The Wraith-chapter thirty-five

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 9, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         Jill’s isolation meant she was spared the outcry surrounding Rachael’s funeral. She later learned thousands turned out, as a wave of mourning at the loss of such innocence swept the country. A mysterious fire started in the house of Dominic Jackson and most of the contents were destroyed before the fire brigade got it under control. The fire starter would not be prosecuted, as no one saw anything or anybody in the vicinity. Or if they had, they weren’t about to turn in the person, who had done the village a favour. Though the fire cleansed only the building, it made those living on either side feel better such evil should be razed to the ground. The news the local Co Council planned to clear the site was met with relief; its ruins not a stain and constant reminder of the evil among them.

Jill spent another sleepless night, her last one on earth as she saw it. Both her parents attended Rachael’s funeral and her mother recounted word for word things she witnessed.

   “Her father was in bits,” she told Jill. “I don’t know how he managed to stand, poor man.”

   “Christ, woman,” Jill heard her father mutter, as he led his wife from the room. “Doesn’t she have enough to worry her?”

   “I was only saying,” the argument continued down the hallway until the slamming sitting room door muffled it.

She couldn’t think about Tom and his suffering. Now, she needed all her strength to make it through the next few hours. She planned to spend as much time as possible with Toby, but it was difficult to make him stay by her side. His abduction earned him a fame of sorts, and there was a constant stream of callers from school asking him to play. He held court in one of the outbuildings. Jill eavesdropped once, to ensure he was sticking to the story rehearsed. To her relief he was, and while the tale of the men in the masks was embellished at each telling, they now wore the masks of the devil, pointed horns and all. He did as he was told.

   Today was no different, and she couldn’t deny him his few hours of fame by ordering him to stay indoors. Sighing, she closed the door on the group of children and turned to where her father waited.

   “I’ve been thinking,” he nodded towards the kitchen and she walked in. “Your mother is watching one of her shows,” He closed the door quietly and tiptoed across the stone flags.

   “What’s wrong?” Jill whispered as she lifted the chair from beneath the table and placed it gently down to avoid scraping the wood on the stone.

Her father did the same and took his place opposite her.

   “I’ve been thinking,” his voice so low she had to clear away the condiments that sat between them and lean closer to hear.

   “I have a few pounds squirreled away, it’s not a fortune, I grant you, but enough to help you make a fresh start.”

   “I don’t understand, Dad,” She was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

   Listen, girl,” he grabbed her hands so tight it hurt. “After the funeral today, after I witnessed the suffering of that poor man, I managed to give your mother the slip for a few minutes. I went into one of those internet cafes. There’s a plane leaving Shannon tonight at six for Amsterdam. I got tickets for you and Toby.”

   “But, Dad,” she tried to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

   “I know Amsterdam is not a great starting point, but they were the only seats available. You could spend a week there and see how you like it. If you don’t, you can always move on. Now, stop interrupting me,” he saw how her mouth opened and closed trying to find the right words. “Anyway, it will be a fresh start and that thing, that spirit will get confused looking for you. Sure, she won’t think to look there.”

   “Oh, Dad,” Jill felt her heart swell with love at the innocence of his actions and she started to cry.

Her father had never found it easy to display his feelings and there were times, especially during her teenage years when she accused him of not loving her, but his actions now left her no doubt.

   “Stop now, girl,” he looked fearfully at the kitchen door. “If your mother hears, she’ll be in asking questions.”

Jill managed to drag her hands free and searched in the sleeve of her jumper for a tissue.

   “Use this,” her father pulled another sail-sized handkerchief from his trousers pocket.

Jill wiped her eyes, breathing in the familiar smell of mints and tobacco trapped within the linen.

   “There is no escaping the Wraith,” she folded the handkerchief and handed it back to him. “We’re tied together by my actions. I doesn’t matter where I go, she will find me. I could hide in a cave in Alaska and she would know where to look.”

Her father was no longer looking at her. He took to kneading the handkerchief between his fingers, and Jill realised, he knew this. He was trying to protect the one person he loved most in the world.

   “You know something, Dad?” she laid her hand on his. “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t,” she assured him as she saw his look of disbelief. “If Toby is safe, I can face anything.”

Instead of spending the remaining time as she envisioned with her son, she stayed with her father, recalling better times and laughing over shared memories; interrupted only by Toby’s demands for snacks and drinks for his entourage. Her mother, too engrossed in her afternoon talk shows, left them alone, and they were free to sip tea and bask in the love of a father and his only child. Jill knew, as she watched her father’s face crease up in smiles, as he recounted yet another family tale that she was officiating at her own wake.

Outside the light began to dim as night closed in. Headlights from cars lit the yard outside, as parents came to collect their children.

   “Will you deal with this?” Jill asked her father, when the first car appeared.

   “No problem, girl,” he eased his way out of the chair. “I’ll tell them you’re having a lie down.”

The commotion in the yard wasn’t missed by her mother, who no sooner had she seen the lights, made it her business to go see who it was. She didn’t try to refute her husband’s story about Jill resting, but relished the attention of the women, who consoled her suffering, then marvelled at the return of her grandson. Jill watched from behind the net curtains, aware these women only wanted to gossip. Denied the facts by Jill’s refusal to talk to the newspapers, they send their child to play there, in the hope the boy or one of his relations would fill in the blanks.

   I don’t envy you,” Jill thought, as she watched each boy climb in the back of the waiting car. No doubt they’d be grilled on the way home.

   Taking some chicken portions from the fridge, she turned on the oven in the old gas cooker. Tonight, she’d make one of Toby’s favourite dishes, barbecued chicken and chips. She wanted him to remember this meal, this night for the rest of his life. Not in a bad way, but in a way, that would make him feel warm every time he recalled it. No matter what her mother said, she would smile and ignore it.

   “God, it’s freezing out there,” her mother came in, rubbing the frost from her arms. “I’ll do that if you want?” She eyed the array of jars Jill set out on the table to make the sauce.

   “No, its fine, Mam,” Jill smiled. “You go sit by the fire. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

   “Okay, the news is on in a minute anyway,” she left the room, glad not to get her hands dirty.

Jill marinated the chicken and placed it on a tray. Oven chips would do as a complement, no need to waste the gas.

   “I fed the dogs,” Toby stormed into the room, just as Jill shut the oven door.

   “Good boy now wash your hands,” Jill ordered.

She studied him as he ran the soap between his fingers. He was growing fast, his new trousers barely reached his ankles, and he only had them a couple of months. Despite the kitchen’s lone bulb, there was no hiding the highlights in his hair. It changed colour of late, become darker, like his father’s, but the flecks of coppery-red among the shiny tresses came from her. His eyes though, remained the same and he turned them to full effect on her now.

   “Are you okay, Mam?”

   “Of course,” she handed him a towel. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

   “I don’t know,” she waited as he dried between each finger. “Just something the lads said.”

   “What something?” She could feel her throat grow tight.

   “They were asking me if Mr Jackson was one of the bad men. I did what you told me, I said I didn’t know that they all had masks on.”

   “Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?” She waited to see what would come next.

   “Yeah, I know, but…”

   “But?”

   “Well, Tommy said, that his mother said, that if Mr Jackson was one of the bad men who took me, then you must have known something about it, because you were always talking to him.”

   “What!” Jill could feel the colour draining from her face.

   “I know, he’s a fool,” Toby threw aside the towel and sat down at the table. “Me and the lads are out with him. He is a pig, but I wish I could have told him, you know. About Rachael’s Mam and stuff, but I can’t.”

   “No, Toby, you can’t, and you know why, don’t you?” Jill knelt beside her son, repeating again the reasons why. “We would all be in terrible trouble if anyone found out how we found you. What we did was against the law and a lot of good people would go to jail for helping me. You understand, don’t you?”

   “Yeah, I know, and I’ll never tell because I crossed my heart and everything,” he reached out and brushed a stray hair from her face. “But I know Mr Jackson is dead, the lads told me, and the other bad men too.”

   “Yes, they are, but that had nothing to do with you,” his touch made Jill’s throat grow tight with unshed tears.

   “Yeah, I know. Rachael’s Mam killed them.

   “How do you know that?

   “Rachael told me.”

   “When?” Jill tried to keep her voice steady.

   “When we were in that place, you know?” He was bored from her questions.

   “Oh, right,” Jill stood and made a great show of checking on the chicken. “What did Rachael, say?”

   “She said her Mam would freak out when she found them. That she would be so mad at the bad men she might tear them limb from limb, but she was always saying stupid things like that,” he looked up to heaven and sighed,” Girls.”

   Jill’s hands shook as she helped him set the table for dinner. The gossips in the village felt she knew about her son’s disappearance. That was it, the final straw; and she was glad he would no longer live in this place. Despite her fear she’d somehow manage to get through this night with as much normality as possible. Later, when the house was quiet, she’d write Toby a letter explaining the truth about what happened. She could post it to her solicitor on her way through the village later with instructions he’d receive it on his twenty-fifth birthday. By then, he would be mature enough to understand her actions. She would also fashion a makeshift will and get her father to witness it. The house would be sold, the proceeds put in trust for her son, with instructions that her parents would be his main guardians, but giving Joe visitation rights, should he decide to ask for such. Now all she had to do was get through dinner and put her son to bed as though everything was all right.

She’d visit the graveyard as late as possible. Although it was a weeknight, the pubs would be busy as those who attended the funeral would have tales to tell. No one could blame them if they drank a little too much that night. Many of the pubs’ patrons entrusted their children to the care of Dominic Jackson, and the horror of what he did and what he might have continued to do, would reverberate for many years to come.

The Wraith

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 9, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, memories, monsters, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Well, my friends, just three more chapters and an epilogue to go. I hope you have enjoyed my little offering and that it did something to take your mind away from the true horror of the virus. Since the beginning of time, when cavemen gathered around blazing fires and told tales of strange spiritual beings that haunted the land, the horror stories have tried to take the mind away from the very real dangers lurking outside our little sanctuaries. In Ireland we are still in lock-down, as we strive to protect our loved ones from the danger that threatens us. I hope wherever you are, that you and those you love are safe and well. Happy reading.

The Wraith-chapter thirty four

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 8, 2020
Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, insomnia, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

         There was no mistaking her mother’s nod of disapproval, as she drew their attention to the visitor in the hallway. Jill knew her mother had always been a bit of a snob and regarded the police as somewhat beneath her. Desperate to get Paul out of the house and away from her cutting gaze, Jill suggested they take a walk. Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and the sudden glare of the wintry sun blinded her. Shrugging on her coat, she gestured to Paul to follow her. Neither of them spoke, as they made their way around the side of the house to the orchard. The freezing morning air stung her face and she brushed back her hair, aware how dishevelled she must look. The beauty of the scene was lost on her as overnight the trees were painted white by the frost. Silver hung between the bare branches and reflected the light from the watery sun. The small bench where she always sat was given the same treatment as the overhanging boughs, but she sat anyway, uncaring of the wetness and cold of the wood.

   “You look done in,” Paul said.

She tried to look up at him, but the light from the sun dazzled her, and she shaded her eyes.

   “Sit down, I can’t see you,” she moved to one side of the bench and made room for him.

   “You don’t look too well yourself,” she said, once she could see him properly.

Like her, Paul hadn’t slept very well over the past four days.

   “I’ve been tying up some loose ends,” he said. “There was a lot to sort out.”

It was obvious from his blood-shot eyes and the dark stubble on his chin he hadn’t been home.

   “Has there been any sign of her?” He asked.

There was no need for Jill to ask who he meant.

   “No, nothing, but it’s only a matter of time.”

   “Christ,” he ran his hand over his chin. “This just gets worse and worse.”

   “Why,” Jill asked. “What’s happening?”

She listened, hardly daring to breathe as he recounted the events of the last few days. His superiors were suspicious at first, when the anonymous tip led him to the cottage, but the horror of what was found there soon had their minds on other things.

   “I had to get there first,” he explained. “I was afraid some of Toby’s belongings would still be in the cottage, but I needn’t have worried.”

   “Was it bad?” Jill felt her throat grow tight with fear.

   “The building itself was no more than a shell. What remained of the contents still smouldered, but that was just on ground level. I couldn’t leave anything to chance,” he looked at her and his eyes were troubled. “I had to see what state the cellar was in.”

   “And?” Jill closed her eyes, not wanting to hear and yet needing to.

   “The fire reached the lower level; either that or the old oil lamp was knocked over in the struggle. At least, that’s what I told my superiors and they seemed to accept it, but the smell!”

The stench of the men’s roasted flesh seemed to cling to his skin, and he retched as he thought about it.

   “I’m all right,” he brushed aside Jill’s hand on his arm and stood up.

Leaning against the trunk of one of the trees, he gulped in mouthfuls of the frosty air, hoping its freshness would help steady his churning stomach.

   “That’s what I’ve been doing,” he turned back to face her, now he felt steadier. “Going over the ground with the scene of crime people trying to cover our tracks.”

   “What do you mean,” Jill asked. “I thought the fire had done that?”

   “I mean the diary,” Paul said. “The one he wrote about. I couldn’t just leave it to be found, could I? There was too much information in it that might start the investigators asking questions, and it wouldn’t have been long until it led them to you.”

   “What did you do with it?”

   “Nothing yet. It’s in the boot of the car. I read it,” he shook his head in wonder at the horror within its pages. “He was one sick fuck.”

There was no disagreeing with that.

   “There’s something else,” he frowned. “I don’t want you to worry, but I have to tell you.”

   “What is it?” Jill felt the familiar knot of fear form in her stomach.

   “According to the diary, he posted letters. To his sick companions warning them the game was up and to the police, perhaps, taunting them. I won’t know until the letter arrives. It seems he intended to die and wanted the last laugh. The reason I’m telling you all this is it may come back to haunt us, and I want you to be ready.”

   “I may not be around if it does,” Jill said. “You might have to face the music alone.”

   “We’ll fight that battle when we come to it, for now we can only wait. How is Toby by the way?”

   “Remarkably well, considering. Have you heard from Tom?”

   “I saw him this morning. He’s holding up, but I don’t envy him the days ahead.” Paul sat back down beside her.

   “The funeral’s tomorrow, little Rachael’s I mean. They’ve released her body for burial. I say body, but there was nothing there other than a pile of bones.”

He’d spare her the description of watching as the contents of the three small mounds were uncovered. Of the tiny white bones dusted free of the dirt of the grave, until they lay exposed to the elements, resembling nothing human, nothing real. She was spared the sound of Tom’s anguished sobs as he watched from behind the yellow tape that cordoned off the crime scene, and she didn’t witness the pitiful sight of the three grey mortuary coffins being loaded into the van. No, she didn’t need to hear this, as there was still so much suffering to come, and nothing under heaven could prevent what was about to happen to her.

   “I haven’t tried to contact Tom,” she said. “I was afraid seeing him would remind it was real and not part of some terrible nightmare. That makes me a coward, I know,” she shrugged. “But I have to face up to it sometime. I told my father.”

He looked at her in dismay.

   “I know,” she tried to smile. “I can hardly believe it myself, but as always, he was a rock of sense and I know what has to be done.”

   “With the thing, the…”

   “The Wraith,” she finished the sentence for him. “Yes, I’ll set her free; it’s only fair I send her back where she belongs.”

   “But you’ll be playing into her hands,” he stood and paced the along the path between the trees.

The frost-coated grass crunched beneath his feet.

   “She could come here at any time.” She called to him. “You’ve seen what she’s capable of. This delay is nothing more than a game to her. She’s tormenting me, making me pay for what I’ve done by delaying the inevitable.”

   “When will you go?” He knew there was no point in trying to talk her out of it.

   “Tonight.”

   “The grave may already be open,” he warned. “They sometimes dig them the night before the funeral in preparation, especially when the weather is dry. There’s no sign of rain,” he looked up at the sky. “And there’s not going to be any, not with this cold.”

Jill saw the image of the open grave in her mind, and she could envision the rawness of the dark hole.

   “Perhaps, I should leave it until tomorrow night?

   “That might be better, Christ,” the sound of his laugh echoed in the still air. “I can’t believe we’re talking like this. I had no idea how happy I was in my ignorance of such things, but I suppose there’s no going back.”

   “No,” she agreed. “There’s no going back, and no escape from what has to be.”

   “Will you come to the funeral?”

His question startled her.

   “I couldn’t bear it.”

   “No one would blame you. I’m not looking forward to it myself, but I’m going for Tom. He’ll need a shoulder to cry on in the coming days.”

   “So, will Toby and my parents,” Jill said. “I hope you’ll be there for them when the time comes?”

   “Count on it,” he put his arm around her shoulder and led her back along the side of the house to the yard. “And I’ll be there for you too, tomorrow night.”

   “No,” Jill cried. “Promise me you won’t do that, please?”

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him.

   “I need to know you’re safe, that Toby has someone other than my parents to trust, promise me?”

   “If that’s what you want,” he said, with a lump in his throat.

   “It is,” she wiped away a tear from her cheek. “I’ll rest easier knowing you’re there for him.”

   “I promise,” he kissed her forehead and the skin against his lips felt cold as marble.

   “Thank you.”

They walked in easy silence back towards his car, unaware of the prying eyes that watched from inside the house.

Paul reached into the open car boot and moved aside a stack of files and paper, searching for the thing he’d hidden there.

   “I thought you might want to hide it up there,” he nodded up at the roof of the house.

Jill took the diary and slipped it inside her coat.

   “I’ll put it at the bottom of one of the trunks,” she said. “Hopefully no one will find it, at least not until long after you and I are gone.”

   “I’ll say goodbye then,” Paul held out his hand, but she ignored it and wrapped her arms around him.

   “Goodbye, my friend,” her voice was muffled by his coat.

Once inside the car, he refused to look back. He didn’t notice how she stood aside to allow him to back out, and he flipped the rear-view mirror up so he wouldn’t see her reflection. He managed to steer the car out though the yard gates, despite the tears that flowed blurring his vision. He kept the most frightening thing of all from her, and he wondered now at the wisdom of his actions. Despite the condition of the men’s bodies after the fire, it hadn’t been the cause of their deaths. Even he, who witnessed most things in his job, had never seen such carnage. It looked as though the men were attacked by a wild animal. Clumps of hair and brain matter coated the walls of the cellar as the bodies were torn asunder. He could have told her this, but it wouldn’t stop her doing what she had to do. A force he would never understand drove her on. Only a woman would ever know the true meaning of the words, mother love.

The Wraith-chapter thirty-three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Ah, there you are, girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Well, what is it then?”

He waited as the silence settled all around them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Have I ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Anything, girl.”

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

He was puzzled by this.

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

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

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

They sat for a few moments surrounded by the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter thirty-two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What the fuck was that?” Christy asked.

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

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

   “Should I look?” Christy asked.

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

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

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

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

   “Is she here?” Tom asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ran out and round the back of the cottage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Are you Rachael’s Mammy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Hi Dad,” Rachael waved at her father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I’m so sorry,” Jill said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Did the children?” Tom asked.

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

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

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

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

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

They knew who he meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter thirty-one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You can feel the sadness.”

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

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

The Wraith was seated in the front pew.

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

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

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

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

The Wraith stopped and turned back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I know, mine’s the same.”

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

   “What’s wrong?” She asked.

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

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

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

   “Surprise,” the Wraith laughed.

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

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

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

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

   “Made you laugh, though,” he smiled.

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

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

   “The bad men,” Paul whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In that instant, he understood what was happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter thirty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Okay,” she switched off the TV set.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Betray us, what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jill looked at him in amazement.

   “Will you just drive? she screamed at him.

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

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

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

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

   “Ok, ok, take it easy.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Paul said you were to leave them off.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Ring Paul,” Tom said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter twenty-nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Did you find anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What now?” Jill looked across at Paul.

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

   “He’ll run and join his own kind.”

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

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

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

   “Then we follow him?” Jill asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith- chapter twenty-eight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Who’s there?” I called.

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

   There was nothing there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Will he be all right?” Raymond whispered.

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

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

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

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

   “What if he dies?” Paul asked.

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

   “But if he does,” Paul persisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter twenty-seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Any news from your parents?” He asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead she sipped at the tea and watched him eat.

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

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

Paul lowered his half-eaten sandwich and stood up.

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

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

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

   “How are you?” he asked Jill.

   “Okay. How are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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