Skull in the Wood (3 page)

‘Off somewhere?' he said.

‘Just to the tor,' I said. ‘We're in a bit of a hurry.'

Gabe frowned at Matt.

‘Caroline's boy, isn't it?' he said. ‘I saw you when you were small once. She doesn't come here now she lives upcountry.'

He eyed Matt like he was figuring out how much he'd fetch at market. Matt shifted uneasily.

‘I'm Matt Crimmond,' he said. ‘Pleased to meet you.' He stuck out a hand, but Gabe didn't seem to notice it. I don't think he's used to city-boy manners.

‘Gabe Tucker,' he said. ‘I work on the farm here. You be careful of the moor now, boy. It's a dangerous place, and I don't just mean the weather. There's dark things happen here.' He muttered a word under his breath that I'd never heard before. Gabble-something or other. Gobbledegook, more like.

Matt was looking a bit puzzled, which was fair enough really. Gabe's kind of odd at the best of times, though his wife Alba's dead nice and used to be my favourite dinner lady.

‘Got to go,' I said. I waved and pushed Matt through the gate.

‘What did he mean?' Matt asked in a low voice as we walked away down the farm track past Long Field. ‘And what's the gabble thingy when it's at home?'

‘I've no idea, and anyway, it's not worth the effort. He's always like that,' I said.

‘Like what?'

‘Oh, you know. Death and destruction.' I put on a gruff Gabe-like voice. ‘‘‘Strange things happen on the moor, stranger than you can imagine.” He's obsessed with these weird stories everyone used to believe in round here. That's why he gave me Jez when she was a puppy – to protect me from bad things. Bonkers.'

Matt was frowning. ‘Don't you get a bit spooked out, though?' he said. ‘I mean, being all on your own with nothing for miles around? It's sort of creepy. And lots of those barns on the farm look like they've come straight out of a horror movie. You know, rotting planks, creaking doors . . .'

I flinched. ‘Yeah, and why do you think they're in such a bad state? The same reason we've lost all our best fields.'

‘Your dad mentioned that,' Matt said. ‘Hey, maybe it's time to get out of farming.'

The arrogant pig! I couldn't believe it. Surely he knows that it's because of his mum we're going to lose the farm? It's her fault we had to sell off all that land, just before Mum died. That's why the farm's struggling now – we've lost all the best pasture. Dad had said I had to be nice, but suddenly I just couldn't do it any more.

‘The farm's my home,' I said, and my voice came out like a hiss. ‘So why don't you just get lost and leave us all alone?'

‘What's up with you?' Matt said, but I pulled my hood up and marched back along the track towards the house.

Beyond the gate, Gabe watched us, slowly shaking his head.

3

Matt

I
n the end I trailed back to the farm as well. What was Tilda's problem? I was totally confused, but sort of hurt, too. To make things worse, that Gabe bloke grabbed me as I was coming into the front yard and said he wanted a word with me. I couldn't refuse but I wasn't exactly keen – he weirds me out a bit. He must be nearly sixty, I think, and he wears this dirty-looking beanie hat down to his eyebrows, and under it his eyes are really hard and pale, a pale blue you don't normally see. And right now he was acting all secretive, like he was trying to drag me into some bizarre conspiracy.

‘Listen to me, now,' he said. ‘I saw you back there,
you and Tilda, having words. This is the beginning. I know it. If you carry on like this, you'll set it off again.'

‘The beginning of what?' I said, trying to shake my arm free.

Gabe's eyes shifted away.

‘What is it?' I said. ‘What will we set off?'

‘It'll be birds first, I reckon. They're the omens. The harbingers.'

‘Harbingers?' What was he on about? I looked around, wondering how to get rid of him, but he kept going.

‘They'll be gathering now,' he said. ‘Watching, waiting. I felt it when your uncle told me you were coming. And now I know it. If you've any sense you'll get away from here as fast as you can. Before you bring on something worse than birds.'

He saw me smile and a flicker of what might have been anger passed across his eyes.

‘Just stay away from Old Scratch Wood,' he said, ‘and maybe you'll be OK. If you're lucky – and there's plenty enough ill luck here.'

Wacko. Some people have spent far too long away from normal life – and that includes pretty much the whole population of Dartmoor, I should think. When the most exciting thing you have to look forward to is
a trip to the sheep market, you obviously start going a bit psycho.

‘I'm sure you're right,' I said. ‘I'll look out for these omens. Harbingers. Whatever.'

He threw me a glance of pure contempt.

‘Best you do that, Matt Crimmond,' he said. ‘Because I'm afraid they'll be looking out for you.'

The sun went in and for some reason my guts churned uncomfortably. But it seemed that Gabe had said all he was going to say. He turned and went off into one of the barns in front of the farm – East Barn, I think Tilda had called it. There were so many of them I couldn't remember.

I dragged my feet up to the gloomy old house. Gabe was nuts, obviously. But after the bust-up with Tilda, I sort of wished he'd kept his nuttiness to himself.

Just as I reached the door, a car drew up to the gate. Tilda rushed rudely past me out to the lane and got into the back with another girl. Uncle Jack came out to wave goodbye, then told me she was going over to Widecombe and wouldn't be back till late. Why was she avoiding me like this? When she was showing me around, she was almost pleasant one minute, the next she was acting like a mental case. It wasn't like I said
anything out of order – she just went off on one. I didn't get it.

Once I was in, things improved. Uncle Jack said the farm computer was off limits except for emergencies, but I could watch TV for a while. Finally Kitty trotted up and announced that we'd better all have a wash and then it would be time for supper. When I say it like that it sounds a bit Famous Five, but she was just being nice. And believe me, I needed some of that.

Amazingly, she'd even laid the table in the kitchen – this huge old pine number, all scuffed and ringed from stuff that had been spilt on it and scrubbed away. It should have looked rubbish, but it didn't. Just sort of homely. Kitty had set out mats and forks and knives and salt and pepper and everything. My mum would be seriously impressed – she says I never do anything around the house. Then Uncle Jack came in and brought something out of the range cooker, and when he took the lid off, it wasn't a burnt offering like I would have expected from him, but this casserole with dark purplish gravy and a fantastic meaty smell that had me almost dribbling on to the flagstones. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, thanks to Tilda, and now I realised just how hungry I was.

‘This is Hector,' said Uncle Jack, waving his fork at
the casserole.
He's totally lost it, too,
I thought.

Kitty grinned at me. ‘Hector was one of our bullocks,' she said. ‘I didn't like him a lot because he had a bad temper. But he tastes nice.'

We're on first name terms with our dinner? Still . . . I only hesitated a nanosecond, then dived in. And Hector was amazing. I'd never really thought about where the meat we eat at home comes from – but this tasted way better. We ate him with big hunks of bread, which we tore off and dipped in the gravy to mop it up. My mum would have had a fit at our lack of manners, but it really was great stuff.

There wasn't a lot being said apart from ‘Pass the butter,' but once I'd staved off the first pangs of hunger I thought I'd try to find out what Gabe had been ranting on about.

‘The bloke that works on the farm mentioned Old Scratch Wood,' I said. ‘He told me not to go there.'

Uncle Jack looked up from a forkful of Hector and pushed his hair back from his eyes. Suddenly I could see a resemblance to Tilda.

‘Gabe?' he said. ‘What else did he say about it?'

‘I don't know, really. He was going on about omens or harbingers or something.'

‘Oh, you don't want to pay too much attention to
Gabe's stories,' said Uncle Jack curtly, and went back to his supper.

I squirmed in my seat.

‘What's barbingers?' said Kitty.

Uncle Jack actually smiled.

‘They foretell that something is coming, darling,' he said. ‘Like I can foretell that it's nearly your bedtime.' Kitty obviously had a good effect on him, because as he turned to me I could see he was already in a better mood. ‘Gabe likes to ladle on the local colour – he's a walking folklore museum,' he said. ‘But Old Scratch Wood is just a small wood on the moor beyond Thieves' Tor. Not much left of it now, although it's very old. One of the last native forests in England. The oaks there are ancient. Quite strange-looking . . .'

‘Can we have pudding now?' said Kitty.

‘Yes, sweetheart,' said Uncle Jack. ‘I'll get out the treacle tart in a minute. But maybe you should go there, Matthew. It'll be something for you to do, now you're here.' He gave me a probing look. ‘I'll get Tilda to take you tomorrow.'

I tried a dutiful guest smile, but a day out with Tilda wasn't quite what I was after.

‘Can I go, too?' said Kitty.

It was all I could do not to pull a face. Kitty was all
right, but I didn't fancy dragging a five-year-old across the moor as well as a moody Tilda. Thankfully Uncle Jack came to my rescue.

‘Your legs are a bit small for that,' he said. Kitty's face fell. ‘But you can come and help me muck out the chickens.' Apparently this was a major treat for Kitty, because her lip stopped quivering immediately.

So. Just me and Tilda in the middle of the big bad wood. I couldn't wait.

‘Right,' said Uncle Jack, standing up. ‘Enough of this. Make yourself useful now, Matthew, and get on with the washing-up while I put Kitty to bed.'

I looked to see if he was joking, but he wasn't. There was no dishwasher, just a great pile of dirty dishes and disgusting pans. Uncle Jack raised a warning eyebrow and I thought better of making an excuse. Slowly I moved towards the sink and turned on the hot water.

It all took ages, even though Uncle Jack came and helped with the drying and the putting-away. It was clear he was thinking about something, and occasionally I could feel his eyes on me. When the last dish had disappeared, I made myself break the silence.

‘I meant to say before – I'm sorry about Aunty Rose. She was really nice.'

Uncle Jack's face darkened. He picked up the tea
towel, folded it over the rail of the range and headed for the door.

‘I've got to be up at crack of dawn, so I'm only fit for the TV now,' he said in a tired voice. ‘Oh, and ring your mother, won't you? She called for you earlier. Said she couldn't get through on your phone.'

I hesitated, then followed him to the living room. I hovered at the door, unsure what to do. Uncle Jack had crashed out on the sofa in front of the box to watch some boring sitcom. There was another old armchair beside the wood burner, but after the look he'd given me I felt nervous about coming in, and he didn't ask me to. In moments he was snoring away – and it was only eight o'clock.

No one wanted me here, that much was obvious. I felt desperate to talk to someone. Maybe I could get reception for my phone out in the front yard. But I wasn't going to ring my mum – no way.

I stuck on Uncle Jack's wellies again, and an old fleece that was hanging by the door. Then I crept out.

Straight away I was glad that I had. The moon was amazing – huge and low on the horizon, and about three-quarters full. You could almost see all its scars and craters and bumps and hollows. You don't get that in London. I stood admiring it, feeling a bit stupid as
I waved my phone around to find a spot that would let me at least pick up my messages. From the back yard came a low moo and a loud burst of clucking, shattering the silence. No signal, though. I'd have to go further away.

Higher ground would be best, I reckoned. I would try the tor I'd seen from my room. I went out of the front gate, remembering to close it behind me, and followed the farm track past Long Field where Tilda had taken me that afternoon. At the end of the field was a ridge with a well-worn path on it that looked as if it led through the fields at the back of the farm, and right to the top. With the moon so bright, I could easily make out the silhouettes of the stone stacks – three of them, like heaped piles of giant sheep poo left on top of a hill. I took a quick picture with my phone, not that it was likely to come out in this light, but if I was going to be marooned here I might as well have something to show for it.

Despite the fleece I was really cold. I concentrated on getting to the top as fast as possible, only it wasn't as easy it looked. By the time I reached the stones I was panting. And still no reception. I groaned. If I couldn't even get texts while I was here, it was going to be truly dire.