James Herbert Once

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sight of a tiny face peering down at him, but it was gone in an instant,
ducking behind a stout descending beam.
'Rigwit - it's you, isn't it?' Thom tried to keep his voice level, afraid he
might alarm the little elf, who seemed scared enough already. 'It's me - Thom.
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What's wrong, why are you hiding up there?'
Still there was no reply and Thom climbed, going to the landing just outside
the rooftop door. From there he had a clearer view of the fake belltower's
interior, but it was still too dark and the beams too thick to see if a figure
lurked there.
He softened his tone even more, speaking soothingly, coaxingly. 'Come on,
Rigwit. You know me. It's
Thom, Thom Kindred. No one's going to hurt you.'
There was movement among the shadows. The little face appeared again.
'Shecomeshecomeshecome,didbadbadthings!'
Take it easy.' Despite the frustration, Thom kept his voice placid. 'I can't
understand you when you talk so fast. Look, come down, let me look at you. It
helps me understand your words.'
The elf was reluctant, but did as he was bid, swinging first from a crossbeam,
then sliding down the centre post.
When he arrived at Thom's feet he was shivering so fiercely Thom thought he
might be having a seizure.
He quickly knelt before Rigwit and took him gently by the shoulders.
'Turribleturriblethings,shedidshedid!'
Try and calm yourself,' Thom urged. 'I need to know what you're saying.'
Eyes wide - as wide as tilted eyes could be - Rigwit stiffened, forcing
himself to gain control. He continued to shiver, but he began to speak a
language Thom could comprehend.
'She-did-terrible-things.'
Who did, Rigwit? The lady with blonde ... with light-coloured hair?'
Rigwit shook his head violently, but bravely kept control. He was growing
smaller before Thom's eyes though.
'Not Katy, not the fair-haired lady?' Thom willed Rigwit not to shrink any
more and for the moment, it seemed to work. Who, then?' he asked, but was sure
he already knew.
The hellhagge,' Rigwit said with a sob in his voice. The hellhagge did bad
things to the other lady.'
Thom's face was set grim as he climbed into the black Cherokee Jeep, his
tiredness forgotten. He now wore soft boots and had pulled on a V-necked
sweater over his T-shirt. He switched on the engine, reversing a little, then
brought the Jeep round in one practised sweep into the lane leading towards
the main road. He pressed down on the accelerator, picking up speed, going as
fast as the deeply rutted track would allow.
A few minutes before he had tried calling Katy Budd on his cell phone, tapping
in both her home number, and then her mobile, but, as he already knew, he was
in a bad area for reception and all he got was heavy static. It occurred to
him that if there was no link mast in the vicinity there probably should have
been nothing at all, not even interfer-
ence, but now wasn't the time to wonder about it. What Rigwit had told him had
shocked him and although the elf had not used the word 'rape' - perhaps there
was no such word in his vocabulary - from his description of events in the
cottage that morning, rape was what it had amounted to. Female rape of another
female. Weird, degenerate - and evil.
Rigwit had spied on the two women as they had shredded the orchid bulbs
between them, the juices of the root a powerful love potion apparently, and
Thom had began to understand. Nell Quick had brought the flowers to the
cottage expecting to find him all alone. She'd found Katy Budd instead. But
why use the extract from the orchid on the physiotherapist when it was meant
for him? If it was her devious way of collecting his seed, some kind of
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aphrodisiac to turn him on, why use it on Katy? It didn't make sense. But
then, what did make sense since he'd returned to Bracken? It could be that
Nell Quick swung both ways as well as being an opportunist. She'd had the
aphrodisiac on hand (so to speak), he hadn't been home, and Katy Budd had
turned up out of the blue. Could Nell really be that crazy, that sick?
Something told Thom she could.
Leafy branches lightly brushed the side of the Jeep as he sped along the
narrow unmade lane and his hands remained firm on the steering-wheel as it
tried to twist in his grip. He was angry, angry that the woman, whatever her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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