Joseph Delaney - The Spook

Back at the cottage, I went to the room where the Spook kept his walking clothes. I chose one of his old cloaks. It was too big, of course, and the hem came down almost to my ankles while the hood kept falling down over my eyes. Still, it would keep out the worst of the cold. I borrowed one of his staffs too, the one most useful to me as a walking stick: it was shorter than the others and slightly thicker at one end.

When I finally left the cottage, it was close to midnight. The sky was bright and there was a full moon just rising above the trees, but I could smell rain and the wind was freshening from the west.

I walked out into the garden and headed directly for Mother Malkin’s pit. I was afraid, but someone had to do it and who else was there but me? It was all my fault anyway. If only I’d told the Spook about meeting Alice and what she’d told the lads about Lizzie being back! He could have sorted it all out then. He wouldn’t have been lured away to Pendle.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. The child on the Long Ridge might not have died. I felt guilty, so guilty, and I couldn’t stand the thought that another child might die and that would be my fault too.

I passed the second grave where the dead witch was buried head down, and moved very slowly forward on my tiptoes until I reached the pit.

A shaft of moonlight fell through the trees to light it up, so there was no doubt about what had happened.

I was too late.

The bars had been bent even further apart, almost into the shape of a circle. Even the butcher could have eased his massive shoulders through that gap.

I peered down into the blackness of the pit but couldn’t see anything. I suppose I had a forlorn hope that she might have exhausted herself bending the bars and was now too tired to climb out.

Fat chance. At that moment a cloud drifted across the moon, making things a lot darker, but I could see the bent ferns. I could see the direction she’d taken. There was enough light to follow her trail.

So I followed her into the gloom. I wasn’t moving too quickly and I was being very, very cautious. What if she was hiding and waiting for me just ahead? I also knew that she probably hadn’t got very far. For one thing, it wasn’t more than five minutes or so after midnight. Whatever was in the cakes she’d eaten, I knew that dark magic would have played some part in getting her strength back. It was a magic that was supposed to be more powerful during the hours of darkness – particularly at midnight. She’d only eaten two cakes, not three, so that was in my favour, but I thought of the terrible strength needed to bend those bars.

Once out of the trees, I found it easy to follow her trail through the grass. She was heading downhill but in a direction that would take her away from Bony Lizzie’s cottage. That puzzled me at first, until I remembered the river in the gully below. A malevolent witch couldn’t cross running water – the Spook had taught me that – so she would have to move along its banks until it curved back upon itself, leaving her way clear.

Once in sight of the river, I paused on the hillside and searched the land below. The moon came out from behind the cloud, but at first, even with its help, I couldn’t see anything much down by the river because there were trees on both banks, casting dark shadows.

And then suddenly I noticed something very strange. There was a silver trail on the near bank. It was only visible where the moon touched it, but it looked just like the glistening trail made by a snail. A few seconds later I saw a dark, shadowy thing, all hunched up, shuffling along very close to the riverbank.

I started off down the hill as quickly as I could. My intention was to cut her off before she reached the bend in the river and was able to head directly for Bony Lizzie’s place. I managed that and stood there, the river on my right, facing downstream. But next came the difficult part. Now I had to face the witch.

I was trembling and shaking and so out of breath that you’d have thought I’d spent an hour or so running up and down the fells. It was a mixture of fear and nerves, and my knees felt as if they were going to give way any minute. It was only by leaning heavily on the Spook’s staff that I was able to stay on my feet at all.

As rivers went it wasn’t that wide, but it was deep, swollen by the spring rains to a level where it had almost burst its banks. The water was moving fast too, rushing away from me towards the darkness beneath the trees where the witch was. I looked very carefully, but it still took me quite a few moments to find her.

Mother Malkin was moving towards me. She was a shadow darker than the tree shadows, a sort of blackness that you could fall into, a darkness that would swallow you up for ever. I heard her then, even above the noise made by the fast-flowing river. It wasn’t just the sound of her bare feet, which were making a sort of slithery noise as they moved towards me through the long grass at the stream’s edge. No – there were other sounds that she was making with her mouth and perhaps her nose. The same sort of noises she’d made when I’d fed her the cake. There were snortings and snufflings that once again brought into my mind the memory of our hairy pigs feeding from the swill bucket. Then a different sound, a sucking noise.

When she moved out from under the trees into the open, the moonlight fell on her and I saw her properly for the first time. Her head was bowed low, her face hidden by a tangled mass of white and grey hair, so it seemed that she was looking at her feet, which were just visible under the dark gown that came down to her ankles. She wore a black cloak too, and either it was too long for her or the years she had spent in the damp earth had made her shrink. It hung down to the ground behind her and it was this, dragging over the grass, that seemed to be making the silver trail.

Her gown was stained and torn, which wasn’t really surprising, but some were fresh stains – dark, wet patches. Something was dripping onto the grass at her side and the drips were coming from what she gripped tightly in her left hand.

It was a rat. She was eating a rat. Eating it raw.

She didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. She was very close now, and if nothing happened, she’d bump right into me. I coughed suddenly. It wasn’t to warn her. It was a nervous cough and I hadn’t meant it to happen.

She looked up at me then, lifting into the moonlight a face that was something out of a nightmare, a face that didn’t belong to a living person. Oh, but she was alive all right. You could tell that by the noises she was making eating that rat.

But there was something else about her that terrified me so much that I almost fainted away on the spot. It was her eyes. They were like two hot coals burning inside their sockets, two red points of fire.

And then she spoke to me, her voice something between a whisper and a croak. It sounded like dry dead leaves rustling together in a late autumn wind.

‘It’s a boy,’ she said. ‘I like boys. Come here, boy.’

I didn’t move, of course. I just stood there, rooted to the spot. I felt dizzy and light-headed.

She was still moving towards me and her eyes seemed to be growing larger. Not only her eyes; her whole body seemed to be swelling up. She was expanding into a vast cloud of darkness that within moments would darken my own eyes for ever.

Without thinking, I lifted the Spook’s staff. My hands and arms did it, not me.

‘What’s that, boy, a wand?’ she croaked. Then she chuckled to herself and dropped the dead rat, lifting both her arms towards me.

It was me she wanted. She wanted my blood. In absolute terror, my body began to sway from side to side. I was like a sapling agitated by the first stirrings of a wind, the first storm wind of a dark winter that would never end.