Haunted Fields (12 page)

Mike held out his palm.

‘Let me speak to her,' he whispered.

Freddie passed the mobile to him gladly.
Now this will be a laugh.
Mike looked as if he was opening a present from the top of his Christmas list.

‘Hello, Giuseppe speaking.'

‘
Freddie
?'

She sniffed. She sounded genuinely upset, as if she'd been crying.

‘This is Milano Mike's. There's no Freddie here. What can I get you?'

‘What?'

‘The Mikey Meaty comes highly recommended.'

No reply. She'd terminated the call. Freddie couldn't contain himself any longer, rolling onto his side, laughter billowing out of him in great plumes, tears streaking down his cheeks. Mike had made his night, his week even.
Tiffany deserved that, she really did. Boo-hoo!
He'd still have fun, even out here, amongst Ravenby's haunted fields.

‘Are we doing this séance then or what?' said Steve.

18

What good could come from doing a séance, really?
he wondered. All they'd achieve would be to scare themselves half to death. Freddie didn't want to play a part in this, he really didn't.

‘It's not my thing,' he said, Mike's prank on Tiffany already fading from his mind, along with the joy it'd brought. The others must've seen séances on TV. Everyone had! They were complete fear fests.

‘Too scared?' Mike said.

‘No!' he said.

He knew he'd replied far too quickly, sounding overly defensive. Now they really
would
think he was afraid – and in front of Lucas too! Why did he always bow to pressure from his peers? He glanced across the room – Jess had woken up. She looked around groggily, flexing her arms, squinting up at Lucas. Suddenly she turned her gaze on him, sighed, and then closed her eyes.

‘Man, I feel rough,' he heard her murmur.

Three more revellers filtered away, leaving just eight of them remaining in the room. Surely it was almost time for them to go home as well!? He could barely keep his eyes open.

‘If we're going to do this we have to do it properly,' said Steve, taking a quick headcount.

Properly
? There was a proper way to contact the dead? He hadn't realised this was an actual science.

‘Nothing's going to happen,' said Freddie, yawning.

‘You don't know that,' Rachel said.

‘Oh, something
will
happen,' he said, rolling his empty can across the floorboards, sending it crashing into the hearth. ‘We'll scare ourselves silly, get all hysterical, and you'll all pass it off as a paranormal occurrence.'

‘So what do we do?' Lucas asked.

‘We need a table, for starters,' said Steve, a bottle of beer in each hand. ‘This is all from what I saw on TV, mind.'

‘We'll drag the table in from the kitchen,' said Lucas, eyeing Jess with concern. ‘Mike, Freddie – give me a hand?'

So he'd be participating. It didn't look as if Jess was ready for the trip home just yet. What choice did he have but to take part? He had to save face in front of her.

He got up and followed Lucas and Mike into the kitchen. The table was old and heavy. It took a great deal of heaving and grunting to drag it through to the living room, which was a feat in its own right, considering the table was far larger than the gap it had to pass through. But somehow they managed it, positioning the four-legged monstrosity in the centre of the room.

‘Ok, we'll need eight chairs,' Steve said, directing the setup. ‘There's a few kicking about.'

He decided to go and see if Jess was all right. Lucas, who was perched on the side of the table closest to where she sat, spotted him looking, and made a beeline for her.
Brilliant!

‘You ok?' he heard Lucas whisper. ‘Can I get you anything?'

Bloody creep!
Would Jess be up for this séance? She looked like she needed her bed, not a date with the dead.

Slowly they assembled the chairs around the table, lighting more candles, placing them all around the room. Mike even topped up the fire, albeit with the dining room floor.

‘From what I remember,' Steve said, scratching his chin. ‘We need to put three candles in the centre of the table.'

‘Superstitious crap,' Freddie muttered.

Rachel picked up three candles, complete with dusty ornamental stands, placing them in the middle of the table.

‘Ok, everyone ready?' said Steve, downing one of his bottles.

‘Do we have to sacrifice someone?' Mike asked.

‘Why, are you volunteering?' Scarlett said, poking her tongue out at him.

Freddie picked a chair near a corner. He didn't plan on taking any real part in this. He'd follow the others, play along and pretend to be into it. He wasn't quite sure what they expected to happen, or indeed what would happen, but he did know one thing – they weren't going to be contacting Noel Davidson's ghost, because ghosts didn't exist.

‘Right,' Steve said, waving his bottle-free hand. ‘Everyone take a seat. Come on, Jess. We need everyone for this.'

Jess staggered across the room, her hair bedraggled. She did not look happy!

‘Do we have to hold hands?' Lucas said.

‘Yes, I think so,' Steve said.

Freddie offered his palms to his neighbours, Mike and Scarlett. They took his offering. But would Noel take the groups' offering? He laughed the thought off. He wouldn't allow himself to get
too
into it. If it were possible to contact the dead, it certainly wouldn't be Noel bloody Davidson he'd be attempting to get in touch with, that was for sure!

‘I think we all have to speak at the same time,' said Timmy. ‘Like a chant.'

‘In Latin?' Freddie said.

‘This is serious,' Rachel said, glaring at him.

‘Whatever.'

‘Someone has to take the lead though, surely?' Timmy said. ‘Steve, you seem to know more about this sort of thing than the rest of us. Why don't you lead us?'

It was a strange sight – Freddie had to admit, glancing around the table. Eight half-cut teenagers, holding hands inside an abandoned, candlelit farmhouse, deciding who would lead them in a chant intended to summon the dead.

‘I can't believe we're doing this,' Jess said.

‘Noel!' Steve began.

‘NOEL!' everyone repeated.

Freddie tried desperately to hold the laughter in, a slither of it escaping with a snort, like steam from a kettle.

‘Noel Davidson, can you hear us?'

‘NOEL DAVIDSON, CAN YOU HEAR US?'

Nothing happened.

‘I think we have to get him to do something,' said Rachel, fidgeting in her seat. ‘Like move something.'

‘Get him to tidy up the mess we've made,' said Freddie, trying to keep his voice serious. ‘Or get him to rip up a few more floorboards for the fire.'

He heard Jess laugh and looked across the table in her direction. Lucas frowned.

‘We mustn't anger Noel,' Timmy said. ‘Some of the other people who've seen him got the impression that he wanted to harm them.'

‘
Really
?' asked Freddie, ‘but why?'

‘Wouldn't you want someone to suffer if your life was cut short?!'

‘I haven't really thought about it,' replied Freddie. ‘Who would Noel want to harm, though?'

‘Gerry.'

‘Gerry McGeady?'

‘Yep,' Timmy said, glancing over his shoulder.

‘Why would Noel want to harm Gerry McGeady?'

One of the candles flickered, making Rachel gasp.

‘It's obvious, isn't it?' Scarlett said, turning to Freddie. ‘Gerry was the one driving the combine the day N– the day Noel died.'

Really?
thought Freddie. He'd not heard that one before. So Gerry McGeady had been the unfortunate soul driving the machine that'd torn Noel Davidson apart. No wonder he hadn't been keen on talking about Noel the first day he'd set foot in the pub. That day must've scarred him for life.

‘He didn't look too bright when I saw him earlier,' Lucas said, squeezing Jess' hand, ‘looked like he'd taken a battering. He was black and blue.'

‘He'd pick a fight with himself, that bloke,' said Mike. ‘Who's he been scrapping with this time?'

‘No one,' Lucas said. ‘He'd fallen down the stairs, apparently.'

Fallen down the stairs?
He knew it was the most common excuse used by someone who'd taken a beating.
Oh, I fell down the stairs
!
Oh, I walked into a door
! Taken a beating? It dawned on him, slowly.
No
! Surely not! It can't have been… but then… it did make sense, in a way…

He'd been the one who'd inadvertently killed Noel, thought Freddie. He did flip out when it was mentioned. Maybe trawling through the past had been too much for him? And the ghostly sightings had increased of late. Had Gerry torched the barn? Had he thrown the brick, written the note?

He stole a glance at Jess. She stared right back at him, eyes wide, alert. Apparently she'd also connected the dots. They didn't have time for stupid games. He willed them to get on with it – they had places to be, people to talk to.

‘Beloved Noel,' Steve continued. ‘If you are with us, if you can hear us, give us a sign. Make a noise.'

They chanted together, repeating Steve's summons. Freddie's lips moved but his mouth failed to emit even the tiniest croak, his thoughts fixed firmly on Gerry McGeady, on the arson attack at Ridge Farm, on his pursuit of the suspect through the fields. Whoever had tripped and tumbled down the hillside would be scratched up pretty good, and bruised.

‘Beloved Noel, if you are with us, if you can hear us, give us a sign. Make a noi–'

A faint tapping echoed around the room, and Rachel screamed. The chain broke, hands released. Timmy jumped to his feet, bellowing, ‘No! No! It can't be!'

‘What was that?' Scarlett said, hugging herself.

‘One of you lot,' Freddie said, sucking in a deep breath.

What
had
that been? Had someone returned? Harvey perhaps? Was someone out in the hallway, messing with them?

‘I don't think it was one of us,' Jess said, to Freddie's surprise. ‘It sounded like it came from the hall.'

‘Come on, let's all just calm down,' Steve said, clearly well on his way to earning a banging hangover. ‘We've broken the chain. Everyone back into position. I can't believe we actually did it. Now let's find out what he wants.'

Freddie reached out and grabbed Mike and Scarlett's hands. They were both sweaty and trembling.
This didn't feel right. What were they doing here? What were they meddling with?

‘Beloved Noel,' Steve continued, his voice shaky. ‘Do you mean us any harm? If you mean us harm, tap once for yes. If you do not mean us harm, tap twice for no.'

They repeated Steve's words. Freddie looked up, gazing into Jess' eyes, watching the candlelight flicker in fearful tears, wondering what would happen next.

Silence.

‘Beloved No–'

A footstep! It sounded as if it'd come from out in the hallway. Two footsteps, three footsteps, four, five – gathering pace, someone was jogging, running, sprinting… The chain broke once again. A chair toppled over, crashing to the floor. The group scattered, wide-eyed, screaming. Candles fell over, a few extinguished.

The living room door burst open, a blonde-haired figure appearing in the gap.

‘No!' Freddie screamed, ‘No! It can't be!'

Noel Davidson was back from the dead.

19

It was
him
, and yet at the same time – it wasn't! He was the lad from the public footpath, for sure. And though he did bear a striking resemblance to the Noel in the photos, he looked older – not much older, but noticeably older close up. He seemed angry, irritated.

Chaos reigned. Something hit Freddie hard under the chin. He stumbled backwards, a sharp pain shooting along his jaw. It felt as if his skull had been cleaved in two. He righted himself, the sounds of complete terror stabbing his pounding head. Screams. Shouts. Scrambling feet. His friends stampeding towards the kitchen.

He forced his watery eyes open, fixing his gaze on the door where, just a moment ago, the Noel lookalike had been standing. The door was still open wide, the blonde figure gone.

‘Freddie, quickly,' he heard Jess say.

‘I'm not running away,' he hissed.

Where was she? He turned to the open kitchen door, heads craned around the frame, wide-eyed, alert, and panicky. He couldn't see Jess, yet he could've sworn it was her who'd called out to him.

‘Who said anything about running away?'

He spun round, spotting her over by the fireplace, the dying flames still bright enough to illuminate her features. She had a ready for battle look raging in her eyes.

‘Someone's been camping out upstairs,' he said. ‘He'll have come back to collect his things. There's stuff up there that can only have come from the manor. That
wasn't
a ghost.'

‘I know,' she said, glancing back towards the kitchen. ‘Let's go and take a look. Anyone else up for it?'

‘Are you out of your mind?' Rachel said, backtracking. ‘I'm getting out of here.'

‘Jess,' Lucas whispered. ‘Ghost or no ghost, you've no idea who that guy is or what he's up to. He didn't look happy.'

‘My brave knight,' she muttered, emphasising the brave, and not looking too happy herself. She turned her back on Lucas.

‘Follow me,' Freddie said.

He had no intention of tackling the Noel lookalike. He now believed Gerry McGeady had started the fire, thrown the brick, written the note.
So who was this guy?
wondered Freddie. And what was he doing here? The rucksack upstairs belonged to a Vincent Burgess. Was
he
Vincent Burgess? And why did he bear such an uncanny resemblance to Noel Davidson?

‘Don't go out there,' someone shouted.

‘It's not worth it!'

Hysteria gripped them, the remains of the séance scattered across the table, the floor. The village was awash with terrified souls. This mystery needed solving, for all of their sakes.

‘Grab a candle,' Jess said. ‘We'll go back to back, link arms. We'll have eyes everywhere.'

He stumbled across to the table, picking up the one candle that hadn't been knocked over in the mad scramble for the door, Jess retrieving a candle from the shelf above the fireplace.

‘Someone come and sort these candles out,' Freddie ordered, starting to lose his temper. ‘We don't want the house burning down.'

‘Probably be for the best,' Timmy said, ‘Might rid it of its ghost.'

Freddie scowled, moving closer to Jess, emboldened by her return to the room, to soberness. She still looked a little giddy from her mad drinking session but sleep seemed to have done the trick.

‘Back to back,' she said, gesturing for Freddie to take up position. ‘We'll move slowly.'

‘Agreed,' he said, sidling up behind her, looping his arms through hers. The closeness sent his nerve-endings firing. He needed to concentrate. They had a job to do!

They inched their way towards the door, the hallway beyond in total darkness.

‘What are we going to do, if we find him?' she said.

‘Reason with him. Find out who he is and what he wants. We have to remember that he's human and very much alive.'

‘Which makes him more dangerous.'

This was true, and it made the superstitious majority within Ravenby seem so out of touch. Ghosts couldn't hurt them, ghosts didn't exist. But people could.

‘He hasn't hurt anyone yet.'

They'd reached the threshold; another two or three steps and they'd be relying on the light from their candles to illuminate the path.

‘Jess, don't risk it,' Lucas bawled.

He could feel Jess' body trembling. She seemed angry with Lucas. Or was she just angry with herself for falling back into his arms? He wasn't sure, and now wasn't the time to worry about it.

‘Stairs,' he whispered.

They moved cautiously, sweeping the darkness with candlelight, the anticipation overwhelming. Freddie wanted to shout out, flush their quarry from his hiding place. Every sound, no matter how low, seemed amplified by the tension. His head still hurt. It felt as if an overly keen drummer was practicing on his skull.

A footstep! Or was it? The near darkness seemed to be playing with his senses. And then he heard it again – someone was moving about upstairs! He stopped, Jess pulling on his arms. She'd heard it too. Was he collecting his belongings? Checking on his bounty?

The footsteps got louder, more incessant, closer. Someone was coming down the stairs, fast.

‘Quickly,' said Freddie.

They broke formation, arms wrenched apart as they too, started to a run. Freddie took the lead, darting for the bottom step. He pumped his arms. The candle went out.

He was almost there, almost… The front door was open a crack, the cool night air wafting into the hall. Moonlight cascaded in, the sky cloudless, starry. Suddenly the footsteps were upon them. Freddie skidded.

A strong breeze rushed past him.

‘Ouch!'

Something bit his arm. He realised what it was too late – the plastic of a bag strap. A dark figure flung the front door wide open, vaulted out onto the path, and was gone.

‘Wait up,' he hollered. ‘We just want to speak with you. Come back.'

He felt Jess' hands on his back as she collided with him. He lurched forwards.

‘Wait, please,' Jess said weakly.

But he wasn't coming back.

They returned to the living room, the fire still crackling in the grate, their fellow partygoers emerging from the kitchen.

‘What happened?' Scarlett said.

‘He got away,' said Freddie, picking up one of the candles that'd been knocked over, still alight. ‘But he's alive, and he's certainly not a ghost.'

‘How can Noel be alive?' Timmy asked. ‘He's barely aged.'

Freddie sighed. He wished these people would open their eyes, even just a little bit.

‘Noel is dead,' he said.

‘So–'

‘That wasn't Noel!'

‘What time is it?' Jess asked.

Freddie retrieved his mobile from his pocket – it was a little after four in the morning.

‘So what now?' he asked.

He glanced around at the others, noticing Jess was ignoring Lucas' persistent stares.

‘We should contact the police,' Jess said. ‘They need to know Gerry started the fire. He can't get away with this.'

The police! As if they'd believe anything I'd tell them! And if Elizabeth got involved too…

‘You'll have to do it,' he said, spotting a pink hue on the horizon as he gazed through the kitchen window. ‘They think I started it.'

‘We should have a tidy up and get off home,' Rachel said. ‘It'll be light soon. This place gives me the creeps.'

Jess opened her mouth to speak, ‘What shall we–'

‘Let's go and have a word with him ourselves,' Freddie said, suddenly realising how tired he actually was. ‘I want to know why he did it. Not just the fire, but the other stuff too.'

‘You've been awfully brave the past couple of nights,' she said, smiling weakly.

He felt himself blush. Confronting Gerry McGeady would be a situation fraught with danger. The bloke had already displayed violent tendencies and a ruthless determination to have his own way. They'd have to be really careful. Would he deny it all? If it was true, if he really did look as if he'd fallen down the stairs, he'd have difficulty denying the accusations Freddie intended levelling against him. Then they'd contact the police, they'd have to.

‘Let's go now,' Jess said, reaching for a bottle of lemonade sitting on the floor. ‘Hit him without warning. Try and break him.'

‘That's more like it.'

Gerry McGeady lived in a small cottage on Ursula's estate, a good twenty minutes away on foot. They strolled purposefully down the centre of the empty roads, listening to cockerels and birds. It was the most peaceful few minutes of his visit, yet laced with dark expectancy. What would they find at Gerry McGeady's?

As they entered the garden through a tall, wrought iron gate, Freddie faltered. He was leading Jess into harm's way, into the path of a man who'd already injured himself for a cause. But they'd made their decision. He steeled himself.

Freddie strode up to the front door, pounding with a clenched fist. He intended to surprise the arable worker, frighten him into a confession. He stepped back and waited. Nothing happened.

‘Try again,' Jess whispered, glancing up and down the street.

He leant forward and hammered on the door a dozen times, rolling back onto the balls of his feet.

‘If he hasn't heard that, he's the deepest sleeper on the planet,' Freddie said, looking up at the bedroom windows. ‘Come on, wake up.'

But no lights were flicked on, no curtains were opened. He could feel anger beginning to bubble up inside him. He felt like kicking the door down, racing upstairs and dragging the arsonist out of his pit.

‘I'll try one last time,' he said, lifting his fist.

‘What do you want?' said a gruff voice.

Where did that come from?
He glanced up at the windows. Nothing. And then he felt Jess grab his arm.

‘Freddie!'

He spun round, Gerry McGeady, an angry purple bruise enveloping most of the left-hand side of his face, limped up the garden path, heading straight for them.

‘Well, what do you want?'

‘Where have you been?' Freddie asked, suddenly concerned.

Gerry's late night wanderings had caused them enough trouble already.
Had he been up to Ridge Farm?
wondered Freddie. And if so, and he hoped desperately he had not, what damage had he inflicted this time? Had he done something really stupid? Were Elizabeth and Greg ok?

‘What's it to do with you, boy?' he growled, the distance between them shortening with every step. He looked like a coiled snake preparing to strike. Would he attack, outside for others to see?

‘We know what you did,' Freddie said, his voice accusatory, his bottom lip wobbling. ‘We know you started the fire.'

Gerry stopped abruptly just a couple of steps away. Freddie could see scratches on his neck, on his forehead. They'd probably come from ploughing through the same bush he'd tumbled through. His scowl made Freddie's insides squirm, as if a thousand worms were writhing over one another, eating him from within. He shuddered.

‘So why are you still here? Why haven't you run off home to mummy?'

‘I've never been one for doing what I'm told, I'm afraid.'

‘And you have the nerve to show up here…'

‘Why did you do it?' Jess asked.

She was still holding his forearm, her nails digging into his skin. He didn't mind though, the pain a welcome relief, giving him something else to focus on. He chanced a look up and down the street himself. They could've done with a witness, someone to reveal what'd happened here if something went wrong.

‘People have always claimed they've seen Noel's ghost, frightened others with the tale. But then this idiot,' Gerry said, jabbing a finger into Freddie's chest, ‘Arrived and started asking questions, started digging around in the past. And guess what, the sightings got worse.'

‘So that justifies your actions?' Jess said, her nails digging deeper into Freddie's skin. ‘You could've killed someone! You're a monster!'

‘You don't understand, you–'

‘Oh, I understand all right–'

‘–I saw Noel die, right in front of my eyes. And for years I wanted to die, to take his place.'

Freddie couldn't believe it. Was he opening up to them? Was Gerry finally cracking? They held the advantage, and they couldn't afford to let it slip. The momentum was shifting in their favour. But how to get him on-side?

‘We
understand
it must have been difficult for you,' Freddie said, trying to turn his frown into his warmest smile, and failing miserably.

‘Difficult?' Gerry said, looking away in disgust. ‘I was going about my job properly, as I always have, and he lands there, right in front of me. There was nothing I could've done. Just imagine what the combine did to him, the blood, the bones… Imagine seeing that,
doing
that… Would you want people bringing it up, to your face? You might not believe in ghosts, but I've lived with this ghost for years.'

‘So you've seen Noel's ghost?' Freddie asked.

‘I hadn't, the ghost that haunted me was always invisible – there but invisible! I can feel him watching me all the time. Then, two days ago, I saw him – I actually saw him! All this talk, all this nonsense, has brought him back. Last night, after doing the job on those bales, I saw him again as I drove away.'

‘So where have you been tonight?' Jess asked, staring straight into Gerry's eyes, unblinking. ‘What
have
you done?'

‘Don't worry,' he said, a shadow passing across his bruised face. ‘I haven't been anywhere near your precious farm since the fire. I've been out, looking for
him
. I'm going to send him back where he belongs.'

‘Has Ursula Hawkins put you up to this?' Freddie said, wanting to clear a few things up.

‘No! Of course not!' Gerry snapped.