The White Devil by Justin Evans

Author:Justin Evans
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction.Historical, Mystery, Horror, Suspense & Thriller, Fantasy
ISBN: 0297865919
Publisher: W&N
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

Awesome Aunty

FATHER PETER WATCHED Piers Fawkes with pity. Most of the beaks and administrators at the school had at first been in awe of Fawkes, and the chaplain had been no exception. Fawkes had been a household name in England for a time. He had been interviewed on television. His image appeared in magazines. Father Peter remembered a particular cover photo, in fact: a black-and-white portrait of Fawkes perched on a stool in a sweater, holding a burning fag between dirty fingernails, looking greasy and very debauched with his heavy-lidded eyes. But that was years ago. Increasingly, people at the school (those who chattered about such things) wondered what Fawkes was doing there. He was not quite the career housemaster type. Not quite a visiting dignitary or poet-at-large. Rather confused is how someone had described Fawkes to Father Peter. Now that confusion seemed to have spilled over into something terribly wrong. Perhaps it was the boy dying, Father Peter mused; yes, that must be it. Poor man—he got more than he bargained for, in this job. Fawkes was now squirming on Father Peter’s sofa as if something were eating him from within. His skin was pale. He was sweating—there were big rings under each armpit, coming through his jacket, and dampness rimmed his hairline. But with English and clerical reserve, Father Peter chose to ignore all this; let the man bring it up, if he liked.

“How about a sherry, Piers?” he said brightly.

At this, Fawkes started a fit of violent and prolonged coughing.

“Are you all right?” asked Father Peter.

Fawkes waved him off. “Fine, fine,” he croaked. “I’ll be fine.”

Father Peter’s smile was rather thinner than before. “Then how can I help you?”

“I, uh . . . ,” began Fawkes. “Do you know how to, uh . . .” He resumed coughing.

“Water?” offered Father Peter. He stood and poured him a glass. Fawkes sucked it down.

“Something in my throat.”

“Yes.”

Father Peter waited. At last Fawkes was able to blurt it out. “Do you know how to get rid of a ghost?”

The priest’s smile collapsed. “I’m sorry. Did you say get rid of a ghost?”

“Yes,” Fawkes said, as casually as he could. “Is there a prayer? Some kind of ceremony?”

“Do you mind sharing with me why you’re asking, Piers?”

Fawkes gave a rambling and vague answer . . . about the Lot ghost, a legend in the house, a tradition . . . but with Theo Ryder’s death, he said, there was a resurgence of interest . . . something to blame; you know; explain the unexplainable.

“You’re saying,” Father Peter said, carefully, “the boys are blaming the ghost for Theo Ryder’s death?”

“Some boys,” clarified Fawkes.

“And you thought having a prayer, or exorcism, will calm them down?”

Fawkes nodded. “I must ask you to keep this in priestly confidence,” he quickly added. “The head man thinks I’m a bit crazy on this point.”

“Hm,” said Father Peter, regarding his sweaty guest. “Yes. Well, that’s extraordinary. I’ve heard about the Lot ghost, of course. But I wouldn’t want to be seen to lend credence to a .

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