Read Online The Ghosts of Sleath by James Herbert - Free Book Online
Authors: James Herbert
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his eyes rapidly against the sun, but the figure was gone once more, leaving him to wonder if it hadn’t been imagined.
Ash touched his forehead with the fingertips of both hands, applying soft pressure as if to ease away a pain. But it was his own agitation that he was trying to soothe. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked intently at the path.
There had been someone there, he was sure of it. And that someone must have seen him. Why, then, would they dodge out of sight?
Ash retraced his steps along the path, branching off where a small track led through the graves towards the rear of thechurch. Rain gargoyles peered down from points along the edge of the pitched roof, their grins seeming to mock. Suddenly cautious and not sure why, he slowed down as he approached the corner of the church.
He almost came to a halt, for he sensed that someone was waiting there, just out of sight.
Annoyed with himself, he picked up his step, hurrying now, as if anxious to confront whoever was in the graveyard with him. He knew he was being irrational, that this person had as much right as he to be on church ground; but then why would they try to avoid him, why hide away like this?
He reached the corner. He turned it. And stopped dead.
7
S HE WORE A WHITE unbuttoned shirt over a T-shirt and pale blue skirt, and her eyes, a slightly lighter shade of blue than the skirt, showed such abject fear that Ash raised a placating hand towards her.
They stared at each other, neither one moving or speaking for several moments.
Ash was stunned. And perplexed. It was as if an invasive energy had overwhelmed his thoughts, leaving him mentally cowed. He consciously pushed back, exerting his will against the inexplicable pressure, and in an instant his mind was free, his thoughts were his own again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he found himself saying.
‘What?’ She shook her head uncomprehendingly.
‘I must have frightened you.’ Or vice versa , he told himself.
The woman straightened, her chin lifting as though she were reasserting herself. She was slim, fine-boned, her light-brown hair swept back in a tail that curled forward over her shoulder. In her hand she held a small bunch of flowers.
‘You didn’t.’ There was an edginess to her denial though, and her eyes betrayed her confusion.
Ash felt the same confusion. Awkwardly, he said, ‘I’m looking for the vicar. Reverend Lockwood?’
‘Oh.’ She seemed to relax a little, although the uncertaintywas still there in her eyes. ‘You won’t find him here at this hour.’
She looked past him and Ash realized he had boxed her in, for the church wall was L-shaped, the building continuing on for several yards. Directly behind her was a narrow door, perhaps leading to St Giles’ sacristy. He casually moved aside, allowing her a psychological route of escape, and wasn’t surprised when she took a few steps forward to be in clear space. It was an interesting ritual and Ash wondered if the woman was as aware as he of the behavioural dance. Her guarded smile suggested she was.
‘Reverend Lockwood will be on his rounds, visiting some of the older parishioners,’ she explained. ‘It’ll be lunchtime soon, though, so he’ll be returning to the vicarage before too long.’
‘Ah.’ He found he had nothing more to say; he was still disturbed by the odd sensation a few moments earlier.
Perhaps sensing his confusion, the woman spoke again. ‘Is Reverend Lockwood expecting you?’ She surprised him when her smile broadened and she visibly relaxed. ‘Of course. You’re David Ash, aren’t you? You’re from the Psychical Research Institute.’
‘Yes. How …?’ He let the question hang in the air.
‘I was the one who contacted Kate McCarrick at the Institute on behalf of my father. I’m Grace Lockwood, the Reverend Lockwood’s daughter.’
She transferred the flowers she held to her left hand and moved towards him, holding out her right. He took it and felt a mild shock of
Ash touched his forehead with the fingertips of both hands, applying soft pressure as if to ease away a pain. But it was his own agitation that he was trying to soothe. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked intently at the path.
There had been someone there, he was sure of it. And that someone must have seen him. Why, then, would they dodge out of sight?
Ash retraced his steps along the path, branching off where a small track led through the graves towards the rear of thechurch. Rain gargoyles peered down from points along the edge of the pitched roof, their grins seeming to mock. Suddenly cautious and not sure why, he slowed down as he approached the corner of the church.
He almost came to a halt, for he sensed that someone was waiting there, just out of sight.
Annoyed with himself, he picked up his step, hurrying now, as if anxious to confront whoever was in the graveyard with him. He knew he was being irrational, that this person had as much right as he to be on church ground; but then why would they try to avoid him, why hide away like this?
He reached the corner. He turned it. And stopped dead.
7
S HE WORE A WHITE unbuttoned shirt over a T-shirt and pale blue skirt, and her eyes, a slightly lighter shade of blue than the skirt, showed such abject fear that Ash raised a placating hand towards her.
They stared at each other, neither one moving or speaking for several moments.
Ash was stunned. And perplexed. It was as if an invasive energy had overwhelmed his thoughts, leaving him mentally cowed. He consciously pushed back, exerting his will against the inexplicable pressure, and in an instant his mind was free, his thoughts were his own again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he found himself saying.
‘What?’ She shook her head uncomprehendingly.
‘I must have frightened you.’ Or vice versa , he told himself.
The woman straightened, her chin lifting as though she were reasserting herself. She was slim, fine-boned, her light-brown hair swept back in a tail that curled forward over her shoulder. In her hand she held a small bunch of flowers.
‘You didn’t.’ There was an edginess to her denial though, and her eyes betrayed her confusion.
Ash felt the same confusion. Awkwardly, he said, ‘I’m looking for the vicar. Reverend Lockwood?’
‘Oh.’ She seemed to relax a little, although the uncertaintywas still there in her eyes. ‘You won’t find him here at this hour.’
She looked past him and Ash realized he had boxed her in, for the church wall was L-shaped, the building continuing on for several yards. Directly behind her was a narrow door, perhaps leading to St Giles’ sacristy. He casually moved aside, allowing her a psychological route of escape, and wasn’t surprised when she took a few steps forward to be in clear space. It was an interesting ritual and Ash wondered if the woman was as aware as he of the behavioural dance. Her guarded smile suggested she was.
‘Reverend Lockwood will be on his rounds, visiting some of the older parishioners,’ she explained. ‘It’ll be lunchtime soon, though, so he’ll be returning to the vicarage before too long.’
‘Ah.’ He found he had nothing more to say; he was still disturbed by the odd sensation a few moments earlier.
Perhaps sensing his confusion, the woman spoke again. ‘Is Reverend Lockwood expecting you?’ She surprised him when her smile broadened and she visibly relaxed. ‘Of course. You’re David Ash, aren’t you? You’re from the Psychical Research Institute.’
‘Yes. How …?’ He let the question hang in the air.
‘I was the one who contacted Kate McCarrick at the Institute on behalf of my father. I’m Grace Lockwood, the Reverend Lockwood’s daughter.’
She transferred the flowers she held to her left hand and moved towards him, holding out her right. He took it and felt a mild shock of
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