To go to chapter 1 and follow the story through from the very beginning, simply click on this link
(‘Marcus’ is now available in paperback, you can pick up a copy from Fun Junction in either Crieff or Perth)
Theo’s house was locked tight. He watched from the top window desperate to see nothing. He had left his dad downstairs, eyes glued on the computer screen waiting for the strange reports to come pouring it.
The night was still; no wind, no sounds, no ghosts. After the third sign of movement that turned out to be the neighbour’s cat Theo went downstairs to get something to eat and drink.
James didn’t even look up from the screen, but he sat up rod-straight:
“Are they here?”
Theo slurped milk from his glass, shaking his head:
“Nope. Only so many times I can let Blaise scare me. How many times does a cat need to go out in one night?”
Harry was curled up on the couch watching cartoons on the tablet. He broke his eyes away from the screen for a moment:
“I hope you guys aren’t talking about ghosts again. Mum said you both had to stop ‘cos you’re scaring me. Ghosts aren’t real.”
James stepped away from the computer and sat beside his younger son:
“Mum’s right. You shouldn’t be scared. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Can I get my toastie now? Mum said she’d make me one when she got back.”
James’ brow furrowed:
“When was that?”
“Ehmm…I don’t know, maybe when I started this episode.”
It sometimes wasn’t a great idea to trust a six-year-old’s sense of time. She had just gone out to put something in the bins outside. James realised he had lost track too. He popped on a pair of slippers:
“Be back in a sec guys. Just checking to see if mum needs a hand.”
He ran to the back of the house. The bins were on their side, tipped from the enclosure he’d made for them.
Out of sight, within the branches of their neighbour’s tree, two eyes were watching. It wasn’t Blaise the cat and it wasn’t a ghoul child. James’ wife held on to the branch with every ounce of her strength, pulling against them. She opened her mouth to scream for her husband but found a tiny hand stuffing it with dirt.
The shock made her hand slip. She let go of the branch, the force of their pull dropped her to the ground with force. Her head hit the trunk of the tree and everything went blurry. She could swear she heard the faintest whisper:
Tash was tired but she’d taken enough of a break already. The others had been digging for twenty minutes straight. The strange stones seemed stranger still when you dug up the earth below them.
It was then that the blue glow was visible, the same blue glow coming from the bags of bones. Marcus couldn’t touch the stones himself, but insisted that all the bones had to make contact. Every time a bone was laid beside a rock it would glow brighter, it’s light flowing into the stone until all that was left was dull bone.
Tash grabbed a shovel and started digging. After the third shovel-full of soil flicked in Gordon’s direction, he moved over a little.
It was as good a time as any to grab a drink of water and stretch his back. November soil fought back, a lot, it had taken him over an hour to get just a few inches down.
He had dropped his jacket into the car a few minutes after they started. In the dry cold his sweat grew icy. He hunted in the back seat for the jacket. In the end it announced itself; his phone rang from the pocket. The jacket wasn’t in the car but hanging over a tree a short distance from the stone circle.
He flung the jacket on before fumbling for the phone with icy fingers. He didn’t have to sound too official, his shift had ended ages ago. His screen displayed a Crieff number, vaguely familiar:
James’ voice came back, hushed and terrified:
“I’m standing in my back garden. I don’t want the kids to hear this. They’ve taken her. They took Willow. They took my wife.”
Gordon walked back and forth trying to keep himself warm:
“OK James. Is there any sign of struggle?”
James told him about the overturned bins and said something about an upset cat. Ordinarily Gordon managed professional detachment quite well, not expecting the worst, especially when adults were involved.After the nights he’d had, he let the conclusions jump to their heart’s content.
“OK, look, I’m going to get in the car now. I’ll be there in less than five minutes. Go keep an eye on the kids and I’ll…”
Gordon’s foot got hooked on a tree root. It tangled round his ankle and he fell to the ground dropping his phone. He reached down to untangle the root but it moved. His eyes adjusted just in time to make out the tiny fingers.
James could hear muffled cursing on the other end of the phone. It disappeared into the distance. Where had Gordon gone?
He hung up the call and selected Tash’s number, all the time making his way back round to the house to check on the kids. The kids?! He had been so worried about Willow that he’d neglected to get round, to lock the door, to check the house was safe.
The kids weren’t in the living room when he got in. He locked the front door. (Why didn’t he do that earlier?) James’ eyes darted in all directions searching for any sign of his children.
From the top of the stairs he heard whispering:
“…you’ll never find me…”
James raced up to the boys’ room in time to hear Theo yell:
“Found you Harry! Now it’s my turn to hide.”
James gulped back the bile that had been rising in his throat, then noticed Tash’s voice chattering from his phone:
“…James what’s wrong? Is everything OK? Can you hear me?”
He raised his phone to his ear. The reality of Willow’s disappearance slamming back into view. Out of earshot from the kids, he recounted everything he had just told Gordon. Tash interrupted:
“Wait, when were you talking to Gordon?”
James tried to count back the time:
“Maybe five minutes ago. Probably less than that. He said he was getting into the car. He should be here soon.”
Tash’s eyes settled on her ex-husband’s car:
“James, his car is here. And Gordon is not in it.”
She yelled out for him but heard no reply. Apologising to James she hung up and tried phoning Gordon.
It rang. She could hear the ringtone; the theme tune to one of those ridiculous crime dramas that he loved so much. A light pulsed under a bedraggled tree. There it was, Gordon’s phone, and no Gordon. Tash shook her head:
There was no way to hide this from the kids. She broke the news of their dad’s disappearance as gently as possible. They were clearly upset but they held it together better than Gordon’s buddy Ross.
She debated going to check on James. Maybe perch all the kids inside the stone circle. They’d keep them safe, the same way they’d done for her years ago. However, Gordon was near the circle and they’d got to him easily enough.
Whatever happened next, she needed help. She also needed someone who could deal with the blubbering man-child Ross had become. She needed Nicky.
Nicky’s phone rang as she was getting into the car:
“Hey sis, what’s up?”
The next few minutes were a series of ‘what?’ and ‘but…’ as Nicky was filled in. She wanted to pop on the ignition to get the heater going to take the chill out of the night. Sadly, Scott had the keys and he was taking an age to come out the house.
Scott knew he’d left the keys on the hook, where could they be? For the fourth time he wandered through to the kitchen to check if they were on the worktop. Next stop would be his jacket pocket. He was getting sick of this loop.
There was a jangling sound. Had the keys been in his jacket the whole time? He already knew the answer. The jangling hadn’t come from his jacket. Nicky was out in the car. That meant…:
“No no no nononononono!”
Scott slammed into the wall and didn’t get up:
Nicky got out the car and walked round to the boot. Scott was always losing his keys. Perhaps he’d left them in one of the bags.
Before she went for the pockets her attention was drawn to the small leather bag Scott had dug out of the attic that afternoon (“…seems respectable enough…”). It was hard to believe that it contained the bones of a whole person, albeit a small one.
Scott explained why they needed Marcus’ bones but she hadn’t followed it entirely. She reached forward and undid the old clasp. It opened like an old doctor’s case.
So small, glowing ever so gently. Hard to imagine them linked to someone so powerful, so ancient. She reached forward to touch one and a fist pounded into her temple forcing her sideways to crack her head on the car:
“I’ll take that!”
A leathered hand grasped the handles of the tiny bag. Mr Thomas laughed:
“Now does that count as four, or five?”
Keep up with the story
Click here to go to ‘Marcus: Chapter 18: Between a rock and more rocks’.
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Thanks for reading, all the best, John