by Aline Riva
“I'm only looking at every possibility,” she replied, “As much as I want to think this is supernatural, what if someone resents you having this cottage and decided to play games? It seems more likely than being attacked by a ghost. I'm only doing what every ghost hunter should do – eliminating the possible before looking into the unexplained.”
He settled back against his pillow and drew a shaky breath as his hand hovered near the light switch.
“The doors were all locked last night. No one could have climbed up or in through the window. I don't see how -”
“I checked every room and possible hiding place in this house before I came to bed,” she told him, “The place is locked up and no one is hiding anywhere.”
A thought struck him and a chill crawled over his flesh as his eyes widened at such horrible idea, an idea that he really didn't want to think about.
“No one has checked under the bed,” he whispered.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” she exclaimed, and she leant over, pulled back the bottom of the blanket, saw the empty space beneath the bed and then got up again. She turned her head and looked at him.
“No bogey men, no creatures, no monsters and no men in Edwardian clothing, okay?”
“Right,” he said quietly, “I'd better turn out the light, then.”
And he quickly snapped off the light and lay there in the semi darkness, for once feeling thankful of nothing but the moonlight coming through the window because at least now Sarah couldn't see the flush to his face or the look in his eyes. He felt embarrassed that he had become such a nervous wreck he was afraid to look under his own bed. And if she knew how grateful he was that she had done it for him, well, that would have made him feel even more ashamed...
He closed his eyes and began to breathe easier, thankful to know Sarah was at his side.
As the minutes slipped by, Sarah lay there awake and watching the curtain shift gently as the warm summer breeze slipped into the room, the day had been very hot and the night had not brought with it a trace of a chill, and now she was getting used to being here, in bed, next to the man she had dreamed was Thornton.
She turned her head and looked at him, smiling as she saw him by moonlight, on his back and eyes closed, resting easily at last. His breathing was slow and even, and she wasn't sure if it was the thought of Thornton or simply because she liked Zack so much, but she had the sudden urge to kiss him on his cheek – an urge that she didn't give into, instead she giggled quietly as she imagined how the poor guy would wake with a jolt and look at her in alarm. His nerves were in shreds, even a kiss would scare the hell out of him now he had finally managed to grab some real and much needed rest...
As he slept on, she stayed awake, watching the breeze shift the curtains as she listened but heard no sound, then somewhere outside an owl hooted, then she thought she saw a bat flit by the window, wings flapping wide and fast as it flew through the night. Hooting owls and flapping bats...Why not? This was the countryside... That was her last thought as she closed her eyes and slipped into a deep and restful sleep.
It was happening again. And this time, there was no warning, no fight, nothing for Sarah to wake for, because this time when Zack dreamed, he was alone, standing in the cottage - but not in the year 2016.
He stood there in the hallway, which now looked dull with its faded walls and exposed wooden beams that were not painted with their usual dark wood stain. There was a mirror on the wall and he looked into it, the mirror was frame less and hung from a chain that was attached to a nail driven into the wall. He stood there for a moment, seeing his own face, even noticing his hair was shot through with grey just like in his own time – but here he wore an Edwardian suit, and his eyes were green and in those eyes there was a look of something old and ancient, something mysterious that he could only assume was the knowledge of magic, and not all of it good, either...
He turned on hearing a knock at the door. And Zack did not want to move from the spot. He wanted to stay there in that hallway, where herbs were hung up to dry at every doorway, because he knew he would see nothing good in this other life of his, but he had no control over the actions of the man whose eyes he saw through, as Thornton Ravencroft walked towards the front door of his cottage.
He opened the door and there was an old man standing there, a portly old man with white hair and cold eyes who wore a fine suit and had a horse and carriage waiting for him out on the road. He leant on his cane as he glared at Thornton with anger in his eyes.
“It has come to my attention,” he said, “That my wife Tabitha has been partaking of your medicinal brews. I discovered a bottle and after some questions were asked -”
“Did you ask her with your mouth, or with the back of your hand, sir?” said Thornton, and the old man looked at him with utter hatred in his eyes.
“I am Lord Frederick Brackenby and I own half of this village including the cottage where you dwell and I demand proper respect!” he spat, “Especially from you, Cunning Man!” he added in disgust, “In the old days they burned men like you. My daughter will not call at this cottage again, or I shall tear up your tenancy and see to it that no other in this village shall offer you shelter. The Brackenby family does not require the use of a warlock!” then he lowered his voice and added, “It may be wise to remember that witches may still burn even in this gilded age, sir.”
Thornton fell silent as he considered all he had said, and then he nodded.
“As you wish, Lord Brackenby,” he replied, “I shall take great pains to ensure that I do not trouble your family again.”
The old man looked at him, shook his head and then turned away and then made his way back down the path and out of the gate, back to the carriage that stood there waiting. Then Thornton closed the door, and as he thought on the very real threat the Lord of the Manor had just made against his life, his eyes darkened in such a way that if they had seen it, the folk of the village who waved and bid him good morning on his daily walks would have fled in terror...
The scene changed.
The sun was shining brightly in a blue sky as Thornton took a walk along the country lane past the fields where Lord Brackenby's cattle grazed. As he walked he looked ahead down the empty track, a cart had just passed him by and a local man had just bid him good afternoon, and he had nodded and then continued on his way, walking along beneath the shade of a black umbrella that matched his suit and kept the heat of the day off nicely. And as he walked his heart felt heavy at the deed he was about to perform, because he hated to be cruel at any cost. But Frederick Brackenby had threatened to burn him, and a warning was justified...
“I raise thee up around me to the side and the front and the back of me,” he murmured, “Shades of old, know the name of Lucifer and send the persecutor to drown in hell fire, cursed be this herd, by the word of the one who resides in the pit, my lord of darkness, let them drown. Let them drown.” And he turned his head to the field.
“All fall down.”
And in the heat of the shimmering sun the cattle fell down dead, their bodies growing bloated and their eyes bulging as water ran from their open mouths and kept on running, turning the summer parched grass to a sodden, muddy water logged mess.
And Thornton Ravencroft kept on walking without a backwards glance...
In his sleep, Zack turned over and clutched at the sheets as he tried to block out the sight of the animals, instantly drowned in a field miles from any source of water.
“This was the work of the devil!” he heard Frederick say bitterly, “The devil at Ravencroft Cottage!”
Zack gave a gasp and woke up sharply, sat up in bed and blinked, then he saw the lamp next to his bed – reassuringly, his own electric lamp, and then he turned his head and saw Sarah on the other side of the bed, she was on her back and sleeping peacefully, and in the moonlight, looked beautiful. He drew in a breath and wiped sweat from his face and lay back down, resisting the urge to turn on the light.
But then there was anot
her light, it started at the window and as the flame spluttered into life, he sat up and blinked, staring in horror at the sight of the lit candle. There were no curtains at the leaded windows now, and through it he saw just the moonlight in a dark sky, and then as it shone brighter, he saw the limbs of a tree branch leaning in as if bent by the wind, closer and closer to the window, until the bough split and the tree branch twisted into the shape of a man, whose long fingers pressed against the glass as his eyes fixed on him. The man at the window was horned and smiling as he raised a hand from the glass and beckoned with a long, thin finger.
Zack felt frozen to the spot with horror, but Thornton got out of bed naked and walked over to the middle of the bedroom, where he cast aside a rug to reveal a pentacle drawn in chalk, each point of it had strange markings etched, and in that circle, Thornton knelt to the horned man.
“Servant of mine,” whispered the Devil, “Your time will come...Bones beneath stones, waiting to arise, I claim thee for a century...as your soul was marked in blood, herein the promise shall fulfil.”
And the horned figure faded away as the candle flickered and the branches shrank away from the window, as in the moonlight, Thornton fell forward, his hands hitting the floorboards as he sobbed inside the circle, recalling the day his father had first invited him into this circle, and cut his palm with a knife on his twenty first birthday and promised that on his death, he would inherit his power, but only as long as the horned one would allow...
“This is an omen of my death!” Thornton whispered in horror, and as he got up on his knees and his palm stung sharply, he turned over his hand to see the scar that had long faded from the day the blood ran into the silver chalice, had once again opened up, and now his blood dripped on to the dusty floorboards...
And as he lay restless in bed, Zack clutched at the sheets again, tossing his head as if to shake the nightmare from his mind, but then it faded out, and his grip relaxed, and he slept on through the night.
Sarah was also dreaming, and as the night began to fade to the light of coming morning, she was still sleeping deeply, unaware that Zack's sleep had been broken and that his dreams had been ones of torment. Her dream was very different to his, and gave her no cause to stir as she looked through the eyes of Lillith Brackenby:
She knocked on the door of the cottage, and on getting no reply, knocked again.
“Thornton?” she called out, and then she held on to the brim of her hat as she looked up at the windows on the upper level of the cottage, but saw no movement.
“Thornton!” she called again, “It is Lillith, I have come to visit you!”
The door opened abruptly. Lillith caught her breath as she looked at the man in the doorway: Thornton was standing there in his black suit, but the look in his eyes had changed. There was something dark and chilly about his gaze as he looked at her and said nothing.
She stepped closer, going up to the porch.
“What is wrong? I know my father came here and I am sorry about that – there was nothing I could do – he found the brew you made for my mother. He hit her and then he said he would hit me if I ever came back here.”
“And he reminded me that even in this fine gilded era witches can still burn,” Thornton said gravely.
Her eyes widened and she gave a gasp.
“He threatened you? But witches are not burned any more, Thornton, that was many years past, he would not burn you, that would be murder!”
“I understand he blames me for the death of his cattle,” he added, “What do you make of that, Lillith? A herd of cattle drowned in a field where no water runs nearby? How can that be, if not by witchcraft?”
Her face paled.
“No,” she said as she shook her head, “You would not -”
“Really?” he said, “After your father said he would burn me? What right does he have to threaten my life for passing on a simple brew to his wife? I have done him no harm, justify his threat!”
Then as Lillith's eyes filled with tears, the anger faded from his eyes.
“It was not my doing!” she protested as her voice choked with tears, “I would not let any harm come to you, Thornton, not now, not ever -”
“I think you should leave,” he said politely, “I was told not to meet with you again.”
“And you would bow down to my father?”
He gave a heavy sigh and stepped back, opening the door to the cottage wider. Lillith hurried in and he closed the door behind her.
“It is not about obeying your father,” he said to her, “You are a young woman capable of making your own decisions and I respect that but Lillith, coming here could make trouble for me. I am a cunning man. A warlock, a wise man – a witch! Think about this, please!”
As tears blurred her eyes she stepped closer.
“I did,” she told him softly, “And there is no magic you can use to keep me away from you. I love you, Thornton.”
For a moment they stood there in the hallway and the only sound that passed between them was the chiming of the clock as it struck three times, and then he met her gaze and spoke softly to her.
“I am a man of magic and some of my magic is dark. I was told recently that soon my time on this earth will be done. It is the price I pay for learning the secrets of the dark path. I do not know when or how - it seems the power that governs me has been merciful enough to spare me those details. But if my life is to end, you are wasting your love and your reputation on a man who has little time left.”
Lillith blinked away tears.
“I would not regret a single hour with you if that was all we could have,” she told him.
He paused for a moment, and then he stepped closer to her and took hold of her hands as their eyes met.
“Perhaps there is a way to change this,” he said quietly, “If we joined together in a ritual perhaps my Lord would allow me longer, allow me time to be with you. Perhaps not, but I can not be certain. Meet me here tonight after dark?”
She nodded.
He leant in and kissed her, it was a gentle kiss and as she welcomed his embrace, their kiss deepened and she felt weak in his arms as for the first time in her life, a man claimed her mouth completely, in a hungry, open mouthed kiss, the kind she had never tasted before. Then he broke off from the kiss and let go of her, and as he looked her in the eye he smiled and his face flushed and knowing he suddenly felt shy made her heart fill with even more love for him.
“Forgive me...” he said softly, “It's been a while. It's been a very long time, I have been alone a long time and perhaps am a little rough and impatient in my advances.”
“You will be alone no more, Thornton,” she promised him, “We will perform your ritual. And then we shall make our plans. I have money, I am not without means, we can leave together.”
And then Sarah was seeing through the eyes of Lillith Brackenby for a second time as the scene changed – this time, the sky was dark and the moon was full and she was hurrying up the path to the cottage.
What followed was seen as images that raced through her mind one after the other:
Thornton opened the door and she went into the cottage, and then she followed him up the stairs. He led her into the bedroom and there was a chalk pentacle on the floor with candles set about it.
Then Lillith's clothing was on the bed, and she was on her back, naked in the circle. Thornton joined her, casting off a black silken robe as incense smoked and filled the room and he chanted to the dark lord of Hell to raise up and take the sacrifice of virgin blood as he asked to be allowed to live.
Then he was kissing down her body and her fingers were tangled in his hair as he teased her and kissed her and she opened her legs wider and cried out helplessly as orgasm rushed through her body. He gave her no time to recover as he knelt between her shaking thighs, and with a brutal and impatient thrust, made her cry out as he entered her body and pain and pleasure became tangled as one. He moved hard against her, every thrust jolted her body and then as his movem
ents became more urgent his mouth found hers and silenced her cries of pleasure, until his body shook and he slammed into her one last time and cried out sharply as he throbbed hard inside her, filling her warm and hot as she reached for him, and he slid exhausted into her arms.
They lay naked together in the circle until the candles burned low, his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair and watched the dying candle light make shadows dance on the walls.
“Do you think it worked?” she asked him.
He shifted over and raised his head, turning on his side as he looked at her.
“I do not know my dearest Lillith,” he replied, “But I do know that my heart shall ever be yours.”
And he sealed that promise with a kiss, and then the lovers continued to lay naked together in an embrace within the circle, until the candles burned so low they stuttered out, and the only light that came in through the window was the silver glow of the full moon.
Then Sarah woke up. It was morning and the sunlight was streaming through the window. She thought about the dream of passionate sex with Thornton and couldn't help but smile as she reached over and touched Zack's shoulder.
“Morning, did you sleep well?” she asked him, and was toying with the thought of perhaps moving in for a kiss.
He gave no reply.
She gently shook his shoulder.
“Zack!” she said impatiently.
He woke up with a jolt and sat upright, his face was pale and he was sweating and his eyes were full of fear.
“I dreamt of the devil!” he said, and then he gave a sob.
Chapter 5
It had taken Zack a while to calm down, and just how hard he had sobbed as she comforted him had alarmed her, but then he had taken in a deep breath, composed his emotions and said he would be okay, and he had wiped his eyes and told her he was off for a shower.
After Sarah went downstairs and made some tea, she waited for Zack and then after waiting some more, she went to the bottom of the stairs and called up.