Spook's Secret (wc-3) (16 page)

    I knew I'd lost something for ever.

Necromancy

    
T
he further south I travelled, the colder it got, the rain gradually turning back to snow. I was tired and wanted to go directly to the Spook's house but I'd promised Alice I'd visit her first and intended to keep my word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    'Gone? Gone where?' I asked.

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

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

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

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

    'But no doubt you eat cheese,' he said, a mocking grin on his face.

    I didn't reply and his expression became serious. Suddenly he leaned forward, pursed his lips and blew hard. The candle flickered and went out, plunging the room into absolute darkness while the smell of tallow intensified.

    'There's just you, me and the dark,' Morgan said. 'Can you stand it? Are you fit to be my apprentice?'

    They were the exact words the Spook had said to me in the cellar of the haunted house in Horshaw, the place where he'd taken me on the very first day of my apprenticeship. He'd done it to judge whether or not I was made of the right stuff to become a spook. They were the words he'd spoken the moment the candle went out.

    'I'll bet that when you first walked down the steps into the cellar, he was sitting in the corner and stood up the moment you came near,' Morgan continued. 'Nothing changes. You, me and two dozen others or more. Predictable stuff. The old fool! No wonder nobody sticks with him for long.'

    'You stayed three years,' I said softly into the darkness.

    'Found your voice again, Tom? That's good,' Morgan said. T see that he's been talking about me. Did he have anything good to say?'

    'Not really'

    'That doesn't surprise me. And did he tell you why I gave up my apprenticeship as a spook?'

    By now my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I could just make out the shape of his head facing me across the table. I could have told him that the Spook said he'd lacked discipline and wasn't up to the job, but instead I decided to ask a few questions of my own.

    'What do you want from me? And why has the door been barred?' I asked.

    'So that you can't run away again,' Morgan said. 'So that you've no choice but to stay and face what I have to show you. You're quite the apprentice, I hear. You and I both know that your master doesn't appreciate that. So this is the first lesson of your new apprenticeship. You'll have had some dealings with the dead, but now I'm going to add to your knowledge. And add to it significantly'

    'Why would you want to do that?' I challenged. 'Mr Gregory's teaching me all I need to know'

    'First things first, Tom,' Morgan replied. 'Lef s talk about ghosts first. What do you know about them?'

    I decided to humour him. Maybe if I let him get what he wanted to say off his chest, I could be on my way to the Spook's house.

    'Most ghosts are bound close to their bones; others to the place where they either suffered or committed some terrible crime while still on earth. They aren't free to wander at will.'

    'Well done, Tom,' Morgan said, an edge of mockery back in his voice. 'And I bet you've written it all down in your notebook too, like a good little apprentice. Well, here's something that the old fool won't have taught you. He won't have mentioned it because he doesn't like to think about it. So here's the big question. Where do the dead go after death? And I don't mean bound ghasts and ghosts. I mean the other dead. The vast majority. People like your father.'

    At the mention of my dad I sat up straight and stared hard at Morgan. 'What do you know of my dad?' I asked angrily. 'How did you know he was dead?'

    'All in good time, Tom. All in good time. I have powers your master can only dream of. But you haven't answered my question. Where do the dead go after death?'

    'The Church says Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Limbo,' I replied. 'I'm not sure about all that and Mr Gregory never talks about it. But I believe that the soul survives death.'

    Purgatory was a place where souls went to be cleansed, suffering until they were fit to enter Heaven. Limbo was more mysterious. Priests thought that those who weren't baptized went there. It was supposed to be for souls that weren't really evil but, through no real fault of their own, weren't fit to enter Heaven.

    'What does the Church know?' Morgan said, a sneering tone entering his voice. 'That's about the only thing Old Gregory and I do agree on. But you see, Tom, of the four places you've just mentioned, Limbo is by far the most useful for somebody like me. It takes its name from the Latin word
limbus,
which means 'edge' or 'fringe'. You see, wherever they're heading, the majority of the dead first have to pass through Limbo, which is on the edge of this world, and some find it very hard to do. Some of the weak, the fearful and the guilty retreat, falling back into this world to become ghosts, joining the lingerers who are already trapped on earth. They are the easiest to control. But even the strong and the good must struggle and fight to pass through Limbo. It takes time, and while they're delayed, I have the power to reach any soul there that I choose. I can stop it passing on. I can make it do what I want. If need be, make it suffer.

    'The dead have had their lives. It's over for them. But we're still living and can use them. We can profit from them. I want what Gregory owes me. I want his house in Chipenden with that big library of books that contains so much knowledge. And then there's something else. Something even more important. Something that he's stolen from me. He has a grimoire, a book of spells and rituals, and you're going to help me get it back. In return, you can continue your apprenticeship, with me training you. And I'll teach you those things he's never even dreamed of. I'll put
real
power at your fingertips!'

    'I don't want you training me' I snapped angrily. 'I'm happy with things just the way they are!'

    'What makes you think that you've any choice in the matter?' Morgan said, his voice suddenly cold and threatening. T think it's time to show you just what I can do. Now, for your own safety, I want you to sit perfectly still and listen carefully. Whatever happens, don't attempt to leave that chair!'

    The room became very quiet and I did as I was told. What else could I do? The door was locked and he was bigger and stronger than I was. I could use my staff against him, but with no real guarantee of success. It was best to play along with him for now, until I could get away and back to the Spook.

    A faint sound came out of the darkness. Something between a rustling and a pattering. It was a bit like mice scampering around under the floorboards. But there weren't any floorboards, just heavy stone flags, and I could feel the room start to grow colder. Usually this would be a sign that something was approaching; something that didn't belong in this world. But once again, this cold was different, just as it had been when we'd talked in the chapel.

    Suddenly a bell tolled somewhere in the air far above our heads. It was deep and mournful, as if calling the bereaved to a funeral, and so loud that the table vibrated. I could feel it resonating through the flags beneath my feet. The bell tolled nine times in all, each peal fainter than its predecessor. This was followed immediately by three loud raps on the table. I could make out the shape of Morgan and he didn't seem to be moving. The raps were repeated, louder than ever, and the heavy brass candlestick fell over, rolled across the tabletop and crashed to the floor.

    In the darkened room, the silence that followed was almost painful and I felt as if my ears were about to pop. I was holding my breath and all I could hear was the thumping inside my head, the rapid beating of my heart. The strange cold intensified and then Morgan spoke into the darkness.

    'Sister of mine, be still and listen well!' he commanded.

    Then I heard the patter of dripping water. It sounded as if there was a hole in the ceiling and it was dripping onto the centre of the tabletop, where the candle had been.

    Next a voice answered. It seemed to come from Morgan's mouth. I could just about make out the outline of his head and I could swear that his jaw was moving, but it was a girl's voice and there was no way a grown man could have imitated its pitch and intensity.

    
'Leave me be! Let me rest!'
cried the voice.

    The noise of dripping water grew louder and there was a faint splashing, as if a puddle had formed on the tabletop.

    'Obey me and then I'll let you rest,' cried Morgan. 'It's another I wish to speak to. Bring him to this place and then you may return from whence you came. There's a boy with me in this room. Can you see him?'

    
'Yes, I see him,'
the girl's voice answered.
'He has just lost someone. I sense his sadness.'

    'The boy's name is Thomas Ward,' Morgan said.

    'He mourns his father. Bring his father's spirit to us now!'

    The cold began to lessen and the water ceased its dripping. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Was Morgan really going to summon Dad's spirit? I felt a sense of outrage.