Dead Village (13 page)

CHAPTER 14

Samuel Blake was having some real problems. He had been kicked out of the small terrace house he shared with his drunken girlfriend, Mariah Connelly, and the only possessions he had were his camera and the clothes on his back.

He had been a freelance journalist in England for fifteen years before he met Mariah, and he had covered some interesting stories in that time. That though, was before he moved to Ireland, and that was before he started overindulging in drink and drugs. Now things had dried up for him, and now he was almost penniless.

He still had a few minor connections though, and one of these people had informed him about the rumours of the so called beast of the forest. His contact had heard about a demon killer lurking in the forest of Cappawhite. The army and police were involved in a search of the forest, and it seemed legit, his source had told him.

Now he would somehow sneak passed them and go into the forest, armed with his camera. He had been offered some real money over the last couple of years for his equipment, but he had refused to part with it. This had caused a few major rows with his girlfriend, because the seven hundred euros he had been offered for it would have kept them up in drink for some time to come, she felt. Even though it was only a fraction of what the unit was actually worth.

Sam had argued that if he could get back to what he did best, things would work out for them. Why, if he could manage to get a picture of this creature, then he would be set up, maybe for life.
Who knows how much someone would pay for a few snaps of something evil like that,
he thought. Mariah wouldn't listen though, and simply asked him to leave, and not in any polite manner. Her cruelty and coldness toward him was a new, even for her.

Now he would prove her wrong. He was aware of the dangers involved, but without money and a roof over his head, things would only get worse for him. In any event, he was sure he could catch the creature on camera, (if one existed that is), and from way off in the distance with his powerful Minolta 28-70 zoom lens. He would take no chances pussy-footing around either, trying to take multi-shots at different angles.
Click click, and straight out of there,
he thought.

His source had also told him of the location of where the demon was supposed to have been seen, so that would be the area he would check out first. He had found it easy to enter the forest unseen, by climbing over a small wall behind the old ruined abbey. He felt apprehension at the thought of it, but he worked to clear it from his mind. If only he had a drink, he felt. That would make things a lot easier for him.

He had walked for about thirty minutes when he spotted some people in the distance, through the trees. He hid down and snapped a few shots toward their direction. At first he couldn't tell if they were military or civilian.

The question remained though, why were they here?

Was there really a demon creature? The figures came closer, and immediately he could see they were policemen. He would have loved to have taken some clear shots of them, but he knew he would have been seen, or they would have heard the whirring of the camera motor. Maybe he would be shot. No, he just couldn't take the chance.

A few minutes passed and they moved off, and he suddenly felt very alone.

The sky was beginning to turn a dull and grey as the sun moved slowly down on the horizon. It would be dark soon, and Sam was already regretting coming out here. Earning money for a photograph was one thing, but losing your life for it was another. It would certainly be dark before he could leave the forest, he now realised. Suddenly the branches of a tree started to shake violently, even though there was no wind.

“I'm getting out of here,” Sam muttered, as he quickly moved off. He had been walking for about ten minutes, when he knew he was lost.

Rain started to touch down on his skin, lightly at first. All around him, pitter-pattering on the leaves, but becoming harder by the minute, until it was showering down. A flash of lightning and the place lit up.

An old mine entrance loomed in the distance about fifty yards ahead, and he broke into a trot as he made his way toward it. At least it would provide some shelter.

When he reached the mine entrance an old sign hung slanted from a rusted screw, and he had to turn his head sideways to read the faded writing. ‘Danger, Do not enter, mine unsafe,' it read. It was clear that the mine was once blocked up, but the wood had mostly rotted and fell away, leaving the entrance open. Only two side pieces and a cross beam seemed to hold tight to the edges.

On the ground lay a very large piece of wood that had some faded writing, and two broken and missing pieces at the top. The writing was religious, he believed.

Sam stared for a minute, and then he knew. This was a large broken cross that lay on the ground. Now he was puzzled.
Why would a holy cross be left here?
Sam thought.

Another large lightning bolt lit up the sky again, and Sam became even more frightened and confused. The loudest roar of thunder he had ever heard crashed down from the heavens as the rain came down in a blinding torrent.

He stepped inside the mine entrance and glared out. Slowly he sat down on a large piece of wood and removed his camera bag from his shoulder.

He watched as the rain bounced up from the grass and mud outside and he scanned around in all directions. The last time he had witnessed rain like this was when he had been on an assignment to Palawan in the Philippines. He and two friends had been out on a fishing exercise on the South China Sea, when suddenly the heavens opened. He had never experienced such a downpour before. He remembered how the open boat had filled quickly with water, and they had to bail for their lives. The monsoon he had witnessed back then stayed with him. But this, this was on a par, and on that he had no doubts.

*  *  *  *  *

Without warning, the rain suddenly stopped and everything became silent again. Now he would get the hell out of here. If he kept going in one direction, he would come to the end of the forest, somewhere, he felt. He would follow the moon, he quickly decided. He could see it quite clearly as the clouds above dissipated, and darkness engulfed the forest. As he stood up, he adjusted his camera bag, then he heard something from inside the dark mine, a voice.

He could feel his pulse rate increase rapidly.
Who in Gods name,
he thought,
would be inside this mine in the dark?

The sound repeated itself. He was unclear if it was a word he had heard, or maybe it was a growl.
Maybe it was a mad dog, or maybe a bear,
he thought.

“Don't be so stupid,” he whispered. “There are no fucking bears in Ireland.”

He pulled the camera from the bag, and prepared it.

He looked into the dark mine. From somewhere inside, he could hear something.

A loud whooshing sort of sound came from somewhere deep, and he almost tripped as he staggered back, away from the entrance. The whooshing became louder and louder, until it almost sounded like a jet engine. When the figure burst passed him, he almost collapsed with fright, but he clicked the camera into action, without even seeing what he was aiming at.

The large hooded creature soared high into the moonlit sky, its cape blowing in the wind behind it, but then it quickly turned and started back toward him.

He didn't even notice that he was praying out loud as the demon hovered toward him, or that he had dropped the camera.

Sam turned rather clumsily, but hurried back inside the mine, stumbling and falling as he went. It was pitch dark but he kept going. The mine frightened him, but it was his only chance.

Outside, the creature paused for a moment, head bowed, as though in prayer. Then it hissed loudly, before slowly re-entering the mine.

It picked up the discarded camera and looked closely at it. It swung around and flung the camera far off into the distant trees, and moved back into the mine.

Sam had reached a dead end, so he hunched down into a corner. Something moved to his left, and now he knew there was more than one.

He was breathing in spasms now, and he could feel the familiar pains shoot down his arm. The doctors had told him how serious his heart condition was, but like always, he had ignored their advice and continued life as though he was the healthiest man on the planet.

Now he was regretting the drinking, smoking, and late nights. He had left his heart spray medication at home, and he cursed inwardly. Ten to fifteen minutes had passed, he reckoned.
They must have gone away,
he thought, as he grunted with pain. He waited for another five minutes, and stood up, chest pounding, and removed his lighter from his pocket. He didn't have the time to care that his arm was getting tighter and tighter.

He would get out of there and run like he'd never run before if he got the chance.

He would just have to gamble that his heart would hold out. He flicked the lighter and was surprised at how clearly the place lit up. Old wooden beams lined the edges and ceiling, and as he looked around he could see that this mine was deep.

He stared down into the darkness for a moment, before quickly turning. The creatures had gone, and he could see out from the entrance clearly now. He stumbled on, camera forgotten, and staggered outside. Then he ran. Sam soon found himself in a dense part of the forest, but he struggled on. The familiar numbing pain that ran down his arm had now travelled to his chest and he gasped for breath as he felt the familiar tightness. He leaned against a tree and cursed his luck. Sam was sure if he stayed still and calmed down it would pass.

He greedily gulped in deep breaths, and tried not to think of what he had seen at the mine. He was much too hyped up though, and try as he might, the thought of it would not leave him. The monsters of Cappawhite forest were real, and he had witnessed this. He knew that without proof though, Mariah would never believe him, but he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to live.

He would just have to try and work it out with Mariah somehow.

He could send someone for the camera, and then sell it if it wasn't too badly damaged. For now though, he had more important issues at hand.

He glanced around, but could see nothing. He was sure they were gone, but it was still some walking distance to the edge of the forest, and now the moon had disappeared behind a dark cloud. Again he was unsure as to which direction he should now go.

The last thing he wanted was to move off and maybe walk into them somewhere, lurking in the darkness, waiting.

As he was about to stand straight, something firm gripped the back of his coat and flung him through the air.

He tore through branches, before roughly hitting the ground some twenty five feet below. His heart stopped, and as he died, he didn't feel the creature lunge at him and rip his body apart.

CHAPTER 15

Dan had tried hard to find Griff, but Griff had been nowhere to be found. This he felt was a major blow to them. He would have to visit Ireland without him, but he truly had a faith in Thomas Lapahie. He couldn't explain why, but somehow he believed the big Indian would not let him down.

When they boarded the aircraft, Dan could see that Thomas was uneasy.

“So you don't like flying then, Thomas?” Dan asked as his large friend fiddled clumsily with his seat belt.

Up until this point, Thomas had worn his hair tied in a pony tail. But he released the band and his thick jet black hair fell down across his shoulders.

“Um, I will talk about it with you later,” Thomas replied.

Thomas chanted and moved his hands in a funny way, and Dan felt embarrassed as some of the other passengers looked around. Then Thomas laughed loudly.

“I have always wondered what it would be like to fly and be free like the eagle,” he added.

“Oh, I see,” Dan replied. “Well, after a few hours of turbulence you may change your mind about that choice.”

Dan couldn't have been more wrong though. Thomas loved his first flight, and all that it entailed, and when the plane came in to land at Ireland, he seemed disappointed that the ride was over.

As they collected their luggage and were about to leave the airport, a customs officer pulled Thomas to one side.

“What's in the long case sir?”

“It is an old relic from my people,” Thomas answered.

“Please open it sir,” the man ordered.

“No! You cannot be allowed to touch it; it is sacred and has been sealed with good medicine.”

“Well sir, I don't care if it's been sealed with emeralds and rubies. I'm asking you to please open the case.”

Dan opened his wallet, revealing a one hundred dollar bill, and flashed it at the man, but forgetting he was no longer in the States.

“Can't we work this out officer?”

“So you're Americans are you?”

Dan nodded and smiled. “Um, yeah, we are,” he answered, as he pulled out some other large Euro notes.

“What do you intend doing with that money sir?” The officer asked.

“Um, in America we normally can work this out, officer, you know?” Dan whispered.

“Well you're not in America now my boys, but you are in deep trouble.”

The man lifted the radio to his mouth and was about to call someone, when Thomas gripped his arm firmly, and stared into his face.

Dan stepped back. He had been caught trying to bribe an official, and he was sure that pretty soon their asses would be flying back to America, minus every cent they had. Maybe they would be arrested and placed in a cell.

He moved forward to speak, to apologise, to do something to rectify the mess he had caused, but Thomas pushed him roughly away.

Something wasn't right here, Dan knew. The customs officer was standing unmoving, almost statue like.

Why the man looks like a damn zombie,
Dan thought.

Suddenly another officer approached, and Thomas slowly released his grip.

“Are you okay there Riley? You look sort of pale.”

The man turned to his colleague, and Dan closed his eyes.

“I'm fine Damien. I'm just welcoming these good people into our humble country.”

Dan looked at Thomas, but the eye contact told him to be quiet, as the man turned to them, smiling.

“Well now my friends, have a great visit,” the man said as he shook hands with them.

“We will, thank you,” Dan stated, and quickly moved on out with Thomas and the bags in tow.

“I'm not even going to ask what you did back there, or how you did it,” Dan said.

Thomas smiled awkwardly, and pulled at Dan's arm as they collected the vehicle.

“We must move very quickly, because soon he will remember what happened,” Thomas stated.

In five minutes they were almost speeding from the airport.

“You hypnotised the guy back there, right?”

“I thought you didn't want to know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dan answered.

“Magic!”

Dan decided to say nothing more about the incident, but now he could feel his confidence in Thomas growing.

When they approached Cappawhite in their hired 4 x 4, Dan made the phone call which would have Francis run out from the church to greet them, and when they pulled up, she was there.

She threw her arms around Dan, and for a moment they squeezed each other tightly, as though they were long lost lovers. Thomas looked awkwardly away, and coughed.

“This is Thomas, and Thomas, meet Francis” Dan said as he introduced him.

Francis loosely shook hands with this giant of a man, with the trusting face.

“Hello Thomas, and thank you for coming.”

Thomas nodded and smiled at her, without speaking.

Then she turned once more to face Dan.

“It's nice to see you again Francis,” Dan said. “I just wish it had been under different circumstances. How is Tully?”

“Come, he's waiting for you inside the church,” she replied, pointing.

“He can't wait to see you again,” she added.

Before they entered, Francis gripped Dan's arm and forcefully pulled him back.

Now they are going to kiss,
Thomas thought.

“Um, this creature,” Francis said. “It looked upon him Dan. And I don…”

Francis started to sob, and Dan placed his arm on her shoulder.

“We beat it before Francis, and we can do it again,” he bravely stated.

Francis stared at the two men for a moment and smiled.

“Thank you so much. You can't possibly understand what your coming here means to us.”

“Well, I couldn't locate Griff, but Thomas here is…”

Suddenly Dan stopped speaking for a moment as he reached for the big Indian's arm.

“Thomas here is special,” he continued. “Now let's go and see Tully!”

*  *  *  *  *

As they entered the church, scraps barked and growled loudly at them, but Thomas hunkered down and held his hand out toward the little dog in a gentle manner, as he chanted lowly. The little dog stopped barking at once, and licked at his hand.

Dan nodded wildly, as though the most powerful man in Gods creation had just entered the room.

“How'd you do that?” Francis asked. “That's really powerful stuff.”

“Magic,” Dan answered.

“No!” Thomas replied, “not magic, just really powerful honey. I had some in my pocket,” he announced, as he pulled out a small plastic bag.

Tim forced a laugh, as Dan looked on with a bewildered countenance on his face.

After the introductions they all sat down to talk.

“Have you had any experience with the kind of thing we are dealing with before, Father O'Neill?” Dan asked.

The sincere priest explained to them of the little girl, just as he had done with Tully earlier, and they floated on his every word.

Tully pointed to the brown envelope.

“I almost forgot, you told me you had proof of it Tim,” Tully stated.

“Well, proof of a sort I said, or maybe an explanation,” Father O'Neill softly answered as he re-opened the envelope and removed the pages.

“This letter was sent to me by one of the old priests I mentioned earlier, Father McAllister, shortly after I moved to Cappawhite.

He starts off by saying that he owes me an explanation regarding the little girl who walks the lanes and roads. And at least in this letter he tries to make it clear to me as to why Alice walks at night, and why her soul won't rest.”

“Alice?” Tully said.

“Yes, her name in life was Alice Boyd, and hers was a sad tale indeed. I'll begin,” Tim said, as he looked sadly at the letter.

*  *  *  *  *

“Alice was eight years old when her troubles began. It was a bitter cold February night in that year of nineteen twenty one, and a couple of hundred miles away from her Northern Ireland Banbridge Town, her father, Police Sergeant Martin Boyd, of, The Royal Irish Constabulary, was making his way back to his barracks in Wexford, accompanied by six constables.

As they drove along the dark country roads in their heavy vehicle, each man, rifle in hand, sat at the ready. Ambushes along these roads had been rife, and the Royal Irish Constabulary had lost hundreds of their men this way. The Irish Republican Army seemed to be growing in strength, and if anything had increased their campaign against the British. Sergeant Boyd though, was quite aware of these circumstances, and Sergeant Boyd always expected the unexpected. As he sat in the front cab, he held his torch tightly in one hand, his Webley revolver in the other.

They were about four miles from the town, when the heavy open back lorry gave a splutter and ground to a halt.

Sergeant Boyd stared at an old crack which ran across the windscreen in a diagonal line, and cursed their misfortune.

‘Trust us to go out on the worst lorry of the bloody bunch,' he barked.

‘What the hells wrong with it now Millar?'

‘Don't know,' sarge,' Millar, their Scottish driver replied. ‘It's been playing up for a while now.'

‘Right, everybody dismount and take positions,' the sergeant ordered.

From some distant farm yard, the men could hear dogs barking loudly.

‘Activity sarge,' Millar whispered.

‘Damn,' Sergeant Boyd moaned.

It soon became clear that their transport would need the barrack mechanic's to look at it, so the men had no option but to walk the almost four miles to base. Each man knew how dangerous the situation was. The barking dogs had aroused someone, Millar guessed. Someone either active or sympathetic to the cause, these Irishmen were fighting.

It would take some time though, for these people to put a sizable enough force together to attack them, he believed, and Sergeant Boyd felt they could make it back to the barracks in time, without incident, if they hurried.

Even if another vehicle was sent to look for them, it would be unlikely they would be immediately found, because the sergeant had ordered the driver to return to base by a different route.

Always using the same route on the main country roads, in his opinion, was plain and simple suicide. Now he was sorry he hadn't done this. But the IRA had eyes and ears everywhere, and he had a bad feeling about this night.

For years the sergeant had carried a strange phenomenon, of which he told to no one. He wasn't sure if this strange phenomenon was a blessing or a curse, but he would get pains in his knees for about five minutes, when something bad was about to befall him. It had been like this since he was a child, and he had accepted it a long time ago. However, the heavier the pain in his knees, the worse it was going to be. Like the time his father died. Martin had been wakened from a deep sleep, when the sudden unbearable pain shot through his knees.

‘What's wrong Martin?' Mary, his wife had asked. Martin though, had never told anyone of this strange phenomenon, not even Mary. He just didn't want people to have this worry inflicted on them.

Next morning though, and as the pain increased, the messenger had arrived at his house and informed him of his father's sudden death in his sleep.

Now, on this country road, the pain shooting through his knees brought him to the ground, and he gripped Millar's arm. These pains were the worst he'd ever had.

‘Are you all right sarge?' Millar asked, as he helped him up from the cold mud.

‘It'll pass,' Sergeant Boyd answered.

As the pain slowly left him, he thought about Alice, his daughter, but he tried to hide his fear lest the men would think he was frightened over their predicament.

Alice had been very sick over the winter months, and when he left home from leave two weeks previous, her condition hadn't improved. Only yesterday he had received word that his loving daughter was down with pneumonia, and he had made arrangements to be granted special leave, which would take effect in two days time.

‘Please my dearest Lord, please don't let my Alice die, take me instead,' he whispered. ‘But please don't let it be Alice,' he begged.

Millar stared over at the sergeant who was trying to hide the fact that he was uncontrollably sobbing into his hands.

‘Jesus Christ sarge, there's no time for this. We need to move on, right now!' Millar's anxious voice urged, and the sergeant nodded, his pain now gone, the sobbing stopped.

In the distance the dogs continued to bark loudly, and a dim light appeared from somewhere over the frozen fields.

Quickly the men moved on down the semi-dark road, which was lit up somewhat by a full moon in a cloudless sky. They were tired and they were hungry, but they marched on in silence, rifles at the ready, scanning all around as they went.

It would take the patrol around an hour to reach the relative safety of the town, Sergeant Boyd knew, but he couldn't think straight after his warning. He tried to figure it out. And he was certain the warning was related to little Alice. His mind was racing, and even in this cold night, a bead of sweat ran down his brow.

Now, and at this moment in time, he was completely unfit for duty, but he owed his men some leadership, so for the time being he fought hard to put Alice from his mind.

They had been walking for about forty minutes when the familiar sound of a lorry reached their ears. As the men took cover in the hedges, the open back vehicle with the dozen or so policemen perched in the rear, turned the corner.

‘They've come for us sarge,' Millar shouted with glee.

As the men stood up, lowering their rifles and waving, Sergeant Boyd stared hard at the cracked windscreen coming slowly up in front of him. Something was familiar here. The lorry, it was…It was the same bloody lorry they had abandoned.

‘It's a trap men, take cov…'

Machine gun and pistol fire broke the silence of the night as it ravaged the men. Constable Millar fell through a hedge as one bullet entered his shoulder, and another grazed his forehead. Through blind panic, pain and blood, he fired up into the open vehicle, hitting one rebel in the chest and wounding another in the leg.