Gallows at Twilight

by William Hussey

  A terrible scream tore its way out of the witch. Shocked, Jake let go of the poker, and the skinwalker tumbled to the ground. With his hand clasped against the weeping wound, he tried to crawl his way over to Jake but the pain was too great. Billows of blood bloomed between his fingers.

  His eyes narrowed. His breath shortened. The witch stared at Jake and something like fear tightened his features.

  ‘What are you?’ he wheezed. ‘My sight darkens, but I see you clearly now. For the first time … ’ He stabbed a finger at the boy. ‘You burn, Jacob Harker. Your skin is stone. Your eyes are fire.’

  He reached out and his hand trembled.

  ‘Would you forgive me, if I asked? I won’t … but if I asked, would that be within your power? To forgive a man who murdered his own father for the secrets of the adishgash.’ A red trickle ran out from between his lips. His hand clutched at the wound. ‘You are no witch, no simple conjuror.’

  The skinwalker’s head slumped against the floor. With his final breath he repeated the question:

  ‘What. Are. You?’

  The enchantment that had been placed upon the door must have been tied to the skinwalker’s life-force. At the next blow from Brag’s club, it was smashed off its hinges. Rachel and Pandora rushed into the room, followed by an exhausted Brag Badderson. They saw the dead man and the blood spreading out beneath him like a pair of scarlet wings. Jake staggered to his feet.

  ‘Another of the Demon Father’s tricks.’

  ‘Bloody … ’ Brag’s brow knitted. ‘Er … what exactly was he, Jake?’

  ‘A skinwalker.’

  ‘Course. Bloody skinwalkers.’

  ‘You’re hurt.’

  Rachel brushed back a lock of Jake’s hair. Although his forehead hurt like hell from the skinwalker’s blow, he almost forgot the pain. At her touch, his heart surged and he felt a flicker of magic spark somewhere deep inside.

  You burn … What are you?

  What had the Navajo witch meant by those words? Perhaps in his final moments he had sensed what Jake really was: a clone of the long-dead Witchfinder. Something unique. Something unnatural.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ Pandora asked.

  Jake could not look at his friends. He had led them through a night of pain and fear, and what did they have to show for it? Only the scars on their bodies and inside their minds.

  ‘Simon’s not here,’ he sighed. ‘Perhaps he never was. I’m sorry … ’

  The smallest of whimpers sounded from behind the curtain. Daring to hope, Jake dashed across the room and pulled the drape right back. There in the far corner, swaddled in shadows, a shape shivered. The friends moved forward and the boy cried out in terror. Jake motioned for the others to step away while he approached alone, hands held out before him to show that he posed no danger. As he came nearer, he could make out more of the huddled form—its shaven head, its candle-coloured skin, its striking green eyes …

  ‘It’s all right,’ Jake whispered. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  The boy’s chest rose and fell. He was crying.

  ‘The skinwalker kept you close,’ Jake said, more to himself than to the boy. ‘The closer you were, the stronger his connection to you.’

  ‘Ja-ake?’

  Simon’s voice rasped like a boot on dry gravel.

  Jake knelt beside his friend and took his hand.

  ‘I’m here, Simon. You’re safe now.’

  ‘No. Not safe. Nev-er safe.’

  Tears rolled down Simon’s face and a great shiver ran the length of his body.

  ‘They are coming, Jake. Very soon now. Very soon … They bring the darkness with them … ’

  Chapter 5

  Face of Flies

  The Volkswagen people carrier was where they had left it, parked on the hillside road that overlooked the forest. The sky had cleared and the moonlit road spooled out towards the village of Little Muchly like a silver thread. At the sound of approaching strangers, the old troll standing guard beside the car raised his club.

  ‘Who goes there? Friend or foe? Identify yourself or I’ll brash yer brains in!’

  ‘It’s us, Dad,’ said Brag Badderson, emerging from between the trees. ‘And keep your bloomin’ voice down— there are banshees in these woods.’

  ‘I ain’t frightened of banshees, boy! Any ugly old women start screaming at me and I’ll shove my club where the sun don’t shine. That’ll give ’em summat to shriek about!’

  Jake, Rachel, and Pandora followed Brag out of the forest. They shambled over the ground like zombies, exhausted by the trials they had endured. Brag plodded up the bank and onto the road. The boy in his arms didn’t murmur as he was laid down on the cold tarmac. Soon after Jake had found him, Simon had fallen into a dead faint and could not be woken.

  At a height of just under nine feet, Badderson Senior was a little shorter than his son. He had a bushy grey beard, a bent back, and steady eyes scored with wrinkles. These things aside, father and son looked remarkably similar. Even their stone clubs could be twins.

  ‘Used Dr Harker’s phone to call me dad,’ Brag explained. ‘Thought someone ought to watch over the doc till we got back. Them buttons is designed for human fingers.’ He held out the battered mobile. ‘I got a bit frustrated with the diallin’. Sorry.’

  ‘Name’s Olaf,’ Brag’s dad put in, nodding at Jake. ‘I’ve knowed your pa a long, long time. Great man.’

  ‘How is he?’ Jake asked.

  ‘He looks as rough as my missus in the mornin’s, and that’s sayin’ summat.’ Olaf attempted a grin but it fell from his lips. ‘He’s in a bad way, son, and that’s the Odin’s honest truth.’

  Olaf used the scraggy tip of a fingernail to open the car door. Adam had been laid across the back seat. There was a dark brown crust running from his left ear down the length of his neck. His breathing came in shallow waves, like the hush of a gentle sea. At the sight of his grey-faced father, Jake felt his legs weaken and had to hold on to the car roof for support.

  ‘You have to keep your promise, honey,’ Pandora said. ‘You mustn’t let on that you know.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Jake whispered.

  ‘You have to. He wanted to keep the grief from you as long as he could. If he starts fretting about you, he won’t have the energy to fight this thing.’

  ‘Why should he even try? You said yourself, there’s no cure.’

  ‘You see that smart, pretty girl over there?’ Pandora pointed to where Rachel stood talking to the Baddersons. ‘You know, the one you’re sweet on? Oh, don’t look so shocked, Jake, I’ve got eyes in my head. Well, it’s like she says—there’s still hope. Still a reason to fight on. My own daddy once told me: you always gotta fight against the inevitable, girl. Fight it till you can’t fight no more. Only then will you find the courage to accept what can’t be changed, and the peace that comes with that knowledge.’ Pandora smiled sadly. ‘You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you? You’ve got such an old soul that sometimes I forget you’re really just a kid. But one day you will understand.’

  She patted his shoulder and called out to Brag, ‘Stop your gabbin’, troll! Pick that poor boy up and put him in the car. It’s time we were on our way.’

  Brag did as instructed. Then the trolls bid their farewells.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jake said. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘It’s an honour to help Dr Harker,’ Olaf said, his tone solemn. ‘My family will always owe him a great debt. The Scandinavian troll purge of ninety-three will live long in infamy, but there were heroes of that time, too.’

  Jake suffered another of Brag’s bear hugs before the trolls took their leave. While Pandora and Rachel got into the car, Jake looked out across the forest in the direction of Havlock Grange. They had overcome many dangers that night and had faced terrible foes, all to rescue Simon Lydgate, their friend. Now, bloodied, bruised, but victorious, they were going home. Jake should feel elated, or at least content that they had done a good night’s work.

&nbs
p; ‘Something’s not right,’ he muttered, his gaze roving over the desolate forest. ‘It was too easy … ’

  He had been kicking against the cupboard door for a full five minutes but it still refused to budge. Exhausted, Roland Grype tried another tack. He pointed a finger at the wood-work, mouthed a half-remembered spell, and hoped for the best.

  A feeble stream of magic left Grype’s finger and limped its way to the door. It collapsed into the wood and, several seconds later, the door creaked open. Grype launched himself into the Great Hall, rolled onto his back and gulped down lungfuls of cool air. Embarrassment overwhelmed the witch and he clenched his fists in frustration. Trapped in a broom cupboard! Yet again, he had made a fool of himself. Mercifully, this time, there was no one around to see.

  Having followed his master’s instructions, Grype had returned to Havlock Grange to find that Jacob Harker and his friends had smashed their way into the house. He had heard them moving about on the first floor, and had decided to shut himself up in the cupboard under the stairs. If the boy conjuror penetrated the skinwalker’s disguise, then Grype would be seen as the only thing that stood between him and Simon Lydgate. Well, he had seen Jacob in action—so forget that!

  Hidden in the heat and darkness, Grype’s thoughts had flown back to that night a year ago when, in the hollow cavern of Crowden’s Sorrow, he had witnessed the boy’s power. He remembered the molten magic flying from Jake’s fingers, sealing the Door and conquering the Demontide. Soon after, Grype had fled in terror. He had been certain that Marcus Crowden, his master, would perish at the boy’s hand. And yet, a little time later, Crowden had found him cowering on the beach. He had forgiven Grype his cowardice and had allowed him to remain part of the Coven.

  Throughout that conversation, Crowden had kept his head turned away from Grype, as if he hadn’t wanted his face to be seen. Ever since, he had worn a pair of dark glasses. And then there was Crowden’s voice—it was colder than before, somehow less human. Grype often thought of that voice that had called out from the demon world, and wondered: was this man that looked so much like Marcus Crowden really his old master?

  There were other mysteries, too. What exactly was Simon Lydgate? Grype pictured the boy on the beach that night, standing at Crowden’s side, naked and trembling. He hadn’t seemed to know where he was—even who he was. Why had the Master kept him prisoner here at Havlock Grange for the past few weeks? He must be important, Grype decided, or else Jacob Harker and his friends would not have risked their lives to come looking for him. Grype knew that the boy possessed the ability to change into something monstrous, but although he had been Simon’s keeper, casting sleeping spells and feeding him scraps of food, he still did not know the true nature of the beast.

  Mysteries, mysteries, and no one to explain them to so lowly a creature as Roland Grype.

  Mr Hegarty, Grype’s vulture-like familiar, flew in through the open doorway. The demon-bird landed on Grype’s shoulder and squawked in his ear.

  ‘They have gone? Good.’ Grype stroked Hegarty’s beetle-infested plumage. The bird nudged him with its beak. ‘Yes, yes, don’t fret. I’ll make my report.’

  The witch gathered up his courage and faced the staircase. His voice quivered like the plucked strings of a harp.

  ‘I summon you, most faithful demon of the Crowden family. Box of endless night, casket of torment, repository of nightmares—I call upon you to lead me to your master.’

  Grype’s words echoed up the stairs and into the empty corners of Havlock Grange. For a long time nothing happened. The rain eased and the wind fell to whispering around the door. Through the hole in the roof, Grype could see the first watery streaks of dawn lighten the sky.

  The air grew suddenly colder. Grype shivered as a block-ish shadow passed overhead. The swirling form of Crowden’s nightmare box swept into the hall and landed at the top of the stairs. Although he had summoned it, Grype took a step back. He had never been inside the cabinet himself, but he had seen the faces of unfortunate witches as they staggered out of it. He remembered the fearless Mother Inglethorpe— that powerful witch who had been killed by Dr Harker’s bullet—and how she had once been forced to endure ten minutes inside the box. Much as he had hated that woman, even Grype shuddered at the thought of her trapped inside the demon.

  The door of the nightmare box creaked open.

  Screaming voices cut the air. Whether they were the shrieks of souls imprisoned within the cabinet, or the voice of the box itself, Grype did not know. Terror clutched at his heart as the thing floated towards him.

  The box stopped a few metres short of Grype. Its doors swung wide and a black cloud rose up from inside. In his panic, Grype staggered back, tripped and landed on the floor with a heavy thump. He watched the cloud twist upwards and spread out across the ceiling of the Great Hall. A harsh buzzing sound droned through the air, and Grype realized that the cloud was not a cloud at all. It was a swarm.

  Mr Hegarty fluttered onto Grype’s shoulder. Together they watched as a human face grew out of the swarm, each feature made up of thousands of teeming insects. A mouth made of flies called down to the witch:

  ‘My faithful librarian.’

  The voice was a little deeper perhaps, and sharpened by the buzz of the insects, but those were the almost musical tones of Marcus Crowden.

  ‘Master.’ Grype bowed. ‘I hope that your plans are progressing well.’

  ‘Very well indeed. Slowly but surely the threads are coming together. After this visit to Spain, I have only one more journey to make. But come now, give your report.’

  Grype cleared his throat.

  ‘Jacob Harker and his friends arrived in Little Muchly earlier this evening, my Master. They entered the forest in the early hours, and soon after encountered the banshees. Once they had defeated the creatures, they smashed their way into the Grange. Jake Harker saw through the disguise of the skinwalker and killed the Navajo witch. He found Simon Lydgate and, with his friends, made his getaway.’

  Fly-lips spread into a wide grin. Laughter boomed from the ceiling and a spray of tiny black bodies fell like spittle upon Roland Grype.

  ‘All as I predicted!’ the Master crowed. ‘I laid my subtle trap and the boy fell right into it.’

  Grype nodded. ‘I placed the rotten apples around the trees. I arranged the white ash in the fireplace. As you predicted, he saw each of the clues—the hints that would guide him to overcome our “defences”.’

  ‘Tiny clues,’ the Master corrected. ‘If they had been too obvious he would have realized that we wanted him to rescue the boy. Oh, how the fool has played into our hands! We have seen his strength tested and we know what kind of friends he has at his command. Best of all, we now have our spy in place. After the trouble they went to in order to rescue him, they will never suspect the boy.’ The demon laughed again. ‘And Simon? He will not even suspect himself! But when the time is right, we will activate him.’

  A whirlwind of flies swirled through the hole in the ceiling. The Master’s face fractured and broke apart, yet still his voice echoed around the chamber.

  ‘The time is at hand, Mr Grype. Very soon now our enemies will feel the might of demonkind unleashed!’

  Chapter 6

  Terror in the Tunnel

  Too easy. Far too easy.

  The thought nagged at Jake, even as the purr of the engine lulled him into troubled dreams …

  Streetlight glare and the sound of car horns snatched Jake from his slumbers. Resting against his shoulder, Rachel shifted slightly and snuffled her nose. Jake looked onto the back seat. His dad was still unconscious, his crumpled grey skin looking more than ever like worn parchment. Beside him, Simon Lydgate whimpered in his sleep. What nightmares had Simon witnessed during these past weeks? Jake tried not to speculate—if Simon wanted to remember, then they would all find out soon enough. Jake’s father would see to that.

  A thought struck Jake and he winced—his dad might see to it, if he lived long enough.

/>   That had to be Jake’s mission now: to find a cure for Crowden’s hex. Of course, he had known that Adam was seriously ill, but he had never dreamed that the end could be so near. He had reckoned on his dad having a couple of years, and that in that time Pandora would find a cure. Now he knew the truth. Adam had a few weeks left to live. Jake’s mouth set into a hard line. Forget the Demon Father and his mysterious travels overseas; forget magical training and witches and demons. Nothing mattered now except saving his dad.

  There is a cure, he thought, and I’m going to find it, whatever the cost.

  The car swept in a wide circle. Jake glanced idly out of the window, blinked twice, and turned to the driver.

  ‘Erm … do you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?’

  Pandora frowned into the rear-view mirror. She had two hands wrapped loosely around the steering wheel and the other six tucked inside her clothes, just in case a passing motorist happened to glance over and see an eight-armed lady driving merrily around town.

  ‘Did you mean to speak to me in that tone, kiddo?’ she asked. ‘Or are you always as prickly as a porcupine’s butt in the mornin’s? This was your daddy’s idea. Said that if, by some miracle, we managed to save your half-beast buddy, then there was no way you could ever go back home. The Demon Father would be on you faster’n flies on fudge.’

  ‘Then where are we heading?’

  ‘A favourite ol’ haunt of mine.’

  The bright brow of dawn peeped over London rooftops. Startled by the sudden light, the pigeons in Trafalgar Square scattered, regrouped in midair, and swooped back down into the plaza. Commuters emerged blinking from the underground station like a pack of well-dressed moles. Eager tourists consulted maps and guides, posed for photos and generally got in everybody’s way. Perched on his column high above the commotion, Admiral Nelson seemed to follow the path of Dr Harker’s Volkswagen as it reached the south side of the square.