Adam and Eve

 

It was a night I’ve spent half a lifetime trying to forget. After motoring three hundred miles through a murky October day in Nineteen Eighty Three I needed a drink or two before I hit the pillow. I remember that a church clock was striking Nine O clock as I drove into the town, an hour or two later than I had intended, thanks to a flat tire. I quickly found what appeared to be my designated hotel, but that turned out to be the second blow of the day, for not only had a reservation not been made, the hotel was full. And so, in a descending order of ‘stars’ I tried all the others, then the guest houses, then the ‘bed and breakfasts’ and finally the pubs. The result in every case was the same. Full; every one; not a room to be found anywhere.
             In a back street pub in what was literally my last chance, I tried to bargain with the barman, hoping a ‘fiver’ on top might jog his memory into finding a ‘forgotten’ room in the attic, or the cellar. But it was no good.
             “What’s going on?” I asked.
             “It’s the Witches and Warlocks Festival.” he replied rather quietly, almost a whisper. “Come every year they do. Take over the town. Got to book early you know.”
             Well that much I did know. The editor of my local newspaper had heard about this event and had sent me to investigate. I was a new ‘would be’ journalist, keen up to a point but ‘Witches and Warlocks’? My reluctance however was not enough to dissuade him.
             “You need something to get your teeth into, sharpen you up a bit. Besides, it’ll be like a holiday for you.” he assured me. “A few days in Scotland; booked you into the best hotel, and I won’t look too closely at your bar expenses.”
             Considering my position right now I made a mental note to question him about that. Before that was the more pressing question. “Where am I going to sleep tonight?”
             Despite the barman’s inability to accommodate me I ordered a large brandy before setting out on my search. “Where’s the nearest place I can find a bed then?” I asked him.
             He continued polishing a glass and then lifted it up to inspect his work and looking over its rim, with a watery eye he winked.
             “About five miles sir.” he answered “Along the road out of town there’s a crossroads. Gibbet Corner we call it. Turn left there then right up a narrow lane, and them . . .” he hesitated.
             “And then what?” I prompted, rather abruptly, admittedly somewhat confused by the wink.
             “And you’ll come to the old rectory. They take in paying guests so I’m told.”
             I finished my drink. I was tired, it was way after ten and my options were running out. It was also very dark now, and raining steadily. I found the crossroads easy enough, though why it was called ‘Gibbet Corner’ it was not possible to tell. The fact that it was dark and squally; the wind causing the rain, heavy now, to beat against the car making visibility difficult; did not help at all. My concentration was on the road, looking for a sign, any sign, to get me out of the weather, and into somewhere warm and dry. Suddenly, almost weirdly, there it was. A signpost pointing to the right down a narrow road, which stated simply, but in rather old fashioned lettering ‘The Old Rectory’.
            I was pleased to find that the road to the Old Rectory, though narrow, was quite good, especially as the signpost had not indicated a distance. But my satisfaction soon changed when, without warning the road ended at a gate. A small notice, hardly readable through the streaky windscreen not helped by the swishing rain invited me to continue on what looked like little more than a dirt track; muddy at that; to ‘The Old Rectory – 1 mile.’

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                                                        -oOo-

 

One mile; I groaned. ‘Will this night ever end?’ I was angry at the prospect of another soaking, and the real possibility of getting stuck in the mud miles from anywhere, and with little prospect of help. More than that I was still unsure if accommodation was available when, or if, I reached the rectory. The gate was heavy and stiff, and had to be physically lifted to clear the deep rut where it scraped into the ground. By the time I had opened it, driven my car through, and then closed it I was drenched. The light from the headlights was quickly diminished by the rain. They illuminated nothing save a ghostly halo, and certainly no glimpse of a building.
         It was hard to imagine a more desolate place; and my joyful anticipation of a warm and comfortable room for the night seemed to be as far away as ever. Pushing gingerly forward, fearful of finding a deep rut, my face as close to the windscreen as possible to gather in what vision there was, I managed to stay on the track. When the ‘Old Rectory’ finally came into view it was with a mixture of relief and something approaching dismay, for the faintest of outlines seemed to suggest a ramshackle, almost deserted building, dingy and unlit. Unlit that is save for a single, rather dim, light in the doorway porch. Wearily I left my car and entered the porch, high and arched over a large heavy door. In the gloomy light I looked for a notice that might indicate some kind of welcome to visitors, but found none. Neither was there anything to indicate that this was indeed the old rectory, even though it was hard to believe it to be anything other.
        Having found no knocker, or bell, or chain, I gave the door a sharp thump with the side of my fisted hand, but despite the firmness of my action it seemed to make little sound, and produced no result. I tried once more; still without response. For long minutes no one came and I turned to go, desperate now, dreading the return journey, and resigned to spending the rest of the night in the car. As I started to move away I sensed the door opening. It was the increase of light that made me stop and turn, for that huge door was opening without a sound. Only the brightness from within, increasing as the door opened, told me that my knocking had in fact been heard.
             “Can I help you?” It was a young voice, not clearly male or female emanating from a person standing in the doorway. The light behind, though not particularly bright was strong enough to create a silhouette of someone tall, slim, and long haired; but as to its gender I could not tell.
             “Can I help you?” The same question in exactly the same manner.
             “Forgive me.” I managed to answer, “I’m a little disoriented, what with the weather, and the time. I’ve been told that you have accommodation for travellers. I know it’s very late, I do hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
             “Please come in; do you have some luggage?”
             “A couple of bags in the boot.”
             I turned to retrieve my bags, but before I reached my car this young person was ahead of me. I managed a flick on the remote and the boot sprang up. A hand grabbed the bags and slammed the boot lid down almost in one continuous movement,  seemingly without getting wet was quickly back to the porch and into the building. In the high and panelled entrance hall were a few armchairs and a desk. The light, which outside had been bright enough to prevent me seeing my companion’s face, now seemed rather dim. As I filled in the guest card I took the opportunity to look at his, or perhaps her, face. No attempt was made to avoid my gaze, but still I could not tell. Smooth skin and well formed features suggested my young host to be a girl, as did the longish hair. But the voice, well modulated and slightly low in tone veered slightly towards the masculine.
             “I’ll take you to your room now.” he or she said as my bags were retrieved from where they had been dropped.
             “Thank you.” I smiled, “Are there any other guests?”
             “Just the one. No doubt you will see him at breakfast.”
             “Yes: I've been on the go all day so I’ll be ready for that.” That not too subtle hint did not bring forth an offer of any late night supper or refreshments, so I hoped I would find something in my room. I was soon to find out for the young person had stopped and was inserting a rather large key into the door. This accomplished I was ushered into a large room, furnished with old but nice furniture. The slight coldness of high ceilings and windows, was countered by the floor length heavy curtains, and thick carpets. It was old fashioned, but on the face of it, very comfortable, and a tray on a side table was stocked with biscuits and snacks plus all that was needed to make a hot drink. A clear indication of it’s sometime, if perhaps not regular, use by visitors.
             My guide was now leaving and I turned to offer my thanks. “What should I call you?” I asked, sure in the knowledge that the little mystery would soon be solved.
             “I’m Adam. Press the button by the bed if you need anything.”
             “Adam!” I muttered, when the door closed. At least now I knew, but curiously I felt none the wiser. Shortly after there was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal the young man with some towels.
             “Thank you Adam.” I smiled.
             “Adam is my brother,” came the totally unexpected reply, “I’m Eve.”
             There was no hint of a smile at what otherwise I might have taken to be a joke, or at least a light hearted coincidence. She left, still without a smile.

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                                                         -oOo-

 

It had been a long day, the bed was inviting and tiredness sent me quickly into a deep sleep. How long I slept I do not know, but I was awoken by the sound of my door banging shut, and the figure of an elderly man leaning hard against it, trying to hold back someone on the other side, bent on gaining entrance. It was completely dark, the long heavy curtains on the inside of the windows and the blackness of the stormy night on the outside allowed not the slightest hint of light, and yet I could see the man as if by some uncanny luminance. He was cowering now, unable to prevent the determined effort of whoever it was on the other side, and now the door was partially ajar. One more push sent the older man sprawling, but as he fell he looked directly at me as if appealing for my aid. But it was too late for he was immediately set upon, not by one, but two assailants both young and very sparsely dressed in what seemed almost like transparent night clothes. Ignoring his pleas and terrified cries, they struck the poor man repeatedly with short broad daggers. Once, twice, a dozen times they struck until their victim was still and lifeless.
             Throughout this frenzied attack I had been riveted to the spot. At the beginning I had raised myself, and had been able to witness the whole scene, and yet, to my shame, I had done nothing to help the frightened man. I had been paralysed, not just with fear for something had held me, a force that had robbed me of all ability to move, and fear had become terror. Now it was over and the dead man’s blood was drenching the lush carpet, but the two assailants made no attempt to run. Indeed they stood side by side staring at me. This was perhaps my greatest moment of fear, for now I could see them plainly. They were clearly twins, and it was abundantly clear by the transparency of their garments that one of them was a young man, and that he was Adam. His companion whose flimsy robes, just as with her brother, failed to hide her gender, was Eve.
             I waited, immobile, rigid, transfixed by what I had just witnessed and by their near nakedness. I awaited my fate convinced that shortly I too would feel the power of those knives. Inexplicably however the two attackers turned and silently walked out of the room. The door, untouched by either of them, closed eerily behind them as they left the room. How long did I lay, silently, hardly breathing, before I dared to move. That I do not know, but when I did my ordeal continued.

           Eventually, cautiously, I eased myself from the bed and moved to where I could look at the dead man. I could not help the scream that came from me, for the face before me, with lifeless yet staring eyes and with mouth wide open emitting a silent scream, was my own.
             I fled. Everything save my shoes and coat was abandoned. Luckily my prayer that I would find my car keys in the coat were answered and in a short time I was racing headlong down the muddy track, where earlier I had been so cautious. Mercifully the rain had stopped and there was even a little moonlight to help me on my way. I did not stop at the gate, which, despite its weight and sturdiness offered little resistance when I crashed through it, and not until I reached the crossroads did I feel that I would be free from that place of terror.
             But I was wrong. A shaft of moonlight, far brighter than that all around clearly illuminated what I had failed to see before. The gibbet; and hanging by their necks, were two slim young bodies with faces contorted in agony where the life had been choked out of them. I didn’t have to look twice. I knew at once that one was Adam and the other was Eve.
             Many days passed before I dared to ask questions, but my research revealed a sketchy but sorry tale. Two hundred years earlier, the pair, aged just seventeen, had been convicted of the murder of a priest. He had, they claimed, taken them in as young orphans and named them, but only for his own sake. Working them like slaves, and abusing them nightly, either sex according to his fancy, he had robbed them of all human dignity, and of their lives. Whatever the truth of that they were hanged together on that very gibbet. The date? October, Seventeen Hundred and Eighty Three.

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                                                          -oOo-

​

I cannot say exactly what brought me back to this little town, nor can I say ‘why now’. Thirty Five years had elapsed since that event took place; more than Three decades of carrying a memory which would not leave me. Perhaps I always knew that one day I would have to confront my demons, and that day had arrived. I have lived with this all these years, and though I had often pondered its questions, I was never really sure if I wanted to know the answers. But I also knew that there was only one way to find out;  I must return to the old rectory.

          My mind made up I made an early start to that little town on the Solway coast on the day before Halloween, Twenty Seventeen. My task was a simple one; to return free of the constant burden, or not to return at all. Modern roads and modern cars had shortened the journey time considerably and it was just a little after One O’clock when I arrived at my destination.
             I had not booked in advance and on a whim, or more likely I see now, being guided by some other force, my first call was the old pub where the man with the wink had set in motion that chain of events. On that occasion it was a dark stormy night, and I remembered the difficulty of finding a room. Was it just an impulse that guided to that same back street pub I visited all those years before?. Looking back I wonder, but leaving that aside I saw now what I had not seen then. It’s name; The Adam And Eve.
　　　　I laughed. It was a quiet laugh though had there been anyone standing near to me they would have heard. After a while I ventured inside half expecting to be met by the man with the wink. Inside it was much as I remembered; a traditional pub. Comfortable, not too posh and with a welcoming fire in the hearth. It was quiet; no music and also, apart from myself, no customers. I leaned on the bar and waited. I could hear some voices, a man and a woman for sure but at that moment there was no one behind the bar.
　　　　Shortly a man appeared, and that was the next shock. “Morning sir,” he greeted me, “sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get you?”
　　　　It was Adam!. Just as I remember him, where I was now decidedly middle aged.
　　　　He waited patiently until I found my voice. “Pint of bitter please.” I said falteringly, “and a sandwich if you can.”
　　　　”Will you take a seat and I’ll send my sister out. She’ll find something for you,”
　　　　I knew before she arrived just what she would look like, just as I had recognized her brother.
　　　　”Well now,” she asked, “it’s a sandwich you’re wanting.” as she handed me a list. My selection made she disappeared, only to reappear five minutes later, tray in hand carrying my crusty bread with cheese and pickle. I had heard no names but I knew who they were, just as I also knew that I was at a critical point in my journey. A journey I had to finish, come what may.  A little while later she came to collect the plate,

                ”Excuse me?” I asked.
　　　　”Yes sir, how can I help.?”
　　　　I took the opportunity to take a good at the young lady, so much so that I could see her becoming uneasy. “Please forgive me.” I stumbled a little. “Your face is so familiar, I was trying to remember where we might have met,”
             “Yes sir. A lot of people say that.”
             Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable and I laughed again, at myself really. “That must have sounded like a corny pick up line, I’m sorry.”
             “I’ve never been out of this town, so if you have not been here before we can’t have met.”
             She seemed matter of fact as if to say that was the end of the matter.

             “I have been here before, more than thirty years ago, to the Warlock and Witches festival.” I told her, “In fact I was expecting to see something of it this visit, but it doesn’t seem to be happening now.”
             “No it doesn’t happen any more. I’ve heard about it but it was a long time ago.” She paused for a moment as if considering. “Thirty odd years you say; it would be about the time of your last visit that it finished; something happened and it come to an end.”
　　　　“Very curious; what happened, do you know.”
　　　　“Oh, I think some of the pranks went too far. Some people became very frightened.”
             It was very perplexing. A small group of people had entered the room but I had not heard her name mentioned by any of them.

             “And your brother, is he also a stay at home.”
             “Oh Adam! Yes, he’s the same. Just like me he’s very content with his life here.”
             “You look alike.”
             “Yes, we’re twins.”
             “Oh, so I expect you are Eve then.”
             Now it was her turn to laugh. “I’m afraid so. My parents…'” there was a distinct pause, “were not very imaginative.”
             “And the pub; same name?” I questioned, ignoring Eve’s slight fumble.
             “Oh that’s just a coincidence. As far as I know It’s been the same since it was built some time in the eighteenth century.”
             At this point Adam, who had returned to the bar unnoticed, intervened. “Ever since they built the ‘new’ Rectory. You must have forgotten Eve, about Seventeen Sixty I think.”
             “No, I hadn’t forgotten Adam, just didn’t want to bore this gentleman with lots of details.” 
             “On the contrary,” I volunteered, “I’m very interested.”
             “Well before they built a new place out of town, this building was the rectory, and when they left it became a pub. As far as we know it was the ‘Adam and Eve’ right from the beginning.

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                                                        -oOo-

​

Unlike on my previous visit there was a room to spare so I booked in for the night. Conversely unlike my previous visit, my hosts were charming, helpful and friendly. It turned out to be a quiet day with only an occasional customer, and I talked to the twins on and off for the rest of the afternoon. I had hoped to learn something about them and their lives, but nothing emerged to suggest that they were anything other than what they appeared to be. It was a puzzle that someone so young could be running a pub, but any questions that seemed to delve too deeply into their past were skilfully deflected. Perhaps I was being paranoid!
　　　　After a surprisingly good meal followed by two or three whiskies it was time to retire, to consider the day, and then to settle down for the night. I slept soundly at first : it had after all been a long day. But in the early hours I was wakened by something. Not a noise but a sensation, an awareness that something was going to happen. As my eyes got used to the dark I could see that I was in a cell. It was small and oppressive, with just two small bunks and no furniture, its high window letting in faint  moonlight, enough for me to see the ‘extent’ of my prison. Its plain stone walls and heavy wooden door left no room for doubt that I was being held captive.
              In only a few moments I had taken stock of my situation but the most astonishing thing of all was soon to emerge, for standing at the foot of my bed, dressed in the same transparent attire I remembered from the last time I had seen this apparition were Adam and Eve. They stood motionless looking at me in the most intense way. And yet I did not feel threatened. Moreover I got the feeling that they were trying to tell me something? There was not a sound in the cell and despite the ‘presence’ of the twins I could not help the feeling that I was not there. It was like an out of body sensation and I was looking in, watching and waiting.
              I did not have to wait long for suddenly the door was thrown open and in burst half a dozen people, and through the open door I could see many more. Silently shouting and gesticulating like in an old silent film, they grabbed the young twins and dragged them out of the cell and into the street. I found myself among these people but in a way that is hard to describe, for though I was there I was not a part of the crowd but merely observing. Just then the notion occurred that the twins had not, as I had thought, been in my cell. On the contrary, I had been in theirs.

              Noisily, yet without a sound they dragged the helpless couple up the main street and out of the town until they came to the crossroads. It was a windy squally night and as the clouds moved quickly across the sky the light from the moon had been enough to see where they were heading. There at the crossroads stood the gibbet, where those who had sinned against society – and many who had not – met there end. But soon it was clear that I was not witnessing the carrying out of societies judicial punishment. Nothing of the kind for this was a lynch mob.

              I watched, unable to intervene, as ropes were thrown over the arm of the gibbet and then tied roughly around the necks of their helpless victims. No attempt was made to render them unconscious to ease their ordeal, they were simply hauled into the air by many hands pulling on the ropes until the two young people were six feet from the ground kicking and swinging, their hands clawing at the ropes around their necks in a futile attempt to end their strangulation. But there was to be no relief for the helpless pair and soon they stopped struggling, soon there was no movement. Soon they were dead.
              In all this time, despite the violent gestures and the obvious anger of the mob, I heard not a sound. Not even the sound of the door slamming shut after I had mysteriously returned to ‘my’ cell where I immediately fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
              I awoke in the small but comfortable bedroom of the pub to which I had retired, the memory of the night’s activity fresh in my mind. Drawing the curtains I looked up the street where the angry crowd had dragged the young victims to their deaths. It was still early but some people were going about their business, traffic made its way up and down the high street, and in the gentle breeze and the increasing brightness of the sky there was the promise of a pleasant day.
              Something caught my eye; it was the slight sway of the pub sign which depicted in tradition style two unclothed people with the apple and the snake strategically placed. The popular image of Adam and Eve.
            My journey home should have been uneventful, and, but for a slight detour to find the Old Rectory it might have been. The old building that had lodged so long in my memory was gone, long gone. In its place stood the modern, luxurious ‘nineteenth hole’ of an exclusive golf and country club.
              But it gave me time to take stock. I knew that there were still, and would always be, unanswered questions, not least why was I chosen to expose the plight, the savage treatment, and the miscarriage of justice for those two young people over two hundred years before. Why was my small provincial newspaper chosen I will never know, but of that I am convinced. Despite my ‘vision’ of the angry crowd taking the law into their own hands, almost certainly engineered by the church to cover up the misdoings of one of its number, I am certain that the real victims of those events were Adam and Eve. But whatever the truth of that I do not expect to see them again. I am content that I did the job I was chosen to do, and for the first time in years I felt at peace.

            Writing for my Journal an expose of that event was one of my most difficult tasks as a journalist, but I felt compelled to do so. Surely in some mysterious way this was why I had been 'chosen'. That may have been the why, but as to the how I will never know. Despite that I am content, and I like to think that Adam and Eve are too, for now they know that their story is out there. Everyone knows!
            When the old rectory was pulled down did they simply move back to the old rectory . . . waiting for me . . . for they must have known that I would come back. 

            Are they still there? Perhaps. But I wonder, for now that my journey is done . . . maybe theirs is too.