Winding it around her hands like flax and holding it up and showing it to the corpse, twisting it in the candlelight.
Hair. Human hair, two feet of it, three, bound together, with a strip of grey-white hair rippling through it.
The woman's hands moving inside the tent of hair with a certain rhythmical fluidity, as the pipes moaned, an aching lament. The watchers mumbling and, out of this, a single voice rising, a pale ribbon of a voice singing out, 'I conjure thee.'
And winding back into the mumbling with the winding of the hair.
'He's coming.
He's coming and he's strong.' Up against the vestry wall, four of the men around him so he couldn't break away, he wailed in despair, 'Whose side are you on?'
Blood in the aisle. One man sitting up on the flags, head in his hands, semi-concussed.
Chris pressing a tissue to a burst lip. 'Joel, it's all gone wrong. You're seriously scaring people. Some of the women want to leave, get out of here.'
'They can't. They can't go out there now. Not safe, do you not see?'
'Joel, I'm sorry, they're saying it's probably safer out there than it is here with… with you.'
'Lock and bar the doors. Go on. Do it now. LOCK AND BAR THE DOORS!'
'Joel, please, they're saying you… All that screaming and wrestling with…'
'With evil! The infested dead!'
'… with yourself, Joel! Oh, my God, this is awful. Somebody wipe his mouth.'
'Where is he?'
Joel flailed, but they held him.
'Where is he? The spirit. Was he expelled? Tell me.'
'Let's go back to the Rectory, shall we? Have a cup of coffee? Come back later. When we've all, you know, calmed down.'
'What's happened to your face?'
'You hit me, Joel.'
'No.'
'Yes! You were like a man poss… We couldn't hold you. Please, Joel. You've been under a lot of stress.'
'… fighting it… fighting for our souls. Stinking of the grave.., filthy womancunt… let me…'
'Come on. You're scaring people. Let's get some air. Please.'
'Matt Castle. Spirit of Matt Castle. Soiled. Soiled spirit.'
'Joel, Matt Castle's dead…'
'And was here!'
'Look, Declan's hurt. I think he hit his head. He needs a doctor. Please.'
'Illusion. Temptation. They want you to open the doors and let them in. If you don't do it of your own free will, they'll get inside you, fill you up with worms, make you think things that aren't true. Let me go, I command you to let me go.'
'Let him go.'
'Chris?'
'Just let him go. We can't hold him all night.'
'Matt Castle. Its face was Matt Castle's. But I looked into its eyes and its eyes were the eyes of Satan.'
'Yes. Yes, but it's gone now, Joel. I swear to you it's gone. You… you defeated it. You were more powerful. You… you threw it to the ground and it… sort of disintegrated.'
'Ah.'
'Yes, we saw it. We did. Didn't we, Richard? So, Joel, come back to the Rectory, OK? You need a coffee. And a lie down. After your exertions. After your… Oh God, help me…'
'… was it wearing?'
'… your struggle.'
'What was it wearing?
'I… Well, it wasn't… I mean, too clear. Not from where we were standing. A… a shroud, was it? And glowing. Sort of glowing?'
Joel felt his face explode. 'Liars!'
His chest swelled, arms thrashed. One man was thrown across the vestry like a doll, spinning dizzily around until the stone wall slapped into his nose; they heard him squeak and a quick crack of bone, and then Joel's white surplice was blotting up bullets of blood.
'Come on! Let's get out now. Don't go near him.'
'What about Martin?'
'Pick him up, come on. Oh, my God. It's all right. It's all right. Somebody stop them screaming.' Joel heard scrambling and scuffling, stifled shouts and squawks and screams, bolts being thrown, the soulless slashing of the rain and a shrilling from inside of him, something squealing to be free.
At first he wouldn't move, paralysed with dread. Then he began to laugh. It was only the mobile phone at the leather belt around his cassock.
He pulled it out and inspected it. A deep fissure ran from the earpiece to the push-buttons. He had difficulty dragging out the aerial because its housing was bent. The phone went on bleeping at him.
He tried to push the 'send' button, but it wouldn't go in. Joel became irrationally enraged with the phone and began to beat it against the wall. Went on beating it when the bleeps stopped and a tinny little faraway voice was calling out, 'Mr Beard.'
Would have continued until it smashed to pieces in his hand, had he not recognised the voice.
'Mr Beard, can you hear me?'
'Yes.'
'Are you all right, Mr Beard?'
'They've all gone.'
'Who?'
'The Angels.' He giggled. The Angels have flown.'
'As angels are apt to do. You won't run away from this, will you?'
'Never!'
'Mr Beard, I told you once – do you remember? – about the Devil's light. How no one could cross the Moss at night except for those for whom the Devil lit the way.'
'Yes. I remember. Isn't it time you told me who you were?'
'I'll do better than that, Mr Beard. I'll meet you '
'When? Where?'
'Tonight. Stay in the church. Be alone.'
'No choice, have I? And yet I know…'
'You could always run away from it.' Teasing.
'I'll never do that. I'm not afraid, you know. I… tonight I've embraced evil and I know… I know that I am never totally alone.'
'Well said, m'boy. Together we'll put out the Devil's light.'
'Thank you,' Joel said. 'Nobody else believes in me. Thank you. Thank you for everything.'
He started to weep with the joy of the sure knowledge that he was not alone.
Part Nine
From Dawber's Secret Book of Bridelow (unpublished) SAMHAIN. (i)
In Bridelow, New Year is celebrated twice. Once in late February, at Candlemas, the feast of Brigid (and St Bride), when we look forward to the first signs of Spring. And also, of course, at Samhain – now sadly discredited as
