Death Cry-Epilogue

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

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

Death Cry chapter twenty eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Kill him. Do it now.”

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

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

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

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

   “No,” the voice from the doorway cried.

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

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

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

   “Help me,” he sobbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What are you?” Cora asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You cannot escape me,” she snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Please,” he sobbed. “Let me go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Don’t,” he begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “You have to help Annie,” she whispered.

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

   “What happened?”

   “My stupid sister did it.”

   “Why?”

   “Cause I called her names.”

   “Hugh beat me with a stick.”

   Who’s he?”

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

   “What did he beat you for?”

   “I would not tell a lie about Annie.”

   “Did it hurt a lot?”

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

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

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

   “I fell asleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora did not have time to reply.

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

Annie stopped and looked at the old woman.

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

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

   “You are Rose’s child?”

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

   “Then she lived?”

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

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

   “Then I was not alone?”

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

   Who’s The Dark One?” Laura asked.

A shadow slipped from between the trees.

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

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

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

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

The smack she gave him resounded in the stillness.

   “I hate you.”

   “The feeling is mutual I assure you.”

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

   “You cannot stop me,” he sneered.

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

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

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

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

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

   “Where did he go?” Laura asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry chapter twenty-seven

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

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

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

   “Let me help you.”

Annie looked up, then shied back from his touch.

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

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

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

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

   “An offer of eternal damnation?”

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

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

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

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

   “A boy child,” The Dark One laughed.

Annie looked at him, disgusted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “It is him, Annie, Hugh.”

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

   “He hurt me.”

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

   “He cannot, really, why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Dora, come back here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dora nodded and picked up the nearest doll.

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

Dora nodded again and Annie wagged her finger at her.

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

Dora’s fingers on her lips stopped her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry chapter twenty-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-three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora nodded and turned to go back to her ironing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Oh, God,” Cora asked. “What is it?”

   “I am sorry.”

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

   “Who are you? What are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

   “What the fuck happened to that?”

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

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

   “Are you alright, Missus?”

   “I’m not well,” she managed to say.

   “Let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

   “I’m pregnant.”

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

   “No, really. I’m all right.”

He put the glass on the bedside table.

   “Would you like me to ring your husband?”

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

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

   “You saw the cottage?”

   “Yes.”

   “What do you make of it?”

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

   “No, but I heard stories.”

   “What kind of stories?”

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

   “You mean, in the pub?”

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

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

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

   “Please, I have to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Then she’s still alive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “When you’re finished preening.”

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

   “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

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

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

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

   “Of course.”

Once he was gone, Marie turned to Rachael.

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

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

   “Then go now, while he’s away.”

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

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

   “But what if I should run into him?”

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

   “Thanks, you’re a doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Yes, dear.”

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

There was silence at the other end of the line.

   “Marie, are you still there?”

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

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

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

   “Do you know what happened to her?”

   “She was put in a home.”

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

   “No, dear, just old.”

   “So, who put her there, a relative?”

   “No, not a relative.”

   “Then who?”

   “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Oh, no,” Marie gasped.

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

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

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

   “Yes, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Yeah, okay.”

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

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

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

   “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

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

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

   “Go on,” she waved at Marie.

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

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

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

   “That was close,” Rachael whispered.

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

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

   “No,” Cora said.

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

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

   “I’m afraid so, my dear.”

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

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 nineteen

Present day

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

   “Are we there yet, Dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Cool,” Shelly ran towards the front door.

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

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

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

   And scary,” Laura added.

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

Shelly was hopping about at the front door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Are you going to come in?” Liam asked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “The way dad hurts you?”

   “Hush now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “So, you managed to come in?”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Christ, it serves me right for asking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Why not.”

They climbed the stairs hand in hand.

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

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

   “Then who?”

Laura shrugged.

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

   “Bad people.”

   “But how do you know this?”

   “The house whispered it to me.”

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

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

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

   “She told me.”

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

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

   “But Dad, Laura. What about Dad?”

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

   “Cora, come down here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora was slipping her seatbelt into place when he struck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry- chapter eighteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.

   “I worked all day putting the fire out.”

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

   “He disappeared before she died.”

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

   “They fled in terror.”

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

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

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

   “She will need a Christian burial.”

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

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

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

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

   “I will make you some tea.”

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

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

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

   “You are not to blame.”

Her words startled him.

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

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

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

   “I do not understand. What happened?”

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

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

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

Pat wiped the tears from his face.

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

   “Dora?”

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

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

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

   “There was a child, a little girl…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Where will you go?”

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

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

Death Cry-chapter seventeen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie shook her head.

   “Take her up.”

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

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

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

Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Never,” Annie managed to croak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Oh, Jesus, Miss.”

Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.

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

. The fire burned fiercely.

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

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

   “Look, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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