The Spook’s nightmare wc-5

by Joseph Delaney

  For a moment I thought Lizzie intended to cut away my bones there and then, and my arms tensed, ready to envelop her in a cloud of salt and iron. But instead she returned the blade to the sheath on her belt and rose to her feet.

  ‘I’ll let the buggane take what it wants first,’ the witch said, turning and heading towards the tunnel again.

  I relaxed, breathing out slowly. Even with the salt and iron I’d still have been chained; I’d still have been at the mercy of the buggane. The witch would have recovered all too soon.

  Lizzie disappeared into the tunnel, but the buggane had unfinished business. I saw its mouth open wide to reveal the sharp triangular teeth within. It bit deep into the throat of Daniel Stanton and drank his blood with relish. When it had drained him, it began to tear at his flesh. I covered my ears to shut out those awful shredding sounds, but then it began to crunch his bones. I thought it would never end but, sated at last, the buggane finally padded away, leaving bloody footprints on the flags. It climbed back into the tunnel and was soon out of sight.

  How long would it be before the dream came back for me in spirit form? I wondered, fearful.

  I didn’t have long to wait. Within moments, the whispering began inside my head and my heart raced with terror. At first it was almost too faint to hear, but gradually I could make out individual words, such as rot, blood and worms. Then I experienced a sensation that I hadn’t expected – no one had ever described a feeling like this. It was as if a dark cloud had floated down from the ceiling and covered me like a thick cold blanket. The distant sound of dripping water faded and was gone; but even worse than the loss of hearing was the rapid dimming of my sight. I could no longer see the torches; everything grew dark. I was blind.

  My heart was thudding in my chest, the beats becoming laboured. I began to shiver with cold as the buggane slowly drew the energy from my body, stealing away my life force. The whispering grew louder. I could still make no sense of the words, but painful images from the past began to form inside my head, as if I was actually present at the scene.

  I was on a mountain path. It was evening and the light was beginning to fail. I could hear a woman sobbing and voices raised in anger. I seemed to be gliding rather than walking and had no control over the direction I was taking. Ahead a rock jutted up like a giant rat’s tooth; around it stood a group of people, amongst them one of Mam’s old enemies, the witch, Wurmalde. I heard a series of heavy rhythmical thuds and saw someone with a hammer. At each blow there was a cry of pain.

  Anguish squeezed my heart. I knew exactly where I was; what was happening. I was witnessing the moment when Mam’s enemies had nailed her left hand to a rock. Blood was dripping down her arm and onto the grass. Once she was nailed, they bound her naked body with the silver chain, wrapping it around the rock. I saw her flinch with pain, the tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘In three days we’ll return,’ I heard Wurmalde say, her voice filled with cruelty and malice, ‘and then we’ll cut out your heart.’

  They left her waiting alone in the darkness – waiting for the sun to come up over the sea in the east; the sun that would burn and blister her body.

  I wanted to stay with Mam. I wanted to comfort her; tell her that it would be all right. That my dad would find her in the morning and shelter her from the sun with his shirt and his shadow, and they’d get married and have seven sons. That she’d be happy…

  But I couldn’t move, and I was plunged into absolute darkness once more. Happy? On this world, happiness never lasts long. Neither did Mam’s.

  In the blink of an eye Mam’s life was over, and now I was witness to how it all ended. I was back in the Ord, watching her fight with the Ordeen. I’d seen Mam swoop down to attack, her white feathered lamia wings making her more angel than insect. I’d seen her grapple with her salamander-shaped enemy. She’d told me to leave and I’d obeyed, escaping from the Ord with the others – all except Bill Arkwright. I’d seen the destruction of the citadel from a distance, the towers collapsing as it was drawn back through the fiery portal into the darkness waiting beyond, carrying with it poor Mam, and Bill too.

  But here I was, at close quarters, watching Mam’s feathers burn, hearing her scream in torment as she held the Ordeen in a death grip.

  Fire was all around me now, and I felt physical pain. Flames were singeing my own flesh, but even worse, I could see Mam’s flesh bubbling and burning and hear her long anguished howl as she died in agony.

  Once more I fell into darkness.

  Suddenly there was light again, and I found myself standing in the kitchen at the farm. There was a row going on upstairs. Next thing I knew I was at the top of the stairs. Three men were holding my brother Jack. One of them was hitting him, spattering his blood over the wall and floorboards. I was now witnessing what had happened when the witches had raided the farm. They had wanted Mam’s trunks, but she had protected the room against the dark and they couldn’t get in. They’d made Jack go and bring the trunks out.

  He was crying out in terror and pain but I couldn’t help him. I was just a silent invisible presence, forced to witness his suffering.

  So it went on. The buggane forced me to visit all the agonizing memories of the last few years. I looked down at Dad’s grave again, and felt the pain of loss. I’d even missed his funeral. I visited these painful scenes again and again. It was a vortex of suffering: I kept returning to the same points in my life and I could do nothing to change them.

  Darkness again; I was numb, and getting colder and colder as my life force was drawn from me. I felt myself moving closer to death.

  But then… something new. I heard a voice:

  Get harder or you won’t survive. Just doing what Old Gregory says won’t be enough. You’ll die like the others!

  It was Alice’s voice. She’d said those words to me when I’d stopped her from burning Old Mother Malkin. Burning her had seemed too horrible. I just hadn’t been able to do it.

  You’ve got to match the dark, Tom. Stand up to the buggane. You can do it! You can do what needs to be done!

  The moment Alice cried out those words, I had a new vision: another fragment of my life. After the first weeks of my apprenticeship to the Spook, I’d returned to the farm. Mother Malkin had appeared there, undead, soft and pliable. She’d oozed into Snout, the pig butcher, and possessed him, controlling his body, directing his every action. Now he was holding a knife to the throat of Jack and Ellie’s baby daughter, Mary.

  I relived those awful moments when I thought the child was about to be murdered; every second of anguish and horror. Alice ran forward and kicked him hard, her pointy shoe burying itself so deep in his belly that only the heel was showing. My heart in my mouth, I watched as he dropped baby Mary. Just before she hit the ground, Alice caught her and carried her away to safety. Now it was my turn: I hurled salt and iron at him. With his head enveloped in a cloud of the mixture, he fell senseless at my feet.

  It was happening all over again. Snout was unconscious on the ground, his eyes rolling up into his head, his apron stained with the blood of freshly slaughtered pigs. I watched Mother Malkin slither out of his ear and take shape again. She’d shrunk to a third of her former size and her gown was trailing on the floor. She started moving away.

  I was filled with anger; a terrible rage at all I’d been forced to see over and over again. Previously, I’d let the witch go. Alice had run after her with a burning brand and I’d caught her and pulled her back. It seemed too terrible to burn Mother Malkin. I couldn’t allow it. But this time my anger transformed me. As before, I caught Alice as she ran by, but this time I snatched the burning brand from her and chased Mother Malkin across the farmyard.

  Without hesitation, I set fire to the hem of her gown. It caught at once. Seconds later she was burning; shrieking as the flames consumed her. It was a terrible thing to do but I didn’t care. I had to get harder to survive; to become the spook I was destined to be. Then I heard somebody speak: this was no whisper. The vo
ice was loud and insistent.

  ‘There’s darkness inside me too!’ it cried. ‘I can match anything you do. I’m the hunter, not the hunted!’ Only slowly did I realize that I was the one who’d cried out. And I knew that what I’d said was true. The abhuman had been right. I’d become corrupted by the dark and there was indeed a sliver of darkness within my soul. It was a danger to me, but also a source of strength. As Mam had once promised, the day was fast approaching when I would become the hunter. And then the dark would fear me.

  ***

  An age seemed to pass while I floated on the edge of consciousness. Finally I opened my eyes.

  I was shivering, my brow burning with fever, my throat parched. The buggane hadn’t drained me fully: I’d survived my first encounter with it, but how long would it be before it returned?

  I felt weak and lethargic. I couldn’t think clearly. Painful images swirled sluggishly inside my head like a whirlpool that was sucking me down into its dark, churning spiral. It was then that I heard a voice from my right.

  ‘You’re the lucky one,’ Horn said. ‘It’ll be over for you soon. You’ll be dead. I have to sit here watching you and waiting my turn.’

  Wearily I turned my head to look at the abhuman. He was naked from the waist up, but even in the dim light from the torch above him I could see the powerful muscles bunched at the shoulders. And suddenly I had an idea.

  ‘Do the iron manacles give you pain?’ I asked.

  He shook his head.

  Not all creatures of the dark were vulnerable to iron. It seemed that Horn had some resistance to it. So much the better…

  ‘Then why don’t you free yourself?’ I suggested. ‘You’re strong enough to do that…’

  ‘For what purpose?’ he asked. ‘The cell door is too thick for me to break through.’

  ‘Once you’ve freed yourself, free me too. Then we can venture into the tunnels together. I have weapons against anything that might threaten us – salt, iron and my silver chain. It’s better than waiting here for death.’

  ‘Free you? Why should I trust you? You’re my enemy!’

  ‘For now we need each other,’ I told him. ‘We’d be stronger together. Once we’re free we can go our own ways.’

  For a long time there was silence. Horn was obviously considering my suggestion. Then I heard a long groan. Only when the sound was repeated did I realize that it was the noise of exertion rather than physical pain or mental anguish. He was tearing the links apart.

  I licked my dry lips and my heart pounded. I was suddenly filled with hope.

  Horn stood and came across to where I was chained. I could smell stale sweat and a rank animal odour. But there was no chill; no warning that I was close to something from the dark. Horn was nearer to the human than he appeared. Nonetheless, I had to be wary. Despite our fragile pact we were natural enemies.

  Without hesitation, Horn reached down and seized my chain close to the iron ring in the wall. He groaned again as his muscles tensed, then stretched it until the links first elongated and then snapped. With the end free, it was the work of moments to unwrap its length from my legs.

  ‘Are you not blind?’ I asked, wondering about his seemingly sightless eyes and how he had reached directly for the chain.

  ‘I can see better than most, but not with these!’ he said, pointing at each of his milky eyeballs in turn. ‘I have a third, spirit eye. With it I can see the world, and even things beyond the world. I can peer into the darkness within people.’

  I jumped to my feet, and my heart began to pound even harder. I felt weak and shaky, but I was free! We stood face to face. My enemy from the dark was now my temporary ally. Together, with the help of Alice, we might have a real chance against Lizzie.

  My tinderbox was in my bag but I still had my candle stub, so I reached up and lit it from the torch. Carrying the candle in my left hand, I led the way into the tunnel, suddenly realizing that it might not be necessary to follow the buggane’s tunnels for very long: I remembered how cells that didn’t contain prisoners usually had their doors left ajar.

  When I’d reached the end of the short tunnel, I turned right. About twenty yards on, I reached the access tunnel to the next cell and turned right again into it. The moment I emerged into the empty cell, my hopes soared. The door was ajar! We could reach the steps that led up to the tower.

  Of course, it meant passing through the guardroom. Had the yeomen returned after being attacked by the birds? I wondered. If they hadn’t, who was it who had carried me from Lizzie’s room down into the dungeon?

  The passageways were now in total darkness; nobody had been renewing the torches. Without my candle it would have been difficult to find our way.

  We hadn’t gone far when I suddenly felt the special coldness that told me that something from the dark was near. I came to a halt and I heard Horn hiss. He’d sensed it too. There was a clicking, crepitating sound directly ahead, and then a deep menacing growl. Something was moving towards us. I held up my candle stub, and saw that there was a place low on the wall where the light seemingly couldn’t reach; a shadow darker than the other shadows. It moved towards us and started to grow.

  What was it? I’d never encountered anything quite like it before. The growl came again, deeper and much more threatening. This was some dark entity drawn here by Lizzie’s meddling.

  I had to act – and fast. Quickly I handed the candle to Horn, reached deep into my breeches pockets and filled each fist with the substances waiting there: salt in my right, iron filings in my left. I hurled both handfuls straight at that threatening shadow. They enveloped it in a cloud. There was a sudden agonized shriek, and then only the scattered salt and iron remained on the flags. Whatever had threatened us was no more. It had either fled in agony or been destroyed. But there might well be other similar dangers ahead.

  I looked upwards fearfully. Would that noise have alerted the guardroom? The cry had certainly not sounded human. Perhaps it would be more likely to cause any there to flee than descend into the darkness and investigate.

  Horn now took the lead. We passed through the section of tunnel under the moat, where the water was cascading down the wall and dripping from the ceiling, and then headed for the steps. We began to climb, pausing now and then to listen. When at last we reached the guardroom door, we put our ears to it, but there was no sound from within.

  Horn handed me the candle, then eased open the door. The room was empty. There were pitchers of water on the far table and I seized one and took several desperate gulps, then helped myself to a crust of stale bread, which I softened with some of the water before swallowing. My body had an urgent need for energy, to replace what the buggane had taken. When I’d finished, the abhuman walked across to face me.

  ‘We should attack the witch now,’ he growled.

  ‘It’s probably better if we find Alice first,’ I told him. ‘She’ll be able to help.’

  Horn nodded in agreement and we left the guardroom together and continued upwards. We found Lizzie sitting on the throne, a smug look on her face. She clearly knew we’d escaped and had just been waiting for us to come to her. We were like two trapped flies going round and round in circles; we’d never even left her web.

  Then I noticed the body of a yeoman behind the throne – and the blood on Lizzie’s lips. He must have been the one who’d carried me down to the dungeon. Now she’d killed him and drunk his blood. Although primarily a bone witch, Lizzie liked human blood too. She preferred children’s but would drink an adult’s if she was thirsty enough.

  As Horn and I walked down the carpet towards her, I readied my chain, wondering if I’d have the strength to bind her this time. But before I could attack, Lizzie sprang to her feet and glared at Horn. She looked wild, close to insanity, and a mixture of blood and saliva dribbled from her mouth to ooze into the slime on her chin.

  ‘You’ve crossed my path once too often. You were meant to die a slow and painful death, but now you’ll die fast!’ she cried, rai
sing her left hand, palm towards Horn, fingers spread wide. Then she closed her hand into a fist as if crushing something within it, while muttering an enchantment in the Old Tongue.

  The abhuman screamed and buried his face in his hands. To my horror, I watched his head begin to crumple and collapse in on itself, rupturing and sending out gouts of blood. Horn dropped to the ground at my side like a sack of stones, his shrill, agonized scream giving way to a final gasp and then silence. His head was reduced to a bloody pulp.

  I struggled to hold down the contents of my stomach and my knees began to tremble.

  ‘Now, where’s that daughter of mine?’ Lizzie demanded, a scowl furrowing her brow.

  I found it hard to believe that she hadn’t found Alice. Where could she be? I took a deep breath to calm myself and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m here to look for her,’ I said.

  Lizzie pulled a sharp knife from the folds of her gown. ‘The buggane will have to manage without this time,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough trouble from you so I’ll take your bones now. Come here!’

  Against my will, I found myself moving towards her. I tried to draw the silver chain from the pocket of my cloak, but my arm was paralysed! I began to sweat and shake with fear. I took a deep breath to calm myself, but my legs were no longer under my control. I took another step, and then another, until I was so close to the witch I could feel her foul breath warm upon my face and I almost retched again.

  Lizzie seized my left hand with her right and lifted it before me. ‘Take a last look at that thumb, boy. It’ll be boiling and bubbling in my cauldron soon!’

  Was this it? Was I to die here after all I’d been through?

  With her left hand the witch brought the knife down towards my thumb. I tried to break free of her grip but was powerless. I flinched, expecting to feel an agonizing pain. But the blade failed to make contact with my skin. Instead the torches flickered and died down, and a shimmer of light appeared. Suddenly, to my utter astonishment, Alice was standing there, in front of me, holding one of the shaman’s grimoires.