Witch (21 page)

“But it’s gone one-thirty in the morning,” Vincent said, glancing at the bedside clock. “Can’t we go and take a look tomorrow?”

“I can’t go up to that farm in daylight,” I said. “If old farmer Grayson catches me on his land again, he’s gonna have my badge.”

“That bottle is at the bottom of a well,” Vincent said, pulling on his boots. “How are we going to climb down to the bottom and get it? We don’t have any rope or...”

“I know where we can find some rope,” I smiled at him, heading for the front door.

I could remember seeing a huge length of rope hanging in the barn on Grayson’s farm. I saw it the day I had led Michael into the barn, it was hanging by the door, next to the neat rows of tools. So, with our torches on, Vincent and I made our way along the desolate shore, to the coastal path and through the crop of trees to Grayson’s farm. We didn’t reach the brow of the hill until nearly gone two o’clock in the morning. There was no moon, as the sky was full of cloud, and the first cold drops of rain had started to fall.

“We should turn off our torches,” I whispered to Vincent as we stepped clear of the trees and into the rain.

“Okay,” Vincent whispered back, switching off his torch and throwing us in to near darkness.

The wind whooped and howled across the fields, ruffling my hair and making the collar of Vincent’s police coat flap like a sail against his throat. The tree branches creaked and swayed behind us, the sound of the rain now drumming against the canopy of leaves.

“This way,” I said, setting off down the hill towards the barn which stood below us like a dark smudge in the night.

The rain fell harder now, falling horizontally across our path in the wind. Our boots sloshed and squelched through the muddy earth. It was cold, but I daren’t put my hands in my pockets for fear of slipping on the mud and being unable to break my fall. Vincent walked beside me, plumes of breath billowing from our lungs and disappearing into the cold night sky like tiny wisps of cloud. Apart from the roaring wind and the sound of the driving rain beating off the ground, the world seemed eerily silent.

We reached the foot of the hill, and I could see that the farmhouse, which was a short distance away, was in darkness. There were no lights on that I could see, and no smoke tumbling up from the chimney. I guessed that both Michael and his father were asleep. Had I treated Michael too harshly because of what he’d done? I wondered. I pushed the thought away. I hadn’t come here to think about him. I had come to retrieve that bottle from the bottom of the well. Nothing must distract me from that.

I looked at Vincent, who stood beside me in the dark, rain running down his face like tears. I nodded in the direction of the barn, not daring to speak now for fear of being discovered. God only knew what Grayson would do, should he wake to find me trespassing on his land in the middle of the night. Vincent followed me the short distance to the barn. I looked at him, took a deep breath, then pulled at the door. It was heavy. Vincent curled his fingers around the handle and together we pulled it open, then all hell broke loose. Jess leapt out of the darkness at us like a giant hound. It barked and yapped, its giant-looking paws in the air.

Vincent instantly gripped my arm and yanked me backwards out of the dog’s path. The farmer’s dog barked and woofed, the sound deafening
in the silent night. I glanced sideways at the farmhouse and saw one of the bedroom lights come on.

“Shit!” I hissed. “Someone’s woken up.”

“Look,” Vincent whispered. “The dog isn’t coming any closer. It’s been tied up.”

I looked back towards the open barn door and could see Jess was secured inside the barn with a chain that was fastened to her collar. Old farmer Grayson must have been using her as some sort of guard dog.

“We should go,” I gasped, seeing that one of the downstairs lights had now been switched on in the farmhouse. 

“This is our only chance of getting that bottle,” Vincent wheeled on me, his eyes big and dark. “I’ll see to the dog, you fetch that rope you told me about.”  Then, heading back towards the barn door, Vincent started to coo at Jess. The dog barked at him, then mellowed as Vincent took a half-eaten pack of Jammie Dodgers from his coat pocket and tossed one towards the dog.

Bent double, trying to make myself as small as possible, I raced towards the open door and slipped inside. Jess didn’t even look at me, as she woofed up the biscuit from the ground and ran a giant pink tongue over her snout. I reached around the inside of the door, feeling for the rope in the darkness. My fingers raced blindly over the set of tools, spilling from their housing, sending them clattering to the floor. 

“Shhh!”
Vincent snapped, looking back over his shoulder at the farmhouse, then back at me. “Hurry up, Sydney!”

My fingers found the rope and they curled around it. I yanked it from the wall and nearly fell over. The rope was heavier than I had expected.

“Come here,” Vincent said, rushing over to me. He bent down, picked up the rope, and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Now let’s just get outter here.”

I pushed my butt against the barn door, desperate to hide our tracks, as Vincent set off back up the hill towards the well. There was a rattling sound as the lock was pulled back on the farmhouse door. I heard it swing open, followed by the deep, booming voice of Grayson.

“What’s wrong, girl? Who’s out there?”

Hearing her master’s voice, Jess started howling and barking all over again. With the sound of Grayson’s huffing and puffing drawing closer, I slinked around the side of the barn and raced up the hill and into the darkness. Vincent had climbed about halfway by the time I’d caught up with him. His breathing sounded heavy and laboured as he struggled with the rope. The rain was lashing down now, and progress up the hill was becoming treacherous. The mud had become as slippery as ice, and every step we took had to be carefully made, which slowed our escape. The rope had become wet, too, and it slipped around Vincent’s shoulders like a giant snake.

I looked back into the darkness and could just make out Grayson’s outline, silhouetted in the light flooding from his open front door. I could hear Jess barking wildly. I couldn’t see any sign of Michael. I turned away, and was grateful there was no moon tonight. I slunk into the darkness and followed Vincent up the hill and to the well.

I reached the top to find Vincent drawing deep mouthfuls of damp, cold air into his lungs. I helped him lift the rope from about his shoulders.

“I just hope it will be long enough to reach the bottom,” he breathed, peering through the darkness and into the well.

“I hope the bottle is still down there,” I whispered over the sound of Jess yapping in the distance. I prayed that Grayson hadn’t seen either of us clambering away up the hill. I couldn’t use the torch as it would have been like a beacon going off in the night at the top of the hill. Fearing that our time was short, I looked at Vincent and said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Vincent snatched up one end of the rope, and trampling through the mud and rain, he wrapped one end of the rope around the nearest tree trunk. He fastened the end with a knot. “The rope’s too wet. The knot might just slip apart again as soon as any weight is put on it. You wait up here for me, and hold onto the rope, whatever you do.”

Taking the rope from his hands, I looped the free end of it around my waist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed from the darkness.

“I have to go and get that bottle,” I whispered.

“Why?” Vincent snapped, trying to take the rope from me. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“Molly showed me that bottle in my dream,” I tried to reason with him. “If the bottle is at the bottom of the well, and it’s the same one, then she showed it to me for a reason. She showed it to me, Vincent, not you. I have to go and get it.”

“But...” he started to protest.

Cutting over him, I said, “You keep hold of the rope. When I’ve got the bottle, I’ll yank on the rope and you can pull me out. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. I guessed he knew we didn’t have time to stand and argue about who was going to venture down into the well.

With the rope feeling as tight as it could be around my waist, I clambered up onto the edge of the well. Rain fell hard all around me and I could hear it drumming onto the water at the foot of the well, deep below me. I looked over the edge. It looked like a yawning throat of darkness. Taking a deep breath and my heart racing, I swung my legs over the edge of the well.

“Are you sure about this?” Vincent breathed.

“No,” I said, looking back at him. “But I know it’s something I have to do.”

“Be careful,” Vincent said, taking up the slack in the rope and leaning back. His boots slid momentarily in the sodden mud.

“Okay?” I asked, watching him regain his footing before I climbed in to the darkness.

“Okay,” he answered back.

Taking one last glance at Vincent, I turned,
then slowly climbed into the well. I gripped the rope as it slid wetly through my fingers. The well stank of mildew and damp. Rain water ran down the walls which circled me. The rope gave a little, and slowly, Vincent lowered me down into the well. It was so dark now inside, that it became almost impossible to see my own hands gripping the rope. I glanced down and could see nothing but a inking well of black. I had no idea how far I was from the bottom or even if we had enough rope to get me there.

Inch by inch, Vincent lowered me from above. For one frightening moment, I pictured Jonathan and Molly Smith waiting in the darkness for me. I looked down and gasped. Was that their pale, white hands reaching out of the darkness?
Their fingers snapping at my heels, desperate to pull me down into the black? I closed my eyes momentarily, then opened them again. There were no hands, just darkness and the sound of the rain water running down the walls which surrounded me.

Witch!
I suddenly heard someone whisper.

Stop it!
I told myself. But still my heart raced frantically in my chest and my mouth went dry. My tongue felt suddenly thick and swollen, as if I were suffocating. The deeper Vincent lowered me into the well, the closer the walls seemed to be all around me. I had to fight the urge to scream out to Vincent. To tell him that I couldn’t bear it anymore – that I couldn’t breathe – that I was suffocating. I closed my eyes again and drew in several lungfuls of damp, cold air. I felt my heart slow, just a little as I fought desperately to keep myself from totally freaking out. I opened my eyes again, but I might as well have just kept them closed. The darkness which now surrounded me was thick, suffocating, and impenetrable. I wondered what it must have been like for Molly and that police officer named Lee to have died in this blackness. It must have been like falling into hell.

Suddenly, I felt the toes of my boots brush against something solid. My boots came to rest and I realised I had reached the bottom of the well. Knowing now that I was so deep below ground that I could have some light, I fumbled in my coat pocket for my torch. I held it in my hands and they began to tremble. Even though I was desperate for some light, I suddenly became fearful of switching it on. I was suddenly petrified of what I might see, of what might be waiting for me in the darkness. Would Jonathan and Molly Smith be waiting for me, just like they had been in my nightmares? Would the old guy come stumbling – twitching and jerking – out of the darkness at me? Would I be able to hear the sound of that flap of flesh slapping wetly against the side of his face as he whispered,
Witch! Witch! Witch!
over and over again? 

With my heart racing, hands trembling, and my legs threatening to buckle beneath me at any moment, I switched on my torch.

The sudden light was so bright in the dark, at first it was blinding. I closed my eyes and saw a mass of bright white spots on the inside of my eyelids. Slowly, I opened them again peered about the well. The walls were charcoal grey and slimy-looking. Rainwater ran down them in glistening rivulets. Once my eyes had grown accustomed to the light, I span around in the confined enclosure to make sure that I was truly alone. There was no one in the well with me. This fact didn’t stop my heart from racing. To be at the bottom of the well was like reliving my nightmare again. It was the exact same well. The smell, the damp, the
Plink! Plink! Plink!
sound of dripping water.

“Water!”
I gasped.

I looked down to see that I was standing in a foot of it. Just like in my nightmare, it was black, like a deep pool of ink. I flashed the light of my torch over it, in search of the bottle.

“Where is it?” I groaned, unable to see it, fearing that I had put myself at risk for nothing.

The torchlight made sparkling patterns over the water as I splashed about, the feeling that the walls we
re closing in on me again. I saw something winking back at me from just a few feet away in the water. I waded forwards, plucking the bottle from the water like I was grabbing some kind of prize. I held the old Coke bottle up in the torchlight. The red and white logo had almost come totally away, and what was left had faded to a pale pinkie colour through age. I shone the light on the bottle, and there, sealed inside, was a folded piece of a paper. Holding the end of the torch between my front teeth, and with a pair of trembling hands, I unscrewed the cap. I placed the empty bottle in my coat pocket, then unfolded the piece of paper. It had turned yellow in places and the corners had curled up. With my free hand, I took the torch from between my front teeth, and held it over the sheet of paper.