Shepherd's Cross Read online

  Chapter 14

  4.45pm: Jack Cranfield’s John Deere pulled up to the gates of Fellside Hall, closely followed by Wilf Blackett’s red Massey Ferguson. There were four or five villagers per tractor: the older men had been squeezed inside the warmer cabs, whereas the younger lads had been forced to cling on to the outside and brave the elements. Liam Turner jumped down from the step, switched on his torch and walked over to the gates. By now, the sun had well and truly shut up shop for the day, and the moon hid unhelpfully behind a blanket of clouds. Whatever light there was to guide them shone from artificial sources.

  ‘Good news,’ Liam said, turning to look at his father who had come across to join him. ‘They’re not locked.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s something,’ Turner replied. ‘Then again, why would Brian and Cara lock themselves in a place like this? I’m surprised they even bothered shutting the gates behind them. Come on…give me a hand to get them open.’

  Somewhat surprisingly, the gates opened with little resistance. Bill Turner noticed that the hinges had been recently greased. ‘They’re not wasting any time in trying to put this place right,’ he muttered to nobody in particular.

  ‘Well, they can forget about making themselves comfortable,’ Blackett said, his words being met with a rumbling of agreement in the background. ‘They’ll bloody well wish they’d never set foot in this place by the time we’ve finished with them.’

  ‘Just…be careful everyone,’ said Turner, returning with his son to Cranfield’s tractor. ‘I know there are a lot of us here, but we haven’t the faintest idea about who we’re dealing with. For all we know, they could be more of them up there. And they could be armed.’

  ‘You’re not chickening out, are you Bill?’ joked Dougie Hickman, who, if truth be told, was the biggest chicken of them all. ‘There’s still time to turn back if you don’t feel up to it?’

  Blackett rounded on him; he’d had as much of Dougie Hickman as he could stomach for one day. ‘Dougie – shut the fuck up, will you? Bill’s right – we don’t know who’s up there. If you want to go in all guns blazing and get your head blown off, then that’s up to you. But I also reckon the sooner we get up there the better. We’ve left it long enough as it is.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cranfield said. ‘Let’s crack on. I’ll go first. Wilf, you follow me. I used to mess around up here as a kid; from what I can remember, it’s a fair old trek up to the Hall. It’ll take us a good five or ten minutes at least.’ Not wanting to waste any more time, he shifted the tractor into gear and set off through the gates and along the driveway. Blackett watched after him and smiled to himself: seeing Jack Cranfield’s tractor full of men like that reminded him of ‘The Ant Hill Mob’ from ‘Wacky Races’, one of the old Hanna-Barbera cartoons he’d watched in the seventies. As he set off behind his friend, his smile quickly faded; the image of the inverted cross still fresh in his mind. If these characters were responsible for killing Reverend Jackson and kidnapping Chloe Price, there was no knowing how they might react to a motley crew of uninvited trespassers. And although he could take a certain amount of comfort from the size of the group he was with, he had a niggling feeling that they were up against something that wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of them. As he looked into the blackness that surrounded them, he felt certain that whoever was up at the Hall was fully aware of their imminent arrival.

  It was Ted Simpson sitting next to Blackett who first noticed the back of Cranfield’s tractor rushing up to meet them. ‘Wilf!’ he shouted. ‘Stop, for fuck’s sake.’ With his mind otherwise engaged, Blackett almost jumped out of his seat. He slammed his foot on the brake and skidded the tractor to a stop within inches of Cranfield’s. ‘Jesus Christ, Wilf,’ said Simpson. ‘Didn’t you see his brake lights?’

  ‘Err…no. Sorry lads,’ he replied. ‘What’s the daft bugger doing anyway? Why have we stopped?’

  ‘No idea. We better get out and see.’

  They climbed down from the tractor and moved around to join Cranfield and the others. Blackett hung at the back, reaching into his overalls and retrieving his hip flask, trying his best to conceal his addiction. But if ever he needed a drink, it was now. He drank quickly and greedily before returning the flask to its hiding place.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, joining the others and making his way to the front of the group. ‘You could have warned me you were stopping Ja...What the hell?’

  The way ahead was blocked. Forty or fifty silver birch trees, which earlier had graciously lined both sides of the driveway leading up to the Hall, had been overturned and lay strewn across the path in front of them. Tangled roots jutted up from the earth like giant spines of barbed wire; thick, knotted trunks piled up high on top of each other. There was no way through or around them, not even with the plough that was still attached to Blackett’s tractor.

  Liam Turner broke from the group and went to climb over the trunks, but was yanked back by his father. ‘Don’t be stupid, lad. You’ll break your leg trying to get over them in this light.’ He looked over to Cranfield. ‘I don’t suppose…’

  ‘Not a chance,’ Cranfield replied, second-guessing the question. ‘There’s no getting past them, Bill. It’s been done recently, as well. Look at the roots – there’s not a flake of snow on them. Probably this afternoon.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Blackett. ‘But what I want to know is how on earth Brian and Cara got past them? And more’s the point, who around here has got the kind of machinery that could do this? That’s a heck of a timber claw that’s pulled them out, I can tell you.’

  Bill Turner checked his watch: it was coming up to five o’clock. ‘All good questions, but we haven’t got time to waste trying to figure it out now. If we can’t shift them with the tractors, we’ll have to walk.’

  ‘Walk?’ asked Dougie Hickman. ‘Are you mad? It’ll take us an hour at least to get there. And who knows what else they’ve got in store for us? No no,’ he said, shaking his head and turning back towards the gates. ‘This lot aren’t daft. They know what they’re doing alright. These trees have been turned over to warn us, and to warn anyone else who’s stupid enough to come up here. If we go along there tonight, there’s a better than even chance we’ll not be coming back. I’m sorry for the girl, and for Brian and Cara, but I’m not prepared to risk my neck for anyone. We’d be much better off waiting for the Police to come tomorrow. This is a matter for the authorities. I’m off.’

  ‘Hickman, you’re a fucking coward and you always have been,’ said Blackett. ‘We’re hill folk, for Christ’s sake. We don’t bow down to anyone, and we especially don’t hold with people coming here threatening us. Now you turn yourself around and get back here. We’re going to Fellside Hall, and you’re coming with us.’

  ‘I’m bloody well not,’ Hickman replied. ‘And anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome to.’ The group fell silent. Nobody moved.

  ‘Looks like you’re on your own,’ said Cranfield. ‘I’m sure you can manage that walk home all by yourself. I hope you’re not afraid of the dark?’ Several of the younger lads sniggered in the background.

  ‘You’re mad, the lot of you,’ he replied, turning to leave. ‘You’ll get no sympathy from me if owt happens to you. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He started walking away, and this time he didn’t stop or look back. The others stood quietly, watching him as he reached the open gates and disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘Do you think we should go after him?’ Cranfield asked. ‘It’s a fair old hike back to The Cross in this weather. What do you think?’

  ‘No. He’s made his choice,’ said Blackett. ‘Come on, let’s stop pissing about. We’re running out of time.’

  Chapter 15

  5.00pm: ‘They’re coming for us.’

  ‘Like moths to a flame,’ replied Blackmoor. ‘Let them come – we have nothing to fear. By the time they reach us, they would have wished that they had stayed at home.’

  ‘Is it time?’ asked King. He was pac
ing back and forth in front of the dining room’s open fire, growing increasingly agitated, like a dog waiting impatiently by the back door for its master to take it on its evening walk. The others were seated around the table, seemingly more relaxed with the situation.

  ‘Calm down, Reuben. Your uneasiness is both unhelpful and unnecessary.’ Blackmoor pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, ‘However, I think we’ve waited long enough. It’s time. Everyone, follow me to the Round Room.’

  King hurried away from the fire and was first to catch up to Blackmoor as he walked to the door; the others subserviently falling in line behind. Blackmoor smiled to himself as he headed down the corridor. This was the moment he and King had spent years preparing for. The trials and tribulations, the false starts, the disappointments; they had all failed to dampen the strength of their resolve. How they longed for Him to rule over them; to sweep away the hypocrisy and piety of man. To establish a world without ambiguity and blind faith to an invisible God who gave no sign of His existence. Their God would not choose to hide in the shadows any more than He would choose to blatantly ignore His followers. On the contrary, He would openly reward those who worshipped Him with power and wealth in this world, not the baseless promise of salvation in the next. Granted, there would be severe punishment for those who denied Him their allegiance, but at least the choice would be clear for all to see: devotion or death, servitude or suffering.

  A short while later they reached the small, wooden door at the centre of the Hall that led into the Round Room. King handed the key to Blackmoor, who inserted it into the lock and turned the handle. He entered the room and touched the flame of the candle he was carrying to the wicks of thirteen black candles that were at least three times as long and thick as his own. Crouching down, the others followed him into the room one at a time. Bronwyn was last to enter, closing the door behind her and groaning with relief as she straightened up. As soon as they were all inside, King locked the door. They stood together silently, staring in awe at the five-pointed star with its cryptic symbols painted on the floor, and in particular the blood-filled, ornamental horn that hung from a metal pole that pierced the centre of the star. Above them span the glass dome that constituted the roof of the tall, cylindrical room, but there were no stars; only dark clouds.

  ‘Reuben, would you be so kind as to light the fire?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. And while you’re doing that, I would like the rest of us to put on our robes.’ He pointed to the five red robes that hung from hooks in the wall. ‘You may need to help each other with them; the material is rather heavy.’

  One by one, they pulled the robes over their heads, until only King’s was left hanging. Having lit the fire, he walked across the room and joined the others. ‘The girl - when should we get her?’ he asked, stooping slightly as Ted Wilson helped him into his robe.

  ‘When I say, and not a moment before,’ Blackmoor snapped. He was starting to become irritated by King’s impatience and constant questioning. ‘Calm yourself, Reuben. Put your trust in me and do as I say and everything will proceed as planned. The girl must stay where she is until the very last moment. Otherwise she will only interrupt our ceremony with her crying and screaming. That can’t be allowed to happen – it would ruin everything.’

  ‘Sorry, Benedict.’

  Blackmoor took a deep breath. The others sensed that it was time to begin. ‘Stand at your points,’ he said to them. ‘And do not, under any circumstance, interrupt my flow.’ They did as he asked, walking to their predetermined position on the pentagram. Blackmoor moved to the small table against the wall and picked up the ornate, leather-bound book that lay upon it, before standing on the remaining free point on the star. ‘Is everybody ready?’ he asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He undid the silver clasp holding the book together and opened it to a page near the front. As he began reading aloud the preliminary passages of the dark sermon, Bronwyn suddenly felt a sharp and repetitive pain in her head, like a bird pecking away at the inside of her skull. Terrified of the consequences of making any kind of noise now that Blackmoor had commenced the ceremony, she bit her lip and fought the urge to cry out. Instead, she looked down at the floor and closed her eyes, hoping for the pain to disappear. Gradually, the pain began to subdue, and the peck – peck – peck changed into words, hard and sharp to begin with but gradually becoming softer. At first, she wasn’t able to understand the words; they were too fast and compressed. As they softened, however, they began taking a form she was able to recognise. Then, with crystal clarity, the words: ‘Help me…please…help me…don’t let them hurt me…please.’ Bronwyn opened her eyes with a start. Where have I heard those words before? She racked her brain, and as she did so she began to remember parts of the life she’d had before the hypnotic haze had fallen on her. The life that Blackmoor had willed her to leave behind. Whatever spell he had put her under was beginning to lose its potency; the power he had over her was beginning to fade. And then the words again, louder and clearer this time: ‘Help me…please…help me…don’t let them hurt me…please.’

  And suddenly the haze lifted and everything became clear. The girl, she thought, stopping herself from saying it aloud. The girl in my bathroom back at the Hostel – I remember now. She was talking to me…it was her. She needs me to help her. She needs me to save her.

  Chapter 16

  5.15pm: ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Ben! Thank God. Can you hear me? It’s Cara.’

  ‘Cara? What’s going on?’

  ‘We’re in Fellside Hall, remember? You were attacked by King; he punched you in the face and you fell over. Your head caught one of the steps and you started bleeding…you went out like a light. Then they brought us here and locked us in.’

  ‘I can’t see anything – it’s so dark. My eyes…I can’t see.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Cara said, carefully putting her arm around his neck and helping him up into a sitting position. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your eyes. It’s dark in here. Just sit still for a while until you come to your senses. There’s nobody in here but us. We’re safe…for now.’

  Ben rubbed his eyes, his nose still throbbing from the impact of King’s fist. He felt sick and disorientated. His fingers gingerly explored the back of his head: his hair was matted with blood and clung to his scalp; the cut now sealed but only just. He removed his hand, not wanting to break the delicate skin that had begun to form over the wound. He remembered now: the open trapdoor, the steps leading down into the cellar. Chloe…

  ‘Chloe!’ he screamed, the urgency of his voice causing him to hold his head as a sharp pain sliced through it. ‘Chloe’ - this time softer – ‘we’ve got to rescue Chloe. We need to get her out of here before those bastards do anything to her.’ He cried out involuntarily as he tried to stand, falling forward in agony onto one knee before trying again and succeeding this time; his paternal role as protector stronger than his concern for his own wellbeing. He moved to the door, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, and tried the handle. It didn’t budge. He tried again, more forcefully this time, pressing his shoulder up against the door, but again it held firm. ‘Open up, you bastard,’ he hissed, taking a step backwards before kicking it as hard as he could. ‘Please, God,’ he whispered, his eyes beginning to well up with a combination of frustration and desperation. ‘Please open this door. Please…’ He was crying now, kicking and lashing out at the door again and again until finally he fell against it and slumped to the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ said Cara, coming over and sitting down beside him. He didn’t resist as she put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him against her to comfort him as best she could. ‘When you were unconscious, I tried everything I could to find us a way out of here. The door’s locked and there’s no window for us to jump out of. I’m afraid there’s no way out. We’re trapped.’

  For a while, Ben didn’t say anything. He c
ontinued to cry, furious at himself for having allowed them to take Chloe from him. He couldn’t bear to imagine his daughter – his little angel – all by herself in that dark cellar, alone and terrified; crying out for her daddy to come to her. Eventually, he raised his head and looked at Cara, his eyes hollow with resignation. ‘Then it’s over,’ he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. ‘It’s all over. We’ve lost.’

  ‘Hey…hey…come on now,’ replied Cara, moving around to face him and gripping his shoulders with her hands. ‘Don’t say that – do you hear me? There’s always hope…there’s still time to save her. For a start, we don’t know what they’re up to. As far as we know, they might be planning on holding us for days yet. And by then, the Police will have arrived. Besides, it won’t be long before Emily and the others have noticed that we’re missing, and believe me; you wouldn’t want to mess with the folk down at Shepherd’s Cross. They’re a force to be reckoned with, I can tell you.’ Ben looked up at her. ‘We need to keep trying,’ she continued, her voice becoming softer and more reassuring now that she had his attention. ‘We mustn’t give in to these people. You know that, don’t you?’

  Ben closed his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘You’re right,’ he said, wiping his sleeve across his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me.’

  Cara smiled, leaning forward and kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m as frightened as you are. But as far as I see it we’ve got two options: sit here on our behinds like turkeys waiting for Christmas, or do something to at least try and change our situation.’

  ‘But you told me there’s no way out.’

  ‘I know. But we can shout, can’t we? We can let whoever’s out there know that we’re here. I know it’s a long shot, but you never know until you try. What do you reckon – shall we give it a go?’