by Simon Clark
The prisoner hissed, ‘Has a formidable mind. Don’t speak of me in the past tense, Jacob. And you are right. I’m learning fast. I’ve been able to move around the town for some time, ever since that prison on the clifftop started to fall into the sea. I know about the internal combustion engine. I’ve seen machines that fly. I’ve learnt new words: telephone, computer, internet, electricity, refrigeration, television, celebrity culture, pop music – do you want me to sing the latest hit song?’ He grunted with pleasure. ‘See, I am intelligent. Ferociously intelligent. I’ve sifted through the trappings of modern society. Most of its technology isn’t as advanced as I’d have hoped. People surround themselves with electrical novelties and pretend they’re civilized.’ He leered through the bars. ‘It will be quite satisfying to rip society asunder.’
At last, the policeman grasped what was happening. ‘I can deal with this. I’ll go fetch my shotgun. When I give him both barrels that will shut him up forever.’
‘Tell him, Jacob. You can destroy this flesh, but?’
‘He’s right,’ Jacob sighed. ‘You won’t stop Justice Murrain by killing this individual in the cell. His ghost will simply take possession of another body.’
‘Ah …’ The prisoner held up a finger. ‘Now comes the moment when I reveal the reason why I summoned you here, my dear descendent. This body I’m occupying is only a makeshift conveyance. I’ve no intention of riding in this ungainly behemoth for long.’ The smile became a cunning one. ‘No, indeed, sir. My intention is to become a Murrain again. A living, breathing Murrain, with strong hands that will seize this world and shake it up once more. Now, Jacob … there’s no need to step away from me, or wear such a worried frown. I won’t take possession of you. No, sir, you’re far too old.’ He spoke with chilling clarity. ‘Listen to me, Jacob. Earlier, the constable revealed that you have a grandson by the name of Jack. He is mine, Jacob. All mine. I will occupy his body. He will become Justice Murrain.’
12
KERRY HERNE WAS worried. In the Calder-Brigg motel, which the excavation team were using as a temporary base, she sent e-mails to her university colleagues, who were pressing the government to build sea-defences. That wasn’t her immediate concern, however. Kerry recalled how last night she’d spoken to Jacob Murrain. The man had been convinced that by day everyone would be safe. That there’d be no more instances of possession. And that the spirits of Justice Murrain and his thug army, which rejoiced under the name Battle Men, would remain trapped in the earth during daylight hours. Night was the dangerous time, Jacob had insisted.
Only here at the motel, an hour’s drive from Crowdale, did Kerry feel safe. That there’d be no repeat of the occurrence last night when some brutal force had invaded her mind, then forced her to abuse herself. Outside, the lights of cars slid by. She was tempted to slip on her coat and simply walk through the crowds heading out to bars and restaurants. The sheer ordinariness of it all would be reassuring. Because what worried her was this: despite Jacob Murrain’s assurance that they’d be safe by day she’d witnessed what had befallen Nat Stross that afternoon. The sun had been shining. The graveyard dig site had been bright. Yet Nat had shown every sign that some other personality had overwhelmed his normally cheerful demeanour. He’d gone from carefully extracting Roman pots to screaming in a very un-Nat-like voice that he didn’t want to be buried alive. When Kerry had gone to him she’d noticed his expression was un-Nat-like, too. There were something feral about it. Like an animal caught in a trap – fear mixed with pure viciousness. What’s more, he hadn’t recognized her when she’d tried to help him.
So, OK, the episode had lasted a mere few minutes. But she’d seen how he’d become some other person. And the sun had shone down.
Kerry murmured to herself, ‘You’re mistaken, Mr Murrain; they don’t just come out at night. Nobody is safe now. They can strike by day.’
13
AFTER THE FILM Pel and Jack were strolling through the town centre when Jack picked up a voicemail on his phone. He moved away from an Argentinian restaurant that was not only bustling with people, but played tango music loud enough to drown out most conversations.
Pel watched him stand there, phone pressed to his ear. With the large grey eyes and mane of black hair, his looks were timeless compared with the other men passing by, who were clearly working hard to be fashionable. Don’t watch him, she told herself; however, lately she’d found it hard to take her eyes off him. And after that kiss in the cinema she realized this was the start of something. For some reason it seemed as dangerous as it was thrilling. She’d not felt quite like this with a man before. A voice in her head warned: Back out now while you can. Go on that trip to Germany you’ve been promising yourself. Now’s the time to escape … Yet the sensation that tickled along her nerves was undoubtedly delicious. She yearned for Jack to touch her again. Hell, not just touch …
He came back to her through people streaming toward the bars. A puzzled smile played on his lips. ‘I’ve just listened to a voicemail from my grandfather.’
‘There’s nothing wrong?’
‘I’m not sure. At least, I don’t think so. But he’s asking me to stay away from Crowdale tonight. And not to go back until daylight.’
‘It’s nothing to do with those two thugs again who threatened him?’
Again, he could only give a baffled shrug. ‘He insisted that I shouldn’t worry … but he’s also adamant that I stay here in Calder-Brigg tonight. He wouldn’t have asked me to stay unless he had good reason.’ He scratched his head. ‘What I have to do now is find a bed for the night.’
She slipped her arm round his waist. ‘Something tells me that will not be a problem.’ A moment later she found his mouth with hers. Excitement, like lightning, flashed down her spine.
14
THE FOUR MEN had been drinking since early that evening. When one of them got word that his ex-girlfriend had been seen driving her new flame up to the section of cliff, known locally as Make-out Mount, then the men had hatched their plan. The clock on the dashboard recorded eighteen minutes before midnight when they stopped the van behind the car on the cliff-top.
Mitch was pissed that Bex was seeing another guy. It had driven him into a blazing rage when she walked out on him three months ago. He’d smashed up the apartment, killed her dog, and beaten up her brother in the street. There were no limits to Mitch’s rage. His drinking buddies spurred him on. They got all hot, sweaty and excited when they saw him thrash a guy. Usually, a couple of meaty punches from his fists were enough to floor Mitch’s adversary. Of course, that didn’t get them off the hook. Mitch liked to stomp heads. Crack, crack, blood all over the place.
So Mitch’s buddies were already squealing with excitement by the time they reached the remote spur of cliff, 150 feet above pounding surf. Now for another kind of pound time. Bex’s new cuddly-bunny was gonna get it.
When Mitch drove up to the car the action had started already. In the blaze of the headlights they could see that Bex had braced herself on all fours on the grass beside the car while Billy-boy, the new boyfriend, did his impression of a mating dog as he slammed into her. Both were knotted so deep into the love-making that they didn’t even notice the van arrive.
‘Are those two blind?’ shouted Drake. ‘Look at him! Billy’s rodding her senseless! They’ve not seen us! How can anyone not see the flicking headlights?’
Mitch went wild with jealousy. ‘I’ll kill them. I’m going to stuff his balls down his throat.’
Before the van had even stopped he leapt out. Through the glare of headlights he charged the pair. Mitch punched Billy so hard it uncoupled him from Bex’s flesh. With blood cascading from his mouth, Billy slumped back.
Bex, at last, realized things had gone pear-shaped. Trying to tug up her pants, as she attempted to evade her ex, she started screaming. Mitch aimed a kick at her butt.
Then Mitch turned to Drake. ‘You still got that camera phone?’
Drake pulled it from his pocket.
; Mitch snarled, ‘You film what I do to these two. Then I want you to send that film to everyone who knows these pair of fuckers. Got that?’
‘Be my pleasure, Mitch.’
The others whooped to encourage Mitch. The man was nothing more than a slab of hard muscle and no brain. If he wasn’t boring out women he was busting guy’s faces. Now he intended to do both. And knowing Mitch it could even be at the same time.
Fourteen minutes to midnight. He slapped Bex down with the palm of his hand. She slumped down beside her bleeding boyfriend. Her half-naked body gleamed in the headlights.
‘You film this, Drake.’
‘Sure thing, boss.’ He pressed the phone’s record button. A copy-cat image of what happened in real-life appeared on the little two-inch screen.
Billy-boy tried to climb to his feet. Mitch felled him with a kick. Sweet Jesus, how that kid screamed. It sounded like a flock of seagulls had caught fire.
The drunken men laughed. Mitch turned his attention to the woman who had once shared his bed. A hell-cat of a woman that had once writhed and sucked and bit and screamed with pleasure.
Sure was screaming now. But pleasure had frig all to do with it. Mitch had decided to drag her round the car by her hair.
Thirteen minutes to midnight.
As he filmed the cliff-top fun, Drake felt a sudden pressure against his head. ‘Aneurysm.’ The word suggested bloated arteries giving way under pressure. A ruinous explosion in the brain. He froze, still filming. Now Mitch rode Bex, beautiful naked Bex. Rode her like a donkey; she shuffled on all fours, he astride her back. Two of Mitch’s buddies cheered. Billy-boy whimpered; he held his bloody face in his hands.
Twelve minutes to midnight. A sense of a hard, cold object being forced through his skull made Drake lock up tight. He became statue-like. Yet he still held the camera phone up to film Mitch rain punches down on to Billy-boy’s face.
Eleven minutes to midnight. Drake’s mind had been displaced by an intruder. One of Justice Murrain’s henchmen was in the driving seat, so to speak. The possessor enjoyed the spectacle of torture through Drake’s eyes. Not only did he marvel at the little box in his hand that captured Mitch stomping on the naked gentleman’s stomach, but he understood how it worked. It was so very easy to extract knowledge of this instrument – this phone – from the mind that he’d subdued. The possessed man smiled. Oh, this would be enjoyment indeed.
Yet, sadly, it would be a brief excursion from the grave tonight. The possessor knew that the pull of the mosaic and all its powers would be strong. He wouldn’t be able to resist for long. Soon it would draw him back into the ground until the next time. For shame. Tis a pity. He smirked. Never mind. He’d extract maximum pleasure from this little nighttime passion play on the cliff.
By this time, the big muscular one, known as Mitch, had removed his heavy leather belt from his pantaloons … no, the correct modern term is blue jeans. With this formidable leather strap he whipped the naked buttocks of a buxom beauty. Each blow made her breasts dance as she shuffled on her knees. Oh, could England still be as merry as this? The possessor giggled. Relish these games. Applaud such invention.
He watched the man deliver five more swishes with the belt (goodness, how each swish ended with a mighty SLAP when leather struck buttock). The possessor felt a great force tug at him. Alas, not long now. Soon he would be drawn back into the earth to wait with his fellow Battle Men until the next release.
Eight minutes to midnight. Quickly, he returned to the van. There he found a large hammer tossed amongst a mess of other tools in the back. Once he had secured a comfortable grip on the wooden shaft he returned to the bloody pantomime. Mitch directed mighty swings with the belt on the back of beauty’s legs. Oh, those screams. Those woman sounds … they set alight his veins.
But time was running out.
Seven minutes to midnight. Holding the camera phone in one hand, the possessor filmed the back of the heads of the two men, who yelled encouragement at their brave friend. The slayer of the she-dragon; she who clutched her buttocks while yodelling, ‘Uh-uh-eeew!’
The possessor smashed the hammer into the back of one gent’s skull. The other turned in surprise. Without missing a beat, he cracked the hammerhead into the centre of the bulbous nose. Blood erupted, filling the air with droplets. In the light from the cars it turned the night all misty red. A second blow knocked a goodly portion of brain from the skull.
Neither the woman nor the one known as Billy-boy noticed. They were soundly being made tender by Mitch’s beating.
Five minutes to midnight. Quick. It’s starting. The possessor had begun to lose his grip on this young buck’s flesh. Now Mitch knelt on the women’s naked breasts as his big hands gripped her throat. She looked up at him in surprise through a wash of soft hair. It seemed as if she’d been taken unaware by this turn of events. Man seed and lady blood made gloriously crimson her thighs. Now her life drained away as she lay there beneath strangling hands.
The possessor restrained his next blow. Clunk. The hammerhead tapped Mitch’s temple. It merely stunned him. He flopped down on to the half-asphyxiated Bex.
Swiftly, the possessor rolled Mitch’s two dead friends over the edge of the cliff. With those disposed of, he dragged the senseless Mitch to the car; once there, he hauled him into the passenger seat. Then, in a flash, the possessor ensconced himself in the driver’s seat. It didn’t take more than a moment to filch from the displaced mind the knowledge to start the car’s motor, then set the machine in forward motion. Directly toward the lip of the cliff. Nothing but fresh sea air beyond. The possessor put his arm round Mitch’s neck then pulled him close, until the sides of their heads touched.
The possessor still held the camera, so he could film them both. His thumb found the send button. He’d dispatch those images recorded tonight to everyone in this device’s phone book. But not yet … just a few more seconds.
Mitch woke as the car neared the cliff-edge. He struggled to break free.
‘What the hell’re you doing, Drake? Let go!’
The car’s nose bumped up over the lip of soil. Stars filled the windshield. After that, a perfect view of a nighttime sea. Then the car’s nose dipped for a view of the surf below. The machine dived downward.
Mitch was screaming. The possessor was filming – and enjoying every moment.
One minute to midnight.
Air howled by the car. Soon it travelled faster than it ever did before.
The possessor hit ‘send’. Mitch cried with terror. Footage of the night’s bloody events flashed from phone to transmitter, then to dozens of homes in the county. Phones on bedside tables began calling out to their owners that video clips were received.
The car struck.
Midnight.
ONE DAY LEFT
1
AT 7.30 PEL Minton, already dressed, opened the motel-room blind. Bright October sunlight flooded in. A figure beneath the bedclothes groaned.
‘Wakey, wakey,’ Pel sang out brightly. ‘Come on. Up and at ’em. The bus will be here at eight. You don’t want to be late. Trenches to be dug. Ten tons of English soil to be shifted by suppertime!’
In the motel room an assortment of beds and sofas yielded half-a-dozen females – a mixture of archeologists and dirt-monkeys. Kerry had managed to cram her team into every available space.
A red-haired student kicked back her sheet, ‘Why is Pel so nauseatingly cheerful?’
Another grinned. ‘Didn’t you hear the news? Pel has a new man in her life.’
‘Come on, spill the beans.’ Redhead was enthralled.
‘She was out with him last night. It’s Jack Murrain. The grandson of nutso Jacob Murrain, who guards the mausoleum.’
‘No!’
Pel laughed. ‘We had a date, that’s all.’
Redhead answered a knock at the door. ‘Well, well, speak of the devil.’ She kept the door ajar by only an inch or so. ‘Morning, Mr Murrain. I’m afraid not all of us are dressed yet. Yes,
OK, I’ll let Pel know.’
One of the other girls giggled. ‘He’s keen to see you again.’
Redhead smirked. ‘Perhaps he’s been out early to buy an engagement ring.’ The smirk became laughter. ‘He wants to see you right away … probably down on bended knee in the corridor.’ She deepened her voice to mimic Jack, ‘Pel Minton, dear heart, I am but a humble wood-cutter. However, will you make me the happiest man in the world and say “I do”.’
Another girl poked her head from under a blanket. ‘Pel? Do you think there’s a chance a good-looking guy will save my neck today? I need a new boyfriend, too?’
Pel grinned. The ribbing was good natured; she knew it would continue for the rest of the day – at least. As she stepped through the motel-room door, she wondered why Jack needed to see her so urgently. Last night he’d slept on a camp-bed in one of the rooms occupied by the guys on the team. She and Jack had agreed to meet at eight, so he could drive her back to the cemetery dig site. The rest would travel in a convoy of cars and vans. An unpleasant thought struck her. Maybe he’s going to back-track on last night. We had a great evening, but I’m not ready for commitment yet. It was just a bit of fun, right? See you, around, Pel.
Pel found Jack in the reception area. He’d bought her coffee from the machine. A middle-aged guy sat behind the desk watching TV. Apart from that single member of staff, the pair were the only people in the room. Jack indicated a corner where chairs had been arranged around a low table.
‘What’s the matter, Jack?’
‘Grab a seat. I need to show you something.’
‘Jack. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I’ve never seen you look so serious.’
He pulled a phone from his jacket. ‘Listen. A couple of nights ago it seemed as if Crowdale went crazy. Me, included. Yesterday, my grandfather begged me not to go home.’
‘Your grandfather’s OK?’