Adam Slater - Hunted

‘So what are you doing with my books?’ Gran asked, jerking the chair away from the wall.

‘I was just, um, closing the curtains,’ Melissa improvised.

‘They were closed,’ Gran said stonily.

‘Gosh, I’m sorry, Mrs Scott,’ Melissa stammered. ‘I thought there was a draught. I was just trying to get them shut properly before we started. Sorry about the mess . . .’

Cadbury had found the half-filled mugs still sitting on the hearth and was lapping cold hot chocolate out of one of them. Melissa swooped down to push the cat away but only managed to knock over the mug and spill the remaining contents on to the oriental rug. Cadbury tucked in happily.

‘Sorry!’ Melissa cringed, mopping at the rug with her sleeve. ‘I’m so, so sorry!’

‘Never mind that,’ snapped Gran. ‘Just don’t touch anything else! In fact, I think you’d better leave. Do your parents know where you are?’

Gran must have made a direct hit. Melissa winced. ‘I was going to ring my mum but I forgot,’ she stammered, gathering up her bag and books in a rush. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go.’

Gran turned her wrath on Callum. ‘I’d like to know ahead of time if you’re planning to invite friends round when I’m not here,’ she growled. ‘I can’t have strangers making themselves at home behind my back like this! What were you thinking, Callum?’

‘It won’t happen again, Mrs Scott,’ said Melissa, scooping up her green cape. ‘I’ll be sure to let you know ahead of time . . .’

‘We’ll see about that,’ was Gran’s frosty reply as she stood aside from the still-open door.

Melissa backed out murmuring apologies and excuses. Gran accepted them with a curt nod of her head. She didn’t speak as she shut the door.

‘Gran! Melissa came here to help me!’

Callum couldn’t believe how hostile his gran was being. He couldn’t even make sense of it.

‘She can help you without going near my books!’ Gran snapped.

‘Since when did your books become so precious? You never even look at most of them! I haven’t had anyone from school round since I came to live here. No one’ll come back if you scare them all off. Is that what you want?’

‘Oh, Callum, don’t be so melodramatic.’

‘I’m going to say goodbye,’ said Callum. ‘Someone told me that was called manners. Oh yeah – it was you.’

With that, Callum yanked open the door and followed Melissa into the darkness.

*

The Hunter is suddenly aware of its prey again.

The Hunter has never known such a thing to happen. It hesitates for a moment, wondering what this means.

No matter; the tantalising trace of power is strong again. The aura that the boy throws off makes the Hunter sigh with anticipation. It will feed soon.

Its quarry is very near. Tormented with hunger, the Hunter closes in.

*

‘Melissa, wait!’

Melissa was just closing the gate. She turned and looked back at Callum. Her big eyes and loose, thick hair made her face seem small in the dim light cast by the bulb hanging over the cottage porch.

‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Callum said awkwardly. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with her. She’s not normally so unfriendly.’ He took a breath. ‘She’s nice, really.’

‘Oh, it’s OK,’ Melissa said. ‘I was messing with her books, wasn’t I? And she hasn’t ever seen me before.’ Melissa frowned. ‘But something really strange is going on here, and your gran knows something about it. We need to find out more about this Churchyard Grim.’

‘We’ll figure something out,’ Callum said quietly. ‘And thanks for coming down here on your own. I don’t . . . I don’t want to get you in trouble.’

Callum’s voice trailed away. He didn’t want to put her in any danger, but he didn’t like to say so. Was he dangerous – was it dangerous for him to make new friends? Callum pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He’d been holding people at arm’s length for so long he’d never realised how nice it was just to spend time with someone his own age without running around on a sports field.

‘We should try to be a bit more methodical about this,’ Melissa said. ‘We’ve got the same morning break tomorrow, right? Let’s talk about it then.’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you could bring that book? We could use the copying machine in the school library -’

Callum shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. You saw what Gran was like when she noticed you standing near that shelf. I don’t know how I’d get to it again without her knowing. It’s such a little house.’

‘I like it,’ Melissa said. ‘I love how everything fits together so neatly, like a caravan. Or a narrowboat.’

‘Well, it’s not much good for keeping secrets in,’ Callum replied.

Although Gran seems to have managed, he thought.

Melissa nodded sympathetically. ‘Maybe we can find some references to your Churchyard Grim on our own. Let’s meet in the school library anyway and do some real research. Libraries keep archives of old newspapers, right? Maybe we can find a copy of that article from the Advertiser. Or even something more recent, now we know we’ve got a local ghost to look for. It might be worth checking the Internet too.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Callum agreed. ‘And I’d like to find out more about what it means to be a chime child. Maybe there’s some reason for all this that I’m missing.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll find something.’ Melissa shifted her big mirrored bag so it hung more comfortably over her shoulder. ‘See you tomorrow then.’

‘Be careful when you get to the estate at the top of the hill, OK? Ed Bolton’s been waiting there for me for the last two days, and I bet he’d have a go at you instead if he got the chance.’

‘Don’t worry. My auntie and all my cousins live up there too. I’ll stand on someone’s doorstep and scream my head off if he tries anything. And I don’t have far to go after that; we live in the yellow-brick house next to the station.’

‘Be careful anyway,’ Callum said.

‘Sure,’ Melissa said, nodding.

Callum watched as she walked away into the trees, then took a deep breath and turned back towards the cottage.

Time to face the music.

*

The Hunter’s insides twist with hunger.

It can see its prey now, so close, so close – radiant with nourishing power. The sensation makes the Hunter almost dizzy. It halts silently at the garden gate, poised for the kill.

Then the boy steps squarely over the threshold of his dwelling place. Instantly, the tantalising presence vanishes.

The Hunter is baffled. One second it could sense flesh and blood and bone, ripe for the taking. Now it has disappeared behind the crumbling mortar walls as though it never was.

The dwelling must be protected. A charm? Blessing? Curse?

The Hunter slinks around the flimsy barriers thrown up against mortal intruders: the low wall, the wooden gate, the briar hedge. It leaps lightly along the roof of the adjoining cottage to examine the dwelling from above.

No mere charm protects this place. It is enmeshed in a complex web of magic shields, cloaking it and guarding it. The flowers and herbs along the garden path, the guardian trees, are situated with accurate detail and woven together with spells of warding and concealment. The prey is well protected in its den.

The Hunter pauses. Has this quarry woven this protective web itself? Can it be a foe with power that can be used against the Hunter?

The Hunter considers the possibility for a moment.

No. It cannot be. This victim is not dangerous; it is simply better at concealing itself than the others.

But the Hunter knows that a mortal creature cannot stay forever within protective walls. It must venture out for food and the social gatherings that fill all human days. Sooner or later the boy will cross his charmed threshold and stand blinking and unshielded in the world beyond the garden wall.