Bewildered, I stared closely into the miniature world and saw he had been replaced by a frozen pond and on its surface I could see Sue skating.
Unbelievingly I saw her glide in widening arcs until a great crack suddenly spread across the ice and she fell, disappearing into a black hole.
The images faded and gradually the cheerful snowman returned, leaving me shaking and unable to move. After a while I began to cry.
When I picked up the globe again, the snowman still stood there smiling – and as I tipped it up, the snow gently fell. I knew I must have imagined what had happened. Nevertheless, all the pain of my sister’s death returned to me, and the great ache that had only slightly subsided started again.
Next day was Saturday. Snow was falling and my friend Lesley rang. She made the suggestion sound casual but I guessed she had been building up to it for hours.
‘I’d thought we’d go skating.’
‘I’d rather not.’ I hadn’t put my skates on since Sue died.
‘Milham pond’s frozen over. Everyone’s going.’ Lesley was my oldest friend and I knew she was taking this opportunity to try and get me to come to terms with the past. ‘Give it a go,’ she pleaded.
In fact Sue had died on another pond – Heathside – and Milham was some way from the scene of the tragedy. I hesitated – and then agreed. She was right – I had to face up to it. Then I remembered the globe.
I went upstairs and stared into the snowman’s face again and he smiled back at me blandly. Then I turned the globe upside down and the snow came gently fluttering down.
Lesley and I walked to the pond, chattering rather selfconsciously, but when we got there my nerve failed me. Although I hadn’t been present when Sue drowned, I knew that she had fallen under the ice and that the other skaters had run for hard objects to batter at the surface, trying to get her out. But the ice was too tough and for weeks I had had the most dreadful nightmares as I imagined my sister a dark shadow beneath the glassy surface, gazing up at the distorted shapes of her frantic would-be rescuers while they stared helplessly down at her, as if they were watching a mermaid scrabbling at the ceiling of her freezing prison.
It was a vision I thought I had managed to forget, but now it came back, clawing at me somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
‘I don’t feel well,’ I said, dumping down my skates in the snow on the edge of the pond. ‘I’ll just watch.’
But Lesley was insistent. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re a good skater.’
‘I haven’t been on the ice in years – and you know why,’ I said stubbornly.
‘You’ve got to try.’
‘Why?’
‘To get over it.’
‘No. No, I can’t.’ I gazed round at the skaters on the ice – long-legged, black insects on the dull white sheen. It was early afternoon but the winter sun was low on the horizon, a pale pink orb in a grey, leaden sky.
‘Do it for me, Jane.’
‘No.’
‘Please try,’ Lesley persisted, but I still refused. She smiled sadly and I suddenly realized how lucky I was that someone liked me enough to try and help.
‘All right then.’ I grabbed my skates, took off my shoes and began to pull them on, but as I did so, a wave of clammy terror swept over me.
We began to skate together, slowly at first and then in widening arcs, and my confidence began to return.
‘You OK?’ asked Lesley and she grabbed my hand.
‘I think so,’ I stammered, self-conscious again.
Looking down I thought I saw a shadow under the gleaming ice and screamed, skating to the side of the pond, leaning on an overhanging tree and shaking.
‘You’ve been on for ten minutes,’ said Lesley. ‘That’s enough for one session.’
‘Maybe I’ll go on again later.’
‘See how you feel. At least you broke –’
‘The ice?’ I said half laughing, and then beginning to cry.
‘I’m sorry.’ Lesley was immediately concerned. ‘I don’t know what made me say that. Of all the stupid –’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘It’s just one of those sayings. Forget it.’
‘You did well,’ said Lesley, looking at me anxiously. ‘You really did well to try.’
‘It was you,’ I said. ‘Go and get some more skating in and I’ll watch.’
I delved into my rucksack, bringing out the globe which travelled everywhere with me – even to school – and tipped it up, seeing the flakes fall on the face of my snowman.
Then I looked up, watching the skaters skim their way over the surface of the pond, some elegant, some daring, some clumsy, and some such downright beginners that they hung round the edge, often falling to their hands and knees.
My gaze unconsciously returned to the globe. I turned it upside down and immediately saw the snowman had gone. In his place was a skater. At first the figure was plastic and inanimate, but then it began to glide and immediately I started to shake. This couldn’t be happening. It had all been in my imagination – or so I had hoped.
At first I thought I was watching Sue. Then I saw it was somebody else.
In the globe the figure was skating towards a hole in the ice.
I stared down incredulously and then transferred my gaze to the pond and the whirling skaters. The shifting crowd seemed to be getting denser all the time and I briefly searched for Lesley before frantically staring back into the globe to see if there were any clues to the skater’s identity. But the blandly smiling face of the plastic snowman was back.
I stood up, yelling, but the skaters were making far too much noise to have the slightest chance of hearing me. I had to get on the ice and I knew I didn’t have much time.
*
I darted around, warning each group, each individual, speeding around the edge and then beginning to make for the more crowded centre. I shouted but no one took much notice. Several people jostled me and I would have fallen if my old expertise had not returned.
I kept staring down, terrified I would see someone under the ice, their hands pounding. Then I saw Lesley again and gasped with heady relief. She was standing, talking to a couple of friends on the far side. Somehow I had forgotten to warn her in my panic.
Then I saw her begin to skate again, this time towards the centre of the pond. Suddenly I heard a grinding sound. Was the ice cracking? Splintering?
‘Lesley!’ I yelled and sped towards her as hard and as fast as I could. ‘Stop. You’ve got to stop. Get off the ice. Now!’
Everyone was beginning to stare at me, but I only had one thought: I had to get to Lesley before it happened.
‘Get off!’ I grabbed at her and she wheeled round uncomprehendingly.
‘It’s all right.’ She was trying to reassure me, imagining I was having my own personal panic attack. ‘It’s all OK. You’re fine. I’m so pleased you decided to –’
‘The ice is going to break up any moment,’ I screamed at her. ‘Get to the bank.’
Lesley tried to take my hand but I shook it off violently. ‘You’re going to be all right,’ she said, as calmly and as reassuringly as she could.
‘But you’re not,’ I yelled.
Was the deep grinding sound in my ears alone? Couldn’t everyone hear it?
Then the ice split and a black hole appeared metres from Lesley’s feet.
I jumped the widening gap, pushing her away, and as she fell I rolled on top of her, cutting her ankle with one of my skates. Lesley gave a sharp cry of pain and the other skaters moved back from the hole, warning each other, the panic spreading.
‘Get off the ice,’ someone yelled.
I struggled up and grabbed Lesley. ‘Come to the bank.’ She hesitated and I pulled her up. ‘Come on.’ Eventually she got the message and we skated to safety, the ice making a low rumbling sound as we went. Then the hole widened, great cracks spiralling out from around it as a massive section began to collap
se.
Lesley held me as I sobbed. ‘How did you know?’ she demanded. ‘You saved my life, Jane. You saved a lot more people, too.’
Gradually I became calmer and turned to watch the skaters standing on the edge of the pond, staring down at the still breaking-up ice. They were silent, almost as if they were taking part in an act of worship.
Later, when I got home, I lay on my bed and took out the globe again. The plastic snowman gave me his bland plastic smile, and when I tipped him up I saw the soft, gentle slivers of snow begin to fall.
‘Can I have a look at the globe?’ asked Jamie.
‘You’ll have to be careful,’ said Jane. ‘If anything happened to it I’d be terribly upset. Sometimes I’m afraid of breaking it myself.’
‘Does it still predict the future?’ asked Tim.
‘No,’ she replied quietly.
Jamie passed the globe back to her and she replaced it in her rucksack.
‘It’s not the future my story’s about,’ said Tim. ‘It’s about the past coming back into the present – at least, that’s how my friend Andy saw it.’
6
Tunnel Vision
‘I’m only going to take a look.’
‘You can’t go in there.’
‘I shan’t be long.’ Sam Johnson disappeared into the gap in the boarded-up railway tunnel, despite the fact that it bore a large notice saying DANGER – NO ENTRY.
Sam was unruly and over-inquisitive. Worse still, he was Andy’s project partner for the field trip.
‘Come out,’ Andy hissed, not wanting to alert Mr Brownlow. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that he was down the end of the abandoned platform, helping Fay Brown to draw the old railway station clock which had stopped many years ago at ten minutes past twelve.
Sam didn’t reply and Andy knew he would have to go in and get him, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Not only would he be exposing himself to danger but also to the past. The tunnel conjured up a terrible memory to Andy which was why he had been dreading coming on this school trip to Wenton Station.
He and his parents had discussed the day in some detail, but they had all decided that he should face up to being near the place where his Uncle Reg had died. His uncle had been found wandering outside with head injuries, after the roof of the tunnel had caved in during repair works which he was supervising. Several of the railway workers had been trapped and killed, and although Reg Fuller had died soon after from his injuries, there had been some nasty talk about his failure to make any attempt to save his workmates. The line had been closed shortly afterwards but this didn’t stop the accident seeming like yesterday to Andy.
Now, to make matters worse, Sam had gone inside the tunnel. Reluctantly, and checking that Mr Brownlow was looking the other way, Andy went in search of him.
Inside all was grey gloom, though thin shafts of sunlight penetrated the fallen roof here and there, picking out mounds of rock.
‘Sam!’
Andy’s voice echoed in the cathedral-like stillness as he stumbled over more debris. Ferns were growing along the sides of the tunnel, moss and lichen stained its walls and ivy trailed everywhere, binding fallen brickwork in a deadly embrace.
‘Sam!’
But there was only an answering giggle and a scurrying of feet. The idiot was playing cat and mouse with him. Didn’t he realize he would soon be in big trouble with Mr Brownlow, or rather they both would?
‘Don’t be such a fool,’ Andy snarled into the darkness. ‘Don’t you realize how dangerous this place is?’
He stood and listened to the silence and then heard the smothered giggle again. Didn’t Sam remember what had happened in here?
He tried to dismiss these thoughts and waited, looking around what was left of the high arched tunnel that had run through black rock for half a mile. Andy shivered. Pallid streaks of damp on the walls shone faintly in the occasional shaft of sunlight, and he could see fungi growing in a corner. Something scuttled nearby and he was sure the place was infested with rats.
‘For God’s sake, stop fooling around,’ he said irritably.
There was human scampering this time, followed by a heavy clumping sound. Then, to Andy’s horror, he heard shale cascade, followed by a couple of loud thuds and a strangled cry.
‘Sam?’
There was no reply. Was all this part of the joke? Then he heard a grunt and a familiar voice gasped, ‘Help me!’
‘You OK?’
‘I think so. My foot’s stuck.’
‘You idiot,’ said Andy unfeelingly. ‘You complete, raving idiot. Do you realize what kind of trouble we’re going to get into?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It won’t be long before Brownlow misses us. He’ll go crazy.’
‘I said I’m sorry,’ Sam whimpered. ‘Anyway, my foot hurts.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Over here.’
Andy trod the uneven surface; there was a sound of water dripping that he hadn’t heard before.
‘Where?’
‘Here.’ Sam’s voice was petulant.
Andy suddenly stumbled over him and in the weak light saw that Sam’s foot was caught under a moss-covered rock that felt unpleasantly animal-like to the touch – as if a large green cat was crouching menacingly over its victim.
‘Careful,’ hissed Sam. His voice quavered and Andy hesitated, his eyes peering apprehensively into the gloom. His heart sank. Resting on the rock was a mass of small boulders, piled up against the tunnel wall. Above there was an overhang. It’s like a card castle, Andy thought. Take away one and the rest come tumbling down. Except the cards were incredibly heavy and could crush them both.
‘I – we need help,’ he whispered.
‘You’ve got to move that rock,’ replied Sam desperately. ‘It’s hurting.’
‘If I do, the whole lot will come down, you prat. Can’t you see?’
Sam’s lower lip trembled and he turned his head away, not wanting to see the danger.
‘Do it quick,’ he said. ‘Do something.’
‘I can’t,’ replied Andy, but he knew he was going to have to take the risk. He heard a growling sound above him and realized how knife-edge the situation was. If he went to get help there would be a delay before the rescue services arrived. And during that delay …
Andy decided to take the risk.
With sudden determination he dragged at Sam’s foot, but it wouldn’t budge and Sam howled with pain. Trying not to panic, Andy pulled tentatively at the rock and it gave way, but immediately a hail of smaller stones and boulders began to rain down on them. The low growling intensified.
Andy looked up to see the slab moving, and then part of it cracked and fell slowly towards them.
‘Look out!’
But there was nothing they could do as the rock bounced down, breaking into smaller pieces, encasing Andy’s legs and trapping Sam a second time. With the fall came thick dust which hung in the air, lit by a sunbeam.
Andy didn’t feel any pain, just intense pressure and then renewed panic. ‘You OK?’ he gasped, as the choking dust cleared slightly.
‘Can’t move.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not yet,’ Sam replied despondently. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid to have moved that rock.’
Murderous thoughts passed through Andy’s mind. If only he could get at him. ‘You told me to!’ he snapped.
‘But you shouldn’t have done it,’ he replied unreasonably.
‘Can you move?’ asked Andy with icy patience.
‘I told you I can’t.’
‘Try.’
There was a shuffling sound.
‘No – I can’t,’ came the sullen reply. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘We’ll be missed soon,’ said Andy, trying to be reassuring rather than angry. It would do neither of them any good to argue. ‘Brownlow will come looking for us.’
‘He’s thick,’ observed Sam.
&nbs
p; ‘Not that thick.’
‘Yeah?’
Andy had to admit that Sam had a point. Mr Brownlow wasn’t exactly thick, but he was certainly indecisive and it might take him some time to register their absence. He had brought a couple of mothers as helpers, but they were only there to do as he told them, not to take the initiative.
Andy tried to move again, but he was wedged in so tightly that as he struggled one of his legs began to hurt quite badly. Was he seriously injured? He felt a wave of panic and a cold sweat drenched him.
He peered into the grey-green gloom, watching the ivy move high up on the wall. Then he cried out in horror as something soft and furry ran across his hand.
‘What’s up?’ asked Sam fearfully.
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean, nothing?’
‘Shut up and listen.’
Andy was sure he could hear movement in the tunnel.
*
‘Someone’s coming.’
‘Old Brownlow?’ Sam’s voice quavered again.
‘We’re over here,’ yelled Andy. ‘We got caught up in a rock fall.’
He expected to hear Mr Brownlow’s anxious voice in reply, but there was nothing except for the footsteps which sounded oddly uneven.
‘We’re over here.’
‘You lads all right?’
The voice sounded oddly distorted but he was sure it belonged to Mr Brownlow.
So was Sam and he yelled, ‘We’re stuck. You’ve got to come quickly, sir.’
‘It’s Reg Fuller, lads. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.’
Andy froze. Was someone playing a sick joke?
‘Mr Brownlow,’ whispered Sam weakly.
‘I told you – it’s Reg Fuller.’ Their potential rescuer was breathing heavily.
Uncle Reg was dead, thought Andy. He couldn’t be here – not Uncle Reg.
They heard the sound of more rock being pulled aside, but neither Andy nor Sam could see anyone – or feel any lightening of pressure.
Nevertheless, their rescuer seemed to be working hard, his efforts broken by wheezing gasps and the occasional cry of pain.
‘We’re over here,’ yelled Sam.
‘All right, lads. I’ll get to you. I’ve got a bloke here that needs attention.’
Ghost Stories to Tell in the Dark Page 4