by Mary Arrigan
Shane couldn’t stop talking about the two bits of stone. You’d think they were gold nuggets the way he was going on.
‘They’re just stones, Shane,’ I said. ‘So they were once stuck together, but they’re still only bits of old stone with squiggly bits on them.’
There it was, that strange, tingly feeling again.
CHAPTER SIX
MILO HIDES THE STONE
Shane stopped when we got near his house. Big Ella was in the garden. Not weeding, because she said that every growing thing had a right to life; which was why the garden was a thick jungle. Shane shoved the takeaway bag into my hands.
‘You take this, Milo,’ he said. ‘Gran would have a fit if she thought I’d taken the stone.’
‘What?’ I said, backing away. ‘You mean she didn’t know you had it?’
‘Well, you know Gran. She got vibes or something. She said she didn’t want anyone to know about it because there’d be a fuss, like history nerds coming around the place with those little shovels you see them using on the History Channel. Nosing about and asking for tea and biscuits and taking stuff away.’
‘Can’t you pretend there’s just school stuff in the bag?’ I said.
Shane shook his head. ‘She has X-ray eyes, my gran. Go on, just for a little while,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll phone you when the coast is clear and we’ll put it back. What’s the big deal?’
I gave a big ‘you’ll pay for this favour’ sigh and took the bag. I quickly stuffed it into my schoolbag before my fingers could tingle again. Shane opened his squeaky gate.
‘See you later,’ he said with a wink.
I wasn’t happy about being stuck with his crummy stone, not now that I knew about its past. But with Big Ella waving cheerfully at me, I couldn’t very well start an argument. You don’t do things like that to your best mate. So I waved back and went down to my own house. I hid that stone under the stairs. No way was I going to have it in my room.
Later on, when Mum was catching up on Fair City and Coronation Street, the phone rang in the hall.
‘You get that, Milo. There’s a love,’ said Mum.
At first there was no reply to my ‘hello’ when I picked up the phone. There was a lot of background crackling and then the wheezy sound of someone breathing. Some saddo joker, I thought. Then I heard Shane’s voice.
‘Milo!’ he cried.
‘It’s you!’ I laughed. ‘I might have known. What’re you up to?’
‘Milo! The stone!’
Such drama! ‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘No need to overact.’
‘Milo …!’ Shane’s voice faded away.
I laughed when I put down the phone. I was well used to Shane and his huge dramas. He could just have asked me nicely to bring over the stone. But trust Shane to do his scary-voice thing. Still, I was glad to be getting rid of his old stone.
‘Back in a while, Mum,’ I called out, taking the bag from under the stairs. ‘I’m just going over to Shane’s.’
‘Be back before dark,’ Mum replied.
Well, that doesn’t give me very long, I thought, as I pulled the front door shut. It was already dusk and all the neighbours’ lights were on. All except one. I was surprised when I reached Shane’s house and saw that it was in dusky darkness. Big Ella must have gone for a takeaway. Shane was probably lying in wait to pounce on me. Well, I’d be ready for him. But he didn’t pounce. And there was no answer to the special knock Shane and I used whenever we called to one another’s houses. By now his antics were getting right up my nose. ‘I know you’re there,’ I called out through the letterbox. ‘Come on, Shane, open up.’
I wasn’t enjoying this creepiness. ‘Stop acting the dork.’ Then I laughed to myself when I realised that he was probably waiting for me at the stony place. I headed down the wild back garden.
‘Ha!’ I shouted when I saw the figure poking about the stones that Big Ella had dug up. ‘You could have waited for me. You owe me at least a Crunchie for hanging on to this thing for you.’
The figure stopped and turned towards me. But it wasn’t Shane. No, no. It definitely wasn’t Shane. Even in that dim evening light, I could see the putty-coloured face and staring eyes of someone who didn’t belong in this world.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEEP, DEEP TROUBLE
We looked at one another for a few moments, him and me. The funny thing was, he seemed just as scared of me as I was of him.
So I said, ‘Hello.’
He nodded and came towards me. I noticed his clothes. I’m not much into fashions − so long as I have the current Man United strip I don’t much care what other people wear. But I could see that this guy was dressed like someone from one of those really old movies that you find on TV on a wet Sunday. Long coat, tall hat like a chimney pot, and hair that grew right down in front of his ears. Anyone, dead or alive, who went about like that could only be a harmless twit. Maybe. Hopefully.
‘Who … who are you?’ I croaked. Not the most clever question, but cleverness doesn’t really kick in when you’re scared.
‘Lewis. Deceased, as in dead,’ the spook replied. ‘Mister Arthur Albert Lewis to you, boy. And who are you?’
‘Milo,’ I said. ‘Mister Milo Ferdinand Doyle to you.’ I never ever tell anyone about the Ferdinand bit, but it seemed right just then. ‘And what are you doing here? Are you the Lewis man who used to live here? The one who collected stones?’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mister Arthur Albert Lewis, sitting down on one of Big Ella’s dug-up stones. ‘Well, Milo Ferdinand Doyle. We’re in deep trouble here, sir. Deep, deep trouble.’
It was the ‘we’ part I didn’t much like. So I sat down − near enough to hear what he was saying, but far enough to run if he made a spooky move in my direction.
Mister Lewis let out a sigh and leaned forward. ‘It’s to do with a special stone,’ he went on.
Ah, I might have guessed. ‘One with roundy patterns and a lizardy thing carved on it?’ I asked.
He nodded very slowly and carefully, as one would, I suppose, if one was that ancient. And dead.
Mister Lewis looked at me with staring eyes. ‘You know it?’ he said.
‘Sort of,’ I replied, not adding that it was in the bag I was carrying. ‘What about it?’
He gave another deep sigh. I wondered if spooks had lungs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MISTER LEWIS’S STORY
‘It’s all to do with the ancient Celts,’ Mister Lewis went on. ‘That stone is a sacred stone that the Celts brought with them as they were chased across Europe by the Roman army. When the first Celts arrived here, they decided that Ireland would be the place to live.’
‘They hadn’t much choice,’ I put in. ‘This would have been the last bus stop after Europe. Any further and they’d have drowned in the Atlantic Ocean.’
Mister Lewis scowled. ‘Don’t interrupt, boy,’ he said. ‘This is serious.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, they made a ceremonial circle right here in the middle of Ireland, and their druid placed the stone in the centre. From then on, that stone was the most important thing to the Celts.’
‘How do you know all this?’ I asked.
‘Because I’m a historian,’ replied Mister Lewis grandly.
‘Was,’ I said.
‘No need to remind me,’ muttered Mister Lewis. ‘Anyway, when I was digging here I discovered that stone − it was broken in two. Then I dug deeper and I discovered the remains of the stone circle. I could scarcely believe it.’
‘How did you know what it was?’
Mister Lewis sniffed impatiently. ‘Research, lad. That circle of stones went all around the nearby fields. When I realised its importance as a sacred place, I knew I’d have to cover it up and leave it in peace. So I bought any unusual stones from the farmers, at one penny each, to stop them being broken and scattered through ploughing or building. I thought if I simply buried them all together here I’d be doing a service to ou
r ancestors. And yet …’ he paused and put his head in his hands. Not in a ghostly way like those pictures you see of spooks carrying their heads around damp castles. No, this was a worried head-in-hands thing. Just like you and me when there’s a surprise maths test or a letter home from the school principal.
‘And yet?’ I prompted.
‘And yet, as a historian, I felt I should pass part of my discovery on to heritage. So,’ he paused again. ‘So I buried one half of the circular stone. I gave the other half to the museum. I didn’t say where I’d found it. I just made up a story about it.’
‘In case there would be lots of history types coming here poking around?’ I asked.
‘Indeed,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘But it wasn’t the history types who were to bother me,’ he said. ‘It was Celts and their druid.
‘Huh?’ I exclaimed. ‘You mean one of those ancient guys in long frocks? Sort of like witchdoctors who scared people with their weird chanting and mad spells? Wow! I used to think druids were just made up. So druids were really real?’
Mister Lewis nodded. ‘I should have known they’d come for the stone.’ He sniffed and wiped his dead nose on his sleeve. ‘Just like they’ve come for your friend and the big lady …’
CHAPTER NINE
THE DRUID’S WARNING
I tried to say something else, but my tonsils had freaked out. I’d have done a runner right there and then except that my knees were locked with fear.
‘That night, after I’d presented the half-stone to the museum,’ Mister Lewis went on, ‘I was sitting in my study when a great wind burst the door open, knocked my cocoa right out of my hand. Look,’ he added, stretching out a skinny leg. ‘You can still see the cocoa stains on my trousers. But then a figure emerged from the wind.’
‘Who?’ I whispered, looking about nervously. Come on, knees, move! But something about this sad spook made me want to know more. After all, my best mate was involved.
‘Amergin,’ replied Mister Lewis.
‘Amergin? Should I know him?’
Mister Lewis shook his head. ‘He was one of the first Irish druids,’ he said. ‘It was he who put the stone here originally. And he was very angry. Bloody angry, sir, if you’ll pardon my forcefulness. Face like a bull in a rage.’
‘Because the stone was broken?’
‘No, it was because I had given away part of it. And that was the end of me,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I was … er … taken away. Deceased – but don’t worry,’ he went on as I fell off the stone I’d been sitting on. ‘It didn’t hurt,’ he said. ‘A quick demise – didn’t really feel anything. No splutterings or gurgles or splashes of gore. Just a quiet draining of life from my head down through my toes.’ He sighed and looked at his laced-up boots. ‘My punishment was to guard this sacred place,’ he went on. ‘Not too bad until that scary woman started digging.’
‘You’ve been here all those years?’ I asked. ‘All alone?’
‘Here in this wilderness,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t mind if there was a bit of a garden to sit in, like when other people lived here. But since that big lady came with her ecology-friendly madness, there’s just all these weeds and dandelions. Look at them, lad. Talk about dreary! Why couldn’t she just plant a few nice rosebushes and a flowery shrub or two, eh? Digging up the ancient stones, pah! Mad, interfering woman.’
Now was the time to sort all this. I had the solution. ‘Tarra!’ I said, lifting the tingly stone from the takeaway bag. I waited for Mister Lewis to dance – or have a happy float of joy with excitement, saying what a genius I was. He looked at the stone in my hand, but said nothing.
‘It’s the stone,’ I prompted. ‘The one that Shane took. Now he can come back, eh? Him and Big Ella?’
Mister Lewis shook his head. ‘It’s not that easy,’ he said. ‘When I said that Amergin was angry with me for separating the stone, that’s nothing to what he is now with your friend and his granny. Now he’s really angry. He’s insisting that the two parts are to be put together and buried together.’
‘Yeah? So why didn’t you just spook your way into the museum and take the other half back?’ I asked.
Mister Lewis snorted, then stuck back the bit of his nose that he’d snorted off. ‘Hm,’ he muttered, checking his nose carefully, ‘Amergin keeps doing this to me. Sick joke. And look,’ he went on, leaning across and putting his two hands around the stone I was holding. As he tried to lift it, it just stayed put. ‘Ghostly hands,’ he said. ‘No grip.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘And … and … what about …’ my throat dried up again and I nodded towards the dark house.
‘Your friends?’ said Mister Lewis. ‘Well, that boy certainly stirred things up when he took the stone away. Until the two parts are united, the boy and his grandmother will end up like me, stuck in this draughty wilderness, minding a pile of stones for ever.’
‘Are you saying that Shane and Big Ella are dead?’ My heart kicked up. Would I never see my best mate again, except, perhaps, as a spook? Not able to share a bag of chips because he couldn’t hold it, or kick a ball because his foot would go through it? Not much fun in that for Shane, even if it meant no homework.
‘Not yet,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘Amergin has them. They’re in a trance − a sort of sleep. The only way to save them from ending up like me is to get the rest of the stone from the museum and bury the two parts together.’ Mr Lewis paused and then leant over and peered into my face. Whew, for a spook he had smelly breath and I really hoped all the bits of his face stayed put this time.
After a few moments of me staring up a spook’s hairy nostril, he finally said, ‘I need you to help me break into the museum.’
Oh great, I thought, just great. Now I was really scared. Chatting with a spook is one thing, but getting involved in breaking and entering was another. But, hey, my best mate and his gran were in trouble. I couldn’t abandon them. I took a deep breath.
‘OK,’ I muttered, even though I was screaming inside.
‘There will be a full moon tomorrow night,’ said Mister Lewis, shaking his creaking head.
I wished he wouldn’t do that. I so did not want to see his head fall off.
‘That’s the time to do it,’ he continued. ‘This has to take place on the night of a full moon.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m only going on what Amergin told me. Some ceremony or something, I suppose. They were fussy about the sun and the moon in those days.’
‘So we only have tomorrow night to do this?’ I said.
Mr Lewis’s high hat wobbled as he nodded.
‘What if we’re late? What if we can’t do this?’
‘Then their bodies will be found next morning,’ he sighed.
‘No way!’ I exclaimed. ‘Mister Lewis, I couldn’t live with myself if this didn’t work out.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t live with yourself at all, my friend,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘Not now that you are part of all this.’
‘What?’ I croaked.
‘You’d be dead too, young sir.’
CHAPTER TEN
OUT INTO THE NIGHT
It was dawn when I climbed through my bedroom window, exhausted and scared. I had intended to sneak into Dad’s office and search the web to find out anything about Mister Lewis, but I crashed into bed and slept until I heard Mum shouting at me to get up. I wished I could tell her what was going on in the life of her only son, but where would you begin to tell your mum that you’d been hanging out with a dead person all night? So, looking normal on the outside and jittery as a green jelly on the inside, I sloped off to school.
Miss Lee tut-tutted when she saw Shane’s empty desk.
‘Anyone know if Shane is coming to school today?’ she asked.
‘I bet him and his gran are off mucking about with paint,’ someone laughed.
Miss Lee smiled and shook her head as she marked Shane absent. Absent means ‘not here’, I thought. And, unless I put things righ
t, not here ever again. I shut my eyes and wished him back here right now. But that was just being nerdy. So I opened my eyes again and thought about what I had to do.
I got through that day somehow. Even Mum was worried when I passed up on the ice-cream dessert and yummy sponge cake. And she reached for the thermometer when I said that I was taking an early night in bed.
‘Just call me if you’re feeling sick,’ she said as she felt my forehead and tucked me in.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’
How could I tell my mum that, if things didn’t go right during the full moon, she’d never see me again? I’d be wafting about with Shane and Big Ella, looking in through windows, and longing for a spoonful of stew or a pancake.
I watched that moon cross my window. I could hear the comforting sound of the telly downstairs. Then the sounds of Dad locking up and Mum going to the bathroom. Then Dad singing off-key in the shower. Then silence.
The clock downstairs chimed ten forty-five. I had just fifteen minutes to meet spooky Mister Lewis in Shane’s garden. I wanted to just curl up and hide. But my best friend and his gran were depending on me. With a sharp bite on my lip to get me going, I got up and put on my comforting old Bart Simpson leather (well, fake leather) jacket for good luck. Then I took my torch and the back-door key and crept out into the night.
‘OK, Mister Lewis,’ I whispered. ‘Here I come.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BREAKING INTO BIG DANGER
Even though I was expecting him, I jumped when Mister Lewis loomed out of the long grass behind Shane’s house.
‘You sure look spooky,’ I said with a shiver.
