Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  ‘Well it is the final—’

  ‘I know that,’ Isabella said. ‘It’s just that I’ve got an awful feeling deep inside me that everything’s going to go wrong.’ Isabella closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘You know, I’m not sure I even like football—’

  ‘Rubbish. You love it,’ Sue replied, ‘you’re just a little jealous of Daisy like everyone else. Just look at Kemp. He’s dying to play, but he sees Daisy as his barrier. He simply can’t accept that girls can be superior in what is essentially a man’s game. And Daisy’s a babe too, so it’s kind of doubly awful. And that, basically, is why he hates her so much.’

  ‘But that still doesn’t mean I like football—’

  ‘Sure, but as you’re her sister and sporty as a mole, it’s natural for you to want her to do well.’ Sue looked up at the sky and her heart seemed to skip a beat. She whistled. ‘It really is the biggest, blackest, purplest, most evil-looking cloud I have ever seen, Bells. Even Solomon’s hilarious floodlights are on. Every time I look up, my whole body starts shaking like a jelly.’

  Isabella laughed nervously; she had the exact same feeling too.

  Sue inspected her watch, ‘We’ve got five minutes.’ She slowed and grasped Isabella’s arm as if setting herself up to say something important. She stared earnestly into her friend’s eyes. ‘Listen Bells,’ she began, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something important—’

  ‘Really?’ Isabella noticed that her friend had gone a little pale. ‘Did you put the wrong mix in the storm glass—?’

  ‘No. It’s not about the storm glass ... it’s about—’

  ‘So you DID—’

  ‘Bells, I haven’t touched it. In fact I’m quite sure it did what it did perfectly naturally.’ Sue added. ‘It’s about you. It’s personal.’

  ‘Me?’ Isabella’s mind whirled. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend and you haven’t told me—’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, you know full well I haven’t got a boyfr—’

  ‘OK, someone out there fancies me—’

  ‘NO. Listen, Isabella – it’s got absolutely nothing to do with boys—’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘YES.’

  ‘Good,’ Isabella said, ‘they’re a waste of—’

  ‘It’s about you,’ Sue said.

  ‘Me?’ Isabella said. ‘OMG. You ... fancy ... me?’

  Sue shrieked. ‘For crying out loud, Bells, NO! Will you just let me speak.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It concerns YOU, in fact it concerns all of you de Lowes. You, Archie and Daisy. All those things I told you about in my dream, well, there’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Yes! The storm – the rain. You see, I’m pretty sure it’s about you and that in some way you’re linked—’

  Isabella was a bit confused. ‘About US?’

  ‘Listen! SHUT UP, just for a minute.’ Sue tried to compose herself. ‘What I’m trying to say is that—’

  Sue heard the long shrill of a whistle and the roar of the crowd. She followed Isabella’s eyes towards the floodlit football pitch.

  ‘OH NO! We’re late!’ Isabella cried and smacked her hand on her forehead. ‘Your watch must be slow.’

  Sue tapped the face of the dial and compared it to the clock on her mobile. ‘Oh help! Sorry.’ But already her friend had gone.

  ISABELLA TORE off down the track. What was I thinking? I bet someone’s scored. ‘Come on, keep up!’ she yelled over her shoulder as she took off down the shingle path. She felt Sue draw close. ‘Look, tell me later! I mean it’s not like it’s life or death, is it?’ she yelled.

  ‘But there are things you absolutely … must … know,’ Sue said, her voice trailing off as she watched Isabella fly away from her at a simply extraordinary speed. In fact she couldn’t remember seeing Isabella run faster in her whole life.

  Sue felt sick, the moment lost. Everything in the last hour had started to confirm that what she had seen and heard and felt was going to come true. And if there was even the tiniest chance of this happening, then she absolutely had to tell Isabella everything.

  She gritted her teeth. Why was it that every time she tried to say something to her, it never seemed quite the right time – as though there was some kind of force preventing it from happening?

  Because the thing was, it really was about life or death.

  KEMP REACHED into his pocket and pulled out the paper with the scribbles Archie had made. He wondered if what Archie had said had any truth in it. Nah, even though Archie banged on about it – as though it really mattered – he was probably nervous about the football or something.

  Kemp dismissed it.

  Then he wondered if it was an elaborate set-up for a fight with Gus Williams; the work of one of those girls – Daisy or Isabella de Lowe. He could smell them all over this.

  Kemp leant against the stone wall outside the school hall and held the paper up. If that Old Man Wood, or whatever his name was, was old enough to play a prank on Archie and give him this old coat to wear, then what were the others capable of?

  Maybe that’s what they did up there in the hills; they dreamt up hilarious jokes because they had nothing else to do apart from tell stories and get freaked out by ghosts or the weather. He glanced up. It was ridiculously dark and it was a ridiculously huge cloud. He wondered if Isabella’s experimental madness with barometers might have some foundation.

  Kemp’s eyes returned to the paper. He looked at the middle option, the one which was double-underlined. It read:

  ‘Alleyway behind kissing houses.’

  Kemp thought about it. It was a good choice. If he was to meet a knife-wielding ghost in a quiet spot which not too many people seemed to know about – but wasn’t too quiet – AND with the advantage that you could get out of both ends – AND close enough to the playing fields for a quick getaway, it was a very good choice. He nodded. Clever old Archie, not just a scruffy little boy.

  Then he clenched his fist. It was also the perfect place for a fight.

  He remembered the look on Williams’ face. He wanted a battle; he could see it in his eyes. Kemp twisted the fabric on Archie’s coat; at least it was nice and strong – and light too. Another layer of protection – just what he’d need if Williams came at him.

  Kemp sucked in his breath. That was it. They would fight – him and Gus Williams, the two of them – and he’d show him who was the strongest.

  Yeah. Finally, Gus Williams was in for a beating like he’d never had before.

  TWENTY-TWO

  KEMP’S FIGHT

  From the road above the football field, Kemp could see the crowd that lined the entire perimeter of the pitch. In places they stood four deep from the touchline. How could so many turn out for a silly game of football? But it was a hollow thought for, deep down, Kemp ached to be part of it – to have them cheer him on.

  Anyway, he’d never play alongside that girl. It was a step too far; at least it was for him – there was absolutely no way he could play in the same team as her. That annoying, self-contented, plucky, idiotic Daisy de Lowe.

  It made him feel like puking just thinking about her, even if she was Archie’s sister. That was unfortunate. Archie was kind of cool – laidback and easy. She was a show-off and she got under his skin like a pus-filled boil.

  Anyway, his friends at Chitbury would have the last laugh with Daisy de Lowe in the second half. That was the plan.

  He kicked a loose stone on the ground which skipped across the raised pebbles and smacked a small boy in the knee with a sickening thud. The boy collapsed in agony on the path as Kemp clenched his fist. Nice shot, he thought, wishing it had been de Lowe’s knee.

  Kemp looked down on the illuminated pitch. That’s what they need out there, strength, leadership and character: me.

  He walked further up the slope towards the houses which sat above the playing fields, slowly passing the crowd by until he was on his own high above the pitch. As he walked, he thought about how he could occupy himself o
ver the break with his dreary aunt. Last time, he’d nearly died of boredom, being dragged around endless museums, antiques shops and flea markets. All he ever seemed to do was look at dead things; stuffed animals, bones, and fossils.

  Sure, his aunt was kind and nice and tried hard for him, but she was almost too nice; too wet, too soppy.

  The very thought of her made him cringe. He wondered whether, if his real parents had still been alive, they would have done things which were more fun – things he’d actually like, stuff they could get stuck into together, like sailing or mountaineering or holidaying abroad.

  He smiled as he imagined a camping trip by the side of the river next to a large, warm fire and looking at the stars, his mother singing – her notes filling the air in a sort of magical way in time to the crackle of the burning wood. His father smiling at him proudly.

  It was a fantasy, of course – the idyllic family life he’d never have – and every time he thought of it, it brought a tear to his eye. He couldn’t remember if his mother used to sing to him or not and he had no idea what his parents looked like, but it felt right.

  But how the reality hurt.

  A long booming rumble distracted him. He spied another round pebble and took a mighty swipe with his heavy, black boot, connected sweetly – delighted with the way it flew through the air – skipped a couple of times and then, on the last bounce, it lifted quickly and seemed to whistle past the head of someone lurking by the lamppost near to the alleyway.

  Oh hell! What was an old bloke doing standing over there in the first place? And he didn’t even flinch. Bloody weirdo, probably missed him – must have missed him or he’d have been knocked out cold.

  Kemp put his head down and sauntered on as if nothing had happened. He leaned against a tree. Maybe it was the ghost Archie had told him about. He shook his head and smiled. Nah, more like a lucky escape.

  A few paces on and Kemp noticed a figure just inside the entrance to the alleyway where moments earlier he was sure no one had been there.

  His heartbeat quickened.

  Kemp studied the person while pretending to read Archie’s bit of paper. It was the same figure of a hunched old man, shrouded in a long, dark cloak, a thick scarf wrapped round his chin and nose and a kind of loose-fitting trilby hat pulled over his head in such a way that he couldn’t make out a face. The figure was leaning on a stick just like a blind man.

  Maybe this was Archie’s ghost.

  A roar rang out from the football pitch. Kemp turned his attention back to the game. He picked out the chant of ‘Daisy de Lowe, GO, GO, GO’.

  He smacked his fist into his hand. Typical. That idiotic girl must have scored.

  KEMP WATCHED as Chitbury kicked off and mounted another attack but after a couple of passes a shot flew high over the crossbar of goalkeeper Archie.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone but, as he did, his hand touched a waxy piece of paper, like a sweet wrapper. With a frown on his face he tried to work out how it had got there. He smiled. Of course – it was from one of the packs of Haribos he’d stolen from Poppy – one of de Lowe’s girlie friends – at break. He’d stuffed it in his mouth and nonchalantly tossed one of the wrappers into the headmaster’s rose garden, where it stuck rather comically on a thorn and flapped in the breeze. He smiled.

  But how come this one was folded?

  Out of curiosity, he pulled it out, opened it up and stared at it. Strangely, the sweet paper was covered in random scribbles like a pile of spaghetti plonked on a plate.

  Just as he was about to trash it, a few of the lines looked familiar. They’re kind of ... faces.

  Kemp scanned it and turned it sideways and round again. And then three figures came out at him, like a “magic eye” puzzle revealing itself on the wrapper.

  There were three clear faces staring back at him.

  Then it struck him. It was the de Lowes! Absolutely, definitely, them; all smug and cheerful and ghastly. But, as he studied it, their faces seemed to melt away into the paper, like slush dripping through a gutter.

  The next time he blinked, he was staring at nothing. Not a damn thing.

  He turned the sweet paper over. It was blank.

  Kemp felt a surge of excitement run through him. Was he seeing things? Was this some kind of joke?

  He slapped his face and rubbed his eyes. Then he tried hard to remember what Archie had said, and scoured the area for a mysterious old man?

  He looked at the wrapper again. It was changing gradually from white through grey to almost black, like the colour of the vast cloud above them. And then the words “HELP ME” started to appear in the form of tiny molten streaks of lightning on the paper, as if burning the words into it. He crumpled it up and thrust it in his overcoat pocket.

  Kemp’s heart beat so fast that for a moment he felt as if he would vomit.

  Instinctively, he started walking, faster and faster; as if walking might make it go away.

  A few minutes later, he skipped up the series of wide Yorkstone steps to street level and tentatively made his way towards the houses that leaned in as though they were kissing. He peered down the dark alleyway but as far as he could tell it was empty, save for the black wheelie bins guarding it like sentries.

  As he took his first step under the buildings, he noted how the oak-beamed houses on either side all but touched each other as if challenging one another like fighters. It reminded him of his duel with Williams.

  He spun towards the football pitch below him as he heard a groan from the crowd. He tried to figure out what was happening. Had Chitbury won a penalty? Certainly it looked as if there were bodies lying all over the pitch. He smiled.

  Was that Archie staring up at him? He almost felt like waving.

  Then Kemp turned and headed into the alleyway.

  HALFWAY DOWN, he slowed. He sensed something creeping up behind him.

  His heartbeat quickened. There was no doubting it, someone was definitely there, someone really quiet. But who? This was strictly out of bounds – how would he explain himself? Was it a teacher? Nah, unlikely. They’d be watching the football match or making last minute plans for the performances later on. In any case they’d have said something.

  Kemp thought quickly and it came to him: Williams. He almost said his name out loud. It must be Williams. It had to be. He was free this afternoon and it was exactly his style to creep up on people.

  Kemp curled his fist into a ball and very precisely said, ‘Williams, if it’s you, I’m warning you. Stop, and walk away, NOW.’

  There was no reply.

  He could feel him coming closer.

  Kemp bent down, pretending to tie his boots. His pulse raced. He readied himself. He sensed the person behind him was now only a couple of paces away.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ Kemp said, and in one movement swung around and threw his biggest punch.

  But it wasn’t Williams, it was the old man. And it was too late to stop.

  His momentum carried him forward, his fist unstoppable. But instead of connecting, the arm careered straight on and propelled him on to the hard grey stone.

  Kemp’s head cracked the paving as he went down. His left leg and arm throbbed.

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Archie,’ said a gravelly voice from behind the scarf. ‘We’re on the same team now.’

  Kemp was struggling to get to grips with what had happened. Was it Archie’s ghost?

  ‘Believe me, it is excellent news that you’ve arrived on time.’ The old man moved almost directly above him, his face covered by the scarf and hat. ‘And I sense that you have brought my coat. Very well done; did the Old Man find it?’

  Kemp was horrified and for a moment simply didn’t know what to say. ‘Yes, he gave it to me,’ he lied. His voice stammered as a terrible chill swept through him.

  ‘Are you ready to join with me, Archie de Lowe?’

  Kemp’s skin crawled. Everything Archie had told him was completely true.

 
He needed more time. ‘Join you?’ Kemp said, scuffling backwards, trying hard to keep his face hidden. ‘Er, can you remind me again? I was very tired last night.’

  The ghost hesitated. ‘Well, let me put it this way. I’ve got what you want.’

  Kemp shivered. What I want? No wonder Archie was freaked out. ‘What do you mean?’ he stumbled.

  The old man moved to one side and appeared to look up towards the sky. ‘Why me, of course.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, me,’ said the ghost. ‘You see I’m the only one here who can help you escape from this place. And you have only about fifteen minutes in your time to decide.’

  Kemp’s brain went a little fuzzy. Fifteen minutes? In your time? Decide what? Kemp stole a look down the alley.

  He needed to get away, fast.

  The old man sensed his unease. ‘You see, in a very short time the skies will open and it will rain for forty days and nights in a way you cannot even begin to imagine—’

  Kemp looked confused. ‘What ... forty days and nights?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I said, forty days and nights—’

  ‘Forty days and nights—?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘What … like Noah’s Ark—?’

  ‘STOP repeating what I say and listen!’ the old man spat. The words seemed to smack Kemp around the face. He lost his footing and slipped.

  ‘If you think what I’m saying is any way over the top,’ the old man said, bearing down on him, ‘I can assure you that in a short while, all of this – everything here, everything – will be destroyed.’

  The old man gestured, almost triumphantly, Kemp thought, towards the playing field.

  ‘Archie,’ the ghost continued, his voice mellow once more, ‘there will be nothing but devastation. There is a shift happening, a shift in time, a shift in the way of the universe and it is happening right here, right now. You are part of this, Archie.