Sker House

by C. M. Saunders

  “Yes, you're our hero,” Lucy said. It sounded sarcastic, but she actually meant it. “And Champ, too.” She leaned over to nuzzle the dog who looked up at her and yawned, filling the air in the immediate vicinity with doggy breath. However lazy and smelly, all girls loved a pooch.

  Lucy and Dale sat opposite the landlord on two tables that had been pushed together in a corner of the bar. They were awaiting the arrival of Old Rolly who, unfazed by the power cut, steadfastly remained in his usual chair. “He'll be over when the food arrives,” Machen told them by way of explanation.

  Several tall, white candles had been placed on the tables and strategically around the bar to keep the crawling shadows at bay, and two more boxes were perched on the table next to a box of Sker House-branded disposable cigarette lighters. Outside it was pitch black, and the storm was gradually rising in intensity. The wind had given up moaning and instead howled and whistled banshee-like, throwing raindrops against the glass with increasing force.

  The oppressive atmosphere wasn't helped by Machen's erratic behaviour. He kept fidgeting with the almost-empty whisky glass he held, picking it up and putting it down, and insisted on moving the candles around. At one point, he glanced over Lucy's left shoulder and almost jumped back in his seat. He grabbed the nearest candle and thrust it toward her, who recoiled from the flame then whirled around to see what was behind her only to find nothing there. When she turned back she almost burned her chin on a candle Machen had placed a little too close for comfort.

  “Just seeing where we can get the most light. From the candle, I mean. No point otherwise, is there? No point at all.”

  “Er, no.” Lucy agreed, bewildered.

  “Oh my! What happened to your face?” The landlord asked suddenly. He obviously hadn't noticed Lucy's pretty collection of bumps and bruises before, even though he'd seen her upstairs not an hour earlier.

  She almost told him she'd burned it on a candle, but instead said, “I fell off a tree.” She briefly considered lying and claiming she 'tripped over' or 'walked into a cupboard,' or something equally lame. But both fabrications were only slightly less plausible and besides, she might get some comedy value out of the truth. She definitely would when she got home and told her friends.

  If he was shocked or surprised it didn't show. Instead Machen said, “Why would a girl like you be climbing trees?”

  This time, Lucy did lie. She didn't want to tell Machen about the secret garden. Not because she was afraid of ridicule. Of all people, she knew he would believe her. No, she was afraid of all the questions that would surely follow. Questions she wouldn't be able to answer. Besides, the secret garden was hers now and she didn't want to share it. “I wanted to get a view of the sea from a different angle, to get better pictures.”

  “Oh, gotcha,” Machen looked resigned, before springing back to life. “You know us Welsh used to worship trees, back in the day.”

  Sensing an opportunity for ribbing, Lucy turned to Dale. “Tree worship? Really?”

  “It wasn't just us,” Dale explained. “It was a Celtic thing. They believed trees were a representation of life, I think. The trunk is the earth, or the world as we know it. The top corresponds to the afterlife, or heaven. And the roots represent the Underworld, as the Celts called it.”

  “That's neat,” Lucy conceded. “And it actually makes some sense.”

  “The more you think about it the more sense it makes. We need trees to produce oxygen, right? Without trees we'd all die. They couldn't have known that then, but somehow they knew that trees were essential to our survival. I think that's what it boils down to.”

  Machen was nodding in agreement. “I see they haven't beaten all the Welsh out of you yet, lad! You still have a good dose of logic in you, you do.”

  “That's debatable. But thanks.”

  “Interesting that other people had hard-on's for trees and it wasn't just in this neck of the woods.” Dale's eyes widened in surprise and Machen spluttered and coughed. Lucy made a mental note to check the settings on her filter. Must remember she wasn't in some dive in Bedford Place where it was socially acceptable to make dick jokes.

  Any repercussions were averted when Izzy appeared carrying a steaming plate in each hand. “Lucky we have gas stoves!” she said, setting the plates down on the table.

  “Mmmm! What do we have?” Dale asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  “Mam's famous roast lamb and fresh garden veg.” Izzy answered with as much enthusiasm as a weather man talking about a cold snap.

  “Looks and smells fantastic! Thank your mother. Are you going to eat with us?” Lucy said. Hoping it sounded like a friendly invitation.

  “Dunno. Doubt it. Prob'ly go home.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Nottage Village. Not far away. Mam drives.”

  “Maybe you should both stay here tonight in one of the empty rooms,” Machen said. “Very dangerous out there on the road now. You know, dangerous? With the weather and that. I won't charge you for the room. I'll just deduct it from your wages at the end of the month, ha-ha!”

  “I don't think that will be necessary. Thanks all the same though,” Izzy said, a bit too hastily. She obviously had no desire to stay overnight in Sker House.

  “And where will you be having your dinner, Rolly?” Machen asked. “You gonna stay over there on your lonesome or are you gonna be sociable for a change?”

  “When you put it like that I s'pose I'd better come over, hadn't I?” Old Rolly answered in a gruff, beer-soaked voice as he reluctantly stood up and made his way over to the corner where everyone else had congregated. For the first time, Lucy noticed that his back was slightly hunched, yet he moved almost gracefully. Like a weary old tom cat whose body may be failing but any physical shortcomings were compensated for by the value of hard-fought battle experience. He sat in the chair next to Machen, who moved to the side to accommodate him. Lucy detected an uneasy air between the two men, probably a residue of the heated conversation she had overheard. Beneath the table, Champ whined mournfully. “Aye, the dog knows,” the old man said.

  “Knows what?” asked Lucy, reaching between her legs to scratch behind Champ's ear. The dog whined again.

  “Knows the thunder and lightning is coming. Animals don't like it. Dog's taken to hiding.”

  “I think this poor guy was already hiding, bless him.”

  “Thunder and lightning? Do you think?” Dale leaned forward and squinted through the window.

  “Oh aye. Definitely.” Even as the words passed Old Rolly's lips, there was a low grumble in the distance. At the sound of it, Izzy went scurrying back off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Izzy! Izzy, love? Be a darling and pass a bottle of the hard stuff before you go,” Machen called.

  The girl paused mid-step, and for a moment Lucy wondered if she was going to carry on regardless. Then, evidently deciding it was too late in the day to argue, Izzy said, “Sure. Be right there.”

  She noted that Izzy didn't need to verify what 'the hard stuff' actually meant. Either it was a kind of code for a preferred brand of whisky, or it was a euphemism for 'any strong alcohol.'

  Seconds later, she returned with a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels and put it on the table next to her boss. “Ah, my friend JD,” Machen said, twisting off the cap.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Izzy make her second getaway attempt. This time, it was Rolly who called after her. “Not much time left now, love. Better get moving if you're not planning on stopping here with us.”

  And move Izzy did.

  “So what do you do, Rolly?” Lucy said to kick-start the conversation as she scooped a steaming fork full of garden peas into her mouth. “I don't think we've had a chance to talk before. Are you retired?”

  “You don't retire from my line of work, miss,” the old man replied sagely.

  “And what kind of work is that?”

  “I'm a custodian. Of sorts.”

  “Oh, I see,” Luc
y nodded. “A custodian of what?”

  Before the old man could answer, there was a crash of thunder so loud it rattled the glass in the window frame. Rolly barely flinched, but Machen's hand jerked so violently that some of the freshly-poured Jack Daniels leapt out of his glass onto the table. He quickly covered the mess with a beer mat and repositioned two of the candles. Lucy and Dale exchanged puzzled looks, why does he keep doing that? It was almost as if he were afraid of the shadows. Lucy noticed Rolly was also watching, a grimace of distaste etched onto his face.

  Just then, Izzy and her mother appeared with two more dinner plates and set them down on the table. They were both wearing their coats. “Okay if we get going?” Ruth asked. “Before the weather gets any worse?”

  “I told Izzy you're both welcome to stay tonight. Said I'd take the money out of your salary, I did. But I was joking. I did say that though, didn't I, Iz?”

  “Yep, you did say that,” corroborated Izzy, who had taken a position at her mother's shoulder.

  “She mentioned it. But we should really get going, if its all the same to you. We'll clean all the plates and everything in the morning. Just leave them where they are.”

  “Righty ho. You drive careful, then.”

  “We will. Thanks, and good night all,” Ruth gave a parting wave to the group, the smile on her face more relief than cheer. “If you need anything from the village, Mach, just call us before we set off tomorrow morning,” she said as she trooped out, closely followed by her daughter.

  “Heard you talking about trees earlier,” Rolly said as the door closed behind them.

  Lucy immediately thought he was going to start asking questions about her tree-climbing escapade and blushed, not that anyone would notice in the dim light.

  “Trees, yes,” Machen agreed. Lucy was getting the impression the landlord was the kind of person who liked to be at the centre of everything. “We were talking about trees. How us Welsh used to worship them and that.”

  “That right?” Old Rolly said. “Then it might help the young people's understanding of such things if they knew about the trinity of oak, ash and thorn.”

  “The what?” Dale asked, leaning forward on his chair. This must be new to him, too.

  “They were considered very special trees,” Old Rolly said. “Other trees were special, too. But oak, ash and thorn were the most powerful. It would have taken a brave man indeed to chop one down.”

  “Why?” asked Lucy, her head filled with images of people dressed in white gowns and offering praise and gifts to trees. In her mind's eye, the scene looked like something from one of her dad's Monty Python videos. “What would happen if you did?”

  “Certain trees were used in Pagan rituals.”

  “You mean devil worship?” Fittingly, as the words passed Lucy's lips, there was another loud crack of thunder.

  “No, I mean Paganism,” Old Rolly continued patiently, as if he were a professor explaining a complex theory to particularly dim student. “Paganism is an entirely different concept to Christianity. Nothing to do with the devil. The Christians demonized paganism, and everything else that didn't fit into their neat little system. Tarred it all with the same brush.”

  “So what did the the Pagans do? Was it a kind of magic?”

  “That depends what you call magic. The Druids certainly conducted various rituals and sacred ceremonies. Still do, the few that are left. The few real ones, I mean. There are lots of pretenders. Some would call what they do a kind of magic, I s'pose. The main idea is that they worship the world around them and forge a harmonious existence with nature. Trees were central to all that. It was said that anyone who wilfully destroyed one of the trinity of special trees would be cursed with bad luck for the rest of their days. For that reason, people tended to stay away from oaks, especially. Parents would forbid their children to play around them, but of course some naughty children would climb them anyway. Up they would go, higher and higher, up amongst the top branches and out of sight.”

  “And then?” Lucy prompted, remembering her own surreal adventure that afternoon.

  “And then, they would never be seen again.”

  “Sounds like a story a mother would make up to stop her kids climbing trees.”

  “Maybe. But the oak has a long association with fairy lore.” It was strange to hear a grown man man talking openly about fairies and magic. Lucy waited for the sniggers, but they didn't come. “The fairies lived in or around them, you see. So if you chopped one down, they would be left homeless and they would come after you seeking revenge.”

  “Wow, people really believed that vengeful, homeless, tree-dwelling dwarves would come to get them?”

  “Not dwarves. Fairies. Of course, it sounds ridiculous to our ears, but it doesn't matter whether you or I believe it. People in the olden days certainly did, and maybe that was all it took to make it true.”

  “So what kind of... beings were they?” Dale asked.

  “Most fairy folk were the mischievous sort, but some were more harmful. One of their favourite tricks was to lure people to the Otherworld. To you it would seem like you'd been gone just a few minutes, but when you returned home to your family you would discover that many years had passed. You still looked the same as you did the day you were taken, but your family and friends would have grown old without you. More often than not, the realisation drove people insane.”

  “Not that different from modern alien abduction, when you think about it.” Dale offered. “Perhaps the phenomena – people being taken and returned – is the same, but how we perceive it has changed.”

  “Smart thinking,” Lucy said as another crash of thunder shook the house. This time, the thunder was accompanied by a startling white flash which illuminated the entire room for a fraction of a second, catching everyone in freeze-frame. Beneath the table, Champ whined. “So we can safely assume that fairies or aliens, or whatever they are, are bad news?”

  “That would be fair,” Rolly said. “To be respected, not abused. They represent nature, and that is a powerful force indeed. This storm we are currently experiencing is just one example. But do you know the most worrying part?” Dale and Lucy shook their heads. “The most worrying part is that... if we can use the tree as another analogy... you never know how deep the roots go. Or how widely they spread. They are hidden under the ground, you see. The same can be said of true evil. It's subversive, doing most of its work unseen. That is what I meant when I told you it lurks, lad.” Old Rolly cocked his bushy white mono-brow in Dale's direction.

  “So what does it mean when you fall off one? A tree, I mean?” Lucy asked.

  “That, my dear, means that you should stop climbing trees.” The table erupted with laughter. But the laughter soon faded into uncomfortable silence. “Just out of interest, do you know what kind of tree it was that you fell off?”

  “Sure.” Lucy said. “It was an oak.” All at once she realized what that meant, and her jaw dropped open.

  Old Rolly smoothed his beard with a wrinkled hand covered with skin like parchment and smiled. “In that case, it's probably lucky that you did fall off. And luckier still that you found your way back to Sker. Who knows what might have happened to you otherwise.”

  Chapter 25:

  Car Trouble

  “You stop here, Iz,” Ruth said as she and her daughter approached Sker House's main entrance. “I'll run up and get the car started. No sense in both of us getting soaked, is there?”

  “No mum.” Izzy shifted nervously on her feet, and Ruth read the pleading expression in her eyes.

  Hurry up and get me outta here!

  Ruth felt it too. Sker House was never the most pleasant place to be, what with the seclusion, the history, and the weird going's on. But it was especially bad tonight. A thick cloak of despondency seemed to have descended upon the place. Maybe it was something to do with the storm. All that energy in the air puts people on edge.

  As she hurried up the path toward the waiting vehicle, there was a
huge crash of thunder. The storm must be right on top of them. The thunder was quickly followed by a flash of forked lightning directly above, so bright it lit up the nearby sand dunes like an incendiary device. For a split second Ruth felt as if she were running for her life through a battlefield, whilst all around her her comrades were being cut to pieces by bullets and flying shrapnel. In some faraway place there was an ominous low rumble that sounded too much like distant gunfire. Ruth gritted her teeth and pulled her jacket over her head.

  When she reached the car, she stopped. The rain lashed against the side of her face as she fumbled the key into the lock, opened the driver's side door, and slid in behind the wheel. Needing no second invitation, Izzy started running down the path as Ruth slipped the key into the ignition and turned it. The dashboard lights flicked on and the engine purred into life. Depressing the clutch, Ruth slipped the car into gear, checked her mirrors, just in case, and prepared to release the handbrake. And then, it died. Not just the engine, but also the dashboard. Inexplicably, horrifyingly, everything cut out at once.

  “Shit!” Ruth rarely cursed, but felt that in this situation it was justified. She turned the key again. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. She couldn't even muster a whimper. Izzy arrived and plopped down in the passenger seat, her face a picture of anxiety as she wiped her face in her sleeve. “What's wrong, mum?”

  “Damned if I know. Bloody thing won't start.”

  “Did you put petrol in?”

  “'Course I did. Yesterday. You were there, remember?” Seeing her daughter's discomfort, Ruth's maternal instincts immediately took over. “It probably just needs a couple of turns, that's all. P'raps the engine got wet or something. It's proper chucking it down. It'll be fine in a minute.”