The Watchers (30 page)

– 46 –

Tuesday 15 February 1977, 10.30 a.m., ten hours until the sky watch . . .

‘I found circular burn marks in the lower fields,’ Randall said conversationally, pulling off his overcoat. Araceli and Tessa were with me in the kitchen. ‘And more footprints near the cattle shed and the house.’

He handed me some Polaroid shots showing sets of prints. They looked as though they had been made by enormous ripple-soled boots.

‘The force that has targeted us,’ Randall said in a hushed voice, ‘is getting nearer. I want everyone inside the farmhouse for the rest of the day – and the night.’

Shortly afterwards Dr Caxton arrived back from the village. ‘Who’s for a cup of tea?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood. Tessa hummed quietly to herself in the corner of the kitchen. Araceli and Randall sat at the vast table looking deeply troubled as I told them about what Frobisher had said on the phone.

Araceli gave Dr Caxton a direct stare. ‘Something bad is going to happen, isn’t it?’

‘I fear so, young lady.’

I glanced up. Part of me thought he was mistaken; most of me knew he wasn’t.

*

After lunch I called RAF Brawdy and asked for the admiral. He should have arrived by then.

‘You made it, thank God!’

‘Yes.’ His voice sounded terribly hoarse and he was coughing fitfully. Painfully. ‘Did you find the Parsons Report.’

I told him I had. I also told him that now it was missing.

‘Can you drive over and meet me?’

‘There’s no time,’ I said. ‘Something terrible is going to happen. Tonight.’

He thinks I’ve lost it
, I thought as he gave a sympathetic sigh on the other end of the line, but my sense of expectation was so strong that I was all but paralysed.

‘Admiral, the sky watch— ’

‘How are your nerves?’ He sounded genuinely concerned. I imagined he was wondering what had happened to his ever-reliable source on the Defence Select Committee. At last he said, ‘So be it.’

I gripped the phone tighter. ‘Admiral, if one of these . . . sky spectres – UFOs – appears in front of so many people at the same time, it could have disastrous consequences.’

‘If you’re telling me you anticipate further sightings, I will inform NATO that we anticipate a breach of our air defences by a prototype foreign jet and give strict instructions not to scramble any interceptors.’

‘Except they’re not jets,’ I said a little too quickly.

The admiral drew another ragged breath. ‘What are they then, Robert?’

Here it was, the question I knew how to answer. But who was I fooling? Getting the words out wasn’t going to be as easy. The strength left my legs and I had to sit down.

Randall was right. Long ago he had told me that there were Watchers, ancient beings who wanted to open the minds of men and flood them with horror. After all I had learned, I could only conclude that the UFOs were directly related to the entities and occult manifestations involved in seances and poltergeist events. They came from another reality, a world interpenetrating and interlocking with our own.

‘Robert?’ The admiral sounded pained; he probably was.

‘The UFOs are spiritual deceptions that have been summoned by a cult, the Parsons Elite, to induce fear and panic,’ I declared. At once I felt a weight lift. ‘Randall has a term for them – sky spectres. Paranormal manifestations that precede a catastrophe.’

Silence.

‘You think I’m crazy, don’t you?’

The silence spun out, and when the admiral spoke again it was in a calm and patient voice that made me feel diminished.

‘Robert, of course I don’t think you’re insane. But it is clear that you’re under a great deal of stress.’

‘Admiral—’

‘I should never have sent you here. I’m sorry. What you need now is to rest and—’

‘I need you to listen to what I’m saying!’ I said, then went on.

With every word I heard the weight of the admiral’s concern and a sense of his own responsibility building in his every sigh and breath. When I had finished telling him about the cows he said in a low voice, ‘Do you realize how that sounds? An entire herd spirited away?’

‘Admiral, you must warn the prime minister.’

‘Warn him that demonic sky spectres are manifesting off the Welsh coast?’ I could almost see him shaking his head. ‘Be reasonable.’

Perhaps I really have lost it
, said a voice in my head.

‘Come on, old chap.’ The admiral continued, his tone soothing. ‘We’ll get you back to London tomorrow. You can come back with me in the morning. Today you rest.’

Except I couldn’t rest. Because from the window I had seen the one thing I had prayed wouldn’t happen.

The rain had stopped.

From the official testimony of Lisa Garwood, taken before the National Security Council in connection with the events of Tuesday 15 February 1977 in the Havens, west Wales

Q: Clearly you have been through a terrible ordeal. It falls to us to ascertain the nature of that ordeal.

A. If you wish.

Q. Ms Garwood, you have a part-time job at the Ram Inn?

A. I did.

Q. So you moved away?

A. There’s nothing left.

Q. Do you remember the atmosphere in the village before the sky watch commenced?

A: You don’t forget something like that.

Q: Describe it for us, please.

A. Well, I remember looking down from my window in the inn. Where the road skirts the cove there must have been a hundred or more down there, checking the sky like fishermen do before a storm. The seafront was brimming with people with their heads tipped back, and there must have been ten or twelve small boats out in the bay, anchored and waiting. I looked past the slipway and out onto the bay at the
Austin Burnet
on the water, her deck full of crew and their wives and kids. They had flasks of coffee and picnic hampers with sandwiches. Everyone, whether they were standing by their cars, outside the inn on the seafront or on the
Austin Burnet
, was holding a camera or had binoculars around their neck.
Time wasters
, I thought.
Nothing’s gonna happen. I hope it rains on the lot of them
.

Q. Do you regret that thought now, Ms Garwood?

A. What do you think?

– 47 –

Tuesday 15 February 1977, 12.30 p.m., eight hours until the sky watch . . .

That afternoon passed more slowly than any in my childhood summers, when I would play outside the main gates at RAF Brawdy. Around mid-afternoon I went out into the fields – fighting through the mud – and looked across the bay at the crowds on the shore and the boats under the oppressive sky. I tried telling myself they were foolish, that nothing would happen. I felt the lie and didn’t linger, returning quickly to the farmhouse, where Araceli was standing in Randall’s study wearing a black jumper and a blue skirt.

It caught at me, how familiar she looked, as she glanced at me then turned back to studying the newspaper articles pinned to the wall. Her expression was more wary than warm, and I thought she looked distracted and drained.

‘I can tell Randall doesn’t want us here.’

‘Why do you say that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, come on. He looks agitated whenever he’s in the room with us.’ She sat down at the desk and her attention switched to one of the skeletal trees opposite the farmhouse. ‘I had the most terrible nightmare last night. I tried telling Randall about it before he went out. He cut me off.’

‘What nightmare? Can you describe it for me?’

She pondered this, brow furrowed, eyes distant.

‘It’s been the same nightmare, off and on, for years,’ she answered finally. ‘It’s dark. I’m been dragged along the ground. There’s an awful pain in my leg and a light shining above me through the forest.’

At the mention of her leg I noticed for the first time a jagged scar running down her knee. It was faded, clearly old.

‘How did you get that?’

She looked down, and I felt an odd tingling on my neck. I suddenly felt more worried for her than ever before. At that instant Tessa appeared at the study door. Araceli looked up sharply and the child pierced me with an accusing gaze.

‘He’s been thinking a lot about you – about us,’ Tessa said to her mother, pointing at me. ‘He’s been wondering why we are alone, where Daddy went.’

‘Is that right, Robert?’

The intensity of Araceli’s tone made it hard to deny. But how the hell had Tessa known what I had been thinking?

‘Because Mummy says I’m clever,’ Tessa answered.

My throat went dry. I thought I’d got used to strange surprises, but I was still shocked that the child appeared to have heard my thought. She had a look on her face that was . . . pleased? An unsettling smile played on her lips.

Araceli stood, moved past me into the hall. She said to her daughter, ‘After tonight we’re getting out of here.’

Did she mean the farm or the Havens? Both?

‘You could have left the area long before now,’ I said.

‘What makes you think I’ve had a choice?’ she replied, striding away.

‘The light in your nightmares,’ I called after her. ‘What does it look like?’

She paused at the door to the kitchen. Her words came with an immeasurable sadness that stole the breath from my mouth. ‘It pulses. Like the beam of a lighthouse.’

*

Frobisher pulled up outside Ravenstone Farm just as the dusk was sucking all the colour from the day. It was around five in the evening, and the burly journalist looked disturbed; as he approached the house he kept looking back over his shoulder.

‘I was followed,’ he said, stepping into the narrow hall. ‘Three men in a bloody huge silver car.’

‘Where is it now?’ I asked, peering into the scarlet evening.

‘I lost it at the crossroads. Listen, who the hell are these men?’

I heard my voice become confiding as I listed the attributes I had come to associate with these shadowy figures. ‘They arrive in badly fitting clothes and their vehicles look futuristic. They ask the most bizarre questions, sometimes posing as officials.’

‘You’re staying, right?’ Araceli said to Frobisher. I hadn’t heard her come downstairs. She looked relieved to see someone else in the house. So did Dr Caxton, who followed closely behind. Only Grandfather, who was at the Aga in the kitchen, looked suspicious.

‘Of course I’ll stay,’ Frobisher said. ‘But I’m not sure I can offer much comfort.’

In the kitchen we watched Frobisher take out a Dictaphone and place it on the table. When he pressed Play, children’s voices – cracked and distorted – filled the room.

‘
Kcab gnimoc era ew rof. Seiks eht hctaw dna rehtag.
’

The children at the town meeting. Chanting.

‘It’s gibberish,’ Dr Caxton said.

‘Until you slow it down,’ Frobisher said, ‘and play it backwards.’

He changed the tape, pressed Play, and the voices from the tape recorder stilled us all.

‘Gather and watch the skies. For we are coming back.’

For several moments we said nothing.

I had begun to feel foolish for ever having doubted Randall’s warnings. I watched him raise his hand to touch the scar on his face. It was an involuntary reaction and curious.

‘How the hell could the kids speak backwards?’ Araceli asked. ‘In unison?’

‘These children are imbued with psychic abilities because of what they saw at the school,’ said Randall.

Gather and watch the skies
.

Although it was definitely the children chanting, the message hadn’t come from them. I was certain of that. The words had found their way through from something else, to reach the people of the village, to draw them into doing something we needed to prevent.

Randall’s glance flickered to mother and daughter. ‘Take Tessa upstairs, please.’

Araceli did what she was asked. When she returned alone a few moments later she met my eyes, and again I felt that unsettling sensation that we shared something unique.

‘Possession,’ Randall said with grim conviction. ‘When the demonic truly take control of a person, observable phenomena may occur—’

Araceli twisted in her chair, eying Randall with alarm, as Frobisher slapped his hand on the kitchen table.

‘Randall, really!?’

‘After all we’ve seen, don’t doubt it, don’t you bloody dare!’ Randall’s temper flared. ‘In biblical times they were known as fallen angels. Now the newspapers call them aliens. Their real name is the Watchers.’

‘Under the circumstances,’ Dr Caxton said, ‘after all we’ve seen, after all we’ve experienced . . . I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I can deny such an explanation any longer.’

Randall nodded, patting his Bible.

‘Assume you’re right,’ Frobisher said. ‘Why wait until now to tell us this?’

It was a good question, and from the guarded expression on Randall’s face I knew there had to be a good answer. He just wasn’t prepared to divulge it. Yet.

‘So what do we do?’ Frobisher asked. ‘I thought you were the great expert, Randall. If you’re so knowledgeable, then why not just reason with these Watchers? They must
want
something. What do they need?’

‘How many people are gathered for the sky watch?’

‘I don’t know,’ Frobisher replied. ‘Earlier today a hundred maybe. There’ll be many more by now.’

‘If the sky spectres appear en masse, they’ll take their souls. Every last one. When the Watchers are seen, disaster surely follows. They have been awakened by a cult,’ Randall said darkly. ‘As part of an ancient ritual called the Summoning.’

‘How do you know this?’ Dr Caxton asked.

‘I know because I’ve confronted this cult before.’ Randall’s eyes glinted and locked with mine. ‘A long time ago. The Parsons Elite is a satanic brotherhood – a hierarchical order of patriotic, influential men and women whose primary motive is to prepare our world for the End of Days – the arrival of the Angel of the Bottomless Pitt, the Lawless One.’

So he had known it all along.

‘I assure you, the Parsons Elite exists,’ Grandfather said. His words came out with grim defiance.

I felt squeezed, diminished, by the burden of my own secret knowledge.
Could Randall belong to this cult? Had the Jacksons belonged to this cult? The headmaster also?

Something thumped in the room above us in my old bedroom, where Tessa was sleeping. The light bulb flickered.

Thoughts flew at me then, thoughts I wanted to bat away, but Grandfather’s words had opened a door at the back of my mind that had been closed (By me or by him?) a long time ago. What flooded in were memories, snatches of conversation and images which finally, horribly, made sense.
I saw something when I was young. It affected me, and Grandfather helped me forget
. I found myself thinking of the Great Flood – the night my parents died
–
and the Jacksons, whom Selina had traced to the Haven Hotel.

‘The battle on earth will commence with signs in the heavens . . . The Demon’s Gate will open. Darkness will rule for eternity.’ I said the words out loud and everyone stared.

‘It’s a prophecy,’ Randall said at last. ‘Worshipped by the Parsons Elite.’

‘So what do we
do
?’ Frobisher demanded again.

‘We have faith,’ Grandfather said simply.

‘That’s it?’ Frobisher looked about ready to explode.

That was the moment I decided to tell them about the incantation I had found at the church and the curious symbols I had copied down. I was thankful I hadn’t left the paper on which they were written in my room at the Ram Inn, where it would have vanished with the rest of my notes.

I showed them.

₮
ｻ
∑∆иς
ⅰ
∑и₮◊и∑
ㄅ
∆Я∑ς◊
ⅰ
и

Araceli didn’t look. Not directly. Dr Caxton looked very carefully indeed, however, tracing the outline of each symbol with a cautious finger.

‘Do you recognize these?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ he said in a quiet voice, and when he raised his head the alarm in his eyes provoked a scraping sensation in my gut. ‘These are sigils from the magical traditions of antiquity. I’ve seen something similar in the texts held at the Library of Magical Literature at Senate House in London.’

‘Texts about what?’ I asked.

‘Exorcism,’ Dr Caxton breathed.

‘I should have told you, boy,’ said Grandfather. ‘I just didn’t want you getting too close. Whatever happens now, whatever you may see, don’t look at it, do not be fooled by lying wonders. Your greatest protection is in faith.’

But faith in what?

There was a screeching noise that made us all tense.

‘What the hell?’ Frobisher reached into his inside pocket, producing his Dictaphone. ‘It’s turned itself on,’ Frobisher shouted. His eyes were wide and incredulous. ‘I didn’t touch it! Honestly.’

The voices of the children chanting in unison spooled out, louder than before. Unnaturally loud for such a small device:
‘Kcab gnimoc era ew rof. Seiks eht hctaw dna rehtag.’

The tape recorder burst into flames and Frobisher threw up his arms. The device clattered to the ground, smoking.

‘There is a war raging,’ Randall declared, ‘between the forces of good and evil, between order and chaos. And the battleground is right here in the Havens.’

His eyes jumped from the smouldering tape recorder on the flagged floor to the ceiling that separated us from the room in which Tessa was asleep. His face hardened with decision. ‘There is somewhere I need to be,’ he said quickly, pulling on his shabby overcoat as though it was a suit of armour and he was preparing to go into battle.

His resolution, his passion – he reminded me so much of my mother in that moment that I wanted to tell him I was sorry. Sorry for ever doubting him.

Then he dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezed tight, let go and marched out into the yard.

‘Grandfather, stop. Wait!’

He stopped just in front of his battered Hillman Hunter and turned to me. ‘Robert, my boy,’ he said, ‘your mother would be so proud.’

Something in his tone frightened me. As if this was the last time we would speak.

‘You don’t have to go.’

‘But I do. I made a promise a long time ago to a power higher than man. And one day, maybe soon, I’ll have to face that power.’

‘Please tell me where you’re going?’ I knew it wasn’t to warn the villagers. He had already tried to do that.

‘It’s better you don’t know. You can’t know.’ He paused, flashing a glance over my shoulder back at the farmhouse. ‘Do not trust that woman, boy.’

‘What? But why not?’

‘All alone in that rambling hotel. Her life makes absolutely no sense.’

I thought of her parents. The fact that she never mentioned her father was troubling because if her mother really had been mixed up in the occult, what about him? Where was he and why had he left her here alone?

Randall saw these thoughts on my face and nodded. ‘Protect the child.’

‘How?’

‘Remember,’ he said, touching a calloused hand to my cheek, ‘you can hold them back with faith. Faith can nullify evil, can form a psychic barrier.’

He got into his car. The door slammed, the engine started, and the Hillman Hunter crunched away over the half-frozen puddles. I followed it with my eyes up the narrow lane.

When I turned back towards the house, the others were on the doorstep.