The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child Page 17

  The third witch was idly admiring the way the candle flame glinted in her golden hair as she held it up to the light, and took a moment before answering.

  "Oh yes," Meta murmured, "the first seeds were sown. The girl is definitely one of us—how can she fail to be? Was he not the most commanding man? Given more time the young fool will be under our control."

  Miriam's pointed tongue licked her garishly painted lips as she regarded the bitterly beautiful woman before them with envy and mistrust sparkling in her almond eyes. "For your sake I hope that is true," she commented.

  "If there's one thing I know how to do above all else," Meta returned with equal archness, "it's how to ensnare."

  "Oh, we know that," Miriam said. "That's how you trapped him."

  Meta let that pass. "With Pear's help the girl's ultimate co-operation is assured," she said with a forced smile, "so you can waddle off and worry your bovine head about something else, can't you? How to shed a few stone perhaps?"

  "Sisters," Hillian tutted, "old quarrels have no place here. Let us begin; lift the lid."

  Miriam leaned forward and the immense shadow cast by her top-heavy bosom threw one half of the room into utter darkness. Carefully she took from the box the wizened fishmonkey, and Meta gave a low whistle at the sight of the shrivelled creature.

  "Charming," she remarked.

  "Fine looks aren't everything," Miriam replied tartly.

  "Is that the voice of experience speaking?"

  Hillian took out the second bag of incense and poured the contents on to the burner. When the fishmonkey was placed on the lid of the sea chest she lit the powder and waited.

  The pungent smoke threaded about the scaly form and flowed into the withered nostrils to work the magic once more.

  Bleating like a new-born lamb, the repulsive creature gasped and stretched its puny arms.

  At each woman in turn it blinked those yellow eyes and twisted the large head upon the emaciated neck.

  "You have waited overlong to summon me," it hissed. "You ought to have acted sooner."

  "The rest of the coven only did arrive today," Hillian said. "There was no point to waken you before now."

  "Then they should have journeyed with more haste!" the fishmonkey snapped. "My master is impatient—time has grown short. Events have moved onwards, events you are ignorant of."

  "What events is these?" Hillian asked. "How are they concerning us?"

  "When the sun hangs low in the sky at dusk tomorrow," it told her, "a complication shall arise. If we are not careful and cunning it shall undo us."

  "What must we do?"

  "The boy," the creature spat, "his destruction is still uppermost. He must be killed this night before it is too late."

  Hillian nodded quickly and Miriam gave a wide grin.

  Staring in mild amusement at the peculiar little monster, Meta cupped her chin in her hand and asked, "And how are we to do that? I have been led to believe this child is no ordinary boy. He already suspects something is happening. Did Hillian not tell me he has put a charm upon his window that we may not enter that way again?"

  The fishmonkey ground its brown teeth and wormed about to face her. "This time the human must be lured into the open," it commanded. "Out to the wild where we can deal with him."

  The owner of the bookshop sniffed haughtily. "Just how are we to accomplish that?" she demanded. "What possible bait would bring an eight-year-old from his warm bed in the middle of the night?"

  The creature swivelled its head and the papery skin crackled at the swiftness of the movement. "Do I not recall that on the first time of my awakening thou wert keen to prove thyself worthy?"

  Miriam shot Hillian a superior glance. "That is so," she admitted readily.

  "Doth thy eagerness still hold true?" it asked.

  "It most certainly does!" she retorted. "If I were the one to rid your lord of his enemies then I should be chosen to wear the ring of amethyst and lead the coven."

  The fishmonkey tapped the lid of the box thoughtfully then bared all of its needle-like teeth. "So be it," it barked. "Thou art selected."

  The large woman's head was split in two as an enormous smile divided her face. "You may count on me, oh mouthpiece of the Allpowerful—I shall not fail you." And she leered triumphantly at her coven sisters as though she had beaten them both in some rivalling contest.

  "You have still not answered the question," Meta remarked. "Just how will you draw the boy from his home?"

  A wheezing laugh issued from the creature's parched lips. "Fear not," it muttered, "the lure will prove too tempting to resist." And it gave a rasping cackle before instructing Miriam in what she would have to do.

  ***

  Ben slept fitfully. Images of Nelda interrupted his dreams; horrible visions of the aufwader writhing in pain as her skin bubbled and began to weep salty water. Tarr was at her side and he grasped his granddaughter's liquefying hand whilst shaking his fist at Ben.

  "Tha's done this!" he raged. "Her death lies on thee alone. Tha could've lifted the curse but no—tha were weak! A curse on thee, landbreed. May tha rot, Benjamin Laurenson!"

  His angry cries were taken up by the rest of the tribe who had gathered behind him and they damned the boy's name with all their might and sorrow.

  "Benjamin, Benjamin—Ben."

  The boy stirred unhappily. The voices had melted into a single whispering chant and there was no escape from its insistent calling.

  Suddenly he was awake and his eyes gazed sleepily up into the darkness.

  "Benjamin," the voice breathed again.

  Ben's scalp tingled and his heart fluttered. He was no longer dreaming—yet it was impossible he should hear that familiar voice.

  "Benjamin," it said again.

  Trembling with fear and excitement, the boy lifted his head from the pillows and stared past the foot of his bed.

  With a kind and loving smile traced over her face, a petite figure stood in the centre of the room, watching him adoringly.

  Standing in the dim ray of light that slanted through the curtain, a silvery aura flickered about the female form. It shimmered over the curling hair and the clothes she had worn the day she had died, and as a tearful sob burst from Ben's mouth, she raised her hands to him and wept.

  "Benjamin," she said again, "don't cry—I'm here."

  The boy drew his pyjama sleeve over his streaming eyes and in a joyful voice murmured, "Mum!"

  The ghost of his mother looked just the same as he remembered her and she tilted her head to one side to look at him admiringly.

  Ben hardly dared to move in case his "visitor" vanished into the ether again.

  "I miss you," he eventually cried, "and Dad—Jen does too."

  The phantom made no answer but put a finger to her lips and took a step backwards to the open bedroom door, beckoning for him to follow.

  Ben hesitated. Once, during a seance that Aunt Alice had held downstairs, he had been frightened by hundreds of spectres and he had no wish to repeat the experience.

  A look of understanding passed over Mrs Laurenson's face. "Don't be afraid, Benjamin," she whispered. "I shall be with you."

  Reassured, the boy cast back the bedclothes and pulled on his slippers.

  "Where are we going?" he asked quietly. "Should I get dressed?"

  The shade shook her head and glided through the open door to the gloomy landing beyond.

  Ben followed her quickly. His mother was already floating down the stairs as he left his room and he called to her softly.

  "Shall I wake Jen?" he asked.

  But the glimmering form of Mrs Laurenson made no reply and he hastened after her into the hall.

  The front door of the cottage was wide open and the chill night airs filled the ground floor of the normally cosy building and transformed it into an icy tomb-like place. Ben shivered and looked for his mother but she was nowhere to be found.

  "Please don't go yet!" he begged. "Please, Mum!"

  Then he
saw her, waiting for him in the courtyard, bathed in the unearthly glow of the street lamps that flooded through the alleyway.

  Quickly Ben pulled his coat from the hook and scurried into the night after her.

  Down Church Street the silent ghost led him, and as Ben struggled into his coat a thousand questions burned inside. Yet his mother was always just ahead of him, and though he ran to catch up she seemed to drift before him like a leaf snatched away by the wind.

  Along Henrietta Street he hurried, the soles of his slippers slapping over the cobbles, and he clawed his toes to keep them on his feet.

  As he ran by Fortune's kipper house, the silvery figure was already waiting by the cliff edge, where the ground dropped steeply down to the crashing waves that now covered the rocky shore. For a few moments his mother remained there, then she moved towards the footbridge that linked the cliff to the stone pier far below.

  "Mum, wait!" the boy wept as he saw her disappear down the sloping and narrow pathway.

  One of his slippers flew from his feet but Ben did not wait to retrieve it. Over the dry and stubbly grass he ran and leapt on to the wooden boards of the perilously high bridge.

  Into engulfing darkness the boy hurtled, dashing headlong down the immense throat of night. Like a huge and impenetrable tunnel it surrounded him, and above and below there was only blackness. No stars pricked the heavens and no light was reflected over the vast open sea. Only a pitchy void lay ahead, except for a single silvery shape that gleamed coldly where the bridge joined the pier.

  The sound of the hungry sea rose up from the deep reaches, as though it was eagerly waiting for him to falter and fall the dizzying height to his death. Keeping his thoughts trained solely upon the frosty spectre in the distance, the boy tried to shove all such frightening ideas to the back of his mind, but the relief which bubbled within him once his bare foot touched the cold stone of the pier was overwhelming.

  The ghost of his mother smiled at him, then like a flickering will-o'-the-wisp she turned and floated further away.

  Ben let out a dismayed whimper. "Please wait!" he wailed. "Wait for me."

  Over the huge sandstone slabs he ran, along the old stone spur that jutted defiantly into the sea to shield the harbour of Whitby from the ravages of the merciless waves.

  Through the bleak night he raced, forever chasing the shining figure who was always just out of reach.

  By the disused lighthouse, where the pier stopped abruptly and the wooden extensions began, the ghost paused and the folds of her clothes swirled about her like the misty shreds of a shimmering fog.

  "Oh Benjamin!" she called, turning her face gladly upon him as the boy approached breathlessly. "Now at last I can speak."

  Ben panted and leaned against the rail. They were totally cut off from the world now, wrapped up in the darkness of the shadowy sea that stretched around them on all sides, and Whitby seemed a twinkling series of golden stars many miles behind them.

  Mrs Laurenson smiled as she looked longingly at her son and hugged herself tightly.

  "The grave is an empty place," she muttered with a bleak and ghastly expression forming on her dead lips, "an empty vacuum devoid of light and love. Oh Ben, I have been so lonely—the endless hollow night has swallowed me and desolation is all I know now. In the cold, suffocating earth I have missed you so much my darling, so very, very much."

  The boy shuddered and wished she had not told him that. Reaching forward he tried to draw closer for comfort, but the spectre pulled away sharply.

  "You cannot touch me," she lamented. "I am only a vapour and if you try then I shall vanish like smoke."

  Ben understood and sniffed forlornly. "We've both missed you, Mum," he said. "Jennet's always looking at the photo album."

  "Ah, Jennet," the phantom echoed plaintively. "If only my pretty daughter were blessed with the same gift as you. How I long to speak with her and share the things a mother ought to. I know she is unhappy—I see this from beyond the solemn eternity of my mouldering dust. How it grieves me to witness her tears. What sins were mine that I am compelled to suffer this misery in death?"

  Ben thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat as the bitter cold that blew from the surrounding sea pinched and chilled him.

  "Why have you brought me here?" he asked.

  A patient smile spread over his dead mother's face. "The lights of the town confound and dazzle me," she answered, whirling around in a slow circle and staring into the fathomless night. "There are fewer disturbances here, out in the still darkness. When the vibrations are strong they hinder the passage from one world to the next and weaker souls cannot break through."

  "But you did."

  "I did, yes."

  "Oh Mum, I wish you hadn't left us, I wish you and Dad were still alive..." The tears rolled down Ben's cheeks and the phantom knelt upon the ground, wringing her hands that she could not hug and comfort him.

  "Oh Benjamin," she uttered, "listen to me. Do you wish to see your father?"

  Ben looked at her hopefully. "Dad?" he cried. "Is Dad here too?"

  "Not yet," she said, "but this is where he shall pass through. Here the ether trembles and the veil is but a thin and meagre membrane. If we call to him he will follow our voices."

  "Dad!" Ben shouted. "We're here!"

  His mother floated forward, over to where the pier railing was buckled and the stone around the steel posts was cracked and hazardous. Orange warning tapes had been strung across the perilous spot like the web of a huge bright spider, but the phantom pointed past them and out into the pitch dark.

  "Over here, Benjamin," she said. "That is where he will come through. Call to him now, summon his shade from the insensible grave. Let him know you still love him."

  The boy darted to her side and yelled into the blank sky.

  Below them the sea churned against the pier wall, sluicing and roaring above the din that Ben was making as he howled for his dead father.

  "I can't see anything!" he cried. "Nothing's happening—where is he?"

  "Trust me," his mother smiled, "he will come. He has waited so long for this moment—we are both so alone. Where are you, darling? Can you hear me? Our son is here—he desperately wants to see you. Please, for Ben's sake."

  The cold wind rushed around her and the ghost reacted as though she had heard an answering voice.

  "Yes, my love!" she cried. "I can hear you."

  Frantically Ben stared hard at the empty sky but could neither see nor hear anything.

  "Was it him?" he wept. "Is he there?"

  "Oh yes," she replied, "your father will soon be with us. Look out there. Can you not see the faint mist? He is very close now."

  "Where?" Ben cried, pushing against the orange tapes till they stretched and he leaned precariously forward.

  "There!" she shrieked. "I see him!"

  The tapes snapped and boy held on to the mangled rail to keep from falling, yet still his eyes hunted anxiously for a glimpse of his dead father, oblivious to the awful danger.

  Mrs Laurenson stepped aside to let her son have full command of the pier edge and silently she glided behind him.

  "Where are you, Dad?" he yelled. "Where are you?"

  Beneath his feet the loose stones moved and tiny fragments rattled into the boiling waves below.

  A cruel and ruthless smile twisted the phantom's face as she raised her hands.

  "Dad!" he screamed. "Dad!"

  Suddenly Mrs Laurenson seized Ben by the shoulders and gripped him fiercely.

  The boy teetered on the edge, his remaining slipper spun through the night and was snatched into the deep thrashing waters.

  "Mum!" he cried, startled and bewildered. "You can touch me... !"

  Her savage fingernails bit through the material of his coat and pierced deep into his skin.

  Ben shrieked and struggled to free himself; losing his balance on the terrible brink he almost fell and pulled her with him.

  "Mum!" Ben shouted. "What's happening? I don
't... I don't..."

  "Keep still!" the ghost bawled and she slapped him savagely across the face.

  Ben yelled in terror as the evil vision of his mother laughed like a demented demon and forced him to look down at the dreadful waters below.

  "You're not my mum!" he screamed. "Let go! Let go!"

  "That's enough!" she snapped, hitting him brutally over the head. "Be quiet, you little runt," and she hauled him off his feet.

  "No!" he cried, lashing out with his hands. "Get off!"

  The boy tore at the imposter's clothes and at once the illusion was shattered as the spectre wilted and crumpled.

  An expanse of velvety fur slithered to the floor and the towering frame of Miriam Gower was revealed in all her Goliathan and heavy-boned malevolence.

  Ben stared in disbelief at the enchanted seal skin that he had wrenched from her. Silvery sparks still glittered over the sleek hide and two blank eyes appeared to stare sadly up at him.

  "Into the waters you go!" Miriam snarled, dangling him over the edge with her ogre-like hands.

  Ben clung to the rail and kicked out at her.

  "You're the cow in the bookshop!" he spluttered. "You're mad!"

  "Oh, I am," she agreed, "but it is an insanity borne of love and devotion. Soon my beloved will return to me and I shall feel his warm embrace and writhe beneath his supple weight."

  With her masculine strength, she ripped the boy's hands from the rail and spat in his face.

  "They say drowning is an extremely horrific and painful way to die," she gloated, her bright lips gaping in a foul, gratified smile. "How lucky for you that your head will probably be dashed against the wall before your lungs are filled."

  Ben glanced at the black water swirling and crashing beneath him. Vainly he clawed at her, but the woman was too strong and with a last snigger, she let him fall.

  Ben screamed.

  Miriam was thrust aside and a slender hand flashed out.

  A sudden pain bit into Ben's neck as the coat tightened and choked him.

  A straining shriek bellowed behind and at once the darkness flew over his head and the next the boy knew he was rolling over the stone floor. In a tangled ball, he smashed into the solid bulk of the lighthouse and fell on to his face.