by Gerry Tate
Mathew turned and gripped Francis tightly by the hand.
“Stay away from that place Francis. It’s too damn dangerous for you,” Mathew offered.
“Yeah, stay away,” Dermot agreed.
Dermot stared at the ceiling for a moment before he spoke.
“When I was a young man, I worked in Lamont’s mine, and I seen it,” he added.
“What’d you see?” Mathew slated.
“I, that is, we all seen the monster,” he corrected. “It was floating around, inside of the mine. We all ran like the blazes to get out of there. I can still remember the terror on the foreman’s face, shouting and yelling at us to get the hell out of there.”
“You’ve been on that medication for far too long,” Mathew moaned.
“Yeah, well you just don’t know, you weren’t there. It was a hideous thing, maybe fifteen feet tall,” Dermot exaggerated. “With big pointed teeth and huge bloody han…”
“You’re frightening the poor woman you idiot,” Mathew interrupted.
Francis already knew what the creature was like, and she was frightened enough without them going on about it. She wanted to shout out to them, of how she and the others had fought the creatures all those years ago, but she thought the better of it. Things were bad enough in the village without old Dermot and Mathew making it worse with bloody rumour mongering.
“Well, I’ll be off then,” Francis said.
“Wait girl, sit down and take the weight of your feet,” Mathew suggested, as he sipped a drink from his creamy looking pint of Guinness, which left him sporting a little white moustache of froth.
“Yes Francis, come and play some dominoes with us and have a drink or two.”
“I can’t, I must find Tully, some other time perhaps.”
“Tully will be okay Francis, why everyone knows Tully and the forest are like family. Don’t worry, just go on home out of this weather, and I’m sure he’ll be there already, waiting for you with his slippers on,” Mathew laughed.
“Thank you, you may be right,” Francis whispered, and then she was gone.
A fierce wind almost blew her off her feet, and she held the wall for support.
A bolt of lightning crossed the sky and she wondered why Tully hadn’t come home much earlier. Because, like Tully, common sense told her that there would be no poachers out and about on a night like this one. In fact, no one in their right state of mind would be out on this night, except Tully.
But she had this bad feeling that she couldn’t explain. It was a sort of an unexplainable knowledge that Tully needed her.
She prayed that nothing had happened to him as she reluctantly made her way toward the dark eerie forest.
Back inside the pub, old Mathew had just won his third game in a row.
“She’s a beautiful girl, that Francis,” old Mathew stated.
“Yes, and I bet you wish you were forty years younger, you old beggar. But she still wouldn’t look at you twice.”
“Well, I always was the better looking man between the two of us, Dermot, and you cannot deny that. She’d have looked at me long before you back then, and that’s a fact.”
“Well now Mathew, maybe if she’d had a fever perhaps, but not under normal circumstances she wouldn’t,” he laughed.
“Well, any woman who would look at you back then must have been blind or insane, Dermot O’Connell,” Mathew spat, and laughed loudly.
“Is that right? Well to hell with you then, I’m not taking any more of your insults.”
Old Dermot packed his Dominoes rather hurriedly and in a huff, and stormed from the bar, his bag held tightly under his arm, while Francis headed toward the forest, unaware of the row her presence at the pub had caused between the old feuding friends.
Two other people quickly left the pub, and followed Frances, unseen by her when she entered, as they sat silently over in a corner, unobserved.
CHAPTER 8
Father Tim O’Neill had only been at the village for three years, but in that short time he had gained the trust of everyone who had met him. Although Tim was considered young for a priest at only thirty two years of age, he had a great knowledge of worldly things. And his pleasant and approachable manner made him a great priest to have around. Why even the attendance in the church had almost doubled since he took over.
Some of the town’s people reckoned this was mainly because of his good looks though, and not simply his way with words.
And the fact that many younger women were now suddenly attending church, gave some credence to this.
He had just finished with the repair of an electrical socket, when the roar of thunder overhead seemed to shake the ground below him. That was a close one, he thought, as he threw the socket onto a chair, afraid it may act as a lightning conductor.
“Well, time for bed I suppose,” he whispered.
“What a rough night we’re having my fine little friend,” he said to the small terrier that lay at his feet. “You don’t seem too concerned about it though,” he added, as if the little dog could understand him.
“Yes, it’s a dog’s life all right.”
The little stray dog had turned up on his doorstep about a year after he had taken the post. He had fed it little scraps, but the little tattered dog would turn up more and more, until it became a permanent fixture at the church. ‘Scraps,’ Father O’Neill had named it, and now it answered to that name.
He threw a little Frisbee across the large room. “Go Scraps, go,” he commanded, and the little dog jumped high into the air and easily caught the spinning disc.
“You’re a fast little devil, aren’t you”?
Scraps barked loudly, as if it could understand him, and as he pulled the little woollen bed out from behind the chair, Scaps turned in circles.
“Now I know you don’t like bedtimes, little fellow, but we’ve been over this before. Tell you what, if you calm down, I’ll let you sleep in my room tonight,” he promised.
It was as though the dog could understand him, and he shook his head as Scraps immediately calmed down and lay flat on his belly.
As he gave the little dog a friendly pat on the head, the outer door rapped loudly, and Scraps barked noisily, teeth bared.
“Now who on earth could that be Scraps? Why it’s almost eleven thirty.”
The little dog stared into the hallway, growling, its body rigid, ears pricked.
“Now don’t you go biting anyone,” he ordered the little fluffy dog as he made for the door. “Because you really shouldn’t be here either you know,” he added.
He pulled at the heavy bolt, and when he opened the thick wooden door, a dazed Tully staggered through it, into the large hallway.
He had no coat, his hair was wet and ruffled, his shirt muddied and ripped, and his trousers were soaked through.
Scraps growled angrily at him.
“Shut up Scraps, it’s only Tully.”
Scraps cocked its head when it suddenly recognised Tully, then its tail wagged in a friendly manner.
“What’s going on Tully? What has happened to you man?”
Tully leaned against the wall and held his hand out, as he panted for breath.
Father O’Neill quickly closed the door against the fierce wind, and helped Tully onto a chair. He had got to know Tully quite well since he arrived at Cappawhite, and had gone fishing with him on many occasions during the past few years. When Tully’s uncle, the Reverend McLeay had recently died, Father O’Neill had given him some time and comfort, and some reassuring words, for which he seemed very grateful.
It was a full five minutes before Tully could talk.
“I’m sorry for barging in like this Tim,” Tully croaked.
“Don’t be sorry man; obviously something bad has happened to you. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Well, I can tell you about it Tim, but believing it may cause you some problems.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world my friend, but please excuse me for one mo
ment.”
Father O’Neill left the room and returned a few moments later with an armful of clothes and a dry towel.
“You’re about my size Tully, so go and get dried, and change into these, and then we’ll talk some more.”
Tully thanked him and in five minutes he was dry and changed into the priest’s casual clothes.
The priest looked at the dog, who by now was licking hard at Tully’s hand.
“Do you know something? I always had the feeling that this damn dog was a protestant. Oh if the head of the church could only see me now,” he joked.
“You two protestant down and outs prancing about inside the Holy Catholic Church. It’s simply heresy I tell you. Why I’ll be lucky if they don’t excommunicate me.”
Then he sat down and spoke to Tully in a more serious note.
“Why don’t you go ahead and unburden yourself my friend?”
Tully stared hard at his friend the priest for a moment, and wondered where he was going to start with all this. He knew however that he would have to take Father O’Neill into his confidence.
* * * * *
Francis had reached the edge of the village, and as she stared into the dark forest, she called Tully’s name.
The storm was getting worse, as a fierce wind blew around her, and Francis was very concerned. When she had come around in the hall she had started to remember things, dangerous things abut demons in the forest. Tully may be in danger, she thought. But just where the hell is he? She checked her watch.
“Eleven forty eight,” she groaned. “Why it’s almost midnight!”
A roar of thunder once more shook the forest.
“Tully,” she shouted again.
Francis didn’t see the two figures slowly creep up behind her. They had followed her from the pub with determination.
“Tully, Tully,” a voice behind her mocked loudly.
She spun around.
It was Madge, Tully’s ex wife, and she was accompanied by her friend Erin. They had followed her, and now she was cornered.
“Well if it isn’t the little husband stealer,” Madge hissed, her face twisted with rage.
“I stole no one,” Francis snapped angrily. “You decided to leave Tully for another man, and left him broken. You didn’t care one bit about him then, and I don’t really think you care about him now.”
“I think I should be the judge of that,” Madge spat.
Francis reeled on her, unable to hide the anger in her voice. She loved Tully, and no one was going to take him from her.
“Tully doesn’t need you Madge. He’s pulled himself together and is all the better a man for it. He has me now, and we’re both very happy together. So why don’t you just leave us alone and get on with your life?”
“Why you cheap little slut,” Madge shouted, as she attacked Francis, swinging her small white crocodile skin bag toward her face. “I’ll fucking kill you, you whore.”
Francis was still feeling groggy from the fall down the stairs. But she wasn’t frightened. She was confident that she could take the older woman. She had been attacked a few times before in her roll as a police officer, and had been well trained for it.
The bag grazed Francis on her cheek and Madge grabbed at her hair, but Francis twisted her arm and pushed her face deep into a hedge.
“Get off me you bitch,” Madge yelled.
Then as Francis stood over Madge, she felt a heavy blow to the back of her head, and she fell to the ground, bleeding.
Through her haze she could see Erin, heavy branch in hand. Erin had done this, and now the two women stood over her, sneering down.
“Give me that,” Madge ordered, as she clutched the heavy piece of branch from Erin’s hand.
“So you want to play rough do you?” Madge spat. “Well I’m going to show you just what the fucking word rough means.”
Just then something behind the women moved from left to right, and Francis stared in horror at the giant figure behind them. It moved silently and slowly toward them, head moving quickly from side to side. Something was in its hand, something small. It was a little bears head.
It was Mr Cliff. Francis felt sure he had come to save her, and now the memory of her husband came flooding back. Back then Mr Cliff had brought a demon. A demon that had taken her demented violent husband away.
Mr Cliff had saved her then, and Mr Cliff was going to save her now. The two women didn’t see the creature move slowly behind them.
“Die, you slut,” Madge yelled, as she raised the branch to strike. Francis looked to Erin for some compassion, but there was none to be had, as Erin smirked hatefully at her.
It was Erin who saw the creature first, and as she screamed, they both spun around to face it. Madge dropped the branch and walked slowly backward, toward Francis.
“Mother of God,” she groaned.
“Helllooo,” the little teddy bears head said to Francis.
“Mr Cliff, you came to help me again. Thank you Mr Cliff, oh thank you,” Francis gasped.
“No!” The little bears head barked.
“I have other plans for you. By the time I finish with you, you fucker, you will wish you had been killed tonight.
I should never have helped you before. Your mother was right to feel the hatred toward you that I feel now. And as for Tull…”
“No! Please don’t harm Tully,” Francis interrupted. “I love him and he’s a good man,” she added.
“There are no good men,” the bear head scowled.
“Please Mr Cliff; I will play with you like we did before. We can be best friends again, just like we used to be.”
“No! It is too late for that now. The mighty Stazivore has been summoned and this time you people will not win against him.”
“No!”
“Yes, Tully will be joining us soon,” Mr Cliff laughed. “We have looked into his soul, and now he is ours,” he promised and cackled loudly. “Soon you will feel what it is like to be alone, unwanted and unloved.”
“No, please Mr Cliff,” Francis begged. “Please don’t hurt Tully. Take me, but in the name of God, don’t harm him.”
Now that Madge realised the creature was not there to help Francis, she picked up the branch again, and lifted it high above her head, while Erin cowered down.
“Don’t hurt Tully,” Madge mocked.
“Please Madge, I don’t like this,” Erin sobbed.
Madge ignored her and moved toward Francis, branch held high.
“Die,” Madge screamed.
Without warning or any prompting from Mr Cliff, the large creature flew across and seized Madge by the throat, and the branch fell from her hands.
Erin started to run, but the creature seized her as well, and quickly disappeared into the forest, dragging the two women violently away. For a split second, Francis thought she saw another hooded creature way back in the trees, but she was unsure.
“Don’t do this Mr Cliff,” Francis shouted after them. “Please Mr Cliff, don’t hurt them. They have done nothing to you.”
The woman’s terrifying screams could be heard for some time, and Francis staggered back toward town, sobbing.
Her head was bleeding from Erin’s vicious attack on her, but the distraught woman didn’t even seem to notice or even care about it. Francis couldn’t believe how evil the little bear had become. She remembered the playful times they used to have, and the wonderful knowledgeable stories the little bear used to tell her. Now she felt guilty for ignoring Mr Cliff, because now she knew that he was pretty pissed off with her. These women had been dragged into the forest and she was sure they were dead. Killed because Mr Cliff wanted the satisfaction of destroying her himself, and no outsider would interfere.
And now Francis knew something else. Because of a little unforgiving bear that was full of hatred for her they would all be destroyed. Now she was quite certain that Mr Cliff’s threats were real.
An eerie silence engulfed the forest, as the storm quickly stopped and the rain
slowly died away.
From its high vantage point, an old owl looked down inquisitively at something unusual. It instinctively felt danger, and it glanced quickly from side to side.
Then it stretched its powerful wings and flew off.
Further below, body parts lay scattered across the red stained forest floor.
A severed hand still clutched onto a small bloodied white crocodile skin bag, and only the deepening darkness concealed it.
CHAPTER 9
Dan Winters gunned the pedal and pulled out passed the old black rusted Cadillac with the loose rear fender, which had been veering from side to side in front of him for the previous four miles. This guy was obviously a drunk, and Dan wanted to make some distance between them. He knew the figures for vehicle fatalities, and he just didn’t wish to be added to the list.
As he overtook he glanced quickly across to the large beat up car which was now speeding to keep up with him, and was cutting across the lane, toward him.
Dan blasted the horn loudly at the driver who appeared to be singing at the top of his voice, unaware of the accident he was possibly about to cause.
Suddenly the man stared around at him. His grey face was twisted and angry, and he mouthed words at Dan. Although Dan wasn’t much of a lip reader, it was clear to him that the guy was spewing obscenities towards him.
Dan was about to give him the big finger, when a face appeared in the Cadillac’s rear window. Whoever it was, this person was wearing a hood and mask, and held a small scythe in their hand. A small hand, a small child’s hand, Dan thought.
He gunned the pedal and accelerated away from the old car, and watched as the needle hit seventy eight. He held it until the Cadillac was only a dot, way behind in the distance.
A cop car some way out in front, reminded him that he was breaking the speed limit, and he slowed back down to fifty five.
He checked his mirror and felt relieved when he couldn’t see the old car any more, which he felt must have turned off at the junction.