by Craig McNish
“Christ no, it was nothing like that! I've got it all on...” He stopped talking. “Fucking hell, I recorded the whole damn thing! We've spent that long being passed around so many different people with every single one of them thinking we're full of crap I forgot all about my camera!”
“So let's take a look then and maybe we can sort this whole thing out.” Harper rifled his pockets to find the small recording device, only to receive another disappointment when he switched it on.
“Shit, the battery's nearly dead! Don't suppose you happen to have an HDMI lead handy, do you?”
“What's that?” Harper just shook his head. Ten minutes and a few enquiries later, the required item was located and Harper connected his camera to a laptop. At least now the camera would draw enough power to be able to air the evidence and prove conclusively that he wasn't lying. Ford had said very little, if anything; she seemed to be in a state of shock with the whole surreal situation just passing her by.
Force of habit had Harper offering up a commentary on the light and sound conditions of his footage until he was politely asked to shut up so the audio could be properly heard. All three of them sat with their eyes glued to the laptop screen; the introduction, Parkes performing the ritual, the tenuous wait for something to happen. Harper had an instinctive feeling that the most vital part of the story would not be corroborated due to a camera malfunction or some other supernatural occurrence, but his luck was holding. Pictures of the melting frost, and then fingers poking out through the soil. Detective Steve Hawkins flinched visibly when he saw someone trying to dig their way out of the ground. And although it was absolute proof that something had happened, his brain refused to let him believe it.
“What the hell is going on?” He said in a slow voice that was full of uncertainty. Harper went to answer; Hawkins raised a hand to silence him when he heard Mills begin to speak.
“He seems to recognise you all. This definitely isn't a wind-up?”
“Absolutely not” Harper told Hawkins. “It seems we're all descendants of the time when Mills was alive – in the seventeenth century, I mean. It wasn't something we'd really thought much about at the time but it's quite easily possible. He seemed friendly to us all. Hodgy – er, Michael – was apparently in the army at the time. Graham was a teacher known back then as Constance Merryman, I was the jailer and Jane he had marked as Jane Brass.”
“Wasn't she one of the kids who got murdered at the time?”
“Yeah, she was the oldest of the three” Harper confirmed. “But the bother seemed to start when he saw Annabelle here...”
“And why's that?” Hawkins had paused the playback to listen to Harper's account and take down more details.
“Well she started giving him a bit of grief – nothing major, like – and when he saw her face he started calling her Sellby. Seems he was a well-known vagrant at the time who Mills had some kind of a grudge against. Lucky for us two we weren't there long enough for Mills to try any kind of revenge thing.”
“So if he only appeared to hold a grudge against your friend here, then why is Hodgson dead with another of your friends possibly fatally injured and both Jane and Mills missing? Why would he attack people he seemingly respected when he was alive? Or is there something you're not telling me?” Harper looked awkward, rubbed his chin and glanced across at Ford, who said nothing.
“Look, here it is. When he started on Annabelle, something strange happened; his eyes glowed red when he lost his rag. You could see he'd properly flipped, you know? Well we all knew by that time we'd made a mistake in trying to bring Mills back but it was only meant to be a laugh. Would you expect some stupid rhyme recital in the middle of a field at night to resurrect a three centuries-dead murderer? No way! And because it was Hodgy who'd thought the whole thing up he felt responsible and decided we had to get rid of Mills.” Hawkins raised his eyebrows, stared Harper down.
“Get rid of him how, exactly?”
“Well the plan was just to rough him up a bit and do a runner, just long enough to go and get help. So Hodgy and Hunts stayed behind, we were told to go and get help and I'm not sure what happened to Jane. She must have took off in the other direction or something.”
“And did you happen to record any of that, or had the camera been switched off by then?”
“No, I was still recording it. I knew that nobody would believe us if we didn't have more proof than just our word so kept the camera going.”
“Well in that case, let's have a look at what else we have, shall we?”
“You're not going to send anybody out to look for Mills? What about Hunts? And what about Jane? He might have killed her as well...”
“And what exactly am I going to instruct any police patrols to look for? I need the full story and as many details as I can. For all I know you could still be making this whole thing up, though I must admit this recording you have makes what you're saying a bit more credible. So let's just watch the rest and see what happens after that.” Harper was frustrated; all of this was taking too long. But he could understand the reluctance to believe was must have sounded like a complete fabrication and so had no choice but to help speed the investigation along. The paused recording was resumed.
The camera had captured more than they thought. Harper, given his focus was fixed on events the entire time they were unfolding, couldn't believe how much his eyes had missed but the camera had seen. When Mills' eyes glowed red after the short beating had ended, there was no great surprise; it had already been mentioned that this happened but it still took Hawkins aback somewhat when he saw the ferocious glow for himself. But it was as Mills was getting to his feet and calling out to Hodgson and Hunter that the real surprises began to show themselves. The recording was allowed to run twice without pause before Hawkins did a slow-motion play on a couple of sections of particular interest.
“What's that black shadow across Mills' back?” he asked rhetorically. For all the scene was fairly dark due to the lack of a nearby decent light source, there was a definite silhouette on the picture that shouldn't have been there. It started to change shape, become more elongated and taper out to something of a point. Then it started to move up and down, slow at first but getting faster. Ford pointed to the screen.
“Look, there's another one. I was too busy running to notice much of what was going on back there but I certainly don't remember anything like that. This is going to sound stupid, but if I had to guess I'd say that by the way they're moving that they were wings.” Hawkins and Harper both looked at Ford as though she was crazy.
“So not only do you bring a dead man back to life but he also has a can of Red Bull as well?” Harper gave a quick snort of laughter at the Detective's words. “And you wonder why I wouldn't believe you from the off? Well lucky for you this recording exists or I would have locked you both up for wasting police time.” The protests were short-lived as they were now watching Mills run across the field after Hodgson and Hunter.
“Bloody hell, he's moving at a fair old clip” Hawkins mused in reference to Mills. “Am I imagining things, or has this bloke got legs like a horse?” They all scrutinised the screen more closely. It seemed he was right; the legs were powerfully-built at the top and much thinner at the bottom, with the knees appearing to bend in the opposite direction to what they normally would.
“Oh yeah, Black Beauty rides again” Ford said as she rolled her eyes. “And you say I'm ridiculous?” Harper was laughing again; a look from Hawkins quickly shut him up.
Fifteen minutes later, the room was completely silent.
“So what the hell are we dealing with here?” Hawkins said eventually. “You understand why anybody would have a hard time believing this, right? I'm amazed you weren't kicked out of the station ages ago.” The clock on the wall gave the time as ten past midnight; they'd been talking with Hawkins for well over an hour now, a fact that wasn't lost on Harper.
“Anybody else dies and it's your fault for taking so long to do anything” he mum
bled, but Hawkins heard him clearly enough. The detective only had time to point an accusing finger before his mobile phone began to ring. He answered it without taking his eyes off Harper, listened quietly for a minute or so then ended the call.
“Graham Hunter has just been found” said Hawkins. “He's unconscious, but alive. I've been told he's sustained a massive head injury and is been airlifted to Newcastle RVI where he'll be placed into intensive care. And if he dies, then I'm putting this on you.” Hawkins jabbed a finger in Harper's face. “I think I've seen enough to start a preliminary investigation. So with you two here, Hodgson in the morgue and Hunter in a hospital bed, it would seem Jane – what's her surname?”
“Parkes” said Ford.
“It would seem Jane Parkes' safety is in major doubt, even if the tape did show Mills to be more...'attached' to her, shall we say. If he's killed and injured already then there's no telling what he's capable of, so the quicker he's found the better. If he's on foot then he can't have got far. I'm confident we'll bring him in sharpish.” The two students breathed a sigh of relief as finally action was about to be taken.
*
The relatively short walk to Parkes' house in Davy Street had taken much longer than expected due to Mills' inquisitive nature. Even the simplest things were wondrous to him, and he questioned everything.
“All of these 'street lights'” he said, placing particular emphasis on the last two words so Parkes wouldn't see fit to correct him. She got the message. “There are many. So who would have the task of lighting them all each evening and snuffing them out the following daylight? It would be a lot of work for one man, surely...”
“They aren't lit by hand, they come on automatically when it gets dark and go out by themselves when it gets light again” Parkes explained. Mills could scarcely believe what he was hearing.
“You mean to tell me these – things – are so clever that they might be able to see the sky and illuminate of their own will? I think not! I might be from a time long passed but even I can clearly see that they have no eyes with which to see, nor an arm to reach out and light themselves! How ridiculous!” He laughed, and so did Parkes as she tried to imagine the world through his eyes. This was something so taken for granted that no one gave it a second thought, and yet Mills was intrigued by the whole concept of self-lighting lamps. Parkes was good enough to take the time to point out the sensor on top of the light poles that would read the ambience of their surroundings, but felt it better to steer away from the dynamics of electricity and how it all came together.
“And do other towns have lights like these?”
“They're all over the country. Not just in towns but along most roads and even footpaths and river banks, places like that. It helps us feel safer at night when we're outside and can see what's going on around us.”
“But are they not so bright as to make it impossible to sleep? The whole of this way is ablaze with light the colour of fire.”
“You get used to it” was all Parkes could think of to say. Now he looked down at the footpath they were walking along, his brow furrowed.
“This pathway we walk on now is for persons only, you say?”
“That's right. Well, people and dogs that are on leads, obviously...”
“So what about the cattle? Or the pigs? How about the sheep and the oxen? They would travel on the wider part of the path, I expect, betwixt the rows of 'street lights'?”
“They just stay in the fields. If we need to transport them they go in lorries.”
“And what is a 'lorry'?” This was something else that maybe Hodgson hadn't envisaged when forming his plan; just how little Mills would actually know about modern-day life. It would take a lot of patience on the part of them both to teach and learn even the basics.
“A large vehicle to transport a lot of animals at once over a great distance” was as succinct a way Parkes could think of terming it, but Mills was still confused.
“And what might move that vehicle along – another team of oxen, maybe? Or would horses be used in their place?”
“We don't use animals to pull carts any more, or at least very rarely. Other countries use them more often, but not here in England.”
“Your scholars must be well-travelled if they are able to witness such things in many parts of the world. It is a vast place and not at all easy to traverse.” Parkes thought for a second; there was a question she was dying to ask.
“Did you know that the world isn't flat?” she said. Mills gave her a strange look.
“That was found out even many years before I was born” he replied. “You would imply that I have no knowledge of such things? My education might not have been as robust as someone more wealthy, but I have still learned many things.”
“I know, I just wasn't sure if it had been discovered in the seventeenth century that the earth was round, that's all.”
“To say it is round would be an incorrect assumption” Mills said. “For it has been proven that the circle is not perfect, but rather flattened at both the top and the bottom.” Parkes just nodded. Now her unwanted companion was looking up at the houses with a huge sense of awe.
“There must be a lot of wealth and prosperity in this town for such fine dwellings as these. Why, there are only two along this whole pathway! There must be a hundred people or more living there!” Parkes realised that Mills had mistook the row of terraced houses as a single building.
“Each row has a number of separate houses” she explained. “They're nothing special. Look, see where each door has a number? Every one of those is someone's house.”
“Only one person lives behind each one of these doors?”
“Well, in some of them yes. But most have families, you know? Husband, wife, a couple of kids maybe.”
“And which room might they have? I see a number of windows...”
“What? No, they don't just have one room; there are five or six rooms and they own them all.”
“Surely you jest” said Mills. “Why, the house I lived in had three rooms only, and there wasn't a second amount of rooms above the first. Why would even four people require so much space in which to eat and sleep?” Parkes sighed. This was going to be a long and arduous process.
“There's my house over there” she told Mills eventually, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the street on which they were walking.
“Then that is where we will go” Mills told her. “We will go to your home to eat and rest, and talk about our marriage.” He looked quite brightened by the prospect. Parkes had never been more afraid and thought she was going to be sick again. Why the hell did I open my big mouth? Damn! A car had turned into Davy Street and was heading in their direction at around twenty-five miles an hour. Mills paid it no mind and walked straight out into the road, forcing the driver to brake sharply and blast the horn. Mills was shocked by the sound and turned to stare at the vehicle, which was being driven by a middle-aged man. The car window was wound down and he leaned out.
“Are you bloody stupid or something? Look where the hell you're going, you damn idiot!” The driver steered around him and drove off, with Mills staring after him. The insult didn't register; he was too busy trying to work out what had just happened.
“Did you see that?” he asked Parkes, sounding excited. “The carriage, that just passed by me. It was moving and yet not a single horse was present. Not one! Why, I could never have expected to see such a thing even if I lived to be a hundred years! Please, Jane, tell me more about these carriages. You know how they move without the aid of horses?”
“They're called cars” she explained. “We've passed loads of them on our way here.” Parkes pointed out the half dozen vehicles parked along the length of Davy Street, Mills gazing at each one intently.
“They are all carriages similar to the one just gone by?”
“Apart from the fact they look different. Basically they all do the same thing and work in the same way.”
“And do you own one of t
hese things?”
“That one's mine.” Parkes pointed to a ten year-old Volkswagen parked not far away. Her pride and joy.
“So the wider pathway is for these cars, then?” Mills surmised correctly. “That might explain why its driver was angered by my thoughtless action of walking into its path. If I see him again, I shall offer my apologies. He lives close by, I take it?” Parkes didn't even know who the guy was.
“I'm not sure, he could have drove here from anywhere...”
“So they travel great distances, then?”
“As far as you want to go, really...”
“So what if I wanted to go to London? I would be able to travel there in one of these carriages? It's quite a distance, I guess that would take some days.” Parkes couldn't help it; she burst out laughing.
“I said something that amuses you?” Mills' eyes flashed red, but only for a fraction of a second. It was long enough for Parkes to remember the danger she was in. And now a plan was starting to come together in her mind.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. I keep forgetting you know none of this. If you wanted to travel to London back when you were alive in the seventeenth century, how long would it have took to get there?” Mills thought about this.
“Well as I remember, it is a little over three hundred miles from these parts” he began. “There would be a number of stops to change the horses, and also to rest for the night. I've never made the journey myself but I would imagine it might be two days before I got there.”
“Two days? Well if we set out now and stopped for something to eat along the way, we could be there in about...six hours, maybe?”
“Six hours? It would take me longer than that to plough a field with two oxen! How can this be possible?” Parkes launched into a brief explanation of the system of roads that the country now had and how they were able to travel at speeds of up to seventy miles an hour on some of them. Mills couldn't believe it was even possible, and his curiosity won out, which is exactly what Parkes had been hoping for.