Wigan Lane was empty and silent. The nearest street-lamps broken, the only light from the flash of a zebra crossing globe. The gloomy orange glow lit the decaying archway and lodges of the Plantation Gates, plunging into blackness every other second.
It was seven o'clock and already dark when Tom and Sophie had left the house. Tom decided they would stay out no more than two hours. He reflected he should not have brought Sophie out so late at night. He should not have brought her ghost hunting in the woods. He did not expect to see anyone from beyond the grave; he was more worried about the living than the dead.
Kate met them outside the gates. Following her torchlight, they walked through the gates and left the path. Passing through a thick tangle of trees, they found a small space by an oak tree. Kate opened her backpack, pulled out a blanket and laid it on the floor. She had brought a couple of flasks of tea and a block of Battenburg cake. They all settled, taking it in turns to watch the path.
Kate showed Sophie the newspaper article and told them both about her trip to the library.
"So this Fairclough woman hears voices," said Tom. "What are we doing lurking around in the dark and cold when she must have made the whole thing up? Even if someone did scare her it sounds like she was out looking for it."
"That's not nice," Kate said, although she had come to the same conclusion.
"If there is a ghost I'd like to see it," said Sophie.
"Ghosts don't exist," said Kate. "Except in the imagination."
"How do you know?"
"It’s irrational, caused by our fear of death. Like religion," said Kate.
"I believe in them," said Sophie. “I have seen things.”
"You've not seen a ghost," said Tom. "You would have mentioned it before."
"I did mention it, just not to you. I told dad and Zoe."
Zoe was Sophie's best friend.
"It was about two years ago, the night you stayed hospital after the asthma attack. Dad took me to Auntie Joan's in Leigh for a couple of days. They made me sleep with Brenda. Can you imagine? The cousin from hell."
"She once stubbed out a cigarette on my arm," said Tom.
"We were lying in bed and she told me about all these strange things happening in the house. They came home one day and someone had opened all the windows, but there was nobody inside and nothing stolen. Doors slammed closed by themselves. Items disappeared but later turned up again."
"Sounds like any normal house," said Kate.
"I said the same. I was falling asleep when there was a crash from downstairs. Like someone was ransacking the place; throwing chairs and plates, tipping the sideboard over. We leapt out of bed and rushed to the living room. Uncle Stan came out of his room with a golf club and told us to get back upstairs. We went half way but stopped and waited to see what happened. Uncle Stan switched the light on and everything was quiet for a minute. He returned scratching his head. He told us to come in and have a look. We walked down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. Everything was in its usual place. Uncle Stan said someone next door must have turned on the TV full blast. It didn't sound like it to me. The whole house had shaken as though objects were being thrown against the wall."
"Creepy," said Kate. "But I don't see why you would assume a supernatural explanation."
"I've not finished. We went back to bed; it was hard to get to sleep afterwards. Not for Brenda, she was off in minutes. I lay there for about an hour. It must have been one in the morning and I was desperate for the loo. But I was not keen to go because they still had an outside toilet."
"They have chamber pots don't they?" Tom asked.
Sophie stared at her brother in revulsion.
"I hung on for a while but I had to go, so I crept downstairs and went through to the kitchen. It took a while to find the back door keys but I did not want to wake anyone again. I found them in a mug at the back of a cupboard. I unlocked the door, and crept across the yard to the out-house. It's in a passage alongside the house, which also has a little shed and a room uncle Stan uses as an aviary. I sat in the dark; it was a hot night and a relief to be out of clammy bed, with Brenda snoring. So I stayed there for a while. Then I heard a voice, almost a whisper at first. It was a high-pitched metallic voice. It said horrible things."
"Like what?" Kate asked.
"I don't like to say. It gives me the creeps to remember. I pulled the door open, ran across the yard, through the back door or the house, slammed it shut and turned the key. I ran upstairs into Brenda's room and jumped into the bed. Brenda was still snoring. Something freezing cold touched my leg. I reached under the covers and grabbed it. I pulled the thing out and screamed."
"The next thing I knew the lights were on and Uncle Stan and Auntie Joan were standing there. Brenda was trying not to laugh but she couldn't help herself. I had thrown the thing across the room and it was lying in the corner."
"What was it?" Kate asked.
"A mummified hand."
"Jesus!" Tom said. "Why the hell did you never tell me this?"
"You were ill. Dad said I shouldn't tell you. It turned out Brenda had found the thing in an abandoned house. They were demolishing the whole street, and she and her friends had spent a few evenings there. She found a loose floorboard, pulled it up and the hand was there, wrapped in an old sheet. She had kept it for months and used it to scare her friends."
"She's sick," said Tom.
"The next day Uncle Stan took it to the police station and they heard nothing for months. They had a letter from some Professor in Wales, the hand was old, some kind of holy relic. Nobody ever mentioned it again."
"What did Uncle Stan and Auntie Joan say about the voice you heard?"
"I didn't tell them. After the hand, they were angry with Brenda. I slept the rest of the night with Auntie Joan. Uncle Stan slept in the living room. I didn't want to make things worse and I didn't believe Brenda had anything to do with the voice. After that, I started reading about the paranormal; borrowed book after book from the library. I gave them to dad to put on his card because they wouldn't let me take them out."
For a long time nothing happened. Nobody came through the gates or along the path. Apart from their whispers and the occasional hoot of an owl, the woodland was silent.
A man strolled past whistling and swinging a dog lead. A golden retriever dashed from one bush to the next sniffing each in turn. The dog ran over to them wagging its tail and sniffing the cakes. They tried to make it away but it gave a playful bark. The man came closer. Kate grabbed the remaining piece of cake and hurled it further down the path. The dog turned and ran after it and the man followed. He pulled out a lead, attached it to the dog's collar and continued out of sight.
A rustle came from the bushes a couple of feet from where they sat. They stood frozen, listening. There was another rustle, followed by a low growling.
"What the hell is that?" Kate said.
A shape jumped out of the undergrowth, snarling. Sophie screamed.
"You bloody idiot!" Kate shouted.
It was Pete. "You should have seen your faces," he said, laughing so much his accent reverted to Polish. "You almost wet yourselves."
"Like you did in the girls v boys rugby match when Sandra Mathews flattened you on your arse?" Kate said.
"You seem to keep a record of my humiliations. Sandra was like a wildebeest on steroids."
"Shush..." Tom whispered, gesturing for the others to be quiet. He pointed towards the light of the nearby streets. A hooded figure hurried through the gate and along the path. The new arrival seemed to be in a rush but then stopped. "It’s the person I saw last night, I'm sure of it."
The figure stood as if waiting for someone. They watched, a minute passed and the figure remained on the path. The light was dim and the shape was no clearer than a shadow, but Tom was certain it was a boy of about their age. He wore a red coat. The hood concealed his face.
Tom pushed his way through the bushes.
The boy turned towards them, saw Tom and ran into the trees in the opposite direction.
"Wait!" Tom shouted. He darted across the path, ducked his head and pushed his way through the thick knot of branches. Behind him, he heard the others following.
The boy knew the woods well, taking shortcuts few people would have known. They sprinted along a narrow overgrown path. Took a sharp turn towards the valley and scrambled down to the river. There was a fallen tree trunk here, which formed a bridge. The figure was half-way to the other side when Tom leapt on. It wobbled. The boy crouched to maintain balance, and bounded across the rest in three long strides. Tom watched as his quarry reached the other side, grabbed hold of the trunk and shook it. Tom teetered for a moment, almost toppling into the rushing waters. He steadied himself and copied the boy's approach, crouching to avoid the plunge.
When Tom arrived at the other side, the red-coated figure had made it to the top of the slope. Without a pause, Tom followed, grabbing hold of the wet grass and weeds to pull himself up. It was steep, and when he reached the top, his arms ached. The boy was sprinting across a moonlit field towards another section of woods. Wind blowing across the waste length grass, which rippled like waves.
This was near the spot where Tom practiced his archery. Tom followed. He was one of the fastest in the school but the hooded boy was quick, keeping the same distance ahead. He never glanced backwards as he disappeared into the trees.
As Tom entered the woods, there was a humming sound and green mist rising out of the ground ahead. As he approached the mist, the humming grew to a buzzing. Before Tom could grasp what was happening, an immense force threw him off his feet. He flew through the air and tumbled down a steep slope. Branches scratched at his face and tore at his clothing. Near the bottom, his head hit a rock.
Tom dreamt of his mum. They were on holiday in Benidorm. Tom was eight and had been out too long in the sun at the playground. He lay on the bed in the hotel room sick with sunstroke, his head throbbing, and skin raw and peeling. His mum stroked his hair and sang to him in a whisper. The sweet smell of Calamine lotion filled the air.
Tom shivered. It was dark and Sophie stood nearby. She did not see him lying on the ground feet away. She spoke to someone but Tom could hear nothing. A hooded shape stood beside her. The two stood for a moment holding hands. They turned and disappeared into the night. Throughout, Tom lay paralysed and unconcerned. He closed his eyes and slipped back into sleep.
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