The Hunting Ground

by Cliff McNish

  He managed to raise his head. There was a shadow behind Eve and his son: a dark veil. It was all hunter.

  ‘Eager spirits and cunning wiles,’ Cullayn said, and Dad felt himself roughly lifted, dragged and dumped inside the wall. ‘No, don’t die yet,’ Cullayn growled, standing astride him. ‘Remain with us. At least until my Janey brings me Elliott.’

  20

  A GENTLE GREY LADY

  Elliott sat on his haunches outside the East Wing, breathless, waiting for Dad to come out. After watching and listening for an exact hour, he reached for his mobile to dial 999.

  Before he had depressed a single digit, Jane Amanda Roberts appeared smoothly at the entrance to the East Wing.

  Elliott backed away three steps.

  She stood leanly there, old and grey, and he wondered if that was part of her plan: to look helpless. The diary entries had convinced him she was far from that. They had also convinced him that whatever Janey was like before, she was now under Cullayn’s sway. Seeing her outside the East Wing with the screwdriver, re-opening the entrance, only made him more certain of that.

  Her hands were clasped behind her back. She was holding something. A good hunter keeps its weapons hidden, Elliott thought. Her gaze was all calculation.

  ‘Still pretending to be a weak old lady?’ he said, hiding his fear inside a growl.

  ‘Pretending?’ she answered serenely back. ‘If so, I’ve got away with it for a long time, haven’t I?’

  Elliott backed off another step. ‘It was you who opened the East Wing when we arrived, wasn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You did it so Ben would go inside.’

  ‘Just so.’

  Elliott bristled and stood tall, two or three inches above her.

  Janey took no notice. ‘What do you think I am?’ she snarled. ‘Something you can defeat with your stature? Your fists? A gentle grey lady, a whiff of bath salts? Is that what you take me for?’

  Elliott retreated another step. ‘You’re the one who spoon-fed us bits of the diary.’

  ‘Of course. Enough to keep you interested. And tiptoeing inside the East Wing, despite yourselves. Exactly. Where are you going, Elliott?’ she added. ‘Trying to walk away from me already? You haven’t finished the diary yet. Is this what you’re looking for?’

  One of her hands fluttered forward. Clenched inside was a bundle of hand-written pages. Elliott recognised the writing at once.

  ‘The next part of the diary,’ he said.

  ‘The final part,’ she corrected him.

  Elliott swallowed. ‘Did you kill Eve?’

  No answer. Followed by: ‘Perhaps.’ And then, as if she was growing bored, or merely tired, Janey took a step sideways. She leaned forward so that her head was inside the East Wing while her wrinkled neck was still in the hall. ‘Watch and learn,’ she said.

  The outline of her hair abruptly crackled with light.

  Seeing his chance, Elliott ran. He set off in the opposite direction, through the hall and up the main flight of stairs.

  Janey scurried after him. She saw where he’d gone. A bathroom – the one place on the first floor with a working lock on the inside of the door.

  She clasped the diary as she came after him. To Janey the words contained in its pages were so full of melancholy that they seemed to be flooded in moonlight. Opening out the folded sheets in her palm, she watched them expand like a living thing.

  She pushed the pages under the crack of the shut bathroom door. Elliott backed away.

  ‘I will leave you in peace to read them, but don’t take too long,’ Janey said curtly.

  Walking away from him, she made her way downstairs into the morning room. It had always been her favourite part of the house, the place where the windows gathered the sun best. She sat on the sofa.

  Arranging her legs comfortably, she inclined her head to listen to the birds in the overgrown garden.

  *

  Elliott waited until she had gone. There was an old toilet and a grimy sink in the bathroom. Dad had dropped a couple of towels in there for the boys to use in case they were downstairs. Elliott laid the towels out on the dirty floor tiles so that he had something to sit on. Apart from the diary, he didn’t want any part of this old house touching him any more.

  He gathered the diary pages together. They still felt warm from Janey’s hand.

  In a crabbed script Elliott guessed must be Janey’s, she’d jotted down the missing lines from the previous cut-off entry. Elliott double-checked the lock on the door was solid. Then, easing himself down, he took an uncertain breath and read the last words ever penned by Theo William Stark.

  21

  THE LAKE

  25th December. Christmas evening. OK. I’m going to record the time because somehow it seems important. It’s 8.46 p.m., and it’s been dark for hours. I’m trembling as I write this, but sitting here outside the East Wing I’m going to make myself record every detail of the hunt, in case anything happens to me. If it does, this diary had better survive, because I don’t want what’s happened to my family to happen to anyone else.

  *

  It all started around quarter past five this afternoon. We’d finished a late Christmas dinner. With everything going on lately, none of us were in the mood to celebrate, and we’d spent most of the meal deciding when we were going to leave Glebe House. Even Mum had had enough now. She and Dad had gone to the back of the house – I can’t remember why. I stayed with Eve. No way I was going to leave her alone after the episode with the fence and the stuff in Janey’s room.

  We were both in the hall. I was looking at one of the portraits. Maybe more than one. I can’t remember. I’ve no idea how long I’d been staring at them. I only remember this: Eve suddenly looked up at me, let out a howling scream and ran from the house.

  I went after her. I thought she must have seen Janey behind me or something. I’d been dreading a moment like this – Cullayn using Janey in a last ditch attempt to get to Eve before we left. It was why I was sticking so close to her.

  Eve could have fled anywhere, but she took off for the slope, aiming for the hunting ground. I couldn’t understand that. I thought Cullayn must be luring her there. It was only afterwards I realised that it was me who drove her in that direction.

  It was almost dark already, with snow everywhere. Eve wasn’t a fast runner at the best of times, so I had no problem catching her before she got far up the slope. She was wearing her favourite red dress, and for some reason that annoyed me. I grabbed the hem of it and yanked her back. ‘Get back indoors!’ I shouted, shaking her. ‘You idiot! It’s not safe out here!’

  She dug her nails into me.

  ‘Stop it!’ I growled. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’

  I wasn’t listening to her screams. I wasn’t listening to anything. I dragged her across the slope. Terrified, Eve kicked me a couple of times, then reached up to scratch my face. What happened next is a kind of blur. Something inside me exploded with rage. I was so angry I hit Eve. Then – still not understanding what was happening to me – I snatched her left arm and started hauling her up the slope towards the trees.

  ‘You!’ Eve screamed.

  Her eyes must have been filled with terror, but I wasn’t looking. Her endless whimpers only irritated me. Such a stupid kid. ‘Shut up!’ I yelled. She fought me all the way to the woods. It didn’t even occur to me to ask why I was going towards the trees until I heard a rustle from their leaves.

  Eve was so scared of me that she managed to yank her hand free. She fell back, whacking her head on a tree root. I heard an awful crack and for a moment she was unconscious, completely still.

  ‘Eve?’ I gasped, a tiny part of me still able to respond to her in a normal way. As I leaned over her she woke, opened her eyes. Her mouth was lined with blood. Then, seeing me, she held her hands over her face to protect herself. In that long second, for which I will never forgive myself, she really thought I was going to hit her again, and I reali
se now that I was about to do just that.

  It was not me making the choices.

  Somehow Eve squirmed away, stood up and scrambled across the slope. I didn’t follow at first. I’d spotted something bright between the trees. There was a clear sky above the wood, and I thought it must be the moon, or a mixture of that and starlight. But then I realised how excited I was, and that it was another kind of light altogether – Cullayn’s brightness, orange and red, lighting up the trees.

  Moments later the hunter himself appeared. He was standing next to a huge oak, arms folded, rigged out in full hunting leathers. As soon as he had my attention, he wiped his hands on his jacket and headed for Eve. His body crunched across the snow, but at any one moment only his boot or an arm or his swirling beard was visible. I remember shaking my head as for one dizzying second Cullayn and the trees behind him merged, his body wild and at one with each of the trunks.

  Eve finally saw him and screamed, stumbling across the slope. But not towards me. Away from us both. I raced across the mud, tracking west. I know now that I was cutting off Eve’s retreat. It never occurred to me to head towards Cullayn, to try to stop him. I was helping him shepherd Eve towards the denser trees on the eastern slope.

  Cullayn had no weapons in his hands. I know that because he stopped to show me. He shook out his hunter’s cuffs like a magician, proving that he had nothing extra hidden. Then he gave me a triumphant smile, his face shining. It was obvious how happy he was to be on his hunting ground again. It’s OK, he hasn’t chosen his weapon for Eve yet, I remember thinking. I couldn’t have been more wrong about that, of course.

  At some point I stared down at my hands. Flexed them. Bared them. Felt suddenly exhilarated. I was confused by that, but my legs were not confused. They went after Eve.

  I caught her. Pulled her down. Before she could scream again, I rammed her mouth against my chest. Turning her face, I held it in a headlock. I’d never used a headlock like that before in my life, but it felt natural. I also remember thinking that it was so disappointingly easy. And I’ve no doubt what I was going to do next. Only the distraction of the ghost children delayed me.

  All four of them were fast-floating down the slope. I could see them clearly. That fact alone should have warned me that I wasn’t myself, but it didn’t. I also didn’t understand why the ghosts were taking such a risk when Cullayn was so close until I realised that they were heading for me. I still had Eve’s face twisted in a headlock. I heard her muffled cries, but they only irritated me.

  Sam Cosgrove reached me first. Tracing a circle with his fingers around my neck, he pulled. Without him actually touching me, it felt like I was inside a choking noose. I fell, groaning, but I still had Eve tight against my chest. Alice flew at me next, but I avoided her, tightening my grip on Eve. Even now I didn’t have any doubts about what I was doing.

  From the border of the trees Cullayn cheered, willing me on. He’d caught little Leo, and was effortlessly holding him in one arm while beckoning at Nell, encouraging her to attempt a rescue. Sam flew from me, heading in flashes of blue motion across the slope towards Leo. Cullayn saw him and waited.

  Eve was still squealing in my headlock. Cullayn caught my eye – reminding me what I was supposed to do – and it was only Janey who stopped me from killing Eve. I’ve no idea how long she’d been sneaking up behind me, but she didn’t stop to ask questions. She punched me, hard, in the face. I slumped to the ground, still holding Eve. Before I could get up again Janey knelt astride my chest and shoved a small mirror at me.

  In it I saw my transformed face. Saw what I looked like. Felt my chin. The fullness of Cullayn’s beard was in my hands when I shaped it. From across the slope, Cullayn hissed at Janey.

  Dropping Eve, I gasped, finally understanding. I collapsed to my knees, felt Cullayn’s hold on me fading.

  ‘Eve, I’m … I’m not after you,’ I groaned. ‘I’m … please …’

  Too late. Eve was already hurrying away. I ran towards her, shouting, telling her I wasn’t going to hurt her, meaning it this time, but Eve just screamed louder.

  ‘Let me go after her,’ Janey shouted.

  Nodding, still reeling from what I’d nearly done to Eve, I gazed up at the upper slope.

  Cullayn stood there. He was locked in a fight with Sam Cosgrove. It was incredible what Sam was doing. Pinching the air around him, creating tiny spaces in which to move, he burst in flickers of blue around Cullayn’s body, squeezing between gaps his own fingers made. Cullayn lashed out again and again, but Sam was too quick for him and, when Cullayn reached out with both arms, Leo pulled free with a squeal.

  As soon as that happened, all the ghost children fled in different directions.

  Cullayn looked disappointed. But only slightly. I could tell he liked the way Sam had extended the hunt. New ideas danced in Cullayn’s eyes, and before I could react he was off again down the slope, heading for Janey this time.

  Janey was so focused on Eve that she didn’t see Cullayn coming. At the last second I screamed a warning to her and she fashioned something complex with her hands to hold him back – folding, dispersing space with her fingers. But Cullayn fought through her defence easily, clamped Janey in a bear-hug and with a cry of absolute triumph vaulted with her all the way to the trees.

  In that moment, lit by Cullayn’s light, the trunks belonged to him, and they held both Cullayn and Janey aloft, their branches and leaves seething at her throat.

  I sprinted towards Janey, but only a ghost could ride the winds fast enough to get there in time, and again Sam never hesitated. He was like a tornado tearing into the heart of the trees. He spread his body, somehow wrapping himself around Cullayn’s forearm.

  Grunting in surprise, Cullayn dropped Janey. Falling from the trees, she took her chance, rubbing her neck as she sprinted away.

  Cullayn only seemed to enjoy the setback. He idly swiped a rough hand towards Sam’s head, but his gaze was already shifting back in a leisurely way to Eve. She was half way down the slope now, and Cullayn set off after her with a roar. His whole body was bent into the slope, like a lion in a sprint for the kill. Stretching his legs impossibly wide, a single bend of his knee took him one-third of the way down the slope, and suddenly his hands were active as well, juggling weapons. I had been Cullayn’s preferred choice for killing Eve, but knives would do, and as he ran Cullayn sharpened three blades across each other, tossed one up, caught it and threw.

  I don’t think Cullayn’s aim was intended to kill Eve. He wasn’t after anything so simple or quick as that. But it was definitely meant to hurt her. Alice, standing between Cullayn and Eve, made a quick sideways cut with her hand, deflecting it.

  Was Cullayn disappointed? No. I could see how little fear he had of Alice’s resistance. Conjuring other weapons as he ran after Eve, he was happy, gloating, his hunter’s feet striding at his own pace.

  I staggered across to Janey. She was clutching her throat. She couldn’t breathe properly. ‘I’m OK,’ she rasped. ‘But you have to stop him.’

  ‘How?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know. But Eve’s just a little girl. Cullayn’s not as interested in her as you think. Make yourself his target.’

  I headed down the snow of the slope. ‘Cullayn! Cullayn!’ I yelled as loudly as I could.

  He glanced back, but he was too caught up in his hunt of Eve to bother with me yet.

  Eve was nearly off the slope now, on flat ground. She hadn’t stopped screaming for a second, and with huge relief I saw that she must finally have got close enough for Mum and Dad to hear because they both came running out of the house at the same time.

  As Mum ran towards Eve, Dad stopped dead in his tracks. He’d spotted Cullayn. And the reason was obvious. Cullayn wasn’t disguising himself any more. He wanted to be seen. No more hiding. This hunt of adults was far better than any sport Eve could offer, and he hovered next to Mum and Dad in his full form at last, grinning, letting them both get a good long look at him.

 
Mum swept Eve up into her arms. Seeing that, a burst of orange light flew off Cullayn’s tongue, and he soared over the two of them, his arms making chopping, slashing motions.

  Mum fell down in a hard shudder, but somehow kept hold of Eve. Picking herself up from the ground, she stood there, fuzzily shaking her head, trying to understand what had happened.

  Cullayn wielded his knives, throwing them into the air and catching them impossibly fast, pricking their steel tips alternately against the skin of Mum and Dad’s neck, enjoying their reaction.

  Mum drew back. She placed Eve behind her so that she was safe. Then she stared at Cullayn with a ferocity I’d never seen from anyone before. And Cullayn loved that moment. He loved it. A mother protecting her child. What higher stakes, what better hunt, than this?

  I was still sliding as fast as I could down the slope when with a huge snarl Dad crashed into Cullayn’s back. Cullayn’s weapons spilled on the ground. He seemed winded. But after seeing him fight all this time I knew he wasn’t. Huffing like an old man, wriggling comically, apparently unable to free himself from Dad’s hold, he reached with a deliberate clumsiness into his belt for a short stabbing sword.

  Mum snatched it from him. Looked at it. I remember that: the direct way she looked at it. She didn’t tremble. Didn’t need to hear Dad yelling, ‘Use the thing! Use it!’ Without hesitation she took the sword in both hands and, with Cullayn abruptly raising his chest, offering himself to her, she plunged the point straight past his ribs into his heart.

  Except, no. It wasn’t his heart she punctured. As the sword came down, Cullayn evaporated in a mist of orange-red, but Mum could no longer hold back. The blade struck, the force of the blow carrying the sword down hard to where now only Dad was. Mum wanted so much to kill Cullayn in that moment, and the blade went straight into the left side of Dad’s chest and buried itself to the hilt.