“I’m not leaving your side Luke McGowan. Do you understand that? I’m going with you and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
Luke slammed the palms of his hands against the jeep’s steering wheel.
“Damn it Lena! God Damn it!”
“Throwing a fit isn’t going to change my mind either. I’m with you all the way on this one. Like I told you I would be.”
“And if I beg?”
“Nope. That won’t work either.”
“Guys. We really need to get going,” John interrupted their bickering. “It’s now or we go back.”
Luke was looking deep into Lena’s eyes. She placed her hand gently over his smiling face. Kissing the tip of his nose she then said, “Let’s go. I’m all ready to kill these things.”
Knowing he would never be able to change her mind, Luke reluctantly turned to face the fields once again. Then, pressing his foot down hard on the accelerator, he pushed the jeep through the remaining trees. Within seconds they were careering down the hillside at great speed.
~ ~ ~
Claire could not remember who had struck the first blow. She could recall sitting at the dining room table with Lee on her lap listening to the group of people who were standing around them, their faces hidden beneath their hoods. She didn’t need to see them either to know what lurked beneath the cloth. She’d known their crooked expressions since childhood and, in doing so, had come to understand what made them tick. It was Lee she wanted to protect now. Her life was meaningless if it meant living without her only son. They could do whatever they wanted to her. It was of no consequence to Claire. As long as they allowed her child to live she was content.
“Lee?” Claire now whispered. Her head had been fastened tightly to the stretcher. She could barely turn her neck and, when she had finally managed to turn, it had caused her so much pain that she’d immediately stopped.
“Lee?” she called again, this time louder. From the corner of her eye she could see Lee thankfully asleep in the stretcher next to her. She watched helplessly as his fine, brown hair was blown in every direction by the building wind that cold mid-winter evening. They had drugged her son of course−a routine measure on nights such as these. It wasn’t done out of any sense of compassion. Claire had known these creatures long enough to know that compassion was something they lacked entirely. It was simply practical. A screaming child, however small and helpless, was prone to hold up a sacrificial ritual and that, according to all the ancient texts, was something to be avoided at all costs.
“Lee?” she tried one final time hoping with all her heart that her boy would stay silent. He did, thankfully. Whatever potion he’d been forced to drink in the hours beforehand had done its job well. Whatever happened from this point on she knew he would stay asleep. Perhaps, when that time came to free her from her ropes, she could grab Lee and flee into the forest. Claire knew deep down, having been present at similar rituals down the years, that it was a desperate plan and one which would ultimately fail. She and her son were to be sacrificed that evening. Lucifer would have his offering and there was no one who could save them now. She closed her eyes for several moments and tried to remember her life before the drink. She could see herself with Lee as a baby holding him tight in her arms caressing his head and wishing that he would never grow old enough to be able to leave her embrace. They were fading memories. Something very bad was to happen not long after Lee had reached five. Her addiction to alcohol had been growing steadily for many years up until that point. At first, in those early years, she’d been able to hide it from those around her quite well. She’d used to slip the small bottles of whisky beneath her chair cushion if anyone had entered the room unexpectedly, or slip it under her blouse. This ability had been primed to perfection and it had come as quite a shock to those in her neighbourhood when Claire had first been spotted staggering around the streets half-naked or, at her very worst, crawling along the pavement on her hands and knees, her face often bruised, cut and bedraggled. During those lost years her memories of Lee had become muddled. She could see his face crying often whenever she cast her mind that far back. There were sirens too flashing this way and in her mind’s eye. Sometimes she would hear Lee screaming out her name and sometimes, on very rare occasions, she could see herself losing her temper and beating Lee until he had stopped moving. There were other memories too, ones far too terrible to relive, that she’d managed to block. The drinking had turned her into something very ugly during those years and, in those secret moments of reflection, during those rare moments of sobriety, Claire had prayed that one day Lee would come to understand and forgive her for all her sins. As it stood, perhaps minutes from the bonfire, that day would never come. With her system suddenly clear of all alcohol and having been cast into a harsh, bright reality, each painful memory came flooding back.
“Stop!” A voice suddenly boomed.
Claire opened her eyes to find that the procession had stopped.
“Stop!” the voice commanded once more.
Claire was watching the figure at the very head of the procession. He stood facing the bonfire and the forests which sat beyond, the strong wind causing the rim of his hood to flutter very slightly. He stood calmly, his right arm raised high towards the heavens, the palm of his hand open wide so that it very nearly blocked out the full moon that hung overhead. As ordered, the procession had come to an abrupt standstill. She couldn’t understand why they had stopped until she began to hear the sound of the approaching engine.
“Mum,” Lee’s voice had then called out so softly at first she had almost missed it.
“Mum,” he called out again louder and with more panic.
She turned to see her son struggling beneath his ropes, his tiny face red and flustered, his hair being made to dance wildly in the cold mid-winter air.
“Go back to sleep Lee. Please baby. Just go back to sleep,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep my beautiful baby boy.”
The procession was beginning to edge back by this point. One by one, each figure had begun to retrace their footsteps. There was something else too. Claire could see the shape of a large vehicle racing towards their procession hurtling down the hillside at such great speed that within seconds it was only a few metres from the stretcher.
“Smash them,” she began to whisper. “Smash them all to pieces!” she continued, this time raising her head from the stretcher and screaming with all her might. “Smash their lizard bones into dust!”
There followed an almighty crashing sound. Claire could feel herself being flung high into the air. She could hear the lizards screaming beneath her as their wiry frames were pummelled by the jeep’s thick crash bars. A blizzard of unimaginable pain then followed as she’d connected with the solid, frozen earth below. She could hear the jeep’s engine only metres from her head. She could see a flurry of panicked bodies darting this way and that. She could hear the cries of both lizards and men and the unmistakable scent of burning flesh.
And then, after what had felt like many hours, there had been silence. Claire had fallen unconscious. Once again, in her dreams, Lee was with her on her lap.
Marshall opened his eyes to find slim funnels of smoke rising slowly above his head drifting off into the early evening gloom. He could hear the sound of people screaming from a distance and nearby. He could also smell the distinct scent of burning flesh. It was a scent he knew very well. For a moment, as he lay sprawled across the fields, he tried to recall which battlefield this dream had taken him to. Surely it was a dream? At any moment he expected to see a British squaddie looming over him, his face covered in camouflage and a rifle slung across his back. Marshall had returned to the front line in this dream. He was certain. The Falkland’s War would never quite leave him. The memories from those years had stalked him to the present day. They had, it seemed, even learned how to gate-crash his dreams. Only Marshall wasn’t dreaming on this occasion.
“Spencer? Are you there Spencer?” Marshall began to mu
mble.
The screams were growing louder now. Very slowly, Marshall tried to sit himself upright. Something very strange was happening. He could see the Chatterton House in the near distance and the woods which lined the hills that encircled the entire estate. He could see men fighting other men too. He could even see Alexander’s old jeep a little way off.
“Spencer? Where are we?” he called again, the memory of what had just occurred slowly revealing itself to him. He was still in Chatterton Village. That much was obvious. He remembered the procession he’d been leading with Spencer and then the sound of the jeep as it had roared towards them. In his mind’s eye, he watched again as the jeep had then ploughed into the procession.
“McGowan,” Marshall now whispered suddenly recalling everything, his eyes back on the field and the battle which was still raging only feet from where he’d landed. He was trying to stand when he noticed Luke and Lena racing towards the Chatterton House.
“McGowan,” he whispered once more, again trying to lift himself from the mud. It was no use. For some reason he couldn’t stand. It was then, as his eyes had begun to scan the patches of grass and mud surrounding him, that he noticed something else: a sight that was at once very troublesome. Marshall had spotted a pair of legs half-hidden within the tall grass. The limbs had been torn from their torso with such force they had hardly had the time to register the fact and now sat twitching uncontrollably in amongst the blades of grass and daffodils.
“My legs,” Marshall whimpered, glancing down at his stomach. His legs had been torn off completely. What remained of his intestines were now spread across the fields.
“My legs,” he repeated. This time there would be no miraculous recovery. Even reptilian hybrids knew when their time was up and on this occasion Marshall could see that all his nine lives had been called in.
“You lizard bastard! You dirty, lizard bastard!”
Marshall raised his head slowly upwards as the voice had sounded. At first the surrounding smoke made it difficult for him to see the owner’s voice. Only when the smoke had begun to part could he begin to make out Andre standing over him, his sword raised high above his bald head.
“Prepare to leave this world, Marshall,” Andre continued, a large grin spread across his fat face.
“Please don’t kill me,” Marshall whimpered. “You can join us. I can see to it that you’re made welcome.”
In one swift movement, Andre brought the sword crashing down, the heavy blade slicing through Marshall’s thick skull as if he’d been running a house knife through butter. After a moment or two of twitching, what remained of Marshall’s torso then slumped into the grass. Slowly, Andre wiped the sword’s blade across his leg. Not wanting to linger too long over his victory, the giant Russian then turned to re-join his comrades in battle. The war was yet to be won.
~ ~ ~
Lord Chatterton stood in the centre of the hall. Having snatched Lee from the field seconds after the jeep’s impact, he’d now placed the child safely inside the pentagon.
“Don’t cry child,” Spencer now spoke, reaching down to wipe the tears from the boy’s cheek. “This is how it must be. This is how it’s always been,” he repeated looking towards the hall’s mighty oval windows. The battle was still raging outside. Soon, he knew, the villagers would triumph. This moment had been coming for generations and he was curiously at peace with the idea. He would make the final sacrifice himself that evening. Lee would be offered up to Molek just as the others had been year after year.
“I’m going to slit your throat from one ear to the next, Lee. I’m going to do it in such fashion that you will feel every cut. Are you listening?”
Lee didn’t reply. Already paralysed with fear, he could only nod his head. Spencer smiled, relishing the boy’s terror. Already he could feel his old body changing, rejecting its frail casing to transform into something far more powerful, ancient and terrible.
“Close your eyes now Lee,” Spencer continued kneeling down in front of the boy, his tongue forked and flickering with each word spoken. “Close your eyes, sweet child, and know you are going to a far better place.”
“What…What are you?” the boy muttered wiping away his tears.
Chatterton paused, giving the question some thought. Smiling broadly he then answered,
“Fallen angel. Demon. The stuff of fairy tales I suppose…”
Once again, as Chatterton finished speaking, Lee tried to pull away. However, Spencer’s grip was too strong. His features were beginning to change drastically now. His skin, suddenly grey and leathery, appeared to swim across his skull such was the speed of this transformation. His eyes too, once small, deep set and narrow, had begun to grow and shift shape at such speed that within a matter of seconds they had lost all their human form. Spencer raised his eyes one final time towards the statue which sat at the far end of the chamber. The great owl glared back at him. Molek, the great god of Ammonites, the greatest of all the Pagan deities, would have his final sacrifice that evening. Slowly, having lowered his head before the statue, Spencer began to remove his cloak.
“Did you see where he went?” Lena asked as Luke smashed down the door with his shoulder. “I’m sure he ran back into the house,” she continued, kicking what remained of the door. It gave easily enough this time and together they stepped through the piles of broken wood and busted locks. Luke drew his knife while Lena released the samurai sword from its sheath. The jeep had smashed into the procession at great speed. Luke had taken Lena to one side, while Andre and the others had ploughed into the procession. From a cursory glance it looked as though several of those in cloaks had been knocked to the ground. The others, panicked by the jeep’s arrival, had scattered about the field. A curious standoff had then ensued. For several seconds after, both groups had faced each other unwilling perhaps to make the first move. One by one, the procession had then begun to regroup. Chatterton had revealed himself at this point removing his hood and holding his staff skyward. He’d waved the staff towards Andre and the other three men. On cue, his men had started towards them. By this point, Claire had managed to free herself from the stretcher and was in the process of releasing Lee when Chatterton had turned and headed back for the house. Instinctively, Lena had raced to help her mother and brother. Luke had gone after Chatterton himself. Having helped Claire and Lee inside the jeep, Lena had then followed Luke. As they both crept through what remained of the east wing, the jeep could be heard reversing away from the field.
“Quiet!” Luke demanded, having suddenly stopped. “I think I can hear something.”
They stood silent, the sound of battle still raging outside. They were standing in a small stone chamber. Moonlight filtered through the chamber’s solitary window. The floor to the chamber was bathed in this faint moonlight, while its corners, too far from the tiny window, had been left pitched in darkness.
“Do you hear it?” Luke repeated.
“Hear what?” Lena asked unsure what she was supposed to hear. “I don’t hear anything.”
Luke placed his hand across her arm and carefully began to walk towards the end of the chamber. A door stood at the end. Behind it, as they approached, the sound of something shuffling could be heard. There was sobbing too. Luke paused. The sobbing followed by the sharp and terrified intakes of breath was that of a small child.
“I can hear it now,” Lena spoke, gripping the sword tighter with each new step closer.
Luke was the first to arrive at the door. Raising his knife carefully, he pressed its point against the door’s frame and began to push it open. Inch by inch, the door began to swing wide. A larger chamber then opened up before them. As with the building’s turrets, the roof to this particular chamber had all but crumbled away. As they looked skyward, Luke and Lena were able to view several floors above them. At the far end of this chamber, and much to their surprise, a large statue could be seen, its gigantic head almost reaching into the floors above through the rotting and broken ceiling. The statue had
been carved from wood, perhaps from the same oak trees which ringed the Chatterton House. The carving was that of a giant owl whose large, bulbous eyes, all-seeing, now followed Lena and Luke as they had entered. But this wasn’t their only discovery. At their feet, in the very centre of the chamber, a chalk pentagon had been drawn. A figure sat hunched within the pentagon. Lena and Luke hovered beside the door unwilling to step any further, their eyes flashing between the statue and the figure who crouched within the pentagon. A strong, eerie presence seemed to fill the chamber. Both Lena and Luke had felt it the second they had entered.
“Is it him?” Lena whispered.
Luke didn’t reply. Whoever it was appeared to be kneeling. There was something moving at the feet of this man too. Luke could see what looked like legs and arms. Once again, the small child began to sob, occasionally breaking into muffled screams.
“Luke?”
“Stay back.”
Something else was happening in the chamber now. A strange light could be seen hovering above the figure and the child. It shimmered directly above them, dark red in colour, often vanishing from sight for a few seconds only to reappear just as suddenly. The peculiar shape was emitting such powerful heat that Luke could feel the back of his hands beginning to blister.
“What is it?” Lena asked mesmerised by the strange phenomenon before them.
“I’m not sure,” was Luke’s honest reply. Whatever it was had been summoned by Chatterton. He was sure of that.
Having sensed their presence, the figure in front of them now slowly began to rise. Luke gripped the handle of the knife tighter. Lena was already raising her sword in preparation. The child, having been abandoned by his aggressor, started to scream. He was, Luke reasoned, no older than ten. The poor boy had been terrorised. That much was certain. A split second later, Luke realised who the child actually was.
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