Dawn of the Demontide

by William Hussey

  ‘Of course not.’ Tinsmouth managed a dry chuckle. ‘We just need to have a little chat, that’s all. Now you take the cup trick and run along home. No charge.’

  Tinsmouth dropped three tin cups and a small rubber ball into Molly’s hand. Jake stepped back and allowed her to pass. She paused in front of him.

  ‘You better not hurt Mr Tyn,’ she said. ‘He’s nice and he’s my friend.’

  ‘I … I won’t.’

  The little girl looked at him, unconvinced.

  ‘At first I thought you were angry,’ she said, ‘but you look more sad than angry. Mr Tyn’s sad too. Even when he smiles.’

  Simon opened the door for the child and, with a final frown, Molly left the shop.

  The bell jangled.

  ‘God save and protect her,’ Tinsmouth said. His tear-blind eyes returned to Jake. ‘I have dreaded this day. I have prayed and prayed that it would never come. But now that you are here, I must keep the promise I made to your father.’

  The man nodded sadly.

  ‘I will tell you the truth that has been kept hidden from you … ’

  Chapter 19

  Oldcraft

  They waited while Sidney Tinsmouth shut up shop. Locking the door and turning out the lights, he led the way into the back room that served as his living area. There was no window here and no electric light. Tinsmouth lit a candle and placed it on the surface of a rickety wooden table. The flame flickered, revealing a room as cramped as a prison cell. A camp bed with a mouldy old pillow and blanket had been set up in one corner. The framed picture hanging on the wall above the bed was the room’s only decoration.

  ‘Please sit down.’ Tinsmouth indicated the chairs that stood around the table. ‘I’m afraid there’s very little I can offer you in the way of refreshment … ’

  ‘This is sick!’ Jake exploded.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Simon.

  Jake pointed at the picture. From behind the dusty glass, Olivia Brown smiled back at him.

  ‘That’s her. Olivia. The little girl he murdered.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tinsmouth murmured, ‘I didn’t think. I should have taken it down.’

  ‘Jake’s right,’ Simon growled. ‘It’s disgusting, you keeping her picture.’

  ‘It’s not what you think. I keep it as a reminder of the evil that I allowed into my heart. As a kind of punishment … ’

  ‘You deserve to burn in Hell for what you did.’ Jake spat out the words.

  ‘I agree,’ Tinsmouth nodded. ‘And, if I am right about the purpose of your visit, I will be burning there soon enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Demontide. Even if mankind can stand against it, a great many of us will wither in the darkness to come.’

  Illuminated by the shifting candlelight, the man held his head in his hands. He couldn’t have been much over thirty, but his shock of white hair and the lines around his eyes made him appear a lot older. The first pang of pity caught Jake by surprise. He spoke now in a softer tone.

  ‘Tell us your story.’

  ‘Before I begin, you must know that I don’t expect your understanding or your forgiveness, Jake. The crime I committed that day claimed not only Olivia Brown—you were my victim too. Your father told me about your nightmares.’

  ‘Tell your story,’ Jake repeated.

  Tinsmouth let out a long breath and began.

  ‘Adam said that one day you might come looking for me. That if the weapon failed and the Elders decided upon a sacrifice, they might take him before he had time to tell you the truth. If that ever happened, then he would send you to me, and I would have to speak for him.’

  ‘But why would my father send me to you?’

  ‘Because he is my closest friend.’

  Jake shot to his feet.

  ‘That’s not true! My dad wouldn’t have anything to do with you. You’re a filthy murderer!’

  ‘Calm down,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’

  Jake screwed up his anger and sank back into the chair.

  ‘I understand your feelings,’ Tinsmouth continued, ‘but I’m telling you the truth. Your father saved me, Jake. He plucked me from the darkest, deepest pit of Hell and showed me the way into the light. He is the best man I have ever known …

  ‘Let me start by telling you my history, what there is of it.’

  The shopkeeper took the candle from the table and held it up to his neck. An ugly black mark, like a rope burn, scarred the skin all the way around.

  ‘My fullest memories start on the day I was branded as a witch of the Crowden Coven. Everything before that day I remember in snatches. Sometimes I wake up in the dead of night, trying to cling to the ghost of a dream. Memories of my mother and father flash before my eyes. She was a small woman with blonde hair and crooked teeth; he smelt of old tobacco. I’ve seen an older boy in my dreams, a brother perhaps, I don’t know. My past is a forgotten country, a landscape ripped away from me when I was ten years old. They came for me in the night—Mother Inglethorpe and Tobias Quilp.’

  An image of Quilp—thin as a corpse, bloodthirsty, leering—flashed into Jake’s mind. He saw the witch twirl his fingers and conduct his mother’s death-dance.

  ‘You see him, don’t you?’ Tinsmouth said. ‘Him and his demon.’

  Needle-sharp teeth. The pain as Mr Pinch bit down into his flesh. Jake grimaced. Tinsmouth reached out to him, a comforting hand. Jake slapped it away.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘They took me. I must have done something to attract their attention. Some little feat of magic, I suppose. Spontaneous flight, speaking to the dead. Maybe I accidentally exploded the neighbour’s budgie.’ Tinsmouth smiled grimly. ‘Whatever it was, it was enough to mark me out as potentially powerful. I remember … shadows at the window—a man and a woman hovering outside—the window opening by itself—hands reaching inside, reaching for me. Then … ’ His long white fingers clutched at his neck. ‘Nothing. A sleeping spell, I think. When I woke up I was in the presence of Marcus Crowden and his cabinet.’

  ‘The nightmare box,’ Simon whispered.

  Tinsmouth’s lips pressed into a hard line. ‘You’ve seen it?’

  Simon gave a brief outline of his story. When he had finished, Tinsmouth remained silent for a time.

  ‘Hey, man, you’re creeping me out. Why are you staring at me?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Let us continue. The nightmare box: it is Crowden’s demon—the so-called source of his black magic. It is a thing of pure evil and within it lies a dimension of torment and suffering. As I was dragged into the Master’s presence, I could feel it whispering to me. It promised endless power, tempting me, drawing out the darkness within.’ Tinsmouth’s eyes glazed over with the horror of his memories. ‘You see, boys, a dark witch is really made up of two parts: his magic and his evil. Witches like those in the Coven believe that all magic comes from demons, and that a young person who can work magic is actually drawing on the power of an invisible demon. To achieve full magical prowess that demon must be summoned and agree to work for the witch. A demon will only do so if the witch is devoted to evil. I loved my mother and my father. My young heart was theirs. I was not wicked.’

  ‘What did Marcus Crowden do?’ Jake asked.

  ‘He made me evil.’ There was no emotion in the man’s voice, though tears ran down his face. ‘By the time he had finished with me, I had forgotten my parents. Forgotten who I was. And what was left was a monster.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He put me inside his cabinet.’

  ‘While I was their prisoner, I heard … ’ Simon trembled. ‘One of the witches—Mother Inglethorpe—she had angered Crowden. He put her in the box for ten minutes. The little man who kept me captive laughed about it. Said that she looked barely alive when she came out. Ten minutes … ’

  ‘I was in the box for a month.’

  Jake felt Simon’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at
the older boy and saw the grief and the tears. To his surprise, Jake found tears streaking down his own face. Tinsmouth the murderer, white-haired, grey-skinned, looked like a little boy curled up on his stool.

  ‘The things I saw,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll never escape them. They twisted me into something new. When I stepped out of the cabinet, I embraced my place within the Coven. All that I had to do now was to summon my familiar, Mr Smythe, from the flames of the demon world … ’

  ‘There’s something I don’t get,’ Simon interrupted. ‘Why don’t witches just keep on summoning demon after demon? Wouldn’t that be easier than waiting around for the Demontide?’

  Tinsmouth shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work that way. One demon per witch—that is the rule. It is the safeguard that was put in place aeons ago by … Well, that’s a story for another day.

  ‘I pledged my allegiance to Crowden and was given my brand. The Coven believe that it is a twisted tribute to all those dark witches that were hanged by the witchfinders. I know the truth: it is a leash by which our real masters bring us to heel … In any case, I had begun my magical career.’

  A cold breeze whistled through the doorway. The candle fluttered. Tinsmouth jumped up, threw open the door and stared into the empty shop.

  ‘What is it?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Ghosts maybe,’ Tinsmouth said and returned to his seat. ‘Where was I? Oh yes, my rebirth. For the next ten years I educated myself in the ways of dark magic. You see, according to the Coven, a witch’s power comes from his demon, but it is just that: raw power. To work a spell you have to refine that power with mental application and ritual. In a simple transformation spell, for example, a demon can provide the energy, but you would need to find materials—fingernails, hair clippings, scraps of skin—from the person you wished to impersonate. Study is required for all magic. I was diligent, clever, naturally talented, and my soul was now as dark as any in the Coven. Dear God, the things I did with my hideous gift … But all of it was nothing compared to what was to come. The murder of an innocent child.’

  Jake leaned forward. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because it was fun.’

  Silence, for a time.

  ‘All I had heard for years was idle talk about the Hobarron Elders. How they had defeated our Coven for centuries, denying us the Demontide. They believed themselves superior in every way, and yet we knew that their power was fading. I wanted to make my master proud. I wanted to show the Elders that they were not invulnerable. I would strike at the very heart of them.’ Tinsmouth took down the portrait of Olivia and held it to his chest. ‘You know the result.’

  ‘When you killed her, did you feel anything?’

  ‘Nothing. Not a sliver of pity or remorse. I was glad. Yes, glad.’

  ‘My dad told me you’d been arrested. That you were in an asylum.’

  ‘What else could he tell you? I was taken to the cells underneath the Hobarron Tower, separated from my demon and tortured for information.’

  ‘My dad wouldn’t have tortured you.’

  ‘He took no pleasure in it, Jake. Even then, before I knew him, I could see that. But this is a war, and good people do terrible things in wars.’

  ‘Were you hurt?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘I said it doesn’t … ’

  ‘SHOW ME!’

  Tinsmouth sighed. He lifted his shirt up to his chest. The skin was horribly scarred. Jake turned away in disgust.

  ‘Adam Harker is a good man,’ Tinsmouth insisted. ‘He has helped many “dark creatures” … ’ Tinsmouth’s eyes flickered in Simon’s direction. ‘Not just misguided witches. The Hobarron Institute wants to lock them up, study them, dissect them, but your father has done what he could to keep the innocent safe.’

  ‘If he didn’t like their methods why didn’t he just leave?’

  ‘By staying he could use his influence to do some good. And then there was his work on the weapon.’

  ‘The Incu box,’ Jake said under his breath. His gaze switched back to Tinsmouth. ‘What is the weapon?’

  ‘All in good time … For you to understand why your father trusted me, we have to go back to my days in the Institute cells. My demon had been taken away for “study” and, without it, I started to dream for the first time in years. Pure dreams, without the ever-present taint of evil thoughts. I started to catch glimpses of the life Crowden had taken from me, bits and pieces of my mother and father. Your dad would watch me as I slept. For years, he had been working on a form of dream hypnosis … ’

  ‘Hypnosis.’ Something stirred at the back of Jake’s mind. It was no good, the memory was too hazy …

  ‘The technique your father used on me was not wholly successful,’ Tinsmouth continued. ‘After my experience in the nightmare box, too much of my past self had been lost. Nevertheless, as I started to remember snatches of my childhood, so your father began to see a change in me. In my sleeping face, he saw glimpses of the boy I had been. Through suggestion and hypnosis he stripped away the evil. After two years of Adam’s help and training I had reclaimed my soul. That was when he broke me out of the Hobarron cells.’

  The room seemed to be getting colder by the minute. Jake tried rubbing warmth into his arms.

  ‘It was fairly straightforward,’ Tinsmouth continued. ‘As a senior Elder, Adam had the security codes to the entire building. He staged a power cut and, in the ensuing chaos and darkness, he smuggled me out. He had a car waiting nearby to whisk me to Marmsbury Cove, an out-of-the-way seaside town.’

  Simon stood up and started pacing the room.

  ‘Is there something the matter, Master Lydgate?’

  Simon stopped abruptly. ‘You murdered a little girl. Oh, I know you’d suffered at the hands of Crowden, that he’d twisted you. But it was still you. If I’m right, the nightmare box only drew out the evil already inside you. You murdered Olivia Brown and you served a sentence of two measly years.’

  Tinsmouth nodded. ‘Jake’s father thought the same. But you know, the darkest prison is one’s own conscience. When I was brought to Marmsbury, Adam told me that I had not served my time for the murder. That perhaps my punishment would never end. You can see how I live, with the eyes of my victim staring down at me. I opened the shop to spread some happiness—it makes no profit and I give away my tricks. I never go out, never see anyone.’ Tinsmouth tapped his forehead. ‘In here is where I serve my time.’

  ‘If you live like this I wonder why my dad set you free,’ Jake said.

  ‘Because of the Institute policy that, after a witch has been tortured for every scrap of information, he must be killed.’ Tinsmouth shrugged. ‘It makes sense. Most dark witches do not renounce evil. They have lived with it for so long that there is no way back. Remember, I had been a witch for only ten years.’

  ‘But you’ve started practising magic again,’ Simon said. ‘Surely that’s dangerous.’

  ‘True magic is not evil,’ Tinsmouth said. ‘Adam Harker taught me that. More than any other Elder before him, Adam has studied the history of magic. He knows more about the subject than anyone, even Dr Holmwood—even Mother Inglethorpe and Tobias Quilp. Perhaps only Marcus Crowden himself could claim greater knowledge, but the Master’s love of demons had blinded him to the truth. Gentlemen, what I am about to tell you constitutes the greatest trick ever played on humankind.’

  Tinsmouth leaned forward. The magician opened his palm. A golden flower of breathtaking beauty grew slowly out of his hand.

  ‘Magic does not come from demons.’

  The flower shivered, dropping its golden blossom across the floor. Then it withered back into Tinsmouth’s palm.

  ‘A simple spell but not a demon in sight.’

  ‘Then how did you … ?’

  ‘Oldcraft.’

  ‘Oldcraft,’ Jake echoed.

  Some hidden chamber deep inside Jake’s soul shuddered. The door to this forbidden plac
e flashed in his mind’s eye and then vanished again into a fathomless darkness.

  ‘You recognize the word,’ Tinsmouth said, his eyes alight. ‘That’s good. It means your father was right about everything! Oldcraft is the practice of pure magic. It is the magic of the world around us: of the earth, the wind, the sea. Centuries ago, before demonkind perverted our knowledge, we knew this truth. But, as we began to practise darker spells, born of greed and lust and violence, so mankind opened the door to demons. They are beings of pure evil, Jake. They made witches believe that magic could only be perfected with their aid. They destroyed much of the history of Oldcraft until only weak pockets of knowledge remained. Today, Wiccans and white witches work without demons, drawing on the magic of the earth, but their power is virtually non-existent. People with natural magical abilities like me can automatically tune into Oldcraft, but there are no good witches left to teach it, and we are soon picked up by dark covens and told the lie that our abilities come from invisible demonic forces.’

  ‘But what do demons want with us?’

  ‘We are their way into this world. Every time a witch summons a demon, the barrier between our world and theirs is weakened. They long to escape their fiery prison, even if it is only for brief periods of time. And they take delight in destroying us. We believe them to be our magical servants and yet they are the puppet masters. They whisper evil in our ears and we obey, murdering our souls in the process.’

  ‘Why can’t witches be told this?’ Jake asked. ‘If they knew … ’

  ‘The demons blind them to the truth. Oldcraft is laughed at as a crazy superstition. No dark witch would dare abandon his demon and risk his magic by believing such nonsense. Even a man as clever as Marcus Crowden cannot see the truth. And who is there now that could convince him otherwise? The last powerful practitioner of Oldcraft died over three hundred years ago. Crowden knew him, and to this day he believes that the Witchfinder unwittingly used invisible demons to power his magic.’

  ‘Who was the Witchfinder?’ Jake asked.

  ‘His name was Hobarron.’