BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) by D. M. Mitchell Page A
Authors: D. M. Mitchell
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Blackdown asked as they exited the church and stood in the sunlight, in the dappled shade thrown by an ancient yew.
‘He went missing, telling your father he had business to attend to. He never came back. A search was carried out and they eventually found Jonathan’s body in Devilbowl Wood. His poor body was hardly recognisable as being human. He’d been cruelly savaged, Thomas.’ He looked agitated, as if gazing on the events again. ‘I was not prepared for the horror of what the scene held in store. It was as though a giant beast had torn his body asunder, slashed him into ribbons with razor claws. He had been eviscerated and his limbs torn from him. It was not for monetary gain, as I saw his purse still on him, and full of coin. Such a thing I never expected to see and I hope to God never to see again.’
The image of the dead sheep came immediately to Thomas Blackdown’s mind. ‘And a search was carried out for his killer?’ he asked.
‘Of course. It was the week of the Blackdown Fair, and the town swarmed with newcomers. Suspicions readily turned to them, and particularly the foreigners in their company. But though many people were questioned no one was found guilty of your brother’s murder. People naturally blamed the Blackdown Beast…’
‘A creature of myth!’ said Blackdown. ‘Foolish superstition!’
Reverend Bole took Blackdown by the arm and led him to the rear of the church. ‘You know the old tales more than most, Thomas,’ he said. He pointed to the aged oak door studded with black nails. ‘Look at those deep black scars in the door, visible still even after all these years.’
‘So are you telling me you believe the tales, too?’
‘Who knows what evil lurks in the shadows, Thomas. We all know of the old tale of the traveller who was chased by the beast one night, how he managed to seek shelter inside the church and slam the door on the creature; how it clawed at the door, enraged, leaving behind these marks as proof of the poor man’s trials.’
‘They are marks. They prove nothing,’ he said. ‘And the stories have been used by generations of churchmen to instil fear of Satan and his minions into the feeble minds of the locals, lest they stray too far from your God.’
‘He is your God, too, Thomas,’ he said. ‘You cannot deny there have been too many sightings of such a creature over the centuries for it to be myth alone. Perhaps there is some truth in it, that some wild exotic animal escaped captivity, its offspring still living within the many acres of dark woodland and on the open moors.’ He stepped back, pointed up to the gargoyles. ‘And there it is, carved in stone by our ancient ancestors for all to see, to fear…’
It was a time-worn statue of a demon, of sorts, hairy and wide-eyed, its open mouth lined with once-sharp teeth, neither human nor animal but lying somewhere in between. The Beast of Blackdown.
‘And you expect me to believe my brother was killed by a mythical creature that is said to haunt the Blackdown Hills?’
The man offered a shrug. ‘I cannot say what or who murdered your brother, but in any case his killer was never found. They shot a toothless bear that had been brought to dance at the fair, and two large dogs that belonged to the Hendersons. No one really believed they were responsible, but something had to be done to assuage people’s fear. It was a long time before things returned to anything like normal around the town of Blackdown.’
‘And it was left at that?’ he said, shaking his head incredulously.
‘Some things are never to be known, and the mystery of your brother’s murder remains just that. God will know. God will see fit to punish those responsible, if indeed it was some one and not some thing .’
‘Sometimes it is best not to wait for God to do something. I find He often takes his time or simply does nothing,’ he said scathingly.
‘You have altered much, Thomas,’ said Bole. ‘You are not the same young
‘He went missing, telling your father he had business to attend to. He never came back. A search was carried out and they eventually found Jonathan’s body in Devilbowl Wood. His poor body was hardly recognisable as being human. He’d been cruelly savaged, Thomas.’ He looked agitated, as if gazing on the events again. ‘I was not prepared for the horror of what the scene held in store. It was as though a giant beast had torn his body asunder, slashed him into ribbons with razor claws. He had been eviscerated and his limbs torn from him. It was not for monetary gain, as I saw his purse still on him, and full of coin. Such a thing I never expected to see and I hope to God never to see again.’
The image of the dead sheep came immediately to Thomas Blackdown’s mind. ‘And a search was carried out for his killer?’ he asked.
‘Of course. It was the week of the Blackdown Fair, and the town swarmed with newcomers. Suspicions readily turned to them, and particularly the foreigners in their company. But though many people were questioned no one was found guilty of your brother’s murder. People naturally blamed the Blackdown Beast…’
‘A creature of myth!’ said Blackdown. ‘Foolish superstition!’
Reverend Bole took Blackdown by the arm and led him to the rear of the church. ‘You know the old tales more than most, Thomas,’ he said. He pointed to the aged oak door studded with black nails. ‘Look at those deep black scars in the door, visible still even after all these years.’
‘So are you telling me you believe the tales, too?’
‘Who knows what evil lurks in the shadows, Thomas. We all know of the old tale of the traveller who was chased by the beast one night, how he managed to seek shelter inside the church and slam the door on the creature; how it clawed at the door, enraged, leaving behind these marks as proof of the poor man’s trials.’
‘They are marks. They prove nothing,’ he said. ‘And the stories have been used by generations of churchmen to instil fear of Satan and his minions into the feeble minds of the locals, lest they stray too far from your God.’
‘He is your God, too, Thomas,’ he said. ‘You cannot deny there have been too many sightings of such a creature over the centuries for it to be myth alone. Perhaps there is some truth in it, that some wild exotic animal escaped captivity, its offspring still living within the many acres of dark woodland and on the open moors.’ He stepped back, pointed up to the gargoyles. ‘And there it is, carved in stone by our ancient ancestors for all to see, to fear…’
It was a time-worn statue of a demon, of sorts, hairy and wide-eyed, its open mouth lined with once-sharp teeth, neither human nor animal but lying somewhere in between. The Beast of Blackdown.
‘And you expect me to believe my brother was killed by a mythical creature that is said to haunt the Blackdown Hills?’
The man offered a shrug. ‘I cannot say what or who murdered your brother, but in any case his killer was never found. They shot a toothless bear that had been brought to dance at the fair, and two large dogs that belonged to the Hendersons. No one really believed they were responsible, but something had to be done to assuage people’s fear. It was a long time before things returned to anything like normal around the town of Blackdown.’
‘And it was left at that?’ he said, shaking his head incredulously.
‘Some things are never to be known, and the mystery of your brother’s murder remains just that. God will know. God will see fit to punish those responsible, if indeed it was some one and not some thing .’
‘Sometimes it is best not to wait for God to do something. I find He often takes his time or simply does nothing,’ he said scathingly.
‘You have altered much, Thomas,’ said Bole. ‘You are not the same young
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