‘Awaken!’
At Val’s voice, the three prisoners regained their faculties, and faced with the terrifying slavering beast before him. Ralph screamed and wet himself, and in the same instant the beast that had once been Stan O’Nass gripped his head with its mighty hands, sinking razor sharp talons into Ralph’s head.
Jonathan whimpered as he shuffled as far away from the scene as possible, until he felt his back pressed against the stone wall.
Lilly whispered a near silent prayer for Ralph’s soul, knowing it would be of little use.
Neither of them could take their eyes off poor Ralph as his scream dwindled into a choking noise. Blood trickled from his ears, from his nose and from the corners of his mouth, and the beast licked at the slowly flowing blood. Getting a taste for it, the beast then rammed its tongue down Ralph’s throat, locked its mouth over his, and literally sucked the life from his body.
Jonathan winced at the sickening crunching of bones, wide eyed with stark horror as Ralph’s skull caved in, his eyeballs exploding beneath the pressure.
The creature tossed aside Ralph’s lifeless husk, then turned towards Jonathan, who promptly wet himself.
‘Enough, my brother! One must suffice for now.’
The beast stood up on its hind legs and roared, stretching its front legs upwards. Its fur began to disappear, sucked into the grey tinged flesh that remained, the snarling snout replaced with a large hooked nose and thin blue lips. The man who stood before Lilly and Jonathan went through another transformation, until he was young and handsome, naked as a baby and totally at ease.
The image of Ralph Branagh glanced in Lilly’s direction and smiled at her. ‘Lovely snack. Can’t wait for the next one.’
Unashamed at his nudity, he ascended the stairs, followed by Gerry and Val, who slammed the door once more, this time leaving the light on so the remaining prisoners could view the carnage.
Jonathan and Lilly stared in horrified anguish at the real Ralph’s shattered body, and then at each other.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Lilly said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘I won’t argue with that!’
* * *
Upon returning to Naghene Hall, Rob stocked the cupboards with the provisions, and after milling around in the kitchen twenty minutes preparing a few slices of toast and a cup of tea, he settled down at the desk in front of the library window. He picked up a pen from the pot resting to one side of his typewriter and wrote two names on a sheet of paper.
Stan O’Nass.
Val Hide-Guest.
They were without doubt the two people at the centre of the mystery revolving around the village.
Dorstville.
He wrote the name of the village beneath that of the two locals. It was the epicentre of whatever it was that Stan and the doctor were embroiled in, just as it had been the epicentre of the recent odd weather; the weather, he noted, had changed for the better now he had decided to stay.
Coincidence?
How could it be anything else? No one had the power to control the elements… did they?
If you value your life, stay away from the Devill’s Tor!
The warning words from the telephone call returned to haunt Rob as he stared at the name of the village. He crossed out each letter of the village and wrote them down again beneath.
Devill’s Tor.
There was no doubt about it – the village name was definitely an anagram, just as Gerry had said just before they had arrived.
He began to wonder what else could be formed through anagrams. Words, names, phrases that he had heard since being in the locale.
Naghene.
He wrote the name of the house beneath the other words, sure that its oddity must make it an anagram too.
Everard.
Kinelm.
Barnabas.
He wrote the names, unsure if he spelled them correctly; if they, as Val had said, were dead, then that would make them ghosts. Perhaps they, too, were named through anagrams.
Rob was about to start deciphering the cryptic sounding words he had written when he heard the sound of a car approaching. Unsure why he did so, he placed the piece of paper in the desk drawer and locked it, pocketing the key, then made his way from the library and through the hallway, acutely aware that every painting hanging on the walls seemed to follow his movement. It was a trick of the light, he decided, nothing more than his over active imagination. Even so, it only added to the sense he had perceived for a while that someone – or something – observed him constantly from somewhere within the house. It was a sensation that unnerved him, but again he put it down to his mind playing cruel tricks on him.
Throwing open the front doors, he was somewhat surprised to see Gerry’s red Ford Fiesta pulling up outside. He waited patiently for his brother to alight. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Gerry. I wasn’t expecting you back for weeks!’
‘I had a change of plans,’ Gerry replied. ‘When I got back to London, I met someone who wants to say hello to you.’
As the passenger door to the car opened, Rob realised he had not even noticed that his brother was not alone. His blood turned to ice when an oddly familiar figure stepped onto the ground and faced him. Though he had not seen her for many years, he was still certain he had glimpsed her in the churchyard the night Gerry’s car had blown up, and was equally certain that she had visited him in a recent dream.
And as certain as he was of those events, so he was certain that the woman who stood before him could not possibly be whom she appeared to be.
‘Ginny?’ he gasped.
Virginia Saunders smiled at him. ‘Hello, sweetie. How are you?’
Rob shook his head slightly. The voice, like the body, was unmistakably Ginny’s, but he somehow knew this could not be her. He felt the blood drain from his face, but knew he must keep up the pretence. He knew that if his reactions gave him away then his very life might be in danger, but the shock of seeing someone he thought dead was too much for him, and for a moment he thought he was going to collapse.
‘I went to see Jonathan, and I found Virginia with him.’
Rob faced his brother, not sure what to say. If this was not Ginny, there was also the very real possibility that the man before him was not Gerry. Rob felt his head begin to pulse with the anger and confusion he felt.
Virginia moved closer to Rob. ‘I was worried about you. You sounded strange on the phone last week, so I went to your editor to see if he knew whether there was anything wrong. I had not been there long when Gerry turned up.’
‘And how is Jonno?’
Gerry responded before Virginia could reply. ‘He’s fine. I’m afraid he seems to have moved on though, Rob. He had male company there… if you know what I mean.’
Rob felt his heart leap into his throat. It can’t be true, he thought with desperation. We’d only just made our feelings known. He couldn’t have gone off me so soon!
The sudden desolation he felt at the possibility clouded his judgment, and as doubt solidified in his heart, tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He willed them not to fall.
‘How could Jonno betray me like that?’
Virginia smiled sadly. ‘I am afraid men are all the same. They always betray those they claim to love. Thankfully, we women are not like that. I shall look after you, Rob.’
A faint whiff of honeysuckle drifted lazily on the winter breeze towards him, and in that instant the spell was broken. This was definitely not Ginny. Ginny had done exactly what she claimed Jonno had done and that no woman would do: she had abandoned him all those years ago without a word of explanation; she had betrayed him and broken his heart, and now she seemed not to remember that.
Gerry distracted his thoughts. ‘I’ve brought someone else who was concerned for your wellbeing.’
Rob turned back to the car, surprised to see Ralph Branagh climbing out.
‘Hello, Rob,’ Ralph said with genuine affection in his voice, a warm smile on his lips.
Rob smiled in return, captivated by the handsome young man. His soft spot for Ralph melted his heart, and in the maelstrom of confusion and mixed emotions raging through his mind, Rob felt surprisingly clear about how he felt towards the young man. He seemed more handsome than Rob remembered, and he could not help but feel touched by Ralph’s gentle commiserations about Jonathan’s apparent lack of decency.
The scent of honeysuckle insinuated its way further into Rob’s mind, ensnaring his many stray thoughts to quell the conflicting confusion. He felt a love for the young man wash over him, thrusting aside any thoughts that it was not proper. He knew he was bewitched but did not care.
The honeysuckle smell grew in strength, wrapping tendrils around his consciousness, strangling his free will.
But then his thoughts strayed to Satan, and to Jonno, and the moment was gone. He was fully in control again. He sensed the invasive presence in his mind and capitulated falsely.
‘It’s good to see you again, Ralph,’ he said with a smile. ‘In fact, it’s good to see you all, but none of you can stay here. I’ve just started writing, and I really can’t have any distractions.’ He saved his warmest smile for Ralph as he uttered those words.
‘I promise you won’t even know I’m here,’ sighed Ralph, staring longingly into Rob’s eyes with such intensity that Rob felt a new set of icy talons reach into his mind, twisting his thoughts, tormenting him with vibrant images of Ralph and him entwined, kissing, loving; madly, passionately.
Rob closed his eyes, struggling to block the images. ‘Please,’ he gasped, almost in pain at the mental onslaught, ‘it wouldn’t matter how quiet you were, Ralph, I’d know you were here. Much as I would adore your company, I’m afraid you’d be far too much of a distraction. I’d never get any writing done.’
Ralph smiled as Rob opened his eyes once more. ‘It’s all right, Rob, I understand.’
Gerry glanced uncertainly at Virginia and Ralph. ‘I’m sorry, it looks like we’ve had a bit of a wasted journey.’
‘No, it was not wasted,’ said Virginia. ‘At least we know Rob is all right.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ sighed Rob, and promptly turned, entered the house and closed the door on his visitors without another word.
He leaned heavily against the door, waiting until he heard the car depart once more before making his way back into the library. Seated once more at his desk, he unlocked the drawer and removed the paper, staring at the words he had written.
He rubbed a hand against his forehead, still chilled by the effects of the terrible mental intrusion. What sort of person had the power to invade the thoughts of another?
The scent of honeysuckle had given Val away. Every time she was close by, the smell assailed Rob’s nostrils. He also vividly recalled smelling it the night he and Gerry narrowly escaped being blown up.
He shook his head. No, they had not been in danger that night. Blowing up the car had its desired effect: it kept him in Dorstville.
Was his brother a willing participant in the proceedings, or had his mind merely been too weak to ward off the impressively strong will that had tried to ensnare his own?
Rob tapped the paper thoughtfully. The young man outside had definitely not been Ralph. Was it possible that poor Ralph had suffered the same fate as Ginny? How can anyone have the power to alter their appearance?
He circled Stan’s name, and then Val’s.
Anagrams.
His thoughts came back to the notion that the names of people he had met in Dorstville could be derived from anagrams.
He looked at Stan’s name, and almost cried out in fear and dread when two words leapt right out at him.
Satan’s Son.
Six
Dolores Hawthorne
‘Val, do you think it’d be all right if I borrowed your car for the morning?’
Rob stood in the doorway to the shop, gauging the doctor’s response to his request with interest. He knew instinctively that it was something she would unquestionably feel the need to deny him, but would she come up with a plausible explanation for her refusal?
‘I am uncertain that my battered old thing will get you far.’
Val’s silky voice soothed Rob’s fevered brow, but he was not about to let her invade his mind again so easily. He could see the momentary frown crease her brow all the way from across the shop floor, but it was gone almost before it appeared.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I need to go into Exeter. I’m doing some research for my new book and need to visit a library, and Exeter is the nearest town.’
Val stepped from the behind the counter and approached Rob rather more quickly than he would have wished, and it took a great deal of will power not to back away from her.
‘Naghene Hall has a rather splendid library. Is there nothing there that would aid your research?’
Rob shook his head. ‘Trust me, Val, I’ve had a thorough look through the books there, and what I need just doesn’t seem to be in Naghene Hall’s library. There’s nothing for it other than to go into town. So, may I borrow your car?’
The doctor smiled sweetly, displaying perfectly white, pointy teeth. ‘I think you might be better off asking Gerry for a lift. I really do not think my own car will make the journey.’
A doctor without a decent mode of transport was a concept Rob found hard to believe, but he did not question Val. He merely nodded. ‘I would have asked him, but he’s not around at the moment, which is why I‘ve come to you.’
Val sighed. ‘Very well, but you must promise to be very gentle with my car. She is temperamental at the best of times, and if you push her too hard she might just stop altogether.’ She returned behind the counter and fished in a drawer, pulling out a bunch of keys, from which she selected a car key. She held it out to Rob, who took it with more haste than he would have preferred to show.
‘Don’t worry, Val, I’m a very careful driver.’
Rob found Val’s dilapidated old estate car around the back of her house, parked at a skewed angle half on the pavement outside the door which led into the surgery. It seemed clear to Rob that Val herself was not especially competent at parking, and he wondered when the last time she had driven the car actually was.
After a couple of spluttering false starts the engine gunned into fearsome life, and Rob put the car into gear, easing it away from the pavement. Several sluggish minutes later he got a feel for the car’s erratic engine and drove into Exeter almost as smoothly as if he had been driving his MGB.
Parking in town some time later was a headache; every car park seemed to be full. It was almost as though after the prolonged rain, the unseasonably warm winter sun had brought every person who owned a car into the heart of Exeter at the same time.
After a frustrating hour driving around growing hotter and more irritable by the minute, wishing he were seated in his open topped sports car instead of the old wreck whose windows obstinately refused to open, Rob finally managed to find a parking space. He made his way through the crowded streets, finding the library with relative ease thanks to a few friendly locals who gave him directions.
Inside, the coolness of the library offered a welcome respite from the oppressive heat. The weather seemed to have gone from one extreme to the other in the short time it had taken Rob to decide to stay at Naghene Hall, and he found himself wishing for a return of the rain, which would at least be normal for the time of year.
Making his way through the aisles of books, he located the section marked reference, to be confronted with a bewildering array of thousands of books staring back at him from row upon row of shelves, each helpfully labelled – helpful to everyone, it seemed, except Rob, who had no idea where to start looking.
He spotted an elderly lady replacing books on a shelf nearby, correct in his deduction that she was one of the librarians. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and as she turned away from the shelves to pick up the next book that required replacing from th
e trolley behind her, Rob was struck by the unlined suppleness of her face. She looked a good twenty years younger than Rob had anticipated from his first glance.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, not too loud, as he cautiously approached her.
The woman glanced at him appraisingly with an uncanny sense of familiarity mixed with open suspicion. She removed her round, wire-framed spectacles, letting them fall to her ample bosom on their thin gold chain. ‘May I help you, young man?’ Her voice was definitely more in keeping with Rob’s first assessment of her age, and he decided either she carried her years well, or she had undergone radical cosmetic surgery.
And good for her if she has, he thought. If someone had the money and the courage to put themselves under a surgeon’s knife then they deserved such an excellent result.
Rob offered up what he hoped was his most winning smile, but it soon became clear the cool woman was not to be easily impressed. ‘I’m looking for any books you might have on local history.’
‘Well you won’t find those in this room. Follow me, please.’
She led him from the reference area, past the alphabetically labelled fiction aisles, and came to a halt before a door at the rear of the library.
‘You’re not from around these parts, are you?’ the woman said as she fished in the pocket of her tweed skirt for the key to unlock the door.
‘Neither are you, from the sounds of it. I’m down from London for a while. I’m an author.’
‘I know who you are. You’re Rob Tyler.’ She turned as she opened the door and smiled at him frostily. ‘Your books are very popular, but they are certainly not my cup of tea.’
‘Well it wouldn’t do for everyone to like the same sorts of books, now, would it!’
‘Quite!’
Smile or no smile, the woman’s attitude towards him was beginning to grate on Rob’s nerves. He could not decide whether she disliked him personally, or whether it was merely because of his chosen genre. He paused in the doorway as the woman entered the small room. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’
The Five Tors Page 13
