by David Towsey
The devil-Thomas willed the house’s back door open. Its wings dipped to enter. Luke hurled his crucifix, but it skidded uselessly across the ground. He prayed for strength. He forced himself upright. In no state to face Lucifer’s minion, Luke stumbled towards the church. The Pastor would help. Help save Sarah McDermott.
*
The kitchen was silent. There was a faint smell of woollie; he spotted the bone still on the sideboard. It had been expertly stripped of its meat. A lucky pet would get the bone tomorrow. Thomas ran his hand along the table. His knuckles tapped and scraped over the even surface. He touched one of the stools, hoping it might still be warm, hoping he might be able to feel it if it was. But he couldn’t. He glanced out the window: an alley wall and the roof of another house. If he saw Karl again, he would tell him.
On the stairs he tried to make as little noise as possible. He took each step slowly, deliberately, focusing on his feet, not daring to look up in case someone was there. Halfway up he stopped. He turned. This was a bad idea. What could he possibly have thought would happen? That Sarah would cry tears of joy and open her arms to him? That she would be blind to the gaping, dried wounds? That her fingers would lie to her as they touched his face? If she was still sleeping he would not wake her. He would hammer the image of her face into his memory and hope that would last for ever. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar. He summoned the strength to push it open.
The bed was empty.
He almost collapsed with relief. The worry of what his wife would say was momentarily gone, cheated. He began shivering – as he had at the river – and closed the door. He sat down on the corner of the bed and touched the starched sheets; again wondering if they felt warm to a normal hand. He looked around the room. It was just as he’d left it. His two spare sets of boots were lined up against one wall. They were dusty.
Where was she?
That she could have remarried had not crossed his mind. How long had he been gone? He didn’t even know. The time he was in the army, alive. The time in the pit; the fire still burning. The journey here. It would be long enough. Things like that could strike like lightning – he knew that. Sarah was most likely in another man’s bed. He gripped the sheets. He could have come here and found them together.
The bedroom door opened.
He looked up to a crack of gunfire and a cloud of smoke.
2 : 6
The ball hit him in the ribs; one buckled under the blow.
‘Sarah,’ he said.
She dropped the gun. He stood up. Slowly, he walked to her. She stepped backwards, her hands clasped over her mouth, until she hit the wall.
‘Sarah, it’s me. Thomas.’
She shook her head, over and over.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. She burst into tears. He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away.
‘No,’ she said, her voice thick. ‘You can’t be here!’ And then she came to him. She hugged him fiercely, ignoring the bones and dead skin. ‘Where have you been?’
He hugged her back for as long as he could. He made sure his fingers did not touch her skin. He couldn’t bear for her to feel him like this, on her body. She kept on crying, hot and wet against his chest.
‘I didn’t know if I should come back,’ he said. ‘I needed to see you.’
‘Mum?’ Mary came out of her bedroom. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Thomas turned away from his daughter. He didn’t want to frighten her. Sarah took Mary by the hand. ‘Who is that?’ Mary said.
‘Just an old friend.’
Thomas stayed silent. An old friend. If he was in any doubt a Walkin’ could be hurt, it was gone. Sarah came back and they went into her bedroom. She looked into his face for the first time. Her hand traced the charred skin.
‘I had my suspicions. I didn’t want it to be true.’ She touched his cheekbone and shuddered. ‘I’ve regretted it every day.’
‘Regretted what?’ he said.
‘When I told you ashes or never again. I’ve missed you.’
‘I haven’t thought of anything else. I had to see you both.’
‘It will be better if she sees you in the morning,’ Sarah said. The morning. He had not thought that far ahead. She must have seen it on his face, somehow. ‘You are staying?’
‘I don’t—’
Someone banged the shop door, hard.
‘Mistress McDermott? It’s the Law-Man. We heard a gunshot?’
‘They’ll go away,’ she whispered, gripping the front of his uniform.
‘No, they won’t,’ Thomas said.
‘It’s in there! The demon. I saw it myself. Spawn of Satan!’
More banging.
‘They will break it down,’ he said.
‘Sarah!’ called the Law-Man.
‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘They burnt Jared already. And his son.’ She ran to the doorway. ‘Mary,’ she hissed.
‘I’m sorry. I had to see you again. It was selfish.’
Sarah went into Mary’s room.
A bang shook the front of the house. The door wouldn’t hold long. He went to a wardrobe. He took out a shirt and trousers. He quickly put them on. They were so loose on him, he felt like a child in an adult’s clothing.
‘You have to take her with you,’ Sarah said. ‘They’ll kill her.’
‘What? Why would they do that?’
‘I told you: they killed Simon Peekman because Jared came back.’
‘I didn’t know. I—’
‘Mum? What’s going on?’ Mary was still half asleep, but she was fully dressed.
‘I know one place that might be safe,’ he said.
‘They’ll follow you – the Law-Man, the Pastor. Why did you come back?’
He hugged Sarah. ‘I love you.’
‘Mary, you have to go with this man. He will take care of you.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘Just do as I say,’ Sarah shouted. Mary was confused, but her mother’s tone was clear enough. Thomas took his daughter by the hand and ran down the stairs. He reached the bottom just as they broke through the door.
‘There!’ someone yelled. Thomas went as quickly as he could through the kitchen. Mary was awake enough to be frightened now and ran with him.
The door frame exploded next to Thomas. They were out in the alley.
‘He’s out back,’ the same voice called. Thomas heard the gun cock again. He kept low. More wood behind him splintered under the weight of lead shot.
They reached the stable and an idea hit him. He ran right in. The shaggies went berserk. They threw their heads up, pulling desperately against their ropes. Some pawed the ground with their front hooves; others slammed the walls with their back set. Mary stood looking from one animal to the next. He opened the first stall. The shaggie backed away from him, as far as it could go, right into the corner, which suited Thomas. He undid the knot and circled the stall. The shaggie kept one quivering eye on him. Then it saw freedom and bolted.
‘What the—?’ the stable boy burst into view.
Thomas ran at him, knocking him down. ‘Sorry, son,’ he said. He released as many shaggies as he dared. He chased them into the alley, dragging Mary as close alongside them as he could, careful of their thrashing, metal-clad feet. The shaggies poured through the gaps to Main. From the angry cries of men, they were causing enough problems. One shaggie was caught between Thomas and the alley wall. The poor beast ran as quickly as its hairy legs could take it, always watching Thomas. He kept pace. The edge of town was in sight.
A man stepped into the end of the alley. Thomas couldn’t see his face. He fired. The shaggie seemed to lose its footing and went down. It happened slowly. Somehow the movement appeared graceful, deliberate. The sound was awful; the shaggie shrieked, then gurgled, then rolled like thunder.
Thomas was on the man. He was old, his beard gone to white. Thomas wrenched the rifle from the man’s shaking hands and yanked the butt upwards into his chin. The man dropped with a lot less noise than the
shaggie. Thomas left him his gun.
Running, Thomas didn’t look back. The shouts of men grew softer as he went. It was a shame about the stable boy. A shame about the shaggie and the old man. But he kept the sight of Sarah in his mind; her touch on his cheek, the way she had hugged him. And now he had a purpose. His daughter was with him. He had to keep her safe. He kept them moving until Mary fell down, exhausted.
*
Mary woke with the sun in her eyes. She closed them. Her body was sore. Her face, arms and legs stung. She wasn’t in her bed. She had slept on the ground and her back ached.
She groaned and sat up. Wiping one hand on her dress, she rubbed at her face with the other. What had she done last night? She couldn’t remember much. She didn’t remember sneaking out, but how else did she get here? She pressed her fingers against her eyes. She’d had a dream about someone in their house. Someone her mother knew.
‘Hello, Mary.’
The voice came from a man sitting near her. He was in a loose shirt and trousers. Underneath the thin white cotton of his shirt she could see a shabby-looking army jacket, the same colour as the army men that had come to Barkley. His uniform looked burnt: great holes with singed edges. It wasn’t just his clothes that were burnt. His skin had burns all along it too.
She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. She looked away, trying not to be rude and stare. He looked horrible.
‘I’m not the prettiest picture, I know,’ he said.
She glanced over at him and away again.
‘How – how do you know my name?’
‘Times I wondered if I’d recognise you. But I did, first moment.’
She couldn’t see or hear the Col River. Couldn’t hear any birds either. The ground was a dirty yellow. Had it really happened? Did this man take her from her home?
‘I should be, should be getting home.’ She tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled and she dropped back down.
‘You can’t, Mary. They’ll hurt you if you go back.’
‘My mother; she’ll be worried.’ Mary got to her knees gradually, careful not to look at the stranger.
‘Your ma, yes she will. She probably won’t open the shop today,’ he said.
At this, she looked right at him. Really looked at him. Her mouth fell open. If she weren’t so fuzzy, she would have screamed. Part of her knew she should scream. Most of the man’s face was missing. His whole left cheek was gone – she could see his teeth, all mucky and brown. His left eye seemed to hang in plain air, above scorched bone. Bits of his forehead were blackened, and there were singed rings with bone beneath.
Bile rose in her throat.
‘It’s that bad, is it?’ he said.
There was a Walkin’ sitting opposite her. Within spitting distance was someone who had died and come back to life. It looked like somebody even tried to burn him. She began to shake all over.
‘I – I— Home.’
‘I can’t take you home, Mary. And it’s my fault.’ He looked away. His normal-looking cheek was facing her. She sat staring at him.
If she could move, she could run; but would she be fast enough? Even if she was, which direction would she go? Did Walkin’ get tired? Would he keep chasing her?
‘How – how do you know my name? How do you know my mother?’ she said slowly.
‘I didn’t expect you to recognise me; been gone a while. Drop you in an Easter parade and I’d still pick you out from two streets over.’ He wasn’t looking at her. ‘Isn’t a complicated way to say it: it’s me, Mary. Your dad.’
Silence yawned between them. She gazed at the black marks on the back of his neck. Suddenly they grew, blotting out the world. She took a shuddering breath, but it was too late. She was falling down into the shadow.
2 : 7
Thomas had thought she might be scared or revolted, maybe run away from him. He had no plan for fainting.
He hesitated. She was still breathing. He knew he should go to her, but what if she woke up? What if she saw him, a fleshless beast, towering over her? Things had gone well to begin with; as well as could be expected. That was until Mary actually realised what he was; who he was tipped her over the edge.
He was being stupid. He went over to her. When he had left, her hair had been almost white. Now it was much darker. She was still in braids, as she should be. But she was growing up fast and he’d missed a lot of it. He knelt beside her. She had fallen onto her back. Her calm little face looked up. The sun was getting higher. The morning chill was fading; it would be a hot day. Not a problem for him, but he needed to get Mary into some shade. She would need water. And food.
Food. He hadn’t thought about food for weeks. It was strange; he had forgotten something he’d taken for granted his whole life. The river was close by. He still had his leather flint kit in the pocket of his uniform. If they could catch something, they could cook it. As gently as he could he picked Mary up; one arm under her knees, one under her shoulders. She was as light as summer rain.
Mary didn’t stir as he carried her across the rough, rocky plateau. They weren’t in the Redlands proper; the river was less than a mile away. Scrubby bushes and bent trees were still dotted here and there. He covered ground quickly; the river was getting fatter on the horizon. There was a set of small bluffs to the south as the river wound its way round a corner and carved its path through the rock. It would be as good a place as any to find shade. As a child he had rarely ventured that far, but when working for Caleb he’d trapped for under-mutton there. He hoped the farmer wasn’t checking his traps this morning.
The water was quiet, drifting calmly along. Luckily, their side was in the shade. He eased Mary down on a dry bit of bank and stopped to look at her. He had watched her sleep for the few hours before dawn, just enjoying being close to his daughter again. He would watch again now, but she needed something to eat.
Caleb had traps all over these bluffs and had checked them every day when Thomas worked for him. Or his help did. The first dozen Thomas checked were empty; limp pieces of wire in front of cup-sized holes. He didn’t wander too far, in case Mary came to.
The next one wasn’t empty. It was a small under-mutton, not much more than a baby. Its head was through the trap, but the wire had cut down into its neck. Thomas could see the red raw skin; it had struggled, which caused the wire to tighten. The animal’s eyes were wide open, but covered in a film of dust and dirt. Its mouth the same.
As Thomas came closer it sprang into life. Whimpering, it wriggled frantically.
‘Easy now,’ he whispered. ‘Won’t be long.’ He reached down, taking the under-mutton firmly. The neck snapped like a shaft of bone-grass. Pushing at the side wires, he took the animal out of the trap.
He went back to Mary. The whole thing left him feeling out of place. He had been a human, a creature at the top of the heap. He’d killed other animals to live. Then he died; the natural way of things. But now, he was back and killing again. Not for his own sake, but still. He’d come back into the bigger chain of life and death – and he didn’t know if he belonged there.
He looked at the lifeless body of the under-mutton. He didn’t care to think about it much. What he did care about was unconscious by the river. She had shifted away from the rock, cuddling her knees close. He gathered some dry wood. There was no shortage – most of the brush here was slowly dying. He set a fire against the cliff, same as he’d done a thousand times in the army. Someone might see the smoke, but there was no helping that. She needed to eat before they went any further. The wood was dry at least.
As he put the flint to work, he glanced over at Mary. Camp talk had been about wives and children more often than not. Old and young men would share stories about their families. Now he could share a story or two with his daughter, if she’d care to hear it. A strange, forgotten feeling came over him. He was looking forward to her waking up.
*
Mary could smell something like burnt skin. Was it the Walkin’? She hadn’t noticed a smell befor
e, or maybe she couldn’t remember. She kept her eyes half closed. He was sitting a little way from her; the thing that claimed to be her father. Every so often he poked the fire. The smell was coming from something on the end of a stick, propped over the flames.
Her stomach rumbled.
‘I didn’t know how to wake you,’ he said.
She sat up. To her relief she saw the river. She could make her way home from here. Maybe.
‘Have a drink. This is almost ready.’ He gestured towards the stick. The fire made spitting noises.
She thought about saying no, about standing up and walking away. But she was thirsty. And hungry.
The water stung her skin as she washed her face. It was almost too cold to drink. She cupped her hands and slurped. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was. The scratches on her forehead and cheeks burnt a little. She dried her face with a clean-ish bit of her dress.
‘I’m glad you kept the doll.’
She turned back and saw Stripe sitting in the shade. She had been carrying him in her dream.
‘You’re not my dad.’
‘“I will love you always. I will come back to you,”’ he said.
They were the words written on the note she kept in Stripe. No one knew about the note. No one, except her and the man who put it there. Her father. She had found him. But it wasn’t him.
‘You’re … you’re supposed to be in heaven,’ she said quietly.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Your brothers and sisters, what’re their names?’
‘Peter the eldest, then Bethany, Hannah and finally Samuel,’ he said.
‘When did you meet my mother?’
‘The day her family came to Barkley. I can remember Ma was none too happy. Never was.’ He poked the fire, which was going out. ‘I helped them unload their cart. I was taking down some bags when the prettiest little thing popped her head round. Told me to “be careful with her cases” before gliding off. Peter didn’t stop gawping. She was a beauty.’
Mary’s chest grew tighter the more he said. Her mother said they first met at church, but her father always insisted it was her first day in town. There was no doubting it. Her father had come back, but as a Walkin’ – an abomination, an evil spirit. Every lesson, every sermon she’d sat through, all said this creature was an agent of the devil.