Chapter 25 - Things
"Now," Bert Large paused to take a deep breath after the climb up the steep lane, "this here is the headland, overlooking Portwenn Harbor. Well, we could see the harbor, that is, if it wasn't so foggy!" He stood next to the bench by the gravel path which lead from the lane.
The crowd on the ghost outing chuckled, mostly. They milled around, hands in pockets, heads pulled down into collars as the chill fog enveloped them. The breeze from the sea stirred the fog bank into thick and thin areas, which pulsed in an almost organic way, but visibility was limited. Bert could barely see ten or fifteen feet, reminding him of a dreadful snowfall and whiteout some Christmas past.
Bert tried to smile as his heart thumped away as sweat ran down his face. He knew he needed to eat more salads, get more exercise, and eat a less fatty diet, just as Doc Martin had yelled at them all at poor Joan Norton's funeral service! Totally Bodmin to do that at his aunt's funeral, but the Doc was right. Bert looked down at the bulge of his belly, with his huge arms crossed over it. Bert remembered the days those arms were corded with muscle, and not sheathed in rolls of fat like they were now. Of course his late wife, Mary, told him it was his kindly face that attracted her, not a muscular build. Fortunately, Mary had died long ago, so she'd never seen the fat person he had become. Yet Bert hoped that his nature was the same; the same bashful soul that had been prodded by his mates to speak to that pretty girl waiting for the bus.
Bert returned his attention to the group, especially to Ari Aster, who was hanging on both his arm and his every word. Bert smiled down at the pretty gal and she smiled back. There was something he saw in her face which made his heart light up like it hadn't in such a long time – a very long time.
He cleared his throat. "Now, this here headland is like a lot of the moor hereabout. You know what it's like. Not a tree; just scraggly bushes and gorse, scrubby grasses, and the wind blows and blows, now don't it? Boulders and rocks here and there, a right ankle breaker if you go running about in the dark, or even the day!" He chuckled. "But I didn't drag you up here to give you any lessons in biology, nor a lecture on the ages of the earth that made those rocks. Nope not a bit! I brung you all up here, well, the tenners you all gave me had something to do with it!"
The crowd laughed and Bert smiled broadly as he knew that he had them on the hook.
Ari hugged his arm and he squeezed her hand. She smiled up at him, and the sight of her bright eyes, filled him with a warmth that drove the freezing air away. He went on with his little speech which he had honed these last three weeks. "Now out here in North Cornwall, all the way back to the Celts and the Picts, and all them ancient folks, there have been things – out here on the moor – and not always at night."
"Wha… what things?" quavered the lone little girl.
Bert bent down and looked hard into her face. "Oh, things, sweetie." He stretched out a hand and patted her head. "Things… things that go bump in the night."
The little child gasped with all the might that an eleven-year-old could muster. She backed into her mother's arms with caution and not a little fear.
"There, there dear. Mr. Large doesn't mean to scare you!" said the child's mum.
"Oh? Don't I?" Bert uttered in a hollow voice and then laughed as the child showed real fright. "Nope. Not me!"
Luckily the crowd laughed, some a bit nervously.
Bert blew out a breath in relief and chuckled knowing the laughter meant his charges were just where he wanted them.
000
In the bushes nearby, Al crouched low, straining to hear his dad's words. His joints were stiff, knees creaking and back aching and his fingers were very cold as the old leather gloves on his hands were ragged and full of holes. The coverall he wore was covered with strips torn from old towels, as well as rags stained with motor oil, and unmentionable liquids whose origins in the back of the van, when it was used as a plumber's vehicle, were best left forgotten. Al had pulled the mangy coverall over his jeans, shirt, and cardigan, but had to jettison his green jacket on a bush as it wouldn't fit underneath. He rubbed his hands together swearing under his breath, then brought his cold fingers to his mouth and blew on them. The wool cap he wore kept his ears warm and with the balaclava covering his face at least that part was toasty, and hidden.
"Come on dad!" he muttered to himself. "Freezing my bloody balls off!" He also gently stamped his feet as his toes were the coldest of all. "Next time… if there is a next time… I'll wear double socks! Wool ones too!"
000
Mick slowly opened the rolling door of the cargo box on the lorry. The fog blew about the vehicle in billowing gusts and he stood transfixed at the sight of Derrick lighting a fag, the glow from his cigarette and the match lighting his face in an unearthly glow.
"What in hell are you gawping at, you fool?" hissed Derrick.
"Nothing!"
"Well quit mucking about and get the shovels and the other gear!"
"Alright." Mick climbed into the truck, the dogs giving him an odd surprised look, as he flashed a dim torch about in the confined space. He stopped in alarm as the little white dog, the one who'd had a cut paw, sat bolt upright, his floppy brown ears held nearly erect above his bright dark eyes and dog grin. "Wot you lookin' at dog? Your paw fixed now chum?" The dog woofed softly, sitting in the cage, his chest pushed against the mesh door. Mick lifted a hand to stroke the dog's fur. Perhaps he'd keep this one when they sold the rest. "Don't you worry, now. You'll have new homes… somewhere else! And me and Derrick will have a nice bit of change as well."
Derrick banged on the cargo box. "Mick! Get a bloody move on! Freezin out here," urged the man in an angry tone.
Mick rubbed his neck where Derrick had poked him with the knife. "Sure, Derrick. Right away!" He picked up two shovels, the metal detector, and a large duffle. He jumped from the truck, leaving the rollup door wide open.
Buddy leaned a teeny bit more on the cage door and it slowly opened as Mick walked into the dark.
000
Bert lowered his voice a bit and went on. "There's strange things happen out on the moor, you know. People go out, like you and me, just like tonight, and never come back – never get found either! Cars get found empty – fuel in the tank – they start when you turn the key. But they never get found!" he hissed.
"Most likely they come out here to do themselves a harm! Listen! The sea is quite close," added Ian Hardcastle. "Cliffs and all."
Bert cleared his throat with irritation. "Well… perhaps. But what about those folks who disappear taking a walk over the moor? Far from the ocean?"
Hardcastle ducked his head. "You may be…"
"Right. I am," said Bert and rolled his eyes. "Right that is. And there are stories, old – very old stories – ones that go far back. There is something…"
"What… sort of something?" grunted Alan, his voice quaking.
"Something… something that moves, swift as a gull, fierce as a killer whale, more deadly than the worst thing you ever imagined!" intoned Bert solemnly.
Alan gulped, feeling his knees shake. Yet was this any worse than, say, the man in armor? He chuckled, more in anxiety than fear.
"You laughing Alan?" asked Bert.
"No, not really… just a little nervous." Which wasn't quite true, as his stomach fell as he spoke.
"Nervous?" Bert turned in a circle giving every member of tonight's outing a solemn look. "Nervous."
"Yeah," said the boy. "Just nervous."
"Seems to me, you might act a bit more like…" Bert started to say.
000
Derrick threw his fag into the wet grass and pointed to the three rocks he remembered from the afternoon. He'd gotten a good hit with the metal detector when those little brats showed up today. What was the world coming to when you couldn't even go for a ramble without someone being all nosy? He flipped the device on and quickly homed in to the spot. He dug a boot into the turf, shining his torch onto the ground, on the spot he'd marked.
"Here. Dig." He pointed to the spot. "Now."
Mick pushed down with his shovel and moved about half a shovelful of dirt and sod. "Tough."
"Yeah."
"You gonna help, Derrick?"
"I'm the brains. You dig."
Mick rubbed his neck once more. "Ok." He jabbed the shovel into the ground and hit a rock, with a sharp ring. "Damn."
000
"Listen," said Bert and everyone froze as a sharp metallic clank echoed through the cloud. "What in the hell?"
Not thirty feet away, Al Large froze where he crouched in the shrubbery. "Now what is that?"