Alice (8 page)

That was why I was so terrified. If I didn’t get up right away, the most powerful ones would come closer, and start to nip and scratch. I’d have to close my mouth firmly and pinch my nostrils to stop any getting up my nose. But while I was doing that, they’d be trying to get into my ears . . . I just didn’t have enough hands to fight them off. The pain would get worse and worse, while my panic slowly grew. It was a nasty experience, and I really believed that if I angered Lizzie enough, one day she’d walk away and leave me to be eaten.

So I closed the grimoire, Lizzie’s oldest book of spells, got up and pushed my stool underneath the table. As the sprogs started to fade away, I blew out the candle and followed her up the stairs.

We were off to kill a spook, and I didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. This was well before I met John Gregory, Tom Ward’s master; at that time I had only heard witches’ tales about them – that they were our enemies and they fought ghosts, ghasts, boggarts and malevolent witches like Lizzie. I believed that to fall into their hands was the worst fate possible. Some would throw you into pits and leave you to rot there for the rest of your miserable life. Or they might cut out your heart and eat it to stop you coming back from the dead.

I did know that some spooks were better at their job than others. If this spook had messed with Lizzie’s coven, which was the most dangerous one in Pendle, he was no doubt brave and knew what he was doing. Maybe sorting out witches was his speciality? In that case, he’d have a silver chain and lots of pits ready to bind his victims.

Didn’t fancy spending the rest of my life in a pit, did I? But I had no choice, so I followed Lizzie out into the night.

Lizzie was in a rush: we set off south at a fair old pace, and I struggled to keep up. But just before dawn, we settled down in a wood to pass the daylight hours. I was tired and was pleased that Lizzie let me sleep right through until dusk, when she sent me out hunting for rabbits. I was good at that – been able to set traps since I was a little girl, I had. I also knew how to charm a rabbit. If you whispered in exactly the right way, they’d come right to your hand.

I caught two and came back to find that she’d already made a fire, so I set to work cooking our supper. Sometimes Lizzie liked her meat raw – she had a taste for rats – but on this occasion she was content to eat her rabbit straight from the cooking spit.

‘You’re lucky to be coming with me, girl.’ She licked her fingers. ‘There’s not many has the chance to see a spook get his come-uppance.’

‘How are you going to sort him, Lizzie?’ I asked nervously. I kept imagining the spook catching me and burying me alive in a pit, where I’d have to survive by eating slugs, snails and rats. Lizzie had taught me the spell to summon a rat, but I knew I’d never be able to face eating one raw.

‘There’s lots of ways, girl.’ For once Lizzie seemed pleased at my interest. ‘We could try cursing him, but that’s slow, and spooks, being seventh sons of seventh sons, have some immunity to it. So we’ve got to get in close and do it the hard way. Best way would be to get someone else to kill him for us . . .’

‘Who’d do that?’ I asked. ‘Would you put a spell on someone?’ There were spells of compulsion that could make people do things against their will, especially men. Men are much easier to control than women. And Lizzie was cruel, with a strange sense of humour – especially when it came to men. There was a miller who worked just south of Sabden village, a big man with more hair on his arms than on his head. Whenever we passed, she had him running up and down on all fours barking like a dog.

‘Why waste a spell when you can get the spook’s enemies to do it for you?’ she snapped.

‘Do we know any of his enemies who live nearby?’ I asked. No doubt he would have lots in Pendle, but we were strangers here.

‘That we do, girl, but not personally; just their names. Annie Cradwick and Jessie Stone – ever heard of them?’

I shook my head.

‘Not really surprising: both of ’em were daft enough to get married and change their names. But they’re both from Pendle originally. And when their husbands died, they started to practise the craft again. This spook caught and killed ’em both within a month of each other, and now they’re bound in graves in his garden. Once released, those two dead witches will happily do our work for us.’

We set off south again, and arrived on the outskirts of Bury a couple of hours before dawn. Dark as it was, it didn’t take Lizzie long to find the spook’s house. He lived about a mile east of the village down a narrow farm track. I learned that the coven had been taking it in turn to spy on him and search out his weaknesses, but I could see that the house certainly wasn’t one of them. As Lizzie pointed out, its only defensive flaw was that it could be overlooked from a nearby hill. That’s where we settled ourselves down to watch, hidden amongst the scrub and long grass at its summit.

The spook’s house was two storeys high, with an extensive garden enclosed by a stone wall that had only one big gate. Inside the garden there was a grove of trees; somewhere
beneath their branches lay the graves of the two witches.

There were no lights showing from the house, but we watched until sunrise, then took it in turns to sleep, Lizzie doing most of the sleeping. Although we stared all day until our eyes ached, still there was no sign of life.

‘He must be away,’ said Lizzie as the sun started to set. ‘We’ll give it an hour, then go down and have a look around.’

‘Shall I catch us some rabbits first?’ I asked. I was famished.

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Work first, eat later!’ she snapped.

‘What’s the spook’s name?’

‘His name? What does that matter, girl? He’ll be dead soon, and he won’t need a name where he’s going!’

‘Not even for his grave?’ I asked.

Lizzie smirked. ‘Won’t be anything left of him to bury once those witches get their teeth and claws into him. Want revenge, they do, for spending years in the cold damp ground.’

The hour passed quickly, but I could tell that Lizzie was nervous. Witches like Lizzie use long-sniffing to detect approaching danger. It was something I’d found very easy to learn; to tell the truth, I thought I was already better at it than Lizzie. But it doesn’t work on a spook, because they’re seventh sons of seventh sons, so I knew she was worried that he might return while we were in his garden.

Darkness fell, but the sky was clear and there was a horned moon above, casting enough silvery light for us to see by. At last Lizzie led us down to the garden wall. The gate was made of iron, which caused witches lots of pain so I knew
she wouldn’t want to climb over that. She gave me a wicked smile and nodded towards the stone wall.

‘Over you go, girl. Be quick about it. Call me once you’ve checked that it’s safe!’

Didn’t want to take any chances, did she? I was the one who had to take the risks. Still, I had no choice, so I clambered up and, once on top, lowered myself carefully until I was facing the inside of the wall. Dropping the remaining few feet, I bent my knees to lessen the impact and rolled over onto the grass. Then I kept perfectly still and listened. I was nervous. It seemed a terrible risk to trespass on a spook’s land like this.

I could hear a slight breeze whistling through the nearby trees, but apart from that, and a single hoot from a distant owl, all was silent.

‘Is it safe?’ Lizzie hissed.

I sniffed quickly three times. It seemed safe enough to me.

I came slowly to my feet and called back that it was all clear. Moments later, after landing with a thud on the soft ground, the witch was standing beside me. ‘Nice to see you still in one piece,’ she said with a sneer. ‘Never can tell what traps and snares a spook might use to protect his property. Take Old Gregory of Chipenden – he’s the strongest spook in the County and he’s got himself a powerful boggart guarding his land. It tears any intruder to pieces.’

Without a backward glance, Lizzie set off towards the grove of trees. I followed in her wake, fuming with anger. I’d never heard of spooks keeping a tame boggart. Had this spook also kept one to guard his garden, I’d be dead by now. Lizzie had
used me to ensure her own safety.

Once within the trees, Lizzie made straight for the spot where two dark boulders lay side by side.

‘Annie and Jessie are buried underneath these big stones,’ she said. ‘Some spooks use iron bars to imprison a witch and stop her scratching her way to the surface. But Jacob Stone’s one of the old school, and a cheapskate at that. Boulders are free – you just need lots of strong shoulders to heave them into position over each grave, and labourers don’t cost much.’

So the spook’s name was Jacob Stone. I started to feel almost sorry for him. No doubt the two imprisoned witches were like Lizzie, who I was pretty sure murdered children and drank their blood to gain power for her magic. I’d never seen her do it, but sometimes when she’d been away all night, she brought back fresh thumb-bones from her victims and boiled the flesh off them in a bubbling pot. Some of the bones had seemed too small to come from an adult.

‘Are we going to hire some labourers, then?’ I asked. ‘Can’t see how else we’re going to move those big boulders and free the dead witches.’

I was mocking Lizzie because that was the last thing she’d do. A witch like Lizzie never paid for anything. But she didn’t detect it because I kept my voice all innocent. I guessed she’d use some sort of dark magic but had no idea what it might be.

Lizzie smirked. ‘What we need is rats, girl. Lots and lots of fat juicy rats!’

With those words she sat down cross-legged and began
to mutter a spell. It didn’t take more than thirty seconds before the first rat ran squealing towards her. It seemed daft to me. How could rats move big stones like those?

The rat, a big grey one with long whiskers, headed straight for her left hand. She gently tapped it on the head with her finger and it immediately lay still. But it was still alive – I could see its belly heaving. Within minutes Lizzie had thirteen rats laid out in a row. She dealt with each in turn in a way that filled me with disgust . . .

Lizzie bit the head off each rat, then spat it out at her feet before throwing the body away.

After the first two, I had to walk off, struggling not to be sick. But I knew she’d order me back and I wanted to go on my own terms so, a couple of minutes later, when my stomach had stopped heaving, I went back to find her on her knees before a small mound of rats’ heads. She was chanting spells again, this time with her eyes closed. Everything had become really still in the garden: the breeze had died down, and all I could hear was the muttering of the witch. Then I heard something else – the drone of a fly, and it sounded like a big one.

I hate all kinds of creepy-crawlies, but flies and spiders most of all. I couldn’t bear the feel of them on my skin so I jumped back.

An enormous bluebottle landed on the glassy left eye of the topmost rat’s head. The droning grew louder, and a frantic buzzing filled the air, louder than a swarm of bees. A dark cloud of flies descended on the severed rats’ heads. They writhed and buzzed and feasted, in a heaving mass.

Lizzie bowed forward until her forehead was almost touching the fly-covered mound. Then she uttered a word in the Old Tongue, and the flies surged up from their feast and swarmed as one onto Lizzie’s head and shoulders, completely covering her face. But then a hole appeared and I realized that she had opened her mouth wide. She stuck out her tongue, until that too was covered in flies.

I turned away and covered my ears with my hands to shut out that awful sound.

Next thing I knew, there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Lizzie laughing right in my face and licking her lips.

The flies had gone; no doubt most of ’em had flown away, but knowing Lizzie, she’d have swallowed a belly full.

‘You’re too squeamish by far, girl!’ she told me. ‘A witch needs to be hard. I likes eating rats, anyway – loves the taste of their blood – and a few flies don’t bother me much, although they’re not as tasty. Why should flies worry me when I’ve got what I need in return? They gave me the strength I need to move those boulders!’

There was a weird glint in her eyes, something I’d not witnessed before.

‘Something else you should know . . .’ she continued. ‘This power comes from a mighty daemon called Beelzebub. One of the Fiend’s best servants, he is – sits on his left-hand side. Best to have lots of different friends in the dark, and he’s one of mine. Helps me out a lot, he does. Don’t expect much back in return, either. But see what he’s given me now!’

Her words made me shiver. Lizzie walked across to the nearest boulder and pushed, rolling it away as if it were no heavier than a sack of feathers. As the grave was uncovered, there was a wet sucking squelching sound and a stink of soft mud. Moments later she’d moved the other stone too.

I was astonished by Lizzie’s display of strength. But it was one spell I certainly wouldn’t be using – I couldn’t bear the thought of biting off rats’ heads and being covered with flies.

‘Right . . .’ Lizzie pulled a knife from the pocket of her ragged skirt. ‘Now it’s time to free those two dead witches. I need more blood for that, but rats’ won’t do. I need human blood. So come here – you won’t feel a thing!’