Speaks the Nightbird

'You must say.'

Buckner released a noise that sounded like a sob. His chest was trembling. He said painfully, 'I'll be damned to Hell for these pi'tures in my head!'

'You are acting as a proper Christian, sir. You were an observer to these sins, not a participant. I would ask you again to continue.'

Buckner ran a hand across his mouth, the fingers palsied. The hue of his flesh had become pasty, and dark hollows had taken form beneath his eyes. He said, 'That dwarf-thing . . . looked like a child. White hair. A failed angel, is what I thought. All shrunk up when it was cast in the Pit. I saw it. . . saw that tongue come out . . . saw it wet and shiny, like raw beef. Then . . . that tongue went up in the woman. In her bloody parts. She took to thrashin' and cryin' out, and the tongue was a'movin' inside her. I wanted to hide my face, but I couldn't near move my arms. I had to stand there and watch it. It was like . . . somebody was a'makin'

me watch it, when I wanted to hide my face and call to God to take them sights away.' His voice cracked, and for a moment Woodward feared the old man would collapse into sobbing. But then Buckner said, 'When that thing . . . slid its tongue back out again . . . there was blood all over it. Drippin' blood, it was. And that woman grinned like she was a new bride.'

'Matthew?' Woodward's throat felt so constricted that clear speaking had become an effort of will. 'Are you getting all this?'

'If I weren't,' Matthew answered tersely, 'I would have to be deaf.'

'Yes. Of course. This represents a new threshold in your experience of clerking, I am sure.' Woodward used his sleeve to mop the moisture from his face. 'It certainly opens a new door for me, one that I might wish had remained latched.'

'Then there was the third one,' Buckner said. 'The one that was man and woman both.'

Neither Woodward nor Matthew moved nor spoke. In the silence they heard Buckner's hoarse breathing. Through the open roof-hatch came the sound of a crow cawing in the far distance. Matthew dipped his quill into the inkwell and waited.

'Let us not say,' spoke the magistrate, 'that in our interview we failed to turn over all rocks, regardless of what might be coiled underneath them. Tell us of the third creature, Mr. Buckner.'

 twelve

BUCKNER'S EYES WERE SHINY now, as if these sights had burned the vision from them. 'It came out of the orchard, after the dwarf-thing had gone,' he related. 'I took it to be a naked woman at first. Taller than most women, though, and terrible thin. She—it—had long dark hair. Brown or black, I couldn't say. The thing had tits, I seen 'em clear enough. Then I seen what else it had, and I near staggered and fell.' Buckner leaned his head forward, the veins standing out in his neck. 'Stones and a yard. Right there where a woman's basket oughta be. That yard was ready for work, too, and when the witch seen it she smiled so wicked it near froze my heart. The creature laid down a'side her, and then she started to . . . started to lickin' the creature's spike.'

'By 'she,' you are referring to whom?' Woodward asked. 'Her. In the cage there. The witch, Rachel Howarth.'

'All right.' Woodward again mopped the sweat from his face. The walls of the gaol seemed to be closing in on him. The one saving grace was the open hatch, through which he could see a square of gray clouds. 'Continue.'

'There was just. . . more sin and vileness after that. The witch turned over, on her hands and knees, so her rear quarters was showin'. Then that half-man, half-woman took its spike in hand and squatted down atop her. I saw . . . things no Christian should e'er have to witness, sir. I tell you, before I seen them sights I was all right in the head. Now I ain't. You ask my Patience. She'll tell you, I'm no good for nothin' no more.'

'This creature that was half-man and half-woman penetrated Madam Howarth with its penis?'

'Yes sir. The creature pushed its yard in from behind.'

'Let us move past those particulars,' Woodward said, his face blanched. 'What was the aftermath of this incident?'

'The what, sir?'

'The aftermath. What happened after the creature had ...' He paused, seeking the proper word, '... finished?'

'It got up off her and walked away. Then the witch stood up and took to dressin' herself. All a' sudden I heard my name spoke, right up next to my ear, and I whipped 'round to see who it be.'

'And did you see?'

'Well ... I was mighty scairt. There was a man standin' behind me . . . but I don't think he had no face. 'Cept a mouth. He did have a mouth ... I 'member that. He said, 'Jeremiah Buckner, run home.' That's all. I must'a done what he said, 'cause next thing I knew I was a'layin' in bed, sweatin' and shakin'. Patience was hard asleep, conjured most likely. I heard a cock crow, and I knew then that the demons of the night was passin'.'

'Did you in the morning, then, tell your wife what had happened?'

'No sir, I didn't. I was shamed to tell Patience such things. And I was scairt, too, that the witch might kill her for hearin'. I didn't tell nobody, not even after I heard what Elias Garrick seen. Then Lester Crane told me Stephen Dunton seen such a thing-— them three creatures with the witch, 'cept they was doin' their wickedness inside the house where the Poole family used to live, right next to Dunton's farm. Still I held my tongue.'

'What made you decide to tell what you'd seen?' Woodward asked. 'And who did you tell?'

'I decided . . . after they found them poppets in the witch's house. I went straight to Mr. Bidwell and told him all of it.'

'I should like to speak to Mr. Dunton,' Woodward said to Matthew. 'Make a note of that, please.'

'Cain't,' Buckner said. 'He took his family and they left, back two month ago. Dunton's house since burnt down. Lester Crane and his brood lit out 'bout the same time.'

Woodward paused for a moment, ordering his thoughts. 'Did you know Daniel Howarth?'

'Yes sir.'

'What kind of man was he?'

'Oh, he was but a youngster. Maybe forty, forty-five year old. Big man, he was. Took a right demon to lay him low, I'll grant you!'

'Did you have occasion to see Mr. Howarth and his wife together?'

'No, not much. Daniel kept to hisself. Wasn't a social kind of man.'

'And what about his wife? Was she social?'

'Well ... I don't know about such. Daniel and that woman been here maybe three year. He had a sizable piece a' land, bought it from a Dutchman named Niedecker. That man's wife had passed in childbirth, the child died too, so he decided to give it up. Daniel was always a quiet man. Never needed much help at anythin', seemed like.' Buckner shrugged. 'The woman . . . well, mayhap she did try to be social. But it just caused a stir.'

'A stir? What kind of stir?'

'Look at her, sir. If you can bear it, after what I've told you. She's betwixt a nigger and a Spaniard. Would you care to share a pew with her?'

'The witch attended church?' Woodward raised his eyebrows.

'That was 'fore she took to witchcraft,' Buckner explained. 'She only come to church two or three Sabbaths. Wouldn't nobody sit near her. Them Port'a'geeze got a whiff about 'em.'

'So she was not welcome in church, is that correct?'

'She could do and go as she pleased. Wasn't nobody gonna stop her from enterin' Our Lord's house. But I recall the last time she showed up, somebody—and I know who it was, but I ain't sayin'—pelted her with a rotten egg a'fore she could come in. Hit her right a'side the face. You know what she done?'

'What?'

'She sat down in a pew with that egg smellin' as it did, that mess all in her hair, and she nary made a move 'til Reverend Grove said the last Praise and Amen 'bout four hours later. 'Course, he did rush it some, that smell in the church as it was.'

Matthew was aware of a movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up as he finished scribing the last line—and there was Rachel Howarth, standing next to the bars, her teeth gritted and an expression of sheer ferocity