Crybbe aka Curfew

to reinforce the threat, but, anyway, it was pretty clear to the Sheriff by now that he was in deep shit.'

From somewhere close to what he imagined was the centre of the square, Col could hear Graham Jarrett, the hypnotist guy, shouting, 'You're taking absolutely the wrong attitude, you know.'

'He seems to have gone into the attic,' Fay said, 'and topped himself.'

'Hear him out, will you?' a woman bawled. Sounded like that astrologer Oona Jopson, shorn head, ring through nose, who'd threatened to emasculate the doormen.

Fay said, 'What you have to remember about this particular Sheriff is that he was skilled in what I'm afraid we have to call the Black Arts. Except he thought it was science.' She paused. 'Do you want me to stop?'

'I'm not laughing,' Col said. 'Am I?'

'I'll carry on then. Before he hanged himself. Or while he was hanging himself – I mean, don't think I'm an expert on this stuff, I'm not – but, anyway, he left something of himself behind. It's called a haunting, Col. Still with me?'

'Open mind,' Col said. 'Go on.'

'It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment job. He'd been planning this for a long time. Dropped hints to his women. Expect more of the same when I'm gone.'

'Look,' Graham Jarrett was shouting, 'if you'll all just quieten down a minute, we'll do a bit of reasoning out. But I think we've been selected as participants in a wonderful, shared experience that's really at the core of what most of us have been striving for over many years.'

'And here we are… panicking!' the Jopson woman piped up. 'Well, I'm not panicking, I've never been so excited.'

Guy Morrison shouted, 'What about poor bloody Goff? He didn't look too excited. He looked a bit bloody dead to me.'

'Yeah, but was he?' Jopson. 'Is he? I mean, how much of that was for real? How much of what we perceive is actual reality?'

Col Croston said, 'Jesus Christ.'

'It smells so awful,' the woman from the crafts shop, which now sold mainly greetings cards, said.

'It smells awful to us, that's all. Or only to you, maybe. To me, it's a wonderful smell. It smells of reality, not as it is to us these days, with our dull senses and our tired taste-buds and our generally limited perception of everything. What we're feeling right now is the essence of this place. I mean, shit, it is… this is higher consciousness.'

'And is she right?' Col asked Fay Morrison in a low voice.

'What do you think?'

'I think she's nuts.'

Guy said, 'Has anybody tried just walking away from here in any direction, just carrying on walking until they find an open door or somebody with a torch or a lamp?'

'My…' There was the sound of some struggling. 'Give me some space.' It was Jocasta Newsome. 'My husband… he said he was going to get help. He's… I can't find him.'

'Don't worry,' Graham Jarrett said. 'He'll be around. I don't think he can go anywhere, you see, I don't think anyone can. I don't think there's any light to be found.'

'I think there is, Graham,' a new voice said. A cool, dark voice. Lazy.

'Who's that? Is that Andy?'

Col Croston heard Fay Morrison inhale very sharply through her mouth.

'I think,' the dark voice said, 'that we should consider how we can find our own light.'

'Who's that?' Col whispered.

'Boulton-Trow.'

'I don't think I know him.'

'I mentioned him during the meeting. You haven't forgotten that, have you?'

'Oh,' said Col. 'That.'

Her outburst. It occurred lo Col that there was something personal at the back of this. That Fay Morrison had some old probably sexual score to settle with Boulton-Trow. Anyway, it was all rather too much for a practical man to take. He had to reassemble his wits and get to a phone.

'Well, thank you, Mrs Morrison,' Col said. 'You've given me a lot of food for thought.'

'Col, it has to be food for action, or something unbelievably awful's going to happen.'

'Look,' Col said 'I'll come back to you, OK?'

'No, don't go…'

But he'd gone

'Oh, please. Fay Morrison breathed into the foul-smelling dark. 'Please…'

CHAPTER XV

The dog was in a pool of light on the side of the Tump where the grass looked almost white, and the dog was barking nonstop.

'Wait,' Joe Powys whispered to Minnie Seagrove. 'Don't go any closer. Stay out of the light.'

He moved quietly around the base of the Tump to see what was happening, who it was. Don't look at me, Arnold. I'm not here. Ignore me.

There was a single spotlight directed at the mound from the field, on the side facing the road, the side from which Henry Kettle had come on his last ride in his clapped-out old Volkswagen Variant.

The light went out. The dog stopped barking.

Powys waited.

He heard a vehicle door slam. Moved closer. Saw a match flare and then the red glow on the end of a cigarette.

'Well,' a voice said, 'you buggered yourself yere all right, boy.'

'Gomer! Mrs Seagrove had appeared at Powys's side. 'It's Gomer Parry!'

'Oh Christ,' they heard, and an orange firefly crash-landed in the field.

'Gomer. It's Minnie Seagrove. You replaced my drains.'

'Flaming hell, woman, what you tryin' to do, scare the life out of me? Ruddy dog was bad enough. Hang on a second.'

Two small lights appeared in the front of what proved to be a tractor with an unwieldy digger contraption overhanging the cab. Powys had last seen it parked in the square.

He whispered, 'Ask him if he's alone.'

'Course I'm bloody alone. Who you got there with you, Mrs Seagrove?'

'It's a friend of mine.'

'Choose some places to bring your boyfriends, all I can say.'

'You mind your manners, Gomer Parry. We're coming down.'

He was scrabbling in the grass when they reached him. 'Dropped my ciggy somewhere.' The digger's sidelights were reflected in his glasses. 'Sod it, won't set a fire, grass is bloody wet.' He peered at Powys. I seen you before, isn't it? You was with that radio lady, Mrs Morris, hour or so ago. Get yourself about, don't you, boy?'

'Gomer!' Mrs Seagrove snapped.

'Aye, all right. Nice lady, that Mrs Morris. Very nice indeed.'

'Pardon me for asking, Mr Parry,' Powys sad, deadpan, but somebody wouldn't by any chance be paying you to take out the rest of the wall?'

'Now just a minute! You wanner watch what you're saying, my friend.'

'Only it's, er, kind of outside normal working hours.'

'Aye, well,' said Gomer Parry. 'Bit of an accident, like. Got a bit confused, what with the ole power bein' off, no streetlights, and I come clean off the road. Dunno what come over me. I never done nothin' like that before, see, never.'

'Don't worry about it,' Powys said. 'Not as if you're the first.'