In that way, he was the complete opposite of me. So the cliffs were crumbling and the land was arid but I knew I’d have found a way of coping somehow. I have to admit, however, that the solution to this particular problem didn’t spring to mind that easily.
As Ed and I strode the precarious path on our walk, one particular part of the cliffs unnerved me. The black clay had fallen away and lay on the rocky beach in dark lumps, looking as if a giant had scattered them about.
The waves thundered at the massive debris forbiddingly, triumphantly. It was a strange, primeval sight and gave me the feeling of standing at the dawn of time, watching the earth being created by the elements. Suddenly I felt afraid, wanting to hurry away from that sombre place where human beings were weak creatures of no importance.
‘What’s up?’ asked Ed. ‘You scared?’
‘It’s just the way the cliffs have fallen in. All those black lumps of clay.’
‘And more’s going to come down.’ For the first time he caught my eye and I knew we had something in common, a shared anxiety, a fear that we both understood and recognized.
‘Why don’t you leave?’ I asked. ‘Find somewhere else to live?’
‘Mum wouldn’t go. She’s been here most of her life. She’ll stay and fight it.’
‘It?’
‘The erosion. The sea. Whatever. Those cliffs haven’t moved in hundreds of years and now they’re being eaten away by the week.’ Again he caught my eye. ‘It’s like we’re being eaten away.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Come on, we’ll be late for supper,’ he said abruptly and I knew our moment of intimacy had passed.
That night, after some hours slumped in front of the TV, I went to bed early, grateful for some privacy. I lay in my small, well scrubbed but bleak little room and tried to sleep – but I couldn’t, however hard I tried. Eventually, after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, I began to doze and then fell into a light sleep.
I dreamt that I was standing on the cliff-top, overlooking a tree-covered landscape with the sea stirring on the horizon. But my eyes were riveted on a black shape, impossible to identify, that was moving through the trees towards me, large, sure-footed and relentless.
I woke suddenly, sweating and listening to the mounting wind and the crashing of waves as a vicious storm broke over the coastline. Dull, booming thunder began to draw nearer and flashes of lightning criss-crossed the sky, making the fields blue with electricity.
Suddenly the whole of the house shook and there was a dull thumping sound. Almost immediately I could hear doors slamming, and when I went fearfully downstairs I found Ed and my aunt, torches in hand, ready to go outside.
‘What’s happened?’ I demanded.
‘We think there’s been another land-slip.’ Aunt Peggy was tall like her son but gaunt, with a dark, oval, weather-beaten face. ‘We’re just going to take a look. There’s no need to come with us. Make yourself a cup of tea and sit in the kitchen. We won’t be long.’
‘No way,’ I replied, determined not to be left behind in the storm-besieged house. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Ed gave me a grudging look of respect as his mother handed me a torch.
*
We approached the cliffs in the early dawn, with the storm dying back and only the occasional flash of lightning searing the sky. A great swathe of cliff had fallen, leaving an undulating valley of broken slabs leading to the mound-strewn beach. Even more metres had been taken from the Mortons’ land and my aunt looked grey in the chilly, leaden light.
Ed, however, was peering down at the fallen cliff intently. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he muttered.
‘What now?’ asked his mother wearily. ‘Is more going to fall?’
‘Something miraculous has happened.’ His voice was a little unsteady.
‘What are you looking at?’ I asked in bewilderment.
‘See those bits of rock?’ For the first time since I had met him, Ed was excited.
‘Yes. I think so.’ They were lying across the clay, long and dark and rough hewn.
‘What do you think they are?’ he asked, his voice trembling.
‘I don’t know –’
‘They’re dinosaur bones.’
‘Dinosaur?’ I must have gaped at him stupidly.
‘There’s been a lot discovered on the island.’ Ed was even more excited now, quite unlike his usual self. ‘We’ll put them on show, turn one of the barns into a dinosaur museum. That could make us a bomb.’
‘From a few old bones?’ I said wonderingly. They still looked like lumps of rock to me.
But even Aunt Peggy was animated. ‘You’d be surprised,’ she said. ‘We could knock up a few display stands and –’
‘I’ll do that, Mum. And we’ll get photographs, replicas, posters, books – and bring the punters up here. Charge them a bit more to see the actual Dinosaur Cliff.’ Suddenly he was gazing round his dwindling land with pride. Then he paused. ‘I’ll ring that palaeontologist. What’s his name – Dr Maurice Arnold – down at the museum. He’ll have to come over and officially identify the bones.’ Ed paused grudgingly. ‘But I’m sure I’m right.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ said Aunt Peggy, turning to me. The smile lit up her face, making her warmer and more vulnerable at the same time. ‘Ed was always interested in fossils – even when he was a little boy. He won’t be wrong.’
He wasn’t, but the blow came all the same.
Dr Arnold arrived mid-morning and we all three took an instant dislike to him. He had a bustling, bureaucratic personality and seemed both short-tempered and overbearing.
He scrambled down the cliff and examined the bones minutely, taking such a long time that I began to seethe with impatience, knowing that Ed and his mother were feeling exactly the same.
‘Well,’ he said finally, wheeling round on us, his glasses misty and his lips pursed. ‘They’re the genuine article. There’s no doubt about that.’
‘That’s terrific,’ said Ed. ‘We’re going to set up an exhibition on the farm to show them off. We’ll convert one of the barns and –’
Dr Arnold smiled for the first time. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’ asked Aunt Peggy sharply.
‘The bones are a major discovery and I’ll need to arrange to have them taken to my museum for further research. There can be no question of them being exhibited on your land.’
‘They’re our bones –’ began Ed furiously.
‘They come under the legal care of the local authority.’
There was an unmistakable ring of authority in Dr Arnold’s voice.
‘Since when?’ asked Aunt Peggy belligerently.
‘I can arrange for you to see a copy of the bye-law,’ Dr Arnold replied smoothly.
‘So when do we get them back?’ demanded Ed.
‘You don’t.’
‘What?’
‘The bones are automatically the property of the local authority and will be exhibited in its museum,’ he said in the same measured tone. ‘I’m sure you will realize this is in the best interests of the general public.’ He paused. ‘After all – our museum has free entry.’
‘They’re our bones. You can’t take them away,’ yelled Ed but his mother put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘I’m afraid they’re not.’ Dr Arnold sighed, as if he was talking to someone stupid. ‘I shall be sending some men to remove them as soon as I can – hopefully by tomorrow morning at the very latest. In the meantime I’d be grateful if you would ensure no one goes near them. It would be a tragedy if they were damaged in any way.’ He paused again, looking meaningfully at Ed. ‘It would also be a criminal offence.’
When Dr Arnold had gone, I watched Ed lose all control; he was so furious that even Aunt Peggy looked concerned.
‘I’ll get him,’ he yelled, hurling lumps of clay at the shattered cliff face. ‘I’ll fight him in every court in the land. They’re our bones. Not his. We could make a fortune. We deserve t
o make a fortune what with the land being eaten away like it is.’
‘It’s no good,’ said his mother dourly. ‘The council always wins. We’ve just got to face it.’
‘No,’ he yelled. Ed ran down the cliff path, leapt over one of the enormous bones and then tore up the beach until he was out of sight.
‘Let him be,’ said Aunt Peggy. ‘He gets like this sometimes and has to work it off. Don’t go after him. Best thing we can do is get some lunch going.’
After a strained and largely silent meal, I wandered out into the farmyard and then began to walk rapidly towards the crumbling cliffs and the path that led down to the beach. I was determined to find Ed. I liked him now, for all his hot temper, and I wanted to help him find a solution.
But as a I hurried down the path I saw him on the Dinosaur Cliff. He had a sledgehammer in his hand.
‘What are you doing?’ I shouted, standing precariously on the uneven ground, half frightened of him, half appalled at what he had done. The huge bone was in fragments, yet he kept on bringing down the sledgehammer.
‘Go to hell –’
‘You can’t do this,’ I insisted. ‘For goodness’ sake, Ed.’
‘They’re my bones,’ he insisted.
‘You’ll be arrested.’
‘And it’s my land. What I do on my land is my business – and no one else’s.’
Ed didn’t even look up but just kept on crushing the bone. Knowing there was no reasoning with him, I walked slowly away.
He didn’t return until late afternoon and then went straight upstairs to his room without speaking. At five, Ed went out to check the sheep and didn’t come back until nine. Once again he went to his room and Aunt Peggy tentatively took up a tray of supper. She came down a few minutes later.
‘I’m sorry, Helen. You must think him so rude,’ she began apologetically. ‘What with you being a visitor and all. I’m sure he –’
I quickly cut her short. ‘It doesn’t matter. How is he?’
‘Angry.’
‘You know he’s smashed up one of the bones.’ I realized I should have told her earlier, but her reaction was surprisingly low key.
‘I guessed what he was up to when I saw him come back to get the sledgehammer. But I didn’t try to stop him – and, to be honest, I feel much the same.’
‘He could be arrested.’
‘If they can prove it was him.’ She was very determined. ‘I’ve wiped the sledgehammer clean so they won’t be able to find his fingerprints. And later on, I’ll go down to the cliff and try and get rid of his footprints.’ Aunt Peggy laughed uneasily. ‘You must think I’m a practised criminal.’ She paused and then said hurriedly, ‘If you feel you can’t stomach us any longer, I’d quite understand if you went home.’
I looked at her steadily. ‘Do you want me to?’
Aunt Peggy shook her head emphatically. ‘No – I don’t. You’ll be someone for Ed to talk to – when he comes round. He’s fed up with only having me.’
But Ed didn’t ‘come round’ that night and I went to bed miserably, knowing there would be big trouble tomorrow morning when Dr Arnold’s workers arrived. Would the police arrest Ed? Impose a heavy fine the family couldn’t afford to pay? Or even send him to prison?
But I was so exhausted that I soon fell into a deep sleep and once again I dreamt vividly. This time I was standing on a huge plain that was covered in coarse grass. Below me were trees and dense foliage, and beyond them a distant, glittering ocean. Once again I felt I was at the dawn of time. Between the trees I could see a large, dark lake, surrounded by reeds.
Then I saw the thing rise up and begin to walk towards me, tearing voraciously at the tree tops as it advanced.
I woke sweating, and knowing I wouldn’t sleep again went to the window. Outside the wind had become a gale and a full moon rode tumultuous clouds.
I stood there for a long time and then, suddenly, I saw Ed steal out of the house and begin to walk purposefully towards the cliffs. Was he going to smash up the last of the bones? He was wearing an anorak, jeans and wellington boots, but I could see no sign of the sledgehammer.
Whatever Ed was doing, wherever he was going, I knew I had to follow, so I hurried downstairs and gently let myself out.
The wind was steely cold, sharply piercing; it seemed to get under and inside everything, rattling sheep pens, banging doors, whistling through the battered sheds, making so much noise that I began to run, all too conscious of Ed’s reckless temper. Then I heard a hollow booming sound and I knew that more of the Dinosaur Cliff had given way.
Ed was standing on the edge of the fall, battered by the wind, and as I hurried towards him I could see he was swaying.
I called his name, gently at first so as not to give him a fright, and then more positively as he seemed to stumble slightly.
‘Just look at that –’ His whisper penetrated the rising gale.
I gazed down, seeing more fossilized bone, in much larger quantities this time.
‘That’s one hell of a lot of dinosaur,’ he said. ‘Arnold isn’t getting one little bit piece of it.’
‘What are you going to do?’ I gasped. But I knew exactly.
‘Get the sledgehammer of course.’ His voice was matter-of-fact.
‘Ed, you can’t! You’ll be arrested,’ I gabbled desperately but he only gave me a sardonic smile.
‘Get out of my way.’
I tried to grab hold of him as he pushed me to one side, but the effort was too great and he swayed, trying desperately to keep his balance and failing.
As if in slow motion, he fell over the cliff, rolling, bouncing and eventually lying still on the pebbles less than a metre from the lashing surf.
I knew I had to get to him fast and began to scramble down, not thinking of the dangers of the crumbling clay but only of Ed. Eventually I made the shingle and began to run towards him. Then I paused, bewildered and disorientated. Something was happening to the beach.
The sea moved dimly on a low horizon, trees and foliage swayed as the dark mass began to move towards Ed, a pair of huge reptilian eyes scanning the foreshore, enormous webbed feet crunching the pebbles.
Ed moved, looked up and gave a shuddering cry.
There was a long, horrified silence as everyone round the smouldering fire wondered what had happened. But no one had the courage to ask.
Susie put her arms round Helen and Martin quietly intervened.
‘I’ve got a story. It’s about dares and I’ll tell you this – I’ll never take up another one again. Not as long as I live. Not after what Tom told me. Want to know why?’
Most of them were still too upset to try and prevent Martin telling his story.
3
I Dare You
‘I dare you.’ Larry’s long narrow face was alight with spiteful mischief.
Tom knew he was dangerous, but he also knew that he couldn’t resist a dare – and that was what Larry was relying on. ‘Me?’ said Tom, playing for time.
‘Yes. You.’
‘What do I have to do then?’
‘Stand on the banks of the Black Pond until I tell you time’s up.’
‘There?’
‘Why not?’ Larry’s voice trembled a little in his excitement.
He’s a weirdo, thought Tom. Last year a boy called Alan Prentice had died when he had been dared to swim the Black Pond, a small local lake, notorious for the silky strength of its dangerous reeds. And Tom, like all his friends, was sure that the dare had been set by Larry Kirk, an insecure loser who loved to wind people up. But there wasn’t the slightest evidence against Kirk, and the verdict at the inquest into Alan Prentice’s drowning was Death by Misadventure.
‘I’m not going in the water.’
‘Who asked you to?’ said Larry scornfully. ‘All you have to do is stay on the bank till I come.’
‘Then I’m free?’
‘If you’re still there! Hey, you going to take the dare or not? Or shall I tell everyone you’re ch
icken?’
Tom considered the situation. Larry was quite likely to spread his refusal around. What a nasty character he was!
‘All right,’ he replied, as casually as possible. ‘I’ll take your dare.’ He paused. ‘But how will everyone know I’ve won?’
‘I’ll be hiding out there with my camcorder,’ said Larry. ‘You won’t see me – but I’ll be filming you. Then everyone can see how scared you get.’ He laughed unpleasantly.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Tom. ‘I shan’t be scared.’
But of course he was – and increasingly so as he started to walk down the woodland path to the Black Pond. It was a winter twilight and already a hoarfrost was silvering the skeletal foliage. The black sentinel trees were like scarecrows and the bitter cold made the frozen grass crackle under Tom’s feet.
Despite his scarf and anorak, thick jeans and warm boots, he was shivering violently in the utter stillness of the woods.
Occasionally the deep silence was broken by the sharp crack of a twig, the scurrying of a small animal, the cawing of a rook. Tom glanced round, hoping that Larry was within filming distance, wondering if his camcorder would function in such poor conditions. But it was a comfort to know that even such a dubious character as Larry was nearby, and Tom was determined not to chicken out as he hurried down the ever-darkening path that led to the pond.
An owl hooted mournfully and a little breeze, like an icy breath, darted amongst the stunted bushes and frosty boughs. Then he heard someone whistling.
The tune was familiar but at first Tom was too terrified to identify it. Suddenly his mind cleared. ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain, coming round the mountain, coming round the mountain when she comes.’ Alan Prentice used to whistle the tune in school, whistle it so often that he almost drove everyone crazy and they had all begged him to stop. Then he had stopped for good.
Tom froze, listening, his head pounding so much that it hurt. Was that Larry teasing him, whistling Alan’s tune? It had to be him. It must be. Then the whistling stopped as abruptly as it had started, and all he could hear was the sighing of the wind through the frozen boughs.
Ghost Stories to Tell in the Dark Page 2