Well, if I can see it in this accursed snowstorm, it cannot be far away.
She puts her head down and forces her way through the deepening snow for another minute. She looks up to find the friendly glow, but this time, there are two lights; one steady and dead ahead, the other flickering to one side. Now, she sees the flickering glow resolve itself into two small points of light, and they're moving. Getting closer.
She feels a chill deeper than that of the blizzard and reaches inside her coat, takes out her rosary, then continues to walk towards the steady light. The two smaller lights stop moving, then vanish. Could it be someone with a torch?
She is too exhausted to call out, even if she wants to.
“Maria! Maria, my voluptuous goddess!”
The deep, gurgling voice is coming from behind her. She wants to run, but knows she will simply stumble and fall, so instead she forges on, determined to ignore the taunter.
“Maria, so very talented, so very lovely! Don't go, Maria, stay and let us get acquainted!”
The voice is much closer and even in the winter storm, she can sense a trace of a familiar foul reek. She stops, spins round, holds out the silver crucifix, shouts out prayers and peasant curses in her native tongue.
The gurgling voice replies in perfect Spanish. “Ah, the noble tongue of far Castile! I haven't heard that in so many centuries! Oh, you are a sun-ripened fruit, my Maria! How I will enjoy plucking you!”
The two yellow points appear again. As her pursuer moves closer, she sees them grow into two lizard-like eyes with slit pupils. They are a good seven feet above the snow. She can just make out a vast head on a bloated body. The monstrous being is lumbering toward her, massive arms extended, huge malformed feet crunching in the snow. She starts in the direction of the house, hoping that the cross will keep whatever it is at bay until she can reach safety.
“You have faith and strength, yes, but you lack one vital thing to command me, Maria. I know your name, you see. But you do not know mine. And, according to the rules of this very old game, that means I win!”
It makes a sudden movement, startling her, and she stumbles backwards into a snowdrift. She drops the cross and weeps in fear as she scrambles for it, then looks up to see the deformed creature looming over her. It emits a giggle that is half belch, then stoops down and starts to tear at her furs with its huge, flabby hands.
***
“Armstrong!”
Croft's deputy races along the corridor and nearly collides with his superior, who's storming out of his office.
“More problems, boss?”
“You could say that, Sergeant!”
Croft starts striding up and down the corridor, working off his anger. Armstrong knows better than to keep pace, so he stands back and waits for revelations.
“I've just had a phone call from the Chief Officer of this fine county, who made it known that the search for Maisie Warburton needs to be stopped. Apparently, it's a waste of police resources when everyone's so upset about the snow! Better get the men out onto the roads, he says, digging idiot motorists out of drifts, helping old ladies, that sort of thing.”
“Bad luck, boss.”
“Luck?” Croft gives him a glare. “Nothing of the sort. Somebody's leaned on him. Must be high up in London. Scotland Yard, or the Home Office. Either way, I don't like being warned off an open case.”
“No, boss.”
Croft stops pacing, fixes his sergeant with another glare.
“I don't care what's going on up at that house, it's on my turf and my gut tells me it's not legal! Make yourself useful, Armstrong. Start ringing around, lad. Find out where I can get a snowplow by tomorrow morning.”
The sergeant only hesitates for a moment before hurrying back to his desk.
Not the strangest request I've had from the boss, he thinks, but definitely top five.
***
Charlotte's crossing the hall when the front door crashes open and two snow-covered figures enter, bringing a blast of the storm with them.
“Don't shoot!” says Bill, holding up his hands.
“Oh, thank God.”
She puts down the gun and the brandy bottle and rushes to hug him.
“Hey, Charlie, it's just a bit of snow!”
“No, Rachel's seen something! Something terrible!”
She notices Archie standing, mouth open.
“Catching flies?” Charlotte asks, with a smile.
“Sorry, ma'am,” replies the taxi driver. He looks at Bill, raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes, did Madam Castanos get here?”
“What? No, why would she be here?” asks Charlotte.
“Damn. I'll have to go out again and look for her. She tried to walk it when Archie's cab got stuck. No time to explain, Charlie, just give me a bit of that brandy.”
“Shouldn't we call the police, sir?” asks Archie.
“Yes!” says Charlotte, and goes to pick up the phone. She makes a face, puts the receiver down.
“Snow will have brought lines down across the county,” says Bill, handing back the brandy. He selects an ax from one of the wall displays.
“At least take this,” says Charlotte, holding out the shotgun.
“No, best keep it with the civilians,” he replies. “Besides, in this weather a close-combat weapon makes more sense. I won't be long. Chin up!”
He kisses her on the cheek and opens the door.
“Lock this behind me!” he shouts over the storm. “And check all the other doors and windows again, just to be sure.”
“Come on, Archie,” says Charlotte, after bolting the door. “I'll introduce you to the rest of the inmates.”
Outside, Bill retraces his path to the car, sees that it will soon be buried up to the wheel-arches.
Useless now anyway, he thinks. Might as well leave it.
He goes down the drive, following the rapidly vanishing tire tracks. There's no sign of anyone. The blizzard shows no signs of letting up, and he's thinking of turning back when he sees something dark, half-buried in the snow. He takes off his glasses and wades through the drifts to find an expensive fur coat and a hat, nearby. He lifts the hat, sniffs at it, and wrinkles his nose in rage and disgust.
“You filthy abomination!” he shouts into the storm. “You'll pay for this!”
Chapter 9: Deeper Than the Darkness
Sergeant Armstrong has given up on the crossword and is about to go to the pub when a tall man walks in. Chunks of snow fall to the threadbare carpet as the stranger takes off his hat then uses to it to slap down his coat. Some lumps of compacted snow fall onto the reception desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” asks Armstrong, getting up.
“Yes, you can give Detective Inspector Croft my card and tell him I'd like an immediate interview,” replies the tall man.
The sergeant peers up at the stranger. In the light of the station's low-powered bulbs he can make out little, except a tall, thin body topped by a face that seems to be constructed of sharp angles. There's a nasty scar running down the left side of the man’s face, starting at his forehead and continuing onto his cheek.
Nasty wound, thinks Armstrong. Lucky he didn't lose an eye.
Normally he'd tell someone demanding to see his boss that they'd have to wait, that it might not be possible, and perhaps suggest making an appointment for later in the week. But not with this man. The stranger's accent is upper-class, his manner confident. When in doubt, Armstrong assumes that such a person has authority.
You could cut glass with those cheekbones, thinks Armstrong as he takes the offered card to Croft's office. It doesn't occur to him to glance at it, or ask why he has to pass it on straight away. Luckily, his superior's door is ajar; a signal that Croft can be disturbed.
“Boss? I've got this bloke waiting at the reception, he wants to see you.”
“I am popular, aren't I?” says Croft. He's already in hat and coat, ready to leave.
“He said I was to give you this.”
“Who the hell is Colonel Bryce, and what's he doing here?”
“No idea, boss, but he's not the sort of bloke I'd pick an argument with,” replies Armstrong. Croft looks interested.
“All right then. Show the imposing colonel in.”
***
After introductions are made, Tony asks about Bill, and Archie explains about the disappearance of Madam Castanos.
“Even a well-padded woman like her wouldn't last fifteen minutes out there, I reckon,” says Tony, going to the window. Flakes are still whirling wildly against the blackness.
“She might have been picked up by another driver,” points out Rachel.
“With all due respect, ma’am, I doubt it,” says Archie. He then describes the bad conditions on the highways. “I'm afraid she did try to make it all the way here on foot,” he adds.
“Can you see anyone out there?” asks Charlotte, joining Tony at the window. He shakes his head.
“There's too much snow falling now, I can't even make out the nearest statue.”
The taxi driver mutters something under his breath. Rachel makes out the phrase 'God preserve us'.
“Not keen on sculpture, Archie? Or is it something about those particular statues?”
“Sorry ma'am, I wouldn't normally take the Lord's name in vain, especially with ladies present! I was raised Primitive Methodist, you see. But those statues . . . I've never liked 'em, not since I was a lad. This whole place has a bad name, but especially the gardens.”
“You used to come up here a lot, Archie, as a lad?” asks Charlotte.
“Oh yes, miss, the woodlands were fine for games and adventures. We played hide and seek, cowboys and Indians, that sort of thing. But I never liked coming too close to the house. Nobody did. So of course, the way you do when you're a kid, we made a game out of being scared. We'd run up to one of the statues and touch it, then run away. The really brave ones would even knock on the door of the house for a dare. Of course, nobody lived here back then.”
“I dare say your parents didn't approve of that sort of thing?” puts in Tony.
“They didn't know, sir! Always warned me off, my mum did. ‘It's an evil place, Archie,’ she always said. Even by daylight, she'd wouldn't go near the Hall. Back when she was a girl, some people had gone missing, you see. Some were found dead and in an awful state, and some were never found at all. And now, young Maisie Warburton's disappeared.”
“Who's Maisie Warburton?” asks Tony.
“Didn't they tell you, sir?” Archie looks surprised. “It's been a few days!”
The story of Maisie's disappearance is then told and discussed.
“So one guy's dead and a girl's missing.” says Tony.
“And so are the Marlows,” points out Charlotte. “And if that thing had managed to grab me, perhaps it would make five in all?”
“Archie, these disappearances your mother told you about,” asks Rachel, “did they happen around 1875?”
“Yes, ma'am, I believe so.”
Rachel gets the hefty Beaumont family history and finds the relevant chapter, then guides the rest through the story, back to the days of Isaac Braid.
“I never knew it went all the way back to them olden times,” comments Archie. “But people say this has been a troubled place for a good while, so I'm not surprised. I'd never come here alone at night, and that goes for most folk down in the village.”
“And Bill's out there alone,” says Charlotte, going to stand by the window.
Tony and Rachel exchange a glance. Rachel shakes her head.
Not a good time to cast doubt on her boyfriend's integrity. But I wonder what kind of game Bill's playing? Because I'm damn sure he knows more about what's going on than what he's told us.
“Archie, do people say anything else, maybe about the nature of the evil that lurks here?” asks Tony.
“Well, sir, it depends on who you talk to!” replies the taxi driver. “Some say it's a ghost, because this house is said to be haunted. I know things have been seen. Phantoms.”
Like the ghosts I saw, thinks Rachel. But why can't I see them now? What's changed, what's blocking my vision?
She shrugs off the trifling thought and asks Archie, “Aren't you convinced it's a ghost?”
“No ma'am, most say there's something worse that has its lair here. Something old and foul that seizes folks when they're alone and unwary. There's supposed to be this terrible stink, a bit like rotten meat. That's how you know it's after you.”
“But they never put a name to it?” asks Charlotte.
Archie ponders for a moment before replying.
“Well, when I was a lad, we were sometimes told to stay away from the Manor or the Haunter would get us.”
“So, it's called the Haunter, but it's not a ghost? Did anybody ever describe this thing?” asks Rachel.
“No, miss, they just say that it whispers and mocks at you from its hiding place, and it gives off a certain stink. Nobody's seen it and lived to tell the tale; not that I know of. Awful sneaky sort of creature, whatever it is.”
The four others exchange glances.
“Whatever it is, Archie,” says Tony, “it manifested itself at a séance in London, a few weeks ago.”
Archie again looks surprised. “I never heard of it roaming outside the grounds of the Manor,” he exclaims, “let alone, going all that way down south.”
“Maybe it's getting restless after all these centuries?” suggests Charlotte, still staring out into the night.
Or maybe it's getting more ambitious, thinks Rachel.
“So is this Haunter Isaac Braid?” she asks. “Has anyone ever mentioned his name, before?”
“Never heard of him, ma'am,” replies Archie. “Who's he?”
“A sixteenth century alchemist,” says Tony, “who may still be alive.”
“Or undead,” adds Charlotte, with a shudder. “But I don't feel the thing that attacked me was a man. There was something inhuman about it.”
Archie nods at that, then says to Tony, “I've got a gun, sir, out in the taxi. Might come in handy?”
“You get a lot of highwaymen out here?” asks Tony with a grin.
“No, sir,” replies Archie, “but you do get the odd nasty drunk who doesn't want to pay his fare. The gun sobers 'em up something wonderful! Souvenir of the last war, it is, Luger pistol, took it off a dead German officer.”
“What outfit were you in?” asks Tony.
Archie springs to attention, gives a smart salute and says, “Lance Corporal Archibald Reed, Number 901 565 3131, Second Battalion, Northumberland Rifles, sir!”
“Well, Lance Corporal, let's go and get that gun,” says Tony.
“We shouldn't split up,” says Charlotte. “If we stick together, we've all got the shotgun for protection. We don’t want to get picked off.”
No one disagrees, and they all get ready for a foray outside.
***
Maria Castanos wakes in darkness. It takes her a few moments to remember her journey from London, her trudge through the snow, and then the glowing-eyed being that attacked her. She becomes aware of her surroundings, recognizing the familiar stench, realizing she is lying on cold, damp earth. It is quite chilly and she starts shivering. She notices that she is wearing the ragged remains of her travelling clothes, but her furs are gone.
Where am I? In a cellar?
The medium sits up and starts to feel around her in the cold dirt. Her eyes adjust to the darkness and she sees a point of light above her. She gets to her feet carefully, unsure of the height of the presumed ceiling. Her head strikes a layer of what feels like stone or brick. She's still crouching, so the space is about five feet high. Movement brings some pain from scattered bruises and wounds. She has been roughly handled, but there's no sense of a serious injury; no broken limbs.
I have been abducted and imprisoned. Very well. I shall escape, then.
Maria shuffles to
one side, finds that the roof is curved, and turns into a wall. Further investigation suggests that she is inside a tunnel, probably made from bricks and mortar, with a semicircular cross-section. There is no obstacle ahead or behind.
Perhaps a sewer or drain of some sort? Is that light a crack in the roof?
She shuffles along until she is under the faint glow, reaches up and feels the roof. There is a gap in what must be mortar. She inserts a finger into the narrow space and feels a distinct chill, one that stings. She withdraws her finger and licks it; it tastes like melting snow.
I am underground! But not very deep. Perhaps still in the garden of the house?
She is tempted to try her strength against the roof, but fears that it might take too long to make a sizeable hole, or that the structure may simply collapse and bury her alive. Instead, she starts to half-crawl, half-waddle along the tunnel, at the same time trying to remember the details of her abduction. Her memory is normally acute but she senses a gap, perhaps induced by shock.
She has been moving for a few minutes when she realizes that it is no longer pitch-black. She can make out her shadow, thanks to a faint glow from behind. She does not need to stop and look back to know where the light is coming from. She can sense the approach of something powerful and monstrous, the entity that attacked her as she approached Furniss Manor. She speeds up as best as she can, but the uneven dirt-floor and low ceiling make running impossible.
“Maria! Oh Maria, my voluptuous love, you would desert me now, at the moment of consummation?”
The Haunter (The Sentinels Series Book 2) Page 10