House of Bones

by Graham Masterton

  Blind now, the statue rose to its feet. It took two staggering steps to the right, and then three more steps to the left, swinging its arms dementedly from side to side.

  “What have you done?” shouted Mr Vane. “It’s Aedd Mawr, the greatest Druid of them all! What have you done!”

  He went across to the statue, his hands held out to guide it. The statue collided with the wall and then blundered into the hallstand, smashing the mirror and breaking the shelves.

  Mr Vane tried to take hold of its arm, but the statue swivelled around and hit him across the side of the head – a blow which almost lifted him off the ground and sent him hurtling across the hall and into the bannisters. He collapsed on to the floor with blood running down the side of his face, his arms and legs as crooked as a broken puppet.

  “Help me!” John screamed. His arm had disappeared into the wall up to the elbow, and he could feel the terrible clawing, tugging sensation growing stronger and stronger.

  Courtney took hold of his one free hand and pulled it as hard as he could. Mr Cleat seized hold of his legs.

  “Get me out!” John panicked. “I don’t want to go into the wall like Liam! Get me out!”

  “Liam only had one person to help him,” said Courtney, gritting his teeth. “Come on, Cleaty, pull!”

  He locked hands with John, and then he heaved back until John could hear the muscles in his arm cracking. Courtney’s feet slid and scrabbled on the tiles, but at last he managed to get a purchase.

  “Now pull!” he panted. “And pull!”

  Mr Cleat was much stronger than John would have guessed. He tugged so hard on John’s coat that he nearly tore the lapels off, but the dragging force inside the wall was almost irresistible. John’s arm disappeared and he couldn’t feel his hand at all. The back of his head was buried in the wall up to his ears, and he felt as if his whole brain was beginning to freeze. He felt like giving up, and allowing the wall to pull him in to get it over with.

  On the other side of the hallway, the faceless statue was still stumbling around, breaking windows, splintering door panels and tearing down curtains.

  Courtney said, “Come on, one last pull! Come on, Cleaty, this is for all the people who’ve been lost in the walls! This is for Liam!”

  He counted, “One – two – three—” and then they all pulled together. Mr Cleat pulled so hard that he let out a long, high-pitched squeal of effort.

  There was a moment when John was sure that they had lost him for good, and he thought of his mother and his father and Ruth. He could feel himself being relentlessly dragged into a dark, freezing-cold world where life meant nothing – a world of black superstitions and terrible rituals, a world of whispers and ghosts and dark, unspeakable memories.

  He could feel himself right on the point of death.

  “Noooo!” he screamed, although he couldn’t hear himself screaming. And it was then that he made the supreme effort himself, flexing back his shoulders and forcing his head forward and wrenching his arm.

  At that moment, Uncle Robin and Lucy appeared in the doorway. Lucy clamped her hand over her mouth in horror, but Uncle Robin came hurrying across the hall. As he did so, he dragged out of the pocket of his old green velvet jacket a long chain of crucifixes – some large, some small, some silver, some brass, some wooden, some plastic.

  The statue heard him and swung around, but it walked straight into the stairs and fell to its knees, where it remained, motionless, as if it were praying.

  Uncle Robin came over to John and looped the chain of crucifixes between him and the wall. At once, John felt the wall actually recoil, with a cold, plastery shudder.

  “Now, let’s all pull!” said Uncle Robin. “Let’s all pull, and we’ll get him out!”

  Courtney pulled. Mr Cleat pulled. Uncle Robin pulled. They gritted their teeth with effort. Then, with a sharp chish! sound like a yard-broom sweeping up concrete, John tumbled out of the wall and all four of them fell on to the floor in a tangle.

  Courtney helped John on to his feet.

  “Are you all right? I thought we’d lost you there, man, I really did.”

  Lucy turned him around. He was shivering with cold and shock, and his back was thickly covered in plaster dust. His hands were mottled blue, as if he’d been frostbitten.

  “I’m all right,” he told her. “Really. I’m all right.”

  Courtney said, “Cleaty said that we shouldn’t risk it – letting you meet Mr Vane alone – so we came straight over.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Lucy asked John.

  “Thanks to Uncle Robin,” said John.

  Uncle Robin gathered up his chain of crosses. “The one thing that the Druids can never swallow is the symbol of Christian faith,” he said, grimly.

  Mr Cleat went over to Mr Vane and lifted his chin. “Out cold,” he said. “Do you think we’d better call an ambulance?”

  There was another flash of lightning, followed by a burst of thunder that shook the windows in their sashes. Uncle Robin looked up and said, “There’s one thing we ought to try first. We may not get the chance to do it again.”

  “The lightning!” said John.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Courtney. “We ought to get you and Mr Vane out of here, and get you seen to.”

  “But the lightning!” said John, scrambling on to his feet.

  “That’s right,” said Uncle Robin. “It’s the only way to destroy a Druid spirit!”

  Lucy said, “You can’t! It’s much too dangerous!”

  “But if we don’t do it now—”

  “Do what? Do what?” Courtney demanded.

  Uncle Robin explained how the Romans had dug their metal spears into Druid ley lines and waited for them to be struck by lightning. “The lightning went into the ley lines – and zap!”

  “Zap?” said Mr Cleat, dubiously.

  “It’s worth a try! I mean, look at this thunderstorm! It may not thunder like this again for months!”

  “But we don’t have any spears!” Mr Cleat pointed out.

  “We don’t need spears,” said John. “There’s some scaffolding round at the side of the house. We can stick a bit in the middle of the garden, right where the ley line runs.”

  They went outside, into the front garden. The wind was wild and the trees were roaring. Rain lashed against their faces and soaked them through to the skin before they had even reached the side of the house.

  It was completely dark, and they had to wait until there was another flash of lightning before they could see where half a dozen scaffolding poles were lying in the weeds. Courtney picked up the end of one, John took the other end, and Mr Cleat took the middle. The pole was at least six metres long and much heavier than John had expected. They carried it around to the back garden, rain running down their faces.

  Lightning crackled down from the clouds. Thunder rumbled so close overhead that Lucy covered her ears and ducked her head down. Mr Cleat shouted, “Where’s the ley line? I can’t carry this thing very much further!”

  “Exact centre of the garden, that’s what Mr Vane said!” shouted John.

  They carried the scaffolding pole a few metres further on, with Uncle Robin hurrying ahead of them. Suddenly he called out, “Here! Here! This is where it is! I can feel it!”

  They laid the pole on the grass and gathered around him.

  “Feel it!” he said. “Put your foot on the ground there and feel it!”

  John took a step forward. As he did so, he immediately felt the same cold, pulling sensation that he had felt in the wall. It was like a cold hand grasping his foot and trying to drag him into the earth.

  Lucy let out a frightened yelp. “Something touched me! Something touched my shoe!”

  “I think we’d better forget this scaffolding business and get out of here,” said Courtney.

  “We can’t!” said John. “Nobody is ever going to believe any of this, nobody except us! If we don’t do something now, nobody ever will. And lo
ok, the storm is beginning to pass over!”

  Mr Cleat suddenly stepped back and stamped at the ground as if he were trying to stamp on a beetle. “I can feel them, too. They’re everywhere!”

  “Then let’s get this pole into the ground as quick as we can!”

  They hefted up the pole and carried it over to the nearest flowerbed, where the earth was sodden and soft. With every step they could feel a snatching, grabbing sensation at their feet. They lifted the pole upright and together they forced it downward into the soil, pushing it and twisting it until it stayed up on its own.

  As they did so, they kept shaking and kicking at the ground, to loosen the grip of the forces that wanted to drag them into the darkness.

  Another flicker of lightning illuminated the garden. “Let’s hope this pole doesn’t get struck till we’re finished,” gasped Courtney.

  “I don’t think there’s any chance that it’s going to get struck at all,” said Mr Cleat, wiping the rain from his face with his sleeve. “I think the best thing we can do is get out of here, fast.”

  They stood back. The pole wasn’t entirely straight, but it looked as if it would stay where it was. They turned and started to hurry back towards the house. But they hadn’t gone more than seven or eight metres before Mr Cleat shouted out, “Ahh!” and disappeared up to his knees into the grass.

  18

  John started to go to help him, but Uncle Robin said “Be careful!” and Courtney grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “That’s going to be just as dangerous as that wall, man. The next thing we know, we’re all going to get dragged down!”

  John felt a chilly tugging sensation beneath his feet, and invisible fingers coiling themselves around his ankle. He kicked them away and took a sharp step sideways.

  “Get me out of here!” called Mr Cleat. “It’s pulling me down, just like a swamp! I can’t move my legs at all!”

  Uncle Robin said, “Here! I’ll throw you these crosses! Wrap them around your waist and they won’t be able to drag you in any further!”

  He swung the chain of crucifixes around and around and then he threw them. They fell only a few millimetres away from Mr Cleat’s outstretched fingers, but as they touched the grass they were flung wildly up and away from him as if they had been repelled by a powerful magnet.

  Mr Cleat made a desperate attempt to snatch them, but they were just out of his reach.

  “I’ll get them!” said Lucy, but Uncle Robin held her arm.

  “If you go anywhere across there, the same thing will happen to you.”

  “I’ll get another pole!” said Courtney. “Just hold on, Cleaty, we’ll soon get you out of there!”

  “It’s pulling me down, Courtney, I’m telling you. I can’t even feel my feet at all!”

  John and Courtney ran back to the side of the house, picked up another scaffolding pole and carried it back to the lawn.

  Lucy cried out, “Hurry! He’s sinking even faster!”

  Another flash of lightning lit up the bizarre sight of Mr Cleat in his business suit, standing up to his thighs in a weedy, wet, unkempt lawn. He looked as if he were wading in the sea – except that the waves were windblown billows of thistles and grass.

  Mr Cleat was trying to stay calm but his self-control was gradually cracking. “John … Courtney … you have to get me out of here … they keep on pulling me further down … they keep on … get me out of here, for God’s sake! It hurts! You cant even imagine how much it hurts!”

  John and Courtney laid the scaffolding pole across the lawn. John skirted around to the opposite side and took hold of the other end of the pole. Then they lifted it up so that Mr Cleat could reach it with both hands.

  “Right, Cleaty, grab hold of the pole, and grab it tight!” shouted Courtney.

  Mr Cleat did as he was told. “You’ll have to be quick,” he said – and he was right, because he was visibly sinking into the ground in front of their eyes. The grass had reached his waist now, and his belt-buckle had disappeared into the weeds.

  Courtney ducked under the scaffolding pole so that it was supported by his shoulders, and John did the same. “Now, heave!” said Courtney, and between them they tried to raise the pole like a pair of weight-lifters.

  John squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. His shoulder muscles strained so much that he could hardly bear the pain. The pole itself was heavy enough, without having Mr Cleat hanging on to it – especially since Mr Cleat was being dragged down by one of the most powerful supernatural forces ever known.

  He did his best, but the weight pressing down on the back of his neck was so great that he thought the pole was going to break it. And all the time the wind was howling and the rain was blasting straight into his face and Mr Cleat was screaming, “Get me out of here! It’s killing me! Get me out of here!”

  John and Courtney both pushed up on the pole with all the strength they could muster, but gradually they were driven down on to their knees, and even lower, until their faces were being forced down into the wet grass and weeds.

  “It’s no use!” shouted Courtney. “We’ll have to think of something else!”

  He eased his head out from underneath the pole, which was now less than half a metre above the lawn. John did the same.

  “What are you doing? What are you doing? You can’t just let me go under!”

  John said, “There was some wooden boarding next to the scaffold – maybe we could lay it flat on the lawn and crawl across it to reach him.”

  Mr Cleat was still desperately clinging on to the pole. “Get me out of here! I don’t want to die! John, help me, I cant even feel my legs! I can’t feel anything!”

  He had sunk into the lawn right up to his chest, and he seemed to be going down faster and faster. Now that he was so deeply buried in the soil, the Druids must have had a better grip on him. At the rate they were pulling him into the ground, he had less than a minute left to escape.

  “Please – don’t leave me!” he sobbed. “I know that I was wrong! I know that I’m to blame! I should have stopped him! I know I should have stopped him! But please!”

  Courtney came sprinting back from the side of the house with a large, flat scaffolder’s plank. He dropped it across the lawn until it was well within Mr Cleat’s reach. Mr Cleat let go of the pole and lunged out for the plank. He gripped the end of it with both hands, although the grass was up to his armpits. Between the rumbles of thunder and the gusts of wind, John could hear him shrieking for breath.

  “Right – I’m going to crawl out on to the plank and try to pull you up,” Courtney shouted. “You understand what I’m saying? So don’t panic – I’m coming to get you.”

  “Wait!” said John. “You’re heavier than me, and you’re stronger then me, too. I’ll go out on the plank and you hold on to my ankles. Lucy, Uncle Robin – you can hold on to Courtney’s waist.”

  Mr Cleat kept screaming and screaming. John climbed on to the plank and began to crawl along it on his hands and knees. It was difficult to balance on it because it was wet and slippery with mud and Mr Cleat was tugging at it so frantically.

  He was only halfway along it when he felt it begin to tip forward.

  “John!” shouted Uncle Robin. “Hurry up, John! The board’s being pulled in too!”

  Mr Cleat looked at John wild-eyed. He stopped screaming and held out one hand. “Save me,” he said, so quietly that John could hardly hear him.

  John reached forward and managed to touch Mr Cleat’s fingertips. There was a split-second when he thought he might be able to get a grip on him. But then the board tipped even more and he almost fell off it. He put out his hand to stop himself from falling and momentarily touched the grass. It rippled as if it were a living beast and he snatched his hand away at once.

  “John! You’ll have to come back!” Courtney told him.

  John stared at Mr Cleat and Mr Cleat stared back at him. John tried to edge forward a little further but Courtney was holding his ankles tight a
nd wouldn’t let him.

  “No!” screamed Mr Cleat, as John crawled away from him, “No!” Courtney managed to pull John off the plank and safely away from the ley line.

  They watched in helpless horror as Mr Cleat gripped the builder’s board even more tightly and tried to pull himself up on to it. He was whimpering with determination and fear. He managed to shift one hand so that it was a little further up the board, but the forces that were dragging him into the ground were far too powerful. His elbows sank into the lawn, and then his shoulders, and as they did so the board tilted upward and was dragged in with him.

  At the last, his lungs must have been too tightly compressed for him to speak. Nothing was showing but his head, and the plank which reared up in front of him at an angle of forty-five degrees. Looking sadly up at the sky, he was mute, and utterly beyond help. Then the grass swallowed him, and he was gone, leaving nothing behind him but the plank. That, too, was pulled into the ground, until only a metre and a half protruded from the lawn, like a headstone in a cemetery.

  Lucy turned away and Uncle Robin put his arms around her. Uncle Robin himself was grim-faced. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time we went.”

  Another fork of lightning flickered out of the sky and went to earth on the other side of the street. There was a moment’s hush, when all they could hear was the rain falling and the wind shushing in the trees. Then even the rain seemed to pause.

  Seconds later, however, the whole garden was shaken with a high-explosive blast of thunder.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Courtney. “This plan of yours isn’t going to work, John, and I just want to be out of here!”

  What happened next, though, seemed almost miraculous. The instant the thunder died away, they heard the crackling of more lightning. They stopped and turned, and all had the same instinctive feeling about what was going to happen.

  A second’s silence. Then, out of the clouds, came a long, thin leader-stroke of lightning, searching hesitantly this way and that, a skeletal voodoo-arm made of pure electricity. It looked as if it were going to strike the weathervane on top of the house, but it suddenly jerked sideways and touched the top of the scaffolding pole in the garden.