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-six

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

   “Cora, wake up now.”

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

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

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

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

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

They were covered in yellow and blue bruises.

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

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

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

   “No, please,” she started to sob.

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

   “A boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I lost the baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marie left the room and returned in minutes.

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

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

For a moment, Cora forgot her own grief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Ah, God bless him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did not answer and his face grew serious.

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

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

   “Can you remember what you tripped over?”

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

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

   “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

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

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

   “There seems to be a storm brewing.”

   “Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Well, you’re an even bigger pig.”

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

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

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

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

   “Yeah, I know, sorry.”

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

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

   “Have you an earache?”

She shook her head.

   “Why are you doing that?”

   “Voices.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Voices, in my head.”

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

   “What are they saying?” Emily was intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

Between them they had over sixteen euros in lunch money.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry-chapter twenty-four

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

   “Well, here we are.”

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

   “Do you take milk or sugar?”

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

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

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

   “I’ll get the papers you wanted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “We?” Cora looked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Where were you at this hour?”

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

   “Well, I’m waiting.”

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

   “You seem well enough now.”

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

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

   “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I’ll try,” Cora promised.

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

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

   “Have you seen sense yet?”

   “You mean about the baby?”

   “You know bloody well what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

   “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I told her to be brave like you.”

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

   “It is you, isn’t it; in the window?”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Is my Mam going to be all right?”

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

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

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

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

   “Did the monster kill you?”

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

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

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

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

   “It’s all very strange.”

   “Yes,” Annie smiled. “Very strange.”

Laura snuggled down under the covers.

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

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

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

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

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

   “My God,” she whispered.

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

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

   “Do you know what I am doing?”

   “What, I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry-chapter twenty-two

The earth beneath the grave moved. There were many who watched from the inky blackness in the wood and willed the dead thing on. Long fingers, blackened by fire, emerged, and the arms that followed waved in the still air, as they felt for something to catch on to. There was nothing, but the slight night wind cooling the scorched bones. The fingers twisted into claws that gripped the grass on either side of the grave and hauled the body up. A head appeared, the hair hanging on the skull was still dark, but sparse. A face, a burnt, human face, appeared between the thin tendrils. Fat worms fell from its hollow eyes and it drew back its lips and snarled hideously. The watchers shied back in horror. This was not the Annie they had expected. The thing crawling across the grass exulted hatred. Where there was once a need to bring life, there was now a terrible thirst for death.

   She made it to the shadows of the trees and hauled herself up against the trunk of one. The very wood seemed to shy from her touch. She saw the watchers; their shadows were easy to pick out in the moonlit woods. They called to her, begging her to be still, to listen to them, but she brushed their pleas aside. Her mind was filled with the need for revenge, and the intense hatred she felt would not be denied.

   He was close by. She smelt his scent as strong as ever. There was still the need within him to destroy life, to corrupt the innocent. Her eyes strayed back to the disturbed mound and the scattered earth. Dora was still sleeping and in need of her protection. She knelt beside the grave and threw the earth back into place. Soon it looked as though it had never been disturbed. It was only as she raked it with her fingers, she became aware of her appearance.

   “Why?” She cried, looking in horror at the black bones and yellowing pieces of flesh still clinging in places.

   “Be still, Annie. Trust us,” the watchers whispered.

   “No, never, I was true to you once and you betrayed me.”

   “We didn’t betray you. It was not us; this is not your time, Annie. Look around you.”

The moon shone bright enough to light the way. The field, where she would once have sown crops was still the same, if overgrown. She had hoped Pat and Meg would have tended it better. Her cottage was no longer there. In its place there was a great house. Pat was doing well. She smiled through fleshless, bloodless lips. But her joy was short lived, as her senses sought him out. There was nothing. They were all gone. Her sister, Meg and the others were lost to her. The cry issuing from her at their loss was unearthly.

Cora sat up with a start, her heart racing. Something woke her and she held her breath, listening. Perhaps, one of the girls cried out in their sleep? She threw back the covers and hurried from the room. The gallery glowed bright as day; the full moon captured in the stained-glass became part of the tableau. The handle on the children’s door groaned as she turned it. There was not a sound, so she just opened it enough to peep inside. Both her girls were sleeping soundly. She crept back along the gallery, glancing once at the room where Liam slept. Surely, if there had been a sound, it would have woken him. The bedcovers were warm and inviting, and she was worn out from the hours she spent crying. Soon she was asleep, and the house was allowed to settle once more.

Liam was too deep in a drunken sleep to hear anything. Despite having left the window open, he was spared the sound of slow, slouching footsteps on the gravel outside. Oblivious to the crunching of the hands, as they grasped the dried ivy snaking along the front of the house; or the figure that skimmed like a giant, black spider towards his window. He did not even move as it crawled noiselessly over the sill and crouched at the end of his bed.

Outside the voices on the wind called to her, begging her to stop.

   The man was hidden from her and she waited until he turned, and she could see him clearly. Annie gasped, at the familiar face. She crept nearer; close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He smiled in his sleep and the rage within her burned. She reached out for his throat; her fingers were within inches of his flesh, when…

   “Annie, Annie.”

She drew back and moved towards the window. Below her, bathed in the moonlight, Dora ran backwards and forwards along the drive; Dora with white hair flying and her flowered dress, no longer in tatters, whirling around her.

   “Catch me, Annie,” the child laughed, running around the side of the house, and disappearing.

   “Dora, wait,” Annie called, as she slipped once more over the sill.

The man in the bed groaned, and turned away from the noise.

Annie looked back at the sleeping figure. There was plenty of time. She would be back for him, but her mind was no longer filled with hate. Instead she felt the love glow inside her, so by the time she had climbed down the ivy, she had become as of old. The life was renewed, and the young woman chasing the fleeting image of her sister, had a cloak of dark, brown hair. The once empty sockets were filled with dancing blue eyes. The lips were red and full, and the skin smooth and white.

   “Dora, wait.”

She could still hear her sister’s laughter, but when she reached the wood there was, nothing…

   “Dora,” she called. “Where are you? Answer me.”

   “It was a trick.”

Annie searched among the trees for the source of the voice.

   “Your God has tricked you once more,” The Dark One stepped out from the shadows.

   “No,” Annie backed away from him. “He would not be so cruel.”

   “Come now,” he smiled. “Not even you, after all you have suffered could be so gullible.”

   “No,” Annie tore at her hair. “This cannot be. Why,” she screamed towards the sky. “What have I done to offend you?”

   “He never listens. Does he, Annie?”

   “Leave me be,” she ran among the trees trying to evade him, but he appeared before her time after time.

   “I have never lied to you. I promised you rest with the last in his line and I have kept my word.”

She looked up at him.

   “Yes, the one who dwells within the house,” he waved towards the building. “He is not your dear cousin Hugh, but his ancestor.”

She walked to the edge of the wood and looked back at the house.

   “How long have I slept?”

   Centuries.”

   “I remember nothing, but sadness in all that time.”

   “He abandoned you to your faith and did nothing to ease your suffering and the suffering of your family.”

She started to cry again. Her cries echoed on the still air, and from far away lights appeared through the gloom, as people woke to the terrible sound.

This time Liam O Brien woke. He sat befuddled and shook his aching head. What on earth was that sound? He listened for a moment longer, but the agony of the cries spurred him up and out of the room. He had never been a brave man, and he used the excuse he was worried about his wife, to charge into her room. Cora sat in the centre of the bed with Laura and Shelly on either side of her. All three clung together, shivering.

   “What’s that noise, Dad?” Shelly turned a tear-stained face towards him.

   “It’s probably a vixen,” he shrugged at his wife and walked towards the window.

   “A vixen is a lady fox,” he heard Cora explain.

   “I don’t think it’s a fox,” Laura said.

   “Really, Miss. Know it all. What do you think it is?” Liam could not hide is sarcasm, even from his children.

   “Something else.”

   “Brilliant, if it’s not a fox then it’s something else. That private school is really paying off,” he threw open the wardrobe door and took out his dressing gown. Despite his sniggering remarks, he was shivering.

   “I’m frightened, mummy,” Shelly sobbed. “Make it go away.”

   “Hush darling,” Cora soothed. “It’s probably the wind in the pipes. These old houses are full of creaks and groans, and the pipes are old and full of holes.”

   “We had the pipes replaced,” Liam answered from his place at the window.

Great, Cora thought, thanks a lot.

Laura pushed the covers aside and got up.

   “Where are you going?” Her mother tried to pull her back into the bed.

   “I’m not afraid anymore,” she walked to the window and peered out into the dark.

Her father snorted in disgust and left her there. He sat on the side of the bed and Cora could not fail to notice the pallor of his skin. If the cries were not so frightening, she would have laughed. Laura stood on her toes and looked across the garden. There was something silhouetted in the trees. It looked like a big cat. She threw open the window. The cries seemed to reverberate off the walls of the room.

   “Laura,” her mother struggled from Shelly’s grip and ran towards her.

   “Stop, Mam,” the child pushed her away. “I have to help her.”

   “Who?” Her mother asked. “Don’t be silly. Close the window.”

Cora turned to her husband for help, but he had dived beneath the covers with Shelly.

   “Laura, please.”

But Laura was leaning out on the windowsill.

   “Are you hurt, poor thing?” She called into the darkness. “Come inside. Let me help you.”

Annie heard the offer and moved away from the Dark One towards the house. She used her hair to wipe away her tears, as she followed the child’s voice. Laura watched as the bushes in front of the house parted, but she was still unable to see anyone.

   “It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”

Annie could see her now. The white nightgown glowed from the lighted room and the long dark hair flew in the night breeze. Her heart ached as she thought once more of her sisters.

   “She is his child,” The Dark One was beside her. “His flesh and blood.”

   “She reminds me…” her voice trailed off.

   “Of what you lost. You can have it again once he is dead. I can return you to your own time. A year before we met. Your parents alive and well, Think of it, Annie.”

   “You can do all that?”

   “You know it’s within my power.”

   “But he is not Hugh.”

   “Does it matter? He is of the same blood.”

   “It would be a sin, Annie,” the night breeze whispered. “All would be lost if you surrender to The Darkness.”

For the first time, she heeded the voices.

   “He may not be as vile as his ancestor. I think I will wait.”

The Dark One roared in aggravation. The sound made Liam leap from his hiding place and pull his daughter away from the window. Annie saw the fear in his face, as he slammed the window shut. Though his looks reminded her so much of her hated cousin, she could not in all conscious, destroy him without first knowing if he had inherited Hugh’s evil.

No one in the O Brien household slept that night. So, Sunday was very unpleasant for Cora, as the children were overtired and Liam in a worse humour than usual. A couple of times during the day she caught him staring at her stomach, and her heart leapt with worry. Laura refused to accept any of the explanations for the cries they heard. Liam ranted about buying a gun and seeing the foxes off. But Cora and Laura knew this was not the case. The cries were from something other than an animal. Though Cora tried to coax her into saying what she thought they were, her daughter merely shrugged and pretended ignorance.

   By late afternoon Liam’s patience was exhausted, and he got ready to leave.

   “Will you be home later?” Cora asked, as she watched him throw a change of clothes into a bag.

   “No, as a matter of fact I may not be home for some time.”

   “How long?”

   “As long as it takes to get rid of that,” he jabbed a finger in her stomach.

   “You know I won’t do it. It’s against all I believe.”

   “Then you choose, your God or your family, because I promise you this. If you insist on going ahead with the pregnancy, I’ll take the girls away from you. Admit it, Cora,” he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “You’ve always been nervy. A few words in the right ears and I’ll have you committed.”

   “You bastard,” she slapped his face. “You rotten, evil bastard.”

He grabbed her hair forcing her down on the bed. One hand gripped her throat squeezing hard.

   “All it’ll take is a few days in London. Tell whatever friends you have you are going shopping. It’ll all be over in a couple of hours; understand?”

   “Is that what you make your whores do?”

   “You think you know so much about me,” he spat. “Well, let me tell you this. They were all, are all, better than you could ever be.”

He released his grip, snatched his bag from the bed and stalked out. Cora rubbed at her bruised throat and tried not to cry.

   By nightfall, her nerves were in shreds. The children refused to sleep alone, so making sure they had everything they could possibly need; she let them sleep in her room and barricaded the door with a chair. She cursed Liam for his cowardice because she knew the events of last night frightened him. He wasn’t prepared to confront the unknown but was willing to let his wife and children face whatever danger there was.

   The children were worn out and slept within minutes. Cora stayed awake watching the clock and listening for the slightest sound.

All around her the house settled. Timbers groaned and creaked, the shutters outside the windows, squeaked on their dry, new hinges, even the panelling in the hall crackled. She felt beads of sweat on her lip and her heart pounded painfully, as she strained to catch each sound. There were footsteps on the gallery outside. There was no mistaking the tread on the boards; soft, light footfalls. Cora crept to the door and placed her ear against it. The footsteps came closer and she held her breath as they stopped outside her door.

   “Please,” she whispered. “I’m alone with two children. Please don’t hurt us.”

The only reply was a heart-rending sigh, as the footsteps retreated.

Cora was shivering so badly her teeth chattered and she could not remember if she had slept immediately after returning to the bed or fainted. But it was morning when she woke, and from outside came the thundering of trucks on the drive and the loud, good natured banter of the workmen.

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 nine

 

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

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

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

Annie looked up at him.

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

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

There were mutterings from the crowd.  

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

There were shouts, voices raised high in anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “And do we wrong you?”

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

   “Then you admit you have power?”  

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

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

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

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

Jane’s eyes darted from Annie to her accuser.

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

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

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

   “No, Sir. I do not think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane looked up at him, shaking her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Are you very badly hurt, my love?”

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

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

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

   “Stefan, are you, all right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stood there winded, as he locked the cell.

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

   “Sit down,” he pointed towards a chair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Would you like a drink of water?”

   “Oh, yes thank you, Hugh.”

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

   “Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “See your mother safely home.”

   “But, I…”

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

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

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

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

   “He is not listening.”

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

   “I told you he is not listening.”

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

   “Sit still.”

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

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

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

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

   “I take no pleasure in such pettiness.”

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

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

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

   “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

   “I still do not understand.”

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

   “How can I give you my power?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Be at peace, child.”

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

The Wraith-Epilogue

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter thirty-seven

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

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

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

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

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

   “Are you in pain?” Her mother asked.

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

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

Instantly a nurse appeared, carrying a steel bowl.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “How are you feeling?”

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

   “Sore,” she managed to croak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What did you tell Toby?”

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

   “And he believed you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Liar,” she smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Can you ever forgive me?”

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

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

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

   “I know what you mean,” Jill agreed.  

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

   “How is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “No doubt he will,” she laughed.

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

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

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

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

The Wraith-chapter thirty six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I’ve been waiting for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jill closed her eyes and waited for the pain.

   “Stop that now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Mam, where’s Toby?”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Well, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

Before the Wraith could answer, Jill said.

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

   “And what is that?”

   “My death,” Jill said.

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

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

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

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

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

   “Mam, stop that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Where have you been?” the Wraith asked.

They heard the Wraith ask.

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

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

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