John Ward

     RIP

    For a while I stood near that wooden cross, thinking of all the happy times we'd had as a family; remembering being small, with Mam and Dad happy and busy and all my brothers living at home. I recalled the last time I'd spoken to Dad and how he'd told me that he was proud to have such a brave son and that, although he hadn't any favourites, he still thought that I'd turn out the best of all.

    Tears came into my eyes and I wept aloud at the side of the grave. But as it grew dark, I took a deep breath and steadied myself, focusing on what had to be done. This was spooks' business.

    'Dad! Dad!' I called into the darkness. 'Are you there? Can you hear me?'

    Three times I called exactly the same, but on each occasion the only sounds I could hear were the wind whistling through the hawthorn hedge and a lone dog barking far in the distance. So I sighed with relief. Dad wasn't here. His spirit wasn't bound here. He wasn't a graveside lingerer. I just hoped he'd gone to a better place.

    I hadn't really made up my mind about God. Maybe God existed and maybe He didn't. If He did, would He bother to listen to me? I didn't usually pray, but this was Dad so I made an exception.

    'Please, God, give him peace,' I said softly. 'It's what he deserves. He was a good hard-working man and I loved him.'

    Then I turned and, very sadly, made my way back home.

    I stayed at the farm for almost a week. When the time came for me to leave, it was raining, the snow turning to slush in the yard.

    Mam hadn't come back and I wondered if she ever would. But my first duty was to get back to Anglezarke and see how the Spook was. I just hoped he was continuing to recover. I told Jack and Ellie that I'd visit them in the spring and that we'd talk about the room then.

    I began the long walk south, minking of Dad and how much things had altered. It didn't seem that long since I was living at home happily with my parents and six brothers, and Dad was strong and fit. Now it was all changing. All falling apart.

    In one sense I could never visit home again because it wouldn't be there any more. It was all too different now. The buildings would still be the same and so would the view of Hangman's Hill from my old bedroom window. But without Dad and Mam it simply wouldn't be home.

    I knew I'd lost something for ever.

Necromancy

    The further south I travelled, the colder it got, the rain gradually turning back to snow. I was tired and wanted to go directly to the Spook's house but I'd promised Alice I'd visit her first and intended to keep my word.

    By the time Moor View Farm was in sight, it was already dark. The wind had dropped and the sky was clear. The moon was up and the snow made everything much brighter than usual; beyond the farmhouse, the lake was a dark mirror reflecting the stars.

    The farm itself was in darkness. Most County farmers go to bed early in winter, so it was what I'd been expecting. I was hoping that Alice would have sensed my approach though, and sneaked out to meet me. I climbed over the boundary fence and crossed a field towards the cluster of dilapidated buildings. A cattle shed loomed up before me, and hearing an unusual sound, I halted just outside the open doorway. Someone was crying.

    I stepped into the doorway and the animals within edged away nervously. Immediately the stink hit me. It wasn't the usual warm animal smell, plus a few dozen healthy cow-pats. It was scour, a digestive illness that cattle and pigs are prone to. It is treatable, but these cattle were ill and neglected. Things had got even worse since I'd last been here.

    It was then that I realized someone was watching me. To my left, lit by a shaft of moonlight, Mr Hurst was sitting hunched on a milking stool. There were tears running down the old man's cheeks and he was staring up towards me, misery etched into his face. I took a step backwards as he came to his feet.

    'Get you gone! Leave me be!' he cried, shaking his fist at me, while trembling from head to foot.

    I was shocked and upset. He'd always been so meek and mild, never giving me or Alice so much as a cross word. Now he looked desperate and at the end of his tether. I walked away, my head bowed low. I felt very sorry for him. Morgan must have been treating him really badly: no doubt that was why he was upset and embarrassed. I didn't know what to do but thought I'd better speak to Alice about it.

    I moved on until I came to the yard. The house was still in darkness and I wasn't sure what to do. Alice must have been in a really deep sleep not to be aware that I was close by. I waited for a moment, my breath steaming in the cold air.

    I walked up to the back door and rapped on it twice. I didn't need to knock again. After a few moments the door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges, and Mrs Hurst peered out at me, blinking into the moonlight.

    T need to speak to Alice,' I told her.

    'Come in, come in,' she invited, her voice weak and hoarse.

    There was a mat just inside the door so I stepped into the small hallway and, after smiling and thanking her politely, stamped the snow off my boots as best I could. Ahead were the two internal doors. The one on the right was closed; but the door to Morgan's room was partially open and I saw candlelight flickering beyond.

    'Go through,' she said, pointing towards it.

    For a moment I hesitated, wondering what Alice was doing in Morgan's room, but I went in anyway. The air was heavy with the reek of tallow, and for some reason the first thing I noticed was a thick candle made of black wax, which was set into a big brass candlestick. It was positioned in the centre of the long wooden table with its two facing chairs, one at each end.

    I'd expected to see Alice there but I was mistaken. Seated at the near end of the table, and facing away, towards that candle, was a hooded figure. He turned towards me and I saw a beard and a mocking smile. It was Morgan.

    Once again my instinct was to run for it, but I heard two sounds behind me. The first was the door being closed firmly. The second was the heavy bolt being slotted home. Ahead of me was the window covered with a heavy black curtain and no other door. I was locked in the room with Morgan.

    I looked about me, glancing down at the bare stone flags, then across to the waiting empty chair. The room was cold and I shivered. There was a fireplace but it was filled with grey ashes.

    'Take a seat, Tom,' Morgan said. 'We've a lot to talk about.'

    I didn't move so he gestured at the chair opposite him.

   'I came here to speak to Alice,' I told him. 'Alice has gone,' Morgan said. 'She left three days ago.'

    'Gone? Gone where?' I asked.

    'She didn't say. She wasn't a very talkative girl, that Alice. Didn't even bother to say she was leaving. Now, Tom, the last time you entered this room you came uninvited like a thief in the night with that girl at your side. But we'll forget that because now you're very welcome. So I'll say it again. Sit yourself down.'

    Filled with dismay I sat down but kept my staff upright by my left side, gripping it firmly. How did he know that we'd been in his room? And I was really worried about Alice. Where could she have gone? Surely not back to Pendle? I looked across and met Morgan's gaze. Suddenly, with a smile, he pulled the hood back from his face to reveal his unruly thatch of hair. There seemed a lot more grey in it than last time. In the candlelight his face was craggy and the lines were far deeper.

    'I'd offer you wine,' he said, 'but I don't drink when I'm working.'

    'I don't usually drink wine,' I told him.