GENESIS (GODS CHAIN) (8 page)

The boys
stood
outside the tall sandstone building
,
which was protected by a low triangular sandstone dyke. The Prophet Monument was built
in
traditional
Masonic fashion,
made
with the red sandstone quarried locally
.
E
ven from the outside the structure ooz
ed
with ancient history and folklore
—
old scri
pt
s were carved and cut all around the base of its walls by the masons
,
rumoured to verse cryptic warnings
although
no one knew
what it really said....

Scott stood
for a long moment at the entranceway to the enclosed grounds
,
wondering if it
might not be such a good idea
to enter.

‘
Having s
econd thoughts?’ Cameron teased.

‘No way
!
’ Scott grinned
,
al
though his face
became somewhat
sober
as he
look
ed
up at the ominous long windows
that
stretched before
them.

A dominant vantage point indeed, the building conquered the whole countryside.
Most folks did not
dare to walk anywhere near this spooky place at night
,
and there was always an unexplained atmosphere
of sobriety
.
The top turret bore a single flag pole positioned on a small
,
roofed part of the building
,
which tonight flew a
dark
flag
the size of a man
.
Cameron could just barely see the flag, which had a green and brown background slashed with thin, yellow zigzags and a blood-red claw ensign, all surrounded by a thick, black border.
Cameron started—n
o flag had been raised
on that pole in all his life. What was a flag doing there now?
It was not even Scottish!

Spur
r
ing
each other on,
the boys
shoved
one another though the heavy iron gates
,
giggling as they did,
trying to ignore the
rusty old hinges attached to
the
solid pillars of sandstone,
which
sw
u
ng open with an eerie squeal. Two horrible replica gargoyle statues hunker
ed
on
twin
pillar
s
to either side of the tall iron gates.
The g
argoyles
wore
pointed hoods and
their
tongues st
u
ck out
,
curving
dangerously far
from stony
, grotesque
faces
.
E
ach one squat
ted,
gazing blankly towards the
boys,
or so it seemed.
These small, stone figurines had no faces.
Their
thick
,
long toenails extend
ed
out from their
anguished
talon
s,
which curled nastily around the stone ledge
s
where they sat.

The village was full of rumours and strange stories
about the monument.
O
ne such tale told that
many centuries ago,
on
the tower top,
other such hideous stone figures sat perching like vultures.
No one knew whence they had been carved or
when
th
ey
had appeared
, but
t
here they hunched
on
their high tower
,
scrutiniz
ing
the surrounding countryside
.
The
village folk
claimed
that the
stones
brought only bad luck!

O
n one fateful day
in particular
, the day of the
C
ovenanter
e
xecutions
,
rumour
had it
that these hideous hooded
creatures
had departed from their stone perch and later were spotted near the old standing stones on top of the hill.
They seemed to be s
earching for something
in the sky
above the village and
, not
having found what they sought
, they
then flew far away.
The
winged figures
were seen no more...
.

Bizarrely
,
the people at that time thought this grim departure to be an even worse omen
than the creatures’ appearance
!
What had they been seeking? Where did they go? Would they ever return?
These
voiced
thoughts and open fears created
such
great panic in the village that
the
ugly replicas
that currently guarded the gate
were carved to replace the
originals that had fled,
so the
dark-winged shadows
could never return to perch again and press their ill will over the village.

So here the new replicas sat
,
exactly in place and hunched in the same positions
as their predecessors
, each with
an equal
menace
that seemed
not to
care for
the well
-
being of
the
village
rs
they spied upon
.
The boys felt even more intimidated
by the figures because they
kn
e
w th
e
old wi
v
es
’
story.
Despite f
eeling watched by these hideous statues
,
the
boys
walked forward
.
A
fter all
,
what were they waiting for?

Cameron pulled down the chain that rang the bell.
After a long moment
,
the heavy wooden door
opened slowly
, revealing a tall, thin man
of middle age
.
It was the caretaker.

‘Good evening
,
boys
.
C
ome on in and get out of this cold chill,’ the man
said,
seem
ing
pleased enough to see visitors
despite
th
e
late hour.
The locals avoided the monument and it was not particularly appealing to tourists,
s
o it was
fairly
surprising that the place was still open to the public
at all.

The friendly caretaker ushered the
boys
inside
.
Al
though
Scott and Cameron
were
a
little wary of the old man, they stepped tentatively up and into the main foyer.
The entryway
was a small area with a high ceiling
and rough,
sandstone walls
that were covered with
various hanging tapestries and several old flags
,
yellow
ed
with age.
Portraits of people long dead were set in frames
,
staring
down from the solid walls.

The boys stood on a square
,
well
-
trodden embroidered carpet that was laid on top of a stone floor,
resting their hands on
a
beautifully polished
wooden banister
that
led
away and to the far right corner and then
ran
up
wards
and out of sight by way of a circular stone staircase that
spiralled
steeply upwards to the top of th
e
solitary tower. Not much happened in this place
,
that
much
was obvious to the boys.
It was dead
....

A
thick
,
stale odour in the calm air stung their nostrils and
caught
just the tip of Scott’s nose, making his eyes water a little
and causing him to
sneeze
.
T
he boys tilted
their heads
to
he
a
r the
monotonous
noises of clocks, ticking
...
upstairs?