Witch Silver (3 page)

“A witch?” her mother said, hugging her hard. “Here, in the house?” Meeting her husband’s eyes in sudden understanding, she looked thoughtful. “I wonder if
that’s
what’s been going on!”

Neil’s head jerked. “If
what’s
been going on, Mum?” he
queried
.

“Come down to the kitchen and I’ll tell you while I get
dinner
ready,” his mother said, looking searchingly at Clara. “It’s given you a shock, hasn’t it?”

“It has a bit,” Clara admitted. “She was awful-looking.”

“Was she a Snow Witch?” Neil asked as they went into the kitchen and slid along the bench seat that ran along one side of the table.

Clara shook her head, remembering the Snow Witches that had captured her in Argyle. “The Snow Witches were beautiful,” she said, “but this one was a proper witch, dressed in black with a sort of squidgy pointed hat and a hooked nose.”

“Tell us what happened, Clara,” her dad said quietly, drawing a chair up, “from the very beginning. You ran upstairs with Neil … now go on from there.”

“Well, we both went into our own rooms,” Clara began. “Mine’s lovely, by the way. I really like it …”

“And …” her father said encouragingly.

“I heard Neil opening cupboards and stuff so I thought I’d grab the carpet samples first. I sat on my bed and was
turning them over, one by one, on the ring thing when … when this witch walked into my room. Cool as you please as though she owned the place! I gave a bit of a jerk and the samples fell off the bed and while I faffed around picking them up, I decided to pretend I couldn’t see her. I sat on my bed again, got the samples organized and kept turning them over, matching them up to the duvet cover. And all the time, the witch sat in the chair by the window watching me. That’s all she did. Sat and stared. She didn’t have a clue that I could see her.”

“What happened next?” her mother asked anxiously.

“Well, I thought she might get fed up and leave so I looked up and gazed straight at her. And then she suddenly realized that
I
was watching
her.
Honestly, it was almost funny! She sort of sat up and stared. She knew by my eyes that I could see her.” Clara almost smiled. “Her mouth dropped open and she looked …”

“Totally gobsmacked!” grinned Neil.

“Yes, I suppose so. And then she went all fierce and evil and I thought she was going to hex me. That’s when I screamed and she buzzed off.”

Janet MacLean looked worriedly at her husband but Neil and Clara eyed one another excitedly. Witches! Life in the country was certainly looking up!

Just then the telephone rang. John picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said. “Hello? Oh, it’s you, Jimmy. Hi.”

As he talked, Mrs MacLean turned to Neil and Clara and in a low voice, told them what had been happening in the house while they had been in Edinburgh.

“So now you think your ghosts might be witches?” Neil asked doubtfully.

“It seems more than likely,” his mother reasoned. “After all,
Clara said that the witch walked into her bedroom as though she owned the place.” She shook her head worriedly. “It looks as though the house has been more or less a den of witches ever since Muriel died! They feel at home here, for goodness sake!”

Clara nodded, looking around the room, feeling excited and scared at the same time.

“There aren’t any witches in the room just now,” her mother said grimly. “I know the feel of them when they’re around only too well. They’ve been keeping me company all week!”

John MacLean finished his telephone conversation and,
replacing
the receiver, turned round with a strange look on his face.

“What’s up, Dad?” Neil asked.

“That was Jimmy MacFarlane on the phone,” his father answered. “Apparently, some jokers have been making crop circles in the fields round about his farm and he asked me if I’d mind staying out all night with him and his men. They want to catch the people who are making them and as there’s a lot of ground to cover, they need to rope in everyone they can to help.”

“Crop circles,” Clara queried, “in Scotland?”

“I’ve heard about them down south but not here,” Mrs MacLean agreed.

“He really wants to nab them,” her husband continued. “He’s had a few fields done already and can’t afford to lose another crop.”

“Well,” Janet advised, “if you’re going to be scrabbling about in cornfields in the middle of the night, you’d better look out some old gear.”

“Can I come as well, Dad?” Neil asked excitedly.

“He’d be another pair of eyes,” his mother nodded her agreement.

John MacLean didn’t answer immediately, however.

“There’s something else, Dad, isn’t there?” Clara said shrewdly. “I can tell by your face.”

Mrs MacLean looked at her husband in surprise. “What on earth’s the matter, John?” she asked. “Why shouldn’t Neil go with you? He’s old enough now.”

“It’s the crop circles,” he replied. “Apparently, some reporters from
The Berwickshire
News
went out to the farm to write an article about them and, of course, took photographs and …”

“Well?” asked Neil.

“When they examined them it turned out that they were nothing like the crop circles you get in England. These are made up of pentagrams and other magic symbols. They seem to suspect witchcraft …”

“Witches again …” Clara’s mouth went dry but her eyes gleamed excitedly.

Her mother, however, looked at her husband in dismay. More witches!

“Right, Dad,” Neil said determinedly. “I’m definitely coming with you tonight and I’m going to wear my firestone.”

“I’ll lend you mine, Dad,” Clara offered immediately, her hands rising to unclasp the thin chain that held her firestone. “If there are witches around then you’ll want to be able to see them.”

As she fastened the firestone round her father’s neck, Neil moved over to the window and stared outside. Clara’s witch must be long gone, he thought, but still he scanned the sky, hoping to see the black shape of a witch on a broomstick.

Minutes later, Clara moved up behind him, knowing what he was looking for. “Can you see anything?” she asked
hopefully
.

Neil shook his head. “Not a thing,” he answered.

“We could go outside and poke around a bit,” suggested
Clara. “After all, my witch must have been pretty close to the house to come wandering in like that.”

“You haven’t got your firestone on, though,” he objected.

“Never mind,” she said as they headed for the front door, “you can tell me if you see anything.”

A strong wind tugged at Clara’s hair as they left the house, making her wish that she’d worn a jacket but, despite the cold, they walked together down to the clump of trees that bordered the little stream that ran through a corner of the garden.

It was there that Neil gripped Clara’s arm. “Don’t look in the trees,” he whispered, his voice tight with excitement. “There are witches there. They’re not dressed in black, like the one we saw in the house, though. This lot are in grey and, you know, I think Mum was right about them — they
do
seem to be looking for something.”

They felt the wind strengthen as they entered the copse where the witches, intent on their task, moved from tree to tree on their broomsticks, delving deep into broken trunks and kicking aside piles of leaves.

Pretending that he couldn’t see them, Neil picked up a stone and threw it idly into the stream but all the time he was
watching
them from the corner of his eye. The witches, however, safe in the knowledge that they were invisible, ignored them completely and it was only when Neil heard his mother’s voice calling them inside that he grasped Clara’s arm.

“Come on,” he whispered, “I don’t know what they’re
looking
for but we’d better leave them to it.”

Clara nodded, her eyes alight with excitement as she met Neil’s glance. It looked as though life in the country wasn’t going to be half as dull as they’d expected …

The luminous hands of Neil’s watch showed that it was well after ten before it got truly dark. He shifted uneasily in his hiding place at the edge of the wheat field wishing he’d chosen somewhere more comfortable for cover than a break in a hedge that seemed full of sharp, stabbing twigs that kept tangling in his hair. Not only that, he thought, rubbing a painful sting on his hand, there seemed to be an awful lot of nettles about.

Knowing that he was just going to have to put up with it, he sighed, hugged his knees to his chest and looking round,
marvelled
at the difference that nightfall made. The comfortable outline of hills, trees and the faraway glimpse of a country road running between stone dykes had long since melted away and he felt suddenly alone as the darkness deepened.

Time passed slowly. Waiting, he thought, was
the
most
boring
occupation and the feeling of tense excitement he’d felt when he and his dad had arrived was beginning to evaporate. The farmer had been brief in his directions. He’d already paired everyone off and as they’d moved away in different directions to their allotted posts, Neil wondered where he’d be put. He’d no idea where the Three Acre field was or Broad Meadow, where his father had been sent, but his ears pricked up at the mention of a place called Witches’ Wood. More witches, he thought interestedly …

“You, me and Robbie will cover the Home Field,” Jimmy MacFarlane said to Neil when all the men had left. “It’s the one nearest to the farmhouse. I want to be around if anyone’s caught!”

Neil found himself a space in the hedge at the top of the field and watched as Robbie disappeared downhill into a fringe of trees near the road. Jimmy, himself, settled down near the gate where a huge combine harvester loomed in the fading light.

Trying to stay alert, Neil peered into the surrounding
darkness
but the huge field of wheat was only ever visible when the pale light of the moon appeared fitfully through the clouds. He looked again at the gleaming dial of his watch. Only half an hour had passed but it seemed like ages.

It was just when Neil had decided that nothing at all was going to happen that he heard a strange swishing noise. So low was it at first that he hardly noticed it but as it grew louder and closer, he sat up, excitement thrilling through him. There was no wind and yet the noise was that of rustling corn. Peering anxiously into the darkness, he couldn’t see a thing and sat for a moment, undecided. It’d be awful if he started a false alarm. Better, he thought, to tell the farmer.

Getting quietly to his feet, he left his hiding place
carefully
and walking through soft patches of nettles made his way silently towards the gate. “Mr MacFarlane,” he whispered. The darkness was absolute and there didn’t seem to be anyone there. “Mr MacFarlane,” he whispered again, louder this time. Still no one.

The wood of the gate felt rough under his hands and he wondered frantically what to do. If he shouted, he’d scare the people off and yet he couldn’t tackle them on his own. Maybe Mr MacFarlane had gone into the farmhouse …

Neil was halfway over the gate when the moon appeared from among the clouds, lighting the cornfield in its silvery gleam. He froze and, moving slowly so as not to attract attention, turned to see if he could see how many people were in the field; for the swishing, swooshing noise was now quite distinct.

As his eyes scanned the scene, he choked back a gasp of surprise for as far as he could see, there was no one there at all. The moonlight lit the field quite clearly and from his perch on the gate, he could see over its entire expanse. And it was scary; for although there was no one there, the wheat was alive with movement, swaying gently in places as though involved in some elaborate dance. It moved and dipped and flattened itself with no one there to touch it — no one that he could see, at any rate. Neil’s mouth went dry as the corn beside the gate started to move and form fantastic shapes …

And there are no witches, he thought, suddenly. There are no witches. I’m wearing my firestone and I’d see them if there were. This is magic …

Hastily he clambered over the top of the gate and ran to the farmhouse. To his relief, he met the farmer coming out of the door.

“What’s up, Neil? Is there someone in the field?”

Neil shook his head. “There’s no one in the field,” he
whispered
, his voice shaking with excitement. “The crop’s moving on its own …”

Jimmy MacFarlane heard the alarm in Neil’s voice and grasped him reassuringly by the arm. “Calm down, laddie,” he whispered. “Let’s go and see.”

As they approached the gate, however, the moon sailed behind the clouds once more and the blackness of night covered the field.

“If you come into the field you can see where the crop’s been flattened,” Neil whispered urgently, for he didn’t want Jimmy MacFarlane to think him a silly town kid, afraid of the dark.

“I can do better than that, Neil,” came the grim answer. “Just wait here.”

MacFarlane turned to the huge bulk of the combine
harvester 
that sat by the gate and, climbing into the cab, turned the engine on. The sound shattered the night and all the men in the surrounding fields looked up at the noise of it. They knew immediately what it was.

Neil had almost had a heart attack at the sudden roar of the engine. Then there was a blaze of light that lit up the whole area. Of course, thought Neil as the farmer jumped down, they need lights so that they can work at night.

He rushed to the gate and clambered up, standing to get a good view over the field. MacFarlane climbed up beside him and gasped as he realized that the boy hadn’t been imagining things at all. The whole field was moving, and moving with a purpose. He could see patterns taking shape before his eyes without a soul being there to form them.

Neil was conscious of the rest of the farm workers rushing up in a straggling crowd and heard their cries of amazement as they, too, watched the designs weave themselves among the stalks of the wheat.

“Look!” Neil shouted in sudden horror. “Look!” he pointed down the field to where the trees verged on the road. “Robbie’s going into the field!”

Robbie, fascinated by the movement of the wheat, had moved from the shelter of the trees into the crop itself. Gripped by a fearful sense of dread, they watched him as he walked here and there, grasping at the stalks of wheat as they whipped themselves into sweeping curves or flattened themselves to the earth.

“Get him out of there, Jimmy,” John MacLean said urgently, pushing his way through the farmhands to the gate, “now, at once.”

Neil looked at his father in astonishment and then, as his firestone turned suddenly heavy, understood his concern. There was big magic around. Magic that he had never known
before. He gritted his teeth hard and clenched his fists to stop himself gasping at the pain of it. His firestone! It was so … dreadfully … heavy! Sweat beaded his forehead as he fought an all consuming urge to throw himself to the ground and bury himself deep in the earth.

“Get yourself out of there, Robbie,” Jimmy MacFarlane bawled down the length of the field. “Right now, do you hear me!”

It was too late. They watched in horror as Robbie seemed to straighten and stretch before crumpling to the ground, disappearing from view into the waving wheat.

Some of the men made to clamber over the gate to run to his rescue but John MacLean’s voice stopped them short.

“Wait,” he said, in a voice of iron. “It’s not over yet.” And although he had no authority over them whatsoever, every man fell back and obeyed.

Neil felt like screaming. His firestone seemed to be
dragging
him to the ground. He felt his father’s hand grip his arm strongly and knew that he, too, was struggling to stay upright. Then, suddenly, just as the intricate pattern was completed and the wheat stopped swaying, the pressure eased. Neil gulped and straightened thankfully, conscious that Jimmy MacFarlane was watching him strangely.

“Look! What’s that light?” one of the men shouted, pointing to a darkened area away from the harvester’s blazing lights.

“It’s not the harvester,” another agreed.

“Turn the lights out,” MacFarlane shouted to one of the men who’d been watching the field from the cab of the machine.

The dazzling lights went out and as their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness they were able to see the strange yellow glow that bathed the field. Neil stiffened and looked up at his father.

Someone from the world of magic was watching the field through a crystal ball.