The Dark Ground

by Gillian Cross

  He walked along the hedge, looking for another strong, straight stalk. When he found one that was suitable, he broke it off and brought it back to lay across the ditch. Its dry, spreading crown settled firmly onto the earth, and for one, unnerving moment, he saw it with double vision.

  Flick. It was a strong bridge, linking two sides of a deep ravine.

  Flick. It was a brittle stalk that he could snap between two fingers.

  He held both pictures in his mind and the clamoring questions screamed down again, ready to rip the world apart. Slowly he walked his fingers along the stalk, right across to the other side of the ditch, feeling the ridged surface and the little, stiff hairs.

  I remember, said the voice in his head. I remember . . .

  He let himself hear it, not trying to escape the pain. Opening his mind to all the questions.

  Then he stood up and went through the gap in the hedge and out onto the grass. Jogging slightly, to catch up with Emma.