Read Online The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches by Robin Jarvis - Free Book Online
Authors: Robin Jarvis
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night so he had only put on his pyjama bottoms. The sheets were crisp and clean, smelling of the linen cupboard, and he felt new all over as he wormed into them, tired and contented. From the bathroom he could hear Jennet stepping out of the bath and downstairs Aunt Alice was setting out her best china cups on a tray. She was humming to herself and the sound drifted up to his room.
Ben's window did not overlook the yard so he missed the arrival of the old lady's guests. A sharp knock on the front door vibrated through the cottage and startled him. He sat up and listened to see if he could hear who it was as Miss Boston let the newcomer in. A brisk, abrupt voice dragooned up the stairs—that must be Mrs Joyster, he thought to himself. Just then his own door opened and Jennet, wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her wet hair, looked in.
'Was that the army woman?' he asked her.
Jennet glanced behind her and shrugged. 'I think so,' she said. 'Now, have you got everything you want? You're not to go downstairs tonight, do you understand?'
Ben nodded but Jennet recognised the look in his eyes and waved a warning finger towards him. 'If you so much as sit on the top step there'll be trouble, OK?'
Ben threw himself on his back and raised the comic over his head sulkily. Jennet closed the door and went to her own room. She heard some more guests arrive, and recognised Miss Wethers' voice and that of Miss Droon.
The postmistress was sneezing and asked for a glass of water. 'I just can't sit next to Tilly tonight,' came the muffled twitterings. 'All that cat fur brings on my—achoo!'
Jennet smiled to herself; the tissue would have its work cut out tonight. She dried her hair and began thinking about the card sharps downstairs. This time she wondered what the stakes were—just how much did the old dears play for? Perhaps it was only ten or twenty pence. What if it was more than that—a pound or two? Maybe the gambling fever was so strong that a whole week's pension was frittered away in one night. A new idea came to her as she tugged at a tangled clump of hair with her brush. What if Aunt Alice was in league with the others to swindle Mrs Banbury-Scott out of all her money? Jennet smiled at her own fanciful imaginings and just hoped the cards would favour Aunt Alice tonight. It was probably nothing worse than a game of Happy Families, she concluded, putting the hairbrush down.
The light faded outside Ben's window and the shadows deepened in his room. The boy fell into a light, uneasy sleep which was invaded by unpleasant dreams. In them he was walking down a long, narrow corridor which seemed familiar, but he couldn't think where he had seen it before. His feet were heavy in the dream and though his legs were moving he never got anywhere. Beads of sweat pricked Ben's forehead as he turned over and his breath came in short gasps.
He knew there was something behind him but he could not turn his head round to look. He could feel its presence dogging his every footstep, its eyes burning into his back; he sensed the tension in the air as it prepared to spring. A howl boomed inside his head, a weird, unearthly sound that slashed the watchful night. With a hideous growl, the unseen beast bore down on him.
The boy whimpered in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare which was rapidly approaching its gruesome end. His face was screwed up in fear. 'Go away,' he mumbled tearfully, 'make it go away!'
But the horror continued. The creature was snapping at his heels and with a shriek he called out, 'Mum! Mum!'
Ben found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. The room was dark, yet he could make out the figure sitting beside him quite clearly.
'Mum,' he whispered.
The figure smiled at him, as any mother might do to comfort her child in the night. Ben put his arms out to embrace her but she rose and backed away. It was then that he remembered she was dead.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered how he could have
Ben's window did not overlook the yard so he missed the arrival of the old lady's guests. A sharp knock on the front door vibrated through the cottage and startled him. He sat up and listened to see if he could hear who it was as Miss Boston let the newcomer in. A brisk, abrupt voice dragooned up the stairs—that must be Mrs Joyster, he thought to himself. Just then his own door opened and Jennet, wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her wet hair, looked in.
'Was that the army woman?' he asked her.
Jennet glanced behind her and shrugged. 'I think so,' she said. 'Now, have you got everything you want? You're not to go downstairs tonight, do you understand?'
Ben nodded but Jennet recognised the look in his eyes and waved a warning finger towards him. 'If you so much as sit on the top step there'll be trouble, OK?'
Ben threw himself on his back and raised the comic over his head sulkily. Jennet closed the door and went to her own room. She heard some more guests arrive, and recognised Miss Wethers' voice and that of Miss Droon.
The postmistress was sneezing and asked for a glass of water. 'I just can't sit next to Tilly tonight,' came the muffled twitterings. 'All that cat fur brings on my—achoo!'
Jennet smiled to herself; the tissue would have its work cut out tonight. She dried her hair and began thinking about the card sharps downstairs. This time she wondered what the stakes were—just how much did the old dears play for? Perhaps it was only ten or twenty pence. What if it was more than that—a pound or two? Maybe the gambling fever was so strong that a whole week's pension was frittered away in one night. A new idea came to her as she tugged at a tangled clump of hair with her brush. What if Aunt Alice was in league with the others to swindle Mrs Banbury-Scott out of all her money? Jennet smiled at her own fanciful imaginings and just hoped the cards would favour Aunt Alice tonight. It was probably nothing worse than a game of Happy Families, she concluded, putting the hairbrush down.
The light faded outside Ben's window and the shadows deepened in his room. The boy fell into a light, uneasy sleep which was invaded by unpleasant dreams. In them he was walking down a long, narrow corridor which seemed familiar, but he couldn't think where he had seen it before. His feet were heavy in the dream and though his legs were moving he never got anywhere. Beads of sweat pricked Ben's forehead as he turned over and his breath came in short gasps.
He knew there was something behind him but he could not turn his head round to look. He could feel its presence dogging his every footstep, its eyes burning into his back; he sensed the tension in the air as it prepared to spring. A howl boomed inside his head, a weird, unearthly sound that slashed the watchful night. With a hideous growl, the unseen beast bore down on him.
The boy whimpered in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare which was rapidly approaching its gruesome end. His face was screwed up in fear. 'Go away,' he mumbled tearfully, 'make it go away!'
But the horror continued. The creature was snapping at his heels and with a shriek he called out, 'Mum! Mum!'
Ben found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. The room was dark, yet he could make out the figure sitting beside him quite clearly.
'Mum,' he whispered.
The figure smiled at him, as any mother might do to comfort her child in the night. Ben put his arms out to embrace her but she rose and backed away. It was then that he remembered she was dead.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered how he could have
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