I only saw Tibb a few sundry times over the next five or six years. He always came at the Daylight Gate and asked what I bid.
“Naught,” said I, for I wanted nothing from him yet.
Then one Sabbeth morn he appeared in the likeness of a brown dog, jumped straight in my lap, and suckled from a spot beneath my left arm. It hurt like the devil and I cried out, “Jesus! Save us all!”
Then I fell into a madness, or so they tell me.
All I recall is wandering in purgatory for nigh-on eight weeks, while the spirits of darkness whispered their secrets and my true self came to the fore.
I awoke no longer as Elizabeth Southerns. I’d become the wise Old Demdike.