The boy had been gone for over an hour now. Where? It was unlikely Callum had gone to meet anyone he knew from school, unless it was the girl, Melissa. Despite her initial reaction when she’d found the girl nosing through the books, Gran had had to change her opinion of Melissa that afternoon. She had stood at the door, insistently rapping the brass knocker with the urgency of a fire alarm and calling wildly. Gran had been in the back garden, trying to figure out why the row of cabbages by the wall had gone black and mouldy overnight. She hadn’t heard the phone when Callum had been given his one call. But there had been no way to miss Melissa’s shouting. It carried over the roof of the little cottage.
Mrs Scott! Mrs Scott! Callum’s in trouble!
Why, Melissa had even been ahead of the police! They had met the patrol car coming down the road through Marlock Wood as they were walking back up to town together. A right bright spark, the sergeant had called her.
So maybe Callum had gone to see Melissa. That would make sense. The Old Stationmaster’s Cottage, that was where Callum had said she lived. A pleasant enough place, the yellow bricks in good repair, and nice flowers in the window boxes.
But the yellow-brick house wasn’t safe – it wasn’t protected by a web of charms, and its ordinary walls would be no protection against the invasion of a monster from the Netherworld that even she didn’t recognise.
‘Oh, why doesn’t he come home!’ Gran exclaimed, going to the window again.
She pressed her face against the cold glass and cupped her hands around her eyes, trying to see beyond the reflection of light and firelight from the room behind her. The moon was out and high now – it was a beautiful clear evening. Gran couldn’t see anyone on the road. She sighed and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Callum might want a hot drink when he came back. And she could do with a fresh cup of tea.
The kettle had just reached the boil when Gran heard the sound of the brass knocker, Callum’s signature firm drumming.
Thank God!
She was at the door in three strides, in less than a second.
‘Callum!’ she cried out. ‘Thank goodness, I’ve been so worried!’
Gran lifted the latch effortlessly – she couldn’t figure out why Callum always had to fight such a battle with the old thing – and threw open the door.
The boy stood just off the doorstep, his untidy hair in his eyes. He looked hangdog and embarrassed, as though he was feeling a little ashamed of himself. He’d either taken a step backwards waiting for her to open the door, or he’d had to lean across the porch to knock.
Cadbury let out a hiss, and backed away from the door with a tail the size of a chimney brush, then fled upstairs. The radio, too, gave a howl of static and went silent.
‘Good grief, but that cat’s wound up this evening! Callum, I’m so relieved you’ve come back.’
Gran pushed the door wide open and stepped aside so that Callum could come past her. But he just stood there, silently, on the other side of the doorstep looking at her with shy, beseeching eyes.
‘I’m so sorry you had to find out the way you did, I really am, Callum. I’ve been going out of my mind myself all evening!’
Callum shrugged, and gave that characteristic shake of his head to get the hair out of his eyes, just as Peter had always done at that age. She felt such a surge of love for him that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she found her voice again.
‘Well, come in, for goodness sake! Don’t stand out there in the shadows! Come in!’
Callum smiled. At her invitation, he stepped across her threshold, came into the house and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 24
Callum leaped over the back of Doom as if he was vaulting a stone wall. The cold air surrounding the great Grim’s body clawed at his legs like wind off a frozen canal, and then he was out in the open.
The others followed almost as quickly. The rough ground of the old churchyard was treacherous underfoot. Callum tried to run and fell flat in two metres, cracking his elbow against the low iron railing surrounding the Victorian grave he’d tripped over.
Ancient monuments can be dangerous . . .
Seconds later Melissa stumbled on exactly the same railing. But Callum was on his feet again and didn’t wait for her. He caught his jacket on the gate on the way out of the graveyard, ripped it free, and stumbled, cursing, down the lane to the road. Stark in his mind he remembered the image of the hand – his own hand - closing over the round brass knocker on Gran’s green door and rapping at it firmly.
He didn’t need a premonition to tell him what would happen next. Gran would open the door. She would think the Fetch was Callum. She would invite it in. And all the charms and magic in the world couldn’t keep the Fetch from crossing Gran’s threshold if she asked it in herself.
And then . . .
Callum sprinted down the lane, gasping for breath. What if he was too late, as he’d been again and again when the Fetch was ahead of him? Behind him he heard Melissa’s running footsteps, and beyond that, the thud of Doom’s paws on the road. He didn’t look back to see how close they were, or whether Jacob was following too. His only thought was to get home.
Faster!
Reaching the cottage, Callum crashed through the little garden gate and raced up the path.
‘Callum, wait!’
It was Jacob’s voice, but Callum didn’t stop. He had no idea how to fight the Fetch, but he knew he had to stop it before . . .
With Melissa on his heels, Callum slammed into the door, twisting the old-fashioned latch upwards. The door flew open and they stumbled into the room.
Gran was standing in front of the fire, her hands on her hips, a worried frown drawing her brows together. She did not look frightened. She looked concerned and frustrated. She was looking earnestly at the boy who stood facing her – a boy only a little shorter than Gran herself, broad-shouldered, in an anorak with a ragged hem identical to the one Callum was wearing.
For a moment, Callum stood frozen in amazement. It truly was like looking into a mirror.
Beware the dark reflection.
And then Callum cried out, ‘Gran!’
The Fetch and Gran both turned at the same moment. Gran’s eyes flew wide and her mouth dropped open in shock and understanding. Seeing Callum standing in the same room as his doppelganger, she knew at once what had happened.
Gran didn’t hesitate. She stepped between the Fetch and Callum, holding her arms out to bar the monster’s path.
‘Callum, run!’
The Fetch reached out with Callum’s arms. But the strength in those arms was far greater than Callum’s own. In its rage, the Fetch’s nails and teeth lengthened, so that suddenly it looked more like a demon than a boy; a parody of Callum, with claws like talons and teeth like the fangs of a prehistoric monster.
With one of these hideous claws it seized Gran by the shoulder, and with the other it grabbed her by the hair. Then it lifted her off her feet, her face frozen in a wide stare of astonishment and horror, and hurled her like a doll across the room. Her body crashed hard against the wall and she slid to the floor and lay still.
‘Callum!’ cried a voice.
Callum half turned. Jacob stood on the path, Doom crouched at his side, growling like a demonic tiger, showing teeth like sabres in the moonlight. Twin trails of black blood dripped like sweat down Jacob’s temples and along his palms. The pair had kept pace with Callum on the road, but the barrier he had thrown up against the spectral boy and his dog still prevented either of them from moving even a fraction over Gran’s doorstep.