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  21 Cemetery Road

  R. Stoneman

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Text and cover image copyright 2019 by R. Stoneman. All rights reserved.

  OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

  The Ouija Key

  The Fetch

  Out of the Hollow Hills

  Serpentine Magic

  The Serpentine Table

  Lucia’s Secret

  The Hotel on the Edge

  The Hydon Flaw

  A Carriage Drawn by Griffins

  The Memory of Glass

  CONTENTS

  21 Cemetery Road

  The Dark Cellar Portal

  The Message

  We Have to Talk About Trevor

  Being Familiar

  Incantations

  Battle Stations

  Questions and Some Answers

  More Questions Than Answers

  Council of War

  Upwards to the Unknown

  When is a Door not a Door?

  The Arrival of Gods and Demons

  Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave

  When We Practice to Deceive

  Tap Dancing on a Minefield

  Reality Bites

  Unwanted Attention

  A Hunting We Will Go.

  Albertus Grammaticus

  Now I am Dead

  Deja View

  Decisions, Decisions

  21 CEMETERY ROAD

  Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Will Greenwood; I'm a Chaos Magician. I share a house with a few other Magicals, an odd bunch of individuals by anyone's standards, but good souls, all. We've been friends ever since we met at the London School of the Arts for Magicals in 2016 and we'll be friends forever, or at least until we shuffle off this mortal coil and go to whatever forever we choose after that. Gordon is a shaman; he's a dark shaggy presence who's into Celtic and Nordic mythology. That path always seemed to me far too soaked in blood to be much fun. Earthy and blunt, with a mop of black hair and bushy beard he balances Liz's flights of fancy. She is our resident witch, and a good one she is too, although sometimes a little too intense for us. Her black and white striped hair and gold-rimmed spectacles make her resemble a surprised badger, but none of us would ever dare tell her that. And finally, there is Thor, a Ceremonial Magician. His bright red hair and sharp bearded features reminded me of Loki or a thin Viking Unfortunately, he doesn't have Loki's wit and skill at illusion, and if he saw a real Viking, he would probably run and hide behind the nearest bush. What he does have is a heart of gold.

  Saturday is the day that Gordon lets rip with drumming. I know shamans are supposed to drum and dance and go into a deep trance, but I wasn't too sure if the yells and cries were really necessary to draw down his spirit helpers, which always came in the form of spirit animals. We'd been visited by all sorts in the past, badgers, foxes and once a skunk which was memorable. Liz said that maybe he could ask them nicely, as the noise was upsetting her spirit cat, which none of us had ever seen. Thor said he didn’t care one way or the other. It was well outside my experience as a Chaos Magician to judge, but I pointed out that Gordon had at least found his groove, no one had died, and the otter only lasted an hour. As self-appointed peacemaker between the two, I expected there might be a magical witch versus shaman battle one day, and I didn't want to be within the borders of London City when it started.

  Thor and I go to the local pub, The Black Cauldron on Saturdays, so the noise only affected those like Liz and her coven, the Sisters of Hecate. Thor being a Ceremonial Magician, admired Liz for using a strict system of ritual and sacrifice while flirting with her, knowing quite well that his chances of anything more than a dark sending stood at nil.

  We'd known each other as friends when we were students at the London School of the Arts for Magicals, drawn together by a love of all things metaphysical. At the end of our courses, we received our hard-won licence to practice magic and Gordon found us a run down, low cost detached four bedroom house. The sale price was well below the cost of renting four separate flats at London prices. If we pooled our resources, we could just afford it.

  We discussed this over a few pints at The Black Cauldron and decided to go for it. A few days later, the contract still unsigned at the Agent’s office, we went to check it over.

  “Well, what do you think?” the chubby Mundane agent asked hopefully. We pulled up outside the house at the end of a rundown row of dilapidated Victorian villas backing on and ending at a large old cemetery.

  We all got out and looked around.

  Behind the house and bounded by mature trees, the cemetery might pass for a green, untended park but for the tombstones, some leaning dangerously, sad angels ready to fall and an occasional mausoleum all crowded in together.

  Trees grew through and around ancient crumbling mausoleums, forcing open the bronze doors and reaching in through broken marble roofs tipping out the caskets to lie smashed open on the dusty floors. Ivy flowed over table tombs and toppled pillars in a sea of dark green hiding the forgotten names of those below in the dust.

  I thought the house would make an excellent set for a horror film or a Hollywood B movie. Spooky, dirty, smashed windows and castellated turrets hinted at decay and worse inside. We walked around outside, peering into corners and poking the weeds.

  “Well,” said Thor, contemplating the tombstones clustered near the side of the house and close to the walled back garden, “The neighbours will be quiet anyway.”

  Liz smiled as she surveyed the wild scrubby and weed-covered land with hands on hip, and I knew she was sold on it. The agent didn't come inside to show us around as they usually did but waited nervously in the car. Liz rolled her eyes and grinned.

  “He's probably too scared because it comes with a bad reputation of gruesome deaths and malevolent ghosts,” she said.

  “How do you know Liz?” Gordon unlocked the old door and pushed it open with some effort.

  “I intuit it,” she said and swept past him into the long, dark hallway. We stayed close to each other and wandered around the large, high rooms admiring the plasterwork ceilings and period Victorian features. Inside, it was as run down as was possible without being condemned, but it was dry and well-aired, courtesy of the few broken windows. Thor poked his head into a walk-in closet and sniffed.

  “Smells like shit, it's going to take a lot of work if we buy it.”

  “It's haunted,” said Liz, as we wandered around the bedrooms. “Great, now we can do really serious stuff.”

  “Like what?” I asked, looking around to see if anything other than mortal might be about to put in an appearance.

  “Like talk to them, Will, ask questions on what it's like on the other side.”

  “Good luck there, mate,” said Gordon. “The other side doesn't usually want to chat. I've tried. Now, guys and gal, we've all had a poke around, what do you reckon, yay or nay?”

  Liz had answered almost before Gordon had got the last word out of his mouth.

  “Yeah.”

  The others were a bit more hesitant, but Thor caved in next, bobbing his head in a nod and adding a determined, “Yes.”

  Gordon gave a bright smile and nodded as well.

  “I really like this place.”

  I had no choice but to give in, and if I was honest, I was secretly quite looking forward to moving in.

  “Fine by me, let's go for it.”

  We had found the house, or perhaps the waiting house had found us.

  THE DARK CELLAR PORTAL

  We were impatient to leave our digs and move int
o 21 Cemetery Road as soon as possible. The ink on the contract hardly had time to dry before we turned up in various begged and borrowed vans, with Thor’s car loaded with our worldly goods and cleaning materials. With all our stuff safely in, we explored in depth, after the first quick view the previous week. The attic turned out to be a dusty treasure trove of junk that would take a while to sort through, and to my pleasant surprise, little fuss was made about who would have which room.

  Liz had a room facing south.

  “I can watch the moon rise from here and can start work on my new range of enchanted birthday cards.”

  “This will be my perfect Tower of the Dark Arts,” said Thor, happily spinning around in the five-sided tower room. “There’s extra space above in the pointed roof for the storage of my ceremonial robes and Golden Dawn staves.”

  Gordon picked the largest room overlooking the Cemetery.

  “The view is no problem, and I need the extra room for the dancing and drumming. The hide tent will fit in here fine with enough room for my clients.”

  I had what was left because I wasn’t fussed and the room had a walk-in closet and a sunny outlook. We all liked the old kitchen with the large Belfast sink in front of the high window overlooking the cemetery. It was big enough for us all so that we didn’t bump into each other moving around.

  We explored the stone-flagged cellar last. The electricity in the house had apparently been cut off in the past for non-payment. By torchlight, we discovered the old gas boiler that heated the house and an uncovered well in the corner that appeared bottomless and bounded by black shaped slate. We cautiously approached and stood on the flagstones to look down into the fathomless depths. Our torches showed only a little of the stones that lined it. I had an uneasy feeling that there was more to this than what appeared to be an ordinary well, I was sure there was something down there in the depths, and sensed something stir in the deep darkness, waking, and aware of us. I remembered an old saying. Be careful when looking into the void, that the void does not look back at you. I stepped back and shook my head to clear it.

  Thor dropped a pebble in, and after a long pause, we heard the faint clink.

  “So, no water then,” said Gordon. “Not much use as a well.”

  Liz shuddered and looked around nervously as we all moved away.

  “I feel that we've woken something just by being here,” said Gordon. I knew what he meant; being a Magical gives you heightened senses – always a mixed blessing. It can keep you out of trouble, but down here, my nerves jangled. Why? I wasn’t sure. Thor fidgeted, his eyes darting around as if any moment he thought he'd be attacked, and traced protective runes around his heart with nervous fingers.

  “There’s spooky and scary, but there’s something about this place that’s not...” Liz struggled for words. “It’s sort of twisted in space and time if you know what I mean.”

  “No, not really,” I said, “but I feel we’re being watched.”

  We all left quickly, no one wanting to be the last one up the steep, stone steps.

  In the days to come, we found out how time-consuming and soul-destroying it is to work through all the paperwork and repairs needed for four fledgeling joint owners of a house.

  Liz set up her studio and worked on her enchanted Christmas and birthday card paintings that she supplied to a greeting cards producer.

  Thor settled into his job at the occult book shop ‘Grimoire’ which he loved, meeting and greeting those of like interest. His boss found his knowledge of books and other niche methods of arcane practices a real attraction for customers, some of which were V.I.P. members in various London magic lodges.

  Gordon found placement in the local bistro, L’Escargot, where he happily set to work as a kitchen porter, often bringing us back leftover food in Tupperware boxes. The job as he said, was a good source of blood and bones.

  Me? I sold my decorative sigils but wanted to break into some of the practical arts – real magic workings. The galleries and boutiques wanted my foiled and jewelled sigils; they paid well, so I made them and occasionally added in an enchantment, only for it to be returned later as of 'no interest'.

  THE MESSAGE

  The start of the strangeness or whatever the thing was, reached into our lives after an ill-advised party late one night at our first Halloween party.

  The four of us gathered together in the downstairs front sitting room decorated by Liz with imitation spider webs, rubber bats and Gordon's collection of old bones, tastefully arranged around the antique marble fireplace with its cheerful fire warming the room. Thor's contribution consisted of incense, an old Ouija board he'd found in the attic, unique cocktails and several dubious joints.

  “I'm not sure,” said Liz, trying to focus on the board and vaguely waving her plastic non-magic wand, “I think that dabbling with Ouija boards is supposed to be harmful.”

  “Nah,” said Thor, taking a deep drag of the joint. “We're not dabbling. We're into this really deep, like people, we do not dabble, we study.”

  That seemed to make good sense, and we all sagely nodded. I lit Gordon's three black candles and joined the others cross-legged around the coffee table. In the flickering light with our fingers on the planchette, we sat in silence, In the darkness, the walls receded, and the shadows shuffled closer.

  “Is anyone there,” intoned Thor in a deep voice; I giggled.

  "Shush," hissed Liz at me, "come on, Will, be sensible."

  “Okay, if you pass the joint, I will be, I promise.” It was true, after another deep drag, I could feel doors swing open in my mind. “Okay, Gordon, once more with feeling.”

  "Is there anybody effing there?" he roared, which made us all jump. Then we waited and waited a bit more, and then I decided to give up after one more minute as nothing was happening, then I felt a slight movement. The little planchette swung away from me and circled the board pausing as it passed each of us as if seeking for something. We all looked at each other, suspiciously.

  “You’re pushing it, Gordon,” whispered Liz.

  “No, I'm not.”

  We watched the planchette move painfully slowly around the board.

  “Y-E-S,” read Gordon. "Okay, colour me not impressed.”

  “Give it a chance. Go on, someone; ask it a question,” said Liz.

  “Okay,” I said. “How can we do strong magic?”

  “Cool,” said Thor, “sensible.”

  “Possibilities, oh yes,” said Liz.

  We all watched owlishly as the planchette movements speeded up.

  C-E-L-L-A-R

  “You are effing joking,” rumbled Gordon, frowning. “If you think I'm going down there, you've got another think coming. That is the pits. No way.”

  “Look,” said Liz rounding on him. “Will asked, and we got a sensible answer, are you a wuss? Thor, what about you?”

  “I know a little about arcane self-defence, I could draw a pentacle, but Gordon's right, there are possibilities of demonic possession and, and, um, other stuff.”

  Me? I was flying high and unafraid.

  “Look, guys, we all want something that will really work, instead of us pissing about with bought-in spells that nearly work and busting a gut on rituals learned from books that occasionally work, if at all. Now's our chance to do the real thing, real magic. Think of the power.” I warmed to my subject, fuelled by best Lebanese hash and vodka cocktails. “Gordon, you can call down your spirits, Liz, you will spin your moon magic, Thor you can learn of things from the Gods you never imagined.”

  "What about you, Will?" asked Gordon, his eyes shining; I hadn't thought of that.

  “Oh, I'll cobble something together,” I said serenely. “I don't want to be labelled.”

  “The cellar?” Gordon shook his head. “No, I don’t like the cellar, but if we all go together. I’ll stick it and do it. But what do we do when we get there?”

  We still had our fingers on the planchette and felt it move smoothly around.

  W-A-I-Tr />
  “Well,” I said, “that’s easy to do.”

  I was about to take my finger off when Gordon called out.

  “Stop, we have to say goodbye and push the planchette into the goodbye section on the board.”

  We pushed or tried to, but the little planchette platform wouldn’t move.

  “Now what,” asked Liz?

  “Pass,” I said. “Maybe its little wheels are stuck.”

  Gordon picked it up and dropped it on the board’s goodbye section.

  “See, easy. Goodbye, Ouija.”

  “Bye,” said Liz, rising and smoothing down her black dress.

  “Goodbye,” said Thor and me together.

  I thought the jamming of the little platform wasn’t a good thing, but as I felt gently mellow, I brushed the niggle aside. Now, at last, we had a good chance of real magic and power. Carrying the candles, we filed out into the gloomy hall, our flickering shadows dancing beside us, then into the kitchen where the door to the cellar stood invitingly open. Liz stopped abruptly.

  “I always keep that door closed; did anyone open it?”

  We all shook our heads. Liz sighed, "Okay, then, let's do this."

  In the dark, damp cellar, we grouped nervously near the stair up to the door in case anything happened. My drug-fuelled mind kept trying to get my attention and warn me about something, probably the well that filled the stone-walled room with a dank, mouldy smell. Liz seemed twitchy and kept darting glances around, only Thor and Gordon, both with set determined expressions seemed unafraid.

  “Okay, said Thor, we’re waiting; now what?”

  A loud bang above us made me jump, and Liz shrieked as the kitchen door we had left open slammed shut. My nerves began to jangle, whether coming down from the high or because my mind was screaming to get my attention, I had no idea, but I finally got the message through that This Was Not A Good Idea.

  “Look,” whispered Gordon. "What’s that?”

  Over the mouth of the well, a small blue-green glowing cloud formed. In the dark, it coiled and twisted into strange shapes, sometimes a bird, sometimes a creature from nightmares. In classes, we had to experience a dissection of a cadaver to acquaint ourselves with the inner workings of the human body. When you study magic, some of the lessons require a strong stomach; it's not all fun and spellcasting. Now, I was reminded of that session, as strings resembling red and blue pulsing intestines squirmed into strange repulsive boneless shapes, twisting and tumbling over the mouth of the well. Shapes formed and reformed, all hinting at a malignant and depraved entity. A vulture-like form with bats wings appeared, then quickly dissolved into a swirl of coiling blue-green mass.