Dead Village (8 page)

Two other people quickly left the pub, and followed Frances, unseen by her when she entered, as they sat silently over in a corner, unobserved.

CHAPTER 8

Father Tim O'Neill had only been at the village for three years, but in that short time he had gained the trust of everyone who had met him. Although Tim was considered young for a priest at only thirty two years of age, he had a great knowledge of worldly things. And his pleasant and approachable manner made him a great priest to have around. Why even the attendance in the church had almost doubled since he took over.

Some of the town's people reckoned this was mainly because of his good looks though, and not simply his way with words.

And the fact that many younger women were now suddenly attending church, gave some credence to this.

He had just finished with the repair of an electrical socket, when the roar of thunder overhead seemed to shake the ground below him.
That was a close one,
he thought, as he threw the socket onto a chair, afraid it may act as a lightning conductor.

“Well, time for bed I suppose,” he whispered.

“What a rough night we're having my fine little friend,” he said to the small terrier that lay at his feet. “You don't seem too concerned about it though,” he added, as if the little dog could understand him.

“Yes, it's a dog's life all right.”

The little stray dog had turned up on his doorstep about a year after he had taken the post. He had fed it little scraps, but the little tattered dog would turn up more and more, until it became a permanent fixture at the church. ‘Scraps,' Father O'Neill had named it, and now it answered to that name.

He threw a little Frisbee across the large room. “Go Scraps, go,” he commanded, and the little dog jumped high into the air and easily caught the spinning disc.

“You're a fast little devil, aren't you”?

Scraps barked loudly, as if it could understand him, and as he pulled the little woollen bed out from behind the chair, Scaps turned in circles.

“Now I know you don't like bedtimes, little fellow, but we've been over this before. Tell you what, if you calm down, I'll let you sleep in my room tonight,” he promised.

It was as though the dog could understand him, and he shook his head as Scraps immediately calmed down and lay flat on his belly.

As he gave the little dog a friendly pat on the head, the outer door rapped loudly, and Scraps barked noisily, teeth bared.

“Now who on earth could that be Scraps? Why it's almost eleven thirty.”

The little dog stared into the hallway, growling, its body rigid, ears pricked.

“Now don't you go biting anyone,” he ordered the little fluffy dog as he made for the door. “Because you really shouldn't be here either you know,” he added.

He pulled at the heavy bolt, and when he opened the thick wooden door, a dazed Tully staggered through it, into the large hallway.

He had no coat, his hair was wet and ruffled, his shirt muddied and ripped, and his trousers were soaked through.

Scraps growled angrily at him.

“Shut up Scraps, it's only Tully.”

Scraps cocked its head when it suddenly recognised Tully, then its tail wagged in a friendly manner.

“What's going on Tully? What has happened to you man?”

Tully leaned against the wall and held his hand out, as he panted for breath.

Father O'Neill quickly closed the door against the fierce wind, and helped Tully onto a chair. He had got to know Tully quite well since he arrived at Cappawhite, and had gone fishing with him on many occasions during the past few years. When Tully's uncle, the Reverend McLeay had recently died, Father O'Neill had given him some time and comfort, and some reassuring words, for which he seemed very grateful.

It was a full five minutes before Tully could talk.

“I'm sorry for barging in like this Tim,” Tully croaked.

“Don't be sorry man; obviously something bad has happened to you. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Well, I can tell you about it Tim, but believing it may cause you some problems.”

“I've got all the time in the world my friend, but please excuse me for one moment.”

Father O'Neill left the room and returned a few moments later with an armful of clothes and a dry towel.

“You're about my size Tully, so go and get dried, and change into these, and then we'll talk some more.”

Tully thanked him and in five minutes he was dry and changed into the priest's casual clothes.

The priest looked at the dog, who by now was licking hard at Tully's hand.

“Do you know something? I always had the feeling that this damn dog was a protestant. Oh if the head of the church could only see me now,” he joked.

“You two protestant down and outs prancing about inside the Holy Catholic Church. It's simply heresy I tell you. Why I'll be lucky if they don't excommunicate me.”

Then he sat down and spoke to Tully in a more serious note.

“Why don't you go ahead and unburden yourself my friend?”

Tully stared hard at his friend the priest for a moment, and wondered where he was going to start with all this. He knew however that he would have to take Father O'Neill into his confidence.

*  *  *  *  *

Francis had reached the edge of the village, and as she stared into the dark forest, she called Tully's name.

The storm was getting worse, as a fierce wind blew around her, and Francis was very concerned. When she had come around in the hall she had started to remember things, dangerous things abut demons in the forest.
Tully may be in danger,
she thought.
But just where the hell is he?
She checked her watch.

“Eleven forty eight,” she groaned. “Why it's almost midnight!”

A roar of thunder once more shook the forest.

“Tully,” she shouted again.

Francis didn't see the two figures slowly creep up behind her. They had followed her from the pub with determination.

“Tully, Tully,” a voice behind her mocked loudly.

She spun around.

It was Madge, Tully's ex wife, and she was accompanied by her friend Erin. They had followed her, and now she was cornered.

“Well if it isn't the little husband stealer,” Madge hissed, her face twisted with rage.

“I stole no one,” Francis snapped angrily. “You decided to leave Tully for another man, and left him broken. You didn't care one bit about him then, and I don't really think you care about him now.”

“I think I should be the judge of that,” Madge spat.

Francis reeled on her, unable to hide the anger in her voice. She loved Tully, and no one was going to take him from her.

“Tully doesn't need you Madge. He's pulled himself together and is all the better a man for it. He has me now, and we're both very happy together. So why don't you just leave us alone and get on with your life?”

“Why you cheap little slut,” Madge shouted, as she attacked Francis, swinging her small white crocodile skin bag toward her face. “I'll fucking kill you, you whore.”

Francis was still feeling groggy from the fall down the stairs. But she wasn't frightened. She was confident that she could take the older woman. She had been attacked a few times before in her roll as a police officer, and had been well trained for it.

The bag grazed Francis on her cheek and Madge grabbed at her hair, but Francis twisted her arm and pushed her face deep into a hedge.

“Get off me you bitch,” Madge yelled.

Then as Francis stood over Madge, she felt a heavy blow to the back of her head, and she fell to the ground, bleeding.

Through her haze she could see Erin, heavy branch in hand. Erin had done this, and now the two women stood over her, sneering down.

“Give me that,” Madge ordered, as she clutched the heavy piece of branch from Erin's hand.

“So you want to play rough do you?” Madge spat. “Well I'm going to show you just what the fucking word rough means.”

Just then something behind the women moved from left to right, and Francis stared in horror at the giant figure behind them. It moved silently and slowly toward them, head moving quickly from side to side. Something was in its hand, something small. It was a little bears head.

It was Mr Cliff. Francis felt sure he had come to save her, and now the memory of her husband came flooding back. Back then Mr Cliff had brought a demon. A demon that had taken her demented violent husband away.

Mr Cliff had saved her then, and Mr Cliff was going to save her now. The two women didn't see the creature move slowly behind them.

“Die, you slut,” Madge yelled, as she raised the branch to strike. Francis looked to Erin for some compassion, but there was none to be had, as Erin smirked hatefully at her.

It was Erin who saw the creature first, and as she screamed, they both spun around to face it. Madge dropped the branch and walked slowly backward, toward Francis.

“Mother of God,” she groaned.

“Helllooo,” the little teddy bears head said to Francis.

“Mr Cliff, you came to help me again. Thank you Mr Cliff, oh thank you,” Francis gasped.

“No!” The little bears head barked.

“I have other plans for you. By the time I finish with you, you fucker, you will wish you had been killed tonight.

I should never have helped you before. Your mother was right to feel the hatred toward you that I feel now. And as for Tull…”

“No! Please don't harm Tully,” Francis interrupted. “I love him and he's a good man,” she added.

“There are no good men,” the bear head scowled.

“Please Mr Cliff; I will play with you like we did before. We can be best friends again, just like we used to be.”

“No! It is too late for that now. The mighty Stazivore has been summoned and this time you people will not win against him.”

“No!”

“Yes, Tully will be joining us soon,” Mr Cliff laughed. “We have looked into his soul, and now he is ours,” he promised and cackled loudly. “Soon you will feel what it is like to be alone, unwanted and unloved.”

“No, please Mr Cliff,” Francis begged. “Please don't hurt Tully. Take me, but in the name of God, don't harm him.”

Now that Madge realised the creature was not there to help Francis, she picked up the branch again, and lifted it high above her head, while Erin cowered down.

“Don't hurt Tully,” Madge mocked.

“Please Madge, I don't like this,” Erin sobbed.

Madge ignored her and moved toward Francis, branch held high.

“Die,” Madge screamed.

Without warning or any prompting from Mr Cliff, the large creature flew across and seized Madge by the throat, and the branch fell from her hands.

Erin started to run, but the creature seized her as well, and quickly disappeared into the forest, dragging the two women violently away. For a split second, Francis thought she saw another hooded creature way back in the trees, but she was unsure.

“Don't do this Mr Cliff,” Francis shouted after them. “Please Mr Cliff, don't hurt them. They have done nothing to you.”

The woman's terrifying screams could be heard for some time, and Francis staggered back toward town, sobbing.

Her head was bleeding from Erin's vicious attack on her, but the distraught woman didn't even seem to notice or even care about it. Francis couldn't believe how evil the little bear had become. She remembered the playful times they used to have, and the wonderful knowledgeable stories the little bear used to tell her. Now she felt guilty for ignoring Mr Cliff, because now she knew that he was pretty pissed off with her. These women had been dragged into the forest and she was sure they were dead. Killed because Mr Cliff wanted the satisfaction of destroying her himself, and no outsider would interfere.

And now Francis knew something else. Because of a little unforgiving bear that was full of hatred for her they would all be destroyed. Now she was quite certain that Mr Cliff's threats were real.

An eerie silence engulfed the forest, as the storm quickly stopped and the rain slowly died away.

From its high vantage point, an old owl looked down inquisitively at something unusual. It instinctively felt danger, and it glanced quickly from side to side.

Then it stretched its powerful wings and flew off.

Further below, body parts lay scattered across the red stained forest floor.

A severed hand still clutched onto a small bloodied white crocodile skin bag, and only the deepening darkness concealed it.

CHAPTER 9

Dan Winters gunned the pedal and pulled out passed the old black rusted Cadillac with the loose rear fender, which had been veering from side to side in front of him for the previous four miles. This guy was obviously a drunk, and Dan wanted to make some distance between them. He knew the figures for vehicle fatalities, and he just didn't wish to be added to the list.

As he overtook he glanced quickly across to the large beat up car which was now speeding to keep up with him, and was cutting across the lane, toward him.

Dan blasted the horn loudly at the driver who appeared to be singing at the top of his voice, unaware of the accident he was possibly about to cause.

Suddenly the man stared around at him. His grey face was twisted and angry, and he mouthed words at Dan. Although Dan wasn't much of a lip reader, it was clear to him that the guy was spewing obscenities towards him.

Dan was about to give him the big finger, when a face appeared in the Cadillac's rear window. Whoever it was, this person was wearing a hood and mask, and held a small scythe in their hand.
A small hand, a small child's hand,
Dan thought.

He gunned the pedal and accelerated away from the old car, and watched as the needle hit seventy eight. He held it until the Cadillac was only a dot, way behind in the distance.

A cop car some way out in front, reminded him that he was breaking the speed limit, and he slowed back down to fifty five.

He checked his mirror and felt relieved when he couldn't see the old car any more, which he felt must have turned off at the junction.

“Gone,” he muttered, and smiled nervously.

Dan glanced down at the radio and stabbed at the button, and the car filled with the sound of Metallica. ‘Back to never never land,' the gravelled voice loudly sang, as Dan gripped the steering wheel hard. Suddenly the music stopped, and an excitable host talked noisily.

‘For all of you people driving on interstate18, I have a message for one driver in particular.'

Dan was driving on interstate 18, and he stared at the set for a moment. He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about this.

The radio seemed to crackle for much too long, and Dan pushed the change channel button. Still the static continued, before the voice suddenly boomed out again.

‘This one is for you, Dan Winters,' the voice stated.

Dan, puzzled and surprised, reached back across and turned the volume up.

“Who the hells sending me a message on the radi…?”

‘Dan Winters,' the voice interrupted. ‘If you are out there listening, someone has sent you this personal message.'

The radio went silent again, except for a loud hiss and Dan clumsily pawed at the buttons.

“Shit,” he spat.

Suddenly the deep voice burst forth, almost blowing the speakers out from the doors, and almost deafening him in its loudness.

‘Lynn belongs to us, and we are coming for her. We are coming you fucker,' the voice promised. Then the music of Metallica sounded once more and Dan pushed at the radio button as though it were a red hot coal, and turned it off.

He checked the mirror again, and although he could see no sign of the Cadillac, he had already decided to leave at the next exit. It would take him much longer to get home this way, but he didn't care. He just needed to get off, anywhere away from this madness. He would go to the nearest Macdonald's and buy a coke and some fries. He just had to get away from the car he felt, and try to get his head around this frightening incident.

He slowly started to cross to the inside lane. ‘THREE MILES TO EXIT,' the welcoming sign said. He looked into his mirror, and for a moment he felt foolish. Out in front the cop car was still cruising along, and he sort of felt safe tucked in behind it somehow.

Suddenly a black flash appeared beside him, but was quickly gone as the old Cadillac sped past and veered onto and along the hard shoulder. The hooded child like figure in the back stared out from the rear window and waved the scythe to and fro as the car disappeared into the distance at a breathtaking speed.
One hundred ten and then some,
Dan thought.

It may simply have been a child in the rear seat, Dan felt, but at the same time it may also have been something else. He did not imagine the radio message, even though he was certain that had his family been with him, he would probably have been the only one to actually hear it.

He watched to see if the police car would give chase to the Cadillac, but the cops didn't even seem to notice it. It appeared now as a small dot in the distance, and then it was gone.

“I'm imagining all of this,” Dan whispered. “Now I know it, ‘cause the cops didn't even see it.”

Suddenly the radio flicked on again.

‘Your gonna fucking regret the day you ever got involved with us Winters,' the voice rasped. Dan pulled the car off the interstate and stopped in a garage forecourt, shaking. He held his hands to his head and cried. He just didn't know how much more of this he could take. It was a full fifteen minutes before he pulled himself together.

Death was in the rear seat of that car, Dan believed. And now he was frightened. He was frightened for his wife and children.

*  *  *  *  *

A still shaken Dan pulled up at the house and was relieved to see Lynn through the kitchen window. He stared suspiciously around, as though someone was watching him. He even scanned the now clouded sky, and he knew this would soon be a familiar ritual that would be a part of his everyday life from here on in.

Lynn spied him through the swirling patterned curtains and wondered why he was staring into the sky. She ran out to meet him, and threw her arms around him tightly.

“What? A UFO,” she laughed.

“Um something like that,” he replied.

When she next spoke it was in a whisper, as though it was the most secret thing since time began. A secret that even their cat, Moses, who was purring around her shapely legs, wasn't allowed to hear.

“Well, what do they say about you at the clinic Dan? Can they help you? Huh?”

Dan moved from her grip and stepped back a pace.

“It may not be just that simple honey,” he answered meekly.

“Oh God Dan, I knew it; you didn't show up for the tests, right?” Dan couldn't tell Lynn the truth. How could he tell her that she had died in an automobile accident whilst pregnant all those years ago, and that he had then met and been re-married to Beatrice for umpteen years after this? That they never had a life or children together? And now maybe death was about to come claim her back.

“Yeah, I showed up all right, but they have to run some other tests first is all,” he lied.

“Other tests, what do you mean other tests? What kind of tests?”

He felt agitated now as Lynn just wouldn't let it drop, and now she wasn't whispering anymore.

“Tests, you know, to see if my boxing days are somehow responsible. They think um, my brains have been rattled.”

Now it was Lynn's turn to back off, and she walked quickly into the house, head moving from side to side. She just wasn't buying it, he felt.

But Dan already knew what he had to do. He would have to go talk with Griff. Then he could travel across to Ireland to search out Tully and Donald O'Shea, and the rest of the band that had confronted the demons at the mine. If he wanted to save his wife and children then there was just no other way.

He would also travel across to the Isabella Indian reservation and visit with Thomas Lapahie again. This he believed was where the real answers lay.

*  *  *  *  *

Next day, Dan drove around town, searching for Griff, even stopping and asking people if they had seen him. Why under normal circumstances Dan could have driven into town a hundred times a day, and he was positive he would see Griff on almost every occasion. Now though, he was nowhere to be found. He remembered that Griff was also in Ireland during the last encounter in the village, but then Griff was a messenger of God, and he supposed he could be anywhere in the world at anytime, and maybe even more than one place at the same time.

He parked the car and moved quickly along the sidewalk, stopping every thirty or so steps to glance around. He felt as though someone was watching him and he scanned the unfamiliar faces of the crowds.

As Dan turned a corner he saw the woman. She was dishevelled and angry looking, just like she was at the restaurant, and Dan recognised her immediately. It was the same woman all right, and she was staring at him from across the road. It was Beatrice!

She quickly turned to walk away, but Dan gave chase. A car skidded as the driver braked hard and another honked loudly, as Dan carelessly sprinted across the road without looking.

“Get off the road you damn asshole,” a woman's angry voice shouted.

Dan focused on the woman in front, his eyes never leaving her. She was quick though, and Dan was struggling to keep up with her.

Beatrice turned into a large furniture store, with the large plastic elephant in front, with its foot on a chair, signifying the furniture inside was tough, but Dan instinctively knew Beatrice wasn't going in there to buy anything.
She knows I'm onto her,
he thought.

A large welcome sign adorned the furniture store window.

He moved inside and scanned around, but Beatrice was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly a movement caught his eye and he saw her climb the escalator to his right.

An advertising sign pointed upward. Warren's Dynamic Bedroom furniture-Wardrobes, King, Queen, double and single sized beds at knock-em-dead prices, the sign read out in large bold orange letters.

Dan ran across to the escalator, but he had already drawn the attention of the fat, heavy sweating security guard who was eyeballing him suspiciously.

When he reached the first floor the first thing he noticed was the rows and rows of cabinets and wardrobes, but no sign of Beatrice.

She must be hiding,
he thought.

He moved quickly along the first row, yanking each door open as he passed, before almost slamming them shut, unaware he was being watched.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” the sweating security guard whispered, as he excused himself from the female saleswoman he was trying to make a hit on. He walked off and quickened his pace up the escalator.

“No one is going to come into John Tanners work place and act like a dumb ass,” he panted.

Tanner squeezed through a gap and moved along the next row, almost parallel with Dan.

As Dan moved forward, banging each door shut, Tanners rage increased. He was sweating profusely now, and his anger was at boiling point.

Who is this asshole?
Tanner thought, as the doors continued to slam.

Dan scanned every nook and cranny, but it was clear Beatrice had gone. As he reached the last wardrobe, he noticed the fat security guy come briskly, almost menacingly around the side, toward him.

As Tanner approached Dan, his face was like thunder, and Dan guessed what was coming next. He could read it in the man's body language.

“What the hell do you think you're doing mister? What're you looking for?”

Dan cut the attitude problem right away. What became of
‘Can I help you sir?'
He wondered.

Never the less, he supposed he may have been behaving kind of suspiciously. He muttered an excuse.

“My little dog, it pulled off the leash, and it ran inside here, to your building,” Dan lied. “Um, I followed it, and yo…”

“Do you take me for some dumb ass mister? I've been standing at the front all morning, and no damn dog passed me. Besides, when did dogs learn to open wardrobe doors so they could hide in em?” Tanner spat.

“He's a very intelligent dog. Definitely not the sort of canine you normally come across, well trained and very obedi…”

“Yeah, well I'm asking you to leave right now,” tanner ordered, interrupting him again, and Dan sheepishly walked away with Tanner pushing him roughly in the back, downstairs to the ground floor.

“Are you sure that sort of rough treatment toward potential buyers is allowed?” Dan asked.

Tanner ignored the question and once again shoved hard at Dan's shoulders, as both concerned staff and customers looked on.

The boss of fittings and accessories on the ground floor was folding a cushion back inside its cover, when he heard the commotion. He had spoken to Tanner just last week about his attitude to an elderly couple when the old man sat on a bedroom chair. He had asked the old man to get up, and in no friendly manner. ‘No sitting on the damn furniture, can't you read?' Tanner had spat at the old couple. He just hadn't taken into account that the old man wasn't trying the chair out to buy it. He had just taken a dizzy spell, and had been helped into it by his frail wife. It had taken some grovelling apologies and a few freebies before he could undo the damage Tanner had caused. And now here he was again, roughly manhandling a customer in full view of everyone.

He pushed Dan hard one last time as his boss moved his hands to his head in disbelief.

As he walked out through the door though, Dan called loudly back to Tanner.

“Remind me to give your boss a call sometime, maybe congratulate him on the friendly courteous staff he employs here.”

“Fuck you, you smug piece of shit. Come back here and I'll tear you a new asshole,” Tanner threatened, as his boss looked on in anger.

Dan turned back. “Say what?” Dan spat, as he angrily clenched his fists and moved back toward Tanner.

“Let's go you fucker,” Dan stated as he raised his arms and clenched his fists. “Let's see what you're fat ass is really made off. So you're gonna tear me a new ass, huh? Well, why don't you just come show old Dan here just how you intend to do that.”

Suddenly Tanner realised this guy was serious, and like most bullies, he quickly felt his stomach tighten and his fear increase. He turned and high tailed it deeper into the store, almost colliding with his boss as he ran past.