Ritual Page 18

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  And the orgy straggled home. Under the moon they came. They were full of hate in their tattered masks and animal skins. The elders were very tired and clutched each other in fragments of the dance. But the children were still on heat like cats. Their voices whimpered like the inhuman mating cries of cats. They had become feline.

  As the elders swayed down the main street, the children led by Gilly, danced into the graveyard. They ripped all the available flowers from all the available graves and tore them to tatters. Then they threw all the available stones at all the available church windows. The stones disturbed David’s nightmare but did not wake him. The children completed their respect by wrenching a couple of gravestones awry. When this was done they danced slowly into the street again. They formed the tail to the drooping elders. Human ghosts. Already dead before death. But they weren’t completely satisfied. The policeman had spoiled the gift of themselves to the elements. Something more had to be done. Tomorrow would see it stark in the sunlight.

  The moon sagged at the belly. The shadows were soot. And the villagers ached with unreleased sperm and blisters in their minds. Ghosts. Human ghosts. The breeders. And they livened the last steps of the dance as they approached their warrens. The sun would bring back anaemic humanity. And the beast would sleep till the next celebration.

  Two policemen on patrol saw the ghosts dancing. But they knew it was unwise to see what was not there. So they moved into an alley and celebrated their blindness with a pissing duet.

  The living dead curled past them and flowed into their houses like a dark river.

  20

  The sun cut slowly across the flagstones. David was still asleep. His watch showed nine o’clock. The nightmare had gone. His breathing was deep and regular. The church was quite warm now. The sun moved fast, striping his feet, then his chest, through the gaps in the pews. Then, like an oxy-acetylene torch, it singed the veins in his eyelids. He woke suddenly as if he were on fire. He lugged his sunglasses out of his top pocket and clamped them on his nose. The mauve iris expanded like hot chestnuts. The dark glass slowly cooled his eyes. Better. Much better. The pain of supreme light was indescribable.

  Turning away from the sun, he levered himself to his knees. He was hungry and unshaven. It was becoming routine. Taking out his paper-knife, he sharpened the wooden blade with a penknife. It was so sharp. He sucked the edge between his lips and cut the top lip. He had to press either side of the slit before a droplet of blood reddened. He tasted the blood. It was good. Not as good as breakfast, though. Now he was prepared for the day. He knew he’d need the paper-knife today but he didn’t know what for. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  Without getting up he peered over the pew. The sun dazzled its yellow splinters on the cross. As he gazed at it, he removed the hard-grained sleep from the corners of his eyes but he didn’t take his glasses off.

  How I’d love to have some buttered toast, eggs and bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread, marmalade, grapefruit, coffee and cream, and a bloody good teeth clean.

  He heard the church door open behind him. He ducked between the pews until he was lying on the prayer mats again. Listening intently, he could make out the patter of children’s feet and their clear laughter.

  In their best Sunday clothes, the children danced down the centre aisle. Gilly led them. They played hopscotch on the flagstones as they approached the altar. Peeping between the slots in the wood, David could see the girls in their white socks and the boys in their grey. Pressing his forehead on a footstool and straining his neck, he discovered that all the children were armed with flowers. Dahlias, like excited torches, frothy carnations, roses, and two giant sunflowers. They’d come to decorate the church. They looked very different to the monsters they had been six hours ago. Now they were little cherubims and they knew it.

  The longer David stayed in this village, the more he couldn’t understand. How could they mix religions like they did? They’d achieved a strange harmony of sadism and laughter, lechery and beauty. He almost envied them. He’d never known anything like it. The nearest thing to it was the Tahitians who practised Voodoo and were also Catholics. In this village in their own secret way, they had found balance. It disturbed him. They had shown him he was a failure. He had come to destroy them. And they were destroying him.

  He shut his eyes and listened to their whispers and giggles. Even the whispering was laughter. And the laughter was secret. He was the outsider and knew it. He heard his name mentioned twice. This was followed by giggles. He wanted to peek but he didn’t. The giggling continued. Why didn’t he get up and smack their smutty little faces? They should all be taken away to remand homes. Yet he knew no one would understand them there. And they needed understanding. They would call the children evil. But were they? Or were they good? Was the basis of his life completely wrong? Were they in fact, right? Or had they twisted his mind? Had they?

  The giggles continued. And then for no reason, they stopped. There was silence. Only the church fractionally shifted on her stones. But that was beyond hearing. That was part of history continuing. David didn’t move. The silence was filled with dust skating in sunlight. David shifted the position of his head until he was lying on his back and staring at the roof.

  Suddenly heads converged in on him. Children’s laughing heads. For they were laughing again. At him. He didn’t attempt to get up but counted their heads. There were the twins, James and John, and Susan, with little Bertie, Joan and... Gilly was not there! Once again he knew he’d been duped by laughter. He tried to get up but the children were ready for him. Their tiny claws probed towards him. He attempted to fight them off. But they weren’t really attacking him. Not exactly. Joan’s and Susan’s slippery fingers were searching under his arms. One of the twins had got his desert boot off. The left one. He laughed at first. And then he really laughed. They were tickling him. They were laughing, too. But his laughter hurt. It tore through him as their ruthless fingers danced over his instep and under his armpits. God, he laughed. How he laughed! His arms flailed wildly like a blind man as he laughed.

  With a swift kick of his right boot, he managed to knock James back. The boy banged his elbow against the opposite pew but returned to the Battle of the Tickle. David wrenched himself up onto his elbows, butting Joan in the chest. Then swearing profanely he jumped to his feet. The children cowered away. They were quick to realise when the foot was in the other shoe. David slipped his left boot on again.

  ‘Now, you little bastards, for that’s what you are, what’s going on? Look, I try and understand you and what do you do? You play the monkey with me! Well, if I don’t get some straight answers from you now, I’m going to have you sent away from home—to a remand school. And that won’t be very nice, see! Right! Why did you do what you did last night? It was the filthiest archery I’ve ever seen! You behaved like goats! Why?’

  Susan assumed the role of leader.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to play hide-and-seek, Mister? Church is a super place for it. Behind the altar’s great...’

  David seized her by the wrist. He was about to question her when she took the initiative and grabbed his sunglasses. Provocatively she dangled them in front of him. He moved into a flash of sunlight to take them off her. He couldn’t see. He was blind. He didn’t know where he was. Then he blacked out. He grabbed Susan by the throat and forced her back against the huge bronze eagle which held the Bible between its wings. He groped for his glasses. She was very frightened and handed them back. The eagle’s talons clawed at her buttocks. As he hurriedly put the glasses on, she wriggled free. She was so shaken she began to sob violently. David staggered against a pew as his mind thrust him back into the present.

  Still dazed, hardly knowing where he was, he sat down on the flagstones. It took him some time to refocus. He felt as if his eyes were filled with petrol. The sun’s blast had set his nerves on edge. His tear ducts burned. He wept pure acid. It took him about a minute before he was conscious t
hat Susan was crying. She was clinging to Joan and weeping her heart out. He got up slowly and moved to her.

  ‘What’s the matter, Susan?’

  ‘You hurt me, Mr. Hanlin. You hurt me a lot. You did.’

  ‘Sorry, Susan, I’m very sorry. The sun blinded me, you see, so I had to grab onto something. God, I’ve got a headache. I must have blacked out for a second.’

  ‘My fault a bit, I suppose, sir. I shouldn’t have pinched your sunglasses.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t. That’s why we’re both crying. Have a Liquorice Allsort!’

  He pulled out a slept-on packet from his trouser pocket. He invited her to take one. Miraculously her tears disappeared as she wedged her fingers into the box.

  ‘Have two. But don’t take those with the weeny aniseed balls on—I’m very partial to them myself.’

  She selected three and gobbled them straight down.

  ‘Now kids...’

  His thoughts dried up. Beyond Susan’s head he could see the altar. The cross was missing! And the only person who could have taken it was Gilly. That was why they were treating him to their conjuring tricks!

  He raced down to the altar. A now common bunch of garlic flowers lay dappled in the sunlight. He picked up the flowers and turned to the children, who were beating a hasty retreat down the aisle.

  ‘Gilly did this, kids, didn’t she? They’re using the cross for Satanic Rites, aren’t they? Where is she, then? Where is she?’

  The children ignored him and lugged open the huge door. David ran after them. Susan seemed to be waiting for him. But as he got nearer, she ran away again. His strides were twice as long as hers so soon caught hold of her by her ponytail and yanked her to a stand-still. She began to cry again. He gave her another liquorice allsort. Then he tantalised her with the whole box.

  ‘If you take me to where Gilly’s gone with that cross, I’ll give you the whole packet. I promise you. And you’d be saving a lot of lives. The killer will want that cross in order to perform his next murder.’

  Susan smiled.

  ‘Look, Susan, this murderer has killed two of your friends. Both the same age as you. And it won’t put him out to kill a third!’

  She continued to smile.

  ‘And if my prediction’s correct, he’ll strike again this lunch-time. I know it sounds like an adventure story—but let me assure you it’s not! His second killing was on Midsummer Eve, and his third’ll be today, Midsummer’s Day. He, or she, is obviously insane. But I’ll make sure he’s put away. He won’t haunt your lives any more. But I need your help, Susan.’

  For the first time in two days, David felt excited. He was sure that this was a real lead. Beyond any doubt he knew that he’d be in at the climax. He’d throw the spanner in the works. So just for today he withdrew his resignation.

  ‘Well, Susan?’

  She grabbed the sweets.

  ‘All right, Mister. This way!’

  She pointed to the woods. As they walked to the church-gate, the Reverend White passed them. David was undecided whether to stop and call him a liar or just follow Susan. But the cross was the lead so he went with Susan.

  The Reverend called out to him. ‘I noticed the can was moved when I returned to finish watering the dead last night. I do so hope you enjoyed yourself—playing with the watering can!’

  David would have taken up the bait but for Susan’s insistent tug on his hand.

  Soon they’d left the main street and were in the summer woods. Under the trees it was the brightest green he’d ever seen. Nothing could be more beautiful. And yet.

  He questioned her about her dubious midnight exploits. And she asked him questions about butterflies. She told him of the butterfly funeral Anna had conducted in the cat butcher’s hedge.

  Suddenly he stopped and listened. There were gentle footsteps to his left. Delicate footfalls twittering the leaves. And to his right, blowlamps probing his spine. The climax was very near. They were in the middle of the wood. In front of them a glade swam in green sunshine. And the cross culprit sat in the centre of the glade.

  Gilly was sitting cross-legged in the green light. She was polishing the cross with a rag and a tin of Brillo. When she saw them, she smiled happily. David knew he should laugh but he only felt anger tighten in his stomach. He wanted to smack her face because she’d tricked him. Instead he slumped against a young elm. And out of the undergrowth the whispering footsteps materialised into the Gang. They were laughing and peering down at him. The church all over again.

  Then without warning, Gilly sprang to her feet, clasping the cross, rag and Brillo, and ran towards the village. The children followed her. David gave chase.

  ‘Where the hell are you taking that cross?’

  I knew I was right. They’ll take me to the killer. I knew they would.

  As he chased after their light feet, Susan called over her left shoulder, without slowing down. ‘Taking the cross back to the church, Inspector! We always do, after we’ve cleaned it! Reverend White...’ she puffed, ‘Reverend White always lets us clean it to show us he trusts us!’ Then she accelerated and the disgruntled David gave up.

  As he pulled himself to a halt, he tripped over a dead branch. He fell face forward but managed to thrust an arm in front of him. His wrist took the force of the fall. With ankle flick he rolled over onto his side. His glasses were askew but at least they weren’t broken. Painfully he dragged himself until he was leaning against the branch. The rotting bark was pleasantly damp against his shoulder blades. And even though the soil had been bombarded by sun, it still insinuated moisture along his thighs. He was exhausted. And frustrated. As usual.

  The familiar sensations of failure seeped into his brain. He knew he had come to the centre. All he could do now was wait for the killer to show his hand. And he knew he would show his hand before the dogs and machines arrived. David checked his watch. They should be here in about ten minutes time. He was sure they’d arrive on the dot at ten.

  He relaxed against the branch. The blowlamps searched the back of his neck. And then it flashed into his mind. Was Gypo the murderer? He had the motive. He had the opportunity. Motive—hate of mankind. Opportunity—he practically owned the wood. Was Gypo challenging him? Was it as obvious as this? Every time he’d walked through these woods, Gypo had followed him. Perhaps this was it. The obvious. And it was being dangled in front of his nose. And Gypo intended to complete the anarchy by murdering David! Not a pleasant thought. So the murderer was showing his hand. Strange about the hat-pin, though. But not so strange. He’d found a bat pinned to a tree with a hat-pin Yesterday morning. So the Western Show-down’s here.

  ‘Gypo, come out!’

  His words bruised the silence. The silence healed easily.

  ‘I know you’re there! You’re hate burns through the trees! Let’s have the show-down! You’re pushing me into it. You’ve been very clever. You’ve been so obvious, I’ve missed it! Anybody could have caught you without even thinking. My mistake was that I thought. I nearly missed you!’

  A pigeon provided a doubtful chorus. The blowlamps continued. David lost his temper. He stood up.

  ‘I’ve a warrant in my pocket to arrest you. I suggest you come quietly!’

  I’m lying again. Still, it’s in a good cause. The continuation of my sanity.

  ‘No need to be too frightened, Gypo. We only want to further our enquiries. You’re guilt will have to be proved. So come out like a good boy!’

  Still no Gypo. The pigeon was working overtime.

  ‘I know how you did it, too, Gypo! Nasty weapon! Using the heel of your hand to break Dian’s neck! And then the hat-pin. That was brilliant! I never associated you with women’s weapons. You took me in there. But now things are reversed because I’m taking you in.’

  Gypo appeared. His bow nicely drawn by his ear. He wasn’t smiling.

  ‘It wasn’t me, Inspector. You know it wasn’t me. You know who it was. But you can’t prove it, can you? And you don’t want to, do yo
u? You’re very dangerous, Inspector. You think.’

  David noticed that Gypo’s accent had gone. There was a vague Cornwall burr but it was very subtle.

  ‘Who did it, then, Gypo? Who?’

  ‘You’ll never live to tell it. Only two people know. You and I. I saw Billy murdered. Not even the murderer knows as well as you and I. Yes, I’m glad you like my speech better this way. So do I. Both ways are natural to me. The other’s handier. Well, this is the end of the line. For you. This will be the last murder. The murder of you!’

  David knew he’d found the circle. The murderer grinned. David grinned hack. Death had arrived. He was frightened but slightly relieved. No more shaving or lust. Admittedly he would like to have shafted hot Anna. And leave a proper epitaph. Rather than just a paragraph of failure.

  The arrow seemed to lengthen as Gypo drew it hard into the triangle. It felt cool against his cheek bone. The feathers whispered against his ear. Now he would kill. And that would be that.

  Silence. David listened to the grass growing. The sun growing into a bonfire. And imperceptibly he felt his toe nails growing, too. And his corns. And the aura of himself pushing outwards. And he was waiting as usual.

  Gypo’s eyes became Eurasian slits. It was now. And never again.

  A rabbit skidded into the clearing, sniffed the humans and burrowed into the fern.

  Now.

  An Alsatian’s harsh cough clattered into the leaves. And then another. And then every Alsatian in the world. The Cavalry was coming.

  Gypo’s head swung to the left as the second dog coughed. David decided to live. He tackled low as Gypo screamed the arrow at him. The arrow arrived safely in David’s shoulder. Another wound. His dead brother’s marksmanship flooded back into his memory.

  Gypo staggered back under the tackle. Then they fought. No longer disciplined and according to any rules. No, just to the death now. Claws, fangs and feet searching out the intricate groin, eyes and nostrils. David’s glasses performed a parabola as Gypo gouged at his nose. The glasses fell four feet away in a pool of shadow. Gypo’s bow kept the glasses company.