by Aline Riva
“There's more, “ Kyle told him, “I did some digging last night and turned up the marriage records – she married three months after Thornton vanished. She married a man called Artie Wilkinson, he was a very famous designer of women's corsets and by all accounts, rumoured to be gay, which of course would have enraged her father because of the whispers – but apparently Artie was a good companion to her, they stayed together for the rest of their days. They even had a son, and so my family line continued.”
“So she rebelled against her father by choosing a man of wealth, but one he would have disliked? Why would she even have married at all if she was mourning Thornton?” Sarah asked.
Kyle looked down at the names on the grave as he wished the dead could speak.
“I don't know,” he replied, “Maybe she never knew what happened to Thornton. Maybe losing him broke her spirit and Artie came along and pulled her back from the edge. There's so many possibilities.”
“And we won't find any more answers here,” Kyle replied, and as they turned away from the grave side and began to walk back down the path, Zack walked on ahead by himself and then glanced back.
“Maybe if I leave before you I'll beat you back to the cottage!” he called back to him.
Kyle laughed.
“Okay, I'll give you a head start, you obviously need it!”
Zack laughed too, and then he quickened his pace as he headed for the path that led to the gates of the churchyard.
As they walked together past the old and crumbling graves, Sarah turned to Kyle and stopped walking.
“You really need to stop thinking so negatively,” she said.
He stopped walking too and they stood together in the middle of the graveyard as the breeze rustled leaves on the trees and she suddenly wondered if her words would have any impact at all on a man who feared death as they stood there in the graveyard surrounded by it.
“I can't,” he admitted, “Like I said, I'm so far the only survivor of this disease. That means I can't be sure how long it will be until it comes back.”
“Life can surprise you,” she said to him, “You never know, you could live for years. Maybe even have kids with Sally one day.”
He looked at her kindly and shook his head.
“That's a very sweet wish you just made for me Sarah, but they pumped me full of so many drugs I'll never father a child. It wouldn't have bothered me a few years ago when I was a bit of a play boy, I had no plans for marriage or a family. But meeting Sally changed all that. And now I don't want to think about being a father, because I know it won't happen.”
“You could adopt,” she suggested.
“I doubt it,” he replied, “I've had a life threatening illness that could come back any day. I'm not exactly a good bet, am I? Who would give me a kid when that child could lose their new father a year later? No, that's not an option. I'll never have a family, I'm the last of my line.”
“If only Zack had Thornton's powers,” she said, “I bet if he did, he'd heal you.”
For a brief moment Kyle blinked to clear vision that had misted.
“Well he doesn't,” he replied, and then he forced a laugh to cover how much her kind words had touched his heart, “If he could cure me I'd be a happy man. I'd never have to worry again. And if everything was set right and I managed to make a baby with my wife I'd give him my car! I'd park it outside the cottage with a great big bow around it and say thanks mate, have a ferrari!”
She laughed too, but as his smile faded, so did hers.
“We both know that won't happen,”he added.
“She's a whore.”
As the words whispered in his ear, his great great grandfather's face came to mind, and Kyle spun around and looked back at the family grave in the distance.
“What the hell was that?” he said, and sounded shaken up.
“What?” Sarah asked him.
He looked back at her. Again the angry face came to mind.
“She is a whore! She fornicated with that devil's servant, she is tainted!” Frederick Brackenby said, and the voice was loud in his ear.
Sarah was staring at Kyle as he looked at her, his dark eyes wide as he fixed his gaze on her.
“What's wrong?” she said again.
“You're not a whore!” he insisted, “You're not a whore, okay, Sarah?”
She looked at him in alarm.
“Kyle?” she said, and as she reached out, he started to shake as he gave a gasp.
“Oh shit, I heard him speak in my ear! I bloody heard him, I saw his face!”
“It's okay,” she told him, “Calm down...you're not alone...I'm here. Let's go...”
“I can't move!” he said tearfully, “Oh shit, it's a ghost, a real one...” he gave a sob, “I saw Frederick's face...Oh, he's an evil bastard! He hates you...” Kyle was pale and had broken out in a sweat.
She reached for his hand and grabbed it and held on tightly.
“Come on,” she said gently, “Start walking. We can see the gates. Just walk.”
“Okay...Okay,” he stammered as he caught his breath again and blinked back tears, and then together they made their way to the gates of the graveyard, and all the way out of the place, Kyle kept a tight grip on Sarah's hand, clinging tightly like a frightened child.
Back at the house, Sally Brackenby was in the back part of the office, in a dusty old room that had been locked up for many years – the place where old records and newspaper articles relating to the family were neatly filed away in old, rusty filing cabinets with big heavy drawers that were tough to pull open.
She had found the files that dated back to the early 1900s - along with a ton of paperwork that she was sure Zack would find fascinating for his book, because it related to workers wages and plans to expand the village, and then she pulled out an old, yellowed newspaper.
“Oh wow...” she said softly, seeing the old fashioned emblem of the Harpley News in faded print, and then she blew off the dust and took the paper over to a desk by the window, pulled out the chair and sat down and carefully unfolded the paper. Its edges on the front page reminded her of the frailty of butterfly wings, the corners had crumbed and so she laid it out carefully, staying mindful that this paper had been in that cabinet for many, many years – perhaps even put there long ago by Frederick Brackenby himself...
She smoothed the paper over carefully, and then she studied the front page article. As she read the headline and looked at the picture below it, she stared in disbelief.
“Incredible...” she murmured, and then she looked to the headline and read the article printed below the picture. The headline was in large black lettering, Ravencroft Mystery: No clues on a strange disappearance. Sally then read through the article:
'The village of Harpley is embroiled in mystery as police find no clues to the disappearance of Mister Thornton Ravencroft, who vanished without trace. No clues seem to be found to lead detectives to find the missing man, who is known locally as Cunning Ravencroft, and is rumoured to be practised in the art of witchcraft, a profession that is said to be handed down from father to son for many generations of the Ravencroft family...'
Sally read through the rest of the article, which seemed to focus more on Thornton's mysterious role in the village instead of details of when he had last been seen alive, and then she looked again at the photograph set above the article:
It was a picture of Thornton Ravencroft, an old black and white image of the cunning man of Harpley, standing outside his cottage looking sombre as he posed for the photograph in a dark suit, his intense gaze fixed on the camera.
“He looks just like Zack!” she exclaimed, and then she took her phone from her pocket, tried her husband's number, the call went to voicemail and she switched to text message:
'Kyle,' she wrote, 'Found something in the old filing room. Article from 1912, about Thornton's disappearance. I'll take a pic... next message coming up. p.s. – love you.' Then she hit send, and switched the phone to camera, focussed c
arefully and took a picture of the whole article, and sent that to his number too. Then Sally sat there and waited for a reply, and as the minutes went by, she looked to the phone and gave a sigh.
“Come on Kyle, check your phone,” she said aloud, “You really do want to see this!”
Chapter 6
As the front door opened and Zack went out to the hallway to ask what had taken them so long to get back from the churchyard, one look at Kyle's pale and shocked expression was all he needed to hand him a huge hint.
“It was his turn,” said Sarah as she indicated to the front room and led Kyle through, “He heard a voice in the churchyard.”
“My great great grandfather,” said Kyle in a hushed voice as he sat down on the sofa, “I heard him, Zack, I saw his face in my mind coming closer and closer, I heard him speak into my ear!”
“I had something like that in the garden,” Zack replied as he sat down too,”It's scary.”
“Apparently it's terrifying,” added Sarah, “But I just get the dreams. I haven't l had the voices...not yet anyway. Oh god, if anyone else could hear this conversation they'd think we all needed locking up!”
“I actually want a drink,” Kyle said quietly, “Even though I hate it and I hate toxins in my body in case they kill me, I really do want a drink, just one, because I've never been so scared in my life!”
“Sorry,” Zack replied, “No booze in this house. I gave it up after it contributed to my decision to slash my wrists. That's ancient history, by the way.”
“I'm glad you came through it,” Kyle told him, and as he glanced at him, his face was still pale, “But I'm far more disturbed by the idea that my dead ancestor just spoke to me and said Sarah was a whore who fornicated with the devil's servant. At least, I think that's what he said. I was too busy shitting myself in fear to concentrate on the finer details!”
“Me?” she said in surprise, “That's more proof – I told you I could see through her eyes. It makes sense that I was Lillith. I just wish I could remember that life, then maybe I'd have all the answers.”
Kyle shivered and Zack shifted closer and patted his shoulder.
“It's okay,” he said softly, “I've been there too. We all know this is real. We're together in this, remember that.”
Kyle nodded.
“I know that, thanks,” he said quietly, and then he shivered again as he looked to Zack.
“At least I know I felt his presence and heard his voice. That was his ghost. That's a good thing, because now I know I wasn't him. I'm not a reincarnation. I'm glad about that! He was evil all the way through. I don't care what demon or devil Thornton was tangled up with, he wasn't evil. Maybe he could be dark and devious, but his ways were trickery more than magic. And he wouldn't have used dark arts unless he had to - and he wasn't a cold blooded killer. He wasn't like Frederick.”
“I think you're right about that,” Zack agreed, and then he managed a smile, “Considering you're talking about my former life, thanks for the compliment. I think you're right - Thornton was a warlock but he didn't use it often. I saw that in a dream. He would sooner have used trickery than witchcraft, and I feel that he often did.”
Kyle took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I think I've finally stopped shaking.”
“Good,” replied Zack, “Because this could get a lot worse before its over. Are you sure you want to carry on with this?”
“Are you still looking for Thornton's bones?” Kyle asked.
“My bones,” Zack reminded him, and Kyle nodded.
“We'll see this through together,“ he vowed, “We have to find those bones.”
And then his phone sounded a message alert, and this time, now he was over the shock of hearing his ancestor's ghostly voice in his ear, Kyle heard the soft bleep and took the phone from his pocket.
He read the message and then looked in surprise at the picture she had attached to the second message.
“You both need to see this!” he exclaimed, and passed the phone to Zack as Sarah looked over his shoulder. The headline jumped out at them, and so did the picture of Thornton, and as they stared at the picture and then exchanged a glance, they knew it was all the proof they needed.
“Thornton looks just like me,” Zack said in a hushed voice.
Shadows were chasing in as dusk fell and by the time Kyle said goodnight, all trace of the shock he had suffered earlier had left him. He promised to search again through the old files next morning, and said he would call as soon as he turned up something – because he felt sure there would be more, and then he drove away from the cottage.
As they stood on the path and watched as Kyle's car drive off into the distance, Sarah looked to the colourful sunset that was almost swallowed by the deepening glow that ran from amber to purple as dusk covered the horizon and shaded the summer world a cooler hue. Then she looked about the garden. The birds were chirping in the trees, the flowers that were slow to close up and nod their heads were playing host to pollen hungry bees, and butterflies flew late, enjoying the evening air as the sun sank on another day.
“I'm glad you met Kyle,” she said, “He's such a nice guy. And you two get on so well, you're like old friends already!”
“I know,” Zack replied, and he sounded as if his thoughts were far from the view of the sunset.
“What's on your mind?” Sarah asked, and he turned his head and met her gaze, and to her surprise she saw his eyes had glazed with tears.
“I think we've had all the proof we need that I was Thornton,” he said to her, “And if I was Thornton, that means I'm also responsible for the curse laid down on the Brackenby family. I'm responsible for Kyle wondering if every day will be his last, it's my fault he's been so ill and lives in fear of an early death. I did that!”
“No, not you,” she told him firmly, “Thornton did it! And assuming you were Thornton in that life – that's not who you are now. In this life your name is Zack Sterling and Kyle is your friend and you'd never do anything to harm him.”
“But I did when I was Thornton,” he replied sadly, “And I wish there was something I could do to put that right and lift the curse.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Zack, you have to draw a line between that life and this one! I'm convinced I was Lillith but I'm not trying to be her! You can't be Thornton, he was into black magic and trickery and probably got through life being a con artist more than anything else. That's not who you are!”
The darkening skies reflected in his gaze as the tearfulness faded out but sorrow remained set there.
“But if I could be him again,” he told her, “I would lift that curse. I know for all that he was mixed up in, Thornton was basically a kind man. He never would have caused harm unless he was trying to defend himself. I get why he might have uttered that curse with his last breath, I saw what happened to him and how he died. But I would lift it if I could.”
She smiled.
“And become the new cunning man of Harpley?” she teased, “Is that your new career choice?”
For a moment he thought about it, and that thought was a serious one. Then he laughed it off and shook his head.
“No...of course not. I wouldn't know where to start!”
Then they turned back and walked up the path towards the open cottage door, and although he had fallen silent, that subject of becoming a cunning man was still at the back of Zack's mind. He wasn't sure quite what Sarah's joking suggestion had set off in his mind, but he was actually thinking about it now. He was keeping it to himself, but still thinking about it...
Late that night, while Sarah slept in her own room because he had told her he felt okay and planned to stay up for most of the night reading, Zack was on his bed with a coffee at his bedside to keep him alert as he used the lap top and searched the name Thornton Ravencroft.
He searched past the links he had already found, and then kept on searching, using different terms, Cunning Ravencroft and Warlock of Harpley
Village.
Then he turned up an article on a website dedicated to Strange Tales of old England, and he followed the link, and as a page came up and he saw that same picture of Thornton outside his cottage set above a very long and detailed article, he began to read carefully through it:
'In the picturesque village of Harpley, stands a country cottage that used to be the home of the Ravencroft family – a curious family who claimed to pass the title of 'cunning man' or warlock, from father to son. The last cunning man of Harpley was Thornton Ravencroft, and his name is steeped in even deeper mystery, because he was the last of the Ravencrofts, and disappeared under mysterious circumstances in the summer of 1912.
Even in the gilded age of Edwardian England, out in the countryside where little had changed for many years, the locals still believed in and praised the man they considered a warlock. They talked of the cures he had performed, the amazing recovery of stolen goods, his prophecies aided by the stars and his triumphs over the schemes of other witches. The front door of the cottage was always open to receive clients where inside on the walls many gathered bunches of herbs were hung to dry.
On the disappearance of Thornton Ravencroft, it is said that a search party went into the cottage, and in his bedroom found a stack of paper covered in scrawled writing along with calculations, horoscopes, and some mentions of conjurations were found in obscure ancient books.
Among the books on astrology and astronomy, old medical books, a bible and a prayer book, were home-made books and manuscripts. Some of these dealt with conjurations and magic.
Yet for all his fame he had remained poor and lived simply, and there is of course the obvious other side to the Cunning Man's trade – it was known that many of the magical medicinal brews he sold to locals who believed in their powers, were no more than alcohol laced drinks mixed up in his kitchen. And there were tales to suggest he had performed a ritual to help more than one or two local woman of the village when they had come to him asking for a fertility charm to enable them to start a family. It was said that he would meet then by moonlight, and that no charm was ever seen worn about their person, nor were they able to talk about how he had brought about the ability for the barren woman to concieve, because all who came to him for such favours were sworn to secrecy.