by C. J. Waller
“Oh, I don’t know…” Piers grinned. Mags kicked out at him with her good leg.
“Hey, guys – I’m just going to head back up to the Astra to store the back up and to put my laptop back on charge for a bit, okay?” Decker said.
“All right,” Paul said. “You need help?”
“No, there’s not a lot here. I left a couple of back-up cameras in the boot, so I'll fetch them, too. They should be all topped up and ready to rock.”
“You left them in the boot? Why didn't you put them in the camper?”
“Because I'm not risking nearly a grand's worth of kit in something that doesn't lock properly.” He smiled. “You enjoy your picnic. Let the man work.”
At that, Piers let out a bark of laughter and turned his teasing on to Paul, with Mags heckling him. Yolanda watched them in bemused bafflement. Decker shook his head and grinned to himself. Whatever happened, they were good friends, and he should never forget that. Sure, they get a little over enthusiastic sometimes, but they’d never actively do anything to harm him. He had to trust that.
He shoved his kit into his rucksack and wandered back up the path to the car. The weak autumn sunlight dappled through the trees, painting the ground in shades of light and dark. Above him, a bird took flight, rustling the branches. His heart jumped and started to race and his childhood fear, the fear he had been trying to suppress all day, reared its head again. It was just a bird, he knew it was just a bird, so why did his mind try to populate this little bit of scrub with monsters from his childhood? He hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder and straightened his back, an arrogant gesture meant to instil some confidence, but no matter how much he tried, how hard he fought, the fear would not back down. To his shame, by the time he spied the Astra he was almost in tears. Seeing it did bolster him, though; the car was something solid, something normal, and the lump in his throat allowed itself to be swallowed down.
He dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked it. The thunk of the mechanism rang out, making him jump again. Jesus, he really had to get a hold of himself. At this rate, he was going to have a heart attack before the weekend was over-
“Afternoon,” a voice said from behind him.
Decker span around, his eyes wild, his heart thumping.
A policeman stood there.
“A…after... afternoon,” He managed. He took note of the stripes on the policeman's epaulettes: a sergeant. “What are you doing here, Officer?”
“Well, I could be asking you the same question,” said the sergeant. “This your vehicle?”
“Yes, it is,” Decker replied.
“And may I ask what you’re doing up here? Nothing much for tourists up here, so what you up to?”
“Nothing illegal, Officer.” Jesus Christ, he wished his heart would calm down and let him think straight. “Just making a short documentary about the loch.”
“Aye, that so? I’d heard as much.” The sergeant proceeded closer to him. He was a man of middling height and older years, but there was something about his bearing that commanded respect. His uniform was also out of date by at least 20 years, so much so that he looked like something out of a prehistoric episode of The Bill. “I've been receiving complaints from the local inhabitants all morning of you people going around upsetting them. Say you want to cash in on the legend and aren't respecting their right to privacy.”
“Right to privacy?” Decker was genuinely confused. “All we’ve done is asked a few questions. We’ve made it clear from the beginning exactly what we’re doing – hell, we even brought contracts with us that people can sign beforehand so they know exactly what's expected of them, so I'm not really sure how we’re upsetting people-”
The sergeant raised a hand to interrupt Decker. “Be as that may, I’m here to tell you this is going to stop. No permission was given for you to film here.”
“No permission? Of course there’s no permission – there’s no one to ask! I researched it – no permit is needed because there simply isn’t one to obtain.”
“That's no' the point. If the local population doesn't like it, then it doesn't happen. I’m here to serve them, and they say it needs to stop, so I’m here to stop it.”
“That’s ridiculous. There is no law in this land that says we can’t film here. You have no right-”
“Och, don't I now? You might think that, coming from whatever big fancy English city you hail from-”
“Big fancy English city?” Decker felt his anger rise through him like a plume of magma. “I’m actually a local, officer. I’m Sadie Decker’s grandson, and John Decker’s son. I was raised here – which is why we’re filming here. I’m exploring my own roots, my own heritage.”
“Aye. Tell me something I don't already know.” The sergeant was calm in the face of Decker’s wrath, which gave Decker cause to pause.
“You know? How do you know?”
“That isn't any of your business. All you need to know is that I know. I also know you left this town a boy of seven, which hardly gives you the right to trample down on the lives of people who’ve been here for more than seventy. So I’ll ask you again, nicely. Pack up and leave. No more filming. And if you make any of this public, then be expecting an awful lot of solicitor's letters. People like their privacy around here. You need to respect that.”
A million retorts pile-drove towards Decker’s mouth, but sheer incredulity stopped him from spitting them out.
“So… what you’re saying is we’re being run out of town?”
The sergeant sniffed and rubbed the side of his nose with one finger. “Aye, I guess that is what is happening here. But it doesn't matter what you want to call it – either which way, you’re to leave. Soon as possible. Do you understand?”
“No,” Decker said. “I do not understand. We’re not doing anything illegal, nor are we stirring up any trouble.”
“Well then, I guess we have a problem,” the sergeant said. He pulled his cap on his head and subtly squared his shoulders.
“I guess we do,” said Decker. His stomach fizzed a little. He was standing up to the Filth. Wow. He’d never done that before. This was definitely one for the bar-bragging book.
“Okay. As long as we understand each other, Mr Decker. If you’re wise, you’ll move on. If not, then I guess I’ll be seeing you later today when I bring the rest of the station down with me.” He leaned forward so that his nose was just a hair’s breadth from Decker’s. His breath smelled of tea and stale cigarettes. “Please don’t make it come to that” He leaned back and tipped his cap. “I’ll be leaving you now. Remember – be out of here by the time I get back.”
“Or what?” Decker dared shoot back.
“Or else,” the sergeant said.
o0o
For a moment, Paul was lost for words.
“Run that by me again?”
Decker sighed and ran a hand over his face. “The copper said we’ve got the afternoon to clear out. Well, no, not the afternoon as he didn’t specify an actual time frame, but he wants us out of town asap.”
“On what grounds do they think they can do this? I mean, all we have to do is run to the press. We could make some real trouble for them if they do this,” Yolanda said. “Why bother threatening us? Wouldn't it just be easier to ignore us and hope we just go away?”
“Not if you've got something to hide,” said Mags, and gave them all a significant look.
Yolanda inclined her head towards Mags. “True. But even so, they don’t know we’ve potentially found anything.”
“Well, that kind of makes sense,” Mags said. “At the moment, they think we’re just a bunch of hacks after a story. They probably reckon we haven’t been out here long enough to uncover anything and so want us out before we can do any real damage.”
“But that's just stupidly over the top,” Paul said. “Threatening Decker like that? Why bother? It’s incendiary behaviour. Local policemen acting like thugs and all. The police have had enough bad press recently as it is. Why
risk more?”
“This isn't London, Paul,” Decker said. “I seriously doubt they care up here. It’s also my word against his and I'm guessing he knows it.”
“But they don’t have any right to do this,” Paul said. “There are no laws that prevent us from being here. This isn’t private property. We checked. No permit to dive was needed. Sure, that might simply be because no one has ever thought of diving up here, but it still stands. No court in the land would uphold this.”
“I don't think that's an issue around here, Paul,” Decker said. He sounded tired. “Small isolated communities like this one operate by their own laws. They don't give a damn about what comes out of Holyrood, let alone Whitehall. Up here, whatever the sergeant says, goes. Mark my words. They will be back.”
“Then we’d better get into the water as soon as we can,” said Piers. He’d been unusually quiet during the exchange. “We get out there, we get into that church, we get the footage and then we scarper. We'll be well away in a couple of hours. There’s nothing they can do about it. They won't even know where to find us.
To this, everyone but Decker nodded.
“Is it worth moving? That way, they won’t know where we are. Might buy us some time,” said Yolanda.
“I'm not sure that will actually help us,” Paul said. “We’ve got, what, an hour or so before the good old Sarge calls in the cavalry and hightails it back here? If we get back into the water now, we can do a good half hour dive. That gives us plenty of opportunity to explore the church and get some more interior footage. After that, we can just pack up and go. If we pack up and move now, we’re looking at, what, quarter of an hour to pack up, then half an hour’s drive, then unpack and dive? Just to buy us a little more ‘catch me if you can’ time? I don’t think it’s worth it.”
“Then there’s the fact that they probably know these roads like the back of their hands,” Piers added. “What takes us half an hour to find will take them ten minutes. Let’s just get in the water, shoot the interior footage and then get the fuck out. Don’t look back.”
“And our stuff at the guesthouse?” Yolanda asked.
“Paul offered her a shrug. “I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing there I’m particularly attached to. I can always buy a new toothbrush.”
“Speak for yourself,” Yolanda said. “I've got an iPad back there. They're not cheap, you know.”
“Don't you worry, sweetheart. I'll buy you a gold plated one once this footage goes viral,” Piers grinned. “Come on, what are we waiting for? Let’s shut up and get in!”
o0o
Mags still wasn’t too happy at being the one left in the boat, but didn’t kick up a fuss given their time constraints. In a matter of minutes, Paul had his suit on and they were motoring out to the centre of the loch again.
Even through his wetsuit, Paul felt the thrill of the cold water. Visibility was still good which allowed him to find his bearings quickly. He kicked off after Piers, who was swimming as if someone had strapped a rocket to his back. They’d agreed that they had enough locale footage and so didn’t bother with wasting any time obtaining any more of that, which was a bit of a shame. Home to a terrifying demon-thing or not, the loch was a beautiful place: clear water with an abundance of weed, the light from above dappling through both to make everything look like it had been gilded. As before, the only thing lacking was any real presence of wildlife. In Paul’s experience, even the grottiest of pools still had fish in them and so to look upon this wondrous vista and not spy the odd flash of silver felt strange to him.
Paul’s heart kicked up a gear as they swam closer to the chasm the church was nestled in. It yawned wide below him, a deep slash in the earth. Compared to the almost airy expanse of water behind him, this felt forbidden; wrong, even. The change in temperature raised gooseflesh through the thick neoprene of his suit, and he couldn't help but let out a gasp. Mags chuckled in his earpiece, but she couldn’t disguise the nervous twang to her voice when she quipped, “Scared?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“That’s going to be on tape, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. To our viewers – yeah, this is real, and yeah, I’m shaking in my boots out here. And that's the reason why. Would you look at that…”
Even though he’d seen the church on the screen, nothing could prepare him for this. The footage simply didn’t do it justice. Piers swam straight over to the broken window, but Paul took a moment to hang motionless in the water and stare. It would’ve been impressive standing out there in the fresh air, but down here, under the water, the whole thing took on an almost mystical edge.
“They don’t build ‘em like that any more, huh?” Mags said.
“You're right there,” Paul agreed. “They do not.”
With Piers out of sight, Paul shook himself out of his awestruck stupor and picked up the pace. Swimming through the broken window proved a cinch – it was easily as large as a conventional door, and all of Paul’s previous anxiety about being snagged, or worse, trapped evaporated away.
It took him a moment to adjust to the gloom of the church’s interior, and again he was blown away by the sheer size of the place. When Decker had first told him about it, he’d pictured a quaint little countryside chapel; in reality, St Machan's was easily the grandest he’d ever seen outside of the city, and even then, it gave some of them a run for their money. He couldn’t help but stop and wonder why such an impressive structure had been built here, way out in the middle of nowhere. Even back in the day this area had been a backwater, so why spend all that money to build something so… so… huge? He felt a little embarrassed at resorting to such a lame description, but he really was lost for words. Even if the legend turned out to be grade A bullshit, this place was a gift. No, it was more than that. It was a lottery win.
Small particles of matter swirled in the dark water as he swam through it, reflecting the light of his headlamp, filling the room with little sparkling motes. Now he was physically there, Paul could see all the little details Pier's footage hadn't picked up. He looked down over the room, carefully angling his head so his camera would catch everything: the pews might have been ripped out, but the statues, hidden from casual view in their dark niches, hadn't. They still posed piously, their once-angelic expressions worn away first by time, then by water. Paul swam over to the nearest one, entranced. As he drew closer, he realised its face wasn't so much worn as obliterated deliberately, replaced by something far more sinister. Deep grooves ran vertically over its lips, cut into the form of crude teeth, and its eyes had been hacked out. Instead, a large central orb had been carved into its forehead, flanked on each side by four smaller circles so that they wrapped around the statue's head until they almost touched its ears. Each circle has a vertical line cut into them, slashing through like the pupil of a cat's eye. He reached up to touch it, tracing his gloved fingertips over the grooves.
“Nine eyes...” he murmured to himself.
“What?”
Paul jerked his hand back, his heart skittering around his ribcage. A thick plume of bubbles erupted as his breathing quickened, floating up to the hidden ceiling. He'd forgotten Mags was listening. “Nothing,” he said. “Just some weird modifications to the statues. You'll see when you watch the footage.”
A flicker of movement below him caught his attention, but it was only Piers.
“You okay, buddy?” Piers asked. His voice sounded strange – tight and slightly higher than normal, and it wasn’t just down to the mask. Piers was excited… and something else.
“Yeah, I'm fine. Have you see this?” Paul said. “Why would they do this? What does it all mean?”
“I don't know, but I think they're all like it. Nine eyes and mad teeth.”
“Do you think it might be a cult thing?”
“Another thing you assumed that Malcolm Allen bloke was lying about, eh? Maybe we should go back and have another chat with him.”
“Maybe we should do the same with
your mad old bloke,” Paul shot back.
“Yeah... maybe. Anyway I’m just about to go and take a look at the altar. You coming?”
“Oh. I thought you might already have done that,” Paul said.
“No… no, not yet.” Again, Piers voice thickened and Paul realised he’d misjudged him – Piers wasn’t excited at all. He was frightened. But why? Last dive, that was all he had been interested in. So what had changed? “Come on. We don't have time for this. Let's go look and then get the hell out of here before Deputy Dawg gets back.”
Paul swam down after him, marvelling at the church’s state of preservation. Besides the vandalised statues, the place was almost pristine; they could drain this reservoir, dry this place out and hold sermons within a month, he was sure of it.
Still they continued down.
Surely they'd reach the altar soon. Paul peered ahead, through the gloom. The particles still hung there, unmoving even as he swam through them like tiny pinpricks of projected light.
They still swam.
Paul’s brows drew together. Surely this wasn’t right. They’d been swimming down now for a good minute now. The floor didn’t go down that far. It couldn’t have done. From Piers’ footage, they’d been able to see the altar from the broken window.
He stopped, hanging in the twinkling water.
“Did you see the altar when we swam in?” he asked Piers.
“What?” Piers stopped and looked back.
“When we saw your footage from the previous dive, you could clearly see the layout of this room, with the altar in the centre. I don't remember seeing it when we entered. My attention was on the statues. Did you see it?”
“No,” Piers said.
“No? But... but you went straight down. That was what you were interested in.”
“Yeah. I… know.”
The stream of bubbles that emanated from Piers mask told Paul everything he needed to know. He had tried to swim down to investigate, but couldn't find it. This was it. The thing that had bothered him. A tightness grew around Paul's jaw and crawled up the sides of his skull, making him feel dizzy. He fought off the desire to shake his head and peered down.
