by Cavendish
She started to read the description of its location and the dates it was evacuated, walled up and covered. By the time she finished, she had a plan.
Chapter Ten
George and Hannah stood alone at the back of the shop half an hour before the first tour was due to begin.
George ran his hands through his hair. “I thought we agreed that no one should go down there alone anymore. It’s too dangerous, Hannah.”
“I know and believe me, if there was another way, I’d gladly take it, but we’ve got to deal with this…whatever it is. Rosanna hasn’t got back to me and we can’t afford to wait any longer. We know this…thing…demon…whatever it is can already leave the Close. I’m convinced that was what grabbed me in the graveyard and it was the voice I heard in my head. It all matches with the stories in Ailsa’s book.”
“What exactly did McKinley say?” George asked.
“He wrote about legends of the Auld De’il of Farquhars Close. Some say it was a ten-foot-tall creature with long, black claws and an ability to transport itself instantly from one place to another. It also possessed the ability to transmogrify. Gargoyles are mentioned more than once and there’s a picture of one that’s remarkably similar to what you and Rosanna described. You could be talking to someone you knew and then realize they weren’t behaving as they usually did. When challenged, the creature turned back into its natural form. There were loads of reported sightings, dating way back to when the Close was called Deamhan Close – demon spelt the Gaelic way – so we’re looking as far back as at least the sixteenth century, but probably earlier. Then there’s another legend. Apparently, in the early 1890s, there was a series of grisly Jack the Ripper-type murders covering an area not far from Henderson Close. The killer was never caught, but many people said it was the work of the Auld De’il. That kind of fits with what Cerys told us, only she wouldn’t give the demon a name. You remember she said that some people had a name for it.”
“McKinley being one who identifies it as the Auld De’il. You think Mairead may have been targeted by this creature?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. The builders had only just started when she disappeared, but one of the first things they did was knock the dividing wall down, and you remember how Cerys reacted when we told her about that.”
“And that’s when it got free.”
“I think so. If it exists at all, of course. We still have to remember that there could be a perfectly logical explanation for everything.” She was clutching at a vain hope and she knew it but, deep within her, was a tiny grain that craved the simple and tangible, however unlikely that now seemed.
George shot the little grain into smithereens. “Hannah, after all you’ve experienced and what I saw, how could you be in any doubt anymore? I know I’m not.”
“I keep hoping we’re wrong. I have no experience of anything like this and with no one prepared to help us professionally, we’re just having to muddle through as best we can.”
George laid a hand on hers. “We’re friends, Hannah, we’ll muddle through together. That’s why I don’t like the thought of you going down there alone. I’m going to come with you and I won’t hear any more arguments.”
Hannah smiled. “OK. It would be great to have company. Human company.”
“Ailsa’s away for a few days, so let’s go down there after everyone else has gone. Pity we don’t have any hard hats. Do you think we should take anything else with us?”
“You mean holy water, incense, a smoking sage brush? If what McKinley says is true, they would do us precious little good. A few years before they sealed up Farquhars Close, they allegedly summoned a ghost, who appeared and battled with the Auld De’il and sent it back to hell. Everything went quiet for months and they thought they were safe, but then things started happening. People were driven mad, children were scarred for life by being scratched and mauled by something they rarely saw, but felt. Then came the reports of the tall creature with scaly, skeletal claws. All horribly familiar.”
“So they walled it up? But surely it escaped before they had chance to? It would have known it was in danger.”
“They walled it up after the ghost had once again fought against it. It seems that when it returns, it must come back to the place where it did battle with its old adversary. By the time it returned, it was well and truly bricked up. It would have stayed that way too, if the builders hadn’t demolished the wall.”
“But it can move through walls. How else would it have got to the graveyard?”
“It can move through walls, George, but it can’t escape from a devil’s trap. You know what a pentagram looks like?”
“A five-pointed star.”
“McKinley says that at the very spot where the ghost defeated the demon, the residents painted a special pentagram. When the entity returned, it would have been imprisoned there, unable to escape until someone, or something, damaged the devil’s trap. My guess is that when we go down to Farquhars Close tonight, we’ll find a pentagram with something missing. The builders probably paid it no mind and dragged some materials over it. It wouldn’t take much damage to give the demon a chance to get out.”
“And give those same builders a damn good scare into the bargain.”
Hannah nodded. “I suggest we take some paint and a brush.”
“Just one other question. Both times, a ghost was summoned. Do we know who this ghost is?”
Hannah shook her head. “McKinley didn’t know, but his guess was that they just summoned a spirit and the one with the closest ties to the Close came through. I don’t even know if it was a physical manifestation. It might just have been an invisible force.”
“And we don’t need a Ouija board?”
“Apparently not. McKinley doesn’t mention one and it seems a group of residents simply stood together and called out for a spirit to help them. That’s what we need to do.”
“You’re remarkably calm for someone who’s contemplating battling a devil.”
Hannah raised her eyes heavenward. “Am I? If you must know, I’m quaking in my boots here. I’d much rather leave this whole thing for someone else to sort out, but I can’t. I’m obviously being targeted, and, like you, I can’t shift the feeling that Mairead’s disappearance – maybe even the mystery about where she lived – is all tied up with this. I owe it to her, as well as myself, to do whatever I can to get rid of this evil.”
The staff room door opened, admitting the rest of the team, chattering among themselves.
“Hey, you two,” Phil said. “You’ve missed all the fun. Someone must have got in last night and daubed graffiti on the boards between Farquhars Close and Henderson Close.”
“What?” Hannah exclaimed.
“Sheelagh and Morag are down there now, trying their best to get it off. We’re going to have to postpone the first tour, so I’m off to entertain the folks. Fortunately, it was only about half full, so we’ll shift the folks onto the twelve o’clock. Whoever it was has a macabre sense of humor. Some very rude words.” He laughed, then stopped. “Seriously though, Ailsa is going to do her nut. How could anyone have broken in? There’s no sign of a forced entry, so we’re all going to come under suspicion. And Mairead of course. Just because no one’s seen her doesn’t mean she couldn’t still have a set of keys.”
Hannah felt her blood heating. “Why on earth would Mairead want to do something like that? She loves this place. She wouldn’t do anything to harm it.”
Phil looked at her steadily, almost smugly. “Well, I know I didn’t do it. I don’t think you would do it, or George, or anyone else here present so that leaves.…” He let his words trail.
That was too much for Hannah. “For fuck’s sake, Phil, she’s such an easy target, not being here to defend herself.” Hannah pushed past him.
George called out to her. “Where are you going?”
“To see for
myself.”
“I’m right behind you.”
The rest of the team said nothing, as Hannah and George hurried out of the staff room, through the shop and down the steps.
Voices drifted toward them and, as they approached, the sounds of harsh scrubbing. Hannah and George turned the corner that led to Farquhars Close. Hannah glanced down. The dark red stain was still there at Miss Carmichael’s corner. Hearing them approach, Morag and Sheelagh paused in their labors.
George sucked in his breath. “Fucking hell!”
Hannah stared at the red-spattered boards and walls. “I can’t even read what some of this says.” She moved closer and peered at the strange, archaic symbols interspersed with words of distinctly Anglo-Saxon origin describing various intimate behaviors and body parts.
Morag resumed her scrubbing. “Grab a brush, if you like. It would be a help. This stuff is the devil to get off. Don’t forget to put rubber gloves on. The cleaning agent is organic and supposed to be harmless but I wouldn’t take any chances with your skin. I brought extra pairs just in case.”
“It looks like gloss paint.” Hannah donned a pair of yellow gloves and picked up a scrubbing brush. She soaked it in the hot water and solvent solution and scrubbed hard for a few minutes. Nothing was shifting. She peered closely at a name repeated half a dozen times among the swear words. ‘Kirsten’. Her heart pounded.
“No idea who that is,” Morag said. “Maybe the name of the person who did this. Perhaps she likes to sign her ‘art’. Damn it to hell. It won’t budge.”
“It’s what I said when we discovered it,” Sheelagh said. “We’re going to have to tell Ailsa and get the specialist cleaners in. This stuff is useless.” Hannah and the others stopped.
“What about the tours?” Hannah said. “We can’t have them seeing this.”
Morag snapped her fingers. “I’ve got an idea. Maybe the builders left some more boards. We could rig them up so the graffiti can’t be seen.”
“There’s a way in round there,” George said, pointing to the corner.
The four of them trooped along to where one of the boards had a door. Morag pushed it open and they all filed in.
“Eugh, what’s that smell?” Hannah covered her nose. Everyone else followed suit.
“It stinks like compost that’s been left to rot for months,” George said.
“It’s more than that,” Hannah said. “There’s another smell. Like some dead animal. When I was a child, there was a terrible stench in my father’s garden shed. Turned out to be a dead rat.” She shivered at the memory of the maggot-ridden corpse.
“Yes, I know that smell,” George said. “You’re right. Only this is like a whole nest of them.”
Morag shivered. “It’s worse than creepy in here. Let’s find what we need and get out.”
Sheelagh was peering at the ground.
“Have you found something?” Hannah asked.
“Come and have a look. I can’t properly make it out. Not enough light.”
“I’ve got my phone,” George said, fishing it out of his pocket. “It’s got a flashlight on it.” He switched it on and shone it where Sheelagh was pointing.
Hannah bent down and traced the drawing with her finger. The figure was damaged but there was no mistaking its shape and what it should have been.
“It’s part of a pentagram,” she said, standing. “Some of it has been scratched away.” She looked at George. “Recently I would imagine. Looks like something heavy was dragged across it.”
George nodded. “The builders. As we suspected.”
“What an extraordinary thing,” Morag said. “Och, well, it’ll make a good story for the folk. That stench. I swear it’s getting worse. Especially by this drawing.”
From a few feet away, Sheelagh called, “Found some!”
Morag rushed to join her. George and Hannah lingered a moment longer by the pentagram. Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper. “At least we know where to come tonight. Might as well work with what’s already here.”
“Good idea,” George said.
Hannah felt the butterflies that had been her constant companions for days now. They swooped and twirled, fluttered and dive-bombed her stomach until she felt physically sick. She swallowed down bile and joined Sheelagh and Morag, who were struggling with a large board.
George stepped in and took the bulk of the weight while the women steadied and balanced the rest of the board between them. They shuffled back to the graffiti-stained passageway and leaned it against the tenement. A few minutes later, another one joined it. In twenty minutes or so, they had the makeshift screen in place, secured by ropes and weights.
“Whatever you do, don’t lean against it,” George said, “and it should hold for a day or two until we can get the professionals in.”
“Who’s going to tell Ailsa?” Morag asked.
George sighed. “I’m technically in charge when she’s away, so I guess that would be me.”
Morag laid her hand on his arm. In mock dramatic style she said, “We’re right behind you, George.”
“Yes,” Sheelagh said, laughing. “Well behind you.”
“She can’t seriously believe one of us would do this?” Hannah said. “No, someone else is responsible, and I don’t mean Mairead either.”
“Come on guys,” George said. “Time’s pressing. It’s ten to twelve. Phil will be running out of anecdotes. He’s probably telling rude jokes by now.”
“Anything but that,” Morag said. “We must save them!”
It felt good to laugh, after all the tension of recent days. Back in the crowded shop, Phil held center stage and the group – now swelled to the maximum number of twenty – were clearly enjoying themselves.
“Ah, here they are. My errant colleagues who left me, a poor legal clerk, to keep you amused while they did…whatever Sir William required of them. I trust your work is completed, Sir William?”
“It is indeed, Rudge. Carry on.” With a flourish, and laughter from the group, George swanned away in true Georgian style.
Hannah watched him go. He might be putting on a brave face but she guessed at the consternation he must be feeling. His call to Ailsa would be far from easy.
Two hours later, one look at George’s ashen face and Hannah knew Ailsa had given him a hard time.
“She was talking about disciplinary proceedings. I mean, how the hell could I have prevented it? I’ve heard and seen her in a temper before but she was screaming down the phone at me. She told me she wanted whoever was responsible for the mess caught and appropriately dealt with. I think in her mind that would involve removal of some of his or her more delicate body parts.”
“She’ll calm down when she’s had chance to digest it all. Deep down, she knows none of us would do this.”
“You didn’t hear her. As far as she’s concerned, this is a result of my incompetence. If it’s not a member of staff, it must be a visitor who stayed behind after the last tour, and that means it’s my fault for not checking properly. But I did, Hannah. I checked thoroughly. There was no one down there after closing time last night.”
“No one human anyway.”
“Exactly, and you know Ailsa. The minute I mention the supernatural, she’ll be preparing my P45 and I’ll be off down the Jobcentre before you can say ‘Auld De’il’.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
George stood. “Thanks. I need one.”
In the nearest pub, they downed two Scotches and returned to the shop. It was dark and shuttered, exactly as they had left it.
As they passed through the entrance, the atmosphere of Henderson Close closed around them, dank and heavy.
Hannah wrinkled her nose. “It’s worse than ever down here. It smells like rotten eggs.”
“Sulfur,” George said. “In my misspent youth we used to
let off stink bombs to annoy Mrs. Laing, our teacher.”
Despite her apprehension, Hannah couldn’t help but smile. “I bet you were a horrible little boy.”
“Indeed I was. Vile. But my best friend, Alec, was worse. At least I didn’t drop worms down little girls’ dresses.”
“I’d have clocked you one with my duffel bag.”
“I believe you would too. Come on.”
They arrived at Miss Carmichael’s corner. Hannah felt sick from the stench, which was so much stronger there, but she spotted something else. She bent to peer more closely at the stain.
“Is it my imagination, or does that look wet to you?”
George touched the surface with one finger. “That’s because it is.” He turned his hand. The finger was red. Cautiously, he sniffed it.
“Blood.”
“But that’s not possible, is it?”
A rush of foul-smelling wind. George cried out. Hannah watched in horror as he levitated three feet off the ground. An ear-splitting roar, and a shimmering light enfolded him and extended at least eight feet into the air.
“George!”
The terrified man squirmed uselessly. His expression turned through shock, fear, to pain.
The shimmering became a glow. Pulsating. Strong. For the first time, Hannah saw what George must have seen in the kirkyard. A hideous dwarf-like creature with burning red eyes, scales, a hunched and crooked back. It looked made of stone yet it moved with surprising agility. George cried out as it leaped onto his shoulders. Long, black skeletal talons gripped his flesh. “Get it off me! For God’s sake, Hannah, get it off me!”
Hannah pulled at his legs but the thing increased its hold.
George gave an agonized cry. “Stop! Stop! It’s killing me!”
She wasn’t strong enough to fight this creature – all she could see were its talons, gripping George so tightly rivulets of blood trickled down his arms.
