Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  They crossed and went through the door that leads into a small hallway. At the end of this hallway, they would turn right onto the main hall that would take them to the drawing room. Only now did the sheer size of the mansion strike the boys as before they only saw the front section. Philip wondered what other hollow pits of darkness and depravity lay behind the many closed doors of the abode.

  Upon reaching the door to the drawing room, footsteps followed by a loud bang, like a wardrobe falling flat onto a carpeted floor, echoed down from directly above them. Rodge drew his hand back from reaching for the door handle with a start. Philip looked up half expecting to see something come through the ceiling. They braved a smile, concealing the chill they were now beginning to feel.

  Rodge went for the door again, this time pushing it fully open before stepping in. From their position outside the room, they observed shadows cascading up and down the wall in quick succession. They stepped in and were greeted by the source of the shadows. Candles lit on every available ledge and top in the grand storytelling room.

  The leather chest was out from the wall and rested behind the sofa the boys usually sat on. The room felt void of life but Philip guessed what awaited them in the chest. The tone was set, the atmosphere sinister and creepy and for the first time, he was exhilarated by the prospect of telling his story in such surroundings.

  A momentary thought that this is what true storytelling was all about, took space in his mind. The idea was extinguished by a gentle rumbling of the chest which soon progressed into a violent rocking which almost toppled it over.

  It settled again and the boys waited. The door slammed shut behind them. They flinched and turned to see no one there. The chest sprung open behind them and up shot a black shrouded figure. His arm held the cloak over his face as before. He stood there for an interminably long time, then lowered his arm slowly.

  His hair was again greased back and his eyes had a wild look that Philip didn’t recognise. His whitened face seemed puffier than usual. With a wave of his arm, he gestured for the boys to sit down, not giving them a chance to fully examine his appearance. They took their seats but their host remained in his position. More footsteps passed overhead but this time sounded like several people. Philip began turning his head to look back.

  “Ah aah,” came the voice in protest of his movement.

  Philip looked forward and then glanced at Rodge who had a blank expression. The door handle turned, candlelight bouncing off its brass surface highlighting its movement. The door pushed open and in stepped another shrouded figure, this time covered by a hooded black gown, silk perhaps, as it shone dully in the rippling light. He strode forward as if marching in a funeral procession and sat on Mr Richards’ armchair, head bowed down.

  A cold bead of sweat rolled down Philip’s back. He agonisingly questioned which one was Mr Richards, and who was the new adult guest into their assumed private gatherings. Rodge also had an expression of bewilderment.

  “Mr Richards, is th-”, Rodge began before receiving a sharp shush from behind.

  The person in front of them on the armchair raised his hands and pulled back the large hood and rose his head. It was Mr Richards. His eyes were blackened around the outside and his lips appeared redder than usual. The rest of his face was devoid of make-up. However, Philip observed that he had a look in his eye that he had only seen on a couple of occasions in class when someone was about to get out of line but was met with a darting stare that put a jolt of fear through the whole class. He meant business and wouldn’t be obstructed from his line of thought. This was the side of him Philip admired and feared in equal measure.

  “Philip, Rodge, I’m so glad you could make it. Sorry, I’m a little late. We’ve been busy making preparations for your arrival.”

  He had a cold detachment in his voice that didn’t help ease the tension in any way.

  “Thanks for having us again, Mr Richards,” said Rodge with a slight quiver in his voice, showing Philip just how nervous his best friend was by the situation.

  “We really enjoyed your story in class today, Sir. Medieval Ireland is my favourite time in Irish history.”

  “As it is mine, Philip. The great thing about our knowledge of medieval times is that there are many details excluded from the limited records we have. This gives the storyteller great freedom in his telling of the period.”

  “Who’s…?” said Rodge nodding his head back once.

  “Not to worry boys. This is a patron of our secret society and no stranger to tales of the occult. He too is very excited to hear the next instalment of the Cloudcrawler saga.”

  A lump lodged itself in Philip’s throat as he swallowed and realised, after a period of forgetting why they were there, that he had to tell his story. The sweat now covered his lower back.

  “Philip. When you’re ready.”

  “In the days and weeks that followed the death of the girl in the village, Colm tried to go back to his normal life as a schoolboy son of a local cleaning lady. He avoided his meetings with his mentor at the cliff and soon he began to wonder if he’d imagined the whole incident. Had his mind been playing tricks on him as it was prone to do?”

  Philip looked back, interrupted by a movement made by the figure behind them. The man in the cloak had raised his arm to cover his face again.

  “Do go on, Philip,” said Mr Richards.

  “He idled away his days at the beach with his friend Padraig and managed to keep his troubles secret from him until one day he cracked under Padraig’s continuous questioning. Colm told Padraig everything, how he’d been having gut-wrenching nightmares, went to the cliff to jump into the crashing sea below and met the half horse creature and trained to be a demon hunter of the night.

  “Padraig was enthralled by Colm’s account and insisted that he be taken to meet the mentor and join forces with Colm.”

  Rodge rubbed his hands together, clearly invested in this part of the story.

  “Colm and Padraig had been friends since they were old enough to walk and there was no one in the world Colm trusted more. He felt a weight lifted from him to tell his friend all that had happened and was surprised that he didn’t assume him the have lost his marbles. Instead, he wanted to join forces and be trained in the slaying techniques taught by the mentor. They never talked about the visions and nightmares that Colm had that started this whole thing and that would prove a costly mistake in the future.

  “That night they met on the road leading to the cliff walk having sneaked out of home when their parents slept. Colm was nervous and fearful of his mentor’s reaction to him not showing up for weeks and now bringing a friend along. But his fears were to be unfounded. The half man half horse hovered up from the cliff shortly after they arrived. Padraig was awestruck, as though he hadn’t fully believed Colm until now and was suddenly cast into a strange fantasy world.

  “Colm began to apologise for not showing up in such a long time but his mentor cut him short claiming there was little time to waste on such matters. He even seemed thankful to Colm for bringing along a friend to help in the fight against the Otherworldly demons.

  ‘“A woman is in grave danger and you must get to her before the Vampire King drains her soul, too. She is stricken with a sickness of the heart and mind and is having thoughts of putting an end to her own suffering in the most unfortunate of ways,’ implored the horseman.

  “The mentor drew the wooden sword from behind his back as he’d done the first night they met. Padraig, beside himself with awe, reached out to take it. The mentor drifted right to get in Colm’s line and said, ‘I believe you lost something.’ Colm reluctantly took the sword, which again turned from a glowing electrified blue to a dull strip of wood. ‘Don’t lose faith, Cloudcrawler. There’s too much at stake to give up now.’ ‘Woah. Cloudcrawler,’ said Padraig. ‘What a heroic name. What shall I be called, oh great horseman?”’

  Philip and Mr Richards shared a grin, Rodge oblivious to their quip.

  ‘“I
anticipated the day of your arrival young Padraig. A squire to our slayer with the great gift of persuasion and charm. Your talents will fill the void left by your dear friend’s shortcomings.’ Padraig seemed honoured by this commendation and bowed his head in reflection of his new path.

  ‘“Go now. There is little time. The woman lives near Fruit Tree Corner in an old thatched cottage. She wonders the fields at night with thoughts of the end, clutching a noosed rope. Tis only a matter of time boys.’ The mentor rose to a great height then faded into the swirling clouds overhead.

  “The boys wasted no time and picked up a steady stride to take them the two miles to Fruit Tree Corner. As they rounded the corner and the cottage came into view, the heavens opened and a rare clap of thunder stopped them in their tracks. They scaled a muddy ditch by the side of the house to reach the field behind. In the distance, a woman in a white gown walked away, her back to them. She held something in her hand which they guessed to be a rope.

  “A great oak tree loomed high in the neighbouring field. She walked over a high hedge without any effort or use of her hands. This surprised the boys and they quickened their pace to catch up with her. Halfway across the field, they both felt a sudden softening of the soil beneath them which soon sucked their feet down. They looked at each other bemused and pushed down on the dry ground to their sides as they were knee-deep in a matter of seconds.

  “As they struggled, Colm looked up to see a cloud formation rush towards them as he’d seen the night the girl was taken. The woman was now standing at the foot of the great tree looking up. They sunk more. To their waists. ‘What will we do Colm?’ said Padraig. Colm hesitated then pulled the yew sword from his back, held it up and let out a defiant roar. The sword lit up, blue with darting flashes of red and orange. He struck down on the earth before him and opened a tear in the ground he could easily escape through. He created a similar opening for Padraig and they continued towards the ditch, the cloud of tormented souls now hovering above the great oak tree.

  “It took much more effort for them to get over the hedge than it had the woman and by the time they were clear of it, she was already sitting on a branch, high up, preparing the rope. How did she get up there so fast? Colm thought to himself. They rushed forward, and before they got to the tree, started shouting for the woman to stop.

  ‘“No. Don’t do it,’ cried Padraig. ‘You’ll be damned for eternity,’ shouted Colm. This got her attention and for the first time, she paid heed to the boys. Within moments of speaking, they were at the foot of the tree. Her black hair floated over her face only revealing short glimpses of her. Padraig immediately noticed how beautiful she was and Colm saw the sadness in her deepened dark eyes. She shot her head back to clear her hair.

  ‘“Leave me, boys. This is what I must do. You shouldn’t witness such a thing so young. Go home now,’ she said and looked directly down like she was planning to let go at any second. ‘You don’t understand. There’s a haunted spirit nearby and if you do this it will capture your soul and make you float around tormented for eternity. Whatever you’re feeling now will be how you will feel forever,’ said Colm.”

  A door slammed in the house startling the boys and breaking Philip’s stride.

  “Don’t worry boys. That’s just Mrs Richards. She misjudges things like that sometimes,” said Mr Richards unmoved by the bang. “I can’t wait to find out what happens next and I know our guest is enthralled by your story.”

  Philip looked back to see the guest staring down at him with a half-smile, his eyes still wild and strange.

  ‘“That’s just a silly story for children,’ said the woman in reply to Colm’s pleas. He replied, ‘No. I’ve seen it come for a young innocent girl. It has no conscience or compassion. At the moment before your death, it will swoop down and take you.’ ‘Listen to him, please,’ said Padraig. ‘You’re so young, you have so much of your life ahead of you. Why would you want to end it like this?’ ‘Because I’ve seen things a young girl should never see and had things done…’ She rose to her feet balancing perfectly on the swaying branch.

  “Colm looked up and couldn’t see the cloud, yet knew it was there, waiting. He focused his will and energy on the sword. It began to light up an icy green. A strong wind belted a solid sheet of rain over them and the woman let herself fall from the tree. She came plunging down. The rope stretched and tightened and the momentum sent her springing up again. At this point Colm jumped with power and speed he didn’t know he possessed and swung the sword through the rope sending her crashing to the wet grass below.

  “Padraig ran to her side to help her up but on reaching her leapt back with a frightened gasp. She got to her feet slowly, her hair once again falling over her face. The white gown was soaked and stuck to her skin revealing a skeletal-like frame. Her head bowed down, rocked from side to side. Colm went to Padraig’s side and asked what happened. Padraig tried to reply but couldn’t get the words out. His face was fear-stricken.

  “She raised her head slowly, still swaying side to side, which pushed her hair away from her face. Then Colm saw it. The shining black eyes the white opaque skin and the sharp fangs jutting out from her closed mouth. The dark cloud seeped down through the dense tangle of wet branches and took form next to the woman. They’d been tricked and Colm was beside himself with rage for getting sucked back into this war that a few weeks ago didn’t even exist to him.

  ‘“Let’s get out of here’, said Padraig, wide-eyed and full of fear for what he saw in front of him. In just one night he had seen three creatures of the Otherworld and he’d had enough. The demon with the purple robe and burned patches on its face looked on with what might have been described as a smile to those depraved enough to read such an expression on such a horrid beast.

  “Colm reached out and pushed Padraig back without turning to look at him. ‘You go. Run now,’ he shouted. But he would not go without a fight this time. He decided he would give his life to have one shot at the demon. Padraig didn’t budge. He wasn’t going to leave his best friend behind. ‘You foolish bags of slime. You don’t believe you can take us on, do you?’ said the robed demon. ‘You had your chance to serve us. Now you’ll float around with our wounded souls forever.’ He glanced at the raven-haired bloodsucker and gave an instructive nod.

  “She moved slowly towards the boys. Colm stepped in front of Padraig and gripped the sword with both hands. He told himself to remain calm and remember his training. ‘Never let one of them get inside your mind, or you’ll lose all ability to act alone. You may even lose the parts of your past that are worth remembering,’ the horseman had informed him. Colm closed his eyes and summoned all the strength and wisdom imparted on him and opened them again to find her but a few steps away.

  “He sidestepped with snake-like agility causing her to turn awkwardly to face him. The sword lit a fiery red hue and he brought it down across her body making a deep incision from her right shoulder to her left abdomen. She left out a grotesquely inhuman scream and a black tar-like substance oozed from her body. She squirmed and flailed and was about to advance on him again when he twisted on his heel, the sword held above his head, and thrust it down towards her incoming body. The sword, now taking its natural wooden form, pierced her chest and shot through her heart.

  “Her master roared, his fists clenched, and collapsed into dozens of red-eyed crows. The crows rushed the boys at first, then scattered off into the theming sky. ‘Is she dead?’ asked Padraig. ‘For now, yes. But we have to bury her quickly or she’ll recover, more powerful than ever before.’ ‘Bury her? But where?’ asked Padraig. ‘Under the oak tree. We must bury her upside down and put a rock on top of her before covering in the hole. Then we must scatter thorns on the grave and make sure there are fresh thorns put down on the eve of every full moon. Otherwise, she’ll come for us.’

  “Padraig ran back to the cottage on the corner and returned with a shovel and pickaxe. They dug for the next hour until the hole was deep enough for her to be lowere
d in and have a rock placed over her. When they were finally ready to set her in her eternal rest place, she was already beginning to move and groan with pain. Colm considered driving the sword into her heart once more but decided instead to get her buried as quickly as possible.

  “They struggled at first with her dead weight. Padraig was shocked at the icy coldness of her body and tried his best not to look at her dreadful appearance. The image of her alive would have less of a lasting effect on him he thought. They struggled to hold her upside down. Colm held her legs while Padraig held her body to direct her in and make sure she remained in that position and not curl under her own weight. As they were lowering her in, Padraig left out an unmerciful cry of pain. Colm looked down to see her teeth dug firmly into his arm, her eyes glassing over and showing signs of increasing strength. In the time it took Colm to grab his sword, he berated himself for not stabbing her heart before they began lowering her into her grave. What would become of his best friend now?

  “He thrust the wood through her heart once more and she immediately released Padraig from her sharp grip. He braved the pain and continued with the job at hand. They covered her in and found a rock, near the tree, to place on top, before covering in the hole completely. Padraig pulled a handful of thorns from his pocket he said he’d picked from the rose hedge in the cottage garden. The rain had died down to a light drizzle and the clouds were parting to reveal a moon near its lowest trajectory. They’d been out all night and were exhausted.

  “Content with their work, they started heading back towards the road to take them home. Barely a word was spoken until they almost reached Padraig’s house. ‘What do you think will happen me?’ asked Padraig holding the wound on his arm to stop it from bleeding too much. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve heard stories, but it’s difficult to know what’s true. We’ll go to meet horseman tonight and find out what to do.’ Colm looked at his friend with sadness in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry I got you involved in this.’ Padraig chuckled. ‘Don’t be daft. This was the greatest night of my life. We slew the beast, the two of us. And soon we’ll go after that purple robed wanker. It’ll be alright, Colm.’ Padraig turned down the laneway leading to his family’s farmhouse and Colm continued down the road.