The Haunting of Violet Gray

by Emily Sadovna

  “It’s not sinister. In most cases, people stay partially awake so they know what’s going on. I ease open doors in your mind, which may have closed for some reason. I think I could help you…but only when you are ready.”

  There was something about Joab, the house and the possibility of discovering where I came from that insisted I stayed.

  “Cat, you have had a panic attack, and you are drugged up to the eyeballs with sedative herbs. You’ll be asleep at the wheel before you know it. You have to stay—your own king-size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets, the best witch training you could find for free!”

  “OK,” I said, ignoring an unsettling feeling in the pit of my gut. “I guess one night should be OK. I will walk down to the phone box on the corner and call Dinah. My phone doesn’t work here.”

  “Use the house landline,” Joab offered.

  “I could do with some air,” I said truthfully.

  Joab wrote down a list of things to collect from Dinah’s and programmed her postcode into his phone. He jumped into his black mini coupe and motored down the lane.

  I pulled on a jacket I found on a hook near the back door and grabbed a pair of wellies from the communal welly basket. The now familiar and comforting smell of apples, smoke and remnants of rain greeted me as crunched down the drive to the lane. The black Labrador dog I met on my last visit flew into my legs and jumped up, leaving two big muddy paw prints on the borrowed coat, its tail wagging so hard its whole body appeared to wiggle.

  “Down,” a voice commanded.

  I looked up to see the sandy-haired young man who stormed out of the house last week.

  He strode towards me with the demeanour of a country squire in his battered wax jacket and Hunter wellies. His kind eyes were a soft hazel, and his dishevelled look was of someone too busy to worry about a triviality of looking good but still looked great anyway. “Sorry about Belles. She’s a good girl, just a bit too friendly.” He held a large weathered hand out for a handshake. “I am Tom. You must be Cat?”

  I took Tom’s hand. He shook so firmly I felt my body would lift a good ten centimetres from the ground.

  “How do you know…?”

  Tom interrupted me before I could continue. “Joab told me all about you. You are his cleaner, right?”

  I shrugged, feeling a little demoralised. “Yes, I am the cleaner.”

  “I am staying in the village at my dad’s old house while I work for the forestry commission to plant out a new woodland area by the Brickworks. Where are you heading?”

  “To the phone box.”

  Tom tagged along for the short distance to the end of the road. We chatted comfortably. He described the trees he was planting, with a passion I couldn’t help but find funny.

  While we chatted, he picked a couple of blackberries and threw them into his mouth, offering me a couple, which I declined.

  “Make sure you only pick the ones that are high up. Avoids getting a mouth of fox piss.”

  I winced at the thought.

  “Hey, we should grab a beer at the pub sometime if you are up in the village a lot, maybe after work?”

  I smiled in agreement but dismissed it as an empty polite gesture.

  “No really,” he said, picking up on my sentiments. “Not often we get people under fifty in the village. I suppose clubbing is more your thing, bands? A pint in a country pub with a young-ish fogey like me is a bit boring?”

  His earnest expression urged me to accept, and I was rewarded with a warm smile.

  “Down there to your left. Hardly gets used now. I think it still works though.”

  “Thanks, I can’t get reception on my phone, and Din…my mum will be wondering where I am. I’m staying at the house tonight.” I cringed at my oversharing of information, and I was worried about his perception of me.

  Tom’s eyes flashed with what looked a little like concern. “You are staying in the house…with Joab?”

  “Err, yes,” I said defensively. I fell ill today and,

  um.”

  “It’s OK. I am not questioning your motives…It’s just I have always thought the house was creepy.”

  Tom rummaged in his pocket for a business card and thrust it into my hand. “Please call me if you need anything. We should have that beer.” With a shrill whistle, his dog came to heel, and the pair strode into the distance.

  I opened the door of the red phone box. I was surprised to see it still worked. I paused, my heart rate increased briefly and I found myself holding my breath. I exhaled, blocking out Tom’s concern. I dialled and waited for an answer. I could tell from Dinah’s unusually minimal conversation that she was holding back an explosion of questions about Joab. I felt a familiar flush of embarrassment when she emphasised: “Be careful.”

  The embarrassment turned to annoyance. “Dinah, I am sick. That is the only reason I am staying. There is nothing going on with Joab. He is heading over to grab some clothes for me. He will probably be there soon. Hope that’s OK?”

  “Ooh, I must run the hoover over and clean the kitchen floor. Does he like bourbon biscuits? That’s all I have in, or should I get some custard creams?” Dinah was flustered.

  I laughed. “He’ll be in and out in minutes. He won’t notice the floor.”

  Dinah hastily said goodbye and hung up.

  I strode up the gravel drive to the house with a mixture of excitement, anticipation and dread, feelings unfamiliar in my uneventful, shortened memory. But finally, I might have been about to discover who I was and where I was from.

  I could not escape the vulnerable feeling that I was granting access to my mind to someone who, by all accounts, was a stranger despite claims to know me. Perhaps I will learn he is not a stranger after all? But this could be a cunning plan, to achieve whatever is on his agenda. Tiredness suddenly overcame me. I showered and sunk into the amazing king-size bed wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe and waited for Joab’s return. The bed was unbelievably comfortable, and I drifted into a deep, unusually dreamless sleep, after many sleepless nights.

  CHAPTER 8

  Present

  I awoke to light streaming through the window, and for the first time, I actually felt a glimmer of optimism. Still wrapped in my robe, I headed down to the kitchen, enticed by the aroma of coffee.

  “Morning,” I said, sheepishly aware that I’d slept through dinner last night.

  “Cold pizza? It’s better cold the next morning anyway.” Joab slapped a couple of slices onto a plate.

  I took a bite of the rubbery cheese. I was not convinced I agreed with him, but I was so ravenous I finished the lot along with a mug of steaming coffee.

  “I’m glad you slept well. We have a lot to do. If there is any chance at all you are V…the girl I lost, you have power to discover, and I can teach you how to use it.” Joab’s eyes shone with fond memory.

  “Who was she?” I asked.

  “It is probably best I don’t say. It could be suggestive to give you a name, influence your thoughts. If memories and magical power are hidden away somewhere deep in your brain, I might be able to find them and draw them out.” Joab looked optimistic. I guessed the mix of terror, scepticism and curiosity twisted my face into a weird expression because Joab’s obvious excitement turned to a look of concern. “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s not scary or controlling. You will just feel relaxed, and hopefully we will get you some answers. Trust me. I almost forgot. You’ll need this…”

  Joab threw a bag of clothes towards me, which I attempted to catch but missed clumsily. I undid the zip and glanced inside and flushed crimson. These were not the hoodies and jeans I was expecting. Dinah appeared to have rushed out and bought an entirely new wardrobe and raided the underwear department at M and S, replacing my T-shirt bras and cotton shorts with lace. I was mortified to see, glaring like a flashlight right at the top of the bag, a pack of extra safe condoms. My crimson face turned purple as I tried to ram the zip closed with sweaty fingers. The bag seemed to flick forward onto the floo
r, and the large purple box dropped into the void between myself and Joab.

  “Dinah’s nice, very hospitable, very efficient,” Joab said, grinning, appearing not to have noticed the gigantic box of contraceptives, glaring at me.

  My mouth was dry. I hoped Joab had not seen them. I made a subtle lunge forward to scoop the box with my foot towards the bag, which was on the floor. Instead, I accidently kicked it towards Joab’s toes.

  For a moment, which actually felt an eternity, we both stared at the box, neither of us sure of what to say.

  “I am not sure how those got in there. Dinah must have put them in by mistake.”

  I crouched down and scooped them back into the bag.

  “So…did Dinah say much?” I asked suspiciously, keen to change the subject.

  Joab’s eyes glinted with amusement, but he wisely chose to follow my new subject. “Lots. She asked several questions and showed me all your photos from the day you arrived. She also insisted I ate half a packet of biscuits. Oh yes, there is also a lasagne, a casserole, a multipack of cereals and a Curly Wurly chocolate bar.”

  I sunk my hands into my face.

  “Right,” Joab said brightly, “time to begin witch school.” He poured us both another coffee and brushed the pizza crumbs off his black shirt. I straightened my back attentively, ready for my lesson. He continued. “The craft begins in nature, and our religion is celebrating her bounty, the seasons, the moon, the sun, all the elements necessary for life.”

  “So they are not all weird, freaky devil worshippers with black lipstick casting spells on people they don’t like?” I laughed nervously.

  “Most witches are loving, peaceful and discreet. There is a tiny minority who practice black magic. Every witch knows that if they were to cast a dark spell they should expect retaliation.” Joab took a sip of his steaming coffee.

  “Unlike most religions, we embrace intellect and curiosity. The broader your knowledge, the further you rise through the ranks within the coven. Top dog is the high priest or priestess who is the servant of the goddess. The goddess is a powerful deity whose presence is everywhere. She is listening, watching and guiding us. She has three forms—the maiden, the mother and the crone. Each represents the cycles of nature. Everything begins life as innocent and new. Then we nurture as a mother or father and finally death when our bodies are absorbed back into the earth, then the cycle can begin again. It is the goddess who bestows power on the witches who she believes can serve her, and the world, best. She decides how much power to bestow on each witch. Her generosity must always be repayed.” Joab’s eyes flashed with drama.

  “If everything you have told me is true and people believe it, why meddle with a force so powerful?”

  Joab grinned. “To tread dangerously is exciting and enticing particularly to a young generation who feel trapped in a dull world, I guess.” He shrugged and gulped down the rest of his coffee.

  “Besides, every leader or god instils fear. That is how they maintain order in the world. Our world is a beautiful thing. The goddess gives us power to look after it. If a witch needs her help, we can ask her. But it is important to remember, if we take, we must always repay. That is the law of nature.” Joab smiled reassuringly. “If we show respect to the goddess and follow her law, then everyone is happy.”

  I was still wary to follow the path where Joab was leading me. He had to try harder to convince me to become a witch.

  He continued. “Covens can be four or more people, and are often connected. Thanks to the internet, we know pretty much every witch in this country, Europe and America, except the few lone hedgerow witches and water witches. Even the younger ones tend to have an online profile. The world now accepts witches more.”

  I followed Joab into the library as he scoured the shelves before retrieving a book and throwing it to me. He paused for a moment.

  “Strange,” he said. “I thought I left…” Joab’s eyes scanned the shelves.

  “I had an old book. I am sure it was here. I will look later.” I blushed when I realised he was possibly referring to the book I stole.

  He continued. “There’s a new generation of young witches that share their craft through social media to widen the community and teach the curious.” Joab swiped his phone.

  “Here.” He scrolled through Instagram and showed me the phone. Most of them were girls who looked stunning, adorned with intricate makeup and feathers or flowers woven through their flowing, coloured hair. Many had tattoos snaking up their arms and across their backs. There were pages of beautiful pictures of nature, sacred objects and rituals.

  “Annie is keen to embrace this new generation and make them part of a massive new coven. She has big plans.” Joab looked anxious for a fleeting moment.

  “What plans?”

  “She has a vision to make Wiccan the hottest thing since…I don’t know. I’m not sure if I agree it is the way forward. The appeal of Wiccan is the secrets and mystery that enshroud it. The craft encourages curiosity and knowledge, so to condemn the use of technology for spreading the word of Wiccan is against our ethos. We have to embrace it, understand it, and if Annie has her way, control it.” Joab’s lips tightened, then he slammed his hand on a pile of old books causing a mini dust cloud. “Technology is an excellent tool for insight into the ways of witchcraft and the world, but the best source of understanding the deepest and darkest secrets of the craft are in these books. We have some of the best. Some were handwritten hundreds of years ago.” Joab swelled with pride. He lifted up the pile of books and dumped them in my lap.

  “So…there are cool young witches and a few old-school covens of witches. Is that the extent of their power now?” I was feeling more at ease.

  Joab grinned. “Oh, Cat, there is so much more. There are witches in government, in the armed forces, royal households, business and media. There is even a group of super-intelligent techy witches intercepting cyberattacks from the Russians. There is a whole spy network of witches who have infiltrated extremist gangs of young militants in the Middle East. They have prevented attacks on Britain because they were able to feed back intelligence about potential terror attacks through our untraceable networks.”

  “Attacks? Like real terrorist attacks? How? What networks?” I was afraid and confused, no longer at ease.

  “Telepathy,” he said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Did he think I would believe the rubbish he was telling me? Perhaps Joab was deranged?

  “You are joking, right? There are groups of spy witches that communicate with their minds?”

  Joab nodded.

  “So there are witches everywhere?” I said suspiciously, trying to conceal my shock.

  Joab looked suspicious but continued the lesson. “During the Second World War, there was a coven of witches who prevented the Nazi invasion of Britain using a spell which wiped out half of the witches in England. Hundreds of witches, entire families were killed when the spell went wrong,” he said, searching my face for a reaction.

  I was horrified at the thought of needless death and unrecognised valour. Then with jolting realisation, a disturbing memory bubbled to surface. I tried to concentrate on the rest of the lesson, but my mind was racing.

  “You can find a few stories on the internet, but none of them are accurate. It was the war cabinet’s job to underplay the witches’ role. They said it was a small group of old witches dancing around in the nude in the woods who died of cold. They claimed it was pure coincidence the Nazi invasion didn’t happen.” For a moment, Joab’s focus drifted to a faraway place with a flash of sadness in his eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I exclaimed, then blurted out, “Does that have anything to do with a Cone of Power?” I said, remembering my dream and the book I still hadn’t admitted to taking. The details came flooding back with vivid clarity.

  Joab looked at me curiously. “Yes, how do you know that?”

  “Oh, just read about it somewhere,” I said dismissively, regretting
the flippant comment immediately. I was shaking with the realisation that my dreams could be much more. They could be memories of the accounts of 1940 described in the shabby little book. I was desperate to read more of J. Mason’s Book of Shadows. I attempted to change the subject, in case Joab worked out that I had it and demanded it back.

  “Who is your high priest?” I asked quickly.

  I was relieved that the distraction worked when he continued. “We are kind of between high priests in this coven at the moment, although Annie and I share the role. Annie has loads of ideas to grow the Wiccan movement. She aspires to get high profile celebrities to endorse it to boost membership and turn us into a money-making corporation with ‘clout’ to make a difference in the world. It is my job to deal with the admin, bookkeeping and record keeping. There are events to organise.”

  Joab drew a crude illustration of an eight-pointed star on some kitchen roll. There was something familiar about it. He pointed to the star. “This time of year we celebrate Lammas on August 1st. The ritual used to be carried out to encourage a good harvest, now it could be to encourage success at school, in your exams or at work. The next Sabbat after Lammas is Mabon—the harvest feast, which is a celebration of the autumn equinox. It is harvest time, and we have lots of parties. It is more like a festival now. So…if I am going to convince you to become a witch, maybe induct you into the coven, we have a lot to do. Get dressed and I will meet you out in the front in ten minutes.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Present day

  The venture outdoors began my witch education, marking the beginning of a journey that only weeks ago would be unimaginable.

  I never thought of myself as happy. I wasn’t depressed, but I bumbled along, existing and not living or feeling anything. It wasn’t until I arrived at the house I began to wake up.

  On the first day, Joab made me take my shoes off as we walked through a grassy field towards the woods to connect with the earth. I resisted at first, but the grass was tickling the soles of my feet injecting life into me. The mud felt slimy and cold, but I felt myself root to the ground. It was like the power of the earth was weaving through my skin and blood vessels.