by P. K. Tyler
Pleased to be once more upon level ground, I took a path worn away in the grass from the wheels of recently passed carts. I approached a modern looking redbrick wall which enclosed the gardens of the house. Following this, I encountered an entranceway to the grounds with only one of the two trellis gates remaining (the other had fallen and hung untidily from its hinge). Wondering why a mere farmhouse would employ such fortifications, I stepped into the wild gardens and sodden, knee-high grass and weeds. Looking down at me dauntingly was the three-storey farmhouse of gabled roof and grand chimneys, silhouetted, like a woodcut, against the grey sky.
My desperate hope of a way in was more than granted as the original oak-studded doorway remained ajar, as if either its owner had left in a hurry or it had been left as an invitation for weary travellers such as I.
I stopped briefly to run my hands appreciatively over the thick grainy wood, then penetrated the gloom into a large, dark hallway which led into a kitchen and thence a dining room, the latter of which I beheld such exquisitely preserved wood panelling which left me momentarily open-mouthed in awe. The house seemed to be empty with the exception of dirty white curtains at the windows and fireguards at the large fireplaces within the kitchen and dining room.
Soaked as I was, I decided to venture outside while some daylight remained in order to collect a quantity of wood in which to make up a fire. Only after that could I contemplate drying myself. This I managed to achieve, having painstakingly fumbled over scraps of a newspaper which I discovered upon the hearth in the kitchen and also a box of Lucifer matches which I happened to possess (a lingering habit from my smoking days). The newspaper was dated January 1870—as many as twenty years ago.
Somewhat drier and within the warm glow of the firelight, I began to feel I had found my sanctuary for the night and, although I would have to forego food and water until the next day, at least I had light, warmth, and shelter. I laid my coat over the fireguard to dry as I sat cross-legged before the flickering fire, holding my collar about my neck as I watched the twigs and wood I had collected sizzle and pop in the flames. After an hour or two thus, I became curious of the upper floors and I could not help but wonder if there may be some item or two of furniture remaining somewhere; indeed, a makeshift bed which I may be able to utilise would be most welcome. So, with reluctance, I abandoned the warmth of the fireside and mounted a wide, sweeping flight of bare, wooden steps to the cold, breezy upper storey.
I penetrated the dark corridors with only the light of my Lucifers illuminating merely two yards or so ahead to reveal dirty walls, shadows, and cobwebs all around me; I creaked and echoed through empty bedrooms, but my search turned up nothing save an oddly misplaced photograph frame, lying face down on the dusty floorboards of one of the smaller bedrooms.
I picked up the gilt frame, which was heavy but small enough to nestle comfortably into the palm of my hand. I turned it over to behold a rather grainy photograph of a woman within the oval border; she was seated and looked directly at the photographer with soft, kind eyes. Under closer scrutiny, however, one could determine from the tenseness of the sharp jaw-line and the furrow of her brow, those eyes held some fear, some subdued apprehension; another observation of note was a distinct streak of white intersecting her otherwise jet-black hair.
Dismissing my curious find, I replaced the object, leaning it respectfully against the skirting-board. I left the room to continue my search and, spying another flight of straight, narrow stairs, I ascended into the creaking attic.
As I emerged into this uppermost floor, directly into a huge room, the wind fought, whistling for admittance as the exposed timber groaned in protest. Small dormer windows with thin, dusty curtains on both sides of the room would have afforded some light in the daytime, but large oil lamps hanging from heavy chains in a straight line along the whole length of the room seemed to be the preferred light source. Access seemed to be restricted to this single room, as the adjoining doors I found to be locked. As I wandered the length of the room, dim light from the windows revealed heavy, wooden tables along the centre which had been overturned, spilling glassware over almost every part of the floor. I knelt down and noticed that this glass consisted of broken jars and cylinders of a scientific nature. Some even contained residue of some dried up, brown chemical.
As I stood again and this time viewed the whole room from what little light extended from my matches, I beheld a scene of chaos. It was as though someone had smashed up the entire apparatus. But why? As I continued walking, more strewn debris presented itself, rubber tubing, burners, wooden test-tube holders, sharp surgical implements which caused me to shudder. Curious wicker cages of all shapes and sizes were piled up to the beams in a corner. Would these have contained animals—rabbits and so forth? But some of the cages were large enough to accommodate something much bigger than that, perhaps some form of large primate. I lit another match and studied the padlocks of some of these baskets in more detail. It seemed that each and every one had been torn from its home, still locked.
At that, my match burned out.
* * *
III
Deciding that the attic level of the house must have formerly been employed as some kind of laboratory and was of no use to me, I descended to the first floor with some remaining hope of finding materials which I could use as bedding. Wishing I had a candle, I made a thorough search of every empty room with my dwindling matches. Having a passion for buildings of this period, I was quite at home exploring the house, estimating its layout to date at around the mid-17th century. Such buildings often incorporated hidden alcoves and hiding places, for, as I was exploring one of the empty bedrooms (I am accustomed to tapping on the walls to check for such hidden recesses), my efforts were rewarded with a hollow sounding knock upon a section at the far corner of timber-framed wall.
In the gloom, I dug my fingers into a narrow gap at the edge of a panel and pulled outwards. As I had guessed, a section the size of a small doorway opened out immediately upon a second door which, likewise, opened to reveal a small cupboard; as tall as a man and about three feet deep. I hurriedly struck a fresh match and stepped inside. There were shelves on the interior walls but nothing upon them that I could make use of. As I turned to go, my foot slid as one of the floorboards slipped beneath it.
Could it be?
I hastily extinguished the match and knelt down to feel around the floorboards with both hands. There it was! I could feel a panel which was loose and not in keeping with the rest of the boards and, digging my fingernails into the edges, I lifted it wholly upwards and out. With impatient hands, I reached for my box, struck a match, and thrust it into the recess. Yes: a Priest's hole. I sat upon the edge, lowered my legs inside the void, and launched myself inside and onto a solid brick floor. That was when I heard a door slam above me and my match flame quivered and died in a sudden gust of chilly air.
I hurriedly struck another match, noting grievously that I only had some half dozen remaining. I hoisted myself back up through the hole; luckily the priest's hole was not tall, and so I was able to lift myself back into the cupboard. I went straight to the inner door which, to my irritation, seemed to be jammed. Feeling the match burn my fingers. I discarded it and lit another. I could only assume that the wind had caused the door (or both doors) to slam with such force that they had somehow jammed. Cupping the match carefully in both hands, I charged my shoulder into the door, but the wood was thick and solid. I kicked at it with the heel of my shoe, aware that the match had burned out and I was once more in the dark. I kicked and banged again and again but the door held fast.
Exhausted, I rested my head on the oak and then I slid down to a crouching position. Lighting yet another match, I descended back through the small gap in the floor and into the priest's hole. My remaining two matches were used searching around this rectangular brick tomb, searching and hoping vainly for an alternative means of which to make my escape, but my efforts were to no avail. I was in complete darkness. Darkness as I
had never known before.
For what it was worth, in a solitary house, alone in the middle of nowhere, I shouted and screamed my heart out for someone to come to my aid. I bellowed for the minute hope that there might be someone passing by, perhaps drawn to the smoke at the chimney, and who would hear my cries, but there were only the mocking gusts and whistles of the free wind, far away outside.
I was trapped. I had assumed that my fragile health would be the finish of me; I could never have imagined a death such as that; left to starve and rot in an accidental prison. A prison I had walked straight into due to my own stupid, selfish obsessions. It was as though I had been bricked up alive. In a last surge of effort, I climbed up, out of the priest's hole, to the door and banged upon it with my fists. "Heeeey, anybody there... Help me. HEEEELP..." I sank to the floor again and wept. Someone might come by the old place tomorrow. Perhaps?
* * *
IV
When I heard the noise, I had no perception of how long I had been crouched in those awful confines. Perhaps minutes, maybe hours. I was in a stupor borne of fear and resignation.
At first, I thought the tone of the wind had changed its pitch but then the noise became more distinct. A distant grunting, which became closer and louder. With renewed hope I beat the door and shouted out.
The noise which answered me was a shrill screaming, a terrible sound I recognised as the squeal of a pig. Perhaps some pigs had escaped their field and had entered the house and ascended the stairs in the same manner as I had. Such animals will eat anything and will search incessantly for any available morsel. This was hope itself, as the farmer might be aware and come to collect his livestock. I prayed that the pigs would remain, but would my hollering attract them or frighten them away? I was unsure, but I simply had to do something, so I yelled out, again and again. I then listened with my ear to the door. The squealing had stopped but the animal remained. I determined there to be only one pig from the singular sound of grunting and snorting. I tapped on the door and listened again, and then I spoke softly, encouragingly to the animal.
Imagine my surprise, let alone my elation, when I heard the latch on the outer door slowly begin to lift. The farmer perhaps? “Hello! In here!” I shouted. There was a brief silence, which worried me for a moment. What if I could not be heard through the thick wood? But then, as I pondered fearfully, the second door, the very door on which I leaned onto, slowly opened outwards. A growing silver haze of light appeared. I pushed and was out like a shot.
My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and in the dim moonlight which now shone, I observed, to my surprise, no pig, but the dark silhouette of a large man of well over six feet in height, holding on to the door latch. He seemed to be some kind of labourer from what I could determine, being dressed in woollen trousers with braces and a dirty white shirt with no tie. Shadows concealed his face completely.
Smiling with such grateful relief, I offered the man my hand. Strangely, he seemed frightened by my gesture and stepped back. My senses were then assaulted by a horrible deafening scream which chilled me to the very core.
This was not the voice of a man but the shrill squeal of a pig. As he stepped back into a stream of watery moonlight which shone through the window, I looked him straight in the face for the first time and nearly collapsed, such was my shock at what I saw. For, on top of this powerful man's body was a huge, misshapen head. Not the head of a man, but that of a pig; its live, beady eyes regarding me with fear as it continued to draw away and tense, with clenched fists as if ready to defend itself if necessary. The dirt-ingrained wrinkles and jowls of the face wobbled loosely in confusion. On top of the head and between two huge, constantly twitching ears, I could determine a suggestion of sparse, dirty reddish hair.
I had seen enough. I fled straight out of the room. In my panic, I ran into one of the bedrooms instead of taking the staircase down to the ground floor to make my escape. There was a door at the far end of the room which was higher than floor level. I assumed this to be a closet of some kind. Hearing that awful, shrill porcine shriek somewhere behind me, I flung open the double doors, hoping vainly that some escape would reveal itself to me; but as I threw the doors wide, I saw, catching the moonlight, a shining skull. Then an entire skeleton, evidently long dead, came out of the murk and into my focus. It hunched against the corner of the small closet—bones within a heap of rags, though I could tell the clothes belonged to a man and were once of a high quality. There was some evidence of dark hair and what looked like thin, ragged cuts of leather attached to the skull, which itself had been smashed severely on one side. Only at that point did I notice the appalling fetid smell, like that of an exhumed tomb. My hand instinctively rose to my nose.
Hearing the beast stomping down the upper staircase, I turned back and fled the room, forcing myself to retain my bearings, and then down the stairs and out into the night as quickly as humanly possible. I would rather face the elements than be alone and enclosed with that abomination. Leaving my coat, I ran out of the broken gate and into the hills until exhaustion took final possession of me. I huddled close beside a heap of large rocks and lay down in the soft earth, with a familiar tightness beginning to manifest in my chest.
* * *
V
When I came to again and blinked open my eyes, dawn streaked the distant clouds. My surroundings became illuminated in the grey-blue first rays of dawn. The rain had ceased but the wind had lost little of its former strength. The rocks beside which I had lain had shielded me from the worst of the elements and I had merely succumbed to exhaustion. My head ached and I felt weak and nauseated but I managed to stand, shivering but mercifully dry, to survey my surroundings.
I had not ventured far from the house but found myself to be part-way up the hillside upon a level track which faced directly onto the front of the building. I thought back to my experiences of a few hours before; had those events really happened? They seemed implausible then in the emboldening light. Perhaps the shock of being shut in the priest's hole had somehow over-stimulated my imagination; maybe there was no pig-man. I was a man, after all, and I could handle most situations. I determined to return to the house, to retrieve my coat at least, and perhaps find a water pump somewhere. I would then press onwards towards civilisation.
I stretched to my full height and followed a level track for a few yards, stepped off onto the steep descent towards the house and headed towards another large cluster of rocks. I was able to lean my weight upon the weathered boulders as I passed alongside. It was then that I saw something which answered all of my questions and put to bed any doubt I held regarding my night at the house.
I froze and held my breath because, as I rounded the rocks, lying huddled by the base, seemingly taking refuge from the wind as had I, was that thing. He lay on his side with his head facing into the earth. I could now see the muck-caked trousers and the yellowed shirt; an appalling smell rose up from it with the wind. In the new light I could clearly see the back of the creature’s gigantic and fleshy head, seemingly joined directly to the shoulders, having no discernible neck, but merely an abundance of loose pink skin hanging in filth-ingrained folds. I was revolted yet fascinated. He did not move, did not seem to be aware of me; he could even have been dead for all I could tell.
An instinct for my own survival possessed me. I did not intend to become another smashed heap of old bones hidden in a closet. My eyes searched around for a weapon. Seeing a number of loose rocks embedded in the earth around the base of the larger cluster, I selected one about the size of a football. I prized it from its muddy, sucking bed and struggled over to the prone monstrosity. I felt in control; I could free myself from its danger. I stood over the giant and heaved the stone up and above its massive head. I was glad it was not facing me as I could not have done what I must otherwise. I readied myself to hurl my weapon downwards.
That was when the creature stirred. The head slowly turned around to face me, the body rolled over onto its back, and the beady e
yes widened slightly, waiting for my act of finality.
I staggered backwards but still held on to the rock. Strangely, the creature continued to lie there, its arms by its sides, looking up at me with blinking, squinting eyes and twitching its snout. It emitted a quiet, high-pitched whimper. There was no malice in its demeanour, only dejection, misery and—I can now say with confidence—a wish for me to kill it.
I noticed that it clutched something tightly in its hand, something glinting, something gilded. I recognised the photograph of the woman I had found in one of the bedrooms. The creature nestled the frame to its chest, placing both hands over it as if to lovingly shield its treasure. My mind already swelled with fear, disgust, and horror but now pity flooded in to fill the few remaining crevices to capacity.
I continued to stumble backwards on stilt-like legs. Unaware of everything but that thing in front of me, I fell back, dropping the rock, having no strength left in my arms, and I tumbled down the hillside. Grass, mud, sky, stones, and flashes of the house rushed in and out of my vision and then all faded to blackness.
* * *
VI
I have no concept of how long it had been until I found myself awakening within my own bed with both Doctor Forbes and Jack looking down at me with much concern etched upon their faces. I was glad to see them, though I remained firmly within the grip of confusion.
Jack informed me that I had been discovered by two farm hands, lying prone at the foot of the hillside. They had carried me to the nearest farm, some distance away, whereby a surgeon was summoned to my aid. Apparently, I had been slipping in and out of delirium, though I had luckily escaped any physical injury. From my map and some papers in my pockets, my identity was ascertained and so Jack was summoned to take me home.
