by Tia Reed
The hunchback, Romain, was staring at her with distrustful eyes. His left hand pointed at the stairs to the belfry. His right arm hugged a pot to his body so tight it might have been full of gold. “Bats up.” The whisper was harsh.
Ella lay stunned and winded.
“You go.” Romain’s frustrated pleading sounded like that of a child.
She felt for the ledge to help prop herself up. Never taking her eyes off the mason, she rose. “What happened, Romain?” She spoke calmly as she would to a child. “What damaged the grotesque?”
“The stone contained an inherent flaw.”
Ella whipped her head round. Genord, his flushed face at odds with his calm words, stood next to the fourth grotesque.
“We shall permit Romain to continue his restoration.”
Left with no choice, Ella battled the steady buffeting to join the caretaker. Eyes stinging, she turned back as she reached his side. Romain was rubbing a cheek over the head of the grotesque. With his hunched back and distressed face, he made a figure as bizarre as the statue as he ran a hand along the spine of the damaged wing.
“Despite the interest Romain’s work generates, he is unused to spectators.” Genord stood erect and unconcerned, despite the raging wind. He gestured toward the steps.
“What is he doing?” she asked, ignoring his obvious indication to leave. The hunchback crouched by the statue, scooped a handful of slurry from the pot, and patted it into the cracked wing. His fingers worked with a dexterity that belied his bulk and awkward mannerisms.
“Restoration, Miss Jerome. You should use those ears God gave you.”
“There was blood around the stone.”
“I have already told you that Romain is prone to injuring himself.”
Ella straightened her shoulders. The blood had been fresh, and the hunchback sported no visible wounds. “Perhaps he should see a doctor?”
“For a cut finger? Really, Miss Jerome, I did not take you as one for histrionics.”
“He is obviously ill-suited to his job.”
“He is a master in his field and disinclined to allow a minor cut to impede his work. If you take his work away from him, Romain will die. He does not know how to do anything else.”
“He really should see a doctor.” She wanted confirmation the blood had come from Romain.
“You must already be aware that Romain dislikes people. An unnecessary examination could grieve him to the point of violence, especially when he is so intent on his work. I am surprised he was not more forceful with you.”
Ella raised an eyebrow. How much had Genord witnessed?
“He is not, I assure you, normally a violent man, but we must make allowances for his nature. Now, we will leave him to his work.”
Although a bare bulb lit most of the belfry platform, the edges still lurked in shadow. Ella descended quickly, aware Genord remained but a step behind on the open staircase. She glanced into its depths, wondering if the bottom was piled high with bodies, but was disappointed to see shadows darkening the wooden floor.
“Does Romain work with wood?” she asked, hoping to find the origin of the chip she had collected.
“His medium is stone.”
That was the end of their conversation until they stepped onto the balcony. Genord locked the door behind them.
“Romain,” she started to say.
“Has a key. The church roof is ordinarily off-limits to the public, Miss Jerome. People in Europe have fallen to their deaths on days such as today.”
Ella couldn’t help feeling it was more a threat than a warning. “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said, spotting Rob enter the nave. She made her way to the stairs, wincing at the trail of muddy footprints which gained definition as she approached. Genord’s appearance on the roof lost its mysterious impact. She had left clear evidence of her trespass, and on a day like today, he was bound to investigate.
Rob watched their progress down the stairs.
“What brings you here today, Detective?”
Rob glanced at Ella. “We received reports of a disturbance.”
“I apologise if my report of an intruder was premature. In the light of recent events it is not possible to be too careful, although I must say I did not expect the station to send a detective.”
“You reported an intruder, Mr. Genord?”
“Assuredly, though I doubt Miss Jerome is the cruel murderer you seek.”
“One moment.” Rob made a quick call. He tapped a finger on his thigh until he nodded confirmation at her. “Miss Jerome?” he enquired.
Professional to the last, Ella thought. “Someone screamed.”
“The mason injured himself while working in unfavourable conditions. He is, alas, too dedicated to his work. Miss Jerome can confirm he is fine.”
Ella nodded and went outside, catching another drop of water from the hideous gargoyle. Behind her she could hear Rob and Genord exchange a few more words. She headed toward the road and waited by the verge, copping a drenching before he emerged.
“I heard what I heard, Rob.” She crossed her arms. Talking in view of the church was inexplicably unsettling. She felt like the statues were watching her.
He took off his glasses and wiped away the rain. “Could it have been the mason?”
“No. His voice is distorted, husky. This was a clear cry.”
“From the roof?”
“Yes.”
“You went up there.” Not a question. He knew her well enough to know she would not pass up an opportunity to investigate. He squinted at her and put his glasses back on. “Did you see anyone else?” he asked when she nodded.
“No. But you didn’t exactly check, did you?”
“Genord declined my offer to check the premises. He said the footprints led straight to you.”
“So you are just going to let him get away with it?”
“Was there any way an injured person could have evaded you on the way up?”
She had to admit there was not.
“Then Genord has given a reasonable explanation for both the scream and the blood, and I have no valid reason to search the church, especially since he reported an intruder two minutes before you called me. As far as the law is concerned, he’s the victim here.”
Ella shook her head. She hadn’t even been in the church two minutes before she called Rob.
“What were you doing here anyway?” He rolled his eyes. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.” His demeanour softened. “I know you want a lead, but his story about Romain checks out. We’ve ascertained the mason has a regular doctor who treats him for cuts from his tools.”
“He didn’t have a scratch on him.”
“That you could see. There have been no more missing persons reports from the area so, from what you’ve told me, the chances I’d find anything when you didn’t are minimal. Besides, I have my reasons for not antagonising Genord at the moment.”
“Yeah, and what might they be?”
“Ella.”
“I’m sorry.” He was here, after all. “Look.” She was using his word again. “There was a lot more blood on the roof.” She opened her handbag and brought out the stained tissues. “Can you analyse these? I’m convinced it’s not Romain’s blood.”
He took them. “I’ll see what I can do. Don’t look so surprised. I asked for your help, didn’t I? And, Ella, please be careful. Racing down here believing you might have stumbled into the clutches of a killer was not what I had in mind when I asked you to investigate.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Stick to interviewing the families. I mean it,” he added when she muttered yeah, yeah.
She watched him drive away. A prickling sensation along the back of her neck made her turn. On the church roof, Genord’s unmistakable figure was watching her from beside the damaged grotesque. Distance gave the illusion its wings were strong and whole. Despite the gap between them, Ella felt a wave of mal-intent. Genord placed a hand on the grotesque�
�s head. With a shock Ella realised the beak that had been turned toward its wing now pointed at her.
Chapter Nine
24th October. Evening.
TOO TIRED TO do anything constructive, Ella switched on the television. Reality and lifestyle shows greeted her on every channel. Despairing of chirpy banter about drought-tolerant plants, she pressed the off button and tossed the remote onto the sofa. It landed with a thud on the X-Files video Matt Hayes had insisted she take. More into thrillers than sci-fi, she toyed with the idea of playing it. Practicality overcame her doubts. If she wanted to snoop into that folded paper Matt had been so eager to hide, she had a feeling she’d better watch it. She turned the entertainment unit back on, slipped the video in and settled on the couch, wondering what she was in store for and whether she’d need a drink or two and a bar of chocolate to get her through the film and its haunting soundtrack.
Halfway through a plot that involved at least as much intrigue as alien horror, Ella discovered she was enjoying the video in spite of herself, so much so, that, when Tilly scratched on the sliding door, she decided the cat could wait until the scene break to be let in. Tilly obviously had other ideas. Her nails grated with annoying persistence against the glass. Resigned to catering to the whims of her feline boss, Ella swung her legs off the sofa.
And froze.
Tilly, ears back, hackles raised, was sitting on the carpet beside the armchair.
Outside, the scratching continued.
Her yowling cat darted down the passage to the bedrooms to hide beneath the bed.
The conversation on the television grew heated. A growl interrupted. It took Ella two heartbeats to realise it had come not from the monster on the video but from outside her study door. Her skin erupted in goose bumps. When her breath misted in front of her, she realised how low the temperature had dropped. Reaching for the remote control, she fumbled until the television clicked off. The sudden, profound silence only accentuated the scratching.
Ella sneaked past the kitchen and entered the adjoining room. The light from the living room reached far enough to bathe the oak dining suite in a ghostly glow. She avoided the temptation to flip the light switch, thereby revealing herself to whoever prowled outside. As the scratching became a dull pounding, she moved around the table and through the arch into the second living area she had set up as a home office. She strained to see into the darkness that blanketed her neglected garden. The thumps turned to flaps and a dark shape shot upwards, a shape she could barely distinguish from the night. She moved within an arm’s length of the outside light switch and waited.
Nothing happened. She let out a deep breath. Then she swallowed. Something large was thudding across the roof. A musty smell wafted past her nose, reminding her of the belfry at the church. Bats, she thought. Then, surely not. There was one person who would know for sure. She fetched her phone and dialled Adam as she resumed her post by the sliding door. The odour intensified as the line rang and rang and rang. She could feel her heart thumping. Her breathing had become irregular. She was about to retreat when a large shape descended outside the door. Ella screamed and dropped the phone. A vicious eye stared through the glass. Breathing heavily, she snapped on the outside light. The snarling, leonine grotesque from the church, impossibly alive, sprang into the air.
“Ella! Ella! Ella, are you there?”
She snatched up the phone. “Adam? Adam, is that you?”
“I heard you scream. What’s happening?”
“Get over here. Don’t hang up. Just get over here.” She rattled off her address.
“I’m on my way. I’m already out the door.”
She was breathing hard. Adam had to be hearing her panic.
“I have to put the phone down while I drive. The volume’s up. I’ll still be able to hear you.”
Above her, the creature skittered across the roof. She followed the sound of its path across the kitchen and over her bedroom.
“Ella?”
“I’m fine. Just get here. I need you to see this.” She needed him to confirm she was not going mad.
“Keep talking to me.”
“You talk. Tell me about bats. Are you sure there aren’t giant varieties lurking in the Daintree or somewhere? I mean people rarely spot the giant squid.”
“Until a few days ago, I’d have said quite.”
“Adam, what we saw at the church that night. It’s here. It’s trying to get in the house.”
“It wasn’t a bat. I’ve spent the day researching genetic engineering.”
“Quiet.”
“What’s wrong?”
Ella removed the phone from her ear. The silence was unnerving. She went into the passage and toward the front bedroom. The curtains were open. Opposite and two doors down, a porch light burned, illuminating the brick house behind. In the other direction a street lamp, not visible to her, kept pure darkness at bay. With the passage unlit, nobody should have been able to see her standing in the bedroom. She peered into the darkness, scanning the shadows for movement.
The porch light winked out. Ella bit her lip. A small shape scuttled haphazardly across the window. She gasped then remembered the daddy long-legs. She followed its path until it was lost in shadow and shook her head. How could she have ever been wary of a creepy crawly that size?
Electricity buzzed. The street lamps went out in quick succession. Breathing heavily, she lifted the phone and interrupted Adam’s concerned queries.
“Where are you?”
“About ten minutes away.”
“Bats don’t like light, right?”
“They’re nocturnal.”
The scraping returned, directly overhead. Ella studied the air conditioning vent. It appeared too small for the creature to fit through but she wasn’t taking a chance. Returning to the kitchen, she flicked on every light she passed before seizing the carving knife her mother had given her last Christmas and the torch she kept handy in the top drawer. She thumbed the switch and was relieved to see the batteries hadn’t gone flat. Armed and ready to defend herself, she crept back to the dining room and peered into the study. Whatever was out there might not be a bat, but light was the only defence she had.
The garden was dark. Unable to recall turning the spotlight off, she edged to the sliding door and flipped the outside light switch. Nothing happened. She rocked the switch, not caring that the knife slashed through the air. Nothing.
The light in the study twanged off. The logical part of her mind asked when she had last changed the globes. Another, more emotional part set warning bells ringing. Through the arch, the light in the dining room hissed. An instant later, it exploded, shattering glass across the room and plunging the house into darkness.
Brandishing the knife, Ella tiptoed into the passage. “Adam, the lights have gone out.” She readjusted her hold on the phone and resisted the urge to switch on the torch. It was her last defence, and she wanted the battery charged.
“I’m almost there.”
A faint glow emanated from the bedroom. Fearfully curious, Ella crept forward. Through the window she saw a blinding light burning at the edge of her lawn. She screwed her eyes shut and massaged her lids with her hand. As the pain died she cautiously cracked her fingers apart and opened her eyes. The brilliance had muted into a ghostly reptilian head. Evil radiated from that cold blue light, penetrating the bricks and mortar she had always considered a haven from the outside world. The ghost creature opened its mouth, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. Ella reeled.
“Dragon,” she squeaked down the phone even as she spotted a coal-black silhouette at the edges of the glow, tall, thin, and definitely human. Whoever it was had to be playing some sick joke, projecting a hologram, using pyrotechnics, whatever. He threw back his head, laughing—a hideous, malignant sound she imagined—but what she heard was the furious growls of the winged creature as it swooped on the man. As its claws grappled, the dragon head surged toward the window, belching a stream of fire. The walls began to smoke,
then flame. Whatever else was transpiring outside, the heat left her in no doubt the fire was real.
She raced from the bedroom, turning into the laundry before realising the back door was deadlocked. She dashed to the office door, released the lock, and tugged. It wouldn’t open. She threw her weight behind it. It refused to budge. Beyond the arch, the living room was bathed in yellow. She forced herself toward it.
A black shape darted around the table. Ella jumped before realising it was Tilly. Wide-eyed and cowering, the cat had begun a plaintive meow that rivalled the winged creature’s spine-tingling cry. Dropping knife, torch, and phone, she grabbed her distressed cat and juggled her into the living room. A wall of heat barricaded the way. She turned her head and hoped she could make it out the front door. Two steps in, the furniture ignited. The cackle of flames forced her back. Tilly, hackles raised, scratched her face and jumped from her arms as the fire alarm began screeching a late warning.
Giving up hope of reaching her keys, Ella retreated through billowing smoke. Coughing, she retrieved the knife and a chair. Back in the office, she smashed the chair into the sliding door. The wood cracked as the glass vibrated. As car tyres screeched outside, she hit the glass again. She drew back for a third strike. When the broken chair contacted the door, a massive, clawed paw struck from the outside. A shiny eye appeared before her face. Then the paw beat again.
Gasping for breath, Ella retreated before being wracked by coughs. The house was becoming a smoky oven. The fire was now licking at the dining room door. Left with no choice, she renewed her attack on the sliding door. Smoke and fire would definitely take her life; facing the creature she had a chance. She ran at the glass. It shattered, and she fell through. Lying on the ground, she was dimly aware of flapping wings. Rolling onto her side, she slashed up and outwards with the knife, felt it contact something hard. A screech told her she had found her mark. She felt liquid drip onto her arm and knew it was blood. She picked herself up, expecting to fend off the unnatural monster but the injured creature had gone.