My heart hammering and my knees trembling, I moved forward to face the boggart. Then I reached into my pockets and pulled out two handfuls and hurled them straight at the boggart. Salt from my right hand; iron from my left.

    Despite what it had cost him, the Spook had done everything by the book. Firstly he'd burned the boggart's tree, taking away its store of energy. Secondly he'd offered himself as a target outside, bleeding away even more of the boggart's strength. But I had to finish the job inside. And I couldn't afford to miss.

    There was only the draught from the window and open door, and my aim was good. The cloud of salt and iron struck the boggart full on. There was a scream, so loud and shrill that it set my teeth on edge and almost burst my eardrums. The salt was burning the creature, the iron sapping the last of its power. The next moment the boggart disappeared.

    It was gone. Gone for ever. I'd finished it off!

    But my relief was short-lived. I saw the Spook stagger and knew that he was about to fall. I tried to reach him -1 really tried. But I was too late. His knees buckled, he lost his grip on the table and collapsed backwards, banging his head on the kitchen flags very hard. I struggled to lift him but he was a dead weight, and I noticed, to my dismay, that his nose was bleeding badly.

    I began to panic. At first I couldn't hear him breathing. Then, at last, I made out the breath fluttering very faintly in his throat. The Spook was seriously hurt and needed a doctor urgently.

Intimations of Death

    I ran all the way down the hill to the village in the torrential rain, the thunder crashing overhead and vivid streaks of lightning forking the sky.

    I hadn't a clue where the doctor lived and, in desperation, knocked on the first door I came to. There was no answer so I hammered on the next one with my fists. When that brought no answer either, I remembered that the Spook's brother, Andrew, had a shop somewhere in the village. So I ran further down towards the centre, stumbling across the cobbles and through the rivulets of rainwater that were cascading down the hill. It took me a long time to find Andrew's place. It was smaller than the Priestown one he'd rented, but it was in a good location, in Babylon Lane, just round the corner from what seemed to be the village's main row of shops. A flash of lightning illuminated the sign above the window:

Andrew Gregory

Master Locksmith

    I rapped hard on the shop door with my knuckles and, when that brought no response, seized the handle and rattled it violently, still to no avail. I wondered if Andrew was away doing a job somewhere. Maybe staying overnight in another village. Then I heard the sash window of a bedroom above the next shop being raised and a man's angry voice called out into the night.

    'Be off with you! Be off at once! What do you mean making all that commotion at this time o' night when decent folk need their sleep?'

    'I need a doctor!' I shouted up towards the dark oblong of the window. 'It's urgent. A man could be dying!'

    'Well, you're wasting your time here! That's a locksmith's shop!'

    'I work for Andrew Gregory's brother. He lives in the house up the clough on the edge of the moor. I'm his apprentice!'

    The lightning flashed again and I glimpsed the face above, and saw fear etched into it. The whole village probably knew that Andrew's brother was a spook.

    'There's a doctor lives on the Bolton Road, about a hundred yards or so to the south!'

    'Where's the Bolton Road?' I demanded.

    'Go down the hill to the crossroads and turn left. That's Bolton Road. Then keep going. It's the last house on the row!'

    With that, the window was slammed shut, but it didn't matter: I had the information I needed. So I sprinted down the hill, turned left, ran on, breathing hard, and was soon knocking on the door of the last house in the row.

    Doctors are used to being woken up in the middle of the night for emergencies, so it didn't take him long to answer the door. He was a small man with a thin black moustache and hair that was turning grey at his temples. He was holding a candle and nodded as I spoke, seeming very calm and business-like. I told him that the injured man was at Moor View Farm, but when I explained who needed help and why, his manner changed and the candle began to shake in his hand.

    'You get back and I'll follow you as soon as I can,' he said, closing the door in my face.

    I went back up towards the moor but I was worried. The doctor was clearly scared at having to treat a spook. Would he do as he'd promised? Would he really follow me to the farm? If he didn't, the Spook could die. For all I knew he might be dead already, and with a heavy heart I trudged up the hill as fast as I could. By then the worst of the storm had moved away and all that could be heard were distant rumbles of thunder over the moor and the occasional flash of sheet lightning.

* * *

    I needn't have worried about the doctor. He was true to his word and reached the farm only fifteen or so minutes after me.

    But he didn't stay long. When he examined the Spook, his hands shook so badly I didn't need the wide-eyed expression on his face to tell me that he was terrified. Nobody likes to be near a spook. I'd also told him what had happened in the yard and kitchen, which made it even worse. He kept looking round as though he expected to see the boggart creeping up on him. I would have found it funny if I hadn't felt so sad and worried.

    He did help me to carry the Spook up the stairs and get him to bed. Then he put his ear against the Spook's chest and listened carefully. When he stood up, he was shaking his head.

    'Pneumonia is creeping into his lungs,' he said at last. 'There's nothing I can do.'

    'He's strong!' I protested. 'He'll get better.'

    He turned to me with an expression on his face that

    I'd seen doctors use before. It was a professional face, a mixture of compassion and calm, a mask adopted when they have to break bad news to relatives of the seriously ill.

    'I'm afraid the prognosis is very bad, boy' he said, patting me gently on the shoulder. 'Your master is dying - it's unlikely that he'll survive the night. But death comes to us all in the end so I'm afraid we have to accept it. Are you here alone?'

    I nodded.

    'Will you be all right?' I nodded again.

    'Well, I'll send someone up here in the morning' he said, picking up his bag and preparing to go. 'He'll want washing' he added ominously.

    I knew what he meant by that. It was a County tradition to wash the dead before burial. It had always seemed a daft idea to me. What was the point of washing someone when they were just going to end up in a coffin in the ground? I was angry and almost told him as much, but I managed to control myself and went and sat beside the bed, listening to the Spook gasping for breath.

    He couldn't be dying! I refused to believe it. How could he die after all he'd been through? I just wasn't prepared to accept it. The doctor was wrong, surely? But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that the doctor was mistaken, I began to despair. You see, I remembered what Mam had said about intimations of death. I remembered the smell in Dad's room, that stench of flowers, and how Mam had said it was a sign of the approach of death. I had her gift and I could smell it now because it was coming from the Spook and it was getting stronger and stronger by the minute.

    But when daylight came, my master was still alive and the woman sent by the doctor to wash his body couldn't keep the disappointment from her face.