Hunted ts-1

by Adam Slater

  It was the Fetch. For one second, he saw the demon in its true form, a stick figure with no skin and no shadow. Then the vision flickered and he saw it in its present shape – his own body. Even though he had never seen himself walking, he could tell that in its disguise the Fetch was his identical twin. It strode through the tangled trees of Marlock Wood with its shoulders hunched, as Callum always did when he walked along the old road, avoiding looking up from his feet for fear of seeing the ghosts that haunted the lane.

  This is what I look like.

  The furtive, youthful figure cast a faint shadow in the bright moonlight, and Callum realised with a sudden jolt that the moonlight he saw in his head, shining down on the figure of the Fetch as it paced through Marlock Wood, was the same moonlight that shone through the roofless ruin of the church. The same moonlight that bathed him now.

  Now. It was happening now. The Fetch was on the road through the woods. And it was heading downhill. Not towards the church, not towards Callum, but towards another destination altogether.

  It was heading for the row of ruined alms cottages.

  In Callum’s mind, he saw the figure stop outside the low brick wall and leap over the wooden gate, just as Callum himself had done so many times that week.

  The light was on over the porch. The curtains were open. Gran was inside, waiting for Callum to come home. The Fetch walked up the path to the door of the cottage, wearing Callum’s own embarrassed smile of apology, and with a hand identical to his own, lifted the brass knocker.

  Chapter 23

  Gran sat wearily in her favourite chair in the nook under the stairs, from which she could see a long way up the road. Cadbury was prowling restlessly, but when she got up to let him out, the cat hissed and backed away from the door. She stood staring up the empty road for a minute before she shut the door again, biting her lip. After a moment, she locked it.

  ‘Where is he?’ Gran muttered. Cadbury stopped his prowling and sat down on his haunches to look at her. ‘What do I do, Cadbury? It’s not safe for him to be out there alone. But if I go off to try and find him and he comes back . . .’

  Gran wrung her hands together in indecision. ‘What do I do?’ she repeated.

  Cadbury jumped up to sit on top of the bulky old cassette player. It immediately began to play one of Gran’s favourite big-band tunes.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gran sighed. ‘I guess you’re right. I’ve small hope of finding him, and no hope of protecting him outside these walls. We’ll just have to wait it out and hope for the best. But he’s so angry. And that’s my fault; my fault for deceiving him. No wonder he was confused and upset.’

  She felt old and tired, but she couldn’t sit down again. She’d made herself a cup of tea earlier, but it had gone stone cold and she hadn’t touched it.

  ‘Come on, Cadbury,’ she said. ‘Let’s switch on every light in the house. Let’s make this place into a beacon.’

  She had been in two minds about turning on the lights – she could see the road better with the lights in the sitting room off – but she needed something practical to do. She knew that Callum looked for the light when he made his way back through the wood, and she wanted him to feel welcome.

  Walking upstairs, she switched on the overhead lights in both bedrooms, the bedside lamps, and the landing light. With the upstairs windows of the cottage ablaze, Gran came back down and turned on all the other lights.

  The boy had been gone for over an hour now. Where? It was unlikely Callum had gone to meet anyone he knew from school, unless it was the girl, Melissa. Despite her initial reaction when she’d found the girl nosing through the books, Gran had had to change her opinion of Melissa that afternoon. She had stood at the door, insistently rapping the brass knocker with the urgency of a fire alarm and calling wildly. Gran had been in the back garden, trying to figure out why the row of cabbages by the wall had gone black and mouldy overnight. She hadn’t heard the phone when Callum had been given his one call. But there had been no way to miss Melissa’s shouting. It carried over the roof of the little cottage.

  Mrs Scott! Mrs Scott! Callum’s in trouble!

  Why, Melissa had even been ahead of the police! They had met the patrol car coming down the road through Marlock Wood as they were walking back up to town together. A right bright spark, the sergeant had called her.

  So maybe Callum had gone to see Melissa. That would make sense. The Old Stationmaster’s Cottage, that was where Callum had said she lived. A pleasant enough place, the yellow bricks in good repair, and nice flowers in the window boxes.

  But the yellow-brick house wasn’t safe – it wasn’t protected by a web of charms, and its ordinary walls would be no protection against the invasion of a monster from the Netherworld that even she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Oh, why doesn’t he come home!’ Gran exclaimed, going to the window again.

  She pressed her face against the cold glass and cupped her hands around her eyes, trying to see beyond the reflection of light and firelight from the room behind her. The moon was out and high now – it was a beautiful clear evening. Gran couldn’t see anyone on the road. She sighed and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Callum might want a hot drink when he came back. And she could do with a fresh cup of tea.

  The kettle had just reached the boil when Gran heard the sound of the brass knocker, Callum’s signature firm drumming.

  Thank God!

  She was at the door in three strides, in less than a second.

  ‘Callum!’ she cried out. ‘Thank goodness, I’ve been so worried!’

  Gran lifted the latch effortlessly – she couldn’t figure out why Callum always had to fight such a battle with the old thing – and threw open the door.

  The boy stood just off the doorstep, his untidy hair in his eyes. He looked hangdog and embarrassed, as though he was feeling a little ashamed of himself. He’d either taken a step backwards waiting for her to open the door, or he’d had to lean across the porch to knock.

  Cadbury let out a hiss, and backed away from the door with a tail the size of a chimney brush, then fled upstairs. The radio, too, gave a howl of static and went silent.

  ‘Good grief, but that cat’s wound up this evening! Callum, I’m so relieved you’ve come back.’

  Gran pushed the door wide open and stepped aside so that Callum could come past her. But he just stood there, silently, on the other side of the doorstep looking at her with shy, beseeching eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry you had to find out the way you did, I really am, Callum. I’ve been going out of my mind myself all evening!’

  Callum shrugged, and gave that characteristic shake of his head to get the hair out of his eyes, just as Peter had always done at that age. She felt such a surge of love for him that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she found her voice again.

  ‘Well, come in, for goodness sake! Don’t stand out there in the shadows! Come in!’

  Callum smiled. At her invitation, he stepped across her threshold, came into the house and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 24

  Callum leaped over the back of Doom as if he was vaulting a stone wall. The cold air surrounding the great Grim’s body clawed at his legs like wind off a frozen canal, and then he was out in the open.

  The others followed almost as quickly. The rough ground of the old churchyard was treacherous underfoot. Callum tried to run and fell flat in two metres, cracking his elbow against the low iron railing surrounding the Victorian grave he’d tripped over.

  Ancient monuments can be dangerous . . .

  Seconds later Melissa stumbled on exactly the same railing. But Callum was on his feet again and didn’t wait for her. He caught his jacket on the gate on the way out of the graveyard, ripped it free, and stumbled, cursing, down the lane to the road. Stark in his mind he remembered the image of the hand – his own hand - closing over the round brass knocker on Gran’s green door and rapping at it firmly.

  He didn’t need a premonition to tell him
what would happen next. Gran would open the door. She would think the Fetch was Callum. She would invite it in. And all the charms and magic in the world couldn’t keep the Fetch from crossing Gran’s threshold if she asked it in herself.

  And then . . .

  Callum sprinted down the lane, gasping for breath. What if he was too late, as he’d been again and again when the Fetch was ahead of him? Behind him he heard Melissa’s running footsteps, and beyond that, the thud of Doom’s paws on the road. He didn’t look back to see how close they were, or whether Jacob was following too. His only thought was to get home.

  Faster!

  Reaching the cottage, Callum crashed through the little garden gate and raced up the path.

  ‘Callum, wait!’

  It was Jacob’s voice, but Callum didn’t stop. He had no idea how to fight the Fetch, but he knew he had to stop it before . . .

  With Melissa on his heels, Callum slammed into the door, twisting the old-fashioned latch upwards. The door flew open and they stumbled into the room.

  Gran was standing in front of the fire, her hands on her hips, a worried frown drawing her brows together. She did not look frightened. She looked concerned and frustrated. She was looking earnestly at the boy who stood facing her – a boy only a little shorter than Gran herself, broad-shouldered, in an anorak with a ragged hem identical to the one Callum was wearing.

  For a moment, Callum stood frozen in amazement. It truly was like looking into a mirror.

  Beware the dark reflection.

  And then Callum cried out, ‘Gran!’

  The Fetch and Gran both turned at the same moment. Gran’s eyes flew wide and her mouth dropped open in shock and understanding. Seeing Callum standing in the same room as his doppelganger, she knew at once what had happened.

  Gran didn’t hesitate. She stepped between the Fetch and Callum, holding her arms out to bar the monster’s path.

  ‘Callum, run!’

  The Fetch reached out with Callum’s arms. But the strength in those arms was far greater than Callum’s own. In its rage, the Fetch’s nails and teeth lengthened, so that suddenly it looked more like a demon than a boy; a parody of Callum, with claws like talons and teeth like the fangs of a prehistoric monster.

  With one of these hideous claws it seized Gran by the shoulder, and with the other it grabbed her by the hair. Then it lifted her off her feet, her face frozen in a wide stare of astonishment and horror, and hurled her like a doll across the room. Her body crashed hard against the wall and she slid to the floor and lay still.

  ‘Callum!’ cried a voice.

  Callum half turned. Jacob stood on the path, Doom crouched at his side, growling like a demonic tiger, showing teeth like sabres in the moonlight. Twin trails of black blood dripped like sweat down Jacob’s temples and along his palms. The pair had kept pace with Callum on the road, but the barrier he had thrown up against the spectral boy and his dog still prevented either of them from moving even a fraction over Gran’s doorstep.

  ‘Quick,’ cried Melissa. ‘You have to invite them in!’

  But the Fetch was too fast. Crossing the room in two quick strides, it slammed the door in the faces of the two ghosts. From beyond the solid wood, Doom let out a frenzied howl.

  The Fetch stood for a moment, flexing its clawed talons, its alien features settling back into a face that looked like Callum’s, although the fire did not leave its eyes, and in its twisted smile the teeth remained sharp and pointed.

  Then it lunged forward with its hands spread, ready to grasp and tear.

  Chapter 25

  Focused only on Callum, the Fetch paid Melissa no attention. With all the strength in her body, she threw herself at Callum and pushed him out of the Fetch’s path.

  It was only a distraction – a brief one. The Fetch turned to follow Callum as he tumbled backwards. Melissa stepped sideways towards the hearth. Grabbing Gran’s mug of cold tea, she hurled it at the back of the Fetch’s head. The mug smashed against its skull, but Melissa might as well have hit the monster with a dandelion for all the notice it took.

  ‘Rowan!’ Callum cried, scrambling out of the way on his hands and knees. ‘Throw the rowan!’

  Melissa seized the jar of hazel leaves and rowan berries from the table. Sensing she was about to attack with something more effective than cold tea, the Fetch turned to face her. Melissa hurled the jar at its head, but her aim was less accurate this time. The twigs and berries flew harmlessly past the Fetch’s face and smashed at Callum’s feet. He grabbed a slender twig of rowan as he got to his feet. It was the flimsiest weapon imaginable.

  The Fetch stood still, its head tilted sideways, contemplating Callum. It was utterly unnerving to be stared at by his own face, seeing such burning hatred there.

  The Fetch licked its lips and smiled. Then stepped forward again, claws raised.

  Callum flourished the rowan, and the Fetch stopped, its burning eyes narrow.

  Then it laughed, a hideous gurgling sound, as if its throat were being rubbed raw with sandpaper.

  ‘Pitiful,’ it said in a hoarse voice. ‘Can this world do no better than you as its champion? A frightened child, cowering behind a handful of twigs?’

  It had flinched, though. It had backed away from the touch of the rowan as though it feared it. Callum raised the twig higher, even though it felt like trying to meet a switchblade with a safety pin. If only he had a more substantial weapon.

  That was it!

  ‘Melissa!’ Callum cried. ‘The logs – they’re rowan too!’

  Melissa snatched up one of the stouter branches piled in the fire basket and tossed it to Callum. He dropped the twig and caught the branch.

  The Fetch sneered.

  ‘A sharpened lance might harm me, but not that stick. Fight with your hands, little boy, not with leaves and berries! Is the strength of your body mere illusion? Shall we test it?’

  The Fetch leaped forward, its wicked talons slashing for Callum’s throat. Callum fell back, lashing out, using the rowan branch as a cudgel to strike at the Fetch. The blow connected with the side of its head and the Fetch gave a snarl of pain.

  The instant the charmed wood touched its skin, all illusion fell away. Callum’s likeness vanished and the Fetch became itself once more, the skinless creature of vein and muscle that Callum had first seen in the garden. Its lipless teeth were clenched in fury, the naked cords of its throat tensed for attack. The wide, lidless eyes stared wrathfully at Callum.

  With the speed of a striking viper, the Fetch seized Callum around the wrist. It moved so fast that Callum realised all the creature’s earlier dodging and weaving had just been to lead him on. With a vicious wrench, the Fetch twisted Callum’s arm until he was forced to let go of the branch, then brought its other hand flashing towards his head. Callum desperately flung his right hand out to block, but he couldn’t get a grip on the slick surface of the Fetch’s body. Almost carelessly, it tossed Callum across the room. He fell hard against the floor.

  All the air was knocked out of Callum’s lungs and he couldn’t breathe. But blind instinct, his own reliable chime child Luck, made Callum roll aside as the Fetch’s talons thrust at his face. A blade-like claw missed his eye by millimetres and scythed open a bloody gash in his skin from his cheekbone to his hairline. Callum gasped, clapping one hand to his torn face, and saw that behind the Fetch’s back, Melissa had again taken advantage of being ignored long enough to seize the poker from the fireplace.

  Callum shook his head desperately. He knew the Fetch was too strong for him – probably too strong for both of them together. Melissa’s only hope was to avoid attracting attention.

  Iron. Melissa mouthed. It’s iron.

  Of course – Callum remembered now that Gran’s iron horseshoe and the rails that reinforced the brick wall were wards against the Netherworld.

  The iron poker was not a sharpened lance, but it did have a hooked point for raking coals. As the Fetch loomed over Callum, ready for the kill, Melissa stepped up be
hind it and stabbed the hooked end into the back of the demon’s neck with all the force she could muster.

  The Fetch roared in fury, and whirled to meet Melissa, jerking the poker out of her hands. Reaching behind itself, it wrenched the poker free, sending a jet of clear fluid spurting from the wound in its neck. With one clawed hand, the monster seized Melissa by the throat, hauling her off her feet, raising the other to gouge at her eyes.

  Still on the floor, gasping for breath and half-blinded by the stinging wound across his face, Callum’s mind raced.

  Didn’t this creature have any weakness, even with a hole in its neck spurting whatever strange liquid ran in its veins instead of blood?

  And then the answer struck him. Melissa had known it – that was what had impressed Jacob, the thing that had changed his mind about her and made him decide she might be a useful ally. She had known the Fetch’s weakness – its own reflection.

  Desperately, Callum scrambled towards the full-length curtains at the other side of the room.

  ‘Hey!’ Callum yelled. ‘Hey! I’m the one you want to fight! I’m the last chime child! Let her go!’

  The Fetch’s dagger-like nails froze in front of Melissa’s face. She clawed at the other taloned hand, the one that held her by the throat in its crushing grip, choking and sobbing for air, trying to twist her face away.

  Callum could only count on having the Fetch’s attention for one second. He didn’t have time to open the curtains. Instead, he swung round and ripped them off the wall.

  All the lights that Gran had turned on to guide Callum home were burning brightly – the fire, the lamps and the overhead ceiling light. With so much light focused against them, the full-length glass doors reflected the entire room. Their bright surface doubled the cottage as clearly as a mirror.

  The Fetch, still holding Melissa by the throat, found itself face to face with its own reflection.