Comet and the Champion's Cup

by Stacy Gregg

  Issie was just about to get changed for bed herself when Aunt Hester knocked on the door of her room.

  “Would you mind taking the first shift down at the dorm tonight, Issie?” she said. “I know the cottage is perfectly safe, but I think it’s a good idea to have you there to make sure our guests are all right. Just for the first night at least. I know I’m a bit of a worry wart…”

  “Sure, Aunty Hess,” Issie grinned. “I’ll look after them.”

  Issie stepped out on to the back verandah with her sleeping bag rolled up under her arm. She pulled on her boots and switched on her torch. It was funny how much darker the night was when you were in the countryside, she thought. No city lights, just the moonlight and the stars and the white beam of her torchlight as she walked across the lawn towards the cottage.

  The lights were already out in the cottage. But as Issie approached, she could see the flicker of a flame, possibly a candle, burning in the kitchen.

  That’s weird, she thought. Hester would never leave a candle on at night–it was too dangerous. What were those kids up to? As she came up to the front door of the cottage Issie was about to turn the handle, but something made her hesitate. Instead, she crept to the left of the door where a small, low window meant that she could see into the living room inside. It was hard for her eyes to adjust and Issie had to press her nose up against the glass to see in.

  At first, she could hardly believe what she was seeing. Sitting there in the middle of the room, cross-legged in a circle around the candle flame, were the eight young riders. Their heads were shrouded in blankets so that they looked a bit like medieval monks. One by one, as if taking part in a mystical ceremony, they were picking up the candle and passing it to each other. Finally, the candle had travelled all the way around the circle until it came into the hands of George, who put it back down on the floor. George gave a wicked smile and looked at the two youngest children, Lucy and Sophie. The girls looked completely terrified. Issie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but as George spoke Sophie looked like she might cry.

  George looked at her with a devilish grin and then he blew out the candle! The cottage was now pitch-black! Issie couldn’t stand it any longer. She had seen enough. She burst through the door and there were shrieks and screams from the startled kids inside as she switched on the light.

  “What are you doing?” George squeaked.

  “I came to check on you,” Issie said, trembling. “And it’s just as well!” She looked around the room at the frightened faces. “Now, who’s going to tell me…what’s going on?”

  Chapter 6

  Issie looked around the room at the faces of the terrified young riders. “Why are you all sitting here in the dark? What are you doing?”

  They sat there mutely. No one was willing to answer. Issie looked at George, who had blown out the candle and was still holding on to it, looking the guiltiest of all of them.

  “George?” Issie said. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “It was Arthur’s idea!” George blurted out. “He started it!”

  “Did not!” Arthur snapped back.

  “Started what?” demanded Issie.

  George hesitated. “We’ve been telling ghost stories,” he said. “It was a competition to see who could tell the scariest one.”

  “Trisha is winning so far!” added Kitty. “She told that one about the hand with the hook, you know, in the forest, when they hear the tapping on the roof of the car? And then they find the hook stuck in the door?”

  “That story was so lame!” Kelly-Anne groaned. “I never wanted to do stupid ghost stories in the first place. They’re for babies.”

  “You’re just in a sulk cos no one was scared of your story!” George shot back. Lucy and Sophie, the youngest ones in the group, were silent during all of this, huddled together in the corner under a blanket.

  “Are you girls OK?” Issie asked. “Is this too scary for you?”

  “No way!” Sophie grinned. “I love ghost stories!”

  “We told the one about the bloody fingers!” beamed Lucy.

  “Can you tell us one, Issie?” Tina asked.

  “Go on!” Trisha begged.

  “No,” Issie said firmly. “It’s lights out time. It’s too late to be up telling ghost stories.”

  “But it’s only ten o’clock; it’s not even late!” Sophie said.

  “Just one story and then we’ll go to bed,” added Tina. There was a murmur of agreement from the circle.

  Issie sighed. “OK then. But after I tell you a story, everyone has to go to bed and straight to sleep, OK?”

  Lucy and Sophie made a space in the circle between them and Issie nudged her way into it.

  “Wait!” Arthur said, leaping up to grab the matches so that he could relight the candle. Then he switched off the light and the cottage was once again in darkness apart from a flickering flame.

  Issie pulled a spare blanket up over her head like a hood, took the candle from Arthur and sat silently for a moment, the soft glow of the flame illuminating her face. “You won’t have heard this ghost story before,” she said in a low voice, “because what I’m about to tell you isn’t a story at all. It is absolutely real. And it happened right here at Blackthorn Farm.” She paused. “Are you sure you are brave enough to hear it?”

  “Yes!” George and Arthur were both desperate for Issie to begin.

  “Have you ever heard of the Grimalkin?” Issie asked. They all shook their heads. “The Grimalkin was a giant black cat that roamed the hills of Gisborne,” Issie continued. “When I first heard the stories about him, they said he had escaped from the circus or the zoo and was living in the hills, wild and dangerous. Of course, no one really believed in him. They didn’t think he was real. But I knew he was real because I saw him.”

  “Did you really?” Kitty said. “How big was he?”

  “Big enough to eat a horse,” said Issie. “The first time I saw him was just outside this cottage,” she continued, “walking along the railings of the cattle pens. I could see him in the moonlight; he was jet black with this tail that was at least two metres long…”

  “You’re making this up to scare us!” Kelly-Anne objected.

  Issie looked at her with a steely gaze. “I am not. You can ask Aunty Hess when you see her in the morning if you like.”

  “Shut up, Kelly-Anne!” George snapped. “The rest of us want to hear about the Grimalkin.”

  Issie had the sense to spare them the really gory details of that awful night when she and Aidan had found Meadow’s body. The big black cat had killed the calf by slashing its throat with its powerful claws. Issie still had nightmares about poor Meadow, lying there with her rust and white coat soaked with blood. There was no need to give Sophie and Lucy nightmares too.

  Huddled under their blankets, the Blackthorn Riders hung on Issie’s every word. There was an audible groan of dismay when she finally finished her story and switched the lights back on.

  “Was that all really true?” Tina asked. Issie nodded.

  “Do you think there are still Grimalkins out there?” Lucy said, peering out at the blackness beyond the window.

  “No, the Grimalkin is gone. I saw the ranger kill him. There’s nothing out there now.” Issie looked at the tired faces surrounding her in the candlelight. “OK, bedtime then,” she said, shooing the riders out of the living room so that she could set up her bed on the sofa. “Let’s go!”

  “I told you we don’t need a babysitter,” George grumbled.

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Tina and Trisha agreed. “Please, Issie. We want to stay down here by ourselves. We don’t need anyone to look after us.”

  Issie looked at the lumpy sofa. It was barely long enough for her to fit on and it looked horribly uncomfortable. She had to admit she would rather be in her enormous double bed back at the manor.

  “OK,” she said reluctantly. “But I need all of you to get into bed before I go.” There was
a groan from George and Arthur, but no one argued with Issie this time. As she switched out the bedroom lights she heard Lucy’s voice in the darkness.

  “Issie?”

  “Yes, Lucy?”

  “You know how we asked you to tell us a ghost story.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, that wasn’t really a ghost story at all, was it? I mean, the Grimalkin wasn’t actually a ghost. He was real.”

  “I suppose so,” Issie said.

  “Do you know any real ghost stories?” Lucy asked. “With proper ghosts in them?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Issie said.

  “Will you tell us them?” asked Lucy.

  “Maybe. But not tonight, Lucy. Go to sleep.”

  As Issie walked through the kitchen towards the cottage door she switched on her torch and swept the room, making one last check of the house before stepping outside into the cool night air and locking the door behind her.

  The torch beam picked out a circle of light on the damp grass in front of her feet as she walked back across the lawn towards the main house. It wasn’t far to walk. All she had to do was wind her way between the trees behind the cottage and then cross the vast, sloping back lawn to the main house. She could see the back verandah light shining ahead of her, acting as a beacon guiding her way.

  As she walked Issie thought about Lucy and how she wanted a “proper ghost story”. She remembered Lucy’s question, “Do you know any real ghost stories?” Yeah, Issie thought, I really do. Should she have told Lucy and the others about Mystic? There had been times when Issie felt desperate to tell someone about him, like she was going to burst if she kept her pony a secret any longer. For a moment in that room tonight she had considered telling the kids her own true story. She wanted to tell them that ghosts could truly be real–that Mystic was dead, but he was still with her somehow. He had come back to her, not as a ghost, but as flesh and blood, like a real horse. He was her horse and he always would be.

  Issie wanted to tell them. But something stopped her. She was suddenly filled with the enormous weight of the dark truth that she held within her. At that moment she realised that Mystic wasn’t something you could tell kids as a bedtime story. The sacred bond she shared with the grey gelding was too special to be turned into a campfire tale. Mystic had been her best friend. Now he was like her guardian angel. He was her secret and she shared it with no one–that was the way it had to be.

  Issie had been so deep in thought that she was halfway across the lawn before she noticed the noise. In fact, even when she did finally notice it, she wasn’t really sure whether she had actually heard something. Was it her turn to imagine ghosts now? No! There it was again! The noise sounded a bit like the crunching of branches underfoot. It was as if something or someone were following her. Issie spun around, shining her torch beam in a circle. Then she stopped and trained the beam on the garden to her right, where she thought the noise was coming from.

  Issie kept her torch pointed on the garden. There! In the shadows. She could have sworn she saw a branch move. She shone the torch on the spot, but whatever it was had gone. She tried to listen again, but all she could hear was her own heart beating. All those ghost stories were getting the better of her!

  Then she heard the rustling sound again. Closer this time. It was coming from behind the trees just beside her. She could hear branches crackling as something moved through the undergrowth.

  “Is there someone there?” She could feel her palms sweating. “This isn’t funny!” Issie’s pulse quickened. She thought about what Lucy had said back at the cottage, about there being another Grimalkin. Maybe she was right. How did Issie know there had only been one? Ohmygod, what if…

  Out of the shadows now a dark shape came towards her across the lawn. As it loomed closer Issie shone the torch beam directly at the creature. Not a black cat as Issie had feared, but a chestnut and white skewbald pony.

  “Comet?” Issie groaned. “Comet! How did you get out?” Issie already knew the answer. Sure enough, when she led the skewbald back to his paddock she found the gate was still shut tight. Comet, must have jumped.

  “One metre fifty!” Issie whistled. “And in the dark too!” She turned to face Comet, who was looking extremely pleased with himself.

  “Comet!” Issie said firmly. “You have to stop this. No more jumping out or Aunty Hess is bound to put you back in the loose boxes. And you wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  For a moment there, Issie fancied that Comet actually understood her. The skewbald pony looked at her with sorrowful, deep brown eyes, as if to say, Sorry, it won’t happen again.

  Issie couldn’t help but giggle at his apologetic expression. “OK then,” she said, opening the gate, “I’m giving you one last chance.” As Issie released her grip on his halter the skewbald trotted off merrily across the paddock. Issie shook her head as she watched him go. Would he still be there by the morning? Hester would have a blue fit if he jumped out again. Maybe Issie should just give up and lock him up now in the loose boxes herself?

  Issie trained her torchlight on the paddock, searching for Comet. And then she felt her pulse quicken as she caught something unexpected in the beam. There was another horse in the paddock with Comet! She had only caught a glimpse of him for just a moment, but she was sure of it! Searching frantically in the darkness, she waved the torch beam back and forth trying to find the horse again. There! He was standing next to Comet. She could see him quite clearly this time. She could even make out the grey dapples of his coat, the flash of silver mane. Her heart leapt as she realised who it was.

  “Mystic?” Issie called out. “Is that you?” She held the torch with both hands to keep it steady, worried that if the light beam slipped away even for a moment then the grey horse would disappear and she wouldn’t be able to find him again.

  “Hey, boy?” Issie called out. She was close now, almost there…Issie kept expecting the horse to vanish, but he was there. He stood perfectly still in the torchlight and his black eyes shone back at her. He was waiting for her. She reached out a hand and touched the thick, coarse strands of Mystic’s silver mane. “Hey, boy,” she breathed softly. “It’s good to see you.”

  Mystic nickered softly as Issie stepped closer to him and leant against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around the pony’s neck, burying her face deep in the grey pony’s mane as she hugged him tight.

  Their embrace was interrupted by the sound of Comet moving behind her. From the moment Issie had met Comet she had sensed there was something special about the skewbald pony. Maybe Mystic sensed it too? Certainly, it was no coincidence that Mystic was here. It meant something.

  “Are you here to keep an eye on him?” Issie murmured to Mystic. “Maybe you can convince him to stay in his paddock for the night for once?”

  The grey gelding seemed to acknowledge his new task as Comet’s babysitter. He gave a soft nicker at Issie’s instructions, then wheeled about and trotted off into the darkness, fading out of her sight. Comet raised his head up as Mystic disappeared, then he trotted after him, following the grey horse across the paddock.

  Issie grinned. If anyone could help control a wayward pony like Comet, it had to be Mystic. She stood there for a moment longer in the dark, flashing the beam of her torch where the horses had been. But they were too far away for her torch to penetrate now, lost in the pitch black at the far side of the field.

  “G’night, Mystic,” Issie murmured. “Keep him safe, OK?”

  Issie walked back to the manor deep in thought. As much as she was thrilled to see Mystic again, her horse’s appearance had left her worried. If Mystic was here then it meant trouble of some kind.

  As she took off her boots and put her torch down on the table by the back door, she felt a chill run down her spine. She walked through the kitchen and was about to head upstairs to her room when something made her stop. There was a light on in the small alcove off the kitchen that Hester used as her office. Issie tiptoed in her socks across the parque
t floor and peered through the door of the alcove. Her aunt was hunched over her desk, a mound of paperwork stacked in front of her. Hester took off her reading glasses to rub her eyes and as she did so she caught sight of Issie standing behind her. Startled, she dropped her glasses and then scrambled to pick them up again so she could see who was standing in the doorway.

  “Issie! I thought you were sleeping at the cottage. You gave me quite a turn!” Hester looked tense.

  “The kids threw me out. They’re fine. I came back here to sleep,” Issie explained. “What are you doing, Aunty Hess?”

  Hester readjusted her spectacles. “A bit of bookkeeping–the farm accounts, that sort of thing.” Issie looked at the mound of bills on the writing desk in front of her aunt.

  “Is it true, what Aidan said? You might have to sell the farm?”

  Hester took her glasses back off and rubbed her eyes a second time. “Yes, well, Aidan’s jumping the gun a bit. I’m not selling it just yet. We have enough money in the emergency coffers to see us through for another month. Perhaps two months if we scrimp.”

  “What will happen after that?”

  “Mortgagee sale, I expect. I want to take the horses with me, but where would we go? I won’t be able to take them all. Or the other animals–or Aidan for that matter.”

  “How much money do you need?”

  “A windfall of around $25,000 is all it would take,” Hester said. “I’ve been buying lottery tickets so that’s bound to pay off soon I should imagine.”

  She looked at Issie with tired eyes. “I am doing everything I can, favourite niece. And I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you are here to help me.” Hester smiled weakly. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ll muddle through. So stop standing in the doorway looking at me with those sorrowful eyes. You look like one of my jersey cows with that expression!” She waved Issie out of the office. “Off you go to bed and stop worrying! You have a rowdy group of riders to teach in the morning.”