"I have a house in the country and I want you to go there and investigate a spate of animal mutilations. If it turns out humans or misplaced large escaped cats from a zoo are behind it, then all the good, but if anything different presents itself then I'd like a call." Xanthic leaned on the word different so much I could hear the italic slant of the word.
A series of sensationalised news stories had been locally reported over a couple of weeks which led to a five line side bar in a national rag.
"And you're not coming?" I asked. "What will you be doing?"
A jar appeared in Xanthic's hand. He was going for impressive magic but I've seen his slight of hand before and knew he had a side shelf he’d screwed to the table so he could study specimens at meal times without putting me off my food or, the rationale behind the shelf, a rediscovering of a previous consumed banquet when he proudly displayed preserved tiger heart that pulsed disturbingly: Either way it was kind of cool how he did it. Inside the jar sloshing side to side with the momentum of the scuzzy water was a greying, swollen hand, roughly cut at the wrist with tags of skin around a deep fleshy wound and exposed bone. The hand came from a zombie, I was not as surprised as I thought I should have been to discover this information however as after coming face to face with demons, Fae and blood sucking fiends these things are becoming easier to accept on face value.
"Zombies need to be created, people just don’t die and return to their decomposing corpses." Xanthic said studying the hand. In the moving water it looked like the fingers were slowly crawling on the glass inside but this had to be an optical illusion. "There needs to be a reason for the departing soul to return or a forced prohibition preventing it from leaving its mortal confines after death and then the soul still commands the will of the thing. A zombie has had to have had that will totally removed leaving the soul desperate to understand where it is and to escape; a side effect is an insatiable appetite and willing to follow the crowd. I once knew a lady in New Orleans who kept her husbands around after their time for companionship and housework but they maintained their consciousness for years after death until they succumbed to natural deterioration."
"You mean they rotted away?"
"No, The swamp woman's magic held them together, but a few days in the stomach of a crocodile caused irreversible damage even she couldn't counter and nor would she want too, imagine having a chewed up corpse for a companion."
"It must be awful being stuck inside a dead body for so long." I said gaining a new nightmare to worry about later.
"In this particular case love was the sustaining factor and a lot of people would gladly give up freedoms to have more time with their soul-mate; they wanted to return just as much as she."
"This poor wretch on the other hand," he said this swirling the jar and hand around. "is a different matter, she was in a demented rage and attacking himself in his mindless frustration and hunger. When the cage opened she leapt to attack like a cornered animal. No plan, no tact, no understanding, there was no identification of pain or amputation of limb. When the arm came off she didn't notice at all. A dangerous enemy indeed, and I always thought it was the intelligent ones I needed to watch out for."
Yeah, this is definitely going into the nightmare list; they must queue up in my subconscious to get me at night.
"You do not need to worry though, you're only going to walk around a few fields and tracks and recuperate in the fresh country air. And if you see a dismembered sheep or something lying with its entrails spread through the trees then all the better." I don’t think he meant all the better for the sheep with this comment.
I finished my coffee, copied down the address of where I would be staying and went to pack an overnight bag. I couldn't find some of my best clothes momentarily puzzled as I couldn't remember putting them in the wash but then again my storage habits for these things invariably strongly involved the floor so I only packed the essentials so I only had one rucksack to carry; I left Xanthic to haul my three suitcases to the garage where he had a lovely classic Jaguar parked. I picked up a few reference and theoretical spell books to take with me for light reading, but Xanthic pointed out he had a well stocked library in the house already and I could find tomes of arcane wisdom, and the odd John Grisham when I got there.
Filled with excitement over a short holiday, with the possibility of getting my hair and nails done on company time and the knowledge I would get to drive the Jag all the way there on my own, I walked out into the bright morning sunshine.
11:00
I was less than impressed and my body language reflected this enough even for Xanthic to pick it up without asking my mood.
"You don't like it? It’s far better on fuel use, which is better for the planet or whatever it is you're all so concerned about." he said walking up to the NOT JAGUAR sat inside the garage and laying his hands on the bonnet. "Don't you think it looks great?"
I did not.
Sat where the beautifully classic jaguar used to live was now a large metal box on wheels.
"I'm not driving that!" I said sounding like a teenager who didn't want to do.......insert pretty much anything here......."What happened to the Jag?"
"The Jag was a faithful old girl who will be sorely missed but we need to move with the times and..."
I cut Xanthic short, it’s not often I can get away with this nor would I try, he is the boss after all and a demon to boot.
"There was a necessary alteration to its aerodynamics which has rendered it inappropriate for my future transportation desires." he smiled but I didn't buy it. "O.K, I drove the thing into a wall to make a hole so I could escape a mob of zombies who were keen to retain my attention, and as pleasant and as friendly as they were I did have pressing needs to leave."
Xanthic told me of his journey to an abandoned London building where he had been asked to investigate a soulless quantity by one of his very special clients. He heavily exaggerated his efforts in tracking down the zombies across some of London's more exclusive streets, exclusive in the meaning you really had to be in a great need to even think about entering them as you probably would never leave. In need to investigate further he had put himself in a place of danger, He found no business or production of the normal meaning` continued there and the rot and dilapidation had reached irreversible levels, piles of fallen brickwork and timber lay where they fell decorated with faded spray paint and dried rat droppings. No fresh graffiti or animal waste was present, Xanthic had checked.
One of the lessons I have been taught in my assistant role in Occult Resolution is look for the last remains of human activity and if things are bad, when did the rats move out? The last signs of abuse from our world upon an area shows when it is universally identified as being too dangerous for hoodies with spray cans to frequent the property either through a sixth sense over self preservation or they had been eaten - usually the rats go first.
Another lesson learned the hard way was to always have a secure egress - that means make sure the way you want to run is open and bad guy free. It turns out Xanthic had been focusing so hard on a issue led solution than on a secondary resourcing and personnel securing plan - he was having too much fun chasing bad guys to think about running away to fight another day.
"But why drive through a wall, why not back out the way you drove in?" I asked still not believing anyone would be so cruel to something so beautiful, its almost inhuman.
"Believe me I really did not want to Valey."
I hate that nickname, it makes me sound like a hole in the ground but fitting as I'm usually stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"I ran out of time to do things appropriately and as I had a premonition someone was trying to take a chunk out of my favourite assistant and I had to evacuate and ride to the rescue. Unfortunately that ride involved doing well over a ton on the motorway and as I didn't have a ride at that point I had to borrow this thing that was conveniently left nearby.” So not only was in not cool but it was probably extremely hot too if recently
stolen.
The disappointment of not having the Jag to myself fell away like slipping a coat off my shoulders and dropping it to the floor. I couldn't be too upset after hearing that. The Black box on wheels turned out to be a Zafira, a large car almost of van proportions and a bit boxy, which I quickly pointed out.
"But," said Xanthic after my comment. "it seats seven people, very useful if we need a car full and the back two rows of seats all fold flat into the floor giving loads of space; you can get three or four coffins in there if needs be." he winked at that but I didn't know if that was to signify a joke or he would actually try and get coffins in there.
I looked around the car, it was shiny black with blacked out side and rear windows, a black sun roof and very polished wheel trims. I expected skulls to be prominent on them - the Jag had a skull gear stick and hub caps but there instead was a silver spider sat in the middle of each wheel, in a very intricate web. The interior was very modern and it still had that new car smell or at least a very unpleasant plastic melting taint I associate with such things. One opened CD case lay cast aside on the passenger seat. I could see AC/DC on the spine and I would put money on Highway to Hell being the song on the stereo when the car starts.
The address of the country cottage was programmed into the built it sat-nav and I threw my hastily packed rucksack and bag on top of the CD case. Xanthic gave me a few tips, turn left past the old oak tree and follow the scent of honeysuckle straight to the front door. I found this as helpful as old people telling me to go past the old Woolworths that's now something else, left at the old tree they cut down in '72 and stop just before you get to where Roger, God rest him, lived before he died in that hard winter. I thanked him all the same then turned the ignition, put the car in gear and drove out of the garage onto the open road.
14:00
The Zafira was surprisingly easy to drive if you don't count the number of kerbs I clipped and grass banks I drove along forgetting how wide it was. One thing did irk me greatly; the Jag, old and drafty had years of service and as such was as much as Xanthic as his coat and shoes and with that when I was in it, whether with its owner or no, it sang with rhythm played on brass and string. On the rare occasions I was permitted to drive it I would drive the long way just to enjoy it. The Zaf was deadly quiet. The small engine had power but nothing impressive when I revved it at traffic lights. There was no aura, no sound, so I resorted to the radio. The local station news for the area came on, a young sounding woman with a Southern accent was forcing laughter at the male host's terrible jokes between news stories; then the tail end of something caught my ear.
"......the pentagram was carved onto the tree and then the police chased the naked girls into the woods but none were found." said the female voice
"I bet the police could have found those crazy girls if they followed the psycho path!" the male drone followed by more fake laughter.
"And one final note, the wild cat of Wykham has struck again and another sheep has been found dragged into the forest and ripped apart; so if you're out late in the woods tonight walking dogs keep safe. Stay tuned after the break for the weather and local traffic reports." the female voice ended and the last word before the ads went to the male vocal.
"Yes, anyone out tonight in the woods stay safe while dogging." and a jingle so saccharine forced me to turn the radio off and drive the rest of the way in silence.
I drove into a small village on the request of the sat-nav and found myself enjoying the drive through a tunnel made of trees arching over the winding road with dappled green light shone through sparse gaps in the heavy foliage. The road turned and headed up a hill, the trees thinned and fields edged by wiry hedges. The sat-nav asked me to turn left and promised I would reach my destination in 200 yards.
A driveway presented itself and I slowed to pass through the wrought iron gates and then to a halt outside a small single story cottage that sat just the other side. The driveway travelled further so I pulled over alongside the cottage so other vehicles could pass.
I checked the name on the sat-nav to the name on the carved wooden sign. This cottage was beautiful, roses around the door, seasoned turf stretching around gnarled trees and expertly tended flower beds - my luck does not normally stretch this far. The names matched, but as I stepped out of the car actually thinking I had the luck of an Angel my hopes were dashed. An elderly man in a once brown cardigan, now faded and sagging out of any recognisable shape came out of the front door. His hair, what little he had left, was grey white and long strands curled around his gold wire framed glasses. He was smaller than me and twice as wide and smelled of rich tea biscuits. Any thought that he was a caretaker or groundsman were dashed as shortly after he stepped from the red glossed door came an equally old and grey lady in a checked long sleeved dress, cardigan and scarf even in this balmy weather. A thick chain hung around her neck with thick rimmed and even thicker lensed glasses; she had a small plastic bag and in a cheery voice asked him to drop it in the bins on his way past.
They both saw me and smiled. The old lady drawing closer to stand next to her elderly husband. It was amazing how alike they were in height, width and stature; although where the man had a pronounced belly even in his baggy clothes, she had huge country breasts equally as outstanding in matching bagginess of dress.
"Good afternoon dear." Annie said, she introduced herself and her husband Clive to me and commented on everything from the weather to the way the water tastes different these days, she even said how pretty I was and she didn't get to see many young lasses at her door.
"Excuse me Annie." I replied interrupting her before she could get into her family history and what her grandchildren are studying at college. Clive stood meekly by her side silent and showing all signs of enjoying the one-sided conversation, that or he secretly could leave his body for a higher plain and just leave a contented open face behind - wish I had that talent.
"I'm trying to find this address, I thought it was here but I must be mistaken, can you help me with directions?" I held up a scrap of yellowing paper with the address written in my scrawled handwriting.
"Fernum." Annie said reading the paper after lifting up her glasses from her chest and then looking at me, I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. “Are you still looking for that?”
I was about to elaborate when Clive suddenly reappeared from his stupor.
"Why yes, you want the house." he said.
I was about to state I was at the house and that I didn't understand when he raised an arm slow and shaky to point down the lane.
"You want the big house, it’s down there. You must be from the Master, he said someone would be coming to stay for a few days about now last time he was here and he's left provisions to make you comfortable."
"He was here recently?" I asked, wondering how unless he had driven down here whilst I was in hospital.
"No Dear," said Annie walking back towards the cottage. "He hasn't been this way for best part of fifteen years. Come inside and I'll get you the key."
The cottage was warm, I checked and the radiators were on full even in mid July. Annie reached up to a little wooden spice rack screwed to the wall inside the front door. Under the rack were small brass hooks holding a variety of keys collected over a lifetime. She rooted through them and once satisfied she had found the right one she handed it to me. It was long and black with a bend halfway down the shaft: It was also dusty and ancient.
I thanked Annie and then Clive, who had returned from the garden with some cut logs and placed them on a pile near the unlit chimney. Annie wished me well and said she'll bring round some fresh milk on her way back from bingo at the village hall.
Clive walked me back to my car and I tried for small talk. I asked how he and his wife had come to live in such a beautiful cottage and he said it was a gift from the owner of the big house to her grandfather many years ago for faithful service and it was written into the deeds of the estate that the gate house was theirs for as long as
the family stay in residence.
"Take care child." Clive said as I unlocked the Zaf's door and sat down. I said I would and said I would see him again soon, thanked him once again then started the car and drove down along the lane to its end, where my heart skipped and I expelled a burst of laughter. The house at the end was huge! O.K it was no mansion or large country manor but it was by far the biggest I had ever had the pleasure to stay in. Three obvious stories and eight windows wide with exposed black painted beams running between them all. A large oval sat in front large enough to park a fleet of cars and still have room for a bus. I think I may enjoy this assignment after all.
17:00
I skipped up to the porch, a layer of grime and mould covered the low stone retainer wall that skirted the three white steps that led to the door. I tried to look through the windows to the interior to see what lay beyond the door, but like everything else on the outside there was a layer of grime that prevented any observation.
The bent key slipped into the paint chipped ornate keyhole. it turned surprisingly easy and gave a satisfying click as the lock disengaged. I gripped the door handle and opened the door. I braced myself for a rush of stale air but instead a scent of violets and honeysuckle greeted me as I stepped inside.
The hall's decoration was dated but very clean, not a trace of dust anywhere among the unused coat racks or expensive looking hall tables. The hall was bigger than my first flat and it lead onto a wide staircase that had a white six panelled door sat either side. I dropped my rucksack onto the floor. I was home.
I ran around the house, to excited to take in each room in detail just to find where everything was and to just see it all. I marvelled at the array of different uses rooms could be put to and I made a note to explore the library and games room, I'd never seen a full size snooker table before ever! But my ultimate goal was to find the master bedroom and if they had such things back when this house was built - with block and tackle at the time of Stonehenge, an en-suite.
Diary Of An Occult Resolution Assistant Page 8