Ghost Monster

by Simon Clark

  ‘Grandfather, Pel’s had some trouble. Her car’s been damaged.’

  ‘Well, my boss’s car, actually. I hope she’ll take the news well.’

  Jacob encouraged her to sit down in an armchair by a blazing log fire. He repeatedly glanced out through the window, a decidedly anxious expression on his face. ‘So, my dear, what happened?’

  Pel explained that her boss had asked her to deliver good news. That work would begin in the morning to protect the base of the cliff from further erosion.

  ‘The mosaic will be left where it is?’ Sheer relief swept through Jacob; so much so, that he appeared unsteady on his feet. He sat down on the sofa. ‘Thank Providence for that. But what happened to the car?’

  ‘Well,’ she began, wondering how much detail to give. Falling asleep in the driver’s seat seemed pretty dumb to admit, even though it was stationary at the time. ‘On the way here, the car got stuck in a drift of hail. As I waited for it to melt so I could get moving again, the windows misted up. Then I noticed a figure, all in white, running toward the back of the car. I locked the doors. Just in time, too, because he started punching the window. Luckily, I managed to get the car moving forward. As I did so, he gave me one last parting shot. He thumped the rear window so hard he smashed it.’

  ‘Who the hell would do a crazy thing like that?’ Jack was astonished.

  ‘All dressed in white, you say?’ Jacob nodded, grimly. ‘The man who attacked your car was here earlier. It was Horace Neville. The white garment is a suit to protect forensic evidence. But to quote a phrase used a lot in the past few days, “He wasn’t himself”.’

  ‘Horace Neville?’ Jack set the gun down on a table. ‘No one would disagree that he’s peculiar. Everyone in Crowdale’s seen him sitting outside the house, talking to his imaginary friend. But he wouldn’t attack a car.’

  ‘Jack, believe me, he’s a changed man.’ Jacob went to the window in order to scan the fields. ‘A couple of nights ago he murdered his own mother. This morning he killed three policemen as they were taking him to a specialist unit in Calder-Brigg.’

  ‘And he was here after killing the police officers! What on earth did he want?’

  Jacob took a deep breath. ‘He wanted you Jack. Earlier, when I saw you driving toward the house, I phoned and asked you to fetch the shotgun. The business about the rat was the first thing that came into my head.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay here. For all we know, Neville might come back. I’ll drive you over to Calder-Brigg.’

  ‘Jack. Whoa … stop there. I’m not going to Calder-Brigg.’

  ‘Of course you are. It’s not safe here. I’ll make sure that Pel gets back to her people at the dig-site. If they don’t know already, they’ve got to be warned, too. And the police have to be notified.’

  ‘No, Jack. I’ve got to take care of the mausoleum.’

  ‘Mausoleum be damned!’ Jack crashed his fist down on the table. ‘Grandfather. I’m sick and tired of your obsession with that bloody mosaic. Leave it alone. The archeologists are going to take care of it.’

  ‘Jack, it’s—’

  ‘No, for once, you to listen to me! You don’t know how much I hate that mosaic. Do you know the times the kids at school taunted me about that … the Ghost Monster! I had to endure their mockery, their jokes.’ Eyes blazing, Jack let the anger rip. ‘The times I defended your obsession with the thing. How I tried to justify it. But I felt like the only kid at school who believed in Santa Clause. They were laughing at me. I was treated like the school idiot – all because of that damned picture of our ancestor!’

  ‘Son, I’m sorry. But—’

  ‘But nothing! You haven’t a clue what I endured … what crap I had to go through every day. Me! The Ghost Monster boy! The other kids called me names so I beat them. That got me into trouble with the school-teachers. And I never told you what it was doing to me. Because for year after year I believed in you. You swept the mosaic, kept the lamp burning, guarded the mausoleum; I really and truly believed that you were protecting us all somehow. That because you safeguarded the mosaic you were safeguarding Crowdale. That made me so proud.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I did. You will too, someday.’

  Pel watched in silence as the younger Murrain unleashed all that pent-up rage.

  ‘It’s over! I’m not indulging in this sick devotion any more to a pile of stones in the graveyard. Listen, I was fifteen years old. I started to see a girl who was new to the school. “Don’t have anything with Ghost Monster boy”, the other kids told her. “He’s a weirdo. He and his crazy grandfather will have you down on your hands and knees washing a freaky face every day”. Of course, she exited from my life like a shot. That’s when I saw through your quest: to keep the mausoleum in one piece. Your obsession was destroying my life. As simple as that. My childhood was sacrificed – sacrificed on the altar of your love affair with that brick hut and its ridiculous picture.’

  After that, silence, apart from the crackle of burning logs on the fire. Both men appeared exhausted by the outpouring of Jack’s rage.

  At last Jacob murmured, ‘Son, don’t you think I went through the same when I was your age? It is the curse of the Murrain family to care for—’

  ‘Don’t. I don’t want to hear.’

  ‘If you don’t want to hear about that, then you must hear about the risk to you.’

  Jack stood with his back to the wall, arms folded, eyes downcast.

  Pel had the beginnings of a headache. Perhaps shock had begun to get its teeth into her nerves at long last. Hell … is that any surprise after the day I’ve had?

  Jacob talked. His grandson just shook his head, refusing to allow the words to have any meaning for him.

  ‘Jack. Something’s been happening in Crowdale. Over the last few days people have acted out of character. They’ve not been themselves – as the saying has been repeated so often recently. It wasn’t Horace Neville, who attacked his mother, or those police officers, or who visited me here: it was Justice Murrain.’

  ‘I believe it,’ Jack told him with a sigh. ‘I believe it.’

  ‘Good, because I need to explain—’

  ‘Finally, I believe what the kids told me all those years ago; that I lived with a crazy man. Because I sure as hell don’t believe you. And it rips my heart in two to say that.’

  The pain in Pel’s forehead grew worse.

  Jacob all but pleaded with his grandson. ‘Listen to me. It’s true. The mosaic of our ancestor, the image they call the Ghost Monster, kept Justice Murrain locked out of this world. Him and his henchmen. Now that the sea is taking the cliff it’s begun to destroy a sacred temple that has the mosaic at its heart. Every time a piece of the temple is lost it allows Justice Murrain and his Battle Men out. Horace Neville has been possessed by our ancestor. If you talk to him then you’ll believe. No … Jack, don’t go – please listen to me.’

  Pel shuddered. Something was happening to her that she didn’t understand. The sensation changed from a headache to a sudden pressure above her eyebrows. In turn, that gave way to a certainty that a solid object, one icily cold, was being forced through her forehead. Pel tried to put her hands to her face. Only she couldn’t move. The pressure increased; the pain became immense. Yet she couldn’t cry out, couldn’t breathe. Dying, she thought in panic. I’m dying, thousands of miles from home….

  Despite the agony, she sat absolutely still in the armchair. It seemed as if her mind had been displaced from where it usually sat, just behind her eyes. Now an icy presence occupied that seat of consciousness. Strangely, her panic passed. She found her sense of self thrust into the back of her skull. Pel could see Jack and his grandfather. They still argued. Haven’t they noticed what happened to me? She tried to raise a hand to attract their attention. Look, I’m ill. I’ve suffered a seizure … I can’t talk. However, the ability to raise even her arm had been lost to her. Try as she might, she could not cry out. Not a croak left her lips. As far as the shouting men wer
e concerned she simply sat there quietly.

  Just as she told herself that she’d suffered a stroke that left her paralysed, her hand suddenly rose up in front of her. It turned to display her fingers … palm … wrist. As if suddenly the limb fascinated her. Yet this wasn’t her doing. She didn’t want to sit there staring at her hand like she’d never seen it before.

  What struck Pel so forcibly was the impression that, as if she’d hitherto been in a room alone, now she knew that a person had entered through a secret door. It wasn’t easy to put that feeling into words. Just that she felt so strongly there was an intruder in her presence … no, not in her presence … but inside her. This revelation filled her with horror. This was like suffering a physical attack but being unable to protest, never mind defend herself.

  Woodsmoke from the fire … to her it seemed impossibly pungent, as if her sense of smell had been absent for years. She saw Jacob imploring Jack. ‘Please, son, listen to me. I’m trying to protect you from the greatest danger you’ve ever encountered.’

  Jack Murrain grimly shook his head. He didn’t want explanations.

  The room tilted. Pel realized she’d stood up. And this frightened her because she’d not even tried. Her gaze swept round the room. The TV fixed to the wall wasn’t even switched on but suddenly it became the most fascinating thing in the world. She tottered toward it. Her hand swam into vision, stroked the screen. Then darted toward the remote control. Stop this, she told herself, panicked. What are you doing? She pressed the power button. Have I gone insane, is that what’s wrong with me? Am I losing my mind?

  Three things happened in quick succession: One: pop! The TV powered up. On-screen: vivid images of children hurling beach balls at a clown. Two: a scream erupted from her lips. Exulting – not fear, oh no, nothing like fear – a scream of joy. Three: at last the two men realized the woman in their midst was no longer herself.

  Jack took a step toward her. ‘Pel, what are you doing?’ Then he noticed what must have been a crazed leer on her face. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘Stay here!’ Jacob Murrain caught his grandson by the arm. ‘They’ve got her.’

  ‘Who’s got her? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Just as I’ve been trying to tell you, Jack. They’ve taken control of Pel.’

  ‘You’re telling me that she has been possessed?’

  ‘It’ll be temporary. Another part of the temple must have collapsed into the sea. Every time it does, it allows them to escape for a while. Somehow, for now, it still manages to self-heal. When it fixes itself it draws the wandering spirit back to the mosaic.’ He watched Pel gleefully run her fingers over furniture in the room. ‘What we must do is make sure she doesn’t harm anyone … or herself.’

  The moment Jacob released his grandson, Jack moved toward Pel.

  ‘Easy, son. You’re not dealing with Pel Minton anymore. That will be one of Justice Murrain’s thugs.’

  ‘Thugs?’ A lascivious voice oozed from Pel’s lips. ‘My name is Anna. I’m Justice Murrain’s night-wife. Hmmm … I kept his bed warm, his cock slick and his hunger satisfied.’ She regarded the pair. ‘You two are his image. You know that? The Murrain gents always look the same, don’t they. Big black hair. Big grey eyes. No doubt big appetites too for food and fucking. Care to taste my wares, sirs?’ She fumbled with the zip of her fleece jacket.

  ‘Pel, don’t say those things.’

  ‘Jack. That isn’t Pel Minton. Her mind has been overwhelmed. She’s in there somewhere, but the spirit of a woman who calls herself Anna has taken control.’

  ‘So, if you don’t want to plunge your pork swords into woman flesh, then what would you do with me? Beat me with your fists? Thrust my head into yonder blazing fire? Hmmm … I’ve not felt the tingle of love, nor a jab of hurt in centuries.’ She advanced toward the fire. ‘Even a burn on my finger would be something to savour after all these years.’

  ‘No.’ Jack surged forward to put his arms around her.

  ‘Hmmm … Such strength, sir. I’m sure this body I occupy yearns for you to enter.’ She stroked his face. ‘Oh, how I forgot how skin feels to the touch, sir. So smooth. But …’ She broke free of his grip. ‘I’m not here for pleasure, my lords.’

  Jacob warned, ‘Jack, careful she doesn’t harm herself. This Anna thing will soon be gone. It’ll be Pel who has to deal with any injuries the monster leaves behind.’ Jacob examined Pel’s face. ‘It’s starting. The spirit’s leaving her.’

  In the wall mirror, Pel Minton, still locked down inside her own skull, regarded the expression … her expression. The wanton leer faded … that air of confidence weakened. Pel had been in the grip of paralysis. Her possessor had taken control of her body. However, Pel focused her mind on bunching her right fist. To her relief she saw the fingers curl inward … it wasn’t much, but it was a start. She was fighting back. Maybe, if she concentrated hard enough, she could push out this evil intelligence that had taken control of her.

  Jacob cried, ‘Keep her away from the fire, and anything sharp. We’ll soon have Pel back … the real Pel.’

  Yet, with a sudden burst of energy a possessed Pel Minton shoved Jack against the wall. ‘I’m not here for games. I bring a message from Justice Murrain. Soon he’ll come for Jack, here. That’s when the real games will start. Games of death.’ She laughed. ‘Then he’ll take this she-creature.’ Pel rubbed her hands across her breast. ‘He’ll take her for his wife. She’ll give birth to his sons!’

  At first, Pel thought the entire front of her head had been ripped off. When the spirit of Anna detached itself the agony nearly overwhelmed her. Instantly, Jack and his grandfather ran to support her as her knees folded.

  The pain left her too breathless to speak. And at that moment she did need to reveal one important fact: Horace Neville is back. Jacob and Jack had their backs to the window. And framed there, just inches beyond the glass, a giant of a man; all seven feet of him. Horace peered in, still clad in the blood-smeared forensic suit.

  ‘The possessor is gone,’ Jacob said, ‘Pel’s back with us again.’

  Pel couldn’t speak, yet she still had to warn the pair that the killer stared in at them. The windows were covered by steel bars, but such a giant of a man could probably break down the front door with ease. She struggled.

  ‘Take it easy,’ soothed Jacob. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Look!’ The word exploded from her. ‘He’s here!’

  Both men spun to the window. Horace Neville didn’t even flinch on being seen by the men. He merely smiled.

  Jacob shouted, ‘There he is! That might be Horace Neville’s body, but the person you are really seeing is your ancestor, Justice Murrain.’

  Without hesitating Jack seized the gun case that contained the firearm. Swiftly, he slid the shotgun out, before starting to load shells into its breech.

  Pel found she’d recovered her speech. ‘He’s going … don’t let him get away.’

  Jacob went to the window. ‘Sorry, Jack. You’ll never catch him now.’

  All three watched Justice Murrain bound across the fields. Although ungainly, those legs were strong enough to carry him away into the distance.

  Jack clenched the gun in his fist. ‘I’ll get him next time – so help me.’

  9

  DUSK FELL. IT brought more dark cloud from the sea. With that forbidding pall came yet more hailstones. Kerry Herne moved restlessly from one excavation trench to another. It frustrated her to the point of a hissing, foot-stomping fury that she’d been forced to shut the dig down early. At lunchtime the civil engineers, tasked with building the sea defences, had arrived with orders that the site on the cliff-top must be vacated. Kerry had insisted that work up here wouldn’t affect their surveys at the base of the cliff. She’d almost persuaded them when a section of cliff had collapsed on to the beach with the sound of a fist punching a torso. It had taken another rim section of Temple Central with it. After that, no amount of persuasion would change the
engineers’ minds. They suggested that archeologists digging too near to the cliff-edge had compromised the ‘integrity of the subjacent soil.’ Therefore, excavation had to be suspended for the day. So, a heavy-hearted Kerry ordered her team to pack up, climb into the convoy vehicles, then head back to the motel in Calder-Brigg.

  Early that afternoon, she’d seen her own car, no doubt driven by Pel Minton, approach the site behind a pick-up, which she didn’t recognize. An assistant to the engineers guarded the access lane. From some 200 yards away Kerry had seen a man in a hardhat explaining that nobody was present at the site, well, nobody but little old me, fumed Kerry. Pel and the pick-up driver must have accepted the guy’s word, for they turned the vehicles round then headed away.

  Kerry decided it would be simplest to call Pel. However, after searching the pockets of her formidable waterproofs, she realized she’d left her phone in the glove compartment of the very car that Pel was driving. Great, just great.

  With nothing less than pit-bull tenacity, Kerry continued to work alone at the dig-site. For one, she had no lift back to Calder-Brigg as she’d wrongly anticipated that Pel would be able to return with her car; secondly, Kerry, as chief archeologist, could not bear the idea of wasting good daylight. Although the engineers had gotten her to agree to no more digging, while they surveyed the beach, she single-handedly spent two hours sieving dirt heaps for finds. After bagging an eighteenth-century belt buckle and assorted Roman potsherds, she focused her energies on photographing the trenches and the tagged artefacts which awaited extraction in the morning, then, as the light waned, she returned to an awning where she could cheat the approaching dusk by using a flashlight to work on the more humdrum stuff of time-sheets, and stock requisitions.

  Despite her frustration at having to halt the team’s work, she felt relief – a delicious, no, call that gargantuan relief, that the engineers were finally here. Once they’d completed their survey, they’d call in the squad tomorrow to start building the barricade. Steel cages, filled with rocks, would prevent surf from munching away any more of those cliffs, which consisted of boulder clay, a substance so soft the entire coast might as well have been made from chocolate chip cookies.