Death Trance

'Gilly? I thought you were ignoring me, just like the rest of the Peabody archeological club.'

She laughed. 'I didn't want to upset them. Come on, John, I've been log-keeping for them for months now, they depend on me. But I think Edward's being very stuffy about this copper vessel you're supposed to bring up from the hold. I mean, if it really has anything to do with all these hauntings, then I think they should winch it up straight away.'

'You and me both,' I told her. 'But you heard what Edward's reaction to that was. And he was the guy who said he would always be my friend. I think I'd rather have Mictantecutli for a friend. At least with Mictantecutli, you know where you are.'

'Did Edward really promise you that he would bring up the copper vessel especially quickly?'

'He implied as much. As soon as humanly possible, that's what he said. I knew it couldn't be raised in two minutes flat, even when the wreck was located. But there was never any suggestion of years. It's too urgent for years. One way or another, that demon has to be brought up out of there, and quick.'

Gilly was silent for a while. Then she said, 'You're going over to Tewksbury tonight, aren't you?'

'That's right.'

'Well, if you can wait until nine or ten o'clock, I'll come over and see you. But I have to finish stock-taking first.'

'Nine or ten o'clock is fine. Make it as late as you like.'

I finished packing: then I took a look around the cottage. The bedrooms were empty and silent; and there was a strange closed atmosphere about them, as if they knew that I was leaving. I walked along the upstairs corridor to the bathroom, and collected my toothbrush, and stood for a moment and examined myself in the mirror over the basin. I looked very tired. There were purple smudges under my eyes, and my face looked oddly foxy, as if the decision I had made to free Mictantecutli had somehow affected me physically, like the portrait of Dorian Gray had been altered by the corrupt and profligate life he had led.

I took my suitcase and went downstairs. I made sure that the water was turned off, and the icebox left to defrost with the door open. Then I went into the sitting-room and checked that I hadn't left anything behind. I was even going to take the painting of the David Dark with me, in case there was anything in it which old man Evelith might have overlooked before he sold it.

I still wanted to go to stay with Duglass Evelith at Tewksbury, even though I had resigned from Edward's diving team. In fact, it was more critical than ever before that I should learn as much as I could about Mictantecutli and the David Dark, because I was now determined that if Edward was going to refuse to bring up the copper vessel, then I would have to bring it up myself. Regardless of my inexperience as a diver; and regardless of the laws of salvage and wrecks.

I made sure that the log fire was out, and then I switched off the sitting-room light, and prepared to leave. But I was just about to close the door when I heard that whispering again, that soft, obscene whispering. I hesitated, listening. Then I stared into the darkness of the sitting-room, trying to make out if there was anything or anybody there. The whispering went on: coaxing and lubricious, the whispering of a pederast or a voyeur, the whispering of a sexual killer. I looked towards the fireplace, and I was sure that I could see two dim scarlet glows amongst the logs, like the eyes of a devil.

I hesitated, then I switched on the light. There was nobody there. The fire was dead and cold; without cinders or sparks. I glanced around the room quickly, then I turned off the light again and closed the door. I knew then that as long as the cottage was haunted this way, I could never go back. There was too much evil here, too much cold commotion. I may not have been at any physical risk, but if I stayed here much longer I would very likely go mad.

I went through the hallway and picked up my suitcase. As I did so, a familiar voice said, 'John.'

I turned around. Jane was standing at the top of the stairs, her bare feet floating just a few inches above the second tread. She was still dressed in her white funeral robes, which silently fluttered as if they were being blown by an updraught. She was smiling at me, but there was something about her face which was even more skeletal than ever.

I turned away. I was determined not to look, not to listen. But Jane whispered, 'Don't forget me, John. Whatever you do, don't forget me.'

For a moment or two, I stood where I was, wondering whether I ought to speak to her: whether I ought to encourage her, or reassure her that I was going to save her, or whether I ought to tell her to go back to hell. But it probably wasn't her at all. It was probably nothing more than another of Mictantecutli's evil apparitions; and there was no point in speaking to that.

I went out, closed the door behind me, and locked it. Then I walked away from Quaker Lane Cottage with as much determination as I could; promising myself that I wouldn't go back there until Mictantecutli had been raised from the harbour, and fulfilled for me its side of-the bargain we had made.

But I couldn't resist one last look at the blind and shuttered face of the house that had once been our home, Jane's and mine. It looked so derelict and abandoned, as if the malevolence that now infested it had begun to rot the very structure of the roof-beams, the very substance of the plaster and the brick. I turned on the car engine, engaged drive, and drove off down Quaker Lane, my wheels bouncing in the pot-holes and ruts.

I was only halfway down the lane when I saw Keith Reed, beating at the bushes along the left-hand side of the lane with a walking-cane. I drew up beside him, and put down my window.

'Keith? How are you doing?'

Keith glanced at me, and carried on thrashing at the bushes. 'I thought you wasn't speaking to me,' he said, crossly.

'I forgave you,' I told him. 'Did you lose something?'

'Lose something? Haven't you heard?'

'Heard what? I've been in and out of Granitehead like a monkey on a stick.'

Keith came over to the car, and leaned on the roof. He looked as tired and as anxious as I did, and his nose was running. I passed him a Kleenex from the glove-box, and he noisily blew. Then he said, 'We lost George.'

'You lost George? What do you mean, you lost George?'

'Just that. We lost him. He went out yesterday afternoon; said he was off to see his brother Wilf. Well, that's crazy, of course, because Wilf is dead. But we ain't seen George since then, and everybody's out searching for him.'

I sat behind the wheel of my car, and thoughtfully bit my lip. So Mictantecutli had claimed George Markham as well. I knew it. And although I wasn't going to tell Keith as much, because I didn't want to discourage him from searching, I knew in my heart of hearts that George was already dead, in the same way that Mrs Edgar Simons was dead, and Charlie Manzi, too.

‘I’ll keep my eyes open,' I said. ‘I’m going over to Tewksbury for a while, but I'll be back.'

'Okay,' said Keith; and as I drove away he went back across to the hedgerow, and carried on beating at the branches in his attempt to find his old stud-poker partner, dead or alive. I felt deeply depressed as I reached the highway, and turned south on to West Shore Drive. The power of the demon was hanging over Granitehead like an Atlantic thunderstorm; dark and threatening, a power so great that it could make the dead come to life and the sky turn black.

It was dark by the time I reached Tewksbury, and drew up outside the wrought-iron gates of old man Evelith's house. I rang the bell and waited for Quamus to open up for me, watched as before by the ever-attentive Doberman Pinscher. If I've ever seen a dog with a relish for human flesh, that dog was it. I could hear its claws clicking on the shingle driveway in carnivorous impatience.