Dawn of the Demontide (33 page)

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Authors: William Hussey

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‘I’m sorry for what happened to Alice,’ Adam said.

Without looking up, Joanna murmured, ‘Thank you, brother.’

Neither Dr Holmwood nor Dr Saxby said a word. With stately pace, the group moved on to Alice’s cottage.

Adam Harker winced. His hand went to his wounded shoulder.

‘You all right, Dad?’ Jake asked. He did not like the greyness of his father’s skin and the pain in the man’s eyes.

‘I’m fine.’ Dr Harker put his arms around Rachel and his son, drawing them close. ‘Let’s go home.’

NOW
Strangers at the Grange

No one had lived in the house for over a hundred years. Located at the outskirts of Little Muchly, the Grange was a large, rambling pile, built in the sixteen hundreds by a family whose reputation continued to haunt the village. ‘Them up at the Grange’ were still spoken of in whispered tones by the old timers hereabouts, and even the young people, who claimed not to believe in such nonsense, would shudder at the name of the long-dead family.

Crowden.

Old Mrs Ogleby, who ran the tearoom at the Little Muchly Museum on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, spun the same tales to any visiting tourist.

‘Right enough, we’ve a pretty village here, but don’t you be deceived. Why, there’s stories about this place that would have you shakin’ clean out’f yer boots!

‘It was
them
as brought the evil here,’ she would continue, her single tooth clacking in her head. ‘The Crowden family. Worst among them was the youngest son, known as Marcus. Powerful bad, he were, hungry for knowledge that no man ought to have rattlin’ around in his head. Even the other Crowdens were afraid of that one. Witch, you say? To be sure, that’s what they called him—master of witches. Though I did hear that to look at him you’d have thought he was an angel sent from heaven.

‘’istory has it that he left home one night and made his way upcountry. My old grandmother, who heard it from her mother who heard it from hers, told me that young Marcus had learned of a place where a whole army of devils were waitin’ to be released. Thought that, if he could summon some kinda door and set them free, they’d serve him. Make him their king. No one knows how it turned out. Still, there is a legend that one day, yup, one day … ’

Here Mrs Ogleby would pause and pour the visitors their tea—nice and strong, just the way tea ought to be. She’d wait until her audience could stand the suspense no longer …

‘One day Master Crowden will return to Havlock Grange.’ The old lady would give a smile and a wicked wink of the eye. ‘Strangest part of the legend is that they say he will return a changed man. A man with the eyes of a demon … ’

Now, with the strangers up at the Grange, Mrs Ogleby shuddered at her own story. If the gossip was right, there were three of them: a little toad-faced man who went by the name of Grype; an invalid boy who appeared to be in some kind of coma (he had been pushed into the house in a wheelchair on the day the strangers arrived—since then no one had laid eyes on him). All this was strange enough, but it was talk of the third man that made Mrs Ogleby’s blood run cold.

No one knew his name. He was often seen standing in the windows of the old house, looking out across the grounds as if he was master of all he surveyed. He had a face that could shame the angels, so they said. At the bus stop, in the park, chattering away in the tavern, the local girls would talk of the handsome stranger, while that harmless old gossip Mrs Ogleby listened in.

‘Isn’t he
gorgeous
?’ they would swoon. ‘I’d love to see his eyes. I bet you could just drown in them. But he’s always wearing those dark glasses, even at night. I wonder why … ’

Sitting all alone in her cottage at night, Mrs Ogleby wondered if anyone had ever
really
listened to her stories.

A man with the face of an angel and the eyes of a demon …

My heartfelt thanks go to Deborah Chaffey, who placed me firmly on the Witchfinder’s path. Thanks also to Jacob Chaffey for his encouraging early review and for lending my hero his name. I’d also like to acknowledge the aid of friendly alchemists Johnny Draper, Claire Wilson, Bryony Bowers, and Graeme Hills who listened patiently to early incantations and helped me conjure a few golden nuggets from a lot of base metal.

Witchfinder
found its home through a series of magical links, beginning with the spookily talented Sarah Silverwood. Sarah introduced me to my brilliant agent Veronique Baxter, whose boundless enthusiasm brought
Witchfinder
to OUP. Stewed in the editorial cauldron of the wonderful Jasmine Richards, the book became infinitely more magical. To all these people, and to countless others who have nurtured my writing, I say—THANK YOU!

About the author

William Hussey has a Masters Degree in Writing from Sheffield Hallam University. His novels are inspired by long walks in the lonely Fenlands of Lincolnshire and by a lifetime devoted to horror stories, folklore, and legends. William lives in Skegness and writes stories about things that go bump in the night …

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