The wind blew over the body of the wooded hills and the grass rippled. The hills and trees trembled under the touch of the wind's palm as it caressed the rolling slopes that rose and fell like the easy swell of a calm sea. Over the giant mound that looks like the hull of a ship turned upside down, arching their leafy branches to hide the giant from the world, grow a hundred trees on either side. For five thousand years it had lain that way. An earthy bulk with strange patterns made of grey stones criss-crossing its green back. Stones set for mysterious reasons long ago by a people who had come then to worship this now secret place; who had come by the thousands to learn and sing their songs in this once un-shaded place: where, now only seasons visit and good men - never.

Roy Chandler, a boy of twelve, stood alone at the bottom of a flight of concrete stairs in a block of rundown flats. A naked bulb fixed in the cracked ceiling cast a dim yellow light upon the dank hallway. A chill wind blew in through a broken window, fluttering his curly black hair and flapping the collar of his raincoat.

His light green eyes watched vacantly as a black cat crept in through a door at the end of the gloomy hallway. The animal stopped glanced at Roy’s huddled figure on the stairs then, put down in the corner something it had in its mouth.

Roy thought about his father. That morning his mother had told him that he had been killed in an accident. She had left Roy with a friend while she attended the aftermath. Roy could not believe that his father was dead. Yet in his heart he knew that his mother would not lie - not about that. A tear trickled down the boy’s cheek.

Something fluttered above the cat's head and then fell back. It caught Roy’s attention and he focused on the cat. Again something fluttered up. Roy saw that it was a sparrow. The cat had the bird trapped in the corner and it was desperately struggling to escape. It chirruped loudly as it leapt up against the wall but it had no room to manoeuvre in the narrow space. The sparrow’s wings flapped in frenzy as a paw flashed and snatched the bird down. Roy felt his heart flutter in sympathy with the bird.

The boy became mesmerised as the animal held the sparrow under its paw. The cat rocked the bird gently back and forth as if it were it’s loving mother and then lifted it's paw just enough for the bird to wriggle free. The sparrow’s feathers were ruffled and torn. The tiny creature lay looking up at the cat as if for a brief moment hope fluttered in its small heart. The sparrow stood, hopped a few inches, and then fell back to the dusty concrete.

Roy’s moist eyes narrowed as he peered through the gloom. He realised that a cruel game was going on. The cat turned and regarded the boy. The animal had no fear. It sensed his timidity. Then it dismissed his presence and returned its attention to the helpless sparrow. The sleek black body approached its prey slowly and silently. It suddenly struck the bird with its paw. The sparrow rolled, darted a look at the cat and made another desperate attempt to escape. It twittered as it half hopped - half rolled along the chilly hallway. The bird became still as if surrendering to fate. It lifted its head and opened its tiny beak in silence.

Roy felt his heart reaching out to the small creature. He stood and took the last few steps down the stairs into the hallway. The cat hissed, arching its back. Startled by the animal’s reaction Roy drew back. He wanted desperately to help the bird but his fear that the cat might attack kept him still. Tears welled and he thought the world cruel. He trembled.

Behind the boy, back along the hallway under the hollow of the stairs, in the deep shadows - something moved. The darkness slowly stirred. It was as if a bear had awakened in a dark cave, but the hollow beneath the stairs was no cave and the thing that stirred in the dark was not a bear. Suddenly the cat looked into the darkness beyond Roy. The animal stepped back its spine arching and its fur standing on end. Then, with a snarl, it swiftly turned and ran out of the door leaving it’s prey huddled on the floor. The door slammed against the wall. The abrupt sound reverberated around the hallway then died in a diminishing echo until all that could be heard was the twittering of the sparrow. The bird hopped up and gathering the very last of its strength flew up. It brushed the walls then flew over Roy and out of the hole in the broken window. Roy, although shaken by the quick explosion of sound and movement, felt relieved that the bird had escaped. He wiped his wet cheeks.

Roy felt a tingling in the back of his neck. He sensed something behind him. He turned and peered into the darkness. Did he see movement under the stairs? A thin finger of icy fear caressed his heart. Despite being afraid he felt compelled to step forward as if the darkness were a warm blanket in which he could wrap himself. There was something moving. Part of the darkness was circling like a slow whirlpool of black water. Roy wiped his eyes. The blackness was coalescing and curdling into a thicker substance as if the naked air was beginning to assemble a shape. The air congealed until unmistakably a figure stood almost invisible in the shadows. It beckoned.

Roy froze - afraid to move. The thing in the shadows beckoned again. Despite his qualms the boy stepped forward, the very movement diluting his fear. He took another step. He felt a gathering flame of excitement. Somehow he sensed that who or what it was that motioned to him intended no harm. There was no enmity, only an inexplicable allure.

He walked unafraid to the dark presence and it enveloped him.

The church and school stood like giant tombstones. Between them the narrow playground rang with children. Despite the skulking shadows of the two buildings the high summer sun managed to shine through and touch the busy brows of the playing youngsters. They revelled with an enthusiasm that was absent from their classrooms. With whoops and hollers imaginary cowboys pulled out their guns and shot imaginary Indians and the playground reverberated with laughter and shouts. The stain-glass windows of the church vibrated and the few people who prayed within whispered unholy curses at the disturbance of their hesitant confessions. In the school, threadbare teachers made preparations to educate the noisy children.

Oblivious to the sun’s tender care, but spurred by its energy, the children’s attention focused on the games they were playing. Each group was careless of the bustles, interests and schemes of others. Only Roy stood alone. He was now fourteen years old. Wisps of his black curly hair fluttered in the light breeze as he stood watching a group of boys who had gathered in the shadow of one of the buttresses that thickly pressed against the church. One of the boys slapped a smaller boy across the face. Roy winced. He moved closer.

There were four boys, three were gathered around the fourth. He was smaller than the rest, with ginger hair and freckles. He had a defiant look on his face, but held his hand to his stinging cheek. The taller of his tormentors pushed him back against the wall and said,

‘You are an insect Billy Baddie and because you’re an insect I'm gunner step on ya. Got me?’

Terry McAuliffe was a head taller than his victim and stood so close to him that Billy could smell his bad breath. Billy turned his head away.

‘Phew!’ he said.

McAuliffe glowered. ‘I'll give you phew - I'll phew you!’

At the threat Waddle, one of McAuliffe’s sidekicks, sniggered. Gloke, the other sidekick, did not know what Waddle sniggered at but sniggered himself anyway.

Billy had seen the three bullies at work before, so he knew want to expect and his heart raced.

‘I'll pull off your bleedin' arms if you not careful, you carrot haired canary. Got me? You got me?’

Whenever McAuliffe wanted to make a point he always said, 'Got me?' He let go of Billy's arms and leaned over him daring Billy to try an escape. Billy knew that and did not move. McAuliffe flicked back his head to shift his thick brown hair out of his eyes. It was matted like rope, cut short at the back and sides, but long on top.

‘So what's the idea of telling Conrad that I took ya pocket money? Eh?’ said McAuliffe pushing his face close to Billy's. The smell from his breath made Billy feel sick.

'Cor dear,’ he thought to himself in reaction to the fowl blast. Then said, ‘It was my dinner money. I gotter eat.’ McAuliffe grabbed him and grunted,

‘You better mind your own business carrot head otherwise do you know what I'll do to those big brown eye's of yours I'll...’

‘Stick 'is fingers into them!’ interrupted Waddle unable to withhold his excitement.

McAuliffe turned his head slowly and glared at Waddle.

‘Shut your bloody gate!’

Waddle's smile of glee sunk into an abject grin. Gloke sniggered.

‘As I was saying.’ said McAuliffe turning his attention back to Billy’ ‘I'll ... er, er, stick a pencil into your ear ‘ole! I read that in a book once where they did it to some army bloke. It does narf hurt. And ‘cause you grassed on me I'll slash your tongue wiv a razor. Got me?’

The last threat amused McAuliffe so much that he burst out laughing.

‘I can just see your tongue flapping about like ribbons and you trying to talk. Blah blah blah!’

Waddle and Gloke joined in with their master's laughter. Waddle in an attempt to impress McAuliffe elevated his already false mirth into a cackle that bordered on the hysterical. He threw back his head and slapped McAuliffe on the back.

McAuliffe stopped laughing and slapped Waddle around the face. Waddle grabbed his stinging cheek, tittered and an abject grin once more spread across his face. Gloke wanted to laugh. He was overcome by a conflict of two impulses: the impulse to laugh at Waddle’s dejection and the impulse to suppress his laughter in case McAuliffe slapped him too. His face froze into an expression of grotesque indecision as if he were wobbling on a cliff edge. McAuliffe looked at him.

‘What's the matter wiv you?’ he said puzzled by Gloke’s outlandish countenance, ‘You having a baby or somefink?’

Gloke’s face had puffed up in desperation. He shook his head, waved his hands about and burst into a fit of coughing. McAuliffe looked at his two minions and with a sneer said:

‘You two are right berks.’

Waddle looked at Gloke who was bent over silently shaking then at McAuliffe who had turned his attention back to Baddie. Waddle glared at the back of McAuliffe’s head. He held a secret hatred for his leader. A leader he could easily thrash if he wanted to. He held a hatred that sometimes boarded on the murderous, yet he resentfully admired McAuliffe because of his build and the power he wielded. Waddle was a thin boy, but the main feature of his body that killed all the pretensions about being tough was that his neck ran from his mouth to his neck without the interruption of a chin. He was the epitome of the chinless wonder. Waddle was neither tough nor courageous, he was a fawning spiteful coward whose only spur to action was his resentment. He resented people because he knew that they knew what he really was, though his subconscious struggled to smother his awareness to the degree that he sometimes succeeded in deluding himself about his prowess. One fact that braced his delusion was the cringing subservience of the boys he bullied. He simply refused to believe that the boys were afraid of only McAuliffe and showed no opposition to his skinny shadowman because they feared reprisals. Waddle ran forward and dealt Billy a sharp kick on the shin. The boy cried out.

At the sound children playing nearby turned to see what had happened. They saw the three bullies around Billy, and despite their instinct to stay clear least they became the objects of McAuliffe’s attention, they nevertheless slowly gathered.

Gloke, recovered from his bout of helpless coughing, felt his distress reshaping into anger. He was angry with himself for being almost caught out by McAuliffe and angry that Waddle had had the nerve to run in and kick Baddie.

Gloke seemed in a state of perpetual indecision, which often manifested in behaviour that was bumbling and fretful. He was a normal looking boy, not skinny like Waddle but of ordinary proportions for his twelve years, except for his head. It was extremely small and consequently disproportionate to the rest of his body. Although his facial features were perfectly formed, he could even be considered handsome, it was his head in relation to his body that jarred people's sympathy and induced mirth. Upon meeting Gloke for the first time a stranger would first display amazement, then an urge to laugh that was quickly suppressed, but Gloke noticed such reactions. He was self-consciousness about his appearance. What saved him from paranoia was his fine sense of the ridiculous that could grasp humour from the most mundane situation. Consequently his emotions were forever in a pendulum swing between deepest gloom and almost frenzied laughter. Both extremes of emotion were food for McAuliffe’s ego. Gloke in his gloomy state provided McAuliffe an outlet for his protective instincts, which would manifest from time to time. When in his jolly state, Gloke was the only person who could make McAuliffe genuinely laugh. Sometimes when midway between these emotional states, Gloke got angry with those who he knew secretly sniggered at him and he sought revenge.

‘Bloody 'ell!’ shouted McAuliffe.

‘What's up?’ yelled Waddle jumping up and down.

‘Bloody bit me.’

‘Who?’ asked Gloke.

‘Baddie you berk!’ shouted McAuliffe. He slapped the boy around the head and Billy fell to the ground.

Gloke ran forward and kicked the fallen boy in the face. Billy clutched his nose and blood appeared in his palm. The jeers from the crowd fell to excited murmurings as they jostled to look. McAuliffe sucked his hand and glared down at his now mortal enemy. Billy gingerly felt his tender and throbbing nose, then looked up at Gloke and shouted:

‘Look what you've done! You’ve broken me nose!’

Some of the boys giggled. Waddle flew round snarling at the crowd. The nearest boy jumped back afraid that he was about to be thumped. One boy did not draw back at Waddle's threatening stance instead he took a step closer. Waddle glanced up to see who it was but the sun was high behind the boy and his face was in shadow. Waddle squinted then turned away at the sound of McAuliffe's voice.

‘Bite me would you? Right, Waddle you and Gloke get his legs. Debag 'im!’

Billy kicked out but could not prevent the two bullies from grabbing and holding his legs. McAuliffe squatted undid Billy's belt and tugged at his trousers. Billy started to yell.

At first McAuliffe could not understand what had happened. In his blind aggression he had dismissed even the possibility of opposition. It took him a moment to realise that someone had grabbed his wrist. His mind had been so concentrated with anger that the fact that someone had grabbed him did not immediately register. The grip on his wrist tightened and finally McAuliffe turned from his squatting position to see who had had the audacity to interfere with his revenge. The sun shone into his eyes causing him to see only a black shape above him. He let go of Billy's belt and shading his face with his hand he stood up and looked into a pair of light green eyes.

The hot crowded playground fell completely silent. McAuliffe stood to face his opponent. The grip on his wrist relaxed and he pulled his arm free. Waddle and Gloke let go of Billy's legs. The stricken boy scrambled to his feet cursing as he pulled up his trousers and tightened his belt. Then he noticed the silence and fell silent himself.

‘So,’ McAuliffe sneered, ‘We have found a hero.’

Roy Chandler looked at the bully. Then glanced at Billy who was wiping his nose with a grubby handkerchief - Roy nodded.

McAuliffe had already forgotten Billy; he had found larger prey. It was one thing to beat a boy smaller than himself, he enjoyed it, but to beat a boy who was taller and as well built as him would certainly add further to his already fearful reputation. It was a prospect that McAuliffe could not resist. He wasted no time and in the moment Roy and Billy exchanged glances McAuliffe struck.

He side stepped Roy and punched him in the face. The blow sent Roy sprawling to the ground in the shadow of the buttress. McAuliffe followed quickly with two sharp kicks. A roar went up from the crowd and again the jostling began, boy pushed boy to get a view of the new fight. The bully lashed out with his boot hardly able to see his fallen prey because of the glaring sun.

What happened next no one could clearly recall. The only agreed recollection was that McAuliffe cried out so loudly that the sound quashed the noise of the others. Even Gloke and Waddle remembered seeing McAuliffe stagger back from the buttress holding his bloodied mouth and then watching in amazement as their master turned and barged his way through the crowd to the playground gate and run out.

The new boy stepped from the deep shadow of the buttress. Gloke and Waddle looked at him then flew across the playground and out the gate.

Roy helped Billy to his feet: ‘Are you ok?’ he asked

Billy wiping his nose on his sleeve said, ‘Yeah, fanks. Who are you?’

Roy introduced himself and the boys shook hands, then Roy said, ‘Come on let’s go and get cleaned up.’

They passed through the corridors of chattering boys entering their various classrooms and found Mr Conrad talking to another teacher at the foot of the stone stairs that led up to the Assembly Hall. Conrad was waving his glasses making some point to the bored looking colleague.

‘In the field, that is where you learn best about history, actually being on the spot at the very place where things happened. That is why this trip is so important. I intend to...’ he noticed the two boys hovering.

‘We got into a scrape sir. Need a bit of first aid' said Roy.

Both teachers noticed the blood on Billy's face. Conrad said: ‘What on earth's happened to you Baddie?’ He stepped up to the injured boy and pushed back Billy’s head. The other teacher saw his opportunity to escape and making his apologises hurriedly left.

‘We got into a bit of a do sir,’ said Billy.

‘Yes, well I have no class at the moment so you had better come along to the Staff Room and I'll fix you up.’

The boys followed the history teacher as he turned and bounded up the stairs. Mr. Conrad liked to set an example of fitness to the pupils and did so at every opportunity. The problem was that he was not as fit as liked to believe. In fact he looked as if he never had the time to properly feed himself, consequently by the time they had reached the top of the three flights of stairs he was completely out of breath.

He held on to the wall panting. ‘Come on, come on. You two slow coaches...heh...you have to be quicker than that...heh,’ he looked round expecting to find the two boys still making their way up the stairs. They were right behind him breathing calmly.

‘Right...good.... Yes, well done, come along.’ He led the way into the Staff Room and was relieved to find it empty.

‘Now let’s have a look at you Baddie. Where's that First Aid tin?’ He pulled open a few draws of a battered desk, ‘ah here we are. Sit here Baddie and let me see the damage.’

He dowsed a small wad of cotton wool with antiseptic and started to wipe the blood around Billy's nose. He glanced at the bruise on Roy’s cheek and said:

‘You two both seem to have been in the wars. You're the new boy aren't you? Chandler isn't it? What happened?’

Billy, impatient to tell his version first, squirmed in his seat

‘It was me who 'ad the real fight. I...’

‘You be quiet. Sit still and hold back your head,’ said Conrad. ‘Carry on Chandler.’

Roy felt uncomfortable. He did not know what to say. Why did he get involved? The incident really had nothing to do with him; it was not his problem in the first place. Why did he step in and help Billy? Upon reflection the emotions that had motivated him to go to the aid of a boy, were now, in the calm of the Staff Room, difficult to recapture. He felt confused and embarrassed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Mr Conrad turned from attending Billy, threw the used cotton wool into a bin, and took a fresh wad from the First Aid tin. Roy tried to gain Billy's attention to ask him to explain, but the boy was still leaning back, his eyes crossed as he tried to look at his nose.

‘Look at me nose!’ Billy said excitedly, ‘it's got huge! That Waddle would have got it if 'e didn't have McAuliffe wiv' him.’

‘Ah – McAuliffe,’ said Conrad, ‘I might have guessed he'd be involved. Hold still Baddie let me just wipe this last smear of blood...there. Now hold the cotton wool to your nose.’

‘I can still go on the school trip even if me nose is broken, can't I sir? Me Granny said I can go as long as I don't get lost she said, an' how can I get lost now wiv me nose so big an’ swollen up?’

‘No I don't think it will affect the trip Baddie,’ said Conrad looking up at the map he had pinned to the wall, ‘The Cotswolds is a very beautiful part of the country with a great deal of history. The trip should prove very interesting.’

‘Where is the Cotswolds sir? Out in the woods? And what's that fing you said we'll visit - that mold fing?’

‘A mound Baddie. A Long Barrow.’

‘A barrow? Is that what they carry rubbish in?’ said Billy pleased that he had asked a sensible question.

Conrad laughed, ‘No no. It's a place were long, long ago before history was properly recorded ancient people, our ancestors, placed their dead. It's like a tomb only on the surface not buried, but a very important tomb...’

Conrad was in his stride and Roy was relieved that the attention had been diverted away from him. He felt a dull ache pulsing from the bruise on his cheek; his head felt heavy and the teachers monotonous voice seemed to drift away. The warm air from the now quiet playground wafted into the room calming Roy. He closed his eyes and his mind wandered:

He drifted to thoughts about his mother and the man that she had met some months before. The relationship had caused problems not only between Roy and his mother but also with the new man in her life, Hal. Roy had seen that over the two years since his father's death his mother's personality and attitude had changed. Before the loss she was a loving and thoughtful mother. Since then she had become morose and although still dutiful towards Roy, emotionally distant. She was thirty-six and felt that the responsibilities of bringing up a child alone were causing her to miss out on life. She had given up her social life when she had married and now as a lone mother she felt trapped, with her looks fading and little prospect of finding another man, for what man would want to take on a woman with a teenage son? These complaints, though born of isolation and frustration, had the unintended affect of causing Roy to feel blame for his mother's unhappiness and he sought to compensate for his imagined liability by administering to her every whim. She interpreted his fawning behaviour as a growing tendency towards femininity and responded with a mixture of ambiguous chastisement and reproof that confused the boy and served only to aggravate the misunderstandings between them. She thought that she successfully hid her frustration and sadness from Roy and did not know that he often heard her quiet weeping at night and such witness intensified his unjustified feelings of guilt. They were both alone. Then she met Hal.

Hal was an American who had come to visit a distant relative who lived in the same run down block of flats as Roy and his mother. She and Hal had become trapped together in the tower block's poorly maintained lifts. During the three hours of their forced confinement they had got to know each other and Hal, discovering that she was a widow, had taken advantage of her obvious loneliness and made an arrangement to meet her. The relationship developed quickly. For her, as a successful businessman he meant money and an escape from isolation, for him she meant the novelty of a romance with an English woman and, as a man who was already estranged from his wife, the promise of a happier relationship.

Roy’s first meeting with Hal had been stilted and awkward. At first Roy had been excited about the prospect of talking to an American, his enthusiasm engendered by glamorous notions garnered from TV and movies which promoted the idea that all American men were robust and adventurous. Hal had neither of those qualities, he was portly and pedantic and he disliked children, a fact that became increasingly obvious. Although at first Hal made an effort to get on with Roy, the boy quickly perceived that the man's display was phoney. He feigned an interest but his true character revealed itself with frequent bursts of impatience with Roy’s natural ignorance of the world. Hal’s displeasure affected Roy compounding his emotional distress concerning his own already awkward relationship with his mother.

Roy gradually felt that he was neither loved nor needed. Gradually he became jealous of Hal’s increasing influence over the home and was shocked when his mother told him that Hal had found a new flat for them in a better part of town and that he would be going to a new school. Everything happened so fast. His mother seemed to do everything that Hal asked. Her subservient behaviour embarrassed Roy. Soon a mutual and open dislike grew between man and boy; a disparity that provoked almost desperation in his mother and led her to wild imaginings of what would happen if Hal ever came to live with them. She was not going to miss her opportunity to hook a man, yet her son seemed bent on preventing her future happiness. Why was Roy so unfriendly towards Hal?

The months passed and Roy was left to increasingly fend for him self as Hal took his mother out on an ever-increasing spiral of social engagements. Now Roy would often come home from school to find the flat empty. He would find money and a note telling him to buy himself meal. Of course there was always extra cash for him to spend on whatever he liked. He knew that the money came from Hal and although one part of him enjoyed having the money, his enjoyment was spoiled by resentment. The cash made him feel obliged to Hal and he hated the imposition; even though he knew that he ought to feel grateful, he often had an impulse to throw or give the money away. Roy could not articulate his mixed feelings and his mute frustration turned to anger - first against Hal, then his mother then toward himself and finally tired with his own confusion he would sink into a well of depression.

The school trip came at a time when Roy knew that a break from his mother and Hal was opportune. He knew they would have no objection to him going away for a while; nevertheless it gave Roy no satisfaction to witness his mother's response to his request to go. It was immediate and affirmative. It was obvious to Roy that she was relieved. An opportunity to separate the boy and man would be a welcome break from the tension that issued whenever the two of them were together. She had said that it was entirely up to Roy if he went, of course, but she knew that the trip would do him the world of good. Especially as it was in the countryside where the air was so clean, and he had never been to the countryside before had he, and think of all the new things he would see, and it was a splendid opportunity to get to know his new school chums. Roy knew that before Hal had come along she would have tried to dissuade him, now she gushed her encouragement. Roy felt bitter. Had she not been so eager to see him go he might have felt better about the trip, even enjoyed the anticipation, but instead he regarded the trip as an opportunistic convenience.

‘Chandler? Chandler?’

Roy snapped out of his reverie. He felt flustered at being caught not paying attention to the teacher’s description of the trip.

‘Chandler, are you coming on the trip?’ asked Conrad putting away the first aid box.

‘I...I...Yes sir...yes...I'm going.’

‘So you have your mothers permission?’ said Conrad.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Roy bitterly.

Conrad was puzzled by the tone of the boy's reply. It was couched in such a sullen manner that Conrad suspected that there was something wrong. He looked silently at Roy. The boy stared at the floor. Conrad wanted to put out a friendly hand and encourage him to talk; it was not good that a boy of Roy’s age should be so withdrawn.

Conrad’s reflections were broken by Billy's voice.

‘Bet I've lost about a pint of blood’

‘I doubt if you've lost that amount,’ Conrad said wryly.

Billy went on, ‘It's got ever so big - me nose. I bet it's broken. Of course it's broken. Just like a boxer. Me Granddad was a boxer once in the olden days - me Granny told me. Now I look like a boxer.’

He started to shuffle around the room sparring with an invisible opponent. Conrad and Roy laughed at the boy’s antics. Billy liked the attention. He swung wildly with his fists and breathing quickly he said: ‘McAulliffe and his lot better watch out now! Wait 'til I show me Granny. She'll be dead pleased. Thanks sir.’ And with that Billy ran out of the room. Conrad ran after him to the stairs and called,

‘Don't forget that your final fee for the trip is due Monday!’

When Conrad returned, Roy was gone.

Roy let himself into the flat and called, but his greeting was swallowed by the silence. Dejectedly he looked into every room. The flat was empty. He noticed a letter on the mat inside the front door. He picked it up and read that it was addressed to Hal Gretchen. A thin, bitter smile struck Roy’s lips and he let the letter slip from his fingers. In the kitchen he found a note wrapped around change. He read the note with glazed eyes. His mother would be away until tomorrow. Roy switched on the television, but the antics of people having fun did not cheer him up, but made him feel even more alone. He switched off and sat staring into air, his mood rendering him immobile. He was tired from wandering the streets after he had left school. The evening drew in.

After a while his mind returned to the now faint light of the living room; he lifted himself from the chair and walked into his bedroom. He looked out of the window. The streets were emptying and scattered clouds drawn grey by the fleeing light slowly rolled over the black slate roofs now spotting with the first drops of rain. He fell on to his bed and fell asleep.

Roy slowly awoke and looked at the moonlight filtering through the net curtains. A gust of wind rattled the window frame. Roy shivered and realised he was still clothed. He quickly undressed and slipped into bed. He pulled the covers about his neck and looked at the posters on the wall opposite. The pale moonlight showed a map of the Solar System with its nine planets in frozen orbit around the sun. Another depicted a painting of the planet Saturn with its majestic ring; another of Jupiter with its huge red eye, which seemed to glare down at Roy, like some malevolent giant. The boy quickly moved his gaze to a star map, then to other pictures that portrayed Mars and Venus and the rest of the planets.

Roy closed his eyes and imagined travelling in a spaceship: each poster a window looking out onto the immensity of the universe. He imagined the planets turning in their slow orbits around Sol like apostles around a prophet. He felt warm beneath the covers, as if embraced, and opening he eyes he looked at the silent shifting of moonbeams filtering through the moving curtains. A slow shifting that brought with it an aroma of honey. The boy felt a stirring in his chest and a sight tingling fluttered about his body. He lifted his head and looked around the room. He felt excitement pervade him. The darkness in the corner started to shift as if stirred by a spoon. Roy propped his head on his hand and looked beyond the moonbeams into the corner. The darkness was getting thicker. The boy slipped cautiously out of bed afraid to make a sound lest he disturb the arousing atmosphere and the whirlpool of turning darkness. Slowly the black air gathered mass until it had substance and shape. The presence stood silently waiting and Roy hesitantly whispered a word – a name:

‘Krowdon.’

The presence beckoned.

Holding his breath he quickly crossed the room. The pale moon lit him as he knelt before the black figure. Then breathing calmly he reached forward into the darkness. His fingers found a deeper place and he entered.

The coach hurtled out of the dark underpass. Sunlight pieced the trembling windscreen and Conrad covered his eyes. The old grizzled man who sat bouncing in the driver's seat appeared totally unaffected by the glaring light, instead he seemed charged by it and almost standing, stamped down on the vibrating throttle. The roaring coach bound up the incline. The black mouth of the underpass quickly receded as the coach bolted along the road into open countryside. The young passengers yelled with delight at the speed. Conrad, sitting at the front, held on to his seat as the coach suddenly swung right into a narrow country road. Two of the smaller boys fell into the aisles. Guffaws gushed from the bigger lads at the rear. Conrad tried to protest to the driver, but failed to make him self heard over the clamour. The battered vehicle swished under low hanging trees, branches smacked and scraped along the roof. The teacher thought the engine would explode as the coach howled headlong over the boiling tarmac. He nervously inspected the road ahead through the glaring windscreen and saw the rear of another coach. The old driver cursed and slowed down. Conrad sighed as the coach’s velocity fell into line with the leisurely pace of the vehicle in front.

The afternoon sun ducked behind a row of trees and the calm of the blue sky settled over the now slowly passing fields. The teacher was anything but calm. He was angry at the recklessness of the driver, but also anxious because he knew he would eventually have to confront the old man about his attitude. He had tasted the old man's quick temper when at the start of the journey he had suggested the coach looked a little old.

‘Ballocks!’ was the reply. That had been the extent of his interchange with the driver since. Conrad looked warily at the back of the driver's head.

The old man absently fingered his long grey moustache while his other hand loosely held the steering wheel. Joe Pickles was nearly seventy years old. He had been a coach driver for the last thirty years and was upset that this trip was his last.

Conscripted into the Army when he was eighteen he had become a career soldier. At forty his temper had finally overstepped the line and he was dishonourably discharged for striking an officer. He said that he did not give ‘a monkeys’ about it. That was his favourite expression. However, Joe remained bitter because of the experience. Now he had retired officially, but retained by his employer because he had never had a serious accident and had not asked for a pay increase for years. Nevertheless his bad temper had grown steadily worse and the company could no longer ignore the increasing flow of complaints. They told him that they would regrettably have to let him go. So this was Joe’s last trip and he had decided to make the most of it.

Conrad turned in his seat to survey his twenty-two charges. The boys nearest him at the front were well behaved. Some sat and read comics, their brows furrowed in a display of concentration they never gave to lessons; three other boys argued about the rules of the card game they were playing; another boy, Cramble, busily stuffed his mouth with sweets and sat chewing contentedly. Conrad shook his head: he had told Cramble many times about eating too many sweets - the boy is always ill.

A few rows further back Billy Baddie brushed off orange juice that had spilt on his lapel when the coach bounced over a hump in the road. Beside him Roy Chandler slept with his arms folded oblivious to the noise around him. Still further along others were engaged in more boisterous pursuits. They were far away enough from the teacher to be bold. Two boys arm-wrestled while others cheered them on. Behind them Waddle reached over the seat in front of him and pulled the hair of the boy sitting there. Conrad called out to Waddle, but the boy did not hear.

On the back seat, McAuliffe had amassed an armoury of apple cores, crushed paper, rubber bands and other assorted objects collected by Gloke, and pelted them at any one within range. He was about to launch another attack when he spotted Conrad glaring at him. The bully ducked down out of sight. He waited a moment then chanced a peak to see if the teacher was still watching him. His eyes widened. Conrad was making his way down the aisle. He had already told off McAuliffe for obtaining food from other boys by force and now he was determined to make an example of the boy before the holiday started proper. It would be a lesson to all who thought to defy his authority. Holding on to the headrests as he went the determined teacher staggered along the aisle. The coach rocked as Joe attempted to overtake the rival coach. Conrad steadied himself; he would be a laughing stock if he fell over. Someone grabbed his coat from behind. Conrad looked down at Cramble’s upturned face. The boy’s ghostly pale face had an expression of abject misery on it. His lips quivered with dribble.

‘My God, Cramble what on earth's the matter with you?’ said Conrad

Cramble’s eyes rolled up. Conrad guessed what is about to happen and his heart fell into his stomach. The boy heaved and let loose a gush of vomit over Conrad's legs. The spray hit several boys and they cried out, which attracted the attention of the rest and a general crowing of disapproval went up. Conrad pulled away from the heaving lad and Cramble, still holding fast to the teacher’s coat, fell into the pool of vomit. The boys burst out laughing. The pungent smell of vomit rushed up Conrad’s nostrils as he bent down to help the floundering boy. A large apple core missed the top of his head by an inch. The missile whizzed onward and struck the steering wheel just missing the driver’s hand. Jerking round with his face twisted into a snarl, Joe narrowed his deep eyes and searched for the culprit. His snarl transformed into a leer as he turned back to face the road.

‘It could 'ave been any one of the brats.’ mumbled Joe ‘I'll teach 'em’

His foot jumped off the accelerator and gave the brake a sharp pump. The sudden jolt threw everyone forward. Conrad, bending down to rescue the wretched Cramble, was hurled to the floor. Hoots of laughter amid the cries rang around the coach. Had anyone looked into the rear view mirror they would have seen a pair of eyes wrinkled into a wicked leer.

The stricken teacher pulled himself to his feet, hauled Cramble back to his seat and then he slumped back to his own. He dejectedly wiped his trousers with an inappropriately small tissue, slipped down into his seat and covered his face with his hands. He reflected on his misfortune.

‘My life seems to be one long farce,’ he morbidly thought. ‘This last embarrassing incident only a minor scene in the whole unhappy show,’ Conrad’s chest felt crushed as if by a great weight. He was thirty-nine years old and his ambition to become an archaeologist now an echo on the stage of remembrance. It was not that he had missed the chance to become a leading player only that the ability had missed him, like so many people he was cursed with the desire but not the talent to achieve his goal. The intellectual and academic discipline required to get the qualifications to become an archaeologist had escaped him and, as he is wont to describe it, he was left standing in the wings. He had managed to scrape through his exams with a poor second degree in history that allowed him to win the role of history teacher on a backwater stage in a backwater school. With his ambitions thwarted he had resigned himself to a rather melancholy life spirited only by the occasional field trip with an amateur archaeology club. Now this school trip, which he had managed to arrange and had planned for so long, seemed to be falling apart before it began. Before Conrad could sink any deeper into his despondency Joe pumped the brakes.

Conrad, along with the rest of the rowdy passengers, was thrown

forward, then thrown back as Joe’s foot rammed the throttle. The coach careered forward. Joe, satisfied that he had taught the brats behind him a lesson, now concentrated on his next adversary: the coach ahead. Joe did not ‘give a monkeys’. He might be retiring, but he was still a better driver than anyone else, and the driver in the other coach had tormented Joe’s tolerance by driving too slow.

The driver of the other coach glanced into his large side mirror and was astonished to see the whole frame filled with the coach behind. ‘What the bloody hell!’ he cried, outraged that anyone would be so demented as to dare try over take on such a narrow road. He sat bolt upright and gripped the steering wheel in an effort to control the coach as the contender sped alongside.

‘Bunch of old fossils!’ spat Joe as he glared at the passengers in the coach.

Along the side of the other coach ran a sign which read 'Hackney Darby & Joan Club'. Two of the rear passengers saw Joe looking, so they smiled and waved, but their friendly smile was abruptly wiped from their faces when Joe gave a sharp two-fingered salute. Conrad had seen Joe's insulting signal and attempting to make amends, he waved and smiled at the two passengers. They gave him an apprehensive nod. The pensioners were clearly unnerved by how close the coaches were. Conrad looked at the row of ancient faces and noticed that a few of them seemed particularly transfixed and shocked by something happening in the rear of his own coach. Conrad peered back across the seats to see what was causing such appalled interest.

Spotting the old people, McAuliffe decided to have a bit of fun. After making faces at the pensioners with his nose pressed up against the window he pulled down his trousers and pressed his bare behind on the window. The mouths opposite dropped open aghast. To improve on his display McAuliffe farted. Pulling up his trousers he turned to the window to see what affect his prank had. The blunt significance of the sudden patch of mist on the window was not lost on the old timers and although some of the pensioners laughed, McAuliffe was overjoyed to see anger and indignation on many of the wizened faces. Gloke and Waddle who witnessed the act and cheered and pulled faces at the pensioners.

Joe piled grievance onto indignity by attempting to cut in, causing the other driver to sharply brake. Jarred forward, only the nimblest of the pensioners were able to avoid bumping their heads on to the seats in front. Enraged, their driver blasted his horn. This prompted a loud discharge in reply from Joe and the two coaches sped alongside each other blasting their horns and creating alarm. Electrified at the contest, the boys whooped and yelled. Conrad tried to control the shouting but his pleas were drowned in the commotion.

Roy, though slightly amused by the general disorder, did not take part. The heavy mood with which he started the trip was still with him and prevented him from getting into the spirit of things. Even Billy had complained about Roy's morose attitude and tried to lift his new friend out of his sullen mood, but finding his efforts useless, Billy gave up and left Roy alone. He rested his head on the trembling window as the coach raced on leaving the other coach in havoc and a swirl of dust.

Roy looked lazily at the speeding road. The short strips of white in the centre pulsed by. Sinuous slip roads came and went as the coach pounded past verge and bush. Beyond the verges, fields passed and Roy gazed at the wooded hills and at the wispy clouds high in the clear blue sky. In the centre of one field Roy noticed a scarecrow. It stood rammed into the earth with its arms stretched out wide as if showing off its long black overcoat. The paleness of its large turnip head stood out against the dark earth of the field. A long twig finger protruded from the sleeve of its overcoat and seemed to point at Roy as the coach swept past. The boy turned in his seat surprised at the apparition. A gust of wind twisted the scarecrow and it seemed to point at him accusingly. Then the image slipped behind a group of trees. It appeared randomly between the trees as the coach rounded a corner and then disappeared from view. Roy turned back in his seat just in time to spot a signpost that read Winchcombe. He was relieved to see that their destination was only three miles away.

Julie Meadows pressed her hand to her bruised face. Blood ran from her split upper lip, it oozed through her fingers and dripped onto her crouching lap. Thick clumps of thorn pushed and scratched at her sweating body as she struggled to suppress the sound of her agonised breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to peer out from the prickly cavity into which she had crawled to escape her pursuers. The bush trembled as if it was also afraid. The thick combination of blood and sweat mixed oppressively on her tender senses and only the fear of discovery prevented her from screaming.

‘She can't be far away!’ called the gruff voice of a man.

Julie's body went rigid. She recognised Harris’s voice, one of two men who were after her. She heard his body brushing through bushes and the sound of his heavy breathing as he walked past her hiding place. She had an insane impulse to crash out of her concealment and reveal her self; she suppressed the irrational urge and with her head buried in her lap listened to the rustling movements of the man as he moved about seeking like a hound. Julie slowly raised her head peered between the brambles and saw both men. She held her breath as her pursuers moved across a patch of open grass and disappeared into the woods. Julie lulled her thoughts and she remembered the events that had led her into the nightmare: -

Harris and Willis had become frequent customers of the bar in 'The Longbarrow', the hotel Julie's father managed. They said they were security guards at Kellstone Manor, an estate of which the owner was locally known as a recluse. The two men had quickly struck up a relationship with her father because of their common experience of being ex-soldiers and despite the difference in age between her father and the men, he in his fifties while they were in their late twenties, they developed a camaraderie. Her father delighted in boasting how much harder army life was in his time and enjoyed the ribbing of the younger men who rejoined with stories of even a tougher time in the modern army. Julie had been attracted to the two strangers from the outset. She had just turned eighteen and now helped her father with the bar work and so quickly became aquatinted with Harris and Willis. She found both men ruggedly handsome and although she knew her father disapproved, encouraged their attention.

Harris was the taller of the two men though neither stood more than six feet. He had a winning smile that was not dulled by a scar that ran down the side of his face from his right eye to his lower cheek. He was the darker complexioned of the two with large blue eyes that seemed to shine with openness and humour; she found him the most attractive of the two. Willis she thought, though good looking with his short fair hair, square jaw and equally friendly temperament, had about him an arrogance that intensified into menace when he had too much too drink. He was the stockier and had a distinguishing tattoo of a scorpion drawn on the web of his left hand. He explained the reason for it was that his punch was as quick and deadly as a scorpion’s sting. Julie was impressed. She liked a man to be a bit rough in his behaviour, which she thought showed strength. She also liked the way the men dressed in a combination of civilian and army clothing, which she thought indicated their mixture of politeness and roughness, all of which she found intriguing and exciting. The local boys seemed immature and narrow minded by comparison.

Julie knew that both men found her attractive, for though they treated her like a younger sister when her father was present, she noticed how they looked at her when he was not, or when his back was turned for a moment. Julie saw nothing sinister in this, she thought it all good fun and she was flattered by the attention. She was, after all, eighteen now and it was about time she had some real romance in her life. So far her ‘romantic’ experiences had been confined to the awkward fumbling of one or two of the local boys.

When Harris invited Julie to a party at Kellstone Manor, she did not let the disquieting reputation of the place dissuade her. At first she pretended disinterest at his requests. He said that plenty of other people would be attending. The fact that there was no precedent for such a gathering at the manor did not strike her as relevant. Finally she was hardly able to hide her interest, she accepted with eagerness and as the offer was made out of her father's hearing she decided not to tell him about it. Julie made arrangements to meet Harris on the outskirts of town and made the excuse to her father that she was going to visit a girlfriend.

The moment she neared and stepped through the door of Kellstone Manor, Julie's excitement quickly subsided. The interior, though furnished as she had expected with antique furniture, aged panelling and ancient paintings, everything was in such a state of neglect that her polished preconceptions of shining grandeur dissolved. She was shocked at the sight of so much dust and decay. From the high windows through which light could hardly crawl hung long thick curtains, which, caused by the disturbed air, billowed dust as Harris swung open the heavy front door. The once bright patterned carpet that led across the marble floor of the wide hall to the broad staircase was faded and worn. The figures in the paintings that hung on the panelled walls were obscured with grime, and the dimly lit chandelier that drooped from the ornate but blackened ceiling was strung with cobwebs.

Harris ushered Julie into the hall with a broad smile and an extravagant sweep of his hand,

‘Welcome lovely lady to Kellstone Manor,’ he said.

She gave him a nervous smile, raised her hand to the layered lace of her low cut blouse and walked into the centre of the dank hall. Her eyes followed the staircase up into the gloom of the landing above. Sinister corridors retreated into darkness on either side of the landing. The heavy door slammed shut. The abrupt sound echoed around the spacious the hall and off along the murky corridors. Julie felt trepidation creep into her heart but her pride suppressed the warning, she was so anxious not to show Harris her disappointment. Perhaps the decay was only in this part of the house? The manor was large and perhaps the rest was in good repair.

Harris led Julie across the hall to a door that lay back in the shadows under the landing. He opened the door and light burst out of the room. Julie held up her hand to shade her eyes from the blinding glare.

‘Turn that light away Willis!’ said Harris as he took Julie by the arm.

The light shifted to one side. Willis lay on an old leather Chesterfield sofa reaching behind to steady the lamp he had tilted. He smiled alluringly at Julie and said,

‘Sorry, only a joke.’

Julie forced a smile. Harris turned on the ceiling lights. The curtains were all drawn closed. Willis slumped back onto the sofa still holding the smile on his face, but as he looked Julie up and down the humour he pretended quickly degenerated into a lascivious grin. She had seen men try to hide their drunkenness before and Willis always failed. She glanced at the almost empty bottle of vodka on the table beside him. Harris walked over and picked up the bottle.

‘I thought I told you to take it easy?’ he said looking at Willis with an ambivalent expression that conveyed both contempt and approval.

Julie glanced around the room. Impatient hands, concerned only with superficial appearance, had cleaned it. Numerous books sat in rotting formation on dusty shelves of which only the lower ones had been wiped clean. The open areas of the carpet had been vacuumed, the tables were polished to a dull shine, the leaded glass on the high cabinets had been given a perfunctory wash, and there were dirty streaks on the leather of the sofa and club chairs that sat around the huge blackened fireplace gave shameful confession to the obdurate attention given to them. The whole room conveyed hurried arrangement.

‘What's your poison?’

Startled out of her unpleasant observations, Julie looked at Harris. He was standing by an open cabinet the lower shelf of which was full of bottles of beer and spirit.

‘Oh I don't know really, er, I thought you said there was a party? Where's everyone?’

‘Oh they will be along.’ said Harris. He held up a glass to Julie. ‘So what will it be? I remember - gin and tonic isn’t it?’

‘Oh...yes I suppose so.’

Julie's initial excitement and expectation of fun and romance had now been replaced by trepidation. She had obviously been lied to and she did not like being alone in a strange place with both Willis and Harris. If it were Harris alone she might have felt better about the situation but the sight of Willis slumped and drunk caused her to feel nervous and a little afraid.

‘The place is a bit run down, but it's not that bad Julie. Don't look so worried. Here have a drink.’ As Harris handed the glass to Julie he broke into a laugh. ‘Oh come on Julie, relax, have a bit of fun.’

Julie felt her heart harden. She felt anger.

‘There's not going to be a party is there?’ she said, ‘you only told me that to get me up here. I don't like being lied to. You'd better take me back.’

Harris had brought Julie to the house through the woods. An area she was not familiar with because it was part of the manor estate and trespass was forbidden to the townspeople; only boys entered as a dare. She knew that she could not find her way back alone. The long gravel road that privately led to the manor from the public road was as equally unfamiliar to her and the main gate would probably be locked. Neither way held appeal to her, but the summer evening was still young and there was daylight enough for her to try alone before dark if she had to. Anger and dismay had settled upon Julie like a double shroud.

‘Of course there's going to be a party Julie. I bought you here in advance because I still have some small arrangements to attend,’ said Harris in reassuring tones, ‘Now just relax and have a drink while were waiting for the others. Come on - cheers!’

He held his glass towards Julie and she allowed herself to clink glasses and take a sip of her drink. It was strong and she nearly balked but managed to suppress her reaction. She did not want the two men to think her weak. Harris beamed and said,

‘There you are! Now isn't that better. Must say that you look really nice Julie. Love that dress, new is it?’

Julie, despite her disquiet, felt flattered. She took another sip of her drink trying not to wince as she swallowed.

‘No it's not new, well I bought it a long time ago, but this was the first chance, special occasion like, worth wearing it for. Bit of a waste looking at this place.’

She looked directly at Willis. The remark removed the smirk from his face and he sat up glaring at Julie. She smiled pleased that she had affected him. Harris laughed.

‘You deserved that mate. Put on some music.’

Willis grudgingly lifted himself off the sofa and walked unsteadily over to an old battered record player. He scratched the vinyl a couple of times then rock music blasted from the machine.

‘Turn it down!’ shouted Harris. Willis obeyed and the heavy drumming fell. ‘We don't want 'im hearing us.’

‘Who?’ asked Julie.

‘Kraal,’ said Harris ‘the lord of the manor so to speak - our boss. We hardly ever see him; he keeps to himself thank God. He's a bit weird. You must have heard of him, you living round here?’

Julie was aware of the strange stories that were told about Kellstone Manor. She had heard them since a child. That the house was thought to be haunted was reason enough to keep away most people except for the occasional group of lads when in challenging mood. It was thought that an out of town estate agency ran the grounds on behalf of the owner who, so it was believed, lived abroad. The name Kraal had been associated with the estate for a very long time, for more years than even the oldest inhabitant of Winchcombe could remember.

‘Yes,’ said Julie ‘I've heard of the name of course, everybody has hereabouts, but I thought nobody lived here, hadn't done for a long time and the place was run by some lawyer people who hired you security men to guard the grounds. That's why I thought it was a bit funny when you said there was a party up here.’

Julie took a gulp of her drink; she was beginning to feel relaxed.

‘Yes your dad Arthur told us about other guards being here,’ said Harris frowning.

‘Yes, there have been guards for years now. Only as my dad said, they never seem to stay long. Can I have another?’

Julie held out her glass. Harris took it, looked at Willis and said, ‘Did the bloke who hired us say anything about other guards?’

‘No,’ said Willis, ‘so what?’

‘Well it is puzzling. Don't you think it's a little strange that there's no sign of other guards being here? I mean no rooms allocated, no facilities, lockers, changing rooms, no equipment, torches and stuff. We had to bring what we needed with us. I mean there's not even a log-book, nothing to keep any records in. There must have been a few events worth recording over the years, you know, poachers, thieves. It just seems funny to me.’

‘Well maybe they were all on six months contracts like us and had to buy their food and stuff as well and took it with them when they left,’ said Willis uninterested.

‘Yes I suppose your right.’ He turned to Julie ‘Right! Julie, yes, another drink.’ Harris broke into a dance as he went over to the drinks. Julie giggled. Willis poured himself a vodka, emptying the bottle. He eyed Julie as he swigged back the glass.

‘Sit your self down Julie,’ said Willis his words slurring

Harris handed Julie her refreshed glass and led her to one of the Club chairs. She sat pulling on the hem of her dress. She wished it were not so short. She caught Willis, now slouched opposite, looking at her slim legs. She said nothing but decided to play along for a little while. After all perhaps other people might turn up. She sipped at her drink and tried to ignore Willis. She was beginning to feel nervous again. Suddenly the door swung open.

All three looked at the empty doorway then at each other. Harris called out

‘Hello? That you sir?’ His question was met by silence. He walked into the hall and looked around.

‘Must have been a draft,’ he said. His voice sounded hollow in the hall. He walked back into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked at Julie. ‘Not getting nervous again are you Julie? Look, so this isn’t the Ritz, but it makes a change from the bar doesn't it?’

‘Not really,’ said Julie defiantly, ‘ I mean it's a bit rough here isn't it? Not to say spooky. I would rather go back to town. Come on take me back would you before it gets dark. I mean my dad will be worrying about me.’

‘Don't be bloody silly!’ spat Willis, ‘I bet he doesn't even know you're gone does he? No, I thought so. You have a bloody drink and shut up moaning.’'

‘Don't you talk to me like that!’ said Julie. She stood up and made for the door. ‘I'll find my own way home if you won't take me.’

Harris grabbed her. ‘Now hold on. Relax. Enjoy yourself. Have another drink; the evening’s only just begun.’

Julie struggled to release his grip. ‘Let me go! I'm not staying here with you two. Let me go!’

‘Don't upset me Julie,’ said Harris, his voice hard. He pulled her close so that their faces were almost touching. ‘You've been teasing us every day for the last month. Wearing your low cut dresses and leaning over the bar. Strutting around in your high heels and short skirt. Do you think we didn't notice?’

Julie continued to pull herself away reaching out for the door. Harris pulled her back. Julie let out a yell.

‘Shut up, shut up!’ said Harris through gritted teeth. Julie saw Willis come towards them. She tried to pull away. Harris held her arm firm. Her mind raced.

‘I’m sorry. Ok perhaps if I have another drink?’ Despite her fear she realised that she must humour the men to stand a chance of getting them to take her back. She wanted safe and familiar surroundings where she would feel confident. The warm, even desirable, feelings that she had felt for Harris only moments ago had evaporated like cheap perfume.

‘Come on drink up and relax,’ said Willis ‘We'll get the party going soon.’ He got up and stepped towards Julie. She turned away and walked to the fireplace placing her glass on the dusty mantelpiece.

‘Where's it going to be?’ she asked pointedly glancing around the scruffy room. The act had to be played out. She began to have misgivings about what might happen once the facade dropped. Neither of the men answered her. Instead Willis said:

‘Sit you down Julie. Here beside me,’ he patted the cushion next to him.

The music sounded out of place in the tense atmosphere. Instead the now romantic ballad seemed to counterpoint the growing rift between Julie and the men. Harris glanced at Willis and without giving reasons Harris left the room.

‘Where's he going?’ said Julie, her voice agitated. She did not like being left alone with Willis.

‘Never mind him.’ said Willis, ‘Come and sit down.’

Julie did not move. The drunken grin on Willis’ face twisted into a snarl.

‘What's the matter? Don't you want to sit next to me? Aren’t I good enough for you?’

Julie felt repelled, but did not want to upset Willis. ‘No it's not that, I just prefer standing thanks.’ Her words fell awkwardly. She picked up her glass and sipped nervously as Willis blatantly inspected her. The door opened. The sudden movement caught Julie by surprise and she spluttered her drink. It was Harris, he said:

‘He's not around, but better turn the music down a bit more. I could here it quite a way off. We don't want to attract his attention.’

Willis reached over to the record player. ‘I think that our Julie is pretending. She’s not really enjoying herself,’ he said.

‘No that's not true, is it Julie?’ said Harris smiling and walking over to the girl ‘you want to stay don't you? Here let me refresh your drink.’

Julie did not protest when he took the glass from her hand.

‘To tell you the truth,’ Harris went on, ‘We did fib a bit about the party.’

Julie felt relieved that he was going to come clean. She could now feign surprise, then indignation and leave without appearing to have complicity agreed to the sham. She breathed a sigh of relief.

‘No,’ said Harris handing her the replenished drink, ‘we said the party started at six as a ploy. We wanted to get you here early so that we could have a pre-party drink just to get to know each other properly. In the bar your dad is always around and it's difficult to talk isn't it? The party proper starts at nine doesn't it Willis?’

Julie's heart dropped but she still had a chance, she said: ‘Oh but that's too late. I can't stay out that late. You should have told me. If I had known I wouldn’t have come. It's best if I go back now.’

Harris gave her a penetrating look as if he were trying to read her mind; study her deep intentions.

‘Have you really changed you mind Julie? I got the impression that you liked us, that you couldn't wait to be alone with us in fact.’ He stepped close to her and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘We've gone to some trouble to arrange things. You can see that we've cleaned the place up and bought the drinks. Now, say you’re going to stay.’ He jerked her to him.

‘Please, I don't want to upset anybody, it's just that I didn't realise.’

‘Didn't realise what? Didn't realise that you wanted to come? That you fancied us? Come on Julie you knew where the this might lead. Don't play the naive.’

Julie tried to pull away. This was not what she thought it would be like. She had had a vague expectation of romance; of even being seduced, but in a gentle manner, not the way Harris was pressing himself on her now. Her experience of the two men had led her to believe that, although they were a bit rough, they were nevertheless gentlemen. She felt betrayed and a little scared.

‘No, you must have got the wrong idea. I didn't think of you like that at all...well...I don't mean that I don't like you or anything; it's just that I think should get back home. So let me go please.’ Her voice had a tremor.

Harris ran his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck. He gripped it. Julie winced.

‘Please! You’re hurting me!’

Harris seemed to be excited by Julie's pain. His eyes widened. Julie felt the breath from his mouth on her cheek.

‘Listen you've been teasing us almost every day. You little temptress! Well you've offered and now we're going to take!’

Julie was totally surprised by Harris’s interpretation of her behaviour. She had no idea that she had been so provocative. It was true that she wore attractive clothes, but not for the reasons that he accused her of. How did a woman attract a man if it was not with her body? Every film, novel and magazine that she saw and read conveyed to her the importance of a girl’s physical appearance. What other way was there? What had she done wrong? She only wanted them to like her.

All these thoughts came to Julie in a galvanised block, she did not think them through one by one, she had no time; they were part of her instinctive awareness at that moment. She felt outraged at being so misunderstood. She now realised that if Harris’s hand could not caress it would grip; if his whisper could not charm it would threaten; and if he could not seduce he would take. Harris roughly pressed his lips onto hers. Julie panicked. She looked at the nearness of his face, the stubble on his chin, his shock of black hair and beyond at Willis who sat watching with pleasure. She tried to push Harris away but he was too strong. He grabbed her around the waist and gripped her neck tighter while pressing his tongue into her mouth. Julie squeezed her eyes shut and struggled. She almost managed to detach her lips from Harris’s force when she felt hands grab her from behind. Willis pressed himself into Julie's back and grabbed her breasts. Her jerky movements excited the men and they squeezed themselves upon the girl even harder. Julie felt helpless and hysteria grew.

Harris broke away from Julie's lips and grinning he said:

‘Like that Julie? Like that do you? Yeah you like it all right’ Julie grabbed his face and pushed back his head. Her nails pieced his flesh. He cried out in pain.

‘You bitch! Grab her arms!’ Willis pulled down Julie's arms and pinned them to her side. A shock wave pounded through her jaw. Struck numb her mind did not register for a few seconds. Then she realised that Harris had viciously punched her. The whole side of her face stung.

‘Oh God,’ she mumbled as blood seeped between her lips. Her jaw felt stiff. She tried to move it and a bolt of pain shot through her mouth. She could not believe want had happened. Her mind flooded with regret and her heart floundered with fear. She tried to raise her hands to her mouth to staunch the flow of blood, but Willis had her arms pinned to her side. He continued to rub himself against her. She felt his erection. Harris pulled up her head by her hair.

‘You do as your told,’ he rasped. ‘Otherwise you'll get the same again. Do you hear me!’ he said shaking her head.

‘Yes, yes,’ mumbled Julie. She could hardly speak. Tears welled in her eyes.

The men lay her on the sofa and started to strip off her clothing. They tore at her dress with impatient hands, hands eager for her soft voluptuous body. She felt disgusted and humiliated, but the pain throbbing in her jaw kept her from any attempt at defence. Her past occasional sexual fantasy about being raped was nothing like the brutal reality. In her dreams she had been forcefully held by a handsome lover, swooned to his arousing kisses and had finally submitted, but now bluntly awake with these heated men groping and pulling at her, the dream gloated. The idealised violence of her fantasies ridiculed her. These men were not hungry for her love, but ravenous for her body - not even her body - it could have been any woman's body - she was not important. As the men argued about who would do what, Julie hardly heard them, she was busy with her guilt.

‘You stupid fool! You're nothing to them! You thought that they liked you. You thought that they were interested in you. God! How stupid!’ She tried to scream but the pain in her jaw was too awful and her effort died into a moan. Her anger had turned upon the only person she could hurt - herself. Although she could feel what they were doing, her mind detached itself; it was as though the reality of her situation was too much for her mind to bear. She was trapped. If it were not for her body, her attractive body, then the men would not be treating her so badly, they would not be violent. She was trapped inside a vessel that they wanted to possess. They did not want her, just the vessel. They cared nothing for her. She was trapped inside her body like an animal in a cage. She was just an amusement, a side-show. Julie hated her body, they could do want they liked with it. It had nothing to do with her - nothing!

In a near frenzy of lust the two men almost fought in their argument about who would be first. Willis gave way to Harris. The men spread open the girl's legs. He was surprised by the girl's submission. She was no longer putting up a fight, but lay silent with her hands over her face. He did not like her to be so submissive; he wanted her to fight; he wanted to conquer her, but he did not care that much about it as long as he got his way. He pulled at the girl's hips and entered her. A thin, muted cry dashed from Julie’s bloodied lips. Willis watched for a while, eager to engage in the ruthless carnality. His lust came to boiling point and unable to withhold any longer he moved Harris so that he lay on his side with Julie. Then Willis pressed himself into the girls rear. So smothered with distress and pain, the force of Willis’s entry, though awful, did not hurt as it would if committed alone. The men grunted and sonorously breathed like pigs with their noses in a full trough. Even with mind fully engaged to the satisfaction of his lust, Harris, upon seeing the door open, stopped moving. The door lay ajar. It moved slightly inward then stopped.

‘Willis. Willis, stop someone’s here,’ He whispered urgently.

‘What?’ Willis heavily breathed.

‘Look.’ Said Harris indicating the door.

Willis turned his head, slipped out of Julie and onto the floor. Harris

pushed her away and quickly pulled himself up from the sofa.

‘Who's there?’ he called as he reached for his clothes and indicating to Willis to get dressed.

A slight movement came from behind the door. Harris threw two silent commands at Willis to turn off the lights and music. Willis shifted to the record player and switched it off; then, dressing himself as he went, moved quickly around the room turning off the table and standard lamps. Harris, tucking in his shirt and wiping back his hair, tiptoed forward and stood beside the door. The room was now in darkness except for a slither of light that came in through a narrow opening in the curtains. Willis crept over to the door and stood behind Harris. Julie painfully raised herself up and looked at the men. They were both hunched and tense. She hoped that they were afraid. A sound came from beyond the door.

At first it sounded like dripping water, but the droplets hit the floor too loud for water, they sounded more like heavy drops of tar or grease. Then came a soft squelching as if someone were squeezing or walking on mud. Harris looked at Willis with a puzzled frown. Neither man moved. Then came another sound like brushing. The door opened another few inches. Harris and Willis went rigid. Julie felt no fear, she was relived that they had stopped. Her pain dulled her own puzzlement of the strange sounds. She felt a vague sense of gratitude for whomever, because the men's attention had been taken off her. Noise filled the hallway. A clacking sound rang out, as if a large crab was running across the marble floor. The sound rapidly retreated across the hall, loudly echoing then stopped, until only the dripping sound remained.

Willis silently mouthed to Harris to sharply pull open the door. Harris nodded, took a breath and snatched the door open. The two men jumped back. The doorway was empty and the hall beyond silent.

‘What the fuck's that?’ said Willis pointing up.

A fat glob of creamy mucus-like substance hung from the top of the doorframe. It oozed, gathered thicker and dropped to the floor with a loud splash. A small pool of it had spread over the floor. It emanated a richly pungent, almost nauseating, honey smell. Harris covered his mouth and nose. He said:

‘Jesus, what is that?

A rapid clacking came from the stairs. Willis and Harris glanced at each other nodded and Willis ran into the hall skipping over the ooze. Julie sat up, but froze when Harris turned and harshly said,

‘Stay where you are.’

Dust billowed through the beams of sunlight that pieced the grimy windows and lit a portion of the hall. The upper staircase and landings were in dark shadow. Willis peered up into the gloom but could see nothing other than the vague outline of the landings and corridors. Then he thought he saw a small pale shape on the top step half hidden behind the balustrade.

‘See anyone?’ said Harris holding his position by the door and glancing back at Julie.

‘I'm not sure. I think it’s a kid.’

‘What? A kid? What the fuck are you talking about a kid! Go up and see!’

‘You fucking go up!’ spat Willis, ‘You're so fucking brave.’

Harris cursed, pointed at Julie and gave her a knowing frown, then turned and walked over to the stairs. He pushed Willis in the back. ‘Prick,’ he said and turned his attention to the landings. Suddenly his expression changed.

‘Do you see it?’ said Willis in an excited whisper.

‘Yeah, I think so, just at the top, hiding. Hey! You there! You at the top of the stairs. What do you think you're up to? Come down here now!’

‘Here, you don't think it's him do you?’ whispered Willis with a sight tremor. ‘You know larking about or something, testing us or something?’

‘Don't be so bloody daft. Does he seem the type to lark about? No. Anyway it's too small, the shape. It could be a kid, but how the fuck did he get in? And if Kraal finds out we let a prowler in, kid or not, he'll go spare. Come on we've got to make a move whoever it is.’

Harris started slowly up the stairs. A flurry of movement at the top caused him to stop. A sporadic clattering and padding filled the air as something ran over the wooden floor and carpet and off down the corridor to the left.

‘Come on!’ shouted Harris and both men gave chase.

A glimmer of hope lit in Julie's heart. This might be her chance to escape. She waited until the footfall of the men was a distant muffled echo. Then she reached for her clothes and hurriedly dressed. She frantically searched for her shoes, but could find only one and nearly crying with frustration discarded it. With her face throbbing and blood running down the back of her thighs, she walked gingerly to the door. She hesitated, listened and heard the muted shouts of the men calling to each other somewhere along the corridors above. Now was her opportunity. She took a step and felt her bare foot sink into the pool of goo. Repelled, she stumbled back clutching the doorframe. Pain pieced through her jaw and rear, she cried out. Gently she steadied herself and looked to the front door. The distance across the hall seemed immense. She drew in a deep breath; carefully stepped over the mess on the floor and using the shadows at the edge of the stairs she stealthily made her way to the door.

At the foot of the stairs Julie stopped and listened again to reassure herself that the men were not returning. Their voices were distant echoes and so she stepped out from the shadows to make her way across the open hall. She hoped Harris had not locked the front door. A sound arrested her. She stood keenly listening. Had she heard a sound? It could have been her imagination. She was so tense that she was not sure. Then she heard the metal grate of a key turning in a lock. Panic struck her like a club. She rushed back into the shadow.

The metal grinding halted with a loud clank. Julie, clutching onto the banister, tried to gauge from where the sound came. Her heart beat wildly. A door creaked. Julie held her breath as she heard the screech of hinges and the scrape of footsteps. Then she saw a flicker of light. It broadened and swung across the ceiling from the far side of the hall. Although afraid of being discovered Julie could not help but look to see what was happening. She pressed herself to the banister and inched forward to peep round the edge of the stairs.

On the other side of the hall she saw a large open door. It lay in a dark recess that she had not noticed when she first came into the house. The door was lit by the yellow light from a lantern held up by a small dark figure dressed in a hood and a long black cloak. The figure swung back the door and it closed with a loud clang that reverberated around the hall, causing the banisters to slightly vibrate.

Julie pressed herself back into the dark and thought, ‘Who is this?’

Swinging the lantern from side to side the small figure quickly moved from corner to recess as if searching for something hidden. Julie knew his search would soon reveal her and terrified she cowered back towards the room. Before she got halfway the lantern's light swung in her direction casting her shadow large upon the wall.

‘Be still’

Julie froze, her back to the voice; which was deep and resonant and conveyed menace. She watched her shadow on the wall grow larger from the light of the nearing lantern and listened to the scrape of footsteps and drag of cloak as the figure drew to her back and stopped. Julie felt the hair on her neck rise. Her jaw throbbed. A long thin finger rested on her shoulder and turned her. Julie looked at the hooded face transfixed.

Beneath a heavy brow, black eyes dug into hers. For a moment the eyes, piecing and cold, seemed to probe into the deepest recesses of her mind as if seeking her soul. Then the intensity withdrew and adjusted to a look of mere regard, as a predator might when sensing no threat. The nose was hooked and scarred like struck flint with nostrils frozen in permanent flare and breathing long draughts of air like a drunkard. Below the scarred nose sat a mouth with lips as thin as a razor slash and set slightly apart to show teeth stained and worn. Between the teeth poked the tip of a red tongue. The girl shivered at the thought that she was not looking at the face of a man but of a beast.

His gaze released Julie as he sharply looked up to the landing. A sound that chilled yet filled Julie's heart with pity came echoing from far along the corridors causing her shoulders to arch and her nerves to coil. An agonised cry followed by excited shouts filled the dank air. Julie shuddered at the ghostly sound. It filled her with a strange mixture of horror and compassion. The cry was not human, yet it had about it a quality that arose in Julie a deep primitive sense that was more powerful than fear, somehow she knew that the cry that echoed along the dead hallways was that of an infant.

Her compassion swelled, drowning her fear and she knew that somehow she ought answer the terrified cry; yet how could she escape the bestial presence of the man who stood before her? Again their eyes met and Julie shrank as if stabbed by a knife of ice. He looked at her as a sated lion might eye a lame lamb. She was nothing other than a tasty morsel for which he had no time. He lifted his hand and uncurled an unnaturally long, bony finger, with which, like a magician's wand caressing silk, he stroked Julie's tender cheek. She recoiled and left the finger hooked in mid air. Another cry reverberated from the corridors above. With a sudden flourish the man turned and rushed up the stairs.

With her own escape forgotten and without concern for her own danger, Julie ran after the cloaked figure, following the light of his lantern as it swung hurriedly down the corridor. Candles burnt at sporadic intervals dimly lighting doorways and dull paintings that hung like glimpses of dreams on the dark wooden walls. Julie hobbled on, the pain in her cheek throbbing. She passed a small table that had been upset in the pursuit and quickly noticed a thin trail of the sticky mucus substance running from it. The cloaked man turned another corner chasing the voices of Harris and Willis as they continued to call to each other somewhere ahead.

Upon turning the corner Julie saw the men. The hooded man was standing behind them. They had not noticed him because they were concentrating on something that moved beneath the heavy curtains of a large window. Willis was poking the movement with a pike he had taken down from the wall. Julie's heart drummed as she hid in a recess to observe.

‘Get it! Get it!’ shouted Harris.

‘You bloody get it,’ rejoined Willis throwing down the pike and wiping his face, which was covered with pale mucus. Willis froze the moment he saw the cloaked man. Harris picked up the pike and slashed the curtains. The decayed material ripped easily and with another stroke Harris managed to bring down both curtains and rails with a crash and a cloud of dust. Stark daylight struck the hallway like a sheet of lighting. Harris swung wildly as the light and thick dust caused all three men to cough and cover their eyes. Julie spotted a movement beneath the pile of curtains and on impulse she rushed forward through the dust.

Pulling the curtains aside she saw what at first she thought was a pile of dirty bones. She hesitated. The bones uncoiled. Julie was repelled for a moment as the small thing unravelled its limbs. Then the creature raised its head and Julie looked into a pair of sparkling blue eyes as large as saucers. The eyes looked up to her so appealingly that Julie felt her heart go out to the creature despite its thin monkey-like frame. The small torso of the thing was covered in the mucus stuff and looking furtively away from Julie, it started to draw the creamy substance over itself as if trying to cover its nakedness. Julie's heart almost broke. She snatched up the creature and hugged it to her breast. It immediately curled its limbs around her body. Julie turned and skipped past the men who were recovering from the blast of light and dust.

‘Get her!’ barked the cloaked man. He reached to grab Julie as she ran past and caught her hair. She screamed and tugged herself away. A knot of her hair came out in his hand. She fled along the corridor. The men chased after her.

‘I'm sorry sir,’ said Harris in a breathless rush, ‘we thought we heard an intruder. We didn't know there were two of them.’

‘Catch her,’ said Kraal pointing with his long bony finger.

Harris grabbed Willis and pushed him forward, ‘Come on you fool!’

Panic propelled Julie and she ran for her life with the creature bouncing in her arms. Willis quickly gained on the fleeing girl and was about to grab her collar when the creature raised its head and spat back a large glob of mucus into his face. Willis gasped and stumbled. Harris ran into him and they fell sprawling on the floor. Kraal stuck them both with the pike ushering them on.

Julie's instinct somehow led her back to the main staircase. She bounded down the stairs her pain forgotten and ran for the front door. Behind, she heard the pounding feet of her pursuers as they gained ground.

‘Stop!’ cried Harris as he reached the top of the stairs and saw Julie opening the door. He raced down the stairs in a desperate effort to get the girl, tripped and fell headlong into the door slamming it just as Julie was crossing the threshold. The door hit her in the back knocking her into a run down the front steps. She fell onto the driveway. The small creature sensing that it might be crushed under Julie's body leapt from her and scrambled off across the green towards the woods. Julie painting and moaning with the fall and the return of her pain watched helplessly as the creature made off. At the edge of the trees it turned to look back at her. It seemed to understand her distress. The injured girl waved the creature on as she heard the front door rattle. The door was stuck. The infant scuttled off into the woods. Julie rose painfully to her feet and made off in the opposite direction to the creature.

She soon became lost in the unfamiliar wood. Exhaustion overcame her and she dragged her self into a hollow in a large bush. She pulled her self into a squatting position and pressed her hand to her bruised face. Blood ran from her split upper lip, it oozed through her fingers and dripped onto her crouching lap. Thick clumps of thorn pushed and scratched at her sweating body as she struggled to suppress the sound of her agonised breath. She squeezed her eyes shut afraid to peer out from the prickly cavity into which she had crawled to escape her pursuers. The bush trembled as if it was afraid too. The thick combination of blood and sweat mixed oppressively on her tender senses and only the fear of discovery prevented her from screaming.

Julie let out a long harrowing sigh. Her fevered mind swirled with images of violation: covetous eyes swelling with bare carnality, greedy lascivious hands pulling and pinching her breasts, ravenous teeth tearing her neck and arms, flesh torn from bone. The horrible visions hobbled across the screen of her mind's eye. Then the image of a familiar face presented itself - the face of her father. She smiled and her heart went out to the image. It began to change, transforming until it coagulated into the countenance of a grimacing beast.

Julie twisted her head from side to painful side to throw out the horrible crowing but it kept on. ‘You deserve to be beaten! You deserve to be punished! You stupid slut!’ Her strangled cough sent a bolt of pain through her broken jaw. ‘You wanted them didn't you? Admit it! Confess!’ Julie's head rolled back and forth, her mind seeking to escape the torment. ‘Don't lie. You didn't have to go with them. You didn't have to come here. You knew there was no party? You knew!’ The wretched girl rocked gently on her haunches. She curled her arms around her knees and buried her face into her white, now blood stained, skirt.

‘God please help me,’ she moaned, ‘please, please help me get back home. Oh dad, dad I'm so sorry’

Julie's slow cramped swaying lulled her thoughts. She shivered. Bolts of pain dug through her broken jaw. She let out a low throaty moan. Her mind swam in a whirlpool of brilliant light. Where was she? She tried to unfold her limbs, but her joints repelled against the movement. She opened her eyes. A patch of black rushed towards her face! It was thing with skinny limbs and black eyes. Its spindly legs stretched through a broken web to touch her eyelash. Julie gasped and painfully brushed the spider away. It fell and scuttled away along a thin prickled branch. Julie peered between the bobbling leaves. Dusk had settled and darkness was pressing, but daylight had not yet totally fled. She wondered if it was safe to leave her hiding place. She decided to wait until darkness came. She closed her eyes, but her mind swam in a sea of violent images that flooded her brain until she thought that she would faint into unconsciousness. Slowly the pain subsided and she opened her eyes again. The harmless spider that dwelt in her hiding place was busy with its web. Julie almost smiled at the sight, but her face throbbed so much that she suppressed the luxury. If only she could uncurl her legs. They were numb. Surely it was safe now? Her pursuers must have given up searching by now? They must have. Julie began to uncurl her legs. The relief was heavenly.

‘Hello, my lovely, haven't you given us a merry chase?’

A hand grabbed her ankle dragged her from the bush.

Roy stood looking out of the window of the room that he and Billy had been allocated. Billy was unpacking and complaining about Conrad’s decision to billet McAuliffe with them. The teacher had reasoned that because Roy had stood up to McAuliffe once, he had a chance of controlling the bully, better than allowing McAuliffe in with Gloke and Waddle whom he had also separated. McAuliffe had strongly protested saying that Chandler was weird, but Conrad had insisted. Billy was also irritated by the arrangement.

‘Isn't it good,’ he kept saying, ‘isn't it bloody good. My first holiday and I have to share my room wiv that rat.’

Roy smiled as he gazed out of the window. The hotel was situated high enough to allow a view across the dry roofs of the town to the open fields. The air, unlike the city, was clean and so clear that one could see with sharpness for miles. The sun was now low and casting long shadows over the fields.

‘What you looking at?’ said Billy, barging in front of Roy. ‘Look at all them roofs - just the same as 'ome if you ask me.’ He misted the glass with his breath and drew a face with his finger. He drew the tongue hanging out and the eyes crossed and wrote 'Waddle' underneath. Roy laughed.

Down in the bar Joe, after wheedling several pints of beer from Conrad by repeatedly moaning how driving was thirsty work, had just challenged the tired and overwrought teacher to an arm wrestling contest. All the boys were consigned to their rooms along with their luggage and Conrad just wanted to relax for an hour before gathering the boys for dinner. He sighed and took a long draught of his bitter.

‘Come on private!’ bellowed Joe. He was sitting at a table with the arm of his shirtsleeve already rolled up. ‘Come on you square basher, let's see what you’re made of!’

He thumped his elbow on the table, held open his hand and glared at Conrad’s’ back. The teacher looked over his shoulder and adopted an insincere smile to placate the old man. He did not want to arm wrestle. He was too tired. Anyway he was not sure if he could beat the old man.

‘Come on sonny boy.’ demanded Joe.

Conrad was not sure if Joe meant to insult him or if the beer was spurring on his already belligerent manner. He did not want to upset the old man, but neither could he allow Joe to browbeat him. He must remain in control. Otherwise Joe would really take advantage. He had to live with the old fella while he drove the class about for the week and he did not want to be constantly at loggerheads with him. If Joe's intention was to insult, then Conrad felt he could not let the moment pass without some sort of defensive show. His desire to display strength, yet not upset the old man caused Conrad to feel anxious. He turned away from Joe, took off his glasses, held them at arms length, peered through them, wiped them and put them back on all the while slowly shaking his head and repeating Joe's name.

‘What are you - a parrot!

Joe had slid close behind Conrad. The proximity of Joe's voice startled the teacher and he spilt his drink.

‘You sound like a parrot keep repeating me name like that.’ said Joe breathing beer fumes in Conrad face and misting his freshly cleaned spectacles.

‘No Mr Pickles,’ said Conrad drawing back from Joe's violent breath, ‘I mean Joe, er, no I am not a parrot, nor, for that matter, am I an army private, nor indeed a square basher. What I am is a teacher who is responsible for the pupils in my charge and the good conduct of this trip. So would you please refrain from calling me names other than my own and stop behaving in such a manner that I thought to expect only from my most junior pupils,’ Joe retreated a little and Conrad breathed relief. ‘I mean a man of your years should know better.’

Conrad immediately regretted what he had just said, if he could have reached out, retrieve the words and stuffed them back into his mouth, he would have. He closed his eyes in expectation of an outburst.

‘What! A man of my what! So you think I'm past it do ya? We'll see about that mate! We'll see if I'm past it or not. Outside.’

‘What?’ said Conrad, with disbelief. Joe was standing near the bar door rolling up his shirtsleeves even further. ‘Mr Pickles, Joe, I really meant no offence! I was merely observing that a mature person does not have to resort to aggressive games to prove a point.’ Conrad wished he had gone straight to his room.

‘Aggressive games? Aggressive games? What are ya bloody taking about? I don't know what you are on about. You lot fink you knows every fink, don't ya?’

‘What lot?’ said Conrad wishing he were elsewhere.

‘You lot!? That's what lot! Fink you can sack me do ya?’ he menacingly moved towards the teacher, ‘Give me the push after all these years? After I've worked me fingers to the bone. And what 'ave I got to show for it? Nothing! That's what. That's the point to make, if ya want a point. You got me point now ain't ya. Ya parrot! Come 'ere I'll pluck your fevvers.’

With that Joe took a swing at Conrad’s head, but missed. However the frightened teacher flinched so dramatically that he fell anyway. Joe believing that he had struck Conrad let out a yell of triumph and danced around the bar.

Meadows, the hotel manager, had been tending to the barrels in the cellar when he heard the thump of Conrad landing on the floor. He came up to see what was going on. He was in time to see Joe lurch out of the bar and Conrad get up.

‘What happened sir?’ asked Meadows of the dazed teacher.

‘Oh just a small altercation with our driver,’ said Conrad dusting himself, ‘nothing to worry about. I'm sorry we disturbed you.’

‘He's a bit of rogue isn't he, the old chap,’ said Meadows indicating the door, ‘I can tell. Seen 'em all. He looks ex-army if I'm not mistaken. It's the bearing you see. The way he carries himself. Ex-army man myself you see.’

‘I wouldn't know actually,’ said Conrad settling himself on to a stool, ‘he's only had a few pints. It must be his age; he can't handle it any longer and doesn't want to admit it I suppose. I slipped that's all.’

Meadows looked wryly at Conrad but made no further comment. He looked at his watch and said, ‘I wonder where that daughter of mine is? She went to visit a friend of hers. That’s all very well, but things will start busying up soon and I'll need her to give a hand. I told her we'd be busy this evening.’

Waddle and Gloke looked nervously at the church. When the coach had passed it earlier the building had looked innocent and harmless, but as night closed in its Gothic architecture took on an ominous appearance. McAuliffe had instructed his two minions to wait for him at the church, but now as daylight withdrew the initial excitement that the two boys felt had shrunk into a bravado that was skeletal. They gave an apprehensive look over the low wall that separated them from a darkening graveyard. Stunted headstones grew crooked out of the grass, like a giant’s scattered teeth. Beyond, the church rose like a huge cloaked magician with the arch of the door in a petrified scream and the steeple pointing like an accusing finger at the blackening heaven. The only light that broke the shadowy face of the church was that of a solitary street lamp. Gloke and Waddle looked at each other and simultaneously guffawed. Although neither boy would admit to the other that he was afraid, they nevertheless stood huddled together. Waddle said,

‘Wot's up Gloke - scared?’

‘Who me? No not me.’ replied Gloke, feigning surprise at Waddles accusation. He started to whistle. After a minute had past he said, ‘Who me? I'm alright. There's nothing wrong with me’. He took a sidelong glance and saw that Waddle was smirking. Gloke adopted the same expression. They smirked at each other for a full minute before Waddle said,

‘You've gone all white.’

‘No I 'aven't,’ retorted Gloke his face taking on a sneer, ‘you’re the one who didn't want to come; if it wasn't for me and Mac, you'd be dead frightened to do nothing.’

Waddle, struck dumb, turned away as if he was disgusted and not defeated. Gloke was about to continue his accusations when he thought he heard a sound from the graveyard. He looked around at the pale slabs, but only silence crept back. Gloke's pulse quickened. The moon came out from behind a cloud and for a moment dimly lit the graveyard with an eerie green glow then skulked back leaving the scene even gloomier than before. The boy glanced up and down the deserted road.

‘I wish Mac would hurry up.’ he said placing his hand on Waddle's shoulder. Waddle jumped, then shrugged off Gloke's hand.

‘You alright?’ said Gloke

‘Course I'm alright!’ snapped Waddle still smarting from Gloke's insinuation. ‘I'm not scared or nothing. I'm cold that's all. It's dead draughty here.’

He began hopping on the spot. Gloke looked up at the trees. Not a leaf moved. He decided not to mention that there was no draft, he wanted to placate Waddle who was prone to sulk if slighted and Gloke did not relish silence just now.

‘Yeah I think you right. I'm feeling a bit...’ This time he definitely heard a sound. Something scraping.

‘Did you hear that?’ said Gloke involuntarily clutching Waddle's arm.

‘Yeah. It came from over there.’ said Waddle indicating a large blackened gravestone off to the left. The two boys moved closer together as they peered apprehensively at the area around the black slab. An owl hoot came from the still trees.

‘What's that!’ spluttered Gloke.

‘It's only a bloody owl’ said Waddle as the bird hooted again. Waddle felt a sense of superiority because Gloke had been scared by the owl hoot. He had remained calm; he was in control, which proved he was better than Gloke. A luminous face slowly surfaced over the top a gravestone. With yellow light crawling over its chin and cheekbones and it’s eyes sunk in hollow sockets, the face slowly swung from side to side like a charmed snake. The mouth of the horrible vision opened and a low moan drifted across the graveyard. Waddle screamed, violently pushed Gloke to one side and ran off. Gloke fell to the ground striking his head hard on the wall. He curled up groaning, then stopped and listened. He heard a scrape and a thud, as if someone or something had leapt over the wall and landed on the pavement. Footsteps approached and the boy tensed. A hand clutched his collar and a familiar voice said,

‘You berk.’

‘Mac!’ cried Gloke uncurling and looking up. McAuliffe placed a torch under his chin, lit it and reproduced the ghoulish face.

‘I knew that's how you did it,’ said Gloke getting to his feet. ‘I knew it was you all the time. You really frightened Waddle though. Did you see 'im run?’

McAuliffe gave Gloke a sneering look and the boy lowered his small head.

A visitor to the room would not immediately sense that anything was amiss. Except for the dust and untidiness a visitor might think it an unexceptional room. Only after he had time to properly observe would he begin to think that there was something wrong. Gradually a sense of unease would settle, yet he would be unable to explain precisely the cause. The atmosphere of the room would slowly infect his heart like contagion.

The grandfather clock that cowered in the corner struck ten. The clock chimed with dull soft clangs as if the mechanism was suffering from a disease, each strike slow and deliberate like a death knell. The sound dully reverberated in the shadowy light like the heartbeat of dying giant. On one moist wall hung a painting that depicted a summer landscape, but it was so layered with dust that it seemed like the scene was smothered in a thick fog. It, like all the other paintings that hung in the room, had once shone with colour, like the face of a healthy child, but now all were decayed like the face of a forgotten prisoner. No light fell upon the paintings save for the steady yellow glow of candlelight. Not even moonlight was allowed to bless this vile room, for thick curtains covered the windows as a veil might cover the face of a disfigured woman.

The girl who sat strapped in a high-backed chair was no visitor, for that implied consent - she had been dragged here. Julie's body ached from her ordeal. She tried to resettle herself, but the cushion on which she sat was brutally uncomfortable as if were padding in it had coagulated into knots. The leather covering of the chair was rough like parched skin and harshly rubbed the back of her bare legs. The beaten girl looked across at the brutish face of the bald man who sat opposite her.

Upon the man's thin lips sat a disdainful smile as if he were a hungry man about to eat a too small meal. His sharp flint nose flared as if inhaling the aroma of fine cooking and his black eyes ravenously inspected the girl. He ran a finger down his cheek. Julie noticed with repulsion that not only was the finger extra ordinary long, but also the hand from which it extended was otherwise a stump. A hand with no other fingers, save a long worm-like index.

‘Are you in pain?’

Julie did not answer. He looked up at a chandelier that dripped with dusty crystal and ran his finger across his throat. He slowly returned his attention to Julie, eased his small frame out of his chair and stood over her. She coiled away from the putrid smell that oozed from him. It was a smell like mildew and exotic perfume, an unholy mix of decay and sweetness, like the corpse of a whore. Julie fought not to vomit. He gripped the back of her head and bent towards her. The terrified girl shut her eyes. She felt something lightly touch her cheek and move slowly along her broken jaw to her mouth. She tried to struggle as he pushed his finger between her lips. The tip settled on her gum and the girl strained. For a moment Julie and her oppressor remained still.

Conrad’s research of the Neolithic sites in the area before the trip had brought the teacher no more than general instruction. He decided to visit the local vicar whose knowledge of the parish records might be able to provide information on the town in general. After the scene with Joe Pickles he had been left little time. He was pleased to find the vicar outside the vicarage. The vicar was in heated conversation:

‘Plants do not up root and walk away on there own Mr Wyndham,’ admonished the vicar to one of the workmen.

‘Well none of my boys have took 'em.’

‘Excuse me vicar,’ said Conrad, ‘I'm sorry to interrupt but I haven't much time. I wonder if I might have a word?’

The vicar turned to look at Conrad, ‘Yes what is it?’

‘I hope I haven't come at an inconvenient moment but...’

The teacher quickly explained the purpose of his visit and the vicar reluctantly agreed to spare him ten minutes, and after a reproachful look at the foreman, took Conrad into the vicarage.

‘Is Belas Knapp the largest mound around here?’ asked Conrad after explaining who he was and the purpose of his visit.

‘It is strange that you should ask that, because there is a local legend about a bigger mound. Nothing has ever been discovered however,’ answered the vicar.

‘Oh?’ said Conrad intrigued.

‘As you might be aware, although there are other structures they are of a simple nature: no more than a few stones. But local stories, myths if you like, talk of a Long Barrow much larger than that at Belas Knapp.’

‘Larger! But surely such a site would have been discovered long ago.’

‘No, not necessarily. Remember that to do a search, let alone a dig, can only proceed with the permission of the Landowner and if that is not forthcoming...’

‘I don't understand. Surely the historical importance of such a find would supersede any territorial claims?’

The vicar smiled and said, ‘This is England, Mr Conrad, land ownership is sacrosanct.’

‘Who owns the land around here?’

‘Well as far back as records go most of the land hereabouts belongs to the Kraal family.’

‘But surely they can be approached. They must realise that they owe a duty to historical research.’

‘Not everyone shears your enthusiasm. Anyway there is no such family.’

‘No family but I thought you said...’

‘The name of the landowner is Kraal. Bit of a mystery really. Rarely seen. I've only met him once. Odd sort, but then the English are known for their eccentrics are they not? There doesn't seem to be a family as such. I mean not in the usual sense, not actually living at Kellstone Manor. Never has been as far as I can discover. It seems that a single member of what must be admittedly a very long line has always occupied the house. Always a male and whenever he passes away another son, or nephew perhaps, turns up to claim the inheritance.’

‘Strange,’ said Conrad,

‘Yes, but all perfectly above board. The Kraal records go back further than any other around here.’

‘You mentioned a larger mound. A myth?’

‘Yes. Just a local tale really. It is said that anyone who discovers it will be blessed with great wealth.’

‘Surely that's an incentive to search?’

‘There's more Mr Conrad. A curse. Anyone who enters the mound will be turned to stone.’

‘That's ridiculous!’

‘Well, as I say it is just an old, old story. Now if you will excuse me I must attend to these workmen.’

Conrad thanked the vicar, saying that he too had some supervising to attend.

By nine o’clock the following morning Conrad had all the boys assembled in the hotel lounge. His visit to the vicarage he felt had served only to deepen his ignorance about local history and he now felt irritable as he administered to the crowd of boys. Joe Pickles had not yet arrived from the garage with the coach and Conrad was angry to be kept waiting. He had hoped to be boarded and away by now. He also hoped another incident with Pickles would not ensue. The incident concerning Waddle last night had upset him enough.

A police officer had brought Waddle back to the hotel late. The boy had should have been in bed. Waddle had been distraught and had mumbled something about a ghost, but neither the police officer, nor Conrad could get any sense out of the boy. The constable had told Conrad that he had been on his beat when Waddle came flying round a corner and had run into him. The boy was hysterical but the police officer had managed to get the name of the hotel from him. The policeman started rambling about how he thought it queer that the boy was staying at the hotel. The manager, Mr Meadows, had only told him late last night that his daughter Julie had not returned from a visit to a friend. Conrad, while listening to the officer, had a horrible feeling that the trip was going to be one disaster after another. It was going to be another farce and later when he had by chance caught McAuliffe and Gloke sneaking in through the lobby, the teacher was sure that the trip was doomed. Yet despite a restless night, he was determined not to give into foreboding; he resolved to overcome. He was tired of being ruled by the cruel fate, he must assert his own will. He must lead! So it was in that frame of mind that Conrad faced the boys. In order to gain good behaviour from children you must be firm; you must set a good example. He saw McAuliffe about to throw a crushed napkin across the room. Conrad took off his shoe and threw it at the boy. It missed, but made McAuliffe and the other boys gasp,

‘Fetch back my shoe Gloke!’

Gloke aghast at Conrad’s act stood shocked still. The rest of the boys were also dumbfounded into silence. Conrad repeated his order and Gloke obeyed. McAuliffe looked on struck between bafflement and anger. Gloke handed over the shoe and received a sharp twist of his ear as a reward for his obedience. Conrad put on his shoe and said,

‘You will no doubt remember what I told you about Neolithic people?’

‘Who?’

Conrad looked impatiently around for the source of the voice ‘Who said that?’

‘Me sir,’ said a thin reedy voice just below Conrad’s line of vision. The teacher looked down. It was Cramble. The memory of the boy being sick on the coach the previous day evoked an expression of disgust on Conrad face.

‘Neolithic, Cramble. Don't you remember? I told you all about the Neolithic people in history classes. I've been telling you all about them for the past three months. Surely you remember?’

‘No sir,’ said Cramble unwrapping a toffee.

‘Well you bloody well ought to remember! I can only conclude that you have not been paying attention in class and therefore I have no alternative but to think of a suitable punishment. If you were not so busy cramming your face with sweets you might learn something! Give me that toffee!’ He snatched the sweet from the boy. Cramble flinched. ‘Perhaps you would like to share the reason with the rest of the class why not one iota of information has seeped into that head of yours? Come on speak up. Let us all hear.’

‘I've been in hospital.’

A flood of remorse rushed over Conrad as he suddenly remembered that Cramble had indeed been in hospital for the past month for some condition or other. He handed back the sweet. ‘Oh I see,’ he said feeling his face flush, ‘I hope that it was not too uncomfortable a time for you Cramble - old chap.’ A weak smile flickered on Conrad’s face.

‘It was 'orrible sir,’ said Cramble weakly.

‘What was it that was wrong with you? I seem to have misplaced the cause.’

‘Toofache. All me teef rotted.’

Conrad snatched back the sweet. He closed his eyes for a moment took a deep breath and resumed his attention to the class.

‘As I was saying you will remember - some of you - that it was the Neolithic people who we believe constructed the Long Barrow at Belas Knapp. It was built some three or four thousand years ago. The purpose of the mound, the barrow as it is sometimes referred to, was to lay the dead - yes a tomb. Today we are going to visit a tomb. It is a very ancient tomb, which is a mystery beyond anything that you have every known. Boys, we are going on an adventure back in time.’

A murmur of approval went around the room. Conrad smiled, pleased at the reaction. He put up his hands to quell the murmuring, ‘Long Barrows are easily recognised by their distinctive shape. They look rather like an elongated hill, a small hill that has been stretched out. I think someone said that a Long Barrow looks like a boat buried up side down?’

‘That was me sir!’

Conrad smiled at Billy Baddie. He was sitting by the window with Roy Chandler.

‘Ah it was you was it Baddie? Well done. Very descriptive,’ Conrad felt his spirits rise. He was beginning to feel better about the trip again. Yes, things are going to be all right, ‘The countryside around here holds several megalithic structures of which the Long Barrow is only one example. As you remember a megalith is a large slab of stone that was used by Neolithic man to build burial places. It is believed that the Neolithic people lived about four thousand years ago, but we have no written records of course, mainly because writing was not invented then.’ Conrad overheard McAuliffe say,

‘Weren't bovvered wiv spelling then - lucky buggers.’

Conrad decided to ignore the remark. ‘Much of our information about the Neolithic age is hypothetical - guesswork in other words. However, we can quite accurately date the structures by a process called Carbon Dating. All organic things, living things, absorb carbon from the atmosphere. The carbon goes through a chemical change when it is absorbed, it changes to Carbon dioxide: which is what we all expel into the air when we breathe out. However, the moment we stop breathing - when we die, when any living thing dies - the carbon left in our bodies, or say in the wood of trees, for trees are living things are they not? The carbon becomes trapped. It cannot escape because the dead body no longer functions. Now the trapped carbon...’

‘Sir! If I hold my breath then, would I trap the carbon inside me?’

‘Not normally Cramble, but in your case the carbon would stick to all the toffee you eat.’

The class rang with laughter and Conrad felt pleased with himself. He went on,

‘You would have to be dead for the carbon to become trapped. Once a living entity is dead the carbon or to give it it's proper label - Carbon 14 - starts to decay. The decay takes place at a fixed rate, that is to say that it neither slows nor quickens but stays at a constant speed. This speed can be measured just like we can measure the speed of a car. Carbon 14 has a half life of about five thousand years.’

A murmur of surprise went around the room.

‘Yes a long time. It takes all that time for a quantity of carbon, whatever that amount is, to half decay. Then we can say that half the life of the carbon is over and it has another half to live, so to speak. Now the second half decays at the same rate as the first half, which means that it too takes five thousand and, I believe, seven hundred years? After all that time has passed the carbon still has another half life, which again takes the same amount of time.’

‘I wish he 'ad an half life.’ said McAuliffe to Gloke and they both started to giggle.

Conrad was so enthused by his subject that he took no notice, nor did he care if the majority of the boys understood what he was saying. He was enjoying himself. He went on,

‘After about sixty thousand years, the amount of carbon left is so small that it cannot be measured. After that we cannot date anything with accuracy.’

Thinking that Conrad had finished the boys breathed a collective sigh of relief, but the teacher went on, now oblivious to the general mood. Roy seated by the window heard a vehicle draw up outside and he turned to look. It was a police car. Two men got out of the car. One was Mr Meadows. Roy noticed that he looked very distressed. Conrad droned on ‘.... the larger structures are...’. As Mr Meadows walked into the hotel with the police driver another vehicle drove past. Roy saw two men inside the jeep as it cruised by. The driver looked out of his open window at Mr Meadows and the police officer. The driver had a long scar down his cheek and as he scratched the scar his skin pulled down his lower eyelid and grotesquely exposed his eyeball. The eye swivelled and looked directly at Roy. The boy, startled by the sudden attention, quickly drew back his face from the window.

‘...is where we are visiting today.’ concluded Conrad.

The delight for which Conrad had hoped never materialised. Instead the boys gave a general murmur of relief. The door of the lounge opened and to everyone’s surprise a police officer entered. He looked around, saw Conrad and said,

‘Excuse me for interrupting sir but I wondered if I might 'ave a word with you?’

‘Yes of course officer,’ said Conrad. His heart quickened at the thought that one of the boys had caused some sort of trouble, ‘boys remain here until I return - and no noise!’ He cast a pointed look at McAuliffe as he left the room.

As Conrad closed the door of the lounge he saw Meadows come in through the open door of the kitchen: the manager looked tired and drawn.

‘He's 'ad a bit of a rough night sir,’ whispered the constable as they neared the kitchen, ‘his daughter hasn't been home all night and he's very worried about her you understand. We've been up most of the night searching for her.’ He leaned close to Conrad and in a conspiratorial manner said, ‘probably with a chap - you know what these youngsters are like nower day’s.’ He winked. Conrad almost winked back but managed to just nod. He was relieved that the matter had nothing to do with his boys.

‘I don't see how I can help officer.’ said Conrad not pleased that his excursion might be further delayed.

‘Well seeing as like your a' teacher an all I thought that you would know what these 'ere youngster get up to - especially these 'ere young girls.’ The constable winked again. Conrad became annoyed with the officer's insinuation. He said coldly

‘I do not know. If she has a boyfriend why don't you go and check with 'im - I mean him.’

‘Well I didn't say she 'ad a boyfriend did I?’ The policeman stiffened in reaction to Conrad’s tone

‘In fact I don't think she 'as a bloke. Not official like.’ He went again to lean close, but Conrad's disapproving look stopped him. Instead he adopted an official tone

‘I had cause to bring 'ome one of your lboys last night, sir. He was in a bit of a state. Any idea why? He didn't make much sense last night.’

‘Your not seriously suggesting that Waddle has anything to do with the girl's disappearance?’

‘Just eliminating sir, just eliminating,’ said the constable raising himself up onto his toes, ‘some of these young lads nowadays get up to some tricks I can tell you,’ He again became conspiratorial, ‘why, there was this case over Kersoe way where this young lad got 'old of this girl and...’

‘Yes I'm quite sure he did,’ interjected Conrad quiet disgusted by the police officer’s lecherous manner, ‘kindly tell Mr Meadows that I hope that his daughter returns soon. I'm sure that she'll pop up at any time now. I'll certainly keep an eye out for her.’

The policeman's eye’s narrowed, ‘You got 'n eye for the girls then, 'ave you sir?’

The sound of a large vehicle roaring to a stop outside caused Conrad to suppress his outrage at the police officer’s suggestion. He turned and through the main door of the hotel saw Joe Pickles spit out of the driver’s cab.

‘Excuse me officer but I have to get my boys on board the coach.’

The teacher brushed past the police officer, walked over to the lounge and opening the door called to the boy's to single file to the coach. The first boy had not crossed the reception area when Joe bellowed from the entrance

‘Fucking coming or not! I 'ain't got all day.’

Conrad blushed at Joe's expletive and, after a moment of embarrassment, the boys started to giggle.

‘Mr Pickles!’ said Conrad ushering the file of boy's to the coach, ‘there really is no need for that kind of language,’ He saw anger flare in Joe's eyes and qualified himself, ‘I mean well really Joe. It's not very nice is it: not in front of the children anyway.’

Joe ignored the teacher; he had seen the police officer. ‘What are you looking at big nose’?

The officer spluttered, but he clearly did not want to get involved with Joe either. He knew that you just could not win with old people.

‘You had better tell your friend sir,’ he said to Conrad, ‘that his manner has been noticed.’ With that the policeman quickly turned and slipped into the kitchen closing the door.

The coach passed the sign to Belas Knap. The mound could just be seen on the hill ahead and Conrad pointed to it. He felt pleased that they had arrived without further incident and looked forward to touring the Long Barrow with the boys, all of whom seemed to be interested, pointing and commenting as they were going. Joe turned the coach onto a side road that led to a parking space at the bottom of the rise that lead the mound. Joe watched as the group ascended the hill, then settled back for a smoke and a long rest.

A large megalith stood in front of the Long Barrow and Conrad gathered the boys beside it. The slab's wide surface faced the group like a blank page from some enormous book. The stone jutted out of the ground at an angle. It was vertical to the slope of the hill and seemed to defy the natural contours of the general landscape. It stood like a sentinel at the gates of a city. The teacher and his pupils looked at the slab in silence.

‘Placed here long ago by Neolithic man for reasons inexplicable and remote,’ said Conrad almost to himself. He looked at the slab as if expecting it to reply. All were impressed. All, except one. McAuliffe slipped behind the stone and took out a piece of chalk.

‘You notice that there is no writing on the surface,’ said Conrad as he rubbed his hand over the stone, ‘unlike say, the Egyptians, who carved their writing upon monuments. We can only imagine what wisdom, what knowledge, what insights we would have gained if Neolithic man had carved their language, but alas the men who erected this stone had not the ability to write’

‘Yes they did!’

The voice came from behind the slab. Conrad annoyed at the interruption looked behind the megalith and saw Cramble. The boy was excited and pointing to the bottom of the slab. The teacher felt a rush of excitement. Could he be mistaken? Had a man left a mark all those thousands of years ago? Perhaps a sign that no one else had noticed all these years and that he was about to discover. Conrad walked round the slab to Cramble. At first he could not see to what the boy was referring - then he saw it. Written in chalk was the word,

Conrad’s face drained.

‘What does it say sir?’ asked Cramble peering at the scrawl. ‘Is it a message?’

Conrad did not answer. He closed his eyes in exasperation and quietly said,

‘Who is responsible for this desecration?’

Cramble struggled to articulate the word scratched on the slab, ‘Ballcocks!’. What's that mean? Ballcocks? Clocks! That's it! The stone is a clock. You tell the time by it! It's like a sundial. It's big enough init, blimey those Niggerlites must 'ave been blind.’

‘Shut up Cramble,’ snapped Conrad. He looked around at all the faces. Some looked quizzical, some were grinning, but only one was struggling to hide his mirth. McAuliffe was shaking on the brink of bursting into laughter.

‘This stone has stood here for thousands of years undesecrated untouched untainted - until now. Until you come along McAuliffe. Get back to the coach this moment and stay there until we return. And you Waddle, you too Gloke! I'm sick of the sight of you!’

Waddle and Gloke looked at each other mystified. McAuliffe unable to control his laughter any longer burst in to a fit. His two sidekicks were baffled. As they followed their master down the hill they kept looking back shamefaced.

‘Cramble, wipe off that word.’

‘Wipe it off sir?’

‘Yes, Cramble. It's only chalk. The rest of you boy's follow me up to the mound.’

Conrad led them to the forecourt between the two horns of the Long Barrow.

‘You will see that these two slabs are the same as the other one. These are so arranged to give the impression of an entrance. However this is not the Barrow's real entrance. That is about halfway along the side of the mound. This is what is known as a false entrance. It was made, we assume, to dupe potential robbers of the chambers inside the mound.’

The boys inspected the stones as Conrad went on with his explanation. As he did so he wandered along to the real entrance. Outside he stopped and said:

‘Those of you who remembered to bring torches, get them out of your bags now.’

The teacher produced a large flashlight and switched it on. He shone the beam into the dark entrance lighting up the interior. Then bending low to avoid the supporting lintel, he went in.

‘Come along. Be careful not to hit your head. Gather round me - don't push at the back, you'll all get a chance to see inside. OK that's enough! The rest of you wait outside for your turn. Now you six gather round and follow the beam of my torch down the passage way, between the chambers.’

Conrad looked into the first chamber. He let two of the boys in for a look.

‘It's like a cabin on a ship in' it sir?’ said Billy Baddie peering into the chamber.

‘Yes I suppose it is,’ said Conrad his voice echoing, ‘but these chambers were used for a very different purpose. No one lived here.’

‘Then what did the Niggerlits people use them for sir?’ said Cramble who had caught up and pushed his way to the front.

‘Don't you remember your lessons Cramble? No of course not – you were in hospital. They used to lay their dead in here.’

The boy stopped chewing and looked ill. The other boys nervously giggled.

‘There are no dead bodies in here now though sir, are there?’ said Billy.

‘No, of course not. The skeletons and dispersed bones that were found when the site was excavated were taken away for study. You will have noticed just how low the roof is. Most of you can walk upright, but as you can see I have to bend to get about. This may give us a clue how tall Neolithic man was. By the bye, the word 'Neolithic' means simply 'New Stone'.’

‘How can it be new if it's all that time old sir?’ said Billy following Conrad along the passage.

‘The words 'neo' and 'lithic' are ancient Greek. I suppose they simply meant freshly excavated stone. However, as I was saying, a structure like this was a great achievement in those days. Try to imagine the affect on those who saw it for the first time. People who lived in small huts made of wood and mud. They must have been awe struck. Just as we are when we see a skyscraper. Even today the skill is very impressive. Look how well those slabs are levelled and plumbed, and notice how those small stones are used to underpin the slabs, and see how well how well they have been rebated at the corners?’

Outside Roy was waiting to enter the Barrow. He was looking down the hill at a clump of bushes on the left-hand side of a field when something caught his eye. Had the branches moved? There was no wind, not even a light breeze. Besides, the branches seemed to have moved quickly, as if someone was moving amongst them. He continued observing for a while, but no further movement came. Then a couple of the boys emerged from the barrow and Roy went in.

Conrad was still talking, ‘...there is no written record. The skills employed to build this Long Barrow had measurably improved to those used to build huts. Unfortunately nothing is directly known about the ideas that inspired the building in the first place. We can only guess.’

The boys hardly listened to Conrad as they crept from chamber to chamber whispering and giggling at their own imagination. Their voices grew louder and their giggles became nervous laughter.

‘OK, quiet down. We need a little order. Everyone out!’

Roy had reached the furthest chamber when Conrad started ushering the boy's out. With them went the light from the torches and Roy was left in darkness mellowed only by the daylight from the far entrance. He did not follow but stood in the darkness. It seemed to envelop him like a warm blanket; it soothed him and made him feel content. Just standing in the friendly dark, in an atmosphere that reminded him of - what? His mind slowly became aware of something near, something in the chamber next to him. He felt in the dark gloom for the chamber opening. He bent and peered into the blackness. He sniffed the air. He could smell the earthy odour of the barrow itself, but also, a fresher smell. In the darkness of the chamber something darker moved.

Conrad stepped back into the passage to check that no one was left inside. In the dim gloom he saw a shape.

‘Who's back there?’ said Conrad as he made his way down the passage. He thought he could detect the faint aroma of honey. He scanned the darkness. There was something wrong about the way the shape stood in the dark. The hairs on the back of Conrad's neck bristled and he wished he had not let Cramble carry his torch. The shape did not move. It did not go towards him or answer him as he expected. It remained silently present. Conrad had the uneasy feeling that he was somehow - intruding. He crept forward. Then he recognised who it was:

‘Chandler! Are you all right?’

The boy did not answer. Instead he lowered his body and made to enter a chamber. Conrad thought the movement strange - it was done without hesitation and without any acknowledgement that he, Conrad, was present. The teacher caught the boy by the arm and pulled him upright. Roy suddenly seemed to become aware of Conrad’s proximity and he slightly flinched:

‘Oh hello sir,’ he said, ‘I felt a bit funny.’

‘I see,’ said Conrad with a tone of relief, ‘ You’re a little nervous that’s all. I am surprised, but we all get afraid of the dark from time to time. This place is a bit spooky isn't it? You, of all people. Well don't worry I won't say a word to the others.’

Conrad dipped and glanced into the chamber. The interior was totally black. He could not see even the dimmest of reflections off the rock, ‘Should have brought my torch. Come on let's join the others’

When Conrad emerged with Roy he was eager to keep attention on the lesson and not have the value of the trip reduced to mere fun. Some of the boys had climbed up the side of the mound.

‘You lot! Come back down here. Right, now that you know that all the chambers are the same, there will be no need to scramble from one to the other. I will allocate several of you to a chamber, in which you will stay and take notes. My voice carries well inside so you have no excuse about not hearing me. Now line up.’ As the boys scrambled to form a single file Conrad turned to Roy and with a wink loudly said: ‘You stay out here Chandler and keep an eye out for Mr Pickles. He may come up to see me.’

Billy sauntered up to Roy and stood beside him. Conrad ushered the boys into the mound and then entered himself. Billy nudged Roy and gestured that they climb to the top of the mound. Roy nodded and they went up.

At the top they had panoramic view of the area. A ditch ran below the top hedge of the field they were in. Half way along the ditch stood a large slab about the size as the one at the mounds false entrance. The two boys gazed around at the whole valley.

‘ Never seen a park as big as this,’ said Billy.

‘No,’ agreed Roy, ‘a park is just a little bit of countryside; this is the real thing. It’s grand,’ said Roy taking a deep breath. Billy followed suit, breathing in and letting out a loud sigh.

‘I'm hungry. Want a sandwich? Me Granny made them,’ said Billy reaching into his shoulder bag. He handed Roy two thickly sliced pieces of bread spread with butter, ‘The meats fallen out.’ Billy said handing Roy the thin slices. Roy smiled and after placing the beef between the bread took a large bite. They sat down and ate in silence while surveying the landscape.

Roy was still a little shaken by what had happened in the mound. Was it real or a hallucination brought on by the smell and darkness of the mound? He took another bite of the sandwich. From far off came the sound of dogs barking.

‘Look!’ shouted Billy.

Roy followed in the direction of Billy's pointed finger. At first he could not see what his friend was excited about, then he saw riders. They were galloping from behind a cluster of trees four or five fields away down the Valley. About a hundred yards in front of the first rider ran a pack of dogs strung out across the field.

‘You see them,’ said Billy jumping to his feet.

‘Yes. I think it's a hunt.’

‘A ‘unt? What do you mean - a ‘unt? What are they ‘unting?’

‘A fox I suppose.’

‘A fox? Where?’ said Billy running half way down the mound.

Roy scanned the field ahead of the hounds. ‘There!’

‘Where?’

‘There, crossing the next field, in front of the dogs. See it? You can just make it out. There!’

‘Oh yeh! I see it. It's coming this way.’

‘Come on fox run for it!’ said Roy.

‘What? You want it to get away?’ said Billy unsure.

‘I hope it does.’

‘Why? Won't that spoil things?’ said Billy frowning.

‘It will for the hunters I suppose, but think of the poor fox. What'll happen to it when all those dogs get hold of it? Horrible.’

‘Yeah, but don't they eat it? The ‘unters? Make a sandwich?’

‘No. They don't eat it. All that happens is that they kill the thing; the dogs rip it up. There must be what twenty hounds there. Think of all those teeth.’

Billy set off down the hill running as fast as he could, shouting: ‘Come on foxy! Over 'ere foxy!’ Roy gave chase and the two boys ran to the edge of the field scrambled through a hole in the hedge and set off across the next field. The sound of a horn came from ahead.

As they neared the middle of the field Roy saw the clump of bushes that he had been looking at earlier. Something pale jumped out. It ran across the far edge of the field and made swift climb up a tree. The two boys stopped running.

‘What was that?’ cried Billy, ‘did you see that Roy? What was it - a squirrel? It went up that tree.’

‘I don't know what it was. Funny looking squirrel I'd say,’ puffed Roy as the two boys neared the edge of the field between the bushes and the trees. Suddenly the fox was looking at them. It had slipped through the hedge and stood rooted with alarm in its eyes. Roy and Billy looked back breathlessly at the fox. The barking of the hounds came nearer and Roy thought he could hear the fall of horse hooves.

Terrified, the fox wrenched itself from the thorny hedge and made off towards the clump of bushes and trees in the corner of the field. Frightened by both the swift approach of the two boys and the closing hounds, the fox ran for its life. The lead hound tried to jump the hedge but it fell back. A cacophony of barking and squealing went up as the rest of the dogs all tried to get through the gap at once. Billy and Roy both rushed down the hill, checking their speed they veered off after the fox.

At the bushes surrounding the trees the fox stopped. It sniffed the air looked round and saw the boys hurling towards it. Billy, waving his arms to head the fox off, looked like a whirling dervish. The fox hesitated. Two of the hounds broke through the hedge. The fox vanished between the bushes. Billy, unable to slow his onward rush, crashed through the branches. Roy immediately behind caught his foot and fell headlong. Both boys saw the pool of creamy stuff before they fell in to it.

At first Roy thought that someone had spilt a large pot of honey. The stuff was creamy, like honey and had the same consistency and smelled the same.

‘Phew! Smell that?’ said Billy raising himself to his feet, ‘It's all over the place. Ug. It’s all down my front’

The substance was also dangling from the branches of a tree, dripping and oozing in long threads that stretched, from thick globs to thin strings, that ran down the bushes and settled on the ground around the roots.

‘A swamp!’ shouted Billy, ‘we've fallen into a swamp!’

‘It's not a ...’ Roy's eyes locked.

The eyes that looked down at him were as big as lanterns and of the brightest blue. Roy felt as if he were looking through two oval gaps that showed the clear summer sky. However, oval patches of sky did not have pupils, nor did they convey such profound sadness, such terrible aloneness. Roy’s heart heaved and his eyes welled with tears as he felt his own isolation and fear. Roy knew that whatever it was that looked at him understood him. The boy wanted to reach up and touch the small creature, but before he could lift his hands the hounds burst through the bushes.

The lead hound, confused by the pungent smell of the gunk-like stuff, floundered. Billy saw the fox abruptly jump out through a gap in the bush. Other dogs ran in and collided with the first. Barking and howling broke out and Roy was snapped out of his mesmerised state.

‘The fox is gone!’ shouted Billy and a sudden flourish in the branches made him look up. Roy followed Billy's gaze and both followed the wake of the creature It swung nimbly swing through the trees and jumped the gap between the trees and the hedge into the next field.

‘It's a monkey!’ cried Billy, ‘It's a bloody monkey!’ He looked around at the sticky substance and said, ‘we're standing in monkey shit.’ An expression of disgust overcame his face.

The hounds tried to run past Roy. Instinctively he barred their way lashing out with his foot he sent one dog reeling and set back two more dogs before the pack turned and ran out the way it had come. Roy and Billy followed. They saw that the pack had caught the sent of something that was running along on the other side of the hedge in the next field. The hounds gave chase.

‘They’re after the monkey!’ called Billy as he made after Roy. He could see a dark shape fleeing on the other side of the hedge.

From the Long Barrow entrance, Cramble and another boy emerged. They had heard the distant shouts and had come out to see what was going on. Behind them came a couple of the other boys. Just then the first of the horses jumped the nearest hedge. One of the horse’s forelegs caught the top of the hedge and the horse tumbled flinging its rider. The boys, amazed at the unexpected sight, cheered.

The pack of dogs had reached the tail of the Barrow, still leaping and barking at the rushing shape on the other side of the hedge. The figure reached the junction where the hedges met and leapt over into the field beyond the Mound. The pack careened, dog colliding with dog, all yelping and toppling into the ditch. Roy seized his chance. He ran ahead of the hounds as they ran along the ditch and reached the megalith just before the first dog leapt the bank to get past the slab. Roy barred the way easily, pushing back down the tired hounds. The thought that the hounds might attack him never entered his head; he knew only that he wanted to give the creature time to escape. The creature was no monkey he was sure of that. Roy had looked into its eyes and he knew that he had seen intelligence and empathy.

‘Chandler! Have you gone raving mad boy!’

Roy shot a glance in the direction of the voice and saw Conrad at the top of the mound, but he took no heed and kept waylaying the dogs. The dogs were mostly jostling and barking at the bottom of the ditch when a blast came from a hunting horn and they all fell silent and still. A rider appeared at the end of the Barrow. He raised the horn and again gave a blast, the hounds responded by running back along the ditch and gathering around the rider. They passed Billy as they went and he yelled,

‘Go on get outta it! Bloody mongrels,’ He walked up to Roy breathing heavily; both looked up at Conrad.

The evening had drawn in and the occupants of 'The Long Barrow' were either relaxing in their rooms or preparing to retire for the night. Roy lay on his bed dozing and waiting for Billy to return from his bath. McAuliffe and his two cohorts had been strangely quite on the coach back, they had not been their usual disorderly selves; instead they had sat silently with sullen expressions. Conrad was particularly puzzled by their repressed mood and he wondered what could have happened to make them so reticent. No one minded of course, least of all Conrad, it made the journey blissfully peaceful as all the other boy's were too tuckered out to cause any disturbance. The only person who was noticeably unaffected by the subdued atmosphere was Joe Pickles. He drove along humming loudly and merrily to himself occasionally raising his hand and patting the driver's sunshade. It was not until Conrad had alighted the boys that he discovered why. He happened to turn and see Joe turn down the sunshade. A machete was tied behind it. Joe looked at Conrad and winked.

As Roy dozed the room slowly darkened. His mind swirled with images. He saw the chamber in the mound and the darkness within slowly curling; he saw Billy astride the fox's back; he saw a huge field blackened with fresh earth. He was standing in the middle of the field and he could smell the pungency of the earth - thick and primal. Before him, stood a large scarecrow wearing a long black coat. The scarecrow had neither mouth nor nose, but two large eyes which gazed into Roy’s. The scarecrow’s eyes filled with tears and the tears ran down the smooth pale face and dripped to the ground changing to molten lava as they fell growing larger and rapidly cooling into rock. Roy had to run to avoid being hit, but the crying scarecrow loomed over him and the rocks rained down.

Roy awoke. For a moment he could not recognise the room and a disturbed puzzlement held him. Then he saw Billy's clothes on the bed beside him and he sighed in relief. He held the fading dream, re-experiencing its power now he knew he was back safe in reality. His indulgence was rudely concluded by Billy running back into the room holding a towel around his waist and dripping wet. His face was a mixture of rage and shame. Roy sat up smiled and said,

‘What happened?’

‘I've been drowned! That's what 'appened! That bloody McAuliffe wasn't it. I was having a bath when 'e burst in - I forgot to lock the door, well I don't never do at home - and 'e grabs me by me legs and wallop’

Roy tried to prevent himself, but he could not help laughing. Billy glared at him ‘Oh that's good init - you start on me too,’ he said indignantly, but nevertheless beginning to smile himself.

‘Wallop! I went right under, thought I'd 'ad it. Wallop!’ He caught the infection of Roy’s laughter and they both roared.

Down in the bar Conrad and Joe were talking to Meadows about his daughter. He was very worried. She had not returned home and he was annoyed that she had not at least telephoned. He complained that she had gone and left him to cope on his own, that he wished her mother were alive, she would give the girl a telling off, and that it was very hard bringing up a child alone. Conrad gave sympathies and, to his surprise, so did Joe. Only when he realised that Meadows, in his concern for his daughter, forgot to charge for the drinks, did Conrad see the motivation for Joe's deep sympathy.

‘I've been out looking for her with the police,’ said Meadows for the umpteenth time, ‘but no luck. If she had stayed with a friend you would have thought she’d have rung. She's been gone over twenty-four hours now. I've tried to bring her up decent since her mother went. It is very difficult you know trying to manage a business and look after a daughter especially now that she's a teenager. I know she gets bored working here with me. Always got her head stuck in one of those silly romance magazines. I don't know, I really don't…’ Meadows suddenly stopped mid-sentence and averted his gaze, ‘Oh, hello Sergeant.’

Conrad and Joe turned to see two heavy set men walk into the bar. They marched together stood to attention and saluted, both smiling broadly. The proprietor wanly smiled back and said,

‘I'm afraid I'm not much in my usual spirits tonight boys. Young Julie has gone missing and...’

‘Gone missing? What do you mean?’ said one of the men with a look of complete puzzlement.

Conrad had a chance to assess the men as Meadows explained the situation. The one who had spoken was dark complexioned, his eyes dark blue and penetrating, Conrad thought that although the man looked concerned his manner displayed a hint of malice. A brutal scar ran down his cheek. The legacy of a violent past Conrad thought. The man's nose was slightly misshapen as if it had taken some knocks - also indicative of a life concerned with violent solutions. Conrad was reminded of a boxer or drill instructor, neither occupation warmed him to the man. The man's companion had the same brutish characteristics. He was blond, shorter and thicker set.

‘Is there anything we can do mate?’ said the blond man and as he reached for a glass, Conrad noticed a tattoo of a scorpion on the back of his hand.

‘No, no thanks,’ said Meadow’s, ‘the police is on to it. If she hasn't shown up within the next twenty four hours they are going to classify her as an officially missing person and organise a wider search.’

‘Could I have the same again?’ said Conrad. He smiled at the two men. They acknowledged him. Their attention, though brief, made Conrad nervous.

‘Oh sorry,’ said Meadows, ‘I'm being rude. Boys, this is Mr Conrad, a guest here with a party of school children and this is his driver, Joe. Sorry I don't know your last name Joe. These are two regulars of mine - friends if I might be so bold - Mr Harris and Mr Willis.’

‘I'm pleased to met you gentlemen,’ said Conrad shaking each man's hand. He could feel the strength beneath, ‘do you work locally? I assume that you're not indigenous.’

Joe guffawed, ‘Hark at 'im. Swallowed a dictionary.’

‘Security. At the manor house,’ said Harris.

‘Kellstone Manor?’ inquired Conrad, his eyes lighting up.

‘There's no other manor house around here,’ said Meadows placing Conrad's beer on the counter.

‘No, of course not. I, er, I wonder if it might not be possible to visit the manor? I'm sure my boy's would love the opportunity to see a real ancestral home.’

‘Not a chance,’ said Willis, ‘definitely no visitors. Our employer is a very private person. As well as peculiar.’ He said the last word more as an aside and Harris flashed him a harsh look. Conrad noticed the quick interchange and wondered what Willis had meant by the word - 'peculiar'. However he was more interested in netting a visit to the manor.

‘Pity. I'd love a chance to see the place myself. How about a tour of the grounds? After all we might find that mysterious undiscovered Long Barrow people around here talk about.’

‘You haven't been talking to the vicar have you Mr Conrad?’ said Meadows ‘Why I've been hearing that story from him for years.’ Conrad told them about the conversation he had had with the vicar. Meadows shook his head

‘I don't care what anybody says I think the story is all a mix up - it's really Belas Knapp they're talking about. Why if there were another Barrow it would have been found long ago. I admit that the manor land is secluded, but it is most unlikely. You two have spent enough time up there, what do you think? Found anything yourself?’

‘A Long Barrow? That's one of those big tombs isn't it?’ said Willis, ‘no, anything that big we'd have seen it. We've patrolled over a fair patch of that land haven't we?’

‘Yes of course we have. That's our job isn't it?’ said Harris. He took a gulp of his beer.

‘Nevertheless I would love to see the manor. A place like that must be full of interesting artefacts -not to mention family heirlooms. No wonder they need security.’

‘Oh yes. The place is full of treasure,’ said Willis smirking.

‘OK, that's enough about the manor. Here let me buy you two gents a drink,’ said Harris putting his hand into his inside pocket

‘Stick your drinks up your arse,’ said Joe. Conrad closed his eyes

‘You’re a mean old sod aren't you?’ said Willis.

‘I was meaner when I was in the Army, and I can still show you two square bashers a thing or three,’ Joe sneered at the two men. They smiled at each other.

‘Now, Joe. We don't want any arguments,’ said Conrad, ‘I'm sure that this gentleman didn't really mean anything.’

‘Gentleman!’ snapped Joe, ‘looks more like a crook.’

‘Now, now, haven't I got enough on my mind, what with my daughter an' all without you creating another scene?’ said Meadows.

‘What do yuh mean - me creating another scene. I've never created a scene in me bloody life - you sheep shagger.’ said Joe.

‘Sheep shagger! Well, I've never been so insulted in...’ gasped Meadows, ‘haven't I got enough troubles with my daughter missing without having to... I never.’

‘Please Joe, it really is improper to call Mr. Meadows such a name,’ said Conrad hardly able to keep a smile off his face. He was outraged at Joe's comment, but despite himself, he found it highly amusing.

Harris and Willis laughed aloud. They put their drinks down and quickly walked out of the bar. Joe scowled.

As Harris and Willis passed the stairs in the hallway outside the bar, three faces peered down at them through the banister rails. McAuliffe, his face agleam, said:

‘Treasure.’

‘Couldn’t have been anything else but a monkey,’ said Billy as he followed Roy across the moon lit field, ‘not with arms and legs that long.’

‘Listen Billy whatever it was, it was not a monkey. I saw in clearly. Monkeys just don't have eyes that big.’

Roy turned on his torch again to check the ground ahead. Billy looked up at Belas Knapp. Except for the sheen of moonlight across the arched grassy back, the mound lay in darkness. It was as if a whale lay asleep covered in a huge blanket. Billy felt nervous. The thought of returning to the interior of the mound at night did not please him.

‘Don't see why we have to come here at night anyhow,’ he said, ‘we can't see anyfing - not hardly. Why can't we come back tomorrow with Conrad? What if ‘e misses us? Not that I'm worried about ‘im. I don't care what he says. No, we're better off without 'im really. He gets in the way don't he? No, were better off with out 'im. I'm glad we come in the dark.’

Roy smiled at Billy's bravado. Why was it so important to return to the Barrow at night anyway? He just felt that it was important to return quickly. He could not explain why to himself. Was it because of what happened in the chamber? The curling darkness and the overwhelming desire to step into it? Roy looked at the Mound. It took little imagination to believe that the huge shape was breathing.

The two boys approached the entrance. Billy looked in, but his torch beam seemed to hardly penetrate the blackness. He shuddered. What lurked within? What awaited them in the dark?'

‘What if the monkey we saw is in there Roy? What if it's not tame?’

Billy looked up to avoid to the blackness of the entrance and comfort himself with a view of the stars. The hump of the mound was silhouetted against the night sky. Billy felt vulnerable - tiny. He turned and gazed across the fields. He saw the hounds chase the fox - the fox trapped - the hounds’ pounce!

‘You all right Billy?’ said Roy.

‘Ah...course I am.’

Billy was comforted by the thought that Roy would take care of him if anything bad happened. To Billy, Roy looked calm and assured. Roy's outward calm belied his inward tremor, although his voice gave no hint of apprehension.

‘You don't have to go in if you don't want to.’ said Roy.

‘What do ya mean?’ said Billy pretending surprise ‘I 'aven't come all this way for nothing ya know.’ Then, afraid that his friend may think him a coward, Billy got ready to enter the mound. He hesitated and looked back at Roy. Roy smiled and walked past Billy into the mouth of the mound. After another glance round at the fields Billy followed.

The torch beam did not reach the end of the passage; the light shone on the nearest slabs and then the passage ran into darkness. Roy spread the light upon the ground. Footprints trod upon footprints. The footfall of visitors lay everywhere, then Roy saw something else. Prints. That looked like the paw marks of a dog.

‘See those tracks?’ said Roy

‘What those dog footprints? What about them?’

‘Mr Conrad said that we were the only visitors here today. He said he got special permission so that we wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone. Those tracks are over ours, that means that whatever made them came after us. The creature we saw might leave tracks like those.’

A sound came from the darkness: a shuffling. With eyebrows raised and mouths drawn the boys looked at each other. After a few seconds silence Billy said,

‘Somefings 'ere.’

‘Ssh!’

Roy stepped forward listening intently. The beam probed the darkness. Roy moved on slowly. The light began to reflect off something on the stones at the end of the passage. It looked as if the slabs had vanes of silver running through them.

‘What's that shining - water?’ said Billy keeping close behind Roy.

‘I don't know. Can you smell that?’

A glutinous substance ran down the slabs covering the entrance to one of the end chambers. The stone lintel dripped with oozing strands that spread like a curtain over the chamber entrance.

‘That looks like the same stuff we fell into,’ said Billy excitedly.

‘Yes it's the same stuff all right. Smells the same too.’

Roy backed up pushing Billy into the opposite chamber. ‘Oy! What ya doing? I bumped me head,’ he complained.

‘Sorry. I'm trying to get back a bit to see if I can shine the light through the stuff into the chamber.’

The ooze was too thick for the light to penetrate. Roy could not see properly into the chamber so he moved forward and wiped the lintel with his hand stopping the flow enough to clear the entrance. Both boys peered into the chamber. Behind Billy a large pair of eyes opened.

Roy and Billy's attention was so fixed on the chamber in front of them, their bodies stiff with apprehension about what they might see, that they did not hear the small creature behind them unfold it limbs and jump. It swung from a corner of the chamber on a thick strand that hung from the middle of the ceiling. It swung close to Billy, almost touching him. Billy felt the back of his neck tingle. He scratched the tingle. The creature swung and nearly touched Billy again. The boy rubbed his neck and turned round. His nose brushed the creature's face. He screamed, pushed past Roy and ran out of the Mound. Roy dropped the torch and ran out after Billy.

Outside Roy grabbed hold of Billy and breathlessly said ‘What, what happened?’

Billy stammered, ‘I saw the thing! I nearly swallowed it. It was right on me. Great big eyes!’

‘All right, let's calm down. Take a breath. You frightened the life out of me.’

They sat on the low stone wall that surrounded the mound and let the cool night air balm them. At last Roy said, ‘We've got to go back in. Come on.’

‘You mad?’ said Billy incredulously ‘that's not a monkey in there - it's a monster!’

‘Look it didn't touch you did it? It's not a monster believe me, I know it, I feel it. Whatever it was it was probably as frightened of us as we were of it.’

‘Were?’

‘Come on, if we don't go back in we'll never know will we. Besides I left my torch in there: I've got to get that back haven't I? Come on Bill,’ said Roy and he stood up.

‘You sure it's not a monster?’

‘I'm sure. I'll look after you; come on.’

They crept back into the mound. The torch lay on the ground it's beam flickering. Roy walked carefully up the passage and picked it up. The light went out. Roy steeled himself and looked back to the entrance. He could just see Billy in the dim moonlight. Roy shook the torch; it flickered but did not light. He reached into a pocket of his trousers and took out a box of matches. He struck one and held up the small flame.

‘Come on Billy, I've got a light.’

Billy cautiously moved towards Roy and reached him before the flame extinguished. Roy struck another match and by its wavering light looked into the chamber where Billy had seen the creature. The tiny circle of flame revealed nothing and the boys moved further in. A thick twine of the glutinous stuff hung from the ceiling. Roy touched it. It was sticky and stiff but swung slightly as Roy pushed it. He raised the light and saw that the stuff was not just stuck to the ceiling but seemed to have merged with rock.

‘It looks like a lump of snot, hanging there like that,’ said Billy with an intonation of disgust

There was a shuffling from the corner. The match went out.

‘Quick quick!’ prompted Billy as Roy struck another match, it ignited and the flame lit a pair of huge eyes. Billy squeaked and Roy gasped dropping the match. He quickly lit another. The eyes were still there, gaping. Billy and Roy looked at a convex image of themselves in the creature’s eyes. Again the match went out. Roy shook the torch and it came on. Exposed by the sudden brighter light the creature drew its forelimbs over its face. Roy’s heart surged. He pointed the beam to the ceiling so not to blind the creature.

‘I don't think it's frightened of us,’ whispered Roy.

‘What is it? It looks more like a spider than a monkey 'cept for its eyes,’ responded Billy.

‘I don't know what it is,’ whispered Roy and for a few minutes they stood looking at the small creature and it crouched looking at them. Then Roy said,

‘Hold the torch Billy, I'll bend down and try to make contact. Don't shine the light at it! Point the beam up or at the floor.’ Billy did as he was instructed and Roy crouched. He held out his hand to the creature hoping the gesture would be interpreted as friendly. A glob of sticky stuff hit Roy in the face. He fell back with a surprised yelp. It felt hot and had an almost overwhelming aroma of honey.

‘It spat,’ said Billy, ‘It spat at you the filthy dirty, gob spitting thing!’

Roy splattered the substance out of his mouth. It did not taste like honey that was for sure. It had a peculiar taste - definitely not honey. The creature sat still as if nothing had happened. Roy was impressed by its calm; it was almost aloof - deliberate. He wiped his face and said,

‘Well you sure got me there, bright eyes.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Billy sniggering. He swung the beam directly into the creature’s eyes. The blue hue immediately deepened into a darker blue, ‘see that?’ said Billy ‘it's eyes changed colour.’

Roy moved in again. He knelt so that his eyes were level with the creatures.

‘OK blue eyes let's get acquainted. My name is Roy and this is Billy,’ he said indicating both of them with his thumb, ‘Billy shine the light here on the ground.’ The beam moved to the small space between Roy and the creature. Roy drew a square in the dirt, then a circle and triangle.

‘What ya doing?’ said Billy.

‘I want to see if he responds to the symbols. If he recognises then or draws them himself, then we'll know that he's intelligent’

The creature looked at the signs. Roy held his breath. The creature leapt to one side grabbed hold of the twine and started to swing about the chamber narrowly missing Billy. As it swung it emitted a loud clicking noise. The sound rose to such a high pitch that the boys had to cover their ears. Billy dropped the torch and it rolled on the ground casting crazy shadows on the walls as the creature swung back and forth and the boys dodged to avoid being hit.

‘It's gone bloody mad. What a row,’ yelled Billy crouching down.

‘Do you know what?’ shouted Roy ‘I think it's playing with us. I think it's laughing!’

‘Don't be daft,’ Billy shouted back as the creature whizzed past, ‘If it's laughing it's got a bloody funny sense of 'umour. It spat at you remember.’

With that Billy received a glob on the side of the head. The boy yelled, wiped the thick stuff off and tried to grab the creature but it avoided his reach by jumping off the vine and scrambled into the chamber opposite. The thick curtain of ooze parted and closed. Billy gave chase.

‘Wait,’ cried Roy but it was too late Billy was out and through the ooze before Roy had stood. Snatching up the torch Roy scrambled after his friend. He reached the melting curtain and slipped through. The whole of the chamber floor was covered in the exuding substance. Roy fell on to his back and began to slide downwards. He frantically reached back and grabbed the edge of the entrance. Once he had a firm grip he shone the torch into the chamber. The floor of the chamber had sunk away; at its centre the once flat surface had sunk into a concave so that now it was now like a large funnel and the ooze moved in a slow spiral to a hole. Billy's legs were caught in the thick adhesion and the boy was being dragged down into the hole. The boy's lower body had completely disappeared. For a moment Roy was completely shocked, but he quickly recovered upon realising that Billy was in danger of being submerged.

‘Billy, reach back and grab my foot,’ he called pushing himself down as far as he could without loosening his grip. At the sound of Roy’s voice Billy stretched up, his face an expression of shock and fear. He struggled frantically to reach back and grab Roy’s foot. Roy felt Billy's fingers brush his shoe. Billy cried out in panic. Then the whole lower half of his body sank. Roy desperately reached out, the rough surface of the rock biting painfully into his hand that gripped the entrance. He watched helplessly as Billy rapidly slipped from sight.

‘No. Oh no. Billy!’

The boy was gone.

Roy felt his strength sap. He let his head fall back into the soft gently flowing gelatine. It pulled at him and in that moment of anguish Roy’s grip slipped and he was dragged down. Jarred from his momentary lethargy, Roy plunged his hands in to the gel struggling to find something solid on which to hold, but he found none. The sweet smell of honey overwhelmed his senses, he felt his will seep away and he was overcome with helplessness. He let go of the torch and as it sank, the light slowly dimming. In the dying light, as he slipped into the rim of the hole, Roy looked up and saw the creature.

It was hanging from a short strand of gel immediately above the whirlpool. The creature's large eyes looked down at Roy as he slid into the orifice. The boy raised his hands to the creature. It’s limbs unfolded and it began to descend. Roy’s shoulders passed under the surface as one of the creature's limbs brushed his fingers. The light faded to black.

‘Help me,’ whispered Roy. Then he held his breath as the gel slid over his upturned face. As he sank he heard the sound of clicking. Roy let his arms drop. He knew that the sound was not a cry of pity, but laughter.

She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat and it came out as a groan. Julie had no idea of knowing how long she had now endured Kraal’s cruelty. He had pressed his long finger on to her fractured teeth prodded and poking her broken jaw and had caused her to pass into unconsciousness many times. Her relief never lasting more than a few minutes before he splashed water over her and jarred her awake. All the time he repeated the same innate question ‘Are you in pain?’ He spoke the words in a seemingly endless variation of inflexion, intonation, dialect, and even language that Julie did not understand; she was incapable of giving an answer. There was no answer. His voice scratched at her nerve ends like long invisible needles. In the beginning, although she could hardly speak through her swollen and blooded mouth, she had begged for mercy, but Kraal had shown no pity - he enjoyed her pain. The girl had been sick several times. The vomit had poured down the girl's front and had caused no discomfort to her tormentor. He had let it flow over his hands as if he relished the warm feel of it, and after she had finished vomiting he continued to poke her mouth with his long slug-like finger. He allowed the tip to pass through the bile on Julie's lips until it found her tender teeth. Now as the candle flames bit into her sore and swollen eyes Julie saw the finger approach again.

‘Pull yourself up,’ rasped McAuliffe.

Gloke was standing on McAuliffe’s shoulders and the weight had become almost unbearable. Gloke slipped his hands over the window ledge and blindly felt his way through the small gap of the open window. He gripped the inner shelf. Pleased with himself, he looked down for approval. He saw Waddle urinating into the ivy that thickly grew on the walls of moonlit Kellstone Manor.

‘Stop pissing about all over the place you skinny beast and give me an hand,’ hissed McAuliffe breathlessly.

‘I can't stop,’ wined Waddle.

‘I'll stop you for good if you don't. I'll cut the blinking fing off! Come an’ lean into my back an' give me some support. Me back's killing me. I'll drop the berk in a minute.’

Waddle felt trapped between his need to urinate and his fear of McAuliffe. Anguish spread across his face. He forced himself to stop urinating and carefully replaced his penis into his creased trousers, as if it were a balloon full of water. Then he went to McAuliffe and pressed hard into his back. At that precise moment Gloke heaved himself up clear of McAuliffe. Thrust into the ivy McAuliffe banged his nose on the wall.

Gloke pushed up the stiff window and climbed in. Without looking around the dark room he turned and poked his small head out of the window. He looked down just in time to see McAuliffe punch Waddle in the groin. Gloke grinned.

‘Take that you twat,’ said McAuliffe.

Waddle’s penis burst. He screamed and struggled to open his fly. A huge spreading wet patch appeared.

‘Gloke,’ called McAuliffe in suppressed pitch. He saw Gloke's head peering over the window ledge like a cherry on the edge of a cliff, ‘do you see anyfing?’

The boy's head disappeared for a moment then reappeared.

‘What?’ said Gloke.

‘Do you see anyfing in the room? Can ya let us in anyplace?’

Gloke, in a whispered tone, said, ‘I don't see no treasure.’ He was glad to see Waddle still hopping about. McAuliffe must have hit him hard.

‘Well you won't, will you, you idiot! The treasures probably hidden. We'll have to search for it. Go to the back an open that door we saw round the back.’

‘What if I get lost? It's dark in 'ere,’ said Gloke with a tremor in his voice.

‘You'll be dark if you don't get a move on!’

Gloke timidly withdrew. McAuliffe turned to Waddle and said, ‘You dirty sod! Pull ya trousers up. What do ya fink your doing?’

Waddle looked up with a forlorn expression, his soaked trousers around his ankles. ‘I'm all wet,’ he said miserably pulling up his sodden trousers and gingerly refitting them, ‘where's Gloke? This is ‘is fault. Wait 'til I get me hands on him, I'll show him wot's it all abat. I'm better than him any day - right Mac? He's a big lump of lard frightened of his own shadow.’

‘Shut up! Listen,’ said McAuliffe. His body was suddenly tense and alert.

The sound of an engine came and went, then came again, louder: it was heading towards them.

‘Oh no,’ said Waddle excitedly, ‘what we gunner do? Let's get outta here. Fuck Gloke, leave him.’

McAuliffe made off for the trees. Waddle felt a surge of urine and had his penis out as the leading drops began. He ran after McAuliffe steering the flow away from his legs.

The vehicle swung wildly as it came up the drive towards the house, it swerved towards the trees where McAuliffe and Waddle were hiding and jerked to a stop. The engine stalled and the muffled sound of men laughing came from the cab. The passenger door slapped open with a screech and a slurred voice said,

‘Willis, you ‘re totally paralytic.’

Harris walked around to the driver’s side and pulled open he door. Willis fell out rolled on to his back and stuck his arms and legs into the air.

‘What am I?’ he said.

‘Stop fucking about,’ said Harris.

‘Na go on - wha'er my?’

‘OK what are you?’

‘A dead elephant.’

Both men laughed, ‘You’re a fucking idiot Willis,’ said Harris bending down to pick up his partner.

‘I fink were'er bof iderots,’ said Willis standing unsteadily, ‘how mush longer we gunner 'ang ran thish piss 'ole?’

‘Until we get what we were promised: a good fat bonus. Kraal is a weird bastard all right, but I think he's on to something here. Why else would he have a fucking mine below the house? He's found something - gold, silver - I don't know, but I'm not moving until I find out.’

Willis stood ridged; he seemed to have quickly sobered up. ‘What the fuck are' you on about? Wha' mine? What you talking about?’

Harris looked slightly embarrassed ‘I didn't tell you. I'd planned to. I just wanted to be sure.’ Willis sat down on a low wall took out a cigarette lit it, took a long drag and said,

‘Well, you'd better tell me now.’

Harris sighed; he had seen the look that Willis had now set on his face and it meant trouble.

‘Listen, I've seen it - the mine or at least the shaft and a glimpse of the tunnels. I followed Kraal one night. You know that he always uses that big door at the back of the main hall? Well I'd often wondered where it led but he always keeps that door locked. This night he forgot. I followed him there's a stone spiral staircase behind that door. The stairs lead down to a huge cellar it must take up a quarter of the house area. That's where I saw the shaft - in the cellar.’

‘Did you go down?’

‘No. I didn't dare risk it. He climbed down and when I saw the light from his lantern dim a bit, I crossed over and looked down. It's not that deep, about a hundred feet I'd say. Well, the shaft is not just a pit, there's a tunnel at the bottom, and it crosses the shaft. When Kraal got to the bottom. He disappeared off into the tunnel. I tell you it's definitely a mine!’

‘But, a mine has to be worked, if there's anything of value. I've never seen any miners 'ave you?’

‘No. But there’s got to be something down there, otherwise why would he bother with it? No. Maybe it's not gold or silver, it's certainly not coal, but I've got a very strong hunch that there's something of value there.’

‘Well think about it for a minute,’ said Willis who now seemed completely sober.

‘Gold has been found in other parts of Britain hasn't it?’ Harris nodded. Both men lit cigarettes and sat smoking in silence for a few minutes.

In the bushes, McAuliffe and Waddle crouched listening and hardly breathing.

Willis broke the silence, ‘Kraal is weird but surely even he wouldn't dig a mine for nothing? I mean he's weird but not that weird.’

‘No? And what about that fucking thing we chased - what was that?’

‘Well, that was some sort of monkey wasn't it? Perhaps he keeps rare animals?’

‘Some sort of monkey that was. Funny looking thing wasn't it? Mind you, so's a kangaroo. He probably keeps it as a pet. Thank God he don't keep snakes. Living on your own all the time, like he does, is bound to send you a bit loopy. I bet he dug the mine himself - on his own I mean.’

‘Do me a favour - no one can dig a mine on their own,’ said Harris

‘Well what about the women we got for him,’ Willis lowered his voice ‘we thought they were for sex but... they can't be the first. Kraal’s been around here for a long time; he's had other security guards why not other women? Plenty of women go missing you know.’

‘Oh come on. We're letting our imaginations run riot. Let's have a quick patrol and then get some kip.’

The two men stood. Harris started the vehicle and parked it in front of the house. Willis walked unsteadily after Harris as they started to patrol.

McAuliffe hesitated until he heard the front door shut and then jumped up, his hand clasped tightly over his nose and mouth. He stepped away from Waddle before

he gasped,

‘You stink! What you done pissed yourself or somefing?’

‘I couldn't help it could I,’ said Waddle gloomily, his face hidden in the shadows.

‘You wanker. I shouldn't have let you come. At least Gloke don't stink and he got into the house. He might have a small head, but he ain’t got a small brain. At least he is useful! All you can do is piss yourself. And I bet he's got that back door open by now. Come on you berk - and watch out for those two blokes.’

McAuliffe ran off and Waddle slouched behind with resentment brewing in his diminished heart.

Gloke had not opened a back door. He was lost. The house was a maze. He had crept along dark passageways, climbed shadowy flights of stairs and descended creepy staircases, peered into gloomy rooms and stood rooted with fear at the slightest sound. Now he sneaked passed a window with a heavy curtain drawn across it. The hallway was dimly lit with candles sparsely placed. He felt terribly alone. He was about to retrace his footsteps and try to find the room by which he had entered the house when he heard the creak of a door opening. The boy took root on the worn carpet. Panic ran about inside him, but he did not move. His heart boomed. The cracking grew louder as the door opened. Panic broke loose and Gloke ran, tripped, fell and crawled under some curtains.

Footsteps sounded on bare floorboards for a moment, then muffled as they fell upon carpet. A heavy door closed. Gloke closed his eyes tightly in anticipation that the footsteps would walk towards him. He felt the billowing dust from the curtains tickle his nose. The treads began to walk away. Gloke breathed a sigh of relief. He waited until he could hear the footfall no more, then pushed aside the curtains and peered down the corridor.

He saw a black, cloaked figure hobbling away from him. He waited until he no longer heard footsteps and then came out from behind the curtains. In a few moments he was outside the door from which the figure had come. Dare he look in? Could it lead to the rear of the house? He put his hand gingerly on the handle, pushed it down and opened the door. He saw a figure sitting in an armchair. Gloke's first reaction was to run, but there was something about the way the figure was slumped forward that made him stop. He saw that it was a girl and that she was bound to the chair with thick rope. The rope had loosened allowing her head and shoulders to sag forward. He could not see her face, which was covered by her matted hair. When she did not turn or make any movement Gloke walked slowly over to her.

Midway between the door and the chair the boy hesitated and glanced back to the hallway. What if the cloaked figure came back? The girl moaned and raised her head. The boy winced at the sight of the badly beaten face. The girl looked at him and moaned again, this time with a sense of purpose. Gloke moved to her and leaned close.

‘Help me,’ Her words were barely whispered.

‘Are you all right Miss?'

The boy felt ashamed, he felt that somehow it was his fault that the girl was hurt. The impulse to run overcame him, but he did not; his heart told him to stay. He would not desert her as he felt people had deserted him; no, he would help her. He never really wanted to hurt anyone, not really, it had just happened. The sight of the girl’s battered face almost made him cry.

Julie looked at the boy. She saw him hesitate and then the pity in his eyes. He was her only chance. If only she could convince him. She watched as the boy took a penknife from his pocket open out the blade and start to cut through the rope.

‘Oh thank, you thank you,’ said Julie as she painfully breathed through her swollen lips.

The rope fell away and Gloke helped the girl to her feet. She was weak, but the boy managed to hold her upright. They shuffled across the room to the door. In the corridor, neither knew which way to go.

‘The person who came out, went that way,’ said Gloke ‘I supposed we'd better go the other way.’

Julie nodded and with Gloke holding her around the waist the two made their way down the hall. Gloke could smell stale vomit, but he could also smell the faint fragrance of perfume. The sweet aroma reminded Gloke of his mother.

Roy woke. His eyelids were stuck together. He rubbed them and a thin layer of film fell away in flakes. He looked around. He was in a tunnel lit by electric bulbs fixed in a cable that ran along the floor. The tunnel went both ways for about sixty feet. One end veered to the right and the other gently curved up. The electric light shone brightly off the walls, which were smooth, though bulbous in places, and cream in colour. A large heap of the gel substance lay under a hole in the ceiling. Gel was still dripping from the hole, but the heap beneath had solidified. Roy guessed that he had been carried down to the tunnel by the flow. Not all of the gel had hardened. It felt like congealing mud. He was about to pick up a handful when the heap moved and a shape emerged. It loomed up squelching and raising its arms. It dripped from head to foot. Roy scrambled away from the oozing form.

‘I've gone blind!’ said the shape.

‘Billy!’ cried Roy jumping to his feet.

‘Roy? That you? I can't open me eyes,’

Roy wiped Billy's eyes ‘you gave me a scare. You disappeared down that whirlpool. Are you all right?’

‘Where are we?’

‘I got dragged down that hole too and now were here,’ Roy pointed to the

hole in the ceiling ‘That's where we must have come out. Luckily we dropped on to this heap, otherwise we might have broken a bone. We must be below the Long Barrow but I don't know how far down we are. It can't be that far because the we’re breathing clean air’

‘I thought I was dead,’ said Billy wiping the substance off his clothes. It was hardening as he did so, ‘we in a cave – or a mine, or what?’

‘I don't think it’s a mine. There's nothing holding up the walls and roof. The walls are smooth like rock worn by water.’

‘Water! It's not a sewer? Rats!’ said Billy alarmed.

‘No, calm down. I don't think it's a sewer either. The fact is I don't know where we are. I do know that we won't get out if you panic.’

‘Panic! I'm not panicking. I tell you what though all this stuff looks like the same stuff the monkey spat at us. Do you think it made the tunnel, like a mole?’

Roy laughed ‘No, well, as I say, I don't know. All I know is that if we don't get out of here and back to the hotel Conrad's going to go mad. We don't even know how long we've been down here. We were both unconscious. Conrad may have search parties out looking for us right now.’ Roy looked up at the hole. ‘We're not going to get out that way.’ The boys stood, silently looking up and down the tunnel.

‘I don't feel very well,’ said Billy, ‘I feel as if I've been swallowed.’ The lights flickered and went out.

Surprised by the sudden darkness, both boy’s panicked and grabbed each other. Their eyes gradually adjusted to the total black and they noticed that the surface material of tunnel had a translucence that allowed enough light, though dim and ghostly green, to see.

‘Can you see Roy?’ asked Billy to confirm his own observation of his friends green face.

‘Yes, just about,’ said Roy standing and helping Billy, ‘let’s follow the cable towards where the tunnel curves upwards; were bound to find a way out. Come on.’

The tubular shape of the tunnel was awkward to traverse and the two boys were forced to walk one behind the other. They had not gone far when their aroused optimism was drowned by an anguished howl and a metallic clatter. The boy’s froze as the echoing wave of sound rushed along the tunnel and sluiced over them.

‘I'll strangle the wanker,’ fumed McAuliffe.

Waddle was secretly pleased that Gloke had not made it to the back of the house. ‘I'll get you both you wait 'an see if I don't,’ he thought as he moodily followed McAuliffe to find another way into the house. He had received a few more slaps as McAuliffe had got angrier waiting for Gloke to show up. Waddle was now on the verge of mutiny. As he trailed further and further behind he decided to wait until McAuliffe was far enough ahead and then run off. That would show him! The chinless boy was deluded enough to believe that his leader could not cope without him. He slowed his step until the distance between him and McAuliffe was sufficient. Oblivious to Waddle’s plan McAuliffe strode on muttering curses. Waddle turned and ran. McAuliffe spun and called,

‘Where you going? Come back!’ When Waddle did not obey, the bully’s look of miffed surprise turned to redoubled anger. He was not going to allow another slave to desert him.

‘You little skinny rat! Wait 'til I get you!’

Waddle heard McAuliffe coming. He knew what would happen if McAuliffe caught him. Fear infused the boy and he blindly careened around a corner. Willis caught the full onrush. The man doubled over and fell with Waddle under him. Although his reactions were slowed by booze Willis grabbed the boy's legs and the two fought furiously.

‘What the hell!’ said Harris as he ran over, ‘where the fuck did he come from?’ He bent to help Willis. As he did, McAuliffe came rushing around the corner and slammed into him. There was a melee of arms and legs and shouts as the men and boys struggled with one another. It took all of Harris’s strength to contain McAuliffe. Willis, while he had to contend with the weaker of the two boys, Waddle was hysterical and stunk. Both men had to apply all their expertise to handle the ferocious duo. Eventually the men overpowered their small foes and Harris was about to question them when he noticed Kraal.

The black-cloaked figure stood silent on the steps like a jailer at the entrance to his keep, assured and secure in his domain. He slowly walked towards the group. His upper body slightly bent at the waist as if he were carrying a great weight. His shoulders hunched. He stopped on the bottom step and beckoned. At the sight of the long finger curling and re-curling Willis shuddered. It was like death beckoning. Harris pushed the two terrified boy's forward.

Kraal regarded the boys with an almost vacant gaze. His face seemed dead. It had no expression. Waddle looked up and the black eyes fell upon him. Waddle's legs buckled and he fell. McAuliffe picked him up and held him tightly. Harris made to separate the two, but with the faintest of gestures Kraal halted him. Harris stepped back. Kraal reached out with his long finger and lifted Waddle's chin. He was not much taller than the boy. He smiled malevolently and his eyes rolled up so that only the whites showed. Waddles head slumped forward onto his chest. Kraal closed his lids and opened them. The black eyes shifted to Harris. The man did not want to speak because his voice may slur with the influence of the drink, but he had to say something.

‘We... we were patrolling the grounds sir and we came across these two roaming around,’ his voice quivered, ‘we, er, think they must have got lost.’

‘The girl?’ said Kraal dropping Waddle’s chin.

‘Who? Oh the girl, we thought she was with you sir.’

Kraal’s eyes held Harris and the man felt as if his skull were being drilled. The ex-soldier used all his skill at appearing cool. Finally just as Harris thought he could not stand the pressure any longer, McAuliffe snorted. Kraal looked at him without moving his head from Harris’s direction. Then he slowly turned his head to face McAuliffe.

‘Are you in pain?’ he said to McAuliffe. The boy smirked and shook his head. His ego had pulled him onto his hind legs. He looked at Kraal with defiance. Kraal was within arms reach of the boy. McAuliffe was about to snort again when Kraal stabbed him in the eye with his finger. The men winced and McAuliffe cried out in pain as he staggered back. Harris caught the boy by the shoulders and held him.

‘The girl has escaped,’ barked Kraal, ‘she may be still in the house. She may be in the wood. It is too dark to search. Someone helped her,’ He looked at the two boys and his eyes narrowed, ‘bring them to the cellar,’ then, with a sharp glance at Harris, he whispered, ‘I believe you know the way?’

Gloke did his best to guide the half-blind, girl but he was as ignorant as she of the Manor's geography. They were wandering and their hopes of finding a way out were diminishing. Julie was in great pain, although she thought that to be able to move around with some hope was infinitely better than being tortured. Just who the boy was and how he had come to be in the house she did not know; the only communication they had made in their searching for a way out was to tell each other their names. All Julie knew was that she was extremely grateful to the boy.

That he was in so close contact with a female body had its effect on Gloke despite the desperate situation. The nearness of her breasts to his face had caused him to become aroused, not only did he feel sexual desire, but also felt an overwhelming pride that he Gloke, at whom so many had laughed, was now a hero rescuing a damsel in distress. The combination of these two emotions caused great conflict in Gloke as he shuffled along beside the girl. On the one hand he had a strong impulse to fondle the girl and on the other hand, his pride demanded that he treat her with respect. He felt confused, and he was so distracted that he did not hear the footsteps.

Julie detected the oncoming sounds. She stopped and snapped Gloke out of his selfish reverie. The sounds came from a passageway ahead. Julie put a hand over Gloke’s shoulder and drew him to the wall. The boy, though caught off guard, noticed that they had stopped on a landing that overlooked a large entrance hall. The pair pressed themselves up against the wall in the shallow shadow of a pillar when a man appeared ahead of them. The black cloaked figure strode to the stairs and made his way down to the entrance hall. Gloke guessed that it was the man that he had seen before; he pulled at Julie’s arm to tell her. She impatiently pinched him. The man did not look back, if he had, he would have seen them, instead he went down the stairs and out of the front door. The door swung slowly closed, but rested without clicking shut. Gloke pulled Julie's hand from his mouth and said,

‘He's left the door open. We can get out,’ Julie mumbled agreement. This was their chance.

Satisfied that they could no longer hear the man, Julie and Gloke made their way down the stairs. If anyone came in to the hall from any direction they would be discovered. Julie's heart drummed as they finally reached the bottom step. Gloke left Julie and went to the window. Gloke was astonished by what he saw. There standing with two men were McAuliffe and Waddle all faced by the cloaked man. Gloke watched in fascination as he saw Waddle fall to his knees. Gloke repressed an impulse to wave just as the man in black blocked his view of McAuliffe. There was a swift movement and McAuliffe fell back clutching his face. Suddenly the man turned and started to walk back to the house. Gloke sprang away from the window, turned and ran over to Julie.

‘They’re all outside and he's coming back!’

‘Who’s outside?’ said Julie confused.

Gloke did not answer. He wildly looked around. Where could they hide? To the left half-hidden in a recess he saw a large door. It looked ajar. ‘Over there, we might find somewhere to hide,’ He grabbed Julie and half ran her across to the door. He grabbed the metal ring on the door and pulled. The door was stiff, but opened enough to allow them through. Gloke slipped in and found himself at the top of a stone spiral staircase that narrowly ran down the side of the wall. The dirty, grey stairs were only two feet wide and the outer edge fell naked into a deep well. The spiral stair was lit with sporadic pools of dim light that shone from naked bulbs fixed in a cable that hung fettered to the wall.

Julie followed through the narrow gap and gasped when something tugged at her. Her heart froze at the sudden terrifying thought that Kraal had grabbed her. She looked down and saw that the stem of the key in the lock had ensnared the lace of her blouse. She frantically tugged at the cloth, but the key held on like a fisherman’s hook. Gloke saw and pulled on the lace. It ripped and Julie plucked herself free.

‘We can lock the door behind us,’ said Gloke. He pulled the door shut and turned the key. It was stiff and only tuned half way. Gloke turned back the key and tried again, but still it would not turn a full rotation. Suddenly the door rattled. Someone was trying to open it from the other side. Gloke gripped the handle and the key, afraid to let them go. The door relaxed, then tensed as it was tugged. Then it relaxed again. They heard shuffling and a muffled voice spoke,

‘The door is stuck. The key is in the lock on the other side. Someone has locked it. The girl? Fetch a tool to wrench it open, an axe if need be’

After a short space of quiet, Gloke let go of the door, his heart pounding, and stepped back with his hands raised as if about to be arrested.

‘Quickly,’ he whispered to Julie, and taking her by the hand led her down the stairs. They had to descend one behind the other with their backs sliding against the wall for fear of falling off the narrow stairs. The drop silently roared at them with its open mouth. The echo of their footfalls betrayed them, like the shouts of a Quisling. If only they could muffle the sound. Even the slightest sound in the confine of the bare stairwell treacherously echoed. A banging and scraping came from above. Julie and Gloke stopped and glanced up.

‘Their wrenching open the door, it sounds like,’ breathed Julie, ‘we must hurry. Hurry!’

They descended another circle, and then Gloke saw the last step of the staircase and a floor of rough flagstones.

‘There, there’s the bottom,’ he said.

Both were relieved that the dangerous decent was over. They were in a huge cellar. The brickwork of the walls curved up into a wide arched ceiling from which hung ornate chandeliers. Light crawled through cobwebs hanging thickly about the chandeliers. Along the walls were rows of huge barrels and racks of dusty bottles. In the centre of the cellar was a wide gaping hole, packed with a mantle of earth around its edge. A loud cracking of wood came from above along with the sound of voices. Panic punched Julie and Gloke. There was nowhere to hide. Julie pulled Gloke over to the hole; they climbed on top of the mound of earth and saw that the hole was a shaft shored up with planks and cross beams. A steel ladder had been fixed to one side and it ran down into the depths. Gloke and Julie looked at each other, then back to the spiral stairs and listened to the loud echo of multiple footsteps coming down. Shadows bobbed on the lower wall. Julie was determined not to be captured again; she had endured enough. Although the pain in her jaw and face continually throbbed, her mind had been so occupied with escape, that it had not registered as intensely; now, though, at the thought of re-capture a bolt of pain shot through her face as if to shock her into further action. She groaned and pulled Gloke towards the ladder.

‘Come on, there’s no where else to go.’

Gloke protested, but allowed his damsel in distress to have her way. He helped Julie climb onto the ladder. She lowered herself holding on the rungs. Gloke clung to the ladder as if it were made of rope and made slower progress.

When Kraal reached the cellar. He crossed quickly to the shaft and looked down. He turned to the others and said,

‘It seems that visitors abound to night,’ He reached into his robe and pulled out a stone axe. He grasped the top of the ladder, balanced the axe in his other hand, lifted the weapon above his head and, with a flash of movement, threw the axe into the shaft.

Gloke noticed the shadow from above and looked up. He saw a blur and the axe struck him on the forehead. He yelled. The blow tore him from the ladder. His body dropped onto Julie. She gripped the ladder as Gloke’s body bounced of her back, his hands flailing only air as he tried to grab her. He fell away, screaming as he went. The axe clattered against the supporting timbers. There was a terrible thumping as Gloke’s body struck the crossbeams and finally, all but dust was still. It billowed in the dim light as Julie held on for her life. Agony shot through her jaw and subsided with the dying echoes. She listened intently for any sound that Gloke might have survived. She looked down, but her eyes could not penetrate the powdered darkness. She heavily sighed. To go back meant redelivering herself into darkness of another kind - a worse kind. She looked up. She could see a wide halo of light at the top of the shaft and a human silhouette. The shape swung itself over the edge of the shaft onto the ladder. A flashlight clicked on and a beam of light hit her in the eyes. Her mind swam. The ladder rattled as the figure above made to descend.

Julie forced herself to move. Her legs seemed paralysed, but with an incredible act of will she stepped down a rung, then another until she found herself descending faster and faster. Then, with a jolt, her foot stamped the ground. She pushed herself away from the ladder and stood unsteadily peering into the gloom. Sporadic sweeps of the torch beam above swung around her. She recognised the voices calling to each other. Willis and Harris were coming to get her.

Julie dodged the beam of another sweep. Her foot touched something soft. In the quickly passing light she caught Gloke’s small face looking up at her with sightless eyes. Her heart surged out and she knelt by the boy. Julie felt her body go limp. What was the point of running? Where could she go? A movement behind her made her jump and a spasm of pain split through her jangled nerves like a bolt of electricity.

‘Don't be afraid.’

Julie could not be sure if her desperate mind was playing tricks.

‘It’s all right we won’t harm you,’ said the voice. A gentle hand touched her arm. ‘Step back into the tunnel.’

Julie trusted the voice. She wanted to trust the voice; it conveyed empathy and warmth that she had not heard for a long time, except from the boy now dead at her feet. She obeyed the voice and allowed herself to be gently drawn back.

Harris searched below letting the beam sweep the lower shaft and across the floor. He could not see the girl.

‘Now don’t give us a hard time Julie,’ he called in mock sympathy, ‘you’re not going to get far in the dark are you?’ He paused, no reply came, he spoke in a harsher tone, ‘there are rats down there Julie. Watch out for the rats.’

In the shifting dusty light Julie saw the two boys.

‘Who are you?’ she said.

The taller of the two boys gently led her further along the tunnel. She stumbled on the cable and the smaller boy helped her regain her footing.

‘You alright?’ asked the smaller boy.

‘Yes,’ Julie mumbled, ‘who are you?’

‘I’m Billy and he’s Roy. What’s your name?’

‘Julie,’ she said puzzled and fretful. She thought, ‘What more can happen?’

The boys had come upon the shaft only minutes before Julie had reached the bottom of the ladder. They had discovered the body and, their eyes being acclimatised to the reduced light, were shocked to recognise that it was Gloke. The question that had jumped in to their minds about how he had come to such a terrible end was quashed by the sound of Julie’s decent. Roy had urged Billy across the bottom of the shaft knowing that they could be caught and forced to retreat the way they had come. That way there was no escape.

Roy led the girl silently to a sharp bend in the tunnel. They all scuttled around the bend as behind them they heard a loud thump as Harris jumped the last few rungs of the ladder. They just made it before a beam of light probed the tunnel. It reflected brightly off the curve of the wall like a snake searching for prey, then abruptly withdrew.

They waited breathing heavily in the darkness for a few minutes before Roy stole a look. In the half-light he saw a man crouched over Gloke’s body. Roy turned and said,

‘Who’s that?’

‘Harris. He’s one of the security men at Kellstone. He and another man, Willis,’ Julie hesitated, then added, ‘they beat me up.’

‘The kid’s dead!’ shouted Harris up the shaft. ‘The fall broke his neck by the look of it. Fuck knows which way the girl went. Get down here and give me a hand! I can’t search both sides by myself.’

A voice called in reply, but it was too far away to hear what was said. Then came the sound of feet scraping on steel rungs. Roy drew Julie back, switched on his torch and gasped. The beam fell full onto Julie’s battered face. She covered her wounds with her hands.

‘Is that what they did to you?’ said Roy. Julie nodded. ‘Don’t worry they won’t get you again.’

‘No don’t worry,’ echoed Billy, ‘they won’t get you, not wiv me and Roy ‘ere - right Roy?’

Julie began to weep.

Roy felt awkward, but put his arm around the girl to comfort her. His heart swelled.

‘We’ll be out of here in no time,’ Roy fell silent as a familiar voice came from the shaft.

‘Gloke ‘ad better not ‘ave no broken neck overwise there'll be trouble.’

Roy and Billy were stunned, ‘McAuliffe!’ they said simultaneously. Another voice spoke further away: again they recognised it, unmistakably - Waddle.

‘That’s it, go on about Gloke! You don’t give nothing about me. I’ll show you!’

Roy and Billy were amazed. Just a few minutes ago they were alone – now they seemed awash with old adversaries - and new ones.

‘Are you in pain?’

This voice was new to Roy and Billy. Roy felt Julie shudder and cringe. She sank back against the wall. Roy inched forward again to look around the bend. A bald man dressed in black was holding McAuliffe by the throat. Harris stood beside them his face grim.

‘Are you in pain?’

Again the question as the man picked McAuliffe up off the floor with one hand and held him at arms length. The bully’s face contorted with pain and his feet kicked wildly in the air. The black figure brought up his other hand and held an impossibly long finger rigid in line with one of the struggling boy’s eyes.

‘Are you in pain?’

McAuliffe managed to indicate assent, his face straining, and the man let him drop heavily to the ground. He fell at the feet of Waddle who had just stepped off the ladder followed by a blond man.

‘Good job,’ spat Waddle looking down at McAuliffe, ‘It’s about time someone showed you what’s what. You rat.’ He kicked the still breathless boy at his feet then again. With the strength taken out of him by his near strangulation and his eye smarting, McAuliffe could not fight back. Waddle realised this and sized the opportunity for his revenge. He could have beaten McAuliffe anytime! He knew that, but he had waited for the right time – the time was now!

Waddle let go another vicious kick this time catching McAuliffe in the face. Blood ran from the stricken boy’s mouth. Harris and Willis laughed; the fight released their tension. They spurred on Waddle. The skinny boy gave his resentment full reign. He frenziedly kicked and stamped at McAuliffe who desperately tried to defend himself by pathetically trying to pull Glokes body over himself. Waddle looked wildly about for a weapon. Kraal picked up the stone axe and handed it to the frenzied boy. Waddle took the heavy weapon and looked at the handle made of a branch and at how it was split at the top with a large stone lashed in the splint with twine. It looked like the weapon of a cave man. Waddle gripped the thick stem with both hands and raised the axe up. He held it aloft for a moment, and then heaved the axe down. McAuliffe screamed as the axe struck his head.

The sound gored the air. Julie crouched with her hands over her ears. Roy and Billy watched in horror. Billy glanced at Roy. Why didn’t he do something? Billy knew McAuliffe was a bully, but he didn’t deserve to be killed. He looked back to see Waddle raise the axe again.

The weapon missed McAuliffe and struck Gloke's body. The corpse shuddered as the blow splintered bone. The axe fell again. McAuliffe kicked out and it caught his shin. He yelled. Another blow cracked open McAuliffe’s knee. Pain ripped through the boy and he screamed. Billy looked at Roy in desperation. Roy seemed mesmerised as if in a trance, his eyes staring and his face shining with sweat.

‘He’s afraid,’ thought Billy impulsively.

Again McAuliffe screamed. Billy could no longer contain him self, he pushed himself up and ran towards the shaft shouting ‘Leave ‘im alone!’

Surprised, all looked around. Even Waddle stopped. Willis checked Billy’s onrush. He grabbed him and put his hand over Billy’s mouth. For a moment there was silence.

Roy called a name. It was not Billy’s name, nor any that Julie had heard before. It was another name. Julie looked up at Roy’s shining face as he said,

‘Krowdon’

If the others heard the word it held no significance for them, but its utterance did affect Kraal. He turned and dismissing Billy, he walked past him and Willis into the tunnel.

Billy broke free of Willis’s grip, rushed at Waddle and tried to snatch the axe from him. They struggled. The two men watched Kraal walk into the tunnel and followed him.

Julie, still hiding, was the first to notice something strange. Roy was standing just beyond the bend his back towards her. Then to the right of Roy she saw a movement. She saw nothing distinct, but there was something in the darkness. It was a strange movement as if the darkness itself were curling. Yes, the darkness within the wide space between the boy and the wall was moving, like a slow pillar of black water. Julie looked away; the strain on her good eye was intense. Perhaps she was imagining the movement. She looked back. It was unmistakable – the darkness had thickened. It had gathered and curled upon itself until the very thickness of the dark was forming a shape. The darkness was moulding itself!

Kraal stood transfixed as the indistinct movement beside the trembling boy took on solidity. He drew in his breath, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Had someone looked into Kraal’s eyes at that moment they would see fear but also something else - a look of recognition?

‘What is it?’ said Willis, ‘what the fuck is it?’

Behind him at the shaft Billy and Waddle continued to fight oblivious to what was happening in the tunnel. Waddle, though spurred by the power he had had over the supine McAuliffe, was still no match for a determined boy like Billy. The sound of their struggle battered through the tunnel. However, the strange urgency of Willis’s voice made them stop fighting and turn. Harris threw the full beam of his torch on to the apparition. The sight of the creature that now stood before them made them all gasp. Roy spoke, his voice a whisper, but the word he uttered was heard by all.

‘Krowdon,’

Roy stood in front of the creature. The onlookers were aghast. The boy seemed unafraid, even in control of the beast. Bending low the boy took hold of the monster’s powerful thighs. The thing seemed to lift itself to give the boy entrance, as he pushed his head between its thighs. Willis and Harris both took a step back. Kraal, with fear and purpose in his eyes, glance around.

Roy knew that the time had come again. Again he needed the Krowdon and again it needed him. He reached up took hold of the moist moulds of flesh with his fingers pulled open the wet and dripping orifice and pushed in his head.

Billy brushed aside Kraal’s cloak and looked at his friend crouched under the dripping body of the monster. He cried out to Roy, but his friend continued his entrance. Billy could not believe what was happening. The sight of his friend pushing himself into the fleshy orifice made him dizzy. He rocked back and forth, his eyes rolled up and he fell unconscious at Kraal’s feet. The man looked down, his attention broken by the movement. A sound like greased leather stretching across solid rubber made Kraal turn back to the sight before him.

It was as if Roy and his incipient host were in the throes of birth. The boy’s shoulders were now up inside the beast. The creatures’ jaws were dripping with residual mucus and it lowed its elongated head as if to protect the boy’s entrance. Its sinewy claw-like hands extended to embrace the boy’s lower body and lifted him further in.

In the naked light thrown by Harris’s torch the creature’s body was almost translucent. The boy heaved himself up into the monster. Now only Roy’s legs were outside the torso. Wrapped in the extended fingers of the beast, the boy climbed higher. Protrusions rose and fell on the leather skin as the boy struggled to lodge himself within his host.

Sickened by the cohesion of boy and beast, Willis suddenly doubled over and vomited. Equally abhorred, Harris tore his eyes from the hypnotic, but repulsive sight and looked back to the shaft. Their attention diverted neither saw Kraal snatch up Billy’s crumpled body and make off around the bend. As he passed Julie, Kraal glared at her. The girl cowered.

Waddle stood up wiped his mouth and resumed his work. He thrashed upon the bodies like a crazed animal. Repeatedly he brought down the bloody axe. Harris saw one of the bodies move. McAuliffe was still alive. Harris was almost crazed himself. He had to get away from the sickening sight of the boy and monster. He staggered back to the shaft, grabbed Waddle’s sticky weapon from his grasp and pushed the boy aside. He looked down at the tangled bodies. Retribution had come swift to McAuliffe; never again would he torment others; never again would he have the opportunity to check his selfishness. His battered face moved and a moan bubbled through the blood on his lips. Harris raised the axe and in one swift movement crushed McAuliffe’s skull. Harris turned to Waddle. The boy knew what was coming and screamed. Fear and remorse hit Waddle like a double blow before the axe had touched him.

‘I didn’t mean it,’ he cried cowering.

‘You little bastard,’ snarled Harris, his frustration and incomprehension spurring his wrath, ‘so you think you’re a tough guy do you? I’ll show you what tough is.’

Before Harris could raise the axe a ferocious roar came blasting from the tunnel behind him. The sound pieced Harris to his core and his legs almost buckled. He slowly turned, fear pulling down his eyelids. He forced himself to look. Willis was crouched against the wall, his mouth open with vomit dribbling from his lips and a look of abject horror on his face.

The cohesion of boy and beast was complete. The creature started to move towards Willis. It advanced with slow and deliberate movement. Harris ran forward and flung the axe at the creature. The axe bounced like a stick off a rhino’s hide. The creature approached Willis like a snake to a mouse, extending its body forward towards the man’s limp figure. It curled upon the man and fixed itself. Willis started to struggle for his life, but he knew that he did not stand a chance. He felt the creature’s enormous strength. He closed his eyes expecting a swift death.

Death did not come. Instead of striking or crushing him the monster drew Willis even closer to its trunk as a lover might. Willis felt the huge ribs lean on his back and saw the large elongated head loom over his brow, the jaws glistening. Willis tried to bend away from the terrible incisors, but he was held fast. He gasped as the heavy smell of the beast assaulted his senses. Still no blow came, no death strike, no terrible pressure on his bones, no crunch; instead Willis’s unnatural captor slowly bent upon him, until the monsters loins were firmly pressed against his buttocks. Willis closed his eyes; he wanted to believe that he was in a dreadful dream, but knew that the thing pressing at his rear was no nightmare. Then he realised with sudden clarity what the creature intended and he froze completely, overcome with dread.

At first he thought that all he felt pressed to him was bone. He shivered as awareness gripped. The monster’s emerging phallus began to squeeze between his buttocks and it’s tight abdomen. It held Willis with one arm while it’s other huge claw pushed down his trousers. The material ripped. The man flayed his legs but his rear was quickly naked. Horror and disgust filled the man as the large slimy phallus slid between his cheeks. Aghast at the obscene intrusion, Willis screamed until he thought his head would burst.

Harris slapped his hands over his ears, but continued to watch in terrible fascination as the beast bent its skeletal form over his pinioned friend. Willis cried in agony as the phallus entered. He continued to scream as the creature began to conquer him in slow rhythmic thrusts. He twitched like a rodent caught in the jaws of a trap. Harris fell back and cried out,

‘Kraal. Stop this!’

Harris swung the beam into the tunnel beyond the heaving copulation, but Kraal was gone. So was the ginger boy. He glanced around at Waddle who lay whimpering. Harris felt awfully alone. Panic gripped him. He could not help Willis and the thought that he might be the next victim terrified him. He ran for the ladder.

‘Harris!’ cried Willis despairingly as he caught sight of his friend deserting him.

Harris grabbed a rung and made to pull himself up. He fought to close his ears to Willis’s voice.

‘Help me. Harris help me!’

The plea cut into Harris’s heart. He looked up the shaft – he had his chance – he could escape! He turned and looked at Willis whose face was carved with terror and humiliation. He had never seen such a terrible expression. Suddenly the creature pulled itself from Willis and let him flop to the ground. Willis lay bleeding. He began to sob.

Harris peered into the shadows beside Willis. Julie walked out of the darkness. The monster stepped to one side to let her pass as if it were her servant. Willis painfully turned to look at the approaching girl. Julie, though confused by what she had seen, knew that the monster that towered over her was not her enemy; the true anlmal now lay conquered and she was glad. Willis saw the look on the girl’s face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, tears streaming down his face. He held up his hand in supplication, then let out a long sigh and fell unconscious.

Harris stood rooted at the foot of the ladder. He watched the monster turn and lumber back into the darkness of the tunnel. He was astonished that it did not attack the girl. Had she some kind of power over it? Was it the boy? He held his breath as she walked towards him. She glared at him, but without speaking she passed and bent to help Waddle. Harris stepped over to Willis and heaved the unconscious man onto his shoulders. As he carried Willis to the ladder Julie looked up at him. Harris could not hold her gaze. He lowered his eyes. There were no words.

Conrad looked at Joe and the wide-eyed smirk that sat upon the old man’s face. The teacher was at his wit’s end. Five of his boys were missing. Their beds had not been slept in. He looked at the empty glasses on Joe's table and resented the smirk. Conrad had informed the police the moment he was sure that the boys were really missing and not off on some minor escapade. Joe had been of no help whatsoever. He had spent most of his free time drinking. He had insulted everyone who had come within speaking distance. Conrad, despite his other duties, had spent a great deal of time apologising for the old man or receiving a counter insult himself for just being associated with Pickles. Now at the sight of Joe’s fixed expression Conrad knew he had to be firm.

‘Listen,’ he said looking straight into the old man's vacant eyes, ‘I don’t want you getting drunk today. We have a number of boys missing, the police are about to start a massive search, and I still have to supervise the rest of the lads. I know that we have had our differences, but I also know that you are the kind of man that can be relied upon in an emergency. Joe, I can rely on you – right?’

The teacher was proud of himself he felt sure that he had put his point well. He was glad that he had found Joe in the lounge so early. He had time to get him sober. He sat back and waited for a reply. Joe sat still with the smirk unflinching on his face. Indeed, now that Conrad thought of it, Joe’s face looked very queer. Conrad moved closer and peered into Joe’s blood shot eyes. Conrad’s expression turned from mild curiosity to disgust.

‘My God! The man is impossible. He’s drunk himself ridged,’ he thought. Conrad instinctively jerked back and knocked two bottles over at the base of Joes’ chair. Two empty gin bottles, ‘the disgusting old pig.’ The teacher was angry with himself for spending precious time trying to talk sense to the old man. Joe might as well be dead for all the use he was going to be. Conrad frowned and again looked closer at Joe's fixed expression.

Conrad looked frantically around the bar and saw what he was looking for. He took the small mirror from the wall and held it under Joe's nose. He prayed the mirror misted. He drew closer almost touching noses with Joe.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

Joe's voice took the teacher completely by surprise. He dropped the mirror. It smashed on the wooden floor, scattering shards of glass. Meadows rushed into the room,

‘What’s going on?’ he said glancing at Joe sitting motionless and at Conrad sprawled on the floor, ‘well I’m surprised at you Mr.Conrad, drunk at this time in the morning. Haven’t we got enough problems?’ he turned to Joe, ‘have you been in here all night?’ Joe winked. Meadows briskly turned and walked out of the room.

Conrad was outraged that the landlord should think that it was he who was drunk. ‘I assure you that it is not I who am drunk,’ he blurted, but it was too late; Meadows had gone. He turned his anger on Joe, ‘you’re absolutely the most disgraceful man I have ever met. Please try and get yourself sober before the police arrive. His plea was met by a toothless grin.

Later that morning the Chief Constable outlined his operation of search. The room was full of local volunteers. The disappearance of a child was not unknown to the town but never six at once and even though five of the children were outsiders, the townsfolk felt impelled to help. The local police had to augment their forces to make an effective search and so the Chief Constable was relieved by the local response. He was averse to involving an outside police force. Using a map of the locality, he divided the assembly into groups and apportioned each group a specific area of search. His opinion of Conrad was low at this moment. In his view, any man who could lose five of the children in his care was incompetent. He had also heard from Meadows about the incident in the bar that morning and regarded not only Conrad incompetent but his coach driver as well. He therefore decided to detail the teacher and his charges to the furthest point on the local map. Besides he did not want a bunch of rowdy kids spoiling his investigations.

Roy woke and shivered. His clothes had been torn free through his union with Krowdon and now his naked body was caked in a thin layer of gel. Julie lay with her arms about Waddle. She was awake and looking at Roy. The light bulbs were on.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘A long time,’ said Julie, ‘I don’t know for sure. I drifted off myself more than once and this boy has been out the whole time.’

‘Waddle.’ Roy said absently. He noticed that Julie’s voice seemed clearer than before, ‘what happened? Where are my clothes?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ Julie looked surprised.

‘I remember…’ Roy hesitated. He looked at Waddle. A flood of mixed up images poured through his mind. ‘Where’s Billy?’

Julie did not answer.

‘What happened to Billy?’

‘Kraal took him. I’m sorry Roy; there was nothing I could do. He took him off along the tunnel that way. I’ve been waiting for you to come round. Don’t you remember what happened to you?’

‘What do you mean?’ said Roy trying to remember. He sat silent as Julie related events.

What Krowdon was or why it came to him Roy did not fully understand. It appeared to him at times when he was at his emotional lowest. He could not always call Krowdon at will, yet he sensed that its power was always with him. It was not an evil power, but not entirely good either. Roy did not understand. He did not know how he knew the monster’s name. He was mixed up. He was an ordinary boy with ordinary faults and failings. Why him? Many things confused him. Adults confused him. They seemed so contradictory in their behaviour, yet he too was often confused just how to behave. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what he did, he did it wrong. Roy sat looking at Julie. She returned his gaze confidently as if she knew how he felt. Her face seemed not quite as swollen as it had been. Roy made to move closer but became aware of his nakedness and withdrew embarrassed. Julie smiled. It was the first time Roy had seen her smile. A pleasant sensation drifted through him.

‘I have to go on,’ he said indicating the unexplored tunnel that sloped down into yellow dimness, ‘I must find Billy. There’s no need for you two to come. You can get out by the ladder and escape through the house.’

‘What about Willis and Harris?’

‘Where are they? What happened to them?’

The girl lowered her eyes she thought of what had happened to Willis and realising Roy did not remember decided to say nothing about it. ‘They climbed up to the house. I couldn’t face seeing them again Roy. We’ll go with you.’

‘Going on might be worse than going back.’

‘It can’t be,’ She looked at Waddle and gently shook him. He awoke dazed.

‘Where am I?’ He looked around vacantly, ‘I want to go home.’ He began to weep.

Roy took the boy by his arm and pulled him to his feet.

‘You got no clothes on,’ said Waddle.

Roy was surprised by his own lack of embarrassment. He did not even bother to cover himself with his hands, ‘I don’t know what happened to them. I guess they erode, or get eaten away when I’m with, when I’m in…’ Roy was stumped for an answer, ‘does it matter?’

‘No,’ said Julie, ‘after everything that has happened - no.’

Julie picked up the flashlight and the three made their way down the tunnel.

After he had carried Willis to their quarters at the back of the manor. Harris made his way to Kraal’s rooms. He had been there only twice before and both times had been too hurried for proper inspection. He was convinced that Kraal kept valuables there: jewellery or money, perhaps documents that would reveal the secret of the tunnels.

Upon entering the room where the girl had been held captive, Harris felt uneasy. There was an air of solemnity about the room that gave him the creeps. He felt he had stepped into a crypt, such was the sense of morbidity and decay. At first glance everything seemed normal enough. The furnishings were not out of keeping with a Manor. They were entirely what one would expect; yet as he looked around, his hand still upon the open door, the impulse to retreat involuntary arose and despite his resolve of a moment ago, Harris had to will himself to step further into the room.

He walked silently over to the large oak desk. On the desk, besides crusty books and yellowed paper, sat the jawless upper half of a human skull. Small holes had been bored into the top of the skull and into these were placed long quills matted at the bottom with dark red ink. Harris averted his eyes from the hollow sockets as he rounded the desk. He noticed script upon the yellowed paper and picked up a few pages. Perhaps here he would discover something? He cast his eye quickly over the lines and the furrow of his brow deepened. The writing was unintelligible and he could not recognise the characters used. Though he could not read a foreign language, Harris could recognise one, but here the symbols seemed so remote an ancestry and distant origin that to him the writing was completely alien.

Exasperated, Harris threw the pages down. He began to search hurriedly through the draws. Dust twirled in the gloom as he silently moved, casting an ear for the sound of an approach. He found more papers written in the same unintelligible script, but this time amongst them were a few written in what he recognised as Latin. He searched on. He found a mixture of artefacts: small stone statues; wooden carvings; a crucifix of a colour and weight sufficient to judge gold. He put the crucifix in his coat pocket. In one draw were six daggers. They were thin and sharp and looked so deadly that they might easily have been the tools of an assassin. He found a set of small portraits with frames that were inlaid with jewels. He pocketed these too, but he found nothing that related to a mine. He impatiently closed the last draw.

He looked across the room at a huge bookcase that covered the far wall. He was almost half way to the bookcase when something caught his ankle. He stumbled cursing. He untangled his foot from the rope that had tied the girl. Memories of her and what had happened in the tunnel swept into his mind. He had tried to keep his mind clear. He tried to think about nothing, other than the immediacy of his actions. He looked at the rope and an image of a noose swung before him. He flung the rope across the room. It sprawled across the desk catching the half skull. The sharp scrape of bone on wood made Harris wince. He felt as if a file had been dragged over his teeth. He rubbed his jaw and looked up at a large painting that hung over the fireplace. A layer of dust covered the full-length portrait. It was of a hooded figure dressed in a long cloak. Harris had the impression of a monk shrouded in mist. The monk’s hands were tucked into the arms of his cloak and from his waist hung a stone axe. The object surprised Harris for it was not an artefact normally associated with a monk. It hung heavy and blunt with weight enough to crush any skull, animal or man. The axe looked familiar. Harris neared the painting. It looked like the weapon Kraal had given to the boy in the shaft. It looked the same but surely it could not be. Could such a weapon have been passed down the centuries? How many victims had fallen? Harris glanced at the skull quill holder on the desk. He swallowed hard and looked back at the picture. No feature of the face beneath the hood could be seen except for the eyes. The sight caused Harris to sharply intake his breath. The likeness was unmistakable. Only one person possessed eyes like those glaring down from the canvas. Harris looked for some identification of the painter – or the period it was painted. On the bottom of the frame, almost hidden by the grime he found a small plaque. Harris rubbed the plaque letters appeared they read ‘Brother Kraal 1070’

‘Probably an ancestor,’ thought Harris. He felt the crucifix in his pocket. ‘Those monks robbed people blind. They had secret wealth. So that’s it!’

Harris rushed from the room and hoped Willis had regained consciousness.

He was not disappointed. Willis was awake, lying on his stomach. Harris was genuinely pleased. There were times over the past few hours that he thought Willis was finished. Willis started to ask a barrage of questions. Harris did not answer but set down two glasses on the table poured brandy into them and gave one to Willis.

‘Thanks. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the arse by a donkey.’

Harris choked on his drink.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Willis, ‘I’m bleeding too. Jesus it hurts. Fucking hell, what happened? I remember we chased the girl down that shaft, and there was that other kid who fell, then something else, something horrible. I can’t remember.’

‘Nothing. Nothing happened. You just got knocked out that’s all,’ said Harris wiping his mouth.

‘How’d we get back to the house? I can’t remember much after we got down the shaft.’

‘I carried you back.’

‘Knocked out? How’d I get knocked out?’

‘How? You, er, hit your head. You fell of the ladder. Don’t you remember?’

Willis narrowed his eyes as looked at Harris. Something was wrong. ‘No, no I don’t. You tell me.’

Harris gave a doctored account of what happened, saying that Willis had slipped off the ladder and fell heavily backwards on to his rear. He was glad Willis could not remember.

‘No one else came up with us?’ said Willis, painfully shifting his position, then, resting back down on his side.

‘Listen,’ said Harris hoping to steer away from what happened in the tunnel, ‘we have other things to worry about than you injuring your arse. Those kids can identify us. We’re in deep now. We’ve got to go down again and see where Kraal went he must have a stash of treasure somewhere down there and I’m not leaving this place until I get my hands on it.’

Willis took a pull on the brandy and shook his head, ‘Why don’t we just piss off? Those kids are probably lost in the mine or whatever those tunnels are. Let’s cut our losses and scarper before we get caught. If what you say is true and one of those kids is dead we’re accessories. And if what we did to the girl gets out, we’d get twenty years’

‘Don’t talk rubbish. What are we going to live on? We don’t have a pot to piss in between us. No we’ve got to go back. Fuck Kraal; we can deal with him. He’s strong, and bloody weird, but the two of us can overpower him.’

He thought for a moment then went on, ‘I agree that whatever those tunnels are, they’re not a mine. However, they must have some sort of value otherwise why would Kraal bother with them? A bloke like him doesn’t go to all the trouble of laying cables, electric light and stuff for nothing. There must be some money in it somewhere and I’m going to get it, monster or no fucking monster…’

‘What?’ said Willis surprised, ‘what you on about – monster? What monster?’

Harris mentally kicked himself, ‘I mean Kraal…of course! I mean… well, he’s a bloody monster of a sort isn’t he? Can you stand?’

Willis slowly swung his legs off the bed. He winced as he stood. ‘I feel a little groggy, but I’ll be all right, don’t worry about me,’ He reached for his clothes on the chair beside him and slowly began to dress.

‘Ok, good man,’ said Harris, ‘now, let’s get ourselves organised. This time get well equipped – guns an’ all. We’ll show that weird bastard what soldiers can do.’

A pair of huge eyes shone in the flashlight.

‘What’s that?’ said Waddle cringing back against Julie.

The eyes came rushing forward up the tunnel. Waddle yelled. The rest of the small creature’s body took on substance in the light. It stopped, looked directly at Julie, recognition came into its eyes and it ran and jumped into her arms. She was taken aback, but not afraid of the small being that was so plainly an infant. It buried its head in her breast. Roy stood fixed and astonished,

‘It’s the monkey thing, He knows you?’

Julie held the small bundle of limbs and nodded. She quickly told Roy what had happened to her and the strange infant, after which, Roy related his story of seeing the creature in the tree.

‘Until now,’ said Julie, ‘I didn’t know if he, she, it had escaped. Why did they want it Roy? Why did they harm it? I don’t know what it is or where it comes from, but it’s obvious that it is only a child. Is that what you call it – Blue Eyes? Well, Hello, Blue Eyes.’

Roy was not surprised that Julie had used the word ‘child’ to describe the small thing. Julie caressed the creature’s head and it looked up at her with its big, sad, shining eyes.

‘Where do you come from eh?’ murmured Julie, ‘where’s your mummy and daddy?’

‘Mummy and daddy!’ jeered Waddle who had been too surprised by the creature to say anything until now, ‘what you talking abat? It’s a bleedin’ monkey!’ Roy clipped Waddle around the ear. ‘Ahh, get off! You’re a bleedin’ ape yerself.’ A large glob of gel hit Waddle in the face. Roy and Julie burst out laughing. Waddle spat and coughed. The infant started waving his limbs and clicking, joining in with the laughter and the happy sounds bubbled and bounced along the tunnel.

Suddenly the creature fell silent. Roy and Julie noticed and after a few coughs and sighs, they fell silent themselves. Waddle was busy wiping his face. Julie felt the infant stiffen in her arms and saw its head loll back. Its eyes seemed to refocus and the light blue colour changed to a darker hue. Roy moved over to Julie and they both looked at the infant. At first they thought they were seeing only the convex reflections of themselves, but they were motionless, the images in the eyes were not.

‘Can you see what I’m seeing,’ said Roy.

Julie nodded, ‘The colour of the eyes have changed and Blue Eyes seems to have gone into a trance. I can see shapes.’

The shapes in the eyes began to clarify. A small patch of white above a stroke of black was moving forward and growing larger. The same image was in each eye. As the double image moved across the convex of the eyes, the indistinct patches of white and black were becoming clear. A face appeared.

‘Kraal.’ blurted Roy.

‘Yes, but how?’ said Julie.

Another patch of colour came into view, red this time. The white face loomed large again as it passed back across the double convex. It was certainly Kraal; he appeared to be in some sort of room. The figure bent down and came back again bringing with it the patch of red. Roy recognised the face beneath the red patch.

‘It’s Billy!’

‘Yes!’ cried Julie, ‘but how can Blue Eyes see them? Where are they?’

The shapes began to fade and the blue hue lightened. Roy and Julie looked at each other with astonishment, but before they could speak Waddle cried out. They turned to see the boy running towards them. He had obviously left them while their attention had been diverted. Now he flew up the tunnel towards them as if chased. In his haste he tripped over a cable. Roy ran to his aid.

‘Waddle, what’s wrong?’

‘They’re after us! Loads of ‘em coming out of the bleeding’ ground’

Roy looked down into the dimness ahead. ‘Now calm down and tell us what you saw.’

Julie crouched beside the boy and palmed his hair back.

‘I tell ya there’s loads of ‘em crawling out of the ground like worms or somefing.’

‘Loads of what?’ said Roy exasperated.

‘Vikings’

‘What,’ said Roy, ‘come on Waddle’

‘I’m not joking Chandler, I seen ‘em, I tell ya!’

Roy and Julie listened for the sound of someone approaching. Apart from their own breathing they could hear nothing, except for the occasional clicking from Blue Eyes who otherwise lay silently in Julie’s arms. Roy looked at Waddle. Something had frightened him, ‘Show us what you saw.’

Suddenly, Blue Eyes jumped up from Julie’s arms and scuttled off ahead.

‘Come back! Oh, Blue Eyes where are you going?’ said Julie, ‘Roy, I’m sure he can lead us to Billy.’

‘Yes. Stay close together and get ready to run if we have to and Waddle don’t go off on your own again. Come on.’

The three did not have far to go before the tunnel began to level off and broaden. They were no longer going down. Here most of the light bulbs in the cable were spent, so it was difficult to see just how wide the tunnel was. Roy swept the darkness with his torch. Julie screamed.

A face stared at them. Roy’s heart missed a beat. Waddle ran off back up the tunnel yelling. Both Roy and Julie drew back; they were on the edge of fleeing themselves. The face was set with a terrible expression. The mouth, almost hidden by a thick beard, was twisted into a snarl. Large upturned eyes looked hid beneath a mass of tangled hair that looked as if it was matted with dried mud. Roy’s intuition kept him from running away. There was something wrong. The sudden light ought to have dazzled the man, made him flinch, but he did not move, he made no reaction at all. His expression and stance remained fixed. As the shifting light changed, it seemed that the man’s expression was not that of anger; though his nostrils were flared, the lids of his eyes were slightly lowered. The expression hurtfully reminded Julie of passion or lust rather than rage. Although the figure’s arms were flung up the man was as rigid as stone – he was too still.

Roy sighed, ‘It’s a statue. That is all - a statue. Relax. Waddle! You can come back: your Vikings are not real!’

‘There’s another,’ said Julie.

At the periphery of the torch beam Roy saw a head. This time, facing away from them. Like the first figure it too was naked, her breasts exposed. Her face was pressed against the belly of a male figure and her hands were clasped around his hips. The lower portion of the male’s legs and the lower body of the woman were sunk into the floor. As Roy and Julie walked around the half buried couple they saw that the woman’s face was not pressed into the males belly as they had at first thought, but she had his penis in her mouth. Roy’s jaw dropped.

Julie looked away afraid of her feelings. The boy threw the beam up and the light reflected off the ceiling of a cavern. Roy shone the beam back to the tunnel and saw where it’s edges opened out and fused into the rock of the cavern. Roy glanced back at the solidified couple and beside them saw another shape. Again it looked as if sculpted. Only the back and buttocks of the figure could be seen the rest of the body was below the surface but Roy recognised the form as human. Beyond lay two other bodies again male and female, the woman’s legs were wrapped around the man’s waist and the blatant nature of their act again made Roy blush. He was glad that he facing away from Julie. Quickly he moved the beam on.

The light came to rest on what looked like a group of unusual rock formations. Then they recognised that these too were human limbs. Rigid arms held solid torsos in tight but lifeless embrace. Legs spread wide allowed motionless entrance. All manner of sexual abandon occupied the fastened group. Every orifice and penis was fused in frozen desire, each horny clasp and embrace fixed in timeless lust. The lower trunks of the tangled groups merged with the floor as if the ground were made of the same substance. They looked, not like sculptures as Roy had at first thought, but more like once living humans now immersed in solid rock as if the material that covered them was once liquid and had suddenly, rapidly solidified. Moreover, the people so engulfed by sexual pleasure had, in their abandonment, not responded to their petrifaction. So complete was their excitement and so fast its suspension that even the passionate expressions upon their faces had no time to change. These thoughts were almost subliminal as Roy looked about at every conceivable sexual act. The scantily dressed women that he had occasionally seen in an adult magazine had only hinted at such acts. Beads of sweat trickled down the boy’s face. He looked at the unalterable position of flesh in passionate embrace and felt the prickle of sweat on his back and under his arms. The lascivious atmosphere imbued his body and he became acutely aware of Julie standing behind him. He turned to look at her. Tears were streaming down the girl’s face. Roy felt ashamed. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She was trembling.

‘Julie what’s wrong?’

‘It’s the statues, they remind me of what Willis and Harris did.’

Roy lowered his head, ‘I’m sorry Julie,’ he said.

‘It’s all right Roy,’ said Julie and moved closer to the boy. She looked into his green eyes. She did not understand what had happened to Roy back in the tunnel but she did not feel afraid of him, instead she felt comforted by him. He had somehow redressed the balance of her frightful ordeal and she felt a deeper empathy towards him than she had for anyone before. Roy smiled. It was as if they could read each other’s thoughts and feelings. Julie’s voice came to his mind and he heard her say, ‘You’re wonderful Roy.’. They felt a bond of mutual comfort and warmth.

In the dim light Roy noticed that Julie’s injured face had healed remarkably and he now could see the beauty that lay beneath the bruises. Julie kissed Roy’s cheek and pushed herself against his slim body. She felt his erection. She did not pull away. This time there was tenderness. They kissed.

‘Well isn’t that nice.’

Roy and Julie broke away at the sound of the harsh voice. The beams from flashlights poured over them, but they could see Harris. He was pointing a gun at them. Behind him stood Willis, his hand gripped around Waddle’s mouth.

‘Good thing we came along you might have got this young lady into trouble old son,’ said Willis sneering. He looked down at Roy’s erection. The boy became acutely aware of his nakedness; he covered his penis with his hands. Willis continued to smirk, ‘better to cover it up son, you won’t be needing it any more, not for that sort of thing anyway.’

Julie felt anger, fear, and pity all at the same time. Anger at the two men who again had control over her shame, because Roy was so much younger than she, her pride now over rode her passion of a moment ago and pity because she knew how humiliated Roy must feel. Then she saw the strange look in Harris eyes as he looked at Roy. Was there a hint of fear? Harris said,

‘Who are you boy?’

‘Who are you?’ said Roy defiantly.

‘My name’s Harris,’ surprised that he had answered.

‘What is this, a fucking social club!’ spat Willis. The journey walking through the tunnel had been painful for him and his temper was chafed and brittle. Harris glanced around the cavern for the first time.

‘What the hell is this place?’ he said as he walked further into the cavern and shone the beam of his flashlight around.

‘It looks like a fucking orgy.’ said Willis

Harris turned to Roy and said, ‘Yes, very bizarre. Do you know what this place is lad?’

Roy shook his head.

‘Why are you here?’

‘We…I…’ Roy tried to think of a rational answer ‘We we fell in through a hole.’

‘Bloody Alice in Wonderland,’ gibed Willis.

‘Earth subsidence you mean?’ said Harris. That fitted in with his theory that the place was a mine. ‘Perhaps the statues are valuable? Gold perhaps?’ He walked over to one of the figures, tucked his gun into his belt, took hold of an arm and forcefully twisted it. The arm snapped, showering flakes and dust. Harris examined the arm. It was not gold. If a living arm had been severed it would look the same; the bone, muscle and sinews were intact but turned to stone and very dead. The arm was petrified

‘Good God!’ said Harris, ‘the bodies are real, there’re human. What on earth happened here?’ He threw away the arm.

‘What does it matter?’ barked Willis his voice echoing around the cavern. ‘All we want to find is Kraal’s treasure - is that right?’

Harris ignored Willis, he stepped over to Julie and grabbing her by the arm pulled her to him. He urgently whispered, ‘You were nearest. Nearest to what happened to him.’ he flashed the beam at Roy ‘what happened to him… what happened when he changed? You saw the thing.’ He looked quickly at Willis and raising his voice said loudly, ‘Kraal, where did Kraal go?’

‘I didn’t see. It was dark. I don’t know what I saw!’ cried Julie struggling to free herself from the man’s grip. Harris looked closely at her face.

‘Healed remarkably hasn’t it my friend?’

Harris wheeled around, let go of Julie and pulled out his gun. The voice came from the darkness on the other side of the cavern. Everyone recognised it. Harris called out, ‘Listen Kraal what’s going on? You left us with that thing. You owe us – plenty!’

‘And you shall get paid my friend. Be patient and you shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.’

‘How? I saw that picture in your room. A monk - an ancestor? I figure that you’ve had plenty handed down to you over the years. Well we want a share! Is that clear? We’re fed up with being fucked about. You’ve already got the death of two boys on your hands. You need us.’

‘That’s right Kraal,’ interjected Willis, ‘not only the kids. We’ve brought you women too. I’d like to know what you do with them. We’ve done our job now it’s time for you to pay up. We’re armed so don’t try to pull any funny stuff.’

‘Yes you have been loyal servan… no, soldiers. Better than many I have had in my service over the years. Now put your minds at rest there is no need for threats. I intended to return, to reward you; I am here now, am I not? I would have contacted you sooner if not for the unexpected arrival of the dear children. Now please put down your weapons. I must talk to the boy.’

Kraal stepped into the light. His palms were raised. Harris lowered his gun and indicated that Willis do the same. Roy drew back as Kraal approached him. His black eyes beneath his heavy brow flickered with the suggestion of curiosity. He pointed his long finger at the boy and said,

‘I’ve seen your friend before. What is it?’

Roy did not know how to answer. He was not sure what Krowdon was. Anyway he did not want to comply. He wished Krowdon would come now to help him crush the corruption before him. Roy knew that Kraal was evil after what he had seen him do, but he also intuitively sensed he was more than just wicked; he was an ancient evil. He also sensed that Kraal was a little afraid. The thought pleased him.

‘You! Yes you! Now I remember,’ Willis threw aside Waddle and moved slowly towards Roy.

‘Yes, you’re the one. You got inside that fucking monster! You let it get hold of me. You did it!’

Willis voice drained away. He became overwhelmed with emotion as the memory of his humiliation came flooding back. He pointed the gun at Roy. The boy flinched.

‘Snap out of it Willis! It’s over,’ said Harris.

Willis swung round and the pointed the revolver at Harris, ‘Stay where you are! It never happened to you.’

‘Calm, calm my friend,’ said Kraal stepping between the two men, ‘this boy is important to us. I must discover what happened to him. We must find out about the beast that so viciously and unjustly attacked you.’

‘Shut up Kraal. You’re a fucking beast yourself!’ shouted Willis on the brink of uncontrollable rage, ‘you have no idea what it felt like. And this little bastard did it, or helped do it, and he’s not going to get away with it. Now it’s my turn!’

Willis fired twice. Roy staggered back, a look of disbelief on his face. He was shot! He fell. Julie screamed and ran to the stricken boy.

‘You fool!’ cried Kraal.

Willis turned back to Kraal and pointed the gun at him. ‘Shut up! I’ll kill you too! Treasure or no fucking treasure!’

Harris stepped forward, put away his weapon and held up his hands, ‘OK mate you’re right. The little fucker deserved it. I’d ‘ave done the same thing if it had happened to me.’

‘You would?’ said Willis his temper receding.

‘Yeah sure.’

Willis lowered his gun and wiped his mouth. Harris knelt beside Roy and felt his neck. He looked at Kraal ‘The boys dead. Now all me and Willis want to know is where’s the treasure, gold, money - whatever?’

‘There,’ said Kraal pointing to Julie. The girl held Roy’s head in her arms. She looked up with hatred in her eyes.

‘You murderers!’ she screamed.

Harris and Willis looked at her then at Kraal. Harris said ‘What are you talking about? She's got nothing. Her dad runs a poxy hotel for fuck sake.’

‘Look at her face,’ said Kraal smugly.

‘Yeah, so I’m looking, so what,’ said Willis.

‘Has she not made a remarkable recovery? Look at her eye. Not too long ago it was almost closed, and the other so bruised and puffed she could hardly see, and her jaw was broken. She could hardly talk could she not? Now she shouts.’

‘So she recovered quickly, so what?’ said Harris.

‘You think that bone can so easily heal?’

Harris looked at the girl again. There was not even any swelling on her face. That is strange, he thought. He looked at Kraal again.

‘Mr Harris the source of your wealth does not lie with jewels or gold but in the substance that so rapidly healed the girl. You remember the small creature, the one you chased in the house, the gel like substance that it emitted? That is what healed the girl, not only her skin and muscle but also her bone. Think of it! The medical properties of the substance are remarkable. It also has other remarkable effects that you already have unwittingly experienced. You wish for a few jewels - with the gel you can earn untold wealth! You can be kings!’

Harris realised the implications, ‘He’s right Willis. If we could market the stuff we’d make a bomb! Millions! There’s nothing else to touch it. He’s right, we could become fabulously rich.’

Willis was not so sure, but Harris’s excitement was contagious, and he somehow knew that his friend was being genuine. ‘I get what you mean. But wait a minute, where’s that little beast thing, the one with the big eyes?

‘The small creature itself is of no real consequence,’ said Kraal, ‘what it produces is merely a regurgitated product. What I can give you is the real thing. The pure substance.’

‘Ok Kraal, we’ll go along with you for now, but no bloody tricks. We’ve still got the guns.’

Kraal nodded, ‘Bring the girl and leave the boy to rot.’

Julie struggled but she was no match for Harris. She looked back at Roy as his body dimmed in the fading light and she felt something go out within herself. Willis grabbed Waddle and they all followed Kraal across the cavern and into another tunnel that sloped upwards.

The giant mound that lay like a sleeping whale could not, perhaps, hear the coach approach, but the roar would have awoken any human sleeper had one slept in this lonely place.

The coach struggled up the narrow lane. The unkempt surface of the road was full of holes, which caused the coach to bounce and jar. The crunch of gears split the surrounding serenity as the driver struggled to prevent the slow laborious engine from stalling. The passengers were tossed like salad as a front wheel plunged in and out of one of the deeper holes. Muffled yells came from the young faces wincing and grinning at the windows. Joe, cursing with frustration said,

‘Who the bloody hell would want to come all the bloody way out here I don’t know!’ Back of nowhere we are! If ‘e and ‘is bloody kids wanted to get lost why not a bit nearer a pub?’

The coach lurched forward as it cleared another hole. Conrad made his way from the rear of the coach where he had been attending a boy who while consuming lemonade had managed to get a straw stuck up his nose. ‘The coach jerked sir, and up it went.’ was the explanation; though probably true, it did nothing to quell Conrad's exasperation.

It had taken two hours to get to the area of search allocated to him by the Chief Constable. An area that was extremely difficult to traverse with its forgotten lanes and dirt tracks. They had struck their first flea bitten side road only ten minutes after leaving the outskirts of the town. The lanes were so torturously winding that a decent speed was impossible and the coach was reduced to a crawl much of the time. It broke down twice. Joe's temper was on the point of explosion. Conrad knew that if he did not allow escape from the stress, most of the boys would become impossible to control and Joe would certainly blow, to say nothing of the coach itself, which was hissing with steam.

‘Joe,’ called Conrad over the din, ‘see that wood of high trees ahead? They are about in the centre of our search area. Pull up and we’ll walk over to them.’ The old man grunted his acknowledgement.

The coach came to a sizzling halt just below the line of trees. Thick brambles that grew between the sturdy trunks hid the huge mound from the view of Conrad and his charges as they alighted. Joe was the second after Conrad to climb down from the narrow coach steps. Within seconds he had the side luggage compartment open and had pulled out a crate of beer. He picked up the crate and made off to find a nook where he could drink in peace. Conrad sighed. That the old man had no intention of helping with the search was clear. Conrad felt sorry for himself. The holiday had not turned out as he had hoped. His dejection was such that he had decided not to inform the parents of the missing boys that they were missing. He did not have the courage; he was sure that the boys would turn up. His naivety would not allow cold reality to interfere with his coloured expectations.

‘The boys had no real interest in Long Barrows, or megaliths nor any aspect of history. Why can I not convey my enthusiasm for the ancient people who had built the mounds? What kind of people were they?’ Conrad reflected as the boys trundled about stretching their legs. ‘Why did they build the Long Barrows? Was it simply to rest their dead or was there some other significance? Where did the idea of a mound arise? When did it begin?The archaeological evidence gives some clues about the methods. It seems clear how the mounds were built. However, about their ideas and perceptions, their dreams and questions, their speculations, we can only guess. From the skeletons found we can draw fairly accurate portraits of Neolithic man. We know what he looked like, but can only deduce what he thought. Were they so radically different from us? One only has to look at the different belief systems in the world today to realise how different perceptions of reality there are now, let alone five or six thousand years ago. Surely plans were drawn? How else could information about the structure of the Long Barrows be communicated? It must have taken hundreds of men to build the mounds? Not to mention hundreds of others who supported them, laboured for them, cooked for them, cared for them. Was all instruction word-of-mouth? There must have been an original plan? A blueprint? How can we ever know? Conrad wondered why he even bothered to wonder at all.

He started to organise the boys into search parties. He had no faith that any search would meet with success, but he had to keep the boys busy. He suspected the Chief Constable had directed them here just to get rid of them.

‘OK boys,’ he called out as enthusiastically as he could, ‘keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual.’

‘Like what sir?’

Conrad looked at Cramble, ‘I don’t know boy - use your bloody savvy. He felt utterly dejected. He knew the search for Chandler, McAuliffe and the rest was, here, futile. They simply would not have come out this far. Indeed, Joe had meandered so much and gone off route that he, Conrad, was not sure where they were. He sent the boys off in all directions so that he could be alone and dwell morbidly. It was in this mood that he set off to find Joe. He would cadge a drink from the old man. He skirted the trees looking for a gap in the bushes where Joe might have hidden himself. The teacher was near to the point of giving up when he heard a strange sound. At least he thought he heard something. It came behind the brambles. It was faint and the moment Conrad stopped to listen the sound faded.

‘Joe?’ he said

No one answered and the teacher’s brow deepened as he tried to make sense of what he had heard. The sound was muffled, as if a man was trying to breathe with his mouth and nose gagged. Conrad called again, no reply. He was about to walk off when he heard the sound again. Was it someone struggling for breath? His curiosity aroused he tried to get through the brambles, but they were too dense and the thorns too sharp. He needed something to cut through the brambles. He turned and made off for the coach.

The machete was sharp and Conrad easily cut through the thick stems. He slashed through the bushes for what he judged to be about fifteen feet, when he suddenly came upon what seemed to be a steep embankment. He looked sharply about but could see no one. He felt as if he ought not to be where he was. He somehow felt vulnerable. The tops of the tall trees looked down upon him. The rustle of leaves stirred the quiet and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He listened. He could hear nothing save for the rustle of leaves. He decided that he had not heard anyone trying to breathe, that it had been a trick of the wind along the narrow channel between the embankment and the bushes. He looked up at the long grass that was rippling in a light breeze and felt a second surge of excitement. The rise and incline of the mount reminded him of a mound. The thought about the myth of the second mound popped into his mind. ‘No, can’t be – yet…’

Conrad dug the machete into the ground and heaved himself up. He clambered through the long grass until he tripped on something hard and half buried. He turned, cleared away the grass and saw a flat disc of stone. It had a strange arrangement of patterns carved on it. Conrad brushed his hand over the rough surface. He felt the circles, the rings within rings that got smaller and smaller until they faded away with age, but once could have been as fine as fingerprints. Conrad’s heart beat fast as he shuffled around to get a better look. His foot hit something hard. He turned. It was another stone exactly like the first. He brushed away the grass and saw another and another and followed a line of them until he reached the top of the embankment. He stood and looked around him. Conrad's initial surprised turned to amazement.

He had never seen anything like it. ‘This is no embankment. This a mound. This is a Longbarrow! It must be. Surely?’ But it was so big. He had never even read of one so large. Conrad judged that it rose up a full ninety feet and its length, though it was difficult to measure by sight alone, must be around five hundred feet. The teacher was struck in awe at the size.

Though it was difficult to see, Conrad could now make out the small indents of grass that indicated where the stones lay and he was sure there was an arrangement to them. He was sure he was not projecting his own wishful perception; the patterns were a little erratic he could see clearly that the stones were not random – they had a pattern. The stoness were laid in circles. Circles within circles.

He was astonished that so important a find could go undiscovered, even if it had been discovered, that it could remain a secret, not in England. The population was sparse hereabouts, but surely someone would have come across an object so huge. He looked down at the dense brambles and at the high trees. It was unusual that the trees had grown all around the mound in such a uniform a manner. It was as if they had been deliberately planted to shield the mound. The teacher looked up at the arch of blue sky and thought of all the aeroplanes, or even hot air balloons that must have passed over. Hot air. He felt foolish, yet exhilarated.

‘Surely someone would have seen it?’ he thought. He felt the tickle of adventure in his chest and felt his mouth go dry. ‘But what if…’ He hardly dared think. ‘What if it had not been discovered?’ He looked again at the fortress of trees and bushes, ‘It’s too deliberate. It’s almost as if someone wanted to keep it hidden. There is nothing to indicate anything unusual lay here. Viewed from any angle it simply looks like dense wood and who would bother to cut through here when the surrounding area is more accessible. Has it been over looked? How many people have actually walked around here? Who owns the land?’ The more Conrad thought about the situation the more he was convinced that the barrow had remained undisturbed for a very long time.

‘But who planted the trees and why?’ he said aloud.

A small pool of blood formed in the palm of the petrified hand. A frozen face, which lay beside the hand, stared unseeing. Roy awkwardly lay on top of the solidified body. Blood dripped from his bullet wounds onto the palm causing a tiny pool to form in its centre. The blood dripped over the lip of the palm and onto the dusty floor of the black cavern. Roy's mouth was open but breath did not pass his lips. He lay, like the rigid bodies around him – lifeless.

The only sound in cavern was the drip of blood. All was otherwise silent in the dark. Time passed and blood dripped. Then the darkness beside the boy began to curl. A thin black rod turned and sucked the surrounding air. The core of the rod coalesced with the darkness, gradually forming a thicker substance, moulding sinew and armoured bone. Soon the strange copulation of air and substance was complete and Krowdon stood in the silence gazing upon the boy. Then, it reached down and lifted him between its powerful thighs.

The footfall of the small group echoed along the narrow passage. They were no longer in a tunnel. The walls had slowly merged with another surface that looked like the overlapping of large sides of red meat. It glistened in the light of the torch beams like liver. They walked in single file with Kraal at their head. Julie had Harris’s hand on her back as Waddle followed him pushed by Willis are the rear. Harris looked ahead at Kraal. He thought of the painting of the monk. His uneasiness deepened.

Willis wished that he were somewhere else. He had noticed that the walls of this passage were different, not rocky and dry like the tunnels and cavern, but bent and moist like bone covered with thin membrane. Willis had the horrible impression that he was in a slaughterhouse. The thought made him shiver and he wished he were in the middle of the group instead of the rear. He stopped. Was that a sound from behind? He peered back into the darkness. He felt very jittery. He saw nothing save the light from his torch shining off the sweating walls. He touched the wall. It was like passing his fingers over thin skin that covered a network of veins. Then the wall moved like slow-contracting muscle. He snapped his hand away. Revulsion and fear flooded through him and he scampered to catch-up with the others.

Julie cringed to keep as far away from walls as possible. Parts of the wall looked like an expanded bladder and she was sure she could see it occasionally shudder. Harris had his hand on the girls shoulder and could feel how tense she was. He did not blame her, he felt slightly faint himself as he glanced up at the tangle of vascular tubes that ran along the ceiling. He felt sure he could see some sort of fluid flowing inside the tubes. Waddle staggered along in front of Willis oblivious to his surroundings as the smell of sweet honey that pervaded the passageway induced a narcotic affect on him.

A short distance later Kraal suddenly disappeared into an opening in the passageway. There heard him clattering about for a moment, suddenly, the bulbs came on. They all had to shield their eyes from the glare. They had got used to the dim glow from the tunnel walls and the light from the torches. The opening was more like an oriface melted into the wall than a doorway. Harris stopped and looked to see where Kraal had gone. The others gathered around him and peered in. What they saw made their spines freeze.

If a fat giant had been flayed and had his corpulent flesh hung from the walls as curtains, then this is what the wall of the chamber looked like. A curtain of flesh hung from every wall. Sickened by the sight the small group looked at each other with expressions of revulsion. Julie turned away, only to face the opening to another chamber. Inside the sight was worse.

Again hung the curtains of flesh, but from within the sagging material, like a demonic embossment, protruded human shapes. The figures were like those in the cavern. Here though the couplings had a fierce intensity that those in the cavern had not. Here grip replaced embrace, bite replaced kiss and claw replaced caress. The passion that enjoined the figures here draped was again lust, but lust not driven by only lust. Here the motivation was clear - frozen on every face was hate.

Face merged with face in expressions of fury. Limb twisted with limb in paroxysms of rage and sex fused with sex in a frenzy of desperation. All over the misshapen walls naked figures clung, yet in neither expression nor act did they move, they were stuck in mass paralysis. Again, instant solidification had happened. The figures looked as if carved by some monstrous hand, to placate a demon god.

Julie stared at the ghastly sight. She choked and vomited. The others turned, but no one came to comfort her. Harris stepped into the chamber behind them. Willis pushed Waddle forward. The boy looked, but did not comprehend. Harris was repelled and fascinated by the bizarre tableaux. He had never seen such complete barbarity. There was something primitive about the people depicted. All of the males had beards and most had hair as long as the females.

‘It’s like some sort of tribal madness,’ he said.

Willis, struck dumb by the horrendous sights, was brought round by the sound of Harris’s voice.

‘Is it stone. It is stone isn’t it? They are carvings?’ he croaked.

Harris looked at Willis then reached out to touch the wall. He felt his flesh creep as his fingers neared the wall. He expected to feel soft skin but instead he felt solid material. He sighed. He pressed his hand on the moist limb of one figure and then another.

‘They’re stone all right, well like stone anyway. It’s got a peculiar touch to it, not marble, but not rock either. I mean it’s very smooth like a statue. The passageway looks like it is alive, it looks organic, but this is dead stuff – I mean inorganic, yet it merges seamlessly with the organic stuff.’

‘But who carved them?’ said Willis. The two men looked at each other studiedly.

‘The picture of the monk in Kraal’s room, monks used to sculpt didn’t they, don’t they?’ conjectured Willis. ‘Well, perhaps monks did this, perhaps we’re below a monastery?’

Harris put his hand on his associates shoulder and said,

‘Yeah. You could be right. It fits doesn’t it? God, that awful honey smell, it’s making me feel drowsy. It’s hard to focus’ He stepped back and looked along the wall at the array of faces with their deep lines etched on their brows, their matted hair and beards roughly cut. The bodies were muscular as if used to hard physical labour.

‘I imagine people in the old days looked like this - the peasants anyway. Back then, about the time of the monk in the picture. When was it – the eleventh century? He would have had to get his subjects from somewhere: peasants, the rank and file, the common people, perhaps soldiers like us.’ Harris started.

He had been looking round at the frozen faces as he talked and suddenly he found himself looking at Kraal who had stepped into the chamber with them unnoticed. It was not just the sight of Kraal’s face that had made him jump. It was something else, something that Harris could not quite grasp.

‘It is not my face that you should be looking at my friend but the girl’s.’ Kraal said, then walked back to the opposite chamber. He turned, raised his malformed hand and beckoned with his long finger. They all silently followed.

The chamber was furnished with various items that Kraal must have supplied for they were obviously not indigenous. Along one sagging wall were two oxygen bottles; from one hung a pair of goggles. Beside it was a small generator. Upon a narrow bench sat a bowl of water and a set of blooded surgical instruments. In the corner sat a women strapped. Her abdomen was cut wide open. Small clamps held the ends of her flapped skin. Her internal organs exposed. Attached to her liver were two electrodes. One of the wires ran from the electrodes to a small metal box that was wired to the generator. The other wire was attached to the wall. Several other parts of the woman’s body had been opened and were now crudely stitched. Kraal placed a chair next to the table he grabbed Julie and roughly sat her down. The girl looked up in horror at Kraal. He proceeded to pull off her clothes. The others, shocked and disorientated, looked on in silence.

‘Willis tie her!’ barked Kraal as he flung a coil of rope at the stunned man. Willis caught the rope and moved towards Julie like a somnambulist. Harris caught his arm and said,

‘Listen Kraal I want to know what the fucking hell is going on here! What the fuck is this place? Where are we?’

Julie opened her eyes, shivered and whispered. ‘We are in Hell.’

Harris looked at the girl and felt an urge to protect her. He repressed the feeling, but Julie looked up at him as if she had read his thoughts.

‘Yeah answer him Kraal!’ said Willis his voice revealing his fear ‘I feel like I’m walking about in someone’s belly.’

‘In a manner of speaking you are.’ said Kraal.

‘What do you mean?’ said Harris, almost afraid of the reply.

‘What I mean, dear solider, is that you are not inside a building of any sort. You are inside an organism. An organism that has long been dead – at least some of it.’ Kraal placed his hand on the wall. ‘Here it is fossilised.’

Willis looked at Julie. She felt abject fear in him and for the first time, despite what he had done to her, she felt a kind of kinship with him. Willis swallowed hard and said to Kraal:

‘You’re saying we’re inside a monster, like a whale, like fucking Jonah?’

‘Well done young Willis. An apt description; but fear not. For unlike Jonah’s whale, this monster is quite dead.’ He eyed both men. He seemed to enjoy their discomfort, their fear, enjoyed it as a cruel master might enjoy the domination of his pupils. He reached over to the prone woman and sharply tugged on one of the clamps. A shudder went through her body. The woman lifted her head; half opened her eyes then fell back into unconsciousness. Julie screamed.

‘She’s alive! Jesus she’s still alive!’ cried Willis, ‘for Gods sake put her out of her misery!’

‘And if I do how will you become the rich man you desire to be?’

‘What? I don’t understand?’

‘No! No, you do not.’ replied Kraal harshly. ‘Listen then to me. The medical properties of the substance we talked about is, as I have mentioned, merely incidental. A by-product. Its real nature is far more profound. You may not be surprised to hear that the tunnels are composed of it.’

‘How how can that be?’ said Harris incredulously. ‘That little creature couldn’t have constructed the tunnels.’

‘Regurgitated food? No. It is produced by the organism that we are now in.’

‘But how? You said that it was fossilised. ‘That means dead.’

‘Yes but different organisms die at different rates and in different ways. Much of this organism has ossified, but parts can be revived. It seems to be sensitised by vibrations from other organisms. Hence the necessity of…’ Kraal nodded towards the woman.

‘You’re crucifying the cow!’ said Willis, ‘you’ve plugged her in.’

‘Let us not get squeamish. Think of your future. This subject is drained. She will soon die. We will have to use the girl.’

Harris clenched his jaws. He looked at Willis who was standing by the clamped woman and looking down at Kraal’s surgery. The victim’s hands were trembling.

‘She must be in terrible pain,’ whispered Willis almost to himself.

Kraal looked deeply into Harris’s eyes then glanced at Willis. Harris knew what Kraal meant and felt very uneasy; for the first time in his life he felt completely out of his depth. He did not trust Kraal, but the chance to gain what he offered was very tempting. After all, Willis was a bit of a dammed liability. Willis looked pale and hot under the naked electric light. He turned away from the woman and slowly looked at the Julie and Waddle. His eyes were full of sadness. Harris looked back at Kraal and nodded.

‘How do you know it feels pain?’ said Kraal as he stepped over to the woman.

‘What?’ Willis was startled by the question. ‘Of course she’s in pain!’

‘But how can you know? Can you feel her pain? What if she were happy, could you feel her joy?’

‘I...I, yes, well I don’t know. Yes - sort of.’

Kraal reached out with his long finger and tugged a wire. A spasm shot through the woman arching her body and causing her flesh to tear and the wire to snap. Kraal laughed.

‘You are evil!’ cried Julie, ‘you enjoy inflicting pain. You enjoyed it when you tortured me. Roy would not be dead if you hadn’t hired these, these - gangsters. You’re all murderers! You killed him and the other boys. And where’s Billy? What have you done with him? Have you murdered him too?’

Julie broke down sobbing. Willis reached out a hand to her shoulder, but drew it back. Kraal smiled. He knew that the man was on the brink of either complete despair - or rebellion.

‘I only do what is necessary, it is unfortunate that the boy was shot but he was dangerous. You saw what he could become, what he could do. As for the other boy...well, I shall show you.’

Kraal walked out of the chamber, but before anyone had time to untangle his or her thoughts he was back.

‘Billy!’ cried Julie. Kraal carried the boy in his arms, tied and unconscious. Julie leapt from the chair and ran over to where Kraal was placing the boy. She sat down beside the limp figure and untied the ropes. She whispered ‘Billy, Billy, sweet Billy.’ She ran her hand through his thick ginger hair. ‘Billy, it’s me Julie.’

Billy slowly opened his eyes, ‘Julie...’ he said drowsily drawing her hand away from his hair

‘What happened? Where’s Roy?’ He looked over Julie’s shoulder and saw Waddle. The sight of someone familiar acted upon Waddle like smelling salts. He came alive:

‘I done McAuliffe. I done ‘em for good an’ all.’

‘Oh Waddle don’t, please,’ pleaded Julie. Waddle twisted his jumper and he let out a whimpering giggle.

‘Where’s Roy?’ repeated Billy. He looked silently at Julie’s face for a moment and a look of realization overcame his face.

‘Oh Billy. Roy’s had an accident...he… he’s. Oh Billy, he’s dead.’

‘Enough of this!’ commanded Harris ‘Willis get the rope and tie up the three of them.’

Willis pushed his gun into his belt, picked up the rope and was about to take hold of Waddle when the lights started to flicker. They all looked up but no one said anything. The flickering gave the chamber a strobe effect and it looked as if everyone were moving in disjointed time.

‘I’ll take your gun mate,’ said Harris, ‘One of them might reach for it.’

Willis hesitated, frowned, then took the gun from his belt and handed it to Harris. Kraal stepped backwards into the passage. Harris threw him a glance, nodded, removed his own gun from his belt and pointed both guns at Willis’s back.

Conrad knelt beside one of the smaller rings and put his hand on one of the stones. He cried out and his hand sprang back as if hit by an electric shock. He expected to touch rock, a surface hard and dry, as the others had been, but instead the surface of this one felt like hide. It was soft. He felt he had touched an elephant’s belly. He stood up and looked down at the circle of slabs. He took a deep breath and apprehensively reached down. The surface was rough, but again it gave. It was like pressing a half-filled tyre. Conrad’s mind struggled to cope with what he saw and what his hand felt. He placed the flat of his palm on the knarled surface and pressed hard. After testing a dozen slabs he reluctantly concluded that the stones must be made of artificial material.

‘Artificial stones?’ he said to himself, still not completely convinced of his own deduction. He swiftly looked about him at the size of the mound. He felt fear, excitement and awe simultaneously. His mind raced with the implications of a structure so huge. ‘OK, If it is a Neolithic mound, then there are chambers inside and if the builder or builders have followed the same intentions of Neolithic man then they put their dead in here.’ The teacher took a deep breath.

‘Tomb.’

Conrad stuck the machete in the ground next to the ‘stone’ so that he could find it again and scrambled down the side of the mound to gather the boys.

Roy felt strong. He tried to open his eyes, then realised that he could see, yet the images he saw were not his own. Not entirely his own. They belonged to both him and his host.

He saw a valley with rivers of white lava flowing, bubbling and erupting in great cascades. On the burning edge of a molten river, creatures, half grown out of the hot rock, were hammering black metal into armour. Thousands of alien forges hammered, glowing in the last moments of a red sun that burnt the tips of a far mountain range. Under the forges, squat bipeds drew dripping slabs on their naked shoulders and carried them to huge anvils. In fists of living rock a thousand hammers crashed down upon the burning metal that curled and twisted as if alive. The hammers thundered giving shape to the ore: The living metal that was the creature, now his host. Krowdon’s memories were now his.

‘We are one.’

The voice was at once his own and that of Krowdon. Roy put his hand to his face and felt the elongated head. In a moment of sudden panic Roy felt for his neck and chest but felt only Krowdon’s body. He held his breath, yet kept on breathing despite his will.

Suddenly he saw figures. He saw figures caught forever in carnal solidity. The Krowdon had opened its eyes - his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said in duel tones of resignation and resolve, ‘Now we are one.’ He rose with his host to full height. He felt the power of the beast rush through his own veins. He and Krowdon were now fully merged. Human and alien fused. Their individual intentions coalesced into a single purpose.

The depth and complexity of Krowdon’s nature left much unintelligible to the boy but he cognised part. Unlike terrestrial life that crawls separate and alone on the Earth, the Krowdon is the raw ore of his world brought forth and fashioned from the living geology. The planet itself is Krowdon’s flesh – its mind and its kin. A lineage of bio-chemical constituent, alien to human knowledge, but of a bond stronger than mere bloodlines or brotherhood, it was the micro-macrocosm of global affinity, symbiotic geology merged rock with flesh and flesh with rock by liquid transfigurement. A world where irrelation is anathema, where organic and inorganic fuse, where all relations are symmetrical and where correspondence of substance is direct, not warped by categories that divide. A truly living world, where by comparison, the Earth is dead.

Yet a vacuity prevailed Roy’s host: a ghostly emptiness that mere material could not fill. The purely physical was not enough to sate a geological heart that bred unconscionable moral severity. The beast was devoid of pity. It was in this immaterial realm that the boy and beast met. His human heart would fulfil the beast, his compassion would guide its strength; his sensitivity control its force and his empathy measures its wrath. Roy now knew why the Krowdon had come to him – why it needed him.

With symbiotic fusion complete, the black beast now sped across the cavern and into the passageway like an avenging angel, its combined resolution in single purpose to destroy Kraal and free the crippled wombs of the mound.

‘Leave the kids,’ said Harris in a tone like ice. Willis turned and saw the guns pointing at him. An expression of puzzlement came over his face,

‘What’s wrong? What ya doing?’

‘Stay where you are. You kids get in the passage.’

‘What’s going on? Come on pal, this is no time to sod about.’

‘Listen Willis – time’s up. Now do as I say you kids – get out!’

Waddle rush passed Harris. Julie hesitated, but the grim determination on Harris’s face frightened her and she led Billy out. Not knowing where to go they stood in the entrance gazing at the men.

‘Harris, you can’t be serious? We’ve been mates for years.’

‘All good things come to an end,’ said Harris his mouth turning into a half smile. Willis felt the rope in his hands. He had only one chance.

The coil of rope hit Harris in the face. He fell back against Kraal firing both guns. A bullet tore through Willis’s shoulder. He cried out but allowing no time for Harris to get to his feet he rushed the man. A bullet hit the woman, convulsing her body. Blood splayed across the wall. Willis kicked a gun from Harris’s hand. It scattered across the floor. Harris brought up his knee and caught Willis in the groin. Kraal scrambled backwards into a corner with a look of malevolent pleasure in his eyes. Willis clutched desperately at Harris’s neck and fought to snatch the other gun. Both men fought wildly. They fell against the wall. Eyes blazing. Harris threw Willis down and punched him heavily in the face. The downward force of the knuckles tore into Willis’s eyebrow. Blood plumped over his eye and down his cheek. He scrambled away and fought to wipe the blood, but Harris was upon him again and threw two sharp hooks. Willis doubled over slinging his weight forward and knocked Harris against the wall. The other gun was knocked from his hand and flew across the chamber. Clutching each other they rolled and pressed against the wall. Both could smell the sickly sweet honey that emanated from the wall. The surface seemed to give way under their weight.

Harris looked for the guns. He saw one in a corner and tore himself away from Willis’s grip. He jumped for the gun. Willis tackled him and they rolled on the floor snarling and shouting curses at each other. Willis sank his teeth into Harris’s cheek and ripped the flesh. A portion tore away. Harris screamed and with a burst of frantic energy threw Willis across the chamber. The blond man hit the bench. It collapsed and he fell forward on top of the woman. A tangle of limbs jerked and bounced against the wall splashing blood everywhere. The surface of the wall heaved. At first Harris did not believe what he had seen. Again the sagging surface moved. It rose and in a swell that bloated and then deflated, like a huge lung. Solidity was transforming into a convulsing mass.

Kraal watched on. His eye shone with excitement and expectancy. Willis, oblivious to all but survival and driven by the pain in his shoulder, tore himself away from the corpse and rushed at Harris in a fit of fury. Momentarily distracted, Harris could not avoid the onrush and he caught the full explosion of Willis’s fury. Both men fell sprawling onto the heaving wall. They fought like maniacs tearing at each other with hands like talons ripping at human and alien flesh alike. They sank deeper and deeper into the oozing wall. The whole chamber seemed alive. Large pores opened in the pumping surface and creamy mucus like rotten fruit debauched over the thrashing bodies.

Harris pinioned in Willis’s muscular embrace caught sight of Kraal. He saw the thin twisted mouth, the flared nostrils and the flaming eyes. Harris screamed at Kraal to help him. The debauching mucus filled his mouth and he gagged. Hate ignited his heart. He spat out the oozing stream.

‘Willis!’ he roared ‘He tricked us! Stop! Stop!’

Willis heard nothing other than the rage of his own passion. He dug further into the swamp of flesh pulling Harris in with him. They would sink together!

Kraal laughed maniacally as the flesh surrounded the two men. At times they could hardly be seen. Kraal, sweat running down his furrowed brow and his face fixed in an expression of ecstasy, sucked in his breath. He knew that the chamber had not finished. He had seen it consume and give forth many times before. How many sacrifices had he made to his God? How many times had he experienced the ultimate pleasure of renewal?

‘Let me go!’ cried Julie as Kraal grabbed her wrist. She fought against her captor’s course and repugnant grip.

Kraal caught hold of the two boys in a powerful arm and pulled the struggling bodies to him in a ghastly embrace, ‘So many! So many!’ he cried.

The chamber pumped. Harris and Willis continue to tear at each other the weight and fury of their fight diminishing as they were sucked beneath the surface. Then in one last convolution that almost pushed out the men from the hot blood-wet shroud, the flesh swallowed them completely. The surface joined and the men were gone as if sucked beneath a swamp.

Kraal waited then released his prisoners and, shoving Waddle, pressed them to the far wall. The he stepped back to where the two men had disappeared and removed his clothing. Julie and the two boys looked in disgust as Kraal revealed himself. His shoulders, back and chest were covered with hair. When he dropped the cloak to completely expose himself naked. Julie turned away. The sight of his erection sickened her. The two boys looked in horrified fascination. A rumble issued from the wall. Kraal stood facing the undulating swell. The rumble increased as if a small volcano were about to erupt. A thick white liquid spurted from the wall and splashed over Kraal. He spread his arms and immersed himself, wallowing in the flow like a pig in a sluice. The splashing viscous spilled on to the floor spreading near the feet of Julie and the boys. They shuffled back. Kraal started to murmur sounds as he rubbed the emulsion over his body. His voice had a rhythm as if he were uttering an incantation.

He spoke in a language unknown to the three witnesses, his voice rising and falling as if he were a witch casting a wicked and idolatrous curse. Falling to his knees he worked the air with strange gestures, moving his hands and chanting in a devotion that was devilish and barbaric. His movements seemed random at first but gradually the gestures took on repetition as if they were part of some ghastly and primitive ritual.

The enactment subsided. Julie put her arms around the two boys and drew them to her. Kraal rose, his body covered with the thick glistering gelatinous substance. The hair on his body was matted and tangled. He pick up his soaking cloak and wrapped it about him.

‘They have returned to the womb,’ he said.

Julie looked aghast at the dripping, crooked man and said,

‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘I am going to do what you planned to do to him,’ He pointed at Waddle.

The boy frowned fearfully ‘Do to me? Whatta you going to do to me?’

‘She plans to kill you my brave friend,’ said Kraal wiping his face. His expression looked renewed as if his experience had rejuvenated him. His face seemed transformed, gone were the deeply etched lines, gone the chiselled features of his face and gone his bent stance as he now his erect, but still short, frame stood arrogantly before Julie and the boys. Waddle, seemingly oblivious to Kraal’s newly energized state, shouted,

‘What! I didn’t do nuffink!’

Kraal bellowed with laughter, ‘I know that! You are too noble, to good a boy to do wrong. But these two are jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ said Waddle.

‘Was it not you who conquered your foe - your supposed master?’

‘Who?’ said Waddle. Realisation dawned on his face, ‘You mean McAuliffe?’ Yeh, I beat ‘im alright,’ He turned to Julie and Billy, ‘So your jealous are ya?’

Julie, stuck silent for a moment shocked by Kraal’s fresh appearance, realised what he was up to. She appealed to Waddle,

‘Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to trick you into turning against us. Once he has done it, he’ll turn on you. Your body may have changed Kraal, but your heart is as black as ever.’

‘I speak the truth,’ bellowed Kraal, ‘You planned to kill my brave warrior here – to steal his strength!’

‘I knew it! You’ve never liked me Baddie! And you your tart!’

‘Waddle for God’s sake! Don’t be so stupid. Can’t you see what he’s doing?’ said Julie.

‘She thinks that you’re a fool Mr Waddle. They both think that; but you’re more intelligent than they are. Surely you know that you’re better than they are. Surely you have always known that you are superior?’

Waddle looked up at Kraal. He did not like Kraal, but the boy’s vanity had its grip.

‘Yeh, ‘course I knew it!’ He let fly a punch and hit Julie in the breast. She cried out more with shock than pain. Billy shot forward, but before he could reach Waddle, Kraal grabbed him and backhanded him across the face. The boy went reeling. Kraal grabbed Julie.

‘So you thought that you could outsmart us,’ he said.

Julie realised what Kraal intended. She gave up. What was the use of fighting? She was in a madhouse. Kraal struck her across the mouth. She made no sound, but sank silently to the floor.

‘Leave ‘er alone!’ cried Billy.

Kraal looked at Billy who was kneeling on all fours on the slithery floor. Kraal said,

‘ Mr. Waddle, get him!’

Waddle ran over to Billy, slipped, and fell on his back.

Billy could not help laughing, ‘You stupid cunt!’

Kraal stepped over to Billy and slapped him around the head. Billy stopped laughing.

‘Have your revenge Mr. Waddle. You did it once, now do it again. Beat them!’

Waddle’s face was shining. Kraal reached down into his cloak and pulled out the stone axe. He gave it to Waddle.

‘Feel the power in the axe Master Waddle. Kill the boy. Kill him!’ screamed Kraal, his face so contorted with rage that it no longer looked rejuvenated, but reverted back to its shrivelled self.

‘Waddle don’t listen, please,’ said Julie. Her voice drained of spirit.

Waddle stood over Billy and made to raise the axe.

Recovering before Waddle could hit him, Billy made to grab the axe. Waddle snatched it away. He stumbled over Julie’s legs. Billy lunged, but Waddle, with the agility of a chimp, stepped aside and caught the boy a blow on the arm. Billy fell headlong towards the mass of flesh. His hand sank into the sticky layer. He scrambled to prevent his head from plunging in. The mass smelt sweet – almost inviting. Seizing his chance, Waddle made to strike again. Someone grabbed his arm. He turned. Julie stood before him with rage in her eyes. She caught hold of Waddles ears and head butted him.

At the entrance, Kraal watched with pleasure. He heard something behind him. He looked down the passageway. The flickering bulbs cast a sporadic alternation of light and dark. He narrowed his eyes, but saw no movement and returned his attention to the chamber.

Waddle’s nose had burst. Blood ran down over his mouth and chin. He became hysterical, swinging the axe in loops and screaming at his adversaries. Billy pulled himself free of the wall and thrust him self at Waddle, who dodged, hit back with his fist and plunged Billy back into the flesh. A tremor reverberated along the wall as his head and shoulders sank. He felt as if he were nestled between two enormous breasts. The sensation was pleasant despite his situation. The flesh was warm and sensual. His body relaxed almost involuntary. He sighed.

Julie flew at Waddle; her weight knocked the axe out of his hand and propelled both into the rippling flesh alongside Billy. Their arms and legs thrashed tearing at tissue. Blood spread, arms grappled, nails tore and feet kicked to gain a foothold in the pulpy mass. Flesh gathered about the three bodies pressing them together until they were unable to disentangle their limbs.

‘Soon,’ Kraal whispered, his lips quivering.

The lights flickered off. Darkness engulfed the chamber. Something moved behind Kraal. His instincts screamed. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His shoulders hunched, as if expecting an attack. The lights came on. The wall had almost completely enveloped its triple stimulus. Kraal stared wildly at the axe on the floor. He wanted to reach for it. He could not. He could not move. Something had gripped him by the neck.

Conrad drove the machete into the edge of the slab. He had never felt so exhilarated. He knew the slabs were not made of stone, which meant that this mound was unlike any other in existence. He was on to something unique. He had gathered the boys and sent them to search the whole length of the Long Barrow. A few stood around him, watching what he was doing. He drew out the blade, placed its tip in the middle of the slab and drove down hard. He had no time to be methodical. The steel plunged deep and he felt a slight vibration run through the blade and up his arm. He dismissed the sensation thinking that it was merely his own excitement. He withdrew the machete and stabbed again. This time there was no mistake. He definitely felt a vibration: stronger this time. The area around the slab began to tremor.

‘It’s an earthquake!’ cried one of the boys as the shaking spread outward.

‘Get back!’ commanded Conrad. The boys needed no encouragement –they scattered.

The ground around the slab started to undulate. Conrad could not believe what was happening. He had to believe it. This was his chance! He had to take his opportunity. He had to find out the nature of the mound before the professionals cast him to one side. He stabbed again.

Before he could pull out the blade the substance of the slab began to change the firm surface started to melt like a heated honeycomb. Conrad knelt down, afraid to move as the ground within the ring of stones began to subside. Panic struck the teacher as the ground fell away beneath him and he disappeared from view.

Krowdon held Kraal by the neck. Roy looked at the barbaric face of the man. Recognition crept in at edges of Roy’s memory – yet not his memory. No, it was not within his memory that recognition dwelt, but within that of his host. Roy could not quite grasp the images he saw; they were too vague – like an unfocused movie.

He saw a huge crowd about a Long Barrow. They were dressed in furs and crudely woven clothes. They held weapons of wood and stone. He saw a shape emerge from the mound. It was a shape that looked like Krowdon, but smaller. A spear split the air and the creature fell. The mob invaded the mound. Now - terrible scenes - an orgy of lust and depravity and terror. Roy felt his hand squeeze the neck it held. The images faded. Kraal was gasping for breath. Roy fought to loosen the grip.

‘No!’ he thought ‘this is not the way! There has been too much pain!’ Kraal fell. He looked up fearfully, ‘Let the womb have him.’ The thought and action came simultaneously and Krowdon picked up Kraal and threw him at the wall. The man roared like a beast and fought against the sucking flesh.

‘Where are they? Tell me where they are.’

Transformed by fusion, Roy and Krowdon’s voice sounded like the bass notes of a church organ. The sound filled the chamber. Kraal pointed wildly to a fold in the wall. Krowdon strode to it and plunged in its mighty arm.

A shaft of sunlight slashed the passageway. Conrad tumbled down amongst a shower of earth and gel. Gasping he scrambled away from the falling earth and sat up to looked around him. His eyes were half blinded in the dust and gloom. He saw lights flickering ahead. Slowly his breath calmed and his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

‘Hold on old chap,’ he said to himself, ‘you’re inside now. Phew! What’s that smell? Take it slow.’ He noticed that the pile of fallen earth had split into a door-like aperture.

‘A Chamber?’

He scrambled to his feet climbed over the debris and peered into the aperture. The daylight from the gap above sparsely lit the chamber. At the edge of the light Conrad thought he saw something protruding from the wall. He mover closer - the wall glistened.

The figures of two men intertwined like frenzied wrestlers were embossed on the wall. Conrad gasped,

‘My God, I must see this. No one has ever reported such a carving. The wall, it’s not stone. What is it?’ He stepped back and studied the figures. They were in half shadow, but he could see that they were carved in tremendous detail. He could even see the tattoo of a scorpion on the hand of the smaller figure. There was something wrong. Then Conrad realised that the figures were wearing modern clothes. His heart sank.

‘It can’t be a Neolithic carving,’ he said dejectedly, ‘the clothes and men are clean-shaven. No these are modern depictions. The whole mound must be a hoax or some sort of elaborate private joke. Just my luck.’

A fall of earth behind him made Conrad remember the boys above. What was he going to tell them? More earth fell. Without looking round the teacher sighed and said,

‘OK boys, I’m alright, I’m coming.’

He turned and looked into the biggest pair of eyes he had ever seen. The small creature stood still with eyes wide like a curious child. It turned and ran off along the passage.

‘What on earth was that? A monkey? Not with those eyes,’ He listened to the sound of the thing scampering off. He took a deep breath then said,

‘Come on old son, after it, you might make your name yet!’

‘You alright sir?’

Conrad looked up and saw Cramble gazing down from the edge of the hole. He was chewing a huge slice of apple pie.

‘Cramble listen have you got a torch?

‘No, but Brown has.’

‘Good, go and get him,’

Cramble soon returned. ‘Throw it down, there’s a good chap,’ said Conrad.

Cramble did as he was told. ‘Right, I’ve got it. Now, if I’m not back within ten min…no half an hour go and find Mr Pickles, the coach driver, and tell him where I am. Do you understand?

‘No sir,’ said Cramble. He lifted the apple pie above his head, looked up at it and then lowered it to his mouth.

‘Cramble, listen carefully. I’m going down this passageway. There’s an animal in here and I’ve got to catch it. I need Mr. Pickles to help me. You wait for a while – half-hour. Then if I haven’t caught the animal you go fetch Mr Pickles. Understood?’

The boy could not speak. His mouth was full of pie. He knew Conrad was waiting for a reply and he tried to swallow the pie, but it was too much and his face grimaced with the effort. He dropped the slice that was left and clutched his throat. He wobbled and fell back out of sight.

‘Then choke!’ shouted Conrad. He picked up the machete and made off along the passage. He had not walked far when he came upon a second chamber. He turned on the torch and flashed the beam inside the chamber. He was horrified by what he saw.

‘What perverted mind carved these?’ He gaped at the tangle of figures. The faces and features resembled the images he had seen of what Neolithic man might have looked like.

‘If I had found this chamber first I might have been fooled into thinking that the mound was genuine. This is very bizarre. Don’t get squeamish; carry on.’ Conrad moved further down the passage. He looked with disgust at mucous membrane walls, but his revulsion did not prevent the teacher from moving on. He had not covered much distance when he heard sounds coming from ahead of him. He stopped to listen. It was as if mud were being forced through a narrow tube. He shone the beam and two large eyes looked at him. Conrad almost dropped the torch.

‘What on earth?’

The creature waved his limbs indicating a chamber entrance. The strange sounds that Conrad could hear were coming from within the chamber. He was surprised, but he felt no fear of the small creature; it certainly had no fear of him, indeed it seemed to be beckoning him to look into the chamber, as if he were its ally. Conrad held the machete at ready and peered around the edge of the aperture. His eyes bulged.

He sprang back. Fear grabbed him like a hook. His heart started to pound and he wanted to run away. His determination to keep with his opportunity to discover what the mound was kept him rooted. ‘If you run you’ll never get another chance.’ he thought, as his fear did battle with his curiosity. He looked at the small creature. Was there a message in those big blue eyes, an appeal?

Conrad gritted his teeth and looked into the chamber again. The scene had not changed. The wall was alive! It was heaving and undulating like larva. Yet that was not the thing that most shocked Conrad, it was the sight of a monster with an arm plunged into the moving mass of the wall, as if it were searching for something beneath the surface.

‘Help me!’

The voice was urgent but whispered in a rasping voice. Conrad’s heart skipped as he turned to face the voice. A man was splayed against the opposite wall. He was struggling with the mass that seemed to be sucking him in. ‘Help me!’ said the man again, ‘Quickly before it is too late. I am a prisoner. Help me get free.’

Conrad was stunned yet part of his mind managed to stay aloof.

‘Pull me out, I’m being sucked in.’

Conrad’s compassion swamped his thoughts and, keeping one eye on the monster, he started to hack the heaving flesh with the machete. The wall cut away like whale blubber. The teacher was repulsed, but he kept chopping. The man was free. Kraal roughly pushed Conrad aside and rushed off down the passage chased by the small creature. The teacher was both shocked and outraged at the man's ungrateful behaviour. Yet he barely had time to feel these emotions when he heard a great gush of water splash behind him.

The monster pulled something out of the wall and it flopped onto the floor. It was covered in mucus. At first Conrad could not make out what the object was. It withered on the floor like a hooked fish. Then he saw arms and legs and realised that the figure was human – a boy! The boy sat up wiped away the mucus from his face and shouted to the monster, ‘Roy! Roy get the others! Julie and Waddle are in there.’

‘Baddie?’ said Conrad in disbelief. Both boy and monster looked at the teacher.

‘Sir!’ yelled Billy ‘How did you get here?’

Billy read the expression on the teachers face and said:

‘Don’t worry, it’s only Roy.’

Conrad thought he would faint. He looked at the black monster then at Billy, ‘Are you safe? What is that? What are you talking about? What do you mean? What is going on?’ he gushed.

Billy did not answer. He rushed to the monsters side and plunged his hands into the wall.

Conrad watched stunned and he thought for a moment that he was not really experiencing this. It was a dream. Yet it did not feel like a dream. He watched open-mouthed as the monster thrust its arm once more into the mass of moving blubber.

‘Billy what is happening?’ cried Conrad.

‘It’s Waddle and Julie sir. They’re in here,’ said Billy.

‘Waddle!’ said Conrad amazed, ‘Julie? Who’s Julie? The girl from the hotel? Meadow’s daughter?’

The Krowdon gave a heave backwards and a head appeared out of the mass. It was dripping in gel. Billy began tugging at the shoulders. Conrad stood rigid, transfixed by the bizarre struggle in front of him. The girl’s trunk emerged slowly as if the mass did not want to give up its prize. Despite himself Conrad ran to help. The flesh pumped wildly like an enraged heart. Suddenly the girl debauched.

‘Julie!’ cried Billy as the monster gently laid the girl on the floor. Her eyes flickered then opened. She was dazed, but upon seeing Billy she smiled. Then she looked at Krowdon and screamed. The monster drew away. Julie calmed and reached for Billy. She saw Conrad and said,

‘Who are you?’

‘Me?’ said Conrad surprised, ‘I’m Billy’s teacher. Don’t you remember me from the hotel?’

Julie shook her head. The hotel, the hotel seemed a world far away.

Suddenly the monster attacked the living flesh again. It searched beneath the heaving mass then withdrew without Waddle. The flesh merged until no trace of an opening remained. The Krowdon slowly turned lowering its head. Julie stood up and hesitatingly, took the huge head in her hands.

‘Roy? Can you hear me?’

A deep resounding voice spoke, ‘Yes Julie, I hear you.’

‘Roy?’ said Conrad his mouth slightly agape ‘Why do you keep referring to –that, as Roy? Who do you mean Roy Chandler? Where is he?’

Conrad heard the voice and recognised a familiar intonation, but he did not want to guess at the implications. Could he even guess at what was happening? It surely could not mean what he was beginning to imagine.

‘Roy is in Krowdon,’ said Billy flatly.

‘Where?’ said Conrad, hearing what Billy had said but almost refusing to comprehend. The boy was inside the beast. How could that be? The beast drew back from Julie's hands and thundered one word,

‘Kraal!’

‘Where is he? That monster, the real monster!’ said Julie.

‘Who is Kraal?’ said Conrad guessing that he already knew the answer. ‘You mean that man. The ugly bald headed one? He’s gone. I didn’t know who he was; he said he was a prisoner. I cut him free and he rushed off. So did that other creature. The little one.’

In one bound Krowdon ducked through the opening. Billy moved to follow, but Conrad grabbed his arm, ‘Hold it! Now my boy tell me what in blazes is going on!’

‘I don’t know sir,’ said Billy, angry at being held back, ‘me and Roy fell in through a ‘ole.’

‘You too,’ said Conrad.

‘All of the chambers seem the same,’ said Julie, ‘the fleshy stuff is as hard as rock until it’s agitated then it comes alive.’

‘Just what are you trying to say. That this Long Barrow is alive?’

‘Long Barrow? What Long Barrow?’ said Julie puzzled.

‘The outside of this thing is shaped like a mound. The biggest I’ve ever seen. It is hidden, surrounded by trees. We came across it by chance. The ground collapsed when I struck one of the stones. I fell into the passageway, then came across a fresco of two men locked in combat. God! I’ve just realised who they look like – the two security men we met in the bar!’ said Conrad.

Julie frowned, ‘You must have seen Harris and Willis. They fought and fell into the flesh. Perhaps their imagines appear after they are dead?’

Billy pulled free and chased off down the passage. He could hear the sound of Krowdon's pursuit ahead.

‘Follow him!’ said Julie and ran out of the chamber. Conrad nodded, he looked around and in hesitating about what to do he looked at the wall. At the place were Julie and Billy had debauched a shaped was forming. Conrad stepped closer to look. On the face of the hardening flesh was a human outline. A boy.

Kraal fumbled with the device. He pulled wires, pushed buttons and smacked the face of the clock, but the hour and minute hand remained still. He had been shown how to set the explosive's timer by a security guard that he had hired during the last big war. Now Kraal had forgotten and with a dumb glare he stared at the timer.

He realised that his long reign had come to an end. Nothing could stop the creature. It was a new thing. Yet he could still destroy the organism. It had renewed his life countless times, but its secret would die with him. No one else would live the long centuries that he had. The secret of undreamed longevity would remain only his he would share it with no one. It was his gift. Only his, given to him many hundreds of years ago in days that now were only dimly seen. Kraal tried to recall. He was exhausted; he sat back and studied his past and fell into a morbid reverie: - Then the land had been covered by forest. Men had cut the trees to build shelter in those primitive days when he had been born.

The tribe upon seeing his deformed hand with its too long finger demanded the infant’s death. Deformity smacked of evil and ill omen. Kraal would have been left for the wolves had it not been for his mother and her ferocious protection. She was reputedly capable of arousing spirits using incantations and curses. The tribe feared her and so they resentfully left her deformed son alone, though they always treated him with hostility and suspicion. Such treatment festered hatred in the boy. He sought vengeance on all who ridiculed him. He was not physically strong, so he picked only on those who were smaller than he was. His malignant influence fashioned by hatred infected all that were feeble of mind and spirit. He corrupted them beyond redemption. In time his mother died and with her, his protection. Sick of his insidious and disgusting behaviour the tribe cast him from their lives. They banished him and thenceforth he lived in isolation.

Pathetic and dispossessed, he scratched an existence in the forest never travelling far from the tribe yet never venturing near it. Then came a terrible winter. Blizzards blasted the forest destitute of game. Kraal, cut to the bone with cold, collapsed in the forest and froze. How long his body lay freezing and re-freezing in the low temperatures that rose and fell in slow degrees neither he nor any human soul has memory or measure, but lay he did, until consciousness crept back into his black mind like a rat into its nest.

He awoke wrapped in a fleshy cocoon. At first he thought he was nuzzling his mother’s breasts, such was the sensation, but these breasts surrounded him enwrapping him in moisture, like milk. He could smell the sweet aroma a fragrance more like honey than milk. Soothed by the sound of a gentle heartbeat he lay in the supple flesh like a babe in the womb. As his consciousness returned so did his natural temperament.

Enclosed and without light he could not see and so pressed to him was the flesh that he could hardly move. Both his confinement and blindness evoked anger and he began to struggle. He tore at his fleshy cocoon turning and twisting fighting to escape. He became almost demented in his endeavour. With the fingers of one hand drawn like a claw and his single finger curled like a hook he clawed and ripped at his nest. Suddenly his long finger popped through the cocoon. He tore the hole wider and forced through his arm then pushed his head out. He flayed for a few seconds and then discharged in pool of thick liquid.

For a while he lay exhausted. His heavy breathes resonating around the chamber. He could have slept were he lay, but fear impelled him to explore his surroundings. In the faint light emanating from a large oval opening he examined the chamber. He had never seen a room so strange. So bizarre was its structure and material that he felt nauseous. His head spun and he became feverish. In the sweating hours that followed, he came to believe that he had died and now had arisen in some devilish underworld. As if to compound his apprehension he saw monsters pass in the passageway beyond the aperture. Creatures with elongated heads lumbered past with small, large eyed creatures skipping about their legs. Despite his fear not one of the creatures approached Kraal. He was left to tremble alone.

At last his fever subsided. With renewed fortitude he set to explore his new abode. During his exploration he caught sight of the monsters, but they left him alone as busy adults might leave a child they knew was safe. He had never known a structure so large. To walk so far and still be under a roof was completely new to him.

Physically Kraal felt stronger than he had ever felt before and it was his re-energised senses that, whilst exploring an unknown region, enabled him to pick up on a feeble draft of air. The scent of grass came to him. He followed the scent and found that it came from a small opening. Through it he could see trees and sky. The opening was wide enough for him to climb through and soon he found himself kneeling on the side of a long hill.

Set into the grass on the hill, were what looked like grey stones, set in circular patterns. The arrangements reminded Kraal of the symbols his mother used when casting a spell. The similarity was too coincidental – the hill must be magical! Had it not replenished his body - renewed his life! Who but gods could restore life? Are the monsters Gods or the servants of Gods? The hill must be a temple. The Kraal’s eyes shone as he ran from the hill in search of his tribe.

It did not take him long to find them. At first he was rejected and his claims that he had found a magic temple were thought to be merely the ravings of a lunatic, but had he not survived the terrible winter alone in the forest? Surely that was magical? Gradually impressed by the fact that Kraal was not only alive, but also rejuvenated, the tribe listened.

In the months that followed Kraal and the Temple became known far and wide. Other tribes came and listened to Kraal. Every time he told his story he embellished it and soon it became a saga of his courage and fortitude. His disfigurement became an advantage, which demonstrated how different he was from mere morals, and his deformed, long finger became a symbol of magic and others took to tying long twigs to their fingers. The leaders of his tribe saw the advantage of having a hero amongst its sons and so did everything to elevate his status. They invented stories about his bravery and wisdom, that were accepted as fact by the people and soon they revered Kraal as they would a God. The stories were repeated so many times that even Kraal came to believe them. He deluded himself enough to claim divine right of guardianship over the Temple. No one opposed his claim. He adopted the voice and gesture of grandeur and he so impressed the ever-gathering crowds that they made bequests to him. They gave him furs, food, animals, and every precious artefact and soon he and his tribe became rich. In return Kraal promised the people fortune and life renewed after death.

The forest was cleared to accommodate the growing numbers except for the area that immediately surrounded the Temple. Here trees and bush were allowed to grow thick to keep uninvited eyes at bay. At night the different tribes would light great fires and dance around them and sing songs of praise and endeavour. Their voices would resound among the star tipped trees.

The creatures in the Temple emerged only occasionally, but the effect on those allowed to see them was profound and so vivid their consequent descriptions not even the bravest warrior dared enter the Temple. At these times adoration of Kraal reached a fever pitch. His every impulse was allowed no matter how depraved or barbarous. He took the women he wanted and killed those who protested. He recognised the people’s propensity for fanaticism and cruelty and knew how to manipulate it to his advantage. Nevertheless, even devoted loyalty begins to wan in the face of consistent barbarity. Resentment spread, but resulted in nothing more than whispered curses.

Then as if fate had answered a thousand silent prayers, a new tribe came. Its leader was a warrior named Warath. He was a fearsome looking man, who wore three large plumes threaded into his shaven head. The three colourful feathers could be seen from afar. Greedy for the wealth and power that guardianship of the Temple brought, Warath immediately laid claim to Temple.

The elders of Kraal’s tribe seeing that Warath had quickly made allies of other leaders became concerned. The elders, in their firelight musings had gradually invented a history concerning the Temple. They decided to relate this history to Warath in the hope it might waylay his ambition.

The Temple, they told him, is not by nature hollow, but had been fashioned by the Gods. Many years before the Gods had ordered the ancestors of all the tribes to hollow the hill. Once done, the Gods endowed the mound with magical powers and thus it became a Temple; however, to keep the secret safe, they turned the builders into monsters and charged them to guard the Temple. Then the Gods had decided to give back the Temple to men and had chosen Kraal. The elders held their breath awaiting Warath’s reaction. He was not satisfied. In desperation they went on to say that Kraal had been endowed with knowledge to construct a second Temple. Once built, Kraal could endow anyone he chose to be its guardian. Kraal would direct Warath’s tribe in the construction. Placated by the promise, Warath agreed. The elders sighed that war and total chaos had been avoided - at least for now. The construction began.

Massive stones, bigger than any used before, were cut and laid according to Kraal’s instruction. His purpose was to replicate the interior of the original Temple, however, the level of his competence did not mach the level of his conceit and despite the skill of the men under his direction the finished arrangement of passages and chambers were squat and cramped by comparison. Yet many of the common folk were impressed. Once covered in earth the structure was mammoth compared to the structures normally built. Yet still it was neither a third of the length nor a third the width of the original Temple. Warath was not impressed.

He renewed his demands. Antagonisms spread among the tribes. Fractions formed. Some chieftains allied themselves with Warath and some remained loyal to Kraal. The inevitable happened and in the awful and blood-soaked battle that followed all but a hundred souls were slaughtered. Warath survived, but almost half of those who survived with him fled the field, believing now that the site was cursed. Of those remaining in almost equal proportion male and female, all supported Warath.

Kraal hid in the forest while the battle raged. Now he was again dispossessed. Yet convinced of his divine purpose he took sanctuary in the Temple. There he believed that he would be safe. Warath, however, was not to be put off his claim. After he had paid ceremony to the dead, some of the leaders were placed in the chambers of the replica Temple. Warath and his surviving followers armed with stone axes, wooden spears and sharpened flints, all cut with killing in mind, stormed the Temple. Kraal terrified ran from chamber to chamber shouting incantations. His deranged mind believed he could incite the creature’s protection. His hysterical pleas were met with incomprehension. Warath and the mob invaded and ran amok in the passages and chambers. Their fury lay waste their fear and convinced that the creatures were merely men and children masked, the mob attacked them. Outnumbered and despite their superior individual strength the creatures fell. The mongrel tribe demented by bloodlust assumed the chambers were secret stores of meat. They hacked and tore at the flesh like ravenous animals. From the lacerations great quantities of creamy mucus debauched. It splashed over the frenzied invaders and soon all became immersed in its intoxicating emissions. As the aroma took effect a charm overcame the conquerors. One by one they discarded their weapons as the heat in their bodies gave rise to another kind of lust.

Warath was the first to surrender to his transformed appetite. He lay hold of two women who eagerly spread themselves for his greedy pleasure. The rest followed in ravenous heat and the chambers and passages became like a melting brothel. Sex consumed the invaders, like fire consumes flesh, burning and cooking their senses. Such was the quantity of discharge from the open wounds and so speedy its flow and so engrossed were the debauchers that some of them were swept down unaware of their carriage to a cavern below. In the chambers the sexually entangled mob hung on to torn flesh and continued to sate their craving. One of the large eyed creatures had escaped slaughter and Kraal had followed it to the cavern. The enwrapped couples were sluiced down the channels and Kraal watched mesmerised as the creamy liquid began to congeal on the slithering bodies. So intense was the carnal greed of the lascivious participants that not one became aware of their solidifying entrapment. Gradually their embrace took on the flowing appearance of tenderness, their thrusts became slower and their kisses became smoother. Lips became fixed to lips. Slowly, fervent desire became lethargic hunger until, at last, not one of them moved. All life became suspended, all action ended and all sighs silenced. All became stone.

Kraal picked his way over the entombed lovers and returned to the chambers above. Upon discovering that the same fate above had befallen those below Kraal’s insanity became complete. He hacked Warath’s head from the solidified wall and ran about screaming victory. The insane invent their world and Kraal constructed his. He learned to use the rejuvenating powers of the now crippled organism, neither understanding nor interested in the nature of his host, like a foot soldier in a foreign war.

Through the millennia that followed Krall enacted and re-enacted the sate of his deranged designs inflicting pain and death on any unfortunate who by chance became embroiled in his pathetic but dangerous domain. The years had ticked away and he lived on the periphery of history.

It ticked like the hands of the clock on the device he now clutched. Remorseless ticking that now revived him from his protracted and unexpected reverie. Time had started again for Kraal and he heard the sound of his pursuers.

Roy knew that he had to stop Kraal. Since his fusion with Krowdon, he had seen the creature’s mind and he knew that the selfish and cruel use of the mound must be stopped. He plunged into the darkness. Krowdon’s ability to meter and compensate light enabled him to adjust his vision and see in the dark. The passage inclined as Roy stopped to allow Krowdon time to listen. He heard familiar voices behind, ahead only silence. The passage led down to a junction that split into four narrower channels. There was no trace to tell which channel Kraal had taken. Then at the base of one channel he saw a torn sliver of cloth. Without hesitation Krowdon entered the channel. The space was so narrow that without turning sideways Krowdon could not enter. The sides of the channel brushed its chest and back. Bone and sinew of both channel and beast dripped with secretion.

Ahead was a dead end and Roy felt dismayed that they had picked the wrong channel. Perhaps it is a blind corner? He inched forward. Krowdon’s body rubbed the thick spine of bone. There was no exit either side. Then, just as he decided to retrace his steps, he and his host felt a warm draft of air come from above. Kneeling so to enable Krowdon’s head enough space to look up, Roy saw a funnel. He reached up and with his new and powerful grip lifted into the tube.

Behind, torchlight flashed along the dripping channels. Billy called after Krowdon, the echo of his voice almost musical as it branched along the pipes.

‘There!’ he cried as the light caught Krowdon raising itself. He ran ahead followed by Julie. The teacher hesitated as he looked along the narrow bone route.

‘Wait,’ he called.

Neither the boy nor the girl looked back. Billy flung himself upon Krowdon's hips and wrapped his arms and legs around the creature.

‘I’m coming with you Roy,’ he shouted determinedly.

‘So am I,’ cried Julie, reaching to grab the creature’s thighs as it pulled itself up into the tube.

Roy felt their weight, but Krowdon was strong and did not slow, heaving itself and its human load up the spine of the pipe. Each grip and pull swung the two riders against the protruding bone of the funnel, they gasped and cried at every blow and scrape, but held on.

The measured drafts of air grew stronger as they neared the top. Deep resonant breaths could be heard from above. It was as if they were climbing a nostril of a sleeping giant. Then, with one final heave Krowdon pulled itself over the curved edge of the funnel and stood atop. Billy climbed onto Krowdon’s back as Julie dropped to the ground. They gazed around them.

The incline and shape of the curvature indicated that they were at the head of the mound. On either side were gill-like appendages one was as solid and still as stone, but the other functioned drawing in huge breaths of air. The curvature quickly narrowed ahead where through a large bony hole they could see bulbous interlacing; a matrix of fibres led through the hole connected by nerve cords variously arranged. The multiple strands where like a thousand rubber bands tautly pulled and twisted. Nerve roots stretched from an upper spinal cord and passed through a complex grid of cranial dorsal roots and into a huge ganglion.

‘What is it?’ said Julie.

‘Her brain,’ said Krowdon.

Between the maze of fibres, something moved. Two large eyes looked at them from the hole.

‘Blue Eyes,’ said Julie, her face lighting up. Her heart blossomed at the sight of the small creature. Then she frowned. The infant was trapped between the ridgid interlacing.. Billy called, but there was no response except for a small movement of its head. Julie reached for the creature. Suddenly her body jerked and she was roughly pulled through the hole. She fell struggling into the arms of Krall. She fought him and the labyrinth of taught fibres started to shake.

‘Kraal,’ exclaimed Billy reaching forward. Krowdon held the boy back from the web. The whole curvature shook. The monster staggered and Billy was thrown to the floor. A terrible resounding sound galvanized the air. The struggle between Kraal and Julie within the web of nerve fibres sent a bolt of pain through the organism’s slumbering consciousness. Kraal and Julie thrashed wildly. They scratched and kicked at each other. Caught in the middle of the jerking web Blue Eyes bounced entangled and helpless. Its limbs flayed among the fibres that contracted and loosened in a fierce twitching that got tighter and tighter.

A kick from Kraal sent Julie hurling into the central web. She fell as the web loosened and her body became entangled. The spasm contracted and her arms were caught in a knot of fibres that crushed like steel cables. Her yell of pain was drowned by the shrill sound of air being sucked through the gill and forced down the funnel. The web convulsed repeatedly. Julie cried out as the knot of fibres bit into her skin.

Roy knew that he must stop the spasms; otherwise Julie would be crushed. The arch of the curvature was made of a rib-like structure, the bow of which stretched at each convolution causing the nerve fibres to contract. If he could hold the rib cage ridged while Julie and Blue Eyes disentangled themselves then they might be saved. The instincts of Krowdon opposed Roy. They had no time. Kraal was crawling through the hole; he would escape if they did not stop him.

Roy sensed the strength of Krowdon’s instinct, but did not give way to its detestation of evil. Their fusion was finally complete. The compassion he felt for Julie and the small creature fought Krowdon's primordial vengeance. Their fusion was symbiotic. Each needed the other.

Kraal pulled himself from the aperture and sprawled forward. Before he could lift himself to his feet he saw a huge form tower above him. Terrified, he looked up at Krowdon. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for the monster to reach down, but instead Krowdon raised its arms and gripped the rib cage above. All the spasms stopped. Kraal took his chance and propelled himself between the monsters legs. Billy, his expectations defeated by Krowdon’s action ran to intercept Kraal.

‘Billy!’

The boy halted in his stride by the bellow of his name. Krowdon had spoken.

‘Help Julie and the small one.’

Billy realised how still the curvature had become and realised what Krowdon was doing. He ran to the hole. Julie loosened an arm and struggled to free the rest of her body as Billy sought to help her.

Kraal reached the funnel. The device he had planted was now ticking beside the ganglion. His time here had finally ended. He knew that the moment he first saw the monster. He knew that someday his realm here would close. He had enough of the gel to make him fabulously rich and immensely powerful. He chuckled as he bent to the rim of the funnel. The face that appeared below him over the rim was contorted with anger. Kraal gasped! Before he could react, a fist shot up and caught him on the jaw. The punch sent Kraal reeling.

Conrad spat on his fist and climbed out of the funnel. He had had an agonising climb. His decision to follow the others was an impulse. He was not a man of impulse and he had more than once regretted it during his ordeal in the funnel. By the time he had reached the top he was so angry with himself that he would have vented his anger on anyone. He looked down at Kraal and grinned maliciously. Conrad's moment of satisfaction was abruptly broken when he looked up to Krowdon.

The huge creature was engaged in a furious battle of strength. Beyond, Conrad glimpsed through the hole at Billy struggling to pull Julie out of the heaving web. Conrad rushed to help. Julie was half way through the hole when she felt Conrad’s arms about her. She looked up.

‘So you did follow?’

‘Of course,’ said Conrad wryly and they quickly smiled at each other. He pulled Julie clear, then turned to help Billy. He flinched at what he saw crawling through the hole ahead of Billy.

‘Mr Conrad!’ said Billy, ‘don’t worry.’ He indicated to the small creature and said ‘it’s friendly.’

‘Yes, yes of course it is,’ replied Conrad nervously taking hold of the small creature’s limbs.

Kraal groaned and raised himself on one elbow. He crept towards the funnel. At the periphery of her eye Julie saw a movement. She turned. Kraal looked at her, he scrambled for the funnel. Julie ran after him. Kraal frantically twisted over the edge and slid his body into the drop.

Julie dived just as the long slug-like finger slid down from the rim. The girl reached out and grabbed the finger. She gripped it with both hands. The knuckle cracked. Kraal yelled. Julie pulled with all her strength. With one heave she dragged Kraal’s arm back over the rim. His head appeared and he snarled curses at the girl. Julie twisted and gripped the finger under which she had so horribly suffered. Her fury inflamed her with tremendous strength and she dragged Kraal up; now almost demented by the opportunity for revenge. Suddenly the curvature lost its stillness and shuddered. The Krowdon it’s work done, had let go of the ribbed arch. Billy scrambled clear of the hole.

‘There’s a bomb!’ screamed Kraal.

Julie glared at him as the others turned to take in what he had said, ‘I planted a bomb in the web’

Julie momentarily stunned by Kraal’s outburst did not let go, but allowed him to get to his feet.

‘We must get out of here!’ he screamed.

Julie glanced at the aperture. Kraal suddenly tugged at her grip as another shudder hit. Billy and Conrad were flung against Krowdon who, his strength now diminished, staggered under their weight. Julie, her fury renewed, swung Kraal round pulling him by is finger. He broke into a run. Around again she swung him. He could not stop his pitch. He ran faster and she let go.

Kraal shot forward like a stone from a sling. His propulsion swept him head first through the hole and into the web of fibres. The organism convulsed and the steel like fibres rapped themselves around his body. The web of nerves contracted flaying his skin. Kraal screamed.

‘A bomb. He said there was a bomb,’ cried Billy.

‘How do we get out?’ said Conrad, ‘I can’t face the funnel again.’

A rumble came from the chambers and a draft of air blew up through the funnel. Blue Eyes ran agitatedly around the rim. Kraal shouted hysterically,

‘You will all die! You will all die with me! The wretched span of time you call a life is now over! You can’t escape.’

The web contracted and the trapped man screamed in agony. Conrad rushed to the rim and looked down the funnel. The updraft swept back his hair. The rumble grew louder. It sounded as if duct gates had opened and water was rushing towards them. He felt something trickle onto the back of his neck. He looked up and saw a crack of daylight appear. Clumps of earth and grass fell and a shaft of brilliant sunlight fell into the funnel.

‘Blowhole!’ bellowed Krowdon, ‘ the chambers have burst!’

The beast snatched up Billy, grabbed Julie by the waist, then turned to Conrad and said,

‘The gush will lift you out.’

‘What’s happening?’ cried the teacher.

The rumbling became a roar. A pillar of gel burst from the funnel like water out of a cannon. It shot straight up out of the hole above.

Joe Pickles stood with the rest of the boys at the middle of the mound looking into the hole where Conrad disappeared. At the sound of a roar they all looked up aghast at the thick fountain cascading out of the mound.

‘Oil,’ cried Joe laughing.

‘Oil? That’s not oil,’ said Cramble, ‘It’s the wrong colour.’

‘It looks like salad cream,’ said another boy.

The gush wavered and dropped as if someone were trying to plug the flow. It burst up again this time carrying a human figure. Billy rode the pillar until it could no longer support his weight and he fell tumbling down the side of the mound. Before he had hit the ground another figure shot out of the mound.

‘Look, It’s a girl!’ said Cramble.

‘Bloody hell! It’s Billy Badie!’ said another boy still following the course of the first figure.

Before he could raise a finger to point, another body rose on the creamy gush.

The sight of their teacher bursting out of the earth like a corpse flung from a grave caused the boys to gasp. The slope of the mound broke Conrad's fall and he tumbled head over heels. He scrambled to his feet and ran desperately towards the group.

‘Get down!’ he shouted.

Before he could utter another sound he was knocked off his feet. The boom shook the branches of the trees and the ground around the gush burst. Earth flew through the air and a cloud of dust billowed over the mound. The echo of the boom bounced away into the distance and the scattered debris fell through the trees.

Conrad lay in the tangle of thorns afraid to move. Slowly he tested one limb then another. Satisfied that he had broken no bones, he picked his way out of the brambles.

‘You alright sir?’

The teacher looked up and saw Cramble.

‘Yes I think so Cramble. What about the others?’

‘Who’s that girl sir? What ‘appened? Did a plane drop a bomb or something?’

‘Explanations later Cramble. Come on, let’s see how the others are.’

Holding out a small white paper bag Cramble said: ‘Want a toffee sir?’

Brushing the offer aside, Conrad got stiffly to his feet. His clothes, hair and face were covered in thick flakes of gel. He brushed off the crisp flakes. As he did he saw Billy crawling out of the brambles at the head of the mound.

‘Billy, Billy Baddie!’ called Conrad and made towards the boy.

As Conrad and Cramble neared the boy they saw Billy’s nose was bleeding.

‘I’ve done it again. Me nose is broken again.’

‘How do you feel otherwise Billy, any broken bones? Can you move all right?’ said Conrad.

‘Bit dizzy,’ said Billy ‘But I fink I’m ok.’ He held up his thumb.

‘Want a toffee?’

Billy nodded and took one.

Cramble looked in the paper bag and said, ‘He took me last toffee.’

‘Oh shut up Cramble,’ said Conrad as he felt Billy's arms and legs. ‘Don’t try to get up yet. Rest for a bit. I’ll look around for the others. He left the two boys looking at one another with Billy chewing and grinning.

As Conrad looked around a puzzled expression came over his face. Rocks of various sizes were scattered over the slope along with earth and clumps of grass but there was no sign of the gel.

‘Get off with you! Go on hop it! Dirty buggers.’

Conrad smiled. He never thought that he would be pleased to hear Joe Pickles’ voice. It came from over the ridge of the mound. Conrad pressed to the ridge and saw the old man taking off his coat.

‘Joe,’ he called. Most of the boys were standing near Joe looking sheepish. Joe placed his coat over the girl’s shoulders. Julie was sitting hunched on the slope her knees drawn up to her chin. She pulled the coat tightly around her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. The old man went red and looked the other way. Conrad knelt beside the girl.

‘Julie I’m so glad that you’re safe,’ He looked up at Joe, ‘Well done mate. Listen, will you get these lads out of here for me? Take them back to the coach.’

‘What the bloody ‘ell ‘appened ‘ere?’ said Joe, looking up at the crater, ‘It wasn’t them two square-bashers setting off bombs was it?’

‘No Joe. It wasn’t them. I’ll explain later - if I can explain anything that is. Now, please, take the boys back.’

Dissatisfied, Joe nodded and began to gather the boys.

‘Are Roy and Billy alright?’ said Julie.

‘Billy’s fine. His nose is bleeding, but he’s not seriously hurt. He’s on the other side with Cramble. As for Roy...’ Conrad's voice trailed away and they both looked at the crater.

‘Joe!’ called Conrad, ‘We’ve got a boy missing have a quick look around before you go back.’

Fifteen minutes later Joe reported back. There was no sign of any one else unless they were inside the mound. Conrad asked if anyone had come out after him. Joe and the boys were adamant that he was the last. Conrad nodded. Joe left with the boys.

‘Can you stand Julie?’ asked Conrad. He gently helped the girl to her feet brushing away the flakes from her hair and face. They walked to the crater. It was only a few metres across. They looked into the basin. It was solid rock.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Julie puzzled.

‘Neither do I. I thought there’d be a gaping hole,’ Conrad knelt, placed his hand on the surface and tapped it, ‘Somehow the organism has transmuted into rock; from organic into inorganic. At death it transformed back into the material that perhaps it once was. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It’s incredible.

‘But what’s happened to Roy!’ said Julie distressed, ‘He was still inside. If he didn’t get out… then, he’s buried.’

Billy appeared on the other side of the crater. His nose still bleeding, ‘Who’s buried?’ he said looking at the two faces opposite. Faces that held expressions of dread mingled with sympathy. Billy looked at the basin of rock.

‘He didn’t get out, did he?’

There was desperation in his voice. He climbed into the basin and began to stamp of the rock. ‘He didn’t get out!’ He fell to his knees crying. He struck the rock with his hands. Blood dripped from his nose and splattered on the surface. The boy called out Roy's name repeatedly. Conrad and Julie stood helpless. Bunching his hands, Billy hit the rock with the side of his fists until they bled and the rock was smeared with red.

‘Billy! It’s no use!’ cried Conrad. He held Billy’s shoulders, and then put his arms around the struggling boy held him tightly. Billy’s fury gradually drained, his voice falling to a whisper. His head slumped forward. Conrad gently rocked him back and forth.

‘Easy does it, son. Easy does it.’

Billy settled into a soft weeping. Conrad helped him up. Julie, with tears streaming down her cheeks, helped them both climb out of the crater. She walked the boy to a rock and sat him down on it. Conrad followed and knelt beside the boy.

‘There there,’ said Julie gently as she wiped Billy’s face with the sleeve of Joe’s jacket, ‘That’s better now. Be strong, be strong.’

In the crater behind them the tiny droplets of blood began to bubble.

‘Roy wouldn’t want you to cry would he?’ said Julie.

‘No,’ sniffed Billy, ‘He wouldn’t would he. He didn’t cry did he? He looked after me. He was my mate wasn’t he?’ The boy burst into more tears. Julie hugged him and struggled to hold back her own tears. Conrad put his arms around them both. He wished he could do something to help them. Instead he felt helpless. He started to weep. The sound of their sorrow drifted over the mound and amongst the trees. The leaves rustled gently and the towering sun bathed the enclosure in warmth. The three sad figures nestled together giving each other comfort. Behind them, over the edge of the crater a hand appeared.

Tears stinging her face, Julie raised her head to wipe her eyes. She glanced at the crater. At first she thought that she was imagining things. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Joy washed away her sorrow as the smiling face at the craters edge said

‘Hey, carrot head, aren’t you pleased to see me?’

Later with the other boys seated and waiting in the coach below, Roy asked Conrad how he was going to explain the deaths of McAuliffe, Gloke and Waddle.

“Well, from what I’ve gathered Kraal is responsible for Gloke’s death - and God knows how many others. Harris and Willis certainly could have prevented the death of McAuliffe. The police will recover his body and only conjecture will explain how he died. Now that the villain and his two henchmen have disappeared from the face of the earth, I see no alternative, but to tell the truth, as I know it. As for you Roy, I see no need to mention your part in this at all. They’d put us both into a mental institution.’

Conrad and Roy looked out from the top of the mound across the valley.

‘I feel closer to it all now – the land,’ said Roy, ‘I used not to think of it, all the trees and the grass. At least I never felt part of it. I felt that it had nothing to do with me - that I was separate and unrelated to it. Do you understand sir?’

‘Yes I think so,’ said Conrad, ‘It is easy to become separate, to believe that you don’t belong, to believe that you are a misfit. However the world does not cause our isolation. We do. We too easily forget that we have a place. That is why our past is so important. Our perceptions become blurred and we can no longer see the importance of our own history. We are all drawn from this earth. We are part of it.’ He knelt down beside Julie who held Billy sleeping in her arms.

‘I should know better,’ she said, ‘I’ve spent all of my life here amongst the trees and hills, playing and working in the fields. I grew bored with it. I wanted to leave. Perhaps I still do, but I realise now that the land is alive like me and ought not to be rejected as if it were merely something to be used and then discarded as if it were a plaything. It should be treated with gentleness and respect not ravished and torn’

Julie fell silent, calming her breath. She looked down at Billy smiled and gently caressed his face.

‘Will it ever come back - Krowdon?’ said Conrad.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Roy, ‘I feel changed. I no longer feel alone. I know now what it is truly like to feel whole. There is no ultimate difference between flesh and stone. Only time separates sea from sand.’

The last rays of the setting sun, colouring the sky deep red, cast long shadows across a landscape. Here where men had dwelt for thousands of years, placing their hands upon the earth and rearranging its surface to its present pattern. Only the primal contours of the hills and valleys remain unchanged. All else that belonged to ancient days were now properly gone except for the covered tombs and set stones that reminded men of their distant past. A past that, for a while, had reached out and touched those few present. Roy looked at Billy's sleeping face and said,

‘I wonder what he is dreaming?’

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