Blessed by Fire

by P W Hillard

  “Yeah, she was at the home this whole time,” admitted Jess.

  “So, I was right, this really was a waste then?” Aasif said.

  “Not quite.” Mark held up his finger as if he was about to make a point. “Forewarned is forearmed after all.”

  “Lift your end!” shouted Mark

  “I am lifting!” Aasif shouted back at him. Jess stood watching the two men trying to force the unwieldly case into the back of Aasif’s tiny car. “Do we even need this?”

  “Yes!” came the shout from Mark. They struggled for a moment more and the case dropped into the car boot, barely fitting. “This is our specialist gear. We’ll need it.” Mark opened the case revealing its contents. Stacks of books sat next to assorted cloth bags. Mark reached in and removed a small black bag tied with a drawstring and a small white square pouch. He passed them to Aasif.

  “What is this?” he said, sliding the bag open a little.

  “Iron filings,” said Jess. “Think of it like PAVA for spirits.” She watched Aasif open the small white pouch, sliding out two squares, one dark black, the other a shiny silver on the back and white on the front.

  “Business cards?” asked Aasif. “They’re weirdly heavy.”

  “The black one is Iron, the other one is silver on the back” replied Jess. “Good way to check if someone is on the level. No one refuses a business card.”

  “God damn it,” grumbled Mark from within the car boot. “Just got the one pair of Iron cuffs.” He stood up, dangling an antique looking pair of old-style handcuffs, the kind connected by a chain.

  “To be fair, how often do we need them?” Jess gave him a disapproving look.

  “That’s fair,” conceded Mark. “Right.” Mark threw a pouch to Jess. “Let’s go then.”

  “Do we even have a plan?” asked Aasif.

  “We rarely do,” said Jess, holding her hands up in admission.

  Dale let out a long groan, closing the tome in front of him with a thud. He grabbed another one from the cart beside him. He struggled as he turned back in his chair, his arms trembling from the weight.

  “Anything?” Rajan asked from across the way.

  “Nothing. A whole bunch of nothing, with a side order of, uh, yeah, nothing.” Dale swung his chair back around again to face Rajan. “A whole bunch of stuff confuses them with demons, or just contradicts itself. I feel like I’m going mad reading all these books.”

  “Hey, some of the stuff in the archives will do that to you. Or so I hear.” Rajan had leaned in like he was revealing a big secret.

  “Not cool, that’s not a thought I particularly want.” Dale leant back in his chair. “You got anything?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. There’s some things here I don’t understand. This book here.” Rajan tapped the top of a dark green book. “Talks about this scroll.” He held up an old faded sheet of scrollwork. Both men were wearing white cotton gloves to protect the books. “But I’m pretty sure this is in Arabic maybe? You know on a handful of occasions I’ve had a racist asshole scream abuse at me because I wear a turban. One once assumed I spoke Arabic. I kind of wish they were correct right now.”

  “That’s a dark thought, what kind of dickhead does that.” Dale was shocked.

  “I’m lucky, they quickly change their tune when I show them my police ID. Good to get a bit of karmic retribution every now and again. Either way I think we might need to get this translated. Hopefully it has something.”

  Chapter 13

  The drive to the care home was oddly serene. The Welsh hillside rolling past, lush green fields set against a sky whose clouds had finally cleared to reveal a vivid blue sky. It reminded Mark of a similar beauty he had seen once, on a school trip as a boy to the lake districts. It brought into stark contrast the closed in streets and blocked out sky of London. The car trundled onwards, struggling with the climb towards the home. It loomed ominously further up the valleys side. An old repurposed farmhouse, it had grown like a cancer beyond its original form. Extensions and new wings added over the years creating an odd hodgepodge of building styles and ages. Mark thought that had the haunted house they had visited not been abandoned it might have grown in the same way eventually. He felt like it was almost an insult to attach the bland white outgrowths to the old handcrafted stonework, parasites overgrowing the house. A sign blazed past them as they pulled into the gravel driveway. Glyncoch House: Care and Respite it read.

  Jess stepped out of the car first, her sensible black pumps crunching the gravel underneath them. Mark followed behind her, tipping the passenger side chair forward so he could squeeze out through the door. Aasif put the key into the lock and turned it. He pocketed the keys with a jangle.

  “Right, I’ll do a once around, check the perimeter. Jess you prep Aasif,” Mark said. He nodded, put his hands into his coat pocket, and walked off around the back of the house.

  “Ok, so,” started Jess, “me and Mark will take the lead. Just follow us and do what we do. Keys.” She held her hand out before Aasif expectedly. He fished around in his pocket before dropping them into Jess’ outstretched palm. She bent down and opened the boot. “Still got your filings?”

  “Yeah,” replied Aasif tapping his coat pocket.

  “Ok, take these as well.” Jess pulled out a handful of tiny scrolls from the trunk in the boot. They looked like a novelty you might buy in a museum. “Put them in your pockets. Not the same ones though.”

  “What are they?” Aasif enquired, staring at the tiny paper tubs Jess had passed into his hand.

  “Remember the notepad paper I gave you?” Aasif nodded at her. “These are more high-end versions of those. Remember to put them back once we’re done here. Not something you want to be carrying around with you.”

  “Why not?” said Aasif, looking at the scrolls anxiously. “Do I need to be worried?”

  “It should be fine,” Jess’ voice was not reassuring. “Sometimes a scroll can dispel another scroll and you don’t really want that. It’s a bit like magnets but uh, more explosioney.”

  Behind the house was a large open field bordered by a low hedge. The grass had been kept cut short, leading up to the back of the house in neat striped lines. The one exception was in the centre of the grass, a perfect square of unkempt greenery. The square lay at the foot of an old well, the gardener having avoided it. Mark peered over into the thing. It wasn’t particularly deep, and clearly out of use. He could see the bottom, covered in a thick layer of discarded sweet wrappers and cigarette packets. Clearly it was the dumping ground for the resident’s secret treats. The cover of the well was a set of metal bars attached to a circular out band. Mark gripped them, feeling them come lose. These were old, the orange rust staining his hands. They were iron. Mark removed the circular set of bars from the top of the well and left them leaning against the side of the well. He looked back over at the house, scanning the back windows, before walking back towards the front.

  “Hey,” said Mark as he met the waiting pair. “You uh, seen anyone else around?”

  “Now that you mention it no,” Jess said stroking her chin. “Haven’t seen any movement inside either.”

  “It is a care home. Wouldn’t be that much movement I would think,” added Aasif.

  “Still, its unsettling,” Jess replied, “come on, time to see what’s what I guess.”

  Jess pressed an intercom button mounted to the wall. It let out an obnoxious buzz. She tapped her foot impatiently. There was no reply. He lifted the brass knocker and slammed it against the door.

  “Coming!” came a shrill voice from beyond the door. A minute later it swung open. Clutching the door stood an old woman. She was squinting at them through thick glasses. Her shoulder length grey hair was curled. She wore a thin dress that was clearly intended to be a nightgown. Jess was sure it was Ethel, the woman they were after.

  “Evening madam are any of the staff about?” asked Jess without missing a beat.

  “Everyone is busy in the rec room my dear,”
replied Ethel. “Can you come back later?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Jess exaggerating her apology. “I’m D.C Holden, this is D.C Curren and Constable Rahman. Here, take my card.” Jess pulled a business card from her coat pocket, handing it over.

  “Well, I’m sorry officers but…Aahh!” Ethel burst into a piercing scream. Smoke drifted from her finger tips where she had grabbed the business card. There was a horrid smell of burning flesh. Ethel stared down at the iron card that had hit the stone step before the door with a ringing noise. She looked up, and ran into the building, the old woman breaking into a sprint. Jess ran after her, shows clattering on the hard tile floor. Mark and Aasif followed behind, arms pumping in time with their legs.

  They crashed down a corridor, chasing the fleeing Ethel. The old woman was easily outpacing them. She tipped a large silver trolley carrying a tray of pills as she ran. Tiny chunks of medicinal debris scattering onto the ground. It skidded across the floor coming to a rest with its wheels touching the opposite wall from where it began, allowing the pursuing police to squeeze past to its right. Ethel continued to run, her legs a furious blaze of speed. With one swift movement she grabbed an I.V. stand that had been abandoned next to a closed door and spun around, flinging it like a javelin. Jess ducked, and Mark twisted his body to the side. Aasif, wasn’t so lucky, the wheeled bottom of the stand hitting him square in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs.

  “Go…Go…” he spluttered, waving his comrades on. They nodded together and continued the chase. Their target darted around a corner at the end of the corridor. Mark and Jess followed their footsteps matching the sound of the heavy rain which had begun to fall outside. The clear blue skies from the journey up had rapidly been consumed by voracious dark grey clouds bursting forth from behind the valley sides.

  Mark nearly tripped over Jess as she came to an abrupt stop. They had reached a large set of double doors, before which Ethel stood. She had her hands on the handles, her back facing the detectives. She was letting out a weird slow guttural laugh. It was discomforting, like she was a cat trying to cough up a hairball.

  “Oh dearies,” she said, “I really wish you hadn’t come unannounced.”

  “Don’t move,” said Mark, stepping forward slowly, iron handcuffs dangling from his right hand.

  “It’s still got some time in the oven,” Ethel’s head turned, looking over her shoulder. “Not quite fully baked yet.” She pushed the doors open revealing the nightmare within.

  The doorway opened to a large recreation area. Normally full of chairs of resting grandparents, tables arranged in chess games that never really ended and televisions permanently set to a golden oldies’ movie channel, the furniture had been almost tossed aside to leave a large open space. Across the floor a large circle had been drawn in blood. Several strange arcane runes neither detective had seen before were scrawled haphazardly in the circle in the same blood. The air had a strange heady aroma of several different burnt herbs, electricity and burnt hair. In the centre of the circle, writhed an unfathomable beast.

  It was huge, a pink undulating mass of flesh. The thing was a mess of skin, overlapping folds pulsing as if breathing. Emerging from the mass at four distinct points were long trails of exposed muscle, red and wet. Covering each morbid cylinder were human limbs. Each limb seemed to be stretching over the exposed viscera, slowly sinking in, the human skin pulled to cover the creature. The limbs were clustered in matching clumps. Left legs with other left legs, right arms with right arms. Each had a small circular rune, drawn with red marker pen. Several of the body parts were clearly from older people. They had found the staff and residents. The flesh beast shivered as Ethel strode towards it. Mark and Jess stood still, transfixed by terror.

  “What the flying fuck?” shouted Aasif as he limped around the corner behind them.

  “Ah my pet,” cooed Ethel stroking the monstrosity. “These people are here to cause a ruckus. You weren’t ready yet, need a little longer to bake.” The thing moaned from some unseen orifice. It attempted to stand, its new born limbs ending with clusters of feet and hands. Stood up the thing was huge, easily ten feet tall. It struggled to move, knocking plaster from the ceiling. Across the cursed thing sections of its skin tore open, revealing human mouths, the ripped skin flapping as each mouth screamed in unison. It lumbered forward, scraping across the ceiling as it moved. Mark and Jess snapped from their stupor as one, stepping quickly backwards.

  “What do we do?” asked a frantic Aasif.

  “Fucked If I know!” said Mark, much louder than he had intended.

  “I’ve got an idea!” said Jess triumphantly. “Come on.” She ran off, the two men following. The entity lumbered forward slowly, Ethel chuckling madly to herself.

  The three of them ran back the way they had come, fleeing half panicked down the corridor. Behind them they could hear the slow rhythmic rumbling of the monster. There was a loud creaking and a terrible screaming booming from behind them. The noise of a doorframe slowly being torn from the wall, a slow deep cracking noise, filled the air ominously. Jess slowed herself, crouching to pick up the IV stand that had struck Aasif earlier. She turned to face the door they had passed.

  “So, what’s the plan?” asked Mark.

  “The door, look,” Jess pointed at it with the stand. Oxygen Cylinder Storage read the sign on the door. Danger Flammable read a smaller sign directly below. Jess tried the handle just to be sure. It was locked as she expected. “Ever see Jaws?” she asked striking the door with the stand.

  Inch by agonising inch the unspeakable thing eked its way down the corridor. The monstrosity could barely fit, forcing itself to drag itself along with just one arm. Its mouths chattered excitedly, the clacking teeth echoing. The police officers waited, cylinders hastily stacked before them.

  “Come on you fucker,” muttered Jess under her breath.

  “Hope you have a step two in this plan?” said Mark leaning his head towards her, his eyes transfixed on the thing before them.

  “Sure do. You got any dispel scrolls?”

  “Yeah, right I see where you’re going with this.” Mark patted down his pockets. “I got three.”

  “Still got yours Aasif?” Jess asked.

  “Yeah, one in each pocket like you said,” Aasif answered.

  “Ok hand them over boys,” she held out her palm expectedly. They reached into their various pockets, dropping the scrolls into her open hand one by one. They seemed to be glowing faintly, the light getting brighter with every scroll added to the pile. Jess bent down and placed them next to the tanks. A pale blue light blossomed from beneath them.

  “Ok. So, what now?” enquired Aasif.

  “Now we run,” said Jess.

  Crouched down, rain pouring onto them, they lurked behind Aasif’s car. They waited, willing something to happen. The horrid flesh construct still came onwards, a loud thud followed by a rocky scraping noise as it pulled itself onwards.

  “Nothing’s happening,” said Aasif, shouting through the torrent.

  “Yeah this is taking longer than I expe-,” Jess was interrupted by a loud explosion. A gout of fire erupted from the doorway. They ducked as stone shrapnel blasted loose from the front of the house. A chunk the size of a fist lodged itself in Aasif’s windscreen. The house still stood, but was engulfed in fire, the oxygen tanks feeding the hungry flames. The unspeakable horror within screamed an eerie chorus, its many human voices screeching in agony. The screams morphed into a pained gurgle and then stopped. “Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked!”

  Ethel limped across the field that formed the garden of the care home. Her nightie was covered in splotchy black burn marks. A shard of masonry jutted from her leg like an ancient spearhead. Half her curled hair had burnt away. She spat as she walked, cursing the humans who had come here.

  “Going somewhere?” said Mark. Ethel turned to face him. The two other humans flanked him. Each draggled from the pouring rain. Faint smoke
drifted from the house behind them, the deluge quickly putting out the budding fire.

  “Fuck you!” shouted the injured old woman.

  “Such Language! Need to be careful we could arrest you for a breach of the peace under the public order act. Aren’t that right constable?” said Jess.

  “It certainly is D.C Holden. D.C Curren would you do the honours?” answered Aasif. Mark stepped forward. He held one iron cuff in his hand, swinging the other cuff on the chain for dramatic effect.

  “Stay back or you’ll be sorry!” cried Ethel.

  “Like the people in there were sorry!” Mark stepped forward, his anger obvious in his face. Ethel stepped backwards.

  “I will end you!” The woman’s threat was shrill. She held up a hand and glowing orange scratches appeared in the air. There was a flash and an unseen force knocked her backward. Stumbling she crashed backwards into the exposed well, toppling over the edge. She hit the ground with a loud crack. Mark stood up, the force having knocked him over. He pulled out a small scroll from his coat pocket, it was slowly collapsing into ash like a cigarette.

  “Glad we had spares in the car,” Mark said stepping over to the well. He bent down and picked up the iron grate he had moved earlier. He slid it back over the well opening. “You can stew down there for a bit.”

  “Christ,” said Jess peering over. “What do we do with her?”

  Chapter 14

  Rajan’s leg bounced impatiently as he waited. He was sat in a waiting area on one of the higher floors of New Scotland Yard. A small cluster of chairs that seemed to be nearly all cushion yet oddly uncomfortable, the kind that populate hospital waiting rooms everywhere. The waiting area was hastily assembled, its walls were simply cubicle dividers, placed to separate it from the rest of the office. Around him the handful of translators the Metropolitan Police kept on permanent staff went about their business. He slipped down lower in his chair and reached across to a small table, picking up a magazine that was simply called Words. He opened it to a random article. The Etymology of Bolivian Slang was the title. He sighed and tossed the magazine back onto the table.