Dark Legion

by John Glasby

  Nothing. Just the writhing mist and the dark, shifting outlines of the trees. Yet he could have sworn that he had seen something. He shuddered and felt the muscles of his stomach contract painfully. There was something out there!

  But in God’s name what was it? Something was drifting among those trees, something curiously formless, as if a patch of the mist was trying to shape itself into human form. There was a sharp tingling at his temples, increasing until he could feel it physically. Standing rooted to the spot, his limbs dead, he stared at the figure which now stood on the edge of the open stretch of ground, his body functionless, his breath stopped up in his chest, incapable of doing anything but stare at the form in helpless shock.

  Vaguely, he was aware of Treherne’s sharp intake of breath, knew the other was seeing it as clearly as he was. Fingers clenched, nails biting into the flesh of his palms, he found it impossible to withdraw his gaze. It was undoubtedly a man standing there, his face a blur of white beneath some kind of hood, eyes so deep-set that they seemed mere holes in a skeletal face.

  Treherne’s muttered cry was short and feeble — a mere strangling sound deep in his throat, lost in the clatter of dirt as the grave was filled in. With an effort, Amberley wrenched his neck around, looked into the other’s white, shaking features. In spite of the damp chill in the air, sweat stood out on Treherne’s forehead, trickled down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, screwing them up tightly before opening them once more, then drew the back of his hand across his face.

  Doctor Harmon’s voice broke in on Terence’s tumbling thoughts. ‘Are you feeling all right, Treherne?’

  ‘What? Oh, it’s you, Doctor.’ Treherne shook himself visibly. ‘Yes, I think so. Must have been the strain.’

  ‘You don’t look too well either, Mister Amberley,’ said Harmon sympathetically. ‘Maybe you had both better come along with me. I understand you drove here through the night. I’ll let you have a sleeping draught. You seem all in.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Terence made an immense effort to recover himself. His hands were shaking by his sides and he forced them to steady. All the time he was looking at the doctor, listening to him, he was calling upon every nerve in his body to turn his head and look back at the trees, knowing he would get no rest unless he did. But when he finally succeeded in looking, there was nothing there. Only the mist seemed a little thicker near the tall, slender trunks than elsewhere in the churchyard.

  He let Harmon take his arm and lead him away from the spot, with Treherne following close behind. They passed beneath a stone archway to where the cars were waiting. While he stood hesitantly, Harmon went to where the driver stood, his collar turned up against the clammy mist, spoke briefly to him. The man nodded understandingly, threw Terence a curious glance, then climbed in behind the wheel.

  ‘I’ve told him to take us straight to my surgery,’ Harmon explained, crushing into the seat beside him. ‘I don’t imagine you feel like talking to all of the others just now. This tragic affair must have come as a shock to you. I knew your brother well. A strange man in some ways, perhaps a little eccentric, but in spite of this, he fitted well into the community,’

  ‘I get the impression though, that the research he was doing was looked upon, not only as highly eccentric, but dangerous too.’

  ‘Dangerous . . .?’ repeated the other, with a quick glance in Treherne’s direction. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’

  ‘Surely it’s obvious,’ Terence blurted out. ‘Ever since I got here, I’ve had the feeling that people firmly believe that whatever it was he was seeking finally destroyed him.’

  ‘As a doctor,’ said Harmon, ‘may I give you a piece of advice? Don’t start getting ideas like that into your head. Much as I hate to say it, your brother committed suicide. The fact that he was found up there among the Standing Stones means nothing.’ He paused, then went on more seriously: ‘I did not mean to tell you this, not so soon anyway, but your brother was a very sick man.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ muttered Terence sharply, speaking a little more harshly than he had intended. ‘Malcolm never had a day’s serious illness in his life.’

  ‘This was not a physical illness,’ said the doctor gently.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me he was insane?’

  Harmon looked momentarily uncomfortable. There was clearly something he felt he had to say, but was finding it difficult. Eventually, as the car turned off the main street, he said: ‘Let’s simply say that his intense fascination with these old legends gave him fits of depression, sometimes bordering on paranoia My belief is that he took his own life during one of these bouts of mental aberration. I think you would be well advised to leave it that way and not go probing more deeply into these things.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ said Terence as he got out of the car.

  ‘You must believe it.’ There was a peculiar insistence in the other’s tone. ‘The dead are dead. Better to let them lie in peace.’ He walked ahead of them and unlocked the door of the surgery.

  As he moved to follow him, Terence threw a quick look at Treherne, felt a slight shock as he noticed the look of fright on the man’s face. Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. But there was no time to question him about his fears for at that moment Harmon said. ‘Now that your brother has been buried, Mister Amberley, may I ask if you intend to remain long in Tormount?’

  ‘That depends on a great many things,’ Terence said slowly.

  ‘Such as?’ The other snapped the question harshly.

  ‘Let’s just say that there are some questions about my brother’s death which still haven’t been answered.’

  ‘But surely the inquest —’ began the other.

  Terence shook his head. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned about official inquests it’s that they always try to find the logical explanation for anything, utterly disregarding everything else.’

  ‘And you think that there is something else?’ Harmon’s sideways glance took in Treherne as well as Terence.

  ‘The more I hear about this affair, the more positive I am about that.’

  The doctor seemed on the point of making a sharp retort, then turned on his heel and went into the back room. Treherne spun on Amberley. ‘Why on earth did you have to say that? It was mainly on Harmon’s evidence that the coroner reached his verdict.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Terence nodded. He could feel the tightness growing in his mind. ‘But you don’t believe any more than I do that Malcolm killed himself because his mind was unhinged.’

  ‘What does it matter what I believe?’ Treherne shrugged. ‘The whole of the village wants to believe it and if you start dragging up these old things you’ll only make matters much worse. Take Harmon’s advice and let the dead sleep in peace.’

  Harmon came back into the room. He handed a small bottle to Terence. ‘Take two of these half an hour before retiring,’ he said in his professional voice. ‘They’ll ensure that you get a good night’s sleep. In the morning, I’m sure you will see things in a far different light.’

  Terence took the bottle, slipped it into his overcoat pocket. ‘I’m sure you mean well, Doctor. I have no wish to remain here any longer than is absolutely necessary, but first I must find out the truth behind what happened.’

  ‘The truth,’ Harmon sighed, running the fingers of his right hand through his greying hair. ‘How will you know the truth when you find it? You sound very much as your brother did when he came here many years ago. He wanted to discover the truth — and what happened to him?’

  ‘Exactly! What did happen?’ Terence looked across the room to where Treherne was standing by the fireplace. ‘I think you know a lot more about that than you’ve told me so far, Ralph.’

  Treherne spun on his heel with a sudden, almost frightened, movement. ‘You’re not trying to blame me for his death, are you?’

  ‘No. But I’ll swear that there’s something unutterably evil here and you are aware of it. I saw — something
— back there in the graveyard. You saw it too, so there’s no use in denying it. Standing over by the trees near the fields.’

  ‘I — I didn’t see anything,’ Treherne said falteringly. ‘It was just the whole atmosphere of the place, the mist and the cold and . . .’

  Harmon looked momentarily perplexed, then he said tightly to Terence, ‘Just what did you see, Amberley?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I noticed Ralph staring fixedly over the vicar’s shoulder and turned to see what he was looking at. It was misty in that direction, but I’ll swear there was a figure standing there just beneath the trees. It looked like a man but —’

  ‘There was nothing there I tell you.’ Treherne seemed almost beside himself. He started forward, one hand held in front of him. ‘I saw nothing!’

  ‘Very well, you saw nothing,’ Terence said softly. ‘But I definitely saw there was something there. Whether it has anything to do with what has been going on around here, I don’t know. But this is just one of the reasons why I intend to stay and find out. Someone is deliberately trying to hide something and since it was my brother who died, you can’t blame me for wanting to find out what it is.’

  Curiously neither man attempted to argue in the face of his determination. Finally, Harmon said quietly: ‘You’d better get some rest, Amberley, Whatever it is that’s troubling you will take on a calmer light in the morning.’ He led the way to the door, paused as he opened it.

  ‘Just one word of advice. Your brother seemed intent on pursuing these old, and often curious, legends about Tormount and the surrounding countryside. It became a mania with him. Whatever you do, try not to let what you fancied you saw this afternoon become such an obsession with you. The mist can play strange tricks with the imagination. And just take two of those tablets. They’re quite strong and an overdose could be dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll remember, Doctor.’ Terence gave a brief nod, followed Treherne out into the drizzling mist.

  During the walk back through the village, both men were silent, engrossed in their own private thoughts: Treherne inwardly terribly afraid and Amberley sensing, in some odd way, the chill that was rising within him towards some approaching summit of horror.

  Chapter Two – The Coming of the Fear

  Terence retired early that night. The long drive to Tormount, coupled with the curious, macabre events of the afternoon, had tired him more than he had realised. His room overlooked the rear of the house and for a moment, after undressing, he slipped into the warm dressing gown which Treherne had provided and stood in front of the window with the room light extinguished, staring out into the night.

  The air had become appreciably colder and with the rising of the moon, a couple of days after full, the mist had dissipated completely, leaving the air crystal clear. The quickening shafts of brilliant moonlight threw the nearby groups of trees into harsh shadow and it was as if the entire countryside was holding its breath in a deathly hush, not a branch stirring, nothing moving as far as the eye could see. It was a silence and a stillness; but not a calm tranquillity. The air of utter malevolence that he had sensed since his arrival in the village was still there, hanging like an invisible shroud over the fields and the narrow, moonlit lane that ran past the edge of the house towards the low rise of the distant fields.

  Off to his left, he could just make out the squat tower of the church, gleaming spectrally, its long shadow falling slantwise over the graveyard that nestled at its foot. The stunted teeth of the tombstones shone in the flooding moonlight and the mere sight of them sent a shiver of superstitious fear coursing through his veins.

  Why, he wondered, had Treherne lied about what they had both witnessed that afternoon? Was he afraid to speak out for fear of being called a fool, or perhaps being considered insane? He could not help recalling some of Doctor Harmon’s words to him and it came to him that there might have been a hidden meaning to them. Maybe the other sincerely believed that Malcolm had been mad, had wanted to warn him that insanity was sometimes hereditary and that if he continued to probe into things which did not concern him, there was a chance that he, too, might become similarly unbalanced in his outlook.

  He was suddenly thankful that from his window, it was impossible to see those tall stone pillars that stood atop Cranston’s Hill. The moon drifted suddenly behind a thick bank of cloud and it was as if a black curtain had abruptly descended. The desire to climb into bed and forget, for the night at least, the uncomfortable chaos of his thoughts, was strong within him, but some imp of perverseness held him at the window, waiting impatiently for the moon to reappear.

  In the morning, he decided he would talk with some of the people in the village. He remembered several of them from his visits here that had, until some years before, been fairly frequent. Then, there had been no inkling of the horror that was one day to come. Maybe he would find someone willing to talk to him about Malcolm.

  The clouds parted raggedly, the moon came out again, shining serenely over the deserted countryside. No, not quite deserted! A sudden movement caught and held his attention. The lane which led past the side of the house, branched about a hundred yards away, one narrow pathway leading to the house on the side of the hill, a house which had once belonged to his brother and which was now in total darkness. Somehow, he had not felt up to going there that afternoon following the funeral to check over Malcolm’s belongings. Now a slight figure was walking quickly towards the house. A few moments passed before he recognised the dark figure.

  Anne Cowdrey. What on earth was she doing out there at this ungodly hour?

  She and Malcolm had been very close, he remembered. Indeed, he had often thought that the two of them might have married someday, had joked with Malcolm about his backwardness in asking her to be his wife. Strangely, he had not seen her among the mourners at the funeral.

  Whether the strain had proved too much for her and she had been unable to face the ordeal, he did not know.

  He watched the slight figure until the girl had turned out of sight along the lane leading up to the house.

  Without warning, a light suddenly appeared in one of the lower windows of the distant house. For a long moment, he stared at it as though hypnotised. Then Anne must have a key to the place. But why had she gone there at this time of the night, alone? How long he stood at the window, it was impossible to estimate. Perhaps half an hour passed before the light was extinguished and some fifteen minutes later, he saw Anne’s dark figure, the high collar pulled up around her head, come back along the lane. He thought that she glanced up at his window as she passed but could not be sure that this was not a trick of the moonlight.

  After she had gone, he sank down on to the bed and realised that he was shaking all over.

  *

  Ralph Treherne sipped his coffee slowly, staring at Terence over the rim of the cup. ‘I’m afraid I no longer have keys to the house, Terry,’ he said tightly. ‘The police took them when they locked the place up a few days ago.’

  ‘I’d better have a word with them then.’ It had been on the tip of his tongue to mention Anne Cowdrey’s nocturnal visit to his brother’s place, but now he thought better of it. It was just possible that there might be some logical explanation.

  ‘You’ll want to go through his effects, naturally,’ The other finished his coffee. ‘Then I suppose the house will go up for sale. But you may not find it easy to get a buyer for it. Since his death, that place seems to have gained a bad reputation. You know how these country people like to talk.’

  Terence leaned back in his chair. ‘I was also thinking of looking up Anne Cowdrey. Is she still living here?’

  ‘Anne? Why, yes. She took Malcolm’s death very badly. They were extremely close friends as you know. We all thought . . . well, that one day the two of them might marry.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’d be careful what you say to her. She’s a highly strung girl and the shock has come as a terrible blow to her.’

  ‘I’ll be very discreet,’ Terence promised. He glanced out
of the window. The pale wintry sunlight gleamed wanly over the street, glimmering on the frosty fields. A glance at his watch told him it was almost ten o’clock. ‘Well, there’s no time like the present. I’ll call in at the police station on my way.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ asked the other.

  Amberley shook his head, ‘I think I’d better do this my own way.’

  Leaving the house, he made his way along the quiet street, feeling the biting chill of the wind, even through the thickness of his overcoat. The police-sergeant seated behind the desk regarded him in puzzlement, then his expression changed as he obviously recognised him.

  ‘It’s Mister Amberley, isn’t it?’ He leaned forward. ‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you at first, sir, but it’s been some years since you were last here, hasn’t it?’

  Terence nodded. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t manage to get down more often. If I had, I may have been able to prevent this terrible tragedy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame yourself too much, sir. We can’t possibly foresee these things.’ The other seemed anxious for conversation and Terence guessed that very little happened to disturb the even tenor of a village policeman’s life.

  ‘Did you know my brother well?’ he asked, seating himself at the sergeant’s gesture.

  ‘As well as most, I’d say. He was, if you don’t mind my saying so, a very queer bird. I’m not a Tormount man myself, come from Nottingham. But I pride myself on keeping an open mind on these strange legends. Not, mind you, that I believe in them as your brother obviously did, but most of the villagers simply refuse to talk about them and I used to have several long discussions with Malcolm Amberley whenever he was in the mood to talk.’