Death Cry-Epilogue

The nights are quieter now. The only noise to disturb the dark air is the hoot of the owl or the blood-chilling cry of the vixen. Annie and Dora still sleep, and their grave is tended and watched over. The house reverted to Emily after Liam’s freak accident, and with the help of Cora, Marie, and an assortment of nursing staff; it is now a retirement home. Its occupants the inmates of Hillcrest enjoy a freedom denied to them for so long. Between them they have restored the gardens. Marble statues appeared, haphazardly dotting the ground, when the trailing vines were stripped back. Everything was cleaned and polished, giving a sense of renewal. The old take pleasure in Laura and Shelly’s childish chatter and they in turn, love their newly acquired grandparents. They sit together at night and swap news, the two young girls just beginning their life, the others contemplating the end, but safe and content at last.

Still, there are times, when the dark closes in and the house lays quiet, when Cora stands at her window and watches. She looks across the gardens at the statues glowing white in the moonlight and standing like silent sentinels over the grave and wonders how long the peace will last. The red band on her wrist, burnt there by Annie’s hand, shows stark against the whiteness of her skin, and is a constant reminder of the eternal battle she witnessed. She traces her finger along the mark and her mind strays back to the day of Liam’s funeral. Many dismissed her lack of emotion for shock and her sob one of anguish, on seeing Liam’s latest pillow friend. They tut-tutted and whispered about bad taste, but Cora cared nothing about social niceties. What caused her to cry out was the unmistakable bulge in the front of the woman’s coat?

Death Cry chapter twenty eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Kill him. Do it now.”

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

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

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

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

   “No,” the voice from the doorway cried.

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

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

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

   “Help me,” he sobbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What are you?” Cora asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You cannot escape me,” she snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Please,” he sobbed. “Let me go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Don’t,” he begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You have to help Annie,” she whispered.

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

   “What happened?”

   “My stupid sister did it.”

   “Why?”

   “Cause I called her names.”

   “Hugh beat me with a stick.”

   Who’s he?”

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

   “What did he beat you for?”

   “I would not tell a lie about Annie.”

   “Did it hurt a lot?”

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

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

   “That’s gross. What did you do then?”

   “I fell asleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora did not have time to reply.

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

Annie stopped and looked at the old woman.

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

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

   “You are Rose’s child?”

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

   “Then she lived?”

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

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

   “Then I was not alone?”

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

   Who’s The Dark One?” Laura asked.

A shadow slipped from between the trees.

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

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

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

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

The smack she gave him resounded in the stillness.

   “I hate you.”

   “The feeling is mutual I assure you.”

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

   “You cannot stop me,” he sneered.

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

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

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

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

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

   “Where did he go?” Laura asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry chapter twenty-seven

The Dark One stood amid storm tossed trees and watched as Annie sobbed over her own grave.

   “I am so frightened, Dora,” she whispered. “Meg’s gone and I’m all alone. There is no one to guide me and I am weary. I want to lie down with you and sleep for the rest of eternity.”

The Dark One felt the spirits being moved by her plight. They came from out of the earth, from the sky and their voices echoed in the wind. His enemy was frightened, and he had a right to be so. As soon as he harnessed that girl’s power, he, once called Prince of Angels, would be as strong as the one calling himself God. Then the continuation of the world would be in his hands and he would wreak havoc on all who opposed him. Even now he felt those that lurked in the dark shadows drawing nearer, sensing his strength.

   “Let me help you.”

Annie looked up, then shied back from his touch.

   “You help me? All you have ever done is hurt anyone who has crossed your path. Why would you help me now, Lucifer?”

   “I told you before. Do not speak that name.”

The skin rippled on his face threatening to expose his true features, and the fire in his eyes glowed, as he tried to control his rage.

   “Don’t anger me, woman,” he warned. “You, who are without ally, cannot afford to turn down my offer.”

   “An offer of eternal damnation?”

   “That is not so. I will give you your life back, as promised. You will live out your allotted time and all you love will be restored.”

Annie looked down at the still, silent grave and the dark earth covering her sister.

   “She was so young,” The Dark One picked up some of the soil and crumbled it between his fingers. “What a full life she could have lived, but for your selfishness; I would have destroyed the O Brien’s back then and all of this suffering could have been avoided. Yet even now you allow it to continue and another child has died because of him.”

   “Then it is as I suspected, the child is dead?”

   “A boy child,” The Dark One laughed.

Annie looked at him, disgusted.

   “Well, you have to admit it’s amusing.”

   “I find no merriment in the taking of life. Get out of my sight, Lucifer.”

This time the use of his given name had no effect on him.

   “But it is your fault, if you would, but once admit it. You allow him to live and he will sire others. That woman, the one he calls wife, is not the only one he lies with.”

She could still hear his laughter as he faded back into the shadows. It was her fault, what he said was the truth. If she had given him her power all the suffering could have been avoided.

The house lay shrouded in night, as she moved towards it. All around her the good spirits beseeched her not to go there, but she was beyond reason. She moved silent as death up the steps towards the main door and stood in the shadows, waiting.

Liam groaned, as he drove up the driveway. The trees arched across his path; bending and swaying until he was sure they would scratch the paintwork of his car. He would have to see about cutting them down. A branch scraped across the roof as though reading his thoughts.

   “Fuck,” he muttered, and put his foot down hard on the accelerator.

A shower of gravel, thrown up by the car wheels, heralded his arrival at the front door. Ducking his head against the storm, he ran up the steps. The key creaked, as he turned it, and before he closed the door, Annie glided by him. Inside the house was inky black, and he felt his way along the wall for a light switch. The light from the grand chandelier was harsh and lit up the streaks of blood at the bottom of the stairs. He ignored them and went towards his study. The house felt damp, a fault with the boiler, he thought, but he was too tired to correct it. The wait in the hospital seemed eternal. Four hours playing the devoted husband drained him. Hours when he could have been attending to better things. He smirked, thinking of what his dear wife referred to as his latest pillow friend. God, but women bored him. The wiles and whispered promises made his teeth itch. Whores, every one of them, but he made them pay and laughed when their words of love turned to screams of pain. Being the dumb creatures, they were, they came back for more; like whipped dogs cowering before their master.

   Logs were piled beside the fire, so he threw some into the grate and set them alight. Taking his hankie from his pocket, he rubbed at his nose. The room smelled musty and a damp odour seemed to surround him. 

Annie heard his every thought as though spoken and noticed how his hand shook as he filled a glass from a decanter.

   I stayed as long as was necessary, he told himself. After all, the doctor said she would sleep for hours after the anaesthetic. No point in hanging around. The child was dead, best thing for everyone really. When she returned from the hospital, they could all go away for a few days as a family. Women liked that sort of things and she would soon forget the baby. Yes, a holiday would do him good, somewhere hot put a bit of colour into his skin. He held out his hands to inspect their paleness.

Outside despite the storm, the trees stretched skywards reaching out for the heavens. Fighting the force of the wind, they held their branches aloft and begged God to be merciful on one they loved. Even those who lived by the sea and knew well its ways; wondered why tonight of all nights, its voice was so loud. It roared and tossed, giant waves thundered towards the shore and shattered against rocks. The night creatures of forest and hedgerows covered their eyes and wept. “Will you abandon us?” The elements cried. “Will you let the one who was cast down have power over us, as you did to her who was part of us all?”

The heavens lay silent. Even the light from the few stars glowing through the blackness seemed to dim. They must stand alone and be Annie’s only hope. The trees called to the earth and all who inhabited it. From out of the forest came the first creatures. Fox and deer wild cats, rats and even owls worked side by side as they dug into Dora’s grave. Earth flew left and right as sharp claw and nail pierced the soil.

   “Come child, come,” The spirits urged. “Your sister is in need of you.”

A small white hand forced its way through the earth and then another until soon, Dora was heaving herself up from the dank hole and running towards the house.

Annie could feel the changes occurring. The smell of her own body sickened her. It was of mould and decay. She knew her features must be frightening and when she touched her hair she cried, a shuddering, sobbing, pain-filled cry. Small tufts as dry as straw laced her fingers. This was his fault; she looked at Liam who had dropped his brandy at the sound. Up till now, she had not allowed him to see her, but that was about to change…

   “Annie, Annie,” Dora ran up the steps of the house and tapped at the door. “Annie, let me in.”

Liam looked around, trying to see where the noise was coming from. Annie’s heart ached at the sound of the long-lost voice, but she did not move. The spirits were clever; they would try to distract her. The knocking continued, and Liam who was still shaking from the cry, got up to see what it was. Dora ran past him when he opened the door. The only thing he felt was the force of the wind. There was nothing there. Not for the first time did he question his choice of house. These old places were filled with creaks and groans. Shivering, he went back to the fire.

   Annie held Dora and brushed away the dried earth from her face and picked little clumps from her hair, every trace of anger gone now she had her sister back.

   “You have to come with me, Annie. Mamma says so.” The child looked up at her. “It is dark, and I am cold.”

   “I will come with you, I promise, but not now. You must go back and wait for me.”

   “I do not want to. I want to stay with you.”

Before Annie could answer, Liam banged his refilled glass down on the side table. Dora screamed.

   “It is him, Annie, Hugh.”

   “No,” Annie held her closer. “It is not Hugh; it is someone belonging to him.”

   “He hurt me.”

   “I know, my sweet, but he cannot hurt you anymore. He cannot even see you”

   “He cannot, really, why?”

Annie shrugged, unsure of what to say, but this seemed great fun to Dora, and she crept closer to Liam. Had he been able to see the long dead child, he would have lost his mind. But then so would Annie. All she saw was a rosy-cheeked, blond-haired little girl with her face pressed against Liam’s. In truth, the nose almost touching his was stripped bare of flesh. The blue eyes sparkling with mischief were dark endless hollows, and the flowing hair, tattered tendrils framing the grinning skull.

   “You hurt me,” Dora whispered and reached out towards his drink.

An invisible hand swept it from the table. Liam gaped at the fallen glass and spilled liquid.

Dora delighted with her prank, ran from the room and up the stairs. Sure, Annie would scold her; she hid in the shadows on the gallery.

Liam dropped to his knees and mopped at the stain on his Persian rug. The wind shook the shutters on the window and pried them loose. The sound of the wood hitting against the frame made him scream. From within the storm The Dark One watched the tableau and rubbed his hands with glee. Lightening struck the power lines plunging the house into darkness.

   Liam, glad of the firelight, took the two ornate holders from the mantelpiece and lit the candles.

Annie crept up the stairs in search of her sister. When Dora heard her coming, she ran further into the house.

   “Dora, come back here.”

   “You have to find me,” the child giggled and climbed upwards.

Liam looked towards the ceiling and called out to his daughters to be quiet. It was then he remembered they were not there. He was apprehensive, not about ghosts or spirits, because he believed in nothing. Still, there was someone in the house. There was no mistaking the patter of footsteps on the floor above. He wished there were more lights. Despite piling logs on the flames, the fire seemed to lose its glow, and dark shadows crept from the corners of the room. It was no use; he would have to investigate. Taking one of the candlesticks, he moved towards the door.

   The hall lay shrouded in moonbeams and darting shapes moved all around him. Leaves, he comforted himself, shadows of leaves being tossed about in the storm outside and reflecting on the floor. But these were nothing so innocent. From out of the darkness the lost souls urged him up, wanting to please their master and bring about Liam’s end. They knew she was up there. The one who could set them free as the master promised. But they were hindered in their work by the others; the ones who worked beside her. Time after time strong hands reached out and pulled them back into the shadows.

Liam moved up winching at each creaking board on the stairs. Somewhere above him a door banged, and he almost dropped the candle. His heart thudded against his ribs and he held the light higher. Was there something crouched at the gallery rail? Cold fear wandered down his spine, sweat coated his upper lip and he stood uncertain of what to do. For a moment all was quiet within the house, except for the sound of the rain on the roof, persistent and melancholic.

   “Fuck this,” his voice shattered the silence. “You’re dead, do you hear me. Whoever you are, you’re dead when I get my hands on you.”

   “Annie,” Dora came running from her hiding place. “He is going to kill us.”

   “No, he is not,” she watched the flame as it moved closer. “Not this time, come.”

She led Dora into the children’s room. The dark was the same as the light to them and the child squealed with delight her fear forgotten when she saw the array of dolls.

   “Now, stay here and play,” Annie said. “I will lead him away.”

Dora nodded and picked up the nearest doll.

   “Look at me,” Annie turned her face towards her. “I mean what I say. You must stay here. No matter what you hear, Promise.”

Dora nodded again and Annie wagged her finger at her.

   “Say you promise. Cross your heart and hope to…”

Dora’s fingers on her lips stopped her.

   “Do not say that, Annie. Remember the last time?”

Annie remembered too well and after Dora assured her, she would stay put, she went in search of Liam. Which was no hard feat, as he stumbled along the corridor, a candle in one hand and a small marble statue in the other by way of a weapon? Annie ran by him and up the next flight of stairs towards the attic.

Liam raised the hand holding the statue and wiped his forehead. His shirt clung to his back and the wool from his pants chaffed his sweat-soaked thighs. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to get out, but something was urging him on. A sinister seductiveness surrounded him pulling him towards it. The door to the attic stairs swung noiselessly open and his feet moved forward, despite his terror. Unbroken veils of cobwebs blocked his path and he pushed them aside with the statue. White silken gossamer clung to his sleeves and about his shoulders, making him glow against the black background. Someone stood silhouetted by the window.

   “Come out of the shadows. I’m warning you,” Liam raised the statue higher.

Annie walked towards him, the Annie of old with her waist length hair and winning smile. For a moment Liam was taken aback, until she spoke.

   “Welcome, I have been waiting for you,” leaning over, she blew the candle out.

Death Cry- chapter twenty-one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”

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

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

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

   “He can’t kill you for that.”

   “No, I told you I was being silly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What will I do?” she asked.

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

   “So young,” Cora whispered

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

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

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

   “I had to do a pregnancy test.”

   “Why?”

   “I’m pregnant.”

   “How the fuck can you be pregnant?”

She did not bother to answer.

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

   “About five months, I think.”

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

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

   “Get rid of it.”

   “What?”

   “You heard me. Get rid of it.”

   “This is a child, your child.”

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

   “It might be a boy,” she pleaded.

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

   “No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”

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

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

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

   “Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.

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

   “Yes.”

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

Cora started to cry once the door closed.

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

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

Death Cry-chapter twenty

Marie Walters’ dropped the armful of envelopes onto her desk and shook her head at the flashing red light on the answering machine. Another Monday morning in the offices of O Brien and Costello, Solicitors, was about to begin. The light continued to blink, vying for her attention with the unopened post. She sighed and brushed a grey hair from her forehead. There were nine unanswered calls, and these were best dealt with first. She knew, even as she pressed the play button on the machine, what to expect. The weekend was a peculiarly violent one in the city, according to the news reports, and the clients of O Brien and Costello would have contributed to this in so many ways. The first caller was almost incoherent from either drink or drugs.

   “I want to see. What his name?” he inquired from someone in the background, then. “Oh yeah, O Brien, that’s it. Hey, let go, I’m on the ‘fuckin’ phone.” His companion giggled. “Fuck it, I’ll ring on Monday.”

Marie heard him struggle to replace the receiver. She deleted the call and pressed for the next. One by one the scum of the city managed to leave their name and ask for an appointment or hung up in confusion. The list of calls she had to return made her stomach turn. The names were always the same and every one of them was filth, human garbage that stalked the city by night, preying on the unwary, the old and the innocent. She looked up as the door to the outer office opened and Rachael; the junior secretary came in.

   “Morning, Marie,” she hung her jacket and came to peer over the older woman’s shoulder at the list of names. “Nothing new there.”

   “No, dear, there never is.”

   “Would you like me to ring them?”

   “Would you mind? I have all this to sort,” Marie pointed to the post.

   “No, of course not; I know how they bother you.”

   “Thank you, dear.”

Marie turned to the pile of envelopes as Rachael began to dial the first number on the list. The envelopes were sorted by size. Legal briefs were in the large brown envelopes and the smaller assortment of multicoloured ones, most with the writing almost illegible and marked personal, would be from Mr. O Brien’s special clients. The women he had helped over the years, and who remained ever grateful.

   “Well, get him for me,” Rachael rolled her eyes and pointed at the receiver in her hand.

Marie was glad she did not have that job. Most of the clients would be still drunk or badly hung over, and she hated the foul language of the wives or, as they were now known, partners, and the screaming of children in the background.

   Her heart jumped as she picked up the next envelope. It was addressed to Gerald Costello. Although the nameplate on the door proclaimed this indeed was the office of O Brien and Costello, Gerald Costello had long ceased to be. Poor Gerald, she thought, as she put the envelope aside.

   “Pack of bastards,” at the opposite desk Rachael slammed the phone down. “You know,” she turned to Marie. “I’m sick of this job. I have applied for others, but so far, no luck. You should leave too. No one has to put up with this.”

   “Yes, dear,” Marie went back to reading the letter in her hand.

She knew Rachael was right, but she was too old to change. Turning sixty next birthday, hardly made her a good, long term prospect as secretary. Her boss, Liam O Brien, reminded her of this on many occasions. And as far as Rachael was concerned, well, the poor girl was unlikely to be head hunted. She was employed to boost the boss’s ego, and while the never-ending, mini-skirted legs and large breasts made her a showpiece; she was not office material. Oh, she could make coffee and answer phones, but when it came to the legal work, she was lost. Still, she was not a bad girl, Marie thought, and her heart is in the right place.

   Morning, ladies,” Liam O Brien swept through the door and snatched the bundle of post Marie held out to him.

   “Morning,” Rachael sang, as she rose to plug in the kettle for his coffee.

Marie took the appointment book from the desk and followed him into his office. She read aloud the list of names and times, as he scanned the post. He deposited a handful of the more colourful envelopes into his briefcase before turning to her.

   What time is my first appointment?”

   “Ten-o-clock.”

   “O.k. leave me alone until then,” he waved her away. “And see that I’m not disturbed.”

   “Fine.”

   “Oh, Marie.”

   “Yes, Sir.”

   “You’re looking the worse for wear, heavy weekend?”

   “No, not really.”

   “Just old age, eh?” He winked

She managed a tight smile.

   “Yes, that’s probably it.”

Her hand shook as she turned the doorknob.

   “You know something, Marie?”

She turned back.

   “When you finally leave here, I’ll really miss the long, intimate conversations we have.”

   “Yes, I imagine you will,” she slipped through the door and pulled it closed behind her.

   “You, o.k.?” Rachael asked.

   “Fine,” Marie tried to control the trembling in her hands.

   “Did he have a go at you again?”

   “No, really, I’m fine.”

   “I’ll make you some tea.”

Soon a steaming mug was placed in front her. She sipped and grimaced. It was much too sweet, and she was about to remark to this, when she noticed the concern in the girl’s eyes. Ah, yes, sweet tea was good for shock, and she was shocked. She sipped again and wrapped her hands around the cup. The warmth renewed her, and she blotted out the sound of the ringing phone and the voice from the other desk. It was wonderful when Gerald was alive. Her old boss knew how to treat his staff and she had worked for him for over ten years, almost from the start of his career. A lovely man, she was guest of honour at his wedding and been there through the celebrations at the birth of his two sons. Having never married, she regarded him as a son of sorts. Where had it all gone wrong? She looked towards the door to the other office. When Liam O Brien came on the scene, that is when. He was at law school with Gerald and managed to worm his way into a partnership. A rude, inept man, who she had heard, managed to blunder his way through school by a series of staged mishaps and blackmail. Well, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in cunning. He amassed his list of clients through the legal aid system. People, some real, some fabricated and not only the human vermin, but also those who were unable to pay, passed through his hands every day. The good, the innocent, fared far worse than the bad, as he feared those who could hurt him. So the man, who for the first time committed an offence or was entirely without blame, was likely to receive six months in prison, while one of the regulars, who beat and robbed an elderly person, walked from the courtroom with six months probation.

She should leave. She knew she should, but then what; endless days of nothing, but waiting for death? There were no relatives to speak of, just a distant cousin who knew nothing of her existence and no friends. She knew having devoted most of her life to her work and possessing no outside interests, other than her small garden flat, made her appear standoffish. Her thoughts were interrupted by a thud on her desk. She looked up into the wicked eyes she had ever seen.

   “He in?” the man rested his tattooed knuckles on her desk and gestured with his head towards O Brien’s door.

Marie’s stomach lurched at the smell of stale beer from his breath.

   “I don’t believe you have an appointment, Mr. O Reilly.”

She knew all the clients by sight, but O Reilly was the worst of all. The terror of everyone in the housing estate where he lived, he was known for picking fights. Every woman with a husband or son dreaded him.

   “I don’t need a ‘fuckin’ appointment. He told me to call in when I was ‘passin’.”

   He is busy at the moment. Would you like to wait?” She could see where a fresh cut had opened on the man’s forehead and the dried blood caked on his eyebrow.

   “Fuck that,” he stormed towards the office door and threw it open.

   “What the hell is going on?” Liam O Brien replaced the phone and spun in his chair to face the intruder.

   “I’m sorry,” Marie gasped. “I tried to stop him.”

   “Never mind,” Liam waved the man to a chair and to Marie. “Get out.”

She heard the brute snigger as she closed the door. “‘Fuckin’ stuck-up bitch.”

The rest of the day passed by as normal, with the usual batch of flotsam and jetsam gliding by her desk and she tried to block out their insults and form of greeting. By lunchtime, the office closed from one to two fifteen, both Rachael and Marie needed a break.

   “I suppose it’s useless asking you to come to the pub?”

Marie always brought sandwiches and ate them in the small park across the street. Now, looking at her young colleague, she decided it was time for a change.

   “Actually, my dear, I’d like a large, sweet sherry.”

   “Whoa,” Rachael laughed, linking her arm through Marie’s. “You’re really letting your hair down.”

   “You know, I think I am,” Marie thought of the grey tresses she wore in a tight bun. “I may even have it cut.”

She joined in Rachael’s laughter, as they strolled along the street.

Liam O Brien tapped his pen on the desk and stared into space. O Reilly just left with a handful of money he could ill afford, but the man was useful and expected payment for his services. That bloody house was proving to be expensive. If he had known how costly the repairs were going to be, he would not have wasted so much time in conning the old woman out of it. The idea of living in a mansion seemed a dream, but it was bleeding him dry over the past month. Everything from the electrics to the plumbing needed to be replaced. Many of the windows were beyond repair and it had taken a specialised order to replace them. Still, he thought of the fine Italian marble floor he had put in the hall; it was coming along nicely. If only he could complete it without bankrupting himself.

Marie was relishing her first pub lunch. She watched the assortment of people before her as she ate. She often wondered; when she passed by these places, what the cliental was like. Who were these people who delved daily into the dark recesses of the foul-smelling pubs? She found to her delight; they were not so alien, just ordinary workers. From the men in their business suits to the multicoloured women who ate soup and crunched on toasted sandwiches, and the rather dapper gent who’d raised his hat to her as she entered, they were all, well…rather normal. She felt quite the voyeur, as she sipped her second sherry.

   “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.” Rachael said.

   “Yes?”

   “It’s about the name of the company. Who is, or was, Mr. Costello?”

   “Ah, yes, dear Gerald. He was such a nice man.”

   “What happened to him?”

Marie studied her for a moment torn by indecision then, brushing an invisible crumb from her jacket, murmured. “It was a long time ago.”

   “Tell me,” Rachael pleaded.

   “Very well, but I expect you to keep it to yourself.”

   “Cross my heart,” she made a sign across her breast.

   “Gerald started the company. O Brien did not come on the scene until ten years later, but when he did things started to go downhill. He was not happy with land deals and the like. He wanted money and he wanted it quickly. It was he who started the criminal cases. Gerald disagreed and there were a couple of shouting matches in the office. Well, one-night O Brien asked him to his house for dinner. I heard all this through the intercom. It seemed from the way O Brien spoke, an attempt at compromise.”

Rachael nodded.

   “So, to make a long story short, Gerald’s car was found the next morning. It crashed into a tree. Gerald was found unconscious at the wheel and stinking, so I am told, of alcohol. There was worse to come. He was taken to hospital and treated for minor wounds, but when the men arrived from the garage to tow away the car, they found the body of a young boy pinned beneath it.”

   “Oh, my God,” Rachael gasped.

   “Yes, and of course the newspapers had a field day. Prominent local solicitor put on trial for murder. You can imagine. In the end he was found guilty of manslaughter. Though he professed his innocence, he was sentenced to seven years in prison. I used to visit him, but he was no longer the Gerald I had known. He was broken in body and mind. His face etched with scars from the beating he received from fellow inmates, who despised the law. It was at this time he learned of his wife’s affair. That was the final straw; they found him hanging in his cell.”

   “How awful, who was she having the affair with? Was it someone he knew?”

Marie looked at her, not bothering to answer.

   “You don’t mean…?” Rachael looked at her wide-eyed. “Not…”

   “Yes, me dear, I’m afraid so.”

   “The rotten bastard.”

   That is the title I have so often given him and it is one I use to excuse his numerous character flaws. Liam O Brien is probably descended from a long line of bastards.”

   “It’s so sad,” Rachael’s eyes misted over.

   “The saddest part of all was that no one would listen to me when I tried to tell them,” Marie adjusted her neck scarf and fiddled with the contents of her handbag.

   “Tell them what?”

   “About Gerald, of course, he never touched alcohol.”

Death Cry-chapter nineteen

Present day

Liam O Brien grinned in satisfaction as he steered the car through the ornate gates. Even the crunching gravel splattered about the car, chipping the paintwork, did not take from his pleasure. It took him years to get to where he now was, and nothing was going to spoil it for him. His eyes darted to the figure in the passenger seat. Cora, his wife, was treading a tissue through her fingers, her mouth drawn back into a tight, nervous smile. The paper was wet from her clammy fingers, and small bits lay like specks of new fallen snow on her black skirt. Why, he wondered, did I ever marry her? She had seemed a good choice at the time, from good stock with the promise of a large inheritance and not unpleasant to look at. She retained her looks, though the birth of their daughters had added kilos to her figure. This, along with her low self-esteem and insecurity, helped excuse his many lapses during the fourteen years of marriage.

   “Are we there yet, Dad?”

Six-year-old Shelly clutched at his headrest, bored and anxious to see their new home.

   “Hands off,” he brushed at the offending fingers. The last thing he wanted was sticky marks on the cream leather of the car interior.

   “She’s just excited,” his wife said.

   “How many times have I warned them about touching the seats?”

   “We have to touch the seats,” nine-year-old Laura answered from behind. “What do you expect us to do, levitate?”

   “I’m getting sick of your smart mouth, miss,” he adjusted the rear-view mirror and glared at his daughter.

   “She’s sorry. Aren’t you, darling?” her mother twisted in her seat. Begging silently with the child to agree.

   “Of course, I’m sorry,” Laura sighed, but the look she gave her father was one of scorn.

He snapped the mirror back into place. Beside him, his wife pulled the tissue to shreds. Please, she prayed, do not let him work himself into a temper. The bruises on her back still ached from the last time and she could not take any more. Not here, not in front of the children.

   “There it is,” Shelly’s shout eased the tension.

The imposing manor house came into view. It was enormous. Two vast turrets framed the great door and trailed skywards, seeming to pierce the overhead clouds. There were hundreds of windows, and that was at the front!

   “Cool,” Shelly ran towards the front door.

Laura stood with her arms around her mother’s waist and both had the same, frightened look.

   “Well, what’s wrong with it?” Liam did not try to hide his irritation.

   “It’s very big,” his wife’s eyes gazed in wonder at the house.

   And scary,” Laura added.

   “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, before stalking away.

Shelly was hopping about at the front door.

   “Hurry Dad. I want to see my room.”

Cora hugged her daughter, as the big key was inserted and with a groan, the door creaked open.

   “I don’t like this place,” Laura whispered.

   “It will take some getting used to,” her mother said. “After a modern house this will seem strange, but it’s what your father wants.”

   “Look at the windows, Mam. They are like eyes, watching. I don’t think it likes us.”

   “Now you’re being silly darling,” Cora tried to laugh, but the child was right. It was frightening.

She heard Shelly’s hollow footfalls on bare boards, as she ran from room to room. From somewhere within the house a door banged, and its echo made her jump.

   “Are you going to come in?” Liam asked

   “Yes,” she stammered. “We want to see the gardens first.”

   “Christ,” her husband muttered, as he stormed back inside.

   “I don’t want to go in.” Laura whispered and Cora could feel the child trembling.

   “Let’s look around the outside until we get used to the idea of such a big house,” her mother suggested, and she led the child back along the drive to get a better look.

It really was a patchwork of time. Centuries mingled one into another, as each owner tried to leave his or her mark on the place. It was Gothic, Georgian, and Edwardian and goodness knows how many other designs. Two huge stone sculptures in the shape of cats flanked the steps leading to the main door. Silent sentinels who had watched throughout time the coming and goings of the house. Weather-beaten shutters, their white paint almost worn away to reveal the light wood beneath, hung from all the windows. Cora imagined the racket they would make on a windy night. She looked towards the roof where a weathervane, scarred by the elements creaked, but she avoided looking directly at any of the windows, afraid she’d see someone other than her husband and daughter, looking back at her. But it was just a house, she reminded herself, and like it or not, it was now their home.

   “It’s not so bad really. Is it, darling?” She looked down into Laura’s frightened eyes. “Dad says we’re to have a swimming pool. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

   “It’s going to eat us; you know that, don’t you, Mam?”

   “Now you’re being silly. The house can’t harm anyone. Its only people can hurt one another.”

   “The way dad hurts you?”

   “Hush now.”

Cora’s heart ached as she steered the child towards the house. Laura had witnessed much in her nine years.

Within a year of their marriage the beatings started. She bored him, she knew this, and there was no going back. He never failed to remind her of what he saw as her failures. Including the fact, she had not borne a son to carry on his great name. The birth of Laura was a let down and afterwards, when it took three years until she fell pregnant and then produced another girl, well!

   Tears clouded her vision, as she led Laura up the steps towards the main door. The look he gave her and the words he used the morning in the Labour ward, after she spent hours giving birth, played clear as pictures through her mind.

   “Christ, not another one,” he groaned, when she held up the child. “Can’t you get anything right?”

She would never forget his sneer of contempt as he walked from the room, nor his refusal to try for another child.

They were inside now in the dark cavernous hall. An enormous chandelier draped with cobwebs and trailing dust, tinkled as the crystals moved in the breeze from the open door. Mahogany panelling lined the walls on either side, making the place even gloomier. A grand staircase swept upward and parted before a stained-glass window, then continued onwards to the left and right. Cora looked up towards the domed ceiling. It was impossible to see anything on the overhead gallery.

   Laura overcame her uneasiness and ran to join her sister in exploring. Liam was nowhere in sight, so she climbed the stairs and became swallowed up in the deepening shadows. Dust rose from the ancient, threadbare carpet. Liam said it had been occupied up to a month before, but this seemed impossible. It could not have fallen into neglect in such a short while.

The stained-glass window sent lights of blue, red, and gold dancing across the numerous doors running the length of the gallery. Cora leant on the banister and tried to figure out what the glass depicted. It seemed to be a struggle between a monster and a human figure. Perhaps it was George and the dragon? A beast of sort, but it was hard to make out in the grime-coated glass.

   “So, you managed to come in?”

Her wanderings were interrupted by the appearance of her husband. He was standing on the lower landing beneath the window. Cora looked once more at the monster in the glass, then down at the face of her husband. For a moment, just for a moment, she saw the reflection of evil in both.

   “What are you staring at? He was striding up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

   “The drawing in the glass,” she pointed upwards.

   “Ah, yes, the eternal struggle. What a boring place the world would be if the good always won. Don’t you think?”

   “No Liam, I don’t. I am a mother. Like all mothers I pray for peace and goodness.”

   “Christ, it serves me right for asking.”

   “Liam, please don’t take the name of God in vain.”

   “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want in my own house.”

The hand propelling her along the corridor was anything, but gentle. He threw open a door and pushed her into a bare, high ceiled room. Dust particles danced in the light from the curtain-less windows.

   “This will be our room,” he informed her. “You can start decorating this first, then the girls’ rooms.”

   “Yes, Liam,” she ran her hand along the black iron fireplace, the focal point of the room. She had always wanted a fireplace in her bedroom. Ever since she first saw them in the old Victorian melodramas, but she was no young heroine and Liam, well Liam…

   She roamed from room to room and was greeted in each one by the smell of damp and decay. Although the walls seemed dry, the plaster firm, there was something odd, something she could not put her finger on.

   “Mam,” Laura called. “Come and see the kitchen it’s huge.”

Cora made her way down, pausing again the look at the image of the dragon in the window.

   “Hurry Mam,” Laura beckoned. “You’ll never believe it.”

Cora followed her daughter along the dark passageway. Laura held the heavy oak door open with a flourish, and Cora walked into the biggest room she had ever seen. The kitchen was the size of their old house, and obviously meant to accommodate a small army of staff.

   “My goodness,” Cora took in the long wooden table in the centre the room. The old-fashioned Aga on one wall was the only thing that was not over a century old. Stout copper pots and pans, lacking lustre, but nevertheless impressive, hung along a beam. Bunches of herbs and dried flowers cascaded from the ceiling and turned to dust, when she touched them. An old dresser stood in one corner still decked with the cobweb-covered, willow-patterned china, the cups hanging from rusted hooks. Of all the rooms she entered, this was the most welcoming.

   Look, Mam,” Laura was standing beside the open fire. “You can see the sky.”

Cora ducked down and joined her daughter. Overhead, through the long black chimney funnel, a patch of blue and white could be seen.

   “It really is extraordinary,” Cora mumbled. “It’s like stepping back in time.”

   “Do you want to see my room next?” Laura asked.

   “Why not.”

They climbed the stairs hand in hand.

   “You’ve grown used to the idea of living here?” Cora asked.

   Yes, only because I know it’s not us the house doesn’t like.”

   “Then who?”

Laura shrugged.

   “Tell me,” her mother stopped her climb. “Who doesn’t it like?”

   “Bad people.”

   “But how do you know this?”

   “The house whispered it to me.”

   “Now you are being silly, darling. Houses don’t talk,” Cora’s heart was thudding painfully.

   “This one does. It says it’ll take care of us and help make you stronger, so one day you’ll be like her,” she pulled her hand free and pointed up at the image in the window.

   “How do you know that’s a woman and not a man?”

   “She told me.”

   “Who told you?” The question came out as a strangled scream.

   “Don’t be frightened,” Laura, standing on a step above her, reached down and stroked her face. “There is nothing here that will hurt you, or me, or Shelly.”

   “But Dad, Laura. What about Dad?”

Laura turned from her and ran up the stairs, leaving the question unanswered. Before she could follow her…

   “Cora, come down here.”

Her husband stood in the hallway with a bundle of brochures in his hands. He never looked up, and only acknowledging her presence by thrusting books into her hands.

   “The decorators will be here first thing tomorrow. I have marked out the designs I want for each room. See they stick to the plans I gave them. You may decorate the girls’ rooms. It won’t matter if you make a mess of them.”

   “I have some ideas of my own I’d like to discuss,” she ventured.

   “You, ideas? I think not. You’re taste leaves much to be desired.”

Yes, she thought, as he walked away and began closing doors and calling to the girls’, that is very true.

They stood in the driveway and took another look at the house. Cora realised, for the first time, how quiet it was. The only sound the occasional cawing of crows, whose nests dotted the trees.

   “We should be able to move in next month,” Liam said. “What do you think of that girls’? You’ll be able to tell your school friends you live in a mansion.”

   “Great,” Shelly shouted, jumping up and down. Laura shrugged.

   “Well try and look a bit happy,” Liam snarled at his eldest daughter.

   “Whatever,” she gave a mock smile, before climbing into the car.

   “You have her the way she is,” Liam pointed at his wife. “You and your fucking nonsense.”

   “Leave her alone,” Cora’s answer startled even herself.

Inside the car Laura leaned forward and held her breath, as she waited for his reply.

   “What did you say?” Liam’s face had grown purple with rage.

   “I said leave her alone,” for the first time Cora’s voice held no trace of fear.

   “Get in the car,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Cora was slipping her seatbelt into place when he struck.

   “Never answer me back,” he bought his clenched fist down hard on her leg.

She cried out in pain, then reefed her nails across his hand, drawing blood.

   “You rotten bitch,” blood splattered his leather upholstery, as he drew back his hand to attack again.

Cora heard Shelly whimpering in the back seat, and Laura whispering to her to be quiet.

   “Hit me,” Cora warned. “And by God, I’ll use these on your face.” She unfurled her nails, so the blood-stained points showed. “Try explaining that to your colleagues in Court.”

He was shaking in anger and beads of sweat matted his forehead. There wasn’t a sound within the car as he turned from her. He spun the car round in the drive, and sent gravel spraying everywhere. Beside him his wife picked fragments of his skin from beneath her nails. Her stomach turned, as she hid the bloody tissue in her handkerchief, and her heart raced at what she had done. Never, in all the years of marriage had she retaliated, but today was different. She was tired of his mistreatment and sick of the look of fear in her children’s eyes. She would no longer be his punch bag. New house, new me, she decided. I am tired of being afraid.

In the backseat, Laura stole one last look over her shoulder and smiled. Already the house was working its magic.

Death Cry- chapter eighteen

Her body continued to burn throughout the day. The sight of her smouldering corpse met Meg and Pat when they rode into the village that evening, and it was one, they would never forget. Annie’s blackened figure hung amid the embers of the fire. The spear held it in place.

   The children were asleep in the back of the cart and spared the terrible sight, but Meg and Pat were inconsolable. A shadowy figure moved from the shelter of the mill and stumbled towards them.

   “I threw the spear,” the young guard sobbed.

   “You…” Pat cried, catching him by the throat.

   “I had to; she was cursed to feel each flame.”

Pat looked at him uncomprehending, and it was only when Meg pulled at his arm, he released the boy.

   “Let him be, Pat. He put her out of her agony.”

The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.

   “I worked all day putting the fire out.”

   “Where is he,” Pat asked. “This man, Tanas?”

   “He disappeared before she died.”

   “And the O Brien’s and the rest of the village?”

   “They fled in terror.”

   “They will have more to fear than the Devil when I find them.”

The sound of Meg retching made them run to her aid. She could no longer bear the sight of the burnt corpse, or the smell of cooked meat pervading the air.

   “Take us home,” she beseeched Pat. “Take us to Annie’s cottage.”

   “She will need a Christian burial.”

   “You can come back when the cart’s unloaded and bring her home. The embers are still too hot and there is no hurry now. Just take us away.”

She had to be lifted onto the cart. The very life seemed to have drained from her, and she sat in a stupor for the rest of their journey.

The cottage looked dark and deserted. A melancholic breeze sighed among the trees. Even the little pool beside the cottage was covered with green slime. Nature itself mourned the passing of one so good. 

   The sleeping children were carried inside and put to bed. Meg took some wood from the stack beside the hearth and lit a fire. Even its comforting light did nothing to dispel the gloom. Pat brought water from the well, filled the kettle and swung the arm over the fire.

   “I will make you some tea.”

Meg slumped into a chair and watched the leaping flames. Pat realised, for the first time, how old and frail she really was. They sat in silence until steam hissed from the spout, and the water threatened to boil over.

   “My God, my God, why hath thou forsaken me?”

The hair on Pat’s neck rose at her whispered question, and he gulped back the tears. This was his fault; he knew something was brewing.

   “You are not to blame.”

Her words startled him.

   “Sit down,” she pointed to the chair opposite hers.

Pat handed her the tea and sat down. He was glad of the solidness of the wood beneath him. It was the only thing that seemed real. He held the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips, and he noticed how Meg’s hand trembled also.

   “This is not a time for blame,” her eyes seemed to bore into him. “Nor a time for revenge.”

   “I do not understand. What happened?”

   “Annie, Lord rest her soul,” Meg continued, then stopped suddenly as the sound of the familiar name pierced her heart. She allowed the cup to slide from her grasp and it shattered on the stone floor.

Pat could do nothing to help. The tears that were threatening spilled over, and he was forced to hold a hand over his mouth, least the sound of his anguish wake the children.

   “Come now,” Meg managed to rouse herself. “There is much to be done and plenty of time for grieving in the months ahead.”

Pat wiped the tears from his face.

   “Take your cart to the store and unload it, then bring Annie and Dora home.”

   “Dora?”

   “Dora is dead. I felt her spark die before Annie’s.”

She rose and motioned him to do the same. He was afraid to leave her alone and told her so, but she knew the danger was past. The Dark One was vanquished. There was nothing left for him there.

The young guard was keeping watch over Annie’s body, and it was with his help, Pat managed to take her down. She felt warm to touch, and he moaned when he realised the pieces of ash falling from her was skin. They placed her in a blanket and loaded her onto the cart. Still the village lay in silence. No dogs barked; no lights showed in any of the windows.

   “There was a child, a little girl…”

   “They buried her outside the chapel wall,” the guard told him. “I can show you where.”

Pat led the horse along the village street. The sound of its hoofs shattered the quiet. Clip—clop, they rang through the silent night.

   It was easy to find the small, unmarked grave. Burial outside the chapel walls was a fate reserved only for suicides, witches, and stillborn babies. The guard went inside and returned with two spades, the property of the gravediggers. Dora was not buried very deep, and the earth was dry and easy to dig. She was wrapped only in a blanket. Pat threw this aside and cried out when he saw the condition of her body. The stench made him draw back and he gagged at the raw, rotten smell of her decay. When he lifted her from the dank earth, her hair that was hiding her face, fell back, the moon lighted upon her, and he gasped at the beauty and serenity of her features. Despite the marks on her body, death left no sign of suffering.

   The young guard, who introduced himself as Tom O Shea, offered to make the coffins and help with the grave digging. Pat accepted with a nod, and Tom climbed up onto the seat beside him. Meg came out to meet the cart. Pat stopped her from pulling back the blankets shrouding Annie and Dora.

   “It is best to remember them as they were.”

They spent the rest of the night in the woodshed fashioning makeshift coffins from pieces of timber.

At dawn they buried Annie and Dora side by side, in the farthest corner of the property. A light rain fell as Pat and Tom filled the hole. A wind blew up, and it seemed as though the trees were bowing over the grave; paying homage to one who was a part of the forest.

   “Should they be in consecrated ground?” Pat looked at the mound.

   “Anywhere she lies is blessed,” Meg wiped her tears and turned to go. “The children will be awake soon and there is a lot of explaining to do.”

It was a solemn procession that walked back to the cottage that morning.

   Meg, Pat, and the children stayed on at Annie’s cottage. More rooms were added to make way for the growing children. Pat’s business prospered, though it was whispered he was never the same after Annie died. Meg did her best at being mother to Rose, Paul, and Lily, but the loss of her loved ones took their toll. She spent hours beside the grave each day talking and whispering about old times. Flowers grew in abundance and covered the mound watered by Meg and Pat’s tears.

   Slowly the seasons passed, and it was soon winter again. The sky was dark with the promise of snow when Meg set off to collect kindling from within the forest. There was no need for her to do this, as Pat had a woman come in and help with the housework, but it kept her busy and her mind from tormented thoughts. It was reported Mary O Brien was dying. Some said it was from a broken heart, but Meg knew it was from vexation.

   The holly bushes were heavy with berries, a sure sign of a hard winter. Lord, I am tired Meg thought, as she stooped to pick up a stick. A cold wind stirred the trees above her, and she gathered her shawl tighter and was about to turn for home, when she heard it, a long, mournful cry that froze her blood. Meg listened as its volume increases and tore at her heart.

   She allowed the sticks to fall, as she followed the sound. It took her way beyond the forest and into the village. Every window and door were locked, as the villagers tried to escape the cry. Her search took her to the O Brien’s house, where Hugh’s ashen face appeared at the window. Annie stood in the garden; Annie as beautiful as she had once been. The wind whipped her hair around her and carried her cries with it. Those who heard it would describe it as a keening, a ghostly lament for the dead.

   Annie, Annie child,” Meg leant on the gatepost, her eyes blinded by tears.

   “Do not come near me, Meg,” Annie sobbed, her cries rising and falling. “I am cursed to walk the earth until the end of his line.”

   “I will find a way to help you, child,” Meg walked towards her. “Let me take you in my arms.”

   “You cannot, Meg. You will die. I am death to all who touch me.” Annie floated towards the house and sat upon the windowsill.

Her crying continued unabated until dawn. Meg sat on the steps to the house praying and never taking her eyes from Annie’s face. The sounds she made were frightening, and Meg prayed, asking God for some relief for the child. Snow began to fall at first light. Soft flakes at first, but it soon came faster swirling about the village, covering everything.

   “I have to go,” Annie called to Meg. “She is dead.”

   “Where will you go?”

Annie’s eyes opened wide in terror. “I belong to the night. I lie shrouded in darkness. Help me, Meg.”

Sheets of snow blinded Meg, as she fought her way towards where Annie sat. But she was gone, fading into the air. The last thing Meg heard was her crying. “It is not fair; I am so frightened. Help me, Meg.”

Death Cry-chapter seventeen

Meg groaned and rubbed at her aching back. The two nights they spent within the forest were cold and her old bones ached from sleeping on the hard grass floor. The weather stayed fine, but the early morning frost froze them to the marrow. Their only shelter was a crude canopy of leaves and fallen branches that did little to protect them from the cold. The children, as in all times, adjusted well, though Rose was quieter than normal. Her mind was filled with worry about her sisters. Meg tried to assure her they would be all right, but the words were stilted. For she heard a death cry carried on the breeze, its sound clear as solemn church bells, tolling through the quiet of the night.

   Meg picked the last of the autumn berries from the bushes. These would have to do for the children’s breakfast. The food she packed was soon eaten and they had to resort to what they could forage from the forest. The children slept on and she was loath to wake them, but the sun would soon be up, and the open road called to her. The sooner they found Pat, the sooner they could rescue Annie. She would not think about the cries she heard. There could be many explanations for the sound, but still…

   The children woke shivering, and the handful of berries they received did little to lift their mood. Soon they were on their way. As always, they kept within the forest. By now they were clear of the village and the rumoured roadblocks proved to be just that. No one tried to stop them, and the road remained bare with no sign of passing traffic.

   Meg felt weary. The last few days were the hardest she had ever known. But it was not just the tiredness of old age that bothered her, but the weariness in both heart and soul. She felt the evil all around her. The air felt cloying, and at times, it seemed as though she was walking through a thick fog. The Dark One was working his evil, trying to delay her.

   The forest was dark, despite the many fallen leaves. The bare branches seemed like skeleton arms that might reach down at any moment and pluck her from the earth. Shadows darted among the trees and strange creatures seemed to keep pace with them as they walked. There were indistinct cries and growls from far away, and she blessed herself and mumbled a prayer for protection.

They walked until the sun was well up, and now the children were tired. The bank of a stream proved an ideal resting place, and Meg dipped her handkerchief in the water and rubbed the stains of the blackberries from the children’s faces. She eased her way down onto a rock and watched as they played. They would soon be complaining of hunger. The air was much fresher here and the birdsong relaxed her. Her mind filled with thoughts of Annie and Dora and she swallowed hard, fighting back tears.

   Sudden squeals and shouts from the children roused her. Paul was swaggering towards her with the body of a rabbit held aloft. He, like many of his kind, was a skilled hunter. His snare worked within minutes, and he beamed with pride at the look of relief on Meg’s face.

   He cleaned and skinned the rabbit, while Meg lit a fire. Soon the smell of roasting meat made their stomachs rumble, as Meg turned the makeshift spit. Each thought the meal of roasted rabbit and water from the stream was the best they had ever had.

It was a much livelier group that set off that morning. The feeling of oppression lifted, and even Meg’s back did not ache as much. Rose and Paul carried the magpie, that cawed in annoyance, when they swung the basket. The sun, though watery, warmed them and their clothes soon lost their dampness. The meal they had just eaten would keep them going for most of the day. Meg would not have to worry until nightfall.

   “Meg help me” the sobbing seemed to come from all around her. She spun, trying to find the source. The forest lay in stillness, and she held her breath. Her heart pounded against her breast when she heard the menacing laughter and Annie’s screams. “Oh God help me, Meg. I am in agony.”

Meg stumbled to a tree trunk. The very breath was taken from her body. Annie was in terrible pain. Dear lord, Meg prayed, take me, leave the child be. There was no answer, just the sighing of the leaves.

   “Meg,” Paul came crashing through the undergrowth. “Come quickly. There is a cart coming.”

The children were hiding behind the trees, watching as the cart and driver approached. The wheels thundered on the rough track, as the driver whipped his horses onwards. It was almost upon them when…

   “Pat, it is Pat,” Rose ran from her hiding place and waved her arms at the approaching vehicle.

The horses whinnied and snorted, as he pulled tight on the reins. Clouds of dust rose into the air, driven there by the skidding hoofs. Pat’s look of surprise on seeing Rose was soon replaced by fear, as Meg came walking towards him. Without waiting for an explanation, he lifted the children onto the back of the cart and helped Meg to climb up beside him. He flicked at the reins, and they set off. Meg whispered to him, as they rode, not wanting the children to hear. His eyes opened wide in alarm at her news.

   “I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, shaking his head, and spurring the horses onwards. “I will kill those O Brien’s. So, help me.”

   “They are in the grip of The Dark One.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “The very Devil himself is among us,” Meg crossed herself. “He has taken the form of a man.”

Pat’s head was reeling. It had to be that Tanas fellow. He was the only stranger in the district.

   “We will save them, Meg,” Pat’s strong hand closed over Meg’s own and she held on tight, drawing strength from his touch.

   “I pray to God we can. That we are not too late.”

Annie was forced up from the straw. She cried aloud as a dress was pulled over her head and scraped over the scars on her back. Her toes dragged along the stone floor, as they half-carried her. Some of the cuts opened from the rough handling, and she left small drops of blood in her wake. The jailors jeered at her shorn head.

   A wave of noise erupted, as she was taken from the mill. Her death was to be a great occasion. The sunlight stung her eyes, as she had become used to the dark, and the many figures before her seemed faceless. Some laughed and pointed. Children ran towards her, wanting to touch the witch. Annie kept her head bowed and allowed her eyes to adjust.

   The first thing she saw was the wood. For a moment she thought she was at the steps of the gallows, but when she allowed her eyes to travel upwards, she saw this was not the case. A stout pole stood in the centre of a woodpile. The villagers were still adding to it. The procession stopped, and she looked around at the people who gathered. Many of them were old friends of her family, and she tried to make eye contact.

   “Well, Mistress Ryan,” The Dark One walked towards her. “It is time to pay for your sins.”

   “I am innocent,” Annie cried, and this drew mumblings from the crowd.

   “You are the leader of the witches and you must pay,” he snarled, and leaning closer whispered. “Unless you have changed your mind?”

Annie shook her head.

   “Take her up.”

Annie was forced towards a ladder on the side of the pile. She stumbled on the rungs and was carried up by one of the guards. They tied her to the stake and wound strong chains around her body. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she was forced to look at the crowd. A shout of “silence” rang out and an uneasy hush fell. Then, The Dark One spoke.

   “A witch with power as strong as Mistress Ryan must be burned; the fire will nullify all her evil.”

   “No,” Annie strained against her bonds. “I am not a witch. Help me.” She looked at Mary and Hugh who stood at the end of the woodpile. “Mary, for the love of God, tell them I am innocent.”

Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.

    “Bastards,” she screamed. “It is you who should be in my place.”

   “Enough witch,” The Dark One motioned to the guards.

   There were four men in all, and each held a torch of blazing pitch. At his signal, they threw the torches into the piles of branches and shrubs between the timbers. The dry kindling caught fire instantly. Flames crackled and leapt to other branches.

   “There is plenty of green wood beneath,” Annie heard Hugh’s voice above the noise.

She knew the green wood was damp and would take longer to burn. She would suffocate. Amid the haze of acrid smoke, The Dark One appeared. He seemed to be hovering above the ground. The crowd drew back, some crying, others screaming in fear.

   “I will ask you once more. Denounce your God. Give me your power.”

   “Never,” Annie managed to croak.

   “Then I curse you,” his voice sounded like thunder. “You will die, but you will never know rest until the last male in his line is gone,” he pointed towards Hugh.

The flames were licking about her toes and she tried to draw up her feet as he continued.

   “You will feel each flame. You’ will not die until the fire reaches your heart.”

   “If that be the case,” she gasped, the smoke stung her throat. “My voice will be the last one the O Brien’s ever hear. I swear this by all that is holy.”

Most of the crowd ran away. But the O Brien’s and the guards all heard her words. Mary was carried away in a faint. Not only had Annie’s curse upset her, but also the sight of her intended husband levitating above the ground before disappearing was too much.

   She was not there to hear Annie’s screams as the ends of her dress caught fire and the flames scored her skin. Neither did she witness how the flesh on her feet turned black, as the toes curled upwards.

“Help me Meg,” Annie cried. “I am in agony.”

Even the guards took flight at this, and she was left alone to burn in the still morning air. She screamed and writhed against the chains. The flesh on her legs melted exposing the bones and sinews. The flames continued upwards leaping towards her face.

   “Oh, Jesus, Miss.”

Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.

   “I will get water,” the young guard shouted, and in seconds the flames hissed, as he threw water on them.

. The fire burned fiercely.

   “Let me be,” she screamed. “I am destroyed.”

He continued to throw buckets full of water towards her. The flames died in places, and she was able to see him.

   “Look, look at me.”

He stopped and looked up at her. His face was blackened from the smoke, and there were tracks where his tears flowed. He saw the flesh was burnt beyond repair. Blood and fat dripped from her fingers.

   “The Dark One cursed me. I am to feel each pain.”

He shook his head before running away. Annie moaned and arched her back, as the flames reached her thighs.

   “Close your eyes Miss,” she heard him call. “It is all I can do.”

His aim was true, and the spear pierced Annie’s heart. She gasped, and her eyes opened wide for a moment. Then she smiled at him, before her head fell forward.

Death Cry-chapter fifteen

They came for Annie at daybreak. The night was uneventful. There were no demons sent to torment her, but she lay awake listening to every sound. Her mind reached out to Meg and Rose, but she found nothing. She was beginning to believe they were dead. Strangely she was beyond tears. There came instead, a dreadful acceptance that all was lost, and she would die.

   Now, she followed her jailors without struggle back to that awful room and sat unmoving in the chair into which they tied her. The Dark One entered followed by Hugh O Brien, but she refused to meet their eyes.

   “Good morning, cousin,” Hugh called to her.

She sat straight and proud. His hand gripped her hair forcing her head back, and he hissed into her face.

   “I said, good morning, cousin.”

She could smell the stale beer on his breath and his spittle flew against her face. Tears stung her eyes from the pain, but still she did not answer, but returned his hate-filled gaze with one of her own. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming when his hold tightened, and she felt the hairs being ripped from her scalp.

   “Enough,” The Dark One roared. “There is work to be done.”

Hugh pushed her away with a snort and she banged her head on the wooden wing of the chair. The ropes on her hands made it impossible for her to reach up and rub at her throbbing temple, and she blinked trying to clear her vision of the flashing lights dancing before her. She was so intent on this; she never heard the door open and was surprised to hear her name being called.

   “Dora, dearest,” Annie tried to smile. “Tell these men whatever they ask of you.”

   “They said you are a witch, Annie, but I know you are not.”

   “That does not matter, just pretend I am.”

   “No, Annie, I cannot.”

   “Why dearest.”

   “Because it is a lie.”

   “But it is just a little lie and God will not mind.”

   “Oh, but he will, Annie. He told me.”

   “Told you, when?”

   “Last night when I was asleep. He told me I was going to heaven to be with Ma and Da, because I was a good girl.”

   “Yes, but not now, dearest, not so soon.”

   “Yes, Annie, he promised me.”

The Dark One snarled and dragged Dora to the wall. Her clothes were ripped from her until she stood naked and shivering. Annie begged him to let her go, but he ignored her pleas and set about his task with relish. Dora was chained with her face towards the wall, her arms and legs spread-eagled.

   “Now you will witness what I do to those who disobey me.”

Annie looked at Dora’s frail white body. It was as delicate as a willow branch and would break as easily. Hugh walked towards her sister, swishing a thick stick.

   “No,” Annie’s scream mingled with Dora’s as he brought the rod hard across her naked back.

Annie saw the flesh open and blood glowed against the whiteness of the skin. Dora withered in agony calling out to Annie to save her. All the pent-up fury she caged within her was released, as Annie searched out for Hugh’s heart and closed her fingers around it. He groaned, clutching at his chest and the stick clattered to the floor.

   “No.” The Dark One slapped her. “Guards take her away.

   Hugh struggled to stand up, as Annie fought like a tigress with her captors. The blood pounded in his ears driven there by his wildly pumping heart. Staggering across the floor, he confronted her. Her hands were being held and she was helpless as he struck. The first blow stunned her, opening the flesh above her left eye.

   “Bastard,” she shrieked. “I will kill you. I will tear you to pieces.”

The second blow was dealt with such force her head snapped back knocking her unconscious.

She awoke bruised and battered on the floor of her cell. Dried blood caked on her eyelashes and she picked at the crust that formed, marring her vision. Her face felt swollen and bruised, and she felt a large bump on her forehead. She could not have been unconscious for long, as the sun was still low in the sky and shadows wreathed the cell. Using the bars, she hauled herself up, gasping as the pain shot through her body. Her ribs felt sore, and fortunately she had no way of knowing Hugh kicked and punched at her helpless body.

   It was quiet within the mill, nothing stirred. Annie reached out with her mind, searching for Dora, for any life sign. It was there, but very weak. She called out to the guards until she was hoarse and sobbing from the effort. Finally, one appeared.

   “What do you want?”

He was younger than the others, and while he avoided looking at her, she felt a struggle within him.

   “My sister. What news of my sister?”

   “I know nothing.”

   “For the love of God have pity.” Annie reached through the bars and grabbed the sleeve of his tunic.

   “What does one such as you know of God?”

   “I am no witch. I am a healer. If I were in league with the Devil, don’t you think he would have saved me by now? Think, you are not as easily fooled as the others.”

   “I do not know,” he looked at her. “I have no stomach for these things.”

   “What things?”

   “What happens in there,” he nodded towards the darkness.

Now, he was willing to listen, she asked.

   “Have you sisters of your own?”

   “Aye, three sisters and four brothers. That is why I took the job here. They take some feeding.”

   “Yes, indeed. I have two sisters and they are all I have in this world. If I should lose them there would be nothing for me.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Annie was sure he heard the beating of her heart, but she could not rush him. From somewhere outside came the sound of children’s laughter, such an ordinary, everyday sound, now seemed from another time. The only real thing within Annie’s prison was the pain.

   She realised the guard was listening and she smiled. He blushed and looked down at the floor, kicking the toe of his boot on the flagstones. Annie held her breath.

   “Are you in pain?”

   “Yes, a little, but the hardest pain of all is not knowing what has become of my sister.”

   “They have all left,”

   “All, who?”

   “Master Tanas and the others.”

   “And my sister. What has become of her?”

   “She did not leave the room.”

    “Then she is still there? Please,” she begged. “Take me to her.”

   “I dare not.”

   “I swear by all that is holy if you take me to her, I will not try to run. I will remain you prisoner.”

   “No, it is impossible.”

   “Think if it were your sister. She is only six years old,” Annie sobbed. “I cannot bear this separation.”

He wiped at the sweat that formed on his upper lip and looked around him before asking.”

   “You would give me your word not to run?”

   “Anything, I swear on the love I have for my sisters.”

   “Very well,” he took the keys from his belt and opened the door. “Come quietly now. I am not sure when the others will return.”

Annie stumbled a few times on their walk to that room. She was weak from pain and hunger and her head felt light.

   “You go in,” the guard whispered. “I will keep watch.”

   “Thank you,” Annie slipped in and searched the room.

The fire burned fiercely, and the room was stifling. The rack, where Dora was tied, was empty. Blood streaked down the wall turning it black. The corners of the room were in shadow.

   “Dora,” Annie whispered, “Dora, are you here?”

There was a movement from one of the corners. At first it seemed like a bundle of clothes. Then a moan signalled her sister was lying beneath them and she pulled them aside. Dora lay on her stomach, her back, from shoulders to buttocks was crossed with the marks of the stick. Her flesh was a bloody mass with strips hanging from her bones. The floor beneath her was saturated with blood and she groaned when Annie tried to touch her.

   “Dora, dearest,” Annie sobbed, as she ran her hand above the cuts, praying the flesh would mend. She worked fervently for a while, but nothing happened, and she knew this was because Dora’s life force was fading.

   “Dearest,” Annie covered the wounds with Dora’s dress and managed to pick her up. She cradled her in her arms and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face.

   “Annie,” The child looked up with eyes filled with fever. “Hugh hurt me.”

   “Yes, dearest, I know he did.”

   “Do not cry, Annie. It did not hurt so much after the first few hits.”

   “Oh, Jesus help me,” Annie rocked the child. “Forgive me, Dora.”

   “It is not your fault. I love you, Annie.”

   “I love you too.”

   “Will you come and find me in heaven?”

   “Yes, I promise.”

The child suddenly turned from her.

   “Can you hear Ma calling?”

   “No, dearest, I cannot.”

   “I can. Ma, I am here,” Dora held out her hand to an unseen presence, and Annie watched, as her small fingers seemed to curl around another hand before falling to the floor.

   “Dora, no,” Annie stared down at her sister’s lifeless body. “Do not leave me.”

It was quiet within the room except for the crackling and spitting of the fire and Annie’s anguished sobbing. She carried her sister to a table and laid her down, covering her with her torn dress. Dora’s hair fanned around her, and Annie crossed her small hands across her chest.

   “All the pain is over now, dearest,” Annie kissed her lips. Already she felt cold as marble.

   “Miss, come away,” the whisper from the doorway startled her.

She walked towards the guard without looking back.

   “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, when he saw the blood on her arms and cast a fearful glance into the room. His eyes widened when he saw the child’s body and he slammed the door shut. Annie walked in a trance back to her cell and stepped inside. The jangling of the keys seemed to go on forever as the guard’s hands shook so badly, he had trouble locking the cell.

   “I am so sorry, Miss,” she could hear the tears in his voice.

All was lost. Her family were dead, and God had deserted her. She walked to the wall and laid her head against the cool stones. The cold eased the pain in her head somewhat, but the pain she felt inside would never heal. The guard slunk away, and she allowed herself to sink down onto the straw. Hugh O Brien’s face swam before her, his evil grin taunting her. That fiend was worse than any Devil, but she would make him pay. There had to be some way she could have her revenge. Please God, she prayed, if you are still listening help me to avenge my family. There was no answer, no whispered promise, no voice on the breeze, nothing. Then she did something she had never imagined doing. She prayed for death.

Death Cry- chapter thirteen

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

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

   “Annie, dear.”

She turned to see Mary O Brien.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “And the others?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You know I am not a witch.”

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

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

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

   “Your intended?”

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

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

   “Do you not wish me luck, Annie?”

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

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

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

   “You will do as you promised?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I am not a witch. I admit nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Come along now and none of your nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “No, Sir, I do not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were gasps and mumbled calls of blasphemy.

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

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

   “What is your verdict, gentlemen?”

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

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

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

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

She looked up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Before she could say any more The Dark One roared.

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

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

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

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

   “What happens now?”

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

   “No.”

   “Not at any price?”

She shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Will you let her die?”

Annie looked at the shaking child and shook her head.

   “Then you will do as I ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “For this you will all die.”

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

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

   “I do not know.”

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

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