Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘You’ve been thinking, you say?’ Tony said at last as they took their first sip from their glasses. He leaned back in the high-backed settle. ‘Not praying?’

  Mike frowned. ‘Thinking,’ he repeated firmly.

  ‘OK. What about?’

  ‘Emma Dickson.’

  Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘Not the answer I expected.’

  ‘Not the one I expected to give.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Look, Tony, I don’t know what is happening. I keep dreaming about her. But I’m not me. In the dreams I am another man. Hopkins, a man who is reviled; feared; universally disliked!’ He shook his head wearily. ‘He is lodged somewhere in my brain and he is having a battle of wits with this woman, Sarah. Only Sarah is Emma.’ He bit his lip, gazing into the distance. Out on the river the sun, finally breaking through the racing cloud, glittered for a moment on the water, then in a moment it was gone again. On one of the houseboats moored against the wooded shore, someone turned on a pump. A gush of white frothy water began to pour out into the river.

  Tony took a sip from his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Tell me about Emma.’

  ‘She seems to be a decent woman. A widow – ’

  ‘Emma?’ Tony prompted.

  Mike shook his head. He took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. No. Emma is not a widow. She’s in a relationship I think, but it’s breaking up. He lives in London. She hates London.’ He sighed again.

  ‘And what is she like as a person?’ Tony prompted gently.

  ‘Charming. A bit lost, I think, moving to the country on her own. She’s not even quite sure why she’s done it. She’s friendly. Intelligent. Very pleasant.’

  ‘Attractive?’

  Mike smiled. ‘Yes, attractive.’

  ‘A churchgoer?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Does that upset you?’

  ‘It saddens me, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously?’

  ‘Well, it’s my job to hope for a bigger flock.’

  ‘Amongst your flock, do you find any of those ladies attractive?’

  Mike gave a rueful grin. ‘I suppose not in the same way.’

  ‘Is it possible, do you think, that you might even resent the fact that Miss Dickson is not a churchgoer?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mike? Be honest with yourself. You lost a fiancée didn’t you, when you entered the church. You could be forgiven for wondering if attractive women are somehow beyond your reach now that you are a priest.’

  Mike drank some beer. ‘This is some deep psychological ploy to suggest that if Emma is not available I am going to equate her with a witch to justify the fact that I can’t have her.’

  Tony put his head on one side. ‘Yes, I suppose it is in a way. It would be comforting, wouldn’t it, to equate her with an archetype. She obviously isn’t a hook-nosed old hag in a pointed hat, but, to take another equally valid archetype, she could be the beautiful evil seductress. And you are further distancing her by seeing her through the eyes of another man.’

  Mike drained his glass. ‘So Hopkins isn’t an external spirit of some sort? You are saying I have invented him as a psychological device? But what about the ghosts? What about Barker’s shop? Or is this over and above all that?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Tony stood up and picked up Mike’s glass. ‘Let me buy you another half while you think about it.’

  Mike contemplated what Tony had said, but his mind was a blank. Where was the voice now? The intrusive, opinionated, pious, judgemental voice? It wasn’t there. He sighed, strangely content. Was that because Tony was right? It was all in his imagination, his way of protecting himself against the knowledge that he found Emma very attractive, and that she was not for him?

  Tony reappeared. He put the two glasses down and produced two packets of dry roasted peanuts from his pocket before he took his seat. ‘Now, for the other scenario. Supposing you are being possessed by the spirit of Matthew Hopkins.’

  Mike frowned.

  ‘He has wormed his way into your psyche, perhaps at your unwitting invitation, and he is using you for his own vengeful purposes. His battle is with someone called Sarah. Perhaps it has nothing to do with Emma. Perhaps your mind is giving Sarah Emma’s face. Perhaps –’ he paused thoughtfully – ‘Emma is actually involved in some way. She is, I think you told me, living in the house of one of Hopkins’s victims. She is a relative of a modern-day witch. She was drawn to the area in some mysterious way she does not even understand herself.’ He tore open his packet of peanuts and tossed a couple into his mouth.

  ‘So, what do you think is the truth?’ Mike’s unease had returned.

  Tony turned towards him. His face was very serious. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can. Search your heart. And pray. Mike, you are a man of God. You have every weapon in the arsenal on your side.’ The kind, understanding friend had gone. Tony’s face was stern. ‘If this possession is real, Mike, you can only defeat it if you are strong. I can’t exorcise you. I can’t do it for you. The bishop, the archdeacon, the whole company of the apostles can’t do it for you. And remember, Hopkins thinks he is on the side of the angels as well. He will be praying. He is wondering why he is in hell. And, if he is here on earth now, he may not technically be in hell but he is not resting in peace. He is blaming someone. He is blaming someone called Sarah.’

  Mike hadn’t touched his own beer. With a sigh he stood and picking it up, he walked outside where he stood watching the river. A fishing boat was motoring down the centre of the channel. He could just hear the faint purr of the engine above the sound of the gulls wheeling behind it. On the far shore Orwell Park School sprawled elegantly amongst its green playing fields.

  Tony sat, quietly drinking, watching him through the window. It was a full ten minutes before Mike returned to the table.

  ‘I think the possession is real,’ he said quietly. ‘Too much has been happening. To others as well as myself. To Emma. To Lyndsey. To Barker’s shop. To the town. Bill Standing, my groundsman at the church, who calls himself a cunning man, a man of the old faith, Tony, told me to pray round the town. He had to tell me how to do my job. He is convinced the dark is rising, as he put it – old, ancient evil – and he thinks I am not trained to fight it.’

  Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘And do you feel you are not trained to fight it?’

  Mike shrugged. Then for the first time he smiled. ‘I feel as though I’m doing a crash course. Maybe you could come and meet Bill, see what you think …’

  Tony shook his head. ‘God believes you can do it, Mike, or he would not have sent you there. It’s that simple.’ He drained his glass. ‘Come on, drink up. Ruth was cooking a huge casserole when I left. There will be mountains of food and I want you to eat well, then rest, then this evening I am going to take you somewhere special. It’s a place I go to when I need spiritual refreshment. I want us to spend the night there in prayer and meditation and then tomorrow you can go back to your parish ready to do battle with the saints beside you.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you realise that it is Halloween today, Mike?’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘Never forget something like that. Your Bill Standing is right to worry. On days like today the dark is very close. You must pray for your parish tonight, Mike. And pray for Emma and for Lyndsey and even for Hopkins himself.’

  81

  Lyndsey had forgotten about Alice. Bill’s long and detailed crash course on the ‘stuff that really worked’, and the shock of finding herself suddenly unemployed, had wiped the girl’s visit completely from her mind. After a night spent walking up and down, meditating, dozing wrapped in a warm rug, and finally sleeping the sleep of the totally exhausted, she awoke on Saturday morning aware of only one thing. It was Halloween, Samhain, the time when spirits of the dead were close at hand and mindful of returning to visit the living, and all around her she could feel the tension, the presence of the other planes. Tonight
she would enact a ritual, alone at home, then she would go up to the churchyard, but before any of that she had to try and stop these idiot people summoning Hopkins and his unfortunate victims back to the scene of some of their last encounters on this earth.

  Dressed for battle in jeans, a scarlet sweater and a black fleece she stepped out of the house and locked the door behind her. It was not something she normally did but she was well aware that some of the locals knew she was a witch. They might decide today was a day to break in and wreak havoc in her home.

  It took her twenty minutes to walk along the river. It was a windy, murky day. The water and mud were a uniform grey, as was the sky which was heavy with cloud except in the distance where it was torn into ragged strips, allowing a few pale smears of blue. Flecks of rain spattered the road as she walked. The swans that always congregated at the edge of the river on the far side of the Hopping Bridge were standing around disconsolately. One or two stared at her as she passed. None moved.

  The shop was open. Several customers were browsing amongst the shelves as she opened the door and went in. She stood still for a moment, aware of nothing but the atmosphere. It was cold. Alert. Anticipatory. Walking over to the stairs, she looked up.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The woman in charge of the shop appeared suddenly at her elbow. ‘That’s private.’

  ‘I’ve come to see the film people.’ Lyndsey stared at her.

  The latter quailed visibly. ‘There’s only one of them up there.’

  ‘One is enough.’ Lyndsey put her foot on the stairs. Then she stopped and closing her eyes she took a deep breath. She was filled with dread; sick; sweating. She couldn’t move. More than anything she desperately wanted to run away.

  ‘Are you going up or what?’ The woman was watching her suspiciously now.

  Lyndsey nodded. Hand on the oak banister, she found she had to pull herself physically up the stairs.

  Colin was up there, thoughtfully looping a cable round his hand. He glanced up.

  ‘Ah, Alice said you might look in. Excellent. Good to see you, girl.’

  Lyndsey looked round. She was finding it hard to breathe. ‘Where is the other man? The one I spoke to before.’

  ‘He’ll be here in a second. It’s a big day for us. There is a lot to set up.’

  ‘No, don’t set anything up. You have to stop.’ Lyndsey took a few more steps into the room. She shivered. ‘There must be no more of this. You are encouraging Hopkins to manifest. It mustn’t happen.’

  Colin raised an eyebrow. ‘I know Mark wants to talk to you about this.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Do you realise what day this is?’

  He nodded. ‘Halloween. Best day of the year for interviewing ghosts, so I’m told.’ He grinned, then reached for a camera tripod.

  She glared at him. ‘If you think that, you are complete fools. This is not some game! This is deadly serious.’

  Behind her Mark had appeared at the top of the stairs. He was listening, a frown on his face. ‘I’m glad you’ve come.’

  She swung round. ‘Your colleague seems to find this amusing.’

  ‘No. No, he doesn’t.’ Mark stepped forward. ‘Believe me, we take this extremely seriously. And to prove it, I want you to allow us to interview you so that your views are made clear to everyone. The rector feels the same and to a certain extent I agree with you both.’ He was watching her closely. ‘I am trying to persuade him to appear as well. I really would value your contribution.’

  ‘You want to make a joke of me and my views, don’t you?’ Lyndsey’s voice suddenly rose in pitch. ‘Here’s the local witch! Let’s pillory her.’

  ‘No! No, I don’t – ’

  Mark’s denial was interrupted by a shriek from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Lyn? It’s Lyn. I can hear her!’ There was a rattle of small feet on the oak steps and Jamie appeared with Sophie in hot pursuit. ‘Lyn, we were buying frisbees with Mummy!’ Jamie had a luminous green disc in his hand. ‘We heard you! Look, this is mine!’

  ‘Children, come down!’ Paula’s voice echoed up the stairs. Ten seconds later she appeared. She stared round the room and as her gaze fell on Lyndsey, her mouth tightened grimly. ‘Sophie, James, come on down. We have to get home.’

  ‘It was your idea, I suppose? To sack me?’ Lyndsey faced Paula across a polythene-wrapped carton of plastic kitchen tools. Her frustration and anger had reached boiling point.

  ‘Yes, but Alex agreed with me.’ Paula’s voice was flat. ‘You are a practising witch, Lyndsey. I don’t think it right for you to take care of my children.’

  ‘You knew about it, I’ve never made a secret of it,’ Lyndsey retorted.

  James, with a glance at his mother, edged towards Lyndsey and groped for her hand. She put an arm around his shoulders.

  ‘That was before I realised what you do.’ Paula strode towards them and grabbing Jamie by the wrist, pulled him away. Jamie let out a wail of protest.

  ‘And what is it I do that is so bad?’ Lyndsey shouted. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Satanic ritual. Using children. Murdering babies!’ Paula screamed back. ‘That’s what you do! You let me think you were just playing with herbs and flowers, and all the time you were a murdering, vicious bitch! I trusted you with my babies!’ She grabbed both the children, pulling them against her tightly. ‘I trusted you!’

  ‘Hey! Ladies, please!’ Mark stepped forward, hands raised. Neither woman took any notice of him.

  ‘I’m not a Satanist!’ Lyndsey shouted. ‘How can you think it? No one murders babies. How many babies are missing? How many times have the police been round searching for murdered babies? How can you say such a foul, vicious thing! For God’s sake, Paula.’

  She stepped forward and Paula shrank back. ‘Don’t come near us. Keep away!’

  Both Jamie and Sophie were crying now. The shop assistant had appeared on the stairs, her eyes huge as she took in the scene. Behind her another woman, presumably a customer, was peering round her shoulder.

  ‘Come on, cool it now!’ Colin walked over to Lyndsey and put a hand on her arm. ‘Please, I think you should leave and take those kids away now,’ he addressed Paula. ‘You’re frightening them.’

  ‘I’m frightening them!’ Paula echoed furiously.

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Colin’s voice was very firm.

  Lyndsey, her eyes narrowed, advanced on Paula again. ‘If I had wanted to put a spell on your children, Paula, believe me I would have done it. Like that!’ She clicked her finger and thumb together over Jamie’s head. He shrank back with a little scream.

  ‘But you already have, haven’t you? You made him sick!’ Paula was incandescent with rage. ‘You little bitch!’ As she pulled the children closer to her, Mark had retreated to the window. He was staring round the room, suddenly distracted, ignoring the others, aware of a change in the surrounding atmosphere over and above the tension caused by the two shouting women. The temperature had plummeted.

  ‘Shit!’ he murmured under his breath. ‘Colin, I think we may have a visitor.’

  Colin caught the tone of his voice. His hand dropped from Lyndsey’s arm. She was still looking at Paula. ‘You stupid, stupid woman!’ She addressed her with icy scorn. ‘Have you any idea of what you have done?’ She was looking at the two terrified children.

  ‘Lyndsey!’ Mark barely breathed her name but she picked up on the fear in his voice and froze, turning to face him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can’t you feel it?’

  Lyndsey stiffened. ‘Has Emma ever been here?’ she asked suddenly, her voice raw.

  Mark frowned, puzzled. He nodded. ‘She said the face of the ghost was Liza’s,’ he said softly.

  For a moment the room was silent, then Paula let out a groan. She turned towards the stairs. ‘I knew it! Oh, God Almighty, I knew it. You are all in it. Come on, Soph. James. Quickly! Out of my way!’ She shoved past the shop assistant and headed down the stairs, towing the protesting, crying children behind her. The assist
ant, after another quick frightened glance round the room, turned to follow her. As they disappeared they heard Sophie’s voice, shrill and indignant: ‘I want a witch’s hat, Mummy, so we can do trick or treat …’

  Lyndsey, Mark and Colin were left alone. None of them heard Sophie’s words; none of them gave the stairs a second glance. Whatever had happened, had happened in the room with them. Lyndsey straightened her shoulders. She moved away from the stacked cartons and stood still in an empty patch of floor and waited, holding her breath.

  Colin glanced at Mark. He raised an eyebrow. The glance meant, shall I switch on a camera? Mark nodded. He was watching Lyndsey intently.

  Silently Colin stepped over to one of the cameras and switched it on.

  ‘There is someone here,’ Lyndsey said softly. ‘The anger, that woman’s hatred, the children’s fear, has given her enough energy to reach us.’ She held out her hands. ‘Speak to me. I am your friend. Your sister.’ Her eyes were fixed in the middle distance, unfocused. She wasn’t actually looking at anyone.

  Colin and Mark watched quietly, intrigued.

  Lyndsey took a step forward. She was smiling. ‘I am here to help you. To bring you peace. Show yourself, please. Let me see you.’ She glanced round, her hands almost groping at the air in front of her, then suddenly she jerked backwards as though she had been pushed in the chest; Mark saw genuine shock and fear in her face. Almost at once she recovered herself. For a moment she stood still. She looked round at him. ‘She’s gone.’ She frowned uncertainly. ‘I thought I could reach her, but she’s too angry.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘She’s so angry!’

  ‘Why is she angry, Lyndsey?’ Mark asked softly.

  ‘Why do you think?’ She turned on him furiously. ‘She was tortured here. By Hopkins. He sent her to her death. She wants revenge!’

  Mark glanced at Colin. ‘Perhaps we can help her, by giving her a platform.’

  Lyndsey stared at him. Then slowly she shook her head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? You really don’t get it. If you put this on TV you will be releasing something so huge –’ She stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. ‘Hopkins will come. It is his name that will rebound around the country. He will come and he won’t be interested in destroying her. She is already destroyed. He will turn his attention to every other woman in the country! Don’t you see?’