by James Erith
‘Go on, open it.’
Kemp pushed the door. As he did, the smell of roast chicken and fried bacon and all sorts of delights wafted over him. ‘Food!’ he cried. ‘Real food. Tons of it!’
The table was crammed with an assortment of chocolates, fruit, cake, meats of all sorts. Kemp made his way over, his eyes wide. ‘All this, for me?’
‘Indeed. You now have a kitchen and chefs, to use as you wish.’
Kemp stuffed himself until he could eat no more.
All the while, Cain watched, intrigued. ‘You know, Kemp, I think our relationship is going to be quite splendid. Tell me your hours of sleeping, your meal times and what you like doing, so that when you’re not with me, you’ll have that time to do as you wish – unless I require you for an emergency.’
Kemp reckoned this beat hospital a million times over. ‘As long as there’s a cold shower nearby before I join you.’
‘Yes, good thinking. Was it easier this time?’
‘Oh yeah. Miles. Hardly felt a thing.’
‘Any other demands?’
Kemp licked his lips. ‘The deal with my mother. She must be saved. I’m sure she’d love it here?’
‘Of course,’ Cain said.
‘And I’d like to see my mate, Archie,’ he said.
‘That would be Archie de Lowe?’
‘Yes.’
Cain grinned. He was liking this Kemp boy more and more. ‘Perhaps we could get him to come here permanently – if we play our cards right.’
‘That would be ace,’ Kemp said. ‘Just imagine it. We’d have a blast.’
Cain nodded. ‘Wouldn’t we just. But all in good time, Kemp. All in good time. I truly feared that after my terrible treatment of you, you would shun me for death. So I could not imagine a better way in which we have patched up our differences.’
The ghost was ecstatic, but there was one thing that would make this day even more perfect. He remembered the poison, the lethal Havilarian Toadstool Powder that he’d poured into the sugar bowl at Eden Cottage when he’d visited Archie in his room.
Cain had been rather surprised by his quick thinking, nipping into the kitchen and finding sugar – the perfect mask for this poison – just like that. Ha! The mark of a true genius.
Havilarian Toadstool Powder, made with tiny, microscopic, squealing little toadstools. Useless on humans, but lethal to those from the Garden of Eden.
The only substance in the universe that could reduce that Old Man Wood to little more than a shadow.
What were the chances, he wondered, that the old man would help himself to a nice, sugary drink?
EIGHTY
THE SONG OF THE TREES
From that moment on, however hard he tried, Old Man Wood simply couldn’t speak properly; words stuck in his throat or twisted in his mind.
The children looked at him with an equal sense of significant awe and worry.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Archie asked. Wasn’t that what grownups had when they needed comforting? That or alcohol. Perhaps he needed both.
The old man smiled and Archie took himself off to the kitchen. He pulled out the largest cup he could find and brewed a strong cup of tea. For good measure, he added a dash of rum, knowing that every now and then Old Man Wood enjoyed a tipple. Archie took a small sip, grimaced, and spat it out in the sink. Ugh. Repulsive, bitter.
He found the sugar bowl, stirred in a couple of heaped teaspoonfuls, sniffed it, then dipped his finger in and licked it. Finally he returned to the sitting room where he handed it to Old Man Wood who sat in his chair being comforted by the girls.
The old man beamed as he took the cup and blew on it until it was cool enough. Then he took a large gulp. ‘Interesting tea, Archie,’ he said as his few remaining head hairs began to curl. He winked at Archie. ‘Touch of rum?’
Archie nodded.
Clever boy, Old Man Wood thought. And, in no time, his face had returned to its familiar woody, ruddy complexion.
‘If you’re feeling ready to chat,’ Isabella began softly, ‘tell me about the bed, and why you’ve taken it upon yourself to spy on us,’ she said.
‘Hang on! I want to know about the Glade and Atrium thing-a-me first,’ Daisy butted in, irritated that Isabella had sneaked in first. Hers was easily the most important event by far. ‘I mean it’s a whole other world, isn’t it?’
‘What about the poems and the rugs?’ Archie said. ‘And what and where are the clearly vital tablets?’
They all seemed to talk at a hundred miles an hour, their questions getting louder and louder. Old Man Wood listened quietly to their increasingly hysterical arguing while sipping his rum tea.
Finally he spoke, very quietly and with a certain authority they had not heard before. ‘First off, young’uns,’ he said, ‘we must find these tablets – as a matter of urgency.’ The children instantly ceased their bickering. ‘As we go, I’ll try and piece things together for you; I’ll tell you what I know as we search, because, believe me this goes back a heck of a long time, and it won’t be easy.’ He looked each one of them in the eye. ‘Do you understand?’
They nodded.
He took a deep breath. ‘Right then. As you may have suspected, I am not exactly your “Uncle”. I’ll tell you now that I am in fact your great, great, great, hmmm, great, great … well, to be honest it’s an awful lot of ‘greats’ – more than you can imagine in fact … grandfather.’
‘WHAT?!’ they cried.
‘DON’T be silly,’ Daisy laughed. She patted him playfully on the back. ‘Heard it all now—’
‘You’d be dead,’ Archie said.
‘It’s impossible!’ Isabella said, standing up. ‘Stop being so dramatic. Archie, how much rum did you put in—’
‘Ahhh. Hmmm, now young’uns this is a great problem. What can I say?’ he looked at them all lovingly. ‘We are … how can I put it … a little bit special in this family. I have lived in this house on this hill through the ages of mankind for an awfully long time. Since way before your records like the Bible even began. As a family, we moved over the years, several times in fact, to look around and see places and there have been many, many adventures, but, on and off, I suppose I’ve been here on this hill in Yorkshire for thousands of years … waiting, I believe, for this very moment.’ Old Man Wood paused and his crinkly face seemed to lighten as the magnitude of what he was saying sunk in.
The children stared at him, not certain they’d heard him correctly.
‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘I’ve had the very greatest pleasure in bringing up generation after generation of my family. You three are the last in the line, it would appear.’ Old Man Wood cupped his mug between his large, weathered hands, took another sip and beamed at each one in turn.
‘And this house alone has seen many, many re-buildings. Spent a great deal of time doing it, all by myself,’ he laughed. ‘And you know what, most of them are pretty similar to the original, I suppose. It’s been all manner of things from a school to public house to a shop. And there used to be houses nearby, once upon a time. Now, what else? Well, not a lot at the moment, but I reckon it’s coming back slowly.’
He held Isabella and Daisy’s hands. ‘You must realise by now that all of these strange events, like your hair and eyes and hands, have something to do with the rain and the rising water. I found that out from the trees at the Bubbling Brook; the ones I took you to see, Archie,’ he said, turning to the boy who was staring at the old man with his jaw open. ‘I did find them – but I’m not sure I asked the right questions. You see they’re clever, those trees, they’ve memorised everything I’ve ever told them and they’ll tell it back if you ask right. But as I couldn’t think what’s going to happen or what I’m supposed to do or who I really am … well …’
Isabella had had enough. ‘This is madness!’ she yelled, getting up. ‘You’re insane or sick. I can’t bear it anymore.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘He’s cracked, totally cracked. We need to get him urgent medical
attention.’
Archie pushed her down firmly. ‘Shhh, Isabella. Let him finish.’ He’d noticed how Old Man Wood’s eyes widened as he sipped the strong tea and hiccoughed as if it were doing something to his brain. Now was not the time to interrupt him. Madness or not, he needed to be heard.
‘You see,’ Old Man Wood continued, ‘when I read those passages in Genesis in your Bible and laughed my head off, well, it’s just that whoever wrote it must have had more than a couple of rums in ‘em and I know that for sure.’ He flicked a glance at Archie.
‘Pl-eeee-ase,’ Daisy squealed, ‘what are you talking about?’
‘Genesis – you know the bit about how the world was created and all that, well, hmmm, the thing is, it doesn’t say that much. In fact it doesn’t say anything really, just a story to start you off at a not-too-embarrassing-point. You’d think the greatest events of mankind – your creation and the creation of every other living thing here on Earth would be given a few more believable lines. But, hic, oh no, all you get is a story I told to some strange bloke sitting round a campfire as a bit of a joke – ha, ha – because life was more than a little complicated before – oh yes – hic. Very tricky. It was after a few too many jars of Walterbrew – as it happens. Cor, now there’s a drink.’
He slurped on his tea, which had the effect of sending his hair curling outwards and his eyes bulged even more. ‘Can’t believe I remembered that.’
‘Old Man Wood, I don’t think you’re well,’ Isabella said, before addressing her siblings. She pointed at her head and twirled a finger. ‘Seriously, we need to do something – he has totally lost it.’
The old man ignored her and carried on rambling. ‘This bloke, you see, quite a clever fellow – terribly serious and, hmmm, well, it just seemed a good idea at the time – couldn’t resist it I suppose, fantastically entertaining.’ He hiccoughed again. ‘There is truth in that passage, though; Havilah is full of treasure and things beyond your wildest imagination. And Cain and that serpent of his are wretched,’ he spat, ‘and the other thing is the flood …’
On the word “flood” he slurred quite badly, and Old Man Wood checked himself before hiccoughing very loudly. But, now he was on a roll, a mere hiccough wasn’t going to stop him.
‘Oh yes, I do feel a little guilty, if you know what I mean. Well, you may say it’s not possible but I tell you it’s true. I was there. Amazing isn’t it? I wrote those poems, did I say that? Such a long … what actually happened is quite different because, well … hmmm … all those places exist or used to, rather like here. Otherwise you might get … now what was I talking about?’ he continued, forgetting himself.
A blink of lightning followed by a ripple of thunder sent a message that another storm was close by. It seemed to intensify the situation.
‘Stop rambling and tell us, in plain English, what on earth you’re talking about,’ Isabella demanded.
Daisy, however, giggled and leaned in on him. ‘Go on, tell us Old Man Wood. Tell us your story …’
But, unfortunately, Old Man Wood, whose few head-hairs were standing erect like the threads of a worn brush, started to hum a strange tune which sounded as if the wind was rushing through trees, its rhythm building all the time.
He clambered out of his chair and stood tall in the room, his big trunk filling the space in front of the fire as strange whoooshing and swissssshing sounds came out of his mouth and vibrated round the room.
Moments later, his hands and body moved in a slow, graceful way as a breeze appeared to blow through the house.
The children sat down and watched as the old man hummed the song of the trees.
SUDDENLY ARCHIE HAD AN IDEA.
He slipped out of his chair, and while the two girls listened, mesmerised by Old Man Wood’s extraordinary movements and the swishing, whooshing noises of his song, he crawled on all fours behind the back of the armchair to the fireplace. He found a poker and thrust it into the fire, shifting the logs in the embers. There was nothing and, for a brief moment, he felt rather foolish.
Under his breath he recited the words of the poem.
‘THE FIRST YOU hid in the heart of the house
‘That warms you night and day
‘Get it out by poking me,
‘And singing your favourite song along the way!’
ARCHIE LOOKED up to see Daisy standing, copying Old Man Wood, humming away and moving her arms in slow, controlled waves, somewhat, but not exactly, mimicking the old man’s motions.
She wore a huge smile on her face.
On the contrary, Isabella lay on the sofa, her knees up to her chest and her head between her hands.
Archie picked up the rhythm and began to hum along, and as he got the hang of it, he decided to bolster the fire up anyway and thrust the poker in once again.
With a tiny flash, a strange flicker came out at him. Archie’s heart skipped a beat.
He poked with a little more urgency and the light intensified.
He looked about. Had anyone else seen it? Daisy and Old Man Wood were singing as if in a trance; Isabella cowered on the sofa.
He turned his eyes back to the fire and found that, right before his eyes, an object very slowly approached. He could hardly breathe. But Old Man Wood had come to the end of his song and, the moment he finished, the “thing” receded back into the orange glow.
SEEING Old Man Wood like this made Isabella feel as unhappy as she could ever remember. As his song ended, she slipped off to the kitchen where she heard the gentle drone of the generator. She worked out that it might run for another fifteen minutes or so if they were lucky.
For a while, she thought she might slope off to bed; leave them to it. Perhaps, first, she ought to check the TV for any up-to-date news.
She flicked on the remote control and, as the telly warmed up, she opened the fridge to see if Mrs Pye had left anything worth snacking on. She peered inside. Nothing she fancied, so she grabbed an apple and sat down on the chair and took a large bite.
For a minute or two she watched the news repeats that had been going round and round in a loop.
She bit in hard again, wiping the juice off her chin as a message ran along the bottom in bold red letters. “Important announcement coming up.”
What was so important that it had to be flagged?
Daisy and Archie came in just as the picture changed. It now showed a live feed from the same press office with oak-panelled walls, but this time full of weary-looking officials.
A tall man, with grey hair and a pointed nose, made his way to the lectern. An elegant, smart lady, the Deputy Prime Minister, introduced this man as the chief coordinator of the flood crisis, Commissioner Stone.
‘First of all,’ he began, a subtle Yorkshire trace in his voice, ‘I speak on behalf of the COBRA team to offer my thanks to all of those who have dug deep in protecting and keeping the citizens of our island safe at this terrible time. The help and resolve given by so many continues to touch the lives of millions.
‘I will be frank,’ he said, looking directly into the camera, ‘the epidemic, the so called Yorkshire Plague or Ebora, reached all parts of the country overnight. It strikes at will. There is no logic to its method nor is there a cure for those affected. Not yet. Medical centres are overwhelmed as our few doctors who do not have symptoms themselves, struggle to keep up. If you think you may have symptoms, please ring our helpline number at the bottom of the screen. Our advice is, be patient, drink plenty of fresh water and keep warm. And please, stay at home.’
He shifted and smiled. ‘While many are suffering, we have heard stories of incredible bravery and heroism. We’re going to share some real life situations from the flooding. These are tales of extreme courage and dogged resilience. Above all,’ he said, his voice quivering, ‘they are stories of hope.’
The screen cut from the press conference to a scene on a beach, waves crashing someway behind the sand. On it, a reporter with his microphone at the ready waited for the link up.
> ‘Here I am near the beautiful Suffolk coastal town of Southwold.’ The camera panned to a lighthouse and then away to colourful beach huts. ‘Famous for its beer and as an upmarket holiday resort, last night it was the scene of an extraordinary rescue off the coast, where two names will surely be remembered for an awfully long time. I’m handing you over to Serena Strutt who continues the story.’
‘Thank you, Bill,’ said Serena, her perfect smile beaming at the camera. ‘On the day of the storm, two children from the village of Upsall in North Yorkshire found a rickety old rowing boat, built a canopy in a manner of minutes from odds and ends found in a shed, and then, miraculously, they survived what is now understood to be the most vicious storm of all time before being sucked out into the North Sea.
‘Against quite incredible odds, they survived. Last night, their boat sank in a fierce gale last night off this very coast. The coastguard spotted them and these, frankly, remarkable children were rescued.’
The children watched in silence, mesmerised by the images, huddled together, their arms locked around one another.
‘I have with me here, one of the survivors, Sue Lowden.’
The moment the words were out of the reporter’s mouth the kitchen erupted. Daisy and Archie leapt up and down, screaming their heads off. Isabella sank to the floor, tears falling freely down her cheeks.
‘Sue,’ Serena said, ‘what an amazing story. I know you’re still quite numb from your experience, especially as Gus Williams, your partner on the boat, has gone to hospital, but please tell us more.’
The camera moved and Sue came into shot. She’d lost weight but her eyes sparkled. ‘I just want to thank Gus,’ her eyes began welling up, ‘he was amazing.’
‘At snogging,’ Archie quipped.
‘Oh shut up,’ said the girls in unison.
Back on the screen, Sue recalled some of their adventures, how they’d built the canopy and caught fish to eat.