Dead Village (5 page)

“Do you think Mrs Casey will be all right sarge?” Jeremiah asked. “Well, it won't be long I'm afraid, until she's carted off to the funny farm. And maybe this would be the best place for her,” Sergeant Muldoon stated, as Officer Rainey nodded his agreement in the background.

“We cannot have the poor soul endangering her life like this, now can we lad?” he added.

Jeremiah nodded, bade them goodnight and quickly left the station.

The rain had stopped now, and only a little cold breeze blew into his face as he stepped outside.

God help you Mrs Casey, God help you,
he thought, as he drove away.

One thing puzzled Jeremiah though. He had known Greta's sons when he was first transferred to Cappawhite.

The father had already gone by then, and he supposed the story of him running off with another woman could quite well have been plausible. Charles he was sure though, would never have deserted his mother.

Charles had caused his mother a lot of trouble over the years, Jeremiah knew. He was more than a handful to the mild mannered woman, but he loved Greta more than most sons, and had sworn to turn over a new leaf, when he caught his mother crying in her chair when he came home early one time.

Her other son Brian, had been a different character to Charles, and when his mother's mental health grew worse, Brian's patience deteriorated. Then Brian was off.

To say however that Charles and his father were now roaming the forest of Cappawhite as demons though, was stretching the boundaries of imagination just a little too far, he believed.

Still, he had a few contacts in Dublin, and he would make his business to try and track Brian down.

He would let this selfish guttersnipe of a man know that his mother really needs him now, more than ever.

Why, if found, he would personally go drag Brian Casey half way back across Ireland if he had to, return him to his mother, and to hell with the consequences.

For now though, he would try and put the matter out of his mind, because now he had other things to worry about.

Jo and the baby growing inside her would be waiting for him.
Loving tender Jo,
he though,
a woman in a million.

They had been mulling over the names just the previous night, as to what they would call the baby, and he remembered Jo stating that if it was a boy, she would like to call him Brian.

Now Jeremiah had made a mental note that for now, Brian was definitely out of the equation.

CHAPTER 5

Tully put on his heavy coat, and removed the shotgun from the black metal box. He picked up a handful of shells and shoved them deep inside his coat pocket.

He would catch the badger baiter's this time, because this time he was ready.

Tully loved nature and everything that went with it. It was man's cruelty that tore at his insides. Some of the things he had witnessed had caused him to lose most of his faith in his fellow man. To catch and kill an animal to eat was one thing, Tully felt. But to kill or maybe torture the creature for some sort of twisted pleasure in the guise of sport, well that was something he would never understand. One thing was certain about it though. Tully didn't believe in the justice system for these sorts of people.

On most occasions these lower than life scum would be enforced with a small fine, or they would not be permitted to keep animals for a period of time, he knew. To him the punishment didn't fit the crime by a long chalk. So when Tully caught one of the Flynn brothers badger baiting, he meted out his own form of justice, and sent him home with a good hiding, and his tail between his legs. Tully had told the police that he had acted in self defence when Flynn attacked him, and the self inflicted bruise on his cheek confirmed to the questioning officer that Flynn had indeed attacked Tully first. So Tully was not charged, and the word soon spread that Tully was not a man to be messed with. Now someone else was doing the badger baiting. The Kavanagh's, he believed.

He had received reports of them coming and going across the forest, but he knew that this alone, proved nothing.

But whoever they were, they would never look at life the same way again. Once he caught up with them that is.

“Be careful Tully,” Francis shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Don't worry Fra, I will.”

He left the house with a half smile.

A thought came to Tully's mind. Francis had asked him to be careful because she loved and cared for him. This was something new for him.

Because during all of his years with Madge, she had never once asked him to be careful. Never encouraged or praised him for anything, and in their last troublesome years together, never once told him she loved him.

Francis was a different kettle of fish though. Francis would constantly tell him how much she felt about him, and in her eyes he could do no wrong. Tully though, was a different sort of breed. Tully acknowledged to himself that he could be strange and distant at times, and he knew that there was some undermining reason, deep in his brain, that made him dislike sentiment and loving toward him. He was constantly fighting this feeling, and for Francis's sake he would go on fighting it. Beating the condition was another matter though.

Maybe I've spent much too much time in the forest,
he thought.

Most men would gladly give up their right arm to have a loving woman like Francis, he felt. But somehow, he still seemed drawn like a magnet, to the uncaring, almost abusive way, of a woman like Madge.

Francis was the better woman of the two though, and he would just have to try and get these bad and caring feelings he had for Madge, out of his head.

*  *  *  *  *

Francis was aware that Tully had, and was still having some issues with his life. But Francis didn't blame Madge; Francis blamed Tully's mother for the way he felt today.

Why her own mother had treated her very badly, even naming her Francis instead of Frances. Her mother had given her the boy's version of the name, after her lover priest.

But if she could get over it, and live with it, then so could Tully. She would just have to work at it with him. As she washed up the dinner plates and cutlery, she stared out through the window, across the fields. She wished things could have been different with her mother, Rose, because no matter how the cookie crumbled, Francis still missed and craved for a mother's love.

Councillors and psychologists had spoken with her over the years, trying to convince her that everything would be all right. Francis thought them all to be hypocrites though. Each of these people had mothers and fathers that they could visit, share their feelings with, and be happy with. She wanted to scream to these people to fuck off and leave her alone, but she knew what that would mean. She had been punished too many times to buck the system. Instead she behaved like an obedient little girl and listened to their sanctimonious crap.

At night though, she would cry alone, until her tears dried up. Only now after all this time did she really feel truly loved. She smiled as she thought of how Tully had earlier playfully smacked her behind, and kissed her cheek. She knew from the beginning that Tully was conservative with his affections, but he was getting there. Now the world she felt, was hers for the taking.

*  *  *  *  *

Tully had been walking into the forest for about fifteen minutes, when he suddenly stopped. It would be dark soon, he knew, as he looked upward into the thick clouds that were forming fast. But he was certain that these people would come this way. He sat on an old log, which was hidden by some thorn bushes. He would sit quietly and wait. He placed the shotgun firmly across his lap and stroked it as though it were a favoured pet, as darkness closed in around him.

He watched as a large hare limped badly along the edge of the trees, and moved across his path, in front. It stopped about ten feet from him, and sat up, almost like a Meercat, peering around in all directions. He was downwind of it, and he was sure it couldn't see or smell him.

It stared straight at him though, its whiskers moving rapidly as it sniffed at the cold air. He could see its badly mangled rear leg, which looked as though it had healed some time ago, but seemed as though it still caused the animal some considerable pain.
If an animal could be thought of as streetwise, then this fellow was most likely the forest version of it,
he thought. This large hare had been there and done it, and this aged creature probably wouldn't get caught up in a trap again, he somehow felt.

Suddenly the animal took off at great speed, startling him.

“Not too much wrong with you now, big fella,” Tully whispered after it, and laughed lightly.

He leaned his shotgun against a large rock, and stretched his arms as he yawned loudly.

Then he poured himself a cup of warm soup from the flask, tightened up his scarf, and looked across into the darkening forest. This would be a long cold night if the Kavanagh brother's didn't show up. The patter of rain as it hit the leaves distracted his thoughts, as a large lightning bolt lit up the sky and a fierce wind blew around him.

*  *  *  *  *

Francis had just finished with the dishes when she heard something bang upstairs, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What in Gods name was that?”
The noise had sounded like a door slamming. Not a bedroom door, smaller. Like, um, like a wardrobe door,
she thought.

She knew that Mr Cliff, the little teddy bears head, was in the wardrobe, and somehow she became very frightened, but she couldn't reason why.

It was this frightening nightmare that she had dreamt. This dream that was so real it was now implanted in her head like some sort of distant memory. Oh yes, she was afraid all right, she was really very afraid of it. After all, in the dream the bear had killed her mother purely out of revenge. It had also summoned a demon to take away her violent husband.

No,
she thought.
Mr Cliff is much safer in the back of the wardrobe where he belongs.

Now the love she had once had for the tiny bear had been replaced with fear, and almost loathing. And even though she was sure Mr Cliff in all sense of the word was not a living thing, she would take no chances by taking it out of the wardrobe.

Now though, she would have to go check the upstairs rooms, because just maybe it was a window that had slammed. Perhaps a cat had gotten in there through an open skylight. She suddenly felt foolish for even thinking it may have been Mr Cliff.

Francis scolded herself for being so stupid. It just had to be a cat. Why old Mrs Thompson's cat had climbed into their bedroom once before and had left a dead mouse on her bed as some sort of unthinkable present. Perhaps because of the milk Francis had occasionally fed it.
Cats could be like that,
she thought. But another dead mouse on her bed or floor, or maybe even a rat, simply could not be tolerated.

The light was fading fast now, as the sun gave way to the dark, and Francis felt her stomach heave.

She flicked at the light switch, but nothing happened. She could still see through a hazy twilight though, and she moved on.

She climbed the stairs slowly, forcing herself upward, inch by inch, and she wondered why her heart was beating so fast.

A movement, something small, darted across the landing.
It must be the cat,
she thought.

A blazing light suddenly lit up the whole of the interior of the house, and the crash of thunder that followed made her almost jump out of her skin. Now she couldn't even feel her heart beat, which she reckoned was way off the scale.

She slowly opened the bedroom door and gave a quick glance inside, scanning every nook and cranny.

The window in her bedroom at first seemed to be closed, but on further inspection she noticed the latch was undone. As she touched the large window it swung open and a cold wind blew into her face. Someone had entered their home, and it wasn't a cat, she knew. Suddenly the lightning streaked across the clouded sky and she slammed the window shut with a bang, firmly locking it.

As she turned to leave the room, another lightning flash illuminated everything. Shadows danced in every direction, as the rain started to beat against the widow panes.

The thunder roared loudly and she stepped back, her hand covering her mouth.

The small door at the top of the wardrobe was slightly ajar. Not by much, but enough for her to know that someone had opened it.

She bravely but slowly moved toward it. Her insides churned with a fear she had never known before, but she bravely reached out toward the small door, and as she pulled it open, another lightning bolt lit up the room.

The small cupboard at the top of the wardrobe was empty, and Mr Cliff was gone.

Panic set in now, and she ran quickly through the bedroom doorway. The booming thunder roared as she made for the staircase. As she looked into the bathroom, she thought she saw a figure in the corner. No, it was just a towel hanging from a hook. But then the towel seemed to move, and now fear had completely engulfed her. She felt as though she was running in slow motion now and she fought hard to reach the rail at the top of the staircase.

As she tripped, she tumbled head first, rolling and banging off the iron stair rails. When she hit the bottom, she blacked out.

*  *  *  *  *

Tully had witnessed storms in the forest before, and over many periods of time. Normally these storms had never really frightened him.
This storm though, is as bad as it gets,
he thought. In fact he had never heard thunder as loud as this before, or seen lightning strikes as bright or as fierce as this. And one other thing was certain. Tully knew that the badger baiters would not be coming out here on a night like this one.

No one would venture outdoors during such a heavy storm, unless they were mad.

He lifted his small bag and held his shotgun firmly, as he battled his way through the torrential rain that had suddenly fallen from the heavens. Now he was sorry he had entered the forest on a night like this at all.

He could visualise his father laughing at him. His father, he knew, would have taken this in his stride. In fact for some deep seeded, unexplainable reason, he believed his father actually preferred camping out when the elements were at their worst. It was almost like his father was constantly testing himself against them. It was like a man versus the worst of nature type of thing.

He remembered one time, just before his father's accident, when his mother had accompanied them on a camping trip to Durrow. The very first night, just after darkness fell, his mother had run from the tent screaming, when a large insect shuttled across her hand. Then on the second night, when a small thunderstorm could be heard in the distance, she had finally had enough. He remembered his father having to book them all into a guest house the next day, and although his mother seemed to genuinely enjoy it after that, he knew his father was only putting on some sort of pretence.

Now his mother would never go camping again, so he and his father would test the elements together, and at every opportunity.

He often wondered though, that if he hadn't been there, would his father have camped out alone?

He had been struggling along for about five minutes, when through the stinging rain he saw something way off in front. A shadow!

At first he blamed it on the dim light and the swaying trees, but then he saw it again, just a fleeting glimpse. But he was sure.

He half closed his eyes, crouched down, and stared hard at the dark trees up ahead.

A ray of moonlight shot from between a break in the clouds and for a moment he could just make out the silhouette in the distance.

About two hundred yards away the figure stood tall. Whatever it was, it was huge, and somehow frightening.

Tully felt a spasm, like a cold finger running down his spine. There was something familiar here. He gasped as a lightning bolt forked its way from the heaven's and lit the massive figure up.

Now he was sure he had witnessed this before, but his recollection was vague.

He stood tightly up against a tree, thinking back, searching his memory and uncaring about the risk of a lightning strike.

Tully had held onto a tree like this before, he remembered. It was just after he had seen the large deer, which in fact turned out to be a demon. Now the thoughts came pouring back, bombarding his brain with memories.

He thought about the demon flying through the trees, when it had killed the young soldiers, and how it had almost destroyed the small band they had later formed to fight it at the mine.