Tormented

Book summary

In "Tormented," Vincent Goddard, unaware of his father's perilous experiments, faces the malevolent forces unleashed within his ancestral home, Mandrake Hall, in eighteenth-century England. A rising death toll forces the church to send a specialized team to contain the horrors. Vincent, torn by his father's legacy, must ally with the church's hunters to protect his family. As he battles relentless evil, he grapples with life's harsh truths. Will he triumph in this harrowing battle against the darkness?

Excerpt from Tormented

It was late afternoon, and the autumn sun was already on the wane. The wind was brisk, and whipped through the trees, shaking the loose leaves free, freeing them to flutter down to the ground.

As the sombre funeral procession emerged from the clump of trees which separated the local church from the graveyard, the horse that pulled the cart which housed the coffin, reared up, and let out a loud whinny.

The coffin slid back and was only prevented from sliding off the cart by the low ridge of the back plate which had been bolted into place.

The horse stopped, dead in its tracks, clearly not keen to walk on any further.

The driver of the cart jumped down, and immediately grabbed hold of its bridle, gripping it tightly with both hands. Fearing his horse may try to bolt, he leaned in closely and whispered words of comfort as he patted its flank in order to entice the beast to calm down.

Eventually, the horse relaxed, and moved forward.

The two gravediggers stood nearby, leaning on their shovels. The first half of their labours already complete. The coffin held the body of the eldest daughter of Samuel Grant, a farm worker from the other side of the village.

She had only been a slight girl, barely five foot tall, so the size of the hole dug for her coffin matched, accordingly.

The procession walking behind the cart consisted of Samuel Grant and his wife, Sophie. Their youngest daughter Daisy. The four pall bearers, and the priest, Father John James.

Behind those gathered walked another man, who kept several paces behind the official party. He wore a long cloak and hood which came down over his face, and in his hand, he carried a dark brown leather bag.

The driver, still walking beside his horse, pulled it up when they were still several feet from the grave.

Two of the pallbearers climbed into the cart and released the back flap, sliding the coffin towards their colleagues who had positioned themselves on the ground at the back of the cart.

Together, the four men slid the coffin over the edge until the two on the ground had a firm hold of it, then the other two balanced the rear of the wooden box on the back of the cart, before jumping down and taking up their positions.

The four men worked in silence. They did not dress in Sunday best for the task, but remained in their working attire, knowing that this job would not be a clean one.

Together, they carried the coffin towards the grave, and placed it gently down on the soft earth.

Everyone gathered round as the priest began to say the prayers for the dead.

He knew them off by heart, having recited them many hundreds of times during his long career. But, even so, he still insisted on reading them from the pages of his book, like a novice.

As Father James spoke, from behind he could hear Sophie Grant crying.

Samuel wrapped his arms around both his wife and daughter and held them tightly to his chest. The two women sobbed into his shirt. Samuel raised his head to heaven in the hope that his own tears would not fall on his wife and daughter, he knew he had to be strong for them both.

Their grief being shared made it no less painful for any of them.

The priest continued with his sombre words. Both gravediggers knew from past experience that he was coming to the end of his prayers. Soon it would be their turn to take over and replace the dirt they had removed that morning.

The cloaked figure who had followed the procession in, still stood several feet behind the rest of the gathering, his head bowed, and his bag on the floor beside him.

Once the priest had finished, he turned back and looked over at Samuel.

Blinking away his tears, Samuel nodded his head.

Father James moved away from the grave and signalled for the bearers to place the coffin inside. As they settled their ropes under the coffin, in order to lift it into the hole, Sophie broke away from her husband and ran to the grave.

She fell to her knees and flung her arms over her daughter’s coffin sobbing uncontrollably.

Samuel moved in and lifted his grieving wife off the floor. For a moment she fought against him, struggling to break free. But eventually she relented and allowed him to hold her once more.

Father James moved in closer to the couple. “Do not grieve my child,” he said, comfortingly. “She is with God now, and free from all the danger and evil in this world.”

Samuel looked at the priest and nodded his thanks.

He took his wife back to where their daughter was standing and held them both.

Father James signalled for the pallbearers to continue with their task. He four men lifted the ropes which supported the coffin, and gently lowered it into the hole.

Once the coffin was out of sight, Samuel turned, taking his wife and surviving daughter with him, and set off for home.

Everyone else gathered at the gravesite watched them go.

As the three of them entered the clump of trees which surrounded the graveyard, Father James looked to the western sky. The sun was about to set, and from the east the sky had already changed to a dark grey hue.

He waited until the three mourners were out of sight, and earshot.

The pallbearers, still holding the end of the ropes, waited for his command before they took the strain and hefted the coffin back up, out of the hole.

They placed it gently back on the ground.

The mysterious cloaked figure moved forward to join the others.

One of the gravediggers came forward with an iron bar and, once Father James gave him permission, slid one end of it under the wooden lid of the coffin, and put all his weight on the other end.

The wood began to crack as the bar fought against the nails keeping the lid down.

Finally, it gave.

The gravedigger stopped and pulled the bar out, then placed it under the lid further down the coffin and used his weight as before.

This time the lid gave more quickly, already weakened by his initial effort.

He continued with his task until the entire lid was raised, then the pallbearers moved in and together they lifted the lid clean off the coffin.

The angelic figure of Mary Grant dressed in white, lay in situ, her eyes closed.

Suddenly, her eyelids shot open, revealing a glassy stare which turned the priest’s blood to ice.

The pallbearers and the gravediggers all took a step back, and turned towards the cloaked figure, who moved forward and removed his cowl.

Mathew Hammond had what most people referred to as a stern countenance, with a short grey beard, and thick wiry hair of the same colour. His eyebrows too were abundant and bushy, and seemed to point downwards towards his nose, as if he wore a permanent frown.

He opened his bag and plunged his hand inside, removing a large wooden stake and a stout hammer.

Upon seeing the two implements, Mary Grant opened her mouth, baring two elongated canines, and hissed at the figure above her.

Before she had a chance to move, Mathew dropped to his knees beside the coffin, and raised the wooden stake high above his head, before plunging it into Mary’s chest.

Mary screamed.

It was not the normal sound of a girl screaming, but a guttural, almost inhuman emanation which seemed to fill the very air around them.

Mathew brought the hammer down hard on top of the stake, driving it deeper into the hapless girl’s chest. He swung it three more times until he could hear the point reaching the wooden base of the coffin.

The figure of Mary Grant lay, as she first appeared, with her eyes closed and the angelic look of a young girl at peace.

Mathew stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He turned to Father James. “It is done!” he informed him.

The priest made the sign of the cross and signalled for the men around him to continue with their work.

The lid was positioned back on the coffin, with the top of the stake sticking out from the young girl’s chest, and the nails were hammered back into place.

Mathew and Father James stood back and waited for the coffin to be lowered back into the ground, then the priest said the last of his prayers while the gravediggers filled the hole with earth.

Once the deed was complete, all the men piled into the wagon, and were taken to the nearest inn, The Wild Boar, for a well-earned drink.

When they opened the door of the inn and stepped inside, everyone already there stopped their conversations and turned their heads to look at the newcomers.

Father James scanned the room for Samuel Grant, but to his relief, the man was nowhere to be seen. Although there were several of his friends and fellow workers scattered around the room.

They all know where the men had been, and, more importantly, what task they had undertaken.

None of them envied the new arrivals.

Mathew Hammond strode up to the bar and ordered an ale for the men, and a large claret for Father James.

The men had all been paid for their part in the ceremony, and well paid too. But Mathew felt that they deserved a little something extra for their efforts. At one point, he was afraid that they would take flight, leaving just him and the priest to compete the task alone.

Such a scenario had occurred on many occasions in the past.

Men were always keen to help when they saw the colour of the money being offered. But when it came down to performing the task in question, many of them turned tail and ran.

Some of these men were the biggest and the strongest in the district. Yet it seemed to make little matter when the coffin was opened, and they faced it for the first time.

Even though they were all well briefed before the event, Mathew could always tell from the look of bewilderment and disbelief in their eyes that they did not comprehend what he was saying.

The proof came when the lid was lifted.

Ideally, Mathew would have preferred to have his own crew to travel with. A reliable group of six or so men, all of whom knew what the job entailed and were satisfied to just get on with it.

He had requested such an arrangement on umpteen occasions, but his employers, the church, were more concerned with him keeping a low key for his investigations, and the sight of an entire group entering a district, in their minds, would attract far too much attention.

Instead, he had to make do with whomever the local priest felt that he could trust.

As it was, Father James had done well in gathering his helpers. At least none of them bolted when the moment of truth arrived.

Mathew and the priest took their drinks over to a spare table at the back on the room, while the rest of the men decided to stand at the bar.

The gentle hum of conversation returned slowly as everyone else turned back to their own groups.

Father James took a drink of his wine.

Mathew could see that the priest’s hands were shaking. It was not surprising under the circumstances. Just like the hired help, when Mathew first arrived in a new district and presented his letter of introduction, most priests looked at him with vague distrust. If it were not for his letter, signed by the archbishop himself, Mathew was sure that he would be turned away, or thrown into jail.