Black Ceremonies Read online

  “Sanctuary, I demand sanctuary,” he gasped, collapsing to his knees. He wrapped his arms around my legs, and, wheezing as if after a strenuous run, he begged, “For the love of God, grant me sanctuary, Father!”

  At any moment I expected to see a mob of pursuers come charging along the road, for he had the appearance of a man chased by Satan’s very hounds of hell.

  But there was no one else to be seen. Just this ragged old man, and his much-travelled haversack.

  “Have you a bed for an old man?” he asked. “It’ll be a bitterly cold night, Father, and there’s a storm coming. I can feel it, don’t you know?”

  I must admit I was rather taken aback by his request and his actions. Did he seek sanctuary or merely accommodation? I looked up at the sky – it was blue with a few white clouds. There was no indication of a storm brewing.

  “Have you not tried the village inn?” I asked, indicating Kirowan’s pub.

  “As they say, there’s no room at the inn. Besides I’d rather spend the night here in the church or under the roof of a man of God.” He released his hold on my legs and clasped his hands together.

  “I’d feel safer – for I’d dare say the inn is full of rogues, and if the Lord cannot protect me from those others, then no one can,” he said cryptically.

  “Surely you can find room for me,” he went on. “Or is there no such thing as Christian charity anymore?”

  “Have you broken the law, my son? Are the authorities seeking you?”

  “You must hear my confession,” was his reply. “I am not long for this world,” he muttered, as he rose from his knees.

  “God welcomes those who are prepared to repent of their sins, my son.” I told him piously, allowing him to enter.

  “Like as not, you’ll not believe me, but I swear to you, Father, that it’s the God’s honest truth, no word of a lie.”

  His shirt was ragged and so faded that I could not be sure what colour it had once been. A man obviously fallen on hard times. I could see tattoos on his arms. “You’re a sailor,” I guessed.

  “Aye, Father, you’re right at that. Patrick Crawford is my name.”

  “You’re aways from the sea.”

  “Not far enough, Father.” He shuddered, then muttered again, “not far enough,” looking around the church, as if there were someone or perhaps something hidden, about to pounce upon him.

  “Oh?” I was, I admit, curious.

  He seemed satisfied that we were alone, and he sat down on a pew. “A sailor, yes, and I’ve sailed all over. But I’ll never go near the sea again.”

  And so Crawford began to recount a most remarkably wicked tale of a life of sin.

  “I’ve sailed the seven seas, Father, travelled far and wide. Been to some strange places, too, the Americas, Africa, and the Indies, the Near East, and the far reaches of the Orient. And, believe me; I’ve seen some strange things in my time. But none so strange as that last time in the South Seas.

  “I was serving on board the brig Mary-Anne at the time.”

  I interrupted, “Perhaps we should move to the confessional, Mr Crawford.”

  But the old sailor ignored my suggestion, so I seated myself, content to listen to his story. I must admit I am somewhat partial to a good yarn.

  “We’d had a successful trip trading among the islands of the South Pacific, when we were hit by the storm. It came on all of sudden, no warning. One moment we’re sailing along, perfect conditions, and then whoosh, it hits us. Unnatural, it were. Now I’ve seen some storms in my time, but this one, I’ve never seen the like before.

  “Terrible, it were. Almost, you could say, of biblical proportions. Neptune were in a right temper.”

  Recalling where he was, and who he was talking to, the old sailor coughed. “Er, pardon me, Father, rather I mean God was.”

  I nodded and indicated that he should continue.

  “A roaring tempest, it was. The storm raged, the ship was tossed about, the sails were torn and the masts broken. We was taking on water, and men were being washed overboard. The ship was doomed.” The seaman paused momentarily, shaking his head, remembering what would have been a truly terrifying experience.

  “It was a storm that by rights no one should have survived. But somehow, three of us did. As well as myself, there was the ship’s cook, a Lascar by the name of Ali – to tell the truth I’m not even sure that Ali was his real name, but it’s what everyone called him nevertheless – and a deck hand, a Cornish man called Jake Webster. Just the three of us, all adrift in this little boat.

  “The storm had passed, but there was no sign of any other lifeboats, or any wreckage. And, for all I know, we were the only ones that had survived.

  “But how we were still alive and not drowned, or ended up as some shark’s dinner, I do not know. A miracle, I suppose that’s what it was, a bloody miracle. Thank the Lord.

  “We drifted for days – I lost count of how many. It seemed endless at the time. Nothing but us and the sea. We had run out of food and fresh water when we finally sighted land. We were delirious by then, and thought it was a hallucination. For there should have been no islands in those parts, unless we were even farther off course than we thought. Besides, we did not have the strength to even try and paddle our way to it.

  “But luck was with us, and the current took us in the right direction, and we washed up on the beach. Although at the time, I had the strangest feeling that someone, or rather something, was swimming alongside us, guiding our course. At the time, I put that down to my poor condition. Although, now, I’m not so sure my first impression was not correct.”

  Again the old sailor became briefly distant, lost in his memories. I waited patiently, and before long, Crawford resumed his story.

  “Anyhow, as I say, we washed up on this beach, and mighty relieved we were to find that it was a real island. We staggered out of the boat, unsteady on our legs after all that time in our little craft. And all of a sudden there are these people coming down to the beach. Well, we were a bit worried like, ’cause sometimes some of the tribes you get on these islands are pretty savage. And really, we were in no fit state for a fight.

  “But I still had my cutlass, and Ali his favourite meat cleaver, that he had somehow held onto despite everything. And young Jake was a big lad, and pretty handy with his fists.

  “But would you believe it, we needn’t have been so worried. You see these islanders were all women. Beautiful, dusky maidens. And, boy, did they make us welcome! Couldn’t do enough for us, treated us like kings! Let’s just say they were real friendly like, if you get my meaning, Father.” For a moment, I thought the sailor was going to have the audacity to wink at me, instead he grinned lewdly.

  “Didn’t speak a word of English, though, but it didn’t matter. I mean, if they had, you can bet, as I told Jake, that it wouldn’t be long before they’d start nagging us. Anyhow, they seemed to know whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it.”

  Despite my frown, the mariner’s grin grew broader.

  “My dreams had come true, although I suppose part of me did not really believe it was real. I had been studying the positions of the stars, but they did not make sense. Their alignments were all wrong, and they were wildly different each night. I thought it was a dream and that I was still really drifting at sea in that little lifeboat, or maybe I was dead, and gone to Heaven. Where were their men folk? I wondered but never really let it concern me. Here we were on this luxurious tropical island surrounded by beautiful, willing, subservient women.

  “We all had our favourites among the women. I was particularly fond of a real beauty whose name was Nia. Long, dark tresses, lovely blue eyes, and a perfect smile. And what a body!” the old sailor sketched a figure with his hands.

  Finally realising I was frowning; he hurried on with his tale.

  “We must have spent a fortnight there, by which time we had well and truly recovered from our ordeal. I don’t think any of us had thoughts of leaving. It was Paradise, you see
.” He sighed, “Little did we know that we were soon to leave our Garden of Eden and go to Hell.

  “On what was to turn out to be our last night on the island, the women held some kind of religious ceremony. Unexpectedly, afterwards there was another terrible storm akin to the one that had wrecked the Mary-Anne.

  “I’d noticed that, during the ceremony, some of the women wore exotic jewellery – Nia among them – and naturally I was curious as to how they had come by it.

  “I managed to make my interest clear to Nia, and she indicated that it had come from another island. That news took me by surprise. There were no other islands visible from our side of the island, and neither myself, Ali or Jake, had bothered to explore very far inland. Life, ye see, was far too pleasurable for us to bother with such things. The possibility that there were other islands beyond this one hadn’t even occurred to us.

  “Of course, I indicated that I wanted to be taken there. And like everything else I had wanted since landing on the island, my wish was granted.

  “The storm raged long into the night, and I feared the village would be blown away. But the next day dawned bright and clear. The sea was calm, and, remarkably, the village was undamaged.

  “I had not expected that everyone from the village would set off in a flotilla of canoes to this other island. I had not even intended telling Ali or Jake what I planned.

  “And so it was that our stay in Paradise came to an end.

  “This other island was farther away than I had expected, and I dozed on the voyage, as must have Ali and Jake.

  “When Nia roused me, we had arrived. It was clear that we were on a very different island. I have already said that, by rights, there didn’t ought to be any islands in those waters, and where they took us to, didn’t ought to exist anywhere.

  “I think all three of us sensed that this was a bad place to be. I suppose we should have got in one of the canoes and left straight away, but no one wanted to let on how scared he was. Besides, there was the lure of finding some of that jewellery of such strange design. And the women were eager to show us this new island, urging us on.”

  I was taken aback by Crawford’s sudden wail. “How could we have known they were those sirens of the old sea legends?” The sailor’s expression was genuinely pained.

  I began to point out that he should have been all too aware of the treacherous nature of the seductress, but he forestalled me. “No sermons, please, Father.”

  I had already realised he was not really making a confession in the traditional sense, so I acquiesced. “Very well. Tell me about this island. If I understand you right, it is this island that you mean to liken to hell itself.”

  He took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “I been in some queer places, believe me. But this island – who would have thought it possible? There was a city of sorts, but them buildings were all wrong. Built of obsidian, and basalt, even some of coral, and a strange green stone, the like of which I ain’t never seen before.

  “It’s hard to explain. I mean, there were bits that reminded me of them pyramids like what they have in Egypt. And in parts, it reminded me of some of them queer temples they have in India.

  “We wandered around in silent awe, unable to believe our eyes. There was something not right about them buildings. They didn’t seem to fit together quite right, if you get my meaning? No, of course you wouldn’t … It was all real confusing. Maybe I wasn’t as recovered as I had thought. Maybe I was suffering some sort of delusions brought on by my ordeal of drifting at sea.

  “The angles were wrong, and you could never be sure how big they were really. Some seemed smaller inside than they should have been, whilst others had rooms that were so big they should not have fit inside the walls that contained them.

  “There were minarets and spires, and such like. Oh, it were mighty strange, especially all them queer statues.

  “They was like them heathen Egyptian gods, part man and part animal. Their bodies were like that of a man but with a pair of wings upon the back. And for a head, an octopus of some kind. Hideous, yet the women regarded them with great reverence.

  “There was something else equally disturbing that I noticed. Despite the warmth of the sun, the buildings were all wet.

  “There were crustaceans of barnacles and things. And everything was covered in seaweed and wrack. Puddles of seawater teemed with fish, crabs and other such creatures from the deeps.

  “I had no doubt that this island had not long before been beneath the sea, and had risen from the deeps only recently. Who knows, it may have been drowned Atlantis, and maybe it weren’t. The sea’s claimed more than one place for its own.

  “Although I had assumed the island was uninhabited, I soon learned that I was wrong.

  “We heard them before we saw them. Drawn by the beating of drums, and the wailing sound of horns fashioned from conch shells, we discovered that the unnatural buildings were as nothing as to those that lived in them.

  “They were men, I suppose,” Crawford shuddered, “at least some of them were. But they were the ugliest race of men I have ever seen. Their features reminded me of fish, frogs, seals and turtles. They had scaly skin, greyish-green in colour. And the bulging eyes, and gills, Father.” The old sailor was becoming agitated.

  “Most had gangling arms that ended in webbed hands. But some had tentacles instead of arms. I swear!” Crawford had risen and was pacing around now.

  “They were bad enough, but worst of them all was—” Suddenly the mariner wailed. “God help me, but it should not have been possible. Father, he was at least eight feet tall, and he wore yellow robes and a real fancy crown on his octopus head. I think he was their king, or maybe their high priest.”

  “Octopus head?”

  “That’s right, Father.” He grasped hold of me; put his face close to mine. Madness shone in his eyes, but I managed not to recoil from him. “Eight slimy tentacles protruded from his hideous face. Imagine it, Father. Just imagine it!”

  Abruptly his mood changed. He loosed his grip and stepped back. He looked at me slyly. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Suddenly, he reached for his bag and rummaged around in it. After a moment he pulled out a bundle wrapped in a piece of tattered yellow cloth. “Well, just you take a look at this then,” he said, unwrapping the bundle to reveal an ostentatious piece of jewellery.

  It was a crown of sorts, tall, and bejewelled with a mixture of pearls and diamonds, and a jade figure of some loathsome octopoid idol.

  I had never seen the like before, and it occurred to me that it would take great skill to wear it balanced upon the head.

  “Here,” my guest said, “you’re a priest – you try it on.” Reluctantly, I tried to do so, and I could not get it to sit right. It was as if it had been specially designed for a particular person, an individual with a most peculiarly shaped head indeed.

  “You see?” Crawford said eagerly.

  “It’s an unusual piece, I’ll admit.” But it did not mean his story was true. Yet, on the other hand, where else could he have got it from?

  I studied the crown closely. I am no expert, but it certainly appeared to me that it was of great value. But as I did so, I shuddered. I suddenly felt quite repelled by the item. I knew without question that it was unwholesome, and I quickly handed it back.

  “It is an evil thing, my son,” I told him. “You would do well to be rid of it.” I was quite relieved when Crawford covered it again, and returned it to his haversack. He then sat down again and continued his tale.

  “It was plain that there was a ceremony going on. But it weren’t orderly, like your Catholic ceremonies. No sir, Father, it was a racket of grunting and croaking, squawking, groaning, howling, screeching, shrieking, yelping and baying. A right awful din that no man should have to hear. Yet, I still hear it, when they are close.”

  Crawford paused in his narration to listen. “They are coming for me. They are coming for me!”

  “Calm down, my son. No one can ta
ke you from God’s holy house. You are safe here.”

  Eventually he grew calmer and I asked him to recommence his account of what happened on that strange South Sea island.

  “When they spotted us, they fell silent. Then a group of them came to meet us. And we were escorted into the heart of this weird gathering.

  “I said that the maidens of the first island could not speak English. But they sure could communicate with this bunch. We watched, and they bowed full length on the ground before these Atlantis folk, or whatever they were. Reluctantly, we knew we better do likewise.”

  “Atlanteans,” I said.

  “Eh?” Crawford frowned at the unfamiliar word.

  “If this was indeed Atlantis – and that name will suffice for want of another – they would be Atlanteans,” I explained.

  “Oh, right. Well, whatever they were, the priest-king motioned for us to rise, and then beckoned my Nia forward. Already shocked by what we had seen, we were in for a further surprise when we realised what was in store for us.

  “Obediently she went to him, then knelt before him. Again she was commanded to rise. And then this priest or king, whatever he was, reached out and caressed her with his arm. It moved like a snake, like it had no bones! First it touched her face, and then her body. I knew what their priest-king intended. Can you believe the disgust I felt, Father?”

  He did not wait for me to reply.

  “Well, it got lots worse once I saw that Nia was more than willing to partner this freakish thing. Around us, the other women were finding partners among the monstrous creatures, and it was obvious that they expected us to do likewise, for there were females among this ugly race.

  “Well, there was no way I was willingly going to lie down with any of them heathens. And one look at my companions told me they were in agreement.”

  “It is often too late when we realise the error of our licentious ways,” I said, but I do not think he heard me.