The Spook's Stories: Grimalkin's Tale

my feet, taking aim with the spike. Kernolde rushed at me then – a big ugly bear of a woman with strangler’s hands. But my aim was true. I thrust the spear right into her heart and she fell at my feet, her blood soaking into the earth to mix with mine. She was choking, trying to speak, so I bent and put my ear close to her lips.
    ‘You’re just a girl,’ she croaked. ‘To be defeated by a girl, after all this time … How can this be?’
    ‘Your time is over and mine is just beginning,’ I told her. ‘This girl took your life and now she will take your bones.’
    After taking what I needed, I lifted Kernolde’s body out of the pit using her own ropes. Finally I hung her up by her feet so that at dawn the birds could peck her bones clean. That done, I passed through the dell without incident: the dead witches kept their distance. Grim Gertrude was on her hands and knees, still rooting around in the mouldy leaves, trying to find her head. Without eyes it would prove difficult.
    When I emerged from the trees, the clan was waiting to greet me. I held up Kernolde’s thumb-bones, and they bowed their heads in acknowledgement of what I’d done; even Katrise, the head of the coven of thirteen, made obeisance. When they looked up, I saw the new respect in their eyes; the fear too.
    Now I would begin my quest to destroy my enemy, the Fiend. The spikes in the pit had given me an idea. What if I crafted a sharp spike of silver alloy and somehow impaled the Fiend on it? What if it went right through his heart? And if that didn’t work, there had to be some other way …
    One day I will find a way to destroy him.
    My name is Grimalkin. I am the witch assassin of the Malkins and I fear nobody.
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    Grimalkin’s Tale is taken from The Spook's Stories: Witches
    To find out more visit
    www.spooksbooks.com

WILL GRIMALKIN AVENGE THE BRUTAL MURDER OF HER SON BY DESTROYING THE FIEND?

    FIND OUT IN
SPOOKS: I AM GRIMALKIN

    READ AN EXTRACT – IF YOU DARE…

Look closely at the enemy before you. Do you see his bulging eyes and berserker fury? Do you see his hairy chest? Can you smell his unwashed body? Keep calm. Why be afraid? You can win. After all, he is just a man. Learn to believe me. I am Grimalkin .

    ONCE I REACHED the centre of the wood, I swung the heavy leather sack down from my shoulder and placed it on the ground before me. Then I knelt and undid the cord that sealed it – to be met by the rank stink of what lay within. I grimaced and drew forth what it contained, holding it up before me by its hair, which was greasy and matted with dirt.
    It was very dark beneath the trees and the moon would not rise for another hour. But my witchy eyes could see clearly despite the gloom, and I gazed upon the severed head of the Fiend, the Devil himself.
    It was a terrible sight to behold. I had stitched the eyelids shut so that he could see nothing; I had stuffed his mouth with a large green bitter apple wrapped in a tangle of rose thorns so that he could not speak. My enemy had been well looked after; dealt with exactly as he deserved. Not withstanding the stench, neither the head nor the apple had rotted; the first was due to his power, the second a result of my magic.
    I spread the sack out on the ground and lowered the head onto it. Then I sat cross-legged opposite it, scrutinizing my enemy carefully.
    Somehow it looked smaller now than it had appeared when freshly severed, but it was still almost twice the size of the average human head. Was it shrinking as a result of being separated from its body? I wondered. The horns that protruded from its forehead were coiled and curved like those of a ram; the nose resembled an eagle’s beak. It was a cruel face and deserved the cruelty that I had inflicted upon it in turn.
    All about my body, a series of leather straps bore scabbards that held my weapons and tools. From the smallest of these I withdrew a thin sharp hook with a long handle. I thrust it into the Fiend’s open mouth, pushed it deep into the green apple, and twisted and tugged. For a second there was resistance, but then I pulled the fruit out, bringing with it the tangle of rose thorns.
    Relieved of the obstruction, the mouth slowly closed. I could see the broken teeth within: I had smashed them with my hammer as the Spook, Tom Ward and I had bound the Fiend. The memory of it was vivid, and I watched it again in my mind’s eye.

    Long had I waited for the opportunity to bind or destroy the Fiend, my greatest