by Janis Mackay
“Sorry guys,” Robbie said.
“That was the best fun,” Will said. Then the doors slammed and they were off. Vroooom! I suddenly felt embarrassed standing in the empty car park with two girls.
“It is dark,” Agatha said, looking around her.
“And it’s freezing,” Agnes said, blowing into her bare hands.
After the buzz of the sledging it seemed eerily quiet. “Thanks for inviting me,” Agnes said. She was looking around the car park like she was nervous about something. “I better go now.”
She started to head off when suddenly this voice called out, “Agnes? Agnes? Is that you?” Next thing heavy footsteps ran towards us. Then out of the shadows the dark figure of a man appeared. “Agnes,” the man said, anxiously, “I’ve been looking for you.” I couldn’t believe it. It was the grungy man who played the fiddle in the street. This was Agnes’s dad.
She seemed flustered. She was looking from us to him. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, “I should have told you where I was. But it’s alright,” and then they were gone, hurrying away and swallowed up into the dark.
“He was once a great musician,” Agatha said.
“Is that what Agnes told you?”
Agatha nodded.
“It was his tune, you know?” I said.
Agatha lifted an eyebrow. “Tune?”
“That old song I was humming. You know, in the failed time-travel experiment?”
“It was a perfect song. It was not on account of the song that I failed to make the journey. I did tell you Saul. It is the gold.” She marched off and I followed her. If she was heading back to the den, she was heading the wrong way.
“Where are you going?”
“Pisa.”
I jerked my thumb in the opposite direction. Agatha laughed, though more of a hopeless laugh than a happy one. “So much has changed,” she said, “even the very streets. Here you know, was the prison.”
She was pointing to a café at the edge of the car park. I shuddered, picturing convicts grasping at bars. “Want me to walk back with you?” I said, not really wanting to. The bad thing about midwinter was that by six o’clock it was like the middle of the night.
“I would be most grateful,” she said, “for alone I may wander forever.”
***
Once we got up onto the brightly lit High Street, it didn’t feel so gloomy anymore. I slowed down and tried to shake off the mood Crow had put me in. A bunch of carol singers were standing next to the Christmas tree, singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’, or whatever he’s called. And beside the carol singers someone had a stall with hot mince pies.
I saw Agatha’s nose twitch. “It reminds me of dumpling,” she said, tugging at my sleeve for me to stop. “When we kept a cook she made a braw clootie dumpling. Now cook is gone I do my best. But pray Saul, why all this singing on the street? Is it market day?”
“It’s for Christmas of course.”
“Christmas?”
I couldn’t believe she didn’t know about Christmas. It wasn’t what you’d call a new invention, was it? Like, the baby Jesus was born two thousand years ago. Surely Agatha Black knew that? “You know,” I said, “presents and Santa, and Christmas dinner – turkey and Brussels sprouts. And decorations, and a stocking at the end of your bed. I’ve seen two new DVDs in Mum’s cupboard, so I know I’m getting them. You must know about Christmas?”
“Turkey I know. Mr Balfour by the river keeps turkeys. I feed them sometimes. I love turkeys. I love the handsome bublyjocks and I do know of Christmas. We do sing a song for Christmas. Nothing more.”
“Christmas is the best day ever,” I told her. By this time the singers had moved on to ‘Feed the World’. “Yeah, you can wish for whatever you want and you’ll get it at Christmas.” I tried to sound hopeful. Mum was dropping enough hints for me to guess I probably wasn’t getting a BMX. The DVDs were probably going to be the main event.
“I wish for home. I know I complained of Dick and I know the vagabonds do steal and are foul and I know Uncle grows weary of hapless Father. But he loves him really. He gives us his shillings. And Father loves me dearly. I miss my home, and my monkey will miss me right sore. Oh, and dear Father will be distraught with me gone.” She wrung her hands together. “Oh, Saul, when all’s said and done, home is home.”
I pulled Agatha away from the carol singers. She was working herself up into a right state and some of them were beginning to give her funny looks. She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Then she patted me on the arm. “I know I can trust you. All I need is gold.”
“Search me,” I said, patting my pockets. “I haven’t got any gold. And my parents are not well off. That’s what they always say. They haven’t got gold kicking around.”
“I need gold,” she insisted, “else I will be forever lost.” She turned and marched off along the High Street.
“Hey!” I ran and caught her up. “What do you want me to do? Rob a bank?”
She shook her head. “I am sorry indeed to put yea to this fuss, Saul. I amna asking you to steal gold. It would be a sin to be a robber. I will never ask yea to sin.”
“Let’s get a move on,” I said. We hurried along the snowy street and up past the launderette, not saying any more about gold and Christmas, or anything. By the time we had reached the wasteland, a freezing fog was starting to roll in. It felt gloomy, and really cold. All the fizz and excitement of this adventure had gone.
The fog was so thick now we wandered about, looking for the hedge. We stumbled over the snow with our arms stuck out like we were playing blind man’s bluff. We kept bumping into each other. This was scary movie weather and my heart was thumping. Why did I keep thinking of hangings and body snatchers? I am the gang leader, I kept reminding myself. Gang leaders are brave. I never felt less brave in my life.
I let out a yell. Something scratched my face. I jumped back. Then realised it was the prickly leaves of the holly hedge. We were close to the den. At the same time I could hear something. I felt my blood run cold. It sounded like somebody coughing.
“We have arrived at the Holland hedge that takes us through,” Agatha said.
“Be quiet!” I hissed. With my heart banging I strained my ears. Had I imagined a coughing sound? I couldn’t hear it now. Everything was quiet except my kicking heart. “Ok,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from trembling. I reached out my hands, fumbling to find the gap in the hedge. “Let’s go.”
With Agatha still clinging to my scarf we wriggled through the gap and came into the hidden wild garden. The freezing fog was so thick, by this time I could hardly see my feet. I took small steps in the direction of where I thought the den was. Agatha shuffled behind me. I took another few steps, bumped up against the den and Agatha bumped up against my back.
“Ouch! I am here,” she whispered. “What…” She stopped dead and gripped my arm. The coughing noise, just inches away, sounded again. I turned rigid with fright. Somebody was in the den.
24
A white strip of light swung around inside the den. Someone was in there with a torch. My heart galloped like a bolting horse. The hacking cough came again. My face was pressed up against the side of the shed. Let it not be Crow. Let it be an old tramp. Or Will. Or Robbie.
I couldn’t blink, couldn’t run away. I felt frozen with fear. I couldn’t see anything. All I could hear was the booming of my heart. Then I heard a voice. “Kinda creepy in here, Crow, eh? Good for me you’re here.” I knew that voice. It was Kyle, one of Crow’s slaves. He was the one coughing. I slunk down behind the door, pulling Agatha down too. My mind raced. Now what?
Telepathy would come in handy. I pressed a finger to my lips, hoping like mad Agatha understood. She clamped her mouth shut. Frantically I pointed to the door. Agatha nodded, then folded her hands together like she was praying.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. The thing I’d worried about for months had come true. Crow had discovered the den and, even worse, he
was in it. Maybe he followed the footprints? He’d roped in a bit of company. I held my breath and listened.
“Kinda creepy, Crow, eh? Like, hey, really creepy.” Kyle had another coughing fit.
Probably Crow had seen Agatha’s dress, and the ewok. Probably he’d ripped the ears off Fred and read our graffiti names on the back of the door. My heart was thumping. What was he up to?
Kyle was still mumbling on, “Yeah, Crow, like, seriously spooksville, Crow, eh?”
Then I heard a rustle in the den. Footsteps scuffed over the dirt floor.
“Shut up Kyle.” That was Crow. I saw the torch beam lurch. Someone was heading for the door. Crow probably. The beam of torch light swayed like a drunk.
I didn’t move. I heard the doorknob creak. Agatha looked like she was still praying. The door opened. I slunk down, trying to disappear into the shadows. Agatha was as still as a stone.
The torch beam swung out into the fog. For a second everything was silent. I could hear Crow breathe. Then a heavy footstep crunched down right next to me. The light glared into my face. I blinked but didn’t move.
“Hey, look who’s here? Check that, Kyle? It’s the wee gang chief. Snooping round all on his lonesome in the dark, eh? Come to visit my den. Ha!”
A scream clamoured through my brain. Aaaagh! Help!
“Hey, wee gang chief.” Crow bent close. I could smell the smoke on his breath. I had my eyes closed but could see the glare of the torch through my eyelids. “You can make a choice,” he growled. “Yeah, seeing as how it’s nearly Christmas, me and Kyley-boy here’s gonna be generous. Cause we’re good like that, ain’t we, Kyley-boy?”
“Yeah, too right, Crow,” Kyle said, “we’re really nice.”
“Yeah, nice, that’s right, see. Me and Kyley-boy here could heat up the place a bit.” Crow laughed. “One match and this wonky place is history. Or…,” he paused, “we could tie you to a tree and leave you to spend a night in ghostville. Wooo-ooo!” Kyle laughed hysterically. “Or I could be super nice and just let you go home to Mummy, then this shed’s mine and if you ever come back here I’ll break every window in your silly wee house. Make a choice, nerd.”
I was still crouched down by the side of the shed. I felt the toe of Crow’s boot nudge me in the ribs. I gasped. His choices ran round my head. They hadn’t spotted Agatha beyond me. So if Crow did tie me up, Agatha could untie me. That way I’d get to keep the den. He flicked a lighter and a spark shot up. “Hope you’re thinking fast, big chief. Bonfire? Night in the dark? Or I take over?” He laughed that horrible, mean laugh. “What’s it to be?”
Then something happened to me. I felt this weird shift inside. It was like that blue clenched fist in my gut opened, and turned hot and red. How dare Crow come here? How dare he?
I shot a look up. With the torch on his face Crow looked evil. Kyle was tucked in behind him somewhere. Quickly I rolled my eyes to the side. Agatha had completely disappeared. I don’t know how, but she’d managed to wriggle away. So I took a risk. Agatha would help me. I knew she would.
“So you two know about this place being haunted?” I was still crouched down but my voice came out steady.
“You and the ghosts together, all night long. Wooooooo!” Crow laughed again. “If you don’t die of fright, you’ll die of the cold, in’t that right, Kyley-boy?”
But Kyley-boy just whimpered.
“I can’t believe you dared to come here on your own.” What was I saying? It was like all my fear had switched into courage. I wasn’t even twelve yet. Crow was fourteen. But I hated feeling scared like that. All the months I’d felt scared of Crow, all the times I’d crossed over the road, or hid, just to avoid him – I was sick of it. “Yeah,” I went on, lifting myself up a bit, “the ghosts here know me. They protect me. But they don’t know you. They won’t be too happy being disturbed. They’re used to me. We have an understanding.”
Crow laughed again, but there was something in his laugh that was unsure. I could hear it. Good old Agatha must have heard it too. Just at that moment there was a scratching sound behind Crow and Kyle in the den, like someone rubbing two stones together. She must have sneaked in as the boys came out.
“That’s one of them,” I said. “It’s the ghost of the old man who lived in the big house here. It sounds like he’s in the den. He looks after me, that one.”
Agatha made a horrible squeaky noise. She was a better actor than I’d expected. She sounded like a pig being strangled. If I didn’t know it was her, I’d be petrified, but by this time I was beginning to enjoy myself. I got to my feet.
“What do you think he’s saying?” I asked.
Crow’s face didn’t look too happy. He stepped back, stood on Kyle’s foot and Kyle yelped. Inside the den there was a louder squeal.
I planted my hands on my hips, like I was some cowboy in a film, “That ghost hates the kind of person who’d threaten a kid,” I said pointing into the den. “Yeah, he told me he was bullied when he was young. That was two hundred years ago. But now he’s dead, he’s got nothing to fear, does he? If he meets a bully, he takes his revenge.” Crow seemed to be shrinking before my eyes. Kyle was whimpering like a dog and clutching onto Crow’s elbow, trying to pull him away. “But we can do a deal,” I said. “If you leave now, I’ll tell the ghost not to come after you and haunt your dreams. He’s not sounding too happy.” It was true: the next screech from inside the den was even more desperate. “I’d leave quick if I was you.”
“Yeah,” cried Kyle. “Come on, Crow, let’s split.”
Crow grunted and pushed Kyle away. “It’s your wee side-kicks,” he shouted, banging the shed door back with his foot. He spun round and flashed his torch into the den. “That’s what it–”
He screamed – screamed like something was choking him. He must have seen something horrifying. He staggered back like he was going to fall, but righted himself, swung round and bolted away, with Kyle trying to clutch hold of him.
I heard them both yell as they scrambled through the gap in the hedge. I watched the torch beam jerk up and down as they fled over the snow-covered wasteland, howling into the distance. I watched until the little light was gone, swallowed up in the fog.
My knees buckled. The awful squeals had stopped. I slid down the side of the shed to the ground and started shaking. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I’d got away with it. Crow would never bully me again, and he’d never come back to the den, and it wasn’t set on fire, and I wasn’t tied to a tree, and I wasn’t mincemeat.
“Good j-job Agatha,” I stammered. My teeth wouldn’t stay still. “N-n-nice one!” Agatha didn’t appear. “You can c-c-come out now, Agatha,” I called, “they’ve r-r-run away.”
She didn’t come out. I got to my feet. My legs were like jelly. I took a step, then another one and reached the door. It was still flung right back. “Agatha?” My voice echoed eerily around the dark den. I forced myself to look into the shed but didn’t have a torch, so couldn’t see a thing. “Agatha?” I said it louder this time. The shed door creaked. I broke out in a cold sweat.
Agatha had gone.
25
I heard a rustling close by.
“What amusement!” I swung round. I couldn’t see a thing but it was Agatha’s voice. “If only girls were permitted to join a travelling theatre show.”
But I still couldn’t see her. “Where are you?” It was dark. It was foggy. I heard light footsteps crunch into the snow. I swung round the other way. “Good job, Agatha.” It was creepy hearing her but not seeing her. “Don’t freak me out. Where are you?”
The rustling sound was right next to me. It was like I was standing next to a tree. Suddenly all the dark branches fell to the ground and there she was: underneath. “Ha-ha!” she laughed. “What fun! I am a yew tree! Or, I was.”
I gaped at her. She was now standing right next to me, close enough for me to see her twitching little button nose. “And I have a trick. I copied it from the travelling players. It is a frightf
ul illusion.” It was! She rolled her eyes right back in her head so all I could see were the whites. “It sent the fear of the devil into them,” she said, bringing her blue eyes back, and flashing a victorious smile at me. “Ghost eyes staring out from a walking tree!”
“That’s a… handy trick,” I said, feeling a bit sick. It looked horrible. It was so gruesome it made twenty-first-century tricks seem babyish. “Don’t do it again.”
She pushed the door of the den open and went inside. “Pray they havna spoilt things,” she said and set about making the fire. All I could do was flop down on a stone and watch. She was quick. It only took her about a minute and she had a little fire burning in her tin plate. Then she bustled about the den, sorting the place. She picked up Fred from the corner and brushed him down. She rushed out get her green branches, then brought them in and propped them against the wall. When she had the den cosy again she sat down on the stone opposite me and grinned. “You have majestic talent as a teller of tales,” she said.
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “And you’re a pretty good actor, Agatha.”
“Thank you.” She giggled. “Ladies and gentlemen! Miss Agatha Black, the travelling player from the past!” she chanted in a dramatic voice, as if she was introducing someone famous. “And, the one and only, Master Saul Martin!” She swept her arm out towards me and bowed. “The marvellous teller of grand tales from the future!”
She laughed at that, and so did I. Suddenly, after the scariest night of my life, everything seemed really funny. It was probably the relief, but once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. I laughed so much I had tears rolling down my face. So did she. My sides ached. My shoulders shook. I didn’t even know what I was laughing at anymore, but it was hilarious, and we couldn’t stop, and it felt like the best thing in the world.