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The Tide of Terror

Page 24

by Stuart G. Yates


  “Great, thanks, Jen.”

  The “phone went dead and Jenny stood, staring at the receiver for a long time. A film? A film about what? And Scruffy…she would have to go and get Scruffy from Mark. But all of that after a shower…

  Mark stood looking out across Liverpool Bay, Scruffy on her lead, sitting next to him. Jenny saw him as she came around the rise, called out, saw his smile and suddenly her spirits lifted. Scruffy, straining, began to choke as her collar bit into her neck. Mark let her go and the little dog galloped towards Jenny, leaping into her arms, desperate to lick her face, a wriggling, writhing bundle of total happiness.

  “Everything all right?” asked Mark, laughing as he came closer. “You look a bit—”

  “A bit what? Like I've been dragged through a hedge?” She laughed at Mark's embarrassment. “Don't worry, I know how bad I look.”

  “No, you don't look bad, just…” He shrugged and quickly changed the subject, “Okay, so why are we here?”

  “Lawrence. He wants to make a film and he thinks this place would be the perfect location.”

  He nodded, as if suddenly everything had fallen into place. “Ah…I see.”

  Jenny had a sudden urge to tell Mark about what had happened the night before but almost as soon as she went to open her mouth, a black squall brewed up out of nowhere and the wind, which up until then had been a gentle breeze, built up powerfully. A sudden crash of thunder, then the skies opened and it poured down with rain. Caught by surprise, they raced towards St Mary's tower to find shelter inside.

  “Wish I'd brought a coat,” said Mark, shaking himself. Scruffy did the same, and covered his trousers in a fine spray of rainwater. “Scruffy!”

  Jenny laughed, then peered out into the rain. Looking towards the ruins of the Priory, it was easy to imagine the monks there, going about their daily service. It must have been a very different place back then. So much quieter. Harder. Not for the first time she allowed herself to imagine what life must have been like over a thousand years ago. If she could only visit those times, just for a few moments, to get a glimmer, a taste of what it might have been like. How wonderful that would be. To see history, to live it.

  The outline of the Priory wall was nothing but a blur now as the rain hammered down. It was difficult to make out details and the shadows were deep, impenetrable. When she saw Lawrence, she was about to call out, then stopped. No Charley. Lawrence had said he would bring his dog. Perhaps he too was sheltering, but inside the ruins. Lawrence stood there, at the opening to the little Priory. He had come well prepared for the weather, the hood of his coat offering sound protection from the elements. In this weird half-light, he seemed much bigger. Taller.

  She gasped.

  It wasn't Lawrence at all. It was a man, standing watching her. Just as he had watched her and Lawrence on the beach the other day. She had no doubts it was the same person. She turned, gripping Mark's arm, pulling him urgently to look. “There,” she shouted.

  The rain was pounding, making it difficult to hear anything. Mark squinted at her, then followed the direction of her pointing finger. He shook his head. Jenny looked again and felt her stomach becoming a mush. The man, or whoever it had been, was no longer there.

  Sometime later, with the rain lessening, Lawrence arrived. Claire strode next to him, holding Charley, with his lead in one hand and an umbrella in the other. She called out when she saw Jenny and Mark. They all huddled together inside the tower.

  “What a day,” breathed Claire. Lawrence was busy stroking Scruffy and Charley was busy sniffing at everything.

  “Awful,” returned Jenny. “Lawrence, do you think this is such a good idea?”

  Lawrence looked up, his eager face breaking into a huge grin. “Perfect,” he cried. Across his shoulder hung a little black bag. He stooped down and opened it, bringing out his video camera. “Just perfect. Besides, I really have to have something ready for tomorrow. Griffiths, the media teacher, he's a bit of a stickler. Wants everything just-so. I reckon if I can give him the first few rushes he'll be totally blown away. Up my effort grade from an 'E' to at least a 'B' I shouldn't wonder.”

  Mark gave a little chuckle, “You have an 'E' for effort?”

  Lawrence gave him a look, and Jenny quickly said, “This is my friend, Mark. He works for the local archaeology department.”

  Turning to his mother, Lawrence completely ignored the others, “Even if I get an outline idea, that'll be enough.”

  As if to underline what Jenny had said, a terrific flash of lightening put paid to any hope of filming. The dogs were acting like wild things, running round, whining loudly. Scruffy cowered beneath Charley who stood there, quivering. “We can't do this, Lawrence,” said Claire, “We'll have to come back another day.”

  “Oh Mum, please.”

  “No, I'm sorry…” Claire looked apologetically towards Jenny and Mark. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

  Jenny held up her hand, “It's no problem. Honestly.” She reached over and ruffled Lawrence's hair. “Look, this will give you time to write the script.”

  “Write the script?”

  “Yes, to your film. Every film needs a script. Why don't you go home, write it out, then bring it round to me tomorrow night, after work. What do you say?”

  “Wow…honestly? You'd go through it with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I'll help too,” piped up Mark. He glanced towards Jenny, “If you'll let me?”

  Jenny smiled.

  Later, back at Jenny's flat, with Scruffy tucking into her food, Jenny and Mark sat down on the sofa, drinking tea. The rain had slackened considerably since they had left the Priory. Now, in the tiny flat, Jenny knew she couldn't put her thoughts off any longer. “Mark. Last night, at Claire's…something happened.”

  “Something? Like what?”

  “The lights went out. We thought it was a power cut. Well, it was a power cut, all the lights in the street were out. But then…” she sighed deeply, carefully putting her cup down on the little table in front of her. “Then…the television came on and a little film played out.”

  “A little film? I don't understand, I thought you said there was a power cut?”

  “That's just it – there was. But then this film came on. We all saw it. Black and white, very old. A man, well, two men actually. They rowed a boat across the river. Then, after they stepped ashore, one of them stabbed the other. The murderer, whoever he was, ran off after taking something from the dead man.”

  “What did he take?”

  Jenny chewed at her bottom lip. “That's just it.” She looked at Mark, straight in the face, unblinking. “It was a pendant.”

  Mark frowned. “A pendant? What, like the one that Lawrence found, the one Charley licked?”

  Jenny nodded, just the once. “The very same.”

  “The very…you mean…”

  “Yes, Mark. It was exactly the same.”

  “But…well, what was this film? An old movie, you said. What was it, Nineteen Thirties…?”

  “Mark, it wasn't any type of movie. What we saw was a memory, an image from the past. Like…like a replaying of something which really happened.”

  “Eh?” Mark shook his head. “No…Jenny…that can't be right…You must have—”

  “What? Imagined it, misread it, what? Mark, we've been here before you and I. Mysterious, inexplicable happenings. We've seen it all, so don't ask me to try and give a rational explanation for any of it, because there is none. This was a supernatural happening, Mark. Everyone saw it. Ask any of them. We all witnessed a murder.”

  Mouth open slightly, Mark mulled over Jenny's words. “All right,” he said slowly, “so, from what you're saying, you believe this – this replay was telling you that what we found on the beach…that pendant—”

  “The pendant was stolen from the murdered man. And he was killed on that beach, not far from the Priory.”

  “The Priory? What makes you…you mean, the man who was
murdered…?”

  “Yes, Mark. The man who was murdered was a monk, from the Priory. And he was rowing the other across the river, just like the monks did eight hundred years ago. And what the monk was piloting was a little round boat.”

  “A little round…” Mark's eyes were wide as the horror of what Jenny was saying bit home.

  “Mark, they were inside a coracle. The same coracle that Lawrence and Charley discovered. What we have got here, Mark, is an ancient, unsolved murder.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Whilst Scruffy and Charley bowled each other over in the sand, Jenny and Mark stood beside the site where they had first discovered the oracle. It was early evening and a chill wind came across the river. In the distance, the line of imposing buildings of Liverpool. All around, the ghosts of Merseyside's industrial past. But something else imposed itself that evening. Something that neither of them could quite put their fingers on. A sense that someone, somewhere, was watching.

  Lawrence ran up. He'd been trying to keep up with the dogs, and was breathing hard. The smile on his face, beaming like a lamp, did nothing for the others.

  “What's up?” he asked as he moved close to them both.

  Jenny turned from the river and looked at Lawrence, trying to stay calm, measured. “You know that man we saw the other day, the one who was watching us.”

  “Oh him? You haven't seen him again, have you?”

  “No. But Lawrence, try and think. Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Or spoken to him?” cut in Mark quickly.

  “No. That time we were here, together Jenny – that was the first time I'd seen him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I'm sure – I would have said.”

  Jenny kicked at a pebble on the beach and watched as it rolled down towards the water's edge. “All of this started as soon as I came here.”

  “Now that's just silly,” began Mark.

  “No, it's true, Mark. It's me, I'm sort of – what would you call it? Magnet? Attracting all these things.”

  “What things?” asked Lawrence.

  Jenny shrugged. “Oh…I don't know.” She let out a deep, meaningful sigh. It gnawed away at her, constantly – the incidents in the past, the hedgehogs, the old deserted tunnels – the supernatural forces that were at work there – and now an old film, played out to tell the story of a medieval murder…She shivered, hugging herself. “Things,” she mumbled at last.

  “Well, I think this is a great place to start my film.” Lawrence stooped down to open his haversack. He pulled out his video camera and switched it on. “I thought we could set the first few scenes down here.” He stepped back, bringing up the camera, pointing it towards Jenny and Mark. “A sort of Doctor Who-type episode. Monsters from the deep, or the mysterious stranger…”

  “Lawrence!”

  “Anything, really. But my first few shots are going to be here, on the beach, with Liverpool in the background.”

  Mark reached out his hand and swept it along the horizon in a grand gesture. “A pan shot of the Liverpool waterfront. Then, zoom back to see Jenny and me looking out across the river.”

  Jenny frowned. “You're nothing but a big kid.”

  Lawrence, on the other hand, was ecstatic. “Yes, that's it – a pan shot.” He slowly moved the camera from left to right. “Okay, you two look out towards the Liver Buildings, not at me. Just stand there, as if you're thinking about stuff.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Yeah…anything. Just don't speak, that's all.”

  “This is a silent movie?”

  “No – this is the opening, I'll add music later.” He laughed. “I'm going really slowly, but I'm almost there. Okay, now as I pull back, put your arm around her, Mark.”

  Jenny stiffened and gave Mark a quick glance. He smiled then shrugged. “You can't argue with the director.” Then, very slowly, he put his arm around her and drew her close. Without thinking, she put her head on his shoulder, relaxing. Perhaps he did like her. Perhaps Donna was just a friend, a work colleague, someone who just happened to be…

  “Okay, pulling back now…” Lawrence laughed again. “Brilliant.”

  He lowered the camera and viewed the scene in the viewfinder.

  “Let's see,” said Mark, his arm still around Jenny. Together they all huddled in front of the little viewing screen.

  Jenny was impressed. Lawrence seemed to have an innate sense of how to frame a shot. His hand was steady and controlled. The scene swept along the waterfront, slowly picking out all the main landmarks, the Liver and Cunard Buildings, the Albert Dock…it really was very good.

  “I could call it, On The Waterfront.”

  Mark laughed. “Er, sorry to tell you, it's all ready been done.”

  Lawrence gaped at Mark. “Really? That's a shame…ah, here we are, I'm tracking it to the far side, and now I'm…” The camera began to pull back and the side of Jenny's head came into view. Slowly the view filled with the couple, backs to the camera, looking out across the river. For a long time the shot remained just like that, the breeze playing gently with Jenny's hair. In the distance, a ferryboat nestled in close to the pier, and next to it, but much closer, slowly coming towards them…

  “Oh my God,” breathed Jenny.

  They all froze. No one spoke, all stricken by dread as they watched a little boat come into view. It was a coracle, rowed by a man swathed in the thick garb of a monk. Opposite him was another man, head down, wrapped in a blanket to stave off the cold.

  “Switch it off!” shouted Jenny, stepping back, hand coming up to her mouth. She looked out across the river, but there was nothing there. No sign of any little boat. “Quickly, Lawrence, switch it off.”

  But Lawrence couldn't. He tried, but the film kept playing, as if it had a life of its own. Mark took the cameras from him, turned the switch that would normally cut off the power… Still the film played on.

  Drawing them in, the film continued and they watched, transfixed. The boat came up to the shore and the passenger leapt down into the sand. He shook himself, pulling off the blanket. The monk was dragging the coracle ashore when the other struck. A cruel, long-bladed knife sank into the monk's chest with ease. He cried out, staggering backwards, a look of incredulity across his face. Then he crumpled to the ground, a patch of blood blooming across his front. As his legs went into spasm, the passenger was already delving into the dying monk's clothes. A little whoop of triumph when he discovered the gemstone.

  “This is what we saw at the party,” whispered Jenny. “Almost exactly the same.”

  “But how…how…” Mark said, shaking his head. The film flickered and the screen went black. Everyone stood, none of them daring to believe what had happened. Mark stepped away, running a hand through his hair, staring out towards the City. “Didn't you see it whilst you were filming, Lawrence.”

  “No, not a sign – it wasn't there.”

  Mark span round, his face a white mask. “It must have been – you just weren't concentrating.”

  “I promise you…” Lawrence replayed the scene. “Look, I started it here, panning across the river front, then I came to you and Jenny and…”

  Jenny peered over his shoulder at the screen, hardly daring to watch the scene again. But as she watched the camera coming towards her, then zooming back, there was no sign of the coracle or of the men.

  They had completely disappeared.

  Almost as if someone had erased them, together with the terrible act of murder.

  Chapter Twelve

  For a reason that she couldn't explain, all the dogs at the centre were extremely agitated the following day. They were barking furiously. Jenny kept checking the pens, but she could find no sign that they had been tampered with or that some other animal, a cat or a fox, had got in. One of the dogs was a Saint Bernard, whom the owner had called Bruno. Bruno, impressively huge, was always the most docile of animals, very playful and very loving. He had simply outgrown his owner's two-bedroome
d house. Nevertheless, here he was, teeth bared, growling and barking as if there was an intruder close by.

  “I can't figure this out,” said Jenny to the manageress, Paula Markham. “Why are they all so hysterical?”

  The noise grew in urgency, both in volume and intensity. Paula shook her head. “There must be something in here that we can't see. I reckon it's a fox. They can smell it. We'll have to make a proper search of the whole centre.”

  And so began the 'proper search'. Each pen was investigated, the dogs taken out and given some unlooked-for exercise. Jenny took a few of them down into one of the local fields and let them off their leads to run around. It was whilst doing this with the third group of dogs that she noticed the stranger standing on the far side of the field.

  The late afternoon sun bathed the hedgerow in a sort of burnished gold colour, the air around misty, almost ethereal. The stranger, who stood behind the hedge, was difficult to make out but the more Jenny looked the more she realized that it had to be a monk.

  When Paula came up to her, Jenny was in a state of shock. She had been unable to tear her eyes away from the figure, cold tendrils of fear wrapping themselves around her, freezing her to the spot. Her lips quivered, her eyes streamed, her mind in a state of confusion.

  “Jenny, are you all right?”

  Jenny brought up her left hand, finger pointing straight out, directly towards the figure. “Who is that?”

  “Who's what?” Paula shook her head, following Jenny's finger. “I can't see anyone.”

  “There!” She thrust her finger out twice more in a stabbing fashion, never taking her eyes from the stranger. Something told her that if she looked away, he would disappear. She was not about to allow that to happen.

  Paula sighed loudly, “For goodness sake, I can't…Oh my…”

  “You see him?”

  Paula must have done, thought Jenny. He was unavoidable now. He burst through the hedge and advanced upon them, hands out wide in a gesture of greeting, as if he wanted to embrace them both. But as he drew closer it became clear that this was not someone anyone would want to meet. His head, half hidden by the folds of the cowl, was ghastly. A skull, no remnant of flesh upon the bones, the eyes black hollows, and his arms mere skeletal talons.

 

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