The Whitby Witches. Robin Jarvis

and hastily covered her mouth. ‘Gracious!’ she exclaimed in a fluster. ‘I must have swallowed a bone by mistake – tiresome thing!’ She took a drink of coffee, wondering all the while what the girl would ask next. ‘They usually arrive after tea, Jennet dear,’ she answered eventually. ‘Why?’

      ‘I just wanted to know if you wanted Ben and me around,’ Jennet replied as the toast popped up. ‘We could stay upstairs, if you like.’

      Miss Boston took hold of Jennet’s hands, which by this time were holding the butter knife and the toast. ‘Oh, do you think you could, dear?’ she said gleefully puckering up her wrinkled face. ‘That really would be such a help. Some of the circle are not very fond of children and we do need to concentrate, you see.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Jennet said. ‘I’ll take Ben on a long walk this afternoon to tire him out. You won’t hear a peep from him all night.’

      ‘Oh, you are considerate, thank you again.’ But Miss Boston’s face as she bent her head over her plate once more seemed far from happy.

      The girl turned back to the toast and grinned. She had guessed correctly: the ladies in the circle were secret gamblers.

      Nothing titillates old ladies more than gambling for money, be it Bingo or Bridge. Jennet decided that Aunt Alice was being so furtive because she was too embarrassed to admit it. She crunched through her breakfast and stared out of the window. I wonder what they play? she thought to herself. It must be cards, she decided. Gin Rummy or Whist, perhaps, or maybe even Poker. The thought of all those old women sat around a table playing Poker like cowboys in a wild west saloon greatly amused her. She imagined Mrs Banbury-Scott in a ten gallon hat and nearly spat out the toast with her laughter.

      Aunt Alice frowned to herself. Could Jennet have found out somehow? Perhaps it was not too late to cancel tonight’s meeting. She took another gulp of coffee and fixed her eyes on the remains of the kipper as though it were to blame in some way. I must make this the very last meeting of the circle, she insisted to herself. It will get too dangerous if the children become involved – especially for Benjamin.

      Ben was sleeping soundly with his ammonite clasped firmly in his hand. He had been dreaming of snakes and dragons all night – he was the valiant hero who slew them. The dream was just coming to a ridiculous conclusion, as his usually did, with a grand parade of headless serpents wriggling behind him on brightly coloured leads whilst he fed cat munchies to the heads bouncing round his ankles.

      ‘Ben, Ben,’ shouted one of the heads, ‘wake up, you lazy lump!’

      He rolled over and pulled his bedclothes higher.

      Jennet was in no mood for this today. ‘Wake up, thickhead!’ She dragged the blankets off him and he flapped about like a headless serpent himself. Then he glared at his sister and brought his bottom teeth over his lip to show annoyance.

      ‘You and me are going for a long walk today,’ she told him sharply. ‘So come downstairs and help me make a packed lunch.’

      ‘Where we going?’ he asked, wishing he could stay in bed all day. But she had already left the room.

      The drizzling weather was soon blown inland and by midmorning the sky was blue. Aunt Alice waved the children off, but her heart was troubled and she watched them leave with a guilty look on her face.

      It was late when they returned, making their way through the town. The children crossed the bridge to the East Cliff and wearily tramped up Church Street.

      ‘My dears!’Aunt Alice sighed with relief as they opened the front door. ‘You’ve been gone an age, I was beginning to worry.’ The old lady stared at their tired faces and tutted. ‘My goodness, you are a dozy pair, and look at the state of you both. I’ll turn the immersion on so there’ll be plenty of hot water.’

      Some time later Ben lounged in his bed. He had been fed, had bathed himself and was now reading a brand-new comic which Miss Boston had bought for him. It was a warm 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 Wether’s 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 hair-brush 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 breaths 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 mistaken this vision for something real. A thread of silver light ran around her outline, flickering like sunlight over water. His mother opened her mouth, but Ben could not hear the words she was speaking. He averted