Cherringham--The Curse of Mabb's Farm (11 page)

First they’d changed into their white robes. Then they’d sprinkled salt between the stones, set fire to some Ash leaves and laid out banners with symbols she didn’t recognise. Every now and then there’d been a disagreement in the group about some detail.

I guess the handbook for these ancient rituals is still being written,
she thought.

Then Tamara had planted five candles in the centre of the circle and ceremoniously drew white lines between them making a pentacle shape.

And finally a chief witch or warlock of some kind — a bedraggled looking young guy with long, dank hair — flicked a zippo at each of the oil flares and the whole place had lit up.

This had been the signal for the seven Gifted Ones to enter the Circle and start chanting, the smoke from the flares swirling dramatically around them.

If she hadn’t had a risky confrontation with a half-crazed farmer to look out for, she would have quite enjoyed this.

It’s just like one of those beach shows we used to take the kids to on holiday in the Far East,
she thought.

But Jack’s text had reminded her to be watchful, especially if Charlie had been drinking.

She edged around to the side of the rock which faced the hillside and the farm below, so that now her back was to the magic ritual and the flares.

From here she could already see the lights of Charlie’s vehicle heading away from the farm, far below.

And she could also see the ominous shape of the white, glowing Gibbous moon now rising over Cherringham. Still low in the sky, it looked enormous, threatening.

A hint of what was to come …

Jack was feeling nervous. He’d known all along that timing was everything for this plan to work. The lights up at the stones would lure Charlie away.

And with luck, whoever had been attacking the farm would now turn up and have another go. But it all depended on whether the gossip machine had done its work.

Though Charlie had been gone a good ten minutes the farm was still eerily silent.

Sometimes, plans don’t work,
Jack knew.

Motionless, he strained his ears into the night, alert for the slightest sound.

Luckily the darkness was lifting. The moon had surfaced above the farmhouse, shedding just enough light to make the faintest of shadows across the concrete yard.

Up above, Jack could now see clouds, rolling past on the wind.

Here in the corner of the farmhouse and the hedge though, Jack knew he was still invisible. He just needed to wait patiently and—

From the far barn came a metallic —
clang
.

Not a sound made by restless cattle. No — that was a sound made by a human …

Another
clang.

And then a figure appeared at the corner of the barn, walking awkwardly. Medium height, in a black hoodie and jeans, face obscured. Even in the moonlight, hard to identify at this distance — maybe thirty yards.

Then Jack understood why the person’s walk was so uneven.

The intruder lugged a large jerry-can — and began pouring fluid from it along the side of the barn.

The smell was strong and instant —
gasoline
.

And Jack felt a rush of adrenaline go through his body. This amount of fuel — the place would go up like a bomb.

The figure had stopped, put down the can and was rooting around searching pockets …

Jack knew instantly what they were looking for. Matches — or a lighter.

He needed to act.

Had to stop them now.

He got up from his crouched position and started to run, both knees sending up a sharp spike of pain.

And as he ran, he saw almost in slow motion the figure now just yards ahead of him strike a match … then clumsily drop it into the mud. Then the figure took out another—

—and just before the match sparked Jack had crossed the yard and hit hard like a linebacker, his shoulder catching the person in the small of the back.

Oof! That hurt …

His tackle sent both of them crashing to the muddy concrete together, matches spilling, legs flailing, bodies hitting the hard ground, Jack’s hands ripping at the hoodie and pulling it back, and the intruder’s face suddenly visible and Jack saying — in shock and total surprise—

“
You?
”

Sarah had stepped into playground fights when kids’ tempers got out of control but this little fracas was off the dial.

She watched the coven’s conflict unfold with a mixture of horror and amusement.

Charlie had leaped off his four-wheel and grabbed hold of one of the flaming torches. He now waved it around like some kind of medieval warrior — a drunken warrior.

As he roamed the circle of stones in a fury, the Gifted Ones started alternately shouting and hurling handfuls of salt at him.

Not the demon they’d expected …

In the middle of the circle, Tamara remained tranquil, ignoring Charlie, bravely trying to finish the “un-cursing”.

“Spirits of the Stones! I command you — relinquish your hold!” she repeated to the corners of the circle, occasionally ducking as Charlie’s fiery brand swept over her head.

She’s keeping her cool … I’ve got to say that for her,
Sarah thought.

Sarah meanwhile kept firm hold of the shotgun which luckily Charlie had dropped when he slipped in the mud during his first angry attack.

With the practised ease of an army brat, she’d broken the gun and ejected the cartridges.

“You crazy lot — get the hell off my land with all this crap!” shouted Charlie, hurling a flare at the weedy warlock with the long hair when he poked his head round a stone.

This is actually comical. Definitely ready for YouTube,
Sarah thought.

“There is evil here, Charlie Fox, and you cannot deny it!” shouted Tamara. “The souls of the cursed cry out for release!”

“No! No!” wailed Charlie. “That’s a load of—” another swing of the torch, “Bollocks!”

Sarah could see now that Charlie was losing it, his eyes wild and his arms flailing. It wasn’t just the drink — she suddenly realised. Something else … this was a man close to breaking point.

She didn’t hear Jack arriving from behind. But he came not a minute too soon, his hand on her shoulder as he passed by her and walked straight towards the circle.

“Charlie,” he said gently. Jack must have talked to so many men also at the end of their tether. Again: “Charlie,” his voice not loud but still cutting through the mayhem.

Sarah saw Charlie turn now, confused by yet another unexpected arrival.

“You?” he said, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “God! What are you doing here?”

“Like we said the first time, Charlie. Here to help.”

“Nothing helps. Nothing can help.”

Sarah watched as Jack approached him carefully.

“I think this will. Or at least it might help you understand what’s been happening.”

He looked around at Tamara and her group, now frozen, watching Jack.

Then she watched as Jack turned back and called down the hill.

“Come on,” he said, as if he was speaking to a spooked animal. “It’s okay.”

And Sarah watched as a hooded figure appeared out of the darkness and trudged up the hill towards them, head bowed. At first she didn’t recognise who it was — but Charlie was quicker.

“Caitlin?”

Caitlin walked into the pool of light from the still-burning flares, and pulled back her hoodie. Sarah could see she was covered in mud, her hair matted, her face streaked.

“What’s happened, love?” said Charlie. Then, anxiously, “Where’s Sammy? Where is he?”

“He’s all right, Charlie. Don’t worry,” said Caitlin. “He’s with Ali in the village. Asleep probably by now. If she’s lucky.”

“B-but what are you doing here Cait?” said Charlie. “You’ll catch your death.”

Sarah looked at Jack. This didn’t make sense. What was happening?

Jack nodded at her. She could see his jacket was covered in dirt, too.

Caitlin came further up the hill until she was standing just a yard from Charlie.

“It was me, Charlie.”

“What do you mean, love? I don’t—”

But instantly Sarah knew what Caitlin was saying.

“It was
me
,” Caitlin repeated. “I’m the one who did all those things. The fire. The footprints on the roof.”

Sarah saw Charlie shake his head. This didn’t compute …

“No,” he said. “It’s other people. Tom, I reckon — or one of them other bastard farmers. Or this lot, taking advantage—”

“No, Charlie,” Caitlin said firmly. “I’m telling you. It was me.”

“But why?” said Charlie. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I wanted to leave. Go back to the flat. Back to how it used to be. We were happy there. Remember?”

“You should have … could have told me.”

“You didn’t listen … wouldn’t listen.”

“So you burned the farm?”

“You changed, Charlie. Minute we moved here. You turned … bad. Horrible. This place. The Curse,”

“She’s right, Charlie,” said Tamara. “It’s the Curse!”

Sarah had forgotten Tamara and the Gifted Ones: she could see them now huddled together at the stones with their burning flares, looking just like a Greek chorus.

“No, Tamara,” said Jack. “There’s no Curse — is there, Charlie?”

Charlie turned to Jack, then back to Caitlin.

“I thought — if the farm makes you unhappy,” continued Caitlin. “I could get rid of the farm. Then we could just leave.”

“It’s not as simple as that, love,” said Charlie.

“Because it’s not about the farm,” said Jack. “It’s about your brother, isn’t it?”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to be surprised. Jack often kept his thoughts and cards close.

Like now…

“What do you mean?” said Caitlin. Then, turning to Charlie, “What does he mean?”

“It’s about Ray,” said Jack. “Isn’t it?”

Again, Sarah saw Charlie turn and peer at Jack as if it were Jack who was now haunting him.

“Ray,” said Charlie, almost to himself. “My brother. Yes, it is about Ray.”

“So let Ray look after the place,” said Caitlin — as confused as Sarah was. “His farm. He buggered off. If the place needs looking after, he can come back and—”

“He can’t though, can he, Charlie?” said Jack.

Jack’s figured something out,
thought Sarah.

The contract with Cauldwell & Co; Ray vanishing; Charlie changing, becoming different.

But what?

“No, he can’t,” said Charlie. Charlie lowered his torch as if defeated. “He can’t … because he’s dead.”

Sarah heard a sudden intake of breath, in unison, from the Greek Chorus.

She watched as Charlie took a breath himself and his arms dropped at his side.

“And I killed him. It was my fault.”

With the flames from the torches swirling behind him, the robed figures lined up before the stones, his wife standing alone in front of him and Jack Brennan at his side, Charlie Fox finally told his story.

And Sarah felt that they were all somehow taking part in a Stone Age ritual, all participants in an ancient court set within the stone circle that had not been convened for thousands of years — but nevertheless still had powers of justice.

“That is just awesome,” said Daniel, somehow managing to walk backwards up the steep track without falling over or bumping into Riley who was threading circles around their feet.

“The power of forensic science,” said Jack without breaking step.

He’d made a promise to himself not to stop until they reached the summit — no matter how much his legs complained.

If Sarah and the kids can do it, I’m damned if I can’t,
he thought.

And as if to prove a point Chloe made a break for the top.

“Last one there’s a—”

“Hey!” said Daniel. “Not fair!”

Jack watched Daniel turn and race after her.

“He’ll be lucky,” said Sarah, next to him. “She won the four hundred metres this summer and he’s been skipping football training.”

“Just don’t you try it on me,” said Jack.

“You kidding?” said Sarah. “I thought I was the one lagging behind.”

“I’m just a better actor,” said Jack.

Head down, Jack carried on up the track, matching Sarah’s confident stride. After all, it had been his idea to come up here on this clear, sunny afternoon.

And Sarah’s idea to bring a hot lunch with them in a backpack as a reward.

The flat-topped escarpment with its Neolithic ditches was about six miles east of Cherringham and Jack had been promising himself the climb since he’d moved to England.

Recent events had given it extra meaning, he had realised.

“You think it’s pretty certain that the three bodies the police found are the witches?” said Sarah, interrupting his thoughts.

“From what I hear,” said Jack. “The clothing, the marking on the necks. The way they were laid out — a ritual burial from hundreds of years ago.”

“So, all along they were up there in the woods, by the stones,” said Sarah. “No wonder we all felt spooky going through there. Then with Ray too …”

“Woods are cold. Woods are dark. People shiver.”

“Oh yeah,” said Sarah, grinning. “I know you were spooked just like me, Jack.”

Jack had to laugh.

“Maybe. If I was — you better keep that to yourself.”

They reached the top. Ahead the grass levelled out. Riley was chasing Daniel round and round in circles, barking madly. Chloe was leaning back on a bench, eyes shut in the weak autumn sun.

Jack turned — and there was the view he’d been looking forward to.

Below them in the valley the Thames looped and turned gently, bright against the sunlight. Jack could see his barge on its mooring. And across the river, he could see Cherringham slumbering through another Sunday afternoon, shops shut, pubs quiet.

“See the stones?” said Sarah next to him.

He shaded his eyes. On a wooded hill beyond Cherringham the stone circle above Mabb’s Farm stood out, the sunlight catching the grey slabs.

“You believe Charlie’s story?” she said.

“Sure, why not?” Jack answered. “I can believe he and his brother had a fight. Ray tells him he’s selling up — Charlie, always passed over, loses control. And we’ve both seen Charlie lose control. Ray goes down — wallop — hits his head on the fireplace. The pathologist can confirm that part. Then — with his brother dead — Charlie panics.”