I put young Gabe to bed and turned to Brenda, his mother. Apprehension was written large on her face. Not that tonight was any different from the many times I had stepped out this late at night. It was simply that my job was one of those where every night out was an event unto itself, and guaranteed nothing by way of when I would return. She had borne the uncertainty with her quiet grace. I held her close, brushed the loosed strands of hair that were on her face and planted a kiss on her forehead. She looked up at me and wished me luck. I stepped out of the tiny apartment. I did not look back as I took the steps downstairs. I could not see the worry on her face on nights like these. I could hear the steady hum of the Daimler parked outside. Infernal things, these motor vehicles. Horses had always got the job done, but Brenda tells me that I must think of the world to come, not the world that was. The large Ermanox camera I was holding felt heavier than usual.
I entered the back seat of the car. There was a youngish Indian gentleman already sitting there. He was dressed impeccably. Expensive suit. Obviously well-bred, or so it seemed. Even though I had been informed that he would join us, I had no idea what to think of him. He wasn’t the kind of man I usually interacted with. Chief Lestrade had told me to ask nothing and just mind my own business. I did not trust these foreigners at all. A strange and superstitious lot. However, The Chief seemed to be fine with him, so I supposed there was nothing to do but to grit my teeth and put up with his presence. The Indian gave me a sideways glance and then looked straight ahead. Conceited young fellow. I decided not to give him even a perfunctory acknowledgement. Thankfully, I knew Ian and Andrew, the two lads in the front, at least by face. Solid, dependable, English boys. Ian had a reputation as a sharpshooter and Andrew, I had heard, could drive like a madman.
The motor vehicle started to tear down the road. For a mechanical contraption, it felt surprisingly comfortable. Not that I had not experienced a ride in a motor vehicle before. However, this seemed to be new and in top condition. It was a cloudy night, the moon in hiding and nary a star to be seen. The air seemed to hang heavily. Or maybe it was the unusual feeling of anxiety I had been experiencing all evening. I decided to speak.
‘Lads, tell me where we are heading.’
Ian turned his head sideways to reply.
‘Brimley, did the Chief not tell you?’
‘You know how he is; I was told to be ready to take photographs and ask no questions.’
‘Hah, he is blunt.’
‘Do you boys often step out at night?’
Ian replied, ‘Only sometimes. Honestly, I prefer the day shifts.’
I could not be sure, but I felt that Andrew suppressed a chuckle at that remark.
Brimley was a smallish town, north and east, over in Essex. I supposed I had passed through it once in my life. Never been there. It was not usual for a London police photographer to be needed anywhere much beyond London. The metropolis had a way of keeping you busy. Every single day.
‘Any idea of what we are doing?’
Ian and Andrew looked at each other briefly.
‘Some,’ said Andrew, ‘We will probably find out more once we reach Brimley.’
I turned to my right to look at the Indian. He was staring out of the window. He had not made a sound since we had started. Suddenly, he turned the hand crank by the window and rolled it down. He was looking at something behind us. I became aware of a pair of headlights some distance behind us. He sighed, said nothing and rolled the window back up again.
‘Are we expecting some company, Andrew?’ asked Ian.
‘What? No.’
‘I think there is a car that has been following us since we left London.’
‘Nah, Ian, perhaps five minutes, not more.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long to Brimley?’
‘Forty more minutes and only because I am driving a little cautiously.’
I rolled down the window now and tried to see the car behind us. I could hear it clearly, but it was too far away to get a good look. The headlights were very bright. It looked like it was a largish car.
I looked at the Indian again. He returned my glance but said nothing. What a snob! He was not even talking to Ian and Andrew. Those two lads sure had patience.
We drove in silence for the next several minutes. I noticed that there was nothing following us now. That car had probably turned towards a different route. Soon, Brimley was in our sights. If my memory served me right, this was right near the Blackwater River, with several square kilometers of forest land around it. It had nothing remarkable about it. Just your usual, quiet, respectable, riverside English town. Some months ago, I had read a news item on the protest against mining activity close to town. Nothing important had come of it, as the mining activity was eventually deemed unviable.
Andrew turned the car and parked it next to a dense cluster of birch trees, just as the first few houses of Brimley became visible.
‘Are we not driving into town?’ I asked, somewhat surprised that he had parked the motor vehicle outside town.
‘We continue on foot,’ announced Ian.
We got down. I alighted carefully, for I was fearful of dropping the camera. I was glad to stretch my legs a bit. I looked around. From the rear of the car, Ian pulled out a large carrying bag. I noticed that the Indian pulled out a bag of his own. I scratched my head a bit. I was not supposed to ask questions.
We walked into town. What I noticed immediately was that the houses we passed seemed to be in complete darkness. Not a single light, not a single lamp was on inside any home. Only a few street lamps were showing us the way forward.
Suddenly the Indian looked at me and said, ‘Please take a picture. Now and after this at all points of interest that I indicate.’
This was the first time he had spoken. Not even an introduction, and here he was telling me what to do. I did not reply but addressed Andrew and Ian.
‘Is he giving the orders around here?’
Andrew replied, ‘Yes. Just do what he says.’
I could not believe what I was hearing. A foreigner giving orders. He was not even a European. I have often told Brenda that the times were changing too fast for anyone’s good. Still, there was nothing for me to do here but take the picture. I had the Chief’s orders. I was going to follow his orders. Andrew and Ian did not seem to be registering a protest. I took pictures. Not a single house had a light on. We could see wisps of smoke rising into the sky and the flickering glow of fires a few streets away.
We walked. I took pics of the silent lanes completely devoid of people and of the houses that had completely gone dark.
Then, we came upon the town square.
Large numbers of men, women and children were sitting and standing around what appeared to be several large fires. I noticed the town church standing adjacent to the square. Its doors were open. I could see that it was absolutely crowded in there. For some reason, the whole town seemed to have congregated at this ungodly hour in the middle of the square and lit fires. It was quite windy, but the fires were strong.
‘Please take pictures,’ said the Indian again.
‘Yes, you don’t have to tell me every time,’ I said with some asperity. He did not seem to notice.
Two men came running towards our group. Two constables. Most likely the only two in Brimley. They stopped and looked at us.
One of them excitedly addressed Ian and Andrew.
‘Constable Pringle, sirs, thank you for coming. This here is Constable Smyth. We can take no more of this. We have tried to maintain order and keep the town calm but I think we have reached a breaking point. They won’t go to their homes except in the morning…’
Ian spoke.
‘Constable Pringle, please slow down a moment. This is Sir Shash. I am Ian. This is Andrew. This is our photographer Mr. Atherton. I know something of what you’re talking about, but I want you to start at the beginning. Make it crisp. Just the facts. Also, tell us what has happened this night. Why has everyone gathered in the middle of town?’
I was taken aback. Ian had referred to the Indian as ‘Sir Shash’. The man had a knighthood. I had been berating him in my mind all evening. I had taken him for arrogant. I am not afraid to admit that this night was more than a little overwhelming.
Constable Pringle began his narration.
‘T’ was Sally, Sir Shash, who saw it first, two weeks ago. She works over at the grocers. Very early in the morning. She was out in the woods collecting some berries and mushrooms. In the mist. A fiendish beast that looked like a wolf, eyes blazing fire. It was growling like a demon. Next to it stood a human figure. It looked like a tall woman. She could not make out the figure clearly. She screamed and ran, never once stopping to look back. Mercifully, she made it back safely. Her screaming had attracted the attention of several people. She had fainted by the time we got to her. We called in Doctor Percy.’
Andrew chuckled. Ian looked at him. There was no expression on Sir Shash’s face. He was simply listening. I was feeling uneasy. This night would probably make me lose what remained of my sanity.
‘I am serious, Sir. Look, I know how it sounds, but look at these people. Every day since that morning, someone or the other has seen the hellhound. Or the figure. Some say it is a woman. Others say it is a man. No one has seen the figure’s face clearly. Mostly around the woods. The news spread quickly. People were panicking. Doctor Percy, who runs his medical practice and dispensary here, came to see us. He believed that the town was in the grip of mass hysteria of some sort. Constable Smyth and I took this to be a practical joke of some prankster. To assuage fears, we took to patrolling. A week ago, Sir, I saw it myself. I tell you, that animal wasn’t some wolf. I haven’t ever seen eyes like that. I did not see the other apparition but I did see the animal. Then, there is the howling. Once it starts, it goes on for hours. We all hear it, every night. Is it even one hound? What makes sounds like that? It is hard to comfort anyone. The people have congregated the last two nights in the town square and in the church. They stay till morning and venture home only once the sun comes out. Only Doctor Percy does not leave his dispensary. He has been telling people to take some medicine to soothe their nerves. No one listens. I say to you all…’
Sir Shash interrupted his narrative and asked, ‘They do not even feel safe at home behind locked doors? Why? Did you not search the woods in groups? How many people have been hurt?’
Constable Pringle paused for a moment and said, ‘No one has been hurt by the hellhound yet or by the apparition accompanying it. I suppose, it is a matter of time. Sir, let me tell you this…everyone seems scared out of their wits. We had to close the northern gate that had a path through the woods all the way to Boreham. Vicar Davies has been of some comfort to us but he too maintains that something cursed has come to Brimley. He publicly argued with Doctor Percy. The doctor says the new Vicar is out of his mind. Entire families are distraught. Many want to leave town. We wired Scotland Yard a week ago. They laughed at our story. We urged more people to send letters and telegrams. Today, we were told that help was on its way.’
Ian shook his head. Andrew replied, ‘No one is hurt and you call us here. Some girl sees something and the entire town picks up on the story. Suddenly, everyone is seeing things. You know, I believe your doctor Percy is right. This is mass hysteria.’
Constable Smyth, who had not yet said a word said with some feeling, ‘You see it fit to laugh at us. If you were to see the hellhound, you would not laugh.’
‘Who is the new Vicar?’ asked Sir Shash.
Smyth replied, ‘Vicar Davies, sir, he has been here three months. After old Parson Thomas passed away. Heart failure, it was. He had been ailing for a while. The old church building was in some state of disrepair and it was primarily the efforts of Vicar Davies that restoration work was carried out. He is a good man. He was instrumental in getting support from the mining company as reparations.’
‘Reparations?’
‘Aye Sir, this beautiful town would have become one of those mining hellholes if Baron Willes and his mining company had their way. It was Vicar Davies who made him see the error of his ways.’
‘There are no mines here, that I have ever heard of.’
‘That be true Sir, there were rumours but it is all scientific errors and such. Estimation errors, they called it.’
‘Dr Percy, come over here Sir,’ said Constable Pringle, beckoning someone. A bespectacled stout man in his forties came up to us.
‘Dr. Percy, these gentlemen are from Scotland yard,’ he told the doctor, ‘I was just informing them what you saw with Sally. Please tell them what you know.’
Doctor Percy looked at us for a few moments. He said, ‘Thank you, pleased to meet you all, I am sure. I am sorry but I think everyone here has gone quite mad. Yes, there is a pack of wolves howling that we have been hearing these last several days. I ask you, is that grounds for such mania? Huddling in the town square in the middle of the night? Spreading fantastical stories! One would think we were in the 17th century. Fascinating, this mania from a medical perspective, I agree and I could probably compose a paper on what I am witnessing but I have been in this tiny community for many years. This isn’t right.’
Sir Shash replied, ‘Are you aware of any attacks? I am told that the people here are terrified.’
‘Well, it is the rumour mongering. Alleged sightings. Two families have sold their houses this week. Absolute stupidity. Not a single person to my knowledge has been hurt. I understand the fear but I must object to the way this is all being magnified. Constable Pringle too claims he has seen a hound. I mean, I understand that the current Vicar is an overzealous lunatic obsessed with divine curses and retributions but the law listening to this nonsense?’
Constable Pringle cut in, ‘Now, now doctor, I respect your opinion but I saw it. I saw it. I am not irrational and I do not drink except on New Years Eve. And the Vicar is a good man. He has done much for Brimley.’
‘This is the modern age Pringle. Believe in facts. Believe in science. A pack of wolves. That is all. The rest are stories. Each story magnifying the other, everyone revelling in the hysteria even as they delude and victimize themselves. This town has lost it and the foolish vicar continues to spread tall tales on sins and curses,’ retorted the doctor. He looked at us appealingly and said, ‘I hope that you will all put an end to this nonsense.’
Sir Shash was about to say something when the howling began. The wind was now gusting. A wolf’s howl, terrifying in its intensity. It could not be too far away. Then suddenly, there were the screams of a woman wailing. My blood curdled. Her screams were agonizing. I hadn’t heard screaming like that in my life. Was she being hunted by the hound? Had the hound entered town? I am not sure if it was my imagination but I could have sworn that the screaming seemed to come from more than one direction.
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