Tanners Dell: Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror (15 page)

Becky frowned. “Celeste, are you going to be okay?”

The older lady looked poorly, with bruised half-moon shapes under her eyes. She nodded slightly. “I think it’s passed. I desperately need to sleep – it’s been an extremely taxing day and all my energy’s gone.”

“Shall we get you a taxi home?”

“Just to the Moat House. I don’t want to go back to the bungalow.”

“Why can’t you go home?” Becky asked.

“Trust me, love. I’m better in a hotel tonight.” She glanced at the clock on the refectory wall. “Well, what’s left of it. I’ll ring you in the morning, Becky, but I want you to both promise me that you’ll watch your backs. Don’t let your guard down for a minute. Not now I know just what we’re up against. Do you know, I’m so tired I don’t know that I can even stand up?”

“I’d offer you a pillion ride but I think a taxi might be better,” Noel said, trying to make light of it.

Celeste clung to the edge of the table as if she was about to fall, her colour grey.

“Do you have a heart condition?” Becky asked.

She nodded and then shook her head. “No. Yes. Well, I had angina this afternoon for the first time but I’ve no pain. I just feel odd.”

“You probably just need a good night’s sleep then.” Becky quickly dialled a local taxi firm on her mobile, waiting for it to be answered. “Ring me anytime, Celeste, if you feel worried… Oh, hello – yes taxi to the DRI as soon as possible please… Moat House… Mrs Frost. Yes, ten minutes is fine, thanks.”

The chattering night staff seemed to suddenly disperse and the canteen lights dimmed. Each stared at their reflection – just the three of them sitting hunched over a table with their empty coffee cups; as if marooned in a tiny boat on a tar-black ocean.

***

      
Chapter Eighteen

2002, Tanners Dell

Ruby, Aged 14

He is the gypsy boy from my dreams with his golden skin and glossy, dark hair. He kisses my neck where it tingles and runs gentle hands around my waist. “I love you, angel girl…” Above us sunlight dapples between the shimmering leaves and his touch sends little shivers down my spine as he unfastens my blouse button by button, then covers my mouth with his. He smells of fresh air and tastes of tobacco; and shame washes through me…because I like it so much.

Afterwards we lie on the warm earth listening to the water burbling over the rocks.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, tracing fingers up and down my arm. “You’re like some kind of water nymph with your fairy hair and your fairy nose.”

I feel a stupid half-smile on my lips because how the hell should I know?

“I’ve seen you before in another life, did you know that? I came here looking for something else but then there you were – floating in the water.”

“I saw you in a dream.”

“Did you? Did you now?” He rolls onto his stomach, searching my face with his twinkly brown eyes. “You must have had a life up to now though, angel girl. Did you lose your memory or something?”

Again I shrug and nestle in close to make him stop asking me stuff. “I don’t know.”

He kisses my forehead, strokes my hair back. “But you’re from round here, right?”

“Mmm.”

Ah, but that’s just shard of memory now: a brilliant electrical flash in the dark bowl of my head – and now it’s gone. I think another day must have disappeared since then, but I don’t know for sure. I’m waking up now, you see, and it’s black dark, so like, what happened in the middle? For a moment all I can do is try to breathe calmly because this happens all the time, except right now I just don’t know where the hell I am.

There’s a slight draft as the bedroom door nudges open and in comes a short, stout man who walks around the edge of the bed and stands at the bottom staring straight at me. Who is he? He seems to want me to do something and I struggle to sit up. Sleeping soundly next to me is a stranger – a handsome man with swarthy skin stark against the pillow – if only I could catch the fragment of my dream I might know him – but the knowledge skitters around on the edge of my mind like a butterfly evading a net. A sliver of moonlight glints in the wardrobe mirror and branches scratch against the window. Still the portly figure at the end of the bed stares at me. What does he want? Am I supposed to be doing something?

The pull of his stare intensifies and his eyes are scary, boring into mine, pale and hard like glass. Fear stirs in my stomach. He seems to be moving towards me. How can that be unless he’s floating with no legs? No, this isn’t right. It must be a nightmare and I have to wake up. This isn’t safe, it isn’t normal.
Wake up, wake up, wake up
! I close my eyes and open them again. Only to find the man’s face is an inch from mine and someone is screaming the house down.

“What the fucking hell…?”

The man beside me is shaking me and slaps my face. “Snap out of it, Ruby. It’s just a dream.”

“Ruby?”

“That’s your frigging name isn’t it?”

“Oh.”

His anger dissipates in a heartbeat and he reaches for me. “Aw, I’m sorry. You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you, angel girl? Come on, now.” He strokes my hair, holds me close “You’ve had a bad dream, that’s all.”

I still don’t know who the hell he is.

“I’m here now. I’m gonna take care you of you, alright?”

He reaches over to rummage in a bag, then gives me something – a small pill – and I take it. And soon everything is alright just like he said.

“I’m gonna find out who you are,” he says as I drift away.

“Why?”

“But first I need to find out who I am.”

“Don’t you know?”

The name ‘Rosella’ skirts around the edge of my mind on a cloud of scent, like she lives in a summer meadow. And then she’s gone.

***

                    
 
Chapter Nineteen

Doncaster

Monday 28th December, 2015

Noel cut the bike’s engine and parked outside St Marks Church. At three in the morning it was glacially silent as he walked around to the porch door. Locked. Of course.

Stepping back he looked up at the spire reaching into the starlit night, taking in the vast stained glass windows and the gargoyle-adorned stonework. Built on the site of an original Anglo-Saxon church, which had burnt to the ground in Victorian times, it had subsequently been lovingly restored in all its gothic splendour and he marvelled at the hard work and dedication that must have gone into it. All around the building lay graves – Celtic crosses, marble headstones and toppling slabs – now shrouded in celestial mist; and it was to the oldest part of the graveyard that he now walked.

Most of the headstones had sunk along with the vestiges of their occupants, the epitaphs barely decipherable, yet the place exuded a peace and comfort quite like no other; as if time had paused from the rush and chaos of modern life. How many had died as children, he thought, from disease or ‘sudden illness’ and not really that long ago either? Life expectancy had changed beyond all recognition. There was probably more of an acceptance of death back then, although the lack of medical or scientific knowledge must have presented a strange kind of terror. Little wonder people both turned to and feared the supernatural in equal measure.

Before he’d come here for the first time, with Becky just before Christmas, he must have passed this place a thousand times and never given it a second glance, partially hidden as it was behind wrought iron railings, posters and great swaying oaks. With his hands deep in his pockets and his jacket collar pulled up, he walked back to the church porch and slumped onto a wooden bench to wait for dawn.
Dear Lord, what on earth was going on? If only he could make sense of it all.

He’d never believed in the after-life or ghosts or even God – all of it, to his mind, was based on myths and superstition. Although brought up in a traditionally Christian household from where he had gone to Christmas carol services and various weddings and funerals, there had never been much in the way of religious contemplation; in fact one of two of his elderly relatives had even gone so far as to turn him off Christianity with their out-and-out condemnation of homosexuality. But now the questions were forced on him: whatever had happened to Ruby had been pure evil inflicted on an innocent child and her subsequent mental illness he could understand; but the strange events since her hypnosis had unlocked something else altogether – a darkness hell-bent on wiping out any investigation into her past.
How could that happen and why? Did something else exist? Really
?

He leaned forwards, head in hands.

Way too many inexplicable events had happened now. Way too many. That black sedan inches behind him taking bends at over 100 mph and still shunting the rear guard with ease… His thoughts tracked down a labyrinth of routes with a dead end at every turn. Nothing made sense.
The demonic Lilith? Oh for goodness sake
… Keep to the facts… Becky needed to find someone she could trust in the police force who would break the whole thing open once and for all. And here he was trying to help Kristy. Kristy with a classic case of mental breakdown because of the strain.
If you’d seen what I saw
…

The tombstones appeared luminescent, sparkling with crystal glints where the moonlight caught the frost; and on the periphery of the graveyard a wall of yews bowed darkly. All was silent and utterly still.

At that moment a cloud floated across the surface of the moon and he looked up.
Was there ever such a haunting sight?
A breeze sighed into the back of his neck and a flurry of leaves rustled around the porch door.

He frowned, his attention suddenly drawn to the line of yews at the far end of the graveyard. Was there someone there or was it his imagination?
A lit cigarette? A spark of red
? He narrowed his eyes, peering harder into the gloom. No, it was just his wild imagination. He blinked and shook his head. He was spooked, that was all – how silly – imagining a dark shape standing there; a man in a long black coat with a black dog on a chain, the dog with red eyes. How silly. How very
Rosemary’s Baby
…Those films –
The Exorcist
and
The Omen
– they’d scared him witless as a boy and they scared him bloody witless now.

He looked at the ground and stamped his feet.
Hours to go yet. Was this a crap idea or what
?

He almost smiled at the thought of recounting this to Becky – far better that he’d gone home for some rest if not sleep, like she said. He kicked a small piece of gravel, letting it rattle across the tarmac… just as an audible sigh breathed into his neck.

He swung round.

There was nothing there but the stone wall of the church; and his own breath steaming on the air.

God, he really was spooked…ridiculous…totally ridiculous...

He turned back to face the graveyard.

Holy shit there was someone there
…

Standing under the yew trees there was absolutely definitely and without any room for doubt, the figure of a man holding a large, black dog on a chain. Transfixed, Noel squinted into the dark, realising with a thump to the chest that both man and beast had eyes of pinprick red. He sat riveted to the spot for what seemed like an eternity, as the figures appeared to lift off the ground and float towards him.

Adrenalin kick-started his flight but it was like wading through deep water with his movements in slow motion. His energy had drained away, and the surreal atmosphere crackled with static as, grabbing for the bench, he managed to propel himself upright and n stumble as if drunk onto the path towards the lich gate.
Don’t look round…don’t look round
…

There was an all-night café up the road. He’d wait in there.

***

Running on bleary-eyed, caffeine-fuelled fatigue, Noel caught up with the vicar of St Mark’s at just before seven. The last four hours had been spent staring into one coffee after the next trying to think of anything other than what he’d just witnessed. It wasn’t real, that’s what he kept telling himself.
It was not fucking real
.

              It was still dark when he returned but there were cars and people around. Apparently he was lucky because normally the vicar wouldn’t arrive until eight but he had a busy day ahead with two funerals before lunch, and wanted time to prepare.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, bustling inside amid a rattling of keys and flicking of switches for the overhead heaters.

Noel’s tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth as he tried to find the words. “We really need help.”

“Come through,” said the vicar. “Come into the vestry – I’ll put the kettle on.”

Never had there been a conversation more awkward, Noel told Becky later. But somehow he’d managed to relay what had happened to the medical team since they’d treated Ruby, and how everyone who had tried to investigate Woodsend had either died or become extremely ill. Finally he related what had happened to Becky at this very church and described the priest who had helped her.

“Priest?”

“He said he was a priest… Roman Catholic, yes I know.”

“Well he wouldn’t have been employed here at the C of E, would he? No, I don’t know him at all.”

“We need help, we really do. Our lady doctor is seriously ill and…”

The vicar frowned. “Would you like me to see her?”

“Yes.”

“I would need permission from the doctor supervising her, and from my superiors.”

“But that would take time. And her doctor’s a problem.” He explained why.

The vicar raised his eyebrows. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

The information sat between them.

Noel leaned forwards. “Look, just like you I’m a professional person who’s come across something terrible and inexplicable. I have to get this doctor some help because she has no one else, and time is running out. My colleague and I are at our wits’ end. We know the doctor looking after her care is blocking any kind of spiritual help but she needs it, she really does.”

“Have you been to the police about this village?”

Noel shook his head. “Yes, and the officer who investigated it is now in hospital in a coma. Meanwhile, I have to get this lady some spiritual assistance, and that’s all I’m asking for.”

“I see. Yes, well no doubt she’s in a state of mental and spiritual collapse with the stress of it all and needs…”

“She’s possessed.”

The vicar stared at him. “Ah now, come on—”

“Didn’t Jesus cast out demons?”

The vicar smiled tightly. “I think that was written before mental illness was understood.”

“Hmm…you lot quote from the bible when it suits you though, don’t you?”

There hadn’t been an intended insult but a cloud passed behind the other man’s eyes.

“I will see this lady if you obtain her doctor’s permission as well as her next of kin’s, and then I will have to approach—”

“Then if you’ll excuse my language – she’s fucked because that isn’t going to happen.” Noel stood up to leave. What was the point? No wonder that nasty little gang in Woodsend had got away with this for so long – everyone was letting them! He got as far as the porch door when the vicar’s voice called out behind him, “You could try St Mary’s in York Close.”

Noel stood stock still for a second, then raised his hand in acknowledgement and carried on walking.

***

By the time he bounded into work less than an hour later, he had a name and number in his back pocket. It would have to keep for a few hours yet, but how the hell was he going to get through today when the information was burning a hole in his head? Whatever had appeared in the graveyard a few hours ago, if it had been to frighten him off, had served only to heighten the urgency. Poor, poor Kristy. It could be himself next and he’d hope that someone would help him if that time came.

Upstairs, next to the staff room there was a shower and he stripped off and stepped in, letting scalding water bring his mottled, cold skin back to life. What a weird twenty four hours it had been! Dog tired with scratchy eyes and a rumbling stomach – what a way to start the working day too. Still, his mind chattered like it would never stop and his nerves were jumping like they’d been electrocuted. He’d take Handover from the night staff and then try and make a call to this guy, Michael, and fix up an appointment. How brilliant he’d been able to track him down. Becky would be so relieved.

The priest at St Mary’s had been pretty coy but when Noel described Michael in meticulous detail and related just what kind of trouble a lady doctor was in, he’d finally relented and given him Michael’s telephone number. Michael worked privately and was not part of any religious order. Now a retired professor in theology he lived alone on the outskirts of Leeds. Apparently he was not at all well – recently diagnosed with terminal cancer of the prostate – and would only see someone by appointment and if it was urgent. Noel had grimaced at the information, but time was of the essence and Michael was very likely Kristy’s only chance. It seemed odd though, when just a couple of weeks ago the man had been a tall, broad-shouldered picture of health.

After showering he threw on yesterday’s clothes and used the emergency stopover supplies he kept in his locker to freshen up. It never felt good without the usual routine of scented soap, essential oils and good cologne, not to mention a good night’s sleep and clean underwear. Oh well, doubtless he wouldn’t be running into David Beckham today.

Just as he was slamming the locker shut his mobile bleeped. Becky’s name flashed on the screen: ‘URGENT. CALL NOW!’

He rang her back while running downstairs to the ward, “What is it Becks? Night staff are waiting to knock off.”

“It’s Celeste. I needed to talk to her urgently because of something that happened about an hour ago. I kept calling and calling her room. In the end I asked the hotel staff to check on her… Noel, she’s dead!”

***