The Slithers E-Book

Philip Caveney

• Herausgeber: Fledgling Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 334

Beschreibung

Description After the death of his mother and the end of his father's high-powered career, Zach and his Dad have come to the north of Scotland to live rent-free in Grandfather Alistair's cliff-top cottage. Dad asks Zach to clean out the old garden pond, a rotting nightmare where not even a tadpole can survive. But when he drains the pond, he unearths something unexpected- a trapdoor leading down into darkness... He ventures down there and discovers something amazing - a glowing egg-shaped stone. Once brought back to the surface, Zach's run of bad luck seems to change entirely. Suddenly, he can't seem to stop winning and even Dad's career is unexpectedly back on track. But good luck can't last forever... The stone belongs to a race of ancient creatures that dwell deep beneath the ground - and they want it back. Pretty soon, unspeakable things begin to claw their way to the surface in search of the stone - and for Zach and his new friend, Pepper, there's one all-important question. Can they stay alive until morning?

Leseprobe

This book is dedicated to Scotland – my new home.

one

‘Zach! Time to get up! Come on, it’s nearly ten o clock.’

Dad’s voice came echoing up the stairs, sounding distinctly annoyed. Zach reluctantly pulled his head out from under the covers and gazed around the unfamiliar bedroom.

‘And good morning to you,’ he said sourly, to nobody at all.

He’d been here less than a week and the summer holidays seemed to stretch before him like a life sentence. He hated this place already, hated the fact that it was out in the middle of nowhere, that he didn’t know anybody. Back in England, he’d been due to start Sixth Form College after the summer break. Now he’d learned that it was different in Scotland, that he’d be expected to enrol at a local school, where he would sit his Highers and continue on to what everyone called ‘Advanced Highers’. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to that.

Most of his stuff was still in big cardboard boxes stacked around his bed and he hadn’t yet summoned up the energy to unpack more than a couple of them. The very idea made him feel weary. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d harboured the dim hope that Dad would change his mind about Scotland, that he’d suddenly announce that he’d made a terrible mistake. They’d call it quits and the two of them would head back to London; a familiar bustling place that came complete with friends and clubs and cinemas and coffee bars and all the things that made living without Mum bearable. But it seemed that Dad was determined to stick it out.

‘Zach!’ Dad’s voice again, louder now. ‘I really mean it. I have to head off soon. At least come down and eat something.’ Zach noticed that though they’d only been here a few days, Dad’s natural Scottish accent was already becoming more pronounced. Like he was settling in.

Zach sighed. He threw back the covers, got out of bed, and paced to the window, where the morning sun was already streaming into the little white-painted room, making him squint. Peering down at the back garden, he could see that it was going to be another scorcher. The lawn looked brown and dry, the few flowers in their ramshackle beds withered on their stalks. In the very centre of the garden, the pond resembled a big, malignant wound, oval in shape, some twenty feet across, thick with mud and clumps of dead weed. As far as Zach could tell there was nothing living in there, not so much as a solitary tadpole. It seemed to sum up this place perfectly. Dead boring.

Cliff View cottage had belonged to Granddad Alistair, a strange solitary man who Zach could barely remember, since he’d died when Zach was six years old. As the name suggested, the cottage was perched on the top of the cliff, commanding a stunning view of the Moray Firth. After the old man’s death, Mum and Dad had rented the place out for several years to anybody who fancied a ‘picturesque holiday home in beautiful Aberdeenshire’; it had been, according to his dad, a ‘nice little earner.’ But then two years ago, the family’s world had been blown apart. Mum had fallen suddenly and mysteriously ill and after a rapid decline, she’d died. Dad’s career had pretty much died along with her; he’d been unable to face work and eventually, he’d lost his job. The only option was to sell the apartment in London and move up here, where they could live mortgage-free and where Dad thought he might have some chance of finding freelance work. Zach didn’t get any say in the matter. He’d been packed up with all the other possessions, driven out to a place called Portknockie, but which Zach preferred to call ‘The Back End of Nowhere,’ and simply told to get on with it. But he didn’t feel much like doing anything right now. He couldn’t even be bothered to shower.

He peeled off his pyjamas, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and padded barefoot down the rickety wooden stairs to the kitchen, where he found Dad making coffee and filling two bowls with cereal.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Shake a leg. We’ll get nothing done if we just lie around all day.’ He ushered Zach to a seat at the kitchen table.

Dad had taken to being relentlessly cheerful lately. It was his new thing. But Zach wasn’t fooled for a minute. He could see that it was all an act and that Mum’s death had taken so much out of Dad, he was like a shadow of himself. She’d been gone a year now and there were still dark rings under his eyes, his long fair hair peppered with streaks of grey. Back in London, Dad had been the MD of an advertising agency, handling accounts for important clients. But Mum’s long illness seemed to have taken away all of his confidence. When Mum was first diagnosed, Dad’s partners in the business had been supportive, they’d assured him that they would take care of everything until he felt ready to return. But losing Mum had taken all of the fight out of him. When he finally did manage to drag himself back to the office, he was like a different person, vague, unable to make a decision about anything. Eventually, his partners had got fed up with it. They’d gone behind his back and voted him out, offering him a paltry sum of money by way of compensation. Shattered as he was, he hadn’t even tried to fight it. The family savings had all gone on an expensive last-ditch medical treatment for Mum, which she hadn’t even lived long enough to complete. Now Dad was bereft and here he was, exiled to the sticks, chasing jobs in small agencies at a fraction of the salary he used to command.

‘Got a tip-off about an opening at an ad agency in Cullen,’ he told Zach, setting a bowl of cereal in front of him. ‘Heading up there for an informal chat with them in a bit.’ He winked, as though sharing a confidence and slipped into a chair on the other side of the table. ‘I’ve got a really positive feeling about this one. Fingers crossed, eh?’ He removed the lid of the milk, sniffed hopefully at the contents and seemingly satisfied with the results, poured some over his cereal. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked Zach. ‘You can come in with me if you like and we’ll have a look around the town, once I’ve had my meeting.’

Zach scowled. ‘I’ll stay here,’ he said. He picked up the milk and poured some into his own bowl. Then he pushed the cereal around for a while, but didn’t actually lift any of it to his mouth.

‘I could do you a bit of bacon if you prefer,’ offered Dad.

‘No, this is fine,’ Zach assured him.

‘But you’re not eating anything.’

Zach lifted a spoonful dutifully to his mouth and crunched the tasteless flakes between his teeth, his face expressionless.

‘Look, I know it isn’t easy for you. But… we’ve got to give this our best shot. There’s no point in just hanging around here feeling sorry for yourself. You need to get out and make friends.’

‘What friends?’ snarled Zach. ‘I had friends back in London. Loads of them. Good friends. I don’t know anyone here. Not a living soul.’

‘Yes, and you’re not likely to if you don’t make some effort.’ Dad chewed thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Maybe…’

‘Maybe, what?’

‘I was thinking, maybe you should look for a summer job. There must be stuff you could do around here. The herring fishermen down on the quay, they always need help with their catches…’

‘Oh yeah, that’d be good. Stinking of fish all day.’ Zach pushed his bowl away in disgust. ‘Yeah, lead me to it. Where do I sign?’’

Dad frowned. ‘Well, there must be something you could do. Stacking shelves at the supermarket… stuff like that.’ He caught Zach’s scornful expression and came right back at him. ‘Yeah, I know it doesn’t sound enticing. Christ, do you think I like chasing after the dead end jobs I’m going for? Knowing that they’d rather pay some spotty teenager, cos they can get him for a fraction of the price? But… we have to suck it up, Zach, because if we don’t, we may as well just lie down and die.’

There was a long silence, before Zach said, ‘Like Mum did.’

There was a terrible silence then. Zach slurped at his coffee, which seemed to taste of nothing at all, while Dad concentrated on finishing what was in his bowl. Finally, he seemed calm enough to say something else.

‘If you’re intent on staying here, at least help me out with something.’

Zach sighed, shook his head. ‘What?’ he said, wearily.

Dad got up from the table. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

He walked out through the open french windows and Zach followed, aware of the intense sunlight on the back of his neck. Dad led him across the lawn until they were standing beside the pond. This close, it smelt awful, a concentrated stink of rotting vegetation and something distinctly fishy.

‘We need to get this eyesore drained,’ he said. ‘And filled in.’ He indicated a large mound of turf off to one side of it. ‘That’s what your Granddad dug out in the first place.’ He smiled grimly. ‘It was his pride and joy, the pond.’

‘This?’ Zach looked at it bleakly.

‘Yeah, he put it in all by himself, wouldn’t let anyone help him.’

‘Didn’t you give him a hand?’

‘Oh, it was long after I’d left for London. A bit of a hobby for him, I suppose. Of course, it was different back then. There were frogs and newts and dragonflies… lots of stuff growing in the shallows. He really went to town on it, you know? Mind you, he was a bit paranoid about it. Whenever we brought you to visit when you were a toddler, he would insist that you weren’t to be allowed within twenty feet of it. It was almost as though he was afraid of it…’

‘What did he do?’ asked Zach. ‘For work, I mean.’

‘He was a fisherman, originally. Ran a little trawler out of the harbour here. But that went belly up and he worked out on the oil rigs right up until his accident in the late 80’s.’

‘Oh yeah, he had a dodgy leg, didn’t he?’

Dad nodded. ‘He had a bad fall, meant he couldn’t work on the rigs any more. He got a bit of compensation from his employers and he had a small private pension. He did the occasional bit of part time work around the village, you know, odd job man, painter and decorator, that sort of thing. And…’ Dad smiled, as though remembering, ‘…one time I came up to visit him… this was just after he put the pond in, and… he told me that he’d found some kind of treasure.’

‘What? Get out of here!’

‘No, I’m serious. He’d never tell me exactly what it was, only that he’d found it near here and that he’d never have to worry about money ever again.’ Dad chuckled. ‘Well, whatever he thought he had, he must have spent it all because he didn’t leave me anything in the will apart from the house… but thank God he did, otherwise I don’t know where we’d be now. Sleeping on the streets, I shouldn’t wonder.’ Dad shook his head, as though attempting to shake off the past. He pointed to the mound again. ‘Anyway, you’ll need to shovel all that back in to the hole,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to hire somebody and… well, I’m busy chasing jobs, so...’ He looked at Zach. ‘I’m not expecting you to get it all done in one day, or even in a week, but it would give you something to occupy yourself. And you’d be helping me out, big time.’

Zach stared into the stagnant olive green depths and thought they mirrored the way he felt.

‘How would I drain the water?’ he asked.

Dad kicked at a rubbery black layer that bordered the edges of the pond. ‘That’s a liner,’ he explained. ‘I guess if you just pierce it a few times, the water should drain straight through into the ground. It could take a while, obviously. Then you can pull the liner out and start filling in the hole. ‘

Zach scowled. ‘Why not just leave it where it is?’ he muttered.

‘If we do that, the ground will get boggy every time it rains and nothing will grow. I was thinking we could put a vegetable patch here, something useful. It’s weird because the old man once told me that’s what he was initially planning to do, but he must have decided to put the pond here instead.’ He gazed once again into the water. ‘You know, for about ten minutes, I did have this crazy notion about trying to restore this, get it back to its former glory, but… I think it’s past saving, don’t you? Somebody should have taken it in hand years ago.’ He looked at his son warily. ‘So, what do you think? I know it’s a big ask but…’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Zach and Dad smiled. ‘For a tenner,’ he added.

Dad’s smile faded. ‘Come on, son, that’s not very helpful,’ he said.

‘A tenner,’ replied Zach, looking at him. ‘Or I don’t lift a finger.’

Dad glared at him, but got no reaction. For a moment he seemed on the point of walking away but must have thought better of it.

‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll pay you when it’s all done. Not before.’

Zach shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Deal?’

Dad sighed. ‘Deal,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope I get that bloody job.’ He indicated a small, moss-covered shed at the top of the garden. ‘You’ll find tools in there,’ he said and walked back to the house, his expression grim.

Zach watched him go, hating himself as he did so. Why, he wondered, did he have to be like this? He didn’t even have anything to spend the money on. Couldn’t he for once have just said OK? Would it have killed him? He nearly ran after Dad to say he’d only been joking, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to do that. No, he’d wait until he actually handed him the money and then he’d say, ‘No worries, that one was on me.’ Make a big gesture of it. Except that he even doubted that he’d do that. Because Mum leaving the way she did had left something hard and cold inside him and he doubted he would ever be rid of it.

Dad disappeared inside and Zach turned his attention back to the pond. He looked once again for some signs of life in the reeking shallows. Surely there ought to be something? Frogs, toads… insects? But the water looked poisonous, as though it would kill anything that was reckless enough to venture in there.

Zach sighed. The sun was gathering strength and he could already feel the heat surrounding him like a blanket. This was going to feel suspiciously like hard work, he told himself. But a deal was a deal, so with that in mind, he turned and walked back towards the house to change his clothes.

two

Zach found some old clothes in one of the boxes up in his room - a paint- spattered T-shirt and some jeans that were gone at the knees. He put on a pair of black wellies and then clumped to the bathroom to slather sun tan lotion on his face and neck. When he got downstairs again Dad was back in the kitchen, dressed in his best suit and having a last coffee before leaving. He already looked uncomfortably hot.

‘All set?’ Zach asked him and Dad nodded, forcing what he probably hoped was a confident smile.

‘It’s only a small agency,’ said Dad, almost apologetically. ‘They’re looking for a junior. I don’t exactly fit the bill but… well, I’m prepared to take a low wage to start with. Until I find my feet.’ He looked so heartbreakingly hopeful that Zach felt obliged to give some encouragement.

‘Dad, you used to run the biggest agency in London,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ Dad nodded. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? I need to remember that.’

‘So you’ll be a big fish in a small pond.’

‘Hmm. Well…’ Dad put down his coffee cup. ‘Better get going I suppose.’ He glanced towards the french windows. ‘Talking of ponds, you be careful,’ he said. ‘We don’t want any accidents.’

Zach snorted. ‘It can’t be more than two foot deep,’ he said. ‘And I’m not a toddler any more.’

‘Even so. A man can drown in an inch of water. I read that somewhere.’ Dad picked up his Italian leather briefcase, a souvenir of better days and went out through the french windows. Zach followed and watched him climb into the battered old Volkswagen parked on the drive. Dad opened the windows because the car’s air conditioning had stopped working months ago and he couldn’t afford to get it fixed. ‘See you later,’ he said. He started the engine and drove off towards the open gate that led to the lane. Zach watched until the car was out of sight, then turned and strolled up the garden to the shed.

He unlatched the rough timbered door and swung it open, peering warily inside. Judging by the thick mantle of cobwebs that swathed everything within, nobody had entered the place for years, but after a bit of poking about Zach located the tools he thought he’d need – a spade and a garden fork. He looked around and noticed a rusty old Stanley knife lying on a battered wooden workbench alongside a large Yale key. As Zach reached to pick up the knife, he noticed that some words had been scratched into the surface of the bench, in a series of jagged, angular capitals. He was obliged to brush away some dust and strands of old webbing in order to read them properly.

we bury love

forgetfulness grows over it like grass

that is a thing to weep for, not the dead.

Zach frowned, puzzled. He had no idea what it was supposed to mean. On impulse, he lifted the Stanley knife and pushed the button to expose the rusty blade. He held it against the W of ‘We’ and saw that it fitted perfectly. He wondered who had taken the trouble to cut the words into the old bench and why they had chosen those particular ones. Granddad Alistair, he supposed. It seemed most likely. From what Dad had told him about the old boy, he was a bit of a weirdo. Grandma Mary had died when Zach was just a baby and the old man had lived alone out here, keeping himself to himself. Dad had told Zach that Granddad Alistair used to go into the nearest village once every two weeks to stock up on provisions. Other than that, he stayed at home and never spoke to a living soul. On the few occasions that Dad and Mum braved the long drive up to visit him, they hadn’t stuck around for long and never chose to stay overnight, preferring a hotel. Mum in particular had hated coming here. She used to tell Dad that she felt as though the place was haunted and though Dad didn’t believe in any of that nonsense, he never put up much opposition.

The awful thing was that because they heard from Granddad Alistair so rarely, they didn’t find out he was dead until weeks after it had happened. A postman had called with a parcel for the old man and got no response. He’d gone around the back of the house and noticed that the french windows were open. It was a fine summer’s day and Granddad Alistair was sitting in a chair by the windows. At first glance the postman had thought he was wrapped from head to foot in a black blanket. Then he’d gone a little closer and the blanket had begun to buzz and stir…

Zach couldn’t suppress a shudder. He noticed a large bluebottle, trapped in a spider’s web in the corner of the shed and his skin crawled. He turned away, dropped the Stanley knife and the gardening tools into a rusty wheelbarrow. He noticed a pair of old canvas gloves lying on the bench and threw them in too, then pushed the squeaking barrow back out into the garden. It was somehow a relief to be in the sunshine once more.

He trundled the barrow laboriously back to the pond and, selecting the garden fork, he stepped to the edge and thrust the sharp-pronged head under the surface and down through deep layers of sludge, until he felt some resistance. He pushed on the wooden handle with all his strength and felt the spikes pierce the liner. There was a glopping sound and a couple of bubbles rose to the surface. They popped, releasing an eggy stink. Zach grimaced, pulled the fork out and repeated the exercise, with the same results. He did this another half a dozen times and then stood back and looked expectantly at the surface of the water, but the level didn’t seem to have dropped at all.

He threw down the fork and thought for a moment. The only solution he could think of was not an agreeable one, but he told himself, it ought to speed matters up a bit. He inspected the gardening gloves, shaking them vigorously, wanting to be sure that nothing had taken up residence inside them before he put them on. A couple of earwigs dropped out, but nothing more threatening than that, so he put the right glove on. He picked up the Stanley knife and then stretched himself on his stomach at the edge of the pool. With his left hand, he turned back the short sleeve of his T-shirt until his right arm was completely bare. He steeled himself for a moment and thrust his hand down under the surface. The glove instantly filled with shockingly cold water. He’d known this would happen but somehow couldn’t bring himself to stick his bare hand in there. His first impulse was to pull it out again, but he resisted that. Another inch or so down he entered a thick layer of what he assumed was mud.

He gritted his teeth and kept pushing, nervous for some reason that there might be something moving down there, but it would have been a hardy creature indeed that could have survived in these conditions. Finally, when the surface of the water was lapping at his armpit and he was beginning to think he would never reach the bottom, the blade of the knife stabbed into the liner. Zach made an extra effort, pushing the blade through the fabric and then he drew his hand sideways, making a long slit.

The effect was dramatic. There was a gurgling sound and a whole flurry of bubbles rose to the surface, releasing a stink that almost made him retch. The water level began to drop rapidly, so Zach kept his arm where it was, moved his hand a few inches to the right and performed the same action again. The thick plastic liner came apart easily beneath the sharp blade. It made Zach feel strangely powerful. Almost without thinking he began to stab and cut and slice, relishing the way the liner yielded to his power. Now the water level was dropping at an alarming rate and Zach finally withdrew his bare arm, which glistened beneath a layer of fine chocolate-coloured mud. He used his other hand to scoop up handfuls of the receding water to splash the worst of the mud away. It smelled abominable, like something that had died.

Finally, he got to his feet and took a couple of steps back, watching in fascination as the last of the brown water slipped through the lacerated liner, leaving only a black, oily sludge. Zach examined it carefully, still amazed that nothing appeared to be living in it. Shouldn’t there be worms, grubs, something?

He dropped the Stanley knife and peeled off the sodden glove, then returned to the edge of the pond and started removing the big stones that held the ends of the liner in place. He staggered a short distance with each stone and dropped it out of the way, before returning for the next one, making a large untidy pile on the lawn. He was uncomfortably aware now of a thick sweat pooling on his brow and trickling down his spine beneath the T-shirt, and he considered taking a break to get his breath back, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to do it. He carried on, working his way around the oval pond and lifting every stone. When he had removed the last one and piled it with the others, he chose a spot where the liner looked the least embedded in the turf. He wrenched the edges free, having to use considerable effort to do so and now found that he was obliged to repeat the process, going all the way around again until he had loosened all of it. Once this was achieved, he returned to his starting point, stooped to take a firm grip and pulled with all his strength.

For a few moments, nothing happened. The liner, still heaped with a thick layer of mud, seemed determined to cling tenaciously to its former home, but Zach renewed his efforts and finally managed to move it a few inches towards him. Encouraged, he pulled again, gritting his teeth with the effort and this time the liner moved more easily, relinquishing the space it had covered for so many years, the far edges of it dropping into the hollow. Zach paused, took a couple of deep breaths, aware that he was now sweating from every pore, but nevertheless determined to pull the liner free. He made a last titanic effort and the torn black fabric came completely away. It slid towards him and squelched up the near side of the pond, revealing what lay beneath.

Zach stopped and stared, open-mouthed in astonishment. There was a large, metal grille set into the bottom of the pond, through which the water must have spilled. The grille was set in a stout frame and Zach could see that it could be opened like a door. Except that at the moment it was secured by a heavy padlock. Which was pretty weird in itself.

But infinitely more troubling was the fact that from somewhere far below the level of the pond, a pale green light was shining and radiating upwards through the grille. And in that instant, Zach knew that whatever else happened, he would have to find out where that light was coming from.

three

‘That’s weird.’

He heard himself say the words aloud and then actually looked around to ensure that he was alone. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something in him at that moment that didn’t want to share this discovery with anyone. He stepped forward and jumped down into the hollow that had so recently been filled with stagnant water.

His wellingtons sank to the ankles in mud, but he took no notice. He squelched over to the grille and peered down through it. Underneath it, he could see that there were two flat grey boulders with a wide gap between them. He felt a strange stirring in his gut as he saw that a narrow shaft led straight down into the gloom.

It was hard to see much more with the grille in his way and he examined the padlock, which looked really strong. His first thought was to go and get a large rock so he could smash it open, but then an image appeared in his mind, an image of a Yale key which he was sure he had seen only recently. But where? He concentrated for a moment and it came to him. The workbench in the shed…

In an instant he was back on his feet and trotting up the garden to fetch it. There it was, lying on the workbench, right where he’d pictured it. Of course, he couldn’t be sure it was the right one, but for some reason he had a strong feeling that it would be. He grabbed it and hurried back to the pond, jumped into the basin, trudged back to the centre and crouched down beside the padlock. The key fitted easily. It was a little stiff and he had to wiggle it around a bit, but after a couple of attempts it snapped open with a click and Zach was able to slide it out. He took hold of the grille and lifted it. It opened with a creak of protest. He was now looking into a vertical shaft that dropped straight down between the flat boulders.

Now that he had a better view he noticed a detail he’d missed before – a series of rusted metal rungs had been hammered into the stone at regular intervals and they led straight down the shaft. It was apparent at a glance what they were. Handholds.

‘No freakin’ way,’ he murmured. He leaned closer, trying to ascertain where that weird green light was issuing from, but wherever it was, it was far below the ground. He reached forward and gripped the nearest rung, gave it an experimental pull. The metal was old and corroded and bits of rust flaked off beneath his hand but it seemed strong enough, rooted as it was, deep into the bare rock. Now Zach was assessing the opening, trying to gauge whether it was wide enough to allow him access…

Something cut into his thoughts, the sound of a car engine approaching. He lifted his head and looked towards the gate. Dad’s car was coming up the lane! Zach glanced at his watch and realised with a dull sense of shock that two hours had passed since he started work, though it only seemed like minutes. He reacted instinctively, unsure of why he was even doing it. He slammed the grille shut, jumped upright, scrambled out of the hole and grabbing the mud-covered liner, flung it back across the hatch, just as Dad’s car came in through the gate. Zach turned and lifted one hand in greeting. He noticed the padlock lying beside his foot, the key still attached and he stooped to grab it and shove it under the nearest edge of the liner, out of sight. Standing back up, he saw Dad’s glum face regarding him through the windscreen. The car slowed to a halt and the driver’s door opened. Dad got out, looking like he’d just returned from a beating.

‘Hey, how did it go?’ asked Zach, but he already knew the answer. It was right there in Dad’s disappointed expression.

‘Waste of time really. Same old thing. The guy I spoke to said I was too qualified for the post. Which means, he didn’t want to pay any more than the minimum wage. He did give me a tip-off about something else though, another agency…’ Dad’s voice trailed off. He had just noticed the pond. ‘Hey!’ he said, sounding delighted. ‘You didn’t waste any time, did you?’

Zach shrugged his shoulders, hoping he didn’t look guilty. But why should he? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? He just knew that he wasn’t going to tell Dad about what he had found. Not yet, anyway.

‘It wasn’t too difficult,’ he said. He waved a hand at the crumpled liner. ‘I thought I’d let that dry out for a bit before I do any more. It’ll make it easier to move it.’

Dad frowned. ‘If you want, I’ll put some old clothes on and give you a hand.’

‘No! No, that’s OK. I kind of… you know what, I enjoyed working on my own. I’ll get on with it tomorrow. You… you’d probably like a cup of coffee, wouldn’t you? I could murder one myself.’

Dad looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re offering to make me coffee?’ he murmured.

‘Yeah, sure, why not? Come on, you can tell me all about the interview.’

‘OK…’ Dad locked the car and followed Zach towards the french windows. ‘You… haven’t been in the sun too long, have you?’

‘Very funny.’ Zach kicked off his muddy wellingtons before going inside. He walked across to the kettle and switched it on. ‘So, what’s this new hot tip the guy gave you?’

Dad dumped his briefcase and took a seat at the table. ‘Oh well, it’ll probably come to nothing.’

‘Tell me anyway.’ Zach spooned instant coffee into two mugs and took the lid off the biscuit tin

‘Well… there’s this other agency in Aberdeen. Bigger, much more successful. They’ve managed to pull in some surprisingly prestigious clients. The guy told me they’re expanding and the MD is looking for an assistant…’

‘You could do that job with your hands tied behind your back,’ Zach assured him and Dad gave him a strange look.

‘Zach, have you swallowed a bottle of happy pills since I went out?’ he asked. ‘Only, you’re like an entirely different person.’

‘Oh, I guess it’s just… having something to do. It makes you feel different about things. So er… what kind of stuff would an assistant be expected to do?’

Dad started to tell him, at length, but Zach wasn’t really listening. In his head there was the vivid image of a tunnel leading down into the ground and a pale green light at the end of it…

‘Zach? The kettle.’

He came back to himself, to find the kettle bubbling away, throwing clouds of steam into his face. ‘We need a new one of these,’ he said, clicking the button off with his thumb. ‘It’s supposed to switch off automatically.’

‘I’ll add it to the list,’ said Dad, flatly. ‘I’m still hoping we can get a telephone engineer out here to install a landline, one of these days.’

‘We’ve got our mobiles,’ Zach reminded him.

‘Yeah, but you can’t always depend on them, can you? Be useful to have one in case of an emergency.’

He watched as Zach made the drinks and brought them to the table, together with the biscuit tin.

Zach spooned a couple of sugars into his coffee and stirred it.

‘So did it give you much trouble?’ asked Dad. ‘The pond?’

‘No, not really. I got stuck in with a Stanley knife. It drained pretty fast after that.’

‘Yeah, Dad’s old tools are all out in that shed. I’ll have to get out there some time and sort them.’

‘Tell me more about Granddad Alistair,’ said Zach.

Dad looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure you want to know any more about him,’ he said.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that your Granddad was... well, let’s just say he was unusual. That’s probably the polite way of putting it.’

‘You know that thing you told me before? About the treasure. What do you suppose that was all about?’

Dad laughed bitterly. ‘Probably the first signs of madness,’ he said. ‘I mean, he was my dad and I loved him, but he was peculiar.’

‘Peculiar how?’

‘Where would I start?’ Dad seemed to ponder the question for a moment before continuing. ‘He was a real loner, for one thing. Secretive sort. Never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. That’s why there’s no telephone line out here. Made it near impossible to keep in touch with him. You had to write him a letter if you were planning to visit! And he was downright unfriendly to strangers, wouldn’t give them the time of day. He led Mum a dog’s life before she…’ He broke off. ‘In many ways, though, he led a charmed life. Never a day’s illness, right up to the end. Not even a cough or a cold. Like I told you before, he had that accident on the rig, but it didn’t slow him down one bit. Your Grandma was the same. Perfect health, all her life.’ He smiled. ‘You know, the old man told me once that a ‘higher power’ was looking after them both. Which is odd, because he wasn’t at all religious. And then of course, towards the end, he started seeing things…’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Erm… oh, various barmy visions. It was probably some kind of dementia. Used to tell me that he’d seen things creeping around the garden at night.’

‘Like… what?’

‘Oh, God knows. Elves or pixies, I suppose. Some such nonsense.’

Zach tried not to laugh. ‘Your dad thought there were fairies at the bottom of the garden?’

‘Yeah. Only the way he described them, they didn’t sound anything like as cute as that. What did he call them once? Oh, yes. The Slithers.’ Dad rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t blame it on alcohol. He was a teetotaller, never touched a drop. No, I think he must have had what’s called ‘early-onset Alzheimer’s’. I mean, he was only in his seventies when he died.’

‘You don’t think maybe…?’

‘Maybe what? That he really had seen fairies? It’s superstitious nonsense, Zach. Though mind you, there’s still plenty of people round these parts who believe in that rubbish. Some of the older fishermen out on the harbour, whenever they bring in a catch, they still leave a few fish on the beach for the ‘sea devils’. Sort of a tribute type thing.’

‘No way!’

‘I’m serious. Oh, they love that kind of thing here. One reason why I was mad keen to move away as soon as I could.’

‘OK, so you’re saying that Granddad Alistair was a bit of a head-the-ball?’

‘That would be putting it mildly.’ Dad raised his eyebrows, then pointed to the french windows. ‘You ever notice anything strange about those windows?’ he asked slyly.

Zach looked at them. ‘Like for instance?’ he asked.

‘Well, you ever clocked how many locks and bolts are on them? It’s like Fort Knox here.’ Dad pointed to a selection of keys hanging on a row of hooks beside the french window. ‘Everything had to be kept in the right place, he was very particular about that. And I’ll show you something else.’ He got up from the table and walked over to the windows. He reached in behind some curtains and pulled out a long wooden pole that must have been propped against the wall. The pole had a metal hook on one end of it. Dad reached up and slotted it into a fitting on the outside of the windows, just above the lintel. He pulled and a steel shutter came sliding smoothly down. Dad only lowered it a foot or so, but it was clear it could descend to floor level if necessary. ‘He had these things fitted to every entrance on the ground floor, a couple of months before Grandma Mary… went.’

‘Went?’ Zach caught Dad’s discomfort. ‘Don’t you mean, died?’

Dad looked uncomfortable. ‘No. I mean ‘went’. It’s a weird story, actually.’

‘Weird, how?’

‘I mean, what happened to her. Grandma Mary.’

‘What did happen to her?’

‘That’s just it. Nobody knows.’

‘Dad, what are you talking about?’

Dad took a deep breath. ‘She went missing, Zach. Disappeared without a trace.’

‘Are you trying to be funny?’

‘I wish I was. I’ve lived with the knowledge of it for over twenty years. It was so long ago it feels like it didn’t really happen. Except that it did. Let me see now… it must have been…’ Dad thought for a moment. ‘Nineteen ninety-five? I was long gone by then, working in London. I’d just hooked up with your mum and we’d got our first place together. The story is…’ Dad paused for a moment as though reluctant to continue.

‘Go on,’ Zach urged him.