Dead Village (12 page)

“Don't worry Francis, nowadays I'm always careful.”

Father O'Neill paused in the hallway for a second before answering, and was surprised to see Officer Fagan standing with his cap dripping rain down onto his shoes.

“Hello Tim, um, Father,” he corrected. I'm sorry to be bothering you like this, but I've been looking for Tully and Francis. There's someone who rang the station. He's been trying to contact them. Have you any idea as to their whereabouts?”

“They're here, with me, inside, come in out of the rain Jeremiah, come in.”

“Hello Francis, Tully,” he said, as he held out a piece of paper and shook it at Francis. “Someone by the name of Dan Winters from America phoned. I wrote down his number, and a short message.”

Francis took the paper from him and stared hard at it and smiled.

“It's a note from Dan; and he's been trying to contact us Tully,” Then she read the words aloud.

‘Please contact me; I know all about what has happened to us, Dan Winters.'

Tully reached for the note, almost wrenching it from her hand.

“Here is our help,” he said, tapping the note with his finger. “God bless you mister Dan Winters, for being the man that you are.”

Father O'Neill okayed the call, and Francis hastily dialled the number that may just save all their lives.

*  *  *  *  *

Across in America, Dan struggled up from the comfortable chair, and for a moment he was confused as he rubbed at his eyes. He clumsily searched in his pocket as Yankee Doodle Dandy played loudly on his mobile. Thomas shook his head as Dan answered the call.

“Patriots,” Thomas mumbled. “Damn!”

“Yes, this is Dan Winters speaking.” After a brief pause he looked across to Thomas and nodded.

“Yes, that's why I tried contacting you Francis. I've been having these frightening dreams for months now. Only now we know they weren't dreams. Now we know they were memories of a terrifying event which really happened to each of us.”

“Another creature has returned Dan,” Francis said. “But this one is a different creature than the one before, and this one is also very powerful. However, an even more deadly abomination than that has been summoned. I heard the little bear, um Mr Cliff, say this in the forest.”

Dan held his head as he felt the familiar pain buzzing around, but he shrugged it off.

“Little bear, yes, I saw it as I passed through the cleansing lights Francis.”

“What are cleansing lights? Francis asked, puzzled.

“I'm coming over there, and I'll tell you about them when I get there, but they were like some kind of time machine. They can change the past though. Just before I passed out I remember seeing a little bears head at my feet, a little blue bears head. It seemed to smirk at me.”

“Yes, well there is no doubt that what you saw was Mr Cliff,” Francis replied. “A small but very dangerous little blue bears head,” she added.

Dan talked for some more minutes before adding that he would be returning to Ireland in the next couple of days, and also informed her that he would have Thomas Lapahie with him. This medicine man was very knowledgeable, he explained.

Dan paused for a moment as the thought of just what they were getting into shot across his brain.

It would have been easy for him to forget about it and stay in the relative safety of his own country.

But Dan knew that the events which were unfolding in Ireland, would affect him over here, and determine if Lynn should live or die.

“I'm not going to lie to you, or give you some kind of false hope Francis,” he said. “The sad truth is that we may be up against something that has the power to destroy us all, but if we don't act on it now, then we will definitely be destroyed anyway. Have you contacted Donald O'Shea and the old minister yet? And let's not forget Blair McCann.”

Francis looked across at Tully before answering.

“I'm sorry Dan, but old reverend McLeay died, and I um, I contacted Donald and Blair. I'm sorry to tell you, but they don't want involved in this. To be honest about it though, I can't say I really blame them. Griff has vanished as well.”

“No, Griff has been over here. I have spoken to him many times, but when I realised just who he was, he was gone. But I trust Thomas; and I'm sure my Indian friend will be able to help us.”

“Can he really help us Dan?”

“Yes, trust me. I'm sure of it.”

Now though, and through it all, Francis was smiling. Because now she felt there was a real chance for them all. Even so, she started to sob quietly.

She said goodbye to Dan and nodded to the others.

“At least now we have some hope, because Dan is bringing someone from America with him.”

“Against Stazivore, Dan will need to bring God almighty himself,” Father O'Neill replied.

Little Scraps had fallen into a deep sleep on Tully's knee again, and was snoring loudly. Tully stroked the little dog and its eyes opened widely.

“At least you won't have any worries my small friend,” Tully stated.

“I keep telling him it's a dog's life Tully,” Tim joked as Francis wiped a tear away.

It's all so bloody hopeless,
Tully thought.

CHAPTER 13

Rain was beating hard against the window frame as Greta Casey stared out across the windswept road, which now looked just like a silver swirling stream, as the water poured across it. At this point in time, life didn't mean much to her anymore.

With her family gone she had no one. Loneliness had finally beaten her, and her mind was made up that tonight the heartache would finally end. Tonight she would set herself free, forever.

God only knew how hard she had tried to be good in life. She had never taken alcohol, never told a lie, and until her son Brian left home for good, she had regularly and faithfully attended the church. She had fretted about this, but the gossip mongers had finally driven her away.

Someone, a priest it was, who once told her, ‘that the taking of one's own life was one of mankind's greatest sins, and that anyone following their desire to do this would be severely punished in Hell.' This piece of knowledge had been a key factor that she was still alive today, because up until this point the priest's information had frightened her.

Now though, Greta was no longer frightened. No one wanted her, she felt, including God.

She wiped a tear from her eye, and placed her open palm on the cold window. Wiping tears away had been a regular occurrence for her these past years, but this time she knew it would be for the very last time.

She picked up the four almost full bottles of prescription tablets, and walked slowly upstairs. She hadn't been taking her anti- depression tablets for so many months, and now she had hundreds of them saved.

*  *  *  *  *

After taking her bath she neatly placed some letters on a large shelf, spread out at an equal distance. All but one had been bills that needed paying. At least no one could say she didn't honour her debt. The other letter was for Brian. She didn't know where he was, but this was because Brian didn't want her to know. Greta would never be aware of how she frightened Brian, and how she had driven him away with her erratic deteriorating behaviour. She addressed Brian's letter to care off Father O'Neill, the young priest in Cappawhite. She had heard how caring he was from the people around town.

Greta felt that this would guarantee that Brian would somehow receive the last of her money. The three thousand Euros she had scraped away may not exactly be a sum that would change his life, but she felt it would help him in some small way. Anyway, it was all she had left to give.

How Brian could have hated her so much tugged at her heart strings. Her life had always revolved around her boys, and they would never know the sacrifices she had made for them since they were babies.

Her husband had been taken by a demon in the forest when her sons were children, and she knew this to be true. Now her husband had been transformed into one of these diabolical creatures.

Many years later, ‘Charles,' her older twin son, had also been taken, witnessed by his brother ‘Brian.'

Greta had searched for Charles in the forest on many occasions, and always late at night.

She was afraid to be there, but a mother's love outweighed her fear. She had often felt as though she could feel his presence, sometimes coming through the trees, sometimes watching. And one time she was absolutely certain she had heard him call to her. He never did come to her though.

Now on this last search both Charles and her husband had made it clear to her that they didn't want her.

She was sure of one thing however. She was sure that no matter how bad Charles had been in life, he would never have deserted her like Brian had done, had he not been taken by the demon. Charles had strength about him that she had never come across before. She still loved and forgave Brian though. Because now he was all she had left in the world. She had placed her small ornaments in a box, carefully packed, and had left a note that Mrs Dempsey, her good friend and neighbour was to have them.

Beside her bed on a little cabinet sat a large bottle of cheap wine. “Welcome to my fucking going away party,” she said to no one.

*  *  *  *  *

Greta sat on the edge of the bed and sipped a little of the cheap wine.

The bitter sweet taste revolted her. “I can't even end my bloody life in a pleasant way,” she moaned.

She slowly swallowed the tablets three at a time, followed by a swig of wine.

Thirty large swallows later, she turned out the light and lay on her bed.

Thoughts of when she was a girl filled her mind. These were happy times, when she would help her mother milk the cows, and do the daily chores around the farm. Even though the work could be hard, Greta had loved every minute of it. Her father was a large figure of a man, with an even larger heart. Nothing was too much trouble for him, when it came to their happiness.

She could never remember her father taking life too serious. Always a joker and always with a man with a smile on his face, right up until the day he died. Even when he was told his cancer was inoperable, he wouldn't let the children see how badly inside he really felt. Why, even on his last day of life, and although coughing blood, he would force a smile for them.

Greta remembered that last day. This was the only time her father had spoken to her in a serious manner, as he called her to his bedside.

“You must look after your mother Greta,” he had said. “You're the eldest, and you must help as best you can. Promise me.”

“I don't want you to die,” Greta had sobbed into his chest.

Although her father was weak, he still managed to hug her tightly.

“Everything must Die sometime,” he whispered. “But we will all meet again, and of that I'm certain. The good lord will see to it.”

“Promise me Greta,” he almost pleaded.

“I-I promise.”

“That's my girl,” he choked.

“I love you,” Greta had cried, as her mother and family members dragged her from the bed side and out from the room.

Her father passed away later that night.

“I love you father, wait for me,” Greta shouted loudly to the dark ceiling, as though her father could somehow hear her.

Now Greta was on a high, and the experience of being drunk felt good to her. She giggled loudly and held the bottle to her head, but now it was almost empty.

“I must go get me another bottle,” she giggled.

As she tried to rise from the bed she fell back on useless limbs, and the idea of buying another bottle was soon forgotten.

Her head was reeling now, body numbing, and in the darkness she was sure she saw a movement.

She stared hard across to the cold dark walls. Something was here, in her room. A shadow! Something?

Through her puzzled mind she reached toward her drawer, and searched for the little crucifix she had left there so very long ago, but quickly gave up the idea. Greta didn't need a crucifix to protect her against this night's visitor, because this visitor was much more welcome than anyone she had ever known before.

The large black shape moved slowly across the room like some vast shadow, and Greta coughed as she forced herself up onto her pillow, balancing on an elbow as the shape moved across to the other side.

In the distance a thunderclap roared.

The blurring of her eyes made it difficult to focus, but even in her confused state, she already knew instinctively who it was. It was only something a mother could know.

“Charles,” she almost laughed. “You've returned. I've been looking for you son, looking in the forest, but I couldn't find you,” she slurred. “I've tried Charles. Tried so many times, and I never gave up looking. Why did you not come to me in the forest Charles?”

The silhouette of the figure loomed before her. “Why don't you answer me Charles? You weren't always this quiet. Has the damn cat got your tongue?” Greta slurred in a whisper, and laughed.

The room remained silent as the wind and rain outside drummed frantically on the window panes, as another thunderclap boomed out as it drew nearer.

“You never would do what was asked of you Charles. But do you know what? I wouldn't ever have changed you. Not for the world. You were a man in a boys body Charles. As brave a little boy as they come you were. The other boys were afraid to bully you son, because you were stronger than them. They tried to say you were bad, but I could see deeper Charles. I knew you were good deep down. And you were always considerate to me. Not like Brian though. He left me Charles, and I'm so lonely,” she sobbed.

“The Lord won't forgive me for doing this, will he Charles?”

The figure hissed loudly.

“Speak to me Charles, please,” Greta begged.

The figure moved forward, nearer.

Greta's voice became lower until it was a mere whisper, but she talked on.

“Even though Brian left, I still love him. He just couldn't cope after you were taken Charles. Your brother missed you so much.

You two boys meant everything to me, and each other. Come over closer to me Charles,” she groaned. “Come closer and let me hold you one last time, before I…”

Now her breathing was becoming laboured.

The creature stayed its ground, but its hand twitched violently and its head cocked sharply to one side. A foam type substance flowed from its open mouth, and dripped heavily down onto the floor.

Greta was drunk, and Greta was dying. She could feel it. But she needed to say these things, so she struggled on.

“And even though you caused me the most trouble Charles,” she slurred. “You were always my favourite. At least you had something. I don't know what it was, but Brian or your father never had it. It was something inside of you. You had a passion for life Charles.”

She stretched her hand out toward the figure, and very slowly its shaking hand moved toward her, finger stretched, almost touching. Just barely an inch away. Then it was quickly drawn back down to its side.

The minutes ticked slowly passed, when suddenly Greta muttered in a barely audible voice, “forgive me Jesus.”

She coughed and whispered incoherently, then she passed off into a deep sleep.

The large figure moved silently along the side of the bed and stared intently down at her for some time. Her eyes were beginning to roll in her head, as her vital organs began to shut down one by one. She was approaching death very rapidly now.

The large figure hissed even louder than before, as it stared at the empty prescription bottles scattered across the bedroom floor.

Greta didn't even feel the creature put its hands on her head and violently twist, breaking her neck instantly.

Now she had committed no sin. Something else had taken her life. Now her soul could rest in peace.

The large hooded figure moved away from the urine soaked bed and wailed.

Next door, old Mrs Dempsey jumped up from her seat and blessed herself.

“Mother of God,” she whispered as the high pitched wailing from next door filled the room.

She moved back, away from the wall, but she could hear the commotion, as in Greta's house picture frames cracked, shattering glass down to the floor. A table lamp shook violently and all around the house the light bulbs started to pop one by one, as downstairs, the unused television exploded into a thousand pieces, tearing through the furniture and ripping the wallpaper to shreds.

Knives and forks burst from drawers and slammed into the ceiling, as plates crashed from the cupboards. Outside the roar of thunder drowned out any noise coming from inside the house.

Small dust clouds swirled around the rooms and hallway, buzzing like a thousand bees. They tore picture frames from the walls, smashing the glass and obliterating the smiling faces forever from their pose.

An old framed photograph, taken of them during happier times together, a long time ago, exploded into fragments.

Carpet that had been nailed down so many years ago moved like a wave down the stairway, as it tore through the nails like butter.

The dust clouds collided into each other, before dissipating down to the worn out floor below.

Then there was silence.

Even the oncoming thunderstorm had somehow become silent, and the heavy, once powerful winds were now just a light breeze.

No one noticed as the creature moved across the roof of the house and hovered toward the forest, back where it had come from.

It moved slowly at first, as though fighting with some unexplainable bond that held it there at the house. Then it moved faster, much faster.

The other large hooded figure with the little bears head waited, just behind the first batch of trees, and soon the two creatures moved off together, in a single file, deeper, toward the heart of the dark forest. Nothing stirred, as they quickly dissolved into the darkness.

Greta lay silent and still, on the bed, a smile etched on her cold dead face.

Next door, old Mrs Dempsey almost fell into her chair, mouth open.

*  *  *  *  *

Somewhere in the distant realms of space, the four horsemen stood side by side, moving slowly across the heavens, until one horse, the sickly pale horse, reared, turned away, and rode off.

Death was on the move.

Across in the heart of the forest, the little bears head twisted into a grimace, a grimace of the purist evil.

It had waited a long time for this, and it would have its revenge.

Now it could wait some more. Wait for the horseman of death to come.

“Stazivore, he comes,” Mr Cliff shouted across the forest. “He comes.”