I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1)

by J. A. Ironside

  The village shop was a low oblong room at the front of one of the ancient cottages, which lined Arncliffe's main street. Since the village only had a street and a half at a push, 'main' seemed a bit optimistic to me. The brass bell above the door jangled as we went in. Amy headed towards a limp stand of magazines and newspapers. If she was looking for 'National Geographic', she was going to be disappointed. I was pretty sure this place didn’t stock anything except local papers and gardening magazines. The open-fronted refrigerators wheezed and clicked around blocks of local cheese and organic vegetables. I ignored the cashier who was watching us with narrow-eyed suspicion. For a moment the crazy image of a scene from dozens of Sunday afternoon spaghetti westerns flashed through my mind; the saloon door swinging as a stranger walked in; the silence as the conversation died and the piano player stopped mid-chord; the bar man wiping the same spot on the bar, while staring at the new-comer. I had a wild urge to giggle. Is that what Amy and looked like? Trouble from 'off'?

  I shoved a damp strand of hair behind my ear and went towards the milk. No skimmed. Grace would have to put up with half-fat. The brass bell over the door rang again. A short, portly man with a wild beard, who completely belonged in a Tolkien novel, leaned on the counter.

  "Usual please, Gladdie."

  "Alright, Ern? You look peaked." The cashier's expression didn't flicker but her knobbly knuckled, be-ringed fingers clutched at the newspaper and pouch of pipe tobacco as she passed them over the counter.

  "No, Gladdie. All's not well. Three dead hens this morning. The black ones."

  "A fox? Lucky you lost only three."

  "Tha' knows damn well it wasn't a fox."

  I watched as the man's florid cheeks grew redder. His wiry grey eyebrows beetled over his dark eyes.

  "You think then…?" The cashier let her voice trail off into a whisper. Her gaze fixed on Amy and me for a moment.

  "Aye. He's back." His mouth clamped shut as if to stop any more words escaping.

  I had drifted closer as they talked, milk grasped in one hand. The man's words slammed home all the churning doubts and fears I had about my new home. I felt the phantom grip of two pale, cold hands on my wrist. I shivered. He couldn't mean that there was something really wrong here? No. It had to be something else. Local legend or something.

  "What is it you want?" The cashier snapped at me.

  I mutely held up the bottle of milk. The cashier rang up the sale and shoved my change at me. She wanted us gone. Amy glowered at her.

  "So rude…" she muttered

  "Watch tha'self, lass." For the first time the man looked at me.

  I stared at him, heart starting to thud. He's here. He's here.

  "What do you mean?" Amy saved me from stuttering out a reply.

  "Just you be good. Stay off the moor and you'll not find out." He turned his back on us, ending the conversation.

  The cashier trained a basilisk glare on me before the door clicked shut behind us.

  "That was seriously weird," Amy said.

  "Tuh totally." The wind was picking up and my hair was falling out of its hasty bun into hopeless tangles.

  "Alright, Em. Give. What are you so freaked out about? Was it that man?"

  "Wuh what d-do you mean?" I felt a dull flush creeping into my cheeks, completely ruining my lie.

  Amy raised a scornful eyebrow. "Oh, puh-lease. You can't fool me. You've been seriously out of it all morning."

  I met Amy's blue-grey gaze. "You w-won't believe this…"

  "Try me."

  "Okay." I stared at the small slate-roofed cottages, at the more distant tower of St Martin's church (Dad's new workplace), at the dizzying roll of moor fading in to muzzy grey-green distance under the white spring sky. A lot of people would kill to live here. I just wished we were back at our old home. "Someone c-came to my window last nuh-night." That didn't even begin to cover it.

  "Your window? But…Em you're at, like, the top of the house."

  "I nuh know that. This p-person didn't need anything to stand on."

  "Oh." Amy nibbled her lower lip. "So it was like one of your non-alive type visitors?"

  "Believe m-me, if suh someone had tried to br-break in I'd have scr scr…called out. Why br-break in through the huh highest wuh window anyway?"

  "Good point," Amy said, deep in thought. Her eyes snapped in to focus on mine. "Wait, was it a man? Was that why you were so freaked out by what that bloke said?"

  "Nuh not a man." I swallowed, last night's revulsion creeping over me at the memory. "A g-g-girl."

  "I think you'd better tell me everything." Amy's tone was serious but there was a spark of excitement in her eyes. Oh she believed me alright. Secretly, I bet she even thought ballads about creepy murderers living wild on the moor were romantic. But this stuff wasn't cool. And this time it felt dangerous. I hesitated.

  Amy's face fell. "Guess you don't have to tell me if you don't want." She stuck her lower lip out.

  I rolled my eyes. I was such a sucker when it came to Amy. But then, who else was I going to tell? Haltingly, with many pauses as I untangled words, I told Amy everything. As we walked back to the vicarage, I felt the moor watching us.

  Waiting. Weighing us up. Choosing.