Joseph Delaney - The Spook's Mistake

It was then that I heard the noises of running feet and a cry of dismay from Alice. There was a sudden loud thwack followed by a crunching sound. The skelt suddenly withdrew the bone-tube from my throat and rolled away from me.

The paralysis had left me and I struggled onto my knees in time to see Arkwright holding a blood-stained stone in both hands, then lifting it high before bringing it down hard on the skelt's head. There was a cracking, crunching noise again, which ended with a sickening squelch: the skelt's whole body twitched, its legs going into a death spasm. Then it lay still, a pool of blood and fluid spreading out from its head, which had cracked open like an egg. I lurched to my knees, about to thank him but he spoke first.

'An interesting creature, Master Ward,' he observed drily as Alice and the Spook helped me to my feet. Breathing hard and fast after the exertion, he placed the stone down beside the dead skelt. 'Very rare, as I once told you. Not many people are fortunate enough to see one at such close proximity.'

'Oh, Tom, I shouldn't have left you,' Alice cried, squeezing my hand. 'I thought it would still be inside under the mill.'

'Well, no real harm done in the end,' observed Arkwright. 'Thank Alice for that, Master Ward. She sensed that something was wrong out here. Now let's get back inside and check the other pit.'

As we'd expected, the water witch had escaped — or, more likely, been freed. The bars were bent apart and there were webbed witch footprints in the soft earth leading away. Smaller prints than those made by the skelt.

'No doubt this is the work of the Fiend,' said the Spook. 'He likes to demonstrate his power.'

'But where's the witch now?' Arkwright asked.

Claw was summoned and she made a thorough search of the garden; the two spooks followed her closely, weapons at the ready.

'She ain't here, Tom, that's for sure,' Alice told me. 'Would have sniffed her out myself otherwise.'

'Not if the Fiend's close by though,' I said with a shiver. 'Neither of us suspected Morwena on the barge.'

Alice nodded and looked really scared.

'But where could the witch be hiding?' I asked.

'She's probably across the moat and escaped into the marsh,' Alice said. 'Old Nick could've carried her over. Salt ain't going to stop him, is it? Too strong, he is, for old tricks such as that!'

When the search proved fruitless, we retreated to the kitchen, where I made up the fire in the stove. Threatened by the dark, we didn't eat but at least we were warm and took it in turns to keep watch. Claw was put on guard outside to warn us if anything approached from the marsh.

'Best if we leave the body until morning,' Arkwright suggested.

'Aye, we'll lay him to rest then, if we get the chance,' the Spook agreed. 'How many deserters were there?'

'Five in all,' I replied.

'My guess is that the witch was already free when they crossed the moat into the garden,' Arkwright added. 'Could be that when she attacked and pinned down her prey, the others fled.'

No one spoke for a while. Alice seemed preoccupied. I began to feel very uneasy. The Fiend's daughter was somewhere out there, just waiting her chance. And now there was another water witch free. If she'd escaped across the moat helped by the Fiend, what was there to stop the reverse occurring? Surely he wouldn't find it too difficult to bring them to us? Not to mention the fact that he might pay us a visit himself.

The others placed the chairs close to the stove and made themselves as comfortable as they could. I sat on the kitchen floor, resting my shoulders and head against the wall. It wasn't very comfortable, but despite that and my fear of an attack, I finally managed to drift off into a shallow, fitful sleep. I woke up suddenly. Somebody was shaking my shoulder and a hand was firmly clamped over my mouth.

I looked up into the eyes of the Spook, who pulled me up roughly and gestured urgently towards the far corner of the room. The candles had burned low and the kitchen was gloomy. Alice and Arkwright were already awake; they were sitting beside me, staring into that same dark corner, where something strange and eerie was happening even as we watched. A shape was beginning to materialize, shifting slowly from a faint ashen grey to a flickering silver. It became more distinct, until without doubt I was looking at the Fiend's daughter — her face cadaverous and gaunt, her angular, fleshless nose jutting from between her malevolent eyes; the left lid transfixed by that sliver of bone; the right eye serpentine and cruel.

'I thirst,' she cried, revealing her large canine teeth. 'I thirst for your sweet blood. But I will let you live. All shall live but one. Just give me the boy and the rest may go free.'

It was an image rather than the actual presence of the witch in the room. Although she was apparently standing less than seven paces away, she seemed to call to us from a great distance and I could hear the sighing of the wind in the background.

'My father will pay well for what I ask,' she cried, her voice like the grating of a shingle beach under an ebb tide. 'Give me the boy so that Amelia can be at peace. It's my father who binds her soul, preventing her from passing on. But surrender the boy and he'll release her and both she and Abraham will be free to choose the light. Just give me the boy and it'll be done. Send him alone out onto the marsh. Send him to me now.'

'Go back from whence you came, evil hag!' cried the Spook. 'We'll give you nothing. Nothing but death. Do you hear me? That's all that awaits you here!'

Arkwright remained silent but I thought that Morwena's cruel words must be like a blade twisting inside him. Above all things he wanted peace for his mam and dad. But despite the way he had treated me, I had faith in him. I believed that he served the light and would be strong enough to resist any temptation that the Fiend's daughter might dangle before him.

The image of Morwena seemed to shimmer and blur; she touched her finger to her left lid and her eye opened wide. But fortunately that baleful eye was powerless, for its blood-red colour was transmuted into silver.

Now she began to chant, her voice reaching a high eldritch note. There was rhythm, intonation and rhyme, the whole filled with a terrible power. But what exactly was being chanted? What did it mean? It sounded to me like the 'Old Tongue' — that spoken by the first men who lived in the County.

My limbs seemed to be growing heavy and I felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. I tried to stand but couldn't. Too late I knew what the Fiend's daughter was doing. Those ancient words were a curse, an act of powerful dark magic that was sapping our strength and our will.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the Spook had somehow managed to rise to his feet. He pulled back his robe and reached into his breeches pockets. Then he hurled something straight at that evil apparition — something white from his right hand, something dark from his left: a mixture of salt and iron, usually so effective against creatures of the dark. Would it work this time — when the substance of our enemy wasn't even present in the room?

Immediately the chanting ceased and the image vanished as suddenly as a snuffed candle-flame. I felt relief flood through me and staggered unsteadily to my feet. The Spook shook his head wearily.

'That was close,' said Arkwright. 'For a moment I thought it was all over with us.'

'Aye, I wouldn't dispute that,' said the Spook. 'Never have I come up against a witch with such power. I suppose it comes from that dark devil blood that runs in her veins. The County will be a far better place if we can put an end to her. But now I think we should all try to stay awake for the rest of the night. If she repeats that and only one of us is on watch, she might somehow, even at a distance, slay us in our sleep.'