From the road, Archie couldn’t be seen; from directly below he was visible if you squinted a bit and studied the branches closely.
Time ticked by.
Slowly.
So slowly that Archie began to get worried that his dad would come looking for him. Archie had no idea how long the man had been standing in the spinney, but it seemed like a lifetime. He would get a scolding for being so late now. His bottom had gone numb ages ago, and now began to hurt fiercely from being pressed against the bristly bark for so long. Numbness had captured his toes to the point where Archie wasn’t sure how long he could stay on the branch without losing his balance through sheer boredom.
Suddenly, the swift flurry of black made Archie gasp softly, and grip the trunk between his legs tightly in alarm. He watched in amazement as the man silently crouched down to peer through the hedge. He remained there for several minutes looking toward the main road that led to the other villages. Archie craned his neck around the thick trunk behind him to try and see what had captured the man’s attention. He felt certain that this, or rather who, was what the man had been waiting for.
He frowned as the man in black remained in his hiding spot, coiled and waiting.
“Mr Harriman.” Archie watched as the tall, thin man walked slowly down the lane toward them.
Although Mr Harriman was not the kind to spend much time talking to people, everyone knew that directly after church he went to visit with his sister who lived in a nearby village. He would remain there until after tea, and would return to his home on the far side of the village.
Was Mr Harriman actually whistling?
Archie sniggered, and listened to the uneven tune the old man was whistling randomly as he meandered home; the man couldn’t whistle to save his life. Usually, Mr Harriman was a dour man who rarely spoke to anyone. When he did decide to speak, more often than not he was grumpy and rude. His visit to his sister’s house must have been enjoyable, because he almost seemed - Archie frowned as he watched the old man’s almost carefree walk - happy? That was a word he wouldn’t associate with Mr Harriman at all.
“This afternoon is just getting stranger and stranger,”Archie whispered softly, his eyes flickering between Mr Harriman and the stranger below.
He knew he should quietly clamber down the tree and head home while the stranger’s attention was diverted, but he was too curious to move. He wanted to see what happened.
Were they going to argue?
Was there going to be a fight?
Wincing in discomfort, Archie wiggled his hips a little to ease the biting pain in his bottom, but the numbness continued to grow until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
With a shake of his head, he carefully climbed down the tree as quietly as he could. Within seconds he was gently rubbing his sore bottom, and warily eyeing the back of the cloaked man now only a few feet away.
He should head home, especially if there was going to be fisticuffs, but he just had to see what the man in black was going to do.
What would he do if there was a fight? Should he go and fetch his dad? Or should he pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and just leave while they were busy thumping each other?
He was so busy contemplating what he should do that he almost missed what actually did happen!
His eyes popped wide in shock. Archie stared in horror as Mr Harriman drew level with the break in the hedge. As quick as a blink, the man in black lurched through the rough branches and threw himself onto the old man’s back, dragging him to the ground with a heavy thump.
Archie stumbled forward in disbelief, peering through the hedge until he could see both of the men now on the ground in the middle of the cart track.
Were they going to fight? If they were, Mr Harriman was at a distinct disadvantage because the attacker was now sitting on his back.
Heart pounding, Archie watched as the band of black cloth around the old man’s throat began to tighten. Archie couldn’t see any features of the man in black, his face was protected by the large brim of the tricorn hat and the high collar of his long cloak. All he could see was the thin, pointy chin below almost invisible lips that were now twisted cruelly. The brief flicker of dark, rotting teeth made Archie grimace in disgust.
Everything within him screamed to turn around. To run home for help. But something kept him still. He stood transfixed; his heart hammering wildly in his throat, his horrified gaze locked on the men before him.
Dare he make a run for it, and make the man aware of his presence? Dare he move?
Archie’s stomach churned as Mr Harriman’s eyes met and held his in silent pleading. The awful grunts and gurgling noises coming from the old man became less frequent. His wizened face grew increasingly mottled; he fought for breath, lifting one hand beseechingly off the ground toward Archie, who stood in frozen horror.
Archie stared, helpless to answer the desperate call in Mr Harriman’s eyes! He physically trembled with the need to run. Fear had locked him into its frozen hold and refused to let go. Archie’s stunned gaze turned to the clenched fist Mr Harriman was holding out, a tiny white piece of something was clenched tightly in his hand. Was he trying to give it to Archie? Or was he asking for Archie’s help? Archie wasn’t sure. He didn’t know, and daren’t ask. Words wouldn’t come. Nothing made any sense.
Archie’s gaze swung back to Mr Harriman’s now purple face. He watched in stunned disbelief as the old man’s desperate gaze began to glaze over. The gurgling noises grew steadily weaker, and the thin, gnarled hand flopped lifelessly onto the dirt.
Archie swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Panic like he had never felt before swept through him. He hadn’t felt this frightened when his brother had that horrid yellow fever last year. Sucking in a huge breath, he jerked out of his trance when the man in black, the murderer, cursed fluidly, his voice thick and husky.
Just inside the hedge, Archie watched him begin to drag Mr Harriman’s now limp body into the very spinney in which Archie was standing.
Scanning the area quickly, Archie jerked out of his daze, desperately looked for another way out. But he knew the spinney well enough to know that the undergrowth was too thick to climb through. The only way in, or out, was through the particular bit of hedgerow the murderer was shuffling through with Mr Harriman’s now lifeless body.
Archie swallowed.
To go through the small gap, he would have to be quick and run directly in front of the man in black. He would almost certainly be noticed.
But I will be noticed anyway Archie thought, if I continue to stand here like a codswallop!
He didn’t stop to think. Bursting through the hedgerow, he took off down the lane as fast as his legs could carry him. Ignoring the muffled shout from behind, he lengthened his stride, tearing down the lane as though the hounds from Hell were on his heels. Dust kicked up in his wake. His feet pounded the tightly packed earth of the single cart track with jarring thuds. Panting heavily, he became increasingly aware that the man was following. Even through his loud breathing, he could hear the heavy thumping of the murderer’s booted feet.
The man was considerably taller than Archie. His longer legs would eat up the distance between them in no time. Archie only had age on his side. He knew that he could probably outrun him. The possibility that he might not, was something Archie could not stop to consider; not after what that man had just done to poor Mr Harriman.
With his gaze fixed firmly on the small cluster of rooftops in the distance, Archie lengthened his stride. He had never considered just how far away from home the spinney really was. Until today, when he had to run the distance at full speed.
Archie’s lungs began to burn. He gasped for air. His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else. His arms began to tremble. Keeping a steady eye on the ground beneath his feet, he tried hard not to fall on the uneven ground. He was determined not to learn for himself if the man had a second piece of cloth to bring about Archie’s death.
A sob lodged in his
throat; he fought the panic that almost overwhelmed him. He desperately wanted to look behind him.
Was the pounding getting louder? Or was that his heart? He couldn’t tell.
Tears pooled in his eyes and mingled with the sweat that trickled slowly from his brow. Swiping a hand down his face, he lengthened his stride as much as his legs would allow. He tried his very best to increase his speed. He seemed to be running and running, yet getting nowhere.
“No!” he wailed, as the back of his shirt was tugged harshly. He dodged to one side. Throwing his arms wide, he desperately tried to dislodge the hand that was holding the back of his shirt, and spun around.
In doing so, he caught a horrifying glance of a tall, cloaked figure looming with dark menace behind him. A small cry of fear escaped Archie as he began to twist and turn, frantically struggling to break the monster’s hold. He glanced upward into the pale cadaverous, almost featureless face that glared back at him. The black holes of his eyes were so cold, so merciless, that Archie shivered, a scream locked in his throat.
One look was enough. With renewed vigour, Archie began to squirm violently, ignoring the tearing of his shirt as he sought to gain his freedom. When the hold didn’t break, Archie was left with no choice. He stopped wriggling enough to aim a well placed, and very hard kick at the murderer’s shins. When that didn’t get the murderer to release his hold, Archie tried again, aiming higher. This time, he was rewarded for his ingenuity when his shirt was immediately released.
Desperately grabbing his chance of freedom, Archie quickly spun around, heading once more in the direction of home. He ignored the fluid curses and thumps behind him and, on legs that wobbled alarmingly, lengthened his stride and headed toward home.
He was fairly sure the man had fallen over. For a few moments, he couldn’t hear the thudding of the man’s heavy boots. When they did restart, they seemed much further away. In spite of his suspicions, Archie couldn’t – wouldn’t – stop to find out.
His lungs burned until they felt they would burst out of his chest. His legs had turned to jelly. A dark haze began to build in the corner of his eyes. Could he make it? He tried desperately to listen for the heavy thudding of the man behind him, but couldn’t make anything out except for the rushing of his own breath and the heavy thumping in his chest.
Was he going to die tonight?
Not if he had anything to do with it, Archie thought, and ignoring the pains in his legs, gave another small burst of speed. He didn’t slow down, or stop, until he turned into the small road leading to his front door.
It was growing darker by the minute. He had been out a lot longer than he should have. He would be lucky if his dad didn’t take the strap to him for going against his word and not returning in time for tea.
Archie felt tears burn. He reluctantly slowed his pace as he approached the front door of home. Jumping over the low fence that ran around the front garden, Archie landed just outside of the front door with a heavy thump. His wobbly legs struggled to hold his sudden weight and he slumped gratefully against the rough-hewn wood. Lifting trembling fingers to the latch on the front door, he almost cried aloud when the heavy wood swung silently inward. It wasn’t locked, and allowed him to slip inside the reassuring familiarity of home without a sound. He paused only briefly, to glance quickly behind him, down the small road. Hoping he had left the murderer behind, Archie quietly closed the door. With the remaining shreds of strength he had left, he carefully slid the heavy iron bolt across the door.
The realisation that he was safely at home began to sink in, and with his back to the door, he slid down to sit on the floor. Chest heaving, he drew his trembling legs upward and wrapped his arms around his churning stomach. Tipping his head backward, Archie sat in the darkness of the front room and, as he gasped for air, let the tears trickle down his pale face.
He was trembling so much he struggled to keep his arms still.
Should he go into the back room to tell his dad? If he did, his dad would want to go outside and look for the murderer. Given what the murderer had just done to poor Mr Harriman, Archie couldn’t take the risk of the same thing happening to his dad, even if he was the village constable. Archie knew that as soon as his dad was told, he would leave the house to go and round up the villagers to go in search of the murderer before he left the area. But that would also mean that until his dad got to someone else’s house, he would be outside – all alone – like Mr Harriman was. With a horrified shudder, Archie sucked in a sob at the thought of the same thing happening to his dad. He felt the hot sting of tears on his cheeks as the image of Mr Harriman’s face rose in his mind, and he winced at the memory of the blank stare the man gave him as he died.
Sitting curled up in the darkness of the front room, Archie waited for the pains in his chest to ease and his legs to stop trembling, and tried to decide what to do.
In the back room at the rear of the house, he could hear the unconcerned chatter of his family as they set about clearing away the tea things. His brothers were squabbling over who took the scraps out to the pigs; his dad scolding them for arguing all the time. Betsy and Emilie were chatting about girls' things, the plates chinking together merrily while they tidied the table.
It was several moments before Archie’s breath began to settle into a more normal rhythm, and the tightness in his chest eased enough to allow for him to take a deep breath.
He was about to stand up, when the soft scuff of footfall outside the front door froze the blood in his veins. Tipping his head back, he watched in horror as the latch began to silently lift clear of its holding. The gentle pressure of the door against his back as it was pushed made him tremble again. The door didn’t rattle as it usually did when it was windy because Archie was still leaning against it, but he could feel the pressure against him as it was pushed from outside.
The latch hung for several agonizing moments, before it was slowly lowered back into its rest.
Trembling, Archie’s eyes remained glued to the latch for any sign of further movement. It was a long time before he felt reassured enough to stand on trembling legs and move to the window. He tried to look outside, but it was too dark to see anything but his own reflection. Quickly drawing the thin curtains closed, he turned back toward the room, unsure what to do next.
The lively chatter coming from the back room of the small terraced house he called home sounded so normal and ordinary, that he suddenly couldn’t stand to be apart from it any longer. The darkness of the front room seemed to close in on him, driving him toward the sitting room and the light, and warmth, of his family. Suddenly, he remembered what usually happened after tea. The girls cleared the table, his mum washed the dishes, and one of the boys took the scraps out to the pigs. Outside. In the dark. Which ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem - and wouldn’t be tonight, if it wasn’t for the murderer on the loose.
The desperate need to stop anyone going outside was enough to send Archie barrelling into the candlelit room, his eyes wide with fear. He was unaware of how he looked and was oblivious to the startled gasps from his brothers, and the soft squeal of Emilie when she clapped eyes on his trembling state, and almost wild eyes. Archie’s gaze locked on his dad, who lurched out of his chair in alarm when he set eyes on his eldest son, calling for Marjorie, his wife.
Ben was standing by the back door, a plate of apple cores and peelings in his hand.
“Wait!” Archie shouted. “You can’t go out there!”
“Archie? What on earth is the matter?” His dad studied him from head to foot. “Why can’t he go out there? What’s the matter with you? What’s happened?”
Archie’s mind raced in search of an excuse. In his panic, he couldn’t think of one. Gasping for air, he glanced frantically around the room, but couldn’t see anything except for the concerned faces of his family.
“Because it’s dark,” he replied weakly, swallowing against the need to scream out what he had just witnessed. He didn’t want to encourage his younger brothers, Ben
and Sammy. At five years old, the twins would be out of the door, going on a murderer hunt before his dad was across the room. They had little fear of danger, and had no qualms about investigating anything and everything that intrigued them – no matter how much trouble it got them into; and they were always in trouble. Even working at the corn mill, they would find something mischievous to capture their attention and inevitably ended up being scolded for their daring. The last thing Archie wanted was for that adventurous side to bring about their downfall. Although they were a pain, Archie couldn’t bear the thought of anything horrid happening to them like – well – he immediately closed the thought off with a shudder.
Archie swallowed. Sickness loomed at the thought of the body lying in the spinney only a few hundred yards away, and he felt the rising tide of fear sweep through him once more.
“Boy, he is only going to the pig pen,” his dad replied, frowning at his oldest son. Archie was normally as dependable and sensible as any young boy could be. It was strange for him to be late in, especially when he had been told to be back before dark. But Jack couldn’t find the heart to be angry with the boy. He worked hard in the corn mill and had clearly gotten carried away playing for once. Although, judging by how upset Archie looked now, the boys had apparently had a falling out. Shaking his head at the folly of the young, he settled back in his chair with his boot and polish, determined not to get involved in any more childish squabbling.
“I’ll do it,” Archie gasped, his stomach churning at the thought. He wanted to cry again. Going out into the darkness was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t stand back and allow anyone else to go outside.
Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery Page 2