No serving police officer could ever write this story so I can only write it now from the haven of retirement. It was made very clear to us at the time that this file was sealed forever and not a word of these events should ever come out but I think I am safe now.
No serving police officer could ever write this story so I can only write it now from the haven of retirement. It was made very clear to us at the time that this file was sealed forever and not a word of these events should ever come out but I think I am safe now. The only way they could censure me over revealing these things is by admitting that the story was taken seriously and you can be sure they will never ever do that.
I was called in to take over the case of Gilly Parker, an eighteen year old who had disappeared from her home near the village where I now live. There was not the trace of a lead, no disputes at home or missing clothing to indicate she was a runaway and, as far as we could tell, no secret boyfriend who might have lured her away. Gilly was described as a nice homely girl who was not in any way streetwise and, although intelligent, was probably a bit young for her age. We did all the usual things but made no progress of any kind at all.
It was inevitable that the stories of The Curse would resurface. Country folk have long memories and going back as far as records go and as far as myths go, which is a lot further, there was a chain of missing girls in an area of around one or two miles of the farm where Gilly lived. Typically the girls would all be young and pretty and usually they would be farm girls or dairy maids or what might be called “Decent peasant stock”. Of course the time scale involved rules out a single offender because, if the crimes were all connected, the perpetrator would have to be over five hundred years old.
Legend is always ready to fill in the gaps left by hard fact and talking to old folks in the area brought up the name of Sir John Favenham who is said to have inhabited Creech Castle in thick woodland on land now belonging to the farm owned by Gilly’s family. There is no historical record of anyone called Sir John Favenham and there is no evidence, either in stone or written records of Creech Castle but those who whisper the myth are not deterred by that. According to the story, Sir John was the local lord who drew maidens into his dark castle. The one woman whom he ever truly loved was an Irish maiden called Lady Constance and he took her into his castle wanting her for his wife. So great was his love for her that he could not take her by force but could only be satisfied if she willingly consented to be his own. When this consent was not given he kept her in his dungeon for a full year to make her yield and surrender herself to him as her husband.
Favenham was evil personified and so deep was his evil that one day his castle simply imploded and every last stone disappeared. There is no record of him or his castle because the locals were too afraid to speak of it but the myth says that in some form, he is still active in the area.
The case of Gilly Parker hung over all of us who worked on it. The investigation wound down and was marked “Unsolved” to be left in the hope that some new piece of evidence would surface and give us a lead to follow. The team were all redeployed and that was it for three years until the fire.
Right in the middle of the Parker’s farm was a thick triangular patch of woodland which had never been farmed. You might think that in an age when farmers need to make money from every last acre something would have been done with that patch but I suspect that the wood was left because it was the site of the mythical Creech Castle and no-one would disturb it. The families in this area have lived there for generations and probably there is an unspoken fear handed down from father to son which ensures that the wood is left alone. It was fenced off and no-one went there. When our investigation team had to search the woods, they had to use machetes to carve a way through vines and tangled trees and it was clear that no-one had entered the wood for centuries before our officers.
The first that anyone knew of the fire was when people in the area were awoken around midnight by what they described as a loud roaring sound. When they looked out, they beheld a brilliant blue flame soaring perhaps thirty feet into the sky from the woodland. They said that it looked like a gas jet; it was a very narrow, high and bright flame. Of course, everyone was terrified that the fire would spread to the nearby farmland and buildings and they all turned out to do what they could as well as phoning the Fire Brigade.
It was treated as a major incident but by the time the first fire appliances arrived the fire was pretty much out apart from the odd bit of smoldering and small fires on a few low bushes. The fire crews said that they had never seen anything like it and they said that the heat must have been so intense that it burned up all the affected fuel and then died out before it had a chance to spread. The trees were not left as bare, blackened branches as one might expect but they still had all their leaves. The leaves were black, dry and brittle because the fire had consumed all their inflammable sap and then burnt itself out before it could take the fabric of the leaves themselves. It had been a “flash fire” which just erupted from no known cause, burned at an incredible temperature and then died down leaving the woodland more or less intact but everything, even thick tree trunks, turned to dust as soon as they were touched.
But the odd aspects of the fire were secondary because the fire was eclipsed by the other occurrence. Gilly’s parents had rushed out into the night with the intention of carrying their effects out of their cottage before the fire took the old building but when they saw the flame they had been transfixed by it and simply stood staring up at the brilliant blue flare which looked like a knife blade thrust up into the air. They could see that the fire was not moving towards them but seemed to be rooted to the woods and was flaring directly upwards.
As they watched they became aware of a figure stumbling towards them. The figure was jet black like a human shaped hole in space and its outline soon showed that it was a female form. Gilly’s father rushed towards what he was sure would be a terribly burned victim and he later said that it reminded him of one of those 1930s pictures of coal miners who are completely black with just the tiny white points of their eyes visible.
Gilly ran into her father’s arms and collapsed sobbing into his shoulder. It transpired that she was not burned at all but was covered in a thick coating of soot which had rained down from the flare. Even her hair was covered in soot so that not a trace of the natural colour showed through.
It was some time before a coherent statement could be gathered from Gilly and there followed long interviews with a psychologist to try to make some sense of the story. The police statements and the psychologist’s report have been sealed and are now held in a secure archive where they will probably never see the light of day so I will recount the rest of this story from memory. That will not be difficult as every word remains with me as clearly as when I first heard it from Gilly herself.
My first impression on meeting Gilly was that she appeared exactly like the eighteen year old schoolgirl who had looked out at me from the school picture on the white board in the incident room. I thought that surely a young woman would have changed in the three years that Gilly had been missing but Gilly was surprised when she was told how long she had been missing. She was never able to give us a complete end to end account of what had happened to her and, in the circumstances that is not surprising. All she could give us were disjointed events without being sure of the order in which they happened but the things which she told us certainly do not add up to three years. She had no means of judging time but she said that she thought she had been held for “weeks”.
According to Gilly she had been “drawn” to the woodland in a way that she could not explain. She said that it was a sort of obsession which overpowered her so that all she could think of was that she had to visit the woodland. It was a deep longing like the compulsion to see a lover; she simply had to go there and it was unthinkable that she would not go. Gilly recalls climbing over the fence at around 9.30 on the Saturday morning and slowly making her way just a few feet into the tangled undergrowth. Then a huge hand clamped over her face and she was fighting for air as an arm locked around her waist and began to squeeze all the breath from her body. She remembers being terror-stricken and then she thinks that she fainted.
When she recovered, she was in the dungeon where she was to spend the entire time of her captivity. It had a stone flagged floor and the walls were of huge rough-hewn stones. The only light came from lanterns set on iron sconces on the walls. Gilly did not at first have time to take all this in as she was being held from behind by a large man in a brown robe like a monk’s habit. A similarly dressed man was in front of her and she described his face as brown and shrunken with wisps of hair visible under the hood of his habit. Gilly had never seen an old corpse but she described perfectly the way that a cadaver looks when it has been dead for some time including the gnarled, claw-like fingers with extended finger nails and the sunken features of the skull with the eyeballs looking as if they are about to pop out.
This was her de***********ion of both men and she said that she could not tell them apart; Gilly said that she became hysterical at the feel of their parchment dry hands. Whenever one or both men were present there would be a continuous soundtrack of insane and unintelligible cackling which Gilly would have done almost anything to shut out.
Gilly had been brought up a good girl and, despite her captivity, she could not yield to these two monsters even had they been normal flesh and blood but she was aware that she was not dealing with living men but with something else. It is unclear whether Gilly knew the word necrophilia but she could not bring herself to perform such an obscenity.
Gilly was unable to give us a coherent account of the ending of her captivity. She just recalls that suddenly the whole world was blindingly blue and searing hot and she found herself face down in the dirt. The instinctive terror of being burned alive caused her to struggle to her feet and blunder forward away from the blue flame; then she was in her father’s arms.
There is not much more to tell. So great was the heat of the fire that it destroyed every last microbe in the soil so that the triangle was left black and barren. A mechanical digger was driven through the burned trees and they simply crumbled in clouds of chocking, fine powder leaving a flat, empty triangle like a scar in the landscape. Tons of topsoil were dumped around the outside of the triangle and shrubs were planted to form a screen hiding the inner emptiness so that the black scar can only be seen from the air. In time foliage will spread from the fertile land and cover the whole area.
Gilly has a close and loving family and she is gradually recovering just as the land is recovering. Perhaps one day she may even allow a lover to touch her but I suspect that will not come about for many years.
As to what really happened of course no-one knows any more than I have set down for you. My personal feeling is that the actual location of poor Gilly’s incarceration was some place which you will not find on any map. When I think of the ending of the story my thoughts are drawn back to the story of Lady Constance, the Irish beauty whom Favenham yearned to have give herself to him. I can testify that Gilly is a true beauty and I believe that Favenham wanted her in the same way. When, against all the odds, she held firm against him I think his anger and frustration welled up into the supernatural flame which was witnessed by all around. Does that mean that all the other maidens whom he took over the centuries gave in to him? I do not know but it was my belief that in winning her battle against his evil Gilly may well have destroyed Sir John Favenham forever.
But it seems that our piece of ancient England holds more than one dark secret for, shortly after my retirement, I came upon yet more sinister happenings which involved me in meeting a lady who had formerly been involved in the property business.
It was the first project of which Trish had been in charge. The Consortium was bidding for the Lorne Park site to be used for luxury apartments and on Monday morning Trish would meet the contractors and surveyors at the site to decide if they could convert the old building or if they needed to demolish and build from scratch.
She had collected the keys from the agent on Friday afternoon and now, on Saturday morning, she could not resist the chance to go to the site alone and do a tour so that when the meeting happened on Monday everyone would be impressed by how well she knew the project. That was why she was here with her shiny black Audi idling behind her as she unlocked the huge rusty padlock on the high iron gates. The thick chain fell away noisily and Trish returned to her car and purred up the winding drive. There was grass growing up through the tarmac and trees and greenery were intruding into the drive. When the building came into view it was like the setting for a horror film. To make things worse, heavy dark clouds hung overhead and the feeling of neglect and decay was deepened by the tangled mass of out of control vegetation which seemed to be creeping up the front steps like a monster which was gradually dragging the place back to complete jungle.
The building itself was two storeys with windows set into the sloping roof showing that there were rooms in the attics. The chimneys were tall and one of them had collapsed. The whole thing was grim Victorian red brick. It had been built as a reformatory for girls and then later it had been a girl’s boarding school which had been shut down after some trouble. The details were unclear.
As Trish locked her car and slowly walked to the oak front door she wondered what had run through the minds of those unfortunate Victorian girls who had been brought here. Being set in its own grounds the place was completely isolated from the outside world and the thought came into Trish’s mind that any indignity and horror could have been imposed on the inmates of this place and no-one outside would ever know.
The front door key was huge and made of black iron like the key to an old church and it took some effort to turn the key in the long disused lock. Trish deliberately left the door open as she slowly made her way into the musty smelling entrance hall and a pigeon flapped somewhere overhead disturbed at the sound of the door being opened. Of course, the electricity had been cut off long ago but daylight came into the place through the tall, dirty windows.
In the course of her work Trish had been into many abandoned buildings but in this one she had to make a concentrated effort to think like a professional instead of a frightened little girl. She had crossed the entrance hall now and passed through a wide doorway under heavy wood carving into another high and wide space. Perhaps this had been a dining room or an assembly hall. The floor was dusty bare boards and the windows were all at first floor level. It had been Trish’s intention to make a detailed study of the place with a view to deciding whether to favour conversion or demolition but she was disappointed in herself that she had already, intuitively, formed the very strong impression that this place was evil and must be totally destroyed.
By this time she was in the centre of the large space and suddenly the whole building was filled with the sound of a huge crash like a cannon shot which caused Trish’s heart to stop for a second. However, as the squawking of the birds died down, she told herself that the wind had caught the front door which she had left open and blown it shut. Just as she was recovering her breath, she heard a door slam somewhere else nearby then what could only be male footsteps very close to her.
Now she was uneasy and verging on scared and she called out asking if anyone was there. She was slowly turning around trying to locate the sounds although now all was silent again. Then she caught a movement out of the corner of one eye and she spun in that direction but saw nothing. Completely without warning Trish felt something hot clamp over her mouth and nose and she was gasping for air but it was being denied her. She saw only the huge empty room but something invisible was covering her face and dragging her backwards so that she lost her balance and ended up on her back still struggling to breathe as she thrashed her arms around uselessly.
She screamed and tried to squirm free but she could not move. She exerted her muscles but her body did not obey. Trish cried out as she felt sharp pain on the back of her hand and she watched in fascinated horror as an angry red bite mark appeared. Her mind became full of the word “Vampire”. Whatever the evidence of her eyes, Trish now knew that she was being attacked by some entity and she channeled her fear into anger as she swore at it and commanded it to let her go but she froze when she felt a large weight pressing her to the dusty floorboards.
The anger was gone now to be replaced by mindless terror as she heard herself begging to be left alone. Just on the edge of hearing was the suggestion of a voice in a harsh whisper but it was not words which she heard so much as a sort of chattering much as might be made by a pack of hyenas as they devoured their prey.
All her nerve endings were firing at 200% and every muscle was pulled taut. Trish was incapable of speech but the whole building seemed to be echoing with her shouts and moans. She knew that if this lasted for just another minute her head would explode and she would never recover but it did continue so it seemed that for an eternity she hung on the edge of total destruction. It was as if she were floating in a place outside of the known universe where the laws of physics were suspended or irrelevant.
Suddenly she was hit by an all-enveloping stillness; it was so still that she was sure this was death. Gradually the real world began to seep back in the way that the sea slowly sweeps away the sand barriers built by children on the shore. Once again, she was aware of her own body as she lay there with her arms outstretched and her hands palm upwards. Her neck was bent backwards so that she could see an upside down view of the wall behind her and she could not move a muscle. She was aware of every muscle aching and was certain that the slightest movement would cause agony. All she could do was to lie there aware of her heart pumping and her breasts rising and falling. She was very cold.
Trish had no idea of how long she lay there but eventually she began to make tiny movements. She found that she could move her arms and her body and then the tears came and she could not stop sobbing even when she was back in her car and driving home. Once inside the flat Trish ran a hot foamy bath. The young woman still felt tearful as she soaked in the bath and then she became aware of the voice.
It seemed to be in her head rather than her ears and it was very faint but it sounded like wire wool rubbing across sandpaper as it spoke slowly and deliberately.
“We shall play again.”
Feeling very uneasy Trish toweled herself down after her bath and slipped into her longest nightdress; she wanted to be as fully covered as possible so she put on the white gown which reached almost to the floor. When her mirror gave her a glimpse of herself in the long gown, she thought of those unfortunate Victorian girls who had been imprisoned in that dark reformatory where their screams went unheard by the outside world. She pulled the bedcovers over herself and sank into the sleep of exhaustion but her sleep gave her no rest.
He lived in her neurons and he had ridden in her mind as she brought him home with her away from the shell of the Victorian institution where his rule had been law. As she slept, he had perfected his hold on her and he had drawn strength from the fear and humiliation which had been engendered in her by the dream which he had inflicted upon her.
Trish awoke that Sunday morning feeling weak and hungover after her troubled night. She dragged herself out of her perspiration soaked sheets noticing that the duvet was on the floor where it had fallen as she lashed about in her sleep in a desperate attempt to fight off unnamed horrors. The dream was still very real to her as she pulled her robe around her over the long white nightdress and made her way to her kitchen to make coffee. And all the while he rode with her in her head seeing through her eyes and, at the same time, exploring the mind which he had made his home. As he roamed around her deep subconscious, he plumbed every memory and every pain and humiliation which she had ever experienced. There was much here which he could use.
The woman was unaware of what he was doing in her mind but it would have been impossible for him to probe so thoroughly without his host feeling something. His exploration amounted to running his fingers over very old scars and when a wound is touched it causes pain. Trish sat on her kitchen stool not far from tears and feeling slightly nauseous. She had inexplicable feelings of helplessness and bitter embarrassment as she found memories were seeping back of things which were long past and which she had thought were buried and long forgotten. She told herself that it was natural for her to feel groggy and she would return to bed and sleep it off. Carrying the half empty coffee cup, she retraced her steps to the bedroom and discarded her robe onto the bed. As she did so she caught a glimpse of the long mirror and froze as the coffee cup fell from her paralysed fingers spilling hot coffee down the front of her gown and onto the carpet.
Instantly she clamped her eyes tight shut to push away the image of the large man in the black suit and dark green waistcoat with gold watch chain. He was from her dream; he could not possibly be here but when she opened her eyes, he was still there leering at her from the mirror. She just stared at the awful image as she summoned the courage to look behind her but when she risked a glance over her shoulder there was no one there. Relief flooded over her but was snatched away when she heard her name rasped out in a harsh whisper; looking in the direction of the sound she beheld him on the opposite side of the bed where he could not possibly be reflected in the mirror. He was between her and the door.
Her fear was now overwhelming. It was not merely the fear from the old building or even the terror from her nightmare last night but it was loaded with the things which he was using from her own mind. We rely on our memories for our knowledge of the past but what if someone tampers with our memory?
Now he was speaking in a cold, quiet manner as he set out what was going to happen. For the hours between now and Monday morning he would grant her perfect rest and restoration so that she was fit for her meeting back at the old reformatory. As a project leader for The Consortium, she would be meeting surveyors and contractors to discuss whether the building was to be converted into luxury flats or demolished to make way for a new build. It had been preparation for this meeting which had taken her to the property on Saturday morning and her overwhelming sense of the evil in the place had convinced her that it must be destroyed. But now she would argue for conversion and he would ensure that she carried the day. His presence in every meeting would give her access to the private thoughts of everyone around the table so she would know their bargaining positions and where to apply pressure to overcome any objections. She would do whatever it took to ensure votes went the right way: her morals or her likes or dislikes were not a factor here. All that mattered was that the building was converted and when it was finished families would move in and he would have free access to their minds and their lives to do as he pleased.
She was horror struck at what she was being made to do. Through her actions how many innocent people would suffer to give pleasure to this monster who now lived inside her own mind? And yet she knew in her misery that she would not fight him anymore. He had won and he would continue to win.
But a dark thought surfaced. He could give her the power to get her way in any meeting which she ever had with anyone. With power like that she would not remain a junior project leader; she could become a senior executive despite her comparative youth and after that she could have a seat on the board. The Faustian pact was made. The price would be unspeakable but if she must suffer at this man’s hands perhaps she could take some rewards as well.
The spirit of the deceased Victorian Reformatory Overseer found that the longer he inhabited Trish’s mind the easier it became to find his way around. Moving around a mind is not like being in a city as thoughts are not neat and separate like buildings. It is more like being in a forest and finding one’s way between bundles of synapses and thoughts some of which are ragged and unwieldy while others are neat and self contained like low bushes. Doctors reckon that if all the nerves and capillaries in a human mind were stretched out, they would cover many thousands of miles but, as The Overseer had no human body of his own, distance meant nothing to him and he could think himself instantly into any part of his new home.
Of course, entering into a pact with evil can only ever end badly which is why I had to gather my account of Trish’s misfortunes by visiting her in prison where she was serving a sentence for corporate corruption. Trisha had tried to use the account which she gave to me in her defence but she had not been believed.