In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  In The Grip Of Old Winter

  by

  Jonathan Broughton

  Copyright © Jonathan Broughton 2015

  Hastings is a town on the south coast of England, UK

  All the other locations, situations and characters are works of fiction

  Cover art Copyright © Melvyn Grant 2015

  A note on pronunciations

  Eorl is pronounced Earl. Eorl is the Anglo Saxon spelling.

  The big black dog called the barghest is pronounced bar-guest.

  The spae-wife sounds like spay-wife.

  About the layout

  There are no chapters in this book. Each section is approximately fifteen hundred words long. A line of three asterisks marks the end of each section. There are three parts to the story, as shown in the Table of Contents. Each Part and About the Author and Artist are linked to the Table of Contents. The story is told with British spelling and punctuation.

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  About the Author

  About the Artist

  Part One

  Mum shivered. “It’s so cold.”

  Peter sat in the back of the car and gazed out of the window. The bare trees sparkled with frost and the yellow sun flashed between their trunks as they sped past the countryside.

  Dad adjusted the heater to make the car warmer and then he lowered the driver’s window a tiny bit and the icy blast made mum groan. So he shut the window and adjusted the heater again until the temperature came right.

  “Nearly there,” said dad. “Are you excited, Peter?”

  “Yeah,” he lied. It had taken for ever to start out from home.

  Mum needed to check that all the plugs had been pulled out of their sockets. The curtains drawn just right to suggest that somebody might be in the house. That all the upstairs doors be closed and the downstairs ones too that didn’t show through the windows.

  When at last she climbed into the car and dad started the engine, she panicked, scrambled out and went back to check all over again.

  “Never mind,” said dad. “It’s just mum. We’ll soon be on our way.”

  And she didn’t let him bring his laptop.

  “There’s no point, Peter. Granny and granddad don’t have the internet. It will be good for you to have a break from it. There will be lots of other exciting things to do.”

  She didn’t say what those ‘exciting things’ might be and Peter guessed it might be boring stuff, like walking.

  At home, he liked Christmas. Christmas at grandma and granddad’s might be really, really boring. They were old and lived over five hours away in a big house all alone in a wood. Mum reminded him of their last visit during the summer holidays four years before. He nodded, though he didn’t remember anything.

  “You remember the wolf,” she said.

  “Oh yes.” A huge wolf that crouched with bared fangs and yellow eyes. It stood in the kitchen on the top shelf of an enormous wooden sideboard full of plates. They let him touch its teeth and then pretended it snapped its jaws and bit his fingers. It didn’t, because it was dead, he knew that, but it looked as if it might. When he pressed his finger against one of the teeth, it left a hollow in his skin.

  “Will we see the wolf again?”

  “I expect so,” mum said. “If they still have it.”

  Dad took hold of the steering wheel with both hands. “Now then, I need to concentrate.”

  Peter leaned forward to watch the satnav. The orange arrow on the grey road pointed to the right and as dad slowed down, the angle of the turn drew closer to the bottom of the screen.

  Mum pointed. “There.”

  Dad grumbled. “Really! They should cut the trees back.”

  The orange arrow touched the bottom of the screen and dad flicked the indicator. The arrow slid upwards and pointed straight ahead on another grey road. Why did all the roads on the satnav have to be grey? A different road should mean a different colour. This road, Peter decided, might be brown, for high banks reared up on either side and some of the trees grew at strange angles so that their branches tangled high above.

  Dad muttered. “I hope we don’t meet anything coming the other way. There’s nowhere to pass.”

  “Well, it’s only a lane so slow down in case we do,” said mum.

  The sun didn’t flash between the trunks anymore and the sudden shadow turned the lane into a tunnel. Fallen leaves lay piled against the tree trunks and branches pointed with spindly twigs towards the sky.

  Mum said, “This is so beautiful in the summer, when the trees are in leaf. It’s all green.” The car bounced with a jolt.

  “Honestly!” Dad’s neck went red, the first sign of his anger. “Doesn’t the council look after these roads?”

  Mum slapped her hands in her lap, the first sign of her anger. “I keep telling you, it’s a lane, so slow down.”

  Dad banged the steering wheel, but did as she said.

  “And I think you should put your lights on, too.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Peter peered up at the patches of blue sky criss-crossed by the ever changing pattern of branches. Big grey clouds filled some of the patches and hid the blue. Shadows shifted around the trees as they drove past.

  Dark things might hide in these banks that no one ever sees.

  And as he tried to imagine what those dark things might be, a man stepped out from behind a tree and looked straight at him. His heart jumped and he gasped.

  Mum turned in her seat. “What is it, darling?”

  Dad moaned. “He doesn’t feel sick again does he? We’re nearly there.”

  “Do you want some water?”

  Peter pointed out of the back window. “Did you see that man?”

  Mum reached for the water bottle at her feet. “What man?”

  “He was standing by a tree.”

  “I didn’t see a man,” said dad.

  Peter stuttered. “He had...”

  Mum frowned. “What did he have?”

  “A sword and... and a shield.”

  Mum laughed. “You must have imagined it.”

  Dad laughed too. “I don’t know. This is Ten Sixty-Six Country, so he might have got left behind after the Battle of Hastings.”

  Mum stroked Peter’s hair off his forehead. “I think you’ve been playing too many computer games. Sit back, we’re nearly there.”

  He didn’t imagine it. It must be almost impossible to imagine something so obvious, a man with big scared eyes and his hand on the hilt of a sword and a shield that covered his chest. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen, is that why he looked so frightened? Or perhaps he did want to be spotted, because he needed help?

  Peter wanted to glance back, to see if he had moved, but he didn’t dare.

  Maybe grandma and granddad knew about the man. He needed to get used to them before he talked about it and if he liked them he would ask.

  The tree tunnel grew darker and dad switched on the headlights. The little patches of blue sky disappeared behind the dark clouds that rolled upwards in giant curves.

  Mum shivered and rubbed her arms. “Brrgh! It feels even colder.”

  Dad adjusted the heater and a blast of hot air swept across Peter’s face.

  I’m not frightened. Nothing frightens dad and I’m like him.

  Though Peter wished that mum or dad had seen the man, then he didn’t even need to think about being frightened.

  No, I’m not frightened... but why was the man there with a sword and a shield?

  The car bounced and rolled and dad growled some bad word under his breath.

  Mum laughed a bit too loud. “Here we are.
At last! I could do with a nice cup of tea.”

  Dad pulled up the handbrake and Peter clicked his seat belt undone, opened the door and stepped out into the freezing air.

  A forest of trees loomed behind him. Nothing moved in the shadows between their trunks. The man must be a long way back and nobody ran as fast as a moving car.

  As he stared, a big white snowflake drifted down.

  ***

  “There you are.”

  The call came from the house. Granddad and grandma hurried towards them. They both had long white hair down to their shoulders.

  Mum flung her arms wide and ran. “Mummy, daddy, how lovely to see you.” She hugged them both at once. It sounded strange, mum calling two old people ‘mummy’ and ‘daddy,’ but then he didn’t remember hearing her say it before.

  They exchanged kisses. Peter stared, this house didn’t look anything like a home. No red brick walls or windows with painted white frames. No porch over the front door with a lantern to light the step.

  These walls were made of massive stones that didn’t fit together in neat lines. At the very top, gaps, cut between the stones, looked like the battlements of a castle. An archer might stand there to shoot arrows. Above the battlements stood another, smaller house with a slanting roof. A house on top of a house. Peter didn’t ever remember seeing any building like it ever before. Had he really been here four years ago?

  Such different windows too. Not neat rectangles like all the houses in his crescent, but narrow and dark and at odd places in the walls. No two windows lined up.

  He didn’t like all this difference. Who’d want to build such a strange house? Why did anyone want to live in it? It made him nervous to think of staying here and he imagined that the house watched him too and brooded. Such an old house might live, like the trees that surrounded it, and grow wise with age.

  “Come on, Peter.” Dad’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Let’s go and say hello.”

  “Are we really staying here?”

  Dad laughed. “It’ll be fine as long it’s warm.”

  Grandma opened her arms as he approached. “Peter, there you are my love. Come and give your old granny a kiss.”

  She held him in a close embrace and kissed his forehead. “Haven’t you grown?” Peter smelled perfume, like flowers and her cheeks, creased with a beaming smile, reminded him of the snow-capped ridges of a mountain range in his school atlas. “Did you have a good journey?” She cupped his face in her hands and her blue eyes sparkled.

  “It was ok.”

  “It’s wonderful having you come for Christmas. And your Aunty Almina will be joining us tomorrow, so we’ll be one big happy family.” She let go and turned to dad. “Richard, my love. Merry Christmas.”

  Peter didn’t know Aunty Almina at all, though mum mentioned her when they packed their cases yesterday.

  Granddad held out his hand for Peter to shake. “Hello, young man.” The grip, though firm, didn’t squeeze and the skin felt warm. “Looking forward to Christmas?”

  Peter nodded.

  Mum said, “This is his first Christmas away from home. He’s ever so excited.”

  “That’s good,” replied granddad. “I hope we live up to expectations.” He glanced at the sky. “Snow’s coming, best be heading inside.”

  Grandma put an arm around Peter’s shoulders and held him close. “Ooh yes, it’s jolly chilly. Let’s put the kettle on and I’ve made some cheese scones to warm you all up. Come along.”

  “I’ll fetch the cases,” dad said.

  “Let me give you a hand,” granddad offered.

  Dad called. “Peter, can you carry your backpack?”

  Peter slipped out from under granny’s arm. “Ok.”

  “Don’t be long now, can’t have you catching chills.” She and mum hurried towards the house.

  Peter heaved his backpack onto one shoulder and waited at the front of the car for dad and granddad. Big snowflakes fell one after another and dotted the ground with white. They landed on his anorak and stuck. When he touched them, they fell to pieces, but they didn’t melt. He remembered one of the songs they sang at the end of term concert at school, ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’. Last year, the snow didn’t settle, but this year it might.

  A light shone from one of the downstairs windows at the side of the house. Mum and grandma appeared and darted backwards and forwards. Mum filled a kettle and grandma wore oven gloves and carried a tray. The bright light, warm and welcoming, made him feel better. If all the windows shone with light then he needn’t be anxious and he imagined that it might be cosy to live inside those old stone walls, even safe.

  A light flashed from a middle window high up under the battlements. Someone must have struck a match, that’s what it looked like, but mum and grandma still bustled to-and-fro through the downstairs window.

  The light flickered in the high window, difficult to see through the falling snow. Neither bright nor steady, it hung suspended in the air and slid from side to side. Then, closer to the glass, another paler light appeared which, with a gasp, Peter recognised as a face.

  “What is it, son?” Dad strode up behind him.

  Peter pointed. “There’s someone up there in that window.”

  Dad handed him a plastic bag full of boxes wrapped in Christmas paper. “Take this will you. I can’t carry anymore.” He glanced up at the house. “Which one?”

  “That...” No light shone, no face pressed against the glass.

  Dad frowned. “Which window was it?”

  “It was... I swear I saw it.”

  Dad patted Peter’s head. “Let’s get inside before the cold freezes our brains. Hurry now.”

  Peter jabbed the air with his finger. “There really was, that window right at the top.”

  “What is it, young man?” Granddad stood beside him with a large suitcase in either hand.

  Dad laughed. “It’s nothing. Just something he thinks he’s seen. Probably just the snow making strange shapes.”

  “Aye.” Granddad sniffed. “Probably, it’s getting thicker. Daylight’s going fast. I reckon we’re in for a right dumping. You arrived just in time.” He trudged towards the house, head bent and shoulders sloped from the cases’ weights.

  Dad followed. “Is there any place I can get the car under cover?”

  “Round the back,” said granddad. “In the barn. Give me the keys and I’ll drive it in before the snow comes down proper.”

  “Thanks.”

  Peter didn’t move and the snow brushed against his cheeks. He watched the window where he’d seen the pale face, but it stayed dark. He swallowed to wet his dry mouth. A breeze shifted the falling snow sideways and the cold flakes stung his cheeks. His stomach tightened like a wound-up spring, for though the snow fell in silence, the twigs on the trees rattled and the bushes, empty of leaves, let the breeze hiss through their branches.

  Everything is holding its breath and watching, waiting for the right time. Something is about to happen that will include me.

  He shivered from fear, not cold. Two strange events already, the man with the sword and shield and the face at the window. Three, if he thought the old house watched him with dark eyes. That, he didn’t want to believe, for where else might he go if he didn’t dare enter. He brushed the snow off his head. Just imagination and he wished hard to make that true.

  Dad called. “Come ON, Peter.”

  He hurried after, half-running, half-shuffling. The house loomed above him and he focused on the stone path and didn’t look up until he reached the front door.

  ‘Door’ didn’t seem the right word. Thick planks, almost beams, rounded at the top to fit against the stones and joined together by huge iron hinges, might be the entrance to an ogre’s castle. Black iron studs, hammered into the wood, stood proud like sharp knuckles and a large iron ring, which must be the handle, rocked backwards and forwards.

  Granddad waited for him and stamped his feet on the doormat. “In you come.”

>   Peter crossed the threshold and granddad heaved the door to. It shut with a deep clunk.

  “That’s better, keep all that nasty old weather out.”

  They stood in a narrow hallway with three doors and an archway opening on to a long passage. The doors, made of planks and also fixed by black hinges, didn’t look as big or heavy as the front door. They had latches for handles, like the ones on a farm Peter had once seen.

  The open door to Peter’s right revealed the kitchen, where mum and grandma arranged plates and cups on a long wooden table. Dad slumped into a chair, dropped the car keys onto the table and then studied his mobile.

  “Leave your things down here with the cases,” granddad said to Peter. “We’ll take them up after we’ve had a spot of tea.”

  Peter slid the backpack off his shoulders and put it down with the carrier bag.

  Granddad rubbed his hands. “That was a long old journey, I bet.”

  Peter nodded.

  “It’s tiring work travelling in the cold.” He scraped his fingers through his long white hair. “Don’t suppose you remember coming to see us - I don’t know how many years back now?”

  Peter almost shook his head and then he remembered. “I saw the wolf.”

  Granddad’s eyes opened in surprise. “The wolf! Fancy you thinking of that.”

  “Is it - is it still here?”

  “Oh yes. It lives in the kitchen. I’ll show you in a moment.” Then he bent lower and spoke in a quieter voice. “We have lots of strange things in this old house.” A frown creased his forehead. “Outside just now, your dad said you saw something at one of the windows.”

  Peter swallowed. He didn’t expect to talk about what he’d seen so soon. He didn’t dare, because talking about strange events made them real and he didn’t want to do that.

  Granddad’s eyes, almost hidden by his bushy white eyebrows, glinted, more kind than stern as he waited for an answer. Like the wound-up feeling that had enveloped him the moment he stepped out of the car, it all joined together even if he didn’t understand how and granddad, waiting for an answer, fitted into that.