Creeping Terror

by Justin Richards

  Knight was in one of his usual dark suits, while Growl was in his black cassock complete with clerical collar.

  It took a couple of hours to reach the army checkpoint on the road into Templeton. Knight had a printed pass that Colonel Greene had given him, but the soldiers at the checkpoint were expecting them anyway.

  ‘No one else is to come through, is that clear?’ Knight told the soldier in charge.

  ‘Clear as a bell, sir. Colonel Greene’s already made that quite plain. No one in or out till this is sorted, unless they have his personal permission.’

  ‘How far is it to the village from here?’ Growl asked, leaning across.

  ‘Four miles, near enough.’

  Growl nodded. ‘Just the distance for a brisk walk in the spring sunshine, don’t you think?’

  ‘A walk?’ Gemma said.

  ‘Four miles?’ Maria added. ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’

  ‘I don’t want to take anything into Templeton that isn’t from the right time period, when the village was evacuated,’ Knight said. ‘Growl’s correct. We’ll get a bit closer, though, and then leave the car.’ He turned in his seat to look at Maria. ‘You’re not wearing high heels, I hope?’

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘Bad luck.’

  ‘Good job I’m not, then.’

  *

  Only Knight was oblivious to the ghosts. He could have watched them on the screen of his mobile phone, but for the moment he seemed to have chosen not to.

  Growl could sense them – Gemma knew that from the way he became quiet and surly. His usual avuncular character was hidden as he grew more businesslike and serious. If – when – they came across stronger spirits than those walking silently along the lane out of the village, Growl’s temper would flare and at moments like those it was best to avoid him.

  Maria could see them, of course. But Gemma guessed that the pale, ethereal figures she herself saw were even less substantial to Maria. She was eighteen now and with every passing month the older girl’s powers seemed to fade further … Gemma looked forward to the day when she didn’t see the ghosts any more, but it seemed to scare Maria.

  ‘Ah, the church,’ Growl announced.

  The tower was visible between the trees. The top was ragged and the roof was missing. It looked as if a giant had bitten it off, leaving the uneven remains sticking up like a broken tooth into the sky.

  ‘I did manage to do a little research into the parish,’ Growl admitted. ‘There are mentions of the church in some of the architectural texts. It’s unusual in that the tower is separate from the main building.’

  ‘Why did they build it like that?’ Maria wondered.

  ‘If I knew, I’d have told you, wouldn’t I?’ Growl snapped. Immediately, he apologised. ‘Sorry, the texts didn’t give a reason. Probably some local legend or story – there usually is in such cases. I hope we’ll find some clue in the church itself.’

  ‘It may not matter,’ Knight said. ‘The church is old.’

  ‘Fourteenth century,’ Growl agreed.

  Knight thought for a moment, then said, ‘What’s happening here only started in the last month. Something has changed recently. So looking at old records and documents might not help us at all.’

  ‘Or it might be something that happened in 1943, but it’s only having an effect now,’ Gemma suggested. ‘All these people had to leave home. That’s so sad.’

  ‘Upheaval, trauma, resentment,’ Knight agreed. ‘Bound to disturb the place. Good point, Gemma. But I think there must be a more recent trigger, even if the underlying problem is from back in 1943.’

  ‘All these people …’ Maria gestured to ghosts that only she and Gemma could actually see. ‘Gemma’s right. It was traumatic. Devastating. It changed their lives out of all recognition in a single day. A whole village, a whole community just … stopped.’

  Knight had his mobile out and was watching on the screen now. ‘Yes. But I don’t think they’re important. They’re just echoes, playing out the same day over and over again. Endlessly leaving the village.’

  ‘What about the pub where our friend Tommy got his lemonade?’ Growl said. ‘There was interaction there, not just a replay of past events.’

  ‘But to no purpose, or no purpose that we know of. Though maybe the pub is the place to start.’

  ‘Tommy’s dad saw the ghosts in the pub,’ Maria told Knight. ‘Maybe you will too.’

  ‘There’s something to look forward to,’ Knight said. He didn’t sound convinced.

  The ghosts had stopped their ethereal evacuation by the time Gemma and the others reached the welcome sign with the name of the village painted out.

  ‘They did that at the start of the war,’ Knight explained. ‘They took down or blotted out any signs that might help the Germans if they invaded.’

  ‘Not much fear of an invasion by 1943,’ Growl said. ‘Hitler had made the mistake of attacking Russia and the Americans had joined in the war in Europe.’

  ‘Perhaps they just didn’t like strangers,’ Maria said.

  The lane opened out as they entered the village. There was a row of houses down one side. They looked ready to collapse – roofless shells, their empty window frames rotting away. The lane branched off, leading to more houses one way, the church and the school the other. An old-fashioned street lamp stood at the fork in the road.

  The pub was opposite the first row of houses. Its sign was gone, leaving an empty metal frame that creaked in the breeze.

  ‘The Green Man,’ Knight said. ‘According to Tommy.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Maria sniffed. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s open anyway.’

  Gemma stared round. She couldn’t see anyone any more. No ghosts, no echoes of the past at all. Except … ‘The church,’ she murmured. ‘There’s something about the church.’

  ‘The whole place is a ruin,’ Growl pointed out. ‘Not just the church. The houses have lost their windows and roofs. Falling down. The ghosts can have it.’

  ‘What’s that little hut?’ Gemma wondered, pointing to what looked like a tall, thin shed with broken windows round the top.

  ‘Phone box,’ Knight said, sparing it a glance. ‘We’ll look inside the pub anyway. You might pick up something.’

  The pub was empty. Dust and rubble were strewn over the flagged floor. A few broken struts remained across the roof – visible through a hole in the ceiling and the collapsed upper floor. A round table stood lopsided in the corner, with several chairs lying in pieces beside it.

  Broken glass crunched under Gemma’s feet as she walked behind the bar. There were a few dusty bottles lying on their sides. One of the beer pump handles was snapped off and another was completely missing.

  ‘I’m getting nothing,’ Maria said, looking round with obvious distaste. ‘Nothing useful anyway.’

  ‘Gemma?’ Knight asked.

  She could feel something, but nothing significant. ‘Maria’s right. There are echoes and ghosts, but no more than anywhere else. Nothing unusual.’

  The ghosts of the past were all around her. If she focused, concentrated, she could see them: the old men playing dominoes, the barmaid wiping the glasses. She instinctively knew who they were, and something of their background and history. She watched Henry Jones slapping his son for being stupid. Davie Moorhouse, who slipped and fell in 1876 and banged his head and never got up again, was lying on the floor in a pool of spilt beer and spreading blood …

  ‘Poor man,’ Gemma said quietly.

  ‘He was drunk,’ Maria said, seeing where Gemma was looking. But there was a sadness in her eyes too.

  ‘There’s no point in staying here,’ Growl decided, leading the way back to the door.

  There was an old woman standing in the doorway. Gemma could tell from their reactions that Growl and Knight could see her too. But she wasn’t real. She had white hair tied back with a black ribbon and was leaning heavily on a walking stick that looked as if it was made from a gnarled branch of an ancient t
ree.

  Her voice was as old and cracked as her wrinkled face. ‘Beware the green.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Growl said.

  ‘The green. You watch out, clergyman. And the rest of you.’ She nodded emphatically, then turned to go.

  Growl and Knight exchanged looks before hurrying after her.

  Gemma and Maria were close behind. But suddenly all they could see were two men standing outside the pub in the midday sunshine. Alone in an empty, deserted village.

  6

  MARIA LOOKED ALL ROUND. SHE DIDN’T WANT to check her phone. What if she was the only one who couldn’t see the woman now? What if even Knight had more ‘sight’ than she did – what use would she be then?

  Gemma was close beside her. Maria liked Gemma – the girl reminded her so much of herself when she was that age and had first worked for Knight. But at the same time her presence was a constant reminder that Maria was getting older, that her powers were fading … that she was being replaced.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Gemma said quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I’m assuming she was a ghost,’ Knight said.

  ‘What did she mean, I wonder?’ Growl mused, tapping his chin with a thoughtful finger. ‘Beware the green – the pub, perhaps? The Green Man?’

  ‘The village green,’ Knight suggested. ‘Though I don’t see one.’

  ‘It’s quiet again,’ Gemma said. ‘The woman’s gone and all the ghosts have left.’

  ‘Even the birds have stopped,’ Maria realised.

  Knight had his phone out again. ‘No signal. Typical.’

  ‘We received young Tommy’s information,’ Growl said.

  ‘It would have been sent when the phone got a signal again,’ Knight told him. ‘No one lives here. The army has its own communications. I’m not surprised the mobiles can’t connect.’

  ‘Makes it difficult to find out how Webby and the others are doing with their research,’ Maria said.

  ‘Let’s try the church,’ Knight decided. ‘Then I’ll go and get the car. I’m sure we had a signal outside the village. I’ll drive back and call from the checkpoint on the road if necessary.’

  ‘You don’t think the car will put off our spooky friends?’ Growl asked.

  ‘They’re not doing much for us now,’ Maria told him.

  ‘Tommy’s dad was driving a modern car,’ Gemma said. ‘And they saw more than we have.’

  ‘There must be a way to trigger it,’ Maria said thoughtfully.

  ‘It was worth a try, fitting in as best we could with 1943, but there’s equipment in the car … things we’ll need. And I’d like to be able to leave in a hurry if we need to,’ Knight said. ‘Still, we’ll look at the church first.’

  *

  Maria kept her eyes focused on the church doors. All through the graveyard she looked neither left nor right. She knew what she would see. Sometimes she wished her powers would fade more quickly. But then she realised that would simply mean she couldn’t see what was really happening all round her. She knew how Knight must feel – knowing he couldn’t see whether demons were creeping up on him, possibly about to attack.

  The church was in a similar state to the pub. A rat scurried away when Knight pushed open what was left of the door. The wooden pews were rotting and the floor was scattered with plaster and stone. A grinning gargoyle from the roof lay on its broken back and stared up at Maria as she followed Growl along the nave.

  ‘It’s like the pub,’ Gemma said.

  ‘There are echoes and ghosts from the past,’ Maria agreed. ‘But nothing that’s unusual for a church.’

  ‘If there are any records, they will likely be in the vestry,’ Growl said.

  On the wall above a huge archway there was a painting. It was faded, the paint peeling away and the plaster turning to powder. All Maria could see was a confused mess of figures apparently lying in heaps. A river snaked between them. Flaking angels looked down from above. A devil with a pitchfork had lost half its face and one of its horns.

  ‘What is it?’ Gemma asked, following Maria’s gaze.

  ‘A doom painting,’ Growl said, looking up. ‘Probably very fine in its day. It shows the Last Judgement. Demons and angels separating the wheat from the chaff, the Christians from the sinners.’

  Maria found it more unsettling than the ghosts she had seen in the pub. She quickly followed Growl and Knight.

  The roof of the vestry was still in place and it seemed like a room in a different building. Everything was layered in dust and cobwebs hung from the window and walls, but the structure seemed intact.

  A plain, dark wooden desk stood against a wall with an upright chair beside it. The whitewash on the wall above was peeling away in large sheets like paper. Flakes of white were scattered across the desktop and the floor. The tattered remains of a curtain hung from a tarnished rail across an alcove. Behind it, several cassocks and surplices were rotting.

  ‘The choir has long since stopped singing,’ Growl said quietly as he examined them.

  There was a safe in the corner of the room. The door was ajar and Maria pulled it open. She stood back to let them all see that it was empty.

  Gemma was checking the drawers of the desk. The first was empty. The next contained a pile of leather-bound books.

  ‘Parish registers,’ Growl exclaimed as Gemma lifted the books out and put them on the desk. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Old and fragile, but mercifully not too damp. Now we’re getting somewhere. Anything else, my girl?’

  In the last drawer was another book. It was less impressive than the registers – little more than a notebook with a stiff cardboard cover. Gemma opened it.

  ‘Parishioners of Templeton – February 1943,’ she read out loud.

  She turned the page. There was a simple list of names down one side, written in bold capital letters. Against each was a neat address, followed by a signature. Some of the names had been signed simply with an ‘X’.

  ‘All the villagers who were evacuated,’ Knight said as he looked over Gemma’s shoulder.

  ‘Why the X?’ Maria asked. ‘Did they die or something?’

  ‘Either they couldn’t write or they were too young to sign for themselves, I imagine,’ Growl told her.

  ‘The names don’t seem to be in any order,’ Maria noticed. ‘They’re not alphabetical. Just in families.’

  ‘Most important first, perhaps?’ Knight suggested.

  ‘Maybe they just signed when they turned up to church,’ Gemma said. ‘The vicar signed first. Look. Reverend Josiah Oaken.’

  ‘Rector, more likely,’ Growl said. ‘Anne Oaken must be his wife. Then his son probably – James Oaken.’ He leafed through the book, reading off some of the names. ‘Jack Willow, Matthew Pine, Emily Heather …’ Growl clicked his tongue thoughtfully. ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘What?’ Knight asked.

  ‘So many of these names are trees or plants. Anthony Beech, Belinda Appleseed, Marcus Wood … Coincidence or history, I wonder?’

  ‘Derived from a few common roots, maybe? If you’ll forgive the pun,’ Knight said.

  ‘Could be, could be.’ Growl dusted off the chair beside the desk and sat down. ‘Now this will be invaluable if I am to build up a picture of life in the village before it was evacuated. We know who was here. The registers can give us dates of birth, or at least christening, as well as any recent deaths, marriages and so on. I might even be able to identify the people Tommy and his father saw. Gemma, you can help by reading out the names in the registers, then I’ll cross-reference them with this list of the parishioners in 1943.’

  ‘We’ll fetch the car,’ Knight said to Maria. ‘At least then we can start getting a bit more scientific.’

  ‘What did you bring?’ Maria asked as they left the vestry.

  Knight’s answer echoed in the empty church: ‘The usual stuff. Digital video and sound recorders, thermometers, motion detectors …’

  She didn
’t fancy the walk back to the car. But it had to be better than looking through dusty old books with Growl, Maria thought. Gemma was going to be so bored.

  *

  The high hedges along the side of the narrow road made it difficult to judge how far they had come. But they had long since passed the painted-out village sign.

  ‘Can’t be far now to the car,’ Knight said. ‘If we get to the checkpoint we know we’ve gone too far.’

  Maria didn’t reply. She was bored and it was starting to rain. She wondered whether Gemma would be able to see the ghosts still leaving the village, walking with them along the road. Would she herself have seen them a year ago? A month ago? Had she lost the ability in the hour since they arrived?

  She was tempted to get out her phone and see if the ghosts were there. But she couldn’t bear the thought of Knight knowing how weak she’d become. She couldn’t bear her own inadequacy.

  The road curved, rising gently. Round the hedge, Maria at last saw the checkpoint – the wooden barrier lowered across the road.

  ‘Strange. We must have passed the turn-off where we left the car,’ Knight said.

  ‘I didn’t see it,’ Maria said.

  There were two soldiers standing at the end of the barrier. They turned as they saw Knight and Maria approaching. One of them slipped his rifle off his shoulder and took aim.

  Maria skidded to a halt. She recognised them – both the soldiers had been there when they arrived. She could see Knight’s car pulled in off the road beyond the barrier.

  ‘Careful,’ Knight said quietly, his hand on Maria’s shoulder. ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘Who are you?’ the soldier shouted. ‘State your business and show us authorisation or I’ll fire.’

  ‘You can’t just shoot people,’ Maria yelled back.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Knight called. He walked slowly towards the barrier. ‘You remember us. We came through earlier. I have authorisation from Colonel Greene.’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ the other soldier said. He had his rifle levelled at them now. ‘And we ain’t never seen you two before neither.’