Sorry, didn't mean to gloat there, I just got a bit excited. That, and I'm still a little shaken from what we discovered around and under Salisbury Cathedral.
We arrived in Salisbury off The Close around noon, and Sarah insisted we meet a friend of hers she knew for years at the local pie shop there. She told us they were the absolute best meat pies in all of London, and I was inclined to believe her - she is a local, and locals always know where the best food is. We expected Ms. Hewett's Pie Shop to be small and part of a brownstone, but what we didn't expect to find was a barber pole hung near the metal stairs leading up to the second floor. This struck us all as unusual, but not untoward. For all we knew it was a cultural thing.
"Is it normal in England to have barber shops over pie shops, Bridget?" Ted drawled in confusion as he gave her an odd look.
"Not usually, no," she admitted, returning the look. "It's probably an economical decision. I don't honestly know this area well; Sarah would know better than I."
Sarah, meanwhile, was pulling us into the shop gleefully, eager for lunch. Besides, it smelled heavenly, and we all drooled at the thought of some proper British food rather than whatever Bridget had in her icebox. In we entered, the little bell on the door tinkling as we stepped inside, letting the quaint Victorian style atmosphere of the place wash over us and trying in the crowds of people to find a decent spot to sit.
That was about the time we also noticed the arms dealer who'd accosted us on the way back to Bridget's the other day, a man we'd come to know as Ewan MacNiell. He noticed us, and murmured in a thick Irish brogue something about fate messing with him, then we approached and struck up conversation. Apparently, he was waiting for someone here as it was familiar to both him and his client, but he hadn't shown up... for the second time in a row. Ewan was getting pretty annoyed, and about to give up when he noticed us. Convinced it was God's plan, he decided to see what would happen if we approached. Fortunately for him, nobody amongst us had any jurisdiction to arrest him for smuggling weapons, and he seemed to find us good enough cover. A fast friendship with this otherwise pleasant, if a bit militant, Irishman was forged, and our conversation was only interrupted by a small boy, about 12 or so, who was busily serving us mugs of ale and pies as they came from the oven.
"Before you ask, Ted," Bridget murmured gently as she prepared to cut into the meat pie she'd been served, "No, children working in pie shops isn't customary in the British Empire, either."
Well, speak of the devil and he will appear, because at that moment Ms. Hewett showed up, a portly woman in a green apron, caked with flower and flecks of meat from making pies, a rolling pin in one hand. Sarah immediately embraced her, and the two squealed in recognition. Old friends, indeed... Ms. Hewett turned out to be a chatty sort, and was more than interested in speaking with us about our plans in Salisbury, since she could tell some of us weren't local and she wanted to catch up with Sarah. We explained we were visiting from the States and were heading to the Salisbury Cathedral... and she immediately launched into an interesting story about someone who apparently thought there was treasure down there, and wanted to claim it, but never came back. That just confirmed my suspicions - if there were traps down there, there had to be treasure too, right? Then she said something else as she served us fresh pies from the oven, something that rather unnerved us...
"Well I'm sure you lads and ladies know about the missing people 'round these parts," Ms. Hewett gabbed. "Never found the bodies, you know - some say giant rats nabbed 'em, but that's poppycock of course. Either way, sure glad I managed to get Toby 'ere off the streets before he got snatched up too, 'e did. Toby's a good boy... hard working, and sweet. A bit nervous, though. Why, the lad's terrified somethin' 'orrible by Mr. Charley Nodd upstairs..."
We asked further, and discovered that Charley was the barber living upstairs, and that something or someone had murdered his wife and child in front of him. The man had never been quite right since, and had spent time in Malsbray Asylum for it. He had apparently snapped, and tried to attack Father Ridley at the church in a fit of madness. However, Charley was an artist with a straight razor, and had a steady clientele despite his troubles and hot temper. Some people whispered he killed his family, but Ms. Hewett didn't believe that story for a second. Sure, he was touched in the head, she said, but he was a good man who simply wanted to be left to his own business. After that, Hewett had to leave to bake more pies. Ewan, having had a shave from Charley a few times, vouched for her and said he trusted Charley too... but his temper was murderous, and he'd been known to "accidentally" nick people he didn't like while shaving them.
Remember how I said speak of the devil earlier? Well, lightning must strike twice in the same place, because at just that moment we heard the bell above the door tinkle, and in stepped the creepiest gent I've ever laid eyes on. He was a skeleton of a man, his hair was dark, and his grey eyes had a steely coldness to them through the sleepless rings around them. His shirt and pants were disheveled, with the sleeves rolled up, and flecks of what seemed to be shaving lather dotted his clothes. He said not a word, but we all noticed that the boy Toby freeze and hide behind the counter when he entered. There was no doubt about it, this man must have been Charley Nodd... and he had heard us whispering about him.
"You lads talkin' about me, then?" He murmured dangerously, hard eyes flicking towards us and his expression remaining stony.
I decided getting on Nodd's good side was better than being on his bad one, and tried to assuage him by assuring him that he wasn't the target of discussion. He believed it, and asked where we were going, to which I responded that we were all hoping to go to Salisbury Cathedral. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, because there was the very faintest change in his eyes... and he looked me over, scrutinized me with those steel grey eyes of his. A tense few seconds passed before he spoke again.
"You're American," He murmured. "Don't look like you've 'ad a proper shave in some time, 'ave you?"
"Well, I guess I am a bit scruffy," I replied, nervous at his tone. "Maybe just a bit off the top?"
"You need a barber at some point... I'm more than 'appy to do it, complimentary even. And I promise you, it'll be the closest shave of your life."
A small smile crept onto his face, barely a smirk, and my blood ran cold. Everyone else noticed it too, because they squirmed and gave him a nervous look as well.
"I suppose Ms. Hewett isn't 'ere, then," he continued, stepping away. "Oi, you lot see Toby... send 'im in, yeah? I owe 'im a haircut. And you blokes be careful 'round Salisbury Cathedral... last American that went in there never came back..."
The chill didn't leave until Charley did, and Toby didn't come back out to serve us until then, either. When he did, and we asked him about the man, he froze up, scared. Said that the man was dangerous, and he feared he would kill him if he went to get his hair trimmed. He believed Charley was working with giant sewer rats living under Salisbury, something we attributed to his young mind running away with him.
All the same, though... Children rarely lie about people who scare them, as Bridget, Ewan, and Sarah all pointed out. I think it's best if we all watch ourselves around Charley Nodd from now on. I'd hate to meet him in a dark alley at night... or meet him when he's in a bad mood.
-- Clayton Byrd, Treasure Hunter (February 27th, 1928)
It certainly has been a strange time for me in the past two days, hasn't it? First I'm being called over from my paper by Ms. Atwater, then I'm wrapped up taking a holiday with three crazy people from the States! Ah well, a holiday is a holiday, and any time away from musty old books and papers is a good time in my book.
After a wonderful as usual lunch at dear Ms. Hewett's, we took to Salisbury Cathedral and decided to look around. I simply adore the architecture there, all magnificent and awe-inspiring. The vaulted roofs, the mighty spire... it reminds me of my own childhood memories of Church services, and of a distinct peace of mind. I'd hoped it would remind Clayton, Ted, and their author friend of their own peace of mind, too. Surely the poor things needed it after losing, I would learn, three friends over the course of a week to various unfortunate events. I feel terribly for them, and I am doing my level best to cheer them up... even if they are absolutely nuts.
I'll admit, I didn't believe Clayton's story about a map on the back of the Magna Carta myself... until I saw it on display with my own eyes. It was faint, and nearly looked like mold stains from where it rested in its glass case... but it was there. He was right! If he was right about this, then could he and his friends also have been right about the creatures they said they faced, or the secret they had discovered about the noble Penhew Foundation at which Ms. Atwater worked? I have to know, I simply must, or the question will eat at me like mice in the wainscotting! The promise of treasure lingered in my mind, but the promise of adventure in my own adopted homeland more so. How many times I'd wished for such a thing... and here it was, in my lap. What girl worth her salt could resist, eh?
As we explored the church grounds, we were approached - and myself startled - by Father Ripley, the stern but warm man who ran the Cathedral. I knew the Father, but not well - he had visited the Penhew Foundation a few times while I was on internship there, but that was all I knew about him. An historian and a gentleman, Father Ripley was more than happy to show us about the Cathedral, although he mentioned a slight... issue that had cropped up.
"It's the rats, you see," he admitted sheepishly. "We've been having trouble with them, and pardon me... I thought you were the exterminators I called for. They've been tearing up the graveyards, and we've found several dead ones in the pews... We think they may have a nest in the catacombs underneath the grounds... But I digress. I noticed your interest in the Magna Carta?"
Well, Clayton wasted no time in jumping into explaining he was looking into the map, and seemed a bit saddened when the Father told him that most people knew about it but nobody had gotten very far - the last person who explored the tunnel's catacombs unfortunately fell down an ossuary pit and died. Ever since nobody's been fool enough to seek the secret passage out... but tours were given of the place if we were interested, and if we were after lunch Ms. Hewett's was very close by and recommended. As we followed him back to the chapel for the tour, we naturally said we'd already been, and that we were indeed interested in the catacombs... if the secret was down there, we wanted to find it, not that we told him that. No reason to make him worry, right?
Unfortunately, just as he was about to take us down to look at the place, one of the sisters ran in yelling something about a grave having been dug up. The Father of course needed to excuse himself to take care of the issue, and left us alone with our thoughts. Then the doors opened, and a familiar face entered... though not one we wanted to see. It was Charley Nodd, and he set down at the dias to pray, words so soft none of us could hear what he was saying.
"I didn' know he was pious," Ewan murmured, and unfortunately, Charley heard him.
"You wot, mate?" His steel eyes glowered at Ewan, and flicked to the rest of us. Then we saw the silver-filigreed straight razor in his hands... and all of us panicked inwardly.
"Oh, nothin'," Ewan wisely responded, backing down. "We were just wonderin' who ye were prayin' for is all... if ye feel like sharin'."
He didn't feel like sharing, and as his eyes flicked to me... his face softened a bit. There was a sadness in his eyes, a deep sadness... and then the mask of hardness snapped over him again.
"Sorry, love," Charley apologized in a voice without that razor edge I'd known before. "You just reminded me... of someone I knew once. Real pretty hair on you..."
I felt bad, knowing what I did about his family... did he see something that reminded me of them? Before I could even ask, however, he turned on me, grabbing my shoulders and hissing to me in a voice full of dark intent.
"The Father is not to be trusted! Do you understand me, girl?! 'E's dangerous, don't go with 'im!"
Startled as we all were by his outburst, we were even more startled by what he had to say next.
"Come to my shop tonight, immediately... I 'ave something to tell you. All of you. You must trust me... please... Your lives are in danger."
There was the sound of footsteps, those of the Father returning, and he panicked, murmuring that he needed to leave and running out the door before we could stop him. If you ask me, something's wrong here. Very wrong... and call me nuts, but I don't think Charley is the one causing the chill down my spine this time.
-- Sarah McCain, Student of Literature (27 February, 1928)
Well, after seeing Mr. Nodd's response to seeing us in the Cathedral, we all started having serious doubts about the Father. Yeah, Charley's touched in the head, but he had fear in his eyes when he grabbed Sarah and shook her, the kind of fear only a man in serious danger has in his eyes. Real sharp contrast from his normal harsh gaze, it were. And as we heard the Father coming back, we all came to the conclusion that we'd better trust old Charley and get out of there. Besides, it wasn't like the catacombs were going anywhere soon, we could always find the loot they hid later.
So off to Charley's we went, yeah? And let me tell you, he was right surprised to see us there, he didn't expect us to trust him, but he pulled us in as soon as he saw us and bolted the door shut. Seems something he saw in the alleys around the shop spooked him. He was flicking his straight razor open and shut too, kind of a nervous tick I guess, like them blokes at the docks do when they wanna look tough. He told us he were damn glad we decided to trust him, because the Cathedral in his opinion harbored some sort of giant rat-men, as he called them. He was of the opinion the Father was in cahoots with them, and that they wanted to kill him. He didn't want to elaborate much, but he told us it was for our protection if we stayed with him. Well, he didn't make no moves to attack us none, and he did seem scared for real, so we trusted him and the crazy story he told us about the rat-men.
Sarah, bless the little lady's heart, she managed to convince the fellow to talk. She's got a way with keeping people calm, she does, awful sweet natured young thing. Not my type, otherwise I'd go for her. She pointed out that Toby downstairs was talking about giant rat-men from the sewers too, and if two people saw them it had to have some kernel of truth. But back to Charley - as it turns out, the poor man apparently had to watch his wife and child murdered by these things, in front of his eyes... That's enough to drive any man over the edge, and Charley was no exception. He saw someone he thought looked like the Father run towards the Cathedral, so he followed, bent on revenge. That was why he attacked the Father with the straight razor, he was sure the Father was the one who sent them.
"But why?" Bridget asked, perplexed, and we all wanted to know. "Why would anyone do that to your family?
Charley started to lose composure then as he explained that the attack happened after he'd shaved a rather rude patron, a wealthy blond man who was friends with the Father and whom he accidentally nicked. He apologized, normally he wasn't so clumsy with his razor, but the man didn't even tip properly. That night, he watched the rat-things attack his family. Now at this point, none of us believed him, until he mentioned a name.
"Edward, I think 'is name was," the barber replied, trying to resume his mask of cold stoicism. "Some rich bloke, owns some Foundation or another in Tottenham Court..."
Well, Sarah, Clayton, and Bridget all sat up at that, shocked, realizing that he meant Edward Gavigan. Now, I've never met this man meself, but from what I understand none of them trusted him after some sort of heist at the Foundation. I barely knew these people, but if it's one thing I can't stand, it's a rich man attacking a poor man for no reason. Yeah, I'm a criminal, but I have standards, you know? And if this Gavigan bloke really did cause all this over a sleight...
Just then, we heard scratching outside in the dark, as evening approached. Then a soft noise, kind of like a mewling gibberish or a rat, but much bigger. What we all saw when we looked outside weren't no rat, let me tell you, but some sort of hairless rat-human thing, covered in pale skin and with big glowing red eyes, climbing up the side of the building! The ladies, well, their fear got the better of them, but as soon as Charley saw the bastards... he snapped. He all but lost it for a moment, a dark change coming over him. It was like a demon had him, he had the eyes of a murderer... and then he commanded us all to take up the window positions.
Well, I weren't about to challenge a man with a murdering look and a straight razor, so I immediately jumped into action and started shooting as more and more of the rat-men started crawling up the walls. It were a bloody nightmare, it were, there was near to twenty of the damn things, three at the door trying to break it down. Somehow Sarah managed to get ahold of a spare razor of Charley's, and she started slashing these things throats, left and right. Meanwhile Bridget needed help barricading the door, so I put my back in and helped push a chest in front of it.
The things didn't stand much chance, once they saw we were putting up a fight they started to back off, though that didn't stop the ones at the door trying to get in. Good thing Charley had a fire escape into the alley. Too bad half the gang have the stealth sense of a drunken elephant. Let me tell you, it were a right row it was, those things bleed something that smells like death, but they're no more difficult to handle than men really... thank the Lord for shotguns! It was at this point Sarah noticed the grating the creatures all appeared to have come from, and then Charley noticed a sluice in the side of the building heading to the basement of the pie shop. Smelled like something off down there, so we checked, and realized there was blood from what must have been Ms. Hewett's meat shipments. Then we realized she may have been in danger, and we all got scared, so we went to go around front and check on her.
That was when we all noticed the movement near the rubbish bins and, scared, took the defensive. Thankfully, Charley noticed what it really was, and grabbed a very terrified-looking Toby. It were real tense for a minute, we all thought he'd gone mad and was about to hurt the boy, but thankfully not. Sarah, bless the girl, she managed to once again calm both Charley and Toby, who agreed Ms. Hewett was in danger and led us to a side door... the one directly into the kitchen. Racks of pies waiting to be baked awaited us, and the freezer was propped open... and we all heard Ms. Hewett humming downstairs. Then Sarah looked in the freezer (I don't know why she thought that was a good idea), and what she saw in there horrified her, made her spew in the nearest bin.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"There's um..." She was pale and sweating, nervous as could be. "There's a human finger. In the meat."
"No," I said, denying it. "No, there's no way..."
And so, I looked. Fuck me, she was right... there was a half-open package of ground meat, and inside it, half-frozen? A human finger. Well now, even hardened as I am, that didn't sit right. I ate that! I've eaten that for years now! She couldn't have been... could she? I had to spew myself after that one... but we convinced each other it was a fluke, that maybe Ms. Hewett lost the finger. We called into the basement after her, but she came across as rather nervous and tense. Then, well... we noticed the boy was missing, and panicked. We ran downstairs in a blur.
I wish we hadn't. Do you want to know what a human slaughterhouse looks like? It looks like a basement of half-dismembered human bodies, some in the grinder, all hellishly lit by the glow of the baking oven. Well, we all realized real fast what it was we'd been eating then, and our panic only grew. I swore and crossed myself, repeating prayers to the Lord the whole time. Charley was absolutely horrified himself, and rage filled him to the brim as he rushed over to find a poorly hidden Ms. Hewitt. And Toby... poor lad, we saw him clinging to some poor bugger's foot, trembling and whimpering in mad horror. I don't even know how Sarah calmed Charley down from that one, or Toby for that matter... but she prevented yet another slaughter.
Ms. Hewett was beside herself with shame and tears as we confronted her, asking why on earth she did all this. Well, the woman swore up and down she had to - the Father, she said, was blackmailing her. Said that she caught him consorting with the rat-things near the drainage sluices, they came through there she said. He noticed her... and then confronted her. He told her if she told anyone, and didn't dispose of bodies he brought her, that he would send the rat-things to kill her. Yeah, real nice bloke... fucking cunt is more like it, making a poor woman trying to make ends meet do his dirty work. I don't mind telling you, my blood really boiled. I didn't have much time to protest though, because we heard more of the rat-men starting to drill up from underneath, near the grates. Yeah, we booked upstairs and slammed the door shut behind us, blocking it with a tray of the pies we'd come to loathe so much.
Much debating later, we determined that we needed to get the Yard to investigate the Father. He was a monster, and he needed to be stopped. I don't remember who thought up the idea of planting the dead body parts in the catacombs and calling the cops, but it was bloody brilliant is what. Even Charley seemed impressed.
"You lot are a twisted set of buggers," He murmured, face as stony as always. "Sick in the 'ead, the whole lot of you. But I like the way you think."
It was settled we'd go deal with the catacombs while the ladies tried to care for Toby. The plot went off perfectly, nobody saw us slip in through the vaults. It wasn't until I noticed a false skull in one wall that anything got real interesting. I remember pointing it out, and Clayton getting real excited. Excitable bloke, him, and looking back I guess I admire that enthusiasm. He said the treasure hold must have been right here by his map, so we messed with the false skull until a passage opened. Inside... well. We didn't find treasure, but we did find what looked like some Satanic worship circle with an inverse cross or something in the center, and a lot of tunnels. And we didn't have long to wait before said tunnels came to life with gibbering and meeping and scratching...
We knew what that meant of course... it sounded like many of the blighters at that. We balked and made out. It was when we left the tunnels behind that I saw my first glimpse of what had been chasing the others - a man, dressed like some kind of bizarre pharaoh, clearly someone in costume. Maybe even one of the devil worshippers below. He had two odd staffs with him, made almost of an organic-looking metal alloy and vaguely approximating something Egyptian. Somehow, he failed to notice us, and we left, booking it to Bridget's place.
The lady has a real nice space, you know. We're lucky to have made it there, or back to it in in the others' case. Last I heard, the Father was implicated and arrested, major scandal that one when it hit the newsstands. We're lucky it weren't worse... and that nobody innocent was too hurt. Except for Toby... but maybe with proper mental intervention, he'll be okay. Children bounce back awful quickly, and Ms. Hewitt loves that boy like her own son. She blames herself for it all I think. As for Charlie, he made it back to his shop, avenged in slaughtering half those creatures climbing his walls. I hope the man starts healing... though I don't think he'll ever be quite all right in the head.
For now though, rest. I'm knackered, and it seems like the rest are as well. Fine lot of danger and strangeness I got myself into this time, innit?
-- Ewan MacNeill, Smuggler (28 February, 1928)