The Spook's Nightmare Read Free

sealed and ready for burial. One was small and obviously contained a young child. The butcher got to his feet as we entered the yard and came across to shake the Spook’s hand. He was the one real contact my master had amongst the villagers; the only person he evertalked to about things other than spook’s business.
    ‘It’s terrible, Mr Gregory,’ the butcher said. ‘Things can never be the same again.’
    ‘I hope it’s not . . .’ the Spook muttered, glancing down at the coffins.
    ‘Oh, no, thank the Lord for that at least,’ the butcher told him. ‘It happened three days ago. I got my own family away to safety just in time. No, these poor folk weren’t quick enough. They killed everybody they could find. It was just an enemy patrol, but a very large one. They were out foraging for supplies. There was no need to burn houses and kill people; no cause to murder this family. Why did they do that? They could just have taken what they wanted and left.’
    The Spook nodded. I knew what his answer was to that, although he didn’t spell it out to the butcher. He would have said it was because the Fiend was now loose in the world. He made people more cruel, wars more savage.
    ‘I’m sorry about your house, Mr Gregory,’ the butcher continued.
    The colour drained from the Spook’s face. ‘What?’ he demanded.
    ‘Oh, I’m really sorry … don’t you know? I assumed you’d called back there already. We heard the boggart howling and roaring from miles away. There must have been too many for it to deal with. They ransacked your house, taking anything they could carry, then set fire to it . . .’

M aking no reply, the Spook turned and set off up the hill, almost running. Soon the cobbles gave way to a muddy track. After climbing the hill, we came to the boundary of the garden. I commanded the dogs to wait there as we pushed on into the trees.
    We soon found the first bodies. They had been there some time and there was a strong stench of death; they wore the grey uniforms and distinctive helmets of the enemy, and they’d met violent ends: either their throats had been ripped out or their skulls crushed. It was clearly the work of the boggart. But then, as we left the trees and headed out onto lawn near the house, we saw that what the butcher had said was correct. There hadbeen too many for the boggart to deal with. While it had been slaying intruders on one side of the garden, other soldiers had moved in and set fire to the house.
    Only the bare, blackened walls were standing. The Spook’s Chipenden house was now just a shell: the roof had collapsed and the inside was gutted – including his precious library.
    He stared at it for a long time, saying nothing. I decided to break the silence.
    ‘Where will the boggart be now?’ I asked.
    The Spook replied without looking at me. ‘I made a pact with it. In return for guarding the house and doing the cooking and cleaning, I granted it dominion over the garden: any live creature it found there after dark – apart from apprentices and things bound under our control – it could have, after giving three warning cries. Their blood was its for the taking. But the pact would only endure as long as the house had a roof. So after the fire, the boggart was free to leave. It’s gone, lad. Gone for ever.’
    We walked slowly around the remains of the house and reached a large mound of grey and black ashes onthe lawn. They had taken a load of the books off the library shelves and made a big bonfire of them.
    The Spook fell to his knees and began to root around in the cold ashes. Almost everything fell to pieces in his hands. Then he picked up a singed leather cover; the spine of a book that had somehow escaped being totally burned. He held it up and cleaned it with his fingers. Over his shoulder I could just make out the title: The Damned, the Dizzy and the Desperate . It was a book that he’d written long ago as a young man – the definitive work on possession. He’d