Matthew Hopkins - The Witchfinder General by Catherine Cavendish

Extraordinary horror author and pal, Catherine Cavendish, has a fantastic new novella out, The Malan Witch. The only thing creepier than that tale is, well, Cat's guest post this week on the horrific true exploits of witchfinder general, Matthew Hopkins.

My new novella– The Malan Witch – features a particularly nasty piece of supernatural manifestation, certainly not an entity you would want to bump into on a dark and stormy night (or day, for that matter). But, as she is merely a figment of my warped imagination, you have nothing to fear from her. No, really, I promise…

But go back four hundred years and, if you were a woman (or, less commonly, a man) who knew how to fix a hearty and healing soup, or a potion to draw poison from wounds,; if you understood the various properties of the myriad of herbs to be found around and about your hovel and, especially if you were old, lived alone, possessed a few warts and had a cat named Spillykins or Grimalkin, you would need to take great care. Woe betide you if you upset a neighbour and his prize cow dropped dead. If such misfortune were to befall you, it might only be a matter of time before you heard the dreaded knock at the door from the likes of a witchfinder.

And the most notorious of those was one Matthew Hopkins – self-styled ‘Witchfinder General’.

Hopkins was born in 1620 and little is known about his early life. His most famous career lasted just a couple of years – between 1644 until his retirement in 1647, but in fourteen months of that time, he managed to be responsible for the deaths of some 300 women, mainly in the eastern counties of England. All were convicted of witchcraft on his authority. The total number of executions for witchcraft between the 15^th and 18^th centuries amounts to less than 500. Matthew Hopkins and his colleague, John Stearne, certainly contributed more than their fair share.

 Since the Lancashire witch trials of 1612 that convicted the Pendle witches, the law had been changed. It was now necessary to provide material proof that accused person had practiced witchcraft. It was the role of Hopkins and Stearne to provide evidence that the accused had entered into a pact with the devil. A confession was vital – from the human, as the devil would hardly confess.

Hopkins traveled freely throughout eastern England, although Essex was his centre of operations. His career as witchfinder began when he heard a group of women talking about meeting the devil in Manningtree in March 1644. Twenty-three women were tried at Chelmsford in 1645. Four died in prison and nineteen were convicted and hanged. Hopkins was well paid for his work and this may well have spurred him on to be even more zealous. He and Stearne traveled with a team and wherever they turned up, the local community found themselves handing over significant amounts of money. In Ipswich, this was so great, that a special local tax had to be created to fund it!

Hopkins’s methods were dubious to say the least. He would employ torture, including sleep deprivation. He would ‘cut’ the arm of a witch with a blunt knife and if, as was likely, she did not bleed, she was pronounced a witch. He was also a great fan of the ‘swimming’ test, or ducking. As witches were believed to have renounced their baptism, water would reject them. So, they were tied to a chair and thrown in the river. Those who floated were guilty. Those who drowned were innocent. You simply couldn’t win.

Hopkins also favoured the practice of ‘pricking’. This involved searching the accused’s body for any unusual blemishes or moles. A knife or needle was used to test the mark. If it bled, on being pricked, the woman was innocent. If it failed to bleed, she was guilty. It has long been alleged that many of these ‘prickers’ had a retractable point, so that the hapless prisoner would be confirmed as a witch when the mark failed to bleed. What better way for a ‘witchfinder’ to enhance his reputation than by identifying so many ‘witches’?

Hopkins and his merry band spread fear all over the countryside, but their reign was short-lived. John Gaule, vicar of Great Staughton in Cambridgeshire, preached a number of sermons denouncing him. His opposition began when he visited a woman who was being held in gaol on charges of witchcraft, until such time as Hopkins could attend to investigate her guilt or innocence. Gaule heard of a letter Hopkins had sent, where he had enquired as to whether he would be given a ‘good welcome’ in that area. A good, financially rewarding welcome no doubt. At around the same time, justices of the assizes in Norfolk questioned Hopkins and Stearne about their methods of torture (which was outlawed in England) and the extortionate fees.

The writing was clearly all over the wall. Their reign of terror was over. By the time the next court session sat, both Hopkins and Stearne had conveniently retired and the infamous Witchfinder General had put away his witch ‘pricker’ for the last time. But that was, sadly, not the end of his story.

Hopkins published a book, called The Discovery of Witches, in 1647, where he outlined his witch-hunting methods. This ensured his legacy lived on – and expanded far beyond the shores of his native England. Witch-hunting in New England began and was conducted in accordance with his methods. In 1692, some of Hopkins’s methods were once again employed. In Salem, Massachusetts.

Naught remained of their bodies to be buried, for the crows took back what was theirs.’

An idyllic coastal cottage near a sleepy village. What could be more perfect? For Robyn Crowe, borrowing her sister’s recently renovated holiday home for the summer seems just what she needs to deal with the grief of losing her beloved husband.

But behind those pretty walls lie many secrets, and legends of a malevolent sisterhood - two witches burned for their evil centuries earlier. Once, both their vile spirits were trapped there. Now, one has been released. One who is determined to find her sister. Only Robyn stands in her way.

And the crow has returned.

You can order The Malan Witch here:

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About the Author

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. Cat’s novels include The Garden of Bewitchment. The Haunting of Henderson Close, the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy - Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse and Saving Grace Devine.

In addition to The Malan Witch, her novellas include: The Darkest Veil, Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

Her short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies including Silver Shamrock’s Midnight in the Graveyard, and her story - The Oubliette of Élie Loyd - will appear in their forthcoming Midnight in the Pentagram, to be published later this year.

She lives by the sea in Southport, England with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat called Serafina who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue.

You can connect with Cat here:

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Of Boggarts and Barguests by Catherine Cavendish

My latest novel – The Garden of Bewitchment – is set in and around Haworth, in the heart of some of the most glorious and wild moorland countryside to be found in the British Isles. It is an area steeped in tradition and folklore and, as with most rural locations, has its share of strange and mythical creatures, ones so frightening that an encounter with them is not recommended.

The area straddles the traditional counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire so, needless to say, many place names occur on both sides of the mountains and hills of the Pennines which divide them. One longstanding shared tradition is the legendary, not to be trifled with, super-scary boggart. It is a creature to be handled with extreme caution and never, ever to be given any kind of gift. If you do, it will never leave you. There are many boggart related stories but this should give you an idea of what you would be dealing with if one ever came to stay. It comes from an account by Edwin Sidney Hartland, published in 1890 in his work, English Fairy and Other Folk Tales:

‘In the house of an honest farmer in Yorkshire, named George Gilbertson, a Boggart had taken up his abode. He here caused a good deal of annoyance, especially by tormenting the children in various ways. Sometimes their bread and butter would be snatched away, or their pot-ringers of bread and milk be capsized by an invisible hand; for the Boggart never let himself be seen; at other times the curtains of their beds would be shaken backwards and forwards, or a heavy weight would press on and nearly suffocate them. The parents had often, on hearing their cries, to fly to their aid. There was a kind of closet, formed by a wooden partition on the kitchen stairs, and a large knot having been driven out of one of the deal-boards of which it was made, there remained a hole. Into this one day the farmer’s youngest boy stuck the shoe-horn with which he was amusing himself, when immediately it was thrown out again, and struck the boy on the head. The agent was of course the Boggart, and it soon became their sport (which they called ’laking with Boggart’) to put the shoe-born into the hole and have it shot back at them.

‘The Boggart at length proved such a torment that the farmer and his wife resolved to quit the house and let him have it all to himself. This was put into execution, and the farmer and his family were following the last loads of furniture, when a neighbour named John Marshall came up: “Well, Georgey,” said he, “and sca you’re leaving t’ould hoose at last?”

“Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I’m forced tull it; for that villain Boggart torments us soa, we can neither rest fleet nor day for’t. It seems bike to have such a malice again t’poor bairns, it ommost kills my poor dame here at thoughts on’t, and soa, ye see, we’re forced to flitt loike.” 

‘He scarce had uttered the words when a voice from a deep upright churn cried out: “Aye, aye, Georgey, we’re flitting, ye see.”

“‘Od bang thee,” cried the poor farmer, “if I’d known thou’d been there, I wadn’t ha’ stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it’s no use, Mally,” turning to his wife, “we may as weel turn back again to t’ould hoose as be tormented in another’ that’s not so convenient”.’

Not all boggarts start out bad, some began life as helpful spirits (think house elf). Not far from Haworth, near Burnley, over the border in Lancashire, at Barcroft Hall, lived a boggart who started out as a helpful housekeeper.  The farmer's wife would find all her chores done, laundry washed and ironed and the floors swept. The farmer himself was grateful for the help he got bringing in the sheep on a snowy winter evening. He heard the creature's voice, but never saw it. He was determined to rectify that and made a small hole in the ceiling of the room where the boggart performed most of his household tasks. Sure enough, his patience was rewarded by the sight of a small, wizened, barefoot old man who began to sweep the floor.

Surely his feet must be cold against the stone floor. The farmer thought so anyway and decided to make him a pair of tiny clogs and left them out for him. His son saw the boggart pick them up and heard him call out: 

 "New clogs, new wood,

T'hob Thurs will ne'er again do any good!"

From then on, the era of good works was over. The boggart began to hound and hurt his family. The animals got sick, the farmer's prize bull was somehow transported to the farmhouse roof. Household items were smashed indiscriminately. Things got so bad that this family, too, felt forced to flee. But the boggart had other ideas. "Wait there while I fetch me clogs and I'll come with thee."

And this is why you should never give a gift to a boggart - for they cannot harm you unless, and until, you do.

Oh – and never name one either, unless you want to feel the full force of their wrath.

As for the infamous and frightening Barguest, the caves of the deep ravine called Troller’s Gill near the hamlet of Skyreholme are said to live up to their name as trolls and sprites are rumoured to live there, along with the notorious, mythical black dog known as ‘the Barguest’ which provided Charlotte Brontë with the inspiration for the appearances of Gytrash, the ghostly Black Dog in Jane Eyre.

The Barguest is a truly fearsome creature – huge, with long hair and fearsome teeth, sharp as razors. There is a story that a man decided to prove or disprove the legend of the Barguest once and for all by staying out all night in Troller’s Gill. He picked a particularly windy night (actually it is quite difficult to avoid wind on those moors!), but at least it was moonlit. As he crept into the darkness of the deepest part of the ravine that makes up the Gill, he heard a shout.
“Forbear!”

Stupidly he decided to ignore it. He carried on until he arrived at a massive yew tree, under which he drew a circle on the ground, muttered some charms of protection and kissed the damp ground three times. Satisfied no light could penetrate through the thick canopy of leaves and branches, he summoned the beast to appear.

In a gale of wind and raging inferno, the beast appeared and attacked the man. His protective circle had done him no good whatsoever. 

When his body was found, mysterious claw marks that could not have been made by man were found lacerating his breast, along with evidence of a burned out fire.

Don’t play the game.

In 1893, Evelyn and Claire leave their home in a Yorkshire town for life in a rural retreat on their beloved moors. But when a strange toy garden mysteriously appears, a chain of increasingly terrifying events is unleashed. Neighbour Matthew Dixon befriends Evelyn, but seems to have more than one secret to hide. Then the horror really begins. The Garden of Bewitchment is all too real and something is threatening the lives and sanity of the women. Evelyn no longer knows who - or what - to believe. And time is running out. 

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About the Author

Cat first started writing when someone thrust a pencil into her hand. Unfortunately as she could neither read nor write properly at the time, none of her stories actually made much sense. However as she grew up, they gradually began to take form and, at the tender age of nine or ten, she sold her dolls’ house, and various other toys to buy her first typewriter – an Empire Smith Corona. She hasn’t stopped bashing away at the keys ever since, although her keyboard of choice now belongs to her laptop.

The need to earn a living led to a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance but Cat is now the full-time author of a number of supernatural, ghostly, haunted house and Gothic horror novels and novellas, including The Haunting of Henderson Close, the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients, Damned by the Ancients - The Devil’s Serenade, Dark Avenging Angel, The Pendle Curse, Saving Grace Devine and Linden Manor. Her short stories have appeared in the anthologies Haunted Are These Houses and Midnight in the Graveyard.

She lives in Southport with her longsuffering husband and black cat (who remembers that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt and sees no reason why that practice should not continue).

When not slaving over a hot computer, Cat enjoys rambling around stately homes, circles of standing stones and travelling to favourite haunts such as Vienna and Orkney.

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Dangerous Games People Play by Catherine Cavendish

Okay, gather round ghouls and boils! I've got a tasty treat this week for Halloween from one of my favorite horror authors, Catherine Cavendish! 

Something smells...GAMEY in here. Better roll the DIE! You think the Crypt-Keeper has a MONOPOLY on bad puns? A-hee-hee-hee-hee-heeeeeeeeee...

Here's Cat!

 

In my new story, The Darkest Veil, a group of roommates in 1973, get together to play with a primitive form of Ouija board – with devastating effects. I have had my own experiences with one and, suffice it to say, I now steer well clear.

Whether or not you believe in the supernatural or demonic forces able to cross over into or world, there is little doubt that messing about with these things can lead to psychiatric problems at the very least. The power of suggestion is strong, our upbringing, culture and beliefs can exert an overpowering influence and the results of an apparently innocent bit of fun can have life-changing consequences.

Ouija boards have enjoyed surges in popularity, particularly in times of adversity. The belief that you could communicate with dead loved ones ensured a steep rise in their use during World War I when bereaved parents and families would attend séances where a Ouija board would be used to summon the spirit of their dead loved ones.

But belief in the power of these seemingly innocent pieces of wood, covered by letters, numbers and symbols, isn’t restricted to times of conflict. In November 2014, 35 students from a school on Bolivia ended up hospitalised following a ‘cup game’ – the local term for Ouija. Whether through mass hysteria or some other cause, they exhibited similar symptoms of intense sweating, mental confusion, trance and raised pulse rates. Reports began to come in from a number of South American countries of possession by demonic spirits, mass fainting, headaches and mobility problems.

A girls’ only Catholic boarding school near Mexico City became the scene of an incident involving over five hundred pupils out of a total school population on around 4,000. Psychiatrist, Nashyiela Loa Zavala investigated the cases where symptoms included severe headaches and difficulty in walking. She found it had all started with a student called Maria who had used a Ouija board in order to determine the outcome of a school basketball match. On discovery, the girl was expelled and she was so angry at this, she reportedly cursed the school. It was then that the symptoms began to appear. Dr. Zavala’s investigation turned up strong beliefs in spirits and demons among the girls, along with a conviction that the Ouija board was a powerful means of communicating with demonic spirits. It was also widely believed that Maria’s mother was a witch. 
 

There are a number of different forms of Ouija, in addition to the board and planchette. In The Darkest Veil, the girls use a pack of Lexicon cards to spell out the letters and they handwrite words such as ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.

In 2015, social media was responsible for spreading a variation called ‘Charlie Charlie’. The only equipment needed for this game includes two pieces of paper on which the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are written, plus two pencils. One is placed on top of the other. The pieces of paper with the words, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are placed one to the right and one to the left of the pencils. ‘Closed’ questions (ones to which only the answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is required) are posed. When/if the top pencil pivots right or left, this is interpreted as having established contact with the spirit, in the same way as a moving glass or planchette on a traditional Ouija board.

The game proved particularly popular in South America and May 2015 saw four students from Columbia admitted to hospital, screaming and babbling incoherently after playing ‘Charlie Charlie’. In the same month, knowledge of the game had spread across the Caribbean where a wave of symptoms such as fainting, trance and confusion were reported among students in St Lucia, Jamaica, Antigua and Barbuda. The following month, the Dominican Republic saw children at a primary school seemingly possessed ‘by the devil’.
 

Whatever the truth behind the claims and whatever the cause of the symptoms, sheer belief in demonic spirits undoubtedly has a profound effect.

Want to chance your luck? Don’t forget that we all have suppressed memories and influences from childhood – ones our conscious minds would dismiss as fanciful. But the minute you engage with something so steeped in ancient beliefs as a Ouija, is the moment that can trigger your unconscious self and unlock doors of your mind you didn’t even know existed.

Read about it, watch movies about it but take my advice.

Never mess with a Ouija.

We are the Thirteen and we are one

4 Yarborough Drive looked like any other late 19th century English townhouse. Alice Lorrimer feels safe and welcomed there, but soon discovers all is not as it appears to be. One of her housemates flees the house in terror. Another disappears and never returns. Then there are the sounds of a woman wailing, strange shadows and mists, and the appearance of the long-dead Josiah Underwood who founded a coven there many years earlier. The house is infested with his evil, and Alice and her friends are about to discover who the Thirteen really are.

When death's darkest veil draws over you, then shall shadows weep

The Darkest Veil is available from:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

About The Author

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. In addition to The Darkest Veil, Cat’s novels include The Haunting of Henderson Close, the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy - Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse and Saving Grace Devine.

Her novellas include Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

She lives by the sea in Southport, England with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat called Serafina who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue.

You can connect with Cat here:

 Catherine Cavendish

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