The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  "Here I am again," she declared to the ancient columns before her. "Come on, Frances, get a grip on yourself. They'll come to take you away if you keep blacking out like this. Oh Lawks! What can the time be?"

  Charging through the grounds with her head at a tilt and her great long legs marching in determined strides, she left the abbey behind and headed for the church.

  When she was skirting the edge of the car park, Sister Frances brought herself up sharply and turned this way and that as though she had lost something.

  "How divine," she gushed, listening to the strains of a slow, peaceful melody. "What a pretty tune. Wherever is it corning from?"

  Following the delightful sound with child-like curiosity, she gravitated towards the cliff edge where, amongst other vehicles, a camper was parked.

  Small glass jars containing night lights burned beside the van and the nun was charmed by the glimmering scene. Gathered in a semi-circle, five figures were talking in low voices and one of them played a guitar so well that it brought tears to Frances's eyes.

  Silently, her large feet crept closer and an enraptured expression appeared over her face and she put her hands together as if in prayer.

  The guitar player happened to glance up and the music faltered when she saw the tall figure peeking around the side of the van.

  "Oh, please don't stop!" Frances implored. "I only wanted to listen for a teeny moment. It was all so heavenly, a perfect tranquil scene, with all you chums sitting around on a jolly evening..." Her voice trailed away. One of the figures had turned quickly and was trying to hide her face. Sister Frances recognised the girl immediately.

  "Jennet!" she cried. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Miss B's? And what have you got in your hand? No, I don't believe it is lemonade! Oh, how beastly of you! It's white wine—I can see the bottle! Come here at once!"

  Striding between Pear and Meta, she took hold of Jennet's arm and wrenched the girl to her feet.

  Pear giggled at the sight of the outraged nun but Frances was indignant and she berated the other women for leading Jennet astray. "It isn't the slightest bit funny," she warned them. "I intend to tell a policeman!"

  Meta drained her own glass and looked at her steadily. "You're right of course," she said in all seriousness. "I think you had better return home, Jennet."

  "I don't want to!" the girl cried. "Oh, why don't you mind your own business?" she snapped at Frances.

  "This is for your own good Jennet, dear," the nun declared, leading her away from these dangerous intoxicators. "Do stop struggling."

  Jennet strained and tried to pull her arm free but the ridiculous woman was stronger than she seemed.

  "Let her go!" Pear called.

  "Be quiet!" Meta growled. "Don't interfere!"

  But her daughter leaped up to bar the nun's path and Meta reached out to drag her backwards. "Did you not hear me?" she growled.

  "Who does that freak think she is?"

  Meta glared at the girl and hissed, "Must I say it a second time? Do you need a lesson in obedience? Let her take Jennet back."

  Pear took one look at her mother and sat down again instantly.

  "How did you get involved with those disreputable people?" Frances asked, dragging the miserable Jennet through the car park.

  But the girl was not listening. Looking over her shoulder, she could see that Pear was as unhappy as she was. "I'll see you tomorrow!" she shouted.

  Pear made no sign that she had heard, and before Jennet could call again Sister Frances had pulled her into the churchyard towards the one hundred and ninety-nine steps.

  "You'll do no such thing!" the nun told her. "It's the wedding tomorrow and you'll bally well be there!"

  Jennet trotted wretchedly behind her. Pear was the first friend she had had for as long as she could remember and the others had treated her as an equal. Now here she was being patronised like a child again. She hated Sister Frances and she hated Whitby.

  Sitting before the camper van, Meta stared harshly at her daughter. "We must hope that the police are not informed," she said. "We dare not risk their involvement."

  Pear lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I wasn't thinking."

  "Perhaps I ought to train you a little more thoroughly."

  The girl cringed and nervously put her hands to her throat.

  Nearby, Caroline began to tidy up the dishes and said tersely, "Hillian won't like this."

  "Don't worry about that," Meta sneered. "I can handle her."

  ***

  Much later, at the closed premises of The Whitby Bookshop, two women tapped lightly on the door and were ushered quickly inside. Into the darkness, past the neat and ordered shelves they went, talking in hushed whispers until they reached the spiral staircase. Up the winding way each of them climbed, up to the first floor which brimmed with mellow candle-light and the smell of melting wax.

  Miriam Gower had arranged the area as before; the books and display bins had been pushed against the walls and in the centre of the cleared space the wooden box was carefully positioned.

  The formidable owner of the bookshop showed her guests to their places and seated herself upon the carpet with as much grace as her hulking frame permitted.

  With the deep warm glow of the candle-light curving over her round face, she looked at the other two members of the coven excitedly.

  "You are sure the time has come?" she asked, a little out of breath after mounting the staircase. "Only two chances remain, remember."

  Hillian Fogle clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Question don't!" she yapped. "When the rest of the sisters are assembled it said, then we were to call it up again. Now the others are here so we must speak to it tonight."

  She nodded to the third figure who now sat in the place once occupied by Susannah O'Donnell. So far the newcomer had remained silent and Hillian scrutinised her through her spectacles. "Went today successful?" she asked.

  The third witch was idly admiring the way the candle flame glinted in her golden hair as she held it up to the light, and took a moment before answering.

  "Oh yes," Meta murmured, "the first seeds were sown. The girl is definitely one of us—how can she fail to be? Was he not the most commanding man? Given more time the young fool will be under our control."

  Miriam's pointed tongue licked her garishly painted lips as she regarded the bitterly beautiful woman before them with envy and mistrust sparkling in her almond eyes. "For your sake I hope that is true," she commented.

  "If there's one thing I know how to do above all else," Meta returned with equal archness, "it's how to ensnare."

  "Oh, we know that," Miriam said. "That's how you trapped him."

  Meta let that pass. "With Pear's help the girl's ultimate co-operation is assured," she said with a forced smile, "so you can waddle off and worry your bovine head about something else, can't you? How to shed a few stone perhaps?"

  "Sisters," Hillian tutted, "old quarrels have no place here. Let us begin; lift the lid."

  Miriam leaned forward and the immense shadow cast by her top-heavy bosom threw one half of the room into utter darkness. Carefully she took from the box the wizened fishmonkey, and Meta gave a low whistle at the sight of the shrivelled creature.

  "Charming," she remarked.

  "Fine looks aren't everything," Miriam replied tartly.

  "Is that the voice of experience speaking?"

  Hillian took out the second bag of incense and poured the contents on to the burner. When the fishmonkey was placed on the lid of the sea chest she lit the powder and waited.

  The pungent smoke threaded about the scaly form and flowed into the withered nostrils to work the magic once more.

  Bleating like a new-born lamb, the repulsive creature gasped and stretched its puny arms.

  At each woman in turn it blinked those yellow eyes and twisted the large head upon the emaciated neck.

  "You have waited overlong to summon me," it hissed. "You ought to have acted sooner."
>
  "The rest of the coven only did arrive today," Hillian said. "There was no point to waken you before now."

  "Then they should have journeyed with more haste!" the fishmonkey snapped. "My master is impatient—time has grown short. Events have moved onwards, events you are ignorant of."

  "What events is these?" Hillian asked. "How are they concerning us?"

  "When the sun hangs low in the sky at dusk tomorrow," it told her, "a complication shall arise. If we are not careful and cunning it shall undo us."

  "What must we do?"

  "The boy," the creature spat, "his destruction is still uppermost. He must be killed this night before it is too late."

  Hillian nodded quickly and Miriam gave a wide grin.

  Staring in mild amusement at the peculiar little monster, Meta cupped her chin in her hand and asked, "And how are we to do that? I have been led to believe this child is no ordinary boy. He already suspects something is happening. Did Hillian not tell me he has put a charm upon his window that we may not enter that way again?"

  The fishmonkey ground its brown teeth and wormed about to face her. "This time the human must be lured into the open," it commanded. "Out to the wild where we can deal with him."

  The owner of the bookshop sniffed haughtily. "Just how are we to accomplish that?" she demanded. "What possible bait would bring an eight-year-old from his warm bed in the middle of the night?"

  The creature swivelled its head and the papery skin crackled at the swiftness of the movement. "Do I not recall that on the first time of my awakening thou wert keen to prove thyself worthy?"

  Miriam shot Hillian a superior glance. "That is so," she admitted readily.

  "Doth thy eagerness still hold true?" it asked.

  "It most certainly does!" she retorted. "If I were the one to rid your lord of his enemies then I should be chosen to wear the ring of amethyst and lead the coven."

  The fishmonkey tapped the lid of the box thoughtfully then bared all of its needle-like teeth. "So be it," it barked. "Thou art selected."

  The large woman's head was split in two as an enormous smile divided her face. "You may count on me, oh mouthpiece of the Allpowerful—I shall not fail you." And she leered triumphantly at her coven sisters as though she had beaten them both in some rivalling contest.

  "You have still not answered the question," Meta remarked. "Just how will you draw the boy from his home?"

  A wheezing laugh issued from the creature's parched lips. "Fear not," it muttered, "the lure will prove too tempting to resist." And it gave a rasping cackle before instructing Miriam in what she would have to do.

  ***

  Ben slept fitfully. Images of Nelda interrupted his dreams; horrible visions of the aufwader writhing in pain as her skin bubbled and began to weep salty water. Tarr was at her side and he grasped his granddaughter's liquefying hand whilst shaking his fist at Ben.

  "Tha's done this!" he raged. "Her death lies on thee alone. Tha could've lifted the curse but no—tha were weak! A curse on thee, landbreed. May tha rot, Benjamin Laurenson!"

  His angry cries were taken up by the rest of the tribe who had gathered behind him and they damned the boy's name with all their might and sorrow.

  "Benjamin, Benjamin—Ben."

  The boy stirred unhappily. The voices had melted into a single whispering chant and there was no escape from its insistent calling.

  Suddenly he was awake and his eyes gazed sleepily up into the darkness.

  "Benjamin," the voice breathed again.

  Ben's scalp tingled and his heart fluttered. He was no longer dreaming—yet it was impossible he should hear that familiar voice.

  "Benjamin," it said again.

  Trembling with fear and excitement, the boy lifted his head from the pillows and stared past the foot of his bed.

  With a kind and loving smile traced over her face, a petite figure stood in the centre of the room, watching him adoringly.

  Standing in the dim ray of light that slanted through the curtain, a silvery aura flickered about the female form. It shimmered over the curling hair and the clothes she had worn the day she had died, and as a tearful sob burst from Ben's mouth, she raised her hands to him and wept.

  "Benjamin," she said again, "don't cry—I'm here."

  The boy drew his pyjama sleeve over his streaming eyes and in a joyful voice murmured, "Mum!"

  The ghost of his mother looked just the same as he remembered her and she tilted her head to one side to look at him admiringly.

  Ben hardly dared to move in case his "visitor" vanished into the ether again.

  "I miss you," he eventually cried, "and Dad—Jen does too."

  The phantom made no answer but put a finger to her lips and took a step backwards to the open bedroom door, beckoning for him to follow.

  Ben hesitated. Once, during a seance that Aunt Alice had held downstairs, he had been frightened by hundreds of spectres and he had no wish to repeat the experience.

  A look of understanding passed over Mrs Laurenson's face. "Don't be afraid, Benjamin," she whispered. "I shall be with you."

  Reassured, the boy cast back the bedclothes and pulled on his slippers.

  "Where are we going?" he asked quietly. "Should I get dressed?"

  The shade shook her head and glided through the open door to the gloomy landing beyond.

  Ben followed her quickly. His mother was already floating down the stairs as he left his room and he called to her softly.

  "Shall I wake Jen?" he asked.

  But the glimmering form of Mrs Laurenson made no reply and he hastened after her into the hall.

  The front door of the cottage was wide open and the chill night airs filled the ground floor of the normally cosy building and transformed it into an icy tomb-like place. Ben shivered and looked for his mother but she was nowhere to be found.

  "Please don't go yet!" he begged. "Please, Mum!"

  Then he saw her, waiting for him in the courtyard, bathed in the unearthly glow of the street lamps that flooded through the alleyway.

  Quickly Ben pulled his coat from the hook and scurried into the night after her.

  Down Church Street the silent ghost led him, and as Ben struggled into his coat a thousand questions burned inside. Yet his mother was always just ahead of him, and though he ran to catch up she seemed to drift before him like a leaf snatched away by the wind.

  Along Henrietta Street he hurried, the soles of his slippers slapping over the cobbles, and he clawed his toes to keep them on his feet.

  As he ran by Fortune's kipper house, the silvery figure was already waiting by the cliff edge, where the ground dropped steeply down to the crashing waves that now covered the rocky shore. For a few moments his mother remained there, then she moved towards the footbridge that linked the cliff to the stone pier far below.

  "Mum, wait!" the boy wept as he saw her disappear down the sloping and narrow pathway.

  One of his slippers flew from his feet but Ben did not wait to retrieve it. Over the dry and stubbly grass he ran and leapt on to the wooden boards of the perilously high bridge.

  Into engulfing darkness the boy hurtled, dashing headlong down the immense throat of night. Like a huge and impenetrable tunnel it surrounded him, and above and below there was only blackness. No stars pricked the heavens and no light was reflected over the vast open sea. Only a pitchy void lay ahead, except for a single silvery shape that gleamed coldly where the bridge joined the pier.

  The sound of the hungry sea rose up from the deep reaches, as though it was eagerly waiting for him to falter and fall the dizzying height to his death. Keeping his thoughts trained solely upon the frosty spectre in the distance, the boy tried to shove all such frightening ideas to the back of his mind, but the relief which bubbled within him once his bare foot touched the cold stone of the pier was overwhelming.

  The ghost of his mother smiled at him, then like a flickering will-o'-the-wisp she turned and floated further away.

  Ben let out a dism
ayed whimper. "Please wait!" he wailed. "Wait for me."

  Over the huge sandstone slabs he ran, along the old stone spur that jutted defiantly into the sea to shield the harbour of Whitby from the ravages of the merciless waves.

  Through the bleak night he raced, forever chasing the shining figure who was always just out of reach.

  By the disused lighthouse, where the pier stopped abruptly and the wooden extensions began, the ghost paused and the folds of her clothes swirled about her like the misty shreds of a shimmering fog.

  "Oh Benjamin!" she called, turning her face gladly upon him as the boy approached breathlessly. "Now at last I can speak."

  Ben panted and leaned against the rail. They were totally cut off from the world now, wrapped up in the darkness of the shadowy sea that stretched around them on all sides, and Whitby seemed a twinkling series of golden stars many miles behind them.

  Mrs Laurenson smiled as she looked longingly at her son and hugged herself tightly.

  "The grave is an empty place," she muttered with a bleak and ghastly expression forming on her dead lips, "an empty vacuum devoid of light and love. Oh Ben, I have been so lonely—the endless hollow night has swallowed me and desolation is all I know now. In the cold, suffocating earth I have missed you so much my darling, so very, very much."

  The boy shuddered and wished she had not told him that. Reaching forward he tried to draw closer for comfort, but the spectre pulled away sharply.

  "You cannot touch me," she lamented. "I am only a vapour and if you try then I shall vanish like smoke."

  Ben understood and sniffed forlornly. "We've both missed you, Mum," he said. "Jennet's always looking at the photo album."

  "Ah, Jennet," the phantom echoed plaintively. "If only my pretty daughter were blessed with the same gift as you. How I long to speak with her and share the things a mother ought to. I know she is unhappy—I see this from beyond the solemn eternity of my mouldering dust. How it grieves me to witness her tears. What sins were mine that I am compelled to suffer this misery in death?"

  Ben thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat as the bitter cold that blew from the surrounding sea pinched and chilled him.