The Father's House

by Larche Davies

  “You can’t reach me,” he shouted. “I’m invisible.”

  Lucy took her chance and rolled sideways and tried to scramble to her feet, only to be kicked down and stamped on again. Dorothy stood stock still and silent in the darkness behind them, holding a cloak and a long piece of cord in her hands. Her heart thumped and she held her breath. The man bent once more to tie David’s hands, muttering incoherently. As he leaned forward Dorothy threw the cloak over his head and pulled it back under his chin. He staggered backwards, grabbing at his head, and fell. David jumped away from him and Lucy sprang to her feet. Dorothy had dropped the cord and was struggling to hold the cloak in place by twisting it behind the man’s neck, while his powerful hands tugged at the cloth and he somehow managed to wriggle himself up onto his knees.

  David snatched the cord up off the floor and tied it round one thick wrist. He was not strong enough to pull the hand away fully, but the other hand instinctively released its grip on the cloth and shot across in front of the neck to try and seize the cord.

  Dorothy pulled the cloak down harder over the floundering head. With difficulty Lucy hung on to the two writhing wrists. She was flung from side to side as David tied them as close together as he could. There was not much time. Every second that passed could bring the disposal squad closer to them. For good measure Dorothy wound another rope firmly round the mighty neck to hold the cloak in place, and tied it in a knot at the back well away from the fettered hands.

  She felt in the pockets of the monster’s raincoat. They were stuffed with money, but she only took the mobile phone.

  “I’m going to phone the police to tell them where you are,” she hissed close to his ear through the layers of cloth. “And I shall tell them who you are too. I saw your face when you turned. I’d know you anywhere you disgusting pervert, even without the hair.”

  Lucy picked up the torch and they ran as fast as Paul’s legs would permit towards the entrance to the passage.

  “If you hear anyone coming,” puffed Dorothy, “hide in one of these alcoves.”

  As they approached the light from the entrance Lucy switched off the torch. They hurled themselves up the steps and into what was left of the daylight.

  “Give me the code, quick!” said Dorothy.

  She stood to one side with the mobile phone and gave the police the code and hasty details of where to find the underground passageway, while David and Lucy closed the grating and scrabbled for the chain and the padlock.

  “He’s called Father Copse, but he’s shaved off his hair,” Dorothy was saying.

  David grabbed her arm and shouted into the phone. “His house burned down on Friday night. In Mortimor Road.”

  Meanwhile Lucy had managed to twist the chain round the rods and locked the padlock.

  “He’ll know the code,” she said breathlessly, “but at least it’ll hold him up for a couple of minutes.”

  Dorothy threw down the phone.

  “Ugh! I can’t bear to touch his horrible stuff,” she said, wiping her hands on a piece of grass. “Gross!” She was trembling and her face was a deathly white against the black of her clothes.

  “How do you know it was the police and not an infiltrator?” asked Lucy.

  “I don’t, but whoever they were, we don’t want them to know where we are. Come on. Let’s go!”

  They ran, tripping and stumbling over the brambles and nettles, into the wood. The sound of a car engine from the direction of the side road made them stop for a second to listen. There was a slamming of doors followed by voices. With a final spurt they veered away, raced across a small stretch of bare ground towards the undergrowth, and threw themselves down behind the roots and twisted branches of a low growing willow. They held their breath and watched as two men hastened across the rough ground towards the grating and started working on the padlock. One of them switched on a torch shaped like a lantern, and then they lifted the grating and disappeared down the stone steps. David darted over and pulled down the grating as silently as he could. He carefully and quietly pulled part of the chain round one of the steel rods, clicked the padlock into place, and ran back to the others.

  “They might have heard that, but it’ll confuse them,” he said. “It’ll give us a few extra seconds to get away. Let’s go!”

  “We can’t go to the side road,” whispered Dorothy. “There might be a driver waiting for them.”

  “The quickest way to the High Street would be to cut down through the Drax House garden,” said David.

  “Yes. There’s that narrow side path.” said Dorothy, her voice shaking. “It’s a risk but there are lots of bushes. They’re more likely to search for us in the woods. It won’t occur to them we’d dare go through the garden.”

  They hastened towards a small back gate in the fencing, opened it cautiously, and stepped inside onto a concrete path. It curved and twisted between shrubs and flowerbeds on the right-hand side of the garden all the way down to the main road.

  It was still daylight but the sky was heavy and grey.

  “There are lights on in the house,” whispered Dorothy. “If they look out of the window the garden will seem dark to them. Keep low and go slowly. Any quick movement might catch their attention.”

  She took Paul’s hand and pulled him over to her right side, so that her black clothing blocked out his cream-coloured fake fur jacket. They slipped silently down the path with pounding hearts, sometimes hidden from the house by shrubs, and sometimes totally exposed.

  As they passed the kitchen area one of the aunts came out to put something in the bin. The children froze and held their breath, fully visible to anyone who cared to look. Someone called from inside the house and the aunt went in and shut the door. They scuttled behind the next set of bushes and then out the other side. There was a light on in the dining room, and as they passed the window they could see the Drax House children filing in for their supper and bowing their heads in prayer.

  “Poor fools!” muttered Dorothy.

  The nearer they drew to the High Street the harder it was not to run. They could almost feel the Magnifico’s horrible breath on their necks.

  Aunt Bertha had been sent upstairs. The others were fed up with her constant crying, and now they were all in a tizzy because of the wailing spirits in the cells.

  “Pull yourselves together,” Aunt Sonia had snapped. “There’s no such thing as a wailing spirit. The men have gone to investigate and there will be a simple scientific explanation.” She had turned to Bertha. “And you – go to your room and stay there till you can control your emotions.”

  Now Bertha sat in the dark by the window. She didn’t care about wailing spirits. All she could think of was Dorothy, David and John, and the others that she had helped raise from babyhood only to see them go the same way. She hoped the Magnifico in His mercy would forgive her, but however hard she tried she could not accept the purpose with a joyous heart. She raised her swollen eyes to the window and gazed out into the darkness. Something flickered in the garden. What a misery life was. If only some of the glories of the next world could be spared for the here and now. Whatever it was flickered again, and she leaned forward, suddenly alert.

  She could just make out the shapes of the shrubs, but nothing moved. It must have been some sort of reflection from the lights downstairs. Then, sure enough, something flashed through the gap between one shrub and another and disappeared. Bertha knew that head of hair. She would have known it anywhere. Ash blond they called it – just like his mother’s. She couldn’t breathe. A ghost? She tried to clear the muzziness in her head. They couldn’t have done it already – there wasn’t time.

  She strained her eyes and the darkness yielded slightly. The flicker reappeared with a shape below it this time, and other shapes before it and behind it. With her hand to her throat, Bertha watched the intermittent procession. She held her breath until it reached the gate and vanished.

  The aunts were in a huddle in the kitchen, whispering about the wailing spi
rit. As the door opened it squeaked and they clutched each other in fright. It was only Bertha. Then they looked again and gaped at the joy in her face. She beamed at them but said nothing. Going over to the table she picked up the potato peeler and quietly got on with her work. How great was the Magnifico in His goodness and mercy!

  “Look casual,” whispered Dorothy, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  She straightened her back as though she had all the confidence in the world. Nobody grabbed them. They stepped out through a little wooden gate onto the pavement and turned off to the right. Their strength dissolved immediately. Now their teeth started to chatter and their legs were like jellies. They couldn’t have run if they tried. As they merged with the throng of evening shoppers two wailing police cars wove their way through the traffic. One halted directly in front of Drax House, and the other passed it and turned left up the side road.

  The children turned their backs on the police cars and moved away down the hill.

  “Where do we go next?” said David.

  “You can come back with us.” Lucy’s voice was shaking. “Come on. It’s not far. Just over the common.” But it seemed very far, an eternity of forcing one foot after another, yet hardly moving. They stumbled rather than walked, and at one point Dorothy nearly fell as someone rushed past her towards the Underground station. When at last they reached the wide open space of the common their legs regained some strength and speeded up, and although they couldn’t help looking behind them and around them constantly, the sense of suppressed panic subsided a little.

  As they approached the bushes around the pond, something glittered.

  “Stop!” whispered Lucy. “There’s somebody there.”

  The leaves rustled in the wind and parted for a second. Their hearts stood still.

  “Who’s there?” called David hoarsely. There was no reply. He stepped forward. “Phew! It’s nobody. It’s only my bike.” Now they could see the shiny handlebars glinting through the leaves. “Leave it,” he said, and they hurried on.

  Dorothy lay in the copper bath, a neat little radio playing music on the stool next to her, and a soft fluffy bath robe waiting for her to slip into it. A scented candle cast a gentle light too faint to be seen through the Austrian blind that draped the frosted glass of the window. On the floor in a far corner of the bathroom lay a bundle of shapeless black clothes.

  She closed her eyes and tried to let the warmth of the water wash away the terror. Don’t panic, she told herself. Everything’s going to be alright now.

  Downstairs Paul lay asleep on the sofa in the television room in a snug pair of pyjamas taken from the little boy’s room. Thanks to David’s interpretation of the symbols on the washing machine in the laundry room, the fake fur coat and the rest of the disguise outfit were twirling around on the wool cycle. With shaking hands Lucy was laying the kitchen table with pretty plates and glasses that she’d found in a sideboard in the dining room. David made a silent inspection of the freezer. He took out four frozen pizzas and put them in the oven, pressing what he hoped was the right button. The television was just a floating murmur of voices as Lucy listened out for the music that would herald the news. The regional news would be another hour yet, but she didn’t want to miss it.

  Although they had the electric power there was still no lighting, and they ate in silence by torchlight.

  The pizzas were edible but no-one, except Paul, could taste a thing. David, moving mechanically, put the plates in the sink, and Lucy scooped out the ice cream into bowls. When they had finished doing their best to eat they cleared up, and Lucy fetched a jigsaw puzzle from upstairs. She and Paul sat in the torchlight at the kitchen table, and quietly put it together.

  “I bit the monster’s leg,” remarked Paul.

  “So you did!” said Lucy, as calmly as she could. “You were very helpful. I’m proud of you. He’s gone now and he’ll never come back, so we’re safe.”

  Her hands were still trembling as she pressed the jigsaw pieces into place.

  Dorothy and David were huddled silent and ashen-faced on the sofa in the television room. The screen flickered in front of their faces, but they didn’t see it. All they saw was the disposal cells. Outside the wind blew up. A shrub brushed against the window, and they clutched at each other.

  “It’s only the wind,” whispered David.

  Dorothy closed her eyes and breathed deeply. If only her heart would stop thumping she might be able to think properly.

  The jigsaw was completed and put away, and Paul and Lucy joined the others in the television room. Lucy turned the sound up slightly. “It’ll be the news in about fifteen minutes,” she said quietly, “so it’s important that we listen out for it.”

  The others nodded. Nobody spoke, until Lucy remembered something horrible. “What about Matthew?” she whispered.

  “Dead,” said David. “Serve him right.”

  Dorothy was roused from her semi-stupor. “What on earth?”

  “I’ll explain it all sometime. He was an infiltrator! My so-called best mate!” He stood up and paced around angrily.

  Lucy’s stomach lurched. “I felt the car bump over him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dorothy was sitting up straight.

  “He was following me. These men caught Lucy and put her in the boot, and it backed right over Matthew.”

  “Holy Mag!” exclaimed Dorothy. “What have I missed?”

  “Please don’t use that expression. It makes me feel sick. Anyway, I locked him in a cupboard because I couldn’t get rid of him and, obviously, he got out. The aunts would have guessed where I was. They knew something was going to happen at Father Copse’s house.”

  “Save our souls! And everyone really liked him!”

  “That’s why they chose him, I suppose.”

  “What with him and Thomas I don’t see how we can ever trust anyone again,” said Lucy.

  “We can’t,” said Dorothy, taking a deep breath. “We’ll have to face the fact that we can only trust ourselves.” She glanced at the television. “Come on, David. Sit down. It’s nearly time. They might tell us something on the news.”

  They sat subdued, squashed together on the sofa, and waited.

  Suddenly they sat up straight. The national news was announcing a police siege outside a religious commune suspected of having connections with an alleged abduction and a recent fire at a London property. Drax House and the cordon round it appeared on the screen, and both Dorothy and David gasped as they recognised the caretaker and Senior Aunt Sonia being escorted to a police car.

  There was a fuller story on the local news. Three men had been brought out of a tunnel at the back of a religious commune known as Drax House, and various members of the household had been taken into custody. The whereabouts of the so-called Father Drax who ran the commune were unknown. One of the men in the tunnel was believed to be the owner of the house in Mortimor Road that had burned down on Friday night.

  A picture of the remains of Father Copse’s house appeared briefly on the screen.

  The public was asked to report any sightings of a stout elderly woman with two children, a girl and a boy aged about eleven and three respectively, who had gone missing from the burned-out house. A next-door neighbour had been unable to help, other than to say the girl always wore her hair in a long plait. She had described the family as keeping themselves to themselves. The body found at the scene of the fire had still not been identified. Another body, found in the road outside the house, had been identified as a teenage resident of Drax House.

  The children were absolutely riveted. The Magnifico’s world seemed to be collapsing before their very eyes.

  Later that night, as he clambered into the big bed, Paul whispered, “We’re safe now, aren’t we, Lucy?”

  “Of course we are,” she said. “I expect the monster man is in prison by now, all tied up in chains.”

  Paul stroked the gold chain that lay round Lucy’s neck, and gently fingered the
circle of daffodils until he fell asleep.

  The children spent the next few days quietly, apart from a couple of scares. Once somebody knocked on the door and went away. Then two men looked around the garden at the back of the house. They didn’t seem to notice the missing pane in the back door, and they too went away. Occasional peeps through the upstairs curtains showed that the visits of officialdom to the site of the fire were diminishing, and they began to relax. Their appetites returned and David worked out how to use the microwave.

  “We’ve been here nearly a week,” said Dorothy. “We’ll have to think about what to do next. We can’t stay here for ever. Supposing the people come back?”

  Where could they go? The same thought ran through all their minds. The outside world was daunting, and they would never find anywhere as luxurious as this, so they might as well try and unwind for one more night – or perhaps two.

  “I’ve got a friend,” said Dorothy slowly. “His name is Tom. He helped me before and if we can find him he might help us again. He went away but he should be back by now. I think I’ll know where to find him.”

  Their spirits lifted a little. “We’ll have to tidy up here before we go,” said Lucy. “It’s bad enough that we’ve used their stuff, without leaving a mess.”

  “Well, at least we’ve got no baggage to weigh us down,” said David. “All we have to do is get on our feet and walk. Easy!”

  “What about your bike?” asked Lucy. “It could be useful for carrying stuff.”

  “It’s a nice bike,” said Dorothy. “Almost new.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want it. I don’t want anything they’ve given me. Someone can find it and keep it.”