Spook's Curse Read Free Page A

opened the door there was a strong smell of tar and, just left of the altar, a small fire was blazing.
    Over it, on a metal tripod, a pot bubbled and spat. Dr Sherdley was going to use the tar to stop the bleeding. Painting the stump with it would also prevent the rest of the leg from going bad afterwards.
    I smiled to myself when I saw where the doctor had got his wood from. It was wet outside, so he’d gone for the only dry kindling available. He’d chopped up one of the church pews. No doubt the priest wouldn’t be too happy, but it might just save his life. In any case he was now unconscious, breathing very deeply, and would stay that way for several hours until the effects of the potion wore off.
    From the crack in the floor came the noise of the boggart feeding. It was a nasty gulping, slurping sound as it continued to draw blood from the leg. It was too preoccupied to realize that we were close by and about to bring its meal to an end.
    We didn’t speak. I just nodded at the doctor and he nodded back. I handed him the deep metal dish to catch the blood I needed, and he took a small metal saw from his bag and laid its cold, shiny teeth against the bone just below the priest’s knee.
    The housekeeper was still in the same position but her eyes were squeezed tight shut and she was muttering to herself. She was probably praying and it was obvious she wouldn’t be much help. So, with a shiver, I knelt down beside the doctor.
    He shook his head. “There’s no need for you to see this,’ he said. ‘No doubt you’ll witness worse one day but it needn’t be now.  Go  on, lad. Back to your own business. I can deal with this. Just send the other two back to give me a hand getting him up onto the cart when I’ve finished.’
    I’d been gritting my teeth ready to face it but I didn’t need to be told twice. Full of relief, I went back to the pit. Even before I reached it, a loud scream cut through the air followed by the sound of anguished weeping. But it wasn’t the priest. He was unconscious. It was the housekeeper.
    The rigger and his mate had already hoisted the stone aloft again and were busy wiping off the mud.
    Then, as they went back to the church to help the doctor, I dipped the brush into the last of the mixture and gave the underside of the stone a thorough coating.
    I’d hardly time to admire my handiwork before the mate came back at a run. Behind him, moving much more slowly, came the rigger. He was carrying the dish with the blood in it, being careful not to spill a single drop. The bait-dish was a very important piece of equipment. The Spook had a store of them back in Chipenden and they’d been made according to his own specifications.
    I lifted a long chain from the Spook’s bag. Fastened to a large ring at one end were three shorter chains, each ending in a small metal hook. I slipped the three hooks into the three holes close to the rim of the dish.
    When I lifted the chain, the bait-dish hung below it in perfect balance, so it didn’t need that much skill to lower it into the pit and set it down very gently at its centre.
    No, the skill was in freeing the three hooks. You had to be very careful to relax the chains so that the hooks dropped away from the dish without tipping it over and spilling the blood.
    I’d spent hours practising this, and despite being very nervous I managed to get the hooks out at my very first attempt.
    Now it was just a question of waiting.
    As I said, rippers are some of the most dangerous boggarts of all because they feed on blood. Their minds are usually quick and very crafty, but while they’re feeding they think very slowly and it takes them a long time to work things out.
    The amputated leg was still jammed into the crack in the church floor and the boggart was busily slurping blood from it, but sucking very slowly so as to make it last. That’s the way with a ripper. It just slurps and sucks, thinking of nothing else until it slowly realizes that less and