The Goat's Head Read online

  Going by intuition alone, she pivoted and faced the scarlet wall at the black hole in the wall. Sofie found herself staring fixedly at that hole like she had done earlier on when she truly believed she saw a flicker of movement and leapt back with a yelp of surprise as something moved on the other side of the wall. It didn’t more than a split second for the orange flicker to become absolute blackness, but in that split second the young lady who had been naked not a couple of minutes ago would swear on her life that someone had been spying on her while holding either a torch or a candle in an otherwise pitch black room.

  Frightened for her mortality, Sofie stood transfixed for a good few moments before blinking and realising that standing in the exact same spot with just a towel wrapped around herself wasn’t the best situation to defend yourself from an intruder.

  There had to be someone else inside the house besides Charles and Yvonne, her mind insisted. As large as the detached Victorian house was she would have definitely heard either Charles or Yvonne ascending the staircase. Or would she? After all the water had been covering her ears for a fair amount of time since she had been in the bathtub. Would she have heard them coming up the stairs?

  She shook her head, cussing under her breath. She had already decided that there had been too many peculiar incidents in such a short space of time for them to be all coincidences. Furthermore, neither Charles nor Yvonne would have moved from their seats in the living room while they were watching that distasteful programme about Samhain rituals and Devil worship.

  Knocking the light off, Sofie slid her black panties up her long, athletic legs under the towel and then fitted her bra on, making certain to turn her back to the hole in the wall. Then she got into her jeans and woolly jumper, folded the towel returned it to the radiator and exited the bathroom, halting over the threshold, never breaking her unwavering gaze at the door to Charles and Yvonne’s bedroom. She moved forward on tip-toes, standing right in front of the black door, leaned forward and put her ear to the cold timber and tried to listen to anything, save the beating of her heart, for any noise coming from the room.

  Silence.

  And in spite of this, instead of feeling relieved and placated, it made her trepidation worse somehow. Perhaps if she just opened the door and took a quick peek inside just to clarify that she had imagined the scenario beyond all doubt, she could then return downstairs, do her job and get a good night’s rest.

  She tried the brass doorknob and gently pushed only to find it was locked.

  Had there been a keyhole beneath the brass doorknob Sofie wouldn’t have found this at all worrying. However, there was something about a door that was used on a regular, daily basis by the two elderly people downstairs unaware of what she was attempting to do, unyielding that multiplied her anxiety and trepidation. Because the only way you could lock a door from the inside without a lock on the outside was if someone was occupying the room. Therefore there had to be an intruder inside the house.

  A wave of panic assailed the young law student to such an extent bright flashes blotted her vision. This had to be what they meant when you had stars in your eyes. Her face prickled from the heat of her blood boiling and adrenaline building inside her. She staggered backwards into the wall behind her, groaned and then exhaled and inhaled deeply and as slowly as she possibly could, doing her utmost to regain her composure.

  It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. Just go downstairs and ask those two old pair if their door is usually locked and see what they say before jumping to conclusions, okay?

  Standing erect, Sofie steadied herself before descending the staircase to the ground floor and headed towards the living room wondering why it was so quiet. The light was on but the TV had been switched off and Charles and Yvonne were nowhere to be seen. She sat down on the sofa, perplexed as to who exactly she had agreed to assist in caring this evening where outside she could now hear the sounds of distant fireworks exploding in the cold, galactic sky, dazzling anyone who cared to look with the array of brilliant hues.

  After searching all the rooms downstairs, Sofie opened the front door and stood on the threshold watching a rocket exploded into a magnificent fountain of luminous green, dissipating into the star-studded sky. Seeing the fireworks go off in the distance relaxed her a little. However, at some point the cold would settle into the marrow, chill her until she shivered, forcing her against her will to close the door and resume this uncanny evening of unexplainable occurrences and now, on top of everything else, disappearances...

  A demon statue in the front yard, two elderly people who spoke less than those occupying the nearby graveyard, programs on satanic rituals and now a game of hide and seek. The more the night grew the more her intuition informed her that not heeding Janice’s advice when she first arrived that afternoon (which now seemed like a lifetime ago) would be the worst decision she had ever made. One that she would regret for ever...

  Closing the door seemed to have some kind of symbolic meaning, as though she was closing the door on her only chance of fleeing this mad house and leaving the two old people and their demon statue. Nevertheless, what played on Sofie’s mind was how it must have been either Charles or Yvonne hiding in their bedroom while they spied on her getting undressed. Seeing her naked. It had to be Charles. He had probably been in his bed when she returned downstairs, stroking his wrinkly old man’s cock until all the blood left the rest of his body in order for him to be able to get an erection.

  Gross.

  Yet if that were true (and let’s face it folks, it’s plausible) then where had Yvonne disappeared too. Surely she wouldn’t have gone to their bedroom with her husband to peek through the hole in the wall to watch her getting into and out of the bathtub. However, the more she contemplated it, you could never tell with those two weirdoes. If they could both sit there in the living room watching a TV show about how sinister cults sacrificed unwilling recipients to die at their hands or whatever the hell it was they were supposed to achieve to please the devil without batting an eyelid or demonstrating even announce of revulsion then anything was possible.

  This time when she ascended the staircase, Sofie was more angry than she was afraid. She didn’t like the way either Charles or Yvonne had spoken to her or being spat at when she was only trying to help. She didn’t appreciate nearly suffering a heart attack when they stood right outside the library, waiting for her when anyone else would have knocked and entered and politely reminded her of her duties. But being spied on by a couple of perverts who then hid in their room, preventing Sofie from giving them their night time dosage of medication and sleeping pills was going one step too far. Enough was enough.

  Standing before their bedroom door, Sofie didn’t hesitate to rap half a dozen times as hard and as loud as her knuckles would permit. Her knuckles would probably be red and sore by the time it was time for her to retire to the spare bedroom but right now her vexation overrode every other emotion. She waited without patience, struggling to contain her temper. Then started banging on the door.

  Still no answer.

  ‘I know you two are in there,’ she said, only a couple of decibels from shouting. ‘I bet you think this is really funny, huh? Well, you won’t be laughing when you can’t get off to sleep because you haven’t had your pills, will you? I’ll bang on this door all night long till you answer me, damn it!’

  Ten minutes later, her hands swollen from the inexorable banging, Sofie cussed under her breath and headed down the hall and sat on the top step pondering aimlessly on what she could do about her situation. The hands on approach (no pun intended) hadn’t worked; if anything banging on the door had probably scared them to the point that they would never emerge until the moment they heard Margaret’s voice sometime tomorrow, and if that happened Sofie wouldn’t be paid a single penny and have wasted her time when she could have been studying.

  She rose, headed back down the h
allway to the bedroom door, knocked very lightly and said in a soft tone, ‘Look, I’m sorry for shouting at you and banging on the door but you keep on scaring me. And I know that one of you was looking at me through the hole in the wall. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but it’s not amusing; not in the slightest. If you don’t want me to be in your company, that’s fine. But I still need to give you your medication in a couple of hours...’ she let what she’d said hang in the air, hands on hips, waiting for some kind of response.

  Silence.

  ‘If you’re ashamed about being caught spying on me, I’ll promise not to mention it to Margaret tomorrow; just answer me and come downstairs watch whatever it is you wanna watch on TV and take your medicine. Please.’

  From inside the bedroom Sofie heard a floorboard creaking under the weight of a distinct footstep. But waiting another five minutes without a response wasn’t acceptable. She pivoted and halted immediately at the sight of Yvonne standing at the top of the staircase dressed in a long black robe that looked like something a monk would where; her face pallid and withdrawn (almost skeletal). Sofie didn’t know how to react even if she could. Instead her throat worked convulsively and the same prickly sensation all over her flesh she’d had in the bathroom assailed her yet again. There was something terribly eerie about the woman’s features barely visible beneath the hood of the robe.

  ‘I-I th-thought you were in y-your bedroom,’ the young Swedish woman muttered.

  Yvonne didn’t reply. She simply turned her back to the young woman and slowly descended the stairs, taking care not to trip on her robe.

  On legs that were as stable as melting butter, Sofie followed, confused and frightened in a way she never thought possible. She nearly fell when in her peripheral vision she caught sight of another robed figure at the bottom of the stairs standing in front of the door leading into the boudoir. When the figure arched their head back and met her unflinching gaze, Sofie saw that it was Charles as she had never seen him before.

  ‘W-What’s g-going on?’ she stammered, hating herself for showing weakness.

  It seemed that the most frightening aspect of the whole evening was the silence and lack of response from these two elderly people. Regardless of the fact that their being able to read her mind and be evasive had vexed her, it was nothing compared to the broad, sinister smiles that met her as she reached the bottom step and stood merely a few yards away from them.

  Heart beating like a jackhammer, Sofie sidled past them, making certain she kept out of arms’ reach of the two robed figures and headed towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll just go and fetch your medication and then we can have an early night, okay?’ Her voice was that of a terrified mouse having being cornered by a ravenous cat, saliva dripping from its gaping mouth where razor sharp incisors glinted under the light.

  Outside a firework exploded with an almighty explosion. Sofie jumped involuntarily, resting a hand over her heart, walking backwards, never once taking her protuberant eyes off the couple, getting closer and closer to the kitchen. Blindly, she found the switch with a fumbling hand, flicked it, illuminating the kitchen area, only to trip over one of the wooden chairs and fall backwards, smacking her head on the tiled flooring. The lights went out instantaneously, obliterating the hellish impact that threatened to split Sofie’s head open like a coconut.

  The straight back chair had toppled over and propped the unconscious girl’s legs up. A dribble of blood escaped her parted lips when her teeth had gnashed her gum, piercing the skin. The two robed figures who had witnessed her falling over and hitting her head on the unyielding surface couldn’t have hoped for a better set of circumstances. Sofie had handed them this perfect opportunity on a silver platter, and they hadn’t needed to lift a finger.

  Meanwhile upstairs Charles and Yvonne’s bedroom door opened ajar and a robed figure poked their head through the gap to see what the loud crash downstairs had been about. The robed figure tentatively emerged from the room and edged towards the banister. He craned his head over the side and saw much to their relief that both Charles and Yvonne were staring at something that had transpired in the kitchen area.

  Charles and Yvonne both arched their heads back and grinned malevolently at the robed figure standing at the top of the staircase.

  3.

  The first sign of consciousness felt like a sledgehammer had been imbedded into her skull. Every time she tried to use her brain to ease open her eyes or think what had transpired for her to be in this semi-conscious state, motionless, a hellish agony that slammed into her head from an invisible force. Whatever consciousness she’d regained diminished into oblivion until the profound darkness enveloped her once more and she remembered nothing.

  The second time she became aware the pain that inflicted her previously was still present but not as intense. However, she had no sense of how much time had lapsed since she’d lost consciousness initially to end up in her current position or what had happened. For the time being, she guessed, it didn’t matter, as long as the pain dispersed until she was rewarded without any more suffering, she could manage to blink open her eyes and then get control of her physical self.

  Focusing intently, she tried desperately to lift her heavy lids that weighed down on her to see where she was. She loathed disorientation and incapacity. They were foreign to her. Since childhood she had always been in control of her body and mind. Now she felt as though she’d been given a lobotomy and given a strong sedative that had induced total paralysis. Her attempts were in vain. After three more failed attempts, she finally surrendered, deciding to save her strength for a more appropriate time and instead shut off every thought and concentrated on listening to any minute sounds she might be able to detect. In spite of performing this task (which would not aid her one iota), she heard the ominous sound of a creaking floorboard in close proximity.

  Alarmed at the sound, she emitted a quiet gasp. For her consciousness informed her that the last time she’d heard the creaking of a floorboard something of a sinister nature transpired shortly thereafter; although she couldn’t bring to mind what exactly. All she knew was, she needed to get out her current situation in order to defend herself against whatever was about to befall her subsequently.

  What she heard next would have frozen her had she not already been under heavy sedation and tied to four nails, arms and ankles stretched out wide, splaying herself atop the Pagan symbol (pentacle) that had been created by the spillage of goat’s blood. Four voices began chanting an eerie, foreign incantation that made no sense English and was not familiar with workings of satanic rituals bone-gnawing music played in the background from another region, echoing in the gloom, bouncing off the walls that seemed to be drawing closer with every passing second, sounding as though it were being played on an electrical keyboard.

  The first time she regained control over her body was when coils of smoke assailed her nostrils and she flinched. Her blurry vision began to clear, peeling away the layers of hazy hues and revealing a high-ceilinged room she had never seen before. The coils of smoke were green and the smell acrid and undetectable. The great bedroom was plunged in shadow and mist. It swirled with rapidity, like some dust devil of the desert. It smelled of nothing she was familiar with. However, if she had to make an assumption she would say it was something toxic, far worse than the smoke inhaled from candles, cigarettes and cigars.

  She turned her head to the side and almost fainted at the long golden staff with a goat’s head at the apex, exhaling the strange green vapour, obscuring her vision and filling her lungs. The incantation she couldn’t fathom even if she spoke every language in the world reverberated inside her head until it reiterated itself with profound effect. It hypnotised her, calming her. But not in a good way. It seemed to do this prior to her writhing and wriggling against her restraints, as though there was another unseen presence in the room that knew what she had been about to do before actuall
y doing it.

  Some time passed, although she couldn’t be certain in her disorientation whether it was five minutes or fifty minutes. However, the more time passed the more lucid she became until everything in the room seemed to loom over her like the trees arching over the road leading to the house. What house? She knew she wasn’t in her dorm but due to the incantation drilling into her head she couldn’t focus on trying to remember the events prior to reaching her destination.

  Then it all came rushing back to her like someone had hit the rewind button and she saw everything in her mind’s eye all the way back to that afternoon when Janice had brought her Fiat to a halt outside the grand Victorian house of gothic architecture and commenting on the statue of the demon raising its front paw in either a greeting or farewell salute. The incident in the living room when she’d felt nauseous watching the programme on satanic rituals and devil worship seemed significant and relevant to her current situation.

  Being tied to four nails embedded into the solid floorboards, limbs aching from being stretched out away from her torso for so long brought to mind a depiction she’d seen on the TV about how the Jews were sacrificed as were young, female virgins in order for the followers of the devil to perform the correct procedures of the rituals according to their forbearers. The TV show also talked about how the Druids would sacrifice the last male descendent of a family by marking them, giving birth to an evil spirit in mortal form to carry out their misdemeanours and kill every last member of their family, and anyone who tried to stop them.

  Above the din of the bone-gnawing music the floorboards creaked audibly and the eerie, foreign incantation ceased. Perhaps it was only due to the fact that the chanting had been a background noise while she gathered her bearings that made the silence that now followed all the more terrifying. From out of the darkness broken only by the flickering candlelight four robed figures appeared in her peripheral vision. And perhaps it was because of the dim, orange lit creating amorphous shadows on the wall, illuminating their faces that made what she saw beyond the dark chasm of their hoods appear hideous.