Preparing The Way
Created | Updated Sep 3, 2008
At seven o'clock The Black Horse was still quiet. There were just three customers. Mr Jones, the demon, sat alone in one corner, ignoring his drink and two old men sat in another corner, talking and slowly drinking their first pint of the evening.
"Game-keeper's been busy. Blood everywhere in the woods."
"That bugger's always busy. Threatened to shoot my Scruff last week. Poor old dog couldn't even catch a rabbit dying of Myxi these days, never mind one of his bloody pheasants. Told me I were trespassing."
"Well, I expect you were."
"Whose side are you on Dick Marsh? Your missus reckons he killed her cat, that big ginger as went missing back last spring."
"That thing? If I could be sure it were him, I'd give him a medal!"
John Vicary laughed and slapped the table-top. "Better not let the ol' gal hear you say that. My round. What you having? Another pint of Old Peculiar?"
"Aye."
Returning from the bar, he nodded to the new-comer, Mr Jones, who seemed to be studying the horse brasses and other mysterious looking agricultural iron-mongery hanging from the walls and beams. The stranger returned the mute greeting then returned his attention to the walls.
"Who's that fella, John? D'you know him."
"Just moved in to the old Gandy place. Jean Stern were telling me about him. Funny you should mention about the game-keeper just now. You know what a mad woman Jean is about feeding the birds and chasing off them grey squirrels?"
"Aye."
"Well, she were saying they all suddenly disappeared. Overnight. Literally overnight. One day she were plagued with 'em as usual, hanging off every feeder, scurrying over the lawn and through the trees - next day, all gone. Just like that."
"Humph! Don't sound very likely, do it? Anyhow, what's that bloke got to do with it?"
"You must go past her place most days. You know she's got that old school hand-bell?"
"Shouldn't be allowed. Can't tell you how many times she's made me jump out of my skin, walking past her place. Mind miles away. Then she's suddenly rushed into the garden, shouting and ringing that damned bell to scare off the squirrels. Woman's a menace."
"Right. Well, seems her new neighbour's close enough to hear the racket from his house and asked her about it. Polite, mind you."
"So?"
"So, she explains to him about the squirrels. He seems relieved, she says - like he were worried she might be ringing the thing to drive the new neighbour away."
"Wouldn't surprise me if she did that neither. Woman's a menace!"
"Oh, she's alright. Bit eccentric is all."
"Soft in the head you mean."
"She's a good soul really. A kind neighbour. Anyway, about these squirrels."
"What happened then? Get on with it."
"Well, that's it. She explains how the little devils are a curse and she's to drive them off - continual like - if the birds are to get any of the food she puts out. And he looks relieved. Then he asks if there's any other things that might make her want to ring the bell and she tells him no. Next day there's no more squirrels. Not a one. All gone."
"Game keeper!"
"Useless bastard. He'd like to take credit for it. Years he's been fighting a losing battle agin 'em."
"Not that easy is it. And that's my brother-in-law you're calling a bastard, by the way. Show a bit of respect."
"Humph. Reckon your missus knows him better than most, being his sister an' all - and she don't. And I don't reckon it were him got rid of the squirrels neither. Pet cats is just about his mark. And threatening to kill my poor old dog."
"He ain't that bad. He's got a job to do. Any case, whoever drove them bloody tree-rats away or killed 'em. They'll be back. Vermin! You never get rid of 'em for long."
Mr Jones heard every word as though he was sitting right next to the old men. If there's one sound a demon cannot abide, it's the ringing of bells - iron on iron. He was pleased to hear that his little helper had cleared up the squirrel problem all ready.
Now he would be able to concentrate on Hellmouth's big bells. The first step towards re-opening the gateway, was silencing the church that guarded the ancient, hidden entrance to Hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pub started to fill up after eight o'clock. Nobody sat with Mr Jones. The customers seemed to avoid him, but the barmaid could hardly take her eyes off him. It was beginning to irritate the landlord.
"Janet!"
"What?"
"For goodness sake, buck your ideas up girl. There are customers to serve. You've been mooning over that stranger ever since he came in. He's not even drinking his beer, just taking up space and chilling the atmosphere."
"He's handsome, ain't he? And his voice..."
"I don't like him. There's something creepy about him. And what about his voice?"
"It's so deep. I could just listen to it for ever."
"No you couldn't. You got work to do. You can moon on your own time. Go and serve Harry. He's been waiting long enough while you been standing there gawking."
Janet turned away reluctantly and the landlord frowned across the bar, in the direction of Mr Jones.
The next time he looked, it was almost closing time. Janet had her eyes glued once more on the apparently teetotal customer, who still had the same full glass of warm, flat beer in front of him. Only now he had a friend to talk to, Jeff Sparshot. Drunk as usual. Mr Jones was speaking quietly but Jeff was getting louder and louder. He was deliberately trying to be overheard by the group in the opposite corner. Being drunk, he was overdoing it. The Campanologists, had been huddled together, practising for next Saturday's pub quiz night. They stopped when Jeff got too loud to ignore.
The church bells, he complained, gave his arse the headache. He was sick of being woken by the interminable, loud, clang clang clang, every Sunday morning. How could he relax and enjoy his hard-earned Saturday night, knowing that infernal din would beat him over the head, beginning early next morning and going on for hours?
Once he was sure he had their full attention he stood up, the better to wave his arms about, and he berated them at length. Getting into his stride, he declared, the bell-ringers enjoyed nothing better than destroying utterly, the peace of a quiet summer's evening, with their benighted, hell's-bells. The landlord, who was watching Mr Jones's face, whilst listening to Jeff's drunken diatribe, saw his mouth twitch at this point, and thought he was about to smile.
There was something about the face that appalled him. Janet had described him as handsome. He couldn't see it. The face wasn't exactly ugly but it seemed almost to be writhing, like a bag of snakes, as if the man was struggling to keep his face in order.
The bell-ringers were outraged. As soon as one started, they all started jabbering together, so that it was almost impossible to extract any meaning from the general hubbub. But Jeff was familiar enough with the arguments to be able to guess what they were saying: that they considered the noise musical and they had to practise for hours in order to have a chance of winning their bell-ringing competitions.
His reply was equally familiar to the bell-ringers. It was clearly a dispute that had gone on for years. Yes, they practised for hours, the drunk protested, on perfecting a kind of auditory purgatory for any normal music lover.
"Time, gentlemen, please! Come along now. Drink up. I've got to get closed up and cleared up here. Janet's got a home to go to. So have you. Hurry it up there Dick. Come along you boys. Off you go now. That's enough Jeff. We've heard it all before. You're turning into a scratched record. You can't silence the village church. That's it. Good night all. Go safely. Good night. Good night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside, Mr Jones waited in the shadows while Jeff stood in the car-park, mocking the bell ringers as they left. Janet left ten minutes later, after clearing the tables. She was just in time to see Jeff wobbling off homeward, with Mr Jones. Whether driven by nosiness or the magnetic attraction she felt towards the new-comer, she never paused to wonder; she just followed them quietly, staying out of sight. When they stopped outside Jeff's cottage, she stopped too, keeping close to the garden hedge of a nearby house. Not until they entered, did she move again. Then she slid silently through the gate and crept to the living room window where a light was shining.
It would have been possible to hear Jeff even if the window had not been open. He sounded loud and pleased with himself. He and Mr Jones were talking about starting a pressure group to get the church bells silenced. Mr Jones said he couldn't get involved but he could provide advice and funds. First, he suggested, Jeff should get the noise level measured when the bells were in full swing.
Janet wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying though. She was just listening to Mr Jones's deep, hypnotic voice. She wanted to gaze at his handsome face as well, but she was standing out of sight, against the wall, where she could hear but not see into the room. Without being conscious of what she was doing, she took a few steps back and away from the wall and stood beneath a tree where it should not have been possible to spot her from the lit room. For several minutes she just stood there, eyes fixed on the object of her desire, soaking in the sound of his voice. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned his head and looked straight at her. The intensity - the impact - of the sudden stare almost knocked her over. There was almost a smile - or was it a sneer - twisting the line of his mouth, but his eyes were like gimlets, nailing her to the tree.
For a few moments she was caught like a rabbit in headlights, immobilised, fighting down panic. Then she was released, and he turned his attention back to Jeff, who'd noticed none of this sudden flurry of eyes locking and unlocking. She crept out through the gate and waited for Mr Jones, as instructed, a short distance along the road. There wasn't long to wait. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath as the handsome devil strolled towards her. For a second, it looked as though he was going to walk straight by without even glancing in her direction, but at the last moment, he offered her his arm, she took it and they walked past Mrs Stern's and on to his lair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr Jones was not seen about the village for a few days after his visit to the Black Horse. He wasn't missed. Janet, on the other hand, had a job to do and was supposed to be back behind the bar in the morning. There were glasses to wash and food to prepare. Janet was nowhere to be found and she wasn't answering her 'phone.
Mr Jones enjoyed Janet immensely. She didn't last very long but while she did, it was quality time, right to the end. It was when she learned that he was a demon that the real fun began. She seemed remarkably unfazed by this news. In the old days, it would have generated enough shock to kill a simple peasant girl. How times had changed! This 'girl' didn't believe him. She didn't believe in such nonsense. She thought he was speaking 'metaphorically' when he said he was a demon. Priceless!
The astonishing thing was, that her hormones were so fully engaged, that she could have excused almost anything, however 'demonic'. He was very pleased with his disguise - not just the visual, but the pheromonal and aural disguise. The woman was hell-bent on forgiveness because she fancied him to distraction. He, of course, wasn't remotely interested in having sex with this human. In a spirit of fun, he assumed a contrite attitude and confessed to ever more horrible crimes. Each confession brought a similar response. Robbery, assault, rape, murder - she appeared to give each dreadful disclosure some thought before pronouncing her idiotic verdict.
Nothing, she assured him, was unforgivable, if there's love. He could change. She could help to change him.
When he tired of this sport, he finally dropped his human disguise and showed himself to the woman as he really was. Even then, the hormonal fog lingered. She could see a demon, smell a demon and hear a demon, but she resisted the truth. For some time she clung to the notion that the handsome devil was hidden inside the hideous monster. He laughed at her - a horrible, grating sound. He assured her that the Adonis was the disguise in which the demon was hiding, and not the other way round. Janet was beginning to believe. His final words to her (for this phase of the torment) were lost as she withdrew into the 'safety' of unconsciousness. Mr Jones was only slightly disappointed that she was temporarily incapable of benefiting from his demonic insights into the human curse: the hormones, that enabled him to take her in completely, with a pleasing appearance, voice and smell.
After a time, Janet surfaced again to experience the proper pain and fear, with all the lies stripped away. When her mind had been reduced to gibbering insanity, he allowed her body to die. He could have drawn it out much longer, but he had more important things to do. As the spirit was departing, he trapped it in a tiny, but astonishingly heavy box - for later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jeff's campaign went well. The church had been little attended in recent years, and then only by the old families of the village. Most of the younger people and new-comers either didn't believe at all or paid lip service and not a penny more. Of the non-believers, a large minority agreed that the loud tuneless clangour of the bells was intrusive and annoying and the bells should only be rung during the sort of emergency that happens in times of war. The measured decibel level was found to be unacceptably high and the campaigners were prepared to take the C of E die-hard rump to court over the matter if need be. The rump collapsed, fundless and therefore powerless. The bells were silenced.
After that, it was easier for Mr Jones and his minions to get close to the church. There were a few weak defences that had been put in place so long ago that they were utterly forgotten and had not been maintained in a thousand years. These were quickly overcome with the unwitting help of the vicar, whose ignorance of what he was doing to undermine his own cause, was a source of tremendous amusement to Mr Jones.
A cave-in of the ground above the ancient gateway was engineered. It was rigged to go off on a dark, winter's afternoon and it took one wall of the church with it. Within half an hour, almost every villager was gathered round the gaping hole. Firemen were soon excavating - searching for bodies. An ambulance was on stand-by and the vicar was being interviewed by a policeman. It took several hours and heavy lifting gear to clear trees and debris from the mouth of the tunnel, but once it was recognised as a tunnel, there was a buzz of excitement. It was enormous.
The crushed body of the verger was recovered just before midnight. The diggers were disturbed by his wide-eyed expression of terror - an inexplicable rictus, that looked as though a scream had been frozen on the man's face at the point of death. Other, more mysterious injuries were discovered during the post-mortem examination.
No other casualties of the cave-in were discovered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite strenuous objections from the vicar, the church authorities were persuaded and planning permission was obtained to make the hole and its surrounding area into an archaeological dig site. Generations after Hellmouth had been closed, sealed and warded, Mr Jones had succeeded in getting the descendants of Hell's earlier victims to re-open the way themselves. Mankind was doomed - doomed by its own stupidity. He had to laugh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Work in progress......
"Game-keeper's been busy. Blood everywhere in the woods."
"That bugger's always busy. Threatened to shoot my Scruff last week. Poor old dog couldn't even catch a rabbit dying of Myxi these days, never mind one of his bloody pheasants. Told me I were trespassing."
"Well, I expect you were."
"Whose side are you on Dick Marsh? Your missus reckons he killed her cat, that big ginger as went missing back last spring."
"That thing? If I could be sure it were him, I'd give him a medal!"
John Vicary laughed and slapped the table-top. "Better not let the ol' gal hear you say that. My round. What you having? Another pint of Old Peculiar?"
"Aye."
Returning from the bar, he nodded to the new-comer, Mr Jones, who seemed to be studying the horse brasses and other mysterious looking agricultural iron-mongery hanging from the walls and beams. The stranger returned the mute greeting then returned his attention to the walls.
"Who's that fella, John? D'you know him."
"Just moved in to the old Gandy place. Jean Stern were telling me about him. Funny you should mention about the game-keeper just now. You know what a mad woman Jean is about feeding the birds and chasing off them grey squirrels?"
"Aye."
"Well, she were saying they all suddenly disappeared. Overnight. Literally overnight. One day she were plagued with 'em as usual, hanging off every feeder, scurrying over the lawn and through the trees - next day, all gone. Just like that."
"Humph! Don't sound very likely, do it? Anyhow, what's that bloke got to do with it?"
"You must go past her place most days. You know she's got that old school hand-bell?"
"Shouldn't be allowed. Can't tell you how many times she's made me jump out of my skin, walking past her place. Mind miles away. Then she's suddenly rushed into the garden, shouting and ringing that damned bell to scare off the squirrels. Woman's a menace."
"Right. Well, seems her new neighbour's close enough to hear the racket from his house and asked her about it. Polite, mind you."
"So?"
"So, she explains to him about the squirrels. He seems relieved, she says - like he were worried she might be ringing the thing to drive the new neighbour away."
"Wouldn't surprise me if she did that neither. Woman's a menace!"
"Oh, she's alright. Bit eccentric is all."
"Soft in the head you mean."
"She's a good soul really. A kind neighbour. Anyway, about these squirrels."
"What happened then? Get on with it."
"Well, that's it. She explains how the little devils are a curse and she's to drive them off - continual like - if the birds are to get any of the food she puts out. And he looks relieved. Then he asks if there's any other things that might make her want to ring the bell and she tells him no. Next day there's no more squirrels. Not a one. All gone."
"Game keeper!"
"Useless bastard. He'd like to take credit for it. Years he's been fighting a losing battle agin 'em."
"Not that easy is it. And that's my brother-in-law you're calling a bastard, by the way. Show a bit of respect."
"Humph. Reckon your missus knows him better than most, being his sister an' all - and she don't. And I don't reckon it were him got rid of the squirrels neither. Pet cats is just about his mark. And threatening to kill my poor old dog."
"He ain't that bad. He's got a job to do. Any case, whoever drove them bloody tree-rats away or killed 'em. They'll be back. Vermin! You never get rid of 'em for long."
Mr Jones heard every word as though he was sitting right next to the old men. If there's one sound a demon cannot abide, it's the ringing of bells - iron on iron. He was pleased to hear that his little helper had cleared up the squirrel problem all ready.
Now he would be able to concentrate on Hellmouth's big bells. The first step towards re-opening the gateway, was silencing the church that guarded the ancient, hidden entrance to Hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pub started to fill up after eight o'clock. Nobody sat with Mr Jones. The customers seemed to avoid him, but the barmaid could hardly take her eyes off him. It was beginning to irritate the landlord.
"Janet!"
"What?"
"For goodness sake, buck your ideas up girl. There are customers to serve. You've been mooning over that stranger ever since he came in. He's not even drinking his beer, just taking up space and chilling the atmosphere."
"He's handsome, ain't he? And his voice..."
"I don't like him. There's something creepy about him. And what about his voice?"
"It's so deep. I could just listen to it for ever."
"No you couldn't. You got work to do. You can moon on your own time. Go and serve Harry. He's been waiting long enough while you been standing there gawking."
Janet turned away reluctantly and the landlord frowned across the bar, in the direction of Mr Jones.
The next time he looked, it was almost closing time. Janet had her eyes glued once more on the apparently teetotal customer, who still had the same full glass of warm, flat beer in front of him. Only now he had a friend to talk to, Jeff Sparshot. Drunk as usual. Mr Jones was speaking quietly but Jeff was getting louder and louder. He was deliberately trying to be overheard by the group in the opposite corner. Being drunk, he was overdoing it. The Campanologists, had been huddled together, practising for next Saturday's pub quiz night. They stopped when Jeff got too loud to ignore.
The church bells, he complained, gave his arse the headache. He was sick of being woken by the interminable, loud, clang clang clang, every Sunday morning. How could he relax and enjoy his hard-earned Saturday night, knowing that infernal din would beat him over the head, beginning early next morning and going on for hours?
Once he was sure he had their full attention he stood up, the better to wave his arms about, and he berated them at length. Getting into his stride, he declared, the bell-ringers enjoyed nothing better than destroying utterly, the peace of a quiet summer's evening, with their benighted, hell's-bells. The landlord, who was watching Mr Jones's face, whilst listening to Jeff's drunken diatribe, saw his mouth twitch at this point, and thought he was about to smile.
There was something about the face that appalled him. Janet had described him as handsome. He couldn't see it. The face wasn't exactly ugly but it seemed almost to be writhing, like a bag of snakes, as if the man was struggling to keep his face in order.
The bell-ringers were outraged. As soon as one started, they all started jabbering together, so that it was almost impossible to extract any meaning from the general hubbub. But Jeff was familiar enough with the arguments to be able to guess what they were saying: that they considered the noise musical and they had to practise for hours in order to have a chance of winning their bell-ringing competitions.
His reply was equally familiar to the bell-ringers. It was clearly a dispute that had gone on for years. Yes, they practised for hours, the drunk protested, on perfecting a kind of auditory purgatory for any normal music lover.
"Time, gentlemen, please! Come along now. Drink up. I've got to get closed up and cleared up here. Janet's got a home to go to. So have you. Hurry it up there Dick. Come along you boys. Off you go now. That's enough Jeff. We've heard it all before. You're turning into a scratched record. You can't silence the village church. That's it. Good night all. Go safely. Good night. Good night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside, Mr Jones waited in the shadows while Jeff stood in the car-park, mocking the bell ringers as they left. Janet left ten minutes later, after clearing the tables. She was just in time to see Jeff wobbling off homeward, with Mr Jones. Whether driven by nosiness or the magnetic attraction she felt towards the new-comer, she never paused to wonder; she just followed them quietly, staying out of sight. When they stopped outside Jeff's cottage, she stopped too, keeping close to the garden hedge of a nearby house. Not until they entered, did she move again. Then she slid silently through the gate and crept to the living room window where a light was shining.
It would have been possible to hear Jeff even if the window had not been open. He sounded loud and pleased with himself. He and Mr Jones were talking about starting a pressure group to get the church bells silenced. Mr Jones said he couldn't get involved but he could provide advice and funds. First, he suggested, Jeff should get the noise level measured when the bells were in full swing.
Janet wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying though. She was just listening to Mr Jones's deep, hypnotic voice. She wanted to gaze at his handsome face as well, but she was standing out of sight, against the wall, where she could hear but not see into the room. Without being conscious of what she was doing, she took a few steps back and away from the wall and stood beneath a tree where it should not have been possible to spot her from the lit room. For several minutes she just stood there, eyes fixed on the object of her desire, soaking in the sound of his voice. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned his head and looked straight at her. The intensity - the impact - of the sudden stare almost knocked her over. There was almost a smile - or was it a sneer - twisting the line of his mouth, but his eyes were like gimlets, nailing her to the tree.
For a few moments she was caught like a rabbit in headlights, immobilised, fighting down panic. Then she was released, and he turned his attention back to Jeff, who'd noticed none of this sudden flurry of eyes locking and unlocking. She crept out through the gate and waited for Mr Jones, as instructed, a short distance along the road. There wasn't long to wait. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath as the handsome devil strolled towards her. For a second, it looked as though he was going to walk straight by without even glancing in her direction, but at the last moment, he offered her his arm, she took it and they walked past Mrs Stern's and on to his lair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mr Jones was not seen about the village for a few days after his visit to the Black Horse. He wasn't missed. Janet, on the other hand, had a job to do and was supposed to be back behind the bar in the morning. There were glasses to wash and food to prepare. Janet was nowhere to be found and she wasn't answering her 'phone.
Mr Jones enjoyed Janet immensely. She didn't last very long but while she did, it was quality time, right to the end. It was when she learned that he was a demon that the real fun began. She seemed remarkably unfazed by this news. In the old days, it would have generated enough shock to kill a simple peasant girl. How times had changed! This 'girl' didn't believe him. She didn't believe in such nonsense. She thought he was speaking 'metaphorically' when he said he was a demon. Priceless!
The astonishing thing was, that her hormones were so fully engaged, that she could have excused almost anything, however 'demonic'. He was very pleased with his disguise - not just the visual, but the pheromonal and aural disguise. The woman was hell-bent on forgiveness because she fancied him to distraction. He, of course, wasn't remotely interested in having sex with this human. In a spirit of fun, he assumed a contrite attitude and confessed to ever more horrible crimes. Each confession brought a similar response. Robbery, assault, rape, murder - she appeared to give each dreadful disclosure some thought before pronouncing her idiotic verdict.
Nothing, she assured him, was unforgivable, if there's love. He could change. She could help to change him.
When he tired of this sport, he finally dropped his human disguise and showed himself to the woman as he really was. Even then, the hormonal fog lingered. She could see a demon, smell a demon and hear a demon, but she resisted the truth. For some time she clung to the notion that the handsome devil was hidden inside the hideous monster. He laughed at her - a horrible, grating sound. He assured her that the Adonis was the disguise in which the demon was hiding, and not the other way round. Janet was beginning to believe. His final words to her (for this phase of the torment) were lost as she withdrew into the 'safety' of unconsciousness. Mr Jones was only slightly disappointed that she was temporarily incapable of benefiting from his demonic insights into the human curse: the hormones, that enabled him to take her in completely, with a pleasing appearance, voice and smell.
After a time, Janet surfaced again to experience the proper pain and fear, with all the lies stripped away. When her mind had been reduced to gibbering insanity, he allowed her body to die. He could have drawn it out much longer, but he had more important things to do. As the spirit was departing, he trapped it in a tiny, but astonishingly heavy box - for later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jeff's campaign went well. The church had been little attended in recent years, and then only by the old families of the village. Most of the younger people and new-comers either didn't believe at all or paid lip service and not a penny more. Of the non-believers, a large minority agreed that the loud tuneless clangour of the bells was intrusive and annoying and the bells should only be rung during the sort of emergency that happens in times of war. The measured decibel level was found to be unacceptably high and the campaigners were prepared to take the C of E die-hard rump to court over the matter if need be. The rump collapsed, fundless and therefore powerless. The bells were silenced.
After that, it was easier for Mr Jones and his minions to get close to the church. There were a few weak defences that had been put in place so long ago that they were utterly forgotten and had not been maintained in a thousand years. These were quickly overcome with the unwitting help of the vicar, whose ignorance of what he was doing to undermine his own cause, was a source of tremendous amusement to Mr Jones.
A cave-in of the ground above the ancient gateway was engineered. It was rigged to go off on a dark, winter's afternoon and it took one wall of the church with it. Within half an hour, almost every villager was gathered round the gaping hole. Firemen were soon excavating - searching for bodies. An ambulance was on stand-by and the vicar was being interviewed by a policeman. It took several hours and heavy lifting gear to clear trees and debris from the mouth of the tunnel, but once it was recognised as a tunnel, there was a buzz of excitement. It was enormous.
The crushed body of the verger was recovered just before midnight. The diggers were disturbed by his wide-eyed expression of terror - an inexplicable rictus, that looked as though a scream had been frozen on the man's face at the point of death. Other, more mysterious injuries were discovered during the post-mortem examination.
No other casualties of the cave-in were discovered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite strenuous objections from the vicar, the church authorities were persuaded and planning permission was obtained to make the hole and its surrounding area into an archaeological dig site. Generations after Hellmouth had been closed, sealed and warded, Mr Jones had succeeded in getting the descendants of Hell's earlier victims to re-open the way themselves. Mankind was doomed - doomed by its own stupidity. He had to laugh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Work in progress......
