6 It’s Alive!
Bryony opened her mouth to scream, but Edwin beat her to it. Then another voice added to the din.
“Bryony? Bryony!” A torch beam swept the rubble strewn room. “What on earth happened here?”
“Dad!” Bryony turned and threw her arms around her father. “Oh Dad! Save me!”
“Edwin?” Jane appeared behind her husband, and was nearly knocked over by her wailing son. “Oh my darling, what happened?”
“It’s alive,” gurgled Edwin. “Alive!”
“What is?” Bill angled his torch from floor to ceiling. Or what was left of the ceiling. “Crikey! What have you done?”
“Never mind about that.” Bryony pulled away from Bill and pointed at the end of the room. “Look over there.”
Bill strode forwards, playing the torch across the crumbled wall. Then he froze as the beam picked out the hideous features of the evil face.
“Keep away,” warned Bryony. “It’s alive.”
Bill stepped back, and then chuckled. “It’s only a wooden carving.”
“Really?” Jane disentangled herself from Edwin and took the torch from Bill. “Let me see.”
“Well?” asked Bill, after allowing Jane to conduct her analysis. “You’re the expert. What do you make of it?”
Jane shrugged her bony shoulders. “I’m a history teacher, but no specialist in period architecture. I’d hazard a guess and say it’s some sort of decorative motif, perhaps a charm against evil spirits. Difficult to date, perhaps early medieval. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Amazing,” agreed Bill, taking the torch back from Jane and shining it into the face’s leering eyes. “But I wonder why it was concealed behind the wall. It’s almost as if… aha!” He shone the torch downwards, revealing a large opening beneath the wooden face. “Just as I thought. There’s a hearth, look. It’s an inglenook.”
“A what?” Bryony peered nervously from behind her father.
“A fireplace. I knew there would be one here somewhere.”
“Aren’t you clever?” trilled Jane, patting Bill’s shoulder.
Bryony’s gaze followed the torch beam as Bill illuminated their discovery. The fireplace reminded her of a giant brick-built barbecue. She guessed it was almost two metres wide, and tall enough for her to stand up in. The eerie face was carved into a chunky wooden beam that spanned the hearth and supported the weight of the chimney-breast above.
“Isn’t that great?” Bill turned round to face the children. “We got ourselves a fireplace, kids.”
Bryony didn’t share her father’s joy. “Fantastic. Guess that makes up for having no bedroom floor.”
Bill shone the torch upwards again, and shrugged. “Just a touch of woodworm. I’ll sort it…”
“First thing tomorrow?” asked Bryony, dark eyebrows arching.
Bill coughed. “Well, perhaps sometime after lunch. Anyway, you’ll have to sleep downstairs tonight.”
“No way,” said Bryony. “Not with that horrible thing.”
“Oh come on,” laughed Bill. “Edwin’s not that bad.”
“I didn’t mean Edwin,” sighed Bryony. “Although he is horrible. I was talking about the face. It’s alive.”
Bill laughed even louder. “Oh don’t be...”
“She’s telling the truth,” squealed Edwin. “We saw it move.”
Jane smiled and put an arm around her son. “It must have been moving shadows. It’s only a wooden carving.”
Bill pointed the torch at the face again, and Bryony forced herself to look at those horrible features. It certainly didn’t seem alive now. As much as she hated to admit it, she realised that Jane was probably right.
“I’m still not sleeping in here,” she grumbled.
“Me neither,” said Edwin.
“Fine,” agreed Bill. “There’s always the study. I mean,” he added, after glancing at Jane, “the dining room.”
“What?” Bryony was horrified. “That stinky prison cell? I’d rather kip in the garden.”
Wychetts Page 5
