Sanctuary

By Mike Carter

Midnight will greet you with whispers
That invade your memory
And haunt your dreams
For soon the time draws near when the world will know the truth
And then the dark lords will once again walk the land
What went before was merely a beginning
~~~
DCI Crawford threw the piece of paper to the ground
Three years he had waited pursued by a demon that had no face
Now as he prepares to retire
a new wave of terror hits the streets of London
and with the discovery of each victim
his own past comes back to haunt him
as evil is finally unmasked.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477242582

Mike Carter

Mike Carter is the founder and president of Tours & Crawls of Annapolis and Baltimore, which has been in operation since 2002. His Annapolis Ghost Tours are consistently rated among the top five paranormal tours in the country, while his Baltimore tours are quickly becoming just as popular and well received. He earned his BA from the University of Maryland, College Park. Julia Dray is a professional musician, writer and performer. After attending St John's College in Annapolis she worked as a restaurant manager, technical writer, magazine editor and pianist before joining Annapolis Ghost Tours in 2007. Locals and visitors alike know her as the "ghost tour lady."

Book preview

1

DAWN ARRIVED WITH the fog that rolled in from the cliff edge across once sculptured lawns, through hawthorn and rhododendron, ever closer towards the deserted ruins. Dave peeled back the fencing that he had cut several days ago; he glanced briefly at the sign that carried an unmistakeable message

WARNING DEMOLITION

KEEP OUT

He worked his way through and as he pushed the fencing back into place he caught the odour of bacon on the air he murmured under his breath, The old buggers not daft nice and snug in the porta cabin instead of keeping an eye on the place, dare say I would do the same if I was in his shoes

The fog continued to swirl around his ankles giving the illusion of him sinking into the ground, he stood for a moment surveying the ruins.

The roof and upper floors had collapsed into the area that once housed the library, but all that remained now and virtually intact in places, were the outer walls. Since the fire some eighteen months ago ivy had begun to make steady progress up the remaining structure and had spread over most of the exposed stone. He made his way towards the large pile of charred timbers and masonry that dominated most of the interior. It was difficult going and potentially dangerous if he was to slip. He knew that if he was discovered his job would be immediately forfeited and he would probably be arrested. He smiled briefly knowing that a bacon sandwich held far more interest, than foggy old ruins.

For Dave it had been the same routine every other day for almost three months. By trial and error he had found the best places to lay his traps, and very rarely came away disappointed. Times were hard in the village and fresh killed rabbits earned him a few pounds over and above the small wage he received every week, gardening for the local land owner. An irony for his employer had recently purchased the land from the council for a nominal sum with a view to redeveloping it into flats. He didn’t like the man; he was the type who thought his money gave him the right to treat his employees as second class citizens. And he was mean, oh he paid the minimum wage everything legal and above board. But that was it, basic Barrington that’s the name the locals used behind his back. Dave smiled again wondering how the toffee nosed skinflint would react if he found him poaching on his land probably charge him a commission. He moved forward then stooped and removed the rabbit from its snare, he carefully reset the trap it and carried on. Ten minutes or so later he had bagged half a dozen good bucks. He was just making his way over a large charred beam when he heard the sound for the first time, he quickly ducked down. Perhaps the old man had heard him. He dismissed the thought there was no way, he was all cozied up in the cabin a good hundred yards away, perhaps it was a fox that had picked up the scent of his kills. He took several more steps forward there it was again this time it sounded much closer a scrabbling noise as if someone was crawling over the rubble. Now he was nervous, it couldn’t be any of the locals only the butcher knew where the rabbits came from, and he had a vested interest in keeping quiet. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, at first he thought it was an illusion caused by the fog. Then he heard a new sound like a whisper on the breeze growing in volume. Now he was afraid, he dropped the bag and turned back to retrace his route it was then he saw something for the first time. It was a shadow human in appearance; the fog seemed to part, exposing more shadows in dark relief against the stones.

Welcome stranger we have been waiting, and watching, and now it begins.

He stumbled, fell to his knees and was just getting to his feet when one of the shadows engulfed him. There was silence for a moment, and then a scream echoed around the remains of crag side manor.

2

July 1st

THE VERY THOUGHT of a journal puts me in mind of a last will and testament, a legacy if you will to what was and can never be again. It was Penny that had suggested the idea, she said that the world deserved to hear the truth and I should act accordingly. I’m not so sure, but where’s the harm, after all its just a case of recording what happens on a day to day basis, and to include anything else I feel of relevance. Let’s face it I won’t be the first and certainly not the last to write one. Well If I am going to do this, I suppose the best place to begin is at the beginning. Penny was right this is a story that deserves to be told.

I was injured recently and I am still recovering, it has been a difficult journey but more of that later. It isn’t even my case but something tells me it’s just a matter of time.

Well recording the facts are I suppose easy enough, having you the reader understand is altogether different, earlier today it all started again.

To most including me it was just another routine murder, if you can class murder as routine. It all started innocently enough with a cat called Merlin.

*     *     *

July, welcomed the day with leaden skies and a cold wind that blew in off the Atlantic. Merlin the cat had known better days, of blue skies and wide smiles. But that had been a summer ago, before his owner left in the back of an ambulance never to return. And so as the months slipped by, Merlin made a new life in the crypt of St Hilda’s church.

As the first few drops of rain began to fall, the cat was moving from stone to stone, the body of a mouse hanging limply from his jaws. It was a familiar route but this day was to be different, for the smell had about it a familiarity.

Once again the cat paused to sniff the air, uncertain how to proceed.

This was not the first time the cat had felt uneasy. The verger of the church had made it his quest in life to move him on, unkind and inconsiderate really, for Merlin kept the numbers of vermin in the church down to a minimum. What the cat couldn’t know is that the verger had a pathological hatred of felines. His mother had once explained that he had been scratched as a baby, and over time the incident had developed into a phobia.

As rain began to fall merlin again sniffed the air, it wasn’t the scent of a dog or fox but something altogether more sinister. The wind was rising and beginning to sing in the lower branches of the old oak. The cat watched as a few leaves spiralled from the tree creating a pattern on the gravel path. Merlin left the last of the headstones behind and moved closer to the relative shelter of the outer wall of the church. Here the smell was much stronger; coppery it clung to the air like a low lying cloud. Suddenly there was a disturbance to the left, the cat crouching low on all fours slowly eased its way into a rhododendron. The air was filled with sound, the crunch of boots on gravel and then silence. After a few moments the cat continued its journey, but now something blocked its path. It seemed familiar and yet different, and the odour was not unlike that of his old master. The cat stepped forward, ears back its claws unsheathed. Nothing no response, with a single bound it landed on top of the object.

The surface was soft and warm and yielded a little beneath his weight.

The smell was at its strongest here and then Merlin sensed something familiar, for just ahead was the outline of a face, it was the verger. The cat dropped the mouse and took a step forward but the verger saw none of this for someone had removed his eyes.

3

July 2nd

TODAY STARTED OUT more or less as a routine day, I had the usual pile of correspondence to deal with, and had finally got around to sorting out some of the things I had accumulated over the years. But plans have a habit of changing at the last minute. In fact the last thing I expected was to be sitting across from my superior talking about the raven ripper. It seems that’s the one case that will literally follow me to the grave. In truth I felt disappointed that the latest case had been handed over to one of my colleagues, but retirement has a way of changing green lights to red. And yes, it was today that a name surfaced for the first time, a memory torn from others, a name that evoked nothing but the deepest of regrets.

*     *     *

Stan was sitting back in his chair reflecting on his recent stay in hospital. He had suffered from some memory loss, but it was all beginning to come back to him, although he wished at times that it wasn’t. Images, snapshots of the past, superimposed on his fragile memory, challenging him to remember, there were far too many memories. There were those of his brothers, and Laura his partner, and disturbing images of madness and murder. Throughout the process Superintendent Riverside had been very supportive and patient; for he knew that sooner or later Stan would be ready to tell him what had happened at Grey thorn hall. He knew that given time Stan would begin to understand and explain the events that had resulted in the death of two individuals, and the disappearance of another. Perhaps even more important, some insight into the burn injuries, that led to Stan’s admission to hospital and an induced coma for ten days. Stan reached forward to pick up the phone, pain lancing through his shoulder, a stark reminder of the knife wound that had not yet fully healed.

Sergeant, I need to take a couple of pain killers, any chance of a coffee, these damn things are like horse pills and stick in your throat, more bloody trouble than they are worth. What was that, when did he ring, right did you tell him I didn’t want to be disturbed, or for that matter didn’t want to see anyone at the moment? Oh did he, where was the body found? No sergeant I had no idea, haven’t heard a thing not bothered with the radio. Yes you heard right, a few more days and that’s me done, and trust me retirement is going to suit me down to the ground. Look you have peaked my curiosity now, tell me more about the body and who has been assigned to the case. Jessop, not a bad choice, yes I can see where you are coming from. Okay point taken, yes tell him to make his way up I’m pretty sure he will settle for nothing less.

After a few minutes there was knock on the door, Come in its open, good morning you will have to forgive me but my memory is a bit shaky at the moment, but it’s coming back slowly. I keep getting flashbacks; the thing is I can’t seem to recall anything much from the last few days.

Well Stan just before your disappearance I received a visit from you, and as is my normal policy I recorded the conversation with the intention of having it transcribed later that day. I have brought a copy of that recording, thought it might help jog your memory, are you up to listening, you can stop me at any point if you have questions?

Yes of course it goes without saying, anything to help, anything at all.

Riverside nodded and removed the recorder from his briefcase. If you don’t mind Stan I will sit for this one. He pressed the play button and relaxed back into the comfort of the chair. There was nothing at first, but then a distinct hum followed by the chiming of big ben.

Hot day I seem to recall, had the window wide open Stan nodded.

The first voice to be heard was that of Superintendent Riverside.

Come in, ah good to see you Stan now what’s so important that we had to meet in such a hurry?

Sorry sir things are happening so fast but I believe it’s almost over, the case sir. All that’s left now is to try and explain what happened and believe you me that won’t be easy.

What will you tell the board of enquiry?

The truth what else is there but the truth sir?

I see and what is that truth Stan, well at least your perception of it?

Sir I’m sorry I don’t really understand the question.

Really, all I asked was about your perception of what has happened, how do you see it?

Okay it’s a bit left field sir, but this all started way back with the murder of Vicky Soames at raven point. A smile crossed Riversides face.

Okay Stan raven point yet again I see, Vicky Soames you say, have you linked some evidence to the victim evidence that wasn’t available during the original investigation?

Well sir as a matter of fact yes, you see we didn’t start pursuing a certain line of research until the recent case here in the capital.

Research, to what research do you refer?

Let me explain, hindsight is a marvellous thing isn’t it? Take the name Vicky, you see it’s a shortened form of Victoria, Latin in origin, and roughly translated it means conqueror or victory, does the name Victoria ring any bells sir?

Well frankly I can’t say it does should it?

If you recall sir poppies and bun pennies were on, or in close proximity to the bodies of the victim’s, Victorian bun pennies sir.

What you think that even then the perpetrator was leaving you cryptic messages?

Well as a matter of fact sir yes I do, it’s just a shame we didn’t realise it at the time it may have saved lives.

Mm bit of a strong supposition don’t you think, was that the only link?

Oh no sir far from it, do you remember Margaret Ford, well sir the name Margaret may well have had its origins in the Persian language, translating roughly as daughter of light.

I see or at least I am beginning to, you’re talking about the supposed quest for light is that correct?

Yes sir that’s exactly where I am at, but there’s nothing speculative about it, one final example sir if I may?

Very well go ahead.

Elaine, if you recall she was the victim attacked in the garden of her own home. Well you might be surprised to hear that one of the origins attributed to the name is French, and incidentally it means bright light. Do you see a pattern emerging here sir?

Good grief, so you’re saying that the case two years ago is linked directly with what has been happening here in the city?

Well sir yes, but on the other hand, I don’t actually think we have more than one case at all, more a case that began with Vicky Soames and continues on to this day.

So your theory, about links to the White chapel series of murders in 1888 was actually flawed?

No sir not at all, the issue surrounding Monique Casteel and her connections to the east end were real enough. As a matter of fact we stopped looking at that point, assuming we had all the relevant pieces of the puzzle that would enable us to convict. The thing is we got it wrong; in point of fact I got it wrong. We have been chasing shadows quite literally. You see it’s my belief that someone has been masterminding this right from the very beginning, as to why I have no idea. Oh there are plenty of threads but it’s a case of pulling them all together and seeing where they lead if anywhere. No sir I had my suspicions back then but dismissed them as a form of paranoia; however it seems I was right and now it’s personal. Anyway sir I still have some outstanding leads I need to follow up, but I reckon that by the end of today we should have the case under wraps.

You sound very confident Stan.

I am sir; I just need a few more hours.

Good well you have my full support you know that, look I am a bit pushed for time at the moment you know how it is. I have a meeting in a little less than thirty minutes, look keep in touch Stan, the sooner we put an end to this the better, I am relying on you, now do you understand?

Of course sir and thank you for finding the time to see me, I will ring you later in the day. Thank you again sir I will be off now.

Well that’s it Stan, the recording in full, has it helped you recall anything, anything at all from that day?

Sorry sir but nothing, I have no recollection of the conversation at all I’m afraid for now it’s all just a blank. I would like to say there is something, but given time maybe it will all come back.

Even as the words left his mouth Stan knew that he had been less than honest, for indeed while listening to the recording one name had surfaced in his memory there were no details but there was an image and a name, Philippe.

4

July 3rd

SITTING HERE WRITING as the sun sets on the horizon introduces a certain level of calm, an emotionally charged state that in the circumstances I can ill afford. When I look back to where it all began, I could little have foreseen the events that would unfold over the coming years. My journey has evolved and slowly the pieces are coming together. Sometimes dogged determination is a road least travelled, and when it is, there is almost always a sense of isolation, sometimes perceived as loneliness. There have been many key points. With hindsight I now recognise three constants, poppies, pennies, and the SS Carpathian.

*     *     *

Trevor brought the mask up to his face without the aid of straps and gently inhaled through the nose. The mask stayed in place, an indication that it was a good fit. He entered the water holding it. As he submerged everything changed, the refraction of light entering the mask made everything appear much bigger. He moved closer and closer to the bed of waving seaweed, this was his third and final descent of the morning as the tide was beginning to turn, making diving much more dangerous.

Then just as he was about to surface he spotted something almost completely covered by the silt. He brushed the strands of seaweed to one side careful not to dislodge his mask. The object was metallic and corroded, after a lot of effort it began to break free, forcing clouds of silt and sand to almost obscure the site, it was heavy almost too heavy. He made his way slowly to the surface strolled up the sand and reached for a small piece of hessian from the boot of his car and began carefully wrapping the artefact. The journey back to his flat on the outskirts of town was filled with anticipation until finally he arrived.

The next hour passed quickly he had showered and then picked at the take away he had collected on the way back. But finally his curiosity got the better of him, he moved into the lounge carrying the small parcel which he placed carefully onto his coffee table. He then picked up a small case from the side of the chair, which upon opening was revealed to be a set off tools not dissimilar to those that a watchmaker used. He selected a small pick and began to work on the corroded surface. He worked on in silence occasionally stopping for a cigarette. For almost two years he had been diving, and during that time his finds were few and varied, but absolutely nothing as big or as spectacular as today’s. He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe, three or four times he dived in the same spot searching for shells he could sell on, and not once had he spotted the rusting piece of metal. But there had been bad weather at sea on more than one occasion over the last few months perhaps the bottom had shifted exposing the relic. But none of that mattered the fact is he had found it and with any luck, and if it cleaned up well, he would be able to sell it; he could certainly do with the cash. He continued to work on in silence; gradually as the flecks of rust accumulated over years began to fall away a name began to emerge until finally there it was what once must have been a proud ship, he picked up the phone.

"Hi look I was out in the bay this morning and I found something that may be of interest. Yes it’s from a ship not had time for any research yet but the name does sound familiar, yes let me finish up here and I will bring it round.

I have a feeling that this just may be the big one. Oh the name yes sorry in the excitement I almost forgot hang on. He picked up a cigarette and lit up a stream of smoke escaping into the air. It’s the SS Carpathian okay see you there."

5

July 4th

THERE’S A CHILL in the air the weather seems so changeable of late anyway back to today’s entry, I want to briefly refer to the book of Job.

For those of you less familiar with it, it is one of the books from the Hebrew bible and refers to Job and his trials at the hands of Satan. To be clear the perpetrator of these crimes decided that he would leave what he would term clues. And for reasons known only to the individual concerned, he chose this book upon which to base those quotes. One of them sticks in my mind it was Job 30:26 but more of that later.

I remember earlier today very clearly, the wind brought with it light rain, totally unexpected. It was the first time I had brought Penny into the case, she had been invaluable in the past carrying out research on my behalf, and we worked well together and had a lot of lost time to make up.

*     *     *

Stan washed down the last piece of toast with the remains of the coffee. He strolled across to the window and pulled back the curtain, the sunlight almost blinding him. He released the curtain and made his way to the bathroom, it was as he crossed the hall that he noticed the brown jiffy bag lying on the carpet. He walked across and unlocked the door, the street was deserted. He closed the door picked up the bag turned and walked back into the lounge; he paused for a moment to turn on the gas fire then selecting a chair sat down.

The bag was about ten by fourteen, and had been sealed with tape.

He carefully peeled away one edge and removed it, then peered inside.

He removed a small weather beaten piece of canvas and then finally a familiar object a business card, but that’s where the semblance of familiarity ended. On the one side was the silhouette of a gothic arch surmounted by the date

July seventeen ninety three, then on the reverse he saw a horse’s head, he sat staring at the small embossed card, what the hell was going on. What did it all mean, a small piece of what may well turn out to be sailcloth, and a strange calling card. Then suddenly a memory brief in its passing but crystal clear. The SS Carpathian and the Cornish ripper case surfaced again. It appeared that at least one of the objects could be linked to the ill-fated clipper, as to why and how, well that was something else. But with his thoughts back on the card memories of the ripper case swam before him a ghostly reminder of his one failed case. Monique Casteel, a fragile and unstable sixteen year old tortured by whispers in the dead of night, a tenuous link at best but the only one he had. He reached for his mobile. Penny, sorry did I wake you, look I need a favour in the form of some research, and yes I know I said that I was done with all that. Problem is Penny someone else just won’t let it lie. Look when you’re up and about I need as much information as you can on the S.S Carpathian. Yes the very same, I know we did a little research during the ripper case, but I need more in depth stuff. I understand, please do your best okay I can’t ask more, you take care. He hit the off button and dropped the phone into his pocket. The canvas along with the card was carefully replaced in the bag. He got to his feet turned off the gas fire and made his way back into the hall. He suddenly felt a chill and reached for his topcoat. He opened the door and stepped outside. The message had been daubed in gold coloured paint just above the letterbox and was unmistakable. Stan recognised it as a quote from Job; the last time he saw it, it had been carved into the flesh of a victim’s chest.

Job 30:26 when I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness.

He reached for his mobile and punched in a number.

Hi John, get a team over to my flat, no I need them to print the outside of the door but I don’t hold out much hope. Oh yea some shots of the graffiti, don’t worry I will explain when I reach the office.

Stan crossed the road turning left towards the parade of shops. In spite of everything and the promises he had made, he needed a nicotine fix. He glanced at his watch. Mm, still time in hand, I reckon I can spare fifteen in Mario’s, on second thoughts it’s going to be a long day.

Not too far away across the road and concealed from view by the convenience of a shop doorway, a stranger observed Stan’s every move. He stood leaning against the wall His hands remained thrust deeply into his pockets as he continued to watch and wait. Stan unaware that he was being watched took several attempts before he was able to catch the eye of a taxi driver. He leaned forward to the window said a few words and then stepped inside. The taxi pulled away from the curb and soon disappeared into traffic. The stranger turned his collar up against the rising wind, his grey eyes fixed on an object in the distance, and he waited patiently until the clock struck quarter after the hour. Then with a final glance along the high street he stepped out onto the kerb and began quickly walking towards a phone box. The call he made was short and to the point within a matter of minutes a small family sized car pulled up at the roadside he bent down and slipped inside, moments later it to disappeared into the distance.

6

July 5th

THERE HAS BEEN considerable speculation about the use of a blade, and the similarities to my wounds with those inflicted in earlier cases. After some extensive research the general consensus of opinion was that the origin of the blade was probably French. For the purpose of this journal I have no opinion either way all I can say is that French or not, the pain is still the same.

My thoughts have returned to Philippe, now one of my prime suspects in the case, if not the prime suspect. He intrigues me, his very presence in the city is suspicious, as to his timing well perhaps the less said the better.

*     *     *

It is said that time is a great healer, but for Philippe the memory of recent events at grey thorn hall continued to haunt him. It had all started so well, plans were laid preparations made, but they had not counted on the sheer determination of the unholy one they had invited into their presence. Two years of preparation and the plan seemed perfect, that was until the arrival of Stan Crawford. The battle that followed had been sustained and brutal, the policeman receiving blows that should have killed an ordinary man. But Philippe was beginning to realise that there was nothing ordinary about Stan Crawford.

He made his way to the library and after several moments removed a volume from the shelf, unlike many of the others it was free of dust and well used. He continued to turn the pages until finally; he found what he was looking for.

He removed a gold coloured pen from his pocket and copied the words into a slim volume,

Job.10.22 a Land where the light is as darkness.

He returned the volume to the shelf and made his way towards the door. Suddenly he stopped and retraced his footsteps, to the left of the bookshelves was a simple French cherry wood occasional table; he reached forward and opened the drawer. There nestled on a folded piece of linen was a French trench fighting knife in superb condition as used during the First World War. A very high quality dagger, the blade beautifully ground and well designed for its intended purpose. Clearly stamped on the hilt were the words LE VENGEUR DE 1870. Philippe knew this translated to The Avenger of 1870 a reference to the Franco-Prussian War of that year. He smiled safe in the knowledge that there was another secret attached to this blade. For the blade of this dagger was forged from the one that Monique casteel had found at her father’s side as he lay dying, It had taken some time to track it down. His eyes were drawn to the long slender blade and the dark rust coloured stains it contained. He smiled, for the stains were all that remained of the blood that had been drawn from the hunter’s body. The weapon had come within inches of claiming the life of Stan Crawford, but he had prevailed. But the next time they met there must be no mistake, for there remained no margin for error. Philippe closed the drawer and once again moved towards the door. Patience the word slipped from his lips like a whisper on the breeze. Patience I say for now is not the time. But soon the moon shall rise, and then he shall tremble in the shadows.

The library door closed on well-oiled hinges, and he made his way back to the warmth and comfort of the sitting room. He relaxed back into the chair the warm Napoleon brandy combined with the heat from the fire soon began to make him feel drowsy he sat forward staring into the flames his mind full of memories as he closed his eyes silence returned to Grey thorn.

7

July 6th

ALTHOUGH I AM loath to do it, I must, if this journal is to accurately portray events as they happened turn my attention back to some of the more horrific aspects of the case. This is necessary in order that you will understand my actions.

But for now I want to concentrate on the first victim in this appalling case Thomas Grady, another piece in the complex jigsaw that this case has become. Earlier today things started out as any other day, and continued that way for the rest of the morning, a routine murder case or so it seemed, but then there it was again this killer’s cruel signature.

*     *     *

Stan had barely had time to hang up his coat up when there was a knock on the door.

Come in, ah it’s you sergeant, I asked for coffee on the way in, have you got it organised, I get the impression that everything needs to be written down in triplicate if you want to achieve anything around here

Sure guv, coffee will be a couple of minutes, in the meantime I checked through the files as you suggested, and I reckon I found a link, pretty tenuous I have to admit but a link nevertheless, in the form of one John Carrington.

Good but first thing first, have the team collected the evidence from my place, oh and I had requested some shots of the door?

"They are on the