The Gravedigger & The Ghoul's Gold Part 3
The final part of the inaugural Inspector Davren penny dreadful
The officers guarding the door were knocked aside as one of their brethren rushed in, flush of face and gasping for breath. He bent over, hands on knees and tried to speak.
“Spit it out, man,” Davren yelled.
“Killer…on…the…loose.”
Marshall rushed over and pulled the man upright. “Details, quickly.”
The winded officer gasped for breath but managed to get the words out. “We found…a dead body. Throat…sliced…open.”
“Let me guess,” Davren said, not truly guessing. “The barber shop.”
“How did…”
“It’s what he does,” Marshall said, releasing his grip on the officer. “What next, sir?”
More screams, closer than before, rang out from the streets. “I believe this Hellprist chap is looking for his coin. I think it best we take it back to where it belongs.”
“Highmoor Cemetery?” Marshall asked, eyebrows raised.
With a nod, Davren headed for the door with Marshall on his heels. The men looked up the street in the direction of the screams, where they saw a robed figure shambling slowly forward. Even through the fog and the meager lamplight, they could see that the thing was nothing more that bones hewed together by strips of withering sinew.
“That cannae be fuckin’ real,” Marshall yelled, his Scottish accent returning full force.
“All too real, Rab. Let’s guide the poor fellow home.” Davren held the coin in the air, as close to a streetlamp as possible, allowing the flame to catch the gleam of gold. “Over here, my undead friend.”
The flash of light from the coin split through the fog and landed directly in the sightline of the corpse. It threw back its head and let loose an unholy wail of extreme anguish. Women in the area fainted, while even the bravest of men bolted for darkened alleyways, where rats and robbers made their home. The thing turned its attention to Davren and Marshall, screaming, “MIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNEEEEE.”
They watched as it stumbled forward for a moment before suddenly finding its footing and picking up the pace. “I think we have his attention, Rab.” The wretch moved faster still. “Best we get moving.”
The two men raced along the cobbled streets, Marshall parting the milling crowds with yells of, “Police business,” while both men tried to ignore the click-clack sound of bones connecting with cobbles. Where they were mortal men with limited supplies of energy, the thing on their heels had no such limitations. The thought of being caught gave them a second wind, and both were relieved to see the gates of the cemetery rise out of the gloom.
“How will we know where his grave is, sir? It’s a big bastard of a cemetery.” Marshall panted.
“Trust me, there will be a sign. I just hope that we get there first.”
This close to the River Thames, the fog seemed insistent on rolling thicker, like a mass of drowned ghosts climbing from the banks. Davren and Marshall were forced to slow down for fear of tripping over a headstone, but they remained in constant movement all the same.
“What am I looking for, sir?” Marshall asked.
“A splash of color in our grey world, Rab?”
The policeman grabbed Davren’s jacket, forcing him to turn. “Like that?” Marshall asked, pointing in the direction of pale green smoke rising from the ground.
“Exactly like that. Good eye, Rab. We may yet win the evening.”
The men raced in the direction of the emerald mist, which grew thicker and brighter with each passing moment. It was an eerie sight, but the unhinged scream at their backs, too close for comfort, was scarier still.
“What is that stuff?” Marshall asked, trying in vain to ignore the gooseflesh prickling his entire body.
“A fail safe. The Order takes steps to ensure that they know if one of their graves has been tampered with.”Davren paused for a beat, as though looking for dramatic effect. “If they beat us there, I cannot guarantee our safety.”
They sprinted the final few yards, relieved to see no sign of another soul near the open grave. The men skirted around the gaping wound in the earth and turned to watch the shambling creature approach, wailing all the way.
Davren held the coin high and yelled, “We did not take it. We are returning it to its rightful home.”
With a frown, Marshall looked to the inspector, fearing the man might have gone made, trying to talk sense to a crumbling corpse. It was then that he noticed the silhouettes of several men standing by the water’s edge, Big Ben rising like some ancient monolith behind them. The effect of the fog and the adrenaline rush spiking through Marshall’s body made it appear as though the robed figured hovered slightly above the ground. Given the events of the evening, he was not ready to dismiss the notion entirely.
The creature drew closer, it’s hollowed-out sockets burning ebony holes through Marshall and Davren. When it got close enough to reach out and touch them, Davren flipped the coin into the grave, watching as the infernal beast dove in after it. “FILL THE HOLE.”
The men turned and grabbed the shovels left behind by the gravediggers, shovelling in dirt, keeping one eye on the task at hand and another on the figures by the river.
The screaming stopped as the dirt filled the hole, not muffled, simply silenced. Davren and Marshall patted down the damp earth as neatly as possible, Marshall making a sign of the cross when the work was done. They looked toward the members of the Order of the Configured Lament, waiting to see if the shovels might need to be used as weapons. Instead, they watched as the men spread their arms wide, flapped them like a bird twice, and them bent them akimbo. And with that, they backed away into the fog, as though they were never there to begin with.
Marshall’s knees buckled and he dropped to his behind, letting out a whoosh of air when he made contact with the muddy ground. Davren sat beside him and placed an arm around his shoulder. “What will become of the thing we buried,” Marshall asked, breaking the silence.
Davren sighed heavily. “He will resurrect in 1987, but not as was expected. You heard his wails, Rab. That was pain, pure and simple. He will demand pain in return, and whomever calls him home will likely pay in flesh.”
“I’m glad ah willnae be around to see it, sir.”
“Indeed.” Davren clapped his new friend on the back. “You do know, Rab, that you have had but one small glimpse behind a much bigger curtain?”
Marshall hung his head. “I thought that might be the case.”
“What say you, old chap? Do you wish to return to regular duty, or would you sooner join me on what is sure to be a much more invigorating endeavor?”
Tears brimmed in the Scotsman’s eyes. “Are you asking for my assistance. sir?”
“I am asking for your partnership and friendship, Rab. Are you in?”
A smile spread across Marshall’s face. “Aye, ye’d better fuckin’ believe ahm in, Alexander.”
The men laughed as Big Ben tolled the midnight hour, awaking all manner of madness across the city.
