CHAPTER IV
Brain Plugs in Apple Juice
THE next four days were uneventful, and I was starting to get into a routine. Daytimes were the best, because then I saw neither hide nor hair of Old Spig and Nanna Nuckle.
Lizzie liked to sleep in late, and after I’d made her breakfast I’d have a lesson—usually the only one of the day. A lot of it was memory work. She’d make me learn spells by heart and then recite ’em back to her. Later I’d go down into her little library and study the book she’d suggested.
After that I’d go and collect herbs and toadstools before making the main meal of the day. But then it happened. . . .
I was making another stew. It was lamb this time. Lizzie had caught and killed one north of Downham and carried it over her shoulders all the way back to her cottage. Wasn’t the only thing she’d killed, either. I saw the thumb bones she pulled out of the leather pouch she always wears. They were human, and small, too. She’d probably killed a child. It was too horrible to contemplate. I could never do that so it stood to reason that I could never become a bone witch.
Anyway, I was making the stew when Old Spig jumped into it again. This time he didn’t even wait until my back was turned. He came over my shoulder from behind and landed slap bang in the middle of it. Gravy splashed up onto my dress, face, and hair. It was boiling hot, too, and it hurt. And there he was, just his ugly head showing while he slurped away like there was no tomorrow.
I saw red, and before I could bite my tongue I really gave him a telling off.
“Get out of there, you ugly little thing!” I shouted. “Get out now, you greedy, slimy piece of muck! Don’t you mess with me!”
Old Spig got out, jumping onto the mantelpiece again. I could see him quivering with anger: his mouth kept opening and closing, showing those sharp little needlelike teeth. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was low and dangerous.
“You’re as good as dead,” he told me. “Brains are best eaten just before the full moon, and that’s when I’ll eat yours. Soon I’ll be sawing off the top of your head. Can’t wait to get inside!”
With that, he put the edge of that strange little bone limb he had against the edge of the wooded mantelpiece. Back and forth he drew it, and that sharp-toothed edge cut through the wood like butter, with the sawdust falling into the hearth. Then he leaped down and was gone, leaving me trembling.
It was just a few days till the full moon. What could I do? I wondered. Tell Lizzie? I decided to do just that, even though I wasn’t at all sure she’d help me.
“Old Spig said he’s going to eat my brains,” I told her just as she was starting to eat her lamb stew.
“Is he now, girl. You must have done something to really annoy him then.”
“He jumped in the stew again, and I called him names and shouted at him to get out. Threatened me, he did. Said I was as good as dead and that he’d kill me before the full moon.”
Lizzie never even looked at me. She just kept shoveling stew into her mouth.
“Can’t you help me?” I asked her at last.
Finally she glanced my way, but her eyes were hard and cruel, with no hint of any kind of sympathy for my plight. “I’m training you to be a witch, so there’s one thing you should get into your head now—and that’s before Spig’s teeth get there!” she said. “A witch needs to be hard; she needs to survive. This is between you and Old Spig. You got to sort it out one way or the other. Either that, or you’re not up to the job. Understand?”
I nodded. I would get no help from Lizzie—that was certain.
“Anyway, tonight you must take yourself up to the dell again. I’ve buried another little jug close to the roots of that tree. Make sure you have it back here well before dawn. Moon won’t help you this time, so the digging might just take a little longer.”
That much was true: there was indeed no moon that night. A storm was moving in from the west, the wind bending the tree branches, the whole dell groaning and creaking as if in pain.
Only halfway to the old oak, I was, when Grim Gertrude found me. Moved fast for such an old dead witch who was carrying her head under her arm. Got herself between me and where I wanted to go.
“Left Lizzie, have you, and come to work with me?” the pale lips mouthed.
“Ain’t ready to do that yet a while,” I told her.
“No time like the present, girl. You and me would be useful to each other. I could teach you much more than Lizzie—help you lots, I could.”
It suddenly dawned on me that Gertrude might just be able to help me now. There was no harm in trying. Who else could I turn to?
“Trouble is, Gertrude, I may never be able to work for you. Going to be dead myself soon. Lizzie’s familiar, Spig, is going to guzzle my brains. Told me he’d do it before the next full moon. And Lizzie won’t help; said I needed to be strong and survive. But I don’t know what I can do.”
“There’s always a way, girl, especially when you’ve got friends like me to help you. Do you know what’s in that little jug that Lizzie’s sent you to get?”
“Wouldn’t let me see into the last jug I brought her. Told me I’d need a lot of training before I could see into it.”
“Did she now? Well, inside are prime plugs of young brain, fermenting in apple juice. Whenever Lizzie kills somebody, she takes the thumb bones but gets bits o’ brain for Old Spig as a treat. Doesn’t saw the tops off their heads, though—got an easier method than that. Has a special tool she uses. Plunges it right up through the nose and into the skull and cuts out a few choice brain plugs. Brings them back and puts them in that jug with a good lashing of juice. Buries it close to the roots of that tree and leaves it for a few nights to ferment into alcohol. Old Spig loves it. There’s lots of magic in this dell that’s seeped out of dead witches. That’s absorbed by the jug, too, and gives him extra strength so he can do Lizzie’s bidding.”
“So when I take the jug back he’ll be more dangerous than ever?”
“She won’t give him the jug until tomorrow night. She’ll be going out then, so it’ll keep him quiet. But what you say’s true enough. At first it makes him really sleepy. That would be your time to strike. Kill him while he sleeps. That’s your best chance. And it’s you or him, so you can’t afford to be squeamish. Kill him tomorrow night. That’s what I’d do in your place!”
“What’s the best way to finish him off?” I asked.
“You could use a sharp knife and chop his little legs off. Couldn’t do much then, could he? He’d starve to death slowly. Burying him under a big stone would be best. A very heavy one would finish him off quicker.
“Another good reason to do it tomorrow, girl. Big meeting of the three clans then—could last several nights. They’re going to curse a spook who works in the south of the County. They want him dead. Done a lot of damage to our sisters down there over the years, he has, so he deserves it, all right. Bit of a loner, is Lizzie, but she certainly won’t miss something that big. So she’ll be out, leaving you alone in the house with Old Spig. So kill him then!”
I’d killed things before, mostly by wringing their necks—chickens, rabbits and hares; you’ve got to eat, and everybody does that. But killing something that talks—that’s different. Didn’t like the idea at all. But if I didn’t kill Old Spig, then he’d kill me for sure. So I didn’t have much choice.
When I got back, I gave Lizzie the jug, then went straight to bed. The following day it rained heavily and Lizzie was quiet and in a right mood. Didn’t even bother to give me a lesson—just sat staring into the fire all afternoon, muttering to herself—so I went down to her little library and started reading about familiars again, that last chapter with the section on brain guzzlers.
It didn’t tell me much about how to deal with Old Spig. I suppose that’s the last thing that crosses most witches’ minds. They want to befriend and control a familiar, not kill it. But there was one interesting section on guzzlers’ likes and dislikes that told wi
tches about their vulnerabilities.
Brain guzzlers can tolerate extreme temperatures, but they love boiling liquids, in which they happily immerse themselves for hours at a time.
Although they can generally look after themselves, it is important to be aware of some weaknesses that may be exploited by a witch’s enemies.
The hard, scaly head and body are tough and resistant to the sharpest of blades, but salt is corrosive and burns them. Even if there is insufficient to kill them, salt saps their strength and affects their coordination.
A blade can also be used to remove their limbs and immobilize them. They are also vulnerable to sunlight and rarely venture out during the day.
The line about cutting off their limbs told me that dead Gertrude knew her stuff, all right. That was all the help I could find in that book, but it was useful to know about the salt. Not that it was of any immediate help. Lizzy didn’t like the stuff, and there wasn’t even a pinch of it in the house.
“I’ll be gone for a couple of nights—maybe more,” Lizzie said that evening as she paused on the doorstep, looking up at the waxing moon. “It’s the full moon in a couple of nights. Will you still be here when I get back, girl? Or will Old Spig be curled up inside your skull?”
With a wicked laugh she set off into the trees. Full of foreboding, I closed the door and went to the kitchen. There I sorted through the knife drawer and picked up the biggest, sharpest one I could find, then started to climb the stairs.
No point in dawdling. It was best to get it over with. Lizzie had given Old Spig the jug about an hour before she’d gone out. I hoped he’d still be sleeping. . . .
The door of Nanna Nuckle’s room was slightly ajar. I opened it just a fraction of an inch and peeped in. She was sitting in her chair, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, the top of her head hanging forward on that bit of skin. So where was Old Spig?
I heard him before I saw him. There were faint snores coming from the window ledge, so I eased the door open ever so slowly and carefully stepped into the room. There he was, curled up into a ball, most of his legs tucked underneath that ugly head and body of his. I raised the knife and began to tiptoe toward him, one cautious step at a time.
I raised the knife high and prepared to bring it down. Three legs were sticking out. All I had to do was chop them off. He’d probably jump up in pain and fright, and then I could slice off the other ones. But I hesitated, and my hand began to tremble. To do that in cold blood was horrible. I just couldn’t force myself to bring down that knife.
Suddenly both Spig’s eyes opened wide, and he stared right at me. “You’d kill me in my sleep, would you?” he said, his voice quiet and dangerous. “Did you think I’d be that easy? Well, now it’s my turn!”
He leaped straight at me. I twisted away, but I wasn’t fast enough. He landed on top of my head, and I felt his claws dig sharply into my scalp. I screamed, dropped the knife, and tried to pull him off, but he was tangled up in my hair—and then something even worse happened. I felt him draw that bone saw across the back of my head, felt it bite into my scalp!
I screamed and fell to my knees. I was terrified. Spig was starting to saw off the top of my head. There was only one thing I could do. One last chance. I crawled over to the wall and butted my head against it as hard as I could. Spig cried out as I squashed his body against the stone. Twice more I did it; then he let go and dropped to the floor, twitching and gasping.
Knew that wasn’t the end of him, so I stumbled to my feet and ran out of the room and down the stairs, then out of the house and into the trees. I halted then and looked back, watching the doorway to see if he’d follow me.
Didn’t take that long before Spig came after me, but now he was inside Nanna Nuckle’s skull. So I kept moving through the trees, farther and farther from Lizzie’s house. Wasn’t that worried, though. She was big, strong, and ugly, and if she got hold of me, those big hands could kill me without a doubt, but she had to find and catch me first. Nanna Nuckle wasn’t a witch, so she couldn’t sniff me out.
As long as I kept moving, I’d be safe. And she’d have to be back in her room before dawn. For now the worst was over. But Lizzie would be away for at least another night, and after dark I’d have to face Spig again.
CHAPTER V
Seven Big Handfuls
LONG before the sun came up, Nanna Nuckle’s big body turned and lumbered slowly back toward Lizzie’s house. But I was in no hurry to return. I had a lot of thinking to do.
One option was to run away. But where would I go? I’d be welcome at the cottage of my other aunt, Agnes Sowerbutts, but Lizzie would only drag me back again. There was a good chance that she would find me wherever I went. Did she want me dead? Did she want Old Spig to guzzle my brains? What had been the point of training me as a witch if she was going to let Spig kill me? I wondered. Or was that what she’d intended all along? Was I the replacement for Nanna Nuckle’s old body, which was slowing down now?
Get hard and survive, she’d told me. That didn’t make sense and contradicted the rest. Did she want me to survive or not? Well, I would do just that. It was me or Spig—one of us was going to die, and it wasn’t going to be me. He was vulnerable during the daylight hours and might not think I was brave enough to go back to the house.
That was to my advantage. But what else? Think, girl! I told myself. Use everything you know. . . .
Salt! That would slow him down and affect his coordination. He wouldn’t be able to leap onto my head again so easily. But where could I get my hands on some? It was no use looking in any of the local villages. Witches lived there, and they were wary of the stuff. None of them used it. I was still only being trained—hopefully I could still touch it. So I needed to go south and get right out of the Pendle district.
Washed myself in a stream first. My hair was matted with blood at the back where Spig had tried to saw my head open. Sore, too, when I touched it, but the blade hadn’t gone very deep. A few tufts of hair came away, but I would mend eventually.
I’m not a thief. Never take stuff that doesn’t belong to me. But I was desperate. Besides, salt’s cheap and I didn’t want that much. I saw a farmer and his wife in the distance, working in the fields, so I sneaked into their store. There were big sacks of salt, but I found a bit of cloth and wrapped what I needed in that—seven big handfuls. That done, I set off back toward Lizzie’s house.
It was late afternoon when I walked into the kitchen—plenty of time to sort out what I needed. But I went upstairs first to see what was what. Took a knife and a handful of salt, just in case.
Eased open the door of Old Spig’s room. Gloomy in there, it was, with the heavy curtains closed. I waited for a few moments for my eyes to adjust, then tiptoed in. Nanna Nuckle was in her usual position in her chair, the top of her head hanging forward, but there was no sign of Spig.
Wasn’t daft, was he? He was hiding away somewhere until dark. So I had another think. I had to make the best of the situation, and after about half an hour or so I’d worked out what to do.
I went down into the kitchen, made myself a brew, and had something to eat. Then I searched Lizzie’s house to find the things I needed. She’d no idea of how to keep things tidy and organized, so it took me ages. One of the things I found was a meat cleaver—heavier than a knife and just what the doctor ordered.
About an hour before dark, I went back up to Spig’s room and made my preparations. That done, I became nervous and kept pacing up and down; but then, as it started to get dark, I hid behind the door, the cleaver in my right hand, salt in my left.
Old Spig didn’t make much noise when he approached. I could just about hear the tapping of his spindly limbs on the floorboards as he came to the door. I was scared and my hands were trembling, but I couldn’t afford to miss. Make a mistake, and a minute later I’d be dead.
At the very last moment he saw me, but it didn’t do him any good. I hurled the handful of salt at him. A good shot, it was, and he screamed and started to twi
tch and writhe, his limbs trying to go in different directions. Then I used the cleaver—but I didn’t chop off his legs as Grim Gertrude had advised. He still needed them for what I had planned. I chopped off his bone saw instead, bringing down the cleaver so hard that it went deep into the floorboards and I couldn’t pull it out. Not that it mattered.
After Old Spig had screamed for about a minute, he went very quiet and looked up at me. His mouth opened and closed a few times, showing his needle teeth. His legs were still twitching, but I was no longer worried about him jumping onto my head.
“You’ve maimed me!” he said, his voice all wobbly. “I’ll kill you for that.”
“You said something like that once before,” I told him, “but I’m still here. Reckon I’ll still be here when you’re dead and gone! Can’t saw my head open now, can you?”
“Not today, I can’t, but it won’t take long to grow back. Didn’t know that, did you? All my limbs grow back eventually. And now I’ll make you wish you’d never been born! I’m going to twist your head off your scrawny neck!”
That said, he leaped toward the top of Nanna Nuckle’s head, which was exactly what I wanted. No doubt he wanted to use that big body to hurt me good and proper, but he missed and skittered off onto the floor again. Took him five attempts to get inside.
As soon as he managed it, Old Spig started screaming. I’d thrown just one handful of salt at him. That left six more, and I’d put them inside Nanna Nuckle’s skull.
Once he was in there, I didn’t waste any time. Had to work fast, didn’t I? Took the needle and twine I’d found in one of Lizzie’s mucky cupboards and stitched the top of the skull to the bottom. Wasn’t a very tidy job, but I used lots of stitches and made them really tight. Nanna Nuckle twitched a lot and saliva started to dribble down her chin while I did it, but she didn’t groan as she had when I’d poured the salt in. Old Spig was trapped inside—I didn’t think his bone saw would grow back fast enough to save him.
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