Witch Hunt

Chapter Twenty-Nine




Amelia had given me a lot to think about. I was buzzing with ideas and theories and was now able to understand her earlier exuberance. My scalp was itching with excitement. This stuff was good.

I returned to my room, pulled out my notebook and started to annotate the sheets that she had given me. I think I was at it for a good hour until my neck started aching, forcing me to change position. I flopped on the bed, stretched and rubbed my back, realising as I relaxed that I needed to pee, so nipped into the ensuite.

I splashed some water on my face, turned off the tap, inspected a fading blemish on my chin. Then I opened the connecting door and took a couple of steps back into the bedroom.

I don’t know what I noticed first – the drop of temperature or the warping blackness on the far side of the bed. At first I skated over it and my feet automatically continued walking. But when the sight registered with my brain, my whole body stopped stone dead. Slowly, my eyes swivelled back to the other side of the bed.

A woman was standing there.

Shorter than me, her hair was tucked under a white linen cap. She was looking down at something in her hand.

Perhaps, I thought in a flash of reason, it’s one of the staff.

I took in the dress – a grey, stiff, linen shift that reached to the floor, patterned with large grey flowers. Over this she wore an apron. There were smears of blood on it.

I hadn’t exhaled since I’d caught sight of her, but in shock at the sight of bloodstains I released an untidy bustle of air, drawing in quickly once more when I realised it wasn’t her dress that was patterned with flowers. It was the wallpaper on the far wall. I could see it through her body and dress. The woman was insubstantial, wavering.

I did absolutely nothing. My brain had completely closed down leaving me helpless, unable to move.

Wavy lines appeared like visible air streams between us. The bedside lamp flickered and dimmed. My breath came out like fog. The atmosphere was charged with an almost palpable sense of menace.

Then the spectre’s head began to turn upwards, towards me, creaking like an old wooden post, the sound of bone grating on bone.

I did not want to see the thing’s face. I knew that. Yet I was completely unable to tear my gaze away and could do little else but watch with a sense of passive inevitability as she turned towards me. The malignancy in the room doubled. I breathed in a gasp of textured, unnaturally thick air. Nausea came over me suddenly, as it had in the dungeons at the castle.

I could see the face now – the features wizened and extensively wrinkled, the eyes entirely grey – no iris, no pupil; just opaque holes like great cataracts bulging out of her face.

Then she spoke. ‘This one’ll not last long. Would you fancy to finish her?’

Her voice was coarse, the words pronounced without any trace of emotion.

I didn’t speak. Nor move.

Her hand spasmed by her side and, like an old juddering puppet, she brought it up to offer me the thing that was in it. A bronze dagger, its handle and blade pointed down. Drops of red liquid slicked off the end and splashed onto the carpet beneath.

Unwilling to take in any more, I clamped my eyes shut.

‘If you open your eyes, Sadie,’ I told myself silently, ‘you will see that there is nothing there. This is just a trick of the light. You’re getting carried away, you silly cow.’

I breathed in through my nostrils and haltingly opened my eyes.

She was still there, waiting. There was a door behind her, half open.

‘She’s through here,’ she gestured.

I looked around, thinking to flee. The room had changed. Gone were the bed, armchair, and dressing table. The wallpaper and carpet had been replaced by flaking white walls and exposed wooden beams.

‘Come.’ Her voice was impelling. When I looked back she had stepped inside.

Without any conscious thought of compliance my body followed her through the doorway and stepped down into a half-lit room. Two gentlemen sat in the corner beside a candle. One wore his hair short, cropped, the other had on a stiff blue coat. Their eyes flitted to me, momentarily registering the interruption. Neither surprise nor shock appeared across their faces. The one in blue acknowledged my presence with a slight nod and returned to study a spot on my left. I followed his gaze. Strapped onto a chair was a chaos of limbs and clothes. A pale languid form was wrapped within. The woman’s breasts, exposed over the coarse ripped dress, dripped bloody tears from wounds around the nipples. Her legs and arms were bound to the chair by tight ropes. A darkness seeped outwards from her groin, staining the petticoat brushed aside to reveal the scarlet gores of her flesh. Her head lolled backwards and she moaned.

It was a sickening display of weakness, a degradation so bleak and wanton that I gasped in. As I did I felt a stiffening between my legs, a charge of excitement shooting through me.

The woman who had come into my room placed the dagger in my hand.

‘She has confessed.’ She closed my fingers over the cold wet hilt.

A surge of power exploded through me, a seduction of the flesh, sending warmth through my body and quickening my heart. I licked my lips and took a step towards the pathetic horror, so limp and without power, opened up so brazenly, presenting herself to me in utter abjection. I let out a loud uneven breath that betrayed my arousal.

The floorboard under my foot creaked. The woman’s head lifted up. She gazed at me, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Grimy streaks striped her face. Beyond the terror that contorted her face I recognised the human creature within.

‘Rebecca.’

The shock of recognition slapped me into the moment. My God, what was I doing? I looked down at the knife in my hand and, appalled, threw it to the floor.

‘Master?’ The woman from behind. Skirts brushed against my leg as she snaked closer, blocking my view of Rebecca.

The old girl’s eye formed a lascivious half wink as she opened her scrawny hand and said, ‘Master’s pipe want suckling?’ In her palm I saw something L-shaped, spattered with vivid red and brown drops – a small white pipe.

Again my groin stirred but this time my repulsion rose against it. ‘Jesus Christ,’ the words came out twisted into an accent that was not mine. The woman took my hand and closed my fingers over the pipe. ‘The witchpricker. Go to her.’

With a tremendous effort I turned away and threw the foul thing on the floor. The head broke off and rolled to the corner. The men were now looking at me, faces wrinkled in surprise. The man in the blue coat stood up.

‘This is evil. Can’t you see it?’ I implored him, my voice breaking as if unused for years.

He said nothing. His companion stooped down to the broken pipe and picked it up gingerly. ‘Then we will bury it, Master, on sacred ground.’ He looked at me with uncertainty.

I wrenched myself away from them and looked back at the terrible sight of the young girl splayed on the chair. The old girl stood by her, idly tugging a lock of Rebecca’s hair.

Anger exploded out of me. ‘For God’s sake, woman, release her.’

The old lady’s face turned up to me, neck still stooped, bony shoulders hunched, hands grabbing themselves together. ‘Let her go?’

Doubt had sharpened her features, lending her a vulture-like aspect. ‘But she has confessed …’

I had started shaking, fear overtaking horror. I had to get out of here. Willing my body towards the door, I made for the bedroom. ‘Cut the bonds.’

Another voice, one of the men. I didn’t turn round to see who. ‘To the castle?’

My strength was ebbing. I was focused only on escaping the vile scene. ‘Yes, yes.’

As I unbolted the door I heard the old woman cackle, knowingly. ‘At your pleasure, sir. I daresay she will have her uses.’

Then I was through, back in the bedroom, amongst the duck-egg blue wallpaper and Egyptian cotton sheets. I turned round and looked at the wall behind me. No woodwork. No frame. Nothing to indicate there was a doorway there at all or ever had been.

I staggered forwards onto the bed and threw myself face down. Minutes later I rushed to the bathroom and brought up my dinner.