Ankerita

By Robert Wingfield

In Tudor times, Ankerita killed her husband for abusing her, and his family walled her up in an anchorite cell for the rest of her life. Not content with that, they eventually gave her a poison which paralyzed her, and then buried her alive.
Her soul remained suspended between this life and the next for centuries, gradually developing in power and determination to escape, until a couple of young villains come to deface the ruin where she is buried. One of them, unknown, to him, is psychic.
She tricks him and escapes, but a bond remains between them. The boy is struggling to regain control of his body as Ankerita sets off on a series of trials in this strange modern world to which she must adjust, without official identity or support.
Ankerita’s journey takes her through long shifts in a cheap hotel, where she meets a disinterested friend and a ghostly, amorous highwayman, through a spell with a debauched heavy metal rock band, and into a desolate house with a group of homeless people. She has a flirtation with an overzealous policeman, and is always on the run from would-be rapists and slavers.
But finally she must face the destiny, this modern day odyssey is drawing her ever towards...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Wingfield
• Release date: Apr 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463101872

Robert Wingfield

Robert Wingfield used to sleep in the technology department of a large organisation between 9 and 5 each day, (except on Fridays when they woke him at 4 and sent him home early), but he finally got tired with this taxing routine and left his job for good. A prolific writer, to date he has over twenty works, electronically and in paperback, available through various outlets—all can be tracked through www.robertwingfieldauthor.co.uk.His work covers several genres:Satirical sci-fi novels, 'The Dan Provocations', hopefully having you laughing out loud (or cringing, when you realize how closely satire matches reality).Gothic chillers in the form of the 'Ankerita' series (The Seventh House) featuring a Tudor anchoress reborn in modern times.Travelogues in the 'One Man in a Bus' series, currently cover Sicily, North Cyprus and Syros in the Cyclades.Other short stories with a supernatural flavor ('The Black Dog of Peel' is free for you on this site).For the younger reader, 'The Mystery of the Lake' and 'the Mystery of the Midnight Sun' have a Swallows and Amazons feel, and are suitable for even your grey-haired old great-aunt.'The Adventures of Stefan' kick off with 'Stefan and the Sand Witch', a modern day fairy-tale, and 'Stefan and the Spirit of the Woods', an eco-fairytale.For those who have elderly relatives telling them about embarrassing ailments, you need 'Everyone’s Guide to not being an Old Person', a gentle satire on what people do when they get old, and how to avoid it.For those struggling authors, he runs The Inca Project, a set of free resources to help you get your works into print. He also provides formatting and editing services through the project, to ensure you get the best result from your masterpiece. See www.incaproject.co.ukHe has written many reviews on management books and was a member of the Chartered Management Institute and the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers when he was working and could afford the subscriptions.His other interests include digital forensics, nature and building conservation, photography, and resisting emotional blackmail from his Labrador.Favorite quotes:Don't give up your day job... whoops too late.(Robert Wingfield)

Book preview

Beginning and End

A

full moon shone on broken walls, picking out the stonework in sharp relief, but creating a gloomy contrast on the far side. The heat of the day lingered in the ruins of the twelfth-century abbey, but an air of sadness pervaded its once proud structure, more perhaps than could be attributed to its age. The crumbling masonry still echoed the violent deaths of the devout monks, when the soldiers came in the name of the king, all those years ago. Recent visitors had reported unexplained mists, drifting around the doorways and remains of the buildings. Recent visitors, if they had any sense, would tend to give the place a wide berth after sunset.

Tonight though, the ghostly shadows were slightly more solid than those occasionally seen by latecomers. Two hooded shapes flitted across the open moonlight of the car park, and pressed themselves back into the darkness to avoid the ever-watching eye of the single security camera. The wall they climbed was no real barrier, and they grunted their way over, dropping quietly onto the neatly tended grass beyond.

High up in a huge glassless window overlooking what was originally the refectory, a squat dark shape studied them with interest. The moonlight shining through the opening behind it cast only the shadow of the stonework on the broken tiled floor. As the interlopers scaled the wall, the shape bounced across, and deliberately repositioned the camera to catch them. The faint but disturbing snigger that echoed around the hall went unnoticed.

In another part of the abbey, a patch of mist drifted between ruined pillars. A low sigh, which might have been the wind in the trees, formed the suggestion of sadly spoken words: "Peradventure these be the people come to release me? Not ere time."

The shorter of the two young men, now making their way towards the centre of the abbey ruins, whispered nervously to his companion. Hey Tox, you sure this is okay?

Of course. Where better to hide? You got the spray?

Could only get red, mate.

That’ll do. What about food?

No, I ain’t got no stuff.

I mean real food, you f’ker, not weed. I still got some o’ that wi’ me.

Good, I just got the bread and lager we grabbed. That old bitch in the shop sure screamed when you knocked her down, innit? Thought we’d get gripped, but we did good takin’ that car. The hayseeds out here are real easy to borrow stuff off, leavin’ the engines runnin’ an’ all.

Don’t know why we didn’t come out sooner, said Tox, now the railway scum in the Smoke are watchin’ every wall like it was their own. Makes it real hard for me to spray ’em up. Easy pickin’s here, though. The bumpkins don’t know what hit ’em.

Yeah, it’s like a good time to get away. I saw the pigs have gripped someone, blamin’ ’im for your art.

Yup, some twat trying to copy my tag. Serves him right.

Hah, all those you did in the tunnels, mate, and some other doofus takes the rap. If we lie low long enough, he’ll get banged up instead of us.

I feel artwork comin’ on right now, said Tox. Let’s begin here. He paused. Come to think of it, I need a new handle to start spraying, so’s they don’t think it’s the real me and let the other dude off. Any ideas?

I’ll fink about it.

Wiv your brain on the job, it’ll be sorted in a couple of years. Now button it, in case there’s a monument pig lurkin’ about.

The two boys skulked through the ruins, and eventually found a short set of stone steps in full moonlight.

Nobody about, said Tox. Didn’t fink so. Good. Sit here where we can see, and smoke. This is what they used to call the cloister. Monks would sit around ’ere and talk and write and fink.

How d’you know that? You not goin’ to school an’ all?

No idea, said Tox. Never learnt about it, so don’t know why I know it. He paused to regard his companion. What’s the problem?

F’kin dark ’ere, said the smaller one, nervously eyeing the deep shadows under the walls. Where are all the lights, mate? Bit spooky, innit?

Ain’t no lights out here. Ain’t nothin’. Helps with the hidin’, Wayne, you scrote. Scum’ll not bother scannin’ for us, now we’re off the roads. They don’t care, if you ain’t stabbed no one.

Wayne fidgeted. Don’t see why we have to hide, then; I don’t like it ’ere.

Tox regarded his companion with scorn. We stay. Be safer to carry on in the mornin’, once there’s more cars on the road. We can ditch the one we nicked and get another. They’ll never find us. He lit up a joint and blew the smoke at the other boy, who coughed and glared at him. Nice night, he continued. We should get lagered up first, and then I’ll put my new tag on some walls.

But it’s an ancient monument, yeah? Wayne rubbed his neck, uneasily. Should you mess it up, right? Been here thousands of years...

’Bout time it got my tag on it then, innit.

Yeah, I guess. Wayne was fidgeting, kicking a pebble along the path. Not happy, though. Dead monks around an’ that sort of thing. S’pose they come after us?

Tosser. Don’t know about that, and don’t care. You should’ve bunked those history lessons when I did.

Did y’ever go to school, mate?

Fink I gave it up when I was two. Ignorance is, er, well, wha’-do-ya-call-it?

Wayne grinned. Yeah, you sure got a lot of wha’-do-ya-call-it...

Tox lashed out.

Ow, wha’ did ya do that for? Wayne nursed his throbbing ear.

Don’t disrespect me, arse. Food and lager, now.

Wayne jumped, and twisted around to scan the trees that came down to one side of the building complex. What’s that weird noise? Like in a zombie film.

Tox laughed. Ain’t you never heard an owl? They always have them sounds to scare you, innit.

I ain’t scared.

So what you shakin’ for?

Must be cold. Wayne stood up. Shit, what’s that then? Sure something moved over there!

Tox swivelled leisurely to look where his friend was pointing into the shadows. The darkness across the cloister shimmered. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Ain’t nothin’ other than night mist, stupid. He swallowed another mouthful of lager.

Wayne was not to be put off. I saw somethin’. Look, there. Is that someone lurkin’ in the dark?

Course not, tosser. Who’d be out here at this time a night? Sit down and eat, and stop imaginin’ ghosts.

Ghosts?

Nah, only wankers see spooks where there ain’t nuffin. An’ even if there is, them can’t hurt you. Them can’t grip you and bang you up in the pen.

A shadowy form flitted out of the building behind them and gave a low snigger. Neither of the boys seemed to hear.

Right. Wayne eased himself on to the stonework. He tore the bread packet open and bit into a couple of slices. Hey, this is shit. Like a burger without the good bits.

Have a drink then. I’ll take the bread. Tox tossed a can over to his friend. Wayne pulled the ring and sprayed the frothy liquid at him. He received another cuff for his impudence, but downed the rest of the contents in one gulp, and then burped loudly.

Another.

The moon had passed its zenith, and the shadows were lengthening. A pile of empty cans littered the grass around the steps. Tox relieved himself on one of the stunted stone columns that once supported the cloister roof. He zipped up and returned unsteadily to his mate.

Right, he slurred, now if you’ve stopped shaking like a big girl, I need to get this place tagged. Where shall we launch? Oh, has your brilliant brain come up wid a noo tag for me yet?

Yeah, said Wayne indignantly, I gotta few.

Let’s hear ’em then, Scrote.

Wayne scowled, his face lit by the light from a device in his hand. Wot about ‘Infectious’, ‘Poisonous’, ‘Noxious’, ‘Lethal’, ‘Deadly’?

What you got there?

I nicked my bruv’s slab; got an app to work out other meanings for words, seein’ as how I don’t know that many.

Wot, you usin’ words now instead a swearin’ all the time?

Yeah, so? I don’t want dudes to think I’m thick. Anyway... Wayne worked away on the screen. Tox was short for ‘Toxic’, right?

Er, Toxteth actually, but who’s countin’?

I put ‘toxic’ into the app. Take them words, and we get ‘Inf’, ‘Poison’, ‘Nox’, ‘Lethal’, ‘Ded’...

...‘Ded’, yeah I like that. Tox rolled the word around a few times. Ded, Ded-d-d, D-ded...

Sounds good.

I’ll go with ‘Nox’ then... Noooox...

No, mate, too much like your old handle.

Easy to spray, though. Where?

Over there? Wayne sighed, and indicated a doorway at the far side of the cloister. A good flat wall there, a biggun.

Yeah, like it. Chuck me the spray. You comin’?

You ain’t leavin’ me here.

The youths crossed the open lawn in the middle of the cloister. Wayne tripped drunkenly over a low retaining wall. Stupid place for leavin’ a rock, he muttered.

Yeah, that’s archeol— thingy; a collection of small walls, said Tox. "You’re a bit crunk, mate; watch your feet; don’t want to damage anything..."

Yeah, right. Wayne grinned stupidly. This wall, yeah?

Might have to practise a bit. I’ll start ’ere.

Tox raised the can and aimed the button to spray. There was a loud hiss; nothing came out of the nozzle. What the fuck? You got me an empty can?

Wave it about, innit.

I did. You think I’m stupid? Tox shook the can violently. The sound of the bearings, mixing the paint inside, echoed around the stonework.

Shhh. Wayne looked nervously around. It’s gotta be ready by now.

Tox nodded, and pressed the button again. A feeble dribble of paint ran over his hand. Nearly there... Bleedin’ ’ell...

"God ye good-den, er, canons?"

A dark shape appeared in the archway. The two boys stared. What the fuck is that?

Oh shit! Where did she come from? Wayne tried to back off. Shit, I can’t move!

Me neither. Some trick. Tox stared defiantly at the apparition. It stepped into the moonlight: a woman. She wore a rich, dark-coloured flowing robe, with a low-slung belt sporting a fancy buckle. Her head was covered by a gable hood, tightly framing her face. Luxuriant dark hair escaped onto her shoulders. In the moonlight, though, her flesh looked drawn and thin, showing the outlines of the bones beneath, and her eyes were sunken and haunted.

Who the f’k are you? Tox straightened his back.

"Do you not wot me, fathers?"

What, wot? We are not fathers. Er, I never touched that girl, whatever the scum say. Tox glanced behind him.

Not fathers? Then why art thou suited as priests?

What do you mean?

The cowls. She paused, staring intently at the youth.

Ah, what doth thou clepe them?

Ow! Tox’s hands went up, and he clasped the sides of his head. What did you do to me? What d’ya mean, Clepe?

Sorry, thou would say ‘call’ them. What do you call them? Ah, I see that you would refer to them as ‘hoodies’. A strange word. Then you are outlaws?

Oh, er, yeah, I guess. Anyway, no, we don’t wot, er, know you. Go on, surprise me. Tox forced a step towards her. The lady did not move.

I am Ankerita, lady of the abbey. She said her name with authority, as though they should know it.

The ruined building shimmered. The youths glanced around, bemused, and were suddenly free from the woman’s influence.

What the...? The words died on Tox’s lips as he took in the changes to the abbey. They were now standing in a transparent cloister. Complete walls, columns and doorways had appeared, but the outline of the ruins and the distant lights of the village could still be seen, as though the new structure was painted on lace.

Wayne whimpered.

It’s not real, you twat, hissed his friend. Are you messin’ up my head, missus? I felt you inside me. He fought to focus. We ain’t playing, your games, darlin’... Now leave us alone or I’ll tag you and your fancy clothes, as well as the walls.

I do not understand. The lady put her hands on her hips.

Tox raised the can defiantly. His finger rested on the actuator. Un’erstand this; you will piss off an’ leave us to do what we gotta do.

I cannot leave. Ankerita gazed sadly around at the transparent structures of the abbey.

Then cop a load...

Tox jabbed the button. There was a slight hiss, and more of the liquid ran over his hand.

A puzzled expression crossed her face. Prithee put aside thy kettle. It will do you no good.

She swept a gloved hand downwards. Tox yelled as the can split, and spewed red paint over his clothes.

You bitch. How did you do that? He lunged at the woman. His fingers passed through her body, as though it wasn’t there.

Wayne shrieked, and ran.

Stop, you moron. Tox yelled, his voice rising. Someone’s havin’ a laugh; it’s a hologram or somethin’.

His friend ignored him. He plunged towards the faint outline of the cloister wall... and vanished.

Pray pardon. The lady looked concerned.

What? Tox took a series of deep breaths.

My bosom is that the gent should not have run.

He’s a prat. I don’t need him. Anyway, what are you? And what’s this about your bosom? He ogled her chest.

The lady stared at him. Tox put his hands back to his head, and groaned. My bosom... you would call it... ‘a wish’. I see your hurly, er confusion. It is so difficult, working with your butchery of the fine language.

What sort of trick is this?

"No patchery meant, good sir. I have been staying for someone like you to release me from ‘Limbo Patrum’. Pray tell, what year is this?"

You are talking shit, lady.

What year? the voice commanded.

Tox’s mouth moved involuntarily. He told her the year, and the date and the day. He gave a nervous laugh. I don’t know how you did that, but you can stay out’a my head, right?

Ankerita’s face puckered. "Ah, so I have been in my cage toward five centuries. Long enough for any penance, I believe."

You are still talking bollocks.

No there is nothing religious about my words. The lady paused, and stabbed him with another look.

Ow. I said, don’t do that!

Her drawn features softened. Oh, I see, thou art talking about a new sense for the word. Peradventure, I should explain?

Oh, do go on, said Tox sarcastically. Anyway, if you are five hundred years old, how come I can understand you? I thought you old geezers all spoke a bit funny.

Ankerita nodded. Aye, I see you are apprehensive. The language was changing, even in my time. I spoke Latin and French, and both Old and then the New English, because the peasants were adopting it. But I am using what I see in thy mind, and trying to interpret. In the same way, I can understand thee, and thy strange mode of speech, which, I notice, thou seem to have largely abandoned, now thy cousin has gone.

Well, it’s image, innit? Tox relaxed. Anyway, tell me more, like what happened to Wayne... and he ain’t my cousin.

Thine uncle perchance? Alas, perhaps thou should not expect to see him again soon. The lady’s speech grew more confident as she formed the words.

Tox shrugged. Shit happens. He was a scrote, anyway. Go on then, what about you? You must’a been a real babe when you were younger. But I don’t mind. He tried to take hold of her arm, but his hand passed straight through again. So, you are a trick. Strange, though, you feel all cold and clammy. He pulled his hand back and shoved it in a pocket.

It is a serious history, I was perhaps not a good person. But do not misthink me. The lady smiled, and her ethereal hands rested on his shoulders. He relaxed. Do you feel better now?"

Warmer, said Tox. Anyway, you can’t be as bad as me.

Ankerita’s laugh echoed hollowly round the now solid stonework. The lights of the village had disappeared.

Tox touched a wall. What have you done to the place? It looks like it was never broken. Nice fake. I suppose this is what it used to look like. Clever tricks. I love technology. You should show me how it’s done.

You are really that bad? said the lady. I’m sure no worse than me. I was only condemned for sticking my feere... er, what you would now call, ‘husband’...

I ain’t done no murders, said Tox defensively. A few beatin’s perhaps, for respect, know what I mean.

Thou art only a nuthook then, said the lady. After my husband, Richard, died of the wound I gave him, I was forced to spend the rest of my life in this lodging. Her gloved hands swept scornfully round. The time I was locked in that chapel only helped to strengthen me. But I should have been free, instead of being caged as an anchoress.

A what?

Anchoress, she said tiredly. A religious hermit, if you like. My family was too powerful to permit the sheriff to apply the rope for my crime, so I was sealed in the abbey, to pass the rest of my days in penitence, and listen to the crack of the peasants and their petty woes, in exchange for alms. You would not believe what lot of doddypols they were.

Bum rap. Go on though, you interest me.

Ankerita smiled benevolently. You seem to understand my conject. You could well be the crossbiter I seek, after all these years. Come, as you wish to know more.

Tox apparently missed the ominous statement. Hang on; your name is Ankerita and you became an anchoress? Bit of a coincidence, yeah?

That was the name those gents gave me. My real name was... I’ve forgotten, it was so long ago. She looked thoughtful. Ten years they imprisoned me, but then they became impatient and helped me over to the other side with a noxious potage. Can you imagine that?

Tox shrugged again. I do just now. I’ve eaten Quorn curry as well. The rest of what you say is a load of crap, but shit happens. You got caught for the stabbin’ I guess. That was your mistake. Din’t happen to me.

Come then, through here.

Ankerita opened the door in the archway behind her, and they stepped into a small antechamber of the abbey church. She stood and held her palms out.

"See this room; this is where I killed my ‘lord’ and husband. He was beating me, for some imagined impropriety with Brother Frances, our house priest. He would not believe my innocence. It was injustice. Nobody accuses me falsely. I stuck him, in mood, happily..."

In mood, happily? Did you enjoy it?

The lady smiled. Alas, no. In your language, I mean I was very angry, and defended myself. The Law did not see it like that. I did not mean to kill him, merely to defend myself. It is important for you to know that.

Whatever.

Come in and see the minster. She went to one of a pair of solid wooden doors at the far side of the chamber, and pushed through.

Tox followed her. Hey, some place this is!

Rich furnishings decked the church. There were beautiful carvings, and reflected in many burning candles, the glint of gold. Tox absently tried to wipe the paint off his hand on the ornate curtain covering the door. More ran down his arm to take its place. Nice. He reached out and fingered a gold cross fixed to one of the massive support columns.

Ankerita shook her head. You should not take it. I can show you better things.

Tox grinned greedily, but left it in place, smearing paint on the stonework. Lead on, my lady, he said mockingly.

And, here is where I was graved. The woman ignored his sarcasm. They were afraid of me. They said they had seen my husband’s spectre telling them to punish me. One night, I think his family drugged me to make me appear dead, and they buried me apace, here in sanctified ground. They thought it would hold me. She pointed at a stone slab laid flat on the floor of the church.

Tox looked down. At his feet lay the tombstone of Ankerita, the lady now at his side. There’s no face in the image, he said. It’s just blank.

They dared not record my aspect, she replied. It was part of the enchantment to bind me to the earth. She gazed at the gravestone. The substance of the coffin kept me imprisoned. They hated me so much, you see, but feared me as well, and put the hex in place. They could not simply let me die for what I had done... She sighed. Let us continue.

Tox followed the lady as she glided through the deserted abbey, past tables covered with rich cloth, and under iron chandeliers ablaze with candles. He sniffed at the perfumes of rich spices and the wax on the wood, and greedily fingered more of the artefacts as he passed, leaving sticky fingerprints on priceless objects.

As they passed an altar, Tox fingered a richly decorated goblet. Ankerita saw the look on his face. Do not take it. It should remain within the abbey. If you want something, look underneath the table. I believe it has been mislaid by one of the laymen. If he wanted it, he would have returned.

This? He retrieved a small jewelled ceremonial dagger.

For you. Tox was too interested examining the item to notice the strange look on her face.

He slipped the prize into his pocket. Good for protecting myself, he muttered to himself, and for respect. They won’t cross me with that.

You will find more treasures up there, on the high altar, afterwards, but first you must see my prison.

What? Tox jumped, as Ankerita, now as substantial as the rest of the building, gently took his arm. His body shuddered. You feel cold.

It is difficult to take form. I need your energy. You are strong in that.

Well, don’t take too much.

She steered him into the east transept of the building, and paused at a barred door. Just here. Look. See what I had to endure.

Tox peered curiously into the room. There was a single candle burning on a simple altar, sparse furnishings, and the smell of human filth. He gasped. Inside, there was the kneeling figure of a woman. But...

You see it as it was, when I was in there. Ankerita’s voice was lighter, and the sound danced around the walls.

Tox stared at the lady beside him. You look different, younger somehow. What happened?

Ankerita was no longer thin and haggard as when he first met her. The face that regarded him, with a gentle smile on her lips, was that of a young, and hauntingly beautiful woman.

God you are lovely! No, Tox corrected himself, "you are well fit."

And you see me now, as before I was imprisoned, said the anchoress. Ten years is a long time. Death should have been a relief, but I could not rest. You see, I could not die under the bewitched stone covering my grave...

What happened to release you? Tox gaped at the enchanting presence of the woman at his side.

She exhaled, her breath creating clouds of vapour. "Recently, evil people started to damage the stone, and so it had to be taken away. I was joyous. I thought I would be able to die then, but instead, I was released into this state of semi-death. I have been walking here since, but only when the moon is up, giving me the strength, and never able to escape. I have been awaiting the right time, and the right person. I believe you are that. You are strong. You have the rare gift I