Gallows at Twilight

by William Hussey

  ‘I heard that!’ the voice shrieked. ‘Any more backchat and I’ll keep you on a leash! Filthy brute! Please, Pandora, you and your friends take a seat.’

  Jake sat down in one of the three luxurious leather armchairs that faced Murdles’s desk. Sinking into the creaky leather, he looked around for the manager. Murdles’s shrill voice had seemed to come from the other side of the desk, but there was no sign of the man.

  ‘I’m sorry to see you this way, Thaddeus,’ Pandora said.

  What way? Jake thought.

  ‘Your friends are confused,’ came the disembodied voice. ‘Give me a moment and I’ll be with you.’

  The chair behind the desk rolled back on its castors. Unseen feet pressed into the thick carpet and moved over to an antique wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe door opened and a pale grey suit was plucked from its hanger. Jake watched in amazement as the suit began to fill out.

  ‘Tight fit. I must speak to my tailor.’

  It was clearly no ordinary garment: threads began to spool out from the cuffs and collar. They wound their way down and formed the impression of feet and hands. From the collar the threads spiralled round and round, weaving together a neck, a chin, mouth, nose, ears and brow. A few strands were left over to give the woven man a wisp or two of fine, grey hair.

  ‘Mr Murdles is one of the dear departed,’ Pandora explained. ‘A phantom. A spectre.’

  ‘A ghost,’ Jake said. ‘And the suit must be made of ectoplasm.’

  ‘Ecto-what?’ Rachel asked, eyes wide.

  ‘Plasm. According to psychics and mediums, ectoplasm is the stuff that ghosts are made out of. It takes the form of a thin, grey material, like—well, like that suit.’

  A smile creased the manager’s clumsy cloth mouth. Murdles part-walked, part-floated back to his seat.

  ‘The boy knows much. Razor told me that he was aware of the Cynocephali. That’s old knowledge.’

  ‘I picked it up from books,’ Jake said.

  ‘Just books? I wonder … ’ Ectoplasmic fingers tapped against the arms of Murdles’s chair. ‘But you are right, this is an ecto-suit. I have worn such garments ever since the day I died—January 8th 1607. A Monday, I remember. Always hated Mondays.’

  Jake frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why haven’t you passed on through the Veil?’

  ‘Only spirits without bodies are sucked through the Veil, young man. The ecto-suit gives me substance, keeps me in the land of the living. But they come at a price. Ah, in the early days, when I first established the Grimoire Club, I could buy dozens of suits at a time, but business has been bad these last hundred years or so. There are other clubs on the borderlands now. And, as you can imagine, the ecto-tailors can charge whatever they want for their wares.’

  ‘You weren’t wearing a suit when we came in,’ Jake observed.

  ‘They wear out gradually. I may have appeared invisible to you, but there was a little substance left in the old suit. Just enough to open the wardrobe and take out a fresh garment.’

  ‘But you’ve had a long life, Mr Murdles,’ Rachel said. ‘Or maybe I should say a long “death”. Aren’t you ready to— well—move on?’

  ‘Sometimes I think about it, my dear. To pull up the anchor that moors me to this world and set sail for horizons new. But who knows what waits beyond the Veil? And I have done some terrible things in my time.’ The cloth eyes crumpled into a haunted expression. ‘Terrible … But to business.’ The ectoplasm rustled as Murdles turned to Pandora. ‘A little birdie has told me that you have come to my club seeking sanctuary. I’m afraid that will be impossible.’

  ‘Come on, Thaddeus,’ Pandora cajoled. ‘How long have we known each other? You owe me.’

  Murdles hesitated. ‘It’s true, you’ve sent a lot of business my way over the years. The dark creatures respect you … But no. From what I hear, you and your friends here have been toying with some very dark powers. If you bring trouble to my door I run the risk of losing my business, and you know what that would mean.’ The manager lifted his chin and swept a wispy finger across his throat. ‘No more ectosuits for poor Mr Murdles.’

  ‘But no one need ever know we’re here,’ Pandora assured him. ‘Look, I don’t ask for myself, Murdles, it was Adam Harker who thought you would help us.’

  ‘Dr Harker has saved many of my clients, but I owe him nothing.’

  Pandora tried another tack. ‘I have friends on the Ecto-Tailors’ Guild, you know. A word from me and your supply of suits might suddenly dry up.’

  ‘Only money talks with those people,’ Murdles snapped. ‘As long as I pay they’ll continue to do business with me.’

  Defeated, Pandora dropped back into her chair. While she had been arguing with the manager, Jake had been examining the hundreds of paintings and photographs that adorned the office walls. Housed in expensive frames, there was a golden plaque beneath each. Jake read: Mullgrew the Magnificent, arch-wizard to the Kings of the Borderlands, 1723; Savage Bones—world heavyweight werewolf boxing champion, 1864; Letty Scrivener, bestselling author of The Grace of the Seelie Court, 1975. The pictures had been posed for in the square just outside the Grimoire Club, although it was difficult to make out the square itself. Thousands of dark creatures filled each scene.

  Jake stood up.

  ‘I wonder, Mr Murdles, do you know who I am?’

  ‘I neither know nor care.’

  ‘Oh, I think you might. Interesting pictures you have here. These people seemed to have brought in the crowds.’

  ‘That was all a long time ago,’ Murdles sniffed. ‘Then the Grimoire Club was famous throughout the borderlands. We could draw celebrities here like vampires to a blood bank, and the money they brought in! These days, the well-todo go to places like the Lizardman Lounge and the Gore Gardens. The sheep follow them there.’

  ‘They’ll come back when they know I’m here.’

  ‘Really? And who, may I ask, are you?’

  ‘My name is Jacob Harker. I’m a clone of Josiah Hobarron, the Witchfinder. And I’m one of the last practitioners of pure, powerful Oldcraft.’

  Murdles’s cloth mouth gaped open.

  Jake explained his plan. Murdles would let them stay at the Grimoire Club. They would keep themselves to themselves and not attract any unwanted attention. In return for Murdles’s hospitality, on the day they left, Jake would put on a show of his magic in the square.

  ‘Thousands would pay good money to see that!’ Murdles crowed. ‘The living clone of Josiah Hobarron working his magic outside my door! Mr Harker … ’ the manager rose and extended his ghostly hand, ‘we have a deal!’

  Razor and Pandora went back to Yaga Passage to fetch Simon and Adam from the car. Meanwhile, Murdles showed Jake and Rachel to their quarters.

  ‘I’m giving you my own apartment,’ he piped. ‘No need to thank me.’

  Having heard Jake’s plan, the ghost had become much more friendly. Now he led them to a red-cushioned door right at the back of the Grimoire Club.

  ‘Will you do the honours, my boy? I have to conserve my strength.’

  Jake opened the door and they stepped into a luxurious, ultra-modern apartment. A circular lounge with squashy sofas and a huge flat-screen TV took up most of the living space. To one side of the lounge stood a spiral staircase which disappeared into the ceiling. Unlike the gloomy, candle-lit corridors they had left behind, the apartment was bathed in electric light.

  ‘I may be over four hundred years old but I’m very partial to modern conveniences. The bedrooms.’ Murdles swept his hand around the six doors that faced the lounge. ‘Please feel free to order as much room service as you like. And now, I will leave you. Sleep well, Mr Harker, Miss Saxby.’

  The ghost glided towards the door.

  ‘Ah, one last thing before I go: if you wish to leave the club for any reason, please call for Razor or one of the other doormen to see you out. Walking the corridors unescorted would not be a wise thing to do. There are many dangerous creatures within these
walls.’

  Jake closed the door behind Murdles and turned to Rachel. She looked both exhausted and bewildered. He went to her, held her close, felt her breath warm against his neck. That determination to concentrate only on his father’s cure wavered for a moment.

  ‘Rach, I … ’

  A tap at the door. Murdles’s voice came through the woodwork:

  ‘Oh, and Mr Harker? Perhaps tomorrow you could show me some magic? Adieu for now.’

  Jake groaned. He didn’t think he had the energy to muster even the tiniest magical flame. He’d have to bluff his way out of it. In any case, tomorrow there would be more important matters to attend to: his father’s cure and the secrets locked inside Simon Lydgate’s head. He turned back to Rachel.

  The girl mumbled, sighed. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

  Chapter 8

  Hypnosis Horror

  Fractured images from a fevered dream—

  A silver fountain. The howling mouth of a banshee. A dying Navajo’s question—What are you?

  His father—You are the Witchfinder …

  Here is the Orb and here is …

  A girl with cornflower blue eyes cries for her lost love. A face from long, long ago, hidden in that unexplored corridor of his soul. The face is the same, but the name is different. He yearns for her, and in his yearning the name of the girl comes to him. A name that once gave hope to Josiah Hobarron, his other self—

  ‘Eleanor!’

  Jake woke with the silk bed sheets knotted around his body. He tried to hold on to the fragments of the dream but they crumbled in the hard fist of reality. He could remember nothing. Frustrated, he pulled on the dressing gown that had been laid out at the foot of the bed and went to see if anyone else was up.

  The lounge was empty. He switched on the TV. One of the twenty-four-hour news channels was showing a press conference from 10 Downing Street. The new Prime Minister was taking questions on the health service. If he had been old enough to vote in the last election, Jake would have cast his vote for Miss Cynthia Croft. She seemed professional, competent, sympathetic. The press pack burst into spontaneous laughter as Chequers, the Downing Street cat, jumped up onto the Prime Minister’s podium.

  ‘That you, Jake?’

  His father’s voice echoed down the spiral staircase. Jake climbed up to a hatchway in the ceiling that led onto a large roof terrace decked out with expensive garden furniture. Blinded by the giant sun of the borderlands, Jake could only just make out the three figures standing at the balcony rail.

  ‘Mornin’,’ Pandora called, lifting her coffee cup in greeting.

  ‘Good to see you, matey!’ Brag Badderson slapped Jake’s shoulder in a friendly, bone-shattering sort of way.

  The third figure smiled weakly. ‘Good morning, son.’

  A little colour had crept back into Adam’s cheeks but he still looked dreadfully pale.

  ‘You OK, Dad?’

  ‘I’m OK, son.’

  The old worried expression crossed Pandora’s face. To hide it, she turned to Brag.

  ‘How’d you get here so quick, troll boy?’

  ‘Took the London road through Yaga Passage. Nearly got dropped in the pit twice. Bloody vines!’

  ‘Why are you here, Brag?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Ain’t you pleased to see me?’ The troll looked hurt.

  ‘Course I am, it’s just—’

  ‘I asked Brag to come,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve already spoken to Simon—’

  ‘He’s awake?’

  ‘Yes, and he’s been asking to see you.’

  ‘Does he remember much?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘’fraid not, but he’s anxious to find out what’s been happening to him. The Demon Father appears to have placed strong magical blocks in his mind. But it’s not just the immediate past Simon’s interested in: he finally wants to know what happened to his mother and whether … well … ’

  ‘Whether he killed her,’ Jake murmured.

  ‘In his half-demon form, he would have been more than capable. When that side of him is in control, Simon is a danger to himself and others. With that in mind, I’ve asked Brag to stay with us. His strength could save lives if Simon gets … out of hand. I’ll do my best to keep the boy calm—I’ll teach him ways in which he can control his nature—but we must be always on our guard. Hard as it may be, we must never for one moment forget what Simon is.’

  ‘He’s my friend,’ Jake bristled. ‘He’s a good person.’

  ‘Half of him is certainly that.’ Adam frowned. ‘The other half? Who knows. Now, Brag, Pandora, would you excuse us a moment?’

  The troll and the eight-armed woman exchanged glances and moved away.

  Jake went to the balcony and took in the view. Surrounding the oasis of the square was a vast, featureless desert: hundreds of miles of yellow sand baking under the merciless red sun. There were no mountains to break up the horizon, no camel tracks to dimple the desert, no sparkle from a distant city. Nothing but sand and sky. Jake saw it as a place of madness, of death.

  ‘This is the borderland,’ Adam said. ‘They say that under this desert lie forgotten cities. The ancient homes of the old races. Fairies, demons, the Never Seen. Jake, are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jake grasped the balcony rail. ‘It’s just the heat.’

  Adam led his son to the shade and they sat down, backs against a cool brick wall.

  ‘Pandora told me you fought well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘That was her compliment, not mine.’ A rough edge entered Adam’s voice. ‘You scraped through the Demon Father’s defences with the help of your friends. Whatever he’s planning, that kind of weak magic won’t be enough to stop him. I’ve made a decision, Jake.’

  Adam turned hard eyes on his son.

  ‘You can’t go up against him alone. We need help.’

  ‘What kind of help?’

  ‘The Hobarron Institute.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Despite what you told him about shutting the place down, Dr Holmwood has continued developing new weap ons. He’s asked us to come in for talks at the Tower.’

  ‘Dad, we can’t trust him.’

  ‘We’ve no choice. I’m sorry, son. If you still had that connection to the Witchfinder, then maybe you could face the Demon Father alone, but your magic … ’

  Adam shook his head.

  ‘Don’t I get a say?’ Jake asked.

  ‘No. Not unless the Oldcraft magic comes back to you. And that’s my final word.’

  Jake might have argued further, but at that moment a terrible scream rose up out of the hatchway.

  ‘Is he all right? Rachel, what happened?’

  Adam hobbled into the room. Bending down, he examined Simon’s panic-stricken face.

  Jake, Brag, and Pandora crowded into the bedroom. Simon was sitting up in bed, his arms locked around Rachel. Two terrified eyes peeked over her shoulder and stared past Jake, into the lounge.

  ‘I heard her voice!’ Simon cried. ‘She was calling to me. She was here.’

  ‘We were sitting, talking,’ Rachel said. ‘Next minute, he’s screaming about his mother.’

  ‘Did you hear anyone, Rachel?’

  ‘No. Just Brag and Pandora talking in the lounge.’

  ‘We were watching TV,’ Pandora said. ‘We heard nothing.’

  ‘She was here!’ Simon barked.

  ‘OK. Calm down, Simon. Look at me.’ Adam took a silver coin from his pocket and started twirling it between his fingers. The light reflected off the coin and danced in Simon’s eyes. Adam shooed Rachel off the bed and took her place. ‘You’re safe, Simon. No one’s going to hurt you.’

  Jake remembered the time when his father had hypnotized him, using the same silver coin. He remembered the peace he had felt, as if all his cares and worries had been lifted from his shoulders. But it had been a false peace, and Jake knew that Simon’s doubts and nightmares would soon come back to torment him.

  Simon�
�s face became blank, his breathing steadied.

  ‘He’s very responsive.’ Adam turned to the others. ‘I think we should continue the hypnotism now. Go deep and find out what he knows about the Demon Father’s plans.’

  ‘It’s too soon,’ Rachel said, arms folded. ‘Can’t you leave him alone for a bit?’

  ‘Not if we want to stop the Demon Father. Time is of the essence.’

  ‘Then let’s vote,’ Jake said. ‘All those for continuing the hypnotism now, raise your hands.’

  Adam lifted his. Brag’s meaty fist soon followed.

  ‘Dr Harker’s a great man,’ the troll said simply.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Pandora lifted one of her many hands. ‘I don’t want to see the boy suffer any more than he has already, but Adam’s right—we have to find out what he knows.’

  ‘OK. Those against.’

  Jake and Rachel lifted their hands.

  ‘Three to two,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

  Rachel made a disgusted sound and left the room. Jake wanted to go after her but curiosity pinned him to the spot.

  Adam returned to Simon’s side. ‘Can you still hear me?’

  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered in a dull tone.

  ‘I want you to start by telling me about that night in Hobarron’s Hollow. The night you saved the Demon Father. What do you remember?’

  There was no hesitation. ‘I was standing outside the Witchfinder’s tomb. The sound of the explosion was still ringing in my ears … ’

  ‘The Steerpike Bridge massacre,’ Jake said, filling in a confused Brag Badderson. ‘The Crowden Coven killed seventeen Elders that night.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Adam hissed. ‘What else, Simon?’

  ‘Pain. Worst pain I ever felt, burning through my body. And then I heard his voice. He called to me. Reached out with his shapeless hand. The Demon Father. My father.’

  ‘He said that you were his son?’

  Simon nodded.

  ‘Then?’

  ‘POWER!’ His lips curved into a hideous grin. His barrel chest heaved with excitement. ‘I tore the crypt door from its hinges like it was nothing. Threw it aside. I crept into the cavern and waited for my father’s call. And then—more pain. Unbearable. My bones screamed, my skin tore apart.’