One fine day

The day was fine, butterflies flitted in the clear air and somewhere far off a songbird greeted the sun. John Cade had made a picnic for himself and had set off to the Lower Lea where he always felt happiest. Home on holiday from boarding school he had decided to lie in the long grass and watch the clouds silently drift by. Somewhere far off he could hear a tractor labouring in the field and knew which direction the field lay from the cloud of hungry seagulls that flew in a flock above. His eyes closed and he felt himself drifting off into a sweet dream or two.

As a young child he had played in this grassy pasture, always feeling secure and happy. Now that he was older, he never missed a chance to visit it when home from his boarding school.

School work had gone well the last term and his masters and his parents had been well satisfied with his performance. Now, it was a break time when he could relax and allow his batteries to recharge in preparation for his final term at Greystones.

The school had a long and prestigious history, founded in the 18^th century it had been the place of learning for many well known people including several M.P.s and various heads of industry. John’s parents paid costly fees for his attendance at Greystones  and he was not letting them down.

There had only been one fly in the ointment and now, the memory slid unpleasantly into John’s reveries. Bingham! A totally unsuitable person for the position of master at Greystones, the man was unscrupulous and totally obnoxious. John thought of him and uncontrollably shuddered having had personal knowledge of the knave. He was known for his bullying and intimidation of pupils, but as far as John was concerned, as long as he stayed out of his way, then it was ok with him.

The real problem arose when John walked in on one of Bingham’s experiments. The room had been darkened and a few candles flickered in various places in the room. Drawn on the floor in chalk was a pentacle and a semi naked First Former was laying at the centre. The poor boy was petrified and John had recognised him as Bingham’s ‘fag’, the name in the college for a  person, usually freshly arrived, who due to tradition was made to run and carry for the masters and senior form pupils. It was just drudgery of the worst kind, but every First Former had to endure it.

John helped the boy to his feet recognising him as Peter Hames. “What is this all about, Hames?” asked John. “Has old Bingham got you into amateur dramatics?”

Suddenly Hames’ eyes widened and he ducked as a large wooden baseball bat swung between him and John. Turning quickly John realised that their attacker was none other than Bingham. The master was dressed in a dark cloak and on his head he wore a cap that was adorned with leaves.

“You have no right Cade!” screamed Bingham, taking a swing at the boys again. “This is my private rooms, what goes on in here is my business!”

John stood in front of Peter and when Bingham swung the bat again, John snatched it off him. He ushered Peter out of the room and before closing the door he said to Bingham, “You are finished at this college. As soon as the Dean knows about tonight’s little shenanigans, you will be history!”

The morning after Bingham was nowhere to be seen. He had packed up all his things during the night and driven away from the college never to return. John thought that he had heard the last of the odious man until a letter had arrived for him from Bingham. It clearly stated that one day, very soon, he, Bingham, would have his revenge. ‘You’ll never see it coming’ the letter stated.

John realised that he must have dozed off, for when he opened his eyes, the light was slipping away towards evening. Collecting up his picnic things he packed them into a hamper and made his way up the path to Little Thorpe, the village where his parents lived. No 67 Rectory Lane was their address and the property was the old rectory that had formerly served St Luke’s Church before its closure due to falling numbers in the congregation. Now the people of Little Thorpe worshipped at St Barnabus in the nearby town of Dawling. During the English Civil War it is said that Cromwell’s Roundheads had taken sacred relics attributed to St. Luke from the church, a leg bone and pelvis, and after smashing them up, had dumped them on Lower Lea which was a cratered, muddy field due to successive bombardments by rival armies.

“I’m home Mum!” shouted John as he entered his house. “Sorry I am late, the time just flew when I was down in the meadow and I think I fell asleep for a little while.”

There was no sound from anywhere in the house and John thought that maybe his mother had gone out for messages. His father would not be home till late as he had a business meeting.

Going into the lounge, John switched on the television and then sat down to watch the News. It always seemed to be the same these days, plane crashes, refugees and party political broadcasts. The world was in real turmoil just now and was set to get worse. The weather forecast followed with warnings of heavy rain to come and possibly gales. It also included an interesting item regarding a lunar eclipse that was going to occur during the early hours of the following morning,

When John’s father got in from work at ten o’clock, that evening, he found a very upset, young man.

“Mum‘s vanished, Dad,” he said, feeling very tearful. “She wasn’t here when I came in over 5 hours ago!”

His father sat him down and started asking him questions. “Was she alright when you left this morning? Have you contacted the police?”

John said that he hadn’t as he had been waiting for his father to get home.

Mr Cade picked up the telephone receiver and began dialling. “That’s strange,” he said, there is no tone! It looks like it is out of order. Well, I’ll just drive into Dawling and speak to the police.

You stay here, in case she comes back from wherever she’s been.”

Mr Cade snatched up his car keys and after putting his coat on made his way to the front door. “I won’t be long, he said as he closed the front door.

Five minutes later, he was back. “The car won’t start,” he said angrily. “I only had it serviced two weeks ago and I bet the battery is flat!”

Standing cloaked in a long dark robe Silas Bingham gazed down at the frightened woman who lay gagged and tied up on the floor of St. Luke’s church. He smiled at the futile movements that she was making to free herself. “Not long now, my beauty,” he hissed evilly. “Soon your son will come looking for you and I will exact my revenge!”

Silas walked over to the altar where he had arranged his various items associated with his black art. A stolen chalice, to hold the blood of his victim, a long sword inscribed along the blade with a prayer to the dark spirit of Ashraf and a jewelled dagger with which he would slice the throat of his enemy.

He stroked the sword and then lifted it aloft, “Come my lord Ashraf. The feast is set for your pleasure!”

“Look, Dad,” said John pointing out of the window at the windows of the nearby church. “Someone’s inside, I can see lights.”

“No one should be in there, son,” said his father angrily. “It must be children mucking about!”

“But, what if it is to do with Mum?” John said in a worried voice. “I think we have to go and find out.”

Father and son made their way over the village square. It was dark and a light breeze tugged at their clothes as they approached the church.

“You stay here, John,” said his father. “In case there is a problem.”

“Aww, Dad,” groaned John. “I want to come with you.”

One look from his father made John realise that he should do as he was told. He knew that at least with one of them outside if anything happened, that person could go for help.

The church door creaked open and John’s father stepped inside. John heard nothing more for about ten minutes and he realised that he would have to go and find out what had happened to his dad.

As John stepped inside he smelt the sour smell of candle wax and mould. The vestibule was quite dark and he was momentarily blinded when he pulled the door into the church, open. Candles sat all around the inside of the church, their flames flickering and smoking.

“Come in, young sir!” boomed out a voice and as soon as John heard it, he knew who it was.

“Mr Bingham,” said John. “What are you doing here?”

Silas pointed down at the floor before the altar. “I have your parents here. I think they look very uncomfortable, in fact, your father’s head is bleeding.”

“What have you done?” shouted John as he ran towards the ex master. “Dad! Mum! Are you alright?” He knelt down and held their hands. “It’ll be OK, I promise you.”

Standing up John faced Silas who was busy placing a cap on his head. It had a sprig of leaves on it and John remembered that it was the same thing that Bingham had had on his head when he had disturbed the man and his victim, back at Greystones.

“You have a choice my young friend,” said Silas picking up the knife from the altar. “I intend to spill blood to praise my lord Ashraf. It can be either yours or one of your parents – I do not care.”

“You are insane!” said John looking about him for something to use to protect himself and his parents. “No one is to be injured, I will not allow it!”

Silas Bingham had been practising his black arts for many years and gradually his soul had darkened until now it was as black as an unlit coal cellar. The evil lord Ashraf lived there and fed Bingham with portions of his evil power to get him to do the evil spirit’s bidding. The entity needed to gain access to the Earth and its people to allow it unbridled power to create chaos and disharmony. Bingham was a means to an end and when lord Ashraf emerged as the most powerful creature on the planet, Bingham would simply be tossed aside.

Bingham raised his arms above his head and began to chant. As the unintelligible words poured from his mouth, the sound of the wind outside St Luke’s began to increase until it sounded as if a chorus of banshees was screeching. There was a roaring in the old church’s rafters as the wind rushed through and swirled about the chancel. The candles’ flames wavered in the gusts, but stayed alight.

“Well, who is it to be?”shouted Bingham over the gale’s cacophony.

John looked across at his parents trussed up like a couple of turkeys. “It will be me, but my parents must be released first!” he screamed.

“Yes of course I will release them, as soon as my master has received his sacrifice,” Bingham shouted back.

“No, now!” John  said loudly, moving towards his parents.

Bingham would have none of this and raising the knife he swung it at John. The knife plunged towards the boy’s neck but as its blade just touched John’s skin, Bingham felt as if he had touched a high voltage cable. The knife was blown out of his hand and went sailing down the length of the church. Bingham was thrown several feet away and landed by the front pews, his hand blackened and paralysed. He screamed with the pain. But the real pain began as the force that had been released from John’s body by the touch of the knife. It soaked into Bingham’s body, going deeper and deeper until it struck the black hole that was Bingham’s soul. It struck and shattered the hiding place of lord Ashraf and hurtled the creature back into the dark where it belonged. Bingham gulped and writhed as the eternal struggle went on deep in his body and at the final second when his soul was a total vacuum, Bingham was simply sucked inside out and vanished into oblivion.

Using the sword, John carefully cut his parents restraints and helped them to their feet. John’s father was slightly concussed and when they had returned to their house, an ambulance was called. The paramedics cleaned the wound and applied a bandage before transporting him to the hospital. “It’s only to keep him under our watchful eye,” said the chief paramedic. “He’ll be home tomorrow if he has a good night. You say he fell when he was doing some painting. Maybe it would be safer to get a professional painter into do the work in future.”

John and his mother sat looking into the fire, seeing images and pictures formed by the flames.

“What do you think saved us?” asked John’s mother, still feeling a little shaken from the experience.

“Didn’t someone say that the relics of St Luke had been dumped on the Lower Lea?” asked John.

“It’s a local folk tale,” his mother said. “You do love that place and spent a lot of your childhood playing there.”

“Maybe, just maybe some of the goodness from the relics rubbed off on me,” laughed John.

His mother looked back into the flames and she and John were silent for a while.

Then John put his arm round his mother’s neck and hugged her. “I think we are always being watched over and cared for,” he said simply.

The Magical Bus

 It was a windy, wet day moving to evening on Darchester City High Street and long queues waited for buses at bus stops. Everyone stood huddled together using his or her neighbour as a shield from the persistent, driving rain. It was the evening rush home to a hot meal, a warm house and an evening viewing the favourite program on television – if you were lucky.

Slowly the lines of passengers diminished as bus after bus arrived and then left to transport its passengers to various areas of the city. Soon a queue of ten people remained and when it looked as if no bus was going to arrive, one pulled into the stop. It was Bill Harkness who was driving. Everyone who travelled on the Number 45 bus to Darton felt happy when they saw that particular driver behind the wheel, they didn’t know why, but they just did. They all shuffled onto the bus and greeted Bill as they bought their tickets or showed their passes. Soon the bus sprang into life and moved off to join the ever flowing traffic on the High street.

Janet McCleish sat worrying how she was going to make ends meet that week. She was only paid fortnightly and this was a ‘blank’ week. No pay till next week. The children were always hungry and Harry her husband only received a small invalidity pension. He had been injured at work, but the court had deemed it was partially his fault, so only awarded him a token pension. Harry had told Janet that he had been complaining for weeks about the lathe that the foreman had instructed him to use, but as ever with the big firms, they got off and the little man suffered.

Colin Davies looked mournfully out of the rain streaked windows. He had been laid off from his job as a trainee architect after a series of cutbacks in his firm. The old adage of ‘Last in, first out’ applied to Colin’s position. He had only started with Donaldson and Wright at the beginning of the year and even then he had been employed on a temporary contract.

John Drew opened his wallet, he was positive there had been a five pound note in it this morning when he had left for work, but now there was no sign of it. He fumed silently, how could he have been so careless. It had probably fallen out when he had taken something else out of his wallet. Oh, well, he thought, there goes my tea for tonight, he had been imagining the fish supper he intended to buy at Toni’s fish restaurant on the way home. Oh well, it would have to be toast instead!

Kathy Wilson checked her watch. Billy her son would be in from school now. She didn’t like him coming into an empty house but she was sure that at twelve years old he was sufficiently mature enough to make himself a drink then sit and watch his programs on the television till she got home. Since Fred, her husband had walked out on the two of them, money had been tight, but her job in Millar’s dress shop in Darchester helped pay the bills and that was all that mattered. Still she worried that Billy and her couldn’t get a holiday.

Janet Stretton was annoyed. She had been sitting on the bus contemplating what she would make for tea and realised that she hadn’t taken the meat out of the freezer before she had left for work. Now all she could envisage for her evening meal was a pile of potatoes and some veg! What a nuisance, she thought.

David Harrier was worried, he had made a mistake when counting up his till totals at the Southern Bank where he was employed. The young man had just started working there three months ago after leaving school and after initial training, Mr Collins the bank manager, had entrusted him to work a cash teller’s position. Everything had been going well until this evening when he had made a mistake with his addition. He had been rushing to get home and changed into his ‘glad rags’ before going out to meet his mates for an evening out. The head teller had noted the mistake and Davis was sure he was in for the ‘high jump’ with Mr Collins when he arrived next morning. Crap! he thought to himself.

Carl Vane had had it ‘up to here’ with his mother. She was forever poking around in his ‘stuff’. He had hung a large ‘No Entry’ sign on his bedroom door, but she still went in and out as if she owned the place. The fact that she did own the place still did not give her the right to pry, something was going to have to be said and it looked like ‘tonight was the night’ as they say, whoever ‘they’ were, he thought angrily.

Dave Gormley felt extremely useless. He had retired from work as a welder some years ago and remembered all his dreams and good intentions that he had shared with his mates at his retirement party at the ‘Golden Eagle’ pub in the city. Only a few of his work colleagues had turned up, but Mr Harrington, the boss, had come along with his wife and had presented him with a lovely carriage clock and a cheque for forty pounds all collected from round the offices and workplace of Harrington’s Steelworks. After that, pints of beer had been bought followed by nips of whisky leading to Dave ending his special evening in a state of euphoria when he told all gathered of his plans to learn how to fish, to catch up on his reading and to maybe learn a language for use when he went on holiday. The next morning he had awoken with a very sore head, a dry mouth and a growing feeling of lassitude. He began to lie longer in bed in the morning when he would have been up with the lark eager to get to work. He would sit up late into the evening in front of the television and often fell asleep in his chair. Useless, that is what I am, totally useless, he thought angrily.

Oh well, that was the end of it, thought Sally Potts sadly. Spike her boyfriend for two years had decided to split up with her. She felt a tear forming in her eye and angrily brushed it off with her hand. He had decided to backpack in Australia to ‘find himself’! Sally hadn’t been invited to come and she realised why when she found out later through ‘Facebook’ who else was going. Spike and Jerry Smith, Spike’s mate accompanied by Sheila Fisher, Sharon Fletcher and Mary Salter! Find himself? she thought angrily. They’ll just be Men Fridays to the three girls!

Mrs Agnes Barton watched the lights of the shops go by as the bus went on its route. It was a pity that it was raining, she had enjoyed her afternoon at the bingo, but when she had come out having not won a ‘Bingo’ and found the rain coming down any pleasure that she had felt evaporated. She still had a trek up Gardner Street after she got up to her stop. She would be soaking by the time she made it home. Imagine, not taking her umbrella with her. Silly old fool.

Bill Harkness leant over the wheel of the bus and checked both ways before pulling out at the junction. His big windscreen wipers slid back and forth over the rain streaked glass in a kind of syncopatic beat. Swish! Swish! They went flicking a hundred drops of water out of their way on each arc. It was an unpleasant night, thought Bill and the bus seems to have a lot of unhappy people aboard tonight.

A car pulled out in front of the bus and Bill had to step on the brake momentarily. “Stupid fool!” hissed Bill. “It’s not a night for that sort of behaviour.” Bill read the sign on the back window and groaned when he saw the ‘Baby Onboard’ logo. “Imagine, he thought, driving like that with an infant onboard.

The first of his stops was just round the corner and he knew that the red ‘Stopping’ sign would light up in a minute. It was a special button that the passengers pushed to intimate to him that they wanted to get off. When he was driving that bus, it took on strange powers.

Kathy Wilson leant forward and pushed the ‘stop’ button and a musical tinkle sounded as the ‘stopping’ sign appeared. As Kathy got up off her seat she felt suddenly happier. Spike was just one person and as the old song says ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’. She would get her pals on the phone and meet up with them that night for an ‘all girl’s evening’. Yes, that was what she would do, she thought with a smile. “Goodnight Mr Harkness,” she said to Bill, “and thank you.”

Bill nodded to her and replied, ‘Goodnight’ as he watched alight from the bus and happily make her way home.

It was Janet Stretton who touched the ‘magic’ button to stop the bus. As she rose she suddenly remembered that she had a tin of salmon in one of her cupboards. She would boil the potatoes and after mashing them, mix in the delicious fish flesh and fry them. Nothing better than salmon fish cakes, she thought as she moved down the bus. “Thanks Bill, have a nice night,” she said to the driver.

Bill smiled, “See you later.”

Dave Gormley slid along the bench seat until he was close to the ‘stop’ button. It was still raining and with the thought of his dull front room with all of its ‘charm’ awaiting him he groaned inwardly. Oh well, nothing for it, he thought, back to the same old, same old.

The instant his finger had pushed the button his attention was drawn to a poster on the inside of the bus. “Come to Sunny Spain” it invited and suddenly Dave could feel the Spanish sun on him warming his old bones. That was what he would do, go to Spain for a few weeks and recharge his batteries. He felt that it would all be different when he returned from abroad. He would learn to fish, maybe even take a trip up to Scotland to the great salmon rivers. “Good night Bill,” he said patting the driver on the shoulder. “Think I’ll get away for a bit – somewhere abroad maybe.”

“Well enjoy yourself old friend.”

Carl Vane stood up and shuffled towards the front of the bus. He waited till the last minute before pushing the ‘stop’ button and smiled when he saw how the driver had to brake suddenly.

“Should have rung it a little further back, son,” said Bill in a friendly voice.

“Yeah,” said Carl with a wicked smile on his face, “But not so much fun, eh?”

The youth jumped down on to the pavement and set off up the road, running.

Bill shook his head sadly and after checking his overtaking mirror pulled out into the road.

The bell rang and the ‘Stopping’ sign showed as Colin Davies got to his feet. He felt strange as he passed the driver, somehow happy. “Goodnight driver. Thanks for the ride.” He said and realised that perhaps now he had no job would open up several opportunities for him. Tomorrow he would go down to the Job Centre and see what other jobs he could do. I’m a young man, he thought, I can do anything I want.

“Good night,” said Bill, “you certainly look happier now than when you got on the bus.”

“Yes, and I feel happier,” Colin said. “Thanks again.”

Janet McCleish had been drowsing as she sat, the bus’ movement lulling her. She opened her eyes suddenly and realised that they were almost at her stop. She reached out and pressed the ‘stop’ button. Getting to her feet, hanging tightly to the seat’s rail she moved out into the aisle. Now what had she been worrying about? She thought to herself. My family are all healthy and well, so it can’t be that and Harry will have a nice cup of tea waiting for me when I get in with the kids sitting in front of the fire watching their T.V. program. She felt a glow of warmth inside her as she turned to Bill. “Thanks Bill. It’s a rotten night, make sure you get a hot toddy when you get in.”

“Thanks Janet, I will indeed. I’ve got a bottle of the good Scot’s stuff just waiting for me. Goodnight to you.”

John Drew felt his raincoat. It had dried off in the warm interior of the bus and he knew that the next stop, just round the corner was his stop. He pressed the ‘stop’ button and climbed to his feet, slowly moving down the aisle till he stood opposite the door. He was still annoyed about the lost fiver, but, oh well, ‘worse things happen at sea’ he thought pragmatically.

“Oh, sir,” said Bill politely. “I think you have something stuck to your collar.”

John felt his collar and found his five pound note. It had come out of his wallet when he had presented his bus pass to the driver when he had come on the bus. It must have been lodged there all the time!

“Thank you driver, now I can get that fish supper I was dreaming all day about!” he laughed.

“Well, goodnight, sir and bon appétit!” said Bill.

The rain got heavier as the bus proceeded along Farson Terrace. Bill could see the puddles stretching over the road and took his time driving through them. The lights in the houses up this way were all lit and people could be seen through the windows preparing for their evening meal.

David Harrier checked his watch. He would be in the house by six o’clock unless the bus was delayed, but upon checking out of the window next to him, he realised that he was two stops from where he needed to get off. He wondered if Mr. Collins would give him a verbal warning regarding his misdemeanour. That was all he needed, he thought as an empty bus shelter slipped by. That wouldn’t look good on his records. Raising his hand he touched the ‘stop’ button and stood up. Maybe it was a ‘wake up’ call for him, something he needed, to get him back on the straight and narrow. He had to admit that he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention and in a bank when you were dealing with other people’s money, that would not do. He would go into see the bank manager tomorrow and apologise for his oversight, assuring him that he would do better in future. Yes, that was the ticket, he thought. “Goodnight,” he said as he passed Bill and stepping down off the bus’ platform, walked off around a corner and vanished from sight.

The rain was crashing down on the roof of the bus, it sounded like an engine roaring. Agnes Barton looked through the streaming windows fearfully. She had just recovered from a bout of flu and certainly didn’t want another. It had been nice meeting all her pals at the ‘Bingo’, that was why she went and dreamt often of carrying off the grand prize, but, ah well, she would just have to carry on dreaming. The next stop was hers and looking around her she realised that there was only her aboard now as after the driver dropped her at her stop he would drive directly to the depot. She touched the ‘stop’ button and the red ‘Stopping’ light came on at the front of the bus. Agnes got up and slowly moved down the bus until she was standing by Bill’s side.

“Have you far to go, love?” asked Bill.

“I’ve to go up to Gardener Street after you drop me,” she replied with a sigh.

“Then just sit yourself down, I’ll drop you at your door. What number is it?”

Incredulously, Agnes sat down on one of the bench seats at the front of the bus. “It’s number 27, but won’t you get into trouble?” she asked.

“Bill laughed and pulled the bus round the corner and headed for Agnes’ street, “What they don’t see won’t hurt them,” he said with a wink.

Driving into the depot that night, Bill was met by Inspector Nigel Cooke. “You’re a bit late Bill,” he said tapping his watch.

“Ah,well, Nige, the weather was against me this evening,” replied Bill ruefully.

“Right!” said Nigel. “Get your bus parked and get off home. See you tomorrow, Bill, goodnight.”

Bill parked the number 45 bus next to the garage wall. Before he alighted he went over to a small box that sat by the red ‘Stopping’ sign at the front of the bus. Carefully he disconnected it and put it in his pocket. Looking about him he checked that he hadn’t left anything and then stepping down he shut the bus’ door and locked it. “Goodnight old girl, see you tomorrow,” he whispered.

Upon arriving at his house, Bill was greeted by Fenella the cat. The animal rubbed up against Bill’s legs until he had opened a can of meat for her and then she set to licking the bowl clean.

Bill put the kettle on and as he waited for it to boil he took the mysterious box out of his pocket and went through to his kitchen and connected it to a large object that looked like a meat mincer. It had a dark square body with a spout that emerged from its side. Reaching over, Bill snapped on a switch and the machine began to hum. Placing a coal scuttle below the spout Bill waited patiently until suddenly small black objects about the size of cricket balls began to emerge and drop into the scuttle. Ten of the objects fell out before the machine switched off with a grateful wheeze. Disconnecting the box, Bill put it back in his pocket and picking up the coal scuttle carried it through to his living room where he began to makeup a fire with paper and bits of wood. When the sticks caught fire, Bill placed a few of the black balls onto the flames which hungrily devoured the objects and reduced them to ash.

By the time Bill had made his tea and had carried it through to the living room, all but one of the black objects had been incinerated. The single ball sat unchanging as the fire died away in the hearth.

After he had eaten his tea, Bill lifted it out with his fire tongs and laid it on the tiles in front of the fireplace. “A problem then?” he said to himself, as he reached for the coal hammer.

Steadying the black orb with the tongs he hit it with the hammer. It cracked and fell to bits releasing a small bright light which rose into the air then hung still awaiting Bill’s command.

“Let me just get my coat on and we’ll away,” said Bill and turning to the cat whispered, “Look after the house Fenella, we won’t be long.”

The night was dark, wet and windy as Bill made his way through the Darchester streets led by the little firefly which raced ahead of him then stopped awaiting him catching up. “So, we’re headed to the east end are we?” Bill hissed. “Not a good area, I’ll bet.”

As Bill eventually rounded a corner he found himself in a large open area where wrecks of cars, old fridges and washing machine carcasses lay. A large housing estate bordered this open plain of despair and the little shining light raced towards the buildings. People were about, standing in doors smoking cigarettes watching or else walking hunched up through the rain. No one seemed to notice the little light that preceded the elderly man.

Eventually the light stopped at the gate to a large tenement block. Graffiti was drawn all over the building’s walls and as Bill entered the passage, the odours of urine and boiled cabbage permeated the atmosphere. “Which number?” he whispered to the light and watched as the glow illuminated the door of number 17.

Bill suddenly heard raised voices from inside the flat. A man’s voice shouting and a woman’s pleading. There was a big bump as if something had fallen. Bill couldn’t wait any longer and grabbing the door handle found that the door was unlocked. He swung it open and ran into the flat shouting, “Hello, are you alright?”

Cal Vane stood looking down at the woman on the floor. He knew that this was his mother, but she had overstepped her responsibilities and interfered with his business. Covering the floor was a white powder that his mother had guessed correctly was drugs and foolishly had ripped the packet containing the narcotic open and had thrown it at him. He had slapped her in the face to silence her screaming and she had collapsed on the floor weeping. Red rage ran in his veins and he slid a knife out of his pocket. She would have to pay; he stepped towards her and raised his arm – just as Bill crashed into the room.

“What the…!” screamed Carl turning towards the old man. “Who are you?”

Listen, son, you don’t have to do this you know,” Bill said holding up his hands in defence.

“What has it to do with you old man?” Carl shouted, angry now that he had a witness.

“This may sound crazy to you,” said Bill quietly, but on my bus I have a little box that absorbs people’s negative feelings. It is connected through the ‘stop’ buttons on the bus, when they press it takes the negative feeling away and replaces it with a good, positive feeling.”

 “You are totally mad, mate!” grunted Carl.

“No, honestly I remove negative feelings and they are stored in a box that I take home, process them into something like coal which I burn,” Bill  said holding his hands out. “I try and make the world a better place.”

Carl’s mother gave a moan and began to get up. Carl was clearly spooked now and Bill was worried in case he panicked and hurt someone.

“Look Carl, calm down. When I took your negative feelings home they would not burn and this meant to me that you had lost something, basic humanity,” Bill said. “When a feeling won’t burn it compresses tightly and when carbon is compressed it turns into a diamond.

We have come to return your spark of humanity in the form of this diamond.”

“Whose ‘we’,” said Carl, suspiciously looking about him, “I don’t see anyone else!”

Suddenly a small light appeared just by Carl’s head and as he watched mystified, it increased in luminance until his head looked as if it had a halo round it – then it went out. Carl staggered slightly and after opening and closing his eyes several times, shook his head. It was if he suddenly became conscious of his mother lying on the floor and dropping the knife he knelt down and took the woman into his arms and hugged her, “I’m sorry Mum. I’ll be a better son, you’ll see.”

Bill crept quietly out of number 17 and closed the front door behind him. A miracle had been performed here today and Bill knew in his heart of hearts that the boy would be the son his mother had always wanted – from that day on.

So, if you are ever in Darchester and have the weight of the world on your shoulders look out for a number 45 bus and just hope old Bill Harkness is behind the wheel. He’ll take away your worries and replace them with a positive outlook!

The Diary of a Country Vicar

11^th September 1875

It was a bright early autumn day when we arrived at the village of Hexford to take over charge of St. Zephain’s, the local church. I had just finished my three year degree course in Divinity when the church vacancy became available and upon applying, I was accepted. I had imagined the requirement for me to attend an interview and possibly allowed to preach for the congregation to assess me, the Rev. Martin Hollis and the suitability of my lady wife, Maud.

As we approached the church, Maud and I were struck by the unkempt nature of the graveyard surrounding the tall majestic building. It was like a well dressed man who was wearing dirty shoes. The rising pinnacles, the flying buttresses and the beautiful stonework, were detracted from by a surrounding field of weeds, where gravestones poked out resembling drowning men.

My wife decided there and then to make it her aim that the tidiness and upkeep of the cemetery of St. Zephain’s would be her responsibility or her name was not Maud Johnston.

The vicarage too, looked as if it was in need of a coat of paint and a bit of carpentry work. The brickwork needed pointed and some of the window frames looked rotten. Altogether both Maud and I hoped that the interior of the building was in a better state than the outside!

I unlocked the door with an oversize key and as we stepped over the threshold our noses were assailed by the smell of damp and mildew. Now I knew why my application for incumbency had been accepted so quickly, it was probable that no one else wanted it!

(Written later) The property looked and felt a little better when we had lit a fire both in the living room and the room that was to be our chambers. Maud made some tea and toast with jam on it before we went up to our bedroom to make the bed for our night’s sleep.

After leaving Maud upstairs to change into her nightclothes, I returned downstairs to check the guard was over the fire and that the front and back doors were secure.

Tomorrow everything, I pray, will be brighter.

12^th September 1875

Woke feeling refreshed this morning and after a quick wash and shave I descended to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for Maud and myself. Luckily, we had brought provisions with us and were in no need of purchasing anything else at that time, although we would have to explore the village to discover if a local grocer existed, for future victuals.

Maud and I went for a walk after breakfast, to the see the church. As I opened the large door I saw that the large rosary window which sat high above the altar lit up the interior of the building in a hue of pink and purple. It was truly wondrous to withhold and I felt my spirits rise.

Although the hymn books looked old and tatty I knew that the words they contained were incorruptible and would stand the test of time. Perhaps a new batch could be obtained at a later date when I was fully in charge of the financial aspects pertaining to St. Zephains.

We returned to the vicarage at midday to partake of some food and drink. As we ate we discussed what we would do over the following days and weeks. We were excited and felt airy and light headed. We were master and mistress of our own prospects and we would triumph and turn St Zephain’s into a centre of excellence where we would welcome clergy and laity alike. Soon the church would hum with busy people all eager to please and serve God.

13^th September 1875

Today we arrived at the church with mops, buckets and cloths, and we scrubbed, scoured and polished everything that did not move and a few things that did! The brass work gleamed, the floors looked swept and the walls were cleared of cobwebs. By Jove, by the time we decided to return to the vicarage, St Zephain’s had had a real facelift.

14^th September 1875

Woke up this morning to someone knocking at the door! When I had pulled on some clothes and descended the stairs I threw the main door open and there standing on the threshold was the tallest man I have ever seen! He introduced himself as Samuel Haddon and begged my pardon for waking me, but that I must take care for all was not right in Hexford. Suddenly he was hauled back by a cheerful fellow calling himself Sam Gutteridge. He laughed and told me to take no notice of old Samuel as he was, as he described it, a ‘little strange’. Sam welcomed Maud and I to the village and said that if we should want anything, to let him know. He considered that he was Hexford’s unofficial mayor and liked to attract the ‘right sort of person’ to stay there. I said I hoped to see him in church on Sunday, but he shook his head and said that he was a kind of agnostic and that he didn’t agree with churches. He preferred to worship in the open air, among the trees and flowers, natural like.

17^th September 1875

Haven’t managed to write my diary for a few days as I have been very busy, Maud and I decided to leave it for a week to allow us to prepare things for the first Sunday that I will be preaching. In two day’s time I will officially take charge of the church of St Zephain’s by delivering my first ever sermon. I will introduce myself to the congregation and will learn their names and where they live. Then will come the visits, cheery chats around roaring fires with steaming mugs of tea in our hands. I cannot wait.

19^th September 1875

Disaster! I entered the church this morning at ten thirty to begin the service at eleven to find the building – empty! I waited until well after eleven, but no one turned up and although I left the church and went into the village, the roads were empty. Hexford was like a ghost town!

I returned to the vicarage and just about collapsed. We have no congregation! What will I do?

Maud brought me a strong cup of tea with extra sugar in it. She explained that I might have to visit the citizens of Hexford to explain to them that the church is now open and under my charge. They will all come back, she promised, she knew it and soon her optimism infected me and once again raised my spirits. As I divested myself of my robes I began to make up dialogues that I would have with the village folk. Soon they would be my friends and we would support each other, I knew it.

20^th September 1875

Maud decided to start work in the graveyard today. She intended to go and assess the situation and then hire men who would carry out her requirements. I suggested two lusty lads with scythes would soon put paid to the long grass and weeds and then when she could see what lay beneath, a further planting of bushes and small trees could be undertaken. As she walked off towards the church I felt a little shiver of misgiving, but shrugged it off as I stepped into the sunlight.

 My plan was to visit some of the cottages and introduce myself to the inhabitants of Hexford, but it did not go as well as I planned. In fact the people I called on displayed an almost rude attitude. Not quite doors slammed in my face, more a fear on the face of each householder I visited. One old man made the sign of the cross in front of me and closed his door. Another suggested I ‘run for my life’! I am very confused. I wonder if the previous incumbent met with as much hostility.

22nd September 1875

Maud asked me to come and see what she had discovered below the long grass. She wanted it to be a surprise and so, told me nothing about the discovery.

Just returned from the graveyard. I was quite surprised when Maud showed me a large stone tablet which had been exposed when her workmen had finished scything back the weeds and grass. It is about seven feet long and four feet wide and the inscription carved on the stone face is ‘Resurgam’. I remembered from my Latin studies that this interpreted to ‘I will rise’, probably a reference to the Resurrection of bodies during the ‘Final Days’. Below the inscription there the name of the last minister of St. Zephain’s who died a year ago. He was a tall man by all accounts named Christopher De Ath.

I cannot understand why the cemetery has been allowed to fall into so much neglect. I am sure that when Maud’s workmen get some of the bushes and trees pruned correctly, it will be transformed into an asset to the church rather than a wilderness.

24^th September 1875

Maud has just returned from the cemetery. I could see that she had been crying and her hand is bound up with a cloth. When I asked her what had happened, she explained that when she was clearing weeds from round the ‘Resurgam’ stone, when reaching below the slab, it felt as if something bit her! I said that it could have been a rat or some other rodent, but while cleaning up the wound I noticed that the incisions in her hand are too large for a small animal, they are more the size of human teeth. Still, the wound is bandaged and Maud is lying down for a nap, I will take a walk out to the graveyard this evening and check if there is anything living beneath the slab.

Just returned from my walk and I must get down on paper what happened to me this evening. When I arrived at the cemetery I was amazed at how well the men had done clearing the area. I could see where Maud had planted odd bushes and small saplings. When I approached the ‘Resurgam’ stone I was horrified to see blood smears on its surface, then I remembered about Maud’s accident and realised that she must have spilt a few drops of blood on the slab before she was able to staunch the flow. The blood had run down the side of the stone and into the recess that Maud had tried to clear of weeds before being injured. I looked about and located a fallen branch which I used to estimate the depth of the hole. As I was pushing it into the darkness, suddenly it felt as if something had grabbed the end and shook it! I attempted to pull the branch out, but it took several attempts before I freed it from what it had become attached to. I decided that that was enough exploration for one night and made my way out of the burying ground.

The strange feeling of something living under the slab caused me to start imagining things, for, all the way back to the manse I felt that someone or thing was keeping pace with me as I walked. It crept through the undergrowth making no noise apart from the odd rustle of leaves or twig breaking, but I knew something was there. I was never so glad to be behind a locked door and had to stand still for a few minutes to allow my heart to slow down.

25^th September 1875

What a disturbed night I had! I dreamt terrible dreams and awoke several times drenched with sweat. One of the times it was fortuitous that I had awakened for upon listening I detected the slow drip of liquid onto the floor. Immediately I went to investigate and was shocked to see blood dripping from my dear Maud’s wound, making a small pool on the floor. I woke her and rebandaged the wound using fresh gauze and bandages. The wound has become inflamed and I will have to contact the local doctor in the morning. I could have sworn that some animal had stood looking in the window for I saw two pin points of red light just on the other side of the glass, but when I approached the window I realised that they had been a reflection.

Dr Jamieson came to see Maud’s hand. He has prescribed washing the wound with a salt solution and then after drying it, have it bandaged again. The good doctor and I sat in the garden for an hour after Maud had been seen to and it allowed me to ask him about the village and the church. He didn’t say anything for about five minutes as if he was trying to think what to say. Then, with a grunt he admitted that the village had had some trouble about fifteen years previously. When I asked him what sort of trouble it was, he did not seem to want to explain himself and stood up and made ready to leave. I entreated him to share his information, but with no more ado, he left after promising to return in two days time to see how Maud’s wound was healing.

I am preparing my sermon for my first service in St. Zephain’s this Sunday. I hope the villagers will overcome their surliness and come along to the church. I am preparing my text to relate to Lazarus being raised from the grave by Jesus. It has always been one of my favourite tracts and I hope I can carry it off successfully.

26^th September 1875

Maud is very ill. She awoke shouting last night and was running a very high fever. I bathed her brow and helped her change into some dry night attire. I bathed her hand again but it does not seem to be healing and redness from the wound has begun to spread up her arm.

Tomorrow I will deliver my first service at St. Zephain’s as the new incumbent. I hope that I will impress the locals and offer them spiritual guidance. My predecessor met equal hostility during his incumbency, but I am determined to clear the air and, if possible clear this distrust that the populace feel for me and my calling. The work of the Church must not be interfered with. The congregation must be encouraged to grow and work together.

27^th September 1875

A black day! I arrived early to open the doors of St Zephain’s to allow the mild autumn air to enter. The candles were lit and bibles and hymnals distributed. I put on my robes and awaited the time of the ceremony in prayer. I felt that if I could draw the village folk in, I would be able to reach out to them and kindle their spirits.

The hour arrived and with a deep breath I left my vestry and entered the Church. There were just a handful of men and women there. Each was seated in their pew and gazed at me in dread and fear as I entered. I welcomed them and thanked them for coming, but my words fell on deaf ears. None of them smiled or made any sign of acceptance for my gratitude, all they did was stare with expressions of whipped dogs on their faces.

I announced the first hymn and they all stood, awaiting instruction on what to do next. I began singing with my deep baritone voice but found that it was only my voice that echoed around the building.

After that I asked them to bend their heads in prayer and after praying for the monarch and the country I began praying for an enlightenment to come to the village, for an acceptance and softening of their attitudes to my wife and I. As I uttered ‘Amen’ once again it was my voice and my voice alone.

Not to be deterred, I climbed the stairs to the pulpit and spread the papers containing my sermon on the shelf before me. I looked down on the little group that represented my Flock. They were all hard workers, I was sure of this, for apart from the fear in their eyes, they emitted a tangible strength which I felt like summer lightning.

I looked down at my script and after clearing my throat began my sermon that related to the raising of Lazarus from the grave.

As soon as I mentioned the word ‘tomb’ and the raising of one already dead, the men and women groaned and jumping to their feet left the church in an unholy rush, leaving me alone in this temple of God.

I don’t know how I made it back to the Rectory, I felt sick to the stomach and light headed, after locking the church up I lurched home and after checking Maud, collapsed on my bed in a stupor, where I lay for the next few hours. I awoke as the dark was falling and after once again checking on my wife’s condition, I changed into my night attire, wrote my diary up for the day and then fell back into bed and slept a deep dreamless sleep.

28^th September 1875

When I awoke the sun was up and I could hear the birds singing outside my window. I went through to my wife’s bedroom to see how she had spent the night. What met my eyes was her empty bed and blood stained bandages lying strewn on the floor. I went to the window and saw her lying out on the lawn amongst the fallen leaves. I ran out to the garden and gathered her up in my arms. She moaned softly and when I looked at her face I realised that her mouth was ringed with what looked like blood. I carried her into the house and returned her to her bed. Then, I carefully washed the blood from her face, the wound looks as if it was beginning to heal, but Maud must have opened it up again in her attempt to remove the bandages. After applying some salve I carefully bandaged it up again. I made her some soup and managed to get her to eat some, before she sank back into a kind of stupor.

I intend to write to the Bishop and tell him about the behaviour of the villagers. I know he will be angry and will want to know all the details.

30^th September 1875

I do not know how to begin.

Last evening I heard a noise from my wife’s bedchamber. Upon going to see what was amiss I entered her room and saw her sleeping form lying on the bed. Due to the darkness the room was full of shadows and when I moved the shadows moved too, but when I halted they did not! They danced and capered about Maud’s bed and all that was missing seemed to be the unholy music they danced to and their voices mocking us.

I cried ‘Begone!” and ripping a crucifix that was fixed above my wife’s bed, I held the sacred object before me. Instantly the shadows seemed to drop like water onto the floor where they took on the form of an unquiet stretch of water that seethed and roiled as if in pain. It rose in high peaks and then fell just as quickly. Its surface glistened and sparkled and my imagination furnished it with a human face, but one that had looked into the pit of Hell.

All through these manifestations Maud lay asleep. I gave thanks that she was spared the sight of these abominations, then, as if in response to what was occurring, she stretched her arm into the air and with a yawn sat up. I waited for her to scream, but as she looked about her at what was going on, she began to smile and then turning her gaze on to me, her mouth began to open wide, revealing long canine teeth. I fell on my knees and began to pray fervently and it seemed as if the room brightened and opening my eyes I was heartened to see the room as it was, when I entered. Maud’s supine form lay still and the only shadow that moved was my own.

I can only explain the incident as one in which I was hallucinating. I imagined everything that went on, I am sure.

Later that day: Maud felt strong enough to rise from her bed and join me in the morning room. I said nothing regarding what I thought I had seen in her bedroom and was happy to see that she was looking much improved. We sat in the garden and had tea and toast for breakfast. The birds sang and the morning sun shone brightly dispelling my imaginings of the night.

1^st October 1875

All has been quiet since the previous evening. I have been working on my sermon for the coming Sunday. I hope it does not have the same effect as it had last Sunday.

Went for a walk today and stopped in on Mr. Barney the butcher. He seemed pleased to see me and sold me a pound of steak sausages. He seems to be a sensible man, but when I suggested that he attend the church service at the weekend, his manner changed abruptly.

“I am sorry,” he said. “But I cannot come near that building.” When I quizzed him as to why, all he would say was that something that should be dead was buried there; very strange indeed.

When I got home I found Maud all ready to go out. When I asked where she was going, she explained that her presence had been requested at St Zephain’s by the men who laboured for her. The work had been going on steadily during her absence and now the job was nearing completion. I offered to accompany her and we set out together.

What a difference awaited us at the churchyard. What had been a field of unkempt grass about shoulder high was now a well tended cemetery where the stones could be inspected at will. And in such pleasant circumstances; the men on Maud’s instruction had planted cherry trees and flowers about the area lightening the scene and perfuming the air. Maud was very happy and as a special thank you, gave each of the labourers an extra amount of money as a bonus.

It was coming onto early evening when we decided to leave the cemetery and with the short days upon us, the sky had begun to darken. Maud took my arm as we walked towards the gate and soon we were passing the ‘Resurgam’ stone.  A small border had been cut around the perimeter of the stone and some flowers had been planted there. It took the starkness of the stone away and gave it an attractive look.

2^nd October 1875

I had a visit from Mr Gray the local undertaker, today. It seems that the poor man has been made the spokesperson for the village. He was very embarrassed but with his head bowed he delivered the message he had been entrusted to bring. It was to allow the graveyard to fall once again into ruin and for us not to stop its degradation. I demanded to know why this strange request had been made by the villagers and the tone of my voice had Mr Gray quaking. He explained that Maud and I did not know the trouble that the village had been through in the past and if peace was to exist in this place then St Zephain’s churchyard was to be left to nature. I begged the man to tell us about the trouble, but he said that even the talking about it could have dire consequences.

After Mr Gray had left I told Maud that I had had enough of this nonsense. I was going to go and speak personally with the Bishop. If I was to be in charge of the spiritual guidance of this parish, then, I must be in possession of all the history, both good and bad, of St Zephain’s Church.

3^rd October 1875

Another very poorly attended church service, only three men and a woman. The collection amounted to only four pence. I will bring the poor attendance up with Bishop Spratt when I see him on the morrow.

I gave a very good sermon at the service, but I might as well throw pearls to swine. 

4^th October 1875

Just returned from my interview with Bishop Spratt. He was not at all sympathetic to my complaints regarding the attitude of the inhabitants of the parish. He said I must try harder to meet them and to discuss their problems. If only it was that simple.

Caught in the rain on the way back and think I am developing a fever. Think I will get off to bed and see if I can sweat it out.

5^th October 1875

Woke this morning to the sunshine pouring in through the window. I felt so much better and feel that I must get to the bottom of this mystery of St Zephain’s. I will go down to the museum to speak to the curator. I have seen him about, I am sure his name is Samuel Tanks.

6^th October 1875

Went to visit Mr Tanks today. I must admit his museum would benefit from a good cleaning! Dust and cobwebs festooned the place, but a more genuine person, I have yet to meet.

Tanks explained that the village of Hexford had had a very bad reputation fifty years ago, when the then minister, one Rev. Christopher De Ath had been St Zephain’s incumbent.

Villagers reported strange lights in the church in the late night time and early mornings. Sometimes singing could be heard accompanied by the beating of a drum.

A strange sickness went round Hexford a few weeks after the various disturbances in the church. Men, women and children came down with a kind of lethargy, where all they could do was lie in bed prostrate. The children reported that they had seen strange shadows in the churchyard at sunset and often, several small rodents’ bodies were discovered on St Zephain’s doorstep. It was thought to be a cat, but the way that the small corpses were positioned was considered to be more likely to be due to a human agency.

Mr Tanks told me that during a hunt for rabbits and fowls during one very hard winter, a strange mist had been seen issuing from the graveyard and one of the hunters had accidentally discharged his firearm into the ensuing cloud. Two days later, Christopher De Ath was found in his study - dead. He had bled to death from a bullet wound in the chest.

After the subsequent burial of the vicar, the illness abated and everyone’s health felt much improved.

 During the time of his incumbency Rev. De Ath had allowed the graveyard to become overgrown with grass and weeds. In fact the gravediggers had to scythe the grass down before they dug Mr. De Ath’s grave. After the funeral the grass was once again allowed to grow high in the cemetery.

I asked if there had been any connection between the termination of the sickness in the village and Rev. De Ath’s death, but Tanks seemed very wary about giving me an answer. He did say that my wife Maud’s amelioration of the cemetery had caused a few of the villagers concern after De Ath’s gravestone was exposed; it was in fact the ‘Resurgam’ stone.

8^th October 1875

Maud is giving me reason for concern. I found her sleepwalking last night after I returned from seeing Tanks. She was attempting to open the front door which was locked. When I touched her shoulder she dropped in a faint. Her colour was deathly white and that wound has begun to bleed again. After carrying her back to bed I went into the study to read and I swear as I lit the candle I spotted a shape outside the window. I ran to the door, but by the time I had unlocked it whatever had been outside had gone.

Woke this morning feeling tired and fractious, I am not sleeping well and the sleep that I do get is not refreshing.

10^th October 1875

I did not write anything in my diary yesterday as I felt that until I could try to get my thoughts in order, all I would record would be gibberish.

I had gone for a walk around the church’s burying ground to get some fresh air and to mentally practise delivering my sermon for the service. Maud’s deliberations were visible all around in the form of a hanging basket of flowers here and a rose bed there. The air smelt fresh and I was sure that I could hear a woodpecker busy in the neighbouring wood.

All at once I was engulfed in a grey cloud of vapour and suddenly I could see nothing around me. I felt bitterly cold and my nostrils were filled with a sickly sulphidic odour. “This is death, vicar,” a mellifluous voice whispered in my ear. “You are here for eternity.”

I must have fainted for I came to lying on the church path with the pages of my sermon blowing about me. I struggled to my feet and quickly gathered the loose paper and made my way back quickly to the vicarage where, I have to admit, I locked the door and then collapsed into a chair.

The church service today was attended by the same four people. I attempted to get to the main door of the church before they left, to engage them in conversation, but by the time I got there, they were nowhere to be seen.

I counted the collection of, once again a few coppers before retiring to the vicarage. Maud had prepared a lunch of salad and cooked meats and we finished off with a piece of cake.

11^th October 1875

I am writing this account by candle light. It is barely dawn, but I must record the following occurrence.

I had barely fallen asleep last night when I heard the front door of the vicarage open with a bang. Pulling on my dressing gown and slippers and lighting a candle, I made my way downstairs to find, as I had expected, the main door standing wide open. It was raining heavily and the wind howled into the hall. As I pushed the door closed and turned the key I wondered how the door had opened, I was sure that I had locked it.

Suddenly, I heard someone moving about the study and picking up my trusty briar walking stick entered the room. A man or rather the caricature of a man stood by the window reflected in the candle’s glow. His head was long and came to a point at the top. His body seemed contorted and his arms seemed too long. As I entered, he growled loudly and I could see that he had gleaming red eyes and a mouth of vicious looking teeth.

“Good evening vicar,” the creature hissed. “I have called to thank you for releasing me from my slumber. I have lain in that weed covered ground for too long and now I must hunt and recharge myself.”

I staggered backwards, but my flight was arrested when I received a shove from behind and to my horror upon turning, saw my wife Maud standing there. Her eyes gleamed red and her teeth like my visitor were long and pointed. She must have cut her lip, for blood ran from her mouth to her chin. Her vicious looking mouth curled up in an evil smile and she began to come towards me, forcing me to be caught between the two of them.

I am afraid my nerves suddenly gave out and with a shriek I caught my beloved by the arm and swung her into the creature, knocking them both down. I ran from the study to the front door and quickly unlocking it, threw it open and careered off into the night.

I don’t know how far I ran for when I stopped to get my breath back I was at least a mile outside Hexford. Terrified thoughts ran through my brain. What was I to do? How was I to stop this horror that I knew would soon engulf the village?

It was early morning when I crept back to outside the vicarage. The front door still stood open and a light burnt in the study, but I could see no movement within the building.

I slid in through the front door, trying not to make a noise and carefully checked the downstairs rooms. They were empty and I decided to check the bedrooms. I snatched a crucifix off a wall where I had it hanging and proceeded up the stairs

The house was empty and my dear wife had left me, I took it, in the company of the thing that I had met in the study. Upon checking her bedroom I saw that there were blood stains on her bed covers and bits of fat and bone lay scattered on the floor. They seemed to have come from a rodent or small creature.

I cannot write any more, I must sleep now. The main door is locked and I pray it stays closed!

Later that day:

I rose at about twelve thirty feeling no more refreshed than when I had lain my head on the pillow. Where was Maud? I had to find her and attempt to remove her from the creature’s thrall. Who could I call on to help? None of the villagers would aid me; they were all terrified of whatever lay in the graveyard, thinking that by going against ‘It’ would bring retribution down upon their heads.

I went to the vicarage’s tool shed and selected a crowbar from the array of tools. One end was fashioned with a sharp point, perfect for prising up an object with no discernible edge. The other end sported twin teeth for wrenching an object out. A handy tool, an admirable weapon!

St. Zephain’s churchyard was beautiful to behold as I approached it. The flowers were in full bloom and the trees clad with their green mantles. Bees and other insects buzzed about the area and a skylark proclaimed its freedom as it spiralled up into the clear blue sky.

The ‘Resurgam’ stone looked forlorn without its covering off waving grass and weeds. It looked vulnerable as I approached and prepared to exact my wrath.

First, I plunged the crowbar’s point in under the stone and taking a deep breath, I forced hard down on it producing a lifting motion. The stone never moved, so I once again exerted myself and with a squeal the stone lifted fractionally. Another twist of my muscles and it lifted out of the earth. I reached down and taking hold of the stone I raised it upwards exposing the nest of the viper or should I say the viper and its mate.

There nestled together lay the creature and my beloved Maud. Their faces covered in blood and sleeping like proverbial babies. I think that I must have lost my sanity at that moment and snatching up the crowbar I smashed the creature’s pointed skull. The bone collapsed inwards and the skin ruptured spraying blood outwards, but as I watched in horror, the skull reinflated back to its original form and the cuts sealed themselves. The thing that had been Rev. Christopher De Ath was able to heal itself!

With a roar I plunged the crowbar’s pointed end into its chest and as it sunk deep in, the thing’s eyes flashed open and it shrieked. All at once the creature dissolved into a grey cloud of vapour and rose high into the air where it dispersed.

As I looked up at its dissolution I felt something slash at my arm and realised that Maud, now the creature’s widow had awakened and upon seeing my attack on her mate, had retaliated.

Without a second thought, I drove the metal bar deep into her breast and watched as the woman that I had promised to protect, dissolve into obscurity.

I don’t know how I managed it, but somehow I managed to get back to the vicarage and upon reaching the study, fell into a swoon and lay unconscious upon the couch till I awoke in the late evening.

I immediately began to record the events of the preceding day in all its horror.

13^th October 1875

This will be my last entry. I have packed up all my goods and chattels and am preparing to leave Hexford.

I will leave my diary here at the vicarage to warn the next incumbent of the perils of St Zephain’s church and of its graveyard, to leave the weeds and grass to grow tall over the stones and monuments. Let it remain fallow and become forgotten.

The wound I sustained in the dispatch of the creature and its mate has grown septic and I can’t get it to stop suppurating. I am off my food and I am sure I am feverish, but I am sure that I will recover once I get away from Hexford.

……………………………………………………………………

Daily Bugle   27^th October 1875.

The village of Hexford has once again been struck with illness. Villagers report lethargy, dizziness, and general malaise. Several of the inhabitants have strange red marks on various parts of their bodies.

The Tribune 30^th October 1875.

Vandalism in cemetery: one of the gravestones in St Zephain’s church had been disturbed. A large stone covering the grave of Rev. Christopher De Ath has been once again reinterred into the ground after it was found to have been dislodged from its resting place by person or persons unknown.

The Hexford Forum 31^st October 1875

“It has returned that which we thought was gone and forgotten…”

Number 14 Glossop Terrace

Sophie and Tom had always said that there was something odd about number 14 Glossop Terrace. It could have been its outward appearance or just its old age charm, but whatever it was, appealed to the young couple and so they decided to make an offer to the estate agent, Mr Bradley of Bradley, Young and Elder, a long established firm in Hastonbury.

“It was owned by a Mr. Greerson,” said Mr Bradley, when Sophie and Tom called to enquire about the property.”He died in the town hospital about two weeks ago.”

“Uhhh!” said Sophie. “I didn’t know someone had died there.”

“Not in the house, Mrs Blake,” assured Mr Bradley, “although he was found in a pretty bad state in the house, before being transported to the hospital.”

“Sophie, Sophie,” whispered Tom. “Hastonbury is an old town; most of the houses have experienced deaths in them. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“The reason for the quick sale,” continued Mr Bradley, “is that Mr Greer’s nephew who has inherited the property, has to get off back down south. He has his own business and doesn’t like to be away from it for too long.”

So an offer was made and after a month of anxious waiting, Mr Bradley rang Tom to confirm that they were now the owners of number 14 Glossop Terrace. “It will need some decorating and some of the carpets will need to be replaced, but it is a sound piece of property. May I on behalf of Bradley, Young and Elder, wish you every happiness in your new home.”

It was a wet, windy day in November, when Sophie and Tom moved into number 14 Glossop Terrace and to cap it all the removal van was late in arriving, having mixed up the directions given to them. So it was early evening and beginning to get dark when the Blake’s furniture and possessions were carried into the house. Sophie stood with a cloth and wiped down the articles as they were carried in through the front door by the removal men.

“Miserable day, mum,” sympathised the older of the two men.”You have some really nice pieces, sorry that we were late.”

Sophie just smiled sweetly and shook her head as yet another article of furniture arrived through the door covered with rainwater.

Then, they were in, with the front door shut and the removal van gone. Tom decided to light a fire in the lounge in honour of their first night in their new house. He collected some old newspapers, sticks, a scuttle full of coal and after making up the constituents, lit it with great aplomb.”There you go, Sophie,” he called out. “Alpha male make fire!”

The paper caught and soon the sticks were catching alight. Tom carefully placed some lumps of coal into the areas of flame with the fire tongs and then sat back on his haunches to await the expected conflagration. But, instead of a roaring fire, Tom was suddenly enveloped in clouds of smoke which poured out of the chimney into the lounge.

Sophie ran in and demanded to know what was happening. The room was fast filling with smoke.

“Open the front door Sophie!” cried Tom furiously flapping his arms in a futile attempt to get the smoke to go up the chimney. “I’ll have to let it go out.” He then removed as many bits of the unburnt coal as he could.

As their first evening drew to a close both Tom and Sophie felt close to tears, admittedly, although the wallpaper had been destined to be changed, they had hoped that it would do until they had saved up some more money. Number 14 Glossop Terrace had drained both their savings accounts. But, now it would have to be done as soon as possible as the escaping smoke had stained the walls with soot.

“We will have to get the chimney swept,” said Tom as he comforted his wife. “There must be something stuck in it. Come on, love, let’s go to bed. Everything will look better in the morning.”

The next morning Tom visited his bank to discuss the possibility of obtaining a small loan to tide them over. It would allow them to get the lounge redecorated and buy some paint for some of the woodwork in the house. As Tom and Sophie had bought the house, they were able to use it as collateral and Mr Thompson, the bank manager was more than happy to help them out.

Mr Grant, the painter was contacted and after coming round to give Tom and Sophie an estimate for the work, promised to start by the end of the week.

On the Friday of that week, Sophie answered the door to the painter who began to carry in his paint, brushes, dust sheets and other items that he would require. Needing to go down the town to do some shopping, Sophie looked into the lounge where the painter had begun to remove some of the wallpaper. “I have to go into Hastonbury, Mr Grant. I won’t be long. Have you everything you need?” enquired Sophie.

Upon being assured that he was ‘fine’, Sophie left to attend to her errands.

It was to a very different person that Sophie returned, when she arrived home. Mr Grant was standing outside the house looking very shocked and as she approached him he blurted out, “I can’t work in there Mrs. Blake. I’m sorry. It gave me a right turn, I can tell you!”

Sophie was puzzled as to his demeanour, “What has happened, Mr Grant? You look like you have had a shock. Won’t you come inside and let me make you a cup of tea?” But, without more ado Mr Grant rushed to his van that was parked at the roadside and drove quickly away.

It was a tearful wife that Tom found when he arrived home that evening. Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table holding a handkerchief to her face. She was sitting in the darkness and was the first thing Tom saw when he snapped on the light. “Sophie!,” he cried. “Whatever is wrong? I wondered where you were when I arrived home to find the house in darkness and the front door unlocked!”

“Oh, Tom,” she wailed. “Our lovely house…”

Leading him through to the lounge, Sophie switched on the light to show Tom the extent of Mr Grant’s work.

“What, the…!” said Tom angrily surveying the room.

The exposed plaster walls had strange symbols drawn on them. In fact some of the figures had been cut into the plaster due to the ferocity of the inscribing. Suns, moons, pentagrams and other astrological and geometrical signs covered all four walls and with the arrival of evening the room had acquired a strange eerie ambience.

Tom swore loudly and grabbing his coat and car keys left the house, roared off down the street in his car and returned an hour later carrying two large pots of emulsion and polyfilla.

“This is the work of children!” he declared to Sophie. “I’ll take care of it. Just make me up some sandwiches and a flask of tea and leave me to sort this out!”

All evening and into the ‘wee’ hours, Tom worked tirelessly. Sophie knocked on the door to tell him she was off to bed and she heard a grunt of approval from within the room. “Don’t work too late sweetheart,” she called. “I don’t want you overdoing things.”

Next morning Sophie awoke to find Tom lying sleeping next to her. She had no idea when he had come to bed and carefully got out of bed without disturbing him. Making her way down the stairs she approached the lounge and pushed the door open.

Tom had filled the scars and had applied a coat of emulsion on all four walls totally covering the strange symbols and signs. Now the room felt as if it had been sterilised with bleach, such was the whitened glare from the walls.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder Sophie turned, expecting to see Tom, but when she saw no one behind her, she suddenly felt very cold. The feeling of having been touched still lingered and she quickly left the lounge wondering if her imagination was playing tricks with her.

The next few weeks passed peacefully. Mr Grant returned reluctantly after Tom had explained what he had done to the lounge walls and soon the room was redecorated and with the addition of new furniture looked marvellous. The chimney had been swept before Mr Grant had returned and now a fire could be lit in the lounge without causing any disastrous effects.

Sophie began to paint various parts of the house herself and soon number 14 Glossop Terrace took on a pleasant aspect both internally and externally after Tom applied two coats of white paint to the outside walls, thus brightening up the house.

As the New Year approached Sophie began to notice little oddities within the house. Often she would put her set of keys on the hall stand and later discover that they had been moved. Thinking initially that she was becoming forgetful, it wasn’t till Tom remarked that he had lost his keys that morning. “I am sure I left them on top of the television,” he said looking all about the room.

“There here, Tom,” called Sophie from up in the bedroom. “They were on your night stand.”

Sophie brought them down to him and he accepted them with a slightly mystified air. “I’m damn sure I didn’t take them upstairs!” he said angrily.

The next strange thing was a sound that she heard in the early hours of the morning. It often woke her up and she found it difficult to return to sleep. The noise was like a guitar or a harp string being plucked and being allowed to vibrate until the string stilled. “Do you hear it?” she asked Tom one morning after she had had another disturbed night, but he always slept soundly and would probably sleep through cannon fire.

One morning having been awoken by the strange sound, Sophie got up to go to the bathroom. As she proceeded along the upstairs hall, she thought that she heard movement downstairs. Thinking it was just a passing car’s headlights on the downstairs wall she continued to the bathroom. On the way back she looked down the stairs and was taken aback to see what looked like a large shadow in an area where she was sure she had never seen one before. Wishing to check it out, Sophie descended the stair and slowly approached the dark shape. As she got near, it simply faded away leaving no discernible trace of itself. Shaking her head angrily, Sophie thought that she had been imagining things and returned upstairs she got back into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The next week passed in a flurry of cleaning, dusting and painting and soon the house’s interior shone like a new pin. Sophie and Tom hung pictures on the walls and new curtains at the windows. They would collapse into bed at the end of a day feeling absolutely exhausted and slept soundly. Number 14 Glossop Street was already for the coming year.

One day when Tom was at work, Sophie was sitting downstairs when she heard a noise from the bedroom. Rising, she made her way up the stairs to see what had caused it. As Sophie entered the room the bedroom door suddenly banged shut behind her and she was picked up and raised into the air and then spun. She had never felt so powerless and rather than fighting against the force she relaxed as much as she could and after a couple of spins she was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. Sophie was winded and lay still, scared of what else might happen, but all was still and silent. When Tom came home he found his wife in the kitchen looking very scared. She recounted what had happened in the bedroom and he instantly went upstairs to investigate, but found nothing amiss.

“Are you sure of what happened, love!” asked Tom gently, conscious of the shock Sophie had experienced. “Maybe a draught blew the door shut…”

“Oh and then the draught lifted me into the air, did it?” said Sophie angrily.

Two nights later Sophie woke and lay on her back looking into the dark. She felt relaxed and knew that she would have no problem getting back to sleep. She heard a car drive up the road passed their house, the glare of headlights momentarily lighting up the bedroom ceiling. Suddenly she saw something sitting in the top corner of the room. It looked like a round ball but on its surface was what looked like, a pair of red gleaming eyes. It sat perfectly still, which Sophie found so terrifying that with a scream she lunged over to the door and flicked the light switch down, flooding the bedroom with light.

“What is it Soph?” asked Tom, sitting up in bed and blinking his eyes in the glare.

“There was some sort of creature sitting up there,” she said nervously, indicating the ceiling.

“Are you sure that you weren’t dreaming?” Tom asked.

“No, I had been lying awake and a car passed lighting up the room. That was when I saw it!” Sophie replied angrily.

“What did it look like?”

“It was shaped like a …ball of sorts, but it had a pair of eyes on the outside.”

“Well,” said Tom quietly. “It’s gone now. How about we try and get some sleep?”

The following week was the beginning of Tom’s firm’s annual two week holiday and  Sophie was looking forward to a trip to the nearby seaside resort of Skegness. She and Tom had booked into a hotel for ten days when they could relax and ‘let their hair down’.

The car was packed up and the luggage put into the car’s boot and after turning the front door key Sophie and Tom made their way out of Hastonbury. The road trip would take them two and half hours travelling at a leisurely rate. They intended to arrive at the hotel in time to sign in at 3 o’clock in the afternoon and after a spot of tea and biscuits, have a walk along the promenade.

Sadly, the rain was quite heavy when they eventually arrived at Skegness and after parking the car and making a mad dash into the hotel, Sophie and Tom found themselves in their hotel room looking down at the wet streets and buildings of the seaside resort.

“Never mind, Soph,” said Tom. “We have two weeks and I am sure the sun will shine tomorrow.”

The next day the couple woke up to find the sun shining in a blue sky with white fluffy clouds. They washed and dressed and after a hearty breakfast of bacon, sausage and eggs, proceeded towards the shore. There were quite a few people out enjoying the sunny day and the streets were quite busy with cars and vans.

Eventually Sophie and Tom reached the promenade and bought two ice cream cones from a an ice cream seller who had his counter under a large striped umbrella. The ice cream tasted lovely and the couple could feel the warm rays of the sun on their backs. The sea was a deep blue and the water glistened and sparkled as the tide moved in and out. Several seagulls hung in the clear air screeching as they flew.

“Oh, look Tom,” said Sophie. “A fortune teller, let’s get our fortunes read…please!”

Inside the tent was very hot and smelt a bit, but there they found Madame Gazza looking the part, in a colourful dress and hair wrapped in a golden turban. On the table in front of her lay a pack of Tarot cards and a very shiny crystal ball.”Please sit,” Madam Gazza said indicating two chairs that sat by the table. “Now what can I do for you?”

Sophie giggled, “I would like you to read our fortunes please.”

Madame Gazza looked at her angrily, “It is not funny, you know. I am the genuine article.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” said Sophie contritely.

“That’s alright,” said the fortune teller. “It’s just I get a lot people in here who think it is just nonsense. Now would you like the cards or the crystal ball?”

Turning to Tom, Sophie said, “I think I’ll have the cards, what do you think?”

Tom grunted and held his hands up, “Whatever…”

Madame Gazza handed over the Tarot cards to Sophie and asked her to shuffle them. After she had thoroughly mixed the cards, she handed them back. Madame Gazza began to lay them out on the top of the table.

The first card showed a building being struck by lightning. The next displayed a figure with horns on its head. The third card was seven vicious looking swords. Madame Gazza raised her eyes and looked worried. “These are strange cards,” she muttered. The following three were a mixture of discs and wands and the final one was the Death card. Sophie audibly gasped when she read the inscription on the card. “That’s a skeleton, isn’t it?

“Now, you mustn’t worry, the Death card is representing a change and not as it seems, threatening.” Madame Gazza purred.

“So what do you see in my wife’s cards?” asked Tom leaning over and putting his hand on Sophie’s shoulder.

The fortune teller looked at Tom, “She is in a lot of trouble, but I see that something will change her fortune, eventually,” she said in a sepulchral sounding voice. “Will I read your fortune now, sir?”

“Yes,” said Tom attempting to alleviate the mood with a smile. “Could I have the crystal ball please?”

“As you wish said Madame Gazza collecting the cards up. She carefully picked up the globe of glass and after rubbing its surface with a soft cloth began to gaze into its interior. Tom could see nothing in the crystal, but as he watched the fortune teller’s eyes began to widen. Suddenly she stood up and in a high voice shrieked, “You must go home now. I see a fire and destruction. You must go now or it will be too late!”

Tom pulled some notes out of his wallet, but Madame Gazza refused them and standing up she came round the table and began to push them out of her tent. “Go! Go now! Or it will be too late!”

Tom and Sophie were stunned. They began to walk towards their hotel in silence and upon reaching it, they went to reception and after explaining that there had been a family emergency and that they would have to leave immediately. The manager was sympathetic and offered them a refund for one of the weeks and after packing up their belongings Tom and Sophie climbed into their car and set off home to Hastonbury.

All the way back, both Sophie and Tom wondered what was awaiting them. A burnt out shell of a house, maybe there had been a gas explosion?  The miles rolled by and soon they reached the outskirts of the town. As they drove up their street they were both shocked to see police cars with their lights flashing red and blue, sitting outside 14 Glossop Terrace!

Pulling up short of the melee of vehicles, Tom jumped out and approached one of the policemen. “What has happened? I am the owner of the property. Who is inside my house?” he  said loudly. Tom could see that all the lights were on in the house and the sound of a woman shrieking was coming from inside.

“I wish we knew, sir,” said the policeman politely. “Your neighbours called us when the screaming started. Where have you come from?

“My wife and I have been holidaying in Skegness,” Tom said.

“It’s lucky you came home when you did, then. We were about to make a forced entry.”

“There is no need, I have the keys here.”

Tom made to go up his path to the door, but the policeman pulled him back, “Better we go in first, eh, sir?”

As the two policemen gingerly made their way towards the house the woman’s screaming reached a crescendo then suddenly stopped and all the lights in the house switched off plunging the building into darkness. There followed an eerie silence as the front door was carefully opened and the police entered.

They seemed to be inside for ages, but, eventually emerged and one of the policemen beckoned to Tom to come up to the house

Turning to where Sophie sat in the car, he opened the car door and said, “You stay here, I’ll check everything is alright.”

When Tom later emerged from number 14 Glossop Terrace he wore a strange look on his face. Sophie climbed out of the car and walked up to meet him. “What is it Tom? Has the house been vandalised?” she said in a very worried voice.

“No…” began Tom. “It’s just one room that seems to have been affected.”

“Which one, oh, Tom, is it bad? Will it need urgent attention?” Sophie wailed as she followed her husband into the house. He led her into the hall and into the lounge where she gazed about her in horror.

The symbols and shapes were back and as before several had been gouged into the plaster. The room stank of sulphur and there were several stains on the walls that resembled blood.

“Oh, Tom, our lovely room. All your hard work!” Sophie said collapsing into a chair. “Who did this?”

A police sergeant knocked at the front door and came into the lounge. He gazed about him in shock. “Please don’t touch anything, I have contacted the Scene of Crime Officers and they will need to check everything, including those stains. They may be human. Are any of the other rooms affected?”

Tom felt as if he was in a nightmare and shook his head slowly, “No, sergeant it is just this room.

Tom and Sophie stayed in a hotel until the police had carried out their investigation. The light switches had been dusted for prints but all that turned up were Tom and Sophie’s. The blood was found to be animal’s and the paint that had been used to make the symbols was concocted from a mixture of animal blood, human urine and cow’s milk. The police were mystified and the incident remained as an open case.

Gradually Tom and Sophie got the lounge back to something, although not cosy and welcoming, at least liveable in. Whenever either of them entered the room, they felt a shiver of trepidation at what they might see, but all was quiet and peaceful and after the windows had been open for a while, the sulphidic smell abated.

One night when Tom was working late, Sophie had decided to sit up and wait for him to come in. The television was showing a film that she had seen when a teenager and she wanted to watch it to see if it was as good as she remembered. Making a cup of tea and cutting herself a piece of cake, she carried it through to the lounge and settled herself in front of the television. Outside the wind had risen and it wailed round the house. Every so often Sophie could hear rain striking the windows, it was a thoroughly horrible night.

Half way through the film, Sophie heard a loud bump from upstairs and muting the sound she listened for a repeat of the sound. All she could hear was the wind and the rain, but every so often she could detect a scratching. Thinking it could be some branches being blown up against the house, she didn’t feel worried, but she just wished Tom was at home.

Then all at once again she heard the bump from above. It sounded like something had fallen over, but she knew that there was nothing upstairs that could fall over and she felt a sensation like chilled water running down her spine. Something was upstairs! Slowly getting to her feet Sophie made her way into the hall and looked up the dark staircase. “Is there anyone there?” she shouted. “I’ve rung the police, they’ll be here soon!” Her cry was answered with silence interrupted every so often by the gale.

Flicking on the stair light, Sophie began slowly to climb up the stairs, halfway up the light went out in the whole house and she was left standing in the dark. Looking about her fearfully, she detected a small ball of light slowly drifting down the stairs towards her.

As it approached it began to expand and by the time it was three feet away it had gained the form of some sort of creature. It had the head of a cat with long vicious looking teeth, the body of a spider, complete with eight hairy legs and the feet of a horse. Sophie was petrified and felt her sanity slipping away. She had to be dreaming, she thought rationally, but as if by way of confirming its existence, one of the spider’s legs touched her on the face. With a scream Sophie turned and ran down the stairs hanging tightly onto the banister as she descended. She charged into the kitchen and banging the door shut propped a chair against the door knob to stop it opening. A large thump sounded as the creature struck the door again and again. Soon the wood began to split and Sophie knew that it was going to gain entry – very soon.

“In the name of God go away!” she screamed and suddenly a hush fell.

This was where Tom found his wife when he arrived home at midnight. He knocked on the severely damaged door asking if she was alright. Sophie took the chair away, opened the door and fell into her husband’s arms. He supported her as they made their way to the lounge. “What the hell happened, Sophie?” asked Tom angrily. “Were you attacked?”

Sophie lay on the couch and wondered where to start. “Something appeared on the stairs and I managed to get away and lock myself in the kitchen, but it began smashing into the door.” She whispered.

What sort of thing appeared?” said Tom gazing about him.

“This sort of thing!” roared a bellowing voice, and the hybrid monster appeared in the centre of the lounge.

“What the….!” screamed Tom falling back into an armchair and gazing horrified at the creature.

“You are here to obey and honour me!” the beast growled. “Your predecessor raised me from the pit and then foolishly died. You two will take his place!”

“The hell we will!” roared Tom making an attempt to rise, but some force kept him and Sophie pinned down. They both struggled futilely, but did not succeed in getting to their feet.

“Oh you will or strange and horrible things will begin to happen to you!” the creature said with a sneer. “Now down on your knees before me!”

The force that had frozen them now forced them off their seats and onto their knees where they bent low before this denizen of Hell.

“That is better,” It roared. “Now the next time I appear, I expect you both to do this without me having to force you…or there will be repercussions!” And with a puff of foul smelling smoke the creature vanished.]

Sophie was distraught; Tom had to put her to bed as she was crying inconsolably with the fright and fear of a future subjecting themselves to a monster. Tom held her until she fell into a troubled sleep and then went back downstairs. He attempted to boil the kettle for a cup of tea, but found the fuses in the house had all blown and the milk in the fridge had soured. As he changed the fuses and re-established the lighting he heard a harsh voice whispering close to his ear saying, “This is just the beginning. Worship me and all will be well!”

Tom sat in the lounge holding his head in his hands. This was to be their dream house, where they were to be happy…and safe. He had failed Sophie, he thought dismally. They would have to leave the house and move somewhere else, but what of the creature? They would be just condemning some other couple to a life of hellish servitude. There was no escape from the situation, they were trapped.

A knock sounded from the front door and wiping his eyes he went through to the hall and upon opening the door found a small Chinaman standing there. “Yes, what can I do for you?” asked Tom.

“It is I that can do something for you, sir,” the Chinaman said bowing to Tom.

“Sorry…I’m kind of busy just now. We don’t need anything that you are selling,” Tom began to shut the door.

“You are having problems in your house?” the man asked politely.

“How do you know…” Tom said pulling the door open. “Please come in. I hope you can help, my wife and I are at the end of our tether.”

The small Chinaman came in and went straight into the lounge. He looked up at the walls where Tom knew the symbols had been drawn. “I sense that this is the…how should I put it, centre of activity.”

Tom flopped into a chair, “Yes, this is where it all started.” And he went on to tell about the drawings and scores that had been made on the lounge walls.

“Have you seen anything?” the Chinaman asked.

Tom laughed, “Only one of Satan’s henchmen. And I can tell you he is mighty frightening!”

The Chinaman pulled an envelope from his inside pocket. “I have been picking up disturbances in the ether and have traced them to here at number 14. You have an infestation of the worst type, sir.”

“Yes, but what can we do about it?” Tom said looking about him, scared now that the evil entity would return.

“You are safe just now, sir. The creature sleeps the sleep of the evil dead. This is why we must plan for its removal now. Unfortunately, It was called up by incantations and all we can do is try to imprison it for as long as we are able.”

All afternoon the Chinaman whose name, Tom discovered was Lin Chien, worked, mixing powders that he had brought in from his car that was parked outside Sophie came downstairs later on after having had some sleep. She was startled to find Lin Chien in the kitchen and after Tom had explained to her that he was there to help she became upset. “What if this makes everything worse, Tom?” she wailed. “This thing is powerful!”

“Please Mrs Blake do not worry yourself,” said Lin Chien. “We will defeat it.”

Later that evening Tom and Sophie sat attempting to relax in the lounge, knowing that at any moment the creature may appear. Lin Chien had moved outside the house, but was watching through one of the windows in the lounge. He sat ready and prepared.

The first intimation of the monster’s approach came with the sickening smell which suddenly permeated the room. Sophie began to gag and Tom felt distinctly nauseated.

A small globe of light appeared, hovering at the centre of the room. It began growing until the loathsome creature stood before Tom and Sophie. Instantly they fell on their knees before the disgusting hybrid. “That is better!” it roared. “You are quick learners.”

“Sir,” Tom cried out. “you are all powerful and know all things. Would you answer a question for me?” Tom knew that Lin Chien had told him that he must involve the creature in an endless cycle of calculation, to reduce its awareness. He remembered something that Mrs Peabody, the Maths teacher, had told him in Secondary school.

The beast looked down at its crouched subject, “Yes, but nothing frivolous!” It growled.

“One of the symbols used to invoke your majestic presence was the geometrical symbol ‘pi’.

It is a very long number, but as with all fractions it must begin to repeat somewhere in its answer. Can you, with your superior intellect, tell me after how many decimal places it occurs?” Tom waited after asking the question, unsure as to whether this would bring down the beast’s wrath upon his head.

But instead of anger the beast sounded pleased, “so you recognised the mighty symbol pi, did you? Of course I will tell you when the number begins to repeat, just give me a minute.”

Then all fell quiet in the room as the great hybrid began to compute. Its outline became hazy and swirled like a smoke as it  put Its unholy power to work.

Tom jumped to his feet with a shout, “now Lin Chien, bring it in now!”

The Chinaman ran in through the front door into the lounge holding a small box in his hands. The lid which appeared to be a mirror was open. As he neared the tenuous figure of the creature, Lin Chien uttered a command and the substance of the smoky looking monster was sucked into the box. As the last of it vanished, Lin Chien snapped the lid shut. “The beast is trapped,” he said. “The interior of the box is all mirrored. It has everywhere to go but nowhere!”

Somewhere out at sea off Skegness, the tug, the ‘Saucy Mary’ rolled from side to side in the water. Tom, Sophie and Lin Chien stood at the stern of the boat and looked out over the waves.

“This is not forever, you realise?” Lin Chien said sadly. “It is only a temporary solution of about one thousand years or so. The evil will return as the incantation wears off.”

Tom shook the Chinaman’s hand and said, “I hope the Earth will be more equipped to take on something of this proportion by then. Thank you again my friend.”

Then Sophie lowered the small box into the cold sea and released it. It settled down into the water then with a small splash vanished into the depths to lie undisturbed, hopefully, for one thousand years.