The Whitby Witches. Robin Jarvis

was the last through the gate, and studied a grimy nameplate nailed on to the wood as he went through. ‘The Hawes,’ he read aloud.

      The garden round the house was wild: grass and weeds had choked the flower beds and only the taller roses had survived. The house itself was shabby and dark, with several of the downstairs windows boarded up.

      ‘Such neglect,’ commented Miss Boston sadly. ‘And look at the path, completely overgrown. We shall have to wade through – mind the nettles, children.’

      Miss Droon tottered behind, calling out, ‘Eurydice, Eurydice – come on darling, there’s a love, now. Oh, no, maybe she’s had them already. What shall I do?’

      Jennet looked back at the overgrown path thoughtfully. ‘Aunt Alice,’ she began, ‘if no one’s been here for ages – how come someone’s bought the house? I mean they can’t have been to see it, can they?’

      ‘Good heavens, child,’ said Miss Boston, ‘you are sharp today. How curious; I wonder who can be moving in?’

      ‘Might be council, Alice,’ suggested Miss Droon. ‘Perhaps they’re going to knock it down and rebuild.’

      ‘I shall go round to Olive and Parks the estate agent this afternoon and solve this mystery,’ Miss Boston decided. ‘I’ll see if they’re going to rebuild or not.’

      Ben’s voice called to them from around the back. He had found the kitchen door and the wood was rotten. There was a large hole at the bottom.

      ‘Eurydice,’ cried Miss Droon, going down on her knees and calling through the gap. ‘Puss, puss.’

      ‘It’s no use calling,’ Aunt Alice told her, ‘she won’t come. I certainly wouldn’t. The poor thing doesn’t want to have you fussing about and being a nuisance. You always annoy her when she’s expecting, Tilly.’

      ‘But I can’t leave her here,’ wailed the crouching Miss Droon.

      ‘Shall I go in?’ asked Ben. ‘I could easily squeeze through there if we made the hole a bit bigger.’

      ‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Boston sternly, ‘that’s breaking and entering.’

      ‘Oh, let him go in, Alice. You never liked Renie Blakelock anyway.’

      ‘That’s hardly the point, Matilda. The property no longer belongs to her.’

      Miss Droon clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘But as it’s going to be knocked down anyway, I can’t see what’s the harm.’

      ‘We don’t know that for certain. That was just your idea.’

      Miss Droon countered with her master stroke. She looked squarely at Aunt Alice through those thick glasses and said, ‘What about that umbrella Renie borrowed and never returned to you – your mother’s, wasn’t it?’

      Miss Boston relented at once. ‘On the other hand,’ she said stiffly, ‘it is an emergency and if Benjamin really doesn’t mind . . .’

      Ben pulled away more of the crumbling door and wriggled through. A dingy, yellow-brown light filtered through the filthy kitchen windows. The room was bare and the noise of his movements echoed around as he searched for the troublesome cat. He looked in the low cupboards and out of curiosity inspected the drawers also, but they only contained a broken fish slice and quantities of brown paper bags. Eurydice was not in the sink either.

      In the hall, the exposed floorboards moved as he walked on them; they had warped and no longer fitted properly. He put his head round the door of the front room, but only a collection of empty tea-chests stood morosely in the middle of the gloom.

      The whole house smelt damp and musty. Ben shivered. What a horrid, dank place it was – he found it hard to believe that someone had actually lived there. The entire house reminded him of a large dungeon and that made him think of other things, Whitby’s most frightening visitor for one.

      ‘Eurydice, Eurydice,’ he called out feebly as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. Then he heard a noise. ‘You would have to be up there, wouldn’t you.’ He gritted his teeth and hoped it was the cat who had made the noise and not some vampire opening the lid of its coffin. He tried to control his rising panic, but it was some minutes before he was able to put his foot on the first step.

      The stairs still possessed their carpet – too worn to be worth removing, it was damp and spotted with black mould. Ben took hold of the banister and crept very slowly up the steps.

      It was dark on the first floor, for there was no landing window and all the bedroom doors were shut. There were five doors; he opened the nearest. Only a bathroom. The next led into an empty pink bedroom. As he went, Ben left the doors open behind him to illuminate the landing; in the growing light he noticed a square opening in the ceiling.

      ‘Must be the attic,’ he whispered to himself. He did not like the look of that deep black hole. It made him uneasy as he passed beneath it. ‘I hope you’re not up there, you daft moggy,’ he mumbled as he quickly opened the next door. Another bedroom, blue wallpaper this time. Then a toilet, and finally a room done out in lime stripes. This was full of cardboard boxes and old yellowing newspapers which the mice had chewed.

      Ben tiptoed over to the boxes. There was a sudden movement and he stepped back in alarm. A furry white head popped up.

      ‘Eurydice!’ sighed Ben, relieved. The cat miaowed crossly, staring at him with one green eye and one blue. ‘Come on, puss,’ he said soothingly. Eurydice let him stroke her and Ben slipped his hand down to her tummy. At least she hadn’t had the kittens yet. Then he frowned, something was wrong. As he tickled the cat’s stomach, she rolled over and he discovered that she only had three legs. What a peculiar animal.

      He picked up the box she was in and Eurydice glared at him. ‘It’s all right, puss,’ he said, carrying her out of the room. Only then did Ben begin to wonder; who had shut that door in the first place?

      On the landing, Eurydice grew agitated and her ears pressed flat against her skull. She began to hiss and spit, but not at Ben. The boy turned cold. As he passed under the dark loft opening, all the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and rose. He felt sure something was up there, watching him from the shadows – the same something that could close bedroom doors.

      He made for the stairs quickly but as he ran down them two at a time, he chanced to turn back and was horrified to see a small dark figure drop silently to the landing and begin creeping after him.

      Ben bolted for the kitchen and thrust the box through the gap, scrabbling frantically after it.

      ‘Look at your clothes,’ sighed Aunt Alice; ‘all dusty and cobwebby.’

      ‘Eurydice, you naughty girl,’ scolded Miss Droon, ‘don’t do that again. I shall lock you in my room from now on.’

      In the sunlight Ben’s fear seemed irrational; he must have imagined the whole thing. Either that or the figure was one of his ‘visitors’, although he had never felt frightened in their presence before. He decided not to mention it to anyone.

      ‘What was it like in there?’ Jennet asked him.

      ‘Smelly and damp,’ he replied, shaking the dust out of his hair.

      ‘Must have been cold too,’ she added. ‘You’re covered in goosepimples.’

      Miss Boston put her arm round him and said, ‘This young man has earned his dinner – come on. Tilly, do stop messing with that wretched cat and make sure you do keep an eye on it until the kittens are born.’

      ‘Eurydice has only got three legs,’ Ben told his sister.

      ‘Really?’ asked Jennet, staring at the two ears which bobbed up and down above the box.

      ‘She lost one when she was a kitten herself,’ crooned Miss Droon dotingly. ‘A window sash broke and the frame crushed her leg beyond repair. The vet had to amputate to save her, poor darling. Now