The Crowmaster (4 page)

‘W
ell, this is a first. This is a first for me,' muttered Marion, as she traced a fingertip along one of the windscreen's cracks. The bird was still on the bonnet, its neck bent back and its beak hanging wide open. ‘I've never known one to do that before.'

‘What, never?' I asked.

Marion shook her head. ‘We get a lot of low-fliers round here, and I've hit my fair share of them, but usually they just skite off the glass, no real harm done.' She plucked a black feather from one of the cracks, studied it briefly, then let it float to the ground. ‘This one must have been going like a bat out of you-know-where to do damage like that. Silly little beggar.'

‘Are there a lot of them round here?' I asked. ‘Crows, I mean.'

‘Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, probably. Used to terrify me when I was a girl until a friend of mine showed me they were nothing to be afraid of,' replied Marion, turning her attention to the bird itself. It was on its side, with its legs buckled outwards in opposite directions. One wing was trapped beneath its body, while the other was bent right back above its head. From where I was standing, it looked like it was sniffing its own armpit. Or wingpit, if you wanted to get technical about it.

It reminded me again of the man-baby in the train toilet. All the right component parts, but violently rearranged into something disturbing and unfamiliar. I shuddered and tried to forget the image.

‘Should I get a stick?' I asked.

Marion looked at me with a puzzled expression. ‘Whatever for?'

‘To, you know, flick it off the car with,' I said, miming the action.

Marion's hands wrapped around the bird. Its head flopped even further back as she lifted it, until its lifeless eyes were staring straight at me. ‘Or we could just,
you know
, pick it up,' she said with a smirk.

‘Or we could do that.'

She walked over to the edge of the road. ‘We'll have to knock the windscreen out for now,' she said. ‘Might be a bit draughty, but at least we'll be able to — Ow!'

The crow hit the ground with a soft thud. Marion's hand flew to her mouth, but not before I saw the tiny river of blood trickling between her index finger and thumb.

‘What happened? Are you OK?'

Marion was sucking the wound on her hand, and staring down at the bundle of black feathers at her feet. ‘It pecked me,' she gasped, pulling her hand from her mouth to assess the damage. ‘The ruddy thing lifted its head and pecked me!'

I stepped closer and gave the bird a prod with my toe. It didn't move or do anything else to suggest it was still alive.

‘Must've been a nerve twitching or something,' I suggested. ‘Like when you chop a chicken's head off. Its body keeps running around.'

Marion raised her eyebrows. ‘You've chopped a chicken's head off?'

‘No, no,
I
haven't, but I've heard that's what happens. I read it somewhere, I think. Must have been something like that, because look.' I gave the crow another poke. It rolled limply on to its back. ‘Nothing.'

Marion's gaze shifted from me to the crow and back again. She shook her head faintly and gave me a smile. ‘Of course it must,' she said, already striding back towards the car. ‘Now come on, you can help me knock out this windscreen.'

Marion's house stood by itself at the edge of a dense forest of towering pine trees. The building looked old, but well cared for, with clean white paint on the rough stone walls, and a neat stack of firewood piled up by the back door.

A large garden was fenced off at one side of the house. Most of it seemed to be just soil, but there were rows of evenly spaced greenery dotted here and there. A crooked path of yellowish brickwork led down to an ancient-looking greenhouse at the far end of the plot.

An identical pathway led up to the house from the wide driveway where Marion had parked the car. I clambered from the passenger seat and stood on the path, half admiring the impressive old building, half waiting for Marion to lead the way inside.

‘On you go then,' she prompted, nodding towards the back door. ‘Follow the yellow brick road!'

I hauled my bag higher on my shoulder and began along the path. ‘You've got a nice big garden,' I said.

‘Veg mostly, but not really the season for much at the minute,' Marion replied. ‘It's only fenced off to make it more manageable.'

She gave a vague wave of her hand. ‘Most of the land from the road up to the woods belongs to the house. Too much for me to look after, so I marked out something a bit less... overwhelming.'

‘You grow your own vegetables?'

‘Of course! I'm quite self-sufficient up here,' she said proudly. ‘Really not much but leeks and sprouts ready at the minute, though. Fancy either of those?'

I shook my head. ‘No, thanks.'

‘Don't know what you're missing,' Marion scolded, and for a moment she reminded me of Mum. ‘Anyway,' she continued, as we reached the back door, ‘in you go. Watch out for Toto. He'll probably come leaping out at you.'

‘Toto?'

‘My dog,' she explained, opening the door. ‘He's... Oh.' She looked around the kitchen. ‘He's not here. Must be off roaming. He'll come back at dinner time, no doubt.'

I stood just inside the back door, taking in the large kitchen. It had wood on the walls and tiles on the floor. An old, complicated-looking cooker seemed to take up half of one wall, boxed in by a mismatched assortment of storage units on either side.

A rack of pots and pans hung from the ceiling, too high for anyone to reach. A thin rope led from the rack, across the yellowing ceiling, and down to a hook on the wall. I guessed that was how Marion lowered the pots enough to get to them. Either that or she kept a pair of stilts handy.

There were two windows – one large, the other much smaller. There were no curtains, but each window had its own set of wooden shutters that could be closed across it. I didn't imagine Marion shut them often. I couldn't see how she could have any privacy problems way out here.

A folding table was pushed against one wall, with a single wooden chair tucked in underneath. I could imagine Marion sitting there, eating her meals alone, with only Toto for company. Suddenly – despite her huge house with its sprawling plot of land – I found myself feeling sorry for her.

‘Well, this is it,' she said, almost bashfully. ‘It's not much, but it does me well enough.'

‘It's really nice,' I assured her. ‘Much bigger than our kitchen at home.'

‘Too big, probably,' Marion said. ‘Now come on. I'll give you the grand tour.'

*  *  *

I lowered myself carefully on to the bed, trying it out. Marion hadn't been kidding about the scratchy blankets. They were made of a coarse, grey material that may well have been a cross between camel hair and barbed wire. Fortunately, she had swapped them for different ones within two minutes of us stepping through the bedroom door.

The blankets I sat on now were made of a soft fleecy material. They felt so comfortable I could almost forgive the hideous pattern of ruby-red flowers that covered them like a rash. Almost.

After a quick tour of the place, and an attempted phone call home, Marion had left me ‘to get settled in'. There had been no answer from home, and I found it strange that neither Mum nor Ameena were in. No doubt I was being paranoid and there was a simple explanation for it – shopping, or something. I made a mental note to call again later.

The room Marion had picked for me looked out on to the wooded hillside that led up from one side of the house. At the top of the hill, a towering metal structure rose above the treetops. It looked almost alien against its surroundings, and I guessed it must be a television or radio mast.

I could hear Marion bustling about in the kitchen making dinner. I'd never tasted her cooking, but statistically it was very unlikely to be as bad as Mum's. I hadn't eaten anything since leaving home, and I realised I was actually quite hungry.

Marion had already made it clear dinner would be a good hour or so away. I sprung up from the bed. Even out here there had to be somewhere to buy snacks. Right?

‘A shop? Yes, of course there's a local shop,' Marion told me. She stopped stirring the bubbling contents of a large metal pot for a moment, wiped her hands on her apron, and then pointed out through the open back door. ‘You know the drive we came up?'

‘Yep.'

‘Head back down it until you reach the road, then turn left.'

‘Left,' I nodded. ‘OK.'

‘Then you just keep walking straight on.'

‘For how long?'

‘About twenty-seven miles,' she said. ‘It's on the right. You can't miss it.'

‘
Twenty-seven miles?
' I groaned. ‘Seriously?'

‘Afraid so,' she said, returning to her stirring. ‘Listen, dinner will be less than an hour. Why don't you go for a wander outside for a while? I'll give you a shout when it's ready. You could have a look for Toto for me. Just don't go too far from the house.'

I hesitated, considering just heading back up to my room and riding out the hunger pangs. A smell had begun to rise from the cooking pot, though, and it was making me feel even more ravenous. Maybe getting outside for a while was a good idea.

‘Get a shift on then,' Marion urged, as she ground some pepper into the pot. ‘Take the chance to get out and explore while you can.' She turned to me, unable to mask her mischievous grin. ‘Because I've got a real treat in store for you after dinner.'

‘Oh?' I asked, intrigued. ‘What's that?'

‘You're on dishes!'

The hillside was steep, but the tangle of thick roots that covered the ground acted almost like steps, making climbing easier. I had decided to check out the mast on the hilltop, but now I was actually in the forest, the trees blocked it from view. As a result, I had absolutely no idea if I was headed in even vaguely the right direction.

A high embankment rose up in front of me and I had to scramble on all fours to get to the top. I had only been walking for about five minutes, but already the terrain was taking my breath away, and not in an
Ooh, that's pretty
kind of way. I spent a few seconds resting against a tree, before continuing onwards and upwards.

Marion seemed nice, but already I could feel I was beginning to miss Mum. Some people might have found it strange that I'd never spent a night away from her before, but then it wasn't like I'd ever had a lot of places to go and stay.

I'd never had many friends, and the few I'd managed to make I didn't know well enough to sleep over at their houses. That left only family, and I didn't exactly have much of that, either.

My nan lived with us up until she'd gone into the care home, so staying at her place overnight had never exactly been an option. And then there was my dad. The less said about him, the better.

He was the one who sent Mr Mumbles and Caddie after me. He was the one to blame for everything that had happened over the past few weeks. And he was the reason I was here now, hiding in the middle of nowhere, a hundred miles from home. And the worst thing was, I didn't even know why he was doing it.

Thinking about my dad had got my blood pumping and my heart thudding against my chest. I'd spent the last few minutes powering up the hill, hauling myself along using low-hanging branches and trailing roots.

The further up the hillside I went, the denser the forest became. The treetops were so close together now I could barely make out the darkening sky. Dusk had been approaching when I left the house, but now night was fast drawing in.

I turned and looked back down the hill. A weak, watery light highlighted the details of the woods around me, but beyond that everything merged into murky shades of grey.

‘Great,' I muttered, realising now why Marion had told me not to go too far from the house. Checking out the mast would have to wait.

I slowly began to pick my way back down, hesitating every few steps as I scanned for somewhere safe to place my feet. The roots that had been so helpful on the way up now seemed intent on catching on my toes or tangling around my ankles. They made progress slow, and the darkness tightened further around me with every step I took.

After several minutes of walking, I realised I should have come across the large embankment again. The fact that I hadn't was worrying. It meant I wasn't following the same route down as I had on the way up. I looked to the sky to try to find my bearings, but there was nothing in the gloom to show me the way.

I stumbled over a broken root and had to catch hold of a tree trunk to stop myself falling. I leaned against the tree, giving myself a few seconds to recover from the fright.

As I stood there, I heard something move in the darkness. At first it was almost nothing – a gentle rustling of leaves; the faint
crunch
of a footstep on rotten twigs. Quickly, though, it picked up in pace, rushing towards me through the undergrowth, closer and closer, faster and faster.

Whatever it was, I could hear its breathing now. Each panted breath sounded low and rasping and hoarse. I wasn't sure what would breathe quite like that, but I knew one thing for sure.

It wasn't anything human.

A
dark grey shape about the size of a large cat bounded through a bush and stumbled to a stop a few metres away. It cocked its head quizzically to one side and looked up at me. I almost laughed with relief.

‘Hey,' I said, taking a step closer to the animal, ‘you must be Toto.'

The little terrier pulled back as I approached. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. It sounded much deeper and more threatening than I expected from a dog that size.

‘It's OK,' I said, keeping my voice light, ‘I'm not going to hurt you.' I took another step towards him. He growled again, but it was a half-hearted effort this time, and I could tell it was all for show.

Two more steps and I was crouching down beside the dog. His fur felt matted and damp as I gently patted him. His little body was radiating heat, and I could feel his breath panting in and out.

‘Been running, boy?' I said softly. He pulled back slightly at the sound of my voice, but otherwise didn't react.

I patted him a little more firmly, letting my hand travel across his head and down over his narrow back. As my hand brushed over the fur near his tail, he gave a sharp yelp and leapt backwards.

‘What's the matter, Toto?' I asked. ‘Are you…' In the pale light I saw the streak of blood on my hand. ‘…hurt?'

Toto let out another low growl. I began to say sorry for hurting him, before I realised he wasn't growling at me. His head was craned back, looking up into the trees. His eyes flicked erratically from treetop to treetop, as if searching for something.

I stood up and followed his gaze, but could see nothing through the gloom other than the occasional swaying branch. Toto's growling was becoming louder. His tail was between his legs, and the wiry hair on his back was pointing to the sky. Something was scaring him. Badly.

‘It's OK, boy, there's nothing there,' I said. ‘It's just the wind making the trees move, that's all. It's nothing to—'

A black shape swooped down from the treetops. I heard it first – a rustle in the darkness, followed by a faint
whoosh
as the bird flew past my head. I saw Toto spin on the spot, watched him bare his teeth. He snapped his tiny jaws around thin air, then yelped as the crow pecked sharply at his ear.

The whole attack lasted less than a second. The bird was back up in the trees before I could even react. I peered up into the branches, searching for any sign of it. It wasn't easy, but eventually I found it – a darker shade against the grey-black of the evening sky. It folded and unfolded its wings a few times as I watched, but otherwise didn't show any sign of moving.

I turned back to Toto, only to find him flat on his belly. His eyes were open, still staring up into the trees. He was shivering and whining softly, and I could see a deep cut in his ear where the bird had nipped at him.

‘Don't worry, it's staying up there,' I said, glancing back to where I expected to see the bird. But instead of one black shape, I saw two. They sat together on a high limb, so close they were almost touching.

A movement in the branches above them caught my eye. Another crow sat there, glaring down. My eyes moved slowly across the canopy of treetops, finding more and more dark outlines perched on every branch. There were dozens of them, easily fifty or more. A few of them gave hoarse, croaky
caws
as my gaze swept over them.

‘OK,' I muttered, steadying myself. ‘It's nothing. They're just birds.'

I made a move towards Toto. A few of the crows hopped down on to lower branches. Their eyes shone against their masks of black feathers, flicking from me to the dog and back again.

I hesitated for a moment, watching the birds. They shuffled from foot to foot, but kept their wings folded against their backs. ‘Just birds,' I repeated below my breath. I turned and took another step towards the terrified Toto.

As if on some secret signal, every one of the birds moved. They leaned forward on the branches and plunged towards the ground, flicking their wings wide at the last possible moment.

The air around me became thick with oily-black feathers. They beat against my cheeks and swished through my hair. Flashes of beaks and of eyes and of sharp, outstretched claws were all I could see. I ducked down, crossing my hands over my face to protect myself. Just a few metres away, I heard Toto break into a frenzied barking.

The sound seemed to draw the birds over. They left me and rounded on the little dog. They hovered around him like a thundercloud, blocking him from view, their throaty cries almost drowning out his barks.

For a few moments they flapped and fluttered wildly around him. Then, without warning, every bird dived at once, attacking in perfect formation. Toto squealed and yelped as the crows' beaks tore into his flesh.

A surge of electrical energy buzzed across my scalp, and I felt my power surge through my veins. I opened my mouth and a sound like thunder uttered its voice: ‘Leave him alone!'

The tornado of beating wings suddenly swirled around me again. Birds thudded into my back, snapped at my face, dug their claws into my arms. Panic tightened my stomach and made my legs shake. The power crackled behind my eyes, but there were too many of them, flying too fast. I tried to focus, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't fight back.

And then, moving as if it were a single creature, the flock banked up into the trees and vanished back among the branches. I braced myself for the expected pain, but it didn't come. Amazingly, other than a few scratches on my arms, I was unhurt. The crows may have attacked me, but they hadn't done any real damage.

The same couldn't be said for Toto.

Matted balls of bloodied hair lay dotted around the clearing. A slick sheen of red coated the forest floor. It made the ground slippery beneath my feet as I approached the ravaged remains of Marion's dog.

Bones stuck up at awkward angles from the little mound of flesh and fur. Toto's ribcage had been picked almost completely clean. It looked artificially white against the dark crimson of the animal's innards.

The stench was choking. It caught in the back of my throat and made me gag. My saliva turned sour in my mouth and I bent double, splattering the ground with what little there was in my stomach.

In the forest canopy above me, I heard the crows. They called to each other – or to me – a sinister
caw-caw-caw
that sounded almost like laughter. I looked for them, but the darkness was thicker than ever and I could barely see even the lower limbs of the trees. If I was ever going to find my way back to the house, I had to get moving.

I glanced briefly at what had once been Toto, whispered an apologetic goodbye, then set off hurriedly down the hillside, watched all the way by a hundred black, soulless eyes.

*  *  *

‘Ah, the wanderer returns!' laughed Marion, looking up from the newspaper she was reading at the small kitchen table. I smiled sheepishly, and closed the back door behind me. ‘I'd started to think you weren't coming back,' she added.

‘Sorry,' I told her. ‘I started walking up to the big mast thing and… it got dark. I got a bit lost.'

She waved a hand as if dismissing the apology, got up from the table, and crossed to the cooker. ‘Easily done,' she said. ‘You haven't been that long. I've been keeping dinner warm.'

I stood there, just inside the doorway, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot and watching her turn up the heat on the stove.

‘Did you make it? To the mast?' she asked.

‘What? No. No, I didn't.'

‘Good!' she said, giving her cooking pot a stir. ‘Dangerous brute of a thing. Radioactive, they reckon.'

‘Radioactive?'

‘Something to do with the signals or something,' she shrugged. She lifted the pot and spooned some of the contents on to two large plates. ‘Don't know much about them myself, mobile phones. Maybe it's a load of rubbish about the radiation, but who knows? Keep clear, that's what I say. Better safe than sorry.'

‘Oh, it's a mobile phone mast?' I asked, remembering the phone Mum had given me. I still needed to plug it in and charge it up.

‘It is indeed. Went up about a year and a half ago. Big complaints about it. Lot of fuss.'

I watched her cross back to the table and put the plates on it. She sat on her chair and picked up a fork and knife. ‘Well, come on then,' she urged. ‘Before it gets cold.'

Marion had fetched another chair from somewhere and placed it across from hers. Its wooden legs squeaked on the floor when I pulled it out from below the table. I sat down and stared at my plate. Chunks of meat sat on it, still attached to spindly white bones. They were stacked up into a kind of pyramid, and surrounded by a dark liquid. Mushrooms, carrots and transparent slices of onion all added substance to the already thick gravy. It looked good. It smelled great.

But all it reminded me of was Toto.

‘It's lamb casserole,' Marion explained, noticing my hesitation. ‘I use lamb chops on the bone. Adds to the flavour.'

I felt my mouth filling up with saliva again and had to swallow back another retch. Marion had one of the lamb chops in her hand, and was stripping it with her teeth. I looked away, but heard the meat tear as she bit down.

‘Eat up,' she said, between mouthfuls. ‘How do you expect to fight
him
if you don't keep your strength up?'

I looked across at her. ‘Fight who?'

‘This bully you told me about.'

‘Bully?'

‘The one you're hiding up here from.'

‘Oh,' I said, remembering the lie, ‘him.'

I picked up a fork and pronged a mushroom. It tasted good, but squelched unpleasantly as I chewed it. I got through it, though, and my hunger gradually took over from the sick feeling in my stomach. I picked my way through the veg, but couldn't face tackling the meat.

‘Come across Toto when you were out?' asked Marion, as I skewered three chunks of carrot and a slice of onion.

‘No,' I said, before quickly cramming the forkful into my mouth.

‘Oh well, he'll turn up soon enough,' she smiled, although I could see she was concerned. ‘When he's hungry, most probably.'

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I should have told her what had happened the second I'd come through the door, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I hadn't known her long, but I was sure she would be heartbroken about the dog. From what I could tell he was her only real companion out here. With him gone she would be utterly alone.

‘He knows where he's got it easy,' Marion continued. ‘Never stays away for long. It's like they say in the film, I suppose. “There's no place like home”.'

‘What film?' I asked.

Marion leaned back in her chair a little and blinked several times rapidly. ‘You mean you don't know?'

I shook my head. ‘Should I?'

‘It's
The Wizard of Oz
, of course!'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Never seen it.'

‘What,
never
?'

I shrugged. ‘Don't think so.'

Marion looked shocked, but excited at the same time, as if she'd just won the lottery without even buying a ticket. She got up from the table, scraped the remains of her dinner into a little red dog bowl, then placed her plate in the sink. When she turned back to me, a broad smile was spread across her face.

‘When you're finished come through to the living room,' she said. ‘Do I have a treat in store for you!'

The old VCR gave a
whirr
and a
clunk
when Marion stopped the tape. She adjusted herself in her armchair so she was facing across to the couch where I was sitting, enjoying the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth.

‘Well?' she breathed. ‘What did you think?'

‘It was all right,' I said, as enthusiastically as I could manage.

‘All right?'

‘No, I mean, it was good, yeah.'

‘Who was your favourite character?' she asked, her eyes sparkling even more than usual.

I paused for a moment, trying to remember anything of what I'd just seen. Marion had been really excited about showing me the film, but I found it a bit boring. I also had the all-too-vivid memories of a dead fat man and a dead dog gnawing away at my brain, so I hadn't really been paying all that much attention.

‘The flying monkey guys were quite cool,' I said, recalling one of the few moments I'd actually been following what was happening on the small television screen.

Marion rolled her eyes and chuckled. ‘Might have known you'd go for them,' she said. ‘Typical boy. I like Scarecrow, myself. I still hide behind the cushion when I see him catch fire. Just can't bear to watch it.'

‘I wondered why you were doing that,' I told her.

Marion got up from her chair and ejected the video. She carefully slipped it back into its faded case and returned it to a shelf above the old television. ‘I must say, it's nice to have someone to watch it with,' she said. ‘Toto just doesn't appreciate it at all.'

A flicker of concern crossed her face and she glanced towards the window. Like those in the kitchen, it had wooden shutters instead of curtains. They were open now, revealing nothing but darkness beyond the glass. ‘I hope he's all right,' she said. ‘He's never normally gone for this long.'

I gently cleared my throat. ‘Marion,' I began. ‘Toto's…'

When I didn't continue she said, ‘Toto's what?'

‘Probably just wandering,' I replied, faking a smile. ‘He'll come back when he's hungry. You said so yourself.'

Her expression remained the same for a few seconds, before finally melting into a smile. ‘He does like to go exploring,' she said. ‘He'll come back when he's hungry.'

My lie of a smile stayed fixed on my face, but I couldn't hold her gaze any longer. I turned away, searching for a way to change the subject.