by C. J. Waller
Mags stared at the Sergeant, her reddened eyes blazing. “It’s disorientating?” she said. “You think that's all that went wrong down there? That he got disorientated? Piers isn’t a tourist. He’s an experienced diver. He’s been down on reefs, in lakes, in caves… this would’ve been a piece of piss for him.”
“Over confidence kills, Miss,” the Sergeant said.
“Over confidence? Seriously? You have got to be kidding me! Diving in a simple building like that – it’s only one room, for Christ's sake! That’s beginner stuff compared to what Piers is used to. There’s no way he would’ve got lost, or… or…” she trailed off. “Why are you guys looking at each other like that? What’s going on here?”
The Sergeant sniffed and gave his fellow officers a little nod.
“You said it yourself. This would’ve been an easy dive for him. Leaves us with only one course of action.”
Paul’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, but you were warned. And now the worst has happened. This isn't something we can ignore. We can’t make it just go away. You’re all going to have to come with me.”
“But… but… no!” Paul said. He stood up and the two constables took a threatening step towards him. He raised his hands, more out of instinct than showing he wasn’t a threat. “No, we have to call someone, get someone in, someone who can go and... go and find-”
“Find what?” the Sergeant asked. “Your friend’s corpse?” He gave Paul a calculating look. “But maybe you already know where that is, hmm? It’s like your friend here said – it was an easy dive for him.”
It took Paul a few moments for him to realise what the Sergeant was insinuating. “Excuse me? Are you really saying what I think you’re saying? That I… that I… did something to Piers?”
“It’s an avenue of investigation we will have to pursue,” the Sergeant said.
“You’re insane!” Mags leapt to Paul’s defence. It didn’t escape Paul’s notice that Decker remained silent and he shot him a vicious look. He would have at least expected him to stick up for him. Instead, Decker was staring at the ground, looking pale. No… that wasn’t right. He was starting at the ground, looking terrified. Beside him, Mags continued to rage.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’d think that. Piers was Paul’s best friend – they’ve worked together for years, built all this up together...”
All the way through her rant, the Sergeant kept quiet. The two constables shot him occasional questioning looks, like two dogs seeking their master’s permission to attack, but the Sergeant’s eyes never left Paul. What was he looking for? Some glimmer of guilt? A twitchy mouth that might give him away? He didn't know, but he was damned if he was going to be intimidated by it. Instead, he stared right back, determined not to give the good Sergeant the satisfaction. Finally, Mags began stumbling over her words as her fury ran out of steam. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes. They might have split up because Piers was a lousy boyfriend, but that didn’t mean she’d stopped caring about him. He had still been her friend.
“Okay now, lass – have you finished?” The Sergeant sounded bored. “I can understand your strength of feeling, I really can, but you’ve got to see this from our point of view.”
“What point of view is that?” Paul said, icily. “That the loch is a dangerous place for out-of-towners, or that you think I might have taken this opportunity to drown a dear friend?”
The Sergeant’s face turned to stone. He raised a hand and flicked his fingers towards them. His officers sprang forward like eager rottweillers, pulling their cuffs off their belts as they went. The Sergeant then pulled his out own pair and forcibly turned Paul around.
“You do not have to say anything,” he said as he snapped the cuffs on Paul’s wrists. “But anything you do say will be taken down and may be given in evidence-”
“Hey, hey! I can’t believe you’re doing this! What is the charge? What the hell are you doing?”
Next to him, Mags started struggling.
“Miss, I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The smile on the constable's face said he was enjoying this more than he should be; Paul guessed they didn’t get much in the way of trouble out here, so the chance to play the Big Cop was something he welcomed.
“Mags – calm down. There’s no point,”
“But we haven’t done anything!” Mags said.
“Oh, really?” the Sergeant said. “Trespassing; diving without permission; a missing person, presumed dead… Put yourself in my shoes. Would you let me just walk away?”
He had a point and judging by the scowl Mags shot at him, she could see it, too. The second constable finished handcuffing Yolanda. Decker had actually turned around and offered up his wrists like a lamb to the slaughter. Soon, the four of them were traipsing up the wooded path toward three ancient police cars.
“What about our equipment?” Decker asked in a dull voice. Paul couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. He’d said nothing to support him, but worried about his kit.
“Don’t you fret about your toys,” the Sergeant said. “We’ll pack them up. They’re evidence now.”
Evidence? Paul glanced at Decker, but he was still staring at the ground. He snapped his attention to Mags. Judging by the look she shared with him, the same thought had crossed her mind.
Was this all about getting hold of their footage?
He stole one, last look at the loch. Its surface was as calm as ever. A bird soared above it; some kind of bird of prey, given its size. Above it, the clouds coiled upwards into meringue-like peaks. Everything looked perfect – too perfect.
As if taunting him, the water churned and a dark shadow bloomed on its surface. Paul’s heart thudded heavily in his chest as something emerged and rolled slickly over. As quickly as it appeared, it slid back down into the depths, leaving the loch as smooth as glass once more.
He didn’t mention it to the Sergeant, though.
He had a feeling the Sergeant already knew.
Chapter Thirteen
Sergeant O’Toole pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down behind his desk.
This was something he really didn’t need.
His hand hovered over the telephone.
Should he call her?
Well, of course he should call her. It was his duty to. He’d sworn to that when he’d taken charge of the station. But if he called her, he’d have to explain what those idiots had been up to and why he hadn’t stopped them. And that was something he really wasn’t looking forward to. To put it bluntly, he’d fucked up… and she didn’t tolerate fuck ups. She couldn’t afford to.
But what would happen if he didn’t tell her? Those stupid townies had woken it up early. Yes, he knew the time was coming; he'd seen the portents and had the dreams, but they weren't anywhere near ready to deal with it. And to top it off, they’d fed it. He ran a trembling hand over his face. Although he knew he’d have to deal with this at some point soon, he hadn't thought for one second this was how it would go.
It was no good. He picked up the phone and dialled. It rang a few times before it was picked up.
“Yes?”
“It’s happened. You’d better come down here.”
“Come down? Now why would I need to do that?”
“Because…” he took in a deep, steadying breath. “Because it’s awake. They woke it up.”
The voice on the other line fell silent, but Sergeant O’Toole didn’t dare fill it.
“I thought I told you to move them on?”
“I know. I tried to. But they…”
“But they, what?”
“But they ignored me. I’m sorry, Sadie, I really am. I was trying not to raise suspicion-”
“Not to raise suspicion? They’re already suspicious. That’s why they’re here. So they woke it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
This was the one question O’Toole dreaded above all others. He swallowed hard, as if th
at would steady his voice and calm his nerves.
“Diving. They were… diving. In the church.”
“Diving?” The flat tone of her question made Sergeant O’Toole wince. “In the church? I see.”
“It, uh, it gets worse,” he said.
“Worse, you say? Worse than trespassing in its lair? And what could be worse than that? Unless you mean…”
She didn’t have to say it. He knew exactly what she meant. He found himself nodding, even though she couldn’t see him, his eyes closed, his heart pounding.
“I see,” she repeated. “Call a village meeting. We need to deal with this now. We can’t risk waiting until the meddlers are dealt with. Where are they now?”
“Locked up.”
“I see. Is he with them?”
Sergeant O'Toole frowned. “He?”
“Yes. Him. My grandson.”
“Oh, him. Yes. He is.
“Let him go.”
“Sadie – Mrs Decker – do you think that’s wise?”
O’Toole almost heard the creak as Sadie Decker smiled on the other end of the line.
“Yes, I do, for the Lord works in mysterious ways, you see. You think they woke it up. I'm wondering differently. ”
“Differently?” A horrible, sinking feeling hollowed out O'Toole's belly.
“You heard me. Send Brandon my way. We have to move quickly now, and with any luck, all of this might be over before they even realise what's going on.”
“And what do you want me to do with the others?”
“The others? Leave them where they are. We'll deal with them later.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sometimes, later never comes.
Dinner smelled delicious. It was Daddy’s favourite: roast beef with roast tatties and all the trimmings. They usually only enjoyed such fayre on special occasions, and Brandon wondered for a moment why Mammy had gone to such lengths. What was so special it warranted this kind of attention? He didn’t ask anyone, though. For some reason, he got the impression that such a question would not be met with joy. So he waited with his parents until Grandma Sadie joined them.
In contrast to his parents’ subdued demeanour, Grandma Sadie positively glowed. Her usual stiff greeting was now full of smiling pride, and rather than nod at him as usual, she enveloped his father in a warm hug. She whispered something to him, and he hung his head, his eyes glittering. Whatever she was proud of, it upset his father and that in turn upset Brandon.
He’d never really liked Grandma Sadie all that much. Theirs was an insular community, cut off from the rest of the world by distance and attitude, and Sadie Decker was at the centre of it all. Some might say that put Brandon at an advantage, but if anything, the opposite was true. Where the other children were allowed to go out and play together, Brandon was often forbidden. Even on the rare occasions he was allowed out, Brandon always felt cut off from them, a soul apart from their games and their laughter. It wasn't as if they treated him badly, more that he never truly felt a part of the group – and for this, he blamed his Grandmother.
She ruled their community with a fist of iron. No Outsiders. No leaving the town unless she decreed it. No wandering the moors. And, most important of all, no going near the loch.
Obviously, small boys being small boys (and quite a few small girls, too), curiosity often got the better of them. He remembered the afternoon last year when they had sneaked off out of town, down the hill and through the thickly-growing pine trees to the edge of the forbidden lake. All the way down, the children had whispered excitedly, daring each other to throw stones, or maybe even dip a toe in its chilly water, but once they were stood before it, all their bravado evaporated away. They’d seen it from the near by cliff edge when going out for Sunday walks with their parents, but never this close up. Close up, it stretched out forever in front of them, as still as a mirror and as quiet as the grave. At its centre, they could just about make out the spire of the drowned church.
Some grown-ups said it had happened naturally. Erosion had weakened the thin strip of land that protected it from a tarn higher up the mountains, and a landslide had breached its walls during heavy rainfall, flooding out the valley. Others swore, quietly and furtively so others might not hear – that the Government had allowed the valley to be flooded, but no one really knew why. A new reservoir was often bandied around, but here? In Scotland? Where it rained non-stop for six months of the year? They questioned that logic and came up with a far older, darker reason.
They drowned the valley to seal in the evil that dwelt in St Machan's.
Even thinking about it sent a flurry of goosebumps up Brandon’s arms.
No one talked about that, at least not when the children were around, but the legend was so pervasive they absorbed it anyway. By instinct, they knew not to talk about it in polite company, but when they were together with no grown-ups around they liked to whisper about it to scare each other, coming up with tales so lurid Brandon sometimes had trouble sleeping.
The Devil lived down there, in the depths, or so the older kids said. Old Nine Eyes, they called it. The loch was bottomless, leading straight down to Hell. Brandon often wondered how that worked – surely, if it led to Hell, then it couldn’t be bottomless? - but he never asked, instead choosing to keep his mouth shut and listen to the tales as they grew wilder and wilder, involving sacrifice and fire and blood.
No one dared tell those tales when they were stood next to the water, though. All of a sudden, it felt wrong. They’d told the stories to frighten and titillate, but now they were here, standing on the shore, gazing out over its surface to the drowned church beyond, those tales didn’t feel so ridiculous. The air stirred, sending the pine needles skittering across the floor, and the loch shivered. A dark shadow bloomed upon its surface, and as one, all the children of the village turned and ran. No one screamed; no one spoke – they just ran as fast as their small legs could carry them, away from the loch and back to the safety of Dùisg a' Pheacaich.
Well, what they had thought was the safety of Dùisg a' Pheacaich. Brandon wasn’t so sure now. Grandma Sadie released his father from her embrace and stalked past him to grasp Brandon by the shoulder. Her skeletal fingers bit into his flesh, and he smelled talcum powder and rot.
Please don’t hug me, please don’t hug me he thought as his body stiffened, waiting to be smothered by his grandmother, but thankfully she let him go. Grandma Sadie didn’t believe in being soft with children; ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ had always been her world view, and this time he was glad of it.
Brandon’s mother indicated that they should all sit. Her face was expressionless, like a mask, and he didn’t like it one bit. Usually, she was so animated, so full of life, but in recent weeks she had grown quieter, more withdrawn, as if something was coming, something she didn’t want to face. Wordlessly, Brandon and his father waited until Grandma Sadie took her seat and then followed suit. His mother set down a huge platter of roast meat and tatties, and a bowl of veggies on the side. Usually, Brandon’s mouth would have been salivating when faced with a feast like this, but tonight just the sight of it was enough to make him feel sick.
Grandma Sadie nodded at his mother as she sat down to join them and held out her hands. With practised obedience Brandon took one, and with the other, took his father’s. He could have sworn his mother shuddered slightly when she copied him.
They sat holding hands in a circle around the food. Grandma Sadie closed her eyes and said;
“We shall pray.”
His mother and father closed their eyes, but Brandon rebelled, lowering his lids just enough to prove that Grandma Sadie wasn’t the total boss of him.
“Oh Lord, take this as thanks for all you have provided; for keeping us safe from harm when times grow difficult; for keeping us true to your purpose; and for Your Guiding Hand in everything we do. Amen.”
“Amen.”
In an unspoken agreement, everyone waited for Grandma Sadie to serve herself first. S
he took a piece of meat and put it on a plate, which she set aside. She winked at Brandon, a gesture so unusual that he had to stop himself from recoiling. She seemed excited about something, almost girlishly so, and it frightened him.
“A piece for Old Nine Eyes,” she said. “So he goes for that first, and not for your soul.”
Brandon looked to his father for reassurance, but instead found a new source of fear; his father’s expressionless face drained of all colour, just like mother’s.
“Well?” Grandma Sadie said. “What are you all waiting for? The Good Lord didn’t provide all this for us to stare at it. Get stuck in!”
Chapter Fifteen
Decker lay on the hard bench in his cell and stared at the ceiling. It had seen better days; in one corner a large water stain dotted with black mould leered, making faces at him in the dim light. In the other corner, on the floor, stood a rusted bucket encrusted with filth.
His parents stared down at him from that stain, their expressions grim and unmoving. The memory had been crystal clear, almost frighteningly so. Why was all of this coming back to him now? Why not sooner? A sense of something lurking ahead, of something waiting wormed its way into him, making his skin itch.
He should have called her. He should have plucked up the courage to see her earlier, before they'd gone to the loch. Then maybe all of this wouldn't have happened. If only he'd had the backbone to confront whatever it was she represented. But he hadn't. He hadn't, and now they'd paid the price, like innocents to the slaughter-
A heavy clunk roused him from his despair. The handle on the door of his cell turned and the Sergeant stepped inside.
“Well, now,” he said. “What a mess, eh?”
“Excuse me?” Decker said.
“All of this. A mess. Didn't need to be, mind you. If only you'd done what you were told.”
“You think I haven't already thought that?” Decker turned away from the Sergeant, curling himself up into a ball as he did so. “Leave me alone.”
