As I already knew, binding a boggart involved a lot of hard work which the Spook called ‘laying’. First a pit had to be dug as close as possible to the roots of a large, mature tree. After all the digging the Spook had made me do, I was surprised to learn that a spook rarely dug the pit himself. That was something only done in an absolute emergency. A rigger and his mate usually attended to that.

Next you had to employ a mason to cut a thick slab of stone to fit over the pit like a gravestone. It was very important that the stone was cut to size accurately so as to make a good seal. After you’d coated the lower edge of the stone and the inside of the pit with the mixture of iron, salt and strong glue, it was time to get the boggart safely inside.

That wasn’t too difficult. Blood, milk or a combination of the two worked every time. The really difficult bit was dropping the stone into position as it fed. Success depended on the quality of the help you hired.

It was best to have a mason standing by and a couple of riggers using chains controlled from a wooden gantry placed above the pit, so as to lower the stone down quickly and safely.

That was the mistake that Billy Bradley made. It was late winter and the weather was foul and Billy was in a rush to get back to his warm bed. So he cut corners.

He used local labourers, who hadn’t done that type of work before. The mason had gone off for his supper, promising to return within the hour, but Billy was impatient and couldn’t wait. He got the boggart into the pit without too much trouble but ran into difficulties with the slab of stone. It was a wet night and it slipped, trapping his left hand under its edge.

The chain jammed so they couldn’t lift the stone, and while the labourers struggled with it, and one of them ran back to get the mason, the boggart, in a fury at being trapped under the stone, began to attack Billy’s fingers. You see, it was one of the most dangerous boggarts of all. They’re called ‘Rippers’ and they usually just feed from cattle, but this one had got the taste for human blood.

By the time the stone was lifted, almost half an hour had passed, and by then it was too late. The boggart had bitten off Billy’s fingers as far down as the second knuckle and had been busily sucking the blood from his body. His screams of pain had faded away to a whimper, and when they got his hand free, only his thumb was left. Soon afterwards he died of shock and loss of blood.

‘It was a sad business,’ said the Spook, ‘and now he’s buried under the hedge, just outside the churchyard at Layton – those who follow our trade don’t get to rest their bones in hallowed ground. It happened just over a year ago, and if Billy had lived, I wouldn’t be talking to you now because he’d still be my apprentice. Poor Billy, he was a good lad and he didn’t deserve that, but it’s a dangerous job and if it’s not done right…’

The Spook looked at me sadly then shrugged. ‘Learn from it, lad. We need courage and patience, but above all, we never rush. We use our brains, we think carefully, then we do what has to be done. In the normal course of events I never send an apprentice out on his own until his first year of training is over. Unless, of course,’ he added with a faint smile, ‘he takes matters into his own hands. Then again, I’ve got to feel sure he’s ready for it. Anyway, first things first,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time for your first Latin lesson…’

Chapter Eleven

It happened just three days later… The Spook had sent me down into the village to collect the week’s groceries. It was very late in the afternoon, and as I left his house carrying the empty sack, the shadows were already beginning to lengthen.

As I approached the stile, I saw someone standing right on the edge of the trees near the top of the narrow lane. When I realized that it was Alice, my heart lurched into a more rapid beat. What was she doing here? Why hadn’t she gone off to Pendle? And if she was still here, what about Lizzie?

I slowed down but I had to pass her to get to the village. I could’ve gone back and taken a longer route but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking I was scared of her. Even so, once I’d climbed over the stile, I stayed on the left-hand side of the lane, keeping close to the high hawthorn hedge, right on the edge of the deep ditch than ran along its length.

Alice was standing in the gloom, with just the toes of her pointy shoes poking out into the sunlight. She beckoned me closer but I kept my distance, staying a {good three paces away. After all that had happened, I didn’t trust her one little bit, but I was still glad that she hadn’t been burned or stoned.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ Alice said, ‘and warn you never to go walking near Pendle. That’s where we’re going. Lizzie has family living there.’

‘I’m glad you escaped,’ I said, coming to a halt and turning to face directly towards her. ‘I watched the smoke when they burned your house down.’

‘Lizzie knew they were coming,’ Alice said, ‘so we got away with plenty of time to spare. Didn’t sniff you out though, did she? Knows what you did to Mother Malkin, though, but only found out after it happened.

Didn’t sniff you out at all and that worries her. And she said your shadow had a funny smell.’

I laughed out loud at that. I mean, it was crazy. How could a shadow have a smell?

‘Ain’t funny,’ Alice accused. ‘Ain’t nothing to laugh at. She only smelled your shadow where it had fallen on the barn. I actually saw it and it was all wrong. The moon showed the truth of you.’

Suddenly she took two steps nearer, into the sunlight, then leaned forward a little and sniffed at me. ‘You do smell funny,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose. She stepped backwards quickly and suddenly looked afraid.

I smiled and put on my friendly voice. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘don’t go to Pendle. You’re better off without them. They’re just bad company.’

‘Bad company don’t matter to me. Won’t change me, will it? I’m bad already. Bad inside. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been and done. I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been bad again. I’m just not strong enough to say no-’

Suddenly, too late, I understood the real reason for the fear on Alice’s face. It wasn’t me she was scared of. It was what was standing right behind me.

I’d seen nothing and heard nothing. When I did, it was already too late. Without warning, the empty sack was snatched out of my hand and dropped over my head and shoulders and everything went dark. Strong hands gripped me, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggled for a few moments, but it was useless: I was lifted and carried as easily as a farm hand carries a sack of potatoes. While I was being carried, I heard voices – Alice’s voice and then the voice of a woman; I supposed it was Bony Lizzie. The person carrying me just grunted, so it had to be Tusk.

Alice had lured me into a trap. It had all been carefully planned. They must have been hiding in the ditch as I came down the hill from the house.

I was scared, more scared than I’d ever been in my life before. I mean, I’d killed Mother Malkin and she’d been Lizzie’s grandmother. So what were they going to do to me now?

After an hour or so I was dropped onto the ground so hard that all the air was driven from my lungs.

As soon as I could breathe again, I struggled to get free of the sack, but somebody thumped me twice in the back – thumped me so hard that I kept very still. I’d have done anything to avoid being hit like that again so I lay there, hardly daring to breathe while the pain slowly faded to a dull ache.

They used rope to tie me then, binding it over the sack, around my arms and head and knotting it tightly. Then Lizzie said something that chilled me to the bone.