Skinned (2 page)

Before Callum could even react, the skeletal creature suddenly swooped downwards and hurtled through the open window into the room. The clattering bones landed on his desk in a jumbled heap. Shock strangled Callum's voice in his throat as the bone crow reformed itself in a swirl of icy wind. It opened its beak in a long, silent caw. Its breath smelled like mould. The crow flicked its bare skull back towards the window as
though it was beckoning Callum, and with a flourish of featherless wings it swooped back to the windowsill, daring him to follow it outside.

‘What the . . .?' Callum began in a shaky whisper, but then stopped. He'd learned by now not to ignore supernatural commands, however strange or disturbing they might be. He knew that he had a role to play in the bizarre events that had become a part of his daily life.

Callum quickly made his way down the narrow spiral stairs to the little sitting room, pulling on a hooded sweatshirt and then his jacket. ‘I'm going for a walk,' he called quickly to his grandmother, who was still doing the washing up in the kitchen.

‘It's freezing out there. What on earth would you want to do that for?' she replied.

Callum grimaced. He'd been hoping for a quick getaway, but lately Gran had been watching him like a hawk.

‘You ought to be careful now, Callum,' she continued, drying off her hands and then folding her arms in concern.

‘I just need to get some fresh air, that's all,' he said. Gran raised her eyebrows, but before she could say anything more, Callum had slipped through the front door and out into the icy evening.

He scanned the dark sky, and saw the skeleton crow circling overhead. Glancing back briefly at the cottage, through the open curtains of the sitting room window he could see the new set of sliding glass doors that led to the back garden. He shivered, and not just from the aching cold.

Callum still couldn't look at the glass without remembering the awful battle with the Fetch. He could still picture the horrendous skinless ‘face' of the evil demon that had hunted him so recently. Those doors had been shattered during the struggle, but Gran had got them fixed as soon as she possibly could, smoothing things over as if nothing had ever happened.
All part of her disguise
, Callum thought. Her plan to make sure everything seemed
normal
.

But she's a witch, Callum reminded himself. And she always has been.

Anger briefly warmed him, and his face flushed as
he remembered the secrets that had unravelled only weeks ago: all the protective spells Gran had been weaving to conceal Callum's true nature not only from himself, but from the Netherworld and its terrible demons. His grandmother had been hiding the truth from him for
years
, and Callum had had no idea.

There was no avoiding it now, though. He was a chime child.

‘
Child
,' he muttered to himself wryly, his breath pluming into the air. It seemed like there was an awful lot of expectation on someone referred to as a kid. Chime children were those born under a full moon between midnight on Friday and cockcrow on Saturday morning; the chime hours. They were destined to guard the Boundary between the mortal world and the Netherworld until they turned eighteen. Seeing ghosts and other weird stuff, like the bone crow, was just one of the ‘gifts' that was meant to help in this task. But after the Fetch's spree of gory assassinations, Callum was the only chime child left alive.

The crow's bones clattered as it dived down in front of him and Callum jerked away from it as its thin,
white wings passed in front of his face.

‘All right, I'm coming,' Callum whispered, his voice shaking in spite of himself. He wasn't sure he really wanted to follow. Part of him would have rather pretended that none of this was happening, that he could just go back to his room in the cottage, with Gran fussing and bustling around him.

But she lied to me
, he thought fiercely. If it hadn't been for the Fetch turning up, Callum might still not know he
was
a chime child. And he certainly wouldn't know about his father, who'd vanished mysteriously before Callum was born. He had been a chime child too. Callum found it strangely comforting that his dad had been through some of what he was about to face.

He shivered as the wind picked up, moving his hands from his pockets and tucking them up into his armpits. He'd left in such a hurry he hadn't bothered with gloves. Winter seemed to be coming even earlier this year. At least he could be sure that Gran would have the cottage warm when he finally got back home. He sighed. She was Callum's whole family now – she had been for the past three years since his mum
had died. Deep down, he knew that by keeping him in the dark she had only been trying to protect him from what he must now face.

The Shadowing.

Callum felt uncomfortable even thinking the phrase. All he really knew was that it happened once every hundred years, and that during the thirteen moons of the Shadowing, the Boundary between worlds would grow weaker, allowing an untold number of nightmarish beasts to cross over into the mortal world. Callum wasn't sure if he was ready for what was to come. After all, the Fetch was only the beginning.

His eyes darted up to the sky once more as the skeleton crow swooped down and opened its beak for its strange, silent caw. An enormous full moon sailed high in the sky, casting crystalline light over Nether Marlock Road. As Callum reached the woods, he saw that the trees were white with frost, standing in quiet ranks like an army of dead soldiers. Their peculiar glow lit his way. The sound of his trudging through the frozen silence was making him increasingly tense, but stealth was impossible. Each
step made the hard frost crackle like a fire.

Callum stopped suddenly. Was that a twig snapping
behind
him? He whirled round, his heart racing, his eyes darting left and right. He stood still for a long while but, hearing nothing else, he decided it must have been an echo of his own footsteps. Callum's jaw clenched, but he didn't allow himself another shiver. Now was not the time to be nervous. He buried his hands further into his pockets as he walked. Callum had a suspicion now that he knew where they were going, and who may have sent the sinister messenger to summon him . . .

Sure enough, a few moments later, Callum finally reached the lane that led to the ruins of Nether Marlock Church. There, by the iron gate that led into the old churchyard – one of the most haunted places in Marlock – a silhouette made a dark shape against the vivid light of the huge, round moon. Callum's muscles tensed, and he held his breath as he peered through the gloom, trying to make out the stranger's face . . .

He exhaled in relief. ‘What the hell are
you
doing here?'

‘Nice to see you too,' came Melissa's reply.

‘Sorry,' Callum answered, taking another deep, calming breath before he spoke to his friend. ‘You just weren't who I was expecting.'

‘I know,' Melissa said softly. ‘But look.'

She held up her hand.

Perched on her wrist was a little skeleton bird, a bit like the crow that had come banging against Callum's window, but this one was the size of a sparrow.

‘It's creepy, but it seems to
like
me,' Melissa said. ‘I have to keep pushing it off because it makes my arm so cold after a couple of minutes.'

‘Melissa, seriously, what are you doing here?'

‘This thing wanted me to follow it, so I did. Just like you, it seems . . .' She pointed to the crow skeleton. ‘Wow, that thing's
big
. I'd have died of fright if Jacob had sent me one of
those
.'

Callum smiled a little. If there was anyone who would be willing to get involved in all the crazy supernatural stuff going on in his life, it was Melissa. He was amazed at how she just took all these things in her stride – even Jacob. Any normal person who
encountered a Born Dead ghost would have run a million miles. But not her. Spooky might as well be Melissa's middle name.

She shook her arm to get the skeleton sparrow off her wrist. ‘
Shoo
.' The creature flew off, but the two strange birds paid no attention to each other – just fluttered in mid-air above Callum and Melissa's heads, the white bones of their wings clattering noisily. Callum's crow gave another silent, mould-scented scream and flapped away into the darkness towards the entrance to the ruined church.

‘Better follow,' Callum said grimly. ‘Jacob must have brought us both here for a reason.'

It was darker in the churchyard than it had been on the road. Callum knew from experience that if he didn't take care, he'd trip over tombstones or the iron railings marking Victorian graves and end up flat on his face. The church loomed like an ice-bound ship, faintly etched in frost.

‘Can't see anything,' said Melissa. ‘Maybe he's not here –?'

The doorway of the church was suddenly swallowed
in darkness. Callum and Melissa stumbled against each other as a rope of wind even chillier than the night itself wound around their legs. White, gleaming fangs flashed in the middle of the inky shadow in the door, and a terrifying rumble reverberated around the cemetery as the enormous beast let rip a supernatural canine growl.

It was Doom, the Churchyard Grim and Jacob's companion.

The giant dog loomed in the ruined doorway, fangs bared. Now he backed away – an invitation to proceed. Gritting his teeth, Callum went first, and Melissa followed. He hadn't always trusted Doom, but Callum couldn't deny that it was his icy fangs that destroyed the Fetch. The spectral dog was on their side, or at least seemed to be . . .

Doom turned and loped into the church after them, the bone-birds darting about his great shadowy form.

‘Jacob?'

Callum's voice echoed inside the cold, ruined walls of the sanctuary. He and Melissa stood still, side by side, peering at the jagged shadows thrown in all directions by the light of the soaring moon outside.
They had both been there before, and it was never exactly a settling experience, but this felt different. For Jacob to summon the two of them here so late in the evening must mean something serious.

As Callum's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised that Jacob was already there. The ghost-boy stood just beside the ruined altar in his long black coat, fingers clenched, hands by his sides. Longish, black hair shadowed his faintly gleaming skin.

Doom moved to stand next to his master, and Callum saw Jacob's pale hand reach up to grip the dark fur at the back of Doom's neck.

Suddenly, there came a tremendous flash of lightning, which tore the night in two and caused Callum to stagger back in shock. For one second he could see everything as though in broad, clear daylight – every stone of the ruined church, every leaf of ivy and stem of nettle winding among the stones picked out in perfect detail – the bird skeletons in mid-air, the spectral figures of Jacob and Doom, starkly outlined in black and glowing silver. Then the light was gone and Callum could see nothing.

But he heard Jacob's echoing, bell-like voice cut through the darkness.

‘The Shadowing has begun.'

Callum could feel Jacob's eyes fixed on him expectantly.

‘Well, what do you want me to say?' he asked.

Things didn't feel any different – there was no sudden change, no flood of demonic energy. Just the bone-trembling cold. Jacob pointed towards the ruined wall of the church, through the space a window would once have been, and towards the night sky. His finger dripped with the black blood that often seeped from his fingernails.

‘This,' the ghost began, ‘is merely the first moon of the thirteen. The full force of the Shadowing is not immediate. But that does not mean we are able to
linger. Already, there is much danger.'

Melissa looked over at Callum, then to Jacob. ‘Well, it's all a bit of an anti-climax so far,' she said with a tentative grin. But Callum couldn't bring himself to smile.

‘What do you mean, the full force is not immediate?' he said.

‘When the Shadowing commences, the floodgates do not simply open,' Jacob said. ‘The Boundary between the mortal world and the Netherworld remains in place but, as the cycle of the moons progresses, there will be a steady increase in the number of gaps in its fabric.'

Callum cleared his throat.

‘And the more weak points there are in the Boundary, the more . . .
stuff
. . . can cross over from the Netherworld?'

‘That is correct,' Jacob said grimly. ‘The situation will grow more and more perilous. Indeed, it is already dangerous. From this night forward, demons and other beings of the Netherworld – ghosts, creatures of mortal legend, murderous beasts – they will all begin
to surface with increasing frequency in the world of men. They will be set on destruction and feasting, on fear and on flesh.' He paused, looking at Callum and Melissa closely. ‘The threat will escalate through the thirteen moons. But during this dark time of the Shadowing,
you
, Callum . . .' The ghost trailed off for a moment, his expression becoming something close to regretful. ‘You will be the Boundary's final guardian. You are the last chime child.'

Callum nodded mutely, straining his ears and eyes, half expecting to see goblins begin to pop out of the stonework, or through the gaping black hole of the tower door. Suddenly realising he had been holding his breath, he exhaled it in a gust and shook his head.

‘Well, what can I do?' Callum asked. He was surprised to feel a sense of urgency and purpose overtaking him. ‘Can I do anything to slow it down, prevent the crossings, limit them? Or –'

Jacob held up one pale hand. ‘We must not get ahead of ourselves. Of course, your aim will be to guard the Boundary, to prevent Netherworld beings from crossing and to combat those that do. But now
that this job falls on your shoulders alone, we must have a plan of action.' Jacob pushed his black hair out of his face.