Dawn of the Demontide

by William Hussey

  Dr Holmwood broke in. ‘Gentlemen, please … ’

  Jake crept through the trees, following the sound of the argument.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ Holmwood said, ‘but I’m afraid Malcolm is right. Time is running out. We must consider other options.’

  ‘Only two weeks remain,’ Dr Saxby hissed. ‘Two weeks before the Demontide. If we don’t act soon then every demon in existence will be set free. They will kill every living thing and then they will claim this world as their own. Do you understand what I’m saying, Harker? We are facing Armageddon!’

  Jake stopped. He was standing on a raised bank. Below, in one of the sunken rose gardens, the three men huddled together. Adam tore the tie from his neck and jabbed a finger into Saxby’s chest.

  ‘I’m well aware of the Demontide, Malcolm. I have devoted every hour of every day to stopping it from happening. What have you been doing during all that time, eh? Pottering away in your lab, coming up with scientific defences against the Coven. Defences little better than guns and bullets … ’

  ‘My guns and bullets saved the life of your son!’ Saxby bristled. ‘The Institute took a big risk in allowing the weapon project to go ahead, Harker. If anyone found out—the government, the media—we could have been exposed. But we let Claire continue her work because what was promised to us was a miracle. A weapon born of science that could destroy the demon threat once and for all. I had my doubts but, believe me, I wanted this to work. And now it pains me to say it, it really does, but the weapon has failed.’

  ‘You can’t know that. Not yet.’

  Dr Saxby sighed. ‘I can, Adam. I can because your wife is dead.’

  Adam Harker hit Dr Saxby square in the jaw. Jake knew that his father had always hated violence, and so he watched open-mouthed as Saxby staggered back into one of the rose bushes. Adam stalked away. Dr Holmwood helped Saxby to his feet.

  ‘You know I’m right, Gordon,’ Saxby wheezed. ‘We have seen not one scrap of evidence that the weapon works.’

  ‘True,’ Holmwood mused, ‘but given a little more time … ’

  ‘You said yourself, there is no more time. In a matter of weeks, this entire planet will stand upon the brink of Hell. If the weapon fails then we have to be prepared to take extreme measures.’ Saxby grabbed hold of the old man. ‘We must be prepared to kill.’

  ‘I have committed such an act once before,’ Holmwood said. ‘Twenty-five years ago I took the life of an innocent child for the greater good. I’m not sure I could do it again.’

  ‘We must,’ Saxby insisted, ‘or the world will fall to them. Crowden and his Coven of foul witches have waited for centuries. They will do anything to ensure that the Door is opened.’

  ‘I must think,’ Holmwood said. ‘And I must speak to Joanna before I come to any decision. Come on, let’s get back to the party.’

  Jake wandered through the grounds. He hardly knew where he was going. The words ‘Coven’ and ‘Demontide’ reeled through his mind, tantalizing him with images that remained just out of reach. And then there was the name ‘Joanna’. Jake knew only one person by that name. Surely Dr Holmwood didn’t mean her …

  A small boy darted out of the trees and cannoned into Jake. The child looked up, eyes filled with terror.

  ‘I’ve seen it!’

  Jake squatted down to the kid’s level. ‘Seen what?’

  ‘Something nasty in the boathouse.’

  ‘You’re Sam Drake, aren’t you? Your dad works with my dad at the Institute. I’m Jake. Come on, Sam, we’ll find your parents. There’s nothing to be scared of.’

  Sam pulled away. ‘There is. I went ’splorin’ by myself and I saw it. There’s a monster in the boathouse.’

  With that, Sam Drake took off along the path. Jake watched until the kid disappeared into the house. Then he turned and walked towards the river.

  Demons—monsters—his thoughts flew back to the night of his mother’s murder. Something nasty in the tunnel. Perhaps the answers to all his questions waited in the boathouse …

  He jogged down the path, his senses alert for any movement in the forest either side. At last, he came to the boathouse. The size and shape of a hay barn, it jutted out a few metres into the river. The open door creaked on its hinges. There was no light on and the only sound was the slap of water against wood. As Jake approached, he saw marks in the sandy soil in front of the boathouse. Footprints left by the terrified child.

  ‘Anyone in there?’ he called.

  No answer.

  Monsters. Demons.

  He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  The place smelt of algae and motor oil. It was very dark. Jake ferreted in his pocket for his mobile phone and flipped it open. The illuminated screen acted as a kind of torch. By its light, he saw shelves crowded with old jam jars and tins of paint. Coils of rope, life jackets, canvas sails, fishing rods, and tackle boxes littered the floor. A raised walkway acted as a kind of jetty, a motor boat floating in the water below. The boat, a neat little vessel with a powerful outboard motor, had been covered over with a sheet of tarpaulin. Peeking out from under the sheet was the boat’s name, painted around the prow:

  Witchfinder

  Again, something niggled at Jake’s memory.

  Witchfinder. Someone talking about a book written about Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General. A brightly-lit room. A pencil sketch of a monster. A metal table. A silver coin, spinning before his eyes. ‘This is how your mother di—’

  A voice interrupted his thoughts—

  ‘Jacob-sss.’

  It came from the rafters. Jake shone his makeshift torch upwards. Old spider webs wafted in the breeze. He swept the light across the roof—more spider webs, these ones fresh, the strands as thick as rope. With each new web the designs became ever more intricate and sturdy. The last, hanging above the boathouse’s riverside door, shimmered like a silver cathedral. At the centre of this amazing construction sat the creator of the web, its two green eyes glowering.

  The light failed. Jake flipped the phone shut and open again. It was no good: the battery had died.

  ‘Jacob-sss, I seee youuu.’

  The water lapped against the sides of the boat.

  And then another sound came out of the darkness. The click-click-click of insect legs. A monster was descending from the rafters.

  Jake tried to run but his legs wouldn’t move. This was impossible. Here he was, rooted to the spot, while something from another world closed in upon him. Surely he was dreaming. And yet this felt right—more real, in fact, than the memories of his mother’s death.

  Demons.

  The black shape of the creature scuttled down the wall. It came closer, closer. Jake even thought he could see the dull gleam of its exoskeleton.

  ‘Ssshall I eat you, Jacob? Ssssecretly gobble you up? The Coven need never know. My misssstresss need never know.’

  Jake closed his eyes. Fear and memories raged inside his head.

  ‘Miss Creekley! To me!’

  The riverside doors burst open and moonlight flooded into the boathouse. Jake could hardly believe his eyes.

  A woman was standing in the middle of the river—standing on the water! What happened next passed in a blur. Something small shot out of the boathouse and scuttled across the water. Jake saw it climb up the woman’s body and into the folds of her dress. Then the stranger swept backwards across the river and disappeared into the trees on the far bank. This strange spectacle was over in the space of ten seconds.

  Jake ran to the boathouse doors. He scanned the bank and the river. There was nothing to be seen.

  The witch and her demon had vanished.

  Chapter 7

  Dreams of the Witchfinder

  Jake tried to concentrate on his maths homework. He had already missed several months of school and, although the private tuition organized by Dr Holmwood was excellent, he had been forced to postpone his GCSE exams until the following year. He couldn’t afford to fall further behind
.

  OK then, he thought, here goes: Triangle ABC is isosceles. AB = AC = 12 cm. Angle ABC is … Jake groaned and pushed the question book aside.

  It was no good, he couldn’t concentrate. Fresh air—that was what he needed. He headed for the door.

  It was warm outside, the promise of a glorious summer on the late May air. Turning left out of his street, Jake strode through the park and playing fields. For what felt like the millionth time, he went over in his head what had happened at Dr Holmwood’s party. The scene in the boathouse with the spider-monster and the woman on the water seemed too crazy to have been real but, coupled with the argument he had overheard in the garden, it all made a twisted kind of sense.

  From what Jake could make out, a coven of witches was determined to bring about the ‘Demontide’, during which demonic forces would break free and take over the world. The Hobarron Institute had developed a weapon to stop them, but Dr Saxby doubted that it would work. He was trying to persuade Dr Holmwood into another, more deadly course of action.

  Jake took these revelations in his stride. The idea that the stuffy Hobarron Institute was not only a scientific community, but an organization dedicated to fighting witches and demons, should have shocked him to the core. Yet it was as if he already knew this story.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Jake murmured, ‘it all has something to do with Mum’s death. She worked on the weapon: that’s why she was murdered. It wasn’t a psychopath, it was one of them. The Coven … ’

  ‘Harker?’

  Silas Jones crossed the playing field and made his way towards Jake. The bully seemed to have lost weight and it looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  ‘Harker,’ Silas repeated. His eyes were everywhere at once, staring into the trees that bordered the playing fields, flitting back to Jake, then out to the main road. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘Fine,’ Jake said, surprised at Silas’s concern.

  ‘Good.’ Silas’s left eye twitched nervously. ‘I’m good, too. Stopped messing around and got myself a plumbing apprenticeship. Not been in trouble for months.’

  ‘Really?’ Jake couldn’t hide his amazement.

  ‘Yeah … Listen, I was … er … sorry to hear about your mum. Her being killed and stuff—that really … sucked … So, I’ve been looking out for you for a while now. Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Abroad. Me and my dad … ’

  ‘I wanted to know if you’d seen him again.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That freak. That skinny, pale-assed freak.’

  ‘I don’t know who you mean.’

  ‘That day—the day your mum was done in—we saw him. Don’t you remember?’ There was a kind of pleading in Silas’s voice. ‘I went to the police afterwards. Told ’em I’d seen this nutcase with you that afternoon. I’ve been in trouble a lot of times, yeah? I know all the cops at the station. But the guy who interviewed me, I’d never seen him before. An old guy, big head, yellow teeth, smelt of fags.’

  Dr Holmwood. So the Institute’s power even extended into the police, Jake thought.

  ‘He told me to forget what I’d seen. Said it wasn’t important. But the thing is, Jake, I can’t get that guy out of my head. You do remember him, don’t you? He told me to be good or he would come and find me. The Pale Man … ’

  Jake froze. He felt memories crumbling, walls of lies fracturing apart. Blades of light appeared between the cracks and Jake cried out. The truth burned inside his mind. The Pale Man. The man on the road. Mr Culp? Mr Kilp? No …

  Mr Quilp.

  Quilp and his demon.

  ‘Hey, Harker, you OK?’

  Jake stared into the haunted eyes of Silas Jones.

  ‘I remember him,’ he murmured. ‘I remember everything … ’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Jake? You look … ’

  ‘How do I look?’ Jake said, eyeing his father.

  ‘I don’t know. Tired. A bit upset … ’

  ‘I am “a bit upset”, I suppose.’ His laugh had a bitter sting to it. ‘I guess I just don’t like being manipulated and lied to.’

  Jake caught sight of his reflection in the kitchen window. The pale boy with the haggard face and hollow eyes looked like a stranger. In the hours after his meeting with Silas Jones, Jake had wandered the town, piecing together the past and growing angrier as each memory fell into place. As soon as his dad got home from the Institute, Jake had cornered him in the kitchen.

  ‘Lied to?’ Adam frowned. ‘Who’s lied to you?’

  ‘Everyone. For example, the night Mum died—you were there.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Soap suds from the washing up dripped from Adam’s hands. The bubbles shimmered …

  ‘I remember—something shiny in your hand.’ Jake got up from the kitchen table and stood in front of his father. ‘A coin. You told me you were sorry.’

  ‘That was at the hospital, after you’d regained consciousness, I was sorry because your mum had died and … ’

  ‘The room was clinical,’ Jake snapped. ‘Sterile. I was lying on a bed.’

  ‘That’s right, the hospital bed. Jake, I don’t underst—’

  ‘Didn’t seem like a hospital bed. It was metal. An examination table, like the ones you see in alien abduction movies.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Adam managed a small, dry chuckle.

  ‘I was strapped down.’

  ‘You weren’t strapped down, Jake.’

  ‘I was. And it wasn’t a hospital.’

  ‘It was New Town Accident and Emergency.’

  ‘Stop lying to me!’ Jake roared. ‘It was the Institute. I was held prisoner by the Hobarron bloody Institute!’

  ‘Jake, please … ’

  ‘I was strapped down to a table and hypnotized!’

  ‘Just calm down. We can talk this out…’

  ‘You were there. So was Dr Saxby and Dr Holmwood. You were arguing about magic and demons. And a weapon.’ Jake smashed his fist against the kitchen door. ‘Tell me the truth, Dad! Tell me about the witch and the demon that killed my mum. Tell me about the machine she built. Tell me about what will happen at the Demontide!’

  Adam gaped at his son. He looked frightened, guilty, and careworn—all at the same time. Suddenly, he reached out and drew Jake into a hug. Jake could feel his father shaking. In that moment, his fury vanished.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad. We’re going to be OK.’

  Adam gave a shivery laugh. ‘I should be the one telling you that. The truth is, I don’t think we are going to be OK, son. Not any more. Not unless … ’

  Adam released Jake and rushed into the hall. He pulled on his coat and grabbed his car keys from the pocket.

  ‘Stay here,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t move from this house until you hear from me. There are some things I have to take care of at the Institute. Then we’re leaving. Pack some clothes, just a small bag. We travel light.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Somewhere far away. The States maybe, or the Far East.’

  ‘But the Demontide,’ Jake said. ‘You have to be here to stop it. The weapon—’

  ‘It’s too late for that. Saxby was right—the weapon will never work. And if we stay … ’

  Dread washed across Adam Harker’s face.

  ‘What is it, Dad? What does Dr Saxby want to do? I heard you arguing at the party last night. He said something about being prepared to kill.’

  ‘That’s enough. Get packed.’

  Adam dashed down the corridor. The front door slammed shut.

  Nine o’clock, and there was still no sign of his dad. Jake heated up some takeaway pizza and sat nibbling pepperoni slices in front of the TV. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Maybe he could call his dad’s mobile or try his private line at work. He managed to resist. An instinct told him that, at this stage, the mighty Hobarron Institute might be as dangerous to him as the mysterious Coven.

  Eleven o’clock. An
hour of wearing a hole in the lounge carpet and midnight arrived. Jake swore as the first chime rang out from the clock in the hall. He could cycle over to Hobarron; tell Brett at the gate that he was dropping something off for his dad. He’d give Adam another hour and then he’d have to do something.

  He picked up an old comic from the bookcase and dropped into an armchair. He hadn’t read any horror since his mother’s death. He didn’t need to.

  ‘I’m living my own horror story now,’ he murmured.

  Maybe he’d just dip into this one, for old time’s sake …

  The sand was soft beneath his boots, the air damp on his face. He moved with stealthy, catlike strides, always alert for signs that he was being watched. His gaze swept the clifftops. Content that only the moon tracked his progress, he continued across the bay. The wind had died and the night birds stayed songless in their nests. The sea, as tranquil as a millpond, did no more than whisper against the shore. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting to see if he would fail. If he did, then the Age of Man was over. In a few hours, a new and terrible dawn would break across this land—across all lands. From the mouth of this little bay, the Demontide would begin.

  As if in response to this vision, a blue flame crackled between his fingers. It was not enough. Digging deep into himself he tried to summon the full extent of his powers. Thoughts of Eleanor filled his mind. Pretty Eleanor, his childhood sweetheart, who had promised to be his when all this was over. They would be married in his father’s church in the village of Starfall. Ever proud of his son, the old preacher himself would conduct the ceremony.

  He went on imagining, conjuring pictures of his and Eleanor’s life together—their first home, the birth of their children, birthdays and Christmases. God willing, these things would come to pass. But if he faltered now then there was no future for him and Eleanor. No future for his father and mother, or for anyone else in this beautiful and miserable world.

  Power surged into his arm. The flame roared.

  He began to climb the rocks on the far side of the bay. The large cavern loomed overhead. There was a superstition in the village that this cave had a voice. Lying awake in his room at the tavern, he had heard it himself: a low moan that called out from the bay. He was steeped in superstition and believed many impossible things. Within the pages of his diary, he had recorded his encounters with dozens of unholy creatures and, upon his body, the story of his magical life could be read in a hundred scars and burns. However, as an occult expert, he was convinced that the so-called ‘Voice of the Cave’ was nothing more than the echo of the wind. In fact, this was one of the few natural phenomena that he had observed since coming to this accursed place. Every other strange thing had been the result of magic …