by Peter Spokes
The oddest thing occurred to me late this evening.
It was the evening of the comet and by the light of my oil lamp I was fixing the hinges on the graveyard’s main gate.
It was a miserable evening weatherwise as the rain that began as a gentle precipitation was ramping up to an absolute downpour. I was almost finished with replacing the old wood screws with longer ones, when all at once I heard the slamming of the chapel doors and I turned to see a young man running out from the porch. For a moment I assumed him to be some miscreant or thief; but then, he turned and saw me. Even in the semi-darkness I saw the panic and horror on his face. He was carrying some kind of a metallic tube in his hand. But instead of running away, he ran directly at me and I became quite concerned for my safety.
As he ran he kept turning his head towards the doors as if the Devil himself was after him. As he reached me he started babbling quite hysterically about a screaming girl. Quite absurd as I knew that the chapel was quite empty and was certain I would surely have heard it or any kind of commotion for that matter. But then I looked down and saw what looked very much like blood dripping from the cracked end of the metallic tube – I guessed it to be a portable telescope. Though I was able to calm him, he would not initially return with me to the chapel. I must admit, from the horror on the man’s face, I felt he must have seen or heard something untoward and I was more than a little uncertain myself as I returned to the chapel doors.
On entering, all was as it had been when I left it. As you will know from my previous entries, the chapel is not large and it took me only a matter of moments to walk its length and return again to the porch doors. Though there had appeared to be much blood on the end of the tube the man held, I found none, anywhere in the chapel; where had it come from?
I walked back out through the doors, half expecting the man to be gone – probably to the nearest alehouse where he would be indulging in humorous banter regarding a gullible vicar and red paint.
However, he was still standing beside the gates where I had left him, and he still looked shaken as he wiped the blood from his hands onto a cloth.
The rain was now coming down in stair rods but despite this, it still took several moments to persuade him to return with me to the relative warmth and complete dry of the chapel.
Once there I boiled a kettle and made us some tea; all the while the man walked around, his eyes darting this way and that – particularly about the pulpit. He still held his telescope. He saw my quizzical look; “The comet!” he said.
“Ah, I see; was it good?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Too much cloud,” he said. He lifted the broken end of the device up to his face. “I don’t think this is any use to me now; looks like I’ve lost the lens.”
I passed him his drink and sat down. Once settled I asked him to start at the beginning; who was he? and what had actually happened?
He was silent a long while before he started, hesitantly at first, and then practically tripping over his words in his haste to procure them.
He continued now and again to gaze about the chapel particularly where shadows resided, before returning his gaze to the pulpit.
I will try to focus on the pertinent points of his narrative and add my own interjection where I feel it necessary to do so.
This is what he told me:
Scene 4: The Stranger’s Story
“I was here to view the comet,” he started, “but unfortunately… due to the rain and cloud I missed any sign of it and found myself desperately seeking shelter from the storm.
I could see the chapel’s steeple and so made for it.
After only five minutes I reached the porch and once there I noticed the door ajar. Fortunately, the lights were on and so my oil lamp wasn’t necessary.”
I stopped him at this point to tell him that he must be mistaken as the generator was awaiting repair and therefore the chapel was currently unlit – but for several strategically placed candles.
He said there were no candles – there were electric lights!
Perplexed, I let him continue. Clearly the trauma had affected his grasp on reality more than I had thought.
“I had only been in here a few moments,” he continued, “when I heard a sound to my right. I turned and looked about for its source… I slowly moved along the pews looking left and right as I went. I heard the sound again and stopped. It was clearly the cry or sobbing of a child or young woman. I started forward again coming to the end of the pews and stared ahead at the chancel and the pulpit at its entrance. I was sure that was where the sobbing came from – there was nowhere else to hide.
The sobbing had continued.
‘Hello…’ I said.
The sobbing stopped. ‘Who… who is that? Go away… he’ll find me…’ a soft voice had answered.
I looked around. ‘I think we’re alone,’ I whispered and continued, ‘Who… who will find you?’ but I heard sobbing again.
I reached the pulpit and slowly looked behind it. A young woman of perhaps sixteen or seventeen years sat with her back to the pulpit step and her arms around her knees. She looked up, frightened; ‘You’re safe,’ I said a little startled. She wore what appeared to be black make-up on her lips and around her eyes. She also had what appeared to be a ring pierced through her lower lip. Her attire included a rather tight black bodice. I had never seen anyone like her before and wondered if it was a religious or cultural presentation.
I was still taking in her appearance when I suddenly heard the entry door slam shut. I turned to see a large bearded man walking hurriedly towards me. He stopped – his face inches from mine.
‘Who are you?’ he spat in my face, ‘… some boyfriend? You think you can protect her from me? I guess I’ll gut you both,’ he said removing a large knife from his belt.
More from fright than bravery, I swung my telescope at his head with as much force as I could and succeeded in knocking him to the ground.
I heard the most horrifying scream from behind me. I looked back but the girl was gone. I then looked again to the bearded man – but he too no longer lay before me. The lights too had suddenly become dimmer… much dimmer.
I was alone in the chapel.
Horrified, I left as fast as I could and that was when I saw you over by the gate.”
Scene 5: A Coincidence?
Alex continued to read her father’s extracts of the stranger’s story. “Once he finished I gave him a few moments before; ‘Can you describe again; the young girl and the man?’ I was curious to see if his story had changed at all.
He described them both as before and in some further depth and detail.
The man’s lucidity precluded any feeling I had that he could be mistaken in his oratory. I felt that he really believed what he saw but he could give no explanation as to the disappearing couple. The blood added and at the same time detracted believability and credence to his story as though there was no question about there being blood, there was nowhere for it to have come from; a brief cursory check of his body only confirmed that it wasn’t his.”
She stopped.
“What was the man’s name?” I asked.
“James Tremayne,” she said.
After a moment’s pause I smiled. “Ah, my father’s name – hell of a coincidence but…”
“Let me show you what was found beside the step-father’s body.”
She then reached into her rucksack and pulled out a small plastic bag. On opening it she withdrew a wad of tissue paper and from that a glass lens.
“I don’t know how, but I bet it fits your father’s telescope.”
Dreams and Maybe Hallucinations
Chapter 1: Dreams and Maybe Hallucinations
Scene 1: The Bear
It was a late summer of 1932 and the snows had long since melted from the slopes of the Romanian Alps leaving only the higher most
peaks still encased in a white shroud that reflected the now unhindered sun.
Along the border where the untamed forested slopes met the first evidence of civilisation in the tracks and paths that cut between the green ocean of foliage, an old brown bear emerged. She knew her time was short and raising her grey muzzle, she followed a scent. There was much blood nearby, but it wasn’t food that attracted her but something else – something vastly more compelling.
In a short while she found its source and loped slowly towards a leafy copse where a badly injured wolf cub lay, its light-grey fur torn and bloody.
Despite the fresh meat before it, there was something more powerful overriding the bear’s most primitive of instincts.
Following its unnatural directives, the bear lowered its large head towards the much smaller one of the wolf cub and started to lick at the base of its bloody skull.
Then it bit…
Scene 2: The Present: Memories
Present Day
Leaning heavily on his walking stick Sam entered his daughter’s hospital room.
A dim electric light above her head was the only illumination in the room and appeared to serve no purpose other than to highlight her incapacity – and his own… unique peculiarity.
He slowly walked over to her side and gently stroked her head and moved errant red curls from her forehead. Words of comfort and love were spoken with hope that somewhere in her unconscious state she was aware of his closeness.
Other than the machine that was keeping his daughter alive, all was silent and so he slowly moved his head towards the back of his daughter’s neck…
But all of a sudden there were the sounds of voices beyond the door behind him. As he turned he barely noticed the now familiar hunched deformity of the shadow he cast across the floor.
He swallowed several times to rid his mouth of the sudden accumulation of excess saliva and turned his head to the door.
He moved over to the light switch and dimmed the light further just as his son-in-law and grandchildren entered.
Sam smiled briefly at Michael as he left the bed.
Michael looked up. “Hi Sam – what’s that smell…? It’s like wet grass… or something.”
“I believe the young lady that cleans the room knocked over a vase earlier,” Sam said looking at his daughter.
Michael nodded and returned his gaze to his wife.
Close behind, David and Toni slowly walked over and looked at their mother. Sam studied his grandchildren; good God, they must be in their early twenties by now, he thought.
Toni’s long brown hair cascaded over her shaking shoulders while David simply stood immobile clearly trying to keep the tears back. He had his arm around his sister’s shoulders.
That’s nice, Sam thought despite the sadness.
Sam rose and put an arm around both of them; “She will be fine… I promise,” he said quietly.
They both hugged Sam’s shoulders as their father looked over to him.
Sam then left the room and sat down outside.
A short time later, Michael followed – alone. “Sam!” Michael whispered sharply. “Please don’t give them false hope. Their mother has little time left; we all know this!”
Sam raised his tired eyes to Michael’s and held them. “My daughter will survive this…” he said with conviction.
“Sam, I know you survived leukaemia but that doesn’t mean…”
“Michael… Michael! Look at me!” Sam said rising suddenly and with surprising speed and vigour – considering his age. “She… will… not… die… I know it!” Sam’s voice shook with fervour.
Michael nodded shocked by his father-in-law’s passion but understood the great sadness that he too must be feeling; he was clearly in denial.
He nodded awkwardly and returned to the room and his children. “It will not happen,” Sam whispered to Michael’s back and the closing door.
The old man returned to his seat and as he gazed at the wolf’s head that shaped the top of his walking stick, the urgings in his head became much, much stronger – and he thought of Chynna’s mother.
Rebecca.
It had been twelve years now since the passing of his wife, but there was never a day go by that he didn’t think about her.
One day, he knew he would join her and they would be together again; and that time was not long away.
He felt little sadness; on the contrary, he had spent more years with his beloved wife than he could possibly have hoped – or believed possible. His life had been long and joyous and Sam was ready for his journey into the next world.
But there was something he had to do before leaving, and the longer he left it, the more insistent and urgent the feeling became.
At 102, he had no qualms in ‘throwing in the towel’ as Rebecca used to say.
Michael and the grandchildren were now gone so he returned to the chair beside Chynna’s bed, and remembered her as a baby in his arms.
Then his thoughts returned once again – as they always did – to Rebecca, and as his head lowered on to his breast, his mind drifted to a time long, long ago when his curse – or good fortune – began.
Scene 3: A Proposal
It was 1947 and Sam was sitting at his bureau and reading the doctor’s letter.
He had removed it from a rather nondescript envelope that belied the importance of its proclamation. Any announcement that indicated one’s lifespan may be much reduced should be received in a way underlined or highlighted with some gravitas; but this dull brown envelope could have just as easily contained his latest tax bill.
Nevertheless, it provided the catalyst for Sam’s European motorcycle trip to Romania which – in turn – changed his life, and that of others forever.
For it was there that he met the creature – or at least that was what he came to call it as it lacked any clearly defined name.
His gums had been bleeding on and off for a while now, but it was the insidious lethargy that he was finding particularly draining. The doctor had told him this was normal though Sam found it anything but normal.
However, at this time, there was something of greater concern and anxiety to him that put the blood cancer in the shade. A proposal to his close friend, Rebecca.
Several times he swayed in his desire to propose…or not; leukaemia was not a gift to be married to.
He suddenly felt the importance to quit the prevaricating and swim that ocean, climb that mountain, or, in his case, make that motorcycle trip through Europe as he had always planned but had never quite managed.
Also, it gave him some impetus to ask the love of his life – Rebecca – to accompany him and propose to her in the hope that she might fulfil his greatest of wishes and become his wife.
Sadly, Rebecca was unaware of the torch he held for her, but he still hoped that at the very least she would be interested in the holiday.
Despite her long flaming-red hair and flashing deep-green eyes, Rebecca chose to inhabit engineering workshops and appeared to prefer discussions of carburettor jet adjustments and engine rebuilds rather than the fine boutiques and parlours that frequented 1940s’ London.
Sam had loved her from afar for many years and hoped the break might ignite a spark of romance between them, but he felt that Rebecca thought of Sam as a good friend only. Despite his six years her senior, he was attracted not only to her beauty, but to her wild and adventurous spirit – and the way she played with the ends of her long hair as she listened to him drove him absolutely wild.
Sam wondered if he was being selfish in his hope that Rebecca might enter into a meaningful relationship with him considering his likely reduced lifespan; but then a few people had successfully beaten leukaemia.
Scene 4: Rebecca Missing
Rebecca had been surprisingly receptive to the proposed motorcycle trip and Sam felt his kudos ramp up a
notch.
Finally, the holiday was begun and by the fifth day, they had found themselves in a little village close to the southern range of the Carpathian Mountains in southern Romania.
But they needed to stop; a stop that was unexpected but necessary.
Unfortunately, his Ariel 650 had developed a fuel leak and therefore a day’s delay to their schedule was as unavoidable as it was annoying, though inwardly he was grateful for the respite as he was becoming quite fatigued by the last few days of riding, but he was determined that his ailment wouldn’t finish him off until his holiday was over – and he didn’t want his weakness to be noticed by Rebecca.
The work to replace the tubing wouldn’t take much time but Rebecca was pacing like a caged tiger and so he had suggested she use the time to explore some of the woodland roads. He had sold it to her as a fortunate event as otherwise without the delay the beauty of the country would have been missed.
Sam waved her off and then settled down to removing the Ariel’s fuel tank to gain access to the tubing.
Several hours later darkness was descending and for the third time, Sam walked out of the door to look up and down the road. He looked at his watch and the ever-darkening woods with increasing concern.
It wasn’t until two days later that she appeared, helped in by a motorist whose keen eye had noticed tyre marks on a sharp bend of road, and had investigated.
Sam had been mortified by the dried blood that covered the front of Rebecca’s jacket and watched intently as she carefully descended the truck step as the gentleman removed the Vincent from the back of his truck. He had volunteered to help her but she had declined the offer. She had walked with a severely pronounced limp – attesting to the fact that she was generally uninjured – into the hostel which made him wonder why two days had passed before she had returned and if some form of temporary amnesia had occurred.