The Moor

by Sam Haysom

  ‘I was scared,’ he whispered. ‘I was scared of what he’d do to me if he found out.’

  Tim started crying again, and this time he did hide his face. He placed both hands over his eyes and his body shook. After a while James came over from the fire and sat on the other side of him, and both boys put their hands on each of Tim’s shoulders.

  The three of them sat in silence as the grey morning light filtered in through the trees. A gentle breeze picked up in the clearing and began to carry away the fire’s remains.

  6

  ‘Tim, was that thing really your dad?’

  It was James who broke the silence. The three of them had been walking along a footpath in a line for the last hour, without speaking. Endless fields of heather disappeared into the distance on either side of them. The plants trembled in the wind, giving the illusion that they were walking across a vast, purple ocean. A line of tors was visible on the horizon ahead, made hazy blue in the morning light.

  The question hung in the empty air for a long time, and at first Matt didn’t think Tim would answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘I honestly don’t know what he was. My mum always said he was my dad, but then she was just as scared of him as I was. Maybe more scared.’

  They kept walking without breaking stride. Matt was in the middle, with James limping up front with the aid of a walking pole and Tim behind him.

  ‘But what was he?’ said James. ‘Where did he come from?’

  This time the silence was even longer. When Tim next spoke, his voice shook ever so slightly.

  ‘I don’t think—’ he paused, and Matt had the impression he was choosing his words carefully. ‘—I don’t think he… I don’t think he came from here.’

  The pace of James’ shambling walk slowed ever so slightly, but he didn’t stop.

  ‘Where did he come from then?’

  Matt glanced back over his shoulder at Tim. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the path in front of him, large and unfocused. As Matt watched he blinked and looked up at the cloud-covered sky above them, then flicked his gaze back down to meet Matt’s.

  ‘Somewhere else.’

  Matt suddenly found it hard to meet Tim’s eyes. He turned around and kept walking.

  After a few moments, James’ voice floated back again.

  ‘You know, after Gary went missing and all his stuff was gone, a part of my mind kept telling me that the witch had got him. That Emily Brown woman he told us about. I knew it was stupid – I told myself witches aren’t real – but Gary must have spooked me on Friday and I couldn’t get it out of my head.’ He paused. ‘I even dreamed about her.’

  Matt felt a light chill on his back. ‘I dreamed about her, too,’ he said. ‘On Friday night, I had some nightmare where she was waving at me in the distance, like how she waved at that woman in the story.’ He frowned. ‘Why did he even tell us that story anyway, Tim? Was that just some bullshit to distract us or something?’

  Matt could hear Tim’s footsteps behind him on the path, slow and regular.

  ‘I think—’ Tim started, then paused for a moment. His voice was quiet, but it no longer shook. ‘I think he liked to scare people. He’d probably heard the same rumours about the witch that Gary read about online, and I reckon he told us all that extra stuff to keep us on edge. I don’t know how much of it he made up. I remember he used to tell me stories when I was a kid. Bad stories. They used to give me nightmares, too.’

  Matt and James didn’t say anything. The clouds above them drifted lazily across the sky, casting pockets of shadow on the purple fields.

  ‘I don’t remember him being around much when I was little,’ Tim said, breaking the silence. ‘He’d be away for a long time and then suddenly he’d show up again. I’d get back home from school one day and he’d just be there. He’d stay for a few weeks, or six months or maybe a year, and then he’d disappear again. Every time he went away I always prayed each night, before I went to sleep, that he’d be gone for good.’

  The boys walked on in silence. Up ahead the clouds parted and the sun broke through, coating the purple heather with a golden tinge. It was James who spoke next.

  ‘He is now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gone for good.’

  Tim didn’t respond.

  Matt shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulders and didn’t say anything either. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and he was finding it hard to think. He knew he ought to feel sad about Gary and Tom, but for some reason he just felt numb. It was as if there were some huge wall at the back of his mind – a dam like the ones him and James had tried to build when they were little – that was holding all the fear and sadness back. Keeping it trapped in place.

  For now, at least.

  Matt looked at his watch and saw that it was just after nine. They’d been walking for around an hour and a half now, and although their pace had been slow Matt thought it wouldn’t be long before they reached Creek Lane. He had a Nokia 33/10 tucked in his inside coat pocket which he meant to use when he got there. His mum had made him take it. To use in case there’s an emergency, she’d said, but it hadn’t registered any bars of signal since they were back at the campsite on Thursday. The thought of the phone and Creek Lane made a question pop into Matt’s head, one which filled him with a tired, weary dread.

  ‘What am I going to tell them?’ he said. ‘What am I going to say when I phone up for help?’

  ‘Tell them the truth.’ Tim’s voice was soft, but firm.

  Matt thought about it for a while, then shook his head.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘What adult in the world is going to believe me if I tell them what happened just now, with that– with that thing?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said James. ‘We’ll back you up. They won’t be able to ignore all three of us.’

  Matt shook his head. ‘No, they’ll think I’m prank calling them. They won’t believe a fucking word of it.’ He paused. ‘I’m not even sure if I believe it yet.’

  James started to protest, but Tim cut him off.

  ‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘I tried to tell someone about Dad when I was younger, back when we were living in Yeovil. It was just after he’d come back from being away, and he was trying to get me to… well, he was being really horrible to Mum and we were both scared of him, so I tried to tell a teacher at my school.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked James.

  ‘I stayed behind after class and said I wanted to talk to her about my dad, and at first she looked really worried and she was being extra nice to me, but then when I started to tell her the truth – how he’d tell me these horrible stories before bed and how sometimes his eyes would turn yellow and I’d get really scared – she just burst out laughing.’

  ‘She did what?’

  ‘It’s not so weird, when you think about.’ Tim sounded impossibly tired. ‘I was an eight-year-old boy who’d just told my teacher I was afraid of my dad’s scary stories and that his eyes sometimes turned yellow at night. She thought my imagination had got the better of me, that was all. I couldn’t make her understand what he was like, not really.’

  Tim paused, and Matt heard him pull in a deep breath.

  ‘If we phone up and tell them the truth about what happened – shit, if we tell our parents the truth – they’ll probably react the same way. Only they won’t laugh, because this time people are missing. This time they’ll get angry, and if we stick to our story they’ll make us tell it to lots of policemen and doctors and they’ll all get angry too, and everyone will think we’re either all lying or that we’ve all gone crazy.’

  ‘But they’d have to believe us, wouldn’t, they?’ said James. Matt could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. ‘If we all say it exactly like it is.’

  ‘If we all say it exactly like it is,’ said Tim, ‘They’ll probably lock us away. They’ll shut us up and do tests on us and they won’t let us out until we start saying something
that they think sounds real.’

  Matt wanted to protest – he wanted to believe that what Tim said wasn’t true, they were talking about their parents and of course they’d believe their own children, they’d have to – but deep down he knew Tim was right. Because adults didn’t believe kids, not when they came out with wild stories like this. They’d listen and they’d smile and nod, maybe even pretend they believed at first, but they never would.

  ‘I know what we’ll do,’ said Matt suddenly. Up ahead, he thought he could see a distant line on the horizon where the purple heather finally ended. He thought it might be Creek Lane. Matt felt for the weight of the mobile phone in his inner pocket. ‘I know what we’ll tell them.’

  They walked on through the heather, into the morning sunlight, as Matt explained his plan.

  News Cuttings (2002)

  From the Devonshire Herald, 19 August 2002

  Two teenagers and one adult missing after sudden storm sweeps Rutmoor

  Police have launched a search for two teenage boys and an adult who became separated from their walking group during a storm in Rutmoor National Park over the weekend.

  Three 13-year-old boys, Matthew Fisher, Timothy Stevens, and James Tramper, were rescued by emergency services on Sunday afternoon after they called for help from Creek Lane using a mobile phone. All three were taken to Rutmoor Community Hospital where they were treated for shock, and James Tramper received additional treatment for exhaustion and a sprained ankle.

  Two of their classmates, Thomas Carpenter and Gareth Roberts, and Timothy’s father George Stevens, are still missing.

  Police, together with the Rutmoor Search and Rescue Team, began a sweep of the area surrounding Creek Lane on Sunday afternoon.

  ‘The people we’re searching for became separated from their group during a storm that swept north Rutmoor on Saturday night,’ said a spokesperson from Rutmoor Search and Rescue Team.

  ‘We believe they’re still in the surrounding area and we’re doing everything we can to locate them as quickly as possible.’

  *

  From the Devonshire Herald, 20 August 2002

  Massive search underway to locate three missing walkers

  Police have expanded their search of Rutmoor National Park in an attempt to locate the whereabouts of two 13-year-old boys and one adult who have now been missing for over 48 hours.

  The trio of walkers has not been seen since Saturday night, when they became separated from their walking group in the northern part of the moor during a storm.

  Three of their companions, Matthew Fisher, Timothy Stevens and James Tramper, all 13, were rescued from Creek Lane on Sunday afternoon. They have all now been discharged from Rutmoor Community Hospital and are reunited with their families.

  The search for Thomas Carpenter, Gareth Roberts and George Stevens, meanwhile, was expanded on Monday morning to include the entire expanse of north Rutmoor.

  All four Rutmoor emergency rescue teams are involved, and volunteers from the local community have been called in to help.

  ‘We have boat teams covering the water areas of the moor, and we’ve been widening our search area since Monday morning,’ a spokesperson for Rutmoor Search and Rescue Team said. ‘Hundreds of people are currently helping us look.

  ‘We’d encourage anyone who thinks they may have seen any of these people to contact us as soon as possible.’

  The Devonshire Herald reached out to the families of Matthew Fisher, Timothy Stevens, and James Tramper, but none were available for comment.

  2015

  Friday, Part Two

  They pull in to the usual car park just after one.

  James finds a parking space – it’s not hard; even though it’s a Friday, the car park is only half-full – and switches off the engine. He looks at Matt and nods, then pats a large hand firmly against Matt’s shoulder.

  They find him at the far end of the car park. He’s wearing a North Face jacket and fiddling in his rucksack, and for a minute Matt thinks he looks just like his father. The thought makes him feel ill.

  ‘Tim.’

  When he looks up and shields his eyes from the sun – it’s a surprisingly clear day for Rutmoor, and there are hardly any clouds in the sky – he sees them and grins.

  ‘Bloody hell, there they are!’

  Matt feels a smile forming on his face. He glances at James and sees that he’s smiling, too. The three boys come together in the dusty car park, the same car park they’ve been meeting at on and off for the past decade or more, and they hug each other like old friends. Matt supposes they are old friends, in a weird way.

  After a while they let each other go, and take a step back. Tim stares from James to Matt, that same grin on his face. He’s grown into a tall, slender young man with thinning dark hair – a gaunt adult version of the 13-year-old boy they met back in Year 8.

  ‘Jesus, this guy gets bigger every time I see him,’ Tim laughs, staring at James and then tipping Matt a wink. ‘Your arm’s about the same width as my waist, James.’

  James lets out a good-natured chuckle and pats Tim on the shoulder. It nearly sends him flying.

  ‘It’s good to see you guys again,’ says Tim. For a second his grin fades and he looks serious. ‘We shouldn’t leave it so long next time.’

  ‘It’s— well, it’s good to see you too,’ James says. ‘And you’re right, we don’t do it enough.’

  ‘We’ve been chatting about a route in the car,’ says Matt.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, we were thinking of carving out west for a bit tomorrow, then heading up north.’

  Tim stares at Matt for a moment. His smile is gone again, and he bites his bottom lip. After a while he sighs. ‘You know, I thought you were going to suggest the old route.’

  ‘No, not the old route,’ Matt says quickly. ‘Not exactly. But we thought, seeing as it’s been a while, it might be good to visit some of the spots where— well, you know.’

  ‘Tom and Gary.’ It’s almost a whisper. ‘Yes, of course. And you’re right, it would be. Good, I mean.’

  Tim looks pale, and Matt’s suddenly reminded of the white-faced teenager who followed them around Rutmoor like a ghost 13 years ago. The teenager who split his own father’s head open with a walking pole, and then lied to go along with the story they made up afterwards like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Lying comes easily to some people.

  Who was it who’d said that? Maybe James’ grandmother. She’d had lots of little catchphrases when she was alive. Or perhaps it’s a quote from some film he can’t remember.

  Matt realises the others are staring at him, and he clears his throat. ‘Right, well, no time like the present.’ He smiles. ‘I say we grab our stuff and set out, we can catch up properly en route. Be good to make up some miles before it gets dark.’

  They move off to James’ car together to get their packs out of the boot. The sun is shining clear in the sky, and their shadows are nothing but short dark circles that puddle around their feet.

  Friday, Part Three

  It’s the evening, and they’re sat around the campfire.

  They’ve made good progress, much better than Matt expected – the combination of their faster pace and the slight shortcut they’ve taken has put them way ahead of their 13-year-old selves – and Matt thinks they’ll reach Hayworth Tor by around midday tomorrow. Maybe sooner.

  He feels tired, but not too bad. Years of running have kept him in fairly good shape. He sits on his upturned rucksack a few feet from the fire, walking boots off so he can massage his feet. A metal tin of water simmers on a stand in front of him. He has no blisters today, which is a good sign. He’s had his current pair of boots since sixth form – ever since he began training for the 13 Peaks Challenge, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t for him – and they still fit like a glove.

  He looks round the fire at the others. Tim is sat opposite him and James is on his right, back leaning against the trunk o
f a tree, and for a minute Matt gets a sense of déjà vu so strong it makes him feel dizzy. He has to look to his left, just to make sure Mr Stevens isn’t sitting there too.

  ‘Aching?’ Tim’s voice floats across the fire. Matt looks back at him and squints through the flames.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said are you aching? You looked as though you were in pain for a moment there.’

  Matt forces himself to grin. ‘Believe it or not, I’m feeling surprisingly good today. Think I might even be in better shape than I was back at school.’

  ‘It’s all that reporting work,’ James says. Matt looks at him and he smiles back, his face a mask. ‘Keeps you on your toes, running from place to place, right?’

  ‘Are you out in the field quite a bit then?’ asks Tim. ‘Going out to do proper reporting and stuff, not just stuck behind a desk?’

  ‘Oh, they let me out now and then,’ says Matt. ‘I used to be in the office most of the time, but when I moved on to investigative stuff I started going out a bit more. You have to, really.’

  ‘What, meeting people for interviews?’

  ‘Yep, that sort of thing. Meeting people for interviews, chasing down a story. Following people around.’ Matt grins. ‘Proper MI5 stuff, you know.’

  Tim laughs. ‘Sounds a hell of a lot more exciting than my job.’

  ‘I know I say this every time,’ says James, ‘But what exactly—’

  ‘Do I do again?’ Tim chuckles. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not even sure myself half the time. I work on different contracts so it varies but, basically, I’m an auditor. So, I’ll go into different companies across the UK and make sure their finances and everything are in order.’