Stepping out of the illusion

Joel knew he was dying. This was no spiritual revelation; it was a balls to bone certainty, some incurable wasting illness that was inevitable, taking him piece by painful piece. He had a few months at worst and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

It wasn’t the disease or the pain that bothered him; they had almost become friends now; at least they were honest; they were doing anything out of malice but out of purpose; something that he no longer had.

He could no longer be himself around people; there was too much pity and misunderstanding; everyone walking on egg-shells, never planning for the future when he was in earshot. They drained him of his love of life; making him apologise for his situation, which made him feel more alone and angry.

He no longer wanted those feelings, no longer wanted to be around people that made him feel this way. Joel loved life too much to consider ending it himself; all life was a gift. One had to step outside the illusion and open themselves to the truth: death is a certainty; a friend, not something to be feared. He wanted to greet it as a friend amongst people who would understand.

He had heard of a place where death was revered and understood. It was talked of in hushed tones and only those who knew how to listen could find it.

There was a wood, bordering on train tracks where the lost, lonely and misunderstood went to die. Many of them knew their time had come and welcomed it, imparting their bodies to a single family who, for time immemorial, had taken care of their bodies, burying them with all respect afforded them.

So Joel travelled, spent many days and nights following their mournful but respectful song, enduring many hardships and much pain until his train finally reached a lone stop, on the border of Cairn Woods. There, waiting on the other side of the tracks, was a lone woman. She stood a head taller with an expansive frame, but seemed so comfortable in herself that he couldn’t help but smile at her. No words were spoken. She hugged him and he wept tears of joy. He was home.

He had come to die, to be accepted and die in peace, but on his first new morning he found that this was not to be the case.

Awoken before the sun, crippled by the storm of pain that wracked his body, he was surprised to find Earth Daughter sitting opposite him, her face serene; devoid of pity, but full of love and compassion, shining. She was not oblivious to his pain, simply accepting of it, and it helped him. He saw a depth in her eyes that he knew he could learn from and, in turn, allowed his own soul to take on those qualities. The pain did not cease but he no longer fought it.

“We must up.” She said eventually. Her skin was pale, as if composed of moonlight, her lips moist and red, but her eyes… Christ’s eyes.

“I don’t understand… I came here to die.” Joel replied.

“And so you shall, but it is not something to be taken lightly; it is not a gift freely given here. We are here to serve. It is US that have been given the gift. We have a responsibility to those that have chosen to come here; to pass through.

“You have chosen to die as you chose to live but feel that you have lost your way. Here you will find it again. When you understand, only then will you pass.”

Joel nodded and followed Earth Daughter out into the woods.

Dawn was alighting, its tendrils snaking out, awakening all that came into contact with it. From one of the trees hung a mist enshrouded body, like a long forgotten cocoon.  It was an old man, balding, his face ravaged by burns; yet there was a sense of bliss and acceptance. Joel had seen the same in Earth Daughters eyes.

“Our responsibility knows no timetable; our work is on-going; day or night. Reverence is key; we do not interfere, even if they struggle –to do so would destroy them; take away their only remaining power and dignity. We allow their souls time to make peace with their bodies and depart before we carry out our service. We then do our best to carry out their wishes, regardless of what they might be.

“Each of us is named according to our element and corresponds to the various ways of dispersal. Those that know of us will sometimes specify their wishes in accordance to how they might have lived their life, otherwise we will ask upon discovery.”

“How is that possible?” Joel asked, finding himself rocking in harmony with the man’s body, as it swayed in the wind.

“We understand people; the subtle signs that belie a life. After all, ours is a knowledge handed down generation after generation and people haven’t changed that much.” She smiled. “Today you will be joining me in preparing an Earth Burial. In time you may undertake each method of dispersal and will be able to draw strength and comfort before it is your time to pass.”

The dawn was peaceful. The mist hung, still enshrouding the rocking man. This was not a death of violence, despite the man’s ravaged appearance; his face was of a knowing calm. Joel understood the honour that he had been given.

“How is it that he is an Earth Burial when he chose to hang himself?” He asked.

“Everything has meaning. How we choose to transition is as important as any other method of travel. Bear in mind that the people who come here choose to do so; this is not borne of desperation, it is not a plea for help. We do not advocate suicide.

“Life is far too precious to squander. One must open themselves to the ways of the world and forsake the ego. If there is still only the one choice, then it is borne of true understanding and not out of reaction.

“The one you see before you now took his last step into the great unknown; he faced his transition as he faced his life: in peace. But as we prepare his body so you shall understand.”

Despite the pain, it was Joel who climbed the tree to lower the man down. The tree was ancient, the trunk worn into accessible foot and hand holds; its soft fibrous bark yielding in sympathy as Joel climbed. He took great care in untying the rope from the branch for it would have been disrespectful to cut it. Now it could be re-used by the others who would come here. When the body was at rest on the ground Earth Daughter went through the man’s pockets before taking the clothes off.

“Remember that this last journey of his was conscious; therefore everything that you find on his body is meant as a gesture. Sometimes we find letters and poems to us; thanking us for our services; likewise any money that is found will go towards our subsistence.”

In amongst the man’s possessions was a round of sandwiches which she left to one side.

“You must now dig a hole: 6x3x8ft deep; I shall show you where. We may then eat.”

“I can’t.” Joel replied, his voice breaking after the effort of lowering the man down.

“You must do what you can; you have come here to serve, to earn your place. And to be understood you must first understand. We do not ask this lightly; we will help those who help themselves from a place of knowing.

“Once upon a time the Tribe would have decided and supported the individual in their decision; but we no longer have that luxury. We will not assist you but empower you to make the next step; but it must be you who makes the choice. This man chose and he chose YOU to be witness to his crossing.”

Joel nodded and took the spade that was offered, bowing his head as he did so.

“This is not done out of torment; dig as best you can in the time that you can. Think of him, he will give you purpose and strength.”

For hours Joel dug the burial hole while Earth Daughter meditated; his pain a constant companion; known and almost loved for he didn’t allow it to define him. After the hole was dug he felt a perverse sense of pride.

“As well you should.” Earth Daughter said. “You have done him well.” They laid the man to rest in the hole gently, arranging the body as if he were sleeping. “Now we shall eat and allow him to acclimatise to his resting place.”

“Shouldn’t we wash our hands first?” Joel asked.

“That would be disrespectful. We will eat of his food and give thanks for our memories of him and then we shall say our goodbye.”

The sandwiches were simple ham and cheese, but they were among the best he had ever tasted. Joel couldn’t understand but then he looked around him; it was now almost mid-afternoon and the sun was high; everything was life affirming.

He was the rich tapestry; the skein of life that had brought him here. The hardships and pain suffered. He never thought that he could smile again, but here amongst the solace of the trees he wept with happiness for he had found himself.

He thanked the man for all that he had taught him and spend the next few hours filling in the grave, gently patting the ground when he had finished. Earth Daughter then arranged the undergrowth so it was impossible for anyone to tell that such a grave had been dug.

“We will know and that is enough. We know where each body has passed; it is our honour.”

They spent a few minutes standing over the grave site and Joel thanked Earth Daughter for her kindness before they headed back to the house where he went to bed.

That night he was surprised to find Earth Daughter in his room again. She was naked.

“I can’t…” He said, “I don’t know whether I can… my body… the pain..” He cried. She lay next to him and held him.

“Open yourself. Just be in the moment and love me because you can. Nothing else matters.” He opened himself to her and loved her for all she had shown him. The pain abated as the ecstasy of life overtook him.

Earth Daughter laid with him until morning, telling him stories of her life; honouring him with her spirit before marking his passing. He died knowing love, peace and understanding when all his life he’d known only pain. Earth Daughter returned to her family, to the life she had freely chosen and offered her blessing to all who had honoured her with their passing.

Pent up

I always have the window open whilst driving, even in the coldest weather. With the window closed it's too much like driving a four wheeled tomb; I get tense, claustrophobic and then manic. I don't like passengers so don't get many complaints.I ran over a kid a few years ago, not my fault you understand, but since then I don't even like having the seat belt on, it's so constrictive.

They say things happen in slow motion in a life or death situation but that's not true; that happens later during the action replays, like a channel that's on endless repeats with a broken remote control. The car breaking even as the kid hits the bumper, almost cartwheeling into the windscreen, fracturing it into a unique spiders-web. Luckily I never saw his face as he hit, just heard his screams later on. Since then my window is wound all the way down so I can feel that there's an outside world, so I'm not totally disconnected to what's really going on. I'm not this tiny metal box on wheels...

I mean, you ever notice when someone's in an accident they identify with their car? “You hit me!”... nope, not at all. My car collided with your car, no physical contact between our respective flesh and blood bodies took place. People get very possessive about the slightest thing happening to their car. Their wives and kids... ah, who cares? Touch their car and there will be hell to pay.

Me? I had to drive, I didn't necessarily enjoy it. My job was off the beaten track -a pre-fabricated office built in the grounds of a working farm, on the site of an old slaughterhouse (I kid you not!) and my girlfriend lives about an hour away from me, so I need a car and as she doesn't drive, and can’t be bothered to travel to see me, I don't have much choice!

Anyway, this particular night I've finished work and am driving to see her; over an hour away, and we have tickets to see a film. It’s one I'm really not bothered with seeing, but we're going with a couple of her detestable friends and she wants to show me off. Both of us were kind of undateable and met on this website for the terminally clueless, and actually made a pact to stick with the relationship no matter what. She's in her 40's, is about eleven years older than me, and no longer wants to be single. Going for a trophy boyfriend means she can push me around, and she constantly makes me wish I had never made the vow.

Twenty minutes into the drive and it starts to rain. Hard. I don't mind getting wet sometimes and it takes a lot for me to wind the window up, but this time there's a strong wind blowing the rain right into the car and I'm getting soaked. I have no choice now. I try winding it down a crack but it's no use, I'm still getting wet; brilliant! It's an open road and no cover, and it's pretty much straight for the next half an hour. Remember to keep breathing deep and level...

I'd love to say that the relationship has some perks. I mean, the first date was great, don't get me wrong. We spent the whole night talking and had so much to say, we just clicked. Six hours just flew and then she said, “Well, I'd normally invite you home as I don't believe in waiting for a few dates to fuck, but I'm tired. Maybe another night?”

I was bowled over to say the slightest. I wasn't even sure whether I found her attractive, but she'd already moved on to the next stage. The irony was, she was happy to fuck but not to kiss. Intimacy problems? Just what was I getting involved in?

I found out the next night....

Seems she didn't even want to wait for the next date. It was the only time she visited mine and she just turned up at my doorstep with a bottle of wine in her hand. I don't even recall giving her my address....

Anyway, we screwed for most of the night. I was woefully inexperienced but she actually liked that and enjoyed teaching me. But no hugging or kissing...on the mouth anyway. The sex was great though and I wonder if that was what kept me going back.

The traffic stalls with half the journey still to go and the film starting in less time than it takes to get there! I said to her not to get the early booking, but she did it deliberately. I'm her boytoy to do her bidding as she sees it. She'll pout, but if I try to exert any control then she just laughs. I just can’t stand my ground to her, hence tonight.  She's an inferior decorator or an unemployed museum curator. Her friends have more money than sense and want to go to an arthouse film where all you see is those annoying closed captions and stilted images; where you need to either forget what you’re watching or get thoroughly confused with who's fucking who. I mean, that's all those films are -sex, sex, sex- and if it wasn't for the fact that it turns her on more than usual I wouldn't bother going. (I'd much rather see the latest Danny Dyer film).

However, because Tracey and Paul are going they'll act as a damp squib -the intellectual equivalent of viagra. They should be distilled, bottled and given away to sex maniacs as a curative. They're actually grotesque in their saccharine falseness and complete insincerity. It's obvious that they care as much about each other as they do themselves, but they act like two newlyweds in a carry on film.. .but they look like bloated warthogs..

This isn't good.. I can feel my mood changing; I can feel myself getting really claustrophobic, I need to open the damn window! Need some fresh air or else I'll start going crazy and tonight is not the night for that to happen. The road ahead blinks in Morse code as more brake lights flicker and then dominate the landscape. We're going nowhere until the traffic clears, and it's still whipping up a storm and I can't open the window in case the car gets flooded.

That doesn't stop me from trying the passenger window though -genius!

And for a while it works, the fresh air calms me right down but then I see the bloke in the lane next to me. He has his window partially wound down and I can hear his music  playing; it's something like Coldplay or something equally as depressing and crass, and he's arguing with the woman in the passenger side so he turns the volume up even louder and I'm starting to get a headache now. Part of me wants to shout at him but I shut my window again and try to find something to concentrate on.

It's unlikely that I'm going anywhere for a while now and I know that I'm going to be late and miss the first part of the film. She'll see it as a personal attack because I don't like her friends and there probably won't be any sex tonight -which is, I think, the only reason I put up with her shit.

Our pact means nothing to me. It was something else that she got me to promise in mid-blowjob. It had been years since anyone else had willingly done that and with her mouth inches away from my begging cock I would have willingly sold my mum into slavery.

There was only one thing I could do now though and that was ring her.

She wasn't happy, and that was putting it mildly. Imagine the voice of a Dalek crossed with an angry Roseanne Barr and you're close... Of course, those Warthog friends of hers would be listening in and passing comment in the background. They never approved of me in the first place as I saw them for the frauds that they really were. She wouldn't let me have a word in edgeways and the crackling of the phone made her voice sound worse -if such a thing were possible.

The rain pelting on the windscreen and windows, the brake lights flashing out an epileptics nightmare, the car closing in on me and the idiot next to me still rowing with his wife, readying to strike her and then the bastards behind start honking their horns –none of this is conducive to my worsening mood!

And then she gets inventive with her nagging. Why not? I'm a captive audience and her friends are giving her fresh ammunition, constantly feeding her nuggets. Apparently I've no imagination, no money, inexperienced in bed and I wear a raincoat.... I kid you not, she actually said that she hated the fact that I wore a raincoat. She's embarrassed to be seen with me when I wear that 'thing', she thinks I look like a degenerate... That's it... the Mac was a gift from my parents and I love wearing it (it reminds me of Humphrey Bogart!) and with everything else that's happened on this journey so far, everything that I've kept bottled up since meeting her, everything that's happened in my whole life, I finally let it rip. It’s a brilliant, cascading hate filled, bile flooded tirade; a wonderful waterfall of pent up frustration; the damn finally swept away.

The rain ceases.

The bloke in the car next to me stops trying to hit his wife and turns the music off.

The frantic brake lights relent and the traffic actually starts moving again.

“Got to go, darling.” I say and hang up on her now hysteric sobbing. Guess I’m no longer her little miracle worker....

I pull off at the earliest opportunity and head home with the window open, singing along to Queen's 'Keep yourself alive' at the top of my voice. Back at home I have the best wank of my life; completely guilt free. Bliss!

Earthshock Part 6 (The Boy who was)

It was the end of a tiring day; boredom always made her tired and Rose had gone to the convention on a whim. She had nothing else better to do and allowed herself to be talked into attending the annual Dr Who convention because a) she used to enjoy watching it as a child and b) she was called Rose Tyler, which was apparently the name of one of the new companions.

Rose hadn't followed Dr Who since it was cancelled, dismissing it as a childish fad. She'd tried watching the TV movie with Paul... mc.. (The one out of Withnail and I that wasn't Richard E. Grant) and had given up on it after half an hour as tokenistic American crap.

So why had she been persuaded to go to this convention? Nostalgia? Desperation? She'd entered a limbo, between relationships. Darren had been committed to his version of commitment (which basically meant that his fantasies revolved around Rose pretending to be a younger version of his mother...) It was a very screwed up relationship, truth be told, but the sex had been amazing. Perversion did equal enthusiasm, after all.

But it had ended when Darren found out that he was adopted and then the real weirdness began. Rose backed out when he suggested a threesome with his, now non-biological, mother. That had been eleven months ago and limbo wasn't supposed to last that long, surely.

She realised that she needed to go out with someone in a worse, more desperate state than she. She figured that the convention was as good a place as any to start. She couldn't have been more wrong.

Dr who was now, aghast, cool -in a way that she could never have predicted. There were still the geeks and anorak brigades she was expecting but they were almost ostracised like the Ood, speaking their own, language of continuity and causality. The rest were all the beautiful people that surfed the cultural zeitgeist and knew when things were hot. After all, Dr Who was now winning awards, it was even expected to be talked about at school and work. Rose felt betrayed.

She had gone through hell as a child for liking Dr Who; worse, for being a GIRL and liking it! She didn't even love it like some -one poor sod had the piss ripped out of him for starting his own Dr Who Appreciation Society during the lunchtimes... he would now be considered as the arch-deacon of cool (if he still kept up with the programme).

She saw a couple of preview episodes at the convention, of the new series and couldn't believe how crass and cheap the series had become. It always had cheap and tacky sets and special effects but amazing stories. Now it had such a huge budget thrown at it that it must've run out of money when it came to supplying a script! It was so badly written she almost felt ashamed to have gone. The whole day had been a disappointment.

She was now nursing a Smirnoff Ice, her third, whilst waiting for the train home. She looked nonchalantly around, hoping to see someone, anyone, that she could chat up and salvage something of the day. She wasn't unattractive, after all! She didn't recognise him at first and had it not been for the convention she might not have made the connection. True, she'd had a crush on him when she was growing up, but had she not been drunk she would never have tried it on.

“Excuse me.” It had taken her thirty seconds to get off the barstool, catch her breath so she could speak coherently and walk up to him. Now she was closer to him she was less sure than ever if it was him.. but it was too late to back down now. He turned round, obviously surprised to be faced by the blonde stunner. “Sorry to disturb you,” Rose said, “I mean, you're probably tired of hearing this, but are you...Matthew Waterhouse?”

He smiled, his eyes slightly foggy, “Only if you're Rose Tyler.” He joked, obviously pleased with his pun.

“Funny enough, that is my name.” She smiled.

“No...” He overemphasised the word to try and make it sound comical. It didn't work.

“Yes... so..are you?” She asked again, now a little worried that she was talking to a complete stranger. Despite being drunk himself she could see something shift in his features and all of a sudden she could see something of the boyish charm she remembered. He paused before replying, “Yes.. I suppose I am. Pleased to meet you, Rose Tyler. My name is Adric.”

Ironically Matthew, or Matt as he now liked to be called, was on the same train as Rose; which she found strange until she remembered that he actually lived in Haywards Heath. Back in the '80's that had been the town's only claim to fame. They talked a lot.. well, she did most of the talking. He chipped in when necessary; she felt as if she'd found the missing part.

It was obvious that Matt had gone to the convention in the hope that someone would recognise him -he probably went every year. He probably still couldn't get over the fact that he'd been killed off in such a final way.

Rose felt sorry for him. He'd let himself go quite a bit -his hair was mostly grey and in a strange kind of hedge-hog cut. He wore unflattering glasses to read (the only pair he could afford) and his dress sense was pretty poor. (he looked better as Adric) But... she had found her new project.

It turned out that he only lived around five minutes from Rose and it was very easy for her to make an excuse to go back to his place. His flat wasn't what she expected; there was some memorabilia but it was in poor condition. “I had to sell the best bits as I've not had many acting jobs since Who.” He'd explained.

It was obvious that he was a broken man which made Rose more determined. She kissed him then and he almost recoiled which made her question what she was doing. If it had been anyone else then she would surely have been in trouble, but this was Adric! Her childhood crush and she could help him. She could actually turn his life around! So she kissed him harder, this time he responded. She could taste the malt and barley tinged desperation on his breath but she loved him for it. Soon he was responding with such a passion -something she'd not known since Darren- and she had unlocked it.

That night, lying in her own bed she was thinking about the next series of Dr Who.. featuring the return of Adric! There was always a way of bringing a character back from the brink of death and through her it would be possible!

Rose spent as much time as she could with Matt. They re-watched episode after episode of Dr Who, but only the ones with Adric in, obviously. Matt was like a commentary track offering skewed explanations about how he had added to the script. Every now and then he got carried away with himself and would say; “Well, I always knew that we would get together; we're soul-stitched you and I.  I mean, look in Mawdryn Undead when I stare at the camera in that certain way... I'm thinking of you, of being able to place my hands on your body.” (Even though Adric had never been in Mawdryn Undead and Rose would only have been eight at the time, she thought that the sentiment was sweet...)

One day Matt asked Rose about going for auditions herself, but as a look-alike. There was a lot of money to be made, especially for her. Rose wasn't taken with the idea.

“I haven't got the patience to line up with a load of people that almost look the same as me.. it's kind of creepy, you know?” Matt laughed at that, knowingly. “And what if I get through?” She continued. “How long have I got before she leaves the series?”

“Or gets killed off.” Matt chipped in. Rose nodded sadly.

“Exactly. They only want who's current... How many people remember Ben or Polly, for example?” Matt looked puzzled. “They were companions of the first Doctor, and just proves my point.”

“Yeah... work really dries up quickly. One minute you're opening garden fetes, the toast of the town... and then next minute you're the boy who was... Death is pretty final, even in Dr Who. BAMPF... overnight, no more me! And then no one wants to know you, obscurity!”

Then there were the times when Matt would ask her for money; for agent’s fees and publicity photos he'd say. Rose wasn't earning much herself and on the rare times she refused him he would start to moan and become a petulant child again; those were the times that reminded her of Adric, invariably turning her on and they would normally end up fucking on the closest hard surface.

It was her friend, Grace, who was most upset by everything that was happening; especially as it had been her idea that Rose go to the convention in the first place. She never dreamt it would end in an actual relationship, let alone with someone who was in an even worse state than her! She only wanted what was best for Rose and arranged to meet up with them both one night.

Although it had been over twenty years since she had last seen Dr Who she was pretty sure that the person Rose was dating was NOT Matthew Waterhouse.

(There were times, however, especially when he was moaning, when he seemed really convincing. Rose would not be persuaded though; she knew best, even if it meant wrecking her own life... she would see Adric reborn.)

Three weeks after Grace met Matt she was drinking in her local pub wondering what the hell she could do to help her friend. She turned round to gather her wits and couldn't believe who was propping up the bar... It was him! That was it... she had had enough.

The next night Rose and Matt sat in their favourite cubical at Orange Square. The drinks were on her, again, but she didn't mind. She'd recently had a raise, and even thought Matt didn't seem to care, she was going to make the most out of it. Just then Grace stood over them, almost blocking out the light. There was somebody else, just behind her.

“Glad I caught you both.” She said. “I've got someone I'd like you to meet.” Grace stood away and what Rose saw totally flabbergasted her. It took Matt's single refrain of “Fuck.” to realise the truth.

“You bastard.” She shouted.

“To be fair, I never actually said I was he.” Matt said in a pitch-perfect impression of the man that was now standing over them both.

“But you let me think you were him!” She said, pointing at the real Matthew Waterhouse, feeling sick in the stomach now. Rose looked at Grace imploringly and could only say one word. “How?”

“I was drinking at the Snowdrop last night and saw the real Matthew Waterhouse and laid into him.”

“I, of course, had no idea what she was on about.” The real Matthew Waterhouse replied.

“As soon as I apologised profusely and explained what was happening Matthew seemed eager to help.” Grace continued.

“I remembered my doppelgänger from years ago.” Matthew said. “I often wondered what had happened to him when I was killed off. I never dreamed he'd sink this low... I just had to help!”

Rose whirled around to the stranger that sat next her her. “So what's your real name?”

“Rob... Rob Blotcher...”

“Ha! I remember now! Matthew laughed. “You had terrible acne as well -always had to smother it with tonnes of foundation before you dressed up as me!”

“Shut up! Shut UP!” Rob cried and pushed himself out of the booth, upsetting the drinks. “None of you will ever know what it's like.” And then he was gone.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She offered Matthew when Rob had departed. “'cause I was thinking...  you are the genuine article!”

Adric looked at Rose and smiled, almost enjoying the chance to finally reject someone.

“That's sweet... but I'm actually gay. Rob was more my sort than you, sorry.”

With apologies to Matthew Waterhouse – a companion for my generation.

The case of the Santa slayings

1)

Not even December yet and it's too damn cold and wet to think about Christmas. Christ, don’t even get me started. Can’t stand this time of year, and it seems I’m not the only one. The phone call wrecks my first good night’s sleep in ages and I just pray it’s the wrong number... but I know it’s not. The festivities have started early this year – someone’s killed Santa Claus.

In an age of litigation and moral responsibility everyone has to be regulated and licensed; even would-be Santa Claus, would you believe? There’s even a goddamned training school for them; a four day course with a certificate and a big red suit at the end!

Looks like someone took a dislike to poor old Christopher Tingley; they must’ve taken exception to his portrayal in a big way. He was found trussed up like a Christmas turkey with an orange in his mouth and his giblets on the outside. Not a pretty sight.

Sure, there are plenty of killings over the Christmas period; no difference to any other holiday. Tempers fray, festivities be damned. But this one? Slightly more macabre than normal, probably why I got assigned to it. Ever since I cracked the Siamese Twin Murder-Suicide case I keep getting the nut-jobs. This one’s a little more creative; something tells me this won’t be an isolated incident, either. There will be more, you can count on it.

It doesn’t take too long for people to realise that the only way this’ll work is if I go undercover. Everyone seems to have a water-tight alibi; everyone’s desperate for the chance to play the jolly fat man and no one wants to risk it for anything. It’s got to pay well then, ‘cause it can’t be for job satisfaction! So the Chief agrees and laughs me out of the office. He loves the irony, and if it were happening to somebody else, I probably would do too.

Me, the ultimate, Christmas bad-ass going undercover in a training school for Santa’s where one Father Christmas has already been knocked off! Fer Christ’s sake, why me?

2)

Every time you go to a mall and see one of those fat festive fuckers with their ho ho ho’s; or the creepy guys with the fake smiles and glassy stares outside cinema’s and bowling alleys; chances are they’ve been to a training centre like “Little Saint Nick – putting the Is into Christmas!” (No, I don’t get it either…)

They’re all regulated and have to pass certain tasks and tests to qualify. It’s basic common sense but takes over four days of intense course and field work. Seems that someone cracked after the first morning; and I can empathise completely –I’ve only been there a quarter of an hour and I already want to murder every last one of them (and I’m supposed to be the good guy!).

In amongst the Ho Ho Ho practice sessions everyone’s keeping tight lipped. No one had a thing to say about Tingley, except that he was the one that seemed most genuine about what he was doing; so maybe it was professional jealousy.

There were only five other people on this course: Paul Robeson –an Australian who really didn’t seem to give a fuck whether it was Christmas or not, he just really needed the money (I liked this guy a lot); Nicholas St. Hubbins –an Englishman fallen on hard times, his beard was tatty and smelt of mothballs, but at least it was his own, and the rest of him was the wrong side of shabby chic. Inigo Jeffies was odd.. it was difficult to gauge where he was from, he didn’t exactly speak any form of English that I had ever heard and he looked very puzzled throughout most of the days exercises, even managing to mispronounce the Ho’s. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d been sent as a cruel joke by the job centre. Oestre Lapin was probably the most decent guy I’d met for a long time; he was very light on his feet with a sensitive nature; but had a really sweet teeth. Then there was Martha Grimes.

Yup – a woman! In an age of equal opportunity, why not? Why not have a female Father Christmas… Please; let the killer be her…

By the end of the first day I was none the wiser; no one seemed to have wanted Tingley dead, yet there had to be a motive. To kill is one thing; but to be trussed up and gutted takes another level of hate entirely.

I slept in the college to keep up appearances and as I turned the lights out I said a silent good night to the budding Santa’s and wondered who would be next.

3)

Her screams alerted us to the painful truth that Inigo would no longer be joining us. Someone had taken great umbrage to his impersonation, so much so that they had fed him copious amounts of mistletoe berries and even stuffed his mouth with them when he died. This was some hate, folks.

The thing is, anyone of them could have gotten to Inigo that night; and I hadn’t even had a chance to interview the staff yet.

If I thought the prospective Santa’s were hard work then they were amateurs to those that ran the college. I knew that they were hiding something, there was definite fear behind their eyes but I could tell that none of them had been responsible for either of the murders.

We were given a few hours grace because of the police investigation surrounding Inigo’s death. No one knew of my own under-cover work so everything had to run as standard and this gave me a chance to do a bit of research. I checked into the local library and looked at the newspapers going back over twenty years.

Fifty people had been killed whilst dressing up as Santa in this town alone. Fifty! Somehow it had been hushed up, but now it had managed to track back to the source –the college.

4)

What the hell was happening? Only one man would be able to help me out, the owner of the College: Rudolph Deerheart (I swear, I’m not making this up.)

“Yeah – we hushed it up; but what else could we do?” It didn’t take much for Rudolph to start singing to me; I can be very persuasive sometimes. “If people found out that becoming Santa got you dead then who’d want it? Sales would plummet without having a Santa to brighten the Christmas experience and the country would go under. That what you want?”

He was asking the wrong guy.

But twenty years… the killings had gone on for twenty years! There was only one guy that looked as if he had that much hate in him and when we found Martha stuffed in the chimney, back at the college with her neck twisted completely round I knew it had to be him. He didn’t even deny it; seemed almost proud of it!

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” He snapped back when I asked why he’d done it. “Damned Coca-cola; damned Richard fucking Attenborough. No one remembers me anymore; even my name.”

“Saint Fucking Nicholas.” Exclaimed Paul.

“Ho fucking Ho, yes?” Nick snapped back. “This should be my time of year but for because of those charlatans, no one believes in me anymore. My power has been diminished and I’m forced to live in the gutter; no better than a tramp. Each year I try to put people off; kill a few Santa’s but it makes no difference. So this year I thought I’d get proactive, and I would’ve succeeded too if it wasn’t for you pesky...”

“Just take him away, will you?” I said to the police who were standing open-mouthed at the turn of events. Little Saint Nick turned Satan’s little helper… what a world, eh?

5)

I needed a walk home, clear my head. I don’t know whether it was being in such close proximity to the festive cheer, but I was in the middle of a major headache. I’d like to say that it was because of the jackhammer pain that I didn’t realise I was being followed until we reached the building site.. but I just wasn’t paying attention. The case was over; or so I thought.

A church of all things was being renovated into a swanky club and I couldn’t help but sneer at the irony. A smack to the back of my neck sent me sprawling. I was in too much pain to put up a fight and somehow I was dragged into the church. I’m no lightweight but this person managed to heft me about as if I was a ten stone weakling.

The inside of the church was a mess; workman’s tools strewn about. Chisels, crowbars, nail-gun’s, hammers, drills, screwdrivers… it was almost as bad as the inside of my flat!

I was pushed to the floor and I hit my head against a trestle.

“Who’s going to miss another coppa, eh? Especially one who’s still sporting the colours.” Fuck, I was still in my Santa suit; but I recognised the voice and suddenly I understood what was happening.

“Brer Fucking Rabbit, I presume.” I said, rubbing the back of my head as I stared at the bloodshot eyes of Oestre Lapin.

“How dare you!” He kicked me hard. “Even now, when you should be humbled at the sight of such divinity, you try and crack wise.”

“Divinity? Since when was the Easter Bunny divine?” That received another kick.

“Arrogant pig. You know nothing of what I stand for. Think about what has been taken away from me. Saint Nick; always wanting to be the centre of attention; had to steal my limelight –even though I’d gone to such trouble! But with your death everyone will know it was me, and I will regain my proper place in the pantheon!” He closed his eyes as if in rapture and stepped back so he was against the wall; arms outstretched as if in a state of grace. That gave me enough time to pick up exactly what I needed; I may not be the smartest but I’m fast!

“Yeah –well fuck you too! Here’s enlightenment in spades!” I pointed the discarded nail-gun and shot several nails into him; two in each palm and two in each foot. I was tempted to staple his lips together for good measure because he was still spouting some pseudo-religious crap; but I rang the chief instead:

“The Santa slayings?... Yeah –nailed it.”

Anything for a quiet life...

1)

Well, I really fucked up this time! I thought I could handle things, save the day; whatever.. and where did it get me?  Buried alive, God knows where. I’ve been here for at least two hours now; a length of rubber tubing leading up to the surface as my only means of survival... so I’m at least four feet deep and my whole world consists of this small, silk lined box. I was trying to play the hero but I should’ve stayed at home.

I know the technique; it’s an extreme form of dehumanization: complete sensory deprivation on an archetypal level; they don’t want me dead, just pliable and in another couple of hours that’s how I’ll be; fat and pliable.... Trouble is, I have no idea how to get out – my hands and feet are tied and the cords have no give in them at all.

Every so often I hear a creak of the timbers around me as the earth settles itself; pressing, compacting against my world. I swear that the lid of the coffin is pressing closer, caressing my cheek and I would love to scratch at the twitches that are starting to develop , but I can’t; so I use it to stay sane –focus on the minute details, keep myself occupied. I have to stay sane, keep with it; the whole village needs me..

I’ve got to keep sending out my psychic S.O.S’s; there must be someone out there who can pick it up; but I need to remain calm, panicking won’t help me at all –it’ll only send me closer to them. I’m already far too vulnerable and I’m just surprised that they haven’t taken a more overt approach in subduing me. Maybe that will come later and then I really will be fucked! At least I still have a chance, it’s slim but it’s there….

There – I’ve sent it again. I guess I’m sending them out every couple of minutes but there’s no real way to know. It doesn’t really matter, it needs to be enough so someone can pinpoint me. I should be able to pick up when they’re in the vicinity and shout to them –that’s always supposing I can shout.

I need to conserve my energy, figure out stuff –I have time. Like where did it go wrong? When exactly were they expecting me? Was it all planned from the start? That would explain so much….

Like the letter I received; Roger never wrote me unless it was urgent, he knew how busy I was. His letter was brief: two deaths in the village was bad enough and certainly unheard of in the comatose village of Slaughley, where I’d grown up, but both were of children! 

The first was Rosemary Dew. She had been on a walk with her family in the local woods. They were new to the village and didn’t know that they woods were actually out of bounds to the villagers; private property. Certainly nothing prepared them for what happened.

Three Alsatians came out of nowhere and attacked them. The father did what he could to defend his wife and twins; and managed to save his wife and son but his poor daughter never stood a chance. I don’t even want to think about what she went through; but the father witnessed it all and it’s unlikely that he’ll ever talk of it, or of anything else, again.

A week later and another child goes missing. Tony Ashworth didn’t come back from church one Sunday afternoon; hadn’t been playing with his friends and no one remembered seeing anything suspicious that day. It was two weeks before his parents saw him again and they will always be left with one simple question: why?

He was found in the local pond, in the catchment area where the new-born fish were always released and the frogs spawned. The irony was lost on everyone but the tragedy was just as real. There was no sign of mutilation (sexual or otherwise, thank god) and no one could understand why such a thing was happening: this was Slaughley, after all, and not Brighton. Things like this didn’t happen there –the worst was a broken leg at a rugby game or repetitive strain injury through too much fishing!

I breathed in deeply again though the plastic tube and sent out another signal. Luckily I’d spent many years meditating so I was able to keep myself from panicking, although time was rapidly running out. I felt a tingling sensation at the top of my scalp which either meant that my psoriasis was acting up or someone had picked up on my psychic S.O.S. I was hoping for the latter; I had to keep the channel open so they could track me. Keep broadcasting, I thought, help will soon be here.

It was the possession of Amy Brown that persuaded Roger to write me and he was right to. Perhaps possession was the wrong choice of words; Amy was bewitched, but to a layman it would be difficult to tell the difference.
Roger had helped me research my first novels and had even been with me when I started my own ‘journey of enlightenment’. (although from where I’m lying now I’ve obviously still got a long way to go!) He alerted me to what was going on and I was gung-ho enough to believe that I could handle it without any cause for concern. Certainly everything that had happened in my life up to that point had led to that conclusion, but I fell to the second stumbling block of learning: clarity. Maybe I believed that I saw things too clearly and someone else obviously anticipated that, and that’s what’s worrying me now… I need to go over the last day in detail because I’ve missed something obvious but vital to my survival!

Over twelve hours ago, Bryan had caught me unawares, surprised me whilst I was investigating Slaughley church. Maybe that should have been my first clue. I’ve known both Bryan and Roger for years. We became linked, even though Bryan lacked the stones to carry on through the Teachings. There was no way he could’ve snuck up on me, he possessed neither the power nor the skill, yet surprise me he did.

“Fuck, Bryan – you should know not to do things like that! Especially not when I’m in the middle of cleansing!”

“Found anything yet?”

“No, I haven’t! That’s’ what’s worrying me –it’s too well hidden, which means they’re expecting me.”

“Well, if I knew that you were coming…” I looked at him – I didn’t think that he and Roger were that close any more.

“No… I meant that I’d picked up that you were coming round here first thing this morning. I knew that I’d find you here – well, I remember when we were kids!”

“We were hardly kids, Bryan. Have you heard from Roger at all?” He shook his head and walked towards the church. I was on its furthest boundaries trying to get a feeling where the blockage was. Something was certainly disrupting Slaughley’s energy but I couldn’t figure out the three fundamentals: what, why and where! I’d only been searching for fifteen minutes when Bryan interrupted me and that should’ve been my first clue.

Why I’m still alive baffles me sometimes… I must either be special or lucky…or stupid.

“Should I have heard from him?” Bryan replied too innocently. True, there was no love lost between them but even so.

“So you don’t know what’s been going on around these parts then?

“Coffee? It’s too cold to just stand and talk!” That he was hiding something from me was obvious, but why? I had to play his game to find out; seems that I played it too long.

As soon as I walked into his cottage I knew that he’d been ensnared into it, whatever it was. If I hadn’t taken all the precautions and protected myself with the relevant crystals and visualisations I would surely have been finished.

Look, I’m a writer, yeah? No, you’ve probably never read my books; they’re a mixture of the esoteric and fantasy, based a little on my own journey of awakening and path to learning… Well, whilst writing the novels I unwittingly opened myself up to forces that I didn’t know even existed. I thought I was writing fiction, but it seems I was closer to the truth than what I thought! It took me dangerously close to the edge on a few occasions but it really does make you stronger. Cracked, certainly… but if you’re strong enough you can see things in a completely different way. The world is never the same again.

One of the troubles is people think you are actually the character you write about and expect you to be able to deal with the things that your character does… I’ve dealt with cases of ‘possession’ before but all that was required was an understanding of psychology and occult symbolism.

I’ve also been involved in true black magic. It’s real, believe it. Doesn’t matter whether you do or not though, if you don’t make yourself a target you won’t really have to worry; they’ll probably just passively feed off you as they would normally do.

If you do make your presence known to them, like I did, then you become a target to be converted anyway they can. It was during a fateful trip to Paris that I found this out and learnt all I could about protection to make sure that it would never happen again. Times like this it certainly pays dividends.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” I whirled round to Bryan upon walking into the cottage. “When did they get to you?”

“I’m not as strong as you, Alex. I never have been. They took the whole village in a matter of weeks. The children's death were just the tip of the iceberg!”

“And you let Roger face it all on his own then? He was the only one savvy enough to realise what was really happening, I take it.”

“Don’t delude yourself – I’m not bloody stupid. I knew exactly what was going on but I wasn’t going to stick my neck out for no good reason!”

“You’re nothing but a quizling, Bryan. So… I was supposed to just blunder into this and get enslaved as well?” In amongst this Bryan was true to his word, making us both a cup of coffee as if we were discussing the weather, or the price of eggs. He handed me a cup.

“Drink from both, mate.. if you will.” I insisted.

“You’re kidding me? You still don’t trust me?”

“Do you blame me?”

“Look… I knew you’d get called over and would easily recognise what’s going on; just as I knew that you’d rumble that this cottage was under siege. I said that I wasn’t daft enough to face it on my own, but with you here that’s a different story.” He took a mouthful from both mugs and grimaced when it came to mine. “I hate sugar in coffee…”

Ok, what he said made sense, but what next? It was still two against the unknown…

“Tell me more about Amy Brown.” I asked him.

“She’s a cute kid, only seven, you know? She’s at that age where everything she does is adorable. Everyone loves her and she’s brightened up the whole village. Some people have gone so far to say that she’s the very heart of the village now.”

So it’s like that then… By making her suffer then village knows to keep compliant; they want to cut the very heart from Slaughley.

“Let me guess, the Brown’s didn’t take the deaths of the other two children lightly did they? Like Roger, they were starting to see a pattern forming and got quite vociferous about it.”

“Yup, not now though. And with the Browns silenced so has the whole village.”

“Right… it’s nearly ten, will they be up?”

“Who, the Browns? I don’t think that they sleep much anymore.” Bryan replied.

“Will they agree to my helping them?”

“They’ve already got an interest in the occult –not like you.. but I think that they’ll accept whatever help you could possibly give.”

“If you could go in and tell them about me whilst I go and take a reccy of their cottage… I don’t know exactly what I’m dealing with yet. The grid feels like it’s been disrupted but I can’t tell by who or how powerful they are. Something feels very wrong… to disrupt the grid takes power and knowledge but it’s the possession that feels strictly amateurish.”

“What do you think you’ll find?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to prejudice things by having a pre-conceived idea, but you think you can do that for me?”

“What, act as your agent? Course!” The humor was misplaced but I let it slide.

But I let too much slide, I didn’t want to believe that Bryan was that far into things. It’s easier, after all, to place the blame on other people’s shoulders but I should’ve been more careful. I let my curiosity and pride cloud the way. I could feel someone above me now, scrabbling on the earth over my burial site. Thank god – course, I didn’t know who it was. It wouldn’t take them long to get me out, I just hoped that they were friendly.

As I thought, there were four marker points to act as a barrier at the cardinal points, but was that to keep the energies out or in?

They were child’s play to defuse. Just stones wrapped in parchment, muddied enough to blend in. On the inside of the parchment would be writing of some form or another, a statement of intent no doubt, to cause harm to those who lived within. I half expected them to be booby trapped so I didn’t pick them up initially; they had to be neutered first.

Normally I would’ve urinated on them, but I don’t think that the Brown’s would have relished me pissing on their gardens, what would the neighbors think?

Luckily there are always multiple ways of doing things and I had in my back pocket a bottle of holy water. Always prepared! Experience has taught me some very valuable lessons, often through the hard way (but as my mentor once said to me, is there really any other way?).

I doused the stones as there were runes scratched onto the surface; someone really wasn’t taking any chances. As funny as it sounds, their penmanship was appalling, for if intent is the key to all things magic then concentration and skill denote a magus. This was shoddy but the knowledge behind it was far beyond the skill level exhibited.

I was beginning to understand exactly what was happening; it wasn’t normal at all, but there was a practice of using a surrogate to carry out all the dirty work, thereby concealing the true intentions.

This took a lot of energy and thought, and meant that I could be in deep shit if I wasn’t careful. However it could also work to my benefit. If, and it was a big if, if it was the surrogate that was being used to possess and drain the child then I could use that to my advantage. If it wasn’t then I could be in a world of pain –only one way to find out!

Jim Brown was fighting a losing battle, still trying to remain polite to strangers when his daughter was losing her fight for life. Amanda Brown wouldn’t leave her side now, she was almost without hope, by maybe that was where I came in.

I explained to them both what was happening, what I was expecting to find and what I was going to do next.  I also told them that there was a large element of risk involved,

“Look, I know that if we do nothing then our daughter is dead; I have no illusions, Mr Paige. But if there’s even a ten percent chance of you saving her then I’m prepared to accept those odds.” Jim had lost none of his determination and I nodded. “And if what you say is true and you could very well end up hurting those that are behind all this then so much the better!”

“The other person may be completely innocent about what’s going on.” I replied solemnly.

“There’s no such thing.”

I scanned Amy’s bedroom and only one thing seemed out of place, but I needed confirmation from the family.

“What’s the most recent toy of Amy’s? It might be the one that she’s most attached to as well.”

Jim and Amanda shared glances that confirmed my suspicions.

“How did you know?” Amanda asked, pointing to the bear that Amy clung to.

“Now, I’m going to need it taken from her, and I think it’s best that you give it to me. I’m sorry if this upsets her further but I’m going to have to destroy it.” Jim nodded and handed me the bear despite the weak protestations from Amy.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“Did you get it at a jumble sale? Bric-a-brac? Let me guess, it was actually handed to her.”

Again the strained disbelief glanced between them. “It’s an old trick, the person probably wasn’t even aware of the significance of it.” This was unlikely, but I didn’t want any acts of vigilantism, besides I needed access to them myself.

Right then, when the spade finally hit the coffin lid, I nearly lost it. I actually started to panic; Just like in the movies I started shouting; as ridiculous as it sounds… I mean, why else would anyone be digging a hole in the ground at that time of night? So I stopped myself… too little, too late though, as the coffin lid was torn free and I was face to face with the last person I expected to see.

“Well… you certainly fucked up this time, boy!” She said, echoing my earlier sentiments.

2)

An hour later, safe and warm, which is more than I deserved under the circumstances. I’ve a cup of coffee in my left hand and a chocolate digestive in the other, ready for dunking.

“So… what happened then? You discovered that the fetish was in the bear, so how did you approach the possession itself? I don’t remember that being in the curriculum. No wonder you fucked it up!”

And she was supposed to me my friend!

But even that wasn’t strictly true. A begrudging friend would probably be closer. Ruth started out as my mentor when things first went bad for me. I was drawn to her after a cursory meeting at a psychic fayre. She was one of the many mediums displaying their wares and she insulted me during the whole reading, but each of the insults hit home. I needed to know why and so spent three painful years unravelling the whole story. At least, that was the initial theory, but I sometime wonder whether I actually made things worse; still, at least I’d gathered enough material to write my first two novels!

We kinda fell out after that. She was getting more manipulative and I didn’t like the direction she’d chosen for me… we had a parting of the ways and a very tense argument or three.

And this was the first time we’d spoken since then!

“Oh, you’re going to love this..” I replied.

“You allowed yourself to be possessed, so you could get information and kill the host; right?” She interrupted. Don’t let the pink punk hairstyle fool you; Ruth’s no idiot, despite being over seventy years old her temper is just as boiling, her tongue just as acerbic and mind just as sharp as it ever was.

“Well, yes… and it worked… I’d figured that they were using a cipher as a go-between and I wagered that I’d be stronger than the cipher. I’d already pinned it down to a person in the village and reckoned that I could beat them easily.”

“So what’s it like being so wrong?”

“But I wasn’t… things got ropey for a while, apparently. I nearly ended up killing the family..”

“Bloody idiot! I always told you that you’d fuck up one time, didn’t I?”
“But I got back.. eventually… I sensed what was happening and managed to sever the connection. I came back and all was well with the girl.”

“So how did you end up in the coffin?”

“Ah… well – I got no information from the first time that I went in…. so I tried it again. Even though the girl’s connection had been severed I could still make contact with the cipher. I felt that there was another presence in its mind, something hidden and I wanted to find out what it was…. So I went in again… that evening… when there was nobody else watching.”

Ruth laughed mockingly. “Andy you never once thought that that would be a bad idea? Like it may have been an elaborate trap?”

“Well… yes…” I agreed, blushing. “I thought I was well protected though. I never envisaged that there would be that amount of psychic ensnarement. It took me a couple of hours to get back in to my body and by the time I did I was buried alive. Not exactly the best way to spend a night.”

“Fucking idiot.” She chastised and I could only nod. “More than you deserve though. I mean, how could you be so fucking stupid? Did it not occur to you the power behind this? You’re nothing to these people! I used to tell you, even when we first met, the nature of the black. Even after what happened in Paris, but you still don’t get it. This is not a game – you’re lucky to be alive! They shred minds as well as souls and yours would be nothing to them!”

“Thanks –your support is greatly appreciated.”

“Fuck you, Alex. You call me out at stupid fucking o’clock so now you can hear me bitch, and you know I’m right –goddamnit!”

“Yes.. I’m sorry…” She was right, as always.

“So, what are you going to do now?”  

“Go home, get some sleep and then figure out how to put the village back on the energy grid, so to speak.”

“How the fuck are you going to do that? What makes you think you stand a chance?”

“I have no idea.” I yawned, “but I have an idea that it starts with the church, so that’s where my second port of call is, after bed.” I tried to unsuccessfully stifle another yawn.

“Be careful about the church.” Ruth cautioned. “It’s guarded.”

“I’ve no doubt about that, but by what exactly?”

“An ancient power that’s been perverted by the black, it won’t take kindly to you snooping around at night.”

“Who said I’d be doing it at night?” Ruth fixed her gaze at me and I smiled. “Yeah, ok – I don’t want to be snooping around when just anyone can see me, beside it makes sense to do it at night… don’t worry, I’ll make sure that I’m protected.”

“Like you were tonight?”

“Look –the world breaks everyone, Ruth..”

“But you might not get the chance to shoot yourself…”

“Touché.” On that note I left Ruth. I knew better than to expect words of encouragement from her, if I survived the next night then we’d surely meet up again… I just hoped that whatever I was going to learn was worth it.

Unsurprisingly, by the time I got back to my cottage I was pretty damn tired. Not tired enough to do a cursory check of the property though. That would have been the easiest way to get caught out, through my carelessness; but there had been no attempts to seize the cottage. That struck me as odd, but I filed it for later and checked my watch. Ye Gods, it was ten after four in the morning! I needed sleep over everything else.

I created a cocoon of protection around me and a barrier around the cottage. If anything tried to get through I’d be woken. With those in place I slept dreamlessly.

I awoke feeling refreshed but still befuddled about what was going on. It was the timing that still bothered me. It was no secret that the black was highly operational –after all, there was the alchemist scandal back in the 1980’s which was never really cleared up but, by and large, they kept themselves off of the radar. So why now? Why make such a blatant attack against the village –especially a village that had no significance whatsoever? The only thing that it had going for it was John Wayne visiting it in the 70’s whilst on location. Apart from that, I was the only resident who had made anything of themselves and, even though I could be pretty egotistical sometimes, I knew I was strictly small-fry for these people, and there were far easier ways to ensnare the bigger fish.

I looked at my watch –it was ten after seven in the evening and it was starting to get dark out, good. By the time I’d fixed something to eat there’d be no one around.

An hour later and I’d fixed up my backpack ready for the evenings activities: a thermos flask of holy water and various bits of paraphernalia. I performed a few protection visualisations and was ready for whatever was going to happen.

I could wax lyrical about the Norman aspects of the church but it’s pointless. Suffice to say that it was an important site, important enough to have a three thousand year old yew tree in its grounds; and, despite what you may have heard, yew trees are gateways to other consciousnesses if used correctly, and it was now the target of the attacks. My first hunch had been correct and it was only because of I’d been distracted by Bryan that I’d not followed up on it….

Of course, that made perfect sense to me now. The whole thing had been stalling me, but not anymore. It was time to do something and fight back. If Ruth was correct then something had trapped the energy and perverted it.

Once in the churchyard I walked to the yew and even in the darkness I could find it. I’d been christened in the church so this, to me, was extra personal, which meant that I had to be careful not to let my feelings get in the way.

The moon poked out of the clouds, but most of it was in hiding –smarter than me, obviously. I sat with my back against the yew with both my feet firmly planted on the ground. Both of my palms were on the ground as well.

I didn’t bother with the circle of protection for I knew the tree itself would be enough. It hadn’t been gotten to yet, I could feel that its own defenses were still too powerful so I envisaged a circle of light around us and dug my roots deep down to mingle my energies with the yews.

Growing the roots is a powerful meditation technique to gain strength and anchor oneself to the ground, which is especially useful in confrontations such as this.

I sat there for an hour and couldn’t have asked for a nicer night, which didn’t really make sense. It was almost clear with very few clouds, no ill winds; nothing to corroborate the feelings I’d had earlier. Everything was almost too peaceful.

It was then that I felt it. A roar of wind pinned me to the tree taking the breath right from me. If I hadn’t been rooted down then lord knows what might have happened. I couldn’t see what had caused the roar but felt a powerful energy, dense and very angry. It knew I was there and saw me as an intruder. I had to face it, if I turned to run then it would cut me down mercilessly. At least this way I stood a fighting chance.

I dug my roots ever deeper, gathering more power into my body, ready to use it. The entity must have sensed what I was doing for it bellowed again and came closer though I still couldn’t see it.

What I felt was its immensity and its anger; I had no idea it would be this powerful, yet I sensed nothing malevolent about it. I remembered Ruth warning me and readied myself for the attack. If I didn’t strike now then I’d be too shit scared to even try. The entity knew what I was doing and I felt it tense, readying itself for the retaliation, but it did nothing to provoke me.

This wasn’t right; nothing about this was right. If what Ruth had said was true then I should have been dead by now. The entity should either have attacked. It could have easily obliterated me, I could see that now. The two bellows had been displays of power, warnings, nothing more. If it was evil I would never have been given any warning. That meant that Ruth had been wrong… or lying?

Oh dear God, I was in trouble now. Once again, I’d found myself in a near impossible situation. Rather than being buried alive I was now trespassing and meddling with things I really shouldn’t be. This was a guardian, warning me to back off and, unless I was mistaken, I had already taken things much too far to back down now. I’d been set up.

I couldn’t fight the guardian, but what else could I do? What happens when an unstoppable force meets an unyielding object? And then it was obvious, I yielded. Immediately I let the shield of light down and withdrew my roots from the yew allowing the guardian access to me. This was surely suicidal for if I was wrong then…

I felt the guardian draw closer, the very air becoming tangible with the power. I felt myself grow warmer, a pulsing love enveloped me and I saw a large ball of light appear. It moved until it was at eye level before moving closer to me still. A sense of peace and wonderment filled me. I’d obviously done the right thing; by opening myself, allowing myself to be vulnerable, I was no longer a threat and the guardian reciprocated in kind, showing me its true form.

When the light passed through me I felt as if I’d been scanned… that’s the only analogy that I can use. I felt known by the guardian as we became one and felt nothing but love.

When the glow left me and the guardian receded I broke down and cried. I’m not ashamed to admit that, I wept like a child. The love had been so powerful that I couldn’t bear to be separated by it. I also felt rejuvenated, stronger than I had felt in months.

And I also knew why this had all been happening and what had been the catalysing incident.

I now knew what had to be done, but I needed the more specialist equipment that what was in my knapsack; two things specifically. One of which was a spear fashioned from the wood of the very yew tree I was sworn to protect that had been given to me some years before, and the other was water from the Maidens Cup.

Legend has it that the Maidens Cup was where St Leonard slew the dragon that had been terrorising the area, using a local virgin as bait. The virgin’s blood fell onto the ground and from that time water has always sprung up with a reddish tinge. Obviously that’s a load of crap, it’s just the site of a local spring; its coppery colour due to the amount of iron in the earth.

In order to protect myself from whatever was surrounding the place I not only had to bathe in the vile liquid but also had to drink it –that’s what the guardian had told me when we merged. I had to be one, both within and without, with the spirit of the Maiden, in order to be its protector.

Luckily it was still in the middle of the night and the Maidens Cup was down a steep slope which I’d like to say I traversed without a problem… Unfortunately I actually slid down the steep bank on my arse. I figured it was better to drink from it first then bathe and within twenty minutes I was ready to face whatever was in the wood. I was careful enough to anoint my spear as well, everything needed to be pure and as one. I had no idea what I would be facing in the wood so needed as much protection as I could.

3)

The wood had been my favourite childhood haunt. I’d spent so many happy hours reading, safely ensconced within the embrace of the trees. I saw so many deer in my time and shared many magical moments with them. It broke my heart to be there now; its aura had changed completely. With only one footstep I knew that it had been taken over by something dark and evil, and that’s a word that I don’t use lightly.

We use that word without really understanding it; we say that a person’s evil when what we really mean is that they’re a right bastard. Evil is a feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach and churns, contracts and eats away like cancer. It infects everything it comes in contact with until there’s nothing else.

The Dew family would never have stood a chance, dogs or no dogs. They would’ve fallen prey to the woods own defences without the Alsatian’s attacking them. I didn’t have long myself though. Bathing in the Maidens Cup gave me an hour at best, and I didn’t plan on being there that long, to be honest!

I mentally checked my knapsack again: holy water, check; pen knife, check; spear, check… Talk about travelling light… Thing is, there was nothing else I could really take with me, save a twelve bore shotgun and I’d never really fired one of them before.

I walked on drawing a map in my mind as to where I needed to go. If I remembered correctly the power place, the very heart of Slaughly was in the middle of the Daffodil Dell, but I doubted very much that anything grew there now.

I walked carefully trying not to make a sound, but with every footstep there were the requisite crunches and snaps of branches and leaves so I resided to walk normally. I figured that my presence had been sensed the moment I entered the wood anyway, so walking carefully was actually hindering my progress. The wood was dreamily quiet, the moon adding a deathly pallor, heightening the tension I was already feeling.

I knew that nothing would attack until I’d reached the Dell. They would have the advantage of being on higher ground. I also knew that there was nothing I could do to really prepare myself, I just had to be hyper-aware and not let my guard down for a second.

Of course, it was then that they attacked. I never even heard them; I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts. Forget the horror movie cliché of the snapping teeth, the first dog launched at me from behind, knocking me off my feet. It went straight for my left arm and sunk its teeth into my flesh. I screamed out and tried to shake it off, but it hung on. I could see the other two togs circle, ready to join the fray.

I had to do something fast. Drawing deep from within myself I recited the spell of Inner Light and spat into the eyes. There was a blinding flash as the water from the Maidens Cup transubstantiated into pure energy. That was something I knew could only happen once; the guardian must be helping me as much as it could.

The dog was thrown off and cowered. I pushed myself up, digging my roots deep into the clean earth and held my spear up like a quarterstaff. I chanted, praying to the guardian for strength, as the second dog launched at me. I whirled around, side stepping it completely and gave it a large whack with the spear just as the third one came at me. It went for the spear, taking me completely off balance as the first one tried again. The third dog let the spear go as the first one lunged at me –bathing the spear had given it protection and the dog couldn’t keep hold of it. I twisted it so it took the first dog by surprise and managed to stab it in its flank. It was out of the battle, leaving just two more.

They attacked together. one lunged at me but I managed to strike it through the throat, but this was just a diversion for the other one got hold my wrist and crunched hard; I screamed out, destroying whatever tough-guy image I had left and fell on it hoping that my weight would make it let go but it didn’t.

By now the blood loss was getting to me and I was on adrenaline alone. I wasn’t sure if I had much more left but there was no way I was going to give up; there was too much at stake. Ignoring the pain as much as I could I wrapped my other arm around the dogs neck. It was already in a difficult position and had no maneuverability. I called upon every deity I could think of to give me the strength I needed. With one swift snap I broke its neck, but my wrist was badly mangled. My days of badminton were over… luckily I hated the sport.

Two of the dogs were dead for sure, but I couldn’t leave the other one suffering –I wasn’t a sadist. I picked up the spear and stabbed it through the heart.

It was then that I made the unfortunate discovery. The sharp pain in my hand where the dog had bitten me was in fact where two of my fingers being severed, brilliant. I took my handkerchief out and tied a tourniquet as best as I could. I didn’t have time to deal with it properly as I‘d only accomplished half of what I set out to do, and in one bizarre way losing the fingers may have actually worked in my favor.

I staggered into the Daffodil Dell and knelt at its heart. I could tell this was where the magicks had first taken place; I also knew why the family had been attacked, and what I had to do to end it all.

I undid my backpack and took out the holy water. The pen knife was there, originally so I could take some of my own blood to use as a sacrifice to open the grid again, but luckily there was plenty leaking from all over my body, so I held my mangled hand over the flask and mixed it with the holy water. I was really shaky now,  the adrenaline was wearing off, let alone the Maidens protection. This had to end.

Digging down as far as I could with my hands, I then pierced the earth with the spear, and poured in the mixture of the holy water and blood asking the Great Spirit to accept my sacrifice and cleanse the energy grid of the great wrong that had been done to it. I called on the guardians of the cardinal points to wreak great vengeance on those that dared to defile the sanctuary of the soil and the Spirits of the air and water to set things right again.

I’m not sure what I expected…  a great rush of wind, a crash of thunder or flash of light.. or even a scream, but nothing happened… except for a definite “Wooooh” of an owl in the branches above. I could clearly see it in the moonlight; I’m sure it winked at me before flying off. You can’t say fairer than that. In fact, on the journey out of the wood, it was as if it had woken up again –all I could hear were things scurrying about. That was as good a sign as any… which left me only one more thing to finish off… Ruth.

She wasn’t surprised to find me knocking on her door for the second time at an ungodly hour, and as I expected, she was all dolled up in her regalia. She was in her finery; black dress, purple cloak and even the requisite black eye make-up and lipstick like some septuagenarian Goth.

“When did you know it was me?” She asked when she invited me inside.

“I thought it was odd that you answered my psychic s.o.s. when you did… and I don’t think it was to make sure I was alright either… that must’ve surprised you…I reckon you were going to be the one to convert me regardless, after all you had a vested interested in me, didn’t you?” Ruth nodded and motioned for me to continue. She kept both hands behind her back and the cloak concealed too much for me to discern what she was planning. Truth be told, I was too tired and bleeding profusely to put up any kind of a fight and she knew it. I continued: “You slipped up with the guardian though. Did you really think that I’d try to pick a fight with something like that? I mean, I know I’ve done some bloody stupid things in my time but I’ve always had respect! The moment I realised how you’d set me up I let my guard down to it…”

“You always made a habit of doing that, didn’t you? You’ll never learn, Alex.” Her movements were fluid and I never saw what she did, just felt the dagger as it pierced my gut. I never stood a chance. “Shhh..” She whispered to me as I collapsed. She fell with me, but gracefully as if she had all the time in the world. She sat on top of me and twisted the knife. “Shhh.. it will soon be over… Bleed for me and it will be done. You may have cleansed Slaughley but it’s just one square on our board; there are plenty of others. Lie still, this won’t hurt a bit.” She twisted the blade deeper. It was then that she stopped and looked at me, alarm registering in her eyes. She saw the dagger in my stomach and the gaping wound that was now appearing in her own.

“That’s the thing about offering oneself as sacrifice. If it’s accepted it’s better than a get out of jail free card. I made a promise that I would bring the people who perpetrated this travesty to justice and now that I’ve found you,  I guess I have. It’s you that never stood a chance, Ruth.”

I pushed her away from me and took out the knife from my expansive gut; there was no wound. Ruth, on the other hand, was now bleeding badly.

“Please.. finish me.” She begged.

“You must think I’m daft!” I spat. “No, I’m going to watch you suffer, bitch… just as you made all those families suffer.” She tried to push me away to escape but I was having none of that. I got the spear which was liberally coated with the blood from her dogs and broke it into three pieces. With each crack I heard the bones in her body break, such was the power of sympathetic magic.

She pleaded for me to forgive her and I tried to remember all that she had done for me, but all I could see was the face of Amy Brown as the curse worked its way through her body, and I watched the life’s blood drain from Ruth. When I was sure she was dead I took great pains to burn her place the fuck down.

There was no way she was coming back this time….