The Spook's Stories: Grimalkin's Tale

enemy. Even as a child I’d disliked him intensely. I observed the subtle ways in which he increasingly controlled my clan; saw how the coven fawned over him. They spent most of each year looking forward to the Halloween sabbath, the time when he was most likely to visit. Sometimes he appeared right in the centre of their fire, and they reached forward, desperate to touch his hairy hide, oblivious to the flames that seared their bare arms.
    My growing revulsion was something instinctive in me – a natural born hatred – and I knew that unless I acted, he would become a blight upon my life; a dark shadow over everything I did. He was clever, subtle and devious, often achieving his aims slowly. Above all I feared that one day, like many other witches who had once opposed him, I would finally become in thrall to him. That I could not bear and I needed to do something to make it impossible.
    And I knew exactly what I had to do: there is one certain way in which a witch can ensure that he keeps his distance. It is very extreme but it means that she can be free of him for evermore. She needs to sleep with him just once, then bear his child. Thereafter – having inspected his offspring – he may not approach her again. Not unless she wishes it.
    Most of the Fiend’s children prove to be abhumans, misshapen creatures of the dark with terrible strength; others are powerful witches. But a few, a very few, are born perfect human children untainted by evil. I knew I risked giving birth to a dark entity, but it seemed worth it to be rid of the Fiend.
    I was fortunate indeed. Mine was a beautiful, fragile baby boy, perfect in every way.
    I had never felt such intense love for another creature. To have my son’s soft warmth against my body, so trusting, so very dependent, was wonderful – blissful beyond anything I had dreamed of; something I had never imagined or anticipated. That little child loved me, and I loved him in return; he depended upon me for life, and for the first time I was truly happy. But in this world such happiness rarely lasts.
    I remember well the night mine ended. The sun had just set and it was a warm summer’s evening, so I walked out into the walled garden at the rear of my cottage, cradling my child, humming softly to lull him to sleep. Suddenly lightning flashed overhead and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet; the air became sharp with cold. Although I had anticipated a visit from the Fiend for some time, I suddenly realized that his arrival was now imminent and my heart lurched with fear. At the same time I was glad because once he’d seen his son, I knew that he would leave and never be able to visit me again. I would be rid of him for the rest of my life.
    Previously, the Fiend had always appeared to me as a handsome young man with dark curly hair, blue eyes and a mouth that often turned up at the corners with a warm, welcoming smile. But he can take on many shapes, and this time he appeared in the form that the Pendle witches refer to as ‘his fearsome majesty’; it is a shape that is used to intimidate and terrify.
    He materialized very near where I was standing, and his fetid breath was so close to my face that I struggled not to retch. He was large – three times my height – with the curved horns of a ram and a huge naked body covered in matted black hair. No sooner had he appeared than, with a roar of rage, he snatched my innocent baby boy and lifted him high, ready to dash him to the ground.
    ‘Please!’ I begged. ‘Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything, but please let him live. Take my life instead!’
    The Fiend never even glanced at me. He was filled with wrath and cruelty. He smashed my child’s fragile head against a rock. Then he vanished.
    For a long time I was insane with grief. And then, as the long days and sleepless nights slowly passed, thoughts of revenge began to swirl within my head. Was it possible? I asked myself. Could I destroy the Fiend?
    Impossible or not, that became my goal and my only reason for living.
    I achieved part of that goal just one month ago. The Fiend is not destroyed, but at least he is temporarily bound. That binding was accomplished with the help of the old Spook, John Gregory, and his young apprentice, Thomas Ward. We transfixed the Fiend with silver spears, then nailed his hands and feet to the bedrock of the deep pit at Kenmare in the southwest of Ireland, where his body is now buried.
    I still delight in remembering the moment of