Blackmore Farm , livre ebook

Augustine Nash - Augustine Nash

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123 pages

English

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'...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?

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Publié par	Augustine Nash
Date de parution	22 juin 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783017591
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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Extrait

2015 Augustine Nash
Augustine Nash has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in eBook format in 2015 eBook ISBN: 9781783017591
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Blackmore Farm,
The Witches Curse
Augustine Nash.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
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 ch