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Shadow Self-chapter twenty-nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 17, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, prince, princess, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenagers, thoughts, twlight, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: castles, changelings, Dwarfs, hags, Irish folklore, Irish legends, magic, magic fantasy, princes and princesses, queens and kings, teenagers, wise women, wizards, young adults. Leave a comment

It was easy to understand why the Crossover had got its name. The boundary: the line dividing the Ereban forest from the other lands, is like comparing day to night. The dark shadow of the trees falls across the road, and not even the air vents cast any light into that dark place. Hack stopped and listened for a moment. There was nothing other than the sound of birds and the rustling in the bushes, as creatures foraged for food. Still, he could not afford to take a chance, so he moved on tip toe, wincing as his shoes made small crunching noises. A shadow fell across his path and blocked the light. Two enormous paws appeared, and he traced the shape upwards until he came face to face with blazing, red eyes. Beast and dwarf stood face to face for a moment until Hack sighed and said.

“I am here on the king’s business, so you must let me pass.”

The fairy dog moved its giant head from side to side studying the small figure before him and gnashed its pointed teeth. It growled and shook its head. The dogs are the only creatures in the hidden world that have no voice. A smack from the dog’s paw sent him sprawling down on to the ground, and it was this same paw that held him in place. Other large shapes moved around him, and he heard the growls of the other dogs. I know what they are doing, Hack thought, they are sending word to Lord Fabien to see if what I said is true.

“Listen,” Hack gasped when the others had run off. “I am finding it hard to breath with your paw on my chest. Let me up. I promise not to move.”

The dog’s face descended until he was staring into the red eyes again, but the pressure on his chest lifted. Hack stood and shook the dust from his tabard.

“There was no need for that,” his said, as he felt along his ribs and glared at the dog.

It growled and went back to its grooming, all the while keeping an eye on the dwarf. Despite its great size, Hack mused, it is still a dog.

Hack let his eyes roam along the hedgerows. The dog cocked his ears, as he saw the dwarf pick up a stick from out of a tangle of branches. Its interest was piqued now, and it watched as the dwarf stripped away some of the dead leaves.

“It is a nice stick, is it not?” Hack made a move, pretending to throw, and the dog arched its back ready to follow.

. Hack stood up on his toes and threw as hard as his small arms allowed. The stick sailed over the hedges and the shape of the fairy dog passed over his head, like as dark cloud as it followed. Hack ran, his feet hardly touching the ground, as he headed for the forest. The ground shook as the dog, realising he had been duped, took off after him.

“Not so big now, are you doggie?” He laughed from the shadow of the trees. “Wait until all your furry friends hear how the big fairy dog was outwitted by a dwarf.”

Hack knew the dog could not cross over the boundary, not unless ordered to do so by its master.

“That is right,” Hack said, as the hair on the dog’s back rose. “Growl all you want. See if I care.”

The Ereban forest is a dark and fearsome place and though Hack knew this, the need to prove himself overcame his fear. No one understood what it was like to be a dwarf in a world of elves and fairies. The elves are known for their beauty and magic. The fairies, whose colours glistened brighter than jewels, make him feel like nothing special. They would have to sit up and take notice when he solved the mystery of the princess and Lord Sabba.

The fairy dog started to bark; the sound resounding like the clanging of hundreds of church bells.

“Stop it, stupid dog,” Hack shouted, but his voice went unheard above the noise of the barking.

The sound made his head swim and the ground went from beneath him. He opened his eyes as the trees swept past him in a dark flash. He blinked and tried to struggle free from whatever held him. A resounding slap on the top of his head stunned him.

“Stay still, dwarf,” the voice rumbled like thunder.

Hack felt tears prick his eyes, and he shook his head to clear his vision. He was carried through the trees; his body dangling under the arm of an Ereban. His captor picked him up from behind, so Hack was lying sideways and able to see around him, as they moved deeper into the forest.

“Please…” his plea earned him another slap on the head, and he thought it wiser to keep quiet.

He had never seen an Ereban up close before. In the past, their dark shapes were the things children whispered about, but no one ever expected to see one, except in a nightmare. The arm around his waist was hard, as though made solely of bone. The stench from its body was nauseating. It smelt sickly-sweet like fresh cut earth or blood. No, worse, Hack thought, it smells of decay. It moved quickly, the weight of its burden did nothing to slow it down.

They crossed large streams, the Ereban leaping from stone to stone. Hack saw the hideous shapes that sat along the banks. Women, or things that might once have been so, clambered from the water to get a better look. Their bodies wasted to the point of emaciation, ribs sticking through skin that seemed too thin to hold back the bones advance. All had long, white hair that grew in a tangle of confusion and when they noticed his searching eyes, they used this to cover their nakedness. Their faces were long, the mouth and nose quite normal, but the eyes were the most terrifying. They were oblong and covered over two thirds of the face. Hack felt his resolve falter as he saw reflected in each of the huge orbs a hopelessness he could never have imagined. He knew he was witnessing what the mortals spoke of as Hell.

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 13, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, castles, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hags, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, magic, monsters, prince, princess, queens, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: castles, changelings, Dwarfs, elfin, hags, hidden worlds, Irish folklore, Irish legends, magic, magic fantasy, princes and princesses, queens and kings. Leave a comment

Biddy paused to catch her breath and looked up at the grey sky. The clouds were so low and swollen with rain they seemed within arm’s reach. It was many years since she had last attempted the climb to the castle, and she had forgotten how steep it was. She sat down on a large rock and looked up at the jutting towers of the dark silhouette above her head. The last time she entered the world of the Elfin she had been with her mother. Even then the reception they received was not a good one. Her mother left the elfin world a day before her eighteenth birthday. Biddy knew the aging process for the elfin slowed at their coming of age Still, her mother’s decision to leave did not altogether save her from the heartache to come. She aged much slower than her husband, and that was her curse for marrying a mortal. Her mother did die as the headstone proclaimed in her hundred and twelfth year. She might have lived longer if the death of her husband had not broken her heart. Being half elfin meant that Biddy, like her mother, would age much slower than her father. Today, she felt all her hundred and three years, as she sat mopping her brow.

The entrance to the world below is on the north side of the castle. This area never gets much sun and since mortals love the light as much as the elfin, they tend to shy away from this shadowy place. Everything was done to discourage the curious. Gnarled, twisted trees line the steep hill; wild brambles grow between the trunks, ready to tear at the clothing of any intruder. At the summit, six huge stones, weathered by time, stand like rheumatic fingers, the hands raised to repel any intruders who dared approach. These silent sentinels are the last thing one encounters before reaching the ivy-covered entrance to the cave.

Biddy was panting when she reached the summit, and she leaned against one of the huge rocks. In the distance, the ocean looked like a black line against the greyness of the day. The air was still, too still. Despite the great height of the hill, there was no whistling of wind, and no cawing from the crows in the walls of the castle. It seemed that nature itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what would happen when she pulled aside the curtain of ivy. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the cave. It was cold here, and she stood for a moment to let the cool air wash over her. The only sound came from the slow dripping of water. With shuffling feet, she descended deeper into the darkness. To steady herself, she kept one hand on the wall of the cave. The rocks were slimy, and she shivered in revulsion, as her fingers encountered the softness of moss. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her breathing echoed off the listening walls. She could not remember how long it took to reach the fairy world. She kept going, her process slow as the ground beneath her sloped further, until her feet went from under her. One moment she was feeling in front of her with the toe of her boot, the next she went sprawling down on to the dusty ground, as her foot encountered nothing but air. At this precise moment the alarm bells sounded, and a small light appeared in the darkness. Its glow was bright enough for her to see the sharp spear pointed at her face and the angry, glaring eyes of its owner.

“Go back, mortal,” the dwarf said. “You have no right to be here.”

Biddy stood up and shook the dirt from her skirt.

“I said, go back,” the dwarf jabbed the point of the spear at her. “You will not get much further mortal. Help is on the way.”

“Don’t you remember me, Roak?” Biddy asked. “I am Petals daughter.”

Roak, the Guardian of the Cave, held the lamp higher and squinted up at her.

“I came here with my mother many years ago to visit with my grandparents,” Biddy said, as the thundering began in the darkness.

She leaned against the wall of the cave as the knights appeared. A line of archers, their bows raised, ready to strike, surrounded her. Beyond them, dozens of dwarves toddled with shields held high and spears ready for battle. She read the question in the elfin eyes as they met, not with the army of mortals they had imagined, but an old woman, cowering against the rocks.

“She says she is Petals daughter,” Roak said, to one of the elfin.

“You have no business here,” one of the knights said. “Turn around mortal or feel the sting of my arrow.”

“I have no intention of turning around,” Biddy said. “I am half elfin and I demand to see the king.”

“You cannot make such demands,” he laughed. “You have no rights here.”

“I demand in the memory of my mother,” Biddy knew the elfin law well.

Though her mother was exiled from her people, she still had to right to return once in every decade to visit her loved ones.

“Send a message to the king. Tell him I am here to speak for those who are called the shadow self.”

The knight whispered something to the elf beside him that sent him running back into the darkness. They waited in silence, until the soldier returned and whispered the king’s answer.

“It would seem that the king wishes to see you,” the knight said. “Follow us.”

Biddy followed, praying she would not lose her footing again. It was a relief when the dot of light appeared. She had to shield her eyes as they moved into the brightness and beauty of the world beneath the earth. Up ahead the castle of Bargamore glowed against the earthen sky, and she bit her lip when she saw the number of steps she needed to climb. As though reading her mind, the knight called over his shoulder.

“I will assist you in the climb, ancient one.

“Really,” Biddy huffed. “You’re probably older than I am, so less of the ancient one, if you please.”

“You may well be right,” he turned and smiled at her.

Biddy felt her cheeks flames as her stomach did somersaults, I am a silly old fool, she thought, but it had to be said, the elfin men were beautiful.

Juliet found the first night in her new home, terrifying. The old manor house was best suited to ghosts rather than the living, with its dark passages and endless, narrow corridors. The small cloakroom on the ground floor was the only place that did not stink of musk. Its small bathroom meant that Juliet did not have to climb up into the darkness.

Lunch that first afternoon was an uncomfortable affair with everyone trying to pretend that everything was normal, but conversation was stilted. Her aunt tried her best to cheer things up with her no-nonsense approach to things.

“I know it’s difficult for you,” she said, looking from Juliet to Kim. “But your parents are not the first to lose their jobs.”

“We know that aunt,” Juliet answered for both. “And we don’t mind moving, well, you no,” she shrugged when her aunt raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll soon settle in,” the old woman smiled. “And I must admit, I’m looking forward to having the company for a change. Go and explore the house,” she said. “I had four of the bedrooms aired, so you can choose which one you like best.”

Juliet and Kim were glad to be free of the kitchen and hurried out to join their father in carrying the suitcases upstairs.

Like the rest of the house, the furniture in the bedrooms was big, dark, and ancient-looking. It was early Victorian, her father explained, but all Juliet saw was the way it filled every room with its bulk and gave shadows somewhere to hide. Her room seemed like a vast cavern. Her aunt said she had the rooms aired, but dust lay inches deep on all the surfaces. The air smelt stale, and it was obvious from the grime-coated windows that they had not been opened in decades. Her bed was a huge, lumbering four-poster, the type she had seen in books and movies. Its once-bright tapestry faded and covered with old cobwebs and inches of dust. Juliet shivered, imagining the countless generations of spiders who made their home within the folds. Two large wardrobes faced it from the other end of the room and a matching dressing table nestled in the alcove of the bay window.

“It needs a lot of care,” her mother came in and put an arm around Juliet’s shoulder.

“It needs condemning,” Juliet said. “I can’t sleep in that,” she nodded at the bed.

“You go and explore,” her mother kissed the top of her head. “By the time you come back you won’t recognise the place.”

“Cobwebs,” Juliet reminded her, pointing at the bed curtains.

She found Kim jumping up and down on the bed in her room. Dust rose into the air every time she landed on the stale covers.

“Isn’t this the greatest bed?” Kim asked.

“What’s so good about it?” Juliet thought, it is ugly.

“It has curtains and everything,” Kim slid on to the floor. “It’s like a bed for a princess.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Juliet shrugged, too miserable to argue. “I’m going to look around the house. You can come if you want?”

“Yeah,” Kim paused, to tuck her teddy bear under the covers. “See you later, Mr Snuggles.”

“You are so simple,” Juliet threw her eyes to heaven. “I sometime wonder if we’re related.”

“I’d rather be simple than old and grumpy like you,” Kim flounced past her.

It is true, Juliet thought, I feel old, and I am still just a teenager.

The rest of the house was worse than their bedrooms, as some of the rooms reeked of damp and decay.

“Is aunt Maisie poor now?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Juliet said.

Later when they met their father in the garden, she asked him same question. Maisie was a little eccentric, he said, but she had a healthy bank balance. She had given him free rein when he suggested doing some repairs and tidying the garden.

Juliet tried to banish dark thoughts, but when it came time for bed, they returned. Her room was much cleaner and the dreaded bed curtains gone, but it still held its air of gloom. She left the curtains open so the light from the full moon lit the room, but it made crouching beasts of the giant wardrobes. As the air cooled the woodwork contracted, making little cracking noises that sounded loud as gun shots to her frayed nerves. The wild cry of some night creature echoed from outside and at that same instant her bedroom door creaked open.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Kim stood framed in the doorway hugging Mr Snuggles.

Juliet had never been more pleased to see her little sister.

Shadow Self-chapter nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 17, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, passion, queens, revenge, strange worlds, teenegers, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writing, young adults. Tagged: Dwarfs, elfin, fairies, hidden worlds, Irish legends, magic, magic fantasy, princes and princesses, queens and kings, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, wizards, young adults. Leave a comment

Corey watched as the others explored the garden. He thought life on the streets had made him hard, as he had witnessed some terrible things over the years and believed himself immune to feelings. Why then did he feel so sad? He cleared his throat, hoping this small act would dispel the lump that formed there. The grass shimmered, as his eyes filled with tears. The screech of the garden gate became a welcome distraction, and he hurried back to the front of the house. The sight of a police car parked outside on the road would once have instilled fear in him, but now it meant nothing. A lone officer stood waiting.

“This is private property,” he said to Corey. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Corey Dawson,” he held out his hand.

“Paul Regan,” the officer shook it. “I’m the community police officer and I got a call to say that there was somebody snooping round the place.”

“I inherited the house from my parents,” Corey explained. “I have just turned eighteen and decided to come home.”

He did not want the officer to know that he was underage, and it was just a little lie.

“Who are they?” The man nodded at the others, who had come to see what was happening.

“My grandfather, Tom, my aunt Annie and my cousins,” Corey introduced them.

The others held their breath. It was obvious they seemed a ragged group and no one would believe that, but Corey held the man’s stare.

“Well, let me be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood,” the officer smiled. “I’ll let everyone know you’re back, and good luck to you all.”

“How do you do that?” Tom whispered, as they watched the officer climb back into the car.

“Do what?”

“Get people to believe everything you say.”

“I’ve no idea, I’ve always been able to do it,” Corey said, as he pulled out the old tin box.

The key to the front door nestled next to the sepia-coloured will, and his hand shook, as he picked it up and placed it in the lock. It felt stiff from disuse, and he had to jiggle it a few times before it opened. Hundreds of envelopes, circulars and old newspapers blocked their way, and they pushed hard to get the opening wide enough to slip inside. The hall smelt musty, and there was another overriding odour, the stench of ammonia. Cats got inside and left their trademark by peeing all over the place. Corey’s legs felt like lead as he made his way upstairs to his old room. His fingers gripped the white, round knob of the door handle, and for a moment, he remembered a time when his hand was much smaller and the doorknob as big as a football. The door creaked open and a small rush of trapped air sighed all around him. The room was exactly how he remembered it, with its Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles posters and matching bedspread. The curtains were closed, and he walked to the window and pulled them back. Inches of dust fell, causing him to sneeze. He sat down on the bed. They were all there, still waiting; his childhood heroes and he wondered why he had not taken them with him to the home. Perhaps, he sensed with that secret, instinctive knowing of a child, that they were better left behind. He picked up the action figures one by one. Leonardo, he pressed the cold, plastic head above his upper lip, hoping to find some scent of himself trapped there, but there was nothing. He did the same with the others Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Splinter, the rat, and the mentor of the turtles. The villains were there also, and he scowled at the fierce faces of his two favourites, Bebop and Rocksteady. He started collecting the figures long after they had gone out of fashion, and he remembered how his parents took great pains in tracking down each one of them.

He had to get out. He closed the door behind him and walked to the next room. His parents’ room, like his own, lay suspended in time. His mother’s makeup littered the top of the dressing table and a nightdress lay carefully folded on her pillow. He opened the wardrobe door. His father’s suits hung in a neat row and jostled with his mother’s dresses for space. The smell of damp was overpowering, and patches of mould clung to the fabric. He went over to the dressing table. He was grateful for the solidness of the small stool, as he sat down. It felt sturdy and safe in a day that was fast becoming surreal. Cobwebs coated the mirror in front of him and dust settled on each carefully woven thread, making his image hazy. He picked up a glass bottle and pulled out the stopper. His mother’s scent rose in the air. It smelt of Christmas, autumn fires and warm summer days. He was home, he was finally home. Corey put his head down and sobbed.

Shadow Self- chapter six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 14, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, changelings, Dwarfs, Eerie Places, elves, enemies, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, hidden worlds, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, monsters, queens, strange worlds, wise women, Witchcraft, Witches, wizards, wonder, writing. Tagged: changelings, Dwarfs, elfin, fairies, Irish folklore, Irish legends, magic, monsters, princes and princesses, queens and kings, wise women, wizards. Leave a comment

Queen Heather stared down as the baby nestled in the crook of her arm and felt her heart torn by love and fear. The little princess was the most perfect being she had even seen. Her dark red hair would mark her out among her subjects like fire on snow.

“My darling daughter, how can I bear this pain,” the queen whispered.

A single tear fell on the baby’s face and she made a soft mewing sound at its touch.

The wise women were back and had come to give their blessing to the child. The queen told them what she intended to do.

“Let us take her, majesty,” Mistress Doogood offered.

“No, I must do it,” the queen said.

“But, majesty,” the women protested.

“I have decided, and I will need your help to dress,” the queen handed Mistress Gamp the baby.

When she was ready, she took a small box from beside the bed. Inside on a cushion of gossamer paper sat a pendant; pressed from the finest silver and in the symbol of her people, a phoenix. It had a small tag attached and a note written in the queen’s own hand.

“A gift for your precious child.”

Lady Blackthorn’s son would receive an identical pendant. Both were filled with fairy magic and would keep them safe in the mortal world.

The castle hallways lay silent as the queen and her entourage crept along. Lady Blackthorn stood waiting at the top of the basement steps.

“He is so beautiful,” the queen looked down at her friend’s child.

“As is the princess,” Iris stroked the princess’s hair.

“We must go, majesty, while the world is still in darkness,” Galten urged.

The air was cold when they walked out of the castle, and the streets of the kingdom silent under the cloak of darkness. They moved with lightning speed up through the cave leading to the mortal world. Here the night sky seemed a vast amphitheatre of stars, as all the astral bodies had come out to see the new-borns. Above their heads the ruins of Culdoplin Castle stood like a dark sentinel. The castle marked the spot leading to the hidden world, and its kings were protectors of those beneath them. Their line had died out and the castle, like its rulers, was now lifeless. Now it was time to separate.

“Go with Lady Blackthorn, she will need your strength,” the queen whispered to Galten.

“Be brave, my queen,” Iris kissed her and walked away.

“Come, majesty,” Mistress Doogood put her arm around the queen’s waist.

The miles passed in moments and stars flew above them, as they moved towards their destinations.

The hospital was sleeping. Casting a spell of invisibility, the elfin women moved across its polished floors towards the nursery. The room pulsed with the wonder of new life, and its touch was a balm of the queen’s aching heart. The baby they chose was an exact copy of her own child, with the same pale skin and red hair. But she was not her child, and never would be,

“I cannot do this dreadful thing,” the queen handed her baby to Mistress Gamp.

“Go and see the child’s mother,” she said as she took the baby. “See for yourself the goodness in her.”

Large tears ran down the queen’s cheeks and caused dark stains to form on her gold gown. Alice lay in a deep, exhausted sleep. The queen looked down at her and sensed waves of kindness flowing from the mortal woman. Placing the box with the pendant beside the bed, she whispered.

“Take care of my child, and I in turn, will do the same for you.”

She glided over to the window and looked out at the world of men. It made her shiver to watch the mortals, who had so little time to live, waste it on things that had no meaning. Her child would lose its elfin powers, as its new parents taught it about nothing other than material things.

“We must go, majesty,” Mistress Gamp held the changeling.

No one wanted to stay for long in the mortal world. Its atmosphere was draining on those who were many hundreds of years old. Now, because of her decision, her daughter would age and die. While she would be forced to look into the eyes of a stranger for hundreds of years to come, a stranger she would call daughter.

Shadow Self- chapter one

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on July 9, 2020

Posted in: birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Dwarfs, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Goblins, Gothic, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, kings, legend, magic, queens, strange worlds, wonder. Tagged: Dwarfs, fairies, Irish legends, kings, magic, mythical beings, other worlds, princes and princesses, queens. Leave a comment

Corey Dawson

The wailing of a police siren woke Corey from a restless sleep. His heart thudded against his chest, as he listened to the sound of running feet and shouts of anger. Pushing aside his sleeping bag, he crawled to a gap in the cardboard wall and peeped out. The alleyway was lit by the flashing, blue lights, and he knew it was time to go. His knapsack served as a pillow, and he pulled it to him and started to pack his meagre belongings. With his sleeping bag rolled up, he was ready to leave. There was no need to worry about getting dressed, because in the strange, twilight world of the street-dweller, one slept in their clothes.

As Corey emerged from the layers of cardboard that served as his sleeping place, he saw those who shared the pavement with him were packing. It is an unwritten rule among his kind, that once the police and authorities discovered where they sleep, it was time to move on. The small alleyway served them well in the harsh winter months. Situated behind office blocks, there were no residents to complain about the noise they made at night. Many of his fellow street-dwellers had mental health problems or turned to drugs and alcohol to help stave off the uselessness of their lives. They got very loud under the influence of their chosen poison. In the beginning Corey found this behaviour frightening, but he soon realised it was bluff; the noises they made were nothing more than a rage against their hopelessness. He saw the ravages the drink and drugs caused as bright-eyed young boys and girls faded before his eyes to husks of their former selves. Six times over the freezing, winter months he had woken to find the lifeless body of a friend lying stiff within their cardboard coffin.

“Do you need a hand?” Corey knelt to help Old Tom, the oldest of the street-dwellers.

“Thanks, lad,” the careworn features creased into a smile. “We should’ve known it was too good to last.”

The police finished their chase and came back up the alley with two handcuffed prisoners.

“Time to move,” an officer said.

The usual shouts and insults flew, as the street-dwellers, many resembling no more than bundles of rags, became frightened and tormented at the intrusion. Corey realised it could get out of hand and he did not relish the pain of a police baton on his head.

“Sorry officer,” he walked to the front of the group. “We’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

The man’s eyes were hard as he looked at Corey.

“Very well,” he waved his baton at the group. “Make sure they clean up this rubbish. I don’t want the place left like a dump.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Corey promised.

He gave a sigh of relief when the flashing blue lights blinked off and the sound of the car engines faded into the night.

“We should get going,” Old Tom sidled up to Corey.

“Yes,” Corey smiled and looked at the group.

With the rubbish cleared away, all that remained was a lost and ragged bunch of life’s cast offs.

“Where will we go, lad?” Old Tom asked.

The question startled Corey, and he was angry the others depended on him. He was the youngest of the group, and yet they looked up to him. His anger subsided, and he felt an ache rise from deep within him.

“I know somewhere,” Corey said. “It’s a few miles outside of town, but we’d be safe.”

There were mutters of discontent, as those who called the streets home did not want to leave them.

“It’s a long distance,” Corey said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come with me.”

“I’ll come,” Old Tom said. “It’s years since I’ve seen the countryside; and I’d like a bit of peace and quiet.”

Others broke away from the group and moved closer to Corey.

“A bus will take us to within a mile of the place,” he assured those who looked doubtful.

After a few more minutes of negotiations they reached a decision. Old Tom would go with him. Annie, in her fifties, wanted to go too. There were three others. Rasher aged fourteen, who had been homeless for three years. No one knew where his nickname came from, but he was very thin, as lean as a rasher of bacon. There was Stew; nineteen. Like the other boys, he had run away from a foster home, and Jamie who at twenty-six had the body of a man and the mind of a child.

He now had a new family of sorts; each one vulnerable and carrying their share of dark memories. Seventeen-year-old Corey must be a father to them, as he returned to the only place, he had ever been happy, home.

Annie sensed his fear. Its musky, acidic smell surrounded him like an aura. They were alone in the dark and the next move was down to her.

“Do you know who I am,” she asked. “Or why I am here?”

“I know you’re trespassing,” his voice was hoarse, as he brought the back of his hand up to wipe the moisture from his face.

“Then we are alike. You have no claim to this house either.”

“Oh, I get it,” his laugh sounded hollow in the stillness. “You’re one of those bleeding hearts. On some sort of quest, are you?” He jabbed the statue at Annie, pushing her back towards the curtain-less window. “Did the old woman put you up to this?”

“Stop,” Annie pleaded, as for a moment, her fear of the O Brien’s returned.

Liam dropped the statue and grabbed her by the throat. Her back was pressed against the window frame as he moved ever closer. The hand encircling her pressed harder, and she moved up on her toes to try and escape the pressure.

“Let me go,” she croaked. “You are hurting me.”

“This is nothing to what I’m going to do to you. I’ll show you pain that up to now you could only imagine,” Liam’s spittle flew against her face. “You won’t look quite as pretty when I’m done with you.”

His words took her back to that room. She saw once more the gleam of the nails in the chair. Smelt the leather on the restraints and looked on the blood-soaked body of her sister, lit by the light of the brazier. The heat threatened to overwhelm her, but this time the fire was inside her. Liam felt the flesh beneath his hand ripple and ebb, the movement unnatural. He tried to draw back, but terror held him prisoner.

“Fiend,” the voice was no longer that of a young girl. “Betrayer of women; destroyer of the innocent.”

“No,” Liam sobbed, as the flesh he held crackled like dead leaves.

“You bring destruction and death to all and care nothing for the suffering,” Annie continued. “Very well, let us see if you welcome death as freely as you embrace its power.”

The clouds parted and allowed the moon to light the room. Liam screamed into the face pressed against his. The hollow, cobwebby eyes, the jutting bones covered in places by blackened skin, and the putrid breath was toxic.

“So,” Annie smiled at his bulging eyes. “You see me now as I really am. So, tell me, do you still think I am pretty?”

His only answer came from the small trickle of urine that flowed down his legs and dripped onto the floor. He gagged on the stench, and the muscles in his stomach clenched until he thought he would embarrass himself even further. Still, his legs remained like lead.

“And what about my hair?” Annie asked. “Is it not beautiful? Do you not want to touch it?” Reaching up, she ripped some of the matted tendrils from her skull and waved them under his nose. “Go on, run your fingers through it.”

Though the sound of Liam’s screams were as soothing as music, The Dark One grew impatient. He flew towards the attic window and placed his hands on either side of it. All pretence of normality gone; he showed his true features as he roared.

“Kill him. Do it now.”

The demonic face at the window startled the figures silhouetted inside, but it was enough to break the spell and before Annie could regain control, Liam ran screaming down the stairs. Dora, despite her promise, came running to see what the noise was all about. So, the first thing Liam encountered, as he ran along the landing, was the little girl. In his terror and heightened state of awareness, he saw her as she really was. To her he was the monster who’d beaten her to death, and she started to scream. Behind him he heard the slow, shuffling steps on the wooden attic stairs. The thing holding the doll was blocking the stairway, but that didn’t deter him in his flight, and he launched himself over the rail landing awkwardly on the stairs below.

“Go back in there, now,” Annie ordered, and the child scuttled back into the bedroom.

Liam limped down the stairs aware of the footsteps following. The front door loomed in the distance and he gritted his teeth against the pain, as he moved towards it. Twice his sweat-soaked fingers slipped on the latch until finally, with the aid of the storm, it flew open. He had forgotten in his terror, the demon outside. The steps were carpeted with leaves, and he struggled to keep his balance as he climbed down. His injured foot gave way when he reached the rough gravel, and he was forced to grab on to one of the stone sculptures. There were footsteps on the driveway, and he cried with relief. This was short lived when he saw who it was, he screamed again and brought a hand up to protect his face.

“Bastard,” Cora raised the fallen branch. “You killed my child.”

“No,” the voice from the doorway cried.

Cora looked towards the sound and her eyes grew wide with fear. Something was making its way down the steps. Something so horrible, that for a moment time ceased and she remained frozen, the arm holding the branch raised above her head.

“This is mine to deal with,” the thing said. “I am beyond hope. All is lost to me, but you have a chance. As yet, you remain unblemished by this monster, this thief of time.”

Cora realised, despite the creature’s fearsome appearance, the voice was that of a young woman. Liam reached out and caught hold of Cora’s skirt.

“Help me,” he sobbed.

Cora looked into her husband’s eyes and saw reflected in them the cold, white body of her child. She reached down and gently pried away his fingers. All the while the thing stood silent, waiting.

“Poor Liam,” Cora stroked her husband’s cheek, and he grabbed at her hand and kissed it. “You know,” she smiled at him. “I never realised until now what a truly, pathetic little man you are.”

“What are you saying?” He asked, as she raised the branch again.

“I’m saying, I hope you rot in hell,” she swung as hard as she could.

Annie leaped forward and caught her hand in mid air. Cora struggled with her screaming above the noise of the storm, she had to do this. But the fingers encircling her wrist burned like boiling water on her skin and she dropped to her knees moaning in pain. The branch slipped from her grasp.

“Listen to me,” the thing knelt beside her.

Cora’s tried to turn away. Tried to sink into the blackness she saw in the eyeless hollows of the face before her, but instead she clutched at her empty stomach and sobbed.

“I need you to heed my words,” it continued. “You have young ones to care for. They will need you in the days ahead. Do not desert them as I did to all I held most dear.”

Liam watched the scene before him and took advantage of his wife’s distress. His car keys were inside the house, and with his injured ankle, he would never make it inside and back to the car without them noticing. His only option was to make for the trees and out onto the road beyond them. The gravel crunched like glass beneath his feet, but the crying of the wind masked its sound. He inched his way towards the back of the house and moved as fast as he possibly could through the jungle-like garden and into the shelter of the trees.

Annie’s heart ached for the woman and for her terrible loss.

“I know something of your suffering,” she whispered.

“How can you?” Cora sobbed. “No one knows what I feel.”

She looked up at the long-dead thing and gasped. Between the intermittent lightning flashes, she caught a glimpse of the young girl. A stunningly, beautiful girl with flowing auburn hair that floated around her in the wind.

“What are you?” Cora asked.

“I am a wraith. I bring death to the evil in this place. For centuries I have wandered the earth in search of peace. Now it is within my grasp. Your man is the last in his line, and his time has come.”

The roar of thunder overhead was so loud Cora covered her ears. But Annie heard reflected in the sound the voice of The Dark One.

“He is getting away,” he roared, and in an instant, she was on her feet and running.

Liam stopped to rest against a tree. Despite the cold night air, he was sweating. Not far to go, he thought, as the white of the road showed clear between the trees. Pain shot along his leg and he reached down and rubbed at his swollen ankle. There was no time to waste. That thing could come after him at any time. He swore aloud, as he snagged his foot on a root and fell hard onto the forest’s branch-strewn floor.

“Christ,” he gritted his teeth and tried to stand.

This is that bitch Cora’s fault. His anger so intense, he forgot for a moment he was being hunted and it was not until he felt the fingers in his hair hauling him up, his terror returned. He was propelled face first into the nearest tree trunk. The force, with which he made contact, shattered his nose and the crunch of bone echoed in his pain-filled howls.

Annie spun him around. Blood matted his face, dripped down his chin and coated her fingers.

“You cannot escape me,” she snarled.

Her putrid breath mingled with the taste of his blood and made him retch. The grip of the skeleton fingers was so tight he knew if he vomited, he would choke. All around him the night filled with sound. There were urgent whisperings, hundreds of voices chanted prayers he remembered from long ago, when he still believed in a power greater than himself.

“You will not stop me,” Annie drew back a little, but still retained her death grip on the quivering man. She looked towards the shadows in the trees and roared “This is how it must be, if I am to rest.”

“No, Annie, no,” the cries encircled them.

“They will not stop me,” the thing moved closer, until it was pressing against him.

Annie brought her free hand up to his face and then slowly almost dreamlike, she allowed her fingers to slide down his shirt and rip away each button.

Liam sobbed, as the bony fingers pulled aside the fabric and exposed his flesh. The cool night air made his skin tingle, but it was not this that made the goose pimples rise. It was the feel of the claw as it moved towards his chest.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Let me go.”

“You expect mercy; but you have never shown any?”

“Just tell me what you want. I’ll do whatever you say, pay any price.”

“Your riches mean nothing to me, but you will pay, and the price is what lies beneath.”

Liam screamed, as the dirty razor-sharp nails stabbed at his chest, then traced downwards opening the incision wider.

Cora heard him and staggered to her feet. She made no move towards the sound and it wasn’t until she felt the small hand slip into hers, she looked down. A little girl, no older than six or seven and clutching a doll was looking up at her.

“We have to help Annie,” the child nodded towards the forest. “Or else The Dark One will have her forever.”

Cora dropped the child’s hand and started to run around the house.

Liam felt the warm blood as it dripped down his chilled skin. The wound in his chest burned and his eyes widened as the fingers of the thing arched ready for attack.

“Don’t,” he begged.

“It is too late to beg for mercy. I asked for it once and my cries went unheard, and the cries of your son will never sound because of you. I believed men such as you were heartless; I now know I was wrong. I can feel it beating as any other, but it is not like any other. It is rotten to the core.”

Liam’s screams echoed through the trees, as Annie thrust her fingers deep into the wound. She felt the flesh part and the softness of muscles, as she moved towards her target. Her skeleton fingers scraped bone against bone on his ribs.

Despite her revulsion Cora managed to grab hold of her. Annie caught off guard, was thrown back. The suction sound as her fingers were torn from Liam’s flesh was nauseating.

“Annie, no,” Cora gasped, winded from the run and her recent ordeal.

Liam slumped to the ground and was clutching at his torn chest trying to stem the flow of blood. Annie, stunned by the surprise attack, sat against a tree trunk.

“He’s not worth it,” Cora said. “It’s bad enough I’ve had to suffer up to now at his hands, but think of it Annie, yours will be eternal.”

“That is a price I am willing to pay.”

Liam tried to back away as she crawled towards him, ready to renew her assault.

“Please, no,” Cora begged, caring only for the memory of the young girl she had glimpsed moments before and nothing for the man she had once called husband.

“No,” the cries of the spirits joined with hers, and Cora hugged herself as the ground beneath her shook.

The roots of long dead trees sprang from the earth and wrapped themselves around Annie’s ankles, pulling her back. She roared in frustration and beat at the earth-brown sinews holding her against the trunk. Some were so brittle with age they crumbled to dust beneath her rapacious tearing. But as soon as she managed to pull one away another replaced it. Cora sobbed, as she watched the battle before her. Nature itself loved this young woman enough to fight for her. The wind died completely, and the night grew still, except for the snapping of the roots and the howls of their prisoner. The moonlight returned and small shafts of its light made their way through the trees. From far above her head, Cora heard an urgent rustling as every bird awoke from slumbering and took to the air. Crows, sparrows, starlings, and magpies flew as one towards the sky, their wings beating a tattoo and their voices calling out to him who created them for help. Still, the heavens remained silent.

Dora sat on the steps of the house crying and hugging her doll. The noises from the forest frightened her, and even though she wanted to help her sister, fear held her in its grip. She was so frightened she did not even move when the big lights came towards her.

The taxi deposited its passengers and drove away. The darkness returned and Laura, Shelly and Emily were left standing staring at the little girl who sat with her eyes covered, sobbing.

“What’s that noise? Laura looked at Emily.

“I don’t know, but it’s coming from behind the house.”

“Shelly, stay there,” Laura ordered, as she followed the old woman.

Shelly walked to the steps and sat down. Dora peeped between her fingers and realising it was another child took her hands down.

“You have to help Annie,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” Shelly said. “My head is broken.” And she rubbed at the offending lump.

“What happened?”

“My stupid sister did it.”

“Why?”

“Cause I called her names.”

“Hugh beat me with a stick.”

Who’s he?”

“A horrid man and very big like this,” she stretched her arms above her head.

“What did he beat you for?”

“I would not tell a lie about Annie.”

“Did it hurt a lot?”

“Yes, I was all cut and my new dress got blood on it, look.”

Shelly bent to look at the dark stain on the faded garment and wrinkled her nose.

“That’s gross. What did you do then?”

“I fell asleep.”

“Hey,” Shelly noticed the doll, reached across, and grabbed it. “That’s mine.”

“I did not break it or anything. I just played with it.”

Shelly looked at the strange little girl with the big sad eyes and gave the doll back.

“Here, you can keep it. I have loads more.”

“Oh, thank you,” Dora clasped the wonderful gift and, while the earth and all of its forces fought against the threatening darkness two little girls sat and talked about dolls and sisters and things that remained the same throughout the centuries.

Laura caught up with Emily and they walked hand in hand into the turmoil. Annie still fought against her bonds; Liam managed to get to his feet but was unable to walk. A tree took his weight, as he leant against it. He needed both hands to keep his flesh together.

“Mam,” Cora did not hear Laura call her name as above her the birds circled faster, their cries growing more urgent. It was not until her daughter touched her, she realised she was there. She knew the old woman with her had to be Emily.

“Laura, don’t look,” She pulled the child against her, trying to shield her eyes.

“It’s all right, Mam. I know Annie and I know why she is angry. He hurt you, didn’t he?” She cast a disdainful look at her blood-soaked father.

Cora did not have time to reply.

“Annie,” Emily walked towards the struggling figure. “Annie, dearest, don’t you know me?”

Annie stopped and looked at the old woman.

“I’m family, Annie. I am descendent of Rose. Look deep child and remember.”

The skies grew quiet as the birds flew down and lined the branches of the trees. Nothing stirred; even the moon stood still and waited.

“You are Rose’s child?”

“Yes,” Emily walked closer. “And I know all about you and what you’ve suffered.”

“Then she lived?”

“Yes, child. They all lived. Meg, Pat, Lily and Paul. They’ve kept watch over you throughout time.”

With this Annie started to cry. She bowed her head and sobbed, and when she finally looked up, she was a young girl again.

“Then I was not alone?”

“You were never alone. Their love was hidden from you by The Dark One’s curse.”

Who’s The Dark One?” Laura asked.

A shadow slipped from between the trees.

“I am,” he bowed mockingly and walked over to the child.

Cora pushed her daughter behind her, but she was no match for his superhuman strength, and he threw her aside. Bending down, he took Laura’s chin in his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” she tried to pull away. “You’re a bad man.”

“Oh, you have no idea how bad I am, little girl.”

The smack she gave him resounded in the stillness.

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual I assure you.”

“Take your hands off her” the roots released Annie; she pushed him aside and became a barrier between him and the child. “I will not allow you to hurt her.”

“You cannot stop me,” he sneered.

“Oh, I can stop you, Lucifer. Like you I have learned much, and I will cast you down as Michael did before me.”

His eyes blazed and his mouth drew back in a feral grin, as he lunged at her. The force with which she hit him sent him flying and he landed so hard, the earth beneath him cracked. He sat for a moment watching her, undecided. Then got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his clothes. The three women and the child moved closer together. Finally, he spoke.

“Very well; you have made your choice,” he waved at Liam. “He is still alive and my curse cannot be lifted and believe me Annie, he will sire more sons. Your search for peace will be endless.”

“But I know I am no longer alone. Dora is with me, I have seen her, and Rose survived. I will take this knowledge with me always, and I have learned so much I can no longer be of use to you. I will always hold true to the Most High. Go now.”

He moved back into the shadows until they could no longer see him.

“Where did he go?” Laura asked.

“Back to where he belongs,” Annie said. “And I pray he stays there for a long time.”

The lights in the house came on as the power supply was restored and lit the garden.

“Dora is waiting for you, child,” Emily took Annie’s hand and led her out from the trees. Cora and Laura walked behind them.

Liam’s laughter followed them, its sound hollow in the night air. All fear left him, and he considered himself immortal after hearing The Dark One’s words. Already his wound was starting to heal.

“You’re fucked,” he called after them. “All of you are fucked, understand? You,” he jabbed his finger at Cora. “You’re out, and you old woman,” He glared at Emily. “you’ll rot in that home.”

Annie started to walk back to him, but Emily stopped her.

“Leave him be, child. There’s a greater power will deal with him.”

“That’s right,” he sneered. “Listen to the old woman. Because one way or another you are really fucked. Kill me and you know what will happen. I heard him back there. I’m not stupid.”

“Come, child,” Emily pulled the reluctant Annie away.

“I’ll knock the house and dig every inch of the land until I find you. I will grind your bones to dust and there is nothing you can do. You’re useless,” he was shaking with temper. “Just like every woman ever born, you’re worthless.”

The watching birds screeched into flight, as Annie ran back towards him.

“I will kill you,” she screamed, but before she could touch him…

The clouds parted and a ray of light brighter than the sun cut through the night sky forcing them to cover their eyes. The lightening bolt, thrown by one who had remained silent for too long, found its target and cut Liam’s heart in two. The shocked women looked in wonder at his fallen body and the small plume of smoke rising from it.

“Don’t cry, Mam,” Laura said. “Dad was a bad man and he’d have hurt us and Annie.”

“I know,” Cora could not tell her young daughter her tears were ones of relief.

“The power of God is still strong,” Emily said. “And as he says there’s a time for everything under heaven,” she pointed to the opposite side of the garden and the figure of the blond child skipping along beside the young woman.

After the rain, the warm air started to rise, and a mist floated above the grass. Annie and Dora stopped when they reached their resting place and waved.

“God grant you peace,” Emily called to them, before the mist rose and they were lost to her forever.

And deep below the earth, wrapped in its velvet folds, a small child cuddled closer to her sister, stuck her thumb in her mouth and with her free hand holding tightly to her doll drifted away.

Cora groaned, the pressure on her right arm was unbearable. Even in her drug-induced, semi-conscious state, she managed to reach out with her free hand to brush away what was hurting her. There was vague mumbling from above and her hand was clasped in a cool, but firm embrace.

“Cora, wake up now.”

The overhead lights were blinding, so she covered her face. Her mind felt hazy, her thoughts muddled, but she managed to focus in time to see the white figure beside her bed fold the blood pressure cuff.

“Welcome back,” the nurse smiled. “And how are you feeling?”

“I fell,” she tried to make sense of what happened.

“Indeed, you did. It was a miracle you didn’t break something in a fall like that.”

“I didn’t?” She held up her hands to inspect them.

They were covered in yellow and blue bruises.

“I’m afraid you have many more like that, but never mind, it could be worse.”

Now her mind was finally clear of drugs, Cora’s hand went instinctively to her stomach, and she knew her baby was gone. She turned towards the nurse and with eyes filled with fear, asked. “My baby?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. There was nothing the doctors could do.”

“No, please,” she started to sob.

“The pregnancy wasn’t advanced enough. His little lungs were unable to cope.”

“A boy?”

“Yes, you can see him later, when you’re feeling better.”

But Cora knew she would never feel any better and turning on her side, she howled for the loss of her child.

“I’ll ask the doctor for something to relax you,” the nurse patted the bedcovers.

“No,” Cora called after her. “I don’t want anything. Let me be.”

The nurse turned away, shaking her head. Cora wanted to scream, leave me alone. I want to grieve for my loss. Instead, she huddled down under the blankets and her sobbing made the bed shake. After a while she fell into an uneasy sleep. She was back at the house, standing at the top of the stairs with her arms full of dirty bed linen. Then, she was falling, tumbling over and over, the child in her womb spinning faster within her until finally, she was lying at the bottom of the stairs and the warmth between her legs pumped in time to the fading heartbeat inside.

A touch on her arm made her scream, and she struggled to sit up. Marie caught her and held her as the sobbing began again.

“It’s going to be all right, my dear. I know this means nothing to you now, but time is a great healer.”

“I lost the baby.”

“I know, the nurse told me. I said I was your mother. A small lie in a good cause,” she stroked Cora’s back.

Cora sat up and brushed the tear-soaked hair from her face.

“It was a little boy,” she sniffed. “They said I can see him, but I’m afraid. Can you believe that? I’m afraid of my own baby.”

“We all fear death. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Would you come with me, to see him, I mean?”

“Yes, of course I will. I’ll go and ask the nurse.”

Marie left the room and returned in minutes.

“You will need to be taken down in a wheelchair. As soon as they have a porter free, they will send him in.”

During the time they waited, Marie told her how she had taken the children home with her. About Emily and finally, because she knew Cora needed to know, the house’s secret.

For a moment, Cora forgot her own grief.

“Then this Annie, this young girl, has been there for hundreds of years?”

“Yes, poor thing. Trapped in time and bound by a terrible curse to Liam’s family.”

“Is there nothing can be done to free her?”

“Nothing, Emily fears she’s become so desperate in her search of eternal rest she will try to kill Liam.”

“I hope she does.” Cora was trembling with rage. “I hope she tears out his rotten heart.”

“Yes, “Marie sighed. “But if she does, she’s damned. She will belong to the darkness forever.”

“Oh, the poor child,” Marie was unsure if her cries were for Annie or her dead baby.

The sudden whistling from the hallway made them look up and a wheelchair trundled in the door, pushed by a rosy-cheeked porter.

“Your chariot has arrived, my lady,” he joked, as he helped Cora into the seat.

His cheery manner soon abated when the nurse came in and he learned of their destination. It was a solemn, silent little procession that left the room. No one spoke, as they waited for the lift, or even when they descended deep into the bowels of the hospital and along the echoing corridor to the morgue and the chapel of rest. There was more whispering as the porter and the assistant conferred, finally…

“Mrs. O Brien. I’m Joe Hayes. I’ll take you in to see your baby.”

“Thank you,” Cora held out a trembling hand to Marie.

“You’ll be fine, love,” Joe assured her.

She glanced towards the chapel doors and the stained-glass cross fixed in each of them. Somewhere behind those doors lay the body of her child, pale and cold and dead. She wanted to scream, but instead she held tighter to Marie’s hand. The wheelchair jolted as Joe kicked off the brake, and she closed her eyes. She was aware of the doors opening and cringed, expecting a rush of cold air. But there was nothing like that. The room felt warm; there was no harsh smell of disinfectant nothing, but silence.

Marie let go of her and Cora heard her walk forward. Still, she did not open her eyes.

“Ah, God bless him.”

Marie was leaning over a frilled baby basket when Cora peeped through her fingers. There was no coffin, no candles, none of the scary stuff.

“What’s he like?” Cora started to cry.

“A perfect little baby; a little transparent, but that’s to be expected. Come, let me help you.”

With Marie holding her, she moved towards the basket. A sob caught in her throat when she saw her baby. He was as Marie said, perfect. His skin so thin she could trace each vein beneath it. His fingers were curled into tight fists and his mouth pouted into a perfect cupid’s bow.

“Poor little thing,” Cora’s tears flowed as she stroked his tiny hands. “You never stood a chance did you, son?”

Marie bought a hankie to her eyes. Cora was right; he never stood a chance. Hatred for Liam O Brien and for all men like him welled up, so she had to walk from the room as tears threatened.

She had managed to compose herself when Cora was wheeled out. No longer crying, she seemed more at peace, and the hand that grasped Marie’s no longer trembled. The porter soon had Cora back in bed and left with a mumbled “sorry for your trouble.”

Marie was anxious to be back with Emily and the children. So, kissing Cora and promising to be back next morning, she left the room almost colliding with a doctor who was entering.

Outside the wind whipped up, and Marie shivered drawing her coat closer. The forecast said a clear night with a touch of frost. Now, as she looked up at the moon and the dark clouds racing across it, she wondered where the weathermen got their predictions.

Cora studied the doctor standing at the end of her bed.

“Let’s have a look at you,” he indicated at her to pull up her robe and pressed on her stomach.

“It’s amazing you didn’t break anything. I have seen people die from shorter falls than you had. Did you ever think of doing stunt work?”

She did not answer and his face grew serious.

“I’m sorry about your loss. There was nothing anyone could do.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you,” she answered automatically.

“Can you remember what you tripped over?”

“The sheets, I think. I was changing a bed.”

“Yes, that may well be, but it doesn’t explain this,” he rolled back the bedclothes and traced his fingers along a thin red mark on her ankle. “Do you remember how you got this?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Mmm, it’s strange. Your leg must have encounter something sharp. It is worth looking into, but not tonight. You need your rest.”

“Yes,” Cora was unable to tear her eyes away from the thin, blood red line around her ankle.

“There seems to be a storm brewing.”

“Sorry?”

“I said there seems to be a storm brewing. It’s the wrong time of the year for this sort of weather.”

“Oh, yes,” Cora’s attention went back to her leg, so she did not hear him leave.

The effects of the day begun to take effect, and she sank back against the pillows exhausted. There were no more tears left, instead she felt numb. Eventually she fell asleep and her dreams were filled with nightmare images. The one thing she remembered clearly as she awoke was lying at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at the terrified face of a young woman, and the thin piece of wire tied across the top step. Sweat coated her face as the realisation hit. Liam killed her son and had she died in the process; it would not have mattered. Her eyes flew to the clock in the corridor outside. She had only been asleep for half an hour. Easing her way out of bed, she stumbled towards the wardrobe. Her flesh was so battered it felt as though it tore with each movement. The clothes she had been wearing when admitted were folded neatly on a shelf. Though the skirt was blood stained, it was wearable and there were a few crumpled euro notes in the pocket to pay for a taxi. The corridor was quiet; there was no one to stop her flight. The night seemed darker than usual, despite the full moon, and the wind whipped her hair around her face as she stepped outside. She was leaving her baby behind in a hospital full of strangers and heading home to Liam to carry out the teachings of her religion, an eye for an eye.

“It’s getting very dark,” Laura pressed her nose against the window and looked out into the deepening gloom. She had grown tired of waiting for Marie to return and turning to Emily asked. “What’s taking her so long?”

“Perhaps the traffic is bad. It has turned out to be such a windy night. The power lines could be down. Who knows what damage this storm is causing?”

“Yes, but it’s not a real storm,” Laura traced her finger down the pane following the path of a raindrop.

“Why, of course it’s a real storm,” Emily replied. “You can hear it, can’t you and see it?”

“Yes,” Laura shrugged, slipping down from the window seat, and joining Emily and Shelly by the fire. “I mean it’s not caused by the weather.”

“That’s silly,” Shelly stopped writing in her copybook and looked up. “It has to be cause by the weather. You’re weird.”

“I am not,” Laura grabbed at the copybook and a tug of war ensued.

“Stop that at once,” Emily shook her hankie at them with all the power of a demented butterfly.

Laura let go, causing Shelly to fall back against the fireplace and bang her head.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Emily eased her way up from her seat.

“I don’t care. I’m sick of her calling me names.”

“That’s no reason to hurt her,” Emily rubbed at the small lump already beginning to form at the back of the child’s head.

“I didn’t mean her to fall back, did I?” Laura glared at her sister.

“Yes, you did,” Shelly sniffled. “I hate you. You’re a pig.”

“Well. If I am a pig, you must be too.”

“Well, you’re an even bigger pig.”

“Girls give over that nonsense at once. You do not know how lucky you are to have one another. If I had a sister, I might not have ended up in that dreadful place.”

This stopped them, as each had a picture of Hillcrest seared into their memory.

“I’m sorry,” Laura offered. “It’s just people at school are always calling me names. They say I am weird because I see things they can’t. They call me witch and other things.”

“I always stick up for you,” Shelly said.

“Yeah, I know, sorry.”

“It’s OK,” Shelly retrieved the fallen copybook.

For a while peace was restored. Shelly went back to her homework, Laura leafed through a magazine and Emily stared into the flames remembering better times. She had to agree with the child. Marie was taking her time. There was a shuffling beside her, and Emily looked across at Laura who was holding the palms of her hands over her ears.

“Have you an earache?”

She shook her head.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Voices.”

“What do you mean?”

“Voices, in my head.”

“She always hears voices,” Shelly threw her eyes skyward.

“What are they saying?” Emily was intrigued.

“Crying, Annie’s crying and a man, I think it’s my Dad saying help me.”

Emily looked towards the dark window. “She’s out there?”

“Yes, I tried to tell you that. She’s in the storm.”

“We have to save her. We have to get to the house.”

“Shelly, get your pencil case,” Laura ordered, and taking her own from her satchel, she emptied the contents onto the coffee table.

Between them they had over sixteen euros in lunch money.

“This should be enough for a taxi,” Shelly said.

. Marie’s address book was beside the phone, so they found the number of a taxi firm. Laura, taking charge, helped Emily and Shelly into their coats and stuffed the notes and coins into her pocket.

“We better leave Marie a note,” Emily said.

Laura tore a piece from the back of Shelly’s copybook and scribbled a short message. Outside a horn tooted and she ushered the others out.

“You see?” She whispered to Emily, as she helped her down the steps in front of the building. “The sky is crying.”

Marie arrived back at the flat just as the taxi drew away from the curb. She ran inside pulling of her headscarf and unbuttoning her coat. She knew something was wrong. It was too quiet.

“Emily, children,” she called, her voice echoing back in the stillness. Their coats were gone from the hallstand, but everything else was still there. Her eyes were drawn to the copybook on the table and the note lying on top of it. Picking it up, her eyes grew wide in terror at the six words printed in childish scrawl. Annie’s back, gone to save her.

Cora shivered, despite the warmth of the small electric fire in Marie’s flat. She heard the clatter of cups being set out, and wanted to scream, and ask Marie to hurry up, but it would have been impolite. The woman seemed to come from another time and was quite prissy. She was forced to leave the children with an old friend. Promising to be just an hour, after garbling off some weak story about a sick relative, she looked at her watch and then towards the kitchen.

“Well, here we are.”

Marie appeared with a tray baring cups, saucers and matching milk and sugar bowl. She took her time spreading out coasters and napkins, until Cora felt she would scream. The warm stream of amber from the pot’s sprout made her stomach somersault. This pregnancy made her turn against things she had once enjoyed, tea being one of them, but she took the proffered cup and sipped.

“Do you take milk or sugar?”

“No, thank you. This is fine,” she was afraid, if she reached for either the woman would notice her trembling hand.

No one could fail to notice the dark ringed eyes or the pallor of her skin.

Are you looking after yourself?” Marie asked, and was sorry for asking, as she watched Cora’s eyes fill up.

“I’ll get the papers you wanted.”

Cora heard the opening of a drawer but did not look up. Instead, she hung her head, mortified at her loss of control. An envelope was placed in her lap and a soft hand covered hers and held tight.

“I want you to know you’re no longer alone.”

With this, Cora started to sob. Tears ran unchecked, and she tasted their saltiness on her lips.

“There, there, child,” Marie stroked her hair. “Tell me all about it, and let’s see if I can help.”

Between sobs Cora managed to tell her about the ghost, about the things happening all around her and how Liam wanted her to get rid of the baby. She told her about the workman, and his story of how Ms. James was sent away.

“My parents are old, and their health is failing,” she explained. “Anyway, they’d only say I’d made my bed and must lie in it. They never liked Liam; you see.”

“And with good reason,” Marie sighed. “I’m looking for a new job. I’ve taken all I can from that man.”

“You’re lucky. My marriage has become a life sentence for me, and I cannot bear to think of what it is doing to the girls. If I do not find a way out soon, I will go mad. He’s already accusing me of that, being mad, I mean.”

“Come now,” Marie took the envelope from her. “Let us try and track down this Ms. James. The sooner we speak to her, the sooner we know what we’re dealing with.”

“We?” Cora looked up.

“As I said, my dear, you’re no longer alone.”

Marie spread the documents along the coffee table and sorted them into order. There were several medical forms, signed by prominent doctors on the health of Miss. Emily James. All attested, that while she was physically sound, psychologically she was unable to care for herself. From the date on the forms, they saw Ms. James was just over seventy and was committed to Hillcrest Rest Home, a facility just minutes away from Marie’s flat. Cora saw, to her horror, it was Liam’s signature on the committal form.

“I hope she’s still alive,” Cora said. “It’s over,” she counted on her fingers, “Six months since she went in there.”

“I’ll make an excuse. Say I have a dental appointment and we’ll go there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you, Marie. I feel much better knowing you’ll be with me, but I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. In a way, I feel I owe it to Ms James. I kept quiet once and an innocent man suffered. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

The headlights of Cora’s car swept up the drive but did little to dispel the darkness. The trees on either side reached across forming a dark tunnel. She put her foot down on the accelerator, wanting to be out of their shadow, and feeling as though she was driving into the mouth of Hell. In this case, she was right. Liam’s car was parked at the front door. The curtains in his study were not drawn, but the light was on. The red lampshade and the terracotta coloured walls made it seem like the room was bathed in blood.

She reached into the back seat and tried to rouse the sleeping children. At any other time, she would have lifted them inside, but not in her condition. They fussed and grumbled, but she finally managed to get them to wake.

The front door groaned open, despite Cora’s efforts to make as little noise as possible. Warning the children to be quiet, she swept them across the hall and up the stairs. They were on the first flight, just beneath the stained-glass window, when they looked up to find Liam standing on the top step; a hammer in his hand.

“Where were you at this hour?”

For a moment none of them spoke. Even Shelly, who would usually run to her father, sensed something was wrong.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

“I had a tummy ache,” Laura said. “And Mam took me to the doctor.”

“You seem well enough now.”

“It was nothing,” Cora ushered the girls past him. “Just trapped wind. I was afraid it might be appendicitis.”

“Wasting money again,” he grabbed her arm. “I want a word with you, when you’re finished putting them to bed.”

“I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“See that you are. I’ll be in my study.”

Laura and Shelly got undressed and into their nightgowns in silence. Though they each wondered why their Mam did not tell them to brush their teeth, neither asked why. Cora took her time, switching on lights and closing curtains, until she could no longer delay.

“Sleep well, my angel,” she tucked the covers under Shelly chin.

“Night, Mam,” the child snuggled down and was instantly asleep.

“Now, you, madam,” she smiled down at Laura and tried to ignore her dark, troubled eyes.

“You have to be brave, Mam, like the picture,” she pointed towards the gallery. “Pretend you’re her and Dad is the monster.”

“I’ll try,” Cora promised.

She picked up the discarded clothes and draped them across her arms. The gallery was lit in the blues and reds from the window, and she moved between the shadows, praying for strength. The clothes gave her a few minutes respite, as she walked to the kitchen and dumped them into the laundry basket. The door leading to the cottage was closed with stout beam, but just for a moment as she glanced behind her, she could have sworn a young woman stood framed in the doorway; a young woman like the one in the window.

Liam sat with his back to her, his feet resting on a stool. His shoes and socks were scattered about the room. The warm, sweet smell of the cognac he drank reached her before she saw the glass.

“Have you seen sense yet?”

“You mean about the baby?”

“You know bloody well what I mean.”

“Liam, please,” she pushed the study door closed. “You’ll wake the children.”

“Fuck the children and fuck you,” he threw the glass across the room.

The heavy crystal tumbler glanced across the side of her face and she gasped as it sliced open her skin. For a moment he watched the trickle of blood running from the wound. Though she felt the warmth move down her face, she never moved to wipe it away.

“I’ll tell you one last time,” Liam spoke through gritted teeth. “Get rid of that thing or by God, I’ll do it myself.”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, I’m really frightened,” he smiled, but there was no look of merriment.

The blood on her face and neck glowed against the whiteness of her skin. Her eyes were wild in anger.

“For God’s sake, clean yourself up,” he turned away, disgusted.

Cora walked to a table and pulled wades of tissue from a box. Her face stung, when she wiped at the cut and her collar and the front of her sweater felt wet. She smelt the sweet, coppery blood.

Annie stood outside the study door her hand clasped on the handle. The scent of the woman’s blood seemed to penetrate through the wood. This one, this man, was like all those who had gone before him, a destroyer of life. She felt the anger well within her and knew if she allowed it to overwhelm her, then she would return to the shrunken, burnt corpse she really was. All around her the spirits whispered, lulling her, begging her to be still, to wait. But she wanted to kill him, to slowly tear him apart. To feel his blood upon her hands and hear his last gasp. She wanted him to suffer the way she had.

“Outside, hidden by the trees, The Dark One smiled and willed her on. He did not dare enter the house. The woman with her symbols and images of his enemy, made him unwelcome.

“He must die,” he whispered. “Finish him and you will have your family back. Go on, Annie. It will be a mercy and you will save the child.”

Annie heard his words and the rage roared. She brushed aside the entreaties of the spirits. The Dark One was right. She would save the child and be restored to her family. It was her faith and if she should be damned then, at least her family would be saved. She drew back from the door and made ready to merge through the wood, when…

“I told her to be brave like you.”

The child’s voice sounded from behind her. Annie froze, not daring to move until her features returned to normal.

“It is you, isn’t it; in the window?”

Annie turned to find a little girl, the one called Laura, standing on the stairs. Silhouetted as she was by the moonlight and with her hair flowing across her shoulders, she looked like Dora.

“Go back to bed, child,” Annie whispered.

“I knew it was you,” Laura tip toed down the last few steps and came towards her.

The sound of her mother’s anguished sobbing echoed from inside the room, and Laura’s eyes darted from Annie to the door, unsure of what to do.

“This is no place for you,” Annie put her arm around the child’s shoulders and led her back up the stairs.

“Is my Mam going to be all right?”

“She will be fine. Come along now. It is late.”

“I knew it was you, in the window, I mean,” Laura said, as Annie tucked her into bed.

“Perhaps, a long time ago,” her heart ached at the familiar scent of the child.

It was the first real thing she smelt since she had awoken. Until now everything smelt of the earth. The raw, blood-sweet scent of soil seemed to surround her.

“Did the monster kill you?”

She was taken aback by the question, and had it come from her sisters she would have lied and pretended it was not so. But this child had the sight and she knew nothing good would come from lying to her.

“Yes, I tried hard to fight him, but in the end he won.”

“So why are you here? You can’t really be dead, if I can see you?”

“I am dead to the light. I come from a twilight place where I wander by day but am awake and I suppose, in a way, alive by night.”

“It’s all very strange.”

“Yes,” Annie smiled. “Very strange.”

Laura snuggled down under the covers.

“Will you stay with me until I’m asleep? I get frightened when my Mam and Dad argue.”

“Yes, I will watch over you and keep you safe. I promise.”

Annie sat there, in the darkness and listened to the even breathing of the child. The memory of her sisters and their loss became a physical pain within her, and she clutched at her heart. With her sensitive hearing she picked out every word of the conversation from below.

“I’m telling you for the last time,” Liam warned. “Get rid of the baby.”

Cora still held the tissue to her face. He turned his chair towards her and put his feet up on a footstool, his eyes fixed cruelly on his wife. Her eyes travelled down toward the soles of his feet. There against the white of his skin, a black cross was tattooed on each foot.

“My God,” she whispered.

“I think they look quite good. Had them done on a night out with the lads,” he got up to fix another drink.

He filled his glass and stood rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Do you know what I am doing?”

“What, I don’t understand.”

“Every time I move like this, with every step I take, I’m walking on the symbol of your Christ.”

Bile rushed into her throat, and she had to swallow hard. He retraced his steps and her stomach churned at each footfall. Finally, she could bear it no longer and she vomited splattering the carpets and his toes.

“For fuck sake,” he tried to sidestep away. “That’s it. I’m out of here,” he picked up his socks and shoes.

The muscles in Cora’s stomach ached and her throat burned. She wiped away any remaining residue from her mouth and brushed the damp hair from her forehead. Liam meanwhile was standing in the shower, hosing down his feet. She heard water gurgling through the pipes and traced his footsteps, as he raged around overhead. Soon he came thundering down the stairs and strode into the room, car keys in one hand, and an overnight bag in the other.

“I’m going now, but I’ll be back in the morning. If you have not come to your senses by then, I swear, I’ll beat it out of you.”

The door slammed and outside the wheels of the car crunched on the gravel. The sound faded and the silence came flooding back to envelop her. She was sobbing, as she fetched cloths and a basin of water to clean up the mess. He would try to beat the child out of her, but he would not find her an easy victim. She thought of the kitchen and its array of shiny, steel knives. Let him try to hurt her child. She would bury one of his precious knives in his chest; reef it through his black heart. The carpet was now free of vomit, but still she scrubbed on. Unaware of the threads scraping and cutting her knuckles or her tears mingling with the dirty water.

Liam guided the car along the driveway towards the main gate. His fingers griped the wheel so tight the knuckles showed white. He meant every word he said. He would be back in the morning and one way or another; he would get rid of that thing she was carrying.

Annie pushed aside the curtains in the children’s room and watched him leave. Her throat ached from tears and the sound of the woman’s sobs became a lament for the loss of the innocent. When he returned she would be waiting. No matter what hour, she would return from her twilight world and tear him to pieces.

The piece of ceramic was stuck to Cora’s fingers, so she had to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. It was useless, shattered beyond repair. She gathered the pieces into her cupped hand and dropped them into the kitchen bin. The blue of the Virgin’s veil was still visible, even in the dark recess of the black, plastic liner. The glue made webs of her fingers, and she walked to the sink. The warm water and liquid soap did little to remove it, and she knew it would take days before she managed to pick it free. Even the cloth she used to wipe the table down stuck to her fingers.

“Stupid thing,” she pulled it free, but it left pieces of cotton behind.

She sat at the table and slowly lifted the material from her skin. The tears splashing on her hand surprised her. She had not realised she was crying again. But then, she was always crying. It was a sort of sick hobby and gave her something to do during the long nights when her children lay asleep, and her husband lay, God knows where.

It took little to put him in bad humour, and since they moved into the new house, his temper was worse. She knew the renovations were costing him a fortune, but she played no part in his decisions. He chose the house and uprooted them from everyone they knew. Now they would be made to pay if anything went wrong. It was so unfair. She tried to be a good wife, a good mother, but nothing she did ever pleased him. Her stomach rumbled and she brought her hand down to soothe it. She had not eaten since breakfast and she gone without dinner the night before, as she hated to eat in front of him. It only gave him an excuse to mock her.

“Still going to your fat class?” He would say, scorning her attempts at slimming.

Her eyes strayed to the bin in the corner. Tonight, she really upset him. The holy water font was a farewell present from her neighbours, who all knew of her commitment to her faith and she hung it inside the front door. The sight of it sent Liam into a rage, and she had to block her ears and thank God the children were asleep. He cursed her for her bad taste, as he hurled the font onto the marble floor, and she groaned aloud, as the images of mother and child exploded at her feet. Not done with cursing her, he cursed her religion, the day he met her and the ideals of a judgemental society that kept him tied to her.

Then he stormed off and left her crouched on the hall floor, picking up the pieces.

It was late now; well past midnight, and she was weary. The kitchen, yet untouched, grew colder. Outside the autumn wind sent leaves scuttling across the windows and she shivered. The lighting was much too low for a room that size, and threw the corners into trembling, threatening shadows. She frightened herself with images of dark cowled figures lurking there. It was time for bed. She rose and switched off the light, not daring to look back into the darkness. The grand chandelier in the hall was restored to its former glory and its crystals cast diamond shapes on the floor beneath. Small replicas hung from the walls and it was these lighted the stairs. They would be left burning until Liam returned home if he returned.

The stained-glass window was cleaned, and she stopped at the gallery rail and looked at it. They had been in the house for over a month and she was still in awe of the scene it depicted. A young girl with flowing dark hair who held out her hands before her in what Cora imagined, was a vain attempt to ward off the great advancing beast.

“Poor child,” she whispered and brought her hand once again to her stomach, nauseous now from lack of food.

It was past eight when she woke the next morning. Liam’s side of the bed lay smooth and untouched. She groaned and rolled onto her side. It was another Saturday and at least there was no school run, and no hoards of workmen around the place. Running her fingers through her hair, she kicked off the covers and went to rise. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, and she ran for the bathroom with a hand clasped over her mouth. There was little in her stomach, and her body shook as she retched. Her quivering fingers sought out the washbasin, and she managed to locate a face towel. She wiped the bile from her lips and sat shivering on the bare floor.

“Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”

“Who’ll kill you, Mam?” Laura stood in the doorway.

Cora eased her way up and held onto the washbasin for support.

“It’s nothing. I am just being silly. I’ve been sick on the new paintwork.”

“He can’t kill you for that.”

“No, I told you I was being silly.”

They walked back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Cora was still shaking from the shock and glad of the warmth of her daughter’s body. The girls were going to a birthday party this afternoon, so she could rest then. Although she hadn’t had a period in over five months, she assumed herself her swollen stomach was because of her strict diet or fluid retention and the slight fluttering within, nerves Anyway, she was probably blowing it all out of proportion. It was a bug of some sort. It had to be.

The house was quiet when she returned from dropping the girls off. Liam had obviously gone on one of his binges, so it could be days before he returned home. She secretly enjoyed these times. When he was away, they had more fun, more freedom and she did not feel as uptight. Her thoughts strayed to the paper bag in her purse.

The white plastic cylinder of the pregnancy test lay on the sink top. She stood and walked to the basin but avoided looking down in case the blue line showed. Was it just the light she wondered, as she studied her reflection in the mirror; made her look old and the circles under her eyes so dark? She glanced down towards the test kit. The blue line showed clear against the white background. The realisation made her stomach turn, and she had to take deep breaths to still the nausea. Beyond tears, she dumped the cylinder in the waste bin and staggered towards the bedroom. She felt trapped, and pulled at the neck of her jumper, gasping for air. She had to get out.

It had grown colder. A biting wind hurried clouds, swollen with the promise of rain, across a darkening sky. The garden lay grey and wind-swept before her. This was the first time she had walked there. The plot of land on either side of the house was huge, but it was impossible to judge the size of the back garden, even from the upstairs windows. It was so overgrown, and, in a way, she was glad of this. At least Liam had not infected it with any of his ideas. Large thorn bushes blocked her way and she tugged the branches aside, pricking and scratching her hands in the process. Some caught in her hair, and she pulled them free uncaring of the tufts left behind in the struggle. She made her way towards the trees at the end of the garden. Something told her she would be safe there, and free from prying eyes. Once through the tangle of branches she found herself in a clearing. The grass was waist high, but there was a small, uneven footpath, so she picked her way along the large stones. She was sweating, despite the cold and her heart thudded painfully. She felt hunted and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following.

The land continued onwards for she guessed about four acres. Her legs shook and a couple of times she thought she would collapse. Now, on the border of the garden and the wood, she stopped and rested her forehead against a stout tree trunk.

“Oh, thank you,” she whispered to the wood, glad of its firmness in a day that was fast becoming surreal.

There was no sound other than the sighing of the breeze. Deep shadows cloaked the woods, and she knew it would be foolish to venture further. The light was fading, but she felt safe here hidden by the trees. Her thoughts were interrupted as a light was switched on upstairs in the house. Its beam cut a pathway through the gloom, and she knew Liam was home.

“What will I do?” she asked.

She looked around, searching for the answer on the darkening air. Sentinel spirits, who had watched throughout time, heard her anguished question and whispered to one another. The wind suddenly whipped up again and skimmed across the grass parting it before her. It was then she noticed the top of the tombstone. The wind blew stronger catching at her clothes and pushing her towards it. The stone, what she could see of it, was blackened and scarred. The writing if there was an inscription, was hidden. Her movements were dreamlike as she knelt and pulled aside centuries of leaf mould. There was something carved there, but it was faded and hard to read in the dim light. She used a twig to poke away old spider cocoons and bits of dried mud. When the carvings were clear, she traced her fingers across each letter and spelled out the words. “Annie Ryan aged 17. Dora Ryan aged 6. September 1653. In restless sleep.

“So young,” Cora whispered

She glanced across the garden towards the house where Liam would be waiting, and her hand went instantly to her stomach.

“What’s this?” Liam held the test tube in front of her.

It was so close she smelt the chemicals and urine inside it. Her stomach lurched, her throat contracted, as she answered.

“I had to do a pregnancy test.”

“Why?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How the fuck can you be pregnant?”

She did not bother to answer.

“I mean, when?” He dropped the tube into the bin and ran his hands through his hair.

“About five months, I think.”

“Really, he smirked, “And how drunk was I at the time?”

“Please, Liam,” she tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.

“Get rid of it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get rid of it.”

“This is a child, your child.”

“I don’t care. I told you I didn’t want any more children.”

“It might be a boy,” she pleaded.

“It might also be a girl. I do not really care what it is. Get rid of it.”

“No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”

She tried to run, but he caught her hair and dragged her back.

“You had better do as I say or God himself won’t save you.”

“I won’t kill my child,” she stabbed at his hand and felt her nails slice into his skin.

“Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.

She stumbled, but managed to keep upright and then she ran, down the stairs out the main door and back through the thicket of branches, uncaring of the thorns reefing her face. The trees in the wood seemed to be spreading their branches wider, willing her to come to them. She stopped when she reached them and hid. So far there was no sign of Liam. Her face stung and she winched when she felt the puckered skin. She knew she had no choice but to return to the house. The girls were being brought home by their friend’s mother, and she would have to be there to shield them from their father’s temper. Still, there was plenty of time, so she walked a little further. She had not intended to return to the tombstone, but now she was beside it. Her heart ached when she remembered the ages of the girls’ buried there, and she sank to the ground.

“What will I do,” she whispered. “He wants me to kill my child.”

She thought of her aged parents and decided against troubling them. There was no one else. Though she had always been frightened of Liam, that fear was tangible. This new terror took her breath away.

“But I won’t do it. No matter what he says or does. I won’t let anything happen to this child.”

The tears that were threatening spilled over, and she laid her head against the tombstone.

“I’m frightened,” she sobbed. “God help me, I’m so frightened.”

The loud laughter of children drifted towards her on the quiet air and she knew her daughters had returned. Wiping the tears from her face, she forced a smile and walked back to the house. This time she was ready to do battle.

The children were full of stories about the party. They were over stimulated, and it was difficult to get them to settle that night. Even Laura, who was caught up with news of her friends, failed to notice her mother’s pale, tear-streaked face. Cora was glad when they finally drifted off to sleep. Liam locked himself in the study and she was spared his anger for now. She showered and got ready for bed. With a little luck he would sleep elsewhere. The moon was shining bright enough to light the room, so she left the curtains open. She lay huddled beneath the covers and prayed harder than she had ever done. From far away she heard the creaking of floorboards and the heavy footfalls on the stairs.

Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“I’ll be sleeping in the spare room from now on,” he said, then unsure if she was awake. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good and I meant what I said. Get rid of it.”

Cora started to cry once the door closed.

Liam pulled a duvet and pillows from the linen cupboard. He would have a makeshift bed that night but, in the morning, she could make up the room properly. He was sick of his wife, sick of her holier than thou attitude.

Later, when the night grew deeper and the things belonging to the dark were about, something stirred. Deep beneath the earth an ancient soul heard Cora’s tears for her unborn child and started digging its way towards the surface.

gemmamawdsley

Gemma Mawdsley's Blog.

Irish legends

All posts tagged Irish legends

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-nine

Shadow Self-chapter twenty-seven

Shadow Self-chapter ten

Shadow Self-chapter nine

Shadow Self- chapter six

Shadow Self- chapter one

Death Cry chapter twenty eight

Death Cry chapter twenty-six

Death Cry-chapter twenty-four

Death Cry- chapter twenty-one

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