Macleish smiled and withdrew his head, his hand pushing back the flap.
‘Wait!’ yelled Dad. ‘Wait – Macleish –’
‘Becky,’ I whispered. ‘Are you all right?’ My mind partly registered that she was looking more normal, that the terrible light had gone out of her eyes, but another fear had suddenly assaulted me with such force that I could barely take in anything else. ‘Dad –’ I began, realizing what I had just seen.
‘That old fool.’ He was gathering up Becky in his arms, patting her lovingly as she snuggled into his oilskin coat. ‘He’s crazy. Not safe to be around. Talking all that–’
‘Dad!’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you see his hands?’
‘What about them?’
‘They were covered with fur,’ I whispered.
‘What?’
‘His hands – the tops were all covered in fur.’
Somehow we got the sandwiches down and clambered into the sleeping-bags. Becky seemed fine now, unconscious of what she had said or of Macleish’s appearance. What was more, Dad seemed totally uninterested in the state of the old man’s hands.
‘We must get some sleep,’ he said, and he sounded so angry that I knew I shouldn’t – couldn’t argue with him. Dad is the kind of person who is so used to giving instructions and expecting them to be obeyed that there was no point in resisting him. Anyway, I was sure that in the morning, when it was daylight, a very obvious explanation would be found for everything.
But morning didn’t come for a very long time, and I lay in the semi-darkness of the tent hearing the booming beneath me and pulling my sleeping-bag up round my ears. The wind cried and moaned outside but never reached full gale force, and thanks to Dad’s careful pegging the tent remained stable.
Outside there was a full moon and the pallid light came into the tent in a faint glow, picking out the outlines of the sleeping-bags and the rucksacks. It wasn’t exactly cold, but I felt chilled and very uneasy as I lay there with the moonlight filling up the tent more and more until I felt as if I was bathed in it.
I half slept then woke up with a jerk, knowing something was wrong but not immediately able to decide what it was. My eyes roved round the tent. Well, we were all here and nothing was missing. Then my eyes alighted on Becky’s hands, which were clasped in front of her, resting on the top of her sleeping-bag. Both her wrists and the top of her hands were covered in smooth, brown fur.
‘Becky,’ I whispered.
She didn’t reply.
‘Becky –’ She sat up, raised one of her fur-covered hands and hit me so hard across the forehead that I fell back, seeing stars and then watching a long, dark tunnel of blackness rush towards me.
I woke up, not sure of the passing of time. My face was aching and it took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. With a sense of shock I pulled myself up and stared around the moon-washed interior of the tent. My father lay there, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling evenly, but of Becky there was no sign whatsoever.
‘Becky!’
My father woke. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Becky’s gone.’
‘Maybe she went out for a pee,’ he grunted.
‘If she did, she hit me first.’
‘What?’
‘She knocked me out,’ I protested indignantly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It feels terrible. Just take a look at it, would you?’
Dad flashed the torch at my face and whistled. ‘Blimey – that’s a real shiner.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What were you two fighting about then?’ he asked brusquely.
‘We weren’t fighting about anything – she just hit me.’
‘But what for?’
‘She had fur on her hands.’
He was silent and I didn’t know whether he believed me or not. ‘Come on. We’d better see where she is,’ he said at last. ‘You OK to come?’
‘You bet.’ I wriggled out of my bag and followed him outside. It was light now and we could both see very clearly where we were going, but there was no sign of Becky and the hollow booming sound below our feet seemed louder.
‘Where the hell can she be?’ asked Dad, looking really worried.
‘What’s that?’ I said sharply, pointing to a dark hump in the grass.
‘It’s a sheep.’
‘No, it’s too long. It’s kind of – kind of lolling there,’ I said, feeling inadequate, unable to describe what looked to me like a dark cylindrical shape which wasn’t quite cylindrical. Then I gave a little yelp of shock and surprise. The shape wasn’t quite cylindrical because it had a human head which was waving to and fro.
I think Dad noticed it at the same time for he suddenly moved in front of me.
‘Come on, Dad. Let’s take a look.’
‘We don’t know what it is.’ He hesitated.
‘We never will unless we check it out,’ I said impatiently, acutely aware that neither of us could say what we thought we’d seen.
‘OK, but stay behind me.’
‘All right.’ I was deeply afraid, but my curiosity was stronger, and somehow the fact that Dad was there made it all right. Whatever it was, Dad would sort it out.
‘Now what?’ I said as he paused.
‘Stop.’
‘Dad–’
‘Don’t move!’
‘What is it?’
‘It can’t be,’ he muttered, grabbing me to him and blocking my view.
‘What is it?’ I couldn’t bear the agony of the suspense any longer and broke away from him. Then I gave a gasp of revulsion. Lying on the grass was a wet, dark seal, but its head belonged to Macleish.
The head turned and spoke throatily in a blurred sort of way.
‘It came to me. It came to me too early.’
‘What’s happened to you?’ I whispered.
‘Kelpie wind.’
‘You’re a seal.’ I wondered if I was dreaming or going mad, and looking at Dad I could see he was completely stunned.
‘I ran for the beach. It was too late.’
‘You mean you changed –’ It was unbelievable.
‘Help me.’ His voice was bubbly now, and some enormous change was taking place, for the human features were distorting, shifting, changing. Seconds later, a seal’s head looked plaintively up at me and from deep in its throat a swallowed human voice screamed, ‘Get me to the beach, or I’ll die.’ Then the voice went altogether, to be replaced by a guttural call that chilled me to the bone.
Dad spoke for the first time. ‘Becky. Where is she?’
I remembered the fur on her hands. ‘She’s changing, Dad,’ I said mechanically, too shocked to feel any emotion.
‘What?’
‘She’s gone to join George – gone to join her father.’ Suddenly I knew instinctively what had happened. ‘George – he’s a kelpie. Like her. Like Macleish – like anyone might be who comes to this island at the wrong time. Look down there. Look.’
The sun was rising now and picking out the white foam of the shallows. There, frolicking in the waves, were two seals, a large one and a smaller one. George and Becky.
‘Anyone who comes to the island at the wrong time,’ repeated my father woodenly. ‘What did Macleish say about the wind? Don’t you mean anyone who stays on the island for a certain length of time – maybe a night – when the kelpie wind is blowing?’
I froze. ‘What are you saying, Dad?’
‘Look at the back of your hands, son.’
I couldn’t. I couldn’t look down at them.
‘Look at the back of your hands,’ insisted Dad.
Slowly, unwillingly, I looked. ‘They’re all right,’ I cried. ‘We mustn’t let it get to us.’
‘We’ve got to get away.’ There was panic in his eyes and I suddenly felt old, old enough to be his father.
The seal that was Macleish made a pitiful mewing sound and we both jumped, our nerves in tatters.
/> ‘We can’t leave him here,’ I said. ‘He’ll die.’
‘All right – we’ll get him down to the beach. Then we must find his boat and row – row away – fast.’
‘What about Becky?’ I said slowly.
‘She’s gone. She’s changed. Come on!’ he rapped out impatiently. ‘Time’s running out.’
Somehow we managed to grab the seal, and between us half-drag, half-carry it down to the beach. But all the time I was sure the fur must be growing on my hands, and was terrified that we would be too late.
Derek held up his hands in the firelight and everyone looked at them closely. There didn’t seem to be any fur on them. Yet. There was a long silence and then Liz said, ‘Let’s hear another story. I’ve got one. It’s called “Mountain Madness”.’ She paused and gulped. ‘Oh dear.’
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Tim.
‘It all happened when my brother Jake and I went skiing last year.’
‘You can’t tell that one,’ said a muffled voice. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘It may be horrible,’ she snapped, ‘but it really happened, and if we tell it, it’ll make us feel better.’
‘Will it?’ said Jake.
3
Moutain Madness
We were having a skiing holiday with our parents in Bulgaria. There was a good lot of snow last year and, because Jake and I have been skiing with the family since we were very tiny and are really good skiers, we were often allowed out on the slopes on our own. Anyway, we had this ski lodge high up on the mountain and late one afternoon, when it was nearly dark, Jake and I were making our way back across country and by mistake ski’d into a valley we hadn’t been to before. The stars were just coming out, little pinpricks of light above us, and we had never felt so fit and happy.
Jake saw the castle first, rearing up above the valley. The light was blazing from the windows and we could hear the sound of distant music.
‘They must be having a party,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’ Jake agreed at once. He used to be very adventurous – but not any more.
We ski’d over and went to take a closer look. It really was the most beautiful castle – all turrets and towers and an ornate drawbridge. Even from a distance we could see that the dance was obviously very grand, and there was a full orchestra. Couples were dancing and they wore the most beautiful, elegant clothes I’ve ever seen. It all looked magnificent, but I suddenly had a sinking inner feeling that there was something wrong, although for a few seconds I couldn’t work out what it was.
‘They’re not human,’ said Jake suddenly, and I felt my stomach muscles clench with fright.
‘What?’
‘Look for yourself. They’re not human at all. None of them are.’
I stared more intently, and as one of the guests passed close to the window I recoiled with shock: his head was clearly, unmistakably, the head of a wolf.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I muttered. Then the obvious explanation occurred to me. ‘Of course, they’re wearing masks, aren’t they?’
‘Pretty realistic masks. And what about their hands?’
I took a closer look at a pair of stylishly twirling dancers. Sure enough, their interlocked hands were definitely covered with fur. Could they be gloves? Could this be the most dressed-up fancy-dress party of all time?
Suddenly the music ended and this was greeted with snarls and howls of disapproval. Jake and I shuddered. There was something unearthly, terrifying, in the sound.
‘Blimey,’ I whispered. ‘What on earth do you make of this?’
‘Let’s go,’ said Jake fearfully.
‘Go?’ I replied indignantly. ‘Go, when we’ve discovered a genuine fairy-tale palace?’
‘What are you going to do then?’ he snapped sarcastically. ‘Join them?’
I could see that Jake was petrified and that I was probably being stupid, but the glittering, sinister scene had already bewitched me and I didn’t want to leave. Wild thoughts were rushing through my mind. Could it be some beautifully mounted fake? Would the guests soon peel off masks and gloves to reveal human faces and lily-white skin beneath?
‘Wait.’ Jake grabbed my arm as I was about to edge in closer. ‘Don’t move.’
‘What’s the matter?’ My fascination was beginning to turn to fear.
‘Look!’
I started to tremble as I saw what Jake was silently pointing at. Two wolves, unclothed dark shadows, were padding towards the drawbridge of the castle. They trotted silently across the snow-covered bridge and then one of them sprang up and pulled at an overhanging chain with its paw. A long, mournful note began to sound and the massive iron-studded door swung slowly open. A wolf servant stood there in the finest livery. He bowed and the two wolves slowly padded in, the great door clanging to behind them.
‘Wow!’ Jake seemed more confident now. ‘It’s amazing.’
It certainly was, I thought, as I looked high up the castle walls. ‘Wait –’ I said. ‘Look up there.’ The window at the top of one of the towers was barred, but it was brightly lit and there’was a shape moving about.
‘It’s not a wolf,’ said Jake encouragingly.
‘No. It’s an old lady. I think she’s seen us,’ I said panicking.
‘How can she have? It’s dark out here.’
‘Well, it looks as if she has. She’s holding something up against the bars.’
‘It’s a baby,’ said Jake. ‘I can see it clearly. It’s an ordinary baby.’
It was hard to make out anything of the old lady’s expression, but somehow the way her arms were thrust out, holding up the baby behind the bars, seemed to indicate that she was desperate. But why was she so desperate, I wondered. Was she a prisoner? Who did the baby belong to?
‘What shall we do?’ I asked Jake.
‘Go home,’he said without any hesitation.
‘But we can’t just –’
‘Come on. It feels bad here.’
‘Feels bad? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘It just does.’
And suddenly I knew what he meant. There was a greater chill in the air, a wildness to the dancing, a stamping of paws – and was that a wolf’s eye watching us through a downstairs window? But upstairs? She was still there, holding the baby up more imploringly than ever, and I felt that the baby’s eyes were on mine, burning into me.
‘OK,’ I whispered. ‘Let’s go.’
We ski’d away swiftly from the chill image of that place, and with a tremendous sense of relief soon found ourselves back on the familiar slopes again. As we drew up outside the ski lodge I said vehemently, ‘We’ve got to go back there.’
‘No way.’
‘By day.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘With Mum and Dad? It’ll be all right – and I remember the way.’
‘So do I,’ said Jake slowly. ‘But so what? You won’t catch me going back there again.’
The next day we ski’d back to the little valley with Mum and Dad. We had argued about it for hours and finally agreed to tell them about the castle but not about the wolves or the old lady and the baby.
I was dying to go back and check that we hadn’t somehow imagined it all, but as we neared the valley, even in broad daylight under a sparkling morning sun, I still felt scared and I knew that poor Jake did too. We ski’d on until we came to the sharp dip into the valley. Once we were there I looked up to see the soaring cliff. It was there all right, but there was no castle built into it – just a bare, icy crag.
‘Where is it?’ asked Jake angrily.
I stared around me at the snow-capped mountains. There was not the hint of a castle anywhere.
‘Maybe you got the wrong valley,’ said Dad.
‘No,’ I snapped. ‘I’m certain this is the place. Aren’t you, Jake?’
‘Yeah. But there’s no castle,’ he said flatly.
I saw Dad and Mum exchange glances. I knew what they were thinking – that we had imagined it all.
>
‘Mum – it was here.’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ I yelled.
‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘I believe you both saw it.’
‘You do?’ said Jake, amazed.
‘Sure – but I have to tell you the castle was nothing more than an illusion.’
‘How do you make that out?’ I asked crossly.
‘Mountain madness,’ chuckled Dad.
‘What?’ asked Jake suspiciously.
‘Snow-blindness – makes you have all kinds of hallucinations. It’s all that white. Anyone could see castles in the air.’
‘But there were wolves dancing, weren’t there, Jake?’ I blurted out.
He nodded reluctantly.
‘And an old lady with a baby. She was a prisoner or something.’
Jake nodded again, looking very unhappy indeed.
‘That’s what I mean,’ said Dad. ‘Maybe you two have been doing too much skiing.’ He turned to Mum. ‘I think we should spend the rest of the day in the city. There’s some Roman ruins we haven’t seen and –’
‘Ruins –’Jake and I moaned. ‘Not ruins.’
‘Yes,’ said Mum firmly. ‘It’s time for a change of scene.’
We weren’t allowed back on the slopes for another day, and even then it was only after endless discussion about wearing snow-goggles all the time and not going too far.
Eventually we managed to get permission to go out for a short ski, and Dad even joked, ‘Watch out for those dancing wolves.’ It was just too humiliating.
‘We’re going back there, aren’t we?’ said Jake gloomily.
‘Yes,’ I said fiercely.
We ski’d back towards the valley and as we went, our uneasiness grew. I knew that Jake was terrified and that I was forcing him on, but I felt we had to go back for the baby’s sake if no one else’s.
‘You scared?’ I asked Jake.
‘You bet.’
We arrived in the valley just as the light was fading and, for a moment, as we ski’d down the sharp descent, I thought the castle wasn’t there and that Mum and Dad had been right all along. But then we both saw it – brightly lit and as fairy-tale-like as before. This time, however, there was no music and no dancing and, as far as we could see, no wolves.
Scary Tales to Tell in the Dark Page 3