by David Haynes
They loaded the cabinet into the hearse using a trolley and headed back to Littleoak.
"You're not going to like it." Tom said flatly
"It can't be that bad." Bobby felt optimistic about the future for the first time in as long as he could remember. He opened the window and inhaled autumn dancing a merry jig with the ocean.
"Oh, it can." Tom whispered.
*
Bobby drove slowly up High Street toward the old village square. On the right was a row of terraced houses and on the left was the post office and a wedding dress shop. He'd given the shop a month when it had opened nearly five years ago. Weddings were still big business it seemed, unlike deaths. Tom had been unusually quiet on the five minute drive into town and it didn't take long for Bobby to see why.
"What the hell is that?" The village square opened up in front of him like it had done on every drive and every walk into town. Only now it didn't look the same. Now it looked like the stuff of horror films. He pulled the car to the side of the street and stopped. Crabbe looked the same except for the top hat plonked on his head at a jaunty angle. Something was written on the hat in elegant script but Bobby couldn't read it from where he was.
"It says, Jacobs The Undertaker," Tom said quietly as if reading Bobby's mind.
"Huh?" Bobby replied. Beyond Crabbe was something far worse. Beyond Crabbe was St. Oswald's Church; what had been the church many years ago at least. It had been derelict for the last thirty years. Had been derelict.
"They must've done it last night while everyone was asleep."
The old church lychgate which had been rotten and unsightly was gone. In its place was an elaborate lattice framework of black and gold iron stretching ten feet into the air. At the summit, and painted in the most vivid scarlet, was the letter J.
"My God!" Bobby climbed out of the car and Tom followed suit.
"Who's Jacobs?"
Bobby started across the square. "You're about to meet him." Tom followed quickly behind.
As they reached Crabbe, Bobby grabbed the top hat without stopping. He was mad, really mad and he intended to shove the hat somewhere. Somewhere Jacobs might not be entirely comfortable with. He reached the elaborate gate and pushed it but it didn't open. Beyond the gate, several men in overalls were busy painting the side of the church black.
"Oi!" Bobby called. None of them turned. "Oi!" he repeated and got the same result. He grabbed the iron work and tugged it. Whoever had designed and erected it was a craftsman. The metal was thick and solid and didn't move an inch under pressure. The metal spikes at the top of the post had been twisted with a careful touch and looked like they were itching to impale something, or someone.
"We could climb over?" Tom said from behind.
Bobby sighed loudly and pushed his finger onto the one of the spikes. "He'll keep." He withdrew his finger and looked at the spot of blood on his finger. "He'll keep." He dropped the hat at his feet and stamped on it. "Come on, let's go, I want to look inside the cabinet."
The largest room inside the shop was the embalming room and after loading the cabinet back onto the trolley it was easy enough to take inside. Tom whipped the sheet off and they both stood back to look at it. The cabinet looked oddly at home surrounded as it was by stainless steel and cold white tiles.
"It's beautiful." Tom purred.
In the daylight Bobby could appreciate just how exquisite it truly was. It was evident just how much care and love has gone into creating it. It was a masterpiece. He stepped toward it and placed his hand on the top. It came to just below his shoulders. "It's incredible," he whispered. Now he had time to look at it properly he could see there were no doors as such. The cabinet was hinged down the back. It was in two halves.
"How old d'you reckon it is?"
"Victorian. Maybe older. I'm not sure but it's the work of a craftsman; a proper cabinet maker and I'll bet it's one of a kind. It's got to be." He was almost certain it was mahogany now he could see it properly and the inlaid flourishes were rosewood. It stood on small wheels, the kind that used to be on the old settee in the parlour.
"It must've cost the old boy a fortune." Tom placed both his hands on the top next to Bobby.
"And the rest."
"Can we sell it then?" Tom replied quickly.
Despite himself Bobby smiled. "Let's see what's inside first shall we?" He walked to the office trying not to think about Jacobs and streams of blood oozing through the key hole.
He returned a few seconds later carrying a desk drawer. It was full of keys and they clanked together like bones in a coffin as he walked into the embalming room.
"No!" Tom was on his knees looking through the keyhole. He dropped the keys and ran toward his brother. "Don't!" He reached Tom and pulled him away by the shoulders.
"What the...?" Tom fell onto his back and skidded into the upturned drawer.
Bobby knelt beside him and offered his hand. "Sorry. I didn't want you looking in first that was all. I didn't mean to grab you so hard."
"It's okay. Not much to see anyway."
Bobby could see a confused look on his brother's face. Not a confused anger about being shoved to the floor by his brother but something else. Something else entirely. "You sure?"
Then the look was gone again. "Sure." His face had visibly whitened and he looked as though he might throw up.
Bobby wanted to ask him if he'd also seen blood dripping in thick globules before his eyes, but he couldn't. Not now at least. "Come on then. We've got to try all these keys."
"Do we need to open it? I mean, do we really? We could just get rid of it and plough the cash straight back into the business. Judging by what's going on over at St Oswald's we might need more cash than you've got squirrelled away.
Bobby looked at the cabinet again. Tom was right, they didn't need to open it. It was probably full of old junk anyway. But something nagged at him. Something tickled the nape of his neck with a feather every time he thought about what might be inside. He had to open it. There was simply no choice.
"Yep, we're going to open it." He pushed the drawer aside and spread the keys over the cold tiles. There were at least a hundred but some of them were modern Yale keys and could be disregarded instantly. He pushed them to the side. He needed something like this to keep his mind off Jacobs and whatever plans he had up his sleeve.
"What's the deal with this Jacobs character then?"
Tom clearly had no intention of allowing the matter to drift to the back of the queue. "The deal? God knows. He turned up here yesterday morning and tried to buy Moreton and Sons from me. Then he tried again last night."
"Really? How much for?"
Bobby thought about it. Jacobs had never actually given a price. He'd not been allowed to. "No idea, he never got that far."
"You said you wanted rid of it. What stopped you?"
Tom neglected to mention he'd actually contacted the estate agent not half an hour before Jacobs showed up. "He did. You'll see what I mean by that when you clap eyes on him. His middle name is, creepy old man."
"He's a fast mover, that’s for sure."
Bobby offered a key to the keyhole and laid it aside; too big. "Yeah he is." He stopped looking at the keys and stared into space. "How long has St Oswald's been derelict?"
Tom shrugged. "For as long as I can remember. Why?"
"Well it doesn't make sense. How did he manage to buy it so quickly, let alone start work on it. And, if he had already bought it, why offer to buy me out; house and all. Give it six months and we'll be out of the picture anyway."
"I guess he wanted the competition out of the way."
Bobby sighed. "I suppose." He stood up. "Just give me a moment to make a call. I'll be right back."
Tom looked at the cabinet and stood up too. "I'll come and put the kettle on."
Bobby found Esther's card on the desk and dialled the number.
A female voice answered. "Eddowes Mansell. Can I help you?"
"Hi, is that Esther?" Bobby a
sked.
"Hello Mr Moreton. Have you reconsidered again?"
How did she recognise his voice? "Err, no sorry. How's it going?"
"Not bad thanks. What can I do for you?"
"I'm not sure you'll be able to tell me but I'll ask anyway. When did you sell St Oswald's?"
"The church? Yes I saw that. It's got nothing to do with us, I can assure you. I didn't even know it was for sale until the gates went up. I can't imagine it's particularly good news for you. Although it does seem a bit odd."
"Odd? Macabre would be a better word for it. He's got some cronies painting it black now. I dread to think what's going on inside."
The other end was silent for a moment. "Black? Oh God, that's not right. I might have to have a look at it. Sorry I wasn't much help."
"No problem." Bobby put the phone down.
"Esther?" Tom asked
"The estate agent. I met her in Crabbe's the other night. Remember?"
Tom nodded. "Ah yes."
Bobby could see the look in his brother's eyes. "Don't start." He punched him playfully on the arm and pushed him against the door as he passed.
"Hey! I wasn't starting anything but since you are, have some of this."
Bobby felt Tom's foot hook around his ankle nearly sending them both crashing to the floor.
"Dick-head."
He heard Tom laughing behind him like he had when they were kids. Like the time they'd been scuffling and fell head first in cow pats in the field. It made him want to laugh too but laughter didn't come quite as easily to him. Particularly not now.
Tom stopped abruptly when they reached the embalming room again. The cabinet stood like an island in a sea of keys. It looked lonely and intimidating.
"I suppose you want me to start looking again?" Tom asked.
Bobby could hear the unease in his brother's voice. It more or less confirmed his suspicions. Tom had probably seen something he couldn't explain too. "I'll look, you can go and put the kettle on." For once Tom didn't argue and almost skipped back out of the room.
"Now, what grim secrets are you holding on to?" he whispered and knelt in the pool of keys.
One by one he picked through them. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for but something that looked like a cliche from a Victorian period play was close. After a few minutes he was aware of the little bell above the door ringing and the sound of voices from the shop. He straightened and thought about going to look but Tom could handle it. For all the messing about and lack of interest, he was pretty good at the job, when he put his mind to it.
"Someone to see you, mate." Tom's voice sounded behind him.
Bobby turned to see Esther standing beside his brother. "Hello?"
"I'll go and put the kettle on." Tom stepped back and winked at Bobby over Esther's shoulder.
"Hi. I've just seen the church, it's very err... Gothic?"
He stood up and walked toward her. "Like Bran Castle maybe?"
"Ah yes, the home of Dracula. Anyway I thought you might like to know. I checked with Mr Eddowes and the church was sold some years back to a private buyer. Someone who tried to convert it to a bar or restaurant but failed miserably. I suppose they must've sold it on to the present owner privately. Not much help though, sorry." She winced. "What did you do to your head? Wait, let me guess. Fell over drunk again?"
Bobby died a little inside. He'd only met her a couple of times and she was making jokes about his drinking. It was a little close to home; too close. "No, that's great, thanks for looking. I don't suppose it really matters, I know who the owner is. And no, I wasn't drunk, I ran into something at home." He could see her trying to look past him. He stepped aside. "It's a beauty isn't it?" he said
Esther took a step forward and slipped on a key. "Shit." She whispered and covered her mouth instantly. "Oh God, sorry!"
Bobby put his hand out to steady her. "Don't worry, it's not a church. It's usually livelier than that in here." He laughed at his own poor attempt at humour but Esther didn't appear to notice.
"It's amazing." She turned to look at him. "Is it yours?"
"Yep. We're looking for the key." He swept his hand across the collection of keys on the floor.
Esther looked down and pushed them with her feet. "Try that one." She pointed the end of her shoe at one of the less remarkable looking keys. "That's the one, I bet you."
"How much?" Bobby replied.
"I'll buy you and your brother a beer after work if I'm wrong. If I'm right, you buy me one."
"Deal." Bobby bent down and picked up the key. It was nothing spectacular but as he lifted it toward the cabinet he knew it was the right one. It almost guided his hand toward the lock.
The metal key bumped against the wood as it drew down the barrel and clicked into place. All at once Bobby was thrown into a nightmare series of visions. All were fleeting and violent to the extreme. Of men, women and children thrashing against the restraint of invisible bonds. It was a place where their screams were voiced through rivers of blood and their eyes ran dark as all hope was lost.
"Bobby? What are you waiting for? Go on!" He heard Tom's voice somewhere behind him, telling him to do it, urging him on. Telling him to turn that key and open up the cabinet. He knew it was the wrong thing to do. He knew it with every part of his body.
He turned the key and felt the mechanism slide into place. It was smooth, as if it had been freshly lubricated that morning and not sat inside a dirty cellar. Freshly lubricated with blood, thought Bobby
"I'd say that means you owe me a drink. Both of you."
The cabinet started to move.
Bobby stepped backward, away from it. He was aware that Tom had come forward and was standing next to him and on the other side was Esther. He didn't have to look at them to know they probably had their mouths open. Just like him.
The two halves of the structure pushed outward forcing the small wheels on the base to engage and rotate until they faced outward. They rolled away from each other without further interference allowing the cabinet to open out like a book. The only sound came from one wheel which whined gently as it rolled over the tiles.
"What is it?" Bobby heard Esther whisper.
He didn't know how to answer. Not exactly anyway because he wasn't entirely sure. His heart pounded like John Bonham was on the loudest drum solo of all time with plenty of fuel in the tank. He was just happy that opening it hadn't filled the room with claret.
He stepped forward and was greeted by the familiar and punchy smell of chemicals. But they weren't the one's he was used to. At least not in that combination. The smell wasn't the only thing which was familiar; familiar but slightly off centre. It was as if he knew what everything was but didn't recognise them. He reached out his hand slowly, as if he was about to touch a tiger. There were vessels of various sizes and types. Some domed, some with beautiful and narrow slender necks and some which were crude and savage looking. There were taps and valves with copper pipes that snaked through and around each other, winding and writhing in their elegant confines. There were drawers of crafted mahogany carrying the same Rosewood motif as the outside.
Bobby pulled open one of the drawers and the wood slid easily against the frame. It was full of delicate yet vicious looking instruments which he knew he should recognise but didn't. Every inch of the cabinet had been crafted as beautifully as the exterior. No expense had been spared, none at all. One instrument Bobby could recognise was the pump which sat at the base of one side of the cabinet. Everything had its place in perfect order. Everything was exactly how it had been left many years ago. The last time it had been used.
He sighed. What everything was called was a mystery but everything shared one similarity. It was all made from copper and it all looked like at had been polished five minutes ago. And into each and every instrument, vessel and tap had been etched in a great flourish, the initials, J.M.
"What is it all?"
"This my dear brother," Bobby started, "is, I believe, a history l
esson in embalming."
"It's incredible. It's perfectly intact." Esther's voice had more than just a little awe in it.
Bobby turned to look at them both. "Apart from one piece by the looks of it." He pointed to an uninhabited fitting. "I think we've just unlocked Jerome Moreton's embalming kit. Probably the only one of its kind." He looked back at it again. "And I'm not sure it was an entirely wise decision."
*
Richard Jacobs looked down the length of the church. What had once been the aisle, pews and bibles was now just a vast open space. It cried out to be divided up; partitioned into manageable office sized chunks, but that wasn't what he had in mind. Not exactly anyway. Apart from the altar of course, that was a special place and had already been sectioned off. Nevertheless, clearing out all the unnecessary religious paraphernalia had left him with a giant exhibition space. A space in which he could display the various antiques and trinkets he had collected over the years. The hand crafted black lacquered coffins, the memento mori, the locks of hair and the assorted death masks. There might even be room for the carriage now the altar had been disposed of.
