Tanners Dell: Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror

by Sarah England

  Calmly thanking Nora, Harry walked towards the bed and made the sign of the cross on his own brow, lips and breast before taking out a bottle of holy water from his coat pocket and sprinkling it around the room. Michael sat down by the window and quietly began to pray; and Noel, following his lead, did the same. This couldn’t be happening. It didn’t really exist. It was surreal.

  “Okay, now let’s begin,” said Harry softly.

  “Hello Kristy. Let’s start with a bit of an introduction. Tell me how you grew up! Were you happy?”

  She remained staring at the ceiling, her voice barely above a whisper. “Happy, yes.”

  “Did you go to church?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were there any problems at home or any illnesses?”

  “No,” she said, still in a dreamy whisper. “My mother was bipolar – she killed herself when I was six. Dad remarried but died last year from a heart attack.”

  “You must have been very sad when your mum died?”

  No reply.

  “Did your dad bring you up?”

  No reply.

  “Kristy?”

  “What made you decide to be a psychiatrist, Kristy? Was it your mum’s illness?”

  Her body began to stiffen by degrees and her breathing was becoming agitated.

  Harry stood up and opened the bottle of holy water, which he signed himself and then Kristy with. At the point where the water came into contact with her skin, it hissed as if splashed on a hot grill. After which everything changed. Within seconds her respiration count began to escalate.

  Harry began to recite ‘The Litany of Saints.’ “Lord have mercy.”

  Michael and Noel repeated as indicated, “Lord have mercy.”

  “Christ have mercy.”

  “Chris have mercy.”

  Kristy continued to stare only at the ceiling, her chest wheezy and rattling as it battled for breath. Her fists began to clench and unclench, and blood trickled down her chin from a bitten tongue.

  “Christ hear us.”

  “Christ graciously hear us.”

  The sound of rasping breathing filled the air: faster and faster and faster, to the point of hyperventilating.

  Harry continued calmly even as her limbs jerked and twitched.

  “Lord have mercy.”

  “Lord have mercy.”

  Then quite suddenly it was as if she’d had enough. A primeval roar emanated from her body. It arched back, then with full force began to throw itself around on the bed, violently yanking on the restraints. Then just as suddenly it stopped, and her head snapped round a full ninety degrees to stare directly at Harry.

  He looked away, attempting to continue with the process, even as the creature peered intently into his face, a forked blackened tongue flicking in and out between filthy, slimy teeth. A nasty laugh echoed around the room in a chorus of voices and he was struggling to focus when a male voice that sounded like a slowed-down recording, emanated from deep within her chest. “Don’t even try, Father. Don’t touch her. She’s ours.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Harry said.

  “You should be.”

  Steeling his nerve he picked up the prayer book and resumed the ritual, moving onto the first Gospel reading, sprinkling more holy water and holding the crucifix up high.

  Her fine boned face now began to contort into one bloated and twisted in pain, the forehead pulsating visibly as if something inside was going to burst through. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and sulphur choked the air.

  Both Michael and Noel’s prayers increased in vehemence and volume.

  Another twenty minutes passed before Harry held his hands up to them to stop for a moment, before commanding,

  “Lord send aid from your holy place.

  And watch over her from Sion.

  Lord hear my prayer.

  And let my cry be heard by You.”

  Once more he signed himself with holy water and did the same to Kristy, holding the crucifix up high. Then he signalled to the other two to recommence prayers before beginning the Rites of Exorcism.

  “What is your name?”

  A rush of babbled jargon erupted from her chest in a cacophony of indistinguishable voices.

  “In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to answer me: what is your name?”

  Again came a stream of language unbeknown to any of the men present. Harry shot a glance towards Michael, who shook his head. It wasn’t Latin or Hebrew or Aramaic or any language any had come across before.

  Kristy’s body now started to thrash around so violently it rocked the bed on its castors, banging it down hard on the floor repeatedly. Something was going to break…Something had to break… Her screams of fury were enough to pierce eardrums, the light fitting swung from side to side smashing on the ceiling, and the air temperature plunged to below freezing. Again Harry repeated the command for a name; and again; and again, now walking determinedly forwards holding the crucifix up high. “In the name of Christ I command you…”

  Suddenly the crucifix ignited and was swiped from his hands by an invisible force.

  At that moment Noel faltered. This was going wrong…The cross lay in the corner of the room on the floor, exuding smoke. And the screaming ceased.

  Kristy’s head now swivelled around to focus on Noel. Her lips curved into a salacious smile. “Arse loving queer boy… Likes to….suck…” The viper tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, the voices inside of her slurping and slithering.

  All three closed their ears to the tirade of diabolical abuse that spewed forth, and Harry again made the sign of the cross, repeating his command for a name, now holding the crucifix he wore around his neck on a chain.

  Then Kristy stopped again as if re-thinking her strategy. Her head waggled around on its stem before her eyes settled on the cleric.

  “In the name of Christ, answer me – what is your name?”

  Next second a series of names were projected at him like vomit, “One, two, three, four…Shroud, Lucifer, Cain, Nero…”

  She slumped back onto the mattress, a sheen of sweat covering her skin, the chest wheezing and hissing, all traces of physical distortion rapidly subsiding, before her eyes snapped open again and a silky voice said, “Come on Reverend. Now wouldn’t you like to put your fingers inside me? You know you would. Wouldn’t you like to… finger me…? I’ve been such a good girl…” She licked her lips and arched her back like a porn star, writhing and moaning as if the throes of ecstasy.

  Harry, who had hesitated only momentarily, continued ever more powerfully with the ritual. The demons had divulged their names and now were lost: he was winning. “I cast you out unclean spirits, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

  Kristy’s throat gurgled as if it was full of slime. “He will die in misery and loneliness,” she said, looking over at Michael. “He will ache from it. Hell will last for all his eternity. His mistake was to mess with his belief. Demons, say the professor, are merely a part of medieval theology. What a fool you have been, Michael.”

  She lay on her back again, staring at the ceiling. “You are all blind and in darkness. You are paralysed. You should have played by the rules. You are fools.”

  The lights flickered on and off, and the cross lying in the corner skittered across the floor as if pulled by a string. Still Harry shouted out the Rites, drowning out everything else, instructing the others, “Pray hard and don’t stop.”

  His voice was strong and it rose yet further to dominate all the hissing and spitting and cursing coming from Kristy as the demons inside tried ever more aggressive tactics. The power within her was snapping the restraints and one of her legs had kicked free. The bed was slamming harder and harder onto the floor and blood was spraying over the sheets, blood vessels slicing into the leather straps as she fought to escape.

  Urgency grew with every prayer, reading, blessing and command
; but Harry was relentless, minutes ticking into hours, until finally he commanded, “In the name of Jesus Christ I command that you leave.”

  Her body slumped.

  He repeated it. Watched her. Repeated it once more. And then she collapsed.

  No one moved or spoke.

  For a full five minutes all three stood silently.

  Then Harry said the final prayer of deliverance; and slowly, in front of their eyes, Kristy looked up, stared around the room, and began to cry.

  Harry slumped onto the window ledge.

  Kristy was sobbing heartily now, for her mother, her father, her ex-husband, and for everything she’d ever done wrong that could have brought her to this place.

  After a while Harry put a blanket around her shoulders and pressed the buzzer for Nora. Turning to face his colleagues for the first time in four hours he said, “Well, I don’t know about you two but I could do with a nice strong cup of…” At the sight of Michael who had fallen on the floor, he rushed forwards, but Michael’s skin was already ice-cold to the touch and he no longer drew breath. He turned to Noel, who was standing statue-still. “I think he’s gone.”

  Noel nodded. “Harry, I can’t move.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wednesday Night/Thursday morning

  Toby lay wide awake. With every creak of the floorboards or thump of the old pipes in the Victorian terrace he shared, his eyes snapped open again. If only he was back at his parents’ place enjoying the comfort of double glazing and new plumbing. These old sash windows rattled in their frames, and since neither of the other two lads were exactly gardeners, overgrown branches now bowed and scratched at the glass. Okay, yes, he got up and put the light on. He was seriously spooked.

  The minute he and Becky made it back to the car last night, he’d jumped in and accelerated out of Bridesmoor almost before she’d had time to click her seatbelt on.

  They’d got to The Old Coach Road before he spoke. “If we have to go back there on Friday night we’re ’aving back up.”

  Becky, still out of breath from the frantic sprint through the woods from Tanners Dell, was gripping onto her seat as the car roared across the moors. “What on earth happened in there, Toby? For God’s sake tell me!”

  “Right.” He wiped his brow on a shirt sleeve, holding the steering wheel with one hand. The evening was clear and studded with stars, the ground coated in silvery frost. He put both hands back on the wheel and stared hard at the road ahead. “Give me a minute. Let’s get off this moor – I hate it up here. They say the ghosts of dead miners roam around and cars go off the road because something leaps out or a sudden fog comes down.”

  “More likely they go off the road because they’ve just come out of The Highwayman; but I agree it’s not the most comforting of stopping places and I’m way too freaked out to argue.”

  For a while they sat silently, neither of them looking at the moors, which stretched darkly on either side.

  “I keep thinking of Noel,” said Becky. “And that sedan appearing out of nowhere. He got the bike up to about 140mph and it was still closing in on him even on corners. And when Kristy was coming back from Woodsend she said this old woman suddenly appeared in her passenger seat.”

  “Don’t tell me anymore.”

  “Sorry.”

  Eventually the road began to dip down and the neon glow of town lay ahead. Half a mile after that, they passed a deserted forecourt and then a sign for some dog kennels, after which the road was once again street-lit.

  “Now,” said Becky, sighing with relief. “Pull over and tell me what on earth you saw inside the mill. If we’re going back there I need to know.”

  Toby parked under a streetlamp next to a twenty-four/seven store. “You’re not going back – no way.”

  “What? But—”

  He shook his head. “This has got to be sorted professionally.”

  She sat quietly. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Okay, well I climbed into an old kitchen. It were dark, obviously, and I couldn’t see much but at the back there’s a huge room with a whacking great tree trunk growing up through the ceiling. It’s all deserted. Anyhow, I thought that was it and I were gonna come out but then I noticed a really ornate, heavy-duty door – ancient looking with weird carvings on it – and I guessed that the key Cora gave us would fit the lock.”

  “And it did?”

  “Aye. It turned easy. Steep cellar steps as you’d expect and not a jot of light - I could curse meself for not ’aving a torch. Stupid to go down on me own, really stupid. Anyway, when I got to the bottom I could just about make out a huge horizontal wheel but it were really black in there, so I used me cigarette lighter and then I could see a series of archways and tunnels. I couldn’t help meself, I just stared and stared at it – there’s a bloody great cathedral under there! And I knew someone used it because I could smell fucking weed a mile off, and other stuff… drugs and smoke. Anyhow, that’s when I thought I saw summat – like a hooded grey monk floating down the corridor towards me.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I ran like ’ell but it were dead slippy and wet so I kept skidding, but I made it up the steps to the door and locked whatever it was down there. So either they had a key or there’s another exit. I’m just wondering if that’s what Callum found and if he stumbled on that other exit – maybe up at the mine?”

  “Like the tunnels lead to a mine shaft?”

  “Yes.”

  Toby’s mobile bleeped and they both jumped in their seats.

  “You get that,” Becky said. “I’ll nip in here and get us something to calm the nerves. Hot chocolate?”

  He nodded. “Ta.” The message on his phone was from Jes. Could they talk urgently?

  After that the night had got even weirder.

  Toby switched on all the lights and went down to the kitchen in a clinical glare of electricity. Normally he relished being on his own but as luck would have it both the other officers were on night duty. Strong, builders’ tea was what he needed, and he flicked the kettle on while his mind retraced events. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep with all this replaying in his head anyway.

  Jes was adamant they met immediately, so after he’d dropped Becky off at the DRI, he drove to the address he’d been given - a house on the outskirts of Leeds. The street was in the Harehills area and the row of terraces a quiet one. Toby parked outside a tandoori on the main road and walked the remaining few yards, unbolted the side gate as instructed and went round to the back door.

  The second he arrived, Jes ushered him into a small kitchen, where four men were sitting around a table. “Take a seat.” He handed him a glass and one of the blokes passed along an opened bottle of scotch.

  Toby hesitated, then thought better of it. What the hell. After tonight he needed it.

  “You can kip over if you need to,” Jes said, pouring him another. “You’ve been to Tanners Dell so you’ll need more than one of these.”

  Toby knocked it back, feeling the burn of it chase down his throat, igniting his stomach. It took his breath and he gasped. “Strong stuff!”

  A couple of the other men smiled.

  “Have you ever been down there – underneath the mill?” he asked Jes.

  Jes nodded. “So how about we pool information? I’ve waited years for a chance like this, and they’ll be meeting on New Year for sure.”

  Toby looked at the other four, one by one. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves?”

  They were Nicu, Tomas, Stefan and Alex: all mid-forties to fifties by the look of them, tattooed, muscular, olive-skinned and hard bitten. “I would trust these guys with my life,” said Jes. “And to be brutally honest, we might have to.”

  It crossed his mind that perhaps he’d fallen down a well into some kind of twilight world. He almost laughed. Toby in Wonderland. Well, there was no coming back from this now, was there? This road had no U-turns. An urgent call was waiting from his sergeant that he’d not
yet returned, and here he was in a back kitchen somewhere in Leeds discussing an illicit mission to ambush a bunch of Satanists.

  He nodded at each of the surly looking men in turn, and introduced himself while Jes poured out more whisky and a bottle of something with a Russian label on it appeared from one of the holdalls on the floor.

  “Drink,” said Tomas. “Is good.”

  The drink flowed, so did the stories. “I’ve tailed this lot for fucking years,” said Jes. “Taken pictures on my cell phone, had videos and given information to various blokes in that village who were more than happy to work with me – hard-assed miners more than ready to rip Lucas Dean’s balls off. But every single time I got those pictures back they were grainy and grey. One time all there was on each one was a faceless monk with cavernous holes where the eyes should be. The blokes from the village who helped me…something bad happened to every single one of them. I lost my sight temporarily and worse…”

  Toby downed another glass of the clear Russian brew that tasted and smelled like meths.

  “It’s like that fucking witch is watching you in your dreams. Like she crawls into your mind. And then you get ill, man, like you’re paralysed in your sleep and can’t lift your head off the pillow. It’s called a night crusher. Or you get dreams like you wouldn’t believe – you think you’re going mad with weights on your chest and black slithering creatures sliding out of the walls, rushing into your face. You can’t breathe and you can’t call out. I had to get a long way from here more than once. If she knows I’m close it’ll all start up again. She smells you out. That’s why we have to grab this chance now. Right now.”

  The other guys nodded. The stories were boundless and included sudden, agonising deaths from cancer; blindness and alcoholism; and they wanted revenge.