Spook's Secret (wc-3) (4 page)

    'When was he here last?'

    'Two weeks. Maybe more ...'

    'Well, when he comes visiting again, let him know that I'd like a word or two with him. Tell him to come up to the house.'

    'Aye, I'll tell him.'

    'See that you do. Well, we'll be on our way.' The Spook turned to leave and I picked up my staff and the two bags and followed. Alice came running after me and caught hold of my arm, bringing me to a halt.

    'Don't forget what you promised' she whispered into my left ear. 'Come and visit me and don't leave it longer than a week. Counting on you, I am!'

    'I'll come and see you, don't worry' I said, giving her a smile.

    With that, she walked back to join the Hursts and I watched as all three went into the farmhouse. I felt really sad for Alice, but there was nothing I could do.

    As we left Moor View Farm behind, I told the Spook what had started to worry me.

    'They didn't seem that happy to take Alice in'
1
said, expecting that the Spook would contradict me. To my shock and surprise, he agreed with what I'd said.

    'Aye, that's true enough, they weren't too happy at all. But they hadn't much say in the matter. You see, the Hursts owe me quite a tidy sum. Twice I've rid their place of troublesome boggarts. And I still haven't received even a penny for my hard work. I agreed to cancel their debt if they took Alice in.'

    I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 'But that's not fair on Alice!' I said. 'They might treat her badly.'

    'That girl can take care of herself, as you well know' he said with a grim smile. 'Besides, no doubt you won't be able to keep away and will be calling in from time to time to see if she's all right.'

    When I opened my mouth to protest, the Spook's grin became even wider so that he looked like a hungry wolf, widening its jaws to snap the head off its prey.

    'Well, am I right?' he asked. I nodded.

    'Thought so, lad. I know you well enough by now. So don't go worrying too much about the girl. Worry about yourself. It's likely to be a hard winter. One that'll test the both of us to the limits of our strength. Anglezarke is no place for the weak and faint-hearted!'

    Something else had been puzzling me, so I decided to get it off my chest. T heard you ask the Hursts about somebody called Morgan,' I said. Ts that the same Morgan who sent you the letter?'

    'Well, I certainly hope there aren't two of them, lad! One's trouble enough.'

    'So he sometimes stays with the Hursts?'

    'He does that, lad, which is to be expected seeing as he's their son.'

    'You've sent Alice to stay with Morgan's parents!' I uttered in amazement.

    'Aye. And I know what I'm doing so that's enough questions for now. Let's get on our way. We need to be there long before nightfall.'

    From the very first moment I saw them up close, I'd liked the look of the fells around Chipenden, but somehow Anglezarke Moor was different. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, but the nearer we got the lower my spirits sank.

    Maybe it was the fact that I was seeing it at the tail-end of the year, when it was gloomy and winter was drawing in. Or perhaps it was the dark moor itself rising up before me like a gigantic slumbering beast, clouds shrouding its sombre heights. Most likely it was that everyone had been warning me against it and telling me how severe the winter was going to be. Whatever it was, I felt even worse when I saw the Spook's house, the grim place where we'd be staying for the next few months.

    We approached it by following a stream towards its source, climbing up into what the Spook called a 'clough', which was a cleft in the moor, a deep narrow valley with steep slopes rising up on either side. At first the slopes were just scree, but those loose stones soon gave way to tussocks of grass and bare rock, and the dark cliffs of the clough seemed to close in on either side.

    After about twenty minutes the clough curved away to the left, and suddenly there was the Spook's house directly ahead, built right back against the cliff face to our right. My dad always said that your first impression of something is almost always correct, so my spirits dropped right down into my boots. It was late afternoon and the light was already past its best, so that didn't help. The house was bigger and more imposing than the one at Chipenden, but was constructed from much darker stone, which gave it a distinctly sinister appearance. Additionally the windows were small which, combined with the fact that the house was built in a clough, would surely make the rooms inside very dark. It was one of the most uninviting houses I'd ever seen.

    The worst thing, though, was that it had no garden. As I said, the house was built right against the sheer rocky crag behind it; in front, five or six paces brought you to the edge of the stream, which wasn't very wide but looked deep and very cold. Another thirty paces, crunching across the pebbles, and you'd be stubbing your big toe against the opposite rock face. That's if you managed to get across the slippery stepping stones without falling in.

    There was no smoke rising from the chimney, which suggested there would be no welcoming fire. Back in Chipenden, the Spook's pet boggart had always known when we were returning, and not only was the house already warm, but a piping hot meal would be waiting on the kitchen table.

    Far above, the sides of the clough almost seemed to meet over the house and there was just a narrow strip of sky. I shivered because it was even colder down in the clough than it had been on the lower slopes of the moor and I realized that even in the summer, the sun wouldn't be visible for more than an hour or so each day. It made me appreciate what I'd had back in Chipenden, with woods, fields, the high fells and the wide sky above. There we'd looked down on the world; here we were trapped in a long, deep, narrow pit.

    I glanced up nervously at the dark edges of the clough where it met the sky. Anybody or anything could be up there peering down at us and we wouldn't know it.

    'Well, lad, here we are. This is my winter house. We have a lot to do: tired or not, we'll have to get busy!'

    Rather than walking up to the front door, the Spook led the way round to a small flagged area at the back of the house. Three paces from the back door brought us to the rock face, which was dripping with water and hung with ice stalactites, like the teeth of the dragon in a tall story that one of my uncles used to tell me.

    Of course, in a hot mouth like that those 'teeth' would have turned to steam in an instant; in this cold spot behind the house they'd last most of the year, and once it snowed, there'd be no getting rid of them at all until late spring.

    'We always use the back door here, lad,' the Spook said, taking from his pocket the key that his brother Andrew, the locksmith, had made for him. It would open any door as long as the lock wasn't too complicated. I had a similar key myself and it had come in useful more than once.

    The key was stiff in the lock and the door seemed reluctant to open. Once inside, I was depressed by how dark the room was, but the Spook leaned his staff against the wall, pulled a candle from his bag and lit it.

    'Put the bags there,' he said, pointing to a low shelf next to the back door.

    I did as I was told and then placed my staff next to the Spook's in the corner before following him further into the house.

    My mam would have been shocked by the state of the kitchen. I was pretty sure by now that there was no boggart to do the work. It was clear that nobody had looked after the place since the Spook left at the end of last winter. There was dust on every surface and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The sink was piled high with unwashed pots and there was half a loaf of bread on the table, green with mould. There was also a faint, sweet, unpleasant smell, as if something were slowly rotting away in a dark corner. Next to the fire was a rocking chair similar to Mam's back at the farm. Draped over the back was a brown shawl that looked in need of a good wash. I wondered who it belonged to.

    'Well, lad,' the Spook said, 'we'd better get to work. We'll start by warming the old house up. That done, we'll set about cleaning.'

    At the side of the house was a big wooden shed heaped with coal. I didn't like to think how so much coal had been brought up the clough. At Chipenden I'd been sent for the weekly provisions and just hoped that fetching sacks of coal wouldn't be one of my jobs here.

    There were two big coal scuttles and we filled these and brought them back into the kitchen.

    'Know how to get a good coal fire burning?' asked the Spook.

    I nodded. In winter, back home at the farm, my first chore each morning had been to light the kitchen fire.

    'Right, then,' said the Spook. 'You attend to this one and I'll see to the one in the parlour. There are thirteen fireplaces in this old house, but lighting six should start to warm things up for now.'

    After about an hour we managed to get the six fires alight: one in the kitchen, one in the parlour, one in what the Spook called his 'study', which was on the ground floor, and one in each of the three upstairs bedrooms on the first floor. There were seven other bedrooms, including an attic, but we didn't bother with those.

    'Right, lad, that's a good start,' the Spook said. 'Now we'll go and fetch some water.'

    Carrying a big pot jug each, we went out through the back door again and round to the front, where the Spook led the way to the stream. The water was as deep as it had looked so it was easy to fill our jugs; and clean, cold and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. It was a quiet stream and hardly did more than murmur its way down the clough.

    But just as I'd finished filling my jug, I sensed a movement somewhere far above. I couldn't actually see anything; it was more a feeling of being watched really, and when I glanced up to where the rock formed a dark edge against the grey sky, there was nothing there.

    'Don't look up, lad,' snapped the Spook, an edge of irritation in his voice. 'Don't give him the satisfaction. Pretend you haven't noticed.'

    'Who is he?' I asked, feeling very nervous as I followed the Spook back towards the house.

    'Hard to say. I didn't look so I can't be sure,' said the

    Spook, suddenly coming to a halt and putting his jug down. Then he quickly changed the subject. 'What do you think of the house?' he asked.

    My dad had taught me to tell the truth whenever possible and I knew the Spook wasn't a man whose feelings were easily hurt. 'I'd rather live on top of a hill than like an ant in a deep crack between paving stones,' I told him. 'So far, I prefer your house at Chipenden.'

    'So do I, lad,' said the Spook. 'So do I. We've only come here because it has to be done. We're right on the edge here, on the edge of the dark, and it's a bad place to be in winter. There are things up on the moor that don't bear too much thinking about, but if we can't face them, then who can?'

    'What sort of things?' I asked, remembering what Mam had told me but interested to see what the Spook would say.

    'Oh, there are boggarts, witches, ghosts and ghasts a-plenty and other things even worse ...' 'Like Golgoth?' I suggested.

    'Aye, Golgoth. No doubt your mam's told you all about him. Am I right?'

    'She mentioned him when I told her we were heading for Anglezarke but she didn't say that much. Just that he sometimes stirs in winter.'

    'That he does, lad, and I'll be adding to your knowledge about him at a more appropriate time. Now look at that,' he said, pointing up at the big chimney stack to where thick brown smoke was rising high into the air from the two rows of cylindrical pots. He jabbed towards the smoke with his forefinger. 'We're here to show the flag, lad.'

    I looked for a flag. All I could see was the smoke.

    'I mean that just by being here we're saying this land belongs to us and not to the dark,' the Spook explained. 'Standing up to the dark, especially up on Anglezarke, is a hard thing to do, but it's our duty and well worth it. Anyway' he said, picking up his jug, 'let's get inside and start cleaning.'

    For the next two hours I was really busy scrubbing, sweeping, polishing and going outside to beat clouds of dust from the rugs. Finally, after washing and drying the dirty dishes, the Spook told me to make up the beds in the three first-floor rooms.

    
'Three
beds?' I asked, wondering if I'd misheard him.

    'Aye, three it is, and when you've finished you'd better go and wash your ears out! Go on! Don't stand there gawping. We haven't got all day'

    So, with a shrug, I did as I was told. The linen was damp but I turned the sheets down so that the fires would dry them out. That done, exhausted with my efforts, I went downstairs. It was as I passed the cellar steps that I heard something that made the hair on the back of my neck start to rise.

    From below, I heard what sounded like a long shuddering sigh, followed almost immediately by a faint cry. I waited at the top of the steps on the edge of the darkness, listening carefully, but it wasn't repeated. Had I imagined it?

    I went into the kitchen to find the Spook washing his hands in the sink.

    T heard something cry out from the cellar' I told him. Ts it a ghost?'

    'Nay lad, there are no ghosts in this house now - I sorted them all out years ago. No, that'll be Meg. No doubt she's just woken up.'

    I wasn't sure if I'd misheard him. I'd been told I'd meet Meg and knew that she was a lamia witch living somewhere up on Anglezarke. I'd also half expected to find her staying in the Spook's house. But seeing it abandoned and cold had driven that prospect from my head. Why would she be sleeping down there in a bitterly cold cellar? I was curious, but knew better than to ask questions at the wrong time.

    Sometimes the Spook was in the mood for answering, and he'd sit me down and tell me to get out my notebook and fill my pen with ink, ready to write. At other times he just wanted to get on with the business in hand, and now I could see the determined expression glinting in his green eyes, so I just kept quiet while he lit a candle.