The Spook's Secret Read online

  There were two big coal scuttles and we filled these and brought them back into the kitchen.

  'Know how to get a good coal fire burning?' asked the Spook.

  I nodded. In winter, back home at the farm, my first chore each morning had been to light the kitchen fire.

  'Right, then,' said the Spook. 'You attend to this one and I'll see to the one in the parlour. There are thirteen fireplaces in this old house, but lighting six should start to warm things up for now.'

  After about an hour we managed to get the six fires alight: one in the kitchen, one in the parlour, one in what the Spook called his 'study', which was on the ground floor, and one in each of the three upstairs bedrooms on the first floor. There were seven other bedrooms, including an attic, but we didn't bother with those.

  'Right, lad, that's a good start,' the Spook said. 'Now we'll go and fetch some water.'

  Carrying a big pot jug each, we went out through the back door again and round to the front, where the Spook led the way to the stream. The water was as deep as it had looked so it was easy to fill our jugs; and clean, cold and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. It was a quiet stream and hardly did more than murmur its way down the clough.

  But just as I'd finished filling my jug, I sensed a movement somewhere far above. I couldn't actually see anything; it was more a feeling of being watched really, and when I glanced up to where the rock formed a dark edge against the grey sky, there was nothing there.

  'Don't look up, lad,' snapped the Spook, an edge of irritation in his voice. 'Don't give him the satisfaction. Pretend you haven't noticed.'

  'Who is he?' I asked, feeling very nervous as I followed the Spook back towards the house.

  'Hard to say. I didn't look so I can't be sure,' said the

  Spook, suddenly coming to a halt and putting his jug down. Then he quickly changed the subject. 'What do you think of the house?' he asked.

  My dad had taught me to tell the truth whenever possible and I knew the Spook wasn't a man whose feelings were easily hurt. 'I'd rather live on top of a hill than like an ant in a deep crack between paving stones,' I told him. 'So far, I prefer your house at Chipenden.'

  'So do I, lad,' said the Spook. 'So do I. We've only come here because it has to be done. We're right on the edge here, on the edge of the dark, and it's a bad place to be in winter. There are things up on the moor that don't bear too much thinking about, but if we can't face them, then who can?'

  'What sort of things?' I asked, remembering what Mam had told me but interested to see what the Spook would say.

  'Oh, there are boggarts, witches, ghosts and ghasts a-plenty and other things even worse ...' 'Like Golgoth?' I suggested.

  'Aye, Golgoth. No doubt your mam's told you all about him. Am I right?'

  'She mentioned him when I told her we were heading for Anglezarke but she didn't say that much. Just that he sometimes stirs in winter.'

  'That he does, lad, and I'll be adding to your knowledge about him at a more appropriate time. Now look at that,' he said, pointing up at the big chimney stack to where thick brown smoke was rising high into the air from the two rows of cylindrical pots. He jabbed towards the smoke with his forefinger. 'We're here to show the flag, lad.'

  I looked for a flag. All I could see was the smoke.

  'I mean that just by being here we're saying this land belongs to us and not to the dark,' the Spook explained. 'Standing up to the dark, especially up on Anglezarke, is a hard thing to do, but it's our duty and well worth it. Anyway' he said, picking up his jug, 'let's get inside and start cleaning.'

  For the next two hours I was really busy scrubbing, sweeping, polishing and going outside to beat clouds of dust from the rugs. Finally, after washing and drying the dirty dishes, the Spook told me to make up the beds in the three first-floor rooms.

  'Three beds?' I asked, wondering if I'd misheard him.

  'Aye, three it is, and when you've finished you'd better go and wash your ears out! Go on! Don't stand there gawping. We haven't got all day'

  So, with a shrug, I did as I was told. The linen was damp but I turned the sheets down so that the fires would dry them out. That done, exhausted with my efforts, I went downstairs. It was as I passed the cellar steps that I heard something that made the hair on the back of my neck start to rise.

  From below, I heard what sounded like a long shuddering sigh, followed almost immediately by a faint cry. I waited at the top of the steps on the edge of the darkness, listening carefully, but it wasn't repeated. Had I imagined it?

  I went into the kitchen to find the Spook washing his hands in the sink.

  T heard something cry out from the cellar' I told him. Ts it a ghost?'

  'Nay lad, there are no ghosts in this house now - I sorted them all out years ago. No, that'll be Meg. No doubt she's just woken up.'

  I wasn't sure if I'd misheard him. I'd been told I'd meet Meg and knew that she was a lamia witch living somewhere up on Anglezarke. I'd also half expected to find her staying in the Spook's house. But seeing it abandoned and cold had driven that prospect from my head. Why would she be sleeping down there in a bitterly cold cellar? I was curious, but knew better than to ask questions at the wrong time.

  Sometimes the Spook was in the mood for answering, and he'd sit me down and tell me to get out my notebook and fill my pen with ink, ready to write. At other times he just wanted to get on with the business in hand, and now I could see the determined expression glinting in his green eyes, so I just kept quiet while he lit a candle.

  I followed him down the stone cellar steps. I wasn't exactly scared because he knew what he was doing, but I was certainly very nervous. I'd never met a lamia witch before, and although I'd read a bit about them, I didn't know what to expect. And how had she managed to survive down there in the cold and dark all through the spring, summer and autumn? What had she been eating? Slugs, worms, insects and snails, like the witches the Spook bound in pits?

  When the steps turned the first corner, there was an iron trellis gate blocking our way. Beyond it, the steps suddenly became much wider so that four people could have walked down side by side. I'd never seen such wide cellar steps before. Not far beyond the gate I could see a door set into the wall and I wondered what was behind it. The Spook took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. It wasn't his usual key.

  'Is it a complicated lock?' I asked.

  'That it is, lad' he said. 'More complicated than most. If you ever need it, I usually keep this key on top of the bookcase in the study closest to the door.'

  When he opened the gate, it made a clanging noise so loud that it seemed to ring right through the stones both upwards and downwards, so that the whole house acted like a huge bell.

  'The iron would stop most of 'em getting past this point, but even if it didn't, we'd hear what was going on from upstairs. This door's better than a guard dog.'

  'Most of who? And why are the steps so wide?' I asked.

  'First things first,' snapped the Spook. 'Questions and answers can come later. First we need to see to Meg.'

  As we carried on down the steps, I started to hear faint noises from below. There was a groan and what sounded like a faint scratching, which made me even more nervous. It didn't take me long to realize that there must be at least as much of the house below ground as there was above it: each time the steps turned a corner there was a wooden door set into the wall, and on the third turning, a small landing with three doors.

  The Spook paused directly in front of the middle door of the three, then turned to me. 'You wait here, lad,' he said. 'Meg's always a bit nervous when she first wakes up. We need to give her time to get used to you.'

  With those words he handed me the candle, turned his key in the lock and went into the darkness, closing the door behind him.

  I was left waiting outside for about ten minutes, and I don't mind telling you it was very creepy on those stairs. For one thing, the further down the steps we'd gone, the colder it had seeme
d to get. For another, I could hear more disturbing noises coming from below, around the next corner out of sight. They were mostly very faint whisperings, but once I thought I heard a distant groan, as if someone or something was having a very bad time of it.

  Then there were muffled noises from inside the room the Spook had entered. My master seemed to be talking quietly but firmly, and at one point I heard a woman crying. That didn't last long and there were more whisperings, as though neither of them wanted me to hear what they were saying.

  At last the door creaked open. The Spook appeared and someone followed him out onto the landing.

  This is Meg,' said my master, stepping to one side so that I could see her properly. 'You'll like her, lad. She's just about the best cook in the whole County.'

  As Meg looked me up and down, she looked puzzled. I stared back at her in sheer astonishment. You see, she was just about the prettiest woman I'd ever seen, and she was wearing pointy shoes. When I'd first gone to Chipenden, in my very first lesson, the Spook had warned me about the dangers of talking to girls who wore pointy shoes. Whether they realized it or not, he'd told me, some of them would be witches.

  I'd paid no heed to his warning and talked to Alice, who'd got me into all sorts of trouble before eventually helping me to get out of it. But here was my master, ignoring his own advice! Only Meg wasn't a girl; she was a woman, and everything about her face was so perfect that you couldn't help just staring at it: her eyes, her high cheekbones, her complexion.

  It was her hair that gave her away though. It was silver, the colour you'd expect in someone much older. Meg was no taller than me and only came up to the Spook's shoulder. Looking at her more closely, you could tell that she'd been sleeping for months in the cold and damp: there were bits of cobweb in her hair and patches of mould on her faded purple dress.

  There are several different types of witches and I'd filled pages of my notebooks with lessons the Spook had taught me about them. But I'd discovered what I knew about lamia witches by sneaking a look at books in the Spook's library that I wasn't supposed to be studying.

  Lamia witches come from overseas, and in their own lands they feed upon the blood of men. Their natural condition is known as the 'feral', and in that state they aren't like humans at all and have scales covering their bodies and long thick claws on their fingers. But they are slow shape-shifters, and the more contact they have with humans, the more human their appearance gradually becomes. After a while they turn into whaf s known as 'domestic lamias', who look like human females but for a line of green and yellow scales that runs the length of their spine. Some even become benign rather than malevolent. So had Meg become good? Was that another reason why the Spook hadn't dealt with her, putting her in a pit as he had with Bony Lizzie?

  'Well, Meg,' said the Spook, 'this is Tom, my apprentice. He's a good lad so you two should get along just fine.'

  Meg held out her hand towards me. I thought she wanted to shake mine, but just before our fingers touched, she dropped her arm suddenly, as if she'd been burned, and a worried expression came into her eyes.

  'Where's Billy?' she asked, her voice silky smooth but edged with uncertainty. T liked Billy.'

  I knew she was talking about Billy Bradley, the Spook's apprentice before me who'd died.

  'Billy's gone, Meg,' the Spook explained gently. 'I've told you that already. Don't worry about it. Life goes on. You'll have to get used to Tom now' 'But it's another name to remember,' Meg complained sadly. 'Is it worth the effort when none of them last very long?'

  Meg didn't start on our supper right away.

  I was sent to get more water from the stream and it took me a dozen trips back and forth before Meg was finally satisfied. Then, using two of the fireplaces, she began to heat the water, but to my disappointment I realized that it wasn't for cooking purposes.

  I helped the Spook to drag a big iron bath into the kitchen and fill it with hot water. It was for Meg.

  'We'll retire to the parlour,' said the Spook, 'so that Meg can have a little privacy. She's been down in that cellar for months and wants to freshen up.'

  I grumbled silently to myself that if my master hadn't locked her down there she could have kept the house clean and tidy for his return each winter. And, of course, that led to another question - why didn't the Spook take Meg with him to his summer house at Chipenden?

  'This is the parlour' said my master, opening the door and inviting me in. 'This is where we do our talking. This is where we meet people who need our help.'

  Having a parlour is an old County tradition. It's the best room, as posh as you can make it, and it's rarely used because it's always kept nice and tidy to receive guests. The Spook didn't have a parlour back in Chipenden because he liked to keep people away from the house. That's why they had to go to the crossroads under the withy trees and ring the bell and wait. It seemed that the rules were going to be different here.

  Back home on the farm we didn't bother with a parlour either, because seven brothers made us a big family, and when we all lived at home, we needed all the rooms just to live in. Anyway, Mam, who wasn't born in the County, thinks that keeping a parlour is a really daft idea.

  'What's the use of a best room that's hardly ever used?' she always says. 'People can take us as they find us.'

  The Spook's parlour wasn't really that posh, but the battered old settee was as comfortable as the two armchairs looked and the room had warmed up nicely, so no sooner had I sat down than I began to feel sleepy. It had been a long day and we'd walked for miles and miles.

  I stifled a yawn but I couldn't fool the Spook. T was going to give you another Latin lesson but you need a bright sharp mind for that' he said. 'Straight after supper you'd better take yourself off to bed, but get up early and revise your verbs.'

  I nodded.

  'Just one more thing' my master said, opening the cupboard next to the fireplace. He pulled out a big brown glass bottle and held it up high so I could see it. 'Know what this is?' he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  I shrugged, then I saw the label on the bottle and read it out to him. 'Herb tea' I said.

  'Never trust the label on a bottle' said the Spook. T want you to pour half an inch of this into a cup first thing each morning, fill it up with very hot water, stir it thoroughly and give it to Meg. Then I want you to wait around until she's finished every last drop. It'll take a while because she likes to sip it. That'll be your most important job of the day. Always tell her it's her usual cup of herb tea to keep her joints supple and her bones strong. That'll keep her happy.'

  'What is it?' I asked.

  The Spook didn't answer for a moment.

  'As you know, Meg's a lamia witch,' he said eventually, 'but the drink makes her forget who she is. If s a dangerous and upsetting thing for anyone to remember who they really are, so hope that it never happens to you, lad. It'll be an especially dangerous thing for all of us if Meg remembers who she is and what she can do.'

  'Is that why you keep her in the cellar and away from Chipenden?'

  'Aye, best to be safe. And I can't have folks knowing she's here. No one would understand. There's a few in these parts who remember what she's capable of -even if she can't herself.'

  'But how does she survive without food all summer?'

  'In their feral state lamia witches can sometimes go without food for years, apart from insects, grubs or the odd rat of two. Even when they're domestic like Meg, going hungry for months is no problem. And as well as making her sleep, a large dose of the potion has lots of nutrients, so Meg comes to no real harm.

  'Anyway, lad, I'm sure you're going to like her. She's an excellent cook, as you'll find out soon enough,' said the Spook, 'as well as being a really methodical and tidy person. She always keeps her pots and pans as clean and shiny as new and sets them out in the cupboard exactly as she likes them. Her cutlery is the same. Always tidy in the drawer, knives on the left, forks on the right.'

  I wondered what she'd have thought of t
he mess we'd found. Maybe that's why the Spook had been so anxious to make sure that everything was made clean and tidy.

  'Well, lad, we've talked enough. Let's go and see how she's doing...'

  After her bath, Meg's face had scrubbed up to a nice healthy pink so that she looked younger and prettier than ever, and even with her silver hair you'd have thought her half the Spook's age. She was now wearing a clean frock, which was brown, the colour of her eyes, and fastened at the back with white buttons. It was hard to be sure, but they looked like they'd been made from bone! I didn't like to think about that. If it was bone, where had it come from?

  To my disappointment, she didn't make the supper. How could she when there wasn't any food in the house apart from half a mouldy loaf?

  So we had to make do with the last of the cheese that the Spook had brought with him for the journey. It was good County cheese, a nice crumbly pale yellow, but there wasn't anywhere near enough of it to satisfy three people.

  We sat round the kitchen table nibbling at it slowly to make it last. There wasn't much conversation: all I could think about was breakfast.

  'As soon as it's light, I'll go and get the week's provisions,' I suggested to the Spook. 'Should I go to Adlington or Blackrod?'

  'You just keep away from both villages, lad,' said the Spook. 'Especially Blackrod. Bringing provisions is one job you won't have to do while we're staying here. Stop worrying. What you need is an early night, so get off to bed now. Yours is the room at the front of the house - go and get a good night's sleep. Meg and I have a few things to say to each other.'

  I did as I was told and went straight to bed. My room was a lot bigger than the one I'd been given back in Chipenden, but it still only contained a bed, a chair and a very small chest of drawers. Had it faced the rear, I'd have been able to see nothing but the sheer wall of rock at the back of the house. Luckily it was at the front, and the moment I raised the sash window, I could hear a very faint murmur from the stream below and the whine of the wind gusting past the house. The cloud had cleared and a full moon was shining, casting its silvery light down into the clough to be reflected back by the stream. It was going to be a cold, frosty night.