The Piper (19 page)

Peter nodded, licked his dry lips. ‘It’s like a flute playing,’ he said. ‘It’s louder every night. But listen, while we stand here talking …’

‘Something to do with age, I suppose. Only the children can hear it. I was adamant that such a thing could not be, but when Sally told me that even with the earplugs in, she could
still
hear it, it began to dawn on me that there really was something evil at work here, something that has been returning to this area over the years. Something malevolent.’ He shook his head, as though trying to rid himself of the idea. ‘And then I read how after you start hearing the music, he comes for you on a certain date. The seventh. Always the seventh. That’s when he’s at his most powerful. Some children manage to hang on for a day or so, but the music calls to them and in the end, they have to give in to it. And they say it doesn’t matter where you go, you can’t hide. One of my ancestors went to live in London, but his youngest child drowned, just like the rest of ’em.’

‘Please!’ cried Peter. ‘Let me out. My sister…’

But Mr Sheldon didn’t seem to be listening. He was confessing … but whether to Peter or to some higher authority, it was impossible to say.

‘And then it occurred to me. A possible answer to my problems. The Piper always demands his fee. Why not give him what he wants and let him go on his way again?’ He smiled, shook his head. ‘He demands a life. A young girl’s life, the price for being murdered by my ancestors. Oh yes, that’s clearly what happened. Not any of my doing, but my penance just the same. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children. Isn’t that what they say?’

‘Mr Sheldon,’ said Mrs Beesley. ‘The boy doesn’t have to hear everything.’

‘But why not?’ snarled Mr Sheldon. ‘He knows too much already, why not tell him the rest? We can’t allow him to leave and talk to others about what’s happened here. Perhaps if he’d stayed away as we planned …’ He shook his head. ‘Now, I fear, he knows too much. He’s a loose end. So why not let him hear everything before we … tie it?’

Peter shook his head, tears in his eyes now. ‘My sister,’ he whispered. ‘She’s out there on her own.’

Mr Sheldon shook his head and chuckled horribly. ‘Not on her own, boy. If only it were so. If only life were that kind.’

Peter licked his lips and looked desperately around the hallway. Mrs Beesley had risen from her chair and was standing in front of the doorway. Mr Sheldon was leaning against the wall just along the hallway to his left. On a small table, a paraffin lamp lit the scene with a harsh, yellow light.

‘Then I heard about the evacuees,’ said Mr Sheldon, gazing up at Peter. ‘Displaced, needing somewhere to stay. I thought to myself, well, why not offer somebody else in my daughter’s place? It’s always a girl he takes. I don’t know why that should be the case, but I saw that perhaps I could turn it to my advantage. Perhaps the Piper could be tricked. He demands a life, how is he to know if he has the right person? I don’t know if it will work, but I have to try something. And tonight is the night he’s at his most powerful. Sally is so desperate to go out there. I had to stop her somehow…’

‘By keeping her chained up?’ Peter gazed down at the man in disgust.

‘I didn’t know what else to do! Don’t you understand, that girl is all I have in the world? There’s no price too severe that I wouldn’t pay it, even if it means that I’m damned to eternal torment because of it. And I
am
damned. I know that. I know that only too well.’ Mr Sheldon began to sob. He lifted his hands to his face and covered his eyes.

Peter saw his opportunity. He looked down into the hallway and gauged the distance, knowing that he had to act now, that he couldn’t afford to wait a moment longer. He snatched in a breath, put one hand on the rail and vaulted nimbly over the bannister. He came down awkwardly between the two adults and threw out an arm to steady himself. His hand inadvertently caught the edge of the hall table and overturned it, knocking over the paraffin lamp, but there was no time to hesitate because Mr Sheldon was lunging at him, arms outstretched to grab him by the throat. Peter ducked under his grasp and in the same instant, there was a fierce
whoosh
as the lamp hit the ground by Mrs Beesley’s feet and exploded into flame. The hem of her long dress caught alight and then she screamed as a sudden burst of fire engulfed her.

Peter ran along the hallway and into the nearest room, aware as he did so that Mr Sheldon was running towards Mrs Beesley, removing his coat as he went, meaning to use it in an attempt to staunch the flames that had engulfed her. Her agonised screams rent the air.

Peter didn’t hesitate. He found himself in what looked like a study. He approached the big bow window and reached up to try and unlatch it, but the handle wouldn’t open and he suspected it was locked shut. He looked desperately around, spotted a heavy mahogany stool in one corner and went to pick it up. Then he spun round, ran back to the window and, lifting one arm to cover his face, threw the stool with all his strength at the leaded glass. There was an abrupt shattering sound as it smashed through. Peter ran to the window, started pushing out the jagged edges of the glass and then, deciding that he couldn’t waste any more time, began to clamber through the opening.

He was halfway out when a hand grabbed his shoulder and started to wrench him back. He turned his head and saw Mr Sheldon’s soot-blackened face, inches from his, his eyes bulging, his expression manic. ‘Not so fast, boy,’ he growled, but Peter was intent only on getting out of the house and going to his sister’s aid. He yanked up an arm and elbowed Mr Sheldon hard in the face. He heard a grunt of surprise, felt Sheldon’s nose flatten under the impact and the man’s fingers loosened their grip. Peter pulled free and scrambled through the opening, tearing the leg of his trousers on a jagged piece of glass as he went. He was blind to everything now but his need to get to Daisy. He dropped to the ground and crouched for a moment, catching his breath. Then he straightened up and began to run round the side of the house, aware as he did so of the thick pall of black smoke that was gushing out from around the closed front door.

There was no time to hesitate. He had to get to Daisy. He had to get to her before it was too late, and who knew how far she’d gone by now? He knew only too well where she’d be headed. He put his head down and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Peter pounded down the driveway towards the open gate. He threw a look back over his shoulder and saw to his dismay that the fire seemed to have taken hold in the house. Through a couple of ground-floor windows, he could see the restless orange glare of the flames. He hesitated, wondering if he should go back to help, but then told himself that whatever happened in there, Mr Sheldon had brought it upon himself. Peter could not be held responsible. And he had lost too much time already.

He went through the gate and paused for a moment, listening intently. He couldn’t see Daisy or the ghost children. The music was louder out here and it seemed to his confused senses to be coming from somewhere off to his right, so he ignored the road ahead of him and turned onto the Marsh, following the track where Adam had taken him earlier that same day. He ran in silence, his head down, the cold air reviving his muddled thoughts. The music grew steadily louder as he ran.

After a little distance, he became dimly aware of the line of trees off to his left, indicating the long run of the Military Canal. He continued to run alongside it for quite a distance, straining to see through the misty darkness. He seemed to run for an age before he thought he spotted a glimpse of movement under the trees by the near bank. He slowed his pace, turned off the path and headed cautiously towards it. As he drew steadily closer, a ray of moonlight breaking through the cloud cover revealed a number of girls standing beneath the shadows of the trees. No, not standing, he decided, moving. Dancing. Swaying to the music, just as the girls had danced the other night. There were five of them in all and he knew who they were. The Piper’s drowned victims, brought back to welcome a new member to their ranks. In their midst, he could see a familiar figure, a little girl with blonde hair, dressed in a white nightgown. She was dancing inexpertly with the others, flailing her arms, stamping her bare feet. Peter’s heart thudded in his chest as he registered that it was Daisy. But even as he recognised her, the music fell suddenly silent and the children stopped dancing. They turned threateningly towards Daisy and began to close in on her. She looked around at them, as though coming out of a trance. She gave a gasp of terror.

‘No!’ Peter started to run again, covering the distance as fast as he could, pumping his arms and stretching out his legs. He could see that Daisy was backing away from the other children, backing slowly towards the edge of the canal. Peter remembered with a sudden shrill of pure dread that she had never learned to swim. And then a thought occurred to him. Five girls … but shouldn’t there be six of them? He was closer now. If he could just get to her in time …

He was only yards away when he saw that something was rising up from the water behind Daisy – a pair of long skeletal arms. The sixth girl. He stared in horror as two filthy green hands clamped suddenly around Daisy’s ankles and dragged her backwards into the water.

Peter screamed in absolute terror and some of the girls turned their heads to look in his direction. He recognised the closest of them. She had the face that he kept seeing in his nightmares, but he steeled himself and kept running straight at her. As he crashed into her, the girl’s body seemed to disappear in a cloud of dust. Another girl lunged towards him and he swung an arm at her, making her, too, vanish in an instant. Then he was running on towards the edge of the canal. He saw something moving in the dark water, caught a glimpse of Daisy’s white nightgown, around which two dark arms were clamped. There was a flash of blonde hair, Daisy’s frantic eyes staring up at him and then she was dragged down beneath the surface, her arms flailing, her legs kicking.

Peter didn’t hesitate. He threw himself headlong into the canal and dived beneath the surface, the icy water filling his eyes and chilling him to the bone. He threw out his hands in the direction where Daisy had sunk and, for a moment, his fingers encountered sodden fabric, but then it was wrenched abruptly from his grasp and something wet and slimy clamped around his own wrist. His heart hammered in his chest and he struggled to escape, opening his mouth to cry out, swallowing mouthfuls of foul-tasting water. He kicked himself free and struggled back to the surface, coughing and spluttering. He snatched in another breath and dived again, kicking his legs to try and push himself down as far as he could, struggling to keep his eyes open so he could peer into the murky depths, but the canal seemed to be bottomless and he had to power his way down for what seemed an age, before he finally saw something.

He caught a glimpse of Daisy’s white face, gazing imploringly up at him, her arms outstretched towards him and he tried desperately to get to her, struggling with every ounce of strength left in his body, but something had her gripped around the waist, some hideous, rotting thing that was far more powerful than she. There was a last swirl and then Daisy and her captor were gone and Peter, his air exhausted, was obliged to kick his way to the surface again, gasping for breath. He broke water, sobbing, and looked frantically around the canal bank, thinking of shouting for help. But for the moment, there was only one solitary figure moving away along the bank, his pipe slung across his shoulder.

‘Wait!’ screamed Peter. ‘Please. You’ve got the wrong person. Come back!’

The Piper paused and glanced back over his shoulder. In the moonlight, Peter caught a glimpse of his face. It was little more than a skull, flecked here and there with scraps of shrivelled flesh. From the deep eye sockets a pair of fathomless red eyes glared at him. Cold, merciless, they showed no shred of pity. Then, in the near distance, there was a sudden blaze of light as the fire finally burst through the thatched roof of the Grange. The Piper turned to look for a moment. Then figures began to materialise behind him, one by one – the ragged girls, following him once again as he strode away – but now there were seven of them. The last figure in the procession looked strangely familiar. She paused for a moment and glanced back over her shoulder. Peter caught a shocking glimpse of a hideously burned face and twists of melted red hair, stuck to the creature’s head. He gasped as he recognised her and shouted her name.

Sally didn’t react. She turned her ruined face away and followed the others. After a few moments, the procession faded into the shadows of the trees. Peter was left alone, thrashing in the water… but a sudden rush of new hope was rising within him.

He snatched in a deep breath and dived again, powering himself down, down into the depths, his questing hands desperately groping for whatever they could find, discovering nothing but fronds of slimy green weed and broken branches that had fallen from the trees. He stayed down there until his lungs ached and his head swam and he was about to admit defeat, when the fingers of his right hand closed around something soft and firm, hidden amongst a tangle of weeds. A wrist. He pulled hard and something shifted in the water and bumped against him. He threw his arms around whatever it was and kicked his way upwards, dragging the weight along with him. He broke the surface, gasping for air. Now he could see what he held in his arms. It was Daisy, but her eyes were closed, her face pale and lifeless. Near exhaustion, he swam to the bank, pulling her clumsily after him and somehow, he got her up out of the water and onto the grass. He clambered out and kneeled beside her, staring desperately at her white face.

‘Daisy!’ he gasped. ‘Daisy, wake up!’

There was no reaction. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open. Beneath the sodden nightgown, her chest was still. He didn’t know what to do and for a moment he was frozen, defeated. But then he willed himself to take control. He placed his hands on her chest and pushed hard. A pulse of brown water pumped from her mouth, so he tried again, with the same result. Her eyes remained closed. He looked up at the indifferent stars above him.