Damien Westcliffe: A Night At the Races

By Brian Routledge

Damien Westcliffe, a Sports Exorcist, is drawn into a complex series of events spanning the whole of the 20th Century by a young girl fearing she is under a curse. He must not only find a way to save the girl but also change the course of history in order to avoid the destruction of all known universes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244681319

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Damien Westcliffe: A Night At the Races

Damien Westcliffe: A Night At the Races

Copyright

Copyright © 2018 by Brian Routledge

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2018

ISBN: 978-0-244-68131-9

Published by Brian Routledge

[e-mail]

Copies of this book may also be obtained directly from the publisher at the above listed e-mail address.

About the Author

Brian was born and grew up near London. He is married to Sue and has three children. He lives and works in The Netherlands and has also lived in Germany.

Brian also has a blog site,

www.papernpen649515229.wordpress.com

where other stories and similar can be found.

Christopher, his middle child, is a child with Pitt-Hopkins Syndrome. Any proceeds made from this book will be donated to Pitt Hopkins UK, the charity he helped found and of which he is a trustee.

www.pitthopkins.org.uk

Acknowledgement

My thanks to Andrew, the true father and inspiration behind Damien Westcliffe.

I have merely taken the character and given him a life.

Preface

All grammatical, syntactical and lexicological errors are all my own work.

Prologue

Since the beginning of time, one question has remained unanswered. What is the nature and purpose of life?

’Is this all?’ is the eternal cry. ’There must be something other than this!’

The presence of the Other has been described, as spirit, emotion, coincidence or karma. Inanimate objects have been imbued with spirits, creatures having supernatural powers postulated, the influence of the Sun, Moon and stars invoked and above all else, Gods created, to try and understand why we are here and explain what happens as well as to account for the Other.

It is the interplay between the Other and this world that has a certain influence on or even controls our daily lives. A low level of leakage exists between our world and the Other but the two worlds have learnt to co-exist, mostly by ignoring each other.

Occasionally, either by design or by error, the two worlds interact.

Above and beyond, another truth prevails; an eternal struggle bestrides all worlds between Good and Evil.

Man, aware of Good and Evil within himself, has sought to tap and control the reservoir of Good and Evil present in the Other, either, in the former, by religion armed with faith and devotion or, in the latter, through spells or rituals. In the case of Good, this has produced, amongst many things, health, wealth, literacy, tolerance and happiness. In the case of Evil, fear, chaos and anarchy are created and it is a rear-guard action by the supporters of Good to mitigate and oppose these effects. Mostly, the fight against Evil has been firefighting and door bolting.

Modern science has made huge progress in understanding the basic mechanisms of the material Universe and seeks to explain reality in terms of what can be measured and observed. Especially in the 20th Century, Man has turned to science for answers and ridiculed the idea of the Other.

Modern science finds no place for religion in its worldview and as faith in science has increased, the influence of religion has diminished, leaving the watchtowers empty and the gates unguarded.

In the past, the champions of Good once were venerated, admired and their example followed but now a new class of world-wide heroes, international sportsmen and women, has emerged and replaced them. They have hundreds if not thousands of followers who hang on their every word, follow their fashions and copy their behaviour. Faith and devotion has been deflected from their true purpose and channelled in a different direction. Evil took notice.

However, it is the sports fans that Evil has truly seduced. They are encouraged to attend the sporting cathedrals once a week, sing praises to their team, beatify their heroes and donate generously to the Gift Shop. Sport has become the new religion and it is an undefended conduit.

Most people are aware of the Other in their lives but talking with friends of God, ghosts, demons or star signs is to be branded ’ignorant’, ’old-fashioned’ or just plain ’odd’.

A few people are more sensitive to the presence of the Other and willingly explore this facet of their being. They become the priests and pastors, the wise men and the gurus of society. A few even believe Evil will triumph and welcome it with all the consequences.

All seek to live life to the fullest, embracing elements from this world and the Other.

Some spread Good wherever they go. Some become generals in the eternal battle, holding back Evil wherever they find it. Some like to cause trouble because they can. Some just want a job. Most get damaged in the process.

Damien Westcliffe is such a person.

Chapter 1

The winter had been cold and dark but with the approaching Spring Equinox, the first hints of warmth could be felt in the air and the dark foreboding skeletons of the trees were showing the first faint hint of green as the new life emerged. Breath no longer condensed into damp clouds and coats were worn unbuttoned a little.

This particular day, the lack of sunlight added to the sombre atmosphere with the grey sky matching the hues of the headstones in the local cemetery and the decaying flower bunches reflecting the fate of those they’d been placed to remember.

Damien had recently developed habits he’d never exhibited prior to her death. Now a brisk morning walk every day to buy a paper took him through the cemetery and past her final resting place. If he wasn’t working and the sun was shining, he’d sit on the bench closest to her, framed by the horse chestnut trees, and read his paper. He enjoyed the time to himself, to think but on other days he would think of nothing and just watch people doing ordinary things, living their ordinary lives.

If you sat long and frequently enough, you became aware of the cemetery community. Far from being a place of the dead, it was a place of life where Nature thrived. Countless species of birds, small mammals, foxes, amphibians and the local feral cats regularly ignored Damien as he sat immersed in his paper.

Suited city workers silently passed the gravestones on their way to the local bus stop followed shortly afterwards by harassed mothers, dragging reluctant school children towards their compulsory education establishments.

At lunchtime, the local office workers sat on the weathered wooden benches and ate their sandwiches.

Afternoons were the reverse. The returning schoolkids rushed ahead to get home quickly to watch their favourite television programmes and finally the weary city drones returned to the shelter and anonymity of their suburban hives.

From the early days of Spring to late Autumn, young love flourished on the benches.

Damien observed them all.

Clutching the newly purchased daily newspaper in his gloved hand, Damien retraced his steps along the winding cemetery path, nodding to the odd passer-by who made eye contact. It was too cold to stop and chat, even if he’d any desire to do so, which he didn’t.

His pace slackened momentarily and his attention fell on an approaching headstone.

Morning, he said, as he passed before picking up the pace again.

Opposite the cemetery, was a café. Another habit he’d developed was that when the weather wasn’t suitable for sitting in the cemetery, his paper reading ritual took place at the table in the far corner of the café.  It was secluded, comfortable and quiet. It ticked his boxes. The blast of warm air as he opened the door contrasted with the chill outside and provided a welcome relief.

His usual mug of steaming coffee (white, two sugars) was ready by the time he arrived at the service counter.

Cold this morning, Mary, he commented to the middle aged, ruddy faced somewhat rotund proprietor of the premises, picking up his beverage after removing his gloves.

Nice to see you again, my love, came the cheerful reply. Can I do you some toast?  It was the same ritual every time.

No thanks, just the coffee, said Damien, settling into his customary seat, removing his scarf and hat and spreading out the paper.

After skimming through the front page stories, he took his first swig of the hot beverage and scanned the café to document the other occupants. It was a game he regularly played.

Big Willie, the scaffolder, his fraying tartan scarf loose around his neck, was consuming his ’Scottish breakfast’ of porridge , 4 bacon rashers (minimum) and 3 fried eggs. Damien watched the man pour the contents of a large teapot, presumably for consumption later in the day, into a Glasgow Rangers thermos flask that clearly had been bought when the club were at the height of their powers but now, like the club, was somewhat battered and dented.

At another table, Mr Smith and Mrs Jones, as christened by Damien, sat opposite each other, deep in intimate conversation. Mr Smith reached forward and tenderly moved the strand of hair that had fallen forward and partially covered his companions face. Mrs Jones played nervously with her wedding ring. Damien, on occasion, speculated what might happen if Mr Jones should desire a mid-morning doughnut.

A young woman sat at a table by the door. Damien estimated she could be late teens to early twenties. Dressed in the common uniform of faded jeans and anorak, she also wore a large woollen hat over her ears and low on her forehead, which given the café warmth, seemed to Damien, to be a little odd. She was concentrating on her smartphone, fingers and thumbs moving with high speed and great dexterity, as is the practice of her generation.

Damien noted that occasionally she would glance up and look directly at him. When their eyes finally met, she immediately thrust her phone into a pocket, stood up, seized the small brown suitcase from the seat next to her and hurriedly left the café. He felt sure he recognised her from somewhere.

Strange, thought Damien, turning to the sports section that formed his main interest. He studied the football, rugby and cricket pages and perceived no signs or indications of anything amiss. Work had been slower than usual during the winter months. A spiritual cleansing of the MCC ’A’ team prior to their tour to India had been his main pre-Christmas focus but the early part of the year had been relatively quiet. That probably was a portent of imminent doom.

The paper was full of articles on the impending Grand National. Many column inches and numerous reports focused on the riders, trainers, owners and the obligatory fence by fence description of the course.

His interest was more professional than aficionado. Horse racing may be described as the ’Sport of Kings’ but it inevitably brings out the worst in human nature. Deceit, cheating, blackmail and corruption are all rife beneath the veneer of civility that the British Jockey Club likes to portray. When and where these doors are allowed open, evil forces lurk looking for an outlet, plotting and growing in strength. Such is the world of Damien Westcliffe.

The caffeine had the desired effect. Damien closed his eyes allowing the chemical stimulant to embrace him. Some people are naturally more sensitive to the spiritual than others and maybe it’d been this characteristic that initially led him to train as a priest. The ability