by Guy N Smith
Depression merged with anger. He poured himself a malt whisky, swigged it back. You've killed, Ralph Grafton, there's no getting away from that fact. You didn't have to kill Minworth, he wasn't any threat to you when he was lying there on the landing. You beheaded him because you wanted to, enjoyed every second of it, be honest with yourself. Murderer!
His eyes gleamed. OK, I'll be honest, I loved every second of it. I'd kill again if I got the chance.
Then kill your wife!
An electrifying sensation, a rush of blood that set his pulses pounding. Lust, he smelled the stench of death again, the acrid iron odour of freshly spilled blood. A gulp of whisky, draining his glass. One more look upstairs before he left, he could not resist it.
Beautiful! Carnage undreamed of, mutilated flesh, a severed head that seemed to cringe in his very presence. Power, and Ralph Grafton thrived on power. In his mind he saw Lynette lying where May Minworth sprawled, gashed so that her intestines overflowed, legs wide, an invitation to him even in death. Lynette, you stuck-up lousy bitch, I'd make this boyfriend of yours screw you like that, then I'd take him apart! His veins felt as though they would burst, a pounding in his head.
But you must go to the Sucking Pit first!
Of course. He backed towards the stairs, having to tear his gaze away from the grisly scene. An urgency now, almost falling on the stairs, noticing that it was dark. God, he must have been upstairs longer than he'd thought. He took a deep breath, fought to bring himself under control; he could not take any chances of being stopped. His clothes were bloodstained, his shirt ripped where Minworth had clawed him in his death throes.
Grafton eased the door open, peered out. Orange street lamps reflected on a line of parked cars, the strains of a guitar coming from some distance away. A dance or something at the village hall, it was all in his favour. Nobody would be bothering about him.
He slunk outside, kept in the shadow of a tall privet hedge, pressing himself back into the foliage when he heard somebody coming. A youth and a girl, arms entwined, kissing and laughing. Stupid buggers! They passed him by and he moved on again, darting from one patch of shadow to another. Back the way he had come, breaking into a fast trot once he reached Church Drive and away from the street lighting.
The quickest route to the Sucking Pit was via the big house, through the rhododendrons. He was breathing heavily on the uphill climb, not slowing his pace, dimly aware of the surrounding trees but not questioning their presence; just one object in mind, blind to everything else. The Sucking Pit called him!
The rhododendrons were thicker than before, tangling across the overgrown path, forcing him to fight his way through them. Out into the clearing that had once been a garden, moss and gravel beneath his feet. The Range Rover; something metallic glinted in the moonlight a few yards from it. Another car, a Mini. His brain had almost dismissed it, then something inside him screamed. ‘Don't you recognise that car? It's Lynette's, and you're going to kill her!’
Wheeling, a hunting beast from the wild that had nearly overlooked its prey. Lynette. LYNETTE!
He approached the car, circling, stalking. Empty. Instinctively his hand felt at the radiator; the engine was cold. He looked towards the house, no sign of light. Deserted, like the car. But she was around somewhere, maybe he should go and look for her or else wait here until she returned. Again the blood was roaring in his ears, he could smell its rancid odour; Lynette sprawled beneath him, sobbing, pleading. Somebody's been fucking you, haven't they, you dirty little whore? Yes, yes. A confession. Tearing at her flesh, raking her features with his fingernails, disfiguring her. Nobody will want you now, you bitch, not even me. Hands around her throat, her convulsions becoming weaker as he squeezed the life from her once beautiful body, laughed insanely as her eyes bulged just like May Minworth's in that bedroom. And after you're dead I'm going to …
The Sucking Pit is becoming impatient!
His vision swam, his surroundings distorted, wavy like he viewed them through rippling water. Jerking himself away, stumbling on across the drive and out into the wood. A path; he followed it, heedless of low branches, snapping dead twigs in his haste. There was no time to be lost.
The wood became thicker, darker because the overhead branches cut out the moonlight, just weird patterns on the pine needles. And much colder as though the temperature had dropped. His sweat cooled and he shivered, jumped as thunder rolled in the distance. There was going to be a storm.
Suddenly he stopped, listened. A faint noise; his senses had picked it up, commanded him to stop. A rustling, it could be a badger on its nightly hunt for insects; it was too heavy for a rabbit. The sound came again and he stiffened. It was no creature of the wild, that was a certainty. Coming this way …
He pressed himself back against a tree trunk. A sobbing human! He could hear the other more clearly now, crawling, fighting against briars that ensnared limbs, tore flesh. Stopping, gasping for breath, fighting again.
Ralph Grafton stared, focused his gaze on a wan patch of moonlight that criss-crossed the path adjoining the main track. Whoever it was would have to pass through that and he would catch a glimpse of them. Hurry, the Sucking Pit is becoming impatient. He felt its pull, fought against it. Just a few seconds, but he had to see …
Jesus God, it was a woman! Almost naked, her lacerated flesh bleeding, sprigs of undergrowth caught up in her hair, clawing at her eyes to free herself from a trailing bramble that had curled itself across her face. Unrecognisable, just a female.
Grafton stepped out into the path, waited silently in a patch of shadow, his pulses starting to race again. A faint sensation, a hint of arousal as he remembered what had happened to May Minworth. He was not interested in what this unknown girl was doing here, only that she was here. That was enough!
Hidden by the darkness he could only hear her now, her progress becoming slower. And slower. Sheer exhaustion. He smiled to himself and then her head bumped against his leg. A sharp intake of breath, recoiling.
‘Ralph!’
It took him several seconds to recognise the voice, so familiar but not in these surroundings. A cry of relief, fingers grasping his legs as she tried to pull herself up.
‘Ralph, is it really you?’ Or is it some hideous nightmare sent to torture me in this vile place?
‘You filthy whore!’ He kicked her hands free of him, drove hard with his foot, felt it sink into flesh. A strangled cry of pain, a puppy that has come seeking affection and instead has been chastised.
She fell back, rolled into a sliver of moonlight and for the first time he saw her face clearly: a mass of cuts and scratches, eyes puffed and almost closed, hair tangled. Barely recognisable but there was no doubt in his mind. Lynette!
‘How obliging of you to come.’ He laughed, pinned her down with a foot. ‘It has saved me the trouble of coming to find you.’
‘Ralph.’ She was barely capable of speech, writhing from that boot in the stomach. ‘Ralph … please …’
‘Now you're pleading,’ he snarled, his features screwed up into a mask of fury. ‘I suppose your lover has kicked you out now he's done with you so you've crawled back to me, eh?’
‘You … don't understand, I …’
‘I understand, all right.’ He dropped a knee on to her stomach, lowered his full weight down on her, laughed aloud when she screamed. ‘You couldn't do without a man so you've come back to me. And by God, you'll pay for it!’
A bunched fist drove downwards, crunched into her upturned face. He felt bones snap, swung his other fist. Pulverising, blow after blow, her screams an accompanying orchestra. Pausing to inspect the bloody mulch: it could have been May Minworth, or any other woman. Facially Lynette Grafton did not exist any more.
The mouth moved, blood trickling out; the eyes would not open again. Ripping away the remnants of her clothing, the sight of those shapely unmarked breasts infuriating him still further. Clawing, a ravenous lion flaying the gazelle it had run down, digging deep and making the blood flow again. By God
, you'll pay, Lynette, with your life!
Her head lolled and he shook her roughly. There's no easy way out, not until the end. She groaned and that was when his strong fingers began to caress her throat, tenderly at first, then tightening. She gasped, somehow forced those swollen eyes open, her terrified gaze meeting his. Pleading, but it was useless. Thumbs together, pressing downwards, leaning his full weight on her neck, squeezing and pushing at the same time, making those eyes stand out, the blood pouring fast from the mouth that gulped in vain for air.
He felt her go and was sorry; sorry that she had not lasted longer, that the end had been so quick. But she knew, and that was all that mattered. Punching her again, his fury still not spent, a whirlwind of rage that only began to slow when the Sucking Pit called to him out of the darkness.
Hurry, we are waiting!
He knelt up, turned to go when an idea filtered into his crazed brain. Take her with you, show the Sucking Pit what you have done!
With childish enthusiasm he dragged her up, somehow managed to get her across his shoulders, staggered a few paces but miraculously kept his balance; got his momentum on the downward track. He would make it all right now.
He stumbled out of the trees into bright moonlight, his breath wheezing in his lungs; saw that semi-circle of painted caravans but showed no surprise. From now onwards he accepted everything, questioned nothing; just obeyed.
Ralph Grafton knew that it was a funeral gathering even before he reached them, staring at the assembly, Lynette sagging across his bowed shoulders. The old woman grinning toothlessly and pointing towards him, making some kind of signal to the huge Romany with the single gold earring who stood at her side; the others, men and women, children too, their faces in darkness as though they deliberately hid from him. Just one who was out of place, who stood apart from the company as though ostracised from an ancient culture. The man was dressed in pseudo-western attire, calf-length boots that had sunk into the mud above the heels, arms held by his side and staring straight ahead of him as though he was in a trance. Grafton recognised him vaguely but could not place him; it did not matter, anyway.
‘We have been awaiting your coming.’ The tall gypsy came forward, arms outstretched.
There will be more before this night is gone. The depths were robbed of those laid to rest there[iii] and they must be replaced. The old ones are angered by the sacrilege and demand fresh corpses. There have been several already but it is not enough. Give me the woman!’
Grafton half turned, felt his burden slip but the other caught it, lifted Lynette apparently effortlessly, began to stalk back towards the break in the rushes.
Thunder rolled and as if it was a signal for the rites to begin the watchers broke into a low tuneless chant. Whispered words in a strange tongue that might have been the wind rising, strengthening, whipping the reeds, bending them over in homage to the forces that lurked beneath the surface.
The old woman was sitting upright, arms raised; a shadow crossed the face of the moon and when it had passed Ralph Grafton saw that the gypsy held the naked body of Lynette aloft. Waiting.
A sign from the hag on the litter and Lynette was gone, a crumpled lifeless form hitting the water with a splash. A cry in unison from the assembly, dying slowly away. Then a voice singing, deep and mournful, words that were meaningless to Grafton yet sent a chill of horror to knot and freeze his stomach muscles. That cowboy fellow, he was part of this setup, far more sinister than the Romanies because, like Grafton, he had been lured here for some devilish reason. Realisation broke the spell that held Grafton, a rush of fear combined with guilt at what he had done. Oh, God Almighty!
He turned to run, fought to drag his feet through the sucking mud, knew in his heart that he would never make it; mentally surrendered to his fate before the huge hands of the giant gypsy reached out and pulled him back. He felt himself being lifted up, did not even struggle as he was borne back towards the Sucking Pit.
‘May the old ones take you,’ Cornelius boomed, and waited for the thunder to die away. ‘You have served us well and you will be rewarded, also punished for desecrating a holy place. The balance is even, the Sucking Pit will decide.’
Mercifully Grafton passed out as he became airborne, not even the shock of the icy depths reviving him as he plunged downwards.
Cornelius turned slowly, acknowledged Roon's smile.
‘Soon the Sucking Pit will again be the burial ground of our people. we await the coming of the one who violated it in the first place, attempted to destroy us too. But we live again and will have our revenge, for surely the one called Latimer will come tonight!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘My God, it's Carl!’ Samantha breathed. ‘Who are those people, what have they done to him?’
Chris Latimer grasped her arm firmly, afraid that she would rush down towards the bizarre gathering by the pool below them. His brain refused to accept what he saw. Merciful God, it was impossible. The dead had risen and were living again! Pamela clung to him. If they were not already mad then they soon would be. This was beyond the concept of the human brain.
‘It can't be,’ she whispered.
‘I don't understand it,’ he replied. ‘Astral projections of a kind, maybe reincarnations, but tangible. Evil and dangerous. The dead have risen out of the Sucking Pit!’
They watched in silence. Gypsies of a past generation, clad in their colourful costumes, gathered by the waterside, the old hag reclining on a rough stretcher, the big man in attendance. All just waiting; for what?
‘That's Cornelius,’ Latimer muttered. ‘and unless I miss my guess there's only one person he's waiting for. Me! I put four charges of shot in him once and even then he didn't die right away. But I don't think guns would be any good against this lot now, even if we had them.’
‘They've done something to Carl,’ Samantha cried. ‘Look at his face now the moon's shining on it; it's like a wax mask!’
And as if to shield her from the horror, clouds moved in across the moon and the scene below them was reduced to shadows and silhouettes.
‘A form of hypnotism,’ Latimer said and remembered how Pamela had acted that morning. It seemed a thousand light years away now. Another nightmare. But that was why they were all here. By strange means the Sucking Pit had summoned them to return so that it could exact its vengeance on them! Lives for lives, the living for the dead.
Low mournful tones hung in the air, a sad ballad of bygone gypsy days; almost a whispered monotone. Carl Wickers intoning words that were incomprehensible to the three watchers, head uplifted to the dark sky above him. On and on, the gathering taking up the chant, a rush of words that grew in volume like a rising wind before a storm.
‘What's happening?’ Samantha was white and tense. ‘He can't know what he's singing.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Latimer's eyes were fixed on the pool beyond, sensing at first, rather than seeing, a movement. A faint rippling as though fish fed close to the surface but there could be no fish in there, only …
Thunder: nearer, louder. Vibrating.
‘The pool.’ Pamela clutched at him, sobbed her fear. ‘It's … something's coming out of it!’
The black waters seemed to heave up, a rumbling that shook the ground all around, the water splashing, foaming. And then they saw the girl standing on the side, small and slim, some kind of white shroud draped around her body, wafting in the breeze; it should have been saturated, clinging wetly to her lithe body but it was dry! One glimpse of her features and then the cloud blanked out the moon again.
‘Jenny Lawson!’ Chris Latimer grunted. ‘Oh my God, they've called her up too!’
‘Who's Jenny Lawson?’
‘You wouldn't understand, only that she was evil then, a young girl possessed, and that possession has been resurrected. And they've used Carl for that purpose!’
The girl called Jenny Lawson walked forward jerkily, heading towards Roon and Cornelius. Was it a trick of the light or did the huge Romany back o
ff a step? Roon was silent. Suddenly the wench from the Pit was dominating the proceedings.
Seductive, her body swaying as though she went through the motions of some erotic dance, moving on from Cornelius to the gathered gypsies. They shrank back. A peal of harsh laughter and then she was approaching Carl, her silhouette miming copulation.
An outstretched hand flicked at his shirt, bared his chest, stroked the flesh beneath. Close to him now, rubbing her breasts against him, arms encircling his neck, pulling his face down to her own; lips meeting in an obscene kiss, her cold breath reeking of the odours of foul stagnant water.
‘No!’ Samantha pulled herself free of Latimer's hold, burst out into the open. ‘You foul bitch, get away from him!’
‘Come back.’ A token protest from Chris but he knew it would have no effect. The anger of a woman scorned dominated Samantha.
‘Oh God!’ Pamela half-screamed.
‘Stay here.’ Latimer whirled on her. ‘Don't move from here, do you understand?’
She nodded and he stepped out of the trees, aghast at what he saw below. A sense of sheer foolishness, a kamikaze-type bid to save Samantha. It would be futile, he would pay for it with not just his life but his soul. But he had to go because otherwise he would never be able to live with himself again.
The creature he knew as Jenny Lawson turned, lips drawn back in a lusting grin as she saw the girl bearing down upon her.
‘You dirty whore!’ Samantha yelled. ‘Take your vile hands off him. He's mine!’ Breathless, her feet squelching in the soft grassy surround of the pool.
Jenny Lawson raised a hand and Samantha came to a halt, mouth open to scream further abuse but no words came. A clap of thunder overhead, the echoes taking their time to die away. Everybody watched, even Cornelius seemed afraid.
‘You fool!’ the girl from the depths of the Sucking Pit hissed. ‘To even think you can stop me.’ Another peal of laughter. ‘Nobody can stop me because the power of the Sucking Pit has been bestowed upon me by those who live below. This is not your man, he is mine for just as long as I want him. I brought him here in another form, mated with him in a union which gives him to me. Yet you shall not be parted from him because you, too, shall live in this place for eternity, shall serve us!’