The Hand That Wounds part 2

Extracts from the Personal Diary of Dr Belinda Durham

Wednesday 2^nd May 2007

Adam was more shaken than we thought because he left, suddenly, leaving a message that ‘someone is not telling the truth’ and that he had to talk with someone in Lancaster.

After my relaxing bath, I really did feel more like myself, and ready to get back to the investigation. I had a look through the local newspaper, the Cumberland and Westmorland Herald, and it had an article about the crash that was completely innocuous except that the last line mentioned ‘ritual murder’. We did not want anyone making the connection that Giles was suspected of Jerry’s murder. More worryingly, their website had a picture of the Hunting Horror among the ones uploaded by the Great British Public. We told MI13 in London about it, and the picture was gone the next day. Even in the age of the internet, some information can be suppressed so the GBP can get a restful night’s sleep.

Later in the day, we went back to the Henge. Alex was doing the usual police thing of looking carefully around, scowling particularly at the cars in the nearby lay-by and anyone with a camera. It looks so normal in daylight, just another site for a field visit. However, the plan was for St John to use the bone mask to see if he could communicate with Jerry’s shade – an investigative strategy that will not feature in my summer field archaeology course! We waited until there were no other visitors around and then he used it, saying ‘Jerry’ very tentatively. Nothing happened…until, with a resolute note to his voice, he called on Nyarlathotep. We saw nothing, but it was obvious from St John’s deep breath and questions that he had seen something disturbing and was talking with someone. He later told us he’d seen a shaking, bleeding, eyeless boy with a gaping hole in his chest who nevertheless could speak to him and said that the Horned One had told him he had to answer three questions. St John had sufficient presence of mind to ask Jerry who gave him the paper with the spell (Isabel) and then where did she get it (from school). The third question, unsurprisingly, was lost amid his shock at what he was seeing and what to do.

It is completely unlikely that a girl like Isabel could devise and carry out the summoning of even one supernatural being. There must be at least one experienced adult involved, although we have no real evidence for this at the moment. We had a good look for evidence of a circle of protection at Mayburgh Henge, or the nearby Arthur’s Table (another bronze age site, re-modeled several times including by its 14^th century aristocratic owners and a Victorian pub landlord – thank goodness for English Heritage!) without finding anything.

We went back to our hotel accompanied by Alex to think about what to do next. St John went to sleep off his encounter with Jerry’s shade, or at least that’s what he said he was going to do. Eliza went shopping; I guess a medic has to have a different attitude to injury and death. The rest of us sat down and talked.

One concern was for the safety of the two girls who had been at the ritual, or certainly Friday’s if Isabel was involved in the summonings. Apart from anything supernatural, there could be a very human imperative to cover her tracks. This thought led us wonder if anyone else had gone missing in this region at a date around Beltane or been found similarly mutilated. Alex was the obvious one to find out, and he got onto the phone. Thinking about Isabel brought us to her father, and whether he had really been at a PTA meeting last night. It should be straightforward to find out from the school.

Finally, to follow-up the local newspaper, I had a quick surf around the net to see if anyone else had posted about the crash on their blogs, Facebooks, Flickr and so on. If I didn’t stumble over anything quickly, I could hope that others would not either. I was reassured that all I could find was a blurry picture on Flickr with some text about dragons that rapidly degenerated into a flame-war between pro and anti factions on behalf of good and evil dragons! Anne McCaffrey should have this on her conscience! No point mentioning this to MI13. If the nuts want to talk among themselves, that’s fine, because none of the mainstream media will believe them.

Alex had got a missing persons list rapidly, because it was very short. Among the Lake District’s low population, the missing were mostly teenagers from farms or women leaving their husbands. St John had reappeared, looking a better colour, and said that none of the dates were of occult significance. His reappearance meant that we could move on to the second gruesome task of the day, namely trying to talk to Giles.

Accompanied by Alex, we headed for the morgue. St John, better prepared this time, immediately called on Nyarlathotep. He told us that he could not see Giles, but a silvery thread heading into an extra dimension had become visible. He could not follow it or talk to Giles so we learnt nothing more except that there might be something odd, and probably unpleasant, happening to his soul to keep it tethered by the cord.

We visited the headmaster. As you could imagine, he wasn’t very pleased to see us, but answered our questions. There had indeed been a PTA meeting last night, and Jack Carleton, the Deputy Head, was the last to leave at around 10:30. However, it would be easy for many people to get into the school because there were several key holders.

I can’t help feeling that the Head has a blind spot when it comes to his Deputy. He keeps telling us that they have known each other all his adult life, he has complete confidence in him and that they are both old boys of the school. This makes him unlikely to consider anything against him, even if we could come up with concrete evidence. I didn’t say anything to the others, but I felt we were flailing around looking for a lead but not finding one. Finally, having got no further, we left.

Alex had found a baby-sitter for his daughter, so continued to accompany us as we went to see Giles’ parents. When we reached the house, after 8:30 pm, it was in darkness and there was no car on the drive. The neighbours told us that they had all gone south to stay with her parents. Under the circumstances, that is probably a good thing and hopefully means that they will be spared from whatever has happened to the two boys.

We debated what to do next, and decided that it would be a good idea to see if there was anything at the school. It turns out that Alex and others had mapped all the sightings of ‘strange things’ phoned in to the police last night, and they were on a line between Mayburgh Henge and the school. It is surrounded by houses and all very well lit. Alex went off to collect Eliza, from the morgue, I guess, while the three of us (Barbara, St John and I) waited for his return.

The building and its grounds had a stout fence round it, and no obvious way to enter. It felt like we were taking up careers in burglary, and not making a great success of our first job! Alex and Eliza had only just returned when a police car arrived, called out by some of the local inhabitants who had seen ‘suspicious’ people hanging around – i.e. us! The police relaxed as soon as they recognized Alex, and went away. We still had the problem of what to do, since the previous events had not started until around midnight. In the end we headed for the chippie for something to eat, and then sat in the car until 11:00.

St John discussed the bronze whistle with Alex. He also let slip that he had made an agreement with Nyarlathotep in a dream to ensure that the binoculars and mask were used more and that he thought the way the binoculars worked had changed because that was what Nyarlathotep wanted. It is really quite disturbing to think of supernatural beings altering the world around us. We continued to discuss how we could find out what was really going on. Had these sorts of events been going on for a long time but it was only now that human sacrifice had brought it into the open?

Finally, around 11 pm we drove past the school again. There was no sign of anyone in the school car park. Barbara left to scout round the school, using a hole in the fence to get into the grounds. Alex and St John drove back to the hotel to get the dowsing rods while Eliza and I stayed outside the school. Eventually we saw a blue light that vanished. (We eventually worked out that this was Barbara’s phone, used as a torch, until she heard something large coming towards her.) Soon after, I heard a scream and then saw Barbara being chased by something. We walked towards her as Eliza phoned Alex. He and St John returned as fast as they could, having already picked up the dowsing rods.

By this time Barbara had got back through the hole in the fence and her pursuers had given up. She told us that they were four large creatures with big teeth. Alex and St John arrived in the car, having already had a glimpse of them and identified them as moon-beasts.

To my personal horror, I saw an earthworm on the pavement. Goodness knows why it had chosen this moment to surface, but I found it profoundly unsettling.

We all got quickly into the car and shot off. I thought that we were going to check on Friday and her parents, but in fact we ended up at the house where Alex’s daughter’s Grace was with her babysitter. By the time we got to the house, his manner had changed from the self-assured policeman to a man trying his best to suppress frantic concern. He was driving, and we later learnt that he has a personal problem with moon-beasts. He knocked loudly on the door, and demanded Grace, to take her back home with him, to be with him and his cats. It sounded bizarre at the time and still sounds strange when I write it.

We managed to get him to drive via the McDougall’s home, and on the way his radio reported that there was an incident there. He had to say that he was almost at the house, and so he was told to go and report before the other units arrived. Three phone-calls from neighbours had reported screams and sounds of violence. As we pulled up in the drive, we could see that the house lights were on and the front door open. Once we stopped we could see a man on his hands and knees who was throwing up near the hydrangeas.

Alex got out of the car and went up to the house. He must have seen the cricket bat across the threshold (dropped by Mr. Paul Grindle, the neighbour who had gone to investigate and was now heaving his guts up in reaction to the horror he had seen). He went into the house and must have seen the blood and bodies. After a short time he walked back to us, moving very slowly and carefully and with a very odd expression on this face, one of blankness that must have concealed the turmoil he felt at the horrors he had seen. Eliza, as a doctor, had already been helping Mr. Grindle, and now went into the house, fore-warned about what she was about to see from the two men’s reactions as well as her medical experience.

I followed her. I don’t know what impelled me to leave the sanity of the car but I did. If I could go back to that moment again, and make the choice again, I truly don’t know if I would stay in the secure metal womb rather than walk in to the bloody room. I am certainly different now. I know so much more about moon-beasts.

I will never be able to remove the memory of what I saw, but at least thanks to the staff here, I have managed to stop it colouring my thoughts and dreams all the time. To smell and see the carnage caused by supernatural beings with my own eyes, and then view a recording of it happening, was too much. Writing about it has helped me accept that I could only ever have been an on-looker. They tell me it is like survivor’s guilt; the consuming feelings that can overwhelm someone who has survived a catastrophe from the knowledge that she is still alive when another is dead. Saying it calmly, in the reassuring surroundings of the therapist’s room is all very well, but making a change in my mind has been uncertain and slow, and I still sometimes return to that room of blood and pain, and the delight of blood. Coming after the events at Silbury Hill and my discovery of a whole other side to the world, it was so intense that I think for a time I became what most people would call mad.

When I walked into the room I spotted the only unbroken, clean thing. It was a box on the mantelpiece, with the fingerprints of its maker still clear in the yellow clay. It was vaguely Abyssinian in style. I can always see it completely vividly, as if it is still before me. I opened it and took the small parchment scroll from the compartment at the back while my attention was focused on the flickering reddish opalescent jewel that filled most of the box. The words, in English, on the parchment were:

‘This record is for the attention of MI13; just press the jewel to forehead and petition Thoth.’

I hardly needed to read it before I had picked up the jewel and saw that they had intended to destroy at least one of us (-1 magic point). You could say that I fell into their trap without even thinking that it might be one. Again, if I re-lived that moment, would I use the jewel again? I think I would.

I’m not going to write, yet again, about what the moon-beasts did. Anyway, words can’t really cover it and my artistic skills aren’t good enough either. I’ve tried that as well. The therapist said it was better if I left my blood out of the picture, but that was the only way I could make it smell even vaguely correct. It was the smell and sounds that stuck with me.

The sounds weren’t just words from the people, but noise as the moon-beasts sliced and broke them and all the objects in the room. We all know what blood looks like, and what it smells and tastes like, but only small amounts. You see it on TV or films but not the smell and the texture between your fingers. The room smelt incredible, because there was blood all over the floor, the walls, the sofa, and the people. So much blood from four people. If I’d worked in an abattoir, or been in a war, I’d have seen as much blood before, and I’d already have been a different person. There’s a lot in a person and it does not flow out gently but like a geyser. And the others scream with disbelief and fear and sadness. And the parents could not protect their children, or Friday her sister. A terrible way to end a life.

They tell me that I walked quietly out of the room, holding the box, and went to sit in the car again and seemed pretty OK then and for most of the next day. I don’t remember much about it now, and the rest is fragmentary as well. I’ve talked about it with the therapist and they let me read the official reports. A few things are really vivid and must be from my memory, but for much of it I realise that I’m imagining what happened based on the reports.

I’d got blood on my shoes and clothes. I can remember the blood on me, because the smell faded but did not go away entirely. There were more cars, flashing lights, more people. Then we were at Alex’s house, which had lots of cats. I remember that I had another look at the message, and realised that it was written on parchment made from human skin. I remember that I wanted to get the blood off my clothes and shoes and went to the kitchen. I put my shoes and jacket into a bucket with bleach; I guess they are still there because I have not seen them since. I can remember that I rejoined the others and wrapped the box up in layer after layer of paper until it was the size of a small suitcase.

The reports say that we all went back to the school at about 3:15 am, accompanied by the head, the caretaker and DS Pringle. The aim was to search it thoroughly for signs of magic, gods, moon-beasts, aliens - anything that could be the cause of the events.

We went into the basement, and spotted footprints and smelt incense. I remember comparing this smell with the blood in my memory. It was different, but there was a bitter quality to it that had something in common with the blood-soaked room. St John said something about this incense being used in black magic. We found all the paraphernalia needed for a black mass in a corner of the room, which fitted with this idea.

Once we were out of the basement, I could smell blood again. We found it in the gymnasium, and this is one of my few vivid memories. There were markings on the floor in blood, on the basketball circle. It was quite a lot of blood, so the smell was stronger. I got down to its level, to inspect it properly, to think about it correctly. I needed to get my nose really close to it, and licked some up to know the difference between the taste and the smell. I guess I really needed to taste and breathe it all, but the others made me stop. This memory is still vivid, though. Then we went back to the hotel to sleep. I don’t remember whether I dreamt or not.

Thursday May 3^rd

After I woke I knew about moon-beasts. They serve Nyarlathotep and are monstrously cruel. Of course, I had seen that the previous day as they killed Friday and her family with inhuman violence. They can expand or contract their eyeless toad shapes at will. There is a colony on the Moon and on other planets.

The reports say that we went to the school again on Thursday because Isabel Carleton was now dead. Unbelievably, she had killed herself in the science class in front of the rest of the children and the teacher, Miss Peta Northlay. She had gouged her eyes out, cut her chest open and then pulled her heart out, using the dissection tools intended for earthworms.

There was blood everywhere. The smell was strong again; bitter, metallic and much more like that in Friday’s house. I wanted to taste it, to see how the taste of this fresh blood compared with older, dried animal blood in the gymnasium. For some reason, the others would not let me. It was so unfair. I was keeping my fear of the earthworms down by concentrating on the blood and then they wouldn’t let me taste it. The teacher kept going on and on about the earthworms and in the end I had to get away. Maybe there was blood somewhere else – and no earthworms.

My memory becomes even more splintered after this. The reports say that everyone became interested in why the usual biology teacher, Mrs Joy Samson, had fallen ill and had to be replaced by Miss Northlay. She had contracted necrotizing fasciitis from a spider bite. Eliza and St John talked with her husband at the hospital shortly before Joy died on the operating theatre as the medics cut away more of the infected flesh. I wonder what that smelt like? Did the decay overwhelm the smell of the blood?

We discovered the connection between her, her replacement, and the events that afternoon when the deputy head, Jack Carleton, phoned Alex and insisted that we come and talk with him at his house. I went along because I could think about the blood with them as effectively as alone, and there was the possibility of finding some more blood.

Jack Carleton said that he and the other members of the PTA were a long-standing black magic coven. His family, for instance, had come to the Lake District from France in the 1300s. The school had been founded by a coven member. Their rites had become watered down and did not involve blood sacrifice (my interest leapt and then subsided when he said this) even though he had been brought up to worship the devil Nyarlathotep and to consider that Christianity was hypocrisy. He said that they worshiped in the headmaster’s study and never used the cellar or gym. Indeed, they had not held any blood sacrifices for centuries and there had been some recent arguments that their rites should be ‘proper’, or not held at all.

It was soon after this that someone realised that Peta Northlay was an anagram for Nyarlathotep, and Jack Carleton became petrified.

We went back to the school and headed for the gym. There was a hissing, thrashing noise and a nasty smell coming from it. There was yet another supernatural monster in it, larger than an elephant, with bat-like wings, a head like a horse and slimy skin, a shantak. There were 4 people in the gym and it had already killed two and was turning on the third. The fourth, Chris St. Clair, was running towards us. The smell of the blood was wonderful.

I tried to run to the blood to get the full effect, but Alex hit my leg and stopped me. I tried to crawl in, but could not. They were so unfair and did not realise what they were keeping me from. They would not understand. The blood was so wonderful, so new, so interesting. I could understand why people had carried out blood sacrifices in the past, why there were wars, why we ate animals, why there was black pudding, why the blood transfusion service existed. It was all so obvious.

Later

It is really impossible to explain the state that I got into that afternoon. I know, but cannot explain why. The therapists are helping me realise it is not so important and to regain an interest in other things, but I have been like that at times since. Of course, there aren’t any supernatural beasts here to massacre people to make so much blood. The best I’ve been able to manage was one of the nurses and then, when they kept me away from them, I could release my own blood with my nails and teeth, very quietly so that they did not notice for a time. When they saw it, they rushed around, like an anthill, and made me stop. They can’t stop me bleeding every month though, so I have my revenge on them.