A Change In The Weather

Chapter 9: The Ketton Cockatrice

20 December, 2007 – 7:58 am

After lunch, Tobias did something that he would never normally do – he actually took some time to read a local newspaper.

He sat at the table, quietly puffing on his pipe, leafing through the Ketton & Blakeby Chronicle when his attention was drawn to a story. It read:

Gargoyle stolen

One of the four stone gargoyles that adorn the base of the spire of St. Mary’s Church in Ketton, has mysteriously disappeared. Police are appealing to local people for information that could help track down the missing statue.

Reverend Ichabod Spleenwort opened the church as usual early Sunday but noticed a rope hanging from the rafters. When he discovered that the gargoyle had been taken, he notified the Police. It is believed that the rope had been used to help winch down the gargoyle during the night.

Historically, each of the four gargoyles are known by special names, but the one that was taken - the so-called Ketton Cockatrice - was different. Police believe that due to its unique past and curious appearance, they can’t discount the possibility that they could be dealing with a collector of unusual esoterica.

According to myth, the Cockatrice was a fantastical animal, usually only spoken of in hushed tones and believed to be closely related to Dragons and Wyverns. Legend has it that the Ketton Cockatrice was hatched in 1378 in St. Mary’s Church by a toad that sat on a cock’s egg. It grew terribly quick and the subsequent creature had the head of a cock, the tail of a lizard, the wings of a bat with the legs of an eagle. It soon grew into a man-eating monster, which either devoured anyone who attempted to slay it or petrified them due to its horrific appearance.

Eventually, a local farmer by the name of Fox Tufford took a mirror and used it like a shield against the Cockatrice which, having caught sight of its own reflection, turned to stone in the blink of an eye.

It was this very petrified monster that was used in the re-building of the Church, where the local priest replaced one of the original gargoyles that had been destroyed by a lightning strike.

As Tobias finished reading the story his eyes gradually widened and his pipe dropped from his mouth and into his lap.

He sat there for a minute stunned.

And then it slowly dawned on him that something wasn’t quite right and jumped up quickly - making a strangulated sound of surprise and realisation - before violently patting himself down, desperately trying to extinguish the small pile of burning tobacco that had landed in a smouldering pile in his groin.

Finally, pulling himself together, he hurriedly ran towards the door clutching his papers and pipe, and after several frustrated attempts to open the door the wrong way, eventually managed to run out of the pub mumbling an apology to Gordon leaving the Chronicle fluttering in his wake.

‘In a hurry are we?’ shouted Gordon after him, polishing a glass from behind the bar.

He let out a chuckle and shook his head.

‘Queer sort…’

* * * * *

Tobias’ orange Volkswagen pottered along the main Blakeby road in a cloud of fumes towards St. Mary’s church in the distance.

The spire rose majestically above the treetops, jutting towards heaven like an antenna. The ugly gap where the gargoyle had been taken was apparent to him even from this distance. The base of the spire looked strange without it - almost as if it had had a tooth pulled. The other three statues remained, looking oddly out of place.

He tried to remember the old saying again. What was it? Set a devil to catch a devil? No, that wasn’t it, although it was probably something similar no doubt. Churches and cathedrals had used gargoyles for centuries to ward off evil spirits and it seemed ironic somehow, even strangely fitting that an evil spirit had been used to protect a house of God in this way.

And how odd, he thought, that someone would go to the trouble to steal a stone gargoyle of all things. What on earth would they do with such an object? Was it really to satisfy the urge of some bizarre collector as the newspaper story suggested? Would it be recovered from some eccentric landowner’s estate having been used as nothing more than an overgrown garden gnome?

No. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was the work of vandals either - it seemed too much trouble for the sake of pure vandalism – for this was no mindless act. It had been meticulously planned. Of that there was no doubt.

There had to be another motive.

During his time at Rexminster College, and much to the amusement of his peers, Tobias had tirelessly researched and sifted through hundreds - maybe even thousands - of obscure legends and myths in a desperate desire for a Cryptozoological breakthrough, which – much to his dismay - had never happened. His fellows at the college had chided him, poking fun at his eccentric behaviour, but still he remained resolute in his determination to prove them wrong. In some ways it was his pig-headedness - his bloody-mindedness - that had propelled him upwards to become the country’s premier theoretical Cryptozoologist (for, afterall, there was no other kind). Much to his disappointment this had not impressed his father greatly, who saw Tobias’ chosen field as a dead-end, both in terms of research and ultimately career.

Yet he’d somehow read about the obscure story of the Cockatrice years before (although where he’d read it he couldn’t be certain) and it seemed to have become firmly lodged in his subconscious. It seemed as if Fate had lead him on a merry dance only to end up in this little village. And now he was helpless to do anything else but follow.

At his home in Suffolk, he’d amassed a huge amount of knowledge on the more esoteric creatures of fantasy – dragons included – and he’d promised himself that every possible lead that he encountered would be followed up - even if it was just to prove his father wrong.

And he’d wanted to do that ever since the picnic by the wood all those years ago…

He parked the campervan next to the cemetery grounds.

There had been a fall of rain and the churchyard reeked of wet soil and decay. Ancient weathered graves and sunken moss-covered headstones concealing long forgotten names were littered all about seemingly at random.

The place was old, and it wouldn’t surprise him if it didn’t pre-date the village itself - it wasn’t that unusual. The Yew trees nearby went someway to prove that. A few of them grew here and there in-between the Oaks and Cedars - their gnarled twisted branches and sinewy arms betraying a thousand-year-old heritage.

Tobias took a minute to look around.

Over in the distance, a funeral was taking place and a coffin was being lowered into a grave. Mourners stood around quietly dressed in black.

Away from the crowd and fairly close by, a tall thin man wearing a black suit and top hat with a feather in it stood there, arms crossed. The man was marked with three parallel scars that continued in an arc from ear to mouth. Although the man didn’t turn, his stern eyes followed him as he entered the church in a way that made him break off eye contact and shiver from the look.

Inside the church it was cool and tomb-like and the stained glass windows projected rainbows of colour onto the stone floor.

There seemed to be nobody about and the interior was quite empty, which thankfully allowed him some time to himself.

Tobias was not only surprised by the relatively small space inside, but by the rich variety of strange carvings that crammed every available surface. Everywhere Tobias looked, he found himself looking at something totally bizarre and out of place.

‘Oh…my…word.’ he mouthed quietly to himself.

* * * * *

Outside the church, the undertaker rubbed a hand across his scarred face and stared in the direction of the vicar who was fast approaching from across the graveyard with a severe look.

‘What are you doing here?’ the vicar hissed, looking around nervously.

The undertaker smiled, and held his hand out to him. Their two gold rings glinted in the afternoon sunlight as they shook.

‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’ he nodded, indicating the funeral. ‘Isn’t that why I’m here?’ he added sarcastically.

‘Don’t give me that. You know what I meant.’ The vicar replied, turning to look back at the mourners for a second, before adding ‘We aren’t supposed to be seen. There is to be no daylight contact at all. You know this. It has been the rule for time immemorial.’

The undertaker snorted. ‘Don’t presume to lecture me. What are you afraid of? Do you seriously think someone will find out about us?’

The vicar looked back at him before answering.

‘Possibly.’

The undertaker smiled.

‘I’ve told you before not to worry… Nobody’s going to find out the truth about you, or indeed about any of us. It’s not as if the real reverend is about to miraculously return is it?’

He paused before continuing.

‘No – that would be practically impossible.’

The vicar said nothing.

‘The world refuses to believe in magic brother. Mankind is blissfully unaware that it even exists. And soon they won’t even know it ever existed. If it wasn’t so funny, it would be tragic…’

The undertaker’s gaze turned back to the vicar, and a thin smile formed as he looked up at the space where the gargoyle had been taken.

‘In any case, with luck we can all stop our little impersonations soon…’

‘Yes?’ the vicar whispered.

‘The final part of the puzzle lies close by…’ the undertaker whispered, cracking his knuckles.

‘… and soon we can stop the ridiculous charade.’

‘I knew we were close but…’ said the vicar wearily.

‘There is a meeting tonight beneath the circle, and we must all attend. By then, we will have the second element, and we’ll be on our way to knowing the whereabouts of the third and final piece.

‘If all goes to plan… well, let’s just say that things won’t be the same ever again.’ The undertaker played with his gold ring, turning it over and over. ‘But first there is something I need to do.’

The vicar nodded before walking past into the little church.

‘We’ll see where we stand after that…’ said the undertaker before tapping his hat and walking off in the direction of the village…

* * * * *

Tobias stood at the far end of the church examining some loose masonry that lay scattered on the floor – debris that was no doubt dislodged when the gargoyle was taken. As he continued to look, footsteps echoed hollowly around the inside of the church. As they drew nearer, Tobias looked up to see the smiling face of the vicar.

‘Ah. Just the man I wanted to see…’ said Tobias, standing up and brushing himself down, offering a hand to shake.

The vicar raised an eyebrow.

‘Oh? And who might you be?’ he asked before finally shaking his hand.

‘Tobias. Pleased to meet you.’

As they shook, Tobias couldn’t help but notice the unusually firm grip. Then he noticed the gold ring.

The vicar looked him straight in the eyes and Tobias found himself momentarily look away.

‘My name is Ichabod - the vicar of the parish of Blakeby.’ he said, before glancing down at the pile of masonry on the floor and continuing. ‘You seem to be most interested in our little church – indeed it’s a fascinating place with lots of history. Your face isn’t familiar. I think I would remember if I’d seen you before. You’re not with the police are you? They have everything they need…’

‘No, nothing like that.’ smiled Tobias.

‘I’m a professor writing some notes for a book about Cryptozoology.’

‘Oh really? My word that sounds quite fascinating.’

‘Yes. And to say this church is quite fascinating is a bit of an understatement too. In fact, I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.’ As he spoke he looked with interest at the various carvings and stones overhead.

The vicar found himself doing the same almost like a person who was looking at something new for the first time that they’d never noticed before. ‘Yes, it is quite, quite unique isn’t it?’ he said airily and with absolutely no trace of interest at all.

The vicar continued. ‘I trust you heard about the awful act of desecration that was carried out here last Saturday?’

Tobias nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I did, although I must admit I was first interested in the story of the Ketton Cockatrice when I came across it in an obscure volume in the university library. Actually the first time I read about its disappearance was in the local newspaper just today in fact. From what I read it sounded quite distressing. I’ve heard so much about it that I would have loved to have seen it in real life, so to speak. I don’t suppose the police have any leads at this stage?’

The vicar sighed. ‘No. I’m afraid not I’m sad to say. It’s so very tragic isn’t it?’ He turned to Tobias. ‘It does seem that we must open our minds to the very distinct possibility of it never returning. But we must continue to remain not without hope. For, is it not said, that the Lord works in mysterious ways?’

Tobias found himself nodding, although it wasn’t from agreement. It was something that he couldn’t put his finger on, but there was something in the way the man spoke that suggested that he couldn’t care less about what had just happened. He eventually came to the conclusion that there was something about this man that he didn’t like at all.

‘I don’t believe it was the work of vandals though. It just seems like too much trouble to go to don’t you think?’

‘Who knows?’ The vicar shrugged slightly with clasped hands. ‘These days things can be so confusing…’

‘Would you mind if I take some video footage of the interior of the church? Purely for research you understand.’

The vicar waved vaguely. ‘Oh no. Feel free. Anything for the advancement of science of course.’ he said, smiling.

Tobias still couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something altogether not quite right. Nevertheless he managed a smile as he pulled out a small digital video camera from his pocket. He unfurled the display screen and switched it on, instantly illuminating his face.

‘I’ve noticed some carvings that are most unusual,’ said Tobias as he pointed to an alcove, directing the video camera in that direction, ‘like the etching of a dragon on the wall there. At least I think that’s what it is.’

He turned and pointed it to the ceiling.

‘And here, if I’m not mistaken, is a carving of a Green Man, which in itself is not that unusual, but I’ve counted at least twenty so far…’

The carving above, which stared directly down at them, was a man’s face but unnervingly entwined with living leaves and vines that issued from his nose and mouth. The effect was quite startling.

‘Ah, yes.’ The vicar nodded. ‘Survivors of our pagan past…’

Tobias said nothing, but watched the vicar closely, as he adjusted the settings on his camera.

‘Well, I can see you need to spend some time on your own, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be outside.’

He turned to walk out, but before reaching the doors at the end of the church, he shouted: ‘It was a pleasure meeting you Tobias.’

Tobias shuddered slightly, and returned to examining the carvings.

He spent a further hour pottering about the church with his camera, recording engravings and pictures, then left when he’d decided he could do no more.

* * * * *

Reverend Ichabod Spleenwort closed the church door, bolted it and turned to retire to the modest little room at the back of the church. He was glad to be rid of the annoying tourist. God, how he hated the pretence! He slumped down heavily into a chair and sighed, feeling thoroughly weary with life.

He looked at his reflection in the window.

‘How much longer must we wait?’ he muttered to himself.

He reached for the gold ring on his finger and wrenched it off, throwing it across the table in temper where it spun, making a bright ringing sound until it eventually settled.

He sat there, staring at it.

The ring sat there and stared back at him.

It taunted him.

He continued to sit there for a few moments, but eventually could take it no longer.

He reached over and brushed the ring off the table with one broad sweep of his hand where it landed on the cold flagstone floor at the feet of a statue that was propped up against one wall.

The statue looked most lifelike. In fact it resembled Ichabod so closely that the effect was quite shocking.

He leaned over and whispered into the statue’s ear.

‘So Reverend, how does it feel to be trapped in stone? Think your God can save you now?’

Ichabod reached over, and snapped off a finger, letting it fall to the floor where it broke into tiny pieces.

‘I think not.’

Ichabod stared blankly at the statue as if expecting a reply and then when he knew there wouldn’t be one he began to laugh. After a while, the manic laughter turned into great sobs that shook his entire body and he slumped back into the chair.

He sat there alone in the room feeling the ever-growing absence of the gold ring, whilst waiting for its powerful magic to fade.

And then it happened and he began to feel his entire body slowly changing, reverting back to its original state, the illusion of his everyday form disappearing.

Over the course of several seconds, his true appearance became obvious.

It was horrendous in the extreme. Grey decayed skin hung saggy and loose from yellowed bones with putrid rotten flesh dangling in useless strips like frayed bowstrings. He glanced at his reflection in the glass of the window again. It was a terrible sight to behold even to his own ancient eyes and it still shocked him after all these centuries.

He knew his former self was an illusion that could only be brought about by the powerful magic in the ring, and even though his original form was ghastly in the extreme and he’d never got used to it, he still hated it. It was a reminder of the curse that plagued him.

He took a deep breath and sighed.

‘If only I could sleep…’

He tried to close his lidless eyes and fell back into the chair once more. After a while he resignedly bent down on hands and knees to pick the ring up and placed it back on his finger.

Instantly, his former appearance returned.

The statue continued to stare at him from across the room, mimicking his doppelganger.

The look of shock on its face was most distressing.

Posted in A Change In The Weather |