Ritual Page 5

  Billy nodded in agreement. Oh, he hated Mr. Spark, and the time would come—pretty soon—the time would come.

  Then, without any sign of preparation, the children bunched towards Billy. Bert joined with them. The chant was taken up ‘Death to Billy! He’s a piggy! Death to Billy!’ Billy was frightened. He knew they could tear him apart. Desperately, he tried to enforce his dictatorship. It was useless. His personal guard were sharpening their claws against him.

  Mr. Spark was so disgusted with the boy that he folded his arms and played the voyeur. A week ago and a daughter alive, he would have stopped them. But not now. Anarchy was the norm. Why bother about the British Constitution?

  Susan, Gilly and Joan turned into cats. They gouged at Billy with bitten nails. The twins began inflicting the unceremonious boot. And Bert, stroking his wounded knee, applauded the democracy. Gilly probed ruthlessly at Billy’s cheek bones. Susan plucked weeds from the boy’s head. In fact the final violence was coming. The desire to mutilate frothed inside them. They wanted to rip boyhood out of Billy. With generations of barbarism behind them, the children were tearing down Rome.

  Anna entered as they snarled for the kill. She acted quickly, without thinking. In preparation for an omelette, she cracked Joan and Gilly’s heads together. Then kicked the twins firmly in the rear, dealt a badly executed uppercut to Susan, and the revolution against the fat hierarchy terminated.

  ‘Stop crying, Billy!’ she shouted.

  ‘I’m not! I’m not! Right, Gang!’

  Billy leaped to his feet to assume his dynasty.

  ‘Right, Gang, you will pay for this, and I mean it!’

  As the Gang could only work under orders and knew it, now their passion had subsided, they were willing to suffer the penalty for thundering against the Right Divine. They knew the results of rebelling against God, without reading Paradise Lost.

  Mr. Spark watched with remote interest. Anna took the twins by the hands and led them out of the shop. Like trounced puppies, the Gang followed. Still holding the butterfly, Mr. Spark walked into the sunlight. He handed the butterfly to Anna. She examined it closely.

  ‘Bury it, Anna. It’s got a right to a funeral. More right than we have. It’s beautiful for a start.’

  Mr. Spark re-entered the shop and ate a Liquorice Allsort. Two Liquorice Allsorts.

  Dumbly, the children followed Anna down the High Street towards the woods, Billy ventured a question.

  ‘Where we going, then?’

  ‘To give this butterfly a funeral, Billy.’

  She blew it off her hand into a hedgerow. It seemed a broken snapdragon. Or a shrivelled yellow rose petal. It was a good funeral.

  Anna smelt the scent of death in her hand.

  ‘Children, we are going to have a Nature Ramble—with all that that implies!’

  The children cheered. They were not sure what ‘implies’ meant, but they understood the feeling. And they were excited.

  The wood was a flood of green. Anna thought how appropriately the trees reflected her eyes. She casually swung her hips and felt good.

  Mr. Spark put a sign up in the shop door and wandered to the Pub. The sign read; ‘Am in Pub. Spark’.

  Anna wanted something the children could not give her. A real Nature Ramble.

  6

  Cready stood up, breaking the circle.

  ‘You are being ridiculous, Mrs. Spark! You have just had sufficient proof that your daughter was not murdered. And now you are trying to stir things up again. I think you want her to be murdered!’

  ‘There is witchcraft in the village. You all know it. All of you! You know it’s true!’

  This was not a conversation for the sunlight. James, the labourer, hunched to his feet. His chair squeaked as he moved it back with his calf muscles.

  ‘Ain’t you talking nonsense? You are! You know you are! Witchcraft? Who’s the witch, then?’

  ‘Some of you in this room are involved,’ shouted Mrs. Spark.

  Everyone began to laugh, asking one another between chortles, ‘Whatever is she talking about? She’s becoming unhinged! Too much astral-wallowing!’

  ‘They know who they are!’

  Mrs. Spark stood up. The laughter stopped and hid itself in the ice shadows. They waited. The listeners waited. Revelation is at hand, saith the Lord.

  ‘Who killed my daughter? Who? Who killed my daughter?’

  Rowbottom sneered at her.

  ‘If there’s a witch in this village—it’s you, ain’t it? You tried to talk to the dead. You wanted the dead alive. The living dead. You! Not us!’

  ‘I am no witch and you know it!’

  ‘Do we? Do we?’ enquired Cready.

  The listeners thrust their questions at her. She knew she was triggering the fever in them. She knew what the fever would bring.

  ‘If I am a witch, what are you? If I probe the other dimensions to ease my pain, what do you do? What have you dragged yourselves to? You do not have to tell me, it is smeared on your faces!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ interrupted Cready, inserting a razor blade into his voice, ‘perhaps the butterfly was the reincarnation of your daughter. Yes, perhaps with your witchery, perhaps you have turned her...’ He tried to stop his eyes creasing with laughter, but he gave up and let the laughter come. ‘... perhaps you have turned her into that jolly little butterfly! Perhaps...’

  Mrs. Spark clawed towards Cready. Her mouth widened to show pin teeth. It was not a pleasant sight. Cready was reminded fleetingly of a vampire. But he was sure it was purely an illusion. Wasn’t it?

  ‘You like death, don’t you, Mr. Cready? You’re interested in the potentials of decomposition.’

  As she breathed in his face, he was certain she smelt of a summer graveyard.

  ‘Did you murder my daughter, Mr. Cready? Did you use her first with your sticky loins? Did you?’

  Cready smiled. The smile was definitely nasty. Then he pushed his hand firmly into her pink mouth. She bit him twice. He jerked his hand back, throwing her against the tea things on the side board. He went after her.

  Fortunately the Squire stepped in between the alsatian and the she-wolf. Cready controlled himself. He relaxed. The killing instinct hibernated again. He examined the grey fang marks on the heel of his hand. Luckily her teeth had not encouraged the blood into the light. He felt she would have been happier tasting his blood.

  She stared at him, realising what she had done. He needed her. She knew that. They all did. Even the Squire. They knew her power. She would have liked to have savoured his flesh against the roof of her mouth. At least it would have been a reality. It would feed her until the time came.

  The Squire fully understood the situation. He stroked the left sleeve of her knitted jumper. It was surprising but he enjoyed the quiet electricity of the wool under his fingertips. He could feel the feminine muscles tighten on her forearm. It excited him. Then she relaxed. The muscles slept again. She forced a smile in the direction of the Squire. He stopped stroking her sleeve and manipulated his words with care.

  ‘If you believe that Cready, or I, or anyone in this room, or in this village, was in any way wilfully responsible for the death of your daughter, I honestly recommend you visit the Police Station and state your case to them. In my opinion you are constructing nightmares for yourself. You know it was an accident. I’ve read little psychology but I know you only want your daughter’s death to be murder so you can work yourself up to a fever. As the Squire here, I feel it is my duty to warn you of the harm you are doing yourself and everyone else. Accusations, such as yours, are libellous.’

  Mrs. Spark tried to speak but the Squire went on.

  ‘Shall we fetch the police, then? Shall we?’

  Cready joined in the hunt.

  ‘Well, shall we, Mrs. Spark?’

  Rowbottom giggled like a tickled lizard. He jabbed at the cornered she-wolf.

  ‘Yes, let’s fetch the police! They’re so helpful! Especially Festival time! Especially tomorrow. Look
, I’ll save you the trouble, Mrs. Spark—I’ll fetch them for you!’

  The lizard slid to his feet. The werewolf smelt the mouths of the dogs. She was surrounded. In the eyes of the hunters, she could see acres of policemen grinning at her helpfully. The dogs waited to see what the wolf would do next.

  She moved back to the table. She sat down and lugged a monster Bible towards her. Everyone resumed their places.

  And the waiting continued. With a sharp movement of her hand, she opened the Bible and began to read the opening lines of the Book of Revelations.

  *

  Anna and the children had reached the wood almost at the same time as Gypo and David were leaving it. If it had not been such a topsy-turvy village, David would have sworn that this accident was really design on the part of a precocious deity.

  No sooner had Gypo seen Anna, than his deference to the Inspector bloated to mock heroics. The more distasteful variety. He went straight up to Anna and cupped his left hand on her breast. The left one, naturally. Then he pulled her dark hair back and practically ate her alive. The children and the Inspector were impressed. Such sexual gallantry! The prologue to rape! It was certainly very good entertainment in the middle of the afternoon. Anytime really, thought David.

  In reply to the grope, hug and kiss, Anna brought her knee up smartly in the direction of his excited potential. She didn’t fully achieve the centre of the groin but it certainly rang the odd bell. Gypo staggered back, cradling his privates publicly. Then he lay down in the correct foetal position and hugged his agony to him, whimpering. The actual cry was the hopeless keening of a baby monkey. One long held note of nothing but infinite pain. He rocked backwards and forwards. He was very impressed.

  Whilst this side-show progressed, Anna moved towards the Inspector. She found him attractive. Sunglasses hinting mystery. His mouth unusually cruel. Even when he was smiling. And he was smiling now.

  ‘And who are you, then?’

  ‘I’m…’

  Out of a particularly painful whimper, Gypo screeched, ‘He’s a buggering policeman! He’s a copper! Don’t trust him!’

  And the pain took over again. Gypo had to be satisfied with the long tearing vowels that erupted from him. He rocked to and fro, praying the pain would subside. No such luck.

  When the children heard the Police announcement, their laughing faces masked to gargoyles. They backed away from him. Policemen were wrong ‘uns!

  David shrugged. Well, the news is out! Quicker than I thought!

  Anna stared at him. So things are not as right as they seem. Here is my mother’s chance for further probing. And maybe he’s interested in probing. I should imagine he’s very stimulating. And, by God, I need some stimulation. A real Nature Ramble!

  ‘Are you interested in strawberries?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. But perhaps you could help me?’

  David acknowledged to the itch in his body that she was very attractive.

  She continued; ‘Children, go home!’

  The children stood arms akimbo. They were not going to be pushed around by the desire which rippled along her nipples. She realised she would have to make them a promise. She called Billy over and whispered in his ear. ‘Billy, bring the Gang to the giant oak at about half past six tonight, and we will continue our Nature Ramble. Now, don’t argue! We have a lot to do before tomorrow night.’

  She curled one of her fingers in his greasy hair until it hurt. He went on grinning.

  ‘Right, Gang,’ he shouted. ‘We’re off, and don’t argue! There’s a lot to be done!’

  In five seconds he and his companions had disappeared. David noticed that Gypo’s keening had subsided. Gypo levered himself to his feet and grinned. The hate was working overtime.

  ‘Now, Copper, don’t you go crawling out of your depth! She’s mine! I own her! It’s the only thing I own! If I smell you on her, anywhere, breasts, navel, anywhere, you’ll find yourself with a broken neck, broken!’ Shouldering his bow, he ran painfully into the trees, shouting; ‘Broken! Broken!’ like the chorus to a pop song.

  Anna laughed. ‘Let me introduce myself,’ she said, as she took him by the hand. ‘I am Anna Spark. And you’ve come to investigate my sister’s death, haven’t you?’

  Unbelievable, thought David, but there must be a catch. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me—what you intend to tell me.’ He gripped her index finger with his signet ring.

  ‘Oh, I shan’t tell you anything. You’re supposed to be the policeman.’

  She slid her hand out of his hot grip.

  ‘Maybe Mum will put you up whilst you pursue your investigations. I’m studying Mythology at Bristol University—I think. I always believe it is better to put the books on the table, don’t you?’

  She moved towards the village, allowing her hips to continue the conversation.

  Anna turned her head to see if her rhythmical magnet was functioning properly. It was. She stopped, pursing her nipples towards him and then swung on. He caught her up as they reached the village. The amusement on his part had worn threadbare. He began to ask her pertinent questions about her sister and parents. The only answer he received was the electricity of her sheer-stockinged thighs rustling together as she walked. He was conscious her flirting was a strange blend of desire and secrecy. Yes, she had secrets which she intended to remain secrets. Even under his X-Ray scrutiny. And the secrets were by no means all applicable to her personally. No, they were secrets whispered for centuries in this village. They were the magic secrets of ordinary routine. Instinctively he felt that the village was as ripe as a sweating pear, and when it fell and burst, and burst it would, it would pollute the air.

  He continued to question. She continued to flirt. They reached Spark’s cottage. Progress—nil. Anna was about to go in through the shop but read her father’s poetic note; ‘Am in Pub. Spark’. So she took him down the shadowed alley and paused, expectant. He brought his face close to hers.

  ‘Forgive me for saying this, Miss Spark, but your upper lip is sufficiently voluptuous, that in my opinion your lipstick over-emphasises it. Plus the fact, kissing could be messy.’

  She produced a lace handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped the offending lipstick. Then she pouted. Hanlin lisped his tongue on the underside of his teeth.

  ‘Do you think your Mother will mind?’

  Anna drew in her stomach, exposing the sweep to her impertinent navel. Her breasts, with which she was over-impressed, rose towards his lapel. Perhaps she wants to be kissed. He amused himself with the understatement.

  ‘Do you think your Mother will mind?’

  ‘Try it, Mr. Hanlin, and find out! At the worst you could only have a red face where the smack has been!’

  ‘I’d love to,’ David replied, walking past her. ‘It’s a very attractive—cottage. I’d love it—if your Mother could put me up here!’

  There’s teasing and teasing, grinned David.

  Anna sulked. Foiled. She brushed past him and opened the side door. For over two hundred years, the sun had tried to bounce its way into these shadows. But only on certain middays did it ever succeed. And now, this afternoon, the shadows were cold as a dead star.

  They entered the house and they climbed the stairs. Still wearing his sunglasses, David found it extremely dark in spite of the white walls. He was unable to take in the contents of the rooms. Now they were halfway up the stairs. She signalled him to be quiet. He tried to be, but it was very difficult. His steel heel caps rasped the stair treads. It wasn’t any easier with his toe caps.

  Just before he reached the landing, he heard a little boy shouting from the loft. The boy’s voice was high and hysterical. This went on for approximately thirty seconds. Then silence took over for three seconds. Then a little girl began to cry. The cry built to a boiling kettle’s scream which refused to be switched off. Hanlin paused outside the loft door. He whispered, ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Take no notice! Come to my bedroom. I need to change.’ />
  ‘What’s happening to those children in there!’

  She ignored his question and took him by the hand, indicating her bedroom. With her free hand, she opened the door of the room next to hers.

  ‘You could sleep in here now that little Dian...’

  David was still listening to the unbearable screaming of the little girl. He could hear grown-ups giggling, supplying a macabre background to the scream. Suddenly the scream stopped. There was a thud of bone against wood. Then the boy’s voice shouted a cry of exaltation. This was followed by another broken scream and flesh thud. Quickly David grasped the door knob. Anna whispered in his ear. ‘Don’t go in there! Look, it’s only a game! Just don’t go in there!’

  There was another thud.

  ‘Some game!’

  The scream sliced through his brain. He opened the door and charged in. Sixteen eyes flared towards him. All David could see was eight people quietly sitting round a dark polished table. Slowly the birth of a smile whispered from face to face.

  ‘Where is she? Where’s the little girl? Well?’

  The crying began again. This time it was a giggle-whimper. David searched his eyes from face to face. Finally he arrived on Cready’s open mouth. The girl’s snivel was curling from Cready’s mouth. Cready closed his lips with a satisfied smack, jerked his head back, and laughed.

  ‘And who...’ roared Cready, ‘who has had the honour of listening to my imitations of children unannounced?’

  Anna stepped past David. Everyone was laughing. Even Mrs. Spark allowed a large smile to ripple through her teeth. For the first time for four days, her emeralds mellowed to summer. And the laughing choked on and on.

  ‘Let me introduce Detective Inspector David Hanlin of Scotland Yard,’ said Anna.

  Like a Rolls Royce wind-screen wiper, her words removed the laughter from the windows of their faces. Fear was thrust into their skulls. The impulse to laugh died. Anna spoke again. ‘He has come to investigate the death of my sister!’

  David raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Thank you, Anna I don’t think I have ever been introduced with such stunning effect!’