The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

1

Carmichael
walked into his small, dark office – which housed an oak wardrobe, a bookcase,
and an old, stained desk. The only sunlight came through a small mullioned
window.

“It’s
lovely and warm in here,” he said, as he warmed his hands over a small
oil-filled radiator. He approached the desk, turned on the lamp, and booted up
his laptop. He sat down, and sighed. “Ellwood, Ellwood – I know that name?
Where have I seen it?
Of course, yes, the journal.”
He
opened one of the drawers and searched amongst the contents. “OK – here we go.
Now, think, what year was it?”

He
took out an old, leather-bound journal which had been in the Church’s
possession for many, many years, and had been passed down from vicar to vicar.
The first entry in the chronicle was in 1760 and it contained accounts of
requests from parishioners who had requested help from the church. Many of the
appeals related to witchcraft, hauntings, and people being possessed by evil
spirits.

“Who
presided? Ah, yes I remember – Reverend Walter Hughes.” He carefully turned the
yellowed sheets which were covered in lines of neat writing in black ink, and
stopped at the page headed
20
^th
May 1900
. What he read was an
account from Hughes who had visited Ellwood at Newgate Prison. Hughes had listened
to Ellwood, and recorded his story, and the church had taken his version very
seriously. After he had finished reading, Carmichael wrote down in the book the
conversation he had had with Zoe and Vana, before returning to Ellwood’s
interview.

He
sat back and stared at the words on the page.
She did it; the traveller
woman did it,
seemed to jump off the page, as if in 3D. Suddenly he felt a
strong pain near the base of his spine, as if someone had stabbed him with an
ice-cold dagger. The momentum forced him forwards towards the desk. “I’m
getting old,” he moaned, rubbing his back, and thought nothing further of it
until he felt what he thought was a trickle of warm sweat running down his
lower back. He lifted up his shirt and gently touched his skin. He stared at
his right hand – and leaped up from the chair in shock. It wasn’t sweat; it was
blood.

“How
can this be real? OK, deep breaths – in, out; in, out,” he said, undoing his
shirt to reveal a vertical 12” scar on his chest, the result of a triple heart
bypass operation he had had five years ago. He opened the wardrobe door and
stared at his reflection in the mirror. Twisting to look at his back, there it
was, a small cut caused by the tip of a dagger.

He
glanced back at the leather chair, disbelievingly, until he spotted a tear in
the leather. A quick examination revealed an impact slash on the reverse of the
chair. Something caught his eye. “What on earth is that?” he pondered, gently
opening the tear. Using his fingers, he pulled out a small, sharp, bloodied
object. “What is going on?” he said, carrying it back to his desk. He sat down,
moved his desk lamp closer, and examined it under the light. It wasn’t the tip
of a dagger; it was the tip of a dirty, green, fingernail.

He
knew from previous experience that bad spirits can stay around for many years
seeking revenge. He offered up a prayer. “Please, Lord, don’t let this spirit
harm anyone else,” he said, as he wiped the blood from his hand.

2

Whilst
redressing in front of the mirror, he felt a hand gently touch his left
shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin with fright. “Sorry, Reverend
Carmichael, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Ernest, a grey-haired pensioner,
one of the older choir members. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No.
Don’t worry, it’s me. I’m just a bit jumpy, that’s all.”

“Well,
that’s me done; I’ve had a quick tidy up.”

“Thank
you. Are you playing bowls at the Park Hotel after lunch?”

“Yes,
another practice game.”

“Well,
say hello to the group for me. Goodbye, Ernest.”

“Will do.
Goodbye, Reverend Carmichael.”

3

Carmichael
gently placed the journal back into the desk drawer, which he then locked. He
threw the fingernail in the bin, looked at his watch, realised he was late for
the
Mothers’ Union
coffee and biscuit charity event, held in the Hall
next to the Church at the end of the Service, and walked back into the Church.
Ernest had already collected the majority of the hymn books after the service,
and, as Carmichael inspected the empty pews, picking up an odd book here and
there that Ernest had missed, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Hello?
Is anyone there?”

No
response. The Church was, indeed, empty, but Carmichael became aware of a
musty, earthy stench surrounding him. He continued to stack the hymn books, but
was startled to hear the church bells begin to ring.

“Derek!
I might’ve known. What on earth is he still doing here?” Derek was the lead
bell ringer at the Church, and had been for the past ten years or so. However,
he had played a more active role recently since his wife died of cancer the
previous year.

Carmichael
opened the door to the bell chamber. “More practising, Derek?” he asked, half
expecting to see an old, bald, man staring back at him. Instead, the room was
cold and empty. Six ropes were hanging down from the ceiling, and one, eerily,
was moving gently from side to side.

“Lord,
I don’t know what is happening. All I ask is that you will be there when I need
you.”

4

He
was almost at the main door when he heard a croaky voice. “You cannot help
them. Your attempt to get rid of me will fail. I am here to stay.” Carmichael’s
heart sank as he turned to see Hagatha standing behind him. She stared at him
with stony black, cold, piercing eyes. He could feel the blood starting to drain
from his arms and legs. “You’re not welcome here! This is a house of God,” he
tried to say, but it was as if his lips had been glued together. He mentally
prayed for help and strength to fight this evil presence.

She
pointed at his chest, causing Carmichael to fall to the floor in agony. The
gold chain around his neck suddenly broke in two, and his cross clattered into
the darkness underneath a pew.

“He
can’t help you. Not now,” said Hagatha. She walked closer to the frightened man
who desperately tried to crawl away from her towards the main door, anguish
showing on his pale face. The pains in his arm and the heavy, vice-like
sensation in his chest made him vomit black blood. His legs went into spasm.
His breathing became more and more laboured. He heard the door lock – and
realised that, for him, there would be no escape.

“You
cannot leave until you are dead,” said a husky voice. All the doomed man could
do was to pray as Hagatha approached. His body was found some 30 minutes later
by two
Mothers’ Union
ladies who had come in from the Hall. They called
the emergency services, and the paramedics did their best to save him, but he
was pronounced dead at the scene. Hagatha had claimed victim number three of
her
second coming
. Who would be added to the list next?

5

Back
at Zoe’s, there had so far been no sign of the elusive
grandmother
. Vana
was in the process of waving a stick of incense around Zoe in a criss-cross
pattern, whilst repeating the mantra
This
is my
space – nothing can enter
.

“What
is this fudging? And what’s it for?” asked a bemused Zoe.

“It’s
called
smudging
– it’s a protection spell, and I read in one of the
books that it clears the area of unwanted spirits. Now, you do the same to me,
and then we’ll do the rest of the house together.”

“I
can’t believe you read about this in an old book! Do you really think it will
work?”

“I
think so. I haven’t had any weird feelings since we’ve been back – have you?”

“No,”
replied Zoe, “I feel quite good, actually.”

“Well,”
smiled Vana, “there you go. There might be something in it yet.”

6

Vana
and the boys stayed over again and they all enjoyed a relaxing evening. They
ordered a Chinese take-away, which they washed down with a couple of bottles of
wine – and, on the plus side, there were no
spooky thumps
. Another
positive was that the lads still couldn’t remember a thing of their recent
torment.

Vana
and Matthew were upstairs enjoying an early night; Zoe and Steven snuggled
together on the sofa and watched a couple of late-night movies. He didn’t
mention her hospital stay, nor did he ask her any
awkward questions
–
instead, he kept things simple. As a result Zoe felt much more comfortable in
his company, and soon put the recent events to the back of her mind.

That
night, Vana had trouble sleeping. Matthew, however, was snoring as soon as his
head touched the pillow! Despite the house feeling at peace, Vana couldn’t help
fearing that it was just a temporary thing – as Pepper’s book had explained.
Questions flooded her mind; how long would the peace last? Had the traveller
woman gone? Would she return? Vana lay there staring into the darkness, getting
more and more anxious with the movement of every shadow.

1

A
beautiful Monday morning; Zoe had been back on the medication for four days,
and was already feeling better. The four friends had enjoyed a peaceful night’s
sleep, Vana included, that was when her eyes eventually closed. The lads had
left after 7 o’clock as they’d an early rowing practice. Zoe was in the kitchen
enjoying her breakfast, and the final hours of peace. Her parents were due to
return from their holiday early in the afternoon. A happy Vana walked in with
all smiles. “I needed that three nine emergency poo,” she said, sipping her
warm black coffee. “What the hell is that?” asked Zoe, with a puzzled face.

“It’s
when you get on the loo 99 seconds before you shit.”

“Three nines?
So what happened to the other
9 seconds?”

“That’s
in my pants.”

“Nice
Vana, really nice.”

2

A
few hours later and the door opened with a loud clang. “James!” yelled Mary.
“Sorry mum,” he replied, as he ran up the stairs towards the toilet. The
plumber never came round due to Zoe’s brief hospital stay. “Hello? We’re home!”
shouted Mary. Zoe and Vana walked out of the kitchen to greet her.

“It’s
good to be home,” said Mary, hugging Zoe. She had been worrying ever since Carl
had informed her of Zoe’s relapse.

“Where
are dad and Aunt Sally?”

“They’re
outside.”

“Still
arguing on who’s paying the taxi driver?”

“You
got it in one.”

“I’ll
give them a hand with their bags,” said Vana, as she walked towards the door.
She knew that Mary wanted to have a quick mother-daughter chat before the gang
descended on the kitchen.

“Thanks
Vana. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Zoe
sat down at the table as Mary filled up the kettle. “Uncle Carl told me what
happened,” she said, looking over at her daughter. “I’ve been having a few bad
school nightmares. That’s all mum, no need to worry – really, I’m fine.” Mary
knew exactly what she was referring too. “That girl...”

“Mum,
I missed a few meals and exercised a bit too much. It won’t happen again. I
promise,” Zoe replied. She didn’t want to tell her mum that Helen had since
been murdered, along with Barbara. She thought it would be better to let them
settle back down before revealing Vana’s so-called
Horror News
. Mary
joined Zoe at the table, carrying two mugs of tea. “I will be alright mum. I’m
back on the meds, and I feel a hundred percent better. Now, enough of me; how
was the holiday?”

Mary
smiled and placed her right hand over Zoe’s left. “It was OK. Your dad was up
to his usual tricks of planning every trip possible, but I did enjoy it,” she
said, sipping her tea. Zoe opened her arms. “So, where is my present?” Mary
laughed. “Don’t worry, I got you girls something.”

3

Sally
entered the room and it was as if she had brought the sun with her.
“Aunt Sally!”
Zoe got up from the table to give her a hug.
Mary watched as the pair embraced and chatted about the holiday whilst she made
a fresh pot of tea.

“So,
what’s this about a sexy, fit, Mexican singer?”

“Mary!
How could you tell her that?” asked Sally. Mary laughed.

“Come
on, Aunt Sally – details.”

“Well,
he got me up, and danced with me on the stage. It was grand. He must’ve been
about 62 – I felt like a teenager again.”

“What
happened next? Did you see him again?”

“Sadly
not; it was a one-night-stand without the humpy-dumpy. We didn’t half roll back
the decades.”

“That’ll
do,” smiled Mary, as she placed the tea pot on the table. Zoe was pleased that
the week without them was now over and at last the house was full again.

When
Jim finally sat down to his cup of tea, he didn’t mention Zoe’s brief hospital
stay, and instead carried on as if nothing was wrong. That was the way he
worked. Of course the news had rocked him as it had the rest of the family –
but Jim knew that if everybody was talking about it, the situation would never
get any better and, worst case scenario, Zoe could relapse. That was what he
was told by Barbara after the initial diagnosis. Mary, Jim and Sally all agreed
that Mary should be the only one to raise the topic with Zoe. No teenager
wanted to be constantly spoken to regarding the same subject, and Zoe was no
different. He wanted her to be happy, not stressed out about it. A relaxed
approach was far better.

The
family and Vana enjoyed a night out at the local Chinese restaurant. James was
up to his usual tricks of blowing into his Fanta and generally messing about.
Zoe was finally smiling and laughing again as she watched James’
antics.
There was a feeling of relief for Zoe knowing that her folks and
her little brother were back. She had missed them over the last few days,
especially her mum.

4

8.05
pm. Zoe found Aunt Sally unpacking her suitcase on the bed. Vana had changed
the bed sheets and tidied up the room. Sally expressed joy as Zoe entered the
room. “Here’s my favourite niece,” she said, giving her a hug and kiss. Zoe was
holding Ellwood’s journal.

“Aunt
Sally, you know when you said
stay away from the second floor?
”

“Yes;
I knew this was coming.”

“What
did you mean by that?”

Sally
sat down on the bed next to Zoe. “It was the middle of the night and I heard
someone call me
Violet
. Why do you ask dear?” she asked, pushing Zoe’s
hair away from her face. Zoe then told her everything that had taken place over
the past week. They both decided not to tell Mary or Jim about the ghostly
happenings as it would only get back to James. Sally was half stunned, and the
other half upset, that Zoe and Vana had had to go through it without guidance.

Zoe
finished by showing Sally the journal. “Where did you get this from?”

“That’s
the diary we found,” Zoe said, as she passed the fragile book to Sally. After
looking carefully through the first entries of hand-written literature, with
sketches that leapt off the page, Sally finally recognised the hand-writing;
and the name Sydney Ellwood – it rang a bell.

“Is
this a copy of the painting you burned?”

“Please
don’t say that. We just followed his instructions.”

“It’s
alright dear. It’s just a shame; he had a look of James.”

“That’s
exactly what we thought.”

Sally
froze; her eyes wandered around the room. She felt as if someone had brushed
passed her, stopping at her suitcase; the zip slowly moved.

“What’s
the matter?”

“Just a minute dear.”

Sally
got up from the bed, and opened the zipped part of her empty suitcase. She then
took out a plastic wallet containing folded pieces of paper.

A
large grin beamed across Sally’s face as she emptied the pack onto the bed. Zoe
moved her fingers over the hand-written poems and short stories. The
hand-writing was Ellwood’s. There was a partial signature on one of the pages –
Sydney Ell
– the rest was smudged.

“How
did you get these?” Zoe asked, as her eyes scanned over them. “James is doing
the family tree in History and these are all the records I have. According to your
great grandma she was told these bedtime stories by this man,” she pointed to
the dirty smudge.

All
Sally knew was that her mother and uncle grew up as orphans, and little was
known about either their past or their family. “OK, what you’re saying is that
you think we’re related to this family?” Zoe asked, as she read a short poem.
“Your great grandma always told me that she could remember living in a big
house. She assumed it was all just a dream.”

Zoe
placed the fragile papers back into the plastic wallet. “But surely, great
grandma would’ve remembered her family?” Sally stared at the papers and
journal. “If the travellers could curse the family, what else could they do?”
Zoe knew what these people were capable of but tried to block that thought from
her memory.

“It
would’ve been a tormenting time for them. Maybe that’s how Ellwood was able to
connect in the way he did. He must’ve known his poems were here,” Zoe said,
moving the large empty suitcase back on top of the wardrobe. She sat back down
next to Sally. “What did great grandma tell you about her childhood?” Sally
hugged her. “Very little; all she really knew were a few facts.”

5

June
24
^th
1896; it was a dark and windy night at the docks in Liverpool.
Two months had passed since the fire at the Manor House. Violet and William had
been travelling from London with a small group of travellers since the eventful
night. The travellers told them that their parents had died and they had to
live with them. The group, consisting of six families, had sold their horses
and caravans to the locals, and were now on their way back to Dublin, Ireland.

The
children, of course, couldn’t go with them and consequently were taken to the
local workhouse in Brownlow Hill, Liverpool. “To be dumped at that place
must’ve been horrible. It was, apparently, one of the largest in the country,
which meant it was packed,” Sally explained. It was a huge building located in
the centre of the city with no gardens, but instead had small cobbled yards. A
traveller had taken them to the dreaded building; he knocked once on the door
and then left the children standing all alone, frightened, cold, and confused,
in the doorway. Inside Violet’s well-worn jacket pocket was the only record of
their existence, a handful of bedtime poems and stories written by Ellwood.
These, and a small doll, were the only items Violet managed to grab during the
kidnap.

The
next day they were sent to the Kirkdale Industrial School situated on Booth
Lane, Liverpool. The building was an orphanage, first opened on May 1
^st
1845, and housed just over a thousand children. They were taught basic reading,
writing, and mathematics. William was schooled in the trades of tailoring,
shoemaking, carpentering and the requirements for young sailors. Boys either
entered the tailoring trade or that of a sailor.

Violet
was mainly taught the skills of knitting and needlework, and everything that
was regarded as general housework, which included washing, ironing, mangling,
and cooking. Therefore, Violet would qualify to become a domestic servant when
she became of working age – and that was where she ended up working, as a maid
in a local Manor House in nearby Crosby. Despite William joining the Royal
Navy, and working his way up the ranks to the position of Commander by the time
he retired at the age of 54, this was not the lifestyle their parents had hoped
for them, and was indeed a far cry from what they would have experienced had it
not been for the travellers trespassing on their father’s land.

6

“To
think how one event changed their entire lives. They should’ve been living in
the world of luxury – instead they joined the working classes. It’s just so
sad,” Zoe remarked, getting up from the bed. “At least we know where the family
came from. We’d need to do some further research, but the evidence points to it
being true.”

“Well,
let’s hope so dear,” sighed Sally. Zoe began thinking that the one person to
benefit from this story would be James and his family history assignment.

7

Later
on that night, Zoe and Vana were on Zoe’s bed whilst playing on the
PlayStation. They had a long chat about the family’s reaction to her relapse,
but it didn’t take Zoe long to change the subject to something that was more on
her mind. She couldn’t wait to tell Vana that she might be related to the
Charles St Claire family. Her response was a normal one – “No effin’ way! Are
you being serious?”

The
pair seemed a lot more relaxed compared to a few days ago. Things in the
atmosphere had changed since the
smudging
. Vana glanced at the wooden
cross that was hanging on the side of the dresser. “It does feel better now.
And, so far, no more strange experiences.” Zoe looked a tad worried. “Don’t say
that just yet.”

“Consider
my lips sealed.”

“Let’s
change the subject; how’s things with Matthew?”

“To
be honest, I don’t know.”

“What
do you mean
don’t know?
”

“He’s
got me puzzled – that’s all.”

“Vana!
Explain? Don’t leaving me
hanging.”

“Alright.
I don’t know if it’s this new
exercise routine, but he’s so randy of late. Half the time I’m left wondering
where’s the real Matthew
gone.”

“He’s
always been randy. I still don’t understand what you mean?”

“He’s
saying all kinds of weird shit during the act. I think I preferred it when we
half had sex.” Zoe burst into laughter; she soon stopped when she saw Vana’s
blank expression.

“Vana
don’t worry. He’s probably been taking the cheap Viagra that’s been circulating
around campus.”