by T J Podger
“Adrian! What are you doing? Stop that!” she shouted.
When her chest was exposed, Adrian could see her skin was clean of the paint he had seen earlier.
“Did you bathe already?” he asked, raising his voice in return.
“What are you talking about? Adrian, what’s going on?”
“I’m leaving, Agnes. I saw you and your coven. Do you think I’m going to put up with that? With what has been happening the past month?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, although her voice quivered.
Adrian snorted and returned to his packing.
“I honestly don’t know what’s going on,” she said.
“Don’t, Agnes. I’m not stupid and I won’t have you play with my mind anymore. You know exactly what has been going on, you know about this house and its…its witches.”
Agnes made the mistake of laughing. “Its what?” she blurted.
Something snapped in Adrian’s mind, even more so than the crack that had already formed. He strode purposely towards her, grabbed her by the throat, and forced her back against the hall wall. She screamed and clawed at his hands. He brought his face close to hers.
“What have you done with my wife?” he whispered, searching her differently coloured eyes for any clues or answers.
The words that left Agnes’ mouth were vile words she would never have used and it stunned him. He was surprised she even knew such curses. She slapped his face and he tightened his grip. It was when she laughed some more that he lost it.
Before he realised, she had slumped to the floor, rendered unconscious by his choking. He hadn’t deliberately wanted that, but he had needed to silence the cackles and profanities that spewed from her. He’d reached down and placed his hands under her armpits. He lifted and dragged at the same time. He struggled, not accounting for her dead weight. Somehow he managed to get to the top of the stairs and then he let her go. She tumbled down landing heavily on her back. He heard her groan as he rushed down to her side.
“Adrian?” he heard her whisper.
“Oh, my God, Agnes, I’m so sorry,” he said, as he tried to lift her into a sitting position. Then she attacked him.
Agnes sank her teeth into his cheek so hard she broke the skin; she tried to shake her head, to tear at his flesh. He pushed, forcing her away, which also meant he lost that chunk of skin. Blood flowed down his cheek and when he looked at her, her lips were covered in it. She looked demented. She hissed, clawed her hands as if to scratch at his face, and he had no choice. He punched his wife with tears flowing down his cheeks mingling with the blood. He punched her so hard, she fell backwards and he was able to scramble out of reach.
Adrian pulled the knife from the coat pocket and held it aloft. It was enough of a threat to have Agnes keep back. He was loath to turn his back on her and he knew, if he simply backed away, she could spring at him any time. They crouched, facing each other in a kind of standoff.
No one spoke for a while but the noises swirling around Adrian’s head intensified. It seemed it coincided with Agnes’ eyes darkening and then he knew.
“No, you’re not doing that,” he shouted. He lurched at her.
All the while she was looking at him, she was the one controlling the noises around the room. He didn’t know how, it was akin to a siren calling for sailors to dive deep and drown. He knew if he continued to listen, he would be drowned whether that be physically or metaphorically. Instead, he kicked out and caught Agnes in the chest; she fell back hitting her head on the banister. It was enough to stun her and allow for Adrian to stand. He grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, all the while trying to keep a hold of the knife. He’d found a strength he didn’t believe he had when he frogmarched his wife from the house and towards the lake. Every time she stumbled, he righted her. He forced the pace, even though she screamed and writhed. What he would do with Agnes when he got there wasn’t something he had thought through, but the sight of a man holding rope and standing by the chair meant he didn’t have to.
Between Frederick and Adrian they held Agnes in the chair and tied her securely. Both ran to the wooden arms and heaved them up. Agnes’ scream echoed around the eerie landscape just as she hit the ice-cold water. And then, for a moment, it was silent. Neither man spoke, other than to count in their heads…one minute…two minutes…three minutes.
After a period of time, Adrian looked at Frederick who nodded. They lowered the wooden arms and the chair rose from the lake. A dripping Agnes sat with her head bowed and not a sound came from her lips. All they heard was the relentless drip as water drained from her clothes.
It had been an effort to pull the chair back along the arms and to the bank where they untied her. Not knowing if she was dead or not, Adrian had been reluctant to approach too close. His heart lurched in his throat as he heard her gasp. Her eyes opened and immediately turned black. She opened her mouth and the screech, so high-pitched it caused Adrian’s ears to actually bleed, could be heard for miles. It was as if she was calling her kin. The lake rippled and heads began to appear moving closer to the bank. The women Adrian had seen in the house started to form.
“Get her in the house, quick,” Adrian heard. Frederick had wrenched Agnes from the chair, and before she could fight him off, he had her hands tied behind her back.
Between them, they carried the writhing and screeching Agnes to the house. Only once did Adrian look over his shoulder to see at least ten women climbing from the lake and running after them.
They barged through the kitchen door and Adrian locked it while Frederick carried Agnes through to the hall. He hooked her arms over the banister and then shouted to Adrian to bring more rope.
Adrian had no idea where the rope was but the banging and wailing outside the back door prompted him to search. He found a small coiled washing line hanging on a coat hook. It would be man enough to secure Agnes to the banister, ensuring she could not release herself.
While Adrian did just that, Frederick ran for the basement. He returned with a small can of kerosene and an armful of newspaper and kindling. He piled those around Agnes. It was as if he was working on autopilot and Adrian had been stunned into paralysis. He just stared at Agnes and she stared back still screeching. It occurred to Adrian she hadn’t taken a breath the whole time.
Frederick splashed kerosene around Agnes, up the stairs, and over the wooden floor, when he had no more; he threw the can at her feet. There was a pause before he lit the match. He looked at Adrian, as if for confirmation, Adrian nodded and it was the permission needed. As soon as the match hit the flammable liquid, it ignited. Flames flew into the air and licked at Agnes’ feet. She stopped her screeching. The heat felt intense as the paper and kindling caught, as the dry wood of the banister and kerosene soaked stairs became the fuel needed to build the fire, and build it did.
Adrian and Frederick had to take some steps back as the fire ignited the can and it exploded. It was only then that, through the flames, he saw Agnes’ face. Her blue eyes pleaded with him.
“Help me, Adrian,” she shouted.
He was stunned. What had he done? He’d tried to run towards her, the flames kept him back. He turned to where Frederick had been to see an empty space. He heard a large crack sound and looked up, the flames had demolished part of the staircase and it looked as if the rest was about to fall. He had no choice but to retreat to the outside. He stood as sirens wailed in the background and watched a fire spread so rapidly, the middle section of the house was already engulfed.
Firemen rushed around, Mack appeared by his side. “I saw the flames, what happened, man?” he asked.
“She didn’t drown, so I had to burn her,” Adrian replied quietly.
“What did you say?” Mack asked.
Whether he had heard or was just so astonished by Adrian’s statement, Adrian hadn’t known, he repeated himself.
That was the last fully conscious moment Adrian had. He felt arms around him as the police
pulled him into a car. He sat in cold sterile rooms and repeated that one line over and over. He could see nothing, hear nothing but one thing. Agnes’ face as the fire took her, her eyes were black and she was laughing. She was laughing at him. He heard her constantly.
“Guilty.”
One word sealed Adrian Carter’s future. He was sentenced to be hanged by his neck until dead. No matter how much time had passed, Adrian did not speak another sentence other than the confession.
“It’s so odd,” Jacob Wellbeing said, as he and the doctor watched Adrian be taken from the dock. “I think he might have been telling the truth after all.”
Dr. Matthews laughed and patted his friend on the back. “You need to stop reading his books.”
Although the majority of North Berwick House had been destroyed in the fire that had killed Agnes Carter, one room remained largely undamaged. Adrian’s study was where the police had found Adrian’s manuscripts and the notes he had taken regarding his wife. Jacob Wellbeing had been given a copy, and although it appeared the jury had not returned a verdict of guilty by diminished responsibility, they had believed he had murdered his wife in cold blood, Jacob wasn’t sure. Whether Agnes had been a witch was a different matter, of course, and Adrian had believed she was, but it was also the mention of the mysterious Frederick Mackolvy. No one existed in North Berwick by that name, certainly no one in present times. Although there had been one many years before who had done the very same thing. That Frederick had died in prison some ten years previous, after spending twenty years incarcerated.
Jacob shook his head. He had done his best for his client. He had killed his wife and the circumstances were probably never going to be conclusive. As the court emptied, he packed his briefcase of his notes and stood to leave. He walked up the aisle of the court and through the heavy wooden doors.
As he stepped out into a cold and snowy Edinburgh street, he shivered. He didn’t think it was simply from the cold. Ahead of him was a redheaded woman of indeterminate age. She smiled at him. It was the coldness of her eyes that caused the shiver and the fact she very much resembled the deceased wife of Adrian Carter.
Jacob lowered his head and rushed on past. He clearly needed a nice holiday and a large whiskey. The case was done, he had lost, and he would soon be onto the next unfortunate who needed defending.
Adrian Carter was hanged six months later. He showed no remorse, he spoke no words, and he smiled as he died. Perhaps happy his brain was finally free of his nightmares.
Chapter Ten
Article taken from The North Berwick Post
7th December 1951
The mysterious fire that destroyed North Berwick House, all bar one room, and killed Agnes Carter is still under investigation. A close friend of Adrian Carter, one Mack Glover, has stated the following…
“I don’t understand what happened. He was a lovely chap, as was his wife. They were both so much in love with each other and with the house. All this nonsense about witches and possession is just plain daft! I spent many an evening in the local pub with Adrian, chatting about current affairs. Maybe all that horror writing had affected him.”
It seemed that Mr. Glover was as unaware of the mystery Frederick as were the other locals interviewed in North Berwick. Adrian Carter’s account of meeting Frederick in the pub, as per his notes found, seemed to be disputed.
The investigation will continue but my sources in the local police seem to think we’ll never really know what happened to Adrian and Agnes Carter.
Harry Persimmon – reporter, The North Berwick Post
The End
Coming later in the year 2020 - The First Witch of North Berwick House & The Restoration of North Berwick House
In the meantime, if you’d like to read more from Tracie Podger please head on over to her author page on Amazon —> author.to/TraciePodger
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Francessca Wingfield of Francessca Wingfield PR & Design for a wonderful cover.
I’d also like to give a huge thank you to my editor, Karen Hrdlicka, and proofreader, Joanne Thompson.
A big hug goes to the ladies in my team. These ladies give up their time to support and promote my books. Alison ‘Awesome’ Parkins, Karen Atkinson-Lingham, Ann Batty, Elaine Turner, Kerry-Ann Bell, Lou Hands, and Louise White – otherwise known as the Twisted Angels.
My amazing PA, Alison Parkins keeps me on the straight and narrow, she’s the boss! So amazing, I call her Awesome Alison. You can contact her on [email protected]
To all the wonderful bloggers that have been involved in promoting my books and joining tours, thank you and I appreciate your support. There are too many to name individually – you know who you are.
About the Author
Tracie Podger, writing as T J Podger, currently lives in Kent, UK with her husband and a rather obnoxious cat called George. She’s a Padi Scuba Diving Instructor with a passion for writing. Tracie has been fortunate to have dived some of the wonderful oceans of the world where she can indulge in another hobby, underwater photography. She likes getting up close and personal with sharks.
Tracie likes to write in different genres. Her Fallen Angel series and its accompanying books are mafia romance and full of suspense. A Virtual Affair, Letters to Lincoln and Jackson are angsty, contemporary romance, and Gabriel, A Deadly Sin and Harlot are thriller/suspense. The Facilitator is erotic romance.
The Last Witch of North Berwick House is a nice short ghost type story!
Stalker Links
www.TraciePodger.com
[email protected]
Writing as Tracie Podger…
Fallen Angel, Part 1
Fallen Angel, Part 2
Fallen Angel, Part 3
Fallen Angel, Part 4
Fallen Angel, Part 5
Fallen Angel, Part 6
The Fallen Angel Box Set
Evelyn - A novella to accompany the Fallen Angel Series
Rocco – A novella to accompany the Fallen Angel Series
Robert – To accompany the Fallen Angel Series
Travis – To accompany the Fallen Angel Series
Taylor & Mack – To accompany the Fallen Angel Series
Angelica – To accompany the Fallen Angel Series
A Virtual Affair – A standalone
Gabriel – A standalone
The Facilitator – A duet
The Facilitator, part 2 – A duet
A Deadly Sin – A standalone
Harlot – A standalone
Letters to Lincoln – A standalone
Jackson – A standalone
The Freedom Diamond – A novella
Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits – A standalone