The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches

by Robin Jarvis

  Miss Boston's chins wobbled in annoyance. 'I think we have been snubbed, Tilly dear,' she said. 'And I believe Dora will live to regret allowing that woman into her house.'

  The baked potato was still too hot to touch. Jennet could feel the heat from it radiate through the lining of her coat. The girl had been thinking about the previous night all day long. She could not forget that tragic figure in white pouring out her grief in the churchyard. It had had a profound effect on Jennet. She knew what it was like to suffer and grieve, but at least she had Ben. The poor woman obviously had no one. She hoped the novice would return tonight. There had to be something she could do to help. The woman might not be so frightened this time.

  The stone of the tomb slab was cold and she shifted uncomfortably. She had come armed against the pangs of hunger: in one pocket there was the baked potato and in the other, one of Aunt Alice's forks. It was dark now and only the pubs round the harbour seemed alive, all the tourists having deserted the streets for cosier entertainments. It was going to be a cold night; there was a musty, autumn scent in the air. Jennet shivered and decided it was time to eat.

  Wisps of steam curled out of the potato as she broke its brown, papery skin with the old silver fork. It smelled delicious and she waited for a moment before digging in. It was still hot and Jennet had to suck in the cold night air to prevent her mouth being burned.

  The sea lapped against the cliff face; all was calm and the waxing moon rode above the few dim clouds that reached over the horizon. Jennet finished the last fragments of baked potato and replaced the fork in her pocket. She felt better for that and was marvellously warm inside. It was ten o'clock and she was all alone in the graveyard.

  A seabird flew overhead and was caught in the beams of the arc lights. Jennet watched it falter, then regain its balance. When she lowered her eyes, something white caught her attention.

  There she was, the sister from the convent. Just as she had done the night before, the woman crossed the cemetery and stood by the wall, where she gazed out to sea.

  Undetected, Jennet rose and began to walk over to her. She could see the woman's shoulders shaking with emotion as the miserable weeping began; the pitiful whimpers filled her ears.

  Suddenly Jennet dropped to the ground—someone else was there. A figure dressed in black had emerged from the darkness, strode quickly over the graves and grabbed the novice by the wrist.

  Jennet scrambled behind a headstone and waited. She was confused. What was happening? And why should she feel the need to hide? It was ridiculous; she wasn't doing anything wrong, yet she felt it would be safer if she were not observed.

  A voice drifted over the tombs to her dark sanctuary. It was a wheedling, fawning voice but one that contained a hidden power which might erupt at any moment. For some reason, Jennet was afraid. The sound of that voice made her shudder; it was ugly and menacing. She wiped her forehead and plucked up enough courage to peer round the stone.

  By the wall the white form of the novice was trying to pull away from the intruder. Her small, frightened face was screwed up in misery as she tugged to release her arm.

  Jennet reared up a little higher, for she could not quite see the other person. A little more and there, dressed in black, with her short blonde hair gleaming under the moon, was Rowena Cooper. Jennet had never met the woman before but Aunt Alice had given her a perfect description. It could be no other.

  The two women struggled with each other but Rowena was the stronger and she laughed triumphantly. 'You don't get away that easily, my little mule,' she sneered.

  Jennet was fascinated. All her instincts warned her and tiny alarm signals jangled in her head, but she had to find out what was going on. Ignoring her better judgement, she crawled through the grass and drew closer.

  Ben trudged to the bridge, yawning and stumbling. Another evening had gone by and still there was no sign of the moonkelp. He hated leaving Nelda and Hesper to continue the search without him, but what would Aunt Alice and Jennet say if he stayed out all night?

  He had enjoyed the past week. Once they had gone out in a tiny rowing boat and Hesper had told him a great many things. She had warmed to Ben and, although the threat of discovery by the rest of the tribe still caused her to panic every now and again, at other times she would chatter to him quite freely.

  The boy was learning a great deal about the fisher folk. He knew that they honoured the sea and were keepers of great mysteries. They guarded the secrets of the magic tides and had once been able to consult the Lords of the Deep, who lived in the dark, cold realm under the water. Hesper told him many old tales: of the Weathercharmers who controlled the winds and waves by singing the Song of the Moon, of the Shorebrides who rejected tribal life and became solitary coast wanderers, and of the Gullspeakers who knew the tongues of all seabirds. To Ben's delight, she also told him of the hideous serpents and other monsters which used to inhabit the waters round Whitby.

  While Hesper was telling him of the Weathercharmers, a salty tear trickled down her nut-brown cheek. They were out in the small aufwader boat, and she stopped rowing and gazed dreamily into the distance.

  'Oona was the mightiest of these,' she said. 'It was only the womenfolk who practised the art. Very great in all lore was she and the Song of the Moon was never sung better than when it issued from her lips. Her talent excelled so that no others could compete against it and the craft was forgotten by all save she. Oona might have been a tribal elder if she had had a mind. All respected her—some were even a little afraid—but she was a gentle creature and did not crave to rule others.' Slowly Hesper dipped the oars into the water and continued the tale sadly.

  'A Shorebride Oona was close to becoming, and though I was young I can remember the light in her eyes when she spoke of the moonkelp and I knew that she yearned to find it. I believe she knew when and where it would bloom, but they were secrets she kept to herself. Not even I was entrusted with that knowledge.'

  'What happened to her?' Ben asked. 'It's a pity she isn't here now.'

  Hesper bowed her head and said no more. It was Nelda who explained to him. 'But if Oona was here,' she said, 'then there would be no need to find the moonkelp. For she it was who fell in love with the fisherman and bore the halfchild. It is through her that we are all accursed.'

  Ben's head spun with all he had learnt. He was too tired to take most of it in and his feet dragged beneath him. Crossing over the bridge, he headed down Church Street for home. When he came to the alleyway, something caught his eye. He turned round and through the gap between the houses opposite he looked down on the sands of Tate Hill Pier.

  A figure was crouching on the shore; although it was dark, it was unmistakably an aufwader. The boy grinned. His excitement expelled all traces of weariness and he hurried over the road and sped down the steps which led to the beach.

  The aufwader had his back to him. He was dressed pretty much the same as Nelda: a woollen hat, a gansey and an old worn pair of oilskin waders. Ben could hear him muttering but could not make out the words. The tone, however, did not sound pleasant.

  He was not sure if he wanted to meet this aufwader after all. What if he had been spying on Nelda and Hesper and was going to tell the elders of the tribe? Ben might make it worse if he went right up to him and introduced himself.

  'Garr!' spat the guttural voice of the stranger as a wave rushed in unexpectedly and covered his feet. Ben didn't like the sound of him. He stopped in his tracks and prepared to turn back, but it was too late. The aufwader spun round and saw the boy.

  He was an ugly character. A great sneer scarred his face and his large ears were ragged and torn from many fights. His side-whiskers were black and wiry, framing his leering head like the legs of a huge poisonous spider, and his large dark eyes slid slyly from side to side in the shadow of scowling brows.

  Ben backed away but he could not stop staring at the creature. Even in the dim light of the street lamps, he could recognise the pattern on the gansey—it was the same as
Nelda's. This evil-looking creature was her father!

  The aufwader paced to one side, not sure if the child could see him. The sneer widened, however, when he saw Ben's gaze follow him. He opened his wrinkled, tobacco-stained mouth and hissed, 'A human whelp wi' the sight, is it?'

  The black eyes glinted and as Ben looked into them he felt invisible bonds tighten round him, just as they had when he had first met Nelda. He was unable to move, caught in the aufwader snare—a restraining power which froze his tongue and turned his feet to lead. He could only watch as the foul figure crept ever closer to him.

  The creature took a sharp knife from his belt and held it up to the boy's face. 'Come to pry again 'ave ya, landbreed? Always poking yer nose in where it's not wanted, ain'tcha?' The deadly blade touched Ben's cheek and he shuddered with fear. The aufwader cackled menacingly. 'Ain't no cats round 'ere fer yer to rescue, laddy.'

  Then Ben remembered his experience in The Hawes, when he had gone upstairs to find Eurydice. He was now facing the thing that had dropped from the opening to the attic.

  'Know what I does wi' smart little brats like you?' the aufwader asked, bringing his face closer to Ben's.

  The boy tried to turn his face away from the stale breath which stank in his nostrils, but the snare held him fast.

  'I don't like bein' seen by maggots like you!' snapped the creature. 'And to make sure ya won't nivver make that mistake again, I'm gonna poke them charmed little eyeballs out fer ya!'

  He clasped the handle of his knife even tighter and drew his hand back to strike. Ben tried to call out in terror but his voice was stuck in his throat.

  The glittering blade sliced down.

  'Deeps damn her!' bellowed the aufwader suddenly. His blow went astray and he turned his head towards the cliff, apparently having heard something that Ben had not. His concentration was broken and the hypnotic snare destroyed.

  Ben seized his chance. He kicked the aufwader in the stomach and his knife spun through the air as the creature doubled up in agony. Grabbing a handful of sand, the boy flung it into his opponent's gasping face. Then he scrambled back over the beach for dear life and did not stop until he was safely indoors and in a startled Aunt Alice's arms.

  Jennet squashed herself against the headstone and listened.

  'I can help you,' said the voice of Rowena Cooper.

  The novice made no reply. She tried to prise the other woman's fingers from her wrist, without success.

  'I shan't release you till the bargain is made,' Rowena growled.

  The novice stopped struggling and eyed her suspiciously.

  'That's better,' cooed Rowena. 'There's nothing to fear—yet.' She gave a sharp little laugh, then smiled, showing all her teeth. 'I know a great many things,' she said. 'I know who you are and I know why you come here every night to weep and bemoan your fate.' With her free arm she made a grand, sweeping gesture to the sea. 'I know why you ache for the water and why you dare not go near it.'

  For the first time the novice spoke; it was a fragile voice full of fear. 'Who are you?' she asked. 'How could you know such things?'

  Rowena's eyes opened wide. 'It is my business to discover secrets,' she declared importantly. 'Forbidden knowledge has always been my passion. That is why I can help you. There are ways around your predicament, my dear. Allow me to assist in easing your burden.' Her words were coaxing and full of promises; they seemed to reach out and subdue the will. Even hiding some distance away. Jennet felt the power of that voice as it oozed and persuaded.

  'Tell me what I need to know,' Rowena's honeyed tone continued. 'It cannot mean anything to you now. Tell me where I may find what I seek and we shall both profit by it.'

  'There is nothing you can give me,' replied the novice coldly. 'I must live with my sins.'

  Rowena showed signs of displeasure. 'Tuh! I do not believe there is such a thing. How long will you cower like an insect in the miserable life you have chosen? I don't think you could have picked a more pathetic role.' She threw back her head and laughed in mockery. 'What a fool you are! Anything could have been yours—you are unique. But what do you do? You hide yourself away all this time, hoping to escape from that which awaits you. But the years rolled on, didn't they? You grew weary of running and so here you are at last. The wanderer has returned.'

  She twisted her lip in scorn and shook the novice's wrist harshly. 'Tell me what I want to know or I shall be forced to compel you.'

  'There is no torment you can inflict upon me which I have not already suffered a thousand times over,' the novice answered defiantly. 'Now let me go!'

  She pulled her arm back sharply, throwing Rowena off balance and making her tumble backwards. Released from the iron grip, the sister fled away, past the church and down the steps. Rowena picked herself up from the grass where she had fallen, her face white with rage. She marched over to the edge of the cliff and called out impatiently.

  Jennet was cold and frightened. She had understood very little of what had passed between these two, but one thing was certain—Rowena was the vilest person she had ever heard of. She just hoped she could make her way back to the steps without being seen by that awful woman. She began to wriggle along the ground as silently as she was able.

  'Where have you been?' Rowena demanded angrily. 'Why were you not here?'

  Jennet pressed herself into the grass. Surely Mrs Cooper wasn't speaking to her? Quickly, she squirmed round to see.

  Rowena's imposing figure was silhouetted against the night sky but she was not looking in the girl's direction. She appeared to be having a conversation with herself, or at least that is how Jennet perceived it.

  'I don't care if you were seen,' Rowena snorted. 'A human child with the sight can do no harm. Just be sure you obey my instructions tonight. The novice told me nothing. We shall have to proceed with the original plan—' She broke off as though interrupted. 'You don't have to tell me that, I know it could take days to find... Well, if we don't, my husband will have to deal with it, but I am loath to involve him more than necessary.'

  Jennet was intrigued. Was the woman mad? Just who did she think she was talking to? The girl raised her head a little to make sure that somebody wasn't hiding over there.

  At that precise moment, Rowena looked round and spotted her. 'Who's there?' she screamed furiously.

  Jennet did not stay to tell her. Like a hare, she leapt over the graves and charged towards the steps.

  Mrs Cooper's face was a mask of rage. She stormed over to where Jennet had been hiding and said coldly, 'The girl has heard too much.' Something rustled through the grass and seemed to stop beside her. 'She's not for your knife,' Rowena told the unseen companion. 'There is a more... appropriate way of silencing her.'

  Jennet shielded her eyes from the fierce glare of the arc lamps as she ran past the church. It was not far to the steps now and she hurried over the graves to reach them.

  'Aagh!' the girl cried as her shin struck the sharp edge of a tomb and she fell. Her arms flew out to save herself but it was too late; she cracked her knees on the stone and the top layer of skin was scraped from her hands.

  Frantically Jennet sat up and nursed her bruised knees. Her palms felt as though they were on fire and she blew on them in panic. She did not have time to cry, even though it hurt like mad. The girl turned her head quickly—where was Rowena? She staggered to her feet and looked about cautiously. Nothing; only the grass stirred between the headstones. It was too quiet.

  Suddenly a terrible howl rent the night air. Jennet breathed faster as the sound of her nightmares thundered through the darkness. She whirled round but still could not see anything.

  The howl went up again. Jennet began nervously limping towards the steps and the shadows closed in on her. The light from the arc lamps crackled and flashed like lightning. With a loud crash, the bulbs exploded and glass splintered out on to the path. The cliff-top plummeted into total darkness.

  "Oh no, oh no,' Jennet muttered to herself. 'This isn't happening, it ca
n't be happening.' She hurled herself forward but in her fear the headstones seemed to rear up before her, barring the way to the steps. She dodged one way and then another.

  A third fearsome howl cut into the night—it terrified Jennet so much that she ran blindly. In the dark Jennet did not realise she was going in the wrong direction. She had totally lost her bearings, and when she stopped running found that she was in the centre of the cemetery, completely surrounded by graves.

  She leant against one of the stones and tried to quell her panic. The church now lay between her and the steps but the nightmare creature could be anywhere. Jennet's stinging hands trembled as they automatically clenched into fists; the breathing of a large animal was drawing nearer.

  To her horror. Jennet saw two gleaming red eyes appear in the deep dark ahead. The full glare of their malice was focused on her and she felt faint at their baleful stare. The eyes came closer and then vanished behind one of the headstones: the creature was circling her. She caught glimpses of those hideous, fiery points as it stealthily stalked round, preparing for the kill. Jennet whimpered and the beast stole into view.

  It was the worst moment of her life; her heart leapt into her mouth. The enormous, black hound bared its teeth and its growl rumbled like an earthquake through the cliff. It shifted the weight from paw to paw and tensed itself.

  Then it sprang.

  Jennet screamed as loudly as she could. The beast slammed into her and the defenceless girl was thrust backwards over a gravestone. The world tumbled upside down and she could not move, pinned mercilessly to the ground by the hound's tremendous weight. Its claws dug deeply into her shoulders.

  Jennet tried to struggle. She flailed her arms and kicked with her feet, but it was no good. Her efforts were puny and ridiculous set against that huge bulk. It lowered its head and the hellish eyes burned into her. Hot breath steamed down on to her face as the hound snapped its frothing jaws together.