“Tell me what your problem is,” I demanded.
“There’s not much to tell, but it’s all bad,” he said, his voice all of a quiver. “The Devil’s here in Cockerham, and I’ve made a big mistake. I thought I was clever enough to deal with him, but I was wrong, and tonight at midnight he’s coming back for my soul.”
I smiled at him and, placing my hand on his shoulder, invited him to sit down. I tried to sound reassuring. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me the whole story?” I said. “Leave nothing out. Give me all the details. There may be something there that’s important.”
So the teacher began his tale. Most teachers like to talk, and enjoy the sound of their own voices; this one was different. Maybe it was because he was scared, but it took him less than five minutes from start to finish.
“The Devil’s been visiting Cockerham every night for most of the winter,” he said. “At first he just played tricks, rattling door knockers and overturning a few milk churns. But later he moved into the churchyard and started flattening gravestones, until finally he started frightening people to death—usually old people who live alone. Three have been found dead in just the past month, with such a look of terror on their faces that they’ve had to be put into their coffin facedown. Only then could the undertaker get up enough courage to nail down the lid.
“The villagers asked the parish priest to help, but after years of brave words in the pulpit, his response was disappointing. He suddenly decided to take early retirement, leaving the following day to live with his three sisters somewhere south of the River Ribble. So, having no one else to turn to, they finally asked me. They flattered me with kind words—told me I was the greatest scholar in the whole of the County; reminded me that I’d spent a lifetime reading and learning and passing on my knowledge to others. If anyone could get rid of the Devil, they said, it was me.
“Finally I agreed to help, not because of their flattery, but because I felt it was my duty. So, three nights ago, I cleared my schoolroom of all the desks but my own, and used my tattered and well-worn old copy of the Bible to summon the Devil.
“The malicious creature appeared immediately, threatening to drag me off to Hell, but then suddenly seemed to relent. With a sly look on his face, he ordered me to set him three tasks, promising that, if he was unable to complete just one of the tasks, he’d leave Cockerham immediately and never return. If he managed to do all three, however, my soul would belong to him for all eternity.
“I was so terrified I could hardly think and blurted out the first task that came into my head. ‘Tell me how many grains of sand there are on Cockerham’s shore,’ I said. But immediately I realized my mistake. Cockerham’s sands are very large and flat, but what are their exact boundaries? Is it the extent of the sands at the lowest tide or the highest? And where exactly do Cockerham’s sands become Pilling’s sands, the shore of the next village along the coast? But the worst problem of all was that I didn’t know the answer to my own question.
“The Devil disappeared but was gone for less than three seconds. When he was standing before me again, he said a number so big that it was impossible to imagine. Too scared to challenge him, I could only accept his answer and set him another task. I was foolish for a second time. ‘Tell me how many buds there are on all the sycamore trees in Cockerham,’ I said. Again, it was a poor task because, whether the Devil really counted them or not, there was no way to check. I still didn’t know the answer myself, so I just had to take his word for it. But finally I calmed down enough to ask for three days in which to think up a third task. The Devil agreed, and so I had just enough time to get word to you. Can you help me? I’m at my wits’ end!”
“What did he look like, this Devil?” I asked.
“Just the way you’d expect, only worse,” answered the teacher. “He had horns and a tail and he smelled like a goat. I’ve never felt so terrified in my life. That’s why I couldn’t think.”
“Don’t you worry,” I reassured him. “I’ll soon sort him out for you. Just take me to that schoolroom of yours and then come back here and heat up that soup for our suppers. Ten minutes after midnight, and it’ll all be over.”
There were just four things in the big schoolroom: the teacher’s desk, a large cupboard, a sink with a tap, and the Bible, unopened on the desk. I’d taken off my cloak and hood because I didn’t want to be recognized as a spook. I knew that the schoolmaster had really been plagued not by the Devil but by a dangerous hairy boggart that could talk and had the ability to shift its shape. As it had taken human lives already, I had no choice but to proceed to the fourth stage in the process, which was to slay it.
No sooner had I entered the room than there was a bright flash of lightning right outside the window, followed by a clap of thunder so loud that it made the roof shake and the floorboards vibrate beneath my feet. Distracted by that, I glanced toward the window. When I looked back again, something nasty was standing in front of the desk.
Hairy Boggart Disguised as the Devil
The boggart was exactly as the teacher had described, but no words could do justice to actually seeing it in the flesh. In addition to the curved horns and tail, it had cloven hooves just like a goat—and, yes, it certainly did smell very bad. Its body was covered in black hair that gleamed in the candlelight like the coat of a thoroughbred horse groomed for a big race. The face was very long, with two rows of brilliant white teeth.
But its tail reminded me of a rat’s. It was long, thin, and black, and completely hairless. The boggart smiled at me then, a wicked, ugly smile that showed all its teeth. That long tail coiled and uncoiled, rapping three times upon the boards each time it was fully extended.
“What have we got here?” it asked, looking at me like I’d just been served up for supper.
“The schoolteacher’s not feeling too well,” I explained, “so he’s sent me along in his place. I’m here to set the third task.”
“Do you know the rules?”
I nodded.
“Good,” said the evil creature, its tail rapping again on the wooden boards. “So get on with it. Set me my third task!”
“Weave a rope out of the best sand on Cockerham’s shore,” I said. “Then carry it back, wash it under that tap there, and give it to me.”
I was pleased with the task I’d set, because even if the boggart did somehow manage to weave a rope out of sand, it would never be able to wash it under the tap because it would simply dissolve. Witches can’t cross rivers or streams, but all servants of the dark find running water extremely difficult to deal with.
The smile left the boggart’s face. It frowned, showed its teeth, then disappeared. It was maybe all of five seconds before it stood before me once more, now holding a rope made out of sand but looking doubtfully toward the sink.
It didn’t want to do it, but we had a contract of sorts and the creature had no choice. When it held the rope under the tap, of course, the sand just washed away between its fingers and ran down the plughole. So when the boggart walked back toward the desk, its face like a thundercloud, I gave a big smile in order to make it angry.
“I win,” I said mockingly. “Off you go, right back to where you came from!”
It leaned across the desk toward me until its forehead was almost touching mine, and the mean, vindictive expression on its face told me that it had no intention of keeping its end of the bargain. The boggart’s breath smelled so bad that I moved back a little, but not too far. Just so that I could reach into my breeches pockets.
I hurled something white from my right hand and something dark from my left. Salt and iron. Salt to burn the boggart; iron to bleed away its power. They came together, a lethal-white-and black cloud, just as they struck the creature’s face and shoulders.
What happened next wasn’t a pretty sight. The boggart, howling fit to wake the dead, began to crumple and melt. Within seconds it was nothing more than an unpleasant puddle on the schoolroom floor.
After that I we
nt back and had supper with the schoolteacher, explaining that we’d been dealing with a boggart rather than the Devil. He listened patiently, but I’m not sure he really believed me. Later he must have told his version of what happened to all who’d listen, explaining how he’d cleverly invented a third task that the Devil couldn’t perform.
Years later, the tale of how a clever Cockerham schoolmaster outwitted the Devil is still being told across the County. To make things worse, he never did pay me for getting rid of the boggart!
NOTORIOUS BOGGARTS
NAME: Bury Boggart
CATEGORY: Bone breaker—used by the witch Anne Caxton to snatch the bones of the living for dark magic
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Slain
SPOOK: Henry Horrocks (my own master)
APPRENTICE
IN ATTENDANCE: I was with Horrocks but didn’t become his apprentice until five years later
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: Three, including his former apprentice, Brian Harwood
NAME: Coniston Ripper
CATEGORY: Cattle ripper turned rogue
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Slain
SPOOK: Bill Arkwright
APPRENTICE
IN ATTENDANCE: None
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: Thirty at least
NAME: Wheeton Goat
CATEGORY: Hairy boggart
RANK: 2
BOUND OR SLAIN: Slain
SPOOK: John Gregory
APPRENTICE
IN ATTENDANCE: Paul Preston
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: One—my apprentice, Paul Preston
NAME: Horshaw Boggart
CATEGORY: Cattle ripper turned rogue
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Bound
SPOOK: Thomas Ward (apprentice)
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: One—my foolish priest brother
NAME: Pendle Ripper
CATEGORY: Cattle ripper turned rogue; used by Malkin witch clan to attack their enemies
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Still at large
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: More than one hundred deaths in forty years
CURRENT SITUATION: Active more than seventy years ago, now dormant; controlled by dark magic
NAME: Layton Ripper
CATEGORY: Cattle ripper turned rogue
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Slain
SPOOK: John Gregory
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: Just one—my apprentice Billy Bradley, who behaved rashly
NAME: Rivington Sheep Ripper
CATEGORY: Cattle ripper turned rogue; got a taste for shepherds
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Slain
SPOOK: John Gregory
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: Six; killed five shepherds and a parish constable
NAME: Staumin Hall Knocker
CATEGORY: Hall knocker
RANK: 1
BOUND OR SLAIN: Bound
SPOOK: Robert Stocks—by then he had a second trade at his fingertips: He was also a priest
APPRENTICE
IN ATTENDANCE: None
NUMBER OF VICTIMS: One suicide induced by fear
* * *
1 Leys are lines of power beneath the earth: secret invisible roads that boggarts can travel. Several intersect underneath the Spook’s Chipenden house, and sometimes you can hear a loud deep rumble as a boggart passes by below. This is particularly scary, and I’ve lost more nights of sleep because of this than I care to remember.—apprentice Paul Preston
2 I was born near Hackensall Hall and a glimpse of the horse boggart there, when I was just five years old, was my first warning that I had the gift of seeing the dead and other creatures such as boggarts. My father had left my mother, running off with another woman, and only years later did I learn that he had also been a seventh son.—apprentice James Fowler
3 Father Stocks was killed in Read Hall near Pendle by the witch Wurmalde. He was a hard working and sincere priest and also a very capable spook who had for years kept the Pendle parish of Downham free of witches .—apprentice Tom Ward
The priest was my brother, and although we never got on well, his death saddened me greatly. Unfortunately he set in motion the chain of events by trying to rid himself of the boggart using bell, book and candle. Why do such people have to meddle? When threatened by the dark, it’s sensible to send for a spook,—John Gregory
4 I once had to try and save a priest who had been trapped by a ripper. It had split open the floor of a church and dragged the priest’s leg into the crack, where it was slowly sipping his blood. Although I successfully freed the priest and bound the boggart—my first—the man died later because we had to amputate his leg in order to free him .—Tom Ward
We discovered another weakness of the boggart. It was tricked by a maenad assassin, who left blood dishes just outside the garden for the boggart to drink. There must have been something mixed into the blood because it didn’t intercept the assassin; it only attacked and killed her when she was safely bound. The Spook considers it a real problem that might one day happen again. We are no longer as safe in that Chipenden house.—Tom Ward
5 The boggart managed to keep the Priestown Bane at bay but it suffered badly and could have died. When it materialized afterward, it had been blinded in one eye.
6 The bait dish, which holds the blood, is a deep metal dish with three small holes drilled close to the rim, at equal distances from each other. These are to take the hooks from a tripod chain, which is used to lower the dish into the pit. Once in position, the chain may be relaxed in order to free the hooks. This demands a skill which takes much practice to acquire. It took me almost a year. It’s especially hard when your hands are shaking with fear.—apprentice Billy Bradley
7 Two-thirds of my apprentices either failed or died while learning the trade. In addition to that, perhaps another ten fled into the night when taken to the haunted house at Horshaw to be tested. But only one of my apprentices turned to the dark. His name was Morgan, and he became a necromancer. He always sought an easy way to do things, and that was his downfall. Another weakness was laziness. He failed to apply himself properly to the study of the Old Tongue.—John Gregory
8 I encountered an extremely dangerous one at Stone Farm, near Owshaw Clough. After its thorn tree was chopped and burned down, the boggart relocated to Moor View Farm, to the west of Anglezarke Moor. I went out into the yard to present myself as a target for the stone chucker and so make it use up its power. It was a stormy night, and I needed the weakened boggart to enter the house, where the salt and iron would not be dispersed by the wind.
9 Spooks and their apprentices are not permitted to be interred in church graveyards, so poor Billy was buried in unhallowed ground just outside the cemetery at Layton. He was my twenty-ninth apprentice. It is vital that lessons are listened to carefully, notes written up accurately, and instructions followed to the letter.—John Gregory
The boggart was very strong and battered me so hard that I almost died. I crawled back into the kitchen, using myself as bait so that it would follow. It was fortunate that my apprentice, Tom Ward, kept his nerve and slayed the boggart. It was many weeks before I made a full recovery.
Despite that, I did nothing wrong and dealt with the stone chucker according to the tried and tested method outlined here. Boggarts are dangerous creatures, and the risk of being maimed or killed goes with the job of being a spook.—John Gregory
The Bane
The Old Gods
One common debate among spooks concerns the true nature of the Old Gods. There are those who believe that they are not all denizens of the dark and that some are actually benign.
It is true that some seem more evil and cruel than others, but to me the case is beyond dispute. The Old Gods trifled with human emotions, behaved selfishly, caused wars and inflicted terrible cruelties on humankind. Many demanded blood sacrifices. They are all creatures of the dark.
Aphrodite
Her name is derived from the Greek word aphros, w
hich means foam. She was said to have been born from the ocean waves, already a fully formed adult. The golden daughter of Zeus, she presides over all things beautiful in the world. However, she has a malevolent destructive side and seems to delight in the power her beauty allows her to wield over men.
Aphrodite also has the power to drive away storms and calm the winds. Some say she is the wife of Hephaestus, the blacksmith of the gods. It is strange that the ugliest of the Old Gods should win for his bride one of the most beautiful. Or perhaps she used her allure to bind him to her in order to gain some as yet unknown advantage.
Artemis/Hecate
Another goddess who originated in Greece, Artemis is a cruel huntress, a lover of woods and wild places.
Hecate
Beautiful and athletic, she draws the admiration of all men but also takes on a different, hideous shape—that of Hecate, sometimes called the Queen of the Witches. She rules over gloomy places and is especially to be feared on the darkest of nights, when there is no moon.
She is also said to linger near crossroads, taking the souls of those who pass by. Although supposed to be the protector of the young, she sometimes demands blood sacrifices, and many maidens have been put to death in order to placate her. Hecate is another dangerous female to beware of.