gemmamawdsley

The earth beneath the grave moved. There were many who watched from the inky blackness in the wood and willed the dead thing on. Long fingers, blackened by fire, emerged, and the arms that followed waved in the still air, as they felt for something to catch on to. There was nothing, but the slight night wind cooling the scorched bones. The fingers twisted into claws that gripped the grass on either side of the grave and hauled the body up. A head appeared, the hair hanging on the skull was still dark, but sparse. A face, a burnt, human face, appeared between the thin tendrils. Fat worms fell from its hollow eyes and it drew back its lips and snarled hideously. The watchers shied back in horror. This was not the Annie they had expected. The thing crawling across the grass exulted hatred. Where there was once a need to bring life, there was now a terrible thirst for death.

She made it to the shadows of the trees and hauled herself up against the trunk of one. The very wood seemed to shy from her touch. She saw the watchers; their shadows were easy to pick out in the moonlit woods. They called to her, begging her to be still, to listen to them, but she brushed their pleas aside. Her mind was filled with the need for revenge, and the intense hatred she felt would not be denied.

He was close by. She smelt his scent as strong as ever. There was still the need within him to destroy life, to corrupt the innocent. Her eyes strayed back to the disturbed mound and the scattered earth. Dora was still sleeping and in need of her protection. She knelt beside the grave and threw the earth back into place. Soon it looked as though it had never been disturbed. It was only as she raked it with her fingers, she became aware of her appearance.

“Why?” She cried, looking in horror at the black bones and yellowing pieces of flesh still clinging in places.

“Be still, Annie. Trust us,” the watchers whispered.

“No, never, I was true to you once and you betrayed me.”

“We didn’t betray you. It was not us; this is not your time, Annie. Look around you.”

The moon shone bright enough to light the way. The field, where she would once have sown crops was still the same, if overgrown. She had hoped Pat and Meg would have tended it better. Her cottage was no longer there. In its place there was a great house. Pat was doing well. She smiled through fleshless, bloodless lips. But her joy was short lived, as her senses sought him out. There was nothing. They were all gone. Her sister, Meg and the others were lost to her. The cry issuing from her at their loss was unearthly.

Cora sat up with a start, her heart racing. Something woke her and she held her breath, listening. Perhaps, one of the girls cried out in their sleep? She threw back the covers and hurried from the room. The gallery glowed bright as day; the full moon captured in the stained-glass became part of the tableau. The handle on the children’s door groaned as she turned it. There was not a sound, so she just opened it enough to peep inside. Both her girls were sleeping soundly. She crept back along the gallery, glancing once at the room where Liam slept. Surely, if there had been a sound, it would have woken him. The bedcovers were warm and inviting, and she was worn out from the hours she spent crying. Soon she was asleep, and the house was allowed to settle once more.

Liam was too deep in a drunken sleep to hear anything. Despite having left the window open, he was spared the sound of slow, slouching footsteps on the gravel outside. Oblivious to the crunching of the hands, as they grasped the dried ivy snaking along the front of the house; or the figure that skimmed like a giant, black spider towards his window. He did not even move as it crawled noiselessly over the sill and crouched at the end of his bed.

Outside the voices on the wind called to her, begging her to stop.

The man was hidden from her and she waited until he turned, and she could see him clearly. Annie gasped, at the familiar face. She crept nearer; close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He smiled in his sleep and the rage within her burned. She reached out for his throat; her fingers were within inches of his flesh, when…

“Annie, Annie.”

She drew back and moved towards the window. Below her, bathed in the moonlight, Dora ran backwards and forwards along the drive; Dora with white hair flying and her flowered dress, no longer in tatters, whirling around her.

“Catch me, Annie,” the child laughed, running around the side of the house, and disappearing.

“Dora, wait,” Annie called, as she slipped once more over the sill.

The man in the bed groaned, and turned away from the noise.

Annie looked back at the sleeping figure. There was plenty of time. She would be back for him, but her mind was no longer filled with hate. Instead she felt the love glow inside her, so by the time she had climbed down the ivy, she had become as of old. The life was renewed, and the young woman chasing the fleeting image of her sister, had a cloak of dark, brown hair. The once empty sockets were filled with dancing blue eyes. The lips were red and full, and the skin smooth and white.

“Dora, wait.”

She could still hear her sister’s laughter, but when she reached the wood there was, nothing…

“Dora,” she called. “Where are you? Answer me.”

“It was a trick.”

Annie searched among the trees for the source of the voice.

“Your God has tricked you once more,” The Dark One stepped out from the shadows.

“No,” Annie backed away from him. “He would not be so cruel.”

“Come now,” he smiled. “Not even you, after all you have suffered could be so gullible.”

“No,” Annie tore at her hair. “This cannot be. Why,” she screamed towards the sky. “What have I done to offend you?”

“He never listens. Does he, Annie?”

“Leave me be,” she ran among the trees trying to evade him, but he appeared before her time after time.

“I have never lied to you. I promised you rest with the last in his line and I have kept my word.”

She looked up at him.

“Yes, the one who dwells within the house,” he waved towards the building. “He is not your dear cousin Hugh, but his ancestor.”

She walked to the edge of the wood and looked back at the house.

“How long have I slept?”

Centuries.”

“I remember nothing, but sadness in all that time.”

“He abandoned you to your faith and did nothing to ease your suffering and the suffering of your family.”

She started to cry again. Her cries echoed on the still air, and from far away lights appeared through the gloom, as people woke to the terrible sound.

This time Liam O Brien woke. He sat befuddled and shook his aching head. What on earth was that sound? He listened for a moment longer, but the agony of the cries spurred him up and out of the room. He had never been a brave man, and he used the excuse he was worried about his wife, to charge into her room. Cora sat in the centre of the bed with Laura and Shelly on either side of her. All three clung together, shivering.

“What’s that noise, Dad?” Shelly turned a tear-stained face towards him.

“It’s probably a vixen,” he shrugged at his wife and walked towards the window.

“A vixen is a lady fox,” he heard Cora explain.

“I don’t think it’s a fox,” Laura said.

“Really, Miss. Know it all. What do you think it is?” Liam could not hide is sarcasm, even from his children.

“Something else.”

“Brilliant, if it’s not a fox then it’s something else. That private school is really paying off,” he threw open the wardrobe door and took out his dressing gown. Despite his sniggering remarks, he was shivering.

“I’m frightened, mummy,” Shelly sobbed. “Make it go away.”

“Hush darling,” Cora soothed. “It’s probably the wind in the pipes. These old houses are full of creaks and groans, and the pipes are old and full of holes.”

“We had the pipes replaced,” Liam answered from his place at the window.

Great, Cora thought, thanks a lot.

Laura pushed the covers aside and got up.

“Where are you going?” Her mother tried to pull her back into the bed.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” she walked to the window and peered out into the dark.

Her father snorted in disgust and left her there. He sat on the side of the bed and Cora could not fail to notice the pallor of his skin. If the cries were not so frightening, she would have laughed. Laura stood on her toes and looked across the garden. There was something silhouetted in the trees. It looked like a big cat. She threw open the window. The cries seemed to reverberate off the walls of the room.

“Laura,” her mother struggled from Shelly’s grip and ran towards her.

“Stop, Mam,” the child pushed her away. “I have to help her.”

“Who?” Her mother asked. “Don’t be silly. Close the window.”

Cora turned to her husband for help, but he had dived beneath the covers with Shelly.

“Laura, please.”

But Laura was leaning out on the windowsill.

“Are you hurt, poor thing?” She called into the darkness. “Come inside. Let me help you.”

Annie heard the offer and moved away from the Dark One towards the house. She used her hair to wipe away her tears, as she followed the child’s voice. Laura watched as the bushes in front of the house parted, but she was still unable to see anyone.

“It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”

Annie could see her now. The white nightgown glowed from the lighted room and the long dark hair flew in the night breeze. Her heart ached as she thought once more of her sisters.

“She is his child,” The Dark One was beside her. “His flesh and blood.”

“She reminds me…” her voice trailed off.

“Of what you lost. You can have it again once he is dead. I can return you to your own time. A year before we met. Your parents alive and well, Think of it, Annie.”

“You can do all that?”

“You know it’s within my power.”

“But he is not Hugh.”

“Does it matter? He is of the same blood.”

“It would be a sin, Annie,” the night breeze whispered. “All would be lost if you surrender to The Darkness.”

For the first time, she heeded the voices.

“He may not be as vile as his ancestor. I think I will wait.”

The Dark One roared in aggravation. The sound made Liam leap from his hiding place and pull his daughter away from the window. Annie saw the fear in his face, as he slammed the window shut. Though his looks reminded her so much of her hated cousin, she could not in all conscious, destroy him without first knowing if he had inherited Hugh’s evil.

No one in the O Brien household slept that night. So, Sunday was very unpleasant for Cora, as the children were overtired and Liam in a worse humour than usual. A couple of times during the day she caught him staring at her stomach, and her heart leapt with worry. Laura refused to accept any of the explanations for the cries they heard. Liam ranted about buying a gun and seeing the foxes off. But Cora and Laura knew this was not the case. The cries were from something other than an animal. Though Cora tried to coax her into saying what she thought they were, her daughter merely shrugged and pretended ignorance.

By late afternoon Liam’s patience was exhausted, and he got ready to leave.

“Will you be home later?” Cora asked, as she watched him throw a change of clothes into a bag.

“No, as a matter of fact I may not be home for some time.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes to get rid of that,” he jabbed a finger in her stomach.

“You know I won’t do it. It’s against all I believe.”

“Then you choose, your God or your family, because I promise you this. If you insist on going ahead with the pregnancy, I’ll take the girls away from you. Admit it, Cora,” he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “You’ve always been nervy. A few words in the right ears and I’ll have you committed.”

“You bastard,” she slapped his face. “You rotten, evil bastard.”

He grabbed her hair forcing her down on the bed. One hand gripped her throat squeezing hard.

“All it’ll take is a few days in London. Tell whatever friends you have you are going shopping. It’ll all be over in a couple of hours; understand?”

“Is that what you make your whores do?”

“You think you know so much about me,” he spat. “Well, let me tell you this. They were all, are all, better than you could ever be.”

He released his grip, snatched his bag from the bed and stalked out. Cora rubbed at her bruised throat and tried not to cry.

By nightfall, her nerves were in shreds. The children refused to sleep alone, so making sure they had everything they could possibly need; she let them sleep in her room and barricaded the door with a chair. She cursed Liam for his cowardice because she knew the events of last night frightened him. He wasn’t prepared to confront the unknown but was willing to let his wife and children face whatever danger there was.

The children were worn out and slept within minutes. Cora stayed awake watching the clock and listening for the slightest sound.

All around her the house settled. Timbers groaned and creaked, the shutters outside the windows, squeaked on their dry, new hinges, even the panelling in the hall crackled. She felt beads of sweat on her lip and her heart pounded painfully, as she strained to catch each sound. There were footsteps on the gallery outside. There was no mistaking the tread on the boards; soft, light footfalls. Cora crept to the door and placed her ear against it. The footsteps came closer and she held her breath as they stopped outside her door.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’m alone with two children. Please don’t hurt us.”

The only reply was a heart-rending sigh, as the footsteps retreated.

Cora was shivering so badly her teeth chattered and she could not remember if she had slept immediately after returning to the bed or fainted. But it was morning when she woke, and from outside came the thundering of trucks on the drive and the loud, good natured banter of the workmen.

The piece of ceramic was stuck to Cora’s fingers, so she had to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. It was useless, shattered beyond repair. She gathered the pieces into her cupped hand and dropped them into the kitchen bin. The blue of the Virgin’s veil was still visible, even in the dark recess of the black, plastic liner. The glue made webs of her fingers, and she walked to the sink. The warm water and liquid soap did little to remove it, and she knew it would take days before she managed to pick it free. Even the cloth she used to wipe the table down stuck to her fingers.

“Stupid thing,” she pulled it free, but it left pieces of cotton behind.

She sat at the table and slowly lifted the material from her skin. The tears splashing on her hand surprised her. She had not realised she was crying again. But then, she was always crying. It was a sort of sick hobby and gave her something to do during the long nights when her children lay asleep, and her husband lay, God knows where.

It took little to put him in bad humour, and since they moved into the new house, his temper was worse. She knew the renovations were costing him a fortune, but she played no part in his decisions. He chose the house and uprooted them from everyone they knew. Now they would be made to pay if anything went wrong. It was so unfair. She tried to be a good wife, a good mother, but nothing she did ever pleased him. Her stomach rumbled and she brought her hand down to soothe it. She had not eaten since breakfast and she gone without dinner the night before, as she hated to eat in front of him. It only gave him an excuse to mock her.

“Still going to your fat class?” He would say, scorning her attempts at slimming.

Her eyes strayed to the bin in the corner. Tonight, she really upset him. The holy water font was a farewell present from her neighbours, who all knew of her commitment to her faith and she hung it inside the front door. The sight of it sent Liam into a rage, and she had to block her ears and thank God the children were asleep. He cursed her for her bad taste, as he hurled the font onto the marble floor, and she groaned aloud, as the images of mother and child exploded at her feet. Not done with cursing her, he cursed her religion, the day he met her and the ideals of a judgemental society that kept him tied to her.

Then he stormed off and left her crouched on the hall floor, picking up the pieces.

It was late now; well past midnight, and she was weary. The kitchen, yet untouched, grew colder. Outside the autumn wind sent leaves scuttling across the windows and she shivered. The lighting was much too low for a room that size, and threw the corners into trembling, threatening shadows. She frightened herself with images of dark cowled figures lurking there. It was time for bed. She rose and switched off the light, not daring to look back into the darkness. The grand chandelier in the hall was restored to its former glory and its crystals cast diamond shapes on the floor beneath. Small replicas hung from the walls and it was these lighted the stairs. They would be left burning until Liam returned home if he returned.

The stained-glass window was cleaned, and she stopped at the gallery rail and looked at it. They had been in the house for over a month and she was still in awe of the scene it depicted. A young girl with flowing dark hair who held out her hands before her in what Cora imagined, was a vain attempt to ward off the great advancing beast.

“Poor child,” she whispered and brought her hand once again to her stomach, nauseous now from lack of food.

It was past eight when she woke the next morning. Liam’s side of the bed lay smooth and untouched. She groaned and rolled onto her side. It was another Saturday and at least there was no school run, and no hoards of workmen around the place. Running her fingers through her hair, she kicked off the covers and went to rise. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, and she ran for the bathroom with a hand clasped over her mouth. There was little in her stomach, and her body shook as she retched. Her quivering fingers sought out the washbasin, and she managed to locate a face towel. She wiped the bile from her lips and sat shivering on the bare floor.

“Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”

“Who’ll kill you, Mam?” Laura stood in the doorway.

Cora eased her way up and held onto the washbasin for support.

“It’s nothing. I am just being silly. I’ve been sick on the new paintwork.”

“He can’t kill you for that.”

“No, I told you I was being silly.”

They walked back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Cora was still shaking from the shock and glad of the warmth of her daughter’s body. The girls were going to a birthday party this afternoon, so she could rest then. Although she hadn’t had a period in over five months, she assumed herself her swollen stomach was because of her strict diet or fluid retention and the slight fluttering within, nerves Anyway, she was probably blowing it all out of proportion. It was a bug of some sort. It had to be.

The house was quiet when she returned from dropping the girls off. Liam had obviously gone on one of his binges, so it could be days before he returned home. She secretly enjoyed these times. When he was away, they had more fun, more freedom and she did not feel as uptight. Her thoughts strayed to the paper bag in her purse.

The white plastic cylinder of the pregnancy test lay on the sink top. She stood and walked to the basin but avoided looking down in case the blue line showed. Was it just the light she wondered, as she studied her reflection in the mirror; made her look old and the circles under her eyes so dark? She glanced down towards the test kit. The blue line showed clear against the white background. The realisation made her stomach turn, and she had to take deep breaths to still the nausea. Beyond tears, she dumped the cylinder in the waste bin and staggered towards the bedroom. She felt trapped, and pulled at the neck of her jumper, gasping for air. She had to get out.

It had grown colder. A biting wind hurried clouds, swollen with the promise of rain, across a darkening sky. The garden lay grey and wind-swept before her. This was the first time she had walked there. The plot of land on either side of the house was huge, but it was impossible to judge the size of the back garden, even from the upstairs windows. It was so overgrown, and, in a way, she was glad of this. At least Liam had not infected it with any of his ideas. Large thorn bushes blocked her way and she tugged the branches aside, pricking and scratching her hands in the process. Some caught in her hair, and she pulled them free uncaring of the tufts left behind in the struggle. She made her way towards the trees at the end of the garden. Something told her she would be safe there, and free from prying eyes. Once through the tangle of branches she found herself in a clearing. The grass was waist high, but there was a small, uneven footpath, so she picked her way along the large stones. She was sweating, despite the cold and her heart thudded painfully. She felt hunted and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following.

The land continued onwards for she guessed about four acres. Her legs shook and a couple of times she thought she would collapse. Now, on the border of the garden and the wood, she stopped and rested her forehead against a stout tree trunk.

“Oh, thank you,” she whispered to the wood, glad of its firmness in a day that was fast becoming surreal.

There was no sound other than the sighing of the breeze. Deep shadows cloaked the woods, and she knew it would be foolish to venture further. The light was fading, but she felt safe here hidden by the trees. Her thoughts were interrupted as a light was switched on upstairs in the house. Its beam cut a pathway through the gloom, and she knew Liam was home.

“What will I do?” she asked.

She looked around, searching for the answer on the darkening air. Sentinel spirits, who had watched throughout time, heard her anguished question and whispered to one another. The wind suddenly whipped up again and skimmed across the grass parting it before her. It was then she noticed the top of the tombstone. The wind blew stronger catching at her clothes and pushing her towards it. The stone, what she could see of it, was blackened and scarred. The writing if there was an inscription, was hidden. Her movements were dreamlike as she knelt and pulled aside centuries of leaf mould. There was something carved there, but it was faded and hard to read in the dim light. She used a twig to poke away old spider cocoons and bits of dried mud. When the carvings were clear, she traced her fingers across each letter and spelled out the words. “Annie Ryan aged 17. Dora Ryan aged 6. September 1653. In restless sleep.

“So young,” Cora whispered

She glanced across the garden towards the house where Liam would be waiting, and her hand went instantly to her stomach.

“What’s this?” Liam held the test tube in front of her.

It was so close she smelt the chemicals and urine inside it. Her stomach lurched, her throat contracted, as she answered.

“I had to do a pregnancy test.”

“Why?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How the fuck can you be pregnant?”

She did not bother to answer.

“I mean, when?” He dropped the tube into the bin and ran his hands through his hair.

“About five months, I think.”

“Really, he smirked, “And how drunk was I at the time?”

“Please, Liam,” she tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.

“Get rid of it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get rid of it.”

“This is a child, your child.”

“I don’t care. I told you I didn’t want any more children.”

“It might be a boy,” she pleaded.

“It might also be a girl. I do not really care what it is. Get rid of it.”

“No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”

She tried to run, but he caught her hair and dragged her back.

“You had better do as I say or God himself won’t save you.”

“I won’t kill my child,” she stabbed at his hand and felt her nails slice into his skin.

“Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.

She stumbled, but managed to keep upright and then she ran, down the stairs out the main door and back through the thicket of branches, uncaring of the thorns reefing her face. The trees in the wood seemed to be spreading their branches wider, willing her to come to them. She stopped when she reached them and hid. So far there was no sign of Liam. Her face stung and she winched when she felt the puckered skin. She knew she had no choice but to return to the house. The girls were being brought home by their friend’s mother, and she would have to be there to shield them from their father’s temper. Still, there was plenty of time, so she walked a little further. She had not intended to return to the tombstone, but now she was beside it. Her heart ached when she remembered the ages of the girls’ buried there, and she sank to the ground.

“What will I do,” she whispered. “He wants me to kill my child.”

She thought of her aged parents and decided against troubling them. There was no one else. Though she had always been frightened of Liam, that fear was tangible. This new terror took her breath away.

“But I won’t do it. No matter what he says or does. I won’t let anything happen to this child.”

The tears that were threatening spilled over, and she laid her head against the tombstone.

“I’m frightened,” she sobbed. “God help me, I’m so frightened.”

The loud laughter of children drifted towards her on the quiet air and she knew her daughters had returned. Wiping the tears from her face, she forced a smile and walked back to the house. This time she was ready to do battle.

The children were full of stories about the party. They were over stimulated, and it was difficult to get them to settle that night. Even Laura, who was caught up with news of her friends, failed to notice her mother’s pale, tear-streaked face. Cora was glad when they finally drifted off to sleep. Liam locked himself in the study and she was spared his anger for now. She showered and got ready for bed. With a little luck he would sleep elsewhere. The moon was shining bright enough to light the room, so she left the curtains open. She lay huddled beneath the covers and prayed harder than she had ever done. From far away she heard the creaking of floorboards and the heavy footfalls on the stairs.

Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“I’ll be sleeping in the spare room from now on,” he said, then unsure if she was awake. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good and I meant what I said. Get rid of it.”

Cora started to cry once the door closed.

Liam pulled a duvet and pillows from the linen cupboard. He would have a makeshift bed that night but, in the morning, she could make up the room properly. He was sick of his wife, sick of her holier than thou attitude.

Later, when the night grew deeper and the things belonging to the dark were about, something stirred. Deep beneath the earth an ancient soul heard Cora’s tears for her unborn child and started digging its way towards the surface.

Marie Walters’ dropped the armful of envelopes onto her desk and shook her head at the flashing red light on the answering machine. Another Monday morning in the offices of O Brien and Costello, Solicitors, was about to begin. The light continued to blink, vying for her attention with the unopened post. She sighed and brushed a grey hair from her forehead. There were nine unanswered calls, and these were best dealt with first. She knew, even as she pressed the play button on the machine, what to expect. The weekend was a peculiarly violent one in the city, according to the news reports, and the clients of O Brien and Costello would have contributed to this in so many ways. The first caller was almost incoherent from either drink or drugs.

“I want to see. What his name?” he inquired from someone in the background, then. “Oh yeah, O Brien, that’s it. Hey, let go, I’m on the ‘fuckin’ phone.” His companion giggled. “Fuck it, I’ll ring on Monday.”

Marie heard him struggle to replace the receiver. She deleted the call and pressed for the next. One by one the scum of the city managed to leave their name and ask for an appointment or hung up in confusion. The list of calls she had to return made her stomach turn. The names were always the same and every one of them was filth, human garbage that stalked the city by night, preying on the unwary, the old and the innocent. She looked up as the door to the outer office opened and Rachael; the junior secretary came in.

“Morning, Marie,” she hung her jacket and came to peer over the older woman’s shoulder at the list of names. “Nothing new there.”

“No, dear, there never is.”

“Would you like me to ring them?”

“Would you mind? I have all this to sort,” Marie pointed to the post.

“No, of course not; I know how they bother you.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Marie turned to the pile of envelopes as Rachael began to dial the first number on the list. The envelopes were sorted by size. Legal briefs were in the large brown envelopes and the smaller assortment of multicoloured ones, most with the writing almost illegible and marked personal, would be from Mr. O Brien’s special clients. The women he had helped over the years, and who remained ever grateful.

“Well, get him for me,” Rachael rolled her eyes and pointed at the receiver in her hand.

Marie was glad she did not have that job. Most of the clients would be still drunk or badly hung over, and she hated the foul language of the wives or, as they were now known, partners, and the screaming of children in the background.

Her heart jumped as she picked up the next envelope. It was addressed to Gerald Costello. Although the nameplate on the door proclaimed this indeed was the office of O Brien and Costello, Gerald Costello had long ceased to be. Poor Gerald, she thought, as she put the envelope aside.

“Pack of bastards,” at the opposite desk Rachael slammed the phone down. “You know,” she turned to Marie. “I’m sick of this job. I have applied for others, but so far, no luck. You should leave too. No one has to put up with this.”

“Yes, dear,” Marie went back to reading the letter in her hand.

She knew Rachael was right, but she was too old to change. Turning sixty next birthday, hardly made her a good, long term prospect as secretary. Her boss, Liam O Brien, reminded her of this on many occasions. And as far as Rachael was concerned, well, the poor girl was unlikely to be head hunted. She was employed to boost the boss’s ego, and while the never-ending, mini-skirted legs and large breasts made her a showpiece; she was not office material. Oh, she could make coffee and answer phones, but when it came to the legal work, she was lost. Still, she was not a bad girl, Marie thought, and her heart is in the right place.

Morning, ladies,” Liam O Brien swept through the door and snatched the bundle of post Marie held out to him.

“Morning,” Rachael sang, as she rose to plug in the kettle for his coffee.

Marie took the appointment book from the desk and followed him into his office. She read aloud the list of names and times, as he scanned the post. He deposited a handful of the more colourful envelopes into his briefcase before turning to her.

What time is my first appointment?”

“Ten-o-clock.”

“O.k. leave me alone until then,” he waved her away. “And see that I’m not disturbed.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, Marie.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re looking the worse for wear, heavy weekend?”

“No, not really.”

“Just old age, eh?” He winked

She managed a tight smile.

“Yes, that’s probably it.”

Her hand shook as she turned the doorknob.

“You know something, Marie?”

She turned back.

“When you finally leave here, I’ll really miss the long, intimate conversations we have.”

“Yes, I imagine you will,” she slipped through the door and pulled it closed behind her.

“You, o.k.?” Rachael asked.

“Fine,” Marie tried to control the trembling in her hands.

“Did he have a go at you again?”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

“I’ll make you some tea.”

Soon a steaming mug was placed in front her. She sipped and grimaced. It was much too sweet, and she was about to remark to this, when she noticed the concern in the girl’s eyes. Ah, yes, sweet tea was good for shock, and she was shocked. She sipped again and wrapped her hands around the cup. The warmth renewed her, and she blotted out the sound of the ringing phone and the voice from the other desk. It was wonderful when Gerald was alive. Her old boss knew how to treat his staff and she had worked for him for over ten years, almost from the start of his career. A lovely man, she was guest of honour at his wedding and been there through the celebrations at the birth of his two sons. Having never married, she regarded him as a son of sorts. Where had it all gone wrong? She looked towards the door to the other office. When Liam O Brien came on the scene, that is when. He was at law school with Gerald and managed to worm his way into a partnership. A rude, inept man, who she had heard, managed to blunder his way through school by a series of staged mishaps and blackmail. Well, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in cunning. He amassed his list of clients through the legal aid system. People, some real, some fabricated and not only the human vermin, but also those who were unable to pay, passed through his hands every day. The good, the innocent, fared far worse than the bad, as he feared those who could hurt him. So the man, who for the first time committed an offence or was entirely without blame, was likely to receive six months in prison, while one of the regulars, who beat and robbed an elderly person, walked from the courtroom with six months probation.

She should leave. She knew she should, but then what; endless days of nothing, but waiting for death? There were no relatives to speak of, just a distant cousin who knew nothing of her existence and no friends. She knew having devoted most of her life to her work and possessing no outside interests, other than her small garden flat, made her appear standoffish. Her thoughts were interrupted by a thud on her desk. She looked up into the wicked eyes she had ever seen.

“He in?” the man rested his tattooed knuckles on her desk and gestured with his head towards O Brien’s door.

Marie’s stomach lurched at the smell of stale beer from his breath.

“I don’t believe you have an appointment, Mr. O Reilly.”

She knew all the clients by sight, but O Reilly was the worst of all. The terror of everyone in the housing estate where he lived, he was known for picking fights. Every woman with a husband or son dreaded him.

“I don’t need a ‘fuckin’ appointment. He told me to call in when I was ‘passin’.”

He is busy at the moment. Would you like to wait?” She could see where a fresh cut had opened on the man’s forehead and the dried blood caked on his eyebrow.

“Fuck that,” he stormed towards the office door and threw it open.

“What the hell is going on?” Liam O Brien replaced the phone and spun in his chair to face the intruder.

“I’m sorry,” Marie gasped. “I tried to stop him.”

“Never mind,” Liam waved the man to a chair and to Marie. “Get out.”

She heard the brute snigger as she closed the door. “‘Fuckin’ stuck-up bitch.”

The rest of the day passed by as normal, with the usual batch of flotsam and jetsam gliding by her desk and she tried to block out their insults and form of greeting. By lunchtime, the office closed from one to two fifteen, both Rachael and Marie needed a break.

“I suppose it’s useless asking you to come to the pub?”

Marie always brought sandwiches and ate them in the small park across the street. Now, looking at her young colleague, she decided it was time for a change.

“Actually, my dear, I’d like a large, sweet sherry.”

“Whoa,” Rachael laughed, linking her arm through Marie’s. “You’re really letting your hair down.”

“You know, I think I am,” Marie thought of the grey tresses she wore in a tight bun. “I may even have it cut.”

She joined in Rachael’s laughter, as they strolled along the street.

Liam O Brien tapped his pen on the desk and stared into space. O Reilly just left with a handful of money he could ill afford, but the man was useful and expected payment for his services. That bloody house was proving to be expensive. If he had known how costly the repairs were going to be, he would not have wasted so much time in conning the old woman out of it. The idea of living in a mansion seemed a dream, but it was bleeding him dry over the past month. Everything from the electrics to the plumbing needed to be replaced. Many of the windows were beyond repair and it had taken a specialised order to replace them. Still, he thought of the fine Italian marble floor he had put in the hall; it was coming along nicely. If only he could complete it without bankrupting himself.

Marie was relishing her first pub lunch. She watched the assortment of people before her as she ate. She often wondered; when she passed by these places, what the cliental was like. Who were these people who delved daily into the dark recesses of the foul-smelling pubs? She found to her delight; they were not so alien, just ordinary workers. From the men in their business suits to the multicoloured women who ate soup and crunched on toasted sandwiches, and the rather dapper gent who’d raised his hat to her as she entered, they were all, well…rather normal. She felt quite the voyeur, as she sipped her second sherry.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.” Rachael said.

“Yes?”

“It’s about the name of the company. Who is, or was, Mr. Costello?”

“Ah, yes, dear Gerald. He was such a nice man.”

“What happened to him?”

Marie studied her for a moment torn by indecision then, brushing an invisible crumb from her jacket, murmured. “It was a long time ago.”

“Tell me,” Rachael pleaded.

“Very well, but I expect you to keep it to yourself.”

“Cross my heart,” she made a sign across her breast.

“Gerald started the company. O Brien did not come on the scene until ten years later, but when he did things started to go downhill. He was not happy with land deals and the like. He wanted money and he wanted it quickly. It was he who started the criminal cases. Gerald disagreed and there were a couple of shouting matches in the office. Well, one-night O Brien asked him to his house for dinner. I heard all this through the intercom. It seemed from the way O Brien spoke, an attempt at compromise.”

Rachael nodded.

“So, to make a long story short, Gerald’s car was found the next morning. It crashed into a tree. Gerald was found unconscious at the wheel and stinking, so I am told, of alcohol. There was worse to come. He was taken to hospital and treated for minor wounds, but when the men arrived from the garage to tow away the car, they found the body of a young boy pinned beneath it.”

“Oh, my God,” Rachael gasped.

“Yes, and of course the newspapers had a field day. Prominent local solicitor put on trial for murder. You can imagine. In the end he was found guilty of manslaughter. Though he professed his innocence, he was sentenced to seven years in prison. I used to visit him, but he was no longer the Gerald I had known. He was broken in body and mind. His face etched with scars from the beating he received from fellow inmates, who despised the law. It was at this time he learned of his wife’s affair. That was the final straw; they found him hanging in his cell.”

“How awful, who was she having the affair with? Was it someone he knew?”

Marie looked at her, not bothering to answer.

“You don’t mean…?” Rachael looked at her wide-eyed. “Not…”

“Yes, me dear, I’m afraid so.”

“The rotten bastard.”

That is the title I have so often given him and it is one I use to excuse his numerous character flaws. Liam O Brien is probably descended from a long line of bastards.”

“It’s so sad,” Rachael’s eyes misted over.

“The saddest part of all was that no one would listen to me when I tried to tell them,” Marie adjusted her neck scarf and fiddled with the contents of her handbag.

“Tell them what?”

“About Gerald, of course, he never touched alcohol.”

Present day

Liam O Brien grinned in satisfaction as he steered the car through the ornate gates. Even the crunching gravel splattered about the car, chipping the paintwork, did not take from his pleasure. It took him years to get to where he now was, and nothing was going to spoil it for him. His eyes darted to the figure in the passenger seat. Cora, his wife, was treading a tissue through her fingers, her mouth drawn back into a tight, nervous smile. The paper was wet from her clammy fingers, and small bits lay like specks of new fallen snow on her black skirt. Why, he wondered, did I ever marry her? She had seemed a good choice at the time, from good stock with the promise of a large inheritance and not unpleasant to look at. She retained her looks, though the birth of their daughters had added kilos to her figure. This, along with her low self-esteem and insecurity, helped excuse his many lapses during the fourteen years of marriage.

“Are we there yet, Dad?”

Six-year-old Shelly clutched at his headrest, bored and anxious to see their new home.

“Hands off,” he brushed at the offending fingers. The last thing he wanted was sticky marks on the cream leather of the car interior.

“She’s just excited,” his wife said.

“How many times have I warned them about touching the seats?”

“We have to touch the seats,” nine-year-old Laura answered from behind. “What do you expect us to do, levitate?”

“I’m getting sick of your smart mouth, miss,” he adjusted the rear-view mirror and glared at his daughter.

“She’s sorry. Aren’t you, darling?” her mother twisted in her seat. Begging silently with the child to agree.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Laura sighed, but the look she gave her father was one of scorn.

He snapped the mirror back into place. Beside him, his wife pulled the tissue to shreds. Please, she prayed, do not let him work himself into a temper. The bruises on her back still ached from the last time and she could not take any more. Not here, not in front of the children.

“There it is,” Shelly’s shout eased the tension.

The imposing manor house came into view. It was enormous. Two vast turrets framed the great door and trailed skywards, seeming to pierce the overhead clouds. There were hundreds of windows, and that was at the front!

“Cool,” Shelly ran towards the front door.

Laura stood with her arms around her mother’s waist and both had the same, frightened look.

“Well, what’s wrong with it?” Liam did not try to hide his irritation.

“It’s very big,” his wife’s eyes gazed in wonder at the house.

And scary,” Laura added.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, before stalking away.

Shelly was hopping about at the front door.

“Hurry Dad. I want to see my room.”

Cora hugged her daughter, as the big key was inserted and with a groan, the door creaked open.

“I don’t like this place,” Laura whispered.

“It will take some getting used to,” her mother said. “After a modern house this will seem strange, but it’s what your father wants.”

“Look at the windows, Mam. They are like eyes, watching. I don’t think it likes us.”

“Now you’re being silly darling,” Cora tried to laugh, but the child was right. It was frightening.

She heard Shelly’s hollow footfalls on bare boards, as she ran from room to room. From somewhere within the house a door banged, and its echo made her jump.

“Are you going to come in?” Liam asked

“Yes,” she stammered. “We want to see the gardens first.”

“Christ,” her husband muttered, as he stormed back inside.

“I don’t want to go in.” Laura whispered and Cora could feel the child trembling.

“Let’s look around the outside until we get used to the idea of such a big house,” her mother suggested, and she led the child back along the drive to get a better look.

It really was a patchwork of time. Centuries mingled one into another, as each owner tried to leave his or her mark on the place. It was Gothic, Georgian, and Edwardian and goodness knows how many other designs. Two huge stone sculptures in the shape of cats flanked the steps leading to the main door. Silent sentinels who had watched throughout time the coming and goings of the house. Weather-beaten shutters, their white paint almost worn away to reveal the light wood beneath, hung from all the windows. Cora imagined the racket they would make on a windy night. She looked towards the roof where a weathervane, scarred by the elements creaked, but she avoided looking directly at any of the windows, afraid she’d see someone other than her husband and daughter, looking back at her. But it was just a house, she reminded herself, and like it or not, it was now their home.

“It’s not so bad really. Is it, darling?” She looked down into Laura’s frightened eyes. “Dad says we’re to have a swimming pool. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“It’s going to eat us; you know that, don’t you, Mam?”

“Now you’re being silly. The house can’t harm anyone. Its only people can hurt one another.”

“The way dad hurts you?”

“Hush now.”

Cora’s heart ached as she steered the child towards the house. Laura had witnessed much in her nine years.

Within a year of their marriage the beatings started. She bored him, she knew this, and there was no going back. He never failed to remind her of what he saw as her failures. Including the fact, she had not borne a son to carry on his great name. The birth of Laura was a let down and afterwards, when it took three years until she fell pregnant and then produced another girl, well!

Tears clouded her vision, as she led Laura up the steps towards the main door. The look he gave her and the words he used the morning in the Labour ward, after she spent hours giving birth, played clear as pictures through her mind.

“Christ, not another one,” he groaned, when she held up the child. “Can’t you get anything right?”

She would never forget his sneer of contempt as he walked from the room, nor his refusal to try for another child.

They were inside now in the dark cavernous hall. An enormous chandelier draped with cobwebs and trailing dust, tinkled as the crystals moved in the breeze from the open door. Mahogany panelling lined the walls on either side, making the place even gloomier. A grand staircase swept upward and parted before a stained-glass window, then continued onwards to the left and right. Cora looked up towards the domed ceiling. It was impossible to see anything on the overhead gallery.

Laura overcame her uneasiness and ran to join her sister in exploring. Liam was nowhere in sight, so she climbed the stairs and became swallowed up in the deepening shadows. Dust rose from the ancient, threadbare carpet. Liam said it had been occupied up to a month before, but this seemed impossible. It could not have fallen into neglect in such a short while.

The stained-glass window sent lights of blue, red, and gold dancing across the numerous doors running the length of the gallery. Cora leant on the banister and tried to figure out what the glass depicted. It seemed to be a struggle between a monster and a human figure. Perhaps it was George and the dragon? A beast of sort, but it was hard to make out in the grime-coated glass.

“So, you managed to come in?”

Her wanderings were interrupted by the appearance of her husband. He was standing on the lower landing beneath the window. Cora looked once more at the monster in the glass, then down at the face of her husband. For a moment, just for a moment, she saw the reflection of evil in both.

“What are you staring at? He was striding up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“The drawing in the glass,” she pointed upwards.

“Ah, yes, the eternal struggle. What a boring place the world would be if the good always won. Don’t you think?”

“No Liam, I don’t. I am a mother. Like all mothers I pray for peace and goodness.”

“Christ, it serves me right for asking.”

“Liam, please don’t take the name of God in vain.”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want in my own house.”

The hand propelling her along the corridor was anything, but gentle. He threw open a door and pushed her into a bare, high ceiled room. Dust particles danced in the light from the curtain-less windows.

“This will be our room,” he informed her. “You can start decorating this first, then the girls’ rooms.”

“Yes, Liam,” she ran her hand along the black iron fireplace, the focal point of the room. She had always wanted a fireplace in her bedroom. Ever since she first saw them in the old Victorian melodramas, but she was no young heroine and Liam, well Liam…

She roamed from room to room and was greeted in each one by the smell of damp and decay. Although the walls seemed dry, the plaster firm, there was something odd, something she could not put her finger on.

“Mam,” Laura called. “Come and see the kitchen it’s huge.”

Cora made her way down, pausing again the look at the image of the dragon in the window.

“Hurry Mam,” Laura beckoned. “You’ll never believe it.”

Cora followed her daughter along the dark passageway. Laura held the heavy oak door open with a flourish, and Cora walked into the biggest room she had ever seen. The kitchen was the size of their old house, and obviously meant to accommodate a small army of staff.

“My goodness,” Cora took in the long wooden table in the centre the room. The old-fashioned Aga on one wall was the only thing that was not over a century old. Stout copper pots and pans, lacking lustre, but nevertheless impressive, hung along a beam. Bunches of herbs and dried flowers cascaded from the ceiling and turned to dust, when she touched them. An old dresser stood in one corner still decked with the cobweb-covered, willow-patterned china, the cups hanging from rusted hooks. Of all the rooms she entered, this was the most welcoming.

Look, Mam,” Laura was standing beside the open fire. “You can see the sky.”

Cora ducked down and joined her daughter. Overhead, through the long black chimney funnel, a patch of blue and white could be seen.

“It really is extraordinary,” Cora mumbled. “It’s like stepping back in time.”

“Do you want to see my room next?” Laura asked.

“Why not.”

They climbed the stairs hand in hand.

“You’ve grown used to the idea of living here?” Cora asked.

Yes, only because I know it’s not us the house doesn’t like.”

“Then who?”

Laura shrugged.

“Tell me,” her mother stopped her climb. “Who doesn’t it like?”

“Bad people.”

“But how do you know this?”

“The house whispered it to me.”

“Now you are being silly, darling. Houses don’t talk,” Cora’s heart was thudding painfully.

“This one does. It says it’ll take care of us and help make you stronger, so one day you’ll be like her,” she pulled her hand free and pointed up at the image in the window.

“How do you know that’s a woman and not a man?”

“She told me.”

“Who told you?” The question came out as a strangled scream.

“Don’t be frightened,” Laura, standing on a step above her, reached down and stroked her face. “There is nothing here that will hurt you, or me, or Shelly.”

“But Dad, Laura. What about Dad?”

Laura turned from her and ran up the stairs, leaving the question unanswered. Before she could follow her…

“Cora, come down here.”

Her husband stood in the hallway with a bundle of brochures in his hands. He never looked up, and only acknowledging her presence by thrusting books into her hands.

“The decorators will be here first thing tomorrow. I have marked out the designs I want for each room. See they stick to the plans I gave them. You may decorate the girls’ rooms. It won’t matter if you make a mess of them.”

“I have some ideas of my own I’d like to discuss,” she ventured.

“You, ideas? I think not. You’re taste leaves much to be desired.”

Yes, she thought, as he walked away and began closing doors and calling to the girls’, that is very true.

They stood in the driveway and took another look at the house. Cora realised, for the first time, how quiet it was. The only sound the occasional cawing of crows, whose nests dotted the trees.

“We should be able to move in next month,” Liam said. “What do you think of that girls’? You’ll be able to tell your school friends you live in a mansion.”

“Great,” Shelly shouted, jumping up and down. Laura shrugged.

“Well try and look a bit happy,” Liam snarled at his eldest daughter.

“Whatever,” she gave a mock smile, before climbing into the car.

“You have her the way she is,” Liam pointed at his wife. “You and your fucking nonsense.”

“Leave her alone,” Cora’s answer startled even herself.

Inside the car Laura leaned forward and held her breath, as she waited for his reply.

“What did you say?” Liam’s face had grown purple with rage.

“I said leave her alone,” for the first time Cora’s voice held no trace of fear.

“Get in the car,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Cora was slipping her seatbelt into place when he struck.

“Never answer me back,” he bought his clenched fist down hard on her leg.

She cried out in pain, then reefed her nails across his hand, drawing blood.

“You rotten bitch,” blood splattered his leather upholstery, as he drew back his hand to attack again.

Cora heard Shelly whimpering in the back seat, and Laura whispering to her to be quiet.

“Hit me,” Cora warned. “And by God, I’ll use these on your face.” She unfurled her nails, so the blood-stained points showed. “Try explaining that to your colleagues in Court.”

He was shaking in anger and beads of sweat matted his forehead. There wasn’t a sound within the car as he turned from her. He spun the car round in the drive, and sent gravel spraying everywhere. Beside him his wife picked fragments of his skin from beneath her nails. Her stomach turned, as she hid the bloody tissue in her handkerchief, and her heart raced at what she had done. Never, in all the years of marriage had she retaliated, but today was different. She was tired of his mistreatment and sick of the look of fear in her children’s eyes. She would no longer be his punch bag. New house, new me, she decided. I am tired of being afraid.

In the backseat, Laura stole one last look over her shoulder and smiled. Already the house was working its magic.

Her body continued to burn throughout the day. The sight of her smouldering corpse met Meg and Pat when they rode into the village that evening, and it was one, they would never forget. Annie’s blackened figure hung amid the embers of the fire. The spear held it in place.

The children were asleep in the back of the cart and spared the terrible sight, but Meg and Pat were inconsolable. A shadowy figure moved from the shelter of the mill and stumbled towards them.

“I threw the spear,” the young guard sobbed.

“You…” Pat cried, catching him by the throat.

“I had to; she was cursed to feel each flame.”

Pat looked at him uncomprehending, and it was only when Meg pulled at his arm, he released the boy.

“Let him be, Pat. He put her out of her agony.”

The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.

“I worked all day putting the fire out.”

“Where is he,” Pat asked. “This man, Tanas?”

“He disappeared before she died.”

“And the O Brien’s and the rest of the village?”

“They fled in terror.”

“They will have more to fear than the Devil when I find them.”

The sound of Meg retching made them run to her aid. She could no longer bear the sight of the burnt corpse, or the smell of cooked meat pervading the air.

“Take us home,” she beseeched Pat. “Take us to Annie’s cottage.”

“She will need a Christian burial.”

“You can come back when the cart’s unloaded and bring her home. The embers are still too hot and there is no hurry now. Just take us away.”

She had to be lifted onto the cart. The very life seemed to have drained from her, and she sat in a stupor for the rest of their journey.

The cottage looked dark and deserted. A melancholic breeze sighed among the trees. Even the little pool beside the cottage was covered with green slime. Nature itself mourned the passing of one so good.

The sleeping children were carried inside and put to bed. Meg took some wood from the stack beside the hearth and lit a fire. Even its comforting light did nothing to dispel the gloom. Pat brought water from the well, filled the kettle and swung the arm over the fire.

“I will make you some tea.”

Meg slumped into a chair and watched the leaping flames. Pat realised, for the first time, how old and frail she really was. They sat in silence until steam hissed from the spout, and the water threatened to boil over.

“My God, my God, why hath thou forsaken me?”

The hair on Pat’s neck rose at her whispered question, and he gulped back the tears. This was his fault; he knew something was brewing.

“You are not to blame.”

Her words startled him.

“Sit down,” she pointed to the chair opposite hers.

Pat handed her the tea and sat down. He was glad of the solidness of the wood beneath him. It was the only thing that seemed real. He held the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips, and he noticed how Meg’s hand trembled also.

“This is not a time for blame,” her eyes seemed to bore into him. “Nor a time for revenge.”

“I do not understand. What happened?”

“Annie, Lord rest her soul,” Meg continued, then stopped suddenly as the sound of the familiar name pierced her heart. She allowed the cup to slide from her grasp and it shattered on the stone floor.

Pat could do nothing to help. The tears that were threatening spilled over, and he was forced to hold a hand over his mouth, least the sound of his anguish wake the children.

“Come now,” Meg managed to rouse herself. “There is much to be done and plenty of time for grieving in the months ahead.”

Pat wiped the tears from his face.

“Take your cart to the store and unload it, then bring Annie and Dora home.”

“Dora?”

“Dora is dead. I felt her spark die before Annie’s.”

She rose and motioned him to do the same. He was afraid to leave her alone and told her so, but she knew the danger was past. The Dark One was vanquished. There was nothing left for him there.

The young guard was keeping watch over Annie’s body, and it was with his help, Pat managed to take her down. She felt warm to touch, and he moaned when he realised the pieces of ash falling from her was skin. They placed her in a blanket and loaded her onto the cart. Still the village lay in silence. No dogs barked; no lights showed in any of the windows.

“There was a child, a little girl…”

“They buried her outside the chapel wall,” the guard told him. “I can show you where.”

Pat led the horse along the village street. The sound of its hoofs shattered the quiet. Clip—clop, they rang through the silent night.

It was easy to find the small, unmarked grave. Burial outside the chapel walls was a fate reserved only for suicides, witches, and stillborn babies. The guard went inside and returned with two spades, the property of the gravediggers. Dora was not buried very deep, and the earth was dry and easy to dig. She was wrapped only in a blanket. Pat threw this aside and cried out when he saw the condition of her body. The stench made him draw back and he gagged at the raw, rotten smell of her decay. When he lifted her from the dank earth, her hair that was hiding her face, fell back, the moon lighted upon her, and he gasped at the beauty and serenity of her features. Despite the marks on her body, death left no sign of suffering.

The young guard, who introduced himself as Tom O Shea, offered to make the coffins and help with the grave digging. Pat accepted with a nod, and Tom climbed up onto the seat beside him. Meg came out to meet the cart. Pat stopped her from pulling back the blankets shrouding Annie and Dora.

“It is best to remember them as they were.”

They spent the rest of the night in the woodshed fashioning makeshift coffins from pieces of timber.

At dawn they buried Annie and Dora side by side, in the farthest corner of the property. A light rain fell as Pat and Tom filled the hole. A wind blew up, and it seemed as though the trees were bowing over the grave; paying homage to one who was a part of the forest.

“Should they be in consecrated ground?” Pat looked at the mound.

“Anywhere she lies is blessed,” Meg wiped her tears and turned to go. “The children will be awake soon and there is a lot of explaining to do.”

It was a solemn procession that walked back to the cottage that morning.

Meg, Pat, and the children stayed on at Annie’s cottage. More rooms were added to make way for the growing children. Pat’s business prospered, though it was whispered he was never the same after Annie died. Meg did her best at being mother to Rose, Paul, and Lily, but the loss of her loved ones took their toll. She spent hours beside the grave each day talking and whispering about old times. Flowers grew in abundance and covered the mound watered by Meg and Pat’s tears.

Slowly the seasons passed, and it was soon winter again. The sky was dark with the promise of snow when Meg set off to collect kindling from within the forest. There was no need for her to do this, as Pat had a woman come in and help with the housework, but it kept her busy and her mind from tormented thoughts. It was reported Mary O Brien was dying. Some said it was from a broken heart, but Meg knew it was from vexation.

The holly bushes were heavy with berries, a sure sign of a hard winter. Lord, I am tired Meg thought, as she stooped to pick up a stick. A cold wind stirred the trees above her, and she gathered her shawl tighter and was about to turn for home, when she heard it, a long, mournful cry that froze her blood. Meg listened as its volume increases and tore at her heart.

She allowed the sticks to fall, as she followed the sound. It took her way beyond the forest and into the village. Every window and door were locked, as the villagers tried to escape the cry. Her search took her to the O Brien’s house, where Hugh’s ashen face appeared at the window. Annie stood in the garden; Annie as beautiful as she had once been. The wind whipped her hair around her and carried her cries with it. Those who heard it would describe it as a keening, a ghostly lament for the dead.

Annie, Annie child,” Meg leant on the gatepost, her eyes blinded by tears.

“Do not come near me, Meg,” Annie sobbed, her cries rising and falling. “I am cursed to walk the earth until the end of his line.”

“I will find a way to help you, child,” Meg walked towards her. “Let me take you in my arms.”

“You cannot, Meg. You will die. I am death to all who touch me.” Annie floated towards the house and sat upon the windowsill.

Her crying continued unabated until dawn. Meg sat on the steps to the house praying and never taking her eyes from Annie’s face. The sounds she made were frightening, and Meg prayed, asking God for some relief for the child. Snow began to fall at first light. Soft flakes at first, but it soon came faster swirling about the village, covering everything.

“I have to go,” Annie called to Meg. “She is dead.”

“Where will you go?”

Annie’s eyes opened wide in terror. “I belong to the night. I lie shrouded in darkness. Help me, Meg.”

Sheets of snow blinded Meg, as she fought her way towards where Annie sat. But she was gone, fading into the air. The last thing Meg heard was her crying. “It is not fair; I am so frightened. Help me, Meg.”

Meg groaned and rubbed at her aching back. The two nights they spent within the forest were cold and her old bones ached from sleeping on the hard grass floor. The weather stayed fine, but the early morning frost froze them to the marrow. Their only shelter was a crude canopy of leaves and fallen branches that did little to protect them from the cold. The children, as in all times, adjusted well, though Rose was quieter than normal. Her mind was filled with worry about her sisters. Meg tried to assure her they would be all right, but the words were stilted. For she heard a death cry carried on the breeze, its sound clear as solemn church bells, tolling through the quiet of the night.

Meg picked the last of the autumn berries from the bushes. These would have to do for the children’s breakfast. The food she packed was soon eaten and they had to resort to what they could forage from the forest. The children slept on and she was loath to wake them, but the sun would soon be up, and the open road called to her. The sooner they found Pat, the sooner they could rescue Annie. She would not think about the cries she heard. There could be many explanations for the sound, but still…

The children woke shivering, and the handful of berries they received did little to lift their mood. Soon they were on their way. As always, they kept within the forest. By now they were clear of the village and the rumoured roadblocks proved to be just that. No one tried to stop them, and the road remained bare with no sign of passing traffic.

Meg felt weary. The last few days were the hardest she had ever known. But it was not just the tiredness of old age that bothered her, but the weariness in both heart and soul. She felt the evil all around her. The air felt cloying, and at times, it seemed as though she was walking through a thick fog. The Dark One was working his evil, trying to delay her.

The forest was dark, despite the many fallen leaves. The bare branches seemed like skeleton arms that might reach down at any moment and pluck her from the earth. Shadows darted among the trees and strange creatures seemed to keep pace with them as they walked. There were indistinct cries and growls from far away, and she blessed herself and mumbled a prayer for protection.

They walked until the sun was well up, and now the children were tired. The bank of a stream proved an ideal resting place, and Meg dipped her handkerchief in the water and rubbed the stains of the blackberries from the children’s faces. She eased her way down onto a rock and watched as they played. They would soon be complaining of hunger. The air was much fresher here and the birdsong relaxed her. Her mind filled with thoughts of Annie and Dora and she swallowed hard, fighting back tears.

Sudden squeals and shouts from the children roused her. Paul was swaggering towards her with the body of a rabbit held aloft. He, like many of his kind, was a skilled hunter. His snare worked within minutes, and he beamed with pride at the look of relief on Meg’s face.

He cleaned and skinned the rabbit, while Meg lit a fire. Soon the smell of roasting meat made their stomachs rumble, as Meg turned the makeshift spit. Each thought the meal of roasted rabbit and water from the stream was the best they had ever had.

It was a much livelier group that set off that morning. The feeling of oppression lifted, and even Meg’s back did not ache as much. Rose and Paul carried the magpie, that cawed in annoyance, when they swung the basket. The sun, though watery, warmed them and their clothes soon lost their dampness. The meal they had just eaten would keep them going for most of the day. Meg would not have to worry until nightfall.

“Meg help me” the sobbing seemed to come from all around her. She spun, trying to find the source. The forest lay in stillness, and she held her breath. Her heart pounded against her breast when she heard the menacing laughter and Annie’s screams. “Oh God help me, Meg. I am in agony.”

Meg stumbled to a tree trunk. The very breath was taken from her body. Annie was in terrible pain. Dear lord, Meg prayed, take me, leave the child be. There was no answer, just the sighing of the leaves.

“Meg,” Paul came crashing through the undergrowth. “Come quickly. There is a cart coming.”

The children were hiding behind the trees, watching as the cart and driver approached. The wheels thundered on the rough track, as the driver whipped his horses onwards. It was almost upon them when…

“Pat, it is Pat,” Rose ran from her hiding place and waved her arms at the approaching vehicle.

The horses whinnied and snorted, as he pulled tight on the reins. Clouds of dust rose into the air, driven there by the skidding hoofs. Pat’s look of surprise on seeing Rose was soon replaced by fear, as Meg came walking towards him. Without waiting for an explanation, he lifted the children onto the back of the cart and helped Meg to climb up beside him. He flicked at the reins, and they set off. Meg whispered to him, as they rode, not wanting the children to hear. His eyes opened wide in alarm at her news.

“I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, shaking his head, and spurring the horses onwards. “I will kill those O Brien’s. So, help me.”

“They are in the grip of The Dark One.”

“What do you mean?”

“The very Devil himself is among us,” Meg crossed herself. “He has taken the form of a man.”

Pat’s head was reeling. It had to be that Tanas fellow. He was the only stranger in the district.

“We will save them, Meg,” Pat’s strong hand closed over Meg’s own and she held on tight, drawing strength from his touch.

“I pray to God we can. That we are not too late.”

Annie was forced up from the straw. She cried aloud as a dress was pulled over her head and scraped over the scars on her back. Her toes dragged along the stone floor, as they half-carried her. Some of the cuts opened from the rough handling, and she left small drops of blood in her wake. The jailors jeered at her shorn head.

A wave of noise erupted, as she was taken from the mill. Her death was to be a great occasion. The sunlight stung her eyes, as she had become used to the dark, and the many figures before her seemed faceless. Some laughed and pointed. Children ran towards her, wanting to touch the witch. Annie kept her head bowed and allowed her eyes to adjust.

The first thing she saw was the wood. For a moment she thought she was at the steps of the gallows, but when she allowed her eyes to travel upwards, she saw this was not the case. A stout pole stood in the centre of a woodpile. The villagers were still adding to it. The procession stopped, and she looked around at the people who gathered. Many of them were old friends of her family, and she tried to make eye contact.

“Well, Mistress Ryan,” The Dark One walked towards her. “It is time to pay for your sins.”

“I am innocent,” Annie cried, and this drew mumblings from the crowd.

“You are the leader of the witches and you must pay,” he snarled, and leaning closer whispered. “Unless you have changed your mind?”

Annie shook her head.

“Take her up.”

Annie was forced towards a ladder on the side of the pile. She stumbled on the rungs and was carried up by one of the guards. They tied her to the stake and wound strong chains around her body. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she was forced to look at the crowd. A shout of “silence” rang out and an uneasy hush fell. Then, The Dark One spoke.

“A witch with power as strong as Mistress Ryan must be burned; the fire will nullify all her evil.”

“No,” Annie strained against her bonds. “I am not a witch. Help me.” She looked at Mary and Hugh who stood at the end of the woodpile. “Mary, for the love of God, tell them I am innocent.”

Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.

“Bastards,” she screamed. “It is you who should be in my place.”

“Enough witch,” The Dark One motioned to the guards.

There were four men in all, and each held a torch of blazing pitch. At his signal, they threw the torches into the piles of branches and shrubs between the timbers. The dry kindling caught fire instantly. Flames crackled and leapt to other branches.

“There is plenty of green wood beneath,” Annie heard Hugh’s voice above the noise.

She knew the green wood was damp and would take longer to burn. She would suffocate. Amid the haze of acrid smoke, The Dark One appeared. He seemed to be hovering above the ground. The crowd drew back, some crying, others screaming in fear.

“I will ask you once more. Denounce your God. Give me your power.”

“Never,” Annie managed to croak.

“Then I curse you,” his voice sounded like thunder. “You will die, but you will never know rest until the last male in his line is gone,” he pointed towards Hugh.

The flames were licking about her toes and she tried to draw up her feet as he continued.

“You will feel each flame. You’ will not die until the fire reaches your heart.”

“If that be the case,” she gasped, the smoke stung her throat. “My voice will be the last one the O Brien’s ever hear. I swear this by all that is holy.”

Most of the crowd ran away. But the O Brien’s and the guards all heard her words. Mary was carried away in a faint. Not only had Annie’s curse upset her, but also the sight of her intended husband levitating above the ground before disappearing was too much.

She was not there to hear Annie’s screams as the ends of her dress caught fire and the flames scored her skin. Neither did she witness how the flesh on her feet turned black, as the toes curled upwards.

“Help me Meg,” Annie cried. “I am in agony.”

Even the guards took flight at this, and she was left alone to burn in the still morning air. She screamed and writhed against the chains. The flesh on her legs melted exposing the bones and sinews. The flames continued upwards leaping towards her face.

“Oh, Jesus, Miss.”

Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.

“I will get water,” the young guard shouted, and in seconds the flames hissed, as he threw water on them.

. The fire burned fiercely.

“Let me be,” she screamed. “I am destroyed.”

He continued to throw buckets full of water towards her. The flames died in places, and she was able to see him.

“Look, look at me.”

He stopped and looked up at her. His face was blackened from the smoke, and there were tracks where his tears flowed. He saw the flesh was burnt beyond repair. Blood and fat dripped from her fingers.

“The Dark One cursed me. I am to feel each pain.”

He shook his head before running away. Annie moaned and arched her back, as the flames reached her thighs.

“Close your eyes Miss,” she heard him call. “It is all I can do.”

His aim was true, and the spear pierced Annie’s heart. She gasped, and her eyes opened wide for a moment. Then she smiled at him, before her head fell forward.

The Dark One was enraged when he saw the carefully laid out body. He stormed to Annie’s cell and threw open the door.

“You,” he glared down at her. “How did you leave this cell?”

“Perhaps, it is you who underestimates my power, Lucifer.”

“Do not dare use that name,” he reached down, grabbed the front of her dress, and hauled her to her feet.

“Or what,” she reefed her nails along his hand, and her stomach lurched at the dark pus issuing from the cuts. “What will you do, Lucifer, kill me?”

“I will make you suffer the worst pain imaginable, and when I am finished you will join your family in Hell.”

“Never,” she laughed in his face. “I will never believe you. No matter what you show me. No matter what you do, I will be true to Him.”

“Even now,” he shook his head in wonder. “When he deserts you and leaves you to suffer alone.”

“Until the end of time, if need be.”

“Very well,” he signalled to the guards to bring Annie.

She followed them without resistance, faltering only outside that door. The table was bare. Dora’s body was gone. Relief flooded through her, for she felt her resolve would have weakened if she once more looked upon the lifeless body of her sister.

“Tie her down,” Hugh ordered, and she spun round to face him.

“You,” she spat, and he backed away, ashen faced.

She pointed towards the blazing fire imagining orbs of light rising from it. These she sent spinning towards him. He screamed and ducked down, but some made contact singeing his hair and clothes. Flames ran along the arm of his tunic, the same arm he had used in welding the stick. His roars of pain made the guards come running with water. Annie watched this tableau without feeling. She wanted Hugh to die. To feel the pain her sister had felt, but before she could act any further The Dark One seized her hair and pushed her down onto the table. Her face was pressed against the wood and her sister’s blood coated her face.

“Bring something to bind her eyes.”

A cloth, smelling of sweat was tied around her eyes, and she was lifted onto the table. No matter how she kicked and struggled, they kept her down. Now her vision was blocked, she was unable to fight, but had to lie there and listen.

They tied her hands to both corners of the table; her feet were pulled wide and tied in the same way. She lay there spread-eagled awaiting her faith. There were whispers from close by, and she turned her head towards the sound. Sweat coated her forehead not only from fear, but also from the arid heat. A smell of sulphur wafted across her face, and she knew The Dark One was standing over her.

“We must look for the witch mark.”

There were sniggers from the guards and Annie strained against her bonds.

“It will go much easier if you stop struggling.”

She turned her head from his putrid breath and kicked out as hard as she could. The slap she received split her lip, and she tasted salty, coppery blood.

“Very well, proceed.”

There was a sound of metal scraping against metal. Annie clenched her fists and tried to control the tremors shaking her body. Something cold touched her cheek and she gasped.

“Stay very still, cousin. I would not want to cut that pretty skin any more than I have to.”

Annie cried out as the knife cut the clothes from her body. She felt the bodice of her dress rip open and heard the gasps of the men as her breasts were exposed.

“Oh, God no,” she sobbed.

She had never been seen naked by anyone, not even her mother, since she was young. Now here she was lying almost naked on a table, surrounded by strange men. Her tears soaked the blindfold, as she felt hands move over her in mock examination. Her hands were untied, and she was pulled into a sitting position as her neck and back was checked.

“Nothing,” Hugh’s voice was hoarse, as his hands continued to move over her body.

Annie knew her skin was flawless. There was not a freckle or mole to be seen. Hugh’s hands still roamed over her, kneading, and pinching her breasts, until she cried out in pain.

“Remove her petticoat,” The Dark One ordered.

“No, please,” she tried to pull her legs together, as she felt the tip of the blade against her skin.

The guards drew closer. She smelt their sweat and heard their laboured breathing. They seemed impervious to her cries for mercy. Hands moved down her stomach, between her thighs. She screamed and thrashed, trying to get away as the fingers probed deeper.

“Enough,” The Dark One ordered, but still the hands remained. “I said enough.”

The fingers were pulled away, leaving scratches on her flesh.

“Move, go on,” she heard him order the men.

“Have you had enough?”

Annie was unable to answer. She was sobbing so much that words were beyond her.

“Answer me, Annie. Have you had enough?”

“Yes,” she managed to splutter.

Are you ready to concede?”

He waited for her crying to subside. After all, he had won. Someone of Annie’s sensibilities could not endure any more of this. Annie’s sobs quietened. She allowed her body to relax and her breathing to deepen. She heard the hissing of the fire and the muted mumbling of the men. Were these some of the last sounds Dora heard?

“Now,” he asked. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Think clearly.”

Annie turned her head towards him. “Never,” she roared.

“Very well. Shave her. We will find the mark.”

The blade slapped against leather, as Hugh sharpened it. Annie gritted her teeth, as she felt its sting beneath each arm. He moved uncaring of her tender flesh, and she tried not to cry out when the blade nicked and cut. She did not even move when she felt it between her legs and heard the dry scraping as it tore hair from the roots. There were small tracks of blood running under her arms. She felt the trickles as they moved. There was also stickiness between her legs, and she knew it wasn’t sweat.

“Still, nothing,” Hugh whispered in astonishment.

“Her hair then.”

“What?”

“Shave her head,” he ordered. “Start with these,” he handed him a shears.

Hugh shrugged and began to hack at Annie’s hair. The auburn locks cascading around the table fell to the floor as he worked. Still she didn’t move, even when the shears snipped so close to her head, she heard the snapping of its jaws.

“Look, there,” Hugh was pointing to a small mark behind her ear. A tiny brown birthmark even Annie did not know about.

“Well done, Hugh. You have pleased me and I will see you are rewarded.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” he simpered, handing him the shears.

“You may leave,” The Dark One ordered the men. “You also,” he told Hugh. “Your work is done.”

Annie listened, as the men filed from the room. The flesh beneath her arms and between her legs burned and her scalp tingled, unused to the feel of the air. She felt the restraints being loosened.

“You may rise.”

She sat and removed the blindfold, blinking in the dim light. Black spots danced before her eyes, as she felt around her for her torn clothing.

“Such modesty,” The Dark One laughed, as she tried to pull the tatters of her dress from beneath her.

She gathered the cloth around her breasts and huddled into an upright foetal position.

“Get up,” he pulled her from the table, tearing the scraps of clothing from her grasp.

“No,” she screamed, and tried to wrestle them from him, but he pushed her aside and dumped the fabric into the fire.

There was nothing else within the room she could use to hide her shame.

He ignored her and walked towards a wall. With a wave, a mirror appeared, and he beckoned her forward.

“No,” Annie whispered, trying to cover herself with her hands.

He grabbed her, pushing her towards it.

“Look what your God has allowed to happen.”

She averted her gaze.

“Look, I said,” sharp talons seized her chin and twisted her face around. “Tell me again how much you love him.”

Annie gasped at her shorn head. All that remained of her beautiful hair was a few small tufts of bristles. He let go of her chin and caught her arms pulling them behind her back.

“Look well,” he whispered. “See what you have become.”

Annie’s cheeks blazed in shame as she looked upon her body. Dark bruises stained the flesh on her breasts and blood glowed against the whiteness of her thighs.

“Well, what do you say now?” He clicked his fingers and the mirror vanished. “I would never allow this to happen to you. I would protect you.”

“No.”

“Then you will die.”

“Yes,” Annie whispered. “I will die.”

With a roar he flung her from him. He would have torn her to pieces, had it not been for the door opening. Hugh had returned.

“I told you to stay away.”

“I thought I could be of help, Oliver, and mother asked if you would be home for dinner.”

Annie started to laugh, home for dinner. In the awfulness of her situation Hugh’s words seemed ludicrous.

“Will you go home for dinner?” she asked. “I mean,” she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Hell is such a long way to go.”

“She is insane,” Hugh muttered.

At this Annie laughed even louder. Maybe she was insane. Maybe what she felt, what she had witnessed were all the wanderings of madness.

“She confessed,” The Dark One tried to be heard above her laughter. “And refuses to repent. She will die at first light.”

Hugh nodded and looked at Annie. She made no attempt so far to harm him, and he held up his arm for protection when she pointed at him.

“Will you give me you cloak?”

He was amazed at this request. This was his finest cloak, hardly worn. He did not want her blood on it. He was saved from answering.

“Sit her down,” The Dark One ordered.

Hugh motioned her to sit, but she refused to move. One arm was held tight across her chest, the other between her legs.

“Will you sit,” he glared at her, pointing towards a chair. The body he had violated no longer aroused his lust, and he didn’t want to have to touch her.

“Will you give me your cloak?” She asked again.

“Enough of this,” The Dark One roared. “I said sit.”

Annie found herself flying. She threw her arms wide in the hope of finding something to stop her flight. There was nothing and in the seconds, it took for her to reach her destination, she managed to look behind her. The sharp points of the nails glistened in the light throw by the fire, as Annie hurtled towards the chair.

The impact of her back against wood made it impossible for her to save herself, and she slammed with great force down onto the nails. Her howls of agony echoed within the mill. The guards outside the door crossed themselves, as the screams continued unabated. The eight-inch nails drove upwards, tearing through flesh and muscle. Spearing her rectum, puncturing her colon and bladder, and splitting the hymen. Despite the force in which she fell upon them, the points seemed to sink slowly into her body. The more she struggled, the deeper they sank. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried to lift herself off. The air was filled with the smell of blood and faeces. She managed to rise one side of her body off the spikes, but the other side dug deeper. Her screams resounded off the walls. Blood and body fluids ran across the seat of the chair and down the legs. Hugh stood frozen watching her struggle. She called out to him begging him for help, but he never moved.

“God, help me,” she cried to the heavens. “Let me die.”

The Dark One pulled her from the chair. With a sucking noise her body came free of the nails, and he threw her on to the floor. From her buttocks to the backs of her knees were covered with puncture wounds. Blood ran from each perforation and snaked around her body. She was shaking from shock as she cried again.

“Let me die. Oh, dear God, let me die.”

“Not yet,” The Dark One laughed. “What you have suffered is nothing compared to the death I will give you come morning.”

Annie felt a rush of cool air as the door was opened. Strong arms lifted her, and the guards carried her back to her cell. Her nakedness no longer shamed her, for the pain was overpowering. She was sobbing when they threw her down in the straw. Let me die, she prayed. Let me bleed to death. The blood coursing down her body felt warm. She reached out a trembling hand and tried to cover herself with the straw. The pain raging within her, made her catch her breath, and she surrendered to the darkness that threatened, and sank into its folds.

It was night when she awoke. For the first time torches were lit along the corridor. A blanket covered her nakedness and she clutched at the soft wool in wonder. The cell door creaked open, but she did not try to turn. The pain was too great.

“Here, Miss. Try to drink.”

She looked up to see the young prison guard. He was holding a ladle of water to her mouth.

“I cannot.”

He cupped a hand at the side of her face and allowed the water to drip over her lips and pool into his palm.

“I am so sorry, Miss,” he whispered.

“It is not your fault.”

“Aye, that as may be, but I have done nothing to help,” he sat beside her and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She groaned as it stuck to the blood on her back.

“Sorry,” he gulped.

“No, you are truly kind. Did you light the torches?”

“Yes, I am on duty for the night.”

There was silence for a moment. Annie seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. The next sound she heard was his crying. She reached out a hand and patted his leg.

“Hush now; my suffering will soon be over.”

“But it is not fair. You are only a girl and look what they have done to your beautiful hair.”

Annie forgot about her hair. She reached up and felt the coarse stubble. Her tears stung, as her face was sore from crying.

The next thing she felt was a soft hand brushing her head. She looked up to find her mother smiling down at her, her mother as she had been in life, and not the ghoulish figure of her nightmares.

“Annie, darling,” she kissed her face. “Do not be afraid. This will pass and we will be together again.”

“Mamma, where is Dora?”

“She is safe and at peace, child. You need have no worries.”

“I am going to die.”

“Yes, child, I know.”

“I am afraid. Oh, Mamma, I am so afraid.”

“I would take all this from you if I could,” her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “But I have not the power.”

“Rose and Meg and the others are they dead?”

“No, they will live and prosper.”

“Thank God.”

“I must go now, child. I was allowed only moments upon the earth, and I must leave. Already the cock crows and soon it will be light.”

“Mamma do not leave me please,” Annie held tightly to her mother’s hand.

When she woke again sunlight blazed through the slatted windows. Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she knew they were coming for her.

They came for Annie at daybreak. The night was uneventful. There were no demons sent to torment her, but she lay awake listening to every sound. Her mind reached out to Meg and Rose, but she found nothing. She was beginning to believe they were dead. Strangely she was beyond tears. There came instead, a dreadful acceptance that all was lost, and she would die.

Now, she followed her jailors without struggle back to that awful room and sat unmoving in the chair into which they tied her. The Dark One entered followed by Hugh O Brien, but she refused to meet their eyes.

“Good morning, cousin,” Hugh called to her.

She sat straight and proud. His hand gripped her hair forcing her head back, and he hissed into her face.

“I said, good morning, cousin.”

She could smell the stale beer on his breath and his spittle flew against her face. Tears stung her eyes from the pain, but still she did not answer, but returned his hate-filled gaze with one of her own. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming when his hold tightened, and she felt the hairs being ripped from her scalp.

“Enough,” The Dark One roared. “There is work to be done.”

Hugh pushed her away with a snort and she banged her head on the wooden wing of the chair. The ropes on her hands made it impossible for her to reach up and rub at her throbbing temple, and she blinked trying to clear her vision of the flashing lights dancing before her. She was so intent on this; she never heard the door open and was surprised to hear her name being called.

“Dora, dearest,” Annie tried to smile. “Tell these men whatever they ask of you.”

“They said you are a witch, Annie, but I know you are not.”

“That does not matter, just pretend I am.”

“No, Annie, I cannot.”

“Why dearest.”

“Because it is a lie.”

“But it is just a little lie and God will not mind.”

“Oh, but he will, Annie. He told me.”

“Told you, when?”

“Last night when I was asleep. He told me I was going to heaven to be with Ma and Da, because I was a good girl.”

“Yes, but not now, dearest, not so soon.”

“Yes, Annie, he promised me.”

The Dark One snarled and dragged Dora to the wall. Her clothes were ripped from her until she stood naked and shivering. Annie begged him to let her go, but he ignored her pleas and set about his task with relish. Dora was chained with her face towards the wall, her arms and legs spread-eagled.

“Now you will witness what I do to those who disobey me.”

Annie looked at Dora’s frail white body. It was as delicate as a willow branch and would break as easily. Hugh walked towards her sister, swishing a thick stick.

“No,” Annie’s scream mingled with Dora’s as he brought the rod hard across her naked back.

Annie saw the flesh open and blood glowed against the whiteness of the skin. Dora withered in agony calling out to Annie to save her. All the pent-up fury she caged within her was released, as Annie searched out for Hugh’s heart and closed her fingers around it. He groaned, clutching at his chest and the stick clattered to the floor.

“No.” The Dark One slapped her. “Guards take her away.

Hugh struggled to stand up, as Annie fought like a tigress with her captors. The blood pounded in his ears driven there by his wildly pumping heart. Staggering across the floor, he confronted her. Her hands were being held and she was helpless as he struck. The first blow stunned her, opening the flesh above her left eye.

“Bastard,” she shrieked. “I will kill you. I will tear you to pieces.”

The second blow was dealt with such force her head snapped back knocking her unconscious.

She awoke bruised and battered on the floor of her cell. Dried blood caked on her eyelashes and she picked at the crust that formed, marring her vision. Her face felt swollen and bruised, and she felt a large bump on her forehead. She could not have been unconscious for long, as the sun was still low in the sky and shadows wreathed the cell. Using the bars, she hauled herself up, gasping as the pain shot through her body. Her ribs felt sore, and fortunately she had no way of knowing Hugh kicked and punched at her helpless body.

It was quiet within the mill, nothing stirred. Annie reached out with her mind, searching for Dora, for any life sign. It was there, but very weak. She called out to the guards until she was hoarse and sobbing from the effort. Finally, one appeared.

“What do you want?”

He was younger than the others, and while he avoided looking at her, she felt a struggle within him.

“My sister. What news of my sister?”

“I know nothing.”

“For the love of God have pity.” Annie reached through the bars and grabbed the sleeve of his tunic.

“What does one such as you know of God?”

“I am no witch. I am a healer. If I were in league with the Devil, don’t you think he would have saved me by now? Think, you are not as easily fooled as the others.”

“I do not know,” he looked at her. “I have no stomach for these things.”

“What things?”

“What happens in there,” he nodded towards the darkness.

Now, he was willing to listen, she asked.

“Have you sisters of your own?”

“Aye, three sisters and four brothers. That is why I took the job here. They take some feeding.”

“Yes, indeed. I have two sisters and they are all I have in this world. If I should lose them there would be nothing for me.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Annie was sure he heard the beating of her heart, but she could not rush him. From somewhere outside came the sound of children’s laughter, such an ordinary, everyday sound, now seemed from another time. The only real thing within Annie’s prison was the pain.

She realised the guard was listening and she smiled. He blushed and looked down at the floor, kicking the toe of his boot on the flagstones. Annie held her breath.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes, a little, but the hardest pain of all is not knowing what has become of my sister.”

“They have all left,”

“All, who?”

“Master Tanas and the others.”

“And my sister. What has become of her?”

“She did not leave the room.”

“Then she is still there? Please,” she begged. “Take me to her.”

“I dare not.”

“I swear by all that is holy if you take me to her, I will not try to run. I will remain you prisoner.”

“No, it is impossible.”

“Think if it were your sister. She is only six years old,” Annie sobbed. “I cannot bear this separation.”

He wiped at the sweat that formed on his upper lip and looked around him before asking.”

“You would give me your word not to run?”

“Anything, I swear on the love I have for my sisters.”

“Very well,” he took the keys from his belt and opened the door. “Come quietly now. I am not sure when the others will return.”

Annie stumbled a few times on their walk to that room. She was weak from pain and hunger and her head felt light.

“You go in,” the guard whispered. “I will keep watch.”

“Thank you,” Annie slipped in and searched the room.

The fire burned fiercely, and the room was stifling. The rack, where Dora was tied, was empty. Blood streaked down the wall turning it black. The corners of the room were in shadow.

“Dora,” Annie whispered, “Dora, are you here?”

There was a movement from one of the corners. At first it seemed like a bundle of clothes. Then a moan signalled her sister was lying beneath them and she pulled them aside. Dora lay on her stomach, her back, from shoulders to buttocks was crossed with the marks of the stick. Her flesh was a bloody mass with strips hanging from her bones. The floor beneath her was saturated with blood and she groaned when Annie tried to touch her.

“Dora, dearest,” Annie sobbed, as she ran her hand above the cuts, praying the flesh would mend. She worked fervently for a while, but nothing happened, and she knew this was because Dora’s life force was fading.

“Dearest,” Annie covered the wounds with Dora’s dress and managed to pick her up. She cradled her in her arms and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face.

“Annie,” The child looked up with eyes filled with fever. “Hugh hurt me.”

“Yes, dearest, I know he did.”

“Do not cry, Annie. It did not hurt so much after the first few hits.”

“Oh, Jesus help me,” Annie rocked the child. “Forgive me, Dora.”

“It is not your fault. I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too.”

“Will you come and find me in heaven?”

“Yes, I promise.”

The child suddenly turned from her.

“Can you hear Ma calling?”

“No, dearest, I cannot.”

“I can. Ma, I am here,” Dora held out her hand to an unseen presence, and Annie watched, as her small fingers seemed to curl around another hand before falling to the floor.

“Dora, no,” Annie stared down at her sister’s lifeless body. “Do not leave me.”

It was quiet within the room except for the crackling and spitting of the fire and Annie’s anguished sobbing. She carried her sister to a table and laid her down, covering her with her torn dress. Dora’s hair fanned around her, and Annie crossed her small hands across her chest.

“All the pain is over now, dearest,” Annie kissed her lips. Already she felt cold as marble.

“Miss, come away,” the whisper from the doorway startled her.

She walked towards the guard without looking back.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, when he saw the blood on her arms and cast a fearful glance into the room. His eyes widened when he saw the child’s body and he slammed the door shut. Annie walked in a trance back to her cell and stepped inside. The jangling of the keys seemed to go on forever as the guard’s hands shook so badly, he had trouble locking the cell.

“I am so sorry, Miss,” she could hear the tears in his voice.

All was lost. Her family were dead, and God had deserted her. She walked to the wall and laid her head against the cool stones. The cold eased the pain in her head somewhat, but the pain she felt inside would never heal. The guard slunk away, and she allowed herself to sink down onto the straw. Hugh O Brien’s face swam before her, his evil grin taunting her. That fiend was worse than any Devil, but she would make him pay. There had to be some way she could have her revenge. Please God, she prayed, if you are still listening help me to avenge my family. There was no answer, no whispered promise, no voice on the breeze, nothing. Then she did something she had never imagined doing. She prayed for death.

A gale blew up during the night and sent leaves and dust swirling around Annie’s cell. She sat against the wall and listened to the voices carried on the wind. Her senses heightened; she heard the death cries of animals trapped within the forest. The beating of bats wings sounded like thunder. But the sound she reached out for most was beyond her. She could not find Dora. The darkness within the mill was absolute, broken only by the moon, as it sailed between wind-tossed clouds. There was scurrying in the straw, and she flicked her hand towards the movement. Coarse hair brushed against her skin, and she drew back in terror. Moonlight moved across the floor and she saw it was a rat. It was huge, almost the size of a full-grown cat, with black bristles standing upright on its back, teeth drawn back in a manic leer. It hissed and made ready for attack. It knew she was trapped.

She never took her eyes off its face as she stood up. If it should catch her throat, she knew she would never be able to remove it. She edged towards the corner of the cell, one hand in front of her face. It jumped, and she felt razor-shape teeth tear a chunk from her wrist. Screaming, she shook it off, and it thudded against the wall. It lay still and she inspected the bite. Blood gushed from the hole, and she tried to spit into the wound in the hope of clearing away any poisons left there, but it was useless. Her throat was too dry from terror. So, instead she held her hand down and allowed the blood to flow ever faster around the torn tissue. It ran between her fingers to drip into a small pool on the straw. So intent was she on tending to the wound, she had forgotten about the rat. It was now ready to resume the attack. Its tongue darted across its lips, tasting her blood. The moon moved behind a cloud and the cell was thrust into darkness. Annie felt sick from fear as she tried to trace the rats’ movement. But it was well used to hunting and moved noiselessly among the straw. The only sign of its presence was the light thrown by the redness of its eyes. At times it blinked and was lost from sight. Annie froze, waiting for it to pounce. The wound in her wrist burned, and waves of pain shot down her fingers.

Dora, her sister flashed into her mind. If something as large as this should attack so small a child! The rat inched towards her and snatched at her ankle. Once again, she felt the teeth tear flesh from her bones, and she screamed and kicked out at the dark shape. Her fear was being replaced by anger. She would not allow the creature to hurt her again. Moonlight flooded the cell and she saw to her horror; the rat was gnawing on a piece of her flesh.

“Devil,” she spat, at the hunched shape. “Fiend from hell.”

The rat, intent on its feasting, looked up at her and drew back its lips. For a moment it looked as though it was laughing at her.

“Die,” Annie whispered, imagining she was inside its body, tearing and ripping at its tissues.

The rat hissed and drew back. Annie’s hands moved faster, clawing at the air. The rat spun and withered on the floor. Blood dripped from between its clenched teeth and ran from its nose. It squealed just once as Annie envisioned her fingers wrapping around its heart and squeezing. She held on tight until all movement ceased, and the body stiffened in death. This threat was over for now.

She spent the rest of the night huddled in a corner of the cell and as far away from the body as possible. This was the first time she had knowingly destroyed life, and the thought of what she did sickened her.

The night air chilled her to the marrow, and her breath rose in white clouds. Winter’s sting was upon the land, and there was nothing to stop it invading the cell. But this cold seemed like no other. She pulled some of the straw around her legs and over her lap, hoping to find some warmth, but there was none. From somewhere along the inky-black corridor she heard low, menacing laughter. Threatening shadows, making no sound, darted along the walls. Nameless things reached out sharp talons snarling hideously and she screamed, covering her face. All through the night this torture continued. The bitter-cold air hung with the stench of death, as vile creatures whispered in her ear, to heed The Master, to do his bidding and all would be well.

“No,” Annie moaned, at each whispered promise. “I cannot.”

As the voice faded away with an agonising cry, another replaced it. All of those within his power sought to please him and appease their own suffering. Annie prayed, begging God to help her. She plugged her ears with her fingers, but the voices still penetrated. Her stomach lurched from the smell, and she crawled onto her hands and knees, muscles contracting painfully as she retched into the straw.

“Have you suffered enough?”

Annie wiped the bile from her mouth with her long hair and looked towards the voice. The Dark One stood at the gate of the cell, but she was unable to see him for he blended so well with the night.

“Leave me in peace,” she croaked, her throat burning.

“I will give you peace, Annie. Just say the word.”

“No, never.”

“Very well,” she heard him move away. “But by morning you will bend to my will, if you remain sane enough to do so.”

The blood pounded in her ears, as she waited for what was to come next. Screams reverberated from within the mill. She ran to the bars of her prison and tried to locate the sound. There was movement along the corridor, a slow shuffling of feet dragging on the stone floor. She sniffed the air and her flesh crawled. It smelled of the tomb, of rotting, decomposing corpses. Icy fingers scored down her neck, as the lumbering figures came into view. The rotten remains of her mother and father walked towards her. She was unable to move; her hands had grown numb from gripping the bars, and she was frozen in place.

“Ma, Da, no,” she sobbed, as they advanced.

The shrouds she had so carefully sewn for them, draped from skeleton shoulders. What remained of their flesh was blackened and hung in strips from yellowing bones. Most of her mother’s hair was stripped from her scalp. The few remaining hairs hung in snakelike tendrils around her wizened face. Their shrivelled lips showed white teeth against the blackness of gums, and the sounds they made were of a tortured wailing. Clawed, leprous hands reached out to her, and she screamed in agony. Still she could not move. Not even when her mother pressed her face towards Annie’s, and she was forced to look into the black, worm infested cavernous sockets that once housed her eyes.

“Ma, no” Annie sobbed as the fear overwhelmed her. She never felt her muscles relax or the warmth of the urine running from between her legs. Mercifully, a curtain of darkness covered her vision and her mind, as she sank to the floor.

Watery sunlight flooded the cell, as Annie struggled into consciousness. Her sleep was undisturbed and despite the horrors of the night, her mind remained untouched. All that happened seemed just a bad dream. The body of the rat lay on its back, frozen claws reaching upwards. She shied back for a moment, and then anger replaced her fear, as the pain of her wounds stung.

“Get out,” she nudged the corpse with the toe of her shoe.

It rolled over on its side, and she shuddered at the dried blood on its face.

“Go on, get out,” she kicked it closer to the bars.

Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she retreated to the back of the cell. The Dark One passed by without a backward glance.

“Bring her along.”

The cell door was thrown open and Annie recognised the man. He had been part of the group who had taken Stefan.

“I want no trouble from you,” he warned. “Come out.”

She smiled, as she walked towards him. He drew back uncertain, but mesmerised. He never saw the huge rat, and she moved so quickly, he was unable to stop her. She kicked at the body and he was hit full force in the face with it. The rats’ claws snagged on his tunic, and he screamed backing away, until he landed in a heap against the wall. He stared down at the blood-soaked body; its face drawn back in a grimace of death. His screams brought the others running, as he struggled to tear the rat away. The body thudded against the bars of the cell and he pointed a quivering towards it.

“She made that thing attack me,” he told the men. “It flew at me.”

They mumbled in astonishment not only at such evil, but also at the sheer size of the rat. Annie was dragged from the cell and propelled towards that accursed room. The Dark One was waiting.

“The night was a long one for you?”

She shrugged and sat in the chair he pointed at.

“Then you still refuse to obey me, after all you have seen?”

“My answer remains the same. I am a servant of God.”

“You will leave your parents in Hell rather then protect them?”

“My parents are not in Hell,” she shook from fear. “They were good while they lived. You have no power over them.”

“Oh, but I have, Annie. Every creature that walks on this earth has their failing. It is bred in flesh and bone. They are mine now, and they will suffer eternal torture until the end of time. Have you so little love for them you allow this to happen?”

“You lie. I know you lie.”

“Then, what did you see last night?” he hissed. “Does your God tell you that you dreamed it all? It could not have happened, and your parents are with him?”

She refused to answer.

“Very well,” he reached into his pocket, withdrew a scrap of material, and dropped it onto her lap.

She screamed and brushed it away. It was the same material she used for the shrouds.

“Tricks,” she screamed. “Vile tricks used to frighten the ignorant.”

“Tricks,” he snarled. “You accuse me of trickery. I who command legions?”

He clapped his hands and the door was thrown open. Dora was led into the room, but she was no longer in chains. The dress she wore was new, and she appeared well cared for.

“Annie,” she ran to her sister and climbed on her lap. “Look at my new dress.”

“It is very pretty,” Annie tried to smile. “Who gave it to you?”

“Jane made it for me, and she is going to make one for you too.”

“Where did you stay last night?”

“I stayed with Jane,” she reached up and stroked Annie’s face. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I do not know, my sweet,” Annie’s eyes filled with tears and Dora’s face grew serious.

“I thought everything was going to be all right, but it is not. Is it Annie?”

Annie could only shake her head.

“It is all right, Annie. I know.”

“What do you know, Dora?”

“That bad things have to happen.”

“Who told you this?”

“No one,” Dora whispered, clutching her stomach “I feel it, inside. You know?”

“Yes, dearest,” Annie felt tears trickle down her cheeks. “Yes, I know.”

The sisters clung together for a moment, Annie breathing in the smell of Dora’s hair.

“Well, this is all very touching,” The Dark One pulled Dora from Annie. “But it is time for your sister to be questioned by the elders.”

Strong arms lifted Annie from her chair and marched her towards the door.

“No,” she screamed. “She is just a child. Let her be.”

She twisted around trying to see her sister.

“Dora,” she called to her. “Tell them whatever they want to hear.”

“I am not afraid, Annie,” Dora’s voice reached her before the door slammed. “And you must not be either.”

Annie was dragged back to her cell. She screamed, she bit and kicked at her jailors, but it was of little use. They dumped her unceremoniously into the straw, and she lay there sobbing.

The hours dripped by, as she listened to every sound within the mill. Doors groaned open, timbers creaked, as they stretched and settled. Voices echoed along the corridor, and she strained to hear what they were saying. The only person she saw throughout the day was the jailor, who brought her food. This consisted of a stew of lentils and potato that made her stomach turn. She pushed it aside, and drank the tankard of water accompanying the meal. Despite her pleading with him for news of her sister he remained silent, and she was left to suffer.

Later that night she had a visitor, Mary O Brien. Annie stumbled to her feet when the woman appeared and rushed towards the bars.

“You have news of my family?”

Mary looked around her before answering.

“They are all dead. All except Dora and she has been accused of being in league with you.”

“No, this cannot be true. You are lying, you must be.”

“Well, if that is all the thanks, I get for putting myself out, I am sorry I bothered,” Mary sniffed and made a great show of pretending to leave.

“No wait,” Annie begged. “I do not mean to be so rude. Please tell me what you have heard.”

“Very well. But I warm you any more rudeness and I will leave.”

“Yes, of course, but you must understand how upset I am at the news.”

“Well, you only have yourself to blame. Goodness knows I have tried to help, and dearest Oliver has been doing what he can to assist you.”

“Yes, please,” Annie ignored the woman’s nonsense. “Tell me of my family.”

“Well, it seems they were trying to escape through the woods when the elders hunted them down. Dora was the only one who survived, and she is here with Jane Lynch awaiting sentence.”

“Sentence, but she is just a child!”

“Nevertheless, she has been found guilty and her punishment begins in the morning. Annie dear,” Mary’s tone softened. “Will you not repent and be done with this for all our sakes.”

“Yes,” Annie needed time to think. “Send him to me and I will repent.”

“Good girl. It makes sense to do so, but Annie. You will keep to your side of the bargain. Give me the lease to the cottage and land.”

“Yes, of course I will, as soon as I am free.”

“Oh, very well.”

The Dark One appeared within minutes of the woman leaving.

“I am told you want to repent?”

“Tell me the truth, are my family dead?”

“All, but the child, Dora and she is not long for this world.”

“I do not believe you. I would have felt their passing.”

“Even now you doubt my power,” he raised an eyebrow. “After all you have seen.”

“What will become of Dora?”

“She will be beaten like all witches’ children until she confesses you are a witch.”

Tears stung Annie’s eyes as she thought of her sister’s frail body.

“She will not survive the beating. She is too weak.”

“That is up to you. You know what you must do to save her. Sleep well,” he laughed before disappearing.

The waiting was the worst. Annie jumped at each sound, as the old mill creaked and groaned about her. Common sense told her it was the timbers settling and the scratching and tearing, nothing more than the clawing of mice or rats in the beams. The smell from the next cell made her feel sick. Stefan’s body fluids mixed with the damp straw, and to Annie’s heightened sense of smell, it was rancid. She could almost taste the sweet, coppery blood. It seemed to stick to the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Walking over to the gate of her cell, she pushed her face between two of the bars trying to gulp in the air streaming from the slatted windows. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, as she prayed once again for the courage to bear what was about to happen.

There came the sound of footfalls from above, and she moved deeper into the cell, when she heard a door open and the steps upon the stone stair. Turning her face to the wall, she refused to look at her visitor, but sensed someone was standing, watching her.

“Annie, dear.”

She turned to see Mary O Brien.

“I have come to save your life, Annie.”

“Really?” Annie knew The Dark One had sent Mary.

“This is no time to be proud,” Mary’s smile tightened. “But, then, why should it surprise me. Your mother was the same. She could have married well you know?”

Annie did not answer, but this did nothing to stop Mary.

“But, no,” she sneered. “She had to marry for love. Love, I ask you,” the laugh sounded like a snort. “And to a lowly woodcutter. Well, see where it got her. She left three orphans, two of them in prison.”

“Two in prison?” Annie ran towards the bars. “What do you mean two in prison?”

“You have not heard? She raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Oh, they brought your younger sister in this morning. Dora is it?”

“And the others?”

“I have no idea. They could be dead for all I know. Something of the kind was hinted at.”

“No,” Annie started to cry. “No, you are lying. You must be. I would have felt it if they were dead.”

“There you go with that silly talk again. Felt it, indeed. No good will come of it, mark my words.”

“Please listen to me,” she pushed her hand between the bars and held it out to Mary. “Cousin, help me.”

Mary ignored the proffered hand, but Annie saw she was prepared to listen.

“If you find out what happened to my sisters, I will give you my cottage and land.”

Mary looked around her, checking no one could hear, but there was no mistaking the spark of greed glistening in her eyes.

“I am sure I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Listen,” Annie grew more desperate. “The deed is hidden in the cottage. Do as I ask, and I will tell you where it is. You can keep it. I care for nothing other than news of my sister.”

“Very well,” Mary nodded. “I will see what I can find out, but not a word to anyone. I do not want to be seen helping a witch.”

“You know I am not a witch.”

“Oliver says you are and since your imprisonment and the deaths of the gypsies there have been no more cases of the fever.”

“But that is because the weather has grown colder. Please, Mary you must see reason.”

“I know only what my intended tells me, and I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Your intended?”

“Yes,” Mary smiled. “We are to be married as soon as all this unpleasantness is finished.”

Annie looked at her in wonder. Did she really believe the Devil would marry her?

“Do you not wish me luck, Annie?”

“Oh, yes indeed. I wish you all the luck you deserve.”

Mary was unsure if the words were barbed, so chose to ignore them. After all, the cottage and lands would fetch a good price. The money would come in handy and her new lifestyle might be expensive. Dear Oliver, was generosity itself, but she had to impress him with her independent spirit.

“I must go now,” she pulled her silk shawl tighter.

“You will do as you promised?”

“I will do my best, and I hope you will stick to your side of the bargain?”

“I promise. As soon as you bring me word of my sisters, Meg and the gypsy children I will tell you where the deed is.”

“Very well,” Mary turned, and as an afterthought… “I almost forgot my reason for calling on you.”

She made it sound as though this was a social call.

“I came to beg you to repent and admit to your sins. I have no grudge against you and wish you no harm.”

Annie knew this was untrue. Not only was Mary grievously vexed by Annie’s refusal to marry her son, but also because of her resemblance to her mother, Mary’s cousin. She always envied her looks and kind nature, and the simple happiness she found in her woodcutter husband and daughters.

“I am not a witch. I admit nothing.”

“Well, I did my best. I can only hope your suffering and the suffering of your sister will be swift.”

With these words she was gone, and Annie stayed staring at the spot she’d vacated. Dora, surely, they would not harm her. She was only six years old, almost a baby.

She heard the slam of the mill door overhead, and pictured Mary sweeping along the main street on her way to report to Him. The thought of her cousin in a wedding dress, with The Dark One by her side made Annie laugh, such a fitting bride for the Devil. She laughed louder, tears streaming down her face. But there was no merriment in the sound, and she collapsed on the straw still laughing hysterically.

Somehow, she managed to sleep. When she woke it was still daylight, but the shadows lengthened, and she judged it was well into the afternoon. Brushing the hair from her face and wiping at the dried spittle staining her mouth, she stood. She was covered in straw. It stuck to her skirt, worked its way into the cleft between her breasts and seemed to cling to every strand of her hair. She picked as much of it as she could from her clothes and shook it from her hair. So intent was she at her work she failed to notice Hugh was watching her.

“Good day, cousin,” he bowed. “I have been sent to fetch you.”

Annie backed away, but he threw open the gate and seized her arm.

“Come along now and none of your nonsense.”

He propelled her along the corridor and towards the dark door, and into the room that played such a part in her tortured imagination. There was a row of six chairs on one side of the room. The squire and five of the elders were all to sit in judgement of her. There were three large books spread open on a table and she saw to her dismay these were Meg’s books. Meg would never part with the books. She would guard them with her life. Did this mean…? No, she could not be dead.

“Gentlemen,” The Dark One addressed the assembled jury. “You see here before you the grimoires of this witch. Within the pages of each of these accursed books lie the Devil’s words. It was with these innocent looking books she,” he pointed at Annie. “Cast her spells and killed those you loved and held most dear.”

She turned towards the men and shook her head, her eyes pleading with them for understanding, but their faces seemed set in stone. The Dark One was still speaking. Picking passages from each of the books. Jumbling up the words and making them sound sinister and evil. The tirade continued for so long Annie lost track of time. The Dark One’s eyes blazed, as he hurled accusation after accusation at her. She never answered but shook her head in denial. He became angry at her refusal to speak and turning to the jury, cried. “Will not one of you good men question her?”

There was a shuffling of feet, heads were shaken, whispers passed between the men until finally, one of them stood.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Do you deny any involvement with these books?”

“No, Sir, I do not.”

“Then you admit to reading them; to have knowledge of their evil!”

“These books are used in healing and in the protection of the dark forces,” she explained. “There is nothing evil within any of the covers.”

“But,” the man spluttered. “We have heard the words for ourselves. They speak of spells and charms. Do you deny this?”

“I deny they are evil. The words were muddled up in the reading. It is he,” she nodded towards The Dark One. “Who tries to fool you.”

“And why should he do that? He has nothing to gain. There is no fee involved in his work.”

“He is the Devil and he works to empower himself.”

There were gasps and mumbled calls of blasphemy.

“I have no more questions,” the man turned away.

Once he resumed his seat, the jury whispered together. The squire looked up from time to time and smirked at her. The Dark One allowed them to confer for a while and then asked.

“What is your verdict, gentlemen?”

The squire answered for all. “Guilty of witchcraft.”

“Very well,” The Dark One smiled. “A wise decision. I will deal with her in the approved way from here on. You may go,” he waved towards the door.

They filed from their seats. One or two cast a furtive glance in her direction, but most avoided looking at her. Annie stared down at her lap, not wanting to meet their gaze. She listened to the shuffling of feet and the heavy thud of the door closing, until the silence came surging back and she was alone with The Dark One and Hugh.

“You have heard the verdict of your elders. They have found you guilty of witchcraft. What do you have to say?”

She looked up at him.

“Nothing I can say will make any difference. You have already decided my fate.”

“You know what you must do to save yourself,” He glared at her. “I have given you plenty of opportunity.”

Turning to Hugh she asked. “Do you really have any idea of what he wants?”

Hugh shrugged. “He wants what we all want, the end of the plague.”

“No, he does not. He wants my power. He wants …”

Before she could say any more The Dark One roared.

“Take no heed of her words. They are meant to enslave you to her will.” And taking Hugh by the arm he walked him towards the door, whispering. Hugh nodded, before turning to look back at Annie. She had never seen such a look before, but then, she’d never seen what lust looked like.

“Did you really think you could bring a mind as weak as that around to your way of thinking?” The Dark One sat opposite her and nodded towards the door.

“I was merely telling him the truth, but you know nothing of the truth.”

“Oh, my dear,” he laughed. “I know all about the truth. I just bend it to my will and make it much spicier.”

“What happens now?”

“That is up to you. You know what must be done. I give you one last chance. Give me your power.”

“No.”

“Not at any price?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. You care nothing for your own life, but I have something that might convince you to change your mind.”

He walked out of sight. Her heart pounded in her ears and looking down, she saw the front of her blouse moved in time to the beats. The door opened. She felt the cool air rush into the room dispelling the stifling heat. There came a shuffling of feet, the clanking of chains and a small cry of pain, as Dora was pushed towards her.

“Dora,” Annie tried to go to her, but he grabbed her from behind. His hands were like claws on her shoulders.

“Dora,” she cried, and the child who stood with her head bent looked up. Her hair hung in damp tendrils about her face, and there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Annie,” she shuffled forwards. Her legs and wrists were bound with chains, as the shackles were too big for her. “Annie, he hurt me,” she started to cry. “He hit me,”

“You fiend,” Annie struggled to get free, but it seemed impossible to move. Then, she heard Meg’s words. “You have the power of angels. Your power is equal to his. He is a fallen one, you are not.”

Annie tried to concentrate, tried to block out the cries of her sister, and called out with all her might. “Take your hands off me, Lucifer.”

The pressure lifted at once, as he was thrown from her, and she rushed to her sister’s aid.

“There, there, my precious,” she picked the child up and carried her to a chair. Brushing the sweat-soaked hair from off her face, she kissed the flushed cheeks. “I am here now. It is all right,” she tried to ease the chains over Dora’s wrists, but they were bound too tight. She forgot all about The Dark One until the child was yanked from her grasp.

“No,” she screamed, lurching at Dora, but he was too fast.

With a flick of his wrist he sent her propelling back into her chair and invisible hands held her there. “That was clever, witch,” he laughed, and hoisted the crying, struggling Dora under one arm. “But my power has grown over the centuries, your time has been short, and there is much to learn.

She screamed at him to let the child go and to her surprise he agreed. Dora was put back down. He stood her in front of him, one hand on her tiny shoulder.

“Will you let her die?”

Annie looked at the shaking child and shook her head.

“Then you will do as I ask?”

She never took her eyes of her sister. How could she give him her power? In order to save her sister, she would have to go against God. Please help me, she prayed, show me what to do.

“I keep telling you he is not listening. He seemed to lose all power of hearing at these times. If I correctly remember the last time, I witnessed so touching a scene I was in a garden with his son. His son, Annie, what are you to him?”

Dora stopped crying and was staring straight at Annie. Her face started to glow, the features changing until they became the face of a young boy. The voice coming from Dora’s mouth was ethereal. “All this will pass; Annie and you will walk in my divine light.”

The Dark One roared, twisting Dora round to face him, but her normal features returned. He screamed in anger and the same voice that spoke, answered his cry. “This was to be your punishment, Lucifer. You will never again look upon my face.”

In his anger he forgot about Annie and the child. Dora ran to her and Annie knelt on the floor holding her sister close and trying to block her ears from the curses and taunts he screamed at the heavens. Dora was shaking, and Annie rubbed her back trying to sooth her trembling. The child felt delicate as a bird, and she was aware of how easy it would be to hurt her.

“Where are the others,” she managed to whisper, before the child was pulled from her once again.

Dora shook her head in answer. The Dark One calmed down. Spittle dripped from his lips, but it was green in colour and burned his clothes as it splashed on his chest. Wiping the slime from his face with the back of his hand, he hissed at Annie.

“For this you will all die.”

No,” Annie begged. “Not my sister. She is innocent and no more than a baby. Have mercy.”

“Mercy,” he roared. “What mercy was shown to me?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, I know and you,” he spat. “One insignificant girl tries to stop me having my revenge. Guards,” he called. “Take this one away,” he pushed Dora towards the waiting men.

“Annie,” the child screamed and tried to wrestle free, but a resounding slap sent her spinning into the arms of the guards. Annie had to listen as her anguished cries echoed along the corridor.

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Gemma Mawdsley's Blog.

Death Cry-chapter twenty-two

Death Cry- chapter twenty-one

Death Cry-chapter twenty

Death Cry-chapter nineteen

Death Cry- chapter eighteen

Death Cry-chapter seventeen

Death Cry-chapter sixteen

Death Cry-chapter fifteen

Death Cry-chapter fourteen

Death Cry- chapter thirteen

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