Dark Ages. John Pritchard
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can I,’ she said, and gave a wan little smile. The perkiness had died away long since.
By midnight, he’d worked up the nerve to try and broach the subject.
The Burnt House was still dormant, but its aura felt increasingly oppressive. A claustrophobic itch had started nagging: as if the place was sealed again, and they were trapped inside. He glanced more than once at his propped-up torch, almost willing himself to see it flicker.
The past – his past – was creeping up: the atmosphere congealed to give it shape. He knew he’d talk before the night was out. Like the onset of a stomach ache that has to end in sickness. And this would be a purging, too – and maybe a relief.
He glanced at Lucy. Their small talk had subsided, but the silence was companionable enough. He’d never breathed a word of this to anyone before; he wasn’t sure how even she’d react.
So begin at the beginning. Building-blocks.
‘What’s your theory, then: on ghosts?’
She looked at him over the plastic mug. ‘I thought you knew.’
‘After-images and such?’
She shrugged. ‘Or psychic echoes. Call them what you like. I think they’re just a way of seeing into the past. Not sentient at all.’
‘And not things that can hurt you.’
She shook her head.
‘So what about demons, then?’
‘Doesn’t that imply a Christian view?’
‘Other religions have them. Evil spirits.’
‘Active agents, you mean; rather than passive images?’
He nodded slowly, thinking of the burning room upstairs. The house had always felt unsafe, but now the air of dull threat seemed to grow.
‘Maybe,’ she conceded – and looked at him quizzically. ‘Why?’
He glanced around; then back at her. ‘I think I might have called one up, one time.’
Lucy straightened up. ‘What, in a seance or something?’
‘No, I was at home and it was the last thing on my mind. I never believed in things like that.’ Restless now, he clambered up as if relieving cramp.
‘But now you do?’ she murmured.
He looked around, and nodded.
‘So what happened?’
‘I don’t know. I was looking at something in one of my dad’s old books; just stringing names together in my mind …’ He wet his lips. ‘Dubhe and Merak; Alioth. Mean anything to you?’
‘No, but they sound like mythical names. Forgotten gods, or something?’
He gave a small, tight smile and shook his head. ‘They’re the names of stars, that’s all: the stars in the Plough. This was just a picture of a medieval star-chart. One that was used for magic of some kind.’
She frowned at that. ‘So … what was it like? This thing that came.’
‘There were more than one,’ he said.
‘You saw them?’
‘I just heard them. That was worse. It was like I’d been struck blind – I couldn’t see. But in my head, I saw these images.’
Lucy was absorbed by now. ‘Martin. How come you’ve never mentioned this before?’
‘Because I couldn’t fucking cope with it. I’ve not told anyone before – not even my own sister. I’d trust her with anything, but not this. I can’t lump her with this.’
Her bright eyes didn’t blink. ‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing. I just waited. I was too afraid to move. And Christ, I thought the dawn would never come.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘When it did, I found that I could see.’ Another pause. He shrugged. ‘The house was empty.’
‘And nothing since?’
‘Not a whisper. Nothing for two years. That’s why I’ve kept searching. I need to look them in the face again.’
Lucy sat there, watching, with her back against the wall. ‘You sound like my old boyfriend,’ she said drily. ‘He backed down from a fight one time, then kept on reliving it, and winning. It wasn’t as if I minded. Stupid git.’ Her tone was shrewd but amiable enough. He smiled thinly, scuffing at the cinders.
‘Believe me, girl, I’d run a mile from this lot.’
Her expression grew more pensive. ‘You’ve considered—’
‘That it might be something psychiatric?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets; took a breath. ‘Jesus, Luce: of course I have. That’s another reason why I have to keep on looking. I know what I saw. It’s just, I need to prove it to myself.
‘There’s something else. I’m sure that what I saw that night was something from outside. Something science doesn’t understand – not yet. And if it’s there, I want another look.’ He crossed the room abruptly, startling her. ‘I’m going upstairs now.’
She stared up at him. ‘Hey, listen …’
‘There might be something up there. If there is, I have to see it. Are you coming?’
She hesitated. He saw how much her confidence had dwindled; she was looking very young now. ‘No,’ she said, and shook her head. ‘I’m not.’
‘I don’t blame you. I really don’t. But don’t go away, all right?’ He turned towards the stairs.
‘What images?’ she asked, belatedly.
Looking back, he hesitated: trying to find the words.
‘Like predators with human skins,’ he said.
The house, of course, was empty. Though its past was real and horrible enough, he sensed no echoes from it. The upper floor was desolate: just empty, mournful darkness. If something evil had been here, it had gone its way long since.
His reaction was the same as always: frustration and relief in equal measure. They wiped each other out, and he was left there feeling nothing.
Lucy ventured up a short while later, not wanting to be left alone downstairs. He saw her torchlight flashing from the corner of his eye, but stayed where he was: letting her track him to the scorched shell of the bathroom. One of the window-boards was missing here. He’d switched his own torch off so that his eyesight could adjust.
‘What … ?’ she asked, still waiting on the threshold.
‘It’s all right. Put the light out. Come and see.’
She joined him cautiously. In the black frame of the window, the stars were very bright: scores of them compressed in that small gap.
‘There’s the Plough,’ he told her, peering out. ‘Up overhead … you see?’ The names began to form again, like whispers in his head. Dubhe. Merak. Phecda. Megrez … He forced them out of focus, and tried to fix his thoughts on something else. Like chasing Vicki round the field, beneath those same bright stars.
‘I had this girlfriend, back in school. I used to try and teach her constellations.’
‘And was she interested?’ asked Lucy wryly.
Martin’s smile came easier. ‘Only in the mnemonic for classifying stars. Wow, Oh Be A Fine Girl and Kiss Me Right Now – Smack.’
She giggled. ‘Snog or slap?’
He shared her grin, relieved at last. However briefly.
‘Now