There was a blurring up there. I sensed it was wrong. It was like a gathering of dark dust, so that the dimness was deeper than it was below or beyond. I stared harder. I clambered to my feet, and clung to the back of the pew, steadying myself as I gazed, neck craned. The vicar’s voice halted abruptly as he noticed this disturbance. Ronald Alwyn followed my stare. Ralph swivelled around from the depths of the church and marched hurriedly towards us.
Seeping as if from all the walls and perimeters of the church, great rays of black motes funnelled into the focal cloud that hovered in the upper air near the roof. It seemed to gather into itself deep, floating shadows wrenched from the very stones. None of us uttered a word. The concentration of the dark form became more intense, it took an opaque, almost tangible appearance, and began to boil and squirm as if in some struggle of frantic proportions. With a sickening, rattling squeal this process became complete, and a tangible body emerged, a winged beast, perhaps five feet in length, with shining flesh and dark limbs. Shrieking in high pitched sobs, it flapped heavily, clumsily above us, then swooped unerringly at our petrified forms. Jerked out of inaction, we sprawled onto the floor. Sweeping past our heads, the creature emitted another wail, and plunged down the stairwell of the Fitzgilbert crypt.
Still prone on the slabs on the floor, I raised my head reluctantly, fighting to suppress a swarming hysteria. Ralph and Eric Hollis were already on their feet, faces grim and fixed. Ronald Alwyn was staring as if in a state of daze. Slowly, we moved towards each other, and Ralph steadily led us to the open gates of the crypt. It occurred to me only afterwards that at this point I had not the merest idea of what we were to do. Some physical attack upon the beast was out of the question, for its agility was far beyond ours, and in any case had we not seen it resolve from the very atmosphere? Blindly, hesitatingly we descended the steps. The welcome wave of electric light that burst out at the flick of the switch at the foot of the stairs nonetheless callously revealed a hideous scene. I remember croaking an oath of disgust. The dark winged creature was squatting upon the tomb chest of Guy Fitzgilbert, talons gripping, clawing frenziedly at the ancient stone lid. This was in itself a repulsive sight, but it was the sudden lurch of the neck, bringing the beast’s visage to glare awfully at our own which brought me close to extreme nausea: it was a human face, or nearly; that of one terribly scorched, crusted with ash and dead black skin, a mask of deformed, torn flesh.
Eric Hollis began praying loudly, firmly, in a bold chant of words I do not now recall. The creature spat, gibbered, lunged menacingly. I huddled against the wall, prepared to bolt. It became increasingly evident that the rector’s solemn invocations were only holding the apparition, keeping it at bay, but scarcely testing its defences. At any hesitation or sign of tiring, it would be upon us again, and we should have unleashed upon the outside world a being we were powerless to control. I saw it open out its wings and sway forward. In the close-confined, poorly-lit cell the span of its wings blotted out much of our illumination. It reared above us. The vicar’s prayers became more rapid, imploring: we backed off. Plainly, the crisis had come and we must withdraw, get out as best we might.
Ralph motioned Eric Hollis to stop, stepped forward and shouted a single phrase, in an unfamiliar tongue, faltering slightly in the middle but finishing with a roar of command. At the same time, he drew back his right arm as if in the act of throwing something, and ended by pointing with outstretched hand at the creature. He did this again and again, each time with the strange, miming action, and gradually, as if truly struck, it shrank back, until with a howl it fell in a contorted mass upon the floor. Flames burst all around it, leaping from the stale, crumbling atmosphere in a blaze of brilliant, cruel glory. I saw the creature’s head jarred agape in a paroxysm of pain and fear, baleful black eyes gleaming in shocked frustration, limbs pinned irrevocably back by the sudden furnace. I remember clearly the comforting crackling of the tongues of fire, a golden screen obliterating what should have never been. Then, Ralph’s urgent, hoarse whisper to the Reverend Hollis, ‘Now! The reading!’ and, above the flames, the clergyman’s calm, clear voice, telling from the Testament of Abraham, how the angel Michael rescued souls from the depths of hell.
Ashes tumbled slowly, softly in suspenseful air, for a few moments a translucent silence fell, the fire faded swiftly, and all was still. I groaned, and subsided onto the narrow, stone steps.
**
It was a while after this experience that I felt reassured enough to seek from Ralph a few further details about the manifestation at St Michael & All Angels, Enderby. Our meetings and conversation since had been rather painstakingly light and casual, as we avoided by mutual understanding discussing so intense an ordeal. But at length, I wished to know what it was he had used to finally suppress the being.
‘Around Guy Fitzgilbert’s tomb,’ he replied cheerfully, ‘is inscribed a motto that has more or less escaped the attention of historians and so on. Those who have noticed it have been unable to decipher its full wording, since much is worn away, and it seems anyway to have been concealed within the sculpted beading which is also around the base of the chest. When I examined the crypt, the significance of the many St Michael symbols was soon evident, and so I surmised the motto might have relevance too. At any rate, I copied the fragments that could be discerned. Whether what I recited made any sense I honestly couldn’t say. I don’t know Latin. But in any case, I feel it was the sound as much as anything else, for it is clearly a very ancient protection.’
‘And—what we saw?’ I enquired, tentatively. ‘Any theories?’
‘Well, speculation. I would propose that Peter Fitzgilbert was burned to death by his brother, either as part of warfare or in an execution. That would account for the legends that one or other, or both, were involved in witchcraft or sorcery. Now, as to why a lingering being, still steeped in hatred, should lie within the church, I wonder whether the supporters of Peter did not perform a final, macabre trick, and arrange to have their lord’s ashes mixed into the mortar and stones of the unfinished church? Then, the manifestations began and it was necessary to rededicate it to a powerful protector, St Michael, slayer of evil winged creatures. The yearly ritual especially helped to hold back the beast. But nothing could cleanse or purify the site, for it was built by hatred, and in a certain sense, even with hatred.
‘So that, properly understood, what we saw was a concentration of all both brothers ever wrought in the name and form of evil. It was released almost by accident, because the traditional ceremony was missed, and the sanctity of the church was eroded by disuse and the interference of the restoration work.
‘It would be my contention that Guy Fitzgilbert, obsessed both by the fate and spectre of his brother, and the destiny of his own soul, arranged the ritualistic reading from an apocryphal text which seemed to promise redemption even from the depths of damnation. It was our privilege . . .’ here Ralph grinned wryly, ‘to witness the working of a minor miracle. By intervention through us, not only was the creature finally released from its earthly state of captivity in a despicable form, but, we may hope, restored to a better world.’
‘You surely don’t believe . . .’ I began, but Ralph interrupted.
‘No, I don’t. But it’s difficult to account for what we saw in any other way.’
The Folly
Ralph Tyler greeted me in a tone of mock awe.
‘We have been summoned!’ he announced, oratorically, as I entered his flat to find him in the customary sprawling attitude in his disreputable armchair.
‘By the police?’ I enquired, sarcastically.
‘Indeed no,’ he replied, ‘but by no less a personage than the lady of the manor at Langborough Hall.’
‘You have evidently been moving in the highest circles.’
‘Hah! No, it would seem our newfound patron has heard good reports of me from a friend “to whom I have been of great service”.’
‘Well, who on earth would that be?’
‘Y
our confidence is very encouraging I must say. Actually, I suspect it might be Mrs Hammond of Hubgrove: though Ronald Alwyn of Enderby is another candidate. But you know what it’s like in these upmarket sets, they like to recommend a good tradesman when they find one. Plumbers, caterers, milliners, paranormal researchers, what’s the difference?’
‘I see that you are less than impressed by our . . . client.’
‘Perhaps I’m being unfair. She—Mrs Helen Arrowden is her name, by the way—was very cordial, but a mite condescending. There is a little difficulty up at the Hall which is proving persistently disturbing and troublesome. She does not feel quite able to call in the constabulary, although she did wonder about the environmental health officer, but then this acquaintance of hers said it all sounded terribly awkward and wouldn’t it be better to seek the advice of that young man who helped find the vanished professor in Herefordshire a while ago*, because they had heard that he was very discreet and had been of some assistance in one or two other unusual matters since. Mrs Arrowden was considerate enough to offer me a very decent fee, “plus all reasonable expenses of course” and we can stay in one of the converted outhouses if we wish.’
‘You don’t normally accept commissions: are you selling your soul so soon then?’ I remarked banteringly.
Ralph scowled.
‘Do you want to hear about this case or not?’
I made a conciliatory gesture and settled down to listen.
‘I have gleaned the general circumstances from a quite lengthy telephone conversation with our client. She was paying, by the way. It seems Mrs Arrowden is a widow, and has engaged an agent to manage her estate in order to meet all those dreadful expenses which the landed and wealthy find themselves compelled to cough up. He had the bright idea of letting out parts of the property to paying guests, with the well-stocked shooting and fishing amenities as a special attraction. Quite a sum of money has been invested in restoring some of the buildings to comfortable accommodation: there has been some favourable coverage of the idea in all sorts of appropriate publications, and everything ought to be going jolly nicely. But it isn’t.
‘Amongst the first of the guests was a respectable old party somewhat advanced in years, who took accommodation in an old lodge in the grounds. It seems that on the second night of his stay, after a hearty day’s “sport”, his sleep was disturbed by what Mrs Arrowden termed “hallucinations”. She blamed the copious libations of neat spirits he was in the habit of taking, though she could hardly say so to his face. However, the next night was even worse. He was found staggering around the little copse which clusters around that lodge, in a state of shocked stupor, and very near collapse. Seems he was babbling about being attacked by a gaggle of rather vexed woodland beasts. Even when rescued, he kept shrinking back, and cringing, and trying to ward off invisible assailants.
‘Well, a doctor was called, no doubt a sedative prescribed, and eventually, when he was quite rested and a little calmer, they tried to ascertain the cause of his distress. But surprisingly, he stuck resolutely to his story: that a swarm of vermin (as he described them) had loomed out of the walls of his room and launched themselves at him in no uncertain manner; he alleged they lunged at his throat and face, and put up a good show of tearing him apart, before he managed to shake himself free, stumble to the door and dash out into the spinney, where he charged away with great alacrity.
‘Now, there was apparently not a mark, nor a scratch, nor a graze upon him; neither any sign of damage to his nightclothes or bedding, nor evidence of any struggle within his quarters. No beasts were found, or even the hint of any. It seemed reasonable to ascribe his experience, despite his vehemence, to either a particularly vivid nightmare, perhaps partly induced by fatigue or alcohol; or the onset of senility; or a combination of these factors might be involved. And there, after the elderly gentleman had been safely returned to his own home and urged to take things easy for a while, the episode might have been concluded.
‘But, so Mrs Arrowden says, four subsequent individuals have all undergone ordeals of varying intensity within those same walls of the old lodge. She tells me it is a very quaint building, of obscure origin, which never fails to attract visitors because of its snug rustic veneer: but that none have so far remained very long. The next guest, though he was told nothing of his predecessor’s experience, complained of a constant mewling and yowling within his chamber, which he reckoned gave him the feeling that a variety of rodents and other pests were massing in conclave outside; he claimed they would squeal and sing, almost, and evince an alarming animation which he scarcely felt was natural. He refused to put up with the hubbub after two nights, and departed in high dudgeon; but Mrs Arrowden states his outrage was mingled with a species of extreme nervousness not unadjacent to naked fear. She says after that they thought the place ought to be tested before it was let again; so accordingly one of the caretakers volunteered to give it a try. He apparently had a quieter night, but nonetheless spoke of an “uneasy atmosphere” and said once in a while he felt the air within become very tense and brittle, and it made him quite giddy. This could of course be merely due to what he already knew.
‘And, finally, two guests who slept there the same night, unaware of the recent “difficulties”. Seems they were a couple of hale and heavy youths of the well-to-do breed, ebulliently aggressive and blindly unimaginative in roughly equal quantities. It was because of their unmitigated arrogance and insistence on staying in what they evoked as a “perfectly gruesome ruin” that she let them get on with it. The first night, she told me, “in confidence of course”, they went out drinking pretty excessively at the local pub, in Langborough village, then lurched back late to regale the estate with loud, lewd songs, before sinking like snorters into a deep and undisturbed slumber. The next day, they went out, bagged a fair quantity of birds, and fished somewhat less successfully, and retired rather earlier. By about one am, they were banging in a wild frenzy at the doors of the Hall, hollering and bawling with such emotion that neither she nor her household could entertain for very long their first notion that this was a charming practical joke on their part. Yes, indeed, they had the same story as the venerable old boy of before: a pack of hideous creatures had invaded their room in their scores, sweeping all over them, biting, tearing and gnawing at their flesh, filling the place with an abominable stench, and screeching in an ecstasy of glee at their quarry. But this time there was an added refinement: they spoke of the sound of human laughter mingling with the animals’ triumphant cries, and of a low, urging whisper, as if somebody concealed nearby were directing and encouraging the attack, and revelling in their misfortune.
‘Well, this time, as Mrs Arrowden shrewdly comments, none of the possible explanations appertaining to the first incident could apply: the victims were sober (and there had been no incident on the occasion when they were drunk); they were not of a nervous disposition; they were not possessed of overtly decaying faculties, at least no more than is common with their kind and class; and they were able to substantiate each others’ account.
‘I gather that it was necessary to proffer them not inconsiderable compensation in order to prevent the spread of the story too far afield: and they cut short their stay and went away very morosely indeed, a good deal more subdued than when they had arrived.
‘Following their precipitous flight to the Hall that night, a group of staff straightaway went to the old lodge and conducted a thorough examination; once again there was little indication of any struggle, and neither of the youths were hurt in any tangible way, either. The only clue was a lingering odour around the place which had that stale, musky quality of some kinds of fur; but even that was very elusive and seemed to dissipate pretty quickly.
‘So, you see why Mrs Arrowden is uncertain whether she needs the police or the environmental health officer; and because discretion is by far the highest consideration, she has looked towards some more private resolution of the problem; namely, me.’
‘Great,�
� said I, ‘I’ve always relished the idea of succumbing to a crazed horde of wild beasts who may or may not be entirely material.’
‘I am pleased to hear this,’ returned Ralph, unruffled by my remarks, ‘because I have advised Mrs Arrowden to expect us this weekend, and she has kindly offered to set aside the old lodge for our use. Oh, and kindly remember that I now have an esteemed reputation for tact and diplomacy to protect, and that we are meant to be just a further batch of paying guests who absolutely insist on occupying the delightful little belvedere in its own secluded spinney, and don’t want to be disturbed.’
‘We must be disturbed to get involved in a charming escapade like this,’ I muttered, with a morbid attempt to pun.
**
‘It’s a Folly of course,’ pronounced Mrs Arrowden, who had herself accompanied us across undulating lawns, into a straggling wood, and was now telling us a little of the lodge which was to be our accommodation and the subject of our investigation. ‘But imagine hiding something as ornate as this in such a beastly tangle. There were hardly any paths through to it at all. Everything so overgrown and thorny.’
‘It has been restored then?’ enquired Ralph.
‘Yes, only last month. Awfully clever contractors. Almost took it apart, but kept all the original work, cleaned it, strengthened it, and left it in exactly its former glory. We knew guests would be attracted to it. That is, until the . . . problems began.’
It was certainly striking, in a contrived mock-Gothic way, a nine-sided predominantly timber structure, carved with grotesque beasts, gargoyles and other devices. The conical roof was topped by a vane in the shape of a many-circled cross. There was a warm, glowing smell to it, the scent of strong old trees in sunlight. Two mullioned windows were let into the front. A quaint affair, rather too desperately bizarre perhaps, but an understandable attraction for the whimsically minded.
Herald of the Hidden Page 3