‘Come in,’ she said, her voice gentle. I remember thinking what a contrast it was to Thin Shaun’s croaky rasp. ‘But leave your staff outside. We’ll have no need for spook’s work in here.’
Thinking nothing of it, I obeyed without question, leaning my staff against the wall next to the window and stepping into the cottage. It was small and cosy, with a turf fire glowing in the grate. Two stools faced the hearth, and against the wall stood a small cradle on rockers; before going through to the kitchen, Scarabek set the thing in motion to keep the baby happy.
A few moments later she returned carrying a small bowl, which she handed to me. ‘Here – that’s all I have, a little gruel. We’re poor people. Times are hard and I must think of my family’s needs.’
I thanked her and started to eat the thin porridge with my fingers. It was cold and a little slimy, but after what she’d just said I tried not to betray my dislike of it. It didn’t really taste unpleasant – just a little odd, with a spicy tang. But strangely it made my mouth very dry.
‘Thank you,’ I said when I’d finished the gruel, taking care to eat up every last bit. ‘I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a cup of water?’
‘You don’t need water,’ Scarabek said mysteriously. ‘Why don’t you lie down in front of the fire and rest your young bones until it gets dark?’
The stone flags were hard and cold, despite the proximity of the fire, but I suddenly felt very tired and what she suggested seemed a good idea. So I stretched before the hearth.
‘Close your eyes,’ Scarabek commanded. ‘That would be wise. It’ll be better for us all once it’s gone dark.’
I remember thinking her words were really odd and I felt confused. What did she mean? How could the dark be ‘better for us all’? Moreover, the sun couldn’t have been up for more than half an hour or so. It would be another nine hours before it got dark. Did she expect me to lie here all that time? And wasn’t there something I had to do? I had to meet somebody. But I couldn’t remember who or where.
I OPENED MY eyes; it was dark in the cottage and I felt stiff and cold. The fire was out but there was a candle burning on the mantelpiece.
I felt utterly weary and wanted to close my eyes and drift back into a deep sleep. I was about to do just that when I saw something that made me gasp with concern. The baby’s cradle had fallen over and was lying on its side!
There was the infant, half in, half out of it, still wrapped in a woollen blanket. I tried to call out for its mother, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a faint croak. I realized then that I was breathing rapidly; my heart was fluttering in my chest with a scary irregular beat that made me fear it was about to stop at any minute. I was unable to move my limbs.
Was I seriously ill? I wondered. Had I caught some type of fever in the bog-lands?
Then I thought I saw the baby’s blanket move. It gave a sort of twitch, then began to rise and fall rhythmically, suggesting that the child was still breathing and had survived the fall. I tried to call for the mother again, but could still only manage a weak cry; the effort sent my heart into such a speedy fluttering rhythm that I began to tremble all over, fearing that I was dying.
I suddenly realized that the woollen blanket was now moving in a different way. It seemed to be coming slowly towards me. How old was the baby? Was it old enough to crawl like that? Even though it was completely covered by the blanket and couldn’t possibly see where it was going, it was heading directly for me. Could it hear my breathing? Was it seeking comfort? Why didn’t Scarabek come to check on it?
Then I heard a strange sound. It was coming from the baby. Despite the utter silence of the room I could hear no breathing – only a sort of rhythmical clicking. It sounded like gnashing teeth. Suddenly I was scared. Babies that small didn’t have teeth!
No, it had to be something else. The moment that thought entered my head, a cold tremor ran the length of my spine, a warning that something from the dark was very close. I desperately tried to move my limbs, but they were still paralysed. I lay there, watching it helplessly.
As the baby approached me, the woollen blanket seemed to convulse, and I heard a big gasp, as if whatever it was beneath the blanket had been holding its breath for a very long time and now desperately needed energy for some immense effort.
It reached my foot, and came to a halt for a few moments. Once again I heard what sounded like another huge in-breath, but this time I identified the sound; my first guess had been wrong. It was sniffing – sniffing like a witch, gathering information about me. It left my boot and began to move up along my body, pausing beside my chest. Once again it sniffed very loudly.
I shuddered as it then climbed slowly up onto my chest. I was aware of four small limbs moving across me. Even through my clothes they felt very cold, like four blocks of ice. Whatever it was had finally reached my face now and I began to panic: my heart pounded even more wildly. What was it? What horrible thing was hidden beneath that moving blanket?
I tried to roll away onto my side, but couldn’t find the strength. All I could do was to raise my head a little. Nor could I manage to fend it off with my hands – they trembled uselessly at my sides while rivulets of sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. I was unable to defend myself.
It had reached my throat now, and raised itself up a little on its tiny hands as if to peer into my face, causing the blanket to fall back so that, simultaneously, I saw its face too.
I expected to see a monster and my fears were fully realized – but not in the way I expected.
The head was no larger than that of a baby of two or three months, but it had the face of a little old man; it was malevolent, filled with some desperate need. And it looked very like Thin Shaun, the turf-cutter who had sent me here for food. And I suddenly understood that although I’d been fed, given a little gruel, I was also food – nourishment for this grotesque being. What I’d eaten must have contained some sleeping draught to render me weak and helpless. Now the creature’s mouth opened wide, revealing long needle-like teeth, and they were aiming for my throat.
I felt its small cold fingers on my neck; then a sudden sharp stab of pain as the teeth punctured my flesh. It began to suck noisily, and I felt the blood being drawn out of my body – and with it my life.
I had no strength to resist. There was little pain, just a sense of floating away towards death. How long it went on I have no idea, but the next thing I knew, Scarabek was walking purposefully into the room, her shadow flickering on the ceiling in the candlelight. She came across and gently plucked the creature from me; as it came away, I felt a tugging at my throat when its teeth were withdrawn. She carried it over to the cradle, which still lay on its side, and swaddled it in the woollen blanket again.