It was the coldness of the snow that brought me back. Touching snow, recognizing snow, I remembered where I was. I remembered the night in the nursery and the climb up the chimney. The defeated images of the dream subsided and sank away.
Only then was I able to open my eyes. I was still in exactly the same position where I had fallen asleep. My head hung down on one side of the roof ridge, my feet on the other. I raised my head and saw that the world was no longer completely black. Over the forest the dawn was breaking.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Fifty-Four
It was a breathtaking sight. A pale pink light was slowly opening up the sky. Above the horizon, numerous small rosy-edged clouds appeared, all very clear and distinct.
Then I saw the red rim of the sun. Dimly the snow-covered world began to blush, in colours of pearl and grey. Long level rays filtered through the air, long thin shadows moved across the ground.
I watched in awe. After the madness of the night, this was like a return of sanity. The darkness was being swept away! The world was clean and fresh again!
I changed my position on the roof. My body was as stiff as a board. I could hardly get my legs and arms to bend. I was lucky to have escaped frostbite. Slowly, creakingly, I swung myself around to straddle the ridge. I sat there flexing my arms and trying to massage the circulation back into my legs.
Now the full orb of the sun was visible. It seemed enormous, molten and golden. Its beams were golden too, sheer shafts of sunlight descending towards the world. They glanced first across the snowy tree-tops of the forest, reflecting a brilliant dazzling glare. A few moments later, they struck the roof of the vicarage, kindling the snow into light all around me. A few moments later again, they played upon the various prominences of the building site, flashing and sparkling from every white-capped pier and arch and wall. I had to squinch up my eyes, the radiance was so intense.
Soon the whole clearing had turned into one single glittering white field. I sat on the ridge of the roof, bathed in light. Christmas Day! A wonderful wonderful Christmas Day! I felt transformed!
How can I explain it? I had been so cowardly through the night, running away from the Caulkisses and Quodes. I had allowed their mere madness to overpower me. I had even come close to surrendering my own sanity. But not any more! Now I was in a different mood! Now I was a different person altogether!
For ten or fifteen minutes I sat there, drinking it all in. As the sun rose higher, the dazzle diminished and I no longer needed to squinch my eyes. I surveyed the entire panorama. I saw how the snow had settled into every crack and cranny, moulding every angle and corner. Even the raw earth and trenches of the building site had been smoothed over, even the jagged bits of brickwork had been softened with tiny white pillows.
Pure perfect peaceful snow. The world held its breath. There was no breeze, not even the faintest stir in the air. Everything so calm, so still…
But suddenly the calm was broken. Somewhere down below a door opened. The front door of the vicarage! Immediately Gambels started bouncing loudly around in his kennel, uttering cries of excitement:
“Gabber-hoff! Gabber-hoff! Gabber-hoff! Yipp!”
I watched and waited. The inhabitants of Morbing Vyle were coming out from the vicarage.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Fifty-Five
At first the edge of the roof blocked my vision. But I could hear metallic sounds of chinking and clinking. I guessed that Mr Caulkiss was fitting the harness over Gambels’ head.
Then Melestrina and Craylene and Mr Quode appeared in view. They marched out across the snow, twenty paces away from the vicarage. They turned and looked straight up at me.
“Ah, there you are! Thought so!”
“Found you out! You backslider!”
“You weakling!”
“You chicken-heart!”
“Didn’t dare take the final step!”
“Poor silly Mr Smythe!”
They were wearing their Sunday best. Melestrina was resplendent in a long black cloak and gloves and a vast feathery hat with a veil. In one hand she held a bell, in the other a tambourine. Craylene was dressed like a princess with a coronet in her hair and pearls around her neck. She carried a big stack of books in her arms. As for Mr Quode, he had put on an eye-catching toupee that was even more garishly red than his own usual fringe of hair. He flourished his favourite silver trumpet.
Looking down at them, I felt suddenly contemptuous. Freaks, mere freaks! How could I have been so overwhelmed by them?
“Yah!” I yelled down. I blew a raspberry at them. “Didn’t think I could get away, did you! I wasn’t so helpless as you thought!”
They shook their heads.
“You had your chance, Mr Smythe!”
“Now you’ll be sorry!”
“We don’t care about you any more!”
“We’ve given you up!”
“You’re with the victims now!”
“Didn’t have the strength!”
“Didn’t have the intensity!”
“Good!” I yelled again. “Because I’m going back to the real world! Back to real normal people! And I’ll tell them about you! They’ll probably come and cart you off to the loony bin!”
They laughed. Melestrina clashed her tambourine against her hip.
“That’s what you think, Mr Smythe!”
“You don’t get away so easily!”
“You’ll be in Morbing Vyle for a while yet!”
“Until the Great Return!”
“Our Lord will deal with you!”
“Then you’ll wish you’d joined us when you had the chance!”
“Huh!” I sniffed. “Your Lord! The Great Return! I don’t think so!”
“Oh yes, Mr Smythe! Very soon now!”
“Maybe even today!”
“We’re going out to the Altar now!”
“We’re going to take out the bag!”
“Maybe today will be the Bursting of the Bag!”
“Think of it, Mr Smythe! On your Christmas Day!”
“When your namby-pamby Christ was born!”
“But no-one will know about his birthday any more! Not when our Vicar is reborn!”
I was trying to think up some suitably scathing reply, when Gambels and Mr Caulkiss came into view. Gambels was churning along on the end of his reins, kicking up snow like a snowplough. Mr Caulkiss wore the same black cassock that he had donned on the night of the banquet. He didn’t even glance up at me.
“Forward!” he cried. “Don’t bother with the weakling! Forward to the High Altar!”
And so they set off. Mr Caulkiss aimed Gambels in the direction of the Altar. Mr Quode lifted his trumpet to his lips and blew a strident fanfare. Melestrina rang her bell and jangled her tambourine. Turning their backs on the vicarage, they marched away across the snow.
I watched them go. They really did seem to have lost interest in me. When they came to the trenches they followed a zigzag route, crossing by one plank bridge after another. Their footprints were a track of dirty marks across the virgin snow.
I gazed out towards the choir end of the church, looking for the Altar. At first I could hardly distinguish it. It was half-submerged in the snow, just one white hump like so many others. But eventually I picked it out. I saw the chairs and lectern too, very tiny in the distance.
I couldn’t help wondering what would happen when the Caulkisses and Quodes reached their destination. They had said they intended to bring out the bag. They believed that their Vicar would return to life. Impossible! Or was it?
All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to escape back to the real world straight away. Now that the inhabitants were no longer trying to stop me, I wasn’t in such a hurry to go. All of a sudden I was curious – very very curious. And surprisingly unafraid.
I considered the prospect. If I could sneak out along by the edge of the forest…At the back of the choir, the forest curved round a mere thirt
y or so yards away from the Altar. If I could get to hide behind the trees there, I’d be close enough to see and hear everything…
I nodded. Much better to learn the full facts before I went back to the real world. Better to give the world a complete report on Morbing Vyle. At least, that’s what I told myself. But perhaps it was only a rationalization. Perhaps the idea of the Vicar had taken more of a hold on me than I could consciously admit. I had to see how the story turned out.
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Fifty-Six
It didn’t take me long to get down to the ground. What had seemed so difficult in the night now turned out to be easy. I worked my way along the roof, still straddling the ridge with a leg on either side. The ridge ended in a gable, and beyond the gable was the side-wall of the vicarage. Thickly growing ivy covered the wall.
I clambered over the gable and tested my weight on the ivy. The stems were strong and woody. It was like climbing down a ladder. I lowered myself hand over hand and foot over foot. The snow from the leaves cascaded in a white shower all around me.
The Caulkisses and Quodes were now far away, approaching the choir end of the church. I wondered if they had noticed what I was doing. They didn’t seem to be looking in my direction. But it didn’t matter in any case. They would only think I was making my escape from Morbing Vyle especially when they saw me go off into the forest. They’d never guess I was aiming to spy on them.
I came to the bottom of the wall and stood for a moment blowing warm breath onto my hands. Then I turned and headed for the nearest trees. The snow squeaked under my feet.
The forest was strange in a way that I hadn’t realised before. Looking down from the roof, I had seen only the blanket of whiteness over the tops of the trees. The snow had settled on the uppermost twigs and branches. But the amazing thing was that it hadn’t settled anywhere else. The trunks of the trees were quite black and bare. Nor was there any snow on the ground beneath.
Of course I guessed the explanation. The snow hadn’t settled because the trunks of the trees were still hot. The same deep smouldering heat as when I first arrived in Morbing Vyle. Nearly three weeks ago! It was uncanny.
But I didn’t worrry. Whatever the strange properties of this forest, I didn’t believe they were directed against me. If the Caulkisses and Quodes disliked it and regarded it as their enemy, then this forest and I were on the same side. Anything that was opposed to Morbing Vyle was an ally of mine.
I walked in amongst the trees. The ash on the ground was sodden, and there was a constant pitter-patter of dripping water. The snow overhead must be melting fast. The whole place was as warm and humid as a steam-filled bathroom.
I didn’t go very far in – only about twenty paces. Then I turned and walked along parallel to the edge of the clearing. I followed a curving roundabout route towards the choir end of the church.
It was a long walk. What made it even longer was the fact that I had to keep weaving from side to side around the trees. I hoped that the Caulkisses and Quodes wouldn’t bring out the bag before I arrived.
After a while there was a new kind of sound from the depths of the forest. Not just the pitterpatter of dripping water, but soft muffled swishes and rushes and thumps on the ground. It seemed that the cover of snow was disintegrating overhead, dropping down in whole frozen lumps and floes.
Whooooshhhh! Swooooosssshhhhhh! Flummmmp! Ploppppp!
I stared in through the trees and saw white ghostly shapes plummetting from the branches. There was movement everywhere. It was as though the forest was coming to life. And I had the sense that the forest was angry, stirring with violence and hostility. But still I didn’t feel under any threat myself. Even when large masses of snow began falling where I walked, they never fell on top of me.
On and on I walked. As I came up to the choir end of the church, I could hear a sound of singing, even above the sounds of the forest. The Caulkisses and Quodes were performing a hymn with musical accompaniment on bell and tambourine. I recognised the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers, but I couldn’t make out the words. Somehow I didn’t think that the inhabitants of Morbing Vyle would be singing the traditional words.
I circled around by the side of the choir. The hymn came to an end and was followed by a low droning chant like a litany. I approached a little closer to the edge of the clearing. I trusted that the darkness of my clothes would blend in and hide me against the darkness of the trees. With only the last line of trunks for protection, I looked out at the inhabitants of Morbing Vyle.
Mr Caulkiss was standing in front of the Altar. He faced Melestrina, Craylene and Mr Quode, who were standing in front of the chairs. Beside them on the snow lay Melestrina’s vast feathery hat. Gambels lay on the snow too, hitched by the reins to the leg of one of the chairs. As yet there was no sign of the bag.
I continued to circle around, heading for the place where the forest curved closest to the Altar. The litany went on for several minutes, then came to an abrupt end. Melestrina, Craylene and Mr Quode resumed their seats. So did Melestrina’s hat. It jumped up from the ground and settled itself on the chair next to Melestrina’s. I didn’t need two guesses to tell who was hiding inside it.
Mr Caulkiss turned and started brushing the snow from the top of the Altar. For a moment I was puzzled. Then I saw what he was after. On top of the Altar lay the flat silver box – exactly as I had first discovered it. Mr Caulkiss unfastened the clasps. Then he picked it up in both hands with great reverence. He held it out towards the congregation, displaying the contents.
“The Instruments of the Lord!” he proclaimed.
“Praise the Lord!” the congregation replied with one voice.
From my angle I couldn’t get much of a view. I caught only a momentary glimpse of glinting metal. But I remembered well enough. I remembered the fretsaw and file and auger and hammer and chisels, the stainless steel tools with the ebony handles. Of course – the Instruments of the Lord!
Mr Scrab’s story explained it all. Those must be the very tools that the Vicar Himself had used. With those very tools He had butchered His human victims, fashioned His so-called works of art. The choirboys hanging dead in the rafters…the tree decked out with human parts…the amputated body crawling around on bloodstained sheets…
I gritted my teeth. The most sickening deeds ever committed – and here were the inhabitants of Morbing Vyle actually worshipping the instruments of butchery! They even wanted the butcher to come back to life! It was monstrous! Abominable!
I stood and watched from the shelter of the trees. Mr Caulkiss closed the silver box and replaced it on top of the Altar. Then he went across to the lectern. There on the lectern were the various books that Craylene had carried out from the vicarage. He opened one of them up and riffled through to a particular page.
“Greatness upon me!” he read. “For I am the Redeemer of the World!”
He rested his hand upon the lectern and looked out over the congregation. It was evidently the beginning of a sermon.
“Those are the words of the Lord,” he said. “Redeemer of the World. Let us consider for a moment what He means.”
∨ The Vicar of Morbing Vile ∧
Fifty-Seven
“Redeemer of the World,” repeated Mr Caulkiss. “But why does the World need a Redeemer? We know what the Christians think. They believe that they already have a Redeemer. They believe that the World was saved by their Jesus Christ, two thousand years ago. Humphh! What does our Lord say about that?”
He opened up another book and found another page.
“As for the Christ of the Christians,” he read, “I name him Prophet and Precursor.”
“See? Our Lord is generous. He does not deny the Christ of the Christians. A Prophet of the Spirit, a Precursor of True Religion. But still only a precursor, only a stage along the way. Christianity alone was never enough. And our Lord foretold its failure eighty years ago. Although people still called themselves Christians at that time, still we
nt to church – yet He knew that their religion had become a hollow sham. Overtaken by the insidious growth of scientific materialism. There was no spiritual aspiration, no real sense of the sacred. Especially after the evolutionary science of Darwinism. What hope for the world, when humanity deliberately chose to sink down amongst the animals and identify with mere necessities of nature? Hear what our Lord said in one of his sermons:
Spirit and body are tied together; but which is to lead, the dog or its master?
Clear words indeed! But ignored and unheeded! For eighty long years humanity has followed the path of materialism. The Twentieth Century has fulfilled everything that our Lord foretold. Humanity in the Twentieth Century cares only for comfort and gratification. Mere low pleasures and animal satisfactions. The biological body is preened and pampered. But where is the spirit? Dead! Dead! Dead!
And what have the Christians done to assert the spirit? Phuhhh! Christianity has gone over to the side of the body! The new Christianity! The social conscience! Love and kindness! Taking care of the poor and needy! Helping to feed the starving millions! Which means: taking care of their biological bodies! Satisfying their animal instincts of hunger! It is the same, the same low interest in comfort and gratification! Such Christians are worse than hedonists, because they can’t even stop with their own bodies! They have to spread the materialistic heresy into other people’s bodies too!
Only here in Morbing Vyle is the message of the spirit preserved. Outside of here, everything is functional and biological. A materialistic science serves a materialistic technology, and a materialistic technology produces materialistic aids to comfort and gratification. We have seen for ourselves such things as radio and motorcars. And nowadays, we hear, they have T.V. and heart transplants! So says our guest, our Mr Martin Smythe – ”
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