The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  “You say you came to speak to Mrs Cross about her husband?”

  “That's right,” said Mark.

  The policeman scratched the side of his nose. “This is the part I don't get. You went to see her, she talks to you, then she's attacked by a dog?”

  Jenny leaned forward, “It wasn't an ordinary dog, detective.”

  “Oh?” the man raised one eyebrow. “What type of dog would you say it was? Rottweiler?”

  “Bigger.”

  “Bigger? What, like a Great Dane?”

  “More like a Mastiff. A Bull-Mastiff. But not like any I've ever seen.”

  “Ah yes,” said the detective, flicking through some pages, “you're the one who works at the dog-pound.”

  “Rescue centre, yes.”

  “Mmm…So, you'd know a lot about dogs…Is this sort of thing normal, would you say?”

  “It's not unusual for a dog to attack. Even a Labrador can do that, but this….” Jenny shook her head, sucking at her teeth, “This was more the act of a wild animal.”

  “Like a tiger, or something?”

  “Yes, except it wasn't a cat, it was a dog, a wild dog.”

  “Hyena maybe?”

  “Bigger. However, it was definitely not a hyena.”

  “No…You said. A dog.” He closed the notebook with a loud slap and sat back. “Strange that the animal didn't attack you.”

  Jenny looked at Mark and they both nodded.

  “It came at me in the street.”

  “So it did attack you?”

  “No, it stopped. As if somebody was giving it commands.”

  “Commands? I don't understand – you said there was nobody else around.”

  “That's right, there wasn't. It leaped over Mark's car, as if it were about to attack, but then – it stopped. Like I said.”

  “Hmm…You have a dog, of course?”

  Jenny frowned. “Yes, I do, but I don't see…”

  The policeman suddenly stood up. “All right, thank you. We may need to speak to you again, of course.”

  “What happens now?” asked Mark, also getting to his feet.

  “We try and find the owner. It's going to be difficult, but I'm sure other people must have seen it, running away. It just seems very strange that this animal should appear, kill this poor woman, then simply vanish…I mean, why didn't it pass you on the way out?”

  “Perhaps it jumped over the back wall.”

  The detective thought about this for a moment. “Well…we'll have to see won't we? We'll take some samples of the brickwork. If we find any fur, we'll be in a better position to come to any conclusions. Like I say, we'll be in touch.”

  They drove back towards Mark's office in silence. Jenny stared through the window, not registering anything as she turned her thoughts back to the horrific events of just a few hours ago. What had begun as a mystery, albeit a terrifying one, had now developed into a full-scale murder inquiry. The appearance of the dog brought a whole new level of danger to the story. Jenny couldn't help feeling that they hadn't seen the last of that murderous beast.

  Mark's mobile went off again and he pulled in to the kerb and answered it. “Hello?” His face grew serious as he listened, and he listened for a long time. “I see. Well…thank you, thank you very much.” He looked at Jenny, frowning. “Yes. That would be excellent. Thank you.” He closed the 'phone and let out a long sigh. “That was the British Museum. I have a few contacts there.”

  “The British Museum?”

  “Yes. I got in touch with them about the Priory. They contacted the Catholic National Library. Although their records really only go back to the late sixteen-hundreds, they have some tracts that relate to earlier evidence.”

  “Tracts? What's a tract?”

  “A small piece of writing, a statement or something similar. Written to make you think, or even persuade. Propaganda maybe.”

  “And what do they say?”

  He rubbed his face. “They're going to send me the details by e-mail, but essentially…” He looked out of his window. “There seems to be a suggestion that a monk was found murdered on the beach not far from the site of the Priory.”

  “So, that all fits.” Jenny brought her fist down on her thigh. “De la Croix murdered him, stole his pendant and used it to finance his landholdings.”

  “Seems that way. But there's more…”

  A heavy silence settled over them. Jenny could feel her impatience rising, but she remained quiet until, at last, Mark turned to her. “He may not have been dead.”

  She gaped. “What?”

  “They found his body about two hundred yards from the coracle. He'd dragged himself along the beach, trying to get back to the other monks.”

  “Oh my God…”

  “But…” Mark closed his eyes, “when they finally did find him, it was too late.”

  “He had died, from blood loss?” Jenny shook her head. “Poor man. If only someone had turned up earlier, they may have been able to save him.”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Because,” and here Mark turned the ignition and slammed the car into gear, “he had been torn apart…by a dog.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  There were three people standing in the little office when Jenny and Mark finally arrived. Donna stood behind her desk, her face drawn and pale, lips quivering. Beside her, another woman, tall and very slim, her bare arms incredibly defined, the muscles bulging, one hand gripping Donna by the arm, the other holding a long, sinister-looking knife.

  Mark immediately stepped forward, but Anthony Cross, the third person there, barred his way, hand thrust out. “I wouldn't, not if you want her to live.”

  Jenny pulled at Mark's shoulder and felt the tension seep away from his body.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Before Cross could speak, the woman interrupted, “The pendant.”

  Mark gasped. “The pendant…What…Who the hell are you?”

  “We want the pendant,” repeated Cross. Something about his voice, his whole demeanour, told everyone that he was a mere puppet in all of this; the woman was in charge, directing every move. But for now, she allowed Cross to talk. He turned to Jenny, “At the beach…forces unknown took you there. Well, it did the same to me – a force neither of us could resist. A force of revenge.” He looked away, much of his bravado seeping away, guilt perhaps causing him to have second thoughts?

  “Get on with it, Tony,” spat the woman, gripping Donna's tightly. Donna gave a tiny squeal of pain.

  Cross sighed, giving in. “We want the pendant, to get away. We have a buyer, in Germany. Then we can start again.”

  “You won't be able to escape,” said Jenny. “There is nowhere you can run to that it won't be able to find you.”

  “That's where you're wrong,” hissed the woman. “Because it's you that brought it here.”

  “Me?” Jenny gaped at this woman, clearly deranged, and unpredictable. Cross, the puppet, nodded his head sadly and slumped down in a chair, bent forward, mumbling something. Jenny appealed to him, knowing the woman would never listen to reason. “Listen, Mr Cross, we can defeat this thing, make it go away – as long as we stick together.”

  “No,” snapped the woman, her nails digging into Donna's flesh. “No, the only way to defeat it is to get the pendant and give it what it wants.”

  Jenny frowned, fearing the next few words.

  A thin smile spread across the woman's face. “It wants you!”

  No amount of talking was going to persuade the woman otherwise. Possessed by whatever power the pendant had – the promise of riches, a new life, the ability to go and do whatever she wanted – she seemed prepared to go to any lengths. How long would she stay with Cross once the pendant had been sold, there was no way of knowing, but Jenny doubted it would not be for more than a few days before she jetted off somewhere exotic, leaving Cross, poor sap that he was, to rue the day he had ever met her.

>   Holding the blade to Donna's throat, the woman waited whilst Mark delved inside a small wall safe and produced the pendant. Sealed inside a plastic bag, to protect it from the elements, everyone could clearly see its radiant beauty.

  The woman's eyes grew like saucers and she made a grab for it.

  Jenny took her chance.

  As the woman reached to take the jewel, Jenny, springing like a cat, caught the woman's knife arm and smashed her to the floor. The two of them rolled around in a heap of thrashing limbs, the woman striking out with her free hand to strike Jenny across the face. Reeling into the corner, Jenny went to stand up, but the woman, saliva drooling from her mouth, recovered first and clambered to her feet. Raising the knife to strike home, she cackled in triumph.

  Mark punched her, a solid right into the jaw, snapping her head straight back. Her eyes rolled, the knife clattered from numbed fingers, and she crumpled like a weighted sack, unconscious before she hit the ground.

  Mark helped Jenny to her feet, and already the area where the woman's hand had struck her appeared bruised and painful. She smiled at him. “Thank you, Mark.”

  Turning to Donna, Mark held her in his arms as she broke down in tears.

  Mumbling incoherently, Cross rocked himself backwards and forwards, strange noises rising from the back of his throat.

  “What's the matter with him?” asked Mark.

  “I'm not sure,” said Jenny slowly. Her mobile sprang into life and she looked at the caller and smiled. “It's Claire.” She listened, heart quivering slightly. “Okay,” she said, then slowly closed the 'phone and slipped it into her pocket. Mark shot her a concerned glance. “She got a 'phone call,” said Jenny. “From you.”

  Mark did a double take. “From me?” He shook his head, grin lob-sided. “I don't…What did she say?”

  “You told her to meet us down at the beach. To take Lawrence. She's waiting down there.”

  “But…” Mark scratched his head. “I never told her any such thing.”

  “I know,” said Jenny, touching the raised welt on her face. “But I think I know who did.”

  The journey down to the beach was difficult. The woman they bundled into the back of Donna's car. Still unconscious, she groaned a few times but otherwise remained quiet. Cross, who had retreated further into himself, sat with a blank expression on his face, mumbling incoherently. Mark sat next to them whilst Donna drove, Jenny in the front passenger seat. Mark had found an ice pack in the fridge of his office, and Jenny sat with it pressed against the swelling on her face.

  No one spoke.

  Soon, Donna turned the car down an approach road to the beach. She parked-up and switched off the engine. Whilst everyone got out, Jenny strode forward and studied the grey, damp-looking sand that stretched far out across the bay. It was low-tide and the smell of salt hung thickly in the air. Way out in the far distance, a few tiny specks were running across the sand. Jenny gasped. “There they are,” she shouted, and resolutely set off towards them, waving and shouting. The two people stopped.

  But something didn't feel right. The atmosphere, still and threatening, making her tremble uncontrollably as a terrible sense of foreboding overwhelmed her.

  Suddenly Mark stood beside her. “What is it?” he asked.

  Jenny shook her head. “I don't know…Mark, where did we find the coracle?”

  He pointed off to the right. “It should be over there. It's supposed to be cordoned off.” He wandered towards the area as Jenny continued to watch the distant specs for a few moments more. It was their turn to wave frantically, and she returned the gesture. But why weren't they coming closer? Another tiny spec was running around. Could it be Scruffy? But even she didn't seem to want to come closer. Or perhaps, she couldn't…

  “Jenny!”

  She looked up and moved over to where Mark stood, hands on hips, staring down at a great hole in the sand.

  “It's gone,” he said softly.

  “Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?”

  “The coracle has gone – someone has taken it.”

  She gaped at him. “But…how could they do that? You said if anyone touched it, it would crumble within just a few moments.”

  He nodded. “Nevertheless…”

  Jenny couldn't understand any of it. A sudden thought came into her mind. “Mark, have you still got the pendant?”

  Quickly, he delved into the inside coat pocket of his parka. He grinned as he pulled it out, still in its plastic wallet. Jenny took it from him, held it and peered at it closely. It seemed the same and yet…A gentle footfall made them both turn. Pulling her coat tightly around her, Donna stood shivering with cold. “God, it's bleak out here. What's going on?”

  “The coracle has gone,” said Jenny.

  “Gone? But…”

  “Where's Cross?” asked Mark.

  “He's up there, in the car.” She gestured towards the vehicle. “He's muttering stuff to himself, his eyes glazed over as if he's in some sort of a trance.”

  “And the woman?”

  Donna shrugged. “Completely out of it. You really hit her hard, Mark.”

  “Yeah, well…she did have a knife against your throat.”

  Donna smiled. “You don't need to remind me,” subconsciously, she pressed her fingers against her skin. “She's a nutcase. Don't you think we should call the police?”

  “As soon as we've spoken to Claire,” said Jenny, nodding towards the distant figures. “But they don't seem to want to come closer. I'm going to go and see them, maybe they've found something else.”

  “See them?” Mark's voice sounded concerned. “What do you mean, 'see them'? There's no one here.”

  “No,” said Jenny, pointing out to the far horizon. “They're way over there. I'm going to go and talk to them. Whoever it was who 'phoned them did so for a reason.”

  “Jenny…” Mark began, but Jenny wasn't listening and she strode out across the wet sand.

  As she walked across the beach, she became increasingly aware of how quiet it was. A shudder rattled through her and she turned her face skywards. Shouldn't there be birds, gulls at least, flying around?

  She stopped and looked about. It was as if she was the only person there. Liverpool, way out on the other side, was nothing but a smudge on the horizon. The specks continued to wave, but they were no nearer. Jenny turned to beckon Mark but as she did so, she gave a yelp of alarm.

  Mark and Dona had completely disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fear gripped her. Suddenly, the wind blew up from nowhere, whipping away at her clothes and hair, gathering strength until it was virtually gale force. With the air roaring around her head, forcing her to lean forward, she was almost bowled over. As the sky grew darker, day turned into night, lightning streaking above her, thunder rumbling loud and frightening. The rain burst from leaden clouds, drenching her within seconds.

  As unexpectedly as it had begun, the storm receded and everything grew quiet again within an instant.

  A biting cold closed in and she held herself, feeling the chill bite into her bones. A strange, swirling fog drifted in from the river, covering the sand at her feet, and the air all around her. Very soon, it was if cotton wool embalmed her, leaving her alone, unable to see more than a few feet. The silence was total. A sudden urge to shout out gripped her, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, she saw something coming out of the mist.

  Two figures, huddled together, holding onto one another for support.

  They drew closer and Jenny gasped.

  Cross and the woman.

  It was Cross who spoke first, the woman still weak from Mark's blow. Her face appeared terribly swollen, her eyes downcast, her whole demeanour one of defeat. “He's brought us back.”

  Jenny frowned. “How could he do that? What about Donna and Mark, the others?”

  Cross shrugged, “He wants that,” he nodded towards the pendant Jenny held in her hand. “But I think I know how to end all of this.”

  Jenn
y tensed as Cross pulled the knife from his waistband. He must have taken it in the confusion back in Mark's office. “What Belinda said was true,” he said grimly, gently rubbing his free hand across the woman's arm, “when she said 'it wants you', I believe that is the answer. Before you came here, my life was good. Me and Belinda, we had a chance, to make something of our lives, our future.”

  “And what about your wife?”

  “Maureen?” He laughed, “She doesn't care for me, never has. Belinda loves me, and we're going to go away together. And you're going to help us.”

  Jenny took a step backwards, but Cross moved too quickly. He grabbed her roughly around the throat, turned her and painfully jerked her arm up her back, pinning her to him. She struggled, but it was useless. He put his mouth very close to her ear and whispered, “I'm going to kill you, Jenny. That's what it wants, you see. You.”

  She struggled in his arms, but that only made him apply more pressure. “You can't,” she gasped, “you can't do this.”

  “Oh, but I can,” he said with a laugh, “I can and I must. When you're dead, it will all be over. Belinda and I can run away, start again. I wish I'd understood all of this sooner, I'd already be free.”

  “But it's not me it wants,” she squealed, wriggling in his grip, but he held her firmly. “Don't you understand any of this - it's you, not me. Your family, they were the ones who stole the pendant. Your ancestor murdered him, then took the pendant and now it wants it back – the ghost, it wants its revenge!”

  “But you're the gateway, Jen. The gateway to its world. You must be some sort of medium, or clairvoyant, or whatever it is. With your death the gateway will close and we will be free.”

  Releasing his grip, he shoved her away sharply and she fell to her knees, gasping with the impact. Swinging round, she saw him with the knife, a wild look in his eyes, a maniacal glint, lips drawn back over glistening teeth. Rabid, that's what he had become. A mad dog.

  But it was no mad dog that exploded out of the mist at that moment.

  Scruffy launched herself through the air, her body like a rugby football, slamming into the Cross's flank, sending him floundering to the ground. He rolled over onto his back as Scruffy clamped her jaws around his wrist. He screamed, releasing his hold on the knife, but Scruffy held on tenaciously, growling and shaking him, as strong as a dog ten times its size.