Father Salter said, ‘In this case, I may not need to apply to the bishop for permission before attempting an exorcism. I most certainly would do, if we were talking about the Devil – Old Dewer – or any one of his pantheon of demons from the Lesser Key of Solomon. And, like the Anglicans, I would probably have to call in a psychiatrist, too. I would have to purge Allhallows Hall of anything that could harbour evil spirits – paintings, drawings, horror and fantasy novels, mirrors and stained-glass windows. If you had a Ouija board, that would have to be thrown out and burned.’
‘But we’re not talking about the Devil or any of his demons, are we?’
‘No, Rob. We’re talking about something that walked this earth long before Satan was first given a name. Something far more powerful than Satanic demons, although like all demons it obviously had its weak spot, its Achilles heel. That must have been how it was caught and incarcerated in Allhallows Hall in the first place.’
‘So what do we have to do to get rid of it?’
‘We have to release it, do you see? Not exorcise it so much as set it free. I have to warn you, though, that the danger involved in doing that is almost incalculable. It will be like a lion let out of its cage, which has no gratitude for the keeper who unlocked it, but sees only one of the men who kept it imprisoned for so long, and on whom it wants to take its bloody revenge.’
‘Well, you say you know this demon’s name, so presumably you know what it’s capable of.’
‘Yes, I do. And this morning you have sadly witnessed some of its appalling supernatural power for yourself. One of its many alternative names is Bonebiter. Sometimes it was known as the Fluter, because it was said to make flutes out of the shin bones of its victims so that it could whistle for its pack of dogs when it took them out hunting at night. That’s why the locals call them Whist Hounds.’
‘So you know what it is. What I’m asking you is, do you think you’re capable of setting it free? And if you are, will you?’
Rob’s question was followed by the longest pause yet. It was so long that Rob eventually said, ‘Father Salter? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, Rob. I’m still here. But my car’s in for a service. You’ll have to come to Tavistock to fetch me.’
‘You mean you’ll do it? The exorcism?’
‘As a minister of Jesus, who sacrificed His life to save those who begged for salvation, I can hardly refuse, can I?’
‘Thank you, father. Thank you. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’
*
Father Salter was waiting for Rob on the steps outside Our Lady of the Assumption when he came driving up the hill. It had started to rain again, so the priest was holding up a large black umbrella. In his other hand he was carrying a flat black leather briefcase. Obviously the exorcism that he intended to carry out didn’t call for three-headed cats or Celtic shields and swords, or Tupperware boxes full of white ghost slugs.
Rob climbed out so that Father Salter could stow his umbrella in the boot.
‘I can understand how much you don’t want to do this,’ he said. ‘Believe me – if I could have found anybody else to ask, I would have.’
Father Salter eased himself into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. ‘There are times in our lives, Rob, when all of us have to face up to what we fear the most. I have no fear of Satan and his demons, because I have been fighting against them all my life, and I know their many tricks and deceits, but I also know how much they fear God, despite all their mockery and their bravado.’
Rob turned the Honda around and started to drive back across the Tavistock Canal to Sampford Spiney. ‘But this malevolent force? Now we’re so far away, can I mention its name?’
‘It would be safer if you didn’t. Dartmoor and all its surrounding area was the land in which he was dominant since time immemorial, and it’s quite possible that even in his captivity he can hear every whisper and every branch break from miles around. He was known by that name in the days of the Druids, and the Druids’ human sacrifices were made to appease him. I call him a “him” in the same way that I call Satan a “him”, but they are both abstract forces of pure evil that have no human identity.’
‘But he’s not Satan – or Old Dewer, as they call him round here?’
‘Ah, but that’s exactly who he is. When Christianity took over from Druidism and all the beliefs that had gone before Druidism, the clergy taught the local people that this malevolent force that rode around the moors with his pack of hounds must be the Devil as he was recognised by the Christian Church. But of course he wasn’t. He was still the demon whose name we are being cautious enough not to speak out loud.’
‘And did he really ride around the moors, hunting for unbaptised babies?’
‘Well, something or somebody did, and this continued until the late seventeenth century. The parish records show that, over the years, scores of mutilated children were discovered on the moors – bodies that appeared to have been brutally cut open and then savaged by feral dogs. The way they had been killed was consistent with Druid sacrifices. And as it happened, very few of the babies were unbaptised. That was an embellishment added by the clergy in order to encourage the local people to have their children christened. Although I say it myself, the clergy can be notorious liars when it suits them.’
They were driving past the Moortown junction now, and it was raining so hard that Rob
