoned for over a hundred years. So why did I now feel as though it sensed me here? I had to force myself to look away. When I did, I saw something else that made my spirits sink: a granite plaque affixed to the sea wall.
Fifty-nine people had died at this spot fourteen years earlier. After the storm surge the sea wall had been built. Bestford campaigned for it. It wasn’t an argument he had to struggle with. Outrage had erupted in the village. There had been other floods, but none that had arrived so suddenly as this. Why hadn’t there been proper defences? More than one hundred people gathered to hear Bestford unveil the plaque erected in memory of those who had perished. Me? I stayed away that day. The pain was still too raw.
I checked my watch. Midday. I had until tomorrow afternoon before meeting Randall at the pub, when I would tell him what I’d heard and seen in the post office. I didn’t want to spend the day barricaded in my room, so I walked to Giant’s Point, an incredible place to look out along the coastline. I thought about searching for the headmaster again at the school. Just because Father O’Riorden thought Howell Cooper was harmless didn’t mean the man didn’t have a part in this.
If sir hadn’t let us out of class early, we probably wouldn’t have seen it at all.
I turned to walk back the way I had come and got only as far as the steps which led up to the coastal path that I knew so well. This wasn’t just the last path the murdered Jacksons had ever walked; it was the path to my past. To Ravenstone Farm.
A rickety white sign pointed the way to Talbenny.
What the hell, I thought. And took the path.
After a couple of hundred yards I climbed a stile and kept going, with the fields sloping up to my left and the seagulls swooping over St Brides Bay to my right. Almost an hour later, I knew I was close, that if I kept going I would soon catch sight of Randall’s house perched on the cliffs.
I should go back, I thought.
Suddenly I saw a figure coming towards me from across the adjoining field. I couldn’t see his face at first, just filthy baggy trousers and a long coat flapping in the morning wind. He was carrying a wooden post and for a second I thought it was Randall, but this person was walking with the ease of a younger man. He raised his hand. It was a few seconds before I realised his identity.
‘Robert? Bloody hell, it’s been years!’
‘Hello, Gethin.’ I clasped his rough hand. He was a grizzly man of around fifty, strong and sturdily built with a grey beard that made him look much older.
‘Great to see you again,’ I lied.
Randall had always kept relations with Gethin Yates ostensibly cordial out of simple necessity. Gethin was his neighbour, and a farmer, and that was an end to the subject, no matter how little regard he really had for the man, who was a gossip and a braggart. You never knew when you might find yourself in need of a neighbour on a farm. Especially somewhere as isolated as this.
‘Randall mentioned you were back.’ Then he paused awkwardly. I had expected him to immediately launch into a detailed interrogation of my life or an exaggerated account of how thriving his herd and business was. Yet he was just standing here. Waiting for a response.
‘Well, I’m not staying long.’
The look on his face mirrored the dismal weather. ‘What brings you back now?’
I considered how much to divulge. Gethin would know about the UFO sightings and might offer helpful information on Randall’s involvement. I still didn’t know how the old man had predicted the sightings or knew so much about the phenomena. On the other hand, Gethin was hardly known for his discretion, so I decided to ask about t
he Jacksons. ‘I heard about that poor couple who went missing up here. Awful thing . . .?’
He studied me for a moment and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it the way people do when they have no idea what to say to the bereaved.
‘That was a long time ago, anyway,’ I said. ‘And this is work.’
‘Well, it’s all been pretty well covered in the newspapers.’ Gethin paused, squinting against the sea wind. ‘I’d have thought you would have spoken to Randall about this? He told the police everything he knows.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, it’s all right now, isn’t it? Now they’ve ruled him out of any involvement.’
What sort of bloody involvement? My mind raced. Was this why Selina had urged me to stay close to this case, why she had asked me what sort of man my grandfather was? I didn’t want to betray my ignorance, and while I was sure that Gethin would be happy to inform me of anything besmirching Randall’s reputation, I was equally sure that he would let it be known about the village that I had been asking questions about Randall behind his back. That would have obvious consequences once it got back to Randall.
I would have to pursue the possibility that Randall was more deeply involved than I had believed. But not now, not with Gethin.
‘Of course, of course,’ I bluffed, nodding as if this was old news, then did my best to swerve the conversation away from Randall. ‘What are you doing down here?’
I thought this was moving to safer ground, but it appeared that I had miscalculated. Gethin’s expression stiffened. ‘Fixing the fence,’ he said, hefting the wooden post. ‘Don’t want anything getting in.’
‘Foxes?’
A mirthless grin crossed his face momentarily, really no more than a flexing of the lips. ‘Ha. Foxes. Yeah, sure, always got to keep the foxes out, don’t you? Leaving holes in fences is just sloppy farming, you know that, Robert. Asking for trouble. Anything could get in.’
His gaze floated above my head, out to sea and then back inland. His attention snapped back as he became aware of me watching, and he fixed me with a hard stare. ‘You know, Robert, you really shouldn’t come up here alone. Not at the moment. With all that’s been happening here recently.’
‘You mean the Jackson murders.’
‘Them. And the . . . sightings, you know.’ His expression wavered between tentative embarrassment and slight defiance.
I thought back suddenly to the freezing morning here on the cliffs when Randall had raved about forces of darkness, his eyes glittering furiously as he denounced my father as a monster. It was Gethin who had appeared on the coastal path and waved at us. Gethin was the last person I would have expected to voice opinions that echoed Randall’s. I was sure that some of the less charitable rumours which had circulated about Randall owed their existence to the speculations of his nearest neighbour.
‘Surely you’ve heard about the Happenings?’
I hesitated. I didn’t want to show too much of my own interest in the sightings or reveal the real reason I was here when there was already talk in the village.
‘Oh, come on, Gethin, you’re not taken in by all this mumbo-jumbo, are you?’ I couched my inquiry amiably, forcing out a little chuckle that by no means reflected my feelings.
‘Mumbo-jumbo?’ He wasn’t laughing. ‘I wouldn’t call it that exactly.’
‘Then what would you call it?’
‘I wouldn’t call it anything if I could help it, Robert,’ he answered coldly, holding up his hand to forestall the objection forming on my lips. ‘And neither should you, if you had half the sense you were born with. Isn’t wise to talk about these things too much, nor openly. Names have power, you know! Names invite them in, you understand? Have you been gone so long and so far you forgot where you came from? Scoff if you want to, Robert. After all, you’re the one with the fancy education. But I promise you – you go around talking about things you got no business knowing and putting names to such things as you shouldn’t, and you’ll live to regret it. Perhaps we all will.’
Was my mind playing tricks on me, projecting monsters into every shadow, or had a distinct edge of menace crept into Gethin’s voice? It had risen in volume, certainly. And half an octave for that matter. I knew he could be a bit of a pain in the neck, but surely he wasn’t actually threatening me? Was he?
He shouldered the fence post and without further comment strode briskly off towards a gap in the fence. ‘Wait,’ I called out, turning and trotting after him, cursing myself for a fool even as I ran. How had I failed to recognize that look? Of course Gethin wasn’t trying to threaten me; that strange light in his eyes wasn’t menace – it was fear. No wonder he was babbling nonsense; the man was terrified. I had to find out who had got to him, and how.
I caught up with him after a dozen paces, but he would not slow his pace, nor would he look at me. He just kept marching towards that gap in the fence, staring fixedly ahead. ‘Gethin, please,’ I appealed to his reason. ‘I need to know who’s been speaking to you.’
But his palm flicked up defensively, fending me off.
‘This is important, Gethin. It’s a matter of national security, you understand?’
This seemed to produce an effect. He stopped in his tracks with a grunt, still a dozen yards shy of the fence, and flung the post down on the ground.
‘You want to know what’s going on? Try looking right under your own nose! You read about the mutilations?’
‘Mutilations?’
He nodded and his eyes sharpened. I was remembering the rabbits Randall had brought to the public meeting. That must be what he must be referring to.
‘You read the paper this morning? Fifteen dogs hung in the woods down near the primary school. Throats cut, all the skin removed. Some sort of ritual, the police are saying.’
‘When was this?’
‘It was done yesterday, around the same time as that meeting in the school.’
‘So what do you think it means?’ I asked.
For a moment our eyes met. I could feel he wanted to impart something important, and in that moment he reminded me a great deal of Randall.
‘People around here talk as though these UFOs are the ones visiting us, you know, just dropping in, observing us.’ He shook his head. ‘But what if it’s not that way. What if it’s us calling them?’
‘Sorry, but are you suggesting that someone is summoning these phenomena?
He nodded.
Part of me wanted to laugh, if only to release the tension, but I couldn’t, and I’m glad. Because if I had laughed then I wouldn’t have heard amusement or even ridicule. I would have heard hysteria breaking in a wave that threatened to wash my sanity away.
Both of us looked out onto the slate-grey sullen sea towards Stack Rocks.
Both of us were silent.
– 32 –
Ram Inn, Little Haven
‘I want to ask you something extremely important.’
Frobisher tossed his newspaper aside and warmed his hands before the dancing flames in the hearth of the inn. ‘Hello again. Fire away.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me the police had interviewed Randall about the Jacksons?’
He shrugged. ‘Assumed you’d know already. Pritchard was one of the first questioned. He didn’t exactly give them a warm welcome. They searched his barn, the whole farm. Then they held him.’
‘As a suspect?’ I looked at him with strained composure. Randall had said nothing. ‘Right. Well, after that he was cleared, yes?’
Frobisher just looked at me.
I was filled with a wave of nausea ‘You mean he’s still a suspect?’
Frobisher nodded. ‘Well, Ravenstone Farm is the nearest property to where the Jacksons were found. You should talk to your grandfather, Rob.’
‘I intend to. He’s coming here. Tomorrow afternoon.�
��
Frobisher checked his watch then drained his pint. ‘Good luck. I gotta get going.’
‘Who are you meeting?’
‘Father O’Riorden. Going to see if I can get him involved with the sky watch on Tuesday. Drum up some more support.’
‘Frank, I really think that whipping up public hysteria like this is not a good idea.’
Frobisher scowled. ‘What’s the harm? It sells newspapers and the holiday cottages are filling up fast. Everyone’s a winner.’ He looked down at his discarded newspaper. ‘Anyway, this lunar eclipse is going to pull in the crowds regardless. You ever seen a blood moon before, Rob?’
‘No. A blood moon? This is too weird,’ I said to Frobisher. ‘Too much of a coincidence. The same night?’
‘Sure,’ he said, grinning. ‘Good story, right?’
But I didn’t think there was anything good about it. ‘Frank, what does Father O’Riorden believe about the sightings? I went to see him but I just couldn’t figure out—’
‘That’s always been a mystery.’
‘Has Father O’Riorden interviewed the children?’ I asked then, remembering Isaac Jones’s unsettling behaviour in the post office. ‘Or their parents?’
‘Nope. All access to the children is being controlled by Howell Cooper.’
That made me sit up. ‘What do you know about the school then, about Howell Cooper in particular?’
‘What is it, Robert? You seem edgy.’
‘It’s just that the headmaster was very keen to shut the school, to encourage the sky watch.’
Frobisher hesitated, frowning. When he spoke again his voice carried a note of warning. ‘If I were you, I would think very carefully before throwing around accusations. I don’t need to tell you, of all people, that this community rallies around those who keep it safe.’
‘What about the Parsons Elite?’ I asked. ‘That phrase mean anything to you?’
‘Nope.’
He left then, clearly fed up with my questions. I waited for a while longer and then got up to go. As I stood, my legs suddenly unhinged. I gasped, gripped the table for support, and the periphery of my vision exploded with colour. Not only could I not stand, I couldn’t see. It was as though I had snapped out of my reality and into another.
