The Hiding Place(66)

“Most of it.”

“Did you find it interesting?”

I shrug. “Arnhill has a grim history. A lot of places do.”

“But most places aren’t as old as this village. People presume Arnhill grew up around the mine. Not true. It was here long before the mine.”

“So?”

“Why does a village grow up in the middle of nowhere?”

“Nice views?”

“Villages grow in certain places for a reason. Clean water, fertile land. And sometimes, there are other reasons.”

Other reasons. I feel a sudden draft. A cool waft of icy air.

“Such as?”

“Did you read the articles about the witch trials and Ezekeriah Hyrst?”

“Myth, urban legend.”

“But there is often a grain of truth.”

“And what’s the truth about Arnhill?”

She wraps her hands around her mug. Strong hands, I think. Competent. Steady.

“You visited the graveyard. You noticed what was missing?”

“Children. Babies.”

She nods. “That’s what is obviously missing.”

“Obviously?”

“Arnhill has a grim history, as you said. A lot of death. But there are just ninety souls buried in the graveyard.”

“Don’t they reuse old graves after a while?”

“They do. But even taking that into account—and the fact that most people were buried in other churchyards after about 1946, or cremated in more recent years—there’s a shortfall. Put bluntly, there are not enough graves for the dead. So, where are they?”

I suddenly understand what she has done. She has led me here, slowly and carefully, taking the long road so I didn’t see exactly where we were going. Until now.

“I think that they were taken to another place,” she says. “A place that the villagers believed was somehow special.” She lets the sentence hang for a moment. “And twenty-five years ago, I believe that you and your friends found it.”

Places have secrets too, I think. Like people. You just need to dig. In land, in life, in a man’s soul.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve seen a lot of young people in my time, here in the village. Seen them grow up, marry, have children of their own. Some never make it that far. Like Chris.”

I think about a soft thud. A ruby-red shadow.

“He used to sit in my office sometimes. Before Hurst took him under his wing.”

“I don’t remember—”

“You were probably too busy scurrying past, hoping I wouldn’t tell you off for your untucked shirt, or for wearing trainers.”

I almost smile. The past, I think. Never more than a few careless words away. Except I don’t think any of Miss Grayson’s words are careless. She has spent a long time waiting to speak them.

“A few days before he died,” she says, “Chris came to see me. He wanted to talk to someone. About what you found.”

“He told you what happened?”

“Some of it. But I think there’s more, isn’t there, Joe?”

There’s always more. You just need to dig. And the deeper you go, the darker it gets.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”





28





1992


Annie looked around the cavern, eyes huge hollows in her small face.

“I followed you.”

“No shit. What were you thinking?”

“I wanted to see what you were up to. Are they skulls? Are they real?” Her voice trembled a little. She clutched Abbie-Eyes to her narrow chest.

“You have to go.” I walked—hobbled—forward and grabbed her arm. “C’mon.”

“Wait.” Hurst moved to block us.

“What?”

“What if she blabs?”

“She’s eight.”

“Exactly.”

“I won’t say nothing,” Annie muttered.

“See? Now let me get her out of here.”

We locked eyes. I’m not really sure what I would have done if Marie hadn’t moaned from the corner: “I don’t feel good, Steve. I want to go home.”

“Stupid cow,” Fletch spat, but it sounded halfhearted.

I saw Hurst debate with himself. He looked at Annie and me, then back at Marie.

“Fine,” he growled. “We’ll go. But we’re coming back. And I ain’t leaving without some mementos.”

“No!” Chris spoke for the first time. “You can’t. You can’t take anything from here.”

Hurst advanced on him. “Why the fuck not, Doughboy? This is ours now. We own it.”

No, I thought again. You didn’t own this place. It might let you think so. Might even want you to think so. But that was how it got you. That was how it drew you down here. That was how it owned you.

“Chris is right,” I said. “We can’t take anything. I mean, what if someone asks where we got human bones from?”

Hurst turned to me. “No one tells. And no one fucking tells me what I can and can’t do, Thorney.”

He raised the crowbar again. I felt Annie flinch. I gripped her tighter.