The Spook's Bestiary - By Joseph Delaney Page 0,3

plying my trade from the Chipenden house for less than a month when I was summoned to deal with a boggart. It had recently begun plaguing the workers at the local wood mill. A young spook must build his reputation carefully, and I was nervous at the prospect of having to prove myself so soon and so close to home.

Once all had left for the night, I wrapped myself in my cloak and began my vigil in the large workshop with just a single candle to light the darkness. I expected to face a hall knocker because raps, bangs, and thuds had been disturbing the mill and frightening the workers who opened the premises in the morning and locked them at night. Tools and materials also seemed to have been moved and were found in unexpected places.

I’d salt in my right breeches pocket, iron in my left. When combined, they’re the most effective weapon against a boggart, but I was ill at ease and not quite sure what to expect.

A hall knocker can become extremely violent, changing in the twinkling of an eye into a stone chucker. These boggarts can hurl boulders big enough to crush a man or pitch sharp shards of flint accurately enough to take out an eye, so I was ready for anything. But the first sounds I heard in the darkness told me that I was dealing with a hairy boggart.

I could hear the insistent scritch-scratch of sharp claws against wood, and as I watched, the boggart slowly began to materialize, taking on the shape of a large ginger tomcat.

I was both pleased and relieved, to say the least. Cat boggarts have a tendency to be benign and are more amenable to reason than their goat and dog counterparts. So I called out to it loudly but firmly, attempting to fill my voice with as much confidence as possible.

“Get you gone! Those who work here neither respect nor appreciate your worth. The ley is open, so move along! Choose a place where you’ll be more comfortable! Find a location where you’ll be welcome!”

No sooner had I spoken than the image of the large ginger cat faded and then disappeared altogether. For a few seconds, a loud purring filled the workshop, vibrating the floorboards and rattling the tools on the bench. Then all was silent. The boggart had gone! I was surprised at how easily it had yielded to my wishes.

It was with a sense of deep pride that I reported my success to the mill foreman the following morning. But as the proverb says, “Pride comes before a fall,” and as I walked happily back to my house, already well paid for my services, little did I expect what was about to unfold.

As I lay in my bed the following night, I heard a tremendous tumult from the kitchen below—crashing and banging and clattering. It sounded as if all the plates in the kitchen were being systematically shattered and the pots and pans hurled violently against the walls.

Downstairs, my worst fears were proved correct. The kitchen was littered with broken crockery, and all the pans and cooking utensils had been scattered about the floor. To my dismay, it seemed that the boggart had taken my words as an invitation to move into my own house! As several ley lines pass under my Chipenden dwelling, it had managed this with ease.

I was really angry, and my first thought was to finish this malicious boggart off with salt and iron. But the wise teachings of my dead master prevailed. After all, the boggart was now in a fresh location, and the process of dealing with it should begin anew. It was only proper that I should try negotiation once more.

That night, in total darkness, I waited patiently in the kitchen for the hairy boggart to make its presence felt. Just before midnight, I heard a pan clatter across the stone floor.

“Why do that?” I asked in a calm and reasonable voice. “What have I done to hurt you? Why don’t you just move on again and find somewhere more to your liking?”

A deep, throbbing growl of displeasure filled the darkness, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise and goose pimples stand up on my arms. I sensed that I was in the presence of a very powerful boggart, one that had just informed me, in no uncertain terms, that it had no intention of following my advice. Despite the fact that most cat boggarts