Taylor - The Godsend

THE GODSEND

BERNARD TAYLOR

VALANCOURT BOOKS

Dedication: For Ricky and Bob

The Godsend by Bernard Taylor

Originally published in Great Britain by Souvenir Press in 1976

First Valancourt Books edition 2015

Reprinted from the 1976 St. Martins Press edition

Copyright 1976 by Bernard Taylor

Introduction 2015 by Mary Danby

Published by Valancourt Books, Richmond, Virginia

http://www.valancourtbooks.com

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 , the copying, scanning, uploading, and/or electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the authors intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher.

Cover by M. S. Corley

INTRODUCTION

Bernard Taylor is possibly the most multi-talented person I know. I first met this teacher-turned-writer in the early s, and was soon introduced to the actor, artist, singer, songwriter, playwright and theatre director who went on to become a prolific author.

In those days, I was the editor of the Fontana Books of Great Horror Stories . By the time of the th in the series, the Fontana and Pan horror books between them had more or less exhausted the stock of previously published short horror stories, and I was on the lookout for some new writers. Among the many manuscripts sent to me was one about a very peculiar childrens nanny, whose charges ended up being bitten to death by giant grasshoppers. It was intriguing and entertaining, with the necessary eugh factor. Hallelujaha writer with real flair! This was the first of many Bernard Taylor stories that I was privileged to include in various anthologies over the next ten years, and we became good friends, too.

I have followed with great pleasure Bernard Taylors successful writing career. His first full-length novel was The Godsend , and he has gone on to write numerous horror and ghost stories (including one that was set, unnervingly, in my own house), brilliantly-researched true crime histories and (under the name Jess Foley) romantic novels.

The Godsend , first published in 1976 , deals with a time-honoured but uncomfortable subject: the innocence of childhood supplanted by evil. In the 1950 s, ground-breaking novels that had become famous movies included John Wyndhams The Midwich Cuckoos and William Marchs The Bad Seed , and in a film was made of Laird Koenigs The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane , starring Jodie Foster. Of course, one of the most famous movies of this era was The Omen , about a child possessed by the devil. However, The Godsend takes a very different approach. Instead of being asked to believe that the child Bonnie is by nature evil, the reader has to question whether there can actually be such a thing as an evil child. Is a cuckoo chick evil when it turfs its rivals out of the nest in order to take their share of the food on offer? And what of the mother bird who lets this happen, who continues to feed the killer in her nest?

Bernard Taylor introduces us to a familiar world that gradually becomes more and more disconcerting as the horror slithers in. Alan and Kate already have four children when Bonnie, abandoned by her mother at birth, comes into their lives. From that moment on, their contented family life begins to unravel. Can it be just a coincidence? How could a child like blue-eyed Bonnie, sweet, adorable Bonnie, be the catalyst for all the horror that follows? But as the evidence mounts, and Alans suspicions begin to threaten his sanity, all Kate can see is her beautiful baby girl, whose trusting little hand is held safely in her own.

The skill of the writer is in conveying the unease, the alarm, the eventual horror, by outlining the scenes and allowing the readers imagination to draw in the detailswhich are probably even more unnerving in the mind than they would be on the printed page. Bernard Taylor is a master of the art of suggestion.

He describes the characters in close detail, so that we are almost part of the family, experiencing, rather than witnessing, its chilling disintegration. And as the story builds to its inevitable but shattering conclusion we hardly dare to turn the pages. Bonnies family is our family, and we, too, are her victims.

In the field of horror and supernatural fiction, Bernard Taylor is one of the greats. As Publishers Weekly said, His fiction grips and holds the reader even when it crosses the line from the everyday to the bizarre. A terrific storyteller, you can trust him to lead you into the darkest woods and startle you at every turn. And when you eventually emerge, trembling, you may feel just a little less confident in the sunlight.

Mary Danby

Ashampstead, Berkshire

March 2015

Mary Danby is the author of two novels and more than thirty short stories, which have recently been published in a collection as Party Pieces . She has also edited numerous anthologies of short stories, including the Fontana Horror and Armada Ghost series. She lives in Berkshire, England and is the great-great-granddaughter of Charles Dickens.

ONE

When it began there was no way of knowing that anything had begun. How could we know? Any of us? We had no sign. There was no drumroll, no great fanfare, no dramatic, soaring orchestra like youd find in a Max Steiner film score. There was nothing; just a little silence. Her silencesurrounding her; a little look from usand then Sam with his crumbs.

When enough time has passed perhaps I shall find it easier to look back, easier to speak of it alland yet I wonder whether sufficient time could ever be. Right now there is no hour, no minute, when the thoughts and memories dont come pouring in. And theyre too much to cope with. And when they do come they come unexpectedly, taking me off-guard, so that Im left with no defence. So straight-away I start thinking of it all over and over again. Ceaselessly I find myself going through the chain of eventslike tracing a circleas if by doing so I could somehow rewrite the story. But its always the same. There, before I know it, Im where I am at the presenthere, now. So I am led, link by link, to the start again, to begin over again, with the same beginning...

That summer.

I remember it as one of the warmest, brightest of summers; little rain; when Davie ran along the lane his feet kicked up tiny clouds of dust from the dry earth. But it was not parched, that season; the vivid green leaves and the soft grass were moist to my touch. It was a beautiful time. Perhaps later events have imbued it with a depth of charm and colour that was not therebut I dont believe so. It was beautiful.

I can see beauty, happiness and contentment manifested in myriad everyday sights and sounds: Kate, smiling as she sits feeding Matthew; the softness in her face; the gentle, but aggressive sounds from his tiny sucking mouth. The others running in and out of the houseLucy, Davie and Sam. The shouts, the singing, the chasing, the laughter...

Now, glancing into the mirror I find it difficult to believe that so little time has gone by; my reflection tells a different story. But there, not time alone has taken its toll. Time is the minor exactor. And not only from me.

Here, where I sit, only silence comes from within the room, but outside the sound of the passing traffic drifts up to us. Its continuous, and theres no escape from it. I had thought I would get used to it in time. Now I realise I never shall. Before, the loudest sounds were birds songs. You could stand by the plum-trees and hear the buzz of the wasps wings as they settled on the over-ripe fruit. You could hear the rustling of the leaves. But that was before . That was there . That was then .