Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm Read online

  In the end, he settled for a neck and shoulder massage.

  Damn, on a case in the old days I could have put this on expenses for sure, he thought.

  And pretty soon he was lying on the table with the lights down, the heating up, a burning stick of incense jutting out of the top of a ceramic head of Ganesh, while the indistinguishable CD music — pan-pipes — played on in the background.

  Jack had to admit — Tamara gave one helluva good massage.

  As she gently kneaded his shoulders, he had to force himself not to drift off to sleep.

  And if that happened — and he came away from this with nothing — he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Sarah.

  “So, what’s with the Tarot stuff then?” he said, his face resting on the towel, eyes closed. “I mean — you really do connect with the other side?”

  “‘The ‘Other Side’? How … quaint. You sound as if you’re not a believer, Jack,” said Tamara.

  “I guess I’m what you’d call an empiricist,” he said. “Gotta see it to believe it.”

  “That’s fair enough,” she said, fingers digging in again to his shoulder. “You should join a session. Then you would see it.”

  “And then I’d believe it?”

  “Wouldn’t you? The future revealed.”

  “I dunno. I went through the whole nine yards growing up a Catholic and you know what? I don’t recollect one miracle, one vision. Heck, I didn’t see many good turns even.”

  “And what about bad turns?”

  “Saw plenty of them,” he said.

  “Then — you believe in evil?”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Good point. Maybe I do. Whatever it is that makes people do bad things.”

  “Well, you’re halfway there then. If there’s evil, then …”

  “How about you? You see much evil here in Cherringham?”

  “I do.”

  Jack laughed. “Then since I’m a relative newcomer, you better tell me where it is so I can avoid it. Unless you’re talking about the Ploughman’s — evil or not, I’d find it hard not to drop in there on a weekend for a quiet pint.”

  Jack’s humour finally had a deflating effect. Tamara removed her hands as if being repelled. Then, her voice low and deadly serious.

  “You wouldn’t be joking about it, Jack, if you were on the wrong end of it.”

  Good, he thought.

  It might have taken a bit of push and pull, but he sensed the conversation was finally going where he wanted.

  “Sounds like you’re talking about something specific now.”

  Tamara’s voice retained its dark tone. “I am. A real evil — here in this very village. Or at least, on the outskirts.”

  “Love to hear all about it. I’m a captive audience, you know. Maybe you’ll convert me.”

  Tamara turned back to her table of ointments, and Jack could see out of one eye that she was pouring more oil into her palm.

  Nice pause, he thought cynically. Adds to the drama.

  “I take this very seriously, Jack. And — if I share anything — I trust you will too. Because we all must be on our guard.”

  “Sure — I’m interested. Really.”

  “Okay,” she said, moving round the table and working on his other shoulder. “You’ve heard of Mabb’s Farm?”

  “That place? Sure. Some kind of crazy curse? Bad things happening to a young family? In fact I went walking up there just the other day. Up onto the hill.”

  “Yes! To the Stone Ring itself?”

  “Yep, and the woods.”

  “You felt its power, pulling you then. And you felt the chill — yes?”

  “In the woods — yeah, maybe.”

  Jack restrained his humour. He had the mystic Tamara on a roll.

  “Then you felt the power of the spirits that live in that realm.”

  “Not much sunlight comes through those trees. Maybe—”

  “You know it’s more than that, Jack.”

  And Jack was inclined to agree, though he didn’t say it — the woods had felt spooky.

  More than he’d expected. And he had seen a lot of spooky in his day. As well as grisly and bloody.

  “Those spirits — they’re responsible for the Curse?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Then tell me about this Curse. It’s the actual farm that was cursed?”

  “The farm and all its lands,” said Tamara.

  “Something to do with a bunch of witches …”

  “Three witches. Three poor sisters who had the Gift and who paid the ultimate price for it.”

  “But why did they curse the whole area?”

  “To stop anyone farming their place after they were put to death.”

  “I guess the Curse didn’t work then?”

  “What? It didn’t stop people trying to farm. But the Curse was no less potent for that.”

  “How so?”

  “For hundreds of years all who have worked the land at Mabb’s have had to endure unhappiness, death, failed crops, disaster. You like facts, Jack? About the Curse? The history of Mabb’s Farm has it all.”

  “Wow. That’s one serious Curse.”

  “It is enforced by powerful spirits … angry spirits.”

  Jack turned on his side, trying to gauge whether Tamara believed everything she was saying. Her brilliant blue eyes glowed like cats’ eyes in the candlelight.

  “And it doesn’t matter who lives there — good or evil — the Curse is on them?”

  “Exactly. It’s simply the way of things.”

  Good to know how curses work, Jack thought wryly.

  “Even the family that’s there now, they have to suffer? Even though they have done absolutely nothing to deserve it?”

  “That’s right! And yes, they are innocent,” said Tamara dramatically. “A young couple and a child.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Jack, trying to sound as heartfelt as he could. “And not fair. I heard there’s been some pretty spooky stuff going down there.”

  “Fires, animals dying, disease,” said Tamara. “Just as I would expect.”

  “You don’t think maybe some local’s got it in for them?” said Jack. “You know — trying to squeeze them out for some reason?”

  “No,” said Tamara emphatically.

  “You sound pretty sure.”

  “There was another … incident there yesterday.”

  “Go on,”

  Tamara seemed unsure.

  She looked around as if someone might be watching, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

  Quite the effective charlatan.

  “The mother — Caitlin — came in this morning. She was so distressed, poor soul.”

  “What happened?”

  “She got up early with her husband for the milking. When they reached the shed the herd went crazy, she said. The cows smashed the gates, scattered in the fields.”

  “Why? What spooked them?”

  “The same thing that spooked Caitlin. Across the roof of the shed were footprints. White footprints.”

  “Okay, so some joker climbed up there in boots during the night?”

  “The footsteps were not human, Jack. They were made by cloven hooves.”

  “Whoa.”

  For a moment Jack felt as if he was back at St Vinnie’s in Flatbush, listening to old red-nosed Father Gately in the pulpit, railing about Satan, all about the Devil’s minions, the cloven-footed trickster with all his pomps.

  Never did find out what a pomp was.

  And at thirteen, Jack had begun to look forward to some of those tempting “tricks” …

  “I went back straight away with Caitlin to the farm with a few friends of mine who are practised healers.”

  “That’s good you have other people round here who can help,” said Jack, sounding as sincere as he could.

  “Since the Curse became active again, I have put the word out to all I know who have the Gift.”

  “Good on you. Neighbou
r helping neighbour, hmm?” said Jack. “So what happened when you all went back to the farm?”

  “That whole place was filled with spirit chaos. It was a maelstrom. There were auras, evil shapes. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “Wow,” said Jack, thinking hard. “That pretty much proves it, huh?”

  “Mabb’s Farm is cursed. It is haunted. There has already been fire. And soon, if nobody acts, there will be blood.”

  “So that family — what’s her name — Caitlin? She should move out, with her baby?”

  “Perhaps. But it is possible that the Curse might be lifted.”

  “Really?” said Jack. “But who could do that? The Church?”

  Tamara laughed.

  No fan of the Church of England here.

  “Not the Church. A trained spirit healer.”

  “You mean you?”

  “If I am strong enough, with enough support … Yes.”

  “And are you going to do it?”

  “If I am asked.”

  “By Caitlin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tough call,” said Jack. “You think she trusts you?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tamara. “We’ve become so very close over the last month.”

  I bet you have, thought Jack. I bet you have …

  And after all this information, Jack knew better than to ask the cost for such an other-worldly effort.

  Plenty, he thought.

  For now, he turned back over and let Tamara continue the massage. At least she knew how to do that …

  9. Back to Basics

  “There you go, Archy,” said Sarah. “Let’s get you out of this so that we can go and play with the toys!”

  Sarah parked the massive baby buggy in the entrance to the Church Hall next to all the others, then reached down to unbuckle her little godson, Archy.

  Back in Clapham ten years ago she’d been a regular at the Mother and Toddler Group with Daniel.

  God, where has the time gone? she thought. Is it really ten years?

  Now, she grabbed the bag containing nappies, food and bottles in one hand and slipped Archy out of his warm outdoor onesie with the other — all the while pushing the buggy out of the way with her foot. It felt as though nothing had changed.

  She rarely got a chance to take Archy out on her own — so this was a great excuse. Archy’s mum Lucy was Grace’s older sister — and Sarah had been really overwhelmed to be asked to be his godmother last year.

  Sarah was fond of both sisters. Of all the new friends she’d made since returning to Cherringham these were the most like-minded.

  Also the most understanding.

  The moment she’d heard that Caitlin Fox came every week to the mums’ get together, she’d given Lucy a ring and asked for her help. She’d been quite up front: “This is the only way I’m going to get to chat to Caitlin — and it’ll give you a morning off at the same time.”

  Lucy had laughed and said for a small fee Sarah could have Archy every Tuesday morning if she really wanted …

  So here she was — proxy mother of a one-year-old. And, in truth, loving every single minute of hugging Archy and playing with him.

  With the baby in her arms, she opened the main door to the Church Hall and went in. The noise was familiar and welcoming.

  Fifteen or so mums and a few dads were sitting on the floor or grabbing coffee and little cups of squash from a serving hatch. Plastic chairs were scattered all around.

  Among the parents on rugs and cushions, were around twenty babies, some lying, some crawling and a few just tottering around ready to topple over. Toys were scattered everywhere.

  The conversation was warm, animated and relaxed and Sarah felt a sudden deep longing for these days again. No matter that they were exhausting, stressful, never-ending — they were also so intense and life-affirming.

  Life on the planet made total sense.

  And looking at the other parents she was suddenly reminded of the friends she’d left behind in London, when her life there had fallen apart.

  Archy suddenly attempted to leap from her arms and she managed to grab hold of him just before he tumbled to the wooden floor.

  Phew — concentrate girl, remember you’re a mum again.

  She carried him over to a small group sitting on the floor and plonked him down — within seconds he’d grabbed a toy and was chewing on it.

  “Hello, Archy!” said a woman next to her. “You swapped Lucy for a new model then?” She smiled at Sarah before introducing herself and the little girl at her feet.

  “I’m Ali, and this is Mira.” “Hi — I’m Sarah. Archy’s godmother. Lucy’s getting the morning off.”

  “Lucky her — don’t suppose you fancy Mira for a day, do you?” asked Ali, with a grin.

  “Tempting. But they’re quite the handful, aren’t they? I’ve done my time,” said Sarah. “Got teenagers now — that’s a whole different set of problems.”

  Archy started crawling towards the door so Sarah got up and fetched him back. She’d forgotten how these conversations were ruled by the random movements of the children.

  “Anyone you know here?” said Ali, gesturing round at the other parents.

  “Well, actually, there are some familiar faces,”

  “Let’s go grab a coffee and I’ll introduce you. It’s a fair old mix.”

  “That’s the nice thing about being in a village,” said Sarah. “Back in London, these things could turn snobbish.”

  “Oh you won’t completely escape that,” said Ali. “Only difference is, a village this size, there’s no choice but to muck in together. Come on.”

  And with that, Ali led her through the crawling babies to the coffee hatch.

  It took Sarah half an hour to work her way innocently round the group — which expanded as the morning wore on — but eventually she found a space in a corner next to the woman who Ali had told her was Caitlin Fox.

  Caitlin looked as Irish as her name suggested — red hair, green eyes. She also looked like someone who was made to laugh and have fun — but here, sitting on a corner of a blanket on the ground, she looked pale and tired.

  Sarah sat beside her, with Archy on her lap.

  “Hi there,” she said. “I’m Sarah. And this is my godson, Archy. And who’ve we got here?”

  Caitlin turned slowly to look at her, then back at the red-headed little boy who was pushing a car back and forth on the rug in front of her.

  God, she looks all in, thought Sarah.

  “This is Sammy,” she said.

  “Ah so you must be Caitlin?” said Sarah, now feeling uncomfortable at the way she’d set this up.

  Was it deceitful? She wasn’t actually lying — Archy was her godson, after all. But she was using him — and Lucy — to get information. She pushed the thoughts away.

  This was in Caitlin’s interest.

  The bedraggled mother nodded at Sarah, but said nothing.

  “Play nicely now, Sammy,” she said, as her little boy grabbed at a toy.

  “Pretty exhausting, aren’t they?” said Sarah. “I’m just so lucky I don’t have to do this every day. You getting much sleep yet?”

  Caitlin looked right at Sarah for a moment.

  Almost … as if she could see right through her.

  Talk about a chill.

  “Don’t you mean — what’s it like living under a curse?” said Caitlin, her voice brittle. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t know. It’s all anybody wants to talk about.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Sarah. “I–I just didn’t want to bring it up.”

  “And you know what? I don’t mind talking about it. I’m happy to talk about it. In fact, some days I think it’s all I do talk about. The bloody farm. That—” she lowered her voice, “—damned Curse.”

  “It must be difficult,” said Sarah.

  “Difficult? That’s an understatement.”

  Sarah was aware of one or two of the other mums looking over, hushed voices, co
mments …

  “Are you getting any help?” she said.

  “What help is there?” said Caitlin. “We’re stuck there. Can’t leave. Can’t stay. Trapped.”

  “But can’t you just go back to where you used to live? Give up the farm?”

  “Back to the old flat? I’d do it like a shot.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “Charlie — my husband — he won’t leave.”

  “But if you’re not happy there?”

  “We’re miserable there. And that’s the truth. Not like it used to be.”

  “When you lived in the flat, you mean?”

  “Before we moved to that bloody farm we were happy. Charlie was happy. It was no bigger than a shoebox, that place, and we had no money. But we were happy.”

  “But not since you came to the farm?”

  The question seemed to give Caitlin pause. Sarah felt that under those sad, tired eyes there was a very shrewd and aware young woman.

  “It was like … Charlie went all cold on me. He wasn’t the same man I married anymore. And then those things began happening.”

  “What things?”

  “All the bad things. The scary things,”

  “You mean the Curse?”

  “Those witches live, that’s what everyone says. And they’re punishing us just because we’re there.”

  “Things like what?”

  “Like fires just starting. Spooking and hurting the animals. They’re making Charlie go mad — and me too.”

  Sarah was aware that around them, the other parents had cleared away. She and Caitlin were almost on their own now in the corner of the room, with the two little boys playing on the rug in front of them.

  “And you’re sure there’s not an explanation for it all?” said Sarah. “Maybe someone’s got a grudge. Wants you off the property?”

  Caitlin turned and faced Sarah, her face set, and whispered: “It isn’t people doing this. I’ve seen the Devil’s own footsteps on the roof! And I got friends, people who know about these things, who say the Devil is there on the farm.”

  “What people?”

  “People with the Gift. People who can see the Devil. And they say he’s there all right: in the fields, in the barns, in the house,” she paused. “In the bedrooms.”

  “You can’t be sure, Caitlin.”

  “Oh, but I am. It’s the witches, see? They don’t want us on Mabb’s Farm. We should never have moved in. And they won’t be happy till we’re gone.”