Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange (15 page)

I wish I'd trained for this, being officially qualified in stage combat was not gonna cut much mustard with a cemetery of un-dead dead people.  I should've prepared for this, I should've been in karate classes since I could walk - why hadn't my dad signed me up for martial arts lessons?  I needed to be like Jaclyn Johnson in that Sean Sweeney book I'd read - or like Murphy in the Dresden Files.  Or Buffy.  Buffy would instinctively know what to do.  Why were fictional heroines so well prepared for this?  Why wasn't I?

A buzz of noise caught in my ears.  People.  Chatter and movement.  Something was going down in Dodge... or down the bottom of the hill towards George Eliot and Karl Marx's graves anyway.

Taking a deep breath I got into role.  I imagined myself to be reading a script and my character was wise-cracking and hard assed.  My character was a black belt in every martial art there was.  I ate zombies for breakfast (not literally of course, that would be just foul) and I was ready for the biggest show (down) of my life.  Walking like John Wayne off to a gun fight, I headed down the hill, trying to project a confidence I did not feel.

I was still hidden by the darkness so I had a chance to observe them before they saw me.  For safety, I crouched behind a large stone angel.  They - an assortment of humanoids, fairies and 'other' - were assembled before Karl Marx's grave.  Hundreds of them.  At the centre was a man in a dark hooded gown.  He seemed to be important and I got the idea that he may have been one of the men I had overheard after seeing Bob at the British Museum.  He was the one I would have to deal with.  Mono a mono.  Me and him.  Oh, and the few hundred flunkies he had in support.  They looked kinda evil if I'm honest, an assortment of grey ghostly figures with a few demons and fairies thrown in for good measure.

They looked to him and grew silent when he raised his hand.  A cluster of fairies in humanoid form stepped back, the air glittering as they moved.  Two big demons shoved someone before them for all to see.  There, in front of Karl Marx's large head, was Bob. 

Courage suited Bob, he had moved through terror and was now on the other side with defiance and sheer bloody mindedness.  And lunacy.  I'm sure lunacy was there as well.  His chin was held high, his hands bound with some shiny silver cord in front of him.  Orla was stood behind his shoulder examining her nails in a nonchalant way as if all this was a rather tiring event on her social calendar and she most certainly had better things to do.  An unconscious pout rested on her perfectly formed lips.  A male fairy who looked startlingly like her stood by her side, he was gazing off into the distance.  Then he yawned delicately.

"Just rip it out of his guts," Orla said softly, "I'll do it myself if you give me leave."  She held one hand out in front of her and moved it to better catch the light as if she was playing with a diamond ring.  Then she smiled at the hooded man.  "I'll do it as a gift.  Free."

"Not fair," the male Orla said with a yawn, "you said
I
could gut him."

"Hush Jamie," she said, "we are
not
fighting over a goat.  There's plenty of goat to go round."

Surely Bob hadn't
swallowed
the ring?  He must have known what they would do to get it back?  I looked at him - his chin was still held high.  Muppet.

"Search him," the hooded man gestured to two of his own ghoulish assistants.  "It wouldn't be the first time a demon had been found incompetent."

His voice was pleasing to the ear, there was something about it that seemed to strike the right musical note.  Obviously, to go with such a nice voice, he must be heinously ugly under the hood - why else would he wear it?

Two ghoulish figures began to roughly pat down Bob and within seconds they had found the manky old sock concealing the ring and were swinging it in the air in something that was definitely a ghoulish version of smugness.

Bob's face fell.  He had tried his best and now the bad guys had it.  There was nothing to stop them bringing back the dead.  Except - what had the old man in the cave said?  The only way to control the ring was to change its purpose with a strong bond on sanctified ground.  Surely the cemetery counted as sanctified ground?  So all I had to do was somehow get the ring and find a way of changing its purpose.  How did you change the purpose of a ring?  And how on earth was I meant to get hold of the thing in the first place?  I was a little out numbered here.

"Kill him." the hooded man said to no one in particular.

My heart thudded.  "Hey!" I called out from behind the stone angel, "Hey you lot."  I walked towards them, my John Wayne impression was slipping a little but I tried to fake as much confidence as possible.

"The
Seer
," the man in the hood said with a snarl.  He spoke as if he knew all about me, little did he know I was the new improved version - upgrade successful.  The last Seer was a woman in her eighties.  I was young, I was strong and I was… stupid.  I was stupid.  What the heck did I do now?

I filled my voice with swagger.  "My reputation precedes me."

There was a momentary silence as all of the ghoulish types looked to see how this would go, the big bad guy being faced down by little old human me.  I was now in the centre of them all - just metres away from this man, his face hidden deep in the shadows of his hooded cloak.

"You have no reputation Seer and you will have little time to forge one once you die here tonight.  The first of the Seven will die."

Seven?

“
You
will die.” His voice was deep and had a nice resonance. 

My first thought was that he could make a mint doing voice overs.  And I have to admit he did he have to sound rather sexy. 

I coughed. 
Keep on track Leo - whoop his ass, don't try and touch it u
p.

"You will die even quicker than your mother did."

Well that killed the mood. 

Anger filled me.  No one spoke about my mother. 

But he wanted me to be angry; he wanted me to lose focus.  He knew nothing about my mother.  This was about me and him.  And the ghoulish entourage that had his back apparently.  I swear they took a step closer.

I imagined what John Wayne would do.  "Heck, you mean I'm gonna die?  And then I'll just come on back to life once you do that hocus-pocus with that ring?  I'd rather just stay alive, it's easier all round."

"There is no room for a Seer in my world.  You will
not
be resurrected."

I took a step closer.  There was a faint glimmer of light that allowed me to see one of his eyes briefly and then he moved and the shadows of the hood hid him again. 

I looked around dramatically.  "It doesn't look like your world buddy.  Property of toss-pot doesn't seem to be written across it as far as I can see.  Maybe I'm not looking hard enough?"

I swear one of the ghouls gasped.  Obviously no one had stood up to this guy before.  A sharp thrill ran through me.  This could be fun.  Fun until I was dead, of course.

Orla yawned and the male Orla, Jamie, gave a wry smile.  Was I
amusing
him?

Now smart words may sound good, but it did little to deal with the big demon guy who jumped me and twisted my arm into a lock behind my back.  Dammit! 

I struggled, but I had little choice but to walk where he thrust me and I found myself being lined up with Bob in front of the enormous visage of Marx. 

"Sorry Bob," I said.

He shrugged.  "I'm just glad you're safe."

"Yeah - missed a demon axe only to be gutted by fairies."

"Enough small talk!" Orla declared, "let's be on with it."

A silver cord was fastened tightly around my wrists by another male fairy.  He didn't have to touch anything, with a small whirl of his finger the cord sprang to life and bound itself to me like an enchanted snake.  He leant over me and sniffed.  "I might keep you as a pet," he said with a smile that didn't reach his handsome and unlined eyes, "I like human pets."

I had a feeling being gutted or decapitated might actually be a preferable fate than being kept as a pet by a beautiful and rather autistic fairy.  I closed my eyes and thought of Kansas, maybe I could do a whoosh-out-of-here thing again?  I opened my eyes.  Nope.  Still here.  Still about to become lap dog to a supernatural weirdo.  That was, if the guy in the hood didn’t kill me first.  This wasn't looking good.

"Got a plan?" I whispered to Bob. 

He shook his head.

"Damn."

The two of us were shoved a little to the side as the ghouls began to set up for what I could best describe as a séance.  Candles in lantern jars and hung on enormous wooden stakes were lit around a circular area, out of which everyone backed out of, as if it was now a holy place.  Someone burnt an enormous swathe of sage and wafted it around.  Surely this was all for effect?  The old man in the cave had given no hint that all this elaboration was required.  Despite myself I watched with rapt interest and I noticed Bob did too.  We were left with one demon as a guard beside us.  He didn't seem to notice our whispering as his attention was also on the ceremony going on in front of him.

"What are they doing?" I whispered to Bob.

"Making a holy place even holier," he whispered back, "they want to impress on the Fae how important he is.  How they need them."

"What will they do first?"

He spoke simply, "Probably kill one of us to see if it works."

I gulped.  "Seriously?"

Bob nodded.  "I always suspected it would be my time soon, despite running from it.  I thought they might need to test it. The ring.  Maybe they'll see if it works first and then just kill us for good?  But why here?  Why do they need to be in this cemetery?"

I shrugged.  "Good tube connection - easy for everyone to get to?"

Strange words were being chanted in the circle.  First, by the hooded man and then echoed by his followers.  He held his hands up high and there was a glint of light as he moved and the ring caught and reflected the candle light. 

The fairies stood some way off looking bored, they just wanted to see if it worked and weren't at all interested in the nuts and bolts.  Some of the sage and incense wafted over to us.  It was powerful stuff and I was sure to go home stinking.  Oh - if I ever got to go home that was.

I realised I was shaking with fear.  I really, really didn't want to die and I certainly didn't want to die horribly.

"I'm scared, Bob."

"There's nothing we can do.  We shall just have to accept it."

A sob escaped from my throat.  Bob reached for my hand.

"Don't worry Leo, they'll probably kill me first.  I'm glad - you're the best friend I've ever had."

Another sob escaped.  I had meant to be brave and I was failing miserably.

Suddenly, beside us, our demonic guard collapsed to the floor, buckling in the middle of his legs as if his knees had suddenly disappeared.  Then a slimy green figure was upon him and bashing his head in with a large wok.  My best wok.  Did you know demon blood looked like black treacle?  Especially when it splatters all over you.  It does.

"Asshole!" a voice rasped quietly.

"Trevor?"

The troll stood in front of us, his hands on hips in superhero pose.  "Who else?"  He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, that kind of detracted from the whole superhero look.  That and the fact he was covered with thick, black blood.

"Can you get these off us?" I asked, showing Trevor the silky silver cord around my wrists.

Trevor shook his head, "No chance - that's Fae magick.  Fae magick is strong."

Since the magic was tightly wrapped around my wrists and cutting off my circulation I could not disagree.

"How did you get here?"

Trevor shrugged.  "Trolls have their ways.  Now d'ya wanna kick ass?"

"Hell yeah!" I smiled at Trevor and then it fell off my face.  "How exactly?"

"We need to get the ring," Bob said, "and destroy it."

I shook my head, "I know how to stop it working, but I still need to get hold of it.  How are we going to do that?"

Suddenly there was a rumble of earth.  Bob and I were thrown to our knees, Trevor - having a lower centre of gravity - just wobbled. The words and the ring were having an effect.  We were running out of time.

Another incantation rang loud about the cemetery.  The stones shook in the earth.  A storm broke above, a crack of thunder deafened us and the lightning lit up the cemetery for an instant.  Then all was black.     

First, one wail cut through the air.  Then a dozen, then a hundred.  It sounded like a nursery full of grown babies calling out the pain of life.  I looked at Bob and Trevor, there was no reassurance to be seen in their faces - they were just as terrified as I was.

"They've woken!" Bob cried, "It's too late!"

A groan rumbled.  Another bolt of lightning illuminated the scene - gravestones being smashed aside and the earth being torn open from within.  A grey hand appeared through a patch of earth.  I felt sick.

The un-dead figures began to fight their way back to life, some smashed through tomb doors but most had to dig themselves out of the earth.  When they appeared it was clear their bodies were as good as their embalmers had made them after they died.  Some were good jobs, a Victorian lady stood blemish free in a rotting wedding dress, but some were bad - skeletons with grey flesh hanging off the bone and internal organs sliding out between exposed ribs as a green mess of goo.  As if drawn to the illuminated circle they stumbled, walked and fell towards the hooded man.  They didn't walk like TV zombies - hands out in front and calling for brains - they walked like people, people in different states of repair.  Even the decently preserved looked ugly - pale skin, like they had been in the bath too long, with the make-up of the funeral parlour still bright upon their faces.  Some of them looked confused and looked around, blinking in the light.  One woman looked at her hands of rotting flesh and sat down to sob.  It was like someone had dug up a battlefield.