by Neil Spring
‘Any unusual guests stayed with you?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you?’
‘No.’
‘And you say there was a distinct smell of sulphur?’
Araceli and I nodded without speaking, and I watched Randall’s gaze travel from the young mother and her daughter to the window and the night beyond. ‘Isn’t it extraordinary,’ he said, ‘how many so-called poltergeist infestations have succeeded or coincided with spates of intense UFO activity?’
I had no idea whether this was true or even why it was important, but Araceli leaned forward and said hopefully, ‘Other people experience these things?’
‘Many other people,’ Randall answered. ‘And foul odours like sulphur are common at seances and in haunted locations. They are also extremely common at UFO landing sites.’
He’s right, I thought. The coincidences are undeniable. The spontaneous movement of objects at the Haven Hotel. And here, at Ravenstone Farm, when I was a boy, the picture on the wall that had turned upside down in Randall’s study. My mind raced and I decided to confront him on an earlier comment.
‘What did you mean – secrets all over the village?’
‘Did you explore the cellar at the Haven Hotel?’ Randall asked.
How did he know?
‘You saw the inscription.’
I had it written on a scrap of paper in my pocket. I took it out and tried reading it aloud then asked, ‘What the hell does it mean?’
‘Ask her,’ Randall said sternly. His gaze, clear and penetrating, focused on Araceli, and she looked up sharply.
‘She said she doesn’t know,’ I countered. But then I looked in her eyes and saw they were furtive.
‘I don’t want to say it.’
‘No, young lady. I bet you don’t.’
But eventually she got the words out. She didn’t need to translate, I quickly realized; she knew the words by heart.
I wrote them down.
The battle on earth will commence with signs in the heavens.
The Demon’s Gate will open.
Darkness will rule for eternity.
– 41 –
The wind was moaning about the farmhouse. Even from the kitchen I could hear the rusty old swing at the front creaking as it kicked back and forth.
‘You said you didn’t know what the inscription meant,’ I said to Araceli. My accusing tone was deliberate. I was hurt to think she was holding back on me again, especially after what we had just been through together. ‘Who chiselled it into the wall?’
Silence.
Frustrated by her refusal to answer me, I got up from the table and stalked into my grandfather’s study.
I needed some time to think. I would call Dr Caxton, I decided. Like me he was a sceptic at heart. He was obviously here to learn the same things as I was, and would be able to apply a scientific mind to the problem. And maybe, when the admiral arrived, we could all work together. As it stood, I wasn’t sure how many more lies and superstitions I could take before I went completely mad.
Inside Randall’s study the air was as perfectly still and stale as I remembered, but the room seemed much smaller. There was the picture that had turned on its nail. Now it was in its proper position, thank God, the androgynous St John the Baptist with his enigmatic smile, taunting me, still pointing into the sky. I couldn’t take my eyes off that finger. The truth is up there, it said.
Only the walls had changed. Whereas before they had been lined with overstocked bookshelves, now they were covered, floor to ceiling, with newspaper clippings, fuzzy photographs of flying saucers and drawings of bulky, wide-shouldered, helmeted figures with black spaces where their faces should have been. There were maps of west Wales too. Clusters of red pins marked the locations of the reported sightings that formed the Broad Haven Triangle.
I dialled Dr Caxton’s number and released a sigh of relief when he answered.
‘Hello, Robert. You sound terrible.’
I updated him on recent events. ‘I know you are an expert in paranormal psychology and sightings. I also know you are a sceptic, but I don’t know what to believe any more, and I really think we need as much help as we can get. How soon can you get over here?’ I gave him my location.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He sounded perturbed. ‘I wanted to speak to you and your grandfather in any case. I have some new information concerning the children.’
‘You got the addresses?’
‘No. Something else.’ He left a pronounced pause that quickened my blood. ‘I owe Randall an apology. Something very dangerous is most definitely taking place here.’
‘Why the change of heart?’
‘I’ve discovered something deeply troubling.’
‘What is it?’
‘Not over the phone. I’ll tell you when I get there.’
The call over, I steeled myself to return to the kitchen to question Araceli. I needed to know what she was hiding. But as I headed for the door, I knew I had one person left to speak to. The admiral. Perhaps he was still in his Westminster office.
I dialled the first three numbers quickly, facing a wall plastered with newspaper clippings I had once considered sensational, scanning the headlines. I held the telephone against my ear, thinking, Please answer, please answer.
‘Admiral of the Fleet.’
‘There was something I didn’t tell you. Something I only suspected before but now I know.’ I said immediately. ‘It’s not the Americans.’
‘Robert? What’s wrong, old chap? It’s late.’ His voice sounded terribly hoarse. He coughed, then said, ‘Did you find the Parsons Report?’ I told him I hadn’t. ‘Then what has happened?’
‘Too many things,’ I said, hardly knowing where to start. ‘Seriously weird things. My gaze roamed the forest of red pins protruding from the map on the wall. ‘Admiral, what I have learned . . . These UFOs, they seem to come and go as they please. They buzz planes and cars. They terrify and they never make a mistake. They never crash. And there’s no consistent appearance – many shapes and sizes, with no obvious power source. Everything about their behaviour suggests to me that they are trying to confuse us. No, not confuse us. Deceive us.’
‘Robert—’
‘They can be seen or not seen, even by radar. Admiral, it’s almost as if they operate outside our laws of science.’
He coughed again, long and hard this time.
‘Also, they’re definitely not harmless. They have substance,’ I said, scanning the pictures and articles on the study wall. ‘They can inflict what look to me like radiation burns. They can stop cars.’
‘Old chap?’
‘I’m here.’
‘I’m worried about you. You sound . . . strained.’
He means mad.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied.
Then came a bout of fierce coughing. I knew then that there was something awful rattling around in his chest, and I was pretty damn sure it wasn’t any sort of cold.
‘Robert, it’s important you don’t lose perspective now.’ It was clear he was still thinking that this was something to do with the Americans and the Soviets. ‘Exactly how much does Randall know about all this?’ he continued.
I glanced at the desk, at the piles of letters, documents, tape recordings and dog-eared books. ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to tell but . . . more than he’s saying.’
Another hacking cough. ‘Robert, remember why you went down there in the first place. You must make him tell you what he knows.’
I thought about the enormous floating figure that had appeared opposite Dylan Jones’s cottage, I saw Isaac biting his mother’s arm, and I knew something was hiding in the folds of these experiences, some sort of controlling force. I could feel it pressing against the back of my mind, as if it was
struggling to take a part of me.
‘We’re not just talking about UFO sightings,’ I said firmly. ‘When people see these craft, the entities controlling them . . . I don’t know, it’s like they suffer intimate intrusions into their minds. Their souls.’
This time there was no coughing, no words either. Just a long silence.
‘Admiral, why did you send me here if you won’t believe what I’ve found?’
‘Find out what Randall Llewellyn Pritchard knows,’ the admiral said in response. He sounded like he had lost all confidence in me. ‘I’ll aim to be at Brawdy from midday tomorrow.’
I replaced the handset and looked down at Randall’s desk. Tried the top drawer. Locked. The others. Locked. There was no key in sight. My gaze roamed from the desk to the walls. Clippings. Map. Picture over the mantelpiece hanging upside down.
Hanging upside down!
I felt a sudden burst of adrenaline that quickened the blood, my eyes going in and out of focus. I’m supposed to notice it.
Cautiously I reached up, gripped the painting and lifted it off the wall. Nothing. Just a faint mark where it had been. But wait – taped to the back of the painting was a small key.
Feeling my heartbeat quicken, I removed the key, hung the painting back in position and tried the top drawer of the desk. It slid out. And I looked down at the truth.
– 42 –
The small booklet in the drawer wasn’t thick, thirty-five pages at most, but it certainly looked old. The title, positioned in the centre of the cover page, was in block capital letters:
‘SKY SPECTRES’
THE PARSONS REPORT
SELECTED CIRCULATION
I opened the booklet and scanned down to the introduction: ‘This report is being brought to the attention of a considerable number of very responsible and influential people. Its subject is of the greatest possible importance to every human being on this planet.’ And on the next page: ‘UFOs are essentially a religious matter rather than a military threat from outer space. The problem of the UFO phenomenon is that of a non-human paranormal kind. It isn’t just anti-Christian, it is demonic, in nature and intent.’
I winced at that passage, and wave after wave of anxiety pulsed through me. What would it take, I wondered, to become convinced? I wasn’t religious, but at the same time my determination to know the truth, to find some frame of reference for everything that was happening, was overwhelming and forcing me to revaluate what I thought about UFOs.
Demonic? Was this report how Randall knew so much about the UFOs? How had he got his hands on it? Were they looking for it? Was it the reason they had ransacked my room at the Ram Inn? Who were they? The Parsons Elite maybe?
I turned the page and another passage stood out:
What we are witnessing are modern manifestations and interpretations of archaic legends found in all major religions. The most pertinent being the struggle for the souls of humanity, the battle between good and evil, God and Satan. But the rules of the game have changed. Religious symbols and imagery have been replaced by sky spectres – flying saucers and their pilots. And they are working against the Peace of Christ.
Beneath this was a tantalizing extract from the Bible, Ephesians 6: 12: ‘Our wrestling is not against flesh and blood: but against . . . the spirits of wickedness in the high places.’
‘Boy?’ Randall called from the kitchen.
‘Yes, yes.’ I dropped the report into the top drawer, locked it quickly and returned the key.
‘What were you doing?’ he said as I entered the kitchen.
‘Calling Caxton. He said he’s got something he needs to tell us.’
I was surprised to see Randall donning his overcoat, collar pulled up. He saw my questioning expression and said gruffly, ‘Going to check on the animals.’
The kitchen door banged shut behind him and I locked it immediately. I felt Araceli watching me but she said nothing.
Through the barred window over the sink I watched Randall by moonlight, huddled against the freezing coastal wind, a lone figure in the night.
Araceli gave me an exhausted smile and ran a hand through her cloud of black hair. I thought she looked beautiful, but I was beginning to realize that she wasn’t all she seemed either. Why did you feign ignorance about the inscription we found in your cellar? I wondered, and then I knew, just as I had known she was withholding information concerning Selina.
‘Something wrong, Robert?’
I stared at her in blank astonishment.
‘What is it? You’ve gone white!’
‘The room in your hotel, Selina’s room – that was your mother’s old bedroom, wasn’t it.’ The thought had slipped in as if from nowhere.
Already Araceli’s face was changing in a way that made me uncomfortable. She looked at her daughter. ‘I’m not supposed to talk about this, Robert.’
‘Why did your mother ever want to live in that hotel?’
‘I told you. She was keen to run it as a business.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. My father – I told you – he moved away and—’
‘Left you both with nothing. Yes, you said. And the people in the village told me your mother was mixed up with black magic. Witchcraft.’
‘Oh now, come on, Robert.’
I thought of the black candles we had seen in the cellar of the Haven Hotel.
‘How many times did the Jacksons stay at your hotel?’
‘I don’t know exactly. They visited my mother.’
‘And my colleague Selina knew this? She asked you about them?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I’d have earned your trust by now, after what happened this evening.’
She just looked at me tiredly.
‘They had maps and cameras. They went walking at night. The Jacksons were looking for UFOs.’ I couldn’t be sure of that and yet I was. ‘Correct?’
‘It’s possible,’ Araceli said. ‘Yes.’
A thought leaped into my head. ‘Araceli, did they know about the inscription in the cellar? Did they ever ask to see it?’
She looked at me, and I looked back at her; neither of us broke the connection.
‘I’m right?’ I asked. ‘That’s why they always came back. Because of the inscription in the cellar. It meant something to them, like it meant something to your moth—’
‘No, enough! I’ve heard this shit all my life. I don’t need to hear it from you too!’
I thought about Selina’s notebook and imagined I was holding it now as if it proved my case. ‘My colleague discovered the existence of something called the Parsons Report, warning the government about the dangers of these phenomena.’
‘Really? Well I know nothing about that.’
‘Selina traced the origins of that document right here to the Havens. For some reason the Havens have had an extraordinarily long association with UFOs and other phenomena – whatever they are. Now Selina is dead because of a deliberate attack carried out by someone who wanted her silenced.’
‘And you know this for sure?’
Yes, I thought fiercely.
She shook her head, tense and angry. ‘There are easier ways to get rid of people, Robert.’
‘Are there?’
‘Ask him!’ Araceli snapped. I followed her gaze to the kitchen window, out into the night. Randall had turned on the outside lights. The enormous concrete yard was bathed in a harsh glow.
I was torn. Go back to the study and read the Parsons Report or follow Randall?
‘If you want answers,’ Araceli said. ‘Talk to him.’
– 43 –
The wind was screaming across the cliff tops as I took the route I remembered so well. I imagined Jasper trotting along beside me, loveable and alive – tongue out, tail beating.
It was only ten thirty, but
the evening was inky black with just the huddled lights of Broad Haven twinkling across St Brides Bay. If the sky watch went ahead as planned tomorrow night for the lunar eclipse, I was willing to bet there would many more lights around the beach – campfires, torches, headlights.
My hands were stinging from the cold, and the night felt dead and black. I went slowly into that darkness, keeping close to the rutted path I must have walked hundreds of times as a boy.
I tried focusing on the stinging smell of cow manure but all that came to mind were the faces of the dead: my parents, Selina, the Jacksons – murdered just a few fields away on the coastal path. Anyone could be out here, watching me now. I did all I could not to imagine the gigantic silver humanoids with black spaces for faces and spindly Black-Suited Men with eyes like fire and ice.
With the Atlantic wind at my back, I took another step, looked anxiously about me. Nothing. Nobody.
What was that?
I froze. I had heard something behind me in the tomb-like blackness. It sounded like footsteps. Something moving. An animal perhaps? I listened intently. Nothing.
The Watchers were judged by God and bound for seventy generations. Randall’s voice echoed in my mind, a story told to me years ago, something about legions of devils in the earth.
A long way off a fox howled, and a shiver ran down my spine. I tried not to think about the Parsons Report or the occultist Jack Parsons and quickened my pace.
Randall’s milking shed was a huge concrete and asbestos building that had always reminded me of an aircraft hangar. Inside everywhere was corrugated metal bolted together, and there was the stench of manure. I found Randall standing in one of the first internal enclosures watching over a cow pacing around in agitation.
‘She’s going into labour, boy,’ he said.
I stood awkwardly beside him, watching the animal panting. It was always a long and anxious process, but Randall must have done it hundreds of times before. He looked out across the paddocks that contained the other hundred or so cows and said, ‘I just hope the rest of them are all right. Milk yield is down some 40 per cent. They won’t even enter the lower fields.’ He gave me a grim look. ‘I found footprints down there. Gigantic, at least fifteen inches long, with a smooth surface and a prominent rounded heel. Circular burn marks too. Now every time I get the herd to the gates they turn and stampede in the opposite direction. Perhaps they can see something we can’t.’