Dark Winter: Trilogy: Dark Winter

By John Hennessy

For the first time, this spine chilling collection of stories for young adult and older readers is available in one volume, comprising:-

I: The Wicca Circle

II: Crescent Moon

III: Last Rites

About the Dark Winter Trilogy: 
A spine chilling horror trilogy of books of the lives of a group of friends - a witch, a Christian girl, and an atheist with a weapon of unknown and unspeakable power. 

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Survival horror and adventure combine in this best selling paranormal horror for teens to adult. 
If you are a fan of fast-paced, action-packed horror stories that combine a coming of age theme, full of dramatic twists and turns, then Dark Winter is for you. 

Along with other books in the series, Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle has rocketed to the top of two paid best seller lists, Critics say this about Book 1 in the Dark Winter Series: 'This young adult fantasy/horror novel is an excellent debut book. It's the story of teenager Romilly Winter who is bequeathed a very special mirror by her Nan. Romilly is a reluctant heroine who appears a typical teen with typical teen angst. She also has a special gift but she worries that when the time comes she won't be strong enough to cope. Yet only when the terrifying truth is revealed and her family, her friends and her life are threatened does she find out what she's truly capable of.' 

I: Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle:- 

Romilly Winter is no ordinary heroine, just a reluctant one. 

She has a gift. She can see the future. But can she see far enough? The world in which she lives is under attack – the dead are rising, and evil follows her at every turn. 

Will she be able to save herself – and the world?" 

II: Dark Winter: Crescent Moon:- 

As the lines between friend and foe, love and hate, trust and betrayal become blurred, who will be left standing for the final showdown? 

III: Dark Winter: Last Rites:- 

As all Hell literally breaks loose, a long dead demon needs to be destroyed. But who will 
be killed along with them? What will friends risk losing, in order to win?

#1 in Kindle Store > Books > Teen & Young Adult > Horror > Short Stories 
#1 in Books > Young Adult > Horror > Short Stories 

˃˃˃ Horror thrills for teens and adults alike! 
" Till date I've read quite a few paranormal genre books, but I never got scared this much. And surprisingly, even though it was fiction, just like Art Bell, I believed the story, that my dear friend and a very talented author, John Hennessy, has crafted out in his new book called, Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle (Dark Winter #1). And remarkably, John has invented a whole new paranormal world, which sounded quite genuine and real to me. I loved every bit of it." Aditi Saha – Book Stop Corner, Liebster Award Winner 

˃˃˃ Discover what other readers already know 
 "These books are also full of thrilling action, adventure, and of course some gruesome moments." 
- Rachel Manicup, GoodReads reviewer 

AUTHOR NOTES: An absorbing Wiccan tale that can be best described as a paranormal horror for teen to young adult - with themes of witchcraft, the occult and Satanism, it is not for the very youngest of readers.
 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hennessy
• Release date: Aug 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536543681

John Hennessy

Born in 1988, John Hennessy became entranced by the world of fantasy and sci-fi at a young age, playing video games and reading books for many long nights/early mornings. He started writing his debut novel Life Descending during his junior year of High School in 2005. He wanted to write something different for fantasy readers, something without any stock copy/paste characters, supreme evil lords, who you never see and who are just evil because they are evil. A story without class-defined skills, mana potions, and the usual D&D adventure group out on the same old quest. He wanted to write a new story that gets away from the stale fantasies with farmer boys, blacksmith apprentices, and peasants who turn world heroes. Oh yeah, and he really wanted to get away from stories with prophecies and 'chosen ones.'After he graduated from Western Washington University in 2011, he hired Sara Stamey, the editing/publishing professor at Western, edit Life Descending (The Cry of Havoc, Book 1), finally releasing his debut after six years of crafting, learning, rewriting, and absorbing caffeine as fuel so he could stay awake at the keyboard. Life Descending has since been praised by reviewers, even earning a finalist spot in ForeWord Magazine's 2011 Book of the Year Awards. Darkness Devouring (The Cry of Havoc, Book 2) has since been released in late 2012.In 2012 he released At the End (The Road to Extinction, Book 1) as a self-published book. Having spent all his cash on Life Descending (sadly without return), the book went unedited by a professional editor. Despite this major flaw, At the End was well received by most. In February 2013, Permuted Press approached him with an offer to re-release At the End and publish the rest of the trilogy. A second edition of At the End (fully edited!) is forthcoming 2013.John now lives in the Rose Lands of Portland, Oregon, with his wife Katherine, their furry feline Phoebe, and their two budgies Lola and Pablo. He is now at work finishing The Road to Extinction Trilogy. Visit his website at: http://www.johnhennessy.net

Book preview

Dark Winter: Trilogy

Book I: The Wicca Circle

Book II: Crescent Moon

Book III: Last Rites

Author’s Links

Blog

Goodreads Page

Books by the same author

FICTION

Dark Winter (I): The Wicca Circle (v2.o)

Stormling: Book One of the Mordana Chronicles

Dark Winter (II): Crescent Moon

Murderous Little Darlings: A Tale of Vampires: I

The Blood and the Raven: A Tale of Vampires: II

Innocent While She Sleeps: A Tale of Vampires: III

Dream the Crow’s Black Dream: A Tale of Vampires: IV

The Ghost of Normandy Road: Haunted Minds I

Clara’s Song: Haunted Minds II

The Girl Who Collected Butterflies: Haunted Minds III

Dark Winter (III): Last Rites

Reunion of the Blood: A Tale of Vampires: V

The Halloweeners (2016)

Dawn of the New Breed: A Tale of Vampires: Prequel (2016)

Children of the Dark Light: Haunted Minds: IV (2017)

––––––––

NON-FICTION

The Essence of Martial Arts

The Essence of Martial Arts: Revised Edition

The Essence of Martial Arts: Special Edition

How To Write, Keep Writing and Keep Motivated: Tips for Aspiring Authors

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 by John Hennessy

This edition copyright © 2015 by John Hennessy

Cover and internal design © Claudia McKinney of www.phatpuppyart.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, John Hennessy.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

First published in the United Kingdom in 2014.

Text copyright © John Hennessy 2014

The right of John Hennessy to be identified as the author of this work is asserted by him.

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade of otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, John Hennessy.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Dark Winter: Trilogy

Copyright

Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle

Prologue

The Gift

The Demon of Gorswood Forest

Voices in the Dark

The Ouija Board

A Knock at the Door

The Girl with Tainted Hands

The Fifth Floor

A Smouldering Wreck

Evil can be Found  In the Most Innocent of Things

Bequeathal

Learning Curve

White Roses for Dana

Mirror, Mirror

Choosing a Victim

Entrapment

Losing Her Religion

Looking Evil in the Eye

Five Lives for Five Souls

Redwood

Unwanted Visions

The Darkest Side of Me

Tears of an Angel

The Devil Within

Set the Evil Ones Free

The Burning Forest

Epilogue

Dark Winter: Crescent Moon

Introduction

Prologue

The Selena Triangle

Jeannie

Kindred Spirits

(i) Scars

Scars

Remembrance

The Circle

The Ghostly Visitor

Walking with Demons

The Blood-Splattered Girl

Terrors Down Below

Absolution and Retribution

A Bloody Ascent

Escaping the Netherworld

(ii) Crescent Moon

Distant Voices

Reading Between the Lines

Leaving Gorswood

Beth’s Truth

Pretty Girls Make Good Graves

Peace in My Time

Face to Demonic-Face

Toril Faces Her Demons

Tear My Soul Apart

Scratch, Scratch

Demons at the Lake

The Twelfth Doll

Burn, Witch, Burn

Gethsemane

Dark Winter: Last Rites

Dedication

Copyright

Introduction

Prologue

The Last Resting Place of Bethany O’Neill

Black Pennies

The First Banshee

Demon Amongst Us

The Haunting of Annelise

The Last Will and Testament

of Jacinta Eleanor Crow

Looking for Trust in All the Wrong Places

(i) The Aftermath

The Fall of Rosewinter: Chapter 1

The Blood Runs Deep: Chapter 2

The Scourging: Chapter 3

Lies Between the Lines: Chapter 4

Settling Old Scores: Chapter 5

An Uncomfortable Truth: Chapter 6

The Vengeance of Toril: Chapter 8

A Fateful Blow: Chapter 9

(ii) The Breaking of the Circle

Resurgence: Chapter 10

A Voice that Dare not Speak Its Name: Chapter 11

You Can’t Trust A Witch: Chapter 12

There is Blood to be Spilled: Chapter 13

Reforming the Circle: Chapter 14

Orphans of the Forest: Chapter 15

Old Forest, New Tricks: Chapter 16

Demon One: Chapter 17

Demon Two: Chapter 18

The Lazarus Conundrum: Chapter 19

A Dark Secret Unearthed: Chapter 20

The Forsaken: Chapter 21

Secrets Down Below: Chapter 22

The Dead Have Risen: Chapter 23

Mr Jackson, I Presume: Chapter 24

Dark Witch: Chapter 25

The Suicide Swing: Chapter 26

Last Rites: Chapter 27

Destiny: Chapter 28

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Your Free Book is Waiting!

Copyright

About The Author and this Book

By the same Author

Your Free Book: II

Your Free Book is Waiting!

By the same Author

Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle

Prologue

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My name is Romilly Winter. I’m going to share with you a story that you might not believe. You might even go as far to say that I am crazy, and you know what? You might just be right.

On my fourteenth birthday I was given an item that was special to my Nan, and I would find out soon enough that it would be special to me – but not exactly in the way I had hoped.

It’s complicated. The simple life I wanted was about to become more complex too.

For the most part, you’ll see the story through my eyes. But I need to hand over the reins to my friends sometimes. I hope you don’t mind. Let me explain why I do this.

When you share your mind and soul with another entity, things can spiral out of control. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I get the details mixed up sometimes. I do not intend to.

You see, I carry a great burden. I might not make it through to the end. But I will give it all I’ve got. So allow me to tell you what I know.

Our story begins on the darkest of winter nights...

The Gift

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I like being on my own, but this is not one of those times.

I was only fourteen years old when my Nan gave me a family heirloom. A simple looking hand mirror, that was to change my life forever. I didn’t want it, I never did. All I wanted, was to leave school with good enough grades to go to college, or maybe get a job. Or marry Troy Jackson, if he’d ever notice me.

I just wanted the simple things in life. The mirror, which my Nan bequeathed to me, was supposed to keep a very specific evil at bay. I hadn’t come up against such devilry yet, but my Nan warned me that I would face it on my sixteenth birthday nonetheless.

She told me that her destiny was to pass it to me, that she would not be able to fight such evils in the twilight of her life.

If I could protect it for even half of that time, I would be happy. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be protecting. Here, the wood-cabin our family called Rosewinter was my sanctuary. I believed that both myself and the mirror would be safe here.

At least, that is what I hoped. I should have been excited to be reaching my sixteenth birthday in a matter of days. Instead, as it drew near, I became more disturbed that Nan’s prophecy really would come to pass.

The weather acted like it knew this too. Outside, the blue sky faded, the wind got up and howled throughout the forest. It was the middle of October, so I suppose the summer, such as it was, had to pass. I didn’t know it just yet, but this was going to be the longest, darkest winter I would ever know.

Every summer after school, I would spend a lot of my time with my parents, but around my birthday, at least since becoming fourteen, I would get to stay in Rosewinter, the family summer house and well, prepare to be a bit more grown-up. Our regular home, was simple – a three bedroomed semi-detached in the neighbourhood. Whenever I stayed at Rosewinter, I felt more grown-up, and it was good to be away from the rents for a while.

I noticed a change over the last few years. The seasons were shifting, and it seemed to me that winter came earlier every year, and outstayed its welcome too, eroding a good part of what should have been our spring. As I grew older, it seemed that the safety I enjoyed at Rosewinter was fading. It just didn’t seem as safe as it used to feel to me. Maybe it was me – but the older I got, the more unnerved I felt about Rosewinter. Perhaps Nan’s ghost stories were getting to me after all.

One summer, the whole family stayed at Rosewinter. I had been just twelve years old, when the scariest thing happened to me and Nan.

My father was surprised Nan joined us. After all, it had been thirteen years since she had last

been to Rosewinter. Whilst my father went fishing at Gorswood Lakes, my mother went rambling through the Forest with our neighbours, the Dawsons.

Nan and I sat across each other at the table in the main room. There was a bowl on the table, which was full to bursting with apples.

She seemed agitated, distracted. Not her usual self at all. She got up and went into one of the bedrooms, and because she had been gone awhile, I thought she had gone to sleep. I got up out of my chair, and saw a blue light, ethereal in its composition, emanating from the bedroom.

I rushed in, to see my Nan looking transfixed at a mirror she held in her hands.

I shouted her name, but I couldn’t reach her. Eventually I grabbed her by the arm and squeezed hard.

Nan! Whatever’s the matter with you?

She looked at me in the most odd way.

Nan, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.

Nan came out of the trance like state she had been in. It’s alright, Milly.

I saw a blue light.

I could have bet you’d have seen that. There are many who can’t, Milly.

Nan’s hands were old and wizened, but holding that mirror had made things much worse. The markings on her hands twisted like angry roots from the oldest trees in Gorswood Forest. The colours were strange. An indigo blue, mixing with a wine coloured red, to a chocolate brown.

Holding the mirror towards me, she said, "Do you know what this is?"

Without waiting for an answer, she opened a drawer on her dresser, and put the mirror back inside, then locked the drawer securely.

It’s a mirror, I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Yes, yes, that’s one way to put it, said Nan. She spoke in such a dry, deadpan way, that I said no more. At a time like this, Mum would be saying to my father, Get her more pills, Ron, before she has one of her turns.

Nan got into her bed, and went into a deep sleep.

I must have dozed off on the sofa too, but I was awoken by the window latch, which had unhooked itself and the pane smacked angrily against its frame. I noticed that the sun had been particularly bright that day, glistening piercingly through the trees, only for it to disappear all of a sudden.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, felt compelled to look upwards, and I could have sworn I saw a shadow glide up the stairs, and out of the window at the top.

I ran outside, and in the fading light, the shape seemed to be in sharper focus. I didn’t like the way it glided. All the same, I forgot about it when my parents returned, and prepared quite a supper for us all. As soon as I ate, I fell asleep.

On waking the next day, I found my parents had already gotten up. They’d left a note for me, saying ‘We’re walking around Gorswood Lake’.

I was fine going around the wood-cabin, until I approached the stairs again. How can I explain it? As I ascended slowly, the oxygen around me seemed to have been removed from the air.

I felt unable to breathe, and having climbed only seven steps, turned abruptly and made my way down again. I felt its breath on my neck before it punched me in the back of my head. I fell forward, and my chin connected hard with the rather unforgiving floorboards. I tasted blood in my mouth, but managed to get to my feet. One of my teeth came out with the impact. I went to pick it up, but it fell through a gap in the floorboards.

Being young and rather naïve, I turned to see what the hell had hit me. I could see nothing that could have done this, and I wasn’t quite tall enough to hit my head on the beam above, which my father had to duck under when navigating his way up and down the staircase.

When I came to, I saw that blue light from my Nan’s bedroom again.

Nan appeared from the room, saw me on the floor, and kept saying Milly, what happened?

Over and over again until I told her I tripped and fell down the stairs. Mum was always saying, Don’t worry your Nan now.

I really hope you’re not bringing the demons into the real world, Milly. The spirits get angry if one disturbed their slumber.

I’m really not doing anything like that, Nan.

"Good, because it’s not to be messed with."

My Nan went quiet, as if she wanted to tell me something, but could not, or would not. Her reasons were her own. As I stood up to go to my room, she grabbed my arm.

Milly, sit down. I have to tell you something.

Nan didn’t look well. Maybe you should rest Nan. The story can wait.

No it can’t, she said. Look around you Milly. What do you see?

I see the wood-cabin.

What about outside?

I didn’t want to play another round of State The Bleeding Obvious but here we are.

The woods, Nan, the trees...I don’t know.

What about the sky?

I was about to say Yeah it’s big and blue when it did seem to look very dark in one area, and an ominous red in another.

It’s getting darker, earlier. But that’s because winter’s coming.

You could say that, yes, said Nan. I keep having these feelings of ...déjà vu, like I have been here before. At this moment. With you. And yet I know that’s not the case. But you were wearing the same clothes in the ‘feeling’ that you are now.

She continued. The thing that....hit you. It knows you are here, it knows I have chosen you, it wants to harm you, and harm me.

How did you know about that Nan? I never told you.

At that moment, the window banged hard again, and we both jumped.

We laughed nervously, because we were together. Had we been on our own, we would have been much more scared. We scolded Dad for not fixing the window latch, and Nan continued with her story.

"The sky...it’s just like this. I’m here, you’re here, and you are wearing that top and jeans. That feeling you got when that demon went up the stairs, I have it now. All joy has gone from me, been ripped from me."

You and I are acting like we are now, trying to laugh off the scares. At some point, you stand near that back door, like you want to go outside for some reason.

Nan looked back at the door, then smiled nervously at me.

There’s something out the back. With all my heart, I don’t want to see it, because if I do, it’ll be the death of me. And you’re not ready yet. I need more time to show you what you need to do.

This wasn’t like the usual ghost story Nan peddled out to me. There was no grins, no wicked glee in her eyes when she talked. Not this time.

So you came to Rosewinter because you want to see if that thing is really out there. As I spoke, my knee knocked against the table, and an apple fell from the bowl.

My Nan was about to say ‘Don’t’ but I had already left the sofa to pick it up.

She looked at me in a Godawful pained way when she realised I was standing near the back door.

No, it’s not that, said Nan. I just want to get rid of this joyless feeling inside of me.

Fine, Nan. Let’s go and have a look.

I was convinced nothing was out there. There had to be a reasonable explanation for what had happened the last few days.

We went around the back of the wood-cabin, and down the three steps into the heathland. Nan got increasingly agitated.

Suddenly, she stopped moving.

She mouthed to me It’s Here and put a finger to her lips, shushing me from replying.

Something did pass by us at that moment. A shadow. I felt it. We both did. Nan’s grip on my arm threatened to stop the blood flowing to my hand. I watched in horror as she collapsed to the ground, and clutched her chest. She freed an arm, and hid her face, turning her head into the dirt.

Then, I saw It. Just for a second. A figure, hovered over Nan, with long black hair, wet with blood. Her skin was all cracked, and she had no lips. Her teeth gnashed angrily, and what looked like blood, spat out. She had no legs below her knees. Her eyes were an orb-like blue, like the light I saw when Nan held the mirror.

Just like that, she was gone.

My parents heard me screaming and returned moments later. Nan was okay after a short stay in hospital. She’d had a mild heart attack. To some extent, I felt to blame. I resolved to find out whatever it was that had tried to hurt her.

A week later, I left school and instead of going straight home, decided to return on my own to Rosewinter. I looked around. Nothing unusual at first.

Thud-thud-thud. THUD.

I looked up, and a red apple bounced from the top of the stairs and landed in front of me. On closer inspection, I could see it was actually a green apple, covered in blood. A tooth stuck out of it.

My old tooth.

I clapped my hands over my eyes, and when I uncovered them slowly, the apple had disappeared. The bowl of fruit on the table, looked healthy and plentiful.

But we had eaten them all before we left. I just know we had.

I hurriedly closed the door and left Rosewinter. I looked back, cursing as I did so. I could have sworn I saw a figure looking out at me from the bedroom window.

***

My father had been an engineer for over twenty years. Holiday time was strictly controlled and when January would come along, he had been told by his bosses when he could take time off for his holiday.

For as long as I could remember, it was always mid to late October. Dad had no control over that, which I hated, and often reminded him about. We had too few sunny days in May to July, still, we made the most of it though - my parents got the opportunity to have some quality time together, and as for me – well, I was happy to have some time apart from them.

Much as I adored them, I needed ‘me’ time too, and the wood-cabin was just perfect. My parents were never far away. They didn’t bother me, nor I, them. Those were the days I adored. Back then, spending time at Rosewinter was fun.

The building itself had been in our family for a few generations, and was situated about three miles from our normal home in a picturesque forest named Gorswood, after the town’s founder.

At school, there were rumours that Gorswood Forest was a place where the bad people of the town got rid of their problems. It wasn’t uncommon for a body to turn up, found by someone walking their dog, or children playing in the woods. After a while, the police lines would be taken away, and things would get back to normal. I was never told not to go to Gorswood Forest.

Even so, I didn’t see it like the other children did. I liked the fact that there was a clearing around the site, and the trees folded in their leaves and branches together to form a protective barrier from the sun. I would risk bruising my toes, kicking large stones that lay on the ground, onto their other side. The reason? Small craters they would leave in the ground would reveal the blackest of black soil underneath, and I would admit that the scent that filled my nostrils would put me on a high for the rest of the day.

In the daytime, at least, I love it in the summer months. I’m not a huge fan of the sun itself, which would beat down on me from such a low level, but in the forest, I was protected from such things. There were two huge red oak trees that stood like Roman pillars, protecting our wood-cabin.

My Nan would have none of it. Protected? Not likely. Not when you choose to build a wood-cabin on the site of an old mental hospital, where people killed themselves rather than be handled by the nurses. Safe? Ha! Whatever was the old fella thinking?

Nan would be chastised whenever she came out with things like that.

Nana, don’t do those scare stories in front of Milly, please, my mother would say.

She’s only a child.

Naturally, my Nan would protest. But they are not scare stories! What about the axe-

Mum would say Whisht! and wave her hand dismissingly. Mum had won, for now.

I could be sure that Nan would fill me in later.

Our woodland retreat was not named Rosewinter by chance. My grandfather on my mother’s side of the family, had built it, and when he died, the place was bequeathed to my father, and he gave it a name because It’s bad luck for a place not to have a name. My grandfather did not believe in such things, but my father was a superstitious type, always throwing salt over his right shoulder, or saying touch wood whenever he felt the need. I’m with my granddad on this one.

The design of the house itself, was supposed to have been inspired by Old Tahoe architecture, a style that represented the exquisite beauty of Lake Tahoe as well as the peacefulness of the wilderness surrounding it.

One year, we had all taken a late holiday to the Western United States, and stayed near to Tahoe, which straddled the borders of California and Nevada. My father had said that this place had a profound affect on my grandfather, so he built the wood-cabin with this in mind.

The Old Tahoe architecture blended seamlessly and harmoniously with the environment, and although we were nowhere near the granite cliffs surrounding the deep blue edge of Lake Tahoe, it had its own charm and sense of character.

The main house had two large bedrooms upstairs. There was also a garage, an extremely luxurious master suite, and upstairs guest room. The only thing I didn’t like was the creaking floorboards. They had been treated with wood oil so many times by Dad that they were kind of the blackest brown you would ever see. There was so much liquid lacing the grain that creaks should not have been happening. They creaked a lot, not that you would notice in the daytime. At night, all that changed.

All the same, the guest room was by far the nicest, so when I was at Rosewinter, I always made sure I stayed in that one. It contained a huge bed, almost twice the size of my own back home, so it was an easy choice. Our neighbours, the Dawsons, would often pass by and shout me a ‘Hi Romilly’ a few times. I know they did this out of reassurance for me, but in that huge bed, I felt just fine and safe. I would mumble or wave a ‘Hi’, back at them.

When I asked my father why he had called it Rosewinter, my father said Two letters from your name, two from your mother’s, and the rest from our own.

This made sense to me. My mother’s name was Selena. I always thought that was a much better name than mine, but when I heard the alternative – Sue, I was so glad they christened me as Romilly. I was also glad to have my mother’s birth name as part of my own. I was christened Romilly Selena Winter.

The priest, Father Brannigan, said to my parents at the time, "Romilly. What a lovely name."

Turning to another priest, Father McArdle, he said quietly, The Lord be praised for that. I might just have stammered over Sue. Selena. Winter. Too many bloody ‘S’s, you see.

Turning back to my parents, he said, You must be very proud. Those priests were wily, and gave nothing away, and my parents were none the wiser. My Nan, who was older and wiser, had also been present as my godmother, and never failed to miss a trick. She told me what they actually said at my christening a few years ago. Later I stopped going to church with my parents, and tried to con them that I was going to mass with my friend Beth, when I actually wasn’t doing anything of the sort.

Rosewinter itself was two storeys high, made of very fine cedar wood, and had a huge main room, kitchen, bathroom, out-house, five bedrooms, and the attic. Of course the windows were large so you could see quite far in the daytime. One of the windows had an ever-so-slight crack in it, and was more dusty than the others because we didn’t clean it, and so far Dad hadn’t had the time, or made time, to replace it.

At night-time though, it’s pretty claustrophobic, and I’m relieved when night finally gives in to the new day. I had convinced myself on many occasions that I had seen ghosts hovering outside the window, but I think the images were just remnants from my Nan’s many ghost stories. I had convinced myself that ghosts didn’t exist, that parents told you about the demon in the bathroom that would get you if you didn’t go to bed early and stay there for the whole night. One time, I broke that rule, and got to the toilet by tip-toeing past my parents’ bedroom. I would go down the stairs in the house, there were thirteen steps of course, and enter through the living room, across the long kitchen floor, to the toilet.

It would be so dark, but I couldn’t put the light on. So I would reach a bony arm into the toilet room, my fingers scrambling for the light switch, which was the type that was not fixed to the wall, but dangled from the ceiling. That’s when a hand would grab mine. No chance to go to the bathroom. I would just run back to my bedroom, heart pounding in my chest so loudly that it was sure to give my whereabouts away to the ghost, or even worse, alert my parents that I had been running around the house in the night.

Not here though. If anything was to go down, Rosewinter was the safest place to be. So why do these images appear outside of the window? Is it my over active imagination? Maybe it is. Or maybe, it’s just something I feel I have to put myself through. You have to conquer your demons, right? Otherwise you live your whole life in fear. I won’t live my life like that.

The wood-cabin was safe and warm inside, but it was plain for all to see that the place had seen better days. My father was working longer hours than ever before, and he just didn’t have time to maintain everything. The cracked pane of glass was a case in point, and was the least of his worries.

My parents had been away for a long weekend, but would be back the day after next – my birthday, in fact. I was looking forward to their return. This year, more than any other, I had heard things in the woods that really unnerved me. Wolves that howled nearby, bats that screeched through the night sky, the screams of a young girl as she was brutally slain in the woods. The scrape of a would-be killer’s axe outside my door.

You’re never bad, but you could be worse. My Nan’s words echoed through my head. I opened the drawer where I kept the Mirror, and wondered if it was all true. Could this simple looking mirror really keep evil at bay?

Meaning what? I asked her one time.

Meaning that what I’ve told you up to now, is child’s play. There are scarier things than the bogeyman, my dear, and you’ll need to be ready for when they come.

I had a look on my face that said For God’s Sake, so my Nan elaborated.

You won’t know what a Zeryth is, Romilly, but you probably do know what a zombie is. Imagine you had a zombie, that had no legs below its knee stumps, that could glide towards you, attack you at will. Spit blood at you that could burn through your skin like acid.

Lovely image, Nan.

But you can hit zombies and they drop in one, I retorted.

Not these zombies, because they are collectively known as Zerythra. They can become solid, or non-solid at will. Makes them very hard to kill, you see. But if you have the Mark, it’s possible.

Nan showed me the marks on her hands. I had seen them before of course. They looked like burn marks at first, maybe done by a tattooist high on something. When going out to bingo or to play bridge, she would wear gloves that covered them up like magic. That was cool, but I didn’t believe this story. But she was deadly serious about it.

I bit my lip. Did you do it Nan? Did you kill one of these...Zeryths? Honestly, I don’t want to kill anything.

Nan expertly evaded my questions.

No choice. They will kill you. This is no time to be squeamish. The Mirror contains Zeryths, and can stop future ones. Like it or not, you’re going to need this Mirror one day, Romilly.

Another bite. Sure thing, Nan.

I dismissed the story as total fantasy at the time. Here, alone at Rosewinter, safe, the doubts began to creep in. I admit for the first time to myself, that the scare stories are getting to me.

I caressed the Mirror, running my finger along the outside rim. I put it back in the drawer, and my sleep was disturbed that night.

***

In my dreamlike state, I recalled my fourteenth birthday. Nan gave me the strangest of gifts.

It wasn’t just another scary story, although Nan could be relied upon to come up with a real spine-tingler, at any time of night.

What made it most frightening was how the stories Nan told were actually true, even if some felt rather implausible. Or maybe they were dressed up a little. In any case, I was always petrified when going to sleep, but I just couldn’t resist from asking for ‘one more scary story.’

Nan was older than me in any case, and I had found out about her age purely by accident. My mother had left some documents lying around, and I caught sight of the year of her birth – 1905. This caught me by surprise, because I had no idea she had been born so long ago. I respected her even more then.

The particular story centred around a church in the village where my Mum had lived in Ireland, before coming to England as an adult. Mama, an elderly lady on my mother’s side, gave the two girls – Nan and her friend Dana, an envelope with money to give as a donation to the church.

The church itself was very old, and was rather imposing to two eleven year old girls. They had been in the church before, but on the night in question it looked even more scary. Back in those days, you wouldn’t have to worry about the place being locked. You could just walk right in.

Entry to the church was via a huge oak door that opened down the centre. The building had one large spire to the right of the roof, and a huge window of stainless glass was on the front of the old church. Statues of saints and bishops surrounded the building, looking for all the world like gargoyles standing on watch.

It was a dark winter’s night. It wasn’t snowing, but it looked like it just might do that, so the two girls hurried into the church with the envelope.

The floor made a loud noise as the girls walked on it. Echoes reverberated around the church hall. Hurriedly, Nan made for the table near the altar of the church and placed the envelope down on it.

There was no-one in the church except the two girls. At that moment, the table rose up – it was a figure, in the cloth of one of the convent nuns. Except that, there couldn’t be a nun here, not at this time.

The hair stood up on Nan’s neck, and she ran, screaming and swearing out of the church, with her friend Dana following her, bewildered about what was going on.

The floor was highly polished, and very shiny, and Nan nearly did the splits on the floor, before collecting herself and getting out of the church as fast as she could.

A local policeman stopped the girls to see what all the commotion was about, and when it was explained to him, whilst he may not have believed there was a ghost in the church, the girls believed it. He escorted them close to home and bade them good night.

I asked my Nan, So, is that it?

She said, Aren’t you scared, even a little bit?

I had to admit I was, but it perhaps was the fact that this had been the sixth night in a row in which Nan had told me a ghost story. I conveniently neglected to say I had been watching horror films on my television into the small hours. My nerves were on edge more than usual.

I think so, I replied weakly.

But you were expecting more, she said.

Well, yes! I stammered, with perhaps too much honesty.

But isn’t it more scary when it’s left like that, Milly? If the ghost just fades away, what is there to be scared of?

That it might come back, I answered, a bit too quickly. I was almost correcting her about calling me ‘Milly,’ but it was her pet name for me, and she had told me a story even though she was tired, so I let it be. Her next words stopped me in my tracks.

No, it’s not that, said Nan, but that it might never go away. She hissed the word away, which added to my state of increasing unease. Jesus. Why did I do this to myself? I was sure Nan enjoyed terrorising me. Or can never be killed, or banished. Those ghosts are the ones to watch out for, Romilly.

I tried to regain my composure.

Is it a true story Nan?

It’s true, said Nan simply. The stories are always true.

What about the made up ones? I ventured a smirk.

Especially the made up ones. Especially those. But I think you’re too old to be hearing ghost stories. Maybe Romilly, you should try being in one. I’ve seen my share of ghosts over the time.

I...I’m not sure I’d like to see a real ghost, actually Nan. Not for real.

Wouldn’t that be great, said Nan, with a hint of despondency, if we could choose to see ghosts or not.

Without saying a further word, to my surprise, Nan got up out of bed and went to her dressing table.

Opening a drawer, she brought out a rectangular box which had small flowers drawn all over it. It was damaged at the edges. I already knew what was in it.

Nan wore a huge smile over her face, and motioned me to sit on the bed next to her. Here’s something that just might scare you then.

Here. She handed me the box, gesturing Come on, Milly, open it.

I gently fingered under the lid. I had already made up my mind that I wouldn’t like what was ever inside.

Open it, said Nan, a bit more sternly, but not in any unfriendly kind of a way.

Stifling a sigh, I bit my lip and pulled the lid off.

Inside the box was a mirror, the very one I had seen a year ago at Rosewinter. My Nan’s eyes sparkled.

You see this, Milly? You see it, don’t you?

I certainly saw something. Something rather odd. As Nan lifted the mirror out of the box, her hand seemed to merge with the handle of the mirror. I then convinced myself that my eyes were playing tricks on me, and that nothing had really happened. I rubbed my eyeballs a little too roughly, but soon regained focus.

Look into the mirror, Milly, said Nan, holding the mirror right in front of me. It seemed very old, perhaps as old, if not older, than Nan herself, and whilst the glass itself could do with a clean, the ornate rubies that adorned the golden mirror were sparkling.

But there was a problem. I don’t know if Nan’s ghost story had left me unnerved, but I just didn’t want to look into it. But Nan was always kind to me, and I trusted her implicitly, so refusing her wish wasn’t on.

So, I looked into the mirror, and saw just what I expected.

I just see me, Nan. Christ. Just look at my hair. I really did need to fix it. My eyes were sunk into their sockets, and black bags hung underneath. I almost looked like someone you would see on Jeremy Kyle. What a mess. I would simply have to forget the horror movies, and get to sleep earlier. Channel Four were having a Hellraiser season, and I had only watched the first two. If Pinhead ever compiled a list of possible prom dates, the way I was looking, I could qualify.

Look a little longer, Milly, said Nan. Then, then you will see.

Huh? What the- I blurted out the words just as my image disappeared, and the mirror just showed the back of the bedroom wall, as if I wasn’t even there. My hand also seemed to have fused with part of the mirror’s handle, somehow, though I knew such thoughts were crazy.

Thoughts were one thing. Feelings were another. I felt my hands start to burn, and the skin around my fingers, hands and wrists gave off a burnt ash type scent.

Then I felt voices in my head, and I felt light headed. There were too many voices to process, never mind understand what they were saying. I went to drop the mirror, and Nan cradled the mirror and caught hold of my arm.

Nan? What’s....what’s happening?

That, my dear, is no ordinary mirror. It catches souls.

My Nan said this with the straightest of faces.

I can tell you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Romilly Winter, you have to believe me.

Oh no. If Nan called me Romilly Winter, and not her usual Milly, that meant one of two things. Either I was in trouble, or about to get into trouble. I couldn’t tell with any certainty what it was, much less fear to ask.

I stared at her absent-mindedly, then at my singed hands. Something was very wrong here. So. Enough of playing chicken. I somehow plucked up courage to ask her anyway.

Nan, you’re serious, aren’t you? You’re absolutely serious.

I know that other people in my situation would have been running down to Mum and Dad to say the old dear had gone crazy, but there was an intensity, a sincerity about Nan that made

me think that she really was telling the truth.

The Mirror of Souls, said Nan. You felt them, didn’t you, when you held the Mirror, right Milly?

Milly. I’m Milly again, thank goodness.

Yes, but-

No time for buts. The Mirror is yours now. Look after it.

No! I won’t keep it Nan! This is too weird. I can’t handle it.

You must. I’ve fewer years ahead of me than you have, so.....don’t argue with me. I’ve seen the future, little one, and you.....you need the Mirror. You’re the only one who can deal with what is coming. I am too old for all that.

All what Nan? This is show and tell. You show me things, but you tell me nothing.

You will be fine Milly. Just...keep on doing what you are doing. You are still going to kung fu class, aren’t you?

What a strange question. Yes...but-

You’re going to Rosewinter for your birthday, right?

"I am. At least, that’s the plan. You know Mum."

You cannot take no for an answer. I know you won’t want to go, but you have to be there. Something will try and take the Mirror from you, and kill you if you get in its way. But you can’t let it, Milly. Do you see the marks on your hands?

I did. God, I did.

They will...protect you. But you have to protect others as well. You see, my markings are fading, yours are getting stronger. The Mirror will imprint itself on you, and only you now. Should any foe try to harm you, place your hand on their chest. There will be an intense heat emanating from your fingers, even hotter than what felt just now, and that which would attack you, will fade.

Mirrors. Markings. Unknown things that would try to kill me. This was no mere story, no fantasy. Nan was very matter-of-fact when she spoke about this, and was not at all like the conversational tone she used when telling me ghost stories.

Um, Nan....you were saying something about protecting others?

Oh. Oh yes. Remember my magic gloves?

Oh yes. I loved that trick. Nan would place these white lace gloves over her hands, and voila! The markings would disappear. I never quite figured out how she did it.

She reached the inside of her pillow slip, pulled the gloves out and held them in front of me.

Now, they belong to you as well.

Oh no, Nan, I couldn’t possibly take them from you.

"You’re not taking them, I’m giving them to you. If you don’t wear them, everyone will see your markings. If you ever find yourself with dark thoughts, you may end up hurting others. I know you don’t want that, so please, wear them at all times except when you feel at your safest. Don’t bring tears to your old Nan, now. Just promise you’ll go to Rosewinter for your sixteenth birthday. Promise me."

Well, what could I do? It couldn’t harm me to keep the Mirror in the box, and if it made Nan happy, well, what of it? I just wish she had said it was some kind of antique, was worth a hundred thousand pounds now, and if I kept it safe for a few years, it would be worth ten times that, and I would be set for life. No such luck.

I promise, Nan.

I could always back out of it later.

I tried to rationalise things. Whatever I had just saw or felt, it was as a result of successive nights of Nan’s ghost stories. I was more than a little unnerved, but decided that I would do my best to keep composed. I would go to sleep, wake up the next day, and it would all be fine.

No markings, no Mirror, no mystery.

On one condition, Nan. You’ve got to keep telling me your stories.

You’ve got a deal there, Milly.

I put the lid on the box, stood up, straightened my nightgown and hugged Nan, giving her a kiss on the cheek. I had a million questions about all that had happened, but it would have to wait until the morning at least.

I just had to steel myself from opening the box again, at least until the morning. I just wanted to satisfy myself that what had happened, hadn’t happened at all. I do remember putting the box away in my dresser. That, I remember.

Despite my exhaustion, and Hellraiser 3 playing in the background, it wasn’t easy to sleep, and it was little to do with Nan’s story and prophecy that something would try and kill me on my sixteenth birthday.

No, what was making it hard to sleep was the imprint on my hands from the handle of the Mirror. That was real. It was like I had been branded, somehow, like slaves of old that I would hear about in history class.

I dozed off, then woke again. I immediately checked my hands and was relieved to see they were unblemished. No markings at all!

Mum and Dad told me Nan’s hands looked as they did because she had burnt her hands handling a hot fire poker in her youth.

I know that now not to be true.

I was fixated on my hands as the pain of the branding made tiny little rivers of red on my hands, first on the back, then on my palms and wrists. The pain was intolerable, and yet, just as I was about to scream my loudest scream ever, the pain subsided.

There was no longer any doubt what the markings on what my Nan’s hands were – because now, I have those same identical markings on mine.

The Demon of Gorswood Forest

15th October. My Birthday’s Eve. One more day of being fifteen.

On this, the last night before my parents were due to return, I didn’t need my special sense of things to appreciate the sudden cooling of the temperature that just hit the main room, but there was more to it than that. A menacing chill enveloped me, making the hairs on my neck stand up. A simple sigh from me, releasing vapour into the air, and it would have been visible to all that something not of this world had made the temperature plummet.

It was usually at this point I really would see a ghost. Oh, my Nan had talked about ghosts before, and how she had seen them on many occasions. I liked her ghost stories, and although I’ll admit her ‘Zeryths are coming to kill you and only this mirror can stop them’ story freaked me out more than the others, I found myself being a glutton for punishment.

I would ask her to tell me lots of ghost stories, then, when I would try to sleep, I would be unable to, and be screaming downstairs to anyone who would listen, to come up and console me.

I’d be even too scared to get out of bed to switch the light off, because, well, that’s when They would get you. I couldn’t have that, could I?

Not bothering to use mirrors anymore, I looked at my reflection in the window and lightly brushed my long brown mousey hair. It’s wavy, although I’ve grown a fringe in the last few years, and the bangs hang over my right eye. I like it just-so, and I’m not getting my hair cut, no matter what my mother or anyone else says. It seems that I am destined to stop growing past five foot seven inches too.

But here, no-one is saying anything. There are no kids here from the school I used to go to, and my parents are a long drive away from here. One of our neighbours from the town did frequent the woods though, even on nights like this, so maybe if I need help, I would just have to shout. The damnedest thing of all, was that I had agreed to my Nan’s request, or rather her insistence, that I be here now.

Tonight, things seem way too quiet. The silence was deafening. I lay with my eyes to the ceiling, when I heard it. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. The sound of an apple hitting each step of the stairwell.

I gripped the bedsheets a bit tighter. What a time to be alone.

Take a deep breath, Romilly. You imagined the thud, okay?

Usually, this suits me just fine because I like my own company, and wish to be left to my own devices. I distracted myself with thoughts of my past, as I wasn’t sure what was to become of my future.

At school I was the proverbial wallflower, and it was a reputation well deserved. I don’t mix with others easily, though I’ve had friends in the past. Beth O’Neill, who I would partner with in Home Economics, Toril Withers from Drama class, and Jacinta Crow who would sit next to me when Beth and Toril weren’t there.

I somehow tended to mess up even the good things in my life, and whilst Beth had previously spent time with me at Rosewinter, there was scant chance of a repeat now.

The wind howled incessantly in the woods, and that, combined with the darkness that comes all too quickly in these late summer evenings, really unsettled me. I try to be rational, say to myself that there is nothing to worry about, and yet I can’t shrink away from the uneasy feeling that something has happened to my parents. The thought of losing them scares me even more than the other unshakable feeling - that something really horrible was about to happen to me.

When I get these feelings, I do the only thing any sensible person would do. I reach for the kettle, and make a cup of tea. It helps to settle the nerves on the long dark nights.

As I turn the water tap on, it croaks into life. The pipes rattle like the bones of a skeleton, being dragged from a grave without its permission. In that same moment I shudder violently, and cup my hands around my shoulders.

What was that? I feel like someone or some thing touched the back of my neck, moving my hair to one side. It can’t be the case though, I am here on my own.

I am here on my own, and I am in total control. I say this to myself, over and over again, as if

to reaffirm that I really am in control of everything, even if I’m not.

I was told to try this by one of the school teachers, who said that Other children’s words can only hurt you, Romilly, if you let them. You can’t control what they say, but you can control your reaction to them.

This was all sound advice, unless you were the target of name calling at school. Teachers themselves were rarely, if ever, the target of playground bullying, so they couldn’t possibly understand what I had been through.

The feeling won’t go away though, and I know, I just know, that I did not imagine that...whatever it was that brushed the back of my neck. I cup the back of my neck with my hand, as if by doing so, I will be safe. A fake assurance, but assurance nonetheless.

I tell myself I am being silly. I tell myself that Mum and Dad are fine, and that they will be here to meet with me tomorrow morning. I really should just enjoy my last night of freedom. Outside, the simple pleasantness of September was gone. October growled with disapproval. Winter was coming. How brutal would my cold friend be this time?

I gulped down my tea, and slid into my very warm and comfortable bed. The cup is still half-full, when I arrive at my most peaceful sleep.

An ear shattering noise rudely awakens me.

I sat bolt upright in my bed, with such force that my arms are almost ripped from their sockets.

The door to the wood-cabin burst open, and found my peaceful-yet-slightly-unnerved world, shattered. The noise was deliberate. It wanted me to know fear. It wasn’t going to kill me in my sleep. It wanted to look into my eyes as my life ebbed away.

Whatever had been hunting me all this time, had now found its quarry. If my Nan was right, some bog-eyed zombie with no legs and blood filled eyes, would make a move to claim the Mirror.

One thing was for certain. I was no longer alone.

***

16th October. My Birthday. Just past mid-night.

Happy Birthday, Romilly. Hope it’s not for the last time.

Although the noise shook the hell out of me, it shouldn’t have come as a complete surprise. After all, I knew what she had come for, but it didn’t make my job any easier. I didn’t like to kill anything, even if it was dead in the first place, but I had no doubt she would kill me if I hesitated.

I had seen her kind before, but only in my dreams, which had a nasty habit of coming true of late. Nan wasn’t mistaken. This zombie-girl, humanoid appearance aside, bore little resemblance to you or I.

Still, she wasn’t your traditional, slow walking, dead eyed, drop-and-splat-in-one-hard-stroke kind of zombie. That kind of zombie remained in the movies, and she didn’t look to me like she had just walked off-set, and made her way to my little abode.

Her bedraggled black hair was wet with something, it clung to her face. Burned into her forehead – branded perhaps – were the strangest of markings, and though the rest of her face was almost normal, she had no lips to speak of. Her teeth stuck out from behind her skin, like a skeleton. She might have been human at one time, but to me she now looked like she was ridden with infection, disease and the over-riding stench of death. Her skin was a greyish-yellow, making her look slightly jaundiced. Nothing so disgusting looking could possibly be for real, and yet, here it was, dripping blood on my floor, which dissolved the wood, making a hissing, fizzing sound as it splattered everywhere.

If I concentrated too much on her looks, I would be forgiven for neglecting the axe she was holding, the blade of which seemed far too large and cumbersome for someone of her size to wield.

As if reading my thoughts, she let the heavy blade hit the floor, which made a clunking, scraping sound on the floor as it travelled, awkwardly but purposely towards me. Shards of wood gave way as she approached me. I noticed that the axe was already covered in blood, skin, and bits of bone. She wore a white blouse that had been reddened by blood and dried by time – if time existed where she came from.

Whatever she was remained strangely corporeal when swinging wildly at me with an axe, and yet I could almost see right through her.

I really wanted to kick out at her but was severely under-dressed. My nightgown was far too long, and I was in my bare feet, and the splintered wood from the door and the floor that had been cut up by the axe, was drawing pipettes of blood from my toes. Talk about being totally unprepared for my first visit by a Zeryth. Having them come into your nightmares and then, coming into your home, were two completely different things. I scream myself awake from a nightmare. This was for real though, and I had to deal with the situation head-on.

Some people at my school, even my parents, had said I used humour as some kind of defence. Maybe I do that, but here, I am very scared.

What could I do then? I tried my hardest to scream at her, but no words would come from my throat.

Remember you’re in control, Romilly. What they say or do can’t hurt you.

I had always been told in self-defence class to put your hands up in front of your body to put an adversary off, but something told me this was not going to work this time. I had forgotten to ask the instructor what to do if a zombie-girl ends up in your house uninvited. I’m sure the response would have been "Oh. Zombie self defence class. You must have missed that one."

Still, the non-zombie classes hadn’t been a total waste. Keeping my hands in some sort of guard, as she swung at me, I managed to put her off from hitting me full-on. Nearly three years of irregular kung fu training had passed, but I still felt I knew practically nothing.

I wasn’t as lucky with the next stroke. The Zeryth brought the axe down towards me and it caught the left side of my body, and my nightdress ripped all too easily.

Getting courage from somewhere, I’d had enough of this. I grabbed at her hair, and yanked at it, only for it to come off in my hand, with a clump of rotten skin attached to it.

Feeling rather disgusted, but still needing to stay focussed, I slammed the skin and hair on the floor, and punched her jaw, only for it to break way slightly and her jaw hung open like a broken plastic bag billowing in the wind. The whole experience was making me feel nauseous, but there wasn’t time to worry about that.

Spinning around my room in nano-seconds, I was looking for something to throw at her that would cause some real damage, when I realised that I actually did have a weapon to hand, my calm-the-nerves-cup of tea. In my frenzy I grabbed at the cup and it nearly tipped over. Okay, I had lost some of it, and the warmish liquid was spilling all over the floor, but I had enough left, so I threw the remainder of it towards her face.

Ruing my bad luck, I grimaced as the tea, which I hoped would at least delay her coming towards me, passed straight through her face. She continued to swing the axe wildly at me, which I had experienced was all too real, and I wondered how I