by Jess Smith
Taking his scythe with him, he crawled speedily through the corn towards Maggie. When he reached her he stood up and asked her to stop work. When she turned to face him Sandy almost fell backwards, because it wasn’t the little woman he’d challenged earlier to a harvesting competition, but a demon, complete with green face, jaggy teeth and pointed horns.
Sandy lifted his scythe above his head and swished it down upon Maggie, the creature of the devil. She leapt high up above the corn, screeching and howling. As all eyes watched, the demon whirled around Sandy like a hurricane. He closed his eyes and gave one last stroke of his blade. A howl ran across the Auld Burn, over the rooftops of Monklands and up into the September air. In a puff of red mist Maggie disappeared, leaving Sandy shaking in fear.
Maggie wasn’t the only one to vanish. Rab Allan, who it was later discovered had been seen on several occasions at the midnight hour sitting on a rock at the Auld Burn, conversing with a hooded man, took his leave. People who had bet on Maggie lost their money, but Sandy went home with his reaper’s crown firmly back where it belonged.
His famous story of how he beat a fiery demon was told repeatedly, until tractors and combine harvesters were invented, putting an end to champion reapers, left-handed or otherwise.
14
THE BOORAK TREE
This next tale is modern, but its roots reach back into the mists of time. There is no documented evidence of how the ancient Picts lived in Scotland long before the Romans arrived, which happened about two thousand years ago. My people, the travellers, tell stories that have been handed down through the generations and some have stayed vivid despite the passing of time. This next tale I share with you may have originated in the time of the ancient Picts, but then again, maybe not.
Make sure the doors and windows are locked, because this is a creepy tale...
Mary was tired. She had been working most of the day tidying up autumn leaves, piling them high and burning them up in heaps. She was well prepared for the winter frosts and snow when they would come to cover the earth.
She eagerly enjoyed her tea and biscuits afterwards, but now she had a chore far more important than garden cleaning. It was Halloween, and soon the pattering feet of guisers would be heard in the street, and there would be giggling and laughing as they called on all the house dwellers to ‘trick or treat’.
Harry, Mary’s husband of fifty years, had died two years ago. It had always been him who got over-excited about the Halloween visitors with their eager, painted faces – happy children, dancing with excitement.
But Mary had as a young girl listened fearfully to tales of the hallowed eve, when ghosts and spirits drew near to the living; a time of shadows and dreams. These tales were told to her by her grandmother, a cold-hearted, frighteningly dark individual whose stories were anything but joyous. Today the festival was looked on as nothing more than a time for playing games and dressing up. However, in Mary’s early years the opposite was the case. To her Halloween meant a night without sleep, a time when fear spread through all children who were reared with legendary tales handed down from Pictish times.
Her granny, and the generations before her, had upheld the ancient ways of a culture long since dead to all but a few, her granny being one of them. Halloween had a far deeper meaning to the old ones. Harry had laughed many times at Mary when she said it was a time, not for celebration, but for an all-night vigil to watch over children and protect them from evil.
Harry was no longer around, but a lifetime of keeping to his view of the night and not hers was to be continued. If she had fears, then she certainly wasn’t going to allow them to appear.
Seven o’clock rang out on her old grandmother clock as she busied herself filling saucers with sweeties, nuts and biscuits. The children would come with their painted faces, reciting poetry and singing songs. She enjoyed their young company, and when the knocks came welcomed them at the door.
Just as she was running a comb through her short grey hair, the phone rang. It was her friend from the library, young Anna. Weekly they’d meet for coffee and chat about their day to day lives. The conversation was mainly taken up with stories of Anna’s two children, nine-year-old Egan and Andrew, aged seven.
‘Hello Anna,’ said Mary, ‘what is it?’
‘Oh, the most awful thing has happened – Mummy has had a heart attack!’
‘My dear girl, that is terrible! She’s not... I mean how bad is it?’
‘Doctor says, if she pulls through the night, then she has a good chance of surviving. Mary, I have to be with her.’
‘Of course, Anna, you must be at her side.’
‘Will you come and stay overnight with the boys? My husband is offshore on an oil rig and cannot possibly make it home. Please say you’ll help.’
Mary felt a cold shiver run up her spine. She and Harry had never had children of their own. She’d no knowledge of how they behaved, what they ate and oh my, no, she didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s children. But how could she not do it? Anna, faced with a very sick mum, had no one else to turn to. The family had only been in the town for a few months. Mary was the only person Anna knew and trusted.
She heard herself say the words before she had time to think more about them. ‘I’ll be there shortly.’
‘The taxi will be with you in ten minutes!’
Mary closed her curtains, climbed the stairs, switched off her electric blanket and pulled plugs from their sockets. Just as her hand turned the key in her back door, the horn of a taxi was heard outside. Slipping on a green wool coat and hat to match, she smiled and apologised to a line of skeleton-clad kids bounding up to her door shouting ‘Trick or treat, Mary!’
‘I have to go away tonight, boys and girls, but if you come to visit next week I have lots of sweets and fruit to give you.’
Their sad faces and sighs of disappointment made her feel like the greedy giant who hated children. However a task of great importance lay ahead – two boys whom she’d never met, called Egan and Andrew.
When she arrived at Anna’s house, Mary instinctively took some money from her purse, and through the half-open glass partition offered to pay for her fare. Her driver waved a hand and said, ‘No need for payment, missus, the fare’s been taken care of. Oh look, here’s the lady going to the airport.’
Anna was already rushing down the stone steps, her small overnight bag swinging from her hand. Fastening the last button on her coat, she kissed Mary’s cheek and said, ‘I’ll phone as soon as I get there. And boys,’ she turned to the pair of wide-eyed children, ‘Make sure Mary has everything she needs.’ With a banging of car doors and revving of engines Anna was gone, leaving a breathless old woman whispering to herself, ‘Life these days is too fast paced for me.’
Introductions on doorsteps were not to her liking either, ‘Now let me see, you are taller, so you must be Andrew, the older boy. Let’s go inside.’
As the door closed a mumbled answer came, ‘Uh ah,’ followed by, ‘he’s Egan.’
Inside, Mary was pleased to see a warm, glowing fire. Although it was electric, it was nevertheless a cosy sight on the last day of October. A large settee with lots of knee rugs and scatter-cushions beckoned her to slip off her shoes and coat and sit down.
But no sooner had she laid down her coat when, to her utter shock and horror, the kitchen door burst open and out bounded a scruffy black and white collie dog. Within seconds Mary’s legs and ankles were licked all over. ‘Shush, away with you, you daft dog!’ Her coat went back on quicker than it had come off. Anna had not mentioned this extra responsibility. Maybe if Mary had known about it she’d not have agreed to come. The boys were laughing loudly at both the look on her face and the dog’s.
Andrew spoke first. ‘Maggie won’t bother you, and she’s a softy.’ The dog rolled over on her back, all four legs to the ceiling, tongue hanging from a panting mouth. ‘See,’ said Andrew, ‘she’d not hurt a fly.’
‘She needs to be walked,’ whispered
Egan, nudging his brother in the ribs. ‘In all the rush, Mummy forgot to take her.’
This little fellow was obviously shy, so saying nothing to Mary, he ran into the kitchen and came out with Maggie’s collar and lead.
‘It’s only a short walk in the woods behind our house,’ he said, standing by the door. ‘It will only take minutes for her to do her business.’ Already he and Andrew were donning anoraks and woollen hats.
‘Just hold on, you two, there are lots of guisers out tonight, and some are letting off fireworks. What if she takes fright and runs off? Mummy will be furious with me for losing her dog.’ Mary was already making excuses, but the boys with Maggie on the lead had unlocked the back door, and before she could stop them were running into a thick copse of trees.
‘My goodness, its pitch black out here,’ she said, calling them to come back. But as they took her by the hand and rushed her almost off her feet, it was clear they had other ideas about obeying. ‘Oh dearie me, slow down,’ she gasped, trying to catch her breath.
They let go and walked beside her. She squinted her eyes, and could just about make out tree shapes with orange street lights behind them. In their midst something caught her eye. Looming among the shadows stood a thing from her past: twisted and gnarled, with knotted and warted trunk, it was a Boorak tree.
Her Granny had told her of such a tree – a soul gatherer, she called it. Suddenly, she saw in her mind’s eye the old woman’s face as she narrated to her how evildoers from Pictish times were punished. They would be tied securely to the trunk of a Boorak with their throats cut and left to bleed to death. Into the tree trunk, kept there forever, went the evil that had come out of them. Afterwards the criminals’ bodies were burned and scattered back over the earth.
In those days there were no policemen to uphold laws or jails to hold prisoners. Long ago, before religion and before books, punishment for crimes was administered at once. It all happened thousands of years ago, but Mary’s granny believed in the old ways. As Mary stood there before the tree in the dark wood, she heard in her head her old granny saying, ‘Never interfere with the Boorak!’
What happened next would have sent Granny running for her life if she was alive: Maggie leapt at the tree and broke off a branch.
‘Bad dog, drop that! Now, I say!’ Maggie had other ideas for her stick, and was already running around shaking it. Mary’s shouting frightened the boys. They reached out to each other and held hands. In an instant she composed herself; after all, she was a stranger, they hardly knew her.
‘Sorry, boys I’m not used to dogs, or to young men come to think of it.’ No way should she let her secret fear upset them. Calling quietly to Maggie, she suggested they go home. After all, Halloween was no time to be wandering about in woods thinking about evil trees or anything else.
Back inside the warm, cosy house, she scolded herself for being so stupid. Maggie, with her stick, had retreated to a wicker basket full of squeaky toys and ripped teddies. The kettle whistled gently, and after the boys had replaced jerseys and trousers with pyjamas, the threesome settled on the comfy settee to drink milky cocoa and sugary tea in front of the dancing red flames of the electric fire.
Mary laughed at their jokes, with a solemn promise not to tell mummy the naughty ones. Then she did what she did best – tell stories that her granny had shared with her. Not, however, the Boorak tale. Eleven o’clock struck loudly on the carriage clock on the mantlepiece; time for bed. The boys were good company, and she began to wish that she’d been a mother. ‘Goodnight, you two, and remember no playing on your computer thingys.’
Andrew pushed past his younger brother, causing the little lad to lose his balance and fall backwards. Egan jumped up and thumped his brother on the back. Mary scolded both of them. Then she did a last check of the doors and windows, making doubly certain she’d switched off the cooker at the main socket. After a final check of the plugs in the kitchen, she patted the dog, flicked off the light and closed the door behind her. She quickly looked round the sitting room, then headed for bed.
She’d barely begun to climb the stairs when a cold shiver ran through her bones, prompting her to think, ‘Someone is standing on my grave.’ What a strange saying that is – and not a bit relevant, just a silly old-fashioned remark. But it happened again, then twice more. She felt cold, and pulled a wool shawl tightly round her shoulders with one hand, steadying herself on the banister with the other.
At her next step she stopped dead. A form stood at the top of the stairs, a faceless floating apparition. Her hair rose up at the base of her neck. ‘What is going on?’ she asked herself. Suddenly the door of the boy’s bedroom swung open, and Andrew, who was holding a wire coat hanger tied to two brush handles with a white sheet draped over the home made contraption, called menacingly, ‘Oohhh!’
This made Mary furious. She was not in the least bit amused, and when she reached the bedroom gave him a right rollicking. ‘I’m an old lady and could have had a heart attack on those stairs. You are very naughty. Wait till I tell your mum.’
Egan rushed over and patted Mary’s hand, saying, ‘I told him not to do that, Mary.’
‘Huh, it was only a joke,’ said Andrew, half apologising.
But Mary had already calmed down, and feeling the tension and anger subside, she turned away her head, plopped out her false teeth, turned to face him and made the most horrible toothless grimace. Both of the boys dived into the room and under their bedcovers. Smiling, she closed their door and said loudly, ‘Only joking!’
As she slipped under her own bedcovers in a cosy single bed in the spare room, she could hear loud laughter coming from next door. Obviously they’d seen the joke.
A romantic novel with a bookmark lay by her bed on a cabinet beside a soft night light. After reading a short chapter her eyes began to flicker shut. Peace seemed to reign in the boy’s room and she too fell asleep, content and relieved that she had managed to carry out the responsibilities which had been forced on her that day.
Sometime during the night she awakened to the sound of voices. At first she thought the boys were up to more tricks, so she said nothing. When a cold bat-like creature fluttered above her head, she chuckled in amusement. Sitting up, she switched on the lamp, about to make another toothless grimace, but then she saw that there had been no mischievous prank from her charges. The room was empty!
She fumbled for her glasses. Nervously scanning the small room, she whispered, ‘Who’s there?’ This seemed senseless, because it was easy to see there was no one there. Her sleepy eyes darted into every dark corner as she felt for the satin bed quilt. But to her utter horror, an invisible hand was already pulling it slowly off the bed.
Unable to grasp what was happening, Mary thought that perhaps all the responsibility of the night, the dog incident and being away from home had given her a nightmare. Yes, that’s it – she was living a dream. She closed her eyes tightly, and for a moment sat on the edge of the bed. She opened them again expecting to see a normal bedroom scene, but when she did, it was no dream! Her sheepskin slippers floated out from beneath the bed and hovered in mid air, while all the time the voices whispered. The curtains waved back and forth, and the ceiling light went on and off by itself.
To her utter horror, shadows were dancing on the walls, long arms waving back and forth. Shivers went up and down the entire length of her spine. As she watched the shadows growing from floor to ceiling, her heart began to beat like a thudding drum in her chest.
The menacing voices grew louder; it was time to get out of there. Beneath her feet dead twigs crackled; she was wading through mounds of fallen dried leaves, not the shaggy pile of carpet. Reaching for the door handle, she was grabbed by two long and spindly hands that stretched out to her from the shadows. Those voices grew deeper, moaning and calling, ‘Give it back, give it back!’ Up till then the voices had made no sense, just mumbling unintelligibly.
‘What do you want and who are you?’ Her throat felt dry and the words seeme
d to stick there. She coughed and said loudly, ‘I have two little boys in this house. I beg you not to harm them.’
Silence followed as the shadows faded into the walls. The long thin arms fell into the floor of autumn leaves and broken twigs. Outside an owl’s hunting cry was a welcome sound after the haunting of her bedroom.
Mary repeated her question and waited. A rustle on the floor, like a rabbit scurrying over leaves, rooted her to the spot.
A tree began to grow in front of her, not in the usual sense of sprouting but like it was some kind of creature. Mary felt her strength being sapped from her into the dark greenish brown trunk with its slimy bark. It grew larger and wider until half the bedroom was full. Concealed in the trunk were dozens of faces; faces of horrendous, twisted, evil-looking people with eyes staring at her. This was where the whispering had come from, those foul faces. Every one screamed at Mary, ‘Give it back!’ over and over again.
She covered her ears and closed her eyes. ‘What do I have to give back?’ As her eyes flickered shut, she fought hard to stop herself from being sucked into the trunk with all those demonic faces. ‘Please, tell me what it is I have.’
A force of immense power pushed her against the bedroom wall, bringing a sense, not of fear, but relief that the tree wasn’t stealing her body. A deep growling voice said, ‘Look at the top of the tree.’
Lifting her head upwards, she froze at the sight of Andrew and little Egan. ‘Oh no, not the children!’ She pleaded with the demon, whoever he was, to let the boys go and to take her instead. The boys seemed to be asleep, resting among the tree’s branches. That was one cause of relief. Mary clasped her hands together as if in prayer, and begged for the boys to be freed, but all the voices continued to scream, ‘Give it back!’ over and over again until she could take no more.
