A SNEEK PEEK INSIDE...

 

Chapter One - Memories

 

And it must be said that the pagan threat is not to be underestimated. The fiery old pagan gods of days gone by have been subdued by church building, the power of the monasteries and the brave Knights Templar. The old pagan gods have fallen away and are slumbering in the four corners of the kingdom. But do not underestimate their doom-mongering powers. Their old and wily magic is woven into the fabric of Britain, its power is steeped in every root and branch, every ancient village and standing stone. It would not take much in the way of rituals and spells to bring it all back. If this should happen then Christianity will be doomed, as would the modern world, which the pagan gods despise, being miserable old so-and-sos.

 

– Extract from Sleeping Gods – A Treatise on Ancient Paganism

– By the Right Rev. Jonathan Pryce-Davis, Bishop of Middenmere, July 1870.

 

 

Bill Blackthorne woke up with a start, sat bolt upright in bed and looked around the room with a sort of dazed, wild-eyed glare. Gloomy light poured in through the leaded windows, revealing an ancient worm-infested wardrobe made of gnarly old wood, carved with intricate patterns. The floor was so old it was almost black and was partly covered by a threadbare and faded Indian rug. A stuffed owl on a chest of drawers was giving him a curious glassy-eyed stare, and there was an intricate tapestry hung on the dark-panelled wall of a chin-thrusting knight on horseback. He could see that he was sitting in a large four-poster bed with a mattress as lumpy as a sack of potatoes, with maroon velvet drapes full of dust, and was under a set of heavy blankets. The air felt chilly and had a slightly musty feel to it, like soggy old socks. Something was wrong. Very wrong. But he didn’t know what.

  Then Bill noticed something that gave him the fright of his life. Lurking in the shadows, but moving forward to reveal herself, was a crazy looking, middle-aged woman who was gazing at him in a very disconcerting way. She was clutching a silver breakfast tray in her white bony hands, and he could see on it a boiled egg in a cup, a plate of toast soldiers, a steaming pot of tea, and a plain brown book. She wore a white, robe-like dress printed with strangely shaped symbols and he noticed a glint from diamond-drop earrings. Her fat lips were smeared with copious amounts of red lipstick and her hair was lightly permed. As she got up beside the bed she continued to stare as she placed the tray on his lap and loomed over him, like a vulture over carrion.

  “I said wake up, for breakfast! Bill darling, how are you, all better?” She gave him a close and searching look that was very creepy. “You look so very different than before, a mere boy now, how can that be?”

  Bill was freaked out and very scared. He’d been too confused to gather his thoughts, but now, as he began to wake up properly, he realised he had no idea if this was the first day he’d slept in the bed, or the hundredth. As he searched his mind for answers, he realised to his horror that he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened to him – not a whiff of something vague or even half-remembered. He tried desperately to recall something about his past, but there were no jolly childhood holidays by the seaside, no running through fields on sunny days. He’d never known Father Christmas or bedtime stories or even a long and boring day at school.

  His life, it seemed, had begun on this chilly morning, when he’d woken up in this musty old four-poster bed, in this dark corner of a wood-panelled bedroom, in a gloomy old house he somehow knew was called Brimstone Manor. He knew the world and everything in it… everything except his place. He felt powerless, terrified, trapped and all alone. He turned to the woman with a wild-eyed look, hoping she could supply some answers.

  “Who are you?” he mumbled, half to her and half to himself.

  The woman puckered her fat lips and ignored his question, grabbing him by the hand and peering into his eyes, like a stage hypnotist. “Do you remember Bill?”

  “I… who are you, what am I doing here?”

  Bill could see that this very odd woman looked cross. “The Cabinet of Rebirth, you must remember that. It’s your cabinet, your pride and joy.”

  Bill shook his head. “Nope. Not any use I’m afraid. My name’s Bill you say?”

  “The feeder jars? Remember them? The blood, you must remember the gallon of blood?”

  Bill looked bemused. Gallon of blood? He felt like this woman wasn’t telling him anything, was raving like a lunatic.

  “But what am I doing here?”

  “Anything at all about last night? You must, it is vital that you do! Here, take a look at this thing, it may help.” She picked up the book, which Bill realised was some sort of battered old journal, and showed him scientific formula, scribbled inside. “Do you understand this?”

  The woman seemed to think this book was important, that it would help him remember, so he looked at its pages very carefully, but all he could see was indecipherable scrawl and strange-looking diagrams. It meant nothing to him.   “Sorry, I…”

  “You must understand it. You have to find the answer. It’s in here somewhere, just look!”

  Bill shook his head like she was wasting his time, then dragged the heavy blankets up until they were almost under his chin. “I have no idea who you are or what you want. Leave me alone.” As he spoke, he noticed a steely and intolerant glint in this clearly deranged woman’s eye, as she simmered with anger, which meant he didn't really like or trust her. She’d not told him anything about his past or seemed keen on doing so.

She put the book down and sighed with impatience, turning something over in her mind. “Well Bill, it looks like we have a serious problem.”

  “What’s your name? How do you know me?”

  “My name is Beryl and I am your, how shall I put it? your sort-of mother.”

  “But… sort-of mother? You’re my mother? But I don’t remember you, my own mother and I don’t even recognise you! Who am I? What am I doing here?” Bill was becoming very agitated. He knew now that there was something seriously wrong with him. Was he in some sort of lunatic asylum?

  Beryl held up her red-nailed finger and made a shushing sound. “I cannot say right now darling, really it would not be a good idea. It would be too great a shock, you see, and you may go insane. You’re not ready, not in any way and I don’t know what to do. I’m not an expert in these matters. I need to speak to a colleague of mine, arrange for you to have treatments, then you will remember every darn thing, hopefully.”

  “Do I have friends? Can I see them?”

  “They’re long dead and buried, gone now forever.”

  Bill didn’t like Beryl’s answer at all, wondered what she could possibly mean by ‘long dead and buried’. He picked up his tea, and with a shaking hand took a tentative sip. This was all very curious and very horrible.

  “I will telephone Professor Nox at once. I am sure he’ll be able to fix this whole mess.”

  Beryl left Bill in bed. He tried his best to calm down, took deep breaths, but his hands were shaking as he held his cup on his saucer. After some time, after he’d eaten the slightly soggy toast and runny egg and drunk the strong tea, he realised he couldn’t spend forever in bed, so he pulled back the blankets, got out and felt the cold floor on his bare feet. He was naked, so went to the old wardrobe and opened it up. Clothes were hung up inside, with shoes at the bottom, and as he put various things on, he could see that they were so stuffy and formal they made him look like some sort of pretentious Victorian fop. What sort of odd-ball was he to have clothes like these? He realised his vision was a little blurred so put on huge thick black glasses he found on a bedside cabinet that brought everything into sharp focus. He looked in an oval silver mirror and smoothed down thin shoulder-length hair, gazing at a young and bright-eyed face he’d never seen before. How very odd!

  What now? He left the bedroom and went down the passageway outside, looking at the old portraits, suits of armour and dark furniture. This really was a very old house, with very old things inside and Bill found it a little spooky and strange. He opened a cabinet and searched inside, trying to find something that would give him some clue as to who he was, but found nothing but dusty old papers, trinkets and bits of mouldy old junk. He went through each room and searched through every cabinet and drawer he could find, went down the stairs and looked through countless old leather-bound books in the library, but found no photographs of his younger self, no toys, no birthday cards, no children’s books or kept mementoes, no school books or comics. Not being able to remember your past was weird enough but finding no evidence that it actually ever existed was even worse.

Bill bumped into Beryl.

  “Remember anything yet?” she said. “I have telephoned Professor Nox. He will be here early evening, after lectures, and will treat this most unfortunate development.”

  Bill shook his head. “Why is there nothing of mine in this horrible old house? Did I grow up here?”

  “I wouldn’t really say that,” said Beryl, considering something for a second. “Come with me and look at your laboratory, darling. It may help jog your memory.”

  She guided Bill into one of the rooms where he saw a cabinet. It was around seven feet tall, had a polished brass door and was connected to two large glass jars, on stands. There was a refrigerator, filled with bottles of dark red blood, and tables full of glass phials, Bunsen burners and labelled pots filled with toxic chemicals. He wondered if this stuff was what his so-called-mother had asked him about in bed earlier. He couldn’t think of anything more puzzling or perplexing.

  “This is the Cabinet of Rebirth. Remember what you did with it?”

  Bill shook his head. His day was getting stranger by the minute. Bill picked up a jar of chemicals and looked at the label but couldn’t decipher the finely scrawled handwriting. “What is this stuff? You could open a chemist’s shop with all this lot.”

  Beryl puckered her fat red lips and looked annoyed. I have some business to attend to, preparations for a night-time job. I’ve got urgent work to do.”

  She turned and left the room, but Bill followed her down the passage, anxious to know more.

  “Come on, I’ve had enough of these silly games! What am I doing here?” he said in a pleading voice.

  Beryl looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if I have the authority to discuss these things with you. Let me get on.”

  “But it can’t be normal, surely? But then again, how would I know? Maybe it is. Oh God, this is such a weird thing!”

  “No questions. You are to wait until Professor Nox arrives. Amuse yourself as you will.”

  Bill gazed out of a nearby window and saw a thick line of woods across a gravel drive and was intrigued by a lane that leads off through a gap in the trees. He thought of escape. He knew for sure that there was something very sinister and dangerous about Brimstone Manor and its strange inhabitant. He longed to get away, to somewhere safe, somewhere where there were answers to his many questions. He wondered what was in the world outside the mouldy old manor. He knew his mother, but how many other people lived out there, down that lane?

  “Those trees,” he said, holding her bony arm so she wouldn’t leave.

  “That’s Bogmire Wood.”

  “And what’s past that?

  “If you go down the lane there’s a village, called Underwood, a sleepy little place. Nothing much happens normally, but today’s the annual village fête.” Beryl stopped talking and checked herself. “But it’s no concern of yours. I must get getting on, so go and amuse yourself. Read in the library.”

  She pulled her arm away, turned and walked off.

  When Bill was sure she’d gone he went into the hall, slowly and silently opened the front door and crept out of the house. The sun was warm on his face and the light breeze was scented with flowers. It was bright and airy and felt wonderful after the damp and musty air in the manor. He walked across the drive and down the lane that led through the woods, looking at the trees, the dappled shadows cast by the sun, the colourful wild-flowers. He saw past the trees to rolling meadows, neatly hedged off, and in the far distance the brooding hazy shadow of a mountain, a place Bill knew was called Tor Idris. How did he know all this? He had no idea! He came into the village, Underwood she’d said it was called, and recognised the maypole, the village shop, the old stone houses. He’d been here before…

  He heard distant voices and music so followed the sounds, wandered up a track and came to a field with standing stones he knew was called North Down. It was crowded with people. There were bullocks and pigs in pens, sheepdogs running after sheep, and a number of makeshift stalls and tents selling home-made cakes, jams and beer. A vintage organ played a hurdy-gurdy song. Bill walked forward, into the crowd, feeling overwhelmed by so many people.

  A skinny young man with long straggly hair and a happy-go-lucky grin walked past. He wore faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a colourful picture of crazily dressed musicians on the front.

  “How do,” he said. “Not local? Been to our fête before? I’m Arthur Small, what’s your name?”

  “Hello,” said Bill. “My name’s Bill. I don’t think I have.” He suddenly realised he didn’t know his own surname.

  “Where you from?”

  “I live at Brimstone Manor, at least I think I do, with my mother. At least I think she’s my mother. It’s all very odd, let me tell you.”

  Arthur was confused. The son of the weird woman who lived up at the big house? Nobody knew she even had a son.   “Do you want to meet my dad? He’s the vet. Come and have a look at the sheep show. The sheep are cool.” They walked away, with Arthur chatting incessantly, asking Bill many personal questions that he didn’t know the answers to.

  He was introduced to a middle-aged man with glowing red cheeks, a bulbous nose and bushy eyebrows, who was wearing brown corduroys, a battered tweed jacket and a pair of wellington boots. It was Arthur’s father, Jim.

  Bill spent several happy hours with Arthur and his dad, pottering around the animal enclosures, looking at a sheep with a sore hoof and watching a balding man in a white coat pin a rosette onto a young bullock.

  Bill found Arthur and his dad very easy to talk to, and Bill decided to let him know about his life at the manor. He wasn’t sure what this boy made of him when he confessed that he’d lost all his memories. He went on to describe Brimstone Manor and the things he’d seen, including the mysterious Cabinet of Rebirth, hoping that by telling someone about his memory loss they’d reassure him and say he hadn’t lost his mind. But Arthur had only said it was all very freaky and didn’t know what to make of it. This didn’t really reassure Bill very much.

  Late afternoon came, and Bill was starting to feel very hungry.

  “We’re done now with all the veterinary stuff and suchlike,” said Jim. “Come back for a bite to eat.”

  “That would be nice,” said Bill, realising he’d not eaten since breakfast.

  They walked back down the lane to the village, with other people also going back now that the fête was drawing to a close, went across the village square and up a cobbled side street. Jim rang the bell at a crumbling three-storey place festooned with ivy – Arthur’s family lived in the veterinary surgery. Bill waited until Arthur’s mother opened the door – a plumpish happy-looking woman in a floral dress with a shock of curly hair.

  “How you all doing?” she said with a broad smile, looking at Bill with curiosity.

  “A friend of Arthur’s, called Bill. He’s come for tea.”

  She looked at Bill, thinking he was dressed very formally for a young lad. “I’m Daisy. You look skinny as a rake and could do with a good feed-up, my boy.”

  Daisy let Bill and the others in, and they went through a tiled hallway and into a kitchen full of hanging copper pans, an Aga stove and a long wooden table. There were dishes piled by the sink and a steaming brass kettle.

  “That was a lovely fête, one of our best,” said Daisy. “I ate six cherry pies!”

  “I didn’t see you there,” said Bill, warming to this plump, buxom woman immediately. She couldn’t have been more different than weird, miserable, freaky Beryl.

  “I came back a couple of hours ago, to make the hotpot.”

  Arthur’s gangly older brothers, Davy and Jimmy, were sitting at the table pouring over a Haynes manual for a Norton Commando motorbike. His younger sister Rosie, wearing a floral summer dress, was sitting at the other side drinking tea.

  “How do,” they all said in unison.

  “Hello,” said Bill as a couple of dogs brushed past his leg. He noticed a trio of cats, watching him from one of the chairs.

  “Guess who I saw at the bric-a-brac stall?” said Rosie with a cheeky smile. “Our Jimmy all mooning and chatting with Helen Tillington, like a right love-struck twerp! Offering to take her for a ride on his motorbike, he was.”

  Daisy smiled. “What if he did? Helen’s a lovely young girl, you sweet on her son?”

  Jimmy looked a little flustered. “Our Rosie spend half the day at the coconut shire, on account of Barney Brice being there, helping his parents run it, and mooning herself like a goggle-eyed fool.”

  “Not sure if I like the sound of that,” said Jim, “those Brice’s are always down the Unicorn, drinking till all hours, coming home singing in the street and waking everyone up. A right drunken rabble and no mistake.”

  “Barney’s not like that,” said Rosie, then added quietly, “though he did offer me some cider.”

  “Now then, Rosie, you’re too young to be taking up cider, at least not as much as the Brice’s drink.”

  Bill stood and listened to the conversation, trying to keep up with who was who, but failing to follow half of it.

  “Don’t just stand there like a lemon,” said Arthur. “Sit down.”

  Bill sat and looked at Arthur’s family, with his brothers pouring over their book, Jim chatting to Rosie about the perils of too much cider, and Daisy pulling a huge cast-iron pot out of the Aga. He looked at their homely faces, listened to their cheerful jokey chatter and immediately felt at home.

  Arthur had vanished momentarily but came back into the room carrying a battered brown suitcase. He opened it open and Bill could see it was full of books and clothes, and flat square things with pictures on he didn’t recognise. He began packing a pot of jam and tins of corned beef and spam into the case.

  “Now you be good and make sure you telephone every night,” said Daisy in a maternal voice. “Tomorrow I’ll fill the thermos and make you a hefty pack of sandwiches.”

  “Don’t fuss, mother,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.

  When they could see that Bill looked confused, Daisy said, “He’s off to university tomorrow, my youngest lad, first day there. My word, he’s a messy kid and plays those darn records much too loud, but I’m going to miss the little blighter.”

  “I’m a bit nervous, to tell the truth, all those big city people, but I’ll show them what us Underwooders are like.”          Arthur considered himself to be the hippest and most progressive lad in Underwood, which wasn’t that difficult when its entire population of young people consisted of yokel sons and rosy-cheeked daughters of crustily eccentric farmers. Arthur had grown up with them all in a sort of haymaking, strawberry picking, dancing around the maypole kind of childhood.

  “Bill’s the son of the woman who lives up at the big house,” said Jim to Daisy.

  “Really? I’ve never seen you around here, Bill my boy. Lived there a long time?”

  Bill didn’t really know what to say. As far as he could actually remember, he’d lived there for a day. He felt embarrassed, like some sort of freak and hoped the Small’s wouldn’t question him too much.

  “He can’t remember,” said Arthur. “He told us all about it before. Got some loss in the noggin. But it’ll all come back, sure it will Bill, so don’t look so worried.”

  Bill nodded but continued to look worried.

  Jim added, “Only temporary. You probably fell and got a bump on the head. Old Jim Geely got a bump on the noggin’ last year. Thought he was the King of England for a while, silly old sausage.”

  Arthur’s brothers and sisters joined in. “We don’t mind if you can’t remember anything. Probably for the best, for some people, what with the shenanigans they gets up to, if you know what I mean, not you I mean.”

  “You poor thing,” said Daisy. “Get some of this down you and it’ll cheer you right up. Whenever something gets you down, a good feed and you’re right as rain, that’s what I say.”

  Daisy dished up the hot-pot onto large plates and they all tucked in. For afters there was apple-pie and custard and a mug of steaming tea. When Bill had finished, he felt so full he thought he was going to explode. But Daisy was right, he did feel much better.

  Davy and Jimmy got out a pack of cards and asked Bill if he’d like to play. Bill was about to answer when there was a loud knock on the front door. Jim went to answer it and came back looking at Bill. “It’s for you,” he said with a puzzled look.

  Bill went to the front door and saw a snooty, imperious-looking man with a pot-belly in a smart grey uniform standing there. Bill noticed that there was a short black truncheon attached to his belt on the right-hand side and wondered why he had this. It looked a little bit lethal.

  “Hello,” said Bill. “Who are you?”

  “Mordred sir. I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced since you lost your memory. I work for Miss Blackthorne and have been sent to fetch you. You were the devil to find and I had to ask around. Most inconvenient, sir.”

  Arthur, Daisy and Jim were standing right behind Bill, looking at Mordred with curiosity. “He’s so freaky,” said Arthur. Jim looked at his son as if to say ‘don’t make rude comments’.

  Bill turned to Jim and Arthur and said, “I guess I’ve got to go. And my surname must be Blackthorne.”

  “Do come back any time,” said Jim. “A friend of the family now.”

  “I’ll make you a great big pie,” said Daisy. “Far too skinny by half.”

  Arthur grinned and shook Bill’s hand vigorously. “I’m staying in halls but back here at the weekends. When I get back, I’ll come and give you a knock.”

  Bill wasn’t entirely sure what giving him a knock meant but smiled and nodded and said he’d like that very much.

Mordred opened the door to a black 1930’s Roll Royce that was parked outside. Bill got in and Mordred drove off, went around the square, up the lane and back to Brimstone Manor. He told Beryl about his adventures, but she grew angry and said he shouldn’t have left, Professor Nox had been waiting. Bill was introduced to a muscular bearded black man, who was wearing a long crimson kaftan embroidered with a black paisley pattern. Bill didn’t like to look of him, he looked very intimidating. In fact, he scared the hell out of Bill.

  “And you are the infamous William,” he said in a deep voice with a slight Jamaican accent. “I guess I have to pretend like we have never met, how amusing. Haha! Good day to you. I am Professor Julius Nox.”

  He held out a huge hand and Bill shook it, resisting the urge not to whimper as his fingers were crushed.

  “I want you fixed, you have important work to do.”

  “Work?”

  The Professor looked surprised. “You do not know, man? You must save our dear Queen of England from her insanity. Did Beryl not tell you why you are here?”

  Bill didn’t know what to say.

  Professor Nox took a yellow envelope off Beryl and opened it, reading with interest.

  “What’s that?” said Bill.

  “Nothing to concern you, merely your medical records.”

  Medical records? thought Bill.

  “Now, Bill, let us start with a light hypnosis and psychotherapy, accompanied by some injections of a very special medicine. If they do not work, then we will go on to electro-convulsive treatments.”

  “Electro-what?”

  “Electrocution of the brain, but it’s only sixteen volts, to start with. It will not hurt the nerves with spasms.”

  “Sixteen sounds like a lot. And I don’t like the sound of the spasming nerves bit.”

  The Professor scowled. “Enough! You will do as you are told or have other treatments. The cellar is very well equipped.”

  Beryl led Bill over to a wingback chair. He was sat down, and his wrists were tied to the armrests and his ankles to the chair legs. Bill gasped as a long hypodermic needle pierced his skin. A few seconds later, the room span and went in and out of focus. Bill got really freaked out, tried to move his arms and legs but realised he was bound very tightly. What were these crazy people doing to him? The Professor dangled a pocket watch in front of Bill’s eyes and spun it slowing.

  “See the watch. See nothing but the watch,” he said repeatedly in a soft and soothing voice, like he was trying to get a baby to sleep.

  Bill began to feel very strange indeed.

  “Think back Bill, back a few days.”

  “I can’t...”

  “You must cross over into the void, the mysterious void! Cross over now!”

  The room seemed to shrink away. He was floating, piercing a dark cloud...

  He could see a couple of test tubes and a pair of hands, his own hands, picking them up. He could see glass phials and a Bunsen burner, lit under a spherical jar filled with bubbling liquid. His hand placed a glass slide onto a brass microscope. He looked into it and saw cells moving, dividing. Beryl asked him something important, but he couldn’t understand what she meant. A needle was attached to a plastic tube. He was looking inside the Cabinet of Rebirth and could see that it was lined with brass pipes and bare metal wires. He closed the door and in the polished brass, he could see his reflection – an older face, careworn and lined, with thinning hair, thick black glasses and large mutton-chop sideburns...

  Bill returned to consciousness with a start. What the hell was that all about?

  Professor Nox was wide-eyed with anticipation. “Well?”

  “I saw an old man, but...”

  “He’s a difficult case,” said the Professor to Beryl, “a unique one.”

  “What now?” said Beryl.

  “The shot of coproxidrol will wear off shortly. I think we need to use the heavy-weight equipment, the fry-the-brain stuff down at the university. He must be brought there tomorrow, after lectures.”

  Beryl nodded. “I will bring him. Thank you, Julius, for your help.”

  “He will be brought back, I promise. Even if it takes a hundred treatments. We can’t afford for him not to remember.”

  “No, we must get him back with us, our existence depends on it. This whole experiment has been a disaster, but what else could we have done?”

  “Nothing else. I will go now and see you both tomorrow evening.”

  Beryl nodded as Mordred showed the Professor out.

  Bill was groggy. Time passed. He was vaguely aware of Beryl rolling up his sleeve and doing something painful. Eventually, he came to and felt a pain in his arm. He looked down and was shocked to see that his inner forearm was tattooed with an image of a writhing salamander.

  “What the hell!” said Bill. “You can’t just go about putting tattoos on people when they’re half asleep. What’s wrong with you?”

  Beryl showed him her own arm, which had a similar tattoo. “This is the mark of the Apostles,” she said proudly. “You are in our employment and must obey our orders, in every way, on pain of death.”

  Bill didn’t know what to say. He looked at his forearm and decided his so-called mother was as mad as a hatter. “The mark of what-did-you-say?”

  “The Apostles. I decided you must be initiated, to guarantee your loyalty. Now you must speak the pledge.”

He was handed a bible and was made to speak a pledge, repeating each line as Beryl spoke…

​

We are God’s holy flaming sword,

that strikes down evil in any form –

be it child or mother or babe in arms.

We are prepared to die to fight evil.

We are prepared to kill to fight evil.

This is God’s will, our Heavenly salvation.

​

When it was over a delighted Beryl said. “You’re one of us now.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  “It’s too late to explain your solemn duties now,” said Beryl. “I have work to do and you must be tired. Go to bed now, and tomorrow you will be treated.”

  There was a grandfather clock in the corner of the room and Bill was surprised to see that it was almost midnight. He must have been doped up for longer than he realised. He nodded at Beryl and went upstairs and back to his bedroom, thinking of all the events of his very strange day. He thought of the Smalls and their kindness, of Arthur shaking his hand and grinning, of glaring Beryl looming over him that morning and of scary Professor Nox and his long syringe. Bill undressed, pulled on a long white night-gown he found in the wardrobe, and got into the four-poster bed, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress, wondering if his second day would be any stranger than the first…

  Later that night, Bill was woken up by the creepy and sinister sound of moans and screams coming from somewhere deep within the house. He closed his eyes, but they continued, almost incessantly. Someone was obviously in pain and he wanted to help, wondering if it was Beryl or Mordred who was suffering, maybe they’d had some sort of accident. He crept out of bed, and ventured downstairs, with only a flickering candle for illumination.

  Bill wandered into the hallway and got a terrible shock. He found Beryl with Mordred and they were forcing someone – who had their hands tied behind their back – through the cellar door. Bill gasped when this person turned and looked at him – he had curled gnarly horns and bright yellow eyes! There was a halo of light around his head.

  “Mother, what the…” He was lost for words, convinced that he really had lost his marbles.

  Beryl left the creature with Mordred and came over to Bill, grabbing him by the arm quite tightly. “Darling, just forget what you’ve seen. Go back upstairs and sleep. This is no concern of yours.”

  “But… what is it? How can I just forget something like that? Is it even human?”

  Beryl glared impatiently. “Back upstairs now, mother’s busy with her work.”

  “You work? What work do you do exactly?”

  The creature began to mumble something. Mordred neatly pulled out the truncheon from his belt and casually hit it a few times, causing it to cower. Then he pushed it through the cellar door. Bill was horrified at seeing such violence.

  “Why’s he beating that thing up?” said Bill. “It’s not right. Tell him to stop.”

  Beryl looked angry and began ranting. “You may follow occult biology, Bill Blackthorne, think science has all the answers, but we Abomination Investigators have our own beliefs, the tenants of the Christian Medical Cabal are sacred and immutable! Evil can be rooted out of the body, oh yes, rooted out with pain and degradation. We are performing a mercy.”

  Bill was speechless, shocked, realised his mother was a total crazy. Beryl gripped his arm very tightly, between white bony fingers, and guided him away, back up to bed. Bill was about to resist but thought of Mordred, his truncheon, and his casual relationship with its violent use.

*

Late afternoon on the following day, Bill was sitting in the back of the 1930’s Rolls Royce, gazing out of the window, watching farmers’ fields gave way to houses, shops and parks as they entered the suburbs of Middenmere. This ancient city was home to the University of Middenmere and its three colleges. Conatus was the oldest and grandest of the three and specialised in Religious and arty matters. Scientiam had highly regarded scientific research departments. Virtus, down by the banks of the river Midden, excelled at sport, with rowing a speciality. It was very exciting to be leaving the confines of Underwood and the manor, and Bill looked at everything with great fascination, feeling apprehension and curiosity in equal measure.

  The Rolls continued into the city centre, passing gatehouses, pubs, churches and half-timbered shops. Middenmere was an ancient city with many old and rather beautiful buildings. Bill saw a sign that said Conatus College and behind it was an imposing gothic pile, topped with gables and cupolas, set back behind well-tended, tree-filled lawns. The rolls glided up a gravel drive and Bill saw many young brightly-dressed people carrying books and chatting in an animated way, and this made him think of his friend Arthur and his brothers and sister. He felt a little lonely.

Bill spotted a group of older people and guessed by their age and long black robes that they were a group of professors. As the car approached, one woman caught his eye because he saw a faint light shimmering around her head. At first glance, she looked perfectly normal, apart from a bent back and a limp, but as the car glided past, he took a closer look and let out a yelp of shock.

  She was just like the creature he’d seen at the manor! The eyes were normal, quite kind and expressive, but at the same time were yellow and strange. Her skin was pale, almost waxy, with red veins that spread like a spider’s web across her checks. The ears were long and pointed like a bat’s and he got a vague impression of curled ram-like horns on her forehead. He blinked and looked again, hoping he was imagining things, but the bestial vision was still there.      He’d convinced himself that the horned and yellow-eyed man he’d seen at the Manor, being led into the cellar by Mordred, was from his confused and tired imagination. But here was another one! He wondered if he was insane, and noticed the other professors were chatting to this creature without any fear. Were people in the world not scared of such things? This hell-beast of a woman certainly frightened Bill.

   The car pulled up outside an archway that led into the main quadrangle. Mordred opened the door and Bill climbed out.

  Beryl emerged from the front passenger door. “Darling,” she said, “try not to look too nervous.” She gave him a smile that showed a hint of steeliness. Her hair was soft and curly and she had on her diamond drop earrings, a necklace and far too much make-up for a woman of her age. She was wearing what she wore the day before – a robe-like dress covered in signs and symbols.

  “I’ve just seen another one! A woman, one of the professors I think, with those horrible eyes and the horns! Just like last night. It can’t be normal, mother, to see things like that.” Bill was very agitated. Who exactly were these horrible creatures? What were they doing here, living amongst us? Why couldn't other people see them? Why was Mordred leading one into the cellar? Was he losing his mind?

  Beryl put up a firm hand. “Just ignore them. They will do you no harm in their current drugged-up form, I promise.”

  Bill noticed Beryl didn't deny their existence. “But they’re monsters. With horns. Horrible horns. What if they attack?      Why is nobody else panicking about this?”

  “I told you to forget about them. Do as I say! I order you!”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Bill and Beryl went through the archway and into the quadrangle. The beautiful building with elegant stone carvings filled him with awe. Students bustled past and Beryl stopped a professor to ask about the time of Professor Nox’s lecture. When the professor had gone, Beryl looked annoyed.

  “Unfortunately, we have come at the wrong time. It’s just after five and Professor Nox is lecturing until after seven. I have to leave now on important torture business but promise me you will go and see him, he will be in his rooms by eight. If you do not go then you will be severely punished. His rooms are very close.” She led him to an archway and told him to go up the stairs, second door to his right. “You will go, won’t you? Should I get Frank to watch over you?”

  “Who’s Frank?”

  “A very obsessive yet well-meaning friend of ours, from the Choral Society. Someone who will take care of you from now on. He’s loyal to us and very persuasive, very persuasive indeed. I hope you grow to like him, or at least obey him without question.”

  Bill didn’t know what to say. “I want to go, of course I do. I want my memory back, want to understand what the heck’s going on. I’ll go up right away, right now, be outside his door waiting for him, why would I not? Having this illness is horrible, I want to be cured.”

  Beryl relaxed and smiled, but Bill thought she still looked a little deranged. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and stared into his eyes. “Good. Very good. Mordred will pick you up when it’s done, around nine I guess, ring me when you’re ready.”

  “Ring you?”

  “On the telephone. Professor Nox will show you how. When memory is restored you are to save our dear Queen’s sanity, she is desperately ill.”

  “What does that mean? How can I save the Queen?”

  “You are very important to us, Bill. You must do exactly what Professor Nox tells you to do, bear his administrations without complaint. Be a brave boy.”

  “What is it he’s doing to me? I don’t understand.”

  “He will inject a complex mix of chemicals required to restore your mind's balance. I don’t pretend to understand it myself. He's a very learned man who has invented certain electro-convulsive and hypnotic procedures that will force your poor deluded brain to recollect its past.”

  “Yes mother,” said Bill. “But isn't there another way? One without drugs and electricity?”

  “No! You are an Apostle now, must serve us, or you will be severely punished.”

  “Yes mother, you win,” he said when he realised this fearsome woman would take no other answer.

Beryl suddenly relaxed and smiled, stared into his eyes. “You have a momentous destiny, my dear sweet child. When memory is restored you will be given a great and important job, a very difficult and dangerous job that only you can do. The Apostles need you.”

  Bill nodded and backed away, feeling freaked out, freeing himself from Beryl’s bony fingers. She gave him a piece of paper with the manor’s number on it, told him not to lose it. Bill climbed a couple of the stairs to Professor Nox’s room.

  Beryl considered for a moment. “I think it best if I fetch Frank now. He will sit with you and make sure you don’t wander off. Frank is very strong.”

  “I’m fine mother. I will wait here.”

  “I will be back in five minutes with Frank. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She waved him off and went back to the car.

  When she’d gone Bill sat down on a step and sighed, wondering who Frank was. His mother said he’d take care of him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be taken care of. Especially by someone who sounded like this Frank chap. He was about to go off up the rest of the stairs and find somewhere to sit, maybe a bench near the Professor’s door, when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Hi Bill, you never said you were a student.”

  Bill looked up and saw his friend from the village, Arthur Small, grinning at him.

  “What are you wearing?” said Arthur. “You need to be rockin’ a hip look if you want to impress these sophisticated uni chicks. Check out this little number.”

  Arthur waved a lower leg to show off the flapping action on his bell-bottom jeans and opened his denim jacket to reveal a paisley t-shirt. There was a strong whiff of his dad’s highly pungent aftershave.

  Bill’s brown corduroy smoking jacket, white shirt and paisley cravat, found this morning in his wardrobe, suddenly felt very different from what all the other young people were wearing. “This is not good?”

  Arthur shrugged. His soup-stain moustache and wispy mutton-chops were just about visible in the autumnal twilight. “What you studying?”

  “I’m just visiting. Got to see Professor Nox about something. But he’s not around for a couple of hours, so I’m just sort of hanging about.”

  “Oh, Professor Nox, eh? About something, eh? Very mysterious. I’m just off to my room for a bit of a chillout. Want to join me for a cup of tea?”

  Bill couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do more. He didn’t like the sound of this Frank person at all. “Yes please.”

  Arthur grinned at Bill. “Cool. I’ll introduce you to Crocodile.”

  Bill nodded and smiled, wondering what Arthur could possibly be doing with a crocodile in his room. He was glad he’d met Arthur, glad to escape for a short while from his mother’s claustrophobic clutches. He was also glad he could now avoid meeting the big, strong, serious-sounding boy called Frank.