Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

  A glorious day. My mother left early to visit a family friend, leaving me with Sarah who, in the absence of Clara, was able to take me into the gardens after breakfast. The sun warmed my soul as it warmed my body. We walked by the lake where I met with my father. Sarah excused herself, leaving me in his care, and we sat by the water’s edge talking for many hours.

  By the early afternoon, I was hungry and asked if he could take me back to his cottage. I knew from a previous occasion that he was reluctant to invite me back to his home, but I am no longer a child. I am sixteen and consider myself to be a young woman. My father looked troubled. “Do you not think, my darling girl, that if I considered it wise, I’d have taken you into my home before now?”

  It was then that he told me about the women and how they had died at the hands of such wicked men. “Their spirits remain,” he told me. “But I pray for the protection from my Lord, and I am a good and honest man. I feel their anguish. But I am a kindred spirit. I am safe.”

  I asked him why I would not be safe also, but my father shook his head. “Many men who have ventured beyond the clearing have left tormented in their souls. You are my precious daughter. I have a duty to protect you.”

  I think about those women as I write, and my heart is heavy. I pray for my father; I pray God will watch over him. I pray God will watch over me also, but most of all, I pray for the souls of the twelve women of Tabwell.

  Sebastian closed the diary and went over to the window, where he stood awhile, pondering Amelia’s words. The shadows Jenny had talked about must have been the spirits of those women, but what had they done? Why had they died in that forest? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of distant thunder: a deep, ominous rumble that resounded like a rolling drum. Sebastian checked his watch: it was over thirty seconds before the flash of sheet lightning filled the room with a blinding light that brought with it a sudden understanding.

  “Of course!” he gasped. “It’s so obvious!”

  Advancing on his bookcase, he peered along the shelves, checking each spine until his eyes fell upon the one he had been looking for: Malleus Maleficarum; a work by discredited Catholic clergyman Heinrich Kramer, published in 1487. Within its innocuous and rather scholarly cover lay the sinister ramblings of a fanatic, and its most common translation chilled him: Malleus Maleficarum—The Hammer of Witches.

  ***

  Alex jumped when he saw Maddy’s name flash up on his phone. He picked up, giving himself just enough time to disguise the excitement in his voice.

  “Hi, Maddy. Everything okay?”

  There was a brief silence which got his heart beating a little faster.

  “Yeah. I’m really sorry about the girl.”

  “It was a shock,” Alex replied. “I just needed to tell someone.”

  “That’s cool. Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. I’ve been thinking about that lad all day.”

  “Who? Liam?”

  “Yep. It must have been pretty scary.”

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “That whole place is scary.”

  There was another silence. “Fancy watching another movie tonight?”

  Alex felt as if his heart had performed a couple of somersaults. “Hey, that would be great.”

  “Brilliant. What time?”

  “Seven?”

  “No probs. See you later.”

  Alex slipped his phone into his back pocket and headed off towards the hotel. Penny Blakely wanted him to check a couple more rooms for any carpet stains or scuffs on the paintwork. It was easy work. He’d have plenty of time to think about Maddy.

  ***

  “I can’t believe you did that, Robert!” Josie spun around the moment she was sure Darren was out of the house, her face crimson with anger. “You just can’t help pressing that self-destruct button, can you?”

  Rob recoiled. Josie was within seconds of a meltdown.

  “You know something? If this family falls apart then it will be your fault!”

  “I just told Darren the truth.”

  “Yeah, like those tabloid rags tell the truth—coloured with their own prejudice!”

  “I’m not prejudiced!” Rob protested.

  “Well, it sure as hell sounded like it to me. You had every opportunity to support your daughters, to show some understanding and compassion. When you screwed up, Elizabeth forgave you. But Kayla? No. Jenny? No. You just had to make those snide remarks about lesbians, didn’t you?”

  “I just said girls don’t seem to know what they want these days. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Really? And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Do you honestly think Kayla chose Jenny for a bit of fun? Do you think she was bored and just decided to make a play for her sister?”

  “They’re not related,” Rob retorted. “Not biologically.”

  “Does that matter? Darren looks up to you! Your opinions matter to him, and you’ve sent him away full of resentment.”

  Rob jumped to his feet, pushing past Josie. “I’m not sitting here listening to this bullshit. I need a drink.”

  And yet…he stopped when he reached the door, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Josie was right. Everything she said made perfect sense, but before he could backtrack and apologise, she got in the last word.

  “You need to grow up, Rob. If you need a drink to get you through this, then fine, you go and have one. But I won’t be here when you get back.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Danni looked pale and tired, returning from a seven-day computer course late afternoon. Her hair was greasy, and she’d tied it back in a ponytail. She gave Darren a sleepy smile. “Yeah, I know I look like shit. I had one of those nights. Nightmares.”

  “What about? The forest?”

  Danni nodded, her eyes flooding with tears. “I thought the course might take my mind off things, but Accounting for Beginners was hardly going to be riveting.” She paused. “I’m thinking of getting some help—professional help. I need to get my head around what happened. All that weird shit.”

  “They’ll try to give you a rational explanation,” Darren warned. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  Danni shrugged. “Is there a rational explanation? Those shadows? The trees exploding in flames? That light—the orb thing?”

  “But you’d still be happier if they found one?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Darren smiled. “Me too. I go back there in my head nearly every night. It’s kind of hazy sometimes, but—”

  “You nearly died. We all did.” A tear trickled down Danni’s cheek. “I’ve never been so scared, but we got out. We’re alive. So why am I still so stressed out?”

  “Post-traumatic? Isn’t that what they call it?”

  “Which is why I thought some kind of therapy might help. I wouldn’t mind paying if I found someone good. I might ask Josie about it. Not now, though. Later, when I’ve wound down a bit. I’m not sure what to do for the best. I’m too hyped to sleep yet.”

  “Want to go for a walk?” Darren suggested.

  Danni raised her eyebrows. “Where?”

  “Anywhere. The fresh air will do us good, and we could stop off somewhere for a drink.”

  Danni shook her head. “I don’t really think alcohol is a good idea at the moment. It gives me the blues.”

  “Maybe a coffee, then?”

  “And that’s gonna help me to sleep?”

  Darren grinned. “Hot chocolate? Horlicks?”

  Danni stood and zipped up her jacket. “Yeah, I could manage one of those.”

  “Cool. We can have a good chat, and I’ll tell you what’s going down with Jenny and Jake.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’ve split up.”

  Danni’s jaw dropped open. “What happened?”

  Darren shrugged. “Apparently, Kayla has feelings for Jenny.”

  “Is this some kind of wind-up?”

  “Nope. She’s had them for quite a while.”


  Danni looked so bewildered Darren wanted to laugh.

  “So why have they split up?” she asked.

  “Because Jenny has feelings for Kayla too.”

  Danni’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! I…I can’t believe it!”

  ***

  Alex scrolled through the movie menu and glanced over at Maddy, waiting for her nod of approval, but it was clear after three minutes that her mind was elsewhere. “You don’t fancy anything?” he asked.

  “I’m not bothered, to be honest. I’ll watch anything.”

  “How about Gremlins? I loved that movie!”

  Maddy smiled, taking a sip from a large glass of Argentinean wine. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  Alex didn’t want to press her. She obviously wasn’t ready for an inquest into her mood; that was something else he’d learned from Danni. Maybe something had happened at home. It didn’t mean that she was losing interest in him. Alex relaxed. He was learning: learning how to be in a relationship—if that’s what this was—and by the time the movie had finished, they were on their second bottle of wine and Maddy was leaning back, her head on his shoulder, looking bleary-eyed.

  “I should have had something to eat before I came out,” she said.

  “I could order some pizza,” Alex suggested.

  Maddy nodded. “Yeah, awesome. Order two. I’m friggin’ starving!”

  Alex called Tabwell’s one and only decent pizza shop and ordered two Hawaiian specials. When he finished the call, Maddy had her eyes closed. “Is everything okay?” He figured it would do no harm to ask a simple question as long as it sounded casual.

  Maddy sighed, sounding weary. “It’s that forest. I know things. Things I shouldn’t tell you.”

  Alex tensed. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Nope. No one.”

  “So why do you want to tell me?”

  Maddy opened her eyes and stared at him in earnest. “Because I want you to believe.”

  “Believe in what? God? Ghosts?”

  “I want you to believe in things you can’t always see. I want you to have an open mind.”

  The thought that Maddy cared enough thrilled him. “Well, I definitely saw your grandmother, and I don’t have any explanation for that. But I’m sure there’s some psychologist or scientist somewhere who could enlighten me.”

  Maddy sighed. Killing the sound on the TV, she said, “Some things don’t have a rational explanation. When my grandmother was in her mid-forties, she worked on Tabwell Council. She was a bit of a looker, and all the men liked her.”

  Alex grinned. Maddy read his mind.

  “She didn’t sleep around, she just got to know stuff. They all confided in her. Anyway, she loved historical novels and reading books about the Middle Ages and things like that. Then she decided to trace her family tree.” Maddy laughed. “When Nan got something in her head, she never let it go. It must’ve taken her months, but she traced her ancestry back to the sixteenth century.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  “I know. All the way back to Isabella Harman.”

  Alex frowned. “Am I supposed to know who she is?”

  “No. She was just a local—an innocent woman. A young mother who died in the forest.”

  Alex tensed but wasn’t quite sure why.

  Maddy continued. “There was something odd about her death. An accident. But there was no record of a burial or a grave, and my nan started asking questions. That’s when her popularity with the men on the council paid off. She got close to this guy—Matthews, his name was. They sort of had a relationship, or an understanding of some kind.”

  “An affair?”

  “My nan wasn’t married, but Matthews was. I don’t think they slept together, but if the marriage had broken up… Well, she was right there on the scene, if you get my drift?” Maddy sniggered. “At least that’s her story.”

  “What happened?”

  “Matthews wanted to keep her onside. He probably hoped she’d relent and jump into his bed. Anyway, he was the one who told her exactly what happened to Isabella.”

  “So what did happen?”

  Maddy paused. “Have you heard of the witch hunts?”

  Alex recalled reading something in school about Salem. “Yeah…didn’t Stephen king write about—”

  “Salem’s Lot,” she interrupted. “But they happened in Britain, too.”

  “I don’t know much about them,” Alex admitted.

  “There was a lot of hysteria regarding witches in the fourteenth century, but the last women to be executed for witchcraft in England were Mary Hicks and her daughter Elizabeth. That was in 1716, so you’d have thought things would have calmed down by 1750.”

  “But they didn’t?”

  “No. There were still lynch mobs operating throughout the country, and Tabwell had a particularly fanatical group—powerful men who were nothing but misogynists. There was a poor woman called Winifred Miles who lived in the cottage—the one in the forest.”

  “The one where Liam saw…”

  “Yes. She must have been some kind of herbal doctor or something. Healthcare was beyond the means of the poor in those days, and it was often hit and miss anyway, so women went to her with their minor ailments. But then her baby boy fell ill and died. Her husband went missing soon after, and it sounds as if she lost the plot, you know? Went a bit loopy. She was found dancing naked in the forest, claiming to be calling on the spirit of her child.

  “That didn’t go down at all well with the Tabwell misogynists, who believed she was a witch who had sacrificed her child to the devil.”

  Alex groaned. “Pricks.”

  “It gets worse for the poor cow. The drinking water was often infected with raw sewage, and mortality rate in cities and towns was just off the scale. So it wasn’t really surprising that whatever killed her child took eleven more local kids. Winifred was blamed for all the deaths, but there was this guy, Fredrick Tunstall, who got together with several other men and set about executing their own form of justice. The guy was a vicious psychopath—at least, that’s how he’d be seen today. But he claimed God had exposed the woman and she must be put to death. Tunstall convinced his cronies that all those who sought healing from Winifred Miles were also practising witchcraft and were in league with the devil.

  “The Church didn’t want anything to do with the whole witchcraft thing, and Tunstall knew the courts wouldn’t have found the twelve women guilty. So he and his buddies took it upon themselves to carry out ‘God’s wishes’.”

  Alex was stunned. “They killed them?”

  “After they tortured them.” Maddy fumed. “Like I said, Tunstall was a psychopath, and his supporters ranged from those who lived in fear of the so-called witches to those who were just plain bloodthirsty. They took the women to Mosswood and stripped them naked.

  “A few of the women had marks—birthmarks or moles of some kind—and according to Tunstall, they were marks of the devil. All twelve were thrown into the freezing water until they were numb with the cold. Then Tunstall and his gang dragged them out and took all twelve to a small clearing where they were tied to trees and burned alive.”

  Alex gulped. “That’s just sick!”

  Maddy nodded. “Winifred left a three-year-old boy. I’m not sure what happened to him, but he’s the reason I’m here, I guess.”

  “And the men were never caught?”

  Maddy shook her head. “No, but it’s said that Winifred Miles called out from the flames, saying she would avenge their deaths. Two months later, Tunstall was found choking in his bed. His wife was unable to save him.”

  “And what about the kids who died? Did they ever accept it was down to pollution?”

  Maddy shrugged. “I don’t know. Tunstall would never have admitted it anyway.”

  Alex was beginning to wish Maddy had kept her secret. “So how did this Matthews bloke know so much?” he asked.

  Maddy finished the dregs of her wine. “Tunstall was a writer.
Not a published one, but he fancied himself as some kind of Dickens. He wrote a couple of novels, apparently, all kept under lock and key in one of those old travel trunks you see in period dramas.”

  “He wrote about the killings? Wouldn’t he have incriminated himself?”

  Maddy nodded. “He believed the Church and the courts had relinquished their duties as guardians of the people and he’d go down in history as some kind of saint. Witches were in league with Satan, and they could not be allowed to roam free. They had to be executed. Basically, he was proud of his actions. There was no doubt in his mind that he was acting on behalf of God.”

  Alex shook his head. “So Matthews found this shit, obviously.”

  “Yep,” Maddy confirmed. “Guess where.”

  Before Alex had a chance to open his mouth, she waved her arm in the direction of the hotel. “Over there, in the house.”

  “What?”

  “Fredrick Tunstall had one child, a girl called Henrietta. She married and they lived there. Grange Manor, it was called. She must have brought her father’s trunk full of goodies and stashed it in the cellar. That’s where it was found by Henrietta’s son, Andrew, in the late 1700s, maybe the early 1800s. Anyway, Andrew started to make a nuisance of himself, claiming the men who had murdered the twelve women should be named and shamed. He also questioned the role of the Church in the whole thing.”

  “I take it no one listened?” Alex asked, taking Maddy’s glass and placing it on the floor beside them.

  “Oh, they listened, all right. That’s before they shut him up—for good.”

  “What? They killed him too?”

  “He was strangled, and his body was placed in the bed of a prostitute to discredit him. The girl was paid to say he had died in the act, a story which seemed to satisfy the locals. The trunk was taken from the house before the new owners took over in 1820. I can’t remember their names now, but it hardly matters. They sold on to the Stanwicks in 1855.”

  Alex knew the story from that time onwards, and how the master of the house had ordered the incarceration of his wife’s illegitimate child, Amelia. It was only down to Amelia’s mother and her governess that the girl had any kind of life at all. Stanwick would have left her to rot.