Story 20 – The Lonely Cairn

Barnaby walked through the door into the Brown Room and looked for a friendly face. Amongst the portraiture on the walls was the famously ten minute fast clock, forever deemed  unchangeable. It said the time was three forty eight.

Cathbat-Jones was reading the Financial Times in a red leather armchair by the fireplace. He would do.

Barnaby made a beeline for his acquaintance and sat in the chair opposite him. The other man did not look up from his paper as Barnaby sat.

On the small table to his right, he spotted a glass of whiskey, obviously left by whoever had sat there before he arrived. It was exactly what he needed.

Raising the glass to his lips, he gulped it all down in one, needed it the burn and the alcohol to calm his nerves.

Cathbat-Jones looked up at that, his expression strange, more than mere disapproval.

“I apologise, old son. My need was greater than that of he who left it. I’ll have Carstairs replace it for him.”

To his surprise, C-J did not modify his expression. Intensely rude of him. Barnaby accepted that his was bad form, to drink another member’s drink, but he was in shock and needed a tonic.

“Good grief, man, remove that look from your visage. I shall summon Carstairs at once if that shall make you happy.” 

C-J continued to glare at him, was it a glare though? Puzzlement seemed more appropriate. Well, he had not been quite so gentlemanly as he could have been, but still, this seemed beyond.

Barnaby lifted his arm, index finger raised in the time honoured tradition to summon the room’s butler.

Carstairs materialised at his side and regarded him with the same expression.

“Goodness, is it so unbecoming that a man in desperate need may perform a social faux pas? I aim to rectify my actions forthwith, a replacement drink for the gentleman and a large double of the eighteen year Macallan, if you would be so good, Carstairs.” Barnaby tried to keep his voice low, within the acceptable bounds of the room’s decorum, but he was growing increasingly frustrated at the imposition of their social disapproval.

Carstairs looked to Cathbat-Jones, who gave a slow nod. The butler then moved silently away.

What was this now? Was Barnaby not a member in good standing? Had his family not held rooms and seats in the club for two centuries? What was this? Yes, ok, maybe his dues had been paid late these last six months. That was hardly his fault, the way the markets had gone. C-J should be more understanding. It was certainly within the realms of possibility that news of his little philander with Fowldwick-Bowles’ sister had become common knowledge, but she was an attractive young filly and of legal age now.

These were but minor things, and in his opinion much lesser than the mis-steps of some of the elder members.

“Come now, C-J, I have a need to unburden myself. Could you may hasten put down your  reading and listen to a tale of woe?”

Cathbat-Jones coughed, put down the FT and picked up his coffee, sipping it. Once the man was steady, he returned his look to Barnaby.

“It is not my usual day, but…” there was a clink beside him and when Barnaby looked to the small table, he saw his glass of MacAllan resting there. Carstairs was truly a master.

Picking up the whiskey, Barnaby sipped and savoured it before continuing “As I was saying, I am aware this is irregular on my part, but I suffered an experience most bizarre. My wife keeps a fine home but is not mentally capable of, well, let us merely say she has her limits.”

He sipped again and awaited C-J’s response. The only one he got was the other man sipping his own drink.

“I have a story to tell you and it may seem unbelievable. Indeed, I scarce hold it to be true and I lived through it.”

Cathbat-Jones raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“If you will listen, I would greatly appreciate your attention.”

A nod, a gesture to continue.

Barnaby took a grateful sip of his whiskey.

“I was down in the wilds of East Sussex, to meet with the manager of a company seeking funding for further research. I shall not divulge their name, nor their business, proprieties, you understand? All I shall say is that their base of operations was off the main roads, into the hills of the Downs. The meeting went well.” That was an absolute lie, but no need to point of his failures in business here and now, they weren’t relevant to the issue at hand.

“On my drive up to their office, I had spotted what looked to be a lovely little road, tree covered and dappled in sunlight. It caught my interest and I was thinking of taking the Bentley up there after the meeting. Does one good to see the beauty of our England every so often, don’t you think?” The whiskey was finished, he signalled Carstairs for another.

“I asked the MD about it, told him I thought it could be a nice drive but wanted to be sure the road was paved the whole way. Didn’t want to risk scratching up the car. Do you know what he told me? He said there was no such road branching off where I had said. I told him I had seen the bloody thing. He insisted that the road up to their offices had no branches. That I must have been mistaken. I was outraged at his accusations, I’ve a serious mind to refuse his business due to that. In fact, do you know what? I shall. Sod him and his pompous arrogance.” There, that should cover the fact he hadn’t been able to sell his services to the man in the first place. 

“I finished the meeting as quickly as I could whilst maintaining decorum. I told him as I left that I would take a drive down this road and would send him proof of it. He laughed at me and said I could send what I liked, he knew that road and knew there was nothing like of which I spoke.”

The new whiskey appeared and the old glass removed. Barnaby sipped.

“Well, I left that meeting, got straight into the Bentley and left. Made sure the old dash camera was running. Useful things, you’d not believe the amount of footage I had of oiks gawking at my car. That’s besides the point. What I wanted was video footage of the road I planned to drive down, so that I could send it to him, send it to the whole company, maybe, just to show the stubborn fool up. The sun was starting to dip, spraying the sky a glorious prismatic glow of orange and purple. I tell you, C-J, while the life down there may be of a lower class, the views are stunning. The road was exactly where I had recalled it to be. I may have even let out a delighted yelp, possibly followed by a muttered condemnation of the MD’s intellectual faculties.”

Barnaby sipped the whiskey again. Cathbat-Jones merely watched, his interest now caught, Barnaby could tell.

“So I slipped off down there, and it was as gorgeous as I had thought on my drive past. The road was superbly maintained, which came as a small surprise. Honestly, C-J, I expected to find a Manor House or similar at the end of it. It was well suited to be a private drive to somewhere quite spectacular, in fact, I’ve half a mind to look into building myself a place down there.”

Memories stirred in him and Barnaby shivered.

“On second thoughts, perhaps not. I shall tell you why I came here all nerves and thirst. First, allow me to set the scene, as it were. The road was covered by trees, above and beside. It was a tunnel of nature, so picture perfect and pure I felt a freedom of England I thought long gone. The road wound deeper into the rising land that is the South Downs. The glorious light became fainter and I realised that dusk had passed, night was upon me.”

Cathbat-Jones coughed, coffee obviously gone down the wrong way. Barnaby waited for his companion to recover himself. He took the opportunity to review what he was to say and thought the descriptive language he had thus employed so far was mayhaps a tad too flowery to convey the terror that was to come.

“The tunnel opened before me, trees still lined the road, but their branches no longer covered it. Instead they were splayed skyward, supplicants to the light. What had been a sliver of black amongst you the green became a river of darkness, dotted with the light of the stars. I was far enough from all human habitation that I saw them perfectly clearly for the first time in years. I had truly forgotten how beautiful they are. Once the covering was gone, the trees themselves began to thin out, revealing the darkened green fields of the Downs. I saw that the road ended a short distance away. I resolved to drive to its terminus, complete my journey, as it were.

A small wooden fence marked the border between man’s creation and the land of nature. I stopped in front of it and stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the pure air. I love living in the city, old boy, but there is something to be said for the taste of untouched air. In the gleam of my headlights, I saw something a short way up the hill. Having come this far to see what the road would lead to, I could not in good conscience leave without investigating it. It was a simple matter to hop the fence, leaving the engine running to light my way.”

It had not been simple, Barnaby knew he was neither as young nor as fit as he imagined himself and had been quite winded by the small, undignified scramble over the wooden slats. No need to spoil a good narrative with absolute truth though.

“Walking towards the shape, I could see it was made of many flat rocks. As I closed on it, I felt quite excited, to my untrained eyes and half remembered history lessons, I thought it to be a cairn. A burial mound, you know? I wondered if it was undiscovered, before realising that someone must have seen it before, if only the salty labourers who had built the road. I approached it with a minor reverence, a true piece of English history, from a time when that really meant something. I laid my hand upon it and felt a slight shift, before one large piece fell down, revealing its opening.”

Another tiny lie, he knew and was sure C-J suspected that he had pried the stone away to see if there were treasures to recover. But they both knew the game, one did not admit to petty theft. Instead happy accidents of fate were how one acquired treasures.

“Peering inside, I could see nothing. The darkness inside was complete and I wished I had a torch with me. My phone had one, but I had left it in the car. I determined to retrieve it and to see what history I might spy inside, however, that was not to be.”

Barnaby gulped and sipped at his whiskey to wet his throat which had suddenly dried up at the memory of what he was about to describe.

“Turning back, I began my descent when I saw a shadow pass in front of the headlights. I called out, identifying myself and asking if they were the landowner. If I had inadvertently trespassed, I would gladly apologise. I received no response. I made my return cautiously then, not knowing of perhaps this was a trap laid for the unwary, to rob them. If so, I cursed myself for a damn fool, to have left the car running with the keys still inside. I did not know where they might have hidden, but kept my eyes constantly moving for sight that I was about to be attacked.

Another quick hop over the fence, I took one step towards the car before I saw her. 

How to describe her? What does her justice? She was tall, her hair as white as, well snow would be the obvious comparison. It was long, unwashed and ran all the way to her heels. When I say tall, I mean she was easily six feet in height, but oddly proportioned, her legs were clearly four feet of that height. Her body, short yet her arms long, perhaps a normal length, but compared to her body, they seemed wildly long. She wore a short, dirty tunic that barely covered her genitals. She was the strangest sight I had ever seen.

She was walking around the car, seemingly fascinated by it. I took the opportunity while she was still facing away from me to step smartly out of the headlights, to hide myself from her.”

Step smartly definitely sounded better than scrambled wildly whilst trying not to wet himself. He doubted C-J would appreciate such coarse truth, nor would he let him forget it.

“She was trailing a long fingered hand across the car, touching each different material, fondling my Bentley. I saw her drop to all fours to sniff the rear tyre. It was, I say to you, the most unexpected and bizarre behaviour. But I could not make myself call out to her again. It was not just her strange physical deformities that stopped me. Something rolled off of her, a perfume of horror. The idea of her made my stomach rebel and my eyes disbelieve. She was wrong, do you understand? The world felt torn around her, she was an imposition upon it. I was resolved that as soon as she was away from the driver’s door, I would make my move, dive inside and lock myself in. Then I could calmly drive way, leave this weird woman behind. Or wyrd woman even, with a y, you see.”

Barnaby tried to laugh, found it to be a sob and covered himself by drinking the last of the whiskey.

“All my plans were dashed when she turned to face in my direction. In the light from the the car, I would just make out her eyes, pure white, no pupils. I think at seeing that, I must have made some small sound, for she locked eyes on me.”

Fine, yes, the small sound had been a very clear shriek of terror. But again, no need to reveal a moment of weakness.

“A savage smile she wore, then. Triumphant and unpleasant. She dropped the all fours and scurried my way, limbs pinwheeling wildly. It was an unnerving sight, I tell you. I dared not attempt to fight what looked to be a crazy woman, so I dodged away, up and over the fence again, trying to draw her away from the Bentley so that I could circle round to leave her behind. She followed, tumbling over the fence in a manner so grotesque I barely comprehend it. 

She was fast, C-J, so deadly fast. I jinked and dodged, only just escaping grasping hands time and again. Not once did she make a sound, but her breath smelt foul, decay and pain. I am aware that pain is not a smell, but that was the word my brain conjured upon hearing it. Up the hill and down again. I managed to make enough turns that I could outpace her enough to get the right side of the fence once more. I ran for the car, hearing only the wet slaps of her hands and feet against the grass close in behind me. Reaching the car, I made to swing myself inside when she bowled into me and sent me sprawling. I was up in a flash, leading her a merry dance around the car, but I could never gain enough of a lead to find myself space to get inside. My legs grew heavy and my nerves stretched raw, each time her elongated fingers brushed me, I shivered in revulsion. Fear had kept me in motion, but I could feel myself tiring. She seemed to suffer no ill for our extended game of It, her smile was ever gleaming, moonlight reflecting from the broken teeth in her mouth. 

Finally, one turn around the rear of the car, my left foot betrayed me, slipping out and sending me down to the tarmac. Before I could move she was upon me. Air hissed through her, whether in or out, I know not. I knew that was to be my end, even as her hands gripped my head and raised it to slam it down.

Suddenly there was light, bright and illuminating. Someone else had come up the road, I had not heard them over the blood pounding in my ears. For a moment I saw her illuminated to the fullest, saw the jagged, dried wound across the throat and the scars on her arms. I saw in her a warrior, long slain and awoken from slumber when I accidentally disturbed her cairn.

I confess, in that final moment, I must have passed out. I awoke alone. The Bentley dead, the battery must have been drained. I suspect that whoever saved me had simply fled at the sight of her instead of remaining to render aid. I don’t blame them, they had already saved me, unwitting and unknowing as they were of that fact.

With the car dead, I was forced to walk back down the road that had once seemed so inviting. Now it was a necessity. I felt a deep sense of leaving as I walked, is that strange? Some part of me stayed there, but that lonely cairn, I do not think I shall ever forget it.”

Barnaby waited for Cathbat-Jones to reply, but found his audience’s attention had wandered back to the folded newspaper.

Well, that was the absolute limit. There was a long tradition in this club for members to tell stories of the strange and uncanny. Very few of which, in his opinion, came close to the interest he had delivered. The unspoken rule was to listen attentively and then to offer comment on the likelihood or not of such events. To explain with rationality what the events might truly have been.

For C-J to simply stop listening, that was beyond the pale.

In a fit of pique, Barnaby stood, moved across and hurled the paper across the room into the fire.

Cathbat-Jones leapt in fright, most satisfyingly.

The man looked around the room wildly, demanding to know who was playing jokes.

“What joke?” Barnaby demanded, but C-J was refusing to look at him. Turning to sit back down, he saw another man, Hardwicke, was sat in his seat, drinking his whiskey! Although the latter was currently on pause as he too looked around the room in confusion.

“Very funny, chaps.” Barnaby said but they did not react.

He had not come all the way here to be insulted like this.

He had not…

How had he come here?

The road, he had been walking down it and then he…

He had walked through the door into the Brown Room.

Through the door.

Not through the doorway, he had walked through the door. The closed door.

C-J had never actually spoken, nor had Carstairs. No-one had greeted him as he arrived.

“I see.” Said Barnaby, wondering if his body had been dragged over the fence and up the hill. Stuffed inside the cairn, an eternal companion for the long dead.

© Robert Spalding 2020