In the silence, something stirs. Shadows gather, waiting.
Once it arrives, nothing will be the same again.
Are you ready to listen… knowing the darkness is coming.
Tomorrow night it begins.
scary
All posts tagged scary
The village rests in silence, but silence is never empty. It presses close, listening, waiting. Some shadows don’t simply fall with the night — they move, they breathe, and once you notice them, it is already too late to turn away.
Pierce Hogan scowled and turned his nose up in disgust at the state of the front door. Someone had the audacity to throw eggs at the building housing his party headquarters, and their chaos marred the windows, as well as making a mess on the paintwork. The webby, jellified mass of egg white came away on his fingers, as he placed his key in the lock.
The small staff he hired to help with the running of the campaign had not arrived yet, but that was nothing new. It was not easy to find anyone willing to work the hours he demanded, and at the small rate of pay he offered. It was jealousy, he told himself, as he went back into the office. People were jealous of his success and they could not bear to be reminded of his wealth. Most of them had never seen a designer suit before, never mind owned one, he sneered at the thought. He waited for over an hour until it became obvious that no one was going to turn up. The shimmering figures in the doorway startled him.
“May I help you?” Black spots danced before his eyes.
“We were hoping we could be of help to you.”
He waved the two figures into the shadowy interior
“There, that’s much better,” he smiled, showing stained, tiny squirrel-like teeth.
The young boy and girl were unlike anyone he had seen before, and as different as fire and ice.
“We thought you might have some work for us?” The girl tossed her mane of red hair over her shoulder.
“Finished school, are you?” Pierce looked from one to the other.
“Yes,” the boy answered this time. “We are looking for a job before we started college in the autumn.”
“You not from around here, are you?” Pierce asked.
“No, we are camping up here for the summer. We are both hoping to major in history and there are a few ancient sites that we would like to explore,” the boy said.
“I can’t pay you much,” Pierce sensed an opportunity for cheap labour.
“We do not need much,” the girl assured him. “We will be happy with whatever you offer.”
“Very well,” he named an amount a third less than what he was willing to pay the locals.
“That will be great,” they chorused.
“Good,” Pierce clapped his hands, delighted at the bargain. “What are your names?”
“I am Amber, and this is Sabba,” the girl smiled. “His ancestors were Russian,” she added, before the man could ask.
“Well, that’s nice to know,” Pierce straightened his shoulders. “I’ll start by telling you a bit about myself and the object of my campaign. “Wait a moment; I just have to get something from my car.”
Once the door closed behind him Amber turned to Sabba.
“What a horrible man,” she shivered.
“I suppose we should have expected as much,” Sabba shrugged.
“This way we can find out what he is up too.” Amber said.
“Our parents will go mad,” Sabba bit his lip. “We are already in trouble.”
“I do not care,” Amber’s eyes blazed in anger. “This man is trying to destroy our home. We cannot let that happen, no matter what our parents say.”
Sabba had experience of Amber’s fiery temper and decided to let the matter rest. There was not a sound within the room, other than the distressed buzzing of a fly caught up in one of the dusty, cobwebby windows.
“Here we are,” Pierce came back, struggling with a large black and white poster.
He placed it against a computer on one of the desks and made sure it was steady, before standing back to admire his work. “I took the photo myself and had it blown up.”
He was proud of his work. Amber and Sabba walked over to where he stood, and both felt their blood grow cold.
“That monstrosity is the reason I’m running for government,” he looked smug as he stared at their pale faces. Sure, they shared in his horror at what lay before them. You will not know the place, but it is called Culdoplin Castle. I want to have the place knocked down, raised to the ground if you will.”
“Why?” Amber whispered, as she gazed at the silent sentinel that guarded her home.
. “It had no historic significance,” Pierce said. “I doubt if I’ll have any trouble getting the order to knock it through the local council.”
Amber moved closer to Sabba and slipped her hand in to his. They had to find a way to stop this man from destroying their home and all they loved, but how?
Stefan was shackled in the same chair that Roma was tied to. But his captors were taking no chance with him. As well as the leather restraints, thick chains looped around his arms, across his chest and around his legs. There was a pounding in his head. Blood streaked his hair and dripped down his neck, staining the collar of his tunic. He shook his head trying to clear it, but this only served to agitate the wounds; the skin tearing further, the blood rushing faster, until he felt its warmth on his chest. That last blow, the one he received before they dragged him from his cell, was the worst. The whooshing sound of the wood as it cut through the air wielded with all the force his attacker could muster, still rang in his ears, or was it the pounding of his heart causing the sound?
Blinking, he tried to dislodge the blood flooding into his eyes, turning the whites red. His mouth was filled with its sweet, coppery taste, and it sprayed from his lips, bubbling and foaming, as he mouthed a prayer for protection. His eyes darted to the chains on the wall and the cruel chair with it spiked seat.
It had been quiet for a few minutes, but this made his suffering worse, for within the silence was the uncertainly of knowing what they were doing. What vile act they were perpetrating on his wife and Annie. Then he heard them approaching.
“You, gypsy,” The Dark One lost no time. “I want you to admit to these men assembled here that your wife is a witch. That she is in league with the devil and the one who initiated her into his ways is Annie Ryan.”
Stefan refused to answer.
“Speak or I will make sure you suffer,”
Stefan shook his head. He loved Roma and he would never betray her.
“You wish to remain silent?”
Still he refused to speak.
“Very well,” The Dark One moved to a table and though his back was to Stefan, he heard the clink of metal against metal, as he chose from the assortment of tools spread before him. Turning back to his men, he ordered. “Hold him tight.”
Stefan’s head was pulled back against the chair, a strap was placed around his forehead and tied to the wood making it impossible for him to move. The Dark One stood before him, a set of pinchers in one hand and a blade in the other. Firelight gleamed across the blade outlining its razor-sharp edge. Stefan’s eyes bulged.
“Open his mouth.”
He clamped his teeth together as two of the men tried to force his lips apart. They held his nose making it difficult for him to breathe, and he turned purple from lack of air. Finally, he was dealt a resounding blow across the head that made him cry out in pain, and a piece of wood was jammed between his teeth. He tried to bite through it, but it was too solid, and he felt the pinchers snatch at his tongue and pull it from his mouth.
“You wish to remain silent,” The Dark One drew back the blade. “Then so be it.”
To Stefan’s horror the blade sliced through the air in slow motion. Its movement in time to his pounding heart before finally, it contacted the soft tissue of his tongue slicing through membrane and muscle. Blood sprayed in an arch following the blades wake. As in Roma’s case it would be impossible to describe the agony. He tried to scream, but all he could do was make deep, guttural sounds. His mouth filled with blood, choking him, but he was unable to move his head to clear the blockage. He gulped, swallowing the blood. Its raw taste was now beyond him, but his stomach heaved and sent it back up and it spewed from his mouth drenching all before him. Some of the men drew back in horror at what they were witnessing; others cursed him for staining their clothes. The Dark One stood with the pinchers held out before him, Stefan’s tongue held tight within its claws and the blood-covered blade dripping at his side.
“Release his head.”
The strap was loosened, and Stefan’s head fell forward. Blood dripped onto his lap soaking his trousers. Tears mixed with his sweat; mute sobs shook his body as he too prayed for death. The pain roared within his head, fiery needles pierced his mouth and his body started to shake from the shock. Looking up through his tears, he saw The Dark One was watching him, an amused expression on his face. The men stood frozen, watching as his life’s blood gushed from him. As an afterthought The Dark One looked at the pinchers he held. Scowling in distaste, he walked towards the fire, loosened his grip on the pinchers and allowed the flesh in its claws to drop into the flames. It sizzled and jumped before catching alight. Stefan closed his eyes and tried to block out the awful sound of his own flesh frying. Although the room was stifling, he felt a cool breeze caress his face. From somewhere close by he heard children’s laughter and the tinkling of harness bells. He was no longer in the torture chamber. Instead, he was walking barefoot through a green, leafy glade. Birdsong echoed through the trees and the sun felt good on his body. The caravan was just ahead of him. He saw Roma leading the horse and his children, leaning on the back door called to him.
“Hurry up, Da, hurry up,” they held out small hands, but no matter how fast he walked they moved further away. He tried to call out to them to wait but was unable to speak.
The torturers watched him in awe, as his eyes grew bright, his breathing slowed, and his face turned ashen. The blood still pumped from him, but there was not as much now, as it kept time to his fading heartbeats. There was no longer any pain, not where Stefan was. He started to run, crying out in his mind for Roma to stop, to wait for him. She turned, sensing the cry, and he sobbed with relief, when she smiled and held her arms wide. Her arms encircled him. He smelled once more the perfume of her skin, the softness of her touch before the pain within him roared, darkness descended, and he was no more.
“Oh my God,” Roma clutched at her heart.
“What is it?” Annie asked.
“I do not know. A horrible, stabbing pain.”
“Perhaps it is the skin knitting together.”
“No. It is something bad, like emptiness in my soul. “Oh God,” she sunk to the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. “The very life seems to be draining from me.”
Annie did not kneel beside her; instead, she walked to the cell bars. Her mind reached out for Stefan, calling to him. There was nothing, just a vast stillness. Still, she did not panic; she let her senses guide her. Invisible fingers roamed the dark corridor and into the room at the end, past the watching guards, heedless of anyone other than Stefan. Then, she found him.
His lifeless body lay slumped in the chair. His head bowed over, dark hair covering his face, the smell of blood overpowering. She probed deeper trying to touch Stefan’s mind, but it was useless. The flame was extinguished; all she felt was the coldness of death and the echoes of his suffering.
The Dark One sensed her presence. Walking over to the body, he waved her away as though dispersing mist, and she found herself back in the cell.
“Annie,” Roma screamed at her. “What is it? What do you feel?”
“Nothing. I felt nothing.”
“Annie,” she heard the rustling of straw as Roma stood. “You’re the only friend I have in this world. Do not lie to me, please. I could not bear it.”
“Leave me be.”
Roma’s arms went around her waist.
“Please, tell me.”
“I felt his soul cry out in pain.”
“Then what?” she managed to ask.
“And then,” Annie started to cry. “And then…nothing.”
For a long time neither of them moved. It was not until they heard sounds from the darkness they broke apart. The guards were dragging Stefan’s body back to his cell. Annie saw him first and had to drag Roma away, but not before she saw his blood-soaked corpse. They heard the jangling of keys, the creak of the rusty cell door, and the thud of his body, as it was thrown to the floor. It was then Roma started to scream.
There were times, over the next few hours, when Annie felt she would surely lose her mind. Roma spent the time whispering through the wall to her dead husband. She dug with her nails at the dry clay between the bricks until her fingers bled, wanting to see him one last time.
Annie huddled against the wall at the opposite side of the cell. She was beyond tears and resigned to her fate. But it was her sisters, Roma’s children and Meg who worried her. The Dark One said they would go for them at dawn. Already the air grew chill with the promise of first light, and from far away she heard the thrilling of bird song.
Just as the first, white fingers of light moved towards the cell, they came for them.
A great rumbling started above their heads. Roma seemed not to hear it, but Annie looked towards the ceiling and followed the sound as it moved across the floor. It was the great wheel, the one chained to the mill wall. Footsteps resounded on the stairs leading to the cells. A group of men passed. Ignoring the women, they made straight for Stefan’s cell. Four of them carried his body away. Roma screamed curses at them, her bloodstained fingers reaching through the bars, trying to touch her husband.
“Where are they taking him?” She turned to Annie.
Her hair stood out wild from her head. She had torn some of it from the roots in her misery. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her face swollen. Now, she truly resembled a witch. Before Annie could answer, the men returned. Throwing open the cell, they dragged Roma away, pushing Annie aside, so she lay amid the straw and listened to the fading screams of her friend. Her throat ached with unshed tears.
There were shouts from outside the mill, where a crowd gathered. She could still hear Roma’s faint crying from overhead, but this rose to a scream, as the rumbling of the wheel started and mingled with the sound.
“Mistress Ryan.” The Dark One stood outside the cell.
Hugh, as always, stood beside him. He opened the door and motioned for her to come out. Her legs quivered as she stood, but she would not allow him to see how frightened she was.
“This way,” he walked back into the darkness, and she thought she was being taken to be tortured. Hugh gripped her arm as they walked, but they bypassed that terrible room, and she hitched up her skirts as they led her up a stairway towards a door. The sudden rush of light dazzled her, waves of noise confused her, and she found she was at the back of the mill, facing the gallows.
“Up you go,” Hugh propelled her towards the wooden steps.
Soon she was standing looking down at the assembled crowd. They had grown quiet on seeing her, but with a wave of his hand the commotion started up again.
“Watch and learn,” The Dark One whispered.
Hugh’s grip never slackened on her arm. Two round cords of rope swung from the overhead beam. Roma was led out first. Her hands tied behind her back; her legs manacled in stout chains made walking difficult. Annie watched her progress through the jeering crowd. It parted before her, many trying to avoid even her shadow least she curse them. Others threw stones, and Annie cried out as Roma’s body jerked, when each missile hit her. She had to be helped up the steps of the gallows
Roma seemed unaware of what was going on as the noose was tightened around her neck. The crowd parted again, as the rumbling of the great wheel started up. Annie saw, to her horror Stefan’s dead body was tied, spread-eagled across its rungs, so each turn crushed him beneath it, as it moved forward.
“Look, witch,” The Dark One pulled Roma’s hair so she was forced to watch this further act of barbarianism. Though Stefan was beyond pain, Roma was not. Anyone who has loved knows when those you love are injured; it’s the most infinite agony. The rough ground rendered Stefan’s skin, but there was no blood; that congealed hours before.
The wheel reached the steps of the gallows. Stefan’s mangled body was taken from it and carried up to the platform. The noose was tightened around his neck causing his limp body to be jerked upright.
“This is madness,” Annie looked up at Hugh. “Why were they doing this? Stefan is already dead.”
Roma turned to look at her dead husband, then her eyes strayed to Annie.
“I am sorry,” Annie called to her. “This is my fault.”
“The witch admits to her terrible crimes,” The Dark One called to the crowd. “You have heard her words with your own ears.”
The crowds answered booing and jeering, waving their fists at her. Roma shook her head. Even then, in her worst pain, she would not blame Annie.
“Make ready,” The Dark One pointed towards the lever that would spring the trap door.
“Let me do it,” Hugh begged eager as a child.
“Very well.”
Annie was thrust towards a waiting guard, while Hugh took his place at the lever.
“Any last words, witch?” The Dark One asked.
She turned towards Annie. “God bless you, child.”
“And you,” Annie whispered.
She had never before witnessed the pain she saw in her friend’s eyes, and she knew she would never forget that look, ever. For in it she saw the fading of the spirit, the death of hope.
In the second it took for Hugh to pull the lever, Roma’s mind joined with Annie’s and she heard her words as clearly as if they were spoken. The children, what will they do to the children?
Annie closed her eyes and did not have to see her friends disappear into the gaping hole. She heard the thunk as they fell, and the creaking and groaning of the rope, as it took their weight and swung backwards and forwards. A cheer rose from the crowd, and from somewhere the sounds of pipes and drums started up. They were celebrating the death of the innocent.
“You are next.” The Dark One hissed.
She started to pray, an act of contrition.
“You are being much too premature,” he laughed, leading her down the steps and back towards the mill.
She had expected to be hanged.
“Oh, that would be much too quick. I have great plans where you are concerned. What you just witnessed is a drop in the ocean to what you will suffer.”
Throwing her back into the cell, he slammed the door.
“Think about it, Annie,” he warned. “I am talking about the ultimate in humiliation, the ultimate in suffering.”
His footsteps faded in the distance and she was left alone. The crowd outside moved away. The silence descended and hummed in her ears. She realized she was panting, and holding her hand to her breast, she tried to slow her pounding heart. When she achieved this, when the noise in her head was gone, and her breathing was keeping time with her heart, she reached out her mind with every bit of strength she could muster and screamed, Run Meg run.
Annie found him waiting for her as soon as she fell asleep. At first, she assumed he was the mysterious lover foretold to her by Roma. She went to him willingly: allowing herself to sink into his arms and sighed at his whispered promises. She felt his hands move over her body, sending shivers of anticipation into her core. She moaned aloud in her sleep and moved with him. His tongue flicked across her cheek and she parted her lips and allowed him to enter her mouth. His words seemed strange to her; his promises confusing. She felt him slip from her side and crawl on top of her. His voice was rasping, entreating her to give him what he wanted, but these were not the words of a lover. She had to get away, to wake up. Her sleep was deeper than it had ever been, and she cried out in terror, as the hands roaming her body dug deeper. She felt his nails scoring her skin and the breath upon her face smelled of the tomb.
“Annie,” it was her mother’s voice. “Annie, child, come back. This is not the way, turn back.”
“Mamma, Mamma, help me.”
“Not me, child,” her mother voice was fading. “But one much higher. Call out to him for protection.”
“Sweet Jesus, help me.”
No sooner had she uttered these words then she felt the weight lifting from her. She fought her way out from the sleep and sprang up in the bed. The room was filled with an angry roaring. Everything spun before her eyes. What little clothes she had danced around her, caught in some terrible vortex. The air was freezing, as the wind turned faster and faster. She tried to get away from it, shuffling backwards in the bed until her body met the unresisting headboard. The wind moved with her, threatening to pull her into its swirling mass. The roaring died down and was replaced by a wailing and sobbing. She held fast to the headboard, praying aloud to God to save her.
“Annie, Annie.”
Her sisters were pounding on her door. It opened slightly, but the pressure of the wind pushed it closed again.
“Rose, Dora,” she screamed above the noise. “Go back to bed. Don’t come in here.”
“Annie, I’m frightened,” Dora called, and the door opened a fraction as the children pushed against it.
Annie knew if they came inside, she would lose them forever. Holding tightly to the headboard, she stood. She did not know how she knew what to do, what to say, but she held her arms wide and called.
“Before me, Michael, behind me, Gabriel, to my right, Raphael, to my left, Uriel. Guardians of the soul, protectors of the light, help me.”
A dazzling white light shot through her darkened window and pushed the vortex aside. It spread wider until it filled each corner of the room. The screams faded with the last of the wind, and Annie shielded her eyes against the glare. She thought she saw shadowy figures within the light, but it was not possible to be sure. It was like looking at the sun, it hurt her eyes, so she scrambled beneath the covers for protection. She sensed the light fading and screamed when she felt the weight on her again.
“Annie, Annie.”
It was her sisters, trying to tug the covers from her grasp.
“Annie, what happened, what’s wrong?”
She peeped up at the two anxious faces and struggled to sit up. She was trembling so badly her teeth chattered, and she was glad of the warmth of their bodies, as they joined her in the bed.
“Tell us, Annie,” Rose looked at her in wonder. “What happened?”
She tried to make light of what was the most frightening experience of her life.
“It was the wind, nothing more. I left the window open and the wind came in.”
“It must have been a big wind,” Rose gazed around the room, at the clothing littering the floor and the overturned vase of flowers.
“Yes, it was,” Annie held them close. “And cold as well,” she tried to excuse her shivering and the goose pimples that rose on her arms.
Like all children they accepted their big sister’s answer and were soon asleep. Annie lay awake for the rest of the night. Though her eyes felt heavy from the want of sleep, she could not risk having the dream again. Nor could she risk its aftermath.
They set off for Meg’s cottage at first light, gathering herbs, roots, and berries along the way. She was glad to find her basket waiting for her on the doorstep and a freshly killed rabbit inside. Roma was as good as her word, and the rabbit would make a tasty stew. Annie was anxious to see Meg and hear what she would make of her nightmare. Meg knew the meaning of everything, each sign and omen. She could foretell the coming of snow days before it arrived or smell the onset of the rains. The children reached the cottage first, and there was the usual flurry of greetings and kisses before they rambled off to play. Annie nodded to Meg and placed her basket on the tabletop, then fetched the pestle and mortar for the grinding. Meg worked alongside her for a few minutes, picking the needed herbs and roots from the basket and throwing them into the mortar. Annie beat at the ingredients hard, and they were soon reduced to a fine powder.
“I’d pity the poor soul who gets in your way this day.”
Annie noticed Meg looking into the mortar.
“Sorry, Meg. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Aye, I noticed, child. What was it kept you up?” Meg had not failed to notice Annie’s red-rimmed eyes, nor the pallor of her skin.
“I had a bad dream, that’s all.”
Meg felt the cold fingers close round her heart; so, it was starting. This terrible blackness she had felt approaching.
“Come away, child,” she caught Annie’s hand in mid-air, as she raised it to crush a new batch of herbs. “Come, sit by the fire and we’ll talk awhile.”
Annie allowed herself to be led to the chair. She was glad of the heat from the fire, as she found it hard to get warm since her fright. Meg sat opposite and was quiet for a while gazing into the leaping flames.
“Tell me about this dream, child.”
“It wasn’t just the dream,” Annie clasped her hands in her lap.” But what happened afterwards.”
Meg listened to the strange tale as though it was a common, everyday occurrence. When Annie finished, she crossed herself and mumbled a prayer that Annie was unable to make out.
“Listen to me, child. For the hours of the day are short and the nights from now on will be endless. We have much work to do, to stop what’s about to happen,” she held up a hand to stop Annie’s questions. “The names you evoked last night were the most powerful of all. The four guardians of the soul came to your aid, with Michael as their leader. He is the warrior and the one most feared by the Dark One. Aye,” she answered Annie’s unasked question. “That’s who you saw in your dream. The one cast out and who fell from heaven. He has roamed this earth, this Hell since time began. His quest to gain as much power as God and bring about the destruction of mankind. He will not rest until he does so, and its man himself who aids his quest. Those who grasp at power, who lust for riches are his aids and feed his hunger. He has sensed the great goodness and power that’s in you and wishes to make it his own. You must learn to resist it. Fight him as fearlessly as Michael did and still does. He, along with all the hosts of angels, will be your allies and through him you’ll win the eternal struggle.”
“I’m frightened, Meg, not so much for myself, but for my sisters. What if he tries to hurt them, how will I protect them?”
“It’s he who plants such doubts in your mind. Pay him no heed and trust in what is right. You knew the exact words to say to save yourself last night. These came from God and will continue to do so.”
“I’m only a girl. How can I take on the forces of darkness?”
“When he comes to you again with all his whispered promises tell him you want none of him. To be away and leave you in peace.”
Annie looked at her wide-eyed. Meg sounded as though she was shooing away an unsuitable suitor rather than the Devil.
“Come now,” Meg rose stiffly. “There’s much work to be done in helping those who are in need.”
Annie joined her at the table, and they spent the next few hours mixing and packing the herbs. Annie told her as they worked, about the visit from the O Brien’s and the offer of marriage. She was glad her sisters were not around to hear Meg’s curses and ranting at the news. She also told her of Roma and her children and the villager’s hatred of them.
“Well, God between them and all harm,” Meg sighed. “But they’re welcome to any spare food I have, and you tell them so.”
Annie promised she would, and it was well into the afternoon when she set off with her basket. She took great care to avoid running into the O Brien’s on her travels. The reception she received from the villagers was the same as before, with only Jane O Regan inviting her in. There were two more deaths overnight and Jane whispered to her of the rumours that were doing the rounds.
“They say we’ve been cursed,” Jane said, looking about the room as if in dread of someone overhearing. “They say it’s those gypsies who are camped down in the hollow.”
“What nonsense. Why only last night I spoke to them and found them to be lovely, gentle folk. It really is all nonsense.”
“Still,” Jane sniffed. “The sickness has to come from somewhere and there’s none in the other villages.”
Annie knew it was useless to argue any further with her and after exchanging a few pleasantries, she set off for home. She was almost on the outskirts of the village when she heard her name being called. She turned to find Pat O Malley hurrying towards her.
“Have you heard the rumours?”
“Yes, but they’re nonsense. Those people wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“There’s mischief afoot. Mark my words,” he took her by the elbow and led her towards a thicket of bushes. “Only last night I saw that old witch Mary O Brien coming out of Jane’s house and her with a smile on her like the cat that’s been at the cream. She’s up to no good, that one.”
“Their horse lost a shoe,” she explained about the gypsies. “They’ve no money to replace it and the man’s sick.”
“Send them to me. I’ll give them enough to shoe the horse and have them on their way before any harm befalls them.”
“I will,” she picked up her skirts and made ready to run. She wanted to get home and tell Meg of what was happening and warn Roma as well.
“Thank you, Pat. You’re a good man,” she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll not forget your kindness.”
He was still standing with his hand to his cheek, when she reached the edge of the forest and turned to wave at him.
It was dark and the forest, that once seemed such a friendly, familiar place, frightened her. The call of the night owl, who had recently risen from his slumber made her jump. The small scurrying from the bushes as she walked along were now transformed into the terrifying scratching of some great horned demon, who she expected at any moment, to rise and block her path. Even the slight, evening breeze skimming the treetops sounded like thunder in her ears. Hugging her shawl tighter around her, she hurried on. Once or twice, she thought she heard her name being called and stopped to listen. The first time she dismissed it as her imagination, but the second time… She stood still, hardly daring to breathe, as it came again, louder this time.
“Annie, Annie.”
“Mamma?” she called, looking desperately around her. “Mamma, is that you?”
“Annie, Annie, child.”
The voice was stronger now. She saw a dark figure silhouetted in a clearing among the trees.
“Mamma,” was it her mother? She had somehow come back to her, though every fibre of her being cried out it was not; could not be her mother, she did not care. She wanted so much to believe it was true. That her mother had somehow survived the grave and come back
“Mamma,” she dropped her basket and ran towards the figure, tears streaming down her face.
A hand reached out from the dark, grabbed her skirt and pulled her back with such force she fell against a tree trunk, winded.
“Be gone, vile creature,” Meg waved her stick towards the figure. “Leave this child in peace.”
The figure sighed Annie’s name once more before it faded into mist.
“Come, child,” Meg helped Annie to stand. “Let’s go home.”
Annie was unaware of the walk to Meg’s cottage or the tender words meant to soothe her. It was not until she was seated by the fire and had drunk one of Meg’s cures for the vapours, that it hit her.
“My God,” her hand shook as she handed the cup to Meg. “What’s happening to me; what was it, that thing out there, in the forest?”
“A demon sent to lure you away. He’ll stop at nothing to gain your soul.”
“Oh, Meg,” Annie started to sob. “Just for a moment…”
“I know child. I know,” Meg put her arms around her.
“I can’t fight him. I’m just not strong enough.”
“We’ll fight him together. He is no stranger to me. You can stay here until you learn the way, until you are stronger.”
Meg had put Rose and Dora to bed. She prepared a sleeping draught for Annie. This would ensure she would have no dreams that night. The herbs contained within the draught would soothe her mind and still her thoughts and he would not find her waiting for him.
Annie was led to bed as the draught took effect. She was unaware of her shoes being slipped from her feet and did not feel the pillow when her head touched it. Meg stayed awake for most of the night. Fashioning crosses from dried reeds, she hung them from every opening in the cottage. Each was put in place with a small bundle of herbs attached to it and a prayer added to form an invisible barrier. Throughout the night, Meg poured over the many books and writings she had inherited from her mother. Refreshing the words of protection that were still clear in her mind as the day she first heard them, but she found comfort in reading them again. There was much to learn and little time. She cursed herself for not teaching Annie of these things sooner, but in truth, she had not realised how strong the child’s power had grown and how needful she’d be of this protection. She piled sods of turf on the fire trying to distil the gloom and the cold circling her. Dark shadows, thrown by the flames, danced across the walls and she lit a few more candles. She knew he was outside, prowling around the cottage. She heard his voice as she had done years before and brushed aside his promises of youth, of riches, of eternal life. When he tired of entreating her, he sent more powerful voices. She heard the soft voice of her mother. It told her to heed him, to do as he said, and they would be together again. Its strange Meg thought, as she brushed aside a tear, how a voice lost to her for over forty years could stir her heartstrings as though it were yesterday.
“God grant you peace, poor spirit,” she prayed, and the words whispering in her ears echoed away into a mournful cry.
She knew the voice was not that of her mother’s. The Dark One was using some lost soul to imitate the sweet sound in the same way he had done to Annie.
She was to have no rest that night. Angry, at what he saw as her meddling, he sent demon after demon to torment her. Tiny balls of flame leaped from the fire and turned to hideous snarling beasts that reached out sharp claws and tried to scratch her. The shadows lengthened on the floor as small black shapes crept from between the cracks in the walls and flew, turning into giant bats, their teeth dripping with blood. They hissed and swooped around her, their wings snapping like whips at her face. Still she prayed, never ceasing, allowing nothing to stop her in her mission to defeat the Dark One. It was only with the coming of dawn the torment stopped, and she felt him moving away.
He had not succeeded that night, but he was no fool. He knew what he was up against in the old woman. There were many others not as strong, who would easily succumb to his promises, and they were not so far away. The birdsong irritated him; the light slanting through the trees blinded him. He would rest now and allow those of his legions who worked by day to do his bidding. He belonged to the night and would need to gather strength for the task ahead. For he was about to do something he had not done in centuries; he was about to take on human form.
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.
Even in the dim light Tom saw the objects laid out on his wife’s grave. The magic circle, drawn with white spray paint, glowed under the rays of the full moon, and seemed to shimmer before his tortured eyes. A noise from somewhere behind made him spin around. Paul and Jill came out from their hiding place when they recognised him.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he nodded at the grave.
Jill understood how he felt; there was something unholy about the whole thing. But to see it now, laid out in front of him, must have been a terrible shock.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.
“Neither did I,” he agreed. “But I was sitting at home, growing more and more tormented, so I thought…” he shrugged, as there were no words to describe his feelings.
“Maybe you’d be better off at home,” Paul said. “We’ll come and tell you what happens when it’s all over.”
“No, I’ll stay. I wasn’t much use to her in life, but I’ll not abandon her now,” he looked at Jill. “Do what you have to.”
She explained what she was about to do and warned him about making noise.
“The ears of the dead are sensitive,” she explained. “Any sudden movements or sound will act as a damper on the ritual.”
He nodded and stood back to allow her to pass. Once she relit the candles and incense, she stepped back inside the circle and sealed the gap with the spray paint. She needed blood to complete her task, so raising the knife she brought from home she plunged the tip into her wrist. Always one to bleed from even the slightest pinprick, the blood flowed out of the cut, and she allowed it to fall onto the earth. She heard Paul’s sharp intake of breath, but ignored it, and wrapped a handkerchief over the cut. Balancing the book on top of the tombstone, she shone the torch on the pages and started to read the chant. The Wraith, she knew, resides in a place devoid of light and hope. Unaware of its surrounding, it lies in restless sleep, and waits for the voice that will summon it from its limbo. It needs the darkness to become visible to the human eye, and the voice that calls on it must be kept low and chanting.
Jill continued to read, while Paul and Tom watched from the side-line. Calling on God for protection, Paul fingered the rosary beads he kept in his pocket, and the smooth wood of the crucifix made him feel they were not quite unarmed. If there was ever a time for prayer, he thought, this is it. He never looked at the man who stood beside him, but he knew Tom was crying, as he saw the flash of a white handkerchief being brought up to his face.
Beneath the earth something stirred. Marie opened her eyes. At first, she lay listening to the soft calls from above. She didn’t know where she was, or how she had got there. The only awareness she had was of unbearable sorrow. She didn’t try to look around her, which was just as well. Her human body no longer existed all that remained were her bones. She was spared this sight by the urging of the voice that called to her, the notes filled with the same longing that she felt.
“I’m coming,” she whispered, before surging towards the surface.
The air smelled sweet after the rawness of the place she had been, and she stood for a moment looking around her. She was in a graveyard and it was night!
Jill used the tombstone for support, afraid she would faint. She heard the whimpers of fear from the two men and looked over at them. Their faces were ashen, and despite the cold, she saw beads of sweat on their upper lips. What they were witnessing was beyond belief, and she prayed they would not turn and run. Forcing her eyes back to the triangle, she shivered, as she watched the movements of the spirit trapped within it. This was some sort of nightmare, it had to be, as the thing that stood before her could not be real. The woman, Marie, appeared as she had in the photo on Tom’s side table. She wore a dress of flowing burgundy velvet, her favourite, Tom would later tell Jill, and there was nothing creepy or frightening about her, except she appeared at times to fade in and out, and of course, she was dead.
“Marie,” Jill licked her dry lips and managed to stand up straight.
If she did not remain strong, she had no chance of gaining control.
“Marie, do you know where you are?”
The Wraith’s look was one of bewilderment, when she turned towards the sound of the voice, and she wrung her hands.
“I was in a place of shadow,” she seemed on the verge of tears. “I can’t remember anything. The past is dim. Who are you?”
“My name is Jill. I’m the one who called you. I need your help.”
“My help.” She became aware of the presence of the two men, but there was no look of recognition when she saw Tom.
He, on the other hand, had to be helped to stand by Paul. Jill heard his muffled sobbing, and he used a handkerchief to still the sound of his pain.
“My child is missing,” Jill turned back to the Wraith. “I need your help to find him. The same man who took Rachael has taken him. Do you remember?”
The Wraith’s eyes opened wide at the mention of her daughter’s name.
“Rachael,” the whisper floated through the night air. “Rachael, my baby.”
She brought her hands to her face, crying as the memory reawakened.
“I’m sorry to cause you such pain,” Jill cried with her. “But I need to find my son.”
The Wraith shook her head.
“Why couldn’t you let me be?” She tried to move within the triangle but was held in place by its power. “Send me back,” her pleas were pitiful. “I can’t bear the pain. Set me free.”
Tom tried to go to her, but Paul held him back.
“Marie,” he called. “Do you remember me?”
“Tom.” He saw the recognition in her eyes. “Tom, Help me.”
“Send her back,” he turned to Jill. “Reverse the spell. Do something. This is unbearable.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to block out the sound of his tears and turned back to the Wraith. “My son, Toby, is seven-years-old and the man who took Rachael has him right now. If I don’t find him, he will kill him. I’m begging you as one mother to another, help me.”
“Please,” the Wraith struggled against her invisible barrier. “Set me free.”
“I will set you free, if you promise to help me,” Jill felt stronger, more determined.
“Let her go, you fucking bitch,” Tom screamed, and if it were not for Paul’s grip on his arms, would have attacked Jill.
“I’ll let her go when she hears me out,” Jill glanced at him, and then back at the Wraith. “Will you listen to what I have to say?”
“Am I dead?”
The question stunned them to silence. They looked from her to one another, unsure of what to say. Finally, Tom, after assuring Paul he was calm, stepped forward.
“Marie, love,” he walked closer to the triangle. “You died eight years ago; don’t you remember? A year after Rachael went missing. Her loss was too much for you to bear, and you took an overdose.”
“Oh, God,” her glance flew around the graveyard. “Is that why I’m here, am I being punished for committing suicide?”
“No, love, you’re not. Jill called you to ask for help. Her little boy is missing, and we think the same man who took Rachael has him. If we find Toby, then maybe we will find Rachael.”
“We could bring her home?” Her eyes filled with hope.
“Yes,” he was trying hard not to cry. “We can bring her home, and you can be at rest.”
He reached out and tried to touch her, but there was nothing there. She seemed to be part of the air, nothing solid, no substance. Puzzled, he looked at Jill.
“She is like a shadow; it is Marie’s spirit that you see.”
He nodded, sadly and stepped back. Paul patted his shoulder, urging him to be strong. It took great fortitude to walk away from the woman he had loved and lost. The woman he never expected to see again, not in this life.
“Will you help me?” Jill asked.
“What can I do? I can’t even step out of this thing.” She looked down at the triangle at her feet.
“I can free you from there, if you promise to help me. If not, I can send you back to where you came from.”
“There is nothing for me there,” she looked in horror at the stone that bore her name. “Just endless darkness and cold that chills the soul. I will do whatever I can to help, though I don’t know what use I will be.”
“Very well,” Jill picked up the book. “Once you are free from the triangle, you can move about wherever you please. You have the power to travel on the wind. It is up to you if you want to be visible, but I suggest you stay hidden. Tom thinks someone in the village has taken my son; your job is to find him. It is only by night you can move around. You will be powerless during the day.”
“If it is possible, I’ll find him and when I do…”
Jill interrupted her.
“You won’t do anything, if you do, we won’t find Rachael and Toby.”
“I understand,” she smiled. “Maybe, later, then?”
While this woman that stood before them looked like Marie, Tom knew she had changed. Perhaps her mind had flown before the suicide, or was tainted by the endless years of darkness, but she now had a vicious streak, and he knew she would need careful handling.
Jill’s stomach lurched as she began the chants to free the Wraith, and she hoped she would not regret what she was about to do. While the woman appeared to have no substance, the book declared the Wraith was capable of great deeds, and even hinted at its need for revenge. If this was the case, then God help the man who would shortly become its prey.
“You should be able to move now,” Jill stopped, and nodded at the triangle.
The Wraith lifted her leg and took a tentative step out of her prison. When she saw there was nothing to fear, she stepped out of the triangle.
“You will come with me,” Jill said. “I will show you where I live, and you must return there at the end of every night.”
“I must?” She raised an eyebrow.
Jill knew that she was testing her; the book had warned that this might happen.
“Yes, you must,” she stepped out of the circle and approached the Wraith until their noses were almost touching. Its scent was like the breath of death on her face. “If you do not, I will send you back now.”
“You have that much power?” It was said with a sneer. Now that all the confusion and terror were past, it had become more assured and aware of its power.
“I brought you here, didn’t I?” Jill held its gaze and refused to be beaten.
“Very well.” It saw she was serious, and some instinct warned it must obey. At least until it had done what it set out to do and that was to find her child.
“We need to gather up these things and wipe away the circle,” Jill turned to the men.
She blew out the candles and incense and threw everything into bags. Paul and Tom kicked dirt over the white lines on the ground and pulled up tufts of dried grass to disguise the place where it was drawn. At no time would Paul acknowledge the Wraith and kept well back from it. With the three of them helping, it only required one trip back to the car, and Jill was glad of this, as she felt exhausted. The Wraith had started to feed on her strength, and she knew the next few days would be draining. Paul was much quieter than usual, and once they were outside the graveyard, Jill turned to him.
“I know what I did was terrible, but I had no choice.”
“I know, I know,” his face was still devoid of colour. “But I’m just wondering about that thing in there.”
“Her name’s Marie,” Tom dumped his load into the car boot.
“I have my doubts,” Paul’s eyes stared into the darkness.
“About what?” Tom asked.
“I got to know your wife well during the months before her death,” Paul said. “And when she first appeared, I thought she seemed the same woman, but there’s something not right. You must have felt it.”
“What’s, not right?” Jill felt fear clutch at her heart.
“There’s something about her,” Paul replied. “I know you’ve seen it too.”
Tom tried to avoid his eyes, but he knew Paul was right. There was something, a cruel streak that had never been there before.
“Where is she anyway?” Paul looked back to the graveyard.
“She’s there,” Jill assured him. “She’ll follow me home.”
“Right,” he opened his car door. “I’ll go home and get some clothes and then I’ll be right back.”
“You’re coming to my house,” Jill asked. “Why?”
“I’m not leaving you alone with that thing,” He held up a hand to still Tom’s protests. “I know you think it’s Marie that was brought back, and maybe it was. But she’s changed, and not for the better.”
gemmamawdsley 