Witch(57)

“I can’t go up to that farm in daylight,” I said. “If old farmer Grayson catches me on his land again, he’s gonna have my badge.”

“That bottle is at the bottom of a well,” Vincent said, pulling on his boots. “How are we going to climb down to the bottom and get it? We don’t have any rope or...”

“I know where we can find some rope,” I smiled at him, heading for the front door.





Chapter Thirty-Three

I could remember seeing a huge length of rope hanging in the barn on Grayson’s farm. I saw it the day I had led Michael into the barn, it was hanging by the door, next to the neat rows of tools. So, with our torches on, Vincent and I made our way along the desolate shore, to the coastal path and through the crop of trees to Grayson’s farm. We didn’t reach the brow of the hill until nearly gone two o’clock in the morning. There was no moon, as the sky was full of cloud, and the first cold drops of rain had started to fall.

“We should turn off our torches,” I whispered to Vincent as we stepped clear of the trees and into the rain.

“Okay,” Vincent whispered back, switching off his torch and throwing us in to near darkness.

The wind whooped and howled across the fields, ruffling my hair and making the collar of Vincent’s police coat flap like a sail against his throat. The tree branches creaked and swayed behind us, the sound of the rain now drumming against the canopy of leaves.

“This way,” I said, setting off down the hill towards the barn which stood below us like a dark smudge in the night.

The rain fell harder now, falling horizontally across our path in the wind. Our boots sloshed and squelched through the muddy earth. It was cold, but I daren’t put my hands in my pockets for fear of slipping on the mud and being unable to break my fall. Vincent walked beside me, plumes of breath billowing from our lungs and disappearing into the cold night sky like tiny wisps of cloud. Apart from the roaring wind and the sound of the driving rain beating off the ground, the world seemed eerily silent.

We reached the foot of the hill, and I could see that the farmhouse, which was a short distance away, was in darkness. There were no lights on that I could see, and no smoke tumbling up from the chimney. I guessed that both Michael and his father were asleep. Had I treated Michael too harshly because of what he’d done? I wondered. I pushed the thought away. I hadn’t come here to think about him. I had come to retrieve that bottle from the bottom of the well. Nothing must distract me from that.

I looked at Vincent, who stood beside me in the dark, rain running down his face like tears. I nodded in the direction of the barn, not daring to speak now for fear of being discovered. God only knew what Grayson would do, should he wake to find me trespassing on his land in the middle of the night. Vincent followed me the short distance to the barn. I looked at him, took a deep breath, then pulled at the door. It was heavy. Vincent curled his fingers around the handle and together we pulled it open, then all hell broke loose. Jess leapt out of the darkness at us like a giant hound. It barked and yapped, its giant-looking paws in the air.

Vincent instantly gripped my arm and yanked me backwards out of the dog’s path. The farmer’s dog barked and woofed, the sound deafening in the silent night. I glanced sideways at the farmhouse and saw one of the bedroom lights come on.

“Shit!” I hissed. “Someone’s woken up.”

“Look,” Vincent whispered. “The dog isn’t coming any closer. It’s been tied up.”

I looked back towards the open barn door and could see Jess was secured inside the barn with a chain that was fastened to her collar. Old farmer Grayson must have been using her as some sort of guard dog.

“We should go,” I gasped, seeing that one of the downstairs lights had now been switched on in the farmhouse.

“This is our only chance of getting that bottle,” Vincent wheeled on me, his eyes big and dark. “I’ll see to the dog, you fetch that rope you told me about.” Then, heading back towards the barn door, Vincent started to coo at Jess. The dog barked at him, then mellowed as Vincent took a half-eaten pack of Jammie Dodgers from his coat pocket and tossed one towards the dog.

Bent double, trying to make myself as small as possible, I raced towards the open door and slipped inside. Jess didn’t even look at me, as she woofed up the biscuit from the ground and ran a giant pink tongue over her snout. I reached around the inside of the door, feeling for the rope in the darkness. My fingers raced blindly over the set of tools, spilling from their housing, sending them clattering to the floor.

“Shhh!” Vincent snapped, looking back over his shoulder at the farmhouse, then back at me. “Hurry up, Sydney!”