The Moor

by Sam Haysom

  ‘James.’ He meant to shout but the word came out as a low croak instead. From where he was crouching he couldn’t tell whether or not James was moving.

  Matt stood and took a step forward. The trees roared and crashed around him. Droplets of rain blew down from the branches and splattered his skin. He took another step, then another. On the third step, when he was only a metre or so from James’ body, Mr Stevens’ lowered his hand. His head turned slowly and the croaking sound that was coming from his throat grew louder.

  Matt froze. He glanced around himself for a weapon – some stick, or maybe a walking pole – but there was nothing. When he turned back, Mr Stevens was facing him.

  The flesh around Mr Stevens’ jaw was a sagging mass of skin. His mouth had stretched to twice its normal size, and Matt could now clearly see the endless rows of teeth emerging from his flabby gums. The skin on the lower half of his face was red and lined with veins.

  All that was bad, but it was his eyes that made Matt take a step back. His ancient, yellow eyes. They were staring at Matt, unblinking, and Matt thought that if he stared into them for too long he might go mad.

  Matt took another step back. The thing that had been Mr Stevens raised itself up onto its knees, and then slowly began to climb to its feet. The croaking sound grew louder still. Matt took one more step back, and felt the heat from the campfire at his back.

  The next bit happened very fast.

  The thing that had been Mr Stevens moved forward and Matt took a final step back, feeling his back bang into something hard as he did so. He half-turned and saw the clamp that was holding the little tin of Wayfarer meals. Half of the water had evaporated in the heat from the fire but the tin was still half-full, and the water was bubbling madly. The thing that had been Mr Stevens suddenly sprang forward, hands outstretch, and as Matt saw its movement from the corner of his eye he grabbed for the metal stand behind him and swung it round in a wild, desperate arch.

  Matt felt the hot metal burning into his palms and he screamed, letting the clamp go and watching as the water from the tin flew straight into Mr Stevens’ sagging face. The clamp’s metal stand followed and struck Mr Stevens in the knee before bouncing off onto the grass. Mr Stevens screamed – a low, guttural shriek – and stumbled. He went down on one knee two paces in front of Matt, then collapsed to the ground, clutching his face. His skin looked like it was steaming. He kept both hands locked to his face as he continued to scream, his forehead pressed to the grass of the clearing.

  Matt dodged past him and rushed over to James. He dropped to his knees and put a hand on his friends’ chest. It didn’t appear to be moving. James’ eyes were closed. Matt forced himself to stop shaking and lowered his ear to Tramper’s blue lips.

  For a moment all he felt was the wind on his face. Matt stayed completely still, feeling the panic start to rise, and then after a very long couple of seconds he heard it. James’ breath was weak, hardly a breath at all, but it was there. Matt breathed in deep himself and then leaned down until his lips were touching his friends’.

  What would Gary say if he could see us now? he thought hysterically as he puffed air into James’ lungs. He lifted his head, took another breath, then did the same again. He put a hand on James’ chest and began to rub it back and forth without realising he was doing so.

  ‘Come on, come on.’

  After a moment he lowered his ear to James’ mouth again. It could have been just his hopeful imagination, but he thought his friend’s breathing sounded a little stronger.

  ‘James?’ he said. ‘James, can you hear me?’

  Tramper’s eyelids fluttered.

  ‘James?’

  Matt leaned closer to his friend, watching his eyelids drift half open to show the whites, and as he bent lower still to whisper in James’ ear he felt a hand close around his ankle.

  Matt yelled and tried to yank his leg away. The grip was impossibly tight. He managed to turn away from Tramper, onto his back, but as he did so he was yanked across the grass. Matt looked at the thing that had hold of him and screamed.

  Parts of Mr Stevens’ face had melted. His skin was red and patchy in places, the skin of a burn victim, and in other areas it was missing completely. A large blotch on his forehead was gone and Matt could see something moving behind it, some writhing flesh-beneath-the-flesh that was the dirty green colour of rotten pond water. The purple bags beneath Mr Stevens’ eyes drooped down like the lower half of his face, and his yellow eyeballs stood out like those of a corpse. His mouth gaped open and the bottom half of his jaw hung down as if it were on a hinge. Hundreds of teeth winked and glinted. Matt smelled death and rot on his breath.

  Mr Stevens clambered higher up Matt’s body like a lizard slithering over its prey. Matt tried to wriggle and shove him off, but Mr Stevens pinned his arms. He crawled up further, until he was sitting on Matt’s stomach, and then his hands moved to grip Matt’s throat.

  Matt’s breath wheezed out in a panicked rush. He grabbed at Mr Stevens’ wrists, staring up in sick horror at his melted, writhing face, and as he tried uselessly to push Mr Stevens’ hands away he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Matt saw a flash of brown in the light from the fire. Mr Stevens didn’t even see it coming. He was focusing all of his energy on Matt’s terrified face, and when the tree branch came whirring out of the darkness to strike the side of his head he didn’t have time to react. The wood connected with his right temple and Matt felt the grip around his neck loosen.

  Mr Stevens’ yellow eyes rolled up in their sockets and his body went slack. He tumbled off Matt and collapsed in a heap on the grass.

  Matt pulled in a deep breath, then another, and felt his eyesight waver. Sounds were coming at him from a long way away. Wind-blown droplets of rain pattered against his face and he opened his mouth, hoping to force some of the water down his sandpapery throat. His vision was a blur of grey shadows and flickering orange. Blood thumped in his ears. He tried to swallow and felt a muted, far-off pain.

  Something moved above him.

  Matt squinted his eyes and he just had time to make out Tim’s shape before he lost consciousness.

  4

  His throat was burning.

  ‘Matt. Matt!’ Harsh whispers.

  Matt felt something hard scrape his teeth, then felt a cooling rush against his tongue. Someone was trickling water into his mouth. He forced his eyes open and looked up into Tim’s face. The boy looked as pale and scared as he had in the woods earlier, but there was now something else in his eyes that Matt couldn’t quite place. Determination, maybe. Or resolve.

  ‘You have to get up now. You have to get up and help me.’

  Matt shut his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep. He was tired and hurt and he just wanted to rest his eyes for a while, maybe—

  Cold water splashed his face. Matt felt the shock of it go through him and he opened his eyes, breathing in deep and staring around him.

  He hadn’t moved. He was on his back in the same place in the clearing, and Tim was crouching over him and frowning. Matt looked to his left and saw that Mr Stevens was no longer lying beside him, and he felt a moment of panic before he saw that the body had just been dragged closer to the fire. He eyed it warily, watching for movement, but there was none.

  Then he looked to his right, searching for James, and the panic returned. There was no sign of his friend. Matt tried to sit up further to look around, but Tim placed a hand on his chest.

  ‘It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s just behind you over there.’

  Tim pointed and Matt rolled onto his side so he could follow his finger. James was just behind him and to the right. He was sitting with his back propped against a tree, just like he’d done earlier when they were sat around the campfire. His coat was unzipped slightly and Matt could see thick purple bruises snaking around his neck in the shape of fingers. He shuddered.

  James’ eyes were closed but Matt could see his chest moving. He rolled back over to look at T
im.

  ‘What happened? What the fuck’s going on?’

  His voice came out in a dry rasp. Matt swallowed, then winced at the pain that went shooting through his throat.

  Tim closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again Matt thought he looked years older. He glanced in the direction of his father’s body, then back at Matt, and his face wasn’t that of a teenage boy; it was the face of a tired old man.

  ‘It’s… I… I don’t really know how to explain,’ he mumbled. He looked down at the ground, then looked at Matt again. ‘There’s not time now, anyway. You need to get up and help me.’

  ‘Help you with what?’

  But Matt knew. He could see Mr Stevens’ unmoving figure lying by the fire, and he’d seen the way Tim had looked at the body a moment before. He knew, but the thought of going through with it made him feel sick.

  Tim stood up and took a step back, giving Matt space. After a moment he took a breath and pushed up into a sitting position. His head swam for a moment and he thought he might be sick, but then he closed his eyes and everything steadied. He turned onto his hands and knees, then pushed himself carefully to his feet.

  When he turned back to Tim, the boy was standing by his father’s body. His back was to the fire, the large flames dancing through the night air behind him, and his face was covered in shadow.

  ‘Come on, quickly.’

  Matt looked at Mr Stevens’ body. Flecks of blood had spattered his walking coat, but aside from that his legs and torso looked like those of any normal man.

  It was his face that gave the game away. Matt stared at it once, examining it for a couple of seconds, and then looked away again. The skin around the neck was a sagging mass of flesh. The left side of his head, where Tim had struck him with the branch, was a bloody pulp. Raw, blackened patches covered his forehead and cheeks where the boiling water had hit him.

  His eyes were the worst, though. Those protruding, yellow eyes.

  But could he really do what Tim wanted? Mr Stevens wasn’t human, that much was obvious, and what he’d just been trying to do to James…

  Not to mention what he did to the others. The voice rose up in Matt’s mind out of nowhere, and it took him completely by surprise. The others. A nasty, sick feeling began to stir in his stomach.

  Gary. Tom. Surely he couldn’t–

  ‘Do it.’

  The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but firm enough to carry. Matt glanced round and saw James looking at him from his place by the tree. They made eye contact, and James nodded his head once. ‘Hurry.’

  Matt took a shaky breath and walked over to Tim.

  ‘Quick, you grab his legs.’ Tim’s eyes were wide, but determined. As he bent to grip his father’s arms, Matt saw his hands were shaking.

  Even if he had nothing to do with Gary and Tom disappearing, he still tried to strangle my best friend, thought Matt. Besides, Mr Stevens isn’t a he. He’s an it.

  Tim must have really built the fire right up while Matt was unconscious, because it was roaring now. He could feel the heat from it, blasting across his skin in waves. He took a breath and bent to grip Mr Stevens’ ankles.

  Tim looked at him. ‘We’ve got to do this,’ he said. Matt wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or saying the words to himself. ‘We’ve got to do this or he might come back. He might find a way to come back and get us.’

  Matt glanced across the clearing at James. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes were open and he was watching them. Matt looked back at Tim and nodded.

  ‘Right,’ said Tim. ‘One, two, THREE.’

  They swung their arms and let go at the same time. Mr Stevens’ wasn’t as heavy as Matt thought he’d be. His body sailed easily through the air and crashed into the centre of the fire. A cloud of sparks shot up. Wood and ash scattered. The flames licked around him, seeming to feel him out, and then his trousers caught. A few seconds later, his coat went up too.

  Matt was about to turn away when he heard the croaking noise. It started off as a low buzz and at first he thought the fire was making the sound, but then it began to grow louder. Matt remembered the sound Mr Stevens had been making earlier as he strangled James. He stared at Tim in horror.

  ‘I thought he was dead.’

  Mr Stevens’ body began to tremble. The trembling sound deepened to a dull, frantic roar. His yellow eyes rolled in their sockets, left and then right, until suddenly they fixed themselves on Matt. Something like recognition flickered in them.

  Matt couldn’t move. He thought he could hear someone shouting, possibly James, but it was as though he was trapped in a bubble. The thing in the fire was staring at him, and Matt couldn’t look away. He wanted to turn and run, but he couldn’t do that either.

  The thing in the fire was moving now. The clucking, croaking noise in its throat was growing more urgent, more insistent, and as it twisted and writhed Matt saw that one of its hands was reaching out through the flames towards him. The skin on the hand was melting off, peeling away like thin strips of dried PVA glue.

  It’s going to pull me in with it, he thought vaguely. It’s going to drag me into the fire and we’ll burn there together.

  The thing’s eyes were locked on him. Matt could see timeless, never-ending years in those eyes. He could see a whole nightmare eternity.

  Then the eyes moved. They flicked to Matt’s right, looking past him and over his shoulder, and for a split second Matt thought he saw them widen in something like shock before he was being shoved to one side by a heavy hand.

  Tim stood in front of the fire, looking down at the thing’s burning body. He had a walking pole clutched in his right hand. As Matt looked on he raised the pole, holding it like they told you to hold the javelin on school sports days. For a second he held it in that position, staring down into the fire with a blank expression on his face. Then he lunged.

  Matt was a few paces back from the fire now, but he saw it all. He saw the walking pole thrusting through the flames like a spear. He saw the thing in the fire try to twist in a last, hopeless effort to get away. He saw the pointy end of the pole pierce one of the thing’s yellow eyes, then carry on travelling into its brain.

  Black, bubbling liquid oozed out of the wound the pole had made. The thing’s face broke open and the skin fell away like rolls of old parchment. Matt thought he caught a glimpse of something inside – some writhing, green mass – before the flames engulfed it and the head began to smoke and cook.

  Tim stumbled back from the fire, then collapsed into a sitting position on the grass.

  He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

  5

  Matt didn’t realise he’d been sleeping until he opened his eyes and saw light filtering through the trees. It was morning. The worst of the storm had passed. The wind was still there, causing the branches to shift and whisper together, but it was softer now.

  Matt sat up and looked around.

  Tim had been keeping watch by the fire when Matt left him to lie down next to James, and he was still there now. The fire had died down overnight and was now nothing more than ash and embers. Tim was sleeping in a sitting position, a metre or so from the remains, with his chin touching his chest.

  The remains.

  Matt got to his feet and walked over to the fire, dreading what he might see as he stared into it. But there was nothing. Whatever Mr Stevens had been, the flames had swallowed him up and left hardly any trace at all.

  Staring into the ash where the thing’s head had been Matt saw a nest of sharp teeth, but that was it. The sight of those teeth made him feel ill. He looked down at Tim, still fast asleep, and the faces of Gary and Tom suddenly appeared in his mind.

  ‘Hey!’

  He bent down and shook Tim roughly by the shoulder. The boy stirred with a soft gasp and looked around.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ He got to his feet and stared into the pile of ash. Matt watched him carefully. Tim reached down and grabbed some shape in the ash, some lon
g white thing, and for a second Matt thought it was a bone before Tim pulled it free and he saw it was the walking pole. Tim gripped the handle and stirred the ash and embers with the pole. He saw the teeth, prodded them with the pole’s sharp end, and then nodded slowly.

  ‘I burned the rest of his stuff in the fire last night,’ he muttered. He patted the inside pocket of his coat absently. ‘I’ve got his phone and the other stuff that wouldn’t go.’ Tim paused, frowning. His face was pale. ‘I guess we’ll have to find somewhere to bury the teeth.’

  He dropped the pole back into the fire and collapsed onto the grass.

  ‘Tim, I need you to tell me, right now, what the fuck happened here,’ Matt said. He crouched down on the grass beside him. ‘What’s happened to Gary and Tom? Did that fucking thing get them? It did, didn’t it?’

  ‘Course it did.’ The voice came from behind him and made Matt jump. He turned around and saw James climbing to his feet. ‘It got them the same way it tried to get me last night.’

  James limped slowly over to Matt and Tim, then carried on past them and stood staring into the fire.

  ‘Tim, is that what happened?’

  Tim stared into the distance for a long time without answering. Matt was about to repeat the question again, maybe give the boy a shake, when he finally nodded his head. Then he began to cry.

  James turned around at the sound of the sobs. He looked at Matt, and the hardness that had crept into his face overnight broke. Now he only looked worried and scared. Matt shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Tim. For a second he felt like he might cry, too. He tried to think of something to say next, but Tim spoke again before he had the chance.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  His voice was thick with tears. He made no effort to hide his face, just sat there staring into the distance. ‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘I should have told you earlier. I— I tried to tell Tom, to warn him, and then I wanted to tell you, but—’ He stopped and wiped his eyes. Then he turned to look at Matt.