by N. J. Mercer
A grave look crossed Dave’s face, his arms folded and his body language became defensive. He swallowed slowly and almost gagged before he spoke. “I came back home last night at about one in the morning. I had been out at a friend’s place playing video games. I had just walked through the main entrance when Martin came down the steps. He had a bag and was running really fast, like he was trying to catch a bus or a train or even trying to get away from something. I was about to say hello. I don’t think he noticed me – even though he nearly knocked me over. He wasn’t just rushing, he was like properly legging it. I just shook my head and went back up to my room; I had come to expect strange behaviour from Martin by then. I closed and locked the front door to my flat, and as I was taking off my coat and shoes I heard a load of footsteps and a noise from the corridor, a horrible panting sound. It was late, you know? I wondered what on earth was going on so I looked through the lens in my front door. There were these four blokes out there, all big, tough-looking bastards dressed like punk rockers or something: leather chains, studs, the works. I thought there was some sort of eighties theme party somewhere, I’ll tell you what though, you wouldn’t want to mess with them. I had never seen them before. One of them was taller and looked meaner than the rest. I couldn’t see his face clearly because of the big hat he had on. With them was this black dog thing. It was massive I tell you; it wasn’t a dog really, more like a massive panther or something. They had stopped right outside my door; I was only feet away from them. I was terrified. I kept watching them and then I realised that they were actually after Martin’s flat. I just stared through the lens, I didn’t dare to move or even breathe. Like I said, one of the blokes was bigger and just plain uglier than the rest, and to be honest he is the reason why I’ve been hiding here in the flat, him and that dog-thing. There was something really frightening about them; they filled me with fear – even now I’m still scared. Fuck! I’m sorry, I’m starting to shake.”
Dave shuddered at his recollections and sniffed back tears. The poor man had been exposed to demons without knowing it, thought Johnny, recognising the description of Mr Kreb. It was no wonder he was shaking. He gave him a few moments to calm down and then Dave continued his tale.
“Do you remember how I said Martin told me that Louise was attacked in the park by this dog-thing? I don’t know if it was a coincidence but there, only feet away from me, was this monster; a fucking black dog-thing.” Dave took a few breaths to compose himself. “A couple of the other guys tried to open the door to Martin’s flat. It was locked so the big bastard in the hat just grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. There was a crack when the wood or the lock or something broke; he did it so effortlessly, it was unreal. All four blokes and the dog piled in; they weren’t there long. Obviously, Martin had left earlier when I had seen him running down the stairs – he must have seen them coming from the back and got out from the front. Anyway, they all left again, three of the blokes minus the scary tall bloke rushed back out of the building. I suppose they were after Martin and realised he had only just got away from them. The tall bloke left separately with the creature, he wasn’t rushing. That was when I got a better look at both of them, and I really wish I hadn’t. The first thing I noticed was the way that the guy in black and the dog moved; it was weird, unnatural. Suddenly, they stopped in the corridor between Martin’s front door and mine, and my heart skipped a few beats. I stood totally still, watching them. He wore this wide hat; beneath it I caught a glimpse of his wrinkled chin and mouth. At that point, most of his face was covered, thank God. Ugly bastard I started to think to myself. Then he slowly raised his head and beneath his hat I saw his face, fully; it was this horrible, grey wrinkled prune, and you know what—”
“He had no eyes, just black sockets,” said Sascha.
“Yeah, that’s right! Hey, how did you guys know?! No fucking eyes! It was horrible; the scariest thing I have seen! I swear he was looking straight through the security lens at me. I’m not ashamed to say this: I had tears running down my cheeks, and I thought I was going to lose control of my bowels. And then he just walked away again. I don’t know if he just stopped to think for a minute or whether he really looked into my room backwards through the security lens, which I know is impossible. I just stood there, too afraid to move. Even after he was gone I stood there staring through the lens; it was like I was keeping a guard over my property. The thought of him being out there and me not knowing it was unbearable. I just stood for a few minutes then suddenly I saw you come: Mr Motorcycle Man here bursting in with a gun then legging it away again.”
Dave looked at Boyd accusingly when he said this. “I saw you; you’ve got a pistol tucked into your trousers or something haven’t you? I saw you burst into Martin’s flat last night, gun at the ready, and then you ran out again. That was it for me! The last straw! I immediately went back into my bedroom, packed a bag and went away for the rest of that night to my friend’s; didn’t tell him a thing, just told him I couldn’t sleep at my own flat.” Dave paused for breath, shaking his head in disbelief as he relived the events.
“I came back this morning, and the door to Martin’s flat was shut just like nothing had happened. Someone must have come again during the night and I am sure it wasn’t to just shut the door. I was wondering what on earth could happen next, then soon enough you guys turn up, knocking at my door. Are you surprised I didn’t open it? The lord Jesus Christ could have been standing there beside Gandhi and I still wouldn’t have opened it after last night! What the fuck is going on? If you guys are really here to help Martin then I’m relieved; he looked like he was in big trouble.”
“You didn’t see anything else? Cars? Number plates? Anything?” asked Boyd.
Dave shook his head. “My window doesn’t overlook the car park like Martin’s does.” They all sat in silence while Johnny and his friends digested the information Dave had given to them.
“Good work, Dave,” said Boyd. “If there’s no more questions from my friends I guess we’re gonna have to love you and leave you.”
“What? Leave me?” said Dave, distraught. “Am I safe here? Hey, I answered your questions now answer mine: what the hell is going on?! Take me with you guys!”
Johnny stared at Dave with some pity; he was involved in something that would take a lifetime to understand and still leave many questions unanswered. “Like you said, Dave, Martin is in trouble. It probably wasn’t his fault. He was dragged into the wrong crowd. My advice to you is to call in sick to work tomorrow then go and stay with somebody who lives far from here. Take a holiday for a week. By the time you return it’ll be like all this never happened and hopefully Martin will be back too, safe and sound,” Johnny said. They got up to leave Dave’s apartment.
Boyd pulled out some cash from his wallet. “Sorry about the door,” he said simply as he left the money on the coffee table.
“Wait! How did you know I was in the flat? What’s going on?!” Dave protested.
They left Dave as rudely as they had found him. All three made their way to the car park and into the motorhome where an excitable Baccharus bombarded them with questions about what had happened; he was almost fully recovered. Sascha took it upon himself to inform the familiar of Dave’s story while they drove to a petrol station. Before re-commencing their journey, they gathered around the dining table for another makeshift conference.
“Boyd, you were onto something in there,” said Johnny.
“By the sacred Grimoires, I know exactly what we need to do,” declared Boyd to his surprised friends.
“What have you got?” asked Sascha.
“Follow what I say carefully – Martin told me the Disciples are based in some big mansion house somewhere, he didn’t tell me where it was or who owned it. He was worried about a fifteen-year-old girl who was living in that house whom he felt was in danger.”
“Rachel!” said Sascha.
“Exactly!” Boyd responded. “If we find where Rachel lives, we find the mansion house
and the Disciples. If you were listening carefully you will already know that Dave told us roughly where!”
Sascha started to think aloud, recalling Dave’s words. “After Louise died, her daughter Rachel was adopted by Martin’s sister and brother-in-law. They lived near to Louise’s village, a place called Hilvern. I think that’s what Dave said.”
“Precisely,” said Boyd.
Johnny put it all together. “Well, that’s it then. We go to Hilvern, learn of Rachel’s whereabouts and find out who Martin’s sister and brother-in-law are. Being a ‘hot-shot businessman’ I’m guessing he owns a big mansion house near Hilvern. We find this big house, we reach our goal. Just like a treasure hunt!”
“Except that it’s the Disciples of Disorder that we find as our reward,” added Sascha gloomily.
An Internet search by Sascha produced directions to Hilvern village and confirmed that there was indeed only one small park there, Page’s Park. The destination was entered into the navigation systems for both the motorhome and Boyd’s motorbike before the group set off.
Dave also packed a bag and left his apartment. He was going to take Johnny’s advice and disappear for a week.
Chapter 12
The drive to Hilvern took them through some of the world’s most ruggedly beautiful mountain scenery. Johnny had little experience of living outside a town or city, and now that he was exposed to the serenity and drama of the landscape around him he could see why so many people settled down in places like this; it made him reconsider his life in London. The capital was somewhere he had ended up by default rather than desire.
**
His family home had been in the suburbs of one of the commuter towns outside the city limits. He was the youngest of four children with a big age gap between himself and the rest of his siblings, and even though nobody said so, it was generally considered that Johnny’s birth had been unplanned – but certainly not unwanted.
He had two older sisters, one was an accountant and the other owned a flower shop. His only brother was a doctor, and they were all doing very well for themselves. Johnny could never envision himself going down similar career paths and was always more focused on the arts, where he demonstrated some degree of talent. Following their retirement, his parents moved to Portugal. Johnny, only seventeen at the time, insisted on staying behind to live with his brother, who worked in a London hospital. He had left formal full-time education to play the guitar and was undergoing advanced tuition in the instrument. He paid for his lessons by taking a part-time job on a supermarket customer services team. He despised the role and only persevered with it for the money. To supplement his income further, he also worked as an assistant in a recording studio where he would occasionally do session guitar work. Eventually, he had saved enough to rent a place of his own. As he matured, his psychic ability also progressed, and the demands of working for the Equilibrium increased; his dreams of guitar excellence were thus forced to take a back seat.
**
There was no hostile contact on the way to Hilvern; it seemed the protective amulet was performing its function admirably. The further they travelled into the Highlands the sparser the traffic became. The danger now was not from psychic detection, it was from being spotted in the conventional sense. On these quiet roads the motorhome, and even Boyd’s motorbike, could be easily viewed all the way from nearby vehicles to distant vantage points on the many surrounding mountains. As usual, Johnny and Sascha arranged to split the driving between them. Johnny drove for the first half of the estimated three-hour journey while Sascha used the time to scour the Internet for clues regarding what might lie ahead, announcing any interesting facts to whoever would listen. When it was Sascha’s turn to drive, Johnny used the time rather less constructively by trying to sleep in the passenger seat. As Johnny lay there with his eyes closed, Baccharus, who was no longer showing any signs of his injury, hovered over to take up a position beside Sascha while he drove. Johnny listened in on their conversation as he drifted off.
“I’m glad you’re feeling so much stronger now, Bach. We’ll need your psychic ability in addition to Johnny’s,” said Sascha.
“Thanks, Sasch, I’m flattered. You know what though? Johnny can handle this himself if necessary. You haven’t seen half of what he can do yet; nobody has, not even him. The Council of Seven know everything and I heard how they rated Johnny. They reckon his full potential has yet to be awoken.”
With his eyes still closed, Johnny grinned; nobody noticed.
“I hope you’re right, pal. It’s still good to have you around though, powers or no powers.”
“Thanks! And you’re all right too.”
They laughed together.
“So what do you think of this Martin guy then? Didn’t he tell Boyd that he used to be one of the Disciples?” asked Baccharus.
“I think he was being vetted or something, Boyd called him a prospective Disciple,” replied Sascha without taking his eyes off the road.
“He was closely associated with them; people just don’t change their alignment that easily, you know!”
“He probably had second thoughts. These groups like the Disciples of Disorder are most attractive to people when they are vulnerable and lonely, it’s when they make perfect targets for recruitment. If Martin had just come out of prison then he would have been easy meat for them.”
“Why would he be so lonely? He had his sister and brother-in-law for support.”
“True. It seems, however, that they are both tied up in this mess and not in a good way.”
This was the last portion of their exchange to be overheard by Johnny before he fell asleep and dreamed the same dream that had been haunting him for so long. His body was carried effortlessly through the air, above the now-familiar valley between the three peaks. Just as before, his dream flight descended towards the same woodland clearing beside a lake. The valley itself was beautiful and coloured as intensely as ever, visible to him in precise detail while the rest of the landscape that surrounded it remained a sea of ashen grey and black. This time, he noticed with some concern that the grey and black region was not static as he had first thought; it was actually growing and encroaching upon the valley. From his flying vantage point he could see that even the lake was losing the azure around its edges. The three surrounding peaks had already been drained of their natural hue, and closer observation revealed that it was their very vitality that had been lost alongside their colour. The plants and trees that grew on their slopes were withered, while rocks and boulders had crumbled and collapsed. What was actually left behind looked like the ash from a fire. No, thought Johnny, not ash. This change in appearance was more like fruit left in a bowl to rot. What he saw was decay growing over the land below him. At the very centre of this change lay the woodland clearing, a place of beauty, full of brightly dressed people moving around. How long would they last? As he flew lower, he heard their voices chanting,
“Earth expires, the children broken,
Chaos fires once more awoken.”
“Help us, Johnny,” came the whisper, just as it always did. Johnny could hear it clearer than ever before. This time he was flying close enough to see the chanters, they were definitely children, all of them running and playing joyfully in the valley. He looked around to find where the whispering call for help was coming from and he saw her. Seated at the very centre of the clearing, surrounded by the moving and playing children, was a huddled figure, an old white-haired gypsy woman, plump and ancient. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, wrapped in a boldly patterned shawl, and her face was turned down, away from Johnny.
He flew closer and the chanting became louder. He could see that the children all had their eyes closed even as they ran and played, and yet somehow they didn’t collide or have any difficulty in locating each other. All of this was going on as the black and grey death, flowing down the sides of the surrounding mountains, slowly swallowed the valley. By now it had claimed the entire lake and woodland – all that
remained was the clearing with its inhabitants. Gradually, the decay impinged on this too, edging forwards, threatening to wipe out the colourful little space forever. As it grew, the children, with terrified looks on their faces, stopped playing and huddled together around the old woman, as far as possible from the creeping death. Their chanting had stopped. Johnny was in the air directly above the terrified group, descending towards them rapidly, almost falling. This was the closest he had ever been to them. He wondered how the dream events would end. Would the old woman and the children be swallowed up by the decay? Would he land right on top of them? Would he too be swallowed by the grey and black? The children bunched up together, their eyes closed tight. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the old woman, who had been facing the ground, threw her head back to stare right at Johnny with milky grey eyes, directly acknowledging his presence for the first time. “Help us, Johnny!” was all she said. The message was simple enough, and her voice, despite being many hundreds of feet below him, sounded as if she had just whispered right into his ear; so loud that Johnny woke from his dream with a start.
“Whoa, Johnny!”
“Hey, Johnny, what’s going on?”
Johnny took a sharp intake of breath and twitched convulsively. It took him a few seconds to orientate himself; the dream had been so intense and vivid that he had forgotten his current situation. Sascha flashed him an amused glance as he drove.
“That must have been some dream you were having, or was it a nightmare?!” asked Baccharus, intrigued.
Johnny rubbed his eyes. “A really vivid dream; really weird,” he said, stretching.
“You must be tired; don’t blame you, I feel exhausted,” said Sascha.
Johnny thought about this. “See, that’s strange. I’m tired – not exhausted. Actually, I’ve been more tired than this many times before … This dream is different; like it’s not a dream.”