Except that someone else was in the bedroom with him and Joe. Someone at the end of his bed, who had just tugged at his quilt.
Completely awake now, Tom didn’t dare move. The tugging could have been part of his dream, he just had to stay still, make sure it didn’t happen again. He waited for ten, twenty seconds and realized he was holding his breath. As quietly as he could, he let it out. A fraction of a second later, someone else breathed in.
Still he didn’t dare move. It could have been his own breath he’d heard, or Joe’s. It could have been.
The quilt moved again, pulled away from his face. He could feel the night air on his cheek now and his left ear. In the bunk below Joe called out in his sleep – a muffled word that sounded a bit like ‘Mummy’ and then a low moan.
‘Tommy.’ Joe’s voice. Except Joe was asleep.
‘Tommy.’ His mother’s voice. But his mother would never scare him like this.
Tom’s eyes were open. How had it got so dark? The landing light that was always kept on at night in case one of the children needed to get up had been switched off and his room was darker than it ever normally was. The furniture, the toys left scattered around, were little more than dark shadows. They were familiar dark shadows though, the sort he was used to and expected to see. The one he really hadn’t expected to see was the one at the foot of his bed.
Whatever it was, it was sitting quite still, but breathing, he could see the slight movement of the shoulders. He could see the outline of the head and the two tiny points of light that could have been almost certainly were – eyes. The shadow was watching him.
For half a second Tom wasn’t capable of movement. Then he wasn’t capable of anything else. He scrambled backwards, kicking against the cover with his heels, pushing with his elbows. His head slammed hard into the metal frame of the bed-head and he knew he couldn’t go any further.
The shadow moved, leaned towards him.
‘Millie,’ it said, in a voice that Tom thought was perhaps supposed to be his. ‘Millie fall.’
28
3 October
‘ARE THEY OK?’ ASKED HARRY, WHO‘D BEEN LISTENING TO the story in fascination.
, Gareth shrugged. ‘Well, they’re all pretty quiet,’ he said. ‘Tom and Joe aren’t speaking but neither of them will let Millie out of their sight. Tom’s developed something of a fascination with window locks, checking they’re secure, wanting to know where the keys are.’
‘And he says it was a little girl? Who’s been watching you all?’
Gareth nodded. ‘He’s mentioned her before, we just didn’t take much notice. There are lots of kids around town, and Tom’s imagination has always been on the colourful side.’
‘And where was Alice while…’ he stopped. Did that sound judgemental?
‘In her studio,’ said Gareth, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it. ‘She’s been working on a portrait of old Mr Tobias, he’s been sitting for her several times a week and she wants to get it finished before the end of the month. She heard Tom screaming upstairs but by the time she got to him he’d woken the other two and they were yelling their heads off too.’
‘Any sign of a break-in?’ asked Harry. ‘Is it possible Tom did see someone?’
Gareth shook his head. ‘The small window in the downstairs loo was open but no normal-sized person could get through it. And a child – even if one were out on her own at night – wouldn’t be able to reach it.’
The two men had reached the back of the church. They stopped in front of a tall narrow door that looked as though it had been made from yew. ‘Are you sure you’re OK to do this?’ asked Harry. ‘It’s not urgent. You should probably…’
Gareth picked up the tool-box he’d brought with him. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone on a walk. Joe wanted to have a look at the Tor. I said I’d join them when we’re done.’
‘Well, if you sure.’
‘I’m sure. Let’s open this crypt.’
Harry found the right key and pushed it into the lock. ‘Technically, not a crypt,’ he said. ‘More of a cellar. Might be handy for storage. I just want a steer on whether I need to call a surveyor in to check it’s safe.’ The key turned easily enough. Harry took hold of the handle and raised the latch.
‘And you don’t want to look round the spooky place on your own,’ said Gareth.
‘You’re absolutely right about that. Blimey, this door is stiff. Shouldn’t think it’s been moved in years.’
‘Oh, step out of the way, Vicar, this is a job for a man.’
‘Back off, buddy, I’m on it,’ said Harry. ‘Here we go.’
The door swung inwards just as a bubble of sour-smelling dust burst in front of them. Harry blinked hard. Gareth cleared his throat. ‘Stone me, that’s a bit rich,’ he said. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing dead down there?’
‘I’m not sure of anything,’ replied Harry, picking up his flashlight and stepping on to the spiral staircase that wound its way down beneath the church. The cold air seemed to steal around the back of his neck. ‘Stakes and garlic flowers at the ready.’
The damp smell of the church’s cellar got stronger as the two men went down. Before they were halfway Harry was glad he and Gareth were wearing fleeces. Twenty-two steps and they were at the bottom, shining their torches around. The two beams picked out massive stone pillars and a vaulted brick roof. So much bigger than either of them had expected.
‘I stand corrected,’ said Harry, after a few seconds. ‘This is a crypt.’
If Tom had been asked a couple of weeks ago, he might have said October was one of his favourite months. Because October was when the trees started to look like toffee apples and ploughed fields turned the colour of dark chocolate. He liked the way the air tasted on his tongue, fresh and sharp like a Polo mint, and he loved the sense of expectation, as first Hallowe’en, then Bonfire Night, then Christmas drew near. This year, though, he was struggling with the whole expectation business. This year, he just didn’t like to look too far ahead.
‘Hold on, you two,’ his mother’s voice called up the hill. ‘Wait for us girls.’
Tom glanced back. Joe was a few yards behind, dressed as a medieval archer with a plastic bow strung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. He was keeping up well and singing quietly to himself. Almost thirty yards further down the hill Alice and Millie were just appearing through the fog.
‘Tom, stay on the path!’ called his mother.
‘OK, OK!’
He carried on up.
Harry walked forward until he was in the centre of the wide, dark space. Three rows of ornate brick columns held up the vaulted ceiling. The floor was not the earth one he’d expected but was lined with old headstones like the church paths at ground level.
‘Just incredible,’ muttered Gareth at his side.
The two men walked on. A few yards ahead the wall to their right seemed to come to an abrupt halt and Harry’s torch hit blackness. As the two men drew closer they realized an archway led through the wall. They could see nothing beyond.
‘You first,’ said Gareth.
‘Wimp.’
Harry stepped through the black archway and shone his torch around. ‘Well, I’ll be…’ he began. The underground space on the other side of the wall was even bigger than the church crypt.
‘We’re under the old church,’ said Gareth, who’d followed close behind. ‘Two churches, one massive cellar.’
‘I don’t imagine storage space is going to be a problem somehow,’ said Harry, shining his torch round to see arched and gated alcoves against the far wall. ‘I don’t think this was ever just a cellar. There’s too much ornamentation. I think it was used for worship. Can you hear water?’
‘Yeah. Sounds a bit more than a burst pipe,’ said Gareth. ‘I think it’s coming from over here.’