by Nick Brown
“Ok Mary, I’m just finishing now, I’ll listen out.”
Pleased to be able to take a break from Heatly Smythe, Virgil and Hyblaean Bees, Ed closed up his manuscript and made his way to the kitchen to put on the kettle and set a tray for his visitors. Councillor Richardson, a highly successful business man who chaired the local planning committee, lived in a modern mansion on a small exclusive estate where neighbours included footballers, celebrities and, Ed thought uncharitably, probably fraudsters, speculators and other criminals. He was not surprised that this estate was entirely unrepresented in his congregation except for Richardson, who he suspected was there as part of his political activities. Still, Richardson was conspicuously generous to the church’s various appeals and donations to the collection plate. The purpose of his visit tonight was not, however, charitable.
His daughter had suffered a severe mental breakdown some years before. Though she was now capable of living on her own in a nearby flat and holding down a part time job as a photographer with a friend of Richardson’s, she’d never fully recovered. Ed found her unlikeable and unsettling. Having tried every other resource in order to accelerate her recovery the Richardsons had turned to that avenue of last resort, the Church. Ed was chiding himself for such unchristian cynicism when he heard the doorbell chime.
The contrast between the Councillor and his daughter was striking. Richardson was tall with fashionably cut, short hair, chiselled features and a perma-tan; he radiated confidence and energy. His daughter radiated nothing, eyes downcast, pale features, mousey straw hair and neutral baggy clothes. Ed felt it was like encountering a vacuum.
“Find a room where Lisa can sit, Vicar, while we have a quick chat?”
Ed took Lisa to the study where he received all his parish visitors then led the Councillor through to the kitchen to make some tea realising as he did so that perhaps Richardson might not respond well to such a domestic task. He seemed not to notice.
“Vicar, I want you to spend some time with Lisa; she used to be a bubbly youngster, now there’s nothing there. We’ve tried everything, the best private doctors, even alternative healers and other quacks, you know holistic mumbo jumbo, got nowhere, so I thought that you could give God a try, couldn’t hurt now could it?”
Ed was fairly used to people regarding God as a last chance option but was thinking that this was the second time in the day that someone had dismissed the spiritual dimension as mumbo jumbo.
“Give God a try?”
“Well can’t hurt can it? Nothing else seems to work. If you could sell it to her, even if only as some type of social work, it would at least give her an interest. Perhaps get her involved in some church group; you know the type of thing better than I do.”
Richardson hesitated for a moment and now he’d stopped talking about his daughter his face became harder looking.
“Here’s another thing: now listen, I hear you went to offer some type of blessing to those archaeologists today, that right?”
“Yes the congregation and Sir Nigel seemed to…”
Richardson cut him off.
“Well don’t do it again, we want them off that land and now they think they’ve found something they’ll be harder to shift. You know about our plans for that land.”
Ed was flustered: he was uncomfortable with this topic and felt that Richardson wanted him to behave improperly.
“Yes, and I’ve thought long and hard about it but I’m not sure if I should be seen to be…”
Again he was cut off and he could see Richardson becoming angry.
“Well then, ask yourself this. Do you want to be the one blamed for losing all the new jobs the development is going to bring to this area of high rural unemployment? Blamed for losing the affordable starter homes? Go on, do you? Believe me you certainly won’t enjoy losing Si Carver his profits. So it’s time you sent that letter we wrote for you in support of the development to the planning committee pretty bloody quickly.”
Richardson paused again and Ed felt he was trying to control himself and in the space Ed said,
“Well Sir Nigel…”
Again he was cut off
“What he and people like him think don’t matter now, it’s money that talks. He’s the past and the past is dead, get it?”
He tried to smile and continued in a softer style.
“Ed, mate, we thought you wanted to modernise, you know change things. Well that’s what we’re doing in Business and Regeneration just like you’re doing in trying to get rid of all the fairy tales and God stuff from the church.”
Ed felt shocked and suddenly ashamed that it was perceived he was getting rid of the God stuff from church because deep in his heart he wanted more than anything to believe in the God stuff. Richardson looked at his watch.
“Look, I’ve got to drop in at a meeting of the local group opposing the third runway. Just to make an appearance, you know how it is. Then I need to make a quick visit to a farmers’ meeting; silly buggers have got themselves worked up: there’s been an outbreak of animals being savaged and killed in the fields round here these last few days. Some of them are daft enough to think that the archaeologists have let something loose. Who’d be a local politician these days? Still shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back by about eight thirty so no tea for me, but try to get Lisa to have some and maybe a few biscuits. Hope you make progress and thanks a lot, Vicar. I’ll let myself out.”
With that he was gone leaving Ed slightly dazed and with the prospect of a rather different evening than the one he’d envisaged. The next two hours seemed to be the slowest passing Ed could remember. Lisa was not awkward or difficult, just empty. At times Ed felt he was talking to an automaton. His attempts to connect with her in conversation, interest her in church activity and, as a final attempt, join him in prayer all evoked no response except a polite, yet withdrawn lack of interest.
Eventually he took her into the kitchen for the tea and biscuits. She showed no interest in either, just sat upright on the chair, hands on her knees, avoiding any eye contact and on the rare occasions that he saw her eyes there was nothing there; just a blank soul. The silence seemed to echo round the walls of the vast kitchen and the ticking of the clock sounded louder and louder. Ed made one last despairing effort to get through to her.
“Lisa, tell me about your job.”
“S’allright.”
“And you work for Jim Gibson don’t you?”
“Suppose.”
“I believe he’s a friend of your father’s?”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“Your father tells me you have moved into a flat?”
“Yeah.”
“And do you like it?”
“S’allright innit.”
Ed had no idea what to say next. In a peculiar way he was beginning to find the girl rather frightening. He was distinctly uncomfortable being alone with her in the large silent kitchen in the empty house. He even wished one of his parishioners would ring as they usually did to disturb his evening with some complaint. Finally in desperation he blurted out,
“You went to take photographs of the dig today I hear?”
For a moment she didn’t answer and in the silence Ed listened to the faint regular tick of the second hand of the electric clock as it made its painfully slow way around the minutes. Then he noticed that there was a change in Lisa: she seemed to be listening to somebody else in the room and smiling at what they were telling her. Then, for the first time, she turned her full gaze on Ed and he flinched.
“Yeah, I was meant to be there.”
“Yes, to take photographs, Lisa.”
She sniggered.
“If that’s what you wanna think.”
Ed wondered where this was going, he could feel sweat trickling down his spine as it used to during one of his ‘episodes’. The sly smile that occasionally crossed her face changed it, but not in a good way. It transformed her bland expressionless features into something rather chilling. Now, with her
eyes still locked onto his, she asked him a question.
“Don’t you want to talk any more? Don’t you want to know about Devil’s Mound? I could tell you things, I know more than that silly bitch who thinks she found it does: she’s got a nasty surprise coming. I know more than they think.”
She sniggered horribly, disturbing Ed, who stuttered,
“What, what do you think Lisa?”
“That’d be telling wouldn’t it? But I’ll tell you one thing: I know they tried to hide it from me today: but it knew me and called to me.”
“Lisa, you can’t think that.”
She turned her malevolent smile on him.
“How would you know? Do you think you matter to them, priest? Do you think they’d bother with you?”
Then shattering the unnatural atmosphere the doorbell rang and it was as if a spell had been broken: he rushed to the front door and his expression must have been obvious as Councillor Richardson greeted him with:
“So, no luck then? Still I suppose it was worth a try. Thanks anyway, oh, and don’t forget to put our ‘opener to the festive season’ party in your diary, it’s the week after next, everyone who matters will be there.”
Ed noticed Lisa had silently materialised behind him and her father escorted her into the night. In the dark above him there was a faint sound of rustling. He looked up. Roosting high in the trees that circled the churchyard he saw the night black shapes of crows staring down at him. He couldn’t remember seeing them before: but now, alarming and grotesque, packed onto the branches, they sat and watched the Rectory exuding silent malice. He closed the door quickly and stood by it for a moment feeling exhausted, panicked and in a strange way unclean.
That night he took double his normal dose of tablets and went to bed early. In the bedroom he tried and failed to pray as usual, then, leaving Mary’s bedside lamp on, turned over to sleep.
But sleep wouldn’t come as images of the day’s humiliations chased each other through his subconscious. Since his breakdown this was a common end to his day but tonight there was something much worse perturbing him; something that the more he thought about it the more frightening it became. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the dead little face with the sly smile mouthing the words,
“…they tried to hide it from me today: but it knew me and called to me.”
CHAPTER 3
WARNINGS
“There!!”
Rose was trowelling a post hole when Leonie shrieked and grabbed her arm.
“Look, he’s there again, just at the edge of the woods, quick or you’ll miss him. He flits about.”
“It’s probably just an interested local. Forget about it Leonie, love, it’s just what you’re having to put up with from Steve that’s making you all on edge, let’s have a good chat about that in the pub later, just us girls, eh?”
“Ok, you’re probably right about Steve, Rose, but listen I’m telling you there is something really creepy watching us, watching me from over there and it’s beginning to freak me out. Anyway I’m taking this sample from the fill back to the hut for analysis; maybe he’ll disappear when I’ve gone.”
Rose returned to trowelling at what she now knew in her heart was the entrance to her chamber. They’d made rapid progress on the preliminary exploration of Devil’s Mound gathering enough evidence to establish it was considerably older than the village. The fieldwork and geophysical survey confirmed the centre of the mound was a hollow chamber.
The serene autumn continued sunny and warm providing optimum digging conditions and Rose felt they’d be ready to open the mound early next week. Yet despite all this there was a creeping, almost imperceptible change in the mood of the diggers, particularly Leonie.
“She was a bit sharp, Rose, she’s been edgy since before the weekend.”
“Well no one has more time for Leonie than me, but you know what she’s like with men, gives out signals that she’s anybody’s. Then finding out rather abruptly that she was off with Steve didn’t help. For all his charm he can be a callous bastard at times. Not that I’ll have anything said against him going back the way we do.”
“I don’t think he means it, he just can’t face any real commitment, not to his career, women, anything; he’s never grown up. Lucky for Giles, he’d never be working as his number two if he’d any ambition or staying power! If you judge him in that context he’s rather sweet.”
“You’re such a little pushover, Jan! Hey, maybe Leonie’s right; I think I just saw her friend in the trees.”
They were interrupted by Steve walking over to remind them they were scheduled to deliver their fortnightly Tuesday lecture for interested members of the local villages. Tonight’s venue was the Windmill pub.
“Oh, and Leonie’s just told me she feels sick so I’ve sent her home. I don’t like to ask but would you be able to cover her bit about the finds, Jan? I’d really appreciate it.”
He flashed his winning smile and Jan, pleased to be asked, agreed, ignoring the knowing smirk from Rose.
After Steve and Jan had left, Rose continued work until the long shadows cast by the setting sun made the trench almost too dark to see. However something was driving her on and she decided there was still time for a final attempt to expose the entrance. She knew she was quite alone when in a casual conversational tone, someone said,
“No, further to the left.”
The voice, which was vaguely familiar, seemed to come from behind and she looked round surprised. There was nobody there; she stood up, looked all round: no one in sight.
It brought back the dream she’d had some weeks ago where she’d seen the mound in the distance and a voice had told her that it was special. It had been a warm friendly voice, like an imaginary best friend would have sounded, and she’d woken up knowing this was going to be her big break. In the dream the mound had been bathed in sunlight and she just knew that she would discover the academic riches inside, she would get the plaudits and after that the credit and reward she deserved.
Now in the shadows she wasn’t quite as sure and for a moment she had the urge to get away quickly and follow the others but then began to think more rationally. It was her subconscious prompting her, a common feature in exceptionally talented individuals, and anyway the voice sounded friendly, it was helping her towards what she deserved. So she got back into the trench and began to scrape at the section further to the left.
***
That evening Steve, Jan and Rose pulled up outside the Windmill, a large modernised pub and restaurant about two miles away down a quiet lane by the side of the canal. The lecture, to thirteen people, went well and was followed by questions and contributions from the local audience. After the session finished and they were relaxing over a drink at a table in a corner farthest away from the bar one of the locals walked across and stood waiting for a pause in conversation. He was a heavy built man, with a ruddy face and faded pale blue eyes that seemed to focus on the middle distance. He’d massive calloused hands and was wearing an old greasy checked jacket over his farmer’s overalls. He put a half full pint glass on the table breaking the flow of the talk.
“There’s a few things I could tell you concerning that land you was pratting on about.”
He paused to take a swig from his beer. Steve winked at Jan then said,
“We didn’t see you at the talk; you could have made a most valuable contribution.”
He grinned at Rose and Jan. The man ignored this and continued.
“That’s because I weren’t at the talk, I know as much as I care to about that place and what I’ve got to say’s not for public entertainment. You might find it funny now but I don’t think you’ll find it as bloody funny in a few days.”
Steve was about to say that he’d meant no harm but the man cut across him.
“Me family used to farm some land round there; never came to much and us sold up years back. Not a comfortable thing farming land that borders Devil’s Mound. So we was glad to have sold. That place m
esses up any bugger that’s daft enough to fiddle with it or spend much time there.”
He paused as if struggling for the words to say what he needed to.
“It like, er, changes them, you know like takes the worst bits and grows them like it were manure, messes with their heads.”
He came to a stop before blurting out.
“I know, seen it on our kid: seen what it did to me own little brother.”
Then he paused and swallowed hard as if to control himself. Steve, who rarely noticed the emotions of others, used the pause to enquire with a smirk,
“The point of your story being?”
“Point is clever bugger, there’s things you don’t know, like how many fellers has killed themselves there over the years; how many car crashes there’s been on that stretch of road and most of all why has nobody farmed on that piece of ground? Perhaps you’ve not noticed as how all them animals has been cut up round here these last few days since you’ve been messing with t’mound. I’d have thought puzzling that out would be enough to keep even a flash bugger like you busy for a while.”
Steve had heard enough.
“Right, well, thanks for that fascinating exposition but as you said we’re quite busy so if you’d excuse us.”
“Don’t worry I’m going but I hope you heard what I said because listen, you’re not as bloody clever as you think you are and you’ve done yourselves no favours messing around with things that sensible folk turn their backs on. Well, I’ve done my bit now, can’t say you haven’t been warned.”
He slammed his empty glass down onto the table and made as if to move off, then turned, looked closely at Rose and said in a quieter tone,
“You’re the one, you’re the one it’s using: I’ll bet it’s you that found it.”
Rose started to ask him how he knew but the man turned and walked away from the table and out of the pub. They sat for a while finishing their drinks. Steve and Jan joked about the man but Rose didn’t join in. Steve teased her.