by Mark White
‘Is it just me, Sarge, or is this place giving you the creeps too?’ she asked. ‘Did you see the size of those two ravens?’
‘I did.’
‘Mind you, it doesn’t help that I can’t get that story you told me this morning out of my head.’
‘PC Jones – I never had you down for a scaredy-cat,’ Jennings said. ‘Although I have to agree with you: it’s not exactly Disneyworld. But if the drive along here’s giving you the creeps, wait until we get round this bend…’
As the bend began to straighten out, the trees became fewer in number, suggesting that they were drawing nearer to their destination. After a further fifty yards or so, they emerged into a clearing, at which point Cara gasped and slammed her foot on the brake, the car skidding abruptly to a halt. In front of them was a lake, or rather what would have been a lake had its former glory not been ravaged by time. The undefended invasion of unkempt reeds and wild vegetation had spread across the water like an incurable virus; turning it into nothing more than a foul, impenetrable swamp. But Cara wasn’t looking at the lake. She was fixated with what stood beyond it; its battered carcass protruding from the ground like a huge, neglected gravestone, its windowless face staring at her, like that of a rotting corpse whose eyes had long since been gnawed through and consumed by worms. As she sat there, magnetised by the dark, crumbling monstrosity in front of her, she knew only too well that she would never be able to erase from her memory the time she first came face to face with Fellside Hall.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ remarked Jennings, noticing the impact the house had made on his deputy. ‘It’s not surprising that I’ve hardly ever been called out here – even the Carter boys would be wary of choosing this place as their hangout. It doesn’t strike you as the kind of stomping ground that would appeal to kids, although you do get the odd disturbance now and again.’
‘It just looks so…so scary. Like one of those haunted mansions from the Hammer House of Horror films they used to show on a Friday night. And it doesn’t improve matters when you think about that bastard Lord Byrne and what he got up to here with those poor boys. And the devil worship and black magic; Christ, I’d almost forgotten about that!’
‘Perhaps you now understand why I’m so gobsmacked that anyone in their right mind would want to live here?’
Cara nodded and breathed in a deep lungful of air, before releasing the handbrake and setting off. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the Hall and parked alongside the immaculate Range Rover that Frank Gowland had spotted the day before. Cara turned off the ignition and looked at Jennings. ‘If these two turn out to be gun-toting drug barons, I’ll blame you!’
‘Fair enough,’ he replied, ‘but I reckon you might find yourself rather disappointed if you’re hoping for that kind of excitement. Besides, all we’re here for is to welcome our new guests and to let them know that Shepherd’s Cross is home to a highly intelligent, fearless crime fighting unit, ready to leap into action at any given moment; as long as they’ve had their tea-break first.’
‘Wow…who might they be then?’ Cara’s question caused both Police officers to burst out laughing; the kind of uncontrollable, childlike laughter that causes tears to stream down your face. It must have taken over a minute before they managed to compose themselves; the officers relieved to have quashed some of the tension that had been accumulating from the moment they had pulled up to the gates. With lighter hearts, they climbed out of the car and walked up to the front entrance. Jennings reached out and gripped the iron knocker, hammering it three times against the solid oak door. They stood there, waiting patiently for it to be answered.
Cara saw a face appear at a broken window on the first floor, staring down at them but retreating back into the darkness when it realised it had been seen. Jennings knocked again, whispering to Cara ‘I’ll give them ten seconds to open this door or I’ll kick the bugger in; I’m dying of hyperthermia out here!’
Fortunately for the door, it was to be spared Jennings’s boot; the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard approaching from the other side almost immediately after he’d delivered his threat. A metal bolt clunked loudly as it slid to the end of its frame, and the door opened slowly inwards. Cara and Jennings both spontaneously stepped backwards, unsure as to who was standing behind it. Jennings removed his glasses to wipe the snow away, and when he replaced them there stood before him a short, heavy-set man dressed in a pair of navy blue overalls, bald as a cue ball and wearing the kind of expression that suggested he wasn’t to be messed with. In his right hand he was holding a hammer, a jar of nails in his left.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, a strong, Kentish accent evident from his deep, gravelly voice.
‘Sorry to trouble you, sir,’ replied Jennings. ‘I’m Sergeant Brian Jennings, and this is Police Constable Cara Jones. I noticed smoke coming from the chimney here this morning and was curious as to who was up here. We’re in charge of policing the local area, so I thought we’d drop by to introduce ourselves. I can see that you’re obviously busy, so if you’d rather us call by la…’
‘Please, do come in,’ said the man, interrupting Jennings as he ushered them into the Hall. ‘You must be freezing; warm yourselves by the fire over there and I’ll boil some water for coffee. I won’t be a moment – I’ll just go and fetch my colleague, Professor Blackmoor. I am sure he will be delighted to meet you. It’s always nice to have guests.’
Cara and Jennings watched the man as he hurried towards a room at the other end of the entrance hall, closing the door behind him and leaving them alone to observe their surroundings. The only light in the room came from the fire and three thick candles that stood flickering on a side table, the only sound being the earthy crackling of burning wood. In any other location, such as a cosy front room in a house or pub, the atmosphere could have been described as peaceful, almost serene; but set against the backdrop of a creaking wreck of an isolated Hall with a troubled past, where there weren’t any neighbours to hear cries of help, an imaginative mind could have perhaps been forgiven for believing the black figures that danced across the walls to be more sinister than mere harmless shadows cast by the flames.
The door opened two minutes later, and through it walked the man whose face Cara had seen looking at her through the upstairs window, closely followed by the man in the navy overalls, who was carrying a silver tray, upon which was a decorative coffee pot and matching china cups. He set the tray down on the table and returned to the side of the other man, who proceeded to represent the pair with evident authority.
‘Good afternoon, Sergeant Jennings and PC Jones. What a pleasant, and dare I say, most welcome surprise it is to have the privilege of entertaining guests on this inhospitable January afternoon. We certainly weren’t expecting any visitors so soon into our tenure. Allow me to introduce my colleague and I; my name is Professor Benedict Blackmoor, and this is my research assistant, Dr Reuben King.’ Blackmoor held out his hand for Jennings to shake; as he did so, Jennings couldn’t help noticing the man’s finger nails, at least an inch long and perfectly manicured. Cara also noticed the nails when it was her turn to take his hand, but the detail barely registered with her; she was too absorbed in Blackmoor’s eyes – she had never seen eyes as dark and deep, like deathly-still lagoons of blackness. It wasn’t that he was a particularly handsome man, at least not to Cara, but his thin face and immaculately groomed black hair combined with his mesmerising eyes to create an aura around him that was almost hypnotic in its hold on her. As he continued to stare at her, she became aware of a burning sexual arousal rippling over her, as if her breasts were being massaged by his expert hands, her nipples stiffening as his fingers gently stroked and teased them. Such was his magnetism, that try as she might, she was unable to look away. She felt herself falling completely under his control, his aura so strong that she would have let him lay her down and penetrate her there and then had he so desired. Goddammit, she almost wanted him to give it to her; regardless of who else
was in the room.
‘Ahem,’ coughed Jennings, aware of the effect Blackmoor’s charm offensive was having on her, and disliking it intensely. Blackmoor looked over at him, and it was only when he broke his gaze from Cara that she came back to the present moment, her cheeks burning with excitement and embarrassment.
‘As I was saying,’ continued Blackmoor, ‘Reuben and I have links to University College London. Our work, or should I say our passion, is the history of Roman archaeology. We’re here to study some of the forts of this once great Empire – this area is blessed with so many fine examples to choose from. Forgive me, but I must apologise for the state of this place; a crime to allow such a magnificent building to go to ruin like this. However, I’m pleased to tell you that we intend to reverse at least some of the decay. I plan to renovate a half dozen or so of the rooms – to create a house within a house, so to speak. It will not exactly be returned to its former glory, but the aim is for it to at least become comfortably habitable for the duration of our tenure.’
‘Aye, Ted Wilson told us you were looking for tradesmen,’ said Jennings. ‘You shouldn’t have too much trouble in finding decent people – there’s not a lot of work around at the moment.’
Cara caught the fleeting anger in Blackmoor’s eyes, seemingly upset at the mention of Ted Wilson’s name. She was no longer under his influence, the hypnotic effect he’d had on her being turned off like a tap the second he’d looked away. If anything, she was furious at herself for letting him have that impact on her; for allowing herself to go weak at the knees, like some teenage schoolgirl with a naïve crush on her teacher. She reflected back to a comment that Ted Wilson had made earlier in his office; how these men had a way of drawing you in, of making you want to do things for them. She now understood what he had meant by that. Blackmoor’s hold over her had left her feeling vulnerable – she wouldn’t let him make her feel that way again.
‘Can I assume, therefore, that you are intending to stay here for a while?’ asked Jennings.
‘That’s a difficult question to answer. It all depends on the progress of our work. I expect that we’ll stay here for a minimum of a year, perhaps longer. One of the attractions, and frustrations, of archaeology is the unknown nature of the object one is dealing with. By virtue of it being buried below the ground, like a fossil, you are required to dig, to patiently explore the unseen and coax it to the surface for all to see. And as historians, we have the task of interpreting what the fossil has to say about life in another age. I trust you can understand, therefore, why it is so difficult to know for definite how long such an inexact process may take.’
‘I suppose I can, when you put it like that,’ replied Jennings. ‘Although, I don’t want you to feel like we’re asking you to leave before you’ve even arrived. You’re very welcome here, and we wish you the best of luck with your work. Though I have to admit to being more than just a little curious as to why you’ve chosen to stay at Fellside Hall. Ted told me that you like old places, but I can’t say I’d personally look forward to sleeping in a decrepit old house like this.’
‘Mr Wilson seems to have told you a great deal,’ said Blackmoor, a hint of bitterness evident in the tone of his reply. ‘But he happens to be correct. You see, as a historian, I know better than most the suffering of the world that has gone before. The torment of mankind is intrinsically linked with his evolution; there can be no progress without challenge. If, like me, you are able to accept that sin is as much a part of our makeup as virtue, you arrive at the conclusion that evil should not be feared. Furthermore, you come to welcome its presence as an essential ingredient of society. For mankind could not exist in a world without sin; it is not in his nature. So you see, the emptiness of Fellside Hall poses no threat to myself or Dr King. On the contrary, we respect the energy that still lives within its walls; good or evil as it may be.’
‘Fair enough, but rather you than me,’ said Jennings. He glanced across at Cara and nodded. ‘Well, you obviously have a lot to be getting on with, so we’ll leave you in peace. We appreciate your time and wish you all the best with your work. And if you happen to need any Police assistance, you can contact us down at the village Station. We’ll be only too happy to help. Although I shouldn’t imagine you’ll be bothered by anybody up here.’
Blackmoor looked at him and smiled unconvincingly. ‘Thank you, Sergeant Jennings; that is very reassuring to know. Rest assured, we will accept your kind offer should the need arise. We intend to start our research in a week or so, as soon as the weather allows. We have plenty of firewood and provisions to last us until then.’
‘Very well,’ replied Jennings. ‘In which case we’ll say goodbye for now.’ He turned away from Blackmoor and began heading with Cara towards the front door. With a deft turn of speed, King beat the two officers to it, grabbing the handle before them and courteously pulling the door open. Cara thanked him for the gesture, and before he had time to close it behind them, she turned to take a final look at Benedict Blackmoor. He was standing by the fire with his arms folded. She smiled at him, but he did not smile back; his expression devoid of the kindness and hospitality of only a few moments earlier. This time there was no charm in his eyes or hypnotic force pulling her into him; he was glaring at her in a manner that gave her the definite impression that she would be wise not to return in a hurry.
Cara and Jennings found themselves standing alone outside in the falling snow. As they headed to the car, Jennings commented that although he found the strangers decidedly odd, there was nothing to suggest anything untoward going on. Cara chose not to reply; while she didn’t have anywhere near the experience of her boss, she trusted the accuracy of her intuition. And her intuition was telling her in no uncertain terms, that this would not be the last time she would be required to pay a visit to Fellside Hall.
Inside the Hall, Reuben King returned to the fire and looked at his friend. Blackmoor smiled at him, and after a moment’s contemplation, he reached out his arms and placed his hands on his shoulders. He bent forward and kissed King’s forehead, tilting his head to the side as he whispered into his ear: ‘And so it begins.’
Chapter 10
3.00pm: Ben Price was enjoying a rare moment of happiness as he stood waiting outside his daughter Chloe’s primary school in Newcastle. The terms of his divorce granted him the right to spend every other weekend with her. He’d fought hard for equal access; after all, it was his ex-wife Jane who had left him, but the judge had ruled in her favour, leaving Ben with no other option than to accept the limited time he’d been granted to spend with her. He’d spent the whole week looking forward to this weekend. His job was too stressful, his mortgage too big, his commute too long, his insomnia too wearing – he’d even started hallucinating about demonic cats, for Christ’s sake - but all of that paled into significance compared to the opportunity to hold his daughter and see her smile. Yep, today he was happy.
The bell rang to signal the end of the school day. For two minutes, everything remained deceptively quiet, after which the doors opened and children flooded out like rats deserting a sinking ship; huge numbers of excitable bodies scampering in all directions, seeking out the appropriate mother, father, grandparent or child-minder. Chloe noticed her father waving at her and smiled at him in that innocent, beautiful way of which only children and young lovers are capable. Ben’s heart melted, and he knelt down and held out his arms to wrap around her as she ran towards him. When she eventually reached him, he hugged her for what seemed like an eternity; no intention of letting her go, unconcerned with the extent to which, in the eyes of the other parents, he probably resembled a divorced father with too little custody of his child.
‘Daddy, daddy, I got a smiley face today for spelling!’ said Chloe, pointing to a large round sticker stuck awkwardly on to her coat. ‘Can I have a treat?’
‘Wow, a smiley face! Aren’t you a clever girl? I definitely think you deserve a treat for that. What would you like? You can choose for being such a cleve
r clogs.’
‘Errrmmm. How about……an……ice lolly?’
‘An ice lolly? In the middle of winter?’
‘You said I could choose whatever I want?’
‘Oh, alright then. We’ll buy one on the way home. C’mon, we’ll need to get going. I heard it’s snowing in Shepherd’s Cross; I want to get back before it becomes too dangerous for driving.’
‘Yippeeeee – snow! Can we go sledging?
‘You bet. We can play outside all day tomorrow if you want.’
‘Yes please! And daddy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can Jack come sledging with us too?’
‘Jack? Who’s Jack, darling?’
‘The cat that came to play with me last time I stayed with you. The black cat with the funny eyes.’
Ben’s heart stopped in his chest. He stared at Chloe in complete shock. ‘A black cat? What black cat? Chloe…what do you mean? Daddy’s being serious now.’
Chloe laughed at him. ‘Oh, daddy, you didn’t see him. He came to see me. He came into my room and sat on my bed and we played together. Well, actually he just sat on my bed for ages and watched me play – I think he’s a bit lazy.’
Attempting to remain light-hearted so as not to frighten her, Ben ruffled his daughter’s hair and asked, ‘Chloe, I know this sounds weird, but did he…well…did he do anything to you? Was there anything…anything wrong with him?
‘Don’t be silly, daddy, of course there wasn’t anything wrong with him – well, I suppose he was a bit smelly and dirty - but Jack’s the friendliest cat in the world! Can we go and get an ice lolly now?’