‘You calling us babies, Scott?’ Ed’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘So why are you running away from a bunch of babies?’
Callum didn’t reply.
‘Hey! I asked you a question.’
‘I didn’t call you anything,’ Callum said evasively.
‘Yeah, but you shouted my name fast enough when you thought you could get Gower after me, didn’t you?’
‘Leave me alone,’ Callum said, struggling to keep his voice level. They were well into the woods now, and the light was almost gone.
Someone laughed. ‘He’s running to tell his gran. Watch out, Ed – she’ll turn you into a frog!’
‘Frightened, Scott?’ Ed gave him a shove that sent Callum stumbling forward. ‘You should be.’
Callum clenched his fists, ground his teeth together and kept walking.
‘Oi, Scott, you’ve got my hands dirty now.’
Callum spun around. ‘Keep them to yourself, then!’
‘Here, you can have your muck back,’ said Ed, flicking his muddy hand towards Callum’s face.
Callum reacted instinctively. He’d only really intended to deflect Ed’s blow, but instead his fist connected with the bully’s leering face with a dull, wet crunch. An unexpected fountain of blood, almost black in the twilight, burst from Ed’s nose. Ed staggered backwards into his mates. It took the gang a moment to reorganise. It took Callum a briefer moment to realise what he’d done.
God, how stupid!
He ran.
Callum could hear the noise of ten trainered feet pelting down the road only a few seconds behind him. There was no way he could outrun them. Through the trees, he saw the squat, black ruin of the old church tower, and instinctively swerved up the lane towards it. Maybe there would be somewhere to hide.
Nettles and brambles whipping at his shins, Callum dodged through the rusted iron gate. The churchyard was overgrown and filled with shadows. Callum was sure he’d be able to lose his pursuers among the worn tombstones.
He raced along the north side of the church, stumbling over graves. Stone angels stared down at him with blank eyes, their hands open in useless gestures of comfort. Where were the sword-wielding guardian angels when you needed them?
And where were the ghosts?
The sudden thought made Callum feel sick. Spectres had been crowding him off the pavement in Marlock High Street. Where the hell were they now? They were always here in the churchyard – except for today . . . and last night.
Callum veered round the north-east corner of the church and stopped dead. Standing no more than ten metres away, beneath the black and tossing branches of an ancient yew tree, was a boy. For an instant, Callum thought that one of Ed’s gang had somehow cut him off. Then he looked closer, and his blood froze.
The boy seemed to be about Callum’s age, but his melancholy eyes made him look older. He stood straight and alert. His clothes were old-fashioned – his long, high-necked jacket was so dark it seemed to blend into the falling night, while his deathly white face glowed with its own light. Mute at his side stood a dog the size of a lion, black as the inside of a well. One of the boy’s pale hands was buried in the shadow-fur of the beast’s neck.
With chilling certainty, Callum knew that the pale figure wasn’t a living human. And the strange familiarity between the boy and the dog made Callum sure that the creature wasn’t mortal either. Its eyes glowed red, floating in the darkness of its head. Callum recognised their fiery gleam, and the waves of icy air that drifted from the beast towards him, tugging at his ankles. This monster was, without a doubt, the thing that had hunted him through the wood last night.
Neither the dog nor the boy moved. They were both staring at Callum. He took a shaking breath. No ghost had ever looked directly at him before. Callum had thought he was invisible to them, just as ghosts were invisible to most people. But these two – whatever they were – seemed to be able to see him.
‘He went into the graveyard!’
Baz’s voice broke the spell, jerking Callum back to himself. He glanced over his shoulder, but the church’s low, solid bulk hid the path he had taken, so he couldn’t tell how close his pursuers were.
Callum’s mind raced. He had only two options – to try to go forwards, past the strange boy and his hell hound, or to fall back into the hands of Ed and his gang. He hesitated, his eyes flicking back to the dark pair. Slowly, the boy’s bloodless mouth gave a twisted smile, as if mocking Callum’s dilemma. The dog’s lip curled upwards too, revealing a gleaming set of fangs.
Callum bolted. Turning on his heel, he tore back the way he had come, unable to bear the sight of the ghost-boy and his demon dog a moment longer. But before he had taken more than half a dozen steps, Ed and his gang came hurtling round the corner of the church, blocking his way.
Callum tried to gasp out a warning. ‘Don’t go on -’
‘Don’t worry,’ Ed snarled. ‘We’re not going anywhere. And neither are you.’
As Ed stepped towards him, Callum saw the telltale gleam of a blade in the bully’s right hand.
Then, behind Callum, the pale boy spoke a single, quiet word.
‘Doom.’
And the dog at his side lifted up its head and howled.
It was a noise beyond belief, like the shriek of steel on steel, thunderous and piercing – a sound so hideous that for one terrible second Ed literally cowered, riveted to the spot with his hands clapped over his ears. Then, as the howl slowly died away, he turned tail and fled. His gang followed him.
For a moment, Callum stood dumbstruck. Then he ran too.
Chapter 7
Callum didn’t have any of the control he’d had last night. He didn’t think logically about whether or not he should run from wild animals. He ran in blind terror. Out of the churchyard, down the lane, and on to the road home. With each jarring step, Callum imagined his ankles gripped from behind in those gleaming white fangs. Would the beast’s breath feel hot against the back of his neck, or cold, like the icy wind that drifted around it? Could those bright, razor-sharp fangs tear human flesh, or did they sink into your heart and freeze you to death without even drawing blood? Callum drew another ragged breath and drove himself faster.
He tripped and fell, tearing open both knees and both palms, but he scrambled to his feet again and ran on, skidding in the fallen leaves that gathered in piles along the road. He never looked behind him, expecting any second to feel the black monster leap on to his back.
The lit window of the lonely cottage beckoned, and Callum sprinted towards it. Hurdling the low garden wall, he caught his anorak on one of Gran’s rose bushes, and had to rip it free. With a final effort, he threw himself inside and slammed the door behind him.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the door, panting and gasping as he slid to the floor.
‘What in the world?!’
Callum opened his eyes as Gran raced out of the kitchen. In his mind’s eye, he saw what she saw – her teenage grandson collapsed on the doorstep, covered with mud and dead leaves, his knees and hands bloody, his hair probably standing on end. It was the second night in a row he’d come bursting into the cottage with his teeth chattering.
‘What happened?’ Gran demanded.
‘I got chased by that dog,’ Callum gasped, not stopping to think about what he should say.
‘What, again? Was it one of Warren’s? A farmer ought to be able to keep his dogs under control!’
‘No, Gran,’ Callum interrupted, still panting. ‘It wasn’t a farm dog. Warren’s got Border collies. This one was completely black, no white anywhere, and it was -’
He stopped himself blurting out, It was as big as a horse. He didn’t want to sound like an idiot. Or a baby.
‘It was much bigger than a sheepdog.’ A horrible thought struck him. ‘Gran, Cadbury’s not outside, is he?’
‘He was asleep in your laundry basket, last time I looked.’ Gran strode to the front window and pressed her face to the leaded glass. ‘Where did you see it?’