by Andy Jarvis
“It’s sceptical, Baz, as in I’m a sceptic, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. You’re acting like one of them.”
“I’m no sceptic, mate. I might have been a bit fifty-fifty before we ever set eyes on this place, but I’m no longer a sceptic. I sometimes wonder what gives, as if my eyes had played tricks on me, or there could be some scientific explanation to the whole thing like Arden was trying to figure, but even he’s given up the ghost – pardon the pun. I sometimes even think RJ might be behind the whole thing, as if it’s some elaborate hoax to swell the congregations.”
“But that wouldn’t make sense would it?” said Baz. “Seeing as he’s trying to keep a low profile, and distract attention away from the village. I mean, he wants big congregations for the money like, but he doesn’t want sightseers digging around the church yard or anything.”
“Yeah, but that’s just it. It’s a kind of reverse psychology. Him being all coy and secretive about the past, yet he’s done nothing to dissuade folk, except us when we asked about the Parish Records. You’ve got to admit it was like waving a red rag to a bull. I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t deliberate, that and giving up the Records so easily to Arden. And look at all those folk that turned up at the funeral. Strangers a lot of them.”
“Okay, I dig what you’re saying,” said Baz. “But what about RJ bollocking Arden for posting info on the internet and talking about mist and paranormal stuff to the whole world? He can’t really want folk to make a big deal about his past, can he?”
“I don’t know, call it kidology maybe. As far as my mind’s concerned, the jury’s still out. My heart tells me that RJ’s as honest as the days are long. But then I think about his sermons and the way he manipulates all the holy writing stuff to get a good collection and sometimes…I wonder.”
“But you still believe what we saw don’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “How couldn’t I. I’ve come down to the same as Arden. I’ve got to go along with the paranormal explanation.” I stopped walking briefly, kneeling down to retie a loose bootlace. “Besides, RJ couldn’t have faked what we saw. Mass illusion I could dig, but nobody could make it so that just us few saw her.”
Baz paused a few paces ahead of me, leaning over the edge of the roadside wall and looking out across a field of newly planted crops. He stared a while, presumably deep in thought, then turned and said, “So what’s bugging you? It’s like you don’t want anyone else muscling in on RJ’s patch. You’re worried that this Henry guy is going to see Isabel off along with the mist and prove himself. That’s what it’s really about isn’t it? You’re not really a sceptic at all. In fact I think you really believe in his power and it worries you. Or maybe you’re just resentful because he walloped you in the allotment that night? ”
“No!” I snapped. “I’ve just got my doubts about everything and anyone! Think about it Baz.” I started to walk again, quickening my pace before I lost my cool. “I don’t really care if RJ’s a con. I can forgive him for practically anything because he’s not hurting anyone. He’s stinging the rich a little maybe, but so what? You say I resent this new guy, and yes I admit I didn’t like being unfairly attacked, but think about it really carefully Baz. Think about what he really might be.”
“I’m not quite with you,” said Baz, catching me up. “You mean like that fake you were on about, whatever his name was?”
“Well, it’s all a bit dumb, isn’t it? Like something out of that film about a poltergeist, remember that? I’ve seen that film three times, and every time I think it’s the dumbest plot ever. A load of weird happenings and out of the blue some stranger just happens to turn up offering his services. At least in the film he wasn’t some new age peacenik. And he did it for free.”
We found Henry by accident. Where a stone bridge crossed the river we caught sight of him. He stood on the steep riverbank, a few feet above the waterline, several yards from the bridge. Motionless, he stared into a deep part of the water where it pooled still and dark.
“Hey, Henry, how’s it going?” called Baz, leaning over the bridge wall.
Henry neither looked at us nor answered, but raised his hand in acknowledgement, while all the time staring intently into the dark water. Then without a word he turned, walked back a few paces and stripped off to his shorts. In a few quick strides he reached the edge and executed a perfect swan dive into the middle of the deepest part of the pool.
The moment Henry hit the water all notions of ‘nerd’ were instantly dispelled from our minds. I mean, me and Baz once did a charity pub streak, but that was on a warm July evening after several pints of liquid courage and egged on by cheering mates. But Henry – whatever my suspicions or whatever else we thought about him – Henry was, for now at least, officially the height of Cool.
He was under for ages. I started to time it by my watch, but not until I thought he had stayed down for long enough. Another half minute passed.
“We better do something!” exclaimed Baz.
Moments later Henry burst through the surface with a loud “Whoop!”
“Hey, you mad fucker!” laughed Baz, punching his fist in the air like he’d just watched United score. “What are you doing!”
“Come on in!” cried Henry, “The water’s fine; not too much undercurrent!”
“You lying sod,” I cried. “I bet it’s freezing!”
We scrambled across the bridge and down the bank to the edge where Henry was turning, submerging and surfacing like a seal.
“Seriously, it’s not so bad once you’re in!” he cried. “Just go for it, don’t even think about the cold!”
Once again, to this day, I can never understand what went through my mind, but I paced back a few strides from the edge, stripped and jumped in without hesitation. Hitting the water felt how I imagine it’s like being fired from a cannon. The shock is too great to think cold. That comes a few seconds later. I broke the surface with a screech, “Oh my God, you are such a lying sod!”
Baz stood at the edge looking doubtful.
“Come on, you wimp!” I cried. “In for a penny, in for a pound, remember!”
Henry laughed and made chicken noises while flapping his hands in the water.
Baz stripped down to his Simpson’s underpants, took a few short steps, and in a single leap Homer’s smiling yellow face declaring his love of doughnuts flew above us before crashing the surface of the water.
He surfaced with a spurt from his mouth and a wolf like howl. "Oh, Jesus H, I’ve lost them!” he cried.
“No, that’s perfectly normal,” I gasped. “They creep up inside your body whenever it’s cold. It feels like they’ve dropped off but they’re just looking after themselves!”
“Not my bollocks, you idiot, my underpants! They’ve come off! I’m starkers under here! Help me find them!”
“Tell you what,” Henry puffed, “first one to find Baz’s underpants and the other two pay up a fiver!”
“Make it ten!” I gasped, turning down and under.
I swam down eight, maybe ten feet, skimming the stony riverbed in search of Homer’s face. Something touched me, or rather skimmed across my back. Not like a fish, fish wriggle. It was more of a gliding motion. I spun around only to catch a fleeting glimpse of shadow disappearing into the darkness under the bridge.
I was the first to surface followed closely by Baz.
A laughing, spluttering Henry came next, clutching the underpants. “Ten pounds each, I believe we agreed!”
“You cheat, I bet you had them all along!” protested Baz.
“Did not!” cried Henry, slinging the underpants high up onto the embankment.
“Hey, you bastard! Just get them back here right now!”
“Come on Ed, last one outs a gayboy!” cried Henry swimming to the bank.
“Oh just leave me then, you bastards!” cried Baz as Henry and me scrambled up the bank.
Henry threw me a towel from his rucksack, then, “Come on Baz,
come and get them!” he called, waving the underpants in the air.
Baz swam to the edge and looked about cautiously. Then quick as a flash (if you’ll pardon the pun) dashed up the grassy slope snatching the underpants.
Not a moment too soon. Baz had only just managed to reclaim his dignity when Mrs. Cass, the church organist, appeared looking over the bridge wall.
“I suppose this is some sort of old northern tradition is it?” she called tersely.
“Good morning Mrs. Cass!” I answered shivering and wrapping the towel around my shoulders. “Just an early morning dip, you know, lads larking about!”
“Silly beggars! You’ll catch your death of pneumonia!”
“Oh, we’ll be fine once we’re dry. How’s your organ playing going, by the way? You were pretty good that day in church.”
“It’s a little flat these days. I think perhaps the damp has got to it. So the sooner you two pull your fingers out and get some heating on the better. I’m afraid an organ doesn’t respond well in the cold,” she said turning, then looking briefly back added: “But then, I expect you’ll know all about that,” before continuing on her way.
We stood motionless for several seconds watching as she disappeared over the bridge. Henry was the first to speak: “What was all that about? Are you two repairing the church organ?”
Baz snorted and stifled an outright laugh into a choked giggle. I tried to do the same, but ended up bursting out in coughing and laughing fits.
“I think she was referring to something else,” Baz eventually managed to say.
“Something else?”
“She meant your willy.”
“Are you sure that’s what she meant? She’s a strange woman.”
“Yeah, she was a bit brash, I suppose,” I said. “But you know what they say about small towns and what goes on behind closed doors.”
“What do they say?”
“Oh, forget it.” I looked at Henry and smiled wryly. “Man, you wouldn’t survive two minutes in the city on a Saturday night. The vixens would eat you alive.”
Henry stared back with a puzzled look on his face.
“You swim very well, like a fish,” I said. “You must have grown up in a seal colony or something. What’s all this about, anyway? Is this part of your belief, like what Arden was on about, you know cleansing your mind, getting back in contact with nature?”
“Sort of, but I also needed a wash,” said Henry. “I have been sleeping outdoors, you know.”
“You really are a mad twat.” said Baz. “There are such things as baths and showers.”
“Sure, as soon as I get somewhere to stay.”
“I felt something down there,” I said. “Something touched me.”
“The phantom underpants snatcher,” said Baz, grabbing the towel from me.
“No, seriously, something slithery it felt like. It was weird, not like a fish. Something…something…I don’t know really. A piece of driftwood I guess it must have been, or maybe an otter.”
“Oh, maybe it was Ankou,” said Henry, throwing me another towel.
“Ankou? What’s that?” said Baz.
“It’s just a little fable I grew up with. The kind of thing you tell to small children, to get them to go to bed on time.”
“You’ll have to tell us it sometime, like when we’re dry, and by a warm fire, with a pint inside.” I said, shivering and struggling to pull pants onto not quite dry skin.
“You guys are staying up at the Bell, right?” said Henry, pulling on the last of his clothes.
“Right. How about you? Have you still got nowhere to stay?”
“Arden’s supposed to be working something out for me. He should have secured it by now. There’s this really quaint cottage on the outskirts of the village. They call it Fearn Lane.”
18.
Henry had disappeared. Three days passed since the meeting by the river, and nobody had seen hide nor hair of him. Reverend John suggested that staying up at Fearn Lane cottage must have spooked him, and that maybe he’d done a runner. Arden scorned that idea, but still he was worried and had called several times at the cottage to see if he had returned. In the end Baz and me decided to walk up there ourselves to see if we could gather any clues.
The place wasn’t anything like I’d imagined, all overgrown and neglected, or spooky like the Amityville Horror house. On the contrary it was well maintained. The lawns had been cut with well tended borders and the cottage walls recently whitewashed. A bronze plaque marked the recently dug plot where Isabel’s body had been exhumed and birds chirped in a new orchard at the bottom of the garden. It looked like the people of Candlewell had done their best to make amends for their past since the discovery of the child’s body.
I cautiously peered through the window as Baz tried the front door. A fleeting shadow moved across the room inside. “It’s okay, I think someone’s at home,” I called as the door flung open, dragging Baz in with it.
“What are you guys doing here?” exclaimed Henry.
“Looking for you,” I said. “Where have you been? Everyone’s been worried.”
“I just got back, but never mind that. You shouldn’t be here. This place might not be safe for you.”
“You’re telling me. You nearly yanked Baz’s arm off. What gives anyway?”
“I had to consult some friends – get some advice and make preparations. I have to leave again now for a short while. See me tomorrow night in the church at ten o’clock, but don’t hang around here,” he said trotting off down the path.
“The church? Is that safe?” said Baz, rubbing his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, the church will be safe. I’ll be inside waiting for you.”
“What about Reverend John?”
“Just you two!” Henry called, scrambling over the garden wall and across the field. “And don’t hang around!”
“There’s just one problem,” I said, after Henry had gone.
“What’s that?” said Baz.
“How’s he going to get in?”
“Well, I hope it’s third time lucky, eh Ed?” said Baz, nervously.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it’s just that the first two times we sneaked in here we found something we weren’t supposed to, like about Isabel for starters. Then we found RJ hiding in the dark. That was really unlucky. Maybe this time our fortunes will change.”
“Look, I’m just as nervous as you,” I said. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”
“He did say it was safe, though, didn’t he? I mean I’ve got a good feeling about this guy. But what if something goes wrong? What if RJ turns up again? Or Isabel?
“Well, it’s a risk we’ll have to take. Anyway, this guy hasn’t done anything to convince me yet. Now’s our chance to find out what gives. Speaking of which, it’s gone ten o’clock. I don’t want to hang around outside here for too long. It looks suspicious if anyone comes by. He’s not here, so I suppose he’s probably skulking around over some wall waiting for us to go in. Maybe we should just wait inside.”
It wasn’t black. A single candle glowed from the floor, in the middle of the aisle before the altar, illuminating the face of a figure seated cross legged on the stone floor.
“Henry, is that you?” I hissed.
“Come forward,” spoke the figure.
“Henry, you daft beggar,” I said, approaching. “What are you doing sat around in the dark? And how did you get in?”
“Hey, you guys aren’t the only ones who can pick a lock.” Henry laughed and held up a small army knife. “Here, take a seat,” He threw us a blanket each. “Cold floors aren’t good for the bones.”
“So, what’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?” I asked.
“Sometimes it’s better to let the enemy know you,” whispered Henry, gazing into the candlelight.
“The enemy? How can Isabel be an enemy?”
“Isabel? Isabel is not alone. Perhaps you know that a
lready?”
“How could we know that?” whispered Baz. “And what are we doing here? Can’t we just go and leave you to it?”
“Don’t panic, you’re safe with me. And Isabel will not let you come to harm. Whatever it is, Isabel is very much bound to it. Its power keeps her here. It has a hold over her, and in return, Isabel feeds off its strength and utilises it.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” I asked.
Henry looked upwards into the darkness of the church rafters, gesturing with his open palms. “Look at the things that have happened. No ordinary spirit that hasn’t passed over can do the things that Isabel has done. There is an entity here that has power that Isabel harnesses for her own purpose. The mist that marked the grave of her child, she could not have created. Nor could she have preserved the child intact, although she willed both these things.”
“Arden said the body had been frozen,” I said. “But I’m not sure I believe him. How could it have been?”
“Isabel couldn’t have done that alone. That belongs to a greater will, an entity that can harness control over natural forces, even the weather, the wind or mist, or the art of appearing in daylight in populated places and vanishing into rainbows that generate life enhancing energy.”
“You know about that?” I hissed. “I can’t believe that Reverend John would tell you about that. What did you do to him? Or did you threaten Silas, jump on his back from behind, maybe?”
“No one has told me of these things,” said Henry. “But I felt the presence here that first day in church. It was not strong, but I knew from where it came, and it was strong enough to confirm my gravest doubts.”
“I told you it wasn’t right Ed,” said Baz, “that feeling we got standing in the light. Listen to what he’s saying? She did that, but it was all wrong, like I said. It came from something else.”
“Alright then,” I said sceptically. “If not from Isabel, where does the energy or the light come from?”
“The light comes from Isabel,” said Henry. “That is certain. But she has taken the energy to create it from somewhere else.”