The Shade of Hettie Daynes
Read The Shade of Hettie Daynes Online
Authors: Robert Swindells
Contents
About the Book
If you expect to see a ghost, you see a ghost
. . .
That’s what Bethan tells herself when her brother Harry takes her to see the ghost at the old reservoir. But she really
can
see it: a pale figure floating over the water, one finger pointing downwards.
Local legend says that the ghost is the shade of Hettie Daynes, an ancestor of their family, who vanished over a hundred years ago. If so, what does she
want
? And why is she appearing now?
A deliciously shivery ghost tale from multi award-winning author Robert Swindells.
For Frank Hingston
“ . . . that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life . . .”
George Eliot
ONE
HARRY SQUEEZED HIS
sister’s arm. ‘Are you
sure
you want to see her?’
Bethan snorted. ‘ ’Course. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?’
The boy shrugged. ‘Want you to be sure, that’s all. She’s seriously spooky, and you
are
only ten.’
‘So? You’re two years older, big deal.’
‘OK, come on.’
The moon was nearly full, but there was mist over Wilton Water. Gorse grew thickly on this part of the bank. They halted, peering through prickly boughs. Their breath was like smoke on the cold October air.
‘Is she there?’ whispered Bethan.
‘Hard to tell in this mist.’
‘Bet she isn’t. My teacher says there’s no such thing as a ghost.’
Harry nodded. ‘Yeah well, your teacher’s never been to look, has she? Loads of people’ve seen her. Sensible people.’
Bethan shook her head. ‘Mum hasn’t, and she’s lived here for ever.’
Harry sighed. ‘Mum refuses to believe in ghosts, full stop. Look.’ He pointed.
‘Where,
I
can’t see anything.’
‘See that sapling on the bank over there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, look a little bit to the right of it.’
Bethan peered through the haze, and gasped. A woman in a long black skirt was standing on the water, looking towards the bank.
‘You see her
now
, don’t you?’
‘I see
something
,’ croaked Bethan, ‘but it looks like it’s standing on water. Nobody can stand on water. It’s a whatsit illusion.’
‘Optical,’ whispered Harry. ‘But it’s
not
, it’s the ghost. Me and Rob’ve seen her five or six times, and she’s always exactly the same. If it was
an
optical illusion, you wouldn’t see it twice the same.’
‘Why does she stand so still then?’
‘How the heck do
I
know, I’m not a ghost.’ Harry chuckled. ‘If you think it’s an optical illusion, why are you whispering, hiding behind a bush? Stand up, give it a shout, see what happens.’
Bethan shook her head. ‘No.’
‘No, ’cause you
know
it’s a ghost. Mum doesn’t believe ’cause she doesn’t want to. Some people are like that about ghosts.’
Bethan stared at the phantom. She saw a woman pointing a long, pale finger at the water. Try as she might, she couldn’t turn it into a tree stump, a twist of vapour or a blend of moonlight and shadow. And she
did
try. After all, thousands of people see something on Loch Ness and mistake it for a monster.
If you expect to see a monster
, she thought,
you see one. And if you expect to see a ghost, you see a ghost
.
‘OK,’ murmured Harry. ‘You wanted to see her, and you have. I better get you home now, or Mum’ll make a ghost out of
me
.’
Bethan turned to look back as they moved
away
. The figure stood as before.
Where does she go in the daytime
, she wondered.
Can she see us? Does she know people come to gawp at her, and does she mind?
She didn’t ask her brother these questions: didn’t want to admit she believed, but lying in bed that night it was the ghost she saw when she stared up into the darkness, and when she screwed her eyelids shut the phantom was behind them, keeping her from sleep.
TWO
SUNDAY MORNING, HARRY’S
mobi chirped. He freed it from its holster. ‘Yep?’
‘Rob. Fancy boarding the park for a bit?’
Harry sighed. ‘I’m on the net, checking out the Corn Laws. School tomorrow, you know.’
Rob scoffed. ‘ ’
Course
I know, that’s why I called. Gotta make the most of this last day, man: no more hols till Christmas.’
Harry pulled a face. ‘Gotta dash off that assignment for Mottan as well.’ Mottan was what the students of Rawton Secondary called the history teacher, whose real name was Bailey.
‘Haven’t you done it yet, you moron? You’ve had a week.’
‘Yeah, but you know how it is. Mum wittering. Kid sister. Stuff to do. I forgot.’
‘OK, listen up. Mine’s done. I’ll bring it to the park, you can work from it tonight.’
‘
Copy
, you mean?’
‘It’s not
copying
, it’s research.’
‘It wouldn’t be my own work.’
‘Is the stuff on the net your own work?’
‘Well no, but—’
‘Sucker,
please
. What’s the point of two of us reading the same sites? That’s just duplication of effort. Half ten by the rain shelter. Bring your board.’
Wilton Park had no dedicated boarding track, but there were shallow steps, flat-top walls and smooth tarmac paths. The day was cold but dry, and the two friends spent a couple of hours honing their skills, skinning knees and elbows in the process.
It was just before one o’clock when Carl Hopwood appeared with his two hangers-on. At thirteen, Carl was a year older than Rob and Harry, a year ahead at Rawton. He was a big lad
with
fair, floppy hair and a broad, reddish face.
‘Hey,’ he cried when he saw the two boarders. ‘Look who’s here, guys.’ He sauntered towards them with his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s raggy Harry and his poorer sidekick, Rob the slob.’
Harry picked up his board, tucked it under his arm. ‘Hi, Carl. We’re not looking for any trouble here.’ Carl Hopwood was the school bully. Both boys had been victims since primary school, and it was ongoing.
‘You’re
not
?’ sneered Carl in mock surprise. ‘Well that’s a shame, ’cause we
are
.’ He looked at his friends. ‘Aren’t we, guys?’
Nigel Stocks grinned, Shaun Modley nodded. Carl’s dad was rolling in it. Carl was never short of dosh, and he used it to buy the loyalty of creeps like Stocks and Modley.
‘We’re watching out for scruffs in two-quid trainers and cut-price kit, making the place look untidy,’ said Carl, ‘and I reckon we’ve found ’em.’ He turned to his companions. ‘
Seize
’em, guys,’ he ordered.
Rob and Harry fought. They always did, and they always lost. Rob got Modley on the ear with his board, and Harry punched Carl’s big face
before
they were overwhelmed and pinned to the tarmac. Carl looked down at them, dabbing his burst lip with a tissue.
‘OK,’ he panted, ‘we’ll have the trainers for a start. And those cheapo boards. Hold ’em still, guys.’ The pair struggled, but Stocks and Modley were solid items. Being pinned down by them was like having a hippo on top of you. Carl pulled off Harry’s trainers, then Rob’s. He straightened up and sniffed them. ‘Uuugh, yuk!’ He screwed up his face. ‘
This
is where the stink was coming from.’ He dangled them at arm’s length by their laces. ‘We’ll chuck ’em in the lake to cleanse themselves. What d’you say, guys?’
