A Weaving of Ancient Evil Read online

  A WEAVING OF ANCIENT EVIL

  MAYNARD SIMS

  THE MAYNARD SIMS LIBRARY

  Volume 4

  Copyright Maynard Sims Limited 2014

  www.maynard-sims.com

  [email protected]

  07801 472554

  A shorter and different version of The Seminar was published in limited edition hardback and paperback by Sarob Press UK in 2003.

  His Other Son was originally published as an ebook 2013 by Enigmatic Press

  The Hidden Language Of Demons was originally published by Prime Books 2002

  It was expanded in a very different version in the Samhain novel Nightmare City

  First ebook and paperback publication Enigmatic Press 2014

  3 Cutlers Close, Bishops Stortford, Herts, CM23 4FW England

  www.enigmaticpress.com

  [email protected]

  This is a work entirely of fiction and all the names, characters, events and places portrayed are either fictitious or are represented entirely fictitiously.

  Typesetting and design by L H Maynard & M P N Sims

  Cover design by

  IAIN MAYNARD: MAD: Maynard Art and Design

  CONTENTS

  1: THE SEMINAR

  2: HIS OTHER SON

  3: THE HIDDEN LANGUAGE OF DEMONS

  THE SEMINAR

  1

  On paper the writing seminar looked like a good idea. Steve had been writing stories from almost the first time he picked up a pen. A fertile imagination plus an ever-growing vocabulary meant that even his early efforts, though not brilliant, at least had form and interest.

  The advert for the seminar was on a loose sheet of paper that had dropped from a writing magazine to which he subscribed. He picked up the flyer and read it with mounting excitement. The prospect of a week spent in a country house in the wilds of Dorset, surrounded by like-minded people, learning about ghost and horror stories – his favourite form of fiction, immediately appealed to him.

  He had decided to apply before he even finished reading the advert. A week without the restriction of parents was also a big draw. Okay he had been away before, school trips and scout camps, but this was a real week away, almost real independence.

  He also decided to ask Lisa Benson if she wanted to go.

  He and Lisa had been friends since nursery school. Their mothers were best friends until an argument left them on non-speaking terms, but Steve and Lisa refused to allow it to affect their relationship. They were like brother and sister, but without the unpleasantness of any sibling rivalry. They had similar tastes in most things; identical tastes in music and books, and both harboured ambitions to become full time writers.

  In this, at least, Lisa was ahead of Steve. She had sold several short stories to women’s magazines, whilst Steve was doing nothing more than adding to a growing box file of rejection slips. The amateur horror magazine he published from home – Spook Stories, named after the famous ghost story book by E F Benson – helped keep his enthusiasm going, as did the few stories that had appeared in similar amateur publications. But he envied Lisa her professional sales, and was striving to achieve the same, or better, for himself. He wouldn’t have said he was jealous, but he wished it were he who was the more successful.

  There were other feelings he was experiencing lately about Lisa that made writing jealousy pale into insignificance. He saw Lisa as a friend, nothing more. They had decided that ages ago. And yet… Recently he had begun to notice her more as a girl. He knew she was a girl, let’s get real here; he hadn’t got to seventeen without noticing how she had developed, but recently he was becoming more appreciative of the results of her growing up.

  It was still perfectly natural to act cool around her, and their usual mode of communication was mutual mickey-taking, but he found his approach softening around her; he found himself thinking about her more often.

  ‘So tell me about it again,’ Lisa said as she lay back on the bed. ‘It all seems too good to be true.’ Lisa considered herself to be much more sensible than Steve, who was always planning one hare-brained scheme after another.

  Steve sat on the end of the bed. He felt a little uncomfortable in Lisa’s bedroom nowadays, and although he had never felt the need to justify his presence there, there was a definite frisson when they sat together. At least Steve thought so.

  But, no, he was certain Lisa saw them as mates, and besides, how many girls did he know who not only had posters of the Chelsea football team on their walls, but could also name all the players?

  ‘It’s a week off work, Lis. Just think.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. It’s all right for you. You could take a month off and the factory wouldn’t even notice. But if I’m away from college for more than a day, the studying goes to pot. It’s the curse of being intelligent.’

  It was one of their running jokes that Lisa had stayed on at Sixth form college to do A Levels while Steve left school the first chance he got, even if he knew deep down the factory job was lousy. Short term, though, that’s what he told himself. Just until he became a full time writer.

  ‘Makes me wonder how they managed before you began working for them exams,’ Steve said.

  ‘Those exams,’ Lisa said automatically.

  ‘Yes miss.’

  ‘A week,’ Lisa said sharply. ‘And I’m an invaluable asset to you if I come to the seminar am I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  Lisa swung the pillow at Steve’s head.

  He laughed. ‘Ouch! That hurt.’

  ‘Read the advert to me again,’ Lisa said.

  Steve picked up the piece of paper from the bed and read it out. When he was finished he said, ‘Well, what was it you didn’t understand? It’s a four day residential course, aimed specifically at people who want to write ghost and horror fiction. Professional tutors, guest speaker, three meals a day, bed and board.’

  ‘And the price?’ Lisa said.

  Steve read it out.

  ‘That’s the bit I don’t trust. It’s far too cheap.’ She climbed off the bed and went across to a pile of papers sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. After a moment’s rummaging she said, ‘Here it is,’ and held a magazine up in the air. ‘Same magazine... no advert. How come you got one and I didn’t?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps the postman stole it. Anyway, what does it matter, as long as one of us got it?’

  Lisa dropped the magazine back onto the pile. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘So you’re up for it?’

  She paused, staring out of the window. In the back garden her father was digging a flowerbed while her mother cut the grass. It was a picture of such normality, such suburban comfort that Lisa couldn’t help but be comforted by it. It had been the pattern of her life; unadventurous, dull almost.

  At school she was an average scholar, getting acceptable grades across the board; a popular member of various societies; one of the leading actors in the annual school play. And her unremarkable achievements at school were mirrored by an equally unremarkable existence at home – a settled and happy family, quietly living its stolid and dull life in leafy suburbia.

  Steve’s father had walked out on the family ten years ago, when Steve was seven and Billy, his brother, five. He had left to pursue a nomadic life, travelling the world; backpacking to the remotest parts of remote countries. Every so often Steve and Billy would be sent airline tickets, and they would jet off to meet up with their father in whatever country he had decided to settle . It was an adventurous existence, and although she wouldn’t say she was jealous of Steve’s circumstances – and she would never in her wildest imaginings want her mother and father to split up – som
etimes it certainly made her think.

  What was being offered in the advert was a chance to break out from all that – a chance, for once in her life, to do something different, something outside the norm. In that respect the seminar excited her. But there was something about the advert, about the idea, that unnerved her. She couldn’t quite pin it down and the more she thought about it, the more elusive it became. It had nothing to do with escaping her suburban roots – it was much more elemental than that. It was a feeling, vague and insubstantial, that there was something not quite right about the seminar.

  ‘Well?’ Steve said, growing impatient. ‘Are you up for it?’

  Lisa looked away from the window. ‘Yes,’ she said, with a lightness she certainly didn’t feel. ‘Yes, why not?’

  She wondered if one of the reasons Steve wanted her to go with him was because he fancied her. It was so obvious from the way he looked at her lately. Laura didn’t have a great deal of experience with boys but instinct told her that the innocent friendship she and Steve had always enjoyed, was undergoing a bit of a transition.

  She didn’t know how she felt about that. But a week away from home would give her the chance to find out.

  2

  The Senice Foundation was the company organising the seminar. Steve had never heard of them. He checked various books and directories in the library but could find no trace of them there either. Taking them on trust he sent off a cheque to cover his and Lisa’s deposit and while he waited for a response he spoke to Lisa’s parents to make sure they were okay about them going away for a week together.

  Lisa’s father was a child of the sixties who still wore flowers in his hair – at least metaphorically. He thought the idea of Lisa and Steve spending a week away was ‘cool’. Lisa’s mother was not so keen, and told him in no uncertain terms that she expected Steve to behave like a gentlemen. Since falling out with Steve’s mother, Stella Benson tolerated his friendship with Lisa, but did nothing to actively encourage it.

  With the Bensons sorted, Steve then broached the subject with his mother. It was obvious from the expression on her face that she didn’t approve, but she said nothing.

  The reply from the Senice Foundation accepting them for the seminar arrived three days later.

  The rail trip to Dorset was torturous. There was work being done on the line, and signals were out, which meant for the most part the train was reduced to a slow crawl. To make matters worse, it was obvious from the snappy and irritable answers Lisa was giving to his questions that she was in a bad mood, so for miles they sat in silence – he looking out through the window at the passing scenery, Lisa, head down, attention focused on the Dean Koontz novel she was reading.

  He tolerated the moody silence for an hour or so, and then got to his feet. ‘I’m going along to the buffet car to get some tea. Can I get you one?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said without looking up from her book.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Lisa, is anything wrong? You seem…well…tense. Is the journey getting to you? I know it’s a bit of a pig, but we’ll be there soon enough.’

  She slammed her book shut and glared up at him. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Go and get your tea and leave me to read in peace.’

  Steve shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and walked briskly down the aisle and through the sliding door at the far end.

  Lisa watched him go. She took a deep breath and let her shoulders relax. She was tense but it had nothing to do with the journey. She had woken late this morning after a disturbed and dream-filled night. One of the dreams was particularly horrible.

  She was back at school, Mountjoy Comprehensive, but she was there alone. The school appeared to be completely empty. She was walking through the deserted corridors, peering into classrooms. The rooms looked as though they had been abandoned. Books were still open on desks; pens lay where they had been dropped.

  As she walked she thought she could hear music playing; piano music – a hymn. Of course, her dreaming mind reasoned, morning assembly. Then she was running, along the empty corridors, into the concrete stairwell, clattering down the stone steps, through the school’s foyer to the assembly hall. All the while the music was getting louder, and voices were now added to the piano accompaniment. A hymn, stirring, rousing, being sung with gusto by hundreds of young, strong voices.

  She burst through the double doors to the hall and stopped dead. The assembly hall was empty. Empty except for a figure sat hunched over the piano. The figure was dressed entirely in black. Even the head was covered by some kind of cowl. Lisa approached on tiptoe, trying not to make a sound. She wanted to see who was sitting at the piano, but was fearful in case they turned and saw her.

  Nearer still and she could see the hands moving over the keys, picking out the melody. Long thin hands, impossibly bony, tipped with hooked, claw-like fingernails. Lisa could feel her heart thumping, rattling against her rib cage like some mad jackhammer. Her breath was coming in short gasps – her chest tight, banded with metal straps.

  A yard away and the figure turned suddenly in its seat. The cowl fell back and she found herself staring into her own face. She was grinning at herself – a grin that seemed full of malevolence and evil. As she stared back, the features seemed to swim in front of her eyes, the flesh twisting and shifting as if being moulded by an insane sculptor. Within seconds it resembled nothing more than a greyish white, doughy mass, set with tiny, black gimlet eyes that stared at Lisa with undisguised hostility.

  Lisa backed away from the creature, a scream rising in her throat. Slowly the monstrosity at the piano was rising from its seat. Another step backwards and her arms were grabbed from behind and pinned to her sides by two powerful hands. An urbane, mellifluous voice whispered in her ear, ‘Just in time.’

  She awoke with the scream on her lips, looked across at the clock radio and swore as she realised she was late. Then Steve was hammering on her front door, and at that precise moment he was the last person she wanted to see. Her mother started fussing that she was taking too many clothes, and the seeds of a foul temper were sown.

  ‘So,’ Steve said when he returned with his tea. ‘Are you going to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood?’

  ‘No,’ Lisa said flatly. ‘No, I’m not.’

  She felt a bit rotten being mean to Steve but not enough to try to do anything about it. She had learned during the last few years that there were times when she could control her moods and times when she couldn’t. She should have been able to snap out of this mood but somehow she wasn’t able to.

  It had something to do with her dream, she knew that much. And it had something to do with the seminar, and the uncertain doubts she had felt about it right from the start.

  By the time they reached the Dorset/Hampshire border, the worst of the delays were behind them and the train was picking up speed, cruising along at ninety. They hadn’t spoken for thirty minutes, and Steve was getting worried. It was unusual for them to fall out, and even more unusual for there to be an atmosphere between them. Their disagreements, when they happened, were explosive and quickly over. There was never any lingering hostility. But that had changed this morning. It was as if someone had erected a metal screen through the centre of the carriage – a solid impenetrable barrier separating them, and Steve knew that if it wasn’t breached soon, the week was in danger of being ruined.

  Lisa kept her eyes fixed on her book. She was aware of the tension between then – tension caused by her, but she was finding it impossible to jolt herself out of it. The nightmare was still haunting her, and she was afraid to look at Steve in case he changed into the creature from her dream.

  She knew she was being foolish and a small voice in her head was speaking to her calmly and rationally, reassuring her that it had only been a dream, and there was nothing to be frightened of. But the irrational side of her mind was ignoring reason and common sense. What she really felt like doing was getting o
ff at the next station and catching the first train back to London. But to do that would completely spoil things between her and Steve and she didn’t want that. In fact it was the last thing she wanted.

  Although she had known him since they were running around together in nappies, she had never taken his friendship for granted. If anything the passing years had seen her feelings for him grow stronger and deeper, and the relationship had developed into a steady and platonic kinship. Recently though something had changed, and she found she was thinking about him more and more. At work, at the gym, even at the club she went to on a Saturday night with her girlfriends. She couldn’t get Steve out of her thoughts… and the thoughts she was having about him were anything but platonic. But she knew she didn’t dare mention it to him. As far as Steve was concerned, they were mates – nothing more, nothing less. He had said it a hundred times.

  Except for the way he had begun to look at her. Lisa was confused. She was pretty sure Steve wanted them to be more like boyfriend and girlfriend, and she was fairly sure that was what she wanted. But she dare not mention it to him. What if she had read his looks all wrong? Where would that leave her? Leave them?

  No, best to wait and see what Steve did, or said.

  She put her book down on the seat next to her and mentally shook herself. ‘Look, Steve’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep too well. I didn’t mean to be unpleasant. I’m sorry if I’ve been grumpy. All right?’

  Steve grinned with relief, eager to grab the proffered olive branch. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Probably nerves. To tell you the truth I was a bit jittery myself this morning. That’s why I was so early getting round to your place. I just wanted to get going.’ He looked back out through the window. The countryside was giving way to housing and the train had noticeably slowed. ‘Dorchester coming up, I think,’ he said. ‘Nearly there.’