Keppelberg

by Stan Mason

  She reacted strongly at my admission. ‘How dare you go through my personal belongings!’ she admonished with fury in her voice. ‘You had no right!’

  I felt no guilt at her anger. ‘The tablets keep you young and healthy,’ I told her. ‘You don’t have to keep it a secret from me any more. I accept your age. I regard you as a young blossoming beautiful woman so you need have no fear that I’ll reject you even though you’re sixty-five years older than I am.’

  She calmed down when she realised that she wouldn’t lose me. It was the one thing that horrified her after our declared love to each other... to be left alone with her son and to be denied the wonderful intimate sexual life she enjoyed so much. She came over to me and put her arms around my shoulders, kissing me firmly on the lips endearingly.

  ‘I’m not going to lose you,’ she insisted as though her life depended on it. ‘If necessary I’ll follow you wherever you go... even if its outside the village!’

  She knew in her heart that I would never take her away. I had a good idea what would happen if I ever decided to do so and she failed to take her tablets. Her husband, Richard, had died because he desisted in taking them. It was certain that she would suffer the same fate.

  ‘Now that you’re here,’ she continued confidently, ‘why don’t you come to bed with me? I found a book in the library that had photographs of many different sexual positions. We could try some of them?’

  She stared at me with her lovely blue eyes and I could not resist her. Without hesitation, we climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom, stripping down quickly until we had no clothes on at all. She lay on the bed and I had to admit that she had a remarkable body. She opened the book and turned over some pages until she came to a photograph of a particularly provocative position.

  ‘Let’s try this one,’ she suggested calmly showing me the picture in the book.

  ‘That’s going to take a bit of practice to get it right,’ I retorted.

  We lay sideways to each other on the bed but after a while we failed to relate to the position, so we returned to conventionality. Following ten minutes of foreplay, I lay on my back with Bridget on top of me. By this time, we were both primed, ready to copulate fully, and she moved up and down with a regular movement on my rigid penis, increasing the stroke until the force felt like a steam-roller pumping up and down on my body. For an eighty-seven year old woman she really had some pent up energy! I began to wonder about the power of P13 on the human body. The effects were fantastic! She never seemed to become tired of her movement for some considerable time until she came to a climax, shuddering suddenly to a halt and falling in a heap on top of me. I had already experienced the ecstasy of our love-making and now she joined me in Nirvana.

  I still could not get it into my head that a woman of eight-seven could produce such energy. However it was necessary to cast it from my mind as I had done in the forces in Basra when two negroes joined the unit. At first I resented them for their black skins, having never seen their like in Cornwall. It was sheer ignorance and prejudice even though I felt nothing evil against them. My resentment was solely related to the fact that they were different. However, as time went on, and my mind adjusted to the difference, their skins becoming the same to me as any of the white soldiers serving with us. It was merely a matter of adapting the mind to reality, understanding people, and changing bias to friendship. It was the same way with Bridget. She could have been any age for all I cared as I consistently saw her as a young beautiful woman and, now that my mind had adjusted to the situation, nothing would deter me from it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next event to affect the village was not unexpected as far as I was concerned. When the television crew arrived to make the documentary of the village and never returned to the studio, their disappearance was bound to start an investigation. It was certain that someone would come looking for them as well as the van and the apparatus. Within a few days of the incident, a man drove up to the entrance of the village to be stopped by me. He claimed that he was searching for the television crew who hadn’t returned to the studio and he wanted to know what had happened to them. He stated that he was one of the executive producers of Northern Television who had sent the team to undertake the documentary of Numbwinton following certain rumours that had come to his attention. He didn’t need to tell me that they had vanished into thin air. I had been there at the time when they were murdered and buried somewhere in a vast field. In accordance with my duty, I refused him entry, telling him to wait there until I called the police. However, he got out of the car and began to argue the point with me for some time, protesting that his crew had contacted him when they first arrived at the village so they must still be there. Despite my comments that he should wait, he kept saying that he failed to understand why they hadn’t reported back to him. I mentioned that their van, the first one, had been damaged and taken to the nearby garage for repair and this caused him to become highly suspicious despite my assurances that they had left the village.

  ‘They work for Northern Television’ he stated irately. ‘They wouldn’t have given up filming even if their van was damaged. They would have come back to the studio. I don’t buy what you’re telling me!’

  ‘Well they left and we never saw them again,’ I lied through my teeth. ‘You’d best look somewhere else... in the next place they were going to make a documentary.’

  ‘That’s not the way it works, chum!’ he insisted. ‘We planned this documentary for over three months. They would definitely have been here.’

  I shrugged my shoulders aimlessly and shook my head, ‘I’m sorry,’ I informed him. ‘I can’t help you.’

  He became even more angry at that point and began to threaten the village. ‘I’m going to contact the police and ask for a full investigation. Three men can’t simply go missing just like that. Something strange is going on here and I intend to get to the bottom of it!’

  He got back into his car and drove off in a temper. He was excessively angry at not finding his crew or the studio equipment and I knew that he was definitely going to report the incident to the city police in Newcastle. I returned to the village police station to tell them of the incident, noticing the negative attitude of the Desk Sergeant and PC7.

  ‘Let them bring the city police here,’ stated the Desk Sergeant calmly. ‘They won’t find anything... and none of the villagers will say a word. As far as it goes, those people never came here and we don’t know anything about them.’

  ‘Bloody strangers!’ muttered PC7 dismally. ‘They had no right to come here in the first place!’

  ‘If the city police do come, they’ll mount a long-lasting investigation,’ I advised them, although they already knew the score.

  ‘Let them come,’ muttered the Desk Sergeant tiredly. ‘We’ll soon send them packing!’

  It was mid-afternoon when a police car passed me to drive up to the village police station. I raced behind the vehicle to see two uniformed policemen climb out, slamming the doors behind them. They walked into the police station to face the Desk Sergeant and PC7.

  ‘We’ve had a complaint of a serious nature,’ declared the first police officer. ‘Apparently, a television crew of three men from Northern Television came here to film a documentary of the village and they’ve disappeared... vanished into thin air. What can you tell me about it?’

  ‘They did come here,’ admitted the Desk Sergeant. ‘They had an accident with their van and it was towed to the garage to be repaired. That’s all we know.’ It was the last time we saw them.’

  ‘Are you telling me they didn’t return here?’ The tone of the second police officer was sharp and sceptical.

  ‘I told you,’ repeated the Desk Sergeant, ‘that was the last time we saw them.’

  The two police officers shuffled their feet awkwardly for a few moments before continuing.

  ‘
You’re absolutely certain of that,’ continued the first police officer like a dog with a bone.

  The room fell silent for a moment before the second police officer took up the reins.

  ‘This village regards itself as independent from the rest of the country, doesn’t it?’ There was no response so he continued in the same vein. ‘You resent outsiders and the last thing you want is for a television crew to come here to make a documentary of the village and all that goes on here. You think the rest of the world will ridicule you for your practices.’ He was being extremely provocative but there was still no response and silence prevailed.

  ‘In that case,’ intervened the first police officer abruptly, ‘it stands to reason that you’d take it into your own hands to make sure it didn’t happen, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I broke in vehemently. ‘What do you think we did with them, officer? Do you really suggest that we did away with them on the grounds that we didn’t want them to film here? You must be out of your mind!’

  ‘Then tell us where they are! Do you have them locked up in the cells here?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I reproached him. ‘We’d tell you if only we knew. They left here to go to the garage to get their van repaired. That’s the last time we saw them! They must have driven off somewhere else.’

  ‘If their car was taken to the garage for repair, how could they have driven off somewhere else?’ submitted the second police officer.

  ‘We have no idea,’ cut in the Desk Sergeant. ‘There’s not much more we can say.’

  ‘Do you mind if we have a look around?’ asked the first policeman who knew that his request could not be refused.

  ‘Go ahead,’ responded the Desk Sergeant calmly, ‘but you won’t find anything here.’

  For some strange reason, his comment seemed to make the police officers even more suspicious. Why had the Desk Sergeant confidently added ‘You won’t find anything here.’ Why not ‘You won’t find THEM here.’ It was as though he was throwing down the gauntlet, teasing them to distraction.

  The two police officers left to further their enquiries leaving the three of us staring at each other blankly. The city police would never find the grave where the bodies had been buried. It was in a distant field with the top soil stamped down hard and covered with leaves and grass. It would be a miracle if they ever found it.

  After an hour had passed, and the police officers had questioned some of the villagers they returned to the police station.

  ‘We’re not satisfied,’ claimed the first police officer. ‘We’re certain that the television crew returned to this village.’

  ‘How do you come to that conclusion when you have no proof?‘ asked the Desk Sergeant bluntly. ‘You’re simply wasting your time here.’

  The second police officer glared at him angrily before responding. ‘We’re going to make further enquiries,’ he said harshly, ‘and we shall be back.’ He produced a calling card from his pocket which he laid on the desk. ‘If you think of anything in the meantime, telephone me at the Markham police station in Newcastle.’

  ‘I don’t think we can do that,’ cut in PC7 swiftly. The two police officers stared at him directly, as though an order from a higher authority was being contravened. ‘We don’t have such a thing as a telephone in the village. We couldn’t communicate with you in that way.’

  On that comment, the two police officers left without delay, climbing into their vehicle and driving away.

  ‘That’s the last we’ve seen of them,’ predicted the Desk Sergeant with a satisfied expression on his face. ’The very last!‘

  PC7 began to laugh. It was the first time I had ever heard him do that and I shuddered because it was a very ugly sound.

  It appeared that we had escaped the wrath of police authority with regard to the television crew for the time being. I was unhappy at having witnessed three murders but the swift burial of the bodies in a distant field appeared to have done the trick. Yet I had an uneasy feeling that the problem was only just beginning. The police wouldn’t simply let the matter drop. Dammit... three men were missing. It had become a capital case. There was no chance that the situation would remain open for ever and a day. They had families and friends who would want to know what had happened to them and the police would keep digging until the matter was resolved.

  * * *

  I was awakened on the following morning by someone knocking on the door. At first I thought I was dreaming but the knocking continued and I climbed out of bed to go downstairs wearing the dressing-gown that had been given to me by Bridget which had belonged to her late husband. The knocking persisted and I called out that I was coming, glancing at my wristwatch to note that the time was seven-thirty. I opened the door to face Townsend who was standing agitatedly on the front doorstep. He had a worried expression on his face and he pushed past me rudely to walk into the lounge without saying a word. I frowned at his attitude and followed him as he sat in one of the armchairs pressing the fingers of both hands together in front of him. It was clear from his body language that he was distressed about something.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I managed to say, still half asleep from the sudden awakening.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he ranted, looking up at me strangely.

  ‘I’ll get dressed,’ I told him moving back towards the stairs hut he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

  ‘No you don’t need to do that,’ he uttered, with an imperative tone in his voice. ‘I’ve something to say which has been troubling me for some time.’ I sat down opposite him in another armchair to listen to what he had to tell me. ‘For a long time,’ he continued, ‘I’ve been having a dream. Not just once but the same one many times. Most people can’t remember their dreams but I know this one by heart. It comes to me regularly.’ He paused to reflect for a moment. ‘It’s about a stranger who comes to our village by accident and tries to find out our secret. He lives with one of our women, who falls in love with him, and he continues to search for the secret clandestinely, burrowing here and there. He eventually discovers what’s going on and leaves the village to tell the rest of the world. Do you recognise this stranger?’

  I was beginning to come to my senses by now and a smile crossed my lips. ‘It’s only a dream, Mr. Townsend,’ I told him. ‘I’m no danger to this village. You should know that by now. I’m in love with Bridget and she with me. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You may say that now but I don’t think so,’ he went on dolefully. ‘You arrived here by accident, penetrated our community, you’re living with one of our women, and the head chemist at the pharmacy tells me that you now know about P13 and its constituency. That makes you a danger to this village to say the least.’

  ‘I think there are two sides to this story,’ I countered sharply, beginning to become angry at the accusation, especially as the Chairman had made it so pointedly. ‘You forget that I’m the security guard working on behalf of the village. I also did my best to get rid of the city police when they came looking for that television crew. I am totally committed to...’

  ‘How can you say that, Mr. Ross,’ he interrupted rudely. ‘What have you done to be committed to us?’

  ‘What are you getting at, Mr. Townsend?’ I demanded, puzzled to determine why he had come. It seemed to me that he had suffered a bad night and that he was taking it out on me.

  ‘I want you to leave the village,’ he stated bluntly. ‘I want you to go and pretend that you’ve never heard of Numbwinton. It never existed as far as you’re concerned.’

  ‘And what do I do about Bridget?’ I blustered angrily. ‘Do I take her with me or leave her here?’

  ‘You can’t take her with you,’ he grunted, surprised that I should make such a suggestion. ‘She has to stay here.’

  ‘And who are you to tell me what to do?’ I felt my temper rising q
uickly.

  ‘I know this will be hard for you but it’s best if you leave here as soon as possible,’ he continued unabated. ‘And I advise you to keep all you’ve learned to yourself. If you don’t, we’ll be inundated with strangers curious to find out whether you’re telling the truth. You’ll be branded a fool, a gossip, and an adventurer.’

  ‘An adventurer,’ I scoffed, laughing in his face. ‘Well that’s something new.’ There was a pause in the discussion as we both reflected our positions. ‘I don’t think I could possibly leave Bridget even though I know she’s eighty-seven years old. I’m too much in love with her the way she is now.’

  ‘In a way, I’m glad to hear it but it doesn’t change the situation.’

  ‘I’m sorry to spoil your plan, Mr. Townsend, but I’m going to stay whether you like it or not.’ I got to my feet indicating that I wanted him to leave but he remained firmly in the armchair.

  At that moment Bridget entered the room. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked with a puzzled expression on her face as she saw the Chairman.

  ‘Mr. Townsend’s had a bad dream,’ I related calmly. ‘He dreams regularly about a stranger who comes to the village, lives with one of the women here, and destroys the whole community by revealing its secret to the rest of the world. In other words, he dreams about me. Now he’s asking me to leave the village never to return. What do you think about that?’

  To my surprise, she rounded on the Chairman in no uncertain terms.

  ‘How dare you!’ she reproached angrily with fury showing in her eyes. I was stunned at the speed at which she took offence as well as her loyalty towards me to safeguard my future in the village. ‘How dare you come into my home with the intention of ruining my life! Sam and I are in love. We’re devoted to each other. He’s done everything to win the hearts of the people of this village but you... you horrible miserable man... you want him to go! Where’s the sense in that?’

  Her tirade caused Townsend to rise from the armchair and walk towards the door, raising his hands as if trying to preserve the peace. However he didn’t withdraw his request and he never mentioned it again.