Darker Ends E-Book

Alex Nye

• Herausgeber: Fledgling Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

DARKER ENDS is the third title by Alex Nye, again inspired by the landscape and history of Scotland. This time Glencoe is the background setting, and the ghosts of the recent past mingle with the dark events of 1692, when the leader of Clan Campbell authorized the genocide of a whole community as they slept in their beds before dawn...Those who survived - women and children - struggled their way up into the lowering mountains of Glencoe, but what happened to them? Did they live to tell the tale? Two children, a brother and sister, wait in a lonely inn for their parents to come home, while a storm closes in. They have only lived at the inn for three days. Maggie, the eldest, seeks to reassure her younger brother, who is asthmatic and nervous. When a stranger's car is marooned in the river below, and he knocks at their door for shelter, the long night darkens. All is not what it seems, and Maggie and Rory are about to learn what became of the so-called 'survivors' of Glencoe.

Leseprobe

DARKER ENDS

By Alex Nye

“The moon has nothing to be sad about

Staring from her hood of bone

She is used to this sort of thing.”

___ EDGE by Sylvia Plath

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Clare Cain of Fledgling Press, for her belief in the book, her encouragement and ideas, as well as her uncomplicated honesty throughout the editorial process. I would also like to thank Kirkland Ciccone for his unfailing support and enthusiasm. Thanks also to the Scottish Book Trust for continuing to provide a service which includes the Live Literature Fund.

Thank you to the many friends who have always been so supportive and encouraging. Also my family, Liz Kumar, Nick Gollaglee, and Beryl Foreman. I would also like to especially thank my daughter Martha for her talent and diligence in being the first editor of the book, and my son Micah for his patience and skill in showing me how to use images and sounds for related workshops. And also to Joe, for his patience and encouragement.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge – in memory – my parents Barbara and Ken Gollaglee, who always took such pleasure in my stories.

PART ONE:

THE ACCIDENT

Ivan leant forward, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel as he peered into the surrounding dark. The storm was closing in fast and this was not a good place to be.

Rannoch Moor.

The Three Sisters were no longer visible on the horizon, but he sensed their presence up there. He always knew their mood. Silent mountains watching and waiting, keeping their secrets to themselves.

Ivan was a big man and he filled the little vehicle with his presence. His mind was hazy from the events of the last few hours and he was not exactly sure where he was, or how he had got there.

The windscreen wipers were struggling to clear the snow as it fell and the headlights shone a narrow beam into the shimmering white air. He cursed himself for his stupidity; it was foolish trying to drive in this weather, especially across Rannoch Moor. He ought to have known this from his days living here as a child.

From side to side the wipers squeaked. Soon it would be almost impossible to see ahead at all. He drew a silver hip flask from his pocket and took a quick swig. Molten liquid set fire to the inside of his throat, giving him a pleasant warming sensation.

The road was getting narrower and he knew there was an alarming drop to the left of him where the river carved a path through the glen. His palms had started to sweat despite the cold. He was trying to get to the village, to perform at his brother’s wedding. Rooms had been booked at the nearest hotel to the venue. Ivan’s presence was required, not only as brother to the groom, but as ‘chief fiddler’ for the night.

Suddenly Ivan felt the car slew sideways. He held his breath, gripped the wheel tighter and slammed on the brakes. But there was nothing there. The car floated forward almost weightlessly towards the edge of the road, where the rocks and the drop to the river lay.

He experienced that sick, giddy sensation as he realised he had lost the battle to keep control. Time slowed down as the car spun round gently and tumbled headfirst into the rocks, collapsing the front bumper.

There was a terrible silence before Ivan slowly lifted his head. The windscreen was cracked and he had hurt himself in the impact; his fingers searched and found a slight swelling on his forehead. The smell of damp wool and sweat filled his nostrils. He waited a moment or two, then inched his hand towards the handle and levered the door open. It swung outwards at an angle. The cold was brutal. It assaulted him straight away after the fusty warmth of the car.

He took a moment to steady himself, then clambered out. Icy water filled his boots. He splashed through the river and up the side of the bank, back onto the road. It was covered in drifting snow. The front of the car was buckled and twisted like an injured animal. He wouldn’t be driving it anywhere for a while.

He stood still a moment to get his bearings. A chill wind whistled past his ears. Recognition dawned, and suddenly he realised that he knew exactly where he was. It was as if he had come home, which of course in many ways he had.

His head had taken quite a knock, but memories were clearly forming. Then he blanched as he remembered. There was something he needed to do, a promise or bargain, if you like, that had to be fulfilled, and it had nothing to do with his brother’s wedding. There was a purpose in this, he caught himself thinking. I am here for a reason.

Through the falling snow he saw a light on the horizon.

It was funny how things fell into place as if by accident. This is where I am meant to be, after all, he thought. They do not know it yet, but I am coming. I am on my way.

Thus he began his ascent towards Cauldhame Inn.

PART TWO:

NIGHT

The Inn

The mountains of Glencoe were silent witnesses to the events of that night. They loomed, unseen, in the dark.

There was no moon and a beautiful stillness lay across Rannoch Moor. Then it began to snow. One or two flakes at first. A wind picked up and The Three Sisters disappeared behind a blanket of white as the snow began to fall in earnest.

At Cauldhame Inn, on its high ridge above the glen, two children waited through the longest night of their lives. They had been waiting now for several hours, for their parents to get back. They were unaware that a stranger was heading their way across the moor.

A large grandfather clock stood to attention against one wall, marking time, its shape almost human in the darkness. It was a comforting presence.

Maggie peered through the window, but it was impossible to see further than the oak tree. A single tree, bent and twisted by the ferocious winds that blew this way. The blizzard was closing in. She could no longer see the mountains, but she knew they were there, their peaks and summits boiling with great snow clouds.

Maggie was doing her best to silence her worries. How would their parents manage to get home in this? Her breath misted the window pane, and she drew a finger through it, feeling the coolness of the glass. She inspected her finger which was oddly frosted at the tip. She had never felt anything so cold.

She could feel Rory standing behind her, watching. “When d’you think they’ll be back?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He’d asked her that a million times, and a million times she had given him the same answer.

The ceiling above them creaked, as if someone was softly pacing overhead. They both looked up.

“What was that?” Rory whispered.

Maggie shrugged.

“There isn’t anyone up there.”

“It’s an old house,” Maggie said. “Teething problems, Mum said. Remember? The radiators and all that.”

When the noise started up again, they glanced at each other.

“Mice?” she said weakly.

“Wearing boots?”

“Did you lock the back door?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

“I’ll go and lock it,” she said. “Back in a minute.”

“Don’t go!” Rory cried.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m only going through the archway.”

One or two wall lights gave out a weak radiance, the colour of tea, that only seemed to add to the darkness. There was a Gothic air to the interior of Cauldhame Inn. There were several dark archways lining one side of the large room, forming a gallery.

Maggie moved backwards into the shadows. Rory could hear her thudding about in the kitchen beyond, locking the back door before emerging again into the light.

“There,” she said. “Done.”

She sighed. She hoped it wouldn’t always feel like this, as if they were somehow trapped, miles away from friends or school or even just anyone to talk to. She watched the flakes spinning in the dark air behind the window pane. It was coming down quite heavily now. If enough snow fell, it could drift and fill the glen. Maggie knew that once this happened, the road across Rannoch Moor might be closed.

She remembered her mother’s anxious face before she left. “Look after Rory for me!” she had called.

The inn felt eerily empty without their parents. Outside, the snow was being whipped up into the air by the wind.

“They’ll be back soon,” Maggie murmured. She was used to giving reassurance, even when she didn’t feel like it. It was part of her role as ‘big sister’.

There was no point trying her mobile. She hadn’t been able to get a connection all evening. It simply rang on into white noise.

As she stared out at the moor, its distances blurred by snow, she calculated how far they were from the nearest house. A long way, that was for sure, especially in these conditions. Cauldhame Inn was remote. Her parents knew that when they bought it.

Maggie felt keenly aware of their isolation. There was no one about for miles around. They were on their own.

She turned. A slim shadow flitted in the corner of her eye beyond the archway.

She blinked and looked again.

Nothing there but the curtain, swaying slightly in the draught.

They had only moved in a few days ago and were still getting used to the old building and its strange atmosphere. They hadn’t even unpacked all of their boxes and crates yet.

Cauldhame Inn was full of shadows, shifting shapes that came and went with the fading of daylight. She had observed this in the three short days they’d lived here. She looked again at the dark archway that led to the staircase beyond; it seemed to hold shadows and eyes.

She glanced across at her brother.

It was odd how mysterious this place could seem. There were little things she couldn’t quite explain; some parts of the building felt safer than others, and of course there were the unexplained noises.

She wiped the glass again and peered out, shivering slightly.

The Watcher in the Shadows

They weren’t the only ones looking at the snowfall. Upstairs, someone else peered out at the weather closing in, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. They had invaded his house and he was plotting what to do next.

He looked about the room he found himself in.

There were large bulky wardrobes to hide in. Huge chests of drawers to lurk behind. There were beds with hidden caves of darkness underneath. There were secret staircases that no one else knew about, behind wooden panels that had once hidden frightened fugitives.

He blinked once, his eyes shining, and no one saw him.

He liked the snow. It muffled sounds, deadened the landscape. It gave him a stage on which to play.

A deep bone-numbing chill had settled into the rooms, so Maggie set about closing some of the wooden shutters on the ground floor. “Come and help me!” she called to Rory.

He joined in, ‘drawing up the drawbridge’ against the cold, running about the house with great excitement.

The figure of the boy stood unseen at the far end of the bar, blurring into the brick wall behind him. Neither Maggie nor Rory could see him. He had watched the parents leave; and he had watched the children begin their lonely vigil.

Now a shudder of excitement coursed along his invisible body, causing a faint thrill. The power was his. He could do whatever he liked … He took a moment to savour this feeling, his narrow eyes like slits in the darkness.

Maggie looked about the wide, empty L-shaped room. She saw nothing and no one except the shapes of the furniture around them, although her skin prickled and she felt uneasy for no apparent reason.

“It’s freezing,” Rory said, his teeth clenching suddenly.

Maggie glanced at the wood neatly stacked and piled next to the fireplace. Could she risk lighting a fire?

Rory followed his sister’s gaze and shook his head. “You promised. Not while they’re out, remember?”

Maggie shrugged and turned to the staircase. “Don’t complain about the cold then!”

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“You’re supposed to be looking after me. You’ve got responsibilities, you know.”

“Get over yourself, Rory. You’re nine years old, and perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”

“Nearly ten!” he pointed out.

“Exactly!”

“Still, technically … it is illegal to leave me unattended.”

“I’m not leaving you unattended. I’m right here.”

“Not if you lock yourself up in your room.”

“I’m only a heartbeat away, Rory. And anyway, it’s technically illegal for me to be left unattended as well. But parents do it – all the time. Are you going to ring the social workers, or am I?”

Rory watched her disappear up the staircase, then he turned back to the empty room. Suddenly the prospect of staying at Cauldhame Inn with his sister didn’t seem quite so appealing anymore, and part of him wished he’d gone with their parents to get supplies. They won’t be long, he reassured himself, echoing his sister. He moved quietly towards the window, opened one of the shutters again, and looked out. He stared and stared, deep into the heart of that darkness, suddenly feeling tired.

Upstairs Maggie lay on her stomach and opened her gleaming, bright red laptop. It spoke to her as it began recharging, humming and purring like some creature from outer space. It glowed and it blinked. She scrolled the mouse up and down, swivelled it this way and that. She felt a little guilty about abandoning Rory, but he’d be okay. He could come up and join her if he was really desperate, although she had to admit she hadn’t exactly given him that message. Still, since when did he ever take no for an answer?

In the shadows in the corner of her room something stirred. But she had her back to it. She was curled up on her side. Before she knew it her eyes had started to softly close, first one blink, then another, until the blinks extended themselves into one long blink … and she drifted off to sleep.

Alone

It was dark when she woke. That was the first thing that struck her – the complete blackness, like velvet. Even her laptop had died, its intermittent glow no longer giving off its electric-blue radiance. She was aware of a momentary feeling of edgy panic that was new to her and wondered where it had come from.

Slowly she became aware of the loneliness. There was not a single sound throughout the entire house. It felt empty, abandoned. She sat upright and moved away from the bed. Stumbling around, she looked for the light switch on the wall before clicking it several times. No electricity. That was odd. Power cut. Just what they needed. Cursing softly to herself, she groped about for a torch in her drawer, bashing into furniture clumsily as she did so. Her hip banged against the wardrobe.

“Ow! Anyone there? Rory?”

No answer and an increasing sense of panic. Where was he? Why was it so quiet? Locating the torch, she shone its beam into the layers of darkness and made her way onto the landing. Shadows shifted and retreated before her.

Cauldhame Inn didn’t seem like such a good place to be right now, and she wondered if her parents were back yet. If there was a power cut and the lights were down, then no one would be able to see the inn from across the moor, and maybe her parents had had difficulty finding it again.

Don’t be ridiculous. Pull yourself together.

The corridors in front of her seemed endless.

“Rory!”

She kept calling his name into the empty silence.

Still no answer. The stairs rippled with shadow and torchlight as she made her way down them.

Finally stumbling into the downstairs room, she saw a figure silhouetted against one of the far windows.

“Rory?”

The shape detached itself and came towards her.

“Maggie, it’s me.”

She tried to disguise her relief as she leapt towards him. “Where have you been? I thought you’d come up and join me.”

“You said not to.”

“Since when have you listened to anything I say? What’s going on? It’s so dark and cold.”

“Power cut!”

“I realise that, but why didn’t you come and wake me?”

“Didn’t see any point.”

She shifted uneasily.

They both started as they heard a soft bang from the basement, as if a switch had been thrown unexpectedly. At the same time the lights all buzzed back into existence, lighting up the inn like a stage set in the middle of the moor.

“Power cut’s over then!”

Maggie blinked and went round dimming some of the lights to reduce the overhead glare.

“Mum and Dad still not back yet, then?” She said it more to herself really, pointing out the obvious, but Rory shook his head.

“That’s odd.”

She looked out at the darkness, then back at the bleak, bare rooms.

“There’s something …”

Rory looked at her, but she didn’t want to finish her sentence. “There’s something different, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Me too.”

“Will we just wait then?”

He nodded.

Maggie put an arm round her little brother for comfort.

“What’s got into you?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“’S not like you!”

“I’m just trying to make you feel better, and don’t say snot!”

“I didn’t!” He blinked and looked about him, clearly bored. “Well, at least we’ve got the power back on …”

He started to hum to himself, tunelessly.

Maggie looked at him. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s annoying.”

“I’m just trying to concentrate.”

“On what?”

“On being alive.”

Maggie shoved him. “Don’t be so daft!”

“What!?”

She started to tickle him and they fell about laughing and shrieking, trying to fill up the silence with their noise.

Outside the snow drifted against the corners of Cauldhame Inn.

The Stranger Knocks

A mile away, across the dark swirling heights, a lone figure laboured his way through the falling snow towards the lights of the inn. He stood still for a moment, to focus his eyes on the pinpoint glow in the darkness. The warm, red radiance meant windows, lit from within, and that meant shelter and warmth. He bent his head and carried on walking, trudging slowly up the steep incline. His boots creaked in the snow: a slow, measured tread. Not erratic, not uncertain, but a tread with a purpose, a destination in mind. He had an unpleasant job to do, but he was here to complete it. The moor was so still that there was no sound, except for that of the stranger’s breathing as he came up the track towards the lights of the house. The arms of a skeletal oak reached above his head. He paused for a moment and looked up at the sign swaying and creaking on its worn hinges.

Cauldhame Inn.

By now the sign was obscured by snow, the picture on it almost completely obliterated. He knew it well. It was a naïve rendition of a line of ragged people disappearing into the mountains behind a curtain of falling snow. It was meant to show the survivors of Glencoe fleeing from the massacre in their village. He had lived near here as a child. This was his territory. He could remember staring up at that inn sign as a young boy and thinking about the story it told.

He went to the grand oak door − the original from 350 years earlier − and knocked loudly, three times. Then he stepped back and glanced upwards. There was a window in the eaves above him and he was surprised to see someone peering out. A skinny child with protruding cheekbones and dark eyes. It gave Ivan a jolt, as memory stirred. The face stared back at him for long moments, pale as the moon, and then slid silently backwards into the velvet darkness.

He sensed movement coming from inside the inn, the faint sound of footsteps, and he waited for the door to open.

The Visitor

Rory ran to the window and creaked the shutter open slightly.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Maggie shook her head at him. “How should I know?”

“Maybe it’s Mum and Dad?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “Of course it’s not them! They wouldn’t knock, would they?” And certainly not like that, anyway, she thought.

She crept beside her little brother and peered through the gap in the shutters.

Through the swirling snow she could make out a tall dark figure standing on the threshold, deliberately not looking in their direction, as if he was trying to be discreet. He stood waiting patiently in the darkness, while snow landed on his broad shoulders.

Maggie recalled her mother’s voice calling a dark warning before she left. “Don’t let anyone in, will you?”

Why would they? There was no one else for miles around anyway.

Until now …

The three loud knocks repeated themselves.

Maggie and Rory stared at each other.

“What are we going to do?”

“Ignore it, of course,” Maggie said. “What else can we do?”

“But he might be in trouble. Look at the weather.”

Nine-year-old Rory was quick to think the best of people and invent ready excuses for them. Maggie, the elder by five years, was always the one to offer protection and advice, to provide some sort of buffer for Rory against the blows of the outside world.

“Even if he is in trouble, he still shouldn’t come knocking on the door like that, especially with Mum and Dad not being here,” Maggie said.

“But he doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Doesn’t know what?”

“That we’re on our own.”

“You know what I mean!”

Their muffled conversation had alerted the stranger to their presence and he appeared at the glass now, his white face looming disconcertingly.

“Please,” he called through the thick pane in a wheedling tone. “I need to use the phone. My car’s got stuck in the gully.”

“We don’t have a phone,” Maggie called back. She turned to see her brother staring at her. “What?” she cried. “It’s not connected yet!”

“Please,” the stranger went on. “D’you have a mobile I can borrow?”

“We’re not getting any reception,” she called back.

Rory rolled his eyes. “Jeez, you are so hospitable. The poor guy could freeze out there.”

“Rory, it’s not that bad. We’re not in the Antarctic.”

“No, but we’re on Rannoch Moor. People have died out there before. It’s true, Dad said so.”

He knelt up on the window seat to get a closer look. “D’you think he looks dodgy?” he added.

She sighed and shook her head at her brother’s naivety. Meanwhile, the stranger was still lurking outside and waiting for a reply so she leaned closer to the window. “I’ll have to ask my dad,” she called through the glass.

“What did you say that for?” Rory hissed.

“Why d’you think, idiot?”