part0015

Toyah eagerly waited for her granddaughter and son ’s arrival, slurping away at several cups of tea throughout the duration to pass time. John had promised his mother, profusely, that he’d be at her house for six p.m. – it was now closer to seven. John being so late was a greater pity than he would come to realize. His sister, Katherine, and nephew, Andrew, had held on for as long as possible to see there their elusive relative. Their wait had become tedious; it was so rude and typical of John to let them down in such a way.

“He’s taking the piss, Mam.” scowled Katherine, to Toyah. “Tell John, when he does arrive, that he’s a selfish knob.”

“John’s probably stuck in traffic, Kath.” assured Toyah, anxious herself at her son’s lacking presence. “I hope that his car hasn’t broke down?” She peered through her kitchen blinds, outside.

“There’s nothing wrong with his car.” spoke Sean, John’s step-father, from the living room. “He just gets his punctuality from you.”

“Cheeky git.” muttered Toyah, in response. “John has a lot on his mind – with the move an all. He won’t be much longer, you’ll see.” She couldn’t even persuade herself. “My John is a good boy...”

“He moved weeks ago, Mam.” simpered Katherine, while stroking away her son’s wavy blonde hair to comfort him. “Poor Andrew wanted to see his uncle. John has a lot to answer for.”

“Katherine ... ”

“We’re going, Mam.” Katherine knelt herself to place Andrew’s shoes correctly upon his feet, whilst trying not to let her anger fester any greater. “I love him - we both do. But, John needs to be there for us more. He says that he’d do anything for us, yet he can’t even turn up on time. See you later, love you.”

“Kath...” Toyah fleeted her eyes across Andrew’s sorrowful face. “John does care about you and Andrew.” She paused momentarily, unsure as to whether mentioning John’s depression could ease his sister’s scorn. “I’m going to tell you something, which Hannah told me, but you musn’t mention a word of it to John.” she strongly emphasized this point. “Promise.”

“What?” snorted Katherine, who at this point had already made her move to leave. “Has he done something wrong?”

“No,it’s...” Toyah exhaled a sharpened breath, reflecting on Hannah’s confession in both doubt and apprehension. “His house is haunted – apparently. Hannah thinks, that’s why John is behaving so differently.”

“He’s feeding you a load of crap.” Katherine swiped the kitchen door open and froze. Outside, in the cold rain and blistering wind, stood John with Lucy in his arms. “John?!”

“Aye. Sorry we’re late.” John smiled on seeing his young nephew, though the gesture was sadly not mirrored by Andrew. “Hello, my mate. Have you been a good boy for Mammy?”

“He’s tired. I’m tired. We’re going home.” snapped Katherine, with a deadly precision aimed solely against her brother. “You’re late...as usual.” she said, with her eyes rolling.

“Hannah felt sick on the way back...I had to pull over.” explained John, in a defensive manner. The muscles contracting in his face, displaying his instant anger against Katherine, only made matters worse. “She had some car sickness...please don’t start with me, Kath. ”

“I’m starting nothing! When you give a time – stick by it. We’re leaving. Come on, Andrew.” Katherine brushed pass John, not even granting a farewell glance to him. “Text me when you’re free.”

“Bloody Hell, Mam.” John looked to Toyah with the most-innocent expression he could muster. “It’s not my fault that Hannah felt sick.”

“Don’t worry about it, Son.” Toyah leant out her arms, willing for John to place Lucy into them. “How long has the bairn been asleep?” Katherine then left with Andrew, without uttering another word. John immediately succumbed to his guilt, promising himself that he would make it up to his sister and nephew – somehow.

“She’s only just nodded off. Thanks again, for watching her.” smiled John, affectionately. “It’s been ages since me and Hannah had a night just to ourselves.”

“Well, you enjoy it and don’t worry about Lucy.” As Toyah nestled Lucy’s heavy weight into her own tender bosom, she was reminded of when John was the same age. So innocent. So perfect and unspoiled by life’s corrupting influences. “Shhh, sweetheart. There’s a good girl.”

“You don’t mind taking Lucy to school in the morning, do you, Mam?” John swayed to-and-fro, from side-to-side, now feeling the drenching rain seep down the back of his neck. “We really appreciate you looking after her.”

“That’s not a problem, Son.” Toyah smiled down to her granddaughter, and then back towards her troubled son in a reassuring composure. “Go on, before you get a cold. Send my love to Hannah.”

“Thanks, Mam. Love you!” shouted John, on making a hasty retreat to his car, which he had thankfully parked nearby. The rain beat off John’s windscreen like a rampant percussionist; the rattling noise of striking water droplets overshadowed the rock music still playing inside. “I’ve managed to piss Katherine off - again.” he said, to an impatient Hannah .

“You did say, you’d be at your mam’s house over an hour ago.” replied Hannah, herself still inflicted with the increasing need to vomit at any given second. “You shouldn’t let people down like that – especially family.”

“Don’t you start. I’ve already been put on a fucking guilt trip from Katherine.” John revved at his engine (a compulsive habit he had now made normal). “Fancy some pizza tonight?”

“No, thanks.” Hannah clasped onto her mouth with both hands. The thought of greasy cheese and over-cooked pepperoni began to hinder her ability to keep this nausea at bay. “Can we just go home and chill with a movie?”

“Sure, you’re the boss.” John drove slowly along the short journey back to Skipton Road, more so when the street’s fog reached him. “Friggin’ FOG – it’s relentless!”

“Just...keep driving.” commanded Hannah, her mouth just about to burst with an array of oily vomit. “Fuck’s sake, John, get us home – quick! I’m going to be sick!”

After parking his car, John shot out to assist Hannah. He felt deeply, though reservedly, ashamed at not realizing just how ill his wife’s pregnancy was making her. In his politest and most gentile manner, John opened Hannah’s door with a held-out hand, willing to assist her, desperate to prove his worth.

“Oh, who’s a gentleman all of a sudden?” giggled Hannah, her face reddened with embarrassment on John’s behalf. “How very kind. I’m not used to this.” She accepted John’s kind gesture, though at the same time wanted to plant a firm fist against the extremities which had wrought her present state of incapacity. “I might not slap you in the bollocks now, for being so kind to me.” she said in a mocking accent, similar to those heard on ‘Downton Abbey’. “Lead the way, servant-boy.”

“Cheeky bitch,” snarled John, now feeling embarrassed himself. “You moan when I don’t help, then you rip the shit out of me when I do! ”

“Take me to my quarters, butler.” cackled Hannah, in-between the odd gurgling noise that rose from her stomach. “Or some skivvy work - I shall find for you.”

“The damned cheek...” humoured John, as gently as he could. He slammed Hannah’s door shut, then pointed towards their humble abode. “Howay-in, before you catch a cold, Ma’am .”

“John-Boy!” Sid was leaning precariously from his bedroom window. It was hard to tell if he was drunk or sober. “Did ya bring some ice cream back for me?”

“No, mate. You’re asking a bit much of me there.” John sank his eyes deep into their sockets, wrenching at having to be civil with his nuisance neighbour. “Having a quiet night in tonight – are you?” he shouted, unwittingly deafening Hannah stood beside him. “Sorry, Han.”

“Night in for me too, John-Boy!” smirked Sid, now evidently half-sober by his semi-ability to fuse a sentence together. “I’ve got my vodka, got my fags and got my right hand...all’s well.”

“Dirty bastard....” mumbled Hannah, under her breath. “Stop talking to him, John. The thought of him wanking is making me more sick.”

“G’night, Sid. See you around.” John paced himself forwards, clenching onto Hannah with every ounce of his will to drag her steps in line with his. “Come on, babe...before you’re sick again.”

“I hear...you’ve had some good news?” Sid flared his eyes inquisitively, though no sparkle resonated within them. “You gonna tell me – or what?!” John looked to Hannah and she did the same. What on earth was Sid talking about? “A little birdie tells me, you’re having a baby ?”

“How the fu--?” John’s mouth fell instantly with shock. “Who told you?”

“Ah, a little birdie did.” Sid started to laugh, and then cough from the pungent rollie-cigarette fumes which scattered before his face. “It’s a big...secret. ”

“I tell you what...” John snapped Hannah’s grasp away and made towards Sid’s garden fence, burning inside with a renewed sense of fury, fear and hatred. “Come down for a sec, Sid. We need to talk.”

“John...” Hannah reached out for him, but this desire soon passed. She fumbled through her purse, finding her own set of keys, and then left him to confront their neighbour over, what she believed was, nothing more than a coincidental comment. “I’m going inside.”

“Alright, Johnny?” cackled Sid, as he stood himself to tower over John’s smaller stature, outside. “So, now you want to talk?”

“Aye.” John’s response was forcibly calm, his voice soothing only to deter any possible fight. “Which little birdie told you? I only found out today.”

“You know who.” Sid drew in a thick wave of tobacco smoke, only to casually blow it back against John’s flinching face. “She told me.”

“...Sabina?” John couldn’t believe that he was even acknowledging the witch, as if she was an actual, real person - still living. “You’re twisting my melons, Sid. Don’t take the piss.”

“I am a fucking medium, and I know what I’m talkin’ about.” Sid went to blow another wave of smoke in John’s face, but John managed to counteract this by removing the cigarette clean from his mouth, only to place it in his own within a matter of seconds. “Ya...cheeky twat. That’s my baccy!”

“I need this more than you do.” John inhaled a welcomed wave of carcinogenic fumes; their calming effect was immediate, though it left him feeling even more guilty. “Sabina...fucking ...Sabina...told you, that Hannah is pregnant?”

“I’d appreciate it, if you wouldn’t talk about Sabina like that, John.” For the first time, Sid sounded serious to John when speaking with him. “Show her some respect. ”

“You’re fucking barmy, you are.” John took in another draw. The tobacco was obviously counterfeit, as it left a raw burning sensation across John’s entire air passageway. “You need help...”

“I don’t need help - you do!” Sid wrapped his skeletal fingers around John’s throat. Again, John was reminded of Tolkien’s masterpiece, where Frodo strangled Gollum in the same manner – desperate and full of malice. “I’ve offered you help but being the selfish cunt, you are...you won’t take it!”

“Get out of my face, alci-scum.” John easily overpowered Sid’s alcohol-riddled muscles, tearing his hands away from him without any exertion. “If you know what’s go for you, you’ll leave me and my family alone!” Sid merely shook his head from side-to-side, despairingly. No reflex to strike back at John even entered his thoughts.

“Suit yourself, John-boy.” Sid stumbled to stand upright, all the while slowly moving away from his surprisingly-aggressive neighbour. “Sabina will haunt your family, forever. I hope, I really do, that you’ll be her next trophy.” Sid’s breathing crackled on each step taken back, gradually slithering his way into the pit which he called ‘home’. “Nighty-Night, John. Don’t let the demons bite...”

“Get to fuck!” John slammed Sid’s gate shut - yearning for it to fall away from its rusty hinges, though this sadly wasn’t the case. All those hours wasted in the gym, seemed to be personified in this sporadic moment. “You make me sick!” roared John, not caring in any way what his other, more civilised, neighbours would think of this random outburst. “Fucking...pisshead! Wino-scum! I hope you die in your sleep – do us all a favour! ”

“Goodnight, John. She’s waiting for you.” Sid calmly waved from the safety of his bedroom window now towards the deranged figure outside. He hadn’t expected such a violent reaction from John, though knew in satisfaction that this could only mean Sabina’s vengeance with him was reaching its ultimate ‘climax’. “They’re both waiting for you...” He worded this clearly enough for John to decipher.

“What were you and Sid shouting about outside?” asked Hannah, as she cowered behind her Kindle’s screen. John had burst through the kitchen door, almost breaking its window against the nearby worktop. “I was really scared. I thought...Sid was going to hurt you.”

“That piss-flap?” retorted John, dismissively. He sat himself down beside Hannah, with their newly-bought Ouija board lain within both of his hands. “If he’d fart, he’d blow himself over – there’s nothing on him.” John stretched out his chest, then battered it like an alpha silverback. “I’d sort him out – no problem.”

“What’s gotten into you? You never used to be one for fighting.” Hannah’s voice trembled, in unison with the rest of her body. “I thought those tablets were meant to calm you down?”

“I’m gonna be honest, Han – I forgot to take them last night.” sighed John, himself shuddering from guilt and disdain. “I won’t though, tonight. Anyway, we’re meant to be having a chillout sesh...just me and you.” John dared to look upon Hannah’s face, into her glistening eyes, to only rid the tension between them. “What do you fancy doing? Maybe have a look down the Tin Donkey?”

“I’m not going to the fucking pub, John.” Hannah tutted, then lifted her Kindle again to bar John’s incessant gaze. “I just want to watch some TV with you, is that alright?”

“Yeah.” replied John, submissively. “It’s ‘Ghost Night’...why don’t we watch some Ghost Adventures and Most Haunted ? ”

“May as well...” Hannah briefly lowered her Kindle. The sight of John’s sodden expression was still something she hadn’t got used to - and didn’t want to. Over all the years she had known her husband, Hannah had barely seen him frown, let alone lower himself to the same standard as Sid. “You never know, one day they might make a program about this house?” she laughed, nervously.

“Pah, no chance.” John nestled himself into Hannah’s thigh with his face, seeking her warmth and loving touch. As the TV set came on, Most Haunted screened first. “Hannah...”

“Mary loves Dick...” John laughed at his remark like a demented swine, whereas Hannah could only manage a faint chuckle. “It’s so staged.”

“I don’t think it is.” countered Hannah. “We’ve had stuff happen to us. It must be real.”

“There’s a big difference, Han.” sneered John. “Here we go, one hour of watching some lass screech whenever there’s a little noise...champion.”

“If you don’t want to watch it, watch something else.” Hannah responded in dreary tone, her interest in this ‘date night’ dwindling fast. “Watch your stupid news channels instead.” she implored, mockingly. “If you’re going to whinge all the way through, there’s no point – is there?”

“Nah! It’s fun watching this shit, plus, that Yvette’s a bit of a MILF.” John proceeded to make a noise only similar to an asthmatic Orangutan. “Nice...”

“Shut up, John, you sicko.” Hannah returned to her Vampire stories for the remainder of Most Haunted . Her attention only moved back to the TV set when Ghost Adventures came on; she had a soft-spot for the lead investigator. “Now, this is more like it!”

“Aye. At least these lads don’t scream like a bunch of school-girls.” John tapped at his remote’s volume setting, raising it slightly. “These...are proper ghost hunters. ”

“Whatever.” Hannah ran her sight between the kindle and TV set. The vampire which she was reading about seemed so alike to the lead ghost hunter in Ghost Adventures : dark haired, muscular and fearless...so unlike John. “Tell me when something exciting happens.” The familiar sound of snoring started to rise from her husband’s throat. John had fallen asleep, exhausted from his confrontation with Sid and the sedation now creeping through his system. “Wow.” groaned Hannah, sarcastically. “What a date-night we’re having...”

John slipped into total unconsciousness. In his dream, he awoke to find himself sat cross-legged, inside a small, wooden house. The distinct smell of sage and wildflowers trickled through his nostrils, their strong scents invoking and somehow calming him. A small fire also flickered away in the corner of John’s eye, and hung above it was a crude-looking cauldron, which released even more enticing aromas into the surrounding atmosphere.

“Where...am I?” John motioned to stand – but couldn’t. “Shit.” John’s wrists felt bound together by some unseen force. He writhed against this invisible restraint though the more he struggled, the tighter this grasp became. “Sabina!” he roared.

“Mama.” The sound of small child entered John’s mind. He turned to face it, though again couldn’t move. “Why are you stopping me from helping?” said the little girl, her voice sounding so much like Lucy’s. “I can channel my powers through Lucy, and I have no will to cause harm.”

“Oh, so you can speak normal now? Fuck off, Sabina.” John shook his head violently, wishing to rid the witch’s influence over him. “FUCK OFF!”

“I am not Sabina. My mother is lost in both time and virtue.” John felt a soothing sensation course over his body now, then the more-peculiar feeling of tiny fingers began to trickle along his right arm. “Mother’s fate is sealed...”

“I swear to God, Sabina!” scorned John, his calm manner now simmering with hatred. “Leave me alone! Leave my family...alone! ”

“My time spent with you is precious, John Davidson. Baal is coming.” The little girl seemed truly frightened, though somehow rational despite this, as she spoke the demon’s name. ‘Baal’ echoed in John’s thoughts, like being scalded: a sharp initial agony, followed by a remaining discomfort. “The demon’s strength is growing. Remember, above all else, that you are blessed with love.”

“...Eliza?” questioned John, held solemnly in doubt. “Are you...Eliza?”

“I am not Sabina. My heart is pure, not clouded by vengeance nor malice.” replied the child, in a reflective manner. “Where there is light, there is darkness. Where there is darkness, there is light. Blood can protect. Blood can harm . Mother spoke these words, though her path led only to evil. No light shines upon her now.” continued Eliza - tearfully, it seemed.

“Sabina was...a good witch?” John couldn’t believe that he was even asking this question. How could the woman, who had tormented him for so many weeks now, have any salvageable qualities? He also questioned again to himself, why Eliza did not speak in the same Olde English as her mother did. However, there was always another time to ponder this peculiarity. “No way! I’m definitely dreaming...”

“Blood bound to cloth...invokes me. Blood bound to cloth can protect - YES. Blood bound to cloth...can keep your enemies at bay. Blood bound to me...is eternal and FINAL.”

“Eliza?” John’s heart rate paced faster. The demon’s growling voice had rendered Eliza’s gracious presence, their own rancid words now took a hold over John’s rational thoughts. “Oh, God...NO!”

John clenched his eyelids shut. He reasoned that this was a dream – a truly horrific nightmare, but it still felt so real. The pleasant aromas quickly faded, only to be replaced by the stench of rotten decay and distilled swamp water. John was now back in Newton Escomb’s medieval marshes...Sabina’s resting place.

“Whatever it is you want to show me – do it! I’m...not scared of you!”

John’s eyelids suddenly started to burn, as if dowsed with acid. Against all his might, he opened them. A yellowish fog glimmered faintly from the setting sun, then gradually dispersed, leaving a haunting scene – one which John would never forget.

There, knelt in the marshes, and bound by rope, was Sabina. Her white dress torn and defiled by the murky marsh water, her red ribbon still gleaming in the dim sunlight around her waist. Stood towering over Sabina, were several large figures – all clad in monk’s robes, all chanting in Latin. Across the near-distance, John could make out some local villagers, who had come to watch this harrowing moment take place, some of which wore similar ribbons to what Sabina adorned.

“Thou, foul wench! Thou...Witch !” spoke one of the monks, in authority over Sabina’s helpless body. “Thou hast committed murder! Thou art a sinner most foul. Thou punishment...righteous in thy gracious eyes and purest soul.”

“Will thy innocence not be heard?” Sabina lowered her head permissively, resting it upon her exposed chest. She had spoken at first in a grovelling voice, though this rapidly developed into her darker self. “Thou art murderers! Thou art sinners! Rapists! Plunderers! DEMONS!! ”

“Heed not this witch’s words, for they art venom!” implored another monk, towards the baiting crowd. “Pater noster, habitator caeli...”

“What in the name of Holy-Christ is going on?” John gulped apprehensively. For reasons, unbeknown to himself, he felt a strange pity towards Sabina; it was hard to watch her struggle under this wicked tribunal. “What are they...doing?”

“Ego...Sabina!” howled Sabina like a raging animal. She wrenched at her mud-soaked dress and looked to her red ribbon solemnly; it somehow now felt tighter around her waist. “Ego rubrum uitta...pythonissam!” she roared, then lowered her head again, as if in defeat. “Thy heavenly father...hast forsaken me – he hast forsaken all who bear witness to this treachery.” she whimpered, whilst looking to those in the crowd who also wore red ribbons just like her. “I CURSE thee! Thy vengeance will be done upon man!”

“In Terris sicut...est in Caelis...” continued the monk’s, their unified chorus resounding with an element of malice and lacking sanctity.

“It’s the Lord’s prayer...” John wiped at his face, wearily. He considered, whether this was nothing more than an act of trickery on Sabina’s behalf, or if it was in fact a true representation of what had taken place. “Fucking...animals.”

“I curse thee!” screeched Sabina at the top of her lungs, aiming her ferocity at all stood watching this barbaric torture. Every vein in her body pulsated against these malicious words, like a throbbing, though diseased, heart. “All men shalt suffer! All men shalt BURN!!”

“Sabina!” The monk speaking lingered over his next few words, fearing that one day they may too haunt him. “Thou corrupt soul shall be cleansed. Sanctus Spiritus...nisi nos. Amen.”

“Leave her alone!” ordered John, though his words silenced in the passing breeze. “Leave her alone...you, fucking monsters!”

Within the observing crowd, the other women (who wore red ribbons like Sabina) now cast their physical bond towards the witch, deep into the filthy earth beneath their feet. The sound of rippling thunder then cascaded across the skies above, followed by a deluge of rain that beat off the ground like a firing machine gun.

“Thou hast defiled thy child! Thou...shalt pay in agony!” Sabina spat at each of the monks, ensuring her aim was true on all attempts made. “I summon thee...Lord of Despair and Vengeance...I summon thee...Baal!”

Suddenly, the soggy marshland rumbled and the heavens above burst with an array of terrifying lightning. John watched as the witnessing crowd dispersed into a frenzied riot; their howls and screams scorched away painfully at his tender ear lobes. Then, from within the midst, rose a dark mass – a shadow – a demon. The monks started to panic amongst themselves and then, without any warning, one lunged forward to plunge Sabina into a shallow grave, where the rain water now rose. Sabina spluttered and floundered in the thick, muddy water. Her last breaths echoed across John’s conscience, riddling him with guilt and agony, as he shared in the witch’s last suffering moments .

“Sabina!” called out John. He felt an urge to save her, yet also wished to see the witch’s final moments of torment – just as she willed the same on him. “Drown, you...fucking whore! I want to see this! I want to see you...hurt!”

“You don’t mean that...” Lucy’s voice spoke to John now – this was irrefutable. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone, Daddy. You’re a good boy. You’re not a bad man...”

John awoke, soaked in cold sweat and the taste of pungent swamp water still clinging to his throat – but how? He lifted his head, ever-so slightly, to see if Hannah had fallen asleep – she hadn’t. John then released a lengthy gasp of relief which took Hannah by surprise, as she had become totally engrossed in her vampire novella.

“Dickhead...you made me jump!” frowned Hannah, as she peered over her kindle towards John. “You had another nightmare?”

“Sort of...” replied John, with a confused expression. “What time is it?”

“It’s...two-thirty a.m. – shit!” Hannah raised her eyebrows in disbelief; she genuinely hadn’t realized what time it was, prior to John asking. “Bloody Hell...we’d better go to bed, John. It’s a good job that your mam is taking Lucy to school tomorrow.”

“Do you fancy a go on the Ouija board?” John stared at Hannah, eagerly waiting for her response. “Howay...just a little try.”

“I’m tired, hun. I just want to go to bed.” Hannah forced out a yawn and was thankful that this had the desired effect. “Come to bed, John.”

“Aye, we can have a go tomorrow – maybe?” John yawned himself, but the thought of sleeping was now something which he fought hard against. “I’m meeting up with Mr. Clarence in the morning for coffee – remember? ”

“Won’t it be weird...spending time with your old history teacher?” Hannah laughed, quietly, while fighting against her own sleep. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Nah, he’s a sound bloke - Mr. Clarence.” John switched off the TV, then slumped back into the sofa like a wet sandbag. “I hope that he can shed some light on Sabina. Otherwise, I might need to book myself into Auckland Park hospital.”

“Just...be careful.” Hannah stood up, straightened her pyjamas, and then made for the hallway. John slowly followed suit, though he wasn’t as concerned about his own appearance in comparison. “Don’t come across as being ‘mental’ to him.”

“I am not...mental, Han.” said John, in a growling tone. “He’ll prove what we know already - that Skipton Road is haunted.”

“Whatever.” Hannah left John to his own devices. Their bedroom felt freezing cold, as he eventually entered it. John and Hannah then bundled themselves into bed, quickly latching onto one another for both a sense of warmth and comfort. “Goodnight, John. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” John pecked at Hannah’s cheek and then quickly recoiled. Something on the adjoining wall caught his attention. “What’s that?” He sprung out of bed again, immediately shifting to turn his bedroom light on. “Is that...writing?”

“For fuck’s sake, John...” Hannah slowly moved her gaze to where John aimed a pointed finger. Along the wall, opposite their bed, were three distinctive scratch marks in the new paint. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t do that! I swear!” countered John. “Why would I scratch a wall I’ve only just painted?”

“To prove a point? You are a stubborn git, at times.” Hannah looked to him with a fierce essence of scorn. “Get into bed. You can sort it out tomorrow... ”

“There’s three scratches here...” John clamped himself against the bedroom door, lost in an increasing maelstrom of anxiety. “Isn’t that the sign of a demonic entity, you know, like what they say in Ghost Adventures ?”

“It’s the sign that you should come to bed and stop being a paranoid dickhead, John.” Hannah wrapped the bedsheets around herself, pretending that they held some invisible power against the evil which obviously lurked in their bedroom. “Goodnight, John. Come to bed, babe – I’m cold.”

“Yeah...” John lay himself cautiously upon the bed, praying in silence that whatever loitered in his bedroom’s shadowy corners would go away. “Leave...us...alone.” he whispered, pleadingly. “You’re not welcome here, Sab...”

“Howay, John!” snapped Hannah. “Don’t say...that name. You’ll just provoke whatever’s here.”

“I never thought of that,” said John, as he nudged his body against Hannah’s. “Here, where’s the cat? I haven’t seen Sox all night.”

“She’s been sleeping in Lucy’s room. There’s something wrong with her, John.” Hannah moved aside a strand of hair that had fallen precisely into her mouth, unwittingly flicking it across John’s face. “Seamus is taking her back tomorrow, I’ve already spoken to Catelyn about it.”

“I thought Sox drove your sister crazy?” chuntered John. “I’ll miss her; it’s been nice having a pet again.”

“She shits all over the house, John.” sniggered Hannah, in reply. “Plus, it’s starting to freak me out how she’ll whine at things that aren’t there...like we’ve got enough to deal with.”

“Animals are more sensitive to things than we are.” John slid Hannah’s hair away from his face, gently placing it alongside her narrow shoulder blades. “I’m sure that Sox can see Sabina as well.”

“John.” Even without looking at Hannah, John could tell that she was glaring. “Don’t say that name anymore – got it?! ”

“Aye. Sorry. Goodnight, babe.” John rolled over and formed his body into a foetal position. Hannah instantly missed her husband’s warm touch, though his sweaty odour made this parting easier to deal with.

The morning after, John woke up but felt refreshed this time – not scared at all, nor tormented by any further nightmarish visions. Hannah had already taken herself downstairs; this was made evident by the ‘Disturbed’ music being played – at a very loud volume.

“Han?” shouted John, from the stairwell. “Can you make me a cuppa, please? Won’t be long.” His bladder was about to burst, though the thought of Sabina possibly speaking to him through the bathroom mirror played against this natural urge. “Shit...” John ran downstairs, almost losing his footing. After relieving himself in the downstairs toilet, John walked into the kitchen where Hannah stood - waiting for him – with a look of suspicion on her face.

“Did you...use the Ouija board last night?” she asked, whilst shaking her head from side-to-side. “The friggin’ thing has moved.”

“No!” gasped John, genuinely in shock. “I went to bed at the same time you did...I’ve been nowhere near it.” He peered around the corner, looking to where he had last left the spiritual device. It had moved, but only slightly. “I might have knocked it last night...”

“Right. Then why was that bible of yours placed on top of it?” asked Hannah, fearfully. “I can’t remember you moving that .”

“No, I haven’t touched the bible. Was it open?” John peered around the corner again, finding that Hannah had replaced the bible in its previous position upon their bookshelf. “Weird...”

“Aye. It was open on the bit about Jesus being crucified.” Hannah’s anger rose instantly. “If you’re trying to scare me...you can piss off. It’s not funny, John. ”

“I haven’t touched it!” pleaded John. “I swear down, Han. I haven’t touched the bible or Ouija board.” Hannah merely rolled her eyes back in response. “Seriously! I wouldn’t do something like that to you, babe.” He leaned in to kiss her, though was quickly jilted. “Howay, man.”

“You need to get dressed.” Hannah pointed towards the kitchen’s clock. “You’re meeting up with Mr. Clarence in an hour or so, and Seamus is coming to collect Sox.”

“Okay.” John reached for the mug of scorching black coffee which Hannah had made for him; he consumed it in an instant, regardless of the fact this burned away at his gullet. “Ah, that’s better.” he said, licking at his lips, trying not to show the burning discomfort. “Thanks, hun.”

“Let me know if anything is said.” Hannah slurped at her own mug of sugary coffee, though hers was far cooler than John’s and less painful to consume. “I want to know...everything .”

“I will.” John downed the last few drops of his bitter espresso. He needed a shave, but he didn’t care about this, not even in slightest. All that mattered now, was finding out the truth regarding Sabina’s true history, about Newton Escomb’s shameful past. “I’ll take a pen and some paper...I won’t miss a thing.”

“With your crap memory, that’s probably a good idea.” sneered Hannah. “Don’t forget, Lucy is coming home at five o’clock tonight...be back for then.”

“I will.” John turned around to face the kitchen’s clock, then slapped a palm firmly against his forehead. “I’d better set off now. Give Seamus my regards. Love you.”

“Aye. Love you too and don’t take ages, John.” Hannah planted a brief kiss upon John’s greasy face. He showered less now, though was this because of Sabina’s haunting, or was it because of his depression? Even John himself didn’t know the answer .

Hannah hated seeing her once-proud husband in this dilapidated state and knew that if things didn’t change soon, some drastic measures would have to be taken – with or without meds. “Don’t be late...you normally are with things.” She planted one, final kiss on John’s lips. He then left without further word, something which Hannah didn’t seem to mind.

John stepped away from his gate, whilst peering through Skipton Road’s thick fog that now lay ahead along the path into town. He hadn’t walked far, before a familiar voice shouted to him from behind – it was his brother-in-law – Seamus.

“Alright, John?” It was clear enough to make out, that Seamus was signalling for John to come over for a chat. “How are things going? It’s been a while...” John sauntered across the muddy path, back towards Seamus, trying not show his depression. “You look like shit, mate.” laughed Seamus. He looked up and down John’s body; it was thinner than the last time they had met, and the smell of stale whiskey burned at his senses. “Have you lost weight?”

“Aye, just a bit.” replied John, awkwardly. He lifted his coat to show Seamus a bony rib cage and several stretch marks, which lay along the stomach line. “Healthy living, Seamus-Lad.”

“Bollocks.” grunted Seamus, in dismissal. “I can smell whiskey, you’ve been drinking more of that an’all, haven’t you?” He looked to John with a discerning frown now. “That’s not healthy living, John...that’s a one-way ticket to an early grave, mate.”

“The past few weeks have been pretty stressful.” John left it at that. He didn’t think, for one second, that Seamus would understand his haunting ordeal, or Sabina’s venomous influence over him .

“You’ve got Hannah and Lucy to think about, John.” Seamus planted a firm finger against John’s wasting chest muscles. “You’ve got to be strong for them – don’t be so soft. I’m saying this for your own good, pal.” Without warning, Seamus wrapped his arms around John; a gesture welcomed by him. “You’re a sound lad, John. Don’t let life get on top of you.”

“I won’t, mate.” John winced, though not because of Seamus’ lecture, but because he could smell cigarette smoke on him. Seamus had evidently not quit smoking, as he had told John he would – the last time they spoke. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“I will, pal.” John’s need for nicotine outmatched any other emotion coursing through him now. He pondered whether to ask Seamus for a cigarette or not, though knew that this act of betrayal would only torment him more in the long-run. “I’ve got to go into town, mate. Hannah’s waiting for you, with Sox, in the kitchen.”

“Catch up soon, yeah?” Seamus turned to light a cigarette, tormenting John’s urges evermore. “Do you fancy one, before you go?”

“(Yes, I do) No thanks, mate...I’ve quit.” whined John, inside grieving over this lost opportunity. “I’m gonna be late. Catch you later, Seamus.”

“Take care, John.”

The dense wave of fog managed to clear, once John walked over the bridge separating Skipton Road from Newton Escomb’s town centre. He looked down into the thin stream below, imaging that Lucy’s wish, whatever it was, had come true from her gifted penny.

“Maybe I should have made a wish like you, Lucy.” despaired John. His gaunt reflection in the flowing water quickly spurred him on to meet with Mr. Clarence. “Magic - a crock of shit. ”

John froze where he stood. The tremors from his anxiety inflicted his body like never before, rendering it useless to take another step forward – not without shedding a few, reluctant tears.

In town, when John finally made it there, the coffee shop was already packed to full capacity. He looked around the faces passing by, recognizing some, but none seemed to acknowledge him. The sounds of strangers talking and laughing somehow angered him, although this wouldn’t usually bother John. Sabina’s corruption and torment were reaching an unbearable finale – at least in John’s eyes.

“My goodness...is that you, John Davidson?” chuckled a frail-sounding voice from behind – it was Mr. Clarence. “By gum, you haven’t changed much!”

“Hi, Jack.” John gave out an awkward laugh; it was so strange for him to refer to his old history teacher in such an informal manner. “Sorry, Mr. Clarence. ”

“No, you can call me Jack.” assured Mr. Clarence. Unlike John, he had certainly changed through age: his brown beard was now white, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight. “It’s not every-day, that I have an ex-pupil message me about history...I’m very chuffed about this meeting!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” John reached out a tremoring hand to shake it with Mr. Clarence’s. “I appreciate your time.”

“It’s my pleasure, John. Shall we go inside for a coffee now?” Mr. Clarence snapped his hand away from John’s to point it in the coffee shop’s direction. “It’s bloody freezing out here. A coffee would do us some good, hey?” John obliged, though groaned as he looked at how long the que inside was. “There’s a good lad, lead the way.”

John led the way and paid for his and Mr. Clarence’s coffee, only after a tense stalemate between themselves – as to who should ‘cough up the dough’. As they seated themselves, John and Mr. Clarence gave a glancing look at the other customers bustling around them and one in particular stood out, John’s old neighbour – Janice.

“John...is that you?” Janice had the same-old glint in her eyes, as he stared back in awe to ger. “Why haven’t you called me?” John wiped at his face in a weary fashion, again riddled with guilt.

“Sorry, Jan.” John nodded apologetically to Mr. Clarence, then stood to greet his ‘forgotten’ friend. “The past few weeks have been pretty mental. I haven’t had a minute to spare.”

“That’s no excuse,” said Janice, with a pitiful expression. “I’ve missed you and Hannah – especially Lucy. What happened to your house-warming party?”

“We knocked that on the head,” replied John, in a mumbling voice. “There’s been so much going on at work and that...sorry.”

“Don’t be daft...” Janice wrapped an arm around John, whilst balancing her coffee in the other. “I understand. Call me when you’re ready for a catch up and a fag – okay? ”

“Aye.” John patted sympathetically along Janice’s shoulders, then turned again towards Mr. Clarence. “I’ll message you, Jan. I’m just with Mr. Clarence here...he’s a busy bloke.” Janice took the hint.

“Okay, hun.” Janice reached for her coat, sensing that her presence was no longer welcome. “Take care and send my love to the girls.” She glanced down to Mr. Clarence. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“She’s a nice lady – very pleasant.” commented Mr. Clarence, in his ‘teacher’ voice. “Now then, what is it you want to know about Newton Escomb?” John fumbled nervously with his fingers, then after a few more slurps of coffee looked to Mr. Clarence like a lost child.

“I’d appreciate it, if you could tell me about Newton Escomb’s history...” John had wanted to mention Sabina – to get her out of the way, but something seemed to stop him from doing so. “You know, its past.”

“History is the past, young lad.” sneered Mr. Clarence, as he glanced at John over his thin spectacles. “Well, there was the ammunition factory – that’s what our present town was built around, during the Second World War. Haven’t you heard of the Escomb Angels ? The women who worked there, in very dangerous conditions...I must say.”

“Sorry, I meant its ancient history.” corrected John, bashfully. “I should have been more specific.”

“Ancient history?” frowned Mr. Clarence, his expression confused yet strangely intrigued. “There aren’t many records for Newton Escomb before the late 1950’s, other than the farms and marshlands that once occupied it. What is it that you want to know?”

“Erm...” John froze again. He pretended to sip away at his coffee, while contemplating the next line of discussion. “What was here before then, like...in medieval times? ”

“Oh, my! That is going far back.” gasped Mr. Clarence. It was evident, that he hadn’t prepared to look so far afield. “In a nutshell, Newton Escomb was once nothing more than marshland. It had the odd Saxon settlement, but that’s about it. The industrial town it has become, didn’t come into fruition until about the late 1950’s...as I’ve already said.”

“Were there any main settlements, like with a church?” John closed his eyes and then rolled them in embarrassment. Here he was, sat with his old history teacher, talking like an absolute moron. “I’m interested to know if there are any stories...perhaps?”

“Well,” Mr. Clarence took his turn at sipping away in a feigning manner. He now looked at John with a frightful expression. “There is this one story, but it’s way too far-fetched to be real – that is, it’s not on any written records, just merely handed down through word-of-mouth over the years. I don’t believe it...not for a second.”

“What is it?” John leaned across the table in anticipation, almost knocking his coffee over, yearning for this information more than anything else. “I’d love to know, even if it’s a load of bollocks.”

“Language, John...” grimaced Mr. Clarence. His stature still wrought a hold of authority over John. “Apparently, and your talking hundreds of years ago now, there was a settlement in Newton Escomb. The people that lived there were very poor – impoverished beyond measure. Most of the inhabitants suffered from starvation, or from the effects of civil war. Most, I might add, were women and children...with only a group of holy men being in charge of them.” John’s jaw dropped in response. This was too much of a coincidence not to be real.

“Do you know anything else about this story?” questioned John, his eyes widening with anticipation. “I’d really appreciate it, if you could tell me more. ”

“The story goes, that these holy men used to exploit the vulnerable women – and girls - I dread to say. Prostitution was an easy way to make them some wealth, even if it meant adding to the agony those poor women already suffered.” John gasped again, then quickly slurped at his coffee to distract Mr. Clarence away from this action. “One day, a young woman had her daughter taken from her. As an act of revenge, she made a pact with other women in the village.” Mr. Clarence lifted his coffee mug to drink from it, though John’s eager expression made him continue with a greater pace. “Rumour has it, that this woman was a powerful witch. She created a clandestine group and its members wore a red piece of cloth to symbolize their bond – with their own spilled blood...apparently.”

“Like...a red ribbon?” asked John, releasing a few nervous breaths. “Was she called the Red Ribbon Witch ?” Mr. Clarence shook his head slowly in dismissal and found that he now wanted to leave this subject, given John’s peculiar remark. “Was she called...Sabina?”

“Nobody knows, John.” chuckled Mr. Clarence, clearly bemused. “This is nothing but folklore. It’s open to interpretation.” said Mr. Clarence, now in a frustrated tone. “Anyway. What these women would do, was entice the holy men – one by one, then poison them with Belladonna or ‘Deadly Nightshade’ as other folk might call it.” he whispered, in a precarious voice. “Unfortunately, the leader of this group was caught, and then made to be an example of...”

“How?” muttered John, over his shaking coffee mug. “What happened to her? ”

“The holy men gathered all the women of this settlement together and made them watch a truly horrific scene - allegedly. What they did, John, was take this group’s leader and made her bear witness, with all her followers, as they raped and then strangled her daughter – in broad daylight. Afterwards, they then took this ‘supposed’ witch into the marshes where they drowned her in a grave filled with water. It’s an awful story, just...awful. They left her there to rot...or that’s, at least, what I’ve come to establish about this tale. I can’t imagine it to be true, however.”

“(Fuck me) Really? That’s barbaric.” said John, in trying to act shocked at this revelation. “That’s...evil.”

“Yes, John.” sighed Mr. Clarence, now showing some fatigue in divulging into this story any further. “It is also said, that the witch placed a curse on those wicked men and, refutably, a stone church which once stood within the heart of this community collapsed on that very-same day. In my, honest, opinion...it’s a load of cods-wallop. I mean, witches and demons aren’t real...are they?” he laughed, nervously. “I wouldn’t take much notice, John.”

John sat silently for a minute or so, imagining Sabina and Eliza’s last painful moments. Despite his hatred towards the Red Ribbon Witch, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, for her murdered child. Mr. Clarence briskly finished off his coffee, then looked down to his Rolex watch. What should have been a pleasant and enlightening discussion, had soon turned sour.

“I must be going, John. Duty calls.” said Mr. Clarence, on shunting his chair away from the table. “I’m meeting with someone else in half-an-hour.” The way in which he said this was suspicious, though John was too lost in his dwelling thoughts to care. “Take care of yourself, John. All the best, now.” Mr. Clarence left immediately, with an incredibly fast pace – given his age .

“Thanks, Jack.” responded John, vacantly, and without even looking to him. “I really appreciate your help. Thanks again.” John gradually made the journey back to Skipton Road, all the while playing over what Mr. Clarence had shared with him. Was it true, that Sabina died in such a horrible way, and that her daughter had succumbed to a horrific and agonizing demise? John unwillingly compared them to both Hannah and Lucy and then, against all his might, he shed a single tear on behalf of the witch who had recently taken over his life.

“I understand now, Sabina.” simpered John, tearfully, as he entered Skipton Road’s haunting fog. “I do understand...why you hate men. Those monks were evil...but I’m not one of them. I’m not a fucking murderer or rapist. Please, leave me and my family...alone.”

“You don’t scare me.” John countered the demon, as bravely as he could. Sabina’s influence was at its strongest now. “I’m ready for you and your master. You won’t get away with torturing my family like you have done. You’re dead! Dead ! You can’t hurt me! Get out of my head!” John fell into an instant panic. What was he thinking, to challenge such demonic entities?