Synopsis
The Guardians are approached by Sir Alastair Rathlaw, Laird of Rathlaw Castle and its lonely Highland estates. One of Sir Alastair’s more unwelcome tenants is Fergus ‘The Hermit’ Trayle, a depraved occultist who squats in a filthy ruined Bothy on the desolate shores of the Black Loch. When Fergus is caught attempting to rape one of the Rathlaw maids (unwisely out walking alone near the loch), he is dragged back to the castle and whipped under the orders of the Laird, before being banished from his land. But as he staggers away, Fergus grimly curses the Rathlawswith a three-fold prediction—the Laird’s brother Malcolm will be struck blind, a water-kelpie (supernatural Highland pony) will then be seen emerging from the Black Loch, and its appearance will be an omen that the Laird’s only son, Donald, will die without issue soon after his upcoming wedding. The Rathlaws are doomed!
Of course, Sir Alastair admits, I initially dismissed this as so much superstitious rubbish. But last month Malcolm was out playing golf with steel-shafted clubs when he was suddenly struck by lightning and blinded. Then just last week three of my groundmen out working near the Loch swore they saw a water-kelpie pass them on the foreshore! They’re absolutely adamant it happened, and I’m forced to believe the curse is coming true… Not necessarily, argues Steven Kane, this degenerate Trayle obviously possesses considerable psychic powers—he may simply have foreseen Malcolm’s accident through natural clairvoyance, then later induced the kelpie-hallucination in your groundmen via some form of hypnosis. Human psychology will do the rest. But that’s not to say Donald isn’t in danger—though the threat may be far more down-to-earth than you imagine. The first step is clearly to trace this Fergus character and find out what he’s up to…
Lionel Marks soon locates Fergus in Glasgow’s Kelvinside, where he is lodging with his brother Cosmo, a more socially-presentable but equally callous low-life. Cosmo is himself psychically-gifted but also inexhaustibly greedy, and specialises in defrauding rich elderly widows via fake-séances, persuading the vulnerable women to donate their life-savings to his ‘work’ before convincing them that the quickest way to be reunited with their Loved Ones is actually suicide. He has also built a coterie of wealthy thrill-seekers around him, who enjoy the notion of being part of a secret Black Coven. Together the Trayles make a formidable team, and although Cosmo has no personal grudge against the Rathlaws, he owes Fergus various favours and is perfectly happy to help his brother out in his furious vendetta.
Together, the duo swiftly establish a joint mental-control over Donald’s fiancée Fiona, and almost succeed in getting her to drown herself in the Black Loch, after Donald ill-advisedly takes her there for a walk. Shaken, the couple drive over to Aberdeen the next dayfor a seaside-trip, but the Trayles encourage two accomplices to ‘borrow’ Fiona’s handkerchief on the beach, further intensifying their psychic-grip. Lionel Marks, discreetly tailing the couple at a distance, sees this happen and warns Steven Kane by phone, but is thus himself identified as an opponent. Ambushed while driving back to the castle, Marks is similarly placed under Cosmo’s hypnotic control, and from now on all the Guardians’ plans and leads are being fed straight back to the Trayles every evening…
Baffled at their lack of progress, Kane gets Anne Ashby to stake out Cosmo’s house in Glasgow, but when Anne witnesses Fergus welcoming a steady stream of acolytes arriving for a Coven meeting, cannot resist trying to sneak in herself incognito. She almost gets away with it, but Fergus is soon tipped-off via a warning phone-call from Cosmo, alerted by his insider-updates. Anne is forcibly restrained, and driven away to be used as a sacrifice in the coming Sabbat…
Donald and Fiona, oblivious to all this melodrama, are married in Rathlaw Castle’s chapel, and honeymoon in the nearby resort-town of Dunoon. But on the wedding-night, the Trayles once again take psychic-control of the bride and she petulantly storms out of the hotel clad only in a negligee, down into a waiting car parked outside. Donald dashes after her in confusion, is crudely knocked-out and similarly bundled into the vehicle, which then takes off back towards the Rathlaw estates and the Black Loch…
Steven Kane, alarmed by Anne’s sudden disappearance, finally realises Marks has been hypnotised into acting as a double-agent, and manages to break Cosmo’s control. He turns the tables by hypnotising Marks himself to discover the Trayles’ plans—Anne is being held in an isolated croft near the Black Loch, and (picking up Father Dyball on the way) the trio race over to rescue her, forcing her surprised captors to reveal the location of the imminent Sabbat, taking place in a remote glen only a few miles from the castle…
The Sabbat. A blazing bonfire, naked revellers, discordant music, heavy, relentless drums. A terrifying figure, clad in a purple robe and sporting a demonic goat’s head, is seated on a raised centrally-placed dais. Fiona—still in her negligée—regains consciousness, and dazedly asks where Donald is. Cosmo gloatingly informs her he is dead, ritually murdered by a ruthless enemy using this sacrificial knife—here, take it… What enemy? gasps Fiona, Donald had no enemies… Ah, but he did, murmurs Cosmo, he crossed a powerful Black Magician, here with us now—see the monster is sitting there on that throne… Fiona looks at the malevolent purple figure in despairing fury—that perverted beast has taken her husband! She races across with the knife and plunges it repeatedly into the goat’s chest. The body topples slowly sideways and Cosmo wrenches off its mask with a triumphant laugh to reveal Donald’s pallid face! Why, you have just murdered your own husband! Fiona faints away in horror.
At this crucial moment, Kane, Marks, Dyball and Anne screech up in a borrowed Land Rover, and Marks leaps out brandishing a shotgun—Hold it right there! Pull the trigger then, sneers Cosmo—if you’re able… A sweating Marks realises he can’t—Trayle’s residual grip is still too strong. Pass the gun to me, Cosmo urbanely suggests, and to Kane’s horror Marks blankly acquiesces. Our enemies are helpless! roars Cosmo to the assembled throng, Observe now my brother’s powers! Fergus, sitting in rigid trance in a black séance-cabinet, begins to exude ectoplasm, eerily glowing in the flickering firelight, swelling, shifting, changing form… It begins to mould itself into the swiftly-changing heads and shoulders of the great Scottish diabolists while Cosmo triumphantly calls out their names: Isobel Goudie! Agnes Sampson! Our predecessors! Our benefactors!
Realising they are in the presence of pure evil, Dyball whips out a silver crucifix and loudly declaims an exorcism. A brilliant shaft of dazzling white light shoots from the cross to squarely hit Fergus like a laser-beam—he gives a muffled groan and collapses, the ectoplasm instantly vanishing. He’s dead! A stunned Cosmo flops to the ground, his power dissipated, his head in his hands. The revellers flee panicking in all directions. But what about Donald? wails a revived Fiona… Kane and Anne gently lift him—he’s OK! The wounds are only superficial! He’ll be up and about in no time! Not like you Cosmo—it’s ten years in Barlinniefer you, pal!
Commentary
The Curse of Rathlaw—or Tha Divil Raids Oot, as it was originally known before the Wheatley Estate got involved—is good lively hokum that really needs little attention from Wicking, other than to improve its quite atrocious dialogue (which appears to be the work of an insane but very precocious schoolboy, as the BBFC once witheringly complained of Jimmy Sangster’s efforts). Donald and Fiona also badly need to be given a few 1970s quirks so that they don’t feel as if they have inadvertently wandered in from Pride and Prejudice. In our parallel-world fantasy, where all things are possible, director Gordon Hessler really goes to town on the big action set-pieces, and the climactic Sabbat bests Terence Fisher’s ‘68 version in every respect, not least in providing Satanic manifestations ambitiously taller than twelve inches in height. The critics are nevertheless muttering that the series is beginning to repeat itself, so for instalment #4 Carreras throws a deliberate curveball, and commissions an unpredictable history-based drama…