gns.snakes-第25部分
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ents and position away。
Further down the main street he had to use his flashlight。 Now why the devil hadn't they continued with the street…lighting down here？ The houses were more isolated now； modern dwellings erected after the line of stone…built cottages petered out； but the council had not yet got round to providing full amenities for the occupants。
He shone his beam on the towering rickety church lych…gate； it was a wonder that it had not collapsed years ago； rotting and broken timbers； a half…torn notice of church service times hanging on by a single drawing pin。 When the winds and rain came again （if ever they did） it would be whipped away to lie rotting in the bottom of the cemetery hedgerow。
He decided to check the church； no real reason except that it seemed the logical place to start。 He walked slowly up the weed…covered track； shone his torch from side to side。 A wilderness； even the most recent graves that had not yet had their tombstones erected were being hidden behind a screen of seeding wild willow herb。 There was room for maybe another twenty graves and then the church would have to blow the whistle on burials here unless they obtained permission to dig up the roadside verge。 Full up； book your plot now。 He smiled in the darkness at his humourless joke but all the same he wondered where they would go next。 Stainforth had filled two graveyards in three centuries。 The church authorities would have to find another tract of consecrated ground or else resort to cremation。 There were hundreds more people still left to die in the village。 The snakes could speed up the death toll considerably。
There was no mistaking the four newly dug graves。 He smelled the damp soil that had not yet had time to dry out； sheets of artificial grass vainly trying to hide the morbid excavations。 The day after tomorrow was funeral day； four； one after the other。 Elsie Harrison； Barbara Brown and her child； Eversham； what was left of him。 There'll be more if you don't find the snakes soon； copper。 Shut up； don't think about it。
The church doors were locked； as they should have been； but it was second nature to a policeman to try them。 The wrought…iron latch rattled like the bones of long…dead skeletons turning restlessly in their coffins； echoed inside the church。 Aylott felt uneasy； churches were always disquieting to him； associating them with funerals and with the victims of murderers and road accidents。 And snakes。
He would make sure he was confined to his office on the day of the funerals； for once not objecting to being the Force's stooge； the human telephone answering service for operational headquarters。 You said I was to stay here and look after things； sir。 I don't mind at all。
There would be a big turn…out for the burials； the whole village plus press and TV。 The media would make a big thing of it。 Get your head down over some paperwork； boy； catch up on all that form…filling； and by the time you've finished it will all be over。 Until the snakes strike again。
Perhaps he should have attended church regularly in his youth and then he would not have had this secret disquiet about them。 It wasn't just death； that was routine to a policeman whether it was a nice peaceful pensioner's passing or a gory traffic accident。 It was what happened afterwards； the unnecessary morbid ritual。 Some claimed it was a form of therapy designed to ease the grief of the bereaved。 Aylott believed it was a climax to horror； brought those left behind face to face with the grave。 This is the end； there's nothing else no matter what they try to tell you 。 He had never had any time for the Reverend Philip Emsworth； Stainforth's parson。 Overweight； pink…faced； a flabby handshake and a condescending voice。 A hypocrite if ever there was one； a scrounger of Sunday lunches and afternoon teas； who dodged reality by erecting a pseudo…spiritual barrier； had found his niche in this out…of…the…way village。 But forting words were no defence against killer snakes。
PC Aylott made a slow tour of the cemetery； shone his torch from one moss…covered tombstone to the next。 Christ； some bugger even had a serpent engraved on his stone； a depiction of the Garden of Eden。 That's all I bloody well need。 He shivered； the night air had turned very cold。
Well； the reptiles certainly weren't lying out in this jungle of an unkempt cemetery。 The constable reached the furthest boundary； saw a dilapidated wicket gate that leaned over into an adjoining section of rough ground…the original graveyard。
It was no more than a couple of acres at the most； triangular； bounded by a tall straggling hawthorn hedge that had last been pleached in 1963 and had not been touched since。 Most of the graves went back to the last century； their indecipherable headstones having either been laid flat or fallen over and left that way because in the days when Stainforth Parochial Church Council was able to afford a full…time verger it made mowing easier。 Then came drastic economic cut…backs in the 1970s and both verger and mower were made redundant。 Emsworth took it upon himself to let the old graveyard revert to nature； the hedge； untidy as it was； screened the worst of the wilderness and as the majority of those buried in there had no living relatives left few were likely to plain。 If you can't clear up a mess； hide it； was one of the clergyman's many mottoes。
Aylott did not fancy going in there。 He stood by the remains of the old gate； swinging his torch beam in a wide arc； noted the flattened； tangled growth where the police and army searchers had trodden it down。 There really was not much point in going in there for a second look； now was there？ Not really； but if you're going to check out the sandpit at the far end you'll have to； unless you're going to go back and all the way round by road。 You don't really want to go and shine your torch in those open graves again； do you？…because if you walk by them you'll be pelled to。 The first one's for Elsie Harrison； the second for 。。。
He negotiated the leaning broken gate； snapped another rotten strut with a loud crack。 If those snakes are around they will have heard that for sure。 But they surely aren't because they would have been found by now if they were。 That was the best piece of logic he had e up with all night and it made him feel an awful lot easier in his disturbed mind。
Through this wilderness that used to be a cemetery； out into the sandpit and back along the road to the station； sorry； operational HQ。 I went out on my own and looked； sir； but I'm certain the snakes aren't in Stainforth。 They've moved on unseen and we'll just have to wait until they turn up somewhere。 And somebody else gets killed。
It was not easy walking in there； the trampled…down grass and weeds screening large stones that you only found when you either stubbed your toe against them or trod on them and wrenched your ankle。 A hidden indentation in the ground threw PC Aylott headlong。 He cursed； picked himself up； had to retrieve his torch which had rolled away。 Now this is bloody stupid； you're not proving anything either to yourself or to anybody else。 You're pandering to guilt； trying to convince yourself that you're not the bloody coward you thought you were。 And all the time you're shit…scared。
The sandpit could not be far now； the hedges were beginning to angle towards the apex of the graveyard triangle and where they met there would be a broken…down stile and a slope beyond which he would have to negotiate very carefully。 Then it was but a hundred yards or so back to the road。 And safety。
His foot rested on something flat and smooth beneath the grass； one of those old tombstones lying horizontally； no doubt。 He rested his full weight on it and felt it tilt like a paving slab that had been placed on uneven ground。 Well； it was hardly likely to have been laid with a spirit…level； was it？ It 。。 。
Ken Aylott's brain could not cope with what happened next。 A feeling like vertigo； a loss of balance and coordination； a sensation akin to stepping on to a hinged trapdoor； aware of it tilting downwar
