by Holly Rivers
‘Th-there’s someone there!’ whimpered Percy, the ears on his bunny slippers trembling as his knees knocked together. ‘Someone’s inside!’
Demelza strained through the darkness, trying to make out who it was, but it was no use. All she could see was a dense black shadow.
‘What should we do?’ asked Percy.
Demelza turned to him. ‘I’m going down there. I need to see who it is.’
‘Are you sure?’
Demelza nodded. ‘Are you coming?’
Percy sighed heavily. ‘Well, I guess I’ve already broken pretty much every other rule in my dad’s book . . .’ He puffed out his tiny chest. ‘Let’s go.’
Demelza smiled and the pair headed straight out into the garden. Across the moonlit lawn they went, Demelza moving from tree to tree like a spy, with Percy following behind, trying his best to avoid muddying his cotton pyjamas. The night sky was inky blue and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted sharply.
‘Right,’ whispered Demelza as they snuck up to the greenhouse. Its panes of emerald glass were spangled with frost, and it was impossible to see much of what was inside. ‘Keep your voice down and move slowly. We don’t want to scare whatever it is away.’
She pushed the door with her fingertips and it opened with a long, drawn-out creak. Inside, the air was damp and close. She flashed her torch from side to side, throwing pale yellow light across the rows of plants, flowers and vegetables. Demelza had been in the greenhouse a thousand times before, but tonight somehow something felt different, almost as if she were a stranger navigating the shadowy space for the first time. As her imagination went into overdrive, the spiralling fronds of Grandma’s exotic blooms became the tentacles of strange and terrifying monsters, the overhanging foliage, the web of a poisonous spider. In her mind, she saw the tomatoes beginning to sprout limbs and teeth like little red beasts waiting to attack.
‘Hello?’ Demelza muttered, inching forward slowly. A strange knot started to coil in her tummy, the kind of fluttering sensation you might get when walking through a dark forest. ‘Is anyone there?’
Silence.
‘Come out! I know you’re in here!’
Still nothing.
‘W-well, it doesn’t look like anyone’s here,’ said Percy with a nervous laugh. ‘Maybe we jumped to conclusions? Maybe what we saw was just a shadow or—’
Demelza put up a hand, demanding silence.
Her torchlight had illuminated a corner at the very back of the greenhouse, and there, in the spot where Grandma’s cabbage patch usually stood, was a trapdoor.
CHAPTER 7
Through the Trapdoor
Demelza dropped to her knees and shone her torch on the trapdoor. ‘Sizzling circuit boards!’ she gasped. It was carved from a thick piece of dark wood and engraved with a labyrinthine pattern of symbols painted in shimmering gold. There were triangles, stars, hands, moons, arrows, and in the centre was a ruby-eyed skull with a circular handle clenched between its teeth.
‘No! No way!’ Percy quavered, quickly dashing behind a nearby row of beanpoles. ‘I know I said I wanted my life to be more exciting but I’m not going through there. Please don’t tell me you want to go through there?’
With trembling hands, Demelza let her fingers trail across the symbols, and to her surprise there was a heat to them, a strange warmth as if she was skin to skin with a living creature. ‘Wow . . .’
‘What?’ said Percy, peeking out from his hiding place. ‘What is it?’
Demelza beckoned to him, and taking a deep breath he slowly inched towards her, as if traversing the edge of a clifftop. He looked down at the discovery, agog. ‘Oh, Demelza, please don’t open it. Why don’t we just come back tomorrow when it’s not so dark? It’s probably locked anyway.’
But Demelza couldn’t tear her eyes away from what she’d unearthed, and with curiosity pushing her forward like a hot poker she curled her fingers around the handle. She was just about to turn it clockwise when—
‘Owwwwww!’
A fierce shock of white heat shot through her hand like lightning, and the trapdoor flung open on its own as if spring-loaded. Demelza stumbled backwards, wincing with pain. ‘Ouch! Ouch! And ouch infinitum!’
‘Demelza?’ said Percy, rushing to her side. ‘Are you OK? What happened?’
‘I . . . I don’t know,’ said Demelza, looking towards the trapdoor in confusion. ‘The handle got really hot and then it just . . . it just opened on its own . . .’ She squirmed in pain, nursing her burning palm.
‘Oh, I don’t like this,’ Percy said with a gulp. ‘I don’t like this at all!’
‘I’m . . . I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation,’ said Demelza, getting up and trying to convince herself as much as her friend. She peered through the frame of the trapdoor and saw that there was a rickety ladder leading into the darkness below. She slowly put a foot on the top rung, as if testing the water of a hot bath. ‘And I guess there’s only one way to find out.’ She took a deep breath and began to lower herself down. ‘I won’t be long, I promise. Stand guard up here. And if you see anything weird just shout, OK?’
‘Demelza, no—!’ Percy shouted.
But it was too late.
Down and down Demelza went, her palms clammy against the metal rungs of the ladder, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. With every descending step the air grew thicker, filling with the smell of spices, smoke and old parchment. How far down was she going to have to go? And what would she find at the bottom? Demelza breathed deeply, coaxing each foot to take her deeper and deeper into the unknown.
At the bottom she found herself in a small stone cavern. It was completely empty apart from a single wooden door which had been left slightly ajar. Demelza teetered towards it, and with both curiosity and fear coursing through her veins, pushed it open the tiniest bit.
She instantly sprung back in shock. Oscillating orbits!
A cave-like room, lit only by candlelight, stretched out in front of her as far as her eyes could see. It seemed to be part junk shop, part apothecary, with shelves of peculiar objects stretching from floor to ceiling like displays in the most magnificent of museums. The few bits of wall that could be seen were covered in an ornate wallpaper that was peeling in places, and the whole room gave off a sweet, musty smell.
Demelza didn’t know what to think. Of all the things that she’d imagined discovering tonight, not one could have come close to this. What was this place? Did Grandma Maeve even know that it existed?
Demelza let her gaze bounce from wall to wall, trying to take it all in. Exotic masks sat next to sparkling crystals, and rows of prosthetic eyeballs stared out from glass cabinets. Gigantic speckled eggs (that would have made the grandest of omelettes) were arranged in order of size, and what appeared to be luminescent sea creatures floated around in pickling jars. There were piles of old books, bottles of ink and faded maps which hung skew-whiff in heavy frames.
But the most shocking sight of all was the copper crucible which bubbled away over the open fire in the grate, surrounded by a circle of human skulls. Their teeth were crooked, their cheekbones sharp, and they kept watch over the room like hideous bone gargoyles.
‘Demelza!’ Percy whispered from above. ‘What’s going on? I don’t like being up here on my own. Come back up!’
But Demelza didn’t offer a reply.
Because from the pantry at the very back of the room, a figure had appeared through the shadows. It was wearing a golden mask shaped like a skull, which glimmered in the candlelight like a shiny second skin.
Demelza’s hand shot to her mouth.
Even though she couldn’t see the figure’s face there was no doubt about who it was.
The long grey hair, the wrinkled hands . . .
It was Grandma Maeve.
CHAPTER 8
Minced Blobfish Brains
Demelza fiddled with a strand of her hair. Confusion, panic and disbelief all swirled around in her tummy at once. Even t
hough logic told her to burst through the door, something held her back, rooting her feet to the ground as if she were wearing an antique diving suit.
She watched as Grandma Maeve hobbled to a three-legged wooden table next to the fire, on which stood a stone pestle and mortar nearly as large as her head. ‘Now, what do I need first?’ she muttered, consulting a large leather-bound book before stretching up to a glass cabinet above. It was filled with jars, bottles and tinctures of all shapes and sizes, and she eyed each one intently. ‘Woodland fungus fuzz? . . . No . . . triple-distilled appendix pus? . . . No . . . Ah! Minced blobfish brains! Yes, they’ll work nicely for someone who died at sea.’
She reached for a hexagonal jar and took out a handful of something pink and slimy, which she then threw into her mortar. Next, she selected a round pot containing what looked like bumpy, dark-green stones and dropped in a fistful. ‘Then a few pickled bunions from the year he died. There we go . . .’
As Grandma Maeve pounded her ingredients together, Demelza shuddered. Whatever was being cooked up, she had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t the beginnings of a delicious lamb casserole. What was her grandmother up to? Was she planning some kind of Halloween surprise? But why was she doing it hidden down here?
‘Right, let’s have a little taste,’ said Grandma Maeve, putting down her pestle. She lifted a teaspoon of the concoction to her wrinkled lips and slurped noisily. ‘Mmm . . . yes . . . the perfect balance.’ She emptied the contents of her mortar into the crucible and stepped back. ‘Now, just a little somethin’ which belonged to the man himself and we’ll be ready to start.’
With that, Grandma Maeve reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an oil-black feather that looked like it might have come from the tail of a crow. She let it fall from between her fingers and it hit the contents of the crucible with a popping, crackling hiss.
Almost immediately, the candlelight in the room twisted and flickered, and Grandma Maeve started to sway back and forth. She slowly pulled her arms through the air as if conducting a large imaginary orchestra. After a throaty cough, she began to chant, quietly at first, then louder and louder:
‘Spectre, spectre, hear my cry!
I summon you from the other side.
We all live and we all die,
Come forth across the great divide . . .’
Demelza bit her lip. Spectre meant ghost, did it not? As Grandma Maeve’s voice rose, the air turned cold. It was as if something was sucking every molecule of warmth from the atmosphere, as if a winter frost had come early. An overwhelming chill flooded Demelza’s body, each one of her muscles stiffening like raindrops being turned to ice. Her nerves were ragged, her head full of nightmarish thoughts. Was Grandma Maeve some kind of witch or sorcerer? And whatever she was doing, did it have something to do with the noises Demelza had heard the night before?
A thin turquoise vapour had begun to twist its way upwards from the crucible. Demelza watched as it looped around Grandma Maeve’s body like it was being pulled by some invisible force. It settled above the old woman’s head in a psychedelic cloud, its hue changing to ochre then ruby then white.
Demelza clamped her teeth around her knuckles to keep herself from shouting out. No, this isn’t really happening, she told herself. This is just your mind playing tricks on you. An optical illusion. You’re a scientist. Think scientifically. Think scientifically . . .
But as much as Demelza tried to convince herself that she was just seeing things, the vapour cloud started to spin and Grandma continued to chant:
‘Spectre, spectre, hear my cry!
I summon you from the other side.
We all live and we all die,
COME FORTH ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE!’
Grandma Maeve’s voice reached a mighty crescendo and all of a sudden she froze, her eyes rolling back into her head. Then, like a snake being charmed from a basket, two threads of bright-white fluid began to appear from her nose. They oozed out of her nostrils like mucoid ropes, writhing through the air in front of her.
Demelza’s knees buckled. Was Grandma ill? Did she need help? Demelza couldn’t restrain herself any longer.
‘GRANDMA!’ she shouted, bursting through the door. ‘What’s happening? Are you OK?’
Grandma Maeve spun around and instantly the vapours plummeted from the ceiling. ‘Demelza? What on earth are you doin’ down here? You’re meant to be tucked up in bed!’
‘What am I doing down here?’ screeched Demelza. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Grandma? You’re the one that’s been sneaking around at night! You’re the one that’s doing . . . whatever it is that you’re doing!’
‘Shhh!’ hissed Grandma Maeve, clamping a hand over Demelza’s mouth. ‘Keep your voice down.’
An elderly woman appeared from a chair in the corner and Demelza jumped. She hadn’t realized that her grandma had company.
‘Mrs Catchpole?’ the woman said, stepping towards Grandma Maeve. ‘What’s happened? Where’s my Benjamin? Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine, Myrtle,’ replied Grandma Maeve with a nervous laugh. ‘It’s just my granddaughter. She’s had a bad dream and wants tucking back into bed, that’s all. Go and sit yourself by the fire and I’ll be with you in a minute.’
The old woman shuffled away and Grandma Maeve pulled Demelza close.
‘Who was that?’ demanded Demelza.
‘That don’t matter now,’ replied Grandma Maeve, bringing her voice to a whisper. ‘Now tell me, Demelza, are you alone?’
Demelza loosened herself from her grandmother’s grip and shook her head. ‘No. Percy’s up there in the greenhouse. We came to investigate the noises I’d been hearing. The ones you insisted were just bad weather. They were something to do with this, weren’t they?’
‘Oh, deary me. Oh, deary, deary me!’ Grandma Maeve pulled her hands through her ashen hair as she moved towards the door. She took off her golden mask and laid it on a nearby side table. ‘Right, come with me. I’ll explain everythin’ later, but we have to get Percy home immediately. He can’t see what’s down ’ere.’
She ushered Demelza back up the ladder to where Percy was sitting cross-legged on the greenhouse floor. On seeing his friend, he leapt up. ‘Oh, there you are, Demelza! I’ve been waiting ages. Are you OK? You look like you’ve seen a—’
‘She’s fine, thank you, Percy,’ interrupted Grandma Maeve, her head popping up through the trapdoor. ‘Nothin’ to worry about.’
Percy shot Demelza a confused look. ‘Mrs Catchpole? It . . . it’s you!’
‘Well, of course it’s me,’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘Who did you think it was, the Queen of Sheba?’
‘We thought you might have been an intruder! A burglar!’
‘A burglar? Good gracious me, no. Down there is where I brew my ginger wine. Our family’s secret recipe, so I like to keep it all hidden.’ She gave Demelza a stern look. ‘Demelza was just helpin’ me bottle it up and we lost track of time. Ain’t that right?’
Demelza knew from the tone of her grandmother’s voice that it was best just to agree, and she nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right . . . ginger wine . . . I was helping . . . got distracted.’
‘Oh, thank goodness for that,’ said Percy, a relieved smile breaking across his pale face. ‘See? I told you there was probably nothing strange going on.’
Demelza glowered at Grandma Maeve, her mind a twisted coil of confused thoughts. ‘No. Nothing strange at all.’
‘Right, well, let’s be gettin’ you home, young Percy,’ said Grandma Maeve, clapping her hands together. ‘I’d hate for you to be gettin’ into trouble with your pa.’ She ushered him to the greenhouse door and smiled. ‘Demelza’s a lucky girl to have a friend like you. A stubborn girl, but a lucky one! Head on back to the cottage and I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Percy skipped back across the garden, and when he was safely out of earshot, Grandma Maeve sighed deeply. ‘Well, it looks like your old grandma has a bit of explaini
n’ to do, Demelza,’ she said, fiddling with the hem of her cardigan. ‘Let me deal with Myrtle downstairs, then after I’ve walked Percy home, we’ll talk. Why don’t you head on up to bed and I’ll bring you a nice cuppa in a while?’
Demelza looked deep into her grandmother’s eyes. ‘And then you’ll tell me everything, Grandma? You promise?’
Grandma Maeve’s chin dipped down. ‘Yes, I promise.’
CHAPTER 9
The Truth Revealed
Twenty minutes later a storm had begun to rage, and claw-fingered raindrops tapped violently at the attic window. Demelza was tucked up under her patchwork quilt, Shiver nestling at her feet like a furry, brown hot-water bottle. In his cage, Archimedes was nibbling on a piece of apple, squeaking in terror every time a clap of thunder struck. And the Incredible Intruder Incarcerator was still set up in the middle of the floor, its spiky iron jaws wide open, as if hoping for prey.
Demelza waited restlessly, images of the mysterious cavern, the circle of skulls and the bubbling crucible burnt into her mind’s eye. She couldn’t stop replaying how Grandma’s eyes had rolled back, and how the strange white strands had snaked their way out from her nostrils. What had Grandma Maeve been hiding from her all this time?
‘Here we go! Strong, sweet tea all round,’ came Grandma Maeve’s voice from the staircase. The attic door creaked open and she hobbled inside, placing a silver tea tray down on the bedside table and her carpet bag on the floor. She sat in the adjacent rocking chair and poured out two steaming cups. ‘And I thought you might need a little something to keep your strength up,’ she said, taking a plate of biscuits and nudging them towards her granddaughter. ‘Go on, tuck in.’
Demelza took the plate, but nothing, not even a custard cream, could ease her mind. She felt queasy, on edge, her tummy fluttering as if it were full of moths.
For a while neither of them said a word, the air heavy with secrets yet to be told.
‘Demelza,’ began Grandma Maeve eventually, her voice trembling, her eyes damp, ‘before I start, I need you to know that I never wanted to keep any of this from you. Not a day’s gone by when I haven’t wanted to tell you the truth. It’s just that, well . . .’ Grandma Maeve paused. She was struggling to find the words she needed and tears were gathering in the wrinkled corners of her eyes. ‘It’s just what with everything that happened with your mum and dad, I didn’t want to cause you no more stress unnecessarily. You’ve had so much to deal with already . . .’