Dun an Doras

The body had lain there for a while. Ben could see the bruises on the underside, where the water didn’t cover. He swallowed, telling himself it was just the last of the burger, it wasn’t the precursor to vomit, he wasn’t going to be sick, he wasn’t going… He was sick. He wiped his mouth and turned away from that sad, shredded shape on the shingle and called the police. The body lay on the riverbank, the arms pulled up, as if she were describing the fish that got away. The legs twisted back, the bones broken, sticking through the skin. Dewdrops of rain gathering on the shards of shattered bone. He realised that the body was laid face down, but the eyes stared, open and horrified, at the darkening sky. Rain from last night still sat on the face, soaking the eyes, making the skin puckered around every cut and bruise, the neck torn and punctured. The ribcage, split from the back, hung open revealing organs like the pearls in an unworthy oyster. He kept his back turned before a hundred different horror movies, video games and scary late night internet stories crawled across his mind, dragging behind them tales of zombies, demons and hidden murderers. He forced himself to turn sideways, keeping one eye on the river and trying to stop the other looking at the girl on the riverbank, fearing any movement or groan. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved, his eyes flickered over to the body again, and his mouth watered, fear crawling through his body. He swallowed, trying to clear the lump of sickness and terror in his throat and looked over the scene next to him again then looked away and prayed the police would be quick.

Which was why he wasn’t looking at the river, when it rippled, bubbled and split.

His sheets wrapped around his legs, tangling his feet, he kicked and struggled, trying to free himself. His back felt the edge of the mattress but he couldn’t stop himself, he started sliding and was stopped just before he hit the floor. He felt himself be gently lowered to the floor and his feet untangled by cold hands, the sharp nails catching his skin, making him itch. “Jesus, Ben. What happened?” an Irish voice whispered by his ear, as those cold hands sat him up next to the bed. He pulled himself back onto the sweat soaked sheets and shuddered, his words rushed out. “There’s another one. Another girl, from the river. Are you sure…” He saw the thin face opposite harden in distaste, the eyelids narrowed over the crystal green eyes. “Yes, Ben” the words spat out, a sharp edge, razor-like, to the tone “I’m certain.” She walked away and Ben felt like a massive arsehole. He scrabbled after the thin woman, catching her cold hand in his clammy one. “Look, I’m sorry, you know I have to ask. After Ged and the sheep…” He trailed off at her glare. “I’m well aware of Gedadia and the sheep, thank you very much, and he apologised. He paid for them, apologised and sorted it out. The farmer accepted it, the village accepted it, Ged accepted it, and I accepted it. Why are you the only one who can’t?” Her voice got louder, from a hushed whisper, expected in a cathedral, raising past a stage whisper, into normal tone, then outside voice, as she called it, and thankfully, stopped, before she got any louder. Ben wasn’t keen to re-enact the ‘green house fiasco’ and besides, it was still only two in the morning. He lowered his head and sighed, then raised his head to look into those beautiful green eyes, just in time to see the pupil’s contract and her face relax. He inwardly retreated, knowing full well that he had really just upset her. “Branna, I’m sorry. I just meant if you had heard anything, of any visitors, or anyone had seen anything out of the ordinary…well, out of the ordinary for here, anyway!” Her face cracked a small smile and she punched his shoulder, just enough to knock him to the floor, then creased up with laughter as he grimaced on the floor. “That will always make me feel better.” She helped him up and wandered downstairs. Probably off to glare at flowers until they died, thought Ben. “I heard that” she called from the bottom of the stairs. He sighed and went back to bed.

“And that.”

Ben woke up again at 8am when a massive weight thudded onto his lap and rolled off. He curled up, his hands clasped over his crotch and hissed through his teeth. “Oh, gods, Ged, really?” The straggly dog rolled onto his back, tongue lolling, and waved its paws in the air, before leaping up and covering his face in random licks. Ben flopped onto the bed again and stroke-scruffed the dogs ears, it rewarded him with more licks and another paw to the crotch. Ben cursed aloud, between hisses and pushed the dog off his lap. “That’s revenge, I hear you brought up the sheep again.” The dog’s mouth moved awkwardly over the human words, struggling over the pronunciation. Ben glared at Ged and stroked his side automatically, then stopped, feeling a little weird about it. “I’m sorry, it came up in conversation after another dream.” Ged’s face relaxed and he lay down, in the style of all leggy dogs everywhere; back legs out to the side, tail flopped over the bed end and large front paws facing Ben. “Jeez, another one? What the hell is going on?” Ben regarded his friend, not sure how he felt about talking to him like this “Ged, I really don’t mind the licks, I know you can’t help it, or even the bounciness. I can even cope with the fact that I have to have a dog door for a college buddy, but do you have to stay like this all the time?” Ged raised an eyebrow. “It’s not my fault, I ran out of underwear, and you won’t let me turn them inside out. I can get another 2 days use of them like that but that’s ‘disgusting’ according to you.” He pulled himself into an awkward sit, and grinned “So, either deal with furry Ged or naked Ged. I’m sure Branna wouldn’t mind!” He waggled his eyebrows, pulling his long face into an almost obscene representation of Groucho Marx’s.

Ben raised his own eyebrow. “Go on then, I dare you, try it on with Branna again, it went so well last time.” He gestured to Ged’s form, who growled in response. “Also, you’re an adult now, why do you keep running out of underwear?” Ged looked as embarrassed as is possible for a wolfhound to look. “It’s not my fault, there’s some days I just can’t control myself, and if you knew how satisfying it was to tear pants apart and shake them around, even bury them outside, you wouldn’t ask.” He jumped from the bed and wandered into the hall “Come on man, you know she won’t let me in the kitchen without you, and I’m starving.”

The chief of the Garda lifted the wet sheet from the form on the shingle and sighed. “What the hell is going on here? This is the third one this month.” His deputy looked up from his notepad and grimaced. “I wish I knew Chief. Sorry, Paul.” He corrected himself at the chief’s raised eyebrow, remembering his boss’ hatred of titles. “The family are at home, I sent Macullen round with the death notice, she’s got the softest touch with these things.” Paul Grekken, stood and turned away from the girl, taking his gloves off as he did so and walked over to his fresh-faced deputy. “I tell you Bucky, I’ve been chief here for over 20 years and I swear it never seemed like this.” James Buckshaw closed his notepad and frowned, a sigh escaping his lips, and put his pad back in his pocket. “You think it’s worth talking to Ben?” He asked, in a hushed whisper, looking round in what Paul considered the most unsubtle way he could have managed. Paul sighed again, and gestured at the collection of journalists gathered at the edge of the river, holding back the temptation to do a rather rude movement with his hand at them. “Tell you what, you deal with those vulture bastards and I’ll go and see what I can find out about this poor girl.” James grimaced at the pack and swore quietly, then slipped and stumbled over the shingle to try and shoo them away before they got any truly gory photos.

Paul arrived back at the station, threw his coat over the back of his chair and stomped into the tiny kitchen, keeping a keen ear out, and was rewarded with the sound of hurried footsteps coming upstairs from the basement office. Roisin Macullen swung into the kitchen and stopped dead at the sight of her superior officer, blushed and started wringing her hands. “Oh, uh, hi chief, I uh, left Shell with the family, poor sods. There, uh, any sign of Buc…uh, James?” Paul laughed and waved the tea box at her and grinned. “Expecting someone else, were we Roisin?” Then laughed all the harder at her blush, which had rampaged up her face to her hairline. “Yeah, I sent him to deal with the vultures, what’s the news on this girl anyway?” Roisin sighed and sat down, nodding at the tea box. “Her poor family. Apparently, she was on her way back home from Uni in London. Her fiancée is on the way back from a stag do in Amsterdam, apparently they’re old style childhood sweethearts, friend of the family since they were both in nappies.

Dad is falling apart more than Mum, seems there was a brother who went missing years ago, still no sign, Dad is still hopeful. Very artistic, studying fashion design with a side in jewellery, passed everything until now with flying colours. She designed the dress that girl from those vampire films wore, you know, at the Oscars?” Paul shook his head, and Roisin shrugged, then flicked another page of her notes. “Well, apparently it was quite the conversation piece, set the internet alight with talk, and made even better by the fact that it was made by a relative unknown.” She put her notes down on the tiny rickety table and accepted the cup of steaming tea, blowing gently on the top, watching the ripples bounce off the other side of the chipped mug. Paul sat opposite her, put his mug down and rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. “So, on a less depressing matter, for a second, who were you expecting? As if I couldn’t guess?” Roisin blushed, took a reassuring sip of tea then gasped as it burned her lip. She sighed and smiled at Paul. “Well, he is lovely, and he’s so caring. Always first to offer help.”

“Only to you, dear.” Paul laughed.

She sighed and swirled her tea. “I know he’ll probably never notice me, but I like him, so that’s all there is to it.” She picked her notes up again. “Anyway, Mary Quin, aged 22, due to turn 23 in a few weeks, uh, end of October. Last seen getting off the bus from the airport, chatted to the bus driver, it was Joe again, on the 1840 from the airport, about 10am, I’ll speak to him when we’re done here. He saw her walk up the bridge, then drove off, next time she’s seen is when that poor kid found her on the shingle.” She consulted her notes again. “Col Shriper, aged 14, you know, the skinny kid? His mum works at the library, you know? There’s a butt load of therapy needed right there. Poor kid was out looking for bramble mags apparently, wanders down to the bridge, around 7:20pm, thinking some of the older boys might have dropped them, misguided hopes of teenage boys everywhere.” She pointedly ignored Paul’s confused look at the words ‘bramble mags’, not keen on explaining. She hurried on with her notes. “He says he heard a slithery noise, like wet fabric, apparently, so he goes to investigate, finds a bundle of rags, gives them a poke with his foot, and finds Mary. It was his vomit at the scene, I think when he’s done being embarrassed at that, the shock will kick in. You going to talk to Ben?” Paul grimaced, and downed his tea. “Don’t really want to, but I guess we have to start somewhere, you want to talk to Joe? And I’ll go see the Addams family freaks and that weird dog of theirs.” Roisin looked a little angry but said nothing, just drank her tea. Paul kept looking at her, until she broke and sighed. “You really shouldn’t call them that, it’s not their fault they’re a bit weird, and the dog is lovely, so tame. It’s almost like he knows everything that’s being said, it’s uncanny. I’ll wait for Bucky to get back, then go, I don’t want the station unmanned with Jasmin off.” Paul laughed, and swung his coat back over his shoulders. “Don’t let her hear you say that, you know it’s womanned when she’s here!” He stepped out the door, waved at a passing car, and got into the station pool car, a fancy name for his mother’s inherited Micra, heading off up the road, battling the tricky air-con the whole way.

Ben watched Ged devour another serving of bacon, licking the bowl across the floor in his haste to find more, while Branna glared at him. “If you must insist on staying that way, then at least learn some table manners.” Ged licked his muzzle and sat back, giving a quiet burp on the way. “Well, if you don’t like fuzzy, furry, always-up-for-a-run-in-the-woods Ged, then change me back.” Branna sighed, heaved some more bacon into the bowl and served some onto regular plates alongside the eggs, offering one to ben. “I told you, I can’t, I’m sorry. After I cursed you, it’s like I went numb, and I couldn’t do anything like as powerful as that again. I’m sorry, but in fairness, you are better looking as a dog!” Ged stopped mid-munch of his third helping and looked up at her, stunned. “That’s a bit harsh. I was always told I was quite handsome, you know, before.” Branna looked at Ben, who had mysteriously started choking on his tea, Ged growled at both of them and went back to his bacon. As the quiet comfortability settled, with the occasional interruption of the bowl scraping on the stone floor, the three friends tried to forget Ben’s dream, the third such one in a month. Branna sipped her tea and frowned. “The problem is Ben, this is why we moved out of London in the first place, so you wouldn’t be plagued by this anymore.” Ben snorted and took another sip of tea. “That may as be, but sadly people don’t stop murdering just because they’re away from the hustle-bustle of modern Londinium!” Branna frowned at his usage of a word she hadn’t used in years. “I said it once, just once. Bastard.” Ben laughed and apologised, just in time for the door-bell to ring. Ged sprang from his place, leaping towards the door, barking frantically, spraying a mouthful of half eaten bacon everywhere, and then remembered himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forget myself, leave me alone.” He looked ashamed for a moment, then went back to licking up the bacon from all over the floor. Ben and Branna made their way through the sprawling cottage to the front door, past the ancient statues, piles of books, overloaded book shelves and out to the front porch. Ben opened the door as Branna wandered out into the garden, past the police officer stood by the rickety chair. Paul Grekken raised his face to Ben’s and sighed, like he did every time, opened his mouth and just like every time, Ben raised his hand. “I know Paul, I look like him, I know, I get it. I’m sorry to be rude, but what do you want?” Paul closed his mouth, half smiled and shrugged, pushing his annoyance down. “I’m sorry Ben, I knew your parents well, your father was my oldest friend, it’s just amazing to see him wandering round again, as it were. Listen, I need your help, mind if I come in?” Ben stood to one side and let the chief of police into his home, again. He felt a shiver as the memory of the first time he had been stood there, opened that door, let his father’s oldest friend in and had his world shattered. He motioned to the chair and closed the door, his eye catching Branna’s as she made her way round the house to the back door. She nodded and went round to the kitchen to warn Ged to stay quiet, or at least calm, and to better hear what would be said in the living room. Paul sat on an overstuffed, overused sofa and took his hat off, he circled it slowly in his hands as Ben sat opposite him, finally raising his eyes to Ben’s. “Ben, you have to understand, I’m not here, and I’m not talking to you about this.” He smiled at Ben’s nod and got straight to it. “This is a tiny village, we don’t have the resources to deal with what’s happened. I know you and your friends are involved in a load of weird stuff, and it’s not a crime to be a bit weird. But we have another murder, some poor kid has been shredded, down by the bridge, that boy Col found her, poor sod threw up before he could call us...Hey, are you ok?” As soon as Ben heard the words ‘bridge’ and ‘threw up’ he felt the blood rush from his face, his skin was so grey Paul was convinced he would faint any minute. Branna ran in, followed by a shaggy dog who, in Pauls view, looked far too intelligent to be an ordinary wolfhound. Not for the first time, Paul wondered if he should be asking Ben stranger questions about his housemates. Branna’s green hair fell in front of her face as she handed Ben a glass of water, she turned her intense green eyes on Paul, who leaned back and, not for the first time, wished she would turn those eyes anywhere else, he sat back and tried to pretend it wasn’t her baleful glare that made him retreat to the back of the chair. “What do you want Paul? You’re clearly not here for a social call, I heard you say someone is dead. What’s going on?” Paul felt a pressure at his legs and looked down to see the Wolfhound laid by his legs, sniffing his feet, eventually it looked up at him and he felt a little foolish thinking it was intelligent, until it winked at him. Paul blinked and cleared his throat, trying not to look as concerned as he felt. “No Branna, I’m not here for social reasons, I wish I was. Col, you know, his mum runs the library, they live in the cottage next door, he went hunting the river for something.” He looked at his notebook. “Bramble mags apparently, whatever they are.” The dog snorted, he looked down at the dog whined who whined and lay his head over Paul’s shoes. “Anyway, he goes looking for something, hears a slither, sees a pile of rags and finds the girl, torn to shreds. I’m telling you now because you’ll find out in this village soon enough, and what with your parents…” He trailed off as Ben raised his hand again. Paul always wanted to shout at him for it, but for some reason, despite knowing Ben since he was in nappies, knowing his parents from childhood and seeing him grow up, it was like Ben had earned some excuse to be a little arrogant, it was almost like he knew something you didn’t every time you spoke to him.

Paul felt Ben could see what he was thinking and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He cleared his throat again “Anyway, you always seem to hear things, weird things, and you helped me before with that weird mauling up on the moors, if you hear anything?” He handed his card to Ben, who smiled. “You know, I remember where your house is, I played there often enough, and called my parents at your house plenty of times, I’m sure I remember the number! By the way, bramble mags are old porn magazines left ripped up in bramble bushes.” Paul blushed, smiled a wan smile and stood, the dog standing with him, he absently stroked its head, who in turn pushed its head further into his hand. He walked towards the door, turned back for a second “Are you doing ok though? I mean, I know you have your friends, but if you wanted to come round, I know Mary’d be happy to see you.” Ben nodded his thanks, his face still pale, raised the card and opened the door. “I’ll call you if I hear anything ok?” Paul walked out the door, back to his patrol car, took one last look at the door as it closed behind him, then got in and drove back to the station.

The water by the bridge split at the creatures touch. The water bubbled and churned as an eye peered up at the hulking beast with its claws still in the turgid surface of the river. It blinked slowly, covering its oddness from the world for a moment, long lashes slicing through the water, a high pitched whistle breaking through the air, the creature under the bridge winced and rumbled a reply. The eye closed slightly as if the face hopefully surrounding it were smiling. It didn’t look like it would be a pleasant smile. The bridge creature turned away, its teeth, crooked and jagged, split its lips in a smile, as the blood and spit flowed down its chin. It lumbered back under the bridge, the water closing over the eye in the river. There was no other sound, all the birds had flown away hours before when the river had split near Col, it didn’t appear they would be back soon. The thing under the bridge smiled, licked at its own blood and drool as it waited. Someone would cross the bridge soon, and it was hungry.