Phil Rickman - The man in the moss

'I can't, I…Oh, God, how did I get into this?'

'No good asking Him, my friend, you've cut all your ties in that direction.. Ernie Dawber was soon aware of Something Happening in the churchyard.

A light sleeper, Ernie. Eyes and ears of the community, twenty-four hours a day. The headmaster's house overlooked the playground on the one side, and from the landing window there was no hiding-place at all for a pair of eight-year-olds sharing a packet of Embassy Gold.

Ernie's replacement as head teacher came from Glossop and had not been prepared for such dedication. In fact he'd said, more or less, that if they made him live over the shop, as it were, they could stick the job. He was a good lad, though, generally speaking, so the Education Authority had accepted his terms, allowed him to commute from Across the Moss… and sold the house to Ernie.

Who couldn't have had a better retirement present. He was always on hand – and more than pleased – to take groups of kids on nature rambles or do a spot of relief teaching in the classroom in an emergency.

And he could still watch the generations pass by. Through the landing window… the schoolyard. While through the back bedroom window, on the other side of the house… the graveyard. Full circle.

So all it took was the clink of a shovel, and Ernie Dawber was awake and up at the window.

They were being very quiet about it – as usual. He couldn't see much, just shadows criss-crossing through torchbeams, up at the top end, where the churchyard met the moor. Where Matt Castle had finally been planted and the earth piled at last on top of him.

Ernie watched for just over half an hour, and then the torches were extinguished.

'By 'eck,' he said, half-admiringly, hopping over the freezing oilcloth back to bed, 'tha's got a nerve. Ma.'

He remembered Joel Beard. What, really, could he have done? If their stupid curate was determined to spend the night in the little cellar under the church, how could he stop him?

Maybe the Rector's fears were unfounded. Maybe his experience and that of the Bishop all those years ago… Well, they were sensitive men. Not all clergymen were, by any means, and this lad certainly looked, well, not dense exactly, that wasn't quite the word. Dogmatic, set in his beliefs. Blind to other realities.

But at least, tucked up in his cell, he wouldn't be aware of what was happening up in the churchyard.

And that was a small mercy, Ernie thought, getting into bed. He felt a trifle dizzy but decided to disregard it. He thought he recognized the naked woman on the hill. There was something about her, the way she looked at him, the way she smiled.

The way she seemed to say, Are you man enough?

He stood above her. Confident of his superior strength, his muscular limbs, his halo of golden curls. Their power over women. Oh, he was man enough.

For had he not fallen into the black peat and emerged from clear water, as clear as the Sea of Galilee? And had not the peat been washed from him?

Now the female lay in the grass before him, close to the summit of the green mound, her legs spread. He knew what she wanted.

Her wild hair was spread over the grass. Hair which reflected the light, changing like water. Hair which rippled like the lake.

He smiled his most superior smile. 'I know what you want.' Disdainful.

And if there was no disdain in the reaction of his body, this was another demonstration of his power. Proof that he certainly was man enough.

But, gently, she shook her head.

First, you must recognize me for what I am. And then worship me. The lights were tiny, some distance away, a short procession of them. Torches, lanterns, Tilley lamps; whatever, people were carrying them, and they were carrying them openly across Sam Davis's farmland, and Sam gripped the bedroom window ledge, bloody mad now.

'Right!'

'No!'

'I'm gettin' shotgun…'

'Sam, no…!'

'Shurrup,' he rasped. 'You'll wake kids.'

'I'm not letting you.' He heard her pull the cord to the light over the bed.

'Look…' Sam turned his back on the window. Esther, all white-faced and rabbit-eyed, sitting up in bed, blankets clutched to her chin. 'They're makin' a bloody fool o' me, yon buggers,' he whispered. 'Don't even hide their bloody lights no more.'

'We should never've come here.'

'Oh, don't bloody start wi' that again.'

'Why d'you think it were so cheap? It's a bad place, Sam.'

'It's the best we'll bloody get.'

'Nobody wanted it, and I don't just mean the land.'

'Aye,' he said. 'I know you don't mean the bloody land, rubbish as it is.'

'I'm scared,' she said, all small-voiced. 'It's an awful thing t'be scared of your own home, Sam.'

He snatched a glance out of the window; the lights had stopped moving, they'd be clustered up there in a circle of their own around what was left of the stone circle.

'Sam!'

'Shurrup!'

'Aren't you scared? Really. Aren't y-'

'Listen. What it does to me… it just makes me tampin' mad. Been goin' on weeks, months… and what have I done about it? Tell me that? Am I going t'stand here for ever, like an owd woman, frickened t'dearth?'

'You went to the vicar. That new feller's coming tomorrow. You said he were coming tomorrow.'

'Waste of bloody time. And the coppers. I keep telling yer. Couldn't even charge um wi' trespass 'cause it's got to be trespass wi' intent to do summat illegal, and worshipping the devil int even a criminal offence no more – sooner bloody nick you for a bald tyre. Bastards. Useless bastards. All of um.'

Kept saying it. Kept repeating it because he could hardly believe it, the things you could get away with. Was he supposed to sit around, with his finger up his arse, while them bastards up there were shagging each other front and back and sacrificing his beasts? No bloody way!

'You go out there,' Esther said, 'and I'm ringing the police, and I'll ring the bloody vicarage too and tell um where you are, I don't care what time of night it is.'

'Oh, shit!' Sam advanced on the bed, spreading his arms wide, cold by now in just his underpants. 'Bloody hell, woman. What do you suggest I do, then?'

'Come back to bed,' Esther said, trying her best to smile through the nerves that were making her face twitch. 'Please, Sam. Don't look. Just thank God they're up there and we're down here. Please. We'll talk about it tomorrow.'

'Well, thanks very much for your contribution.' Sam sighed. '"We'll talk about it tomorrow." Fucking Nora.'

He took one last glance.

The circle of light did not move.

'I've had it wi' talk,' Sam said. First you must recognize me. For what I am.

'Recognize you?' He laughed. 'For what you are?'

He stood above her, looking down on her. The elongated shadow of his penis divided her lolling breasts like a sword.

'I know what you are,' he said. 'I know precisely what you are.'

He saw a blue calm in her eyes that was as deep as the lake, and for a moment it threatened to dilute his resolve.

Then he heard himself say, 'How dare you?'

She lay below him, placid, compliant.

'You're just a whore. How dare you seek my recognition? You're just a… a cunt.'

In an act of explicit contempt he lowered himself upon her, and her hands moved to her crotch, thumbs extended, to open herself for him. He's… quite small, isn't he? I somehow expected him to be bigger. More impressive.'

'Quite manageable, really. Oh my, earth to earth, peat to peat… it would have been rather less easy to get at him in a week or two. Watch it now, be careful of his eyes. Mustn't be blase.'

'I'm not. It's just I'm actually not as worried about, you know, touching this one. It doesn't seem like a real body, somehow. More like a fossil.'

'Lay him gently. You've done well so far. I'm proud of you. But lay him gently, he's ours now. And remember… never forget…'