Gallows at Twilight (4 page)

‘We can’t help what our parents are,’ Rachel said, her voice like iron. ‘I should know. Look, Jake, you can only judge a person by their actions. He saved your life, and now he needs our help.’

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’

‘Come on, what’s really worrying you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You sleep in the next room, Jake; don’t think I can’t hear you pacing up and down all night. Come on, out with it.’

‘It’s my magic,’ Jake admitted. ‘I couldn’t help Pandora just now. Rachel, I’m just not strong enough to do this.’

‘When you need it, the magic will come. I believe that. Anyway,’ Rachel grinned, ‘I’m pretty handy with this bow, you know. You get scared, hide behind me.’

‘I’ll probably take you up on that,’ Jake laughed.

Rachel smiled again, and Jake felt a distant memory stir. That smile. That face. A light flickered in some unexplored corridor of his soul, a warm and loving glow just out of reach.

Her face
.

Elean—

Jake’s thoughts snapped back to the present.

He had sensed something.

They had now entered a clearing at the heart of the forest—a rough circle of barren ground bordered on all sides by ancient trees. Rotten apples lay in piles around the tree roots, as if the evil that infected this place had plucked the fruit from the branches with a withering hand. The moon shone down and bathed the glade in soft, silvery light, making it look like an illustration from a book of fairytales.

Shadows flitted across the clearing. Jake glanced up, expecting to see shreds of cloud passing across the face of the moon. But no, the star-dusted sky was clear and cloudless. A series of crackling, rustling noises came from the far side of the glade, and Jake’s gaze shifted back to the trees. He saw the topmost branches waver to-and-fro, as if disturbed by the wind. Then he heard another sound—the flutter of cloth, the flap of a bird’s wing, perhaps—descending through the branches.

Jake’s hand locked around Rachel’s wrist. He called out to the others—

‘Stay there. Don’t move. Something’s coming.’

Adam, Pandora, and Brag stopped and looked back at Jake. With their heads turned away from the forest, they did not see what he saw.

Dark forms moved in the gaps between the trees. Together, the strangers stepped into the light. At their approach, a low moan, like the sough of the wind, called out from the forest. They came forward as one, their faces wrapped in shadow, their eyes shining like pale pebbles in the moonlight.

Frozen to the spot, Jake watched as eight spectral hands extended, crooked fingers unfurling and pointing towards the little group of friends. He saw the flash of white teeth and the dark ‘O’ of gaping mouths.

They had found the Demon Father’s first line of defence.

Chapter 3

Death Scream

Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!

The monstrous guardians of Havlock Woods came shrieking into the glade.

The first note of their call stabbed at Jake’s ears like a white-hot pin. The tone went higher, cut deeper, lancing its way into his mind. It felt as if some mad surgeon had sawn away the top half of his skull, scooped out his brain and filled the space with a hive of angry wasps; insects that whirred around his head and impaled their stingers behind his eyes. Jake fell to his knees. He pressed the heels of his hands against his ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the cries. It was useless. Through mounting agony, he watched the spectral women ghost their way across the glade.

Banshees.

The pages of Jake’s dark catalogue—that mental index of myths and monsters that he had been adding to ever since his father introduced him to horror stories—flipped open inside his mind. Though his brain was crippled with pain, Jake forced himself to remember. The banshee: an ancient Gaelic spirit. Some people believed these creatures were the souls of murdered women, others that they were fairies or even forgotten gods. They came in many forms: beautiful young women, frumpy old grannies, sometimes even taking on the shape of hares or weasels. The old tales agreed on one thing only—to hear the wail of the banshee meant certain death.

The eight spirits floated towards the group of friends, their wasted arms outstretched. Jake’s hands dropped to his sides. There was no chance of blocking out their song, and so he watched helplessly as the death-singers came forward. He had scoured his dark catalogue for some scrap of information they could use to defend themselves. There was nothing. The banshee had
no
weakness.

The women came closer, and Jake began to see their forms more clearly. They were dressed in ragged grey cloaks with hoods covering their heads. Bone-thin hands reached out from the sleeves and made strange stabbing gestures towards their victims, almost as if they were using their fingers to direct their screams. Although they floated gracefully, their bent backs and rounded shoulders gave them the appearance of raddled old women.

The banshees gathered in a circle around Jake and his friends. The pitch of their wailing increased, and Jake screamed again. With the choir of death now bending down to face its prey, he felt the pressure build inside his head. Any minute now, he was sure that his brain would burst and that his eyes would explode out of their sockets.

Thrum-thrum-thrum
—the pound of blood in his ears.

Jake fell onto all fours. His face was lathered in sweat and blue veins stood out in ridges along his arms.

Boom-boom-boom—
the blood seeping from his brain.

He glanced at the others. Like him, they were pictures of agony, their faces twisted, their bodies tucked up with pain. Adam was sprawled on the ground and looked as if he was about to pass out. Pandora was still standing, but her eyes were closed and her mouth was a hard, tight line. Rachel had rolled into a ball, knees drawn up to her chin, arms cradled around her head. But where was Brag Badderson?

Jake caught sight of the troll and felt a jolt of surprise.

Brag was standing outside the circle. He looked … well, he looked absolutely fine. Unaffected by the banshees’ call, the troll was hard at work with his stone club. One of the monsters already lay in a crumbled heap at his feet. Choosing his next target, Brag swung his club high into the air and brought it down with all his might. The banshee collapsed under the weight of the weapon. As she fell, her body seemed to evaporate into nothingness. All that remained was her grey cloak, crumpled upon the ground. The song of her six sisters continued to haunt his ears, but Jake managed a sickly smile.

A moment later, the smile was wiped from his face.

Through the wailing, he heard the horrible snap and crackle of bones knitting themselves back together. The fallen banshees’ cloaks twitched. Bony hands slithered from the sleeves and took hold of the collars, lifting them a few metres into the air. Jake’s blood ran cold as he watched two heads grow out of the collars. It was the first time he had seen the face of a banshee …

These things were neither beautiful young women nor frumpy old grannies.

They were creatures that had crawled straight out of a nightmare.

A few tufts of hair, damp and slimy like pondweed, clung to the first banshee’s bald head—a head that was still mending itself after Brag’s attack. Parts of the fractured skull came together and pulled the banshee’s left eye socket back into place. The eye rolled up from inside the skull and popped into position with a wet
scchhlop.
Both eyes were milky white and didn’t have pupils, which suggested that the monster was blind. Its skin was so torn and tatty that Jake could see the blades of its cheekbones poking through the flesh. All this was repulsive enough, but it was the banshee’s mouth which really horrified him.

When it reached its full height, the monster worked its jaw from side to side. Then, in one sudden jerk, the jaw dropped down until it settled just below the banshee’s chest. From this black hole of despair the screaming started again.

Jake cried out against the renewed chorus. He watched Brag move along the line, smashing the banshees with his club. After each attack, the creatures would pick themselves up from the ground and start rebuilding their shattered bodies. It was hopeless. Eventually, Brag must have thought so too. Leaning on his club, he gave a mournful shrug. He knew as well as Jake that he could sling each of the friends over his shoulder and carry them away from the clearing, but that the banshees would follow. By the time Brag reached the road, they would certainly be dead.

The screaming drained the last of Jake’s resistance and he fell onto his side. His gaze swept around the others. Rachel was wrapped in a tight ball; Pandora rocked on her knees; his father lay motionless on the ground. Blood began to ooze from Jake’s nose and he coughed red-flecked spittle onto the ground. A fresh wave of despair took hold of him. He had brought them to this. It was all his fault …

And then he saw something that gave him a glimmer of hope. There, sitting below the trees at the forest edge, the slimmest of slim chances. He looked up into the mouths of the monsters. At the back of their throats he saw a small, pouting cavity. It was from this
second
mouth that the shrieking came. Whereas the rest of their bodies appeared grey and dead, this organ was a bright, vibrant red. It was
alive
.

Dredging up a final scrap of energy, Jake rolled over and tried to catch Brag’s eye. The troll mouthed, ‘What can I do?’

Jake licked his lips.

‘Ap … Ap … ’

The word was like a knife in his dry throat. He couldn’t speak. Instead, he managed to point. Brag frowned, shrugged again, and loped off into the forest. Had the troll understood or had he given up? Maybe he thought the screaming had turned Jake’s brain to mush and had decided he couldn’t watch any more.

The banshees scented the kill. They bent down to their prey, mouths drooping, chins scraping the earth.

Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!

Blood, thick and warm, trickled from Jake’s ears. His vision clouded. He pawed weakly at the ground, trying to reach Rachel or his father, desperate to touch another human hand before the darkness took him. It was no good. They had fallen apart and so they would die alone, victims of the banshees’ call …

Fwwppp
—over the constant pounding of blood, Jake caught the sound of something flying overhead.

The banshee nearest to him stopped mid-shriek. Her eyes widened and her crooked fingers locked around her throat. Her mouth snapped shut and a strange noise rattled between her lips.

‘
Crr-akk—kraaa! Kurrr-aaah!
’

Jake grinned through the pain—the troll
had
understood!

Fwwppp—Fwwppp—Fwwppp.

Jake rolled onto his back, just in time to see three rotten apples sail through the air. Each hit their target: those pouting second mouths, the heart of the banshee’s wail and the only living part of its body. The apples lodged in the monsters’ throats and drowned their song.

There were four spectres still standing, but these had ceased their shrieks and were staring at their sisters. Doubled over, the banshees had their fingers down their throats, trying to pick the apples free. Problem was, their necks were so long they couldn’t hope to reach.
Fwwppp—
another apple hit. Jake turned in time to see Brag loading a sixth into a slingshot and taking aim.

The three remaining banshees didn’t wait around for the troll to pick them off. Their cloaks swept up around them and they shot into the air, leaving their doomed sisters behind. Like scraps of cloth caught on the wind, they passed over the treetops. Meanwhile, the five banshees left in the glade had fallen to the ground. They spluttered, gagged, and kicked their stick-thin legs. At long last, their milky eyes closed and the monsters lay motionless upon the ground.

Jake staggered to his feet. The clearing whirled around him but a few deep breaths steadied the kaleidoscope. Brag waved his club in the direction of the fleeing spectres.

‘That’s it!’ he roared. ‘Get you gone! Bloody banshees!’

He caught sight of Jake, stomped across the glade and swept the boy up into his arms. Crushed in the bear hug, Jake tried not to gag as the smell of troll BO filled his nostrils.

‘Clever little blighter!’ Brag laughed. ‘Apples to the back of the throat! Genius!’

He put Jake down and slapped his back, sending Jake sprawling.

‘Oops. Sorry.’

‘No worries,’ Jake panted. ‘You did great, Brag, but what did you use for a slingshot?’

The troll swung a gigantic strip of elastic around one claw.

‘Tore it out’ve me pants.’ Brag winked. ‘Thank ’eavens me mum told me to put a fresh pair on this morning. I usually go commando.’

‘Ri-ight. One thing I don’t get, though: how come you weren’t affected by the banshees’ call?’

‘The banshee’s what?’

‘CALL!’

Brag dug a finger into his ear and pulled out a bucketful of slimy green wax.

‘Answer your question?’

Pandora called out—‘Something’s wrong! Jake, it’s your dad.’

Rachel was just getting groggily to her feet. She looked pale but otherwise unhurt. Jake gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as he ran past. Crouched on her knees, Pandora cradled Adam’s head in her lap.

‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, as Jake knelt beside her.

He wiped the blood from his nose. ‘Doesn’t matter. Is he OK?’ It was difficult to keep the fear out of his voice.

‘He’s lost consciousness and his breathing’s very shallow.’ Pandora stroked Adam’s head and loosened his collar. Two other hands used tissues to clean the clotted blood out of his ears. ‘He’s been so weak, this was just too much for him.’

Jake took his dad’s hand. He felt Rachel beside him, her arms around his shoulders.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispered.

‘I’m going to show you something, Jake,’ Pandora said. ‘But when your daddy wakes, I don’t want you to let on. Thing is, you need to know how sick this good man really is.’