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Dead Village Page 22
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* * * * *
It was a fine dry day, and only a light breeze filled the air as Father Tim O’Neill walked from the church for the last time.
He stood sadly for a moment as he held Scraps under his arm and scanned his surroundings. A group of people, mainly young girls, stood huddled around the church door as they said their goodbye’s to him. Tim almost felt like a pop star, and still managed a joke to the sad looking faces surrounding him.
“I hear there’s a fine looking and younger priest than I coming to take over from me ladies,” he said, laughing.
As he walked away he talked to Scraps with affection.
“Today you go to your knew home, my little friend,” he said, as Scraps, ears pricked, wagged its tail at him. He sat the dog on the passenger seat of his little car, and drove away from the waving crowd. As he looked in his rear mirror, through the waving, he could see the church slowly fade into the background.
“I’m taking you to meet your new parents,” he told Scraps.
“Oh what a fine life you are going to have my little friend. I will sorely miss you though. In any event, they will be keeping in touch with me, and they can send me photos and reports of how you are doing, so make sure you behave yourself, you little scallywag.”
Scraps barked, as though he understood, and Tim wiped a tear from his eye and pushed the pedal.
* * * * *
When Francis placed the key into the door lock, she felt a little shock run through her wrist and she jerked back slightly.
“What’s wrong,” Tully asked.
“Just me being clumsy with my wrist movement,” she replied.
Tully laughed.
As Francis opened the door, she turned to Tully and smiled.
“Do you remember me mentioning to you earlier today that I had something to tell you, Tully?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, still puzzled.
“Well come inside and I wi…”
Something was wrong. A bitter cold air filled the hallway, and Tully immediately pushed Francis behind him.
Francis dropped the shopping bags down to the floor with a clatter, and gripped Tully tightly.
“What in Gods name?” Tully whispered, as he slowly moved along, down the hallway and into the darkened living room.
He flicked at the light switch, but the room stayed dark.
Now as great a fear as he had ever felt before, surged through his body, as his eyes focused in the darkness.
Francis entered behind, her hand firmly on his shoulder, squeezing.
The living room was even colder than the hallway. Freezing it was. Tully scanned around, but could see nothing.
“Get out of here Francis, get out now” he whispered in a commanding tone, his teeth chattering in the almost artic like conditions.
“No!”
“You must Francis, it’s me it wants.”
Tully knew the demon had returned to take him. There could be no other rational explanation for it. It had just taken a bit longer than he thought. He also knew the demon was here, right now, in his house, and he didn’t want Francis to get hurt. Now with Dan gone, and Thomas dead, he knew this time it would be hopeless.
He leaned against the wall; his strength somehow drained, and moved his hands to his face in despair.
He turned to look at Francis with tears in his eyes.
* * * * *
Father O’Neill pulled up at the house and once again lifted little Scraps from the seat. In the other hand he held a dog leash and two small plastic coloured bowls.
As he moved to the front door, which lay wide open, he could see groceries in the hallway which had fallen out from discarded bags. Shopping bags sat half in, half out of the doorway, and a few smashed eggs had rolled out from their box and down onto the road side. As he cautiously moved nearer, he could hear raised voices from inside, and Tim felt his stomach tighten. Something was happening here, something very bad, he knew.
“Get out Francis, please, save yourself,” Tully’s familiar voice sounded.
“No, I won’t leave you,” Francis answered.
The priest could feel the cold in the hallway, and the odd smell. A smell he had come across before. He instantly realised what the problem was.
Tim dropped the bowls and dog leash on top of the bags, and with Scraps still held firmly under his arm, he rushed into the house.
“Tully, Francis,” he shouted.
“In here Tim,” Francis’s voice answered.
As the priest entered the dark freezing room, Scraps struggled and leapt from his arm, down to the floor.
“Scraps,” Tim shouted, but Scraps ignored him and ran to a far corner, barking into the darkness.
“It has returned for me Tim,” Tully stated, pointing to the corner. “It’s here!”
Father O’Neill instinctively pushed his hand down to retrieve his crucifix, but he had it packed away inside his suitcase.
As he stood in his jeans and casual shirt, he suddenly felt helpless. Scraps moved slowly back, still barking, as the hooded figure moved slowly out from the dark corner.
The small room made it look much bigger since when they had last seen it in the open forest, and as it moved out it into the centre of the room, it pulled at its hood, revealing a hideous and ravaged face.
Francis pushed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound she knew she couldn’t prevent, as Tully visibly swayed.
“My God,” Tim whispered.
Scraps barked again.
“It’s Charles,” Father O’Neill stated. “And I don’t think he’s here to harm you Tully.”
The creature wasn’t levitating this time, but standing on the ground, shaking and fighting for breath, and at once they could tell how much a pathetic state the creature was in. Small tufts of hair covered its otherwise bald scarred head, and a large deep gash ran from its eye to its chin, the result of its battle in the forest with the little dead girl. A thick green substance drooled from its mouth.
Francis sobbed.
It raised its arm and pointed into the far corner. A pitiful cry came from its throat as it tried to speak, and Tully moved across to where it pointed.
“It’s the spear, he’s showing us the spear,” Tully cried.
The deep rasping voice was struggling to say something.
“K-ki-kil-meee.”
Tully lifted the spear and held it horizontal, point aimed toward the creature.
“He wants us to kill him,” Tully said.
“Killlll-meeee,” the voice rasped again.
“We must end his suffering,” Tully stated. “Charles saved us in the forest.”
As he drew back the spear to strike, Francis shouted.
“No Tully, if you use the spear, you’ll die. Remember what Dan said.”
“But Dan used it?” Tully answered.
“Yes but he was accepted by the Lakota.”
Tully pulled the spear back further, ignoring her.
“Do you want me to be like my mother and bring our baby up on my own Tully?” Francis shouted.
Tully turned to her.
“Our baby?”
“Yes, that’s what I was going to tell you. I’m pregnant Tully. I need you with me now. I don’t want our child to grow up without a father.”
“Pl-lee-s, ki-lll-meee,” the creature begged.
Tully paused for a moment, then pushed the spear into the priest’s hands.
“You must do it Tim, now,” he ordered. “We owe it to Charles. You must end this for him. Only you can do this thing.”
Father O’Neill stared at the creature and raised the spear.
“Do it,” Tully shouted, “do it.”
“I can’t,” Father O’Neill croaked as he lowered the spear. I just can’t kill any living thing. I’ve taken vows o…”
Suddenly, Francis pulled the spear from him and rammed it into the creature’s heart.
“Nooo Francis, you’ll die…” Tulley shouted, but it was too late.
&n
bsp; “Go to your mother Charles,” Francis sobbed.
Charles staggered back against the wall, the spear stuck firmly in his chest, and they watched as his face rapidly changed.
A blue glow emulated all around him, as the tufts of hair disappeared, and the gash on his face healed. He began to take on a human like appearance, and soon he was the Charles of old. He smiled a caring smile at them.
At the end of the room a white curtain of light beamed down from ceiling to floor, and two figures stood, watching, arms outstretched. It was Greta and Ben, motioning to him, and he moved toward them. Just before he entered the light, he turned and nodded a thank you. Then he was gone and the light disappeared. Only the old Indian spear lay where the light had been. The cold was now dispersing rapidly, and the room temperature returned to normal.
Tully looked across to Francis. She had used the spear, but she was still alive.
“How can this be?” Tully questioned, as he stared at her, puzzled. Didn’t Dan say anyone using the spear would die? Tully thought.
Francis could read his body language, and the look of shock etched on his face. Why Francis could read what he was thinking.
“You forget Tully; I have an innocent child growing inside of me. The curse couldn’t kill me. Besides, you’re forgetting something.”
Tully stared at her for a moment, puzzled.
“Sure wasn’t my father a priest.”
Tully smiled and hugged her tightly, and then they said their goodbyes to Father O’Neill.
As he drove off he could hear Scraps barking behind him.
“Goodbye little friend,” he said, “goodbye.”
Francis had asked Tully to get rid of the spear, so Scraps first adventure was to accompany Tully deep into the forest, where Tully had wrapped the spear in cloth and laid it back into the earth where it had come from. He had dug the hole deep, and buried it in a place where no one would ever think of looking.
He thought of Thomas Lapahie, and as he looked into the sky, he could almost see the big Lakota Indian smile down at him. He walked away sadly, as Scraps followed behind, tail wagging.
CHAPTER 23
“Where have you been Patrick?” Kathleen Shawnessy yelled, as her son, Patrick, head bowed, walked sheepishly into the house.
“What’s that you have there in your hand?”
Patrick pushed his hand behind his back.
“Give me that!”
Patrick ran to his room, as his mother climbed the stairs behind him, and he quickly pushed the object inside his school bag.
“You’ve been playing with that trouble-maker; Billy Dowds again, haven’t you?” Kathleen bellowed as she pushed her way passed the door.
“No mother, I haven’t, Patrick lied.”
“Don’t lie to me boy. Haven’t I told you about playing with Billy Dowds? He’ll get you into all sorts of trouble, with his smoking, and stealing from the shops. I’ve even heard he was drinking last week. His mother turns a blind eye to it because she just doesn’t care what he does, and at fifteen years of age at that. I’ll not be turning a blind eye to you though my boy, you can be sure of that,” the angry woman almost screamed at him, her face sullen.
“I did nothing wrong mother.”
“Oh, so you call walking in at half past ten at night doing nothing wrong do you?”
“I forgot the time,” Patrick lied again.
“Well you won’t forget it next time in a hurry, because you’re grounded my boy, do you hear me? Grounded!”
Patrick wanted to yell at her. Tell her to go away and leave him the hell alone. Billy was his friend, and he would damn well play with him if he wanted to.
“What did you have in your hand when you came in tonight?” Kathleen pushed on.
“I had nothing, nothing,” he sobbed.
Kathleen pulled his schoolbag from under the bed and pulled out the little blue bears head with the hole in it.
“So you had nothing you say, what’s this then?”
“I found it floating on the river, down at the bridge, it’s mine,” he spat.
“You will bring any damn rubbish into this house. What in Gods good name would you be wanting with a ripped up piece of trash like this for anyway?”
“I-I like it,” Patrick stuttered.
“Well, get rid of it, now,” she ordered.
When his mother left the room, Patrick placed two old tennis balls in a black plastic bag, and hid the little torn bears head in the corner, under some games.
He quickly ran downstairs and threw the bag of tennis balls into the little stainless steel bin in the kitchen, as his mother watched from the sink.
She suddenly felt guilty for her outburst, but sometimes you just have to be cruel to be kind with children, she felt. He suddenly looked so small and innocent to her though, and after all, he did throw the bears head out when she asked him.
It had been hard for her bringing Patrick up on her own, but after the accident those six years previous, when her husband and daughter had been killed in the crash. She had struggled hard, physically and emotionally to keep going on with her life. In fact, she knew the only reason she hadn’t ended her torture was because of Patrick.
Patrick was all she had in life now.
As he walked away, she called affectionately to him.
“Look, I’m sorry I got so upset and shouted at you, but I worry about you Patrick. It’s all for your own good son.”
Patrick ignored his mother and walked upstairs in a huff.
“I hate you,” he seethed, under his breath.
When he finally got into bed, he brought the bears head with him.
“What has happened to you?” Patrick whispered, as he poked his finger into the large hole in the bears head, and probed.
“I’ll have to give you a name my little friend. How about if I call you Rumplestilskin? Or maybe, Einstein, cause’ you look kind of smart?”
“Or what about if I call you Blue Boy?”
He held the little blue bears head at arms length and studied it as though it was the best thing he had ever found.
“I know you’re not a girl because of all the fights you must have been in, with all of those injuries you received in battle. “Maybe I should name you Lancelot, because he was a brave knight of the round table, who fought many jousts.”
He stared affectionately at the little bears head and hugged it tightly.
“No! I’ll name you Blue Boy and have done with it.”
Then he yawned and tightly propped the little bears head between the end of the pillow and the wall.
“Night, Blue Boy,” he smiled.
Patrick stared into its sad torn face, before sleep finally claimed him.
* * * * *
Tully had promised Francis’s cousin’s son that he would take him fishing for some time now, and today he would fulfil his promise.
He hunched down as he passed Francis in the kitchen, fishing rods in hand, and put his ear to her swelled Belly.
“How’s my little fella doing in there? Huh?”
“The baby’s fine,” Francis said. “It may not be a little fella though Tully. It may just be a little girl.”
“It’s a boy, Tully said matter of factly. “I just know it. It’s a family thing,” he added.
“My uncle Harold had six boys, zero girls, and my uncle Edward had seven boys and one girl.
“Well, maybe for you, this is the one girl,” she joked.
“Just wait until we’ve had five or six, then you’ll see who’s right,” Tully stated.
“If you want five or six children Tully, then you’d better start advertising elsewhere right now, because it’s just not going to happen,” she laughed.
“Well, I’ll be off then, and I’ll be home around five. I’ll bring you back a nice fresh trout,” Tully promised.
“Take care,” Francis called, and then he was gone.
* * * * *
At the river, Tully and the boy had been fishing for about tw
o hours with no luck, when suddenly the boy’s rod twitched.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Tully whispered. The rod jerked twice more as the impatient boy eyed him intently.
“Strike!” Tully yelled, and the boy whipped the rod back.
“He’s a big bugger,” Tully claimed, as the rod almost bent in two.
“Easy, don’t reel so fast, play with it, because we’ll need the net for this big fellow,” Tully informed him, as he walked over to fetch the net.
As he bent down to pick up the net, something caught his eye. It was just inside the boy’s bag, which was almost discarded on the ground, the flap lying open. Something familiar.
Tully could hear him shouting excitedly in the background.
“Get the net Tully, quickly, get the net. It’s going to get away.”
Tully ignored him, and pulled the opening of the bag wider. He cocked his head, puzzled and somehow frightened, as he reached into the bag and slowly pulled at the blue object.
“Get the net Tully, get the net,” the boy continued to shout.
Tully stepped back and quickly dropped Mr Cliff from his hand.
A thousand shock waves covered Tully’s body and he recoiled in horror, as he stared at the little blue bears head lying on the grass.
When Patrick glanced around, he could see Blue Boy lying on the ground. Tully stood over it, straight and stiff.
“What is this Patrick?” Tully whispered, unaware that the boy could hear him.
“What’s wrong Tully?” Patrick asked, as he stood behind Tully, aware that fishing was now the last thing on Tully’s mind as he stood trance like over the little bears head.
“Wh-where did you get that fucking thing?” Tully said pointing.
Patrick felt his cheeks redden, now that his tough relative had caught him concealing a little child’s teddy bears head.
“Someone must have put it in there,” Patrick lied. “I-I never seen it before, honest,” he stammered.
Tully could feel his heart race, as the fear returned,
Instinctively, he kicked it out onto the river, and the little bears head floated for a few seconds, bobbing in the ripples like a little boat.