The Priest Hole
Author: Amy Cross
Date: 2017-06-26 20:46:42+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Fiction
Description: "Nykolas Freeman died four hundred years ago. On a cold night, you can still hear his victims screaming. " When Laura and her family move to a remote house in the English countryside, they have no idea of the macabre events that took place more than four centuries ago. It's said that a priest once hid in the walls of the house and was never seen again. Some say he hides there still... Laura doesn't believe in ghosts, but when she and her sister start hearing scratching sounds and whispers from within the walls, it becomes clear that spirits in and around the house have some unfinished business
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC - Kdp Print Us

Copyright 2015 Amy Cross

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

Kindle edition

Dark Season Books

First published: September 2015

Revised edition: January 2015

“He died four hundred years ago. They say his victims are still screaming.”

When Laura and her family move to a remote house in the English countryside, they have no idea of the macabre events that took place more than four centuries ago. It's said that a priest once hid in the walls of the house and was never seen again. Some say he hides there still...

Laura doesn't believe in ghosts, but when she and her sister start hearing scratching sounds and whispers from within the walls, it becomes clear that spirits in and around the house have some unfinished business. Is there really a priest still hidden somewhere nearby? Does the ghost of his tormentor still roam the forest? And why has Laura started to experience a series of intensely vivid waking dreams in which she finds herself in the same house, hundreds of years ago?

The Priest Hole is a horror novel about two sisters uncovering the dark forces in their new home, and about the divisions that once threatened to tear England apart. Contains violent scenes.

The Priest Hole

(Nykolas Freeman book 1)

Prologue

Wyvern, England - September 10th, 1608

“There's no priest in this house,” the workman muttered as he tilted his hand in the moonlight and began pulling splinters from his fingers. “We'd have found him by now if there was.”

“It's not me who needs convincing,” another workman replied, glancing toward the line of trees and spotting a figure approaching on horseback through the darkness. He felt a shiver pass through his body, and then he swallowed hard before patting his colleague on the back. “I'd better get back inside,” he added uneasily, before turning and heading to the steps that led back into the house.

“All this work for nothing,” the first workman complained under his breath, digging with dirty fingernails to extract a particularly deep splinter that had taken root in his red-raw palm. “If there was a priest hiding here, he's long -”

Hearing the sound of hooves suddenly, he turned just in time to see the rider getting closer. His first instinct was to turn and hurry back into the house, but he froze in position for a moment too long, until he realized that he was going to have to be the one to deliver the bad news. He'd seen over the years what happened to men who gave bad news to Nykolas Freeman, and he knew full well that there was risk of injury or worse. Still, he also knew he couldn't run, not now.

“Bring me word!” Freeman shouted as his horse slowed on the dark path. He looked toward the house for a moment, where more workmen could be heard hammering and sawing inside the large building. Finally, he turned back to the workman. “Have you dragged the papist out yet, or does he still hide in the walls?”

“We're almost done,” the workman stammered, taking a step back. “Connaught himself'll -”

“Where is the priest?” Freeman asked, climbing down from the horse and immediately making his way toward the steps.

“That's what I was going to tell you, Captain Freeman,” the workman continued, hurrying alongside him. “We've searched the place from top to bottom and -”

“Who are you, anyway?” Freeman sneered, stopping and turning to him.

The workman flinched, cowering a little as if he expected to be struck. “I'm one of the carpenters who's assisting Mr. Connaught. You and I have actually met several -”

“A simple carpenter?” Freeman asked, one side of his face picked out by the flickering light of a nearby torch, the other side hidden in darkness. “Do you have any idea who I am, man? Tell me, why should I not have you flayed alive for daring to even look me in the eye?”

The workman opened his mouth to reply, but fear had gripped his soul and he simply took a step back.

“Leave him be,” a voice called out suddenly from nearby. “Let him get back to work.”

Needing no second chance, the workman turned and scurried up the steps.

His eyes filled with anger, Freeman saw that a familiar silhouette had emerged from the dark house and was now making its way down the steps. Coming closer, the silhouette stepped into the torchlight, revealing the face of Harold Connaught.

“What news?” Freeman asked. “Where is the priest?”

“My men and I have taken this house apart,” Connaught replied, removing a pair of black gloves from his hands. He too had splinters driven into his flesh, but he let them be, along with the other, older flecks of wood that he'd never bothered to remove over the years. “You know my work, Freeman. You know I can find any priest hole in any house in the country.” He paused for a moment. “There's no priest in this house.”

“You're wrong,” Freeman sneered.

“There's no priest -”

“You're wrong!” Freeman shouted, pushing past him and then stopping at the foot of the steps, staring up at the dark house. “He's in there. Somewhere in this house, concealed behind a false wall or beneath a false floor, Father Darian Kinner continues to hide himself from us. He was seen entering this place less than a week ago, and he has not emerged since.”

“And I told you -”

“There is a priest hole in this house,” Freeman continued, his eyes darting from one dark window to the next, even as more carpenters trudged out through the front door. “He's laughing at us. He thinks he has us beaten, that he can make a fool of us and emerge once we give up and leave. If you and your men haven't found the hiding place yet, it can only be because this particular priest hides himself with great skill.”

“With all due respect,” Connaught replied, joining him at the bottom of the steps and looking up at the windows, “that's impossible. We've spent three days going through the house, Freeman, and we've left no part of it untouched. We've pulled up every floorboard and looked under, we've taken down every wall, we've even dug through the floor of the cellar. An ant couldn't be hiding in there, let alone a man.”

“Not a man,” Freeman sneered. “A priest. A cowardly, treacherous Catholic priest.”

“I'm telling you,” Connaught continued, “there's no-one hiding in there, and that is my honest word. You trust me, don't you? I even found the priest in that house in Knarlesford last year, remember? You'd had three other carpenters look the place over first, and they said it was clear, but I found the miserable wretch and hauled him out of his hiding place so you could hang him.” He sighed, as the last of his men emerged from the house with their tools. “As God is my witness, Captain Freeman, there is no priest hiding in Baxendale House.”

Freeman paused for a moment, his eyes still focused on the dark windows.

“He's here,” he whispered finally. “There is a familiar stench in the air.”

“Captain -”

“Bring out the owner!” Freeman shouted, turning to two of the nearby guards. “Bring out the miserable bastard and his family! Make them kneel before me!” Stepping back over to his horse, he opened one of the bags on the animal's side and took out an ax. After examining the blade for a moment to ensure that it was still sharp, he turned and made his way back to the steps just as the guards brought out the owner of the house along with his wife and daughter. All three were wearing the same nightshirts in which they'd been dressed before their arrest several nights earlier, and all three had their hands tied behind their backs. The adults were wide-eyed with horror, while the little girl was already sobbing.

“What are you going to do?” Connaught asked, eying Freeman with caution.

“Your work is done here,” Freeman muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on the three terrified figures as he made his way up the steps. “Now my work shall begin.”

“You're wrong!” the homeowner, Henry Baxendale, shouted as he struggled with the ropes around his wrists. “I don't know why you think I would hide a priest in my house, but -”

Before the man could finish, Freeman swung the ax handle at his face, knocking him back with a loud cracking sound. Next to him, Mrs. Baxendale watched in horror while her daughter tried to run before being held back by one of the guards.

“Don't lie to me,” Freeman said, standing over Henry as the man was hauled back onto his feet by a guard. The ax handle had already cracked his jaw and knocked several teeth from his mouth, adding to the cuts and bruises he'd already sustained while being questioned. “When a man lies to me,” Freeman continued, eying him with suspicion, “I am immediately set free of any restraints that I might otherwise feel upon my soul.”

“We're not hiding a priest!” Henry replied, struggling to speak as blood poured from his mouth. “Why would we do that? Has someone made a false claim against me? Your men have taken my house apart, if there was a priest hole here they would have found it!”

“Darian Kinner,” Freeman said calmly, his eyes fixed on Henry's terrified yet defiant face. “A seminary priest who has been running from me for several months now, defying my every attempt to catch him. He persists in spreading his odious, treasonous word across this county, and the Devil himself ensures that there are enough fools to hide him from the King's men.” He paused, still watching Henry carefully, searching for the first sign of weakness. “I have witnesses who saw Kinner riding this way less than a week ago, and I am certain he arrived at this house and has not left.”

“No,” Henry replied, “please -”

“Stop that!” Freeman shouted suddenly, turning to the little girl as she continued to sob. “Stop at once!”

“Please,” Mrs. Baxendale said, with tears in her eyes, “she's just a child...”

“How old is she?” Freeman asked with a contemptuous sneer, still watching the child.

“She's just seven...”

“By the time I was seven,” Freeman continued, taking a couple of measured steps over to the little girl, “I had already cried my last tear. I had learned to fight, and to serve in my father's workplace, and to train so that I would be able to join the King's forces.” He looked down at the top of the sobbing girl's head, unable to hide his disgust. “What is your name, child?”

He waited, but the girl's head remained bowed as tears fell from her eyes and landed on her bare feet.

“I asked you what is -”

“Jessica,” Mrs. Baxendale told him. “Her name is Jessica. Please, she's just a child, can't you find it in your heart to let her go?”

For a moment, Freeman's face twitched slightly, as if something unseen was disturbing him. His eyes seemed on the verge of looking to one side, but he kept his gaze firmly on the girl.

“She's the child of sympathizers,” he muttered finally, staring down at Jessica for a moment longer before slowly turning to the mother. Flickering torchlight illuminated one side of his face as his expression soured further. “I do believe, Mrs. Baxendale,” he added finally, “that you just interrupted me while I was speaking.”

She shook her head.

“Oh, you did,” Freeman continued, with contempt in his eyes. “This might be your husband's home, but all of you are guilty when it comes to the matter of hiding that priest.”

“There's no priest here,” Mrs. Baxendale stammered. “Please, you have to believe us...”

“No,” he muttered, “I do not.” Taking a step back, he nodded at one of the guards. “Get her on her knees. Make her bow her head.”

“No!” Henry shouted, before one of the other guards smacked him in the back of the neck with enough force to send him stumbling forward.

Struggling, Mrs. Baxendale tried to rush toward her daughter, before one guard grabbed her legs and forced her down and another tilted her head forward, arranging her in front of Freeman with her head lowered. Her whole body was trembling as she cried, but she knew better than to try standing again. Her trembling intensified as Freeman reached down and moved her hair aside, exposing her bare neck. For a moment, he ran a finger against the large mole just below her hairline.

“This is your last chance,” he said finally, turning to Henry. “Tell me where in your house the priest is hiding.”

“There is no priest,” Henry replied, his voice shaking with fear as a guard held him back. “I swear to God, man, there is no priest hiding in my house! If there were -”

Suddenly Freeman raised his ax and then brought it swinging down. At the last moment, Mrs. Baxendale flinched and tried to pull away, causing the ax to strike a little off-target and only cut through one side of her neck, albeit with enough force to send her body slumping down as blood sprayed across the ground.

“No!” Henry shouted, held back by two more guards.

On the ground, with her head half removed, Mrs. Baxendale gasped as she tried to get to her feet. Blood was flowing freely from her wound now, soaking the grass as she struggled for breath. She reached up to her neck and began to fumble for the wound, as if she was trying to push the flesh back together, but her heart was beating furiously now, only to pump more blood from her severed neck in a series of frantic spurts.

“Cowardly whore,” Freeman muttered, staring down at the struggling woman for a moment. “If she hadn't tried to pull away, I would have cut her head cleanly away.” He watched as two of his guards pulled her up, and then he took care to adjust his grip on the ax. “This time, I shall take her cowardice into account when I aim my blow.”

Nearby, one of the guards held the sobbing Jessica by her shoulder. The child's eyes were fixed on her mother, watching in horror as the woman continued to gasp for breath. As Mrs. Baxendale pressed the wound in her neck tight, blood immediately began to erupt through her throat instead, slopping out of her mouth and down her chin. At the same time, she let out a series of breathless gulps, before her hands dropped down and the wound in her neck reopened, once more leaking blood, some of which sprayed up onto her cheek.

A moment later, Freeman's ax swung down for a second time, this time cutting cleanly through the remaining part of the woman's neck and sending her severed head rolling across the grass.

“As God's will is made clear to me,” Freeman muttered, reaching down and picking up the head by its hair, “so shall I enact it in this world, and slay those who would harbor enemies of the Lord and the king.” He sneered at the head for a moment and then turned it aside, noting that his ax had cut cleanly through the very center of the mole on the back of the neck, and then he tossed it aside and turned once again to Henry Baxendale, who was staring ashen-faced at his wife's headless corpse. “I will ask you again, Sir,” Freeman continued, with the bloodied ax still in his right hand, “to tell me where in your house I will find that miserable priest. I am sure his safety was not worth your wife's life, and I trust that you will not imperil your daughter the same way.”

Henry simply stared at the corpse, as if he couldn't comprehend what he'd seen. His eyes were open wider than ever now, as if some inner axle of sanity had broken.

“Are you so cruel,” Freeman continued, “that you would choose to safeguard the priest rather than looking after your daughter?”

He waited for a reply, before turning to Jessica, contemplating the girl for a moment. Finally, the contempt began to face from his expression, replaced by a calmer, more calculated smile.

“Tell me, child. I know there is a priest hiding somewhere in your parents' house. Where can I find him?”

Her whole body trembling with fear, Jessica stared with a shocked, glazed expression at her mother's decapitated head. Her seven-year-old mind was unable to comprehend the horror she had just witnessed, and her pupils were rapidly enlarging and shrinking as if to express some deeper, more comprehensive trauma.

“You're not like your parents,” Freeman continued, reaching down and gently placing his fingers under the girl's chin, before tilting her face up so he could see into her eyes more fully. “You haven't been warped and twisted by the vicious lies that fill their minds, you haven't turned against God and your country. You know, deep down, that the priest hiding in your father's house is a man who must be drawn out of the shadows and dealt with.” He paused, before broadening his smile. “Do you know who I am, child? I am Nykolas Freeman, and I operate on the authority of King James himself to root out any and all Catholic priests who try to spread their poison through our fair land. You're young, you probably know little of the troubles that have bewitched the country in recent years, but you must try to see things properly. Ignore everything your father has taught you, and listen instead to a man of the king. Out of the goodness of my heart, I am offering you this one, final chance.”

Crouching down, he brought his face just inches from hers.

“Tell me where to find the priest.”

She stared at him, her eyes filled with tears, before looking down once again at her mother's head. She could feel Freeman's foul breath on her face, a stench of rotten teeth mixed with the ale that had dried in his mustache.

“No,” he said, forcing another smile as he tapped the side of her face. With every word he spoke, there came another spray of foul breath. “Look at me, child, not at that traitor.”

He waited, as a fresh tear rolled down Jessica's face.

“Leave her alone,” Henry said firmly from a few meters away, where he was still being held firmly by two guards. “She's just a child, for God's sake!”

“A child who knows the truth,” Freeman replied, staring at Jessica for a moment longer, watching as her eyes twitched with fresh madness. “A child who will not reveal that truth. Perhaps the rot is too deep in her mind already.” Leaning forward, he gently kissed Jessica's forehead before getting to his feet and turning to the nearest guard. “Put her on her knees and bow her head.”

“I -” The guard seemed shocked. “Sir, she's just -”

“Put her on her knees,” Freeman said again, more firmly this time, “and bow her head.”

The guard paused as if he couldn't quite believe the order, before reaching down and roughly forcing Jessica to kneel.

“No!” Henry shouted. “Freeman, even you aren't so wicked that you'd do this to a child!”

“I'm doing nothing,” Freeman replied, watching as the guard forced the little girl's head forward. “You're the one, Mr. Baxendale, who would rather let your daughter suffer instead of obeying the law of the land and turning the priest over to me.”

“There is no priest here!” Henry yelled, struggling to get forward even though the guards continued to hold him back.

Jessica tried to get up and run to her father, but the guard forced her back into position.

“Know this, child,” Freeman muttered, looking down at her as he moved her hair aside, exposing the back of her neck. “Know that your craven father chose to protect the life of a priest over the life of his daughter, even when he knew that the game was up. Know also that he has raised you in such a way that will consign your soul to the depths of torment upon your death. I can only hope that you take solace in the fact that there are men such as myself who travel the length and breadth of this country tirelessly, rooting out evil wherever we find it, and that one day we shall triumph. One day, the cruelty and barbarity of the Catholics will finally have been vanquished from this fair land.”

With that, he took a step back and held his ax up, ready to strike. The blade was still wet with the blood of its first victim.

“There is no priest in my home!” Henry screamed, fighting harder than ever to get free.

“Hear that?” Freeman asked, looking down at the trembling girl, whose body was shaking so much now that the guard struggled to hold her in place. “Even now, your father lies.”

“There is no priest!” This time Henry managed to slip free from one of the guards, before another grabbed him and pulled him back, crashing an elbow against the man's neck with a sickening crunch.

Still on her knees, Jessica was sobbing wildly now, her whole body consumed by fear. She had her eyes squeezed tight shut, but still tears were able to run down her face. After a few seconds, her sobs became louder as she gasped for air. Finally she opened her eyes, unable to keep from looking over at her mother's head on the ground nearby. The light of a nearby torch burned bright in the night, flickering across the child's shocked face and bringing dancing shadows along with glistening trails of tears. She heard the sound of a man's arm moving, and the creaking of his leather as he adjusted his position, but she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the nearby head of her mother. She wasn't thinking about her mother, though; instead, she was thinking about the -

Suddenly Freeman swung the ax down, cutting Jessica's head cleanly from her neck and sending it bumping to the ground. Her body slumped to one side, with blood spraying across the grass from the open wound. Her head had landed at the foot of the steps.

“No!” Henry screamed, and this time it took four guards to hold him down.

“You, Sir,” Freeman said finally, turning to Henry with anger in his eyes, “are a monster.” He stepped over the little girl's headless body, making his way toward the final member of the family. “You raised that child to believe in false things, and you led her to this moment. There will be no place for her next to the Lord now, she will instead be consigned to the depths of pain and suffering for all eternity, and why? Because you, her father, chose to stand against your king, your country and God.”

“Go to hell!” Henry stammered, with tears flowing down his face. “There is no priest in my house! There is -” Before he could finish, he broke down sobbing, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. It was as if finally, after witnessing the executions of his wife and daughter, his sanity was becoming un-knotted; all he could manage was to let out an agonized, primal cry of grief as his body was shaken by a series of heavy, sobbing convulsions.

A faint smile crossed Freeman's face, before he turned to the workmen assembled nearby.

“Connaught,” he said with a satisfied smile, “your men might not have found the hole where that foul priest hides from us, but they can still do one thing to set the situation right. Have them burn this house to the ground.”

Staring at him in horror, Connaught seemed frozen to the spot by the events he had just witnessed.

“Or,” Freeman continued, watching him with a hint of suspicion, “would you prefer to be added to a list of sympathizers, and taken to town where you can face trial?”

“I...” Connaught paused for a moment, before realizing that he had no choice. Turning to his men, he nodded. “Do as you're told. Every man here is to light a torch and set fire to the house -”

“And then form a ring,” Freeman continued, “so that we can be sure the priest does not escape.”

“And then form a ring,” Connaught continued, his voice trembling with shock. He paused for a moment, and then he shouted at his men: “Go! Get on with it!”

As the men lit torches and headed up the steps, Freeman ordered his guards to drag the sobbing Henry Baxendale down to the garden, and then he turned and watched as one by one the windows of the house began to flicker with the ominous orange glow of fires being set inside. The process took several minutes, but finally the workmen began to emerge, tossing their torches aside as they came and as the flames took hold behind them. After a few more minutes, every window bore witness to the fire, and Freeman stood and watched with satisfaction before looking down at the shivering, broken form of Henry Baxendale sobbing nearby, curled up in wretched horror.

“Treason will not prosper,” Freeman muttered, stepping over to Henry and staring down at him for a moment. “All seminary priests shall be rooted out, and those who hide them shall face justice.”

With that, he allowed himself a faint sniff of a laugh, before raising his ax one more time and then bringing it crashing down, splitting Henry's skull in two with a sickening crunch that ended the man's sobbing convulsions.

Nearby, the fire could be heard crackling in the house, already starting to split some of the wooden boards.

Freeman turned for a moment, as if something else had caught his attention. “And what are you?” he whispered, as if he was speaking to the air itself. “Some form of witch?”

“My men went through every inch of that house,” Connaught said, watching the growing inferno as he stood nearby. “If there was a priest in there -”

“He is still in there,” Freeman said darkly, wiping his ax against the grass before turning and heading toward his horse. “Don't question me on such things, I have been searching for their kind this past decade, and I am never wrong. Father Darian Kinner was hiding in some greatly concealed spot, thinking that he would be able to fool me and that I would eventually ride on, leaving him to breathe again. He was wrong.”

After slipping his ax back into the bag, he climbed up onto his horse and took the reins, as the burning house began to cast a vast, flickering orange glow across the night scene.

“Throw the corpses into the flames,” Freeman commanded, “and then follow me on the road to the town of Retcham. I have heard tell of another priest being harbored there, by a family of five no less. Their house must be taken apart and the priest must be found, and then justice will once again be served.” He looked over at Connaught and saw the shock lingering on the man's face. “Or have you lost the taste for priest hunting? Must I find another master carpenter and question your loyalty to the cause?”

Connaught paused, before turning to him. “We'll follow,” he said finally, although his voice was tempered by a hint of doubt. “My men and I will be no more than two hours behind you on the road.”

“And if you hear the priest's screams from inside,” Freeman added, his eyes filled with the inferno's reflected light, “let him burn. The wretch was hiding in that house. I know this to be true.”

With that, he turned and rode away, quickly disappearing into the darkness beyond the glowing light that now flickered across the lawn. In his wake, the workmen began to gather the bodies of the Baxendale family, ready to throw them into the flames. Connaught himself hauled the child's corpse, holding it by the right ankle as he dragged her up the steps and then finally tossed her through the house's open front door, where she fell against her mother. Within just a couple more minutes, flames had spread from the front room and began to consume the three bodies.

Chapter One

Laura

Today

“Baxendale House,” I mutter, climbing out of the car's passenger side and glancing up at the imposing building. “It looks... old...”

“Of course it looks old,” Mum replies as she slams the car's other door. “The place was built in the fourteenth century.”

“That's six hundred years ago,” I add with a frown. “It doesn't look that old.”

“Were you listening to a word I said on the drive here?” she asks as she makes her way to the back of the car and opens the trunk. “I told you all about it. The original house was built in 1450 or 1451, something like that, but there was a huge fire in 1608... or was it 1609?” She pulls one of several suitcases from the trunk and sets it on the gravel driveway. “No, I think it was 1608. It's all in the paperwork somewhere. Anyway, most of the house was destroyed by the fire, but the stone and brick parts survived and the place was eventually rebuilt. So most of it's from the mid-seventeenth century, around a basic framework from the fifteenth.”

“It looks creepy,” I mutter, heading around to join her and immediately picking up two of the heavy suitcases. “You know that, right?”

“You'll hurt your back!”

“I won't hurt my back,” I tell her as I start to carry the suitcases toward the front steps. My back is hurting, but there's no way I'm going to admit defeat. “Do you seriously think people are going to pay money to come to a place like this for weekend spa breaks?” Getting to the bottom of the steps, I have to set the cases down for a moment before my arms fall off, although I pretend I'm simply taking a moment to look up at the building's imposing facade of dark windows, each of which is divided into diamond patterns by criss-crossing lines of lead that run through the glass. “We're in the middle of nowhere and the house is enough to set anyone on edge.”

“Only because it's been empty for a few years,” she replies, carrying a suitcase past and heading up the steps. “Come on, we'll soon get it looking good. It's our summer project, remember?” Setting the suitcase down, she starts searching through her pockets for the keys. “Your father would have wanted us to get off our butts and do something with ourselves,” she adds, “not sit around moping, living off that compensation money for the rest of our lives. He always told me I should follow my dream and, well, here we are.”

“Your dream was to buy a rundown, six hundred year old building in the countryside and try to persuade yuppies to drop money for romantic weekends away?” I can't help but roll my eyes. “No offense, Mum, but couldn't you have had a slightly more inspiring dream? Like moving us to the Caribbean or America? Somewhere that doesn't look like it's straight out of a horror movie?” Sighing, I pick up the cases again. “Okay. Let's get on with it, then.”

I wait, but she's still fumbling with the keys, and I can't help noticing that her hands seem to be trembling slightly, almost as if... Suddenly I realize that she's scared.

“It's going to be okay,” I tell her.

“Found it!” she says with a smile, holding up the right key as if she's achieved some kind of major victory.

“I mean it,” I continue, realizing that I've been acting like a spoiled brat. “We'll make this work, I promise. Come on, let's get in there and see what we're dealing with.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” she asks, opening the door and then turning to me.

“Like what?”

Realizing that she's looking toward the car, I turn and see the other cases waiting in the trunk.

“I'll get to those in a minute,” I tell her. “I thought you wanted me to be careful with my back?”

“Not those,” she says pointedly.

Realizing what she means, I sigh again before calling out: “Suzie!”

A moment later, my little sister pokes her head out through one of the car's windows and grins at me.

***

“Where's your sister?” Mum asks later, as I sit with a cup of tea and my phone at the creepy wooden table in the creepy house's creepy old kitchen. She's setting out more bowls of that goddamn potpourri stuff, and the house is already starting to fill with that familiar smell of allspice, cinnamon bark and incense.

“We're playing hide and seek,” I mutter, scrolling through a web-page.

“Where's she hiding?”

“No idea,” I reply, barely even listening to her. “That's the point of the game.”

“How long has she been hiding?”

I check the time. “About forty minutes.”

“So when are you going to go and find her?”

I smile. “Well, I was thinking -”

Grabbing my phone, she slips it into her pocket. “Go find your sister,” she says firmly. “Now.”

***

“Suzie?” I call out, wandering across the tiled hallway and looking up the wooden stairs, toward the corridor that leads further into the house. “Hey Suzie, give me a clue! Are you up or down?”

I stop and listen for a moment, but the only sound I hear is Mum in the kitchen, still unpacking all those goddamn glass ornaments she insisted on bringing. Most of our furniture is coming in a few days' time, but for some reason Mum was determined to bring the ornaments. I swear, she's not as in-control as she wants to appear.

“Suzie!”

I wait.

No reply.

“Great,” I mutter, glancing around the hallway again before deciding to head upstairs. “This is what I get for playing hide and seek with my ratty sister in a big new house and -”

Sighing, I catch myself just in time.

“And I'm already talking to myself out loud. Great start to life in the countryside.”

When I reach the top of the stairs, I look both ways and try to work out where Suzie would go to hide. To be honest, when I agreed to play with her I figured it'd just be a good way to make her go away for a few hours, and I never imagined that I'd actually have to come and look for her. Unfortunately, my sister is infinitely good at this kind of game and also very bendy, which means she can squeeze into the smallest, tightest gaps imaginable. Taking the left turn and making my way to the first door, I figure this process could take hours, especially since she's probably enjoying herself way too much. I bet she's scurried into some tiny hole, and now she's giggling at me.

“Hey!” I call out, leaning into the first room, which turns out to be a large, bare space with low beams on the ceiling and a large window on the far wall. The smell of Mum's potpourri has already reached this part of the house. “You in here, little rat?”

I pause, but it's clear there's nowhere to hide in this room, at least.

Heading along to the next room, I find that it's just as bare as the first. In fact, over the next few minutes I look in several rooms and realize that since there's almost no furniture here at the moment, Suzie's possible hiding places are extremely limited. It's when Mum gets her gazillion pieces of bric-a-brac installed that this kind of game will become really annoying, so I guess I should just enjoy the relative peace while it lasts. Making my way along another corridor and peering into room after room, I'm starting to think that finding Suzie shouldn't be too hard at all.

Half an hour later, having completed a circuit of the upstairs and then tried downstairs as well, I get back to the kitchen and find Mum still unpacking the first cases.

“Found her yet?” she asks airily.

“Nope.”

She turns to me with a frown. “Seriously?”

“There's no way she could have got into the basement, is there?”

“It's locked.”

“And the attic?”

“Locked.”

“Then where is she?” I ask, starting to feel a little frustrated. Heading over to the back door, I look out into the garden. “There was no mention of special rules, so she knows she's not allowed to hide outside.”

“Maybe she broke the rules. New house, new rules for hide and seek.”

I turn to her. “Not without telling me first. If she's hiding outside, that's not fair and I don't have to look for her.”

“She has to be in the house,” she replies, “because I'd have heard that great big oak front door if she'd gone out the front way, and she definitely hasn't come through the kitchen to use the back door. Anyway, she's too timid to go exploring the garden without her big sister to keep her safe, so she has to be somewhere inside.”

“But -”

“Go find her,” she adds firmly. “Seriously, Laura, go!”

Sighing, I head back through to the hallway and stop again at the stairs. I swear I've checked every nook and cranny of this spooky old house, but I guess it's typical of Suzie to have maybe found some hidden spot she can use to keep out of sight. Turning to head up the stairs again, I stop as I see a section of old stone in the wall, contrasting strongly with the timbers that run through the rest of the house. Taking a step closer, I reach out and run a hand over the stone surface.

“Huh,” I mutter, figuring that this must be part of the old old house, the one that stood here before the fire. It's kind of freaky to think that parts of the original house are mixed in with the less ancient parts, as if there are bones of an old dead house lurking all around. Looking up, I see that this stone section runs all the way to the ceiling, where it connects with several wooden beams, and I can't help wondering how much of the old stone building is hidden away unseen behind the wooden walls.

Maybe this place is slightly cooler than I realized at first.

“Suzie!” I call out, turning and stomping up the stairs two at a time until I reach the landing. “Suzie, I give up! You win! Come out, wherever you are!”

I wait.

Nothing.

“Come on,” I continue, “don't make me traipse around the whole place again. I'm not bored enough to -”

Suddenly I hear a bump from nearby. I turn and look to the right, and I realize that something moved in one of the closest rooms. Stepping over to the first door, I peer inside but find that once again there's nothing to see except four bare walls, a bare floor, and a bare ceiling with roof beams passing above. Still, I swear the bump came from in this room, so I take a moment to step forward, and a couple of seconds later I hear another bump coming from one of the walls, followed by a faint scratching sound.

“Suzie?” I whisper, frowning as I make my way over.

Behind the wall, something is definitely scratching harder now, accompanied by a series of soft but persistent bumps.

“Suzie?” I call out, knocking gently on the wall.

The bumps stop immediately.

I wait.

“Suzie?” I say after a moment, “is that you?”

With no reply, I turn and head back out to the landing, and then I quickly go into the next room along and make my way to the other side of the wall. I pause for a moment, listening, before placing my ear against the wall and knocking gently with my right hand.

“Suzie?” I say cautiously, feeling a sense of concern growing in my chest. “Are you... Are you in there?”

Silence.

And then, suddenly, a small voice from inside the wall: “Laura?” Suzie whines, sounding a little less pleased with herself than before. “I'm stuck.”

Chapter Two

Daniel

1608

This village stinks even worse than I remember.

As soon as I reach the main street beyond the bridge, I have to stop for a moment as my nostrils are assailed by the stench of raw, putrid sewage flowing past the side of the road. I would have hoped that the good people of Wyvern might have learned to better look after their homes, but it's clear that nothing much has changed. With no choice but to keep going after my long trek, I make my way across the muddy ground until I reach the Roper's Arms public house, where at least some attempt has been made to wash away the worst swill.

It's as if I was never away. The same sign hangs outside the door, the same drunks are laid out sleeping in the shade, and Cora, the woman who runs the place while her husband drinks himself to death, looks not to have aged a day as she carries a bucket of water out into the yard and tips its contents onto the grass. She turns, then she spots me watching her, and then her face fills with a hint of dread.

“Daniel...” she says after a moment, clearly shocked.

I make my way over to her, trying to avoid the worst patches of muddy ground. “Have these five years treated you well?”

“If you're here for Rosie -”

“I know about Rosie,” I mutter darkly, stepping past her and ducking my head as I enter the public house. “Why else do you think I'm here?”

“There was nothing we could do!” she replies, hurrying after me. “Daniel, please, he just took her...”

“So I understand.” Reaching the bar, I look at the unappealing offerings before letting out a sigh. “Just give me water.”

Hurrying behind the bar, Cora grabs a tankard and fills it from one of the other buckets. “Daniel -”

“You were supposed to look after her,” I mutter.

“And we did!” She sets the tankard down in front of me. “Are you sure you wouldn't like an ale? No charge.”

I glance over at a couple more sleeping, snoring drunks in the corner, before turning back to her. “I don't have time for ale. Not the gut-rotting mixture you serve here, anyway. The last time I drank any of the damn stuff, I felt as if my belly was dying.”

“We looked after Rosie,” she replies defensively. “Don't let anyone tell you different, Daniel, we trained her up and kept her working, and we chased away anyone who came round trying to get under her skirt. There were a lot of people after her, you know. Your sister was a pretty thing, she had no shortage of suitors but we never let them put a finger on her. I even chased one young man away with a broom! I swear, we took good care of her!”

“Then where is she now?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. Part of it, anyway. Stories filtered down to me in London, and finally I set out to see the truth for myself.

“Well...” She pauses. “The thing is, Daniel, your sister was -”

“Taken by a priest hunter,” I reply, interrupting her. “Or a witch hunter, or both, whatever the maniac wants to call himself. Word reached me in London. I walked for seven days to get here. I need the name of the priest hunter who took her, and I need to know where to find him.”

“Oh, Daniel...” She pauses again, with tears in her eyes. “I wouldn't go thinking you can do anything about it. When Nykolas Freeman takes a woman as a suspected witch, they... Well, he always promises to give them a fair trial, but truth be told, no-one ever sees them again. He's about as fair with witches as he is with Catholic priests.”

“Nykolas Freeman,” I mutter. “I've heard that name before.”

“He's well known round these parts. Says he has the order of King James himself to hint down seminary priests wherever he finds them. No-one quite knows when he started looking for witches on top of it all, but he seems to think it's his job to clean up the three counties. They say he only sleeps one hour every night.”

“And where does this man call home?”

“I don't rightly know,” she replies, “but... You've got to believe me, Daniel, we did everything we could. It was about three weeks ago, and I was stood right here with Rosie and I just sent her out with the slop bucket. As it turns out, Freeman and his friends happened to be riding past and they saw her and, I don't know, maybe Rosie looked at him wrong or something, but she caught his attention and he stopped to talk to her. The next thing we all knew, he was saying she was a witch and that he had to take her away to interrogate her. He said something about seeking Satan's mark on her flesh.”

“And you didn't try to stop him?”

“I wouldn't be standing here still breathing if I had. They say Nykolas Freeman doesn't take kindly to being challenged.”

“Witchcraft,” I mutter, barely able to believe what I'm hearing. “Catholic priests, they're real enough, but witches? Does the man really believe in such things?”

“Well...” She pauses, and I can tell that the superstition has reached her too.

“You can't seriously believe that my sister is a witch!” I hiss, downright ready to smack the tankard across the side of her face.

“No!” she replies. “Not Rosie, never! But...” She pauses. “I mean, you hear stories about some of the people who live out past the woods, don't you? Rosie's not a witch, I'd stake my life on that, but...” Her voice trails off, but the meaning of her words is clear. Having spent so long in London, I suppose I'd forgotten just how backward people can be here in the shires.

“At least tell me which way they rode,” I reply, finishing the water and setting the tankard down. “Did they go east, toward Retcham?”

“West.”

“West?” I frown. “What's out there?”

“Like I said, no-one's quite sure where Freeman calls home. I think maybe he doesn't want anyone interfering in his business while he's...”

Again, her voice trails off.

“While he's torturing his victims?” I ask.

“I didn't say that.”

“I've met men like Freeman before,” I mutter, feeling a chill run through my bones. “I know what they do to the women they consider to be witches.” I pause for a moment, unable to keep my mind from straying onto such thoughts. It has been five years since I last saw my sister, and the thought of her being left at the mercy of a man like Freeman is too much to bear. “If he took her to the west,” I add finally, “that must mean he has a place somewhere out there, most likely on the far side of the forest.” I turn to head back outside. “I'll find it.”

“But Daniel -”

I glance back at her.

“Well...” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I mean, it has been three weeks since he took her. That's an awfully long time to think she might still...” Another pause. “Also, they say he burned down the Baxendale house last night, on account of thinking there was a priest holed up there, so... It sounds to me as if he might have concluded any business he had with your sister.”

I know exactly what she's suggesting, even if she won't say the words.

“She's the only family I have left in this world,” I tell her firmly, “and I left her here with you because I thought you'd keep her safe while I was away.”

“Of course, but -”

“And you didn't,” I sneer. “Just be glad I don't have time to take a torch to this whole miserable place.”

“No-one can stand in the way of Nykolas Freeman when he decides he wants someone,” she replies, as I turn and walk out through the door. “No-one's ever gone after him and come back to tell the tale, either.”

“Then I'll be the first,” I mutter as I reach the yard. Somehow, the stench of this village seems to have become even worse in just a few minutes, and I have to wave away several flies as I make my way back toward the road. A nearby drunk, sleeping in a patch of raw sewage, looks up at me and mutters something, but I ignore him. The thought of my sister being dragged away by a man like Nykolas Freeman is enough to chill my bones, but there's no point dwelling on such things. For so long as there's a chance she might still be alive, I cannot rest until I have found her.

And if she is dead, I will make Freeman scream before I kill him.

Chapter Three

Laura

“Trust her to find a way between the walls,” I mutter a few hours later, sitting with Mum on the back porch and looking out at the garden. Night has fallen now and the lights from the house only spread so far, with the garden's other end shrouded in darkness. “I swear to God, she's getting more rat-like with each birthday.”

“She's inquisitive,” Mum replies, sipping at her still-steaming coffee. She turns and looks up at the house. “Still, you're right. She found that secret passage remarkably quickly. Looked like it was carved right into the stone.”

“Don't you think it's creepy that people can fit inside the walls?” I ask, taking a sip of still-too-hot green tea. “I mean, why would someone even build a house like that?”

“Sometimes there are very good reasons to hide,” she replies, still looking up at the windows. “This house is six hundred years old, Laura. Can you imagine how much the world has changed in that time? There's almost never been a period in British history when one group or another wasn't being persecuted. Catholics, Protestants, Irish, gay people, black people, women accused of being witches...” She turns to me with a smile. “You have no idea how lucky you have it, growing up in the twenty-first century.”

“So people actually hid in those gaps?” I ask, feeling a shiver run through my bones. “Great. Thanks for letting me know.” I take another sip of tea as I look out at the dark garden. “For future reference, if something like that crops up again, feel free to lie to me. I don't need to know the truth about all the creepy stuff that might have happened here.”

“You don't want to learn about the history of this part of the country?”

“Uh, not really,” I mutter. “Stuff that happened a few hundred years ago really doesn't seem that relevant right now.”

Taking a deep breath, I watch the darkness for a moment before realizing that Mum is staring at me. I wait for her to look away, before finally turning to her.

“What?” I ask.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Your father.”

I shake my head, before sipping more tea.

“Even Suzie talks about him occasionally,” she continues. “She asks where he is now, and if she'll ever see him again.”

“Suzie's a kid,” I point out. “It's natural for her to ask dumb questions. She's five years old, for God's sake.”

“And you're only sixteen.”

“We talked about Dad while he was sick,” I reply, “and before his funeral, and during his funeral, and after his funeral. We talked about Dad more than enough. It's been six months now, and he's gone. There's no point talking about someone after they're gone, they just...” I pause, trying to work out how to explain it all to her. “They just stop existing, they stop affecting anything, so it's best to just forget all about them. What's the point of constantly remembering a dead person?”

“Laura -”

“I should get to bed,” I add, standing up and heading to the back door. “I'm sure the first night in this creepy old place will be a laugh riot and -” Suddenly I turn as I realize I can hear a sound in the distance, somewhere out beyond the trees. I listen for a moment, but it's already gone.

“You okay?” Mum asks.

“Did you hear a horse?” I reply with a frown.

“A horse?”

“I just...” I pause for a moment, convinced that I briefly heard the sound of someone riding a horse not far from here. I wait, but whatever it was – if it was there at all – it's gone now. “I guess it was nothing,” I mutter, turning and heading inside before Mum can start talking about Dad again. “I need to brush my teeth and get some sleep. After all, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I'd rather focus on that instead of talking about the past all the time.”

***

Opening my eyes suddenly, I stare up at the dark ceiling and for a few seconds I have no idea where I am. I blink a couple of times, aware of a sense of disorientation, and then I sit up only to see the lead-lattice window near my bed. As I watch moonlit trees gently swaying outside in the breeze, everything comes flooding back to me.

Oh yeah.

Right.

Mum moved us to some ancient house in the middle of nowhere.

Sighing, I switch on the lamp by my bed and look around at the bare room. With only a few essential items having come with us in the car, I have almost none of my stuff yet, and the almost-empty room feels cold and unforgiving. It doesn't help, of course, that every time I look at one of the walls I find myself imagining a narrow space behind them. I'm not exactly the easily-spooked type, but still, six hundred years is plenty of time for a house to pick up some serious history, and I can't help but notice that one section of my bedroom wall is made of the old stones that were part of the original house. Telling myself that the last thing I need is to let my imagination run wild, I switch off the lamp and settle back down on the bed, ready to get back to sleep.

It takes a moment, but finally I'm able to get comfortable.

And that's when I realize that I need to pee.

“Please no,” I mutter, turning onto my side in the hope that I can get to sleep anyway. I manage to drift for a few minutes, but when I change position a little I'm brought back to wakefulness by a little extra pressure on my bladder.

Sighing, I roll onto my other side and close my eyes. There is no way I'm getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, not in this old, cold place. The universe can't be so unfair.

After a couple of minutes, I open my eyes again. My bladder is definitely not going to let this opportunity go, and I'm starting to realize that there's no way I'll manage to sleep like this.

Still, I'm determined to try.

A few minutes later, sighing, I pull the duvet aside and climb out of bed, immediately feeling the cold wooden floor against my bare feet.

“I hate you,” I mutter out loud, letting my bladder know that I'm annoyed as I hurry over to the door and then out into the dark corridor. I have no idea where I'll find a light switch, so I simply fumble my way through the shadows until I almost walk straight into the wall. Turning, I feel my way carefully toward the far end of the landing.

Heading to the bathroom door, I push it open and step inside, only to find myself in a small cupboard.

“Great,” I sigh, stepping out and trying the next door, which mercifully turns out to be the bathroom.

A few minutes later, once everything is taken care of and my bladder has got its way, I step back out onto the landing and head toward my room, but after a moment I stop and look down the stairs. A patch of moonlight is shining through the windows on either side of the front door, illuminating the patterned tiles on the floor. I take a moment to enjoy the sound of silence, and to be honest there's a part of me that's starting to maybe appreciate the idea of being away from London. After all, the air out here is surprisingly fresh and clear, and it's nice not to have to zone out the sounds of planes passing overhead and trains rattling over nearby bridges. Maybe, just maybe, I can get used to this.

I mean, okay, I'm away from all my friends, and I have to start a new school, and there are no shopping malls nearby, but this move is important to Mum and I guess I don't want to become one of those bratty teenagers who make a mess of everything. Stopping next to another of the doors, I'm about to push it open when I realize that it's the wrong room. I turn, before hearing a faint sniffing sound from nearby, and after a moment I realize that Mum's crying. My heart immediately feels like it's about to break, and I want to go in and comfort her, but I guess she wouldn't exactly thank me.

I turn to head back to my room.

Before I can take another step, however, I hear a slow creaking sound from downstairs, culminating in a gentle bump, as if a door has swung open.

I freeze, waiting for some hint that Suzie might be down there, but silence has returned. I can see that the front door is still shut, and the back door has loose window panes that rattle whenever it's opened, so the door that opened just now has to have been in some other part of the house.

I wait.

This is dumb.

I need to nip this stuff in the bud right now.

Taking a couple more steps back toward my room, I'm about to go inside when I hear another gentle bump from downstairs. I turn and look down at the hallway, but there's still no sign of anything.

“Suzie?” I whisper, although I know there's no way she'd be able to hear me from up here.

I want to go back to bed, but at the same time I know that I also need to see what caused the bump, so it doesn't start freaking me out. First night in an old house and I'm already starting to hear strange creaks? That's exactly the kind of thing that can set root in someone's mind and make them get seriously freaked out. Most likely, there's a loose door somewhere downstairs, and it'd be far better if I just go down and take a look, so that I can put all the other, more lurid ideas out of my head. After all, the burglar alarm hasn't gone off, so it's not like there can be an intruder.

I take a deep breath.

Face your fears, Laura, I tell myself. There's nothing down there.

Still cursing my bladder for waking me in the first place, I head to the top of the stairs and then I make my way down to the hallway. The floorboards are cold to the touch, but as I make my way through to the kitchen I'm already feeling better now that I'm facing my fears. If I'd gone back to bed, I'd just be listening out for more bumps and imagining ghosts, whereas this way I can see for myself that there's nothing here.

“Suzie?” I whisper, just in case my sister turns out to be down here. The last thing I need is to suddenly bump into her in the dark, but as I make my way across the kitchen I can see full well that there's no-one else here. While I'm down here, I head to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, and I can't help but smile as I realize that I've allowed myself to get well and truly spooked. Any more nights like this, and I'll start getting cats leaping out at me from shelves and wind chimes ringing in the doorways. Once I'm finished with the glass of water, I turn and make my way back to the hallway.

After just a couple of paces, I feel a sudden snapping sensation beneath my right foot, as one of the floorboards gives way. Unable to react in time, I topple forward and land hard against the floor, letting out a gasp of pain as I feel my ankle twisting like a bitch.

“Damn it!” I hiss, inching back and pulling my bare foot out of the hole. The broken wood has cut my flesh a little, and the pain from the twisted ankle is throbbing and annoying. For a moment, I sit in frustration, rubbing my foot in an attempt to get it to stop hurting.

Sighing, I look down at the hole in the floor.

And then I see it.

Barely visible in the darkness at the bottom of the hole, something gray is glinting in the low light. I lean closer, telling myself that it must just be a section of stone, but a better view only confirms my fears.

It's a hand.

Or what's left of one, anyway. A real, skeletal human hand.

I get to my feet, filled with the urge to scream but telling myself not to be a wuss. Instead, trying to ignore the pain in my right ankle, I turn and limp toward the hallway, determined to wake Mum and tell her that -

Suddenly I hear footsteps nearby, racing closer, and I turn just in time to see a figure running up onto the porch and banging hard against the door, rattling the whole goddamn thing in its frame.

“Let me in!” he shouts, his voice filled with fear. “The king's men are after me!”

Chapter Four

Daniel

“Don't lie to me!” I shout, pushing the wretched fool's head back into the mud and holding him down as he struggles. Although I'd be happy enough to let the miserable worm drown, I know I can still get information from him so, after a moment, I pull him back up and wipe the worst of the mud from around his stubbly mouth.

“I don't know anything!” he gasps. “I swear!”

“You were seen, Richard,” I continue. “I've been told you were among the men who accompanied Freeman and Connaught to the Baxendale house two nights ago. Let me guess, did Connaught hire you as one of his laborers?”

“He just wanted help looking for a priest hole,” Richard replies, before spitting out more mud. “It was an honest job for honest pay.”

“So nothing untoward occurred? Nothing that would make a good man turn away?”

“There...” He pauses for a moment, still trying to get free of my grip as I hold his face close down toward the muddy riverbank. “I swear, I didn't know how it was going to end up. Connaught's a good man, he didn't know either, but Freeman...”

“What did he do?”

“He slaughtered them,” he stammers. “The Baxendale family, all three of them, he cut off their heads. Even the child.”

“I've heard as much about him before,” I mutter. “They say he thrives on a reputation of cruelty.”

“That was the only time I've ever worked with Connaught, and I'm not doing it again!”

“I don't care what you do,” I tell him. “All I care about is finding Freeman so I can get my sister back. Don't claim you can't help me, man, or this time I'll keep your head down until your miserable body falls still.”

“I can't help you! I didn't even look Freeman in the eye that night, I didn't dare! You know what they say about him, he can take a sudden dislike to a man and the next thing you know, there's blood everywhere.” He tries to turn and look up at me, but I have too strong a grip on the back of his neck. “You're a madman if you're thinking of hunting him down. Whatever he's done to you, just leave it be and thank the Lord you escaped with your life. Walk away, like everyone else!”

“It's not my life I'm worried about,” I reply. “It's my sister's.”

With that, I shove his face back down into the mud. He tries desperately to get free, but this time I genuinely consider drowning the wretch. After all, he's known as a petty thief in these parts, even turning to violence when he's drunk, and no-one would miss him. At the same time, I have never killed a man except in self-defense, so finally I pull him back up and shove him away. No doubt someone else will have cause to cut his throat before too long.

“If you happen to run into Freeman again,” I say firmly, “tell him that Daniel Hodges is looking for him. Tell him I want my sister Rosie back, and that I won't stop until I have her.”

“Do you seriously think I ever want to see Freeman again,” Richard asks, sitting up, “or that I'd dare speak to him if I did? No matter what you think of me, there are some things I don't want to be involved with. Dark things, acts that...” He pauses for a moment. “They say Freeman had a camp at the edge of Welland Forest a couple of weeks ago. Just a temporary thing for a night or two, but I've heard stories of the...”

I wait for him to finish, but he seems almost scared to continue.

“You heard stories of what?” I ask, reaching for my sword.

“Screams,” he replies, watching my hand carefully, clearly ready to run. “They say women were heard screaming late one night, and... Do you know the patch of land where the forest meets the old Kentish road?”

“Near the chalk plain?”

He nods. “That's where they say he had a camp. It was a couple of weeks back, mind, but it's the only thing I know that might help you.”

Taking my hand away from the hilt of my sword, I look along the riverbank and contemplate the long walk to the spot he describes. “If I have reason to believe you're lying to me,” I say finally, turning back to Richard, “I'll find you and slit your throat. The same is true of any man who wastes my time right now. As much as I hate to even look at you for a moment longer, I need you to show me the exact spot where Freeman is said to have set up camp.”

“But -”

“Walk with me,” I say firmly, stepping toward him and drawing my sword from its sheath, “or I'll kill you here and now.”

***

“See?” he says a few hours later, as he kicks some burned wood in a clearing at the edge of the forest, “I told you there was a camp here!”

“Obviously he's long gone,” I mutter, looking around but seeing no other signs of recent activity. “If he set up here for even one night, it must mean he has nowhere else to stay in the area. I'd hoped he might have a dwelling nearby, so that I could more easily track him down.”

“If he lives anywhere between Wyvern, Rencham and Mollingstain, then I'd be surprised. People would be talking about it.”

I use the tip of my sword to poke through the remains of the fire. The thought of Nykolas Freeman sitting here, warming himself on a cold night, turns my stomach. Even if I won't admit as much to anyone, I know deep down that the odds of finding Rosie alive are slim, and that a man like Freeman would most likely torture her for a day or two and then end her life. Still, I want to believe that I would have sensed my sister's death in some way, and as I look across the valley and see the sun starting to dip in the late afternoon sky, I tell myself that she's still out there somewhere.

And I will find her. As God is my witness -

Suddenly I feel a heavy blow to the back of the head, knocking me forward until I stumble and drop to my knees. I instinctively reach for my sword, only for Richard to kick me in the side of the head and send me sprawling down into the ashes left behind by the fire. A moment later, I feel my sword being pulled away and I look up just in time to see Richard standing over me with the blade held high.

“What are you doing, man?” I sneer.

“I reckon there'll be a reward for your head,” he replies, raising the sword even higher, as if he's getting ready to bring it down against me. “They say Freeman offers good rewards for anyone who shows loyalty. If I tell him what you were planning to do, maybe he'll give me a proper job.”

“You want to work for that monster?” I ask, shocked that even Richard Mauley – always a foul and decrepit man – would sink quite so low.

“A job's a job,” he continues, taking a step to one side, as if he's trying to get a better angle on me. The man is obviously not accustomed to wielding such a weapon. “Maybe he's got another house needs taking apart, or another family that needs dragging out. I was one of the men who shoved the Baxendales' bodies onto the fire at the end. Good honest pay for good honest work. I know he's originally from a village nearby called Offingham, so I reckon if I ask around there, I'll find him soon enough.”

“There's nothing good or honest about what Freeman does,” I tell him. “He's a murderer!”

“He has the authority of King James,” he points out. “The Lord's, too.”

“The king, perhaps,” I reply, watching the sword carefully, ready for him to strike,” but not God. I refuse to believe that God wants a man like Nykolas Freeman to be on the loose.”

“Gotta get rid of those Catholics, though,” he continues. “Witches, too. If your sister was -”

“My sister is not a witch!” I shout. “My sister is -”

Before I can get another word out, Richard swings the blade at me. I roll out of the way and get to my feet, turning to see that the wretch is struggling to pull the blade out from the mud. Stepping closer, I grab him by the throat and pull him away before sending him crashing to the ground. I grab my sword and turn to see Richard already staggering up, so I take a step forward and slice the blade straight into his belly and out through his back. His eyes widen with shock and he reaches down to stop me, but it's too late. Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I slowly pull the sword out and then step aside as he drops to the ground, clutching his wound.

“Never try to attack an honest man with his own weapon,” I mutter firmly, using my foot to roll him onto his back. “Do you know the worst thing, Richard? I was actually going to let you live. What kind of a fool does that make me?”

He tries to reply, but all that emerges from his mouth is a torrent of blood.

“I only kill in defense,” I tell him, “but now that you're dying anyway, I'll at least finish you off with mercy. Not that you deserve any, but still...”

He reaches up and tries to stop me, but I quickly slice the edge of my sword across his neck, cutting his leathery throat. Stepping back, I watch as blood sprays from the wound. He's still trying to call out, but he's done for now and he slumps down, his whole body twitching and he gulps for air. Turning away, I head to another patch of mud and dip my sword deep, in order to get at least some of the blood off. When I turn back to look at Richard, he has finally fallen still, and his glassy eyes stare up at the slate gray sky.

Chapter Five

Laura

“Take Jessica upstairs!” a man's voice hisses, hurrying through to the kitchen.

Wide-eyed with shock, I step back against the wall, barely even aware of the pain in my right ankle. I watch in horror as the man heads to the door and pulls the latch open, and as soon as he opens the door, the other man hurries in and then pushes the door shut as if he's filled with panic.

“This is a dream,” I whisper, “it has to be.” Slowly, the smell of Mum's potpourri is starting to be replaced by a strong whiff of pure lavender.

“Are you Henry Baxendale?” the breathless man asks, still looking out the window as if he expects to see someone approaching across the dark lawn at any moment.

“This is my home,” the other man replies, lighting some candles nearby. “What are you doing knocking at such an ungodly hour?”

“My name is Darian Kinner,” the first man tells him. “I was told by a mutual friend to come here. I believe you know Sir Henry Callins?”

“Callins?” The other man, Baxendale, seems shocked to hear mention of that name. “Aye, I know him. We've had cause to...” He pauses, clearly cautious. “It's rare for him to send a man to visit me in the middle of the night, though.”

“He gave me this,” Kinner replies, holding out a letter. “It's sealed with his credentials.”

“Who are you?” I call out, before turning and seeing that the old, broken fitted kitchen that was here when we moved in has suddenly vanished, replaced by a set of bare wooden benches. I glance around and see that everything seems slightly different, as if the house has undergone an instant transformation. “Mum!” I shout, looking up toward the ceiling. “Mum! Wake up!”

“Henry?” a female voice calls out from the hallway.

“Go back to bed!” Baxendale shouts, hurrying to the door just as the woman comes through. “Make sure that Jessica is settled. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Who's here?” the woman asks.

“I'll tell you in the morning,” Baxendale replies, ushering the woman back out of the room, leading her toward the stairs. “For now you must stay in bed while I deal with it all.”

While they're out of the room, the other man, this Darian Kinner guy, limps toward me, although as he passes it's almost as if he hasn't even noticed my presence. I watch as he eases himself onto a chair, and then I realize that he's bleeding from a wound on his left thigh. He reaches down and winces as he starts examining the wound, with blood dripping down onto the floor.

“Who are you?” I ask again. “What are you doing in our house?”

He ignores me, focusing instead on dealing with his injury.

“Who are you?” I shout, looking around for something I can use to defend myself. “Mum!” I scream. “There are people in our house!”

“What did Sir Henry tell you?” Baxendale asks suddenly, hurrying back through and stepping past me as he goes over to attend to Darian.

“He told me I could find safety here,” Darian replies, moving his hands aside so that the other man can see his wound. “He told me I'd find like-minded people who would let me stay, just for a night or two. The king's men are less than five miles from here and they're on the lookout for a priest. If they find me, they'll take me and -”

“I know what they'll do,” Baxendale replies, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid and pulling out the cork. “This will hurt, but it should make the flesh cleaner.” Without hesitation, he pours some of the liquid onto Darian's wound, causing the other man to cry out for a moment. “There,” Baxendale adds, setting the bottle aside, “my wife will be able to tend to this injury more closely. She has experience when it comes to patching men up after they've been injured in such a way.”

“It's Freeman,” Darian continues, grimacing with pain. “I saw him myself. It's Nykolas Freeman on my trail. I can't lie to you, the risk is great.”

“Freeman?” The name seems to strike fear into Baxendale as he turns and looks toward the door. “It has been a long time since that beast was in the area. I had hoped he might never return.”

Stepping around them both, I hurry to the dark hallway. Everything seems different, and as I make my way up the stairs I spot several unfamiliar paintings on the walls, paintings I swear weren't there earlier. Even the stairs themselves are different, although the wall's stone sections are in the same place. I hurry to Mum's bedroom and burst through the door, only to see that her double bed is gone, replaced by a smaller bed. Before I can react, a figure sits up on the bed, and whoever she is, she looks to be about the same age as my sister.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“I -” Pausing, I realize that unlike the two men in the kitchen, this girl can apparently see me just fine. “I'm dreaming,” I stammer finally. “I fell and hit my head, or -” Looking down at my ankle, I realize that in my panic I barely even noticed the pain; it's still there, though, which means I probably didn't imagine the part when I tripped in the kitchen. Everything after that must have been some kind of hallucination, however, which means I'm probably unconscious on the floor down there right now.

“Are you one of them?” the girl asks.

I stare at her. “One of who? Where's my mother?”

“Your mother?” The girl pauses. “I don't know. Did you bring her with you?”

Before I can answer, another woman hurries past me and makes her way over to the bed.

“Jessica,” the woman says, pressing the girl's chest to force her back down, “you must go to sleep. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Who's the woman at the door?” the girl asks.

“Woman? I don't know of any woman. There's a visitor, but your father is taking care of him.”

“But who's the woman?”

“There's no woman, Jessica. Now go to sleep and everything will be okay in the morning. Please don't trouble me with any other questions right now.”

The woman kisses the girl on the side of the face before getting to her feet and hurrying past me, heading back out of the room. I turn and watch as she makes her way down the stairs, no doubt going to the kitchen. After pausing for a moment, I glance back at the bed, only to see that the little girl is once again sitting up. We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and I'm just about able to make out her eyes in the moonlight.

“Who are you?” she asks finally.

“I...” For a few seconds, I genuinely have no idea what to say. I figure I must have suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury; hell, at this very moment I could be bleeding to death on the kitchen floor, and this whole situation might be some kind of final, dying illusion caused by thousands of misfiring neurons. “I'm Laura,” I manage to stammer. “I'm... I... I'm Laura. This is my mother's house.”

“This house belongs to my father,” the girl replies, “he -”

She stops as we both hear voices drifting up from the kitchen.

“This is my mother's house,” I say firmly, “and you... You're just some kind of freaky kid invented by my subconscious mind.” Reaching up, I run my hands over my head, searching for some sign of an injury, but there's nothing. I guess the only possibility is that I'm too deep in this hallucination to be able to make contact with my real body. “What if I'm dying?” I ask finally. “What if no-one finds me until the morning?”

“Are you hurt?” the girl asks, climbing out of bed and taking a step toward me.

“Keep back!” I shout, stepping out onto the landing.

“What's wrong?” the girl continues, stepping closer. “You're perfectly safe here. Father takes in people from the road sometimes, so long as he's sure they can be trusted.” She pauses, staring at me for a moment. “Are you running from the king's men too?”

“The who?”

“The king's men. Are you a witch? Is that what's wrong?”

“A witch?” I stare at her for a moment, shocked by the suggestion. “No, I'm not a witch! I'm a normal girl who fell over and bashed her head open! I mean, that has to be it, right? That's the only explanation!” Reaching up, I feel for a pulse around my neck, and after a moment I realize my heart is pounding. “Okay,” I mutter, “that's good. Unless I'm imagining it, in which case it might be bad. There's no way to tell.”

“Are you going to hide here?” the girl asks.

“Hide where?”

“In the house,” she continues. “Sometimes Father has guests who have to hide. Other men come looking for them, but they never find them.”

“I'm not hiding,” I mutter, turning and heading to the top of the stairs. “I've been living in the countryside for less than a day and I'm already losing my mind! I have to figure out a way to wake up!”

“You are awake, silly,” the girl replies.

“No,” I continue, “I'm dreaming, which means you're just a part of me, which means I'm talking to myself, which means...” Trying not to panic, I reach down and pinch my arm; it hurts, but I don't feel as if I'm about to wake up so I squeeze harder and harder, finally wincing until I feel the nail of my thumb slicing through my flesh. “How do I do it?” I stammer, letting go and turning to look at the girl. “How do I wake up out of this? How do I -”

Hearing voices from downstairs, I look down at the hallway just in time to see Baxendale and his wife hurrying through, with the Darian Kinner guy right behind them. All three are carrying candles to light their way, but they stop at the foot of the stairs as if they're not sure which way to go next.

“Jessica!” the woman calls up. “What are you doing awake? Go back to bed!”

“But Mother -”

“Who were you talking to?”

“The girl who came into my room,” she replies cautiously, glancing at me. “I didn't catch your name.”

“There's no girl,” the woman snaps. “Jessica, go to bed and don't get up until I tell you it's okay!”

Jessica stares at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why can't they see you?”

“Go to your room!” the woman shouts.

Turning, Jessica hurries back to her room, but she glances at me one more time before she goes in. “Are you a ghost?” she whispers.

“Am I a ghost?” I ask, shocked as she disappears through the dark doorway. A moment later, I hear someone knocking on the front door downstairs. Turning, I see Darian Kinner being ushered through into another room, while Baxendale waits a few seconds before going to answer the door.

“I'm sorry to disturb you so late,” says the man on the porch outside, holding his hat in his hands, “but a fugitive priest has been spotted in this area, and we're checking all the houses nearby to see if people heard anything unusual.”

“I heard nothing,” Baxendale tells him. “I was just up with my daughter, she has been sleeping badly of late.”

The man peers past him, as if he's a little suspicious, but he seems not to notice me up here at the top of the stairs.

“You are welcome to search my land,” Baxendale continues, “but I doubt a fugitive of any sort would linger long. He's probably well on his way by now.”

“I'm sure he is,” the man replies, “just... Captain Freeman himself is taking a very personal interest in this particular man. If anyone in the locality is thinking of hiding the priest, they'd be risking their lives and the lives of everyone around them.”

“I understand the penalties for -”

“This would not be the priest to hide,” the man adds firmly, as if he's trying to force home his point. “Seriously, Mr. Baxendale, I dare say Freeman will rip apart any house he even suspects of hiding this priest. Even if a man felt compelled to protect fleeing seminary priests in general, on this occasion I would strongly advise him to -”

“I understand,” Baxendale replies, “but I can assure you, I'm not a man who hides priests. I wish you luck on your search, but every second you spend on my doorstep is a second wasted. Good night, Mr. Rowlings.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushes the door shut before turning and sighing. He stands for a moment, his pained and worried face lit by the candle's flickering glow, before taking a few steps forward. For a couple of seconds, I feel as if he might look up the stairs and see me, but finally he turns and heads through to the next room and I hear hushed voices talking with a degree of urgency. Figuring that I don't know what else to do, I start making my way down the stairs.

“Father will hide the priest,” Jessica says suddenly.

Turning, I find that she has silently come out of her room and is standing right behind me.

“He will,” she continues, her eyes filled with a hint of fear that seems too old for her face. “He's done it before. Once some men came and searched the place from top to bottom. They found nothing, but the priest was hidden away in his hole and he left after the men had been here. I was scared, but Father told me it'd be okay and he was right.” She looks down to the hallway as voices continue to argue in one of the other rooms. “I'm scared, though,” she adds. “If they ever found a priest hiding in the house, I think they'd hurt Father.”

I want to tell her not to worry, but this whole situation is so surreal, all I can think about is that I have to find a way to wake up. Without saying anything, I turn and hurry down the stairs and then through to the front room, where Baxendale and his wife are discussing the situation with the priest.

“I cannot put your family in danger,” Darian tells them. “Clearly they suspect you, and Freeman is not a man to be dared. He has killed whole families in the past simply because he has an inkling that they might have thought ill of him. The man is dangerous and out of control, but no-one dares stop him, not while he carries the authority of the king. I cannot do anything that risks luring him here, I shall move on and -”

“Nonsense,” Baxendale says firmly. “Freeman's men are all over the countryside, you wouldn't get far. We can hide you here for a few days until the cry has died down. It's safer that way.”

“They'll be back at your door first,” the priest replies.

“Some of the locals have suspected me for years of being a Catholic sympathizer. They would never dare accuse me directly. Even Freeman isn't so brave.”

“Freeman is cruel beyond measure,” Darian tells him, his eyes filled with fear. “He has always had a reputation for harshness, but lately they say he has become even more dangerous, as if no degree of pain or cruelty is enough for -” He stops suddenly, staring straight ahead, before starting to look around the room. “Do you feel that?” he whispers with a frown.

“Feel what?” Baxendale asks.

“A presence,” Darian continues, clearly concerned. “Tell me, are there said to be ghosts in your house?”

“Ghosts?” Baxendale frowns. “There is nothing like that here. You are mistaken.”

Darian turns and looks back toward the door, but for a moment I feel as if he's about to look me in the eye. He clearly senses that something is wrong.

I turn to hide, but before I can take another step I feel a rush of hot blood in my nose and the world starts spinning. I grab hold of the door-frame, only to sink to my knees as a sudden, throbbing sense of dizziness bursts into my head. Finally, even though I hear voices shouting all around, I'm forced to settle onto the floor and roll to my side. For a few seconds, it's as if the air itself is shuddering and vibrating, shimmering against my skin as a wave of nausea crashes through my body, until I feel my thoughts slipping away, leaving nothing but darkness and silence.

***

“She'll be fine,” Mum's voice says suddenly. “Look, she's already -”

Sitting up suddenly, I feel a shudder pass through my body, like a kind of backward electric shock, and then I sit in silence for a moment before realizing I'm not breathing. It takes a moment before I can take a deep, snatched breath, and then I turn to see Mum and Suzie sitting nearby, staring at me. Slowly, the smell of Mum's potpourri comes back to me, replacing the lavender that seemed to fill the house during my dream.

“See?” Mum says with a concerned smile, putting a hand on Suzie's shoulder. “I told you.”

“What happened?” I ask, stumbling to my feet but immediately feeling a sharp pain in my ankle. Wincing, I grab the counter-top to steady myself, at which point I realize that the kitchen is back to normal. To my surprise morning has also arrived, with low, gray light streaming through the large window on the far side of the room. “Where are they?” I whisper, looking around. “Did you hear them?”

“Hear who?” Mum replies. “Honey, how long have you been down here? Suzie got up this morning and found you on the floor. Did you hit your head?”

Reaching up, I feel for a bruise but there's nothing. After a moment, I look down at the broken floorboard.

“A hand,” I stammer. “There's a hand in there!”

Before Mum can reply, I limp across the room and get down on my knees, ignoring my pained ankle as I lean down and peer through the broken board. This time, however, there's no sign of the skeletal hand, not even when I lean further and reach through, running my fingers through the brick-dust and dirt down in the hole. Sitting up, I pause for a moment, still trying to make sense of everything that happened as I stare at the wall right in front of my face. I've had vivid dreams before, of course, but never one that felt quite so sustained or detailed.

Or real.

It all felt so real. Even the smells.

“Laura?” Mum says after a moment. “Are you okay? Maybe we should get you checked by a doctor, just in case.”

“I'm fine,” I mutter, turning to her, “but... We need to take this wall down. I think there's a dead body behind it.”

Chapter Six

Daniel

As soon as I reach Offingham, I'm struck by an overwhelming sense of fear in the air. The main street is almost deserted, with locals scurrying as quickly as they can manage from door to door, as if they hate to be seen outside. I pass the house of the local bondsman, its windows covered by thick metal bars, and then I spy a building that I initially take to be the jail, only to find as I get closer that it is in fact a public house, The Offingham Arms. Stopping next to the well at the crossroads, I find that the bucket is broken and that no-one has thought to get it repaired. The whole village seems to be dying.

After a moment, I hear someone nearby. I turn just in time to see a woman stepping back into the doorway of her home, as if she doesn't want to be spotted.

“I'm looking for Nykolas Freeman!” I call out, turning to see if anyone might be watching me from the windows. “I heard he's from this area! Tell me where I can find him and I'll be on my way. I mean no harm to any of you good people!”

I wait, but the only sound is an occasional click from some of the doors, as one by one the locals turn their locks. Spotting movement nearby, I turn just in time to see someone pulling back from a dusty window, and a moment later a set of curtains is drawn. For the most part, the town is unbearably quiet, as if fear itself fills the air and has driven all the people from sight.

They're terrified.

Taking hold of the broken bucket, I attach it to the rope and then start lowering it down the well, thinking to at least get a few drops of water. A few seconds later, however, I feel and hear the bucket hitting the bottom of the shaft, scraping against its dry surface. I let go of the rope, filled with the sense that I was wrong a moment ago; this village isn't dying, it's dead already, and everything around me seems to be rotting. As if to confirm that feeling, when I turn and look over at one of the nearby houses, I spot a cat scurrying from one patch of shade to the next; when it sees me, the animal hisses as if it views me as a threat and then it runs from sight.

High up on the roof of the public house, a crow is watching the scene.

“He's not here!” a voice hisses suddenly.

Turning, I see a man standing in one of the doorways a little further along. He seems tense and scared, and after a moment he glances along the street as if he's worried about being seen.

“Sir,” I start to say, heading over to him, “if you -”

“He's not here!” he says again, stepping back and pushing his door shut. “Keep walking, stranger!”

“Wait!” I put my foot in the way just in time to keep the door open, and then I force my way into the hallway of the man's home. He tries to push me out, before stepping back with fear in his eyes as I look around. “Where can I find Nykolas Freeman?” I ask. “My business is with him, not with any of you good people, so just tell me where he is. What's wrong, does no-one here want to see that the man faces justice?”

“He's not here!” he tells me, his voice filled with a sense of urgent fear. He glances back across the darkened room, to where a woman and a child are cowering in the corner. “It's okay,” he tells them. “It's just someone looking for Freeman. He'll be gone soon enough.”

“This is his home village, is it not?” I ask.

“Not any more!” the man replies, turning to me. “He has not called Offingham his home for a long time now. He never even comes here, I swear! It must be fully five years since he set foot on these streets.”

“And still you fear him?”

In the corner, the little girl has begun to cry, burying her face against her mother's belly.

“There's nothing here to take his interest,” the man tells me. “We're very careful to ensure that he never has reason to come here, the last time...” He pauses, glancing at the door as if he expects someone to burst through at any moment. “We're good people here. We don't tolerate Catholics or witches or anything like that, we support King James, we do everything we're supposed to do!” He turns back to me. “Please, if you have business with Freeman, take it elsewhere. Whatever you do, don't even remind him that this place exists.”

“How can one man have struck such fear into the hearts of an entire village?” I ask, scarcely able to believe the way these people are acting. “He is just one man. How many of you are there? A hundred? Two? How can you let one man dominate your lives this way, especially when by your own word he hasn't been here for so long?”

“But he could come,” the man stammers, his fear clearly building. “He could return at any moment.”

“Don't listen,” the woman says in the corner, putting her hands over the child's ears. “It's not true. Freeman will never come here again.”

“Not if he wants to live,” I mutter. “Don't worry, you'll soon hear word that his life is over, and then you can go back to -”

Before I can finish the sentence, I hear a scream outside. Hurrying to the door, I look both ways along the street, but there's no sign of anyone, even as the scream continues. Stepping out and past the well, I realize that the scream is coming from one of the houses opposite, and it sounds as if a young boy is in desperate, enduring pain.

Yet still no-one reacts.

All the doors remain shut, and no-one comes to any of the windows. It's almost as if the people of this village are used to such a sound, as if even the agony of a fellow human being is not enough to stir them.

“He's awake,” says the man to whom I was speaking a moment ago, as he comes to stand next to me. “I don't...” He pauses, before turning to me. “You seem like a good man. A kind man. You can't possibly hunt down Freeman, but before you leave, would you be willing to perform one small act of kindness?”

“What is wrong with this place?” I ask, as the child's scream continues. “If a boy is in danger, why does no-one react?”

“That's just the point,” the man replies. “Would you... We'll pay you, if necessary, but please... You have to kill the child for us.”

Chapter Seven

Laura

“And there we go,” Joe says, pulling the final board away and then coughing as a swirl of brick-dust fills briefly fills the air. “Still no body.”

“There has to be,” I reply, climbing off the stool and limping over. Pushing past him, I lean through the hole in the wall and use my phone's torch app to light the narrow, cramped space hidden between the walls, but he's right.

There's nothing in here.

“Where the hell did it go?” I whisper.

“Thank you so much for coming out at short notice,” Mum says, clearly convinced that this is the end of it all. “It's good to know there's a carpenter in the area who can be here so quickly.”

“I'm not only the local carpenter,” Joe replies behind me, as I continue to shine a light around the narrow space, “I'm also the plumber, the electrician, the gardener, the dog-groomer and the general handyman. It pays to diversify around here.”

“What's in here?” Suzie asks, joining me to peer into the gap as Mum and Joe continue to talk. “Did you really see a skeleton's hand under the floor?”

“I thought it was poking out from here,” I mutter, looking down at the bottom of the passage before turning to her. There's definitely enough room in here for someone to fit, even if the space is empty right now. “When you found me, was there anything in that hole on the floor? Did you look?”

“I don't know,” she replies.

“Think!” I hiss. “Are you sure you didn't see or hear anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like a hand,” I reply, holding my own hand up, “but with no skin. Just bones.”

“Ew!” she says, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“I'm not mad!” I continue. “Even if everything else was a dream, I know I saw a -”

Suddenly realizing that Mum and Joe have stopped talking, I turn to see that they're listening in on our conversation, and they both have a vaguely amused smile on their faces. I guess I'm starting to seem like a complete lunatic.

“Okay,” Mum says finally, “I think maybe it's time to put the wall back in place.”

I sigh. “But -”

“I indulged you this once,” she continues, coming over and taking my hand before leading me back to the counter. “Plus, you seemed so certain and you'd already got your sister all worked up over the idea of there being a skeleton behind the wall, what choice did I have? But...” She forces a smile as Joe gets to work behind her, setting the wall back into place. “Can you try not to fill your sister's mind with all sorts of crazy ideas? She's so young, she really doesn't know how to separate fantasy and reality.”

“I know what I saw.”

“You were on the floor, in your pajamas, with a nosebleed.” She reaches toward my face and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “We're going to get you checked out by a doctor, just to make sure there's nothing wrong. While we're doing that, Joe's going to fix that rotten floorboard and check the rest to make sure they're safe, and then we're going to get on with our new life here, free of lurid fantasies and creepy stories, okay?”

“But -”

“Okay?”

Seeing Suzie standing nearby, waiting for my answer, I realize that I have to play things cool for her sake. “Okay,” I say finally, figuring that there's no point fighting. As Mum, seemingly relieved, heads over to grab her car keys, I take a step back and then glance down at Joe as he puts the first part of the wall back in place. He turns and smiles at me, but I can tell that he thinks I'm completely insane. Hell, I don't blame him. If I heard someone else saying all these things, I'd write them off as a nutter too.

“Hey,” I whisper, “can I ask you something?”

He glances up at me.

“If I wanted to know about the history of this place,” I continue, “where would I start?”

***

“Well this place is... different,” I mutter, looking out the car's side window as we drive along Offingham's main street. “Seems like a local town for local people.”

She taps my elbow. “Laura! Don't be so rude, this is just an ordinary little place. You're going to have to get used to the slower pace of life now we're not living in London.”

“Can we go there for lunch?” I ask, spotting a pub. “The Offingham Arms. They must do food, right?”

“I don't like it here,” Suzie says from the back seat. “The people here look creepy.”

“She's right,” I add.

Mum sighs as she parks the car in front of the doctor's surgery, next to what looks like some kind of old, boarded-up well. “You both need to be polite and friendly,” she says with a hint of grit in her voice. “This isn't some backwards little place populated by a bunch of country bumpkins. Don't stereotype people?”

“What does stereotype mean?” Suzie asks.

Climbing out of the car, I wince a little as I set my weight on my damaged ankle. Looking around, I can't shake the feeling that this is one of those towns that just gets left to rot. After all, the main street is almost completely deserted, and when I look up at the windows of a nearby house I see the curtains being quickly drawn. Mum's right, I shouldn't stereotype every village in this part of the country, but at the same time the people of Offingham are serving up weirdness on a plate. I can't help wondering if something happened here once, something that left a mark on the people.

Slipping my phone from my pocket, I quickly search online and find a wiki entry about the place.

“Nykolas Freeman,” I mutter, before turning to Mum. “Hey, it says here the only notable thing about Offingham is that some psycho priest hunter was born here.”

“Lovely, dear,” she replies with a force smile as she locks the car. “Please continue to fill your sister's head with such nonsense while we go in for your appointment.”

“It's not nonsense,” I reply, waiting as they head inside. I turn and look along the street, still feeling as if I'm being watched. “It's history.”

***

Although I find it a little hard to believe what he told me earlier, Joe the all-round handyman turns out to have been right. About an hour's walk from the house, along a path that winds through the forest and then along the side of a river, there's a large, overgrown and seemingly-abandoned field that stretches all the way to the main road in the distance. And on one side of that field, nestled back against some trees, there's an old stone church.

Limping carefully to avoid putting too much weight on my right ankle, I make my way across the field, through waist-high weeds, until I reach the wooden fence that runs around the edge of the church's land, marking the transition point from the untamed landscape and the well-maintained cemetery. Seeing no sign of a gate nearby, I climb over the fence, taking extra care with my ankle as I hop down on the other side and start picking a path between the old, moss-covered gravestones that are dotted all around at seemingly random angles.

The whole scene is so beautifully peaceful, I actually think I'm starting to understand why some people prefer the countryside over the city. Away from places like Offingham, at least.

“Hello?” I call out as I reach the door to the church. Trying the handle and fully expecting it to be locked, I'm surprised when the door creaks open. Then again, I guess there's less crime out here in the middle of nowhere. In the city, Mum would never have let me head out and explore alone, but after we left the doctor's surgery she was only too happy to drop me off at a nearby crossroads when I said I wanted to check out the church. Then again, maybe she just wanted to get rid of me for an hour or two...

I limp inside, finding myself in a large, tall open space with stone walls, lit only by the mottled light that falls through a set of three stained-glass windows behind the altar at the far end. There are empty wooden pews on either side and it feels as if no-one has been here for a long time, but as I make my way along the central aisle I can't help feeling as if I'm intruding. Joe told me that there's a woman who keeps the place going even though no-one else has been here for many years, but I almost feel guilty for breathing while I'm here, in case I disturb the air.

Finally I reach the steps that lead to the altar and I stop, wondering whether I'm allowed to go any further. I've never really spent much time in churches and although I usually wouldn't care about the rules, somehow I feel as if I want to be a little respectful.

“Damn it!” a female voice cries out suddenly, from somewhere in the back of the church, accompanied by what sounds like the collapse of a small tower. “Great, now -”

I take a step back, bumping against one of the pews.

The voice falls silent.

I wait.

A moment later, a face pokes out from behind a wall beyond the altar. A middle-aged woman with dark hair and a friendly smile, she quickly dusts herself down.

“Sorry,” she says with a cautious smile, pulling the door shut and hurrying over to meet me. “I just dropped a load of books everywhere. It's going to take me ages to pick them all up, but -” As she reaches me, she holds a hand out for me to shake. “It's not often we get visitors here, I'm usually alone. My name's Kate and I... Well, I do my best to look after the place.”

“I didn't mean to disturb you,” I reply, shaking her hand cautiously. “I was just looking around.”

“There's not much to see,” she points out. “St. Michael's isn't exactly lined up to appear in Songs of Praise, if you know what I mean.”

“I was looking for...” I pause, before realizing that I can probably trust her. “I was told that there are some old records here, covering the history of the parish. A guy named Joe Adams said if I came along, I might be able to take a look through.”

“He did, did he?”

“He said they go back almost a thousand years.”

“Huh. He said that?”

“He...” I pause again, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Well, he said you wouldn't mind.”

She stares at me for a moment, as if she's trying to understand me better. “He said I wouldn't mind? Well...” She looks around, as if she's worried someone else might be here, before turning and heading back toward the door beyond the altar. “You're lucky you caught me in,” she continues, gesturing for me to follow. “Like I said, I don't get to come this way too often, I spend a lot of my time on the road, but I like to drop in at least once a month just to make sure that everything's okay. Not that I'm part of the church, of course. I suppose you could just call me a concerned passerby.”

Following her into the small office, I'm surprised to see that there's paperwork covering several desks, some of it even spilling down onto the floor. Books are piled high too, along with boxes that contain some kind of herb mixture.

“Excuse the mess,” she says, heading to a bookcase in the corner. “Now, what exactly are you after?”

“We just moved into the area,” I tell her. “I want to find out about our new house.”

“Where are you living?”

“It's called Baxendale House. It's a few miles from here.”

I wait for a reply, but she continues to look at the bookshelf for a moment longer before slowly turning to me. “Baxendale House?” she asks cautiously. “Someone finally bought the place, did they?”

“It's cool,” I tell her, feeling as if there's been a subtle shift in her demeanor, “I just... I wanted to find out a few things about it's history.”

She stares at me for a moment, before shaking her head. “No.”

I frown. “Sorry?”

“History's dangerous. You should keep well clear, unless...” She comes back over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, as if she's trying to hold me still while she gets a better look at me. “I suppose...” she whispers, clearly lost in thought. “No, you should definitely keep away from the history of that place. Put it out of your mind and hope that's the end of it all.”

“But -”

“It's an old house,” she continues, leading me back out of the office and then pulling the door shut. “It was built, people lived in it, now you live in it! What else is there to know?”

“I want to know if anything ever happened there,” I reply, feeling distinctly ill-at-ease. “I want to know if there's anything I should know.”

“What do you know so far?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“That's because there's nothing to know.”

“Except...” I pause again. “I know about Henry Baxendale,” I say finally, figuring that I might as well mention the name from my dream in the hope that it gets me somewhere, “and Jessica Baxendale, and... Darian Kinner?”

I wait for a reply, but she's simply staring at me now, as if those names have made her a little uncomfortable. I was hoping that she'd tell me I was crazy, that the names are just nonsense, but somehow I don't think that's her response at all.

“So,” I continue finally, “what really happened up at the house?”

***

“You have to understand that it was a very dark time in this country's history,” Kate says a few minutes later, as she leads me across the cemetery. “Civil war was just a few decades away, and already the early warning signs had started to mount up. Queen Elizabeth had persecuted Catholics mercilessly, and the policy was continued by her successor, James. Other groups were persecuted too, it wasn't just Catholics.”

“Who else?”

She opens the gate and steps out into the field, where weeds are growing waist-high.

“England wasn't a good place to be back then,” she continues, “not if you were a Catholic or... different.”

“The Baxendales were Catholic?” I ask, following her out as he leads me along the edge of the fence, through the weeds.

“Not openly,” she explains. “No-one could be openly Catholic, not in those days. Catholics were being hunted down and executed all across the country. Even after they were dead...” She stops and crouches down, pulling weeds aside next to the fence until she uncovers a small headstone, no more than a couple of feet tall and with no obvious markings. “These poor souls were buried in unmarked graves,” she continues. “Even that was a risk back in the seventeenth century, but the priest here at the time felt that it was better than leaving their bones in the ruins of the house.”

Stepping closer, I feel a shiver run up my spine as I think of the people in my dream.

“Henry, Elizabeth and Jessica Baxendale,” Kate says, turning to look up at me. “By all accounts, among the final victims of one of this country's most infamous priest hunters. Ever heard of a man by the name of Nykolas Freeman?”

“Only briefly.”

“For thirty years, Freeman terrorized several local counties. He'd been authorized by the queen, and then by the king, to hunt down priests, but he took that role beyond the bounds of anyone else. He believed he was charged equally by his country and his god to get rid of every priest and every so-called heretic he could find, but to others he was a dangerous lunatic who killed hundreds of men, women and children. Even for the period, he was unquestionably cruel and vicious.”

“And he killed the Baxendales?” I ask.

“He slaughtered them,” she replies. “In fact, it's said that his display of cruelty that night was so extreme, it's almost as if he knew his reign of terror was close to the end.”

“So he was stopped?”

“The history books don't record his fate with any degree of certainty, but after Freeman left the Baxendale house he was never seen again. Most people believed that a carpenter named Harold Connaught rode after him and killed him somewhere on the road to Birmingham, and then dumped the body so it could never be found. Some, though...” She pauses, before turning and looking back toward the forest. “You won't find it in any history books, but the smart money is on Freeman having finally been tracked down by someone he'd wronged. Not that it did much good, the country still drifted toward barbarity, cruelty and ultimately war. Nykolas Freeman was a symptom of his times, not the cause.” She pauses again, before forcing a smile and getting to her feet, letting the weeds reclaim the Baxendales' headstone. “Some even think Freeman still...”

Her voice trails off.

“Well,” she adds finally, “never mind that, although...” She eyes me with caution for a moment. “You look familiar. I almost feel as if we've met before.”

“I doubt it,” I tell her, even though my dream from last night is making me feel distinctly uneasy. “I'm new here.”

“Of course you are,” she replies, “although... You're so lucky, you know. You have no idea what it was like back then, living at a time when savagery and barbarity could come knocking on the door at any moment. You don't know the feeling of having people out there who want you dead, who are actively hunting you down so they torture you and kill you in the most painful, humiliating manner possible. You don't...” She pauses again, eying me with a hint of sadness. “You do look so familiar, though,” she whispers. “I hope I'm wrong about that.”

I smile uneasily, even though this Kate woman is staring to freak me out a little. “Well, it's all in the past,” I point out. Turning, I look toward the forest. “It was all, like, four hundred years ago. I'm not saying we should forget it, but at least we can move on, right?”

I wait for an answer, before turning to her.

She's gone.

Looking around, I try to work out which way she went, but there's no sign of her at all. Figuring that she must have quickly and quietly slipped back into the church, I decide against going after her; after all, something about Kate made me feel distinctly uneasy, so I figure I should just get home before any more of the local craziness manages to seep into my thoughts.

Chapter Eight

Daniel

By the time I reach the door to the child's room, his screams are almost unbearable. I swear, the wood is almost vibrating with the force of his agony.

“He is eleven years old,” explains the man, one of several members of the household who have followed me up the stairs. “As a newborn, he was torn from his mother's breast. She had attracted Freeman's attention, which is always fatal, and the monster chose to make the child watch while he...”

His voice trails off, and I turn to him. “While he tortured and killed the mother?”

“She was my sister,” he continues, with tears in his eyes. “It's said her screams could be heard for miles around, even... Well some say they heard her crying out even after she'd died. Eventually Freeman rode back this way and deposited the child in my wife's arms. He told her we should be grateful, he said he'd shown the child the true nature of its mother's perversion and that as godly people we should have no trouble raising the boy properly.” He pauses, his face twitching a little as if the continued screams have induced some kind of permanent physical nervousness in his soul. “Poor Joseph hasn't stopped crying out since, not really. He barely even sleeps. Whatever he saw while Freeman was killing my sister, it has scarred him for life.”

“That's why you must kill him,” the man's wife adds, leaning past him and staring at me with wide, wild eyes. “None of us can do it, but you, a stranger...” She holds out a dagger for me to take. “Just make it quick. End his misery.”

Staring at her, I realize that she means every word that she says. She actually expects me to commit cold-blooded murder.

“It's not Joseph's fault,” the man continues, “that his mother was a witch.”

“That his -” I turn back to him, horrified by his claim. “Don't tell me you actually believe what Freeman said!”

“Say what you want about him,” he replies, “but Nykolas Freeman is a man of the Lord and a man charged with the king's authority. God rest her soul, but if he says my sister was involved with witchcraft, it must be true!”

“Your own sister?”

“I never saw any evidence myself,” he continues, “but Freeman was adamant and he couldn't be wrong, could he? He said he spent three days testing her, and he said the evidence was clear. In the circumstances...” He pauses, before looking down at the dagger in his wife's hand. “My family has been through so much,” he adds finally. “The whole town, really. Joseph cries out almost all of the day, we can't stand it any longer. You don't know how many times I have stood next to his bed, trying to find the strength to act, but I can't, I just...” There are tears in his eyes when he looks back at me, and he takes the dagger from his wife and tries to force the hilt into my hand. “Please. Just end his pain. End it for all of us.”

Pushing the dagger away, I turn and open the door. The boy's screams assail my ears, but I force myself to step into the room, resisting the urge to leave. Over by the window, the boy is tied to a narrow bed, while a woman is sitting on the edge, trying to calm him. Before I can open my mouth to ask any more, I see that the boy's eyes are gone; just the empty sockets are left, with thick scarring all around the edges as if some great and brutal wound has partially healed.

“What happened to his sight?” I ask, staring at the boy in horror.

“He scratched out his own eyes when he was nine years old,” the man replies from behind me. “One of them he ate, the other my wife managed to get from his hands first. He has also tried to remove his own tongue on several occasions and he once poured hot wax into his ears in an effort to silence the world, which is why we now keep him tied down.”

“Dear God,” I whisper, “what kind of monster could do this to a child?”

The woman at the bed reaches over to the boy, trying to put a hand on the side of his face, but he tries to bite her and she pulls back. When she turns to us, I see tears in her eyes but also compassion, and after a moment she rises, smooths down the front of her dress, and makes her way over to join us.

“You are new here, I think,” she tells me, with more forwardness than I would usually expect of a woman. “Have you come to...” She pauses, as if the words are too painful. “His name is Joseph. He's just at the end of his eleventh year, starting his twelfth. His mother was -”

“I have been told,” I reply, staring past her and watching as the boy pulls on the ropes with such force that I swear he might tear off his own limbs. “I understand the tragedy that has befallen this family.”

“He's still good,” she tells me. “Deep down in his heart, he still has a soul. Those aren't just empty words, either. I mean it.”

“No doubt,” I mutter.

“You're not going to do it, are you?” she whispers, leaning closer.

“Do what?”

“Every time a stranger passes through Offingham,” she continues, keeping her voice low, “these cowards try to get someone to end the boy's life. Believe me, you're not the first. Sometimes they even offer money, not that they have much but... Please, there has to be another way. I feel certain that his screams come not from madness but from some internal conflict, from a fight in his soul.” She turns back and looks toward the bed. “He might yet beat his demons and emerge with some of his sanity left.”

I watch for a moment as the boy continues to struggle, although after a moment he seems to become a little calmer and he tilts his eyeless head in this direction, as if he realizes that a stranger is here. He lets out a few more agonized gasps, before finally his screams falls silent.

“I pass through this town from time to time and I always come to see him,” the woman explains. “My name is Kate, I spend a lot of time on the road. Sometimes I truly believe I might be able to help poor Joseph, but nothing works, at least nothing I have tried. Just, please, don't listen to these people. They merely want to rid themselves of another mouth to feed, but they don't have the courage to act. The boy must be given a chance to get through this.” She puts a hand on my arm. “It is Nykolas Freeman who should die. Believe me, this is not the only village where something like this has happened because of Freeman's actions. Can you imagine the horrors a child must see in order for him to be driven mad before his first birthday?”

Taking a few steps closer to the bed, I can't help noticing that Joseph seems to be looking at me, even though his eyes are gone. On his lips, there is the faintest curl of a smile.

“Who are you?” he whispers, his voice sounding impossibly harsh and damaged, most likely from all the screaming.

“Just a passerby,” I tell him, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Can you untie me?” he asks, tugging on the ropes around his ankles, where thick, bloody wounds have been worn through his skin thanks to his constant struggles. “These people keep me here, they confine me when all I need is to be released and to feel the warmth of the sun again. That way, I shall be cured.”

“We tried once,” the man says, still in the doorway. “We let him go outside when he was seven years old. He immediately stabbed two of the other local children with a broken piece of wood.”

“I would not do that again,” Joseph tells me, trying to sit up but held down by more ropes around his chest and neck. “I'm just a child. Should a child be confined in this way? Where is your godliness? Where is your faith?”

Now that I'm closer, I can see the true extent of the boy's injuries. The ropes, or rather his struggles against them, have worn his ankles and wrists down to the bone. Indeed, the flesh of his left ankle appears to have partially regrown over the rope, absorbing it into his body, while the rest of his skin is a sickly pale color, a mix of white and yellow pocked with bloodied scars. He's painfully thin, too, and the entire room stinks of the bodily fluids that have been left to collect under his body. The most striking aspect of his appearance, however, is the series of small crosses that have been carved into his chest, some of them old and scarred but some much fresher, as if they were cut just a few hours ago.

“How have these cuts manifested?” I ask, turning to the man in the doorway. “The marks of the cross... How has he done those, if his arms are restrained?”

“We know no other way to try to force evil from him,” the man replies. “We thought, well... We thought it was worth a try.”

I turn to Kate and see that there are tears in her eyes. “These people are fearful,” she tells me. “I've tried to explain to them that cutting the boy's flesh will do nothing but cause him pain, but they don't listen. If you were to turn him over, you would see that his back is the same.”

I look back down at the boy and see that he's still grinning at me, exposing a set of rotten teeth, some of which have become little more than thin black stubs. After a moment, I realize that I can just about make out some kind of mass at the back of his left eye-socket; sniffing the air, I can't help wondering whether, amid all the other stenches, there is also some form of infection here. The boy is becoming putrid.

“I remember it all, you know,” Joseph continues. “I remember the screams of my mother, even though I was but an infant when she was tortured and killed by that man. The people here, they think I scream because of my own pain, or because I'm mad, but that's not true at all. I scream because it makes me happy, because...” He pauses for a moment, his bottom lip trembling as if in childish fear. “I scream because that is all I remember of my mother now, and because I want to hear her voice again, and I only remember her screaming. Now that my eyes are gone, the more I scream, the more I can pretend that she is here with me, that the scream comes not from my lips but from hers. I want to feel her presence.” He laughs. “It comforts me.”

“Excuse me,” Kate says, with tears in her eyes as she turns and pushes past the others, heading out of the room and down the stairs.

“You said you're a passerby,” Joseph continues after a moment, “but you won't just pass me by, will you? You'll release me, and let me out of this room. Surely no Christian man could leave a child in this state?”

“I -” Taking a deep breath, I feel as if there is nothing I can do here. I cannot kill the child, but letting him go would also be a mistake. Until this moment, I always assumed that I could see the right thing to do in any situation. As I stare at Joseph, however, I feel as if Nykolas Freeman has left an impossible task in his wake. Perhaps some forms of evil are so great, they leave no chance of redemption, and nothing for good men to do except stare in horror.

Chapter Nine

Laura

Opening my eyes, I look across my dark bedroom and watch for a moment as the shadows of nearby trees dance in patches of moonlight. I wait, listening for some sign or hint that everything is right with the world, maybe the sound of a passing plane or a car in the distance to let me know that the modern world is still out there, but all I hear is the rustle of trees in a strong midnight breeze.

I swear there was no wind a few hours ago, when I came to bed.

Determined to stay calm and to not go wandering through the house again in the middle of the night, I keep my gaze fixed on the window. For all the tranquility of this place, I'd dearly love to hear a train in the distance, just to remind me of ordinary things. I even took extra precautions before coming to bed, such as not drinking anything for the final hour in an attempt to avoid having to pee during the night, although I've managed to convince myself that everything that happened last night really was just a dream. As for the fact that I got so many details right about the Baxendales, I figure I must have zoned out in the car when Mum was telling me about the house, but some of the information still sunk into my subconscious mind.

So really, one day, I'll laugh about all of this.

A few minutes later, I hear the faintest creak outside my door, as if someone is on the landing. I immediately tense, determined to keep from letting my imagination run wild, but after a moment I hear another creak, closer this time, as if the person is toward my room. I keep my eyes fixed on the window until the third creak, at which point I look over at the door just as someone starts turning the handle. It's most likely Mum, coming to make sure that I'm sleeping okay, but still I hold my breath as a small silhouette steps into the room. It's not Mum, that's for sure, and for a moment I'm worried that little Jessica Baxendale is here.

“Laura?” Suzie whispers suddenly in the darkness.

Letting out a sigh of relief, I prop myself up on my elbow.

“What are you doing up?” I hiss. “Go back to bed!”

“I can't.”

“Yes you can. If Mum finds out you're poking about -”

“There's someone in the wall,” she replies, interrupting me.

“Suzie...” I pause for a moment. “Wait, what did you say?”

“There's someone in the wall,” she continues, and for the first time I realize that there's genuine fear in her voice. “I heard him talking.”

***

“Keep quiet,” I whisper a few minutes later as she leads me by the hand into her room. “Mum'll flip if she catches us.”

“Over there,” she replies, stopping and pointing at the far wall.

I swallow hard, listening for a moment but hearing nothing. “Tell me exactly what you heard,” I say finally.

“He was whispering in there.”

“Inside the wall?”

She nods.

“It was probably the wind.”

“It wasn't the wind,” she replies. “It was a man's voice.”

I want to tell her to stop worrying, of course, but as I stare at the long white wall, I can't help wondering if there's another space hidden back there, another gap that someone could have hidden in many years ago. It's clear by now that the house is riddled with such passages, and even though Mum and the carpenter showed that there was no skeletal hand behind the wall in the kitchen, I know what I saw last night. Still, it's one thing for there to be a set of bones trapped in the wall, but it's another for them to move around.

“He was praying,” Suzie says after a moment.

I look down at her.

“I could hear him praying,” she continues. “Really quiet, like he didn't want to be heard, like he was just barely moving his lips.”

“Well...” Seeing the fear in her eyes, I turn back to look at the wall. “Okay,” I say finally, “just wait here and I'll go listen, okay?”

She squeezes my hand tight, as if to keep me back.

“I have to listen,” I point out. “You're the one who came and got me, remember?”

Letting go of her hand, I make my way around her bed and over to the wall. I don't hear anything so far, so I lean closer and set my ear against the plaster and then I wait. To my relief, I hear nothing but the sound of leaves rustling outside the window, and I'm starting to think that Suzie just got confused. In fact, this whole situation with the house is probably just a series of unfortunate coincidences that just happen to seem like something else.

“Not there,” Suzie whispers suddenly. “To the left.”

Sighing, I take a couple of steps to the left and listen again, but still the only sound comes from the rustling trees outside. It's not hard to understand how a scared little girl, alone in her bed at night, might hear that sound and somehow mistake it for a voice.

“Keep going,” she hisses.

“Suzie -”

“He's close to the corner.”

I look along the wall toward the corner, next to the bed, and then I make my way along and set my ear once again to the wall. I wait, hearing the reassuring sound of the leaves outside the window, but I figure I need to stay silent for a moment longer so that Suzie understands I've listened properly.

“Do you hear him?” she whispers.

“Not yet.”

“You will.”

I force a smile, while waiting in position. A moment later, the rustling leaves swell outside and become louder, before another gust of wind passes and the sound fades.

And that's when, just for a second, I hear the voice.

The leaves are already rustling again, but a cold shiver passes through my body as I realize that I definitely heard the faintest whisper coming from the other side of the wall. It was so quick, I didn't even make out any individual words, but it was definitely a man's voice. I wait, but the rustling continues, making it impossible to hear anything else.

“Laura?” Suzie whispers, stepping closer. “You heard him, didn't you?”

“I -” Pausing, I realize that if I tell her the truth, I'll end up giving her nightmares for the rest of her life. “No,” I reply, with my ear still pressed against the wall, “I didn't hear any -”

Suddenly the whisper returns, as the rustling leaves are briefly calmed. Again, it's only for a fraction of a second, but this time I swear I picked out a few words.

“Watch over this family.”

Then something muffled, and then:

“Protect them, Lord, from -”

And that was it, all I heard, but still... It was definitely there.

“Laura?” Suzie whispers as she reaches me. “You did hear it, I can tell from the look in your eyes.”

“No,” I reply, not altogether convincingly, “I didn't hear anything, I just -”

Suddenly there's a distinct scratching sound from the other side of the wall, as if someone is running fingernails against the wood.

“He's coming,” a male voice says firmly.

I step back.

“You heard that!” Suzie hisses, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tight as the scratching sound continues, moving along the wall until it reaches the corner, at which point it seems to go down further into the house.

“Suzie,” I whisper, turning to her, “it was just the wind.”

“Who's coming?” she asks, staring up at me. “I want to go and wake Mum up!”

“You can't do that,” I reply, crouching in front of her and putting my hands on her shoulders. “Mum's not in a good place right now, her mind... You understand, don't you? She's being brave, but she's fragile. We can't go to her and start telling her all this stuff, it's just nonsense anyway. We're letting our fears get the better of us, that's all.”

“He said someone's coming,” she replies, stiff with fear, before turning to look at the window. “Who's coming?”

“No-one,” I tell her. “I promise, no-one's coming.”

Pulling away from me, she makes her way across the dark room, heading toward the window. When she gets there, she stands on tip-toes, trying to look out, but she's not tall enough.

“I can't see,” she says after a moment, as she strains to stand a little taller. “Who's coming?”

“No-one,” I tell her again, making my way over and putting a hand on her shoulder. Glancing out the window, I see the moonlit lawn and the dark forest a little further off, but to my relief there's no sign of anyone. I have to admit, for just a moment there I actually psyched myself into thinking there might be some dark, doom-laden figure standing out there, staring up at the house. “No-one's coming,” I add, guiding Suzie back and then pulling the curtains shut, shrouding the bedroom in darkness. “Come on, let's get you to bed.”

Fumbling for her hand, I take her to the bed and then help her in.

“I heard the voice,” she whispers in the darkness. “I know you did too.”

“Suzie -”

“Unless this was a dream.”

I pause, realizing that there's a hint of hope in her voice.

“Do you think it's a dream, Laura?” she asks. “Maybe... Maybe I'm asleep, and I didn't come and wake you up at all?”

I can't see her face in the darkness, but it's not hard to imagine her scared, fearful expression.

“Sure,” I tell her finally, leaning closer and kissing her forehead. “It's all a dream. None of this happened.”

“You're not just saying that?”

Getting to my feet, I feel my way along the wall until I reach the door. “You've been dreaming,” I reply, pulling the door open. “Nothing happened, there was no voice, not really. You've been in bed the whole time and I'm not even here.”

“You're not?”

“I'm in bed, silly,” I continue, feeling bad for lying but determined to make her feel better. “Where else would I be in the middle of the night? Close your eyes and go to sleep, and when you wake up in the morning you'll realize it was all just a dream.”

There's a pause, before I hear her shifting under her bedsheets. “Okay,” she says cautiously. “I believe you.”

After stepping out onto the landing and pulling the door shut, I lean back against the wall and take a deep breath. There's a part of me that wants to go downstairs and take a look around, just to prove to myself that I won't magically end up hundreds of years in the past with a bunch of ghosts all around, but I figure that's another step toward all-out madness. Like Suzie, I need to focus on the idea that all this weirdness is just a combination of dreams, imagination and stupidity.

I refuse to believe in ghosts.

Making my way to my room, I ignore the sound of a faint creak from downstairs and, instead of investigating, I go back to bed. I'm not going to give in to a bunch of random noises and start thinking they're something they're not. This ghost stuff has to end right now.

Chapter Ten

Daniel

Sitting alone in a room at The Offingham Arms, with just the light of a candle to guide me, I take hold of the metal pin and slowly drive it through the flesh of my left forearm. There is pain, of course, and I flinch as a dribble of blood runs down the curve of my flesh, reaches my elbow and then drops to the floor, but I keep pushing until the pin emerges through the other side.

“Why do you hurt yourself?” a voice asks suddenly.

Turning, I see to my surprise that not only is the door open when it was closed a moment ago, but Kate is standing just a few feet away, watching.

“I paid for a private room,” I reply. “I did not realize -”

“Is there not enough pain in this world already?” she asks, coming closer to the bed. “You're a good man, I can tell that, so why do you sit here alone after dark, driving a metal pin into your flesh? What kind of madness is this?” She pauses, her eyes darting across my bare chest and arms. “It's not the first time, either. You've clearly been doing this to yourself for some time.”

“It's none of your concern,” I tell her. “I want to be alone.”

“Are you punishing yourself?” She looks toward the window. “Joseph is not screaming tonight. That's unusual. Since you're staying until morning, have you decided what you're going to do about the poor boy? I hope you aren't considering taking the knife that his family offered.”

Ignoring her, I grit my teeth before slowly pulling the pin out. More blood runs down my arm, glistening in the candlelight. “My sister is missing,” I say finally, holding my arm up and watching as the blood chooses its course across my muscles. “Ever since I learned that she had been taken by Nykolas Freeman, I resolved that I would not rest until I have found her. This is my way of reminding myself of the pain that she must be enduring.”

“You worry you'll forget?”

“I worry that I'll become like everyone else I have met on my travels,” I reply, turning to her. “I worry that somehow I'll start to accept that existence of men like Freeman, that I'll turn away and ignore these horrors. How do they do that? How do they just accept such cruelty existing in the world?”

“If he took your sister,” she continues, “it must be because he thinks she is a witch.”

“She is no such thing,” I say firmly, flinching at the merest suggestion of the idea. “My sister is not some foul beast.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but the words seem to stick in her throat.

“She's not!” I hiss.

“I believe you, but...” She pauses. “What if you cannot find her? Will you spend the rest of your days cutting into your flesh like this?”

“I will find her.”

“But if you can't.”

“I will.”

“Alive or dead?”

“I will find her!” I shout, getting to my feet and taking a step toward her, ready to strike her on the side of the face before finally, at the very last moment, I manage to hold back. “My father hit women,” I tell her, “and my brother is the same, but I always swore I would never do such a thing. Still, if you continue to provoke me...”

She smiles.

“Is something funny?” I ask. “Did you enter this room simply to laugh at me?”

She shakes her head. “It's not that, it's just... As I told you earlier, I spend my time traveling from village to village, and I meet a lot of people whose lives have been affected by Nykolas Freeman. Many of them, as you suggest, have simply come to accept his existence. Some are religious and believe Freeman's claim that he is an agent of God, some are too scared to challenge a man who has the authority of King James himself, others are too tired and too worn down to think of anything other than their meager struggles for survival.” She pauses, eying me with a hint of caution. “But there are some, such as yourself, who swear to go after the man and make him pay for what he does.”

“Then why does he still draw breath?”

“That is something I have asked myself many times,” she replies. “Freeman is but a mortal man, he has no powers that protect him and he has made many enemies, yet still he lives. How? I have witnessed great hulking men, warriors, men with power, set off on the road to kill him, but none returned. Most were found dead by the side of some road, the rest simply disappeared. I spent quite some time wondering whether Freeman might possess some form of ability, some dark incantation that keeps him safe. Finally I came to the conclusion that it is his own self-belief that keeps him going, that he truly believes that he is doing God's work. When a man has such great belief in himself, he can stretch himself that much further than others.”

“I assure you,” I reply, “that when I catch up to him, he will face justice.”

“You intend to kill him?”

“I will spill every last drop of his blood.”

“I wish you well,” she says with a faint, sad smile. “I have long thought that eventually a man must come who is able to deal with Freeman, albeit perhaps only if he is given a little help.”

“And you can offer that help?” I ask, with a smile of my own. “You're just a woman.”

She stares at me, before turning and heading back to the door. “Enjoy your night,” she replies. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you're not the man who can bring Freeman down after all. I must keep searching.”

“Do what you want,” I tell her. “Soon enough, you will hear word that Freeman's corpse has been found hanging. When you do, know that it is by my hand, and that I finally found my sister and freed her, and that I personally ensured no-one else will ever have to face such evil again.”

Without replying, she slips out of the room.

“Do you hear me?” I call after her. “Do you understand?”

I wait.

No reply.

I hurry to the door and lean out into the dark corridor, only to find that there is no sign of Kate at all. She cannot have gone into any of the other rooms without my having heard the doors opening, and the stairs creak under any footfall whatsoever, so I do not see how she got away so quickly. Still, as I step back and push the door shut, I tell myself that I need to be alone and that I need to get just a few hours' sleep before setting off in the morning at first light. Every second that I rest is another second that I delay getting to Rosie's side, and I feel absolutely certain that she's still alive, that she's out there somewhere in pain, waiting for me to find her.

A few hours later, once I have fallen asleep, Kate comes back to me in a dream. She says nothing; instead, she climbs naked into the bed next to me and I am powerless to resist her advances. With the light of the moon shining through the window, she sits astride me and takes my body into hers, and when I reach up to place a hand on her full breasts she leans closer as if to accept my touch. I reach around and set my other hand on her hip, at which point I feel a set of lines on her flesh, as if there is some kind of scar or mark. Running my fingertips against the ridges, I realize they form a crude triangle, and a moment later I feel warm blood smeared on the palm of my hand.

“What -” I start to say.

“Quiet,” she whispers, her body tense with anticipation. “You needed to know.”

With that, she leans down and kisses me full on the lips.

Unlike any woman I have ever taken to my bed, she maintains full control and keeps her eyes wide open, fixing me with a determined gaze as we make love, almost as if she is trying to monitor my every reaction. The dream continues for hour upon hour, twisting into an endless night of passion until finally I wake in the cold light of morning, sitting up suddenly in bed as sunlight streams through the window, and I find myself alone.

Chapter Eleven

Laura

“Oh wow!” Mum says, holding up another chanterelle mushroom that she's just torn up from the forest floor. “Wait until you taste these later, fried in butter and served with scrambled eggs. You girls are gonna think you've died and gone to heaven!”

I force a weak smile as I step past her. Ahead, the forest slopes gently downhill toward the shore of the lake, where rippling water glistens in the mid-morning sun. The forest itself is fairly dark, mostly shaded by a thick canopy of leaves above, but I've got to admit that it's not as creepy as I'd feared when Mum first suggested this morning that we should come out here and try a spot of foraging. Even Suzie is joining in, having apparently accepted that the incident with the wall last night was just a dream.

“I found one!” she giggles, pulling up a red mushroom with white spots.

“You can't eat that,” Mum tells her. “It's bad for you.”

“Why?”

“It just is. Come and look at the chanterelles again. Those are the ones you're looking for, okay?”

As they continue to hunt for mushrooms, I slip between the trees, heading toward the lake. I still can't decide whether I like the peace and quiet of the countryside or whether I miss the hustle of the city; I seem to be constantly flitting from one mood to the other, never really able to settle, although the strange events at the house haven't exactly been helping. I keep running through everything in my mind, trying to remind myself that there's a rational explanation for it all, and I've just about managed to keep a lid on any superstitious thoughts. Still as I make my way past the edge of the forest and reach the lake's muddy shore, I can't shake a hint of concern that seems to have become irrevocably knotted in the back of my thoughts.

Stopping next to the water, I look out and watch as gentle ripples on the lake's surface catch the sun's light. I've got to admit, it's pretty goddamn beautiful.

After checking over my shoulder to make sure that Mum and Suzie aren't far behind, I make my way along the shore. I don't even know what I'm looking for, just that it feels calming to be out here away from everything, even away from the house. Spotting something dark poking out above the trees at the lake's far end, I realize it must be the church I visited yesterday, and I can't help but smile at the thought of that strange woman I met. After a moment, however, my thoughts turn to the little headstone hidden by weeds, marking the final resting place of the Baxendale family. I know they can't be the same people from my dreams, not really, but it's still horrible to think about them being killed in the house.

Walking on, I try to focus on something else, anything else, but ever since we came to live here I feel as if the past is as much part of my surroundings as the present. A moment later I spot something glinting in the sun, jutting out from the mud, and when I make my way over and reach down to pick it up, I find that it's a dented gold coin.

“What've you got there?” Mum asks, trudging out of the forest and coming over to join me. “Huh,” she adds, taking the coin from my hand and taking a closer look, “this is old.”

“It was in the mud,” I tell her. “It was just sitting there.”

“I'm no expert,” she continues, turning the coin over, “but this has to be from a few hundred years ago. It must be a shilling or a guinea, or whatever they used back then. I think that's Latin around the side. Maybe we can look it up online later.”

“Do you think it's worth anything?” I ask.

“I doubt it, but...” She looks down at the mud beneath our feet. “You never know what else is out here, do you? Maybe you can bring Suzie down one afternoon and dig around, you know she'd love doing something like that. We could even look online for a second-hand metal detector if you fancy a new hobby.”

“Where is she?” I reply, glancing back through the trees but not seeing any sign of my sister.

“Probably picking totally the wrong mushrooms,” she says with a smile. “Don't worry, though, I drummed it into her head that she's not allowed to lick any of them.” She pauses for a moment, looking toward the trees. “Suzie!” she calls out. “Honey, can you give us a quick wave to let us know where you are?”

We both wait, but once again the only sound comes from the trees' rustling leaves.

“Suzie!” I shout, taking a step forward. “Come on, where are you?”

“I told her not to wander off,” Mum mutters. “Don't worry, she can't go very far.”

“Suzie!” I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Where are you?”

“Don't get like that,” Mum hisses.

I turn to her. “Like what?”

“Like you're panicking. Honestly, Laura, this is the English countryside, miles from civilization, she's not going to get into any trouble if she goes off on her own for a couple of minutes. It's not like London. She's a smart girl.”

“I still want to know where she is,” I point out, making my way to the edge of the trees. It's not like Suzie to wander away, she's usually far too timid, but this time she seems to be well and truly out of range. I keep watching the trees, expecting to spot her crouched down as she examines some mushrooms, but as each second slips past I'm getting more and more worried.

“Suzie!” Mum shouts. “Honey, where are you?”

For the next few minutes, we make our way along the shore, calling her name. Even though neither of us is saying it out loud, I can tell from the look in Mum's eyes that she's as worried as I am now, and we take slightly different paths back through the forest, still shouting Suzie's name. I want to believe that my dumb little sister is just being an idiot, but there's a mounting sense of fear in my chest as I finally stop in a small clearing and look around. For a moment, just a moment, the smell of the forest seems to change slightly, filling with a hint of smoke, but it fades as quickly as it came.

“Suzie!” Mum calls out in the distance, a few hundred feet away. “Honey?”

“Where the hell are you?” I mutter, trampling between more trees. “I swear, if you -”

Stopping suddenly, I see a figure up ahead, standing completely still with her arms by her sides. My first instinct is that it's not Suzie, that she'd never stand like that, but I take a step closer and see with a rush of relief that it is her.

“Found her!” I shout as I hurry forward. “Hey dumb-ass, didn't you hear us calling you? Where have you been?”

When she doesn't reply, I kneel in front of her, and to my surprise I see that her clothes are a little torn and that there's mud smeared on one side of her face. It's the look in her eyes that really freaks me out, however, since she's staring at me with a dark expression that I've never seen on my little sister's face before.

“What's up?” I ask, immediately changing my tone as I feel a sense of concern building in my chest. “Suzie?”

I can hear Mum hurrying toward us, but Suzie has her eyes fixed firmly on me as if there's something she wants me to know.

“Suzie?” I continue, nudging her shoulder slightly. “What's wrong?”

“There you are!” Mum says with a sigh of relief as soon as she reaches us. “What were you up to, honey? Looking for more mushrooms?” She tousles the hair on top of Suzie's head and then steps past. “Oh wow, there are lots of mushrooms over here, aren't there? Well done, kid, you found a real crop!”

“What's wrong?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on Suzie as Mum hurries over to the mushrooms. “It's okay, you can tell me. Did something happen?”

Suzie pauses, and then finally she blinks a couple of times, almost as if she's coming out of some kind of trance. She swallows hard, her frown flickers away for a moment, and finally she offers a faint, cautious smile.

“No,” she whispers. “Nothing happened.”

“But -”

Before I can finish, she turns and slips away, stomping between the trees as if the only thing that matters now is the mushrooms. Still, I know my little sister, and as I glance around to make sure there's no-one else here, I feel damn certain that something freaked her out in those few minutes when we couldn't find her.

***

“Oh, she's fine,” Mum says as we make our way back toward the house a few hours later, carrying baskets full of chanterelles. “You fuss too much, Laura. Your sister's probably just tired.”

I turn and glance back. Suzie's keeping pace with us, albeit several feet behind, bu the look on her face is still worrying me. She's staring down at the ground, almost as if she's scared to look anywhere else.

“What the hell?” Mum says suddenly, putting a hand on my arm to stop me going any further.

“What is it?” I ask, turning and seeing that the back door to the house is wide open. A shiver ripples through my chest before my mind has even caught up and registered the problem. “Didn't you shut that?”

“I locked it,” she replies, her voice filled with tension. “And the front door. I know I did.”

“I saw you,” I tell her.

She pauses for a moment, before setting her baskets down. “Okay, you two girls stay right here, I'm just going to go and take a look.”

“No way!” I hiss.

“I'll be careful,” she says firmly, giving me that expression that I know is supposed to make me remember I'm just a kid. “Don't worry, I just want to make sure there's not some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe I got the lock wrong or something -”

“How would you get the lock wrong?” I ask, watching the windows of the house. “Mum, if there's an intruder -”

“There isn't,” she replies, taking a step forward. “I want you girls to wait here while I go and make sure everything's okay.”

“We should call the police,” I tell her.

“Just wait!” she hisses, heading over toward the house. When she gets closer, she grabs the trowel she was using earlier, as if she thinks she can use it as some kind of weapon.

“Oh God,” I mutter, feeling as if the whole world is becoming increasingly insane. Glancing down at Suzie, I see that she's standing right next to me with her eyes fixed on the house. “You okay?” I ask, tapping her shoulder. “Don't worry, I'm sure nothing's wrong, Mum probably just locked the door wrong, that's all.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know how weak and empty they must sound, even to a child like Suzie. I mean, she's a kid, not an idiot.

Turning to look back at the house, I watch as Mum heads inside with the trowel in her left hand.

“This is nuts,” I whisper, reaching into my pocket and taking out my phone. I'm tempted to call the police right now, but instead I simply bring up the emergency number and wait, ready to make one final tap if I hear so much as a bump from the house. The next few minutes grind pass with agonizing slowness, and I can't help wondering if Mum's okay in there. Finally, however, just when I'm thinking that I might genuinely have to call for help, I see one of the upstairs windows swinging open and then Mum leans out, smiling and waving.

“All clear!” she shouts, before pulling back inside.

“What was it?” I call out, but she's already gone.

Leading Suzie to the back steps, I watch as Mum comes out and sets the trowel down.

“What was it?” I ask again. “Why was the door open?”

“Must be something wrong with the latch,” she replies, taking a look at the handle. “I'll have to call someone out to take a look, but there's definitely no-one inside.”

“You don't know that,” I reply. “What if it was a burglar? What if they're hiding?”

“Where would they hide?” she asks. “We barely have any furniture. And before you say it, there's no way anyone is lurking in the gaps behind the walls.”

“But Mum -”

“Not in front of your sister!” she hisses, reaching down and taking Suzie's hand before leading her inside. “We have a lot of mushrooms to get ready, so I think we should forget all the silly talk and just get on with some proper work. Work always clears the mind, don't you think?”

Making my way up to the back door, I watch as Mum starts setting out the first baskets. Suzie is standing nearby, watching with that same dark expression that fell across her face in the forest, and I can tell something's wrong.

“Laura,” Mum says after a moment, “can you get some sage from the bush out the front?”

Sighing, I head through to the hallway and then out the front door, and I tear away some sage from the plant before making my way back inside. I swear to God, Mum's like an ostrich sometimes, sticking her head deep in the sand so she can ignore life when things go wrong. Pushing the front door shut, I make my way past the stairs, filled with frustration and -

Suddenly I realize I can smell lavender again.

And then I hear a voice nearby.

Stopping, I turn and look toward the front room, and there's definitely a male voice whispering something. I want to go and get Mum, but at the same time I feel as if I should at least take a look first. Edging cautiously over to the doorway, I keep telling myself that I won't see anything untoward. When I peer through, however, I find that the room is completely different, filled with furniture and other items, and the priest from my dream is sitting at the table, whispering as he reads from a leather-bound book. Kinner, Kinsey... Darian Kinner, that was the name.

I stay completely still, waiting to see if he'll notice me.

“Hello?” I say finally.

He continues to whisper, not even looking up from the book.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to panic, I step forward, tense in case he suddenly makes a move. Instead, however, he simply continues to read as I approach, and finally I'm close enough to see that he's holding some kind of prayerbook. I stop at the other end of the table, well within his line of sight, but he clearly doesn't see me at all. After a moment, I hold my hand up and give him a gentle wave, hoping to attract his attention.

“Hey,” I say cautiously, “are you... Can you see or hear me at all?”

He continues to whisper, and after a few seconds he turns to the next page in the book.

“Mum!” I call out. “Mum, get in here!”

I wait, with my eyes fixed on the priest, but there's no reply. Finally I turn and look over at the door. “Mum, can you please come and look at this?”

Again I wait, but again the only sound is the priest's low whisper as he continues to read from the book. I turn back to him and see that there's fear in his eyes, as if he's trying to gain some kind of strength from what he's reading. Stepping closer, I keep expecting him to finally notice me, but I manage to get all the way to his end of the table without him so much as looking up at me.

“You're the priest, right?” I say finally, crouching next to him and looking up into his face. I wave my hand, but still he doesn't look. “I don't know how this works,” I continue, “but if there's any way for you to hear me at all, please try to listen. I don't know how I'm seeing you but -”

Suddenly he turns to another page in the book, still whispering to himself as he reads.

“It was you the other night, wasn't it?” I ask. “In the wall, in my sister's room? Please, if you're a ghost, try not to scare her, she's just a kid.”

I wait, fully aware that I must sound ridiculous, but I don't know what else to try.

“Can't you see her?” a voice says suddenly.

Turning, I see little Jessica standing in the doorway.

“See who?” the priest asks, having evidently heard her, at least.

She pauses, with her eyes fixed on me. “There's a girl right next to you,” she says finally. “She's dressed very strangely, like nothing I've ever seen before.”

I turn to the priest and see that he's looking around, as if he's trying to see me but can't.

“She's right there,” Jessica continues, coming around the table and pointing at me. “She's down low, like she's trying to see your book.”

This time, the priest almost looks at me; his eyes dart around, coming so close to meeting mine but not quite managing.

“Why can I see her,” Jessica adds, “and no-one else can?”

“He can't hear me either,” I tell her.

“Did you hear that?” she asks.

“I heard nothing, child,” the priest replies. “Why don't you sit with me a while and tell me what you think I'm missing? I could use some company.”

She continues to stare at me. “She's quite pretty,” she says finally. “She's older than me, but younger than Mother. She has good teeth, I noticed that right away, and her hair is clean. In fact, all of her is clean, and she doesn't seem to stink. I don't think she's a peasant.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“She has a different way of speaking,” she continues. “Is she a ghost?”

“The Lord does not leave stray souls to wander aimlessly,” the priest tells her. “He looks after his children. Those who have served him faithfully, at least. Those who have not are consigned to another fate, but I do not believe any are left to trouble the living.”

“But I can see her,” Jessica replies, still looking at me. “She's right next to you.”

“What does she say?”

“Ask him where he's from,” I tell her.

“She wants to know where you come from.”

He pauses. “Tell her I am Darian Kinner. Tell her I'm a priest, originally from Kirkbride. Tell her I studied at a foreign seminary before returning to England to preach God's word.”

“His name is Darian -”

“I heard,” I reply, interrupting her. “Tell him... Tell him my name is Laura.”

“That's a pretty name,” she says with a faint smile, before turning to the priest. “Her name is Laura.”

“Tell him that where I am,” I continue, “the year is -” I pause, suddenly realizing that maybe I shouldn't say too much. After all, what if these people aren't ghosts but are some kind of echo? What if anything I say to them might actually be heard by people who lived hundreds of years ago? The idea is crazy, but no less crazy than most of the other things that have been happening around here lately.

“You have a very vivid imagination,” the priest says suddenly, getting to his feet. He pats the top of Jessica's head as he makes his way to the door. “You must enjoy playing alone very much.”

“Is he coming?” she asks, turning to him.

He stops and looks back at her. “Is who coming?”

“The man I heard Mother and Father talking about.” She waits for him to answer. “They were talking about a man who might come looking for you. They said it would be bad if he came to the door.”

“You mustn't worry,” the priest replies, with a flicker of concern in his eyes. He looks down for a moment at the prayerbook in his hands, as if he hopes to find strength, before turning to her again. “The Lord is watching over us all and he would not allow harm to come to your family. I shall be gone from this house long before anyone comes looking for me.” Another pause, and then he smiles. “Go and play, child. Talk to your imaginary friend if that is what pleases you.”

As he walks out of the room, Jessica turns to me. She seems nervous now, as if something is troubling her.

“Are you real?” I whisper, making my way around the table. I reach out to touch her shoulder, but I'm scared of what might happen either way. Finally I set my hand on her arm, and a shudder passes through my body as I realize that I can feel her. I take a deep breath; if this is a dream, I'm impressed by how real I'm making it seem.

“Can you feel me?” I ask.

She stares at me, before looking at my hand, still resting on her arm. After a moment, she nods.

I pull my hand away.

“Are you imaginary?” she asks, with her eyes fixed on me.

“I don't know,” I reply, before realizing how dumb that sounds. “I mean, no, no I'm not imaginary. I was hoping you...” My voice trails off, and suddenly an idea occurs to me. A crazy, far-out, ridiculous idea, but still one that I figure I should try, one that'll prove to me whether or not this is all a dream. “Do you know the wooden boards above the door that leads to the basement?” I ask, thinking back to the boards that Mum told me were part of the original house. Almost all the wooden parts of the building were destroyed in a fire many years ago, but those boards are supposed to have survived.

She nods.

“Can you... Can you carve something into the wood?” I continue. “Not yet, but when I'm gone. Just carve your name or something.”

“Why?”

“It's a test.”

“I'd get into terrible trouble if Father found out.”

“Then make sure he doesn't,” I continue, feeling a rising sense of panic in my chest. “Just carve your name in the corner, make it small so that someone would only notice it if they were really looking. Can you promise you'll do that?”

She pauses, before nodding.

“Come on,” I continue, hurrying to the door, “I'll show you exactly where to put it. That way, you can -” Turning back, I suddenly find that she's gone, and the room is once more bare, waiting for all the furniture that hasn't been delivered yet. I take a step back, suddenly feeling dizzy, and it's a few seconds before I feel as if the world is steady all around me. At the same time, the smell of potpourri reaches my nose again.

“Laura?” Mum calls through. “Did you get the sage, or are you just messing about?”

“Yeah,” I reply, staring at the spot where I last saw Jessica, “I -”

Suddenly I remember what I told her to do, so I hurry through to the hallway and then to the door under the stairs, the door that leads down to the basement. Grabbing a nearby box, I climb up and start looking at the wooden panel above the door. At first I don't see anything, but finally I spot a set of markings in the top left corner. Looking more closely, I feel a shiver in my chest as I find four simple words that look to have been carved into the wood long ago:

My name is Jessica.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that there are other possibilities, that maybe I subconsciously spotted these words before and somehow incorporated them into my dream, but I really don't think that's what happened. Looking at my hand, I remember how it felt to touch Jessica's arm, and I realize that the sensation felt as real as all the times I've touched my own flesh-and-blood sister.

Feeling something sharp in my left hand, I look at the sage I picked a few minutes ago, but to my surprise I find that it has dried out. When I touch one of the leaves, it falls to dust.

“There you -” Mum starts to say as she comes through to find me. She stops, frowning. “What are you doing, Laura?”

I pause for a moment, before realizing that this isn't something I can keep to myself. “Mum,” I say finally, “I have to tell you something, and you have to promise not to think I'm crazy.”

Chapter Twelve

Daniel

“He died in his sleep,” the man says, as I watch an old sheet being placed over Joseph's face. “After all this time, finally he just...”

His voice trails off, and after a moment he makes the sign of the cross against his chest.

“May God forgive us for everything,” he whispers, closing his eyes and lowering his head for a moment. “We kept waiting for a sign, for some clue as to what we should do with the boy, but none came. Sometimes I even felt as if...”

I wait for him to continue.

“As if what?” I ask finally.

He opens his eyes and turns to me. “As if God had forsaken us. Or worse, as if God...” He pauses, as if he can't complete the sentence.

“As if God doesn't exist?” I ask.

He makes the sign of the cross again. “He must have given us a sign and we missed it,” he says quickly. “That must be it, it's the only possible explanation.” He turns to look back over at the bed, where the boy's body is now laid out under the sheet, waiting to be taken out and buried. Already, the sheet is stained with some of the bed's foulness, and I can't help but notice the number of flies in the room. “He's at rest now,” the man continues. “We can all rest. Perhaps Offingham can start to live again.”

“Has a doctor seen him?” I ask. “Has a cause of death been determined?”

“There's no doctor around here,” he replies. “It would take days for one to come. My wife drove a needle through the boy's foot, however, to ensure that death had claimed him, and it had. We shall bury him in a marked grave, and that will be the end of it all.”

Stepping over to the bed, I look down at the sheet and see that a pale brown stain has begun to soak through from the boy's eyes, leaving two dark shadows on the fabric; there's another stain around the mouth, but this is redder, as if his mouth was bleeding at the end. The last thing I want is to see his face again, of course, but at the same time I feel I must force myself to witness another example of the misery that has been wrought upon this world by Nykolas Freeman. Reaching down, I brush a couple of flies from the sheet before starting to pull the fabric aside.

“What are you doing?” the man asks from the other side of the room.

“You can turn a way if you'd rather,” I tell him.

“But... The boy is dead. Surely that is all that matters?”

Ignoring him, I pull the sheet away and wince as I see the boy's empty eye sockets staring up at me. I had forgotten that even in death, those gaping sockets would be open and bare, and a moment later I spot another fly crawling out of the hole on the left, pushing past what remains of a tattered eyelid. I brush the insect away, before looking down at the boy's neck and seeing that fresh crosses were carved into his neck at some point during the night. Whatever finally ended his life and carried his soul away, I can only hope that he is in a better place now, far from men like Nykolas Freeman. Sometimes I find my faith wavering, almost as if one day it could be gone entirely, but at this moment I am filled with certainty that somehow the boy has been released from his pain and is now reunited with his mother.

“May God grant you peace,” I whisper, “and may you rest for -”

Suddenly the boy's face twitches slightly, his empty sockets turning a little toward me as the smile returns to his lips.

I open my mouth. “I -”

Before I can get another word out, Joseph leaps up from the bed and clamps his bony arms around me, forcing me back until I slam down onto the floor with him on top of me. He lets out another scream, harsher and shriller than before, as he digs the shards of his torn fingernails into my face, scratching at my flesh. I try to push him away, but his strength is surprising and it takes a moment before I'm able to grab his shoulders and lift him up. His whole body is trembling as he tries once more to scratch at me, and finally he turns his face toward the window and lets out a pained gasp.

“Joseph,” I stammer, “please -”

Suddenly the man steps up behind and swings a broken piece of wood at Joseph's neck, hitting him with such force that the boy's head is torn from his body and slams into the wall before dropping with a sickening, splitting crunch to the floor next to me. I stare in horror as the skull cracks open and more flies start to crawl out from his rotten brain along with several fat, well-fed beetles.

Scrambling back, I push the remains of Joseph's corpse away and frantically brush the insects from my legs. There are so many of them, and after a moment I have to pull my shoes off and tip out a few more flies.

Nearby, the man has dropped to his knees and is gently sobbing with his hands over his face.

As I struggle to get my breath back, I stare at the remains of Joseph's body and see that the flesh inside his neck was almost completely rotten, and it's clear that whole colonies of maggots had made a home in his organs. Turning to his severed head, which came off so easily once it had been struck, I watch as more insects crawl out into the light, no doubt to search for a new home. There are still several twitches on the boy's face, no doubt caused by the festering multitude of parasites trying to find a way out, and I can't help but wonder how the child was able to maintain any kind of sanity at all when his body had begun to play host to such a vast, swarming mass of invaders. It was as if a civil war had erupted inside his body, and I can only assume that he pretended to be dead in one last attempt to get free from the bed.

After a moment, his mouth creaks open, letting out a faint groan that seems almost as if it might come from his soul. As a large bottle worm crawls out, however, it's clear that whatever was left of Joseph, his soul is gone now.

Getting to my feet, I feel an overwhelming urge to get out of this foul, stench-ridden room. Flies are filling the air, buzzing all around me as I hurry to the window and push one of the panels open in an attempt to let them out. Ignoring the sobbing man nearby, I hurry to the door just as the man's wife comes up the stairs, but I push past her without saying a word. A sense of great nausea is building in my belly, and I start running until I reach the door and emerge on the street, where I finally drop to my hands and knees and start vomiting, filled with revulsion at the misery I have encountered in this village. I know people are watching me, and a moment later I hear the woman screaming in the house, no doubt since she has finally seen what is left of Joseph. Feeling an itching sensation under my collar, I reach a hand up beneath my shirt and realize that there are more beetles crawling across my skin, as if they intend to make me their new home now that their old one has been destroyed. Crying out, I start frantically trying to get them all off, even though I can already feel more and more of them scurrying across my flesh and trying to bite through to get inside.

***

The slate gray sky rumbles with a threat of rain as I stop at the crossroads and take a moment to lean, exhausted, against the mile-stone.

Finally, now that I have run and then walked several miles from Offingham, I no longer feel as if I have beetles crawling all over my body. I am fully aware that I must have seemed like a madman when I left that village, screaming about insects and pushing people aside as I raced along the street, but I felt back there as if a kind of rich insanity was digging its tendrils into my flesh and was in danger of overtaking me completely. Now, at least, I can try to focus once again on my purpose.

Except...

What is my purpose?

Looking at the road ahead, I realize that I've been so frantic in my desperation to get away from Offingham, I forgot about everything else. There was something important, something I had to find, but... I hold my right hand up, and I see several wounds in the flesh. At first I assume that I must be covered in bites from the insects, and indeed I remember at the height of my panic having to pull some burrowing beetles out as they tried to crawl through those wounds and enter my body. Now, however, I'm starting to remember that I caused the wounds myself with metal pins, and...

My sister.

Rosie.

How could I have forgotten?

I take a step forward, but a sudden wave of weakness rushes through my body and I stumble, dropping down hard to my knees. For a moment, I feel a shudder pass up my spine as I realize that I truly forgot about my quest to find my sister. It's as if, faced with the horrors of Joseph's body and the sight of his collapse, all other thoughts were chased from my mind. Taking a series of deep breaths, however, I force myself to remember my sister's plight and the fact that she's still out there somewhere, still being tortured by the very man who caused the horrors I witnessed in Offingham.

I can almost hear her screams calling out across the hills.

“Nykolas Freeman,” I whisper, saying his name out loud so as to remind myself of my fury. Ahead of me, the gray road runs to a gray horizon, as a gray sky stretches overhead. “There is nowhere for you to hide,” I continue, struggling to my feet despite the pain in my legs. “I'm coming for you.”

At the next junction, I find a dead body. A man has been left by the side of the road, and at first I assume I have found a murder victim until I realize that the man was deathly thin when he perished, and that there is no sign of blood. There have long been rumors of famine in parts of the country, with some even saying that the king's men have been destroying crops in an attempt to punish those they suspect of harboring Catholics. Englishmen are starting to turn against Englishmen, and some even say war might be coming. Staring down at the man's body, I feel for a moment as if this entire country is falling apart, as if neighbors are being turned into enemies for the benefit of the king as he sits on his great throne in London.

A little further along the road I find another corpse, this time with a knife wound in its back.

Spots of rain are falling now, ice cold against my face as I keep walking. I reach the edge of a forest and take the road that leads between the trees, but finally I have to stop for a moment and rest. Leaning against an old oak tree, I am at least shielded from the worst of the rain, and although I tell myself that I'm only pausing for a few minutes, my eyes inevitably slip shut and my head drops, and I slip into the deepest sleep I have ever known. I dream not of my poor sister, but of my country, torn apart by a great war.

And all the while, an icy rain falls. Rain colder than a man's soul. Rain that seems to warn of great bloodshed and sorrow to come.

Chapter Thirteen

Laura

“You can't be serious!” I hiss, hurrying after Mum as she carries the dinner plates through into the kitchen. “You can't leave us here alone!”

“It's just for twenty-four hours,” she replies, with that weary, put-upon tone in her voice that she always uses when she feels sorry for herself. “I told you, Laura, I have to go and help your uncle bring the van with the rest of our things.”

“So take us with you!”

“There's no room!” She sets the plates down and turns to me with a sigh. “Laura, be reasonable -”

“Be reasonable?” I reply, shocked by what I'm hearing. “You're the one who's suddenly decided she's heading off tomorrow morning and leaving her two daughters here to fend for themselves! Really, after everything that's happened since we moved in?”

“What's happened?” she asks, glancing at the door as if she's worried Suzie might overhear. Sighing again, she turns back to me. “Nothing has happened, Laura. You had a bad dream, you hurt your ankle on a broken floorboard -”

“Suzie went missing in the forest.”

“Suzie wandered off for a couple of minutes!”

“And now something's wrong with her,” I continue. “Are you honestly telling me that you haven't noticed?”

“I've noticed something's wrong with one of you,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I've been seeing ghosts!” I tell her, almost losing my temper.

She turns to me.

“Or something,” I add, suddenly feeling flustered. I've never been the kind of person who believes in all that supernatural garbage, but the past few days have made me wonder what's really happening around here. “I've been seeing something,” I continue, “and I'm worried that maybe Suzie saw something too and she's processing it differently, by shutting down and going quiet. She thought she heard whispering coming from behind one of the walls the other night -”

“After you had us take down a wall in the kitchen to check for skeletons?” she asks with a hint of sarcasm, putting her hands on her hips. “Do you think, Laura, that there might be a connection somewhere? Ideas are like worms, they wriggle into your sister's mind and cause all sorts of drama. It'd be really helpful if you could filter what you say around her.”

She turns to head through to the storeroom.

“This is typical of you,” I say suddenly.

She turns back to me.

“You never listen,” I continue. “You want to go back to London so you can drive back up with Uncle Dave, so you're going to do it no matter what's happening here. If you don't like the truth, you ignore it, just like when Dad was -”

I catch myself just in time, but I already know I've gone too far.

“I'm going to meet your uncle tomorrow morning,” she says after a moment, her voice tense with emotion, “and we'll be driving all through the night to get here a day later. Trust me, it's not like I'm actually going to enjoy the trip, so we all have to make a little sacrifice here.” She pauses. “You're sixteen years old and I finally need you to take some responsibility around here, so please don't choose this moment to suddenly start going on about ghosts. I need you to be strong while we start our new life here. Can't you just do something for me, for once?”

“For once?” I reply, shocked by this new level of self-absorption. “When was the last time we did something that wasn't all about you?”

She stares at me for a moment. “Well,” she says finally, “I'm glad you were able to get that off your chest.”

With that, she walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing alone and feeling as if I just got told off, like I'm some kind of naughty kid.

“Mum, I'm sorry!” I call after her, but it's too late. I hear her heading up the stairs, and then I hear her bedroom door swinging shut. Great, I guess I can still be a selfish brat sometimes.

***

“Tell me what happened,” I whisper later that night, sitting cross-legged on the end of Suzie's bed. We've got the lights off so Mum doesn't realize we're up, but I can just about make out my sister's cautious, maybe even scared expression. “I won't get mad,” I continue. “I won't tell Mum, either. I just want to know what happened to you when we couldn't find you in the forest today.”

She shifts uncomfortably, and whereas earlier she was constantly staring at me, now she can't seem to meet my gaze at all.

“Suzie?” I wait for her to reply. “Something did happen, didn't it?”

She pauses, before nodding.

“Tell me,” I continue. “I need to know.”

“Did you see him?” she asks suddenly, glancing at me briefly before looking down at her hands.

I take a deep breath. This is exactly what I was afraid of. “See who?”

She pauses. “The... The man who came out of the house.”

“You need to give me a little more here,” I continue, but it's clear that she's still not sure whether she should tell me. “You saw someone come out of the house?”

Still looking down, she nods.

“Who?”

“He looked like...” She pauses, before looking at me again, and this time there are tears in her eyes. “He looked like people in books,” she says finally.

“What books?”

“Books about old times. Like, the ones at school about people from the past.” Her voice is trembling as if she's on the verge of breaking down.

“Did he talk to you?” I ask, feeling as if I need to get my worst fears out of the way first. “Suzie, did this man come over to you or... touch you?”

She shakes her head.

“So you just saw him?”

She nods.

“And what was he doing?”

“I couldn't find you and Mum,” she replies, “so I went back toward the house. When I got close, I saw the back door opening and a man came out. He was wearing old clothes, and he didn't have much...”

I wait for her to continue.

“Much what?”

She stares at me. “He didn't have much skin. Some of him was...” She holds her left hand up. “He didn't have any skin on his hand.”

For a moment, I can't help thinking back to the hand I saw under the broken floorboard. “You saw a man coming out of the house? Is that why we found the door open?” Swallowing hard, I can see from the look in Suzie's eyes that she's not lying. She definitely saw a man, or at least she thinks she did. “What happened next?”

“He just walked away. I don't think he saw me. It was like he was in a hurry.”

“And where did he go?”

“Off into the forest. I came to find you and Mum, I was scared, and then suddenly I could hear you calling my name.”

“Is that when we found you?”

She nods.

We sit in silence for a moment. I wish I had a picture of the priest, that Darian Kinner guy, so I could show it to Suzie and ask if he's the man she saw.

“You know it wasn't real, don't you?” I ask finally, putting a hand on her knee. To be honest, I'm not remotely sure that it wasn't real, but I figure I should at least try to make her feel better. Whatever's going on here, she doesn't need to be caught in the middle. “You were just imagining things,” I continue. “Let me guess, did you sneak into my DVD collection some time and watch some movies you shouldn't? Movies where people did nasty things to each other? Like that time I caught you watching Cannibal Holocaust?”

“No, I swear!”

“Suzie -”

“I swear!” she hisses, as tears start rolling down her face. “I saw a man coming out of the house! He went off into the forest!”

“Okay, I believe you.” Leaning over, I put my arms around her and hug her tight. I can feel her trembling in my embrace and it's clear that she saw something awful, but I don't know how to get the images out of her mind. Still hugging her, I look over at the corner next to the bed and think back to the whispering sound from the other night. The thought of those passages running through the house is still enough to give me the creeps, but short of taking the entire house apart I really don't know what I can do to make sure we're safe. Then again, if she really saw a skeletal figure leaving, maybe the man from the walls is gone now.

Maybe the madness is over.

“Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” she whispers, her voice filled with tears.

“Of course you can,” I reply, squeezing her tight as I look over her shoulder, watching the room's dark shadows. “Actually, I was about to suggest the same thing.”

***

“I want you to reconsider,” I hiss, hurrying after Mum the following morning as she makes her way to the taxi. “Just wait a day or two and then go, when things have died down a little!”

“This silliness has to stop,” she mutters, opening one of the vehicle's rear doors and then turning to me. She's been short with me ever since she got up, as if she's still angry at me for what I said last night. “You're sixteen years old, Laura, and that means you're not a child anymore. You always said you wanted more responsibility, right? Well here it is, in spades. Don't go using childish ghost stories to try to get me to stay.”

“What if they're not stories?” I ask. “What if they're real?”

“And what if martians come down and invade?” she replies, climbing into the car. “Your uncle and I will be here first thing tomorrow, probably around nine or ten. Look after your sister and make sure she eats properly. No TV after dinner and for God's sake don't let her use the internet if you're not there to monitor what she's doing. In fact, maybe you should both stay away from the internet, the last thing I need is for you to give yourselves ideas.”

She reaches out to pull the door shut, but I stop her and lean into the car.

“Please don't go,” I whisper, aware that the taxi driver can probably hear me. “Please, Mum, I'm begging you, just stay. If not for me, then for Suzie. She needs you.”

She stares at me for a moment, but I can see from the stony look on her face that my pleas aren't working.

“There's lasagna in the freezer, “ she says firmly. “Put it in the microwave and make sure you have salad too.”

“Mum, if you're trying to punish me for what I said to you before -”

“Grow up, Laura,” she snaps.

I stare at her, shocked by the change in her tone.

“Just a little,” she adds. “Please. For me. I need you to be a little more adult. We're in this together, we're starting a new life and I already have to deal with Suzie. It'd be very helpful if you could start helping out more, instead of causing drama.”

“Mum, I'm scared!”

“Obviously,” she snaps, “but you don't have to be a bitch about it. Just -” She pauses for a moment. “I didn't mean that.”

“If you leave right now,” I reply, shaken by what she just said, “I'll never forgive you.”

“Well,” she says, forcing a smile. “Poor you, having such a terrible mother.”

Sighing, I step back and watch as she pulls the door shut, and a moment later the taxi starts to pull away. All I can do is watch until Mum is out of sight, and then I turn back to look at the house. For a moment, I can't shake the distinct feeling that I'm being watched, but finally I tell myself that I'm just letting myself get easily spooked. For Suzie's sake, if not for mine, I have to stay calm and hope that Mum's right for once.

There can't be ghosts here. There's no such things as ghosts.

Chapter Fourteen

Daniel

I see her in a dream. Young, carefree, happy again, before all of this happened.

We're down by the river, back in our old home village at a time when our parents were still alive. Rosie's running toward the bridge, shouting at me to follow, but I'm holding back a little. To be honest, keeping up with Rosie could be difficult sometimes since she always seemed to be bursting with more energy than I've ever known in a person. There were days back then when she'd wake me at dawn and drag me off on some adventure, and then finally when sundown came she'd still want to keep going. In the dream, I stop at the river's bend and watch as she runs across the bridge, and then she turns and waves for me to follow.

She looks so happy. How could anyone hurt someone like her?

I raise my hand to wave back, to let her know that I'm on my way, but I'm momentarily blinded by a flash of reflected light from the river. I blink a couple of times and suddenly Rosie is gone. I call out, trying not to worry, but there's still no sign of her. When I get to the bridge I call out again, convinced that she's playing a joke. Deep down, however, I know that something's wrong. I hurry across the bridge and into the forest, pushed on by the knowledge that she needs my help. I can hear her screaming now, begging me for help, but the further I run, the more distant her voice seems. Starting to panic, I turn and look back the way I came, wondering if perhaps somehow I missed her.

And then I feel them.

Looking down, I see that I'm standing on a vast carpet of bugs and flies. I take a step back, but my right foot suddenly sinks down to the knee, embedded in the sea of insects. When I try to turn, I find that I can't get away, and the harder I fight, the more quickly I'm dragged down until I slip beneath the surface. Reaching up, I open my mouth and try to call for help, but I immediately feel a swarm of beetles flooding past my teeth and across my tongue as they scurry down the back of my throat. They're filling my lungs now with their sharp, scratching little legs, and after a moment I feel them breaking through the base of my skull and spilling through up into my brain, scurrying across the surface until they reach the top, at which point they start chewing their way deeper.

As I try to claw the flesh from my face and reach into my skull, I become vaguely aware of a louder scratching sound nearby. I pay no attention at first, until suddenly I'm jolted awake.

The forest.

I'm in the forest.

Night has fallen.

I reach down to brush insects from my body, but there are none to be seen. Out of breath, I lean back and sigh, telling myself that I must have slept for much longer than I'd intended, wrapped in the dark swathes of a nightmare. Slowly, my panic is starting to subside.

A moment later, I hear a twig snap nearby.

There's someone here.

I reach for my sword and draw it from its sheath as I get to my feet, and when I turn I find that there's a dark figure standing nearby, silhouetted against the moonlit road. For a moment, I take it to be a thief. After all, there are plenty of those on the roads these days, and they'll kill a man as soon as look at him.

“Who are you?” I ask, taking a step forward. “Do you mean to rob me?”

“Never,” a voice replies, and when she steps forward into a patch of moonlight I see that it's Kate, the woman I met back in Offingham. “I just saw you here and thought I'd check you're okay. I was worried... Well, I was worried you might be dead, that's all.”

“What are you doing out here alone in the dark?” I ask. “The Weirminster road isn't safe for a woman.”

“It's not much safer for a man,” she points out.

“I have a weapon.”

“That I see.”

“Did you follow me?” I ask, sliding my sword back into its sheath.

“I -” She pauses, her smile growing slightly. “I didn't have to. After all, there are only so many roads away from Offingham.”

I look around, half-expecting to find that I'm surrounded, but there seems to be no-one else nearby. Turning back to Kate, I'm struck by her lack of fear. Any woman out here alone would have good reason to be terrified. After all, she has no idea that she can trust me; for all she knows, I might be about to drag her off into the forest so I can have my way with her before ending her miserable life. At the same time, I feel a little embarrassed when I think back to the vivid dream I experienced during the previous night, when I imagined her coming to my bed. At least she knows nothing of that.

“Aren't you going to ask what I want?” she says after a moment.

“I'm sure you'd tell me if it was important,” I reply.

“I heard about the boy,” she continues, her smile fading now. “That he died, I mean, and how it happened. I can't even begin to imagine what that was like for you to witness. I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd have to see something like that.”

“His head was infested,” I tell her. “His body too.”

She nods. “I know. Sometimes, when I used to lay a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm his cries, I could feel them crawling beneath the skin. They got in through his empty eyes and laid eggs. Sometimes...” She pauses. “Sometimes I used to wonder, when he spoke to me, whether it was really him, or whether the mass of insects in his head were somehow...”

“He's at peace now,” I point out.

“I know. I just wish he'd found peace while he was alive, too.”

I pause for a moment. “What are you doing out so late alone? Surely you can't be trying to walk all the way to Retcham?”

“Isn't that what you're doing?”

“I have business there.”

“But no horse.”

“I can walk just fine,” I mutter, still feeling as if her sudden reappearance is a little unusual. For one thing, she's unlike any woman I've ever met before, full of confidence and with not an ounce of apparent fear; for another, when I first saw her, she was standing with her back to the forest, almost as if it was from between the trees that she approached me rather than from the road.

“I should leave you be,” she says after a moment, taking a step back. “Truly, I only meant to check that you were not hurt, and now I see I had no reason to be worried. You should go on your way, soldier.”

“I'm not a solider.”

“Oh, no...” She pauses. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I'm looking for Freeman,” I tell her. “My understanding is that he might yet have business in the area, and I intend to catch up to him, save my sister, and end his miserable life.”

“You must -” She pauses, before looking around as if now she's the one who fears an ambush. “You must know what Freeman is like, even if you've only heard stories. The things he does to the women he takes, they're brutal and cruel but they're also usually very quick, especially if he believes them to be -” She catches herself just in time. “Nykolas Freeman wouldn't know a real witch if one walked up to him and smacked him across the face,” she says finally, with venom in her voice. “One of the powers of witchcraft is an ability to conceal oneself from men such as Freeman. If your sister has been taken by him, that means she is in all likelihood not a witch.”

“I don't need you to tell me that.”

“It also means...” She pauses again. “Tell me, do you labor under the impression that she might still be alive?”

“I will find her,” I say firmly.

“Of course, I don't doubt you, but you didn't exactly answer my question.”

“For as long as there is a chance, I will not believe her to be dead.”

“Then...” She turns and looks back at the dark forest for a moment, before turning to me again. “You seem like a good man,” she continues. “I like to think I can tell these things, and it's clear to me that you...” She takes a deep breath. “I have not seen Nykolas Freeman on this road for a long, long time, but I heard cries recently, just over a week ago. I believe someone took women to a clearing about half a mile from here. I haven't dared approach to see what happened to them, I usually keep well away from such things but -”

“Take me.”

“I can't.”

“You must.”

“I'm scared,” she replies, with tears in her eyes. “I don't want to see.”

“Then take me as far as you can, and tell me the route for the rest.”

She opens her mouth to reply, before finally taking a step back. “You'll have to trust me, then. The forest is dark, with very little light getting through even when there's a full moon. I shall guide you as best I can, but I just...” She glances at my sword. “I hope you will remember that whatever we find, it's not my fault if it angers you.”

“Just show me,” I tell her. “You have nothing to fear.”

For the next hour or so, we walk in silence, although she continually glances back at me as if to check that I'm keeping up. There's something remarkably calm about her, more so than any other woman I've met in my life, and I can't help thinking that she's brave, too, to let herself be alone with someone she doesn't know. After all, I could do anything I wished to her right now, and she'd have no way of stopping me. Many of the men from the villages around here would as soon kill a woman as let her speak, so I can only assume that Kate is either extremely naive or extremely confident. For the first time in my life I have met a woman who seems genuinely willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with any man she finds. Truly, is this what the world is coming to?

“There,” she says, her voice trembling a little as she stops and points ahead. “Do you see?”

A shiver runs through my chest as soon as I see the clearing, where three figures have been left in the moonlight, tied to a set of wooden posts. The whole scene is bathed in an eerie blue glow, enough to reveal that the figures are all hideously burned, their skin turned dark as night.

“I will go no closer,” Kate tells me. “I will wait here for you, though, if you wish.”

Ignoring her, I step between the last of the trees and make my way across the clearing. Every step feels heavy, and as I approach the first of the burned figures I have to remind myself that most likely these are three random women, nothing at all to do with my sister. They are women, though, that much is certain, and while parts of their bodies are burned to a crisp, others are merely reddened and scorched, with patches of bare flesh showing on their naked corpses. I force myself to keep walking, to not even slow my step as I get to the first of the figures, and then I lean down a little so that I can look up into her bowed head.

It's not Rosie.

It can't be.

I stare at her features for a moment, and finally I realize that a slow sense of realization is crawling through my chest, squeezing tight.

It's her.

As soon as I see her features properly, with the lower part of her face burned beyond recognition but one eye and part of her forehead left reasonably undamaged, I can tell without any doubt at all that this is my sister's body. Her remaining eye is open, staring down at the ground with a kind of calm blankness, although I realize after a moment that her jaw is hanging down, as if she died screaming. There are nails in her neck and chest, holding her against the wooden pole, and when I look at her chest I see that some of her ribs have been torn open, no doubt as part of whatever vile torture was carried out before she was set alight. Her breasts have been sliced away and, further down, other mutilations have been performed on the parts of her body that make her a woman.

I cannot describe the sense of trembling calm that fills my body as I reach out and pull out the nails that has been driven through her chest; all I can say for certain is that deeper down, beneath that calm, something else is starting to grow, something that I feel certain is going to break through soon. For now, however, I have to give my sister some dignity.

The crude metal nails cut my fingers as I continue to tear them away.

Flakes of charred flesh fall onto my hands.

She has been dead for a few days, clearly. Perhaps a week, left naked and disfigured in this clearing.

It takes several minutes to pull the rest of the nails out, and then I take hold of her body and gently ease her down. There are two other dead women nearby, and I shall have to attend to their bodies too, but for now all I can think about is Rosie. Her body is stiff as I start to carry her away, and I can feel my fingertips digging into flesh that in some places is charred and brittle like burned hog-meat, and in other places is putrid and rotten enough to burst at the slightest pressure. I carry her across the clearing, trying to work out where and how to bury her, and finally I spot Kate up ahead, kneeling on the forest floor with her hands clasped together in prayer. When she hears me getting closer, she turns to me with tears in her eyes and I can tell that she has guessed the truth.

“I will help you,” she says, her voice trembling with shock. “If you need to dig a -”

“I can do it,” I reply, stepping past her and making my way between the trees before stopping and realizing that I have no idea where to take Rosie's body. “She was my sister.”

“There is a church about five miles away,” she tells me. “I can show you the way, if you wish to bury her there.”

I nod.

“I don't know what denomination she was,” she continues, “but -”

“It doesn't matter,” I reply, interrupting her. “A church is a church, is it not?”

“Wait a moment,” she says, turning and hurrying to the clearing. “I will be with you in just a few minutes.”

Turning, I watch as she makes her way to another of the women and starts pulling the nails out. I can't quite believe that Kate would be able to do such a thing, but finally she takes the second woman down and carries her back across the clearing until she reaches me.

“The third will have to wait,” she explains, “but at least we can take these two to hallowed ground for now.” She pauses, as if she's going to say something else, and then she steps past me. “Come. I'll lead you to the church.”

For a moment, I feel as if I can't possibly walk any further. I want to scream, to race back to the road and tear the world apart until I have Nykolas Freeman's throat in my hands. After all, I have absolutely no doubt that he is responsible for this. At the same time, I can feel that my rage is waiting until my sister is properly buried before it can burst through. There is a time for everything, it seems, and my poor dead, burned sister must be given rest so that she can pass on to a better place.

Barely able to get my thoughts straight, I follow Kate through the forest with my sister's stiff, burned corpse in my arms.

Chapter Fifteen

Laura

“He's coming,” Suzie says, with her back to me as she stares out the window.

At first I don't register what she's saying, but when I look over at her and see her figure framed against the afternoon light, I realize that her voice sounds a little different suddenly, more serious and worried. I've been trying to distract her all morning since Mum left, but it's clear that something is on her mind.

“What did you say?” I ask, setting my phone aside.

“He's coming.” She pauses, before turning to me. “Can't you feel it?”

“Why don't we play a game?” I reply, forcing a smile. “How about Monopoly? You're probably old enough.”

She stares at me, and finally a frown wrinkles her forehead. “He's coming,” she says again.

Heading over to join her at the window, I look out at the garden and at the line of trees at the far end. “Who's coming?” I ask cautiously. “I don't see anyone.”

“That's because he's not here yet,” she replies, “but -” She reaches out and takes my hand. “He is coming.”

“No-one's -”

Before I can finish, there's a loud bump from upstairs, from the room directly above us. I look up for a moment, and then I turn to Suzie and see that she's looking over at the door.

“Okay,” I say with a forced smile, “that's enough of that. We're not going to let ourselves get spooked out by little bumps, are we? This is an old house. No, scratch that, this is a goddamn ancient house. Houses... They settle, did you know that?”

“They do what?” she asks, frowning.

“They settle,” I continue, taking a step back from her. “It's what houses do, and it makes them creak and bump sometimes.”

“What does it mean?”

“Settling? It just means...” I pause, realizing that I have no idea. “Plus there's the plumbing,” I add, with an increasing sense of desperation. Damn it, who am I trying to convince? Her or me? “The plumbing in these old places is always completely shot, and the pipes move and bang into each other.”

“They do?”

“And the thing about humans,”I continue, “is that we're, like, programed to read stuff into stuff and think it's something else. You know, like, always seeing patterns that aren't really there.” Realizing that I'm making no sense at all, and that I'm starting to panic slightly, I try to force myself to stay calm. “Why don't we play a game, yeah? To distract ourselves and get our minds fixed on something else?”

“Dad used to say -”

“Forget about Dad,” I tell her. “Let's play a game. What about Cluedo? Or Risk? I'm epic at Risk, I'll whip your butt.”

“But Dad said -”

“Dad's gone!” I snap, although I immediately realize I shouldn't be so harsh. After all, she's just a kid. “Dad's gone, so there's really no point talking about him. When someone's gone, they're gone.” I hold a hand out to her. “Why don't we go outside and play in the garden? You know, get out of the house for a few minutes, something like that?”

She comes over to me and takes my hand, but I can tell she's reluctant. Still, I lead her out into the hallway and then through to the kitchen, figuring that we can find something to do in the garden. When I get to the back door, however, I pause as I see a figure watching the house from behind a tree. He doesn't seem to have noticed me at all, even though I should be perfectly visible to him. I blink, waiting for him to turn out to be a shadow or perhaps a weirdly-shaped bush, but as the seconds pass I can tell that it really is a man. He's wearing old-fashioned clothes, too.

“Do you see that guy?” I ask, taking Suzie to the window and pointing at the tree in question. “Don't be scared, it's okay, just tell me if you see him.”

She pauses, before looking up at me and nodding.

I feel a cold shudder in my chest as I watch the man for a moment longer. There's something about him, something that just doesn't feel right, as if he's not in the same light as everything else around him. After a moment, I head to the back door and pull it open, but the man remains in place. Again, it's as if nothing I do is remotely visible to him. I want to go and hide, to pretend this isn't happening, but I know I have to face it head-on.

“Hey!” I call out, waving at him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He watches the house for a moment longer, before ducking back out of view behind the tree. When he doesn't reappear after a few seconds, I hurry across the lawn and head to the tree, and of course when I get there I find that he's vanished completely. There's no way he could have run off into the forest without being seen; instead, he just seems to have disappeared into thin air. Feeling a cold breeze all around me, I turn back to see that Suzie is standing in the middle of the lawn, watching me.

“There's nothing to worry about,” I tell her as I head back over to her. “It's just -”

I stop as soon as I see a figure at one of the house's upstairs windows. For a fraction of a second, just a fraction, I can see the figure sitting in one of the rooms, although the image is gone as soon as I blink. Turning back to look at the tree, I realize that the man a moment ago must have been watching the house to see if the priest was here. It's almost as if part of the past was briefly bleeding through. I instinctively reach for my phone to call Mum, before realizing that there's no way she'll ever believe any of this. Still, if this is how things are going to be during the day, I have no idea how we're going to get through the night alone.

“Hey,” I say finally, turning to Suzie, “do you fancy going for a walk?”

***

“Hello?” I call out as I lead Suzie into the church. “Is there anyone here?”

I look around, but I'm already getting the feeling that this place is completely deserted right now. I guess I was slightly hoping that Kate would be here, even though I knew deep down that there wasn't much chance. She told me last time that she only comes here once a month or so.

“Is anyone here?” I shout. “I need your help!”

Silence.

“Great,” I mutter, taking a deep breath. I don't know what I really expected that Kate women to do if I found her, but I suppose I was hoping that she'd magically make everything better. Still holding Suzie's hand, I lead her along the aisle and around the rear of the altar, only to find that the door to the office has been left unlocked. It's still messy as hell inside, but somehow it feels safer and calmer than any room back in the house.

As the rough edges of a plan start to form in my mind, I turn to my sister. The idea is nuts, but right now it's the only thing that even slightly eases the panic in my chest.

“This might sound crazy,” I tell her, seeing the fear in her eyes, “but... Do you want to camp out tonight?”

“Camp out?” She frowns. “In the garden?”

I shake my head. “Here. Right here, in the church.”

As soon as the words have left my mouth, I can see a hint of relief in my sister's expression. “I know it's kind of weird,” I continue, “and it might even be illegal, but I don't think anyone'll find us and to be honest, I'd feel way better spending the night in an empty, slightly spooky old church instead of... Well, instead of the house. We'll be find tomorrow when Mum comes back, but just for tonight we'll have an adventure right here. What do you think?”

She nods enthusiastically, and for the first time in a while she actually smiles.

“We'll need some things,” I tell her, “or we'll be cold. We'll have to go home just for a few minutes, just to get some blankets and stuff, but then we'll come back here with torches and snacks and games, and we'll have a party, just you and me. Whatever's going on at the house... I don't know, maybe somehow it'll play itself out, but I really don't want to be constantly worried about seeing people out the corner of my eye.”

“Will Mum be mad?” Suzie asks.

“Mum doesn't have to know, she -” Pausing, I realize that Mum's absence tonight is actually a perfect opportunity. I can hook my laptop up to the internet and leave it running in the house, and from here in the church I can use my phone to watch whether anything happens. Hopefully, by morning we'll have proof that something weird is happening. Mum'll have to listen to me once I've got evidence. “We just have to go back to the house,” I continue, heading toward the door, “and -”

Suzie pulls on my hand, as if she wants me to stay.

I turn to her. “We have to pop back,” I tell her. “We need blankets.”

“I'm tired.”

“Well...” Looking at her, I can see the exhaustion and fear in her eyes. “I have to go back, at least,” I tell her. “I have to set everything up.” Stepping back over, I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Do you want to wait here for me?” I ask, figuring that she'll be fine in the church. “I know it's kind of scary sitting around in a place like this, but -”

“I'll be fine,” she says keenly, interrupting me. “I just don't want to go to the house.”

“Me neither.”

I pause, seeing the desperation in her eyes, and finally I realize that I have no choice.

“Take my phone,” I continue, slipping it from my pocket and handing it to her. “There are games on there, okay? Just don't go buying anything, or I swear I'll make you pay. Don't go online. Just play one of the games that are already on there.”

She nods, and I can see that she's more relaxed now.

“I'll be a couple of hours at most, okay?” I continue, pulling a chair out for her and heading to the door. “No-one'll come here, I promise, there's only, like, this one woman who ever comes this way, and I don't think she's due for weeks.” I stop and glance back at her, but she's already fiddling with my phone and I can tell that she's relieved. This whole situation feels completely insane, but right now I don't know what else to do. “Everything'll be okay, you know,” I tell her. “I promise.”

She turns to me. “You said that when Dad was ill.”

“Yeah, but -” Pausing, I realize that she's right. All the time Dad was in the hospital, I kept telling Suzie that he'd be fine, and look how that turned out. “This is different,” I continue. “This is stuff we have control over.”

I wait for a reply, but she's tapping at my phone and a moment later I hear the familiar menu music for one of the games I downloaded a while back.

“So just stay right here,” I tell her. “No leaving the church. Hell, no leaving this room. Got it?”

She nods, already transfixed by the screen.

As I head back along the aisle and out of the church, there's a part of me that thinks this is crazy. After all, I'm about to leave my sister alone in an abandoned church for a couple of hours, with nothing but a mobile phone to keep her busy. At the same time, I trust her implicitly, and I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like if we tried to spend a whole night at the house, just the two of us, listening to the weird sounds and maybe even seeing more people. I'm worried that in a few minutes' time I'm suddenly going to be horrified by the decision I made, but as I reach the edge of the forest and look back at the church, I genuinely feel as if Suzie is safer there for now.

I'm her older sister.

I'm keeping her safe.

That feeling only grows as I make my way through the forest. Each step back toward the house feels like it twists the knot in my stomach a little more, and there are a couple of times when I genuinely consider just turning back and trying to find blankets in the church. Still, I keep going and finally I get to the edge of the garden and stop for a moment, watching the house cautiously.

Everything looks fine.

Making my way across the lawn, I start to wonder if this whole mess has just been cooked up in my mind. The house looks so normal and so ordinary right now, it's hard to believe that there could actually be anything untoward here. Before we moved away from London, I was certain that ghosts didn't exist; now, after just a few days, I've become a nervous wreck, convinced that there could be figures watching me at any moment. I head up the steps and stop at the back door, peering into the house, but everything is exactly as we left it.

Maybe I have overreacted after all.

Even worse, maybe in the process I've messed up my sister's head too.

Heading inside, I make my way upstairs to my room and grab a few blankets, and then I open my laptop and bring up a messenger app. The smell of Mum's potpourri is stronger than ever, reminding me of her and making me miss her more than ever. If I had my phone with me right now I'd call her, just to apologize and hear the sound of her voice. Part of me wants to spend the night here after all, to prove that everything's fine, but I figure I owe Suzie a night at the church. Besides, just because everything seems normal now, there's no guarantee it'll be the same tonight. The room feels calm and quiet all around me as I click on my own phone number, and then I sit on the bed as I wait for Suzie to answer.

“Laura?” she says finally, her voice a little distorted over the line.

“Hey,” I reply with a smile, seeing her slightly pixelated face on the screen. “Just checking in. How're you doing there?”

“I'm fine,” she tells me. “I'm up to level eighteen.”

“Seriously? That's further than I ever got.” For a moment, everything feels completely, refreshingly normal. “Are you okay there? You haven't... I mean, have you seen or heard anything?”

She shakes her head.

“That's good. Do you still want to camp out overnight?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“Me too,” I mutter, looking around my bare bedroom for a moment. “I just need to find a few more blankets and then I'll head back to you. Is there anything in particular you want me to bring?”

“No,” she replies, “just -”

I wait for her to answer.

“Just what?” I ask.

“Just...” She pauses. “Be careful.”

I can't help but feel a little touched by her concern, but also sorry that she has to worry at all. “I'll be back in an hour,” I tell her. “Bet you can't get up to level thirty.”

“Bet I can!”

“Go on, then.” Cutting the call, I let out a sigh of relief before opening the video program and plugging my laptop into the charger. I know it's a long shot, but I figure I can at least set it up to record during the night while we're out, and there's always a chance that it'll pick up something weird. If that doesn't work, I have no idea what to do, but at least I can get us out of the place tonight. Switching the camera to night mode, I make a few other adjustments, and I can see my face in green and black filling the screen. There's fear in my eyes, and for a moment all I can do is stare at my bright, glowing eyes as the night mode struggles to adapt to daylight. Am I crazy? Is this whole mess just a product of my feverish imagination? By the time darkness falls, I'm sure -

Suddenly something moves behind me, captured briefly on the screen. I freeze, telling myself that the video feed must have just hiccuped, but I know I saw a shape briefly flitting across the room. I turn slowly, but there's no sign of anything. When I turn back to the laptop, I realize I hadn't hit the button to record yet, so I quick set the program going and then grab the blankets before heading to the door. At the last moment, I turn and look back across the room. My heart is pounding, and I'm quite certain that I saw something, I just wish that I'd had the laptop recording a few moments earlier. Still, as I turn -

Before I can take another step, the door slams shut, sealing me in the room. I reach out to try the handle, but something seems to be holding it closed from the other side. Trying not to panic, I step closer, hoping to force the damn thing open.

Suddenly the smell of potpourri, which was so strong a moment ago, vanishes entirely, replaced by a stench of lavender and some kind of oil.

And then the door swings toward me, slamming into my face and knocking me back. I'm unconscious before I even hit the floor.

Chapter Sixteen

Daniel

“We shall have to go back for the third body soon,” Kate says as she comes to sit with me by the cemetery wall. “I can do that, though. I'll do it this afternoon.”

Barely even able to hear her words, I stare straight ahead at the two graves we dug with our bare hands, and which now contain the bodies of my sister and the other, unnamed girl we brought here. St. Michael's is a church that appears to have been abandoned long ago, with the grass left to grow long, and I can only assume that at some point a priest was driven out of here, maybe even killed, maybe even by Freeman himself. The ground is still holy, however, despite anything the king and his lackeys might declare, and I feel certain that Rosie has now been freed from her earthly body and has been taken up to the next life.

And now I'm waiting for my sorrow to subside so that my rage might take breath.

“They weren't witches, you know,” Kate says after a moment.

I turn to her.

“Your sister and those other two women,” she continues. “They were obviously tried as witches and sentenced to death, but no matter what some idiotic priest hunter might have said, they were innocent. They were just ordinary women who happened to fall victim to a monster.”

I nod, before turning to look back over at the graves.

“This isn't the first time I've come across the remains of Freeman's victims,” she explains. “I travel a lot in this county, and in the ones that neighbor us too, and maybe once a year I see some trace of his work. Say what you will about him, but the man is relentless. He constantly hunts priests and witches and anyone else who doesn't fit with his view of how the world should be, and his cruelty is unwavering.” She pauses. “While he might be able to track down a priest now and then, I assure you the man has no idea what he's looking for when it comes to witches.”

“He's hunting something that doesn't exist,” I say darkly, feeling the anger starting to rise through my soul. I was always taught to contain my emotions, but I can do so no longer. “Witchcraft is just another foolish superstition.”

“Don't be so sure,” she replies. “Even if Freeman cannot recognize it, that doesn't mean...”

Her voice trails off, and I turn to her.

“This church was once thriving,” she continues, evidently keen to change the subject. “Then one day Freeman decided that the local priest, albeit not a Catholic himself, might have certain sympathies. The priest denied it, of course, but when Freeman comes up with an idea, there is nothing that can be done to change his mind. So the priest was put on trial for treason and promptly executed, and the church was ordered to be abandoned. I myself used to come here sometimes as a child. My parents would bring me to sing hymns and meet some of the other children from the area, not that I had much interest in such things but still...” She pauses, looking over at the stone building. “It's still a church. No-one can change that, not even Freeman.”

“God would not want a man like Nykolas Freeman to be on the loose,” I mutter darkly. “When the king gave Freeman his appointment, he can't possibly have known what he was unleashing.”

“Don't be so sure about that,” Kate replies. “You'd be surprised how many people in the surrounding area actually support Freeman's work and believe he's saving them from the Catholic plague, and from the evils of witchcraft too. I myself have witnessed the man being hailed as a hero when he arrives in some of the villages. He's given free food and lodging, free wine, free use of many of their daughters. For a so-called man of God, he certainly knows how to enjoy the physical pleasures of the world.”

“Where can I find him?” I ask.

“Why? So you can kill him?”

“Of course,” I tell her, with my eyes still fixed on my sister's grave. “I might even torture him first, so he feels what it's like.”

“No. You mustn't become like him. If the good men of this world come to mimic the bad, then we are all lost.” She puts a hand on my arm. “If you find him, you must kill him quickly and cleanly, with honor.”

“He deserves no mercy,” I mutter darkly.

“Do you have any idea how many have been in your position? How many have seen their loved ones die at Freeman's hand and have set out to gain revenge? Good people, honest people, twisted into rage and anger, and not one of them was able to stop him. Freeman is smart and he surrounds himself with people who warn him when trouble is coming.”

“You doubt that I would be able to bring him down?”

“I know you would not.”

“Then you don't know me well enough,” I reply, getting to my feet and making my way toward the cemetery's gate. “Go and fetch the third woman, so that you might bury her. I must continue my search for Freeman.”

“I can help you!” she calls after me.

“Only God can help me,” I mutter, “by guiding me to that monster.”

“I'm one of them!” she shouts.

I step through the gate before stopping and turning back to her.

“I'm one of them,” she says again, making her way toward me. There's fear in her eyes now, as if she's worried about how I might react. “The people Nykolas Freeman is hunting, the people he wishes to torture and burn... There's a reason I live away from the towns, and a reason I mostly travel by night. I'm one of them.”

“A priest?” I ask cautiously. “You're a woman, you cannot be a priest.”

She opens her mouth to reply, before simply shaking her head.

“Then what are you?” I ask. “Please don't try to tell me you're a witch, because I know with all certainty that such things are not real.”

“And how do you know?” she asks, with a hint of fear in her eyes. “How can you make such a declaration?”

“Because the only people who speak of such things,” I reply, “are fools and madmen.”

“They speak without knowing the truth,” she continues. “There are few of us left now, and we spend most of our time hiding from the likes of Nykolas Freeman. Your sister was not a witch and neither were the two women who died with her, but...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “I can help you,” she adds finally. “If you go after Freeman in your current state, you will die. I can see it now, I can see you on some remote road, facing him down and trying to avenge your sister, only for him to drive his ax into your heart. That will be your death. There are things I can do that will give you a better chance, but if you're going to accept my help then you need to act fast, because I fear Freeman already has more victims lined up.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” I ask, taking a step toward her. “After everything that has happened to me today, I'm about ready to -”

“Your sister once pushed you off a bridge near here,” she replies, standing her ground. “While we were burying her, I picked up flashes in my mind, images, things you were thinking about. Once, when you were both very young, you were playing on the bridge that crosses the river just outside the town of Mepley and your sister pushed you. The river was shallow that year and when you landed, you scraped your knees. You were so angry, you refused to play any longer and you told her she was an idiot. Eventually she won you around by making you a pair of gloves. While you were burying her, you thought of that moment, and you also thought of the last time you saw her alive.”

“You don't know what -”

“You left her at a public house,” she continues, interrupting me. “You left her in the care of someone. You never told me this, so how would I know? You promised you'd return soon, but that was five years ago and you've been in London ever since, trying to make your fortune, always promising yourself that you'd send for her soon but never quite reaching that point. Deep down, you feel guilt for the fact that your sister was still here, even though you must know that none of this is your fault.”

“If I'd taken her to London with me,” I point out, “she wouldn't be dead now.”

“Only Nykolas Freeman is to blame for her death, and only Freeman merits punishment. Any other blood that is shed, including your own, would be a waste.”

“You tell me with one breath that I cannot kill him,” I reply, “and with the next that he should die for what he has done.”

“If you're to kill him,” she continues, “you will need help, and I can give you that help. If you'll let me, that is.”

“All I need is my sword.”

“No, Daniel, you need more than that.”

Staring at her, I realize that she's absolutely serious.

“Let me prove it to you,” she adds, stepping closer. “Let me show you what I can do to help you stop this monster, and then perhaps you will understand why it's so important that his reign of terror is stopped, just...” She pauses for a moment. “You must understand that you cannot turn back. If you truly go after him, then you must succeed or you will only make him more powerful. If you fail, his influence might even come to extend beyond his mortal lifespan. He might no longer be contained by the limits of human life.”

Chapter Seventeen

Laura

As soon as I open my eyes, I can tell that time has passed. The room is dark now, with moonlight streaming through the window's latticed patterns, and I can hear voices shouting downstairs. I try to sit up, but I immediately feel a sharp pain on my forehead, and when I reach up to check the damage I feel dried blood just above my right eyebrow. I crawl back and lean against the wall, trying to get my bearings, and then I look over toward my bedside table and see that not only is the table gone, but so is my laptop.

Suzie.

I have to get to Suzie.

I struggle to my feet, feeling a little dizzy but determined to get moving. Looking around the dark room, I realize that the blankets have vanished, along with everything else that was here earlier; instead, there's a lot of larger, older furniture that I don't recognize at all. Trying not to panic, I turn and open the door, but as soon as I step out onto the landing I can tell that everything has changed.

“There's nothing here!” a male voice shouts from Mum's bedroom. “I can take it apart a thousand times, but I'm telling you, there's nothing here!”

“Look again!”

“But -”

“Look again!” an angry voice shouts. “For God's sake, man, what am I paying you for?”

Hurrying over to the door, I look through and see three men pulling part of the wall away to reveal the narrow crawlspace. Candles on a table by the window light their work.

“How many times are we supposed to do this, Connaught?” one of the men asks. “You know as well as the rest of us that if there was a priest hiding in this place, we'd have found him by now!”

“Freeman won't take that for an answer,” replies the man by the window. His name is apparently Connaught, and he seems to be in charge. He glances toward me, as if he's worried someone else might come into the room, but it's clear he can't see me at all. “I received word that he's on his way, he could get here at any moment. If we don't find that priest, he'll just make us start all over again.”

“There's nowhere else that a man could have hidden,” the other guy says as he leans down and peers under the floorboards. “Unless this priest is the size of a child, there's no way we wouldn't have found him by now.”

“I know,” Connaught mutters, still looking out the window, his face lined with worry. “Our work is good and you're right, it's impossible for that priest to be here, but Nykolas Freeman is not a rational man. When he believes something to be true, he moves heaven and earth to ensure that it comes about and he doesn't take kindly to those who stand in his way. If we don't produce a priest from this house, Freeman will just assume that some devilry is afoot. We'll be lucky if he doesn't start thinking that we're all involved somehow, and you know what'll happen then.”

“You'll have to get the family to confess,” the man at the far corner tells him. “Maybe they sent the priest away. Maybe they can tell Freeman which road he took. I mean, if I was a priest, even a dirty papist, I'd not sit around in a place like this if I knew Nykolas Freeman was after me. I wouldn't want others to risk their live for me.”

Connaught mutters something under his breath before turning and coming over to the door. I instinctively step out of the way as he makes his way past me, but it's clear that none of these people can see or hear me. Heading out to the landing, I see Connaught heading into the room at the far end. I follow, and when I reach the door I see to my horror that Henry Baxendale, his wife and little Jessica are bound with ropes. Jessica immediately looks over at me, her eyes widening with fear.

“Where is the priest?” Connaught asks Henry.

“I don't -”

Before he can finish, Henry is felled by Connaught's punch. Dropping to his knees, with his hands still tied behind his back, Henry spits out a little blood.

“Where is the priest, man?” Connaught asks, towering over him. “No matter how harsh you think I am, you must know that Nykolas Freeman is another matter entirely. Why, they say Freeman is known the length and breadth of the country, and that even in London they fear his name.” He pauses for a moment. “He's coming. Do you understand that? Freeman himself is riding to this house, and when he gets here... Well, I'm sure you've heard the same stories as the rest of us. You'd have better luck trying to plead your case with the Devil.”

Making my way over to Jessica, I kneel next to her, but I have no idea how I can help her.

“It's going to be okay,” I whisper, as candlelight flickers by the window, lighting the side of her face. “I'm going to make sure everything's okay.”

Reaching around her, I start pulling at the rope around her wrists. She's bound tight, and as Connaught continues to interrogate Henry I find myself having to work harder and harder until, finally, I manage to get Jessica's hands free.

“You won't get another chance after this,” Connaught tells Henry. “Maybe I can help you receive mercy, Mr. Baxendale. Once Freeman gets here, I fear nothing can be done to help you personally, but there's still time to save your wife and daughter. If you're relying on Freeman to spare them, I fear you're making a grave mistake. You must have heard the stories about his actions in Winchester last year, you know that no-one is safe when he's got the sniff of a priest. They say he even killed a newborn child once, on account of it having suckled at the teat of its papist mother.”

“You have to run,” I tell Jessica. “You have to get out of here right now.”

“I can't,” she stammers.

“What's that?” Connaught snaps, turning to her. After a moment, he makes his way over and leans down to look into Jessica's eyes.

“Don't come near her!” I hiss, but he can't hear me.

“Tell me, petal,” he continues, still looking at Jessica, “do you know where your father has been hiding the priest? Have you seen a man crawling into a narrow space somewhere in the house? It's okay, you can tell me.”

“Leave her alone!” Henry shouts.

“Here's the thing,” Connaught continues, kneeling next to me and putting his hands on Jessica's shoulders, “your father is a wicked man, he's taken the side of those who would overthrow the king. Can you believe that? King James himself, our ruler and protector, is a good man, but your father and his papist friends think otherwise. Now, that's his own matter for his own conscience, but the problem is that he's dragging you and your lovely mother with him. There's no priest in the land, of any persuasion, who's worth this sacrifice. A bad man is coming, a very bad man, and I can't stop him, but I can at least help you. You're going to have to help me first, though.”

“Run,” I tell Jessica, with a rising sense of panic in my chest. “Run!”

She turns and looks at me for a moment, but suddenly Connaught looks behind her and sees that her wrists are unbound.

“How did she get out of these?” he shouts, turning her roughly and starting to tie the ropes again. “I thought I ordered them all to be tied good and proper?”

“Stop!” I hiss, trying to push him away but unable to stop him at all. I can feel him as I push, but he clearly has no idea that I'm here. “Let her go! She's just a child!”

“He's here,” a voice says suddenly.

Turning, I see that one of the workers is standing in the doorway.

“Freeman,” he continues, clearly scared. “He's here.”

“Damn it,” Connaught mutters, finishing with the ropes on Jessica's wrists and tying them extra tight, before getting to his feet and heading to the door. “I tried to help you, Baxendale. As God is my witness I tried, but you wouldn't have it. Now you'll have to deal with Freeman himself, and I can assure you that he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants. I fear you've lost any chance you might have had to save your family.”

As Connaught heads out of the room, the other man starts rechecking the ropes around the family's wrists. I want to try to pull him away, but I know there's nothing I can do, not unless I'm able to come up with a better plan. Looking down at Jessica I see that she's starting to sob.

“Everything will be okay,” Henry says firmly, staring down at the floor almost as if he's in a trance. “The Lord will see to it that our souls are protected. I will not have my family acting like animals, you must control your fear.” He turns to Jessica. “Pulls yourself together, girl,” he says firmly. “Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing your weakness.”

“Henry,” his wife replies, “please, maybe it's time to -”

“No!” he hisses, turning to her.

“But -”

“Quiet, woman!” he continues. “This is my house and I make the decisions. I will not have you going against me. Remember what I said, the Lord will protect us.” He looks at Jessica again. “Make the child stop with her sniveling. She's a Baxendale, not some common peasant. She should show pride in her family name.”

“Where is he?” I ask, kneeling once more in front of Jessica. “Tell me where the priest's hiding, and maybe I can do something, maybe I can get you out of here.”

Still sobbing, with tears flowing down her face, Jessica stares at me.

“Where is he?” I ask again. “Please, you can trust me, I'm trying to help you!”

Her bottom lip trembles, but I can see from the look in her eyes that she's holding something back. “Father...” she whispers finally, “Father... Father made us promise not to -”

“What's that?” one of the workmen asks, stepping closer, having apparently heard her starting to speak. “Got something to confess, have you?” He grabs Jessica's hair and forces her to look up at him. “Where's the dirty Catholic, darling? There's still time for you to save your own soul, even if your parents are doomed to rot in hell.”

“Be strong, Jessica!” Henry shouts.

“You know where the priest is, don't you?” the workman sneers, yanking Jessica's head back hard. “Tell me!”

“Leave her alone!” I hiss, even though I know he can't hear me.

“Take your hands off my daughter,” Henry says firmly. “She's just a child, for God's sake!”

“A child you've corrupted,” the workman replies, stepping over to him. “What kind of a father would let his own daughter be dragged into the filthy cult of Catholicism? What kind of a father would have more loyalty for a lowly seminary priest than for his own family?” He leans closer. “She'll die, you know. Freeman'll kill the lot of you.”

Henry mutters something under his breath.

“What's that?” the workman asks. “A prayer for deliverance? A Catholic prayer?” He takes a knife from the nearby table. “I ought to -”

“Bring out the owner!” a voice shouts suddenly, from outside on the lawn. “Bring out the miserable bastard and his family!”

“Come on!” the workman sneers, grabbing Henry's bound wrists and dragging him to his feet. “Sounds like Mr. Freeman wants to deal with the three of you personally.”

“Stop!” I shout, as two other workmen hurry through and grab Jessica and her mother, shoving them roughly toward the door. “What are you doing?” I hiss, hoping against hope that I can make them hear me. “Why are you just blindly following orders like this?”

Following them out to the landing, I see that other workmen are already making their way down the stairs, as if their job is done.

“Where are you?” I scream, turning and looking around at the nearby doors. “Darian Kinner, I know you're hiding here somewhere! You have to come out! These people are going to die!”

Racing down the stairs, I follow Jessica and her parents as they're led out through the front door into the night air. The workmen are already outside, and to my horror I see a man striding across the dark lawn with an ax in his right hand. As soon as I see his face, I can tell that this must be Nykolas Freeman, the man I was told about the other day in the church. Everyone else seems to be trying to keep as far away from his as possible, except for Connaught, who is following him toward the steps.

“It's going to be okay,” I stammer, looking down at Jessica as she continues to sob. “I swear, there's a way out of this. They're just trying to scare you...”

“What are you going to do?” Connaught asks.

“Your work is done here,” Freeman replies with a calm, confident smile as he comes up the steps toward us. It's almost as if he enjoys this cruelty. “Now my work shall begin.”

“You're wrong!” Henry shouts at him. “I don't know why you think I would hide a priest in my house, but -”

Before he can get another word out, Freeman smashes the ax handle into the man's face, knocking him down.

“Run!” I shout, grabbing Jessica and trying to pull her away, only for one of the soldiers to grab her and hold her in place. I try to pull her free, but after a moment I realize that the struggle is hurting her and I stand back, trying to think of another option. I remember hearing about Freeman killing the people who lived here, but no matter how horrific the situation seems, I can't believe that he'd murder a child.

“Don't lie to me,” Freeman sneers as another soldier hauls Henry up. “When a man lies to me, I am immediately set free of any restraints that I might otherwise feel upon my soul.”

“This isn't really happening,” I whisper, looking around at the figures on the dark lawn before turning back to the terrified family. “None of this is real. I'm just dreaming...”

“We're not hiding a priest!” Henry stammers, with blood running down his chin. “Why would we do that? Has someone made a false claim against me? Your men have taken my house apart, if there was a priest hole here they would have found it!”

“Darian Kinner,” Freeman replies. “A seminary priest who has been running from me for several months now, defying my every attempt to catch him. He persists in spreading his odious, treasonous word across this county, and the Devil himself ensures that there are enough fools to hide him from the King's men. I have witnesses who saw Kinner riding this way less than a week ago, and I am certain he arrived at this house and has not left.”

“No,” Henry stammers, “please -”

“Stop that!” Freeman shouts suddenly, stepping toward Jessica as she continues to sob. “Stop at once!”

“Please,” Mrs. Baxendale pleads, “she's just a child...”

“How old is she?” Freeman asks.

“She's just seven...”

“By the time I was seven,” Freeman says as he reaches Jessica, “I had already cried my last tear. I had learned to fight, and to serve in my father's workplace, and to train so that I would be able to join the King's forces.” He looks down at her. “What is your name, child?”

“Leave her alone,” I say firmly, but it's clear that like almost everyone else here, he has no idea that I even exist. I step closer, my face almost against his now. “Leave her alone!”

“I asked you,” he continues slowly, with menace in his voice as he looks past me, “what is -”

“Jessica,” Mrs. Baxendale tells him. “Her name is Jessica. Please, she's just a child, can't you find it in your heart to let her go?”

Freeman continues to stare at the girl.

“Don't you touch her,” I sneer, leaning even closer to him. “What kind of monster are you?”

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, there's a faint twitch in his expression, almost as if on some deep level he knows that I'm here.

Reaching down, I put a hand on Jessica's shoulder, and I'm shocked to realize that her whole body is shaking with fear. Hearing a spattering sound, I look at her feet and see that she's soiling herself.

“She's the child of sympathizers,” Freeman continues, turning to Jessica's mother. He pauses for a moment. “I do believe, Mrs. Baxendale, that you just interrupted me while I was speaking.”

“Stay strong,” I tell Jessica, as Freeman makes his way over to the mother and continues to goad her. “Just stay strong, I'm going to get your out of here.”

Jessica lifts her face a little and looks at me, but I can tell she has no faith that I'll be able to help. I want to tell her how I'm going to get her out of this, but right now I have no idea.

“This man's a monster,” I continue, looking over at Freeman as he barks commands to the soldiers who came with him to the house. “How can someone like that be allowed to kill people? How can the world work like this? I know it's four hundred years ago, but these are still human beings, why do they do things like this to each other?” I turn back to Jessica. “I'm going to get you out of here,” I tell her. “I don't know if I can help your parents, but I think I can help you, so when I tell you to run, you have to run as fast as you can, through the forest and toward the lake. I'll be right behind you and -”

Suddenly I see that the guards have begun to force Mrs. Baxendale down until she's on her knees, and a moment later one of them pushes her head down into a bowing position. Henry rushes forward and cries out, but another guard holds him back.

“What are they doing?” I whisper, as Freeman steps around her. A sense of pure dread is starting to fill my soul.

“This is your last chance,” Freeman sneers, adjusting his grip on his ax. “Tell me where in your house the priest is hiding.”

“There is no priest,” Henry replies. “I swear to God, man, there is no priest hiding in my house! If there were -”

Suddenly Freeman raises his ax and then swings it down toward Mrs. Baxendale's head. She flinches and tries to turn away, but I stare in horror as the blade slices through the side of her neck, spraying blood across the ground. Freeman mutters a few curse words as the woman falls back, clutching at her neck as blood flows freely. She looks like one of the animals I once saw in a video about an abattoir, desperately fighting for her life while letting out pained, almost inhuman groans. After a moment, I turn and put my arms around Jessica, trying to keep her from seeing what just happened.

“It's okay,” I whisper in her ear, holding her tight. “Don't look. Promise me you won't look! Promise me you -”

“Cowardly whore,” Freeman says over my shoulder, as I hear Mrs. Baxendale desperately gasping for air. “If she hadn't tried to pull away, I would have cut her head cleanly away. This time, I shall take her cowardice into account when I aim my blow.”

As I hold Jessica tight, one of the guards puts a hand on the girl's trembling shoulder, as if he too wants to comfort her. A moment later, I hear Freeman's ax striking the ground, and Mrs. Baxendale's sobs come to an abrupt halt. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, desperately hoping that Jessica can't see what happened, but when I open my eyes I realize that there's no way to protect her from the truth. For a moment, there's nothing but silence, and then I realize I can hear Jessica's teeth chattering with fear.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. “Please, I'm so sorry...”

“As God's will is made clear to me,” Freeman says finally, “so shall I enact it in this world, and slay those who would harbor enemies of the Lord and the king.”

“Try not to look,” I tell Jessica, with tears in my eyes. When I turn toward Freeman, however, I see that he's holding a severed head in his hands. I quickly turn away again, pulling Jessica tighter.

“I will ask you again, Sir,” Freeman continues, “to tell me where in your house I will find that miserable priest. I am sure his safety was not worth your wife's life, and I trust that you will not imperil your daughter the same way. Are you so cruel, that you would choose to safeguard the priest rather than looking after your daughter?”

Holding Jessica tight, I feel as if all these horrors have wiped the thoughts from my mind. I know I have to act fast, I know I have to do something, but all I can think about is the sight of that severed head in Freeman's hand. A moment later, I feel the ground shudder beneath my knees as the monster comes closer.

“Tell me, child,” Freeman says, towering over us as I continue to hold Jessica tight, “I know there is a priest hiding somewhere in your parents' house. Where can I find him?”

“Don't look,” I tell Jessica, even though I know she's staring at her mother's severed head. “Please, don't look. We're going to run, okay? When I say it's time to run, we have to run far away from here and never look back. I'll save you somehow, the history books are wrong.” Even as the words leave my mouth, they feel woefully inadequate.

“You're not like your parents,” Freeman continues, reaching down and touching Jessica's chin. After a moment, he tilts her face up, forcing her to look at him.

“Leave her alone!” I scream, getting to my feet and trying to push him away, but merely slamming harmlessly into his side and falling back. It's as if there's nothing I can do to interfere, even though for a moment it seems as if Freeman is almost about to look at me.

“You haven't been warped and twisted by the vicious lies that fill their minds,” he continues, still staring down at Jessica, “you haven't turned against God and your country. You know, deep down, that the priest hiding in your father's house is a man who must be drawn out of the shadows and dealt with.” He pauses again, as if he's waiting for her to agree. “Do you know who I am, child? I am Nykolas Freeman, and I operate on the authority of King James himself to root out any and all Catholic priests who try to spread their poison through our fair land. You're young, you probably know little of the troubles that have bewitched the country in recent years, but you must try to see things properly. Ignore everything your father has taught you, and listen instead to a man of the king. Out of the goodness of my heart, I am offering you this one, final chance”

He crouches in front of her.

“Tell me where to find the priest.”

“You're a monster,” I sneer as he waits for Jessica to reply. “There's no god in all of creation that would want a man like you to exist.”

“No,” Freeman tells Jessica, forcing her to look into his eyes after she tries to turn toward her father, “look at me, child, not at that traitor.”

A tear rolls down her face.

“Leave her alone,” Henry stammers. “She's just a child, for God's sake!”

“A child who knows the truth,” Freeman replies. His tone has changed again, with a hint of steel now. “A child who will not reveal that truth. Perhaps the rot is too deep in her mind already.” He pauses, before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. His lips move, as if he's whispering something to himself.

“Don't touch her!” I shout, trying to push him away but once again not even managing to get him to notice me.

He gets to his feet and stands back, with his eyes fixed on Jessica. “Put her on her knees,” he says calmly, “and bow her head.”

“I -” The guard pauses. “Sir, she's just -”

“Put her on her knees,” Freeman says again, more firmly this time, “and bow her head.”

The guard shoves Jessica down, forcing her to kneel.

“This can't happen,” I stammer, feeling completely helpless. After a moment, I look up toward the night sky, and finally I do something I've never done before, something I never even did while my father was dying in hospital. “Please,” I whisper, as Henry shouts at Freeman, “if you're up there, stop this madness! Don't let him hurt her! She's just a kid!”

“I'm doing nothing,” Freeman mutters. I turn and see that he's still looking down at Jessica “You're the one, Mr. Baxendale, who would rather let your daughter suffer instead of obeying the law of the land and turning the priest over to me.”

“There is no priest here!” Henry shouts, still trying to get free.

“Run!” I tell Jessica, grabbing her arm in an attempt to drag her away. “Run right now!”

She tries to come with me, but the guard keeps her on her knees.

“Know this, child,” Freeman continues, moving the hair aside on the back of her neck. “Know that your craven father chose to protect the life of a priest over the life of his daughter, even when he knew that the game was up. Know also that he has raised you in such a way that will consign your soul to the depths of torment upon your death. I can only hope that you take solace in the fact that there are men such as myself who travel the length and breadth of this country tirelessly, rooting out evil wherever we find it, and that one day we shall triumph. One day, the cruelty and barbarity of the Catholics will finally have been vanquished from this fair land.”

“Kinner!” I scream, turning toward the house. “If you can hear me, you have to come out! He's going to hurt Jessica!”

Looking back at Freeman, I see that he already has his ax raised as he stares down at the back of Jessica's neck.

“There is no priest in my home!” Henry shouts.

“Hear that?” Freeman asks with a faint smile. “Even now, your father lies.”

“There is no priest!” Suddenly Henry manages to slip free, only for the guards to grab him and pull him back.

“We're going to run, okay?” I tell Jessica, dropping my knees next to her. I put an arm around her as her body trembles. “There's no way he'll hurt you,” I continue, looking over at Mrs. Baxendale's severed head before closing my eyes and hugging Jessica tight, even as her sobs get louder and louder. “I'm going to think of something, I'm going to work out how to get us out of here. I promise.”

She opens her eyes, and finally she looks at me.

“It's okay,” she whispers, her voice hushed so that only I can hear her. “Father says that after we die, God -”

Suddenly there's a flash of metal right in front of my eyes. I flinch and pull away, and the next thing I see is the ax blade swinging back past me with fresh blood dribbling down onto the ground. For a moment, too shocked to even react, I can only focus on the blade, before finally it moves away from my field of vision and I see Jessica's headless body slumping to the ground with blood spraying from her neck. I can hear Henry screaming nearby, but my whole body is shaking and I keep staring straight ahead, convinced that somehow none of this can be happening. Finally, I turn and see Jessica's severed head resting on the grass nearby. Her eyes are fixed on me, and after a moment she blinks a couple of times before falling still.

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Nearby, Freeman is still talking, lecturing Henry about the Lord and about morality. All I can do, however, is crawl over to Jessica's head and look down at her lifeless eyes. It's as if the whole world has flinched at the sight of such horror.

I failed.

I should have found a way to save her.

Shouting “Run” a few times was never going to be enough.

I should have done more.

Finally, slowly, I turn to look over at Freeman. He's talking to Henry, but I can't even begin to focus on his words. Instead, all I can manage is to stare at Jessica's blood as it glints against the metal surface of the ax. I feel as if there's some massive force brewing in my chest, a kind of rage I've never experienced in my life before, and slowly I get to my feet as I watch Freeman barking orders to some of the other men. Nothing they say matters right now, not as I watch Freeman's foul, evil face. It's as if, finally, I've come to realize that I'm witnessing a creature of pure evil, a man who stands apart from the rest of the world and who thought nothing of murdering a sobbing little girl in cold blood. Consumed by anger, I take a step toward him, filled with the knowledge that I have to do something to stop him. I can hear voices nearby, arguing and shouting, but they're drowned out by a growing static buzz that fills the air more urgently with every step I take until finally I'm standing right next to the monster and the buzzing sound breaks.

“And then form a ring,” Freeman is saying as I'm finally able to hear him properly again, “so that we can be sure the priest does not escape.”

“And then form a ring,” Connaught shouts to the nearby workers. “Go! Get on with it!”

All around us, workmen and soldiers light torches and head up the steps into the house. Freeman has Henry dragged onto the lawn, and I keep pace with him, still trying to work out how I'm going to make him pay for what he did to Jessica.

“You're a monster,” I tell him, even though I know he probably can't hear me as he continues to give orders to the others. “You're evil. You're pure, black-hearted evil, you're like something that crawled up from the pits of hell, you're so cruel and monstrous that it's almost as if you've broken time and you're bleeding through, you're -”

Suddenly he turns and looks at me.

I freeze, telling myself that I'm wrong, but -

His eyes are fixed on mine, and after a moment his gaze narrows slightly. Nearby, flames are starting to fill the house, but all I can do is meet this monster's stare until, finally, the faintest of smiles crosses his lips.

“You're going to pay,” I whisper. “If I have to dig your corpse up myself, I'm going to make you pay, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows the truth about you.”

He continues to stare at me for a moment, before turning and making his way over to Henry. “Treason will not prosper,” he tells him. “All seminary priests shall be rooted out, and those who hide them shall face justice.”

“You don't know anything about justice,” I tell him.

His gaze flickers slightly, and he looks at me for a fraction of a second before turning and bringing his ax crashing down against the side of Henry's head, splitting the man's skull and killing him instantly. Still smiling, Freeman stares down at the bloody mess for a moment, before slowly turning to me.

“And what are you?” he asks. “Some form of witch?”

“My men went through every inch of that house,” Connaught says, standing nearby as he watches the flames grow. “If there was a priest in there -”

“He is still in there,” Freeman replies, turning to him as he wipes his ax. After a moment, he glances at me again and then makes his way over to his horse. “Don't question me on such things, I have been searching for their kind this past decade, and I am never wrong. Father Darian Kinner was hiding in some greatly concealed spot, thinking that he would be able to fool me and that I would eventually ride on, leaving him to breathe again. He was wrong.”

He slips the ax into a bag and then climbs up onto the horse.

“Throw the corpses into the flames,” he continues, “and then follow me on the road to the town of Faring. I have heard tell of another priest being harbored there, by a family of five no less. Their house must be taken apart and the priest must be found, and then justice will once again be served.” He pauses, and it's clear that he's deliberately avoiding looking at me as he turns back to Connaught. “Or have you lost the taste for priest hunting? Must I find another master carpenter and question your loyalty to the cause?”

“We'll follow,” Connaught replies, although he sounds reluctant. “My men and I will be no more than two hours behind you on the road.”

“And if you hear the priest's screams from inside,” Freeman continues, “let him burn. The wretch was hiding in that house. I know this to be true.”

With that, he turns and starts riding away. I look back toward the house and watch for a moment as the flames spread, and then I turn and hurry after Freeman. He's riding at walking pace, almost as if he expects me to keep up with him, although he doesn't look back as he leads me along the dark road. Once we're away from the house and the glow of the fire, we make our way along a pitch-black and muddy road with only a few patches of moonlight showing here and there. Keeping my eyes fixed on him, I feel compelled to follow, as if I have to witness his full evil and find some way to stop him, but all I can think about is the sight of Jessica's head on the ground, with the image being replayed over and over in my mind.

And then, suddenly, Freeman brings his horse to a stop ahead of me.

Waiting for me.

I stop too, not wanting to get too close. When I hurried after him, I was filled with an overwhelming desire to make him pay for what he just did, but now I have no idea what I can do. After a moment, without turning to look at me, he reaches down and puts his hand into the bag hanging from the horse's saddle.

The bag with the ax.

He turns his head, not all the way but just enough to allow me to see the side of his face picked out by a line of moonlight. A moment later, I see his breath in the cold night air.

“Are you not coming closer?” he asks finally. “You had no fear earlier, although maybe...” He pauses. “Maybe that was when you thought I couldn't see you. I could see you, though. I realized immediately that only the child and I were aware of your presence, and that piqued my interest a great deal. Your desperate attempts to save her life were rather amusing. The fact that you hid yourself from the others leave little doubt regarding your true nature.”

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. All the anger in my chest has started to twist and harden, slowly forming a core of pure fear.

“You should have struck sooner,” he continues, still not quite looking at me. “Anger is a valuable ally, but once it wears off and becomes something else – sorrow, perhaps, or fear – the battle is lost.”

Staring at him, I still see Jessica in my mind's eye, and I still hear the sound of the blade as it sliced through her neck and the sound of her head landing on the grass.

“There are few things I abhor more than a seminary priest,” Freeman adds, turning his head a little more, until I can see the side of his eyes. “One type of creature, however, fills my soul with such hatred, I truly cannot rest until the last beat has been wrung from the wretch's heart.” He pauses. “You are a witch, are you not?”

Taking a deep breath, I realize that this time he's waiting for an answer.

“What other form could hide itself from the men back there?” he continues. “The little girl saw you, I think, but the others were completely oblivious. That, in itself, is a remarkable achievement. To be honest, most of the witches I have encountered over the years have been loathe to show their powers, but you...” He turns his head a little more, and now I can see that he's smiling. “You almost seem proud. Even your appearance gives you away, you are not a creature born of the natural world. Tell me, what drew you to the Baxendale house?”

“I'm not a witch,” I reply, although I feel certain I must seem hopelessly weak.

“Then what are you?”

“I'm just...” Pausing, I see that he still has his hand in the bag, no doubt holding the hilt of his ax. “You killed them,” I say finally. “I was right there and I saw you, you -”

“They were Catholic sympathizers,” he snaps, interrupting me.

“She was a child!”

“A Catholic child, raised by Catholic parents in a Catholic home! There was no hope for her!”

“So you murdered her in cold blood?” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “You cut her head off!”

“I executed her in accordance with the law of the land,” he replies. “I did nothing that in any way strays from the authority placed in me by His Majesty King James. I had the honor of feeling our king's hand on my shoulder, you know. He personally entrusted this duty to me, and I promised I would never rest until these fair counties have been scoured and rid of the Catholic plague. That day might have fallen long ago, but my resolve only strengthens as the years pass. Implicit in his command was another, however... The order to kill any abomination I might encounter, and the greatest abomination of all...” He pauses, and finally he turns to me, revealing the ravenous anticipation in his eyes. “The great abomination is you, witch!”

“Go to hell,” I whisper, taking a step back.

“You are a foul thing,” he continues, turning his horse and starting to trot slowly toward me. “Never before has one of your kind dared to stand before me with such clarity.” He pulls the ax from his bag. “Do you not fear me, witch? Usually your kind run screaming and hide themselves among honest folk.”

“I'm not a witch,” I tell him, keeping my eyes fixed on the ax. “You can't even... I'm not even really here. I'm just imagining the whole thing, or I'm dreaming somehow or...” As he comes closer, I take another step back. The truth is, even though I've been telling myself that I can't get hurt, I've suddenly started to realize that I really, really don't want to put that theory to the test. All I want right night is to wake up from this nightmare.

“Will you run?” he asks. “Will you try to hide from me? Will you try to use your cursed powers to stop me? I must warn you, I have the might of God on my side and no witch has yet managed to hold me back. Clearly you followed me with the intent to end my life. Fine, I wish to see you try. It would amuse me to witness such a fragile young thing attempt to bring down someone of my stature.”

Staring at him, I realize that it was crazy to follow him. I don't know what I was thinking, it's as if the urge to make him pay was so great, I couldn't help myself.

“Come for me,” he continues, slipping his ax bag into the bag before holding his arms out at his sides. “I am completely unarmed, witch, so do your best. Let us see how God deals with your miserable efforts.” He smiles. “I am a man of the Lord, and I serve my king. It is impossible for me to be slain by a miserable, common witch.”

“I want to go home,” I whisper, taking a step back as I feel tears welling in my eyes. “I don't want to be here.”

Reaching down, I pinch my wrist, hoping that I can somehow wake up.

“Do you hope to find that you're dreaming?” Freeman asks, having clearly noticed what I'm doing. “Perhaps you are the kind of witch who cannot even control her own powers? I had not considered that if you are so young, you likely do not know the extent of your abilities. If that is the case, then you might not even realize that the longer I can see you, the more visible you become to others as well.” He pauses. “Isn't that right, Mr. Connaught?”

I stare at him for a moment. “Mister -”

Hearing a faint rustling sound over my shoulder, I turn just in time to see Connaught coming up behind me.

“No!” I shout, stepping back and then turning again. The last thing I see is Freeman's grinning face as he swings his ax at my face. I close my eyes and try to duck out of the way, and then something heavy slices into my shoulder.

Chapter Eighteen

Daniel

“I don't have time for this,” I mutter with mounting frustration, as Kate and I watch two old women fetching water from a river. “Why did you bring me here? I have to go to Retcham, so that I might locate Freeman.”

“Just watch them,” she replies. “Don't you see what is going on here?”

The women glance at us as they turn and carry their buckets back up the hill, toward the wooden shacks they evidently call home. It's clear from the way they walk that they're tired, yet at the same time there is an unmistakable sense of nobility about them, as if some inner strength compels them to keep going.

“Why do they live out here?” I ask, turning to Kate. “Do they not have families?”

“None that would welcome them through the door,” she tells me. “Nykolas Freeman might be a madman, and he might have killed hundreds of women after falsely accusing them of witchcraft, but that doesn't mean witches don't exist at all.” She pauses, with a faint smile on her lips. “We're real, Daniel. We keep hidden from most people, we're careful not to advertise our presence and we mostly evade notice, but there are a few of us left. Every year our numbers dwindle a little further, and very few are born to each new generation. Sometimes I fear we will be gone one day, but for now we remain, albeit on the margins and living out here far from anyone else.”

“You -” Staring at her, I realize that she's deadly serious. “You can't expect me to believe that you're a witch! Or those old women...”

“Have you heard of the witch's mark?” she asks. Turning, she lifts the side of her dress, revealing three thick, lined scars forming a crude triangle on the flesh just above her hip. “Freeman searches for this on all the women he tortures, but he never finds it. A witch only reveals the mark to those she trusts.”

“I -” For a moment, I think back to the dream I had in Offingham, in which I laid my hands on Kate's naked body and felt the scar. How could I have possibly known it was there, unless...

“Do you wish to touch it?” she asks, eying me with a smile. “Again?”

Turning, I watch as the old women struggle back to their shacks. “If they are witches,” I continue, “then why do they not use their magic to carry water? Why do they not strike down men like Nykolas Freeman?”

“If only it were that easy,” she replies. “The truth is, witchcraft is sorely misunderstood. Our powers are limited, we cannot change the world, we can only push it now and again in certain directions. We can hide ourselves well enough from Freeman, but actually taking him on?” She shakes her head. “That would be another matter entirely.” She pauses, and I swear I can see sadness entering her eyes. “We have visions of the future sometimes,” she continues. “Fragments of it, at least. I'm afraid there is a terrible war coming to this land, Daniel.”

“Are the French going to invade again?” I ask. “The Dutch? Whoever comes to these shores, they will be repelled!”

“It will not be that kind of war,” she replies. “It will be the kind of war in which men will take up arms and fight their neighbors. Not under this king, but under his son. I cannot even begin to imagine how many lives will be lost, but the torture and persecution of Catholics and witches will be as nothing compared to the misery that will soon sweep across England. What you see now, the persecution of a few people on the margins, will soon spread to almost every soul. All of this, Daniel, will happen in your lifetime.” She pauses, as if she hopes I might understand already. “That's why Nykolas Freeman is able to keep doing what he does, and it's why other men like Freeman operate in different parts of the country. They're perhaps best seen as a kind of advance warning, ahead of the greater evil to come. The first flies to gather on the corpse.”

“You're talking of civil war,” I reply, shocked by the suggestion. “That will never happen here, not in England. The days of such disunity are long gone.”

She shakes her head. “When it comes, everything will unravel. For a time, at least.”

“You are wrong.”

“I wish that were so,” she replies, “but the signs are everywhere. Pain and misery, division, persecution... First people turn on the weakest among them, then they turn on others, and finally a bloody conflict erupts. Men such as Freeman take advantage of such horrors, and there are other signs too. Cold rain, for one. Colder rain than you can possibly imagine, colder than ice. It doesn't matter whether you believe me, Daniel. Civil war will come to pass in this land.”

“So what do you want me to do?” I ask. “Kill Freeman and somehow save the whole of England?”

“Even killing Freeman might be too great a task,” she continues. “There are barely one hundred witches left in England, and many of them are old and childless. I fear that within a century, the number will be less than half of that. Ridding this country of Nykolas Freeman will not prevent the coming war, because Freeman is merely a symptom of a greater darkness that waits to burst through. Still, if Freeman can be brought down, then at least some lives might be saved.”

“I care only about my sister.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she believes my plan is doomed to failure. “Let me take you to a safer place,” she says finally. “Let me take you to the church close to the Baxendale house. There, I can perhaps help you understand the nature of the challenge you face, and give you some guidance that will make it easier for you to strike Freeman down.”

I watch for a moment longer as the two old women work at their shacks. It's hard to believe that they could be witches, and part of me worries that Kate is merely slowing me down with these wild stories. Still, there's something about her that makes me wonder if I should at least let her try to help. It's as if, deep down, I know I can trust her.

“Take me to the church, then,” I reply, “but be quick about it. I want Nykolas Freeman dead within the day.”

***

“This belonged to him,” Kate explains as she holds out a gold coin. “He dropped it once while he was riding through a village. I happened to be there, and I took the coin once he was gone. I've held onto it ever since, in case I ever got a chance to use it in this manner.”

Sitting in the church, with night having fallen and only the light from several candles to bring a faint glow to the room, I take the coin and examine it for a moment.

“I have seen coins like this before,” I tell her finally, reaching out to give it back to her. “It's nothing unusual.”

“It belonged to Nykolas Freeman,” she replies, “which means that we can use it. It spent time close to him, it's a conduit that allows us to focus.” She pushes my hand away and then takes hold of my fingers, forcing them to close around the coin. “There's now a link in your mind -”

“Childishness and -”

“There's a link in your mind,” she says firmly, squeezing my hands tight, “that will help us.”

I sigh, but from the look in her eyes it's clear that she's deadly serious. Whatever possessed me to take part in this foolishness, I can only hope that it ends soon.

“Give me your other hand,” she continues.

“Why?”

“Do it.”

“I don't take -” I catch myself just in time; I was about to tell her that I don't take orders from a woman, which is true, but still... I hold my hand out, although I immediately start to pull it back when she holds up a knife. “What are you going to do with that?” I ask.

“A blood bond needs to be established.”

“You've asked me to believe a lot, but -”

“For your sister,” she adds, interrupting me. “Didn't I already prove to you that I've been inside your mind? How else would I be able to know so much about you?” She pauses, before moving the tip of the blade close to my palm and then pressing it against the skin. “Before I do this, you must be absolutely certain that you will not falter. The blood bond will make it easier for you or for someone in your bloodline to kill Freeman, but it'll also make it harder for anyone else. By going through with this ceremony, you're committing to being the bloodline that ends his life.”

“Mark my words,” I tell her firmly, “I will have that man's corpse at my feet by this time tomorrow.”

Without replying, she presses the knife harder against my skin and finally the tip breaks through. I wince, but I keep my hand in place as Kate cuts a long, diagonal slit down toward my wrist. Beads of blood start to dribble from the wound, but she quickly turns my hand over and unclenches my other fist, before forcing me to hold my palms together so that my blood is pressed against the coin.

“There is another rule,” she continues. “You must kill Freeman with his own weapon. An ax, I believe. You must use the ax, or you will give him a chance to return even if he dies some other way. He could become undead, which would allow his reign to continue forever. His death must be sealed with his own weapon, do you understand?”

“But if -”

“Do you understand?”

Staring into her eyes, I can see that she truly believes all of this is necessary.

“Yes,” I tell her finally, as much to keep her happy as to make a promise. “If at all possible, I will use his -”

“Not if possible,” she says firmly, leaning closer to me. “Use his own weapon against him, it's the only way to get rid of him forever. A man liked Freeman is watched over by creatures he doesn't even know exist, and they will seek to resurrect him if they get the chance. I know you might not believe everything I'm telling you, but please, you have to swear that you'll do this properly.” She waits for a reply, even though I'm starting to wonder if she's of sound mind. “When you part your hands,” she continues, “the coin will guide you straight to Freeman. As long as you have the coin, you'll know instinctively which way to go, and that should be all the proof you need that all of this is real.”

“Fine,” I reply, “I believe you.”

She pauses, before letting go of my hands. “Give it a moment,” she continues, “and then you will feel it.”

I part my hands, while keeping the coin in my bloodied right palm. For a moment, I feel almost embarrassed by the fact that I've even entertained the slightest possibility of witchcraft working, but a moment later I turn and look toward the door. Somehow, I'm starting to sense an unseen force tugging at the very edges of my consciousness, as if to guide my thoughts in a certain direction. Getting to my feet, I'm suddenly overcome by the sense that I must leave the church and follow the nearby river until I get to Wellingham, and then I must follow the left-hand fork until I come across Freeman's farm, which is where I will find him. The idea that I could sense so much is incredible, but at the same time the feeling is too strong to ignore.

“Don't lose the coin,” Kate tells me. “You won't get another chance like this.”

I turn to her.

“You believe,” she continues, with a faint smile. “I can see it in your eyes. Don't worry, Freeman won't feel a thing. He believes himself to be well hidden, he has taken great care to establish a home where he can carry out his work undisturbed. Just remember what I told you about using his ax against him, and you will be fine.”

I want to thank her, but at the same time I'm still not sure whether I'm ready to admit that I was wrong earlier. Filled with a sense that I have to get moving, I turn and head toward the door before stopping and glancing back at her.

“Why?” I ask. “Why would you help me do this?”

“You have no idea how many of my friends have died over the years,” she replies, as several of the candles die, leaving just one burning next to her. “Not just at Freeman's hands, but at the hands of others who style themselves as priest hunters, and as witch hunters and men of God. There are so few of us left, and those of us who survive do so only by hiding in the shadows. Helping you is just one small way in which I can try to save my people from extinction. By itself it will not be enough, but maybe it will be a useful step.”

“Nykolas Freeman will die,” I tell her. “Of that fact, you must have no doubt at all.”

With that, I turn and head out of the church, out into the cold night air. With just the moon above to guide me, I make my way quickly across the field, filled with a great sense of purpose. When I get to the far side and am about to enter the forest, I look back at the church and think of Kate still in there. I still find it hard to believe that everything she told me was true, but once I have killed Freeman I shall come back here and find her again, and then one way or another I can try to learn more about the people she claims to protect.

About the war, though, she must be wrong. It is simply impossible that this land could ever fall into such a terrible conflict.

Chapter Nineteen

Laura

Somewhere in the distance, a woman is screaming.

Sitting up suddenly, I hit my head against a set of metal bars and for a moment the whole world seems to swing around wildly. I try turning, only to find that I'm packed into a space so tight that I can barely even move. When I look down, I see the floor a good twenty feet below and I realize I'm hanging high up in a cramped, spinning metal cage. I hold still for a moment and the spinning slows, until finally I'm able to look around and see that there are several other cages nearby, all of them hanging, like this one, by chains that hold them to the ceiling. The room is dark, with the only light coming from cracks in the ceiling.

The scream continues in the distance. The same scream that woke me.

Struggling to make sense of what's happening, I turn and look back over my shoulder and then I take hold of the thick black metal bars. A sharp pain runs across my breastbone, and when I check for a wound I find that thick blood has dried all over my chest, soaking into my shirt and causing the fabric to stick to my flesh. My fingers brush against the torn flesh and I realize the last thing I remember is Freeman's ax swinging toward me. When I pull the tattered edges of torn fabric aside, I see a thick wound in my shoulder, as if a heavy blade gouged out chunks of flesh and damaged the bone. There's pain, but it's more of a dull ache.

“Where am I?” I whisper finally, starting to panic. “Where am I?” I shout, causing the cage to rock slightly. “Let me out of here!”

In the next cage, a woman is groaning.

Further away, in another part of the building, another woman is still screaming.

“You'll be next,” says a voice nearby.

I turn and look across the room, and after a moment I realize that the voice came from the figure in the next cage along, hanging a little closer to the wall.

“This is how he always does it,” she continues. “He brings a new one in, and then he finishes up one of the old ones, so the whole place is filled with screams. Then he takes the new one through for the first session. You'll be next, you'll see.”

“No,” I stammer, trying to turn around in the narrow confines of my cage. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home.”

“I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up, to be honest,” she adds. “It's been a while now. Sometimes they don't wake up, you know. Sometimes he shoves them in a cage and they just die. Like that one, over there.”

Turning, I see a figure slumped in one of the other cages. It takes a moment before I'm able to make out a dry, withered face with bulging eyeballs almost coming out of the sockets.

“No,” I whisper, looking at my hands and seeing that they're caked in blood. “Why am I still here? Why haven't I woken up yet?”

The other woman laughs as I try to force open the door to my cage. There's a thick lock on the bars and sets of chains all around; besides, even if I got loose I'd never be able to survive the jump. I could climb up the chain that's holding me to the ceiling, but my shoulder is far too badly damaged and I'm certain I'd fall. Turning again, I keep telling myself that this can't last, that I'll wake up at any moment back at the house, but deep down I know that these visions never usually last this long. What if somehow I'm stuck here this time? What if I never manage to get back?

“I heard them talking earlier,” the woman in the next cage says after a moment. “Freeman thinks you're special, he says you're one of the strongest witches he's ever seen. I think you're going to get a lot of attention.”

I turn to her, but all I can see is her silhouette.

“I'm not a witch!” I hiss.

She laughs. “Neither are the rest of us, dear. We're just people who happened to look at him wrong while he was passing in the street.”

“This can't be allowed to happen,” I continue. “Someone has to call the police!”

“The police? What's the police?”

“There has to be a law against this!” I shout. “He can't just go around doing this to people!”

She laughs again. “Round here,” she says after a moment, “Nykolas Freeman is the law. On the King's word, no less. You need to face it, girl, there's no-one coming to rescue you. You're going to die, just like the rest of us are going to die, and you should just accept that fact and hope Freeman hurries up with you. Me, I've been here for weeks now, I'm starting to think he's forgotten me. I don't get much food and water, either. I reckon one day soon even that'll stop, and I'll just be left to starve in this thing.” She puts her hands on the bars of her cage, and in the low light I can just about make out her skeletal fingers. “I've heard starving's a really slow way to go. Really painful. I hope he comes and cuts me in half instead, or drowns me. At least that'd be quick.”

Grabbing the bars of my cage, I try once again to get the door open, but nothing seems to be working. The more I struggle, the more the cage swings and the more the other woman laughs, and a few seconds later another woman joins in from the next cage along. As the laughter grows all around me, I turn and try to find some other way out of here, and panic starts to spread its wings in my chest until all I can do is start pulling desperately on the bars in the vain hope that somehow they'll come loose. The cage is swinging violently now, enough to make me dizzy, but I can't stop pulling at the bars as tears run down my face.

“Let me out of here!” I scream. “I want to wake up!”

“Quiet in here!” a voice shouts suddenly from far below.

Looking down, I see that a figure has entered the room. I watch as Connaught walks over to the wall and starts loosening a chain that's wound around a metal peg, and a moment later I feel my cage shudder as it's lowered down toward the floor.

“Told you you'd be next!” the woman shouts after me. “Tell him not to forget me! Tell him I'll give him anything he wants, so long as he kills me before sundown!” With that, she starts laughing wildly.

Before I can reply, my cage bangs against the stone floor and I turn to see Connaught walking over. He leans down and turns a key in the lock, and then he pulls the door open and steps aside.

“Out,” he says firmly.

I stare at the open door, suddenly worried that this is a trap.

“Get out,” he continues, “or so help me God I'll throw a pail of boiling water in there to get you moving.”

Cautiously, I start to crawl out, even though my whole body is trembling with pain. Once I've made it through the door, I start getting to my feet, only to be shoved back down with a boot to the nape of my neck.

“I didn't tell you to stand,” Connaught mutters. “Sorry about this, it's on Freeman's orders. He doesn't want you running away, now does he?”

I look up at him. “What do you -” Before I can finish, I see that he's holding a hammer; he quickly puts a hand on the side of my face and turns my head away, and then I feel him slamming the hammer down against my right ankle, breaking the bone instantly. I let out a cry of pain, but a second later he does the same thing to my other ankle and all I can manage is to slump down against the stone floor and sob. The pain is immeasurable, throbbing through my body as if it's about to burst through my mind.

“Move,” Connaught says firmly, using the tip of his boot to nudge my arm. “Through that door.”

I try to sit up, but the pain in my ankles is too extreme. Tears are rolling down my face, but I manage to turn and look at him, and I see a hint of regret in his eyes. Behind him, a dribble of liquid is running down from one of the other cages.

“Please,” I whisper, “I just want to go home...”

“You don't have a home,” he replies, “not anymore.” Reaching down, he grabs my arm, causing a flash of pain to run through my damaged, infected shoulder. “If you won't try to crawl, I guess I'll just have to drag you.”

Before I can reply, he starts pulling me across the cobbled floor. My broken ankles rattle over the stones, sending sparks of agony through my body and causing me to cry out once again, while my shoulder feels as if it's about to get torn loose. I try to get free of his grip, but he's holding me too firmly and finally I start focusing on trying to keep my ankles from banging so hard against the floor. By the time he drags me into the next room and shoves me down, I've been holding my breath for several seconds and I have to let out a pained gasp. I close my eyes tight, hoping against hope that when I open them again I'll find I've gone home.

This has to end.

Suddenly there's a loud scream nearby. Opening my eyes, I turn and see to my horror that a naked woman is tied to one of the tables and that Freeman is on the other side, slowly turning a wheel that's stretching the woman's body. Her head is tilted back and she's sobbing, and finally I hear a sound like splitting fabric. I want to turn away and close my eyes, but for some reason I just keep staring until, with no further warning, a huge tear opens up around the woman's waist and she's ripped in half, with her guts slopping out onto the table and torrents of blood washing down to the floor, splashing against my face. Unable to stop watching, I realize that she's still screaming, but the sound fades to a gurgle after a moment as her torso starts shuddering.

Feeling something wet against my fingertips, I look down and see that her blood has run between the cracks of the cobbles. I pull back, wiping as much of the blood off as possible.

“It's still not to my liking,” Freeman mutters as he walks around the side of the table and examines one of the wheels. “I'll have to make adjustments before I use it again.”

“Did you get the truth from her?” Connaught asks, making his way over to the table and watching as blood continues to flow down onto the floor.

“She wasn't a witch,” Freeman replies calmly, stepping over the pool of blood and making his way toward me. “Still, she affected a tone and a way of talking that aroused my suspicions, and for that she only has herself to blame. There was nothing good about her, nothing worth keeping alive. I hardly think the world will miss another stinking whore.” Stopping next to me, he stares down into my eyes. “This one, on the other hand, interests me greatly. I have no doubt whatsoever that she possesses at least limited powers.” He gestures for me to get up. “On your feet.”

“Please,” I whisper, turning and looking toward the door on the far side of the room, “I don't belong here, I just -”

“On your feet!” Freeman shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling me up.

Before I can react, he lets go and forces me to put my weight on my broken ankles. I let out a cry of pain as I feel the damaged bones slicing through my skin, and I quickly drop back down in a heap of sobbing agony. When I lean on my damaged shoulder, another burst of pain hits me and I roll down onto my other side.

“You will stand!” Freeman sneers, pulling me up yet again. This time he holds me for a moment longer, as if he's giving me a chance to steady myself, but when he lets go of me the same thing happens: I feel as if there are razor blades packed between my shattered bones and I slump down, although this time my scream is more like an agonized grunt. There's no room in my head for thoughts; there's only pain.

“Pathetic,” Freeman mutters, stepping past me and heading over to a nearby bench. “I can only assume that she is not yet in full possession of her powers.”

“She's young,” Connaught replies, having unstrapped the dead woman from the table. He pulls her top half down, letting it slam onto the floor like an unwanted piece of meat, and then he starts dragging it to the door. “Not like this one. The pigs are gonna have their work cut out for them, chewing through all the gristle on this old bitch.” When he opens the door and drags the woman's top half outside, I realize I can hear pigs nearby.

“Don't worry,” Freeman says after a moment, turning to me, “you won't become food for those swine. They only get the ones who disappoint me.”

“I have to get out of here,” I whisper, trying to sit up. Looking round, I focus on the other times I found myself back in the past, and I wrack my brains as I try to think of some common theme, something that seemed to force me to wake up. As pain builds in my ankles and shoulder, however, I can barely think about anything other than the agony I'm enduring right now, and finally I break down in a series of sobs. “I want to go home...”

“Look at her,” Freeman says as Connaught comes back into the room. “Even now, she pretends to cry, in the hope that we'll spare her.”

“It's always the way,” Connaught replies, grabbing the dead woman's legs and pulling the lower half of her body toward the door, with the intestines trailing behind and leaving smeared lines of blood. “I don't know what's wrong with the modern world, not one of them ever accepts their fate with dignity. These witches are all the same.”

“I'm not a witch!” I scream as he heads outside. When I turn to Freeman, I see that there's a smile on his face, as if he finds me amusing.

“If you're not a witch,” he says calmly, “then you have nothing to worry about, do you? If you're not a witch and you're not a Catholic, God will protect you. If God doesn't protect you, on the other hand, I can only assume that he wants you to suffer the fate that is reserved for all your kind.” Grabbing a knife from the counter, he steps toward me. “I am God's instrument in this sinful world, and the king's too. I perform no act for which I do not have the highest possible authority.”

“Go to hell!” I shout.

“Do you not trust God to protect you?” he asks. “Well, I'm not surprised. Your kind never have true faith, do you?”

Reaching down, he grabs me by the collar and starts pulling me across the room, straight through the puddle of blood left by his last victim. I struggle and try to pull away, but I'm too badly hurt to put up much of a fight and all I can manage is a few faint gasps until finally he throws me down against a metal plate set into the floor. I close my eyes as the pain sears my body, and for a few seconds I feel as if I'm about to pass out. A moment later, I hear the sound of metal glancing against metal, and I open my eyes to see Freeman's shadow on a nearby wall, holding something long and sharp in his hand. I try to turn and look at him, but the pain in my sobbing body is too much. All I can think about is that I want the pain to end, and I don't care how that happens, I just...

“Suzie,” I whisper, remembering my sister in the church. “I'm not -”

Suddenly I feel a searing pain in my belly as something is sliced straight through me. I fall forward, but when I look down I see that I'm impaled on a long, burning metal poker that is already singing my flesh. A moment later, the poker is pulled out of me and I slump to one side with blood flowing out onto the floor from a wound just above my left hip. I close my eyes tight and let out a howl of pain, and then despite my damaged ankles I try my best to draw my knees up and crawl into the smallest shape possible. I can hear Freeman stepping around me, but I don't dare look up at him.

“If you're not a witch,” he continues, “then God will step in and give me a sign, to tell me I must end your punishment. If you are a witch, however, he will permit me to continue. That is the way it has always been. The world is an ordered place, woman, and the rules are clear.”

I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but my lips are trembling so much, I can't get anything out apart from a vague gasp. My whole body is shaking violently, as if I have a fever, and all I can really manage is to reach toward his boots with my left hand, hoping that I'll be able to push the next attack away.

This time, he goes for my shoulder.

The metal poker slices through, striking bone and becoming wedged for a moment before he pushes it again, this time forcing it out just below my neck. With my eyes still closed, I tilt my head back and scream, and as he pulls the poker back out I feel hot blood flowing both inside my tortured body and outside, running down the flesh. I'm shaking more than ever, and my teeth are chattering so much that I can't even hear what Freeman says as he continues to walk around me. I know what's coming, though; that hot poker will strike me again at any moment, and every few seconds I flinch as I think I sense it coming. With my left hand I reach out, trying desperately to stop him even though I know I have no chance. I think he's laughing but, again, I can barely hear anything.

“Please,” I try to say, even though the words come out as a shivering, sobbing mess, “don't -”

The third time, he slices the poker straight through my chest, just above my collarbone, and my eyes snap open as I feel an immense pressure in my neck. Gasping, I can barely even breathe as he pulls the poker back out and steps around me once again, and I reach up with my trembling hand and feel that there are small pieces of splintered bone in the wound. Every breath is agony, snatched in desperate, uneven moments. There's blood at the back of my throat, but I can't swallow so it just pools and makes it even harder for me to breathe. I reach up with my left hand, touching the side of my face, and after a moment I realize I can feel my heart desperately pounding in my chest. I just want...

I want...

Leaning forward, I open my mouth and let as much blood dribble out as possible. At least by doing that, I'll be able to breathe again.

“We have our answer,” Freeman sneers suddenly, leaning closer to me from behind. “God clearly wants me to put you to the ultimate test.”

I let out a faint, pained gasp as he grabs my collar and hauls me back. Even though I'm too weak to struggle, I reach up and try to push his hand away, but a moment later he pulls me through the door and out into the yard behind the building. There's a foul stench of manure, and I can hear pigs nearby; turning my head, I struggle to focus but finally I'm able to see the pigs tearing at some large chunk of meat that I can only assume is the woman I saw being killed earlier. The pigs are cracking her bones as they tear her apart, but in some strange way the sight of those animals feels like the only normal thing I've seen since I got here. I want to reach out to them, to touch them, but instead I'm dragged across the muddy cobbles and then onto a patch of grass, heading away from the building.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Connaught asks nearby, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“Don't question me,” Freeman replies, setting me down shivering onto the mud for a moment. I immediately turn and try to crawl away, toward the sound of running water, but a couple of seconds later I hear metal clanging against metal and then I'm grabbed once more by the collar and hauled back violently. I briefly see Freeman's grinning face before I'm shoved into another metal cage that lurches violently as it hangs from a single chain connected to a set of wooden posts. Reaching out, I try in vain to stop Freeman slamming the cage's door shut, sealing me inside.

“I'll check on the pigs,” Connaught mutters, turning and trudging back through the mud.

Looking down, I see that this cage is suspended over a fast-running river. The water below is strangely comforting, as if it offers a route to escape down into another world. Maybe that, at least, would wake me up from this nightmare.

“Did you really think you could escape,” Freeman hisses, stepping closer, “witch?”

Turning to him, I see his grinning face watching me.

“I don't know where you came from,” he continues, “and I don't know how many more like you are out there, but I do know that as God and King James are my witnesses, I will hunt you all down.”

Reaching out, I put a trembling, bloodied hand on the bars of the cage, just inches from his face.

“There is no room in modern England,” he adds, “for such perversions of the natural world. This land will be free again, safe from your filthy impurities.”

I want to tell him to go to hell, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough, not anymore. Blood is pouring from my wounds, and there's not a part of my body that isn't throbbing and burning with pain. After a moment, I force my left hand between the bars and reach out to him, and to my surprise he doesn't pull back, instead letting my fingers brush against his leathery cheek.

He smiles.

“One final moment of tenderness, witch?” he asks, his voice lower now and softer.

I press against his flesh, trying to dig my nails deep and scratch him, but he pulls back. Gasping, I realize I don't even have the strength to pull my hand back inside the cage. Instead, I watch as Freeman walks over to a chain that runs from the top of the cage to a metal peg in the ground, and he slowly starts pulling the chain free.

Death.

This feels like death.

“I will be sure,” he explains as he works, “to make a special note about your case in my report.” Once the chain is free, the cage wobbles as Freeman keeps hold of the other end. “Tell me your name, witch, so that I might record your fate with accuracy.”

“L -” I try to say, by my teeth are chattering too much. Focusing, I force my body back under control until finally I'm able to get out one more word: “Laura.”

“A fine name,” he replies. “There is still one more chance for God to save you, Laura. If you are still alive when I pull you up from the depths, I will know that he wants you to be punished more. If he takes you, on the other hand, I will know that he shows you a degree of pity, that in his infinite wisdom and compassion he believes your soul might still be saved.”

I take a couple of short, shallow breaths as I keep my eyes fixed on him.

“It's funny,” he adds finally, “there is almost nobility in your eyes. I shall pray for your soul.”

With that, he lets go of the chain, letting it drop down and then tip back, plunging into the water. I cry out as I'm submerged, and as cold, dirty water floods through the bars. Looking up, I can see clouds of blood swirling through the water as the cage sinks further and further, until finally I come to a rest several feet down on the riverbed. I instinctively gasp for breath, succeeding only in swallowing great mouthfuls of bloody water, and I grab hold of the bars in the vain hope that I might be able to get free. Turning, I can barely see anything down here in the depths, but after a moment I spot two dark spots a few feet away, and I realize with a shudder that it's the dead face of another woman. There are others nearby, too, and as I look around in the murky depths I'm just about able to make out more corpses, some of them just bones but some of them more recent, with bloodied flesh still attached.

I put my hands on the metal bars and try to scream, but all that comes from my mouth is a rush of air. I try again, but it's still no use, and finally I turn and look up. High above, I can just about make out the surface of the river, and I think I can see the shape of a man at the edge, looking down toward me.

As more water floods into my mouth and fills my lungs, I sink back down against the bottom of the cage. I reach my hand up one final time, but I no longer have the energy to move even a single muscle in my body. There's a sense of crushing pain in my chest as more dirty water flows into my body, but somehow the pain no longer seems to matter. Instead, a sense of stillness is settling in my thoughts, dragging my mind into the shadows as all my other senses fade away.

Mum.

Suzie.

Home.

And then finally, just as I'm about to slip away, I lurch forward, filled with one more burst of sheer, panicked fury, grabbing the bars of the cage and trying to scream. I close my eyes and the scream starts to grow, filling the water all around me and becoming more distinct and more real, sharper too, until by some miracle I realize I can actually hear my voice properly. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut, still trying to fight, and after a moment I realize that everything feels different, as if the pain is slipping away, replaced by a sense of exhaustion.

And my scream.

I'm screaming properly now.

Loudly.

And I smell potpourri.

Opening my eyes, I sit up and let out a pained gasp. Everything around me is dark, but after a moment I see a rectangular patch of dark blue light above, and I realize it's the window in my room back at the house. I freeze for a moment, convinced that this has to be some kind of hallucination, but when I put my hands on my neck and chest I realize that there seem to be no wounds anymore. I check my ankles, but there too the injuries are gone, although I can still feel an echo of pain. Turning, I look across the dark room, listening to the silence all around, and then I realize that I can hear a faint beeping sound from nearby.

It takes a moment before I realize that the sound is coming from my laptop.

Struggling to my feet, I feel a wave of weakness and nausea rush through my body. Somehow I manage to get to my bed and tap a button on the keyboard, and after I've entered the password I find that the beeping sound is coming from the messenger app, which I quickly open to find that my own number is trying to call. It takes a moment before I remember giving the phone to Suzie when I left her in the church, so I answer, already sobbing with joy at the thought of hearing her voice again.

“Suzie,” I stammer, “it's me! I'm here!”

“He's coming,” she replies, her voice sounding scared and hushed.

I stare at the screen, unable to see a video feed. “What... What did you say?”

In the distance, over the phone link, I hear a loud banging sound, accompanied by the creaking of wood, as if someone is opening a door.

“Laura,” Suzie whispers, quieter than ever, as if she's starting to sob. “He's here!”

Chapter Twenty

Daniel

As soon as I spot the farm up ahead, nestled at the river's turn, I know that I've found the monster. I make my way cautiously past the edge of the forest and then I keep low as I hurry across the barren field, and finally I reach the low stone wall that runs around the edge of the property. I can hear someone nearby, so I duck down for a moment and then peer over the top of the wall.

Harold Connaught.

One of Freeman's closest allies, Connaught is carrying buckets of slop over to a pig sty while muttering to himself under his breath. The sight of him sickens me to my stomach, but I know I have to be careful, even with an oaf of his nature. As soon as his back is toward me, I climb over the wall and make my way toward him, and then I place a hand over his mouth and slide my sword straight through his back, aiming for his heart. His body shudders, and when I look over his shoulder I see the sword's tip poking out through his chest with blood smeared along the metal. Thanks to the noise of the pigs nearby, the idiot in my arms can't make any noise to alert Freeman of my presence.

“Know this,” I whisper in his ear. “While these filthy beasts are tearing you apart, I will be delivering a fatal blow to your master. Nykolas Freeman is not long for this world.”

Without giving him time to respond, I take a dagger from around my waist and then force my hand into Connaught's mouth. Despite his struggles, I'm able to reach around and cut his tongue away. I toss the bloody handful into the pig pen, before dragging Connaught himself over, pulling my sword from his back and then tipping him in with his animals. There are a couple of human bones in the mud already, but the pigs ignore those meager offerings and instead make straight for Connaught. Unable to cry out as blood pours from his mouth, he staggers to his feet only for two of the pigs to bite his thighs and pull him down. Squealing with hunger, the animals start tearing at his body, ripping bone and muscle away even as he uses the last of his strength to try forcing them back.

For a moment, I stare at the horrific scene as blood pours from his body. Finally, one of the pigs takes hold of Connaught's head in its jaws and then bites down, crushing his skull.

Not wishing to stay and watch the feast, I make my way past the side of the pen and then over to the edge of the large farmhouse. I peer inside, only to see various torture devices arranged around a large room. There's blood on the floor, too, and I can hear a series of low, pained moans from the next room along, as if there are still some victims here. Freeman has clearly set up an elaborate set of machines, and for a moment my gaze is drawn to a set of wooden chairs fitted with various straps and screws; over by the fireplace, a set of pokers rests next to a cleaning rag, and when I look toward the doorway on the far side of the room, I can just about make out the shadows of cages against the wall, with dark, almost inhuman shapes inside. It's hard to imagine the state of his victims.

“Where are you?” a voice cries out suddenly from the other side of the farmhouse, accompanied by the sound of someone splashing through water. “Come back to me, witch!”

Making my way along the wall, I lean around the corner and see a man down by the water's edge, pulling open the door to a metal cage and looking inside as if he's shocked to find it empty. From all the descriptions I've heard, I know without a doubt that this man is Nykolas Freeman. The man who tortured and murdered my sister.

With my sword in one hand and my dagger in the other, I step out from behind the wall and start making my way across the muddy yard, watching as Freeman continues to examine the cage. He's muttering to himself almost frantically, as if something has happened that he genuinely can't believe. Only when I'm within a few feet of him does he finally seem to notice that someone is approaching, and he turns to me with a fevered expression of genuine shock.

“She's gone!” he sneers, wide-eyed and panicked, before turning back to the cage. “I locked her in here myself and lowered her down, and now she's gone! She must...” He pauses, before turning to me again. “She must have been an exceptionally powerful witch, one who was willing to use her powers to escape. Her name was Laura, she... She got away from me!” Getting to his feet, he looks around as if he thinks someone is about to appear nearby. “I knew she was strange, but I never thought she could escape! Now I shall have to hunt her down again, along with that cursed priest! I shall get them both eventually, though. I swear to God, I shall not be bested!”

He steps toward me, but he stops when I raise my sword toward his face.

“And what is this?” he asks, his demeanor changing subtly as a faint smile crosses his lips. “The pigs sound as if they're having the greatest meal of their lives,” he says after a moment. “Might I suspect that they have finally managed to get hold of Connaught? I always wondered if they longed to consume their master.”

“You are Nykolas Freeman?” I ask, filled with nausea at the mere sight of him.

“Priest hunter and witch hunter,” he replies, “by the authority of His Majesty, King James. I am a man of God, you will understand, and as such I hope you will show me proper courtesy and bow down.”

“You killed my sister,” I tell him, moving the tip of the sword's blade closer to his face.

“I have killed many sisters,” he replies, “so I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. But not now -” He pushes my sword out of the way with a gloved hand and steps past me. “Can't you see that I'm busy, man? You must come back another day.”

“Rosemarie Hodges,” I snap, grabbing his arm to keep him from getting away. “She was one of the three innocent women you burned to death about five miles from here.”

He turns to me, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he remembers. “She was a witch,” he sneers. “All three of them were guilty, I did the world a favor by wiping them out. If you're her brother, then either you know deep down that your sister was an ungodly monster or you were too naive to see what was happening right in front of your eyes. Whatever the truth, I will accept your gratitude for my work. Please, feel free to leave a payment to show your appreciation.”

“A payment? Are you -” Suddenly I notice his hand reaching for something at his belt, and in a split second I realize that he's going for his ax. Slashing my sword across his face, I grab his wrist and pull him around, causing him to drop the ax and let out a gasp of pain. He tries to reach for the weapon, but I pick it up and throw it as far as I can, sending it tumbling into the river.

“You think I came to thank you for killing my sister?” I ask incredulously. “Are you so insane that you believe I owe you something?”

“Your sister was a monster,” he hisses, struggling to get free. “She would have brought nothing but shame upon your family.”

“Our parents are dead!”

“By her hand, no doubt!” He laughs, as if he considers me to be no threat at all. “You are starting to annoy me,” he says finally. “Pray, leave so that I might continue my work in peace.”

“Your work is done,” I tell him. “You have claimed your last victim.”

He stares at me for a moment, and after a moment the sense of amusement slips from his eyes. “You would seriously make a move against me?”

“I came to kill you,” I reply, “and by God, that is what I shall do!”

Lunging at me, he tries to grab the sword but I pull it away and then drive it forward, sliding the blade straight into his chest. Grabbing him by the shoulder, I hold him close as I twist the sword around, and I can feel his ribs being snapped as I gouge at his heart. Holding his shoulder firmly, I pull him closer, sliding him along the sword until the hilt bumps against his chest. He lets out a gasp, leaning on me for support, and a moment hot blood dribbles from his mouth, covering the side of my neck.

Turning, I keep the sword in his chest as I start dragging him toward the river.

“May God...” he gasps, his mouth filling with blood. “May God... protect me... from...”

“Don't speak to me about God,” I tell him. “What would a man like you know about God? All you care about is bitterness and pain, and using the word of God to support your acts of cruelty.” I can feel him weakening, leaning more heavily on me as I get him over to the side of the river, next to the empty metal chamber. “If ghosts exist,” I continue, “I'm sure all your victims are gathered here now, taking pleasure in your death. All the priests you killed, all the so-called witches you tortured to death, including my sister.”

“Damn your sister,” he whispers, his voice pained and broken. “It was... the last one... the one who vanished from the cage underwater... She was the greatest witch I ever faced, and she got away from me...”

“You're going to rot in hell,” I reply. “I wish I could see your eyes when you find yourself on the other side of death and you see God weeping at the things you have done in his name!”

“Do you really think you can kill me?” he gasps. “God wills me to continue to work!”

“There is no room in a good world for men like you,” I tell him. “When news of your death reaches the towns in this county, people will cheer to the rafters.”

He tries to reply, but all he can manage is a faint gasp, and finally I realize that I've let this go on for long enough. I start pulling my sword out from his chest, and once the tip is clear I turn Freeman's body around and push him into the water. He makes no attempt to fight back, he doesn't even cry out; he simply crashes down into the river and then floats back to the surface as a cloud of blood blossoms all around him. As I watch, I realize that there are dead bodies down there, staring up toward the surface as Freeman floats face-down.

And then, one by one, the bodies start to reach up, their dead hands taking hold of Freeman's corpse and pulling him under and finally there's so much blood in the water, I can see no more.

Turning, I head toward the main building with a heavy heart. Before I leave, I must put the rest of his victims out of their misery, and I can only pray that God sees I am acting out of mercy. The most important thing is that Freeman is dead, and that never more shall this country be tormented by his foul crusade. He is gone forever.

Chapter Twenty-one

Laura

Racing through the moonlit forest, running faster than I ever thought I could run and pushing harder than I ever thought I could push, all I can think about is Suzie trapped in the church.

“He's coming,” I hear her voice saying. “He's here.”

I almost run straight into several trees, but I just about manage to slip past them all and keep going. I stumble a couple of times, but I refuse to allow myself to fall and instead I race onward, desperate to get to my sister. Ahead, I can already see the night sky starting to lighten a little from black to dark blue, and finally I spot the silhouette of the church in the distance, all -

Suddenly I trip and land hard against the forest floor, and I immediately feel a painful jolt in my arm.

Hauling myself up, I ignore the pain and keep running, making my way past the lake until I reach the field that leads to the church.

“Suzie!” I scream, pushing my way through the waist-high grass and then clambering over cemetery's stone wall. I race around the tombstones until I get to the church's door, which is already hanging open. As soon as I get inside, however, I come to a breathless halt as I see a figure standing further alone the aisle with his back to me. Water is dripping from his body, and in his right hand he's holding an ax.

I freeze for a moment, terrified by the sight.

Slowly, the figure tilts his head slightly, causing a crunching, ripping sound in his neck. Silhouetted against the stained-glass window at the church's far end, he seems perfectly calm as water continues to drip down onto the stone floor, but after a moment he turns his head slightly, allowing me to see the same profile I saw at the house when I witnessed the Baxendale family being butchered.

It's him.

It's Nykolas Freeman.

Somehow, four hundred years later, he's still here.

He turns a little more, having clearly heard that I'm here, and now I can see that his flesh is withered and rotten. Something seems to be moving just below his ear, and a moment later a worm wriggles out and drops onto his shoulder.

I open my mouth to call out to Suzie, but I quickly remind myself that I shouldn't let Freeman know that she's here. After all, hopefully she's managed to hide away and -

Suddenly Freeman starts to turn, his whole body sounding stiff and torn as he faces me.

“You're not real,” I whisper, wide-eyed with shock.

“The witch returns,” he replies, his voice sounding much harsher than before. A couple more maggots drop out from the corner of his mouth, followed a moment later by two fat white beetle larvae. “I always knew that you would come back to me eventually.”

“I'm not a witch,” I stammer, looking down at the ax in his hand. “But you're not... How are you here? How is this happening?”

“God wishes me to continue my work!” he hisses. “Tell me, is King James still on the throne? What of the Catholics? Have then been driven from the land?”

Shaking my head, I take a step back, my mind spinning as I try to work out what's happening. It's as if my dreams have suddenly crashed through into the real world, unless...

Unless this isn't a dream.

He's really here.

“When I pulled the cage up,” he continues, taking an unsteady, lumbering step toward me, “I expected to find your bloody, drowned corpse waiting for me. The fact that you were gone, with the door still shut, was...” He pauses, and then slowly a smile crosses his rotten lips. “A surprise.”

“That didn't happen!” I shout. “That was all a dream, or a hallucination or something! It wasn't real!”

“Of all the witches I dispatched,” he replies, taking another step closer, “you were the only one who ever got away from me in death. All the others, I was able to feed to my pigs or leave to rot in the water, or hang on hillsides as a warning to others. In all my time, you were the only one who ever slipped from my grasp.”

“I'm not a witch,” I tell him again, taking another step back.

“Yet at first,” he replies, “only the Baxendale child could see you.”

“I can't explain that,” I continue, stepping behind one of the pews. “I don't know what's happening, I don't know why I saw those things...”

“And all of this,” he adds, “because of one priest, one filthy seminary Catholic who led me to the Baxendale house that night. I had the place torn apart beam by beam, I had my best carpenters go over it for days but still they couldn't find where the priest was hiding. They found priest holes, of course, and plenty of them, but they were all empty. I know the priest was in there at one point, but...” He pauses, before looking back toward the altar. “He was there, though, yet now he is here, as if he sensed that I was returning and wanted, this time, not to draw me to another family. It's as if his corpse crawled from the priest hole in the Baxendale house and walked to this very church, hoping to hide anew.”

“You can't be here,” I whisper, making my way around the pew, still trying to work out what I'm really seeing. “You're dead...”

“I hear sniveling,” he replies, looking toward the altar. “There is someone else hiding in this place, someone other than the priest.”

Realizing that he must mean Suzie, I look around for something I might be able to use as a weapon.

“I always said,” he continues, “that no priest would ever get away from me. Darian Kinner was almost the exception, I was cut down and betrayed by a heretic before I got the chance to come after him again, but God has seen fit to give me this one final chance.” He takes a couple of faltering steps forward, making his way toward the steps that lead to the altar. “I will take this church apart and find the priest,” he whispers, “and then I will deal with any other matters that demand my attention. It occurs to me that while I have been sleeping, much degeneracy and harlotry has come to strike my dear England. It is clear that I am needed once again. God himself has commanded my return!”

“You're not needed!” I shout as he makes his way toward the altar. “You were never needed! No-one in the world needs a monster like you!”

“Spoken like a true witch,” he replies, not even looking at me as he stops and looks around. “I am closer to the sniveling.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” I stammer, making my way past the pews until I'm on the other side of the steps. “You can't be real. You're another hallucination, this is some kind of dream. Maybe...” I feel a cold shiver pass through my body as I realize that I might be seriously ill. “Maybe I have a brain tumor! I'm imagining all of this!”

“It sounds like a child,” he mutters. “A child is hiding from me, along with the priest.”

I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I realize that he's right. In the silence of the church, there's now only one sound to be heard: the sound of a little girl sobbing somewhere nearby.

Suzie.

“That is no priest,” Freeman continues, turning to look over at the far side of the altar. “Still, anyone I find in this church will be subjected to my usual measures. If the child is not a witch, she need not fear. The Lord will protect her.”

“No!” I shout, taking a step toward him. “Leave her alone!”

“Laura!” Suzie cries out from further back in the church. “Where are you?”

“It's okay!” I shout. “Just stay hidden!”

“Stay hidden?” Freeman replies, turning to me with a grin. “Why, it sounds to me as if you would enter into a conspiracy with the child.”

“That's my sister,” I say firmly, even though the sight of this monster is enough to fill me with panic. “If you go anywhere near her, I swear I'll make you pay.”

“Sister?” He smiles. “Then she must be another witch, must she not? After all, these things run in bloodlines.”

Turning, he starts making his way past the altar, with the ax still in his hand.

“Stop!” I shout, hurrying after him, almost slipping on the trail of water that he's leaving in his wake. “You can't do anything to her!” I point out, desperate to make him stop. “You haven't even finished with me yet! Surely you should deal with one witch before you move on to the next?”

“You will wait,” he replies, not even looking back at me as he heads toward the door to the office. “I must find the priest first. He has hidden from me long enough.”

“What's wrong?” I ask, trying to play for time even though I have no idea how to stop him. All I can think right now is that I have to keep him out of the office and away from Suzie. I might not have been able to help Jessica, but there's no way I'm going to let my sister down. “Are you scared of me?” I continue, hoping to distract him. “After all, I'm a witch, aren't I?”

“Of limited power.”

Spotting a light switch on the wall near the altar, I figure I need to do something else to grab his attention.

“If I've only got limited power,” I tell him, stepping over to the wall, “how am I able to do this?”

I flick the switch, and a moment later a set of lights flicker into life nearby, illuminating the corridor that leads to the office. Freeman stops immediately, looking up at the electric bulbs as if they're the most wondrous things he's ever seen.

“You summon spirits?” Freeman replies, turning to me with shock in his eyes. “You bring light to darkness?”

“I could explain how it works,” I tell him, taking a step back, “but I really don't think you'd understand. It's kind of a form of modern witchcraft, really. I'm nothing special, though. Everyone can do stuff like this now.”

“Everyone?” There's anger in his eyes now. “Then I see there are many witches who must face justice at my hands. Tell me, are there no good men left to rid the world of such sorcery?”

“To be honest,” I reply, “witchcraft is kind of popular nowadays. You'd be surprised, everyone's getting into it.”

“You lie!” he hisses. “My England has not fallen so low!”

“Why don't you follow me outside?” I ask, hoping to lure him away from the church and away from my sister, “and then I can -”

“Satan is behind this!” he shouts, stumbling toward me with his ax raised. “Satan has won the world and rules my fair England! I will not allow it!”

I duck out of the way as he swings the ax at me. He strikes one of the wooden pews, and it takes a moment for him to pull the ax out. Turning to me, he limps closer.

“I fought all my life for a just and fair England,” he sneers, “and to destroy false religions and witchcraft wherever I found them. I was working in the name of God and King James, and now I see that there was no-one to take up that work after I was so unfairly felled. Fortunately, the Lord has seen fit to raise me from the dead so that I might resume my efforts.” He lunges at me again, swinging the ax wildly but missing me by a couple of inches as I step back. “The task ahead of me is great indeed,” he continues, “but I am ready to deliver. By the time I am done, witchcraft will have been banished and every Catholic will be rotting in the ground!”

“Let's just get you out of here first,” I stammer, still clinging to the hope that this is some kind of dream. I back away from him, hoping to lead him toward the main door. “There's no -”

He swings the ax at me yet again, and this time I can't pull back in time. The blade slices across my arm, causing me to cry out as I step back.

“Laura!” Suzie screams suddenly, from the far end of the church. “Help me!”

Freeman immediately turns, and after a moment he starts limping back along the aisle, heading past the altar and toward the door to the office.

“No!” I shout, hurrying after him as I clutch the wound on my arm. “Leave her alone! She's done nothing to you, you don't care about her!”

“She must be with the priest,” he replies, raising his ax as he gets close to the door. Slamming the blade into the plaster, he rips part of the wall away and then immediately gets to work on the next section. “That Catholic monster has been hiding from me for four hundred years!” he shouts, working frantically. “Today will be the day I finally haul his miserable body out and make him suffer!”

“Stop!” I scream, watching in horror as he drives the ax through a wooden panel next to the door. He pulls the wood away, but he's already starting work on another section, and he could find Suzie at any moment. I have no idea where she's hiding, so every time his ax strikes another part of the wall, I'm filled with horror at the thought she might be in there.

“Laura!” she shouts suddenly, clearly very close. “What's happening?”

“She's in one of the priest holes!” Freeman sneers, attacking another part of the wall and using his ax to smash hole after hole into different sections of plaster. If he happens to hit the section where Suzie's hiding, he'll cut right through her. “I will take this place apart the way I took apart the Baxendale house,” he continues, “and I will deal with anyone I find!” He raises his ax again and then slams it into the wall, and this time I hear Suzie's pained cry from the other side.

“Stop!” I scream.

“I have her!” he shouts, raising the ax again, ready to strike.

“Stop!” I shout again, grabbing the head of the ax and twisting it out of his grip, “you don't!”

I pull the ax away and take a step back. He turns to me, but I've already got the handle in my grasp.

“If you are any indicator of how England has changed during the past four hundred years,” he says darkly, stepping toward me, “then it is clear that I am going to be very busy indeed.”

“No,” I reply, realizing that whether or not he's a dream or a hallucination, I have to fight back, “you're not going to be busy at all.” Feeling a sudden sense of strength, I step closer and raise the ax. “Don't worry, though,” I tell him, “if God thinks you're a good man, I'm sure he'll stop me.”

With that, I swing the ax down, slicing straight through his chest. He cries out and lunges at me, but I quickly swing the ax again, this time striking him on the neck and cutting straight though, taking his head off and sending it crunching down to the ground. I stare in horror for a moment at the stump of his neck, and then I spot movement nearby and see that he's raising his hands toward me. Filled with panic, I swing the ax at him again and again, hacking away at his body and cutting parts away with each strike. He still reaches out for me, but I chop his arms off at the shoulder and then I close my eyes and keep hacking away until I take a step back and open my eyes again, only to see that the severed parts of his rotten body are all around me on the floor.

When I look at his head, I see several maggots crawling out from his mouth. A moment later, however, he blinks, and I instinctively swing the ax down one final time, cutting the head in two and then dropping back, shocked by what I've done.

The church falls silent for a moment, until I hear the sound of Suzie crying nearby.

Stumbling to my feet, I hurry past the remains of Freeman's body and start running my hands across the wall, trying to find her. After a moment, I see that a single bead of blood is running from one of the holes that was made by Freeman's ax.

“Suzie!”

I start desperately pulling the plaster away with my bare hands until finally I find her curled up in a narrow space. There's a faint scratch on her cheek, as if the ax only slightly brushed against her, but I can see the fear in her tearful eyes. Before I can reach in for her, however, I see to my horror that there's a second figure next to her, a skeletal form with its head twisted back and its mouth slightly open.

When I look down further, I see that the figure is holding Suzie's hand as she trembles and sobs.

“It's him,” she tells me, her voice trembling with fear. “It's the man I saw walking out of the house.”

“It's okay,” I whisper, filled with shock as I reach in and pull her out. Holding her as tight as I can, I look back at the skeleton that was hidden with her in the wall. After a moment, I spot a small leather book at its feet, and I realize that it's the same prayerbook I saw the priest using back at the house. He must have been hidden in a priest hole at the house all this time, but I guess when he realized Freeman was coming back, he left because he didn't want anyone else to die for him. That's why Suzie saw him walking through the forest, and somehow he ended up hiding here instead.

Turning, I carry Suzie past the remains of Nykolas Freeman and along the aisle, and then out to the front door, where we finally emerge to find that the sun is rising in the distance, bringing light to the English countryside.

Chapter Twenty-two

Daniel

“Is it done?”

Sitting with my back to the cemetery wall, I allow myself the faintest smile as soon as I hear her voice. I've been waiting for several hours now, preparing for the long walk back to London, and when I turn and look toward the church I see Kate standing nearby. Deep down, I was hoping she would come to me again.

“Is it?” she asks.

I nod.

“Are you sure? Are you really sure?”

“I pierced his heart,” I tell her, “and I threw his corpse into the river, where some of his victims were able to drag him down. I waited to make sure he didn't come back up, and he didn't. He's dead.”

“And you had the coin with you?”

“All the way through. I don't have it now, though. I felt as if it was burning a hole in my hand, so I tossed it away down by the lake. Does that matter?”

“Not now that the deed is done,” she replies, coming closer and kneeling next to me. “Its job was to bind your bloodline to the killing of Nykolas Freeman, and it seems that task was achieved. And you used his own weapon against him?”

“More or less.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I didn't use his ax,” I tell her. “I didn't get a chance. I used my sword instead.”

She stares in horror at the sword by my side.

“Relax,” I continue. “This sword is better than any other weapon in the whole of England. It went straight through his heart and out the other side.”

“But you didn't use the ax to kill him?”

“Kate -”

“I told you to use the ax!” she hisses, her sense of calm suddenly replaced by anger. “I told you over and over, you had to use the ax!”

“What difference does it really make?” I ask. “He's dead.”

“That's not the point!” She stares at me for a moment, as if she's genuinely horrified by what I'm telling her. “When I established the blood link, I made it easier for you to find him, but there were certain conditions that had to be attached! One was that you had to kill him with his own weapon!”

“Fine,” I mutter, getting to my feet. “You know what? I'll go back and drag his corpse out of the water, and then I'll find the ax and use it to hack him into pieces. Will that make you happy?”

“It doesn't matter now,” she replies. “He's already dead, anything you do to him now is irrelevant.”

“I'll still go and do it,” I continue, turning to walk away. “It might make me feel better to mutilate his corpse.”

“No!” Grabbing my arm, she pulls me back. “You mustn't go anywhere near his final resting place, or the blood bond will bring him back!”

I turn to her. “What kind of superstitious nonsense are you on about now?”

“If he senses your blood nearby,” she continues, her eyes filled with fear, “he might rise again, and then I don't know how he could be stopped! You must leave this area and never come back, and you must ensure that your children also stay away, and your children's children and -”

“Nykolas Freeman is dead!” I hiss, slipping free of her grasp. “Don't you get that? The man is dead! He's gone! There's no way he's coming back!”

“You have no idea what you've done,” she replies, stepping back from me. “You had a chance to end his reign of terror, and instead you might have made him dangerous beyond the bounds of life itself! You must keep away from this part of the country forever, do you understand? Promise me you'll leave immediately and never return!”

Staring at her, I realize that while I was almost ready to believe all her talk about curses and witchcraft, the truth is simpler. She's just a charlatan, one of the many women who roam this country and claim to have mastered the dark arts, which means there's no point even trying to reason with her. I can't help but smile as I turn and head to the gap in the wall, and then out into the field. “Don't worry about me,” I call back to her. “Do you seriously think that I'd ever want to come back to this depraved place anyway? I'm returning to London to make a name for myself, and I can assure you neither I nor any member of my family for the rest of time will ever be desperate enough to come anywhere near Wyvern.”

“I pray that you're right,” she replies, as drops of rain start falling all around us. “Do you feel that?” she continues. “Have you noticed how cold the rain is lately? That's a sure sign that war is coming, but not the kind of war that erupts between nations. I told you the truth before. This will be a war between neighbors, maybe not this year, maybe not for a decade or two, but it will come. Nykolas Freeman was just an early warning of the darkness that is spreading across this land.”

“That man killed my sister,” I snap, turning to her, suddenly feeling as if she's making light of the situation with her ridiculous claims. “He didn't just kill her, either, he tortured her!” I look over at the fresh grave nearby. “I don't even need to come back to visit her. I'd rather remember her as she was in happier times, before that monster took her life.” I pause for a moment, trying to think of those days; instead, all I can see in my mind's eye is Rosie's burned body nailed to a wooden pole, and I swear I can still feel my fingers sinking into her putrid flesh as I pulled her down. I guess it'll take time to put that part of the story out of my mind, but I'll manage. “Let Freeman rot,” I continue, turning back to Kate. “Let his name be -”

Seeing that she's gone, I look around, but there's no sign of her anywhere. I'd have heard if the church door had been opened, so I guess she must simply have slipped away.

“Damn this place,” I mutter, turning and heading across the field, aiming to meet the road to London and walk home. No member of my family will ever bring our blood back to this infernal part of the world. Nykolas Freeman is dead, and that's all that matters. Now he can be forgotten, just like the rest of the dead. Anything else is superstitious rubbish.

As the icy rain continues to fall, I hurry toward the edge of the forest and, after stopping to pick some chanterelle mushrooms in a clearing near the lake, I set off toward the main road that will lead me home. I'm certain Kate was wrong, that there's no chance of a civil war breaking out, but if there is, there's surely nothing I can do to stop it. I killed Freeman. That was my role in all of this, and now it is done. That most foul of men is gone forever.

Chapter Twenty-three

Laura

“I had no idea there'd be so much,” Mum says as she helps me carry several large bags out through the hospital's side door. “Do you really need it all?”

“You're the one who brought it in for me,” I point out, letting the door swing shut and then glancing at a sign on the nearby wall:

Wyvern Lodge Hospital

Psychiatric Ward

I remember the day six months ago when I was brought here, strapped to a trolley and screaming about Nykolas Freeman.“I can't believe I'm finally getting out,” I mutter finally. “There were times when I thought...” I pause for a moment, before turning to her and seeing the tears in her eyes. “Especially at the start, there were some nights when I thought I'd be in here for the rest of my life. I used to literally feel him breathing on my neck. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw -”

“Let's not talk about it,” she replies, forcing a smile. “The past is the past.”

“But -”

“The past is the past,” she says again. “Laura, please...”

“But I want to talk about it,” I tell her. “I know no-one believed me, I know I'd still be in there if I hadn't pretended to agree with them, but...” I take a deep breath, feeling a knot of fear in my belly. After six months on a psychiatric ward, I finally told the doctors what they wanted to hear and said I'd imagined the whole thing with Nykolas Freeman. They were so relieved, they couldn't wait to declare me cured and get me signed out, but the truth is... I know that everything I experienced was real. I just don't see the need to persuade anyone, not anymore, not now that it's all over. Then again, there's still a part of me that worries about being out, just in case he comes back. “I should go back,” I say finally, turning toward the door. “I'm not better. I lied to them.”

“Sweetheart,” she replies, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me, “please... Come home.”

I pause, still reaching out for the handle. “Back to the house?” I ask cautiously.

“It's just a house.”

I turn to her. “You don't believe me either.”

“I believe...” She sighs. “I believe you've been through a lot. When I think back to that morning when your uncle and I got home and found you on the back steps with Suzie... The way you were shivering and rambling on about some undead priest hunter who'd attacked you in the church, I honestly thought you'd taken drugs, I thought maybe some of the mushrooms from the forest had turned out to be hallucinogens.” She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I spoke to your doctors this morning, and they're convinced that whatever happened to you, it's over. They said you've not been having nightmares anymore, even after they reduced your medications. Honestly, Doctor Carlisle said he's never known someone make such a big improvement. As for the house... It's just a house, sweetie. There's nothing that goes bump in the night and there are no hidden secrets behind the walls. Plus, with the bookings I've got lined up, the place is going to be packed with guests.” She squeezes my hand tighter. “Just a house.”

I nod. She's right, even if I'm going to have to work hard to keep from panicking when I get to the house. It's either that or spend the rest of my life in a padded cell, and I figure if I'm going to be nuts, I might as well be nuts in the real world.

“And now we know you won't be charged over the damage to the church,” she continues, leading me to the car, “so we can get on with our lives. Suzie's excited to have you back, she's been talking about it all week. She's even been decorating your room for you, although obviously you can change it if you like. Somehow, I'm not sure you're going to like all the pink.”

“It's amazing how she's managed to absorb it all,” I reply, opening the car door and climbing into the passenger seat. “I guess kids are more resilient, huh?” Spotting a brown envelope on the dashboard with my name on the front, I pick it up and slip out some documents. “What's this?”

“Oh, some woman dropped it by for you,” she says, buckling herself into the driver's seat. “She said she met you once. Kate something, I don't remember her exact name. She said that when she heard about what had happened, she did some research into the history of the area and found something pretty interesting.”

“Did she prove that Nykolas Freeman was real?”

“Oh, I think that was already established,” she continues, “but... Well, I wasn't sure whether it'd be good to show you all of this so soon, but the doctors said it was fine. In fact, Doctor Carlisle said it might help to ground you a little, to show you that there's no reason to be scared of the world around you.” She points at some of the lines on the first page. “See there? Four hundred years ago, Nykolas Freeman was killed by a man named David Hodges.”

I nod, quickly scanning the page for more information.

“And the really crazy coincidence,” she adds, pointing to a line at the bottom, “is right there. It turns out that David Hodges was your great great great... Well, many greats removed, but you're directly related to him by blood on your father's side of the family. He was a carpenter by trade, he lived and worked in London for most of his life. Apparently he ended up dying in the English Civil War at Naseby, but he was originally from right around these parts. How's that for a freaky fact?”

I read the line several times over, just to make sure that it really says what I think it says.

“Maybe that was the link,” I whisper. “Maybe that's why it all happened. I was linked to him by blood and I had to finish what he started.”

“Such a small world, really,” Mum continues as she starts the car. “Then again, I suppose we're a pretty small country. If you go back far enough, everyone's probably related to everyone else in some way. Just...” She looks over at me for a moment, as if she's worried. “Don't get too hung up on all of this stuff, okay? The only reason I wanted you to see those documents is that I thought it might settle your mind. I guess you must have found out about the link a long time ago and then forgotten, and it all festered in your memories and then came spewing out once we moved here. Almost as if it was dormant in your subconscious mind. Maybe your father told you once, years -” She pauses. “Well, sorry, I know you don't like talking about him.”

“It's fine,” I reply, leafing through the pages and finding lots of information about my family, stretching back to the 1600s and even further. “I was wrong before. Just because someone's dead, that doesn't mean we should forget about them. In fact, I think I want to get into this stuff a lot more. I want to know more.” I pause, before turning to her. “Do you think it's too late to change my A-level subjects? I could totally study history!”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” she replies as she eases the car out of the parking bay. “I think you've had enough history for now.”

I want to tell her that she's wrong, that it's impossible to know too much about the past, but instead I focus on the documents. There are so many names here, so many leads that I need to follow once I get home and start some proper research. I barely even notice as the car speeds along, taking us home; scooching down further in the seat with my knees on the dashboard, I focus on the old documents as dappled autumn light shines through the car's side window and dances across the pages. For a moment, I feel as if -

“Christ!”

Suddenly Mum slams her feet onto the brake pedal, bringing the car to a screeching halt and jolting me forward until the safety belt snaps into action. Spilling the documents from my hands, I'm about to ask what's wrong when I see that there's a body in the middle of the road up ahead.

“What the hell?” I whisper.

“Do you think...” Mum pauses for a moment, before unbuckling her belt and opening the door on her side. “Oh God, I suppose I have to go and check if they're hurt, don't I?”

I look around at the trees that line either side of the road. Part of me is worried that this is some kind of trap, but it's clear that there's no-one about. I unfasten my belt and open the door on my side.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Laura -”

“Bring your phone,” I add, getting out of the car and making my way past the front until I'm just a few feet from the body. Now that I'm closer, I can see that it's a woman wearing a tracksuit, and I take a few steps around her until I can see her face.

She's dead.

Her eyes are wide open, staring along the road toward the horizon, and her whole body looks to be extremely thin. Frankly, from the look of her, I wouldn't be surprised if she starved to death.

“Do you think she was hit by a car?” Mum asks as she edges closer.

“It looks more like...” I step around a little further, before stopping again. “It looks more like she just collapsed here. She's so thin, it's almost as if she -”

Spotting movement out of the corner of my eye, I turn to see that Mum has picked up a stick from the side of the road and is using it to gently poke the woman's hip.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Checking she's dead.” She pokes her a couple more times, before taking a step back with a shocked expression in her eyes. “Oh God! She really is dead!”

“Call the police,” I tell her.

“Oh God,” she continues, her voice filled with shock. “Oh Laura, oh God, it's an actual dead body!”

“Call the police,” I tell her again, before heading over and taking her phone from her pocket. I unlock the screen and dial 999, and then I wait for someone to pick up. “She looks like she starved to death,” I mutter, before hearing someone answering on the other end of the line.

For the next few minutes, I explain exactly what we've found, and eventually the dispatcher tells me to stay right here and that a police car will be with us as soon as possible. Once the call is over, Mum and I stand next to the body for a little while longer, before I feel a few drops of rain starting to fall on the back of my neck. Looking up, I see that the sky is churning with dark gray clouds.

“Come on,” I say to Mum, taking her by the hand and leading her to the car. “We can't help her now. Let's just wait for the police.”

She's so shocked, I have to help her into the driver's seat, and then I make my way around to the other side. Just as I'm about to get in, however, I wince as I feel more rain on my neck. Holding my hand out, I wait as tiny drops hit my flesh.

This rain feels unnaturally cold. Colder than ice. I don't know why, but it scares me.

Epilogue

“No way!” Tom shouted, opening another beer and quickly putting it to his lips so he could save as much of the fizzing overflow as possible. “Come on, that's totally unbelievable!”

Scott smiled, before glancing over at Sadie. With the campfire having long since fizzled out, she was barely visible in the light of the moon, silhouetted against the night sky. All around them, the bare field spread for miles in every direction.

“What's up?” he asked after a moment. “Scared of ghost stories?”

“As if,” she replied. “It's just... I mean, at least try to make it believable. If you'd said there was supposed to be one ghost around here, it'd have been spooky. Anyone could believe that there's some lonely dead soul wandering the moors, freaking out the occasional group of campers, but when you said there's a whole army of ghosts...” She took a sip of beer from her bottle. “You pushed it too far.”

“I told you,” Scott continued, sitting up straight, “there was a huge battle right here, right where we're camping, during the English Civil War. Thousands of people died! There was this massive battle between the Roundheads and the Cavaliers. It was Englishmen fighting other Englishmen, how tragic is that? No-one even knows the exact number of casualties.”

“And they're all haunting the place?” she asked.

“Not all of them, just some of them.” He paused, before turning to Tom. “I swear to God, it's true! Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Dunno,” he replied, “maybe to make Sadie nice and scared, so you can cuddle her to sleep?”

“Shut up!” Scott hissed, before turning to Sadie. “Ignore him, your friend's an idiot.”

“I've known that for a long time,” she said, tilting her head back so she could pour the rest of the bottle down her throat. Tossing the bottle aside, she grabbed her phone and swiped her finger across the screen. “Look, everyone knows ghosts aren't real. The point of a ghost story isn't to try to trick people, it's to have a good time, which means sticking to what works. Don't you guys know anything?” She leaned closer to her phone, allowing the screen's green glow to tint her face. “We need tunes to drown out the ghost rubbish. I'm starting to think Stacy was right when she said you're both lame.”

“But -”

Before Scott could finish, Sadie started playing Destiny's Child. “An oldie,” she laughed, getting to her feet and dancing with a fresh bottle of beer in one hand, “but still good. God, I love dancing, I love the way my body feels when I get the rhythm inside, I get all juiced you, you know?” She laughed. “God, you're both hopeless. I hope you guys have good rhythm, 'cause I've gotta tell you both right now, I officially do not hang out with people who can't dance.”

Scott turned to Tom as Sadie turned the music up even louder. “It's all true,” he continued. “I heard that on some nights, people report hearing the sound of soldiers marching right through this field. It's the ghosts of all those people who died here! There are other stories like it in other parts of the country, too. If you check the sites of all the major English Civil War battles, you'll find significant spikes in the number of reported hauntings. It's almost as if the war was so bitter and traumatic, the scars still won't heal.”

“And yet it's never been proven,” Tom said with a smirk. “Funny that.”

“I'll show you,” Scott continued, slipping his phone from his pocket. “I mapped ghost sightings against a grid showing major Civil War battles with casualty densities of -” He stopped as he saw Tom getting to his feet. “What are you doing? I've got all the data right here.”

“Tonight isn't about data,” Tom told him, heading over to join Sadie. “It's about dancing.”

“I need to pee,” Scott muttered dejectedly, getting to his feet. He felt he was losing the argument, and he needed time to come up with a new approach. Pie charts, maybe. “I'm going over to the trees. You coming?”

“To help you pee?” Tom asked, already dancing awkwardly. “Uh, no dude, I think I'll be cool here.”

“Be ready to party when you get back,” Sadie told him, taking a quick break from the dancing to roll a cigarette. “The whole ghost story, sitting around being boring part of tonight is over. When you guys dragged me out here to party, you promised we'd have fun. If this is the most fun you can imagine, I'm seriously disappointed.”

Scott turned and began to walk away, but a moment later he heard someone running up behind him and he turned to find that Sadie had followed.

“Hey,” she whispered, as Tom danced by the campsite, “I thought you were going to be the fun one.” She paused, biting her bottom lip for a moment. “Tom's fun, but...” Another pause, and then she kissed the side of Scott's face before turning and heading back toward Tom. “Don't let me down!”

Scott stood for a moment, shocked, trying to work out what that peck on his cheek had meant.

“Back in a moment,” he whispered finally, his voice cracking slightly.

As he made his way across the open field, Scott couldn't help but feel a little frustrated. He'd spent hours researching local ghost stories earlier in the day, and he'd been convinced that he'd be able to reduce Sadie to a quivering wreck. Instead, she seemed to find the whole thing funny, which was definitely not the reaction he'd wanted. Reaching the line of trees, he slipped through the undergrowth and began to unzip his pants. He could hear Sadie turning the music up even louder and starting to sing along, and deep down he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was going to snatch her away from under his nose. Sighing, he began to pee against a tree, while staring ahead at the dark forest.

He didn't hear the brief thumping sound over his shoulder.

Or the second.

He did, however, notice when the music suddenly stopped.

Figuring that Sadie was just changing tracks, he finished peeing and then zipped himself up as he turned and started to walk back away from the trees. He couldn't see Tom and Sadie up ahead in the field, but he figured they must have just sat down again. His heart sank as he realized that they might be doing a little more than sitting, and he realized there was a distinct chance that he might end up being the awkward third wheel. By the time he got to the spot where the fire was dwindling, he looked around, half-expecting to see his friends getting more than friendly. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, however, he spotted a dark shape sprawled across the ground, and another a little further off. Taking a step forward, he felt something crunching under his foot. He reached down and picked up Sadie's phone, and as he ran his finger over the screen, he realized it had been almost broken in two.

“What the...”

“More witchcraft,” a voice sneered behind him. “I can see that it's going to take me a very long time to clean up the mess this country has become. It is little wonder that I am needed again. This England, my England, shall be cured of all its ills!”

Turning, Scott saw a figure standing just a few feet away. Before he could react, however, the figure raised an ax in his right hand and then brought it crashing down into Scott's face, splitting his head down to the neck.

OTHER BOOKS

BY AMY CROSS INCLUDE

Horror

The Farm

Annie's Room

Take Me to Church

3AM

Asylum

Meds

The Ferry

Tenderling

The Girl Clay

The Prison

American Coven

The Night Girl

Devil's Briar

Ward Z

Ward Z: Revelation

The Devil's Photographer

Fantasy / Horror

Dark Season series 1, 2 & 3

Ascension (Demon's Grail 1)

Dead Souls Volumes One to Three

Lupine Howl series 1 to 4

Grave Girl

Graver Girl (Grave Girl 2)

Ghosts

The Library

The Ghosts of London

The Vampire's Grave

The Werewolf's Curse

Thriller

Ophelia

The Dead City (Ophelia 2)

Fallen Heroes (Ophelia 3)

The Girl Who Never Came Back

The Dead and the Dying (Joanna Mason 1)

The House of Broken Backs (Joanna Mason 2)

The Pornographer's Wife

Other People's Bodies

Dystopia / Science Fiction

The Shades

Finality series 1

Mass Extinction Event series 1 to 4

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Also by Amy Cross

ANNIE'S ROOM

1945 and 2015. Seventy years apart, two girls named Annie move into the same room of the same remote house. Their stories are very different, but tragedy is about to bring them crashing together.

Annie Riley has just broken both her legs. Unable to leave bed, she's holed up in her new room and completely reliant upon her family for company. She's also the first to notice a series of strange noises in the house, but her parents and brother think she's just letting her imagination run overtime. And then, one night, dark forces start to make their presence more keenly felt, leading to a horrific discovery...

Seventy years ago, Annie Garrett lived in the same house with her parents. This Annie, however, was very different. Bitter and vindictive and hopelessly devoted to her father, she developed a passionate hatred for her mother. History records that Annie eventually disappeared while her parents were executed for her murder, but what really happened to Annie Garrett, and is her ghost still haunting the house to this day?

Annie's Room is the story of two girls whose lives just happened to be thrown together by an unlikely set of circumstances, and of a potent evil that blossomed in one soul and then threatened to consume another.

Also by Amy Cross

THE FARM

No-one ever remembers what happens to them when they go into the barn at Bondalen farm. Some never come out again, and the rest... Something about them is different.

In 1979, the farm is home to three young girls. As winter fades to spring, Elizabeth, Kari and Sara each come to face the secrets of the barn, and they each emerge with their own injuries. But someone else is lurking nearby, a man who claims to be Death incarnate, and for these three girls the spring of 1979 is set to end in tragedy.

In the modern day, meanwhile, Bondalen farm has finally been sold to a new family. Dragged from London by her widowed father, Paula Ridley hates the idea of rural life. Soon, however, she starts to realize that her new home retains hints of its horrific past, while the darkness of the barn still awaits anyone who dares venture inside.

Set over the course of several decades, The Farm is a horror novel about people who live with no idea of the terror in their midst, and about a girl who finally has a chance to confront a source of great evil that has been feeding on the farm for generations.

Also by Amy Cross

TAKE ME TO CHURCH

“There has been a terrible battle...”

On a desolate patch of land, far from any town and linked to the shore only by a rocky causeway, there stands an old wooden church that has been left empty for more than a century. No-one goes there anymore, but the church still has one forgotten purpose, and now it's about to get pressed back into service.

Rachel has just survived something horrific, something that left her with terrible injuries that will most likely kill her soon. She stood up against the darkest evil, and she averted a tragedy. Now, as death threatens its slow embrace, Rachel has been taken by her remaining disciples to the church, where she will either recover or die.

At least, that's what she hopes will happen.

For Rachel, the danger is still very real. Rachel is certain that she banished the evil during her final battle, but worries that other dark forces might yet be out for revenge. Hideously injured and on the verge of death, she's preparing to face the truth. And then, against her strictest orders, her helpers make one final mistake.

They bring a child to the church.

Take Me to Church is a horror novel about a woman who thought she'd defeated evil, but who now feels a dark force closing in, and about a child who ends up drawn into the heart of battle.

Also by Amy Cross

ALICE ISN'T WELL

(DEATH HERSELF BOOK 1)

“There are lots of demons in the sky above London. The problem is, this one came crashing down to earth.”

Ten years ago, Alice Warner was attacked and disfigured by an attacker in her own home. She remembers nothing of the attack, and she has been in a psychiatric hospital ever since. When she's finally released, however, she starts working as a security guard at an abandoned shopping mall. And that's when she starts to realize that something is haunting her, keeping just one step out of sight at all times...

Meanwhile, seventy years earlier, a little girl named Wendy is left orphaned after a World War 2 fighter plane crashes onto her house. Taken to a monastery, Wendy is quickly singled out by the nuns for special attention. They say she has been possessed by a demon, and that there's only one way to save her soul. Fortunately for Wendy, however, there's someone else who seems to know far more about the situation.

What is the shocking connection between Alice and Wendy, reaching out across the years? Does a demon really lurk in the girl's soul? And who is Hannah, the mysterious figure who tries to help Wendy, and who seventy years later begins to make her influence felt in Alice's life too?

Alice Isn't Well is the first book in the Death Herself series, about a dark figure who arrives in the night, promising to help deal with the forces of evil whenever they appear.

Also by Amy Cross

MEDS

(THE ASYLUM TRILOGY BOOK 2)

“Welcome to the Overflow. And remember, all roads lead back to Lakehurst.”

At the edge of a ruined town, a burned-out hospital houses one final, functional ward. There, a small group of doctors and nurses tend to patients who have been consigned to the Overflow. Unloved, forgotten by the people who knew them, these are the patients who will never receive visitors. If something happens to them, no-one will ask questions.

When she starts work at Middleford Cross, Nurse Elly Blackstock thinks she's getting a second chance. She soon discovers, however, that this particular hospital is unlike any other. In one of the beds, an old man grapples with the horrors of his past, while in another there's a woman condemned to a life of darkness and silence. Ghosts stalk the corridors, and more ghosts are on the way. And watching over all of this is the hospital's administrator, Nurse Kirsten Winter, a woman who is desperately searching for someone named Annie Radford...

Meds (The Asylum Trilogy book 2) is a dark horror novel about the lengths one woman will go to as she searches for the truth about the voices in her head.