Death on Allhallowe’en (2 page)

‘All you lack is a Devil's Punchbowl.'

John smiled.

‘We can manage that too. Or, at least, a disused well, reputed to be bottomless but probably only deep. It's on the road out to Garries'. It's known as the Bottomless Pit—that's the sort of exaggerated term we go in for round Clibburn.'

‘Any other anomalies?'

‘Among my parishioners? Not more than usual. And no one I have any reason to connect with what you call goings-on. Connor Horseman's wife Mavis is another nice sensible person. There are some friendly high-spirited youngsters. An amiable publican and a few sinners. But, as I've told you, you might think it a very ordinary village at first sight.'

‘Then I simply don't understand what you mean by saying you're frightened.'

‘I haven't told you the most disturbing thing. You simply won't be able to laugh at this, Carolus, because it involves the death of a little boy. You may think I'm a credulous ass to connect it in any way with the things I have suggested, though I can't see how it can be otherwise. I'll tell you the story.'

'Let me fill your glass. Go ahead.'

‘As you can imagine, in a village like this a good deal happens on Allhallowe'en.'

Carolus smiled.

‘I imagine you can scarcely hear yourself speak for the whoosh of broomsticks overhead.'

‘I meant that it is celebrated by everyone,' said John Stainer reproachfully. ‘Children's parties. Dance in the village hall.'

‘So it is in thousands of other villages. It has become quite a thing lately.'

‘Well, yes. But in Clibburn it's more than that.'

‘You've let this get on your nerves, John. You can't take this phony tradition seriously? Allhallowe'en, as we know it, is an American thing. Steeple hats, broomsticks and that.'

‘It was something more than that last year in Clibburn. On the day following, which as you know is All Saints' Day, one of my parishioners came to see me in a very excited state. His name is Albert Gunning. He was born in the village and owns the petrol station. It was a blacksmith's forge in his father's time, but Albert made it a garage just before the war. He still keeps the old forge and amuses himself with metalwork. He's a man in his fifties with a wife much younger than himself. Quite intelligent. The last man you'd have thought to be upset by the so-called supernatural. He did not seem able to tell me what he wanted at first, then he told me that his wife had told him to come for me. His wife is a Guyswoman. It was for their little boy. He was in a bad way. I told him I'd come at once, but there was something else he wanted to say. There was devil's work in it, he said. Young Cyril had been all right yesterday. Eventually I got out of him what he was trying to tell me. They wanted me to exorcise the boy. They believed he was possessed of the devil.'

Carolus took this quite seriously.

‘And did you?' he asked.

‘I went back with Albert. He has a neat little modern bungalow behind the petrol station. I remember thinking what a
strange world we live in when from surroundings like this one can get a call for exorcism. I found Cicely Gunning, the wife, fairly calm but very anxious that I should do what she asked. “Cyril's asleep now because the doctor has given him something. But it's what I say, Mr Stainer. The devil's in him, and he won't live long unless you can do what we ask you. He's been saying terrible things all day.” '

John Stainer had asked how it started.

‘ “He went out yesterday evening,” she said. “He was as right as rain then. Fooling about with the other boys. I thought they were up to some lark—it was Allhallowe'en—and didn't worry when he didn't come back before dark. But when it came to nine o'clock I began to think something was wrong and sent Albert out to have a look for him. You read such things in the papers about children. But there was no sign of him anywhere about here, and when Albert asked at one or two houses it seemed that all the other children had come home hours ago.

‘ “Well, then we raised the alarm. We went to Rutters.” Rutters is our local policeman. He comes from the mainland and is not much liked in Clibburn. “Lot of good he was. Some of the men started out in different directions. One thing was, nobody had seen any strangers about or cars in the village that didn't belong here. But I was worried out of my mind.

‘ “Towards morning Albert came back with nothing to report. All of a sudden something came to me and I told him to look out towards the Beacon.” '

John Stainer paused. ‘The Beacon's a bit of a rise about two miles from Clibburn. I did not think to ask Cicely Gunning why she had chosen that, but I wish I had. She certainly did not say.'

‘Something came to her,' said Carolus thoughtfully. ‘She told you so.'

‘Typical,' said John. ‘They're all full of this nonsense. Guys people don't talk about their local traditions, and when I
asked someone else about the Beacon all I heard was that it had a bad name. Cicely looked very strained when she talked about it, then said a rather dramatic thing. “He found him there,
of course.”
It appeared that Albert found young Cyril lying beside a footpath that led towards Clibburn. He was very cold and frightened, but did not say much at first except to whisper to his father, “I ran away, Dad.”

‘Albert got him home as quickly as he could and he was wrapped up in bed with hot-water bottles. In the morning he became delirious and said the terrible things that Cicely Gunning had mentioned. The doctor was sent for, diagnosed pneumonia, and gave him a sleeping pill. It was at this stage that I was called in.'

‘What did you do?'

‘To be truthful, I could only prevaricate. I know there is a form of exorcism which is occasionally used in extreme cases, but I had no idea where it could be found, and in any case I decided I couldn't do anything without the bishop's authority, and he was abroad attending a conference. It was a very difficult matter for me to decide. I told Albert and Cicely that I would try to get authority and would come back next day. I put it off as long as I could and then decided that I would act on my own responsibility. I blessed some water as I do for the stoup in the church and set out for the house. But it was too late. Cyril had died that morning.'

‘Of pneumonia?'

‘That was the officially given cause.'

‘But you think it was something else?'

‘I have only the boy's words spoken in delirium to go on. I think he had been present at some sort of Black Mass.'

‘Really, John!'

‘There was something else. Cicely Gunning said that when Albert brought him in he had blood on his face. No wound, but dried blood.'

‘She washed it off, of course?'

‘Oh, yes. She was horrified.'

'So it was never examined or analysed?'

‘No. A mother doesn't leave bloodstains on her son to be analysed.'

‘I suppose not.'

‘Why didn't you come to me at the time?' Carolus asked. Then without waiting for an answer he said, ‘I suppose there was an investigation?'

‘I suppose so. Two plain-clothes men were in the village, but they had nothing to go on but Cicely's story of bloodstains and some words uttered in delirium by an eight-year-old boy. Guys people become mute on such occasions. At all events Cyril was buried, and things went on much as before.'

‘Till next Allhallowe'en presumably?'

John Stainer looked serious.

‘That's on Saturday week,' he said.

‘I see what you mean by saying you're frightened. You think there may be another incident?'

‘Listen, Carolus. I'm not a fool and I'm not superstitious. Obviously I don't believe in black magic or witchcraft or anything of the sort. That's to say I don't believe in what they represent. But I do believe that there are people who practise these rites, and I think such people are dangerous. I want you to come and stay with me for a fornight or so. You're not teaching this term.'

‘No. The headmaster calls it a sabbatical. He didn't suppose it would be a witches' sabbath.'

‘But you're free.'

‘Yes.'

‘Then come over. I've told you I have a comfortable rectory. The last incumbent was a rich man and installed central heating
and made a lot of changes. You'd find the place interesting even if you don't believe a word of what I've told you.'

‘I find most places interesting. Particularly isolated villages.'

‘And if you do think there's any sort of danger I imagine you'll like it all the better.'

‘Yes. Up to a point. I value my life.'

‘Oh, I don't mean that sort of danger.'

‘I do, oddly enough.'

‘You mean for you or me? No. Whatever is going on affects these people only. It's among themselves. I'm sure of that.'

‘I dare say you're right. How will you account for me?'

‘Old Service friend.'

‘But you say they resent all strangers?'

‘They don't show it. You would be treated in an outwardly friendly way.'

‘Unless they thought I was snooping? Anyway, thank you, John. I'd like to come.'

‘Good. Then I'll tell you something else. It may be my imagination, but I have thought, in these last weeks, that there is a new tension in the air. I get my congregation on Sunday just the same, but very few of my parishioners seem to come my way or talk to me privately. There's a good deal of whispering….'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘Heads close together. Little solemn groups. I can't explain. There's an
atmosphere,
Carolus. Can't you understand that?'

‘It's a good thing I've known you for a long time, John. If anyone else gave me all this I should send him to a psychiatrist.'

‘You may be right. All the more reason why you should come. But let us suppose for a moment that there are people in my parish who practise diabolism. The fact that the thing itself is nonsense does not make those that have faith in it any less liable to do evil and dangerous things, as you yourself have said.'

‘You think they may have been responsible for the little boy's death?'

'Cyril died of pneumonia. But how did he get it?'

‘I see what you mean. I should like to know what these terrible things were that he said.'

‘Shouted.'

‘Or shouted in delirium.'

‘You must wait till you see Cicely Gunning. She will remember most of them, and I don't want to confuse you with the bits that have stuck in my mind. They're not pleasant to hear in the circumstances. But whatever happened to him that night was not the work of a single person. He perpetually spoke of “them”. I think they as good as murdered the child.'

‘Oh, come! You don't as good as murder, surely. You either murder or you don't, and Cyril died of pneumonia.'

‘Well, caused his death.'

‘That's better.'

‘I wish I had exorcised him. You're an RC, Carolus, and probably don't believe in our Orders.'

‘On the contrary. But go on.'

‘According to the teaching of your own Church, exorcism like baptism can be undertaken by anyone in an emergency.'

‘You really believe the boy was “possessed”?'

‘I don't know what to believe. But I'm very glad you're coming to Clibburn.'

‘I am almost as interested in the story of the crucifix hung upside down,' said Carolus thoughtfully.

‘Yes. It was an ugly sight.'

‘Did you ever mention it to the man who gave you the crucifix?'

‘Connor? Yes. But he was not much impressed, I'm afraid. He seemed to think it had no more importance than a childish anonymous letter. I couldn't agree with that, as you may guess.'

‘Nor I. It seems to me that at this stage it is the only positive proof that something is seriously wrong. I certainly want to come.'

‘Good. And I hope you can make it soon.'

‘Tomorrow,' promised Carolus.

'Morning?'

‘No. I'll come about four in the afternoon.'

‘Splendid. I shall expect you.'

When John Stainer had left Carolus called Mrs Stick, his efficient, devoted but somewhat tyrannical housekeeper, a small woman with steel-rimmed spectacles, skilled in perceiving the first signs of Carolus's interest in crime and trying to circumvent them.

‘Oh, Mrs Stick,' he said casually—too casually he felt—‘I'm thinking of going away for a couple of weeks.'

Her face did not change as she peered at him.

‘Indeed, sir? Away?'

‘Yes, away, Mrs Stick. I'm going to stay with my old friend John Stainer at his country rectory.'

Mrs Stick had great respect for the cloth.

‘That will be very nice for you. Where might it be?'

‘A place called Clibburn, in Kent.'

Carolus could almost see Mrs Stick running through the files of her daily paper searching for any accounts of crime connected with Clibburn.

‘Won't it be a trifle dull for you, sir?' she asked suspiciously. ‘There won't be much happening in a small village.'

‘That's exactly what I hope,' lied Carolus. ‘I want a rest.'

‘Well. I'll pack your things,' conceded Mrs Stick. ‘It's to be hoped you're speaking the truth, sir.'

‘I thought perhaps you and Stick might like to have a week or two's holiday while I'm away.'

‘It's not the time of year for holidays,' pointed out Mrs Stick unresponsively.

‘Still, a little change …'

‘I'll see what Stick says.'

When she returned a few minutes later it was with a brighter face.

‘Stick says he
would
like a breath of sea air,' she told Carolus. ‘Even though the summer's over, as you might say. He fancies Margate.'

'I should have thought that might be rather dreary in autumn.'