Dead Village (18 page)

“It's over, and it's all down to that little guy,” Dan said, as he pointed at Scraps.

Father O'Neill had just turned to pick up the little dog when Scraps started growling again, at the dark mist which seemed if anything, to have become thicker.

“What's wrong Scraps?”

“I don't like this Tully,” Francis moaned.

A white figure was slowly coming through the mist, a small white figure.

“Oh God no,” Father O'Neill gasped, as he moved to confront it.

*  *  *  *  *

The little girl cleared the mist and immediately hissed at Father O'Neill, as he removed a large crucifix from his pocket.

“Alice,” he softly said. “Why are you here? Are you looking for your father?”

Francis moved toward the little sobbing girl and held her arms out to her.

“No! Stay back Franc…”

The little girl lunged at Francis and scraped at her arms. Francis fell back, shocked and in great pain. Then the girl sprang onto the priest and started to gouge at his eyes. Tully kicked out at her, viciously, but she gripped his foot and dug in hard, tearing his ankle. Tully although in great pain, picked up a large stone, and threw it, but it sailed harmlessly passed her head.

Father O'Neill had fought with the little girl before, but her strength had grown somehow, he believed.

She stood over the priest, her arms raised, her fingers bent like claws, her eyes black.

The priest looked across to Tully and Francis, who were on the ground, staring at him, but could do nothing to help in their exhausted and injured condition. Donald's body lay behind them, and everything seemed to run in slow motion now.

“Tim,” Tully was shouting, but the priest could hear nothing. He could see Scraps, some ten feet away, barking fiercely at the little dead girl, but he couldn't hear the dog either.
I'm in some form of shock,
the young priest thought.

Dan was approaching him quickly, spear in hand, shouting. The girl turned to confront him, her face twisted and terrifying. She opened her mouth, unnaturally wide, and screamed a scream the men had never heard the like of before. The small party held their ears as the piercing scream echoed across the forest.

Dan threw the spear, but she was too quick, and it drove passed her shoulder, into the mist.

I'm dead,
Tim thought, as she ignored Dan and turned back toward him, the screaming now stopped.

“I only ever tried to help you,” the priest tried to say. “Why are you doing this to me Alice?”

Alice though, wasn't for listening, and she tore into him again, much more violent than ever before.

She gripped his chest, and dug her nails in. The priest punched out at her, but this only seemed to madden her more. Now he was spent, and he tried to whisper his last prayer.

“Dear Lord, accept me into thy kingdom,” he whispered.

Suddenly from the mist, the other hooded creature sprang out and struck the little girl, sending her tumbling some thirty feet across the ground. She quickly jumped up and charged the creature.

“It's Charles,” Francis whispered, as she held her bleeding arm. “It's Charles, come to help us.”

Tully was trying to stand now, pulling at Francis.

Charles and the little girl fought ferociously as they rolled across the ground, and Dan noticed that although she was only a quarter of the size of the hooded creature, the girl was fighting with a ferocity he had never witnessed before.

The creature slammed the girl down onto its knee, and she folded in two, back broken. Then he threw her to the ground, and she remained still.

As he turned to face the priest, Tim's hearing quickly returned, and he suddenly felt normal again.

“Thank you Charles,” he whispered through his pain. “Thank you so muc…”

But behind the creature, he could see the little girl twist herself in a grotesque fashion. She was straightening her body, bones cracking and popping, and before he could think properly, she was quickly rising to her feet again.

Father O'Neill pointed.

“Look out Charles,” he warned.

Too late. The girl was even more vicious than before. She hissed loudly as she ripped the creature's hood off. She clawed ferociously at Charles face, and as he wailed, he gripped her by the throat.

“We need to get out of here,” Dan shouted to the priest, as the frightening pair wrestled once more across the ground.

“The girl is immortal,” Dan yelled.

He pulled at Father O'Neill's arm, and moved across to Francis and Tully.

“Take my arm Tully, and let's get the hell out of here, back to the church.”

Francis and Dan held Tully between them, and with Father O'Neill leading the way, they began to trundle away.

The priest was injured and in great pain, but he concealed it and walked firmly toward the mist that was still encircling them, praying as he went.

They all knew that if Charles didn't win this fight then the little dead girl would kill them all, starting with the priest.

We must make it to the church,
Father O'Neill thought.
It's our only hope.
Scraps had stopped barking now and he walked beside them, tail wagging, as though this was some enjoyable game.

Father O'Neill glanced behind him. The creature that was once Charles was struggling now, gasping, and at once he could see why.

The little girl had torn a huge chunk from the creatures face, and it was hurting.

Alice stood over the creature and laughed. Now she would finish the creature off, then she would do what she came for.

“It's me she wants Dan, you people move on, quickly,” Father O'Neill ordered.

Dan looked at the injured Tully, and as Tully looked back, the look said a thousand words.

“No, we will not leave you Tim,” Tully stated.

“Yes, if we go down, we go down together,” Dan added.

The small band turned to face the little dead girl, and Dan hoped he could find the spear, when she attacked the priest again.

Alice seemed to know what he was thinking though, and she walked into the mist. When she came back out she had the spear held tightly in her grip, and she held it high like it was a trophy.

They watched the creature that was once Charles, sit up on the ground, but they knew it could do no more.

“Charles tried to help us,” Father O'Neill whispered.

“He almost made it,” Tully replied.

“We're not dead yet!” Dan bravely spat.

Everything felt serene for a moment, almost trance like as Tully kissed Francis on the cheek and squeezed her tightly.

Suddenly the mist began to draw back, and a lone figure stood about thirty feet away, between two trees. It was a man in a strange looking dark uniform, an old sergeant's uniform.

“Alice,” he called out.

“It's Sergeant Boyd,” the priest choked. “It's her father.”

Alice dropped the spear and spun around.

“Come to me Alice,” he said.

Alice ran quickly. Much too quickly, Tully felt, and for an instance he thought she was going to attack him.

But when she leapt into her father's arms, everyone could see that her journey had ended.

“Father, father,” Alice sobbed, as he spun her around, and kissed her cheek.

Then, hand in hand, they walked away.

The sergeant paused to look over his shoulder, and the priest was sure it was a wave he gave to them. Then they disappeared.

Tully laughed loudly. “We made it, we fucking made it,” he almost screamed, the pain in his bloodied leg forgotten as he hugged Francis rather roughly.

When they looked across, Charles had also disappeared.

“Thank you God,” Dan said

“Praise to the Lord,” Father O'Neill added as he held Scraps tightly in his arms.

“It's over,” Tully said.

“Yeah, but how do we explain this? Donald and Thomas are dead,” Dan reminded them.

“Yes, and don't forget the rest of them,” Francis added.

As they walked away, Tully retrieved the spear and carried it by his side.

Dan thought of the sacrifice Thomas and Donald had made for them and he started sobbing uncontrollably.

He had brought the big Indian with him, and the death of Thomas lay squarely on his shoulders. He had greatly admired Donald as well, since their last dual with the monsters, and now he too, had gone.

Francis placed her arm on Dan's shoulder, but she knew that the few words she could say would be meaningless.

Francis was also taking it badly herself. She had known Donald a long time.

*  *  *  *  *

Many miles away, the phone rang out, and after three rings, the answer machine kicked in and broke the silence of the empty house.

‘Hello dad,' Donald's son said. ‘You won't answer my calls, so I'm coming over there, okay? I mean it dad, I'm flying over in three days time. I love you dad, and I'm sorry for the hurt I caused you. Things were said during the heat of the minute, by both sides.

Anyway, I know you were only trying to do your best, so you know, take it easy until I get over there. I'll be flying into Dublin on Tuesday around five. I can't wait to see you dad.'

Then the answer machine kicked off with a ding, and everywhere around the house remained silent.

High on the wall, the picture frame with the gold braiding stood out from the rest of the other framed photos.

The three smiling faces of Donald, Heather, and son Ian, smiled out across the deserted room, as a ray of sunlight sneaked through the half opened blind and lit it up.

CHAPTER 21

It would be three days of intense questioning before Dan was allowed to leave Ireland, with the knowledge he would have to return for the hearing. But Dan had more worries to think about right now.

He had only taken his other business mobile phone with him to Ireland, so that Lynn couldn't reach him. He felt lousy and deceitful about doing this to her, but she wouldn't understand, and he knew he couldn't tell her the story of how God had somehow resurrected her.

He had listened to Mr Cliff tell him how his family were no more, and this eat at his insides.

He had lifted his phone and keyed in his home number, five times in the last few days, but he had been afraid to hit the call button. What if some strange old woman or man was to answer, or the line didn't exist? What if Mr Cliff was on the level, and they were really gone?

No, he would rather drive to his home and check it out from some distance away. Check if the house was still the same colour. Check out if Lynn's car was still in the drive.

He had told her he was doing a report on the mafia. This would cover why he couldn't be contacted, but not the reason why he couldn't contact her. And now she would be worried sick, as would be his children. He made his mind up that when he returned home he was going to take them on the holiday of a lifetime. Then he was going to cut his hours at the paper, and spend a lot more time with them. He would be a better husband and father.

The airport entrance loomed large as they stopped at the drop-off point, keenly watched by a large airport policeman.

“Don't worry about Thomas,” Father O'Neill said. “His body will be flown back over next week or so. Everything is going to be taken care off, and I will personally see to it that everything goes to plan.”

“Thomas had no one,” Dan answered.

“He has his people Dan, and he has God,” Father O'Neill replied. Dan turned to say goodbye as he pulled his small suitcase from the trunk of Father O'Neill's tiny car. Francis hugged him tightly and pecked him on the cheek, as Tully in turn, shook his hand vigorously, and he was sure the knot he was feeling in his throat was plain for all to see. Then Father O'Neill Held his forearms tightly.

“Goodbye my friend, and please be assured that all will be fine with you. I've asked The Lord to do you a favour,” he laughed.

After he had said his goodbye's Dan walked back to the car and opened the door. Scraps jumped into his arms. “Goodbye little fella,” he said as Scraps licked at his face. “I wish I could give you a medal. You're the real hero Scraps.”

Scraps barked as if in acknowledgement, as Dan ushered him back into the seat, before walking tearfully away. He glanced back as he passed through the large automatic doors.

*  *  *  *  *

The flight back to the States seemed longer to Dan than any other flight he had ever taken before, and the young couple seated beside him had been so engrossed in one another that he believed they didn't even notice that he was there, beside them.

He was unsure how he was going to explain to Lynn why he didn't call. He knew she would be frantic with worry.

Maybe she had contacted his boss Reynolds, in fact, he was sure this was what she would have done. He could just visualise Reynolds blowing his top while his dumfounded wife looked on.

‘You're Husband, on assignment to Vegas, don't make me laugh lady.

Why the no good son of a bitch phoned in sick last week. When you see him tell him from me that his damn ass is fired.'

Maybe Lynn had even phoned the cops to report him missing.

A sweat broke out on his brow.

He could also visualise some flatfoot telling her the story.

‘First we contacted the hospitals for any accident victim's ma'am. Then we checked for any John Doe's arriving. It was only when we visited the airports though, that we found what we were looking for. Why it seems that your husband, accompanied by a Native American Indian by the name of Thomas Lahapie, left for Ireland on an Air Lingus flight last week. Seems the son-of-a-bitch lied to you Mrs Winters.'

He thumped the tray on his seat, and the young couple beside him looked around in disbelief.

He mumbled a quick apology, then whispered an even quicker prayer.

Now he was sorry he hadn't phoned Lynn three days ago. Now he was sure he had dug himself into a hole he wouldn't be able to climb out from.

He picked his car up at the airport and flung the glove compartment open. He was almost certain Lynn had left a pair of gloves in there, but now it was empty.

No, please God, no!
Dan thought.

Now Dan was like a man lost. His thoughts wavered as he sped home.

Dan drove slowly into the Avenue, one block from his home. An old rusty chain still hung from the railway bridge at the junction where it had been hanging for the past three years, after a train had come off the rail. No one had thought to clean it up.
So far things are still the same around here,
he thought. And now he was starting to feel better.

When he turned into his street, he could see his house in the distance, but now his anxiety rapidly returned.

A strange car,
an old Camerro,
he thought, sat in the driveway, and a large silhouetted figure of a man stood in his doorway, his back toward him. A grey barrel with bright flowers that he was sure he had never seen before, took pride of place in the middle of his garden. Dan had never taken an interest in his garden before though, he admitted, so the damn thing could have sat there for twenty years for all he would have known about it.

*  *  *  *  *

He stopped the car some fifty metres from his house and got out. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow.

The large figure of a man was talking to someone in the hallway, when suddenly he gave a wave and walked away.

The front door shut behind the man and for a split second Dan had thought he could just make out a female shape walk back inside.

The large man reversed his car from the drive and lightly spun the wheels as he turned away. Before he drew level with Dan he noticeably slowed the car to a crawl, just before their eyes met, and Dan stared intently at this man he had never seen before as he drove slowly past.

His heart thumped in his chest as he recalled Mr Cliff's voice again.

‘Your wife's dead, and your kids are gone.'

Fifteen metres on and the large Camerro came to a halt, and then quickly came reversing back toward him.

The man fiddled clumsily with his inside coat pocket, before pulling out a photograph.

He slid the window down as he stared at Dan, back to the photo, and then back to Dan again.

“You Dan Winters, fella?” He asked.

Dan coughed and felt uneasy.

“Um-y-yeah, I am,” he answered nervously.

The large cop jumped very quickly from the car and Dan stepped back.

He didn't know this aggressive looking man. Maybe he had written an article about him once though. An article that the man or someone in his family didn't like. This was one of the drawbacks of being a reporter.

It's a reporter's job to report the truth, Dan had been taught, even though sometimes the truth gets a little bent and stretched in the process. Dramatization they call it.

*  *  *  *  *

He remembered how as a young junior reporter, he had been led into the office, along with the rest of the staff to be briefed about an incident that had happened to one of their colleagues that very morning.

Bill Johnston had been nominated for a Pulitzer award, just six weeks previous, and he was on a roll. Everyone envied Bill Johnston, and his ability to get great stories. But sometimes Bill would go to any lengths, and step on any toes, to get his way.

The paper had written up a grovelling apology, after Bill had put out a story about the rape of a senator's daughter. According to Bill, sources had led him to a guy named Alexander Devarough.

Convinced through his normally reliable sources in the police department, that Devarough was the culprit, he had printed a story of Devarough going on the run.

The Devarough family had vehemently denied that Alexander had any involvement in the crime, and that the girl was lying. After some questioning, the girl had finally come clean, claiming she had made the whole thing up. She had secretly dated Devarough, but the young man had dismayed of her forward and tainted attitude, and had broken it off with her. But the story had been printed and Alexander had run off in a blind panic. Later, they found the young man's body hanging from a tree in the forest.

The story didn't end there though.

As Johnston, now under suspension from the paper, left his home to do some shopping, Alexander's father, accompanied by two of his brothers, stopped him.

Bill Johnston didn't die from the beating that ensued. But most people believed that it would have been better if he had.

He would never walk again. Not with the back injuries meted out to him. Nor would he ever type or even write again. His hands had been stomped on and mashed to a bloody pulp.

They say his mind had also been affected that day, but no one could ever be sure of this, because now Bill Johnston was a recluse. Bill Johnston was a prisoner in his own home, accepting no calls or no visitors.

It was of no consolation to anyone that the Devarough family member's involved were given long sentence's either, because everyone at the time felt Johnston deserved it.

All because of some lousy words on a piece of paper,
Dan thought.

Dan snapped out of it as the man cleared his throat and spoke.

“I'm detective Dabilos. Why half the damn police force have been trying to track you down Winters. Your wife reported you missing. What's the story with you on this? You've led us on a damn Goose chase fella.”

Dan felt embarrassed, and almost sick. Now Lynn would be furious with him, and she would require an explanation. She would probably insist he take a freekin lie detector test.

The cop was staring at him now for some sort of explanation.

“Well, I'm waiting?”

“I um, I've been in rehab officer,” Dan lied. “I couldn't tell my wife, you know.”

“Well Winters, I don't understand how you couldn't tell your wife. She's a great gal. And you've got a great family there. Great kids too. They are so worried about your ass.

Dan grovelled out an apology and promised he would make it up to them.

“Go see them Winters, go, I can get a statement later.”

‘Kids,' the cop had said, ‘kids.' Why Beatrice couldn't have kids.

“It's Tom and Grace, um, my children's names, right?” Dan whispered to the puzzled cop, who was now starting to believe the rehab story, and the guy's state of mind.

“Yes,” the large detective said, “That's their names all right, Tom and Grace. You mean to say you've forgotten your own children's names? What medication did they give you in rehab anyhow Winters?”

“Um, I've had some uh, a truck load of problems,” Dan lied.

The man smiled at Dan. A warm and friendly smile, as though he had been through all this himself once before.

“Go, go and see them,” the cop ordered, and he patted Dan a friendly tap on his upper arm.

“Yes, I will, thank you.”

Suddenly though, the detective's look changed, and as he stared at him for a moment, Dan realised the cop was looking at him kinda funny.

He doesn't believe I was in rehab,
Dan thought.
He probably thinks I was shacked up with some dame somewhere, and that I have been cheating on my loving family.

Dan shook his hand vigorously though, thanked him, and ran toward the house, leaving the car unattended with the keys still in the ignition.

The cop mumbled something, and as he shook his head and returned to his car, he laughed.

“Ha, ha, ha,” he laughed, as he slouched into the seat, and drove slowly off.

Dan burst through the door, his heart pounding fiercely with the excitement of seeing them all again.

“I'm back honey,” he shouted. Tears filled his eyes, but they were tears of joy. He had tangled with demonic forces, but had come through unscathed. Now everything would be perfect, he knew.

He could hear the voices coming from upstairs, and as he waited he glanced around at the furniture, carpets and paintwork.
Lynn has had a complete make over done,
he thought, as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. A gold vase filled with yellow flowers sat on an unfamiliar coffee table.

Something's not right here,
Dan thought. There was also something else. Something about the large detective that seemed familiar. Something he had heard before. It was the name. ‘Dabilos,' he had called himself, and Dan was sure he had heard the name somewhere before.

“Dabilos, Dabilos,” Dan repeated.

Dan thought back to those years before, back to Ireland, when the old minister, Rev McCleay had gone to bless Lamont's mine. A younger minister, Rev Collins, who had accompanied him, had been killed when they found out he was really a demon in disguise. The old minister later told them about it. Rev Collins had been possessed by a disciple of the devil, and his name was ‘Diabolis, the slanderer,' he had said.

Dabilos-Diabolis,
he thought.

He stood upright and rigid, as though frozen in space and time.

“Oh, God no,” Dan moaned, as he realised Dabilos and Diabolis were one and the same.

A large tsunami of fear rushed from his head to his toes.

He could hear the muffled excited voices of his wife and children upstairs as they raced down to greet him.

“Dad, Dad, the children shouted.

The young man and girl stood before him, smiling, but concerned at his puzzling posture.

“Where the hell have you been dad?”

“Yeah,” the girl said. “Mom's awfully worried.”

Dan stumbled back, into the corner, almost falling over a chair.