The Gates (Samuel Johnson vs. the Devil #1)(51)

Bishop Bernard began pounding on the floor once again.

“Oh, I do wish he’d stop that,” said the verger. “He’s giving me a headache.”

He knelt on the floor, then put his mouth near the stone. “Now, Bishop Bernard, Your Excellency, be a nice bishop and go to sleep,” he said. “There’s been a bit of a misunderstanding, but we’ll get everything sorted out and you can go back to being dead. That sounds lovely, doesn’t it? You don’t want to be up here in the land of the living. It’s all changed since your time. There’s pop music, and computers, and, you know, you won’t be able to go around sticking hot pokers up people, because that’s not allowed anymore, not even for bishops. No, you’re much better off where you are, believe you me.”

The verger looked at the vicar, then nodded and smiled.

“See,” said the verger. “All he needed was for someone to have a quiet word with him.”

There came a muffled roar of rage, and then the thud of stone upon stone as Bishop Bernard flung himself, hard, upward. The statue of St. Timidus shifted slightly.

“Oh, wonderful, Mr. Berkeley,” said the vicar. “That was most helpful!”

Bishop Bernard attacked the stone again, and the statue moved a little more. The verger tried to hold on to it, but it was no use. He gave up and retreated to the window.

“We should make a break for it,” said the vicar. “Those gargoyles seemed rather clumsy and slow. We can easily outrun them, and my car is parked around the back.”

But the verger didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, he was looking out of a small side window.

“I say, Mr. Berkeley,” said the vicar. “Did you hear what I said? I think we should run for it.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Vicar,” said the verger.

“And why is that?” asked the vicar, now quite annoyed that his plan had been shot down without even a discussion.

The verger turned to him, his face white.

“Because I think the dead are coming back to life,” he said. “And not the nice ones . . .”

? ? ?

The Church of St. Timidus had been in its present location for centuries. Much of its grounds were taken up with old gravestones because, for many generations, most of the people of the town had been buried beside the church when they died.

Unfortunately, not everybody had been buried under the church lawn. Church grounds were known as “consecrated,” which meant that they had been set aside for holy use. But people who committed serious crimes, and were executed for them, were not allowed to be buried on consecrated ground. For that reason, a second graveyard existed not far from the old church, though beyond its walls. No gravestones were placed there, and no markers, but everybody knew of it. The townspeople called it the Dead Field, and nobody built houses on it, or walked their dogs there, or had picnics on its grass during the summer. Even birds didn’t nest in its bushes and trees. It was, everybody felt, a Bad Place.

Now, as the vicar and verger watched, shambling shapes began to emerge from the Dead Field, their progress lit by the lights of the church grounds. Some still wore the tattered remains of old clothing, although there was precious little of it left. Thankfully, their modesty was preserved by the fact that most of them were just bones. The verger saw one skeleton with part of a rope round its neck, and knew that here was someone who had been hanged. The end of the rope dangled at its chest, so that it looked a bit like a necktie. Another skeleton appeared to have lost both its arms. It tripped on a stone and couldn’t get back up, so instead began to wriggle its way along the ground, like a bony worm with legs. Occasionally, flashes of blue light were visible in otherwise empty eye sockets.

“I wonder what that blue light is?” said the vicar.

“Maybe they’ve stuck candles in there,” said the verger sarcastically. “After all, it is Halloween.”

“Well, we can’t go outside now,” said the vicar, ignoring him.

“No, we can’t,” said the verger.

And from beneath their feet came what sounded like laughter.





XXVI

In Which Constable Peel Wishes He Had Pursued Some Other Profession, and Dr. Planck Reappears

CONSTABLE PEEL AND SERGEANT Rowan were debating their options. They could a) let Nurd go, which didn’t seem like a very good idea given that he was, quite clearly, not a human being and also, if he was to be believed, a demon; b) take Nurd back to the police station and wait for someone with a little more authority to decide what should be done with him; or c) and this was Constable Peel’s suggestion, run away, because Constable Peel didn’t want to see Nurd do that thing with his head again. It had made him feel quite ill.

“He’s a demon, Sarge, and he doesn’t half smell bad,” said Constable Peel. “I’m not sure I want to be driving around with a stinky demon in the back of the car.”

“Hello,” said Nurd through the open car window. “I can hear you. Less of the stinky, please. I fell down a hole.”

“You have been driving around with a stinky demon in the back of the car,” Sergeant Rowan replied, trying to ignore Nurd. “Nothing happened.”

“‘Nothing happened’?” said Constable Peel. “His head split open, Sarge. His tongue played a tune. I don’t know how you usually spend your evenings, but in my book that counts as ‘something’ happening.”