The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches (7 page)

Another loud chorus of screeching gulls startled Jennet out of her sleep the next morning. She glanced at her watch: it was half past six. With an exasperated groan she turned on her side and lifted the edge of her bedroom curtain.

The day was wet and windy, with gulls riding the gusts and circling overhead. Jennet's room looked out on to the yard but nothing stirred there. She fumbled with the catch and opened the window.

At once the drizzly Sunday morning crowded into her bedroom. The clamour of the sea birds rang in her ears and the warm wind blew salt and rain into her face. From somewhere, the delicious and enviable smell of frying bacon tantalised her senses. Quickly pulling her clothes on. Jennet stumbled downstairs to make her breakfast.

In the kitchen she found that Miss Boston was already up and about. She had evidently just returned from her morning walk, as her white hair resembled the collection of sheep's wool and twigs on the hall table.

'Hello, dear,' she said, looking up from the kipper on the plate before her. 'Sleep well?'

Jennet nodded. 'Yes, thank you.' She slotted a piece of bread into the toaster and decided it was time to ask what had been preying on her mind. 'Aunt Alice,' she began casually.

The old lady pulled a fishbone from her lips and glanced up. 'Hmmm?'

'When will your friends be coming today?'

Aunt Alice coughed and hastily covered her mouth. 'Gracious!' she exclaimed in a fluster. 'I must have swallowed a bone by mistake—tiresome thing!' She took a drink of coffee, wondering all the while what the girl would ask next. 'They usually arrive after tea, Jennet dear,' she answered eventually. 'Why?'

'I just wanted to know if you wanted Ben and me around,' Jennet replied as the toast popped up. 'We could stay upstairs, if you like.'

Miss Boston took hold of Jennet's hands, which by this time were holding the butter knife and the toast. 'Oh, do you think you could, dear?' she said gleefully, puckering up her wrinkled face. 'That really would be such a help. Some of the circle are not very fond of children and we do need to concentrate, you see.'

'Don't worry,' Jennet said. 'I'll take Ben on a long walk this afternoon to tire him out. You won't hear a peep from him all night.'

'Oh, you are considerate, thank you again.' But Miss Boston's face as she bent her head over her plate once more seemed far from happy.

The girl turned back to the toast and grinned. She had guessed correctly: the ladies in the circle were secret gamblers.

Nothing titillates old ladies more than gambling for money, be it Bingo or Bridge. Jennet decided that Aunt Alice was being so furtive because she was too embarrassed to admit it. She crunched through her breakfast and stared out of the window. I wonder what they play? she thought to herself. It must be cards, she decided. Gin Rummy or Whist, perhaps, or maybe even Poker. The thought of all those old women sat around a table playing Poker like cowboys in a wild west saloon greatly amused her. She imagined Mrs Banbury-Scott in a ten-gallon hat and nearly spat out the toast with her laughter.

Aunt Alice frowned to herself. Could Jennet have found out somehow? Perhaps it was not too late to cancel tonight's meeting. She took another gulp of coffee and fixed her eyes on the remains of the kipper as though it were to blame in some way. I must make this the very last meeting of the circle, she insisted to herself. It will get too dangerous if the children become involved—especially for Benjamin.

Ben was sleeping soundly with his ammonite clasped firmly in his hand. He had been dreaming of snakes and dragons all night—he was the valiant hero who slew them. The dream was just coming to a ridiculous conclusion, as his usually did, with a grand parade of headless serpents wriggling behind him on brightly coloured leads whilst he fed cat munchies to the heads bouncing round his ankles.

'Ben, Ben,' shouted one of the heads, 'wake up, you lazy lump!'

He rolled over and pulled his bedclothes higher.

Jennet was in no mood for this today. 'Wake up, thickhead!' She dragged the blankets off him and he flapped about like a headless serpent himself. Then he glared at his sister and brought his bottom teeth over his lip to show annoyance.

'You and me are going for a long walk today,' she told him sharply. 'So come downstairs and help me make a packed lunch.'

'Where we going?' he asked, wishing he could stay in bed all day. But she had already left the room.

The drizzling weather was soon blown inland and by mid-morning the sky was blue. Aunt Alice waved the children off, but her heart was troubled and she watched them leave with a guilty look on her face.

It was late when they returned, making their way through the town. The children crossed the bridge to the East Cliff and wearily tramped up Church Street.

'My dears!' Aunt Alice sighed with relief as they opened the front door. 'You've been gone an age; I was beginning to worry.' The old lady stared at their tired faces and tutted. 'My goodness, you are a dozy pair, and look at the state of you both. I'll turn the immersion on so there'll be plenty of hot water.'

Some time later Ben lounged in his bed. He had been fed, had bathed himself and was now reading a brand-new comic which Miss Boston had bought for him. It was a warm night so he had only put on his pyjama bottoms. The sheets were crisp and clean, smelling of the linen cupboard, and he felt new all over as he wormed into them, tired and contented. From the bathroom he could hear Jennet stepping out of the bath and downstairs Aunt Alice was setting out her best china cups on a tray. She was humming to herself and the sound drifted up to his room.

Ben's window did not overlook the yard so he missed the arrival of the old lady's guests. A sharp knock on the front door vibrated through the cottage and startled him. He sat up and listened to see if he could hear who it was as Miss Boston let the newcomer in. A brisk, abrupt voice dragooned up the stairs—that must be Mrs Joyster, he thought to himself. Just then his own door opened and Jennet, wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her wet hair, looked in.

'Was that the army woman?' he asked her.

Jennet glanced behind her and shrugged. 'I think so,' she said. 'Now, have you got everything you want? You're not to go downstairs tonight, do you understand?'

Ben nodded but Jennet recognised the look in his eyes and waved a warning finger towards him. 'If you so much as sit on the top step there'll be trouble, OK?'

Ben threw himself on his back and raised the comic over his head sulkily. Jennet closed the door and went to her own room. She heard some more guests arrive, and recognised Miss Wethers' voice and that of Miss Droon.

The postmistress was sneezing and asked for a glass of water. 'I just can't sit next to Tilly tonight,' came the muffled twitterings. 'All that cat fur brings on my—achoo!'

Jennet smiled to herself; the tissue would have its work cut out tonight. She dried her hair and began thinking about the card sharps downstairs. This time she wondered what the stakes were—just how much did the old dears play for? Perhaps it was only ten or twenty pence. What if it was more than that—a pound or two? Maybe the gambling fever was so strong that a whole week's pension was frittered away in one night. A new idea came to her as she tugged at a tangled clump of hair with her brush. What if Aunt Alice was in league with the others to swindle Mrs Banbury-Scott out of all her money? Jennet smiled at her own fanciful imaginings and just hoped the cards would favour Aunt Alice tonight. It was probably nothing worse than a game of Happy Families, she concluded, putting the hairbrush down.

The light faded outside Ben's window and the shadows deepened in his room. The boy fell into a light, uneasy sleep which was invaded by unpleasant dreams. In them he was walking down a long, narrow corridor which seemed familiar, but he couldn't think where he had seen it before. His feet were heavy in the dream and though his legs were moving he never got anywhere. Beads of sweat pricked Ben's forehead as he turned over and his breath came in short gasps.

He knew there was something behind him but he could not turn his head round to look. He could feel its presence dogging his every footstep, its eyes burning into his back; he sensed the tension in the air as it prepared to spring. A howl boomed inside his head, a weird, unearthly sound that slashed the watchful night. With a hideous growl, the unseen beast bore down on him.

The boy whimpered in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare which was rapidly approaching its gruesome end. His face was screwed up in fear. 'Go away,' he mumbled tearfully, 'make it go away!'

But the horror continued. The creature was snapping at his heels and with a shriek he called out, 'Mum! Mum!'

Ben found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. The room was dark, yet he could make out the figure sitting beside him quite clearly.

'Mum,' he whispered.

The figure smiled at him, as any mother might do to comfort her child in the night. Ben put his arms out to embrace her but she rose and backed away. It was then that he remembered she was dead.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered how he could have mistaken this vision for something real. A thread of silver light ran around her outline, flickering like sunlight over water. His mother opened her mouth, but Ben could not hear the words she was speaking. He averted his eyes quickly when he saw the pattern on the wallpaper through the darkness, where the roof of her mouth should have been. He knew there was nothing to fear but it unnerved him and he found himself wishing she would leave. Watching his own mother mouthing dumbly like an actress in some crackly silent film was horrible.

The boy hid his eyes and waited for her to disappear—his visitors usually left if he ignored them. But when he looked up she was still there. She had moved to the end of the bed and was kneeling down with her face turned sadly towards him. She had stopped trying to talk, as if she realised that it was upsetting him. Instead, she shook her head at her son with that gentle smile on her lips which he remembered so well. That was better; Ben smiled back at her. She then inclined her head towards the door, beckoning Ben with her hands.

Puzzled, the boy clambered out of bed and shivered; his sweat had become cold and he was chilled. Stepping up to the door, he looked up at the shade of his mother and asked her with the expression in his eyes what she wanted.

The figure pointed at the doorknob. Trembling, Ben reached out a hand, slowly opened the door and peered out.

He was totally unprepared for what was on the other side and gasped in disbelief.

There, crammed on the small landing, was a multitude of 'visitors'. They were sitting on the banisters and crowded down the stairs. Ben could only shake his head and stare; he had never seen this many together before. The ghosts of over a hundred people were there. There were young faces and old, some wearing old-fashioned costumes and others dressed in clothes more familiar to him. But they all seemed to be waiting for something. A long line of them trailed down into the hall and gathered outside the closed parlour door.

Although Ben did not understand why he saw his 'visitors', they sometimes seemed as real and ordinary as the rest of the world—the Rodice's husband had been one of these. But he could tell these forms were phantoms. Some of them were transparent as glass, whilst others were just indistinct shapes made of grey mist.

As he opened the bedroom door a little wider to get a clearer view, they suddenly became aware of him and all their faces turned in his direction. For a moment Ben felt afraid and he pulled himself back into the bedroom. But his qualms disappeared as the light which flickered around the apparitions welled up and illuminated the stairwell from top to bottom with a beautiful radiance.

The blaze lit his face and he glanced up to find his mother. She was no longer at his side and it was some moments before he caught sight of her again in the hall below, motioning for him to follow.

Ben stepped on to the landing and instantly regretted it. Every soul rushed towards him. They gathered thickly round, pressing in on all sides, their eyes imploring him to help them. They wrung their hands piteously before his face, their expressions desperate with the need to communicate with the living. He never actually felt them touch him, but it was suffocating all the same and he hated it. It was like being surrounded by beggars and knowing you had nothing to give them. The pleading faces were images of sorrow and regret that burnt into him, and a claustrophobic panic began to bubble up inside. He had never experienced anything like this and it frightened him; what were these spirits doing here and what did they want? It was as if they had been dragged here against their will and were beseeching him to release them.

'I can't hear you,' he wailed helplessly. 'Stop it, stop it!' The boy closed his eyes tight shut and struggled along the landing. He had to escape from this clamouring madness and he groped for the door to Jennet's room. The throng of spirits parted before him like scythed corn.

There it was, the doorknob. He fumbled for a moment, opened his eyes and flung himself inside.

'What's up?' asked his sister in mild surprise. She was reading one of Aunt Alice's books in bed and had obviously not heard a thing. But once she saw how pale and frightened her brother was, she hastily put the book down and held out her arms to him.

'Oh, Jen!' he howled, throwing himself at her. 'They won't leave me alone, Jen, I can't hear what they're trying to say. Tell them to go away, will you? I've never seen so many of them before.' He sobbed into the large T-shirt she used as a nightie and the rest of what he said was unintelligible.

Jennet stroked his hair and tried to soothe him. It was a long time since Ben had had one of his turns and she wondered that he should have one now—he seemed to be so happy here.

'Are you... are you seeing things again, Ben?' she ventured.

He nodded into her shoulder. 'Mum's here, too,' he cried. 'There's so many, Jen.'

Jennet pushed him away from her and looked steadily into his eyes. For a moment all her old suspicions about his visions had flooded back, but no, he was really scared. 'Don't worry,' she told him calmly. 'I'll take a look outside and make sure there's no one there.'