Adam Slater - Hunted

What on Earth was she doing?

For long minutes, Callum waited, growing steadily colder as he watched for any clue as to what his grandmother was reading, but she gave no sign. Finally, with a deep sigh, she closed the cover. Callum ducked back into the shadows. His teeth were chattering, but his blood burned with frustrated curiosity. What was that book? And why had Gran been hiding it? There was no way of knowing – it wasn’t as if he could just pop down and ask her, and it was too cold to hang around hoping she would give something away. Reluctantly, Callum turned to make his way quietly back to bed. With every step up the narrow staircase, the draught danced around his feet, like icy fangs snapping at his heels.

Callum barely made it to his first class on time. He had spent so long skulking in the back streets of Marlock trying to avoid Ed and his mates that he had to duck into his English lesson without even taking off his coat and rucksack. He dodged out of class the instant the bell rang and raced to his locker. But his plan backfired. Mrs Higgins stopped him to give him a telling-off for running, and Ed slouched past slowly, enjoying the spectacle. He caught Callum’s eye and mouthed, ‘You’re dead’.

Ed had disappeared by the time Mrs Higgins was finished with Callum, but he was late for his next class as well and was in more trouble for that.

The talk in the cafeteria at lunch was still all about yesterday’s murdered teen. One of the tabloids had managed to sneak a photographer into the alley where the body was discovered, and now the bloody message Callum had seen scrawled on the wall in his dream was plastered all over the front page. The accompanying article was as stuffed with unanswered questions as Callum’s own head.

Although it seemed like he had seen ghosts every day of his life, Callum knew almost nothing about the supernatural. Now that he felt he needed to know more, he didn’t know where to begin. He’d never read a ghost story, or watched a horror film. Who needed stories about ghosts when you saw real ones on every corner?

I bet Melissa Roper reads ghost stories, though, Callum thought. She was into alternative stuff like healing crystals and dreamcatchers, and she was always clutching the latest fantasy novel. Maybe she could help him.

As if on cue, he spotted her, sitting on her own as usual, on the far side of the room. Well, there was no time like the present . . .

Melissa looked up in surprise as Callum set down his lunch tray next to her.

‘Hey, Callum!’

‘Hi,’ Callum replied sheepishly. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’

‘Go ahead,’ smiled Melissa. Callum sat. ‘Thanks again for yesterday, by the way. Guess it got you in trouble with Ed Bolton, though.’

‘You’ve no idea.’ Callum forced a laugh. There wasn’t any point in dragging Melissa into that mess. ‘Listen, I wanted to ask you something . . . You know about the supernatural, right?’

‘Well, I know some stuff,’ Melissa answered eagerly. ‘You know, like traditional charms, how to protect your cows from curses and your babies from being kidnapped by goblins. Stuff like that.’

Callum must have looked blank, because Melissa rolled her eyes and went on.

‘Everybody knows about how vampires hate garlic, right? Well, there are charms like that for all kinds of things. Iron keeps away the fairies. Rowan works against witches and demons.’

‘Really?’ It had never occurred to Callum that he might be able treat ghosts like a medical condition – take two rowan berries and get rid of your haunting, like taking paracetamol for a headache. ‘That’s pretty interesting.’

‘It is interesting,’ said Melissa, nodding furiously. Then she stopped. ‘You’re not taking the mickey, are you?’

‘No, no, I mean it,’ said Callum quickly. Melissa probably had every reason to be defensive. She got teased a lot – even if she did bring some of it on herself. ‘How about local legends?’ he added tentatively. ‘Do you know any local ghosts?’

‘Well, not personally,’ Melissa laughed. ‘I haven’t met any. There’s a haunted cinema in Altrincham where the projectors turn themselves on and off, and the seats are always snapping up and down. I’ve been there,’ she added proudly. ‘And at Knutsford there’s a ghost pig that runs around the lanes with six lighted candles on its back. Every place has local ghosts. Some of them mean special things. If you see a banshee washing clothes in a river, that means you’re going to die.’

Callum looked sideways at Melissa. ‘How about black dogs? What does it mean if you see the ghost of a black dog?’

‘They mean a lot of things.’ Melissa frowned and blew her flyaway curly fringe out of her eyes. ‘There are black dogs in folklore all over Britain. They’ve got about a million different names – Black Shuck, Striker, Trash. Also Wist Wolves and Yell Hounds, Churchyard Grims -’

‘Wait!’ Callum exclaimed, holding up a hand to stop Melissa mid-flow. ‘Churchyard Grims. Tell me about those.’

‘The Grim is a portent of death.’ Melissa’s eyes went very wide. ‘They’re big, black dogs that haunt burial grounds. They’re supposed to be the ghosts of animals that have been sacrificed to the devil – the devil takes the animal’s soul in place of the human souls buried there, you see. Or else the Grim is supposed to protect the human souls buried there from the devil. I forget which. Maybe both.’

Callum’s mind raced. There was a name for the black dog he’d seen. It was a Churchyard Grim. He hadn’t made it up. It was a portent of death, a sacrifice to hell. No wonder Gran had been spooked when Callum asked about a black dog.

But since when did Gran know anything about the supernatural? She was practical and down-to-earth, with her gardening books and her DIY battles with the immersion heater. So why had she reacted so strangely? It didn’t make sense.

‘Is that helpful?’ Melissa prompted. Callum jumped out of his reverie and realised he’d been staring straight at her during the lull in the conversation. He looked away quickly, and fixed his gaze on his chips.

‘Yeah, thanks.’

‘Why did you want to know anyway?’

‘I live near an old churchyard,’ Callum said. ‘You know, Nether Marlock. I just wondered if it had any stories connected with it.’

Melissa gave him a sharp look. ‘Black dogs especially?’

Callum sighed. ‘Yeah.’

‘Have you seen it?’ Melissa asked softly.

Callum put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. He couldn’t decide what to tell her. He didn’t know her very well, after all, and the truth would make him sound like a crazy freak.

‘You’ve seen something, haven’t you?’ Melissa’s voice was eager. She didn’t sound like she thought he was crazy; she just sounded curious. ‘What was it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘If I came along home with you after school sometime you could show me where you saw it. I love that old church. All those medieval gravestones with the skulls on them, and that yew tree that’s supposed to be a thousand years old! I could come and take a look, see if I know what it is, the thing you saw – if we see it again, I mean.’

‘I don’t know,’ Callum repeated reluctantly. ‘Maybe I was just imagining it.’

‘Maybe you weren’t,’ said Melissa. ‘And maybe I can help.’

Callum let out a long breath. It had taken Melissa less than ten minutes to prove that she knew more about the supernatural than he ever would.

He smiled at her again.

‘Maybe you can.’

*

There was a double period of science after lunch, a lab class on Elements and Compounds. Callum liked the chemistry teacher, who made a real effort to keep her students interested, but in spite of Dr MacKenzie’s best efforts, Callum was having trouble focusing. His mind was still in Marlock Wood.