Witch Hunt - By Syd Moore Page 0,83

sickness and spew forth sticky blackness. Panting between spasms and the racks of my breath.

The heaviness comes on me. I open my eyes and the world spins.

The men walk over and cut the ropes. Another kicks my sides and shouts for me to stand. One announces my guilt and a satisfied shudder ripples through the crowd. I roll to my knees but have life in me no more. I can only breathe in, hard, short gasps. When his next kick does not rouse me, he hooks a hand under my knees and another round my back and bears me to the cart where the men are gathered. One calls me ‘Satan’s bride’ asking if I can call down the Divil to save me now.

I cannot answer. I have nothing left to give. And HE sees this too. They throw me in the cart and my head splits on the side. But I do not flinch, nor cry out. There is nothing left for fight.

Old Mother Clarke is in there, facedown on the floor. They have not cut her ropes: her arm is still bound to her one good leg. A rheumy eye rolls and beholds me. ‘They say we will hang,’ she wheezes. ‘We will not, dear sweeting. They will have mercy.’ Her ancient mind has gone.

Before Master Hopkins walks to the front I catch his eyes upon me. A pink tongue like that of a cat wets his thin bottom lip. ‘Take them to the Inn,’ he says. Then slaps the mare. ‘Be gone.’

Something snapped wood in the forest behind me, shocking me out of my thoughts.

It was dark. I was chilled to the bone. And breathless. Oh God. What was that? Another scene from Rebecca’s tragedy. Why?

A crack in the wood behind me had me jumping. I swung round but couldn’t see more than a few feet into the foliage.

The wind whistled through the leaves of the trees. ‘Shh. Sedes,’ it whispered shrilly to me.

Another footfall broke the twigs close behind. Ducks took off from the overhanging undergrowth and quacked in alarm, scattering in Vs, propelling away as quick as they possibly could.

If I had hackles they would undoubtedly have risen.

‘Rebecca?’

Another crack right behind flooded adrenalin through my nervous system.

Was it my imagination, or could I hear a long phlegmy sigh from someone nearby? This wasn’t Rebecca, I felt sure. This presence was vengeful, dark, fearsome.

‘Hello?’ I called out to the trees.

Something in them grunted.

I wasn’t going to wait for a response. Instead I jumped sideways away from the bridge, my trembling legs carrying me back towards the path.

Though I couldn’t see behind me I had the sense I was being followed. I doubled my speed, running headlong through the trees, and didn’t stop until I had reached the gate and the sight of twenty-first-century day trippers. I raced to the toilets for sanctuary. There was something out there, I was sure. Something that didn’t like me.

When I saw my reflection in the mirror I gasped. I must have brushed past some thorns or holly, for across my cheeks were little nicks. Like someone had scratched me and drawn blood.

Jesus – what was that all about? Why had Rebecca shown me that? I wiped myself down and put some lipstick on though my hands were still shaking.

What had I seen? Part of her life? Why that? What was she telling me?

I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wasn’t likely to reach an understanding here in the toilet. I splashed my face and tried to assume a less stricken expression then I crept out, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact with the few tourists that were looking at the birds. I couldn’t talk to anyone now. I pulled the hood up on my parka and thrust my hands into my pockets, walking quickly through the clearing.

As I came to the exit I found a cockerel in my path. It was standing by a white Fiesta staring at me. For a moment I was caught in its gaze. It crowed and fluffed out its feathers. The hens behind him backed away.

My stare challenged him.

The cockerel held my gaze for a second more, then surrendered. Ducking down, shivering, it hid itself under the car.

Shrugging off the experience, I crept away through the car park in the direction of the hotel.

I see now that the birds, dumb but instinctive, were aware of the shadow behind me.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When I got back to the hotel I lay down on the bed and tried

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