Magda: A Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror Trilogy - Book 3

by Sarah England

  Toby parked outside Amy’s house and checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror. He’d actually slept last night, thank God. Probably unburdening himself to Becky had helped. Well, it was reassuring to know he wasn’t going crazy, anyway. Now it was just a question of getting a grip. Yes, there was something rotten to the core at Woodsend but they had closed that down; and any member of the sect who dared to show their face would be banged up. That was it. Fear was contagious and it had got to him in that sodding vault. Well, no more. He was young, fit as fuck, and it was time to get over it.

  Amy was standing at the porch already, beckoning him to come in.

  As usual she was scantily clad, this time in miniscule black shorts and a leather bra top with tassels dangling from it. When he first met her in a bar a few weeks ago, he’d tried not to stare but she clearly enjoyed the attention so he let his eyes drink her up – from ponytail to killer heels. “Wow!”

  She kissed him full on the lips before running upstairs to her room. “Come on up – I’m nearly ready.”

  He knew what that meant and eagerly followed. The second he kicked the door shut behind him she had her top unclipped and was reaching for his zipper. “Steady on, Amy.”

  She laughed. “You don’t mean that.”

  “No,” he said, shrugging off his shirt. “I bloody don’t.”

  Later, as they lay panting on top of the bed, he asked, “Do you think your mum and dad know what we’re up to?”

  “Who cares?”

  “Mine would go ballistic.”

  Stifling a yawn, Amy turned to her iPod and flicked on, A Good Day by Ice Cube, then racked up the volume with bass. “We’ll not be going to your place then.”

  She wasn’t a normal sort of girl, he thought. The bedroom was painted in deep burgundy; her choice of music mostly misogynistic rap; and the photographs on her walls, not to mention the DVDs stacked up, were of the hard porn variety, although in the semi-dark he couldn’t see them too well.

  “Do you still want to go out later?” he shouted over the music.

  “Yeah, course. Do you?”

  “Where do you wanna go?”

  Amy strutted across to the en-suite, and not for the first time he lay agog at the fact that a) she had a private bathroom in her five star super-deluxe bedroom, and b) she walked around stark naked without a hint of self-consciousness. There was a spider tattooed on her arse. He grinned. Well, whatever blew your hair back.

  Grabbing a couple of beer cans from the fridge, she snapped one open and threw the other over to him. “I know. Why don’t we go to that place you were talking about the other night?” She was ambling back to the bed giving him a good view of what she had tattooed at the front as well, her scarlet lips curving into a salacious smile.

  His voice sounded syrupy even to himself. “What place?”

  “You know – the house in the woods that’s supposed to be empty but had a light on?”

  “Woodsend? Are you nuts? I wouldn’t go there in full daylight with the entire police force in tow, let alone at night on my own. Fuck off. No way.”

  She jumped onto the bed, kneeling over him so that her nipples grazed his legs, and started to kiss the inside of his thighs, flicking her tongue in and out as she worked her way up.

  “But it’s what I’d like to do.”

  He was gazing at the top of her dark head just as she glanced up and opened her lips to take him in. He groaned. “Oh my God, Amy.”

  For a moment the dark glitter in her eyes took him aback. And then she laughed and threw herself down on the bed. “Come on, it’d be a laugh. We could take the Ouija board.”

  “What? Aren’t you going to–?” He pulled the bed sheet up abruptly, aware she was taunting him. “Look, I’m serious. I’m not going to bloody Woodsend and no way would you want to mess with a Ouija board – you can’t dabble in that kind of stuff, believe me. I’ve had enough of the dark side thank you very much - it’s not a joke.”

  Her smile died in an instant. “I’ll go on my own then,” she said, lighting up a spliff.

  “Girl goes into the woods on a dark night on her own with a Ouija board – don’t be so bloody daft. It’s every teenage horror movie ever made. Stupid idea. You need your head looking at, you do.”

  She blew smoke into the air. “I thought you liked me?”

  He softened his voice. “Sorry Amy, it’s just that I’ve been through some pretty horrible stuff recently and this is the last thing I need. Meddling in the occult isn’t a game, you know? It’s not just a bit naughty. There’s a lot we don’t understand and it gets out of hand; people get hurt, lives get fucked up. I’ve been off work for six months because of it.”

  “You said it was depression.”

  “Yes, such a bad one I couldn’t get out of bed.”

  She offered him her spliff but he shook his head. “Anyway,” he said, looking down at his erection under the sheet. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Ignoring him, Amy took a long drag, exhaling the smoke in coils. “You were involved with Satanists but I’m not talking about that. I’m a spiritual medium and I can find out what happened there using the board - tell you why it’s such a bad place. That friend of yours, Becky, she said it attracted evil and she’s probably right. I’m not a stupid teen going into the woods - it’s to tap into the negative energy there. I’m going anyway now because I’m intrigued.” She started to sit up. “There’s nothing to be scared of – you can come or not, it’s up to you.”

  Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she then appeared to have a change of heart. Looking down at his erection she smiled again. “Or we could do a deal – you take me to Woodsend and I’ll sort that out for you? Unless you don’t want—”

  In an instant he was inside her, one hand holding her by the hair, the other the headboard. His senses swam, the torrent of words spewing from his mouth no longer his own.

  “You’re not going on your own you fucking, stupid bitch.”

  She reached over to rack up the music as high as it would go, as he thrust into her so hard she bit her tongue. “Harder,” she hissed, licking the blood dripping over the brim of her lip. “Harder, harder, harder…”

  ***

  It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they parked at the bottom of Ravenshill. The late summer night was velvety warm, the river low – barely trickling over the mossy rocks. And ahead lay the forest – gloomy, still, and lifeless.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” said Toby. “After all I’ve been through.”

  Amy linked her arm through his. “We could have sex in the cottage.”

  “Is that all you ever think about?”

  “It’s all you ever think about. I wasn’t like this until I met you. Come on, this is exciting.” Amy pulled him along the path like a child going to the fair. “All that happens is I connect with the spirits and they tell me what I want to know. We can ask them what happened in that circle you went in. Don’t you want to find out? The curiosity would kill me.”

  His feet were leaden, every instinct pulling him back. “Not really. It’s enough to know they had satanic rituals here. I don’t need to know anymore.”

  “Don’t you? But what about for your report? Wouldn’t it help to have some insight? Police use mediums all the time you know? They just don’t tell the public.”

  They’d reached the stile leading into the woods. Dead and grey, its chill breezed onto his face and Toby stopped. “Amy, come on, let’s go back. Let’s go to the pub instead. This is a seriously bad place. I don’t need this shit.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I let you have your wicked way with me so now it’s my turn. Come on – do it for me.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dark, sparkling water before turning back and locking her gaze with his. “Or we could go skinny dipping?”

  In an instant a full, rushing river engulfed his senses; sun warmed his back and birdsong filled the air; the light dazzling as seductively she walked towards him w
ith her long hair dripping through the thin, white cotton of her dress. Static filled his ears and time stood still. Pulling the sopping garment over her head she gently eased him down into the grass, rolling on top of him, easing off his clothes, working her tongue, her lips, her fingers…until he was crying out, spent, exhausted and soaked with sweat for the third time in as many hours.

  When he opened his eyes again, moonlight was filtering through a canopy of trees and a blurry image was walking towards him. Had he blacked out for a minute?

  “What are you doing?”

  Naked and dripping wet, Amy was striding out of the river. “Having a wash,” she said, stepping into her shorts.

  “Someone might have seen you.”

  She stood over him, wet hair spotting onto his face. “Your point? Anyway, you’re not exactly shy and retiring yourself – shouting obscenities like that. My mum and dad would’ve heard you earlier, as would people for miles around just now.”

  Toby shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  She laughed and held out her hand. “Come with me now, Toby.”

  ***

  Woodpecker Cottage was not easy to get to, being off the main path and standing in total darkness. Shreds of mist caught in the dense thicket as they waded through ferns and pushed aside branches, every step hindered by heavy undergrowth.

  “I can’t see a thing,” said Amy.

  From behind her he flicked on the small torch he kept in the car, and the cottage lit up in the beam.

  “I wonder how long it’s been empty.”

  He caught up with her, slightly out of breath after the uphill climb, and they stood looking at it. A small stone building, its windows were black and soulless, a mass of wayward ivy blurring the line between cottage and forest.

  “The last legal occupants were still registered in the late nineties: Mr and Mrs Blackmore. Their son’s in a psychiatric unit in Leeds. We don’t know where his parents went – even the hospital doesn’t have contact details. We wanted to interview them.” He stopped to catch his breath again. They were standing on an overgrown path that ran around the cottage in crazy paving. Weeds sprouted from every crack; and on closer inspection, twisted creepers had cleaved into the walls between the stones of the house, obscuring windows and prising off gutters and roof tiles.

  Amy rubbed her sleeve against a ground floor window and peered in. “I can’t see anything.”

  He shone the torch through.

  The room was or had been a lounge by the look of it, and whoever had been here last had left their furniture behind: dining table and chairs, sofa, bookcases, even pictures on the walls. Over the mantelpiece hung an ornate, oval mirror, and curtains still hung from plastic rails at the French windows to the back. In the far corner it looked at first as if a boy was standing there. Toby nearly dropped the torch, then looked again. It was just a standard lamp. God, he was jumpy. This was such a stupid thing to do.

  “Do you think someone’s still here?”

  He shook his head. “No. The owners must’ve left in a hurry, though. I wonder why they didn’t take their stuff?”

  They picked their way round to the main door and tried the handle. “Nothing doing,” said Toby. “Let’s go. I can’t break and enter, you know I can’t.”

  “No, but I can,” she said, searching the ground for a stone.

  Toby grabbed her arm to stop her. “No. There’s been a light on here so a tramp or traveller must have found a way in, which means there’s one we could use if you’re so determined.”

  “Okay, Sherlock,” she said, dropping the rock. “Let’s go see.”

  It seemed every window, both upstairs and down, however, was intact; the doors securely locked. He had a quick scout around the back to see if there was a coal cellar but there wasn’t.

  “Come on, Amy. Let’s go now. It’s nearly midnight.” He looked around. “Amy? I said come on, let’s go.”

  His voice echoed around the small yard. Shining the torch into the trees he called again, “Amy?”

  In the absence of a reply he began to retrace his steps to the front of the cottage. “Amy?”

  An owl hooted from deep within the forest and a quiver of anxiety crept up his spine.

  “Amy?”

  Pointing the torch towards what had once been a garden but was now mostly long grass scattered with saplings, he noticed a tree swing, creaking slightly as if someone had just been on it. He walked towards it. “Stop playing games, Amy.”

  Her giggle came from behind his shoulder and he swung round.

  “Oh, look,” she said, spinning around and around with her arms spread wide. The moon was now directly overhead, floodlighting the small garden. “We don’t need to go inside, after all. I think we could do the Ouija out here.”

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  Looking back, the whole scene had been surreal, as if it had happened to someone else entirely. What a fool he’d been - how utterly, utterly feckless. Regret didn’t cover it.

  It was bang on midnight when Amy said, “We have to do this now – right now. Sit down. Come on, sit down.”

  Reluctantly he’d slumped to the ground. “Why? Why at all?”

  Her eyes were glittering. Tossing a curtain of long, raven hair over to one side, she sat with her legs crossed, eyeing him from beneath Bambi lashes. “Because the moon is directly overhead – can’t you see? Now put your hand over mine on top of the planchette. Let’s ask the spirits what happened here.”

  Everything he’d learned from Becky about prayer and white light vanished from his thoughts, the futile strands of his mind as flimsy as waving tentacles on the bottom of an ocean floor as he sat with his mouth open and did exactly what he was told.

  “Is anyone here?” said Amy.

  Her hand was deliberately moving the planchette. “Stop doing that, Amy. I can feel you moving the damn thing.”

  A tinkling giggle came from somewhere behind, as if a child was peeping round the corner of the house.

  He checked over his shoulder. “Was that you? Amy, was that you?”

  Her eyes were focused on the board and she shook her head impatiently. “Is anyone here with us?”

  “What will you do if it says, ‘yes’? Have you thought about that? I really don’t like this one fucking bit.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, her voice thick and slightly slurred. “Shut up. Listen.”

  The surrounding forest appeared to darken, closing in by degrees, just as it had in the ring of stones. He squinted into the gloom. Something or someone was watching.

  “Concentrate.” Amy snapped.

  It was boring into his back, whatever it was, and the urge to look again was irresistible. He began to turn round.

  “Shh!” said Amy. “Did you hear that?”

  There had been something, he realised, and it was getting louder: a low whistle, like a soughing in the trees. A wisp of cloud floated across the moon and the treetops quivered. “I don’t like this. I’m going.”

  Once again she fixed him with a stare that riveted him to the spot, her voice deeper, not quite her own. “Shut up. Wait. It’s coming.”

  A knot of fear lodged and twisted inside his stomach. What was coming? What the hell was coming? That whistling was getting louder by the second.

  Suddenly the temperature plummeted, and a howling wind whipped up from far away, rapidly increasing in speed…hurtling through the woods like an express train, flattening branches in its wake…before suddenly roaring across the lawn in a blast of leaves and flying twigs.

  Amy held the board down, her long hair blowing wildly around her face. “Hold the planchette,” she shouted. “Don’t let it go.”

  Every instinct told him to get up and run, yet still he sat there. It’s just a gust of wind and no stupid girl is going to freak me out.

  “Who is with us?” she called out excitedly.

  She’s bonkers – absolutely, stark-staring bonkers.

  Yet there was absolutely no doub
t in his mind, either at the time or in retrospect, that the planchette was whizzing round the board of its own accord. Amy’s hand was small and delicate, and that piece of wood felt like it had the fist of a heavyweight boxer behind it. Not only that, but it was shooting from one letter to another with unnatural speed and force. Even Amy’s eyes were widening. She was most definitely not doing this.

  Words were clearly being spelled out on the board: ‘I CAN SEE YOU THROUGH THE KITCHEN WINDOW’.

  They both swung round.

  A light was on in the cottage.

  Toby upended the board. “Nice trick. You’re fucking with my mind, Amy. Thanks a lot. You knew what happened to me. Well, very fucking funny.” Blind with rage, he charged towards the door of the cottage, smashed the glass with a half brick and flicked the catch. “If you’re one of Amy’s mates you can come out now, you little snot,” he shouted into the hall.

  My God, I’ve been made such a fool of…

  What had this girl done to him? What else had her little friends witnessed tonight? And what the hell would be doing the rounds on social media tomorrow? He could lose his job over this. “Come out. Come out now, you miserable bastard! Don’t fucking hide from me. You’ve fucking had it, I’m telling you.” Wrenching open doors, slamming and kicking his way in, he fired torchlight into every corner.

  From the tiny kitchen he stomped into the living room. “Come on then - I know you’re in here.”

  The room reeked of damp and hissed with silence, caught in a time warp. Although the lamp had been switched on, everything else appeared to be untouched – no footprints on the dusty floorboards, and no signs of life.

  Still breathing hard and shaking with humiliation, he walked towards the fireplace and crouched down. No ashes in the grate. The place was so small there were only these two rooms and a few cupboards downstairs. So that just left the bedrooms.

  He stood up and stared into the age-spotted mirror hanging on the wall, just in time to notice a tiny movement at the foot of the stairwell. Nothing more. A fleeting shadow was all. Was that Amy or the mate she had helping her?