by Simon Clark
Nat didn’t so much as shout as erupt, ‘Thank God, Thank God!’
‘Thank Pel Minton, too; she got both samples. And nearly died in the process when the cliff gave way.’
Nat bounded over the graves to hug Pel. ‘Kerry, do we get special status?’
‘Yes!’
‘So we get that damn seawall?’
She grinned. ‘Absolutely. Work starts at daybreak tomorrow. Contractors will stack what are basically steel cages full of rocks at the base of the cliff. Ladies and gentlemen, we have saved the Murrain site.’
‘Joy, oh joy!’ Nat dropped on his hands and knees to kiss the ground. ‘Temple Central will be preserved. I’m going to devote my life to excavating it. Ye gods, I’ll write a book! Make TV documentaries! Then die happy! And be buried right here!’ Clasping his hands together, he laughed until tears streamed down his face.
Kerry grinned. ‘I may be totally wrong, but something tells me that Nat is pleased.’
Nat jumped to his feet to waltz circles with another dirt-monkey. ‘Kerry, they’ve got to give us the contract for a premier investigation. No more dig and grab.’
‘First things first. We need to stabilize a mile of cliff, and all this ground.’
Nat shook his fist at the ocean. ‘Don’t you dare take any more of my precious site. I won’t let you. My sheer willpower will stop you. Back, Neptune, back!’
‘Nat, don’t tempt fate. Haven’t you heard of hubris?’
Pel spoke up as gales moaned through the cemetery. ‘Jacob Murrain should be told. After all, it means the mausoleum and the mosaic will be saved, too.’
‘Absolutely.’ She tossed the car keys to Pel. ‘You know where he lives. Tell him the good news. Mr Murrain is our ally now.’
Nat remembered something. ‘You said you had a warning, too?’
‘I have indeed.’ Hard particles of white bounced against the grass. Hail stones. Whoppers at that. ‘Please listen carefully to what I have to say. Other tests have revealed that there are spores in the soil. Fungal spores.’
The team were baffled by the warning.
‘Fungus?’ Nat scratched his head. ‘What’s so dangerous about that? We encounter fungal spores all the time.’
‘Not like these, you don’t. They contain toxins which are related to the chemical found in LSD – that’s tabs of acid to the streetwise here.’
‘There’s a risk we might get high?’
‘The spores affect the brain,’ Kerry told them. ‘You might hallucinate. Behave out of character. Even imagine that a spirit, or ghost, has taken control of you.’
Many of the diggers laughed.
‘No, I’m serious.’ And her expression was deadly serious. ‘Working conditions here, seeing as we’re on top of a cliff, are hazardous. If anyone’s reasoning, or self-control, is impaired by the spores, then we …’ – the hail fell faster – ‘then we might be in danger. If you feel at all strange … disorientated … or simply don’t seem yourself, then put up your hand and tell your supervisor. Likewise, if anyone notices a colleague behaving oddly tell me or a senior team member. Then we’ll get the affected person away from here fast. OK?’
Everyone appeared puzzled by the warning but they chorused their agreement.
Kerry smiled. ‘The main thing, we have won a victory. We’re going to save this archeological site. Now, my dears, dig your little hearts out.’ She shielded her face against stinging particles of ice. ‘Or at least until the hailstorm stops us.’
They returned to work. Kerry gave Pel a thumbs-up, then nodded at her car. Pel hurried toward the cemetery gate. She couldn’t wait to see the Murrains’ faces when she revealed that the mosaic would be preserved. The only oddity that niggled: Kerry’s warning about narcotic spores in the soil. She’d heard of psychoactive spores forming naturally on rye infected with ergot (where it could become dangerously toxic) but never in the dirt beneath your feet. Kerry had used the phrase ‘not feeling yourself’. Then the newsreaders had repeated the same phrase used by witnesses to the violence in the town. Specifically, that the people responsible for the attacks ‘weren’t themselves’. Then a couple of nights ago Jack ‘wasn’t himself’ when he rammed the drunk’s face into the wall, then kissed her so roughly he cut her lip. What’s more, he couldn’t remember doing either the day after. Curiouser and curiouser.
The force of the hailstorm didn’t allow her to dwell on the mystery. Pieces of ice the size of grapes hurtled out of a black sky. When they struck exposed skin they stung like hornets. Pel dashed the rest of the way to the car, then all but flung herself behind the wheel. Dear God. White-out. Hail rattled furiously against steel. In the graveyard, the diggers scattered before the force of the storm. Some hunkered down into the trenches, their hoods pulled over their heads. Others sought refuge in tents used as temporary store places during the day.
Nobody will venture out in that, she told herself, for fear of being flayed. At least these savage hailstorms tended to be short-lived. Once visibility had improved she’d drive to the Murrain family home with the good news.
Although, she hoped with all her heart, Jack would have good news about his grandfather when she arrived there. Because, right now, she suspected that something had gone seriously amiss with Crowdale.
4
KERRY HERNE SHELTERED beneath a canvas awning not far from the mausoleum. The glow from the lamp inside, so faithfully tended by Mr Murrain, turned the falling hail golden.
On the one hand, Kerry wanted to celebrate that they’d saved this historical site from coastal erosion (or as good as: soon defences against the surf would be in place). Yet on the other hand, fearsome worries plagued her.
For one, she knew the truth: evil forces were at work here. She’d been briefly possessed by one of the devil spirits. Yesterday, Nat had been invaded in the same way, too. The perfidious ghost had driven aside his mind, then taken control. Not only did she believe what Jacob Murrain had told her, that the mosaic was basically a prison cell for the ghosts of Justice Murrain and his henchmen, but, and this was really important, she knew something that the man didn’t. The spirits weren’t restricted to possessing people by night. They could also invade a person’s mind by day. That’s why she’d invented a story about the soil being contaminated by fungal spores that had the same hallucinogenic properties as LSD. Clearly, it would be an uphill task to convince her team that they were in danger of demonic possession. Until one experienced it for oneself, it was a difficult truth to swallow. So, the explanation based on psychoactive spores had been the most expedient. Despite her colleagues’ puzzlement, Kerry was confident that they had believed it. OK. It was a gamble to continue the dig here, yet she knew she couldn’t halt it now. After all, it would take time to install the barrier at the base of the cliffs. And how would she explain to her superiors why she’d stopped work on site? The threat of coastal erosion was a compelling argument to continue the excavation.
God willing, her team would be untouched today, and they wouldn’t experience the brutal presence of an alien mind supplanting their own. If they did, however, at least she’d gone some way to prepare them. At the first sign of a problem the affected individual could be bundled away. With their limbs gaffer-taped together, if need be.
The wind blew harder. Kerry Herne shivered, as she crouched beside trays full of bones from human beings who worked, played and made love here before the great pyramids of Egypt had even seen the light of the African sun.
5
FOR AN OCTOGENARIAN, Jacob Murrain’s eyesight was near perfect. After the blizzard-like hailstorm had abated, he witnessed a figure approach the house along the hilltop path. Even at a distance of a full quarter of a mile Jacob identified the man immediately. For a while, Jacob stood there on the front lawn, to watch Horace Neville’s advance toward the house. Not that it was Horace Neville any more. Though they were still hundreds of yards apart, Jacob knew that the man’s eyes met his with a fierce glare. What’s more, the approaching figure mov
ed with a confident swagger. This could be a rich landlord visiting his poor tenant.
When Horace marched through a field gate a hundred yards away Jacob Murrain did the wise thing. Calmly, he withdrew to the house, then locked the stout door behind him. That done, he climbed the stairs to the landing where he opened a window that overlooked the driveway.
He could view his visitor plainly. The giant still wore the paper coverall issued by the police. His bold confidence appeared to increase with every step he took.
Jacob leaned out a little in order so he could check the road that led to the house. So far, it was deserted. As were the surrounding fields. The only other house was a good half mile away, so Jacob didn’t expect any casual visitors to drop by. A good thing, too. Because if they did, Jacob didn’t rate their chances of surviving more than a few moments.
The thing that wore Horace Neville’s body stopped ten yards from the house. A smile spread across the giant’s face when it saw Jacob looking out at him from the upstairs window.
A cold breeze tugged at Jacob’s hair; however, it wasn’t the chilling power of the weather that made him shiver; it was the gloating triumph in his visitor’s eye.
Jacob’s voice rang out with a clear strength, ‘I know who you are.’
The man aped a child’s voice. ‘It’s so co-cold, Mr Murrain. Aren’t you going to let me and the little fellow inside to warm our ickle-lickle hands?’
‘You don’t fool me. Horace Neville’s been pushed aside, hasn’t he? The man I’m speaking to right now is my ancestor, isn’t that right?’
The giant smiled. ‘How on earth could you prove that?’
‘Proof be damned. You are Justice Murrain. You know it. I know it. So no more games!’
‘In that case, show me your good manners. Invite me in, sir.’
‘Never.’
‘Do you prefer me to kick down your door?’
‘You can try.’ Jacob remained calm. ‘But I’ve built this house like a fortress. Reinforced doors. Steel bars over the ground-floor windows.’
‘So you’ve been expecting me all along?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, you devil. Because of what you did more than two hundred years ago the Murrain family have been treated like criminals. The town despises us. Trouble always comes looking for us, so I made sure our home would keep unwelcome visitors out.’
The giant patted his chest. ‘Ignore the fact that I occupy the body of the idiot. To all intents and purposes I am Justice Murrain. Consider me to be that man. So I am your forefather. Accord me respect.’
‘Never. You are a monster. I’ve devoted my life to protecting the mosaic. That was the prison that kept you, and the scum who followed you, locked down tight into the ground.’
‘It’s failing. Those occult chains that bound us there are breaking one by one. As you see for yourself, I’m out. So, dear kin of mine, aren’t you going to ask me how I threw off the constable’s shackles? Or how I learnt where you live?’
‘You think you’re clever, but you’re not. If it wasn’t for the sea eroding the cliffs you’d still be trapped under the mosaic. It isn’t your clever mind that got you out of the mausoleum, it’s geology. The cliffs are boulder clay, not solid rock.’
‘Maybe God made me free. To punish all you sinners.’
‘God? You’ve been delivered here by Satan.’
‘Sticks and stones, my good sir. In truth, I came across a gentleman walking in a field over yonder. It’s surprising how easily I made him tell me your address. What struck me so forcibly is that how fragile men are these days. I’d swear his bones were no stronger than the stems of a flower.’ He shrugged. ‘The police officers were no more robust, either.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Jacob, I’m not here to defend myself to you. You’re of no importance to me at all. I’m here for your grandson.’
‘Jack’s not here. He won’t be back for days.’
‘Is that so?’ The body that Justice Murrain occupied turned to face the direction of Crowdale. ‘I saw Jack Murrain steering that vehicle of his into town. There’s no road out in that direction, so it suggests to me he’s on some errand and will be back shortly. Am I not correct?’
Jack Murrain had rushed back that morning to check that his grandfather wasn’t in any trouble. Jacob had been able to assure him that everything was fine, and that he’d merely wanted his grandson to have a night out in a town where the lights burned brighter. Of course, he still needed to find a way to keep Jack out of Crowdale, until Justice Murrain, and his henchmen, were either contained or destroyed.
Jacob leaned out of the window again to check the road. No sign of Jack – yet. But he could drive round the corner any moment. Jacob cleared his throat. ‘Jack has work to do. He’ll be gone for hours.’
‘Before my informant had the temerity to expire so quickly, I did glean that your only source of income is a forest that lies over the hill. ’Tis such a shame that our noble family have been reduced to the status of woodcutters.’ His glare intensified. ‘So you are a liar, old man. Jack doesn’t go to a place of employment in the town. Then what errand is he running for you? A new handle for your broom? Oil for the lamp? Or …’ – he spat the words – ‘rubber incontinence pants? New sheets? Because you befoul your bed at night? Batteries for your hearing aid? Ha! See, Jacob. You underestimated me. You think I arrived here, wielding the mind of a man from the 1700s. But I can reach into the idiot brain of Horace Neville.’ He slammed his fist against his chest. ‘Then I rip out facts about this modern age. I’m fluent in its idiom. For example, do you like M&Ms? Which is your favourite colour? Do you prefer “The Simpsons” TV cartoon to the shopping channels? Which microwave meal do you shovel betwixt your flapping gums?’
‘I wish I had a gun right now, Justice Murrain. I’d shoot you dead, so help me.’
‘Fetch a knife from the kitchen. Even an electric knife.’ Justice Murrain gloated on Jacob’s unease. ‘Then I’d gladly let you cut off my head. Because you know full well that though this body would die, I will not. Me! Justice Murrain! Your illustrious ancestor, will simply be freed from this flesh. Yes, I may be forced to return to the mausoleum for a spell, but then I will soon be free to find another host again.’
‘Host? You even talk like a parasite.’
‘You’ve been trying to distract me, Jacob. Quite simply, I am here for Jack. I want to be Murrain again. A flesh and blood Murrain. You’re too old, too used up. Jack Murrain is what I need right now. I shall transfer myself into his fresh young head.’ He wore a self-satisfied smile. ‘Jack’s body will be my vehicle.’ The smile widened. ‘When Jack grows old I will then transfer to his children.’
‘He doesn’t have any children.’
‘But I’ve seen him in the company of a young lady – and such a beautiful, desirable lady. Once I have taken possession of Jack Murrain I will make the lady my wife. See, Jacob? It is all so simple. I have it all planned out.’ He sighed with pleasure at his own foresight. ‘After I’m done with Jack in thirty years or so, I will transfer to his son. Then in another few decades I will skip lightly into the skull of his son. And so on. I will be immortal.’ He grinned. ‘And you will be nothing more than a stench in your grave.’
‘And I suppose your Battle Men will do the same? So you have your henchmen for always, moving from human being to human being, like the parasites you are.’
‘Ah, envy, sir. It runs thick in your voice.’
‘Envious? I’m nauseated.’ Then a revelation struck Jacob. ‘Wait. I’ll take you up on your offer.’
‘Offer?’
Jacob’s pulse quickened. ‘You invited me to cut off your head. I’ll do exactly that.’
Currents of air cried around the eaves of the house, then tapered into a sigh as they flew amongst the trees. Justice Murrain kept his eyes locked on those of Jacob’s. The arrogant stance appeared to weaken.
Jacob sensed his advantage. ‘Surely, you’ve no problem with that, have you
, benighted ancestor of mine? Because, as you told me, the moment that body dies you simply vacate it. And after a short spell back in the mosaic you will be able to find another body to possess.’
For a split-second Justice Murrain wore a hunted expression. The blip in his confidence confirmed to Jacob that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he first appeared.
Jacob spoke with growing authority. ‘There’s a problem, isn’t there?’
‘Oh, this body I’ve occupied has its annoying shortcomings. I readily confess that although strong it is clumsy. It’s rather like riding a laming horse.’ He held up a finger. ‘No, I must use a modern example. To occupy this body is like driving a car with a malfunctioning—’
‘Ah-ha! I know what’s wrong. You are trapped in there. Go on, confess that! You thought it would be so easy to possess the body of an imbecile. But you’re the imbecile! Horace Neville suffered brain damage when he was born. A brain like that, with all the neural pathways messed up? Easy to get into – hard to get out!’
‘That’s not true!’
‘You’re stuck in there. You’ve got yourself trapped in the body of Horace Neville. So what now, Justice Murrain? I’ve seen your Battle Men occupy men and women in the last few days, but it’s only very briefly, isn’t it? They soon lose their grip and get sucked back into the Ghost Monster. That’s what local children call the mosaic. What a lovely name, heh? The Ghost Monster is a prison for the souls of the damned. But there’s a real danger for you that the Ghost Monster is beyond your reach. If I cut your throat, will your spirit die with Neville’s body? Will you be destroyed forever?’