Read Hungry Moon Online

Authors: Ramsey Campbell

Tags: #Druids and Druidism, #England, #Christian Ministry, #Science Fiction, #Horror, #Evangelistic Work, #General, #Fiction, #Religion, #Evangelism

Hungry Moon (3 page)

Geraldine's suppressed mirth threw her words about. 'Not a vibrator!'

'Damn right, and how big their bed is. He was dropping hints about a game we could all play when I managed to edge my way out. I've a good idea who he had in mind for prizes.'

'Just shows you what goes on behind net curtains.'

'I could have done without knowing. Do you fancy a walk? Eddings won't be coming this late, or if he does he can be inconvenienced for a change. And then I've something to read to you.'

They often read to each other in the evenings. She didn't realize how tense the Bevans had made her until she stepped onto the moor above the town. A cold wind snatched at her out of the dark as the higher slopes began to take shape against the black sky - take shape because something else was rising into view, an unstable white forehead above the edge beyond which the cave lay. She calmed herself down, even though the white rim was swelling too large, its outline trembling. Of course it was only the moon, magnified by mist. She held Jeremy's hand and stood where she was until the moon was clear in the sky. It showed how much the Bevans had worked on her nerves that the sight of the incomplete moon above the cave made her so inexplicably nervous.

FOUR

'Just one more call,' Hazel said to her parents, searching the phone directory that was open on her lap for a name that she hadn't yet marked. She dialled and put on her official voice. 'Mr Fletcher? My name is Hazel Eddings and I'm calling you on behalf of Peak Security. I wonder if you're confident that no burglar could ever break into your house . . .'

'Here's Benedict now,' her mother Vera said sharply, too late to stop the call, as Hazel's husband poked his sharp-chinned face into the room. 'Whenever you're ready,' he called, jerking his arms to adjust his cuffs while he tried to fix his bow tie.

'You'll never manage that,' Vera rebuked him. 'Here, let me.' She followed him into the hall, and so it was only Craig who saw Hazel duck her head away from the phone, looking hurt. 'No need for that kind of language,' she murmured, and dropped the receiver into its cradle as if she didn't want to hold it any more.

'What did he say, sweetheart?' Craig demanded. She looked so vulnerable that his heart seemed to twist, as it had fifteen years ago at the sight of her in her first evening dress. But she blinked her eyes bright and smiled at him as if nothing had happened. 'I'm fine, Daddy,' she said, and strode into the hall.

Dressed like that, she looked even more like her mother, black hair piled above her long white neck, emphasizing her dark eyes and delicate bones like Vera's. Craig took Vera's arm and sensed that she'd heard Hazel's last words to the phone but thought better of commenting now. Benedict opened the front door and waited for the others to precede him so that he could set the alarm. 'I may have to dash off after dinner,' he said. 'If you like, Craig, you could come along.'

The Eddingses lived on the moorland road just outside Moonwell, in a cottage with blue shutters and whitewashed walls. The first few hundred yards toward the town were unlit, and Craig held onto Vera's arm. Once he slipped on a leaf that rain had plastered to the road and felt himself skidding into the dark.

The lights began at the church, the outermost building. Lamps stretched the shadows of willows across the lumpy graveyard full of headstones, postering the church wall with the shadow of an oak. The small peaked porch was lit, Craig saw. 'I'll just get the newsletter,' Benedict said. 'Come in if you like.'

Small blurred gargoyles poked their heads out of the thick walls beneath the high sloping roof. Light streamed onto the sparkling grass through the tall, thin arched windows, each of which contained three figures in stained glass, crowded so closely that they looked almost like a single figure - indeed, as a child Craig had thought some of them were. The memory made him feel unexpectedly childlike as he followed Vera through the porch into the church.

Beneath the pointed arches of the vaulting the nave was calm and welcoming. Unbelievers welcome too, he thought as Vera leafed through the visitors' book. 'A pity more people don't come in, it's a pretty church. Figures are up this year, anyway,' she said, and then, 'Oh, dear.'

Hazel glanced over her mother's shoulder and gave a cry of disgust. Someone had scrawled 'Piss off' across a page full of signatures. All the signatures were dated earlier that month. Before Craig could comment, Hazel cried, 'That's what happens when people stop believing. They've no respect for anything, even God.'

'I think God will forgive them, Mrs Eddings,' the priest said, emerging from behind the high oak pulpit. He was a squat, beer-bellied man with a cheerful red face and straggling grey hair. 'I'm more worried that folk like yourself may be offended. I think
that's
a sin.'

Hazel stared open-mouthed at him. 'You don't think insulting God is a sin?'

'I'm not sure that whoever wrote that rather silly comment had God in mind at all. I rather think they hoped to shock whoever read it. After all, this church has been here for close to eight hundred years, and the foundations for much longer - you can feel that, can't you? Yet that isn't a split second in the eye of God. Think how much less important this bit of childishness must be.'

'Are you sure you ought to speak for God like that?' Benedict said.

'Well, it rather comes with the job, you know. I do believe God forgives, and I think you can feel that here too.' He turned to Craig and Vera. 'You're Mrs Eddings' parents, aren't you? Do I hear you're thinking of joining my parish?'

'Sorry,' Hazel intervened. 'Father O'Connell, Craig and Vera Wilde.'

Craig shook the priest's hand, which was strong and warm. 'If we retire we might come to Moonwell - we might even carry on doing legal work. But I ought to tell you,' he said, taken aback by his own embarrassment.

'We aren't what you'd call churchgoers.'

'If you're pubgoers, you'll find me there too. You're from Moonwell originally, aren't you? Did you ever help dress the cave? We still make up the panels in here, you know. My personal opinion is that it strengthens the church.'

'I'd be happy if you got to know Father O'Connell.' Hazel lowered her voice as if she didn't want Craig to hear. 'You aren't getting any younger.'

In the street Craig said, 'I quite like your priest. At least he doesn't believe in the hard sell.'

'Maybe he ought to,' Benedict said. 'Nothing wrong with being aggressive for God. He lost quite a lot of his congregation when he preached against the missile bases, as if he didn't realize the fear of them is bringing people back to God. They want strong leadership now that there's a base so close to Moonwell; they don't go to church to hear that kind of thing. I really believe he had the chance to turn our whole town back to God if only he hadn't been so soft. That's why we've so much crime here now, because people won't stand up for what's right, and no wonder when even their priest seems afraid to.'

'Still, you're helping prevent crime, aren't you?' Craig said, rather than suggest that Benedict had something to thank crime for. 'How's business since you changed the company name?'

'It wouldn't be half what it is without Hazel,' Benedict said, patting her head. 'Changing the name is standard business practice, of course.'

So tell us the reason, Craig thought. There would be time enough to pursue it. Just now he was regaining his sense of the town, the way no terrace was quite in line with its neighbours, the stretches of the High Street that had no pavements, only grass verges from which the bellies of barrel-shaped drains protruded. Streets led down from the town square through the terraces toward the dry valley, and the sight of the crooked skeins of lamps descending into a gathering mist made him feel nostalgic and peaceful. He mustn't feel too settled, he reminded himself as they crossed the square to the Moonwell Hotel.

The hotel was four stories tall, the smallest rooms up under the steep roof. The restaurant had space enough to cope if all the rooms were occupied, but since they never were, Craig hadn't booked a table. Perhaps he should have, for every table in the high panelled room with its polished dance floor was taken.

'Well I never,' Benedict said, strong words for him. Presumably the people, mostly middle-aged, were a coach party, since they all seemed to know each other. The Wildes and the Eddingses found seats at adjacent tables, but they had hardly sat down when the couples at the tables rose. A minute later the restaurant had emptied, leaving the four of them with echoes, crumpled napkins, used cups and plates.

'It's a good thing we'll be having wine,' Craig said to the waiter who came to clear the table of their predecessors' leavings, 'or you'd have sold none this evening.' By the time a matronly waitress brought their meals, he and Vera had drunk most of the wine and were calling for another bottle, despite a surprised look from Benedict that stopped just short of reproof. As Craig cut into his chicken Kiev, he thought again of Hazel in her first evening dress. 'Remember the first time we dined at Sheffield Town Hall? You had chicken Kiev then. You couldn't work out how they put the garlic butter in. You said it was like a ship in a bottle.'

'Did I really?' Hazel said with a smile.

'Hazel remembers quite a lot about her childhood,' Benedict said.

'I'm glad,' Vera said, and blinked at him, though his pale voice had been neutral. 'Or shouldn't I be?'

'Well now,' Benedict said, and Hazel interrupted, 'It's only that I happened to mention to Benedict how you and Daddy used to dress at home.'

'How we didn't, you mean,' Craig said, picking cork off his tongue.

'I know you were trying to be modern, ahead of your time really, but - you don't mind if I say this now, do you? I never liked it when you went around like that. I'm glad it's going out of fashion. Mind you, just the other day Benedict had to knock on someone's door and ask them to put some clothes on their little boy while he was playing out in his garden.'

'They didn't sound very Christian to me,' Benedict added.

Vera put down the glass that she'd stopped short of her lips. 'So what else didn't you like about your childhood, Hazel? Let's hear the rest of it.'

'Mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known you would take it that way.'

'No, please,' Vera said, and withdrew her hand as Hazel reached for it. 'I'd rather know.'

'Just little things. I know you didn't keep me away from religious activities at school, but I always felt as if Daddy wanted to. And I wish you'd let me go to Sunday school but I thought if I asked you might feel I was trying to say you weren't enough for me. I wouldn't have been, I hope you know.'

'You wouldn't have said it, just thought it, you mean.'

'Oh, Mummy,' Hazel cried, lowering her voice as the sound echoed through the empty restaurant and brought a waiter's face to the kitchen doors, 'say you aren't offended. I was always afraid we'd end up talking like this.'

'You're a surprise to me, that's all,' Vera said, blinking back tears, and Benedict cleared his throat. 'I'd better be getting back to work,' he told Craig through a last mouthful of his main course.

'I'll come with you. Perhaps you could pick me up when you've been home for the van.'

'Just as you like,' Benedict said in a tone that implied they should leave the women to themselves. His footsteps faded, sounding thin and prim, and then Craig tried to intervene. 'I know you didn't mean to hurt your mother, Hazel. We both realize you've got to be yourself, we've no right to try and keep you the way we'd have liked you to be, but at least you might leave us our illusions about ourselves.'

Hazel grabbed his hand and Vera's. 'You're the two people I most care about in the world. I only say these things because I worry about you.'

'No need to,' Craig said. 'If there's a God he can hardly blame us for not being equipped to believe in Him.' Both women looked reproachfully at him, and he resented feeling glad when Benedict came back.

As soon as he was in the van, which was piled with tools and new timber, Craig said, 'So what did you want to talk to me about?'

Benedict turned the key again as the engine sputtered. 'I thought you might like to see how I look after my customers. I hope you'll agree we deserve to succeed.'

'Meaning,' Craig said as the van lurched forward, 'you're not doing as well as you think you deserve to.'

'We could be doing better. We would be if I hadn't been landed with those alarms in lieu of payment when the firm was going bankrupt. I just need to liven business up, get myself a new van, smarten up our advertising, maybe employ someone part-time to deal with the work I'm not perfect at. I've worked out the initial costs. They wouldn't be outrageous.'

'I hope your bank manager agrees with you.'

'To be honest, he wasn't very encouraging. We owe the bank some money, unfortunately.'

He halted the van at the end of the village. 'Then what do you propose to do?' Craig said.

‘I was rather wondering if you and Vera might be able to help.'

'Able, possibly. What had you in mind?'

'Three thousand would be ample to put the business back on its feet, and twice that would pay off the bank as well. We're talking about a short-term loan, you understand. I'm sure we'd be able to pay most, if not all, of it back by the end of the year.'

'I can't comment until I've talked to Vera. I shouldn't raise your hopes too high if I were you,' Craig said as they climbed down from the van.

The booksellers looked as if they'd been ready for bed. 'This is my father-in-law,' Benedict said, which didn't seem to please them much. They led the way into the bookshop, and Benedict snapped open the microcomputer that controlled the alarm system. 'Just as I thought, this is what you did wrong,' he said, and demonstrated with exaggerated patience. On the way out he stopped in front of a bookcase. 'Oh, have you fixed it? I would have done that for you,' he said peevishly.

'Business is business,' he said as he restarted the van, 'but I do wish I could afford not to work for such people. Did you see what they'd put where the altar should be? A table full of books about superstition. Perhaps you don't think there's any difference.'

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