The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  Jenny pressed her lips together, still concerned about Lawrence, but pleased that he wasn't dwelling on anything that caused him undue pain. She nodded her head, reached down and undid the clasp of the lead. Scruffy immediately raced away, ears flapping behind her as she galloped over the sand, barking at nothing in particular.

  “She's a cute little dog,” said Lawrence and was about to throw another stone when he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at something behind Jenny. She whirled, thinking Scruffy was in difficultly, but sighed in relief when she saw the little dog still running along the water's edge. “What is it, Lawrence?” she asked without turning back to him.

  “Over there,” he said, his voice developing a little edge to it, as if something frightened him. “On the headland. There's a man. He's watching us.”

  Jenny squinted and looked around, “I can't see anyone…”

  Lawrence came up beside her and pointed, “There!”

  She followed his outstretched finger. She could clearly see the headland, but nothing else except for a little outcrop of sandstone rocks and a few clumps of coarse grass. “I can't see anyone…”

  Lawrence clicked his tongue with impatience, “He's gone now.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Just standing there, watching us. You don't think he might have been the one who put the poison down do you?”

  A sudden rush of fear ran through Jenny's stomach. She urgently called to Scruffy and the little dog, no doubt catching the seriousness of her mistress's voice, came scurrying over. Jenny quickly put on the lead, “You could be right, Lawrence, so let's go and see.”

  The route they took brought them to the remains of an ancient building, the outer walls and tower recently restored. Passing through the gate, Jenny paused to allow the calm soothing atmosphere to waft over her. Scruffy had led them here, head down, straining at the leash, her small, compact body powerful and difficult to resist. Now they were here, she grew quieter and lay down on the well-tended grass, as if waiting for something. Jenny cast her eyes over the darkened walls and the church tower. No one was around and as she read through the information plaque Lawrence tied Scruffy to a nearby bench. She called him over, “Birkenhead Priory,” she said. “The plague tells us that this was where monks used to offer respite for travellers going to and from Liverpool.” Slowly she walked through the remains and looked out across the river towards the great city of Liverpool, its dramatic waterfront one of the most famous in the world.

  Lawrence scanned both ways and sighed loudly. “I can't see anyone. It's as if he just disappeared.”

  “He may not have come this way.”

  “Scruffy seemed to think so.”

  Frowning, Jenny looked at the little dog. “Yes…yes, she did. The big question is: why?”

  Lawrence shrugged and took to studying the walls more closely whilst Jenny decided to move to the interior. She changed her mind, drawn by the view, and went into the tower – called Saint Mary's according to the plaque.

  She stood at the top. From this vantage point. The view across to Liverpool was breath taking. For a moment, she let her mind drift, imagining what the port of Liverpool must have looked like in its heyday. With the ships plying their trade backwards and forwards, the docks buzzing with the industry of one of the greatest ports in all the world. Now, it appeared eerily empty, and she couldn't help but feel a little sad that the great days had gone forever.

  “Jenny!”

  She gave a jump at Lawrence's voice, and peered over the side. Lawrence came out from amongst the well-tended ruins. “I've found something.”

  A whole series of horrific scenarios raced through Jenny's mind, all of them to do with poisoning of some description. “Don't touch it,” she cried, before scampering back down towards her young companion.

  Both of them dropped onto their knees. Lying just under the surface, amongst the neatly cut grass, was the edge of a piece of pottery.

  “What is it?” asked Lawrence, breathlessly.

  “I've no idea. A plate?” She shrugged. “It's not dirty, or broken, so it must be fairly new.”

  “New? Why would someone leave a plate here?”

  “I don't know. Perhaps someone had a picnic and left it here, by mistake.”

  Without another word, Lawrence reached out and pulled the plate from under the grass. Jenny gasped, “Be careful.” More thoughts of poison swamped her mind and she reeled with terror that the stranger, whom Lawrence had seen, had deliberately led them here just for this to happen. But it was too late, Lawrence had it in his hands. It was a plate, not large, about six inches or so in diameter. It appeared to be in excellent condition and around the inner rim were words, scratched into the surface.

  “These are just like the words on that pendant,” said Lawrence as he very carefully, with reverence almost, placed it back on the grass. He brought his fingers up to his nose and sniffed.

  “Oh my God, Lawrence…” Jenny's words hung in the air, mirroring the growing sense of dread that was welling up inside her. “Is there anything?”

  Lawrence shook his head. “Just soil. Jenny.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “This was put here for us. No doubt about it.”

  Jenny shook her head. “But…but it's only a plate.”

  “The words, Jenny. Look at the words.”

  Jenny, her eyes moist, picked up the plate, her hands trembling. As she slowly turned it around, she carefully read the words. Then she looked at her young companion and her mouth was quivering as she spoke, “Lawrence…what is happening?”

  Mark rubbed his face, looking down on the plate lying on top of an old newspaper. “It's a serving platter, used in communion.” He looked at her, “And it's at least eight hundred years old.”

  Jenny gasped. “But…no, that can't be right, Mark. It was lying there, in the grass. And look at it, it's pristine.”

  He shrugged, “I'll have to verify it, check its design, its age…but I'm fairly certain. What we have here is a piece of medieval pottery, in superb, almost mint condition. Apart from…” he lowered his head to look at the words, “What someone has written here. These are not medieval words, Jenny. They are modern words, scratched on here with some sort of knife, or a piece of sharp metal. Then coal dust, or ink, I don't know what, has been rubbed into the marks to bring them out. At first I thought it was just some vandal who'd done this, but now…” He shook his head. “It's something else.” He straightened up. “It's a message.”

  Jenny, her heart racing, collapsed into a chair. Lawrence, watching from the far side, came and sat down next to her. She looked at him, smiled, and gently put her arm around him. “But…Mark, Lawrence found this. By sheer chance.”

  “You said there was a stranger, someone watching you on the beach.”

  “Yes, but…I didn't see him. Only Lawrence. We tried to follow him, check out who he was, but there was no sign…only this.” She nodded towards the plate. “What does it mean?”

  “I think it's pretty clear, don't you?” It was Donna, suddenly looming up over them as she looked down and read out the words as they appeared on the plate, “I will seek out my revenge.”

  They all remained there for a long time, none of them speaking. Outside, the wind relentlessly gathered in strength.

  Chapter Eight

  Later on Jenny dropped Lawrence off at his house. Claire opened the door and her face lit up when she saw them both standing there. “Good news,” she said straight away. “It's Charley – he's as bright as a button! Lawrence, go and see him; he's in the garden, playing with an old sock, or something.”

  Whooping with joy, Lawrence took off at a run, and Jenny laughed as he disappeared down the hallway. “It's so good to see him like that. When did Charley recover?”

  “Almost as soon as you set off for your walk. Do you want to come in for a coffee or something?”

  “No, thanks. I have to get myself ready for my new job. It starts tomorrow.”

  “Oh wow, congr
atulations.” She thought for a moment, “Hey, look, I'm having a dinner party tomorrow night with my sister and her husband – why don't you come along? Celebrate your first day?”

  Jenny considered the offer, knowing she would be tired after her first full day at work, but grateful for the opportunity to make some new friends. “That would be lovely.”

  “Great. Eight o'clock okay?”

  “Eight o'clock it is.” Jenny went to move away, then stopped, a sudden thought coming to her. “Tell Lawrence not to worry too much about the plate.”

  “The plate?”

  “Yes. He'll tell you about it. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  Her little flat was cold by the time she got back. She made herself some beans on toast and gave Scruffy a large helping of dog food. With her clothes already laid out for the following day, the evening was hers. Not that there was much to do. Most of her books and other personal things were back on the island. She had never meant for this to be a permanent move, merely an opportunity to get some more training and extra qualifications. Now, casting her eye around the unfamiliar surroundings, the first tinge of regret rose up from within. Hard work would get her there in the end – her desire to be a vet, but she knew it was going to a long, drawn out process. And a lonely one.

  With her stomach already churning inside at the thought of spending her first day at work, Jenny knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Mark had very kindly agreed to look after Scruffy during the following day, so that was one layer of concern removed, but she still couldn't calm herself down. The uncertainty, the unfamiliarity, the thought of not knowing anyone, it was all adding up to leave her feeling insecure and nervous. Although she was desperately tired, it would be pointless lying in bed, tossing and turning, so she made herself a warm drink, flopped down in front of the television and found an old film to watch.

  She woke up with as start. Scruffy, lying flat out on the carpet, snored loudly. Disorientated, Jenny didn't know where she was. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and winced, her neck stiff from lying awkwardly. She stood up. The film had long since finished, replaced by some mindless chat show barking out from the screen. Annoyed with herself for having fallen asleep on the sofa, she reached across to switch the television off, but as she did so, she froze.

  Within the television set, almost as if part of the screen itself, glared a face. Not an ordinary face, not the face of one of the show's guests. This face, shadowy and blurred, dominated the entire screen, like the backdrop to the TV show, transparent, superimposed on the glass. Jenny gasped, hand coming up to her mouth, and staggered back, knocking against the sofa. She fell back with a cry, waking Scruffy, who, instantly alert and hackles up, flattened herself to the ground, and snarled at the television. Jenny couldn't take her eyes off the screen as the face, twisted and contorted into a hideous mask of anger, leered out at her. Then the face smiled horribly.

  “I will have my revenge…”

  Jenny screamed, Scruffy leapt up barking furiously. And then, to her horror and disbelief, seizing her with a new sense of dread, the lights went out all over the flat and the television turned itself off. The electricity had failed, plunging everything into total darkness. Yet, the face remained, sneering, contemptuous and scornful.

  Rooted to the spot, Jenny gazed in disbelief. The only sounds she could hear were Scruffy's snarls and her own heartbeat thumping inside her chest. She dare not move, so she sat, both hands pressed against her mouth, waiting.

  Nothing moved, nothing stirred and for a long time everything seemed locked in place, until the mouth curled wider.

  It was as if it could see her, but how could that be? A face, inside the television? She had no idea whose the face was, or what would happen next. She also had no idea what the time was. She dared a quick glance at her wristwatch.

  The image chuckled, softly at first, gradually rising in volume and pitch until the whole horrible visage shook with laughter. Terrified, Jenny curled forward, clamping her hands against her ears, trying in vain to shut off the unearthly sound.

  At last, it stopped. But nothing was going to force Jenny to stir. Frozen into her seat, the fear like bolts nailing her to the sofa. She dared not even glance, lest that gruesome face took up its fearful laughter once more. So she sat, doubled up, and waited without moving until the first streaks of dawn filtered through her window. Only then did her courage return and she chanced a peek at the screen. A dull, lifeless, pane of glass looked back at her, the only thing visible her own reflection, a tiny figure on the sofa, alone, vulnerable and afraid. Scruffy jumped up beside her, nuzzled into her and Jenny allowed herself to relax.

  But the thought of that face remained, and was going to remain with her for a long time.

  The doorbell sounded and Jenny opened the door to find Mark standing there. He blinked when he saw her, “My God,” he gasped, “Are you all right? You look like you've been in a fight.”

  She stood to one side to let him in. As he entered, he looked her over. She swept the hair out of her eyes. He was right, of course, she had been in a fight. A fight with that face. Exhausted, her stomach felt like mush. After the lights had gone out she had sat on the sofa without moving until at least seven o'clock. Only then, with the birdsong drifting in from the trees outside, did she have the courage to get to her feet.

  Mark followed her into the little living room. Almost as soon as he sat down, the lights came on and the television flashed into life. Jenny gave a muffled cry and quickly rushed over to turn the television set off again. She stood, looking down, breathing hard.

  “Jenny…?”

  Turning to look at him she tried to force a smile. Instead, all she could manage was a muttered, “Sorry,” before disappearing into the bathroom to get herself ready.

  She stood in front of the mirror after she stepped out of the shower. Looking at her own reflection she tried to make some sense of what had happened. It could have all been her imagination of course, a remnant from the day, the old priory, the discovery of the plate. The words on the plate and the words the face had uttered were the same. It could so easily have all been just a reaction to it all, but somehow, something was telling her that it had all been real. Certainly, when Mark had arrived and the lights came back on, none of that had been imagined. So why not the rest. She put her face in her hands. That was simply too much to even contemplate. True or not, real or imagined, who was that person, and why had he come to her?

  Going back into the living room, she found Mark still there, Scruffy at his feet, lead already attached. He smiled up at her, hopefully. “Feeling better?”

  She shrugged, “Just nervous. I guess I'll be okay as soon as I get there.”

  “I'm sure.” He stood up. “I'll pick you up later, if you like.”

  “If you like.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure you're okay? You look…frightened. Has anything happened?”

  She shook her head, but she knew she hadn't convinced him. She wasn't at all sure if she convinced herself. A long day's work lay before her, an opportunity at least to put the events of the previous night behind her. She picked up her bag and gave one last look around her flat. For a long time her eyes lingered on the television. “Mark,” she said at last, “if I leave you my key, could you come back later and get rid of this.” She patted the set.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, of course. Is it broken?”

  She looked at him, her eyes filling up. “Yes. It is very much so.” She zipped up her coat. “I want you to throw it away, put it in the bin, or take it down to the tip. Either way, just get rid of it.”

  She pushed past him and went downstairs, not wishing to spend another moment in the same room as that damned television set.

  But as she stepped outside and waited by Mark's car, she knew in her heart that it wasn't the television that made her feel so threatened, so vulnerable. It was the face. And that was one thing that no one would be able to simply throw away into a bin.

  Chapter Nine

  The d
ay went better than expected. All her fears, apprehension, and nervousness disappeared within ten minutes of walking through the door of the dog-rescue centre. It seemed like she had been there for years. As the day progressed, she became more involved in every aspect, and found herself not wanting to go home at the end of the day. The manager was ecstatic, heaping praise upon Jenny and everyone looked forward to continuing the next day.

  Returning to her flat, she was glad to see that Mark had indeed got rid of the television. A written note lay next to the telephone and she quickly read it. Then she rang him, to thank him for everything he'd done.

  “I've got Scruffy with me,” he said. “We've had a good day, went down to the sand hills and played along the beach. Donna brought her dog; they got on great.”

  Jenny sat down, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Donna?”

  “Yeah, she called round. We don't work weekends, as you know. It was okay, the dogs were fine.”

  It wasn't the dogs that Jenny was worried about. Pulling herself together, she told herself she was being silly, reacting the way she did. She gave a forced laugh. “I-er-I've been invited out this evening, to Claire's, for dinner.”

  “Very nice. Do you want me to keep Scruffy? You can pick her up anytime you like.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No problem.”

  Relieved that Scruffy wouldn't have to spend the best part of the evening in the flat, Jenny thanked Mark, then got herself ready. By the time she had showered and put on a change of clothes, it was almost time to go. She ordered a tax to pick her up and made her way down to the street to wait.

  A mild evening, the summer clinging on, meant she had no need of an overcoat. The season was longer on Alderney and, quite often, the weather remained good until well into late September, sometimes October before the winter evenings drew in. The islanders had warned her about how chill it could be, but this evening proved them all wrong and she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, face uplifted, soaking up the last few waves of warmth.