Part 16 (2/2)

'Leave me be! Let me rest!' came the plaintive plea of a girl. This was hardly more than a whisper, but filled with anguish, the source of the girl's voice again that dark confessional doorway. Morgan's sister was a lingerer and was under his control. She didn't want to be here.

He was making her suffer but the congregation didn't know that, and I sensed the nervousness, antic.i.p.ation and excitement of the people about me as they waited for Morgan to summon family and friends they'd lost to death.

'Obey me first. Then you may rest!' boomed the voice of Morgan.

As if in response to those words, a white shape drifted forward out of the darkness to be framed in the penitent's doorway. Although Eveline had drowned herself when she was about sixteen, the spirit looked hardly older than Alice. Her face, legs and bare arms were as white as the dress she was wearing. It clung to her body as if saturated with water and her hair was limp and wet. That drew a gasp of astonishment from the congregation, but the thing that attracted my gaze was her eyes. They were large and luminous and utterly sad. I'd never looked upon a face so filled with grief as that of Eveline's ghost.

'I am here. What do you want?'

'Are there others with you? Others who wish to speak to someone in this gathering?'

'There are some. Close at hand is a child-spirit who goes by the name Maureen. She would speak with Matilda, her dearest mother...'

At that a woman in the front bench came to her feet and held out her arms in supplication. She seemed to be trying to speak but her body was shaking with emotion and only a groan escaped her lips. The figure of Eveline faded back into the darkness and something else moved forwards.

'Mother? Mother?' cried a new female voice from the penitent's box. This time, it was that of a very young child. 'Come to me, Mother. Please, please! I miss you so much...'

At that, the woman left her place and began to stagger towards the confessional box, still holding out her arms. There was a sudden intake of breath from the congregation, and immediately I saw why. A pale shape was just visible in the darkness of the right-hand doorway. It looked like a young girl, no older than four or five, with long hair falling down over her shoulders.

'Hold my hand, Mother! Please hold my hand!' cried the child and a small white hand came out of the darkness of the doorway. It reached towards the woman, who fell to her knees and seized it, eagerly pulling it to her lips.

'Oh, your little hand is so cold, so bitterly cold!' cried the woman and she began to weep, her anguished sobs and wails filling the whole chapel. This went on for long minutes, until at last the hand was withdrawn into the doorway and the mother returned unsteadily to her seat.

After that there was more of the same. Sometimes adults, sometimes other children materialized within the darkness of the penitent's doorway. There were glimpses of shadow shapes, pale faces and, more rarely, a hand outstretched into the candlelight. And almost always there was a strong emotional reaction from the relative or friend who made contact.

After a while I began to feel sickened by the spectacle, wis.h.i.+ng for it to end. Morgan was a clever, dangerous man, using the power of Golgoth to bind these poor spirits to his will. As I listened to the anguish of the living and the torment of the dead, in my head I remembered hearing the clink of money as it rattled into the copper collection plate.

At last it came to an end. The congregation filed out of the chapel and the door slammed shut behind them, seemingly as if propelled by an invisible hand.

Morgan didn't come out of the confessional box immediately but gradually the cold began to fade. When he did walk out and approach me, there were beads of sweat on his brow.

'How's that father of mine after the wild goose chase I sent him on?' Morgan asked with a smirk. 'Did the old fool enjoy his walk to Piatt Farm?'

'Mr Gregory isn't your father,' I said quietly, coming shakily to my feet. 'Your real father's name was Edwin Furner, a local tanner. Everybody knows the truth but you can't face it. You just tell lie after lie. Let's go down to Adlington now and ask a few people. Let's ask your mother's sister - she still lives there. If they all say the same then I might just start to believe you. But I don't think they will. You're a father yourself - the father of lies! And you've told so many that now you're starting to believe them!'

Livid with rage, Morgan swung a punch in my direction. I tried to get out of the way but I was still groggy and my reactions were far too slow. His fist caught my temple again, in almost the same place as last time. I fell, cracking the back of my head against the stones.

I didn't quite lose consciousness this time, but I was dragged to my feet and his face came very close to mine. I could taste blood in my mouth and one of my eyes was almost closed, so swollen that I could hardly see through it. But the expression on Morgan's face was clear enough and I didn't like what I saw. His mouth was twisted, his eyes bright and wild. It looked more like the face of a savage animal than a man.

Chapter 19.

You had your chance but it's gone! I've another use for you now, though. One you won't like! Here, carry these!' Morgan snarled, thrusting something towards me.

It was a spade. No sooner had I gripped it than he handed me a bulging sack, so heavy that he had to help me get it up onto my shoulder. Then he pushed me towards the door of the chapel and then out into the cold. I stood there s.h.i.+vering, struggling under the weight of the sack, feeling too ill and weak to run. Even if I did, I felt certain that he'd catch me within seconds and another beating would follow. The wind was beginning to gust from the north-east with cloud building to cover the stars. It looked like it was going to snow again.

He gave me another push to start me walking, then followed, carrying a lantern. Soon we were climbing high onto the bleak snow-clad moor, leaving the last of the scattered trees far behind. I didn't have any choice but to keep struggling upwards. If I didn't move fast enough I received a push in the back. Once I slipped and fell flat on my face, losing my grip on the sack. For that he punched me in the ribs, so hard that I was terrified of falling again.

I was ordered to pick up the sack and we trudged upwards through the snow until I lost all track of time. But at last, high up on the moor, he pulled me to a halt. Not too far ahead was a hill too smooth and rounded to be natural, its covering of snow gleaming white in the remaining starlight. Then I recognized it for what it was. It was the Round Loaf, the barrow that the Spook had pointed out to me on our way to deal with the boggart at Owshaw Clough. The mound of earth that Morgan had dug the grimoire out of.

Morgan gestured eastwards and pushed me ahead of him. About two hundred or so paces away was a small boulder. When we reached it, he quickly measured out ten paces south of it, while I wondered what my chances were of being able to hit him with the spade and run for it. But I still felt weak and he was bigger and much stronger than I was.

'Dig there!' he commanded, pointing down at the snow.

I obeyed and was soon through the covering of snow and into the dark earth. The ground underneath the snow was frozen hard and progress was difficult. I wondered if he was making me dig my own grave, but I wasn't much more than a foot down when my spade suddenly struck stone.

'Fools have dug into that barrow time after time,' he said, pointing back towards the Round Loaf. 'But they never found what I've found. There's a chamber deep underneath but the entrance is much further back than you'd ever suspect. The last time I was down there was the night after my mother died and I've been trying to get my book back ever since! Now clear the stone -we've a lot of work ahead of us!'

I was terrified because I now suspected that Morgan intended to raise Golgoth this very night. But I did as he ordered, and when I'd finished, he took the spade from me and, using it as a lever, struggled to prise the stone out of its bed and onto its side. It took him a long time, and by the time he'd managed it the snow was starting to fall, the wind sighing over the moor and gusting even harder. Another blizzard was on its way.

He held the lantern over the hole, and by its light I could see steps leading downwards into the darkness. 'Right, down you go!' he said, raising his fist threateningly.

I flinched and did as I was told, Morgan holding the lantern while I descended carefully, the weight of the sack making it difficult to keep my balance. There were ten steps in all. At their foot, I found myself in a narrow pa.s.sageway. At the top of the steps Morgan had put the lantern down and was struggling with the stone again. At first I thought it would be too difficult for him to manage, but it eventually dropped back into place with a dull thud, shutting us in like a gravestone sealing in the dead. He came down the steps carrying the lantern and spade and told me to lead the way, so I obeyed.

He held the lantern high behind me and it cast my shadow ahead into the tunnel, which was straight and true. The floor, walls and roof were of earth and at intervals timbers had been used to sh.o.r.e up the roof. At one point it had actually collapsed, almost obstructing our way, and I had to remove the sack before squeezing through and dragging it along the narrow gap after me. It made me nervous about the condition of the tunnel. If there was a serious roof-fall we'd be buried alive or trapped underground for ever. I had a strong sense of the great weight of earth poised above us.

At last the pa.s.sage opened out into a large oval chamber. It was ma.s.sive, with the generous dimensions of a good-sized church, and the walls and ceiling were built of stone. But the floor was the most amazing thing of all. At first glance I thought it was tiled, but then realized that it was an elaborate mosaic depicting all manner of monstrous creatures by the careful positioning of thousands upon thousands of small coloured stones. Some were fabled beings that I'd read about in the Spook's Bestiary, others I'd only glimpsed in nightmares: grotesque hybrids such as the minotaur, half bull, half man; gigantic wormes with long serpentine bodies and ravenous jaws; and a basilisk, a snake on legs, with a crested head and murderous piercing eyes. Each of these was in itself enough to compete for my attention, but there was something else that immediately arrested my gaze ...

For there, at the very centre of the floor, constructed from black stones, were three concentric circles and within them a five-pointed star. I knew immediately what it was and my worst fear was confirmed.

This was a pentacle, a device used by a mage from which to cast spells or summon daemons from the dark. But this had been constructed by the first men who came to Anglezarke in order to summon Golgoth, the most powerful of the Old G.o.ds. And now Morgan was going to use it.

It seemed that Morgan knew exactly what he intended to do and he soon set me to work, ordering me to clean the floor until it gleamed, particularly the central section of the mosaic that depicted the pentacle.

'There mustn't be even one tiny speck of dirt, or it could all go wrong!' he said.

I didn't bother to ask what he meant because I'd worked it out already. He intended to follow the deadliest ritual in the grimoire. He was going to summon Golgoth while we stayed protected at its centre. Cleanliness was vital because dirt could be used to cross its defences.

There were several large tubs at the far side of the chamber and one of them contained salt. In the sack I'd carried, among the other items, including the grimoire, were a large flagon of water and some cloths. Using a damp cloth, I had to scour the mosaic with salt, then swill it clean until he was satisfied.

I seemed to be at it for hours. From time to time I glanced about, trying to see if there was anything in the chamber that might prove useful in helping me to overcome Morgan and escape. He must have dropped the spade in the pa.s.sageway because there was no sign of it in the chamber; neither was there anything else that I could use as a weapon. I did notice a large iron ring set into the wall close to the floor and I wondered what it could be for. It looked like something for tethering an animal.

When I'd finished scouring the floor, to my horror, Morgan suddenly seized me, dragged me to the wall, bound my hands tightly behind my back and fastened the remainder of the rope to the ring. Then he began his preparations in earnest. I was sick to my stomach, as I suddenly realized what was going to happen. Morgan would work from within the pentacle, s.h.i.+elded from anything that appeared within the chamber, whereas I would remain tethered to that ring on the wall without any defence whatsoever. Was I going to be some sort of sacrifice? Was that what the ring had originally been made for? Then I remembered what the Spook had said about the farm dog. When Morgan had tried the ritual in his room, it had died of fright...

From the sack he produced five thick black candles and positioned one of these at the very tip of each of the points of the pentacle star. He then opened the grimoire, and as he lit each candle, he read out a short incantation from the book. That done, he sat down cross-legged at the very centre of the pentacle and, holding the book open, looked directly towards me.

'Do you know what day it is?' he demanded.

'It's a Tuesday' I answered.

'And the date?'

I didn't speak and he answered for me.

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