Skull in the Wood Read online

  Direct hit. City boy looked completely stricken. Serves him right, I thought. He should never have come in the first place – he must know that, surely. I mean, his family and ours have hardly spoken for ages. Though Mum did talk to Aunty Caroline the day before her accident – I remember her coming off the phone really angry. And Aunty Caroline didn’t even bother going to the funeral – her own sister. Then there’s the question of the farm and what will happen to it now, and thinking about that makes me so furious I can’t speak.

  But we haven’t got much choice about Matt staying, for a few days at least – unless we put him out on to the moor and leave him for the wolves to find. Too bad there aren’t any now, just ponies and cows and sheep.

  ‘Dad says I have to show you round,’ I said. ‘It’s a farm, so you can’t be a complete disaster area. But you’ll have to put on boots instead of those stupid things.’

  When we finally got outside – Matt in this fashion-victim jacket, but wearing Dad’s wellies – I took him on the grand tour of our three yards. The front yard first, with East and West Barn – they’re empty just now, but we use West Barn for lambing in the spring, and the cows’ll be coming into East Barn for the winter soon. Matt yawned, but I ignored him.

  Then I led him into the back yard where the chickies have their house. I called them over for a bit of corn, and my favourites, Flo and Mabel, started pecking from my hand.

  ‘Want to give them some?’ I asked, thinking he might as well learn to help out with the chores. I offered him the jug, but he pushed it away.

  ‘No chance,’ he said. ‘They’ve got evil eyes. Like velociraptors.’

  ‘You’re not scared of a little chicken, are you?’

  ‘I’m serious. Chickens are the closest living relatives of Tyrannosaurus rex.’

  He had a point. When chickens run, they are kind of Jurassic Park.

  ‘Let’s go and see the rest then.’ I whistled for Jez, who came bounding up.

  ‘The hairy hound,’ Matt said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a she, and she’s a black German shepherd,’ I said. ‘Jezebel, Jez for short. She’s really clever.’

  Jez smiled her doggy smile and danced ahead. Matt didn’t make any move to pet her. I was starting to realise he might not be the animal type. Not a good omen, if you ask me.

  ‘We’ve got two puppies as well, but they’re only on loan,’ I said. ‘They’re outside dogs, not house dogs. Round here.’ I led him across the back yard to the tractor barn. ‘Watch out. They’re really naughty.’

  It was too late. Lightfoot and Lawless had leapt up from their straw bed and were jumping all over Matt. They were almost full grown now – tall and strong and far too badly behaved. Matt kept trying to fend their huge paws off his jacket, but I knew it was a lost cause. It was hilarious.

  ‘Don’t worry, they won’t kill you,’ I said. ‘They’re foxhounds – we’re looking after them for the Hunt. Down, Lightfoot. Oh, get off, Lawless.’

  I pushed off the puppies and stroked their squirming tummies.

  ‘You mean those kennels down the road have dogs for fox hunting?’ said Matt.

  ‘Duh. Yes. Loads of farmers take a couple of puppies and train them to be sociable, then they go back and join the pack and start hunting. Following a scent that the Hunt’s laid down, that is, not chasing actual foxes any more, so don’t look so shocked. But we don’t like foxes in the country. Especially when we have lambs and chickens and geese. I suppose you’re all anti up in London.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we’re not all out for blood like you obviously are here.’

  I laughed, shut the puppies up and started on the tour again. I showed him the rest of the back yard but he barely glanced at all the machinery in the tractor barn. I did my best, piling it on thick about animal emergencies and having to stick your hand up a ewe’s bum. Only he didn’t seem much interested in anything. I decided to give the side yard and the geese a miss for now.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s go up to Coven Tor – you’ll have seen it from your window. We’ll pass by Far Field on the way, and say hello to the sheep there.’

  Matt shrugged and we headed over to the front of the house again. Gabe, who helps Dad on the farm, was up at the main gate, shifting hurdles. I tried to sneak past him without catching his eye but he wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘Off somewhere?’ he said.

  ‘Just to the tor,’ I said. ‘We’re in a bit of a hurry.’

  Gabe frowned at Matt.

  ‘Caroline’s boy, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I saw you when you were small once. She doesn’t come here now she lives upcountry.’

  He eyed Matt like he was figuring out how much he’d fetch at market. Matt shifted uneasily.

  ‘I’m Matt Crimmond,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He stuck out a hand, but Gabe didn’t seem to notice it. I don’t think he’s used to city-boy manners.

  ‘Gabe Tucker,’ he said. ‘I work on the farm here. You be careful of the moor now, boy. It’s a dangerous place, and I don’t just mean the weather. There’s dark things happen here.’ He muttered a word under his breath that I’d never heard before. Gabble-something or other. Gobbledegook, more like.

  Matt was looking a bit puzzled, which was fair enough really. Gabe’s kind of odd at the best of times, though his wife Alba’s dead nice and used to be my favourite dinner lady.

  ‘Got to go,’ I said. I waved and pushed Matt through the gate.

  ‘What did he mean?’ Matt asked in a low voice as we walked away down the farm track past Long Field. ‘And what’s the gabble thingy when it’s at home?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, and anyway, it’s not worth the effort. He’s always like that,’ I said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Death and destruction.’ I put on a gruff Gabe-like voice. ‘‘‘Strange things happen on the moor, stranger than you can imagine.” He’s obsessed with these weird stories everyone used to believe in round here. That’s why he gave me Jez when she was a puppy – to protect me from bad things. Bonkers.’

  Matt was frowning. ‘Don’t you get a bit spooked out, though?’ he said. ‘I mean, being all on your own with nothing for miles around? It’s sort of creepy. And lots of those barns on the farm look like they’ve come straight out of a horror movie. You know, rotting planks, creaking doors . . .’

  I flinched. ‘Yeah, and why do you think they’re in such a bad state? The same reason we’ve lost all our best fields.’

  ‘Your dad mentioned that,’ Matt said. ‘Hey, maybe it’s time to get out of farming.’

  The arrogant pig! I couldn’t believe it. Surely he knows that it’s because of his mum we’re going to lose the farm? It’s her fault we had to sell off all that land, just before Mum died. That’s why the farm’s struggling now – we’ve lost all the best pasture. Dad had said I had to be nice, but suddenly I just couldn’t do it any more.

  ‘The farm’s my home,’ I said, and my voice came out like a hiss. ‘So why don’t you just get lost and leave us all alone?’

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Matt said, but I pulled my hood up and marched back along the track towards the house.

  Beyond the gate, Gabe watched us, slowly shaking his head.

  3

  Matt

  In the end I trailed back to the farm as well. What was Tilda’s problem? I was totally confused, but sort of hurt, too. To make things worse, that Gabe bloke grabbed me as I was coming into the front yard and said he wanted a word with me. I couldn’t refuse but I wasn’t exactly keen – he weirds me out a bit. He must be nearly sixty, I think, and he wears this dirty-looking beanie hat down to his eyebrows, and under it his eyes are really hard and pale, a pale blue you don’t normally see. And right now he was acting all secretive, like he was trying to drag me into some bizarre conspiracy.

  ‘Listen to me, now,’ he said. ‘I saw you back there, you and Tilda, having words. This is the beginning. I know it. If you carry on like this, you’ll set it off aga
in.’

  ‘The beginning of what?’ I said, trying to shake my arm free.

  Gabe’s eyes shifted away.

  ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What will we set off?’

  ‘It’ll be birds first, I reckon. They’re the omens. The harbingers.’

  ‘Harbingers?’ What was he on about? I looked around, wondering how to get rid of him, but he kept going.

  ‘They’ll be gathering now,’ he said. ‘Watching, waiting. I felt it when your uncle told me you were coming. And now I know it. If you’ve any sense you’ll get away from here as fast as you can. Before you bring on something worse than birds.’

  He saw me smile and a flicker of what might have been anger passed across his eyes.

  ‘Just stay away from Old Scratch Wood,’ he said, ‘and maybe you’ll be OK. If you’re lucky – and there’s plenty enough ill luck here.’

  Wacko. Some people have spent far too long away from normal life – and that includes pretty much the whole population of Dartmoor, I should think. When the most exciting thing you have to look forward to is a trip to the sheep market, you obviously start going a bit psycho.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said. ‘I’ll look out for these omens. Harbingers. Whatever.’

  He threw me a glance of pure contempt.

  ‘Best you do that, Matt Crimmond,’ he said. ‘Because I’m afraid they’ll be looking out for you.’

  The sun went in and for some reason my guts churned uncomfortably. But it seemed that Gabe had said all he was going to say. He turned and went off into one of the barns in front of the farm – East Barn, I think Tilda had called it. There were so many of them I couldn’t remember.

  I dragged my feet up to the gloomy old house. Gabe was nuts, obviously. But after the bust-up with Tilda, I sort of wished he’d kept his nuttiness to himself.

  Just as I reached the door, a car drew up to the gate. Tilda rushed rudely past me out to the lane and got into the back with another girl. Uncle Jack came out to wave goodbye, then told me she was going over to Widecombe and wouldn’t be back till late. Why was she avoiding me like this? When she was showing me around, she was almost pleasant one minute, the next she was acting like a mental case. It wasn’t like I said anything out of order – she just went off on one. I didn’t get it.

  Once I was in, things improved. Uncle Jack said the farm computer was off limits except for emergencies, but I could watch TV for a while. Finally Kitty trotted up and announced that we’d better all have a wash and then it would be time for supper. When I say it like that it sounds a bit Famous Five, but she was just being nice. And believe me, I needed some of that.

  Amazingly, she’d even laid the table in the kitchen – this huge old pine number, all scuffed and ringed from stuff that had been spilt on it and scrubbed away. It should have looked rubbish, but it didn’t. Just sort of homely. Kitty had set out mats and forks and knives and salt and pepper and everything. My mum would be seriously impressed – she says I never do anything around the house. Then Uncle Jack came in and brought something out of the range cooker, and when he took the lid off, it wasn’t a burnt offering like I would have expected from him, but this casserole with dark purplish gravy and a fantastic meaty smell that had me almost dribbling on to the flagstones. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, thanks to Tilda, and now I realised just how hungry I was.

  ‘This is Hector,’ said Uncle Jack, waving his fork at the casserole. He’s totally lost it, too, I thought.

  Kitty grinned at me. ‘Hector was one of our bullocks,’ she said. ‘I didn’t like him a lot because he had a bad temper. But he tastes nice.’

  We’re on first name terms with our dinner? Still . . . I only hesitated a nanosecond, then dived in. And Hector was amazing. I’d never really thought about where the meat we eat at home comes from – but this tasted way better. We ate him with big hunks of bread, which we tore off and dipped in the gravy to mop it up. My mum would have had a fit at our lack of manners, but it really was great stuff.

  There wasn’t a lot being said apart from ‘Pass the butter,’ but once I’d staved off the first pangs of hunger I thought I’d try to find out what Gabe had been ranting on about.

  ‘The bloke that works on the farm mentioned Old Scratch Wood,’ I said. ‘He told me not to go there.’

  Uncle Jack looked up from a forkful of Hector and pushed his hair back from his eyes. Suddenly I could see a resemblance to Tilda.

  ‘Gabe?’ he said. ‘What else did he say about it?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. He was going on about omens or harbingers or something.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to pay too much attention to Gabe’s stories,’ said Uncle Jack curtly, and went back to his supper.

  I squirmed in my seat.

  ‘What’s barbingers?’ said Kitty.

  Uncle Jack actually smiled.

  ‘They foretell that something is coming, darling,’ he said. ‘Like I can foretell that it’s nearly your bedtime.’ Kitty obviously had a good effect on him, because as he turned to me I could see he was already in a better mood. ‘Gabe likes to ladle on the local colour – he’s a walking folklore museum,’ he said. ‘But Old Scratch Wood is just a small wood on the moor beyond Thieves’ Tor. Not much left of it now, although it’s very old. One of the last native forests in England. The oaks there are ancient. Quite strange-looking . . .’

  ‘Can we have pudding now?’ said Kitty.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart,’ said Uncle Jack. ‘I’ll get out the treacle tart in a minute. But maybe you should go there, Matthew. It’ll be something for you to do, now you’re here.’ He gave me a probing look. ‘I’ll get Tilda to take you tomorrow.’

  I tried a dutiful guest smile, but a day out with Tilda wasn’t quite what I was after.

  ‘Can I go, too?’ said Kitty.

  It was all I could do not to pull a face. Kitty was all right, but I didn’t fancy dragging a five-year-old across the moor as well as a moody Tilda. Thankfully Uncle Jack came to my rescue.

  ‘Your legs are a bit small for that,’ he said. Kitty’s face fell. ‘But you can come and help me muck out the chickens.’ Apparently this was a major treat for Kitty, because her lip stopped quivering immediately.

  So. Just me and Tilda in the middle of the big bad wood. I couldn’t wait.

  ‘Right,’ said Uncle Jack, standing up. ‘Enough of this. Make yourself useful now, Matthew, and get on with the washing-up while I put Kitty to bed.’

  I looked to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t. There was no dishwasher, just a great pile of dirty dishes and disgusting pans. Uncle Jack raised a warning eyebrow and I thought better of making an excuse. Slowly I moved towards the sink and turned on the hot water.

  It all took ages, even though Uncle Jack came and helped with the drying and the putting-away. It was clear he was thinking about something, and occasionally I could feel his eyes on me. When the last dish had disappeared, I made myself break the silence.

  ‘I meant to say before – I’m sorry about Aunty Rose. She was really nice.’

  Uncle Jack’s face darkened. He picked up the tea towel, folded it over the rail of the range and headed for the door.

  ‘I’ve got to be up at crack of dawn, so I’m only fit for the TV now,’ he said in a tired voice. ‘Oh, and ring your mother, won’t you? She called for you earlier. Said she couldn’t get through on your phone.’

  I hesitated, then followed him to the living room. I hovered at the door, unsure what to do. Uncle Jack had crashed out on the sofa in front of the box to watch some boring sitcom. There was another old armchair beside the wood burner, but after the look he’d given me I felt nervous about coming in, and he didn’t ask me to. In moments he was snoring away – and it was only eight o’clock.

  No one wanted me here, that much was obvious. I felt desperate to talk to someone. Maybe I could get reception for my phone out in the front yard. But I wasn’t going to ring my mum – no way.

  I stuck on Uncle Jack’s welli
es again, and an old fleece that was hanging by the door. Then I crept out.

  Straight away I was glad that I had. The moon was amazing – huge and low on the horizon, and about three-quarters full. You could almost see all its scars and craters and bumps and hollows. You don’t get that in London. I stood admiring it, feeling a bit stupid as I waved my phone around to find a spot that would let me at least pick up my messages. From the back yard came a low moo and a loud burst of clucking, shattering the silence. No signal, though. I’d have to go further away.

  Higher ground would be best, I reckoned. I would try the tor I’d seen from my room. I went out of the front gate, remembering to close it behind me, and followed the farm track past Long Field where Tilda had taken me that afternoon. At the end of the field was a ridge with a well-worn path on it that looked as if it led through the fields at the back of the farm, and right to the top. With the moon so bright, I could easily make out the silhouettes of the stone stacks – three of them, like heaped piles of giant sheep poo left on top of a hill. I took a quick picture with my phone, not that it was likely to come out in this light, but if I was going to be marooned here I might as well have something to show for it.

  Despite the fleece I was really cold. I concentrated on getting to the top as fast as possible, only it wasn’t as easy it looked. By the time I reached the stones I was panting. And still no reception. I groaned. If I couldn’t even get texts while I was here, it was going to be truly dire.

  It was then I heard it. In the distance, a low rhythmic sound, almost like a train, though even I know you don’t get trains in the middle of Dartmoor. Especially not in the sky.

  I looked up, and saw several dark shapes flying past, way up high in the air. Geese, big ones, black against the moon. The beat of their wings grew louder, and they were honking away, or whatever it is geese do. It was sort of eerie. I watched them disappear into the night, feeling cold to my bone marrow. The sound held on the wind, growing higher and higher, then faded away.

  Everything was silent now – horribly, creepily silent in a way you never get in a city. I found myself missing the non-stop noise of London, wishing desperately that I was back there, even though it didn’t really feel like home any more now that Paul had moved in. Then a cloud passed over the moon, and suddenly I was in darkness. The rocks in front of me seemed to grow about ten feet. The path disappeared. I could hear myself breathing way too fast. What an idiot I was for not having brought a torch, I thought. With shaking fingers I held up my phone and its feeble light.