by Amy Cross
“The file mentions the gardeners,” he replies, “and their mission. It also discusses the prophecy -”
“What prophecy?”
“The last gardener, the fall of mankind, all that business,” he replies. “The fact that the situation can't last forever, that eventually the cemetery will be destroyed and Rippon will be taken with it. You must know of the prophecy. You couldn't even begin to do your job properly if you didn't know about it.”
“I barely know anything,” Sam tells him, taking a step forward and looking down at all the papers on his desk. “Where's this file? I need to read it.”
“I don't have it.”
“You lost it?”
“I was permitted to read it before it was taken back by its owner,” he replies. “That's the deal when you're dealing with such a huge secret. It's kept under lock and key, and if I want to look at it again, I have to go and ask for permission.”
“From who?”
“Who do you think? The Undertaker.”
“The Undertaker knows something?”
“My God,” he replies, “you're really clueless, aren't you? Did your predecessor tell you nothing about the arrangements here in Rippon?”
“I've been kind of flying blind,” she tells him. “Faraday left some books behind, but I've been going over them and I haven't found anything useful.” She thinks back for a moment to the note that Anna told her about, the note that was said to be from the Undertaker. “I need to go and see him,” she says finally. “He probably knows what's going on. I've been meaning to visit, but things kept getting in the way, there was always something else I needed to get done.”
“I can't believe you haven't even met the Undertaker yet,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What is this, amateur hour?”
“No-one told me!”
“Do you have to be told everything?” he shouts. “Don't you have any initiative?” Pausing, he forces himself to stay calm. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so... Clearly the people who welcomed you to Rippon were rather negligent in certain matters. They most certainly should have introduced you to the Undertaker, but I gather that there were other, more pressing matters to attend to at the time. That Fenroc chap probably put a spanner in the works. I'm sure Faraday would have told you more, if only he'd lived long enough.”
“I'm sorry,” Sam tells him. “I've tried to do my best.”
“The Devil is loose, isn't he?” Mayor Simpkin replies. “The day we all feared has finally come to pass.”
“I... Yeah, I think he was broken out by ravens.”
“Ravens?”
“It's complicated. As far as I can tell, though, he's on his own now. I knew there was a chance that he'd attack someone, but I didn't think it'd happen so soon.”
“He seems to have been very hungry,” Mayor Simpkin tells her. “The coroner estimates that as much as eighty per cent of Jonathan Hale's body mass has been consumed. There's not much left apart from a few appendages and some bones. That poor man, he was a good friend to me over the years. He was one of the most popular people in the whole town, and now he's gone. The community will be in mourning.”
“It's my fault,” Sam replies. “If I'd done a better job of keeping the cemetery locked down, the Devil wouldn't have escaped and Mr. Hale would still be alive.”
“I can't argue with you there. You need to get the situation under control, Ms. Marker. For centuries, the gardeners of Rippon have been keeping us safe. Not just us, but the whole world. And then you come along and mess it all up. I know Mayor Winters was reluctant to hire a girl to do a man's job, and I'm starting to think he might have been right.”
“That's not -”
“You are the latest in a very long line of gardeners,” he continues, with anger rising in his voice. “There have been hundreds of people in your position, and not one of them has ever allowed the Devil to escape. And yet here we are, barely a year into your tenure, and this unmitigated chaos is taking over the town. I accept that you were given no guidance when you arrived, but still, this disaster has occurred on your watch, Ms. Marker. The history books will not be kind to you if this situation is not resolved.” Sighing, he looks over at the window. “Not that it matters much. If the Devil is free, the history books will probably be burned to ash before too long anyway.”
“I'll fix it,” she tells him.
He shakes his head.
“I will,” she continues. “I'll find a way.”
“You'd better,” he replies, turning to her, “because the prophecy in that file was very clear. When the last gardener allows the tomb to be breached, the end of days will arrive. It goes on about all these dark figureheads, with names such as Attaroth and what-have-you, but I don't remember the details. I know the gist of it, though, and the gist is bad enough... If the Devil is allowed to escape, the whole world is going to be destroyed.” He pauses for a moment, as if desperation has begun to overwhelm his soul. “Don't be the gardener who ruins everything, Ms. Marker. I know it has to happen one day, but please, don't let it be during our lifetimes.”
“What if I am the last gardener?” she asks. “I was told that once.”
“You must still try. The Devil is out there somewhere in our streets, and it won't be long before he strikes again. Every time he claims another victim, he'll become stronger, and eventually he'll be able to break free of the town. Once he's loose in the world, I don't think there's anything that can stop him.”
“I need to see that file,” she replies. “I guess... I guess that means I need to see the Undertaker.”
“Keep me informed of your progress,” he tells her. “I want to know everything that happens, even if it's bad news. People will be coming to me and asking me questions, so I need to know what to tell them.”
“Have you considered evacuating the town?”
“If I did that,” he replies, “Rippon would fall completely, and there would be no way back. The file mentions that if the people of Rippon ever leave, it will be a sign that the end has arrived and the buildings will crumble to dust. That has always been a central part of the town's story.”
“But do they know what's happening?” she asks.
“Some have suspicions. Most are willfully blind.” He pauses. “I'm going to issue an executive order, telling them all to stay inside as much as possible and warning them to lock their doors. That's the best I can do for now. The only person who can truly save this situation is you, Ms. Marker. I truly hope you've got an idea up your sleeve, because right now I'm starting to think that the end is upon us.”
“I've got a couple of things to try,” she replies, thinking back to her conversation with Charles Raven. “To start with, I think I'm going to help a man put on a show, and then -”
Before she can finish, there's a knock at the door. Turning, Sam sees that two police officers have arrived.
“Please,” Mayor Simpkin says with a forced smile as he gets up from his desk and hurries to the door, “gentlemen, won't you come in?” He glances briefly at Sam. “I think we're done here, Ms. Marker, are we not?”
“Sure,” she mutters, making her way to the door and carefully avoiding eye contact with the officers as she steps outside. She can already hear them starting to talk to Mayor Simpkin, telling him their plans for investigating the crime. As she reaches the main door, however, Sam stops and looks out at the town square, where concerned locals are watching the unfolding scene at the cafe. One passerby happens to look over at her for a moment, and Sam can't help but feel that everyone knows this is her fault. Mayor Simpkin was right: she had one job to do, and she's blown it spectacularly.
Two
Opening her eyes slowly, Anna stares into darkness. For a moment, she can't remember where she is or what happened to her, but suddenly she sits up and looks around, terrified that she'll see those dark red eyes again.
Nothing.
She waits, but all she hears is silence.
And someone whistling outside.
Cla
mbering to her feet, she reaches around the shed, desperately trying to find the door. Eventually she gets as far as the bench on the far side, before fumbling her way past the wall. Finally she feels the door latch, and when she pushes it open she emerges into the garden just as Mr. Havershot is stepping out of the house.
“Good morning,” he says with a smile, stopping mid-whistle. “Been...” He pauses, frowning as he looks her up and down. “Been in the shed, have you?”
“I...” Looking down at her arms, Anna sees that she hasn't even suffered a single scratch.
“You didn't sleep out here, did you?” Mr. Havershot continues. “I wouldn't have thought that it's very comfortable out in the shed all night.”
“No,” she stammers, “I...”
Turning to look back at the shed, she tries to remember exactly what happened. The creature attacked her, forcing her down onto the floor, and then... And then she woke up a moment ago, apparently unharmed. It's as if there's some kind of block in the center of her mind, preventing her from remembering exactly what the creature did to her. All she can really remember is the sight of those two dark red eyes moving closer and closer until she could feel something breathing against her face, and then...
“I'm going to get a trap for those badgers,” Mr. Havershot mutters as he makes his way toward the garden gate. “I was planning to get it sorted first thing this morning, but then the awful news started to spread.”
“What awful news?”
“About poor Mr. Hale at the cafe,” he continues. “Didn't you hear? He was attacked and killed during the night. God only knows who or what could be responsible for such a horrific thing, but there are police all over the place. Some people are saying it was a wild animal, but...” He pauses. “Well, I suppose there's no point in us trying to be armchair sleuths, is there? The police will get to the bottom of it, I'm sure. That's what they're there for, isn't it? Still, it's very unusual to have police coming to Rippon from out of town. I can't remember the last time anything so serious happened here. We tend to keep ourselves to ourselves around here as much as possible.”
“Mr. Hale was murdered?” she asks.
“I suppose it's possible. Then again, they say he was torn into little pieces, which sounds more like a wild animal to me.” Another pause. “You don't think it could be the same thing that was in my shed, do you? I assumed it was a badger last night, they can be vicious little buggers, but now I'm starting to wonder if there's maybe a mountain lion loose, something like that.”
“A mountain lion?” she replies. “Here? In Rippon? In... Yorkshire?”
“You're right,” he says with a faint smile. “It must be something more local. Maybe the badgers are becoming braver. Either way, something'll have to be done. We simply can't have people being mauled to death in their own homes, can we?” Checking his watch, he opens the gate. “I should get going. Mayor Simpkin is going to address everyone in a while, and I still want to swing by the hardware store and pick up some badger traps. A man cannot live in fear when there are wild animals attacking his shed.”
After watching him walk away, a dazed and confused Anna makes her way to the back door and then into the kitchen, where she finds Scott stirring bacon around a sizzling pan.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I was worried about you when I woke up and found you were gone.”
“I'm fine,” she mutters, wandering over to the mirror in the corner and taking a look at herself. To her surprise, she sees that she's completely unharmed. “I'm totally fine,” she adds, leaning closer to get a better look at her face. “There's not a scratch on me.”
“Where'd you go?”
“To see my friend at the cemetery,” she tells him. “I wanted to pick something up, and to talk to her, but she... Well, she wasn't really in the mood for talking. She seemed more focused on other things.” She tilts her head to one side, still trying to understand how she escaped without injury. “Something strange is happening.”
“Did you hear about the guy from the cafe?” he asks. “It's totally sick what happened to him. My Dad thinks maybe it was a mountain lion, but there aren't any mountains around here, are there? I reckon it's a wolf. Then again, there aren't supposed to be any wolves, either.”
“It left me alone,” Anna whispers to herself as she continues to check her skin in the mirror. “It had me, it could have killed me, and then it just... didn't.”
“Are you talking to yourself again?” Scott asks.
“I...” She turns to him. “I think I have to go and see someone,” she mutters, hurrying to the door.
“Don't you want breakfast?”
Without answering, she runs out into the garden and then to the street. Pausing for a moment, she glances back at the shed, but she still doesn't remember much of what happened, except -
Suddenly a flash comes to her: she was on the floor, in the dark shed, and the creature was sniffing her, as if it was trying to understand something. She could feel its breath against her body, and its hands were holding her down so tight it was painful, and then... She remembers the eyes right in front of her face, burning into her soul, and then the creature started to hiss as it gripped her arms tighter and tighter...
Shuddering at the memory, she realizes she must have passed out in the shed, in which case she still doesn't understand why the creature didn't finish her off. Figuring that she needs some answers, she turns and makes her way along the hill, heading for the center of town. Somehow, she feels that Sam is the only person who can help her.
Three
“Hello?” Sam calls out as she stands in the Undertaker's office. “Is anyone here?”
Wandering over to a nearby desk, she spots a bell. When she presses the top, it rings out, although she can't help but notice that there's a thick layer of dust over every surface, almost as if the place hasn't been disturbed for a long time. In fact, the entire office appears to have been mostly abandoned, with no papers on the desk and not even so much as a 'Welcome' sign.
“Through here!” a voice calls out from the next room. “Don't be shy!”
She turns to look at the nearby door.
“I'm here to see the Undertaker,” she replies.
“Then you're in luck, because I'm right here. Now come on, don't dawdle. You've got a lot on your plate, haven't you? I know I have.”
Making her way through the door, she finds herself in a large, open-plan workshop. There are benches everywhere, piled high with boxes and pieces of machinery, while one entire wall is taken up by various types of coffin. There are pieces of padding, too, and bare plaques that seem to be waiting for an inscription, all piled high and covering every available spot. The entire place seems hopelessly chaotic
“This way!” the voice shouts. “Sorry, I'm right in the middle of something. I hope you won't think I'm being rude!”
Wandering across the room, Sam has to step over a pile of metal pipes that have been left on the floor. Dust is floating through the air, and the entire room seems almost like a maze, with boxes piled so high that they look as if they might topple over at any moment.
“Up here,” the voice says, sounding much closer this time.
Looking up, Sam is startled to see a figure sitting at a desk on top of a platform, towering above the rest of the room.
“I'm right in the middle of a job,” the voice continues. “I'm terribly sorry, there should have been someone in the front office to greet you, but I think my previous assistant might have died several years ago and I don't remember hiring a new one. I must add it to my to-do list. You don't happen to know anyone who's looking for a job, do you?”
“I'm -”
“They'll need to be tolerant. I'm afraid I can be a rather forgetful employer, so it would have to be someone with the gumption to get on with things. If there's one thing I hate, it's people who stand around waiting to be told what to do.”
“My name's Sam Marker,” Sam replies. “I'm from the cemetery.”
“Sam Mark
er?” The figure pauses, with its back still turned to her. “Ah, yes. Yes, I suppose I should have known you'd come to see me today, shouldn't I? After all, things seem to be progressing at quite a pace.” Getting up from the chair, the figure makes its way carefully over to the edge of the platform and starts climbing down a ladder, its bones creaking in the process. “Your assistant was here the other day. A delightful young lady, although I felt there was something a little wrong with her. She seemed to be alive and dead at the same time, the energy around her way very unusual.”
“It's complicated.”
“You'll have to forgive me,” the figure replies as it reaches the bottom of the ladder, “I should have come and introduced myself much sooner, but time has always been rather pressing. Still, you seemed to be managing to hold things down rather well here. Until recently, anyway.”
“There have been a few complications,” Sam mutters. “I -”
Before she can finish, the figure turns to her, and Sam can't help but feel shocked by the Undertaker's appearance. He's a painfully thin old man, with skin that seems to be stretched so tight over his bald head, it's almost as if patches have worn thin to reveal areas of bone. His eyes, meanwhile, are sunk deep into his head, so deep that it's hard for Sam to believe that they're not pressing into his brain, but his yellow pupils stare at her with interest. He takes a step toward her, and his bones creak again in the process. As he smiles, it becomes clear that there's dust all over his body, as if he himself has not been disturbed for many years.
“You're the Undertaker?” Sam asks, unable to hide the shock in her voice.
“You were expecting something else?”
“I... I...”
“I suppose I've grown to match my job,” the Undertaker continues. “If I might say so myself, I was a strikingly handsome boy once, but I've spent my whole life around death and perhaps my features have changed accordingly, I've absorbed... something.” Reaching into the pockets of his dark robe, he pulls out a compact mirror and examines his face for a moment. He frowns, as if he's not entirely pleased with what he sees. “Oh, yes. I haven't looked at my reflection for quite a while, but that... Yes, that's quite horrible, isn't it? I look like a ghoul. I suspected as much, but it's not pleasant to have it confirmed. I'm sure I'd terrify young children.”