Dead Village (9 page)

“Don't let him hurt me,” he shouted to some female staff who were busily attending to some customers. “Someone phone 911 and get the damn cops out here. This guys a maniac,” Tanner groaned. “He's going to kill me.”

“You fat cowardly piece of shit,” Dan shouted across the store, before walking away.

Behind the counter some of the female staff stifled a laugh, as the fat guard cowered down behind the counter, eyes peering over it. His boss shook his head and threw his hands up in disgust.

Now Dan had lost Beatrice, and he strolled back toward his car, the incident at the furniture store already forgotten.

Tanner stood up, relieved that the man had gone, but as he looked around his face reddened at the situation he now found himself in. Customers and staff were staring open mouthed at him, and a small boy pointed and laughed loudly.

“You sure showed him mister,” the boy laughed.

“Tanner,” his boss's voice boomed from behind him. “Into my office, now!”

CHAPTER 10

Back in Ireland, Tully had just finished his incredible story to Tim O'Neill, the priest.

Tim put his hands to his chin and swayed back and forth in the seat.

“I knew you wouldn't believe me Tim, and I can't say I blame you,” Tully stated.

The silence lasted for a full two minutes, as the priest stared hard at the floor, and Dan felt uncomfortable.

When he lifted his head he was biting his lip, and staring directly at Tully.

“No, Tully, I most certainly do believe you. You see, I too have witnessed the paranormal. I am not supposed to talk of these things outside of the church you understand. However, if we have a bigger problem over in this place, then all bets are off. Do you wish me to tell you about it?”

Tully sat upright in his chair and nodded eagerly, as the young priest spoke of an event some years previous which he claimed was to change his perspective on life.

*  *  *  *  *

“It was in a little village called Wellington,” he began. A village on the East coast of County Wexford.”

“I know of it,” Tully stated.

“Yes, well, I had only arrived at the old church a matter of days, when I was awoken in the middle of the night. I had heard some noise's coming from down the corridor, um, voices, and so I went out to investigate. As I peered from my open doorway, I noticed two of the older priests; Fathers, McAllister and Rice, turn the far corner and move quickly down the small spiral staircase. This staircase only led to an exit door and I wondered where they where going at half past one in the morning.

Well, being the curious man that I am, I soon followed in hot pursuit. I had kept my distance though, unseen, as I tagged along behind the two men. They moved along two pathways, walking for about a half hour, until they finally stopped at an old set of rusted iron gates. In the glow of the moon I could just make out old stone and slate headstones, strutting out at odd angles. It was the old village graveyard, which had headstones dating back as far as the seventeenth century, and had been long since closed for burials.
What in Gods name are they doing here?
I wondered.

The two priests sat behind a large headstone, and whispered to each other. It was a warm summer's night, with the beautiful trees in full bloom, but the place still seemed creepy.

Now I felt somehow frightened and was almost sorry I had followed them.

At this stage I was totally confused and kept down low behind a tree, wondering where this was all going to lead me.

It was almost an hour later and I yawned, almost giving my position away. I was tired and feeling guilty about following the men.
If they somehow got some sort of unnatural pleasure sitting together in lonely graveyards at night,
I thought,
then what concern was that of mine?

I crouched down and was about to sneak away, back to the church, when a movement caught my eye. Along the lane, about eight hundred yards away, something was moving, coming toward us. The small white figure in the distance, a lamb perhaps, seemed to be moving with great purpose.

As I looked across to the graveyard, the two others were now on their feet. They had seen the shape as well, and both had crucifixes in their hands, and something, I couldn't tell what, in the other.

Then as the figure neared, I could see it was a very young little girl, in a white dress.
Something isn't right here,
I thought.
No young girl at maybe, eight or nine years of age, I figured, walks along country lanes at this ungodly hour of the morning.

I stepped out in front of her before she could reach the cemetery gate, and she stopped and stared at me, sobbing and seemingly frightened.

‘Don't be afraid child,” I whispered. “Who are yo…?'

A loud voice interrupted from the rusted gatepost, behind me.

‘No! Stay away from her, stay awa…'

The two priests were waving their arms about, and were very agitated. I'm telling you Tully. Had I known then what I know now, I would have taken to my heels. However, I had rather naively approached her, and now I leaned across to her.

The young girl shrieked and tore at my face, before running off down the lane, and quickly disappeared through a hedge.

“You ruddy fool,” the older priest bellowed at me as I held my bleeding face with a handkerchief.

“Why did you follow us?” Father McAllister demanded.

“Yes, and why are you interfering in this?” Father Rice cut in.

“I'm not interfering,” I pleaded to them. “I saw you leave, and I'm sorry, but I was inquisitive, and so I followed you.”

“You were inquisitive all right. Do you know what you have done here Father O'Neill? Well, do you?”

“No, I don't really. I'm sorry I followed you. But can you please tell me what's going on here?”

I found myself almost grovelling out a sort of an apology, even though I didn't know why, or didn't really feel at fault regarding the matter.

Then they seemed to calm down somewhat, and Father Rice spoke first.

“You see Father O'Neill; country folk have been seeing this child walk these lanes and others at night. She has already attacked a number of people, including you just now. She attacks anyone who approach's her.”

“That's why we are here now,” Father McAllister added. “We had wished to give her soul its final rest.”

“Why does she come here?” I asked.

“We don't know, but it's not just here. She has been seen all across Ireland, visiting the graveyards. She has been coming to this one for the last three months or so. We think she's searching for someone.”

“Is this some kind of joke you two are playing on me?” I questioned.

“Does that cut on your bloodied face seem like a joke to you? Do we look like the type of men who would behave or joke in this fashion at this hour of the morning? We came here to save the child's soul. Now though, thanks to you, it's unlikely she will return here again for some time, if ever. She's frightened and confused even more now. She may wander the lanes blindly at night, and may become even more violent to anyone she meets.”

“And you expect me to believe this, this cock-n-bull story?” I found myself saying, in an almost hostile voice.

“Father O'Neill, quite frankly we do not care what you choose to believe,” Father Rice replied earnestly.

“We have been open and honest with you, and now we will return to the church. We have no more business here this night.”

“You must never repeat what you have witnessed here tonight,” Father McAllister warned in an angry tone. “Take heed on that.”

We three men walked back to the church in an embarrassing silence that night.

*  *  *  *  *

Next day I made some discreet inquiries in the village. I was astounded that almost everyone knew about the violent little dead girl who walked the country lanes of Ireland at night.

Have all these bloody people gone mad?
I remember thinking at the time. How in the name of all that is sacred, and in this day and age, could grown people think this way? Okay, I had seen the little girl and I had been attacked by her. But my opinion then was that this was no more a ghost than I was. I could still feel the sting on my cheek. And I was quite sure that what hit me was firm and solid. Because as far as I was concerned, whatever it was that attacked me, was most definitely alive.

No! I simply did not believe in ghosts and ghouls. Something else was going on here, and by God, I was determined to find out just what it was.

I walked those lanes for weeks, at different times of the night over the next year, but never came across the little girl on the country roads during that time again. However, something was to change regarding this.

It was quite by accident, and it was just as I had given it up on this quest, when I finally did see her.”

“You saw her again?” Tully asked, as he leaned forward, anxious to see where the priest was going with this frightening yet somehow spellbinding story.

“Yes.”

Tim stared at the little dog as though he didn't wish to talk about it in Scraps presence. It was a full minute before he broke the silence.

“Young Victor Connor had died earlier in the evening, as the result of an accident at his farm, and I had visited Victor's distraught widow. The young woman was in a terrible state, and nothing I could say or do would console her. I remember at the time seriously questioning my faith, that night. This woman was with child, and already had two young children, and now she was left with no one to provide for her. How the good Lord should let someone like Mrs Connor and the children suffer like this was beyond my comprehension, and as I've just said Tully, I found my own faith plummet to the very depth's of my being that night.

It was just after midnight when I left the house, and as I walked alone along the dark narrow lane, a fierce wind blew up, and the heavens opened. I pulled firmly at my coat collars and increased my stride. Then through the heavy downpour, there, faintly in the distance, I saw her.

The little white figure was about four hundred yards from me and closing fast. Unnaturally fast. Walking for me alone it seemed, with almost a passion.

A sudden panic gripped me. This was so unnerving to see this you see. To see a child walking at such a speed, in this rain, at this time of night, and along these small roads and lanes, was a mystery in itself. And may I add, a very frightening occurrence. I may be a priest Tully, but I'm not God. I just don't have his wisdom or strength you see. I tell you I have never been as frightened as I was that night.”

Father O'Neill went silent again, and for a moment stared hard at the floor.

“Are you all right Tim?” Tully asked.

Father O'Neill wiped away a tear and carried on.

*  *  *  *  *

“I stood watching her; unable to look away, and didn't even realise I was rubbing at my face, where she had deeply scratched me during her last attack. It was like I was transfixed in some sort of mad hallucination. Why it was almost dreamlike.

Now though, and as she came nearer, I became quite aware that this was no dream, no hallucination either. This was real.

I pulled my small crucifix from my pocket and held it loosely at my side.

By now I had also become very aware of something else. Although it was pouring down, the little girl wasn't wet. Her curly hair hung loosely around her pale face, and her white dress showed no sign of being even the slightest bit rained on. Yet I stood dripping through with rain.

As she approached me, I tried to be brave, and I spoke first.

‘Who are you my child?' I asked softly.

The little girl responded by raising her hands, claw like, as she hissed loudly at me, her mouth twisted in a frightening arc. Her squinting eyes were like the blackest coal, as she slowly moved toward me. Now I knew there were ghosts and ghouls, demons and fiends of the night. I knew the truth when I looked into her snarling dead face.

I raised the small crucifix without even thinking about it and held it out, toward her.

‘In the name of Jesus our saviour, come no closer,' I ordered.

Almost immediately she moved about two paces back. Her head dropped down, onto her chest.

‘Do not be afraid, I mean you no harm,' I promised.

‘I only want to help you find your parents. Return you to them, to your family. They wait for you in the after life.'

The little girl stood head bowed in a deathly silence for longer than it was possible to bear, before she raised her head, this time smiling. Her black eyes had turned blue, and she looked quite calm and peaceful. She held her hand out toward me, and I sank to my knees in prayer.

Then she moved slowly across and took my hand in her hands. Her hands felt like the coldest ice I have ever touched. I noticed she was staring hard at my little crucifix, which seemed to frighten and upset her, so I sunk it away, deep into my pocket.

It was then that she suddenly, and without warning changed again, and attacked me with a rage I had never witnessed befo…”

“The little girl attacked you?” Tully butted in.

The young priest pulled at his sleeve, revealing four long scars that ran from his elbow to his wrist, and when he tugged at his collar there were three small bite size scars on his throat.

“A small child did that to you?” Tully questioned.

“Yes, but not a normal child, you must understand, Tully. However, she caused these injuries, and more. You see, it also messed me up psychologically for quite a while. This was a child of the damned, and of that I soon had no doubt, because her power was alarming.

I have also no doubt, that had I not managed to almost clumsily tear my crucifix from my pocket and push it into her face, forcing her to run off, that I would not have survived that night.

This child fought me like a caged starving tiger, and with a power of strength that no man could have stood up to.

I made my way back to Mr's Connors cottage, although I have no recollection of doing this.

Anyway, the already distressed woman seen to my wounds, and helped me that night, thank God.”

“So what happened next?”

“Well, I never saw the little girl again. When news of this leaked out though, some of the villagers shunned me. I never did understand why. Maybe they were simply frightened by it all.

I was so unnerved about the incident though, that afterward I left the village for good, and came halfway across Ireland, here to Cappawhite. I sometimes feel so bad about this decision though, because I believe that the little girl is still out there somewhere, roaming the lanes at night, without any hope.

May the Lord forgive me Tully, but like you, I'm human first.”

The young priest put his head in his hands, and Tully could see he was genuinely annoyed at these events which had surrounded his past. Tully had tasted fear himself though, and he would not condemn this fine man for not doing anymore.