fog. The atmosphere was charged with an almost palpable sense of menace.
Then the spectre’s head began to turn upwards, towards me, creaking like an old wooden post, the sound of bone grating on bone.
I did not want to see the thing’s face. I knew that. Yet I was completely unable to tear my gaze away and could do little else but watch with a sense of passive inevitability as she turned towards me. The malignancy in the room doubled. I breathed in a gasp of textured, unnaturally thick air. Nausea came over me suddenly, as it had in the dungeons at the castle.
I could see the face now – the features wizened and extensively wrinkled, the eyes entirely grey – no iris, no pupil; just opaque holes like great cataracts bulging out of her face.
Then she spoke. ‘This one’ll not last long. Would you fancy to finish her?’
Her voice was coarse, the words pronounced without any trace of emotion.
I didn’t speak. Nor move.
Her hand spasmed by her side and, like an old juddering puppet, she brought it up to offer me the thing that was in it. A bronze dagger, its handle and blade pointed down. Drops of red liquid slicked off the end and splashed onto the carpet beneath.
Unwilling to take in any more, I clamped my eyes shut.
‘If you open your eyes, Sadie,’ I told myself silently, ‘you will see that there is nothing there. This is just a trick of the light. You’re getting carried away, you silly cow.’
I breathed in through my nostrils and haltingly opened my eyes.
She was still there, waiting. There was a door behind her, half open.
‘She’s through here,’ she gestured.
I looked around, thinking to flee. The room had changed. Gone were the bed, armchair, and dressing table. The wallpaper and carpet had been replaced by flaking white walls and exposed wooden beams.
‘Come.’ Her voice was impelling. When I looked back she had stepped inside.
Without any conscious thought of compliance my body followed her through the doorway and stepped down into a half-lit room. Two gentlemen sat in the corner beside a candle. One wore his hair short, cropped, the other had on a stiff blue coat. Their eyes flitted to me, momentarily registering the interruption. Neither surprise nor shock appeared across their faces. The one in blue acknowledged my presence with a slight nod and returned to study a spot on my left. I followed his gaze. Strapped onto a chair was a chaos of limbs and clothes. A pale languid form was wrapped within. The woman’s breasts, exposed over the coarse ripped dress, dripped bloody tears from wounds around the nipples. Her legs and arms were bound to the chair by tight ropes. A darkness seeped outwards from her groin, staining the petticoat brushed aside to reveal the scarlet gores of her flesh. Her head lolled backwards and she moaned.
It was a sickening display of weakness, a degradation so bleak and wanton that I gasped in. As I did I felt a stiffening between my legs, a charge of excitement shooting through me.
The woman who had come into my room placed the dagger in my hand.
‘She has confessed.’ She closed my fingers over the cold wet hilt.
A surge of power exploded through me, a seduction of the flesh, sending warmth through my body and quickening my heart. I licked my lips and took a step towards the pathetic horror, so limp and without power, opened up so brazenly, presenting herself to me in utter abjection. I let out a loud uneven breath that betrayed my arousal.
The floorboard under my foot creaked. The woman’s head lifted up. She gazed at me, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Grimy streaks striped her face. Beyond the terror that contorted her face I recognised the human creature within.
‘Rebecca.’
The shock of recognition slapped me into the moment. My God, what was I doing? I looked down at the knife in my hand and, appalled, threw it to the floor.
‘Master?’ The woman from behind. Skirts brushed against my leg as she snaked closer, blocking my view of Rebecca.
The old girl’s eye formed a lascivious half wink as she opened her scrawny hand and said, ‘Master’s pipe want suckling?’ In her palm I saw something L-shaped, spattered with vivid red and brown drops – a small white pipe.
Again my groin stirred but this time my repulsion rose against it. ‘Jesus Christ,’ the words came out twisted into an accent that was not mine. The woman took my hand and