I knew that Jack wouldn't want me near the house much in case I brought something with me; something from the dark. I couldn't argue against that because it had happened once before. The old witch, Mother Malkin, had actually found her way down into our cellar last spring. Jack and Ellie's baby daughter, Mary, had been in real danger.
'Did Mam say anything about that?' I asked.
'Not a word. Jack was too upset to talk about it and then she left the following day'
I couldn't help thinking that giving the room to me now meant that she'd be leaving soon; going off to her own country and leaving us for ever. That was if she hadn't gone already.
The following morning I got up very early but Ellie was down in the kitchen before me. It was the smell of frying sausages that brought me down the stairs. Despite all that had happened, my appetite was beginning to return.
'Have a good night's sleep, Tom?' she asked, giving me a big smile.
I nodded but it was a white lie. It had taken me a long time to drop off and then I'd kept waking up. And each time I'd opened my eyes, the pain had come to me again, as if I was realizing for the first time that Dad was dead.
'Where's the baby?' I asked.
'Mary's upstairs with Jack. He likes to spend a bit of time with her each morning. Gives him a good excuse to start work a bit later too. You won't get much done today anyway' she said, gesturing towards the window. Snowflakes were whirling down and the room was brighter than on a summer's day as the light reflected off the snow piled deep in the yard.
Soon I was tucking into a plate of sausage and eggs. While I was eating, Jack came down and joined me at the table. He nodded and started on his own breakfast; Ellie went off into the front room, leaving us alone. He picked at his food, chewing it slowly, and I started to feel guilty because I was able to enjoy my own breakfast.
'Ellie told me that you know about the will,' Jack said at last.
I nodded but didn't say anything:
'Look, Tom, as the eldest son, I'm the executor of the will and it's my duty to make sure that Dad's wishes are carried out, but I wonder if we could come to some arrangement,' he said. 'What if I buy the room from you? If I could raise the money, would you sell it to me? And as for Mam's things inside it, I'm sure Mr Gregory would let you store them at Chipenden ...'
'I need time to think, Jack,' I told him. 'It's all come as a shock. Too much has happened too quickly. Don't worry I've no plans to keep coming back here. I'll be too busy'
Jack reached into his breeches pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys. He placed them on the table in front of me. There was a large key and three smaller ones: the first was for the door of the room; the other three for the boxes and chests inside.
'Well, there are the keys. No doubt you'll be wanting to go up and see your inheritance.'
I reached across and pushed the keys back towards him. 'No, Jack,' I said. 'You keep them for now. I'll not go into that room until I've spoken to Mam.'
He looked at me in astonishment. 'Are you sure?'
I nodded and he thrust the keys back into his pocket and nothing more was said about it.
What Jack had said was sensible enough. But I didn't want his money. To buy me out, he'd need to raise a loan and, financially, things would be difficult enough now that he had to run the farm by himself. As far as I was concerned, he could have the room. And I was sure the Spook would let me keep Mam's boxes and chests at Chipenden. But I suspected that it was Mam's wish that the room should be mine, and this was the only thing that stopped me from agreeing immediately. It was in Dad's will but had probably been her decision. Mam always had a very good reason for everything she did, so I couldn't make up my mind properly until I'd talked to her face to face.
That afternoon I went to visit Dad's grave. Jack was going to come with me but I managed to talk him out of it. I wanted time on my own. An hour or so to think and grieve alone. And there was something else I needed to know. Something that I couldn't do if Jack came with me. He wouldn't have understood or, at best, he would have been really upset.
I timed my walk so that I would arrive at sunset, with just enough light to find the grave. It was a bleak snow-covered graveyard about half a mile from the church. The churchyard itself was full so they'd consecrated this as additional holy ground. It was really just a small field bounded by a hawthorn hedge with a couple of sycamores on its western boundary. It was easy to find Dad's grave in the front line of burial plots advancing month by month across the field. His grave didn't have a stone yet but they'd marked it temporarily with a simple cross, his name carved deeply into the wood:
John Ward
RIP
For a while I stood near that wooden cross, thinking of all the happy times we'd had as a family; remembering being small, with Mam and Dad happy and busy and all my brothers living at home. I recalled the last time I'd spoken to Dad and how he'd told me that he was proud to have such a brave son and that, although he hadn't any favourites, he still thought that I'd turn out the best of all.
Tears came into my eyes and I wept aloud at the side of the grave. But as it grew dark, I took a deep breath and steadied myself, focusing on what had to be done. This was spooks' business.
'Dad! Dad!' I called into the darkness. 'Are you there? Can you hear me?'
Three times I called exactly the same, but on each occasion the only sounds I could hear were the wind whistling through the hawthorn hedge and a lone dog barking far in the distance. So I sighed with relief. Dad wasn't here. His spirit wasn't bound here. He wasn't a graveside lingerer. I just hoped he'd gone to a better place.
I hadn't really made up my mind about God. Maybe God existed and maybe He didn't. If He did, would He bother to listen to me? I didn't usually pray, but this was Dad so I made an exception.
'Please, God, give him peace,' I said softly. 'It's what he deserves. He was a good hard-working man and I loved him.'
Then I turned and, very sadly, made my way back home.
I stayed at the farm for almost a week. When the time came for me to leave, it was raining, the snow turning to slush in the yard.
Mam hadn't come back and I wondered if she ever would. But my first duty was to get back to Anglezarke and see how the Spook was. I just hoped he was continuing to recover. I told Jack and Ellie that I'd visit them in the spring and that we'd talk about the room then.
I began the long walk south, minking of Dad and how much things had altered. It didn't seem that long since I was living at home happily with my parents and six brothers, and Dad was strong and fit. Now it was all changing. All falling apart.
In one sense I could never visit home again because it wouldn't be there any more. It was all too different now. The buildings would still be the same and so would the view of Hangman's Hill from my old bedroom window. But without Dad and Mam it simply wouldn't be home.
I knew I'd lost something for ever.
Necromancy
The 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 cattl
e 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 L
atin 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.
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