1. A Dark and Stormy Night

Ray Stroud stopped at the gate that led into the churchyard of St James, his hand gripping the cold, rusty metal.

Pulling his jacket tight against the howling wind, he leaned forward and stared into the darkness, swaying slightly.

Ahead — in the pitch black of the night, beneath the groaning, creaking trees — he could just make out the gravestones and memorials of Cherringham’s long departed. Not that Ray had known anyone who was laid to rest there.

He shivered. With the fallen leaves suddenly swirling, he could see weird shapes in the shadows — like they were almost alive.

Time to get out of here.

He looked up to get his bearings again and saw, like a grinning face, the moon just as it appeared from behind thick clouds.

Like a kid’s game. Peek-a-boo and I see you.

But, with all he had consumed tonight, looking up made him wobble. He clutched the gate tighter — those racing clouds turning his stomach like he was on a rocking boat.

And the wind! Tearing up a real hooley, as if it would blow him away any minute!

To his left, he could see the dark shape of the church, the old building looking like it, too, was watching him trying to make his way home.

The moon popped out again, turning the church’s stone tower bone white, until the clouds plunged it quickly back into darkness again.

To his right was the faint outline of the churchyard wall, and the roof of the church hall, so dark and empty at this time of night.

Now he had a decision to make.

A hundred yards away — on the far side of the graveyard and a bit farther down the curving path — stood the little double gates that led to Cherringham High Street, and the road down to the river where his lovely warm barge was moored.

So close.

But should he take this shortcut through the graves?

Not that he was superstitious. Not him!

But still …

Things can happen on a night like this! What if one of them trees comes toppling down? Or the slates on the roof go flying?

Or, even worse, such a stupid idea he knew …

But — with plenty to drink, and more than enough to smoke — he couldn’t help wondering …

What if the ghosts of all those Royalist soldiers, so brutally slaughtered in the Battle of Cherringham, and then laid out in this very churchyard, should rise up, seeking revenge?

And find me!

Such a stupid thought. But …

Yeah. Maybe I should just walk the long way round. Go down the back road.

He took a step, as if the decision was made.

But then, he knew he’d risk bumping into that crowd of bikers that hung around the kebab shop always looking for a fight.

On any normal night, Ray wouldn’t hesitate.

But tonight was no normal night. And Ray was not feeling all that well put together. Jumbled, shaken. That’s how some nights ended.

It had started off gently enough: a few civilised joints with Ian and Maggie on the deck of their barge, watching the sun set. Then a pleasant stroll up to the Ploughman’s for a quick game of pool before maybe grabbing a curry to stick in the old microwave.

Well, that had been the plan.

Somehow he’d ended up sinking six pints of Guinness, and not even a packet of crisps to soak it up. And then found himself knocking back tequila shots up at the Railway Tavern until closing time — followed by some very dubious smokes and a few tins of cider sitting on the swings with his mates in the kids’ playground.

Those smokes were right now kicking in strong. And what with this storm brewing and the wind shrieking …

He’d got the wobblies. No question.

Meaning that every shadow, every creak of a branch, every swooping cloud of leaves — made his heart jolt and his somewhat scrambled brain shout “run, Ray, run!”

So what’s it to be? Ray thought, taking a deep breath and hoping the wobblies would go away. Kebab shop or ghosts?

Then — as if to answer him — he saw the churchyard suddenly lit up! Turned a brilliant white by a giant flash of lightning, followed instantly by a boom of thunder.

And then — from bad to worse! — the rain started. A wall of water, no warning, no gentle shower this, but a drenching, cascading torrent falling from the sky.

Instantly soaked, Ray thought, Hang on. This is a churchyard, isn’t it? This is where God’s supposed to live!

So, yes, rain, thunder, storms — but nothing really bad can happen here, can it?

He slid his hand along the gate, lifted the latch and went through, running as fast as his discombobulated feet would allow.

*

Halfway down the path, another massive bolt of lightning lit up the entire churchyard, making him jump. In that moment, Ray thought he saw a face peering from one of the memorials, staring right at him!

In the dark again, momentarily blinded by the flash, he stopped dead; rubbed his eyes, and made himself look again.

But the face had vanished back into the darkness.

What an idiot I am, eh? he thought, his breathing slowly calming, his now sopping clothes glued to his skin. Seeing ghosts at my age!

He carried on, head bowed against the downpour, aiming for the gate and the street lights. And he was almost there when he heard — and felt too — a muffled …

Crump.

That sound was different — definitely not the crashing bang of thunder. Then he remembered. It was like the sound he used to hear years back, working the quarries and the big construction sites.

The sound of an explosive charge going off.

But it seemed to come from the direction of the church.

Now that didn’t make any sense.

Fireworks maybe? Kids playing around?

He turned on his heels, curiosity taking over from fear, while he stared into the roaring wind and the crazy, driving rain, trying to pick up any other noises underneath the howling of the storm.

Head cocked — as if that would make him hear better — sure enough, from inside the church he heard some kind of faint clatter. Yes. A bang — metal on metal! Something being dropped. A door slamming, maybe?

Midnight — the church should be shut tight, empty. A fact Ray knew well, because, when he was a lad, he’d spent many a night in there with his mates, wasted, hunting for the communion wine — and finding nothing.

He heard a voice! A man’s voice — a shout! Then a grunt, like the kind of noise you hear in a fight.

Now fearful not of ghosts or flying chunks of slate but of human violence, Ray half-crouched, half-ran towards the dark shelter of the church wall itself.

Then he nervously walked along the side of the church, every now and then his feet slipping on sodden leaves.

At the building’s corner he stopped, pressed his face against the cold, wet stone and peered around towards where he knew was the back entrance to the church.

The door was open!

Barely visible, he saw a shape on the ground and heard another moan — somebody was there and they were hurt!

Still being careful — his mind now sharper with all the adrenaline kicking in, he guessed — he stepped forward and crouched down to the figure lying on their side on the stone slabs.

It was a man in a dark, winter coat.

“Mate!” shouted Ray over the noise of the wind. “Mate — you okay?”

The man groaned, mumbled something and then slowly twisted round, just as another flash of lightning exploded, freezing the scene in a brilliant white glow.

Revealing a trail of blood running down the man’s face from a wound to his head.

Ray recognised him straight away.

The Major!

That was his nickname, anyway. Ray had no idea what his name really was. The bloke was a church warden, and he lived right next to the churchyard.

Ray wasn’t a fan. The Major had got the cops onto him and his mates once for drinking beers and lighting a barbecue on one of the memorial stones.

“G-got hit,” said the Major, struggling to speak, trying to get up. “Someone hit …”

“Easy now,” said Ray, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t you move, you need an ambulance.”

“Ambulance, yes,” said the Major, eyes shut again. “Well, come on then, man. What are you waiting for? Get your phone out!”

“Ah,” said Ray. “Well, that might be a problem.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah. See — I don’t have a phone.”

“What?” said the Major, eyes open now, staring — as if Ray must surely be lying.

“Nah,” said Ray. “Don’t trust ’em. They listen to you, you know? All the time.”

The Major stared at him then Ray watched as he plunged a hand into his coat, pulled out a phone and handed it over.

“Use mine. Quickly!” he said, slumping back down, his head thudding on the stone slabs.

Ray took the phone, tapped the screen.

“Says here … need the code. To wake it up or something? See that’s why I—”

“What? The code? Oh right, right. It’s Waterloo. Waterloo.”

“What?” said Ray,...