I noticed how he looked after the two women. I wondered if Ella, who wore no rings, had ever been married. Maybe she’d been the dutiful daughter who stayed at home to look after her ageing mother. Did daughters do that anymore? But then, Lillian Sayer didn’t look as if she needed much looking after. She had one of those faces that made it difficult to guess her age, but she could have been in her seventies or even eighties. Her daughter, maybe in her fifties. But, of course, looks can be so deceptive.
“So what are your plans for today?” I had the impression Lillian asked purely out of politeness rather than any genuine interest.
“I thought I’d drive around the villages on the Witches’ Trail. Maybe start with Newchurch.”
“Oh yes, we know Newchurch very well, don’t we, Ella?”
Her daughter nodded. “Very pretty church, and there’s a shop you must see.”
“Witches Galore? Yes, that’s on my list.”
“We find it most amusing, don’t we, Ella?”
Ella nodded. “Yes, Mother, we do.”
Both women smiled.
Something bothered me about those two. For some bizarre reason, an image of Tweedledee and Tweedledum flashed into my mind. I’d found those two a bit unnerving as a small child reading Alice in Wonderland for the first time.
“I really must get going,” I said. “Very nice to have met you. Are you staying long this time?”
Ella exchanged glances with her mother. “Oh, just a few days.”
Why did I feel as if I’d missed something in that glance? I felt goose bumps rise on my arms and I had no idea why.
Out of my bedroom window, I saw the storm clouds massing over Pendle Hill in the distance. I pushed the curtain aside to get a better view. Behind me, I felt cool breath on my neck. I spun around in time to see my door close.
Within seconds I’d wrenched the door open. Not enough time for anyone to unlock another door, and surely I would have heard them running down the hall? No one there. Silence.
I stepped back in and closed the door behind me. How could someone have unlocked my door and crept up behind me without me hearing them? Maybe I’d imagined it. But I hadn’t imagined seeing the door close. It was on an automatic closer, so maybe it just took its time.
I tried it. Sure enough. It did take a few seconds to quietly close itself, triggering the lock. That must be it then. And the breath I’d felt had been simply a breeze as the door finally shut.
Yes, that must be it. Except I knew I’d pushed the door firmly closed when I entered.
“Oh Rich, I’m really losing it.” But still no reassuring voice calmed me. I felt empty. Alone. I shook myself. I had to stop this and get out, follow my plan for today. Keep occupied.
Witches Galore lived up to its name. Witches of all kinds hung from the ceiling, brushing against the faces of customers as they entered the cramped little shop. Not one inch of space remained between dolls, broomsticks, charms, books, tea towels and anything remotely connected with Pendle, its notorious witches and modern-day Wiccan beliefs.
A witch-doll called “Alizon Device” took my fancy, as did a smaller one—“Jennet Device”. She had a particularly evil expression on her twisted little cloth face. I’d give that one to Dawn. It would amuse her.
I squeezed past the other customers, selected a couple of books and paid at the counter. Then another tight squeeze before I managed to get out of the cramped shop.
The fresh air spat rain. I’d stupidly left my jacket in the car, believing the brief appearance of the sun might last a bit longer than it did. I laid my purchases carefully in the trunk, fastened my jacket around me and secured the hood, just as the rain turned to a shower. I glanced over at the church and decided to take Martin’s advice and investigate, so I crossed the narrow road and opened the gate.
I looked up at the spire and saw something I’d never seen on a church before. It looked like an eye. Then I remembered one of the leaflets I had picked up had mentioned the “Eye of God”. It had been fashioned out of some sort of blue stone generations ago, set into an oval recess in the wall. Meant to ward off the devil perhaps, or to remind the congregation that God was always watching them.
Gravestones—especially ancient ones—have always held a fascination for me, so I lingered around some of them, trying to make out the wording in the weathered sandstone. Then I found the one Martin had mentioned. I could make out the name Nutter, but not the first name. The carved letters were worn away and the rain poured now, so that it made puddles on the lichen-covered stone of the sarcophagus.
Then it happened again. I’d heard nothing, but surely someone had moved close up behind me. I could feel all the hairs standing on the back of my neck. I glanced over my shoulder. No one there. But there had to be. Surely I hadn’t imagined the same thing twice? I shivered. Rain dripped off the hood of my jacket and my jeans clung to me. I needed to get somewhere warm and dry.
I half ran to my car, slid into the driver’s seat and tossed back my wet hood. Strands of damp hair clung to my cheeks, which tingled with the mix of rain and an increasingly stiff breeze. The windows were misting up, so I turned on the engine, put the blowers on full blast and tried to convince myself I wasn’t going mad.
To go any further today would have been crazy in this weather. A book, a glass of white wine and Wicked Enchantments seemed the most appealing option, and I needed to put my earlier paranoia behind me. I set off and followed the signs to Barrowford.
But the rain eased rapidly, and for some inexplicable reason, instead of continuing on my way, I took a turn down an unfamiliar road.
In front of me loomed the long brow of Pendle Hill, gray and capped with rain clouds. I couldn’t be more certain I had never been here before, but now, as I rounded a bend, I seemed to recognize the fields on either side of me. I had to check it out.
I soon found a small layby along the deserted road. Sheep grazed in the field to my left, and as I stood by the drystone wall on the opposite side, I had the strongest feeling of déjà vu. Somehow, in some deep recess of my mind, I recognized this place. But I couldn’t, could I? My stomach lurched and I tried desperately to stem the panic that welled up inside me. I took deep breaths, concentrating on keeping them rhythmical and even. I lost track of how long I stood there, rooted to the ground, because I knew something—someone—was missing from this landscape.
Then it came to me. The dream. The one I’d dreamed for two consecutive nights before I came here. The one that had led me here in the first place. I’d found it! These were the fields I’d been walking through when the mysterious figure appeared.
I half expected to see him now, but as the clouds swirled, sheep bleated and birds cried overhead, no one appeared. Still no cars on the road and no hikers. Maybe the weather had put them off. Perhaps this road didn’t go anywhere. But, with all my fears, I still had the strongest urge to find the farm I’d dreamed about. It should be down the next field. A curious-looking place with a small malt kiln attached.
Through the fine drizzle, I took in the undulating meadow—a vast, empty expanse of grass. My chances of finding my building seemed slim at best in this bare landscape. But somehow, even without any tangible evidence, it all seemed to fit.
Back in the car, I took out my road atlas and found the unmarked road I knew I must be on. I marked a small X where I reckoned I was currently parked. Maybe George Nowell would be able to fill in some of the gaps? After all, he’d lived around here all his life—unlike Virginia, a relative newcomer.
I drove off, but my feelings of unease wouldn’t go away. Now not only the uncomfortable déjà vu of earlier. Something more sinister. Apprehension, combined with a desperate need to know. I knew I couldn’t give up until I had all the answers. And the thought of what those might be terrified me. I had no idea why.
If only I’d fought them. If only I’d listened to the logical, reason
ing side of my brain, because right then, that told me to leave Pendle and never, ever return.
Lunchtime, and the pub heaved with customers, but I managed to find a table and sat down with my glass of chardonnay. Warm, inviting smells of roast beef wafted in my direction, but the combination of a full English breakfast and my unnerving experience had removed any appetite I might have had.
I opened my road atlas and found the right page as George came over.
“Hello again. Jean said you wanted to see me about something.”
“Yes, please, if you have a minute. I can see you’re busy today.”
He shrugged. “Jean and Sandie can manage without me for a little while. What can I help you with?”
I pointed at the map. “I drove up here this morning. I’m not sure where exactly, but I turned off down this little road.”
He peered over to see where my finger pointed and sat back.
“Do you know it?”
“Oh yes, I know it,” he said, and I could tell by his sharp tone, whatever he knew, he didn’t like.
“Is something wrong?”
He hesitated for a second, long enough for his reluctance to speak volumes. Then his face creased in a smile. “Legends and folk tales. This area’s riddled with them. That field you were looking at is one of the reputed sites of Malkin Tower. The Pendle witches were supposed to have held a feast there in 1612. One of them—Old Demdike they called her—lived there. Some say she was the most powerful of the lot. Of course, whether it’s true or not, no one knows now. They found the remains of an old house up near Barley a while ago. Said that was Malkin Tower, but most people know it couldn’t be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Mainly because it’s in the wrong place. Your field is a much more likely contender. I’ve always thought so, at any rate.”
“But there’s nothing in that field except grass. Wouldn’t there be something left?”
George shook his head. “Oh no. Folk around here have always been a thrifty lot. Had to be. It’s hard living, especially away from the villages, even now. As soon as Malkin Tower became empty, people would have started thieving the stone to repair their own houses or build new ones. Pretty soon the place would have been flattened and robbed out. Then nature took care of the rest.”
Should I tell George about the strange feelings I had experienced up there? I hardly knew the man. Would he think me crazy? I sighed. Oh, what the hell. Working here, he must have met plenty of crazy people. Witch hunting twenty-first-century style brought all sorts of odd folk out of the woodwork.
I plunged in. “I had a really strange feeling when I was up there today. Has anyone else reported feeling anything they couldn’t quite explain?”
Again the hesitation. As if he couldn’t decide how much to tell me. If anything.
He chewed his lip for a moment. “A few people have told me they felt a sort of rush of energy. One visitor brought some sort of electromagnetic monitoring device and tried it out up there. Apparently he got the sort of readings he gets at those stone circles. You know, Stonehenge and Avebury. It’s supposed to be a natural phenomenon, but a lot of people believe this is why our ancestors chose the sites they did for their massive building projects, and it’s supposed to explain why more UFOs are seen over Salisbury Plain than anywhere else in Britain.”
I’d heard that too. Pure hokum, I thought. “Isn’t that supposed to be because of all the military installations around there? I’ve heard the so-called UFOs are really experimental rockets and planes that we’re not supposed to know about.”
George laughed. “Well, that’s another theory for sure.”
“My experience really shook me. I felt sort of… I don’t know. Disembodied.” Watch it. Mustn’t sound crazy. “Oh, don’t take any notice of me. Too fanciful, I expect.”
George suddenly stood up and leaned over me, taking me by surprise. I shrank back in my seat. “Be careful up there.”
“Sorry?”
He stood up straight again and his expression changed to a smile. “I mean the weather. It can change like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Easy to get yourself stranded in a heavy storm, so don’t go too far from your car. That’s my best advice.”
“Thanks,” I said and wondered why he’d lied to me. “I’ll remember that.”
“Best way.” He returned to his customers.
What else could I do? I had to go back there. George’s odd behavior had made me even more determined to find out everything that field could reveal to me. Maybe then, I could stop having all those weird dreams and imagining people coming up behind me and breathing on my neck.
The rain had passed at last and white clouds parted to reveal a summer-blue sky. The sun hurt my eyes after the dark interior of the Feathers, and it took a moment and some rapid blinking for them to adjust.
As I drove past Barrowbrooke Farm, I struggled to remember exactly where I’d turned off down the unmarked road. Then I found it. I drove up to the little layby and parked.
Bathed in sunshine, Pendle Hill had transformed from the menacing, gloomy brow of earlier. Now it looked green, fresh and inviting. I took out my walking boots. Not hiker quality, but hopefully the worst obstacles I would find would be stinging nettles and sheep droppings as I trudged across the field.
In one field, I heard the distant bleating of the sheep I had seen earlier. They had moved further away now, no longer huddled against the rain. Apart from that and the sound of birdsong, peace and stillness reigned. A breeze ruffled the grass, but no sound of traffic or even a farm vehicle.
I crossed the road and walked by the side of the wall, looking for a way in. I would have climbed over, but barbed wire stretched across the top of the drystone wall—no doubt to deter trespassers like me. But I had to get into that field.
Then, at last, I saw a gate. Quite small. Not wide enough to drive a tractor through at any rate. I leaned over and found the catch, surprised to find it unlocked—so much for deterring unwanted visitors! It slid smoothly across, although the gate groaned when I pushed it open.
I stepped over muddy puddles and onto the soft grass. My jeans were soon soaked again as I swished through the field, moving upward. The sun warmed my back and the sound of the bleating sheep faded into the distance. The smell of grass and the gentle buzz of insects going about their business helped to melt away the crazy feelings of earlier and make me almost believe nothing was wrong.
I reached the top of the rise and looked down at the village below. To my left, further in the distance, stood a solitary farmhouse.
And then it all went wrong. All around me fell silent. There weren’t even any birds overhead.
I hardly dared to breathe as panic started to grip me. Without warning, a loud buzzing seemed to cloak me. I whirled around. A swarm of bees? Had they deserted a nearby hive? I could see nothing.
I clapped my hands to my ears and squeezed my eyes shut against the cacophony in my head. Still it came. Louder. More frenetic.
I heard my voice, a pitiful cry: “Make it stop!”
And it did. I dared to open my eyes, but couldn’t believe what I saw. In front of me stood a strangely shaped house, seemingly attached to a malt kiln, making it appear as if it had a tower.
The field had transformed. No longer green and lush, but muddy and rutted with cart tracks. Dirty, archaically dressed children played in the dirt. Mangy dogs barked and smoke billowed from holes in the roofs of the half dozen hovels strewn around as if dumped there by accident.
This couldn’t be real. Surely I’d fallen asleep.
I took a few tentative steps forward, towards the children. The door of one of the hovels opened and a woman, dressed in clothing more appropriate for Tudor or Stuart times, threw a bucket of dirty water out. She stared straight at me but didn’t seem to see me. As if I had become invisible.
“Excuse
me…” I said, but the door closed again and the woman had gone.
The door of the strangely shaped house opened and a man appeared. The sun stung my eyes and I shaded them with my hand. He seemed young and familiar somehow. Like the man in my dream. I took more steps, unsteady this time, towards him. He stood still, looking at me, but, unlike the woman, I felt sure he could see me.
I had opened my mouth to speak when the buzzing started again. So sudden and so loud that I bent double as if it had struck me in the stomach. The nauseating dizziness began and I closed my eyes, willing myself not to faint.
As before, the buzzing stopped as abruptly as it had started. I opened my eyes, saw the lush grass beneath my feet once again and straightened up. The vision had gone. Only the field remained. And a hundred questions I couldn’t even begin to answer.
Chapter Ten
“No! It cannot be coming yet. It is too soon.” Alizon fought James, twisting left and right, but he held her arms fast behind the chair as his grandmother and mother cleared the kitchen table at Malkin Tower.
“Child, it will come when it’s ready. And it is telling you that it is ready now.”
Her grandmother’s voice never usually sounded so soft and calming.
Still Alizon struggled, but James held her fast. She kicked out and tried to stand, but her feet were bound together with rope.
“Let me go!” The raw, deep voice didn’t belong to her. It came from deep within her. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her hair stuck to her cheeks in lank strands. She strained against him. It had to be the evil thing within her that added to her strength, pushing her to the limit of her endurance. What else would make her scream her defiance as if from the pits of hell itself?
James felt his blood chill as he caught his mother’s terrified eyes and his grandmother’s pursed lips. None dared speak their fears or talk of what must be done today. If they did, the evil one would hear and destroy them all. All except the mother who must give it life before she too was destroyed and her soul damned to eternal hell fire.
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