The Wraith-chapter thirty-three

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 7, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         It was four days before Jill heard from Paul again. Ninety-six hours of endless torment, as she waited for the axe to fall. Toby settled into his old routine as though nothing had happened, but the happiness at his return was overshadowed by the certain knowledge there was a price to be paid. Her family returned to the farmhouse once news reached them the child was safe, and she was glad of their presence. They proved a godsend at keeping the reporters at bay and shielded her from the horror unfolding on the TV and in the newspapers. The outcry at the discovery of the children’s bodies at the cottage became national news, and there was great speculation once the remains of the men were recovered from the cellar. Luckily, the police made no mention of the events when they questioned Toby, and Tom’s explanation of how he found him wandering on the road was grudgingly accepted. While the investigating officers may have had doubts of the circumstances surrounding the child’s recovery, they did not push the matter further, and Toby’s wide-eyed explanation about the men in the masks was hard to dismiss as his imagination. Anyway, they were more intent on finding those responsible. The fact she had forced her son to lie about his abduction left Jill with a gnawing pain in her gut, but it was for the best, in the long run. At least she fooled herself into believing this was the case. Once the questioning was out of the way, the police insisted Toby be taken to hospital for examination, but Jill refused because he’d had enough upset. So, they settled instead for a visit from her employer Dr Williams, who confirmed the boy was physically unharmed, if a little dehydrated.

   Joe returned to his new life and she was glad to see him go. It pained her someone who had once meant so much to her, now failed to draw even the slightest response from her aching heart.

   The sound of laughter roused her from her musing, and she smiled as Toby tumbled through the kitchen door, closely followed by Bess and her pups. They refused to leave his side since his return, and despite her mother’s sniffs of disapproval and muttered admonishment about the dogs’ presence in the bedrooms as unhygienic, Jill allowed things to return to normal. The pups now slept on Toby’s bed and were a comfort when he woke crying in the night. She knew it would be many years before her son recovered from his ordeal, if ever, and she would not deny him the company of the pups. Bess resumed her place beside Jill’s bed. On the odd time when she did manage to sleep, it was only for a few minutes during the day, and on the rare occasion when the house was quiet. At night she stayed alert, waiting for what must come next. She knew she was safe during the day, as the Wraith needed the night, and it would be during the hours of darkness, while everyone slept, that she would come for her.

   “Why don’t you have a lie down?” Her mother rubbed her arm. “You’re exhausted and we’ll keep a careful eye on Toby.”

   “Thanks, Mam, but I’m too wound up to sleep.”

   “Well, just lie on the bed and close your eyes,” she could see the worry etched in her mother’s face. “You might manage to drop off.”

   “Okay,” she smiled, just to please her. “I’ll try.”

   “Good girl, I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Using the banister, Jill managed to drag herself up the stairs. Once at the top, she looked longingly into her bedroom, but decided trying to sleep was a lost cause. Allowing her eyes to stray to the door that led to the attic, her stomach lurched at the realisation she had not returned there since the night she had summoned the Wraith. Looking around, making sure no one was about, she turned the handle and edged the door open just enough to allow her to slip inside. As she tip-toed up the wooden stairs, the familiar scent of the attic was overwhelming, and she brought her hand to her mouth to hold back her cry. It smelled as it did on the first day she had come there, of dust and mould, of dry paper and trapped heat. But that was before, in a time when her only pain was that of losing Joe. She’d lived a million lifetimes since then, or so it seemed. Now she was returning to the place that was once her salvation and was now the cause of her downfall. Picking up the lighter, she lifted the glass dome of the lamp and lit the wick. All traces of her grandmother’s footprints were obliterated by her own comings and goings and Jill’s heart ached at their loss. As she moved further into the gloom, she took note of things that had become familiar to her over the past weeks. She was no longer startled by the large mirror or the old sheet that shrouded it. There were no secrets, unexplored things to discover within the trunks. All the excitement she once felt belonged to another time, when she was innocent, her mind untarnished by the evil in the world and her soul unstained.

    The triangle of Solomon lay across the lid of one of the chests and she picked it up. Its side were still stained with traces of earth from the graveyard. If you’re going to come for me, do it now, her mind screamed, I can’t bear the waiting. But there was no reply to her demand and nothing to break the silence of the attic. Sinking down on the floor, she pulled the black cloak from the chest and wrapped it around her shoulders. While she was prepared to do anything, face any danger to recover her child, the realisation of paying for her deeds seemed far off and she half expected something would happen to save her. Unlike Toby, she had no Superman to fly to her aid. The thing that frightened her the most was leaving her child. The thought of death terrified her but being parted from the one person she loved more than life was more painful still. For the first time in days she allowed the tears to fall.

    “Ah, there you are, girl.”

She was so intent on her suffering; she had not heard the footsteps approach.

   “Ah, now,” her father eased his way down beside her and brushed her face with his hand. “Why all the tears?”

   “I’m okay, Dad, really,” she tried to smile.

   “Of course, you’re not okay, how could you be, after all you’ve been through?” He placed an arm around her shoulders.

   “It’s not that,” she left the words hang in the air, unsure of his reaction, if she told him the truth.

   “Well, what is it then?”

He waited as the silence settled all around them.

   “Did you not wonder at Toby’s sudden reappearance?” She asked.

   “I suppose I did,” he said. “But I put it down to prayer, though I take it now that God had nothing to do with it?”

   “No, it was not His doing, though the prayers can’t have hurt,” she smiled up at him and noticed how old he had become.

She never imagined either of her parents growing old or feeble. They always seemed so strong, immortal, and the realisation they would now be all her son had, added to her terror. Joe would step in and offer to help once she was gone, but any attempt he made at being a father would be half-hearted, and Toby would rely solely on his grandparents.

   “Oh, Dad,” she started to cry again. “What am I going to do?”

   “Well, if you tell me what the problem is, I might be able to help.”

   “No one can help me now,” she said, wiping her eyes with the material from the cloak. “I’m beyond all human aid. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but God help me it’s true.”

   “Ah, come on now,” his grip tightened on her shoulders. “It can’t be that bad.”

   “If I tell you, will you promise not to judge me?”

   “Have I ever?”

   “No,” she had to agree with this. Her father had always been her champion. The one she could rely on to side with her when her mother’s wrath was great.

As she recounted the tale about the Wraith, Jill pointed out the various items she used to summon it, the books, the triangle, and the cloak. She was afraid to look at him as she spoke; sure, she would see the horror at what she had done reflected in his eyes.

   “Well, that’s it,” she said, once she had finished. “I know it sounds fantastic, but every word is true, and I will have to pay for what I’ve done.”

When she looked at him from the corner of her eye, she was surprised to find he had turned away. At first, she imagined he was so ashamed of her actions he could not bear to look at her. Then she saw the silver line of a tear as it trailed down his cheek.

   “Dad,” she touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

   “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he fiddled in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief. The sound of his nose blowing echoed like thunder in the quiet of the attic. “I suppose any mother would have done what you did.”

He wiped his eyes before replacing the handkerchief. Jill missed the weight of his arm on her shoulders and thought it strange she was once more reduced to a child in the presence of her father.

   “There’s something much worse, I’m afraid,” she bit at her bottom lip as she tried to find the words to explain why he was about to lose his only child.

She knew the horror she felt when she thought she might lose Toby, and it pained her now to break the news of her imminent death to her father.

He never once interrupted as she continued her tale and the only outward sign, he gave of his distress was a constant picking at the pile of his corduroy trousers. When he spoke, his voice choked with fear.

   “And is there no reasoning with this thing, this Wraith?”

   “I don’t think so,” Jill said. “She committed suicide, so the balance of her mind was disturbed even before she died. I made a terrible mistake in choosing her, but I thought as a mother she would understand why I did what I did. I was wrong, in more ways than one and now I must pay the price.”

   “Is she still around,” he turned away from his picking and looked at his daughter.

   “I haven’t seen her since the night we found Toby,” Jill said. “But there’s no doubt she’s around somewhere. I have to cast another spell you see, to release her and God help me, Dad, but I’m terrified of going back to that graveyard.”

   “Well, girl,” he took her hand in his. “You’ll have to go back. I’m sorry,” he saw her look of dismay. “But the poor, old thing is trapped. Trapped and very tormented, if what you say is true, and in a state of limbo. Sure, you wouldn’t wish that on anyone, would you now?”

   “You’re right,” Her father’s words hit home.

He was right. The Wraith, Marie, deserved to be set free and it fell to her to do it.

   “You’re right, Dad,” Jill said, again “I’ll go tonight and finish the spell. God help me after that. Will you promise me one thing?” She gazed into her father’s eyes.

   “Anything, girl.”

   “Don’t let Mam screw up Toby’s life.”

He was puzzled by this.

   “You realise you’re all he’ll have once I’m gone, don’t you?”

   “I never thought about it, but God is good. Maybe it won’t come to that.”

   “You’ll have to face it, Dad; it will come to that. The Wraith isn’t human, it can’t be reasoned with.”

They sat for a few moments surrounded by the silence.

   “I wish you’d never come to this place,” her father said.

   “I know, Dad, I’ve thought that since the day Toby went missing.”

   “If Joe could have kept it in his pants, none of this might have happened.”

   “Dad!” She laughed at the coarseness of his words.

Never had she heard her father speak in such a way. She had never even heard him utter a swear word and that alone was some achievement considering what he had to put up with.

   “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” He was off on a tirade. “If you waited until you were married to have a child, things might have been different.”

Christ, Jill thought, here we go. She knew he was only echoing her mother’s words and fear and anger made him say the things he did. There was no doubt in her mind he loved his grandson, but she was also aware any joy he felt on the news of her pregnancy, was dampened by the fact she was unmarried.

   “Dad, these are different times,” she explained. “No one frowns when someone has a child out of wedlock.”

   “That well may be,” he fumbled in his pocket once again to retrieve the sail-sized handkerchief. “But in my day…”

   “I know Dad,” Jill interrupted. “In your day, everyone got married and stayed together, no matter how miserable they were. It’s the mantra of your generation; you made your bed so lie in it. Times have changed,” she lowered her tone, as the last thing she needed was another argument.

   “They may very well,” he blustered. “But it’s not for the better.”

She was saved the trouble of answering him, by the sound of her mother’s voice echoing up the stairs.

The Wraith-chapter thirty-two

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 6, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         The Wraith led the cars ever deeper into the winter gloom. After a few miles, they turned off the main road and drove down a disused track. They bounced on the uneven surface as the wheels hit one pothole after another. The bushes and trees on either side of the road were so overgrown branches scratched the paintwork of the cars’ roofs and sides. The sound made Jill’s teeth ache, as it reminded her of nails on a blackboard. There was no sign of the Wraith; it had disappeared into the night the moment they left the main road. But it would not be far away and the track they now travelled was journey’s end. Neither of them spoke, too caught up in private thoughts. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance and the flashing of headlight from behind them meant Paul had seen it too.

   Tom stopped the car in the middle of the track as there was no place he could pull in, no indent in the wild bushes.

    “We’ll go on foot from here,” Paul ran up to them. “We don’t want them to hear us.”

   “Well, they’re not going to be able to drive past us,” Tom said. “That’s for sure.”

They squeezed between the bushes and the car. The branches clutched at their coats, digging thorns into the soft wool, trying to drag them back until they were forced to tear the offending claws away. The icy winter moon shone down on the small party as they made their way along the track.

Ahead of them the Wraith swooped through the trees. Animals of the night stopped and watched the silent shape go past. Owls peeped from hallows of trees in a wood haunted by the echoing screams of children.

The cottage hunched at the end of the rough track. The windows on either side of the door were black. Whatever light they had seen was extinguished, but there was doubt someone was about, as three cars lined the small parking area in front of the cottage. Jill shivered and tried not to cry, when she thought of what her son endured in this hellish place.

   “We’ll check round the back,” Paul whispered. “Just to make sure there’s no other exit.”

With the aid of the small torch, they picked their way round the side of the cottage. A terrible stillness filled the air, broken only now and then by the hallow cry of a curlew echoing from the marshy ground beyond the wood. The overgrown garden behind the cottage smelt of death. Another sound broke the silence of the night the lament of someone in the most extreme pain and they came around the side of the cottage and found the Wraith kneeling over three small mounds in the earth.

   “Don’t make this any harder,” Mr Jackson said, reaching for Toby.

   “Leave me alone,” he hit at the outstretched hand and tried to burrow back against the mouldy timber.

   “Hold this,” Mr Jackson handed the strap back to Freddy and crawled onto the bed to get a better grip on the boy.

Toby screamed, as his teacher’s hands closed on him like a vice and the sound mingled with the cries from outside.

   “What the fuck was that?” Christy asked.

A hand clamped over Toby’s mouth. The men looked towards the ceiling and hardly dared breathe as they listened. It was constant now, one continuous, mournful wail that caused the fine hairs on their necks to stand.

   “Probably a vixen,” Freddy offered, but none of them believed this.

   “Should I look?” Christy asked.

   “If you like,” Freddy shrugged. “I’m not going out there.”

Toby tried to wriggle free and received a stinging slap to his head for his trouble.

   “It’ll stop in a minute,” Freddy offered. “Whatever it is.”

Tom stayed with the spirit of his dead wife while she mourned over the graves. The others made their way to the front of the cottage. He was now alone in the dark with only the dead for company.

   “Is she here?” Tom asked.

   “Yes, she’s here,” the Wraith turned to him, the sadness in her eyes made his heart ache.

   “I wish I could give you a hug,” he was crying.

   “You can,” she stretched out a long, white arm. “Come here and close your eyes.”

He knelt beside the grave of his daughter and did as the Wraith asked. With his eyes closed he felt her beside him, solid and real. She moved closer to him and his body shook as he placed his arms around her. She was cold, colder than the night air, but the contours of her body were as familiar as the last time he held her. He expected a smell of death, but if there was one it was lost in the stench of the garden.

Paul put his finger to his lips, warning Jill not to make a sound as he turned the handle on the cottage door. He held a gun in his free hand. She was surprised when he drew it from his coat.

   “You didn’t think I was going to come here unarmed, did you?” he asked, and though she never liked the idea of a gun, it was comforting to know it was there to protect them.

   The full moon made the cottage interior bright. She followed Paul inside the one room. It smelled of neglect. Cobwebs hung from the rafters; gossamer-white shapes billowed like ghosts above their heads. The walls were decorated with fishing rods and other hunting paraphernalia.

   “Look,” Paul whispered, gesturing to the floor, where a thin line of light crept through a trap door.

They tip-toed forward and knelt ears to the floor, listening.

   “There’s definitely someone down there,” Paul said, and Jill nodded.

They were leaning on the trap door when it started to move, but their weight made it impossible to open it fully.

   “Police,” Paul’s roar made her jump. “The cottage is surrounded. Stand back from the door. Armed officers are about to enter and will shoot on sight.” Turning to Jill, he whispered. “Get Tom.”

She ran out and round the back of the cottage.

   “They’re in the cellar,” she was too frightened to be in awe of the sight of Tom with his arms around the Wraith.  “Paul needs you.”

He followed her back inside. Paul held up a hand when he saw them outside the door.

   “Make as much noise as you can,” he whispered.

They ran across the bare floorboards and their footsteps echoed like thunder hoping to make it seem, to the listeners below they were indeed surrounded by dozens of men.

   “What’ll we do?” Christy looked at Freddy, ashen faced.

Mr Jackson dropped Toby on to the bed and cowered in a corner of the room. Freddy used all his powers of restraint, as he answered.

   “It’s time to face the music old chaps,” he sneered at Jackson’s quivering figure. “They’ve caught us bang to rights, as they say. I could have given us an easy and painless exit, but I left my bag in the car. What’s the worst that can happen, few years in jail? An expensive lawyer will have us out in four at the most.”

   “What about the boy,” Christy looked at Tony who shivered on the bed.

   “Kill him. The last thing we need is a witness. What’s one more?”

Toby screamed as hands reached for his throat. Dry, coarse hair covered the knuckles and he smelled the stench of the tobacco-stained fingers.

   “Toby,” Jill cried, as his scream reached them.

Paul threw back the trap down and descended the ladder with an agility that belied his age.

   “Move away from the boy,” she heard him shout, as Tom climbed down after him.

At the sight of the gun, Christy released his grip on Toby’s neck. When Jill reached the bottom of the ladder, the three men were herded in one corner.

   “Mam, oh Mam,” Toby ran to her. “I knew you’d find me.”

Jill was sobbing too much to speak, as she lifted her son in her arms and felt his familiar soft hair against her cheek.

   “I have a sore throat,” he pulled back a little.

   “Have you, darling?” she managed to say. “Never mind, you’ll soon be home and tucked up in bed.”

A shadow slid down the ladder behind them and Toby stared in wonder at the Wraith. Mr Jackson whimpered, and his companions drew back in terror as it advanced.

   “Let the law deal with them,” Paul said, looking directly at it for the first time.

   “They killed my child,” it ignored him. “And now they will pay.”

It reached for them, nails jagged and caked with the earth of the grave.

   “Are you Rachael’s Mammy?

The question made it stop and turn around to the child.

   “Yes, I am,” it walked back to where Jill stood.

She was amazed her son showed no sign of fear at the dreadful image before him.

   “Do you know where my child is?” the Wraith asked.

   “Yes, she’s over there,” Toby nodded in to one of the dark corners. “Rachael come out, your Mam’s here.”

Those watching didn’t see the little girl run out of the shadows. All they saw was the Wraith holding her arms out to the empty air. But Toby saw. While Paul handcuffed the bad men, Rachael told her mother all about what had happened. Even Paul and Raymond came forward and joined in the telling.

   “We’ve been conned,” Freddy looked at the others. “This is not an official police investigation. I’ll have you badge for this.” He sneered at Paul.

   “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” the Wraith stood, took her daughter by the hand and walked over to them.

   “I don’t know what the fuck you are,” Freddy said, putting on a great show of bravado. “But I’m sure you’re nothing a competent exorcist can’t deal with.”

   “He hurt us, Mam,” Rachael tugged at her mother’s hand.

The Wraith turned and held her hand out to the boys.

   “Come here,” she said, and kneeling, she nodded at Tom and Paul. “These are good men, but they need to see you. Will you do that for me? Show them what the men did to you?”

   “Come on, scaredy cats,” Rachael said. “Let’s show them.”

The men watched as the three children swam into view. The light from the lamp fell on their wasted bodies and showed scars and mottled bruises left behind by the men’s lecherous groping.

   “Hi Dad,” Rachael waved at her father.

   “Hello, sweetheart,” Tom sobbed, on the verge of collapse.

   “Will you let these monsters,” the Wraith turned to Paul, “these abominations live and hurt other children?”

   “I can’t in good conscience let you alone with them,” he shook his head.

   “Forget your conscience,” the Wraith roared. “What do you feel as a man? Will you sleep any sounder knowing they live?”

   “You’re wasting your time,” Freddy said. “You’re talking to someone from the old school. He’ll do his duty to the last.”

   “Go up,” Paul nodded to Jill and Tom.

With Toby balanced on one hip Jill held onto the ladder with her free hand and climbed up. With only the towel for protection Toby shivered and Tom took off his coat and wrapped it around the child.

   “Are you, all right?” Jill asked as they walked to the car.

   “I don’t think I’ll ever be right again,” Tom took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

   “I’m so sorry,” Jill said.

   Once Toby was strapped into the back seat, Jill took off her coat and tucked it around his lap. The bottle of energy drink Tom bought for her lay untouched and Toby gulped it down so fast she was afraid he’d lose his breath.

   “Why is the man sad?” Toby asked as his mother wiped his mouth.

   “He’s sad because he lost someone he loves very much.”

   “Give him this,” Toby held out the Superman doll.

   “I don’t think that will help,” Jill kissed his forehead. “But I’ll tell him you offered it.”

When she came out of the car Paul was making his way back towards them.

   “I gave them a fighting chance.” His eyes were filled with anguish as he held up the three pairs of handcuffs.

   “I know it goes against everything you believe,” Jill said. “But the Wraith was right. They would kill again.”

   “Still,” Paul looked at the cottage. “No one deserves to die like that.”

   “Did the children?” Tom asked.

   “You’re a hero,” Jill assured Paul.

    “I don’t feel like a hero,” he brushed by them. “I’ll bring a team back tomorrow. Say I’m working on a hunch. We’ll have to think up a story about the boy,” he nodded at the car. “We’ll say Tom found him wandering. Can you get him to stick to that story?” He asked Jill.

   “He’ll understand,” she said. “He’s a clever boy.”

Sudden screams resounding in the still night air made them start in terror.

   “We best be off,” Paul said, and holding up a small notebook. “I found this in the front of his car.”

They knew who he meant.

   “I’ll have to break into the house and remove the diary he talks about; otherwise we’ll all be in trouble.”

They still hear the screams when they reached the end of the dirt track.

   “What’s that noise?” Toby looked up at his mother.

   “It’s some weird night bird,” her smile belied the terror she felt; wondering if the fate of the men reflected what she would suffer.

Before they turned on to the main road, Tom looked around.

   “You’ve been a very brave boy,” he smiled at Toby.

   “I wasn’t frightened, not really,” Toby assured him. “I had him.”

Yes, Tom thought, it must be easy to be brave, when your best friend is Superman.

The Wraith-chapter thirty-one

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 5, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, insomnia, letting go, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Jill realised, when they drew nearer the village, the cottages she imagined lying sleeping within the fog were deserted. She made no effort to hide the panic in her voice, as Tom steered the car along the empty street.

   “It’s one of those abandoned villages from famine times,” her eyes searched the gloom for any sign of life. “I’ve read about such places. We’re not going to find a phone here. What are we going to do?”

The interior of the car felt cloying and it was harder to breathe.

   “Let’s get out,” Tom suggested. “We can stretch our legs and get some fresh air.”

She followed his lead and got out of the car. Tom, phone in hand, walked up and down the street, hoping to find a signal. She lost sight of him as he moved farther and farther away.

   “Don’t go too far,” she called to the shadowy figure in the distance.

   “There’s a hill up ahead,” his voice echoed back. “I’ll climb to the top and see if I can get a signal.”

   Pulling the lapels of her coat around her neck, she started to walk along the street, hoping the exercise would help the heat return to her frozen limbs. The old, abandoned cottages glistened with frost under the light of the full moon. Patches of fog swept by her like ghosts that had not assumed their proper shape and her fingers found nothing but air when she reached out to brush them aside. Despite the shrouding fog, there was something else in the air, a penetrating sadness that made her heart ache. Her senses were heightened by lack of sleep and the worry of finding her son, but she felt the terror of the villages’ lost occupants as they fled to avoid approaching death.

   “Christ.” A clatter of sound from inside one of the cottages startled her.

She walked towards the door and investigated the inky darkness, but there was nothing to see. She brushed the noise aside as just the foraging of some night creature. A slight breeze stirred and sent the remaining fog scattering in its wake and it was easier to see down the road. At the top of the village a weather-beaten steeple marked the spot where the church once stood, and she walked towards it. By today’s standards the church was tiny, but then there would have been few parishioners to fill its pews, other than the inhabitants from the cottages. A group of trees circled the old graveyard. Though stripped bare now, they would brighten the grey landscape in summer. Small crosses served as grave markers. Some were made of steel, but for the most part they were crudely made wood. There was no inscription on any of them. Perhaps time eroded the names away, Jill thought, as she picked her way along the overgrown path. The church door was closed, and she turned the handle not expecting it to open, but it did. Inside the roof was rotted clear away, but many pews were still standing. Small scurrying sounds made her realise she had disturbed its only occupants, the things that belonged to the woods and the night.

   “You can feel the sadness.”

She screamed when the voice sounded from the front of the church. In her determination to find her son, she’d forgotten the Wraith and had no idea it travelled with her through the cold and dark.

   “Yes,” she walked towards the place where the altar once stood.

The Wraith was seated in the front pew.

   “We lost the phone signal.” Jill stood as far away from it as possible. “Tom is outside trying to contact Paul.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” the Wraith’s sigh echoed through the air. “I know where we have to go.”

The Wraith stood and drifted by her. Their eyes met and Jill was shocked at the hatred she saw reflected there.

   “I understand your reason for not liking me,” she called after the retreating figure. “But put yourself in my position. You would have done the same.”

The Wraith stopped and turned back.

   “Once I find my child I am assured of peace, but what about you? What will you have other than the stain on your soul?”

   “I’ll have my child too,” Jill said. “I don’t care about anything else.”

   “You’ll care when I’m finished,” it sneered. “Do you not realise I will decide your faith?” It laughed at Jill’s horror. “You should have studied your books a little better. There is a price to be paid. You didn’t think you could disturb the dead and get away with it?”

   “No,” Jill wiped her eyes. “I knew I’d have to pay something, but I didn’t really think about it.”

   “Pity,” it said, before it glided out of the church.

Jill sat in one of the pews and waited for the pounding of her heart to subside. Of course, she realised she could not walk away untouched from what she’d done, but she never imagined her fate would be decided by a creature whose eyes blazed with madness.

   “Jill,” Tom walked down the aisle. “Did you see…?”

   “Yes, I saw her,” she said, before he finished. “She’s followed us the whole time and knows where we need to go.”

   “Let’s get going then,” he helped her up from her seat.

It was as if the life was drained out of her, he thought, as he led her out of the church and back along the village street.

   “Ah, there you are.” Paul waited for them by the car.

   “We had no coverage,” Tom held up the useless phone.

   “I know, mine’s the same.”

Jill noticed he avoided looking at her and she felt familiar cold fingers clutch at her heart.

   “What’s wrong?” She asked.

   “I had to turn back; I’m afraid I lost him,” he shook his head. “The roads are so narrow and winding I must have lost him on one of the curves. He probably slipped down a laneway or something.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” Jill nodded up at the roof of one of the cottages, where the Wraith sat waiting. “She knows where to go.”

   “Jesus,” Paul looked up and staggered back against the car. “I forgot about her.”

   “Surprise,” the Wraith laughed.

   “She’s not right,” Paul muttered, before walking back to his own car.

The Wraith flew in front of them as they drove back to the main road. At times, she was a blur blacker than night. Jill was reminded of a painting she had once seen of the Angels of Mons, but this was no angel, this thing that flew before them. This was something from a far darker place.

Though Toby still had the sniffles, the fever had passed, and he was able to sit up in the bed. His throat was sore, but the last of the drinking water ran out hours ago. The children sat on the bed beside him and tried to cheer him with stories and jokes.

   “That was just stupid,” Toby laughed at Raymond’s last joke.

   “Made you laugh, though,” he smiled.

   “Yeah, but it was still stupid,” Rachael said, giggling.

They were all having a fun time, when footsteps sounded on the floor overhead. As men’s voices drifted down, Toby felt the others grow tense.

   “The bad men,” Paul whispered.

Toby whimpered with terror and clutched his superman doll closer to his chest. When the door above his head opened, Rachael dragged him out of the bed. They ran into a corner of the room and crouched in the shadows.

   “Christ, it stinks down there,” he heard one of the men say, as a ladder was lowered into the cellar.

   “Leave the door open a while,” someone else replied.

Once the foul-smelling air escaped, the monsters would be ready to begin their work. None of them checked to see if he was still alive.

Toby’s stomach hurt and the pain got worse when he realised the children were no longer beside him. He felt along the wall, hoping to find a way out, but there was none.

   “They left us,” he whispered to the superman doll. “They left us.”

He was too tired and too sick to cry, so he stayed huddled in the shadows.

Freddy was first to climb down the ladder. He carried an old-fashioned oil lamp as they never bothered to have electricity installed and didn’t want the trouble of housing a generator. He held up the lamp and his eyes searched the gloom until he found the crouched shape in the corner.

   “Come out.” He lifted the boy up with one hand and carried him across the room, before dumping him onto the bed. “Bring some water down here,” he called up to those overhead. “We have to wash him.”

   “My throat hurts,” Toby said, expecting that this man, this grownup would help him.

Instead the man ignored him and went to the big cupboard in the wall and opened it. Toby scooted down the bed to get a better look at what was inside. There were strange, shiny things. Someone else was coming down the ladder. This man carried a bucket and Toby heard the water sloshing about.

   “Here,” Christy pushed a bottle of water into Toby’s hands, but the child was rigid with fear.

He never felt the bottle leave his hands and was only vaguely aware of the lip being held to his mouth. The pain in his throat eased a little.

   “Up you get,” strong hands lifted him and made no attempt to stop the man who peeled the sodden clothes from his body.

The water was icy, and he shivered as the cloth rubbed over his fevered skin. If he closed his eyes, he could have been home, with his mother washing him, but the water would not have been so cold there and he would not have been so frightened. A big towel wrapped around his body and he automatically started to rub his skin dry.

   “Can I have my clothes back?” He asked the man gathering them into a bundle.

   “No, you won’t need them,” the man smiled, as Toby looked up at him for the first time.

In that instant, he understood what was happening.

   The other man, the one who was busy sorting thing in the big cupboard, walked to the foot of the ladder.

   “We’re ready when you are,” he called.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the bare boards pounded overhead and a shadow appeared at the mouth of the trap door. Toby watched the legs appeared and another man climbed the ladder backwards down to the cellar. Toby eased back down onto the bed and picked up his doll.

   “Help me, Superman,” he whispered, as the latest arrival turned around to look at him.

With a cry of delight, he jumped up and ran to put his arms around the familiar figure.

   “I knew Superman would save me,” he smiled up at the man. “Oh, Sir, I was so frightened before you came. Can we go home now?”

   “No, Toby,” the man ruffled his hair. “I’m afraid we can’t.”

   “But, Sir,” he looked up at his teacher. “Why not?”

It came again, that terrible understanding and Toby started to back away. He held the towel closer as he crawled up onto the bed and huddled down in the corner farthest from the men.

   “You’re supposed to mind me, Mr Jackson,” his eyes were filled with accusation. “You’re not supposed to be a bad man.”

   “But I am, Toby,” he took a proffered strap from Freddy’s outstretched hand. “I’m a very, very bad man.”

The Wraith-chapter thirty

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 4, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         The sound of running feet in the yard roused Jill from her musings. Tom appeared, panting in the doorway of the outbuilding.

   “Come quick,” he was gasping for breath. “You have to see this.”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and ran back into the house. Jill leapt up from the straw and followed. When she got inside, he was standing in the hall and looking in the sitting room. She heard the droning television and followed his gaze to the news programme playing.

   “Oh, God,” she gripped Tom’s arm to steady herself, as the image of her son filled the screen.

   “Where did they get the photograph?” He looked at her in wonder.

Jill was unable to answer; her eyes were drawn to Toby’s sparkling eyes and cheeky grin.

   “Oh God,” she groaned again and brought a hand up to still her cries.

How could anyone hurt someone as small and helpless as her son? The ringing of the phone startled them, and though she was nearest it, Tom pushed past her to answer. The image of her son faded and was replaced with another report, but still her eyes remained glued to the set.

   “That was Paul,” Tom said. “The village is being overrun with new crews and reporters. He said it will be only a matter of time until they come out here. We have to leave at once.”

   “Okay,” she switched off the TV set.

She was still wearing her coat, so all she needed was to pick up her phone and the bag she packed for Toby. 

   It was just a little after noon, but the grey, snow swollen clouds cast their shadows over the land and made it seem later in the day. The interior of Tom’s car was freezing, as she slipped the seatbelt across her body, and the buckle felt like ice against her fingers.

   “It shouldn’t take long to warm up,” Tom turned the dial for the car’s heater up as high as it would go.

Jill nodded and clutched the bag closer to her chest. She realised, as they drove out of the yard, she had forgotten to lock the dogs in, but she knew they would be all right, as Bess would guard her pups with her life. She does a better job than I ever did, Jill thought and swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the lump that formed in her throat.

   “There’s no sign of anyone,” Tom sighed with relief when they drove out to the main road.

He knew how close to breaking Jill was, and the last thing she needed was some reporter pushing a microphone in her face and asking how she was feeling. Paul suggested a place they should park the car and wait for his call. It was a remote spot well away from the village, where they would be safe from prying eyes.

   “Why are we stopping here?” Jill asked, as he pulled into an indent made by a passing tractor.

   “Paul suggested this would be as good a place as any to wait.” He could see the man’s reasoning now.

From the condition of the road, tufts of grass grew down the centre, he realised there would be little traffic. The trees, stripped naked by the winter wind, lined both sides of the road and reached across to form an arch that would in summertime be a sight to behold.

   “We might as well try to relax,” Tom knew the suggestion was ludicrous, as Jill sat beside him like a tightly coiled spring. “It could be hours yet before we hear from Paul.”

   “You don’t think he would betray us?” Her eyes were filled with fear when she looked at him.

   “Betray us, what do you mean?”

   “Well, he is a detective. Perhaps he’ll chicken out and go to his superiors after all?”

   “No, he won’t do that,” Tom said. “I think he sees this as his last chance to redeem himself. I know how deeply it affected him, not finding the missing children, I mean. He’ll not lose this opportunity.”

   “God, I hope not,” Jill nestled deeper into the seat.

They were both exhausted from worry and lack of sleep and the warm air from the car’s heater was soothing.

The wind was icy, and l felt it cut through the heavy wool of my coat the moment I stepped outside the door. For the first time, there was a traffic jam in the main street of the village as the vans and trucks of the news crews vied for parking spaces. Crowds thronged towards the school as the villagers made frantic attempts to gain their five minutes of fame.   I hope the boy’s all right. He was alone longer than any of the others and the small heater we left for him will offer little warmth. The cellar is cold even in summer, but that’s never been a bother to us as we work up quite a sweat during out time there. Do you still hate me? I imagine you do, and I do not blame you in the least, but I cannot help wondering if you have found any redeeming feature in my character? I sometimes think about you and the others like you who will read this long after I cease to be. In the beginning, I got quite a thrill imagining your horror, but now, I admit feeling a sort of sadness at what you endured. It’s not easy taking a trip through the mind of a Paedophile. Perhaps the police in their wisdom won’t release the diary and it’ll be read only by those in authority. Well, if that’s the case I bid you a cheery hello from a soul in hell.

   I’ve arrived at the cottage in case you’re wondering and I’m writing this final entry on a notepad. Did you think I was stupid enough to bring the diary with me? That would’ve spoiled my plan and I couldn’t risk Christy or Freddy finding it and destroying it. I’ll not go inside until the others arrive, so I’ve nothing else to do but write. The drive up here was uneventful and while the landscape in this part of the country is sparse and depressing, it didn’t bother me too much. Ah, the headlight of an approaching car. The show is about to start. I’ll leave the notepad in the glove compartment as I’m sure someone will find it. Would it be too much to ask you to offer a prayer for my soul? Ha, I thought so. Well goodbye, stay safe, but remember we’re all around you. When one monster dies, there’s always another waiting to take its place.

Jill jumped up in her seat as the ringing of the mobile phone resounded in the quiet of the car. The warmth of the car’s heater had lulled her to sleep and she was forced to wipe her eyes to see the number calling.

   “Hello,” she listened for a few moments to the voice on the other end, then. “Yes, I know the road. We’ll leave right away.”

Tom, who also dozed off, was now alert and anxious to hear what Paul had said.

   “He’s on the move,” Jill said, “He left the village a few minutes ago. Paul said he passed close by here.”

Tom wiped the condensation from the fogged-up windows before steering the car out on the road. As they drove Jill gave him directions and soon, they saw the familiar number plate of Paul’s car ahead of them. He warned that they should stay well back, so as not to arouse the man’s suspicion, but Jill’s stomach was in knots worrying they would lose sight of him.

   The first hour passed quickly as they drove through towns and villages, but soon the landscape became more barren and desolate. Not realising the chase would take so long, Tom had not topped up with petrol and they were forced to stop at a filling station.

   “I have about a hundred kilometres left in the tank,” he informed an anxious Jill when she begged him not to stop. “But we don’t know how far he is going, and this might be the last chance we get, if the landscape is anything to go by.”

It seemed to take forever for the petrol to flow from the ancient pumps and she watched the gauge as it slowly counted the amount. Christ, she wanted to scream at Tom, just leave it will you? But she knew she was being unreasonable, and they would need fuel to find her son. While Tom went inside the shack that served as a shop and pay station, she phoned Paul and told him what happened.

   “No problem,” he said. “I’m right behind him.”

When Tom came back from paying, she gave him the instructions she had got from Paul. He handed her an energy drink he’d bought.

   “This will keep us going,” he said, unscrewing the cap and drinking half the bottle.

Jill looked at him in amazement.

   “Will you just drive? she screamed at him.

   “All right, take it easy.” He stashed the bottle in the side pocket of the door and pulled on his safety belt.

   “Jesus, anyone would think we’d got all day the way you’re acting.” She twisted the bottle between her hands.

   “Paul is right behind him,” Tom muttered, as he steered the car out of the forecourt.

   “Yeah, but we’re not, are we?” She gritted her teeth.

   “Ok, ok, take it easy.”

   “If you tell me to take it easy one more time,” she warned. “I swear I’ll hit you.”

He thought it wiser not to reply and instead concentrated on the road, that was becoming narrower and more winding. He understood her frustration and knew she was worried to distraction.

   It was now a little after four o clock and darkness was setting in. He avoided, at Paul’s suggestion, turning on the car headlights, but soon he’d have no choice. Twice he swerved to avoid the scuttling shape of some small animal crossing the road, and he couldn’t take the chance on hitting something.

   “What are you doing?” Jill asked when he turned the lights on low beam.

   “I can’t see the road properly,” he explained.

   “Paul said you were to leave them off.”

   “No, he said to leave them off for as long as possible,” Tom said. “It’s too dark now and I’m afraid of hitting something.”

   “Christ,” she exclaimed, before turning away and muttering to herself.

He tried to ignore her ranting, but it was difficult, especially when she called him a blind fucker.

   Like Jill, he was aware why Paul instructed them not to put the light on. In a remote area such as this, headlights would be seen for miles. Still, Tom reasoned, there was no sight of Paul’s car and he would have had to turn his lights on by now.  As though reading his mind, Jill asked, “can you see anything?”

He knew she was thinking the same thing as he was. They should have been in sight of one of the cars by now. In the last half an hour, nothing passed them on the road. The barren, rock-infested fields spread out for miles on either side of them, and there were no welcoming house lights to break the darkness. They had left civilisation behind and were descending deeper and deeper into the countryside.

   “Ring Paul,” Tom said.

Jill pressed his number into the phone, but instead of a ring tone, there was a long silence followed by a message saying the customer could not be reached.

   “What does that mean? She told Tom what the disembodied voice had said.

   “Shit,” he took the phone and stared at the screen. “We have no coverage here. We’re too far away from a mast.”

   “Oh, no.” The tears that were threatening overflowed.

It was a heartrending sound and before Tom could reach across to offer a comforting hand, the car headlight fell on something in the distance.

   “Jill, look, a village,” he said. “We can stop there and find a land line.”

Jill wiped her eyes and looked at the buildings in the distance. The rising fog made it difficult to see, but the outlines looked like small cottages. She managed a watery smile of relief at Tom.

   “We’ll soon be back in contact with Paul,” he returned her smile and breathed a sigh of relief, as they moved closer to the village in the fog.

The Wraith-chapter twenty-nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 3, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, memories, monsters, Paranormal, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

          Bess rushed around the side of the house barking furiously. Something unearthly waited in the orchard, something that threatened everyone she loved. By the time Jill and the others reached her, she was growling and baring her teeth. Her coat was bristling, the fur standing on end. Her ears were drawn back flat against her head, and her tail was between her legs, but still she stood as a barrier between her pups and this strange, unearthly thing. The pups whimpered and drew closer to their mother, sensing her fear. They had no idea what stood before them, other than the smell. There was a familiarity to the scent, like when they went digging in the orchard. It smelled of the earth, of dry, rotting things.

   “Bess come here,” Jill pulled on the dog’s collar, but she spun around, eyes wide in terror and snarled.

Jill saw there would be no reasoning with the animal, not while she was in such a state. Instead she picked up the pups and carried them back towards the outbuildings. Once her pups were out of harms’ way, Bess began to back away, but her eyes never strayed from the thing standing in the orchard.

   “Even the animals despise me,” said the Wraith, and though she had no idea of the meaning of the words, Bess felt their sadness.

   “She doesn’t understand,” Tom walked closer to the thing that had once been his wife.

   “She understands all right,” the Wraith replied. “She knows I don’t belong here, that I am unholy.”

Tom could think of no response and instead went back and stood beside Paul. Once Bess and the pups were locked away, Jill joined the men. Unlike them, she didn’t fear the strange apparition, and lost no time.

   “Did you find anything?”

   “I found him.” the Wraith threw something towards them, and it landed with a rattle on the ground.

Jill picked up the plastic bag full of pills and checked the name on the containers.

   “Oh, my God,” she whispered, and held out the bag so the men could see.

   “Fucking bastard,” Paul growled, when he saw the name. “I’ll kill him myself.”

   “I know him,” Tom gasped. “I was talking to him only yesterday.”

They looked at one another, amazed the man they sought was so close by.

   “He intended to take his own life,” the Wraith said, “in much the same way as I did. I couldn’t allow this. I read his diary; he does not work alone. There are three of them. Your boy,” she looked at Jill, “is being kept in a cellar, but I don’t know where it is, but I know this man wants no part in his death.”

Tom watched the Wraith’s every move, watched her lips as the words tumbled from them, but even her voice sounded different than his wife’s and her eyes reflected the endless darkness she had endured. There was nothing of Marie left, this thing, this avenging spirit might look like his wife, but there was emptiness about it, and he wondered if it was soulless. He felt nauseous each time it appeared, and he swallowed hard to stop himself from spewing his meagre supper onto the frozen grass. Paul, on the other hand, avoided looking at it. His thoughts echoed Tom’s, but he was more concerned with the suspect and how to arrest him. So far there was no proof, other than the bag full of pills.

   They trooped back inside the house, each lost in their own thoughts. It was a rather subdued party that sat around the kitchen table.

   “What now?” Jill looked across at Paul.

   “Let me think,” he turned the plastic bag over and over, as though searching for clues within the colourful containers. Finally, “that thing out there said he was going to commit suicide, so he has nothing to lose. If I bring him in there’s no guarantee that he’ll tell us where Toby is.”

   “He’ll run and join his own kind.”

Paul jumped out of his chair and Jill’s eyes opened wide when she saw the Wraith inside the house. It gave no outward sign of noticing their surprise at its presence but spoke.

   “He has no choice but to run. They,” She waved towards the bag, “were his escape route. There is no way out for him now, but to take refuge with those he trusts.”

   “She’s right,” Paul agreed. “I know this man fairly well. He’s not the type to hang himself or cut his wrists, too messy and painful.”

   “Then we follow him?” Jill asked.

   “We’ve no other choice; I’ll ring the station and arrange it.”

   “No.” The shout startled them, and they turned towards the Wraith.

   “What do you mean no?” Paul asked, “I have to get my men involved, I can’t do it all on my own.”

   “What will you tell your superiors,” it asked. “How will you explain how you came by this information? They may arrest him anyway and then what happens to the boy? The others will go ahead without him. Do you want his blood on your hands?”

   “She’s right,” Jill said. “There could be any number of reasons for them choosing to delay. We’ll have to follow him ourselves.”

   “Even if we do,” Paul said. “We might lose him.”

   “I won’t lose him,” the Wraith smiled. “He will not escape me.”

   “Then it’s settled,” Jill stood. “We take turns watching the house and when he leaves, we follow.”

   “It’s not that simple,” Paul ran his hands through his hair in exasperation.

   “It’s simple enough,” Jill refused to hear any more. “I’m going to have a quick wash and then we’ll head off.”

   “We’ll need two cars,” Paul knew there was no use arguing.

   “I’ll take Jill in mine,” Tom offered. “We’ll follow you.”

   “Fine,” Paul sighed. “I’ll take the first watch. There’s no use arousing suspicion parking a strange car in the street. I can see any movements from my house. I’ll ring you on the mobile if anything happens.”

From somewhere in the distance came the echoing crowing of a cock, signalling the arrival of the sun. When they looked around the kitchen, there was no sign of the Wraith.

The mirror above the wash basin reflected the damage worry had done to Jill’s face. Her skin looked coarse and dry and the dark shadows that swooped beneath her eyes, were deeper still. Shrugging of her jumper, she washed and went next door to her bedroom for clean clothes. She would need something warm, as the weather had grown colder in the last few days. Walking to the window, she pulled back the curtains and looked out in the gloom of an early winter morning. The roofs of the outbuilding were coated white with frost, as were all the trees and bushes. Miles of empty fields reminded her how isolated she was. Stopping outside Toby’s room, she peeped inside at the neatly made bed and the assortment of toys. He would be home soon, she thought. In just a few more hours he would be back with her. She had to believe it; anything else was unthinkable.

    Below in the hallway the phone rang, and she hurried down the stairs just in time to see Tom replace the receiver.

   “It was Paul,” he informed her. “Our man is still at home. He said not to do anything until he phones.”

She nodded, reached up and took her coat down from the stand.

   “I better feed the dogs,” she tried to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

   “Do you feel we’re caught up in a sort of nightmare?”

   “I’ve felt like that since the day Toby disappeared.”

She was glad to be outside in the milky, white light of early morning. Though the cold stung her cheeks and the wind whipped her hair about her face, she’d rather freeze than go back inside and view the torment on Tom’s face. He had suffered as she was now, but for him there was no more hope. At least she could cling to the fact Toby was still alive. Now, on top of all his grief, Tom had to endure the image of his wife, and be forced to witness the vision of death itself standing before him every time she appeared. I won’t cry, Jill thought as she struggled with the bolt on the door of the outbuilding.

   Bess pushed against the door, knocking Jill off her feet.  

   “Hey,” Jill had to push her away, as she became engulfed in a blanket of fur. “I take it that you’re glad to see me?”

As Jill filled the bowls with food and water, Bess scouted around the orchard, checking if the Thing from the night before had gone. The pups scoffed down their food and ran off to play once they were finished. It was obvious that they had forgotten the events of the night. Bess stayed by Jill side as she pottered around the yard, looking for something to do anything rather than go back inside.

   Tom called out to her once that her mother was on the phone, but she told him to make an excuse and say she would call her back. She knew she’d not yet been forgiven for her outburst and the last thing she needed was a scolding from her mother. When it became obvious there was nothing else to do, Jill went inside the outbuilding and sat down on the straw that formed the bed for the dogs. With Bess beside her, she counted down the hours, praying for Toby’s safety and asking forgiveness for the terrible thing she had done.

I’ve decided. There’s nothing else for it but go to the cottage. I’ll pretend, as I have in the past, to take part in the atrocity and when it is over, I’ll ask Freddy for the drugs. On the scale of things, the death of one more child won’t matter. The phone rang twice this morning, but I let the machine answer. I listened as the familiar voices left messages saying how much they were looking forward to our little fishing expedition and letting me know what time they expected to be at the cottage. We arranged to meet about six so there’s no need for me to set off until 3pm. It will be getting dark and though night driving is not something I relish; it means there will be very few about to see me go. My nerves are on edge since the events of last night, and, as my tranquillisers have disappeared, I can’t take anything to stop the trembling of my hands. My throat hurts and it shows the scars of the attack by my invisible assailant. I’ve been trying to make sense of what happened here, but it seems beyond reason. My mind tells me I’m imagining things, but how do I account for the wounds on my neck? I went as far as to check under my nails for traces of skin, hoping in my drug-induced state I’d scratched myself. But I was clutching at straws and my nails are clean and certainly not capable of causing the injuries.

   I saw Paul O’Farrell arrive home early this morning. I was on my way back from buying the newspaper when he drove past me. My cheery good morning was met with nothing more than a nod, and I wondered at his dismissive attitude. I tend to blow everything out of proportion and allow my nerves to get the better of me. Of course, the man is no nearer to finding the boy than he was the other children and this realisation made him standoffish. Poor man, the strain is telling on him and God only knows what his superiors think. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he were for the chop. There are younger, fitter men waiting to step into his shoes, and it’s a pity I won’t be here to witness his downfall.

   I’ve put my house in order. There’s no sign of the break in. I’ll take the letters for Christy and Freddy with me and post them on my way home. That is if Freddy gives me the drugs I require, but I’m sure he will. I’ll miss this old house, but there’ll be others who’ll live here long after I am gone. I wonder if they’ll remember me. I’m sure the newspapers will report my part in our little boys’ club. It makes me wonder what type of person would buy this place. After all, I wouldn’t like to live in the former home of a monster, would you? The hours are slowly ticking away, tick tock, tick tock.

The Wraith- chapter twenty-eight.

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 2, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, insomnia, letting go, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         What happened the last night proves I am sane? I know you thought otherwise, but you’re wrong. There’s something haunting me. I dismissed the strange things, the presence, and the fleeting shadows as nothing more than the working of an overtaxed mind. The sleeping pills helped and rested, I could relax a little and think more clearly. I’ve heard nothing from the others, as they expect all is going as planned and I’ll be there tonight. This gives me some much-needed breathing space and allows me to put my plan into action. I bought a litre of whiskey from the off licence this morning and could brush aside the owner’s jokes, as he wrapped my purchase. Neil Galvin is a cheerful man, and I excused my reason for buying alcohol as a gift for an ailing friend. I’ve been tee total, and in the past, I’ve been outspoken about the demon drink. I think my explanation was accepted. I’ve become overcautious and more suspicious, though I doubt Neil took any notice of my blushing stammers.

   “So, they’ve finally driven you to drink,” he laughed, referring to those I work with. “I said it would happen sooner than later.”

I heard his merriment, even after I closed the shop door. I wonder what it’s like to be normal; to have no secrets and nothing to set one aside from the rest of humanity. But I digress. Back to tonight.

   I’d taken my customary sleeping pill about ten-o- clock and by eleven was feeling the effects. Making sure the alarm was set and all the windows and doors securely locked, I climbed the stairs with nothing further to burden my mind. The bedroom was warm, but I turned the heating up a notch. The nights are colder, and I enjoy my comforts. I turned the key in the door, I’ve started to do so since the nightmare of the shadowy figure. I curse my foolishness at such things but feel it rash to ignore such a safety precaution. After all, if it was a ghost, I’m sure nothing would stop it, certainly not the hollow timbers on the door. I remember smiling at the idea of some earthbound spirit intent on revenge. Now I’m not sure.

   I must’ve dozed off with the heat of the room and the calming effect of the pill, I couldn’t fail to do so. Something woke me. I was not sure what it was, and I lay listening. The only sound came from the ticking clock beside my bed. I looked towards its luminous dial to find only an hour had passed. It was after midnight. I couldn’t settle down and after much tossing and turning, decided to make a milky drink. If it didn’t work, I’d take another pill. I hadn’t thought about the boy all day, and as I pulled on my robe, his face flashed before my eyes. It’s natural as the time was upon us. I shrugged aside the image and went out on the landing. Flicking the wall switch, I saw the bulb in the hall below had blown and the glow from the landing did little to light my way. The shadows at the bottom of the stairs were darker than I remembered, and I climbed down into their inky blackness with growing trepidation. I admit my hand was trembling as I turned the handle on the sitting room door and felt along the wall for the switch. The bulb here had also blown, and I stumbled around in the dark trying to locate a lamp. Cursing under my breath, as I knocked my knee against the coffee table, I felt my way like a blind man. The smooth polished surface of the sideboard met my fingers and I knew the lamp was within reach. The cord hanging beneath the shade knocked against the back of my hand and I reached out grateful for its touch. Soon the comforting glow would dispel the gloom and I’d get myself together. But before I could pull it, I heard something close by. Why didn’t I turn the lamp on? I’ve asked myself this a thousand times. The next few minutes played out like some horror movie; I know now I could not have pulled the cord as my fingers refused to obey the commands of my tortured brain. I smelt it before I heard it. The hairs stood on the back of my neck, that’s not a cliché, you know. It happens. I waited, listening in the dark. Something brushed by me, something soft, fluid, boneless, but nevertheless real. I think I cried out; I know my stomach retched at the slight breeze passing my face. It smelt of rotten meat.

   “Who’s there?” I called.

There were sounds within the room. They circled the air and I strained to hear the evil whispers. They sounded far away and indistinct, as though someone was speaking under water, but I caught some of the words. They spoke of revenge and promised terrible suffering to those who offended it. The words were those of a madwoman, I’m sure it was a woman, and I was sobbing at the images she conjured. Fingers clutched at my neck; I felt the bones digging into my skin. The nails felt jagged and cut into my flesh. I felt myself sinking and unknown to me I was still clutching the cord. As I fell beneath the weight of the onslaught, I pulled the cord and the room blazed into light.

   There was nothing there.

No demon or spirit stood waiting and the pressure disappeared from my throat. Using the sideboard for support, I stood and waited for the pounding in my heart to subside. I could’ve dismissed this as another of my nightmares, but for one thing. When I looked into the mirror my skin showed the dark bruising left behind by the fingers of my attacker. Pulling aside the collar of my pyjama top, I saw the skin was broken in places. My fingers were covered not only in blood, but a brown, dry substance smelling of earth. I saw reflected the door to my office was open. I know I locked it before going to bed and I swear I heard my teeth chattering as I approached the darkness. The light here flicked to life, but to my dismay the safe in which I keep this diary and my collection of pills was torn open. I say torn, as there’s no other word to describe the condition of the metal. The silver handle was wrenched up, snapping the stout bolts holding the door in place. This diary lay open on the floor as though someone was reading it. The pages were marked with the same earth as my neck and whoever discovers the book must understand the marks are not my work. Neither are they the work of anything mortal. Before I searched the contents of the safe, I went from room to room to make sure there wasn’t a door or window jimmied open. Common sense told me the alarm would’ve gone off had an intruder tried to gain entry, but I had to make sure. To my horror I saw it wasn’t sweat sticking the clothes to my body, but I’d wet myself. This gave me reason to recall the time in the woods at Erebus and the first murder. After changing out of my wet pants, I went back downstairs to survey the damage in my office. Little time elapsed since my encounter with whatever it was invaded my home, and the night outside was dark as ever. I knew whatever presence was there had gone, and while I still trembled as I resumed the search of the office. I wasn’t as terrified as before. The letters to Christy and Freddy remained untouched, but to my horror, the bag containing the collection of sleeping pills was gone. I looked behind my desk and the chairs dotting the room, hoping in its haste the searcher threw this aside, but it wasn’t there. The realisation made me sick, and I’d to sit my knees shook so much. The bottle of whiskey I intended to use to wash down the pills sat on top of the filing cabinet, and the glow from its amber contents seemed to mock my plight. I was trapped; I felt every ounce of hope drain from my body. There was no use going to the doctor requesting a refill of the prescription as he’d mumbled about my becoming too dependent on the drug. The only other doctor I know is Freddy and while I’m sure he’d supply without question the amount of morphine I need, it meant going to the cottage. Why do these things happen? Why after all the deaths do the fates decide to strike back now? I must think, find the answer, before it’s too late. Time is running out, just 16 hours to go.

   “My throat hurts,” Toby sat up in the bed and looked around for his mother.

When he realised where he was, he sank back down on the rancid pillows and waited for the flames that coursed through his body to die down. His eyes wept with infection; a hard crust coated his lashes, and it hurt when he tried to wipe it away. Even his tongue felt strange when he licked his parched lips, and despite his urgent need for water, he could not get his legs to move. The fridge seemed miles away and he no longer had the strength to get out of bed.

   “Mam,” he croaked again, believing in his fevered condition the word alone would bring her running to his side.

But there was no soothing hand to stroke his hair and no soft words to still the pounding of his aching heart. His cries of pain and terror were particularly piteous and the gentle ghosts that surrounded his bed, cried along with him.

   “Hold his head up.” He was hoisted up and a water bottle pressed against his lips. “Drink, Toby,” Rachael ordered, tilting the bottle higher.

Most of it dribbled down his chest, and despite the soreness of his throat, he gulped at the life-saving liquid.

   “Better?” She asked when he had drunk his fill.

The air in front of him shimmered like a heat haze and he couldn’t quite make out where she stood, but he nodded to one of the moving shapes within the mist.

   “I think you must have the flu or something.” He felt her sit on the bed beside him.

   “Poor Toby,” a hand belonging to one of the boys, stroked his arm.

   “He’s very sick,” Rachael whispered, but Toby was beyond hearing as he had drifted off to sleep.

The stench from the portable toilet now vied with those of the damp and mould. His stomach, unused to the onslaught of so many fizzy drinks and sweets, had rebelled, and he was forced to use the toilet several times. With no proper washing facilities, the hands that touched what remained of the food, were dirty and riddled with germs. The stale air within the cellar was a breeding ground for bacteria and a child such as Toby was bound to suffer the effects.

   Rachael, who had become a mother to all the boys, paced the room, darting fearful glances towards the bed. Toby tossed and turned, trying to fight his way free of the fever’s hold, and she bit down on her lip as she watched the struggle.

   “Will he be all right?” Raymond whispered.

   “If we get him to drink more water, he might,” Rachael said. “That’s what my Mam always made me do when I had the flu, drink loads of stuff.”

   “There’s only one more bottle of water left,” Paul opened the fridge and peeped inside. “Will that be enough?”

   “I don’t know,” Rachael sighed. “This one is almost empty.”

The boys looked at the bottle she held, each thinking the same thing. It wasn’t a lot, not when Toby was so sick.

   “What if he dies?” Paul asked.

   “Oh, he won’t die,” Rachael threw her eyes up to the heavens. “No one dies from the flu.”

   “But if he does,” Paul persisted.

   “Maybe it would be better,” though Raymond’s voice was low, the words seemed to echo in the quiet of the room.

   “What do you mean?” Rachael gasped. “That’s a wicked thing to say.”

   “Well,” Raymond brushed a cold hand along Toby’s sweat-soaked forehead. “If he dies like this, then the bad men won’t be able to hurt him.”

No one spoke as they took time to digest this. They knew what lay in store for the boy and each one was thinking the same thing, perhaps this way was the kindest.

   “No,” Rachael unscrewed the top of the water bottle. “We have to make him better.”

   “But what about the bad men?” Raymond asked.

   “My mother is coming to get me,” Rachel motioned at Paul to lift Toby up. “She’ll save Toby.”

   “Oh, you’re always saying that,” Raymond huffed. “And she never comes.”

   “She’s coming this time and she’s going to take us all out of here,” Rachael promised. “I just know it.”

They watched as Toby drank, all willing him to get better. They were tired of the cold and dark, tired of wandering in twilight. Though the stench of the room was beyond them, Rachael looked fearfully towards the overflowing toilet and knew this was making Toby sick. Being seven years old she knew a bit about germs and other stuff, and this little knowledge was enough. She felt in her heart what she had said was true. Her mother was coming to get her. Though she wished it countless times before, something deep down inside told her that her mother was coming closer by the day.

The Wraith-chapter twenty-seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 1, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, horror, insomnia, letting go, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         Jill opened the door of the outbuilding and let the dogs out. As usual, the pups clambered around her legs, but soon became bored and wandered off towards the orchard. Only Bess remained by her side, as she filled the food and water dishes. She sensed that her mistress was still sad, and ignoring the tantalising smell of the food, followed her across the yard towards the house. Stopping short outside the front door, she threw back her head and sniffed the air. Her fur rose and a growl rumbled from deep within her throat. A look from her mistress warned that she would not tolerate such behaviour, so she slunk by her, and into the house.

   It was safer here, with no scent of death. She waited as sod after sod was heaped on the dying fire, aware that the cold fingers that clutched at her heart were not felt just by her alone. Laying her head on to Jill’s lap, she looked up at her with eyes wide with fright.

   “I did a terrible thing tonight,” Jill said, stroking Bess’s soft fur. “I have become a monster. I know now what my grandmother meant when she said the act might leave a dark stain on my soul.” She brought her hand up to her heart. “I have lost something; I feel it inside. Oh God,” her words trailed off into a fit of sobbing.

Beside her, Bess moaned and looked towards the window. It was dark as pitch outside, and yet, her mistress had not drawn the curtains. She walked across the cold slabs on the kitchen floor, the pads on her feet allowing her to move in silence and pressed her nose against the frosted panes. Her eyes searched the night with a sight denied her human owner. The pups, which had come back from their nocturnal foraging, stopped their play, and looked towards the two, red pinpricks of light that burned through the dark. Sensing their mother’s gaze, they too looked at the sky, and sniffed the air. Checkers groaned, and nuzzled against her sister, as she too became aware all was not as it should be. It was only the noise of the approaching motor that roused them from their fright, and they ran to the gate.

   Inside the house, Jill wiped her eyes as she heard the car pull up outside. Though the fire was now blazing, she still felt frozen to the bone. Holding her hands out to the flame in search of warmth, she saw how transparent her skin looked. The light appeared to shine right through them, until she could pick out every muscle and vein. There was no knock to announce the caller, just the creak of the door opening and the sound of a heavy tread in the hall.

   “All right,” Paul nodded at her, and set down the suitcase he carried.

   “Yes, thank you,” her voice was hoarse.

She watched as he reached into the pocket of his overcoat, and withdrew a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. She knew from the logo, that it belonged to the only off licence in the village. He caught her look of surprise.

   “I know, I know,” he said, as he peeled the paper off the bottle. “But I thought tonight, of all nights, we could both do with a drop.”

Jill never replied but watched him take two glasses from the dresser and half fill each of them. She took the proffered drink and sipped. The pungent amber raced like fire down to her empty stomach and warmed the solid block of ice there. It stung her eyes and clouded her vision. Paul stood beside the table and emptied his glass in two gulps, before refilling it.

   “Well, is it here?” He sat in the chair at the opposite side of the fire.

   “No, I don’t think so,” she avoided his eyes, as she took another sip.

   “But it’ll be back,” he looked around the room, paying careful attention to the shadowy corners.

   “Yes,” Jill sighed. “If what the book says is true, it will be back.”

She tried not to think about the drive home from the graveyard. The empty country roads that in the past were such a novelty, now became a pathway to the grave. Aware that somewhere close by a ghost-like figure kept pace with the car, she tried to concentrate on the blackness beyond the headlights, as she descended deeper and deeper into the abyss. If the Wraith was there, she gave no sign. When Jill emerged from the car, she knew there was something in the night air, an energy not there before. It didn’t come into the house, but she felt it circling as she fed the dogs. Bess was aware of its presence; it was obvious in her restlessness.

   “What do we do now?” Paul’s question startled her.

   “We wait, I suppose,” she shrugged. “If it finds anything, it will let us know.”

   “Jesus,” he rubbed at his forehead. “How did we get involved in this?”

   “You don’t have to stay,” Jill became angry. “I never asked for your help. You decided to come to the graveyard.”

   “Oh, don’t I know it.” He finished what remained of the whiskey in his glass and stood to refill it.

   “Make that your last one,” she warned. “You’ll be no use to me drunk.”

His look was one of contempt, as he slowly screwed the lid back onto the bottle.

   “I’m just saying,” she tried to appease him. “We’ll need a clear head to face the next few days.”

   “You’re right.” He sat and put the glass down on the stone floor. “It’s just all so…” he spread his hands and allowed the words to trail off.

   “Unbelievable,” she finished the sentence for him. “I feel the same way, but at least you’re innocent of any of it. I’m the one who called her here, and I’m the one who will pay the price, whatever that may be.”

   “Ah, but I’m as much to blame. I could have stopped you, and I didn’t.”

An uneasy silence settled. Jill waited until he finished his drink to suggest showing him to his room. As they started to mount the stairs, Bess scratched at the front door, begging to be set free. Jill opened it and the dog walked out. Pausing for a moment on the step, she looked up at her mistress.

   “I know, girl,” Jill nodded, and seemingly satisfied, the old dog walked away.

Her mistress understood her first duty was to her own children. Gathering the pups, she used her nose to usher them into the safety of the outbuilding. An old piece of twine allowed her to pull the door closed on them. Once they were locked away and out of harms reach, she set off across the yard.

   “It’s not very fancy I’m afraid,” Jill led Paul into one of the guest bedrooms.

The fact it had hurriedly been vacated was evident in the tossed bed and scattered clothes hangers.

   “I’ll get you some clean sheets,” she hurried back along the landing, and returned with an armful of linen.

He helped her strip off the old ones and remake the bed.

   “Any news from your parents?” He asked.

   “There’s a few messages on the answering machine.” She struggled to get a pillow back into its case. “I didn’t listen to them.”

   “I saw them going into O’Brien’s as I was leaving the village.”

   “Oh, really,” she recognised the name of the pub. “Were my aunts and cousins with them?”

   “Aye, the whole troop,” he swung his case onto the bed.

   “I’ll leave you to unpack,” she started towards the door.

   “There’s not much,” he said, as he flung back the lid.

Once he heard her steps descending the stairs, he started to empty the few items onto the quilt. An old set of pyjamas, faded by the years, and only worn on occasion. Like that time, he had gone to hospital to have his appendix removed. He smiled, remembering Maura’s scolding, when he refused to wear them.

   “Do you want the other patients to have a setback?” she said. “Seeing you in the nude is an acquired taste. Now, put them on.”

His admittance to the ward was a hurried one, and with only the hospital gown to hide his shame, he had to sit bare cheeked on a hard-plastic chair, as he waited for his wife to arrive. The pyjamas, striped and bought in haste, had been presented to him, not in a clear wrapper, but newly ironed. He knew she’d rushed home after her trip to the shop to press the creases out, and his pretence at not wanting to wear them was just that. A mock refusal meant to drive her into a flurry of protest. That, and the odd occasion he’d been forced to attend some conference or other, were the only times that they’d been parted in over twenty years.

   “Ah, but we’re parted now,” he whispered, as he brought the softness of the cloth to his face.

   A plastic shopping bag served for his few toiletries, and he laid these, one by one on top of the small bedside table. A tube of shaving balm stood side by side with a razor and can of deodorant. He hung the spare trousers and shirts in the wardrobe.

The door to Toby’s room was open, so he walked in. The bed was made, and he smiled at the superman pyjamas laid out in wait. The shelves of precious trinkets that lined the walls made Paul recall the small treasures his own sons loved to collect. He moved around the bed, running his hand along the smooth wood of the baseboard. A row of trucks on top of the chest of drawers drew his attention, and he rolled one of the fire engines along the polished surface. The small wheels moved easily, signalling a well-loved toy. Books and paints sat in a pile against one wall, and bits of play dough, fashioned into shapes that could only come from a child’s imagination, dotted every surface in multi-coloured blobs. A blind man would have recognised this was a child’s room. The earthy smell of football boots vied with those of talcum powder, old books and make believe.

   “I’ll find you, Toby,” Paul said. “I promise you. I’ll bring you home, and with God’s help, it won’t be in a box.”

   “Paul,” Jill called from below. “Did you say something?”

He walked out onto the landing and looked down to where she stood.

   “I was talking to myself. Having a bit of a senior moment, if you will.”

   “That’s all right,” she smiled. “I’ve been doing that a lot of late. Why don’t you come down, and I’ll make something to eat?”

She was busy working in the kitchen. He sat at the table and waited, as she fried eggs to go with the cold ham from the fridge.

   “Sorry I can’t run to anything better,” she said, as she placed the plate in front of him. “But I haven’t been in the mood to shop.”

   “This is grand, girl,” he assured her, as he tucked in.

Though it was many hours since she last ate, Jill picked at her food.

   “Lost your appetite?” Paul asked, as he made a sandwich of the ham and eggs.

   “I thought I was hungry, but I’ve no stomach for it.”

Instead she sipped at the tea and watched him eat.

A sudden glare of light outside the window announced the arrival of a car. She watched the curtains as the headlights were extinguished, and the slamming of a door resounded in the still night air.

   “Reporters?” She asked, afraid they had found her.

Paul lowered his half-eaten sandwich and stood up.

   “Stay there,” he ordered. “I’ll get rid of them.”

A hesitant knock sounded on the door before he could reach it. She held her breath, and listened to the squeaking of the hinges, and the muffled voices from the hall.

   “It’s all right,” Paul came back in, closely followed by Tom.

   “How are you?” he asked Jill.

   “Okay. How are you?”

She knew he must be feeling far worse than she was. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last few hours.

   “I couldn’t settle at home,” he sat down beside Paul. “I hope you don’t mind.”

   “Not at all,” she assured him. “Would you like something to eat?”

   “No, I’m fine. I had something earlier.” He said. “What I really wanted to do was apologise for the way I spoke to you in the graveyard.”

   “There’s no need,” she reached across and took his hand.

   “I know you’re only trying to find your son. I’d have done anything to find Rachael, I’m so sorry.”

   “Please, don’t,” Jill said, and Paul was forced to clear his throat.

Outside in the orchard, the sound of Bess’s howls echoed in the still night. They listened as every dog for miles around joined in, and the noise of their cries was bloodcurdling.

The Wraith chapter twenty-six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 30, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, honoring the dead, horror, insomnia, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         Even in the dim light Tom saw the objects laid out on his wife’s grave. The magic circle, drawn with white spray paint, glowed under the rays of the full moon, and seemed to shimmer before his tortured eyes. A noise from somewhere behind made him spin around. Paul and Jill came out from their hiding place when they recognised him.

   “I don’t know what I expected,” he nodded at the grave.

Jill understood how he felt; there was something unholy about the whole thing. But to see it now, laid out in front of him, must have been a terrible shock.

   “I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

   “Neither did I,” he agreed. “But I was sitting at home, growing more and more tormented, so I thought…” he shrugged, as there were no words to describe his feelings.

   “Maybe you’d be better off at home,” Paul said. “We’ll come and tell you what happens when it’s all over.”

   “No, I’ll stay. I wasn’t much use to her in life, but I’ll not abandon her now,” he looked at Jill. “Do what you have to.”

She explained what she was about to do and warned him about making noise.

   “The ears of the dead are sensitive,” she explained. “Any sudden movements or sound will act as a damper on the ritual.”

He nodded and stood back to allow her to pass. Once she relit the candles and incense, she stepped back inside the circle and sealed the gap with the spray paint. She needed blood to complete her task, so raising the knife she brought from home she plunged the tip into her wrist. Always one to bleed from even the slightest pinprick, the blood flowed out of the cut, and she allowed it to fall onto the earth. She heard Paul’s sharp intake of breath, but ignored it, and wrapped a handkerchief over the cut. Balancing the book on top of the tombstone, she shone the torch on the pages and started to read the chant. The Wraith, she knew, resides in a place devoid of light and hope. Unaware of its surrounding, it lies in restless sleep, and waits for the voice that will summon it from its limbo. It needs the darkness to become visible to the human eye, and the voice that calls on it must be kept low and chanting.

   Jill continued to read, while Paul and Tom watched from the side-line. Calling on God for protection, Paul fingered the rosary beads he kept in his pocket, and the smooth wood of the crucifix made him feel they were not quite unarmed. If there was ever a time for prayer, he thought, this is it. He never looked at the man who stood beside him, but he knew Tom was crying, as he saw the flash of a white handkerchief being brought up to his face.

Beneath the earth something stirred. Marie opened her eyes. At first, she lay listening to the soft calls from above. She didn’t know where she was, or how she had got there. The only awareness she had was of unbearable sorrow. She didn’t try to look around her, which was just as well. Her human body no longer existed all that remained were her bones. She was spared this sight by the urging of the voice that called to her, the notes filled with the same longing that she felt.

   “I’m coming,” she whispered, before surging towards the surface.

The air smelled sweet after the rawness of the place she had been, and she stood for a moment looking around her. She was in a graveyard and it was night!

Jill used the tombstone for support, afraid she would faint. She heard the whimpers of fear from the two men and looked over at them. Their faces were ashen, and despite the cold, she saw beads of sweat on their upper lips. What they were witnessing was beyond belief, and she prayed they would not turn and run. Forcing her eyes back to the triangle, she shivered, as she watched the movements of the spirit trapped within it. This was some sort of nightmare, it had to be, as the thing that stood before her could not be real. The woman, Marie, appeared as she had in the photo on Tom’s side table. She wore a dress of flowing burgundy velvet, her favourite, Tom would later tell Jill, and there was nothing creepy or frightening about her, except she appeared at times to fade in and out, and of course, she was dead.

   “Marie,” Jill licked her dry lips and managed to stand up straight.

If she did not remain strong, she had no chance of gaining control.

   “Marie, do you know where you are?”

The Wraith’s look was one of bewilderment, when she turned towards the sound of the voice, and she wrung her hands.

   “I was in a place of shadow,” she seemed on the verge of tears. “I can’t remember anything. The past is dim. Who are you?”

   “My name is Jill. I’m the one who called you. I need your help.”

   “My help.” She became aware of the presence of the two men, but there was no look of recognition when she saw Tom.

He, on the other hand, had to be helped to stand by Paul. Jill heard his muffled sobbing, and he used a handkerchief to still the sound of his pain.

   “My child is missing,” Jill turned back to the Wraith. “I need your help to find him. The same man who took Rachael has taken him. Do you remember?”

The Wraith’s eyes opened wide at the mention of her daughter’s name.

   “Rachael,” the whisper floated through the night air. “Rachael, my baby.”

She brought her hands to her face, crying as the memory reawakened.

   “I’m sorry to cause you such pain,” Jill cried with her. “But I need to find my son.”

The Wraith shook her head.

   “Why couldn’t you let me be?” She tried to move within the triangle but was held in place by its power. “Send me back,” her pleas were pitiful. “I can’t bear the pain. Set me free.”

Tom tried to go to her, but Paul held him back.

   “Marie,” he called. “Do you remember me?”

   “Tom.” He saw the recognition in her eyes. “Tom, Help me.”

   “Send her back,” he turned to Jill. “Reverse the spell. Do something. This is unbearable.”

   “I’m sorry.” She tried to block out the sound of his tears and turned back to the Wraith. “My son, Toby, is seven-years-old and the man who took Rachael has him right now. If I don’t find him, he will kill him. I’m begging you as one mother to another, help me.”

   “Please,” the Wraith struggled against her invisible barrier. “Set me free.”

   “I will set you free, if you promise to help me,” Jill felt stronger, more determined.

   “Let her go, you fucking bitch,” Tom screamed, and if it were not for Paul’s grip on his arms, would have attacked Jill.

   “I’ll let her go when she hears me out,” Jill glanced at him, and then back at the Wraith. “Will you listen to what I have to say?”

   “Am I dead?”

The question stunned them to silence. They looked from her to one another, unsure of what to say. Finally, Tom, after assuring Paul he was calm, stepped forward.

   “Marie, love,” he walked closer to the triangle. “You died eight years ago; don’t you remember? A year after Rachael went missing. Her loss was too much for you to bear, and you took an overdose.”

   “Oh, God,” her glance flew around the graveyard. “Is that why I’m here, am I being punished for committing suicide?”

   “No, love, you’re not. Jill called you to ask for help. Her little boy is missing, and we think the same man who took Rachael has him. If we find Toby, then maybe we will find Rachael.”

   “We could bring her home?” Her eyes filled with hope.

   “Yes,” he was trying hard not to cry. “We can bring her home, and you can be at rest.”

He reached out and tried to touch her, but there was nothing there. She seemed to be part of the air, nothing solid, no substance. Puzzled, he looked at Jill.

   “She is like a shadow; it is Marie’s spirit that you see.”

He nodded, sadly and stepped back. Paul patted his shoulder, urging him to be strong. It took great fortitude to walk away from the woman he had loved and lost. The woman he never expected to see again, not in this life.

   “Will you help me?” Jill asked.

   “What can I do? I can’t even step out of this thing.” She looked down at the triangle at her feet.

   “I can free you from there, if you promise to help me. If not, I can send you back to where you came from.”

   “There is nothing for me there,” she looked in horror at the stone that bore her name. “Just endless darkness and cold that chills the soul. I will do whatever I can to help, though I don’t know what use I will be.”

   “Very well,” Jill picked up the book. “Once you are free from the triangle, you can move about wherever you please. You have the power to travel on the wind. It is up to you if you want to be visible, but I suggest you stay hidden. Tom thinks someone in the village has taken my son; your job is to find him. It is only by night you can move around. You will be powerless during the day.”

   “If it is possible, I’ll find him and when I do…”

Jill interrupted her.

   “You won’t do anything, if you do, we won’t find Rachael and Toby.”

   “I understand,” she smiled. “Maybe, later, then?”

While this woman that stood before them looked like Marie, Tom knew she had changed. Perhaps her mind had flown before the suicide, or was tainted by the endless years of darkness, but she now had a vicious streak, and he knew she would need careful handling.

   Jill’s stomach lurched as she began the chants to free the Wraith, and she hoped she would not regret what she was about to do. While the woman appeared to have no substance, the book declared the Wraith was capable of great deeds, and even hinted at its need for revenge. If this was the case, then God help the man who would shortly become its prey.

   “You should be able to move now,” Jill stopped, and nodded at the triangle.

The Wraith lifted her leg and took a tentative step out of her prison. When she saw there was nothing to fear, she stepped out of the triangle.

   “You will come with me,” Jill said. “I will show you where I live, and you must return there at the end of every night.”

   “I must?” She raised an eyebrow.

Jill knew that she was testing her; the book had warned that this might happen.

   “Yes, you must,” she stepped out of the circle and approached the Wraith until their noses were almost touching. Its scent was like the breath of death on her face. “If you do not, I will send you back now.”

   “You have that much power?” It was said with a sneer. Now that all the confusion and terror were past, it had become more assured and aware of its power.

   “I brought you here, didn’t I?” Jill held its gaze and refused to be beaten.

   “Very well.” It saw she was serious, and some instinct warned it must obey. At least until it had done what it set out to do and that was to find her child.

   “We need to gather up these things and wipe away the circle,” Jill turned to the men.

She blew out the candles and incense and threw everything into bags. Paul and Tom kicked dirt over the white lines on the ground and pulled up tufts of dried grass to disguise the place where it was drawn. At no time would Paul acknowledge the Wraith and kept well back from it. With the three of them helping, it only required one trip back to the car, and Jill was glad of this, as she felt exhausted. The Wraith had started to feed on her strength, and she knew the next few days would be draining. Paul was much quieter than usual, and once they were outside the graveyard, Jill turned to him.

   “I know what I did was terrible, but I had no choice.”

   “I know, I know,” his face was still devoid of colour. “But I’m just wondering about that thing in there.”

   “Her name’s Marie,” Tom dumped his load into the car boot.

   “I have my doubts,” Paul’s eyes stared into the darkness.

   “About what?” Tom asked.

   “I got to know your wife well during the months before her death,” Paul said. “And when she first appeared, I thought she seemed the same woman, but there’s something not right. You must have felt it.”

   “What’s, not right?” Jill felt fear clutch at her heart.

   “There’s something about her,” Paul replied. “I know you’ve seen it too.”

Tom tried to avoid his eyes, but he knew Paul was right. There was something, a cruel streak that had never been there before.

   “Where is she anyway?” Paul looked back to the graveyard.

   “She’s there,” Jill assured him. “She’ll follow me home.”

   “Right,” he opened his car door. “I’ll go home and get some clothes and then I’ll be right back.”

   “You’re coming to my house,” Jill asked. “Why?”

   “I’m not leaving you alone with that thing,” He held up a hand to still Tom’s protests. “I know you think it’s Marie that was brought back, and maybe it was. But she’s changed, and not for the better.”

The Wraith-chapter twenty-five

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 29, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, insomnia, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, twlight, Witchcraft, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

          Jill spent the next few hours in study. There was still a lot to learn, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to complete her task without the help of the book. Though it weighed a tonne, she had no choice but to take it with her to the graveyard. A magic circle needed to be drawn around the grave, and she would never memorise the writing and symbols in such a short time. Along with the triangle, candles, incense, and a host of other things, her load would be a heavy one. Dusk had descended when she started to load her things into the car. She fed the dogs before locking them in for the night. Frost settled on the walls and roofs of the outbuildings, and it would be freezing by the time she was ready.

   She decided to leave about ten. This would give the children time to finish their trick or treat, and it would be hours before the two pubs in the village closed. So, there should be no one to disturb her, unless some of the teenagers decided to get up to mischief, frightening one another with dares in the graveyard. Another thing that made her balk, was that she had to be completely naked under the cloak. This was embarrassing enough with no one around to see, but in the middle of winter! The book ordered she must wash, and there was an assortment of pots boiling over the fire. Each one had to be carried upstairs and emptied into the bath. Her back ached by the time she slipped into the water, and though it barely came up to her sides, she managed to scrub herself clean. The body must the spotless, the book said, so she rubbed the cloth along her skin until it glowed red. Once she dried off, she lay down on her bed and prayed. Calling on the highest, and those she loved and lost for help, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. The alarm on her phone was set for nine. This gave her plenty of time to reach the graveyard. The cloak lay across the foot of the bed, so at least she didn’t have to worry about dressing. She was weary from the night of studying and worry about her son. She counted out the rosary, using her fingers as a guide, and whispered the words aloud, as she called on the mother of God.

   The shrilling of the alarm roused her, and she opened her eyes in fright. It was time.

Slipping out from under the quilt, she swung the cloak around her naked body and went downstairs. After turning off lights and making certain the fire was safely banked down, she went outside. Bess, sensing the presence of her mistress, whined, but Jill ignored her, and rechecked the things in the car boot. It would not do to leave something behind. As she had predicted, it was freezing. Small puddles that lined the lane had frozen over, and she heard the crack as the ice gave way under the weight of the car. Her stomach hurt, and not just from the want of nourishment. It was the cold realisation that for the first time in her life, she was truly alone. This feeling was nothing like the one she felt when Joe abandoned them. This was something else, an emptiness that made her heart ache. She wondered, as she drove out onto the main road, if she would ever see her home again? Was she leaving behind the things that had become familiar to her? After tonight, her life would be changed forever. As she neared the village, she was reminded once again it was Halloween. Candles were lit in all the windows to light the way home for the dead and little children darted from house to house, screaming and laughing, as they vied with one another for the best treats. It was familiar, yet she felt so far removed from it all. Last year, Toby dressed as Superman. Though she had tried to explain that the superhero had nothing to do with Halloween, he had insisted, but settled on having his face painted like a skeleton. Was he thinking about that now, she wondered? Did he even know what night it was? Stop, don’t, she warned. If she continued like this, she would be of no use to him.

   The road that led to the graveyard was empty. With no houses around, the only thing that cut through the dark were the car headlights. As she figured, there was no one about when she parked. Wrapping the cloak tightly around her, she carried her first load through the gate. The wind had died down completely, so there was no fear of it whipping the cloth aside, exposing her. The graveyard, that seemed peaceful during the hours of daylight, now became a sinister city of the dead. A faint, white mist rose above the graves, adding to the sense of menace. The old tombs that had earlier just been bricks and mortar now seemed like crouching, dark beasts, ready to pounce.

   She made sure the batteries in the torch were new, and it guided her way along the path between the graves. She was panting when she deposited her load beside Marie’s grave, and she felt she might wet herself from both cold and fear. With no other choice, she squatted behind one of the large cypress trees, and emptied her aching bladder. She felt the warmth of the urine rising from the damp earth, but she had nothing to wipe herself with. Afraid, if she used to cloak to do so she would in some way taint its power, she allowed the last drops to glide down her legs. This added to her discomfort, as she made her way back to the grave. Taking the cans of spray paint, she found in one of the outbuildings, out of a plastic bag, she began to trace the magic circle around the grave. A space had to be left for her to walk through, and this would need to be filled in to complete the circle later. Once this was done, using the book as a guide and with the flashlight in her mouth, she crawled around the cold grass, filling in the names and symbols. Then she set out the candles in their tall, glass containers, in case of wind. Next, the bowls of salt and water. Once all this was in place, she lit the incense and candles. The Triangle of Solomon had to sit outside to circle, and to the right of the grave. This was where the spirit would appear and be contained. While it disturbed her to think she would, in a way, be holding the spirit captive, she had to follow the instructions. The Wraith would be a being of power, but she could only control it, if her spirit was stronger, according to the book. It would be like a shadow that existed to do her will. It would feed on her emotions and strength, and without them, would cease to exist. Her senses had never been so alive, Jill thought, so if that was what it took to keep the spirit alive, there shouldn’t be a problem.

   The time was right, everything was in place, and she was ready to step into the circle, when she heard footsteps approach. Hardly daring to breathe, she fell to her knees and blew out the candles. Whoever it was had a torch, she saw the faint beam through the mist. Pulling the cloak tightly around her, she huddled against the tombstone and waited.

The day had seemed endless for Paul O’Farrell, as he checked the various clues and sightings that led to nothing. Now it was dark, and the searchers had all disbanded and headed for home. Tonight, was a time for family, for gaiety and laughter. He could never figure out Halloween and had always thought of it as a nuisance. He was down six men tonight, as even those who were drafted in were called on to keep the peace in the village.

   The air was freezing when he stepped out of the school, and he pulled his coat collar higher, trying to escape its touch. He came back to the assembly hall to check if there were any phone calls on the whereabouts of the boy, but there was nothing. He was going to lose him, just as he had the other three children. A group of costumed figures ran screaming by him when he stepped outside the gate, and he stopped to watch their progress. At least they were too small to get up to any real mischief. It was the older ones who did the egging and threw the firecrackers. Once the children disappeared into the distance, he walked to his car. The street was quiet now, with just the odd pumpkin lantern to mark the day, but by tomorrow all signs of this holiday would be gone. He knew in the next few days; shop windows would start to fill with toys and cards for the Christmas. Out with the old and in with the new, he thought, as he opened the car door. God, I’m a miserable bastard. He smiled at the idea, but he no longer took pleasure in any occasion. To him festivities meant drunks, wife beaters and vandals. Had he always been that way? He thought of his wife and sons. Had his scepticism been a blight on the holidays? Well, it was too late now. As he drove through the village, he saw through the lit windows family gatherings, that only served to remind him of what he had lost. Maybe, he would try and spend more time with his sons, and there were grandchildren on the scene now. At least he could make sure he did not mess them up. Ah, it’s just the season, he sighed, that makes you feel so lonely. Halloween, the night when life meets death and the spirits rise from the grave. He would not wish that on Maura, not after what she suffered. Though there was never a day that passed without him wishing things could have been different, there were some things that were much worse. Like watching someone you loved slowly eaten away by a pitiless disease. No, he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

   There was no point in going home, as there was nothing for him to do there but sit and think. He could not go into the pub, as he promised Jill, he would stay off the drink, and he was not the sort who could show restraint in such surroundings by ordering a mineral water. Deciding he would call out and see how she was doing; he steered the car out of the village.

   He knew the minute he drove to the yard; she had not kept her promise. He hoped she would, but the darkened windows of their house told their story. Still, he got out of the car and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he tried the handle, but it was locked, a sure sign she had gone out, as no one in the area ever felt the need to lock their doors. Across the yard, the old sheepdog barked, the sound muffled by the walls of her cage, and he heard her scratching at the door. Raising the dead, he shook his head in disbelief, but then thought of her words. Would he, if he were in her position, not do the same thing? As it was, there were no new leads, and it looked as though they would never find the child.

   He’d stopped off outside his own house just long enough to collect the things he would need. Now, he walked along the path between the graves trying to find the right one. He had a vague idea where Marie was laid to rest, and he swung the beam of the torch along the tombstones, reading the inscriptions. He didn’t dare call out. Instead he used the shovel he carried as a walking stick to lean on when he stopped beside each grave. He could not bear to think about what he would have to do when he found the right one, and it set his teeth on edge, to think of the sound it would make when the tip of the shovel met the wood of the coffin.

   “Ah, there you are,” his torch beam moved over the crouched figure that huddled against the stone.

   “Go away,” Jill hissed. “You’re not going to stop me.”

   “I’m not here to stop you,” he held out his hand to help her up. “Come on, we haven’t got all night.”

  Jill took the offered hand and stepped warily out of the circle, sure at any moment he would handcuff her. When she realised, he was not going to do so, she looked at the shovel.

   “What are you going to do with that?”

   “I’m going to help you raise the dead. That’s what we’re here for isn’t it?”

   “We’re not going to dig her up.” She would have laughed, if she weren’t so frightened.

   “Oh,” he looked at the shovel in his hand, and then threw it aside. “That’s a relief.”

   “It’s done with symbols and chants,” she waved towards the circle and triangle.

   “I see.” He walked closer and inspected the drawing.

   “I was about to start when I heard you,” she explained.

   “Go ahead, then, I’ll not stop you.”

   “Okay, you move over there,” she pointed to one of the trees. “And whatever you do, don’t make a sound; no matter what you hear or see. Once I’ve started, I can’t stop, and any interruption will ruin everything and probably kill me.”

   “Jesus,” he moved into the shadows. “You’re frightening me now.”

   “There’s no other way,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness. “If it gets too much for you, just walk away.”

   “No, go on.” He couldn’t admit he wasn’t as brave as a woman. “I’ll stay till the end.”

   Jill knew the sacrifice he was making just by being there. If anyone caught them, he would lose his job, and she’d probably end up in a mental home. He remained silent as she relit the candles and incense. More aware than ever of her nudity beneath the cloak, she held tightly to its folds. Once ready, she turned to him.

   “I’m going to start the chant now.” She stepped into the circle and picked up the spray can on the ground to fill in the gap.

She had just taken the cap off the tin when another set of footsteps echoed in the darkness. Dropping to her knees, she once again blew out the candles, and ran to join Paul, who crouched behind one of the larger tombstones. The footsteps came closer.  Sure, of their destination, they moved quickly over the gravelled path. As they waited for whoever it was to appear, Paul looked at her.

   “What have you been doing,” he whispered. “Selling tickets?”

The Wraith-chapter twenty-four

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 27, 2020
Posted in: books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, honoring the dead, horror, insomnia, letting go, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         The flashing red light on the answering machine demanded attention when she walked back into the hall. She forgot, in her haste to study the books, Paul O’Farrell had promised to call, and now she listened to his hurried apologies for not having done so. They were taking the search further afield, he told her, and she could reach him on his cell phone, if she needed him. She was ashamed, when she realised, she failed to notice his absence. It could not be helped, as her mind was set on more pressing things. There was no need to bother him now, and she knew he would have told her if there was any hope. No doubt, Tom would contact him to complain about her, but for now she would leave well enough alone.

   The village main street was busy, as mothers hurried to buy treats for the night ahead. It was only when she saw the costumed children and the garish decorations in the shop windows, Jill remembered it was Halloween. Tonight, was the night of the dead, when graves yawned, and spirits walked the land. Shivering, frightening herself with such ghoulish thoughts, she steered the car to the curb. She tried to ignore the pitying looks of the other customers, as she waited for her purchases to be bagged. It was easy enough to buy candles, but the shopkeeper made a great fuss when she asked for incense.

   “Not much call for that sort of thing,” he looked around at his other customers, expecting them to confirm this.

   “There’s a shop in James’s Terrace,” one of the women offered. “It sells alternative medicines, and all sorts of queer stuff.”

   “Thank you,” Jill knew from the woman’s tone the shop was not raking in the profits.

While the village and its inhabitants were hauled kicking, and screaming into the twenty-first century, it would take years before they were ready to embrace any form of lateral thinking.

   The walk to the shop meant she had to pass the school. Closed now for the holiday, it held the same deserted air as it did on the day Toby was taken. A frigid wind scattered the few remaining leaves across the playground, and she heard the rustle of their dryness on the concrete. The main door was open, but there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps, it was as Paul said, and everyone had moved to the new location. She couldn’t allow herself to think they scaled down the investigation, or the searchers had got tired and abandoned it.

   The shop was in the middle of a small row of house, and she realised where she now stood was probably once someone’s sitting room. The assistant was not at all what she expected, and she admonished herself for thinking in clichés. Envisioning a hippie type with dreadlocks and flowing skirts, she was surprised to find a sensibly dressed, middle-aged woman behind the counter. A vast array of incense sticks was for sale, and since the book had not specified what type to use, she chose sandalwood. Unfortunately, the village community was small, and everyone knew everyone’s business, so there was no escaping the woman’s sad look as she handed over the parcel. Please don’t say anything kind, Jill prayed, I just couldn’t bear it. To her immense relief, the woman kept her mouth shut, and offered nothing more than the usual pleasantries. Still, tears picked the corners of her eyes as she made her way back to the car. If anyone even mentioned Toby’s name, she would have broken down.

   The interior of the car felt warm after the biting wind, and she waited until her breathing steadied before turning on the engine. A gentle tapping on the passenger window made her jump, and she looked over to find the hunched figure of Toby’s teacher, Mr Jackson, peeping in. At any other time, she would have been pleased to see him, but not now, not with so much at stake. The window hummed down when she pressed the release button between the seats.

   “Any news?” He asked.

   “They’ve widened the search,” Jill informed him. “I got a message from the detective in charge last night. They must have gone quite a way.” She looked in the direction of the school. “There’s doesn’t seem to be anyone about.”

   “Yes, they told us this morning, but the phones are still being manned,” he assured her. “I was in there a few minutes ago. We have a play on tonight, and I’m in charge, that’s why I’m not out searching.”

   “I understand,” she tried to smile. “Life goes on.”

   “Never lose hope, miracles have happened in the past,” was his parting comment.

He’s a nice man, Jill though, as she drove home.

   She couldn’t ignore the costumed skeletons that danced along the footpaths, and their images made her think of what lay ahead. Deciding it was wiser to visit the graveyard during daylight hours, she turned the car around. There was no need for her to ask for directions, as they had passed it on their first day in their new home. They did a tour of the village, memorising landmarks and getting to know the area. The church was separate from the graveyard, so there would be very few about on such a cold day. She was right; the small car park was deserted. Buttoning her coat, she stepped out of the car and walked along the boundary wall. The small gate for foot traffic had once been painted silver, but the dark grey of the steel now showed through. Its rusted hinges groaned when she pushed it open, and the noise jarred her fragile nerves. The only other sound to disturb the quiet was the cawing of crows in the trees. Gravel crunched beneath her feet, as she made her way along the small paths between the graves. The graveyard must be hundreds of years old, she thought, studying the layout. Tombs, once elaborate, had fallen into decay, their walls blackened by time. It was impossible to read any of the inscriptions, as the weather had worn the wording away, so the inhabitant was now nameless and forgotten. It was difficult, even when she ran her fingers over the indents in the stone, to make out any of the names.

   The first few yards were filled with old tombstones. Large Celtic crosses covered in moss and bird droppings stood guard over the small, more humble markers. The graveyard continued upwards, and it was only when she reached the brow of the hill that she saw the more modern part. Here the shiny marbles stretched out in a range of whites, blacks and greys. Unlike the forgotten ones in the old part, this area showed signs of remembrance. Faded, dry wreaths marked some of the graves, and the wind carried with it the sickly, sweet smell of dying flowers. She scanned each of the inscriptions, trying not to think about the ones marking the passing of a child, or young adult.

   Marie’s grave stood at the end of one of the rows. The flowers placed on the shiny white stones that covered the place where she lay were fresh, no more than a day or two old. She thought of Tom and his lonely vigil beside the grave of his wife and prayed she would be spared the same thing. Looking around her, making sure that there was no one to hear, she knelt.

   “Marie,” she whispered, placing her hand on the moist stones. “I need your help. My child is missing; I think the same person who took Rachael has taken him. I’m coming back tonight to try and bring you back. Please don’t hate me. I’m sure you would do the same thing in my place.”

Jill sobbed as she spoke, and she felt like she was going to vomit. The terror of the last few days overflowed, added to that her fear of the act of sacrilege she planned to carry out.

   “God help me,” she stood and walked away.

Was it her imagination, somewhere beneath the earth her words were heard? She was still crying when she reached the car and had wait for the sobs to subside. How in the name of God would she go through with it?

To add to her discomfort, she saw Paul and Tom’s cars parked outside her house. She knew from Paul’s stern face that Tom told him what she planned. Pushing aside Bess and the pups welcome, she walked by the men.

   “I suppose you better come in.” She didn’t wait for their reply, but instead walked into the kitchen and filled the kettle.

They were standing behind her when she turned, and she waited for the tirade of reprimand to begin.

   “Sit down,” she pointed at the table.

They both sat on the same side, so she was forced to sit opposite, with only the wood between them. Their presence marked the boundary line, but was like a vast chasm, so far apart was they in their thinking. She was ready for battle, and prepared to deny Tom’s allegations, if need be. She couldn’t risk losing her freedom, not tonight.

   “I can’t believe what I’ve just heard,” Paul was the first to speak.

   “Really?” she tried to appear nonchalant. “What have you heard?”

   “Oh, I think you know,” he was not fooled by her act. “Tom told me about your plan to raise the dead, and I’m not going to allow such nonsense to continue.”

   “If it is, as you say, nonsense, why does it bother you?” she looked from one to the other. “Either of you?”

Paul’s face had grown red, and she imagined steam might come out of his ears, he was so angry.

   “Will you talk sense, woman. This is not some backward country. This is Ireland, in the twenty-first century. You can no more raise spirits, than I can fly to the moon. What you are thinking is impossible.”

   “So why does it bother you, then?”

   “Because,” he pounded his fist on the table. “I can’t have you seen running around graveyards in the dead of night, up to all sorts of mischief, that’s why.”

   “Look,” Tom tried to keep the peace. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Jill walked to the fire and pulled back the kettle that was now bubbling. She never asked them if they wanted a drink, but instead set about making the coffees. They waited in silence until she placed the mugs in front of them.

   “Promise me, you’ll stay home tonight?” Paul asked when she had resumed her seat.

   “Of course, I will.” She never even blinked.

   “She doesn’t mean it,” Tom said.

   “I know,” Paul’s mouth was set in a grim line. “But I can’t afford to have my men watch her.”

   “Hey, I’m here,” Jill said. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not even in the room.”

Both men shook their heads when they looked at her.

   “Is there any news?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

   “No,” Paul said. “We’re following a few leads, but it’s not working out as I expected. The man I’ve had my eye on for years is not moving, so I’m torn between sitting and waiting, or continuing elsewhere. Jesus,” he ran his hand through his hair.

The stress he was suffering was evident, and tears pricked her eyes again. Paul was a good man, but his work was killing him.

   “Will you hear me out?” she asked.

   “Listen to that rubbish?” he nodded towards the books.

   “Let me read it to you, and then decide,” she gave him no time to answer, but instead brought the book to the table and began to read.

Her grandmother’s letter was the first thing she read aloud, and she knew from their expressions her words hit home. It took quite a while to finish the part in the book about the work of the Necromancer. When she finished, she looked at them.

   “I know what I’m about to do is terrible; even those practised in the dark arts despise anyone like me. But what choice do I have? It’s like my grandmother says, it’s impossible to disturb anyone not at rest.”

   “And how do you know when someone is not at rest?” Tom asked.

   “I don’t, but it says here,” she pointed at the book, “that only a restless spirit will answer the call.”

   “It’s all a load of bullshit,” Paul stood. “I have to get back to work.”

   “Have you got a better idea,” Jill called after him.

   “Ah, leave me alone, woman,” she heard him mutter, before slamming the front door.

   “What are you waiting for?” she rounded on Tom.

When he refused to answer, she started to clear away the empty mugs. She was aware he watched her as she worked at the sink.

   “What?” She spun around, when she could no longer bear the feeling of his eyes boring into her back.

   “Do it.”

   “Do what?” she asked, not daring to hope he was giving permission.

   “Go ahead with your plan,” he stood. “But don’t expect me to take part in any of it.”

   “Thank you.” It was a relief to know she was not going to have to do it behind his back.

   “Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for Rachael and Toby. It goes against everything I believe in, but if it works, and does no harm,” he paused, “can you assure me of that?”

   “No, I’m afraid I can’t. I only know Marie would have tried anything to find her daughter.”

   “Yes.” She had to strain to hear him. “She would have made a deal with the devil. So, go ahead, and may God forgive me.”

   “May he forgive us both,” Jill prayed.