The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child Page 21

  Jennet ran swiftly, driven by her abject terror of the fiends she had left behind. As soon as she had abandoned the frenzied circle, her bubbling bones had settled and reformed within her face and her tingling skin was soothed by the cool breezes.

  She had no idea which direction to take but found herself heading for the camper van and then beyond into the wildness of the vast moorland. Through the bracken she crashed, desperate to put as much distance between herself and those evil, monstrous women as she could.

  The satin dress which in the daytime had been so sickeningly pink was a ghostly grey in the moonlight, and its voluminous folds flapped madly about her ankles. Jennet grasped great swathes of it in her hands to keep from tripping and, like a scared and hunted rabbit, over the rough and bleak terrain she raced.

  Closing on her, with her bare feet flying through the grass and heather and the black robe streaming behind like the great dark wings of a swooping predator, came Pear.

  Calling for Jennet to stop, the witch girl bore fleetly down on her young friend. Her legs streaked ever faster, lessening the gulf between them until she could hear the breath rattling in her quarry's lungs and the large gulps of air she gasped and swallowed.

  "Wait!" Pear shouted. "You must wait!"

  Without turning around, Jennet bawled back at her, "Keep away from me! Get back to those disgusting filthy... things! Help! Help!"

  But Pear had caught up with her. She clutched and tore at the satin dress and leapt at Jennet—throwing her off balance and hurling her sideways. The girl screamed and pushed the other away but Pear pushed her to the ground and jumped on to her stomach.

  The breath wheezed from Jennet's windpipe and she squirmed beneath Pear, clutching her belly, unable to speak or cry out.

  "Where did you think you were going?" Pear demanded. "Why did you run?"

  Coughing and spluttering, Jennet choked in sheer disbelief. "You're... you're crazy!" she sobbed.

  "Me?"

  "Oh please," Jennet cried, "let me go, just let me go."

  "Hey," Pear exclaimed in concern, "there's nothing to be scared of." She leaned forward to put her arms about her but Jennet pushed her off and scuttled over the ground to escape the embrace.

  "Don't touch me!" she yelled.

  "Jennet! What have I done? I thought you understood—you're one of us. You knew Nathaniel, you loved him the same as the rest."

  "I didn't!" Jennet screamed. "He was an evil, foul man! I'm glad he's dead! He cared about nothing but himself!"

  Pear scrambled after her. "That's not true!" she hotly denied. "Nathaniel was the most wonderful man I have ever known. He liberated us all. Most of those women back there were dying in miserable, dreary lives before they met him."

  "Women?" Jennet snorted. "Didn't you see what happened? They're just like Rowena!"

  "We're a family!" Pear shouted. "Nathaniel gave us a purpose and united us—you don't know how happy we've been. To run free beneath the moon, pursuing the wind and bounding over fields, it's a feeling unlike any other—the ultimate achievement and his great gift to us."

  Jennet shook her head. "Don't be stupid, you're not free—it's an illusion. He used and repressed you and he's still doing it. Can't you see that you were just his slaves like I was once? At least I discovered what he was like in time."

  Pear pulled at the beads around Jennet's neck. "You're wrong," she said, "and you know it. You don't really hate him or this wouldn't be so tight. It's your cherishing of him that keeps it there—bound close to your skin."

  "That's rubbish."

  "Oh no, I'll tell you what's rubbish. It's this game you're playing—denying what you know is right for you. You're not really happy. How could you be, living with an old cripple who hardly notices you and a brother who's always had all the attention. How much longer do you want to be trapped in that drab existence where you don't fit in? If you come back with me you can belong to a real family again."

  Jennet turned her face away. "Stop it!" she snapped angrily. "You're trying to trick me. Well, it won't work. I'll never listen to you again. I thought you were my friend but you weren't. You only pretended to be to lure me into this! I hate you!"

  "That isn't true," Pear insisted, dismayed by the accusation. "I am your friend, honest. I only wanted us to be sisters, I never..." She broke off and lifted her head. The night was filled with the vicious baying of the coven and the sound was growing nearer.

  "No," Pear whispered anxiously, "they're coming this way."

  "I won't join them," Jennet declared, "ever!"

  But the other girl's face was troubled and almost fearful. "You don't understand," she mumbled. "Hillian should've stopped them, kept them by the fire."

  Jennet listened to the fierce clamour of the approaching pack and turned ice cold with dread. "What... what will they do?" she stammered.

  "When the primitive half is in control," Pear muttered, "there is no reason, no sanity. Savage instinct spurs them—it's too late for you now, Jennet. If they catch you they'll tear you to pieces."

  "What can I do? I can't outrun them!"

  "I wish you'd been ready," Pear wept. "Oh Jennet, listen to them. I know their voices, they're howling for blood. The dancing was too intense, they won't be satiated until they've killed tonight. They're hungry for flesh. I'm sorry—so sorry."

  Great tears splashed down Pear's face and the riotous uproar of the pursuing, snarling dogs came blasting towards them.

  Thinking quickly, the witch girl gave the petrified Jennet a desperate hug and whispered, "I am your friend, please believe that. I'll draw them off, lead them on a false trail."

  "You?" Jennet breathed. "How?"

  "Don't argue, just run and keep on running—I mightn't be successful but it's the only chance you've got. The road lies over there—hurry."

  Jennet staggered to her feet. "What about you?" she asked. "Won't they kill you?"

  "Just go!" Pear raged. "And if you make it safe home, and I pray to your god that you do, then don't speak of this night to anyone."

  "But... but..."

  "Quickly! Get out of here!"

  "I don't know how to thank you."

  "Just go!"

  Jennet stumbled forward, yet she could not resist glancing round to take one final look at Pear. But the girl was already running towards the baying hounds and as Jennet watched, the black robe fell from her friend's body and her human shape vanished as she too transformed into a sleek black dog that sped away into the distance to lead the others away.

  "Oh God! Oh God!" Jennet cried, tearing through the scrubby grass of the desolate moor.

  To her relief, the frightful yammering began to recede into the distance and she silently thanked Pear once more, but after only a few moments the sound changed and the fury of the pack was terrible to hear. Louder and louder it grew and Jennet realised that the witch girl had failed.

  Over the undulating ground the foul brides of Nathaniel dashed. They had caught Jennet's scent on the air and it thrilled and tantalised their questing nostrils. Hot was the blood that pumped through their altered veins and hot was the tender meat that they desired and lusted after. Their steaming breath billowed around them in a rank vapour and their glaring red eyes shone balefully into the gloom, searching for their prey.

  The smallest of the vicious and growling hounds ran reluctantly at the rear of the pack. With Pear's mournful tears running down the creature's snout and a cruel and savage bite bleeding on the animal's flank, it whimpered as it followed the others.

  Flying before them, Jennet's heart thumped and quailed against her ribcage. She couldn't run much further, yet the horrendous noise of the witch beasts grew louder with every passing second. She knew that it was only a matter of time and a grim thought told her that she was probably giving them splendid entertainment by fleeing. What better sport than a chase? Soon they would be biting at her heels, snapping at her calves and tearing the dress to shreds to feast upon her. The hellish fiends would leap from the dark
ness and drag her down where those mighty jaws could rend and crunch.

  Despairingly, she remembered Rowena Cooper and the old friends of Aunt Alice that the evil woman had murdered. These witch creatures were unbeatable and as her legs became ever more weary and aching, she realised there was absolutely no escape. Here in the wild, in the dark vastness of the empty moor there was nowhere to run to and no one to help her.

  Pushing herself onward, she cursed the day she heard the folk band and damned herself for listening to their lies and believing they were different to anyone else.

  The pack was very close now. Soon she would feel the first panting breath upon her and then it would be nearly over. Jennet could not stand it any more and she screamed.

  "Aunt Alice! I'm sorry! Oh Ben, forgive me!"

  Bracken and gorse scratched her legs and shredded the satin but still she fled and then, when her lungs were near to bursting, she lurched through a low, straggly hedge and abruptly the soft springy ground disappeared beneath her feet.

  Blinking in confused astonishment, Jennet found herself upon the tarmac of the wide road, yet her instant relief was swiftly curtailed.

  The road stretched for miles in either direction but no cars were travelling upon it and no headlamps glimmered in the distance.

  "Then I'm done for!" the girl cried. "I'm as good as dead!"

  The barking tumult was horribly close now. Soon the savage dogs would burst through the hedge to pounce on her. Forcing herself to lumber on, Jennet tried to run but it was all in vain and her exhausted muscles finally gave way and she collapsed on to the hard surface of the road.

  Suddenly a bright light clicked on and the girl's prostrate form was caught in a wide, dazzling beam. Jennet lifted her head but the light blinded her.

  "Help me, please!" she cried. "You must!"

  And then, to her amazement, she heard a familiar voice which she had always ridiculed. But the mere sound of it in that desperate and bleak spot brought an overwhelming sense of joy and salvation to the girl and her pounding heart leapt.

  "Don't just stand there gasping like a goldfish! Jolly well climb aboard."

  There, straddling Miss Boston's old bicycle, with one large foot on the ground and the other raring to go on the pedal—was Sister Frances.

  Jennet did not hesitate, and rushed over to her.

  "Quickly," the nun urged, "sit on the handlebars. I used to give my brother Timmy rides like this—'course he was only five and yours truly twelve. Do hurry, Jennet. Oh sweet Lord, listen to those fiends!"

  From the hedge the first of the hounds came charging. Bursting on to the road, its sharp claws clattered and slithered and the huge dog slid and tumbled, unable to stop itself careering into the hedge on the opposite side. But immediately it sprang up and scrabbled towards the two defenceless humans, preparing to leap at them.

  "Hang on!" Frances shouted, pushing away with her foot and pedalling like mad.

  With her legs dangling either side of the front wheel and her hands gripping the handlebars for dear life, Jennet felt the nun's head press into her back as Sister Frances strained on the pedals.

  Behind them the rest of the pack came spilling over the road and furious growls and barks filled their ears as the infernal beasts gave chase.

  The wheels of the bicycle whirred and hissed over the road as the nun's woollen-stocking legs revolved and pumped at an astonishing rate. But jostling and loping swiftly behind, the brides of Nathaniel unerringly came.

  Their foaming jaws snapped, lunging for the rear wheel, and the demonic fires of their malevolent eyes shone in the reflector on the mudguard and made the whirling spokes shimmer with a red blur.

  "Get thee jolly well behind me!" Frances puffed. "And stay there!"

  But the pack's endurance seemed limitless and down the winding road they tirelessly pursued the zooming bicycle.

  Jennet's hair streamed in the wind and when Frances raised her head to see where she was going it blew into her face and she had to peer around the girl's side to see anything at all.

  The bicycle wobbled and suddenly the dogs caught up with it. Running alongside, they snarled and jumped up to snap at the nun's pedalling legs.

  Jennet wailed and screwed her eyes up, expecting the bicycle to be dashed aside, but Frances' face was stern and she put on an extra spurt of speed that shot them clear of the pack and she crowed with triumph at the top of her voice.

  "Don't worry, Jennet," she shouted right in the girl's ear, "I think we're going to be all right. Look, there are lights ahead. I'll warrant those nasties won't chase us through the villages."

  She was right, for as they hurtled along the road, the old bicycle soon began to leave the yowling dogs way behind. Snarling and full of unspent malice, with a final frustrated bark the brutes turned their massive heads and the gleaming eyes vanished in the darkness.

  Lingering for a moment in the middle of the road, the smallest member of the pack watched the speeding figures of Jennet and the nun fade into the distance amidst cottages and parked cars, and a pink tongue lolled from its jaws. Then, with a toss of its head, the creature hurried after the others and the dark instincts she had kept under control for so long at last took possession of the sleek midnight dog and Pear howled as viciously as the rest.

  Eventually, when the lights of civilisation shone around them and Sister Frances could pedal at a more leisurely pace, Jennet was consumed by shock, and her horror at what she had seen engulfed her.

  The bicycle came to a juddering halt as the girl's despairing sobs threatened to completely overturn the contraption and Sister Frances held her tightly.

  "You let it all out," she advised. "Do you the world of good, but don't overdo it. The danger's over now so no moping or you'll get maudlin. Got to pick yourself up and start all over again, as the song goes."

  "I'm okay," Jennet sniffed, wiping her tears on the frilly sleeves of her devastated dress, "but it was so awful—if you only knew—I don't believe it myself, the things I saw."

  "If you don't believe it, then there's no point thinking about it, is there?"

  "You don't understand."

  "Don't I? Well, look, if you don't stop blubbing we'll never get home this side of Christmas—buck up, there's a good girl."

  As Frances resumed her pedalling, a curious thought occurred to Jennet. "What were you doing out there with Aunt Alice's bike?" she asked.

  Looking casually at the buildings of Ruswarp as they sailed sedately by, the nun replied, "Well, I haven't got one of my own. I had to borrow it, didn't I?"

  "That's not what I meant," Jennet said, "and you know it. Why were you out riding at this time of night in the middle of nowhere?"

  "I might as well ask what you were doing out there," the nun answered blithely.

  Jennet was too tired for Frances' renowned playfulness. "All right," she muttered, "if you don't want to tell me, I won't go on about it."

  The bicycle trundled on and soon the lights of Whitby shimmered in the distance.

  "Here we are, Jennet," Frances told her, "this is your home. You don't belong with those poor misguided wretches. I think that today you should be glad that you were always the bridesmaid and never the bride. You have a real family here who cares and loves you—never forget that."

  "How did you..?" Jennet began, but the nun had started to hum to herself and refused to listen.

  When they came to Church Street they dismounted and Sister Frances escorted the girl to the alley entrance that led to the cottage. "Here," she said, "I'd best entrust you with the return of this worthy steed to its rightful place."

  Jennet took the bicycle from her and looked into the nun's serene face. "Thank you," she said simply.

  Frances smiled, then she shook herself and gave the girl a puzzled look. "Cripes!" she groaned. "Mother Superior will really have my guts for garters this time—whatever can the time be? Oh Jennet, you do look dreadful. Whatever happened to that swanky frock? It's all ruined. Well, I can't stay here, can I?
Up to my neck in hot water again—oh dear!"

  And with that she hurried away, leaving a stunned and bewildered Jennet gawping after the nun's retreating figure.

  10 - The Lords Of The Deep And Dark

  Miss Boston and Ben had only just returned to the cottage from the wedding reception, and had not even had time to look into Jennet's room to see if she was feeling any better, when an angry knock rapped on the front door.

  "Gracious! Who can that be?" Aunt Alice cried, nearly pricking herself with the enormous pin she was carefully removing from her hat. "Could you answer it for me Benjamin, dear? If it's Edith returned having decided wedding bliss is all too much, then I'm afraid she'll not be getting her old room. I'm moving back in there tonight—and the place can return to normal at last."

  She sucked her teeth disagreeably and shook her quivering chins. "I don't know where Cicily Drinkwater gets her unpalatable marzipan from, but it isn't the highest quality, that's for sure. The cake was rather dry too—though I imagine the reason for that was Edith's parsimony, too mean to put more than two drops of..."

  The old lady frowned and wondered where the boy had got to. Hobbling on her walking stick, she followed him into the hall. "Who was it at the door, dear?" she called. "Upon my word!"

  Holding the front door open, Ben turned to stare and began to say something, but Miss Boston was too fascinated by the slightly out of focus shape she saw stamping on the step.

  "You should have said, Benjamin," she gently scolded. "Don't let your aufwader chum remain out there. Where are your manners? Let Nelda in."

  Old Parry spat into a flower pot. "Is she barmy?" she croaked. "I ain't that trollopy Grendel!"