ghost hunting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora nodded and turned to go back to her ironing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, God,” Cora asked. “What is it?”

“I am sorry.”

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

“Who are you? What are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck happened to that?”

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

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

“Are you alright, Missus?”

“I’m not well,” she managed to say.

“Let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m pregnant.”

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

“No, really. I’m all right.”

He put the glass on the bedside table.

“Would you like me to ring your husband?”

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

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

“You saw the cottage?”

“Yes.”

“What do you make of it?”

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

“No, but I heard stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

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

“You mean, in the pub?”

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

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

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

“Please, I have to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then she’s still alive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When you’re finished preening.”

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

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

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

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

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

“Of course.”

Once he was gone, Marie turned to Rachael.

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

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

“Then go now, while he’s away.”

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

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

“But what if I should run into him?”

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

“Thanks, you’re a doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, dear.”

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

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Marie, are you still there?”

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

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

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

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“She was put in a home.”

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

“No, dear, just old.”

“So, who put her there, a relative?”

“No, not a relative.”

“Then who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no,” Marie gasped.

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

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

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

“Yes, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, okay.”

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

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

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

“Okay, what do you want me to do?”

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

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

“Go on,” she waved at Marie.

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

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

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

“That was close,” Rachael whispered.

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

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

“No,” Cora said.

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

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

“I’m afraid so, my dear.”

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

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled as Jill bent to push the brightly wrapped presents underneath its spiky branches. It gave her a sense of pride to know the tree came from her own wood and would be returned there once the festivities were over. The new bike Toby hinted about sat against the wall. The light from the sitting room fire dancing across its metallic red paint, made it glow and she smiled, imagining his delight when he saw it. Her parents were coming next day for Christmas lunch and planned to stay until the New Year, a prospect that would have once horrified her. A deeper understanding developed between Jill and her mother and she now found it easier to talk to the woman who offered her life in exchange for hers. So much had changed over the months she was forced to brush aside the memory. Tom would also be there for lunch, but not Paul who was spending the holidays with his sons. He had not forgotten them though, and his presents, brought along earlier in the day, sat beneath the tree.

The turkey, an enormous one, presented to her by one of the women at the surgery, would need to go in the oven at 6am, but that would not be a problem. Jill slept very little now after abandoning the sleeping pills on which she had become too reliant. Switching off the downstairs lights, she climbed the stairs, glad of the feel of Bess’s hot breath on her legs. Toby was fast asleep, but the excitement of what lay in store would wake him earlier than normal.

The old dog lay down beside her mistress’s bed. Jill’s eyes were too tired to read so she sat in bed and drew her knees up around her. It was still many hours until dawn and it was doubtful sleep would come. All around her the house stretched and yawned as it settled for the night. She now knew every creak of its floorboards and the small scurrying from the mice in the attic overhead no longer made her heart pound as it used to do. It was Christmas Eve; they were safe and there was nothing to fear. She repeated this over and over in her head. They were safe, and there was nothing to fear. Soon it would be a New Year, a new beginning and the memories would fade with time. Still, she looked towards the window, picturing the inky blackness outside. She couldn’t wait for summer and the long, bright days. Maybe then she would sleep.

Despite the strong sedative she was given Jill tossed and turned in her sleep, trying to escape the pain of her wounds. She was aware only of the hushed tones of her mother’s voice as she begged her to lie still. When she finally managed to struggle free of the drugs’ effects, she traced her eyes along the line that ran from her arm to the overhead bag on the drip stand. Groaning, she turned to where her mother sat knitting.

“Ah, you’re back with us at last,” she put aside the needles and laid a cold hand on Jill’s forehead. “Not too bad,” she decided, taking her hand away.

“I feel bad,” Jill struggled to sit and groaned, as the wounds protested the movement.

“Here, let me help you,” her mother’s arms felt strong, as they hoisted her up in the bed. “There now,” she plumped up the pillows.

“Thanks, Mam,” Jill was sweating from the effort.

“Are you in pain?” Her mother asked.

“A little,” Jill lied, not wanting to distress her.

Hum,” her mother as always, knew she was lying and reaching across the bed, the pressed the buzzer beside the pillow.

Instantly a nurse appeared, carrying a steel bowl.

“Hello, Jill,” the nurse busied herself filling a syringe from a vial. “This will help the pain,” she plunged the needle into the line in Jill’s arm.

“Thank you.” She felt the drug’s effects as her face grew warm and the throbbing of her skin eased.

“She’ll probably sleep now,” the nurse laid her arm on her mother’s shoulder. “You should have a rest, get a drink or something to eat,” she suggested.

“Yes,” her mother rose stiffly from the chair. “I’ll do that.”

Leaning across her daughter, she once again checked her forehead for sign of fever.

“I’m going down to the canteen,” she whispered. “I won’t be long. You try and sleep. Toby and your father will be in to see you later.”

“Thanks, Mam,” Jill’s tongue felt dry and her words slurred.

“Jill,” the voice roused her, and she struggled to open her eyes.

The light was on in the room, and as the curtains had not yet been drawn, she saw the darkness outside the window.

“How are you feeling?”

She looked up bleary-eyed at the doctor who bent over her

“Sore,” she managed to croak.

Yes, you will be for some days, I’m afraid,” he picked up the water glass beside her bed and helped her take a sip.

It was cool against her parched throat and she licked her lips, savouring the taste.

“We’ll need to keep you here another day,” he said, “in case of infection. I must admit, I’ve never seen anything like it. A stray dog, your mother says.”

“Yes,” Jill’s mother appeared as if by magic. “It was bothering the sheep and she went out to chase it away.”

“Good God, you were lucky to escape any more harm,” he said. “It could have been much worse. Many of the scars will heal by themselves and we have an excellent plastic surgeon here who can deal with the more obvious ones. Now try and rest,” he patted her hand, before leaving the room.

“Plastic surgeon?” She looked in terror at her mother.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she brushed aside her worry. “A few small scars on your neck and chest that’s all.”

Jill brought a hand up to feel her face. It felt smooth and unmarked, but when her fingers traced down the line of her jaw and under her chin, she felt the first of many dressings.

“He says,” her mother nodded at the doctor’s retreating figure, “you can go home tomorrow, if your temperature stays down.”

“Oh good,” Jill said, but her smile belied her true feelings.

Here, in the sterile surroundings of the hospital, the memory of the past few weeks was like a bad dream. Once she returned home, there would be no choice but to face what had happened.

“I’ll come back later,” her mother shrugged on her coat. “And I’ll bring your father and Toby to visit.”

“What did you tell Toby?”

“I said you fell into a thorn bush and got scratched.”

“And he believed you?”

“He certainly didn’t press the matter any further. Now get some rest and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Once her mother left, the fear Jill felt over the past weeks returned and she was once more a child, alone and abandoned. Outside in the corridor, she heard the bustle of everyday life. She looked around the small private ward and wondered how she was going to pay for her stay. After Joe left them, she had no longer been able to afford the payments on her private health insurance policy and she knew the bill for her care would run into thousands. The small mirror above the hand basin beckoned to her and she rose stiffly and made her way across to it, using the IV stand as a crutch. Her reflection was terrible to behold, and she gasped and gripped on the cold porcelain sink. Her face, though bruised and swollen, was left largely untouched by the Wraith’s nails, but a long dressing ran beneath her chin and disappeared below the neck of the hospital gown. Pulling the neck of the gown free from her body, she looked down at the numerous dressings stuck like snowy train tracks across her skin. The one beneath her breast was the largest and most painful and she grew weak remembering the agony as the Wraith had searched for her heart.

Gritting her teeth, she peeled away the dressing on her neck. Some of the stitches stuck to the dressing and brought tears to her eyes, as she eased them away from the dried blood. The skin beneath was puckered and raw looking and the row of black stitches made it look even worse. Groaning, she stuck the dressing back in to place and made her way back to the bed. She had just covered herself, when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she watched the door swing open and Tom appeared, carrying a large bouquet of roses.

“Thank you,” Jill held out her arms to accept his gift. “They’re lovely.”

“You don’t look too bad,” he pulled her mother’s recently vacated chair closer to the bed and sat down.

“Liar,” she smiled.

“Considering,” he raised his hands in mock defeat.

“I’m going to have a few scars,” she touched the dressing on her neck.

“Battle scars,” he nodded, “And by God, it was some fight.”

“Yes,” Jill agreed. “It certainly was.”

They sat in silence, unsure of what to say next.

“Do you think she’s gone for good,” Jill asked.

“Yes, I don’t doubt it. It’s strange, but I feel as though a load has lifted.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else over the past few days and I’d be a hypocrite if I said I wouldn’t have done the same thing to get Rachael back,” the sorrow in his voice at the mention of his child’s name was obvious. “Look at it this way; I got to see my little girl again.”

“Yes,” Jill whispered. “At least something good came out of it for you.”

“You know,” he stopped and wiped his eyes. “Marie was always nervy, and our marriage wasn’t always plain sailing, but that thing back there, that Wraith was not Marie, it was something else, something dark and evil.”

“I know what you mean,” Jill agreed.

“Let’s change the subject,” Tom said. “I met Paul this morning.”

“How is he?”

“A bit shaken up, like all of us, but he’s different, more assured,” He looked at her. “Does that sound strange?”

“No, I think what happened to us is bound to have some lasting effect.”

“Anyway, he said to give you his best and tell you he’ll call to see you later.”

“Great,” Jill said. “He’s been a tower of strength. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

“He’s been put up for all sorts of awards for solving the case and get this,” Tom laughed. “He’s taking early retirement. I’d like to bet on how long that will last.”

“He’s not leaving the village, is he?”

“No and he says you’re not either. Your father told him about the gossip, and he says he’ll soon put a stop to it.”

“No doubt he will,” she laughed.

“He’s a very determined man,” Tom agreed. “He’s been in touch with his sons and talks of visiting the grandchildren.”

“I’m glad; it’s not good to be so alone.”

“No,” Tom said, and his voice was filled with sadness. “It’s not.”

They talked for what seemed like minutes, but was in fact, hours. The arrival of Toby and her parents interrupted them, and Tom left with the promise to call to the house the next evening. Toby fussed over her dressings and thought the IV was cool, as he had only ever seen one before on the television. His eyes widened when she recounted the tale of how she had fallen into the holly bush, but his quiet acceptance of the story bothered her. Had he already witnessed so many strange events in his short life he no longer questioned them or was he just too worn out to care?

She left the house at 3am, the dead hour. The hour it is rumoured Christ died, and the moment in which the veil is lifted to the world of spirits. It is also the time most haunting and apparitions are reported. It’s easy to see why, Jill thought, as she made her way across the frost- covered yard. The windows in the house were dark and there was no light to show those who slept had heard her go. Her father made her promise she’d wake him and mindful that she might not, he stayed downstairs in the sitting room, where tiredness overcame him. He was snoring when she crept down the hallway, and the embers from the dying fire lit the room. It fell upon his face, showing the lines of worry that deepened over the past week.

“Goodbye Dad,” Jill whispered, and bit down on her lip to stop the tears.

She’d not looked in on Toby, not just for fear of waking him, but afraid seeing his flushed, sleep-warm cheeks would weaken her resolve. Bess was forced to stay in her place by the bed, sensing her mistress was in trouble. She tried time and time again to follow Jill, until she locked her in the bedroom with a warning to be quiet.

Drawing the rusted bolt across on one of the outbuildings as quietly as she could, Jill went inside and pulled the bicycle from its hiding place. It was her grandmother’s only means of transport, but she only came across it a few days back and realised it would now play a part in her plan. It was painted black and ancient to look at, but it would serve its purpose. A tatty wicker basket hung from the handlebars, leather straps frayed, but still strong enough to hold Jill’s bundle. The book was wedged in sideways to fit. The triangle of Solomon, incense, spray paint and lighter, were tucked in on either side. Jill wore the cloak over her clothes. She would slip out of them when she reached the graveyard.

The light from the full moon lit the yard as she wheeled the squeaking bike over the stones. Despite oiling it the day before, it still groaned, protesting at being disturbed. To anyone watching from inside the house, she must have looked like a dark shadow reflected against the white of the winter’s night. But there was no one to watch her go, except for the things that belonged to the shadows and they soon returned to their nocturnal foraging. She couldn’t have taken the car. The noise of the engine would echo in the stillness.

The laneway leading to the road was all uphill, so she didn’t try to ride the bike, but pushed it until she was clear of the gate and the road lay smooth in front of her. It was years since she had ridden a bike and her movements were clumsy and jittery at first, but she soon got the hang of it. Peddling along, aware only of the wind in her hair, she had no idea how witchlike she looked. The cloak billowed around her and the speed with which she rode made it look as though she were flying. The gnarled trees and bare bushes on either side of her swept by in a blur. She was panting from the effort and stopped when the village came into view to rest. The feel of the ground beneath her feet felt strange and her legs were wobbly when she stood down from the pedals. Leaning against a low wall for support, she waited until the shaking went from her limbs and her breathing returned to normal.

As she predicted no one watched her pass. The place was deserted, the only movement from the flickering of the bulbs in the overhead streetlights. In the distance, she saw the spire of the church looming ever closer, and from across the fields came the barking of a lone dog. In her hurry and terror, she forgot about the envelope in her pocket, the one destined for her solicitor.

She rounded the side of the church and started the ascent towards the graveyard. The muscles in her thighs screamed in protest as she stood to give more weight to the pedals. Sweat coated her forehead and her breath came in rasps as she urged the bike up the hill. Soon the railing of the graveyard came into view, their spikes ghostly spears guarding the place of the dead. Her hands shook as she placed the bike against the wall beside the gates and pulled the assortment of goods from the basket. She wouldn’t think about what was going to happen, she didn’t dare imagine what the next few minutes held in store, contenting herself with the knowledge her child was safe in his bed and nothing else mattered.

The full moon made the graveyard bright as day and the white marble tombstones luminous under its rays. She knew exactly which way to go as the memory of her first visit there burned the path in her brain. As she moved past the old tombs, she tried not to think of rotten, undead things that might at any time come tottering out. A rat scampered across her path and she drew back. It stopped and looked at her, drawn by the sound of her gasp of disgust. It sniffed the air, whiskers bristling, eyes blazing, until it decided there was nothing to fear and no chance of attack. Jill watched it move away, its body swollen from feasting. “Don’t” her mind screamed, when she imagined its sharp teeth sinking into her cold flesh.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “I should have told them I wanted to be cremated.”

Perhaps, her mother would do just that. She would not want the trouble of tending a grave.

The smell of freshly dug earth signalled she’d reached Marie’s grave. She had been so busy worrying about the rat she almost walked by it. The mound looked alien beside the flatter, grass-covered graves beside it and her stomach churned as she imagined the earth breathing.

It’s just my imagination, she warned, as she hid behind a tree and disrobed. Her clothes were stuck to her sweat-coated body and she peeled them away. The blast from the frosty night air made her catch her breath and she pulled the cloak around her shivering body. Gathering up the things she needed, she left her clothes and went back to the grave. The spell of freeing the Wraith was not as complicated as summoning her, and it would only take a few minutes to accomplish. Placing the triangle beside the grave, Jill set about drawing the circle to protect her. She knew, even as she moved the spray around the grass, it would be useless against the Wraith when she attacked. The book warned of this and told her if the spirit she summoned was not a benevolent one, then she might find herself in mortal danger. Still, she had not worried about that in her terror of finding Toby. Even if she realised what might happen, she would have done it anyway.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The voice was a snarl against her ear, and she screamed when she realised the Wraith was inside the circle with her.

“Did you really think this,” she scuffed the wet paint with the toe of her shoe. “Would protect you?”

“Not really,” Jill’s voice was hoarse with fear. “I only drew it to complete the spell.”

“Really?” The Wraith stepped out of the circle. “How very noble of you.”

A blast of freezing air swept past her and for the first time Jill smelled the stench. She looked with widening eyes at the Wraith, noticing dark blotches etched on the burgundy gown she wore and the blackness that coating her long, jagged nails. The memory of the men’s screams echoed in her brain and she grew weak with fear. Sensing her distress, the Wraith smiled.

“Now it’s your turn,” it reached out to her. “Now you will pay for disturbing me.”

Jill closed her eyes and waited for the pain.

“Stop that now.”

The familiar voice from behind made Jill turn. Her father stood there, holding the large wooden crucifix that usually hung in the kitchen of the farmhouse. Cobwebs coating its surface, it glittered under the light of the moon. She would have laughed if she was not so terrified. He somehow imagined the Wraith was a vampire that could be driven back by the symbol of the cross.

“Dad, please,” Jill warned him, aware the Wraith was turning her attention to the quivering man.

“Who have we here?” it swept past Jill.

Her father tried to steady himself leaning one hand on the nearest tombstone and holding out the cross with the other.

“Go on now,” he roared as the figure advanced towards him. “Be off with you.”

Before Jill could shout a warning, another voice shattered the night.

“Stand back,” Paul walked towards them arm outstretched.

In it, he held the firearm, the one he was given on his promotion to detective. He never had reason to use it and he had always been grateful. Still, he kept it clean and oiled, aware one day it might be needed.

“Come away,” he grabbed Jill’s father by the shoulder and pulled him out of harm’s way. “Don’t think I won’t use this,” he waved the gun in the Wraith’s face.

“Idiot,” it snarled and with lightning speed, raked its blood-crusted nails across Paul’s hand. He screamed and dropped the gun.

“Marie, stop!” Tom’s voice added to the turmoil around them.

As the Wraith turned towards the sound of his voice, Jill rushed to help Paul.

“I told you to stay away,” she muttered, as she wrapped the handkerchief her father held out to her around the wound.

“I couldn’t let you face this alone,” he looked to where the Wraith stood facing Tom.

“You could have left him out of it,” Jill hissed, as she saw the distress in Tom’s face.

“He might be able to help,” Paul winced as she tied the makeshift bandage in a knot.

From what the Wraith said that was not the case. She no longer apparently recognised her husband and was intent on revenge.

“I will kill you all,” it pointed to each of them in turn. “You should have let me be.”

“I know I should,” Jill stepped away from the others and walked towards it. “But these men had nothing to do with it. It’s my fault and I alone should pay the price.”

“Pity,” it sneered, its nails within an inch of Jill’s face when the shot rang out.

Paul managed to retrieve his gun and fired at the Wraith. The bullet passed clean through it, ricocheting off one of the marble headstones and causing them all to duck.

“I just knew it,” the voice came from along the path. “I said to myself you were all up to something.”

Jill turned, open-mouthed as her mother advanced on them.

“I knew by the way you two,” she glared at her husband and daughter, “had your heads together you were up to something and I’m telling you this…” her voice trailed off as she saw the Wraith.

“Mam, where’s Toby?”

The sound of her daughter’s voice made her answer automatically.

“Asleep in the car,” trying hard to overcome her terror at the thing before her, she asked. “What is that?”

“It’s too difficult to explain, please,” Jill begged. “Go home.”

“I will not go home, not until I know what’s going on.”

“Perhaps I could explain,” the Wraith moved towards her.

“Well, yes.”

Jill saw her mother’s look of disapproval at the state of the Wraith’s dress and thought despite her fear she still found time to be critical even of the dead.

“I was resting, shall we say,” the Wraith sneered, “and this woman woke me. She needed my help to search for her son, and now that I have served my purpose, she expects me to disappear. Well she’s wrong,” it snarled and turned back to Jill.

“This has something to do with your grandmother, I expect,” her mother said.

“Mam, please,” Jill was amazed at her mother’s calm.

“I knew it,” she addressed the Wraith. “What do you want?”

Before the Wraith could answer, Jill said.

“She wants me, Mam. I woke her and now she wants me to pay the price.”

“And what is that?”

“My death,” Jill said.

“Oh,” the information hit home and for a moment her mother was stunned. “Well, she’ll just have to settle for me. I can’t have you leaving my grandson without a mother. Now let’s be reasonable,” she said to the Wraith. “If you are determined to take a life then let it be mine. This young woman is all I have in the world. You should know what it feels like to lose a child,” she realised from the mound of fresh earth and the symbols that surrounded it, that this was the mother of one of the children that was murdered. “Leave my child alone and take me instead.”

“Mam, no,” Jill was sobbing, not only because of her fear for her mother, but because she understood for the first time how much she really loved her.

“Very well,” the Wraith seemed confused by the woman’s words. Somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of her mind, she recalled a loss so great that even in death she felt its pain. “I will do as you ask, I’ll settle for you.”

“No,” Jill screamed, as the Wraith reached for her mother. “Leave her alone.”

She rushed at the Wraith and was joined in her attack by her father and the other men. They encountered nothing but air and the assault only enraged the Wraith, so she forgot her promise and dived at Jill. Her nails cut deep into her skin, until Jill felt her heart would be literally torn from her chest. The Wraith reached out again and again, slashing, tearing, until Jill felt the world fading and the warmth of her own blood coursing down her chilled skin. All around her the screams of her mother and the men rang. They could do nothing but watch in helpless terror.

“Mam, stop that.”

Jill felt the Wraith’s hold loosen and she fell back against the mound. She tried to focus as her mother lifted her head and tried to stop the flow of blood with an assortment of tissues and handkerchiefs.

“That’s Toby’s mother,” Rachael stood with hands on hips, tapping her small foot in irritation. “Why are you hurting her?”

“I don’t know,” the Wraith was confused at the sight of her daughter.

“Come away,” Rachael took her mother’s bloody hand and drew her down onto the path. “Hi, Dad,” she smiled when she saw Tom.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he was sobbing at the image of his little girl.

She looked the same as she had the last time, he saw her alive. Jill lay groaning in agony with her head resting on her mother’s lap. Rachael let go of her mother’s hand, first warning her to stay where she was and walked over to Jill

“I’m sorry my mother hurt you,” she tapped Jill on the hand and the icy cold of her skin burned like fire. “She’s a bit broken in here,” she touched her head. “But they’ll fix her when we get there,” she looked the star-studded sky. “So, don’t worry anymore, I’ll take care of her now, okay?”

“Thank you,” Jill tried to smile through her tears.

She went back the where her mother stood and led her away.

“Bye, Dad,” Rachael looked over her shoulder at Tom.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Tom was so overcome with grief that Paul had to support him.

“Don’t be sad,” Rachael smiled. “We’ll be all right now. Promise.”

They watched her lead her mother over to the mound, watched as the figures before them started to fade.

“Where have you been?” the Wraith asked.

They heard the Wraith ask.

“I went to get ice cream, remember” Rachael said.

“It seems a long time ago,” the Wraith answered.

“I know, Mam, I know,” Rachael’s voice drifted away, and Jill could hear her sigh in resignation, “mothers.”

The Wraith-chapter thirty-five

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 9, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, memories, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: burial mounds, ghost hunting, Ghosts, Gothic, Gothic novel, Halloween, Haunted graveyards. Monsters, monsters, revenge, wraith. Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay, Mam?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I know, but…”

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?

“Rachael told me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look done in,” Paul said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do with it?”

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

There was no disagreeing with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at her in dismay.

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

“With the thing, the…”

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

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

The frost-coated grass crunched beneath his feet.

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

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

“Tonight.”

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

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

“Perhaps, I should leave it until tomorrow night?

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

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

“Will you come to the funeral?”

His question startled her.

“I couldn’t bear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

Jill took the diary and slipped it inside her coat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there you are, girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what is it then?”

He waited as the silence settled all around them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything, girl.”

“Don’t let Mam screw up Toby’s life.”

He was puzzled by this.

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

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

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

They sat for a few moments surrounded by the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that?” Christy asked.

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

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

“Should I look?” Christy asked.

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

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

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

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

“Is she here?” Tom asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ran out and round the back of the cottage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you Rachael’s Mammy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Dad,” Rachael waved at her father.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go up,” Paul nodded to Jill and Tom.

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” Jill said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did the children?” Tom asked.

“You’re a hero,” Jill assured Paul.

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

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

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

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

They knew who he meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can feel the sadness.”

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

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

The Wraith was seated in the front pew.

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

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

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

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

The Wraith stopped and turned back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, mine’s the same.”

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

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

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

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

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

“Surprise,” the Wraith laughed.

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

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

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

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

“Made you laugh, though,” he smiled.

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

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

“The bad men,” Paul whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In that instant, he understood what was happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter twenty-nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 3, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, Haunted Houses, horror, memories, monsters, Paranormal, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: burial mounds, ghost hunting, Ghosts, Gothic, Gothic novel, Haunted Graveyard, hauntings, monsters, paranormal, revenge. Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you find anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What now?” Jill looked across at Paul.

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

“He’ll run and join his own kind.”

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

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

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

“Then we follow him?” Jill asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gemmamawdsley

Gemma Mawdsley's Blog.

All posts tagged ghost hunting

Death Cry- chapter twenty-three

The Wraith-Epilogue

The Wraith-chapter thirty-seven

The Wraith-chapter thirty six

The Wraith-chapter thirty-five

The Wraith-chapter thirty four

The Wraith-chapter thirty-three

The Wraith-chapter thirty-two

The Wraith-chapter thirty-one

The Wraith-chapter twenty-nine

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