Echo McCool, Outlaw Through Time

by Roger K. Driscoll

  Pauline Hewless came to visit the next day, and Jason told her the whole story again.

  “I’m sure the vision seemed very real at the time,” she reassured him. “But it wasn’t, of course - the doctor’s already explained everything. Anyway you’re making good progress, and it looks like you’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

  “Will you take me to Witch Wood?” Jason asked. “Then we can find the hollow tree ourselves, and rescue Echo somehow.”

  At first Pauline refused but Jason pleaded with her. Eventually she relented.

  “Anything to get this out of your system,” she said with a sigh.

  Pauline was as good as her word. She arrived next day, bringing not only a change of clothing for Jason but also an Ordnance Survey map of Oswaldley and the surrounding countryside. Jason was given a final check up then the doctor allowed him to leave the hospital with Pauline. She located Witch Wood on the map and drove three miles out of town, parking at a golf course near the village of Easthorpe. She and Jason got out and set off across the car park, going slightly out of their way to walk down a set of wooden steps onto a disused railway line. From there they followed the old trackbed before coming to a path down the side of an embankment where they climbed the fence at the bottom. A track through the undergrowth led them to the heart of Witch Wood, and Jason noticed white crosses and numbers painted on many of the trunks.

  With Pauline he carried out a thorough search but couldn’t find the exact tree Fenella had shown him in the Nevek Barrier. They did find a hollow tree but it wasn’t the one where Echo was sleeping. It was far smaller than the oak in the vision, and nowhere near as old. Jason realised his only chance was to wait for the saw-men to arrive the next day – but this hollow tree had given him an idea.

  Pauline glanced at her watch. “We really must be going now.”

  “Okay,” Jason replied. “I guess the doctor was right – I must’ve imagined the whole thing.”

  Once he’d returned with Pauline to Brandsby House he went up to the bedroom he shared with two other boys. Luckily they were both downstairs in the common room. Jason rummaged in his underwear drawer and found the old sock at the very back, stuffed with money. He only had one relative who bothered about him, if it could be called that. Mum’s brother, Uncle Gerry, lived down south and was some kind of salesman. He called at Brandsby House two or three times a year to give Jason presents and money. Perhaps this was out of kindness although Jason thought it had more to do with guilt. Either way it meant he’d saved up almost a hundred and fifty pounds. His mobile had been in his back pocket as he’d fallen from the tree, breaking when he hit the ground. He’d intended to buy a new phone but now he had a far greater need for the money.

  Next day was the third of June and Jason spent the morning perfecting his plan, first searching on the internet then faking a document using the Brandsby House computer. It was Pauline’s day off which made it easier for him to sneak out to the shops, where he bought all the props needed to put his plan into action. After an early lunch he returned to his room and spread everything out on the bed; a torch, a dozen chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, five pieces of imitation jewellery and a full-size skull made of rubber. He also had the map, ‘borrowed’ from Pauline the day before. He went to his wardrobe, taking out a sweatshirt and putting it on. Then he found a pair of hiking trousers and a green hooded top, stuffing them into a carrier bag along with everything else.

  Now it was time to escape. He tiptoed out of the room and across the landing into the bathroom. Silently he opened the frosted glass window then crept out onto a flat roof. He could hear the television blaring out, and the yells of the other children in the common room below. They probably wouldn’t hear him above the racket, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked soft-footed towards the far end of the roof. At the last moment he broke into a run and leapt off the edge, sailing over the narrow strip of garden and high, close-boarded fence. He landed with a somersault on the narrow path beyond, shooting to his feet a second later. There weren’t many windows on this side of Brandsby House, so hopefully no one had seen him. He waited, catching his breath, listening for any sound of alarm.

  Nothing. He was in the clear. The path led through to the High Street, and at this moment he realised he didn’t have any food or drink for Echo. He called in at a shop to buy two bottles of mineral water, three packs of beef sandwiches, a bag of crisps and a couple of apples. From there it was only a short distance to the bus stop.

  This was the riskiest part of the operation. If anyone from Brandsby House noticed he was missing they’d be in the High Street in no time. He looked at his watch, going from one foot to the other, butterflies chasing around in his stomach. He let out a long sigh of relief when the bus arrived ten minutes later and he lowered his head as he paid the driver, hoping no one would recognise him. He travelled on the top deck and soon the drab town gave way to open countryside.

  The adventure had already given him an appetite. As the bus cruised along a main road he ate some of the sandwiches and all of the crisps. He saw a sign to Easthorpe Golf Club and, in the far distance, an expanse of dense woodland with pasture land beyond. He pressed the red button near his seat to ring a bell below, then got off near the golf course.

  The day was still warm, with only one or two tiny white clouds hanging motionless in the deep-blue sky. As he crossed the road he felt a strange, pins-and-needles sensation in the pit of his stomach. Was he scared? A little, but no way was he going to change his mind. He headed to a crossroads and followed the sign to the golf course. Once there he hurried past the clubhouse and across the car park. He decided to take a short cut, avoiding the detour to the wooden steps. The fence at the far side of the car park looked easy to climb, but he didn’t realise how old and rotten it was. He was halfway over when the fence gave way with an ear-splitting crack, collapsing beneath him. As he got up to dust himself down he heard an angry voice. A fat, fierce, balding man had stormed out of the clubhouse, shaking a fist.

  “OY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

  The man looked mean and aggressive, the sort who’d hit first and ask questions later. Luckily he was also very unfit. Jason made a run for it, clambering down the side of the cutting onto the disused railway below. He broke into a sprint along the trackbed, certain the fat man had no chance of catching him.

  “I’M SICK OF YOU VANDALS!” came a distant roar from behind. “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

  Jason carried on along the old railway, slowing down as he passed a five-barred gate beside a field of oats. He checked over his shoulder; the man had given up the chase. Jason paused to catch his breath then set off again along the trackbed. In the distance he saw the immense trees of Witch Wood beyond the oat field. From that direction he heard a faint buzzing, the faraway sound of a chainsaw. So, Fenella had been right all along. He quickened his pace, eventually drawing level with the trees. Now he was on the high embankment and he stopped where the faint path led down to a post-and-wire fence. He scrambled to the bottom then over the fence into Witch Wood. From there he found the path through the undergrowth and followed the sound of the chainsaw, as loud as a revving motorbike now.

  He checked his watch; almost two o’clock. He still had a few minutes to put his plan into action. Soon he arrived at the hollow tree he’d discovered on his visit with Pauline. Despite the vivid memories of his accident he grabbed hold of the broken branches at either side of the trunk and began to climb. He stopped above the hole, opening his bag. Then he took out the torch, switched it on and leaned over to shine its beam inside the hole. The musty, narrow cavern was over two metres deep and the wood at the bottom seemed rotten and flaky. Putting the torch in his pocket, he reached into the bag and took out the foil-wrapped coins, dropping them one-by-one inside the tree. He checked again with the torch. Perfect – some of the coins had slipped inside the gaps, between the jagged edges of wood at the bottom. Next he threw in the fake pearl necklace, and the imitation diamond bra
celets and pendants. Finally he pushed the rubber skull inside the hole and let it drop.

  Jason smiled as he jumped to the ground. From his back pocket he took out a battery, one that was almost dead, and swapped it with the good one in the torch. He returned the torch to the bag, leaving it on the ground. Now he simply had to follow the buzzing, which wasn’t too far away. He ran along another, winding woodland path then joined a wider track. The sound became louder as he reached the edge of a large clearing strewn with freshly-cut logs and branches. Near the middle of the clearing he saw a pick up truck and two men in orange hard hats and gloves. They were removing the remaining bough of a now-solitary ancient oak and Jason felt a strange, eerie sensation creep over his skin. These were the same men he’d seen in the Nevek Barrier; events were unfolding exactly as Fenella had shown him. He checked his watch again; 2.15. The bough fell to the ground then one man, who was up a ladder, carried out some final sawing to the top of the trunk. He switched off the saw and passed it down to his friend, commenting that the trunk seemed to be hollow and full of dead leaves. Then he tied a rope to the top of the trunk and climbed down. As soon as he was back on the ground he moved his ladder away and pulled on the rope. The other man switched on the saw and began to walk around the base of the trunk, slicing into it, sawdust flying in every direction.

  This took a little time and when Jason again looked at his watch it was 2.22. The saw-man finished working on the trunk and backed away. The other man pulled harder on the rope. There came a deafening groan of torn wood, and the vast trunk began to topple. The men retreated further as it fell, smashing the ground with a tormented, thunderous crash that shook the earth beneath Jason’s feet.

  His heart jolted; everything was happening as predicted by Fenella. The man with the saw stepped up to the middle of the fallen trunk, ready to slice it in two with his fearsome blade. Jason braced himself then ran out into the clearing, arms waving.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  He’d almost reached the woodmen before they noticed him. The one with the saw pulled it away just as the blade was about to touch the trunk. Both men lifted their visors and now Jason was staring into their rough, unshaven faces.

  “You guys have got to help me!” he yelled, catching his breath. “How would you like to earn fifty quid – each?”

  The woodman with the saw relaxed his grip on its trigger. The blade stopped whirring, the roar of the motor becoming a quiet hum.

  “Do one, kid. Can’t you see we’ve got work to do?”

  His friend had freed the rope from the trunk, and he gave the saw-man a puzzled glance. “Hang on a minute, Steve, what did the kid say about fifty quid?”

  “I’ve solved it,” said Jason, whipping the folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “The Mystery of Fred Killigrew and the Home Farm Jewels!”

  The saw-man frowned. “Home Farm? What’s he on about, Phil?”

  His friend shrugged.

  “It’s a big house in Easthorpe village,” Jason explained. “A posh farmer lives there, with his family.”

  This time the man switched off the saw and placed it on the ground beside an axe.

  “What of it?”

  “Look at this,” Jason said, unfolding the paper and handing it to him.

  The two men, Steve and Phil, studied the document together. They didn’t read aloud but Jason knew what it said anyway, because he’d faked the whole thing on the computer that morning.

  From the Yorkshire Folklore Website, it began. Then it described how, on a moonlit night forty years earlier, a local man named Fred Killigrew had burgled Home Farm and made off with a stash of jewellery and antique gold coins. But he’d been disturbed by the owner, Squire Gordon, and chased by his team of gamekeepers. They tracked Fred Killigrew to Witch Wood where he’d quite simply vanished, never to be seen again.

  ‘Perhaps the gamekeepers killed the man to cover up their evil deed,’ the article concluded. ‘Or perhaps Killigrew escaped to begin a new life somewhere else. Either way the mystery remains unsolved and, to this day, the Gordon family offers a reward of £10,000 to anyone who finds the hoard, so long as each piece of jewellery, and each and every coin, is returned.’

  Steve glanced up from the document. “I’ve never heard of these Gordon people. We’re not from around here, see. What’s this got to do with us anyway?”

  “I’ve figured the whole thing out,” Jason told him. “That night, all those years ago, Fred Killigrew climbed into a hollow tree to hide from the gamekeepers. But on the way in, he broke his neck and died. The treasure’s still in the tree, and so’s his skeleton!”

  “This better not be some stupid kid’s game,” said Steve with a sneer.

  “Come and see for yourself,” said Jason. “I’ve found the tree, with everything inside it. Trouble is, I can’t get to the stuff. I thought you might help, seeing as you’ve got a chainsaw. Then I’ll take the jewels and coins to Home Farm, get the reward and give you fifty quid each.”

  Phil was deep in thought. “Found it, have you? Okay then, show us.”

  “This way,” said Jason. “Bring the saw, and the axe, and the ladder.”

  He led the men out of the clearing and along the track, then they followed the winding path to the hollow tree. Jason took his torch from the bag, handing it to Steve whose heavy boots thudded on each rung as he climbed the ladder.

  “Hang on, the kid’s right,” he exclaimed, swearing loudly as he peered further inside the hole. “There’s something glinting – looks like jewellery and coins! “He swore again. “There’s a skull as well! Pity this torchlight isn’t a bit stronger, though.”

  “Sorry,” said Jason. “The battery’s knackered.”

  He relaxed a little now. The rubber skull and foil-wrapped coins might have given the game away, but the faint torchlight took care of that. He was glad he was dealing with two men who were not only stupid, but also very greedy.

  “Let’s get this straight,” said Steve, climbing down the ladder then handing back the torch. “We cut through the trunk, get the stuff out, then you get the reward and we end up with fifty quid each.”

  Jason nodded. “But it’d be better if you cut the whole tree down. Some of the coins have fallen into gaps and, like it says, there won’t be a reward unless you get every one of them.”

  The lying was getting easier. The whole story was a lie, based on a similar folk tale Jason had read on the internet.

  Steve looked furtively around. “Are you on your own, kid?”

  “Sure,” said Jason with an innocent smile. “I’ve come from the village.”

  “So there’s nothing to say you found this stuff?” Steve went on. “For all these Gordons know, we could have found it.”

  “Yes but you didn’t.”

  “It’s our word against yours,” Phil pointed out.

  “How’s this for an idea?” said Steve with a sly grin. “You clear off, and we keep the whole lot.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “’Course we can. Go on, get lost.”

  Jason put on an expression that he hoped looked like total dejection. He picked up the carrier bag, put the torch inside and walked away, shoulders slumped, muttering about how his dad was going to call the police. But he couldn’t help smiling to himself. He hoped the men would take his advice and cut down the whole tree, giving him all the time he needed. He broke into a run as the saw started up behind him, and moments later he was back in the large clearing. He hurried past the pick up truck to the fallen trunk, checking over his shoulder; Steve and Phil were still out of sight. On the top edge of the trunk he noticed a hole, partly covered with ivy. He put down the carrier bag then pulled away some strands of ivy, moving his face closer.

  “Anyone in there?”

  He jumped back, startled, when a muffled voice answered him.

  “Aye... but what a terrible jolt that was.”

  It was a girl’s voice! So it was true - there was a girl in there. Hardly believing it, Jason ga
thered his thoughts and returned to the trunk. Beyond the hole he could see nothing but dead leaves.

  “Are you stuck?”

  “Nay, methinks I can free myself.”

  Jason couldn’t help noticing the girl’s quaint, old-fashioned way of speaking – just as Fenella had warned him.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

  He saw the length of rope, looped with a lasso knot, lying on the ground. He looked again at the hole on the top edge of the trunk. No, it would be too difficult that way.

  “I’ll pull you out flat,” he said.

  After a quick search of the clearing he found a long stick with a Y-shaped fork at one end. He returned to the tree stump then walked the length of the fallen trunk, coming to the other end which had been cut cleanly across by the chainsaw. Jason knelt down and peered inside, seeing more dead leaves.

  “Won’t be long!” he called, pulling out as many as he could.

  He pushed the stick inside, as far as it would go.

  “Odzookens!” cried the girl. “Thou didst hurt my fingers!”

  “Sorry.”

  He took hold of the rope and slid the knot, making the loop smaller so it was about fifteen centimetres in diameter. He hooked the loop to the fork of the stick then pushed it inside the trunk.

  “Take hold of this.”

  He eased the stick and rope into the trunk until he heard the girl again.

  “I have it!”

  “Great. Can you feel the rope? Okay, take it off the stick then slip your hands through the loop so it’s around your wrists. Have you done that?”

  “Aye.”

  Jason pulled the stick out of the trunk then got to his feet. “I’m going to pull it tight.” He tugged on the rope until he felt a slight resistance. “That’ll do it. Grab hold of the rope really hard.”