Skull in the Wood

by Sandra Greaves

  He shut up suddenly and picked up a petrol can from beside the straw bales. ‘Right. I’ll be going. I need to sort the tractor.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘The gabbleratchet? Wasn’t that what you said before? What is it? Tell me.’

  Gabe’s eyes slid away.

  ‘Best you don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe we’ll be spared. This time.’

  I was beginning to get annoyed now. Part of me wondered if he was hamming it up for my benefit. You know, let’s scare the townie for a laugh.

  ‘Sounds like rubbish to me,’ I said.

  Gabe looked thunderous. ‘You listen here now, boy,’ he said. ‘The harbingers – the birds – they’re sent out to test you. You might just be able to turn them back. But the gabbleratchet – that’s different. It’s a curse. If it comes, make sure you don’t look at it. Get away from it as quick as you can and forget you ever heard it. Because if you see it, a death follows close after.’

  ‘But what is it? How will I know not to look at it if you don’t tell me what it is?’

  He was silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.

  ‘Listen out for the geese,’ he said.

  My skin began to prickle. ‘What, the geese on the farm?’

  ‘Not them, boy. Wild geese, isn’t it? Whistling through the skies on stormy nights. That’s how it starts. Or so they say.’

  I made an effort to relax my shoulders again, but I couldn’t help thinking about the geese I’d seen over the tor on my first night here.

  ‘Geese, right,’ I said. ‘And then what?’

  Gabe just shook his head. ‘Like I said. Best you don’t know.’

  He glanced at me. I tried to hide how anxious I felt.

  ‘It’s no use smiling, boy,’ he said. ‘These things have a way of being true whether you believe in them or not.’

  10

  Tilda

  It had been lashing down all afternoon – the kind of freezing Dartmoor rain that doesn’t let up for hours. I lay on my bed listening to it hammering away on the corrugated iron of the tractor shed. I like the rain most of the time, but with any luck it would be driving Matt crazy.

  Last night I’d left the skull in its box and hidden it under my bed. I’d held off opening it up again, although I’d hardly stopped thinking about it ever since we found it. Now I got off the bed, took it out and placed it on my desk. It stared at me from hollow eye sockets. I was struck again by how beautiful and strange it was. I had to admit there was something kind of cruel about it, but that didn’t bother me – it was totally brilliant. And it belonged to me. After all, I’d figured out what it was. City boy didn’t have the faintest – left to himself he’d probably have thought it was a flamingo.

  The skull would look good on my dressing table, if I could make a space for it. I love stuff like that, stones and fossils and crystals. I’m always finding interesting things on the moor and bringing them back – feathers, owl pellets, adder skins. Once I even found a dead mole. That one didn’t last long. Mum made me bury it straight away, which wasn’t really fair, since it wasn’t like it was festering or anything – it was all soft and glossy. Dad says my room looks like the Natural History Museum, but that doesn’t bother me. I think it’s cool.

  I flopped back on my bed and gazed at my new find. There was no way I was sharing it with Matt. Why should I, when he just wanted to get his hands on everything we owned? He shouldn’t be here at all, not with the farm going up for sale whenever his mum says the word. It was horrible. He and his mother were going to ruin everything. They were going to take away everything that reminded me of my mum. And at some point I’d make sure Matt paid for that.

  I got up again and went across to the skull. The weird thing was that it seemed a bit different today. I’m sure I remembered it just being black towards its tip. Now most of the beak was black, and it felt somehow heavier than before. Obviously my mind was playing tricks on me.

  Anyway, I needed to get the supper on. I’d promised Dad we’d do it today as he was going to be busy. Matt was in his room – he’s good at avoiding work – but Kitty came down to the kitchen to keep me company.

  ‘Do you want to see my picture?’ she said, thrusting a drawing at me. As per usual it wasn’t very obvious what it might be. Some kind of crazily coloured animals, that much I could guess.

  ‘Are those our calves?’ I said, pointing at some black squiggles with four legs.

  ‘No, they’re dogs, silly,’ said Kitty. ‘And these green ones are birdies.’

  I congratulated her on her artistic ability and got her to set the table. I even let her pour honey all over the chicken drumsticks, which was a really bad idea because she refused to stop and nearly used up the whole jar. Oh, well. Supper would be extra sticky tonight. I didn’t suppose it would matter much.

  It was only when Dad came in from the fields with Jez, both of them soaked to the skin, that Matt finally showed up. He just expects to be fed – he doesn’t seem to realise that it has to be cooked first. It’s like he hasn’t even noticed that Mum’s not here any more. Anyway, Dad changed quickly, and we all sat down and tore into supper. Honey chicken, potatoes, carrots and broccoli. For a while there was nothing but contented chomping. Dad finally put his fork down and told me how good it was.

  ‘I helped,’ said Kitty.

  ‘And you’re a very good cook, too. There’s no stinting on the honey with you.’

  All through the chitter-chatter you could see Matt was squirming to say something. Finally he turned to Dad.

  ‘Uncle Jack, have you ever heard of the gabble ratchet?’

  I frowned. Wasn’t that the thing Gabe had mentioned? How come Matt suddenly knew all about it?

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ said Dad. I thought he’d leave it at that – he hasn’t been talking much to Matt, which is totally fair enough. But Dad can’t resist a story.

  ‘Do you know what it is?’ he said.

  To my annoyance, Matt had one up on me. He told us what Gabe had been spouting to him – that at the beginning it sounds like a load of geese flying over and honking. Big deal.

  ‘I seem to remember something about that legend,’ said Dad. ‘Geese turning into something else – and if you see it, hideous things will happen to you. Maybe the gabbleratchet’s another word for it.’ He glanced at Kitty. ‘OK, darling, you can get down now.’ He waited till she’d disappeared.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘From what I remember, the story they tell here is that wild geese are the devil’s servants. And when they change, they become a pack of demonic creatures charging across the moor. Hunting. Get in their way and you’re doomed.’

  Matt was silent for a moment. He takes all this supernatural stuff way too seriously. Then he started up again.

  ‘Old Scratch is another name for the devil, isn’t it? So has the gabbleratchet got anything to do with Old Scratch Wood?’

  Dad shrugged. ‘There are loads of places on Dartmoor with a connection to the devil. All I know is that anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in the path of these creatures would be cursed. They’d go home and find someone in their family had died. Or they’d be chased over a cliff and smashed to pieces. That’s what the folk tales say, anyway.’

  ‘You sound as bad as Gabe,’ I said, crossly. I don’t like it when Dad tries to scare me about the moor.

  None of us had noticed Kitty slip back in from the living room. Suddenly she made her presence felt.

  ‘Gabbleratchet,’ she said. ‘Gabbleratchet. Gabble ratchet. Gabbleratchet.’ She was shouting now. ‘Gabbleratchet! Gabbleratchet! Gabbleratchet!’ She started running in circles round the table, yelling and whooping.

  The word was pulsating in my ears. Kitty often gets over-excited about stuff, but this time it was freaking me out. Matt looked totally horrified, and even Dad seemed a bit pained.

  ‘Enough!’ I shouted. I grabbed her and held on. ‘Bedtime for you!’

  ‘Not going to bed,’ Kitty said, struggling.

  �
��Shush,’ I said. ‘No more arguments.’

  I frogmarched her upstairs, did her teeth and a quick wash and got her into her bunny pyjamas. I sat with her for a while, reading her favourite book, but she wasn’t really listening. Finally I put the light out.

  ‘Is the gabbleratchet coming, Tilda?’ she murmured.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Of course not. There’s no such thing.’

  I shut the door softly and crept away.

  When I came down again, Dad was sprawled in his usual place on the sofa and Matt was nowhere to be seen. Good, I thought. I’d been wanting to get Dad on his own – I really needed to talk to him. He gave me the perfect lead-in.

  ‘Is Matt behaving himself, then?’ he said. ‘Helping out a bit?’

  I laughed, but it came out more like a strangled cough that made Jez jump.

  ‘What do you think? Why do we have to have him, Dad?’

  He sighed. ‘You know perfectly well. Come on, Tilda, you do realise his family’s going through a really hard time, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, like we haven’t been? Not that Matt seems to have noticed.’

  Dad sat up and patted the spot next to him.

  ‘Darling, I know how difficult it’s been for you since your mum died. You’ve coped brilliantly. Sometimes I worry about how much you do round the house. And I know how much you miss her.’

  I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my eyes getting wet.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘Good girl. Anyway, with his dad away, I gather Matt’s finding it hard to adjust to the changes.’

  ‘You mean Aunty Caroline’s new boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes. Some banker type, apparently. Matt’s taking it badly. Just try to cut him a bit of slack. The boy’s suffering.’

  ‘Well, so what?’ I said. I felt all my pent-up fury rise to the surface like an ash cloud. ‘I don’t see why we should put up with him when he’s going to take the farm away from us. We don’t need anyone else here. We’re fine, just you, me and Kitty. We shouldn’t even be talking to him, let alone feeding him. It’s like offering your supper to a cannibal.’

  Dad turned and faced me.

  ‘You’ve got to get over this, Tilda,’ he said. ‘Matt’s your cousin. I know your mum and her sister didn’t always see eye to eye, with Caroline being such a city girl at heart. But Caroline can’t help the fact that she inherited half the farm and doesn’t care for farming. What would you expect your grandfather to do? Just give it to your mum? That would be like me leaving everything to Kitty and nothing to you. It wouldn’t be fair, would it?’

  I scowled. ‘Yeah, well, Aunty Caroline’s not much of a sister, is she?’

  ‘Tilda!’ Dad sounded really shocked. ‘Your mum loved her, even if they didn’t see each other that much. Just remember, this farm business isn’t Caroline’s fault. And it’s certainly not Matt’s. Anyway, you never know.’ He broke into a grin. ‘After a few days here he might find himself wanting to be a farmer. So stick with it, Tilda. It might all come out right in the end.’

  ‘Yeah, like that’ll happen,’ I said. ‘Matt hates the country. He hates everything about Dartmoor. And even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t share anything with him. I’d honestly rather the farm was sold.’

  Dad looked at me and frowned. I shut up. There was no point in going on at him, but I wasn’t giving up that easily. If Matt thought he was suffering now, he didn’t know the half of it. For some reason the skull floated into my head, and suddenly I knew how I could get back at him. And this was a whole lot better than a stupid werewolf mask.

  I trailed back upstairs to my room. This time I knew I wasn’t imagining it. The curlew skull was definitely different – the beak was nearly all black. It wasn’t as long as I remembered either – somehow it looked wider, blunter. It must be some weird microbe thing going on.

  I was just about to pick it up when my bedroom door opened. Matt pushed it wide and came straight in without even knocking.

  ‘Let’s have a look at it, then,’ he said. ‘I knew you had it in here.’

  ‘What are you doing in my room?’ I said. ‘It’s private!’

  ‘Yeah, well, we both found the skull, so it belongs to both of us,’ said Matt.

  ‘I found it! Just get out!’ I was furious. And for some reason I didn’t want him touching the skull. I picked it up and held it tight.

  ‘Keep your hair on. You could try being nice. After all, we are family.’

  ‘Some family,’ I said. I could feel my blood rushing to my head. I knew I was shouting, but I couldn’t stop. ‘You’re going to break up everything that Mum and Dad worked for here. You and your precious mum.’

  Matt gaped at me.

  ‘It’s not like she needs her part of the farm anyway. And now she’s got this rich banker boyfriend, too, so she needs it even less. Hey, maybe they’ll sell your house and buy a great big new one together and you’ll have to leave your school and all your friends. Just like I will if we lose the farm.’

  I’d really riled him now. I figured I might as well put the final nail in the coffin. The thing that had come to me when Dad was telling me off. The one thing that was really going to hurt him.

  ‘Or maybe they’ll send you away, so they can be alone together. Because now she’s found Paul, your mum won’t want you any more, Matt. Just like your dad doesn’t.’

  Matt’s mouth had fallen open. He took a step towards me, clenching his fists.

  ‘Just stop it,’ he said. It came out fierce and cold. ‘Just stop it now. You’re a nasty, jealous, evil . . .’

  Matt’s chest rose and fell. I was sure that he wanted to hit me and was only just managing to hold himself back. I felt the air go out of me.

  ‘Don’t you ever talk about my mother again, do you hear?’ he said. His words were like hammer blows. ‘I mean it. Or else.’

  He stormed out and banged the door after him. I picked up the skull and held it in my palm. My hand was shaking, but only a bit, and the skull was satisfyingly heavy. Matt could rant all he liked. I didn’t care.

  11

  Matt

  I slept in really late the next day. Tilda didn’t bother waking me up. Good thing, too – I was still seething from last night, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. I’d had enough now – there was no way I was going to spend another day under the same roof as my cousin. I just couldn’t believe she’d come out with that about Mum. If she was a boy I’d have thumped her there and then. I had to get out of here before I exploded.

  Her and her stupid farm. If it was up to me, I’d sell the whole thing tomorrow.

  And it wasn’t just about Tilda. Gabe’s mad warnings about curses and animals going weird had really got to me. I was so jumpy now that I’d started imagining all sorts of crazy things. I wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of going home, though. Paul would be all over me like a rash, thinking I’d forgiven him and that everything was suddenly sweetness and light. I wasn’t putting myself through that. Anyway, it was all because of him and Mum that I’d come to this hole in the first place. It would serve them right if I didn’t come back at all.

  I stuffed my things into my bag. It took about three seconds flat as I didn’t bother to fold anything. I took down Dad’s burgee last and threw that in, too. Then I opened my bedroom door a fraction. Not a sound. The coast was clear.

  As quietly as I could, I crept across the corridor to Tilda’s room and stood outside, listening. I eased the door open. No one there. The skull was sitting on her dressing table, looking stranger than ever. I could even see its metal box on top of an untidy pile of clothes beside her bed. Perfect. I took a deep breath, then went in and grabbed it, packing it away inside the box. I didn’t know why I was taking it with me – it wasn’t as if I even liked the thing. In fact I found it sort of repulsive. But Tilda was in love with it. That would teach her.

  It wasn’t till I got to the farm gate that I started breathing normally. No one had even noticed that I’d g
one. And let’s face it, if Tilda had spotted me with my luggage, she’d probably be halfway through a victory dance before I reached the front door.

  I went down the farm track, skirting Long Field and hoping I wouldn’t meet Uncle Jack. But no one appeared. The sheep over in Far Field all looked happy enough today, but I knew now what the whole nature thing was really like.

  I had a rough idea which way Widecombe was, and I figured I could pick up a bus from there, or failing that, a taxi or a lift, or anything that was going, so long as it would take me off the moor. It was well past three now and I hoped I wasn’t too late. But something would turn up, I was sure.

  I turned right at the end of the farm track where we’d crossed over on to the moor yesterday. Dry stone walls ran along the road on either side, and beyond them, fields dotted with more sheep. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and clearing my mind of all its nagging thoughts. Left. Right. Left. Right. Nothing else mattered. I hoped I’d be able to find the way. No signposts, of course. That would obviously be far too much to expect out here in the land that time forgot. There wasn’t any traffic either. Just the grey sky and the fields stretching out, and beyond them the brown moorland with its scattered fingers of tors.

  In minutes I was a bit calmer. There was something about just being on my own and taking it all in through my eyes and my lungs that made me feel – I don’t know – sort of at one with my surroundings. Hey, steady on, I thought. You don’t want to start acting like some country bumpkin just when you’re getting out of here. That would be really sad. Think of something else. All the tube stations on the Piccadilly line, for starters.

  I was only at King’s Cross when I heard my name being called. I looked up and felt my chest go tight. It was Gabe, and he was rushing down the road towards me.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going now, Matt Crimmond?’ he shouted.

  I stopped dead and waited till he reached me. This time I wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ I said.

  Gabe didn’t seem to take offence.