Magda: A Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror Trilogy - Book 3

by Sarah England

  The eyes behind her own instantly recognised the layout; and with the new intrinsic knowledge of where and what to harvest she set to work quickly, expertly snipping herbs and tugging up root vegetables. There was everything here she needed to heal herself, and more. Her eyes grew wide as she moved along the walls and down to the stream – deadly nightshade for the picking, hemlock and wolfsbane. What would the good sisters want with this kind of magic? Because there was an abundance.

  The taffeta-rustling of the autumnal leaves and tinkling of the brook had muffled the voices but on hearing them she stopped and straightened up, listening intently – the sound like nothing she had ever heard before. A soaring requiem filtered into the perfumed air…the singing so high and pure…a choir of angels…

  Candlelight had spilled onto the grass through the stained windows, the blood moon behind the church spire a deep, ruby red in the darkening sky: the whole, a scene of such heavenly beauty that it held her captivated. Although a wind had got up, she lingered, wandering around even as her throat prickled and her limbs ached. This was an affluence of staggering proportions – a picture painted in Sunday School of the Garden of Eden. Here was a fresh, clear stream edged with wild garlic, a duck pond, a well, and an overflow of chickens nesting in coops lined with fresh straw.

  She eyed one of the coops, glanced briefly over her shoulder at the abbey windows, then reached inside the nesting boxes one by one until she found a smooth, warm egg underneath one of the brooding, grumbling hens; and dropped it into her cache. Sweat had surfaced all over her body in a fit of shivering, the fever now bedding in. She leaned against the wooden frame, nauseous and dizzy. It was time to leave.

  Abruptly the singing ceased.

  Magda looked over at the woods; at the grim, silent wall of trees. From within came a long, low whistle; the wind sweeping up a whirl of coppery leaves. She should not have left it so late. Something was wrong. Although itching to make an escape, instinct cautioned her to wait. There was another breath on the air. Someone else was afoot. She shrank further behind the chicken coop, praying she had not been seen.

  At first it wasn’t clear whether it was man or beast who hovered beneath the archway leading to the abbey. But with the blood-red moon lighting up the lawn as if it was a stage, whoever was there had little option but to sprint into its full glare, albeit fleetingly.

  It was enough.

  Magda’s heart gave a sickening bump of disbelief.

  What in hell’s name would he be doing here at this time of night?

  Inside the lead-crossed, upper windows of the abbey candles now flickered, and from her hiding place some of the occupants became visible. Her hand flew to her mouth. There were faces. Lots of them. Children. Maybe a dozen, maybe more, with their palms pressed to… no banging on the glass. At the same time as the man was running up the steps.

  The evening was now damp and cold. She flew through the first archway to the rose garden, the scent heavy and cloying - a few creamy heads drooping like sad ghosts in the eerie light. Then with one last backwards glance she bolted under the next archway, across the lawns to the log-store, and scrambled over the wall.

  Once over the top she lay on her back breathing hard, her head thick and muggy. Again there came a faint whistling from deep within the trees. What was that? Not an owl. Nor any creature she could make out. Nor was it human. But a constant low whistle that blew through the bones like an ill wind.

  She hastened to her knees and ran flat out. The forest was not a safe place to be at night. Everybody knew that.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty

  Present Day

  Four in the morning and Toby was driving Amy home from Woodsend. “Amy,” he said. “I know you’re half asleep but can you hear me?”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes shut.

  “Alright, well listen, okay? I’m dropping you back home and then that’s it – I can’t see you anymore. Firstly, I’m a copper and tonight I’ve seriously crossed the line. And secondly, to put it bluntly, I think you’re fucked up and you need help. Girls your age should be out drinking and dancing and going to parties and stuff, not summoning up the dead in haunted forests and getting possessed by demons.”

  A sudden belt of thick fog hit the tarmac, reducing visibility to almost zero and he slowed right down, frowning with concentration. Inside the vehicle it was warm and drowsy and initially it sounded like Amy was snoring.

  It was a shock to realise she wasn’t. She was laughing, snorting with it.

  He shot her a brief sidelong glance, reluctant to take his eyes off the road for so much as a second. “What’s funny?”

  She hadn’t even opened her eyes, still semi-reclining and snuggling into the travel blanket he’d covered her with. “You. Like you think you can just finish with me.”

  The reflective glare of headlights in fog was blinding. Gripping the steering wheel he changed down through the gears until the car was crawling along. “Do you know something, Amy? I was seriously worried about you back there. I thought you were ill or you’d gone mad. Now I see it was just another bloody prank to creep me out because of what I’ve been through. You’re an evil little bitch, do you know that?”

  She threw her head back and laughed raucously, thumping the seats with her palms.

  “Fucking hell! You’re as mad as a shithouse rat.”

  Amy wiped her eyes with a manicured finger, still smirking. “You are like, so easy to wind up, Mr PC Plod. So, so easy. But no, actually that’s not what’s making me laugh. Take the next left turning by the way, it’s a short cut.”

  He took the sharp fork as indicated, the fog now a dense cloud as the climb steepened. For a while there was a feeling of time standing still, the car no longer moving – being locked into a special zone of hell with a scary, crazy girl he barely knew. She oozed malice, sitting there chuckling to herself. God, how he’d love to just tip her out right here and now.

  Why had he automatically done what she instructed and taken this road, anyway? The main drag might be longer but they’d have been dipping down by now. Yet without question he’d just bloody done it.

  “What is it then?” he said. “What is it that’s so hilarious you’ve made yourself cry with it?”

  “It’s just that you think there’s a way out. There isn’t, you see? You can’t just drop me off home and that’s it. You’re one of us now.”

  Obliged to concentrate on the road, he struggled to comprehend. “What the hell are you on about?”

  “I mean, that you will be escorting me to a party tomorrow night. You will arrive at nine so we can have sex and a few drinks first; then we’ll go down to the party. And, oh yes – you will come. Do you want to know why you’ll come?”

  He laughed drily. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere with you ever again, Amy. Dream on. God, I’ll be glad to get off these blasted moors.”

  “You’ll come because if you don’t I will make a phone call and tell a PC Plod at the desk that you raped me tonight. I’ve got the bruises to prove it and I’ve already sent the incriminating pictures to a very close friend, who will vouch for how traumatised I was. There was also a video camera in my bedroom. Do you remember smoking that joint, drinking, then jumping into your car afterwards? Oh, everyone saw you…my parents have quite a house full at the moment.”

  The car veered wildly into the oncoming lane as he almost lost control. He could no longer see the road at all, not even the white lines up close at snail speed; but it would be even more dangerous to stop – especially with her as a passenger.

  He tried to find the words, “Hang on a minute – raped you? What the… That’s not the way I remember it, Amy.”

  “Really? Well it’s all there on tape – how you leapt on top of me calling me a whole load of disgusting names.”

  “My God, you nasty little–”

  “Bitch? Yes, along those lines. All documented, Toby. And I was so upset about it, as you can imagine; what with you being twice my size
and me not being able to do a thing about it after you spiked my drink. You really took advantage of me and that was unforgiveable. Wait a minute, would you like me to sob and show you how I do this? I’m the most amazing actress – super convincing.”

  Her words knifed into his reality. Without doubt she would carry out her threat. He was finished.

  Putting her feet up on the dashboard, Amy casually lit a cigarette and blew out smoke rings. “Bet you’d love to punch me in the face?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Have you ever hit a woman?”

  “Of course I bloody haven’t.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  “What? What the fuck is this? Of course not.”

  At long last the road levelled and soon began to dip. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Amy, why would you do this to me? What did I ever do to you to deserve it? Surely you wouldn’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with you? Can’t we just leave it here?”

  She answered in a sing-song voice, “Oh no, sorry. No can do.”

  The T-junction caught him by surprise and he slammed on the brakes. “Which way now – left or right?”

  “Left.”

  The signpost to her village swirled into view. Good, thank God. Less than half a mile to go before he could drop her off and never see the loony cow again.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, you will. Like I said – come over at nine tomorrow and then you’ll see. Hang another left again here, that’s it. And you will come because if you don’t I will sue you for rape and assault, and I do have a whole lot of evidence as I said, not to mention friends in very high places. So don’t risk it, sweetie. Go straight over at the junction. You’ll know where you are then.”

  Seconds later he drew up outside the imposing wrought iron gates to her family home and jerked the car to a halt. “Get out.”

  “See you soon then, lover boy.”

  He watched her saunter towards the gates before turning to stare directly at him, her dark eyes gleaming in an alabaster, white face he now saw as monkey-shit insane. Christ, she was scary. What in the devil’s name had he ever seen in the mad bitch?

  She waved, then turned and sashayed down the gravel driveway to the mansion her parents owned, as if she’d had a perfectly normal night out.

  ***

  You’re one of us now…You’re one of us now… You’re one of us…

  Five hours later he jump-started awake, looked at his watch and leapt out of bed. There wasn’t even time for a shower.

  “Take some toast with you, love,” his mother shouted down the drive as he ran to the car. He darted back and grabbed it. “Love you, Mum.”

  “Love you too. Just take care now – you’re tired–”

  In his rear view mirror he saw her waving and raised a hand. Ten minutes – just enough time to brush his teeth, use the loo and get dressed. Madness. That bloody girl. Just his luck to meet a total psycho! And what the hell was that about being one of them? One of who? And why? What did she mean?

  Snarled in traffic, he thought hard. What he had to do was keep cool, treat this like an investigation and look for clues, going right back to how and where they met. Look at it objectively; outsmart her, because something told him he hadn’t walked into this by accident. So…he narrowed his eyes… stroking his hair back over and over… he’d been targeted then? And maybe she was just a puppet?

  They’d met at a bar in town: one he and his mates frequented because after the pubs closed it was one of the few places that played great music but didn’t charge the earth to get in, or hike up the drink prices. Another bonus was the kind of girls who went there. The club was underground, painted black and thumped with rap and base. She’d appeared at his elbow when he went to buy in the next round, gazing into his eyes while they talked, and he’d found it impossible to look away.

  She was into dance, she said, shouting into his ear. “You heard of flexor dancing?”

  He laughed, gulped down a whisky chaser. “Eh?”

  “It’s like African voodoo music – where you send yourself into a trance?”

  “Oh yeah, trance dance?”

  She shook her head, grabbed his hand. “Not like you mean. Come on, I’ll show you, you’re so gonna love this.”

  The traffic was inching forwards and he glanced at the clock. Shit he was going to be really late. “Come on…come on… the bloody lights have changed, you dozy fucker! Step on it!”

  There hadn’t been any clues she was into dark stuff, though. In all fairness to himself, he could not have seen this coming. He sifted through the memories of that night: the club had been dark with strobe lighting; the dancing frenetic, animated, and exciting. At four am they’d snogged outside in the gennel before she’d run for a lift with friends, and he’d dawdled happily to the taxi rank. After that they’d been out for a drink a few times and, yes, he’d told her a little about what he’d been through, but no names, no details... In fact, it really wasn’t until the dinner date at Becky and Cal’s that she’d shown the slightest interest in anything ‘spooky’ as she’d called it. God, that seemed light years away now.

  Someone blasted the horn behind him and he jumped. There was quite a gap in front – he must have drifted away - something he continued to do all day: operating in a daze of taking calls, attending meetings and filing reports, while trawling through his memory bank. Was there anything, really, the tiniest of hints that could have alerted him to this? But there was nothing before that night at Becky’s, and even that was just a bit inappropriate, nothing serious. Maybe she was one of those possessive, jealous bunny boilers, threatening him in order to get her own way?

  That could mean having to move away, get a transfer…

  For the zillionth time that day he glanced at the clock. Only this time the hour had come. Six o’clock. He grabbed his jacket. In three hours’ time he was supposed to be at her place. Was she being serious, though? Should he take a risk and call her bluff? Who was she anyway – just some nasty little piece he wished he’d never met.

  He had a good reputation - people who would vouch for him; hell – people who owed him. Cal and Sid would back him all the way. Maybe, just maybe–

  His phone signalled a text had just come in. He picked it up.

  ‘DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT NOT COMING TONIGHT LOVER BOY OR YOU WILL SERIOUSLY REGRET IT!’

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The second he pulled up outside the house it was obvious Amy’s parents were throwing one hell of a shindig. Well, if all he had to do was have a few drinks to save her the embarrassment of telling them she’d been dumped, then maybe it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship? The more he thought about it the more he convinced himself that’s probably all it was – a spoilt brat manipulating others to get her own way.

  Well, think again, Amy!

  He got out of the car, deliberately leaving it on the lane rather than buzzing for access through the electric gates. It was imperative to have his wits about him tonight because she could have something seriously horrible in mind, and a rapid escape route might be needed. A sudden vision of himself handcuffed to the bed buck naked made him shudder. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  Perhaps, he thought later, when he had so much more time to think than expected – he had been concentrating too hard on Amy herself, prematurely concluding she was just a problematic drama queen he would have difficulty extricating himself from. Whatever the reason, he cursed his own stupidity because he sure as hell plundered right through all the warning signs. And despite the night before, not to mention everything he’d witnessed at Tanners Dell, the fact that the outside of the house was lit up with red flames, giving the illusion it was on fire…passed him by. The fact that the woman who opened the front door was dressed as a dominatrix also passed him by. And the unusual interior of the hallway, criss-crossed in cobweb lace through which guests had to disentangle themselves, also passed him by. The par
ty, he thought with contempt, was nothing more than an extravaganza for eccentric rich people who’d been at the dressing-up box. Wankers, the lot of them.

  Until he was shown into the lounge.

  He stood in the doorway with his mouth open, staring into a dark, candlelit room lined with mirrors. Good God, this was one hell of a freaky vicars and tarts do! The costumes were at best outlandish, at worst disturbing. There were women dressed as nuns but with bits cut out to reveal intimate body parts; some wearing plunging evening gowns with mad hatter headdresses crafted to represent birdcages or tropical gardens; another had a pair of horns on her head and very little else to cover her modesty. Mostly the men wore bondage gear. Some wore nothing at all. And every single person in the room had their face hidden by a mask. Masks which turned towards him as he stood there with a bottle of pinot noir in his hand, staring.

  Perhaps he could, at that point, have turned around and fled? He would never know. But he walked into the room all the same, intent on finding Amy, having that one last drink, and then leaving.

  A plastic face with a rictus grin swung round to face him as he passed through, the mask disconcertingly face-on even as he moved further in. Yet the man had not moved. He looked more closely, realising the guy was wearing four different faces, one for each side of his head. Nor was he the only guest to wear a multi-faceted mask – the same features but with different expressions – it seemed multiple personalities were all the rage; alongside masks resembling cracked dolls with an eye missing or a chunk of flesh gouged out. What a fucking sick kind of party!

  One drink and he was going. That would be it. Amy could get over herself. Whatever she threw at him he’d handle.

  Standing by the fireplace he scanned the room. ‘Let’s just get this done, Amy,’ he was thinking. ‘One drink and then I’m out of here.’ Dumping the wine, he accepted an exquisitely presented cocktail in a long-stemmed, frosted glass from one of the young waiters. The colour of black cherries with a syrupy consistency, it slid congenially down his throat.