The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  As they crossed this area for a mile or so, they passed through low cloud, but came out of it to see on their left a deep valley in which lay the lochs Tay and Dan and a river where, here and there, white foam cascaded over clumps of rocks. Half a mile further on Roger noticed two stone pillars, evidently a gateway, but from which the gate had disappeared. The road veered off half right from them.

  A moment later Maureen called to the coachman to pull up, then she turned to Roger and pointed to the gateway. ‘It is here. There is a steep drive down for over a mile. At the bottom of the valley lies the loch, and near its edge, the castle.’

  ‘What is this place called?’ Roger asked.

  ‘Luggala,’ she replied. ‘The castle was the ancestral home of my late husband’s family. He took me to see over it once, shortly after we were married. It is little but a ruin now. Only a few rooms are habitable, but it seemed a good place for Katie to go into hiding, because she was in trouble.’

  Roger nodded. ‘Yes. I knew about that. And you are right. In the past two miles we haven’t passed even a cottage. I’ve rarely seen a more desolate piece of country.’ Poking his head out of the window, he told the coachman to drive past the gate and on.

  ‘Where are we going,’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘To find a suitable spot in which to have our meal. It is just on one o’clock, and we’ve been on the road for nearly five hours, so I am now hungry.’

  Evidently glad that he had not decided to have their meal there in front of the gateway, she did not demur; and they drove on for the best part of two miles, until they came to another wood. There Roger halted the coach, picked up the basket and prepared to get out.

  ‘What are you about to do?’ she leaned forward quickly. ‘Surely we can eat here in the coach?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. As it is a fine day I prefer the woods. There will probably be some wild flowers: dwarf daffodils, anemones and kingcups.’

  Reluctantly she allowed him to hand her out, and accompanied him about thirty yards along a path into the wood. There, evidently fearing that he intended to avenge himself on her for having given his daughter into the power of the witch, and anxious to remain in sight of the coachman, she halted and said, ‘This will serve. I do not wish to go any further.’

  ‘You will do as I tell you,’ he said sharply. ‘I have promised that I will not harm you or prevent your returning to Dublin. Come now, or as an alternative I’ll take you with me to visit Katie O’Brien.’

  She shuddered, gasped, ‘No! No!’ and hurried after him until he had led her deep into the wood, at least a quarter of a mile from the stony, rutted track which was termed a road.

  Sitting down on a grassy bank at one side of a small clearing, they ate their meal in silence, and shared one bottle of the wine. Roger then stood up, wrapped a chicken thigh and a large piece of cake in paper, put them in one of his capacious pockets and the second bottle of wine in the other. Smiling at her, he said:

  ‘Here, my lady, we part. The odds are that you will have to walk a good part of the way back to Dublin before you can get a lift. Anyway it is as good as certain that you will have to spend tonight out on the moor.’

  As she began to protest, he cut her short. ‘For iniquities of which you have been guilty I am letting you off very lightly. And should I learn later that you lost your way in the darkness, fell in a ditch and broke your neck, it would not cause me one moment’s loss of sleep.’

  Turning his back on her he set off at a gentle run to ensure that, should she follow him, he would reach the coach well ahead of her. When he reached it, he said to the coachman:

  ‘The lady who was with me is spending the night with friends who have a house on the far side of the wood. Take me back now to that gateway where the road bends, and set me down there.’

  The man gave him a curious glance, but did as he was bade. On leaving the coach Roger told him that he was also staying the night with friends in the neighbourhood, then paid him off, gave him a lavish tip and sent him back to Dublin.

  Roger had grudged the time he had given to getting rid of Maureen Luggala; but he had felt it a precaution he dared not neglect because, had he left her the use of the coach, it was possible that, to make her peace with Katie O’Brien, she might have driven to the castle by some other route and warned the witch that he was on his way there. But, as he stood for a moment in the stone gateway, he realised that he had lost nothing, because he had time on his hands. It was barely three o’clock, so there were several hours of daylight yet in which to reconnoitre the place and, impatient as he was to learn what had happened to Susan and whether Charles was there, it would have been stupidly rash to attempt to enter the castle until he had the full cover of night.

  The grass-grown drive led steeply down, bordered on both sides by screens of trees: pines, beeches and laurels. Beyond them on the right the ground rose abruptly, but on the left it shelved down to a deep valley, on the far side of which, a mile or more away, rose another greenish hillside speckled with white stone boulders.

  As he proceeded, his footfalls made no sound on the bright green grass. No bird was singing and the silence seemed uncanny. The drive snaked down, becoming still steeper after every curve, so that he doubted whether a coach, empty and drawn by fewer than four horses could ever have got up it. After descending for half a mile, between the trunks of the trees on his left he caught his first glimpse of the loch far below in the valley. His eyes alert for any sign of movement, he covered another half mile. That brought him to some thirty feet above the level of the lake, over the edge of which some outward sloping trees projected. Through a gap between their leafy branches he saw a part of the ruined castle. Another few hundred paces brought him to the end of the drive. It emerged into a small, flat, triangular area with trees here and there, bounded on three sides by steep hillsides. On the fourth side lay the long loch and the castle rose from its nearest end.

  Keeping well under cover Roger stood looking at it for several minutes, taking in every detail. He decided that either it had been built on a small island, or hundreds of tons of rough stone had been dumped in the lake to form its foundations, for it appeared to be entirely surrounded by water, which served the purpose of a moat. From where he stood the nearest part of the castle was about forty yards from the shore, at the edge of which showed a rim, only about two feet in depth, of what looked liked sand, but might be silt. The main building was very old and the greater part of it had fallen into ruin. One tower still stood, but the much lower jagged edges of others showed where they had broken off. Gaping holes appeared here and there in the battlements, and a wall had collapsed revealing the empty interior of a lofty chamber.

  The place showed no sign at all of being inhabited. No wind ruffled the surface of the lake or stirred the branches of the trees. Everything was so utterly still that it was vaguely sinister. As far as Roger could see along the valley there was no other habitation or evidence of life, and the castle could not be seen from the road on the high ground along which he had come in the coach. Surrounded as it was by desolate mountains and moorland, and not having been lived in for many years, even people who knew of its existence would be unlikely to suspect that it was being used as a hide-out; so it would have been next to impossible to find a better one.

  Selecting a group of bushes among which he could sit concealed, yet continue to keep an eye on the castle, he settled down to his long wait. The hours dragged by while he remained there speculating fruitlessly on what might happen when he entered the castle. Would he find Susan sane, or driven mad through the hellish domination of the witch? And what of Charles? Would he be there, a willing participant of whatever went on, or was his disappearance due to his death in some unguessable mishap?

  At last the shadows began to fall. When they were deep enough Roger made his way cautiously from tree to tree across the flat ground, until he could see the other side of the castle. There, an even greater part of the building had collapsed from age. A whol
e section had fallen outward, so that hundreds of slabs of the granite with which it had been built now formed a rocky causeway, slanting down from a height of about forty feet at the castle end until only odd corners of its last stones projected out of the shallow water about twenty feet from the shore.

  At one side, the high pyramid of stones at the castle end ran down to partly cover a landing place, to which a rowing boat was moored. Beyond the boat rose a high, arched doorway, and the light was still good enough for Roger to see that it was iron-bound and solid, so there was little hope of his being able to force it.

  Seeking some other means of entrance, he moved further along the shore. Just beyond the peak of the great pile of fallen stones, the building took a different form, due to a wing that had evidently been added many centuries later. The part that Roger could see consisted only of a single, flat-roofed storey about thirty-five feet above the water. There were two diamond-paned windows in it, suggesting the late seventeenth century. One of them was a little open. Although he could not see round the corner, he guessed that this new wing continued on there, as all the rooms would then have a lovely view right down the lake, and this must be the part of the castle still occupied. Yet, as with the derelict ruin, there was no sign of life, and the sinister silence remained unbroken.

  Choosing another spot where he could watch without being seen, he again sat down, took out his leg of chicken and bottle of wine and slowly ate his supper. By the time he had finished full darkness had fallen, but he had no intention of attempting to enter the castle until the inmates could be expected to be asleep.

  At about eight o’clock the two windows became dimly lit, and a form only vaguely seen through the diamond panes drew curtains across them. Chinks of faint light continued to show between the curtains; then, about an hour later, the windows became dark again. Judging by the time, Roger assumed the windows gave on to the dining room, and that the witch and her companions had just finished their evening meal, so would soon be going to bed. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he gave them another two hours before standing up, stretching himself and making sure that the pistol he had thrust into his belt was properly primed.

  By then the moon had come up, but it was on the far side of the castle, so the side opposite him was still in deep shadow. Advancing toward the lake, he cautiously took a few steps into the water, in case what he had taken to be sand proved to be treacherous boggy mud, but the bottom was firm and the water shallow. He was barely knee deep in it when he reached the nearest stones of the rough causeway.

  From there on he clambered up from block to block, on his hands and knees because many of the big stones were covered with moss and provided only a precarious foothold. It took him a quarter of an hour to get to the top; but once there, by leaning sideways he was near enough to the partly open window to get a grip on the sill.

  Balancing carefully on his slippery perch, he stretched out a hand to the window, and pulled it back. Grasping the sill he gave a spring, dangled by both hands for a moment, then hauled himself up and landed on his chest with his head inside the room. Next moment he swore violently under his breath. The butt of the pistol had struck the underledge of the stone sill, and been knocked out of his belt. He heard it clatter as it bounced from rock to rock below. Two-thirds of his body still hung dangerously out of the window. One false move and he would have a very nasty fall, breaking some bones if not his neck. First things first. He gave a swift wriggle and flung his arms forward. It brought him half-way through the window, and he was safe.

  Only then did his mind turn fully to the seriousness of his loss. Dare he go further, now that he was unarmed? Could he retrieve his pistol? No, that was next to impossible. If he dropped back, he would almost certainly fail to land safely and go rolling down the great heap of rugged stones. Besides, even given the luck to escape that, what hope would he have of finding the pistol in the dark?

  Grimly he realised that he dared not risk a drop. He had no option now but to go forward. Two thoughts swiftly followed to console him a little. At least the pistol had not roused the inmates of the castle by going off, and in old castles skilfully arranged groups of weapons nearly always decorated the walls. From one of them he might arm himself with a sword, mace or dagger.

  Even when he pushed aside the curtain, no glimmer of light penetrated the diamond panes of the window as the moonlight did not shine on that side of the castle. The room was in complete darkness, and he could not get any idea of its size. Stretching out his hands, he felt the floor, then pulled his legs through the window, squirmed round and stood up. For a full minute he remained where he was. No sound broke the stillness except that of his own breathing. Cautiously he took two steps forward, his hands stretched out before him. When he was well clear of the curtains he fished out his tinder box and a piece of candle, and struck a light. The flame had barely touched the wick of the candle when there came a rustling sound and a voice said sharply:

  ‘Who is that?’

  The voice was that of a girl. As the candle flared, he saw her. Surrounded by dark hair her face was a white blob. She was sitting up in an iron bedstead and the light gleamed on the brass knobs at its foot. Again she cried, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Roger said quickly. ‘I mean you no harm. But if you rouse the house, I’ll shoot you.’

  As he spoke he walked forward so that he could see her better. At the same time he got an impression of the room. It was large and lofty and furnished only with a table on which was a mirror, a hanging cupboard, a round-lidded trunk and a single chair. Evidently it had not formerly been a bedroom, but had been turned into a temporary one.

  Since he was holding the candle she could see him better than he could see her. Suddenly she exclaimed, ‘I know you now! You are Susan’s father, Mr. Brook.’

  ‘I am,’ he replied, ‘and you are Miss Jemima Luggala.’

  She nodded, gave a heavy sigh, then whispered, ‘Thank God you’ve come! Susan and I were in despair. We’d given up all hope of being rescued from the witch.’

  Roger looked at her in surprise, walked forward, lit another candle that stood beside her bed and said with a frown, ‘I was under the impression that you and Susan had left your mother against her will, to come and live here with Katie O’Brien.’

  ‘So that’s what she told you?’ Jemima’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘It is a lie. I’ve no reason to love my mother, Mr. Brook. She is mean, greedy and a nymphomaniac. Not being well off, she has always grudged the money for my keep and clothes, so she had no scruples about getting rid of me, and was glad of the chance to make a bargain with the witch. Have you ever heard of the New Hell Fire Club?’

  ‘I have. Your mother used to frequent it when she lived in London and, I have reason to suppose, participated in the orgies that took place there.’

  ‘She did. Katie O’Brien told me so. But when my mother left England she was deprived of that outlet for her lusts. That is why she followed the witch to Ireland. Katie had to go into hiding here, but that does not prevent her from still casting spells. They made a foul compact. By her magic arts Katie would provide my mother with a succession of lovers, and in return Susan and I were sold to the witch.’

  ‘Oh, come!’ Roger protested. ‘You and Susan are not children, but fully grown women. You cannot expect me to believe that both of you allowed your mother to hand you over to anyone against your wills.’

  Jemima stared angrily at him. ‘Mr. Brook, I wonder that any man can be so dense. Naturally, we should have refused to go had we had the chance. My mother put a drug into the hot milk we always drink before going to bed at night. When we regained our senses, we were in bed in this castle and as it is surrounded by water we could not attempt to get away.’

  ‘So that is the way it was,’ said Roger thoughtfully. ‘And what of Charles St. Ermins? Was he drugged and brought here, too?’

  ‘My Lord St. Ermins!’ Jemima looked surprised. ‘No, why should he have b
een? What has he to do with this?’

  ‘He came to Dublin some three weeks ago to search for Susan and take her home; but disappeared two days later.’

  ‘I know naught of that. I thought him to be still in Spain.’

  Roger was greatly puzzled. From all he had heard of Jemima, he had thought it probable that she was in part at least responsible for Susan’s having fallen into Katie O’Brien’s clutches. Georgina had said that the girl had both dominated her mother and achieved a great influence over Susan. Yet her account of her mother’s bargain with the witch was highly plausible, because it was so in keeping with what he had learnt of Maureen Luggala’s character. But what could have happened to Charles? That had become an even deeper mystery. Maureen had neither the brains nor the ability to put him out of the way; so, if he was not here, where could he possibly have got to? Another mystery was, if the girls had not become sister witches of the O’Brien’s, why was she keeping them here? Of what value were they to her? After a moment he said:

  ‘You maintain that your mother virtually sold you and Susan to Katie O’Brien, and that you are prisoners. What good can it do her to hold two young girls captive?’

  Jemima gave him a slightly pitying look. ‘It is evident, Mr. Brook, that you have little knowledge of Satanism. For the most important of all occult ceremonies by which great power can be obtained, the use of the body of a virgin is essential.’ Suddenly, in a rush of words she burst out, ‘It is this we are both dreading so terribly. That’s why I was so overjoyed when I recognised you tonight and realised that you had come to rescue Susan. You’ll take me with you too, won’t you? Please! Please! I implore you to.’

  The pleading look on the girl’s face was so earnest that Roger felt much he had heard or assumed about her must be wrong. It was quite possible that she had been maligned and trapped. It dawned upon him then that there was a way in which he could put her to the test, and he asked: