“This corner of the graveyard was also used for burials.
“Given the fact that no stones marked the sites, I guessed that this was where the paupers, or perhaps the criminal fraternity, might be interred. Whatever the case, the social standing of the deceased made no never-mind to the tree, serving as they did as food for its ever continuing growth.”
* * *
Carnacki stopped, looking concerned towards Arkwright. I turned to see that our friend had gone pale and looked ill at ease.
“I’m sorry old chap,” Arkwright said after taking a swig of whisky. “It’s just that one doesn’t like to think of oneself becoming food for the worms and trees. I am sort of hoping for a long white gown and a harp myself.”
That brought a nervous laugh from the rest of us, but Carnacki did not join in.
“I would rather not tell the tale at all if it causes you any distress,” he said.
Arkwright would have none of it.
“Nonsense man. I will be fine. Just a momentary lapse that’s all. As I said, one does not like to consider one’s own mortality too closely.”
“I understand completely,” Carnacki replied. “But I fear some such consideration might well be required before this tale is done. But if you are ready, I shall continue.”
* * *
“I stood there for a long time, smoking a pipe and contemplating the spread of branches overhead, but I felt no presence, no sign that anything from the Outer Realms might have taken hold. Given my responsibilities in the caves on the morrow, I was loath to spend anymore time than required catering to the whims of a vicar who might be too fond of his ale to be reliable.
“I had already resolved to head back to the inn for a quick snifter before bed when a tall thin figure loomed up in front of me. It gave me quite a start I can tell you, but I soon saw it was only a workman. He wore a corduroy suit that was deeply ingrained with earth, and carried a spade, so I felt safe in deducing that this might be the aforementioned gravedigger. He was near as thin as a skeleton himself, but his eyes were deep blue and full of life as he spoke.
“‘You’ll be the expert?’ he said. ‘The vicar told me you would not be able to stay away. But I don’t know what you expect to do. Anything short of tearing the thing down to the roots and burning them is not going to achieve much.’
“I offered him some tobacco and he took it gladly enough as we both stood and looked at the oak.
“‘It moves you know?’ he said softly as he took his first puff from his pipe. ‘On still nights, with not a drop of wind anywhere, it moves.’
“I tried to probe for more, hoping for a story that might illuminate the vicar’s tales, but he was already moving off.
“‘I have a grave to dig,’ he said. ‘And far too near yon thing for my liking, so if you will excuse me sir, I shall be about my business.’
“I left him to it and returned to my previous plan. A couple of brandies later I was snugly ensconced in my room at the inn sleeping the sleep of the just.
“On awakening in the morning I thought no more of the oak tree, focussing my thoughts on planning the day’s activities in the cave. But my plans were all to come to nought. I was disturbed at breakfast by a distraught vicar and a policeman who looked at me in a most suspicious manner. It was only by subtle probing that I was able to ascertain that the thin gravedigger had been found dead beside a fresh grave that very morning.
“‘It strangled him Mr. Carnacki,’ the vicar said, helping himself to some of my toast and marmalade as he spoke. ‘Throttled him.’
“The policeman was still eyeing me up for a set of handcuffs.
“‘We believe you may have been the last person to see him alive,’ the constable said.
“Of course you chaps can understand the pickle I was in. I quickly abandoned all thoughts of working in the caves that day, and set to the task of proving my innocence.
“It was no simple matter, I can assure you of that. That constable was dashed keen to see me locked up, and I had the devil of a time persuading him to let me see the body. I was forced to pull a few strings and call in a favour from the powers that be, and even after the telegram from Parliament arrived the policeman refused to let me out of his sight.
“We must have made an intriguing sight, the three of us walking in tandem to the churchyard. Once there the clergyman stayed back near the door to the church itself, but the constable accompanied me silently all the way through the graveyard to the corner where the tree stood.
“The gravedigger cut a sorry sight, lying legs akimbo beside a patch of newly cut sod. The new grave was beneath the furthermost branches from the oak’s trunk, and a scattering of leaves lay on the ground around the body.
“The vicar had been right when he stated the man had been throttled. In fact his head had almost been separated from the body, such was the force with which he had been attacked. I bent to investigate further, merely touching the side of the stricken man’s face. It lolled alarmingly to one side, the whole head turning away from me. Every bone in the man’s spine had been broken. And not just broken, but crushed by a massive force.
“‘No man did this,’ I said to the policeman, who was suddenly looking green around the gills. ‘This took the strength of a bull.’
“Thankfully, he did not disagree with me. He did however require me to attend the small police station to give a statement. I agreed to his request, but first sent a telegram back to London. I had a feeling I would have need of some defences before the day was out.
“I was questioned rigorously at the police station. The constable’s superiors had not seen the body, and were understandably not keen on any explanation that did not involve a human perpetrator. Once again I had to resort to my telegram, and finally I was allowed to leave, but with a stern warning not to get into any other trouble. It was late afternoon before I was able to return to the inn.
“My defences arrived while I was strengthening myself with a steak pie and some ale. By the time the sun once more started to set I was on my way back to the cemetery, intent on getting to the bottom of the matter once and for all.
“The clergyman met me at the church gate, but once again he refused to go past the church itself. I was left to drag the box containing the defences across the rough ground to the tree. I was gratified to see that the gravedigger’s body had been removed from the site, for I had no desire to spend a night in the company of a corpse.
“You chaps will already have figured out one of the obstacles in my path. The rough terrain meant that there was no possibility of my setting out the circles as required by the Sigsand MS. I had to content myself with a rough circle composed of Holy Water and Garlic, with the electric pentacle set as well as I could at five pentagrammic points. I hooked the valves up to my small battery, which I hoped would be up to the task, and settled down to wait.”
* * *
Carnacki paused again, and we took the opportunity to refill our glasses.
He took some time filling a fresh pipe before he spoke again.
“I have told you before of my theories about the origin of so-called hauntings,” he continued. “You know that I have no great belief in any survival after death of the type known as a ghost by the common man. Most, if not all in my experience, have been misidentified emanations from the Outer Regions, dark entities from the Macrocosm attempting to take a hold on our plane. I believed that was what I might encounter there under the boughs of that tree.
“I thought I was prepared. I was wrong.”
Carnacki went quiet again, staring into the flames in the fireplace.
Arkwright, as usual, tried to fill the space Carnacki had left.
“I say Carnacki. I have trouble with your theory, at least where it concerns our immortal souls. I do believe...”
Carnacki stopped him with a scowl.
“There will be time enough for discussion later,” he said. Arkwright, suitably chastened, fell quiet. Carnacki took a sip of whisky, sat back in hi
s chair, and continued with his story.
* * *
“After a while I began to believe that my wait was destined to be fruitless. The branches hung above me but they remained still, and the lack of wind meant that the graveyard lay dark and quiet. Now you chaps know that I am not easily spooked, but even a stout heart can run cold in the middle of an old graveyard in the dead of night.
“I was considering making preparations to depart when a bough creaked above me, the sound loud as a gunshot in the night. I started as another crack came, seeming right next to my left ear.
“The azure valves of my pentacle flared, and sent blue and black shadows dancing among the gravestones. Suddenly it was as if a gale struck the tree. Although no wind as much as shifted a hair on my head the boughs above thrashed in frenzy, sending a rain of displaced leaves to fall around me. A branch as thick as my arm smacked on the ground just outside the pentacle, then another. A third swung in a wide arc that might have ended with my skull being caved in had not my defences repelled it with a flaring flash of blue fire. More branches reached for me, and I was well able to imagine exactly how the poor gravedigger met his end as twigs like gnarled fingers clutched at air where they could just as easily have wrapped around my neck.
“I had started to wonder about the remaining life in my battery when the attack suddenly ceased and everything fell still. I was too old a hand at this game to believe that it was safe to leave my protections. I busied myself with filling a pipe and waited.
“The night fell chill, and I wished that I had remembered to fetch my overcoat. A gibbous moon rose over the cemetery, throwing starker shadows flitting among the stones. I eyed the branches above me with some suspicion, but they remained still, ruffled only by the slightest of breezes that had come with the moon.
“For the space of a slow smoke nothing much happened. A crow cawed from somewhere near the church, and a pair of drunken revellers sang as they staggered down the lane beyond the main gate. Then the night went completely silent. The sky had cleared, revealing the full majesty of the sky and Mars showed, angry and red, above the Yew hedge. Had I not been standing inside my defences I might have even relaxed and enjoyed the spectacle. But comfort and relaxation were a long way off.
“I started to get a feeling that I was being watched. The hairs at the back of my neck bristled, as if there was someone blowing softly on them. There was a presence here with me, and I was becoming more and more convinced that an entity from the Outer Realms had taken residence in this old tree. I resolved there and then to do my utmost to send it back to the eternal dark.
“During my wait I had brought to mind a ritual that had served me well in the past. I had written it several years before in my Addenda to Harzans Monograph and Astral Coordination and Interference. It was a transcription of a verse I had discovered deep in the musty catacombs under York Minister, a ritual related by a Roman who knew certain secrets, and used them to cleanse the ground around the original temple on the site. I believed its cleansing properties would serve me well in my current situation.
“I began the ritual, finding the sing-song rhythm of it as I went.
“Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.
“The night did not reply, and the tree stayed still and silent. The azure valves maintained a steady dim glow. If there was an entity present, it was reticent in making its presence felt.
“Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.
“Was there a ripple in the foliage? It was difficult to tell. I concentrated on making my way to the end of the ritual.
“Ri linn tabhar na breithe Biodh a shith air do theannal fein.
“Damnú ort!
The valves of the pentacle flared, so bright I had to close my eyes against the glare.
“My ritual was done. I had been given no sign whether it had been successful. I waited for another hour but there was no return of any manifestation, no movement in the branches. I had to trust that the chant had worked.
“I packed away the defences, half expecting at any moment to be assaulted by thrashing foliage. But the attack did not come. I made my way back to the inn through a quiet, sleeping village.”
* * *
Carnacki stopped and stared into the fire.
Arkwright once again piped up.
“I say Carnacki. That’s a bit of a rum do. It is not much of a story. A few bits of shrubbery waving around is hardly going to disturb our sleep tonight now is it? I must say, I’m disappointed. I...”
Carnacki silenced him with a wave of the hand.
“I did not say the story was done,” he said softly. “I merely paused for a moment’s reflection. And I believe you will forget your momentary disappointment. This tale may not contain the chills and danger of some of my other adventures. But I can promise you chaps something. I can promise something that will make you think. And yes my dear Arkwright, it may well keep you awake.
”But first, as I intimated, some reflection.”
He stood to refill his glass, and the rest of us followed suit. Once we were all settled, he started again, but at first he did not return straight away to the story.
* * *
“As I said at the start,” he began. “This story has implications for my theory as to how the Macrocosm and the Microcosm are structured. I have told you before that I have no great belief in the survival of anything you might consider a soul, and I have seen enough of the Outer Realms to know that if Heaven does exist, it is a far different proposition to Arkwright’s harps and white wings. But like the rest of you, I would like to think that all the experience I have built up in this life in the Microcosm was not going to be wasted in the afterlife.
“But I am getting ahead of myself -- I blame Arkwright,” he said, and that got a laugh from all of us present.
“I had hardly put my head on the pillow back at the inn when there was a loud knock on my chamber door. On opening it I found the vicar in the corridor. He looked panicked and dishevelled, as if he had been dragged backward through one of his Yew hedges.
“‘I don’t know what you’ve done Mr. Carnacki,’ he said. ‘But I think you had better come and see for yourself.’
“I dressed quickly and was almost frog-marched back to the churchyard by the distraught clergyman. I tried to draw some information from him, but he was too preoccupied to answer me. He muttered to himself all the way, about ghosties and ghoulies, interspersed with prayers for the dead gravedigger, and snatches of martial hymns. I came to believe that the poor man had become somewhat unhinged by whatever he had experienced.
“It did not take me long to see the cause. This time the vicar did not leave me at the church door. He led me by the arm all the way to the far corner where the Oak stood. At first I thought there was someone waiting for us under the boughs, but as we closed I saw that the figure was almost transparent. If any of you chaps had been there you would have said you were looking at a ghost.
“But I do not believe in ghosts.
“I moved to approach closer but the vicar held me back.
“‘Stay,’ he said softly, as if ordering a dog. ‘Quiet.’
“I watched the ghost closely. When we had first arrived I had taken the figure as a female, for it had the look of a girl wearing a peasant smock. But now the whole appearance was somewhat taller and more distended, and looked like nothing less than an old man, stooped and bent with age. He knelt to the ground and, to my surprise, picked up a handful of leaves and sniffed at them. If this was an apparition, it was a dashed solid one.
“Or perhaps not.
“Even as I watched the wraith seemed to warp into a new form... not back to the peasant girl, but to a very plump and very short man dressed in a business suit. Beside me the vicar inhaled sharply, but did not speak. The short man continued to sniff at the leaves, then bent and picked up something else from the ground. It took me a second to realize what it was... he had lif
ted an acorn.
“The wraith stiffened and started to walk jerkily towards us. When it was perhaps five yards outside the reach of the outermost branch of the Oak it stopped, and knelt to the ground. Once again it took me several seconds to realize its intent. As I watched, it dug a small hole and popped the acorn in, as neat as pie.
“Its task done, the wraith drifted apart, like smoke in the wind, until the vicar and I were alone in the quiet dark of the cemetery. The clergyman had gone so pale that I thought he might faint there and then.
“‘That is the third I have seen,’ he said softly. ‘But the first I have recognized. I shall be damned if that was not Brian Greene. He murdered his wife these five years passed, was hanged for it, and is buried out there in an unmarked grave.’
“He looked at me, the horror clear in his eyes.
“‘What have you done Mr. Carnacki? What in God’s name have you done?’
“I was asking myself the same question.
“I stayed there all night alone, the vicar having long since retired to cower in the church. I saw two more appearances of the apparitions, and each time they seemed to be learning about the habitat, and the ground around them. And each time, they planted an acorn beyond the reaches of the tree’s branches.
“I was suitably chastened as I walked back to the inn to break my fast in the morning.”
* * *
Carnacki stopped. We all realized the tale was done, finished all too abruptly.
Once more Arkwright was perplexed.
“Why that’s no kind of story at all. You mean they are still there, these ghosts of yours? You did not banish them to the Outer Realms or wherever the deuce it is you send this sort of thing?”
Carnacki smiled thinly.
“I could not in all conscience send them, or it I might say, somewhere it did not yet belong.”
He must have seen our confusion. He filled another pipe and got it lit before continuing.
Carnacki: Heaven and Hell Page 14