Wakenhyrst

by Michelle Paver

  I feel better now that I’ve devised a strategy. It is pragmatic and rational. It makes sense. I know that if I remain strong, I can bring this horror to an end.

  26th December

  Excellent progress. I have already put in place a preliminary measure of protection that seems highly effective.

  The answer was simple, I found it in The Life of St Guthlaf: ‘And there came to Guthlaf a man whose eyes were dimmed by the white speck. And Guthlaf took salt and blessed it, then sprinkled the hallowed salt in the blind man’s eyes, and the dimness was banished and the man could see.’

  Today after the service I remained in my pew. Once the church was empty, I went to the cupboard in the vestry where the rector keeps the sacramentals. I took the blessed salt and decanted the oil of chrism into the bottle I’d hidden earlier, replacing what I’d taken with plain salt and oil I’d obtained from the pantry. Old Broadstairs won’t know the difference, and my need is greater than his.

  Using a modicum of cunning, it didn’t take long to anoint all points of ingress into the house. Doors, windows, chimneys, even the ventilation grilles in the back offices; all now have their measure of hallowed oil or salt.

  The effect was immediate. As soon as I’d anointed my study, I felt clearer and calmer. I was even able to do a little work on Pyett.

  27th December

  Much better. Having taken particular care in anointing my bedroom and dressing-room, I enjoyed my first unbroken night’s sleep in weeks.

  I’ve made excellent progress with my research on exorcism, too, and have chanced upon another powerful protective measure. Mediæval sources including Wolfsthurn tend to deal with exorcism in the context of demonic possession – that is, when a demon has entered the body of a human being. That is different from the present instance, when the demon is free to roam without taking human form. However, the same measures obtain in both cases.

  Having found numerous references to ‘the Herb of Solomon’, I braved the frost and consulted Cole in the glass-house. He told me that Herb of Solomon is the old name for an herbaceous perennial, Solomon’s Seal; and greatly to my delight, he said that a large clump of the plant flourishes in the flowerbed outside the library! Can that be mere chance, or do I once again detect the workings of Providence?

  At this season the plant is of course leafless, but Cole admitted that in summer he habitually dries a quantity of leaves for Biddy Thrussel to use in her potions. He also retains a supply for his personal use. I expressed an interest from an historical perspective, and now carry a pocketful of dried leaves always on my person.

  Later

  This afternoon I drove to the Rectory and sought help from old Broadstairs. I didn’t tell him explicitly that I wish to perform an exorcism, I mentioned the subject in the context of my work on Pyett. I said that I desired to know his views, as a twentieth-century man of the cloth, so that I might draw comparisons with the beliefs of the fifteenth century.

  To my surprise, the old fool became positively uncomfortable, huffing and fidgeting in his chair. When I pressed him he reluctantly conceded that ‘there are those’ in the Church with expertise in dealing with ‘these matters’; but he said that he himself has no knowledge, nor has he any idea to whom I might apply. He practically hustled me out of the Rectory. His parting shot was that there would be no point in my seeing the bishop, for his advice would be the same.

  So now I know: no assistance to be had from that quarter.

  28th December

  My adversary knows that I am fighting back. All morning I have felt watched. I tried to continue with my research, but in the end I had to ring for the blinds to be drawn. Daisy gave me an odd look – as well she might, for it was only just after noon, and the winter sunlight was still bright.

  Even with the blinds down, I could feel the demon’s presence in the grounds: watching, waiting. It wants to stop me. It shall fail.

  Later

  Before luncheon I forced myself to take my usual walk outside, and was rewarded with another excellent idea.

  I was very much struck by the extent to which the house is encroached upon by shrubberies, and is itself thickly clad in ivy. The shrubberies provide excellent cover for my adversary’s approach, while the ivy affords a means of ingress, enabling it to crawl up the walls and slip over my bedroom sill.

  Well, no more. As I write, Walker and a gang of men from the village are hard at work tearing every scrap of ivy from the house. I’ve also told them to grub up the shrubberies, so that no cover remains within twenty feet.

  By my express orders, they are leaving untouched the Solomon’s Seal.

  Later

  Events are moving fast. Once I’d completed the above entry, I ordered the dog-cart and drove to the village to interview the wisewoman Biddy Thrussel.

  I gave her a simpler version of what I’d told the rector, namely an academic interest in folkloric charms against the ‘evil eye’ (I didn’t mention demons). Of course I had no need to explain myself at all to such as she; the shilling I paid her would have sufficed. However I thought it best, in order to forestall gossip.

  Most of what the wisewoman said was nonsense, yet there was one nugget worth hearing. It turns out that she herself has performed one or two exorcisms. There was much confusion in what she said between the evil eye and witchcraft, and I’m well aware that imps such as rats, bats and toads are more commonly associated with witches; but I was struck by one of her stories, which took place some years ago.

  A young labourer had fallen gravely ill, and as the wisewoman knew that he was possessed, she embarked on an ancient charm to expel the demon. First she boiled the patient’s urine with nine nails from a horseshoe, then began muttering the charm – having warned the skivvy who was tending the fire that on no account must she look behind her during the spell.

  Of course the foolish chit forgot herself and glanced over her shoulder. She uttered a piercing shriek, for she beheld ‘a little black thing escaping through the keyhole’. In the uproar that ensued, the ‘little black thing’ was seen to return and re-enter the mouth of the sick man – whereupon he died.

  Representations of such demon imps are common in the art of the Middle Ages, viz numerous woodcuts, illuminated manuscripts, those frescoes of Giotto, &c &c.

  This gives me much to ponder.

  I wish I could stop there, but I have a duty to tell all.

  The drive back from the village did me good. The sun was out and the frosty Common glittered attractively, so I was in tolerably high spirits when I reached Wake’s End. I can’t have been paying attention, for on ascending the front steps, I slipped on a patch of ice. I managed not to fall by gripping the baluster, but as I recovered my equilibrium, I distinctly heard a low chuckle in my right ear.

  It couldn’t have been one of the men at work on the ivy, they were all at the back of the house. Besides, the laugh was not behind me or anywhere around, it was in my ear.

  When as I say I’d regained my equilibrium, I hastened inside and rang for Walker. I told him to scatter quantities of grit and coarse salt over the front steps. I felt steadier after that. Practical measures definitely help.

  Nevertheless, I find myself reverting again and again to that laugh. It was a most horribly sly, mocking sound. In my fancy, I hear it still.

  Later

  I have just realised what caused those nightmares about Lily a few months ago. They were the work of my adversary. My adversary brought back those memories in order to distract me: to prevent me from hunting it down.

  And now that I think of it, perhaps its malign influence was also at work years ago when I was a boy. Perhaps when Lily and I made our way to the Mere that day, some vile emanation from the demon trapped behind the Doom poisoned the atmosphere around us, thus clouding my judgement and making me panic and flee.

  At the time, I believed that God would save her. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone where she was. Then she was brought in and it was too late. Her flesh was torn where
the glaves had hooked her. I remember thinking that Nurse Thrushie’s warnings had come true. ‘Don’t you never go near the Mere, or the ferishes ’ull hook you into the water.’

  I don’t remember much after Lily was brought in. Merely snatches. Father turning into an old man overnight. Mother’s scream. She only screamed once. It must have been when she saw the body. I wasn’t there but I heard it. I had never thought Mother could scream like that. She didn’t sound human.

  Later

  Do you see how insidious my adversary is? Once again it seeks to distract me – by making me dwell on that time!

  It won’t work. In fact, the reverse, for by thinking of it I finally understand that what happened when I was a boy was not my fault. I didn’t kill Lily. It was the demon.

  29th December

  I’m not sure that the salt and the oil of chrism have worked.

  I was making my descent to breakfast when I heard movement in the downstairs passage. It was very faint, but I know that I heard it, although it had ceased by the time I’d reached the foot of the stairs.

  As I was about to enter the breakfast-room, the noises began again: small, furtive, like claws scrabbling on glass. But how could this be? Apart from the fanlight above the front door, there are no windows in the passage, and hence no glass. And surely my adversary cannot reach as high as the fanlight? It slinks too low to the ground.

  Yet I distinctly heard those noises. Not a shred of verdure now remains on the exterior of the house, nor any shrubs that might afford cover to my adversary. Every point of ingress has been anointed with oil and salt.

  So how has it got inside?

  29th December – Later

  All morning I’ve been tormented by that scrabbling. I never know when it’s going to begin, and it stops the moment I step out into the passage. Sometimes if I’m quick I sense movement behind me, but no matter how swiftly I spin round, I see nothing there. As soon as I turn my back, the noises begin again.

  It is taunting me.

  Later

  I know what it is. It’s the glass dome on the side-table. I’ve always hated those bats. As a boy they gave me nightmares. I used to fancy they were giant spiders. They were Father’s pride and joy – and of course Lily adored them. She used to pester him to tell her their names and about their ‘behaviour’.

  I was in my study when I heard the noises again. This time I opened the doors silently, and was quick enough to catch a flicker of motion. In the dome I distinctly saw one of the bats stealthily draw in its wing. It was all I could do not to cry out, but I knew that I must not let them know they’d been observed. Feigning indifference, I withdrew to my study. I pretended to shut both sets of doors, but kept the outer ones very slightly ajar and remained in the gap, listening with bated breath.

  It wasn’t long before the scrabbling began again. This time I was ready, I caught them at it. For the blink of an eye I beheld a heaving mound of leathery wings and misshapen bodies scrabbling and clawing at the glass, like the very imps of Hell. They spotted me and scrambled back into place, the last one twisting its tiny monstrous head and hissing at me.

  So now I know. As my adversary can no longer gain entry to the house, it has found a new way to torment me.

  It makes dead things move.

  6 p.m.

  I feel much calmer now that I’ve destroyed those loathsome creatures. I should have done it years ago. I can’t imagine why I didn’t.

  The smell of burning drew Maud from the library. She stood sniffing and staring. I wanted to slap her stupid face. She is such a typical female. That animal inquisitiveness. They’re all alike. All daughters of Eve, whose curiosity caused the Fall of Man.

  Lily was the same. Always asking questions. She was the one who insisted we go to the Mere that day. She wanted to see the dragonflies. She brought it on herself.

  God how I loathe them all.

  I have just summoned Ivy and vented copiously. Recently she has begun to protest about marrying Walker. She still harbours an absurd idea of becoming mistress of Wake’s End. I told the chit that she must do as I say or be dismissed. She continued to protest, but turned pliable when I named a sum. They’re all the same. All whores.

  30th December

  My research into exorcism continues. Unfortunately the measures related by Pyett are somewhat barbaric. Also, since the demon was erroneously believed to be within her, her Book provides no guidance on how to summon a free-roaming spirit, such as I have to contend with here. This brought me briefly to an impasse. How can I exorcise the demon when I can’t find it?

  Then I remembered that Father – before he decided that we are all descended from monkeys – was for a time beguiled by the works of Cardinal Newman. Amid his volumes of Catholic writings, I found a passage on demons.

  Such a relief to see them rationally discussed: their existence accepted, their effects pragmatically described. Apparently they are known to cause various kinds of obsessive disorder, including pederasty and onanism.

  My course of action is now clear. Since the Church of England has declined to assist me, I must apply to the Church of Rome. I have telegraphed to Father Hillier in Ely, requesting an urgent consultation. I have also telegraphed to the White Hart, reserving rooms for two nights. I have told Maud not to expect me back until New Year’s Day.

  Jessop suggested that as there is snow on the way, he ought to drive me in the covered carriage; but I prefer to go alone. Fresh air is just the ticket, as Grayson would say. I shall set off as soon as the dog-cart is ready.

  New Year’s Eve. Ely

  Father Hillier refuses to help. He was suspicious from the start. Why, he wondered, should a lifelong Protestant who openly scorns Catholicism suddenly seek his aid – and in such a matter? Nothing availed. Why, the arrogant young fool practically threw me out.

  So now I know. I am alone in my battle against the demon. I can’t say that I’m surprised. It is the will of Providence that I should fight unaided.

  However, my visit to Ely has not been in vain, for at Hibble’s I purchased two volumes that may prove useful.

  I also take much comfort from The Life of St Guthlaf: ‘Blessed is the man who endureth manifold troubles, for whereas he is tried, then shall he receive everlasting reward.’

  New Year’s Day 1913, 2 a.m.

  It is finished. God has granted me the strength to destroy the demon of the fen.

  I write this in pencil, for I have a fever. The servants are watching me, but I insisted on using the bathroom unaided, having secreted this notebook under my nightclothes. I’ll have to get Ivy to take it down to the study and put it back in its hiding place.

  Marsh fever. What else could I be afflicted with, given the nature of my adversary? I’m shivering, I can hardly hold the pencil. Just now I saw eyes peering at me from under the bath. I must gather my wits and record what happened.

  On leaving Ely and wishing to avoid the New Year revelries in Wakenhyrst, I drove home via Harrow Walk. The willows bordering the Dyke stood deathly still. No moon. All was dark and silent, save for the creak of the dog-cart and the clop of hooves. In my mind’s eye I saw shadows behind, slinking on to the road and creeping after me. I dared not look over my shoulder.

  At last I beheld St Guthlaf’s, and my courage returned. It was then, as I drove the last few hundred yards along the Lode, that the demon rose before me.

  I tried to grasp my limmell stone but my hand would not obey. Until that moment, I had pictured the demon as it is in the Doom: a small hunched thing, very low to the ground. It never occurred to me that it could take human form.

  Now I beheld it in the guise of a man. Very foul he was, and ragged, and he stank of the swamp. He was just as Guthlaf describes: ‘most filthy and horrible, with squalid countenance and jagged teeth like those of a horse…’

  The thing rushed at me and seized the reins. In the murk I made out its loathsome toad-like features. ‘I know what you did,’ it rasped. ‘If you drain the fen, I’ll tell.’<
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  What happened next is as broken in my mind as splintered glass. I remember uttering a cry and leaping from the dog-cart to the ground. I remember the thing coming at me. I think I pushed it. Certainly I heard ice crack. Then I was gripping that matted head and pushing the demon under. It fought with unspeakable strength, but God lent me supra-human power and I held it down.

  It is finished. The demon is dead.

  MAUD shut the ledger and stared out of the window. A wasp bumped against the pane, then veered towards the flowers by the front steps.

  Mechanically, Maud put the ledger on Father’s desk and went out into the passage. Daisy was climbing the stairs with a tea-tray. Maud heard Nurse Lawson tell the housemaid that it was only a dizzy spell and the Master felt better already.

  It took Maud a moment to remember that Father had fainted in his study and been carried up to his room. The time is all mixed up, she thought. Am I standing here on a hot morning in May, or is it still New Year’s Day, with the bells tolling for Jubal?

  She opened the front door and the heat hit her like a wall. She walked down the steps and vomited into the flowerbed. Father killed Jubal. Father is a murderer.

  Hoverflies floated over a clump of snapdragons, and a ladybird climbed up a stalk. Maud thought: He must have been out of his mind with fever. He didn’t know what he was doing.

  But he killed Jubal. He pushed him into the Lode and held him under.

  A shadow appeared beside her, and Clem asked if she was all right.

  ‘No,’ she said, wiping her lips with her handkerchief. ‘But I shall be.’

  He watched her wistfully. She gave him a cold stare. Summer had put coppery glints in his fair hair, and his grey eyes were vivid and arresting. Maud noted this dispassionately, as if she were looking at a beautiful horse.

  ‘I got to talk to you,’ he blurted out.