Mersey Dark

by Michael Whitehead

  Then, as if by a Christmas miracle, a large choir of carollers had began to assemble in the street outside the church opposite. He had watched with interest, staying close enough to the chicken that he could take it if chance allowed.

  Before long the choir began singing “Oh, Christmas Tree.” They were loud and were accompanied by three men who rang hand-bells in time with the singers. Billy looked back at the bird in the cage and made up his mind, being caught could not be any worse than going to the poor house.

  He slid down the alleyway and into the butcher’s yard. He took hold of the top of the crate and pulled. The wood gave a little but not enough that he might get the top free. He looked around the yard, hoping to find something to pry the crate apart. Nothing caught his eye and he began to lose hope of a hot dinner.

  As a final resort he lifted the cage, upsetting the chicken and making it squawk and flap its wings at him. He placed one corner on the ground and leaned his weight on the other corner. The wood immediately began to separate, causing the bird more consternation. Billy knew he was making a lot of noise but he was in too deep now, and decided to carry on. He leaned everything he had on the wood, bouncing on his toes to gain extra height. Suddenly the side of the crate separated from the rest and the chicken made a bolt for freedom.

  Only the speed and reflexes of a hungry ten year old could have caught the bird as it made its break. Billy was on top of it in a second, pinning it to the ground. Outside the alleyway, the choir were still in full voice and by some miracle nobody seemed to have heard the scuffle.

  Billy got to his feet, the chicken gathered in his arms, struggling and flapping at his face. He had seen what must come next, many times. He had seen butchers pull at a chicken’s neck to kill it, yanking and twisting. He was not easily bothered by such things but now that it came his turn to do it, he found his stomach turning.

  “Oh, Christmas Tree” was in its final verse on the street however, and it was this that got him moving. If the choir stopped singing, he and his captive would surely be heard. He took the bird around the neck with one hand, allowing it to swing away from his body. It was all wings and squawks, and he placed his other hand just below the first. With a his eyes closed and teeth gritted, Billy pulled and twisted, stilling the bird’s protests. On the street the choir was singing the last few notes of the carol.

  They had eaten well for a few days. Billy had even managed to scrounge a few vegetables from the bins behind a grocers. Now in the darkness he could remember the taste of that meal, and hear the sound of his brothers and sister laughing as they ate it.

  It was the memory of that chicken and the choir that had allowed him to steal it that helped him find his voice in the darkness. He sounded so small and lost, even to his own ears. The song he sang was so out of place, down here below the world. Up there it was spring, almost summer. Down here it was no time, any time.

  “Oh, Christmas Tree,” began to echo back to him off the stone of the tunnels, giving his voice volume and heart. He was joined, first by Bird, then by other voices. They sang to mask the sound of the key scraping against sandstone. They also sang to light the dark, they gave each other hope and to remind themselves there was hope left, no matter how small.

  Chapter Ten

  “She said it was rat hair, sarge,” Tanner said to Sergeant Philips. He didn’t know if he was leaving out the bit about the rat being six feet tall because he still didn’t believe what he had been told, or because he was sure Philips wouldn’t. He had listened to what Jane Simmons had said, and had heard Templeton speak of “persons of potential” but it all still seemed a million miles away from the ordered life he had known until this week. The idea that a giant rat was running about Liverpool and eating people was just too much.

  “Rat hair? Ah well, not much to go on then,” Philips said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from a fresh cup of tea. “So, what else do we have? What about the fiancé?”

  “A lawyer, had plenty of money but we saw no reason to believe this was a robbery,” Tanner began but Philips interrupted him.

  “Talking of we where is Mr. Templeton?” he asked.

  “Just Templeton,” Tanner corrected the sergeant without thinking about it.

  “What?” Philips said, almost as if he hadn’t heard.

  “Sorry Sarge, force of habit,” Philips looked caught between not caring and wondering why Tanner had even brought it up. “Sorry. Anyway, he got a telegram and said he would find me later. That was the last time I saw him.”

  Philips took another sip of tea, put down his cup and placed his hands across his stomach.

  “The fiancé?” he asked again.

  “Timothy Hitchins, he was a lawyer. No enemies that his father could tell us. He worked at his father’s firm and was in line to take over when the old man retired. As far as we see he was well liked.

  “We asked about the woman while we were there, Miss Whitchurch. Her father was a clerk. She met her fiancé, at a dance, apparently he was smitten with her. She was beautiful, even I could see that from her corpse.” Tanner seemed to think he might have said a little too much but Philips didn’t respond other than with another question.

  “Love rival?”

  “Nobody could say, yes or no,” Tanner answered. It felt wrong not telling the sergeant the whole story but for the moment Tanner was not willing to go so far as putting ideas of monsters on the table.

  “The third body? Do we know who it was?”

  “A couple of the neighbours say Miss Whitchurch had a servant, he’s missing, so at the moment I’m assuming that he’s the third body.”

  “So...nothing?” Philips asked. He took his tea off the table, tested a small amount and then downed the mug in a couple of gulps. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at Tanner.

  “Nothing,” Tanner agreed.

  “Do me a favour then,” Philips said, passing over a sheet of paper. “I’ve got some jokers saying there is a dead creature on the banks of the Mersey. Go down and take a look. It’s probably kids mucking about but I’d like to know.”

  Tanner felt a wave of cold fear wash over him as Philips spoke. He tried to keep his face blank, a trick he had learned from late night card games that had served him well on the street. As in cards, it didn’t do to let your opponent know what you were thinking when you were faced with a hostile suspect.

  “Creature? What are they talking about?” Tanner asked, trying to sound casual, even amused.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Tanner. I’d send a uniform but there is a strike at Thomas Roydon’s shipyard. Half of the workers have walked out and the bosses are trying to get gangs in to do the work. It’s close to a riot down there and I don’t have a man to spare.” Philips looked like he was asking a lot of Tanner but the detective considered himself lucky to be in the right place at the right time. He welcomed the chance to see what had been found, without Templeton standing behind him. It would give him the chance to make up his mind about this whole mess, once and for all.

  It wasn’t long before he was leaving the bridewell on Argyle Street and walking straight toward the Mersey. The sun was making its way toward its highest point as he reached the end of the street and as if on cue he heard the clock at Blue Coats school ring midday.

  The river was as busy as it always was at this time of day. Mersey flats carried goods from large ships, docked out toward the estuary where the water was deep enough for their hulls. The Albert dock itself was a hive of activity, Tanner watched a midsized ship leave it’s mooring, more than one man hanging off the side and waving to the women who stood and waved back at them as they set off for lands unknown.

  He made his way along the bank, away from the docks. As he got closer to the spot Philips had told him to investigate he saw a pair of young men standing around something on the ground. One of them, a young lad of about fifteen saw Tanner and either recognised him or simply knew he was a detective.

  “Coppers are here,
” he said, digging his elbow into the side of his friend. The recipient of the jab turned, looking ready to run at the first sign of trouble from Tanner.

  “What do we have then, lads?” Tanner asked casually.

  “It wasn’t us, we didn’t do nothing,” the second lad said. “In fact it was us who called you here.”

  “Okay, calm down,” Tanner answered, smiling. “What is it?”

  “We was just trying to figure that one out ourselves. We think it might be one of the beasts.” The first boy said, then seemed to realise he’d said too much, and stopped talking.

  “What do you mean, beasts?” Tanner asked.

  The boys looked at each other, silently asking whether they should be talking to the police about anything. Tanner understood that the only time boys like these ever spoke to someone like him was when they were in trouble. It wasn’t easy for them to trust the law. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two pennies and held them out to the boys. One of them had his hand half way to the coin before he hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind and took it.

  “People have been talking about seeing beasts, mostly at night but a couple during the day as well.” He spoke without looking at his friend, a little shame showing on his face. He need not have worried, however, as soon as he started talking the second boy took the coin from Tanner and smiled.

  “What do you mean beasts? What do they look like?” Tanner asked for a second time.

  “Well, some people say they are bigger and some smaller, but mostly what they are saying is, they look like this. As he spoke he turned away from Tanner and pointed to a dark figure, huddled on the mud a few yards away.

  Tanner stepped past the two boys, the dark Mersey mud sucking at his boots. The body lay curled up like a dog in a basket, it’s nose hidden under one hand. Only it wasn’t right calling it a hand, it had long thin claws that protruded from almost human fingers.

  At first Tanner thought it might have been wearing a fur coat but he soon realised it was naked and covered with a thick layer of fur. The hair looked exactly like the sample found at the house on Falkner Street, dark and coarse.

  The back legs were shaped like a rodent, thick thighs jointed backward and ending in more claws. The front legs were more like human arms however, jointed at the elbow but covered in the same fur as the rest of its body.

  Tanner looked around him and spotted a piece of drift wood laying on the mud. He reached over, taking it by one end. Kneeling down next the body, he used the wood to lift the hand from across the creatures face. What greeted him both saddened and repulsed him in equal measure.

  The face had obviously once been human. The nose and shape of the eyes were still recognisable as a man, he even had eyebrows, although they were thicker than usual. The nose and mouth had been stretched forward, giving them a rodent-like quality.

  Tanner took a breath and steeled himself, feeling his heart beating hard. The day was warm but that didn’t explain the sweat that trickled down his back. He reached out one finger and, ready to snatch it away at the first sign of movement, he lifted the thing’s top lip.

  One of the boys, momentarily forgotten by Tanner, gasped as he opened the mouth. There were a normal set of human teeth. They were discoloured and badly cared for but still obviously a man’s teeth. All except the two elongated, razor sharp front teeth. They looked like they could amputate his finger with the slightest touch. He removed his hand and turned to the boys.

  “Who else has seen this?” Tanner asked.

  “Just us, sir,” one of the boys answered, respect now evident in his voice.

  “Right, I want you both to run, and I mean run, to the bridewell on Argyle Street. You know it, don’t you?” both boys nodded. Tanner might have laid money on the fact that one or both of them had seen the inside of the place more than once. “Good, ask for Sergeant Philips. Tell him that detective Tanner sent you. Tell him I want two officers and a cart down here as soon as possible. If he doesn’t understand the urgency, make him understand boys, do you follow me?” Again both boys nodded their heads. “Excellent, there’s another penny in it for you if you run both ways,” Tanner said and smiled to see the boys tear off as if they were being chased by the creature that lay at his feet.

  “Lads!” he shouted as the boys reached the street beyond the embankment. They both came to a halt and turned back toward him. “Not a word to anyone.” Both boys looked disappointed, but Tanner thought they would do as he said. Later, when they were with their friends, he was sure they would tell every word. By that time the creature would be safely out of the way, which was all Tanner wanted right now.

  With the boys gone, Tanner bent to examine the body further. He lifted the hand, looking closely at the long thin claws. They were like curved needles, honed to a point but ragged and damaged. Dark flecks had dried around the base, Tanner assumed they were blood.

  He lifted the arm, rolling it back at the shoulder to expose the chest. The fur did not cover the whole of the creature’s torso, both sides of the breast area were pink. Not like a man, more like the soft skin under the chin of his dog Roland. The fur all down the creatures front was covered in dark dried blood. It looked like it had been drenched in the stuff, but a few days ago.

  Nowhere on the creature was there an obvious cause of death. It had no wounds that Tanner could see. It didn’t even look like it had starved to death, it wasn’t too thin. The nights had been warm recently, so he could rule out exposure. It seemed to him that the thing in front of him had just curled up and died.

  The stern of a long abandoned rowing boat protruded from the mud a few yards away, like the ribcage of some long dead sea monster. Tanner sat on a convenient strut of wood and put his face in his palms. What kind of mess had he landed in?

  On one hand he had this mysterious stranger who seemed to be half magician, able to disappear and reappear at will. He knew more, it seemed, than the whole of the Liverpool constabulary and was reluctant to share exactly how he came about his information.

  On the other hand he had multiple murders, seemingly committed by a creature who was at least half rat. According to the boys he had just spoken to, this creature had been seen by enough people to have become rumour, if not fact in a lot of people’s minds.

  The whole thing was a complete fiasco. He found himself staring out to the ships on the water, as he had done so many times before. Unlike those times, he wished he could be on board one of them, sails taught above his head and his troubles disappearing behind him. Life at sea couldn’t possibly be this complicated, could it?

  His father had been a simple man, with fantastic stories. He had spoken of Trafalgar and fighting under the man after whom he had eventually named his son, as if all men were capable of such acts of heroism. He put his life on the line to save his country from the tyranny of Napoleon, and thought nothing of it.

  Now Tanner wished he knew how to be so brave, so easily. Just the sight of the creature lying no more than six feet away was enough to send cold shivers down his spine. Trouble was growing like storm clouds on the horizon, and he wasn’t the captain to bring this ship to shore.

  He could only hope that Templeton was all he seemed. Tanner prided himself on being able to tell a man’s intent. He had a good feeling about his new friend, but he was a difficult one. The man had seen and done things of which Tanner could only dream. He was a man of the world, whereas Tanner was a man of Liverpool. He just had to hope his trust was justified.

  A shout brought him from his reverie. PC Jones and a second uniformed officer were picking their way through the mud toward him. On the street above them a horse stood idle, blinkers guarding his eyes and a cart at his back. Behind the two officers the young lads trotting toward Tanner, breathing hard with smiles on their faces. Tanner reached into his pocket and pulled out two more pennies.

  “What have we got, detective?” Jones asked, looking down at the body with a look of confusion.

  “Don’t ask,” Tanner said. “You
have a tarp on the cart?”

  “Of course, shall I go get it?” Jones asked, already turning back the way he had come. He returned a moment later and Tanner used the sheet to cover the body before anyone else could get a good look at it.

  Jones and the two boys had already seen enough to set tongues wagging, but it made sense to keep this as quiet as possible. Hopefully, even if they did talk, most people would not believe more than one word in three. Gossip travelled about town quicker than a man could walk, but this had enough of a streak of fantasy to be dismissed as lies.

  “Carry it to the cart, do your best not to let anyone get a look at it,” he told Jones. “Take it to Argyle Street.” He thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket and produced a note with Jane Simmons address on it. Passing it to Jones, he said, “Do me a favour, send a carriage to this address, give the lady of the house my compliments and ask her to return with the driver. Tell her the rodent she mentioned may well have been found.”

  Jones took the note and then looked back at the body under the tarpaulin, “Is that what that is? Some sort of rat?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Tanner half lied. “What I do know is that the less people who know about this at the moment, the better. If we’ve had some kind of monster running around the place the last thing we need is to start a panic.”

  Jones nodded, folded the note and placed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He tipped his hat to Tanner and then took hold of one end of the package. The second officer took the other end and Tanner watched them carry it toward the cart. Before long, he was standing alone on the muddy banks of the Mersey, feeling his heart sinking, just as his feet sank in to the mud.

  Chapter Eleven

  They worked tirelessly down in the dark, taking it in turns to work the sandstone from its place beneath the wooden post. At first it had come away in chunks, some as big as the palm of Billy’s hand. After they had dug beneath the soft, damp outer layer, the work had become much harder. Each scrape producing no more than a fine powder of sand.