The Devil and the Unicorn (2nd Edition 2019)

By Haydn Jones

New Revised Edition for 2019

When Alice Pemberton meets a mysterious, old traveller, he tells her a terrifying truth; the truth of why she and her two children can see the half-dead!; and all the while her drunken, hedonistic husband is tearing their marriage apart.

As the Summer Solstice approaches, deep below the Pemberton's magnificant country home, in the hidden Room of Souls, a cadaver morphs into a beautiful woman. The Manor is about to offer up its secret; a secret that has remained dormant, in the bowels of the earth, for centuries.

This is the story of a caring mother, her debaucherous husband and a travelling alchemist who, together, experience the spine-chilling wrath of Satan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haydn Jones
• Release date: Jan 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311672940

Haydn Jones

I live in the UK and for the last two years I have been writing full-time. In my spare time I enjoy reading, cooking, jogging and a round of golf as often as possible. I love writing, so here I am exposing my work to the literary world. 'The Angels of Destiny,' is my sci-fi thriller for adults. To give the novel authenticity I utilized my travel experiences to San Francisco, Washington DC, Houston, Paris, Rome, Moscow and Antwerp in Belgium. During December 2015 I started the third and final part entitled 'The Nine Men' The novella is now complete and was incorporated into the Angels of Destiny (New Edition) 2017. 'The Devil and the Unicorn,' is an adult horror story set in the traditional English countryside and is my tribute to Hammer Films for scaring me to death as a child! 'The Journal of Harry Somerville' is a novel set in England in the 1960s but incorporates elements of the WW2 Battle of El Alamein. The novel reached the best seller category on YouWriteOn.com and was in the top ten of the writer's chart for 14 weeks. My latest work is a murder/mystery novel, entitled 'Shroud the Truth with Silence.' Started in October 2017 and completed in August 2018; the novel is the first of a series and for these novels I have chosen to use the pen name, Harry Waterman. For more information about me and my novels please visit my website at: haydnjones-author.com

Book preview

Prologue

A few days after the Summer Solstice in the year 1277

The priest’s emotions were in turmoil and his once unremitting faith was leaking away like mead from a broken barrel as he stepped hesitantly through the wet grass towards the two new graves; their simple wooden crosses, side by side, barely visible through the low mist that shrouded the graveyard.

The unusually cold air penetrated through his garment, biting at his pallid, fatty flesh. In his hand he grasped a polished metal crucifix and raised it to his mouth. The cold metal felt raw on his lips.

His squinting eyes scanned the scene; something wasn’t right, but what was making his pulse race and his hands tremble like a condemned man stepping up to the gallows?

‘You are alone brother, there is nothing to fear. You have God to protect you,’ he whispered to himself, but his words were caught up in the chill night air.

He was aware that the young sisters from the village were not the first to be brutally murdered. Other young girls had been killed in the same gruesome way; their limp, mutilated bodies, unceremoniously dumped. He was all too aware of the hideous rumours spreading through the village, faster than a plague.

Insane, that’s what they are; ignorant fools. But in his heart he knew his resolve was weakening. Where was God? Had He abandoned him?

The mist caressed his woollen tunic as he walked, swirling and wavering like a restless sea before a storm and the wet blades of grass glistened in the waxy light of the Moon.

Moments later, he stopped at two fresh mounds of earth. On the left grave was a wilting posey, on the other, a sodden rag doll.

‘Do not fear anymore, children, your terrible suffering is over and your souls are safe,’ he said serenely, reading their blackened names branded into the crosses.

‘Mary and Elizabeth, you are with Jesus now, your saviour, who loves you and cares for you.’ The priest made the sign of the cross and closed his eyes in quiet prayer.

The sound of snapping twigs broke the eerie silence.

‘Who’s there?’ he asked, peering into the darkness of the surrounding trees.

‘Who is it?’ He held the crucifix in front of him like a shield. ‘Do not fear, it is I, Father John. Show yourself,’ he said, in a nervous staccato.

‘You are wrong, priest…their souls are not with Him,' an angry voice bellowed—‘they are with ME!’

The Man-of-God stared, wide-eyed, frozen to the spot with fear; his steaming urine soaking into his tunic.

* * *

Frenzied, squawking crows were devouring the priest's entrails that were scattered on the ground. As the villagers cautiously approached, the birds took flight, screeching and flapping as they vanished into the black sky.

‘They’ve already pecked out his eyes,’ said the hunched man, picking up the priest’s severed head to show the others; an expression of horror extant on its waxy face.

‘What’s that in his hand?' the big blacksmith asked, pointing his flaming torch at the mutilated corpse.

The hunched man squinted, incredulously, ‘Oh dear God...It has started again!’

Chapter 1

Present Day

Charles Pemberton grunted an expletive as he jerked the empty brandy bottle from his lips; shaking it as if to magically refill its contents. He reeked of alcohol, cigars and expensive perfume.

Beams of light from the limousine’s headlamps cut through the mist, illuminating the yellow sandstone driveway. Moments later, the Rolls Royce came to a stop at the Manor’s main entrance.

As dawn arrived, Alice Pemberton watched despondently from her bedroom window as her husband collapsed onto the gravel. She was looking at a man she no longer recognised. A man she had once loved so completely. He had changed from a loving father and husband into someone cold and uncaring, and he was getting worse. Only two years ago she thought life could not get any better. Now, she was horrified that it might get worse.

Preoccupied, she walked to the long mirror brushing her hair behind her ears with her hands before dropping her dressing gown to the floor. Alice stared at her reflection, sighing at the sight of her naked body. Her once black bruises had now faded to yellow-ochre, but the bruises in her heart had not faded at all.

How, she pondered, did it ever come to this? What had she done wrong? Had she done wrong? She wasn't cheating on him. She'd never wanted another man! Charles had always been her hero, her lover, her friend, her husband. The same man that was now lying on the tarmac outside the bedroom window covered in vomit and, no doubt, stinking of expensive, whores' perfume. Why? What had gone wrong? It was as if someone, or something, had possessed him; taken him away from her, depriving her of his love.

Alice showered and dressed and made her way downstairs to face another day.

‘Breakfast in five minutes children,’ Alice called out from the bottom of the grand staircase.

‘Good morning, ma’am—your Telegraph has arrived.’ The smiling butler with the chiselled features and narrow eyes offered her the morning paper.

‘Thank you, Benjamin,’ replied Alice, scanning the headlines as she made her way into the sun-lit breakfast room. Sitting in her chair, she faced the three French windows that offered a view of the south-terrace and lawned garden beyond. She poured herself some coffee and fresh orange juice from silver pots in the middle of the long, walnut table. Alice opened the newspaper and started to read an article on page three, about women in industry.

Moments later, her daughters raced down the stairs.

‘Stop running! How many times do I have to tell you?'

‘Sorry, Mummy,’ they replied, in well practiced unison, as they continued down the stairs. Their fair hair flailed and bounced behind their fresh faces, to the rhythm of their boisterous steps.

Skipping into the room, they both hugged Alice before going to the cereal table and helping themselves to coco pops and cold milk.

'What’s happening in school today girls?' Alice asked, with a smile.

‘Sally's on a school trip to a museum and I’m playing lacrosse after school,' replied Stephanie, frowning.

'Have you got a lift home after lacrosse, Stephanie?'

'I don't think so.'

'Well, wait for me. I'll pick you up in the Audi, okay?'

‘Okay,’ Stephanie said, filling her mouth with a large dessert-spoon full of chocolate coloured cereal.

'Where's Daddy this morning, Mummy?' Sally asked as she sat down next to her mother at the table. Her fresh, innocent smile reminded Alice so much of herself, when she was young and innocent. She didn't answer Sally immediately, but composing herself, she responded.

'Daddy is still in bed, my love. He returned home very late last night.'

Sally frowned. 'Daddy works very hard, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, he does darling, Daddy works very hard indeed.’ Alice said, through a tight-lipped smile.

'Is that why we never see much of him, anymore?'

Alice sighed. ‘I suppose it is.’

Sally smiled at her mother. ‘It was better before; he was here a lot more, then.’

‘Who’s the lady dressed in white, Mummy?’ Stephanie asked.

At that moment, Benjamin entered the room balancing a silver tray on the fingers-tips of his right hand. ‘Your boiled eggs and toast, ma’am.'

'Thank you, Benjamin. Did Maria remember to buy the marmalade yesterday?'

‘She did.’ The butler gestured with his hand. ‘It's on the table, ma'am.'

'Excellent, thank you.'

'My pleasure, ma'am.'

'Can you have the car outside, in ten minutes, please?’

‘Certainly—Would you like me to take the girls to school for you? I'd be happy to oblige.’

‘That’s kind of you, Benjamin, but you know me—I like to take the girls to school.’ Alice managed a smile.

‘Yes of course, ma’am,’

‘Sorry, Stephanie what did you say?’

‘I said, who’s the lady dressed in white at the top of the stairs?’

‘What lady?’

‘I saw her too, Mummy.’

Alice sighed through her fingertips. ‘Have you eaten your cereal, girls?'

‘Yes,' was the joint response.

‘Sally, finish your milk please.'

Sally picked up her breakfast mug and finished the rest of her drink.

'Wipe your mouth dear,' Alice said, and Sally obliged, using the back of her hand.

‘Right—get your coats and school bags and meet me at the front door.'

'Okay,' responded Stephanie, as both girls ran out of the room.

‘For goodness sake,’ Alice cried out, ‘stop running! Oh God, it’s happening again.’

When Alice returned from the school run, Benjamin came out to park the Audi for her.

‘Thank you Benjamin,’ she said, throwing the keys to the butler.

After a cup of coffee and a chat with Molly in the kitchen, Alice decided to check the wine supply in the cellar as she’d promised six bottles for the church fund-raising raffle on the weekend.

Switching on the lights she walked down the cellar stairs towards the wine racks and shivered. She rubbed her arms and felt the goose pimples on her skin. As she exhaled, vapour, like smoke, exuded from her mouth.

A light bulb exploded and Alice jumped. In the darkness of the corner there was the sound of shuffling. She turned, her pulse racing and her heart pounding. ‘Who is it…Who’s there?’ Something touched her face and Alice scratched frantically at her skin, realising she’d walked into a spider’s web. Then, something crawled down her neck into her blouse and she screamed out, waving her hands frantically in the air.

‘Are you okay ma’am?’ came a voice from the top of the stairs.

‘Spiders, Benjamin—I hate them!’

The butler laughed.

Alice hurried back up the stairs, turning off the cellar lights and closing the door behind her. Leaning against the door she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. As she walked away the door opened, creaking on its hinges. She turned around and watched as the door then closed, opened again and then slammed shut.

Alice looked at her trembling hands; but her whole body was shaking. ‘Benjamin, where are you? She cried out.’

Chapter 2

It was a cloudless spring morning as the old man stirred from his slumber. The terrier’s wet nose moved ever closer to his master’s face; his little, stumpy tail fanned the air like a broken windscreen-wiper.

The first thing Walter saw when he opened his eyes was his wide-eyed dog. ‘Good morning, Charlie’ he said, as he clambered from his fold-up bed. He put on his glasses and looked out of the caravan’s window at the morning mist, back-lit by the glow of the rising sun. He watched, intrigued, as mist tendrils rose from the ground like ghostly dancers.

The dog jumped up on the bed and barked. Walter laughed and hugged his best friend. ‘Another glorious day,’ he said, opening the door of the caravan to sniff the air.

The smouldering embers on the fire, still glowing from the night before, brought a smile to the old man’s bearded face. He carefully descended the three oak steps and added a few more logs to the red ashes. Big orange flames soon danced around the cast-iron pot that hung above the fire on a metal frame and before long the water started to boil.

Walter poured hot water onto tea leaves he’d dropped into his dented, pewter pot and said:

‘We have a long way to go today, Charlie.’

The terrier’s black eyes were bright and attentive and he panted excitedly; his tongue drooped from the side of his mouth.

It was time to satisfy two hungry bellies, tormented for long enough by the tantalising smell of sizzling bacon and sausages browning in the cast-iron pan.

Charlie salivated and barked again.

‘Patience, my friend!’ Walter said, shaking his finger at the dog. He pushed a slice of bread onto a toasting fork and held it near the fire. Deftly, he turned the bread when it was golden brown. A slab of butter was nearby and the old man took a generous wedge on his knife, ready to butter the hot toast.

Charlie was sitting still with his ears pricked, watching the old man with the weathered face and dark, mysterious eyes buttering toast and cutting up sausages to cool them down.

After their hearty meal, Walter collected the potent May dew from the sodden cotton cloths, hung out overnight on hazel sticks some distance from the fire. He wrung them out by hand over a metal funnel, carefully collecting the clear liquid, which oozed from the weave, into a sealable glass container for purification later.

The breakfast pots and pans were washed and dried and hung back on their hooks and after dousing the fire with water, Walter and Charlie were ready to leave.

Sitting on the bench-seat of the old wooden caravan, with his best friend next to him, Walter flicked the reins and the pony responded; the caravan gave a little jerk then moved forward. The morning sun lit the old man’s bearded features, and the breeze blew as freely as his soul.

The old, wooden caravan creaked and rocked as the wheels turned slowly on the uneven ground, and the row of pans rang out, like broken church bells from within. Walter removed an old clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket, already filled with his favourite tobacco. Striking a match on the wooden seat, he lit the dark shag, puffing until sweet smelling smoke billowed behind him, diffusing slowly into the air. The old man looked at his dog and smiled, contentedly.

The caravan was brightly painted in yellow, red and blue. Each of the four wheels had yellow spokes and a red wheel-hub. There were three round windows in all, one on each side, and one at the back in the door and the oak window frames were painted bright blue.

The road was now visible as they exchanged the cool shady glade for the morning sunshine. Their journey to the manor house would take them about two days. The Tarot cards were quite clear, but, experience had taught him that every visit was different, with different challenges.

Walter looked at Charlie and rubbed his head, affectionately.

* * *

Charles Pemberton entered the breakfast-room wearing a white open-necked shirt and dark-blue denim jeans. He was tall and aristocratic looking, with symmetrically pleasing features and big dark eyes; but today he looked tired and pale and his eyes had a coldness to them.

Alice was buttering toast and chose to ignore him.

'Good morning, my dear,' he said, sitting down at the opposite side of the table. 'Children get to school okay?'

'You were late back from London.’

'Yes, I was late. Too late to say hello, I'm afraid.'

Alice knew what he meant and she was glad that he hadn’t come to her room, intoxicated, and demanding sex. 'How was your trip to London?' she enquired, with disinterest in her voice.

‘Oh… it was okay. A bit boring, if I'm honest. These financial meetings are never very interesting you know.'

'No, I don't know; you've never taken me with you.'

'Believe me, darling, you're not missing a lot.’

Alice looked hard into his eyes. ‘I watched you collapse when you got out of the car. I watched you vomiting. You’re a bloody disgrace.’

'Food poisoning, I’m afraid. I suspect it was the mussels.'

Alice looked across the table at her husband with eyebrows raised in disbelief.

His raven hair and good looks had melted her heart over fifteen-years-ago. Then, he was attentive and caring, but recently he had become capricious and arrogant, with no interest in her anymore, or their girls; just her body, as if she was a common whore. But thankfully, the visits had stopped and he hadn’t bothered her for more than a month.

‘Please don’t bullshit me Charles, I’m not a fool.’

Pemberton huffed. 'I have a meeting with the vicar this morning,’ he said, pouring a large cup of black coffee.

‘About what?'

'Fund-raising for the church roof. The creep is hoping to get more fucking money out of me. As if he hasn't had enough out of me already; the greedy bastard.'

'What's the problem? With all your money, you can afford it, can't you?'

'That's not the point is it?'

'Isn't it?'

‘NO—IT’S FUCKING NOT.'

'Please don't swear, and I’m not deaf.'

Pemberton massaged his brow with his fingers. 'Sorry - I’m feeling tired and irritable this morning.’

'I’m not surprised,' retorted Alice, from behind her newspaper.

Pemberton didn't respond. 'Where the fuck is Benjamin? BENJAMIN!’

'Do you have to swear, all of the time?'

'I want my breakfast, I'm starving.’

'Good morning sir,' Benjamin said, as he walked into the room.

'A Molly special please, and make it quick.' Pemberton snapped.

'Certainly, sir.’

‘Oh, by the way, Benjamin,’ Alice added, lowering the newspaper, ‘I think we have rats in the wine cellar. Can you see to it please?’

‘It won’t be the first time, ma’am.’

‘Can you change the lightbulb down there as well? It blew and there’s bits of glass on the floor, so be careful.’ Why don’t I want to go down there? it’s never bothered me before, she mused.

‘Of course ma'am,’ Benjamin said, leaving the room.

Alice waited a moment, ‘…What is happening to you, Charles?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. It’s not the same anymore.’ Alice’s voice trembled; tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘We’re not a family anymore…not like we used to be. When was the last time you played tennis with the girls, or came with us on a family picnic, or played scrabble, or picked the girls up from school? You seem so remote these days.’ Alice lowered her voice. ‘And what about our sex life, Charles?’

‘What about it?’

Alice answered quietly, ‘We used to make love, remember? — Now I feel like I’m being raped by you; and I have the bruises to prove it. I miss the way we were; you and I were soul-mates…remember? Where has my husband gone? I want him back.’ Alice covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Pemberton became irritated. ‘It’s work, I’m very busy at the moment,’ he said.

Alice sniffled and wiped her eyes with a tissue. ‘So, what plans do you have today, Charles?’

'I’ve been invited to a clay-shoot, down at Phil's place, and I’m dying to try out my new gun. Don't expect me back too early.'

'Will you be home before the children go to bed?’

'I doubt it.’

‘So that’s work, is it?’

‘Shut up!’

Alice clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. You selfish bastard!

She prayed that he wouldn't come to her room later, stinking of brandy and cigars. The thought of his foul-smelling breath made her cringe. She remembered the time when all she wanted was him; her handsome knight in shining armour. How her life had changed. How Charles had changed. Alice now found it hard to believe he was once a loving husband who adored her and the children. He was an altered man: someone else, someone she despised. The thought forced her to lower her head in a vain, subconscious attempt to escape the reality that was slowly breaking her resolve.

A few minutes later, Benjamin arrived with a plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms and tomatoes.

'About bloody time. A man could die waiting in this place.’

Alice watched Benjamin, as he patiently served Pemberton the food, and she wondered why he hadn’t tipped it over the arrogant pig’s head.

* * *

At the rear of the manor house was a Victorian walled-garden, and it was the responsibility of Wilfred, the Head Gardener. It contained an abundance of vegetable patches, flower beds, apple, pear and plum trees, and big greenhouses. It was managed so well that the Manor was virtually self-sufficient, in fruit and vegetables, all year round, and had been, for many years.

Wilfred Williams loved his job. He started work at the Manor at the age of fourteen when he was a slightly built, shy lad, who said very little, smiled a lot, and was definitely not afraid of hard work. He was keen to impress and always arrived for work early. As a junior, his tasks were labour intensive and menial. He would spend long hours digging and raking the soil to prepare the beds for the young plants maturing in the shelter of the greenhouses and cold-frames. With his horse and cart he would collect the fresh manure from the nearby farms and bring it to the pile for weathering, before it could be used on the land. Ash and oak had to be cut, seasoned, and chopped for the fires. The lawns had to be cut and the flower and vegetable beds had to be tended. The tasks were endless, but, for a young Wilfred, it was exciting, and he always had money in his back pocket.

He was now sixty-two, with a full head of short, cropped white hair, a lean and fit physique and skin like tanned leather. His enthusiasm for gardening was no different from when he was the young upstart at Leigh Manor, it was just more focused, more organised, more delegated. The youngsters who worked for him were a different breed. They tried to avoid work whenever possible. Their language was appalling and they couldn’t even spell respect.

Shame on them.

Spring was a busy time for a head-gardener. Wilfred’s layout plans for the garden had been agreed with Alice back in February, and now it was time to implement them. The early peas, carrots, onions, runner-beans, beetroot, cabbage and all the salad crops were ready to go out, now that the chance of a frost had passed.

Even though Wilfred woke at dawn