I went into my room and put my candle on the table beside the bed. Written on the wall close to its foot were lots of names, scrawled there by former apprentices. Some had completed their training with the Spook successfully: Bill Arkwright's name was there in the top left-hand corner. A lot had failed and hadn't completed their time. Some had even died. Billy Bradley's name was there in the other corner. He'd been the apprentice before me but he'd made a mistake and had his fingers bitten off by a boggart. Billy had died of shock and loss of blood.
I searched the wall carefully that night. As far as I knew, anyone who'd ever stayed in this room had written their name there, including me. My own name was very small because there wasn't much space left, but it was there all the same. Yet as far as I could see there was one name missing. I searched the wall carefully just to be sure, but I was right: there was no 'Morgan' written on the wall. So why was that? The Spook said he'd been his apprentice so why hadn't he added his name? What was so different about Morgan?
The following morning, after a quick breakfast, we packed and got ready to go. Just before we left, I sneaked back into the kitchen to say goodbye to the Spook's pet boggart.
'Thanks for all the meals you've cooked,' I said aloud to the empty air.
I wasn't sure if the Spook would have been too happy about me making a special trip to the kitchen to say thanks: he was always going on about not getting too close to 'the hired help'.
Anyway, I know the boggart appreciated the praise because no sooner had I spoken than a deep purring began under the kitchen table and it was so loud that the pots and pans began to rattle. The boggart was mostly invisible, but occasionally it took the shape of a big ginger torn cat.
I hesitated, gathered my courage and spoke again. I wasn't sure how the boggart would react to what I had to say.
'I'm sorry if I made you angry last night,' I said. T was just doing my job. Was it the letter that upset you?'
The boggart wasn't able to speak so I wasn't going to get a reply in words. Instinct had made me ask the question. A feeling that it was the right thing to do.
Suddenly there was a whoosh of air down the chimney, a faint smell of soot, then a fragment of paper flew up from the grate and landed on the hearth rug. I stepped forward and picked it up. It was burned around the edges and part of it crumbled away in my fingers, but I knew that it was all that remained of the letter I'd delivered for Morgan.
There were just a few words on that scorched scrap of paper and I stared at them for a while before I could make them out:
Give me what belongs to me or I'll make you sorry you were ever born. You can start by
That was all there was, but it was enough to tell me that Morgan was threatening my master. What was it all about? Had the Spook taken something from Morgan? Something that rightfully belonged to him? I couldn't imagine the Spook stealing anything. He just wasn't like that. It didn't make any sense at all.
My thoughts were disturbed by the Spook shouting from the front door. 'Come on, lad! What are you up to? Don't dawdle! We haven't got all day!'
I screwed up the paper and threw it back into the grate, picked up my staff and ran to the door. Alice was already standing outside but the Spook was in the doorway, eyeing me suspiciously, two bags at his feet. We hadn't packed much but I still had to carry both of them.
By now the Spook had given me a bag of my own, although so far I hadn't got much to put inside it. All it contained was a silver chain given to me by my mam, a tinderbox, which was a leaving present from my dad, my notebooks and a few clothes. Some of my socks had been darned so much that they were almost new, but the Spook had bought me a winter sheepskin coat, which was very warm, and I was wearing it under my cloak. I had a staff of my own too - a new one my master had cut himself from rowan wood, which was very effective against most witches.
The Spook, for all his disapproval of Alice, had been generous regarding her clothing. She too had a new winter coat, a black woollen one that came down almost to her ankles; it had an attached hood to keep her ears warm.
The cold didn't seem to bother the Spook much and he wore his cloak and hood just as he had in spring and summer. His health had been poor in the last few months, but now he seemed to have recovered and appeared as strong as ever.
The Spook locked the front door behind us, squinted up into the winter sun and set off at a furious pace. I picked up both bags and followed as best I could, with Alice close at my heels.
'Oh, by the way, lad,' the Spook called back over his shoulder, 'we'll be calling in at your dad's farm on our way south. He still owes me ten guineas as the final payment for your training!'
I'd been sad to leave Chipenden. I'd grown fond of the house and gardens and I was sorry to think that Alice and I would be apart from now on. But at least I'd have a chance to see my mam and dad. So my heart leaped with happiness and there was a new energy in my step. I was on my way home!
Home
As we travelled south, I kept glancing back at the fells. I'd spent so much time walking up there close to the clouds that some fells were like old friends, particularly Parlick Pike, which was the nearest one to the Spook's summer house. But by the end of the second day of walking, those big familiar hills were no more than a low, purple line on the horizon and I was very glad of my new coat. We'd already spent an uncomfortable night freezing in a roofless barn, and although the wind had dropped and the sun was shining weakly, it now seemed to be getting colder by the hour.
At last we approached home, and my eagerness to see my family again grew with every stride. I was desperate to see my dad. On my last visit he'd just been getting over a serious illness, with little chance that he'd ever fully recover his health. He'd intended to retire and hand the farm over to my eldest brother, Jack, at the beginning of the winter anyway. But his illness had brought things forward. The Spook had called it my dad's farm, but that wasn't really true any more.
Suddenly, below us, I could see the barn and the familiar farmhouse with a plume of smoke rising from the chimney. The patchwork of surrounding fields and the bare trees looked bleak and wintry and I longed to warm my hands by the kitchen fire.
My master stopped at the end of the lane. 'Well, lad, I don't think your brother and his wife will be too pleased to see us. Spooks' business upsets most people, so we shouldn't hold it against them. Off you go and fetch my money; the girl and I will wait here. No doubt you'll be looking forward to seeing your family again, but don't be longer than an hour. While you're sitting by a warm fire, we'll be freezing our socks off here!'
He was right: my brother Jack and his wife didn't like spooks' business and had warned me in the past not to bring it to their door. So I left Alice and the Spook and ran up the lane towards the farm. When I opened the gate, the dogs began to bark and Jack came round the side of the barn. We hadn't got on too well together since I'd become the Spook's apprentice, but for once he looked happy to see me and his face split into a broad grin.
'Good to see you, Tom,' he said, putting his arm across my shoulders.
'And you too, Jack. But how's Dad?' I asked.
The smile slipped from my brother's face as quickly as it had come. 'The truth is, Tom, I don't think he's that much better than last time you were here. Some days are an improvement on others, but first thing in the morning he coughs and splutters so much he can hardly get his breath. If s painful to listen to. We want to help him but there's nothing we can do.'
I shook my head sadly. 'Poor Dad. I'm on my way down south for the winter' I told him, 'and I've just called in for the rest of the money Dad owes the Spook. I wish I could stay but I can't. My master's waiting at the end of the lane. We're to set off again in an hour.'
I didn't mention Alice. Jack knew she was the niece of a witch and had little time for her. They'd crossed swords before and I didn't want a repeat performance.
My brother turned and gazed back towards the lane before looking me up and down. 'You certainly dress the part anyway' he
said with a grin.
He was right. I'd left the bags with Alice, but wearing my black cloak and carrying my staff, I looked like a smaller version of my master.
'Like the jacket?' I asked, pulling back my cloak to let him see it properly.
'Looks warm.'
'Mr Gregory bought it for me. Says I'll need it. He has a house up on Anglezarke Moor, not far from Adlington. That's where we're spending the winter and it's bitterly cold over there.'
'Aye, it'll be cold up there all right - you can be sure of that! Rather you than me. Anyway, I'd best get back to my chores' Jack said. 'Don't keep Mam waiting. She's been really bright and cheerful today. Must have known you were coming.'
With that, Jack set off back across the yard, pausing to wave from the corner of the barn. I waved back and then walked towards the kitchen door. Most likely Mam had known I was on my way. She has a way of sensing things like that. As a midwife and healer she often knows when someone is coming to seek her help.
As I pushed open the back door, I found Mam sitting in her rocking chair by the fire. The curtains were closed because she is sensitive to sunlight. She smiled as I walked into the kitchen.
'Good to see you, son' she said. 'Come here and give me a hug and then you can tell me all your news!'
I went across and she held me close. Then I drew up a chair next to her. A lot had happened since I'd last seen Mam in the autumn, but I'd sent her a long letter telling her all about the dangers I'd faced with
my master during the final stages of a job in Priestown. 'Did you get my letter, Mam?'
'Yes, Tom, I did, and I'm really sorry for not writing back, but things have been busy here and I knew you'd be calling in on your way down south. How's Alice getting on now?'
'She's definitely turned out all right in the end, Mam, and she's been happy living with us in Chipenden, but the trouble is, the Spook still doesn't trust her. We're going to his winter house but Alice is going to stay on a farm with people she's never even met.'
'It might seem harsh,' Mam replied, 'but I'm sure Mr Gregory knows what he's doing. It'll all be for the best. As for Anglezarke, you take care there, son. It's a grim, bleak moor. Reckon Alice has been let off lightly.'
'Jack told me about Dad. Is it as bad as you expected, Mam?' I asked. Last time I'd seen her she'd kept the worst of her fears from Jack but had hinted to me that Dad's life was drawing to a close.
'I'd hoped he'd gain a little more strength. He'll take careful nursing to get him through the winter, which I suspect is going to be as bad as any I've witnessed since coming to the County. He's upstairs sleeping now. I'll take you up to see him in a few minutes.'
'Jack seems more cheerful though,' I said, trying to lighten the mood. 'Perhaps he's come round to the idea of having a spook in the family.'
Mam smiled broadly. 'And so he should, but I suspect it's got rather more to do with the fact that Ellie's expecting again and it's going to be a boy this time - I'm certain of it. Jack's always wanted a son. Someone to inherit the farm one day.'
I was pleased for Jack. Mam was never wrong about things like that. Then I realized that the house seemed quiet. Almost too quiet.
'Where is Ellie?' I asked.
'Sorry, Tom, but you've chosen the wrong day to call. Most Wednesdays she goes to visit her own mam and dad, taking little Mary with her. You should see that child now! She's a big girl for eight months and she crawls so fast, you need eyes in the back of your head!
Anyway, I know your master's waiting for you and it's cold out there, so let's go up and see your dad.'
Dad was fast asleep but there were four pillows at his back so that he was almost sitting up.
'Makes it easier for him to breathe in that position,' said Mam. 'He's still got some congestion in his lungs.'
Dad was breathing noisily; his face was grey and there was a line of sweat on his brow. Truth was, he looked really ill - a mere shadow of the strong, healthy man who'd once run the farm single-handed while being a good loving father to seven sons.
'Look, Tom, I know you'd like a word or two with him but he didn't sleep at all last night. It's better if we don't wake him now. What do you say?'
'Of course, Mam,' I agreed, but I felt sad I couldn't talk to my dad. He was so ill, I knew I might never see him again.
'Well, just give him a kiss, son, and we'll leave him to his slumber ...' I looked at my mam in astonishment. I couldn't remember the last time I'd kissed Dad. A pat on the shoulder or a quick handshake was more like it.
'Go on, Tom, just kiss him on the forehead,' Mam insisted. 'And wish him well. He may be asleep but part of him will hear what you say and it'll make him feel better.'
I looked at Mam and her eyes met mine. There was iron in her gaze and I felt the force of her will. So I did exactly what she asked. I leaned over the bed and kissed Dad lightly on his warm, damp forehead. There was a strange smell that I couldn't quite identify. A smell of flowers. A type of flower that I couldn't put my name to.
'Get well soon, Dad,' I whispered very softly. 'I'll call back in the spring and see you then.'
My mouth was suddenly dry, and when I licked my lips, I tasted the salt from his brow. Mam smiled sadly and pointed to the bedroom door.
As I followed her out, Dad started to cough and splutter behind me. I turned back in concern, and at that moment he opened his eyes and looked at me.
'Tom! Tom! Is that you?' he called before starting another bout of coughing.
Mam brushed past me in the doorway and bent over Dad anxiously, stroking his forehead gently until the coughing finally subsided.
'Tom is here,' she told him, 'but don't you go tiring yourself out with too much talking.'
'Are you working hard, lad? Is your master pleased with you?' Dad asked, but his voice was weak and croaky, as if there was something caught in his throat.
'Aye, Dad, it's going well. In fact that's one of the reasons I'm here,' I said, approaching the bed. 'My master's definitely keeping me on and he wants the last ten guineas you owe him to pay for my apprenticeship.'
'That's good news, son. I'm really pleased for you. So you've enjoyed working up at Chipenden?'
T have that, Dad,' I said with a smile, 'but now we're off to spend the winter at his house on Anglezarke Moor.'
Suddenly Dad looked alarmed. 'Oh, I wish you weren't going there, son,' he said, glancing at Mam. 'There are strange tales about that place, and none of them good. You'll need eyes in the back of your head up there. Make sure you stay close to your master and listen carefully to everything he says.'
'I'll be all right, Dad. Don't you worry. I'm learning more each day.'
'I'm sure you are, son. I must confess that I had my doubts about apprenticing you to a spook, but your mam was right. It's a hard job but somebody has to do it. She's told me about the things you've achieved so far, and I'm really proud to have such a brave son. I don't have favourites, mind. Seven sons I've had, all good lads. I love all my boys and I'm proud of every one, but I have a feeling that you might turn out to be the best of the whole crop.'
I just smiled, not knowing what to say. Dad smiled back, then closed his eyes, and within moments the rhythm of his breathing changed and he drifted back off to sleep. Mam gestured towards the door and we left the room.
When we were back in the kitchen, I asked Mam about the strange smell.
'You've asked, so I won't try to hide it from you, Tom,' she said. 'As well as being the seventh son of a seventh son, you've inherited some things from me. We're both sensitive to what are called 'intimations of death'. So what you smell is death's approach ...'
A lump filled my throat and the tears began to prick behind my eyes. Immediately Mam came forward and put her arm round me.
'Oh, Tom, try not to get upset. It doesn't mean that your dad is necessarily going to die a week, a month or even a year from now. But the stronger the smell, the closer death is. If someone recovers fully, the smell goes away. And it's the same with your dad. So
me days the smell is hardly there at all. I'm doing my very best for him and there is still some hope. Anyway, there it is, I've told you and it's something else you've learned.'
'Thanks, Mam,' I said sadly, preparing to go.
'Now don't go rushing off in that state,' Mam said, her voice soft and kind. 'Just sit yourself down near the fire and I'll make you some sandwiches for the journey.'
I did as I was told while she quickly made up a parcel of ham and chicken sandwiches for the three of us.
'Aren't we forgetting something?' she asked as she handed me the parcel.
'Mr Gregory's money!' I replied. I'd forgotten all about it.
'Wait there, Tom,' she said. 'I'll just have to go up to my room and get it.'
By 'my room' she didn't mean the bedroom that she shared with Dad. She meant the locked room near the top of the house where she kept her possessions. I'd only been in it once since I was a toddler, and that was when she'd given me her silver chain. Nobody else went in that room. Not even Dad.
There were lots of boxes and chests in there but I hadn't a clue what they contained. From what Mam had just said, there was money in there too. Mam's money had bought our farm in the first place. She'd brought it with her from her own country, Greece.
Before I left, Mam handed me the pack of sandwiches and counted ten guineas into my hand. When she looked into my eyes, I could see the concern there.
'It's going to be a long, hard, cruel winter, son. All the signs are there. The swallows flew south almost a month earlier than usual and the first frost came while the last of my roses were still in bloom - something I've never seen before. Ifs going to be harsh and I don't think any of us will come through it unchanged. And there couldn't be a worse place to spend it than up on Anglezarke. Your dad was worried about you, son, and I am too. And what he said was right. So I won't mince my words. There's no doubt that the dark's growing in power and there's a particularly baleful influence up on that moor. It's where some of the Old Gods were worshipped long ago, and in winter some of them start to stir from their sleep. The worst of them was Golgoth, whom some call the
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