Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin
Read Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin Online
Authors: Joseph Delaney
Contents
Chapter 1: A Large Green Bitter Apple
Chapter 8: What Ails You, Agnes?
Chapter 9: Is She a Coward Too?
Chapter 10: Her Spirit Lives on
Chapter 12: It Will Come True For Me
Chapter 13: In the Company of Witches
Chapter 15: A Fight to the Death
Chapter 16: Must We Run for Ever?
Chapter 17: It Brings Great Dishonour
Chapter 18: You’re Just a Girl
Chapter 20: Grimalkin Does Not Cry
Chapter 21: My Only Remaining Ally
Chapter 22: A Malevolent Witch
Chapter 25: A Sorry Sight Indeed
About the Book
WARNING: NOT TO BE READ AFTER DARK
‘I am Grimalkin and I have already chosen those I will kill.’
Grimalkin has made it her lifetime ambition to destroy the Fiend, avenging the brutal murder of her son.
Having grudgingly joined forces with the Spook and his apprentice, Tom, and assisted them in the binding of the Fiend, she is now on the run. and her mission is deadly.
In order to bind the Fiend’s spirit for ever Grimalkin must keep his severed head in her possession. No matter who – or what – comes after it …
This latest chilling instalment in the Wardstone Chronicles follows Grimalkin, the terrifying witch assassin, feared wherever she is known.
for Marie
Grimalkin carves the symbol of her scissors on trees to mark her territory or warn others aways …The current assassin of the Malkin clan is Grimalkin. Very fast and strong, this assassin has a code of honour and never resorts to trickery. She prefers her opponent to be a challenge. Although honourable, Grimalkin also has a dark side and is reputed to use torture. All fear the
snip-snip
of her terrible scissors.
She uses these to shear the flesh and bone of her enemies … Grimalkin’s favourite killing tool is the long blade, and she is a skilled blacksmith who forges her own weapons.
The Spook’s Bestiary
Grimalkin made her first Wardstone Chronicles appearance in
The Spook’s Battle
when she was sent by the Pendle witches to kill Thomas Ward.
Since then she has featured in her own short story (in the anthology
The Spook’s Stories: Witches
) where we learned about her background and extreme hatred for her sworn enemy – the Fiend.
Now this deadly witch assassin has formed an alliance with Tom, the Spook and Alice. The narrative follows straight on from the end of
The Spook’s Destiny
. What Grimalkin carries must be kept out of the clutches of their enemies at all costs …
THE HIGHEST POINT IN THE
C
OUNTY IS MARKED BY MYSTERY
.
I
T IS SAID THAT A MAN DIED THERE IN A GREAT STORM, WHILE BINDING AN EVIL THAT THREATENED THE WHOLE WORLD
.
T
HEN THE ICE CAME AGAIN, AND WHEN IT RETREATED, EVEN THE SHAPES OF THE HILLS AND THE NAMES OF THE TOWNS IN THE VALLEYS CHANGED
.
N
OW, AT THAT HIGHEST POINT ON THE FELLS, NO TRACE REMAINS OF WHAT WAS DONE SO LONG AGO, BUT ITS NAME HAS ENDURED
.
T
HEY CALL IT
–
T
HE
W
ARDSTONE
.
Look closely at the enemy before you. Do you see his bulging eyes and berserker fury? Do you see his hairy chest? Can you smell his unwashed body? Keep calm. Why be afraid? You can win. After all, he is just a man. Learn to believe me. I am Grimalkin.
ONCE I REACHED
the centre of the wood, I swung the heavy leather sack down from my shoulder and placed it on the ground before me. Then I knelt and undid the cord that sealed it – to be met by the rank stink of what lay within. I grimaced and drew forth what it contained, holding it up before me by its hair, which was greasy and matted with dirt.
It was very dark beneath the trees and the moon would not rise for another hour. But my witchy eyes could see clearly despite the gloom, and I gazed upon the severed head of the Fiend, the Devil himself.
It was a terrible sight to behold. I had stitched the eyelids shut so that he could see nothing; I had stuffed his mouth with a large green bitter apple wrapped in a tangle of rose thorns so that he could not speak. My enemy had been well looked after; dealt with exactly as he deserved. Not withstanding the stench, neither the head nor the apple had rotted; the first was due to his power, the second a result of my magic.
I spread the sack out on the ground and lowered the head onto it. Then I sat cross-legged opposite it, scrutinizing my enemy carefully.
Somehow it looked smaller now than it had appeared when freshly severed, but it was still almost twice the size of the average human head. Was it shrinking as a result of being separated from its body? I wondered. The horns that protruded from its forehead were coiled and curved like those of a ram; the nose resembled an eagle’s beak. It was a cruel face and deserved the cruelty that I had inflicted upon it in turn.
All about my body, a series of leather straps bore scabbards that held my weapons and tools. From the smallest of these I withdrew a thin sharp hook with a long handle. I thrust it into the Fiend’s open mouth, pushed it deep into the green apple, and twisted and tugged. For a second there was resistance, but then I pulled the fruit out, bringing with it the tangle of rose thorns.
Relieved of the obstruction, the mouth slowly closed. I could see the broken teeth within: I had smashed them with my hammer as the Spook, Tom Ward and I had bound the Fiend. The memory of it was vivid, and I watched it again in my mind’s eye.
Long had I waited for the opportunity to bind or destroy the Fiend, my greatest enemy. Even as a child I’d disliked him intensely. I observed the subtle ways in which he increasingly controlled my clan; saw how the coven fawned over him. They spent most of each year looking forward to the Halloween sabbath, the time when he was most likely to visit. Sometimes he appeared right in the centre of their fire, and they reached forward, desperate to touch his hairy hide, oblivious to the flames that seared their bare arms.
My growing revulsion was something instinctive in me – a natural born hatred – and I knew that unless I acted, he would become a blight upon my life; a dark shadow over everything I did. He was clever, subtle and devious, often achieving his aims slowly. Above all I feared that one day, like many other witches who had once opposed him, I would finally become in thrall to him. That I could not bear and I needed to do something to make it impossible.
And I knew exactly what I had to do: there is one certain way in which a witch can ensure that he keeps his distance. It is very extreme but it means that she can be free of him for evermore. She needs to sleep with him just once, then bear his child. Thereafter – having inspected his offspring – he
may
not approach her again. Not unless she wishes it.
Most of the Fiend’s children prove to be abhumans, misshapen creatures of the dark with terrible strength; others are powerful witches. But a few, a very few, are born perfect human children untainted by evil. I knew I risked giving birth to a dark entity, but it seemed worth it to be rid of the Fiend.
I was fortunate indeed. Mine was a beautiful, fragile baby boy, perfect in every way.
I had never felt such intense love for another creature. To have my son’s soft warmth against my body, so trusting, so very dependent, was wonderful – blissful beyond anything I had dreamed of; something I had never imagined or anticipated. That little child loved me, and I loved him in return; he depended upon me for life, and for the first time I was truly happy. But in this world such happiness rarely lasts.
