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 (9 page)

His small face seemed to harden beneath the bristling grey eyebrows, yet when he spoke his voice was almost lilting. 'In that case I have to tell you that this school no longer needs your services,' he said.

THIRTEEN

As Saturday wore on, June grew impatient with Andrew. At last she gave him some Christian stickers to put up around the shop, but when he tried to climb into the display windows she threw up her hands. 'What do you want to do, knock everything down? Try and have the sense God gave you,' she cried, and Brian intervened: 'Come on, son, you can help me in the back.'

In fact there wasn't much to do in the long narrow room that smelled of boots and rope and cold Primus stoves. 'What do you want to do, son?' Brian murmured.

The boy peered timidly up at him from under his eyebrows that were hardly there at all. 'I can read to you.'

'You've already done that for your mother. You don't need to do any more today,' Brian said, and saw Andrew suck in his hollow cheeks with disappointment. 'All right, if you want to.'

The boy scampered into the shop, shouting, 'Daddy says I can read to him.' Brian felt ashamed of himself, wished again that he'd attended the open night and talked to Andrew's teacher. He would have except that since the rally at the cave he'd been reluctant to show his face in public.

Since the rally he'd seen women looking in the shop window and pretending they weren't talking about him. Once he'd overheard a murmur about the things his poor wife had to put up with, the things he forced her to do. He'd wanted to tell them he hadn't touched June since the rally. He wouldn't while she didn't want him to, however frustrating it was for him, but he couldn't tell anyone that. No doubt the town thought even worse of him because he was too ashamed to invite one of Godwin's followers to take refuge in the house.

At least June was no longer taking Valium. Godwin's religion had done that for her. Perhaps in time she would be more patient with Andrew. He wished he could be more patient himself. Sometimes when it was just himself and Andrew he didn't feel so bad.

But when Andrew began to read him a pamphlet he couldn't help wincing inwardly whenever the boy misread a word. 'Not "Ice-ache",' he said, trying to be gentle. 'You don't want to grow up not being able to read or write properly, do you? You don't want to have to work down a mine because you can't get anything better, stay down there all day in the dark.'

When Andrew tried 'Ice-aka' Brian wanted to shake the stupidity out of him. 'It's Isaac, damn it, Isaac. See if you can read just one line without making a fool of yourself.'

Andrew almost read the last sentence right, about how God wanted every child to obey his parents and teachers and anyone in uniform. He gave his father one quick pleading glance, which made Brian feel awkward and embarrassed. "That was better,' he muttered. 'Come on, I'll take you to watch the football for trying.'

Wind herded clouds across the sun; racing shadows moulded themselves to the slopes. As Brian and Andrew walked down the steepening streets to the edge of town, the wind carried the smell of charred vegetation from the moor above Moonwell. 'Would Isaac's daddy really have killed him?' Andrew said.

'It's only a story, son, to show you how to behave. Or if it's true it happened a long long time ago.'

'Would you kill me if God said you had to?'

'Nobody's going to tell me to kill you. Now, stop being morbid and watch the game.'

Two teams were playing five-a-side in the field that the school also used. Fathers and sons and old men smoking pipes stood outside the white lines, shouting. 'Pass it, pass the ball,' Brian yelled. 'Oh, you silly bugger.' When Andrew flinched, he gripped the boy's shoulder. 'I'm not shouting at you. You can shout too.' But Andrew stood staring, even when the ball rolled almost to his feet. 'Go on, son, kick it,' Brian cried.

The players were yelling at him too. 'Kick it as hard as you can, son. You're not a girl,' Brian told him, and the boy lurched forward. He gave the ball a glancing kick, slipped in the mud, and fell.

Brian led him home, with Andrew holding out his muddy arms on either side of his body. In the bathroom he waited for his father to undress him. 'Can't you even do that for yourself?' Brian growled, embarrassed by having to touch the boy's pale skin, his penis that was shrinking back into his scrotum as if it didn't want to be seen. He needn't feel guilty, he told himself; June was embarrassed now too whenever she saw the boy naked. He ignored Andrew's protests that the bath was too hot, hauled him out when the boy lay there saying that his fingertips looked like raisins, and eventually got him dry and dressed and back to the shop.

June raised her eyes heavenward. 'Where are the clothes you were wearing? What have you been up to now?'

'Someone kicked a ball at him and he fell down, love. His clothes are in the washer. He's got to get dirty sometimes if he's going to be a proper boy.'

'You're no better. Look at your shoes. You don't have to roll in the mud to prove you're men, do you?' June was smiling wryly. 'Never mind, Andrew, at least there are some decent children for you to play with now, not like the ones who always tease you.'

'I'd rather play with you and Daddy.'

'Would you?' June hugged him. 'Then we will. It's about time we were more of a family. I'm glad you care more for us than for your so-called friends at the bookshop.'

'I think they've been pretty good friends to us all,' Brian intervened.

'Oh, do you? Well, I'll tell you what I think -' She checked herself. 'But not in front of Andrew, and not while we've got a customer.'

A young woman was looking in the window, comparing prices. As Brian hurried Andrew into the storeroom, she came into the shop, and Brian caught a glimpse of her: large breasts, long, bare suntanned arms and legs. 'Broke my flask this morning,' she told June. 'I'll take that green one in the window.'

'You can count these for me, son,' Brian murmured, opening a carton of bootlaces. He heard June say, 'Have you walked far?'

'Ten miles this morning. Hey, don't think me rude, but don't go putting any of those stickers on my flask, will you? If God wants me to carry his advertising he'll have to pay me. I didn't think we had towns like this in England, God in every window.'

'It's a pity there aren't a few more towns like this. Haven't you any time at all for God?'

'I've just walked away from that and my parents. Told

them I was going walking for a fortnight and they mustn't ask me where. What do you call this town anyway?'

'Moonwell.'

'Can't say I've heard of it. Must have overlooked it on the map. Thanks for the flask. Listen, I hope I didn't offend you with my big mouth.'

'I don't matter. It's God you should worry about, and yourself. And you should think of your parents. At least let them know where you are.'

'It isn't that simple,' the young woman said, and Brian heard her striding away from the counter, her haversack jiggling. He imagined her bottom swaying in the tight denim shorts, her pert face that he'd glimpsed, her wide moist lips. His penis had hardened as soon as she'd mentioned her big mouth.

'What's wrong, Daddy?' Andrew said. Brian opened his eyes, quieted his breathing, and suddenly saw his chance. He had to take it, had to escape the room that had grown hot and stifling. 'I've dropped some money down by the football field,' he said, and as soon as he heard the shop door close, went out to tell June.

The young woman was turning the corner of Moorland Lane as he came out of the shop. She was going straight up to the moor, then, not following the main road. Realizing where she was going excited him, though he couldn't have said why. He strolled along casually to Moorland Lane, and as soon as she was out of sight on the path the side street led to, he paced to the end, to wait until she reached the moor.

A loose stone came rattling down the slope as she climbed over the edge. Brian glanced along the terraces of cottages before stepping onto the path. Nobody was about, and the street was still deserted when he reached the top. He poked his head over the edge. The young woman was striding along the path that would take her past the cave.

She was alone on the moor, or thought she was.

Nobody would see or hear. Nobody would, because Brian wasn't going to do anything, only imagine what he could do. Your thoughts were your own, whatever Godwin Mann might say - Brian felt as if they were the only place he could hide and be himself. Nobody would see if he crept up behind her, unheard because of the blustering wind. He could imagine how she would struggle, how hard it would be to pin her muscular limbs. It occurred to him that all the excitement had gone out of his marriage once June always gave in to him.

As soon as the young woman was out of sight, Brian scurried across the moor. Nothing grew now between the edge where the path climbed over and the stone that surrounded the cave. Here and there charred stubs of heather stuck up from the oily black ash that squeaked underfoot. He couldn't do anything to her, he realized, because Godwin Mann came to the cave to pray every afternoon about now. All the same, he trod quietly as he paced up to the rim of the stone bowl.

The young woman was squatting at the edge of the pothole and shading her eyes to peer down. There was no sign of Godwin Mann. The sight of her, alone there at the edge of the dark, made Brian's heart pound. The wind had dropped, and he felt as if he were at the exact centre of a silence as motionless and chill and deep as the cave. He felt as if the silence were seeping into him, emptying him of himself. He'd begun to move his limbs stealthily, for what purpose he no longer knew, when the ash caught in his throat.

The instant he coughed he knew what was going to happen. He lurched forward into the bowl, desperate to prevent it if he could. The young woman glanced up at the sound of his cough, and made to get up as she saw him coming. She blinked, frowned, jerked her head back, her wide mouth stiffening. She was shoving herself to her feet, away from the rim, when her feet slipped and she fell.

He hadn't even time to stretch out his hands uselessly toward her. One moment she was on the edge, the next the stone was bare. Her scream plummeted into the dark and was cut short by a thud. After that there was silence except for the sound of a heavy object sliding further downward amid a shrill rattling of stones.

Brian had to force himself to go to the edge. He was terrified of falling after her. Eventually he crawled to the rim of the cave on hands and knees, feeling as if once he got there he wouldn't be able to crawl back. Silence and darkness filled the shaft, as if she had never been there at all. For a moment he thought he heard an object being dragged away somewhere, but that couldn't be below him, even if that was how it sounded. He scrabbled backward from the edge and was halfway up the bowl before he dared stumble to his feet. He turned away, sickened by the sight of the empty stone throat, and ran toward Moonwell.

He hadn't meant to harm her. She shouldn't have put herself in danger. All he'd wanted was - but he couldn't think now what he'd wanted. She must have been killed instantly, like the sheep, but he ran to the police station in case there was a chance she was alive. 'I think someone's fallen in the cave,' he panted.

The sergeant at the front desk of the small limestone building near the square reached for the pen behind his inky ear. 'How long ago? How sure are you?'

'I was just up there walking. I saw someone go down to the cave and then I heard them scream. When I got there there was nobody. I've run straight here from there.'

The sergeant was dialling the rescue team. 'Man or woman?'

'I couldn't tell you. I only saw them for a moment against the sun.'

When the questions were over, Brian ran back to the moor, hating himself for being tempted to wish she weren't rescued, because if she were brought up alive she might recognize him, contradict his story. One man went down, but as far as his light reached, it showed nothing. Brian retreated as soon as he could, afraid that he was going to be sick.

June gasped when she saw him, gasped again when he told her what he'd told the police. 'I couldn't find the money,' he said, realizing too late that the footballers might know he hadn't gone back to the field, 'so I went for a walk to settle myself.'

She was more sympathetic to him than he felt he deserved. She kept Andrew away from him, made him sit and rest that evening to recover from what must appear to be shock. When a policeman rang the doorbell, Brian felt pinned in his chair. But the police only wanted him to know that no sound had been heard from the cave, and nobody had been reported missing. Nevertheless Godwin Mann was going to hold an overnight vigil above the cave, so that if anyone was alive down there he or she was certain to be heard.

Later Brian lay awake, dreading the ring at the doorbell in the middle of the night and trying to define what else he was afraid of. He kept seeing the young woman falling, kept running toward her with his useless hands outstretched; his arms would never stretch far enough. 'As God is my judge, I didn't want you to,' he whispered. He slept at last, only to be wakened by the sensation of wearing a mask. It was the moonlight on his face. He turned away from the light, but couldn't turn away from a thought so vague as to be disturbing: that in some way, by praying at the cave Godwin Mann was making things worse.

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