The Dolocher (10 page)

The candles in the tavern were lit in patterns leaving gaps so that the collected light remained low. They had been reignited with flames from the bonfire on the corner that blazed in honour of the great festival of Halloween. It was very subdued on this year’s streets; people felt that it was in bad taste to dress up as animals when the Dolocher was roaming the streets and others were too frightened to go out after dark for that same reason. Some did dress up and go about the night as they did every year; some of the students from Trinity College even dressed as what they considered the Dolocher would look like. In this tavern in the Liberties, there was no one so garish and the men that gathered there drank and spoke in low voices out of respect for the dead.

“Tell us one about Halloween Cleaves,” someone said and all eyes went to the table he, Mullins and another tradesman sat at. When he didn’t protest, people began to come over, the scratch of wooden chairs on the floor as they all gathered around.

Mullins looked at Cleaves and watched him as he looked about the crowd trying to create the atmosphere that he wanted before starting. Mullins had seen this many times before over the years. Silence grew, and Cleaves let it fester before he said anything. Mullins could feel his own apprehension growing even though he knew what was probably coming such was the dark silence that set in the room.

"Samhain is what the ancient Celts called this special holiday, where the dead walked among the living," Cleaves, began seriously. "The druids would be able to tell people's fortunes better on this night than on any other. The people would dress up using animal heads and hides to blend in with the walking dead amongst them.” Mullins was sure he was not alone now in thinking of the Dolocher when he said this.

The room was quiet now, and the candle flickers showed the dappled shadows of these wild dead and alive creatures on the lighted walls. Mullins took a deep drink as he imagined the scenes all those years ago. “The bonfires were lit and houses were kept in darkness and then lit from the flames of the bonfires for luck. Animal sacrifices, and it is said human sacrifices, were often offered up to appease the gods and the dead.” No one was saying anything, but it could be felt in the room that though the people respected the festival of Halloween they were not too interested in its history. What they had wanted from Cleaves was a ghost story set around Halloween and Cleaves must have felt it too.

“Enough of the history lesson lads!” he said cheerfully, “Time for a little tale I think?” he looked about the now smiling and animated faces that lit up at the prospect. “This one happened a long time ago in central Europe,” he told them and then he told this tale,

“Once, in the centre of Europe, there was an old abandoned castle near a small town. This castle had been abandoned for a very long time, and it was said that the noble family who once inhabited it were all murdered within its walls, and the murderer was never found out or brought to justice. This happened so long ago that no one then living in the town had been alive at the time, and they had heard the story passed down from parents and grandparents over the decades. People would always say that the castle was haunted by the ghosts of the dead, and there were numerous sightings of ghostly figures walking about the grounds. Everyone was afraid of the place, and no one had been inside its walls for as many, many years.

“One day a knight showed up on horseback and he made no secret of his arrival. He challenged any man to any task to prove his worth and proclaimed his fearlessness. He told tales and stories of his adventures and his bravery to everyone in town. The people grew quickly tired of his bravado and antics, however, and men stopped answering his call. He soon heard about the castle, and he vowed to go into it and walk to the top of the stairs and plant a red spike to prove he had been up there.

“This was enough to get the attention of the people again and they all gathered in an area close enough to be able to see the entrance when the knight went in. They were all terrified that they would hear his terrible screams but the draw of curiosity was simply too strong for them to stay away.

“On his way to the castle the knight bowed and smiled to the people as he passed but he began to notice their fearful faces, and it seeped into his brain that maybe there was something to be afraid of in that castle. He did his best not to show his fear, and he could not refuse to do the task after all his boasting now. He dismounted his horse that refused to go nearer the castle and he waved once more to the people before he went in through the heavy wooden door which was ajar and warped from damp and wind over the years.

“Inside he could hear the echoes of water drips from all parts of the castle. It was cold inside, and webs covered the walls like wool tapestries in a lot of places. Some light came in from damage in the ceiling high above him, but it threw deeper gloom to where it did not light up. The air smelled of thick mould. He took the spike and mallet from his cloak and he began to walk up the stone steps which had been worn smooth by the wind over the years, or was it from the soft tripping’s of ghostly footsteps? As he did he grew more afraid, and he was convinced he could hear someone moving around but where the sound came from he could not tell. Half way up he heard his horse neigh and run from outside, and the sound rattled around the hall and stairway and had him plunge his back to the wall and his hands rise to defend himself. His heart thundered, and he glanced back down from where he had come. He was more than halfway up the stairs now, but he was becoming more and more sure that there was something up there moving around the landings waiting for him. He couldn’t go back down without completing his task. He went on one step at a time until he could lean forward and see around the corners at the stop of the stairs. He heard the noise that had been so scary to him and he looked and saw that it was a large tapestry on the wall moving and scraping in the wind and he let out a sigh of relief, glancing the other way just to be sure that there was nothing there either. He sat down in relief and took a few deep breaths and like your or I when we have ourselves a little scare we have a little chuckle at our own folly afterwards. He took his spike and placed it firmly at the centre of the top step of the stairs, and he struck it three times heavily with his mallet. The noise was deafening with the ringing of the metal on stone, and the spike stuck into the step. He was sure that everyone outside would have been able to hear the strikes. As he stood up to walk back down the stairs, he heard the noise of movement again and then in terror he felt something grab hold of his cloak as he tried to walk away. He died of fright without ever turning to see what it was.

“When he was in there a long time the men of the town decided that they would go in as one to see what was going on. After a long time of going to the door and running away in fear they finally went in and they found the knight frozen in terror as though he was in flight from the top of the stairs but when they got to him they saw his cloak spread out behind him and nailed with the red spike to the top step of the stone stairs.”

The faces around the table grew into large smiles and men looked at one another for reactions to the story, nodding their approval and winking at Cleaves, some telling how good that one was and asking for a drink for him. Mullins had not heard that story himself before, and he thought it was a good one. He wondered where Cleaves constantly heard about all these things and how he remembered them all so well; he had asked before but Cleaves just winked and tapped his nose and wouldn’t tell him.

Happy with what they had received some of the men were asking for more but Cleaves waved them away in his amicable way and promised more on another day. The group around the tables shuffled back to the other reaches of the tavern and soon the place was as it would be on any other night of the week. Outside in the night fires burned all over the city, and candles indoors were low; the city was darkest just outside the light and fear lurked behind the festivities of all.

Alderman James arrived at the ‘Black Dog’ to the vociferous throng of people in the streets surrounding the entrance. They were shouting things like “Bring him out!” And “Just hang him now!” and it had all the hallmarks of the riot he had so feared these last weeks. Before even leaving his carriage, he called an officer over and ordered him to get more soldiers to police the streets adjacent to the prison.

As he stepped down from his carriage, he saw Edwards standing across the street, leaning against a building and watching him. As they made eye contact Edwards shook his head from side to side with pursed lips. James wasn’t sure what he meant but he had the terrible feeling that Edwards was saying that the man James had come to see, the man who had been caught in the act of trying to kill a woman by tearing at her flesh with meat hooks was not the elusive ‘Dolocher’ everyone here wanted him to be. The woman had since died of her injuries.

This did not bode well. The crowd here was clearly seeking a release from their nightly terrors and he could see now why sometimes it was better to have summary justice and have an innocent man condemned for the sake of larger public unrest and paranoia erupting as a result of the public’s fears. If he came out here and told this baying crowd that they had not, in fact, captured the ‘Dolocher’, there would be uproar and the consequences would be unpredictable.

He didn’t make any reaction to Edwards’s grave nodding and he ignored the people who jostled about him and asked him for the hangman's rope as he made his way inside the soldiers cordon at the gates and then into the prison.

When he got inside, he was met by the gaoler Brick, who straight away began badgering him about the man held there.

“You have to get him out of here Alderman James! This is a debtor’s prison; the last time we had someone in here for murder there was uproar, and there was riots in the street outside. This place has not been the same since then!”

“Just bring me to him and we will get this all sorted as soon as we can.”

“He needs to go to the barracks,” Brick said but he started off up the stairs to where the new prisoner was under heavy guard. He was not going to let another man commit suicide in his prison.

When James came to the door, he was surprised by the man he saw there in chains. It was a small thin, emaciated man with a wild look in his eyes and a body that seemed ready to pounce at any time despite the upright standing position he was currently in. In his heart, James already knew that Edwards was right, but this man was still a killer none the less.

“What’s your name?” he asked the man.

“Mick Carolan,” he answered in an almost sweet country brogue from somewhere in the west of Ireland but as to where, James couldn’t place.

“Who was the woman you killed?” At this, the man looked at the ground and seemed ashamed suddenly.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know! Then why did you kill her?”

“She was making fun of me.”

“About what?”

“She was disparaging about my manhood,” and all the regret in the world seemed to be flooding into this man.

Every word he uttered seemed to tame that wildness that was in him, and he grew more and contrite in appearance by the second. Most probably he had been roaring drunk when he did this and was sobering up fully only know and was aware of what he had done and for no good reason. James felt a slight kinship with this man in light of his own regrets for his acts committed in heat.

“Have you killed anyone else before?”

“No sir.”

“Why were you carrying those meat hooks?”

“I carry them when I’m out at night, you know, because of the ‘Dolocher.’” James didn’t believe this, the man was not a good liar.

“You are in a lot of trouble for murder, so I don’t think you admitting to being in a gang is going to do you any more harm. Lying to me might, however,” James said firmly.

“Sorry sir. I am in a gang.”

“Is there a fight coming up?” James thought he might as well gleam a little more information if he could.

“One is coming sir but I don’t know when or where.” This was the truth.

“When I leave get that street cleared out there and bring him to the barracks,” James said to the officer at the door.

When he got out to the street, the first thing he noticed was that Edwards was no longer in the place he had been. James stayed behind the soldiers and raised his hands to quieten the crowd so he could speak. It took a while, but in the end, there was general quiet.

He stood silent for a moment, what was the best way to say this. He decided on the direct approach.

“The man inside here is not what you are all calling ‘The Dolocher’.” There was unrest in the crowd as some railed against this news and others groaned in disappointment. James went on. “He did commit the murder of one woman last night but he is a member of a vicious gang, and this is his only murder to date.”

“How do you know?” someone shouted.

“Because he was in custody during the time of the other murders,” James lied. This seemed to placate the crowd a little. There didn’t seem any obvious come back to this news and the disappointment deepened in the gathered crowd, and they lost the violence that had simmered to that point.

Some of the people looked at the Alderman with sad and disappointed eyes, and he felt the shame of not being able to protect them from their fears. They hated him, and he was doing nothing to try and change their minds! If only they knew how he yearned to make peace with them all and take away this Dolocher from their lives. He was doing his best to save them, but all they saw was Level Low and failure. He wanted to call out to them that there was no ‘Dolocher’, but he knew this would only rile them up, and there would be further trouble.

He went back to his carriage unharried this time. He scanned the crowd one more time for Edwards and the thought suddenly occurred to him that the ‘Dolocher’ could be among this very gathering. He could have been watching on with glee as someone else was arrested for his crimes. Now he was looking at the faces for what exactly? Was this man going to display evil in his face, in his eyes? He looked at the taller men; Alderman was convinced that it was a large man who was doing the killing, someone who had massive power. He hadn’t realised up to now, but he still always pictured the murderer to have the build and frame of the blacksmith Mullins when he visualised him, and he looked for this man now but with no luck.

As he made his way back to the courts, he wondered where Edwards was going to spring from and what information he was going to surprise him with this time. The thought that Edwards was responsible for the crimes had passed his mind many times, but he just couldn’t make it stick as a suspicion and he didn’t know why. It was more likely if he was involved that it was in the capacity as part of a conspiracy to cover up the crimes of another of that menacing ‘Hellfire Club’ he was part of.

He couldn’t get around how powerful these men were and why they would choose to use this power and wealth for such debauchery and so much sinning. They burnt buildings and destroyed property without a moment’s hesitation and all in the name of fun and wagers. The dead horse and smashed carriage in Hell came to mind. A night in their company must be more terrifying than a night spent anywhere else in Dublin. They spent most of their time drunk as far as he could see, and their money seemed to come from bottomless pits. The grim fact was that if it was indeed one of their number who was this strange and feted ‘Dolocher’ there was nothing he was going to be able to do about it.

In the end, there was no materialization of Edwards that day at all. Just as he was about to retire that evening he heard a knock on the door. He listened at the window, and it was a letter being hand delivered for himself. He went out to the landing and called for the servant to bring it to him. He wasn’t expecting anything, but he felt it must be important to come at this late hour rather than wait until the morning.

It was unsealed, and there were no markings on the outside. When he opened it the single page inside read only two words written in writing so neat, it would never be able to be attributed to anyone’s hand. The letter simply said: This Saturday.

What could this be referring to, he wondered. He checked the envelope for more paper and finding none he sought any marks on the paper that give away its origin, but again nothing. Though the words were innocuous and harmless, they struck a nervous tension through him which he could not explain at first.

It took a few moments for it to dawn on him that the fear he possessed at that moment was that he was holding a letter from ‘The Dolocher’ himself and that he was saying the he was going to kill again this Saturday! He ran back out to the landing and called out for his servant.

“Who delivered this letter?” he demanded

“It was a young man sir. Not someone I have seen before.”

“Did he say who it was from?”

“No sir. He said simply ‘Letter for the Alderman’, and then he left, ran away.”

“Would you know him if you saw him again?”

“I think so yes.”

“Tomorrow morning, get someone to cover your duties here and you walk the streets until you find him!” James shouted.

“Sir?” the servant was at a loss as to what to say.

“Check the markets at Temple Bar and then the Liberties, do a circuit there a few times and then come back if you can’t find him.”

“And if I do find him sir?”

“Bring him to me, by force if you have to.” At this the servants face paled a little, but he nodded assent, and his master went back to his room.

This was not a game he wanted to get involved in. He couldn’t think of anything worse than knowing in advance that the Dolocher was going to strike and then not being able to do anything about it. He put on his coat and went out onto the street bringing his servant with him to have a quick look around the local streets for the boy who had delivered the letter. It was a long shot, but he had to do something or else he knew he would never sleep tonight.

What of people were to find out about this letter after Saturday and a killing did indeed take place? That would be the riot spark for sure. He did not want to play this game. As he thought of the idea of this being a game, he couldn’t help but picture Mr Edwards.