revenge
All posts tagged revenge
The village lies quiet.
But silence doesn’t always mean peace.
Sometimes it means something is watching…
The past does not sleep,
it simply waits for the right moment to return
The darkness is stirring.
The Dark One stood amid storm tossed trees and watched as Annie sobbed over her own grave.
“I am so frightened, Dora,” she whispered. “Meg’s gone and I’m all alone. There is no one to guide me and I am weary. I want to lie down with you and sleep for the rest of eternity.”
The Dark One felt the spirits being moved by her plight. They came from out of the earth, from the sky and their voices echoed in the wind. His enemy was frightened, and he had a right to be so. As soon as he harnessed that girl’s power, he, once called Prince of Angels, would be as strong as the one calling himself God. Then the continuation of the world would be in his hands and he would wreak havoc on all who opposed him. Even now he felt those that lurked in the dark shadows drawing nearer, sensing his strength.
“Let me help you.”
Annie looked up, then shied back from his touch.
“You help me? All you have ever done is hurt anyone who has crossed your path. Why would you help me now, Lucifer?”
“I told you before. Do not speak that name.”
The skin rippled on his face threatening to expose his true features, and the fire in his eyes glowed, as he tried to control his rage.
“Don’t anger me, woman,” he warned. “You, who are without ally, cannot afford to turn down my offer.”
“An offer of eternal damnation?”
“That is not so. I will give you your life back, as promised. You will live out your allotted time and all you love will be restored.”
Annie looked down at the still, silent grave and the dark earth covering her sister.
“She was so young,” The Dark One picked up some of the soil and crumbled it between his fingers. “What a full life she could have lived, but for your selfishness; I would have destroyed the O Brien’s back then and all of this suffering could have been avoided. Yet even now you allow it to continue and another child has died because of him.”
“Then it is as I suspected, the child is dead?”
“A boy child,” The Dark One laughed.
Annie looked at him, disgusted.
“Well, you have to admit it’s amusing.”
“I find no merriment in the taking of life. Get out of my sight, Lucifer.”
This time the use of his given name had no effect on him.
“But it is your fault, if you would, but once admit it. You allow him to live and he will sire others. That woman, the one he calls wife, is not the only one he lies with.”
She could still hear his laughter as he faded back into the shadows. It was her fault, what he said was the truth. If she had given him her power all the suffering could have been avoided.
The house lay shrouded in night, as she moved towards it. All around her the good spirits beseeched her not to go there, but she was beyond reason. She moved silent as death up the steps towards the main door and stood in the shadows, waiting.
Liam groaned, as he drove up the driveway. The trees arched across his path; bending and swaying until he was sure they would scratch the paintwork of his car. He would have to see about cutting them down. A branch scraped across the roof as though reading his thoughts.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and put his foot down hard on the accelerator.
A shower of gravel, thrown up by the car wheels, heralded his arrival at the front door. Ducking his head against the storm, he ran up the steps. The key creaked, as he turned it, and before he closed the door, Annie glided by him. Inside the house was inky black, and he felt his way along the wall for a light switch. The light from the grand chandelier was harsh and lit up the streaks of blood at the bottom of the stairs. He ignored them and went towards his study. The house felt damp, a fault with the boiler, he thought, but he was too tired to correct it. The wait in the hospital seemed eternal. Four hours playing the devoted husband drained him. Hours when he could have been attending to better things. He smirked, thinking of what his dear wife referred to as his latest pillow friend. God, but women bored him. The wiles and whispered promises made his teeth itch. Whores, every one of them, but he made them pay and laughed when their words of love turned to screams of pain. Being the dumb creatures, they were, they came back for more; like whipped dogs cowering before their master.
Logs were piled beside the fire, so he threw some into the grate and set them alight. Taking his hankie from his pocket, he rubbed at his nose. The room smelled musty and a damp odour seemed to surround him.
Annie heard his every thought as though spoken and noticed how his hand shook as he filled a glass from a decanter.
I stayed as long as was necessary, he told himself. After all, the doctor said she would sleep for hours after the anaesthetic. No point in hanging around. The child was dead, best thing for everyone really. When she returned from the hospital, they could all go away for a few days as a family. Women liked that sort of things and she would soon forget the baby. Yes, a holiday would do him good, somewhere hot put a bit of colour into his skin. He held out his hands to inspect their paleness.
Outside despite the storm, the trees stretched skywards reaching out for the heavens. Fighting the force of the wind, they held their branches aloft and begged God to be merciful on one they loved. Even those who lived by the sea and knew well its ways; wondered why tonight of all nights, its voice was so loud. It roared and tossed, giant waves thundered towards the shore and shattered against rocks. The night creatures of forest and hedgerows covered their eyes and wept. “Will you abandon us?” The elements cried. “Will you let the one who was cast down have power over us, as you did to her who was part of us all?”
The heavens lay silent. Even the light from the few stars glowing through the blackness seemed to dim. They must stand alone and be Annie’s only hope. The trees called to the earth and all who inhabited it. From out of the forest came the first creatures. Fox and deer wild cats, rats and even owls worked side by side as they dug into Dora’s grave. Earth flew left and right as sharp claw and nail pierced the soil.
“Come child, come,” The spirits urged. “Your sister is in need of you.”
A small white hand forced its way through the earth and then another until soon, Dora was heaving herself up from the dank hole and running towards the house.
Annie could feel the changes occurring. The smell of her own body sickened her. It was of mould and decay. She knew her features must be frightening and when she touched her hair she cried, a shuddering, sobbing, pain-filled cry. Small tufts as dry as straw laced her fingers. This was his fault; she looked at Liam who had dropped his brandy at the sound. Up till now, she had not allowed him to see her, but that was about to change…
“Annie, Annie,” Dora ran up the steps of the house and tapped at the door. “Annie, let me in.”
Liam looked around, trying to see where the noise was coming from. Annie’s heart ached at the sound of the long-lost voice, but she did not move. The spirits were clever; they would try to distract her. The knocking continued, and Liam who was still shaking from the cry, got up to see what it was. Dora ran past him when he opened the door. The only thing he felt was the force of the wind. There was nothing there. Not for the first time did he question his choice of house. These old places were filled with creaks and groans. Shivering, he went back to the fire.
Annie held Dora and brushed away the dried earth from her face and picked little clumps from her hair, every trace of anger gone now she had her sister back.
“You have to come with me, Annie. Mamma says so.” The child looked up at her. “It is dark, and I am cold.”
“I will come with you, I promise, but not now. You must go back and wait for me.”
“I do not want to. I want to stay with you.”
Before Annie could answer, Liam banged his refilled glass down on the side table. Dora screamed.
“It is him, Annie, Hugh.”
“No,” Annie held her closer. “It is not Hugh; it is someone belonging to him.”
“He hurt me.”
“I know, my sweet, but he cannot hurt you anymore. He cannot even see you”
“He cannot, really, why?”
Annie shrugged, unsure of what to say, but this seemed great fun to Dora, and she crept closer to Liam. Had he been able to see the long dead child, he would have lost his mind. But then so would Annie. All she saw was a rosy-cheeked, blond-haired little girl with her face pressed against Liam’s. In truth, the nose almost touching his was stripped bare of flesh. The blue eyes sparkling with mischief were dark endless hollows, and the flowing hair, tattered tendrils framing the grinning skull.
“You hurt me,” Dora whispered and reached out towards his drink.
An invisible hand swept it from the table. Liam gaped at the fallen glass and spilled liquid.
Dora delighted with her prank, ran from the room and up the stairs. Sure, Annie would scold her; she hid in the shadows on the gallery.
Liam dropped to his knees and mopped at the stain on his Persian rug. The wind shook the shutters on the window and pried them loose. The sound of the wood hitting against the frame made him scream. From within the storm The Dark One watched the tableau and rubbed his hands with glee. Lightening struck the power lines plunging the house into darkness.
Liam, glad of the firelight, took the two ornate holders from the mantelpiece and lit the candles.
Annie crept up the stairs in search of her sister. When Dora heard her coming, she ran further into the house.
“Dora, come back here.”
“You have to find me,” the child giggled and climbed upwards.
Liam looked towards the ceiling and called out to his daughters to be quiet. It was then he remembered they were not there. He was apprehensive, not about ghosts or spirits, because he believed in nothing. Still, there was someone in the house. There was no mistaking the patter of footsteps on the floor above. He wished there were more lights. Despite piling logs on the flames, the fire seemed to lose its glow, and dark shadows crept from the corners of the room. It was no use; he would have to investigate. Taking one of the candlesticks, he moved towards the door.
The hall lay shrouded in moonbeams and darting shapes moved all around him. Leaves, he comforted himself, shadows of leaves being tossed about in the storm outside and reflecting on the floor. But these were nothing so innocent. From out of the darkness the lost souls urged him up, wanting to please their master and bring about Liam’s end. They knew she was up there. The one who could set them free as the master promised. But they were hindered in their work by the others; the ones who worked beside her. Time after time strong hands reached out and pulled them back into the shadows.
Liam moved up winching at each creaking board on the stairs. Somewhere above him a door banged, and he almost dropped the candle. His heart thudded against his ribs and he held the light higher. Was there something crouched at the gallery rail? Cold fear wandered down his spine, sweat coated his upper lip and he stood uncertain of what to do. For a moment all was quiet within the house, except for the sound of the rain on the roof, persistent and melancholic.
“Fuck this,” his voice shattered the silence. “You’re dead, do you hear me. Whoever you are, you’re dead when I get my hands on you.”
“Annie,” Dora came running from her hiding place. “He is going to kill us.”
“No, he is not,” she watched the flame as it moved closer. “Not this time, come.”
She led Dora into the children’s room. The dark was the same as the light to them and the child squealed with delight her fear forgotten when she saw the array of dolls.
“Now, stay here and play,” Annie said. “I will lead him away.”
Dora nodded and picked up the nearest doll.
“Look at me,” Annie turned her face towards her. “I mean what I say. You must stay here. No matter what you hear, Promise.”
Dora nodded again and Annie wagged her finger at her.
“Say you promise. Cross your heart and hope to…”
Dora’s fingers on her lips stopped her.
“Do not say that, Annie. Remember the last time?”
Annie remembered too well and after Dora assured her, she would stay put, she went in search of Liam. Which was no hard feat, as he stumbled along the corridor, a candle in one hand and a small marble statue in the other by way of a weapon? Annie ran by him and up the next flight of stairs towards the attic.
Liam raised the hand holding the statue and wiped his forehead. His shirt clung to his back and the wool from his pants chaffed his sweat-soaked thighs. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to get out, but something was urging him on. A sinister seductiveness surrounded him pulling him towards it. The door to the attic stairs swung noiselessly open and his feet moved forward, despite his terror. Unbroken veils of cobwebs blocked his path and he pushed them aside with the statue. White silken gossamer clung to his sleeves and about his shoulders, making him glow against the black background. Someone stood silhouetted by the window.
“Come out of the shadows. I’m warning you,” Liam raised the statue higher.
Annie walked towards him, the Annie of old with her waist length hair and winning smile. For a moment Liam was taken aback, until she spoke.
“Welcome, I have been waiting for you,” leaning over, she blew the candle out.
The earth beneath the grave moved. There were many who watched from the inky blackness in the wood and willed the dead thing on. Long fingers, blackened by fire, emerged, and the arms that followed waved in the still air, as they felt for something to catch on to. There was nothing, but the slight night wind cooling the scorched bones. The fingers twisted into claws that gripped the grass on either side of the grave and hauled the body up. A head appeared, the hair hanging on the skull was still dark, but sparse. A face, a burnt, human face, appeared between the thin tendrils. Fat worms fell from its hollow eyes and it drew back its lips and snarled hideously. The watchers shied back in horror. This was not the Annie they had expected. The thing crawling across the grass exulted hatred. Where there was once a need to bring life, there was now a terrible thirst for death.
She made it to the shadows of the trees and hauled herself up against the trunk of one. The very wood seemed to shy from her touch. She saw the watchers; their shadows were easy to pick out in the moonlit woods. They called to her, begging her to be still, to listen to them, but she brushed their pleas aside. Her mind was filled with the need for revenge, and the intense hatred she felt would not be denied.
He was close by. She smelt his scent as strong as ever. There was still the need within him to destroy life, to corrupt the innocent. Her eyes strayed back to the disturbed mound and the scattered earth. Dora was still sleeping and in need of her protection. She knelt beside the grave and threw the earth back into place. Soon it looked as though it had never been disturbed. It was only as she raked it with her fingers, she became aware of her appearance.
“Why?” She cried, looking in horror at the black bones and yellowing pieces of flesh still clinging in places.
“Be still, Annie. Trust us,” the watchers whispered.
“No, never, I was true to you once and you betrayed me.”
“We didn’t betray you. It was not us; this is not your time, Annie. Look around you.”
The moon shone bright enough to light the way. The field, where she would once have sown crops was still the same, if overgrown. She had hoped Pat and Meg would have tended it better. Her cottage was no longer there. In its place there was a great house. Pat was doing well. She smiled through fleshless, bloodless lips. But her joy was short lived, as her senses sought him out. There was nothing. They were all gone. Her sister, Meg and the others were lost to her. The cry issuing from her at their loss was unearthly.
Cora sat up with a start, her heart racing. Something woke her and she held her breath, listening. Perhaps, one of the girls cried out in their sleep? She threw back the covers and hurried from the room. The gallery glowed bright as day; the full moon captured in the stained-glass became part of the tableau. The handle on the children’s door groaned as she turned it. There was not a sound, so she just opened it enough to peep inside. Both her girls were sleeping soundly. She crept back along the gallery, glancing once at the room where Liam slept. Surely, if there had been a sound, it would have woken him. The bedcovers were warm and inviting, and she was worn out from the hours she spent crying. Soon she was asleep, and the house was allowed to settle once more.
Liam was too deep in a drunken sleep to hear anything. Despite having left the window open, he was spared the sound of slow, slouching footsteps on the gravel outside. Oblivious to the crunching of the hands, as they grasped the dried ivy snaking along the front of the house; or the figure that skimmed like a giant, black spider towards his window. He did not even move as it crawled noiselessly over the sill and crouched at the end of his bed.
Outside the voices on the wind called to her, begging her to stop.
The man was hidden from her and she waited until he turned, and she could see him clearly. Annie gasped, at the familiar face. She crept nearer; close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He smiled in his sleep and the rage within her burned. She reached out for his throat; her fingers were within inches of his flesh, when…
“Annie, Annie.”
She drew back and moved towards the window. Below her, bathed in the moonlight, Dora ran backwards and forwards along the drive; Dora with white hair flying and her flowered dress, no longer in tatters, whirling around her.
“Catch me, Annie,” the child laughed, running around the side of the house, and disappearing.
“Dora, wait,” Annie called, as she slipped once more over the sill.
The man in the bed groaned, and turned away from the noise.
Annie looked back at the sleeping figure. There was plenty of time. She would be back for him, but her mind was no longer filled with hate. Instead she felt the love glow inside her, so by the time she had climbed down the ivy, she had become as of old. The life was renewed, and the young woman chasing the fleeting image of her sister, had a cloak of dark, brown hair. The once empty sockets were filled with dancing blue eyes. The lips were red and full, and the skin smooth and white.
“Dora, wait.”
She could still hear her sister’s laughter, but when she reached the wood there was, nothing…
“Dora,” she called. “Where are you? Answer me.”
“It was a trick.”
Annie searched among the trees for the source of the voice.
“Your God has tricked you once more,” The Dark One stepped out from the shadows.
“No,” Annie backed away from him. “He would not be so cruel.”
“Come now,” he smiled. “Not even you, after all you have suffered could be so gullible.”
“No,” Annie tore at her hair. “This cannot be. Why,” she screamed towards the sky. “What have I done to offend you?”
“He never listens. Does he, Annie?”
“Leave me be,” she ran among the trees trying to evade him, but he appeared before her time after time.
“I have never lied to you. I promised you rest with the last in his line and I have kept my word.”
She looked up at him.
“Yes, the one who dwells within the house,” he waved towards the building. “He is not your dear cousin Hugh, but his ancestor.”
She walked to the edge of the wood and looked back at the house.
“How long have I slept?”
Centuries.”
“I remember nothing, but sadness in all that time.”
“He abandoned you to your faith and did nothing to ease your suffering and the suffering of your family.”
She started to cry again. Her cries echoed on the still air, and from far away lights appeared through the gloom, as people woke to the terrible sound.
This time Liam O Brien woke. He sat befuddled and shook his aching head. What on earth was that sound? He listened for a moment longer, but the agony of the cries spurred him up and out of the room. He had never been a brave man, and he used the excuse he was worried about his wife, to charge into her room. Cora sat in the centre of the bed with Laura and Shelly on either side of her. All three clung together, shivering.
“What’s that noise, Dad?” Shelly turned a tear-stained face towards him.
“It’s probably a vixen,” he shrugged at his wife and walked towards the window.
“A vixen is a lady fox,” he heard Cora explain.
“I don’t think it’s a fox,” Laura said.
“Really, Miss. Know it all. What do you think it is?” Liam could not hide is sarcasm, even from his children.
“Something else.”
“Brilliant, if it’s not a fox then it’s something else. That private school is really paying off,” he threw open the wardrobe door and took out his dressing gown. Despite his sniggering remarks, he was shivering.
“I’m frightened, mummy,” Shelly sobbed. “Make it go away.”
“Hush darling,” Cora soothed. “It’s probably the wind in the pipes. These old houses are full of creaks and groans, and the pipes are old and full of holes.”
“We had the pipes replaced,” Liam answered from his place at the window.
Great, Cora thought, thanks a lot.
Laura pushed the covers aside and got up.
“Where are you going?” Her mother tried to pull her back into the bed.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” she walked to the window and peered out into the dark.
Her father snorted in disgust and left her there. He sat on the side of the bed and Cora could not fail to notice the pallor of his skin. If the cries were not so frightening, she would have laughed. Laura stood on her toes and looked across the garden. There was something silhouetted in the trees. It looked like a big cat. She threw open the window. The cries seemed to reverberate off the walls of the room.
“Laura,” her mother struggled from Shelly’s grip and ran towards her.
“Stop, Mam,” the child pushed her away. “I have to help her.”
“Who?” Her mother asked. “Don’t be silly. Close the window.”
Cora turned to her husband for help, but he had dived beneath the covers with Shelly.
“Laura, please.”
But Laura was leaning out on the windowsill.
“Are you hurt, poor thing?” She called into the darkness. “Come inside. Let me help you.”
Annie heard the offer and moved away from the Dark One towards the house. She used her hair to wipe away her tears, as she followed the child’s voice. Laura watched as the bushes in front of the house parted, but she was still unable to see anyone.
“It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”
Annie could see her now. The white nightgown glowed from the lighted room and the long dark hair flew in the night breeze. Her heart ached as she thought once more of her sisters.
“She is his child,” The Dark One was beside her. “His flesh and blood.”
“She reminds me…” her voice trailed off.
“Of what you lost. You can have it again once he is dead. I can return you to your own time. A year before we met. Your parents alive and well, Think of it, Annie.”
“You can do all that?”
“You know it’s within my power.”
“But he is not Hugh.”
“Does it matter? He is of the same blood.”
“It would be a sin, Annie,” the night breeze whispered. “All would be lost if you surrender to The Darkness.”
For the first time, she heeded the voices.
“He may not be as vile as his ancestor. I think I will wait.”
The Dark One roared in aggravation. The sound made Liam leap from his hiding place and pull his daughter away from the window. Annie saw the fear in his face, as he slammed the window shut. Though his looks reminded her so much of her hated cousin, she could not in all conscious, destroy him without first knowing if he had inherited Hugh’s evil.
No one in the O Brien household slept that night. So, Sunday was very unpleasant for Cora, as the children were overtired and Liam in a worse humour than usual. A couple of times during the day she caught him staring at her stomach, and her heart leapt with worry. Laura refused to accept any of the explanations for the cries they heard. Liam ranted about buying a gun and seeing the foxes off. But Cora and Laura knew this was not the case. The cries were from something other than an animal. Though Cora tried to coax her into saying what she thought they were, her daughter merely shrugged and pretended ignorance.
By late afternoon Liam’s patience was exhausted, and he got ready to leave.
“Will you be home later?” Cora asked, as she watched him throw a change of clothes into a bag.
“No, as a matter of fact I may not be home for some time.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes to get rid of that,” he jabbed a finger in her stomach.
“You know I won’t do it. It’s against all I believe.”
“Then you choose, your God or your family, because I promise you this. If you insist on going ahead with the pregnancy, I’ll take the girls away from you. Admit it, Cora,” he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “You’ve always been nervy. A few words in the right ears and I’ll have you committed.”
“You bastard,” she slapped his face. “You rotten, evil bastard.”
He grabbed her hair forcing her down on the bed. One hand gripped her throat squeezing hard.
“All it’ll take is a few days in London. Tell whatever friends you have you are going shopping. It’ll all be over in a couple of hours; understand?”
“Is that what you make your whores do?”
“You think you know so much about me,” he spat. “Well, let me tell you this. They were all, are all, better than you could ever be.”
He released his grip, snatched his bag from the bed and stalked out. Cora rubbed at her bruised throat and tried not to cry.
By nightfall, her nerves were in shreds. The children refused to sleep alone, so making sure they had everything they could possibly need; she let them sleep in her room and barricaded the door with a chair. She cursed Liam for his cowardice because she knew the events of last night frightened him. He wasn’t prepared to confront the unknown but was willing to let his wife and children face whatever danger there was.
The children were worn out and slept within minutes. Cora stayed awake watching the clock and listening for the slightest sound.
All around her the house settled. Timbers groaned and creaked, the shutters outside the windows, squeaked on their dry, new hinges, even the panelling in the hall crackled. She felt beads of sweat on her lip and her heart pounded painfully, as she strained to catch each sound. There were footsteps on the gallery outside. There was no mistaking the tread on the boards; soft, light footfalls. Cora crept to the door and placed her ear against it. The footsteps came closer and she held her breath as they stopped outside her door.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’m alone with two children. Please don’t hurt us.”
The only reply was a heart-rending sigh, as the footsteps retreated.
Cora was shivering so badly her teeth chattered and she could not remember if she had slept immediately after returning to the bed or fainted. But it was morning when she woke, and from outside came the thundering of trucks on the drive and the loud, good natured banter of the workmen.
Present day
Liam O Brien grinned in satisfaction as he steered the car through the ornate gates. Even the crunching gravel splattered about the car, chipping the paintwork, did not take from his pleasure. It took him years to get to where he now was, and nothing was going to spoil it for him. His eyes darted to the figure in the passenger seat. Cora, his wife, was treading a tissue through her fingers, her mouth drawn back into a tight, nervous smile. The paper was wet from her clammy fingers, and small bits lay like specks of new fallen snow on her black skirt. Why, he wondered, did I ever marry her? She had seemed a good choice at the time, from good stock with the promise of a large inheritance and not unpleasant to look at. She retained her looks, though the birth of their daughters had added kilos to her figure. This, along with her low self-esteem and insecurity, helped excuse his many lapses during the fourteen years of marriage.
“Are we there yet, Dad?”
Six-year-old Shelly clutched at his headrest, bored and anxious to see their new home.
“Hands off,” he brushed at the offending fingers. The last thing he wanted was sticky marks on the cream leather of the car interior.
“She’s just excited,” his wife said.
“How many times have I warned them about touching the seats?”
“We have to touch the seats,” nine-year-old Laura answered from behind. “What do you expect us to do, levitate?”
“I’m getting sick of your smart mouth, miss,” he adjusted the rear-view mirror and glared at his daughter.
“She’s sorry. Aren’t you, darling?” her mother twisted in her seat. Begging silently with the child to agree.
“Of course, I’m sorry,” Laura sighed, but the look she gave her father was one of scorn.
He snapped the mirror back into place. Beside him, his wife pulled the tissue to shreds. Please, she prayed, do not let him work himself into a temper. The bruises on her back still ached from the last time and she could not take any more. Not here, not in front of the children.
“There it is,” Shelly’s shout eased the tension.
The imposing manor house came into view. It was enormous. Two vast turrets framed the great door and trailed skywards, seeming to pierce the overhead clouds. There were hundreds of windows, and that was at the front!
“Cool,” Shelly ran towards the front door.
Laura stood with her arms around her mother’s waist and both had the same, frightened look.
“Well, what’s wrong with it?” Liam did not try to hide his irritation.
“It’s very big,” his wife’s eyes gazed in wonder at the house.
And scary,” Laura added.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, before stalking away.
Shelly was hopping about at the front door.
“Hurry Dad. I want to see my room.”
Cora hugged her daughter, as the big key was inserted and with a groan, the door creaked open.
“I don’t like this place,” Laura whispered.
“It will take some getting used to,” her mother said. “After a modern house this will seem strange, but it’s what your father wants.”
“Look at the windows, Mam. They are like eyes, watching. I don’t think it likes us.”
“Now you’re being silly darling,” Cora tried to laugh, but the child was right. It was frightening.
She heard Shelly’s hollow footfalls on bare boards, as she ran from room to room. From somewhere within the house a door banged, and its echo made her jump.
“Are you going to come in?” Liam asked
“Yes,” she stammered. “We want to see the gardens first.”
“Christ,” her husband muttered, as he stormed back inside.
“I don’t want to go in.” Laura whispered and Cora could feel the child trembling.
“Let’s look around the outside until we get used to the idea of such a big house,” her mother suggested, and she led the child back along the drive to get a better look.
It really was a patchwork of time. Centuries mingled one into another, as each owner tried to leave his or her mark on the place. It was Gothic, Georgian, and Edwardian and goodness knows how many other designs. Two huge stone sculptures in the shape of cats flanked the steps leading to the main door. Silent sentinels who had watched throughout time the coming and goings of the house. Weather-beaten shutters, their white paint almost worn away to reveal the light wood beneath, hung from all the windows. Cora imagined the racket they would make on a windy night. She looked towards the roof where a weathervane, scarred by the elements creaked, but she avoided looking directly at any of the windows, afraid she’d see someone other than her husband and daughter, looking back at her. But it was just a house, she reminded herself, and like it or not, it was now their home.
“It’s not so bad really. Is it, darling?” She looked down into Laura’s frightened eyes. “Dad says we’re to have a swimming pool. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“It’s going to eat us; you know that, don’t you, Mam?”
“Now you’re being silly. The house can’t harm anyone. Its only people can hurt one another.”
“The way dad hurts you?”
“Hush now.”
Cora’s heart ached as she steered the child towards the house. Laura had witnessed much in her nine years.
Within a year of their marriage the beatings started. She bored him, she knew this, and there was no going back. He never failed to remind her of what he saw as her failures. Including the fact, she had not borne a son to carry on his great name. The birth of Laura was a let down and afterwards, when it took three years until she fell pregnant and then produced another girl, well!
Tears clouded her vision, as she led Laura up the steps towards the main door. The look he gave her and the words he used the morning in the Labour ward, after she spent hours giving birth, played clear as pictures through her mind.
“Christ, not another one,” he groaned, when she held up the child. “Can’t you get anything right?”
She would never forget his sneer of contempt as he walked from the room, nor his refusal to try for another child.
They were inside now in the dark cavernous hall. An enormous chandelier draped with cobwebs and trailing dust, tinkled as the crystals moved in the breeze from the open door. Mahogany panelling lined the walls on either side, making the place even gloomier. A grand staircase swept upward and parted before a stained-glass window, then continued onwards to the left and right. Cora looked up towards the domed ceiling. It was impossible to see anything on the overhead gallery.
Laura overcame her uneasiness and ran to join her sister in exploring. Liam was nowhere in sight, so she climbed the stairs and became swallowed up in the deepening shadows. Dust rose from the ancient, threadbare carpet. Liam said it had been occupied up to a month before, but this seemed impossible. It could not have fallen into neglect in such a short while.
The stained-glass window sent lights of blue, red, and gold dancing across the numerous doors running the length of the gallery. Cora leant on the banister and tried to figure out what the glass depicted. It seemed to be a struggle between a monster and a human figure. Perhaps it was George and the dragon? A beast of sort, but it was hard to make out in the grime-coated glass.
“So, you managed to come in?”
Her wanderings were interrupted by the appearance of her husband. He was standing on the lower landing beneath the window. Cora looked once more at the monster in the glass, then down at the face of her husband. For a moment, just for a moment, she saw the reflection of evil in both.
“What are you staring at? He was striding up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“The drawing in the glass,” she pointed upwards.
“Ah, yes, the eternal struggle. What a boring place the world would be if the good always won. Don’t you think?”
“No Liam, I don’t. I am a mother. Like all mothers I pray for peace and goodness.”
“Christ, it serves me right for asking.”
“Liam, please don’t take the name of God in vain.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want in my own house.”
The hand propelling her along the corridor was anything, but gentle. He threw open a door and pushed her into a bare, high ceiled room. Dust particles danced in the light from the curtain-less windows.
“This will be our room,” he informed her. “You can start decorating this first, then the girls’ rooms.”
“Yes, Liam,” she ran her hand along the black iron fireplace, the focal point of the room. She had always wanted a fireplace in her bedroom. Ever since she first saw them in the old Victorian melodramas, but she was no young heroine and Liam, well Liam…
She roamed from room to room and was greeted in each one by the smell of damp and decay. Although the walls seemed dry, the plaster firm, there was something odd, something she could not put her finger on.
“Mam,” Laura called. “Come and see the kitchen it’s huge.”
Cora made her way down, pausing again the look at the image of the dragon in the window.
“Hurry Mam,” Laura beckoned. “You’ll never believe it.”
Cora followed her daughter along the dark passageway. Laura held the heavy oak door open with a flourish, and Cora walked into the biggest room she had ever seen. The kitchen was the size of their old house, and obviously meant to accommodate a small army of staff.
“My goodness,” Cora took in the long wooden table in the centre the room. The old-fashioned Aga on one wall was the only thing that was not over a century old. Stout copper pots and pans, lacking lustre, but nevertheless impressive, hung along a beam. Bunches of herbs and dried flowers cascaded from the ceiling and turned to dust, when she touched them. An old dresser stood in one corner still decked with the cobweb-covered, willow-patterned china, the cups hanging from rusted hooks. Of all the rooms she entered, this was the most welcoming.
Look, Mam,” Laura was standing beside the open fire. “You can see the sky.”
Cora ducked down and joined her daughter. Overhead, through the long black chimney funnel, a patch of blue and white could be seen.
“It really is extraordinary,” Cora mumbled. “It’s like stepping back in time.”
“Do you want to see my room next?” Laura asked.
“Why not.”
They climbed the stairs hand in hand.
“You’ve grown used to the idea of living here?” Cora asked.
Yes, only because I know it’s not us the house doesn’t like.”
“Then who?”
Laura shrugged.
“Tell me,” her mother stopped her climb. “Who doesn’t it like?”
“Bad people.”
“But how do you know this?”
“The house whispered it to me.”
“Now you are being silly, darling. Houses don’t talk,” Cora’s heart was thudding painfully.
“This one does. It says it’ll take care of us and help make you stronger, so one day you’ll be like her,” she pulled her hand free and pointed up at the image in the window.
“How do you know that’s a woman and not a man?”
“She told me.”
“Who told you?” The question came out as a strangled scream.
“Don’t be frightened,” Laura, standing on a step above her, reached down and stroked her face. “There is nothing here that will hurt you, or me, or Shelly.”
“But Dad, Laura. What about Dad?”
Laura turned from her and ran up the stairs, leaving the question unanswered. Before she could follow her…
“Cora, come down here.”
Her husband stood in the hallway with a bundle of brochures in his hands. He never looked up, and only acknowledging her presence by thrusting books into her hands.
“The decorators will be here first thing tomorrow. I have marked out the designs I want for each room. See they stick to the plans I gave them. You may decorate the girls’ rooms. It won’t matter if you make a mess of them.”
“I have some ideas of my own I’d like to discuss,” she ventured.
“You, ideas? I think not. You’re taste leaves much to be desired.”
Yes, she thought, as he walked away and began closing doors and calling to the girls’, that is very true.
They stood in the driveway and took another look at the house. Cora realised, for the first time, how quiet it was. The only sound the occasional cawing of crows, whose nests dotted the trees.
“We should be able to move in next month,” Liam said. “What do you think of that girls’? You’ll be able to tell your school friends you live in a mansion.”
“Great,” Shelly shouted, jumping up and down. Laura shrugged.
“Well try and look a bit happy,” Liam snarled at his eldest daughter.
“Whatever,” she gave a mock smile, before climbing into the car.
“You have her the way she is,” Liam pointed at his wife. “You and your fucking nonsense.”
“Leave her alone,” Cora’s answer startled even herself.
Inside the car Laura leaned forward and held her breath, as she waited for his reply.
“What did you say?” Liam’s face had grown purple with rage.
“I said leave her alone,” for the first time Cora’s voice held no trace of fear.
“Get in the car,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Cora was slipping her seatbelt into place when he struck.
“Never answer me back,” he bought his clenched fist down hard on her leg.
She cried out in pain, then reefed her nails across his hand, drawing blood.
“You rotten bitch,” blood splattered his leather upholstery, as he drew back his hand to attack again.
Cora heard Shelly whimpering in the back seat, and Laura whispering to her to be quiet.
“Hit me,” Cora warned. “And by God, I’ll use these on your face.” She unfurled her nails, so the blood-stained points showed. “Try explaining that to your colleagues in Court.”
He was shaking in anger and beads of sweat matted his forehead. There wasn’t a sound within the car as he turned from her. He spun the car round in the drive, and sent gravel spraying everywhere. Beside him his wife picked fragments of his skin from beneath her nails. Her stomach turned, as she hid the bloody tissue in her handkerchief, and her heart raced at what she had done. Never, in all the years of marriage had she retaliated, but today was different. She was tired of his mistreatment and sick of the look of fear in her children’s eyes. She would no longer be his punch bag. New house, new me, she decided. I am tired of being afraid.
In the backseat, Laura stole one last look over her shoulder and smiled. Already the house was working its magic.
Her body continued to burn throughout the day. The sight of her smouldering corpse met Meg and Pat when they rode into the village that evening, and it was one, they would never forget. Annie’s blackened figure hung amid the embers of the fire. The spear held it in place.
The children were asleep in the back of the cart and spared the terrible sight, but Meg and Pat were inconsolable. A shadowy figure moved from the shelter of the mill and stumbled towards them.
“I threw the spear,” the young guard sobbed.
“You…” Pat cried, catching him by the throat.
“I had to; she was cursed to feel each flame.”
Pat looked at him uncomprehending, and it was only when Meg pulled at his arm, he released the boy.
“Let him be, Pat. He put her out of her agony.”
The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.
“I worked all day putting the fire out.”
“Where is he,” Pat asked. “This man, Tanas?”
“He disappeared before she died.”
“And the O Brien’s and the rest of the village?”
“They fled in terror.”
“They will have more to fear than the Devil when I find them.”
The sound of Meg retching made them run to her aid. She could no longer bear the sight of the burnt corpse, or the smell of cooked meat pervading the air.
“Take us home,” she beseeched Pat. “Take us to Annie’s cottage.”
“She will need a Christian burial.”
“You can come back when the cart’s unloaded and bring her home. The embers are still too hot and there is no hurry now. Just take us away.”
She had to be lifted onto the cart. The very life seemed to have drained from her, and she sat in a stupor for the rest of their journey.
The cottage looked dark and deserted. A melancholic breeze sighed among the trees. Even the little pool beside the cottage was covered with green slime. Nature itself mourned the passing of one so good.
The sleeping children were carried inside and put to bed. Meg took some wood from the stack beside the hearth and lit a fire. Even its comforting light did nothing to dispel the gloom. Pat brought water from the well, filled the kettle and swung the arm over the fire.
“I will make you some tea.”
Meg slumped into a chair and watched the leaping flames. Pat realised, for the first time, how old and frail she really was. They sat in silence until steam hissed from the spout, and the water threatened to boil over.
“My God, my God, why hath thou forsaken me?”
The hair on Pat’s neck rose at her whispered question, and he gulped back the tears. This was his fault; he knew something was brewing.
“You are not to blame.”
Her words startled him.
“Sit down,” she pointed to the chair opposite hers.
Pat handed her the tea and sat down. He was glad of the solidness of the wood beneath him. It was the only thing that seemed real. He held the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips, and he noticed how Meg’s hand trembled also.
“This is not a time for blame,” her eyes seemed to bore into him. “Nor a time for revenge.”
“I do not understand. What happened?”
“Annie, Lord rest her soul,” Meg continued, then stopped suddenly as the sound of the familiar name pierced her heart. She allowed the cup to slide from her grasp and it shattered on the stone floor.
Pat could do nothing to help. The tears that were threatening spilled over, and he was forced to hold a hand over his mouth, least the sound of his anguish wake the children.
“Come now,” Meg managed to rouse herself. “There is much to be done and plenty of time for grieving in the months ahead.”
Pat wiped the tears from his face.
“Take your cart to the store and unload it, then bring Annie and Dora home.”
“Dora?”
“Dora is dead. I felt her spark die before Annie’s.”
She rose and motioned him to do the same. He was afraid to leave her alone and told her so, but she knew the danger was past. The Dark One was vanquished. There was nothing left for him there.
The young guard was keeping watch over Annie’s body, and it was with his help, Pat managed to take her down. She felt warm to touch, and he moaned when he realised the pieces of ash falling from her was skin. They placed her in a blanket and loaded her onto the cart. Still the village lay in silence. No dogs barked; no lights showed in any of the windows.
“There was a child, a little girl…”
“They buried her outside the chapel wall,” the guard told him. “I can show you where.”
Pat led the horse along the village street. The sound of its hoofs shattered the quiet. Clip—clop, they rang through the silent night.
It was easy to find the small, unmarked grave. Burial outside the chapel walls was a fate reserved only for suicides, witches, and stillborn babies. The guard went inside and returned with two spades, the property of the gravediggers. Dora was not buried very deep, and the earth was dry and easy to dig. She was wrapped only in a blanket. Pat threw this aside and cried out when he saw the condition of her body. The stench made him draw back and he gagged at the raw, rotten smell of her decay. When he lifted her from the dank earth, her hair that was hiding her face, fell back, the moon lighted upon her, and he gasped at the beauty and serenity of her features. Despite the marks on her body, death left no sign of suffering.
The young guard, who introduced himself as Tom O Shea, offered to make the coffins and help with the grave digging. Pat accepted with a nod, and Tom climbed up onto the seat beside him. Meg came out to meet the cart. Pat stopped her from pulling back the blankets shrouding Annie and Dora.
“It is best to remember them as they were.”
They spent the rest of the night in the woodshed fashioning makeshift coffins from pieces of timber.
At dawn they buried Annie and Dora side by side, in the farthest corner of the property. A light rain fell as Pat and Tom filled the hole. A wind blew up, and it seemed as though the trees were bowing over the grave; paying homage to one who was a part of the forest.
“Should they be in consecrated ground?” Pat looked at the mound.
“Anywhere she lies is blessed,” Meg wiped her tears and turned to go. “The children will be awake soon and there is a lot of explaining to do.”
It was a solemn procession that walked back to the cottage that morning.
Meg, Pat, and the children stayed on at Annie’s cottage. More rooms were added to make way for the growing children. Pat’s business prospered, though it was whispered he was never the same after Annie died. Meg did her best at being mother to Rose, Paul, and Lily, but the loss of her loved ones took their toll. She spent hours beside the grave each day talking and whispering about old times. Flowers grew in abundance and covered the mound watered by Meg and Pat’s tears.
Slowly the seasons passed, and it was soon winter again. The sky was dark with the promise of snow when Meg set off to collect kindling from within the forest. There was no need for her to do this, as Pat had a woman come in and help with the housework, but it kept her busy and her mind from tormented thoughts. It was reported Mary O Brien was dying. Some said it was from a broken heart, but Meg knew it was from vexation.
The holly bushes were heavy with berries, a sure sign of a hard winter. Lord, I am tired Meg thought, as she stooped to pick up a stick. A cold wind stirred the trees above her, and she gathered her shawl tighter and was about to turn for home, when she heard it, a long, mournful cry that froze her blood. Meg listened as its volume increases and tore at her heart.
She allowed the sticks to fall, as she followed the sound. It took her way beyond the forest and into the village. Every window and door were locked, as the villagers tried to escape the cry. Her search took her to the O Brien’s house, where Hugh’s ashen face appeared at the window. Annie stood in the garden; Annie as beautiful as she had once been. The wind whipped her hair around her and carried her cries with it. Those who heard it would describe it as a keening, a ghostly lament for the dead.
Annie, Annie child,” Meg leant on the gatepost, her eyes blinded by tears.
“Do not come near me, Meg,” Annie sobbed, her cries rising and falling. “I am cursed to walk the earth until the end of his line.”
“I will find a way to help you, child,” Meg walked towards her. “Let me take you in my arms.”
“You cannot, Meg. You will die. I am death to all who touch me.” Annie floated towards the house and sat upon the windowsill.
Her crying continued unabated until dawn. Meg sat on the steps to the house praying and never taking her eyes from Annie’s face. The sounds she made were frightening, and Meg prayed, asking God for some relief for the child. Snow began to fall at first light. Soft flakes at first, but it soon came faster swirling about the village, covering everything.
“I have to go,” Annie called to Meg. “She is dead.”
“Where will you go?”
Annie’s eyes opened wide in terror. “I belong to the night. I lie shrouded in darkness. Help me, Meg.”
Sheets of snow blinded Meg, as she fought her way towards where Annie sat. But she was gone, fading into the air. The last thing Meg heard was her crying. “It is not fair; I am so frightened. Help me, Meg.”
Meg groaned and rubbed at her aching back. The two nights they spent within the forest were cold and her old bones ached from sleeping on the hard grass floor. The weather stayed fine, but the early morning frost froze them to the marrow. Their only shelter was a crude canopy of leaves and fallen branches that did little to protect them from the cold. The children, as in all times, adjusted well, though Rose was quieter than normal. Her mind was filled with worry about her sisters. Meg tried to assure her they would be all right, but the words were stilted. For she heard a death cry carried on the breeze, its sound clear as solemn church bells, tolling through the quiet of the night.
Meg picked the last of the autumn berries from the bushes. These would have to do for the children’s breakfast. The food she packed was soon eaten and they had to resort to what they could forage from the forest. The children slept on and she was loath to wake them, but the sun would soon be up, and the open road called to her. The sooner they found Pat, the sooner they could rescue Annie. She would not think about the cries she heard. There could be many explanations for the sound, but still…
The children woke shivering, and the handful of berries they received did little to lift their mood. Soon they were on their way. As always, they kept within the forest. By now they were clear of the village and the rumoured roadblocks proved to be just that. No one tried to stop them, and the road remained bare with no sign of passing traffic.
Meg felt weary. The last few days were the hardest she had ever known. But it was not just the tiredness of old age that bothered her, but the weariness in both heart and soul. She felt the evil all around her. The air felt cloying, and at times, it seemed as though she was walking through a thick fog. The Dark One was working his evil, trying to delay her.
The forest was dark, despite the many fallen leaves. The bare branches seemed like skeleton arms that might reach down at any moment and pluck her from the earth. Shadows darted among the trees and strange creatures seemed to keep pace with them as they walked. There were indistinct cries and growls from far away, and she blessed herself and mumbled a prayer for protection.
They walked until the sun was well up, and now the children were tired. The bank of a stream proved an ideal resting place, and Meg dipped her handkerchief in the water and rubbed the stains of the blackberries from the children’s faces. She eased her way down onto a rock and watched as they played. They would soon be complaining of hunger. The air was much fresher here and the birdsong relaxed her. Her mind filled with thoughts of Annie and Dora and she swallowed hard, fighting back tears.
Sudden squeals and shouts from the children roused her. Paul was swaggering towards her with the body of a rabbit held aloft. He, like many of his kind, was a skilled hunter. His snare worked within minutes, and he beamed with pride at the look of relief on Meg’s face.
He cleaned and skinned the rabbit, while Meg lit a fire. Soon the smell of roasting meat made their stomachs rumble, as Meg turned the makeshift spit. Each thought the meal of roasted rabbit and water from the stream was the best they had ever had.
It was a much livelier group that set off that morning. The feeling of oppression lifted, and even Meg’s back did not ache as much. Rose and Paul carried the magpie, that cawed in annoyance, when they swung the basket. The sun, though watery, warmed them and their clothes soon lost their dampness. The meal they had just eaten would keep them going for most of the day. Meg would not have to worry until nightfall.
“Meg help me” the sobbing seemed to come from all around her. She spun, trying to find the source. The forest lay in stillness, and she held her breath. Her heart pounded against her breast when she heard the menacing laughter and Annie’s screams. “Oh God help me, Meg. I am in agony.”
Meg stumbled to a tree trunk. The very breath was taken from her body. Annie was in terrible pain. Dear lord, Meg prayed, take me, leave the child be. There was no answer, just the sighing of the leaves.
“Meg,” Paul came crashing through the undergrowth. “Come quickly. There is a cart coming.”
The children were hiding behind the trees, watching as the cart and driver approached. The wheels thundered on the rough track, as the driver whipped his horses onwards. It was almost upon them when…
“Pat, it is Pat,” Rose ran from her hiding place and waved her arms at the approaching vehicle.
The horses whinnied and snorted, as he pulled tight on the reins. Clouds of dust rose into the air, driven there by the skidding hoofs. Pat’s look of surprise on seeing Rose was soon replaced by fear, as Meg came walking towards him. Without waiting for an explanation, he lifted the children onto the back of the cart and helped Meg to climb up beside him. He flicked at the reins, and they set off. Meg whispered to him, as they rode, not wanting the children to hear. His eyes opened wide in alarm at her news.
“I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, shaking his head, and spurring the horses onwards. “I will kill those O Brien’s. So, help me.”
“They are in the grip of The Dark One.”
“What do you mean?”
“The very Devil himself is among us,” Meg crossed herself. “He has taken the form of a man.”
Pat’s head was reeling. It had to be that Tanas fellow. He was the only stranger in the district.
“We will save them, Meg,” Pat’s strong hand closed over Meg’s own and she held on tight, drawing strength from his touch.
“I pray to God we can. That we are not too late.”
Annie was forced up from the straw. She cried aloud as a dress was pulled over her head and scraped over the scars on her back. Her toes dragged along the stone floor, as they half-carried her. Some of the cuts opened from the rough handling, and she left small drops of blood in her wake. The jailors jeered at her shorn head.
A wave of noise erupted, as she was taken from the mill. Her death was to be a great occasion. The sunlight stung her eyes, as she had become used to the dark, and the many figures before her seemed faceless. Some laughed and pointed. Children ran towards her, wanting to touch the witch. Annie kept her head bowed and allowed her eyes to adjust.
The first thing she saw was the wood. For a moment she thought she was at the steps of the gallows, but when she allowed her eyes to travel upwards, she saw this was not the case. A stout pole stood in the centre of a woodpile. The villagers were still adding to it. The procession stopped, and she looked around at the people who gathered. Many of them were old friends of her family, and she tried to make eye contact.
“Well, Mistress Ryan,” The Dark One walked towards her. “It is time to pay for your sins.”
“I am innocent,” Annie cried, and this drew mumblings from the crowd.
“You are the leader of the witches and you must pay,” he snarled, and leaning closer whispered. “Unless you have changed your mind?”
Annie shook her head.
“Take her up.”
Annie was forced towards a ladder on the side of the pile. She stumbled on the rungs and was carried up by one of the guards. They tied her to the stake and wound strong chains around her body. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she was forced to look at the crowd. A shout of “silence” rang out and an uneasy hush fell. Then, The Dark One spoke.
“A witch with power as strong as Mistress Ryan must be burned; the fire will nullify all her evil.”
“No,” Annie strained against her bonds. “I am not a witch. Help me.” She looked at Mary and Hugh who stood at the end of the woodpile. “Mary, for the love of God, tell them I am innocent.”
Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.
“Bastards,” she screamed. “It is you who should be in my place.”
“Enough witch,” The Dark One motioned to the guards.
There were four men in all, and each held a torch of blazing pitch. At his signal, they threw the torches into the piles of branches and shrubs between the timbers. The dry kindling caught fire instantly. Flames crackled and leapt to other branches.
“There is plenty of green wood beneath,” Annie heard Hugh’s voice above the noise.
She knew the green wood was damp and would take longer to burn. She would suffocate. Amid the haze of acrid smoke, The Dark One appeared. He seemed to be hovering above the ground. The crowd drew back, some crying, others screaming in fear.
“I will ask you once more. Denounce your God. Give me your power.”
“Never,” Annie managed to croak.
“Then I curse you,” his voice sounded like thunder. “You will die, but you will never know rest until the last male in his line is gone,” he pointed towards Hugh.
The flames were licking about her toes and she tried to draw up her feet as he continued.
“You will feel each flame. You’ will not die until the fire reaches your heart.”
“If that be the case,” she gasped, the smoke stung her throat. “My voice will be the last one the O Brien’s ever hear. I swear this by all that is holy.”
Most of the crowd ran away. But the O Brien’s and the guards all heard her words. Mary was carried away in a faint. Not only had Annie’s curse upset her, but also the sight of her intended husband levitating above the ground before disappearing was too much.
She was not there to hear Annie’s screams as the ends of her dress caught fire and the flames scored her skin. Neither did she witness how the flesh on her feet turned black, as the toes curled upwards.
“Help me Meg,” Annie cried. “I am in agony.”
Even the guards took flight at this, and she was left alone to burn in the still morning air. She screamed and writhed against the chains. The flesh on her legs melted exposing the bones and sinews. The flames continued upwards leaping towards her face.
“Oh, Jesus, Miss.”
Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.
“I will get water,” the young guard shouted, and in seconds the flames hissed, as he threw water on them.
. The fire burned fiercely.
“Let me be,” she screamed. “I am destroyed.”
He continued to throw buckets full of water towards her. The flames died in places, and she was able to see him.
“Look, look at me.”
He stopped and looked up at her. His face was blackened from the smoke, and there were tracks where his tears flowed. He saw the flesh was burnt beyond repair. Blood and fat dripped from her fingers.
“The Dark One cursed me. I am to feel each pain.”
He shook his head before running away. Annie moaned and arched her back, as the flames reached her thighs.
“Close your eyes Miss,” she heard him call. “It is all I can do.”
His aim was true, and the spear pierced Annie’s heart. She gasped, and her eyes opened wide for a moment. Then she smiled at him, before her head fell forward.
They came for Annie at daybreak. The night was uneventful. There were no demons sent to torment her, but she lay awake listening to every sound. Her mind reached out to Meg and Rose, but she found nothing. She was beginning to believe they were dead. Strangely she was beyond tears. There came instead, a dreadful acceptance that all was lost, and she would die.
Now, she followed her jailors without struggle back to that awful room and sat unmoving in the chair into which they tied her. The Dark One entered followed by Hugh O Brien, but she refused to meet their eyes.
“Good morning, cousin,” Hugh called to her.
She sat straight and proud. His hand gripped her hair forcing her head back, and he hissed into her face.
“I said, good morning, cousin.”
She could smell the stale beer on his breath and his spittle flew against her face. Tears stung her eyes from the pain, but still she did not answer, but returned his hate-filled gaze with one of her own. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming when his hold tightened, and she felt the hairs being ripped from her scalp.
“Enough,” The Dark One roared. “There is work to be done.”
Hugh pushed her away with a snort and she banged her head on the wooden wing of the chair. The ropes on her hands made it impossible for her to reach up and rub at her throbbing temple, and she blinked trying to clear her vision of the flashing lights dancing before her. She was so intent on this; she never heard the door open and was surprised to hear her name being called.
“Dora, dearest,” Annie tried to smile. “Tell these men whatever they ask of you.”
“They said you are a witch, Annie, but I know you are not.”
“That does not matter, just pretend I am.”
“No, Annie, I cannot.”
“Why dearest.”
“Because it is a lie.”
“But it is just a little lie and God will not mind.”
“Oh, but he will, Annie. He told me.”
“Told you, when?”
“Last night when I was asleep. He told me I was going to heaven to be with Ma and Da, because I was a good girl.”
“Yes, but not now, dearest, not so soon.”
“Yes, Annie, he promised me.”
The Dark One snarled and dragged Dora to the wall. Her clothes were ripped from her until she stood naked and shivering. Annie begged him to let her go, but he ignored her pleas and set about his task with relish. Dora was chained with her face towards the wall, her arms and legs spread-eagled.
“Now you will witness what I do to those who disobey me.”
Annie looked at Dora’s frail white body. It was as delicate as a willow branch and would break as easily. Hugh walked towards her sister, swishing a thick stick.
“No,” Annie’s scream mingled with Dora’s as he brought the rod hard across her naked back.
Annie saw the flesh open and blood glowed against the whiteness of the skin. Dora withered in agony calling out to Annie to save her. All the pent-up fury she caged within her was released, as Annie searched out for Hugh’s heart and closed her fingers around it. He groaned, clutching at his chest and the stick clattered to the floor.
“No.” The Dark One slapped her. “Guards take her away.
Hugh struggled to stand up, as Annie fought like a tigress with her captors. The blood pounded in his ears driven there by his wildly pumping heart. Staggering across the floor, he confronted her. Her hands were being held and she was helpless as he struck. The first blow stunned her, opening the flesh above her left eye.
“Bastard,” she shrieked. “I will kill you. I will tear you to pieces.”
The second blow was dealt with such force her head snapped back knocking her unconscious.
She awoke bruised and battered on the floor of her cell. Dried blood caked on her eyelashes and she picked at the crust that formed, marring her vision. Her face felt swollen and bruised, and she felt a large bump on her forehead. She could not have been unconscious for long, as the sun was still low in the sky and shadows wreathed the cell. Using the bars, she hauled herself up, gasping as the pain shot through her body. Her ribs felt sore, and fortunately she had no way of knowing Hugh kicked and punched at her helpless body.
It was quiet within the mill, nothing stirred. Annie reached out with her mind, searching for Dora, for any life sign. It was there, but very weak. She called out to the guards until she was hoarse and sobbing from the effort. Finally, one appeared.
“What do you want?”
He was younger than the others, and while he avoided looking at her, she felt a struggle within him.
“My sister. What news of my sister?”
“I know nothing.”
“For the love of God have pity.” Annie reached through the bars and grabbed the sleeve of his tunic.
“What does one such as you know of God?”
“I am no witch. I am a healer. If I were in league with the Devil, don’t you think he would have saved me by now? Think, you are not as easily fooled as the others.”
“I do not know,” he looked at her. “I have no stomach for these things.”
“What things?”
“What happens in there,” he nodded towards the darkness.
Now, he was willing to listen, she asked.
“Have you sisters of your own?”
“Aye, three sisters and four brothers. That is why I took the job here. They take some feeding.”
“Yes, indeed. I have two sisters and they are all I have in this world. If I should lose them there would be nothing for me.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Annie was sure he heard the beating of her heart, but she could not rush him. From somewhere outside came the sound of children’s laughter, such an ordinary, everyday sound, now seemed from another time. The only real thing within Annie’s prison was the pain.
She realised the guard was listening and she smiled. He blushed and looked down at the floor, kicking the toe of his boot on the flagstones. Annie held her breath.
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes, a little, but the hardest pain of all is not knowing what has become of my sister.”
“They have all left,”
“All, who?”
“Master Tanas and the others.”
“And my sister. What has become of her?”
“She did not leave the room.”
“Then she is still there? Please,” she begged. “Take me to her.”
“I dare not.”
“I swear by all that is holy if you take me to her, I will not try to run. I will remain you prisoner.”
“No, it is impossible.”
“Think if it were your sister. She is only six years old,” Annie sobbed. “I cannot bear this separation.”
He wiped at the sweat that formed on his upper lip and looked around him before asking.”
“You would give me your word not to run?”
“Anything, I swear on the love I have for my sisters.”
“Very well,” he took the keys from his belt and opened the door. “Come quietly now. I am not sure when the others will return.”
Annie stumbled a few times on their walk to that room. She was weak from pain and hunger and her head felt light.
“You go in,” the guard whispered. “I will keep watch.”
“Thank you,” Annie slipped in and searched the room.
The fire burned fiercely, and the room was stifling. The rack, where Dora was tied, was empty. Blood streaked down the wall turning it black. The corners of the room were in shadow.
“Dora,” Annie whispered, “Dora, are you here?”
There was a movement from one of the corners. At first it seemed like a bundle of clothes. Then a moan signalled her sister was lying beneath them and she pulled them aside. Dora lay on her stomach, her back, from shoulders to buttocks was crossed with the marks of the stick. Her flesh was a bloody mass with strips hanging from her bones. The floor beneath her was saturated with blood and she groaned when Annie tried to touch her.
“Dora, dearest,” Annie sobbed, as she ran her hand above the cuts, praying the flesh would mend. She worked fervently for a while, but nothing happened, and she knew this was because Dora’s life force was fading.
“Dearest,” Annie covered the wounds with Dora’s dress and managed to pick her up. She cradled her in her arms and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face.
“Annie,” The child looked up with eyes filled with fever. “Hugh hurt me.”
“Yes, dearest, I know he did.”
“Do not cry, Annie. It did not hurt so much after the first few hits.”
“Oh, Jesus help me,” Annie rocked the child. “Forgive me, Dora.”
“It is not your fault. I love you, Annie.”
“I love you too.”
“Will you come and find me in heaven?”
“Yes, I promise.”
The child suddenly turned from her.
“Can you hear Ma calling?”
“No, dearest, I cannot.”
“I can. Ma, I am here,” Dora held out her hand to an unseen presence, and Annie watched, as her small fingers seemed to curl around another hand before falling to the floor.
“Dora, no,” Annie stared down at her sister’s lifeless body. “Do not leave me.”
It was quiet within the room except for the crackling and spitting of the fire and Annie’s anguished sobbing. She carried her sister to a table and laid her down, covering her with her torn dress. Dora’s hair fanned around her, and Annie crossed her small hands across her chest.
“All the pain is over now, dearest,” Annie kissed her lips. Already she felt cold as marble.
“Miss, come away,” the whisper from the doorway startled her.
She walked towards the guard without looking back.
“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, when he saw the blood on her arms and cast a fearful glance into the room. His eyes widened when he saw the child’s body and he slammed the door shut. Annie walked in a trance back to her cell and stepped inside. The jangling of the keys seemed to go on forever as the guard’s hands shook so badly, he had trouble locking the cell.
“I am so sorry, Miss,” she could hear the tears in his voice.
All was lost. Her family were dead, and God had deserted her. She walked to the wall and laid her head against the cool stones. The cold eased the pain in her head somewhat, but the pain she felt inside would never heal. The guard slunk away, and she allowed herself to sink down onto the straw. Hugh O Brien’s face swam before her, his evil grin taunting her. That fiend was worse than any Devil, but she would make him pay. There had to be some way she could have her revenge. Please God, she prayed, if you are still listening help me to avenge my family. There was no answer, no whispered promise, no voice on the breeze, nothing. Then she did something she had never imagined doing. She prayed for death.
gemmamawdsley 