Broken Bonds. Part Three.

[Dusak]

Broken Bonds
The Visitor

When I had awoken, I felt just as tired as I had done before I had slept. My night had been an uneasy one, nightmares had troubled me constantly. One in particular was so real and vivid in nature that I had sprung from my bed, rushing to the window. I had dreamed that a woman was looking up at the house. She was dressed in filth stained rags, her wet hair clung to her head in matted clumps, her arms outreached as if pleading to be given something. Her shallow, haunted eyes had looked directly into mine. She had lowered one arm, leaving the other pointing towards me accusingly. But of course, it had only been a dream. No such woman had stood before the window, but it had seamed so real to my muddled mind.

I had gone downstairs to the kitchen for water, the tallow candle that accompanied me was suddenly extinguished by a gust of wind that passed me by. The reason for this was soon discovered as I had alighted the final stair. The front door stood wide open. But I could of sworn that I had shut and secured it as advised by Mrs Gleevs. I had secured it again, double checking it and did the same to the rear. I returned to my bed and am happy to say that I had finally drifted off with no further disturbances.

It had taken me several hours to sort my brothers notes into some semblance of order. The first twenty or so pages were a simple matter as my brother had numbered them, but after that those that remained had non. His writing began to get worse, from intelligent observances and theory to at times, what can only be described as rambling nonsense. Also my brothers neat script slowly evolved into something looking like a crazed spider would produce that had walked through spilled ink and taken a leisurely stroll across the paper, the letters getting smaller, the lines loosing any semblance of neatness as they sloped and climbed from one side of the page to the other until it seemed that he was writing in great hast to secure the information that was obviously so important to him. And what a truly remarkable and unbelievable story he had created.

The collection of notes began six weeks ago. John had been in contact with a Doctor Williams who had an interest in the Anglo Saxon Peoples. He had informed my brother that he was certain that a small settlement had existed in this area and encouraged my brother to begin trial excavations until he, Doctor Williams, could join him this coming September, some two months away. Perhaps this explained the small clay huts John had been creating in the next room, his impression of an Anglo Saxon village. John had decided to start his dig close to the banks of the small river that ran its path some hundred strides East of this house. On the fourth day his endeavours had been rewarded when he had uncovered a grave that contained an adult female of somewhere between twenty and thirty five years of age. The woman’s skeletal remains held another skeleton, this one a young boy of an estimated age of ten. The woman had wrapped her arms around the boy either in an act of a mothers comfort or protection.

John had taken his time uncovering them both. The first thing that he noted was that they had both been shot through the head as the two small holes in the skulls testified to. He had formulated the opinion that the grave had been dug first, meaning the act was one of premeditation. The two of them had then been placed or pushed into the deep grave with the boy being shot first, the woman wrapping her arms around the boy at possibly the same time as the first shot was fired, then the second bullet was dispatched, ending her life. John had carefully removed the child’s remains with the intention of returning the following day for the woman’s. But nature had intervened.

He had arrived home to study his find, only to witness a heavy rainfall during the night. This high wind fed deluge lasted a full three days until finally abating. When John had returned to the excavation site, the once gentle meandering river had been transformed into a raging torrent. All evidence of the grave site and its contents had been washed away, lost forever.

The following sheaf of notes were detailing the boys remains and other finds to the area, nothing of interest. It was several days later that things began to take a nasty turn for the worse according to my brothers notes.

My brother was seemingly aware that the locals thought him not only a bit of an oddity, but a reclusive sort of a man. He grew used to the children that played the odd prank on him when they thought that he wasn't looking. So it came as no surprise when one early evening the large iron knocker of the front door rapped three times. John had gone to answer it, only to find no one waiting for the door to open. This had happened another three times during the night, and, reading his angry words concerning this, he intended to mention it to Mrs Gleevs to see if she knew who the possible culprits could be.

The following night the same had happened, three rapid knocks. John states that he had descended the stairs, with boots on, ready to chase the 'malcontent’s' as he had referred to them across the moors into the next county if necessary. But apparently this action had not been needed as the front door lay wide open. Small wet footprints lead across the floor towards the rear door that also lay open to the elements. He had searched the house from top to bottom, but found no signs of intruders.

And it was to get worse. The next night John was relaxing with a glass of brandy when he heard the very familiar sounds of footfalls on the stairs as certain steps creaked under the weight of a persons passage. John had taken hold of the hammer and opened the door ready and willing to confront this unwanted and unwelcome visitor. But his lamp showed an empty staircase and passageway. Both downstairs entrance doors remained closed and locked, but the small wet footprints could easily be seen ascending the stairway. Later that night towards midnight, he had sat in terrified silence as once again he heard the creaking of the stairs and the light foot falls of someone coming closer to his door, stopping outside and turning the handle in an attempt to gain entry. It was obvious that John was a very frightened man at this juncture in time. It is at this point that his writing begins to transform into sometimes illegible scribblings. Often he would just keep writing ''she comes she comes...''

The following night the night time visitor had rattled and pulled at the locked door, finally ceasing its torment. Then John had heard a scratching sound as if fingernails were being dragged across the face of the door. The following day had discovered this to have been the case as he had inspected the outer side and saw the fresh gouge marks. To confirm this I had inspected the door only to discover the same marks, marks that I had not noticed before. I also made a discovery of my own.

The rest of my brothers notes were illegible, offering no new information to allow my feeble investigations to progress. I was beginning to think that my brother had slowly lost his mind, holed up here for so many years alone. He had probably ran screaming from the house in a state of delusional madness only to fall and drown in the river. I considered leaving the next day and accept that my brother was lost to me.

As I had sat quietly mulling over my next course of action, my eye caught what looked like the corner of a piece of note paper trapped behind the windows shutters which I had not noticed before. I had tentatively pulled it free so not to tear it to see that it contained the bold neat handwriting that I remembered my brothers to be. And this one had a date, four days before I had received his plea for help. I started to read it.

''My dearest brother John. If by chance that you did decide to come to my aid, I sincerely hope that you did not fall as foul as I have done. Unearthing this skeleton was the biggest mistake of my life. I am now in acceptance of the knowledge that I have unleashed a supernatural and dark force to be reckoned with. The ghost of the mother that these small child’s bones rightfully belong to. She seeks revenge towards me for separating a mothers protective love for her child. I have secured the inside of my door, hoping that I can make my escape in the mornings light. But if this is not to be, then I implore you to preform a reburial of the child’s remains in the earth. She comes.''

I had done as my brother had requested of me, placing the remains in the earth. I had chosen a spot near to where I had buried the pigs leg as the earth was already loose here due to my past hard labours. As night was approaching I had decided to stay here to leave at first light in the morning. A decision that I was soon to regret.

To be continued tomorrow.