Will and Eloise both looked up at the ceiling of Chris and Rachel’s sitting room as a rogue gust of wind tested the building around them, reverberating through the timbers. They were sitting across from each other on the green sofas and as they lowered their eyes again, Eloise said, “I hope that woman’s cat comes back—when this is over.”
It was just after eleven on Saturday night and Chris and Rachel were seeing off the last of their customers, not that there were many of them. On their walk through the city, Will and Eloise had found it oddly deserted for a weekend evening and one of the few people they’d met had been a woman looking for her cat.
“I’m sure it will, though I suppose that depends on what this is.”
“Nature foresees a catastrophe,” she said, echoing Will’s words of the night before. Another rogue gust of wind pummeled the house and she glanced up briefly. “You’re right though. If only we knew what kind of catastrophe it’ll be.”
She’d misunderstood him and now he said, “Don’t you see? The catastrophe is me. My very existence is an affront to everything that is natural and good.”
Eloise’s response was simple and unshakeable. “I don’t believe that.”
But before either of them could say any more, they were interrupted by the sound of Chris and Rachel approaching, chatting in a light-hearted fashion. Will’s arm started to ache and burn, the stubborn return of that ill omen whenever they were near. They looked innocent enough though—he had to admit that to himself—and happy, too, as Rachel sat next to Will and Chris settled down at Eloise’s side.
Immediately, Chris looked across at Will and said, “We’ve had some success. I’m not making any promises, but I think we’ve narrowed it down to three possibilities, all within about thirty miles of here.”
“Is one of them Puckhurst?”
“Yes,” said Chris, puzzled.
“Good, because that’s the one. We came here to tell you.”
Rachel turned to face him and said, “But how did you find out, and I mean, how do you know that’s the one?”
“It’s a long story, but I’m absolutely certain that Asmund is in Puckhurst.”
“Right now?”
Will nodded and said, “I was hoping you might be prepared to take me there.”
“Is tonight soon enough for you?” It reassured Will to hear Chris say that—he didn’t try to buy time, whether to lay plans or inform others. Maybe Eloise had been right about them all along.
But Will didn’t have time to answer the question. There was a sudden blast of wind, as if one of those rogue gusts had finally prized open an upstairs window. It died away just as suddenly and a book flew violently from the shelves on the far wall and landed with a thump on the coffee table in front of them. It fell open as it landed.
Both Chris and Rachel jumped backwards in their seats, a look of terror on their faces that didn’t bode well for them being much help if there were trials ahead. Eloise jumped, too, but immediately rallied herself and said, “What book is it?”
She leaned forwards, but as she reached out, the pages of the volume burst into flames, a fire so intense that it was hard to believe the book hadn’t been soaked in some sort of fuel.
Will shielded his eyes from the glare, but he couldn’t help but smile, too—this had to be the work of the female spirits, trying to warn him off, but it was only making him all the more determined to unearth Puckhurst’s secret.
Rachel jumped from her seat and ran out of the room, coming back a moment later with a jug of water, which she threw over the burning book. The flames died immediately and Chris gingerly brushed away the pages that had been reduced to a black film of ash.
“Well, I never,” he said as he revealed the first two surviving pages, each of them bearing a large illustration and only singed around the edges.
“It’s my tarot book,” said Rachel, glancing at the shelf from which it had flown, then pointing at the two pictures, which had now been revealed, each of a tarot card. “That’s the Hanged Man, suspended upside down by one foot. And, of course, Death needs no explanation, though the card rarely refers to death itself.”
Will wasn’t interested in death. What intrigued him was the picture of the hanged man, and perhaps the position of the two pictures was significant.
“A hanged man, but possibly a suspended king, and to find him means also finding death.” He looked at the three of them. “It’s a warning—the spirits that did this don’t want us to go to Puckhurst.”
It was Rachel who responded first, saying, “But do you want to go?”
“Of course.”
She looked determined as she said, “Then our car’s in the garage out the back—we’re ready when you are.”
“Do you know how to get there?”
Chris nodded, and they all ignored the flickering of the lights as he said, “Is there anything you need?”
A low rumble of thunder growled ominously across the sky overhead and Rachel laughed nervously. “I was just going to say, how odd, thunder in November, but I don’t suppose it’s any odder than books spontaneously combusting.”
Eloise laughed, too, and said, “I was just thinking exactly the same thing!”
Will was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Their mood was too light, as if they saw this as some great adventure. His real concern was that he was leading them into a greater danger than they realized, and Eloise most of all.
“Do you have any weaponry?” The smiles faded as they stared in Will’s direction. He couldn’t believe that they hadn’t given any thought to the dangers that might lie ahead, but he said carefully, “There are clearly forces that will try to stop me reaching Puckhurst. I can’t even be certain that the man I hope to find there will talk willingly, and Asmund is not some ephemeral spirit—he will be as solid as I am and perhaps less well disposed towards the world. So I have nothing to lose, but you should consider carefully before setting out on this journey.”
Chris smiled and said, “We can’t speak for Ella, I mean, Eloise, but as for Rachel and me, this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to us.” He waved his arms around, gesturing at the books and ornaments that filled the house. “You’ve seen all this stuff—we’ve been looking for proof of ghosts or the supernatural for years, and we’re not gonna pass up an opportunity like this. No way.”
Backing him up, Rachel said helpfully, “We have a samurai sword. We were given it by a Japanese company we did business with in the dot-com days. It’s hanging on the wall in the office, but it’s a real sword.”
“Good, may I borrow it?”
Chris got up as the lights flickered again, and Eloise called after him, saying, “And Chris, do you have any torches?”
“Yeah, but we’ve also got an electric camping lantern—that might be better.”
Will turned to her and said, “I won’t need a lantern, and I think I should go into the church on my own.”
Eloise looked him straight in the eye with steely determination as she said, “I hate to remind you of this, Will, but did I not help you at least a little with your brother? Did I not find Puckhurst on the map?”
“Detection work and dealing with spirits is one thing, but I fear there’s something more evil about the creature we hope to find at Puckhurst than in anything we’ve yet encountered.”
“Then perhaps you need me more than ever. Anyway, I think I’ve earned the right to come after everything that’s happened.”
Will didn’t respond, realizing how determined Eloise was, how little chance he had of dissuading her. Perhaps he should have mentioned his real fear, that he’d be asked to sacrifice her just as the spirits had suggested, but he didn’t remind her of it because he knew it wouldn’t sway her, and because a part of him wanted her to be there.
Chris walked in carrying the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other. He handed the lantern to Eloise. Will took the sword and pulled it a little out of its sheath to inspect the blade—light but razor-sharp. “Let’s hope we have no use for it.”
The lights flickered again as they got up to leave, and as they emerged into the small yard at the back of the house, the wind was gusting violently and the clouds were stacking up with menace in the dark sky above.
Something fell and shattered not far away, a roof tile perhaps. The buildings all around them creaked and groaned. And beyond the edge of the city, the sky flickered with lightning, illuminating the mountains of black cloud looming overhead.
They climbed into Chris and Rachel’s Range Rover and set off towards the West Gate. Will and Eloise were in the back and she looked at him now and said, “Have you been in a car before?”
“In the 1980s, a number of times. I wanted to know what it was like so I used to take taxi journeys—it relaxed me.”
“I doubt it did the same for the driver,” said Chris.
Will smiled and Rachel said, “It’s astonishing to think of you traveling around the city in a taxi back when we were students. It seems such a long time ago. Though I don’t suppose you see it like that.”
“Sometimes everything seems a long time ago.”
No one responded at first, and then Rachel started to say something, but ground to a halt as the lights of the city went out, the streets reduced to total blackness. And, a second later, thunder boomed and cracked across the sky above them.
“Must’ve been a lightning strike,” said Chris, though no one believed it was that innocent.
They drove through the West Gate and out through the suburbs of the city, all shrouded in the same inky darkness. And the further they got from the city, the more fiercely the wind buffeted the car and squally rain lashed itself in sheets against the windshield.
Anyone driving for pleasure would have given up and returned home, and Will guessed that was exactly the purpose of this weather, to make them turn back. But Chris slowed down and leaned forwards to peer at the road ahead where their own headlights were the only illumination.
They turned on to more minor roads, single-track and hemmed by hedgerows. The wind ripped at the winter branches and scattered them in front of the car where they snarled under the wheels and clattered away.
The thunder seemed to grow more distant for a short while, but then lightning blasted down in front of them, exploding into the bare branches of a tree, which fell burning in their path. Still Chris didn’t stop, and even accelerated briefly to clear the flames.
But then they rounded a bend and as the headlights illuminated the rain-lashed lane ahead of them, Chris hit the brakes and stared open-mouthed. Will moved into the middle of the backseat to get a better look.
Someone was walking in the road, walking slowly away from them, a woman in a dark hooded robe.
“I don’t like this,” said Chris.
“Nor me,” said Rachel.
They looked back at Will and then he heard Eloise, sounding nervous, but trying to overcome it. “What should we do, Will? Do you think it’s one of the spirits we saw?”
He looked at the figure who’d stopped moving as they’d halted. No one would be out walking on a night such as this; no one would ignore a car behind them—only a spirit that was determined to slow their progress. Even so, Will could understand Eloise’s hint of doubt because the woman looked very real, even more so than the one who’d appeared in his chambers.
“Drive through her. It’s a spirit.”
Rachel glanced forwards and said uncertainly, “Are you sure? She looks awfully solid to me.”
Will looked at Chris and said, “Trust me, drive through her.”
Chris nodded and the car started to move again, building speed. The rain still prevented them from seeing the woman properly, but the closer they got, the more solid she looked, no spirit but flesh and blood.
Rachel shouted, “Chris, stop!”
“Drive through her,” said Will firmly.
“Chris, no—you’ll kill her!”
Chris ignored Rachel, looking grimly determined, and now they were only seconds away from hitting the woman.
“Will?” It was Eloise, wanting reassurance.
Rachel covered her eyes and shouted again, “Chris!”
And, at the last second, the woman started to turn to face them. Chris slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The car ploughed into her. But there was no deafening thud. They passed right through her, or she passed through them, the energy shaking the car, and bringing with it a terrifying female scream that clawed at them and tore their eardrums.
Chris stopped braking even before they’d come to a stop, then accelerated again, his knuckles white where they gripped the wheel. Will and Eloise both looked behind them, but there was nothing there to see, even as the echo of the scream still died away.
Will expected this would be the moment they chose to go no further, but Chris screamed himself, an exhilarated sound, and Rachel joined in and then she turned, her eyes wide open as she said, “Can you believe that! I thought I’d never do anything wilder than bungee jumping but that …!”
Will looked at Eloise. She looked calmer, but smiled at him and, guessing he needed an explanation, she said, “It’s this sport where you tie a long piece of elastic around your ankles and jump off a very high bridge.”
“Oh.” He was too confused by their reaction to ask why anyone would want to do such a thing. They had been terrified, he was certain of that, but they had apparently brushed it off as if this, too, was merely a sport to them.
They drove for another ten minutes before a flash of lightning lit up the sky and briefly illuminated a church on a small hill before sending it hurtling back into the darkness.
“That’s it,” said Rachel. “The turning must be just ahead on the left.”
Chris slowed even further and veered onto a narrow track that led down into some woods where the bare branches of the trees danced wildly in the storm. He stopped the car and turned off the engine.
If there was any fear left in them from the encounter with the spirit, they were masking it well. Chris was almost breezy as he said, “It’s by foot from here, I’m afraid. But it shouldn’t be far.”
Will turned to Eloise and said, “I’ll say this one last time—I think I should do this alone. You should stay in the car.”
It was Rachel who answered. “Will, I don’t think it’s a good idea for Eloise to stay in the car on her own. You see, we’re coming in with you, too.”
Will laughed. “I appreciate your support, even your recklessness, but this is my destiny, not yours.”
“You don’t know that,” said Chris. “We all want to go into that church and, you know, I’m not entirely sure how can you stop us, but how do you know that it isn’t our destiny, too? You suggested as much yourself. How do you know we weren’t meant to film you and that you weren’t meant to meet Eloise precisely so that we could walk into that church together?”
Will didn’t answer and Rachel said, “There’s an extra torch in the back. We’ll take that, and Eloise, you take the lantern.”
“Okay,” said Will, admitting to himself that he could hardly stop them—at least, not in any way that he considered acceptable. “But please, try not to shine the torch or lantern near my eyes. And may God preserve all of you.”
“You mean, all of us,” said Eloise.
Will smiled and shook his head. “If there is a God, He abandoned me a long time ago.”
They got out of the car and Rachel pointed the direction uphill through the woods to the spot in the night sky that the church occupied. They started walking, but had only reached the far edge of the trees when the wind and rain grew fiercer, clattering the branches behind them and stinging their faces.
Even Will could feel it pummeling him as he pushed up the hill, but the others struggled to walk at all. Will reached out and took Eloise’s hand and helped to pull her forwards.
They battled on like that, fighting the wind and rain for each step. Will was all too conscious that the ground they walked on had once been homes and roads, and that a community had thrived in this barren spot until the plague had claimed it.
Now it was home to only one resident, Asmund himself, but Will could feel the dead here—they were in the soil and the air and in the stones of the building in front of them. He could even hear them and thought at first it was only him, but then he heard Chris shout something.
“Oh my God, what’s happening there!”
Will and Eloise turned to look back at Chris and Rachel. They’d ground to a halt and were looking at the grass in front of them, which appeared to be churning. A flash of lightning illuminated the small hill and now they could all see it—the earth was pulsating, the bones of the dead rising to the surface as if clawing their way out, before being sucked back under, their cries and moans coming with them on the wind.
“Just keep walking!” shouted Will. “Don’t look at it!”
He didn’t wait, but pulled at Eloise’s hand again and set off, deafened by the wind and thunder and lashing rain, and by the cries of the dead. And when they finally reached the relative calm of the church porch, he was relieved to see Rachel and Chris just a few paces behind them.
The four of them looked a poor sight, rain-soaked and bedraggled, but Will didn’t have time to worry about appearances—Asmund undoubtedly knew they were coming.
Will reached for the heavy black handle on the door and said, “Are we ready?”
They nodded and he stepped into the nave of the church, and only as he walked forwards did he notice that his arm was no longer aching, that the discomfort of the wound had cleared at some point between leaving the car and reaching the church. There was no more need for portents—he had waited more than seven hundred and fifty years for this, and now their meeting was finally at hand.