by Robin Jarvis
"NATHANIEL!"
Ben fell backwards. A frantic light shone in his sister's swollen eyes and her body jerked and flinched as she tried to regain control but the coven had her now—she belonged to them completely.
In despair, she watched as her limbs began to move, driven by a will stronger than her own and though she screeched and wailed there was nothing she could do.
"Help me!" she wept to her brother. "I can't stop them! Oh Ben, help me!"
Dominated wholly by the combined wills of the coven, Jennet took a prowling step closer to the boy whilst outside the clamour of the witch hounds mounted feverishly.
"Jen!" Ben murmured, backing away from her. "Don't mess about!"
"I'm not!" she cried as her feet dragged over the floor towards the fireplace. "I really can't stop myself!"
At that moment her eyes fell on the objects which Aunt Alice had dropped and a hideous panic gripped her. "Ben!" she cried, her voice high with fear. "Run—get away from me! Can't you see what they're trying to do?"
Jennet's voice choked as she realised the evil truth and her legs buckled beneath her, forcing the girl to stoop down. Like a spider her hand leapt out and seized hold of the rusted African spear and, with tears streaming down her face, she lifted the ghastly weapon and aimed it at her brother.
Ben let out a petrified yell then whipped round and fled into the hall where he ran straight into Miss Boston.
"Benjamin!" she declared. "What..?"
Her gaze passed beyond him to where Jennet stood framed in the doorway with the spear gripped tightly in her hands.
"Jennet?" the old lady asked in dismay. "Is that you? Put the weapon down, please."
"Aunt Alice!" the girl sobbed wretchedly. "Make them stop! Make them stop!"
"This is monstrous!" Miss Boston roared. "Leave the child be!" Flinging open her arms she drew a holy symbol of exile and banishment in the air but the coven's control over the girl was absolute.
Jennet cried piteously as she was compelled to stumble on and the point of the spear came slicing and stabbing towards the old lady and Ben.
"Avaunt!" Miss Boston bellowed as she stood her ground.
"Get away from me!" Jennet beseeched them. "They'll make me kill you!"
Muttering one last spell Aunt Alice shoved Ben up the stairs out of danger then called the girl's name over and over.
"Cast them out, Jennet!" she urged. "Free yourself—Jennet, listen to me!"
The blade came sweeping down and the old lady only just dodged aside in time.
"I've tried!" Jennet wept. "Look out!"
Again the spear thrust out and Miss Boston knew her efforts were in vain. Nothing could save the girl from the coven's influence.
"Benjamin!" she cried. "Go to my room—hurry!"
The boy darted upstairs but on reaching the landing he stopped and stared over the banister at the awful scene below.
In a savage attack, Jennet dived at Miss Boston but the old lady made a grab for the spear and tried to wrench it from her.
Into the kitchen they crashed, slamming against the sink, and the dishes were thrown to the floor as they fought with each other.
The girl possessed an unnatural strength and Miss Boston was no match for her, yet Jennet slithered on the broken crockery and, seizing her chance, Aunt Alice pushed her away.
Still clutching the spear, the girl slid into the table and Miss Boston headed for the kitchen door locking it behind her.
Breathless after the struggle, she shouted through the barrier, "Are you injured, Jennet?"
Inches from her face the wood splintered and flew into the hall as the spear came punching through the door and Jennet's terrified voice rang throughout the cottage.
"It's no good!" she howled. "Forgive me, Aunt Alice—forgive me!"
Miss Boston stepped back from the quivering door as Jennet pounded upon it and the frenzied assaults of the spear tore and gouged great rents in the crackling panels.
The old lady edged towards the stairs. The hallway became littered with sharp shards of shattered wood and the broken door quaked in its frame as Jennet struck it one last time.
With a thundering crash the tattered remains flew off the hinges and smashed into the opposite wall. Screaming in abject terror, the girl leapt over the debris and came charging up the stairs.
Fleeing before her, Miss Boston sped over the landing, shoved Ben through into her bedroom and slammed the door in Jennet's anguished face.
"There's no key for this lock!" Aunt Alice cried, putting her weight against it as the girl pushed and kicked. Desperately, she looked about the room. "Benjamin!" she called urgently. "The dressing-table, try to bring it over here!"
The boy heaved at the old oak dressing-table. It was incredibly heavy and he jumped in alarm as an angry miaow issued from beneath it.
"Get out of the way, Eurydice!" he yelled and the cat scooted around the room, searching for a new hiding place. Grunting, Ben managed to waggle and pull the dressing-table close enough for Miss Boston to help him.
Together they pushed it against the door handle and Jennet's insane hammering ceased, only to be replaced by the vicious blows of the spear.
"She'll get through!" Ben wept. "There's no escape from here—we're cornered!"
Aunt Alice watched impotently as the blade came snapping through the wood—the boy was right.
In the courtyard the fishmonkey's amber eyes blazed with fiery malevolence. "Louder!" he screeched, inspiring the coven and spurring them on. "Give the child your strength, slay the insolent boy! In the name of my almighty master—kill him, kill him!"
The witch hounds were bawling the abhorrent song now, their fiendish muzzles furrowed with rage and their long teeth dripping with frothing saliva—anticipating the murder they were impelling Jennet to commit.
Dark shadows gathered around the cottage as night settled over the town. Revelling in the evil tension, his eyes bright as lamps, the fishmonkey let out a high-pitched, reedy laugh. In a fever of black rejoicing, the foul creature pulled himself up Hillian's plump arm and scrambled to her shoulder to get a better view of the window above.
Clinging to the lapel of her expensive jacket, the fishmonkey cackled and squawked shrilly.
"Destroy him! Plunge the weapon deep into the whelp's gullet! Hack and chop! Disembowel the enemy of the Allpowerful—let there be but offal and gore! Strew his entrails over the sea!"
Balancing on the witch hound's shoulder he threw back his ghastly head and tittered wildly, clapping the webbed claws, thrilling to the discordant sorceries that bludgeoned and blasted into the cottage.
In her bedroom, Miss Boston and Ben cowered against the wardrobe as Jennet lunged through the ragged hole she had made in the door and clambered over the dressing-table barricade.
The girl was almost fainting in despair but the incessant will of the coven propelled her on and she could only splutter and scream as she stalked over to the old lady and her brother.
"Jen!" Ben whined. "Snap out of it—you can do it!"
"I can't!" she cried pathetically.
Girding herself one last time, Miss Boston raised her hands and in a forceful voice proclaimed, "In God's holy name! I do evoke the hallowed strength of all the Seraphim, Cherubim, Witnesses, Thrones, Principalities, Dominions, Powers, Angels and Archangels! Aid us in this dark hour, drive out the bewitchment. Let the strings that tie this child be cut!"
For an instant Jennet wavered as the cruel enchantments yielded. But the iron resolve and ferocious tenacity of the coven snapped back around her as their howling screeches yammered to a crescendo outside and with a mournful whimper the girl pounced at Aunt Alice.
Valiantly, the old lady wrestled with the spear that came plunging for her. With all her remaining strength she tried to tear it from Jennet's grasp but it was no use. The girl punched and kicked and with an agonised cry, Miss Boston was knocked to the floor.
"Aunt Alice!" Jennet shrieked, and she leaped over her body towards Ben.
"Stop me, someone!"
The boy cringed in the corner as his possessed sister crept up to him with the deadly weapon poised in her hands.
"Don't do it, Jen!" he begged through his tears. "Please!"
Jennet's torture disfigured her features. Her livid face was drenched with sweat and tears, and though she tried to scream as her arms raised the spear over her head, only a throttled moan came out.
Ben pressed into the corner and his round eyes stared in mortal dread at the blade which reared above him.
"Jen!" he wailed for the last time.
Sprawled over the floor, Miss Boston lifted her aching head just as the weapon plummeted towards Ben.
"No!" she shrieked.
Outside the cottage the coven gave a tremendous shout, then their savage voices were drowned by a hideous scream. Ben's voice blistered over the courtyard and the witch hounds held their breath expectantly. Abruptly the boy's shrill cry ended and the fishmonkey sucked the air through his needlelike teeth, widening a ghastly smile.
"Is it done?" he cackled to himself. "Is it over?"
From the upstairs window Jennet's distraught howls rose to an insane yell and through her raving shrieks Miss Boston's appalled voice spluttered.
"Benjamin! Benjamin! He's dead. Jennet—you killed him!"
The girl's torment was terrible to hear, yet the members of the coven lapped up the hideous grief and their tongues came lolling from their foaming jaws.
Only one of the witch hounds turned away in disgust. The smallest of the misshapen women covered her face and the bones shrank inside the malformed head until Pear regained her human form. In revulsion and shame she lowered her moist eyes and stepped back from the others.
"I must be certain," the fishmonkey hissed anxiously. "I must know the landbreed maggot is dead."
Closing his glinting eyes, the creature stretched out his bony claws and searched the cottage with his mind.
"The girl is descending the stairs," he sensed "How lame and shaken she is—yet up in that room what shall we find?"
Emitting a triumphant gurgle, the fishmonkey writhed upon Hillian's shoulder and his breath came in gulping wheezes as he cackled and sniggered.
"Only one other presence is within!" he screeched. "One of great age—and the reek of death overshadows her. The wormling is no more! We have accomplished the task. My master is victorious!"
The front door of the cottage opened slowly and upon the threshold Jennet stared out at them.
Blood stained her hands, and patches of dark crimson were smeared and spattered over her school uniform. Her blank face was drained of all colour and expression and her eyes were dull and glassy, as though it was she and not her brother who had perished.
Suddenly, as if even to stand was too much for her, the girl swayed and she slumped against the door.
Quickly Pear rushed over to her. "Jennet!" she called, putting her arms about her. "Let me help you—come with me."
Like a zombie, Jennet allowed the girl to lead her towards the coven. As if in a dream, Jennet saw the frightful witch hounds gather about her, but at her side Pear whispered reassuringly and supported her when she stumbled.
"Ben..." Jennet muttered thickly. "Ben... I... I killed..."
Lifting her shaking hands she gazed at the sticky blood, but her emotions were utterly drained and she looked up in confusion as Hillian Fogle assumed her human shape once more.
"I'm one of you now," Jennet breathed. "There's nothing left for me here."
Hillian beamed at her. "Again I do welcome you, sister," she said. "You have done your work well. The coven of the Black Sceptre has a new and loyal disciple."
Pear gave Jennet a joyful hug. "I told you we'd be sisters," she sighed. "Don't worry—you'll forget this, I promise. The nightmares do end—I know. Oh, there's some nasty scratches down your neck here, do they hurt? They look deep and painful."
"Your brother did not die without protest, I see," Hillian commented, then she instructed Pear to take care of her and regarded the fishmonkey sternly.
"So," she declared, "our part of the bargain has been kept. It is the turn of your master now to be fulfilling his half. He must not betray us!"
"Fear not, bride of Crozier," the creature answered. "The Allpowerful doth intend to reward thee. Let us repair to the place appointed."
Hillian removed the monster from her shoulder and he suffered to be covered in the cloth once more as the witch hounds melted back into their ordinary selves and headed for the alleyway.
"Hillian!" Meta called, running after her. "That old hag is still alive in there—she might yet cause difficulties."
The owner of the curio shop glanced back at the cottage. "Then she must die," she uttered calmly.
"Elizabeth! See to it this instant, then join us as swift as you can!"
Liz looked at her rebelliously. "But Nathaniel!" she whined in protest. "I don't want to miss..."
"At once!" Hillian demanded. "Obey me or you shall never set eyes on him again!"
The timid woman gave a fearful nod then bounded towards the cottage, and as she ran her face transformed to its previous half state. Snarling, the witch hound stormed through the open door and went ravaging up the stairs.
***
Tarr placed his hand on his granddaughter's forehead and withdrew it hastily.
"The lass is burnin'," he mumbled dismally.
Old Parry dipped a rag into a bowl of cold water and dabbed it over Nelda's brow.
"She'm fadin'," the crone observed. "Won't see the night out. I've seen it afore—too many times."
Tarr staggered to the entrance of the cave and smote the rocky wall with his fist.
Since the setting of the sun, Nelda's condition had declined rapidly. Her temperature soared, racing to an unbelievable heat, and the fevered brain of the young aufwader began to deceive her senses with fanciful and rambling delusions.
Visions of the mother she had never seen drifted before her misted eyes until they were dashed by the wrath of the sea, and then her late aunt was sitting by her side.
Perched upon her head was the familiar battered oilskin hat, and jammed about her waist that ridiculous cork lifebelt. In the shadow of the hat's brim her large eyes glittered kindly and a gentle smile broke over the pickled walnut face as she looked at her niece. "Take heart, Little One," she whispered, "you'll be with us soon."
"Hesper!" Nelda mumbled deliriously as the vision shimmered. "Have you come for me?"
Old Parry's face twitched and grimaced. "Garn, Shrimp!" she huffed. "Now she thinks I'm yer daughter!"
With his spirit broken, Tarr gave Nelda a woebegone glance and, unable to stand the sight of her distress any longer, he shambled from the cave and into the night.
"He were always squeamish," Parry snorted. "Menfolk—ain't got the stomach for watchin' on death!" and she nibbled a morsel of salted fish appreciatively.
A jet black darkness had engulfed the shore below the cliffs and the creeping tide was invisible as it moved stealthily over the rocks.
Desolate and crushed beyond endurance, Tarr limped down towards the water's edge then fell to his knees. His racking sobs squalled over the sea while behind him, emerging from their caves, came the rest of the fisherfolk.
In sombre silence they watched their leader lamenting and heard his keening wails float on the heavy air. Then, one by one, they trailed down to join him at the brink of the rolling, sable waves.
Upon the horizon a jagged streak of brilliance suddenly lit sky and sea and a peal of distant thunder rumbled ominously. For an instant the crowd of aufwaders were caught in the stark glare, then everything was swallowed by the darkness once more.
Yet the remote brewing storm mounted steadily and bolts of energy crackled from the troubled heavens. Assembled about Tarr, the tribe lifted their weary faces and felt the wind turn as rumour of the tempest spread inland. Long, shell-entwined hair stirred in the growing, buffeting breeze and the languorous waves began to race over the flat
rocks of the shore.
Stricken with grief, Tarr wept for Nelda and her unborn child until his eyes were stinging. Then as the thunder roared closer he raised his ashen face and his anger flared within him.
"Growl all tha can!" he bawled, shaking his fist at the lightning. "Ah know it's tha in theer. Showing off agin, are tha? Well, it don't impress me. Come on—blast me yer divils!
"Narr!" he ranted. "It's the lass that tha's come fer! Her an' her bairn—well, she'm almost ready! Not much time left to them!"
Clambering to his feet, he turned bitterly to the tribe and roared in a voice to match and challenge the thunder. "Bring out the black boat!" he boomed. "An' bear my Nelda out here also. I want them three nazards to see what they've done to her! I want them to look on her agonies and hear them fretful screams. If theer's any shame in them sour hearts then I hope it burns 'em. Stir thesselves! Get her, I says!"
The fisherfolk looked at one another doubtfully, then as one they hurried to obey him.
***
With her claws raking over the flowered wallpaper and scoring deep tracks in the plaster beneath, the grotesque witch hound climbed the shadow-filled stairs of Miss Boston's cottage.
Her nostrils gaped as she savoured the scintillating fragrance of fear that still hung on the air, and on to the landing the apparition stepped.
One old woman was an easy and boring kill, and in this daunting form Liz expected no retaliation from the irritating nuisance. A swift slash with the claws across the throat and the job would be done and she could hasten after the others to greet him. It was all too incredible and fantastic, but that night she would look on his features again, hear his voice—perhaps even feel his embrace.
Desperate for that yearned-for moment, she threw open the bedroom door and with a smack of her talons, the obstructing dressing table beyond was hurled against the wall.
"Don't you believe in knocking?" called a peremptory voice.