The Moor

by Sam Haysom

  Now, as Matt walked along a narrow footpath through an endless field of heather, watching Tramper shuffle along in front of him (he had Mr Stevens’ walking pole to support his weight), he thought about Tom and Gary.

  Gary, who’d been missing for almost a whole day now, and Tom, who’d gone off to get some water and seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. They weren’t playing a joke, and surely – at least in Tom’s case – they hadn’t just wandered off. So where were they? The whole thing felt wrong. One person getting lost on the moor wasn’t impossible – Matt knew it had happened before, probably on a number of occasions – but two in the space of half a day? It didn’t make sense.

  His eyes drifted up from the back of Tramper’s sweat- and drizzle-soaked head to the cloudy sky above them. The day had started off okay, but big white clouds had filled the sky in the early afternoon, and now those clouds were stone grey in colour. And on the horizon, above the line of tors in the distance, were the storm clouds.

  They were large and black, and the sky below them was smeared down to the earth in wet streaks of rain. Real rain, not like the drizzle that had been falling for the last few hours.

  Matt glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr Stevens walking with his son. Tim’s face was blank as he listened to his dad, who was stooping down to talk to him in a low whisper.

  Mr Stevens suddenly glanced up and saw Matt looking at them. He raised his hand at Matt through the drizzle, and Matt turned away again.

  He looked at his watch and saw that it was 19:30. That meant there were only two hours of light left in the day.

  2

  They were still three miles from Creek Lane when Mr Stevens finally admitted defeat.

  They’d taken shelter beneath a large copse of trees just off from the footpath they’d been following, and by that point James was no longer making any effort to hide his tears. Matt had to practically carry him from the footpath to the trees, dragging him over the heather through the pouring rain as he sobbed and gripped Matt tightly around the shoulders.

  When they reached shelter he’d tottered over to a large oak and crumpled to the floor, resting his back against the trunk with his head in his hands. Matt looked at his friend’s shaking body and gritted his teeth.

  When Mr Stevens and Tim joined them a few moments later, Matt marched over to them and pulled out his map.

  ‘Look, we’re still three miles out and it’s getting dark.’ He raised his voice partly in anger, partly so he could be heard over the rushing wind and the crashing branches of the trees above them. ‘James can hardly walk and the rain’s so bad I can’t even see the path anymore.’

  Mr Stevens wiped rainwater from his glasses and frowned. He was finally starting to look worried, Matt thought, but not nearly as worried as he should have looked.

  Mr Stevens unslung his rucksack and pulled out his own map. He crouched down and placed it on the flat surface of his pack, then brought out a compass from the front pocket of his coat and laid it on the map. He frowned some more, stared around at the trees, and cleared his throat.

  ‘Okay, I think we’ll have to set up camp here,’ he said at last. ‘You’re right, Matthew, we’re not going to make it to Creek Lane in these conditions.’

  He rummaged inside his pack, pulled out a ziplock bag with a phone in it, opened it and turned the phone on. He studied the screen as the boys looked on in silence, then shook his head and put the phone back in the bag.

  ‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

  ‘You said we’d make it to Creek Lane before night fell,’ said Matt. ‘You said we’d be able to get help, and now we’re stuck here.’

  Mr Stevens returned the compass to his top pocket, then packed the map away slowly. He zipped up his bag and stood up, and there was something in his face that made Matt take a step back.

  ‘I’m doing everything I can to get us help.’ That strict edge had crept back into Mr Stevens’ voice. He stared at Matt without blinking, his face an expressionless mask. ‘I can’t control the weather, and I can’t help the fact that James has been injured.’

  No, but you could have planned a route that didn’t involve us walking 10 miles away from the nearest road, Matt thought, but he kept his mouth shut. There was something in Mr Stevens’ eyes that suggested he wouldn’t react well if Matt said what he was thinking out loud.

  ‘We’re in a bad situation,’ Mr Stevens continued. ‘And the important thing now is we bed down for the night, get some rest and keep warm. It’s dry in here so we can make a fire, at least.’

  Matt nodded and didn’t say anything else. He glanced at Tim and saw the skinny boy watching him with something like concern on his face, but when Matt met his gaze Tim looked down at the ground.

  The wind blew through the trees, causing the branches to sway and crash together. The clouds that Matt had seen on the horizon earlier were almost directly above them now, and even blacker than they’d looked from a distance.

  Outside the copse of trees the rain hammered against the heather, hard enough to kick up a light mist of spray.

  3

  They sat around the campfire in silence, listening to the storm.

  In the end they’d set up camp near the middle of the copse of trees, beneath the shelter of a giant oak. Rain hammered against the canopy above them, but only a spot or two managed to squeeze through the thick roof of branches. They’d built up their fire much larger than usual tonight to compensate for the storm, and the flames that twisted and shifted in front of Matt were huge and bright. The fire crackled and the wind moaned through the trees around them. Matt felt himself shiver with something other than the cold.

  It was just after 10 now, and the last of the light was seeping out of the day. The trees around them were a network of grey and black shadows, dancing back and forth in the flickering light of the fire.

  Matt looked around at his three companions.

  James was slumped with his back against the base of the oak, his eyes half-closed and a streak of snot drying on his upper lip. Mr Stevens was sat to Matt’s left, his face an expressionless blank as he poured bottled water into a small cooking tin. He dug in his rucksack and took out two Wayfarer meals, which he scrunched down side-by-side in the tin before positioning it over the fire on a clamp.

  Tim was sat directly opposite Matt. His face looked extra pale in the glow of the fire. He kept biting his nails as he stared into the flames, and every now and then he’d steal a glance at Matt.

  ‘We’ll get some food down us and then we’ll feel better,’ said Mr Stevens. ‘These two are for you, James and Matt. Tim and I will eat later.’

  Tim paused in the act of biting a nail and glanced at his dad, before returning his gaze to the fire.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ muttered James. Matt thought he’d drifted off to sleep, but when he looked again he saw his friend’s eyes were now fully open.

  Mr Stevens sighed. ‘When you’re anxious it’s easy to feel like you can’t eat, but believe me, your body needs it.’ He looked over the fire at James and smiled. ‘You’ve done a good job making it this far, James, and we’re going to get you home first thing tomorrow morning.’

  He paused and looked at his son, then over at Matt. ‘Tomorrow morning. We’ll get through tonight and then set off for Creek Lane first thing tomorrow morning. And as soon as we have a phone signal I’ll make some calls and we’ll get some people to help us look for Gareth and Thomas – assuming they’re not already waiting for us when we get there, of course.’

  Matt didn’t say anything. He stared at the tin of water over the fire, watching the tiny bubbles form at the bottom and float to the surface. The flames flickered around the tin, dancing over its edges like grasping red fingers.

  Mr Stevens cleared his throat. ‘Timothy, hadn’t you better get us some more firewood? I think we may be running a little low.’

  ‘Sure, Dad.’ Tim got to his feet like a zombie and began to move off into the trees.

  ‘Timothy?’
r />   He stopped at the sound of his father’s voice.

  ‘Yes, Dad?’

  ‘Don’t you think you ought to take Matthew with you? It’ll be easier to carry the wood with two of you. We’ll want to have enough to last the night.’

  ‘But his food…’

  Mr Stevens frowned. ‘It won’t be ready for another 10 minutes. Go on, off you go.’

  Tim paused, chewing a fingernail, and for a moment Matt thought he was going to object some more. Mr Stevens obviously thought so too, because he was staring at his son with a fixed look. The tree branches groaned as a sharp gust of wind blew through their campsite, and the fire guttered.

  ‘Sure, Dad,’ said Tim. ‘Come on, Matt, let’s see what we can find.’

  Matt climbed to his feet, wincing as his tired leg muscles groaned in protest.

  James glanced up at him and gave a weak smile, which Matt returned as he walked past his friend.

  It’ll be a miracle if he can fucking stand tomorrow, thought Matt. Let alone make it to Creek Lane.

  He followed Tim away from the campfire, into the darkness of the trees. Tim paused, felt in his jacket pocket, then pulled out a torch. He clicked the switch and a circle of yellow light appeared in front of them.

  ‘Where shall we look for wood?’ said Matt. He had to raise his voice over the sound of the wind so Tim could hear him.

  Tim moved the torch beam left to right, then settled on a gap between two larger trees in front of them.

  ‘Let’s head down here for a bit,’ he said. ‘We gathered up most of the wood from around the campsite earlier, so we’ll need to go in a bit further.’ Tim kept his voice level when he spoke, hardly raising it at all, and Matt had to lean close to hear him. He could smell Tim’s breath, drifting across to him in stale waves.

  Shit, I probably don’t smell much better myself, he thought.

  They walked in silence for a minute or so. Matt glanced back the way they’d come a couple of times. At first he could see the campfire quite clearly through the trees, but the second time he looked it was more distant, like a candle on the far side of a dark room.

  ‘Isn’t this far enough?’ Matt asked eventually.

  Tim paused and shone his torch in a circle. They were even deeper in the copse, and the trees were thicker. Overheard the rain hammered down hard against the forest roof.

  ‘Yep, this should do,’ Tim said. His voice sounded quieter than it had before, and Matt thought he heard a shaky quality to it. As though Tim was trying to keep himself from crying. Matt reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and Tim jumped.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said.

  Tim swung the beam of the torch round in his direction and Matt was temporarily blinded. He blinked and covered his eyes until Tim moved the beam away again. When he opened them and tried to look at Tim’s face, his vision was obscured by the after-image of the light.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ A large gust of wind blew through the trees and Matt leaned in close, struggling to hear.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said there’s something I need to tell you.’

  Matt blinked his eyes and the after-image began to fade. When he opened them again and looked at Tim, he couldn’t read the boy’s expression.

  ‘What do you need to tell me?’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

  Tim continued to stare at him, his eyes unblinking, and Matt felt a sudden lurch of fear in the pit of his stomach. Images of Tom and Gary’s faces drifted to the front of his mind, like objects floating to the surface of a pool.

  ‘Is it about the others?’ he said. ‘What’s happened, Tim?’

  No reply. Just that unblinking stare.

  ‘Tim, what the fuck is going on?’

  Tim opened his mouth to say something, and that was when they heard the scream. In all his life, Matt had never heard a sound like it before. He hoped he’d never hear one like it again. It was a high-pitched, animal shriek of terror, a nightmare wail like the midnight screech of a fox in mortal pain, and for a brief second Matt thought it might actually be some injured creature out on the moor.

  Then he realised the sound had come from the direction of their campsite. Tim’s eyes widened in shock and his head flicked in the direction of the sound. He turned back to Matt, mouth slightly open, and then he looked back in the direction of the sound once more. He bit his lower lip.

  ‘MATT!’

  Tramper’s terror-soaked voice cut through the wind like a blade. It was just the one word – one legible word before the voice descended into more of those animal screams – but it was enough to jolt Matt out of his shock and get him moving.

  He turned and sprinted in the direction of the campsite.

  ‘Matt, wait!’

  Tim’s voice was at his back, scared and desperate, but Matt ignored it and kept running. The beam from Tim’s torch hovered in front of him, framing the trees, but as Matt moved off through the forest it quickly faded behind him. Matt was plunged into semi-darkness and forced himself to slow down, only slightly, to keep himself from running face-first into a trunk or tripping over a root that would send him sprawling.

  He could still hear James screaming up ahead and he focused on the sound, running towards it with his hands stretched out in front of him. Twice he fell over in the dark and the second time a branch scraped a gash down his right cheek, but Matt ignored it and picked himself back up.

  He could see their campsite up ahead in the darkness now, flickering through the trees like a distant candle flame as he dodged towards it. James’ screams were louder.

  Matt’s night vision had been wrecked by Tim’s torch. He shouldered into a tree, stumbled and just managed to keep his balance, then ran on. He wished faintly that he had his own torch with him to see by, but as the light from the campfire grew larger he began to make out the shapes of trees and bushes as they blurred past him.

  He ran around a thick group of bushes, lost sight of the campfire, then came around the other side and saw it again. He dodged past a couple more trees and before he knew it he was skidding into the clearing where they’d set up camp. James’ screams had stopped.

  Matt almost tripped over a fallen pack on the ground, kept himself upright, and stared around. At first he couldn’t see anyone. Wind roared through the trees overheard. Then he looked to his left and saw two giant shadows flickering on the trees trunks in the light from the fire. They were the shadows of two half-human shapes joined on top of each other, stretched and distorted in the flickering light, and as Matt took a step in their direction he heard a noise. It was a wheezing, half-choked cry, almost lost beneath the sound of the wind.

  The noise was coming from the far side of a bush a few feet in front of Matt. Without thinking he jogged around it, then stopped dead when he saw what was on the other side.

  At first his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. He had a vague, half-glimpsed memory of a horror film he’d once stayed up late to watch on Channel 5, in which a giant slug-like creature had preyed on its victims by sliding over their bodies and digesting them whole. Matt felt something lurch in his stomach and then the memory was gone again, pushed from his mind by the sound of another wheezing half-scream.

  James and Mr Stevens were a few metres in front of Matt. James was lying on his back and Mr Stevens was crouched on top of him, his arms locked straight and his hands wrapped around Tramper’s neck in a death-grip. James was batting at Mr Stevens’ locked arms like a puppy pawing weakly at a locked door. His face was a purple reddish colour. His eyes stared straight up at Mr Stevens, huge and empty, and spittle flew from his darkening lips.

  Matt had heard of people who witnessed something shocking being rooted to the spot, but he’d always privately thought that was stupid. Cowards would stay still, but people who were brave – people like him – would immediately spring into action, wouldn’t they? He’d always been certain of that as a kid. Now, looking on as James struggled beneath Mr Stevens’ choking
hands, he realised just how wrong he’d been.

  He couldn’t move. His feet stayed locked to the ground as his eyes drifted from James’ blood-filled face to that of his attacker’s. When Matt’s eyes landed on Mr Stevens’ face he heard himself let out a low moan. The sound seemed distant, somehow, as though it was coming from someone other than him.

  Mr Stevens no longer looked human. His eyes were large and yellow. The skin of his cheeks drooped down and hung loose around his face like two swollen sacks. His mouth was open slightly, and Matt could see twin rows of needle-thin teeth shining in the light from the fire. As Matt watched, his mouth opened wider and wider, revealing more and more teeth in rows that didn’t seem to end.

  James let out another wheeze. It was much lower this time, and quieter. The sound of a dying animal.

  As if from a great distance, Matt heard Tom’s voice in his head. He’s going to die unless you do something, the voice screamed. It was coming from a long way away, as if from the far end of a great tunnel. He’s going to die and then you’re going to die too unless you MOVE.

  That last word was louder, and Matt felt his head clear. He turned to look at Tramper, and as he did so his friends’ eyes rolled away from Mr Stevens’ face and found Matt’s. They were wide and staring and almost completely blank, but Matt saw something in them – some distant, minute flicker of recognition – that finally got him moving.

  ‘GET OFF HIM!’ he screamed. He ran towards the thing that had been Mr Stevens, meaning to dive and tackle it, but its head flicked towards him when he was still a few paces away and Matt changed his mind at the last minute. Instead of diving head on towards that open mouth and those rows of sharp teeth Matt threw his body weight to the right and lashed out with his left leg in a desperate kick. Matt felt his foot connect with the side of Mr Stevens’ head as his right leg slipped out from under him and he went down.

  He rolled over backwards, away from Mr Stevens, and sat up in a crouch.

  Mr Stevens was on his knees next to James. His head was bowed as if in prayer, and one hand was clutching the side of his face. A low, stuttering sound was coming from him that didn’t sound even remotely human. It made Matt think of hundreds of chattering frogs, or a field of crickets rubbing their legs together in unison.