by Sam Haysom
‘I think I may have woken up at one point last night,’ Matt said carefully. He looked around at Tom, still biting his lip. ‘I’m not sure if it was part of a dream or not, though.’
‘What happened?’
‘I… Well, I think I heard someone scream. But it might have been part of the dream I was having. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but I think it was a nightmare. I might have woken up for a few seconds at one point – I sort of remember opening my eyes in the tent, although I’m not sure – and then I guess I went back to sleep again. But I heard this high-pitched sound, like a scream. I think I thought it was an animal.’
Tom nodded slowly. He suddenly felt very cold all over, and he wished he’d put on his coat before stepping out of his tent. In fact, a small part of him was starting to wish he hadn’t stepped out of the tent at all.
‘I think I dreamed something like that, too,’ he muttered. ‘Something about being in the dark, and hearing someone scream in the distance.’
He glanced around the empty campsite again, then looked down at Matt.
‘So are you sure all his stuff’s gone?’
Matt turned and disappeared back into the tent, then reappeared a few seconds later. He looked pale.
‘Absolutely everything’s gone,’ he said. ‘Come and have a look if you want.’
Tom shook his head and stood up straight. He turned in a full circle, scanning the horizon. He could only see a short way in one direction down the valley before the curve of the tor obscured his view, but in the other direction he could see quite far. There was nothing over there but grass that petered out into purple heather.
Tom glanced back up the tor they’d come down yesterday evening to make camp; he could see the footpath they’d followed winding up the side of the tor into the distance, but there was no sign of any movement on it.
Finally he looked the other way, craning his head to the top of the tor they would be climbing later that morning. His eye travelled from the top down, eventually finding a windy brown footpath halfway up. Tom traced this path down the side of the tor, all the way to where it eventually ended in the little copse of trees he’d spotted earlier.
The trees were dark and huddled close together. Thick shadows between the trunks made it hard to see into the copse. Tom looked up at the branches of the pines, which swayed and whispered against one another in the early morning breeze, and made a decision.
‘Right, I’m gonna do a quick check around the area,’ he said. ‘He might just have wandered off for a piss or something.’ He glanced down at Matt. ‘You stay here.’
‘Fuck that, I’m coming with you.’ Matt disappeared back into the flap of the tent before Tom could object. ‘Give me two minutes.’
‘Don’t hang about.’ Tom’s feeling of unease was getting worse. His stomach was now churning like it sometimes did before a big football game or a test at school, but it was nastier than that somehow, it was nastier because it wasn’t just the nerves that were making Tom keen to get moving. It was the guilt, too.
He’s gone and run off because of you, whispered a voice in Tom’s head. Because of what you did. You’ll go into those trees but you won’t find him there. Oh no. The next time you see Gary will be two tors down the line at the bottom of some ravine.
Tom shook the thought off. It was all ridiculous, of course. He knew that. Gary would probably come wandering out of those trees or round the corner of the tor any minute now; he’d have been taking a shit or maybe he’d have wandered off with the intention of leaving and then come back after realising what a stupid idea going off on his own would be. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. Tom would run up to him and tell him he was sorry and that he’d been a dick and that would be that.
A gust of wind blew through the camp and Tom rubbed his arms to keep warm, trying to ignore the part of him – the big part of him, actually – that didn’t believe Gary was going to come walking back at all. If his friend had bothered packing up all his stuff and taking it with him, then he was obviously determined and more stubborn than Tom had given him credit for.
And what about that scream you heard? whispered the voice. Don’t forget about that. Maybe he fell down in the dark and cracked his skull open on a rock. Maybe he’s lying out there on the moor somewhere even now, bleeding and semi-conscious and unable to talk. Or maybe –and here’s a really good one –maybe something else got to him. Maybe he left his tent last night and—
‘Are we going then, or what?’ Tom was jerked out of his daydream. He turned to see Matt climbing out of the tent, now dressed in a fleece, walking trousers and boots.
Tom nodded and turned towards the copse to lead the way. He glanced back at his own tent and then over at Mr Stevens’ tent as they left the campsite, but there was no sign of any life from either of them. Just a quick look, thought Tom. I’ll just have a quick look around nearby, make sure he’s not hiding or pissing around, then if we still can’t find him we’ll wake Tim’s dad up straight away. The tops of the pine trees were swaying gently in the distance, and Tom set his sights on them.
He marched across the grass, taking long strides, and he was almost annoyed when Matt shouted ‘Hey!’ before they’d even gone 20 paces.
Tom turned, ready to say something, but stopped when he saw Matt’s expression. His friend was standing a few paces behind him with both feet rooted to the ground. His mouth was open slightly, and his gaze was fixed on something just beyond Tom.
‘What’s that?’ he muttered.
Tom turned around and followed Matt’s line of sight to a patch of grass ahead of him and just over to his left. He swallowed. Matt was looking at an area about six feet long that had been partially flattened. Tom thought it looked like those patches of grass you got in cow fields, after the cows had lain down and squashed the turf flat beneath their bodies. Sort of like that, only the wrong shape; this shape was about the same length but narrower, as if—
Tom’s thoughts broke off as he noticed something darker in the grass. He took a few steps closer and saw that there was more than one of these dark shapes, and that what he was actually looking at were patches of grass that had been stained a different colour. They were darker, like rust.
He heard breathing and felt Matt beside him.
‘Is that blood?’ Matt’s voice sounded high and weak, the voice of a small child. Tom got down on his knees by the patch of flattened grass without saying anything. He bent low towards one of the marked patches and plucked a stem of the rust-coloured grass out of the earth. He stood up and held it out to Matt.
Matt took it and squinted down at it, frowning. His face was still pale, but now two tiny round patches of red had sprung up on his cheeks.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, offering the grass back to Tom. ‘I don’t know what else it could be, but it doesn’t really look like blood, does it?’
Tom shrugged and tossed the stem away. He turned his attention back to the patch of flattened grass, looking to see if there was anything else that they’d missed.
‘Something lay here at some point recently,’ he muttered. ‘It could have been a person, but I don’t know.’
Tom got down on his knees and then lay flat on his back next to the shape.
‘Is it the same size as me?’
‘Yep, pretty much,’ said Matt. ‘Maybe a tiny bit shorter.’
Tom stood up. ‘Gary’s a tiny bit shorter.’
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ This time both Tom and Matt jumped as a new voice spoke behind them. They turned to see James rubbing sleep out of his eyes and staring at them, a frown on his face.
‘Morning mate,’ said Tom, trying to keep his voice even. The last thing he wanted was for Tramper to start panicking and fly off the handle. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, we were just looking at this weird patch of grass.’
James wiped his eyes again and walked over to stand with them. He peered down at the grass, frowning.
‘It looks like an animal lay down here to die,
’ he muttered.
‘Why do you say that?’ Tom’s voice was still normal, at least to his own ears, but it was a big struggle to stop it from shaking.
‘Well the grass is flattened and there’s blood, and—’ James broke off for a moment and walked past them, studying the ground. ‘That’s strange, there are drag marks over here, too. Like whatever was lying in the grass got dragged a few metres. Then they stop.’
Tom and Matt glanced at each other, and Tom could see the fear on his friend’s face. He looked up and saw Tramper watching them.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ he said. ‘Why are you guys looking at each other like that?’
Tom glanced again at Matt, but his friend was staring down at the ground and biting his lip.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s just that, well—’
‘Gary’s not here,’ muttered Matt.
‘What?’ said James.
‘I said Gary’s not here.’
Tramper’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean he’s not here?’
‘I mean his stuff was fucking gone from his tent when I woke up this morning, okay?’ Matt spoke in an angry whisper, and James’ eyes widened as if he’d been slapped. He looked from Matt to Tom, and then down at the patch of flattened ground in front of them.
‘You don’t think…’
‘No,’ Tom said quickly. ‘We don’t think anything at the moment. We were just going over to those trees to have a look for him, see if he’s wandered off, or… or something…’ Tom trailed off and the boys stood in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other.
‘I think we should wake up Mr Stevens,’ said James. He looked to each of them in turn, his face white. ‘We need to go and wake him up right now.’
Tom glanced at Matt, who nodded his head.
‘Okay, just a minute,’ said Tom. ‘I think you’re right, but let me just run over to those trees quickly to make sure he’s not wandered off for a shit, or… I dunno…or he’s hiding there to play some stupid joke on us.’
As soon as he’d spoken the words, his mind jumped on the suggestion. He offered Matt and James a weak smile.
‘You know, that’s probably it,’ he said. ‘We’re going to look pretty stupid if we raise the alarm and then he comes jogging out from behind a tree a few minutes later.’
Matt and James glanced at each other, but didn’t say anything. Tom told them to wait there and started off for the trees again at a jog, keeping his eyes on the grass for any more signs as he went.
And it was possible, wasn’t it? Surely it was more likely that Gary would just be getting a bit of revenge and playing a prank on them than actually running off on his own. People like him needed a way to salvage some pride when they felt like someone had got one over on them, and it’d be just like Gary to pull a stupid stunt like this so he could feel like he was back in control again.
Fucking let him, thought Tom. If I get to those trees and find him there now I’ll kiss him, and even if he starts banging on about how stupid we all looked I’ll just grin and shut my mouth and be glad he’s back.
When he got within 10 metres of the copse, Tom slowed his pace to a fast walk. The branches rustled together above him, shushing each other like people locked in some permanent vow of secrecy. Tom peered between the trunks into the gloom, but couldn’t see anything. He carried on walking, a light litter of twigs crunching beneath his boots, but when he reached the edge of the entrance to the copse he paused again, frowning.
For some reason he couldn’t place, that feeling of unease was back. Tom peered into the grey-green gloom and all of a sudden the last thing he wanted to do was walk between the trees.
‘Gary?’ The sound of his own voice nearly made him jump. It was too loud somehow, almost out of place. The trees whispered and muttered above him, and Tom’s skin prickled. As stupid as it sounded, he suddenly knew what people meant in those naff horror films when they said they thought they were being watched. If pressed he wouldn’t have been able to explain why he felt this, exactly, but when he peered into the shadows of the copse he just had the feeling of being… well, observed.
He stole a glance back over his shoulder and saw Matt and James in the distance, watching him. He turned and looked back into the copse, casting his eyes in a 180-degree arc, and was just about to turn around and walk back when something on the ground caught his eye. Some dark shape that he’d almost missed, 10 metres or so into the trees.
Tom felt his stomach lurch. With an enormous effort, he took a breath and walked over to the shape. It was small and grey, and ringed by some sort of pattern that Tom couldn’t make out in the gloom.
When he was five paces away from it he stopped. His stomach gave another lurch and he swallowed, forcing himself not turn away.
It was a rabbit’s ear. It lay on a bed of pine needles that were stained a dark rust colour –the same colour as that patch of grass, Tom’s mind whispered – and there was no sign of the body it had once been attached to.
‘That’s too much blood for one ear,’ Tom muttered, crouching down. It looked to him as though something had killed the rabbit – maybe a fox or a bird of prey – and then other animals had been at it, tearing the body to shreds and leaving almost nothing behind.
Nothing except an ear.
Tom felt another chill run up his back. He glanced back over his shoulder, making sure there was nothing behind him, and then quickly looked in a full circle to be sure he was still alone. That strange prickly feeling on his skin hadn’t gone away.
With an effort Tom tore himself away from the rabbit’s ear. He turned away from it and began walking back through the trees, and it was as he glanced up and saw Matt and James in the distance that he suddenly remembered the dream he’d had the night before.
Tom stopped.
In his mind he saw another figure in the distance, a different one, and heard a piercing scream.
That was it, wasn’t it? In his dream he’d been running down a long corridor, surrounded by darkness on all sides. At first there hadn’t been any sound. Tom had heard his own ragged breathing, but that was all.
He’d stared around himself in the darkness, looking down and up, but there had been nothing to see. Then he’d glanced back, over his shoulder, and it had been as he looked around again that he’d seen the figure in the distance.
The woman in the white dress.
She was a pinpoint of light at the end of the dark corridor and although Tom couldn’t make out her face he could see that she had long red hair and that she was waving at him, slowly. She could see him there in the dark, and she was beckoning him to come closer. And despite all the girls he’d run to in his dreams before – the girls from school; a couple of teachers; some of his mum’s friends – Tom had a very bad feeling as he ran towards this one. From a distance she looked young and her hair was beautiful, like the hair of the women in adverts on TV, but the sight of her filled Tom with nothing but a kind of hollow, heavy dread.
Because it was her, wasn’t it? Even though Tom couldn’t see her face, he knew it was her.
He tried to slow down but he couldn’t. It was the exact opposite of the nightmares you got where you were being chased by something and couldn’t run; this time Tom wanted to stop moving but he couldn’t. It was as though his legs didn’t really belong to him.
So he’d kept running and the woman kept up her slow wave, and just as Tom was getting close enough to pick out her smile and her unblinking green eyes a scream had ripped through the darkness, an almost inhuman, animal sound, and Tom had turned his head and then he’d been falling through blackness, tumbling over and over until—
Until he’d woken up.
Tom stood still in the copse of trees, remembering the dream. He felt cold all over. He blinked and saw Matt and James still standing there, staring back at him, and with an effort he began to walk towards them again. As he left the copse his neck and back started to prickle once more, and without thinking he started to
jog.
‘Well?’ said Matt when he reached them. ‘Did you see anything?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Nope, nothing.’
James looked white and uncertain, and Matt bit his lip and stared down at his feet.
Without saying anything Tom turned and led the way to Mr Stevens’ tent.
2
The tent Mr Stevens shared with his son was slightly larger than the two-man pop ups they had. It was the same square shape with a domed top but it was wider and deeper, and the porch area stuck out slightly from the main bit to create more room.
Tom stopped outside the tent and shivered. He really should have gone to his own tent to fetch a coat, but he kept forgetting. He glanced round and saw Matt and James standing behind him, staring at him expectantly, and he knew it was up to him to lead the way.
‘Mr Stevens,’ he called. ‘Mr Stevens, are you awake?’
Tom listened but could hear nothing from within the tent. After a few seconds, he reached out a hand and struck the material over the porch a few times, making the tent shake.
‘Mr Stevens, we really need to speak to you.’
After a few more seconds of silence they heard a rustling sound from within the tent, and a moment later the zip was pulled back. Tim poked his head out and blinked blearily into the sunlight. His dark hair was standing on end and there were greyish-yellow bags under his eyes.
He stared up at them without saying anything.
‘Hey Tim,’ said Tom. ‘Is your dad up yet? We really need to speak to him about something.’
Tim glanced from Tom to the others, and then back to Tom again.
‘What time is it?’ he croaked.
‘I don’t know, maybe eight,’ said Tom. ‘Listen, we need to speak to your dad now. Gary’s gone missing.’
Tim studied Tom for a moment or two longer, not saying anything. His face was a tired mask.
‘What do you mean he’s missing?’ he said slowly. ‘You mean he went off for a walk or something?’