Barbara Erskine - Hiding From the Light

He walked steadily down towards the town centre. There were people around there, drawn as he was by the moonlit night. A group of youths hung around outside the pub. He turned away from them and walked down towards the river. The tide was running, a silver stream between the broad glittering flanks of mud, wraiths of mist hanging, almost invisible, over the water. There were dozens of small boats scattered at anchor, lying at different angles where they had come to rest as the water seeped away. In a while they would refloat, one by one, lifting stickily from the mud, turning gently to lie to their anchors in neat lines, caressed by the incoming glittering tide. He walked slowly, hands in pockets, listening to the contented chattering of ducks roosting on the mud, and the distant whistles of a group of wading birds, almost out of sight, paddling about where the mud turned to silver as the water crept in. A group of people were clustered round a hot dog van parked at the kerb. He could smell the sausages and onions and relish as he approached and his mouth watered involuntarily. He groped in his pockets. No money. Pity, he would have liked a midnight snack. He wished the young people good evening as he passed and was rewarded with a sullen silence. Once he had strolled on he heard a quiet retort addressed to his retreating back. He sighed.

A car was driving slowly up behind him. He ignored it, stopping to stand and stare out across the river. It drew to a halt fifty yards in front of him and backed up until it was almost level. Then it stopped.

‘Mike?’ Judith leaned across from the driver’s seat and wound down the window. ‘I thought it was you.’

Damn!

That was the second time he had sworn this evening, this time very much under his breath. ‘Judith, what on earth are you doing here?’

‘I was going home after having dinner with Ollie Dent. It was so lovely I thought I’d come back by the scenic route.’ She opened the door and stepped out. Leaving the car she joined him on the grass, admiring the view. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

He shook his head. ‘My early night came to nought, I’m afraid. Nightmares. I dreamed I was being chased by a bear.’

Judith laughed. ‘Very Shakespearean! You must have had cheese for supper. That gives one bad dreams. It’s a beautiful night to be sleepless, though.’ There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice which made Mike glance at her sideways. He knew nothing, he realised, about her private life; he didn’t think there was a man around, nor ever had been as long as he had known her, nor a woman, either. She lived alone. She taught at the school and her spare time was devoted to the church.

‘How was Ollie?’ he asked. Oliver Dent was at least eighty, so he doubted if her relationship with him was more than that of a friend, although one couldn’t tell even that these days. His question distracted them both from their thoughts. ‘He’s better. He’s got himself a cleaning lady and it’s cheered him up a lot. It’s a pity it’s Lyndsey Clark, but I suppose even she is better than nothing.’

‘Lyndsey Clark?’ He was watching the water lapping round a boat lying on the mud near them. ‘I don’t think I know her.’

‘No. You wouldn’t.’ The tone of Judith’s voice sharpened. ‘Going back to our conversation about witches the other day: she is one of them. The rector is unlikely to be on her list of close friends.’

‘She’s a witch?’ He turned and stared at her. ‘A real one?’

Judith nodded. She scowled. ‘The trouble is she’s clever. Oliver was telling me all about her. She was all set for a brilliant university career at Cambridge. But that didn’t suit her. No doubt they tried to instil some sense into her. So like the silly spoiled child she is at heart, she dropped out. I don’t know when she became a witch. Perhaps she was recruited by one of the local covens, but she makes no secret of it. She exudes evil from every pore!’ She fell silent for a moment, then she went on. ‘She lives by doing odd jobs. She’s got a lot of charm; she’s very attractive. The men all fall for her left right and centre.’ She tightened her lips distastefully. ‘So, beware, Mike, dear. If she casts a spell in your direction you could be lost.’

‘I’m intrigued.’ The boat was surrounded by water now. The tide was creeping silkily towards them across the mud. ‘You said before that there was witchcraft round here. Real witchcraft. It worries you in school.’

‘From time to time.’ Judith shivered. She was wearing a short-sleeved flower-print dress and flat strappy sandals. The warm night air was very still but a raft of small goosepimples showed on her upper arms for a moment. ‘It’s more a teenage thing. Satanism. But even my kids think it’s glamorous. Exciting. There are at least two covens round here, and the kids are in danger of being drawn in.’

‘And the church does not provide the glamour or the excitement they crave,’ Mike said thoughtfully.

‘Absolutely.’ Judith shivered again. ‘And why should it? It is not an entertainment. It is not meant to be fun.’

‘Indeed.’ He turned away to hide a wry grin.

‘Be careful, Mike.’ She glanced at him. ‘You’re very vulnerable, you know.’

‘Am I?’ He was genuinely astonished.

‘You had to ask me if there were witches round here.’ She glanced at him covertly. ‘You ought to know, Mike. One can feel it. One can feel the evil. On a night like this, when the moon is full and the mist creeps up the river, there is danger in the air. That man who came to you about the ghosts. He was genuinely afraid or he would not have come to speak to you.’

Mike glanced in spite of himself behind him towards the river. He was silent for a while, his brow furrowed. She was watching him as she let her words sink in.

Eventually he spoke. ‘Do you think I should speak to this Lyndsey person?’

‘No!’ She replied so sharply he took a step back. ‘No, Mike. I don’t want you going near her.’

‘You don’t think I’m strong enough to fight her evil?’ He sounded reproachful.

‘I’m sure you are.’ Judith was staring at a young couple wandering along the road towards them. They were arm in arm, every now and then stopping to devour one another’s mouths. She shuddered. ‘Don’t draw her attention, Mike. I’ll deal with her. My prayer circle will hold her before the Lord. We’ll contain her.’

Mike gave her a quick glance. Why, he wondered silently, did that thought worry him so much?

An hour later Judith, dressed in her cotton pyjamas and powder-blue dressing gown, went into the kitchen. Reaching for one of the pill bottles, she withdrew a single Warfarin tablet and swallowed it with a sip or two of water – something she had done every night since she had had the heart valve operation just before Mike arrived in the parish. Then she padded into her bedroom, where she knelt beside her bed and brought her hands together in prayer as she had done every night since she was a small child. The prayers lasted exactly fifteen minutes and by the end of them she was stiff and shivery, which was strange as the night was so warm. But her bedroom, unheated, even in winter, had always been cold. Climbing to her feet she took off the dressing gown, turned off the light and climbed into the narrow bed. Usually she slept at once, but tonight she was restless. She felt as if she had drunk too much coffee; her pulse was jumpy, her breathing irregular, her eyes refusing to close, searching the bedroom for shapes amongst the shadows cast by the streetlight near the garden gate.

I shall need you to help me, Goodwife Phillips .

The voice came from the figure in the corner of the room.

Judith shrank back against the pillows with a small yelp of fear. Staring, she tried to see him, but the shadows were black where the wardrobe stood between the window and the door.