'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 This went on for long minutes, until at last the hand was withdrawn into the doorway and the mother returned unsteadily to her seat.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, wishing 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 shivering, 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.