Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  Out of the corner of his eye Mike saw her dive for a bag lying on the rug near the chair where she had been sitting. When she straightened up there was a knife in her hand. The blade caught the candlelight. ‘Here, take it, Sarah!’ She thrust it at Emma, who with a superhuman wriggle managed to wrench herself away from Mike’s grip and reach out to grasp it.

  Mike lunged forward and grabbed at her again, knocking her off balance so they fell together against the bookcase. As they wrestled together grimly the doctor’s voice cut through the sudden rattle of falling books. ‘Hello? What’s going on in here?’ The figure in the doorway reached for the lightswitch. Suddenly the room was starkly lit.

  Mike blinked. ‘James, thank God! Help me. These women are insane!’

  He stepped away from Emma who, dazzled, had suddenly stopped fighting him. She stood trembling, the knife still in her hand, staring round the room in bewilderment. ‘He’s a murderer,’ she said slowly. She was frowning. ‘Hopkins killed Liza.’ Her strength was failing rapidly and suddenly she was crying. The knife fell to the carpet and she threw herself back onto the sofa, snatching up a cushion and burying her face in it. Drawing up her legs, she curled up defensively, her back to them.

  Lyndsey glanced at Mike and shrugged. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Who’s gone?’ James Good stooped and picked up the knife. ‘Are you OK, Mike?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Mike was out of breath and badly shaken. ‘This is your fault!’ He turned to Lyndsey. ‘Entirely your fault. You have done this.’

  Lyndsey was watching silently as James Good sat down on the sofa next to Emma. Gently he reached for her wrist and began to count the pulse.

  ‘I have done nothing,’ she said quietly. ‘I watch from the sidelines when Sarah comes. I watch and I wait.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Emma is a natural. A hereditary witch. Did you know that, Mr Priest? And now she has been initiated. She is one of us. But she barely needed even that. She was ready.’

  Mike could feel his anger rising. He wanted to put his hands around Lyndsey’s neck and throttle her. ‘That is evil nonsense, Lyndsey.’

  ‘No. Not nonsense. Is it, Em? You serve the goddess now, don’t you? You tell him.’

  Emma shrank back into the sofa. Her pulse beneath the doctor’s questioning fingers was faint and much too rapid as she looked up at Mike, and he was horrified to see the terror in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me. Go away, Mike, please. Don’t come near me.’ She had begun to shake. ‘There’s something terribly wrong with me. I can’t control Sarah. I can’t fight her off. I will kill you.’ Her words were slurred. She sounded almost drunk.

  ‘Sarah has gone, Emma. Whoever she was.’ The doctor put a professionally cool hand on her forehead. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of. It was one of your bad dreams. You’re OK now.’

  ‘But I killed Judith. I wanted to kill Mike. I had to – ’

  ‘And you know that is nonsense.’ James Good smiled at her sternly. ‘Mike, I think it might be a good thing if you left this to me.’

  ‘But I can’t leave her like this.’ Mike was watching Emma in anguish.

  ‘She’ll be fine when she’s had a good night’s sleep.’ The doctor gave Mike a quick nod. ‘We’re all a bit stressed and upset, and I think some calm on our own is what we need.’

  Mike bit his lip, then he shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll be at the rectory if you need me.’ He glanced at Lyndsey. ‘I think you should leave, too.’

  Lyndsey nodded. ‘Sure. I’m going. Just as soon as Em is settled. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.’ She smiled at him sweetly.

  It was fifteen minutes before the doctor climbed back into his car, satisfied that Emma was calm and that Lyndsey was looking after her. Both women had relaxed once Mike had gone and Lyndsey was warming some milk in a pan in the kitchen as Emma went upstairs to have a bath.

  He sat in the car for a while, watching for lights. The one in the sitting room went off. First one then another went on in the two upstairs front bedrooms. Nodding, satisfied that the little bout of hysteria was over, he reached for the ignition key. Then he sat back thoughtfully. He had remembered Paula and her bewitched child. Bewitched by Lyndsey Clark. He frowned. It was all nonsense of course, more hysteria inspired by Judith Sadler’s unfortunate death, but still. Was it safe to leave them like this? On the other hand, both women were clearly on their way to bed and Lyndsey had seemed, in the flesh, so sensible.

  He had found it hard to understand what all the fuss was about in there. Of course, Lyndsey was an exceptionally attractive young woman. So was Emma. That was probably at the root of Paula’s problem. Jealousy. He sighed. He was so, so, tired. It had been an extremely long day. He’d look in on Emma again in the morning and make sure all was well, and then maybe have a word with Mike about the witch mania which seemed to be building in the town.

  He had completely forgotten the small ebony-handled knife he had left lying on the coffee table.

  Inside the house, Lyndsey was watching from behind the curtains. She saw the doctor climb into his car. She saw him close the door and reach for his seatbelt. But for several minutes nothing happened. The lights did not come on; the engine remained silent. She frowned. He was wondering if he had done the right thing leaving them. She read his mind accurately, but why had he come? What – or who – had called him out? Emma? No, not Emma. Mike, then. The nosy preaching priest who was soft on Emma. Well, she’d fixed that. Now he knew what he was dealing with he wouldn’t be back in a hurry.

  Outside the headlights suddenly flared and she saw the car back out onto the road. It was still pouring with rain, the deepening puddles splashing up around the wheels as the doctor disappeared back in the direction of his home.

  Lyndsey smiled. She turned towards the door.

  Emma, wrapped in a bathrobe, was sitting on the edge of the bed. She glanced up wanly as Lyndsey appeared. ‘Have you got the milk? I’d better take his tablets.’

  ‘You can have the milk later,’ Lyndsey said firmly. ‘I’ve taken it off the hob. And I’ve put the trancs down the loo. You don’t need stuff like that. You have a job to do first, Emma. Once you’ve done that, you can sleep till kingdom come if you want to.’

  ‘You’ve flushed my tablets?’ Emma was furious. ‘You have no right to do that.’

  ‘I have every right.’ Lyndsey grabbed her arms. ‘Stand up and pull yourself together. Now, where is Sarah?’

  ‘No.’ Emma tried to push her away. ‘No, Lyndsey. I’ve had enough. I am not going to do this. It’s dangerous and I’m scared! I want you to leave.’

  Lyndsey raised her hand and gave Emma a stinging slap on the face. ‘Pull yourself together. Stand aside. Let Sarah in!’

  ‘I won’t. I won’t, Lyndsey. You can’t make me. I am not going to hurt Mike.’

  ‘You are going to kill Mike.’ Lyndsey hissed the words into her ear. ‘Do you hear me? It is the only way. You are going to kill him because Hopkins is inside him. Matthew Hopkins escaped you, Sarah. Do you remember? You waited and waited to have your revenge and he escaped you. Did he flee to America? Or did he die, drowning in his own blood? Or perhaps the people of Manningtree lynched him without you. Did they kill him before you got the chance? Remember how your anger festered, Sarah? Remember how you couldn’t be happy, even with your new husband and your children? It was Liza’s magic that gave you those children, wasn’t it, Sarah. You owed her everything. And you promised her, didn’t you Sarah, that you would avenge her one day.’

  ‘But Mike is not Hopkins.’ Emma put her hands to her head, clutching at the last shreds of her sanity. ‘Mike is not him, Lyn. He’s not. And I am not Sarah!’ Desperately she turned, and running to the window she flung back the curtains. Scrabbling for the latch, she pushed the window open. ‘I am not Sarah!’ she cried out. ‘I’m not! And I’m not going to let her in.’ She was taking huge desperate gulps of cold night air.

  Lyndsey smiled coldly. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. You have to stop fighting it. You have n
o choice. Sarah is here.’ She paused, raising her hand and pointing. ‘Look behind you, Emma. See her waiting? You and she have a job to do. A man is going to die tonight Emma, at your hand, and only then will history be satisfied.’

  108

  Sunday night

  Jane Good had scrubbed the carpet of the rectory bedroom and removed the bedclothes and the rug, but the stains were still unmistakable on the floor in front of the window. Mike stood in the doorway and stared sadly round. She had found fresh bedclothes and made up the bed, but somehow he doubted if he would sleep in this room again. What on earth had Judith been doing sleeping in his bed anyway? Somehow he preferred not to pursue that thought.

  Running downstairs, he went into the study. He had lit the fire there and every light was on. He was still thinking about Emma. He had to rescue her from Lyndsey and soon. At first he had been surprised at how young and innocuous Lyndsey looked, with her gamine hairstyle and her vivid blue eyes. Then he had seen the hatred in those eyes and he had felt himself waver. Somehow she seemed to have won Emma’s trust. But James Good would make sure all was well before he left. He would wait till Emma was asleep and Lyndsey was safely on her way.

  Wouldn’t he?

  He walked over to the fire and stood gazing down into it. He could feel Hopkins nearby. In the room. Watchful. So, he hadn’t entirely vanquished him during his vigil in the church. He turned and stared round, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m a match for you, my friend. So, don’t try it, you hear me?’ He reached for Ruth’s silver cross which he was wearing under his shirt.

  And now suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to give the cross to Emma. Her need was greater by far than his. His prayers were strong. Tony had seen to that. He was protected. But Emma was vulnerable. A hereditary witch indeed! He shuddered. Christ watch over her. Christ be with her, Christ within her …

  The doorbell made him jump out of his skin.

  He let Mark and Colin in and brought them into the study.

  ‘We thought we’d come back and give you some moral support. And fill you in on what’s been happening.’ Mark threw himself down into a chair. ‘Col and I are supposed to be in London first thing tomorrow but this is more important. Things have got right out of hand, Mike. And I do feel we’re a bit responsible. You warned us. You tried to stop us; that woman Lyndsey came to the shop twice, trying to stop us as well. She said we were going to have trouble.’

  ‘And you were both right.’ Colin nodded soberly. ‘The shop was trashed, Mike. All our equipment, cameras, film. There was writing on the wall.’ He shuddered. ‘In blood.’

  ‘We think,’ Mark put in.

  ‘The surviving time-lapse film shows that nothing happened for a long, long time, then suddenly stuff starts levitating and flying about the room, then the film goes blank.’

  Mike was appalled. He could feel the cold back in the pit of his stomach. ‘No sign of anyone?’

  ‘No sign.’

  ‘So it couldn’t have been vandals?’

  ‘The door was locked. The windows weren’t broken.’

  ‘What about other people who have the key?’

  ‘A camera was pointing straight at the stairs, Mike! Anyone coming into that room would have shown up on the film, if only for a second. There was no one there. No one visible, anyway.’ Mark shuddered.

  ‘I think it’s time for your exorcism,’ Colin put in quietly. ‘Now that you’re back.’

  ‘And I suppose you want to film it?’

  ‘It would be nice. I can get a camera brought down here fast.’

  ‘And we would like your comments, Mike. You have to put the church’s side of it. At the moment the witches are making all the running.’

  Mike heaved a deep sigh. He threw himself down in the chair facing his desk and put his head in his hands. ‘I’d have to consult the bishop about filming.’ He reached for his diary. ‘And I’m going to contact the diocesan deliverance team now.’ Their number was pencilled inside the front cover. He dialled, listened, and thumped the receiver down with an unecclesiastical curse. ‘Where is everybody tonight! Just when we need them.’

  Behind them the fire flickered, licking at the logs. There was a hiss as a drop of rain made its way down the tall chimney. Upstairs a door banged.

  Mark and Colin exchanged glances. ‘So, what do we do?’ Mark asked nervously. ‘Presumably they – whoever they are – can’t reach us here?’

  Mike glanced up at the ceiling. ‘They killed Judith here.’

  Mark frowned. ‘You mean you don’t think it was natural causes. Or at least a reaction to her medication? Warfarin, the chaps in the pub thought.’ He did not pass on their ribald comments about rats.

  ‘Judith was identified in someone’s mind with the woman who was the witch-pricker for Hopkins,’ Mike said slowly. He cleared his throat. ‘She died of a thousand pricks. She bled to death, murdered by a witch who sought revenge.’

  ‘Shit.’ Mark gave a violent shiver. ‘You really believe that?’

  Mike nodded. ‘I think I do.’ He coughed.

  Again the fire hissed. The flame died for a moment, then flared an angry acidic yellow.

  Clearing his throat, Mike reached for the phone again. ‘I’ll try another number. There’s something building up again. I can feel her in my head, searching for him.’ He frowned. He was breathing heavily, the sweat standing out on his forehead. Reaching into his pocket he found a handkerchief and dabbed at his face distractedly as the phone rang on unanswered. ‘Isn’t there a single clergyman at home anywhere this evening?’ he asked desperately. He closed his eyes for a moment. Christ be with me, Christ within me.

  She was there, so close inside his head. He could feel the hatred. Slamming down the receiver, he fought back the paroxysm of coughing he could feel building in his chest.

  ‘Pray with me. We have to hold her off. She’s looking for Hopkins.’ He could taste the iron in his throat now, feel the blood welling from somewhere inside his lungs. ‘Jesus Christ be with us here.’ He clamped the handkerchief against his mouth.

  Mark took a step towards him. ‘Oh, God! Mike! Shall I ring for an ambulance? What do you want us to do?’

  ‘An ambulance can’t do anything.’ Mike coughed again. ‘Let’s get out of here, to the church. I feel safer there. Why can’t I hold her at bay?’ He staggered to his feet. ‘The key. Where is the key?’ He dragged open the top drawer of his desk, scrabbling wildly amongst pencils and paperclips till he found the large iron key. ‘In the church I can contain her. She can’t get to my lungs. I drove her away in church before. I can do it again. The bitch. She’s trying to kill me!’

  He grabbed his already wet jacket and forced his arms into the sleeves. Mark and Colin looked at one another, each seeing the fear in the other’s eyes before they followed him out of the door into the dark.

  The three men ran across the gravel towards the gate and out into the lane, heading for the church which lay in darkness. Mike fumbled for the iron latch on the gate, pushed it open and they ran up the path between the dark yew trees, splashing through the mud. The light was on in the porch, where a forty-watt bulb barely lit the notice which had been Sellotaped to the door:

  Owing to unavoidable circumstances

  there will be no Evensong today.

  Sorry for any inconvenience.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Mike looked at the notice. ‘Judith was going to take the service. I wonder who put the notice up.’ He was scrabbling with the key with shaking hands, trying to fit it into the lock. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Mark took the key from him and inserted it, pushing the heavy door open. They hurried in and Mark slammed it behind them. ‘How do I lock it? There’s no keyhole this side.’ His voice slid up in a panic.

  ‘Wedge it with something. Wait, I’ll get the lights.’ Mike was groping his way into the darkness.

  Mark reached out and caught Colin’s sleeve. They stood without moving.

  They h
eard Mike bang into something and swear under his breath, then suddenly the lights came on in the chancel. Mike had found a dishcloth amongst the flower arranging materials behind a curtain to the side of the main aisle. Mopping his face, he moved up to the altar, fighting back another paroxysm of coughing which racked his body.

  ‘Help me pray.’ He half turned to the others. ‘Do you know the Lord’s prayer?’

  Mark and Colin nodded.

  ‘Our Father …’ Mike knelt in front of the altar, using one hand to prop himself upright. Mark went and stood behind him and after a moment’s hesitation Colin did the same. They recited the prayer together.

  ‘She is using some kind of psychic projection. Attacking me by making me imagine I’m someone I’m not.’ Mike could barely speak. ‘Either that or she really thinks I am possessed by Hopkins. It’s him she’s attacking. He died of TB.’ He coughed painfully.

  ‘Jesus!’ Colin said fervently. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Keep praying.’ Mike was really struggling to talk now. ‘Pray with me. We can defeat this. We can send her packing.’ He reached under his shirt for the little cross and held it tightly.

  ‘I bind unto myself the Name

  The strong name of the Trinity;

  By invocation of the same,

  The three in One the One in three.’

  He paused, collecting himself.

  ‘Sarah Paxman. I charge you in the name of Christ begone. You cannot touch me in the house of God. This is a place of holy sanctuary. You cannot harm any of us three here. My chest is whole and healed in the name of Jesus Christ; and may the soul of Matthew Hopkins be forgiven whatever sins he committed in his lifetime, so that he may rest in peace. I hereby commit him to the mercy and the keeping of Our Lord.’ He paused. The church was very silent. His chest was clearing and he felt stronger suddenly. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. He took a deep breath. ‘And now we pray for the safety and peace of thy daughter, Emma. Remove the spirit of Sarah Paxman from her. Make her strong. Save her from the powers of evil. Take the soul of Sarah – ’