The Annals of Fear

Sunlight streamed through the window now. Bright over the dark mountain, illuminating the sheep grass and birds in flight above. Clouds, white against the deep blue, drifted serenely up high. Cumulus, strato-cumulus, alto-cumulus. The four of them lay in a kind of mute reflective state, clutching each other in a camaderie never known at Wammy\'s House. All rivalry and animosity had been drained away under the invisible onslaught of the creature, who, even in the daylight, had returned again and again. Only Deontic had moved, crossing to the other edge of the mattress to be beside Century. He was dozing now again, but the oxygen mask was pressed against his mouth, though all doubted there was any relief left in the cannister. The day had not brought salvation.



When the bang came, it sounded as an almighty crash that echoed around the mountainside and down into the valley below. It startled Matt to his feet, while Mello just sat up straight and winced at the pain that engendered in his chest. Deontic\'s attention was immediately upon Century, whose eyes had snapped open wide. He gasped for air, his hands fisted over his heart. Outside, a car horn honked repeatedly. Matt glanced at Deontic, then hurtled out into the kitchen to see outside. Mello stumbled after him, one arm clutched across his wound. Matt reached the sink first, but had to grasp the edge and raise himself up on his arms, leaning over the sink to see so far around the frame. "Wow." He gasped.



"What?" Mello prompted him urgently. "Shift! I want to see." As Matt went to jump down, Mello moved the drainer and leapt up to sit on the draining board. He peered out and his jaw dropped. There was an Interflora van smashed into the yew tree, its driver alive but bleeding profusely from a head wound. There was no mistaking the prone figure on the floor. Mr Roberts lay unmoving, staring up at the sky. "What...? Why?"



Matt had raised himself back up, watching the sky and listening for any sign of the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn. "It\'s our wedding anniversary. I ordered flowers for you on the internet yesterday."



Mello\'s gaze shifted, jagged with shock, to his husband. "You did what?"



"Flowers. Romantic." Matt jumped down. "I can\'t see her. I can\'t hear her. There\'s what looks very much like a dead Welshman." He hurtled back into the other room. "Century, calm down. There\'s a dead man on our drive and it\'s not you." Matt snatched up the First Aid kit, then dropped it again as the realisation sunk in that it was practically empty. "You\'re not the one whom the bitch came for." He rushed out, though into the older room and out of the ancient door. It was a quicker route and didn\'t take him past Mello, who probably would have tried to stop him.



Mello wasn\'t far behind. He yanked open the backdoor, the instant that he saw Matt out there, and emerged blinking, staring upwards into a sky devoid of all but clouds and birds. The birds were singing again in the woodland. He hadn\'t noticed that they\'d stopped until they started again. He crossed to where Matt had left Mr Roberts with a cursory glance and headed straight for the delivery man. Mello paused by the caretaker. Mr Robert\'s expression was a mask of terror. His eyes as wide as they could stretch in staring into the branches of the yew. Beside his hand, remarkably unsmashed, was a witch bottle. Through the glass swam shards and nails in urine. Mello looked from it to Matt, who was bent over the driver, talking quietly and inspecting the wounds.



"Mello?" Deontic\'s voice called, frightened, from the main door.



Mello turned towards her, feeling as though he was in a dream. "Matt ordered flowers for me for our anniversary." He explained, ethereal and swaying. "They just got delivered." He pointed upwards. "She\'s gone."



Deontic darted forward, catching him as he started to fall. Mello didn\'t pass out, but he leaned heavily upon his foster sister. She held him steady, staggering slightly until her weight adjusted to take his too. "Matt, how\'s it going?"



Matt looked up. "There\'s a working radio in here. Mr Lewis here is going to be fine. Just got a nasty bang on the head." He hooked his arm around the burly Welshman\'s back and helped him rise. "Get Mello inside, Dee." As Deontic led the Slav back through the door, Matt simply helped the delivery man to a bench set against the fence overlooking the river\'s tribulatory. It was nearer than taking him into the house too. Matt raced back and lifted the radio handset. "Hello." He said calmly, into the network of voices. "I am with Mr Lewis and there has been an accident. I have no telephone. Could you please arrange for three ambulances and the police to attend? There has been one fatality and others in urgent need of medical attention." He recited the address, ignoring the anxious comments of all other delivery and call-centre personnel listening in, then returned to monitor Mr Lewis.



Inside the Manor, Mello sank gratefully next to Century. "I told you that you\'d make it."



Century nodded, his face a mess of tears. They had already quickly appraised him of the situation outside. "I didn\'t think I would." He swiped at his eyes with his hand. "I didn\'t think I would make it."



"Truthfully?" Mello flashed a wane smile. "Neither did I, but I\'m sure now. You\'re going to grow old." He inspected his chest in the daylight. "Deontic, please go to Matt and look after him." His gaze dipped. Deontic nodded and hurried out. "He bought me flowers." Mello pulled off his glove, revealing the ring that Matt had given him in Japan. "We got married this time last year. After we got him out of that cave." A tear slid down Mello\'s cheek onto the padded bandage there. "I keep getting him into such trouble. He barely leaves the house anymore and, when he does, shit like this happens and I can\'t keep him safe."



"You did." Century replied, hoarsely. "Mr Roberts was a good man. A pity, it is." Unspoken was the sentiment, \'but at least it wasn\'t me\', that shamed Century as he thought it. "He came then. I wondered." He bowed his head, still lying on his back. "But help is coming, is it?"



"Yes." Mello swallowed. "Century, you\'re an historian. Tell me about witch bottles."



"Placed in the walls of buildings to protect against evil spirits. Or at crossroads. Under yew trees is favourite there. They\'re always..."



"What?" Mello looked sharply at him. "What about yew trees?"



"If there\'s a crossroads, haunted like, they\'d grow a yew tree there and the witch bottle goes under it. Keeps the.... shit."



"It\'s not a crossroads." Mello and Century exchanged glances. "Is it?"



"It\'s by water. River down the front and stream up the side. No, no. Track coming down to the house, is it? Then another behind..." Century blinked. "Fuck yes. The stable has been built over one way, because you have to go behind the stable to pick it up again up the mountain."



Mello was already pushing himself wearily back onto his feet. "What\'s the betting that, if I look very carefully, there\'s going to be an overgrown track leading down to the river by that bench?"



"Highly likely, I should imagine."



Mello leaned against the armchair. "What do I do with the witch bottle?"



Century raised himself onto his arms. "Under the roots, is it?" He manoeuvred himself upwards.



"It\'s ok, tell me and I\'ll do it." Mello stood a deep breath and stood more steadily than he felt.



"Fuck that. I\'ve seen them. I\'ve dug enough of them up and seen them in museums." Century pulled himself onto his feet. With the hope brightening his dark gaze, he looked slightly better. Mello clasped an arm around his back and they leaned on each other until they were out into the sunlight. In the distance, sirens were wailing in their direction, but Gwrach-y-Rhibyn was gone. There was a lightness in the air that hadn\'t been apparent during the night, but a watchful one. They had no doubt that she would be back and that whatever lurked in the house waited still.



Matt and Deontic looked up in surprise. It was Matt who darted forward, questions in his eyes. Mello pointed to the witch bottle. "We need that."



Matt grabbed it and held it out, but it was Century who took it. He reached out for the tree and practically fell against it, then encircled it, looking for a niche like he\'d seen before. He found it. The indentation of the last bottle was in there. Plants and smaller roots had grown around the empty space. Century dropped to his knees and stretched inside to replace the jar that was missing. "Amddiffyn." He uttered, in lieu of knowing the correct words to say. \'Os gwelwch yn dda." Then he lay flat on his back amongst the sharp yew leaves and breathed deeply of the fresh, Welsh air. His eyes fluttered shut, as Mello and Matt leaned over him. "Nos da, cariadiau."



"It\'s morning, Century." Mello said, tightly. "Not \'goodnight\'. Don\'t have to make me teach you Welsh." But Century did not reply. "No!" Mello gasped. "No fucking way!" He fell upon him, as the first police car screamed into the yard, yelling out. "Iestyn Jones, this is not nos da!" Matt pushed him backwards, sprawling onto the side of the delivery van. "Matt!"



Deontic was rushing around. She took one look and screamed, until she was surrounded by police-officers. Matt was already over the teenager, checking vital signs and ignoring the noise around him. Mello curled into a ball against the front wheel of the van and cried out his heart in fright and sorrow. As the ambulances came and uniformed paramedics were suddenly between them all. It still felt less like victory and more like the end of the world.