Gallows at Twilight by William Hussey Page A

Simon Lydgate’s head. He turned back to Rachel.
    The girl mumbled, sighed. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

Chapter 8

Hypnosis Horror

    Fractured images from a fevered dream—
    A silver fountain. The howling mouth of a banshee. A dying Navajo’s question— What are you?
    His father— You are the Witchfinder …
    Here is the Orb and here is …
    A girl with cornflower blue eyes cries for her lost love. A face from long, long ago, hidden in that unexplored corridor of his soul. The face is the same, but the name is different. He yearns for her, and in his yearning the name of the girl comes to him. A name that once gave hope to Josiah Hobarron, his other self—
    ‘Eleanor!’
    Jake woke with the silk bed sheets knotted around his body. He tried to hold on to the fragments of the dream but they crumbled in the hard fist of reality. He could remember nothing. Frustrated, he pulled on the dressing gown that had been laid out at the foot of the bed and went to see if anyone else was up.
    The lounge was empty. He switched on the TV. One of the twenty-four-hour news channels was showing a press conference from 10 Downing Street. The new Prime Minister was taking questions on the health service. If he had been old enough to vote in the last election, Jake would have cast his vote for Miss Cynthia Croft. She seemed professional, competent, sympathetic. The press pack burst into spontaneous laughter as Chequers, the Downing Street cat, jumped up onto the Prime Minister’s podium.
    ‘That you, Jake?’
    His father’s voice echoed down the spiral staircase. Jake climbed up to a hatchway in the ceiling that led onto a large roof terrace decked out with expensive garden furniture. Blinded by the giant sun of the borderlands, Jake could only just make out the three figures standing at the balcony rail.
    ‘Mornin’,’ Pandora called, lifting her coffee cup in greeting.
    ‘Good to see you, matey!’ Brag Badderson slapped Jake’s shoulder in a friendly, bone-shattering sort of way.
    The third figure smiled weakly. ‘Good morning, son.’
    A little colour had crept back into Adam’s cheeks but he still looked dreadfully pale.
    ‘You OK, Dad?’
    ‘I’m OK, son.’
    The old worried expression crossed Pandora’s face. To hide it, she turned to Brag.
    ‘How’d you get here so quick, troll boy?’
    ‘Took the London road through Yaga Passage. Nearly got dropped in the pit twice. Bloody vines!’
    ‘Why are you here, Brag?’ Jake asked.
    ‘Ain’t you pleased to see me?’ The troll looked hurt.
    ‘Course I am, it’s just—’
    ‘I asked Brag to come,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve already spoken to Simon—’
    ‘He’s awake?’
    ‘Yes, and he’s been asking to see you.’
    ‘Does he remember much?’
    Adam shook his head. ‘’fraid not, but he’s anxious to find out what’s been happening to him. The Demon Father appears to have placed strong magical blocks in his mind. But it’s not just the immediate past Simon’s interested in: he finally wants to know what happened to his mother and whether … well … ’
    ‘Whether he killed her,’ Jake murmured.
    ‘In his half-demon form, he would have been more than capable. When that side of him is in control, Simon is a danger to himself and others. With that in mind, I’ve asked Brag to stay with us. His strength could save lives if Simon gets … out of hand. I’ll do my best to keep the boy calm—I’ll teach him ways in which he can control his nature—but we must be always on our guard. Hard as it may be, we must never for one moment forget what Simon is.’
    ‘He’s my friend,’ Jake bristled. ‘He’s a good person.’
    ‘Half of him is certainly that.’ Adam frowned. ‘The other half? Who knows. Now, Brag, Pandora, would you excuse us a moment?’
    The troll and the eight-armed woman exchanged glances and moved away.
    Jake went to the balcony and took in the view. Surrounding the oasis of the square was a vast, featureless desert: hundreds of