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Authors: Joseph Delaney
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and tools are still at Sanderson’s farm. You can’t pull a big cart like that without a horse.”
I remembered the large skeleton I had come across—it must indeed have been his dad’s horse.
The Spook nodded, put down his bag, and reached inside for his purse, then counted out four silver coins. “Here, Peter,” he said. “That should buy you a horse with a bit of wind.”
At first I thought Peter was going to refuse, but then his face creased into a sad smile. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I’ll think of this as a loan, and one day I’ll pay you back. And if you ever want any pig slaughtering, I’ll do it for free!”
We left Peter on the outskirts of Blackburn. After saying good-bye to him, the Spook set off, striding on ahead. I remained behind for a moment. Peter and I had been through a lot together, and I sensed that he wanted to say something.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he said, shaking my hand. “I shouldn’t have gone off into the valley like that. I could have gotten us both killed.”
“You did what you felt you had to do, Peter,” I replied with a smile. “Your father might still have been alive, and you wanted to help him.”
“We should have waited for Mr. Gregory, like you said. He sorted it out in the end. He’s a good man and a great spook. You’re lucky to have someone like him to train you.”
I nodded, and took my leave, setting off in my master’s footsteps. At one point I glanced back, but Peter had already gone. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I caught up with the Spook, and we continued at a steady pace toward Chipenden. We passed a church and heard the congregation singing Christmas hymns. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t be much of a Christmas for Peter.
Later we stopped to cook a couple of rabbits I’d caught. I sat staring into the fire and thought about what I’d been through. It terrified me—not so much the horrors I’d seen; it was more about the illusions the witch had conjured up.
For a moment the embers began to shimmer, and fear and panic squeezed my heart. What if my escape hadn’t been real? What if the pig witch had been playing with me and I discovered that being with the Spook was the illusion? I might find myself back in the slaughter pen! What if she wasn’t dead after all? I thought.
I began to shake and moan softly to myself as I imagined her eyes staring at me out of the darkness. Maybe she was already reaching toward me, eager to grasp my hands and cut off my thumbs. Perhaps her familiar was ready to spring at my throat.
“What is it, lad?” asked the Spook. He came around the fire and knelt facing me, resting a hand on each shoulder.
So I told him.
“You’ve been through a terrible experience, lad,” he said quietly, “and it’s only natural that you should feel that way. But it will pass. Trust me on that.”
I took a deep breath, and he nodded before returning to his seat on the other side of the fire.
We sat in silence for a while, and then I told him what my father had taught me—about all our senses combining to give us a version of what was real.
“What if this isn’t real?” I gestured about me, pointing at the trees, the hedges, the distant hills, the sky. Terror made my body tremble again. “What if we all share the same illusion about this world and there’s something else out there, another reality that we can’t see? What if things are out there watching us?”
The Spook stared into the embers for a long time before he replied. “I think that anything is possible, lad. But it’s a mistake to dwell too much on things like this. All we can do is deal with what we do see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. We’ve just got to get on with our lives and do the best we can.”
I nodded, and then I realized something. “I never saw the flying pig.”
“Aye, and that’s because it didn’t exist. It was born of Peter’s terror and the magic of the witch.”
“I hate
I remembered the large skeleton I had come across—it must indeed have been his dad’s horse.
The Spook nodded, put down his bag, and reached inside for his purse, then counted out four silver coins. “Here, Peter,” he said. “That should buy you a horse with a bit of wind.”
At first I thought Peter was going to refuse, but then his face creased into a sad smile. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I’ll think of this as a loan, and one day I’ll pay you back. And if you ever want any pig slaughtering, I’ll do it for free!”
We left Peter on the outskirts of Blackburn. After saying good-bye to him, the Spook set off, striding on ahead. I remained behind for a moment. Peter and I had been through a lot together, and I sensed that he wanted to say something.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he said, shaking my hand. “I shouldn’t have gone off into the valley like that. I could have gotten us both killed.”
“You did what you felt you had to do, Peter,” I replied with a smile. “Your father might still have been alive, and you wanted to help him.”
“We should have waited for Mr. Gregory, like you said. He sorted it out in the end. He’s a good man and a great spook. You’re lucky to have someone like him to train you.”
I nodded, and took my leave, setting off in my master’s footsteps. At one point I glanced back, but Peter had already gone. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I caught up with the Spook, and we continued at a steady pace toward Chipenden. We passed a church and heard the congregation singing Christmas hymns. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t be much of a Christmas for Peter.
Later we stopped to cook a couple of rabbits I’d caught. I sat staring into the fire and thought about what I’d been through. It terrified me—not so much the horrors I’d seen; it was more about the illusions the witch had conjured up.
For a moment the embers began to shimmer, and fear and panic squeezed my heart. What if my escape hadn’t been real? What if the pig witch had been playing with me and I discovered that being with the Spook was the illusion? I might find myself back in the slaughter pen! What if she wasn’t dead after all? I thought.
I began to shake and moan softly to myself as I imagined her eyes staring at me out of the darkness. Maybe she was already reaching toward me, eager to grasp my hands and cut off my thumbs. Perhaps her familiar was ready to spring at my throat.
“What is it, lad?” asked the Spook. He came around the fire and knelt facing me, resting a hand on each shoulder.
So I told him.
“You’ve been through a terrible experience, lad,” he said quietly, “and it’s only natural that you should feel that way. But it will pass. Trust me on that.”
I took a deep breath, and he nodded before returning to his seat on the other side of the fire.
We sat in silence for a while, and then I told him what my father had taught me—about all our senses combining to give us a version of what was real.
“What if this isn’t real?” I gestured about me, pointing at the trees, the hedges, the distant hills, the sky. Terror made my body tremble again. “What if we all share the same illusion about this world and there’s something else out there, another reality that we can’t see? What if things are out there watching us?”
The Spook stared into the embers for a long time before he replied. “I think that anything is possible, lad. But it’s a mistake to dwell too much on things like this. All we can do is deal with what we do see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. We’ve just got to get on with our lives and do the best we can.”
I nodded, and then I realized something. “I never saw the flying pig.”
“Aye, and that’s because it didn’t exist. It was born of Peter’s terror and the magic of the witch.”
“I hate
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