A brief explanation from Gwen about how she had found her brother the previous night was given to the doctor. The doctor began to examine Alistair, he looked at his eyes and his throat. He felt around Alistair’s neck and listened to his chest using a stethoscope. Finally, the doctor began to examine the wounds on his legs and arm.
Alistair had his pyjama sleeve rolled up exposing the flap of loose skin and red bloody tissue beneath. His legs were similarly exposed. Gwen went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She could hear the doctor and Alistair talking but she was not able to discern the exact nature of the conversation. When she had returned, she saw that the doctor had applied bandages to Alistair’s wounds.
She handed the doctor a cup of tea that he took with gratitude, “Thank you Gwen, my first cuppa of the day!” Gwen smiled uneasily whilst the doctor drank some of his tea, she wondered what he would tell her about Alistair.
When he finished drinking, the doctor replaced some items into his bag and clasped it shut, “is there anywhere we can go for a quiet word?” he said. Gwen nodded and led him into the kitchen. “Your brother has wounds that I believe were self-inflicted, perhaps using a razor. Has he been under any strain lately?” Gwen shook her head,
“Not really, I don’t think so. He recently bought a house that he had some trouble with, I’m not sure I fully understand the nature of the problem he had, but he was recently sick with a fever.”
“Yes, he mentioned the fever. I had a look at him, he seems to be generally over it, however his glands are still a little large. What your brother needs is rest Gwen. He looks as though he has been suffering anxiety problems. Has anxiety been a problem for him previously?” Gwen thought a moment before answering,
“No, not as far I can remember. He recently retired from his work as a school teacher.”
“I wonder why he did that Gwen. He is still some way off the usual retirement age if you see what I mean.”
“Hmm, yes I know. He said that the war had taken all the best pupils. And after the death of his fiancée, his heart just was not in teaching anymore, I think.”
“Well like I said he needs rest, and plenty of it. I have left him with some pills, see that he starts taking them once per day, they should help with his anxiety. If he needs more when he’s finished you know where to find me, and oh yes, those wounds will need stitching. They’re pretty deep you know, he ought to go to the hospital. I will call around in a few days to see how things are going.”
Gwen thanked the doctor and watched as he drove his car back towards Cromer sea front. She closed the door and was about to start preparing both herself and Alister some breakfast when Alister grabbed her hand as she went by, “has he gone?” he asked. Gwen nodded,
“He left you some pills, he said you need to get those wounds seen to, we should get you to the hospital.”
“No Gwen, I’m not going to no hospital. I need to go back!”
“Back?”
“Yes, back to Olde Tudor. There is something I simply must do, to rid myself of it.”
“It?” Gwen said. She looked at Alistair’s eyes, there was a glaze to them that made him look a little crazy. “You can’t go back there, the doctor said you needed rest. Whatever happened to you back there, I don’t pretend to understand, but it made you sick, made you–”
“Made me what Gwen? Made me cut myself? Is that what you think happened? Is that what the doctor told you?” Gwen couldn’t look at him anymore, she couldn’t stand to see him act in this wild and bizarre manner. “I need to go back. If I don’t, I will never be rid of it don’t you see? I will never be rid of it!” Gwen picked up the bottle of pills the doctor had left and held them out for Alistair,
“here take one of these, they might help.” Alistair knocked the bottle out of Gwen’s hand, it hit the floor hard and rolled along the rug ending up out of sight beneath an armchair.
“I don’t need those, they will not help me. If anything, they will render me senseless and at the mercy of the terror that stalks me.” Gwen started to cry,
“Ally, I just want to help you. Please stay here, do what the doctor says,” she sobbed. Alistair stood up, he winced as the muscles flexed behind his wounded thigh, blood had already began darkening through the bandage.
“I have to fight it Gwen, if I don’t the same fate will befall me as it did Redgrave. Redgrave had the answer I think. He wanted to bury them, bury them on consecrated ground. That is what I must do, I must bury the bones Gwen, bury them at Saint. Peter.”
******
Gwen had finished preparing Alistair a pack lunch; she had put it into a small tin box with an apple. He came downstairs carrying his suitcase, this time he had packed lightly, only one change of clothes. The rest of the room in the case had been taken up with candles, matches, and the two torches that Gwen owned. He set the case down by the front door. “I called you a taxi cab, should be here in a few minutes,” Gwen said as she watched him carefully pull his coat on over his sore arm.
“Thanks, I left the telephone number of the house on the bedroom dresser, hopefully the place has been reconnected by now. I also left the number of Saint Peter, the reverend Mortimer is a friend, if you can’t reach me for whatever reason call him.”
“I will. Oh Ally, can I not convince you to stay here?”
“Only if you should see me dead Gwen. I’m doing this to save my life!”
“Then let me come with you. I can help you do what you think needs to be done!”
“I couldn’t do that, not to you. You would also become . . . contaminated. No Gwen this is my curse not yours.”
“But what about your wounds, the doctor said they needed stitching. They might get infected.”
“No, I watched him clean them up pretty good, I think I’ll be alright. I will go straight to the hospital when I return.”
“You will? Do you promise me?”
“I promise, I really do.” There was a short honk of vehicle horn outside.
“That will be the taxi. Take care of yourself,” Gwen said as she fetched him his hat. Alistair nodded and they briefly hugged before he turned and opened the door.
Alistair stepped outside and before he walked down the path to the waiting taxi cab, he cautiously glanced upwards, scanning the skies, then the trees, then the bushes. Satisfied that he could make the distance without any further trouble he hobbled towards the waiting driver who was now out of the vehicle and opening the boot in preparation for stowing away Alistair’s luggage. Gwen’s heart sank as she watched the taxi pull away, for some reason she had the nagging feeling it might be the last time she would see her brother.
******
The ride to the station was short. Alistair, now back on the train heading to Thornbarrow sat thoughtful. Maybe Gwen was right. How was he going to do what he had to do, what he feared the most? How was he going to find the strength to enter that cavern knowing all the time what could be waiting for him, watching him enter from somewhere deep inside, within the darkness.
He wondered if it even knew what was in his thoughts. Did it know his plan, to bury the bones as Redgrave intended? Would it be waiting for him, would it be setting traps for him to prevent him from doing it? Alistair dreaded what lay before him. He contemplated asking Mortimer for assistance, but if things went wrong he would be condemning Mortimer to a similar fate. He simply could not inflict this upon someone who had shown him only friendship.
The brakes on the wheels of the train squealed as it slowly pulled into the station. Alistair read the platform signs for Thornbarrow as they glided past his window. Already there were groups of eager travellers approaching the train carriages as the train ground to a stop.
The train guards opened the doors as people stepped off and onto the train. A guard helped Alistair with his suitcase, as Alistair had lifted it from the overhead luggage rail he had felt the wound on his arm tear and this caused him to cry out in pain. He thanked the guard and slowly made his way out of the station, his eyes were neve
r too far from the skies and roofs of the station as he ambled across the cobbled street to a waiting taxi cab.
Alistair waited as the taxi driver set down his suitcase near to the wall that surrounded the garden of Olde Tudor. With the fare paid and the taxi now trundling up the hill back towards the centre of Thornbarrow Alistair grimly pushed open the gate and slowly made his way to the front door of the house.
Before he turned the key to unlock the front door he looked around and noted that the snow had practically all melted from the road and surrounding fields, only where it had drifted had it remained as a reminder of the desolation he had felt whilst he had been trapped here not so many days since.
Inside the house Alistair quickly set to work. First, he fitted candles into as many lanterns that he had brought with him. Next, he ensured that both torches were working. He placed a torch in each pocket of his overcoat before he went out the back way towards the workshop.
Alistair tipped the contents from out of two sturdy cardboard boxes. Mostly drill bits, and an assortment of old crockery were spilled out onto the large workbench. He picked up a pair of garden shears and carried the two boxes out of the workshop.
The shears were used to cut through the cords that he and Mortimer had used the bind the gate to the cavern. There were so many knots in the ties it was quicker to sever them than spend the time it would take to untie each knot.
The gate swung inwards. Alistair stood and looked into the dark orifice of the cavern. The hairs on his neck prickled, his heart began to pound in his chest. He wished he could simply turn and run far away and never come back, but he knew if he did then he would never be safe. The phantom, whatever it was came for him the previous night. It would keep on coming for him, attacking him, scraping his flesh until he no longer had any flesh. He would end his life like Smokey, who had been skinned alive.
The wind began to pick up throwing the gate back and forth, it clashed against Alistair’s injured leg causing him to flinch with pain. He removed a torch from his pocket and pressed the red stud button near the head of the silver tube. The light was weak in the strong sunlight but when he pointed it into the entrance of the cave it cut a beam through the swirling dust that was caught in the breath of the wind. He collected the two boxes and entered the cave.
The walk to the main chamber did not take him too long. The further away he moved from the exit the darker it became. The light from his torch was clean and bright and he was thankful that Gwen owned such a thing and pondered as to what purpose she used it for.
The beam of light eventually picked out the cave art that dressed the walls at the back of the chamber. Three sets of stencilled hands. The three burial mounds constructed from rocks sat equidistant on the floor below.
He looked about the cavern shining the torch left and right before he approached the burial mounds. He was happy to see he was alone, but his heart was still beating ferociously. He feared he may suffer a cardiac arrest before he was done, and that prospect of ending his days in this dark sepulchre was more horrible than any other idea he had previously carried regarding his own eventual interment.
Alistair set about dismantling the first mound of rocks, shifting the smaller stones that sealed the end of the mound. It was difficult to kneel for such a long time due to pain he felt in his legs, but he continued to work and eventually he had exposed the bones within. He dragged out each and every bone, placing them inside one of the cardboard boxes. He moved on to the second mound and set about removing the seal at the front in the same way as the previous mound.
Once he had exposed the second set of bones he filled up the first box and started to place the remaining bones into the second box, noting that all Redgrave’s labels were still present, he could sort the bones later at the house into the respective individual skeletons, he didn’t have to be so careful here. He wanted to finish the job as quickly as he could.
As with the first mound, the last pieces to be removed were the skull and neck bones, not wanting to look at the skulls he quickly boxed them. With two mounds emptied he moved on to the third and smaller mound.
The third mound contained smaller bones, this was the child’s skeleton he thought as he boxed the pieces finishing with the skull. After he had finished he shone the torch into each mount to ensure he had not missed anything, he certainly did not to have to repeat this task. Happy that he had managed to collect all the bones he got to his feet then wondered how he was going to carry two boxes as well as the torch out of the cavern.
Resting the torch on the first burial mound he stacked one box on top of another and lifted them. It was not such a heavy task but his arm stung as he tried to hold on to them. He placed both boxes back down and recovered the torch. He placed the end of the torch into his mouth and gripped the tube with his teeth. He then bent down and lifted both boxes again. Happy that he had found a solution he was about to leave when he saw what the torchlight was now revealing.
Each set of stencilled hand prints overlooking the graves had somehow started to run and drip down the walls of the cavern. The substance used to create them looked as though it had only been applied seconds ago instead of millennia past. The prints were almost indiscernible as hands now, instead, they had become large blobs of pigment with long trails below, growing longer as they began to resemble Portuguese man o' war jellyfish.
Alistair alarmed by the changing wall art turned and hobbled back out of the chamber and along the cavern passage. He kept moving, gripping the torch between his teeth until his jaws ached. He saw the sunlight greet him at the exit of the cave and snorted with joy at the prospect of leaving and having accomplished his mission.
He left the cave and stumbled through the gate, the wind was constantly pushing the gate into him as though trying to prevent him from leaving its boundary. He spat out the torch and continued to hobble back towards the house, his arm was burning with pain but he clung onto the boxes and finally set them down to rest on the kitchen table before locking the back door.
It took him almost two hours to sort the bones into three separate piles of three individuals. The child’s skeleton was the easiest due to the size difference, but he was thankful for Redgrave’s labelling for the two adult skeletons. The task was long because of the multitude of separate pieces and the small, almost illegible labels, but now the job was finished.
Each complete adult skeleton was placed into a separate bedsheet and knotted to prevent anything becoming loose. The child skeleton was placed into a pillowcase and similarly knotted.
Alistair intended to carry the bundles all the way up and into town, to St. Peter’s church. He decided that he would not contact the reverend Mortimer for any assistance, he didn’t want to involve him in any more of this grim business. It would be a long hike to and from the church especially as he needed a spade and he didn’t have his bicycle.
Alistair rolled up his shirt sleeve to examine the dressing around his arm. The dark blood stain looked old and there was no sign of any more recent leakage. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost three o’clock. A further glance out of the window told him that it would soon be dark, the sun was low in the sky and it had only just turned February. He had to get going. Suddenly a rapping on his front door startled him causing him to jolt.
Standing on the doorstep was the reverend Mortimer. They greeted one another. Alistair invited him inside. Mortimer studied the three bundles arranged on the kitchen floor, “how are you old chap? feeling any better?” Alistair nodded,
“Yes, fine. A couple of days at my sister’s house did me the world of good.” Mortimer looked at him sceptically,
“I had a call from your sister about an hour ago.”
“Gwen? Is there anything wrong, with Gwen I mean?”
“No. She sounded perfectly fine. It was you she was worried about. She called me because you left her with my number, you told her I was a friend of yours,” Mortimer smiled, “I’m glad you think so,” he added.
“What did
Gwen say?”
“She said you’d had a bit of a rum do whilst staying with her. You managed to injure yourself. She thought you could do with some help with a task you’d set out to complete here, well, after the trouble last time I thought it best to check you were indeed alright.” Alistair rubbed at his arm lightly then sat down at the kitchen table. He realised there was no point in lying to Mortimer, not at this stage.
“I know you find it difficult to believe the things I told you about, but it came for me. It followed me to Gwen’s house.” Mortimer stood aghast, then sat down next to Alistair.
“You mean the creature you told me about, the one from the cavern? You are telling me that it followed you all the way to your sister’s house?”
“Yes. So, you see John, I must find a way. I must find a way to rid myself of it. I fear for my life, my very soul if I cannot.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I am going to bury the bones at Saint Peter, just like Redgrave intended. Will you help me John?” Alistair suddenly felt tired and weak. He was so fearful for his life and it was only just dawning on him that the task he had set out for himself may well be too much in his current state. It was going to be dark in a couple of hours, the prospect of spending another night alone in this house terrified him, especially now that it contained the remains of what was possibly now haunting him. Gwen was right, he needed help.
Mortimer studied Alistair, the man was almost broken. He had seen the same expression on the face of his predecessor, Redgrave. There was no point in trying to talk sense to him now.
“Of course. What do you need me to do?” Mortimer said. Alistair smiled in relief,
“can we take these skeletons up to the church in your car? I have a spade, I may need help digging the holes, my injuries, you see–”
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