He felt a drop of rain, and realized with a start that he had no idea how long he had been standing there. He turned quickly and headed back along the ridge the way he had come, thankful that he had stayed on only one path. The rain seemed to be holding back, and as he walked down the track in the fading light he felt only a few scattered drops, as though it were waiting for him to get inside. It was very dark in the thicket, and when he reached the gate he could see light in the cottage windows, and smoke coming from the chimney.
There was a blazing fire in the living room fireplace, and in the warm, dim light the room seemed comfortable. Philippa was peeling potatoes in the kitchen, which now sang with warmth and light from dozens of candles. “It’s beautiful outside,” he said, and at that moment the rain broke from the sky.
“Sounds as though you got back just in time,” Philippa said. The rain was already rattling and hammering against all the windows, making the house seem even more warm and protecting.
“There’s a wide track all the way along the ridge, and there’s this one place where you can see for miles, down to the Black Swan and everything!”
“It sounds wonderful,” she said vaguely.
“Is something wrong? Was I gone too long?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that—well—Islington found this . . . strange thing. I’d like you to get rid of it, please. I can’t bear to touch it.”
Danny followed her into the living room, imagining the rotting corpse of some small animal. “It’s this,” she said.
On the mantel was a small, bluntly carved wooden figure. It was hardly more than one piece of wood with a small head on it, with another piece struck through it for arms. It was very crude, and just barely suggested an expressionless human being.
“What’s wrong with this?” Danny said, picking it up. “It’s just something somebody whittled. It’s not very pretty but it isn’t hideous. Where did you find it?”
“I didn’t. Islington kept prowling about near the fireplace, almost as if he had smelled something. I thought he was after a mouse. And then, he pulled that thing out of some crevice between the hearth and the wall. When I saw it a real shock went through me. I could hardly bear to touch it long enough to put it on the mantel. How can you hold it like that? There’s something so . . . sinister and . . . menacing about it. I don’t want it in the house!”
Danny fingered it and looked at it carefully. “I don’t understand why you feel like that, but I don’t mind getting rid of it.”
He started to toss it into the fire, but Philippa grabbed his arm. “Don’t!” she almost shouted. “Don’t burn it up! Don’t destroy it! Just take it away, take it outside.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to be so hysterical, but that thing really terrifies me. I don’t know why.”
“All right. It doesn’t matter to me.” He was drenched the moment he stepped out of the house. There was something wrong with the guttering, and a waterfall seemed to be pouring down just outside the door. He tramped over to the other side, planning to pitch the doll down the incline into the valley below. But he couldn’t do it. There must be something remarkable about this thing if it makes her react that way, he thought, and slipped it into his coat pocket.
Inside, he took a candle and went straight upstairs. He took off his clothes and stood there for a moment, naked and shivering in the heatless room. His body was very thin and frail and covered with goose pimples. His blond hair was plastered to his head. Breathing heavily, he took the little figure out of his coat pocket and buried it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.
When he came down he was in his bathrobe and pajamas, the dripping clothes in one hand and the candle in the other. “I’ll hang them up over the stove,” Philippa said. “They’ll dry out in no time. I’m sorry you got soaked, but I just had to have that thing out of the house.”
They cooked steaks over the fire and ate them, with grilled tomatoes and boiled potatoes, at the round table by the hearth. Danny finished his steak with no prodding from Philippa, which was very rare. Somehow it did taste better than the meat they had eaten in the city, as Philippa said. He had never realized that the taste of food could be so enjoyable.
Danny helped Philippa wash up, and they spent the evening playing Scrabble in front of the fire. The rain beat down ceaselessly, occasionally sputtering into the fire. The wind moaned and rattled at the windowpanes. And although the room glowed in the firelight and the thick walls kept out the wind, neither of them felt comfortable. The back of Danny’s neck tickled as though someone were watching him, and he found himself looking around frequently to the dark end of the room. Both were conscious of how isolated they were. Miles of darkness and trees, of wind and rain, separated them from any other human being.
Late in the evening Danny brought a candle up to his bedroom. On the narrow stairway a draft seemed to spring up from nowhere. The candle flickered and almost went out. Danny stopped at once and cupped his hand around the flame until it sprang back to life, his heart pounding. But why should I be so afraid? he wondered.
From his narrow bed he watched the shadows flicker dimly around the room. He tried to decide how he felt about the house. It had the kind of rustic charm that, as Philippa had said, one always imagines but rarely finds; and it was interesting to be in such a place simply because it was so unlike anything he had ever known. Yet he did not feel comfortable. Something about the house seemed to shut him out, to make him feel like an interloper. Yet at the same time he had the sensation that somehow, he was expected.
Probably everybody feels like this when they move to a new house, he told himself. But he settled down and closed his eyes without blowing out the candle.
A strange procession was winding across barren hillsides by moonlight. People in black robes chanted solemnly, monotonously, holding blazing torches above their heads. At the front of the procession were three crowned men dressed in white. The procession dragged on and on, over the same hills, with the droning, heavy chanting always underneath. He couldn’t tell whether he was in the procession, or whether he was only watching it. But all the time he knew that something else was there, huge and dark and menacing, lurking just beyond the torchlight, waiting and watching.
For the first moment after he opened his eyes he heard a woman’s laughter, vague and distant. It wasn’t evil, maniacal laughter, but free and easy, like a young girl’s. He had hardly realized it was there when it faded quickly away; and he wondered whether he had really heard it, or if it had just been part of the dream. The weather must have cleared, for the room was flooded with moonlight. His candle had gone out, and he was twisted up in the sheets. His forehead felt cold and moist. He was afraid. The nightmare feeling still lingered.
6
When he came down in the morning Philippa was boiling water and cooking bacon. She seemed groggy and tired. The first thing she said was, “I desperately need some more coal. Could you get me some?” He scurried off to the cellar, forcing himself not to think about being afraid. When he brought up the coal she said, “I’m afraid we need more water, too.” As he strained over the pump he began to wonder, in an irritable, early-morning way, just how long he was going to be able to stand it in the country.
They ate breakfast in the dark, chilly dining room. It fit their mood. The eggs were so fresh that they tasted like a new kind of food, and the bacon was lean and thick. But they ate in silence until Philippa said, “Did you have a good night?”
“Well, not really. I had the weirdest dream. And when I woke up, part of it seemed to continue for a second. It sounded like a girl laughing.”
“I had a bad night, too. I had trouble sleeping and kept waking up. Islington was restless, too. I’m so tired! And there’s so much to do today. . . .”
After breakfast Danny went to look at the cellar door. There it sagged on its rusted, curling hinges, ancient and cracked. And there was the jagged, archaic list of names; all with similar dates but Mary Peachy, dateless, at the end of the list.
It was another sunny day, but they spent most of it inside, cleaning the windows, washing the floors, arranging things. Philippa decided that they had to go into town the next day. They needed candles, and more food, and perhaps an oil lamp, and maybe some whitewash. And Danny had to start studying.
Toward evening Philippa ventured outside with Danny, along the ridge. They were heavily bundled, and slogged through the mud in heavy Wellington boots. Islington loped along behind them, dashing ahead in brief spurts of energy, spinning around and gazing back at them, then stretching out on the brown turf until they caught up.
They walked together to the place where they could see the view. On the way Philippa examined almost every bush, gently turning over the leaves in her hand, and occasionally picked a spray of brown leaves, or a barren branch with an interesting shape, or a green bough from a fir tree. “Shhh!” she would say, “Listen to that bird. Is it a cuckoo? A nightjar?” Somewhere in her dim past, about which Danny knew next to nothing, she must have lived in the country, for the birdcalls, the plants, were familiar to her. By the time they reached the overlook, Danny’s arms were laden with her scratchy finds.
Philippa too was captivated by the view. Today, in the sunlight, they could see much farther. In the distance, glinting, was a smooth patch of silver-gray that they realized was the sea.
“I’d rather like to see those tumuli that Mr. Creech was talking about,” Danny said. “He said they were at the other end of the ridge.”
“I do love being outside,” Philippa said, “but I don’t think I could manage that long a walk. I feel like a cup of tea, and the fire. You go on, though. Just remember to start back in time to get home before it’s too dark to see.”
“I’ll remember,” he said, and carefully handed her the bundle of branches.
Beyond the overlook the track was spotted with deep ruts full of muddy water, and for a while it became very narrow, for the hillside was quite close and sloped down almost vertically into the valley. At the bottom a few cows grazed languidly among boulders and tufted grass. Beyond this place the track widened and continued as it had been before, sloping gradually upward. In the bright sunlight Danny forgot his fears of the night before and strode briskly across the brown grass, holding his arms out to feel the wind, singing at the top of his lungs until he was out of breath. He felt free and totally alone. The thought occurred to him that he could even take off his clothes, if it weren’t so cold.
Eventually the track narrowed again and became a path winding through high bushes. It was impossible to stay out of the mud and he slogged through it joyfully. He fell down once or twice, and laughed out loud.
Around a bend the bushes disappeared, and he found himself at the edge of a wide plateau. This was the other end of the hill, and on either side the land sloped steeply down into two valleys. The plateau was practically level, covered with the same short brown grass, and was absolutely treeless.
At the other end were the tumuli. Although they were covered with the same grass and were gently rounded, it was obvious immediately that they were man-made. The three curving mounds were about twenty feet in height, symmetrically arranged to form the three points of a tri-angle. It was odd to see something so natural, like a growth on a hillside, that was so perfectly, evenly formed.
He started toward them. The wind raced across the open expanse of land, unhindered by any trees, and Danny suddenly felt chilly. He noticed that the sky was now filled with thick clouds rushing over the landscape with magical speed. On either side he could see valleys, and other hills, rolling on forever into the distance. He felt as if he could see the whole world.
As he approached the tumuli they seemed to grow taller, rising up and leaning over him. They were a bleak and desolate sight, and there was something peculiarly awesome about them. Danny remembered what Mr. Creech had said. The nearest of the mounds was just above him. He ran up, panting in the stinging air.
At the top was a little indentation which had been invisible from below. Lying in it was a girl.
“Oh!” Danny gasped, startled and out of breath, “I didn’t know anybody was here.”
“Hardly anyone ever comes here,” the girl said calmly. She seemed to be about his own age. Her hair was tawny, shoulder-length, scattered over the grass behind her. Her face was round and very ruddy, sunburned even in winter. She had large brown eyes and a round, full mouth which looked relaxed and almost tough. She wore bluejeans and a thick, black sweater.
“The view is much prettier than I am,” she said, smiling faintly. “Why don’t you look at it?”
Danny turned around, embarrassed. He stared out over the misty hills, many shades of brown and green. From here he could see more of the ocean, which was dark, as though there were rain over it. But he couldn’t think about the scenery; he could hardly see it. His mind was whirling with the surprise of seeing this girl here, and his ears were filled with the husky sound of her voice.
“Nice, isn’t it?” she asked. “This is one of the highest places in England. And one of the most secluded. I come here quite often.” Danny turned back and her eyes met his. “Are you on holiday or something?” she asked.
“No,” he said. ‘I live here.”
“You live here!” For the first time she sounded surprised. “Where?”
“In this little cottage at the other end of the ridge.”
“You live at Blackbriar? Nobody’s lived there for as long as I can remember. You must have just moved in.”
“Yesterday.”
“Jesus!” she said. “Why don’t you sit down.”
As he squatted on the grass he noticed that in the center of the hollow was a ring of charred stones, as if there had been a fire there.
“How amazing that you live at Blackbriar! Even my father doesn’t have the guts to live that far away from everything. What made your family decide to live there?”
“I don’t have a family.”
“Then who do you live with?”
“The secretary at my school. I mean, she used to be the secretary at the school I used to go to.”
“No parents? My mother died when I was a baby, I just live with my father now. He’s an artist.”
“Do you live near here?”
“Down at the bottom of the hill, near the Black Swan. We lived in London before my mother died. I hardly remember it, but I know I couldn’t bear it now.”
“Philippa, that’s the lady I live with, hated London too. So finally she just gave up her job and we moved out here. I didn’t think I would like the country, but maybe it’s going to be all right. We had no idea that Blackbriar would be so strange.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t.” She was beginning to sound calm and self-assured again. “Hardly anyone will go near the place, I don’t know why. It certainly doesn’t scare me.”
“Have you ever been inside?”
“No. But sometimes I walk past it. I always wished we lived there, but my father didn’t want to be so far away from the pub.” She laughed. “I always look in the windows, but it’s hard to see anything, they’re so dusty.”
“Well they aren’t now, not with Philippa around. But why are people afraid of Blackbriar? What do they think is wrong with it?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s just kind of the local spooky place. What’s it like to live there?”
“It’s all right. But there is something strange about it. There’s an uncomfortable feeling. I don’t really understand it.”
“Uncomfortable how?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Danny noticed with surprise that he was talking to her in a very free, relaxed way. He had always been very shy with people his own age, and since his school in London had been a boy’s school, talking to a girl like this was a unique experience. But she was so forthright, and so interested, that he completely forgot to be shy. “There’s a creepy feeling to the place, an atmosphere. And the basement is really frightening. It scares me to go down there, although there isn’t a
nything obviously gruesome in it. And the door to the basement has a list of names carved on it, with dates like 1665. I can’t figure out why they’re there, or what the place was originally built for, so far away from everything. I mean there must have been a reason for building it.”
“Nobody does seem to know why it’s there,” the girl said. “But I’m sure you’re just afraid because it’s old and dark, and you’re used to living where there’s crowds all around.”
“That’s what I would think too, except that there really is something frightening about it. I can feel it, but I can’t explain it. It’s something almost tangible.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see for myself some day.”
They fell silent and watched the clouds roll above them, dark and threatening now. The wind was even stronger, and Danny was shivering in his heavy coat. The girl didn’t seem cold at all. The ocean was no longer visible, and many of the hills were hidden in mist, so that the landscape just seemed to end abruptly.
“Do you build fires here?” Danny asked.
“No . . . You know, that could be another reason why people avoid Blackbriar, and the whole ridge.” She paused, and her voice dropped dramatically, even though they could both see that there was no one within two miles of them. “Strange things go on up here. One night a few months ago I was walking down by our house, and up here on the hill I could see fires burning, big ones. And there must have been a crowd of people, because I could vaguely hear voices, as though they were singing.”
Danny was immediately struck by the similarity of this story to the dream he had the night before. “Do you think what you saw might be related to that legend about the three kings buried here?”
“Perhaps,” she said doubtfully.
“But on the other hand, what’s so strange about having a bonfire? Maybe they were just having a picnic, and singing folk songs.”
Blackbriar Page 4