‘I warned you about going down early,’ he said quietly. ‘No doubt you got your ears boxed. Let that be a lesson to you, lad. Next time it might be far worse.’
‘I thought I heard the bell,’ I said. ‘But it must have been a bell in my dream.’
The Spook laughed softly. ‘That’s one of the first and most important lessons that an apprentice has to learn,’ he said; ‘the difference between waking and dreaming. Some never learn that.’
He shook his head, took a step towards me and patted me on the shoulder. ‘Come, I’ll show you round the garden. We’ve got to start somewhere and it’ll pass the time until breakfast’s ready’
When the Spook led me out, using the back door of the house, I saw that the garden was very large, much larger than it had looked from outside the hedge.
We walked east, squinting into the early morning sun, until we reached a wide lawn. The previous evening I’d thought that the garden was completely surrounded by the hedge, but now I realized that I was mistaken. There were gaps in it, and directly ahead was the wood. The path of white pebbles divided the lawn and vanished into the trees.
‘There’s really more than one garden,’ said the Spook. ‘Three, in fact, each reached by a path like this. We’ll look at the eastern garden first. It’s safe enough when the sun’s up, but never walk down this path after dark. Well, not unless you have very good reason and certainly never when you’re alone.’
Nervously I followed the Spook towards the trees. The grass was longer at the edge of the lawn and it was dotted with bluebells. I like bluebells because they flower in spring and always remind me that the long, hot days of summer are not too far away, but now I hardly gave them a second glance. The morning sun was hidden by the trees and the air had suddenly got much cooler. It reminded me of my visit to the kitchen.
There was something strange and dangerous about this part of the wood, and it seemed to be getting steadily colder the further we advanced into the trees.
There were rooks’ nests high above us, and the birds’ harsh, angry cries made me shiver even more than the cold. They were about as musical as my dad, who used to start singing as we got to the end of the milking. If the milk ever went sour my mam used to blame it on him. The Spook halted and pointed to the ground about five paces ahead. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
The grass had been cleared and at the centre of the large patch of bare earth was a gravestone. It was vertical but leaning slightly to the left. On the ground before it, six feet of soil was edged with smaller stones, which was unusual. But there was something else even more strange: across the top of the patch of earth, and fastened to the outer stones by bolts, lay thirteen thick iron bars. I counted them twice just to be sure.
‘Well, come on, lad -I asked you a question. What is it?’
My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak but I managed to stammer out three words: ‘It’s a grave
...’
‘Good lad. Got it first time. Notice anything unusual?’ he asked.
I couldn’t speak at all by then. So I just nodded.
He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a dead witch and a pretty feeble one at that. They buried her on unhallowed ground outside a churchyard not too many miles from here. But she kept scratching her way to the surface. I gave her a good talking to but she wouldn’t listen, so I had her brought here. It makes people feel better. That way they can get on with their lives in peace. They don’t want to think about things like this. That’s our job.’
I nodded again and suddenly realized that I wasn’t breathing, so I sucked in a deep lungful of air. My heart was hammering away in my chest, threatening to break out any minute, and I was trembling from head to foot.
‘No, she’s little trouble now,’ the Spook continued. ‘Sometimes, at the full moon, you can hear her stirring, but she lacks the strength to get to the surface and the iron bars would stop her anyway. But there are worse things further off there in the trees,’ he said, gesturing east with his bony finger. ‘About another twenty paces would bring you to the spot.’
Worse? What could be worse? I wondered, but I knew he was going to tell me anyway.
‘There are two other witches. One’s dead and one’s alive. The dead one’s buried vertically, head down, but even then, once or twice each year we have to straighten out the bars over her grave. Just keep well away after dark.’
‘Why bury her head down?’ I asked.
‘That’s a good question, lad,’ the Spook said. ‘You see, the spirit of a dead witch is usually what we call "bone-bound". They’re trapped inside their bones and some don’t even know they’re dead. We try them first head up and that’s enough for most. All witches are different but some are really stubborn. Still bound to her bones, a witch like that tries hard to get back into the world. It’s as if they want to be born again, so we have to make things difficult for them and bury them the other way up. Coming out feet first isn’t easy. Human babies sometimes have the same trouble. But she’s still dangerous, so keep well away.
‘Make sure you keep clear of the live one. She’d be more dangerous dead than alive because a witch that powerful would have no trouble at all getting back into the world. That’s why we keep her in a pit. Her name’s Mother Malkin and she talks to herself. Well, it’s more of a whisper really. She’s just about as evil as you can get, but she’s been in her pit for a long time and most of her power’s bled away into the earth. She’d love to get her hands on a lad like you. So stay well away. Promise me now that you won’t go near. Let me hear you say it...’
‘I promise not to go near,’ I whispered, feeling uneasy about the whole thing. It seemed a terrible, cruel thing to keep any living creature - even a witch -in the ground, and I couldn’t imagine my mam liking the idea much.
‘That’s a good lad. We don’t want any more accidents like the one this morning. There are worse things than getting your ears boxed. Far worse.’
I believed him, but I didn’t want to hear about it. Still, he had other things to show me so I was spared more of his scary words. He led me out of the wood and strode towards another lawn.
‘This is the southern garden,’ the Spook said. ‘Don’t come here after dark either.’ The sun was quickly hidden by dense branches and the air grew steadily cooler so I knew we were approaching something bad. He halted about ten paces short of a large stone which lay flat on the ground, close to the roots of an oak tree. It covered an area a bit larger than a grave, and judging by the part that was above ground, the stone was very thick too.