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This page contains links to downloadable versions of all the sheets in the back of the Little Fears Nightmare Edition including variants of some. You are free to download and print as many copies of these sheets as you wish.
For Happy Birthday, Little Fears players, you can download a copy of the sheet at the bottom of the page. Download one or both of these character sheets to keep everything you need to know about your kid in a single, safe place. Each character sheet has 2 pages but is downloaded as a single file.
A letter-sized version of the character sheet from the Little Fears Nightmare Edition book. GMC Sheets Hey, not everyone can be a hero.
Keep track of game moderator characters quickly and easily with this sheets for both Simplified and Expanded GMCs. Monster Sheet The monsters of Closetland are on the loose! Download one or both of these monster sheets for use with the beasts in the book or for making your own dastardly creations.
A larger version of the sheet included in the Little Fears Nightmare Edition book. I liked the way it was the furthest thing you could see. For years this had been my routine before climbing into bed each night. I used to stare at that hill and imagine what was on the other side. I knew that it was really just more fields and then, two miles further on, what passed for the local village - half a dozen houses, a small church and an even smaller school but my imagination conjured up other things.
Sometimes I imagined high cliffs with an ocean beyond, or maybe a forest or a great city with tall towers and twinkling lights. But now, as I gazed at the hill, I remembered my fear as well. Three generations earlier, a war had raged over the whole land and the men of the County had played their part.
It had been the worst of all wars, a bitter civil war where families had been divided and where sometimes brother had even fought brother. When it was finally over, the winning army had brought their prisoners to this hill and hanged them from the trees on its northern slope.
It was said that some of these men had refused to fight people they considered to be neighbours. You see, from there I could hear them. I could hear the ropes creaking and the branches groaning under their weight.
I could hear the dead, strangling and choking on the other side of the hill. Mam had said that we were like each other. One winter, when I was very young and all my brothers lived at home, the noises from the hill got so bad at night that I could even hear them from my bedroom. Mam came to my room every time I called, even though she had to be up at the crack of dawn to do her chores.
When she came back, everything was quiet and it stayed like that for months afterwards. Mam was a lot braver than I was. Chapter Two On The Road I was up an hour before dawn but Mam was already in the kitchen, cooking my favourite breakfast, bacon and eggs.
Dad came downstairs while I was mopping the plate with my last slice of bread. As we said goodbye, he pulled something from his pocket and placed it in my hands. It was the small tinderbox that had belonged to his own dad and to his grandad before that. One of his favourite possessions.
And come back and see us soon. The Spook was on the other side of the gate, a dark silhouette against the grey dawn light. His hood was up and he was standing straight and tall, his staff in his left hand. I walked towards him, carrying my small bundle of possessions, feeling very nervous.
To my surprise, the Spook opened the gate and came into the yard. We might as well start the way we mean to go on. When we reached the boundary fence, the Spook climbed over with the ease of a man half his age, but I froze. As I rested my hands against the top edge of the fence, I could already hear the sounds of the trees creaking, their branches bent and bowed under the weight of the hanging men.
We trudged upwards, the dawn light darkening as we moved up into the gloom of the trees. The higher we climbed the colder it seemed to get and soon I was shivering. It was the kind of cold that gives you goose pimples and makes the hair on the back of your neck start to rise. Their hands were tied behind their backs and all of them behaved differently. Some struggled desperately so that the branch above them bounced and jerked, while others were just spinning slowly on the end of the rope, pointing first one way, then the other.
The trees bowed low, and their leaves shrivelled and began to fall. Within moments, all the branches were bare. When the wind had eased, the Spook put his hand on my shoulder and guided me nearer to the hanging men. We stopped just feet away from the nearest. Well done, lad. Now, tell me, do you still feel scared?
Nothing that can hurt you. Think about what it must have been like for him. Concentrate on him rather than yourself. How must he have felt? What would be the worst thing? The pain and the struggle for breath would have been terrible. But there might have been something even worse With those words a wave of sadness washed over me.
Then, even as that happened, the hanging men slowly began to disappear, until we were alone on the hillside and the leaves were back on the trees. Still afraid? But that gift can sometimes be a curse. Fear makes it worse for us. The trick is to concentrate on what you can see and stop thinking about yourself. It works every time. To contradict him would have got us off to a bad start. Then again, others are here with a definite purpose and they might have things to tell you.
Just ghasts. You saw the trees change? So you were just looking at something from the past. Just a reminder of the evil things that sometimes happen on this earth. A ghast is just like a reflection in a pond that stays behind when its owner has moved on. I followed him over its crest, then down through the trees towards the road, which was a distant grey scar meandering its way south through the green and brown patchwork of fields. It was a pit village and had the largest coal yards in the County, holding the output of dozens of surrounding mines.
He walked at a furious pace, taking big, effortless strides. Soon I was struggling to keep up; as well as carrying my own small bundle of clothes and other belongings, I now had his bag, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.
Then, just to make things worse, it started to rain. About an hour before noon the Spook came to a sudden halt. He turned round and stared hard at me. By then I was about ten paces behind. The road was little more than a track that was quickly turning to mud. Just as I caught him up, I stubbed my toe, slipped and almost lost my balance. He tutted. I shook my head. They were made of strong, good-quality leather and they had extra-thick soles. They must have cost a fortune, but I suppose that for someone who did a lot of walking, they were worth every penny.
The Spook took a piece of cloth out of his pocket and unwrapped it, revealing a large lump of yellow cheese. He broke a bit off and handed it to me. The Spook only ate a small piece himself before wrapping the rest up again and stuffing it back into his pocket. The mouth, when closed, was almost hidden by that moustache and beard.
There were shades of red, black, brown and, obviously, lots of grey, but as I came to realize later, it all depended on the light. Looking at the Spook though, you could see despite the beard that his jaw was long, and when he opened his mouth he revealed yellow teeth that were very sharp and more suited to gnawing on red meat than nibbling at cheese. With a shiver, I suddenly realized that he reminded me of a wolf.
He was a kind of predator because he hunted the dark; living merely on nibbles of cheese would make him always hungry and mean. I was soaked to the skin and my feet were hurting, but most of all I was hungry. So I nodded, thinking he might offer me some more, but he just shook his head and muttered something to himself.
Then, once again, he looked at me sharply. It makes us stronger. Horshaw was a black smear against the green fields, a grim, ugly little place with about two dozen rows of mean back-to-back houses huddling together mainly on the southern slope of a damp, bleak hillside. The whole area was riddled with mines, and Horshaw was at its centre.
High above the village was a large slag heap which marked the entrance to a mine. Behind the slag heap were the coal yards, which stored enough fuel to keep the biggest towns in the County warm through even the longest of winters. Soon we were walking down through the narrow, cobbled streets, keeping pressed close to the grimy walls to make way for carts heaped with black cobs of coal, wet and gleaming with rain. The huge shire horses that pulled them were straining against their loads, hooves slipping on the shiny cobbles.
There were few people about but lace curtains twitched as we passed, and once we met a group of dour-faced miners, who were trudging up the hill to begin their night shift. One of them actually made the sign of the cross. Nobody lived there - you could tell that right away. For one thing some of the windows were broken and others were boarded up, and although it was almost dark, no lights were showing. The Spook halted outside the very last house. It was the one on the corner closest to the warehouse, the only house in the street to have a number.
That number was crafted out of metal and nailed to the door. It was thirteen, the worst and unluckiest of all numbers, and directly above was a street sign high on the wall, hanging from a single rusty rivet and pointing almost vertically towards the cobbles. This house did have windowpanes but the lace curtains were yellow and hung with cobwebs. This must be the haunted house my master had warned me about. The Spook pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and led the way into the darkness within.
The room was damp too, the air very dank and cold, and by the light of the flickering candle I could see my breath steaming. What I saw was bad enough, but what he said was even worse. Know what you have to do? You need to be alert, not dreaming. Any questions? So I just shook my head and tried to keep my top lip from trembling. I shrugged. In some places time seems to move more slowly and I had a feeling that this old house would be one of them. Suddenly I remembered the church clock.
Until then, sleep if you can manage it. Now listen carefully - there are three important things to remember. Cautiously I picked up the candle, walked to the kitchen door and peered inside. It was empty of everything but a stone sink.
The back door was closed but the wind still wailed beneath it. There were two other doors on the right. One was open and I could see the bare wooden stairs that led to the bedrooms above. The other one, that closest to me, was closed. Something about that closed door made me uneasy but I decided to take a quick look. Nervously I gripped the handle and tugged at the door. It was hard to shift and for a moment I had a creepy feeling that somebody was holding it closed on the other side.
When I tugged even harder, it opened with a jerk, making me lose my balance. I staggered back a couple of steps and almost dropped the candle. Stone steps led down into the darkness; they were black with coal dust. I closed the door quickly and went back into the front room, closing the kitchen door too. I put the candle down carefully in the corner furthest away from the door and window.
The flags were hard and cold but I closed my eyes. Usually I get to sleep easily but this was different. I kept shivering with cold and the wind was beginning to rattle the windowpanes.
There were also rustlings and patterings coming from the walls. Just mice, I kept telling myself. We were certainly used to them on the farm. But then, suddenly, there came a disturbing new sound from down below in the depths of the dark cellar. At first it was faint, making me strain my ears, but gradually it grew until I was in no doubt about what I could hear. Someone was digging rhythmically, turning heavy earth with a sharp metal spade.
First came the grind of the metal edge striking a stony surface, followed by a soft, squelching, sucking sound as the spade pushed deep into heavy clay and tore it free from the earth.
This went on for several minutes until the noise stopped as suddenly as it had begun. All was quiet. Even the mice stopped their pattering. It was as if the house and everything in it were holding their breath. I know I was. The silence ended with a resounding thump. Then a whole series of thumps, definite in rhythm. Thumps that were getting louder. And louder. And closer Someone was climbing the stairs from the cellar.
I snatched up the candle and shrank into the furthest corner. Thump, thump, nearer and nearer, came the sound of heavy boots. Who could have been digging down there in the darkness? Who could be climbing the stairs now?
Maybe it was a question of what I heard the cellar door open and the thump of boots in the kitchen. I pressed myself back into the corner, trying to make myself small, waiting for the kitchen door to open. And open it did, very slowly, with a loud creak. Something stepped into the room.
I felt coldness then. Real coldness. I lifted the candle, its flame flickering eerie shadows which danced up the walls and onto the ceiling. There was no answer. Even the wind outside had fallen silent. Again no reply, but invisible boots grated on the flags as they stepped towards me.
Nearer and nearer they came, and now I could hear breathing. Something big was breathing heavily. It sounded like a huge carthorse that had just pulled a heavy load up a steep hill.
At the very last moment the footsteps veered away from me and halted close to the window. I was holding my breath and the thing by the window seemed to be breathing for both of us, drawing great gulps of air into its lungs as if it could never get enough. Just when I could stand it no longer, it gave a huge sigh that sounded weary and sad at the same time, and the invisible boots grated on the flags once more, heavy steps that moved away from the window, back towards the door.
When they began to thump their way down the cellar steps, I was finally able to breathe again. My heart began to slow, my hands stopped shaking and gradually I calmed down. I had to pull myself together. It went with the job. After about five minutes or so I began to feel better.
It was faint and distant at first - someone knocking on a door. There was a pause, and then it happened again.
Three distinct raps, but a little nearer this time. Another pause and three more raps. Somebody was rapping hard on each door in the street, moving nearer and nearer to number thirteen. When they finally came to the haunted house, the three raps on the front door were loud enough to wake the dead.
Would the thing in the cellar climb the steps to answer that summons? I felt trapped between the two: something outside wanting to get in; something below that wanted to be free. And then, suddenly, it was all right. A voice called to me from the other side of the front door, a voice I recognized.
Open the door! Let me in! I was so glad to hear her that I rushed to the front door without thinking. Remembering what the Spook had said, I took a deep breath and tried to think. Why would she have followed me all this way? How would she have known where we were going? My dad or Jack would have come with her. No, it was a something else waiting outside. Something without hands that could still rap on the door.
Something without feet that could still stand on the pavement. The knocking started to get louder. Mam was strong.
Mam never cried no matter how bad things got. After a few moments the sounds faded and stopped altogether. I lay down on the floor and tried to sleep again. The wind began to rattle the windowpanes even louder, and on every hour and half hour the church clock chimed, moving me closer to midnight. The nearer the time came for me to go down the cellar steps, the more nervous I became. And then, just after the clock had given a single chime - half past eleven - the digging began again Once more I heard the slow thump, thump of heavy boots coming up the steps from the cellar; once more the door opened and the invisible boots stepped into the front room.
By now the only bit of me that was moving was my heart, which pounded so hard it seemed about to break my ribs. They kept coming. Coming straight towards me. I felt myself being lifted roughly by the hair and skin at the nape of my neck, just like a mother cat carries her kittens. Then an invisible arm wrapped itself around my body, pinning my arms to my sides. I tried to suck in a breath but it was impossible. My chest was being crushed. I was being carried towards the cellar door.
I was going to be carried down the cellar steps into the darkness and I knew that a grave was waiting for me down there. I was going to be buried alive. I was terrified and tried to cry out, but it was worse than just being held in a tight grip.
Suddenly I was falling I found myself on all fours, staring at the open door to the cellar, just inches from the top step. In a panic, my heart thumping too fast to count the beats, I lurched to my feet and slammed the cellar door shut. The candle had gone out As I walked towards the window, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room, followed by a loud crash of thunder almost directly overhead.
Rain squalled against the house, rattling the windows and making the front door creak and groan as if something were trying to get in. I stared out miserably for a few minutes, watching the flashes of lightning.
It was a bad night, but even though lightning scared me, I would have given anything to be out there walking the streets; anything to have avoided going down into that cellar. In the distance the church clock began to chime. I counted the chimes and there were exactly twelve. Now I had to face what was in the cellar. It was then, as lightning lit the room again, that I noticed the large footprints on the floor.
Back to the cellar. Down into the dark where I had to go! Forcing myself forward, I searched the floor with my hand for the stub of the candle. Then I scrabbled around for my small bundle of clothes. Wrapped in the centre of it was the tinderbox that Dad had given me. Fumbling in the dark, I shook the small pile of tinder out onto the floor and used the stone and metal to strike up sparks.
I kindled that little pile of wood until it burst into flame, just long enough to light the candle. Little had Dad known that his gift would prove so useful so soon. As I opened the cellar door there was another flash of lightning and a sudden crash of thunder that shook the whole house and rumbled down the steps ahead of me. I descended into the cellar, my hand trembling and the candle stub dancing till strange shadows flickered against the wall.
I imagined my shame at having to tell Mam what had happened. Eight steps and I was turning the corner so that the cellar was in view. Small pieces of coal and large wooden crates were scattered across the earthen floor and there was an old wooden table next to a big beer barrel.
I stepped around the beer barrel and noticed something in the far corner. Something just behind some crates that scared me so much I almost dropped the candle. It was a dark shape, almost like a bundle of rags, and it was making a noise. A faint, rhythmical sound, like breathing. I took a step towards the rags; then another, using all my willpower to make my legs move.
It was then, as I got so close that I could have touched it, that the thing suddenly grew. From a shadow on the floor it reared up before me until it was three or four times bigger.
I almost ran. It was tall, dark, hooded and terrifying, with green, glittering eyes. Only then did I notice the staff that it was holding in its left hand. Something used to climb up out of the cellar. It would have been the same for you. Am I right? The Spook shook his head sadly. He spent his days and nights coughing and struggling for breath and his poor wife kept them both.
She worked in a bakery, but sadly for both of them, she was a very pretty woman. One evening she was very late home from work and he kept going to the window, pacing backwards and forwards, getting more and more angry because he thought she was with another man. Then he left her there, dying on the flags, and went down into the cellar to dig a grave. She knew what he was going to do.
I even felt sorry for the Spook. Imagine having to spend your childhood in a house like this. It looked as if it was gradually changing, as if he was growing a snout or something. I woke everybody up, and in a rage my father lifted me up by the scruff of my neck and carried me down the steps into this cellar. Then he got a hammer and nailed the door shut behind me.
Probably seven at the most. I climbed back up the steps and, screaming fit to burst, scratched and banged at the door. But my father was a hard man and he left me all alone in the dark and I had to stay there for hours, until long after dawn. After a bit, I calmed down and do you know what I did then?
His eyes were glittering very brightly and he looked more like a wolf than ever. Then I took three deep breaths and I faced my fear. I faced the darkness itself, which is the most terrifying thing of all, especially for people like us, because things come to us in the dark.
They seek us out with whispers and take shapes that only our eyes can see. But I did it, and when I left this cellar the worst was over. Can you stand it? Are you fit to be my apprentice? I imagined him on all fours, wolf hair covering his face, his teeth growing longer. Only then did I give him my answer. It was something my dad always said when he had to do something unpleasant or difficult. It was short and to the point and it was written in Greek. Your mother sent it. Do you know what it said?
His name is Thomas J. Train him well. Above all, v? Do you understand? As the Spook closed the front door, I noticed for the first time what had been carved there in the wood. The Spook nodded towards it. The cross on the lower right is the Roman numeral for ten, which is the lowest grading of all. Anything after six is just a ghast. Remember, the dark feeds on fear.
We left the village and continued south. Right on its edge, where the cobbled street became a muddy lane, there was a small church. It looked neglected - there were slates missing off the roof and paint peeling from the main door. His hair was white and it was lank, greasy and unkempt. His dark clothes marked him out as a priest, but as we approached him, it was the expression on his face that really drew my attention.
He was scowling at us, his face all twisted up. And then, dramatically, he made a huge sign of the cross, actually standing on tiptoe as he began it, stretching the forefinger of his right hand as high into the sky as he could. An anger that seemed directed towards us.
So I just followed him south, carrying his heavy bag and thinking about what my mam had written in the letter. She was never one to boast or make wild statements. Usually she just got on with things and did what was necessary. But I knew there was something else that made me different.
As we walked, the last of the morning clouds melted away and I suddenly realized that there was something different about the sun. The Spook must have been thinking almost exactly the same thoughts because he suddenly halted in his tracks, looked at me sideways and gave me one of his rare smiles.
Did he always go to Chipenden on the first day of the spring, and if so, why? So I asked him. We winter on the edge of Anglezarke Moor and spend the summer in Chipenden.
We lived there until my father moved us to Horshaw. Without further delay we changed direction, heading north-east towards the distant hills. They always looked to me like huge sleeping beasts, but that was probably the fault of one of my uncles, who used to tell me tales like that.
At night, he said, they started to move, and by dawn whole villages had sometimes disappeared from the face of the earth, crushed into dust beneath their weight. The wind was getting up as well, tugging at our clothes as we gradually began to climb and hurling birds all over the sky, the clouds racing each other east to hide the summits of the fells. So it was late in the day when we approached Chipenden, the light already beginning to fail. By then, although it was still very windy, the sky had cleared and the purple fells were sharp against the skyline.
There were names such as Parlick Pike, which was the nearest to Chipenden; others - some visible, some hidden and distant - were called Mellor Knoll, Saddle Fell and Wolf Fell. When I asked my master if there were any wolves on Wolf Fell he smiled grimly. I like to keep my distance from the folk who live there.
They prefer it that way too. It was a lonely life. You ended up working by yourself. There were a few stunted trees on each bank, clinging to the hillside against the force of the wind, but then suddenly, directly ahead was a wood of sycamore and ash; as we entered, the wind died away to just a distant sigh. It was just a large collection of trees, a few hundred or so maybe, that offered shelter from the buffeting wind, but after a few moments I realized it was more than that.
Far above, I could hear the distant breath of the wind, but within the wood the only sounds to be heard were our boots. Everything was very still, a whole wood full of trees that were so silent it made a shiver run up and down my spine. It almost made me think that they were listening to us.
Then we came out into a clearing, and directly ahead was a house. It was surrounded by a tall hawthorn hedge so that just its upper storey and the roof were visible. From the chimney rose a line of white smoke. Straight up into the air it went, undisturbed until, just above the trees, the wind chased it away to the east.
The house and garden, I noticed then, were sitting in a hollow in the hillside. It was just as if an obliging giant had come along and scooped away the ground with his hand. I followed the Spook along the hedge until we reached a metal gate. The gate was small, no taller than my waist, and it had been painted a bright green, a job that had been completed so recently that I wondered if the paint had dried properly and whether the Spook would get it on his hand, which was already reaching towards the latch.
Suddenly something happened that made me catch my breath. Before the Spook touched the latch, it lifted up on its own and the gate swung slowly open as if moved by an invisible hand. Comes in quite useful in our line of work.
There was a steep staircase to the right and a narrow flagged passage on the left. I like my food piping hot! Herbs were growing in big pots on the wide window ledge and the setting sun was dappling the room with leaf-shadows. In the far corner a huge fire was blazing, filling the room with warmth, and right at the centre of the flagged floor was a large oaken table. On it were two enormous empty plates and, at its centre, five serving dishes piled high with food next to a jug filled to the brim with hot, steaming gravy.
I helped myself to large slices of chicken and beef, hardly leaving enough room on my plate for the mound of roasted potatoes and vegetables that followed. Finally I topped it off with a gravy so tasty that only my mam could have done better. I was full of questions but I was also tired, so I saved all my energy for eating. I nodded, almost too full to speak. I felt sleepy. Wondering who could have moved them, I climbed the stairs to bed.
This new room had space for a bed, a small table with a candle, a chair and a dresser, but there was still lots of room to walk about in as well. And there, on top of the dresser, my bundle of belongings was waiting. The bed was pushed right up along the wall beneath it, so I pulled off my boots, kneeled up on the quilt and tried to open the window. Although it was a bit stiff, it proved easier than it had looked. I used the sash cord to raise the bottom half of the window in a series of jerks, just far enough to pop my head out and have a better look around.
I could see a wide lawn below me, divided into two by a path of white pebbles that disappeared into the trees. Above the tree line to the right were the fells, the nearest one so close that I felt I could almost reach out and touch it.
I sucked in a deep breath of cool fresh air and smelled the grass before pulling my head back inside and unwrapping my small bundle of belongings.
As I was closing it, I suddenly noticed the writing on the far wall, in the shadows opposite the foot of the bed. It was covered in names, all scrawled in black ink on the bare plaster. Should I add my own name or wait until the end of the first month, when I might be taken on permanently? For a few moments I wondered what Billy was doing now, but I was tired and ready for sleep. The sheets were clean and the bed inviting, so wasting no more time I undressed, and the very moment my head touched the pillow I fell asleep.
When I next opened my eyes, the sun was streaming through the window. I thought it was probably the breakfast bell. I felt worried then. Had it really been the bell downstairs summoning me to breakfast or a bell in my dream? How could I be sure? What was I supposed to do? So, deciding that I probably had heard the bell, I dressed and went downstairs right away. On my way down I heard a clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, but the moment I eased open the door, everything became deathly silent.
I made a mistake then. In fact the kitchen was chilly and, worse than that, it seemed to be growing colder by the second. My mistake was in taking a step towards the table. No sooner had I done that than I heard something make a sound right behind me. It was an angry sound. There was no doubt about that. It was a definite hiss of anger and it was very close to my left ear. So close that I felt the breath of it.
The Spook had warned me not to come down early and I suddenly felt that I was in real danger. As soon as I had entertained that thought something hit me very hard on the back of the head; I staggered towards the door, almost losing my balance and falling headlong. I ran from the room and up the stairs. Then, halfway up, I froze. There was someone standing at the top. Someone tall and menacing, silhouetted against the light from the door of my room.
I halted, unsure which way to go until I was reassured by a familiar voice. It was the Spook. He was wearing a black tunic and grey breeches and I could see that, although he was a tall man with broad shoulders, the rest of his body was thin, probably because some days all he got was a nibble of cheese. He was like the very best farm labourers when they get older.
Some, of course, just get fatter, but the majority - like the ones my dad sometimes hires for the harvest now that most of my brothers have left home - are thin, with tough, wiry bodies. Let that be a lesson to you, lad. Next time it might be far worse. Some never learn that. We walked east, squinting into the early morning sun, until we reached a wide lawn. There were gaps in it, and directly ahead was the wood. The path of white pebbles divided the lawn and vanished into the trees. The grass was longer at the edge of the lawn and it was dotted with bluebells.
I like bluebells because they flower in spring and always remind me that the long, hot days of summer are not too far away, but now I hardly gave them a second glance. The morning sun was hidden by the trees and the air had suddenly got much cooler. It reminded me of my visit to the kitchen. There was something strange and dangerous about this part of the wood, and it seemed to be getting steadily colder the further we advanced into the trees.
They were about as musical as my dad, who used to start singing as we got to the end of the milking. If the milk ever went sour my mam used to blame it on him.
The Spook halted and pointed to the ground about five paces ahead. The grass had been cleared and at the centre of the large patch of bare earth was a gravestone. It was vertical but leaning slightly to the left.
On the ground before it, six feet of soil was edged with smaller stones, which was unusual. But there was something else even more strange: across the top of the patch of earth, and fastened to the outer stones by bolts, lay thirteen thick iron bars. I counted them twice just to be sure. What is it? Got it first time. Notice anything unusual? So I just nodded. He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. They buried her on unhallowed ground outside a churchyard not too many miles from here.
But she kept scratching her way to the surface. It makes people feel better. That way they can get on with their lives in peace. My heart was hammering away in my chest, threatening to break out any minute, and I was trembling from head to foot. What could be worse? I wondered, but I knew he was going to tell me anyway. Just keep well away after dark.
All witches are different but some are really stubborn. Still bound to her bones, a witch like that tries hard to get back into the world. Human babies sometimes have the same trouble. So stay well away. Let me hear you say it There are worse things than getting your ears boxed. Far worse. Still, he had other things to show me so I was spared more of his scary words.
He led me out of the wood and strode towards another lawn. He halted about ten paces short of a large stone which lay flat on the ground, close to the roots of an oak tree. It covered an area a bit larger than a grave, and judging by the part that was above ground, the stone was very thick too.
I tried to appear confident. Iron usually does the trick. But the thing under there could slip through iron bars in the twinkling of an eye. Look closely at the stone. I nodded.
Bottom right is the Roman numeral for one. As I mentioned, we use grades from one to ten. Remember that - one day it might save your life.
A grade one could easily kill you. Cost me a fortune to have that stone brought here but it was worth every penny. The Spook smiled. A small fire had been made up in the grate and two plates of bacon and eggs were on the table. There was a freshly baked loaf too and a large pat of butter. Then the Spook leaned back in his chair, tugged at his beard and asked me an important question. The breakfast had been well cooked.
It was only when we were outside that the grin finally faded. Gets them every time. It was a surprise, to say the least. Who would have credited that he had one cooking and cleaning for him? I felt the difference right away. The birds were singing and the trees were swaying slightly in the morning breeze. It was a happier place. We kept walking until we came out of the trees onto a hillside with a view of the fells to our right. In fact the view extended right to the summits of the nearest fell.
The Spook gestured towards a wooden bench to our left. I did as I was told and sat down. For a few moments the Spook stared down at me, his green eyes locked upon mine. Then he began to pace up and down in front of the bench without speaking. He was no longer looking at me, but stared into space with a vacant expression in his eyes.
He thrust back his long black cloak and put his hands in his breeches pockets then, very suddenly, he sat down beside me and asked questions. You see, there are as many different types of boggart as there are types of people and each one has a personality of its own. Having said that, though, there are some types that can be recognized and given a name.
Sometimes on account of the shape they take and sometimes because of their behaviour and the tricks they get up to. Then he handed it to me. It was a bit of a disappointment to open it and find it full of blank pages. The Spook had already begun the lesson and he was talking very fast. Most are dogs but there are almost as many cats and the odd goat or two.
And whatever their shape, hairy boggarts can be divided up into those which are hostile, friendly or somewhere between. Then, to make things worse, witches are a real problem in the County. And remember, not all witches are the same. They fall into four rough categories - the malevolent, the benign, the falsely accused and the unaware. However, just then he paused. I think he must have noticed the dazed expression on my face. Or "benign" either. Otherwise look out!
I had a mother once and I trusted her, so I remember the feeling well. Do you like girls? So watch out for the village girls.
Especially any who wear pointy shoes. Jot that down. Still, what choice did I have? He watched me write, then asked for the book and pen. Just write anything you learn today under one of those four headings. But now for something more urgent. We need provisions. Remember that everything goes inside my sack.
The butcher has it, so go there first. Soon I was walking through trees again, until at last I reached a stile that brought me onto a steep, narrow lane. There were at least a hundred cottages, then a pub, a schoolhouse and a big church with a bell tower. There was no sign of a market square, but the cobbled main street, which sloped quite steeply, was full of women with loaded baskets scurrying in and out of shops.
He seemed to know every single one of them by name and they kept laughing loudly at his jokes, which came thick and fast. Nobody paid me much attention, but at last I reached the counter and it was my turn to be served. The butcher reached behind the counter and pulled out a large sack. When I glanced behind, they were looking everywhere but at me. Some were even staring down at the floor. I gave the butcher the silver coin, checked my change carefully, thanked him and carried the sack out of the shop, swinging it up onto my shoulder when I reached the street.
The provisions there were already wrapped so I put the parcel in the sack, which was now starting to feel a bit heavy.
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