Blackmore Farm: The Witches Curse

By Augustine Nash

she cursed your farm and the church saying to all those who lived or went there they would suffer for ever more and be haunted by the devil.

Jeremiah s family farm has been cursed, and when his family members are struck one by one, he has no one to turn to but his sweetheart Victoria. However, Victoria is not who he thought, and after committing adultery, she falls pregnant. She promises the baby, on his third birthday to the Devil, and he is swiftly taken. Jeremiah then turns to a white witch, but can she deliver the farm, Jeremiah and his new baby daughter from evil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Augustine Nash
• Release date: Jun 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781783017591

Book preview

Afterword

One

The fog came down surrounding the few mourners until they looked like grey shapes; almost swallowing up the small church standing on the edge of the Moor, which had been built a long time ago, no one knew quite when. A damp building which over time had been neglected through lack of funds. Small slit windows which let in little light, at a glance nothing striking about the interior. A place where not many folk attended the Sunday Service, long ago fears had been planted in their minds of ghosts coming back from the dead.

The youth; who would now never become a man, was slowly lowered into the grave, then the pall bearers in their black suits stood back, bending their heads as the Vicar read the last rights.

Twelve year old Jeremiah stood by the side of his parents not feeling anything in particular. He was not going to cry, because he had not much liked his elder brother. Moses, the boy who could do no wrong in his parent’s eyes, the one who would have inherited Blackmoor Farm.

The sound of a handful of clay hitting the coffin lid startled him. Mary Mayes covered her face with a handkerchief and burst out sobbing, a small thin woman dressed in clothes that had seen better days. Jeremiah watched his father put an arm round her, whispering something in her ear. He felt as if he was invisible, like the ghosts who were supposed to haunt the churchyard. Invisible until they wanted to make use of him.

Of course his Aunty Elsie would be here, she liked nothing better than a good funeral. He wondered why she had never married. Perhaps it was those small bird-like eyes which seemed to look right through you, and of course she was famous for her meanness, though not where his family was concerned.

Standing next to her, their neighbour, Flossy Bates; a widow who lived two miles away from them. Jeremiah had always liked the way she laughed a lot and her friendly attitude towards everyone. Mother had always called her common, hardly giving her the time of day.

The one person he was surprised had come was Mr. Thomas Ratchet, a man who lived on Madder Moor all by himself in a large draughty house, or so the tale went. His long gaunt face and hooked nose made him appear sinister; folk in the area gave him a wide berth, whispering that he was ‘something of the night.’ He stood fixing his gaze on Jeremiah, which made him feel ill at ease. How he wished he could escape this grey place, where the old church stones had been loosened by the rough winds, leaning over at crazy angles. Worse still was the thick fog coming down, causing the mourners to appear like an army of ghostly apparitions. He thought, ‘Father always says I have too vivid an imagination.’

At last it was over and the Vicar shook his parents by the hand and then swiftly excused himself. The people started walking back down the hill, leaving Jeremiah on guard until the gravedigger turned up to fill in the grave.

Thomas Ratchet stood for a moment staring down, and then said, Boy, you have the look of the Devil; it takes one to know one.

Jeremiah watched him walk away feeling a little frightened. What did he mean?

Hello there, all over is it? the grave-digger asked.

Yes, I was just waiting for you to come.

I see, that is what the good Lord is doing, and there’s no getting away from him.

Jeremiah escaped, running like a hare down the hill and home, where he stood in the parlour listening to what a wonderful boy Moses had been.

His thirteenth birthday had come and gone without anyone noticing it. If he had been Moses there would have been a present and a jam sponge cake for tea made by their mother. Jeremiah tried not to think that it wasn’t fair, as his father was very fond of telling him not to expect anything for nothing.

He put old Bessie into her stable then fed her. These days she struggled to pull a load and he wondered how much longer she would last. For a short while he stood outside watching a flock of birds winging their way north. Soon it would be winter and ice would hang from the roof like spears. Already the moor was turning brown and nights were drawing in, that meant that a good bit of his time would be taken up chopping wood. Tonight he would have to tackle father.

Since his family had inherited the large house and land they had neglected it, their excuse being that they were not farmers, so who would expect them to know how to run such a place? Before Moses had died he had done his best to keep things going and had a real love of the land, however, Jeremiah only saw it as a burden as far back as he could remember.

Taking off his hob-nailed boots outside he went indoors, making his way towards the kitchen, something smelt burnt so mother would not be in the best of moods. In its day the huge kitchen had been very up to date, with copper pans hanging up across the large fireplace and maids employed at a pittance to clean and cook.

Simon Mayes sat at the scrubbed-topped table sucking on his empty pipe, with the air of a man who had all the time in the world; as he had, for he had not done a hard day’s work in years. His motto had always been, why keep a dog and bark yourself?

Jeremiah took his place at the table and silently waited until his mother placed a bowl of stew in front of him. He was very hungry, picking up his spoon he began to shovel it down, forgetting what usually happened.

You have got the manners of a pig, Jeremiah, his father stormed.

Sorry, Jeremiah mumbled, hastily putting down the spoon and clasping his hands together.

His mother joined them, and then his father began. For what we are about to receive we give thanks unto the Lord. Amen.

Even though the stew was burnt Jeremiah ate with relish, then sat until his parents had finished. Best get it over with right now.

He cleared his throat, nervously stating, Father, I wish to have words with you.

Make it quick, I’m off down to The Red Lion for a drink.

I can’t keep the farm going on my own. I thought perhaps you might get someone in to help out, even if it is only part time, he suggested.

You cheeky tyke! his father roared, his temper erupting, as was usual. He picked up his heavy walking stick and came round the table. Tell me what to do, would you? he shouted, hitting Jeremiah with the stick across his arms then shoulders.

Give him what for, Simon! Mary Mayes encouraged, joining in.

Jeremiah was used to this treatment and curled himself up into a ball, not daring to cry out as that would mean more punishment. When it was all over he ran down the long hall and outside. He wanted to cry but shrugged it off, men did not blubber like babies.

There was still a little daylight left so he walked up the hill towards the church; intending on visiting his brother’s grave, though he had no reason other than to get away from the house.

He paused to catch his breath just outside the church gates which always stood wide open. The sky darkened overhead which pointed to an immanent storm, which frequently happened in these parts.

The stones beneath his boots crunched breaking the awful silence. Moses was buried right over in the far corner of the churchyard, hidden by bushes. The first spots of rain began to fall and a clap of thunder sounded somewhere over the moor. He thought, ‘I should go back, but mother might still be in a bad mood.’ So he walked forward and took cover underneath a towering bush. The coming of the rain soothed his hurt feelings. Pit, pat, each drop sounding soothing, he could have listened to it for hours.

Jeremiah thought he heard a strange sound. Where was it coming from? Perhaps the old bell tower which was judged to be in a dangerous condition, but the parish was so small and with no rich people residing in the area it had been left to the elements.

He pushed his way through the thick bushes and was almost out on the other side when he heard chanting. Was something going on inside the church? If that was so why wasn’t there any lights showing?

Parting the bushes in front of him, he was about to step out when he gasped with shock. Rooted to the spot he watched three dark figures moving slowly round Moses’ grave. In the half light he could not see their faces, only noticing the long black clothes reaching to the ground. As they moved their chanting grew louder, and yet he could not hear any words. Were they ghosts of the departed come to take his brother’s spirit away?

Jeremiah wanted to turn and run but felt compelled to watch what happened next. A flash of lightening revealed the figures were wearing black hoods with slits for their eyes. Darkness was descending fast, but even in the poor light he saw the black figures stop, then the chanting ceased. One single hand held upwards towards the sky holding something that glinted in the light. Then he quite clearly heard the three saying in unison, Arise, Moses, and show your face.

It was plain to Jeremiah what they were doing, which angered him. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw their long fingers scrabbling at his brother’s grave, soil flying through the air in all directions.

Before he could stop himself, he shouted at the top of his voice, Hey, leave my brother’s grave alone!

The dark figures immediately stopped what they were doing. Someone is here! Just as Jeremiah burst out of the bushes they disappeared in a blinding flash. He stopped, thinking, ‘where have they gone?’ On reaching Moses’ grave he crouched down to put the earth back but to his amazement found it untouched. But he had seen them digging down with his own eyes.

It’s alright, Moses, they have gone now and you are safe, he said out loud.

Suddenly he became aware that the wind had risen, moaning round the old church as if Moses was answering. He took to his heels in fright, running all the way home.

Every Friday Jeremiah drove the horse and cart to the market to sell the duck and hen eggs. He wished his mother would do it but she always claimed she was not up to it. As far as he could see there was nothing wrong with her.

Stopping the horse at the entrance to the market he sat back and waited for his usual customers. This was only freedom of a kind, which he enjoyed if the weather wasn’t bad. By midday he had sold out of eggs and was just about to start for home when he saw Mrs Flossy Bates, their nearest neighbour. What a shame you are all sold out, Jeremiah. Just my luck. Unfortunately I got delayed by mother having one of her turns.

She was about to turn away when Jeremiah said, How many eggs do you want? By the time I get home the hens will have laid again, if you like I could bring some to your house.

That is most kind of you, I was intending getting a dozen, she replied, giving him a nice warm smile.

He was back at Mrs Bates house by five-thirty, with nine eggs. She paid him the money and was about to go back inside the house when he asked, Can I have a word with you, Mrs Bates?

She looked doubtful, then said, Well make it quick mother is waiting for her tea.

I don’t really know how to explain this, because most folks would not believe me.

Carry on, I am all ears.

It was like this, I went to visit my brother’s grave, it was a bit dark but I know what I saw and heard with my own eyes. There were these three figures moving round Moses grave chanting something. They wore hoods which covered their faces and long black clothes. Then I clearly heard them trying to get Moses to come up out of his grave. Do you think they were real? Jeremiah ended.

Gawd’ love us, I don’t know if that is all I must go and get on.

She was no longer friendly, and the smile had vanished from her face. Instead she frowned and appeared irritated. What should I do about it? he asked, feeling stupid.

Go and see the Vicar after church is over on Sunday, she replied, firmly shutting the door.

He walked back home shivering with cold. There was going to be a frost tonight by the bite in the air. He was late for supper and felt the lash of his mother’s tongue. Why was it she never looked happy?

His father sat by the fire in his old grandfather’s chair, puffing away at his pipe, clouds of smoke drifting across the kitchen. ‘I won’t ever do that, it’s a dirty habit,’ Jeremiah thought. He broke the silence, saying, Do you think there are lost souls haunting the churchyard?

Cock and bull story, his father answered, contemptuously.

But people say they have seen them, Jeremiah insisted.

Get that nonsense out of your head, lad, and go and fill up the basket with logs, but you mind out those ghosts doesn’t get you!

He stared down at the dwindling pile of wood he had chopped only yesterday. How had his mother got through so much? That was another chore to be done in the morning, after he had milked the cows and fed the other animals. He felt as burdened as someone carrying a heavy load up a steep hill.

Two

It took three weeks for Jeremiah to make up his mind, and by that time the winter had come in earnest. He always attended the evening service on a Sunday; though his parents did not go, they insisted he did.

Changing out of his working clothes into one of his dead brother’s cast off suits; he examined himself in the cracked mirror. No one else in his family had curly ginger hair, so where had he got his from? That thin face and grey eyes were not a good combination; he must have got them from his mother’s side.

Outside it had started to snow and a bitter north wind blew across the open land. It was bound to drift which meant the cattle and horse being left in their stalls, and the hens would go off laying if they were not allowed to roam, he would get the blame for that. They need not be as poor as they were if only father would do a day’s turn.

He sighed, walking towards the church gates with the snow blowing into his face, then the wind blew off his cap and he had to scrabble after it, retrieving it from the ditch. At that moment he felt more alone than any other time in his life and wished that Moses had not died, even though he had been bossy and not particularly nice to him.

He entered the dark church lit by candle light and sat in his usual pew. On looking round he saw that no one else had turned up. There was never more than half a dozen in attendance at the best of times.

The Vicar came down the aisle towards him, saying, Well Jeremiah, it seems that only you and I have bothered to come, so it is no good holding the service. You better get off home to your parents, by the way, how are they?

Well enough Vicar, thank you.

Good, it must have been a shock to them losing your brother at such a tender age. Now off you go, he said, turning away.

Jeremiah gathered up all his courage, May I have a word with you, Vicar?

The Reverend Samuel Speaks was surprised at this request as the boy normally was very quiet and kept to himself. How can I help, Jeremiah? he pleasantly asked, hoping it would not take long.

Jeremiah related what had happened at his brother’s graveside right down to the last detail, finishing, I don’t know what to make of the whole thing, do you Vicar?

Well now, have you been listening to old wives tales, because as far as I know there is no truth in them. Some say witches lived on the moor and came to this churchyard in the dead of night to perform their wicked rituals, but there again there is no proof.

I know what I saw, Jeremiah stubbornly insisted.

"I’ll tell you what, just in case you are right I will come back in daylight and cast them out. Is