In the kitchen there were many different knives; she selected several and placed them in places where they would be close to hand.
She got a chair, placed it in the kitchen doorway and sat down. From here she could hear everything and get to any room entrance in seconds with the shotgun. She knew she had to fire whilst they were still trying to gain entry. She hoped that the knowledge that she was armed and could use the weapon would scare them off.
As the minutes passed her confidence ebbed and flowed. Was it all imagination? Had the time when she could live alone in such a solitary place passed? She was beginning to think so when she heard a distinct footfall outside the back door. As she watched the handle was slowly turned. Someone was testing it and trying not to be heard.
She levelled the shotgun at it but the 410 wouldn’t penetrate the heavy door. She needed a 12 bore and she didn't have one. How many of them were out there? She had no way of knowing, she was really frightened now. These people had come to hurt her. They wouldn't ask a few questions and go back to Torquay so that she could send the Police after them.
She remembered, suddenly a Dustin Hoffman film from the days when she was first dating Mike. 'Straw Dogs'. He had teased her because Susan George was in the film and he pretended he fancied her, probably had if the truth were known.
Hoffman and George had defended a property not dissimilar to this one against some local villagers who wanted to take a man they were sheltering to kill him. They had used all sorts of good tricks to keep them out. She ran them through her memory, looking for something to help her. She went and put several pots on the stove, filled them with water and tuned on the rings. Hot water was a very good weapon, boiling oil would be better but she did not have enough to make the effort worthwhile.
She hunted through the kitchen looking for anything else that was inflammable. She found some methylated spirits for the food warmer they used at dinner parties and poured some into several cups. She wasn't sure how she could use it but she had to keep thinking. She placed the lighter she had used for the candles beside them.
She sat back down. It was ten thirty, the night stretched endlessly in front of her. They would make a move soon. It was too cold out there for them to remain for long. They would be making their plans and they would come swiftly, probably from more than one direction at a time.
Where she was sitting there had formerly been a door and she wished it was still there. She would have been able to barricade herself into just the kitchen and with the shotgun would have had a good chance of defending herself.
A window broke. She heard it clearly and knew precisely where it was; it was the French window in what had been her Father's study and then Tim's office. They had invaded her home. They were just the other side of the wedged door, she slipped the safety catch off and turned towards the hallway.
She could hear them whispering. Watched as the door was tested and the wedges discovered. They held firm. Then came silence that seemed to last interminably.
Her nerves were at breaking point. Her hands were shaking and she wondered if she would be able to shoot straight. Her first shot had to be effective, had to deter them from further effort or she had lost.
Then she heard something that was so unexpected it took her by surprise; someone was chanting behind the wedged door. Suddenly, it struck home and she knew she was in the most terrible danger.
The light was starting to fade, the candle flames shrinking visibly. She turned and even the fire was going out. The wood appeared to be being patted by an invisible hand. She watched horrified as the flames were put out and grey ash coated the once red embers.
Juliet backed into the kitchen and started to pray out loud. “The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not want” The words of the twenty third Psalm coming to her across years of not having prayed. She took up one of the cups into which she had poured methylated spirits and cast the contents onto the fire. It flared and she felt her heart leap in response. She continued the prayer, crouched down in the light of the flames and aimed along the passageway.
She thought she was seeing things but slowly realised there was indeed smoke coming under the wedged door. Had they set fire to the house to drive her out? The thought was pure agony to her. The house had been her home all of her lifetime, it meant a great deal to her.
The smoke was turning into a ball in the middle of the hallway and she realised that it was not smoke at all. It had an oily texture and was behaving in a way smoke could never do. It was him. He was the other side of the door and what she was watching was a manifestation of his power as a Black Magician. She had read enough to know how deadly her danger had become.
She took up another cup of spirits, set fire to it, ran to the kitchen doorway and threw it upon the ball of smoke.
There was a flash like a firework exploding and a scream from the opposite side of the door followed by a stream of cursing and a crash as though someone had fallen over. She heard voices and movement and then there was silence.
The candle flames returned to their steady burning and the light increased again to her relief. Behind her the fire sprang back into life. She went across and piled log after log onto it almost filling the large grate. She had plenty of firewood to keep it like that all night.
Quickly she refilled the cups with methylated spirits. She knew it would soon evaporate but she couldn't wait until she needed it to pour it. There was not a lot left, perhaps half a pint.
It was close to eleven O’clock. The night had hardly begun. Her fear was almost unmanageable, she was shaking and sweating and completely out of ideas to protect herself.
Her hope must be that she had hurt him. It was him for certain: the man who murdered children. She had read about their supposed ability to project an ectoplasm that could form the shape of their 'familiars' and do their bidding. Now she had seen it happen. She wasn't shocked, she was beyond shock.
If she fell into his hands he would certainly kill her. She had seen several murdered corpses in her time and she knew that murder was more commonplace than most people thought. She was not going to let him take her prisoner. To be in the power of such a person would be worse than just being murdered.
Juliet jumped out of her skin as her mobile phone went off. She dashed to it and grabbed it but it was not an incoming call. Just a message to say her own message to Michael had been dispatched. She tried to ring the Police but the signal had gone again, the bloody thing was useless.
Nonetheless it had sent the message in whatever brief period a signal had been available. Quickly she typed in another message to Michael and then a broadcast message to everyone on her phone list asking them to contact the Police. She put the phone back on the window ledge hoping it would work there again.
The pots on the stove were boiling and the water levels in them falling. She topped them up and used water from one to make herself a very strong cup of coffee. A sudden idea hit her and she should have thought of it before, quickly she went to the dresser and opened the cupboard. It was full of spirits. Whiskey, gin, brandy, they would all burn! She took the caps off them all and stood them on the table.
Brandy she knew, would burn very readily indeed and it would be as good as the meths. She got some glasses and prepared a dozen with brandy and whiskey. Not only would they be useful as weapons but they would also be much harder to put out than the candles.
Next she got more candles and stuck them with their own wax to every place she could find, lighting them as she went. There were fifty in the box and another box beneath it. Her father had been a very thorough man and had always believed that one day they would be shut in by snow for weeks. It had never happened, but she was grateful now for his planning.
She sat down and began to drink the hot coffee keeping the loaded shotgun very close to her hand. It was still the best weapon she had and she was very determined to use it at the first chance she got. She had been planning to fire a warning shot but that was wasting a cartridge, if she fired now she would
fire to maim whoever threatened her.
She tried hard not to think about the force he had tried to use against her. That way lay madness but slowly her fear grew until she began to look around her waiting for his next attempt.
Along the hallway a tapping noise began. Someone was tapping continuously on the bathroom window. It was only a light tapping; it wasn't an attempt to break the glass. It was quickly followed by a tapping on the back door and then on her bedroom window. They were trying to unnerve her and they were succeeding. She picked up the gun, stood up and got her back to the hallway wall. There were at least four of them then. He wouldn't be tapping himself. He would be doing whatever he had planned to be covered by their distraction. She eased the safety catch of the gun off.
Slowly Juliet edged along the wall until she could see inside the candle lit bathroom. It had a frosted window and she could see gloved fingers tapping upon it. She walked across and shot both barrels straight through the middle of it.
There was a terrible scream outside and then behind her in the hallway a crash as someone threw their weight against the wedged door.
She swung around, already reloading the rifle and saw that the door had held. Again someone crashed against it, again it held.
The bathroom window was gone, the cold air flowing in. There was no sign of anyone outside it. They would keep clear in case she shot again. She backed out closing the door behind her but then changed her mind, better to be able to see the window even if that meant they could see her.
She got her back to the wall again on the same side as the bathroom door to hide herself as much as she could. Someone out there needed a hospital urgently. The glass had blown outwards with huge force and would be embedded in their face for sure.
They knew she was armed now. Would they give up and go away? She didn't think so. He would revert to type: the next attack would be occult and probably lethal. She had no weapons to wage war upon that form of attack. She was terrified of him and he would know that.
A full half hour passed without any sign of them. The cold air was streaming through the missing bathroom window and she was getting cold. Outside she could see that a thick mist covered the courtyard. She could not remember ever seeing mist at the same time as falling snow. He was the source of it she was certain. They would be using that and the falling snow to move around beyond her vision.
The candles told her he was active. They fluttered and died within a few short seconds. Juliet backed off into the kitchen with her back to the blazing fire. The firelight was the only light she had now but it was enough to let her see that something was coming through the wedged door. It wasn't slipping beneath it; it was emerging from the centre of it.
It stood about three feet tall and looked like a clawed gargoyle from the stonework of a Cathedral. She didn't hesitate she fired both barrels at it. It turned and looked at her, the eyes brilliant flaming red and full of malevolence. The shotgun had not affected it at all. It stepped into the middle of the hallway as Juliet tried to control her shaking hands enough to reload. Again the Imp came towards her, she lifted the reloaded gun and pointed it
The creature from hell threw up a single claw, spoke one word of command and the rifle flew from her grasp and fell to the floor beside the dresser. The manifestation of the Imp’s power over her shocked her into total immobility.
It was coming now; slowly, cagily, watching her intently. She was so petrified by fear that she could do nothing but watch its approach. A wave of some awful stench was preceding it. Freezing and repugnant, making her recoil until she was in danger from the fire behind her.
It stopped when it was just a metre from her and they eyed each other warily. Again Juliet began to recite the twenty third Psalm. There was nothing left to her now but prayer.
Defending herself had passed beyond her own capability.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A BLIZZARD AT BOVEY TRACEY
When Leon Henry answered his mobile the blast of noise that came with his voice was almost unbearable. “Wait Inspector, I will go outside,” he shouted at me. The bedlam receded and his voice made it sound as though he was as relieved as myself to have escaped the noise.
“Sorry about that Mike, I've been forced into sampling the local culture on the harbour-side. It's educational” I wondered what Ann Taylor - who I guessed was doing the 'forcing' was hoping to teach him but I wasn't able to be light hearted, my anxiety was rising by the minute as my thoughts hovered over the lack of communication from Moretonhampstead.
I quickly told him about the books Juliet had left and then my failure - buried in her notes, to notice her message on the answer-phone. “I can't recall having not been able to contact her despite the winter conditions before. I am worried that Joplin has something to do with her not answering. If he noticed her observation of his ring or was unnerved by her questions about Ilsham Chapel there's no telling how they may react. What do think?”
“I don't think the storm is bad enough to interrupt communications Mike. We are right on the harbour and it's a strong wind and very cold but it’s not Siberia. It's not enough to topple telegraph poles or break telephone cables. Wait one minute please.” I heard Ann Taylor's voice and listened as he explained the situation to her. “Do you want to go and check she is safe Inspector?”
It was time to make a decision and a whole lifetime of not getting things right with Juliet was nagging at me viciously.
“Yes I do Leon.”
The pause was Ann getting his attention. She must have taken the phone from him.
“You come and get us Boss. We'll be at the Clock Tower.”
“On my way.” I said, and rang off glad that I'd have such high quality help but not in the least surprised.
All we had to do now was drive to Moretonhamstead through half a blizzard. I knew from experience that was easier said than done. We’re never prepared for snow in Torbay.
I went to the wardrobe and got suitable clothing remembering to add a fleece lined, oiled jacket I used for winter angling for Leon. I chose my ski jacket and trousers a bit over the top perhaps, but I didn't know how long we might be out there. Good hiking boots that I used when walking on the Moor and heavy socks took care of my feet and I was ready to leave. I had nothing I thought suitable for Ann and realised we would have to detour by her flat in Chelston to enable her to collect something. She couldn't be on top of Juliet's hill without protection. It was a wild place and very exposed, it would be bitterly cold.
They were waiting as arranged beside the Clock Tower and Ann was in the back with Leon beside me in the shortest of stops. I told him the jacket was in the back and asked Ann if she had any suitable clothing. A stupid question to ask someone who walked the Moors more often than myself but my mind was elsewhere really. My fear for Juliet was really unravelling my nerves. I needed to get something right with her finally.
I had realised whilst driving to collect them both that Juliet and I had been avoiding confronting the issue of our relationship for a very long time. Safe in the knowledge that the friendship would always be there we had failed to make an investment in it. Now that it was at risk I could have kicked myself for wasting precious opportunity.
I swung the car around the corner by the Pavilion and headed along the sea front past the Princess Theatre and Torre Abbey Beach Slipway. There was no traffic and although the sleet had turned to snow it wasn't laying in such close proximity to the flat grey sea. We turned off, drove behind the Grand Hotel and then took a sharp right past the side of Torquay
Railway Station. Left again round some sharp bends and we were outside her apartment. She was gone before I turned the engine off.
Leon offered me one of his 'cancer in a pack' stinking French smokes and I took it.
“Ann said you have been friends a long time.” The look he gave me was one of deeper interrogation than the words implied. He was offering a moment of real friendship which despite my lifelong habit of playing my cards close to my chest I decided
at once to accept.
“Childhood sweethearts, an affair fifteen years ago,” I looked at him. “Really intense, stupid behaviour, everything in both our lives at risk but we couldn't stop for a while. That and a whole lifetime of the closest of friendship.”
He was watching me really intently. “I fucked them all up Leon, one after the other.”
I felt wretched. I was scared for her now. The anxiety had been moulded into something more acid as my mind worked on the possibility of their harming her to protect themselves from exposure.
Leon sat quiet. Then he turned to me. He didn't ask about her situation or my reading of it as an Englishman would have. Instead his Gallic sensibilities went straight to the real heart of the matter. “And today Mike, what does she mean to you today - tonight?” His words were quiet, soft somehow.
I leaned forward onto the steering wheel trying to find the right words.
“It's OK I can see it.” He said simply. “We shouldn't waste any time. They have some hours of advantage over us.”
Lucifer's Abbey Page 14