Skull in the Wood (15 page)

Matt

T
he geese are flying high over the waves. A string of them, a massive V that forms and reforms as new ones lead the way. The sky is filled with their clamour. My head is filled with the echo of it – whistling, honking, crying, screaming.

The sea changes colour. Now it's green and brown and grey, and the geese fly over tors and fields dotted with tiny sheep. I'm with them, riding the sky, flying at their side. ‘
Come on
,' I shout. ‘
Come on
.' There are geese above me, too, wings outstretched and feet tucked beneath, and I'm riding in their slipstream and whistling through the air, pressed so close to them I can feel the warmth of their down. I want to stay with
them, join their wild free flight. If this is the gabble ratchet, I'm sticking around.

But now there are other birds with them – crows and curlews and silent-flying ones I don't recognise that flit like bats on long, pointed wings. And above me the geese are growing, their white breasts darkening and their eyes turning huge and red. They're something else now – I can see black fur and teeth and drool-flecked jaws, and I sense bellies empty as stones and a hunger that drives them. They're hounds of hell, and I can't look at them any more, can't risk a glimpse. They'll tear me to pieces and leave no trace for anyone to find. I'm running before the gabbleratchet, and I know that it's gaining on me.

In and out of the stream of creatures weave others. Crazed hares, leaping by their side. Deer with delicate hooves and bloody antlers, pounding across their path. The grinning skeletons of sheep and pig and cow, with gaping jaws and black holes for their eyes. And I'm running before them all, and I can feel hot breath on my neck, and the hot wet slaver of their tongues lands with burning spatters on my skin.

They're hunting. And I am the prey now. I am the quarry.

Suddenly they're upon me and I'm in the centre of
the pack. Black fur presses against me. And I'm running for my life, running with all the breath in my body, with the darkest creatures of the night behind me in full cry.

I feel the wildness in my limbs. My legs and lungs are filled with the cry of the hunt and the rush of the wind and the dizzy stuttering stars. I take a bugle from my pocket and raise it to my lips and blow, a high-pitched note that trembles and takes flight. And the bugle is a skull, the skull of a curlew, and the sound of the bugle echoes in my brain and fills the night sky.

‘
Tally-ho
,' I shout, and I laugh, and the laugh is a baying that rises from my throat.

The wild hunt is running mad, and the trees are rushing up to meet us, small stunted trees that open their arms and usher us in. Inside the wood it's quieter. The creatures mill in a pack, pacing and growling. They lick their lips as I go by. Green fronds brush my hair as I walk into the heart of the trees.

The standing stone draws me in. It is quiet now. But I've seen the gabbleratchet, and now I must pay.

My skin burns. I can almost smell it burning. And more than the entire world I want to go on living. I'll do anything. Anything.

Suddenly I know there's a bargain to be made.

And I know that I'll make it.

I try to think. Nothing.

Then the black oil of my thoughts melds into a shape. Paul has caused all this. It's his fault. If anyone has to die, it should be him. And if he dies, maybe . . . maybe everything will go back to normal with Mum and Dad.

I stammer and shift my feet. Then I stand up straight.

‘
Paul
,' I say, and my voice sounds clear and strong. ‘
I'll give you Paul
.'

Laughter rings out in the heart of Old Scratch Wood.

But the bargain is made, and now they're in flight again, spinning and howling and yelping and slavering. I'm pulled behind them out of the trees and through the air, swept past the wood and into the open sky.

All at once I'm falling. It's a sharp steep drop, as high as a mountain, and I'm hurtling down and down and my life is whirling through the air. Mum's perfume. Dad taking me for my first sail. Paul. A wedding. Fragments. And I'm falling, falling, and the ground is rising to hit me like the marble slab of a morgue. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two . . .

Then I wake, sweating and whimpering on my bed,
and hugging the crochet cover to me for dear, dear life.

First light was creeping through the curtains, weak and grey and furtive, but still light, and I was grateful. The sash windows banged in their frames as the wind tried to force its way in. I couldn't bear to stay in my room a minute longer. There was too much in my head that I didn't want to remember. I got up, threw on yesterday's clothes and headed downstairs.

No one was up yet, and I paced around the kitchen making as much noise as possible in the hope of waking Uncle Jack or Tilda. No one stirred, though. In the end I decided to go and feed the animals. I needed to be doing something, anything, rather than sitting brooding. And at least it would impress Tilda.

It was miserable outside. The wind tugged at me as if it was planning to dismember my body and hide the evidence. I wished I'd stuck on a coat and a woolly hat, and maybe a pair of gloves as well. You'd think I'd have learned that by now, but clearly not. Not this morning, anyway.

I looked in warily at the cow and its calf in East Barn – there was no way I was going to risk a repeat performance of the other day. Right on cue, the huge
cow shifted about and stamped her foot. I closed the door fast and left her in the dark.

Even the chickens seemed agitated. When I let them out, they scattered in all directions and wouldn't even come back when I shook out some grain. The cockerel flew straight up on to the henhouse roof and sat gazing at me as if I was his worst enemy, though to be honest I was quite glad he was safely out of the way. Then two dumpy chickens raced off into the distance, flapping their wings madly in a doomed attempt to take off. It should have been funny, but it wasn't. Something was definitely spooking them.

And now I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

20

Tilda

I
heard Matt scream in the night – at least, I think it was him. The wind was making a total racket and the house was creaking and shifting, so it was hard to tell what was inside and what was out. I never like it when it does that. And I thought I could hear birds calling, but I probably imagined that bit. I stuck my head under the covers and hoped for the best, and when I woke up again it was morning.

Dad was already up and gone when I came down. I was the only one around. The wind was still whistling and the sky was as grey as the slates on East Barn. All the time my brain was buzzing with worries – the velvet dress in the photo, Alba's face when she saw
the skull, Gabe's sudden alarming kindness.

I decided the best thing – even if I didn't really want to – was to talk to Matt about it. To figure out what we should do. But when I tapped on his door and pushed it open, he wasn't there. The bedclothes were all muddled, so he'd definitely slept in his room. Surely he hadn't run away again? But it didn't seem very likely. He must have got up before me – maybe he was actually doing some chores. Wonders would never cease.

I went through to Kitty's room instead. At least she was still in bed. But she wasn't her normal cheery self. Usually I can't stop her bouncing off the walls, but today she was all bleary and didn't want to get up at all. She said her head hurt. I wasn't surprised, with it blowing so hard outside last night. So I told her to have a lie-in and went down again.

Even Jez looked bothered by the wind. She was pacing around, wild-eyed and growling. I opened a tin of food for her and watched her scoff it at top speed.

‘Good girl,' I said. ‘Come on, let's go and feed the animals.'

It was grim outside. The wind threw itself against me and I put up the hood of my parka to keep it out of my ears. I fed the puppies, but they clearly didn't
want to brave the weather, so I left them to snooze on their straw bed. Someone had let the chickens out already and I found them huddled in the tractor barn too. They can cope with a bit of rain but they absolutely hate it when it's windy. I checked in the henhouse for eggs, but nothing yet. They were prob ably on strike today, and frankly I didn't blame them.

Suddenly Jez started barking. I looked up. There was Matt at the gate to the side yard. I wondered if he'd gone to see the geese – though after yesterday I kind of doubted it.

‘Hey,' I yelled. Jez bounded towards him, and I followed. As we got close, Matt jerked and stepped back. He took several paces away from us, his hands out in front of him. It was weird. Jez clearly didn't know what to make of it.

‘Get her off,' said Matt. ‘Don't let her near me.' He looked straight at Jez. ‘Back off,' he said. ‘Back off.' His voice trailed away and he muttered something I couldn't quite hear. It sounded like
hell hound
.

Jez stopped and tensed. Her big doggy smile disappeared.

‘What do you mean?' I said. I was gobsmacked. So was Jez, to be honest. She flicked her ears and pressed in close to me.

‘Look at her eyes,' said Matt in a shaky voice. I looked at him, then down at Jez's eyes. Deep, caramelly, and lovable – just as usual.

‘What do you mean, Matt?'

He just stared. He looked terrible, his face white and wild.

‘Matt,' I said. ‘It's Jez. Calm down. It's lovely Jez.'

For a moment Matt looked ready to run. Then his shoulders dropped.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I'm being stupid.' With hesitant steps he walked up to Jez, who whimpered a little until he stroked her head. Her ears went down and slowly we all relaxed.

‘Come out of this wind,' I said. ‘We'll sit in the tractor barn and then you can tell me what's going on.'

We found a couple of bales and Matt slumped on one with Jez by his side. Lightfoot and Lawless were still curled up, sleeping. Quiet for once. It made a nice change.

‘OK, then,' I said. ‘I know something happened with your mum. So spill.'

Matt looked away. Then in a bleak voice he explained what had happened – Aunty Caroline wanting to marry Paul. Wow. So that was what had freaked him out. No wonder he'd been so upset. If I
was honest, I'd quite liked Paul – he seemed all right, even if he sometimes sounded a bit like those London people who come down here and buy up all the nicest old farms and then don't even farm on them. But I could see it from Matt's point of view too. I mean, no one wants their mum to install a replacement father just like that. I let my mind float for a second over the possibility of Dad marrying someone else. It was too horrible to think about.

‘There's more,' I said. ‘The skull – your mum knows something about it, and so does Gabe. And he won't say so, but I'm sure he thinks the gabbleratchet's really coming now.'

Matt stared at me, then turned his eyes away. He picked up a wisp of hay and fiddled with it.

‘What is it?' I said. ‘Didn't you hear me?' I gave a sigh. ‘OK, you win. You were right. I'm sorry I didn't believe it before.'

No reaction. I waded on.

‘Matt, I went to see Alba. The birds turn into—'

‘A hunt,' said Matt. I stared at him. ‘A hunt across the skies and across the moor. With all the creatures of hell in full cry. Deer, hares, curlews. Hounds . . .'

‘There was a stag yesterday,' I said slowly. ‘A stag with funny eyes – one blue, one brown. That's a
genetic thing, isn't it? You get dogs like that. Only I thought it was going to attack me. And in the end it went for Jez. It was lucky she wasn't badly hurt.'

‘I saw a hare on the road,' said Matt. ‘It didn't run away or anything. Just stared. And then these poor ponies it was watching went totally berserk.'

‘And there was the cow and the geese,' I said. ‘Maybe it wasn't so normal, the way they were behaving . . .'

We looked at each other.

‘Dad said if you see the gabbleratchet – the hunt – then someone dies . . .' I said. I trailed off.

Matt wasn't even looking at me. Finally he lifted his head and held my gaze. Although the barn was dark, I took in the fact that his eyes were hazel. I hadn't noticed before.

‘I saw it,' he said.

At once Jez stood up and stiffened. I could feel all the hairs on my forearm lift and prickle.

‘Where?' I whispered.

‘It was a dream. At least, I think it was a dream, it's hard to tell. But I was there, flying with the gabble ratchet. It was geese first – and then it changed.'

Jez growled low in her throat, and I shushed her. She went over to Matt and stood right up close to him
as if to calm him down. He stroked her and smiled. I made Matt tell me it all from the beginning. When it came to the bit about the standing stone and the bargain to be made, I held my breath. Matt faltered and stopped. I waited. Then I couldn't bear it any more.