Tormented

Chapter 2

Once the deed was complete, all the men piled into the wagon, and were taken to the nearest inn, The Wild Boar, for a well-earned drink.

When they opened the door of the inn and stepped inside, everyone already there stopped their conversations and turned their heads to look at the newcomers.

Father James scanned the room for Samuel Grant, but to his relief, the man was nowhere to be seen. Although there were several of his friends and fellow workers scattered around the room.

They all know where the men had been, and, more importantly, what task they had undertaken.

None of them envied the new arrivals.

Mathew Hammond strode up to the bar and ordered an ale for the men, and a large claret for Father James.

The men had all been paid for their part in the ceremony, and well paid too. But Mathew felt that they deserved a little something extra for their efforts. At one point, he was afraid that they would take flight, leaving just him and the priest to compete the task alone.

Such a scenario had occurred on many occasions in the past.

Men were always keen to help when they saw the colour of the money being offered. But when it came down to performing the task in question, many of them turned tail and ran.

Some of these men were the biggest and the strongest in the district. Yet it seemed to make little matter when the coffin was opened, and they faced it for the first time.

Even though they were all well briefed before the event, Mathew could always tell from the look of bewilderment and disbelief in their eyes that they did not comprehend what he was saying.

The proof came when the lid was lifted.

Ideally, Mathew would have preferred to have his own crew to travel with. A reliable group of six or so men, all of whom knew what the job entailed and were satisfied to just get on with it.

He had requested such an arrangement on umpteen occasions, but his employers, the church, were more concerned with him keeping a low key for his investigations, and the sight of an entire group entering a district, in their minds, would attract far too much attention.

Instead, he had to make do with whomever the local priest felt that he could trust.

As it was, Father James had done well in gathering his helpers. At least none of them bolted when the moment of truth arrived.

Mathew and the priest took their drinks over to a spare table at the back on the room, while the rest of the men decided to stand at the bar.

The gentle hum of conversation returned slowly as everyone else turned back to their own groups.

Father James took a drink of his wine.

Mathew could see that the priest’s hands were shaking. It was not surprising under the circumstances. Just like the hired help, when Mathew first arrived in a new district and presented his letter of introduction, most priests looked at him with vague distrust. If it were not for his letter, signed by the archbishop himself, Mathew was sure that he would be turned away, or thrown into jail.

Mathew slid his hand across the table and patted Father James on the arm. “You did very well today, Father,” he informed him, encouragingly. “I’ve seen the most devout, senior members of the cloth crumble into a quivering mess upon seeing one of the undead rise. You should be proud.”

Father James nodded. “Thank you, my son,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “I only hope that God will see the necessity of our actions as righteous, for I must admit, I am struggling to accept what we were forced to do as being anything short of murder.”

Mathew stopped his tankard from reaching his lips. “Murder?” he repeated.

Father James looked up to ensure that no one was listening in on their conversation.

The rest of the bar seemed to be engrossed in their own affairs, but even so, the priest felt that such a conversation was best had elsewhere than in a public house.

“Please keep your voice down, my son,” he implored. “These good people are in enough of a stir without us adding to their worries.”

Mathew shook his head and drank. He appreciated the difficult position the priest found himself in, but there was no use in pretending that nothing untoward was taking place.

“They’d have a damn sight more to worry about if we left matters unchecked,” said Mathew, this time keeping his tone low for the priest’s sake. “And how can you murder something which is already dead?”

Father James looked shocked by the man’s words, but deep down he knew that there was some truth to them, and for that, he was grateful that the church had seen fit to send him help.

It had taken a long time for the priest to accept what was taking place in his own parish. Most of the stories he had heard he put down to rumour, speculation and weak-minded folk allowing what little imagination they had to run riot.

As a result of his hesitance, he knew that he had to shoulder the blame for all the disappearances which had ensued.

Then, when the bodies were discovered drained of every ounce of blood, the locals were sent into a blind fury.

They demanded action, but all he could offer them was prayer and faith that the almighty would hear them, and thus bring an end to whatever horror had taken over their town.

But it was not enough.

Mob-handed they began capturing anyone in the area whom they suspected and torturing them into making a confession.

Thomas Rudd, the poor simple-minded son of a local midwife was dragged from his bed and strung up, right in front of his poor mother while she screamed of his innocence. Joshua Campbell, a young labourer who had a bad reputation for leading young ladies astray, was thrown into a ditch and stoned to death. Simon Kent, an octogenarian who had spent most of his life living off the land, and to the priest’s knowledge had never hurt a living soul, was burned to death having been barricaded in his tiny wooden hut in the woods.

Carnage rained.

No one was safe from the baying mob.

Yet still the disappearances continued.

It was fast becoming worse than the witch trials from the previous century. Father James still had the parish records from the time, and some of the atrocious and inhumane practices which were performed on women and young girls to try and force them to confess, still made his heart turn over at the very thought.

This latest excuse for justice was fast growing out of control, and Father James knew it, even if no one else of power in the vicinity accepted it.

Finally, the Militia were called in to quell the uprising. Colonel Drake, the officer in charge rounded up the leaders of the mob and gave them an ultimatum: Either halt their actions or face the noose.

Drake was a harsh man, but fair. He believed in giving people a chance, and if they were willing to let that opportunity slip by, then they deserved to suffer the consequences.

To the priest’s relief, once the Militia were on side, the riots quelled, and normal life was resumed. There were no more disappearances, no more bloodless corpses, and as a result, the rumblings made by those who chose to take the law into their own hands, lessened until they became nothing more than a whisper.

Colonel Drake was eventually ordered to attend to troubles in another part of the country. He left behind a skeleton force to keep the peace and vowed to return if matters grew out of hand.

Over time, the local residents grew used to sleeping soundly in their beds, without having to worry that they, or their loved ones, might be carried away by some diabolical creature of the night, intent on draining them of their life blood.

Young Mary Grant had been the first victim in a long time, but as she was found without having had the blood drained from her, Father James managed to convince his congregation that her death was not related to those earlier cases. Doctor Harris was clearly not pleased by the assumption, but once Father James explained to him about the town being a powder keg jus wating for a spark to ignite it, he relented. The cause of death was heart failure, so in his opinion further investigation was unnecessary.

Even so, word of the death quickly spread, and Father James received word from the archbishop’s office that the church was sending a specialist in such matters to carry out an investigation. But the night before he arrived, Mary Grant had been seen strolling through the woods by no less than three witnesses.

The following morning, once Mathew had arrived, Father James and the Militia soldiers led him to the poor girl’s coffin. The lid was removed, and the body of the young girl was still in situ, looking as peaceful and angelic as she had in life.

But even so, Mathew had his suspicions, and upon investigation he found two slight puncture marks on the side of the girl’s neck. Proof positive, so far as he was concerned, that whatever evil had plagued the area was still at work.

That was when he explained to Father James about his plan to ensure that poor Mary Grant could be allowed to rest in eternal peace.

Horrified as he was by the barbaric ritual, Father James eventually came around to believing that Mathew knew what he was talking about, having spent many years travelling throughout central Europe on his lonely quest to try and understand the genesis of this evil, and how to defeat it.

It had been an even harder task explaining their plan to Mary’s father, but eventually he understood and came to terms with it. His one request was that they carry out their task after he had taken his wife and younger daughter out of earshot.

Now that they had dealt with one of the symptoms of this plague, Father James knew that they still had to face the cause, and he knew that even with Mathew by his side, that would be a herculean task.