‘As it happens, we had what you might call a disturbed night, and I was going to call you anyway. How’s it going with your research?’
‘Pretty well, on the whole. I’ve dug up some really obscure stuff about witching rooms, and about Sampford Spiney, too. I’ll come round a bit later and give you all the gory details. First of all I need to run over to Tavistock and have a chat with Father Salter. He’s the parish priest at Our Lady of the Assumption.’
‘Really? Is he an exorcist? I thought you didn’t believe in exorcisms.’
‘I don’t. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. But some exorcisms have been successful in helping people who appear to be possessed by evil spirits, even if that possession has nothing to do with Satan. There might be something in them that can help us to clear all those spooks out of Allhallows Hall.’
‘What time can we expect you?’
‘It depends what response I get from Father Salter. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems quite modern in his outlook. He believes that priests should be able to marry, that kind of thing. On the one hand, that could be good. On the other hand, it might mean that he’s a bit too sceptical when it comes to “malevolent presences”. Might think it’s all too medieval, if you know what I mean. But I need to sound him out about a particular type of spiritual decontamination, and if he’s prepared to do it himself, or if he knows of some other priest who might be persuaded to.’
‘“Spiritual decontamination”? What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘It’s a very specific kind of Roman Catholic ritual, and as far as I can find out it hasn’t been used since an incident in a village called Hathersage in the Peak District near Sheffield in October of nineteen forty-nine. It’s a form of exorcism, if you like, but it’s not recognised by the Vatican and it’s not the usual “begone, foul spirit, the Lord commands thee” kind of a job. No floating in the air or vomiting or heads turning three hundred and sixty degrees. In some ways it’s scarier than that.’
‘Scarier than that? What could be scarier than that?’ Rob looked across at Vicky, whose eyebrows were raised. ‘It’s okay,’ he mouthed, and gave her a quick wave of his hand.
‘I’ll try to get to you by midday,’ said Francis. ‘When you say you had a disturbed night…?’
‘More whispering. Grace heard Ada in her bedroom, not just whispering but screaming at her. And we had something that I can only describe as a mini-earthquake. The whole house shook.’
‘Really? Now, really? That fits in with what I’ve been researching. I think I’m beginning to understand what we could be dealing with here, although I’d rather it was something else, to be honest with you. Much rather.’
‘Can you give me some idea?’
‘Let me talk to Father Salter first. Meanwhile, I’d advise you to stay well away from that witching room, and if you do hear any more whispering – or screaming, for that matter – try to turn a deaf ear to it. If I’m right, we’re up against a force that takes a very dim view of being interfered with.’
Francis hung up, leaving Rob staring at his phone as if he couldn’t think what it was.
‘That was Francis?’ asked Vicky. ‘What did he have to say that was so scary?’
‘I don’t know exactly. He’s an atheist, but he wants to perform some sort of an exorcism. He’s going to Tavistock to see if he can persuade a priest to do it.’
Grace was about to say something when, very indistinctly, they heard a child crying.
‘Shh!’ said Vicky. She stood up, went over to the kitchen door and opened it wider. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the longcase clock, and then they heard the cry again. It sounded like a small boy – a very miserable small boy.
‘That’s Timmy! I’m sure that’s Timmy!’
‘Vicks – Francis said if we heard anything, we should ignore it.’
‘But why? We can’t ignore it, if it’s Timmy—’
‘He seems to think that we’re in some kind of danger.’
‘I don’t care – that’s Timmy – I’m sure that’s Timmy! Timmy! Can you hear me? Timmy! It’s Mummy!’
Vicky ran across the hallway and started to mount the stairs. Rob followed her, and Grace and Portia came out of the kitchen, too.
‘Vicks!’ Rob shouted. ‘Vicks, for Christ’s sake, be careful!’
Vicky reached the landing at the top of the stairs and Rob caught up with her. They hesitated for a moment, listening, and then they heard the boy wailing. He sounded as if he were down at the far end of the corridor, in the bedroom that led to the witching room – the same as the last time Vicky had thought she heard him, and had been so violently pushed over.
‘It is Timmy,’ she said, clasping Rob’s hand. ‘I know it is.’
‘It does sound like him, doesn’t it? Timmy! Is that you, Timmy?’
They waited, but there was silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the longcase clock. It suddenly struck a single bong! to mark the half-hour, which made Vicky jump.
‘Timmy, it’s Daddy here… can you try to stay where you are? We’re coming to find you.’
Rob started to walk slowly along the corridor, with Vicky close behind him, her left hand placed nervously on his shoulder.
‘Timmy? Are you still there? Say something, Timmy, even if it’s only “I’m here”!’
They were less than a third of the way along the corridor, passing the first of the three bedroom doors, when they heard a sharp crackling sound, like somebody treading on a sheet of glass, and breaking it. The black hooded figure in the middle of the stained-glass window suddenly shot both of its arms upwards and whirled around, so that they could see its face.
Rob stopped where he was, in utter shock. Not only had
