The Claygate Hound (3 page)

“Cool,” Ryan said. “Let’s climb!”

They grabbed handfuls of ivy but it pulled away from the crumbling stone. Showers of grit fell into their faces.

“Euch!” Ryan said. Then he fell silent.

Behind the ivy, on the old grey stone, was a faded painting – a picture of a huge, black dog.

It was the Claygate Hound. Ryan was sure of it. He remembered the strange, ghostly howling and his heart beat fast with fear. He shivered and stepped back, away from the wall.

The eyes of the painted hound glittered in the setting sun.

“It looks alive…” Ryan whispered.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet rumbled and from deep within the earth came an eerie cry – part wolf-howl, part dog-yelp.

“What is it?” Zeb gasped.

But they did not wait to find out.

Back in the bunk room, they talked it over. Had they really heard a ghost dog?

“No. It was a rush of air whooshing round the ruins. That’s all.” Ryan said.

“It
sounded
like a dog,” Zeb said.

“We were looking at a picture of a dog,” Ryan explained. “So when we heard the noise we thought it
was
a dog.”

That made sense. Believing in ghostly hounds when you were in a spooky place was one thing. Believing in them in the safety of the bunk room was just too silly for words.

That night, after lights out, Ryan felt under his pillow for his lucky tin. It was not there. Where could it be? He racked his memory. Finally he realized. It was in the woods. When they were running away from the ruin, it must have fallen from his pocket.

He tossed and turned. That tin had been through a whole war – through all kinds of dangers. And now it was lost in Claygate Woods. He had to find it. He owed it to Grandad.

When he thought everyone was asleep, he slipped quietly out of bed and got dressed.

Sleepily, Zeb leaned over the top bunk. “What’s the matter?”

“Sshh…” Ryan warned. “You’ll wake everyone up.”

Zeb rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going back to the woods.”

“Now? You can’t —”

“I have to, Zeb. I’ve lost my lucky tin and I just have to get it back.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Zeb said.

In silence they crept past the sleeping boys. A few minutes later they were outside.

“Are you sure about this?” Zeb asked. “It’s so dark… And what about the dog?”

“It was a trick echo,” Ryan said as confidently as he could. “A
sound
mirage. And our imagination. If it wasn’t for Billy we’d never have thought it was anything but the wind.”

Zeb sighed. It wasn’t just Billy, was it? It was Granny Hatcher and that weird picture underneath the ivy.

“I can’t leave Grandad’s tin out there,” Ryan said stubbornly.

Zeb saw Ryan’s determined face and he knew there was no point in arguing. “Come on, then,” he said.

As they hurried into the trees, a strange, bony shadow flitted across the farmyard and followed them into the heart of the dark woods…

After the darkness under the trees, the moonlit clearing seemed very bright. The tumble-down stones of the ruin seemed to glow and the silvery light cast weird shadows on the painting of the black dog.

The boys hesitated. Neither of them wanted to go any closer. It looked too real, as if at any moment it might leap off the wall and come bounding after them.

It’s just a painting, Ryan said to himself. Then, bravely, he stepped forwards.

There was his lucky tin, shining in the moonlight.

“Yes!” he yelled and he ran forward and grabbed it.

“Come on, Ryan,” Zeb urged. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ve found it, Zeb,” Ryan said. “I’ve got it back!” He could hardly believe it. He’d really worried about coming back here, but it had been so easy. Now he felt great – too great to believe in ghostly hounds.

I wonder who lived here? he thought as he stepped into the ruins.

As he set foot upon the ancient floor, the moonlit painting shimmered. A huge, black dog with glittering eyes and giant paws rose up out of the stones. It threw back its head and howled.

Ryan jumped back. There was a growling, rumbling sound and the great hound bared its teeth and snarled. They could see its gaping mouth, its sharp white teeth, its lolling red tongue. Ryan’s eyes grew wide with terror. He stumbled backwards away from those dreadful jaws.

The rumbling deepened – like drums in the earth – and the ground beneath him trembled. Suddenly a jagged hole gaped at his feet like a bottomless pit. Soil and stones crashed down into it. Timbers slid and jolted, disappearing into the blackness.

This has been here all the time, Ryan thought in panic, hidden by rotten planks.

A second tremor struck and Ryan stumbled.

Then the dog leapt, its mad red eyes shining in the moonlight.