Ghost Monster

by Simon Clark

  Pel’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Why, what did he do?’

  ‘Justice Murrain brought the torments of Hell to the town. Do you really want me to reveal the things he did? And what he did to torture his own wife?’

  Just then, Jacob Murrain could have been opening a door for her to step through. OK, a metaphorical door. But Pel sensed that she was about to pass across the threshold to another world – one that was dangerous and strange and alive with the promise of new experiences. Some of which would be frightening. There would be wonders, too. A trickle of excitement ran through her body as her mind played a trick on her. She pictured herself standing there. A slim figure in blue jeans next to Jacob Murrain. For one dizzying instant she couldn’t tell whether the figure was the octogenarian, Jacob Murrain, or twenty-five-year-old Jack Murrain … or was it someone much older? The black coat now resembled a billowing cloak: one as dark as the heart of a tomb.

  Those vast grey eyes filled her vision. The world had grown dreamlike.

  ‘Do you really want to hear the life history of Justice Murrain?’ he whispered. ‘Local people say that to even know about how Justice Murrain satisfied his appetites is to give the man a toe-hold on to your soul.’

  Do I accept? If I say ‘yes’ I will be making a deal with the man. I’ll have bought into the Murrain legend. There’ll be no going back …

  ‘You must tell me you want this.’ Jacob’s gaze became a deep pit. ‘You have to say the word, “Yes”. After that, open your heart to the words you’ll hear.’ Then came the clincher, which surprised, yet excited her, too. ‘You won’t hear the story of Justice Murrain from me. It will come from the lips of my grandson, Jack Murrain – the man who, yesterday, risked his life to save yours.’

  Her heart thudded. ‘Yes. I accept.’

  No! Why did I agree to such a thing? What’s going to happen to me now? Thoughts of meeting Jack Murrain had provoked such sensual excitement. Those thoughts had been nothing less than an erotic caress. But now a sense of danger roared through her. Pel couldn’t set the emotion in words, yet she knew she’d exposed herself to a risk that would come prowling from the unknown.

  A voice snapped, ‘Mr Murrain, you’re not going to interfere with my team today, are you?’

  Pel blinked, as if waking from a trance. The diggers were already back in their trenches.

  The head archeologist fixed the man with a fierce glare. ‘We don’t want a repeat of what happened yesterday. Pel here was very nearly killed by that lunatic in the truck.’

  ‘Those men were nothing to do with me, Miss Herne.’ Jacob Murrain’s expression was as grave as it was wise. ‘My goal in life is to preserve the mosaic of my ancestor. While I’ve breath in my body I will keep that light burning.’

  ‘It’s our intention to save the mosaic for posterity, too, Mr Murrain.’

  ‘Then persuade the authorities that we need a seawall building here. The mosaic of Justice Murrain must remain not only intact, but stay here above his grave. It keeps his spirit fixed in the ground.’

  ‘We’ve been through all this before, Mr Murrain. Now if you’ll excuse me—’

  ‘A seawall. Beg them for it.’

  ‘The politicians won’t fund the building of a seawall, as well you know.’ Then Kerry turned to Pel with a reassuring smile. ‘Pel, help me mark out these readings on the ground, please.’

  ‘Pel.’ Jacob Murrain’s face glowed. ‘Pel.’

  She shuddered. Oh my God, now he knows my name. Inexplicably, she was gripped with a fear that somehow he could use her own name against her. Right at that moment she didn’t believe she was in the presence of an elderly man, but some kind of warlock. Then every English village had its witch. And its own monster, too.

  ‘Good day, Mr Murrain.’ Kerry took Pel’s elbow so she could guide her away from the mausoleum. When they were out of earshot she asked, ‘Pel are you all right?’

  Pel nodded, feeling anything but.

  Kerry eyed her with concern. ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Oh … nothing much. Just stuff about the mosaic.’

  Pel hadn’t told Kerry the full story. That was because if she suppressed the ominous sense of danger which now gushed through her, it might simply vanish. But it didn’t do that at all. Instead, she recalled images of her father hooking fish in the ocean. Now, like one of those doomed fish, she felt a great barbed hook of sorts implanted in her soul. Trouble was coming. Nothing she could do would allow her to wriggle free.

  3

  THE BROTHERS LOWE paid their money. They got what they expected. The woman they took it in turn to screw was no stranger to the needle. She was a gaunt, used-up scrap of a thing. In years gone by, Ross and Scott would argue about who went first, then usually settled the dispute with a cut of the cards. Now Scott Lowe wasn’t that bothered who rode the prostitute’s weary bones first.

  The time was coming up to eleven in the morning when Scott stepped out into the yard to check the trucks over. Meanwhile, brother Ross ushered the brown-haired woman into a timber cabin that served as the office to their haulage business. When he was younger Scott had peeped through the blind to see how his brother treated the women they paid for sex. OK, Ross was eager enough. With a lot of lusty grunting, he’d pull up skirts, tug off knickers, then push the woman down on her hands and knees in order to pump her good and hard. All the times Scott had watched his older brother slamming his hips into her butt he never saw the man look the woman in the eye.

  The October day turned out to be a kind one. With light winds and sunshine it didn’t seem so much like the start of winter. So Scott whistled to himself as he checked the trucks for damage. Yesterday, when they smashed up the cemetery, not to mention sending those archeologists running for their lives, had been the most exciting thing he’d done in years. The idea of getting revenge on Jacob and Jack Murrain, the damned ghouls, excited him, too. Neither Scott nor Ross had any family other than their mother. So their lives consisted either of driving trucks, or spending evenings in the pub. Sometimes the occasional hour with a tart for hire. There were days he’d ask his reflection in the shaving mirror, ‘Isn’t there anything more to life than this?’

  He tugged long grass from the wheel arch of the truck’s cab. Dear God, he’d nearly run down a woman yesterday. What had got into him?

  Scott paused by the cabin to check if Ross had done yet. He heard his brother’s grunts. ‘Bitch … you dirty bitch … bitch, you … uh … take this. You have it, dirty little cow.’

  Yup, he was still on the job, and talking dirty, too. It didn’t take much to imagine the chubby belly of his brother smacking into the scrawny ass of the addict. He’d probably be yanking the hair on her head, too. To pull her back on to his hot rod.

  Scott wondered if he’d have time to check the tyre pressures before it was his turn to ride the woman. This afternoon they had to haul a bunch of scaffolding to the new oil refinery down the coast. He fished a pressure gauge from his jacket pocket. Before he’d reached the first truck he saw a figure approach through the bushes.

  Damn, she never comes down here. Something must have happened. He intercepted the woman. In the sunlight the burnt side of his mother’s face seemed to glow with the most lurid orange and yellow blotches.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

  ‘I’ve got to see you and your brother together. Now.’

  ‘Ross is busy, Ma. He’s talking to the harbourmaster about a new contract.’

  ‘It can’t wait. I need to speak with Ross immediately.’

  But right now Ross entertained a woman in the cabin. Ma headed purposefully toward the door. If she walked in, Scott knew full well the sight that would slam her right in the eye. Her eldest son would be ramming himself into a prostitute, who’d be perched on the sofa on her hands and knees. That would be a spectacle. A big, balding man, all reddened up with excitement, poking lustily into a skinny little figure as pale as milk and water. It would be like watching an ape-man humping a ghost.


  Let Ma walk in on them. Just you see how she’ll react to that little sex scene! He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop laughing out loud. God, it would be a crazy thing to let her surprise the pair, going at it doggo. But then, recently, he was in the mood for doing crazy things. Maybe it’s knowing the coast is being munched away by the ocean? Even solid ground isn’t solid anymore. In the town there was an expectation that extreme and unpredictable events would soon be taking place.

  ‘Ma. Ross has got his hands full in there.’ Inwardly, he chuckled over his choice of words. Go on, push it further! ‘He won’t want to break off at this stage. If he’s interrupted now it’ll only mean a mess for him to clear up later.’ No, you’ve gone too far. She’s staring at the door. ‘The harbourmaster’s contract is an important one, Ma. If Ross can clinch the deal, we’ll have a steady income shipping fish for the next twelve months. No, Ma, wait until he’s got the terms nailed.’

  ‘The harbourmaster, you say?’ The melted side of her face glinted, as if it turned clammy in the October sunshine. ‘He’s in there, negotiating right now?’

  Scott nodded.

  ‘I’m your mother. Don’t you think I know what you get up to in there every Tuesday morning? He’s got a tart in there, hasn’t he? One of them drug girls from the probation hostel?’

  Scott was astounded. She knew all along?

  ‘What you do with company profits doesn’t interest me, but when it comes to some harlot coming between you and making Jacob Murrain pay for what he did …’ – she touched her ruined face – ‘that’s as bad as humping a whore in church.’ Her chest heaved. ‘I’m not long for this world, Scott. When you’ve got even with Jacob, and I’m in the dirt, that’s when you can have as many tarts as you want. You can cover yourself with their mess for all I care.’

  ‘Ma—’

  ‘When I’m dead fill the house with them. Take them in my bed!’

  For years Scott had been emotionally blocked. Now, the dam burst. ‘I never wanted to pay for sex, but you twisted our minds! I couldn’t talk to girls because you’d poisoned Ross and me. Nobody else in Crowdale would have anything to do with you, so you spent years brainwashing us that the town hated Ross and me, too.’

  ‘And so they did. They’ve always despised our family.’

  ‘Was that a reason to convince your sons that they were outsiders? Lepers? Two men who would be scorned by everyone for miles?’ His voice rose. ‘Ma, you fucked us up.’

  ‘You’ll be the ones to get fucked up … with parasites … a dirty little rash.’ The intact side of her face assumed an expression of gloating. She loved purring those words. ‘Go with prostitutes and you’ll wind up in trouble so deep you’ll never claw yourself out.’

  Scott didn’t want to deliver the knockout blow of truth. But at that moment he was so enraged he couldn’t stop himself. So he stood in the yard full of trucks that fronted a busy street and he bawled, ‘You say we’ll end up in trouble over prostitutes? Of course, you’re the one who knows, aren’t you? I’ve heard the truth, Ma. Thirty years ago, you were Crowdale’s famous whore!’ When he looked into her good eye he saw the same expression as those fawns he rode over in his truck. An absolute expression of horror. They knew the wheels would crush them flat. And now he couldn’t stop his juggernaut of bitter words slamming into the woman who gave him birth. ‘You earned money from the men between your legs. When I was at school the kids told me that there was nothing you wouldn’t do for cash. You met cargo ships in port then fucked the entire crew!’

  Softly, his mother began to weep. She walked back up the path toward the house. He’d gone too far … way too far. There’d be a price to pay for revealing she’d been the town’s most notorious whore.

  With a groan of resignation he knew that when she asked him to act against Jacob Murrain he’d agree. Because guilt at his accusation would become unbearable; already his heart felt heavier than iron in his chest. Perhaps if he offered to kill Murrain’s grandson that would be enough to win his mother’s forgiveness? Anything … he’d do absolutely anything …

  4

  IN THE GRAVEYARD, Kerry and Pel used aerosols to spray vivid orange marks on the grass. After fifty minutes of this activity, parallel lines radiated out from the mausoleum, like the spokes of a wheel. The redbrick building that contained the dour mosaic of Justice Murrain formed an oblong hub at the centre

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Kerry asked. ‘You seem preoccupied.’

  Pel put on a brave face. ‘I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting Mr Murrain to come popping out like that.’

  ‘He’s been buttonholing members of our team ever since we arrived. It’s always with some dire warning that terrible doom will befall everyone if we remove the mosaic.’ She gave Pel a genuinely sympathetic look. ‘He didn’t say anything else to worry you?’

  ‘No. Truth be known, I’m more concerned about those bozos coming back for another wrecking spree in their trucks.’

  ‘I’m not sure I did the right thing letting them leave. Perhaps I should have called the police.’ Kerry gave a pained shrug. ‘But if I had, the police would have wanted to interview the team; we’d have lost time we can’t make up. Every minute counts now. And now this.’ She unfolded a plan of the graveyard. ‘I didn’t expect geo-phys to find a whole system of earthworks buried under the topsoil.’ The geo-phys team used electronic equipment to sense variations of the magnetic field in the ground. A computer translated that data into a map of what lay beneath the surface. In effect, the equipment allowed them to see what lay buried under the sod.

  ‘Have we marked it all yet?’

  ‘Just about. Their readings indicate that the main arm … or spoke of the earthwork runs down that way to the cliff. Centuries ago, it might have connected this area with a henge or tumulus; of course, that lies out there in the briny now.’ Kerry indicated the sea. ‘Which means our impossible workload to investigate this site is now doubly impossible.’

  ‘We could bring in lights and continue the dig after dark?’

  ‘At a pinch we might have to do that. The scanners detected what might be an Iron Age burial at the end of the main spoke. As that’s right on the cliff-edge we’ll have to give that priority.’ Kerry mused, finger against lip. ‘If we devote all our manpower to it we might be able to open up the tomb vault in no more than an hour. Of course, it’s unorthodox … painfully unorthodox for we sensitive archeologists.’ She grinned. ‘But it’s either that or watch the whole lot go plop into the drink.’

  ‘I don’t mind skipping lunch, if it helps.’

  Kerry appeared touched by the gesture. ‘No, Pel, I insist on diggers taking meals. You lovely dirt-monkeys have got to keep your strength up. But thanks, anyway. But we’ll mark the tomb’s location before we break for lunch. I want to bend Nat’s ear about all this, too.’

  Nat did some ear-bending of his own. Although the radiating spoke-like arrangement of earthworks was invisible to the naked eye he’d been eagerly walking the lines marked by Kerry and Pel in orange paint.

  ‘My God, its fantastic!’ he enthused. ‘Kerry, this has got to be the find of the year. You know what we’ve got here?’ Nat’s eyes twinkled. ‘Prehistoric earthworks.’

  ‘And they’re overlaid by a later Christian site.’

  ‘Which is in keeping with most English churches. Pagans converting to Christianity still revered their old temples.’ He crouched, so he could look along two parallel orange lines painted on the grass. They led from the cliff-edge directly to the mausoleum. ‘This has probably been holy ground for the last eight thousand years.’

  Pel had to remind the excited man of one painful fact. ‘And in a couple of weeks, at most, it will be underwater.’

  ‘I know. To lose a site like this is tantamount to sacrilege. And it gets worse. Geo-phys have been running a new computer programme to refine their results.’ He produced a sheet of paper covered with what appeared to be blotches, but to Nat’s trained eye it formed a w
indow to a subterranean world. ‘Look, you’ve got the mausoleum in the centre forming the hub. This suggests that two-hundred-year-old building has been erected over a far more ancient structure. I’d bet my wages that you’ll find a Roman temple under there … then under that will be a prehistoric Celtic site. From that specific point these spokes radiate. They might be sacred groves, possibly linear mounds. The enhanced results reveal that the outer end of the spokes have been linked by what might be a ditch. So, in effect, the ditch forms something like the rim of a wheel enclosing the entire site.’

  Kerry checked the images. ‘So – a distinct boundary to separate holy ground from the ordinary, secular landscape beyond.’

  Nat smiled at Pel. ‘I’m elated because we’ve found something unique. I’m also distraught because this beautiful feature, where Britons have worshipped from eight thousand years ago as pagans – and then as Christians – is going to be ripped apart by the ocean.’ He looked at Kerry. ‘If we hammer on Parliament’s door, will they bring in the army to shore up the cliff? That will buy us time, not just to continue the excavation, but lobby the government to build a proper sea-defence here. Something to keep that beast’ – he jerked his head at the ocean – ‘at bay.’

  Kerry wrestled with the dilemma. ‘They’ve not intervened anywhere else. We’ve had to sacrifice some wonderful historical sites.’

  The big man had tears in his eyes. ‘This place is so … so important. We’re talking world-heritage class.’

  ‘I’d need to get the backing of everyone from the local mayor right up to the prime minister.’ Kerry’s voice quivered with excitement. ‘It will cost millions.’

  ‘And already it might be too late.’ Nat pointed at the readout. ‘They’ll have to start work within hours to have any chance of stopping the erosion.’