Darkness Demands Part 42

Purple mist bloomed from the tomb walls as his brain struggled to make use of too little oxygen in his blood. That same purple flooded from the iron doors, forming death's head shapes that ferociously darted forward, their jaws opening wide.

He paused for a second, allowing his oxygen starved brain time to recover. When his eyes cleared he saw something that enclosed him in an icy membrane. He stared at it, wondering if his over-heated imagination played yet another trick.

One of the crypt doors yawned wide open. Beyond it, a gulf of darkness, oozing with vile promise. He blinked hard. The image of the door remained. No, you're not dreaming this. Someone's opened the tomb.

His eyes raked the stonework above the doorway to find a plaque that named the family interred there:ELLERBY.

You will leave her by the sepulchre of Posthumous Ellerbya That's what the last letter demanded of him. Now here was the Ellerby tomb. Open wide. Like a hungry mouth demanding food.

No. Not a chance in h.e.l.l. You're not getting hold of my daughter, Baby Bones. She's staying put. You've bitten off more than you can chew this time. Herbert Kelly beat you. I'm going to beat you, too.

He gazed, hypnotized by the entombed darkness while the silence called his name. Or so it seemed as he stood there, heart pounding, his breath sounding dry as bones.

Moving slowly now, he approached the tomb.

No, don't go inside. Keep moving. Go straight on bya Darkness called his name: Johna Johna we are waitinga He pressed his lips together. Shook his head. Purple growths expanded from the tomb doorway, like drops of blood hitting clear water. His eyes burnt hot as embers in his head, straining to make sense of formless darkness.

Keep walking, John, he told himself. Walk by the open doorway; put it behind you. Find the old man. Then drive Elizabeth away from this place.

But the rasp of his breathing dissolved, then reformed into words in his ears.

No, John. See what's inside. There's something you need to see. Something secret. Something that's been buried here for a long, long timea John moved along the alleyway between the crypts. He intended walking straight on, but another set of feet carried him that night. Before he knew it he was inside the vault. Beneath him, thick dust. All around him, soft darkness. A darkness that gently burst with those purple blooms. He breathed deeply trying to squeeze that all-important oxygen into his brain. Momentarily, the pain in his side vanished. He stood there, feeling the stillness of the century old tomb, and the silence that lay its heavy hand upon the place.

Strangely, he didn't use the penlight. For he sensed he stood on the bridge between ignorance and knowing. And at that moment, standing in darkness in that place of the dead was infinitely preferable to seeing what lay around him. There were more than coffins in the tomb. There was something else, too. A something he did not want to see.

He listened to the dark music of his respiration. A pulse in his brain thudded. He wanted time's maggot to stop right there. But he knew it wouldn't. Midnight rolled with a dreadful inevitability toward him.

Do it, John. It was his own inner voice. Clear. Calm. Insistent. You've got to see what is in here. He switched on the penlight.

There, revealed by the splash of yellow light, were the oblong boxes that held the bones and dry skin of the Ellerby men, women and children. Sprays of funeral flowers, now little more than patterns of dust, tied with black ribbon, still lay on coffin lids.

John played the light into the far corner. He knew that he'd find another occupant of the tomb here. When he saw it lying against a mould encrusted wall it no longer came as a surprise.

He stepped forward, keeping the halo of light around it, taking in the details-the suit of clothes, the canvas bag used as a pillow, a bottle of blue gla.s.s that once held poison. The white Panama hat beside a fleshless head.

It's been a long time, Mr. Kelly. But we meet at last. The words flowed with toxic menace into his brain. He gazed down at the bones of Herbert Kelly, one time teacher, one time resident of the Water Mill and John knew everything.

Herbert Kelly had lied. He'd deceived everyone. His daughters, his wife, his neighbors, even one John Newton who'd moved into the man's very home seventy years later. Kelly never had gone to Canada. He'd only set clues to make it look as if he'd fled there with daughter, Mary.

The truth was very much darker. Kelly had received that last letter too. You will leave little Mary by the sepulchre of Posthumous Ellerbya And, when all his options had expired, he'd met its grim demand. No wonder Kelly had wept against the apple tree in the orchard.

Briefly, John's mind flew back seventy years. He saw with awful clarity the events of that night when Herbert Kelly had crept into his daughter's room, roused her from her bed, whispered they were going on an adventure, while trying to mask his own sense of dread and horror with a smile. Then, with a suitcase in one hand, holding his daughter's tiny hand in the other, he'd led her to the cemetery. An influenza outbreak was raging in the village. So many lives hung in the balance. Herbert Kelly was the only one who could save thema And so, talking soothingly to his daughter, he'd walked up the night-darkened lane to the Vale Of Tears.

Perhaps a former pupil living in Canada had sent the telegram on his behalf. But what did the details of his deception matter now? Other than he'd thought it important to leave his family and neighbors believing he'd taken his daughter to start a new life in another country. But in reality he'd taken his daughter to the cemetery, to the appointed place at the appointed time.

What then?

Those events at midnight seventy years ago were entombed in mystery, too. Except that this gentle-hearted schoolteacher had not permitted his daughter to meet the inevitable alone. He'd gone with her, held her hand, comforted her, spoke gently to her as that dreadful time arrived.

What had they seen as midnight struck?

John gazed into those eyeless sockets of Kelly's. They exposed the gravely remnants of his brain but, of course, the man's memories of that night had vanished with his final breath.

Once it was over, however, Kelly must have drank the poison, removed his white Panama hat, then laid down here praying death would come quickly, while trying so very hard not to recall what had become of his daughter. Even so, he must have felt his own tears roll down his cheeks in the darkness.

Now, fast-forward seven decades.

John Newton stood in the Ellerby tomb. Barely two hours separated him from midnight. Zero hour. What now, John? The question ricocheted around the inside of his skull. What now?

At that moment he heard a cry. Turning, he stumbled as fast as he could from the tomb.

A terrified voice came from above: "No, I won't goa I won't go!"

CHAPTER 40.

1.

Robert Gregory gripped the old man's wrist. He pulled him toward the gra.s.sy slope that overhung the edge of the cliff in a ragged fringe.

"I won't go." Stan Price's voice echoed from the gravestones. "I won't go!"

Robert Gregory sweated. His father-in-law was a tough old dog. Robert had been starving the man for months. But would he die? Would he h.e.l.l! Now he fought like a tiger to prevent himself being hauled over the edge of the cliff. d.a.m.n him.

"Don't keep Harry waiting," Robert panted. "Come on, Dad. This is the way."

But the deception was over. Stan Price had snapped back into lucidity. His eyes were sharp now as he looked round the darkened cemetery. "No. I know what you're trying to do, Roberta let go of me!"

"No frigging way. You're going over the edge." Robert's heart thudded. So close now. Soon all the money would be his. He pulled harder, sliding the old man across the gra.s.s. All he needed now was to position him so he was on the lip of the cliff. Then one last shovea In the gloom Stan's blue eyes locked onto his. Suddenly he began to speak in a loud clear voice, "Robert. I know you got the letters. You ignored them. You didn't know what would happen. You've not done what you should."

"Shut up."

"You got the letters, didn't you? They asked for beer and chocolate. You thought it was children playing tricksa"

"Shut up!" Sweating, Robert struggled to pull the old man closer to the dark void above the crypt roofs. A nice, straight drop. Right down onto hard stone.

"You should have done what the letters demanded, Robert. You'll suffer for it now."

"Get over here, you old dog. C'mon!"

The gra.s.s was slippery. If Robert pulled too hard, then his own feet slipped, too. But there it was, just a step away now. A lovely, long drop that's gonna break every bone in the old dog's body. He wrestled Stan nearer to the edge. Rivers of sweat poured into Robert's eyes, stinging like crazy, but he'd do it. Come midnight, senile, muddle-headed old Stan Price would be history.

Grunting, he changed his tactics. Now he pulled the man closer to the cliff edge.

Stan Price shouted in a suddenly piercing voice, "Leave me alonea leave me alone!"

The ferocity in the man's voice was startling enough. But then Robert heard a second voice.

"Hey!"

Startled, Robert glanced back over his shoulder and downward into the maze of tombs. From the center of it a light sprang upwards into his face, dazzling him.

With a furious yell Robert Gregory released his grip on the old man. Now he had every intention of punching Stan unconscious before throwing him over the edge. The h.e.l.l with subtlety. But he let go so quickly that his balance was thrown.

Robert lurched back, putting his foot backward to stop himself from falling. But there was no more solid ground. Only the hot night air. He cried out in terror: "Help me!" And even caught hold of Stan's outstretched hand to save himself. Only his own hand was now so slick with perspiration it was like trying to clutch a hunk of wet soap.

That was the instant Robert's hand slipped from the man he'd abused so ruthlessly these last six months. For a second his own panicked eyes met the calm blue eyes that belonged to Stan Price. Then he was tumbling backward into velvet darkness.

The air surged round him, his heart clamored against his ribs. He managed one loud scream before he struck the ground.

That's when the agony began.

2.

John Newton ran from the Ellerby vault to witness the struggle on the cliff. He'd cried out "Hey!" and shone the penlight up at the struggling figures. He'd seen Robert Gregory's startled reaction.

A moment later Robert had come tumbling over the cliff like a boulder. The maze of crypts had echoed the impact. Iron doors had vibrated in a medley of notes, which had sounded like a dozen m.u.f.fled bells before fading to a metallic hum.

John ran through the maze of alleyways, s.h.i.+ning the light in front of him, which ricocheted from walls, doors and paving slabs like the flash of unearthly eyes.

Then he found Robert Gregory.

The heavy man lay flat on his back. Blood oozed from his mutilated skull. For five seconds or so he groaned in agony, raising bubbles of spit from his lips. Then the man's whole body jerked as if it had been kicked. After that, he lay still, his eyes wide open.

Whatever dwelt in the hill had just collected another forfeit.

3.

Elizabeth stared out of the car window. A girl in a white dress stood watching her from the gap in the cemetery railings.

Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder. The dog was staring at the girl, too. Only his ears had flattened against his head and he'd begun to snarl. When Elizabeth looked back toward the cemetery she was surprised to see the girl now stood right outside the car looking in.

The girl was about her own age with fair hair and a pleasant smile.

Sam ran back and forth across the back seat. Miranda cried out as claws dug into her bare legs. It took all her strength to wrestle the dog away from her.

"Sam," Elizabeth said calmly. "Sit down, you're scratching Miranda's legs."

Sam glared at the girl through the window, a snarl rumbling in his throat. The hair on his back had risen into stiff bristles.

"What's got into him?" Miranda said, rubbing the scratch on her thigh.

"The girl startled him."

Miranda looked out of the window. "There's a girl? Where?"

Elizabeth looked back out. The fair-haired girl's face nearly touched the gla.s.s, her eyes vast and luminous.

Miranda sounded puzzled. "I don't see a girl. Where is she?"

Then the girl spoke softly to Elizabeth. "Your father needs you straight away."

"I'm not allowed out of the car."

"He's hurt and he needs you, Elizabeth."

With that the fair-haired girl turned and walked away from the car, her long white dress brus.h.i.+ng the heads of the wild flowers. Immediately the dog barked furiously.

Elizabeth unlocked the car door and started to follow. She heard Miranda's startled voice rise above the dog's bark. "Elizabeth? You're not to leave the car. Elizabeth, come back!"

But the stranger said her father was hurt. She didn't want to lose the girl so she followed the now white ghost shape that weaved round the gravestones, deeper and deeper into the cemetery.

In the back of the car, Miranda struggled with the dog. He fought to get out of the car, as well. Inside the confined s.p.a.ce the barks were deafening. At last he slipped from her grasp and with supple ease slid between the two front seats then out the front door.

"Elizabeth!" Miranda cried. "Don't go in there!"

But by this time Elizabeth had been swallowed by shadow. Miranda tried to open the car's rear door only to find child locks held them fast.

d.a.m.n. Why on earth had Paul's sister run off like that?

She'd have to go after her. With the rear doors locked Miranda had to struggle over the back of the driver's seat before climbing out of the car. Precious time had gone. She paused, listening. Nothing but silence now. Even the dog had vanished. Consumed by the gigantic cemetery.

Inexplicably, Miranda felt suddenly cold, as if she was being drawn into some ice tomb underground. She s.h.i.+vered from the roots of her hair downwards.

What on Earth's happening here? Where's Mr. Newton? Why's Elizabeth suddenly raced off like that? And why had the dog gone crazy?

Oh, Jesus. She didn't like it here alone in the dark. The shadows and the silence crept toward her like the tide of some great nighttime ocean. Trees whispered eerily. Headstones stared at her like so many weird geometric eyes.