Tormented

Chapter 1

It was late afternoon, and the autumn sun was already on the wane. The wind was brisk, and whipped through the trees, shaking the loose leaves free, freeing them to flutter down to the ground.

As the sombre funeral procession emerged from the clump of trees which separated the local church from the graveyard, the horse that pulled the cart which housed the coffin, reared up, and let out a loud whinny.

The coffin slid back and was only prevented from sliding off the cart by the low ridge of the back plate which had been bolted into place.

The horse stopped, dead in its tracks, clearly not keen to walk on any further.

The driver of the cart jumped down, and immediately grabbed hold of its bridle, gripping it tightly with both hands. Fearing his horse may try to bolt, he leaned in closely and whispered words of comfort as he patted its flank in order to entice the beast to calm down.

Eventually, the horse relaxed, and moved forward.

The two gravediggers stood nearby, leaning on their shovels. The first half of their labours already complete. The coffin held the body of the eldest daughter of Samuel Grant, a farm worker from the other side of the village.

She had only been a slight girl, barely five foot tall, so the size of the hole dug for her coffin matched, accordingly.

The procession walking behind the cart consisted of Samuel Grant and his wife, Sophie. Their youngest daughter Daisy. The four pall bearers, and the priest, Father John James.

Behind those gathered walked another man, who kept several paces behind the official party. He wore a long cloak and hood which came down over his face, and in his hand, he carried a dark brown leather bag.

The driver, still walking beside his horse, pulled it up when they were still several feet from the grave.

Two of the pallbearers climbed into the cart and released the back flap, sliding the coffin towards their colleagues who had positioned themselves on the ground at the back of the cart.

Together, the four men slid the coffin over the edge until the two on the ground had a firm hold of it, then the other two balanced the rear of the wooden box on the back of the cart, before jumping down and taking up their positions.

The four men worked in silence. They did not dress in Sunday best for the task, but remained in their working attire, knowing that this job would not be a clean one.

Together, they carried the coffin towards the grave, and placed it gently down on the soft earth.

Everyone gathered round as the priest began to say the prayers for the dead.

He knew them off by heart, having recited them many hundreds of times during his long career. But, even so, he still insisted on reading them from the pages of his book, like a novice.

As Father James spoke, from behind he could hear Sophie Grant crying.

Samuel wrapped his arms around both his wife and daughter and held them tightly to his chest. The two women sobbed into his shirt. Samuel raised his head to heaven in the hope that his own tears would not fall on his wife and daughter, he knew he had to be strong for them both.

Their grief being shared made it no less painful for any of them.

The priest continued with his sombre words. Both gravediggers knew from past experience that he was coming to the end of his prayers. Soon it would be their turn to take over and replace the dirt they had removed that morning.

The cloaked figure who had followed the procession in, still stood several feet behind the rest of the gathering, his head bowed, and his bag on the floor beside him.

Once the priest had finished, he turned back and looked over at Samuel.

Blinking away his tears, Samuel nodded his head.

Father James moved away from the grave and signalled for the bearers to place the coffin inside. As they settled their ropes under the coffin, in order to lift it into the hole, Sophie broke away from her husband and ran to the grave.

She fell to her knees and flung her arms over her daughter’s coffin sobbing uncontrollably.

Samuel moved in and lifted his grieving wife off the floor. For a moment she fought against him, struggling to break free. But eventually she relented and allowed him to hold her once more.

Father James moved in closer to the couple. “Do not grieve my child,” he said, comfortingly. “She is with God now, and free from all the danger and evil in this world.”

Samuel looked at the priest and nodded his thanks.

He took his wife back to where their daughter was standing and held them both.

Father James signalled for the pallbearers to continue with their task. He four men lifted the ropes which supported the coffin, and gently lowered it into the hole.

Once the coffin was out of sight, Samuel turned, taking his wife and surviving daughter with him, and set off for home.

Everyone else gathered at the gravesite watched them go.

As the three of them entered the clump of trees which surrounded the graveyard, Father James looked to the western sky. The sun was about to set, and from the east the sky had already changed to a dark grey hue.

He waited until the three mourners were out of sight, and earshot.

The pallbearers, still holding the end of the ropes, waited for his command before they took the strain and hefted the coffin back up, out of the hole.

They placed it gently back on the ground.

The mysterious cloaked figure moved forward to join the others.

One of the gravediggers came forward with an iron bar and, once Father James gave him permission, slid one end of it under the wooden lid of the coffin, and put all his weight on the other end.

The wood began to crack as the bar fought against the nails keeping the lid down.

Finally, it gave.

The gravedigger stopped and pulled the bar out, then placed it under the lid further down the coffin and used his weight as before.

This time the lid gave more quickly, already weakened by his initial effort.

He continued with his task until the entire lid was raised, then the pallbearers moved in and together they lifted the lid clean off the coffin.

The angelic figure of Mary Grant dressed in white, lay in situ, her eyes closed.

Suddenly, her eyelids shot open, revealing a glassy stare which turned the priest’s blood to ice.

The pallbearers and the gravediggers all took a step back, and turned towards the cloaked figure, who moved forward and removed his cowl.

Mathew Hammond had what most people referred to as a stern countenance, with a short grey beard, and thick wiry hair of the same colour. His eyebrows too were abundant and bushy, and seemed to point downwards towards his nose, as if he wore a permanent frown.

He opened his bag and plunged his hand inside, removing a large wooden stake and a stout hammer.

Upon seeing the two implements, Mary Grant opened her mouth, baring two elongated canines, and hissed at the figure above her.

Before she had a chance to move, Mathew dropped to his knees beside the coffin, and raised the wooden stake high above his head, before plunging it into Mary’s chest.

Mary screamed.

It was not the normal sound of a girl screaming, but a guttural, almost inhuman emanation which seemed to fill the very air around them.

Mathew brought the hammer down hard on top of the stake, driving it deeper into the hapless girl’s chest. He swung it three more times until he could hear the point reaching the wooden base of the coffin.

The figure of Mary Grant lay, as she first appeared, with her eyes closed and the angelic look of a young girl at peace.

Mathew stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He turned to Father James. “It is done!” he informed him.

The priest made the sign of the cross and signalled for the men around him to continue with their work.

The lid was positioned back on the coffin, with the top of the stake sticking out from the young girl’s chest, and the nails were hammered back into place.

Mathew and Father James stood back and waited for the coffin to be lowered back into the ground, then the priest said the last of his prayers while the gravediggers filled the hole with earth.