Death Cry-chapter seventeen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie shook her head.

   “Take her up.”

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

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

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

Mary shrugged and Hugh smiled and winked at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Never,” Annie managed to croak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Oh, Jesus, Miss.”

Annie saw a shadowy figure running below her.

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

. The fire burned fiercely.

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

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

   “Look, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry-chapter sixteen

The Dark One was enraged when he saw the carefully laid out body. He stormed to Annie’s cell and threw open the door.

   “You,” he glared down at her. “How did you leave this cell?”

   “Perhaps, it is you who underestimates my power, Lucifer.”

   “Do not dare use that name,” he reached down, grabbed the front of her dress, and hauled her to her feet.

   “Or what,” she reefed her nails along his hand, and her stomach lurched at the dark pus issuing from the cuts. “What will you do, Lucifer, kill me?”

   “I will make you suffer the worst pain imaginable, and when I am finished you will join your family in Hell.”

   “Never,” she laughed in his face. “I will never believe you. No matter what you show me. No matter what you do, I will be true to Him.”

   “Even now,” he shook his head in wonder. “When he deserts you and leaves you to suffer alone.”

   “Until the end of time, if need be.”

   “Very well,” he signalled to the guards to bring Annie.

She followed them without resistance, faltering only outside that door. The table was bare. Dora’s body was gone. Relief flooded through her, for she felt her resolve would have weakened if she once more looked upon the lifeless body of her sister.

   “Tie her down,” Hugh ordered, and she spun round to face him.

   “You,” she spat, and he backed away, ashen faced.

She pointed towards the blazing fire imagining orbs of light rising from it. These she sent spinning towards him. He screamed and ducked down, but some made contact singeing his hair and clothes. Flames ran along the arm of his tunic, the same arm he had used in welding the stick. His roars of pain made the guards come running with water. Annie watched this tableau without feeling. She wanted Hugh to die. To feel the pain her sister had felt, but before she could act any further The Dark One seized her hair and pushed her down onto the table. Her face was pressed against the wood and her sister’s blood coated her face.

   “Bring something to bind her eyes.”

A cloth, smelling of sweat was tied around her eyes, and she was lifted onto the table. No matter how she kicked and struggled, they kept her down. Now her vision was blocked, she was unable to fight, but had to lie there and listen.

   They tied her hands to both corners of the table; her feet were pulled wide and tied in the same way. She lay there spread-eagled awaiting her faith. There were whispers from close by, and she turned her head towards the sound. Sweat coated her forehead not only from fear, but also from the arid heat. A smell of sulphur wafted across her face, and she knew The Dark One was standing over her.

   “We must look for the witch mark.”

There were sniggers from the guards and Annie strained against her bonds.

   “It will go much easier if you stop struggling.”

She turned her head from his putrid breath and kicked out as hard as she could. The slap she received split her lip, and she tasted salty, coppery blood.

   “Very well, proceed.”

There was a sound of metal scraping against metal. Annie clenched her fists and tried to control the tremors shaking her body. Something cold touched her cheek and she gasped.

   “Stay very still, cousin. I would not want to cut that pretty skin any more than I have to.”

Annie cried out as the knife cut the clothes from her body. She felt the bodice of her dress rip open and heard the gasps of the men as her breasts were exposed.

   “Oh, God no,” she sobbed.

 She had never been seen naked by anyone, not even her mother, since she was young. Now here she was lying almost naked on a table, surrounded by strange men. Her tears soaked the blindfold, as she felt hands move over her in mock examination. Her hands were untied, and she was pulled into a sitting position as her neck and back was checked.

   “Nothing,” Hugh’s voice was hoarse, as his hands continued to move over her body.

Annie knew her skin was flawless. There was not a freckle or mole to be seen. Hugh’s hands still roamed over her, kneading, and pinching her breasts, until she cried out in pain.

   “Remove her petticoat,” The Dark One ordered.

   “No, please,” she tried to pull her legs together, as she felt the tip of the blade against her skin.

The guards drew closer. She smelt their sweat and heard their laboured breathing. They seemed impervious to her cries for mercy. Hands moved down her stomach, between her thighs. She screamed and thrashed, trying to get away as the fingers probed deeper.

   “Enough,” The Dark One ordered, but still the hands remained. “I said enough.”

The fingers were pulled away, leaving scratches on her flesh.

   “Move, go on,” she heard him order the men.

   “Have you had enough?”

Annie was unable to answer. She was sobbing so much that words were beyond her.

   “Answer me, Annie. Have you had enough?”

   “Yes,” she managed to splutter.

   Are you ready to concede?”

He waited for her crying to subside. After all, he had won. Someone of Annie’s sensibilities could not endure any more of this. Annie’s sobs quietened. She allowed her body to relax and her breathing to deepen. She heard the hissing of the fire and the muted mumbling of the men. Were these some of the last sounds Dora heard?

   “Now,” he asked. “Are you ready?”

   “No.”

   “Think clearly.”

Annie turned her head towards him. “Never,” she roared.

   “Very well. Shave her. We will find the mark.”

The blade slapped against leather, as Hugh sharpened it. Annie gritted her teeth, as she felt its sting beneath each arm. He moved uncaring of her tender flesh, and she tried not to cry out when the blade nicked and cut. She did not even move when she felt it between her legs and heard the dry scraping as it tore hair from the roots. There were small tracks of blood running under her arms. She felt the trickles as they moved. There was also stickiness between her legs, and she knew it wasn’t sweat.

   “Still, nothing,” Hugh whispered in astonishment.

   “Her hair then.”

   “What?”

   “Shave her head,” he ordered.  “Start with these,” he handed him a shears.

Hugh shrugged and began to hack at Annie’s hair. The auburn locks cascading around the table fell to the floor as he worked. Still she didn’t move, even when the shears snipped so close to her head, she heard the snapping of its jaws.

   “Look, there,” Hugh was pointing to a small mark behind her ear. A tiny brown birthmark even Annie did not know about.

   “Well done, Hugh. You have pleased me and I will see you are rewarded.”

   “Thank you, Oliver,” he simpered, handing him the shears.

   “You may leave,” The Dark One ordered the men. “You also,” he told Hugh. “Your work is done.”

Annie listened, as the men filed from the room. The flesh beneath her arms and between her legs burned and her scalp tingled, unused to the feel of the air. She felt the restraints being loosened.

   “You may rise.”

She sat and removed the blindfold, blinking in the dim light. Black spots danced before her eyes, as she felt around her for her torn clothing.

   “Such modesty,” The Dark One laughed, as she tried to pull the tatters of her dress from beneath her.

She gathered the cloth around her breasts and huddled into an upright foetal position.

   “Get up,” he pulled her from the table, tearing the scraps of clothing from her grasp.

   “No,” she screamed, and tried to wrestle them from him, but he pushed her aside and dumped the fabric into the fire.

There was nothing else within the room she could use to hide her shame.

He ignored her and walked towards a wall. With a wave, a mirror appeared, and he beckoned her forward.

   “No,” Annie whispered, trying to cover herself with her hands.

 He grabbed her, pushing her towards it.

   “Look what your God has allowed to happen.”

She averted her gaze.

   “Look, I said,” sharp talons seized her chin and twisted her face around. “Tell me again how much you love him.”

Annie gasped at her shorn head. All that remained of her beautiful hair was a few small tufts of bristles. He let go of her chin and caught her arms pulling them behind her back.

   “Look well,” he whispered. “See what you have become.”

Annie’s cheeks blazed in shame as she looked upon her body. Dark bruises stained the flesh on her breasts and blood glowed against the whiteness of her thighs.

   “Well, what do you say now?” He clicked his fingers and the mirror vanished. “I would never allow this to happen to you. I would protect you.”

   “No.”

   “Then you will die.”

   “Yes,” Annie whispered. “I will die.”

With a roar he flung her from him. He would have torn her to pieces, had it not been for the door opening. Hugh had returned.

   “I told you to stay away.”

   “I thought I could be of help, Oliver, and mother asked if you would be home for dinner.”

Annie started to laugh, home for dinner. In the awfulness of her situation Hugh’s words seemed ludicrous.

   “Will you go home for dinner?” she asked. “I mean,” she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Hell is such a long way to go.”

   “She is insane,” Hugh muttered.

At this Annie laughed even louder. Maybe she was insane. Maybe what she felt, what she had witnessed were all the wanderings of madness.

   “She confessed,” The Dark One tried to be heard above her laughter. “And refuses to repent. She will die at first light.”

Hugh nodded and looked at Annie. She made no attempt so far to harm him, and he held up his arm for protection when she pointed at him.

   “Will you give me you cloak?”

He was amazed at this request. This was his finest cloak, hardly worn. He did not want her blood on it. He was saved from answering.

   “Sit her down,” The Dark One ordered.

Hugh motioned her to sit, but she refused to move. One arm was held tight across her chest, the other between her legs.

   “Will you sit,” he glared at her, pointing towards a chair. The body he had violated no longer aroused his lust, and he didn’t want to have to touch her.

   “Will you give me your cloak?” She asked again.

   “Enough of this,” The Dark One roared. “I said sit.”

Annie found herself flying. She threw her arms wide in the hope of finding something to stop her flight. There was nothing and in the seconds, it took for her to reach her destination, she managed to look behind her. The sharp points of the nails glistened in the light throw by the fire, as Annie hurtled towards the chair.

The impact of her back against wood made it impossible for her to save herself, and she slammed with great force down onto the nails. Her howls of agony echoed within the mill. The guards outside the door crossed themselves, as the screams continued unabated. The eight-inch nails drove upwards, tearing through flesh and muscle. Spearing her rectum, puncturing her colon and bladder, and splitting the hymen. Despite the force in which she fell upon them, the points seemed to sink slowly into her body. The more she struggled, the deeper they sank. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried to lift herself off. The air was filled with the smell of blood and faeces. She managed to rise one side of her body off the spikes, but the other side dug deeper. Her screams resounded off the walls. Blood and body fluids ran across the seat of the chair and down the legs. Hugh stood frozen watching her struggle. She called out to him begging him for help, but he never moved.

   “God, help me,” she cried to the heavens. “Let me die.”

The Dark One pulled her from the chair. With a sucking noise her body came free of the nails, and he threw her on to the floor. From her buttocks to the backs of her knees were covered with puncture wounds. Blood ran from each perforation and snaked around her body. She was shaking from shock as she cried again.

   “Let me die. Oh, dear God, let me die.”

   “Not yet,” The Dark One laughed. “What you have suffered is nothing compared to the death I will give you come morning.”

Annie felt a rush of cool air as the door was opened. Strong arms lifted her, and the guards carried her back to her cell. Her nakedness no longer shamed her, for the pain was overpowering. She was sobbing when they threw her down in the straw. Let me die, she prayed. Let me bleed to death. The blood coursing down her body felt warm. She reached out a trembling hand and tried to cover herself with the straw. The pain raging within her, made her catch her breath, and she surrendered to the darkness that threatened, and sank into its folds.

It was night when she awoke. For the first time torches were lit along the corridor. A blanket covered her nakedness and she clutched at the soft wool in wonder. The cell door creaked open, but she did not try to turn. The pain was too great.

   “Here, Miss. Try to drink.”

She looked up to see the young prison guard. He was holding a ladle of water to her mouth.

   “I cannot.”

He cupped a hand at the side of her face and allowed the water to drip over her lips and pool into his palm.

   “I am so sorry, Miss,” he whispered.

   “It is not your fault.”

   “Aye, that as may be, but I have done nothing to help,” he sat beside her and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She groaned as it stuck to the blood on her back.

   “Sorry,” he gulped.

   “No, you are truly kind. Did you light the torches?”

   “Yes, I am on duty for the night.”

There was silence for a moment. Annie seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. The next sound she heard was his crying. She reached out a hand and patted his leg.

   “Hush now; my suffering will soon be over.”

   “But it is not fair. You are only a girl and look what they have done to your beautiful hair.”

Annie forgot about her hair. She reached up and felt the coarse stubble. Her tears stung, as her face was sore from crying.

The next thing she felt was a soft hand brushing her head. She looked up to find her mother smiling down at her, her mother as she had been in life, and not the ghoulish figure of her nightmares.

   “Annie, darling,” she kissed her face. “Do not be afraid. This will pass and we will be together again.”

   “Mamma, where is Dora?”

   “She is safe and at peace, child. You need have no worries.”

   “I am going to die.”

   “Yes, child, I know.”

   “I am afraid. Oh, Mamma, I am so afraid.”

   “I would take all this from you if I could,” her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “But I have not the power.”

   “Rose and Meg and the others are they dead?”

   “No, they will live and prosper.”

   “Thank God.”

   “I must go now, child. I was allowed only moments upon the earth, and I must leave. Already the cock crows and soon it will be light.”

   “Mamma do not leave me please,” Annie held tightly to her mother’s hand.

When she woke again sunlight blazed through the slatted windows. Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she knew they were coming for her.

Death Cry-chapter fourteen

A gale blew up during the night and sent leaves and dust swirling around Annie’s cell. She sat against the wall and listened to the voices carried on the wind. Her senses heightened; she heard the death cries of animals trapped within the forest. The beating of bats wings sounded like thunder. But the sound she reached out for most was beyond her. She could not find Dora. The darkness within the mill was absolute, broken only by the moon, as it sailed between wind-tossed clouds. There was scurrying in the straw, and she flicked her hand towards the movement. Coarse hair brushed against her skin, and she drew back in terror. Moonlight moved across the floor and she saw it was a rat. It was huge, almost the size of a full-grown cat, with black bristles standing upright on its back, teeth drawn back in a manic leer. It hissed and made ready for attack. It knew she was trapped.

   She never took her eyes off its face as she stood up. If it should catch her throat, she knew she would never be able to remove it. She edged towards the corner of the cell, one hand in front of her face. It jumped, and she felt razor-shape teeth tear a chunk from her wrist. Screaming, she shook it off, and it thudded against the wall. It lay still and she inspected the bite. Blood gushed from the hole, and she tried to spit into the wound in the hope of clearing away any poisons left there, but it was useless. Her throat was too dry from terror. So, instead she held her hand down and allowed the blood to flow ever faster around the torn tissue. It ran between her fingers to drip into a small pool on the straw. So intent was she on tending to the wound, she had forgotten about the rat. It was now ready to resume the attack. Its tongue darted across its lips, tasting her blood. The moon moved behind a cloud and the cell was thrust into darkness. Annie felt sick from fear as she tried to trace the rats’ movement. But it was well used to hunting and moved noiselessly among the straw. The only sign of its presence was the light thrown by the redness of its eyes. At times it blinked and was lost from sight. Annie froze, waiting for it to pounce. The wound in her wrist burned, and waves of pain shot down her fingers.

   Dora, her sister flashed into her mind. If something as large as this should attack so small a child! The rat inched towards her and snatched at her ankle. Once again, she felt the teeth tear flesh from her bones, and she screamed and kicked out at the dark shape. Her fear was being replaced by anger. She would not allow the creature to hurt her again. Moonlight flooded the cell and she saw to her horror; the rat was gnawing on a piece of her flesh.

   “Devil,” she spat, at the hunched shape. “Fiend from hell.”

The rat, intent on its feasting, looked up at her and drew back its lips. For a moment it looked as though it was laughing at her.

   “Die,” Annie whispered, imagining she was inside its body, tearing and ripping at its tissues.

The rat hissed and drew back. Annie’s hands moved faster, clawing at the air. The rat spun and withered on the floor. Blood dripped from between its clenched teeth and ran from its nose. It squealed just once as Annie envisioned her fingers wrapping around its heart and squeezing. She held on tight until all movement ceased, and the body stiffened in death. This threat was over for now.

She spent the rest of the night huddled in a corner of the cell and as far away from the body as possible. This was the first time she had knowingly destroyed life, and the thought of what she did sickened her.

   The night air chilled her to the marrow, and her breath rose in white clouds. Winter’s sting was upon the land, and there was nothing to stop it invading the cell. But this cold seemed like no other. She pulled some of the straw around her legs and over her lap, hoping to find some warmth, but there was none. From somewhere along the inky-black corridor she heard low, menacing laughter. Threatening shadows, making no sound, darted along the walls. Nameless things reached out sharp talons snarling hideously and she screamed, covering her face. All through the night this torture continued. The bitter-cold air hung with the stench of death, as vile creatures whispered in her ear, to heed The Master, to do his bidding and all would be well.

   “No,” Annie moaned, at each whispered promise. “I cannot.”

As the voice faded away with an agonising cry, another replaced it. All of those within his power sought to please him and appease their own suffering. Annie prayed, begging God to help her. She plugged her ears with her fingers, but the voices still penetrated. Her stomach lurched from the smell, and she crawled onto her hands and knees, muscles contracting painfully as she retched into the straw.

   “Have you suffered enough?”

Annie wiped the bile from her mouth with her long hair and looked towards the voice. The Dark One stood at the gate of the cell, but she was unable to see him for he blended so well with the night.

   “Leave me in peace,” she croaked, her throat burning.

   “I will give you peace, Annie. Just say the word.”

   “No, never.”

   “Very well,” she heard him move away. “But by morning you will bend to my will, if you remain sane enough to do so.”

The blood pounded in her ears, as she waited for what was to come next. Screams reverberated from within the mill. She ran to the bars of her prison and tried to locate the sound. There was movement along the corridor, a slow shuffling of feet dragging on the stone floor.  She sniffed the air and her flesh crawled. It smelled of the tomb, of rotting, decomposing corpses. Icy fingers scored down her neck, as the lumbering figures came into view. The rotten remains of her mother and father walked towards her. She was unable to move; her hands had grown numb from gripping the bars, and she was frozen in place.

   “Ma, Da, no,” she sobbed, as they advanced.

The shrouds she had so carefully sewn for them, draped from skeleton shoulders. What remained of their flesh was blackened and hung in strips from yellowing bones. Most of her mother’s hair was stripped from her scalp. The few remaining hairs hung in snakelike tendrils around her wizened face. Their shrivelled lips showed white teeth against the blackness of gums, and the sounds they made were of a tortured wailing. Clawed, leprous hands reached out to her, and she screamed in agony. Still she could not move. Not even when her mother pressed her face towards Annie’s, and she was forced to look into the black, worm infested cavernous sockets that once housed her eyes.

   “Ma, no” Annie sobbed as the fear overwhelmed her. She never felt her muscles relax or the warmth of the urine running from between her legs. Mercifully, a curtain of darkness covered her vision and her mind, as she sank to the floor.

Watery sunlight flooded the cell, as Annie struggled into consciousness. Her sleep was undisturbed and despite the horrors of the night, her mind remained untouched. All that happened seemed just a bad dream. The body of the rat lay on its back, frozen claws reaching upwards. She shied back for a moment, and then anger replaced her fear, as the pain of her wounds stung.

   “Get out,” she nudged the corpse with the toe of her shoe.

It rolled over on its side, and she shuddered at the dried blood on its face.

   “Go on, get out,” she kicked it closer to the bars.

Footsteps thundered on the floor above, and she retreated to the back of the cell. The Dark One passed by without a backward glance.

   “Bring her along.”

The cell door was thrown open and Annie recognised the man. He had been part of the group who had taken Stefan.

   “I want no trouble from you,” he warned. “Come out.”

She smiled, as she walked towards him. He drew back uncertain, but mesmerised. He never saw the huge rat, and she moved so quickly, he was unable to stop her. She kicked at the body and he was hit full force in the face with it. The rats’ claws snagged on his tunic, and he screamed backing away, until he landed in a heap against the wall. He stared down at the blood-soaked body; its face drawn back in a grimace of death. His screams brought the others running, as he struggled to tear the rat away. The body thudded against the bars of the cell and he pointed a quivering towards it.

   “She made that thing attack me,” he told the men. “It flew at me.”

They mumbled in astonishment not only at such evil, but also at the sheer size of the rat. Annie was dragged from the cell and propelled towards that accursed room. The Dark One was waiting.

   “The night was a long one for you?”

She shrugged and sat in the chair he pointed at.

   “Then you still refuse to obey me, after all you have seen?”

   “My answer remains the same. I am a servant of God.”

   “You will leave your parents in Hell rather then protect them?”

   “My parents are not in Hell,” she shook from fear. “They were good while they lived. You  have no power over them.”

   “Oh, but I have, Annie. Every creature that walks on this earth has their failing. It is bred in flesh and bone. They are mine now, and they will suffer eternal torture until the end of time. Have you so little love for them you allow this to happen?”

   “You lie. I know you lie.”

   “Then, what did you see last night?” he hissed. “Does your God tell you that you dreamed it all? It could not have happened, and your parents are with him?”

She refused to answer.

   “Very well,” he reached into his pocket, withdrew a scrap of material, and dropped it onto her lap.

She screamed and brushed it away. It was the same material she used for the shrouds.

   “Tricks,” she screamed. “Vile tricks used to frighten the ignorant.”

   “Tricks,” he snarled. “You accuse me of trickery. I who command legions?”

He clapped his hands and the door was thrown open. Dora was led into the room, but she was no longer in chains. The dress she wore was new, and she appeared well cared for.

   “Annie,” she ran to her sister and climbed on her lap. “Look at my new dress.”

   “It is very pretty,” Annie tried to smile. “Who gave it to you?”

   “Jane made it for me, and she is going to make one for you too.”

   “Where did you stay last night?”

   “I stayed with Jane,” she reached up and stroked Annie’s face. “Are you coming home soon?”

   “I do not know, my sweet,” Annie’s eyes filled with tears and Dora’s face grew serious.

   “I thought everything was going to be all right, but it is not. Is it Annie?”

Annie could only shake her head.

   “It is all right, Annie. I know.”

   “What do you know, Dora?”

   “That bad things have to happen.”

   “Who told you this?”

   “No one,” Dora whispered, clutching her stomach “I feel it, inside. You know?”

   “Yes, dearest,” Annie felt tears trickle down her cheeks. “Yes, I know.”

The sisters clung together for a moment, Annie breathing in the smell of Dora’s hair.

   “Well, this is all very touching,” The Dark One pulled Dora from Annie. “But it is time for your sister to be questioned by the elders.”

Strong arms lifted Annie from her chair and marched her towards the door.

   “No,” she screamed. “She is just a child. Let her be.”

She twisted around trying to see her sister.

   “Dora,” she called to her. “Tell them whatever they want to hear.”

   “I am not afraid, Annie,” Dora’s voice reached her before the door slammed. “And you must not be either.”

Annie was dragged back to her cell. She screamed, she bit and kicked at her jailors, but it was of little use. They dumped her unceremoniously into the straw, and she lay there sobbing.

   The hours dripped by, as she listened to every sound within the mill. Doors groaned open, timbers creaked, as they stretched and settled. Voices echoed along the corridor, and she strained to hear what they were saying. The only person she saw throughout the day was the jailor, who brought her food. This consisted of a stew of lentils and potato that made her stomach turn. She pushed it aside, and drank the tankard of water accompanying the meal. Despite her pleading with him for news of her sister he remained silent, and she was left to suffer.

Later that night she had a visitor, Mary O Brien. Annie stumbled to her feet when the woman appeared and rushed towards the bars.

   “You have news of my family?”

Mary looked around her before answering.

   “They are all dead. All except Dora and she has been accused of being in league with you.”

   “No, this cannot be true. You are lying, you must be.”

   “Well, if that is all the thanks, I get for putting myself out, I am sorry I bothered,” Mary sniffed and made a great show of pretending to leave.

   “No wait,” Annie begged. “I do not mean to be so rude. Please tell me what you have heard.”

   “Very well. But I warm you any more rudeness and I will leave.”

   “Yes, of course, but you must understand how upset I am at the news.”

   “Well, you only have yourself to blame. Goodness knows I have tried to help, and dearest Oliver has been doing what he can to assist you.”

   “Yes, please,” Annie ignored the woman’s nonsense. “Tell me of my family.”

   “Well, it seems they were trying to escape through the woods when the elders hunted them down. Dora was the only one who survived, and she is here with Jane Lynch awaiting sentence.”

   “Sentence, but she is just a child!”

   “Nevertheless, she has been found guilty and her punishment begins in the morning. Annie dear,” Mary’s tone softened. “Will you not repent and be done with this for all our sakes.”

   “Yes,” Annie needed time to think. “Send him to me and I will repent.”

   “Good girl. It makes sense to do so, but Annie. You will keep to your side of the bargain. Give me the lease to the cottage and land.”

   “Yes, of course I will, as soon as I am free.”

   “Oh, very well.”

The Dark One appeared within minutes of the woman leaving.

   “I am told you want to repent?”

   “Tell me the truth, are my family dead?”

   “All, but the child, Dora and she is not long for this world.”

   “I do not believe you. I would have felt their passing.”

   “Even now you doubt my power,” he raised an eyebrow. “After all you have seen.”

   “What will become of Dora?”

   “She will be beaten like all witches’ children until she confesses you are a witch.”

Tears stung Annie’s eyes as she thought of her sister’s frail body.

   “She will not survive the beating. She is too weak.”

   “That is up to you. You know what you must do to save her. Sleep well,” he laughed before disappearing.

Death Cry-chapter eleven

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

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

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

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

Stefan refused to answer.

   “Speak or I will make sure you suffer,”

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

   “You wish to remain silent?”

Still he refused to speak.

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

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

   “Open his mouth.”

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

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

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

   “Release his head.”

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

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

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

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

   “What is it?” Annie asked.

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

   “Perhaps it is the skin knitting together.”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Nothing. I felt nothing.”

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

   “Leave me be.”

Roma’s arms went around her waist.

   “Please, tell me.”

   “I felt his soul cry out in pain.”

   “Then what?” she managed to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Watch and learn,” The Dark One whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Very well.”

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

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

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

   “And you,” Annie whispered.

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

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

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

   “You are next.” The Dark One hissed.

She started to pray, an act of contrition.

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

She had expected to be hanged.

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

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

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

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

Death Cry- chapter eight

Annie pushed her way through the crowds making for the mill. She had not realised so many people would turn up for the trial. There were street hawkers all along the road selling sweet biscuits and fruit. Others had effigies of sharp-nosed witches, riding on brooms, or swinging from a rope. The whole event had a feeling of carnival about it. She was one of the first to arrive at the mill.

    The building fell into disuse years before, long before Annie could remember, but it was still used as a meeting place and at rare times, as a jail. The worse crime she could recall was an argument over cattle or land, and no one was held for long. The culprit usually gave in after a few hours in the draughty, barred, basement cell and was sent on their way with a heavy fine. Now, as she picked up her skirts to begin the climb up towards the door, she felt as though she was stepping up to the gallows. There were fourteen steps in all; she counted them as she moved. The stairway was wide and there were people on either side of her; the wood resounded to each footfall, the thuds echoing and vibrating. She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared in amazement. Mary O Brien and Hugh stood on either side of the door as though greeting guests to their home.

   “Why, Annie,” Mary smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

   “Why not, everyone else seems to be here?”

   “Yes, of course, dear,” Mary agreed. “And where are your sisters?”

   “They are safe and well, thank you,” she started to move past, but Mary grabbed her arm.

   “It was a big mistake you made in refusing my Hugh.”

Annie glared at her and looked across at Hugh.

   “I don’t think so.”

   The inside of the mill was set up with all different sized benches. At the top of the room, there was a high desk, a chair, and a large, sturdy table. She wondered who the judge might be. Luke Richards oversaw such things in the past. He was also the local wise man and the leader among the elders. Sadly, he had succumbed to the sickness and would be a great loss to the village. She had not noticed the gallows on her way there and looked up at the dirty, dusty windows lining the room. It was only by listening to the general hubbub around her she learned it was built round the back of the mill. The room was filling, becoming stuffy despite the cold morning air. Many were unable to get seats and stood around the walls or sat on the stairs leading to the upper rooms. Annie prayed for Stefan and Roma, trying to block out the heightening buzz of conversation and the crying and fussing of children. Suddenly, it stopped, and she felt her heart tighten with dread. A loud rumbling was moving towards the hall. Whatever it was clattered and rolled over the cobbles. Everyone held their breaths. It reached the steps outside and the noise stopped as suddenly as it had started. There came a rattling of chains and the muffled curses and shouts of the men, as they hauled, whatever it was, up the steps. The doors were flung open and the thundering began again, louder this time on the wood floor. Annie glanced to her right as it passed her. It was a giant wheel of sorts. Like two cartwheels, one on either side and joined together by stout rungs. It was rolled to the front of the room and chained to the wall. She saw the hooks that were made to house this contraption. The whispering and chatter started up again until Annie wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the sound.

   “Silence.”

She strained in her seat to watch the procession coming from the main door. The Squire led the way and she felt sick when she realised, he was going to be acting as judge. A dark man followed close behind him, she was unable to see his face, then Mary and Hugh O Brien. The Squire took his place on the judge’s bench, the dark man, Mary, and Hugh sat in specially designated chairs to his left.

   “Bring in the prisoners,” the disembodied voice again.

There was a wave of movement as everyone in the room leaned forward, wanting to be the first to see the witches. Annie gasped; when she saw them, but the sound mingled with so many others it went unnoticed. Stefan and Roma were dragged in chains to stand before the judge. Stefan’s head was bowed, and he reminded Annie of some great, gentle bear being held in captivity. Only Roma held her head high, scanning the crowds. She caught Annie’s eye and shook her head. Their clothes hung in tatters around them, and she saw the marks of the whip and the blood-streaked patches on their skin. Annie’s throat ached with unshed tears.

   The list of charges was being read out; it was as she had expected. Roma was charged with being a witch. Of cavorting with the Devil and siring his children, of selling charms and potions to aid in his work. Stefan was charged with much the same things as his wife.

   “Will you say now before this court and these good people that your wife is a witch? That she aids the Devil’s work and has sired his children?” The Squire roared at Stefan.

   “My wife’s no witch,” Stefan’s voice was a low growl.

   “So be it,” the Squire turned to Roma. “Will you admit before this court and before God that you are a witch?”

   “I am not a witch,” she spat. “If I were, I would turn you into a man.”

There was laughter and sniggers from the crowd, but these were soon silenced with a glare from the Squire.

   “Proceed,” he turned to the dark man, and for the first time Annie got a good look at him.

He was very handsome and somehow familiar. This must be the famous Mr. Tanas Jane spoke of. He bent down and fumbled in a bag beside him, withdrew a knife or large needle and held it up for everyone to see. The sunlight streaming through the windows lighted on the tip and showed it cruel, sharp point in all its glory. There were more gasps and ooh’s from the crowd, as he walked across the room with the weapon held high.

   “This will help us to prove,” he told the crowd. “If these people are really in league with the Devil; a witch will have a mark that’ll does not bleed when it is pricked.”

   Nodding to the group of men who held Roma, he waited as they picked her up and placed her on her back on the table. She screamed and struggled against her capturers, but they held her fast. Stefan roared and pulled free, the chains on his arms hitting the men who held him and knocking them to the floor. But, before he could reach the table, the men gathered about the walls set on him, trying to drag him to the ground. They beat at his legs with clubs and though he fought bravely, he was no match for the weapons. Even when he fell to the floor, they continued to beat him. Annie held a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She watched the faces of the men as they went about their merciless work. Men she had known all her life. Men who had once been kind were somehow been transformed into snarling beasts

   “Enough”.

The men stopped and looked up at the voice. Sweat dripped down their faces from the effort and spittle ran from the corners of their mouths. They turned to go back to their place by the wall. Their eyes wild, they were more beasts than men.

   “I take it I am safe to continue?” The dark man looked at the fallen Stefan.

   “He will give you no more trouble.” Hugh laughed.

   “Very well. As I was saying…” he stopped, annoyed by Roma’s sobs and unsure he could be heard above the noise, he slapped her face. The sound seemed to resound within the room, and for a moment there was silence.

   “Now, I will start again, and I take it I will have no more interruptions?”

Roma was crying quietly.

   “Very well. I shall now look for the witches mark,” he took the hem of Roma’s tattered skirt and pulled it up about her waist. She kicked and struggled, mortified at such a violation. The women in the room gasped and hid their eyes; the men leered at her exposed limbs.

   “Do you want me to strike you again?” The dark man roared at Roma.

Annie felt all hope fading as Roma lay still and allowed him to examine her legs. He found what he was looking for, a small mole just below her knee.

   “I have found the mark.”

He looked around the room and was satisfied by the gasps and looks of fear. Taking the needle, he placed the tip against Roma’s leg, and they all watched in disbelief as he pushed it in, all the way to the hilt. It must have reached the bone, yet Roma seemed to feel no pain. He then withdrew the needle and called to the Squire to inspect the mark.

   “There is no blood,” the Squire seemed as astonished as the people, and he called on others present to witness this.

There was a general shuffling as everyone wanted to witness this sign, this abomination. Annie sat frozen in her place as the people beside her tried to push past.

   “Get in line.”

 The shout brought about some order as the pushing and shoving ceased, and they filed past Roma as though viewing a corpse. Some of the women lifted their children to see the mark, and each child was carried away screaming. It was whispered the children, in their innocence, could tell a witch, but Annie knew differently. She watched each child as its eyes moved from the mark to Roma’s face. It was her look of terror frightened the children. Annie pulled her shawl tighter around her. Icy hands seemed to move up her back and she felt the fine hairs on her neck rise. The dark man was looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment, before looking away. The people were filing back to their seats and the crowd around Roma thinned. She was no longer crying; her shame was now absolute. When everyone was finally back in place, the dark man spoke down at the prostrate figure on the table.

   “Will you now admit that I have proven it, declare you are a witch and save your soul, if not your life?”

Roma turned her head towards the crowd, searching. Annie saw blood on her mouth. The man was still speaking, but Annie had no idea what he was saying. She was too busy trying to make eye contact with Roma. There were jeers from the crowd and shouts at Roma to admit her guilt, but Annie could not hear any of it. A silence seemed to envelop her, as her mind reached out to contact Roma. Their eyes met and she watched as Roma mouthed three words. Her view was constantly being blocked as some of the villagers ran forward and poked and prodded at Roma. Some of the women pulled her hair, as they screamed at her to admit her sin. Everyone within the room seemed to be caught up in some religious fervency. Annie tried to block it all out, calling to Roma with her mind, tell me? “The Dark One.” She heard it as clearly as it was whispered in her ear. She looked towards the table and Roma nodded at her. The Dark One was here? Annie looked up at Roma’s tormentor. He was staring at her again. This time she did not look away.

A cool breeze ruffled her clothes. She was no longer in the mill. The crowds disappeared, the jeering was no more, and she was no longer in that time. She was standing on a plateau, the full moon lighting the road before her. The grass about her was brown and dry and crunched beneath her feet as she walked. There was no life in this strange, arid place. Blood dripped from the moon staining the velvet blue sky. She walked quickly onwards as the plain parted before her, dividing into two roads. The one to her right looked dangerous. The ground was covered with sharp stones and deadly looking thorns sprang from the blackened hedgerows lining either side. It would be safer and wiser to take the left path. She turned to walk towards it and heard Roma calling out to her.

   “Take the right-hand path, Annie. Do not be afraid. This is the right way.”

   “But, it’s dangerous.” Annie shouted. “I will walk the other way and meet you at the end.”

   “There will be no end if you choose that way. Your journey on this path will be hard and the going slow, but it’s the way to salvation.”

   “Such theatricals, don’t you think?”

Annie spun round. The Dark One was walking towards her along the left path.

   “I do love a good performance, don’t you?”

   “What is this place?”

   “This,” he swept his hand around. “Is the place where most decisions are made? It is part of your mind, the darkest part. Yes,” he smiled at her. “We are inside your head.”

   “But I would never imagine a place such as this,” she looked at the red moon and ravaged landscape.

   “Nevertheless, we are here and it’s your time to decide.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   “Neither did I once and like you, I had many questions.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Enough,” he was angry. “The time grows short and there’s much to be done. Choose now. Take the right path and your suffering will be great. All you love will be punished for your folly. Your sisters will perish if you choose to listen to the words of the gypsy. She has decided her fate and you will see the outcome of that, but you, you have a chance. Watch what happens to her and then decide, but I warn you. Choose her way and her death will be nothing to the death I will give you. Do you understand now?” He leaned towards her.

Annie closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, but she could smell him. He smelled of freshly baked bread and spring flowers. It was all so familiar to her and yet she turned from it.

   “Open your eyes.”

She looked up at him. He was very handsome, and she could not tear her eyes away.

   “Come with me, Annie. I will keep you safe and your sisters too. With me there will be no suffering. We could be incredibly happy.”

His eyes burned into her soul. They seemed to light his face and all around her. She wanted to feel safe again. She was so frightened since her parent’s death, and she did not want to suffer like Roma. She did not want Dora, Rose, or Meg to suffer either. He smiled, sensing her weakness, and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment before slowly, very slowly, her hand moved up from her side to take his. Their fingers were almost touching, when…

   “Annie, child,” it was her mother’s voice. There were no tricks this time. “Come away.”

       “Don’t listen to it,” The Dark One urged. “It’s a trick.”

   “No,” Annie started to back away. “No, it’s you who plays tricks.”

The white hand he reached towards her began to swim and change. The veins stood out against the skin and the fingers stretched and gnarled. The carefully manicured nails turned black and pointed. The fire was still there in his eyes, but the light in them burned like the flames of Hell. His talons reached for her and she held up a hand to stop them.

   “No.”

The words formed an invisible barrier and she watched as he clawed the air before her but was unable to penetrate the shield.

   “You will pay dearly for this,” he hissed, and she saw his tongue was long and pointed.

   “Maybe so, but you will never have what you desire,” with this she launched herself towards the right path, threw herself into the thorns and landed with a thump back on the bench in the mill.

The dark one was still staring at her, but this time he bowed, before going back to his work. She felt the sweat on her face and could smell her own fear. The noise returned; the jeering of the crowd and Roma’s moans filled the air. Annie saw wet patches in her hair and smelt the blood coating it. They were tearing her apart, she had to stop this, but before she could rise his voice rang out.

   “Tell us the name of your leader; whom it was initiated you into the Devil’s work.”

Roma moaned and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her hair making her scream and turned her head back towards him. Leaning down, he seemed to be listening to something she said.

   “Annie,” his voice rang. “Annie, who?”

Everyone turned towards Annie. She got up, tried to run. She knew Roma had not betrayed her and this was his work, but she was frightened. She did not want to die; she wanted to live. She wanted to see her sisters grown and watch their children grow. It was so unfair; she was no more then a child herself. The hands stopping her flight were strong and vicelike on her arms. She struggled; begged with them to let her go, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

   “Bring her forward. Let us hear what she has to say.”

She knew as they were propelling her forward toward The Dark One, her life was at an end. 

Death Cry-chapter four

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

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

   “Mamma, Mamma, help me.”

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

   “Sweet Jesus, help me.”

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

   “Annie, Annie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Annie, Annie.”

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

   “Annie, what happened, what’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie noticed Meg looking into the mortar.

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

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

   “I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

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

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

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

   “Tell me about this dream, child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Have you heard the rumours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Annie, Annie.”

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

   “Annie, Annie, child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Cry

CHAPTER TWO

 The first night after her parent’s burial was the longest in Annie’s life. Unable to sleep, she lay awake and listened to the steady, rhythmic breathing of her sisters. Twice during the night, she thought she heard sounds coming from her parents’ room, but she knew it was not possible. They were lost to her forever. Crying silently, lest she awake those she loved more than her life, she watched the window, and it was a relief, when the first rays of sunlight crept into the room.

   There was freshly baked bread ready when the children woke, and she gathered eggs from the hen roost behind the cottage. Rose and Dora ate with gusto, scraping the shells in search of the last remaining bits of egg. It was amazing how well they had adjusted to their loss. After washing up and straightening the rooms, she got ready to leave. The children would have to come along with her, as she could not risk leaving them alone. Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she set off for the deepest part of the forest. Here the berries and herbs were plentiful and untouched by the scavenging birds. It took a few hours to find all the plants she needed, and she arrived at Meg’s cottage with two hot and irritable children in tow.

   After a cool drink, they settled down to play with the assortment of animals Meg had rescued over the years. There was a jackdaw, whose damaged wing made flight impossible and who had become as tame as all the other animals. A dog and six cats made up the rest of the menagerie. The squirrels nesting in the trees beside the cottage came and accepted berries from the children’s outstretched hands, and the odd deer with her fawn in tow stopped by on her meanderings through the forest. All of them, from the smallest creature knew they were safe with Meg, and as she often said, an animal like a child, has to be taught to fear.

While the children played, Meg and Annie got down to the more serious job of mashing and grinding the plants and berries. When the right consistencies were achieved, they placed spoonfuls of the mixture in small pieces of cloth and tied the top of each piece. There were many callers to the cottage that morning, and all were seen by Meg, and given one of the little bundles.

   “The sickness seems to be getting worse,” Meg shook her head. “There have been four deaths in the village overnight and many more are at deaths door.”

This information came from the last caller. Once all the bundles were ready, Annie loaded them into her basket and with a list of names; she set out for the village. Despite their protests, she ordered the children to stay behind with Meg. There was no sense in exposing them to the very real danger of the sickness.

The roads were deserted as she walked along. There was no trundling of farm carts as one might expect, and it was with heavy heart she approached the village. The lack of children playing in the street was a good indicator of how bad things were. She knocked at the first door on her list and was surprised by the hostile greeting she received. The bundle was snatched from her hand without thanks and the door slammed shut. She stood gazing at the wood for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. Maybe the sickness was making everyone cranky. The reception she got at each house was much the same and she was glad when there was only one more to go. This was the home of Jane O Regan. Jane was a widow with four children and had been a lifelong friend of Annie’s mother. The welcome she would receive here would be quite unlike the others. Annie tapped on the house door. A feeble voice bade her enter and she lifted the latch and walked into the gloomy interior. A makeshift bed lay in front of a blazing fire. Jane was sitting in the centre of the bed surrounded by all four of her children and each one was in the grip of some terrible fever.

   “Annie, thank God you’ve come,” Jane brushed a lock of sweat-drenched hair from off her forehead.

   “You should have sent word,” Annie put down her basket and hurried to check on the children.

They were burning up. What little clothes they wore stuck to their skin and had to be peeled off. She ran and fetched water from the well. Dousing the fire, she opened the windows as wide as possible. The heat was a breathing ground for the sickness, and despite Jane’s protests they had a chill, Annie washed down each one of the sweating children. Iris, the youngest child, seemed the most stricken and after mixing the herbs with water Annie spoon-fed her. The child fussed and tried to pull away, but Annie managed to get the spoon between the chattering teeth, and the child was forced to swallow. Each of the children was dosed in the same way and Jane accepted the liquid gladly. Pools of dried vomit stained the blankets, so picking up the children, Annie carried them, one by one, upstairs to their own room. Jane was helped to sit in a chair beside the fire, and Annie gathered up the soiled blankets and threw them outside.

   “God bless you, Annie,” Jane caught her hand. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

   “I’m glad to help, but I wish I’d know sooner.”

   “You had your own troubles; child and I didn’t want to add to them.”

   “Well, I’m here now, and here I’ll stay, until you’re better.”

   “Thank you, child. You’ve no idea what it has been like here. I have not had the strength to walk as far as the well. We would’ve died without you.”

   “There now, don’t take on so,” Annie patted her back. “You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten something.”

   “There’s not a scrap of food in the house. I haven’t been able to do a decent day’s work in months, and to tell the truth, child, there’s not much call for my services now.”

Jane was a seamstress and people were more concerned with saving their money for doctors and medicine, than worrying about their appearance.

   “Never mind,” Annie assured her. “I have some money. I’ll go and buy food.”

This small act of kindness made Jane cry, and Annie was glad when she was once again outside in the fresh air and away from the cloying atmosphere in the house. She bit her lip as she walked towards the only shop in the village. The seven shillings in her pocket was all the money she had in the world. She was well able to farm the land, but without her father’s income from the woodcutting, they would be penniless. Her father was so proud he was not tied to any landlord and his land was his own. He had sworn none of his children would be bonded into service. But that prospect seemed possible now, and Annie was thinking of looking for work in one of the big houses in the area. A position of governess would suit her, having been taught to read and write by her mother. Her education though limited, was enough to secure such a position in this wild area of the country. The only thing holding her back was the fact she was catholic, and anyone rich enough to employ a governess would surely want someone of the protestant religion. Still you never know, she thought, as she swept into the shop, stranger things have happened.

   “Good day to you, Miss. Ryan,” Pat O Malley, the shopkeeper smiled.

Annie felt herself blush. Pat O Malley was always winking at her, when they passed in the street, and she tried to gather her thoughts and ignore his cheeky grin, as she ordered only the basic ingredients she needed. Flour, milk, and some scraps of mutton. The potatoes, carrots, and eggs she could fetch from her own store at home. She would have to go back to Meg’s anyway and ask her to care for her sisters until Jane was well enough to cope. Although she hated leaving them alone so soon, Jane’s need was greater than theirs.

   “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she blushed again, as she realised Pat was speaking to her. “I was miles away.”

   “I said I was sorry to hear about your loss.”

   “Thank you. You are truly kind,” she started to load her purchases into her basket. “How much do I owe you?”

His cheeky grin had returned, as he answered.

   “I’m afraid the prices have gone up a lot. I’ll have to charge you…” he mused. “One kiss.”

   “Why, Mr O Malley,” she pretended to be shocked. “Nothing could be that expensive.”

He laughed at her reply and putting her hands on her hips, she stamped her foot.

   “Pat O Malley be serious for a moment and tell me what I owe you.”

   “Miss Ryan, the very sight of you has made all such thoughts vanish from my head.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he held up a hand to still her protests.

   “Take it, with my blessing.”

   “I take nothing for nothing.”

 Annie Ryan had the same proud streak as her parents.

   “Well, bring me half a dozen eggs the next time you’re passing.”

   “A half dozen eggs for all this?”

   “What can I say?” he held up his hands in mock horror. “Eggs are as rare as fairy dust around here.”

Snatching the basket from off the counter, she retorted.

   “I’ll bring them in tomorrow morning. I’d not like to be beholden to you.”

   Aw, now,” his laughter followed her. “Is that anyway to talk to your future husband.”

She knew he had walked to the door and was watching her. Her mother always teased her about Pat, and Annie knew despite the fact he was incredibly old at twenty-eight, that her mother hoped they would make a match. She was still grinning when the voice startled her.

   Good day, cousin. It’s nice to see you and in such good spirits.”

Mary O Brien smiled at Annie’s stunned expression.

   “Why, child, you’d think you’d just seen the Devil himself rather then your own cousin.”

   “Sorry,” Annie managed to stutter. Mary O Brien never passed her the time of day and here she was calling her cousin!

   “I was so sorry to hear about your poor parents passing,” Mary bristled. “And I’d have come to the funeral I assure you. But I have been quite ill myself, and dear Hugh has been such a comfort to me. Why,” her grin was wolfish. “I wouldn’t allow him out of my sight. You understand I’m sure.”

   “Yes, Mrs. O Brien. I understand.”

   “Now, now, dear. You must call me cousin. After all Hugh and I are all the family you have left.”

   “If you’ll excuse me,” Annie tried to walk past her.

   “Yes, of course, my dear.”

Annie could see she had insulted the woman, and she knew Mary O Brien made a very bad enemy. She had heard many tales of her trouble causing in the village.

   “I have to attend to Jane O Regan,” she offered as a token of appeasement. “She and her children are very ill.”

   “Very well,” she seemed to accept this “But I’ll call on you soon.”

Annie nodded; she was glad of the chance to get away. Mary O Brien frightened her, and her dreadful son was even worse. 

Pat O Malley was still watching Annie and saw what happened. He knew what a dangerous woman Mary O Brien was. He had seen many of her acts of cruelty. Always the first to point the finger, and any woman prettier than she was became a likely target. She had caused more rifts in marriages than adultery ever had. With a tongue worthy of the most poisonous snake, she spread her venom across the village. No one could escape her vengeance once she’d set her sights on them. It was rumoured her late husband only died so he could get away from her nagging. Recently she had been complaining about the gypsies who were camped in the woods.

   “They are filthy,” she told anyone who would listen “And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were the cause of the sickness.”

Everyone agreed with her except Pat, who pointed out the gypsies arrived well after the sickness started. His observations were answered with an angry glower. Still, she would never go against him. He was too well off. It was easier for her to pick on the poor and the lonely. Her husband had left her well provided for and with too much time on her hands. Rather than use her hours in more productive ways, she chose to cause trouble, and excelled at her chosen profession. She even converted to the protestant religion in order to curry favour with the gentry in the area. It also made life easier for her son. Pat felt a stab of dread at the thought. If anything were to happen to Annie, Hugh stood in line to inherit. Everyone in the village knew Annie’s father willed the cottage and land to her. What was that woman up to; she had never shown an interest in her relationship with the family before? Surely, she was not thinking of making a match with Hugh and Annie? He would never allow such a thing to happen. Hugh had the same streak of cruelty as his mother, and Annie would never survive as his wife. If he were honest, he would have to admit to the stirring of jealousy. He had always loved Annie. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and he was aware that there were many with their eye on her. He would marry her in an instant, but he knew she was not interested in him. It would take someone incredibly special to capture Annie Ryan’s heart.

After dropping off her purchases in Jane’s house and putting the meat on to boil, Annie set off for Meg’s cottage. There were protests from her sisters, but they were half-hearted, as they were happy enough to stay with Meg, especially when she promised to make fudge after Annie left. Meg was sad to hear about Jane’s suffering and plied Annie with more of the medicine, and a list of things to do to speed up its effects. Stopping off at her own cottage, she collected the things she would need for the coming vigil. She also carried as much as she could of the potatoes, carrots and the six eggs for Pat. The shop was closed and shuttered when she arrived back in the village, so she left the eggs wrapped in cloth, outside the door.

Jane’s kitchen was filled with the smell of cooking. Peeling the carrots and potatoes, Annie added them to the bubbling meat and some herbs to flavour the stew. When it was ready, she handed Jane a bowl. Taking a crude wooden tray from off the dresser, she put four more bowls onto it and carried it upstairs. The three older children were already showing signs of recovery and had cooled down. After helping them to sit up, they were able to feed themselves, but little Iris showed no sign of wanting to eat. She lay as though drained of all energy and burning hot. Annie once again, washed her down and gave her more of the mixture to drink, but she was frightened. Her parents had looked the same way as Iris did before they died. Perhaps, the sound of her mother’s voice would encourage the child to eat. Jane had to be helped up the stairs. Annie sat on the side of the bed and Jane lay down beside her child, fussing and talking to her. She begged Iris to try and eat, but it was hopeless. Her little body had suffered much and though she loved her mother and wanted to please her, she could not fight the sickness. Annie tried to still the fire burning inside the child. She spent the night washing her down and making her drink the mixture, but it was hopeless. By morning, the fire died along with the child. It was left to a heart-broken Annie to wake the mother and tell her of the tragedy. It was also Annie’s job to carry the blanket-wrapped bundle to the graveyard, as Jane was too weak and grief-stricken to carry out the task herself.

   Once more Annie’s money dropped into the gravedigger’s outstretched hand. There were still four more patients requiring her care, and she had to be strong for their sakes, but she was weary. She wanted to lie down in the soft grass and sleep. To wake to find it was a bad dream and hear her mother calling to her from the kitchen. Hear the saw and smell the wood as her father worked beside the cottage. She suddenly felt old, old, tired, beaten, and resenting the walk to the village. The houses looked grey in the harsh pink white of the morning light. The streets were silent, and her footsteps resounded in the quiet. The air was much colder, and Annie hoped this would end the sickness. A good few day of frost would kill it off, after that everything would be much better.

The Wraith-chapter thirty-one

Jill realised, when they drew nearer the village, the cottages she imagined lying sleeping within the fog were deserted. She made no effort to hide the panic in her voice, as Tom steered the car along the empty street.

   “It’s one of those abandoned villages from famine times,” her eyes searched the gloom for any sign of life. “I’ve read about such places. We’re not going to find a phone here. What are we going to do?”

The interior of the car felt cloying and it was harder to breathe.

   “Let’s get out,” Tom suggested. “We can stretch our legs and get some fresh air.”

She followed his lead and got out of the car. Tom, phone in hand, walked up and down the street, hoping to find a signal. She lost sight of him as he moved farther and farther away.

   “Don’t go too far,” she called to the shadowy figure in the distance.

   “There’s a hill up ahead,” his voice echoed back. “I’ll climb to the top and see if I can get a signal.”

   Pulling the lapels of her coat around her neck, she started to walk along the street, hoping the exercise would help the heat return to her frozen limbs. The old, abandoned cottages glistened with frost under the light of the full moon. Patches of fog swept by her like ghosts that had not assumed their proper shape and her fingers found nothing but air when she reached out to brush them aside. Despite the shrouding fog, there was something else in the air, a penetrating sadness that made her heart ache. Her senses were heightened by lack of sleep and the worry of finding her son, but she felt the terror of the villages’ lost occupants as they fled to avoid approaching death.

   “Christ.” A clatter of sound from inside one of the cottages startled her.

She walked towards the door and investigated the inky darkness, but there was nothing to see. She brushed the noise aside as just the foraging of some night creature. A slight breeze stirred and sent the remaining fog scattering in its wake and it was easier to see down the road. At the top of the village a weather-beaten steeple marked the spot where the church once stood, and she walked towards it. By today’s standards the church was tiny, but then there would have been few parishioners to fill its pews, other than the inhabitants from the cottages. A group of trees circled the old graveyard. Though stripped bare now, they would brighten the grey landscape in summer. Small crosses served as grave markers. Some were made of steel, but for the most part they were crudely made wood. There was no inscription on any of them. Perhaps time eroded the names away, Jill thought, as she picked her way along the overgrown path. The church door was closed, and she turned the handle not expecting it to open, but it did. Inside the roof was rotted clear away, but many pews were still standing. Small scurrying sounds made her realise she had disturbed its only occupants, the things that belonged to the woods and the night.

   “You can feel the sadness.”

She screamed when the voice sounded from the front of the church. In her determination to find her son, she’d forgotten the Wraith and had no idea it travelled with her through the cold and dark.

   “Yes,” she walked towards the place where the altar once stood.

The Wraith was seated in the front pew.

   “We lost the phone signal.” Jill stood as far away from it as possible. “Tom is outside trying to contact Paul.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” the Wraith’s sigh echoed through the air. “I know where we have to go.”

The Wraith stood and drifted by her. Their eyes met and Jill was shocked at the hatred she saw reflected there.

   “I understand your reason for not liking me,” she called after the retreating figure. “But put yourself in my position. You would have done the same.”

The Wraith stopped and turned back.

   “Once I find my child I am assured of peace, but what about you? What will you have other than the stain on your soul?”

   “I’ll have my child too,” Jill said. “I don’t care about anything else.”

   “You’ll care when I’m finished,” it sneered. “Do you not realise I will decide your faith?” It laughed at Jill’s horror. “You should have studied your books a little better. There is a price to be paid. You didn’t think you could disturb the dead and get away with it?”

   “No,” Jill wiped her eyes. “I knew I’d have to pay something, but I didn’t really think about it.”

   “Pity,” it said, before it glided out of the church.

Jill sat in one of the pews and waited for the pounding of her heart to subside. Of course, she realised she could not walk away untouched from what she’d done, but she never imagined her fate would be decided by a creature whose eyes blazed with madness.

   “Jill,” Tom walked down the aisle. “Did you see…?”

   “Yes, I saw her,” she said, before he finished. “She’s followed us the whole time and knows where we need to go.”

   “Let’s get going then,” he helped her up from her seat.

It was as if the life was drained out of her, he thought, as he led her out of the church and back along the village street.

   “Ah, there you are.” Paul waited for them by the car.

   “We had no coverage,” Tom held up the useless phone.

   “I know, mine’s the same.”

Jill noticed he avoided looking at her and she felt familiar cold fingers clutch at her heart.

   “What’s wrong?” She asked.

   “I had to turn back; I’m afraid I lost him,” he shook his head. “The roads are so narrow and winding I must have lost him on one of the curves. He probably slipped down a laneway or something.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” Jill nodded up at the roof of one of the cottages, where the Wraith sat waiting. “She knows where to go.”

   “Jesus,” Paul looked up and staggered back against the car. “I forgot about her.”

   “Surprise,” the Wraith laughed.

   “She’s not right,” Paul muttered, before walking back to his own car.

The Wraith flew in front of them as they drove back to the main road. At times, she was a blur blacker than night. Jill was reminded of a painting she had once seen of the Angels of Mons, but this was no angel, this thing that flew before them. This was something from a far darker place.

Though Toby still had the sniffles, the fever had passed, and he was able to sit up in the bed. His throat was sore, but the last of the drinking water ran out hours ago. The children sat on the bed beside him and tried to cheer him with stories and jokes.

   “That was just stupid,” Toby laughed at Raymond’s last joke.

   “Made you laugh, though,” he smiled.

   “Yeah, but it was still stupid,” Rachael said, giggling.

They were all having a fun time, when footsteps sounded on the floor overhead. As men’s voices drifted down, Toby felt the others grow tense.

   “The bad men,” Paul whispered.

Toby whimpered with terror and clutched his superman doll closer to his chest. When the door above his head opened, Rachael dragged him out of the bed. They ran into a corner of the room and crouched in the shadows.

   “Christ, it stinks down there,” he heard one of the men say, as a ladder was lowered into the cellar.

   “Leave the door open a while,” someone else replied.

Once the foul-smelling air escaped, the monsters would be ready to begin their work. None of them checked to see if he was still alive.

Toby’s stomach hurt and the pain got worse when he realised the children were no longer beside him. He felt along the wall, hoping to find a way out, but there was none.

   “They left us,” he whispered to the superman doll. “They left us.”

He was too tired and too sick to cry, so he stayed huddled in the shadows.

Freddy was first to climb down the ladder. He carried an old-fashioned oil lamp as they never bothered to have electricity installed and didn’t want the trouble of housing a generator. He held up the lamp and his eyes searched the gloom until he found the crouched shape in the corner.

   “Come out.” He lifted the boy up with one hand and carried him across the room, before dumping him onto the bed. “Bring some water down here,” he called up to those overhead. “We have to wash him.”

   “My throat hurts,” Toby said, expecting that this man, this grownup would help him.

Instead the man ignored him and went to the big cupboard in the wall and opened it. Toby scooted down the bed to get a better look at what was inside. There were strange, shiny things. Someone else was coming down the ladder. This man carried a bucket and Toby heard the water sloshing about.

   “Here,” Christy pushed a bottle of water into Toby’s hands, but the child was rigid with fear.

He never felt the bottle leave his hands and was only vaguely aware of the lip being held to his mouth. The pain in his throat eased a little.

   “Up you get,” strong hands lifted him and made no attempt to stop the man who peeled the sodden clothes from his body.

The water was icy, and he shivered as the cloth rubbed over his fevered skin. If he closed his eyes, he could have been home, with his mother washing him, but the water would not have been so cold there and he would not have been so frightened. A big towel wrapped around his body and he automatically started to rub his skin dry.

   “Can I have my clothes back?” He asked the man gathering them into a bundle.

   “No, you won’t need them,” the man smiled, as Toby looked up at him for the first time.

In that instant, he understood what was happening.

   The other man, the one who was busy sorting thing in the big cupboard, walked to the foot of the ladder.

   “We’re ready when you are,” he called.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the bare boards pounded overhead and a shadow appeared at the mouth of the trap door. Toby watched the legs appeared and another man climbed the ladder backwards down to the cellar. Toby eased back down onto the bed and picked up his doll.

   “Help me, Superman,” he whispered, as the latest arrival turned around to look at him.

With a cry of delight, he jumped up and ran to put his arms around the familiar figure.

   “I knew Superman would save me,” he smiled up at the man. “Oh, Sir, I was so frightened before you came. Can we go home now?”

   “No, Toby,” the man ruffled his hair. “I’m afraid we can’t.”

   “But, Sir,” he looked up at his teacher. “Why not?”

It came again, that terrible understanding and Toby started to back away. He held the towel closer as he crawled up onto the bed and huddled down in the corner farthest from the men.

   “You’re supposed to mind me, Mr Jackson,” his eyes were filled with accusation. “You’re not supposed to be a bad man.”

   “But I am, Toby,” he took a proffered strap from Freddy’s outstretched hand. “I’m a very, very bad man.”

The Wraith-chapter twenty-four

         The flashing red light on the answering machine demanded attention when she walked back into the hall. She forgot, in her haste to study the books, Paul O’Farrell had promised to call, and now she listened to his hurried apologies for not having done so. They were taking the search further afield, he told her, and she could reach him on his cell phone, if she needed him. She was ashamed, when she realised, she failed to notice his absence. It could not be helped, as her mind was set on more pressing things. There was no need to bother him now, and she knew he would have told her if there was any hope. No doubt, Tom would contact him to complain about her, but for now she would leave well enough alone.

   The village main street was busy, as mothers hurried to buy treats for the night ahead. It was only when she saw the costumed children and the garish decorations in the shop windows, Jill remembered it was Halloween. Tonight, was the night of the dead, when graves yawned, and spirits walked the land. Shivering, frightening herself with such ghoulish thoughts, she steered the car to the curb. She tried to ignore the pitying looks of the other customers, as she waited for her purchases to be bagged. It was easy enough to buy candles, but the shopkeeper made a great fuss when she asked for incense.

   “Not much call for that sort of thing,” he looked around at his other customers, expecting them to confirm this.

   “There’s a shop in James’s Terrace,” one of the women offered. “It sells alternative medicines, and all sorts of queer stuff.”

   “Thank you,” Jill knew from the woman’s tone the shop was not raking in the profits.

While the village and its inhabitants were hauled kicking, and screaming into the twenty-first century, it would take years before they were ready to embrace any form of lateral thinking.

   The walk to the shop meant she had to pass the school. Closed now for the holiday, it held the same deserted air as it did on the day Toby was taken. A frigid wind scattered the few remaining leaves across the playground, and she heard the rustle of their dryness on the concrete. The main door was open, but there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps, it was as Paul said, and everyone had moved to the new location. She couldn’t allow herself to think they scaled down the investigation, or the searchers had got tired and abandoned it.

   The shop was in the middle of a small row of house, and she realised where she now stood was probably once someone’s sitting room. The assistant was not at all what she expected, and she admonished herself for thinking in clichés. Envisioning a hippie type with dreadlocks and flowing skirts, she was surprised to find a sensibly dressed, middle-aged woman behind the counter. A vast array of incense sticks was for sale, and since the book had not specified what type to use, she chose sandalwood. Unfortunately, the village community was small, and everyone knew everyone’s business, so there was no escaping the woman’s sad look as she handed over the parcel. Please don’t say anything kind, Jill prayed, I just couldn’t bear it. To her immense relief, the woman kept her mouth shut, and offered nothing more than the usual pleasantries. Still, tears picked the corners of her eyes as she made her way back to the car. If anyone even mentioned Toby’s name, she would have broken down.

   The interior of the car felt warm after the biting wind, and she waited until her breathing steadied before turning on the engine. A gentle tapping on the passenger window made her jump, and she looked over to find the hunched figure of Toby’s teacher, Mr Jackson, peeping in. At any other time, she would have been pleased to see him, but not now, not with so much at stake. The window hummed down when she pressed the release button between the seats.

   “Any news?” He asked.

   “They’ve widened the search,” Jill informed him. “I got a message from the detective in charge last night. They must have gone quite a way.” She looked in the direction of the school. “There’s doesn’t seem to be anyone about.”

   “Yes, they told us this morning, but the phones are still being manned,” he assured her. “I was in there a few minutes ago. We have a play on tonight, and I’m in charge, that’s why I’m not out searching.”

   “I understand,” she tried to smile. “Life goes on.”

   “Never lose hope, miracles have happened in the past,” was his parting comment.

He’s a nice man, Jill though, as she drove home.

   She couldn’t ignore the costumed skeletons that danced along the footpaths, and their images made her think of what lay ahead. Deciding it was wiser to visit the graveyard during daylight hours, she turned the car around. There was no need for her to ask for directions, as they had passed it on their first day in their new home. They did a tour of the village, memorising landmarks and getting to know the area. The church was separate from the graveyard, so there would be very few about on such a cold day. She was right; the small car park was deserted. Buttoning her coat, she stepped out of the car and walked along the boundary wall. The small gate for foot traffic had once been painted silver, but the dark grey of the steel now showed through. Its rusted hinges groaned when she pushed it open, and the noise jarred her fragile nerves. The only other sound to disturb the quiet was the cawing of crows in the trees. Gravel crunched beneath her feet, as she made her way along the small paths between the graves. The graveyard must be hundreds of years old, she thought, studying the layout. Tombs, once elaborate, had fallen into decay, their walls blackened by time. It was impossible to read any of the inscriptions, as the weather had worn the wording away, so the inhabitant was now nameless and forgotten. It was difficult, even when she ran her fingers over the indents in the stone, to make out any of the names.

   The first few yards were filled with old tombstones. Large Celtic crosses covered in moss and bird droppings stood guard over the small, more humble markers. The graveyard continued upwards, and it was only when she reached the brow of the hill that she saw the more modern part. Here the shiny marbles stretched out in a range of whites, blacks and greys. Unlike the forgotten ones in the old part, this area showed signs of remembrance. Faded, dry wreaths marked some of the graves, and the wind carried with it the sickly, sweet smell of dying flowers. She scanned each of the inscriptions, trying not to think about the ones marking the passing of a child, or young adult.

   Marie’s grave stood at the end of one of the rows. The flowers placed on the shiny white stones that covered the place where she lay were fresh, no more than a day or two old. She thought of Tom and his lonely vigil beside the grave of his wife and prayed she would be spared the same thing. Looking around her, making sure that there was no one to hear, she knelt.

   “Marie,” she whispered, placing her hand on the moist stones. “I need your help. My child is missing; I think the same person who took Rachael has taken him. I’m coming back tonight to try and bring you back. Please don’t hate me. I’m sure you would do the same thing in my place.”

Jill sobbed as she spoke, and she felt like she was going to vomit. The terror of the last few days overflowed, added to that her fear of the act of sacrilege she planned to carry out.

   “God help me,” she stood and walked away.

Was it her imagination, somewhere beneath the earth her words were heard? She was still crying when she reached the car and had wait for the sobs to subside. How in the name of God would she go through with it?

To add to her discomfort, she saw Paul and Tom’s cars parked outside her house. She knew from Paul’s stern face that Tom told him what she planned. Pushing aside Bess and the pups welcome, she walked by the men.

   “I suppose you better come in.” She didn’t wait for their reply, but instead walked into the kitchen and filled the kettle.

They were standing behind her when she turned, and she waited for the tirade of reprimand to begin.

   “Sit down,” she pointed at the table.

They both sat on the same side, so she was forced to sit opposite, with only the wood between them. Their presence marked the boundary line, but was like a vast chasm, so far apart was they in their thinking. She was ready for battle, and prepared to deny Tom’s allegations, if need be. She couldn’t risk losing her freedom, not tonight.

   “I can’t believe what I’ve just heard,” Paul was the first to speak.

   “Really?” she tried to appear nonchalant. “What have you heard?”

   “Oh, I think you know,” he was not fooled by her act. “Tom told me about your plan to raise the dead, and I’m not going to allow such nonsense to continue.”

   “If it is, as you say, nonsense, why does it bother you?” she looked from one to the other. “Either of you?”

Paul’s face had grown red, and she imagined steam might come out of his ears, he was so angry.

   “Will you talk sense, woman. This is not some backward country. This is Ireland, in the twenty-first century. You can no more raise spirits, than I can fly to the moon. What you are thinking is impossible.”

   “So why does it bother you, then?”

   “Because,” he pounded his fist on the table. “I can’t have you seen running around graveyards in the dead of night, up to all sorts of mischief, that’s why.”

   “Look,” Tom tried to keep the peace. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Jill walked to the fire and pulled back the kettle that was now bubbling. She never asked them if they wanted a drink, but instead set about making the coffees. They waited in silence until she placed the mugs in front of them.

   “Promise me, you’ll stay home tonight?” Paul asked when she had resumed her seat.

   “Of course, I will.” She never even blinked.

   “She doesn’t mean it,” Tom said.

   “I know,” Paul’s mouth was set in a grim line. “But I can’t afford to have my men watch her.”

   “Hey, I’m here,” Jill said. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not even in the room.”

Both men shook their heads when they looked at her.

   “Is there any news?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

   “No,” Paul said. “We’re following a few leads, but it’s not working out as I expected. The man I’ve had my eye on for years is not moving, so I’m torn between sitting and waiting, or continuing elsewhere. Jesus,” he ran his hand through his hair.

The stress he was suffering was evident, and tears pricked her eyes again. Paul was a good man, but his work was killing him.

   “Will you hear me out?” she asked.

   “Listen to that rubbish?” he nodded towards the books.

   “Let me read it to you, and then decide,” she gave him no time to answer, but instead brought the book to the table and began to read.

Her grandmother’s letter was the first thing she read aloud, and she knew from their expressions her words hit home. It took quite a while to finish the part in the book about the work of the Necromancer. When she finished, she looked at them.

   “I know what I’m about to do is terrible; even those practised in the dark arts despise anyone like me. But what choice do I have? It’s like my grandmother says, it’s impossible to disturb anyone not at rest.”

   “And how do you know when someone is not at rest?” Tom asked.

   “I don’t, but it says here,” she pointed at the book, “that only a restless spirit will answer the call.”

   “It’s all a load of bullshit,” Paul stood. “I have to get back to work.”

   “Have you got a better idea,” Jill called after him.

   “Ah, leave me alone, woman,” she heard him mutter, before slamming the front door.

   “What are you waiting for?” she rounded on Tom.

When he refused to answer, she started to clear away the empty mugs. She was aware he watched her as she worked at the sink.

   “What?” She spun around, when she could no longer bear the feeling of his eyes boring into her back.

   “Do it.”

   “Do what?” she asked, not daring to hope he was giving permission.

   “Go ahead with your plan,” he stood. “But don’t expect me to take part in any of it.”

   “Thank you.” It was a relief to know she was not going to have to do it behind his back.

   “Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for Rachael and Toby. It goes against everything I believe in, but if it works, and does no harm,” he paused, “can you assure me of that?”

   “No, I’m afraid I can’t. I only know Marie would have tried anything to find her daughter.”

   “Yes.” She had to strain to hear him. “She would have made a deal with the devil. So, go ahead, and may God forgive me.”

   “May he forgive us both,” Jill prayed.

The Wraith chapter twenty-two

         Every time Toby woke, he was forced to breathe; the cold, dank, mustiness of the grave, mingled with the reek of rotten timber and mildew. Sometimes, while he slept, he caught the scent of his mother, but when he reached out to her, there was nothing there. He had grown used to the dark and no longer needed to leave the fridge open all the time. Now, he slipped out of bed and went to get something to eat. All the fizzy drinks and biscuits were gone, and he was left with the cheese, ham and milk. In a way, he was glad of this, as he had learned that too many sweet things made his tummy hurt. To his disgust, he had to use the potty thing, and now this stench, added to that of the room.

   He wasn’t quite as frightened now that the little girl came to see him. At first, he was afraid, as sometimes the room seemed full of children. They moved silently around him in the dark. He heard them whispering and giggling, during what he thought might have been the daytime, but at night their voices were different. They called out to him, begging for help. During this time, he would cover his ears and shout at them to stop, but they never listened. The first time it happened, he had buried his head in the pillow and sobbed. That was when the little girl came.

          The touch of her hand on his shoulder made him scream. He knew no one had come through the trap door above his head, and he was afraid to look around.

   “Hello,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid. I live here too.”

Toby looked up at her. She was about his age, kind of pretty and a bit weird looking. She seemed to glow in the dark.

   “I never saw you before,” Toby said. “Where do you live?”

   “Over there,” she pointed to one of the shadowy corners. “I live in the dark. My name is Rachael”

   “How come I never heard you move or anything?”

   “I was a bit afraid, in case you were like the bad men.”

   “Did they bring you here?” He sat up in the bed and made room for her to sit down.

   “Yes. They took me away from my Mam and Dad and now I can’t go home,” her eyes were sad when she looked at him. “You don’t know the way, do you?”

   “No,” Toby looked up at the ceiling. “I think it’s out through the door up there, but there’s no stairs.”

   “I hate it here,” she followed his gaze. “It’s always cold, and I’m frightened.”

   “Here,” he lifted the quilt. “Get in, it’s warmer under here.”

She was right, Toby thought, as she cuddled up beside him. She was very cold.

   “How long have you been here?” He asked.

   “I don’t know, longer than the others.”

   “What others?”

   “The boys,” she looked at him. “They came here after me.”

   “Where are they?”

   “Over there,” she nodded to one of the dark corners. “But they won’t come out. They’re too afraid of the bad men.”

Toby shivered and looked into the darkness. None of this made sense. Why couldn’t he see the boys?

   “I’m afraid of them,” Toby pulled the quilt up to his face, until only his eyes were exposed.

   “The bad men?” The girl whispered.

   “Yeah, them too, but I mean the boys.”

   “They’re only boys,” she laughed.

   “Scary boys,” he was on the verge of tears.

   “Oh, you’re just silly,” she threw back the quilt and walked across the room, disappearing into the darkness.

For a moment, Toby thought she had left him forever, but she soon came back.

   “Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “He’s just a boy like you. Stop being such scaredy cats.”

Toby watched in amazement as the shadows took shape, and two boys peeped out from behind the girl. They were wary at first, but then one of them saw the Superman doll, and came over to where Toby sat.

   “Hey, cool,” he picked up the doll. “I used to have one like that.”

   “He’s my favourite,” Toby lost his fear. “But I have Batman and Robin too.”

   “Do you have the Batmobile?” The other boy came and joined them. “I have that. It’s cool, shoots rockets and everything.”

   “Yeah,” Toby said. “But it’s at home.”

At the mention of the word home, the boys grew silent, and even Toby had to swallow hard.

   “I wish we could go home,” the girl sat down on the bed beside them.

They all nodded.

   “I miss my mother,” she started to cry.

The boys were all on the verge of joining her, but they looked at one another and an unspoken agreement was reached, they would be strong, for the girl.

   Once they managed to calm her down, the hours flew by, as they swapped stories on how they came to live in the room. The boys, Paul and Raymond, were taken in much the same way as Toby. The girl, Rachael, was coming back from buying an ice cream from the van.

   “I dropped my cone,” she said, as though this was a greater crime.

They all gasped at this act of sacrilege, and agreed that the men, who had taken them, were very bad.

   “Why do they want us?” Toby asked.

The children looked at one another and Toby became afraid.

   “It’s bad, isn’t it?” He asked.

   “There are three men,” Paul spoke for all of them. “And they hurt you.”

   “No,” Toby whispered, drawing back a little on the bed.

   “They don’t hurt us anymore,” Rachael sought to appease him.

   “No,” Paul agreed, and then thought for a moment. “But they might hurt Toby though.”

   “Well, we won’t let them,” Rachael stood and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sick of the dark and I want to go home.”

   “We all want that,” Paul said. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

   “I’m too frightened,” Raymond’s eyes were wide. “I hate them.”

   “I hate them too,” Rachael agreed. “But I wish we could do something.”

The boys stood. Raymond allowed the doll to slip from his fingers, and back onto the bed. Toby saw how truly frightened they were, and his stomach ached, when he thought what the men might do to hurt him.

   “See you,” Paul said, as he started to walk across the room, and back into the shadows.

   “Here,” Toby held out the doll to Raymond. “You can have a loan.”

   “Really?” He smiled for the first time and took the doll. “Thanks, I won’t break it or anything.”

Toby felt sad, as he watched Paul place his arm around Raymond’s shoulders, and lead him back in to the dark.

   “They really are scaredy cats,” Rachael huffed, and sat down on the bed.

   “Aren’t you frightened?” Toby was amazed by such courage, especially in a girl.

She thought for a moment, before answering.

   “I suppose I’m a bit afraid,” she agreed. “But I’m more afraid of the dark, and I miss my mother.”

   “I miss my mother too,” Toby said.

          Rachael was now a constant visitor, and Toby was used to her popping in and out. Once, when he was alone, he searched the corners of the room, but there was no one there. He felt along the walls, looking for a gap in the timbers, somewhere they could come and go through, but there was none. It was all a mystery and one the children were unable to explain. The boys came to see him now and then, but they never stayed very long. Toby knew they were too afraid, and he caught them looking fearfully at the trap door on many occasions. None of them would tell him about the things the bad men did to hurt them, and he knew it must have been something awful, because when he had a scab on his knee or elbow, he loved to show it off. He tried not to think about this, as it made his heart beat faster, and his stomach hurt. Another thing strange about the children was how they never ate anything. Though he offered to share his food, they always said that they weren’t hungry.

   Taking the milk out of the fridge, he drank from the carton. He knew his mother would never approve of this, but there were no cups or glasses. There was no sign of the others, and he was bored. There were some drawing pads and crayons on a table by his bed, and he found if he scrunched down beside the heater, its red light made it possible for him to see the paper. There were other drawings besides his, and he looked at the work the other children had done. Most of it was kind of sad, as even in the drawings of houses or dogs, there was always a picture of a child crying. Toby sighed and tried to remember the face of the man who had taken him. He was good at drawing, and within minutes, had an exact likeness of the man he had just got a brief glimpse of.

   “Hey, that’s him,” he hadn’t heard Rachael approach.

   “Did he take you too?” Toby asked.

   “No,” she knelt beside him. “But he’s one of the bad men.”

They both stared at the drawing a while, until Toby remembered there was something, he had to show her.

   “Look,” he reached into his pocket.

   “Oh, you found it,” Rachael picked up the tooth. “It fell out a long time ago, but it rolled away, and I couldn’t find it in the dark, so I didn’t get any money from the tooth fairy.”

   “Aw, that’s a pity,” Toby said, then added. “What if I put it under my pillow? The tooth fairy might think it’s mine and leave me the money.”

   “Brill,” Rachael clapped her hands. “We can split it.”

They were giggling as they placed the tooth under the pillow. It would be great if their plan worked. Though neither one knew what they would do with the money, or how they would spend it, they just thought it would be great fun to get one over on the tooth fairy.

   “Wait until I tell the others,” Rachael laughed. “They’ll be jealous.”

It was agreed Raymond would return the Superman doll at night, so Toby had something to cuddle up with. Though he had no concept of when day and night was, he judged it by when he felt tired and needed the doll. Sometimes, when he was alone and a little bit afraid, he thought he heard his mother calling him. The first time it happened he had shouted to her, but now he knew it was probably just his imagination. Still, when it happened, he closed his eyes and called out to her in his head, hoping she would hear him. He knew she was looking for him, and would never give up, and the other children’s’ mothers would be doing the same, so someone was bound to find them soon.

         It was a gut-wrenching moment, when they realised the tooth fairy had not fallen for their deception.

   “She probably knew it was old,” Toby looked down at the tooth.

Rachael took it out of his hand and threw it across the room.

   “Stupid fairy,” she stamped her foot. “Now the others will be laughing at me.”

   “Never mind,” Toby patted her back. “One of mine is a bit loose.

He opened his mouth and pointed with his tongue.

   “See?” He asked, as she looked in his mouth.

   “Yeah, but it’s only a bit wobbly,” she poked it with her finger.

   “Yuck,” Toby pushed her hand away. “You taste funny.”

   “No, I don’t,” she pushed him.

   “Yeah, you do, like cold, mud.”

   “No, I don’t,” she started to cry. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

As he watched her disappear back into the shadow, Toby hoped she didn’t mean what she said. He was too proud to call after her and apologise, because she really did taste bad. Tired, he sat on the bed and waited. Outside in the night, an owl screeched its ghostly cry. It echoed through the cracks in the cottage walls, and all the way down into the cellar.