Shooing Cadbury out of the way, Callum wrapped his duvet round himself, up to his chin, then sat at the window staring out. Was there no place now he could feel safe, no place he could sleep soundly? The cottage had always been a haven for him. There weren’t any ghosts here, no need for Luck. It was the one place where Callum could feel normal – at least, it had been until now.
‘What’s happening, Cad?’ he whispered.
His Luck sometimes warned him about danger, but it always operated by instinct. He’d never had a dream like this before. He’d never been given an actual message.
IT IS COMING
All through the night, Callum sat at the window, his mind racing, his ears straining for the sound of a howl.
But he heard and saw nothing.
Chapter 4
The Hunter has left the boy behind; the one who tried to fight, even when his weak body was already dying. It was an exciting chase, briefly, but now the boy lies dead, and another victim awaits.
The Hunter begins to lay its path. It cannot smell, but it does not need to. Its victims leave trails stronger than any scent. Their own power is their undoing, calling the Hunter to them.
But something is different this time. The trail is confused. It flickers, coming and going too swiftly to follow. Something is hiding this one. Maybe this boy-child is even trying to hide himself.
Ah . . .
The Hunter cannot smile without borrowing a human face, but it feels the pleasure that goes with a smile. A challenge! It is time for the real chase to begin.
It is still hungry.
Chapter 5
It didn’t seem possible that this was just another school day, as ordinary as any other. Same old steam on the cottage windowpanes, same old open fire in the grate, same old Gran frying eggs on the gas ring. Callum cupped one hand round his mug of tea, slowly stirring sugar into it with the other, and listened to the bored tones of the radio announcer relaying the morning’s news.
‘The mutilated body of a teenage boy has been discovered in a residential area of South London. The boy’s identity has not been released, but the violent nature of the death tallies with a number of murders reported in recent weeks in Newcastle, Glasgow, Birmingham, and two undisclosed rural locations in Wales and the south-west . . .’
Callum dropped the sugar spoon and slurped his tea, trying not to listen. Another hideous news story. Just what he needed after a night of dark dreams and insomnia.
‘Reports suggest that these apparent serial murders may be the result of a gang vendetta, although police say that copycat killings cannot be ruled out.’
With a snort of outrage, Gran banged two plates of fried eggs and toast down on to the table.
‘Detectives have refused to comment on rumours that the murderer left a signature at the scene of the latest crime, heralding further attacks. Eyewitnesses claim that the victim’s own blood was used to write the words “IT IS COMING” on a wall close to where the body was found.’
‘Good God!’ Gran rounded on the radio with an explosive gasp of anger. ‘What makes you think we want to hear all this?’
The radio went instantly quiet, as though scolded into silence. Nether Marlock was in a small valley and occasionally lost reception, but instead of fiddling with the antenna as she usually did, Gran snapped the radio off.
‘Why do they broadcast this stuff at eight o’clock in the morning! Why do they broadcast it at all? Copycats, indeed! What would they have to copy if they didn’t get the gory details of every crime handed to them on a platter by the media?’
Callum sat frozen, hardly hearing his grandmother’s words. The calm, unfeeling tones of the radio announcer played in a relentless loop in his head:
The victim’s own blood was used to write the words “IT IS COMING” . . .
Callum’s spine tingled, and his heart thumped so loudly he wondered if Gran could hear it. How could he have known? Last night’s events – last night’s real events – seemed to match his dream exactly. A dead boy behind a row of houses. And the message in blood – the exact same words on the wall. How could he possibly have known? Was it some sort of premonition?
Callum subdued a shiver as another uncomfortable thought hit him. Last night in the woods, he had seen a new sort of ghost – or whatever it was. Maybe his dream was another new kind of supernatural ability that he hadn’t known he possessed. Maybe this was just the beginning . . .
He slowly picked up his teaspoon and gave himself another generous spoonful of sugar as Gran made a triumphant finish to her rant.
‘Now you see why I won’t get a television! It’s bad enough having to listen to such stuff first thing in the morning without having to look at it too.’
‘Gran,’ Callum asked casually. ‘Did you hear a dog howling in the night?’
Gran frowned. ‘Did I hear what?’
‘Howling last night. Outside.’
She shrugged, still frowning. ‘I don’t think so, Callum. What makes you ask that?’
‘You talking about hearing things without seeing them.’
Gran turned away and busied herself at the sink.
‘Well I didn’t hear anything odd. There was a howling gale, certainly. And when the wind gets in under the eaves it makes some strange noises. It plays up in the empty cottages too. It’s like living in a set of pan pipes sometimes. It was probably your imagination.’
Callum sighed and turned back to his egg, but he’d lost his appetite. After the announcement on the radio, the morning didn’t feel so ordinary any more. Pushing back his chair, he pulled on his coat.
‘I’d better get going or I’ll be late,’ he said.
‘Don’t forget to put your torch in your rucksack,’ Gran reminded him.
‘Yeah.’
‘And stay on the road.’
‘OK, OK!’ Callum looked up, surprised at this sudden shower of advice. ‘Why wouldn’t I stay on the road? I’m not going to go off into those woods in the dark, that’s for sure!’
‘Best be home before it gets dark,’ Gran finished firmly. ‘Then you won’t need to worry.’
‘Howling dogs can wander about in daylight too, you know,’ replied Callum. ‘And on roads!’
Gran gave a little shrug. ‘Whatever you say, Callum. Have a good day, dear.’
*
Callum headed back up the hill through Marlock Wood. Whatever had followed him through the trees last night wasn’t there this morning. He didn’t hear or feel anything – no soft padding of feet, no icy breath of wind, and above all, no howling. Still no ghosts around Nether Marlock church either, but in daylight that didn’t seem so worrying.
Callum paused for a moment to watch a pair of chaffinches hopping about fearlessly in the briars at the bottom of the lane.
‘You’re not scared of anything, are you?’ he said under his breath. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be, either.’
Up in the town, the high street was going about its everyday morning business. Callum passed the kids in front of the post office, stocking up on sweets and crisps before the long, grinding day of schoolwork ahead. The shopkeeper only allowed two schoolchildren in at a time and kept a strict watch at the door, like a bouncer at a nightclub. There were about twenty kids standing in the queue outside, messing around and texting their friends while they waited to be allowed in. Callum nodded at a couple of kids from his class as he passed, and they nodded back.
He got along with most of his classmates just fine, even if he didn’t mix with them much. He had to keep normal kids at a distance. He’d learned that the hard way at primary school. Callum had a few friends back then, but it hadn’t been easy to hold on to them when they kept catching him staring at things they couldn’t see. One day, whispers started going round the playground and Callum found himself spending break time alone.