I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1)

by J. A. Ironside

  I was back in my attic, pacing up and down, boards creaking underfoot. Find the book. The trouble was I had a gut certainty that I wouldn't find the book because someone else had disposed of it. Someone who didn't want me any closer to solving the mystery. I'd lost an important clue. And it was one of Mum's books. The one we would never read together. Dull anger fought with hopelessness. I couldn't control the dreams. I didn't know how to talk to Helen. Or how to find a way to break the Pattern.

  I kept glancing up at the gap on top shelf. Like finding a missing tooth and worrying at the space constantly with your tongue. There were connections and clues that I kept missing…Maybe Amy did borrow it. It was unlikely she'd take it without asking but possible. I would ask her when she got home. Or Grace. I scowled. Even more unlikely but I should probably check to see if she was back yet at least. I kicked the shoebox full of newspaper cuttings under the bed — Mrs Cranford had insisted on giving it to me — and went to see.

  Grace wasn't in her room but the door was ajar. I went all the way in this time. Her bed was unmade. I shouldn't be in here prying but I couldn't resist a quick look around to see if she'd taken the book for some reason. If she had, she'd hidden it well. I couldn't imagine Grace taking it anyway. She was more of a biographies and real-life-stories reader. If she found me here though, there would be hell to pay if she found me here though. I perched on the edge of Grace's bed. Hell to pay. I laughed softly, without humour. As I got up to go, a snatch of paper under the bed caught my eye. I pulled it out and unfolded it. A flier of some kind with one torn corner as if it had been hastily ripped down from a notice board. In my mind’s eye I saw again a slim, white hand reaching up to the church bulletin board and flash of corn-coloured hair. Maybe it had been Grace that day in church?

  I hadn't tested Mrs Cranford's theory about reading yet. No time like the present. I flipped the paper over. There weren’t many words – most of the flier was taken up with a black and white picture – but they were a meaningless jumble.

  No don't just accept that, pick a line and work through it.

  I scanned the few sentences. "February 27th near East Faire and… Ridhun?" No that wasn't quite right. There was a word before that last one. But I could see they were words now. I felt a rising thrill of excitement. If I worked at it, I could get some of my ability this back. Okay, so I wasn't ready for Tolstoy yet but… I could go back to school. Maybe…maybe if I worked really hard I could do other auditions. Build a music CV. Maybe I could study music professionally after all. I wouldn't be good enough for the Royal College but if I could just go somewhere…My hand floated back to my lap as I disappeared into daydreams. The A4 sheet fell to the floor, flipping over before it landed.

  I didn't understand the thrill of horror to start with. My eyes had zeroed in on the picture, while my mind was happily contemplating escapes I thought were lost forever. Then my brain caught up.

  Haze.

  I snatched up the flier, flipping it back to the picture. A smiling young man astride a motorbike, wearing jeans and a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. His expression was one of open friendliness. His hair was light, maybe dark blonde or brown, not black. His skin was much lighter, not the swarthy olive-brown I'd seen. Even in the grainy black and white copy of the photograph, I could tell his eyes were light. Blue or grey. Not black and fathomless. It wasn’t just any old flier. It was a plea for help. There was phone number to call and a police code. I knew I would not be calling that number. A single word swam up from the text like a terrible fish.

  Missing.

  It wasn't Haze in the picture. It was the body Haze was now wearing.

  I dug around under my bed for the shoe box full of cuttings, with no memory of leaving Grace's room and returning to mine. My outstretched fingers brushed a cardboard corner. There! I up-ended the box on my duvet and pawed through the contents. I would know what I was searching for when I found it.

  Start with dates, you can read that much. I sorted the clippings into date order. The oldest dated back to 1921. I estimated that to be a good few years before Mrs Cranford was born. Most likely copies of old broadsheets she had acquired. There were a few sparse offerings from the years between up until 1943 when there was a clipping of a missing or dead girl for almost every year that came after. Sometimes more than one girl. The most recent cutting was dated 10th June 1984. Words and names danced under my eyes. Enough to piece a few things together.

  I counted the clippings. Once. Twice. Nearly forty girls. All found on the moor, if they were found at all. All of them thin, malnourished, bruised and freezing cold to the touch. All with throat or neck trauma. Some had been found bloodless as well, though it took half an hour of struggling over the word 'exsanguinated' to work that out. I'd need to check with someone who could read better than I could but despite the very recent return of that ability, I was sure I had the main details correct.

  I sat back stunned. All of those girls…why had nothing been done? Amy's macabre interest in gory details meant that I knew all about the Yorkshire ripper. He had killed thirteen women and attempted to kill seven others over a fifteen year period. There had been a huge man hunt. Here were thirty-eight girls missing or dead in similar circumstances, over a much longer period and aside from a few newspaper articles what had been done? How many others had died before 1921? If this went back to Kate's death in 1789, then there might be hundreds never found or reported as missing. Did no one think it was strange?

  Maybe it had happened for so long, that it was accepted as part of the local folklore. Wander on the moor after nightfall and the Dark Man will take you. I remembered the man in the shop warning Amy and me, and shuddered.

  I felt the weight of the sky over Arncliffe in its cup on the moor. A living space. A vast animal intelligence that knew things. We were smaller than fleas on its back. Or maybe bees, pollinating and perpetuating it. And all the while the shadows of past death trickled steadily into the cup, feeding the Pattern. Maybe feeding Haze. Where was Grace now? How long did I have before she never came back at all?

  Numb and foggy, I put the cuttings away. My fingers paused on the flier of the missing boy I'd taken from Grace's room. This was how he did it. The Dark man, Haze, Robbie — whatever his real name was. I wondered if anyone had ever bothered to count up missing young men. He used them to lure the girls to him. He wore their flesh and compelled them. It all made a dreadful kind of sense. Haze was the watcher on the Moor. The Dark Man. Helen's orphan boy.

  What had happened to make him such a monster?

  I had to stop Grace seeing him. I shoved the shoe box back under my bed. I needed a fresh pair of eyes. Ciarán maybe? Though Dad would freak out if I brought him up here. And I cringed away from the idea of getting any closer to Ciarán. Grace first though. I was going to have to look for her.

  I was about to dodge around the cold spot when I paused. I could almost see it, a frosty sphere hanging above the stair. Maybe what I needed was an old pair of eyes, not a fresh pair. If anyone knew where to find Haze, it would be Helen. And Grace would be with him. I gave it no more thought than that.

  "Helen, if you care at all about ending this, about being free, help me…" I took a deep breath and stepped into the biting cold. This time I didn't fight. I surrendered. Let myself drift…

 

  Emily Lynette is tucked away inside. A passenger, frightened at how quickly this has worked. I ignore her. Foolish child. She doesn't understand what real darkness is yet. Unlike that other Emily. She was fascinated by shadows. Her with her book. All that terrible violence writ down for any sordid soul to see. She were braver than this one though.

  I put them both from my thoughts.

  I continue down the stairs, where I had paused to eavesdrop. I knew now where Kate was going. I could find her easy enough. How I'm to fetch her back though, I don't know. That girl has no care for anyone save Him. I feel a wave of spite. How would it be to strike at her where it would make an impression? She'd long since l
earnt not to strike at me anymore. I'd stopped that, right enough.

  But I wanted more. I want her tamed and brought to harness like the rest of her sex. Like I was, with my endless round of tasks from morning ’til noon ’til night. There would be none who came a-courting me. I had no doubt on that. Though seeing what love did to a person didn't endear the prospect to me. No, better I remain plain, competent Helen. Not a man's wife. If I could be only sure of a continued comfortable life, I would bide. And I would watch.

  At the orchard door I catch little Ada hanging on the frame, gazing with huge eyes toward the moor.

  "Has Mrs Brampton no task for you?" My sharp tone makes her jump.

  "Oh. Helen. I was to collect the eggs…" she twists her small reddened hands together.

  "Be about it then. Go on!" I shooed her, when it seems she will linger still. "And stop your moon-calf gazing after what's no good for you. Nor to any man nor beast!"

  "I can look!" Ada mutters rebelliously.

  "Not when you've chores as need doing. You're a foolish child. You'd be safer making eyes at the devil himself!"

  "Oh, I know how you've always hated him. He said as much…ow!" She claps a hand to the side of her head where I cuffed her. Her fair hair is spilling out of her cap.

  "When did you speak with him?" I'm ready to cuff her again in fright. What has the little minx been saying to him? I seize her wrist and twist it. Tears spring into her eyes.

  "Wuh when he was here with Miss Weston. Muh Monday last!" Ada sobs.

  I let go of her wrist and she cradles it to her chest.

  "You listen to me, Ada lass. That lad is nought but trouble. Far worse trouble than you can imagine. Miss Weston would have your hide off you if she knew you were making up to him."

  "I shall tell Mrs Brampton you struck me!" Ada still sobs, the tiresome girl.

  "When you do, tell her why. She'll no doubt have great interest in why her kitchen wench, who’s not yet seen twelve years even, is making up to the gypsy lad!" Ada scrunches up her face and I nod once. She'll say nothing. Best a few sharp blows from me than have her fall to whatever game He's playing.

  "Be off for those eggs now." I leave Ada scrambling for her basket, still sobbing. I walk with purpose across the moor. Kate has a good half an hour start on me but I know where they meet. There's an overhang of limestone that forms a broad shelf; shelter for those underneath, against rain and wind. I pull my shawl tight and set my teeth. There's a way to approach from above, concealed in gorse. I need to know if it's as bad as I reckon on.

  I crouch silent among the thorns. The wind is light today. I will hear everything. I edge out further above the den. Kate stands in the heather. Her locks shine in the sun like banked embers. She holds out her arms and spins and spins, laughing. Her loose hair flies around her. Unseemly. I take in her bare, dirty feet and stained rust-wool gown in disdain. But part of me watches wistful too. It is hard not to admire someone who refuses to be chained. It is hard not to wish for such a free and vital spirit for myself.

  I rarely see a true smile on her face anymore. She is sarcastic, though wickedness still provokes her to laughter. Now she is transformed with joy. It is easy to see why she is a local favourite, beautiful as she is. He emerges from their shallow cave, and her joy quietens and intensifies. His grubby white shirt billows as the breeze freshens. His large hands are in her hair and at her waist, drawing her in as if she is water or air and he will die of deprivation without her. He covers her smiling mouth with his own.

  I cannot look away. I wish I had not followed, not seen. It is as bad as I fear and worse. She is a month shy of sixteen. Two years my junior. If unchecked this will ruin her. As for him, Robbie the handy-woman calls him, though I know his real name is different, his love is fierce, cruel. There are fresh bruises faint on her flushing cheeks and neck when they break apart. Only her grip on him equals his, for ferocity. This cannot be real love. This is some devilment. Only who is the devil?

  Kate is capable of mischief, ill temper, even wickedness. That dark gypsy lad is capable of cruelties no one sane would guess at. I shudder, recalling a time I did watch him. The snap and pop of the newly hatched chicks necks as he casually twisted them. One he had crushed into fluffy pulp in his huge hand. No this must not go on. I screw up my courage thinking of what I must do. I must speak to Reverend Weston.

  There's nudging in my mind… my passenger… I'm being swept back… The image flickers and changes before me. Skirts melt into immodest male clothing. A strange metallic horse leans nearby. It's them. Kate. And Robbie… Har…

  …I shoved Helen away. Crouched in the gorse, scratched and panting. My hair tangled and falling into my eyes. I had done it this time. I was out on the moor with only Helen's memory for how I got here.

  And Grace was below with Haze. He was cupping her face and tilting it up. For a moment his expression shifted and there was so much pain and longing in it my throat ached. How could anyone suffer so long and still keep hoping…

  Idiot! He's not even human anymore. Look at him. Look at what he's doing to your sister! Grace's hair glowed like embers, chestnut curls streaming in the breeze. Her skin was blue-white and her eyes were shut as he crushed his mouth down on hers again. The anguish I'd seen in him a moment ago was gone. There was no tenderness in the embrace. Only a vast gulf of frustrated passion. A fierce hunger that I no longer believed anything could sate. Blood appeared, shockingly red on Grace's white cheek. Thread-thin rivulets that dripped from their joined mouths into the heather. I wanted to scream, to throw up, to run. Anything to drive the image from my mind.

  Get out of here. It was the best option. I'd found Grace but I had no idea how to get her away from Haze. He was powerful, hundreds of years old, wearing someone else's body… I shuddered, small and dirty and almost completely helpless. I was afraid but that wasn't the only reason for leaving. While it seemed that Grace was his, Haze wouldn't harm her. He needed her. If I stumbled in on them, I might force his hand. Why didn't I think this through before I dived into the cold spot? I gritted my teeth and eased backwards away from the edge of the overhang. There was a small path to one side, or at least the undergrowth was beaten down there. It wouldn't be safe to use but I had to pass it to get to the cover of further gorse bushes.

  I tried to sneak by, but I was hampered by the ghostly memory of long skirts and petticoats I was no longer wearing. At the neck of the path, I tripped and crashed through the bushes, sliding on my backside to an ungainly halt at Haze and Grace's feet. They both snapped their heads round to look at me, their expressions alien. Haze's dark eyes were full of malevolent amusement. His mouth hooked in a cruel smile. Grace didn't recognise me at all, then her expression shifted to a familiar one of scorn. Blood still trickled from the side of her mouth. Her lips were looked swollen and there were faint bruises on her throat and cheek. She looked as though she didn't really fit in her own skin anymore.

  I couldn't think. Haze scratched at my mind trying to get in. Shadows crept closer, oozing like oil over the ground. Searching for cracks. I had to be strong. Mustn't let him see how afraid I was. I had to get Grace away. Her face… it frightened me almost more than Haze did. I scrambled to my feet, swallowing hard against the sour taste in my mouth.

  "G-Grace, it's tuh time to go h-home." I kept my chin high. No way was I letting Haze know how hard it was to keep him out of my mind. Beads of sweat prickled at my temples. "We have to guh go now." I felt Haze's eyes burning into me. I took two slow steps towards Grace, recoiling at the thought of getting closer to Haze.

  "Gremlin? What the hell are you doing here?" She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth absently. She didn't notice the streak of blood that striped her hand. His or hers? "Are you spying on me?" She sounded more like my sister with every word. I was too relieved to be annoyed. Grace was still in there. I just had to reach her.

  "Duh does the whole moor belong to y-you now?" I forced my eyes to rake slowly over Haze, eyebrows arched in scorn. "
Duh don't think much of your t-taste." I put all the disgust I could muster into my tone. Helen's memories were still strong. All of her contempt for Robbie's birth helped me now. I met Haze's eyes and felt a giddy rush of adrenaline. Terror made me reckless. I ignored the cold. I shoved back at the shadows. If there was one part of Grace I could still reach it was her vanity, her confidence in her own appeal. And no one could irritate her like I could.

  "W-when did you st-start fancying a bit of rough then? Th-thought s-sophisticated and well-groomed was more your th-thing." I twisted my mouth into a sneer.

  Rage blazed across Haze's face. His stolen face. I shivered. And I thought I was only pissing off Grace. Too late now. I went for the coup-de-grace. "Guh guess you're n-not interested in Ciarán after all. Not that you kuh could have him, even if you did w-want him." If only. No this was more important.

  "What?! What did you say?" Grace screeched.

  I looked Haze up and down ostentatious with my distain. His hands curled into fists. I tried not to think of those hands digging into the soft flesh of a girl's throat…

  "Just who the hell do you think you are, Gremlin?" Fury sparkled in Grace's eyes. "You think anyone would prefer you over me? That Ciarán would?!"

  No not really.

  "D-definitely." I shrugged and started to turn away. "Can't have them buh both." I wasn't sure why I tossed that behind me. It felt more like something Helen would say than me. No time for analysis. Grace seized my shoulders and whirled me to face her.

  "Don't you tell me what and who I can't have!"

  Her breath was sour in my face. I'd never noticed how white and sharp her teeth were before. "Don't you ever tell me any thing! No one tells me what to do!"

  Everything was spinning out of control. Kate's feelings and thoughts, Grace's voice and words. Both of them. They were both here. Strands of copper in her chestnut hair. Acrid spite in her dark brown eyes… brown… Grace's eyes were blue. I stared at her in horror. Kate was inside Grace. Wearing her like a gown. That's how Haze had been trying to bring Kate back. And that's how he killed all the others.

  But Kate wasn't in control. Not yet. It might not be too late. Please don't let it be too late. I just had to say the right thing, get Grace to follow me…

  "You c-can't have Ciarán. I buh beat you…" I gasped. My shoulders burned where Grace's hands gripped me. Blue-white electricity played over her hands and through me. I wanted to throw-up with pain. I forced myself to concentrate on the clear, glassy shield around my mind until the pain receded. There was a flickering around Grace again. I could felt it tugging at my sister, pulling her back towards Haze. Grace was too angry with me to obey the pull. Her eyes seemed lightened in colour. She was fighting. Finally…

  "Fine." The flickering died and settled into Grace's skin. She smiled with malice. "We'll just go and ask Ciarán, then, shall we?"

  I yelped as she seized my hand. Her skin was so cold it burned and electricity flickered over our linked hands. Biting my lip, I held on as she yanked me after her. Away from Haze. That was what mattered, right?

  I hadn't won.

  A single backward glance over my shoulder sent a tremor of fear through me. Haze didn't try to follow or stop us. His gaze was intent, focused. On me. There was no amusement left in it anymore. He looked straight into me and promised murder without saying a word.