The Dave Hinchy Code

statistically inevitable that at some point or other a mistake would occur. Normally a note with some garbled message scrawled on it dropping on somebody’s mat would arouse no more than mild curiosity, and would most likely end up in the waste-paper basket. But I am not your average Joe in the street. I admit that I was, at first, swallowing a bit of a red herring of my own creation. The phrase ‘Shutt it or Else’, I should have realised, was no spelling mistake, but a coded message within an invisible message. All very cryptic. It took me time to work it out. 'Shutt it, or Else'… If one is playing spy-type games, then one should expect spy-type messages. 'Shutt it' referred to what is described by John le Carré, Len Deighton, and other such authors, as a 'Dead Letter Drop'; a place that is safe to leave messages. One that is known to the relevant parties, but is a secret to all others. Now... where could David leave his messages for the Reverend, etcetera? At St Max's, maybe? After all, David had full access to the church and its grounds... But whereabouts, so as not to raise any questions? The cemetery, perhaps? I have no doubt in my mind that one of the rather large and ornate gravestones belongs to a family named Shutt? Is this not so Reverend?”

The Reverend nodded sheepishly.

“'Else',” I believe, “Refers to your wife - a pet name for Elise, is it not? The message meant, “Either leave your reply in the usual place or deliver it in person to Elise”. As for the mention of a surgeon, I can only assume that this is an alternative safe letter drop, another tombstone, obviously of a former surgeon?”

Again the Reverend nodded.

“The design of the logo given by Hariman to this society was mostly window dressing; a means to give it some depth and credence to those involved. Studying it wasted a lot of our time, as we struggled to find deeper and deeper meanings for the blatantly obvious, but the words ‘post centum quod viginti anos patebo’ did both alarm and warn me that something serious was afoot. Yesterday was one hundred and twenty years ago to the day since Widdowshins experienced a spate of particularly hostile poltergeist, occult and criminal activity. These manifestations were probably related to the relocation of old bones and graves being relocated during the relocation and building of the church. Not to mention the fact that it was also Nephthys night. However, the device designed by Hariman did reveal the crab connection to us, and this in turn led us to the rather striking open aura device favoured by Hariman’s mob.  The reference to the seven-pointed star was a strange one, as it is usually used as a protection against evil. However it does represent the concentration of the vibrations of the universe, both material and non-material, and thus holds great power, which I imagine might be used for good, or ill. Nevertheless, the star was a deft artistic touch of Hariman’s. By incorporating this and the urn-like device (which squared so neatly with the church’s architecture) he was binding the building and therefore you, Reverend, to him. His fate, being ultimately, yours. His artistry even extended to the timing of his speech. Six minutes past seven. Cunning. For six minutes past seven is mathematically sixty six minutes past six. Six. Six. Six. A frivolous touch, but such was his wont.

“Why your church? Why here? Well, why not? Ahriman prefers to sneak in through the back door. He would never  expose himself willingly to a straight fight. That is not his, nor his Master’s style, at all. Your church, or more particularly, your church’s grounds, also have the added advantage of age. Believe me, Reverend, age was a bonus for them. An original Norman chapel stood here nearly a thousand years ago. And, this being the case, it would still have had a few sops and concessions to, let us say... previous belief systems, incorporated into the architecture. By this I mean it would have had a North Door. Are you aware of this concept, Reverend?”

Reverend Phullaposi looked just as blankly at Ruby as when she had been telling him about Caravaggio.

“The North Door was the nod to the old religion of the Green Man, or the Celtic Horned God Cernunnos, which, through dogma and misappropriation, was linked to the Devil. So Satan naturally thought, ‘You associated that portal with me? Thanks very much! That’ll do the trick!’  Think, Reverend: How many North doors have been latterly bricked up in churches? Simple remodelling? Perhaps. Or... to keep Old Nick at bay? I think that if we were to find the oldest plans we could find of the churchyard, I shouldn’t be at all surprised to discover that the old church had its North Door in the locale of what is now the privy. So, this place was tailor-made for Ahriman’s access to our plane of existence. Now... I trust that answers the physical hows and whys?”

The others nodded, somewhat uncertainly.

“Devizes and Nutter, of course, were just in it for the ride. They were after brownie points with their Mephistophelean Master and would have gone anywhere in the world to fulfil his bidding. They just so happened to be here when Ahriman arrived. Whether that be coincidence or design, I have no idea, but it worked out perfectly for Ahriman. I can assure you, though, that the Ugly Sisters won’t be bothering us again for quite some time, if ever. And I shall take steps to ensure further that this is so.”

Ruby surreptitiously patted her little velvet drawstring bag, containing the chestnuts and scraps of parchment that she had gathered from the privy floor.

“Now, Reverend, you still don’t look entirely satisfied with my summing up of things? I presume that this is because you have difficulty in understanding why, one moment, we are in the middle of a monumental struggle with