The Crow Folk

by Mark Stay

  ‘Constable, please let me explain—’ Mr Hodgson started.

  ‘You can do your explaining back at the station. This is an offence under Article—’

  ‘Oh, give your gob a rest, Noel,’ said Mrs Pritchett, hopping off the box she used to boost her height to reach her sally. She marched over and poked him in the belly with her finger. ‘Turn around and mind your own business, you lanky streak of—’

  ‘You cannot speak to me like that. I am an officer of the law.’

  ‘I’m still your aunt, Noel, and you’re not too big for a clip round the ear’ole. Wait there while I get me box.’

  ‘Constable, could you not make an exception?’ Reverend Jacobs asked.

  ‘Officer, my sincere apologies,’ Mr Hodgson began, brushing aside a tuft of hair. ‘We are, of course, somewhat breaking the decree given to us by the War Office regarding the banning of bells, but I have been assured by certain members of the community that it is of the utmost importance we now ring this new method by the late Mrs Bright of this parish and—’

  ‘I don’t care,’ the constable said. ‘The law is the law. Step outside or I’ll have you all arrested.’

  ‘No!’ Bertie blurted. All eyes turned on him. The glare from Constable Muldoon was like a life sentence, and normally Bertie would have backed down, apologised and vowed never to speak again. But he thought of Faye out there in the rain with the crow folk. He thought of how she took no nonsense from anyone no matter what their standing. And so he limped over and stood before the police officer. ‘We know this is breaking the law and we’re sorry, but we have to do this. Ringing this method will save lives.’

  ‘What nonsense. Be quiet, silly boy.’

  ‘Please, listen—’

  ‘Silence. There are important matters to discuss.’

  ‘If we don’t do this—’

  ‘Lad, I’m warning you—’

  ‘Oh, blimey, Constable, I’m really sorry about this, but if you won’t listen, then it has to be done.’

  Bertie knew he shouldn’t be reaching for the constable’s helmet, but he did. Bertie knew he shouldn’t take the constable’s helmet off the constable’s head, but he did. Bertie most certainly knew he should not toss the constable’s helmet through the door and down the spiral staircase, but he did. And Bertie knew with every ounce of certainty in his body that he should not have shoved the constable through the door, closed it and locked it with the iron key.

  But he did.

  ‘Oh, Lordy, what have I done?’ Bertie rasped, his mouth dry.

  ‘What you had to do, Bertie,’ Mrs Pritchett said as she hurried to the treble. She clambered back onto her box, took her sally and cried, ‘The Kefapepo method, everyone. Look to.’

  The other ringers scrambled into position as Constable Muldoon thumped on the locked door, bellowing threats of jail time and firing squads. Bertie joined them, grabbing the sally for the tenor. ‘Treble’s going,’ Mrs Pritchett said, pulling on the sally. ‘And she’s gone.’

  * * *

  Pumpkinhead’s top hat pressed Faye’s face further into the wet soil of the graveyard as she thrashed about trying to break free. Her mind was a fog and, as he spoke his magic, the darkness closed in around her. Sound became muffled, her sight dimmed.

  Water flowed into Faye’s mouth and she tried to cough it up, but it had nowhere to go and she could feel it trickle down her gullet. That’s when she noticed the bells had stopped ringing, though she couldn’t be sure how long for. Time becomes less of a consideration when you’re struggling with basic stuff like getting air into your lungs and not losing your mind.

  Every now and then she heard a cry and the pressure would be released as Pumpkinhead was attacked, Faye presumed, by her father and the Local Defence Volunteers. The demon would break off, swipe them away and continue trying to kill her.

  The bells began to ring again.

  Even though Faye had never heard it rung out loud, she recognised the method immediately. It wasn’t how bells were supposed to be rung. It was non-symmetrical and the bells were rung too close together, creating a discordant hum that made the air sing.

  It was her mother’s method. The Kefapepo method.

  * * *

  Bertie’s eyes darted from Miss Burgess to Miss Gordon to Mr Hodgson to the Roberts twins to Mrs Pritchett and back to Miss Burgess again as he counted the bells in his head. Constantly listening, constantly counting, though never out loud as the bells moved too fast and they had never, ever moved as fast as this method.

  At every hand-stroke he followed one of the Bob twins on the fifth bell, and at every backstroke he followed Mr Hodgson on the seventh, but the constant motion and speed began to make him feel nauseous. Bertie closed his eyes and listened instead. It would have been a mistake to blindly follow the bell in front of him; he had to stop trying to force this method to be something he wanted it to be, he had to let it take over, he had to relinquish control.

  The bells became one sound. A hypnotic hum rising from the clanging chaos, a noise familiar to all ringers from ringing down, but extending long beyond the point when they would normally stop. The hum, a lost chord from some other place, resonated off the tower’s stone walls, off every person in the room and settled into Bertie’s mind, relieving him of duty. He felt weightless, serene, and loved everyone and everything in existence as the sound escaped the confines of the tower, rippling through the air, rattling every atom it came into contact with.

  Bertie and the ringers moved with it in ecstasy through the spectrum of noise, its voice bypassing their ears and moving straight to their brains. I break the thunder, it said, I torment evil, I banish darkness. It repeated over and over as it used people, birds, animals and scarecrows as sounding boards, like a bat seeking its prey.

  It wasn’t long before it found what it was looking for.

  36 THE KEFAPEPO METHOD

  The demon released his grip on Faye, recoiling at the sound from the consecrated bells. Faye, her face covered in mud, came up coughing water then gasping for air. As the fog clouding her thoughts lifted, she shook the numbness from her arms and legs. She sat up to find Pumpkinhead gripping his temples as the chimes of the bells resonated around him.

  I break the thunder, said a voice in Faye’s mind, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  As Pumpkinhead railed against the wall of sound, there came a wet crunch that made Faye think of the spoon breaking into the runny soft-boiled eggs she had for tea some nights. Faye found her specs on the grass, gave them a quick wipe on her shirt and wriggled them onto her nose.

  She watched as Pumpkinhead staggered, clutching a crack running from eye to ear that was beginning to leak. Faye half expected pumpkin seeds and orange liquid to appear, but what came seeping out from the wound glistened black in the moonlight and oozed like thick jam.

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  Faye felt a pair of hands grab under her armpits. ‘All right, young lady,’ Mrs Teach said, hefting Faye to safety. ‘I’ve got you.’ The older woman moved to stand before the demon and pulled a birchwood cross from her handbag. Pumpkinhead recoiled for a moment then smacked it away, knocking her to one side. He was about to pounce on her when Charlotte rushed over, taking a handful of black ash from a pocket in her dress and throwing it in Pumpkinhead’s face.

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  He roared in agony as his orange skin began to sizzle and his head began to come apart in great greasy globs that dripped between his fingers. Black oily goo pumped from the cracks and he staggered forwards like a drunk.

  The crow folk huddled behind a tomb, looking on as Pumpkinhead’s body convulsed, his arms spasmed and his dinner jacket ripped at the seams and fell to the ground. His legs snapped like twigs, bending back on themselves like a grasshopper’s. The remains of the pumpkin splatted to the ground, revealing a shiny black shell and clicking mouthparts that coughed a clear bile. His spine cracked and lashed out,
becoming a forked tail.

  ‘Kefapepo,’ Faye whispered.

  ‘Well, it’s not the milkman, love, I can tell you that,’ Mrs Teach said, dabbing a bruised cheek as she got to her feet.

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  ‘Faye, get back,’ Terrence cried, rushing forwards with a garden shovel, ready to split the creature in two. He swung the flat blade of the shovel around just as the demon raised a limb to defend itself. The shovel cut through the limb, sending it spinning away. Yellow globs of pus spat from the stump and Terrence recoiled in disgust. The yellow matter became thick as custard, then hardened like tyre rubber, and within moments the limb was as new. Terrence raised his shovel to strike another blow.

  ‘Dad, no.’ Faye rushed to put herself between her father and the wretched thing, but he was too fast and brought his shovel down on the demon’s head.

  ‘We have to kill it, Faye.’ Terrence raised his shovel again, but Faye grabbed his arms.

  The demon’s shell had cracked, but once again the yellow ooze seeped from the wound and set it like glue.

  ‘Only the bells can do that,’ she said. ‘Let them finish their work.’

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  The demon huddled on the ground, coughing up black viscous liquid.

  ‘Everyone, come and see,’ Faye called. ‘Look what the bells are doing.’

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  The demon shuddered as the bells continued to sound, their almighty hum vibrating the air. The demon’s outer shell began to crack. Its scythe-like claws trembled, reaching out for Faye.

  ‘It’s dying,’ Faye said.

  The demon lurched forwards and everyone scurried back. Everyone except Faye.

  ‘Help me,’ the creature begged. Its breath reeked of brimstone as it opened its maw. ‘Help me end this.’

  ‘Oh, God, this is horrible,’ Faye winced. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Put the kettle on and sell tickets,’ Terrence said.

  ‘Dad, we are not monsters. We have to be better than that.’

  I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.

  ‘It was a scarecrow,’ Mrs Teach said. ‘Do we burn it?’

  ‘No,’ the creature cried. ‘No more fire.’

  ‘I know what I has to do,’ said a new voice.

  Faye turned to find Suky moving through the gravestones towards them. The scarecrow stood before the cowering creature.

  ‘Suky,’ it rasped. ‘My Suky, you were so very clever, but you didn’t think this through. Without me, how will you live? Hmm? Without me to sustain you, you will turn to dust. Listen to me, brothers and sisters,’ it cried to the crow folk cowering behind a tomb. ‘Suky has betrayed me. Suky has condemned all of us to death. By the next sunrise you will all be gone. I hope you are happy, foolish girl. For it is you who—’

  ‘Oh, stick a sock in it,’ Faye snapped, then turned to Suky. ‘Is it right? If it dies, you die?’

  ‘It has told many fibs before,’ Suky said, ‘but it brung us into the world, and I reckon it’ll take us with it when it leaves.’

  ‘Then what do we—’

  ‘It cannot be allowed to stay here. It must be destroyed for good and for ever, and I know how.’

  ‘But you’ll die.’

  ‘I’ve been dead before,’ Suky said. ‘It’s not as bad as folks make it out to be.’

  ‘No, no, no, there has to be another way.’ Faye turned to Mrs Teach and Charlotte. ‘Come on, you two. Think. How do we fix this?’

  Mrs Teach said nothing, clutching her handbag tighter.

  ‘None of them are meant to be here, Faye,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Brothers, sisters,’ Suky called, and the crow folk peeked around from behind the safety of their tomb. ‘Come to me, quick,’ she said, extending her hand.

  They shuffled out, uncertain to begin with. A scarecrow with a face like a sunflower was the first to take her hand. The others followed. They formed a circle around the wretched demon.

  ‘You know what to do?’ Faye asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Suky said. ‘Or, rather, they do.’ She raised her head to the night sky.

  Faye followed her button-eye gaze up as the clouds parted and the moonlight broke through. Jackdaws, black wings shining, flocked around them, whirling and flapping and kaw-kawing. The Local Defence Volunteers backed away, but the three witches huddled together as the birds swooped into the circle of scarecrows and formed a vortex around the demon.

  Suky began to speak, though it didn’t sound like her usual voice. ‘I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.’

  The other crow folk joined in. ‘I break the thunder, I torment evil, I banish darkness.’

  They spoke faster and faster, in time with the bells, and the birds gathered speed to keep up, a tornado of beaks and wings with the demon at the eye of the storm. At first, only the outer shell of its body came apart, tossed up into the wind. Then the rest of it followed, antennae, mouthparts and claws all became flakes on the breeze as the jackdaws spun around it in a frenzy. Faye blinked, then had to close her eyes, shielding them from the debris, spitting bits of demon from her lips. The storm of jackdaws dispersed into the air, banking over the trees and out of sight.

  The demon was gone, leaving a graveyard full of scarecrows with nowhere to go, and the bells still rang their hypnotic rounds.

  * * *

  ‘Miss and catch in rounds after three.’ Mr Hodgson’s voice broke into Bertie’s consciousness like a brick through a window. Gravity pulled at his muscles, air filled his lungs and his ears popped.

  ‘One, two, three,’ Mr Hodgson cried. ‘Miss and catch.’

  With a downward spiral of chimes, the bells fell silent as each ringer tugged on their sally. Bertie wiped his brow and caught his breath. His mouth was dry and his heart beating as if he had sprinted across town.

  The ringers all looked at one another, quite unsure of what had just happened. Somehow, they all knew it was time to stop. What needed to be done was done. Everyone’s hair was standing on end and for a moment all they could do was blink.

  Mrs Pritchett was the first to speak. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but I could do with a pint.’ She hopped off her box, crossed the chamber and opened the wooden door to the stairwell.

  ‘You are all under arrest!’ It was Constable Muldoon, eyes wide, hair a right mess.

  Mrs Pritchett brushed him aside. ‘Not now, Noel.’

  37 THE NAMES OF THE CROW FOLK

  They searched the graveyard until it grew dark. They looked for names and dates that might be familiar. The rain had stopped, leaving a sweet smell in the air. House martins, swallows and swifts circled above as the moon brightened.

  ‘Suky,’ Faye called as she walked through the stones. All heads turned to her and she gestured to the headstone she had found the other day with Mrs Teach. ‘Suky, sweetheart. Yours is here.’

  Suky hesitated. Faye couldn’t tell from the girl’s sackcloth face if she was frightened or angry. Suky began to wring her hands together. Faye reached out, taking the scarecrow’s glove in hers. It was cold and wet, but it gripped tightly.

  ‘There, my lovely,’ Faye said, and they read the stone in silence together.

  Susannah Gabriel

  Born 1868, died 1890 in God’s Grace

  Our ‘Suky’

  ‘I have some of her memories, some of her pains,’ Suky said. ‘I have become something she could never have imagined in her most fantastical dream, and I don’t rightly know what that is.’

  ‘I reckon you can be whatever you say you are,’ Faye said. ‘You want to be Suky, then you be Suky.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Suky said, turning her head to Faye with a creak. ‘I don’t think I do.’

  A wail came from the far side of the graveyard. ‘I want my mummy.’

  Faye and Suky hurried to find a scarecro
w in a mud-streaked nightgown on her knees before a stone. She was pounding the ground and kicking her feet. Faye read the stone. ‘Agnes Shoesmith, born in 1593, died 1600.’

  ‘I want my mummy,’ Agnes cried again, wrapping her arms around herself. Other crow folk rushed to comfort her.

  ‘Here’s mine,’ came another voice, and Faye spun to find the blackbird-faced scarecrow pointing at a marble tomb. ‘Benjamin Wexford, that’s me. Born 1829, died… died 1871.’ Benjamin slumped to the ground, cross-legged, and rested a hand on the marble. ‘I… I had a family.’

  More wails came from around them as more and more of the scarecrows recognised their names and remembered their lives.

  ‘What will become of us?’ Suky asked Faye. ‘We… we don’t rightly belong here, do we?’

  ‘No, my poppet, I don’t think you do,’ Faye said. ‘You’re welcome to stay, but…’

  ‘He said we have till sunrise.’ Suky looked to the faint glow on the horizon.

  * * *

  Very few folk passed through the village of Woodville, particularly at night. If any had, they would have stumbled across a peculiar sight. A line of villagers walking hand-in-hand with scarecrows up the Wode Road. Leading them back to the fields where Kefapepo had found them.

  Suky’s cross in Harry Newton’s field was already taken by Craddock’s scarecrow, so Terrence, Bertie and Faye made her a new one. Suky chose a spot on a rise where she could see Therfield Abbey and the sea.

  Faye took a flask of tea and stayed with her for the rest of the night, holding her hand.

  ‘I might not recall much about who I was,’ Suky said, ‘but I know I lived and was loved and that is enough. The heart remembers.’

  They were joined by a dawn chorus of sparrows, blackbirds, wrens and jackdaws.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve heard anything so beautiful. It fills me up to hear it,’ Suky said, her stitches forming a smile. ‘I wants this moment to last for—’