Chapter Three:
The Horror
The Church:
As the final note from the organ faded away, so too did the last traces of the singing voices throughout the rather-gloomy interior of the solitary church within Shadowbrook. The croaky rasp of the odd-looking man with the white eye ended too – as he caught up with the more-competent singers. The reverend gestured with both hands, palms down - and the assembled duly all took their seats again.
Jonathan Cooke's relief at coming to the end of the hymn swiftly faded as Reverend Elijah Harding straightened the cuffs of his vestments and launched into another sermon. He had already spoken (well, ranted – the Inspector reminded himself) about how the primitive tribes folk scattered across 'this new country' were destined for purgatory, as they did not worship God but instead believed in animal spirits and held onto other, pagan-like ways, in his estimation. Now, Harding wanted to preach on how man in the New World was straying from God's laws – and that the consequences of that were now being felt in the local vicinity.
"…for I tell you that there are forces of darkness that abound in this world, leading us all astray from the teachings of the bible!" Harding's strong, forceful voice carried across to all of the assembled without wavering. "But there are also agents of the Lord who will punish us. Aye, punish us, I tell you! One woman of this township was found to have lost her way. She had mingled for too long in the company of bad men, and so all three of them have been taken from us. Agnes Agnew, Richard Shaw, and Eli Bunt." Harding stooped over his pulpit and glared at his congregation, hearing the mutterings of those who previously been unaware of the news. He raised his hand for silence, and received it.
"Yes. Those three souls have been taken. Whilst Richard's brother Samuel is missing. I have seen the bodies of the deceased, and I have prayed for their lost souls to be redeemed, so that they may all find their way to heaven…"
From his position at the side of the pews, towards the front of the aisle, Cooke looked across to the sister of Agnes Agnew, who had already been informed of the death. Very reluctantly, had the town elders agreed to let the sister and her husband see the deceased's body – and it was only to gain the confirmation of identity that the husk had indeed been Agnes. Now Agnes's sister bowed her head, supported by her husband. They glanced up at the Reverend Harding with horror and disgust at his declaration of Agnes's character – but they stayed put, not wanting to be seem to leave the stone church in mid-service.
His mind wandering from Harding's semi-coherent ramblings, Cooke turned his head further to once again take in the various characters present at the Friday morning service. Most of them were dressed in such a manner as to convey that they were ordinary townsfolk. But there were other individuals who interested him. Besides the swarthy-looking small man with the dead eye, there was a bearded man with him – both suited in jackets and clothing that indicated that they were traveled men, familiar with the hardy countryside. Both had been the last pair to enter the church, and they sat at the back of the assembled group. Further forward, a woman wearing a long dark-gray dress with a white collar, and her dark-brown hair pulled and tied back into a bun seemed anxious. Seated close to her was an overweight man bearing a goatee and thinning, dark-brown hair, dressed elegantly in tailored white and cream-colored clothes that marked him as a recent arrival. Elsewhere, Isabella von Took was sat – her chin resting on her cupped hand, looking bored by the reverend, and her eyes also glancing around at the congregation, as if looking for someone more interesting to absorb her attention. The noblewoman had changed her attire since last night, and was now dressed in a long black outfit, with lace trim around the sleeves. From where he sat, Cooke could see a lock of Isabella's dark hair hanging down just in front of her ear. Her meek-looking, Germanic handmaiden was sat next to her.
Cooke's focus moved to the front row on the other side of the central aisle from himself, to where the town elders were gathered.
He had learnt that they were seven in number. To his relief, Major Bruckner was not present. With the Reverend Harding preaching to them all, there were four elders on the pew – Lord and Lady Hanbrook (without Lucy, who had been ordered to remain at the manor by her parents, Cooke understood), and also the cherubic-faced, wigged Magistrate Kroft – who was nodding his head to a regular rhythm that suggested he was in the process of dozing.
The final elder at the far end of the row caught Cooke's attention in particular. She was a lady of medium-height, slim, and with shoulder-length blonde hair – of younger age than her contemporaries. He estimated her to be somewhere in her thirties – and she was dressed in a brown shawl which hung over her shoulders and her white and green-colored clothes. Her expression was impassive as she kept her head slightly-lowered, only occasionally glancing at Harding.
Then, as if aware that she was being watched, the elder turned her head in a smooth motion and stared back at Cooke. Her lips pulled into a smile as he wondered at her timing – asking himself if it only been coincidence.
The woman gave a tiny shake of her head, and then returned her gaze to Harding.
Cooke felt his jaw drop open in bewilderment.
"…and that concludes the special sermon for today. I will send notice of when it is known we will be able to bury our departed sister and brothers," Harding finally wrapped up his speech. "Now, return to the world outside - and live your lives according to God's laws, my children!"
Outside, at the edge of the churchyard, Cooke was watching Isabella. The Dutchwoman was with the lady with the dark-grey dress and the tight hair-bun. The latter was speaking with a French accent.
"…I am…taken aback, Madam von Took. We 'ave only met for the first time, yesterday…"
"Indeed – but my friend, Lady Hanbrook wishes to invite more people to the manor tonight, so…seeing as you have received my party invitation from that courier who was in church…will you attend, Anne Marie?"
Anne Marie's expression churned as she tried to decide. Finally, she nodded. "D'accord. Oui! Merci beaucoup, madame… But, this 'Plus One' ticket… I cannot think of anyone to go to the party with…"
"No gentleman that you have your eye on then? A shame – but I will leave that dilemma to you, Anne Marie," Isabella declared. "Oh, and I prefer 'Isabella' as opposed to 'madame'. I am a free woman, since my husband passed away."
"Pardon. I did not know. I am sorry…"
"Well… he was a sorry excuse of a man, anyway – so it matters not. I will see you tonight at the manor, dear. Au revoir. Come along now, Heidi. I have more people here I must speak with…"
"Au revoir, Isabella." Anne Marie nodded back.
Cooke turned to watch the town elders now splitting up as they departed from the church. The reverend slipped back into the church after talking with the blonde elder. Cooke was about considering introducing himself to her, when Magistrate Kroft suddenly appeared at his side.
"Did you enjoy the sermon, Inspector?" The dark-brown eyes set within the piggish-looking face of the elder seemed to twinkle with mischief.
"It was…interesting," Cooke concluded. "Is that Reverend Harding's usual style?"
"Somewhat… He has become more…old testament…during the last year – since…" Kroft hesitated. His cultured voice faded away.
"Since what…?"
"Since the trail and execution of Elaine Bartlett last year. Almost exactly a year ago, in fact."
"Was she tried…for witchcraft?" Cooke whispered, the words of the Hanbrooks from last night replaying in his mind. The blood on the wall suddenly threatened to divorce him from reason. It had been a trick of some kind. It must have been…
"That was one charge against her. She was also arrested for the murder of her husband, Ethan Bartlett," Kroft answered, his eyes checking on anyone passing close to them.
"Surely you – a learned magistrate - don't believe in witchcraft… Do you?"
Kroft chuckled. "Inspector, when you have lived in Shadowbrook as long as I have – which is several years – you will come to accept that sometimes what people believe is more important than what is real, or not real. Did I uncover convincing evidence of witchcraft whilst I was judging Elaine Bartlett? Of course not. But I have no doubt that she did indeed kill her husband during her reign of terror. And she was accused by the townsfolk of countless acts of committing witchcraft most foul! Anyway, I have a busy day ahead. Excuse me!"
"Did you…enjoy the sermon, Magistrate Kroft?" Cooke put to him.
The fat man paused. "Oh, certainly. I've never slept better." Chuckling, Kroft then walked away, his cheeks wobbling slightly as he did so.
Cooke turned to seek out the blonde-haired lady once more. He glimpsed her walking away with the plump man from the church assembly who was dressed in white and cream. He was about to approach them, when Sergeant Allardyce intercepted him.
"What is it, sergeant!?" Cooke snapped.
"Begging your pardon sir, but…" the other man leaned in close to his superior. "We've had another…incident…reported to us. Doctor Manning has sent the message."
Cooke gave the sergeant a long look. Then he nodded, and followed Sergeant Allardyce over to their tethered horses a short distance along the road. Cooke paid the boy looking after his horse another coin, and proceeded to climb up and take the reins.
Upon an exchanged glance between them, Karl and Thomas had already started to follow Inspector Cooke. However, Karl found himself stopped in his tracks by Isabella von Took…
"Madam – I am in a hurry…"
"Really? This should not take long, Mr Harrison. I have been invited to a party at Hanbrook Manor tonight, where I am currently staying. But being a widow, I do not have a partner to dance with. I wondered…if you would oblige me."
Karl froze, not believing what he was hearing. "I…" He paused, and forced himself to smile. "That would be delightful, Madam von Took."
"Excellent. Then here is your invite. I have already taken the liberty of writing out your name, as you can see." Isabella pursed her lips and smiled. "I will see you in the entrance hall of Hanbrook Manor at seven o'clock tonight, yes?"
"Yes. Thank you… Er, I do have one question."
"Yes?"
Karl lowered his voice. "How come Lucy Hanbrook is not at church with her parents?"
Isabella frowned. "I…am not sure."
Heidi stepped forward and whispered "Mistress… I overheard the butler this morning before we came out. Apparently, the cook has disappeared. Miss Lucy was helping to organize the servants, instead."
"Thank you, Heidi." Isabella patted her handmaiden's shoulder. She gave Karl a beaming smile. "Until tonight, then – Mr Harrison."
Karl gave a sigh of relief as Isabella slipped away. By the time he had reached his tethered horse, he could see Thomas already cantering away on his, discreetly following Inspector Cooke and Sergeant Allardyce.
Karl paid the man looking after his horse – but did not mount his steed. Instead, he waited a few minutes as he took out some paper from his jacket and made further pencil notes to the list already made. His latest words were: 'Miss Palfreyman reported missing from Hanbrook Manor'.
His patience was rewarded as Thomas trotted back to the street outside the church.
"They've taken the road leading towards the windmill and the farmlands to the north of town," Thomas reported to him.
"Right. Let us see what's going on," Karl declared, now getting into the saddle…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Windmill:
"Dear god almighty…," Inspector Cooke muttered, as he looked down upon the wizened body which lay sprawled across the track between the windmill and the nearby house. Close by were the eastern extent of the wheat fields which had been harvested.
The grayish, shrunken face of the man was frozen in a scream. His open eyes were already discolored.
Allardyce snorted. "Didn't think you believed in god that much, sir. But seeing how you've just come out of church…"
"I believe in law, order, and adhering to society, sergeant. That includes joining the local people in attending church," Cooke retorted. He glanced to Doctor Manning, who had been inspecting the body when Cooke and Allardyce had arrived, and was now taking surgical samples. Around them, some of the local militia had set up a guard – keeping their eyes open for any further signs of trouble, as well as ensuring that no one else got too close to the latest scene of death.
"You didn't stay at Hanbrook Manor overnight after dinner, sir?" Allardyce asked Cooke.
"No. I…stayed for an hour or so after the meal – then returned to the tavern in town, sergeant. The Hanbrooks never offered me a room for the night. They already have visitors. Her Ladyship has her Dutch friend staying, along with her servants…" Cooke turned back to Manning, who rose to his feet and removed his gloves, before shutting his doctor's bag to.
"Your findings, doctor?" Cooke challenged him.
"Exactly the same as Agnes Agnew – the body has been drained of fluids in some way, without any obvious puncture mark or wound." The bespectacled elder faced the inspector and kept his tone calm and professional, as he stuck to the facts. "The damage to the body is all over, but concentrated around the man's face. Perhaps his assailant administered the attack there."
"But his clothing is intact!" Cooke protested, pointing to the corpse. "Apart from these…claw…marks around his shoulders. "How could this man's flesh be…corrupted…without his tunic and pants being affected?"
"Perhaps the process that so affected the flesh was done by a process of touch?" Doctor Manning mused. "Anyway, there is more. This man has several broken bones, including his shoulder and neck. There's trauma to his skull. I believe that his head and neck injuries were the cause of his death!"
"And his body was…drained…afterwards?" Cooke shook his head and rubbed his forehead as he tried to make sense of everything that was unfolding before him. "Before Agnes Agnew, Doctor, have you come across anything like this?"
Manning's gaze momentarily fell to his feet, where there was a splinter of wood next to the body. Then he leveled his keen grey eyes at Cooke.
"Answering your first question, it is possible. And no – I have not seen or heard of anything like this before Miss Agnew's death. I am not sure what to make of this – or of the other discovery here…"
"And Mr Forbes - the miller - found the man here, last night, after being wakened up by screams shortly before dawn" Cooke muttered, repeating what the doctor had already told him. "Did he see anything?"
Manning shook his head. "He told me that he was too afraid to even look out of his windows at first. By the time he rushed out, with a loaded gun, there was only the body and the st…"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir. Found these geezers lurking in the fields close by," a rough voice called out.
Cooke, Allardyce, and Manning turned round to see two of the militia approaching, prodding two other men in front of them with the points of their rifles. Cooke narrowed his eyes. The 'geezers' were the brown-haired, bearded man who was at the back of the church during the service – whilst his accomplice was the swarthy-looking man with the dead eye. They currently had their hands on their heads, as no doubt ordered by the incompetent speaker, Abbots.
Even now, Doctor Manning was hissing in anger. He hurriedly grabbed the blanket that had been left to cover up the corpse.
"Abbots!" Cooke raged. "This is a scene of a killing! You do not bring intruders closer to…"
"Don't bother covering him up, we've both seen his face," the taller, bearded man declared calmly.
"It's that guy who was guarding the dead woman yesterday…!" The shorter man suddenly fell silent, realizing that he had blurted too much.
His companion slipped one hand down from on top of his head, and pressed it against his face as he failed to suppress a groan.
"So you've been spying on us not just now, but yesterday too?" Cooke stepped up to the prisoners. "You were at the church service as well – so to get here so quickly, you must have been following my sergeant and me!"
"You killed my mate? You killed Lambert!?" the irate, scruffy-looking guard with the ginger mop raised his rifle, ready to bash both of his prisoners…
"Abbots! Stop!" Cooke barked at the startled militia man. He turned to the captives. "I'm awaiting your answer, gentlemen."
"All right, Inspector. Yes – we did follow you. And we are taking a keen interest in what is happening here," the bearded man confessed. "My name is Karl Harrison."
"I'm Thomas Harrow, courier for hire," the scarred, dead-eyed man added. He glared at Abbots. "And how could we have killed your matey, then? We're not warlocks!"
Abbots's mouth opened as he considered his answer. Then, giving up, he wisely decided to shut it again.
"What business is this of yours?" Manning challenged Karl and Thomas.
"We're hunters, doc." Thomas grinned at him. "Monster hunters."
Karl pointed at the statue of the woman that was still outside the door to the windmill, close to them. The arms were raised in mid-air as if portraying someone under attack. The statue was laying on its back – the face frozen in a tortured scream. "Have you examined the statue?" he asked.
"Yeah… Your work is it?" Allardyce snapped. "Detailed as it is, why the hell would you…?"
"Not my work, at all! That statue represents the cook of Hanbrook Manor, Miss Palfreyman!" Karl snapped back. "I heard that she has been reported missing from the manor, this morning."
Cooke frowned. "How would you know of…Miss Palfreyman?"
"I have been to the manor before, some years back. I know most of the staff," Karl answered. He turned to his colleague. "Thomas? Would you agree? You were there yesterday…"
Thomas took a few steps closer to look at the face. "Oh, it's her – all right. She served me a meal in the kitchen."
"And, pray, why would someone go to the trouble of making detailed statues of people who are disappearing?" Cooke bristled.
"Nobody is creating statues, Inspector…" Karl stepped up to the Inspector so that they were just a few feet apart. His eyes were sober and cutting. "These statues are the missing people!"
Abbotts and the other militiaman guffawed. "Monster hunters! People turned…to stone!" Abbotts sneered.
"You are a soldier, are you not, Mr Harrison?" Cooke appraised his clothing. "Where is your company?"
"I have retired from service, Inspector," Karl answered. "And believe me, during my tours of duty I have seen some horrors that were not human. I now spend my days tracking them down, and collecting any reward that comes my way. Mr Harrow fell in with me some time back – but still acts as a courier."
"I see. And you are in Shadowbrook because…"
"I wanted to see an old friend again. I wasn't expecting this…" Karl swept his arm between the statue and the wizened body of Lambert. "Listen. I propose that we join forces, Inspector…"
"…Cooke. But your request is declined. I want to know where those missing people are – and what killed Agnes Agnew and those men yesterday, as well as Lambert. So if you know how to truly answer my questions, Mr Harrison and Mr Harrow, speak now!"
"We're wasting our time with this nitwit, Karl," Thomas groaned. "Listen, Inspector Cooke! How do you expect us to have all the answers? We've only started investigating yesterday – like yerselves! We've already told you what we know so far, yerr ninny!"
"Right! You're gonna pay for your disrespect…" Abbotts raised his rifle again.
"Abbotts – no! You and Costello can escort these men away from this location. Do not mistreat them!" Cooke fumed.
Abbotts and Costello bore sour expressions as they gestured for Karl and Thomas to come with them.
Karl paused and looked at the windmill. "I overheard the doctor's remarks about Lambert's injuries - so I'll leave you with a parting gift, Inspector Cooke. Look at that mark at the top of the windmill, and ask yourself what manner of creature killed Lambert."
As the militia escorted Karl and Thomas away, Cooke turned to see that Doctor Manning was looking intently at the mark that Karl had referred to. He thought that he saw a glimmer of fear in the elder's eyes.
"What is it, Doctor Manning?"
"Noth-nothing… I must go, and see…see to these samples." Manning slipped on his dark overcoat and tricorn hat, and then briskly walked over to the militia man tending to the doctor's horse.
Cooke stroked his goatee-bearded chin. "Allardyce… Has the windmill been looked over by the men?"
"So they told me, sir. Nothing to report. The door's still unlocked. The miller only unlocked it when Abbotts asked to go inside."
"Did they venture onto the roof, sergeant?"
"Er… Not to my knowledge, sir."
"Let's do so ourselves…" Using his clean handkerchief, Cooke picked the splinter of wood from the ground and took it with him.
Within the next few minutes the two men had made their way through the wooden interior of the windmill, having climbed stepladders and squeezed past the currently-inert cogs of the machinery. Unbolting the latch at the top of the last stepladder, Cooke and Allardyce stepped out onto the ledge surrounding the dome at the top. Feeling a little sick and giddy at the sight of the ground far below, Cooke's face twitched in the light wind as he carefully knelt down and examined the dent at the edge of the wooden rim that Karl had spied. He spied dried blood. Next, he placed the splinter of wood on the ledge. There was a match.
He put the pieces together – and shuddered. "Oh, no… Dear god, no…"
"You are making a habit of that, sir," Allardyce remarked.
Cook drew in a deep breath to release some of the tension. "Does anyone else have a key besides the miller?"
"Abbotts told me there's only the one key, sir."
"Then we have a problem, sergeant… If Lambert wasn't able to walk up here – then how come his blood is before us?"
Sergeant Allardyce cautiously examined the bloodstained ledge and the covered body on the ground below. "You don't mean that…?"
"…that Lambert hit this ledge with enough force and impact to dent the wooden frame. This splinter that was found next to him, proves that! But the damage to this ledge is too great for Lambert to have merely fallen over and struck it with his shoulder, for example. And the claw marks around his shoulders…"
"Something…lifted him…up?"
"Yes, sergeant. I'm saying that something in the manner of a huge bird grabbed Lambert from the ground with its talons and soared into the air with him." Cooke's facial muscles twitched. "Then it dropped him over the ledge of the windmill – where he flipped over and hit the ground! What the hell was it? What ungodly thing…what horror…drained the essence of his body? What slaughtered those men at the crossroads? Where is the survivor who got away? And why are people disappearing, only to be replaced by screaming statues!?"