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Shadow Self-chapter twenty-one

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on August 4, 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, queens, revenge, scary, strange worlds, teenagers, wise women, Witchcraft, wizards, wonder, writers, writing, young adults. Tagged: changelings, Dwarfs, elfin, hidden worlds, princes and princesses, queens and kings, scary, strange worlds, teenagers. Leave a comment

Pierce Hogan scowled and turned his nose up in disgust at the state of the front door. Someone had the audacity to throw eggs at the building housing his party headquarters, and their chaos marred the windows, as well as making a mess on the paintwork. The webby, jellified mass of egg white came away on his fingers, as he placed his key in the lock.

The small staff he hired to help with the running of the campaign had not arrived yet, but that was nothing new. It was not easy to find anyone willing to work the hours he demanded, and at the small rate of pay he offered. It was jealousy, he told himself, as he went back into the office. People were jealous of his success and they could not bear to be reminded of his wealth. Most of them had never seen a designer suit before, never mind owned one, he sneered at the thought. He waited for over an hour until it became obvious that no one was going to turn up. The shimmering figures in the doorway startled him.

“May I help you?” Black spots danced before his eyes.

“We were hoping we could be of help to you.”

He waved the two figures into the shadowy interior

“There, that’s much better,” he smiled, showing stained, tiny squirrel-like teeth.

The young boy and girl were unlike anyone he had seen before, and as different as fire and ice.

“We thought you might have some work for us?” The girl tossed her mane of red hair over her shoulder.

“Finished school, are you?” Pierce looked from one to the other.

“Yes,” the boy answered this time. “We are looking for a job before we started college in the autumn.”

“You not from around here, are you?” Pierce asked.

“No, we are camping up here for the summer. We are both hoping to major in history and there are a few ancient sites that we would like to explore,” the boy said.

“I can’t pay you much,” Pierce sensed an opportunity for cheap labour.

“We do not need much,” the girl assured him. “We will be happy with whatever you offer.”

“Very well,” he named an amount a third less than what he was willing to pay the locals.

“That will be great,” they chorused.

“Good,” Pierce clapped his hands, delighted at the bargain. “What are your names?”

“I am Amber, and this is Sabba,” the girl smiled. “His ancestors were Russian,” she added, before the man could ask.

“Well, that’s nice to know,” Pierce straightened his shoulders. “I’ll start by telling you a bit about myself and the object of my campaign. “Wait a moment; I just have to get something from my car.”

Once the door closed behind him Amber turned to Sabba.

“What a horrible man,” she shivered.

“I suppose we should have expected as much,” Sabba shrugged.

“This way we can find out what he is up too.” Amber said.

“Our parents will go mad,” Sabba bit his lip. “We are already in trouble.”

“I do not care,” Amber’s eyes blazed in anger. “This man is trying to destroy our home. We cannot let that happen, no matter what our parents say.”

Sabba had experience of Amber’s fiery temper and decided to let the matter rest. There was not a sound within the room, other than the distressed buzzing of a fly caught up in one of the dusty, cobwebby windows.

“Here we are,” Pierce came back, struggling with a large black and white poster.

He placed it against a computer on one of the desks and made sure it was steady, before standing back to admire his work. “I took the photo myself and had it blown up.”

He was proud of his work. Amber and Sabba walked over to where he stood, and both felt their blood grow cold.

“That monstrosity is the reason I’m running for government,” he looked smug as he stared at their pale faces. Sure, they shared in his horror at what lay before them. You will not know the place, but it is called Culdoplin Castle. I want to have the place knocked down, raised to the ground if you will.”

“Why?” Amber whispered, as she gazed at the silent sentinel that guarded her home.

. “It had no historic significance,” Pierce said. “I doubt if I’ll have any trouble getting the order to knock it through the local council.”

Amber moved closer to Sabba and slipped her hand in to his. They had to find a way to stop this man from destroying their home and all they loved, but how?

Stefan was shackled in the same chair that Roma was tied to. But his captors were taking no chance with him. As well as the leather restraints, thick chains looped around his arms, across his chest and around his legs. There was a pounding in his head. Blood streaked his hair and dripped down his neck, staining the collar of his tunic. He shook his head trying to clear it, but this only served to agitate the wounds; the skin tearing further, the blood rushing faster, until he felt its warmth on his chest. That last blow, the one he received before they dragged him from his cell, was the worst. The whooshing sound of the wood as it cut through the air wielded with all the force his attacker could muster, still rang in his ears, or was it the pounding of his heart causing the sound?

Blinking, he tried to dislodge the blood flooding into his eyes, turning the whites red. His mouth was filled with its sweet, coppery taste, and it sprayed from his lips, bubbling and foaming, as he mouthed a prayer for protection. His eyes darted to the chains on the wall and the cruel chair with it spiked seat.

It had been quiet for a few minutes, but this made his suffering worse, for within the silence was the uncertainly of knowing what they were doing. What vile act they were perpetrating on his wife and Annie. Then he heard them approaching.

“You, gypsy,” The Dark One lost no time. “I want you to admit to these men assembled here that your wife is a witch. That she is in league with the devil and the one who initiated her into his ways is Annie Ryan.”

Stefan refused to answer.

“Speak or I will make sure you suffer,”

Stefan shook his head. He loved Roma and he would never betray her.

“You wish to remain silent?”

Still he refused to speak.

“Very well,” The Dark One moved to a table and though his back was to Stefan, he heard the clink of metal against metal, as he chose from the assortment of tools spread before him. Turning back to his men, he ordered. “Hold him tight.”

Stefan’s head was pulled back against the chair, a strap was placed around his forehead and tied to the wood making it impossible for him to move. The Dark One stood before him, a set of pinchers in one hand and a blade in the other. Firelight gleamed across the blade outlining its razor-sharp edge. Stefan’s eyes bulged.

“Open his mouth.”

He clamped his teeth together as two of the men tried to force his lips apart. They held his nose making it difficult for him to breathe, and he turned purple from lack of air. Finally, he was dealt a resounding blow across the head that made him cry out in pain, and a piece of wood was jammed between his teeth. He tried to bite through it, but it was too solid, and he felt the pinchers snatch at his tongue and pull it from his mouth.

“You wish to remain silent,” The Dark One drew back the blade. “Then so be it.”

To Stefan’s horror the blade sliced through the air in slow motion. Its movement in time to his pounding heart before finally, it contacted the soft tissue of his tongue slicing through membrane and muscle. Blood sprayed in an arch following the blades wake. As in Roma’s case it would be impossible to describe the agony. He tried to scream, but all he could do was make deep, guttural sounds. His mouth filled with blood, choking him, but he was unable to move his head to clear the blockage. He gulped, swallowing the blood. Its raw taste was now beyond him, but his stomach heaved and sent it back up and it spewed from his mouth drenching all before him. Some of the men drew back in horror at what they were witnessing; others cursed him for staining their clothes. The Dark One stood with the pinchers held out before him, Stefan’s tongue held tight within its claws and the blood-covered blade dripping at his side.

“Release his head.”

The strap was loosened, and Stefan’s head fell forward. Blood dripped onto his lap soaking his trousers. Tears mixed with his sweat; mute sobs shook his body as he too prayed for death. The pain roared within his head, fiery needles pierced his mouth and his body started to shake from the shock. Looking up through his tears, he saw The Dark One was watching him, an amused expression on his face. The men stood frozen, watching as his life’s blood gushed from him. As an afterthought The Dark One looked at the pinchers he held. Scowling in distaste, he walked towards the fire, loosened his grip on the pinchers and allowed the flesh in its claws to drop into the flames. It sizzled and jumped before catching alight. Stefan closed his eyes and tried to block out the awful sound of his own flesh frying. Although the room was stifling, he felt a cool breeze caress his face. From somewhere close by he heard children’s laughter and the tinkling of harness bells. He was no longer in the torture chamber. Instead, he was walking barefoot through a green, leafy glade. Birdsong echoed through the trees and the sun felt good on his body. The caravan was just ahead of him. He saw Roma leading the horse and his children, leaning on the back door called to him.

“Hurry up, Da, hurry up,” they held out small hands, but no matter how fast he walked they moved further away. He tried to call out to them to wait but was unable to speak.

The torturers watched him in awe, as his eyes grew bright, his breathing slowed, and his face turned ashen. The blood still pumped from him, but there was not as much now, as it kept time to his fading heartbeats. There was no longer any pain, not where Stefan was. He started to run, crying out in his mind for Roma to stop, to wait for him. She turned, sensing the cry, and he sobbed with relief, when she smiled and held her arms wide. Her arms encircled him. He smelled once more the perfume of her skin, the softness of her touch before the pain within him roared, darkness descended, and he was no more.

“Oh my God,” Roma clutched at her heart.

“What is it?” Annie asked.

“I do not know. A horrible, stabbing pain.”

“Perhaps it is the skin knitting together.”

“No. It is something bad, like emptiness in my soul. “Oh God,” she sunk to the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. “The very life seems to be draining from me.”

Annie did not kneel beside her; instead, she walked to the cell bars. Her mind reached out for Stefan, calling to him. There was nothing, just a vast stillness. Still, she did not panic; she let her senses guide her. Invisible fingers roamed the dark corridor and into the room at the end, past the watching guards, heedless of anyone other than Stefan. Then, she found him.

His lifeless body lay slumped in the chair. His head bowed over, dark hair covering his face, the smell of blood overpowering. She probed deeper trying to touch Stefan’s mind, but it was useless. The flame was extinguished; all she felt was the coldness of death and the echoes of his suffering.

The Dark One sensed her presence. Walking over to the body, he waved her away as though dispersing mist, and she found herself back in the cell.

“Annie,” Roma screamed at her. “What is it? What do you feel?”

“Nothing. I felt nothing.”

“Annie,” she heard the rustling of straw as Roma stood. “You’re the only friend I have in this world. Do not lie to me, please. I could not bear it.”

“Leave me be.”

Roma’s arms went around her waist.

“Please, tell me.”

“I felt his soul cry out in pain.”

“Then what?” she managed to ask.

“And then,” Annie started to cry. “And then…nothing.”

For a long time neither of them moved. It was not until they heard sounds from the darkness they broke apart. The guards were dragging Stefan’s body back to his cell. Annie saw him first and had to drag Roma away, but not before she saw his blood-soaked corpse. They heard the jangling of keys, the creak of the rusty cell door, and the thud of his body, as it was thrown to the floor. It was then Roma started to scream.

There were times, over the next few hours, when Annie felt she would surely lose her mind. Roma spent the time whispering through the wall to her dead husband. She dug with her nails at the dry clay between the bricks until her fingers bled, wanting to see him one last time.

Annie huddled against the wall at the opposite side of the cell. She was beyond tears and resigned to her fate. But it was her sisters, Roma’s children and Meg who worried her. The Dark One said they would go for them at dawn. Already the air grew chill with the promise of first light, and from far away she heard the thrilling of bird song.

Just as the first, white fingers of light moved towards the cell, they came for them.

A great rumbling started above their heads. Roma seemed not to hear it, but Annie looked towards the ceiling and followed the sound as it moved across the floor. It was the great wheel, the one chained to the mill wall. Footsteps resounded on the stairs leading to the cells. A group of men passed. Ignoring the women, they made straight for Stefan’s cell. Four of them carried his body away. Roma screamed curses at them, her bloodstained fingers reaching through the bars, trying to touch her husband.

“Where are they taking him?” She turned to Annie.

Her hair stood out wild from her head. She had torn some of it from the roots in her misery. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her face swollen. Now, she truly resembled a witch. Before Annie could answer, the men returned. Throwing open the cell, they dragged Roma away, pushing Annie aside, so she lay amid the straw and listened to the fading screams of her friend. Her throat ached with unshed tears.

There were shouts from outside the mill, where a crowd gathered. She could still hear Roma’s faint crying from overhead, but this rose to a scream, as the rumbling of the wheel started and mingled with the sound.

“Mistress Ryan.” The Dark One stood outside the cell.

Hugh, as always, stood beside him. He opened the door and motioned for her to come out. Her legs quivered as she stood, but she would not allow him to see how frightened she was.

“This way,” he walked back into the darkness, and she thought she was being taken to be tortured. Hugh gripped her arm as they walked, but they bypassed that terrible room, and she hitched up her skirts as they led her up a stairway towards a door. The sudden rush of light dazzled her, waves of noise confused her, and she found she was at the back of the mill, facing the gallows.

“Up you go,” Hugh propelled her towards the wooden steps.

Soon she was standing looking down at the assembled crowd. They had grown quiet on seeing her, but with a wave of his hand the commotion started up again.

“Watch and learn,” The Dark One whispered.

Hugh’s grip never slackened on her arm. Two round cords of rope swung from the overhead beam. Roma was led out first. Her hands tied behind her back; her legs manacled in stout chains made walking difficult. Annie watched her progress through the jeering crowd. It parted before her, many trying to avoid even her shadow least she curse them. Others threw stones, and Annie cried out as Roma’s body jerked, when each missile hit her. She had to be helped up the steps of the gallows

Roma seemed unaware of what was going on as the noose was tightened around her neck. The crowd parted again, as the rumbling of the great wheel started up. Annie saw, to her horror Stefan’s dead body was tied, spread-eagled across its rungs, so each turn crushed him beneath it, as it moved forward.

“Look, witch,” The Dark One pulled Roma’s hair so she was forced to watch this further act of barbarianism. Though Stefan was beyond pain, Roma was not. Anyone who has loved knows when those you love are injured; it’s the most infinite agony. The rough ground rendered Stefan’s skin, but there was no blood; that congealed hours before.

The wheel reached the steps of the gallows. Stefan’s mangled body was taken from it and carried up to the platform. The noose was tightened around his neck causing his limp body to be jerked upright.

“This is madness,” Annie looked up at Hugh. “Why were they doing this? Stefan is already dead.”

Roma turned to look at her dead husband, then her eyes strayed to Annie.

“I am sorry,” Annie called to her. “This is my fault.”

“The witch admits to her terrible crimes,” The Dark One called to the crowd. “You have heard her words with your own ears.”

The crowds answered booing and jeering, waving their fists at her. Roma shook her head. Even then, in her worst pain, she would not blame Annie.

“Make ready,” The Dark One pointed towards the lever that would spring the trap door.

“Let me do it,” Hugh begged eager as a child.

“Very well.”

Annie was thrust towards a waiting guard, while Hugh took his place at the lever.

“Any last words, witch?” The Dark One asked.

She turned towards Annie. “God bless you, child.”

“And you,” Annie whispered.

She had never before witnessed the pain she saw in her friend’s eyes, and she knew she would never forget that look, ever. For in it she saw the fading of the spirit, the death of hope.

In the second it took for Hugh to pull the lever, Roma’s mind joined with Annie’s and she heard her words as clearly as if they were spoken. The children, what will they do to the children?

Annie closed her eyes and did not have to see her friends disappear into the gaping hole. She heard the thunk as they fell, and the creaking and groaning of the rope, as it took their weight and swung backwards and forwards. A cheer rose from the crowd, and from somewhere the sounds of pipes and drums started up. They were celebrating the death of the innocent.

“You are next.” The Dark One hissed.

She started to pray, an act of contrition.

“You are being much too premature,” he laughed, leading her down the steps and back towards the mill.

She had expected to be hanged.

“Oh, that would be much too quick. I have great plans where you are concerned. What you just witnessed is a drop in the ocean to what you will suffer.”

Throwing her back into the cell, he slammed the door.

“Think about it, Annie,” he warned. “I am talking about the ultimate in humiliation, the ultimate in suffering.”

His footsteps faded in the distance and she was left alone. The crowd outside moved away. The silence descended and hummed in her ears. She realized she was panting, and holding her hand to her breast, she tried to slow her pounding heart. When she achieved this, when the noise in her head was gone, and her breathing was keeping time with her heart, she reached out her mind with every bit of strength she could muster and screamed, Run Meg run.

Annie found him waiting for her as soon as she fell asleep. At first, she assumed he was the mysterious lover foretold to her by Roma. She went to him willingly: allowing herself to sink into his arms and sighed at his whispered promises. She felt his hands move over her body, sending shivers of anticipation into her core. She moaned aloud in her sleep and moved with him. His tongue flicked across her cheek and she parted her lips and allowed him to enter her mouth. His words seemed strange to her; his promises confusing. She felt him slip from her side and crawl on top of her. His voice was rasping, entreating her to give him what he wanted, but these were not the words of a lover. She had to get away, to wake up. Her sleep was deeper than it had ever been, and she cried out in terror, as the hands roaming her body dug deeper. She felt his nails scoring her skin and the breath upon her face smelled of the tomb.

“Annie,” it was her mother’s voice. “Annie, child, come back. This is not the way, turn back.”

“Mamma, Mamma, help me.”

“Not me, child,” her mother voice was fading. “But one much higher. Call out to him for protection.”

“Sweet Jesus, help me.”

No sooner had she uttered these words then she felt the weight lifting from her. She fought her way out from the sleep and sprang up in the bed. The room was filled with an angry roaring. Everything spun before her eyes. What little clothes she had danced around her, caught in some terrible vortex. The air was freezing, as the wind turned faster and faster. She tried to get away from it, shuffling backwards in the bed until her body met the unresisting headboard. The wind moved with her, threatening to pull her into its swirling mass. The roaring died down and was replaced by a wailing and sobbing. She held fast to the headboard, praying aloud to God to save her.

“Annie, Annie.”

Her sisters were pounding on her door. It opened slightly, but the pressure of the wind pushed it closed again.

“Rose, Dora,” she screamed above the noise. “Go back to bed. Don’t come in here.”

“Annie, I’m frightened,” Dora called, and the door opened a fraction as the children pushed against it.

Annie knew if they came inside, she would lose them forever. Holding tightly to the headboard, she stood. She did not know how she knew what to do, what to say, but she held her arms wide and called.

“Before me, Michael, behind me, Gabriel, to my right, Raphael, to my left, Uriel. Guardians of the soul, protectors of the light, help me.”

A dazzling white light shot through her darkened window and pushed the vortex aside. It spread wider until it filled each corner of the room. The screams faded with the last of the wind, and Annie shielded her eyes against the glare. She thought she saw shadowy figures within the light, but it was not possible to be sure. It was like looking at the sun, it hurt her eyes, so she scrambled beneath the covers for protection. She sensed the light fading and screamed when she felt the weight on her again.

“Annie, Annie.”

It was her sisters, trying to tug the covers from her grasp.

“Annie, what happened, what’s wrong?”

She peeped up at the two anxious faces and struggled to sit up. She was trembling so badly her teeth chattered, and she was glad of the warmth of their bodies, as they joined her in the bed.

“Tell us, Annie,” Rose looked at her in wonder. “What happened?”

She tried to make light of what was the most frightening experience of her life.

“It was the wind, nothing more. I left the window open and the wind came in.”

“It must have been a big wind,” Rose gazed around the room, at the clothing littering the floor and the overturned vase of flowers.

“Yes, it was,” Annie held them close. “And cold as well,” she tried to excuse her shivering and the goose pimples that rose on her arms.

Like all children they accepted their big sister’s answer and were soon asleep. Annie lay awake for the rest of the night. Though her eyes felt heavy from the want of sleep, she could not risk having the dream again. Nor could she risk its aftermath.

They set off for Meg’s cottage at first light, gathering herbs, roots, and berries along the way. She was glad to find her basket waiting for her on the doorstep and a freshly killed rabbit inside. Roma was as good as her word, and the rabbit would make a tasty stew. Annie was anxious to see Meg and hear what she would make of her nightmare. Meg knew the meaning of everything, each sign and omen. She could foretell the coming of snow days before it arrived or smell the onset of the rains. The children reached the cottage first, and there was the usual flurry of greetings and kisses before they rambled off to play. Annie nodded to Meg and placed her basket on the tabletop, then fetched the pestle and mortar for the grinding. Meg worked alongside her for a few minutes, picking the needed herbs and roots from the basket and throwing them into the mortar. Annie beat at the ingredients hard, and they were soon reduced to a fine powder.

“I’d pity the poor soul who gets in your way this day.”

Annie noticed Meg looking into the mortar.

“Sorry, Meg. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Aye, I noticed, child. What was it kept you up?” Meg had not failed to notice Annie’s red-rimmed eyes, nor the pallor of her skin.

“I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

Meg felt the cold fingers close round her heart; so, it was starting. This terrible blackness she had felt approaching.

“Come away, child,” she caught Annie’s hand in mid-air, as she raised it to crush a new batch of herbs. “Come, sit by the fire and we’ll talk awhile.”

Annie allowed herself to be led to the chair. She was glad of the heat from the fire, as she found it hard to get warm since her fright. Meg sat opposite and was quiet for a while gazing into the leaping flames.

“Tell me about this dream, child.”

“It wasn’t just the dream,” Annie clasped her hands in her lap.” But what happened afterwards.”

Meg listened to the strange tale as though it was a common, everyday occurrence. When Annie finished, she crossed herself and mumbled a prayer that Annie was unable to make out.

“Listen to me, child. For the hours of the day are short and the nights from now on will be endless. We have much work to do, to stop what’s about to happen,” she held up a hand to stop Annie’s questions. “The names you evoked last night were the most powerful of all. The four guardians of the soul came to your aid, with Michael as their leader. He is the warrior and the one most feared by the Dark One. Aye,” she answered Annie’s unasked question. “That’s who you saw in your dream. The one cast out and who fell from heaven. He has roamed this earth, this Hell since time began. His quest to gain as much power as God and bring about the destruction of mankind. He will not rest until he does so, and its man himself who aids his quest. Those who grasp at power, who lust for riches are his aids and feed his hunger. He has sensed the great goodness and power that’s in you and wishes to make it his own. You must learn to resist it. Fight him as fearlessly as Michael did and still does. He, along with all the hosts of angels, will be your allies and through him you’ll win the eternal struggle.”

“I’m frightened, Meg, not so much for myself, but for my sisters. What if he tries to hurt them, how will I protect them?”

“It’s he who plants such doubts in your mind. Pay him no heed and trust in what is right. You knew the exact words to say to save yourself last night. These came from God and will continue to do so.”

“I’m only a girl. How can I take on the forces of darkness?”

“When he comes to you again with all his whispered promises tell him you want none of him. To be away and leave you in peace.”

Annie looked at her wide-eyed. Meg sounded as though she was shooing away an unsuitable suitor rather than the Devil.

“Come now,” Meg rose stiffly. “There’s much work to be done in helping those who are in need.”

Annie joined her at the table, and they spent the next few hours mixing and packing the herbs. Annie told her as they worked, about the visit from the O Brien’s and the offer of marriage. She was glad her sisters were not around to hear Meg’s curses and ranting at the news. She also told her of Roma and her children and the villager’s hatred of them.

“Well, God between them and all harm,” Meg sighed. “But they’re welcome to any spare food I have, and you tell them so.”

Annie promised she would, and it was well into the afternoon when she set off with her basket. She took great care to avoid running into the O Brien’s on her travels. The reception she received from the villagers was the same as before, with only Jane O Regan inviting her in. There were two more deaths overnight and Jane whispered to her of the rumours that were doing the rounds.

“They say we’ve been cursed,” Jane said, looking about the room as if in dread of someone overhearing. “They say it’s those gypsies who are camped down in the hollow.”

“What nonsense. Why only last night I spoke to them and found them to be lovely, gentle folk. It really is all nonsense.”

“Still,” Jane sniffed. “The sickness has to come from somewhere and there’s none in the other villages.”

Annie knew it was useless to argue any further with her and after exchanging a few pleasantries, she set off for home. She was almost on the outskirts of the village when she heard her name being called. She turned to find Pat O Malley hurrying towards her.

“Have you heard the rumours?”

“Yes, but they’re nonsense. Those people wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“There’s mischief afoot. Mark my words,” he took her by the elbow and led her towards a thicket of bushes. “Only last night I saw that old witch Mary O Brien coming out of Jane’s house and her with a smile on her like the cat that’s been at the cream. She’s up to no good, that one.”

“Their horse lost a shoe,” she explained about the gypsies. “They’ve no money to replace it and the man’s sick.”

“Send them to me. I’ll give them enough to shoe the horse and have them on their way before any harm befalls them.”

“I will,” she picked up her skirts and made ready to run. She wanted to get home and tell Meg of what was happening and warn Roma as well.

“Thank you, Pat. You’re a good man,” she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll not forget your kindness.”

He was still standing with his hand to his cheek, when she reached the edge of the forest and turned to wave at him.

It was dark and the forest, that once seemed such a friendly, familiar place, frightened her. The call of the night owl, who had recently risen from his slumber made her jump. The small scurrying from the bushes as she walked along were now transformed into the terrifying scratching of some great horned demon, who she expected at any moment, to rise and block her path. Even the slight, evening breeze skimming the treetops sounded like thunder in her ears. Hugging her shawl tighter around her, she hurried on. Once or twice, she thought she heard her name being called and stopped to listen. The first time she dismissed it as her imagination, but the second time… She stood still, hardly daring to breathe, as it came again, louder this time.

“Annie, Annie.”

“Mamma?” she called, looking desperately around her. “Mamma, is that you?”

“Annie, Annie, child.”

The voice was stronger now. She saw a dark figure silhouetted in a clearing among the trees.

“Mamma,” was it her mother? She had somehow come back to her, though every fibre of her being cried out it was not; could not be her mother, she did not care. She wanted so much to believe it was true. That her mother had somehow survived the grave and come back

“Mamma,” she dropped her basket and ran towards the figure, tears streaming down her face.

A hand reached out from the dark, grabbed her skirt and pulled her back with such force she fell against a tree trunk, winded.

“Be gone, vile creature,” Meg waved her stick towards the figure. “Leave this child in peace.”

The figure sighed Annie’s name once more before it faded into mist.

“Come, child,” Meg helped Annie to stand. “Let’s go home.”

Annie was unaware of the walk to Meg’s cottage or the tender words meant to soothe her. It was not until she was seated by the fire and had drunk one of Meg’s cures for the vapours, that it hit her.

“My God,” her hand shook as she handed the cup to Meg. “What’s happening to me; what was it, that thing out there, in the forest?”

“A demon sent to lure you away. He’ll stop at nothing to gain your soul.”

“Oh, Meg,” Annie started to sob. “Just for a moment…”

“I know child. I know,” Meg put her arms around her.

“I can’t fight him. I’m just not strong enough.”

“We’ll fight him together. He is no stranger to me. You can stay here until you learn the way, until you are stronger.”

Meg had put Rose and Dora to bed. She prepared a sleeping draught for Annie. This would ensure she would have no dreams that night. The herbs contained within the draught would soothe her mind and still her thoughts and he would not find her waiting for him.

Annie was led to bed as the draught took effect. She was unaware of her shoes being slipped from her feet and did not feel the pillow when her head touched it. Meg stayed awake for most of the night. Fashioning crosses from dried reeds, she hung them from every opening in the cottage. Each was put in place with a small bundle of herbs attached to it and a prayer added to form an invisible barrier. Throughout the night, Meg poured over the many books and writings she had inherited from her mother. Refreshing the words of protection that were still clear in her mind as the day she first heard them, but she found comfort in reading them again. There was much to learn and little time. She cursed herself for not teaching Annie of these things sooner, but in truth, she had not realised how strong the child’s power had grown and how needful she’d be of this protection. She piled sods of turf on the fire trying to distil the gloom and the cold circling her. Dark shadows, thrown by the flames, danced across the walls and she lit a few more candles. She knew he was outside, prowling around the cottage. She heard his voice as she had done years before and brushed aside his promises of youth, of riches, of eternal life. When he tired of entreating her, he sent more powerful voices. She heard the soft voice of her mother. It told her to heed him, to do as he said, and they would be together again. Its strange Meg thought, as she brushed aside a tear, how a voice lost to her for over forty years could stir her heartstrings as though it were yesterday.

“God grant you peace, poor spirit,” she prayed, and the words whispering in her ears echoed away into a mournful cry.

She knew the voice was not that of her mother’s. The Dark One was using some lost soul to imitate the sweet sound in the same way he had done to Annie.

She was to have no rest that night. Angry, at what he saw as her meddling, he sent demon after demon to torment her. Tiny balls of flame leaped from the fire and turned to hideous snarling beasts that reached out sharp claws and tried to scratch her. The shadows lengthened on the floor as small black shapes crept from between the cracks in the walls and flew, turning into giant bats, their teeth dripping with blood. They hissed and swooped around her, their wings snapping like whips at her face. Still she prayed, never ceasing, allowing nothing to stop her in her mission to defeat the Dark One. It was only with the coming of dawn the torment stopped, and she felt him moving away.

He had not succeeded that night, but he was no fool. He knew what he was up against in the old woman. There were many others not as strong, who would easily succumb to his promises, and they were not so far away. The birdsong irritated him; the light slanting through the trees blinded him. He would rest now and allow those of his legions who worked by day to do his bidding. He belonged to the night and would need to gather strength for the task ahead. For he was about to do something he had not done in centuries; he was about to take on human form.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, there you are, girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what is it then?”

He waited as the silence settled all around them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything, girl.”

“Don’t let Mam screw up Toby’s life.”

He was puzzled by this.

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

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

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

They sat for a few moments surrounded by the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wraith chapter twenty-six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 30, 2020

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

Even in the dim light Tom saw the objects laid out on his wife’s grave. The magic circle, drawn with white spray paint, glowed under the rays of the full moon, and seemed to shimmer before his tortured eyes. A noise from somewhere behind made him spin around. Paul and Jill came out from their hiding place when they recognised him.

“I don’t know what I expected,” he nodded at the grave.

Jill understood how he felt; there was something unholy about the whole thing. But to see it now, laid out in front of him, must have been a terrible shock.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

“Neither did I,” he agreed. “But I was sitting at home, growing more and more tormented, so I thought…” he shrugged, as there were no words to describe his feelings.

“Maybe you’d be better off at home,” Paul said. “We’ll come and tell you what happens when it’s all over.”

“No, I’ll stay. I wasn’t much use to her in life, but I’ll not abandon her now,” he looked at Jill. “Do what you have to.”

She explained what she was about to do and warned him about making noise.

“The ears of the dead are sensitive,” she explained. “Any sudden movements or sound will act as a damper on the ritual.”

He nodded and stood back to allow her to pass. Once she relit the candles and incense, she stepped back inside the circle and sealed the gap with the spray paint. She needed blood to complete her task, so raising the knife she brought from home she plunged the tip into her wrist. Always one to bleed from even the slightest pinprick, the blood flowed out of the cut, and she allowed it to fall onto the earth. She heard Paul’s sharp intake of breath, but ignored it, and wrapped a handkerchief over the cut. Balancing the book on top of the tombstone, she shone the torch on the pages and started to read the chant. The Wraith, she knew, resides in a place devoid of light and hope. Unaware of its surrounding, it lies in restless sleep, and waits for the voice that will summon it from its limbo. It needs the darkness to become visible to the human eye, and the voice that calls on it must be kept low and chanting.

Jill continued to read, while Paul and Tom watched from the side-line. Calling on God for protection, Paul fingered the rosary beads he kept in his pocket, and the smooth wood of the crucifix made him feel they were not quite unarmed. If there was ever a time for prayer, he thought, this is it. He never looked at the man who stood beside him, but he knew Tom was crying, as he saw the flash of a white handkerchief being brought up to his face.

Beneath the earth something stirred. Marie opened her eyes. At first, she lay listening to the soft calls from above. She didn’t know where she was, or how she had got there. The only awareness she had was of unbearable sorrow. She didn’t try to look around her, which was just as well. Her human body no longer existed all that remained were her bones. She was spared this sight by the urging of the voice that called to her, the notes filled with the same longing that she felt.

“I’m coming,” she whispered, before surging towards the surface.

The air smelled sweet after the rawness of the place she had been, and she stood for a moment looking around her. She was in a graveyard and it was night!

Jill used the tombstone for support, afraid she would faint. She heard the whimpers of fear from the two men and looked over at them. Their faces were ashen, and despite the cold, she saw beads of sweat on their upper lips. What they were witnessing was beyond belief, and she prayed they would not turn and run. Forcing her eyes back to the triangle, she shivered, as she watched the movements of the spirit trapped within it. This was some sort of nightmare, it had to be, as the thing that stood before her could not be real. The woman, Marie, appeared as she had in the photo on Tom’s side table. She wore a dress of flowing burgundy velvet, her favourite, Tom would later tell Jill, and there was nothing creepy or frightening about her, except she appeared at times to fade in and out, and of course, she was dead.

“Marie,” Jill licked her dry lips and managed to stand up straight.

If she did not remain strong, she had no chance of gaining control.

“Marie, do you know where you are?”

The Wraith’s look was one of bewilderment, when she turned towards the sound of the voice, and she wrung her hands.

“I was in a place of shadow,” she seemed on the verge of tears. “I can’t remember anything. The past is dim. Who are you?”

“My name is Jill. I’m the one who called you. I need your help.”

“My help.” She became aware of the presence of the two men, but there was no look of recognition when she saw Tom.

He, on the other hand, had to be helped to stand by Paul. Jill heard his muffled sobbing, and he used a handkerchief to still the sound of his pain.

“My child is missing,” Jill turned back to the Wraith. “I need your help to find him. The same man who took Rachael has taken him. Do you remember?”

The Wraith’s eyes opened wide at the mention of her daughter’s name.

“Rachael,” the whisper floated through the night air. “Rachael, my baby.”

She brought her hands to her face, crying as the memory reawakened.

“I’m sorry to cause you such pain,” Jill cried with her. “But I need to find my son.”

The Wraith shook her head.

“Why couldn’t you let me be?” She tried to move within the triangle but was held in place by its power. “Send me back,” her pleas were pitiful. “I can’t bear the pain. Set me free.”

Tom tried to go to her, but Paul held him back.

“Marie,” he called. “Do you remember me?”

“Tom.” He saw the recognition in her eyes. “Tom, Help me.”

“Send her back,” he turned to Jill. “Reverse the spell. Do something. This is unbearable.”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to block out the sound of his tears and turned back to the Wraith. “My son, Toby, is seven-years-old and the man who took Rachael has him right now. If I don’t find him, he will kill him. I’m begging you as one mother to another, help me.”

“Please,” the Wraith struggled against her invisible barrier. “Set me free.”

“I will set you free, if you promise to help me,” Jill felt stronger, more determined.

“Let her go, you fucking bitch,” Tom screamed, and if it were not for Paul’s grip on his arms, would have attacked Jill.

“I’ll let her go when she hears me out,” Jill glanced at him, and then back at the Wraith. “Will you listen to what I have to say?”

“Am I dead?”

The question stunned them to silence. They looked from her to one another, unsure of what to say. Finally, Tom, after assuring Paul he was calm, stepped forward.

“Marie, love,” he walked closer to the triangle. “You died eight years ago; don’t you remember? A year after Rachael went missing. Her loss was too much for you to bear, and you took an overdose.”

“Oh, God,” her glance flew around the graveyard. “Is that why I’m here, am I being punished for committing suicide?”

“No, love, you’re not. Jill called you to ask for help. Her little boy is missing, and we think the same man who took Rachael has him. If we find Toby, then maybe we will find Rachael.”

“We could bring her home?” Her eyes filled with hope.

“Yes,” he was trying hard not to cry. “We can bring her home, and you can be at rest.”

He reached out and tried to touch her, but there was nothing there. She seemed to be part of the air, nothing solid, no substance. Puzzled, he looked at Jill.

“She is like a shadow; it is Marie’s spirit that you see.”

He nodded, sadly and stepped back. Paul patted his shoulder, urging him to be strong. It took great fortitude to walk away from the woman he had loved and lost. The woman he never expected to see again, not in this life.

“Will you help me?” Jill asked.

“What can I do? I can’t even step out of this thing.” She looked down at the triangle at her feet.

“I can free you from there, if you promise to help me. If not, I can send you back to where you came from.”

“There is nothing for me there,” she looked in horror at the stone that bore her name. “Just endless darkness and cold that chills the soul. I will do whatever I can to help, though I don’t know what use I will be.”

“Very well,” Jill picked up the book. “Once you are free from the triangle, you can move about wherever you please. You have the power to travel on the wind. It is up to you if you want to be visible, but I suggest you stay hidden. Tom thinks someone in the village has taken my son; your job is to find him. It is only by night you can move around. You will be powerless during the day.”

“If it is possible, I’ll find him and when I do…”

Jill interrupted her.

“You won’t do anything, if you do, we won’t find Rachael and Toby.”

“I understand,” she smiled. “Maybe, later, then?”

While this woman that stood before them looked like Marie, Tom knew she had changed. Perhaps her mind had flown before the suicide, or was tainted by the endless years of darkness, but she now had a vicious streak, and he knew she would need careful handling.

Jill’s stomach lurched as she began the chants to free the Wraith, and she hoped she would not regret what she was about to do. While the woman appeared to have no substance, the book declared the Wraith was capable of great deeds, and even hinted at its need for revenge. If this was the case, then God help the man who would shortly become its prey.

“You should be able to move now,” Jill stopped, and nodded at the triangle.

The Wraith lifted her leg and took a tentative step out of her prison. When she saw there was nothing to fear, she stepped out of the triangle.

“You will come with me,” Jill said. “I will show you where I live, and you must return there at the end of every night.”

“I must?” She raised an eyebrow.

Jill knew that she was testing her; the book had warned that this might happen.

“Yes, you must,” she stepped out of the circle and approached the Wraith until their noses were almost touching. Its scent was like the breath of death on her face. “If you do not, I will send you back now.”

“You have that much power?” It was said with a sneer. Now that all the confusion and terror were past, it had become more assured and aware of its power.

“I brought you here, didn’t I?” Jill held its gaze and refused to be beaten.

“Very well.” It saw she was serious, and some instinct warned it must obey. At least until it had done what it set out to do and that was to find her child.

“We need to gather up these things and wipe away the circle,” Jill turned to the men.

She blew out the candles and incense and threw everything into bags. Paul and Tom kicked dirt over the white lines on the ground and pulled up tufts of dried grass to disguise the place where it was drawn. At no time would Paul acknowledge the Wraith and kept well back from it. With the three of them helping, it only required one trip back to the car, and Jill was glad of this, as she felt exhausted. The Wraith had started to feed on her strength, and she knew the next few days would be draining. Paul was much quieter than usual, and once they were outside the graveyard, Jill turned to him.

“I know what I did was terrible, but I had no choice.”

“I know, I know,” his face was still devoid of colour. “But I’m just wondering about that thing in there.”

“Her name’s Marie,” Tom dumped his load into the car boot.

“I have my doubts,” Paul’s eyes stared into the darkness.

“About what?” Tom asked.

“I got to know your wife well during the months before her death,” Paul said. “And when she first appeared, I thought she seemed the same woman, but there’s something not right. You must have felt it.”

“What’s, not right?” Jill felt fear clutch at her heart.

“There’s something about her,” Paul replied. “I know you’ve seen it too.”

Tom tried to avoid his eyes, but he knew Paul was right. There was something, a cruel streak that had never been there before.

“Where is she anyway?” Paul looked back to the graveyard.

“She’s there,” Jill assured him. “She’ll follow me home.”

“Right,” he opened his car door. “I’ll go home and get some clothes and then I’ll be right back.”

“You’re coming to my house,” Jill asked. “Why?”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that thing,” He held up a hand to still Tom’s protests. “I know you think it’s Marie that was brought back, and maybe it was. But she’s changed, and not for the better.”

Jill spent the next few hours in study. There was still a lot to learn, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to complete her task without the help of the book. Though it weighed a tonne, she had no choice but to take it with her to the graveyard. A magic circle needed to be drawn around the grave, and she would never memorise the writing and symbols in such a short time. Along with the triangle, candles, incense, and a host of other things, her load would be a heavy one. Dusk had descended when she started to load her things into the car. She fed the dogs before locking them in for the night. Frost settled on the walls and roofs of the outbuildings, and it would be freezing by the time she was ready.

She decided to leave about ten. This would give the children time to finish their trick or treat, and it would be hours before the two pubs in the village closed. So, there should be no one to disturb her, unless some of the teenagers decided to get up to mischief, frightening one another with dares in the graveyard. Another thing that made her balk, was that she had to be completely naked under the cloak. This was embarrassing enough with no one around to see, but in the middle of winter! The book ordered she must wash, and there was an assortment of pots boiling over the fire. Each one had to be carried upstairs and emptied into the bath. Her back ached by the time she slipped into the water, and though it barely came up to her sides, she managed to scrub herself clean. The body must the spotless, the book said, so she rubbed the cloth along her skin until it glowed red. Once she dried off, she lay down on her bed and prayed. Calling on the highest, and those she loved and lost for help, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. The alarm on her phone was set for nine. This gave her plenty of time to reach the graveyard. The cloak lay across the foot of the bed, so at least she didn’t have to worry about dressing. She was weary from the night of studying and worry about her son. She counted out the rosary, using her fingers as a guide, and whispered the words aloud, as she called on the mother of God.

The shrilling of the alarm roused her, and she opened her eyes in fright. It was time.

Slipping out from under the quilt, she swung the cloak around her naked body and went downstairs. After turning off lights and making certain the fire was safely banked down, she went outside. Bess, sensing the presence of her mistress, whined, but Jill ignored her, and rechecked the things in the car boot. It would not do to leave something behind. As she had predicted, it was freezing. Small puddles that lined the lane had frozen over, and she heard the crack as the ice gave way under the weight of the car. Her stomach hurt, and not just from the want of nourishment. It was the cold realisation that for the first time in her life, she was truly alone. This feeling was nothing like the one she felt when Joe abandoned them. This was something else, an emptiness that made her heart ache. She wondered, as she drove out onto the main road, if she would ever see her home again? Was she leaving behind the things that had become familiar to her? After tonight, her life would be changed forever. As she neared the village, she was reminded once again it was Halloween. Candles were lit in all the windows to light the way home for the dead and little children darted from house to house, screaming and laughing, as they vied with one another for the best treats. It was familiar, yet she felt so far removed from it all. Last year, Toby dressed as Superman. Though she had tried to explain that the superhero had nothing to do with Halloween, he had insisted, but settled on having his face painted like a skeleton. Was he thinking about that now, she wondered? Did he even know what night it was? Stop, don’t, she warned. If she continued like this, she would be of no use to him.

The road that led to the graveyard was empty. With no houses around, the only thing that cut through the dark were the car headlights. As she figured, there was no one about when she parked. Wrapping the cloak tightly around her, she carried her first load through the gate. The wind had died down completely, so there was no fear of it whipping the cloth aside, exposing her. The graveyard, that seemed peaceful during the hours of daylight, now became a sinister city of the dead. A faint, white mist rose above the graves, adding to the sense of menace. The old tombs that had earlier just been bricks and mortar now seemed like crouching, dark beasts, ready to pounce.

She made sure the batteries in the torch were new, and it guided her way along the path between the graves. She was panting when she deposited her load beside Marie’s grave, and she felt she might wet herself from both cold and fear. With no other choice, she squatted behind one of the large cypress trees, and emptied her aching bladder. She felt the warmth of the urine rising from the damp earth, but she had nothing to wipe herself with. Afraid, if she used to cloak to do so she would in some way taint its power, she allowed the last drops to glide down her legs. This added to her discomfort, as she made her way back to the grave. Taking the cans of spray paint, she found in one of the outbuildings, out of a plastic bag, she began to trace the magic circle around the grave. A space had to be left for her to walk through, and this would need to be filled in to complete the circle later. Once this was done, using the book as a guide and with the flashlight in her mouth, she crawled around the cold grass, filling in the names and symbols. Then she set out the candles in their tall, glass containers, in case of wind. Next, the bowls of salt and water. Once all this was in place, she lit the incense and candles. The Triangle of Solomon had to sit outside to circle, and to the right of the grave. This was where the spirit would appear and be contained. While it disturbed her to think she would, in a way, be holding the spirit captive, she had to follow the instructions. The Wraith would be a being of power, but she could only control it, if her spirit was stronger, according to the book. It would be like a shadow that existed to do her will. It would feed on her emotions and strength, and without them, would cease to exist. Her senses had never been so alive, Jill thought, so if that was what it took to keep the spirit alive, there shouldn’t be a problem.

The time was right, everything was in place, and she was ready to step into the circle, when she heard footsteps approach. Hardly daring to breathe, she fell to her knees and blew out the candles. Whoever it was had a torch, she saw the faint beam through the mist. Pulling the cloak tightly around her, she huddled against the tombstone and waited.

The day had seemed endless for Paul O’Farrell, as he checked the various clues and sightings that led to nothing. Now it was dark, and the searchers had all disbanded and headed for home. Tonight, was a time for family, for gaiety and laughter. He could never figure out Halloween and had always thought of it as a nuisance. He was down six men tonight, as even those who were drafted in were called on to keep the peace in the village.

The air was freezing when he stepped out of the school, and he pulled his coat collar higher, trying to escape its touch. He came back to the assembly hall to check if there were any phone calls on the whereabouts of the boy, but there was nothing. He was going to lose him, just as he had the other three children. A group of costumed figures ran screaming by him when he stepped outside the gate, and he stopped to watch their progress. At least they were too small to get up to any real mischief. It was the older ones who did the egging and threw the firecrackers. Once the children disappeared into the distance, he walked to his car. The street was quiet now, with just the odd pumpkin lantern to mark the day, but by tomorrow all signs of this holiday would be gone. He knew in the next few days; shop windows would start to fill with toys and cards for the Christmas. Out with the old and in with the new, he thought, as he opened the car door. God, I’m a miserable bastard. He smiled at the idea, but he no longer took pleasure in any occasion. To him festivities meant drunks, wife beaters and vandals. Had he always been that way? He thought of his wife and sons. Had his scepticism been a blight on the holidays? Well, it was too late now. As he drove through the village, he saw through the lit windows family gatherings, that only served to remind him of what he had lost. Maybe, he would try and spend more time with his sons, and there were grandchildren on the scene now. At least he could make sure he did not mess them up. Ah, it’s just the season, he sighed, that makes you feel so lonely. Halloween, the night when life meets death and the spirits rise from the grave. He would not wish that on Maura, not after what she suffered. Though there was never a day that passed without him wishing things could have been different, there were some things that were much worse. Like watching someone you loved slowly eaten away by a pitiless disease. No, he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

There was no point in going home, as there was nothing for him to do there but sit and think. He could not go into the pub, as he promised Jill, he would stay off the drink, and he was not the sort who could show restraint in such surroundings by ordering a mineral water. Deciding he would call out and see how she was doing; he steered the car out of the village.

He knew the minute he drove to the yard; she had not kept her promise. He hoped she would, but the darkened windows of their house told their story. Still, he got out of the car and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he tried the handle, but it was locked, a sure sign she had gone out, as no one in the area ever felt the need to lock their doors. Across the yard, the old sheepdog barked, the sound muffled by the walls of her cage, and he heard her scratching at the door. Raising the dead, he shook his head in disbelief, but then thought of her words. Would he, if he were in her position, not do the same thing? As it was, there were no new leads, and it looked as though they would never find the child.

He’d stopped off outside his own house just long enough to collect the things he would need. Now, he walked along the path between the graves trying to find the right one. He had a vague idea where Marie was laid to rest, and he swung the beam of the torch along the tombstones, reading the inscriptions. He didn’t dare call out. Instead he used the shovel he carried as a walking stick to lean on when he stopped beside each grave. He could not bear to think about what he would have to do when he found the right one, and it set his teeth on edge, to think of the sound it would make when the tip of the shovel met the wood of the coffin.

“Ah, there you are,” his torch beam moved over the crouched figure that huddled against the stone.

“Go away,” Jill hissed. “You’re not going to stop me.”

“I’m not here to stop you,” he held out his hand to help her up. “Come on, we haven’t got all night.”

Jill took the offered hand and stepped warily out of the circle, sure at any moment he would handcuff her. When she realised, he was not going to do so, she looked at the shovel.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“I’m going to help you raise the dead. That’s what we’re here for isn’t it?”

“We’re not going to dig her up.” She would have laughed, if she weren’t so frightened.

“Oh,” he looked at the shovel in his hand, and then threw it aside. “That’s a relief.”

“It’s done with symbols and chants,” she waved towards the circle and triangle.

“I see.” He walked closer and inspected the drawing.

“I was about to start when I heard you,” she explained.

“Go ahead, then, I’ll not stop you.”

“Okay, you move over there,” she pointed to one of the trees. “And whatever you do, don’t make a sound; no matter what you hear or see. Once I’ve started, I can’t stop, and any interruption will ruin everything and probably kill me.”

“Jesus,” he moved into the shadows. “You’re frightening me now.”

“There’s no other way,” she said, her eyes filled with sadness. “If it gets too much for you, just walk away.”

“No, go on.” He couldn’t admit he wasn’t as brave as a woman. “I’ll stay till the end.”

Jill knew the sacrifice he was making just by being there. If anyone caught them, he would lose his job, and she’d probably end up in a mental home. He remained silent as she relit the candles and incense. More aware than ever of her nudity beneath the cloak, she held tightly to its folds. Once ready, she turned to him.

“I’m going to start the chant now.” She stepped into the circle and picked up the spray can on the ground to fill in the gap.

She had just taken the cap off the tin when another set of footsteps echoed in the darkness. Dropping to her knees, she once again blew out the candles, and ran to join Paul, who crouched behind one of the larger tombstones. The footsteps came closer. Sure, of their destination, they moved quickly over the gravelled path. As they waited for whoever it was to appear, Paul looked at her.

“What have you been doing,” he whispered. “Selling tickets?”

The Wraith-Chapter Thirteen

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 16, 2020

Posted in: books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Haunted Houses, horror, monsters, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, twlight, Witchcraft, Witches, writers, writing. Tagged: Gothic, Gothic novel, graveyards. burial mounds, Haunted Houses, hauntings, Horror, monsters, scary. Leave a comment

Despite the danger, I felt it too obvious, if I didn’t appear at the school last night. Now the end is at hand, I seem to get greater satisfaction from the most mundane things. Walking along the deserted avenue muffled up against the biting wind filled me with a new-found awareness of the world. I wonder what my life would’ve been like if fate hadn’t dealt me such a hand. I tried to imagine I was normal, just an ordinary man on his way to take part in the search for a missing child. No secrets, no lies, nothing to distinguish me from the other men who waited, but I’m not a man. I’m a monster.

It thrills me I’m the phantom boogie man they whisper about. I wonder at their reaction when the truth is revealed. I’m not particularly handsome. There’s nothing about my features to draw the eye, no one would say I’m ugly. I blend into the crowd, which is just as well given my leanings.

The tension was at fever pitch when I reached the school. The energy acted like a dynamo sending waves coursing through my body. I joined with the others trying to second guess what happened to the boy and how the act was carried out. None of the ideas put forward came close to what really happened. I stayed well back hidden by the shadows, when the woman appeared with the dog. I told you before she bothers me. I’ve come to think of her as my nemesis; the one that could bring about my downfall. I didn’t follow her when she disappeared around the side of the school and waited for news to filter back. Rumours flew and the school yard buzzed with anxious whispers about what was happening. These were stunned into silence when word reached us blood was found.

I couldn’t suppress a shiver of ecstasy as the word dripped from mouth to mouth and my reaction was mistaken for one of revulsion.

“It’s a terrible thing,” the woman nearest me patted my shoulder.

Paul O’Farrell appeared carrying the woman and I almost wet myself in anticipation. Was she dead? She certainly looked it. Her face appeared ghostly in the light of the full moon, but she’d only fainted. Still I had the pleasure of watching the needle driven into her arm, and I bit down on my lip as the tip pierced the skin. It hurt her; I could see she felt its sting. She opened her eyes in alarm. I voiced my concerns about her health to both Paul and the doctor and was reassured she was strong and would recover. Such a pity, but you can’t have everything. I take pleasure from the suffering of others. I suppose that’s why I stay in our little club. My appetite for such things was piqued at Erebus, where I took delight in bullying and hurting those weaker than I, but then I had the backing of Christy and Freddy.

The barking of the dog is ringing in my ears and I swear I’ll hear it until the day I die. The horror of its pointed teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl and eyes blazing with anger was something to behold. I managed to move back into the crowd, and I hope I was out of range of the accusing gaze of the detective. The dog knew me, knew I was a carrion and lower than its kind. Had the door of the car been open, I’ve no doubt it would’ve torn into me. Such a messy end to an orderly life and not one I’d have chosen.

I doubt I’ll come across the animal again. I excused myself from the search with the rather weak explanation of having a cold. No one expected very much from me, as my health is not good. I was sent away with advice on combating my fake illness. Let the others spend their nights out on the hills in the bitter cold chasing shadows. The boy is hundreds of miles away and not even God could save him.

I spoke to Christy on the land line before leaving the house. He assured me all is well. The boy is stowed away in the cellar and will remain there until we’re ready.

The walk home was lonesome. The traffic was sent away from the village to search the byroads, and the only sound to break the quiet came from my own breathing. The chill wind did little to spoil the pleasure I felt at being part of the secret. The lights were on in the houses I passed, and I smiled aware all the doors would be locked and bolted against the terror stalking the night. Little old me. I can imagine the shudders of revulsion of my dear neighbours and work colleagues when they learn of my deception. I could go up to any of the houses I pass, and I’d be admitted. I’m trusted you see, that’s what makes what I do easier. I’m not the recluse, the unwashed beggar who makes others suspicious. You know me. I pass you daily and there’s nothing about me would make you pull your child closer. That’s the scary bit, isn’t it? I look like you.

If I imagined the night couldn’t get any better, I was wrong and unprepared for the sight I met when I rounded the corner into the avenue where I live. Paul O’Farrell’s car was parked two doors away from my house. We’re neighbours, isn’t that maddening? He’ll kick himself when he realises the man with whom he shared some of his deepest thoughts and worries, was the person he was hunting all along. He may recall the times I managed to steer him off the scent. Do you suppose there is humour in Hell, because if there is, I’ll be laughing?

He parked the car quite a bit away from his house and I wondered at this, until I saw the shadows moving around inside. He’d abandoned his precious cargo, but I never found him to be particularly bright. She lay alone and easy pickings for the predator. The dog wore itself out and was curled up on the back seat. I could creep close enough to watch the easy rise and fall of the woman’s breathing. There is a hedge running along the wall beside the streetlamp. By keeping into the shadow, I could stand unnoticed. There was no one about last night, I remained in this position for a few minutes studying the outline of her face. The blouse she wore was open down to the deep valley between her breasts, and the black lace of her bra showed against the whiteness of her skin. The doctor exposed the flesh in his anxious search for a heartbeat. To my delight he’d forgotten to close the buttons. She turned her head as though sensing my presence and I drew back closer to the hedge. I felt its bare branches piercing my skin, but I didn’t dare move in case she opened her eyes. I held my breath until she turned away and I realised she was tossing in her sleep, trying to break free of the drug’s hold. Mothers are wonderful, or so I am told. It’s hard to imagine someone who seems frail and weak could have the fortitude to fight to regain consciousness. I wonder if my mother would’ve done the same had she known. Would she have come and rescued me from the nightmare of Erebus?

Upstairs in the window of Paul O’Farrell’s house, I saw his shadow moving against the bright backdrop of the bedroom curtains. He was dressing, and I knew I didn’t have much time. Easing myself away from the wall and the treacherous points of the twigs and bare thorns, I stepped towards the car door. The light from the streetlamp made her skin glow and I imagined the way it would feel beneath my fingers. She has such a little throat and despite my frail appearance, my grip can be strong. In the throes of the compulsion, I felt the bones snapping and envisioned the small struggle, as she remained within the grip of the tranquilizer. Slipping my hand under the handle, I eased it up as quietly as I could and found it was locked. Cursing the man who’d done it, I allowed the handle to slip back into place and was about to walk away when a movement in the back of the car caught my eye. I was face to face with the dog, with only the thickness of the glass separating us. In my determination to reach the woman, I’d forgotten about the dog. It happens to me sometimes during the kill, all sound ceases and I’m aware of nothing other than the need and the promise of release.

I stood frozen, hypnotised by the dog’s eyes. I saw, though the interior of the car was half in shadow, the hair on its back standing upright. Once again, its mouth was drawn back exposing sharp, pointed teeth and the throaty growl seemed to rise from the depths of its soul. I felt its voice reverberating on my face. I averted my gaze and moved back from the car. The dog went into a spasm of barking, clawing at the window then howling like some werewolf. The sound caused some nearby houses to turn on their hall lights, and I knew front doors would soon be opening. I reached the shadows of my own front porch before Paul came running along the pavement. I saw from his dishevelled condition he hadn’t finished dressing and his face was flushed with anger. Waving away the concerns of the handful of neighbours who watched his every move, with the assurance there was nothing to worry about; he climbed into the car.

“Will you shut the fuck up?”

I laughed, when he said this to the dog, and heard its low growl of resignation. Though I have never liked animals, I assume from its reaction the dog is clever. I must check out poisons on the web and see how much it’d take to kill an animal that size. Of course, if I don’t find what I am looking for there, Freddy has a supply on hand, and I wouldn’t want anyone, especially not a dog to interfere with our plans. I don’t feel quite as depressed today as I have in the past weeks. Maybe it’s the thrill of the secret. The standing around last night, being part of the drama. It’s not the missed opportunity of killing the woman. But in the cold light of day, I realise what a mistake it would’ve been. It would’ve destroyed everything we have worked for, and through Paul O’Farrell is no Sherlock Holmes; even he couldn’t miss putting two and two together. No, I lost control; this is intolerable and can’t be allowed to happen again. I daren’t mention my little lapse to the others, because I know they’d be annoyed. They question my loyalty to our group, and I don’t want to endure any more of Christy’s smart comments about putting me out of my misery.

The answering machine light was blinking red when I opened the front door. I waited for the car to drive away before stepping out of the shadows. The cold drove the nosiest neighbours back indoors and I slipped inside unnoticed. There was as expected no message to any of the calls and I erased them before dialling. We never let our voices be recorded, and the silent buzz of the dial tone spoke volumes. I rang each of them in turn and became the schoolboy of yesteryear, as I giggled and planned what we’d do over the coming days. I don’t think there was anything in my tone betrayed my intention and I’m sure I appeared normal. If either of them noticed anything, they never said, but then I can’t be sure what they say behind my back. I double checked the window locks and turned on the alarm before going to bed. My sleep was troubled.

Christy is the one I fear most. The life he’s chosen is a constant delight to him and he’d do anything to stop it coming to an end. Freddy is harder to read and though we each know one another weakness, he’s sardonically arrogant. Everything and everyone bores him and he’s the most secretive. He can appear emotionless, but he shares in our perversion and the fact we know his weakness is painful to him. Only in our presence does he lose control, and this is terrifying to witness, as he becomes more animal than man. I take comfort in the fact while all three of us are staring into the abyss, only I have my finger on the trigger.

Time to face another day of drudgery, as outside my window the avenue comes to life and the world continues as normal. Today is the day for rubbish collection and mothers vie with trash cans and flocks of multicoloured children. Each child is guarded by an adult as they pass my window in a wave of sound. Today there will be no scolding and tonight they’ll hold their children a bit closer when they think about the boy. The countdown continues, 127…

The Wraith-Chapter Twelve

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 15, 2020

Posted in: books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, gloom, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Haunted Houses, horror, Paranormal, passion. Tagged: Ghosts, Haunted graveyards. Monsters, Horror, paranorma;, revenge. wraith, scary. Leave a comment

The streets that were deserted earlier day now teemed with life. Most of the walkers looked to be making their way towards the school, and before she could ask, Paul explained.

“We’ve set up an incident room in the assembly hall. The station is too small to handle the amount of foot traffic expected.”

Jill never answered, as the memory of the bungalow-type building used as the police station, was still fresh in her mind. The officer on traffic control seemed flustered, and he shrugged his shoulders when he recognised Paul. Cars, jeeps, and the occasional tractor lined either side of the school gates, so they were forced to drive to one of the side streets to park. There came again the usual fuss when Jill leaned into the back seat to gather the dog leads, as the pups vied for her attention. Only Bess stayed still and allowed her to pick up the leather strap without any trouble. Her eyes met those of her mistress, and Jill saw reflected there the hopelessness that mirrored her own.

“Let’s go,” she whispered to the dog, handing the pups’ leads to Paul.

Bess jumped out and dragged Jill along the path. Intent on reaching the school, and ignoring the crowds gathered outside the gates the dog began to sniff the ground. Jill heard none of the mumbled apologies and words of condolence from the assembled throng but concentrated on holding Bess’s lead. The dog pulled her through the gates and round to the back of the school. Paul followed and was soon joined by those too curious to wait for news of the outcome. Pushing and shoving, in case they should miss anything, they knocked him aside, and he was forced to shout at them to keep back.

The light had dimmed, and the side of the building was wreath in shadow, so Jill was glad a couple of uniformed officers appeared waving torches. They soon had the crowds under control and formed a cordon to hold back even the most resilient onlookers.

“The men from the crime scene unit are here,” she heard one say.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Paul touched her elbow.

She nodded intent on watching the dog that sniffed along the wall bordering the back road. More a lane than a road it was just wide enough for a car. She realised it would only be used by the teachers to reach the small parking area. She allowed the dog to guide her out the wooden gate along the dirt track that led to the small, concreted patch. Trees and bushes lined all sides with only a small opening for access. It was impossible to see the school from where she stood. Despite the absence of foliage, skeletal trees spread branches wide blocking prying eyes. Even nature itself seemed to be against her, Jill thought as she circled the lot. Bess now concentrated on one spot, sniffing the ground and pawing at something.

“What is it, girl,” Jill knelt beside her.

The beam of one of the policemen’s torch dazzled her as he shone it over her shoulder.

“Move back,” the order came from some disembodied voice behind her.

She dragged Bess away, and watched as the white-clothed figure surveyed the area. Three more figures, similarly dressed, joined him and hunched down to form a ring of ghosts. The snapping of the locks on their cases sounded like gun shots in the still evening air. Jill shivered as she watched them scrape samples of the dusty ground into test tubes and mix with fluids.

“Bring the torch up,” the command made all three men aim their beams at the test tube.

The liquid inside had turned a murky purple.

“Blood,” came the resigned sigh.

“No,” Jill started to back away, unaware she had spoken.

Beside her Bess moaned in distress and confusion, as she was dragged backwards by her mistress.

“Who are you?” One of the figures walked towards her.

Unable to answer, she shook her head.

“She’s the mother,” Paul came and stood beside her. “Come away,” he took her by the arm.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, love,” the man in the white suit said, then turned to Paul. “I thought she was one of your lot. What the hell are you doing letting her roam around a crime scene?”

Jill watched as an argument raged between the two men, and the remainder of the scene of crime unit joined them. Realising their superior was outnumbered; the uniformed officers came to Paul’s rescue. Paul roared at them all to calm down and order was finally restored. The men looked around shamefaced by their loss of control. All seemed to have forgotten Jill was there.

“Blood, you say,” Paul said to the team leader.

“Yeah, a minute amount. It could have come from anyone,” he shrugged. “This is the teachers parking area, I’m told, so we’ll have to take swabs from all of them to rule them out.”

“They’re all inside,” Paul nodded towards the trees.

“Right. We’ll get on it right away,” he motioned to his men. “We have a mobile lab, so we’ll know the results in an hour. In the meantime, we’ll need a swab from the mother.”

Jill leaned against the wall on one side of the car park, and they all turned to look at her. She knew from their attitude she was now just another specimen needing to be poked and prodded to help their case, and made no protest when they requested, she open her mouth. The dry softness of the cotton bud around her gums made her retch, and she swallowed hard to avoid being sick.

“Let’s get you home.” Paul said, as they followed the group back along the lane.

Darkness had fallen, and a huge moon lit the night sky. She saw the first glistening of frost on the walls leading to the school and shivered, wondering if Toby was warm enough or was, he cold, as cold as the grave? Cursing her morbid thoughts, she tried to concentrate on the search, and then remembered the blood. They said it could belong to anyone, didn’t they? Maybe one of the teachers had a nosebleed or something? But that sheltered spot, with its army of trees blocking the view, made an ideal spot for the kidnapper. It was one of the teachers, it had to be. Before she could ask Paul about this, the fear and panic she so far managed to control became a physical pain within her and she slumped to the ground.

She had no recollection of what happened next and was only woken by the needle sting in her arm. Paul had carried her to the car which was at the front of the school. She lay against the headrest, looking at the kind face of her employer, Bill Williams.

“That should help,” he smiled at her. “I’ll be round to check you later, and you’re not to worry about work. I’ll find someone to fill in. Your job will be waiting when this misunderstanding is sorted out.”

Misunderstanding, Jill fought the drug coursing through her veins. Is that what this is, nothing more than an oversight on God’s part? My child is missing, she wanted to scream at him, but her tongue refused to form the words she needed.

“Her family has arrived,” she heard Paul inform the doctor. “They’re waiting at the house. The boy’s father is there as well.”

Oh Christ, she thought, I’m for it now. The love she once felt for her ex was replaced by a seething hatred, and she could picture his smug face and the accusations he would throw at her. A soft whine from the back seat alerted her to the dogs, as Bess came forward and nuzzled her neck. Jill tried to lift her hand to pat her and offer some comfort, but her limbs seemed lined with lead. The door beside her slammed shut, blocking out the chill night air, and she turned her head to see where Paul had got to. He stood beside the car, speaking to the crowd that came to watch the show. Now and then a familiar face swam into view, and she was forced to narrow her eyes to try and figure out who they were. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Keane bent down and stared at her through the window, and she realised what it must feel like to be a goldfish. The idea made her smile and they nodded at her, thinking this was a greeting of sorts.

Paul ushered the onlookers back towards the school, and it was easier for her to see. The doctor was still there and someone else she recognised, who was he? Her mind searched for the answer, as he turned to meet her gaze. Oh, yes, she remembered, the man who delivered the rubbish skip. She felt drunk; her body weighted down by the effect of the drug. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite remember. Her eyelids drooped and the last thing she was aware of was Paul climbing into the seat beside her.

Leaning across her, Paul pulled the seatbelt and clicked it into place. She looked so young and vulnerable lying there and he shook his head in disgust. Once he was inside the car, the crowds surged back, and now stared in through the side windows. Turning on the engine, he eased the car away from the curb, taking care not to hit anyone standing too close. That’s all I need, he thought, one of them complaining I tried to run them over. Some were running for their own vehicles, determined to get started on the search. He would be back to take control once Jill was safely home and in the care of her family. Placing his hand on the car horn, he gestured at the officer in charge of traffic to let him through small jam and he was forced to wait, as the man cleared the cars that all tried to get out at the same time. The onlookers were still there, watching his efforts to drive away, and he was aware of a low growling from the dog in the back seat.

“Quiet Bess,” he ordered, needing to concentrate on moving out into the stream of traffic, but she refused to listen.

The growling increased; starting low in her throat and rising to the surface in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

“Will you be quiet?” He spun around in his seat and looked back to where the dog sat.

The two pups were sitting side by side watching their mother, whose nose pressed against the window. Unaware or uncaring of the man’s stern command, she continued to watch those assembled outside. When they saw the dog’s reaction, the curious onlookers once again surged forward, and when they did her growls were replaced by snarling and then furious barking.

“Jesus Christ,” Paul shouted. “Will you shut up?”

There could be no mistaking the dog’s anger as she pawed at the car door, shredding the leather interior with her nails. Needles of ice ran down Paul back as he watched her and spinning around, he looked at the people outside. Their faces were pale in the moonlight and their eyes like saucers. It’s one of you. He knew that instant the dog was right. She sensed what he felt from the start; someone in that small crowd was the murdering paedophile preying on the children of the village.

Beside him, Jill moaned, and the sound quieted the dog. Turning from the window, she looked to where her mistress lay and whined. Realising the traffic was brought to a halt, and everyone waited for him to move, Paul pushed the lever in gear and drove away.

They would pass his house on their way out of the village, and he’d stop for a moment to change. The stench from his perspiration was overpowering. Parking the car under the streetlamp, he turned to the dog.

“Take care of her, Bess.”

The dog whined and looked at the sleeping form in the front seat.

He locked the doors, hurried to the gate of his house and looked back. There was no one about and she would be safe for a few minutes. With no time to switch on the immersion heater, he’d wash in freezing water. Its touch made him shiver, but he scrubbed under his arms until his hands ached. He coughed as the spray from the deodorant can rose around him and was pulling on a clean shirt when the sound of urgent barking sent him running down the stairs.

The Wraith-Chapter Eleven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 14, 2020

Posted in: books, Eerie Places, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Haunted Houses, horror, Paranormal, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, Witchcraft, Witches, writers. Tagged: Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Gothic, Horror, paranormal, revenge, scary, wraith. Leave a comment

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jill had no recollect of screaming when she recognised the satchel, or the effect the sound had on the assembled men. It was only later that Paul O’Farrell told her about it, and about at the way his uniformed officers jumped with fright. There was much about that first day she chose to forget, and some things she would never quite manage to erase from her memory. The drive home from the school for instance was still a mystery to her, as she could not recall Paul leading her to his car. Later, when she saw her own vehicle being driven down the track to the house, she wondered about this. Had they spoke on the way there and if so, what had they talked about? Her mind was fixed on reaching the house and finding Toby waiting, but she knew even in her numbed state this would not be the case. Paul said his men were scouring the area, and she knew they had searched her small farm. If Toby was found, Paul would have known by now.

She managed by sheer self-control to stop the tears from falling again, but the imprint from her nails was visible in the palms of her hands. Now walking through the door and confronting the small rain jacket hanging on the end of the banister and the wellington boots that lay in wait for their young owner, she broke down. She had to be helped into the kitchen and sat sobbing at the table while Paul put on the kettle. She laughed, when he placed the steaming mug in front of her with the assurance it would make her feel better. How in the name of God was a mug of tea going to make her feel better, when all she wanted to do was curl up and scream? Impotent with fear and rage, she pushed his offering aside and picked up a towel to dry her eyes.

“What do we do next?” She asked, her voice heavy with tears.

“We wait until we hear from my men,” he sat opposite her. “I know how frustrating this must be for you, but we have to explore all avenues. The parents the teachers were unable to reach will all be contacted, and we are doing a house to house search.”

“How many men have you?”

He shuffled, uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, there’s just the four from the station now, but I’ve called for backup and they should be here by morning.”

“Four men,” she shrieked. “Four men to cover all the roads and do the house to house.”

She rose from her chair, and he motioned at her to sit.

“There are only two roads in and out of the village,” he tried to placate her. “And we have volunteers working with us.”

“And what about the hills? I heard you tell them to search the byroads and tracks. How are you going to do that?”

“Over twenty men were checking them when I last phoned the station, and they will be hundreds more once the news gets out. People around here give their services in a crisis.”

“It’s a pity they didn’t care enough to watch over a small boy until his mother came for him.” She knew this was not fair, but she had to vent her anger in some way.

“Well, they can’t be blamed for that,” he said, and instantly he was aware of what he said and her reaction.

“No,” her eyes blazed. “But I can, that’s what you’re saying isn’t it. That it’s my fault?”

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “It was the wrong choice of words. I meant it’s nobody’s fault.”

“But it is,” she was sobbing again. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been late none of this would have happened.”

Before he could offer any words of comfort, she ran from the room. He followed and stood listening at the bottom of the stairs as she retched into the toilet bowl. He felt like joining her, as the effects of last night’s drinking bout had not yet worn off. He rubbed his stomach, hoping to quell the burning in his gut, and popped another antacid. Still, he reasoned, it was not just the whiskey making him feel sick, but the feeling of de-ja-vu that started the moment he heard about the boy’s disappearance. He had been here before. While nine years had passed since the little girl had gone missing, the memory was still as fresh as the day it happened.

Once again, he was forced to witness the grief of a mother at the loss of her child, but this time he would find the boy no matter what it took. In the past, he was constrained by orders from his superiors, and the certain knowledge he had a mortgage to pay and a family that depended on him. Now there was nothing to stop him from quitting the force if his hand was stayed.

Many avenues remained unexplored during the last search, and there were one or two people he had chosen to keep an eye on since that time. Now he would descend on them with all the weight his office allowed, and should the need arise, apply more say, unconventional methods to find out what he needed to know. Either way, this was one child who wouldn’t fade away once the usual media frenzy filtered out.

“Feeling better?” He inquired, as she came down the stairs.

Cursing again his choice of words, he stood aside and waited for her to pass. From her ashen face and the black tears-tracks on her cheeks it was obvious she was feeling far from better. Still, she was more in control, and if the sudden calmness she displayed was an act, it was worthy of an Oscar. He watched as she searched around the kitchen, and when she located what she was looking for came back and stood beside him.

“Look,” she spread the yellowing papers out on the table. “I found these when I was cleaning. My grandmother had kept them for a reason.”

His heart spasmed as he looked down at the three faces that were as familiar to him as those of his own children. This time, the nausea that threatened refused to be held back, and he managed to make it to the bathroom before vomiting. A glass of iced water waited for him when he returned to the kitchen, and he accepted it gratefully. Bile burned his throat, and he could smell the whisky’s acidic fumes on his spattered tie and shirt front.

“I’m sorry about that,” he emptied his glass and allowed her to refill it. “It must have been something I ate.”

“Or drank.” The smell of the alcohol was not lost on her.

“Yeah,” he was gracious enough to blush. “I’ve been doing a lot of that of late.”

“I hope you manage to keep off it until you find my son,” her voice broke a little, and even though she knew she sounded like a harridan, she didn’t care.

“A drop won’t pass my lips,” he promised.

“Good.” The small lapse of control was once again replaced by an icy calm.

“Do you mind?” He pointed to the papers.

“No, go ahead,” she pushed them across to him.

For a while there was silence, as he reread words still etched on his brain. He had copies of all the articles written on the disappearances, but he was still looking for some small clue that might have been overlooked. Jill heard the dogs whining. Rushing outside, she followed the sound to one of the outhouses and found Bess and her pups locked inside. One of the police officers probably did this to stop them getting under their feet, she pushed back the rusty bolt and opened the door. She was immediately engulfed in a wave of fur as the three dogs came charging towards her. The pups made straight for the house in search of their master and comrade in mischief. It was only Bess that remained behind, as though sensing something wrong. Kneeling beside her, Jill buried her face in the softness of the dog’s coat and sobbed.

“Someone took Toby,” her tears matted the fur on Bess’s neck. “They’ve taken my baby.”

The dog’s warning growl alerted her to the movement behind her, and she had to put her hand on Bess’s collar to stop her attacking, as Paul came rushing towards her.

“Are you all right,” he looked from Jill to the dog that was straining to break free.

“I’m o.k.” she assured him, and then to the dog. “Down Bess, he’s a friend.”

This quieted the animal and she surveyed him, to make sure what her mistress said was true. Finally satisfied with what she sensed, she sat, and Jill let go of the collar.

“She doesn’t usually behave like that,” Jill apologised for her pet’s behaviour. However, she was suspicious at the same time.

Bess was always so docile and had never reacted to anyone that way. She even allowed the policeman to lock her inside the outhouse without too much fuss, as she would have heard if the dog bit him. So why was she behaving like that? As if to answer her question, Paul said.

“Animals are sensitive to their owners’ feelings. She knows something upset you and she’s trying to protect you,” he bent down and stroked Bess’s head. “Aren’t you girl?”

This time the dog’s reaction was completely different, as she wagged her tail and licked his hand. I’m just being paranoid, Jill thought.

“Your mother rang,” he said. “I told her you would ring back.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes, I had one of my men ring her and the other people you had down as next of kin on Toby’s school application.”

Instead of saying anything Jill watched what Bess was doing. The dog was sniffing the ground and moving towards the main gate.

“What’s she doing?” she asked Paul. “You don’t think she’s trying to find Toby, do you?”

“Stranger things have happened,” he started to follow the dog, but the scent obviously ended at the gate.

“Toby always waits for me to drive out before closing the gate,” Jill said, breathless with excitement. “We could take her to the school; she might be able to track him from there.”

“It’s worth a try,” he agreed.

“I’ll get the leads,” Jill started to walk back to the house. “We’ll take the pups as well.”

She stopped at the front door and looked over to where Bess was standing. The dog was watching something out in the lane, but when they walked over to where she stood neither of them saw anything.

“What is it, girl?” Jill asked.

“It’s probably nothing,” Paul’s eyes searched the landscape. “Just a rabbit or a rat.”

“No,” Jill was watching the dog. “She sees something we can’t. What is it girl, is it Toby?”

In response, the dog threw back her head and howled.

The sound of the dog’s cry was still ringing in their ears as they drove towards the village. Though Paul wouldn’t admit it, the howls unnerved him. Jill became hysterical, and he had to slap her to stop her screams. To her, the dog’s reaction to the mention of her son’s name meant the dog sensed he was dead, but Paul assured her this was not the case.

“She just realised he is lost somewhere,” he said. “You have to believe that, otherwise why would she be tracking his scent?”

It took time to calm her and now she sat beside him unmoving. The dogs, like their mistress, also sat motionless, the pups huddled against their mother, sensing her distress. Cranking the window down a little, he allowed in the sharp evening air. The smell inside the car was overpowering, and he blamed the dogs in the back seat. If Jill smelled it, she gave no sign, but stared straight ahead, not even blinking.

His nose itched and he brought his hand up to scratch it. Only then he found the wet patch under his arms. Blushing furiously that he blamed the dogs, he vowed to wash and change the first chance he got. He promised to stay with Jill until someone from her family arrived to relieve him, and their failure to appear kept him from the case. Still, he could not leave her alone at such a time. Their one female officer was on maternity leave so her job had fallen on him. He could leave one of the junior officers with her, he mused, but decided against it, as their lack of experience in a case such as this might prove a hindrance. For now, he’d try and appease her by using the dogs to attempt to track the boy. If this failed, he’d get back to what he knew best, good old-fashioned policing. He’d try and keep downwind of her and everybody else, as he couldn’t risk anyone detecting the stench of his own fear.

The Wraith- chapter seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on April 10, 2020

Posted in: Ghost. Tagged: children, Ghosts, Gothic, hauntings, Horror, monsters, revenge, scary, wraiths. Leave a comment

CHAPTER SEVEN

I was ten years old when we committed our first murder. I say we though I played no part in the actual act, other than do nothing to try and stop it. It was meeting that woman today made me recall it. I knew from the moment I set eyes on her she was going to be trouble. It was nothing she said, but something in the way she looked at me, as though her eyes could see my very soul. If I have a soul. I’ve always imagined people like me are set apart from others. Anyway, back to the murder.

Three years passed since my initiation into Christy’s exclusive club. We’d taken to calling ourselves Shadows. We blended in well when the need arose and there were many such times. Christy was bored, the assaults on our bodies no longer thrilled him and he was hungry for new blood. Tony, a new boy seemed the perfect candidate to join our little band, but we were proven wrong. He resembled me, as I was when I first arrived at the school, lost, frightened. Feeling a little bit abandoned by those he loved. He welcomed Christy’s attention in the same way I had and held onto the hand extended in friendship like a drowning man. But he was different from me.

His initiation didn’t go as smoothly, and Freddy and Christy had no choice but stuff rags into his mouth to stop his cries. They didn’t intend to kill him, but the rags coupled with the pressure of his face being pressed into the filthy bed, cut off his air. They were too intent on what they were doing to realise he wasn’t breathing. When they did, it was too late. I wasn’t there when it happened, though I knew about it. My only involvement was in moving the body.

Freddy came to fetch me, and I knew from the look on his face something was wrong. There was no need for explanation. He came bursting through the door of the room, disturbing my classmates and drawing a stern look from the teacher. This time of the day was a free period, I’d chosen to stay back to attend an additional art class, as I’d no stomach for what was about to happen. Excusing myself, I followed him out to the woods. The memory of that day is so vivid my heart rate increases as I write. Sound and smells assail brain no matter how hard I try to hold them back.

It was close to winter. I remember the cold cutting through the thin cotton of my white shirt sleeves. I’d forgotten to take my jacket, and I cursed my oversight, as I tried to rub life in to my frozen arms. The track leading to our den was leaf-strewn and slippery and I remember kicking aside the clusters of reds and gold. The trees were stripped bare by the biting wind and the branches were empty except for the dark clumps of the crows’ nests dotting them. The noise of the birds’ cries was amplified, and I heard the cawing overhead. I heard the shouts of the boys on the football field and, the swish of car tires on the damp road. I’m forgetting the reason for my story. Oh, yes, the murder.

Christy’s face was wet with sweat when I arrived at the shed. Freddy was moving too fast to ask him what the problem was, and I’d become used to obeying their orders and commands.

“He’s in here,” Christy said, and moved back to let me enter.

I prayed they didn’t want me to take part in the assault on his body and stood looking down at the still, prone figure. I never enjoyed the act and suffered their demands in silence. This made them think I didn’t object to their pawing my skin, but they were wrong. Sad to say their actions blighted my body and I’ve been impotent all my life.

As I waited for the expected slap on the back urging me on, my eyes surveyed the small, white body on the makeshift bed. There were thin streaks of blood on his buttocks. I remember the harshness of its colour in the dim, half-light of the shed’s interior. There was also some on the tail of his shirt and the waistband of his underpants. Strange how a colour can remain with you, as this is how I recall that day, steeped in redness.

“Is he dead?”

The question startled me, and I turned around in alarm and looked at its owner. It never dawned on me the boy was dead. I thought like me, he was too ashamed to move or look up.

“What do you mean is he dead,” I asked Christy, “why would he be dead?”

“Look, then,” he mumbled.

I leant over and shook Tony’s shoulder.

“Come on, it’s o.k.” I said, “You can get up now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

His body turned to stone in the brief time it laid there. I turned him over and jumped back as his, staring eyes came into view. I’d never seen death before well, not this sort of death. I’d seen my mother at the funeral home, when the embalmer’s work was done, and the surroundings were clinical. But there in that unforgiving shed, filled with its tattered array of oddments and reeking of mustiness, it was frightening. It was made more so by the look of terror in Tony’s eyes and the tear- track on his cheeks. The dirty rags protruded from his mouth and spilled down onto the front of his school jumper like filthy swear words tumbling from his lips. I reached over to remove them but was stopped by Christy’s hand on my arm.

“Don’t touch them,” his whisper was urgent.

Freddy came up beside us and we stayed looking down at the body.

“What’re you going to do?” I asked.

“What are we going to do, you mean,” Christy’s voice was a snarl.

I knew better to deny any involvement in the death, as I knew the repercussions would be terrible. I was as much to blame.

“You go outside,” Christy pushed me towards the door. “See if the coast is clear.”

“What’re you going to do?” I asked, again.

“We’ll carry him deeper into the woods.”

I was shivering; more from fright than cold, as I walked out into the watery sunlight. To my heightened senses, it seemed all sound ceased as I looked through the trees in search of life. When I was sure there was no one to witness what was about to happen, I signalled. Christy and Freddy came stumbling out carrying Tony’s body. Neither of them bothered to pull his pants up and his buttocks scraped the floor of the wood every time they grew weary. With me as lookout, we traced a path through the trees until we came within yards of the road.

“Here’s fine,” Christy said, as they threw the body down.

It landed with a soft thud and we gathered leaves and covered it over.

“You should’ve taken the rags out of his mouth,” I said. “The police might trace them back to the shed.”

“You do it,” Christy pushed me towards the mound.

“Why, me?” I stood my ground. “You put them in there, you take them out.”

“Don’t get fuckin’ smart with me,” His eyes blazed, and I grew weak under his stare.

I knelt beside the pile of leaves and tried to remember which way the body was facing. I brushed aside the leaves from where I imagined his head was. My aim was good, and the rags came into view. They were wedged firmly between Tony’s teeth, and I pulled hard to remove them. As they came free so did the air trapped in his lungs, I know that’s what it was, but at the time, it seemed to us he’d taken a breath. I heard the others swearing as I scuttled back on my bottom, and I knew they were standing behind me waiting for the mound to heave. When nothing happened, I gathered my courage and crawled back to the where he lay. Brushing aside some more of the leaves, I placed my hand on his chest, praying I’d feel it move, but there was nothing.

“Come on,” Christy whispered, and by the time I looked around they were running through the trees.

I stayed long enough to cover the body and then followed them. My pants stuck to my legs with sweat, but to my shame I’d wet myself. Christy and Freddy waited for me by the shed.

“We have to get our stories straight,” Christy pointed at my hand. “And get rid of those.”

I became aware that I was holding the bundle of dirty rags. The realisation sent me hurrying to the nearest tree for support, as the terror of what happened spewed from me. In the past, the others would’ve ridiculed my actions and the dark, wet stain on the front of my trousers. Today was different. They were too intent on covering their tracks to pay attention to me. After a hurried and hushed conference in the shed, we made our way back to the school.

“Where have you three been,” the headmaster met us in the hall. “Up to mischief I bet?”

“Gathering conkers, sir,” we chorused in unison and pulled handfuls of the reddy-brown chestnuts from our pockets.

“Very well,” he looked down at our muddy hands. “Go and wash up. It’ll soon be time for supper.”

I admit sharing in the others’ sly smiles of victory as we climbed the stairs. Once I’d changed out of my wet pants, it was easy pretending nothing untoward had happened and everything was as it should be. I didn’t bargain on the restless dreams and the nightmares that continued to haunt me throughout my life.

The arrival of the police next day had the school buzzing. Tony’s absence was noticed at roll call, as he’d no friends’ other than us. The roars of the headmaster at those who shared his dorm, for not noticing his bed hadn’t been slept in were met with indifferent shrugs. We’d been left pretty much unattended as the teachers combed the woods and we watched from the classroom windows as they came back ashen faced. Christy winked at me as we passed in the hall and I remember how my stomach churned with excitement at the thought of being involved in such a secret.

We were confined to our dorms for the rest of the day. For once I was included with the other boys as we speculated what was happening. Some said Tony ran away or was kidnapped, but this was dismissed by those who knew his family as rubbish. They weren’t rich enough for anyone to kidnap him. The sound of sirens sent us rushing out into the corridors as the police arrived. Those not privy to what happened knew it was something serious. I still recall the boys’ faces as the blue light of the car’s beacon cut across them; each one ashen and set in stone. The teachers had their hands full trying to keep over three hundred curious boys in check.

By mid-afternoon an incident room was set up in one of the study halls. Christy, Freddy and I were offered to the investigating officers as the boys closest to Tony, so we were summoned first. I was the last of the three to be called and the way was paved by the other two. The detective in charge was kind and took my trembling hands for nothing more than the fright of a ten-year-old.

“Now, son,” he smiled. “There’s nothing to be frightened about. I just want to ask you a few questions about your friend Tony Quinn.”

“Did he run away?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“No, no,” the man’s face grew serious. “I’m afraid it’s much worse.”

“Did he get knocked down by a car?”

“No, but I’m afraid he was badly hurt.”

“Is he in hospital?” I was enjoying the man’s discomfort.

“Your headmaster will explain it to you later, now back to my questions,” he sat down beside me. “Did Tony ever talk about running away?”

“Yeah, he was always saying he would,” I said.

“Wasn’t he happy here?”

“Naw, he missed his mother,” I giggled behind my hands. “He was a bit of a Mammy’s boy.”

“I see,” the detective shook his head. “You can go now.”

I knew my answers were in keeping with those of my friends, and the picture we painted was one the police suspected all along. Tony was murdered by someone he met in his attempt to hitch a ride home. It didn’t bother us that his body was found so close to the school, as this was before DNA testing and anyway, who’d suspect three young boys not yet in their teens?

Though I’d no stomach for the actual murder, it was the weeks of turmoil gave me a taste for the excitement. Knowing we were cleverer than all the grownups made us cocky, but not to the point of boasting. That was done among us, long after the investigation were called off and we were again allowed to roam through the woods. To this day, that’s what spurs me on. The thrill of the chase.

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Shadow Self-chapter twenty-one

Death Cry-chapter eleven

Death Cry-chapter four

The Wraith-chapter thirty-three

The Wraith chapter twenty-six

The Wraith-chapter twenty-five

The Wraith-Chapter Thirteen

The Wraith-Chapter Twelve

The Wraith-Chapter Eleven

The Wraith- chapter seven

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