The Five Tors

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘Maybe we should heed his obvious advice and just carry on driving away from this place. He clearly doesn’t want us to go and investigate, and I think he’s right.’

  ‘But that scream, Gerry. It’s so filled with agony. Some woman is in terrible trouble and we can’t just leave her.’

  Gerry sighed. Rob was right, of course, and no matter how dangerous the situation, they could not simply walk away. He opened the boot and rummaged around before pulling out a torch. Handing it to Rob, they retraced their path with trepidation.

  As they approached the lych-gate, they both gasped at the same instant as they felt something reach into their minds, accompanied by a familiar scent, and they instinctively turned as one at the very instant the car they had just left exploded into white hot flames.

  The force of the blast slammed into them, knocking the pair off their feet like skittles. They felt the full raging heat like an equatorial sun as the Fiesta blazed. Blistering heat radiated out from the furnace and a secondary explosion rocked the car, whilst flaming debris rained down all around, miraculously missing Rob and Gerry as they gingerly picked themselves up from the ground, groping for support as they surveyed the wreckage.

  ‘Satan!’ Rob cried, failing in his attempt to hold back the tears. He clutched onto Gerry’s arm for support as the sobs wracked his body. ‘What the hell could have caused that?’

  ‘They did.’

  Gerry’s whispered words sent a quiver of fear through Rob’s body. It was enough to stem the tide of tears. The pair faced each other at the same time, and Rob saw the stark terror in his brother’s eyes. ‘Perhaps now you’ll believe me. There are evil forces at work here; forces that don’t want you to leave. This more than anything proves that we must get away.’

  ‘Listen,’ gasped Rob, silencing Gerry with a wave of his hand. The screaming had stopped.

  ‘It was probably another illusion to get us away from the car so they could destroy it without killing us.’

  ‘But what if it wasn’t an illusion?’

  Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet and voices filled with alarm, and they turned to see a group of men approaching from the village, whilst beyond them, women and a few children hovered uncertainly in the dim illumination of the doorways to their homes.

  ‘Be ye all right?’ asked the leader of the group in a gruff, pure Devonshire dialect. ‘What happened?’

  The dozen or so men gathered around the pair, each staring menacingly at Gerry whilst regarding Rob almost fearfully. Rob decided he did not like the manner in which they looked at him; it was almost as though they viewed him as the physical manifestation of some potentially fatal disease.

  ‘We heard a scream coming from the churchyard,’ explained Rob slowly, ‘and when we went to investigate, our car exploded.’

  ‘A scream, ye says?’ growled the leader

  Rob nodded. ‘My cat was in that car. Have you any idea what might have caused the explosion?’

  ‘A cat, ye says?’ The man glanced at his fellow villagers, nodding as if it explained everything. ‘Would seem the rumours be true.’

  ‘What rumours?’ demanded Rob, thoroughly vexed by the whole situation. ‘Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on?’

  ‘Bain’t up t’ me.’

  ‘Great! More mystery.’

  ‘It’ll be made clear t’ ye in due course.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not going to offer any explanation, do you think we ought to investigate the scream?’

  The leader fixed Rob with impenetrably dark eyes beneath thick bushy eyebrows as grey as the rest of his hair. ‘None o’ us here’ll set foot in that place,’ he mumbled, indicating the churchyard. ‘If ye goes in there, ye goes on yer own. And don’t ye go expecting us to come’n rescue ye if ye falls foul o’ the spirits that guard the graves!’

  He turned and slowly made his way back towards the houses, accompanied by eight of the other men.

  ‘We’ll come with ye,’ said one of the remaining three.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of the spirits that guard the graves?’ muttered Rob in a condescending tone.

  ‘Danny Moss be a coward, and we’d be mad not t’ be afraid as well, but we can’t let ye go in alone.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

  The heavyset man with white hair and piercing blue eyes led the way, followed by Rob and Gerry, though the remaining two trailed uncertainly behind as they gingerly made their way into the blackness that engulfed the churchyard.

  Picking their way through the dense brambles that snagged at their clothing, Rob faltered as the torch beam picked out the gargoyles guarding the sanctuary of the church itself. They looked so alive, he could have sworn their eyes were following the group. ‘Is this churchyard haunted?’ he whispered.

  ‘The whole area is rife with tales of ghosts and God knows what else,’ whispered back Gerry.

  ‘And you brought me to this place?’

  In spite of their surroundings, Gerry chuckled. ‘I didn’t think you believed in ghosts?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Rob heard one of the villagers take an audible inward gasp of horror, before muttering a brief prayer.

  ‘I suggest ye starts believing, for this here place be one o’ the most haunted in the country.’

  Rob swung the torch around, shining it in the face of the white haired villager. ‘I write tales of the supernatural, but I have never witnessed anything that would make me believe in such things.’

  ‘As a writer, be ye not open minded? Just because ye bain’t seen nothing o’ the sort, don’t mean it don’t exist!’

  Rob thought for a moment. He wanted to agree with the villager’s assertion, but remained sceptical. ‘I guess anything is possible,’ he said, deciding it might be prudent to get on the good side of these men. ‘I’d certainly like to think I’m open minded to all possibilities.’

  ‘Then perhaps all be not yet lost. It were most remiss o’ ye t’ bring him here, Gerald.’

  ‘I had no choice. A friend of his has gone missing, as has Lilly.’

  All three villagers faced Gerry. ‘Lilly has gone missing, ye says?’ said the leader. ‘That be an ill omen.’

  Rob swung the torch away from the group and proceeded further into the tangle of brambles, growing increasingly annoyed by the fact that everyone else obviously knew far more about what was going on, yet for some reason none was willing to help him understand.

  He could not help but be reminded of a scene, repeated in several of his books, where only a fool would enter the domain of the dead after darkness fell, because something awful always happened to those characters: the churchyard was always haunted in his books.

  In spite of his bravado, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. He was certain no one was there up ahead, yet he was possessed by the distinct impression that someone was staring at him from the darkness. Unaccustomed as he was to feeling fear, Rob realised it was, nevertheless, fear that was making his mind play such dirty tricks on him – yet he could not quite commit himself totally to that belief.

  The scent of honeysuckle returned, overpowering him, and he almost stopped. ‘Do you smell that?’ he whispered over his shoulder. The stench was everywhere. It invaded every pore of his body, infiltrating his mind through his nostrils. He sensed that something was about to happen, yet there was a lingering doubt about its nature – a doubt that finally evaporated from his conscious thoughts when the torchlight illuminated the gruesome sight of a woman’s body, whose head seemed to have exploded all over the trunk of the tree onto which she still clutched.

  As Rob came to an abrupt halt, Gerry stumbled into the back of him, and peering around Rob’s shoulder to see why he had stopped so suddenly, he wished he had not, turning abruptly and vomiting into the brambles.

  Attempting to stop the bile rising in his own throat, Rob grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him from the churchyard, closely followed by the three villagers w
ho, even in the darkness, looked pale with shock at what they had seen.

  ‘Everard, what happened?’ whispered one of the men.

  The white haired man stared at him. ‘Kinelm, ye don’t wish t’ know!’

  ‘It has finally started, bain’t it?’ demanded the youngest man., whose white hair looked incongruous atop the face of someone clearly in his early twenties. He stared furiously at Rob, his eyes haunted like those of someone who had witnessed much horror in his short lifetime.

  Everard glowered at him. ‘Be silent, Barnabas.’

  Barnabas refused to listen. ‘It has started, and it’s all because o’ him!’ He pointed unwaveringly at Rob, who had somehow known this would all be his fault.

  ‘What about that poor devil in there?’ Rob demanded, pointing back towards the church. ‘You don’t seem too concerned that some poor wretch has been killed.’

  Everard faced him. ‘Worse’ll come if ye remains here.’

  Barnabas glanced at each of his fellow villagers in turn. ‘Yes’n us all knows what’ll happen if he stays here, don’t us? Us all knows he be the Chosen One, yet not one o’ ye has the courage t’ end it now, before it be too late. Well, if none o’ ye will, then it falls t’ me.’

  He pulled a long bladed knife out of his waistband, lunging with terrifying speed at Rob, who barely managed to sidestep the awkwardly jabbing blade.

  Acting as one, Kinelm and Everard launched themselves at Barnabas, grabbing him from behind. Taken by surprise, he lost his footing and tumbled to the ground, still firmly held in Kinelm and Everard’s grasp.

  Barnabas began crying hysterically as Kinelm twisted the knife from his grasp. ‘I be right proper sorry,’ he sobbed, as if whatever danger he had sensed had passed. The pair released him, but he remained kneeling on the ground, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

  Everard ruffled his hair. ‘Tis all right, young Barnabas, us all knows how ye feels. Don’t us all feel the same? But ye knows killing him’ll only make matters worse. It’ll make us no better’n them! It mayn’t be what they wants, but it’ll make Him stronger.’

  Rob heard the knowing tone to Everard’s voice. He was close to losing his barely restrained temper, because it seemed to him that altogether too many people seemed to have some idea about what was going on, and yet still none of them saw fit to reveal the facts to him. He was about to interrupt, but Everard continued.

  ‘Us wouldn’t have the power t’ fight Him if us strayed into His realm. Ye knows as well as I that Gerald’s friend must be made t’ leave o’ his own accord.’

  Rob could restrain himself no longer. ‘Oh, is that right?’ he snapped. One of the few things certain to raise his hackles was being told what he could and could not do, and he was stubborn enough to do the exact opposite; being spoken about as if he was not in the vicinity when he was in fact within earshot was another. ‘Will one of you yokels have the decency to tell me what the hell is going on? Who is that poor unfortunate soul in there?’ He jerked his hand in the direction of the churchyard. ‘And why did he try to kill me?’ he added, pointing at Barnabas. ‘I think deserve some answers!’

  ‘Young Barnabas here be a simple lad with simple thoughts. His parents abandoned him when he were just a babe. It be said they was killed while out on the moors; it be said they was killed by the High One!’

  Gerry clutched Rob’s arm painfully. ‘I told you, there is evil in this place, Rob. We should get away while we still can.’

  ‘Gerry, you brought me to this godforsaken place for a reason. You knew there was evil here, as you have become so fond of telling me, and now you want to drag me away from here, yet the fact remains that you wanted me here! I don’t understand that, any more than I understand why these yokels won’t explain their actions.’ He nodded back to the churchyard again. ‘Is that fellow in there Jonathan Carson?’

  ‘I think it was a woman,’ whispered Gerry.

  ‘Lilly then? She, like Jonno, appears to have vanished!”

  ‘Tis unlikely t’ be Miss Lilly,’ murmured Everard.

  Rob faced him, fury blazing in his usually placid eyes. ‘Are you going to explain to me exactly what’s going on?’

  ‘If ye has any sense then ye’ll take yer friend’s advice and get out while ye still can.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I have some answers!’ shouted Rob, firmly standing his ground.

  ‘As ye wishes,’ snarled Everard, suddenly losing his pleasant demeanour. ‘If ye wants t’ know what’s going on round here, then I’ll tell ye… it be Black Magic!’

  Rob laughed incredulously. ‘Black Magic did not blow up our damned car.’ His face became suddenly serious. ‘Satan was in that car when it exploded.’

  All three villagers drew back a couple of paces, muttering a unanimous chorus of disapproval at his cavalier use of what was clearly a forbidden word.

  ‘For god’s sake, it’s just the name of my bloody cat!’

  Everard stepped closer, staring into Rob’s eyes, searching for something – truth, perhaps. ‘Ye named yer familiar after the Devil Himself?’

  Rob shrugged in a non-committal manner. ‘At the time, it seemed appropriate. You’d understand if you had met Satan.’

  Everard’s eyes widened. ‘Then perhaps all be not yet lost. Perhaps ye bain’t the Chosen One after all.’ He was lost in thought for a moment, then returned his attention once more to Rob. ‘But it changes nothing. Yer life still be in mortal danger. Ye must leave this place at once.’

  ‘What about that body? The police will surely want to question Gerry and me; we heard a woman screaming, after all.’ The look on Everard’s face caused Rob to falter. ‘You do intend to call the police, don’t you?’

  ‘This bain’t no matter for the police,’ whispered Kinelm. ‘Involving them’d only make matters worse.’

  ‘Couldn’t be any worse for that poor bitch in there!’ snapped Gerry, pointing back towards the churchyard.

  ‘She were a local girl. She won’t be missed.’

  Gerry whirled on Everard, pausing only to relinquish the fresh bile than rose in his throat. ‘How could you recognise her through all that… that…’ His voice trailed off as he sought words to describe the carnage. ‘Dear God, what could have caused such terrible injuries?’

  Rob grabbed his brother’s arm as a terrible thought occurred to him. ‘Whatever did it must still be around here, though…’ He sniffed the air. ‘No, the smell of spring flowers has gone.’

  ‘Oh, so you noticed that too then?’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed it, Gerry. And I smelled it earlier this evening too.’

  Kinelm interrupted the pair. ‘Tis Black Magic that done it. Tis the trademark o’ the Creature o’ Darkness known hereabouts as The High One. The High One do kill its disciples when they have outlived their usefulness. That,’ he added, pointing towards the churchyard, ‘be how it kills them!’

  In spite of the gruesome evidence before him, Rob snorted scornfully. ‘Black Magic? Creature of Darkness? High One? I fear you’ve been reading too much pulp horror. Have you read The Creature Within?’

  ‘We read no books hereabouts. Books be banned in Dorstville.’

  Rob’s scornful laughter ended abruptly. ‘Books are banned here? By whom?’

  ‘No one in particular,’ said Everard as Kinelm glanced at him for guidance, having obviously said too much. ‘They just be banned. None o’ us here can read.’

  ‘No one in this village can read?’

  ‘Well, the doctor can. She be well educated, and one or two others that have come from outside the village.’

  Rob fixed Everard with a penetrating stare. ‘I was under the impression that outsiders were not particularly welcome here!’

  Everard was evasive in his response. ‘I wouldn’t know nothing ‘bout that. Best ask the doctor if ye wants answers t’ yer questions.’

  Rob shook his head wildly as a wave of nausea crept up on him at the mention of the doctor. He could not pinpoint the exact nature of
his unease, but the woman had imprinted herself upon his psyche, and she unnerved him in an unnatural way. He certainly did not wish to speak with her again. If she had some connection with the gruesome discovery in the graveyard then he certainly did not wish to meet her again.

  ‘This is not the first I have heard of an unnatural demon in this area,’ whispered Gerry in his brother’s ear. ‘Stories of such a beast are rife hereabouts.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention that before we came here!’ hissed Rob.

  Gerry shook his head. ‘You don’t believe in such things, so there didn’t seem much point.’

  Rob’s shuddering slowly subsided. Gerry’s perfectly correct, he reasoned. I might write about such things, but I don’t believe in all this mumbo jumbo about some Creature of Darkness.

  So why am I so scared?

  ‘Have any of you lot seen the thing that killed that poor woman?’

  Everard seemed to have taken on the mantle of spokesman for the men. He faced Rob solemnly. ‘Them that has seen the creature did not live t’ tell the tale.’

  ‘So how do you know about it then?’

  ‘There be tales told long ago that say the Horned Beast himself do walk amongst us, disguised in human form.’

  ‘Whatever folklore you might have heard over the years, to me it’s all bunkum!’

  ‘But ye have seen the evidence with yer own eyes. What human could inflict such terrible injuries upon another?’

  Rob stubbornly refused to budge on his viewpoint. ‘There are some seriously wicked people in this world. I cannot subscribe to your point of view that this was anything other than a gruesome murder.’

  ‘But her head exploded,’ whispered Gerry, still clearly affected by what he had witnessed.

  Clamping his eyes shut tight in an effort to blot out the mental image that came to him of the poor woman’s desecrated body, which still lay in the unwelcoming bosom of the tree within the churchyard, Rob saw in his mind’s eye the unmistakable image of someone from his past. It was someone he was certain he had seen moments before he and Gerry had climbed into the car to drive off, and who had for a while evaded his thoughts, as if it had been someone’s intention that he should forget about her completely.