The Whitby Witches. Robin Jarvis

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СКАЧАТЬ A howl boomed inside his head, a weird, unearthly sound that slashed the watchful night. With a hideous growl, the unseen beast bore down on him.

      The boy whimpered in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare which was rapidly approaching its gruesome end. His face was screwed up in fear. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled tearfully, ‘make it go away!’

      But the horror continued. The creature was snapping at his heels and with a shriek he called out, ‘Mum! Mum!’

      Ben found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. The room was dark, yet he could make out the figure sitting beside him quite clearly.

      ‘Mum,’ he whispered.

      The figure smiled at him, as any mother might do to comfort her child in the night. Ben put his arms out to embrace her but she rose and backed away. It was then that he remembered she was dead.

      He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered how he could have mistaken this vision for something real. A thread of silver light ran around her outline, flickering like sunlight over water. His mother opened her mouth, but Ben could not hear the words she was speaking. He averted his eyes quickly when he saw the pattern on the wallpaper through the darkness where the roof of her mouth should have been. He knew there was nothing to fear but it unnerved him and he found himself wishing she would leave. Watching his own mother mouthing dumbly like an actress in some crackly silent film was horrible.

      The boy hid his eyes and waited for her to disappear – his visitors usually left if he ignored them. But when he looked up she was still there. She had moved to the end of the bed and was kneeling down with her face turned sadly towards him. She had stopped trying to talk, as if she realised that it was upsetting him. Instead, she shook her head at her son with that gentle smile on her lips which he remembered so well. That was better; Ben smiled back at her. She then inclined her head towards the door, beckoning Ben with her hands.

      Puzzled, the boy clambered out of bed and shivered; his sweat had become cold and he was chilled. Stepping up to the door, he looked up at the shade of his mother and asked her with the expression in his eyes what she wanted.

      The figure pointed at the door knob. Trembling, Ben reached out a hand, slowly opened the door and peered out.

      He was totally unprepared for what was on the other side and gasped in disbelief.

      There, crammed on the small landing, was a multitude of ‘visitors’. They were sitting on the banisters and crowded down the stairs. Ben could only shake his head and stare; he had never seen this many together before. The ghosts of over a hundred people were there. There were young faces and old, some wearing old-fashioned costumes and others dressed in clothes more familiar to him. But they all seemed to be waiting for something. A long line of them trailed down into the hall and gathered outside the closed parlour door.

      Although Ben did not understand why he saw his ‘visitors’, they sometimes seemed as real and ordinary as the rest of the world – the Rodice’s husband had been one of these. But he could tell these forms were phantoms. Some of them were transparent as glass, whilst others were just indistinct shapes made of grey mist.

      As he opened the bedroom door a little wider to get a clearer view, they suddenly became aware of him and all their faces turned in his direction. For a moment Ben felt afraid and he pulled himself back into the bedroom. But his qualms disappeared as the light which flickered around the apparitions welled up and illuminated the stairwell from top to bottom with a beautiful radiance.

      The blaze lit his face and he glanced up to find his mother. She was no longer at his side and it was some moments before he caught sight of her again in the hall below, motioning for him to follow.

      Ben stepped on to the landing and instantly regretted it. Every soul rushed towards him. They gathered thickly round, pressing in on all sides, their eyes imploring him to help them. They wrung their hands piteously before his face, their expressions desperate with the need to communicate with the living. He never actually felt them touch him, but it was suffocating all the same and he hated it. It was like being surrounded by beggars and knowing you had nothing to give them. The pleading faces were images of sorrow and regret that burnt into him, and a claustrophobic panic began to bubble up inside. He had never experienced anything like this and it frightened him; what were these spirits doing here and what did they want? It was as if they had been dragged here against their will and were beseeching him to release them.

      ‘I can’t hear you,’ he wailed helplessly. ‘Stop it, stop it!’ The boy closed his eyes tight shut and struggled along the landing. He had to escape from this clamouring madness and he groped for the door to Jennet’s room. The throng of spirits parted before him like scythed corn.

      There it was, the doorknob. He fumbled for a moment, opened his eyes and flung himself inside.

      ‘What’s up?’ asked his sister in mild surprise. She was reading one of Aunt Alice’s books in bed and had obviously not heard a thing. But once she saw how pale and frightened her brother was, she hastily put the book down and held out her arms to him.

      ‘Oh, Jen!’ he howled, throwing himself at her. ‘They won’t leave me alone, Jen, I can’t hear what they’re trying to say. Tell them to go away, will you? I’ve never seen so many of them before.’ He sobbed into the large T-shirt she used as a nightie and the rest of what he said was unintelligible.

      Jennet stroked his hair and tried to soothe him. It was a long time since Ben had had one of his turns and she wondered that he should have one now – he seemed to be so happy here.

      ‘Are you . . . are you seeing things again, Ben?’ she ventured.

      He nodded into her shoulder. ‘Mum’s here, too,’ he cried. ‘There’s so many, Jen.’

      Jennet pushed him away from her and looked steadily into his eyes. For a moment all her old suspicions about his visions had flooded back, but no, he was really scared. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him calmly, ‘I’ll take a look outside and make sure there’s no one there.’

      She got up and crossed to the door but Ben sprang past her and slammed himself against it violently. ‘Don’t go out!’ he begged. ‘You’ll let them in!’

      Jennet was beginning to get worried; he had never been this terrified before. She wondered if she ought to go and ask Aunt Alice’s advice. Would she mind the interruption? This certainly seemed urgent enough.

      ‘Don’t worry, Ben,’ she said, pulling him from the door. ‘I won’t let anyone in, I promise.’

      The boy backed towards the bed as she turned the knob and opened the door. She could see nothing out there – but he could. On the landing the crowd of souls raised their arms and surged forward. Ben screamed and collapsed on the bed.

      Jennet was horrified. She raced down the stairs, calling for Aunt Alice at the top of her voice. Up to the parlour door she ran and, without knocking, thrust it open and charged inside.

      A red light fell on her. For a moment the girl was confused by it, but as she looked around to find its infernal source, the truth of the situation she had stumbled into was revealed.

      Seated at the round parlour table was the ladies’ circle: Miss Wethers, Mrs Joyster, Miss Droon, Mrs Banbury-Scott and Aunt Alice. They were all holding hands and looked extremely startled by Jennet’s entrance. She had interrupted a seance.

      For a second Jennet could only stare back at them. Miss Wethers made an uncomfortable СКАЧАТЬ