Dead Village (3 page)

He had been shown a guy who was once a high rolling banker. A guy who was so confident in everything he had done in life. A life and soul of the party type guy whose financial advice kept his friends and family rich beyond their wildest dreams. But when this man's beautiful wife and baby daughter were killed in a plane crash, his mind refused to accept it.

Dan almost cried as he watched the man drool over his chest as he rocked back and forward in his seat.

The guy would talk to his wife and child as though they where still there, laughing and joking with them, then turn violent when he thought someone was asking them to leave.

‘Guys a no hoper,' the orderly had informed him, in a cold, ruthless sort of manner. Now money meant nothing to this sad, pathetic, sick figure seated in front of him.

Yeah, Dan had seen these mentally ill people all right. Their minds all mangled up. He would die first though, he swore. Die from his own hand before he would end up like these sad unwanted individuals.
Beyond the point of no return,
he thought,
and then some.

No way was he going to sit for hours in a straight jacket banging his head off the freekin walls of his ten by eight padded cell, even if he may not know about it.

Then to have someone spoon feed you and maybe abuse you later when no one was looking. Oh yeah, he'd heard the stories too. And if this hallucinating were to get any worse, then it was goodnight buddy, as far as Dan was concerned.

*  *  *  *  *

Dan put his head into his hands and sobbed at the thought of what had happened at the restaurant. ‘I'm your wife,' the woman had said. And although Dan found this hard to contemplate, he had a memory of sorts. A memory of something.

Suddenly his brain was coming alive with thought patterns. Wild surreal thought patterns shooting and darting back and forth like invisible bullets, ricocheting around in the deepest recesses of his mind. Nonsensical but somehow illuminating thoughts that made him tremble visibly.

Dan was aware of how the brain can sometimes play tricks on people.
The brain is a much too complex an organ,
he thought.

This though, was different. These dreams he had been having were more like memories. Real and proper memories, that stayed in place, and could be recalled up later. No; to say these were dreams he was having would be wrong. These were real events that had actually happened to him sometime, somehow. And of this he was now certain.

A shiver ran down his spine as he concentrated hard.

He was starting to have flashbacks of the bedraggled woman who had come to him at the restaurant. In his memory though, this woman wasn't like this at all. She was beautiful. He could visualise her clearly now. She was standing in the sunlight smiling seductively at him. He could even remember her smell. ‘Beatrice,' the woman at the restaurant had called herself. “I know you Beatrice,” he whispered. “I know you.”

Memories of the pair of them together crashed through his mind.

He had flashes about a visit to Paris, and of strolling arm in arm with her along the Champs-Elysees on that beautiful sunny day. They had walked along this most prestigious and broadest avenue in Paris, and they had visited many shops in the area. Dan rubbed at his forehead as he gaped in amazement at the over the top prices in the luxurious shop windows.

“Do you know what the name of this avenue means?” Beatrice had asked him at the time.

“Yeah, it means welcome to freekin rip off city,” he had moaned.

“Don't be such a damn tightwad Dan, it doesn't suit you,” she had scolded.

“Anyway, it refers to the Elysian Fields. In Greek mythology it was known as The Blessed place,” she said smugly.

It wasn't like Beatrice to get one up on him, and at the time he had gazed admiringly at her and her knowledge of historical things like this.

They had even visited the Eiffel Tower, and he had been almost sick when they walked along inside the viewing deck at the top.

If Dan had one fear then this was it. Heights had always frightened him, ever since he had fallen from the fence at school and badly sprained his ankle. But Beatrice had persuaded him to go to the top of the tower, and it was only through sheer bravado, and the thought that she would conceive him to be a coward, that he eventually did it. She would never know the full extent of his fear that day as he tried to control his shaking hands. These were the things he was remembering, and now he was certain that Beatrice was as real as Lynn, even though it may be proved later that she only existed in his disorientated mind.

Then another memory came to him. A memory he would rather forget.

This memory was of a frightening occurrence that had left him a shattered man when it had happened so long ago. It was Lynn's funeral.

*  *  *  *  *

Dan tossed and turned on the bed. He knew he was dreaming again. But this time it was different. Now he was no longer afraid of his dreams, because now he had accepted them.

He was aware of Lynn shaking him, but he ignored her and refused to waken. He had to know what the hell was happening, and where this was all leading to. If he could only find the answers in his sleep, then that would be just fine by him.

“Wake up Dan,” Lynn's voice echoed in his head. “You're going to be late for work, wake up!”

Why won't she just let me sleep?
Dan thought.

He wanted to yell at her to go away and leave him alone. But he couldn't make a sound.

He felt somehow paralysed, as people sometimes do in their dream world state. His mouth opened to speak, but he couldn't string two words together.

Lynn walked from the bedroom without looking back. She would let Dan get some more needed sleep.

She was aware of how Alf Reynolds, Dan's boss at the paper would react when Dan didn't show up for work. Ballistic was the word she searched for. She was sure though, that Dan needed the extra rest, so she wouldn't fight it. Besides, Dan was probably the best timekeeper in the place, and Reynolds, she felt, should damn well show him some loyalty and respect. Why, Dan had bent over backwards hundreds of times to please this thankless man, so now it would be Reynolds turn to reverse the role, she believed.

She pulled the list of contact telephone numbers off the little note pad which was stuck magnetically to the fridge, and scanned for Alf Reynolds number.

She would tell him in no uncertain terms that her husband was ill, and if he refused to listen, then she would somehow persuade Dan to leave this thankless job.

She dialled the number and waited.

Now though, Dan was starting to stir.

Something bad and frightening had forced him from his dream.

He heard another clearer voice echo inside his head, just as he opened his eyes.

“Come back to me Dan,” the voice whispered. “Please come back.”

“Beatrice,” he groaned, “Beatrice.”

A searing biting pain, almost sent him reeling to the floor, and as he staggered across the room, he clutched at his head.

This was the worst so far, he believed.

“If they can't find anything wrong with me at the hospital, then why is this happening?” Dan mumbled.

He rushed to the bathroom and quickly but clumsily knocked over a bottle of Old Spice after shave and a small container of band aids.

Then he swallowed two painkillers from a little box he had concealed away behind his shaving kit.

The less Lynn knew about his worsening headaches the better, he felt. He leaned across the sink and sighed.

He heard Lynn downstairs in the hallway, asking to speak to his boss, and he immediately guessed what she was doing.

“No!” Dan shouted from the top of the stairs. I'm coming down now honey, I just overslept a little, that's all. I just have to shave. Um-I'm going in to work today.”

“Sorry, wrong number,” Lynn said, as Alf Reynolds answered the call.

She slowly placed the phone back on the cradle with two fingers, as though it was contaminated, and shook her head.

Then she shouted upstairs.

“Why don't you take the day off Dan? You know you could do with the rest. I mean, let someone else take care of it for a change.” When Dan didn't answer she stormed into the living room. Sometimes she wondered why Dan was so bloody stubborn, but then she supposed this was one of the things she found appealing about him when they had first met. Maybe this was his way of fighting it though. A sort of don't think about it and it will go away on its own accord, sort of thing. Ignore the bad, cherish the good. And maybe Dan was right, she felt. Who was she to question how anyone handles their problems?

She picked up a photo from the table and smiled at the man she loved; as he grinned childishly back out from the frame.

Suddenly Dan appeared beside her, briefcase in hand, and she clumsily pretended to polish the glass in the photo-frame with her sleeve.

He had seen her look affectionately at it, but he hid the fact.

“I'm okay, so stop worrying. Catch ya later,” he said. A quick peck on the cheek and he was gone.

CHAPTER 3

IRELAND

“I'm so happy with you my love,” Francis whispered, as she buried her fingers deep into Tully's hair.

“Well, I feel the same way about you Fra, and I hope it lasts forever,” he answered with a smile.

“How long has it been now?” Tully asked, pretending he didn't remember.

“Five years, two months, two weeks and three days,” Francis answered, and Tully was amazed at the fact she had actually counted their time together right down to the actual day.

“And four minutes forty two seconds,” he added, laughing.

As she approached the bed, she paused for a moment, and Tully knew she had something on her mind. He had learnt to anticipate her body language, and her mannerisms.

“What's up?” Tully asked.

“I saw Madge today,” Francis informed him. “Down at the market. She was with her friend, Erin.”

“Ignore her Fra!”

“How could I ignore her? She was staring across at me; her face all contorted with rage. I asked who she thought she was staring at and returned her hateful looks, until her friend finally pulled her away.”

“I'm not really interested in Madge anymore. You are all I care about now Fra,” he half lied. “Anyway, these past four years have felt more like one to me.”

“I don't know if that's a compliment or not?” Francis complained.

“It is my love. I mean the time with you is going by much too quickly. In fact, at this rate we'll be old and grey before we know it.”

“Well, I'm aware that Madge still pines for you Tully. That is if you listen to what old Mrs Rafferty has to say about it. I hear she wants you back into her life, very badly. Are you sure you don't still feel anything toward her anymore?”

Tully couldn't understand what his feelings were. All he knew was that when he thought of Madge, he went kind of funny. He didn't like Francis going on about it though.

“Please Fra, I don't wish to talk about Madge at the moment. She chose it all to be this way, not I. Anyway, it's over, and I'm here with you now, so let's live for the moment, all right.”

“Okay Tully,” she whispered, as she squeezed his hand, not fully contented with his answer, but not wanting to cause an argument over it.

As far as Tully was concerned though, Madge had run off with some womanising bingo caller and he had taken it badly at the time. But he had met Francis, and now his happiness with her was growing stronger. Now Madge supposedly wanted him back. This though was something that he could never allow to happen, even though at times he still missed and thought about her. Madge had some good points about her, he admitted, and it wasn't all her fault that the marriage had failed. However, he wasn't going to put her down to anyone, and that included Francis. What happened was between himself and Madge, and sometimes he disliked it when Francis would pry a little too much. Sometimes in life you could rationalise things all you like, and still not come up with the proper answers. Tully was like this when he thought of Madge. He just remained puzzled and confused regarding his feelings toward her. Now he was tired, but sleep no longer appealed to him.

If only these damn dreams would stop,
he thought.
These bloody frightening dreams, where things become different somehow. Of strange wailing creatures, and murdered soldiers.
Faces that he couldn't put a name to, but recognised none the less. Images of haunted mines and possessed ministers fired through his head.

Then there were the headaches that followed. Those pain crushing mornings when he would awaken from one nightmare into another, into a worst kind of physical nightmare.

Francis had begged him to go see someone, but he had flatly refused. If there was one minus about Tully, it was his thick headedness, she felt. Sometimes he just would not listen to anyone.

But that was Tully, practical and solid. Here was a man who was different to any other man she had ever known before. A born survivor, tough but gentle, confident, yet somehow lost. Francis knew that there were problems in Tully's sub conscious, which stemmed back to his father, whom he loved and admired more than anyone. She also knew about his mother's cruel treatment toward him after his father had run off. She couldn't do anything about this she felt, but she believed she could make him go see a doctor or someone concerning his headaches and stuff.

But Tully didn't believe in doctors or hospitals.

He always reasoned that the sickness caused by your body would be cured by your body. And if your body couldn't cure it alone, then nature was doing its worst on you.
And you just cannot beat nature,
Tully thought. After all, these so called doctors hadn't been able to cure his father. Physically or mentally, he reasoned.

Francis pulled the large heavy duvet over their heads and kissed Tully passionately.

What's gotten into you lately Fra?” Tully laughed.

“Am I not allowed to be affectionate with the man I love then?”

“C'mere, he whispered, and as they melted into each others arms, their passion filled the room.

*  *  *  *  *

Somewhere deep in the back of the wardrobe, the little ripped and tattered bear head lay. It had lain there for years now, untouched and unwanted. Never once taken out, or even thought about. Inside its dark prison it had listened to laughter and happiness. That is all Mr Cliff had ever wanted for Francis. All it had ever strove for. It had grown to love the little girl who played with it every day for many years when she was a child. It had saved her from her uncaring cruel mother, and then later from her violent husband. But now the little girl had changed. Mr Cliff just couldn't accept the fact that the little girl had grown into womanhood, and that she just didn't wish to play with him ever again. Mr Cliff missed the child so much, as he thought about their times together. Those unforgettable days when he and Francis played together had been the happiest days he had ever known.

Now though, Mr Cliff was getting restless, and now Mr Cliff was getting angry.

This is how Francis has repaid me,
he thought.
Never again to look affectionately upon me, or to laugh with me the way she used to. Never again to play with me. Discarded like some fucking worn out shoe that has seen better days.

Mr Cliff knew that while Francis shared her life with someone else, then she would never have any time for showing or sharing it with anyone. Now though, Mr Cliff didn't want her friendship or her love. Hatred for her and Tully had filled Mr Cliff's mind, and now he was ready.

The little bear's eyes lit up slightly, and its mouth quivered.

Mr Cliff had already safeguarded things when it entered the cleansing lights with Dan Winters as he journeyed back and forth through time. It had escaped the very breath of God.

Now a paradox had been formed in time and space, and the little bear was in control of it. The demons in the forest, the lost ones, would take it from this place. Once in the forest it would help lead the destruction of these ungrateful, uncaring people.

Now it would summon Stavizore, the most powerful of them all. And it would show Francis how loyalty and love should be rewarded. It would have its vengeance on her and on all of them. It would take great pleasure in having this man killed, this man who stole her away from him.

Yes, Tully will be the first to pay,
it thought
.

It knew though that once Stavizore was summoned there would be no going back. This act would be final and could only end in one conclusion. No one on this earth could possibly stop the mighty Stazivore. It paused for a moment, as if to reconsider its actions. Tears welled up in its small eyes, and a funny gurgling sound emulated from its throat, as some innermost memory was pleading with it not to take this course. Its mouth twisted and stretched.

Too late,
it thought,
much too late.
The eyes slowly turned a bright red, lighting up the inside of its small prison, and then it spoke.

“Stavizore, the most powerful of the four. Stavizore the vengeful one, you must come,” it commanded, in a hate filled whisper. The little bear hissed loudly as the colour slowly left its cold eyes, and it lay silent and still once more.

*  *  *  *  *

Francis had a dream. In the dream she was aware that Mr Cliff had saved her life when her husband was surely going to kill her. The little bear had also killed her cruel mother. She awoke with the same headaches that Tully had complained about.

“Are you all right Fra?” Tully asked.

“I had the most frightening dream,” she answered. “In this dream, which by the way was so very, very real, my husband, who actually died from liver disease, was taken by a demon into the forest after he tried to hurt me. Something very frightening came from the trees with Mr Cliff in its hand. It was like it really happened to me.”

“Who's Mr Cliff?” Tully asked, puzzled.

“I know this may sound crazy,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But Mr Cliff was, um, is,” she corrected, “my old teddy bear.”

“Your teddy bear?”

“Yes, and in this dream my mother who in reality died in her sleep, was actually drowned in her bath, by Mr Cliff,” she added and then paused. “Drowned, b-by my bloody little ten inch teddy bear,” she stuttered, as she quickly swallowed the pain killers.

“Now though, only his head remains, she added,” as she pointed to the wardrobe.

“You kept an old toy bear's head?” Tully asked, puzzled.

“Um, yes, I did.”

Tully sat upright in the bed. He had dreamt these same sort of strange events himself. The demon had moved over the trees in his dreams. It had killed soldiers and policemen, and Tully knew that somehow it was more than just a dream he was having. And he hadn't met Francis at the dance at all, he now knew.

Dan Winters entered his mind again.

“Does a man by the name of ‘Dan Winters mean anything to you?” Tully asked her.

Francis thought for a moment before speaking. “Yes Tully, the name does mean something. He's an American, right?”

“Yes, he is, and he's somehow connected with these bloody dreams we're having.

What in Gods name is happening to us?
Tully thought.

Francis as though reading his mind, spoke up.

“We must find Dan Winters, Tully, because just maybe he has the answers to this nightmare.”

*  *  *  *  *

Two other men had had the same dream that night, Sergeant John Hutchinson and Officer James Watson.

A powerful being from the forest had killed them both, along with some other colleagues, and James had jumped from his bed at the frightening reality of it all.

He had charged to the bathroom clutching his bleeding arm, only to look in the mirror and discover that he was uninjured.

His daughter came running from her bedroom and rushed into the bathroom after him.

“Dad, are you all right?”

James turned to motion that he was okay, but his face was covered in sweat, and he was fooling no-one.

“Not another one of those bad dreams dad?”

James slowly nodded, as he threw some cold water over his face and thoroughly checked his arm again.

There was no wound, no pain, nothing. James knew what had happened to him and the others though.

He slumped heavily against the wall, and slowly slid to the floor, sobbing, as his caring daughter wiped some cold water onto his sweating brow.

“You are so good to me Jayne,” he whispered. “I don't know what I would have done without you.”

Jayne smiled. “No trouble dad. But you are going to have to pull yourself together, for our sakes.”

It was a few minutes before he stood up, now back in control.

“We must leave this place,” he muttered. We must leave immediately.

*  *  *  *  *

John Hutchison rapped on his friend Jimmy's door. When the door slowly opened, Jimmy scanned around and almost pulled him in.

“Do you know about it Jimmy? I mean the dream, the thoughts. Um, of what has happened to us.”

“Yes John, I know. I know everything.”

The two men stared hard at each other, and then they embraced.

Three hours later Jimmy and his daughter, accompanied by John Hutchison and his family, drove speedily out of Cappawhite for the last time.

It was something horrifying that these men just couldn't forget. They could remember their own deaths at the hands of the demon in the forest, and Jimmy was taking it a lot worse than his friend John. All they could do for now though, was to try and forget about it.

God had somehow granted them another chance in life and they would have to make the best of it. It would be far away from the south of Ireland though. Inverness in Scotland, or maybe over to the far side of England, Newcastle perhaps. Maybe they would even go across to Europe.

The other policemen and soldiers who had been killed that night, and had been somehow resurrected, had already left town.

But there was one sure thing though. These men would never be the same again. And they would constantly be watching over their shoulder. John Hutchison knew that Jimmy was taking this much too badly though, and in his opinion, he felt Jimmy would never accept or get over it.