gemmamawdsley

Cora groaned, the pressure on her right arm was unbearable. Even in her drug-induced, semi-conscious state, she managed to reach out with her free hand to brush away what was hurting her. There was vague mumbling from above and her hand was clasped in a cool, but firm embrace.

“Cora, wake up now.”

The overhead lights were blinding, so she covered her face. Her mind felt hazy, her thoughts muddled, but she managed to focus in time to see the white figure beside her bed fold the blood pressure cuff.

“Welcome back,” the nurse smiled. “And how are you feeling?”

“I fell,” she tried to make sense of what happened.

“Indeed, you did. It was a miracle you didn’t break something in a fall like that.”

“I didn’t?” She held up her hands to inspect them.

They were covered in yellow and blue bruises.

“I’m afraid you have many more like that, but never mind, it could be worse.”

Now her mind was finally clear of drugs, Cora’s hand went instinctively to her stomach, and she knew her baby was gone. She turned towards the nurse and with eyes filled with fear, asked. “My baby?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. There was nothing the doctors could do.”

“No, please,” she started to sob.

“The pregnancy wasn’t advanced enough. His little lungs were unable to cope.”

“A boy?”

“Yes, you can see him later, when you’re feeling better.”

But Cora knew she would never feel any better and turning on her side, she howled for the loss of her child.

“I’ll ask the doctor for something to relax you,” the nurse patted the bedcovers.

“No,” Cora called after her. “I don’t want anything. Let me be.”

The nurse turned away, shaking her head. Cora wanted to scream, leave me alone. I want to grieve for my loss. Instead, she huddled down under the blankets and her sobbing made the bed shake. After a while she fell into an uneasy sleep. She was back at the house, standing at the top of the stairs with her arms full of dirty bed linen. Then, she was falling, tumbling over and over, the child in her womb spinning faster within her until finally, she was lying at the bottom of the stairs and the warmth between her legs pumped in time to the fading heartbeat inside.

A touch on her arm made her scream, and she struggled to sit up. Marie caught her and held her as the sobbing began again.

“It’s going to be all right, my dear. I know this means nothing to you now, but time is a great healer.”

“I lost the baby.”

“I know, the nurse told me. I said I was your mother. A small lie in a good cause,” she stroked Cora’s back.

Cora sat up and brushed the tear-soaked hair from her face.

“It was a little boy,” she sniffed. “They said I can see him, but I’m afraid. Can you believe that? I’m afraid of my own baby.”

“We all fear death. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Would you come with me, to see him, I mean?”

“Yes, of course I will. I’ll go and ask the nurse.”

Marie left the room and returned in minutes.

“You will need to be taken down in a wheelchair. As soon as they have a porter free, they will send him in.”

During the time they waited, Marie told her how she had taken the children home with her. About Emily and finally, because she knew Cora needed to know, the house’s secret.

For a moment, Cora forgot her own grief.

“Then this Annie, this young girl, has been there for hundreds of years?”

“Yes, poor thing. Trapped in time and bound by a terrible curse to Liam’s family.”

“Is there nothing can be done to free her?”

“Nothing, Emily fears she’s become so desperate in her search of eternal rest she will try to kill Liam.”

“I hope she does.” Cora was trembling with rage. “I hope she tears out his rotten heart.”

“Yes, “Marie sighed. “But if she does, she’s damned. She will belong to the darkness forever.”

“Oh, the poor child,” Marie was unsure if her cries were for Annie or her dead baby.

The sudden whistling from the hallway made them look up and a wheelchair trundled in the door, pushed by a rosy-cheeked porter.

“Your chariot has arrived, my lady,” he joked, as he helped Cora into the seat.

His cheery manner soon abated when the nurse came in and he learned of their destination. It was a solemn, silent little procession that left the room. No one spoke, as they waited for the lift, or even when they descended deep into the bowels of the hospital and along the echoing corridor to the morgue and the chapel of rest. There was more whispering as the porter and the assistant conferred, finally…

“Mrs. O Brien. I’m Joe Hayes. I’ll take you in to see your baby.”

“Thank you,” Cora held out a trembling hand to Marie.

“You’ll be fine, love,” Joe assured her.

She glanced towards the chapel doors and the stained-glass cross fixed in each of them. Somewhere behind those doors lay the body of her child, pale and cold and dead. She wanted to scream, but instead she held tighter to Marie’s hand. The wheelchair jolted as Joe kicked off the brake, and she closed her eyes. She was aware of the doors opening and cringed, expecting a rush of cold air. But there was nothing like that. The room felt warm; there was no harsh smell of disinfectant nothing, but silence.

Marie let go of her and Cora heard her walk forward. Still, she did not open her eyes.

“Ah, God bless him.”

Marie was leaning over a frilled baby basket when Cora peeped through her fingers. There was no coffin, no candles, none of the scary stuff.

“What’s he like?” Cora started to cry.

“A perfect little baby; a little transparent, but that’s to be expected. Come, let me help you.”

With Marie holding her, she moved towards the basket. A sob caught in her throat when she saw her baby. He was as Marie said, perfect. His skin so thin she could trace each vein beneath it. His fingers were curled into tight fists and his mouth pouted into a perfect cupid’s bow.

“Poor little thing,” Cora’s tears flowed as she stroked his tiny hands. “You never stood a chance did you, son?”

Marie bought a hankie to her eyes. Cora was right; he never stood a chance. Hatred for Liam O Brien and for all men like him welled up, so she had to walk from the room as tears threatened.

She had managed to compose herself when Cora was wheeled out. No longer crying, she seemed more at peace, and the hand that grasped Marie’s no longer trembled. The porter soon had Cora back in bed and left with a mumbled “sorry for your trouble.”

Marie was anxious to be back with Emily and the children. So, kissing Cora and promising to be back next morning, she left the room almost colliding with a doctor who was entering.

Outside the wind whipped up, and Marie shivered drawing her coat closer. The forecast said a clear night with a touch of frost. Now, as she looked up at the moon and the dark clouds racing across it, she wondered where the weathermen got their predictions.

Cora studied the doctor standing at the end of her bed.

“Let’s have a look at you,” he indicated at her to pull up her robe and pressed on her stomach.

“It’s amazing you didn’t break anything. I have seen people die from shorter falls than you had. Did you ever think of doing stunt work?”

She did not answer and his face grew serious.

“I’m sorry about your loss. There was nothing anyone could do.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you,” she answered automatically.

“Can you remember what you tripped over?”

“The sheets, I think. I was changing a bed.”

“Yes, that may well be, but it doesn’t explain this,” he rolled back the bedclothes and traced his fingers along a thin red mark on her ankle. “Do you remember how you got this?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Mmm, it’s strange. Your leg must have encounter something sharp. It is worth looking into, but not tonight. You need your rest.”

“Yes,” Cora was unable to tear her eyes away from the thin, blood red line around her ankle.

“There seems to be a storm brewing.”

“Sorry?”

“I said there seems to be a storm brewing. It’s the wrong time of the year for this sort of weather.”

“Oh, yes,” Cora’s attention went back to her leg, so she did not hear him leave.

The effects of the day begun to take effect, and she sank back against the pillows exhausted. There were no more tears left, instead she felt numb. Eventually she fell asleep and her dreams were filled with nightmare images. The one thing she remembered clearly as she awoke was lying at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at the terrified face of a young woman, and the thin piece of wire tied across the top step. Sweat coated her face as the realisation hit. Liam killed her son and had she died in the process; it would not have mattered. Her eyes flew to the clock in the corridor outside. She had only been asleep for half an hour. Easing her way out of bed, she stumbled towards the wardrobe. Her flesh was so battered it felt as though it tore with each movement. The clothes she had been wearing when admitted were folded neatly on a shelf. Though the skirt was blood stained, it was wearable and there were a few crumpled euro notes in the pocket to pay for a taxi. The corridor was quiet; there was no one to stop her flight. The night seemed darker than usual, despite the full moon, and the wind whipped her hair around her face as she stepped outside. She was leaving her baby behind in a hospital full of strangers and heading home to Liam to carry out the teachings of her religion, an eye for an eye.

“It’s getting very dark,” Laura pressed her nose against the window and looked out into the deepening gloom. She had grown tired of waiting for Marie to return and turning to Emily asked. “What’s taking her so long?”

“Perhaps the traffic is bad. It has turned out to be such a windy night. The power lines could be down. Who knows what damage this storm is causing?”

“Yes, but it’s not a real storm,” Laura traced her finger down the pane following the path of a raindrop.

“Why, of course it’s a real storm,” Emily replied. “You can hear it, can’t you and see it?”

“Yes,” Laura shrugged, slipping down from the window seat, and joining Emily and Shelly by the fire. “I mean it’s not caused by the weather.”

“That’s silly,” Shelly stopped writing in her copybook and looked up. “It has to be cause by the weather. You’re weird.”

“I am not,” Laura grabbed at the copybook and a tug of war ensued.

“Stop that at once,” Emily shook her hankie at them with all the power of a demented butterfly.

Laura let go, causing Shelly to fall back against the fireplace and bang her head.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Emily eased her way up from her seat.

“I don’t care. I’m sick of her calling me names.”

“That’s no reason to hurt her,” Emily rubbed at the small lump already beginning to form at the back of the child’s head.

“I didn’t mean her to fall back, did I?” Laura glared at her sister.

“Yes, you did,” Shelly sniffled. “I hate you. You’re a pig.”

“Well. If I am a pig, you must be too.”

“Well, you’re an even bigger pig.”

“Girls give over that nonsense at once. You do not know how lucky you are to have one another. If I had a sister, I might not have ended up in that dreadful place.”

This stopped them, as each had a picture of Hillcrest seared into their memory.

“I’m sorry,” Laura offered. “It’s just people at school are always calling me names. They say I am weird because I see things they can’t. They call me witch and other things.”

“I always stick up for you,” Shelly said.

“Yeah, I know, sorry.”

“It’s OK,” Shelly retrieved the fallen copybook.

For a while peace was restored. Shelly went back to her homework, Laura leafed through a magazine and Emily stared into the flames remembering better times. She had to agree with the child. Marie was taking her time. There was a shuffling beside her, and Emily looked across at Laura who was holding the palms of her hands over her ears.

“Have you an earache?”

She shook her head.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Voices.”

“What do you mean?”

“Voices, in my head.”

“She always hears voices,” Shelly threw her eyes skyward.

“What are they saying?” Emily was intrigued.

“Crying, Annie’s crying and a man, I think it’s my Dad saying help me.”

Emily looked towards the dark window. “She’s out there?”

“Yes, I tried to tell you that. She’s in the storm.”

“We have to save her. We have to get to the house.”

“Shelly, get your pencil case,” Laura ordered, and taking her own from her satchel, she emptied the contents onto the coffee table.

Between them they had over sixteen euros in lunch money.

“This should be enough for a taxi,” Shelly said.

. Marie’s address book was beside the phone, so they found the number of a taxi firm. Laura, taking charge, helped Emily and Shelly into their coats and stuffed the notes and coins into her pocket.

“We better leave Marie a note,” Emily said.

Laura tore a piece from the back of Shelly’s copybook and scribbled a short message. Outside a horn tooted and she ushered the others out.

“You see?” She whispered to Emily, as she helped her down the steps in front of the building. “The sky is crying.”

Marie arrived back at the flat just as the taxi drew away from the curb. She ran inside pulling of her headscarf and unbuttoning her coat. She knew something was wrong. It was too quiet.

“Emily, children,” she called, her voice echoing back in the stillness. Their coats were gone from the hallstand, but everything else was still there. Her eyes were drawn to the copybook on the table and the note lying on top of it. Picking it up, her eyes grew wide in terror at the six words printed in childish scrawl. Annie’s back, gone to save her.

Marie was at her desk earlier than usual next day. To take the afternoon off, she would have to get her work completed. The fact it was so early meant there was no phones to delay her sorting of the post. Rachael breezed in just after nine and was soon followed by Liam. Marie saw by his bleary eyes and hangdog expression; this was not to be one of his better days. She had arranged the post on his desk in neat piles and she heard him shuffling through it.

The next few hours passed in a flurry of phone calls and appointments. The usual sad panorama of his clients filed past her desk and disappeared into his office. They reappeared, either looking smug or dejected. None of them paid her any heed, other than giving their name. It was almost noon when a lull came. Cora would be waiting for her at 1 o clock as arranged, and she could not let her down. But just as she was about to rise, Liam came storming from his office.

“I’m going out.”

“I need the afternoon off,” Marie managed to get in.

He stopped and looked at her.

“I have a dental appointment.”

“Since when?”

“This morning. I’ve been up with toothache all night.”

“I’m surprised you have any teeth left at your age,” he smirked at Rachael, but she looked away.

“My appointment is for one thirty and it may take a couple of hours.”

“You’ll go when I come back, understand?”

“I’ll go at one.”

“Do that and you can stay away.”

They stood face to face, prize fighters squaring up.

“If that’s what you want, I quite understand.”

He looked across at Rachael who was gaping open mouthed at them. Though he hated to admit it, he needed the old witch.

“Very well,” he gritted his teeth. “Go at one, but don’t make a habit of it. And you,” he turned to Rachael. “Don’t screw anything up.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He glared at her and slammed the door behind him so hard, they thought the glass would break.

Cora spent much of the morning sitting by the window watching the driveway. The night was uneventful with no unwelcome footsteps or strange sounds. Laura seemed more subdued at breakfast, or was she imagining that? Her mind was in so much turmoil she did not know what to think.

Annie sat opposite her, but Cora was unaware of her presence. The only sounds came from the grandfather clock in the hallway, as it ticked away the minutes. All around them the house sighed and settled. As the morning wore on, Cora became more anguished. She would not rest until she found out the house’s secret.

It was well after noon when she saw his car appear. She ran to the kitchen and stood with her back to the knife block, waiting. He did not come straight in or even call her name. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, and it was a few moments before he came looking for her.

“Ah, there you are.”

Cora gripped the edge of the worktop.

“I want you to change my bed linen.”

“Your bed linen?”

“Yes, wash and dry the same linen that’s on it.”

She stood looking at him for a moment before answering.

“I have other linen.”

“For fuck sake will you do as I ask? Strip off the old linen, wash it and replace it. It’s hardly rocket science.”

“All right,” Cora dodged by him, and Annie followed.

Cora pulled the quilt from its cover and gathered up the sheets and pillowcases. Neither of them realised Liam had crept up behind them. Cora was struggling along the gallery towards the stairs; the linen bundled up in her arms when she heard the noise. She stopped and listened. It sounded like breaking glass, then…

“Cora, help. For God’s sake help me, I’m hurt.”

She dropped the linen and ran towards the stairs. Annie realised too late, what was about to happen. In the seconds it took for her to register the cord pulled taunt across the stairs, Cora’s ankle met it and she fell. Her back, her side, her stomach bounced hard off each step, until she landed on the marble floor. Annie looked down in disbelief at the battered figure. She smelt the blood that was yet to show seeping from between Cora’s legs. Annie heard him speaking but couldn’t see to whom he spoke. She was clutching the banisters so hard her fingerprints scorched and blackened the wood. Once again, she had failed; another child died. The rage within her roared, and she felt herself change as she charged down the stairs.

Liam was looking down at his wife’s still form as Annie came towards him, her blackened hands reaching for his throat. A scream from the doorway stopped her, and she turned to find Laura and Shelly standing there. Shelly ran to her mother sobbing and calling to her, but Laura stood with her hand clasped over her mouth. She saw what the others could not, the burnt skeleton with its tendrils of hair sticking to its bones. The gaping mouth and hollow, cobwebby eyes though sightless, could still see her.

“What did you do?” She whispered.

“I did nothing,” her father answered. “Your mother had a fall. An ambulance is on its way. Take Shelly and wait in there.”

He ushered them towards the sitting room. As soon as they were inside, he ran to the top of the stairs. Taking the claw hammer from its hiding place, he pulled the nail from the skirting board and tucked it and the wire into his pocket. The scattered bed linen was thrown to the bottom of the stairs.

“Such a silly thing to happen,” he muttered.

From close by he heard the wail of sirens and ran back down to play his role of concerned husband.

They were loading Cora into the ambulance when Marie drove up. Liam rung and asked her to call, saying there had been an accident.

“What happened?”

Liam ran his hand through his hair.

“She was coming down the stairs with some sheets. She must have snagged her foot on them. I warned her not to do heavy work in her condition.”

Had she not known of his treatment of his wife and his desire to be rid of the child, she might have believed him. Instead, she looked towards the window and the two tear stained faces framed there.

“I’ll have to follow the ambulance,” Liam said. “Will you take care of the children for me?”

“I have an appointment, but I’ll take them with me. I’ll keep them overnight if need be.”

“Good, yes, do that.”

“We have to hurry,” the paramedic called.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Liam ran to his car.

Marie shivered as the paramedic climbed inside and sat beside the white, still form of Cora.

The house smelt sickly sweet when she entered the hall, like flowers that had lost their bloom. The children were squashed together in one small chair, their fingers entwined.

“Will my Mam be all right,” Laura asked.

“I hope so, dear,” Marie held out her arms and Shelly slipped from her seat and ran to her. Laura remained seated, though her lower lip trembled. They both knew who Marie was, having met her on their rare trips to their father’s office. Laura liked her on sight. She smelled sweet like a baby, and she talked in a funny way.

“Your Dad wants you to stay with me overnight, so we’ll need some things from your rooms.”

“No,” Laura jumped up. “Don’t go upstairs.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” Marie promised. “Just while I get your pyjamas.”

“I’ll show you,” Shelly offered.

“No,” Laura screamed, throwing her arms around her sister.

“Very well; I’ll go up alone. Just tell me where your room is.”

“We can sleep in our undies.”

“I can’t sleep without teddy,” Shelly whimpered, and before Laura could offer any more resistance, Marie walked from the room.

That child is really frightened she thought, but when she saw the pool of blood at the end of the stairs she could understand why.

Annie was sat huddled in a corner of the children’s room; her features normal again, now the hatred had subsided. She watched as the old lady rummaged around, pulling open drawers, and taking clothes from them. Annie sensed the woman’s goodness, and she cried out. Marie froze, as the shuddering, sobbing, pain-filled cry echoed around her. She turned and looked around the room. Her first instinct was to run, but when it came again, its pain touched her.

“I’m lost and I’m frightened,” it cried.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Marie heard the words clearly. Picking up the teddy bear, she ran from the room and bundled the children into her car.

“I have to visit with someone,” Marie explained. “And I need you to come with me. “It’s a nice old lady I promised to call on. It’s not far away.”

“I’d rather go to the hospital,” Laura said.

“This is important. It’s something I’m doing for your mother.”

“Oh, OK.” Laura sat back and watched the bushes on the roadside flash by.

“Why were you home from school so early?” Marie asked.

“The heating broke down and everyone was complaining about the cold, so we were sent home.”

“Disgraceful,” Marie snorted. “And they didn’t have the decency to let your mother know.”

“It’s only down the road,” Laura sighed. “We often walk home.”

“Still in this day and age.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Marie had no idea if this was a smart answer, but it sounded decidedly so.

Hillcrest Rest Home was not on a hill, neither did it have any hills around it. It stood, quietly decaying behind rusted gates, that creaked and groaned as they drove past. Even the few trees surrounding it appeared jaded. They hunched and stooped; their branches stripped clean by the late autumn wind. Ivy trailed down the walls and dark roots sprung from the earth and grasped at the building, as though the land wanted to reclaim it; to suck it down so it was no longer an eyesore. The Home itself had seen better centuries. The paint was picked clean from the windows, and the door was so damp, the rotten wood showed through. All the front windows were misted over. There was no answer to Marie’s hesitant knock and the door swung open when Laura pushed against it.

“Phew,” the children cried in unison.

Marie had to agree. It smelt of mould, boiled cabbage, and something much more overpowering.

“It smells of pee,” Laura concluded.

“Is that any way for a young lady to speak,” Marie hushed her, but she had to agree it did smell of urine. It emanated from the faded carpet.

“Hello, is there anyone there?” Marie was bristling now. There was not even a reception desk.

“Paging nurse pissy pants.”

“Will you behave?”

But it was no use Laura and Shelly were too caught up in the joke.

“Hello,” they moved towards a door at the bottom of the stairs. The latch no longer worked, and it swung noiselessly open. They stepped into what was once a sitting room. Although it was early afternoon the light was already starting to fade, and only the embers of a fire lit the room. Chairs were arranged to form a circle and a hunched figure sat on each one.

“I’m frightened,” Shelly whispered.

Marie had to admit the scene before them was surreal. No one moved or spoke. She felt along the wall for a light switch. Even the wallpaper felt damp on her fingers, and relief surged through her, when she felt the cold switch and flicked it down. The light in the centre of the ceiling came on, but the bulb was much too low for such a large area and threw the room into shadow. Still no one moved. It was if they were unaware of the change. Marie looked around at the men and women sitting there and her heart ached, because she saw the despair etched in each face. These were the unwanted people, the ones considered no longer useful to society or their family. They had been sent to this place, this elephant’s graveyard to await their death. She saw the neglect they suffered. Dried food clung to the clothes of the feeblest and stained their faces. Hastily spooned by impatient hands into mouths unable for the load, it was allowed to spill over and lie wherever it landed. Her eyes travelled downwards, and she touched the papery dry skin on the hand nearest to her. It felt dry and cold, but her touch sparked something in its owner, and the old woman looked up and smiled. Then, noticing the two girls hiding behind Marie, she whispered, “children.”

Instantly the others came to life. Those who could heaved themselves up from their chairs and came towards them. Others held out their arms in longing for the softness of a child once more. Marie wanted to ask them where their children were, or what they had done to warrant such a sentence in this awful place. Instead, she urged the girls to speak to the old people, whispering they were lonely and needed someone to talk to. Soon Laura and Shelly overcame their reserve and were telling everyone about their school and their friends, and were no longer afraid of the fingers touching their hair or holding them close.

Marie bent down to the old woman, who was still holding on to her hand as though it was a lifeline and asked. “Do you know which of these women is Miss James?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anybody’s name, my dear.”

“Are you new here?”

“I’ve lost count of the years I’ve been here. I think it’s about ten or more.”

Marie shook her head in disbelief. Ten years and she did not know anyone’s name. This place was surely the nearest thing to Hell.

None of them heard the footsteps on the corridor outside. The door was thrown open and an angry voice asked. “Who turned on the light?”

“I did,” Marie turned to find a grim-faced nurse framed in the doorway.

“Oh, yes, I see,” she became flustered and ran her hands down her stained uniform, trying to brush the filth away. “I don’t like any of the guests to move in case they fall. I’m never far away and they only have to call.”

“I’ve been here for over…” Marie looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes and I’ve tried to attract someone’s attention a number of times.”

“Well, I was probably down in the kitchen preparing supper,” she was growing angry now. No one ever answered her back.

“Are there no other members of staff?”

“I really don’t see why it concerns you, or what business you have here.”

“I am here to see an old friend of my family’s, a Miss James, Emily James.”

“Well, you won’t find her in here.”

“That,” Marie said. “Is blatantly obvious. Where is she?”

For a moment she was afraid Miss James was dead until the nurse, deciding she was obviously trouble and it was best to let her have her way, gestured towards the ceiling.

“She’s upstairs. She has become very weak over the past few weeks, so she spends most of her time in bed. If you follow me, I will take you to her room, but I have to say I’m not one bit happy about this intrusion. I do not even know you and have only your word as to who you are. After all, you could be anyone.”

“Yes, your right. I could be anyone; even the health inspector.”

“Are you threatening me? I run this place in accordance with nursing home regulations.”

“Then believe me those so-called regulations need to be revised. But, since I have business elsewhere and have neither the time nor the inclination to bandy words with you, I would appreciate seeing Miss James.”

“Follow me,” she turned, then stopped and glared at the girls. “And another thing. I don’t like children running all over the place.”

“We’re not running,” Laura stood with hands on hips. “We’re just standing here, talking.”

“See that you stay that way. I don’t want you tripping up one of the guests.”

Laura threw her eyes to heaven and answered with the customary, “Whatever.”

Marie put her finger to her lips and Laura shrugged, resigned to having to do as she was told.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marie said. “Stay here.”

As she followed the nurse outside and closed the door as well as the faulty catch allowed, she became aware of the buzz of conversation inside. In dawned on her, as she climbed the stairs, her feet making squelching noises on the dirty, sticky carpet, there was total silence once the nurse appeared. The old people were afraid of her. Well, she would see about that later. She had made many useful contacts in her years as a legal secretary and the health board would hear about this place.

The upstairs was colder than below, and the low lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of the long, door lined corridor.

“In here,” the nurse threw open a door and stood aside to allow Marie to pass. “There’s a lamp beside the bed,” was her parting shot, as she slammed the door and the room was plunged into darkness.

For a moment, the only sound was the beating of her heart, then a small voice asked.

“Is someone there?”

“It’s all right, Miss. James,” she started to edge her way across the room. “I’m a friend. I’ve come to visit you.”

The outline of a bed appeared, and she felt her way along it.

“But I haven’t any friends,” the voice had an edge of fear.

“It’s all right. I promise. I have come from your old home. Can you turn on the light for me?”

“I can’t reach that far.”

Marie knew if she did not locate the lamp soon the old woman would start to cry. Her hand knocked against a glass and a couple of things fell from the overcrowded bedside cabinet. Like the rest of the lights in the Home the wattage in the bulb was extremely low, but it was enough for her to see the old woman who lay propped up on a nest of stained pillows. Tiny care worn hands clutched the faded bedclothes and her eyes, like all the other prisoners in this place, had the same hopeless look.

“It’s all right,” Marie whispered. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“I’ll help if I can, my dear.”

To her horror Marie realised the woman’s breath made small white clouds as she spoke. The adrenaline rush from the fright of being left in the darkness made her oblivious to the cold, but now she shivered in the damp air.

“It gets very cold here in the evenings,” the old woman noticed her discomfort.

“I expect it’s cold here most of the time?”

Marie looked around the room at the faded carpet, the peeling wallpaper, and the patches of damp on the ceiling.

“Of course, you’re right. This really is the most dreadful place.”

Realising she hadn’t introduced herself; Marie told the woman her name and was rewarded with an outstretched hand so small and delicate that she was afraid it would break at her touch. But the grasp as she folded her fingers over it, was surprisingly strong and the smile the old woman gave her as she insisted, she call her Emily, took the anguish from her face making her appear younger. Marie explained the reason she was there.

“Do you have any idea what’s happening? I thought you might know something of the house’s history. Can you remember anything?”

Emily’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and Marie was worried she’d upset her; so reaching out she patted the old woman’s hand.

“So, she is back, is she? Poor child.”

The fine hairs on Marie’s neck prickled.

“Who, who’s back?”

As though she had not heard, Emily asked. “Is it that cur, O Brien that’s living there?”

“Yes, the family name is O Brien. Liam was your solicitor.”

“Yes, I remember him well enough. He cheated me you know. But he will get his comeuppance now, by God he will.”

“Who is she? She asked again. “Why is she here; can you remember?”

Emily answered in a tired, sad voice.

“Many things blur over a lifetime and get forgotten. But there are some tales belong to you. They stand out in your mind and are so powerful they chill the blood and wake you screaming in the darkness.”

With this she started her story. Told Marie the history of the house. How it started out as a humble cottage and was added on to as the family fortunes improved. Marie listened enthralled as Emily told her of Annie’s fate and the curse, she had placed on the O Brien’s.

“We have all heard the legend of the Banshee. There’s not one true Irish man who hasn’t.”

Marie nodded and waited for her to continue.

“Well that’s what O Brien has, his own private Banshee who’s wandered throughout the centuries trying to find peace. The O Brien’s were rogues back then and they are still the same today. I take it he’s without heir?”

“There are two children, girls. They’re downstairs now,” she explained about Cora’s accident and how the children came to be in her care.

“That’s what’s causing her to rise. A son would’ve saved him.”

“My God,” Marie was horrified. “Then she’ll kill him?”

“It’s the only way she’ll ever rest, but in doing so she’ll destroy any hope of salvation. If she takes his life, then she loses her soul. But she’s wise, and I pray that during her long years she’s learned to forgive and will let him live out his allotted time.”

“Was she an ancestor?”

“I’m descended from Rose, her sister.”

“What am I to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. To warn him would be a waste of time. She is not tied to the house. She can rise in the air and be carried on the breeze. So, you see it is useless, she’ll seek him out.”

A noise at the door made them turn. Laura, who had grown tired of waiting crept up in search of Marie.

“Laura, come here.”

“Were you talking about Annie,” Laura asked.

“Have you seen her, child?” Emily sat up straight in the bed.

“Yes, I’ve seen her when she’s pretty, and I’ve seen her when she’s ugly.”

“She changes? Marie asked.

“Yes, when she gets angry, she looks like a monster. She was like that when Mam fell down the stairs. I saw her and she saw me.”

“Then nothing’s changed,” Emily sighed. “The hatred she felt is still there.”

The clattering of a trolley on the corridor outside announced the arrival of Emily’s supper. A blowsy, hard-faced woman came through the door with a tray. This she dumped on Emily’s lap and without a word to her or her visitors walked away. All three of them stared in disgust at the food on the plate. A cremated sausage, two pale, fat slices of bacon and a half-buttered slice of brown bread, to be washed down with milky tea from a chipped mug.

“Are you very ill?” Laura asked.

“I’m not ill at all, just heartbroken. I took care of the big house you are living in on my own up to a few months ago. You’ve seen the others downstairs?”

“Yes, they’re a bit creepy,” Laura pretended to shiver.

“The walking dead I call them. I pretend I am ill, so I don’t have to sit there and stare into space. I’ve no time for the old.”

“But you are old. You must be a hundred.”

“Laura, please,” Marie scolded.

“Out of the mouths of babes, eh,” Emily laughed.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “My teacher says I have the most annoying habit of saying exactly what I think. It gets me in terrible trouble.”

“I should think it does,” Emily smiled. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Laura hugged her. She liked this small, old woman with the white hair and crinkly smile.

Oh, you’re still here,” they hadn’t heard the nurse come in.

She looked down at the tray of uneaten food.

“Not hungry Miss. James?” Without waiting for an answer, she scooped up the tray and started to walk away. “Please don’t be much longer,” she said to Marie. “I don’t want you tiring Miss James.”

“What she means is she doesn’t want you poking your nose in here,” Emily whispered. “And supper will be kept for my breakfast.”

“Oh, gross,” Laura pulled a face. “I’d die if I lived here.”

“That is what will happen, I afraid. I’ll fade away and die.”

“No, I won’t allow it,” Marie walked to the wardrobe and started to rifle through it. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, dear, but…”

“Get dressed,” Marie tossed some clothes on the bed,” I’ll pack your things.”

The agility at which Emily sprang from the bed was amazing.

“You’ll come home with me,” Marie told her, as she folded and stacked the woman’s few personal belongings into a suitcase she found on top of the wardrobe. “We’ll figure something out. Come along Laura. Let us leave Miss. James to dress in peace.”

“I’ll go and get Shelly,” Laura ran ahead, and Marie followed carrying the suitcase.

“What have you got in that suitcase?” The nurse stood at the end of the stairs.

“Miss. James’s clothes. She’s coming home with me.”

“Over my dead body.”

“If need be.”

“She was placed in my care because she was unable to look after herself.”

“I’ll be looking after her from now on. Move aside,” Marie nudged her with the suitcase, but she stood firm.

“I mean it. She is not leaving here. I’ll call the police.”

“Marie, dear, “Emily was standing at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps it’s best to leave me here.”

“You’re not staying in this awful place. Do not worry. I have seen the papers that committed you. They won’t stand up in court,” turning back to the nurse she ordered. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re not taking her.”

Marie handed the suitcase to Laura. Though she had never in her life been involved in any physical confrontations, she was ready to do battle with the woman. She walked down the last two steps and stood facing her, so close their noses almost touched.

“Kick her ass,” Laura cheered.

“Not only will I do as the child asked,” Marie warned her adversary. “But when I’m finished, I’ll drag you through every court in the land.”

Shelly, who was drawn out by the argument added. “My Dad’s a solicitor. He’ll put you in jail.”

This weakened the nurse’s resolve.

“Very well,” she stepped away. “But you’ll sign for her. I’ll not be responsible once she steps foot outside.”

“Help Miss James to the car,” Marie told the girls. “I’ll be right out.”

The nurse’s office consisted of a desk and a filing cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. The stench was worse here, a dirty butcher shop smell.

“Sign this and she’s yours,” this was said as though Emily was a piece of lost luggage

Marie filled in the appropriate details and walked away. Out in the hallway an old woman leaning on a Zimmer frame came hobbling towards her.

“Are you taking her home?”

“Yes,” Marie answered. “I’m taking her home.”

“I’m glad,” the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “No one should have to die in a place like this.”

Marie leaned down, stroked her cheek, and watched her eyes light up as she said.

“I’m coming back. I promise you that much. Things are going to change.”

It was pitch black when she stepped outside. The wind whipped up and leaves whirled around her as she ran to the car. It looked as though it was going to be a bad night. She turned the key and the engine sprang to life. Switching the car heater to its highest setting, she leaned across and patted Emily’s hands. “You’ll soon be warm.”

“Thank you, my dear. I was feeling a little cold.”

“And we’re starving to death,” Laura’s voice came from behind.

“My apartment’s nearby. We’ll soon be there, and I’ll fix dinner. A proper dinner,” Marie winked at Emily.

The car headlights cut the dark as Marie guided it over the rumbling cattle grid and out through the gates of Hillcrest. The first splatters of rain hit the windscreen as she turned onto the main road and headed for home.

Cora shivered, despite the warmth of the small electric fire in Marie’s flat. She heard the clatter of cups being set out, and wanted to scream, and ask Marie to hurry up, but it would have been impolite. The woman seemed to come from another time and was quite prissy. She was forced to leave the children with an old friend. Promising to be just an hour, after garbling off some weak story about a sick relative, she looked at her watch and then towards the kitchen.

“Well, here we are.”

Marie appeared with a tray baring cups, saucers and matching milk and sugar bowl. She took her time spreading out coasters and napkins, until Cora felt she would scream. The warm stream of amber from the pot’s sprout made her stomach somersault. This pregnancy made her turn against things she had once enjoyed, tea being one of them, but she took the proffered cup and sipped.

“Do you take milk or sugar?”

“No, thank you. This is fine,” she was afraid, if she reached for either the woman would notice her trembling hand.

No one could fail to notice the dark ringed eyes or the pallor of her skin.

Are you looking after yourself?” Marie asked, and was sorry for asking, as she watched Cora’s eyes fill up.

“I’ll get the papers you wanted.”

Cora heard the opening of a drawer but did not look up. Instead, she hung her head, mortified at her loss of control. An envelope was placed in her lap and a soft hand covered hers and held tight.

“I want you to know you’re no longer alone.”

With this, Cora started to sob. Tears ran unchecked, and she tasted their saltiness on her lips.

“There, there, child,” Marie stroked her hair. “Tell me all about it, and let’s see if I can help.”

Between sobs Cora managed to tell her about the ghost, about the things happening all around her and how Liam wanted her to get rid of the baby. She told her about the workman, and his story of how Ms. James was sent away.

“My parents are old, and their health is failing,” she explained. “Anyway, they’d only say I’d made my bed and must lie in it. They never liked Liam; you see.”

“And with good reason,” Marie sighed. “I’m looking for a new job. I’ve taken all I can from that man.”

“You’re lucky. My marriage has become a life sentence for me, and I cannot bear to think of what it is doing to the girls. If I do not find a way out soon, I will go mad. He’s already accusing me of that, being mad, I mean.”

“Come now,” Marie took the envelope from her. “Let us try and track down this Ms. James. The sooner we speak to her, the sooner we know what we’re dealing with.”

“We?” Cora looked up.

“As I said, my dear, you’re no longer alone.”

Marie spread the documents along the coffee table and sorted them into order. There were several medical forms, signed by prominent doctors on the health of Miss. Emily James. All attested, that while she was physically sound, psychologically she was unable to care for herself. From the date on the forms, they saw Ms. James was just over seventy and was committed to Hillcrest Rest Home, a facility just minutes away from Marie’s flat. Cora saw, to her horror, it was Liam’s signature on the committal form.

“I hope she’s still alive,” Cora said. “It’s over,” she counted on her fingers, “Six months since she went in there.”

“I’ll make an excuse. Say I have a dental appointment and we’ll go there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you, Marie. I feel much better knowing you’ll be with me, but I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. In a way, I feel I owe it to Ms James. I kept quiet once and an innocent man suffered. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

The headlights of Cora’s car swept up the drive but did little to dispel the darkness. The trees on either side reached across forming a dark tunnel. She put her foot down on the accelerator, wanting to be out of their shadow, and feeling as though she was driving into the mouth of Hell. In this case, she was right. Liam’s car was parked at the front door. The curtains in his study were not drawn, but the light was on. The red lampshade and the terracotta coloured walls made it seem like the room was bathed in blood.

She reached into the back seat and tried to rouse the sleeping children. At any other time, she would have lifted them inside, but not in her condition. They fussed and grumbled, but she finally managed to get them to wake.

The front door groaned open, despite Cora’s efforts to make as little noise as possible. Warning the children to be quiet, she swept them across the hall and up the stairs. They were on the first flight, just beneath the stained-glass window, when they looked up to find Liam standing on the top step; a hammer in his hand.

“Where were you at this hour?”

For a moment none of them spoke. Even Shelly, who would usually run to her father, sensed something was wrong.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

“I had a tummy ache,” Laura said. “And Mam took me to the doctor.”

“You seem well enough now.”

“It was nothing,” Cora ushered the girls past him. “Just trapped wind. I was afraid it might be appendicitis.”

“Wasting money again,” he grabbed her arm. “I want a word with you, when you’re finished putting them to bed.”

“I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“See that you are. I’ll be in my study.”

Laura and Shelly got undressed and into their nightgowns in silence. Though they each wondered why their Mam did not tell them to brush their teeth, neither asked why. Cora took her time, switching on lights and closing curtains, until she could no longer delay.

“Sleep well, my angel,” she tucked the covers under Shelly chin.

“Night, Mam,” the child snuggled down and was instantly asleep.

“Now, you, madam,” she smiled down at Laura and tried to ignore her dark, troubled eyes.

“You have to be brave, Mam, like the picture,” she pointed towards the gallery. “Pretend you’re her and Dad is the monster.”

“I’ll try,” Cora promised.

She picked up the discarded clothes and draped them across her arms. The gallery was lit in the blues and reds from the window, and she moved between the shadows, praying for strength. The clothes gave her a few minutes respite, as she walked to the kitchen and dumped them into the laundry basket. The door leading to the cottage was closed with stout beam, but just for a moment as she glanced behind her, she could have sworn a young woman stood framed in the doorway; a young woman like the one in the window.

Liam sat with his back to her, his feet resting on a stool. His shoes and socks were scattered about the room. The warm, sweet smell of the cognac he drank reached her before she saw the glass.

“Have you seen sense yet?”

“You mean about the baby?”

“You know bloody well what I mean.”

“Liam, please,” she pushed the study door closed. “You’ll wake the children.”

“Fuck the children and fuck you,” he threw the glass across the room.

The heavy crystal tumbler glanced across the side of her face and she gasped as it sliced open her skin. For a moment he watched the trickle of blood running from the wound. Though she felt the warmth move down her face, she never moved to wipe it away.

“I’ll tell you one last time,” Liam spoke through gritted teeth. “Get rid of that thing or by God, I’ll do it myself.”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, I’m really frightened,” he smiled, but there was no look of merriment.

The blood on her face and neck glowed against the whiteness of her skin. Her eyes were wild in anger.

“For God’s sake, clean yourself up,” he turned away, disgusted.

Cora walked to a table and pulled wades of tissue from a box. Her face stung, when she wiped at the cut and her collar and the front of her sweater felt wet. She smelt the sweet, coppery blood.

Annie stood outside the study door her hand clasped on the handle. The scent of the woman’s blood seemed to penetrate through the wood. This one, this man, was like all those who had gone before him, a destroyer of life. She felt the anger well within her and knew if she allowed it to overwhelm her, then she would return to the shrunken, burnt corpse she really was. All around her the spirits whispered, lulling her, begging her to be still, to wait. But she wanted to kill him, to slowly tear him apart. To feel his blood upon her hands and hear his last gasp. She wanted him to suffer the way she had.

“Outside, hidden by the trees, The Dark One smiled and willed her on. He did not dare enter the house. The woman with her symbols and images of his enemy, made him unwelcome.

“He must die,” he whispered. “Finish him and you will have your family back. Go on, Annie. It will be a mercy and you will save the child.”

Annie heard his words and the rage roared. She brushed aside the entreaties of the spirits. The Dark One was right. She would save the child and be restored to her family. It was her faith and if she should be damned then, at least her family would be saved. She drew back from the door and made ready to merge through the wood, when…

“I told her to be brave like you.”

The child’s voice sounded from behind her. Annie froze, not daring to move until her features returned to normal.

“It is you, isn’t it; in the window?”

Annie turned to find a little girl, the one called Laura, standing on the stairs. Silhouetted as she was by the moonlight and with her hair flowing across her shoulders, she looked like Dora.

“Go back to bed, child,” Annie whispered.

“I knew it was you,” Laura tip toed down the last few steps and came towards her.

The sound of her mother’s anguished sobbing echoed from inside the room, and Laura’s eyes darted from Annie to the door, unsure of what to do.

“This is no place for you,” Annie put her arm around the child’s shoulders and led her back up the stairs.

“Is my Mam going to be all right?”

“She will be fine. Come along now. It is late.”

“I knew it was you, in the window, I mean,” Laura said, as Annie tucked her into bed.

“Perhaps, a long time ago,” her heart ached at the familiar scent of the child.

It was the first real thing she smelt since she had awoken. Until now everything smelt of the earth. The raw, blood-sweet scent of soil seemed to surround her.

“Did the monster kill you?”

She was taken aback by the question, and had it come from her sisters she would have lied and pretended it was not so. But this child had the sight and she knew nothing good would come from lying to her.

“Yes, I tried hard to fight him, but in the end he won.”

“So why are you here? You can’t really be dead, if I can see you?”

“I am dead to the light. I come from a twilight place where I wander by day but am awake and I suppose, in a way, alive by night.”

“It’s all very strange.”

“Yes,” Annie smiled. “Very strange.”

Laura snuggled down under the covers.

“Will you stay with me until I’m asleep? I get frightened when my Mam and Dad argue.”

“Yes, I will watch over you and keep you safe. I promise.”

Annie sat there, in the darkness and listened to the even breathing of the child. The memory of her sisters and their loss became a physical pain within her, and she clutched at her heart. With her sensitive hearing she picked out every word of the conversation from below.

“I’m telling you for the last time,” Liam warned. “Get rid of the baby.”

Cora still held the tissue to her face. He turned his chair towards her and put his feet up on a footstool, his eyes fixed cruelly on his wife. Her eyes travelled down toward the soles of his feet. There against the white of his skin, a black cross was tattooed on each foot.

“My God,” she whispered.

“I think they look quite good. Had them done on a night out with the lads,” he got up to fix another drink.

He filled his glass and stood rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Do you know what I am doing?”

“What, I don’t understand.”

“Every time I move like this, with every step I take, I’m walking on the symbol of your Christ.”

Bile rushed into her throat, and she had to swallow hard. He retraced his steps and her stomach churned at each footfall. Finally, she could bear it no longer and she vomited splattering the carpets and his toes.

“For fuck sake,” he tried to sidestep away. “That’s it. I’m out of here,” he picked up his socks and shoes.

The muscles in Cora’s stomach ached and her throat burned. She wiped away any remaining residue from her mouth and brushed the damp hair from her forehead. Liam meanwhile was standing in the shower, hosing down his feet. She heard water gurgling through the pipes and traced his footsteps, as he raged around overhead. Soon he came thundering down the stairs and strode into the room, car keys in one hand, and an overnight bag in the other.

“I’m going now, but I’ll be back in the morning. If you have not come to your senses by then, I swear, I’ll beat it out of you.”

The door slammed and outside the wheels of the car crunched on the gravel. The sound faded and the silence came flooding back to envelop her. She was sobbing, as she fetched cloths and a basin of water to clean up the mess. He would try to beat the child out of her, but he would not find her an easy victim. She thought of the kitchen and its array of shiny, steel knives. Let him try to hurt her child. She would bury one of his precious knives in his chest; reef it through his black heart. The carpet was now free of vomit, but still she scrubbed on. Unaware of the threads scraping and cutting her knuckles or her tears mingling with the dirty water.

Liam guided the car along the driveway towards the main gate. His fingers griped the wheel so tight the knuckles showed white. He meant every word he said. He would be back in the morning and one way or another; he would get rid of that thing she was carrying.

Annie pushed aside the curtains in the children’s room and watched him leave. Her throat ached from tears and the sound of the woman’s sobs became a lament for the loss of the innocent. When he returned she would be waiting. No matter what hour, she would return from her twilight world and tear him to pieces.

For the first time Cora did not think of the presence of the workmen as an intrusion. It felt safe having so many men about the place once the children were dropped of at school. They were over their fright. Shelly seemed to have forgotten it altogether. Laura was quiet, but this was not unusual, and she had leaned over from the back seat of the car and whispered. “Don’t worry, Mam. Nothing in the house will hurt you. I promise.”

“I know, darling,” Cora tried to smile, and she shook her head in wonder, as she watched her daughter’s retreating figure. Laura was at times, so much wiser than she was.

Work began on the kitchen. The huge dresser was wrenched from its place in the wall. It took six men to shift it, and she listened to their muffled shouts and curses, as the thing refused to come free. There were loud thuds and splintering of wood, as they broke the shelves apart. She liked the dresser and the blue china on its shelves, but Liam declared it too old fashioned for the ultra modern monstrosity he envisioned in its place. Still, she managed to salvage the china, and it was stored away in the attic and safe from Liam. She was busy ironing when she heard her name being called. John, the foreman, came into the room.

“Missus, you have to come and see what we found.”

Cora followed him back into the kitchen to find the rest of his men struggling to open a door hidden by the dresser.

“It must be a cellar of some kind,” John said.

The door gave way, the lock snapping with the force of the crowbar they used. Dust from centuries past, flew around the kitchen. The men waved their arms around, cursing and running to open windows. Only Cora remained unmoved, staring into the dark tunnel beyond the door. John, spluttering and fanning his face, shone a torch into the gloom.

“Aye, an old wine cellar or storeroom. There’s a stair leading down, but we’ll let the dust settle before we go down.”

Cora nodded and turned to go back to her ironing.

It was easy to tell when lunch time approached. The trucks started up again and roared away, packed to capacity with men eager for a pint. They would be gone for two hours. Liam stressed they were never to take more than an hour, but they were a law unto themselves, and she knew any protest on her part could lead to a downing of tools. Anyway, she smiled, what harm did it do? She liked these men with their simple lives and the way they came back bright eyed and laughing from the pub. Their language reduced her to tears of laughter on many occasions, and they knew she was not a snitch and unlikely to tell on them. Her husband, that bastard, as the men referred to him, was another thing altogether. A beggar on horseback, they sneered behind his back, and there was no mistaking the dark looks they gave him.

She smiled, as she sorted the clothes in the airing cupboard. The telephone rang and she ran down the stairs to answer. The number of Liam’s office showed on the answering system, and she drew her hand back in alarm. Finally, it rang off, and she heard the whirr as it recorded his message. The red light blinked, and she reached out and hit the play button, drawing her hand quickly back as though it would bite.

“I hope you’ve thought long and hard about out conversation of last night. When you are ready to do as you are told ring the office; they’ll arrange flights and accommodation for you.”

That was all he said, one chilling command to kill her child.

“Bastard,” Cora muttered, unaware someone else heard every word.

She went into the kitchen to make a hot drink, to thaw the ice that formed inside her. It was then she remembered the cellar door. John left his torch on one of the worktops. The beam was powerful, when she flicked the switch; it lit the wooden staircase to the bottom. She placed her foot on the first step and pressed down hard. It seemed solid, so she tried the next step. There was a crude banister on one side, so she held onto this. Soon she was at the bottom of the steps, and she swung the light around the room. There were candles set in holders around the walls and she ran back upstairs to fetch a lighter. On her return, she placed the torch on a table and lit each one. The room glowed to life, and she saw she was in an old cottage. The door and windows were bricked up, but there was no mistaking what it was. A large open fire took up most of one wall and it was set for lighting. The kindling turned to dust when she touched it. She walked around the room, stopping now and then to admire the carving on the handles of the chairs. A small dresser held bowls and cups, and she opened the doors on the press beneath it and gasped at the assortment of jars and bottles. Each one was carefully labelled with the name of the herbs inside, although the contents were reduced to powder or slime in their long wait.

There was another door in the wall, and she walked towards it. The handle groaned, but it opened easily enough. The odour of neglect was overpowering, and there was something else. Cora sniffed the air. Flowers, it smelt as though flowers were blooming somewhere in the room. There were more candles on a small cabinet, and she lit these. It was a bedroom. The bed made as though waiting for its owners return. Two dresses lay spread across the patchwork quilt, and she picked each one up and studied it. The first was made for a small child, the second for an older one or a young woman. Beside each one was a pair of beautifully embroidered slippers, yellow now from age, but nonetheless beautiful. What was this strange place, she wondered? It was like some enchanted cottage, suspended in time. She was not aware of the figure standing beside her, wringing its hands.

Annie had no intention of frightening the sad woman who roamed around her old home. It was the sight of Dora’s dress and the slippers. She knew Rose made them, and it rendered her heart allowing a sob to escape.

Cora spun around, her hand to her breast, eyes wide in terror. Annie drew back towards the stairs.

“Oh, God,” Cora asked. “What is it?”

“I am sorry.”

She tried to see where the voice was coming from. The candles made the room as bright as day, but there was nothing visible. Yet the words made something within her stir, and she managed to ask.

“Who are you? What are you?”

Annie stood at the end of the stair, wiping away her tears with her long hair.

“I am lost,” she cried, before drifting up the stairs and out of the house.

Cora tried not to scream, as the voice faded away. She managed to stumble up the stairs and stagger to the kitchen table. Realising she still held one of the slippers, she shuddered and threw it away. Her stomach lurched, more from terror than nausea, as icy fingers ran down her back. The door to the hall was open, but she was too afraid to walk through it. The workmen would be back soon. Once she heard their chatter the terror would abate.

The house groaned and sighed all around her. The rushing of water through the overhead pipes became a torrent. She heard the floorboards expanding and settling. Small scratching of mice behind the walls, made her sob out loud, as she imagined nameless things lurking there trying to pick their way through.

The thundering of the trucks on the gravel outside did not bring with them the respite she hoped for. The loud voices of the workmen set her fragile nerves even more on edge, and she clawed at the table for support as she waited for them to appear.

“What the fuck happened to that?”

She held her breath and listened to the grumbling from the hall.

“Missus,” The foreman came through the door, mouth agape and pointing behind him, but he stopped when he saw her.

“Are you alright, Missus?”

“I’m not well,” she managed to say.

“Let me help you.”

She felt his arm go around her waist as he lifted her to her feet, but she slumped and almost fainted, so he was forced to pick her up.

“Run on ahead and open the bedroom door,” he called to one of the workers.

Cora felt the cool air from the hall door as he swept past it. The other men stood watching as he carried her up the stairs. She thought their looks of dismay were for her condition, until she noticed the wall. The expensive paper Liam had chosen was reefed. Four lines, like nails marks, but scorched on either side, ran the length of the hallway. She fainted then, and was unaware of anything, until a glass was held to her lips and she gagged on the brandy.

She was lying on her bed and covered by the quilt. John, the foreman, was trying to get her to drink, but she pushed his hand away.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Come on now,” he pushed the glass towards her. “Something gave you a bad fright. A small drop won’t hurt the baby.”

“No, really. I’m all right.”

He put the glass on the bedside table.

“Would you like me to ring your husband?”

“No, really, I just felt faint. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

He nodded and looked around the room, in no hurry to leave. Finally, he asked.

“You saw the cottage?”

“Yes.”

“What do you make of it?”

“I don’t know. Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

“No, but I heard stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Ah, it’s mostly old drunken ramblings.”

“You mean, in the pub?”

“Yes, there’s not one who doesn’t have some kind of tale to tell about this place.”

“Tell me,” she begged, and motioned for him to sit on the bed.

“I’m not sure your husband would welcome me telling you of such things; not in your condition.”

“Please, I have to know.”

“Well,” he sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. “It’s like this. They say the old woman who lived here was guarding something. That she was, what was it they called her?” He rubbed his forehead, trying to remember. “A sentinel, that’s it, and now she’s gone there’s no one to keep it in check; whatever it is.”

“Whatever scraped the wall,” she whispered. “And whatever it was I heard it crying.”

“I can vouch for the wall,” he got up. “And I hope to God I see nothing else while I’m here.”

Cora pulled the quilt closer as she thought of the tombstone, the two dresses and the ages of the girls. She did not realise he had stopped and was watching her from the open door.

“They say she should never have been made to leave this place; that your husband sent away so he could get his hands on the house.”

“Then she’s still alive.”

“Aye, so they say, and if I were you, I’d find her.”

Marie Walters’ sighed as she picked up the phone. It rang relentlessly all morning and she felt a dull ache at the back of her neck; a sure sign one of her headaches was starting up.

“O Brien and Costello,” she spoke automatically into the receiver and was startled by the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

“Marie, its Cora O Brien. Do not say anything. If my husband is in the office just hang up and ring me later.”

Marie looked towards the open door of Liam’s office.

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for calling,” she said, replacing the receiver and making pretence of writing in the appointments book.

She tried to get back to work, but her mind kept straying to the urgency in Cora’s voice, and she wondered what she could possibly want from her. They were not on friendly terms, far from it. The only time she had met Cora was at one of Gerald’s parties. A sweet, shy woman, who seemed best left to herself. Still, living with Liam was bound to have a bad effect on anyone. She fluffed at her newly coloured, short hair and smiled. For the first time in years she had a date. The dapper gentleman from the pub sought her out. At first, she was outraged by his boldness, but she soon realised he meant no disrespect, and she had eventually agreed to walk out with him. He was, after all, a man with the same old-fashioned values as she was brought up to believe in. They would get along quite nicely.

“When you’re finished preening.”

She looked up at her employer and tried to keep her voice from shaking.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s obvious,” he glared at her with contempt. “Is your hearing going along with everything else?”

“What can I do for you?” She asked, refusing to let him upset her.

“I’m going out. You should be able to manage without me.”

“Of course.”

Once he was gone, Marie turned to Rachael.

“You said something about needing to do some shopping?”

“Yes, I could do with an hour to get some things I need.”

“Then go now, while he’s away.”

Are you sure?” Rachael asked, already reaching for her bag and coat.

“He’ll be gone for hours,” Marie assured her.

“But what if I should run into him?”

“Tell him I sent you out for some stationery.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll.”

Once Rachael left, Marie picked up the receiver and dialled.

Cora, who was waiting in the study, answered it at once.

“Oh, Marie, thank you for calling back. I’m sorry for sounding so hush hush about this, but I need your help.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help I will,” Marie assured her.

“You’re very kind and I really do…” Cora’s voice became choked with tears, and it took her a moment to steady herself. “I’m sorry; it’s been a trying day.”

“Take your time, dear,” Marie said, feeling sorry for the young woman, who was obviously in distress.

“You know we moved into an old manor house?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, I was wondering if you could tell me who lived here before us?”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Marie, are you still there?”

“Yes, dear, just give me a moment,” Marie answered. Her hand was trembling so much she found it hard to hold the receiver. She remembered the last owner all right. The little old lady Liam had committed to a home, after taking over as her solicitor and making her sign power of attorney to him.

“Marie?” the hesitant question made her take control.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I was trying to recall who had lived in your house. It was an old lady. A Miss. James I think her name was.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“She was put in a home.”

“Put in a home, was she insane or something?”

“No, dear, just old.”

“So, who put her there, a relative?”

“No, not a relative.”

“Then who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

There was silence on both ends of the phone for a moment.

“Marie listen,” Cora pleaded. “Strange things are happening here, and I’m frightened.”

“I’m sure if you ask in the village someone will know the house’s history.”

“No,” Cora almost screamed. “I need to speak to the last owner.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I can’t help you,” Marie went to replace the receiver, when the sobbing stopped her. She listened, not knowing what to say.

“I’m pregnant and he wants me to kill my baby.”

“Oh, no,” Marie gasped.

“Sometimes I feel as though I’m going mad, and now this thing with the house,” Cora’s voiced trailed off into muted sobs.

Marie thought about Gerald and his fatherless children. Liam O Brien cared nothing for them and even less for his own.

“He keeps papers in the safe in his office,” she said. “I have the key. I’ll try and make copies for you, but you’ll have to meet me.”

“Yes, anything.”

“He’s out now and I’m alone, but it’s too risky, as I’m not sure when he will be back. Give me a few hours and I’ll call you back.”

“Thank you, Marie. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Or what it means to me, Marie thought after she hung up. She had seen the many countless acts of cruelty and corruption instigated by her boss. Now it was time to turn the tables on him. There was the risk of losing her job and in the past, it would have terrified her, but not now. She thought of her date that evening and knew her life was changing for the better.

“I’m back,” Rachael breezed in, loaded down with shopping bags. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, nothing,” Marie said, and watched as the girl hid the bags beneath her desk.

She waited, as Rachael recounted her purchases and nodded and smiled, in what she hoped was the right places, as she heard none of the girl’s words. Her mind was too caught up in what she was about to do.

“Rachael,” she finally asked. “Will you do something for me?”

“Sure,” the girl shrugged, expecting to be asked to make tea.

“I have to get something from the safe in O Brien’s office and I will need to make copies.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“The thing is. I need you to act as lookout.”

“Sounds serious,” she stuffed a piece of gum in her mouth and waited for an answer.

“It is. It is something I am doing for a friend. Call it righting a wrong.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“Watch the street. If you see him coming call me.”

Rachael swung round in her chair and propelled herself towards the window. The sound of the chair’s castors on the bare floor sounded like a scream in the quiet of the office, and Marie felt the familiar throb in the back of her neck. Rachael eased the window open and leaned out to get a better look.

“Go on,” she waved at Marie.

The interior of his office seemed darker than usual, and the smell of his cologne hung in the air. Marie eased open the top drawer of his desk and located the bundle of keys inside. She flipped through each one on the ring until she found the one, she needed. The safe was behind an old panel in the wall and she pulled this open. Her hands shook, as she turned the key and the thunk of the lock opening made her jump. There were bundles of letters and documents inside, and she laid these on his desk and started to rifle through them. She was sweating and she wiped her hands on her skirt, afraid she would leave tell-tale finger marks.

“He’s driving up the street,” Rachael called, just as the envelope Marie needed came into view.

She gathered the rest of the papers together and replaced them carefully in the safe and was sitting at her desk writing, when he came into the office. He ignored them and slammed his door shut behind him.

“That was close,” Rachael whispered.

Marie nodded, too winded to speak. It was not until Rachael and Liam left for the day that she picked up the phone and dialled.

“I have the papers you need. Do you know where I live?”

“No,” Cora said.

“Very well,” Marie listed off her address. “I can’t meet you until tomorrow night. I have an engagement tonight.”

That is a pity, but I’ll have to wait.”

“I’m afraid so, my dear.”

Cora stayed looking at the receiver long after Marie had hung up. She could hear the children squabbling upstairs and they would soon be demanding their dinner. Liam would not be home; she was sure of this. If she had money they could go to a hotel, but Liam kept her short and paid for most things. She could not risk asking anyone for help, as he would use this to his advantage in proving her mentally unsound. So, she would be forced to spend another night alone with the children, and praying for her sanity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Annie, Annie.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dora, wait.”

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

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

“It was a trick.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He never listens. Does he, Annie?”

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

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

She looked up at him.

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

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

“How long have I slept?”

Centuries.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something else.”

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

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

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

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

Great, Cora thought, thanks a lot.

Laura pushed the covers aside and got up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Laura, please.”

But Laura was leaning out on the windowsill.

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

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

“It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”

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

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

“She reminds me…” her voice trailed off.

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

“You can do all that?”

“You know it’s within my power.”

“But he is not Hugh.”

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

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

For the first time, she heeded the voices.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that what you make your whores do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”

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

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

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

“He can’t kill you for that.”

“No, I told you I was being silly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What will I do?” she asked.

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

“So young,” Cora whispered

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

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

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

“I had to do a pregnancy test.”

“Why?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How the fuck can you be pregnant?”

She did not bother to answer.

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

“About five months, I think.”

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

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

“Get rid of it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get rid of it.”

“This is a child, your child.”

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

“It might be a boy,” she pleaded.

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

“No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”

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

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

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

“Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.

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

“Yes.”

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

Cora started to cry once the door closed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, dear, there never is.”

“Would you like me to ring them?”

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

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

“Thank you, dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What time is my first appointment?”

“Ten-o-clock.”

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

“Fine.”

“Oh, Marie.”

“Yes, Sir.”

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

“No, not really.”

“Just old age, eh?” He winked

She managed a tight smile.

“Yes, that’s probably it.”

Her hand shook as she turned the doorknob.

“You know something, Marie?”

She turned back.

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

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

“You, o.k.?” Rachael asked.

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

“Did he have a go at you again?”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

“I’ll make you some tea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

“What happened to him?”

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

“Tell me,” Rachael pleaded.

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

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

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

Rachael nodded.

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

“Oh, my God,” Rachael gasped.

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

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

Marie looked at her, not bothering to answer.

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

“Yes, me dear, I’m afraid so.”

“The rotten bastard.”

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

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

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

“Tell them what?”

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

Present day

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

“Are we there yet, Dad?”

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

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

“She’s just excited,” his wife said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cool,” Shelly ran towards the front door.

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

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

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

And scary,” Laura added.

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

Shelly was hopping about at the front door.

“Hurry Dad. I want to see my room.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to come in?” Liam asked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The way dad hurts you?”

“Hush now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you managed to come in?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Christ, it serves me right for asking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not.”

They climbed the stairs hand in hand.

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

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

“Then who?”

Laura shrugged.

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

“Bad people.”

“But how do you know this?”

“The house whispered it to me.”

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

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

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

“She told me.”

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

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

“But Dad, Laura. What about Dad?”

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

“Cora, come down here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora was slipping her seatbelt into place when he struck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.

“I worked all day putting the fire out.”

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

“He disappeared before she died.”

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

“They fled in terror.”

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

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

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

“She will need a Christian burial.”

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

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

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

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

“I will make you some tea.”

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

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

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

“You are not to blame.”

Her words startled him.

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

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

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

“I do not understand. What happened?”

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

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

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

Pat wiped the tears from his face.

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

“Dora?”

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

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

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

“There was a child, a little girl…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where will you go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie shook her head.

“Take her up.”

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

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

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

Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never,” Annie managed to croak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Jesus, Miss.”

Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.

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

. The fire burned fiercely.

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

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

“Look, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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Gemma Mawdsley's Blog.

Death Cry chapter twenty-six

Death Cry chapter twenty-five

Death Cry-chapter twenty-four

Death Cry- chapter twenty-three

Death Cry-chapter twenty-two

Death Cry- chapter twenty-one

Death Cry-chapter twenty

Death Cry-chapter nineteen

Death Cry- chapter eighteen

Death Cry-chapter seventeen

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