Haunted Houses

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.

The Dark One was enraged when he saw the carefully laid out body. He stormed to Annie’s cell and threw open the door.

“You,” he glared down at her. “How did you leave this cell?”

“Perhaps, it is you who underestimates my power, Lucifer.”

“Do not dare use that name,” he reached down, grabbed the front of her dress, and hauled her to her feet.

“Or what,” she reefed her nails along his hand, and her stomach lurched at the dark pus issuing from the cuts. “What will you do, Lucifer, kill me?”

“I will make you suffer the worst pain imaginable, and when I am finished you will join your family in Hell.”

“Never,” she laughed in his face. “I will never believe you. No matter what you show me. No matter what you do, I will be true to Him.”

“Even now,” he shook his head in wonder. “When he deserts you and leaves you to suffer alone.”

“Until the end of time, if need be.”

“Very well,” he signalled to the guards to bring Annie.

She followed them without resistance, faltering only outside that door. The table was bare. Dora’s body was gone. Relief flooded through her, for she felt her resolve would have weakened if she once more looked upon the lifeless body of her sister.

“Tie her down,” Hugh ordered, and she spun round to face him.

“You,” she spat, and he backed away, ashen faced.

She pointed towards the blazing fire imagining orbs of light rising from it. These she sent spinning towards him. He screamed and ducked down, but some made contact singeing his hair and clothes. Flames ran along the arm of his tunic, the same arm he had used in welding the stick. His roars of pain made the guards come running with water. Annie watched this tableau without feeling. She wanted Hugh to die. To feel the pain her sister had felt, but before she could act any further The Dark One seized her hair and pushed her down onto the table. Her face was pressed against the wood and her sister’s blood coated her face.

“Bring something to bind her eyes.”

A cloth, smelling of sweat was tied around her eyes, and she was lifted onto the table. No matter how she kicked and struggled, they kept her down. Now her vision was blocked, she was unable to fight, but had to lie there and listen.

They tied her hands to both corners of the table; her feet were pulled wide and tied in the same way. She lay there spread-eagled awaiting her faith. There were whispers from close by, and she turned her head towards the sound. Sweat coated her forehead not only from fear, but also from the arid heat. A smell of sulphur wafted across her face, and she knew The Dark One was standing over her.

“We must look for the witch mark.”

There were sniggers from the guards and Annie strained against her bonds.

“It will go much easier if you stop struggling.”

She turned her head from his putrid breath and kicked out as hard as she could. The slap she received split her lip, and she tasted salty, coppery blood.

“Very well, proceed.”

There was a sound of metal scraping against metal. Annie clenched her fists and tried to control the tremors shaking her body. Something cold touched her cheek and she gasped.

“Stay very still, cousin. I would not want to cut that pretty skin any more than I have to.”

Annie cried out as the knife cut the clothes from her body. She felt the bodice of her dress rip open and heard the gasps of the men as her breasts were exposed.

“Oh, God no,” she sobbed.

She had never been seen naked by anyone, not even her mother, since she was young. Now here she was lying almost naked on a table, surrounded by strange men. Her tears soaked the blindfold, as she felt hands move over her in mock examination. Her hands were untied, and she was pulled into a sitting position as her neck and back was checked.

“Nothing,” Hugh’s voice was hoarse, as his hands continued to move over her body.

Annie knew her skin was flawless. There was not a freckle or mole to be seen. Hugh’s hands still roamed over her, kneading, and pinching her breasts, until she cried out in pain.

“Remove her petticoat,” The Dark One ordered.

“No, please,” she tried to pull her legs together, as she felt the tip of the blade against her skin.

The guards drew closer. She smelt their sweat and heard their laboured breathing. They seemed impervious to her cries for mercy. Hands moved down her stomach, between her thighs. She screamed and thrashed, trying to get away as the fingers probed deeper.

“Enough,” The Dark One ordered, but still the hands remained. “I said enough.”

The fingers were pulled away, leaving scratches on her flesh.

“Move, go on,” she heard him order the men.

“Have you had enough?”

Annie was unable to answer. She was sobbing so much that words were beyond her.

“Answer me, Annie. Have you had enough?”

“Yes,” she managed to splutter.

Are you ready to concede?”

He waited for her crying to subside. After all, he had won. Someone of Annie’s sensibilities could not endure any more of this. Annie’s sobs quietened. She allowed her body to relax and her breathing to deepen. She heard the hissing of the fire and the muted mumbling of the men. Were these some of the last sounds Dora heard?

“Now,” he asked. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Think clearly.”

Annie turned her head towards him. “Never,” she roared.

“Very well. Shave her. We will find the mark.”

The blade slapped against leather, as Hugh sharpened it. Annie gritted her teeth, as she felt its sting beneath each arm. He moved uncaring of her tender flesh, and she tried not to cry out when the blade nicked and cut. She did not even move when she felt it between her legs and heard the dry scraping as it tore hair from the roots. There were small tracks of blood running under her arms. She felt the trickles as they moved. There was also stickiness between her legs, and she knew it wasn’t sweat.

“Still, nothing,” Hugh whispered in astonishment.

“Her hair then.”

“What?”

“Shave her head,” he ordered. “Start with these,” he handed him a shears.

Hugh shrugged and began to hack at Annie’s hair. The auburn locks cascading around the table fell to the floor as he worked. Still she didn’t move, even when the shears snipped so close to her head, she heard the snapping of its jaws.

“Look, there,” Hugh was pointing to a small mark behind her ear. A tiny brown birthmark even Annie did not know about.

“Well done, Hugh. You have pleased me and I will see you are rewarded.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” he simpered, handing him the shears.

“You may leave,” The Dark One ordered the men. “You also,” he told Hugh. “Your work is done.”

Annie listened, as the men filed from the room. The flesh beneath her arms and between her legs burned and her scalp tingled, unused to the feel of the air. She felt the restraints being loosened.

“You may rise.”

She sat and removed the blindfold, blinking in the dim light. Black spots danced before her eyes, as she felt around her for her torn clothing.

“Such modesty,” The Dark One laughed, as she tried to pull the tatters of her dress from beneath her.

She gathered the cloth around her breasts and huddled into an upright foetal position.

“Get up,” he pulled her from the table, tearing the scraps of clothing from her grasp.

“No,” she screamed, and tried to wrestle them from him, but he pushed her aside and dumped the fabric into the fire.

There was nothing else within the room she could use to hide her shame.

He ignored her and walked towards a wall. With a wave, a mirror appeared, and he beckoned her forward.

“No,” Annie whispered, trying to cover herself with her hands.

He grabbed her, pushing her towards it.

“Look what your God has allowed to happen.”

She averted her gaze.

“Look, I said,” sharp talons seized her chin and twisted her face around. “Tell me again how much you love him.”

Annie gasped at her shorn head. All that remained of her beautiful hair was a few small tufts of bristles. He let go of her chin and caught her arms pulling them behind her back.

“Look well,” he whispered. “See what you have become.”

Annie’s cheeks blazed in shame as she looked upon her body. Dark bruises stained the flesh on her breasts and blood glowed against the whiteness of her thighs.

“Well, what do you say now?” He clicked his fingers and the mirror vanished. “I would never allow this to happen to you. I would protect you.”

“No.”

“Then you will die.”

“Yes,” Annie whispered. “I will die.”

With a roar he flung her from him. He would have torn her to pieces, had it not been for the door opening. Hugh had returned.

“I told you to stay away.”

“I thought I could be of help, Oliver, and mother asked if you would be home for dinner.”

Annie started to laugh, home for dinner. In the awfulness of her situation Hugh’s words seemed ludicrous.

“Will you go home for dinner?” she asked. “I mean,” she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Hell is such a long way to go.”

“She is insane,” Hugh muttered.

At this Annie laughed even louder. Maybe she was insane. Maybe what she felt, what she had witnessed were all the wanderings of madness.

“She confessed,” The Dark One tried to be heard above her laughter. “And refuses to repent. She will die at first light.”

Hugh nodded and looked at Annie. She made no attempt so far to harm him, and he held up his arm for protection when she pointed at him.

“Will you give me you cloak?”

He was amazed at this request. This was his finest cloak, hardly worn. He did not want her blood on it. He was saved from answering.

“Sit her down,” The Dark One ordered.

Hugh motioned her to sit, but she refused to move. One arm was held tight across her chest, the other between her legs.

“Will you sit,” he glared at her, pointing towards a chair. The body he had violated no longer aroused his lust, and he didn’t want to have to touch her.

“Will you give me your cloak?” She asked again.

“Enough of this,” The Dark One roared. “I said sit.”

Annie found herself flying. She threw her arms wide in the hope of finding something to stop her flight. There was nothing and in the seconds, it took for her to reach her destination, she managed to look behind her. The sharp points of the nails glistened in the light throw by the fire, as Annie hurtled towards the chair.

The impact of her back against wood made it impossible for her to save herself, and she slammed with great force down onto the nails. Her howls of agony echoed within the mill. The guards outside the door crossed themselves, as the screams continued unabated. The eight-inch nails drove upwards, tearing through flesh and muscle. Spearing her rectum, puncturing her colon and bladder, and splitting the hymen. Despite the force in which she fell upon them, the points seemed to sink slowly into her body. The more she struggled, the deeper they sank. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried to lift herself off. The air was filled with the smell of blood and faeces. She managed to rise one side of her body off the spikes, but the other side dug deeper. Her screams resounded off the walls. Blood and body fluids ran across the seat of the chair and down the legs. Hugh stood frozen watching her struggle. She called out to him begging him for help, but he never moved.

“God, help me,” she cried to the heavens. “Let me die.”

The Dark One pulled her from the chair. With a sucking noise her body came free of the nails, and he threw her on to the floor. From her buttocks to the backs of her knees were covered with puncture wounds. Blood ran from each perforation and snaked around her body. She was shaking from shock as she cried again.

“Let me die. Oh, dear God, let me die.”

“Not yet,” The Dark One laughed. “What you have suffered is nothing compared to the death I will give you come morning.”

Annie felt a rush of cool air as the door was opened. Strong arms lifted her, and the guards carried her back to her cell. Her nakedness no longer shamed her, for the pain was overpowering. She was sobbing when they threw her down in the straw. Let me die, she prayed. Let me bleed to death. The blood coursing down her body felt warm. She reached out a trembling hand and tried to cover herself with the straw. The pain raging within her, made her catch her breath, and she surrendered to the darkness that threatened, and sank into its folds.

It was night when she awoke. For the first time torches were lit along the corridor. A blanket covered her nakedness and she clutched at the soft wool in wonder. The cell door creaked open, but she did not try to turn. The pain was too great.

“Here, Miss. Try to drink.”

She looked up to see the young prison guard. He was holding a ladle of water to her mouth.

“I cannot.”

He cupped a hand at the side of her face and allowed the water to drip over her lips and pool into his palm.

“I am so sorry, Miss,” he whispered.

“It is not your fault.”

“Aye, that as may be, but I have done nothing to help,” he sat beside her and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She groaned as it stuck to the blood on her back.

“Sorry,” he gulped.

“No, you are truly kind. Did you light the torches?”

“Yes, I am on duty for the night.”

There was silence for a moment. Annie seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. The next sound she heard was his crying. She reached out a hand and patted his leg.

“Hush now; my suffering will soon be over.”

“But it is not fair. You are only a girl and look what they have done to your beautiful hair.”

Annie forgot about her hair. She reached up and felt the coarse stubble. Her tears stung, as her face was sore from crying.

The next thing she felt was a soft hand brushing her head. She looked up to find her mother smiling down at her, her mother as she had been in life, and not the ghoulish figure of her nightmares.

“Annie, darling,” she kissed her face. “Do not be afraid. This will pass and we will be together again.”

“Mamma, where is Dora?”

“She is safe and at peace, child. You need have no worries.”

“I am going to die.”

“Yes, child, I know.”

“I am afraid. Oh, Mamma, I am so afraid.”

“I would take all this from you if I could,” her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “But I have not the power.”

“Rose and Meg and the others are they dead?”

“No, they will live and prosper.”

“Thank God.”

“I must go now, child. I was allowed only moments upon the earth, and I must leave. Already the cock crows and soon it will be light.”

“Mamma do not leave me please,” Annie held tightly to her mother’s hand.

When she woke again sunlight blazed through the slatted windows. Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she knew they were coming for her.

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.

A gale blew up during the night and sent leaves and dust swirling around Annie’s cell. She sat against the wall and listened to the voices carried on the wind. Her senses heightened; she heard the death cries of animals trapped within the forest. The beating of bats wings sounded like thunder. But the sound she reached out for most was beyond her. She could not find Dora. The darkness within the mill was absolute, broken only by the moon, as it sailed between wind-tossed clouds. There was scurrying in the straw, and she flicked her hand towards the movement. Coarse hair brushed against her skin, and she drew back in terror. Moonlight moved across the floor and she saw it was a rat. It was huge, almost the size of a full-grown cat, with black bristles standing upright on its back, teeth drawn back in a manic leer. It hissed and made ready for attack. It knew she was trapped.

She never took her eyes off its face as she stood up. If it should catch her throat, she knew she would never be able to remove it. She edged towards the corner of the cell, one hand in front of her face. It jumped, and she felt razor-shape teeth tear a chunk from her wrist. Screaming, she shook it off, and it thudded against the wall. It lay still and she inspected the bite. Blood gushed from the hole, and she tried to spit into the wound in the hope of clearing away any poisons left there, but it was useless. Her throat was too dry from terror. So, instead she held her hand down and allowed the blood to flow ever faster around the torn tissue. It ran between her fingers to drip into a small pool on the straw. So intent was she on tending to the wound, she had forgotten about the rat. It was now ready to resume the attack. Its tongue darted across its lips, tasting her blood. The moon moved behind a cloud and the cell was thrust into darkness. Annie felt sick from fear as she tried to trace the rats’ movement. But it was well used to hunting and moved noiselessly among the straw. The only sign of its presence was the light thrown by the redness of its eyes. At times it blinked and was lost from sight. Annie froze, waiting for it to pounce. The wound in her wrist burned, and waves of pain shot down her fingers.

Dora, her sister flashed into her mind. If something as large as this should attack so small a child! The rat inched towards her and snatched at her ankle. Once again, she felt the teeth tear flesh from her bones, and she screamed and kicked out at the dark shape. Her fear was being replaced by anger. She would not allow the creature to hurt her again. Moonlight flooded the cell and she saw to her horror; the rat was gnawing on a piece of her flesh.

“Devil,” she spat, at the hunched shape. “Fiend from hell.”

The rat, intent on its feasting, looked up at her and drew back its lips. For a moment it looked as though it was laughing at her.

“Die,” Annie whispered, imagining she was inside its body, tearing and ripping at its tissues.

The rat hissed and drew back. Annie’s hands moved faster, clawing at the air. The rat spun and withered on the floor. Blood dripped from between its clenched teeth and ran from its nose. It squealed just once as Annie envisioned her fingers wrapping around its heart and squeezing. She held on tight until all movement ceased, and the body stiffened in death. This threat was over for now.

She spent the rest of the night huddled in a corner of the cell and as far away from the body as possible. This was the first time she had knowingly destroyed life, and the thought of what she did sickened her.

The night air chilled her to the marrow, and her breath rose in white clouds. Winter’s sting was upon the land, and there was nothing to stop it invading the cell. But this cold seemed like no other. She pulled some of the straw around her legs and over her lap, hoping to find some warmth, but there was none. From somewhere along the inky-black corridor she heard low, menacing laughter. Threatening shadows, making no sound, darted along the walls. Nameless things reached out sharp talons snarling hideously and she screamed, covering her face. All through the night this torture continued. The bitter-cold air hung with the stench of death, as vile creatures whispered in her ear, to heed The Master, to do his bidding and all would be well.

“No,” Annie moaned, at each whispered promise. “I cannot.”

As the voice faded away with an agonising cry, another replaced it. All of those within his power sought to please him and appease their own suffering. Annie prayed, begging God to help her. She plugged her ears with her fingers, but the voices still penetrated. Her stomach lurched from the smell, and she crawled onto her hands and knees, muscles contracting painfully as she retched into the straw.

“Have you suffered enough?”

Annie wiped the bile from her mouth with her long hair and looked towards the voice. The Dark One stood at the gate of the cell, but she was unable to see him for he blended so well with the night.

“Leave me in peace,” she croaked, her throat burning.

“I will give you peace, Annie. Just say the word.”

“No, never.”

“Very well,” she heard him move away. “But by morning you will bend to my will, if you remain sane enough to do so.”

The blood pounded in her ears, as she waited for what was to come next. Screams reverberated from within the mill. She ran to the bars of her prison and tried to locate the sound. There was movement along the corridor, a slow shuffling of feet dragging on the stone floor. She sniffed the air and her flesh crawled. It smelled of the tomb, of rotting, decomposing corpses. Icy fingers scored down her neck, as the lumbering figures came into view. The rotten remains of her mother and father walked towards her. She was unable to move; her hands had grown numb from gripping the bars, and she was frozen in place.

“Ma, Da, no,” she sobbed, as they advanced.

The shrouds she had so carefully sewn for them, draped from skeleton shoulders. What remained of their flesh was blackened and hung in strips from yellowing bones. Most of her mother’s hair was stripped from her scalp. The few remaining hairs hung in snakelike tendrils around her wizened face. Their shrivelled lips showed white teeth against the blackness of gums, and the sounds they made were of a tortured wailing. Clawed, leprous hands reached out to her, and she screamed in agony. Still she could not move. Not even when her mother pressed her face towards Annie’s, and she was forced to look into the black, worm infested cavernous sockets that once housed her eyes.

“Ma, no” Annie sobbed as the fear overwhelmed her. She never felt her muscles relax or the warmth of the urine running from between her legs. Mercifully, a curtain of darkness covered her vision and her mind, as she sank to the floor.

Watery sunlight flooded the cell, as Annie struggled into consciousness. Her sleep was undisturbed and despite the horrors of the night, her mind remained untouched. All that happened seemed just a bad dream. The body of the rat lay on its back, frozen claws reaching upwards. She shied back for a moment, and then anger replaced her fear, as the pain of her wounds stung.

“Get out,” she nudged the corpse with the toe of her shoe.

It rolled over on its side, and she shuddered at the dried blood on its face.

“Go on, get out,” she kicked it closer to the bars.

Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she retreated to the back of the cell. The Dark One passed by without a backward glance.

“Bring her along.”

The cell door was thrown open and Annie recognised the man. He had been part of the group who had taken Stefan.

“I want no trouble from you,” he warned. “Come out.”

She smiled, as she walked towards him. He drew back uncertain, but mesmerised. He never saw the huge rat, and she moved so quickly, he was unable to stop her. She kicked at the body and he was hit full force in the face with it. The rats’ claws snagged on his tunic, and he screamed backing away, until he landed in a heap against the wall. He stared down at the blood-soaked body; its face drawn back in a grimace of death. His screams brought the others running, as he struggled to tear the rat away. The body thudded against the bars of the cell and he pointed a quivering towards it.

“She made that thing attack me,” he told the men. “It flew at me.”

They mumbled in astonishment not only at such evil, but also at the sheer size of the rat. Annie was dragged from the cell and propelled towards that accursed room. The Dark One was waiting.

“The night was a long one for you?”

She shrugged and sat in the chair he pointed at.

“Then you still refuse to obey me, after all you have seen?”

“My answer remains the same. I am a servant of God.”

“You will leave your parents in Hell rather then protect them?”

“My parents are not in Hell,” she shook from fear. “They were good while they lived. You have no power over them.”

“Oh, but I have, Annie. Every creature that walks on this earth has their failing. It is bred in flesh and bone. They are mine now, and they will suffer eternal torture until the end of time. Have you so little love for them you allow this to happen?”

“You lie. I know you lie.”

“Then, what did you see last night?” he hissed. “Does your God tell you that you dreamed it all? It could not have happened, and your parents are with him?”

She refused to answer.

“Very well,” he reached into his pocket, withdrew a scrap of material, and dropped it onto her lap.

She screamed and brushed it away. It was the same material she used for the shrouds.

“Tricks,” she screamed. “Vile tricks used to frighten the ignorant.”

“Tricks,” he snarled. “You accuse me of trickery. I who command legions?”

He clapped his hands and the door was thrown open. Dora was led into the room, but she was no longer in chains. The dress she wore was new, and she appeared well cared for.

“Annie,” she ran to her sister and climbed on her lap. “Look at my new dress.”

“It is very pretty,” Annie tried to smile. “Who gave it to you?”

“Jane made it for me, and she is going to make one for you too.”

“Where did you stay last night?”

“I stayed with Jane,” she reached up and stroked Annie’s face. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I do not know, my sweet,” Annie’s eyes filled with tears and Dora’s face grew serious.

“I thought everything was going to be all right, but it is not. Is it Annie?”

Annie could only shake her head.

“It is all right, Annie. I know.”

“What do you know, Dora?”

“That bad things have to happen.”

“Who told you this?”

“No one,” Dora whispered, clutching her stomach “I feel it, inside. You know?”

“Yes, dearest,” Annie felt tears trickle down her cheeks. “Yes, I know.”

The sisters clung together for a moment, Annie breathing in the smell of Dora’s hair.

“Well, this is all very touching,” The Dark One pulled Dora from Annie. “But it is time for your sister to be questioned by the elders.”

Strong arms lifted Annie from her chair and marched her towards the door.

“No,” she screamed. “She is just a child. Let her be.”

She twisted around trying to see her sister.

“Dora,” she called to her. “Tell them whatever they want to hear.”

“I am not afraid, Annie,” Dora’s voice reached her before the door slammed. “And you must not be either.”

Annie was dragged back to her cell. She screamed, she bit and kicked at her jailors, but it was of little use. They dumped her unceremoniously into the straw, and she lay there sobbing.

The hours dripped by, as she listened to every sound within the mill. Doors groaned open, timbers creaked, as they stretched and settled. Voices echoed along the corridor, and she strained to hear what they were saying. The only person she saw throughout the day was the jailor, who brought her food. This consisted of a stew of lentils and potato that made her stomach turn. She pushed it aside, and drank the tankard of water accompanying the meal. Despite her pleading with him for news of her sister he remained silent, and she was left to suffer.

Later that night she had a visitor, Mary O Brien. Annie stumbled to her feet when the woman appeared and rushed towards the bars.

“You have news of my family?”

Mary looked around her before answering.

“They are all dead. All except Dora and she has been accused of being in league with you.”

“No, this cannot be true. You are lying, you must be.”

“Well, if that is all the thanks, I get for putting myself out, I am sorry I bothered,” Mary sniffed and made a great show of pretending to leave.

“No wait,” Annie begged. “I do not mean to be so rude. Please tell me what you have heard.”

“Very well. But I warm you any more rudeness and I will leave.”

“Yes, of course, but you must understand how upset I am at the news.”

“Well, you only have yourself to blame. Goodness knows I have tried to help, and dearest Oliver has been doing what he can to assist you.”

“Yes, please,” Annie ignored the woman’s nonsense. “Tell me of my family.”

“Well, it seems they were trying to escape through the woods when the elders hunted them down. Dora was the only one who survived, and she is here with Jane Lynch awaiting sentence.”

“Sentence, but she is just a child!”

“Nevertheless, she has been found guilty and her punishment begins in the morning. Annie dear,” Mary’s tone softened. “Will you not repent and be done with this for all our sakes.”

“Yes,” Annie needed time to think. “Send him to me and I will repent.”

“Good girl. It makes sense to do so, but Annie. You will keep to your side of the bargain. Give me the lease to the cottage and land.”

“Yes, of course I will, as soon as I am free.”

“Oh, very well.”

The Dark One appeared within minutes of the woman leaving.

“I am told you want to repent?”

“Tell me the truth, are my family dead?”

“All, but the child, Dora and she is not long for this world.”

“I do not believe you. I would have felt their passing.”

“Even now you doubt my power,” he raised an eyebrow. “After all you have seen.”

“What will become of Dora?”

“She will be beaten like all witches’ children until she confesses you are a witch.”

Tears stung Annie’s eyes as she thought of her sister’s frail body.

“She will not survive the beating. She is too weak.”

“That is up to you. You know what you must do to save her. Sleep well,” he laughed before disappearing.

The waiting was the worst. Annie jumped at each sound, as the old mill creaked and groaned about her. Common sense told her it was the timbers settling and the scratching and tearing, nothing more than the clawing of mice or rats in the beams. The smell from the next cell made her feel sick. Stefan’s body fluids mixed with the damp straw, and to Annie’s heightened sense of smell, it was rancid. She could almost taste the sweet, coppery blood. It seemed to stick to the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Walking over to the gate of her cell, she pushed her face between two of the bars trying to gulp in the air streaming from the slatted windows. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, as she prayed once again for the courage to bear what was about to happen.

There came the sound of footfalls from above, and she moved deeper into the cell, when she heard a door open and the steps upon the stone stair. Turning her face to the wall, she refused to look at her visitor, but sensed someone was standing, watching her.

“Annie, dear.”

She turned to see Mary O Brien.

“I have come to save your life, Annie.”

“Really?” Annie knew The Dark One had sent Mary.

“This is no time to be proud,” Mary’s smile tightened. “But, then, why should it surprise me. Your mother was the same. She could have married well you know?”

Annie did not answer, but this did nothing to stop Mary.

“But, no,” she sneered. “She had to marry for love. Love, I ask you,” the laugh sounded like a snort. “And to a lowly woodcutter. Well, see where it got her. She left three orphans, two of them in prison.”

“Two in prison?” Annie ran towards the bars. “What do you mean two in prison?”

“You have not heard? She raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Oh, they brought your younger sister in this morning. Dora is it?”

“And the others?”

“I have no idea. They could be dead for all I know. Something of the kind was hinted at.”

“No,” Annie started to cry. “No, you are lying. You must be. I would have felt it if they were dead.”

“There you go with that silly talk again. Felt it, indeed. No good will come of it, mark my words.”

“Please listen to me,” she pushed her hand between the bars and held it out to Mary. “Cousin, help me.”

Mary ignored the proffered hand, but Annie saw she was prepared to listen.

“If you find out what happened to my sisters, I will give you my cottage and land.”

Mary looked around her, checking no one could hear, but there was no mistaking the spark of greed glistening in her eyes.

“I am sure I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Listen,” Annie grew more desperate. “The deed is hidden in the cottage. Do as I ask, and I will tell you where it is. You can keep it. I care for nothing other than news of my sister.”

“Very well,” Mary nodded. “I will see what I can find out, but not a word to anyone. I do not want to be seen helping a witch.”

“You know I am not a witch.”

“Oliver says you are and since your imprisonment and the deaths of the gypsies there have been no more cases of the fever.”

“But that is because the weather has grown colder. Please, Mary you must see reason.”

“I know only what my intended tells me, and I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Your intended?”

“Yes,” Mary smiled. “We are to be married as soon as all this unpleasantness is finished.”

Annie looked at her in wonder. Did she really believe the Devil would marry her?

“Do you not wish me luck, Annie?”

“Oh, yes indeed. I wish you all the luck you deserve.”

Mary was unsure if the words were barbed, so chose to ignore them. After all, the cottage and lands would fetch a good price. The money would come in handy and her new lifestyle might be expensive. Dear Oliver, was generosity itself, but she had to impress him with her independent spirit.

“I must go now,” she pulled her silk shawl tighter.

“You will do as you promised?”

“I will do my best, and I hope you will stick to your side of the bargain?”

“I promise. As soon as you bring me word of my sisters, Meg and the gypsy children I will tell you where the deed is.”

“Very well,” Mary turned, and as an afterthought… “I almost forgot my reason for calling on you.”

She made it sound as though this was a social call.

“I came to beg you to repent and admit to your sins. I have no grudge against you and wish you no harm.”

Annie knew this was untrue. Not only was Mary grievously vexed by Annie’s refusal to marry her son, but also because of her resemblance to her mother, Mary’s cousin. She always envied her looks and kind nature, and the simple happiness she found in her woodcutter husband and daughters.

“I am not a witch. I admit nothing.”

“Well, I did my best. I can only hope your suffering and the suffering of your sister will be swift.”

With these words she was gone, and Annie stayed staring at the spot she’d vacated. Dora, surely, they would not harm her. She was only six years old, almost a baby.

She heard the slam of the mill door overhead, and pictured Mary sweeping along the main street on her way to report to Him. The thought of her cousin in a wedding dress, with The Dark One by her side made Annie laugh, such a fitting bride for the Devil. She laughed louder, tears streaming down her face. But there was no merriment in the sound, and she collapsed on the straw still laughing hysterically.

Somehow, she managed to sleep. When she woke it was still daylight, but the shadows lengthened, and she judged it was well into the afternoon. Brushing the hair from her face and wiping at the dried spittle staining her mouth, she stood. She was covered in straw. It stuck to her skirt, worked its way into the cleft between her breasts and seemed to cling to every strand of her hair. She picked as much of it as she could from her clothes and shook it from her hair. So intent was she at her work she failed to notice Hugh was watching her.

“Good day, cousin,” he bowed. “I have been sent to fetch you.”

Annie backed away, but he threw open the gate and seized her arm.

“Come along now and none of your nonsense.”

He propelled her along the corridor and towards the dark door, and into the room that played such a part in her tortured imagination. There was a row of six chairs on one side of the room. The squire and five of the elders were all to sit in judgement of her. There were three large books spread open on a table and she saw to her dismay these were Meg’s books. Meg would never part with the books. She would guard them with her life. Did this mean…? No, she could not be dead.

“Gentlemen,” The Dark One addressed the assembled jury. “You see here before you the grimoires of this witch. Within the pages of each of these accursed books lie the Devil’s words. It was with these innocent looking books she,” he pointed at Annie. “Cast her spells and killed those you loved and held most dear.”

She turned towards the men and shook her head, her eyes pleading with them for understanding, but their faces seemed set in stone. The Dark One was still speaking. Picking passages from each of the books. Jumbling up the words and making them sound sinister and evil. The tirade continued for so long Annie lost track of time. The Dark One’s eyes blazed, as he hurled accusation after accusation at her. She never answered but shook her head in denial. He became angry at her refusal to speak and turning to the jury, cried. “Will not one of you good men question her?”

There was a shuffling of feet, heads were shaken, whispers passed between the men until finally, one of them stood.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Do you deny any involvement with these books?”

“No, Sir, I do not.”

“Then you admit to reading them; to have knowledge of their evil!”

“These books are used in healing and in the protection of the dark forces,” she explained. “There is nothing evil within any of the covers.”

“But,” the man spluttered. “We have heard the words for ourselves. They speak of spells and charms. Do you deny this?”

“I deny they are evil. The words were muddled up in the reading. It is he,” she nodded towards The Dark One. “Who tries to fool you.”

“And why should he do that? He has nothing to gain. There is no fee involved in his work.”

“He is the Devil and he works to empower himself.”

There were gasps and mumbled calls of blasphemy.

“I have no more questions,” the man turned away.

Once he resumed his seat, the jury whispered together. The squire looked up from time to time and smirked at her. The Dark One allowed them to confer for a while and then asked.

“What is your verdict, gentlemen?”

The squire answered for all. “Guilty of witchcraft.”

“Very well,” The Dark One smiled. “A wise decision. I will deal with her in the approved way from here on. You may go,” he waved towards the door.

They filed from their seats. One or two cast a furtive glance in her direction, but most avoided looking at her. Annie stared down at her lap, not wanting to meet their gaze. She listened to the shuffling of feet and the heavy thud of the door closing, until the silence came surging back and she was alone with The Dark One and Hugh.

“You have heard the verdict of your elders. They have found you guilty of witchcraft. What do you have to say?”

She looked up at him.

“Nothing I can say will make any difference. You have already decided my fate.”

“You know what you must do to save yourself,” He glared at her. “I have given you plenty of opportunity.”

Turning to Hugh she asked. “Do you really have any idea of what he wants?”

Hugh shrugged. “He wants what we all want, the end of the plague.”

“No, he does not. He wants my power. He wants …”

Before she could say any more The Dark One roared.

“Take no heed of her words. They are meant to enslave you to her will.” And taking Hugh by the arm he walked him towards the door, whispering. Hugh nodded, before turning to look back at Annie. She had never seen such a look before, but then, she’d never seen what lust looked like.

“Did you really think you could bring a mind as weak as that around to your way of thinking?” The Dark One sat opposite her and nodded towards the door.

“I was merely telling him the truth, but you know nothing of the truth.”

“Oh, my dear,” he laughed. “I know all about the truth. I just bend it to my will and make it much spicier.”

“What happens now?”

“That is up to you. You know what must be done. I give you one last chance. Give me your power.”

“No.”

“Not at any price?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. You care nothing for your own life, but I have something that might convince you to change your mind.”

He walked out of sight. Her heart pounded in her ears and looking down, she saw the front of her blouse moved in time to the beats. The door opened. She felt the cool air rush into the room dispelling the stifling heat. There came a shuffling of feet, the clanking of chains and a small cry of pain, as Dora was pushed towards her.

“Dora,” Annie tried to go to her, but he grabbed her from behind. His hands were like claws on her shoulders.

“Dora,” she cried, and the child who stood with her head bent looked up. Her hair hung in damp tendrils about her face, and there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Annie,” she shuffled forwards. Her legs and wrists were bound with chains, as the shackles were too big for her. “Annie, he hurt me,” she started to cry. “He hit me,”

“You fiend,” Annie struggled to get free, but it seemed impossible to move. Then, she heard Meg’s words. “You have the power of angels. Your power is equal to his. He is a fallen one, you are not.”

Annie tried to concentrate, tried to block out the cries of her sister, and called out with all her might. “Take your hands off me, Lucifer.”

The pressure lifted at once, as he was thrown from her, and she rushed to her sister’s aid.

“There, there, my precious,” she picked the child up and carried her to a chair. Brushing the sweat-soaked hair from off her face, she kissed the flushed cheeks. “I am here now. It is all right,” she tried to ease the chains over Dora’s wrists, but they were bound too tight. She forgot all about The Dark One until the child was yanked from her grasp.

“No,” she screamed, lurching at Dora, but he was too fast.

With a flick of his wrist he sent her propelling back into her chair and invisible hands held her there. “That was clever, witch,” he laughed, and hoisted the crying, struggling Dora under one arm. “But my power has grown over the centuries, your time has been short, and there is much to learn.

She screamed at him to let the child go and to her surprise he agreed. Dora was put back down. He stood her in front of him, one hand on her tiny shoulder.

“Will you let her die?”

Annie looked at the shaking child and shook her head.

“Then you will do as I ask?”

She never took her eyes of her sister. How could she give him her power? In order to save her sister, she would have to go against God. Please help me, she prayed, show me what to do.

“I keep telling you he is not listening. He seemed to lose all power of hearing at these times. If I correctly remember the last time, I witnessed so touching a scene I was in a garden with his son. His son, Annie, what are you to him?”

Dora stopped crying and was staring straight at Annie. Her face started to glow, the features changing until they became the face of a young boy. The voice coming from Dora’s mouth was ethereal. “All this will pass; Annie and you will walk in my divine light.”

The Dark One roared, twisting Dora round to face him, but her normal features returned. He screamed in anger and the same voice that spoke, answered his cry. “This was to be your punishment, Lucifer. You will never again look upon my face.”

In his anger he forgot about Annie and the child. Dora ran to her and Annie knelt on the floor holding her sister close and trying to block her ears from the curses and taunts he screamed at the heavens. Dora was shaking, and Annie rubbed her back trying to sooth her trembling. The child felt delicate as a bird, and she was aware of how easy it would be to hurt her.

“Where are the others,” she managed to whisper, before the child was pulled from her once again.

Dora shook her head in answer. The Dark One calmed down. Spittle dripped from his lips, but it was green in colour and burned his clothes as it splashed on his chest. Wiping the slime from his face with the back of his hand, he hissed at Annie.

“For this you will all die.”

No,” Annie begged. “Not my sister. She is innocent and no more than a baby. Have mercy.”

“Mercy,” he roared. “What mercy was shown to me?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, I know and you,” he spat. “One insignificant girl tries to stop me having my revenge. Guards,” he called. “Take this one away,” he pushed Dora towards the waiting men.

“Annie,” the child screamed and tried to wrestle free, but a resounding slap sent her spinning into the arms of the guards. Annie had to listen as her anguished cries echoed along the corridor.

Meg shivered and hugged her shawl closer to her thin shoulders, hoping to find warmth within its folds. But, in truth, the cold seemed to emanate from within her. She got up, and taking the steel poker from beside the hearth, stirred the dying embers. She watched and waited all through the night. Now, it was almost dawn and still there was no sign of Annie. The children had not slept well, especially Dora, who cried out numerous times during the long, cold night.

Walking to the window, Meg opened the shutters. She would wake the children at the first sign of daylight. The forest lay shrouded in mist, and the trees that once seemed like friends, now towered over the small cottage, menacingly. Their dark shapes a hiding place for any watchers. She shivered again and admonished herself for such foolish thinking.

Throwing open the door, she stepped outside as the first rays of light were filtering through the branches. The forest lay in a deep stillness. Meg held her breath and listened for the usual sounds that heralded the start of each new day. There were none, even the birdsong was missing. She walked to the small gate dividing her home from the forest and laid a trembling hand on the lichen-covered wood. Moving her head from left to right; she strained her ears trying to pick out any sign of life. There were no scurrying shapes in the hedgerows or sounds of animals foraging for food, nothing, just the sound of her own breathing. She was about to turn back towards the cottage when she heard it, an indistinct cry from far off in the forest.

She spun on her heel, almost tripping over her skirts in her haste. Walking as quickly as her aching back would allow, she went to the children’s room and woke them. They fussed and groaned at being woken so early, but she ignored their pleas of “just a few more minutes” and dragged them from beneath the covers. They stood for a moment rubbing sleep from their eyes, and Meg shouted at them to put their shoes on. As usual, she allowed them to sleep in their clothes, and it was only a matter of getting Rose and Dora ready. Lily and Paul, like many gypsy children, went barefoot. Not even the cold of the damp earth bothered them, as the skin on the soles of their feet hardened to form a protective barrier.

“Get your shawls,” she called to Rose and Dora. She had two knitted shawls lining her basket and these would do for Paul and Lily, when they started to feel the cold. Trying to make them wear these now would be a battle and only waste time. The children wandered in from the next room and stood bleary-eyed watching her.

“Take one each,” she pointed to the small, cloth-wrapped bundles of food she prepared during the night.

“Where are we going?” Rose’s eyes followed Meg, as she lifted each sleeping cat from its chair and threw it outside.

“We are going to the town to find Pat and bring him back with us.”

“But where is Annie. Why is not she here?

“She has been delayed, but sent a message saying we are to do as she asked and that is to go to the town.”

“Who brought the message?” I didn’t hear anyone.”

“A man. A man from the village came late last night. Now, will you do as I ask?” She pointed towards the waiting bundles.

“It seems very strange to me,” Rose scooped up her bundle and the others followed suit.

“Well, life can be like that sometimes,” Meg pulled the jackdaw from his hiding place and laid him in her basket. She knew he was helpless without the ability to fly and would fall prey to some animal. The cats and dog were natural hunters and they would easily find food.

“Come along,” she herded the children towards the door. “And not a sound now. I want you all to be quiet as a mouse.”

Rose turned a baleful eye at her.

“It’s a game,” Meg assured her.

“I have to use the pot,” Dora started to jump up and down, hands held tight between her legs.

“You can go in the forest,” Meg turned to close the door, but the child scurried past her and back inside the cottage, her voice echoing.

“I cannot wait. I will wet myself.”

“Christ give me patience,” Meg scanned the trees for signs of life.

Her heart was pounding, and her breath came in small gasps. Rose was watching her again. She had never seen Meg so upset and annoyed.

“Ready now,” Dora ran back out, and then realising she had left her bundles behind, ran back in.

By now Meg was on the point of screaming. But, finally, they were out among the trees and making their way towards the road.

“Stay well behind me,” Meg warned. “And not a sound until I tell you.”

They nodded and followed her in a line, each one more aware of how serious she was. She looked back from time to time to check they were all right. Her hip and back ached as she navigated the uneven forest floor, but it was her mind that was sorely troubled. The cry she heard was the voice of Annie, warning her to take flight. She could not be wrong, for she had felt in her heart the strangeness of the sound, and the stillness that followed, told her the child was in the gravest danger.

They were well clear of the cottage and hidden by the trees. Once they reached the road, they could walk through the giant ferns bordering it and remain out of sight. If quarantine roadblocks were set up, as it was rumoured, then they would return to the depths of the forest and get by them. She was so deep in thought, she failed to check on the children. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rose was right behind her, Lily and Paul were walking with their arms around one another whispering, but Dora. Where was Dora? She stopped so suddenly Rose collided with her. The jackdaw cawed loudly as she dropped her basket.

“What is the matter?” Rose asked.

“Dora, where is Dora?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed by the children and searched among the trees.

“She was here a minute ago,” Rose’s eyes filled with tears and she tried to run back the way they had come.

“No,” Meg grabbed her arm. “I will go. I need you to look after the others.”

“I am faster,” she tried to wriggle from Meg’s grasp.

“I need you to do as I ask,” and taking her out of Lily and Paul’s hearing, she whispered. “Annie is in terrible trouble. The only one who can save her now is Pat O Mahoney. You know Pat, do you not?”

Rose nodded.

“You must go on without me, take them,” she gestured towards the others. “Find Pat. Tell him what I said about Annie. About her being in trouble, understand?”

“What about Dora?”

“I will find Dora. You must not worry about us. We will catch up with you later. Stay far away from the road; keep to the forest and out of sight. No matter what happens you have to find Pat.”

“I am frightened, Meg.”

“I know you are child, but you have to be brave, for all our sakes. There is enough food to last you and the trees will give you shelter by night.”

“You mean stay alone in the forest, at night!”

“There is nothing in nature that will harm you and anyway, I will probably be back with you by nightfall. Go now and God keep you safe,” turning to Paul and Lily, she ordered. “Do what Rose tells you and be good. I have to look for Dora.”

They nodded and exchanged furtive looks.

“Do you know where Dora is?”

“She went back to get Blackie,” Lily whispered.

“Go on,” she motioned to the children.

When she had walked some way, she turned and saw they were still standing, watching her. “Go on,” she called to Rose, her voice stern, so the child turned and continued her way with her two little charges trailing behind.

When she was sure they would no longer try to come follow her, she set off. Her back ached and she was limping from the pain in her hip. The basket weighed heavily, and she stopped and searched for somewhere she could safely leave it. The long dried-up husk of a tree proved to be the answer. It had been struck by lightening. The force of the blast struck even to the roots, and it now stood bleached white by the elements. Only two stout branches remained, one on either side. These were thrown up towards the heavens like arms spread-wide in bewilderment at what happened. A long-abandoned hollow in the trunk was a safe place to leave the jackdaw, so scooping him out of the basket, she placed him in the hole.

“You will be safe there until I get back,” she assured him and he cawed once fluttering his good wing in answer. The basket was hidden behind the tree before she set off once more. She moved a little faster now it no longer banged against her hip. Still, it took some time before the cottage came into view.

She approached it from the side and at first glance nothing seemed amiss. Fearing someone might hear, she had not dared, in all the time she was walking, to call out to the child. It was not until she reached the pathway and the little wooden gate, she saw the carnage. The bodies of her cats lay butchered in the grass. Their heads lay beside them, the fur matted with blood, mouths wide in a scream of pain.

“Sweet Jesus, protect us from all harm,” she spoke aloud as she crept towards the open door.

The interior was a shamble with every jar and bottle smashed on the floor. Even the rags she used as stuffing for the cushions was pulled out and scattered about. The air reeked of blood and excrement and she picked her way around the table in search of the source. Her old dog lay beside the fire and for a moment she thought he was sleeping. It was hard to make out in the shadowy interior, and she called to him in a whisper.

“Here dog. Good boy, come here.”

The closer she got the worse the smell became. Using the table as support, she reached out and nudged him with her foot. He never moved and she saw to her horror the toe of her shoe was stained black. Groaning, she eased herself down, holding one hand over her nose to block the stench and almost retched when she realised what she mistook for a shadow on the floor, was in fact a pool of blood. She reached out a hand and stroked the rough coat of the animal. The dog’s head fell to the side and she saw his throat was cut. Blood coated the hearth and sprayed up the wall; she saw also the reason for the smell. His muscles loosened in terror and the floor was covered in the waste that pumped from his body.

“I am sorry old friend,” she whispered, before leaning on the table, she managed to stand.

She was so caught up in the horror of it all, she forgot for a moment her reason for being there, Dora! She hurried towards the only other room in the cottage, the bedroom. This too was in total disarray, even the bedcovers were pulled free and the thin horsehair mattress split down the middle in the searcher’s fervency. But this was not the work of a man. No, this had all the marks of the beast and now, by all accounts, he had Dora.

She rounded the side of the cottage to her tool shed. There she picked up a shovel and carried it back to the front. Crying, she scooped up the bodies of her cats. A couple of times the heads fell off the shovel and she was forced to follow them, as they rolled along the path. Blinded by tears, she placed the cats beside the dog and taking a tinderbox from above the fire she walked outside. Lifting her skirt, she tore a piece from her undergarment. This she lay on the windowsill and struck the flint against the box until it sparked, and the cloth caught fire. She flung the blazing cloth on to the roof and within seconds the thatch was ablaze. Her animals were good and loyal friends and this funeral pyre was the only way she could repay them. She would never have returned to the cottage, not after what she witnessed. It was tainted by his presence, no longer holy ground. Things would be changed forever; she knew this as sure as she knew night followed day. The straw crackled and hissed in the quiet air. Small tufts flew from the roof and set the grass alight. She watched until the roof caved in and the small fires in the grass died down, and she was sure it would not spread to the trees. Something brushed against her skirts and she looked down in amazement at the black cat circling her legs. Bending down, she stroked the soft fur on Blackie’s head. He had somehow survived, and she called to him to follow, as she moved back towards the shelter of the trees.

In just over a day she lost her home, her child, for in truth Annie was as dear to her as any she might have borne, and little Dora. Her world was filled with wickedness and evil and yet there was no sign of the hand of God in all of this. Had she been right in her first assumption? Had the time come once again for a sacrifice and would it be, as always, the most precious and innocent of his children who would suffer the most?

She was crying in shock when she reached the lightening tree. Retrieving the jackdaw from his hiding place and set off in the wake of the children. The basket held firmly by her side and the small black cat running along beside her.

Meg watched the path through which she expected Annie to make her way home, until it became too dark to see. The evening grew colder and the breeze carrying the perfume of the woods, smelt rancid.

“Sweet Jesus, protect us,” she murmured, ushering the children inside.

They were restless all day, barely touching the food she prepared for them. She had not been able to eat a bite either. The worry for Annie’s safety weighed heavy on her. It was an even worse struggle to get them to go to bed and they did so, only after she promised to wake them as soon as Annie came home.

But Annie was not coming home, not tonight. Meg lowered herself into a chair beside the fire. She placed a lighted candle in the two small windows fronting the cottage. Small beacons to light the way for one she loved more than her life. She would rest awhile here in the quiet and surrounded by all the things familiar to her. Looking around the kitchen, she smiled at the jumble she collected over the years. Wooden shelves groaned under the weight of jars filled with hundreds of dried herbs, powders, and oils. Vervain root acted as a mild stimulant, valerian to ease a troubled mind, plantain, for bites and stings and other more powerful plants to relieve the pains of childbirth. She taught Annie all about these things, and the child knew each plant and root by its feel and smell. Had she been wrong to encourage Annie in the ways of the healer? But the child was born to do so, and surely it would have been sinful to discourage such a gift? I will not cry, I must not, for all will be lost if I weaken. She tried to occupy her mind with other thoughts and glanced at the faded tapestries on the cushions adorning each chair. Meg’s cats and Blackie all huddled together on one of the cushions, a maze of heads, paws, and tails. It was hard to see where one cat began and the other ended. From above the fireplace two bright, searching eyes appeared. The jackdaw took shelter in a nook in the wall and was watching her, bobbing its head from side to side as if asking, what is wrong? The old dog at her feet stirred, sensing her mood, and put his face on her lap. Reaching down, she stroked the animal’s coarse hair and her mind was filled with plans for the coming day. They would set off at first light and make their way towards the town. The going was hard, but the weather was dry and with God’s help they would make it in time. She would find Pat and tell him of Annie’s imprisonment. She knew the child was being kept against her will, for nothing other than death would keep her away from her sisters. Crossing herself, she prayed for Annie and the strength to endure the journey they were all about to make.

The torture started as soon as the sun set. They came for Roma first, tearing her from Annie’s grasp and ignoring her pleas for mercy.

“Watch and learn.” The Dark One sneered.

Stefan kicked against the bars of his cell in vain. They were too solid for even his great strength, his shouts of terror and impotence echoed along the empty corridor, even after the door slammed shut and he could no longer hear his wife’s sobs. He had always been strong in both mind and body, but now he went unmanly with grief. Gripping the bars, he laid his head against them and sobbed. Annie sunk to the floor and listened in terror to his crying. Maybe, The Dark One was just trying to frighten her, and wouldn’t really hurt Roma? No sound came from along the corridor. For a while it was quiet save for Stefan’s anguished sobbing and then she heard it, a desolate cry resounding from far away.

Roma listened to the accusations against her and once again denied them. He bound her hands to a chair, and she struggled against her restraints. A fierce fire burned in the brazier, and the coals were red and angry looking.

“Confess and be free.”

She looked up at him in wonder.

“Yes,” his voice was kind. “Tell us the truth and you can go free. Take your husband, return to your children and be on your way.”

Sweat glistened on her upper lip and trickled into her mouth. She licked at the salty liquid and watched as he strode around the room.

“Well?”

“If I say I am a witch,” she asked. “I can go free?”

“Yes, that is all there is to it,”

She failed to notice his smile of triumph, as it was directed to Hugh O Brien.

It would be going against God to utter such blaspheme, but if it saved their lives.

“I am a witch,” the whisper was indistinct.

“Speak up.”

“I am a witch.”

“Good,” he sat opposite her. “Very good.”

“Can I go now?” God forgive me Roma prayed, but I am only doing what mothers have done throughout the centuries, lying to save my children.

“In a little while, but first I have a question for you. Answer carefully,” he warned. “Your very life depends on it.”

“Your friend, Annie Ryan. It was she who instructed you in the Devil’s ways, was it not?”

“Annie, no! Annie is goodness itself. She would never think of such things.”

“Think again, gypsy,” he snarled, causing her to draw back. “If you value your freedom answer true.”

“But what I say is the truth. Annie is good and kind and I will not betray her.”

“Not even to save your husband, your children?”

“No,” Roma’s heart ached with sorrow, for she now saw the road she had to take. The Dark One could not be allowed to have his way.

“Perhaps this will persuade you?” Walking over to the fire, he withdrew an iron resting among the coals. The head was flat and glowed white from the heat.

“Prepare her,” he motioned to Hugh, who came and stood before her.

She looked up at him, shaking her head and crying.

“No, please no,”

There was no mercy in Hugh’s face as he leaned down, grabbed her blouse in both hands and pulled it apart exposing her breasts. He leered, stroking her smooth skin with the back of his hand, before stepping aside and allowing the Dark One to take his place.

“Do you still say she is innocent?”

The iron was so close she smelt its heat.

“I am afraid. Oh, God help me, but I am so afraid,” coal-black curls tumbled across her face as she bowed her head.

“Pull her head back.”

Hugh, standing behind her chair, grabbed her hair and pinioned her head against the hard wood.

“Last chance,” The Dark One’s face drew close to hers. “Just say the words and you will be free.”

His breath smelt blood-sweet and in that few seconds she noticed, for the first time, his eyes had no colour within the pupils, just a flat blackness. Hugh’s grip loosened somewhat on her hair and she managed to draw even closer to The Dark One, their noses were almost touching when she spat into his face. He drew back, disgusted and wiped the spittle away with his sleeve.

“Very well,” he thrust the iron as though it were a sword. It contacted the skin on her left breast, just above her heart and she screamed in agony. It would be pointless to describe the pain; she could not have found the words. He did not withdraw the iron immediately but held it in place allowing it to burn past the skin and into the tissue beyond. Roma writhed and howled, trying to get away from the pain, praying for death. Even when the iron was withdrawn, the agony continued. A large circular piece of her skin had burned away and was stuck to the head of the iron. Her left breast was now an open wound, the skin around the hole blistering and bubbling causing her to moan and scream. It felt as though she had a fever. The heat raged within her and sweat dripped down her face. Even the small trickles that reached the wound caused her to cry out.

“I will just let the iron reheat.”

He was speaking to Hugh who still held her hair, but she managed to move her head enough to see the fire. The head of the iron was buried deep with the coals and already turning white from the heat.

“Please no,” she whispered. “I cannot take any more.”

He had withdrawn the iron and was advancing on her again.

“No please.”

“Then tell me the truth. Say she is a witch and has instructed you in the ways of the Devil,” he moved the iron closer to her right breast as he spoke. She felt its heat on her skin.

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, Annie told me to do it.”

“Do what?”

“What do you want me to say, tell me?”

“You will sign a confession that Annie Ryan instructed you in the ways of the Devil. That through her intercession you mated with him and bore his black offspring’s,”

Roma was sobbing from pain, but also from self-disgust. “Then I can go free?”

“Yes, of course. I will give you freedom.”

Hugh loosened one of her restraints. A thick manuscript was dropped into her lap and a pen, its nib dripping ink, handed to her.

“Sign there,” Hugh indicated a space on the bottom of the document.

“I cannot write.”

“Then make your mark. A cross will do.”

Roma’s hand shook as she traced a cross onto the yellow paper.

“Very well,” The manuscript was grabbed from her lap. “Take her back to the cells.”

“But,” she panicked. “I have done what you asked. You promised to set me free.”

“Oh, I will give you a freedom of sort. Take away all your pain,” he laughed. “Now take her away.

Roma was dragged back along the dark corridor. Her blouse open, her breasts hanging loose, but she was beyond shame. They threw her into the cell, and she lay on the floor, trying to burrow into the dirty straw. She heard Stefan’s curses and roars at the men, and she pulled away from Annie, when she tried to lift her.

“Leave me be,” she sobbed. “I betrayed you Annie. I have signed your death warrant.”

“Roma, hush now,” Annie tried to brush back the sweat-soaked hair. “Turn around let me see what they did to you.”

“Do not be kind to me Annie,” Roma’s voice was muffled by the straw. “Please, I cannot bear it.”

“Roma, listen to me,” Annie was crying now. “I know what you did was not out of malice. Let me help you.”

Roma sat and tried to gather the remnants of her blouse around her, but she was not fast enough. Annie gasped, when she saw the wound and the raw, burnt flesh around it. Blood dripped from the tear, caking Roma’s side and there was an aroma of cooked meat. Annie tried not to retch, when she realised the smell was emanating from her friend.

“Do not look,” Roma tried to hide.

“I have already seen. Do not pull away. I can help.”

“No,” Roma brushed at Annie’s outstretched hand. “It hurts too much.”

“I know, but I can ease the pain. Trust me.”

Annie called out to Stefan several times to be quiet. He was out of his mind with worry, and although she could understand his desperation, there was work to be done. Her powers were limited under such a strain, but she would do what she could. Reaching out, she placed the palm of her hand over the wound. Roma screamed and tried to pull away, but Annie whispered to her, the words soothing. Closing her eyes, Roma swayed slightly, and Annie held her upright with one hand, while laying the other on the open wound.

“Lord,” she prayed. “It is a good thing I wish to do with this gift you gave me. I ask you now, you who healed our Saviour, Jesus Christ and staunched his bleeding wounds. Have pity on this woman who suffers in your name.”

The flesh beneath her hand began to cool. Roma gasped as she felt the pain ebb and the fever within her body faded away. Charred and torn tissue started to knit together. The puckered, burnt flesh uncurled and stretched itself across the wound. When Annie removed her hand the only evidence of what Roma had suffered was a round, red mark.

“I cannot believe it,” Roma traced her fingers over the mark. “Annie, how can this be?”

“I do not know,” Annie was amazed by what she had done. “I have always been able to heal, but I cannot explain how or why.”

“Stefan,” Roma wanted him to hear what Annie had done.

Leaning on Annie’s arm, she managed to get on her feet. She was still badly shaken by her ordeal, but now the pain was gone, her thoughts were of her husband. Before she could walk to the bars, before she could reach out a hand and try and touch him…

“Bring the man next.”

The command from the darkness made her draw back in fear.

“Get down,” Annie warned, and Roma crouched in the corner of the cell, pulling her tattered blouse around her. Annie stood in front, shielding her from the group of men who arrived to take Stefan. There were at least ten of them and each held a stout club. They knew he would put up a fight, and Roma and Annie clung together listening to the roars from the next cell. Sobbing, they cringed as blows rained down on him, and they heard the smack of wood against flesh, the dull thud when it hit bone.

“Right, bring him along,” one of the men stood back to allow the others to drag Stefan out.

Annie rose and walked to the bars of her cell. The man who had spoken was sweating, and the club he held was matted with blood. All she saw of Stefan were his heels as he was dragged away, toes scraping along the flagstones.

“Wait,” Annie called to the man.

“What do you want, witch?”

“Tell him,” she indicated along the passageway. “Tell The Dark One I will admit to being a witch. Sign anything, he wants if he lets Stefan go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The one you call Oliver. Tell him what I said.”

“I take no orders from the likes of you,” with this he struck out at her.

She was too quick, and the blow from the club meant for her fingers, rang against the bars.

“Tell him,” she warned. “Or I will say you are in league with me.”

He drew back as if struck and hurried away into the darkness. The Dark One and Hugh O Brien accompanied him on his return.

“What is it you want?” The Dark One was annoyed.

“I will sign whatever document you want; admit I am a witch if you let Stefan go.”

“That is not what I want from you,” he hissed, moving closer to her.

“I cannot give you what you ask.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“I will not go against God.”

“Why?” Then, noticing Hugh moving closer, he turned. “Go, make sure all is well.”

Hugh and the man moved away.

“Now,” he turned back to Annie. “Tell me why you defend this God of yours, this Saviour. He is willing to let you and yours suffer and die; while I will give you everything you desire.”

“I love him.”

“You love him! Have you taken leave of your senses? How can you love him? He is a monster, an abomination that sees your suffering and does nothing.”

“I feel him all around me,” her face became rapturous. “He whispers to me on the wind. When I am in the woods, I feel his wonder beneath my feet. I can feel the opening of each bud, the birth of every creature no matter how small. It is their life renews the power in me. It flows over me. I can feel it now, even in this dreadful place.”

Roma turned and looked up at Annie. She seemed to be glowing, emitting a warm light. Even The Dark One seemed mesmerised.

“This is why I love him. I can feel his goodness. Can you not try to feel the same?” She reached through the bars and touched his face. The magic within her fingers was like acid on his skin.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”

“It is not you,” he snarled, holding his hand against his severely burned cheek. “It is him,” he shook his fist towards the ceiling. “He has tormented me since the beginning of time and continues to do so through you and your like. You will pay now, all of you will die.”

“No,” Annie backed away as the fire in his eyes grew stronger

Hugh and the others came running on hearing his cries. Their eyes flew from his burnt face to Annie and back again.

“See what the witch has done to me?”

The looks they gave Annie were filled with fear.

As if noticing Roma for the first time, he turned on her. “Show me your wound, gypsy.”

“No,” Roma huddled deeper into the corner.

“Leave her be,” Annie warned. “She has suffered enough.”

“Do I have to come in there?” He roared.

“No, please,” Roma held up a hand to ward him off.

He knew what happened. Annie healed the wound and having had evidence of her power; he knew she was capable of much more.

Turning to Hugh he asked. “Did she not under pain of torture admit to being a witch?”

“She did.”

“And did I not brand her with a hot iron and tear the skin from her bones?”

“You did indeed.”

“Yet,” he indicated to one of the men to open the cell. “I see no sign of her suffering, no marks. Do you?”

“Come to think of it,” Hugh scratched his head, a stupid look on his face. “I cannot see anything.”

Annie backed away towards Roma and was shielding her with her body. Two of the men approached her, grabbed her arms, and dragged her kicking and screaming to the other side of the cell. Roma was pulled to her feet and offered little resistance, as he moved towards her and pushed aside the remnants of her blouse. Hugh gasped at the red patch on her skin and pointing a trembling finger, stuttered.

“But she was horribly burned. There was a hole and blood.”

“Now you see how powerful this witch is?” The Dark One looked round at the men, who were shaking their heads in disbelief. “While she lives, you will never prosper. She will bring sickness and suffering on the village until she and her servants are wiped out.”

“No,” Annie tried to pull away. “What he says isn’t true. I am a healer. I heal man and beast, and I do so in the name of God.”

“Enough,” he walked outside the cell and waited for his men to join him. Annie and Roma were thrown to the floor by their captors.

“I will be back for you later,” was his parting promise.

“No,” she ran to the bars, but he was already lost in the darkness. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh, please God help us.”

The only reply was the laughter of The Dark One and his mocking whisper.

“He is still not listening.”

Her feet never touched the floor, as she was carried along on a wave of hysteria. Within seconds she was standing before The Dark One. His eyes were serious now they were face to face. They no longer held the mocking gleam of triumph she had so recently witnessed. She stood in front the table; he was behind it with Roma as a human barrier. The room fell silent, save for the odd shuffling or fussing of a child. Annie reached over and pulled down Roma’s dress. The woman never noticed this act of kindness. Her eyes were glazed over in fear, and Annie could smell the strong, acidic stench of her sweat. She allowed her hand to slip along Roma’s body until their fingers met and she squeezed. The pressure from Annie’s hand made the woman moan.

“It’s all right.” Annie whispered. “It’ll be over soon.”

“Even now,” The Dark One’s voice broke the silence. “Even here before you good people they continue to plot.”

Annie looked up at him.

“Yes,” his mocking sneer had returned. “They continue to mouth their evil spells. Though I know nothing of the language of the Devil, the chant she used is clear enough.”

“This is madness,” Annie spun around to face the people. “You all know me. I’ve helped many of you through the sickness.”

There were mutterings from the crowd.

“And how many more have you helped to kill?” The Dark One asked. “Is there anyone who has not lost a loved one through your potions?”

There were shouts, voices raised high in anger.

“My potions were made of herbs and roots. There was nothing in them to cause harm,” Annie hoped her voice belied the terror she felt.

“Enough,” The Dark One roared. “We will hear none of your excuses and lies. All you are doing is prolonging the outcome of this trial.”

“I thought this was a hearing?” Annie’s heart started to thump against her breast. “If this is a trial who is to speak on these people’s behalf?”

“Perhaps you would care to address the court?” He waved his hand towards the seat on which the Squire sat.

Annie had forgotten about the Squire and the O Brien’s. She knew, even as she turned to face them, it would be hopeless to plead for mercy. Mary and Hugh looked at the proceedings stony faced, lips pulled into tight little lines. The Squire gazed down at her from his high seat and smiled. She had refused his advances and he would now keep true to his promise.

“Well,” The Dark one was speaking to her. “Have you nothing to say on their behalf. No fanciful explanation for their sorcery?”

“They are not sorcerers nor witches; just simple travelling folk and you wrong them greatly.”

“And do we wrong you?”

“You know you do. I am a healer; there is nothing sinister or magical about my power.”

“Then you admit you have power?”

“No,” Annie spun around to face the crowd. “I admit nothing of the sort. I have the power to heal not to harm. You all know me; have known my family for years. Jane,” she searched the crowd for her friend. “Jane, come and speak for me.”

“Where is this Jane you speak of? Bring her forward,” The Dark One commanded.

Jane O Regan was dragged from her hiding place among the crowd and pushed to the top of the room.

“Jane,” Annie begged. “Tell them I do no harm. I only do what I can to heal others.”

Jane’s eyes darted from Annie to her accuser.

“Well, speak up,” the Squire roared, making her jump.

“I am not sure what you ask of me, Sir.”

“It’s very simple, my dear,” His voice was sweet. “Is this woman a witch?”

“No, Sir. I do not think so.”

“You do not think so. What does that mean?”

“She never done me or mine anything, but good.”

“And your youngest child did she do her good?”

“She died of the fever, Sir.” Jane was close to tears.

“But you told me you were all sick when she arrived with her potions and spells; yet only hours later your little one was dead. How do you account for that?”

“She was small and weak, sir. Her strength gave out.”

“Do you not realise you stupid woman, that witches always take the youngest children and during their death throes breathe in their life force?”

No,” Jane was crying. “That is not true.”

“Yes, it is,” the honeyed voice again. “I have no wish to cause you any further distress, but what I say is the truth. Your child’s soul lives on in that creature you see before you. She has bound your child to her will, refusing to let her rest in order to help her in the Devil’s work.”

“No,” Jane looked at Annie, her eyes wild in terror. “It is not true, is it?”

“Of course, it is true,” The Dark One put his arms around Jane’s shoulders. “Think, were you there when your child died? Did you witness every drop of the potion she administered?”

“I was resting below stairs while Annie nursed her and asleep when she died,” Jane was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Of course, you were asleep and why, you must ask yourself this question. Would any mother sleep peacefully knowing her child was so gravely sick?”

Jane looked up at him, shaking her head.

“She gave you a sleeping draught. That is why you slept and were unable to hinder her in her dreadful act.”

“Then my child,” Jane sobbed, pointing at Annie. “My little one is in her?”

“No Jane, no.” Annie pleaded with her. “Don’t listen to him. It is he who spreads such lies. Do not listen to him.”

“See how she turns on me now?” He addressed the crowd. “More lies and slander. Anything to save herself and her servants.”

Roma’s soft crying was peculiarly piteous. Stefan regained consciousness and was struggling against his bonds, muscles standing out like wires on his bare arms.

The crowd was in an uproar. Screaming taunts and accusations at Annie. Men shaking their fists, and the women reaching out at her crying hysterically and calling for revenge.

Annie watched it all in disbelief. This was madness; everyone seemed to have lost their minds. The crowd surged forward calling out for blood, and she found herself ushered back behind the table. Looking up at her protector, she was surprised to find it was The Dark One.

“I will not let them harm you, not yet.”

She shivered, trying to pull away, but he held her fast. At his command, the men holding Stefan and Roma formed a barrier between them and the crowd. Annie, Roma, and Stefan were herded away towards the cellar steps and down into the cells. The women were pushed into one cell and Stefan into the other. They still heard the thundering of feet from above and the shouts of the crowd. Annie and Roma huddled together in fear, sure at any moment they would gain access to the cells and they would be torn to pieces. But slowly the noise abated, and they heard a soft mumbling. The footsteps overhead retreated towards the main door. They heard the clattering of feet on the steps outside, and through the small, slatted gaps serving as windows, they watched the skirts of the women and heavy-booted legs of the men pass by. A few fell flat on the ground and tried to see inside the cells, but Annie and Roma retreated into the shadows. There were curses and threats hurled at them through the bars, and they covered their ears. The one thing all three of them heard from each foul-mouthed voice, was the promise of seeing them next day.

“What do you think they mean?” Annie asked Roma when the last voice had died away. “Why will they see us tomorrow?”

“Oh, Annie, Annie,” Roma fell against her sobbing. “My children, what will become of my children?”

“Hush now. They are safe and well. I told Meg that if I was not back by nightfall to take the children and set off for the town. They will find Pat, he is a good man and he will help us.”

“But,” Roma wiped the backs of her hands across her face. “The town is days away from here and that’s by horse and caravan. It could take much longer walking. Meg is old and the children will tire easily.”

Stefan, calling to them from the next cell interrupted their conversation. Roma reached out through the bars and managed to touch the tips of his fingers.

“The children are safe,” she whispered. “Meg is taking them to the town to get help.”

“Thank God,” he moaned. “Let us hope they are not too late.”

“Are you very badly hurt, my love?”

Annie moved to the other side of the cell ashamed at having to hear their whispered words of love and endearment.

Her mind was in turmoil worrying about her sisters and Meg. She prayed for their safety and protection, and the strength to bear what was about to happen. Picturing in her mind Meg’s cottage and the route they would take to the town. She hoped they would keep well into the shadows of the trees until they were clear of the village. Then they could get a ride in one of the many carts heading for the town. She was so deep in thought she did not realise Roma was calling to her.

“Annie, come,” she beckoned her over and stood back in order that Annie might take her place and speak to Stefan.

“Stefan, are you, all right?”

“I am fine, Miss, but it is sorry I am for bringing such trouble on you and yours.”

“This is not your fault,” Annie assured him. “We are all part of some dreadful plan. In truth I think it is me he is after, and I will do whatever I can to help you both.”

“There will be no help for us, Miss, I fear.”

“You must not think such a thing,” her whisper grew more urgent. “There is always hope.”

The sound of approaching footsteps made Annie draw back. Taking Roma by the hand, she pulled her towards the back of the cell.

“Well, well, well,” The Dark One stood outside the bars with Mary on one side of him and Hugh flanking the other. “Your bravery seems to have deserted you,” he spoke to Annie.

She refused to answer him, and his eyes grew hard.

“Bring her to me,” he roared, before walking away.

A man appeared with a bunch of keys hanging from a belt around his waist.

“Come along you,” he dragged Annie outside, throwing her hard against the wall.

She stood there winded, as he locked the cell.

“Come on, I want no trouble from you, witch,” with this he caught her wrist in an agonising grip and pulled her along the dark corridor. She caught Stefan’s look of despair as she passed his cell, and she heard Roma sobbing, as she descended deeper into the mouth of darkness. Her jailer knew the dark passageway well, but Annie stumbled a few times on the uneven stone flags. She was shaken and pulled to her feet and her wrist burned from his grip. Just when the darkness seemed absolute a door opened, and she was propelled into a room. The door slammed behind her and she found herself once again facing The Dark One.

“Sit down,” he pointed towards a chair.

Mary and Hugh sat opposite her, their eyes never leaving her face. A fierce fire burned in a brazier in the centre of the room and chains hung from the walls. A huge wooden chair stood in one corner and the seat was made from long nails! Their sharp points glistened in the light from the fire and the arms were fitted with leather restraints.

“Now,” he continued, “We can make this all quite simple. If you confess your guilt here in the presence of you cousins, you will be dealt with fairly. If, however you persist in denying your guilt, you will suffer a torture you could never imagine. I’ll make an example of you.”

“You know I am not guilty of the crime of which you accuse me. I know this is some dark plan hatched by you, but I find it hard to understand your reason. What have I got that you want?”

“Do you hear that, my dear?” Reaching down, he took Mary’s hand and brushed it with his lips. “What has she got that I want?”

“My dearest Oliver wants nothing from you,” Mary hissed. “You are an evil, wicked child.”

“Then you,” Annie asked. “What do you want, the cottage, the land? Take it; I will give it to you in exchange for our freedom.”

Mary’s eyes lit up at this, and she was about to say something, when…

“She will make no deal with the Devil,” He answered for her. “This woman,” he placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Is sainted and above corruption. She wants nothing from you.”

Annie’s mind was racing. The heat from the fire was searing and her mouth felt dry, as she tried to swallow. As if sensing her discomfort Hugh asked.

“Would you like a drink of water?”

“Oh, yes thank you, Hugh.”

She watched as he walked across the room to a barrel and filled a large wooden scoop. He carried it carefully back to her, and Annie watched the small dribbles falling from it and licked her lips anticipating it coolness on her parched throat.

“Here you are.”

Annie reached out to take the scoop, but before she could do so he laughed and threw the full contents into her face.

“I show no mercy to witches,” his mouth curled into a sneer.

His mother was laughing as though it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, but there was no sign of mirth in The Dark One’s eyes.

“I think,” his voice put a stop to the laughter. “I should work alone from now on.”

“Why, Oliver, dearest,” Mary became flustered. “Have we upset you in some way?”

“No,” his tone belied this fact. “You must not witness what is about to happen. Not a woman of your sensibilities.”

“Very well,” Mary stood for a moment brushing the creases from her dress, unsure of his dismissal.

He took no notice of her and turning to Hugh, ordered.

“See your mother safely home.”

“But, I…”

“Just do as I ask,” the flames leaping in The Dark One’s eyes left no room for discussion. “You may return later.”

Hugh started to lead his mother away. As he passed Annie’s chair, he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled. It hurt so much she screamed, and she felt each hair as it was ripped from her scalp.

“I will see you later, cousin,” he hissed in her ear.

She tried not to cry and rubbed instead at her torn hair. It felt wet, and she gasped at the blood on her hand. Once the door slammed behind them there was silence, save for the crackling and spitting of the fire. She was alone with The Dark One. Concentrating on the pain in her head, she prayed for relief, but there was none. The pain raged within her and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

“He is not listening.”

Oh, please God, she prayed, do not let me cry.

“I told you he is not listening.”

Still, she refused to acknowledge him, digging her nails into the palms of her hands until finally…

“Sit still.”

She tried to leap from her seat when his hands touched her head. Sharp, icy needles pierced her skin until slowly the pain subsided. She brought her hands to her head. The pain had completely disappeared. He sat opposite her.

“I can be good to those who obey me. What I have done is nothing to what I can do for you and for your sisters; if you’ll only bend your will to mine.”

“I don’t understand,” she croaked, her mouth even drier than before.

He stood and walked to the water bucket, returning with a scoop. She shied back at first, but he pushed it towards her.

“I take no pleasure in such pettiness.”

She reached out and took it. The water tasted like honey.

“Thank you,” she held the scoop out to him, and he took it, flinging the last dregs of water into the blazing fire. The flames hissed, protesting the intrusion of the cold water before settling down to their crackling once more.

“Now, let us not waste any more time,” he returned to his seat. “There is much to be done if we are to save your sisters.”

“What do you mean?”

“They will go for them at first light and bring them here.”

“But they are innocent. Oh please, I beg you. Do not let this happen.”

“There is no need to beg. All the power you want is within your grasp. Just say the word, Annie,” his voice was soft. “And all this will pass from you. Things will return to normal and your life will continue until it has run its course.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Let me explain. You have a power I desire. Give me the power and in return I will reward you. Whatever you want, gold, property, the lives of all you love will be saved and you will have the sort of life you could only dream of. Just say the word and it will be yours”

“How can I give you my power?”

“I do not ask for it now; no indeed. My only desire is to have it when you are no more. Think of it Annie. You can leave here now and take your gypsy friends with you. Live out the remainder of your life in luxury. See your sisters grow and prosper. I see many children in their futures and long lives. Do it for them.”

“So,” she asked. “You would take my power once I was dead and not until then?”

“That is right. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Annie chewed on her lip. The children would be saved. So would Roma, Stefan, and Meg. What right did she have to condemn them?

He was grinning, sensing her weakness. The power so strong in her he could almost reach out and touch it.

Please God, she prayed, one last time. Show me what to do.

“Yours is the power of angels, Annie,” the whisper was close as lips against her ear. “The power of light over the darkness you see before you.”

Closing her eyes, she allowed the sense of peace to flow within her and felt its goodness, its light reaching the very core of her being.

“And what would you do with this power, Lucifer?” The voice asking the question was no longer that of a young girl’s, but a more enlightened soul.

“You dare address me with that name!” He jumped up and, in his anger, threw the heavy, oak chair across the room. “You, who know nothing of my power, of my legions.”

“I know you would use my power against God.”

Even then, as he stood over her, his face resembling the beast, she refused to fear him.

“You will die. All of you will suffer, but you,” his spittle stung her face. “Your suffering will be absolute. The death I give those you love will be nothing to what I’ll do to you.”

The fear welled up in Annie, but then the voice in her ear.

“Be at peace, child.”

He reached out an odious gnarled claw at her and she covered her face trying to avoid the sharp talons. Cringing, she waited for it to make contact on her skin but…. Spreading her fingers wide, she peeped through and saw he was backing away. A strong breeze threw her hair around her in disarray, blocking him from sight. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she looked around the room for the source of the wind. She saw nothing except the shadows thrown on the walls by the firelight. They looked like…wings. Yes, like giant birds’ wings flapping. Faster and faster they moved, their shadows uniting until they moved as one. The Dark One covered his face and was screaming curses. It was a language Annie never heard before or would ever want to hear again. The shadows moved from off the walls, surrounding him. Something brushed against her face, its touch as soft as cobwebs stirred her. She got up and ran towards the door. She would escape into the woods and save her sisters. The door was heavy, but she pulled with all her might. It swung open and hit the wall with a resounding thud, and she ran straight into the arms of Hugh O Brien.

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Gemma Mawdsley's Blog.

Death Cry-chapter nineteen

Death Cry- chapter eighteen

Death Cry-chapter seventeen

Death Cry-chapter sixteen

Death Cry-chapter fifteen

Death Cry-chapter fourteen

Death Cry- chapter thirteen

Death Cry-chapter twelve

Death Cry-chapter ten

Death Cry-chapter nine

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